I sat backwards in a chair watching Marik work at making cinnamon rolls, moving from place to place and dragging my arm around. I was just about in the perfect position to watch his ass as he moved about. It was disturbing that he managed to make the shapeless uniform look good.

I cracked my head against the back of the chair to knock some sense into myself. Focus. The house wasn't anything like what I'd pictured Ishtar having, let alone the disaster area within it. It was obvious his father consumed more alcohol than air with how the fridge was filled. It made me wonder what else I'd been wrong about.

"I don't like talking about my homelife."

"N-not issues, per se. Just, nobody ever touches me. Not just to touch, anyway."

"I'm not afraid of you, Bakura. If you really feel the need to crush me, to break me, I invite you to try. Others have made the attempt, others far more intimidating than you."

"Sorry about that. My siblings and I know not to touch that, and we haven't had guests over in... well, ever."

What kind of drunk was his father? I shook my head. Get real, Bakura, you're reading way too much into this. Then again, it's weird to not lock your door in a neighborhood like this one. It wasn't the ghetto, but it certainly wasn't Stepford. I shook my head again.

"Bakura? I can't reach the cupboard with the powdered sugar if you're sitting."

I looked up, "Huh? Yeah, whatever." I stood up and followed as he went to get his cooking ingredients. After a few minutes of puttering around he was lost in his own little world and I sat back down again.

I watched him work, not having any talent in the kitchen myself. He mixed sugar and cinnamon and a bowl with butter, then rolled out the dough he'd made while I was thinking and spread it out, smearing the butter mixture all over it. He rolled it up and got out a large knife, cutting it in half, then halving those pieces, and cutting the result in thirds. He buttered two round pans and stuffed the newly made rolls in them. He put them in the oven and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, streaking it with flour.

He put the pans in the oven, started playing with the powdered sugar, and made icing through some alchemy I missed, setting the bowl aside to start cleaning up the mess he'd made. The kitchen filled with fantastic smells in the mean time. He looked -I felt like smacking myself for even thinking it- cute working in the kitchen with flour and powdered sugar on his face. It was official, I was losing it.

He just shows some bloody spine, and you start looking at him different? You're going soft. He may have been a damn prat, but he was at least a good-looking prat.

Ishtar turned to me, wiping his hands on a dish towel, "Okay, those should be done in about a half hour or so. Let's go to my room, I should get started on my homework." I shrugged and followed him as he grabbed his bag and led me down the hallway.

He glanced back at me in front of the second door on the left, then turned the knob and went it. I froze in the doorway. Every wall and the entire ceiling was covered in papers; sketches and drawings. There was a definite monopoly of the subject. I looked back at him wryly, "Shot it the dark, here; but I'm guessing you might have a minor thing for scorpions."

He glanced my way and smiled, "What would give you that idea?"

Maybe the thousands of them around his room? He moved to a terrarium and I followed, "You have an actual scorpion?"

"Yeah, this is Serket."

I surprised us both when I said: "Cool."

He moved to his bed and got out text books, immediately burying himself in homework. I took the opportunity to openly snoop around his room. It was small, I could go everywhere in it without him having to move more than his arm. There was a dresser, a book shelf, the -I wasn't even going to call it a desk- stand that the scorpion was on with a small chair, a bedside table, and the bed. There was also a slide-open closet at the foot of the bed, but I wasn't counting that as a piece of furniture.

The white bookshelf was obviously the entertainment center of the room, completely filled with books. On the top was a golden rod of what I guessed was Egyptian design on a stand. It looked to be of the same kind of design my own personal treasure was, and my hand strayed up to press against the circle under my uniform. I pointed out the thing, "What's that?"

He looked up from his work, "It's a family heirloom, the Millennium Rod. It's one of seven Millennium Items that used to reside in Egypt."

"Seven?"

He nodded, put down his pen and frowned in thought, "Yeah. Let's see what I can remember... There's the Millennium Rod, the Millennium Necklace, the Millennium Key, the Millennium Scales, the Millennium Eye, the Millennium Puzzle, and the Millennium Ring." he pulled open a drawer in the bedside table and took out a book, flipping through it before handing it to me, "Here."

