Hey, who's ready for a oneshot! This is might need some back story for some not familiar with the Salem Witch Trials. Also if you're light hearted, please don't read it.

Also you might notice I have an obsession over The Divine Comedy..

"Why would I defend a witch?"

Malik stared at him. How dare this Englishman betray him! How dare he whom he trust take his faith and...light it on fire. The irony.

"Bakura, are you sure about going to America? I'm not certain if it's safe, what if we're unaccepted there? What if something goes wrong. Neither of us have been to such a place."

"I do understand your concern, indeed I do. Yet, Malik, we must. You know the new colonies will be a big opportunity to gain cash. Plus my brother is a member of the Puritan church, he will be kind towards us. I must warn you they are strict."

"Bakura, you are not of Puritan belief, you are Protestant. I hath no religion! Do you really believe that they will accept two outsiders without some aversion?"

"Fret not. They believe greatly in the church if trouble arises my brother shall fix it, Malik."

"That does not ease my worries. You know greatly the others."

"Your skin colour, I presume?"

Malik scowled, "How clever. You know well in fact people make assumptions."

"Shush. No one will judge you so."

"Then what about my coming to England? Will you dare tell me your neighbours were not frightened?"

Bakura rolled his eyes, "The Irish are uncivilised in the first place. Truly impoverished and unruly."

"Excuse you! How dare your forsake your neighbour! Do not talk so regally, your highness. I'm sure Henry would love to hear your proclamations."

"Are you insulting my king?"

"No but if he ever loses his head, he could easily replace it with one of his wives'." He smugly, rolled over in their soft comfortable bed. Bakura chose not to respond. He himself did not feel that undefined loyalty to the king but if he did not...well Malik could sew his head to his body for the funeral.

"What if someone finds out?" The Egyptian whispered.

"..." He propped himself on his elbow, "Malik?" He nudged his shoulder with his free hand. He commanded him to turn. He could tell when his partner was distraught. Malik faced him slowly. His face was vexed, pained, "Let them find out. Only god may cast judgement on our souls." He mumbled, placing his lips upon the bronze forehead.

"My heart aches. I do not know why. I do want to feel joy for you but my chest tightens at the thought."

Bakura brought his hand to golden hair, "Nerves certainly do demolish logic. Just think of fresh air, clean water and a quiet little cottage."

"Okay," He smiled, still vexed from uncertainty.

"Realize that we move to a small village of quiet, respectful people. Nothing will happen, it might actually be boring and it's only for a while. What could possibly happen in the boring town of Salem?"

"Are you a witch?"

"No! I am not a witch!" He cried.

"So this is Salem?" Bakura spoke, steering their horses towards the city, "Hardly impressive. It's all wood for heaven's sake." His response was a grunt. Upon observation his partner was reading a book. He knew the conversations were limited then. He delve into them almost completely.

"Title?"

"The Divine Comedy. I found it it your bookcase."

"I have not read that text since last spring."

"I like it."

"You understand it? It's writen in Italian."

"Yes. I learned it from a book."

The Englishman was impressed.

"I like Virgil." Malik kept his eyes closed to the page.

"Is he not too crude?"

"No, he is the right person to get the task done."

"Understood."

They rode into town not shortly after. The town seemed almost empty. A young boy ran pass them.

"Hey, boy!"

The child stopped, momentarily.

"Where is everyone?"

"The church. There's a witch in town." The boy scurried off.

Bakura blinked, "A witch?" What a notion.

Malik chuckled, "What foolish gull of children?"

"Heh. I suppose so." They continued down the streets of Salem. It was so qaint. A pretty yet simple town so much different from busy London. They ended up running into a crowd of people in front of the church. Everyone was cheering.

"It's exciting to see the tradition of the faith here. What are they doing?" Malik asked, trying to see. He stood up, stealing a view of their joy.

"What is it?" Bakura asked before seeing Malik jump down, "Malik!" The blonde paid no heed, running through the crowd. Bakura chased him. He could not go off on his own like that. He knew people were unforgiving to those different. He pushed and pushed through the crowd finally reaching him, "Malik, are you mad!"

"Bakura." He stood, frozen to the core.

