And Life Goes On
...
Bakura scowled down at the child in his arms, who in turn gurgled happily up at him, one pudgy hand raising, reaching out for his soft white hair, even though the kid already had his own head of hair growing that was probably going to end up looking pretty much the same.
The kid batted at his hair a couple more times, until he finally somehow managed to catch a fistful in his grubby little paw – at which point, the toddler was put down on the table, while he tugged and pried at the small hand so that it would let go without pulling any more than it already had. Luckily, he let go without too much hassle, and Bakura sighed with relief before dropping down to his haunches so that he was now at eye level with the brat.
Who then just began to stare up at him, big brown eyes wide and, to perhaps anyone else, endearing.
Driven as always by impulse, he leaned forward and poked the kid on the cheek. Soft and warm. He didn't even blink. Bakura continued to scowl, his expression only intensifying when first one little hand and then another started to rise once again, in search of white. Although this time, only tracing the patterns of spikes, rather than trying to grab.
Not wanting tracing patterns in the air to turn into anything else, he swatted at the hands, more than a bit unsure as to what else to do. When those eyes were turned on him again, this time questioning what they'd done wrong, he elaborated.
"My hair," he said, "is not a plaything. Use something else."
Either the kid got the message or he simply got bored of hair-grabbing, because right there and then, he took a few of his fingers and stuck them in his mouth.
Bakura sighed. This was not what he'd signed up for. He had never agreed to this, not once. In fact, he hadn't signed up for anything. He was a thief. A stealer of souls.
Not, definitely not, a babysitter.
Which was the very reason why he certainly did not know what to do when the kid came up with the brilliant idea of wiping his now sticky hands right down his shirt – or rather, up, as he tried to climb up, practically strangling the three thousand plus aged thief in the process more than once, and tugging at his hair several more times than that. He frantically scrabbled to get the moving pile of miniature, fragile limbs off of him without breaking anything, delving further and further into the realms of a certain type of panic that he'd thought he'd left behind him several thousand years or more.
They were both interrupted by the slam of the front door to the Bakura apartment closing, footsteps heading their way, and Ryou Bakura stopping, staring point blank at the two of them.
Distantly, the ex-spirit wondered if he was going to be murdered. Strangely, the thought worried him.
Instead, the man in the doorway of the room started to laugh, and Bakura found himself going red in the face with anger brought upon by embarrassment while the child waved over at his father with both arms, burbling in baby talk.
Ryou came in closer, putting the shopping bags down along the way, and picked up his son, holding him up against his chest, still smiling.
"I think it looks like you were being offered a hug," he explained. The little boy squealed and patted his father's face.
Bakura, meanwhile, scowled. "I don't do hugs."
"Of course not," his old host said calmly. "But he does."
"Well he can take his hugs elsewhere, then."
"There was no one else in the house. And you look like me, you know."
"I'm not you," Bakura pointed out unnecessarily. "And the brat knows it, too."
"If his mother hears you call him that," Ryou said, darkly amused, "she'll probably kill you."
"No, she wouldn't," Bakura scoffed, picking himself back up off of the floor and dredging up the last remains of his dignity.
"She's his mother," Ryou said simply. "So yes, she might."
The child sighed and started to relax for the first time since his father had gone, as though the death threats were nothing new.
"What about you?" Bakura asked, eyebrow raised, amused to know what the answer was. This was his old landlord, after all.
Ryou simply smiled at him, cordially pleasant. "Oh, me? We've known each other for so long, other me, I'd be much, much kinder to you! I think I'd only maim you a little!"
They walked out of the room, two pairs of white heads so close together, one with long hair and the other's still short, with those big brown eyes looking back at him with a cheeky smile and a yawn, waving the fingers of one pudgy hand.
Bakura just scowled back. Spoiled kid.
...
AN: I really, honestly don't know where this came from. I know the inspiration – a picture or few on high-mode (j-art site) which had Bakura with kid versions of Ryou and the Mariks.
Yes, in this they do have separate bodies, and just to make it clear they do look almost identical.