"Hmm." I took it and realized it was a sketch book. There were more of the Millennium Items on the page, each one drawn in amazing detail with the name written under it in several different languages. I found mine in the lower right corner and memorized it. The Millennium Ring, huh? It was the first thing I'd ever stolen, and the original owner had died mysteriously the next week, so it's theft was never reported. I hadn't questioned my luck.

I don't know how long I went through all the sketches, but eventually I put the drawing pad aside and went back to looking around.

Besides the books there was... nothing. No video games, no board games, not even a television or a handheld, though there'd been a t.v. in the livingroom, but no movies or DVDs. The place was just... empty, "What do you do for fun around here?"

"I leave." I looked over to see him absorbed in his assignment.

"You don't watch television or anything?"

"No. I read sometimes. Mostly I stay away as long as I can. Ryou and I go out to do things." It was like he was hypnotized or something.

"Why?"

"Keeps me away from the house."

"Why?"

"Out of sight, out of mind. Father and I can each pretend the other doesn't exist. It's better that way, so long as I'm home in time."

"And that's good?"

"I'm a disappointment, he's a prick. It works." I was about to ask another question when a shrill beeping invaded and Ishtar seemed to snap out of his trance, "The rolls!"

I followed him as he went out and pulled the cinnamon buns from the oven with mitts, putting them on the stove and pouring the icing over them. I'd not much liked the thought of the wait earlier, but the way they smelled now was thoroughly convincing.

He carefully pulled off a bun for each of us and we moved to the living room to sit on the couch and eat them. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, his lips twitching, "Sorry we don't have any milk."

I glared at him and he hid behind his sticky bun with a smile. I rolled my eyes and went back to my own, "Whatever." Okay, he could cook. Like, really cook. Bake. Whatever. It was better than any cinnamon bun I'd ever tried that came from a can, that much was certain.

I was pulled out of sticky bun bliss when the front door slammed open and Ishtar jumped nearly three feet in the air. Besides skin tone, there was little resemblance between the father standing -there was no other word for it- menacingly in the doorway, and son sitting stiffly next to me on the couch.

His eyes were bleary, from what I could probably safely assume was due to being drunk, as they settled on me, "What are you doing in my house?"

I sneered back and held up my wrist to show the handcuffs, "Believe me, I wouldn't be in this shit hole if I had any other choice. Unfortunately, I'm stuck like this until Monday."

His expression went thunderous and I saw Ishtar pale out of the corner of my eye, staring at me with wide eyes. Yeah, that's pretty definitive, guess that answers what type of drunk he is. He stormed over, "Get out!"

I shrugged and stood up, "Come on, Marik, looks like we're staying at my place."

I smirked up at the old man defiantly. Keep going, if your face twists anymore it's likely to stick that way. Not that it wouldn't be an improvement. He looked over at Ishtar and growled, "Go to your room." he looked my way, "Both of you." he glared at his son, "We'll talk about this later."

Oddly, those words didn't seem to bring my fellow captive any comfort. Ishtar dragged me along to his room, I glared over my shoulder the whole way. He let out a breath as he closed the door, "It's not a good idea to antagonize a drunk."

I scoffed, "It's not a good idea to antagonize me, either."

I stared at him until he flushed and looked away, "Whatever."

"Just get back to your school work, because I'm going back out for another cinnamon roll before the night is over."

He sighed, "We'll have to be very quiet. If he catches us out of my room after he sent us here, it won't be pretty."

"Not a surprise, he's hardly a beauty. You adopted?"

Ishtar stared up at me like I'd grown another head, then another after that, "Careful, Bakura, that was dangerously close to sounding like a complement. But, no, he's my biological father, I just look like my mother. It's always been a point of contention, much like with you. I look weak- " he grimaced, "- 'girly'. My older brother is adopted, but my father didn't want him, only taking him in because my mother wanted to."

"Is that why the..." I motioned to my hair.

"The blonde hair on an Egyptian?" He shook his head, "No. My mother had dark hair. As for my unique looks, well..." he shrugged, "Inbreeding? Premature graying? Who knows?"

I picked up the sketch book I'd been looking at earlier and sat on the foot of the bed, flipping through it, "I'm adopted. The case could be made for Thief to technically be called my brother and cousin."