The Englishman followed his gaze. There behold a woman. Yet not a normal woman. For she wore a choker for before the fashion trend, that of which called a noose.

"Bakura, do they cheer in her death?"

"She must have done something wrong. This is such a peaceful town why on earth would they-"

"Doesn't white mean innocence?" Staring at her stained white dress.

Bakura stared at him. He was composed fairly good though his eyes showed that of a glass being shattered. They watched as the body was dropped.

"No god may save her wicked ways!" A man yelled.

Malik shuddered, such things often frightened him. The talk of a god. His feet lead him before his mind comprehended, "One must..."

"What?" He asked his partner. The blonde slowly walked towards the woman. What of earth was the idiot doing!

Kneeling to the ground below them, he grabbed her lifeless hand.

"One god will save you, one will. I promise." He shakily cried out. Whatever God these men spoke of was unmerciful.

Malik felt a hand lain on his shoulder.

"Bakura," He looked up to find another, "...Who are you, Sir?"

"The priest." His features were distinguishable from his lover's yet they still shared their similarities, "And listen, slave, do not sympathise with a witch. Someone might understand the wrong thing."

The Egyptian frowned, "A priest who does not pray over any dead body is not a priest! He is blinded by humanity and blocks out divine grace! What god condones such behaviour of a holy man." He growled out lowly.

The priest smiled wider, "Return to your master, slave."

"Malik." Bakura finally snapped out of his trance. He moved forward, "Brother?"

The priest lifted his head, "Hello brother!"

"What is this?"

"Penitence for her crimes."

"A mere woman? What were her crimes?" He asked, making his way towards Malik.

"Witchcraft." He spoke completely confident.

Bakura scoffed, "Boulderdash." He pulled Malik to his feet, "What proof?"

"A man claimed she enticed him against his will. She used magic."

"He was just another adulterous man. Brother, maybe there's something in the air making you all fools. Let us go, Malik, before we catch it." He ushered the boy with him, back to their wagon. His own brother was a fool. Malik glanced back at the priest who had hardened his face.

"What will we do?"

"This display of extreme mental illness will pass."

"When?"

"I cannot tell the future."

The Egyptian nodded, "My apologies."

"Let us go home." He shook the reins of the horse.

"The ingredients found in your study were the same for potions!"

"No, I studied the plant life! It's harmful and I was trying to help-" Malik yelled at the fools.

"Lies!"

"The witch hunts are getting worse." Bakura mumbled into his neck, tiredly yawning.

"I know. Maybe we should go back to England."

"No. We'll move downwards to Pennsylvania. The Quakers will give us both work. They openly accept Native American tribes. You will be loved."

Malik smiled, "Thank you."

Bakura smirked, kissing him. Malik sweetly responded.

"Was last night's session not enough?"

"Hardly." He traced kisses down his neck, roughly yet not to mark.

The door slammed shut. Malik jumped up, hitting Bakura, at the sudden noise.

"What in the dickens was that!"

"The wind." Bakura stated.

Malik still felt uneasy.

"You're being paranoid."

"I cannot help it. I do not understand your people."

"You don't need to. Just understand me, that's all."

"Then I have already succeeded."

They laughed.

"Now let's reenact last night's little performance." He captured his tanned lover's lips.

"Have you bewitched the man, Bakura Cheshire?"

"No! I have not done anything of the sort! It was love!"

"He is a betrothed man!"

"His wife passed away in his youth! He is no longer married!"

"Did you curse death upon his wife!"

"Of course not!" He hung his head I'm his hands, "I would never!"

"Lies!"

"I speak only truth!"

"You would kill someone to get what you want wouldn't you!"

"No! Please just let me go home!" He just wanted to escape from these beasts, theses animals. He sobbed through bruised, blackened, eyes, "Let me return to my home-!"

The prosecutor pulled his face up by his hair, "He speaks of hell as his home! The place of all evil such as he. Behold the face of a sorcerer, a demon, a Witch!"

The townspeople stood up, "Kill the witch!"

"I am no witch." Will not prove your innocence alone. Especially when the 'evidence' or prejudice is piled so high against you. If only those poor lovers knew that.