Shadow: The last two one-shots were quite fluffy for me, and so – something slightly truer to my usual form. These one-shots are all unrelated by the way, the only thing linking them is that they're all vaguely Christmas-themed.

Pairing: Darkshipping – Yami no Yugi x Yami no Bakura. Kinda oblique this time, and a lot darker than the two stories before.


Little Gifts

3) Scarlet Holly and Roses

The doorbell of the residence attached to the Kame Game Shop rang once –clearly -, echoing throughout the house, cheerful peal cutting through the half-slumber the two occupants felt, drowsing in front of the artificial fire in the living-room.

Yami - the more awake of the two - yawned, sitting up from where he's been lying on the couch and stretching. "I'll get that, shall I?" His hikari nodded, sleepy eyes half-focusing on the Christmas movie playing out on the television.

Still more than a little asleep Yami moved over to open the house's front door, blinking a little when the wood swung aside and no-one was there. Confused, he put a foot outside, shivering when the bitter December wind gusted past and chilled his skin. About to turn around and go back inside, a sudden splash of vibrant red and green to the side of the door lintel caught his eye. Roses.

Yugi called from inside the house, vaguely petulant. "Yami, who's there?"

His darker half stood staring down at the flowers on the doorstep. "No-one, aibou."

"Then shut the door! It's freezing out there!"

"And don't I know it…" Yami let out the quietest of mutters, stepping a little further outside and half-closing the house door beside him. That done he bent down, scooping the roses up into his arms. They were gorgeous flowers, in full bloom and the near exact shade of his eyes. Someone had mixed holly in with the bouquet, the prickly, dark green leaves contrasting beautifully with the red roses and scarlet berries. A small envelope had been hidden amongst the flora, picking it out Yami could see 'Atemu' written on it. Someone had left these flowers for him? Sliding the envelope open the once-pharaoh pulled out the paper within, crimson eyes widening slightly as they took in the poem written in rather elegant script there.

As any doting lover knows

Love's true symbol is the rose

Petals red as heart's desire

Lust and love, blood and fire

Sweat-soaked, tears, anger, hate

Need no other can ever sate

And with the falling of the cold

One day I know you'll be in my hold

The thorns and leaves - the touch on skin

The stinging pain - my touch within

My love, my rose, know all – know this

The bloody berries are my lover's kiss

The whole, your fate, my gift to you

But for now, sweet poison, I bid thee adieu.

Getting back up to his feet Yami frowned, a crease forming on his usually smooth brow. This was no traditional lover's token, nor the sweet hintings of a secret admirer. This was a dark promise…something bloody and foul that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Anger bubbling within him that someone should dare presume the right to him Yami unknowingly gripped too hard on the stem of one of the roses he held, a thorn sliding easily through the soft pad of his thumb.

With a hiss Yami yanked his hand away from the barb, watching a bead of blood bloom on the stabbed digit, crimson as the flowers he shifted to carry in the crook of his arm. He studied the rising liquid silently for a few moments, remembering the lines of the verse he still clutched in his other hand. This gift, though beautiful, was poison. Holly berries were toxic for humans, enough to make you ill, to make you sick. A thousand and one kisses sickly sweet as the sticky berries, enough to kill you?

His fury rose again. Storming back into the house he slammed the door behind him, stalking immediately past a confused Yugi and out into the back yard, throwing his bloody bouquet down on the ground with the crumpled poem on top of it.

Yugi came out to watch him. "Yami, what…?"

The other teen ignored him, working single-mindedly to add wood; the old dry twigs gathered about in the garden; and bits of old newspaper to his pile on top of the flowers. Then, he threw in a match.

The kindling caught nigh instantly, bursting into glorious flames that licked the newspaper and threw crazy, harsh light on the slanting eyes and chin of Yami's face.

Yugi tried again, worriedly leaning on the backdoor's frame. "Mon hitorou no boku…?"

"Go back to your film, Yugi." Crimson eyes never glanced away from the fire, tongues of red and yellow burning away hateful words. "I'll come in shortly."

"…If you say so…" Yugi turned and reluctantly left.

Yami stayed beside the fire, adding more kindling when it looked like the flames would die down before the holly and roses were fully burned away. The heat of the blaze was the heat of his own anger, the snapping dance of the fire the own touch of fear on his heart. Eventually, there was nothing left of anything but ash.

Yami waited a little while, standing in the garden. He breathed out, feeling the wind stir his golden bangs, feeling narrowed eyes fixed on his back. He wasn't sure…was it paranoia, if he turned around, and found it to be true? If there truly was someone behind him, watching him, wanting him, longing for him dead? The itchy, unsettling sensation of alien, cold eyes studying him persisted and so, steadying himself, Yami whirled around.

For an instant, he fancied he saw a flash of white. The faintest blur near the wall bordering the yard gone so quickly it might never have been there – if it had been there at all. Was he going mad?

Still disturbed, Yami gave in and headed back for the house and the warmth of the friendly fire within, the mundane chatter of the television where some poor soul was suffering some festive woe or other. A note met him on the door, in the same slanted script as before.

You look pretty when you're angry flower, can I burn you like the roses?

Swallowing hard Yami snatched up the note, tearing it into little pieces before flinging the scarps to the wind. Stepping quickly inside the house and shutting the door behind him just as swiftly Yami shivered.

His tremors had nothing to do with the cold.