"The family resemblance is... strong."

"Some would say distracting."

"Eh, some families just have strong blood."

We devolved into silence again, him going over his school assignments and me looking through the sketch book. One particular drawing interested me, it was a scene of a tomb or something with an altar at the back. Underneath it was the title 'Temple of the Kings' and there was an arrow pointing to something in a small corner. The arrow was labeled 'Serket' and pointed to a tiny scorpion drawn in exacting detail despite the miniscule size.

There were other drawings in the book, of fantastical creatures; an enormous red dragon with two mouths, identified as 'Slifer the Sky Dragon, The Sacred Dragon of Osiris' to name one. There were sphinxes, both stone and still-lifes, an alligator-headed creature dubbed simply 'Sobek', and -of course- some more scorpions, including, apparently, a monster based on Ishtar's own little pet, Serket.

The amount of detail was just mystifying. Some of these things looked like they could come right off the page. I was tempted to ask if he was willing to become a graffiti artist before shaking myself back to reality. I lost myself in the pages again, looking through sarcophagi, pyramids, one odd turtle with a pyramid on its back, and a hundred other wonders. If nothing else, I was going to have to be careful not to injure Marik's hands.

As someone who's own craft depended on the use of my hands, I could respect the skill these had taken to make. Ishtar might be an emotionally stunted prat, but he had skills.

"Uh, Bakura?"

I looked up, "What?"

"You said you wanted another roll? Well, I'm done with my work. And Father's probably out of it enough for us to sneak out and get one."

"Oh, right." I stretched and realized how stiff I was, "What time is it?"

Ishtar cocked his head thoughtfully, "About... ten-thirty?"

"So late?" I glanced around and noticed a distinct lack of clock, "And you know this, how?"

He shrugged, "I just have a feel for the time. The only actual clocks we have are the one on the stove, and my sister's alarm clock."

I gave him a questioning look, "Why?"

He shrugged again, "Why waste the money on another clock when she'd probably just come in to make sure I was awake anyway? The walls here are paper-thin, I can hear her clock perfectly well through two sets of walls."

Makes sense to me. I put the book on the stand, "Sticky buns?"

"Let's go." He opened his door like a soldier in enemy territory, looking out suspiciously before nodding silently and motioning me forward. We made it to the kitchen unmolested and he tore both of us off another roll, handing me mine and something to drink from the fridge, then taking us to the couch to sit down.

Soda and cinnamon bun was not my ideal combination, but it worked, if threatening to induce a diabetic coma. If Marik could bake like this, I seriously needed to contemplate taking Home Ec. I could secretly enroll Thief along with me as revenge, he'd hate that. He hated everything relating to both home, and economics; it was perfect!

We stood up to take our empty cans out to the trash when he tensed as the front door opened, a woman I could only assume was his sister coming through and spotting him immediately, "Where were you?! Odion and I waited as long as we-"

Ishtar made shushing motions, "Ishizu, quiet; Father's home."

She finally caught sight of me and stiffened, "Marik, what is he doing here?" she whisper-yelled, "Get rid of him!"

He held up his shackled wrist and I obliged by doing the same, "That's a bit of a problem, sister, we're kind of stuck together."

Shock was clear on her face, "What in the world happened?"

"Principal Utuskushii's unique brand of punishment: we're stuck like this until monday."

"Punishment? What could you possibly have done to get in trouble with the school?"

He hesitated, glancing at me, "I... got into a fight... with Bakura."

"A fight?!"

Ishtar snapped, "Yeah, you know: that act of violence in which two or more people use their bodies or weapons to try and hurt each other."

"I know what a fight is, Marik! How did you even get in one in the first place?"

"The usual way: he hit me, I hit back."

"Marik Namu Yassir Mafdet Ishtar, don't you dare try to skirt the subject with me!"

He held up his hands in a pleading gesture, "Ishizu, please, your voice." they both froze, listening intently for something I couldn't hear, then sighed, "It's only until Monday, then we're free again."

I pointed at Ishtar, "He started it."

He glared at me while his sister went off on him, "I know you did not go and do something so incredibly stupid."

He widened his eyes in fake surprise, "I didn't? Oh, good; I was worried there for a second."

"Marik!"

"What?!" he shook his head, "What do you want me to say, sister? That I regret it? Fine, I regret it. Should I beg? Drop to my knees and grovel? What do you want from me?"

She crossed her arms, flicked her gaze to and back to her brother and said something that sounded like utter gibberish, Ishtar replying with something similar. She spoke more nonsense, threw her hands up in a huff, and stalked down the hall where a door could be heard slamming shut.

He sighed, "And that was my sister."

"In all her fury."

"Huh? Oh, no, that was only rather annoyed. Our arguments have been known to bring people running, they get so loud." he shook his head and turned to me, "So, what side do you sleep on?"

"Side of what?"

"Of your body. The bed isn't big enough for two people. One of us is going to have to sleep on the floor. If we even tried to both sleep on the bed and whoever was on the end fell off, it'd be a very rude awakening for the other one. I'm right-handed and tend to sleep on my right side or on my stomach."

I smirked, "Convenient."

"How so?"

I held up my cuffed right wrist, "I'm left-handed."

He smiled, then bent over, his shoulders shaking, before finally giving in to full-fledged, whole-bodied laughter. It was a happy, contagious thing, and I found myself snickering along with him. He looked up at me with sparkling eyes, "Way too much thought put into chaining us together."

I shook my head, still smirking, "What about that brother of yours?"

"My siblings work late on fridays. Odion won't be in until almost midnight. Now, about our bed situation..."

I rolled my eyes, "I'm not sleeping with either my arm in the air or hanging off the edge of a bed all night long."

He crossed his arms and sighed, "And your grand solution for not having to do either of those things is...?"

"Move the bedding to the floor, where we'll both sleep." Another thought occurred to me, "Do you even have extra blankets for whichever one of us would have slept on the floor with your plan?"

He uncrossed his arms and looked away, "Well... no. I mean, I have an extra comforter for winter, but that's it."

"So I guess I win by default, then."

"Okay, you win. I don't think it was much of an argument, but you win whatever there is of it." he smiled as he said it, though.

"Let's go, I'm about ready for this day to be over with."

"Same here."

We went back and moved all the bedding to the floor, and I watched him dig out an extra pillow, valiantly refraining from throwing it at me; I saw the thought cross his mind before he held it out diplomatically. I took it and turned to put it at the head of the makeshift bed, "Smart choice."

I turned back around and saw him blush, wondering what he'd done behind my back. He smiled widely, "I reserve the right to kick you as hard as I can if you hog the blankets or snore."

"I reserve the right to smother you with my pillow if you drool."

We stared at each other, coming to grips with the terms of our truce before laying down and putting our backs to each other. There were several minutes of silence before he spoke again, "Good night, Bakura."

I covered my head with the blankets, then after hesitating for a minute, muttered, "Night... Marik."

I woke up when I felt him tense against my back. Listening close, I heard footsteps in the room. Trusting my instincts, I tossed the covers back and sat up in a single motion, coming face-to-face with Ishtar the Senior. I flicked my gaze over to see Marik trying to pretend he was asleep, and it might have fooled anyone else, but it didn't fool me, I'd felt every muscle in his body go stiff before he forced himself to relax.

I looked back up at his father and rubbed my eyes in faux sleepiness, "Did you need something?"

I didn't miss the fury that passed over his features before he schooled them into concerned neutrality, "No, I just came in to check on you two." Bullshit. Both of us were wearing masks, and we both knew it.

I don't know what he'd actually come in for, though it wasn't hard to come up with some theories. But I knew it wasn't because he was any kind of worried father. I yawned, "We're fine. But could you please not do that? I wake up at the least little noise, and we have plans tomorrow." Translation: I'm watching, bastard, don't think to sneak past me.

He nodded, "Right. Sorry to wake you. Good night. Be careful out there tomorrow." Noted, and watch yourself.

My 'sleepy' gaze faded to a glare as he turned around and left. I looked back at Marik and considered calling him on his bluff, demanding information; but in the end I let him keep his secrets and laid back down. I kept my ears open to any sounds, though, just in case...

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