Chapter 4
"In other news, a man walking, and apparently not paying attention while on his business cell phone, strayed too close to a construction site where a tool was dropped or flung, it is as of yet unclear, towards him, making contact with his left foot and slicing the limb clean off. After being rushed to the hospital and being kept for several hours, he was deemed physically okay and not in danger of death by blood-loss or any other ailment, sans the missing foot. There is, of course, no chance of regaining it and the man will have to live with a prosthetic limb for the remainder of his life. We will touch more on this story shortly, after these commercials."
The picture to fade out the news report for the break was an at best sketchy video, clearly taken by a passer's by phone, of the poor victim of the unfortunate incident. It clearly seemed to be a business man, what with a previously clean and pressed suit (now matted with dirt and heaps of blood) and stylized haircut (now ruffled and mussed but recognizably well-kept). This all would have sparked but a pinprick of sympathy within Ryou for the poor man and a bout of queasiness followed by thankful prayers that no such fate had befallen him (but oh how times change and how he now wished for such an easy fate). However, none of these things flew through his mind at the moment, either the sympathetic tug on his heartstrings for the poor soul or the more recent development of the despondent emptiness he associated with his fate and wistfulness for any better one, and that is to say most.
No. Now he wished for either of those options. However he chose not to vocalize his wish as it might be granted in some twisted way and he may forget what he had just seen, and traumatizing as it may be he wanted to recall this.
"Bakura?" he called without looking back. After he had called, in a voice he would have normally reserved for calling someone to his side from another part of the room, he realized it was a pointless endeavor. Bakura had made it clear that he would always be near, would always hear everything.
"Oh good, something I don't have to explain further," Bakura sneered, sitting beside him on the couch. Ryou knew he hadn't been there a moment ago and likely would have questioned it if he didn't have bigger things on his mind.
"Bakura…"
"You've said that already," Bakura pointed out.
Ryou was undeterred though, barely even annoyed. Most of his mind was focussed on this other thing already. And to be fair, it deserved to have his full attention so he truly couldn't be blamed.
"Did you…" Ryou found he had a hard time vocalizing it.
"I've done many things," Bakura remarked easily, leaning back on his hands crossed behind his head, feet propped up on the coffee table. Ryou would have been more put off by this but he was always in that weird half-corporeal state. There probably wouldn't be any footprints.
"Stop," Ryou nearly pleaded, voice hoarse. "You know. You have to."
"I don't have to do anything. Thought I'd made that clear," he said, inspecting his nails.
And Ryou snapped. He stood up and towered over the ghostly figure of his oppressor. He knew it wouldn't help, that Bakura could never be intimidated, but he'd just had enough and anything to help him figure just a bit more than miniscule was desperately needed.
"Stop it! Why do you do this? Always dodging the question or turning it around or just anything to be vague! Just, enough! If I can't have secrets from you than why should you have them from me? If I have to die then why shouldn't I at least get something out of it! If I- I don't- I just-" Ryou broke down, hacking sobs from his now sore throat. He cupped his face in his hands and shook forcefully. "And!" he suddenly shrieked, yes shrieked as it was the closest definition to the shrill noise that erupted from his abused voice box that he could think of. "Stop picking at your nails! You're a spirit! I don't think you can even get dirty! Everything just goes right through you!"
To accent his point, Ryou picked up a decorative ball, one of a few in a nice bowl on the coffee table, and threw it at Bakura. True to form, it went through him.
Bakura's eyes darted to the ball and a miniscule frown marred his face momentarily.
"Fine," he said, glaring at him. His tone was much more bitter and dark then the former teasing and mocking air about him. "Ask your fucking question then. If you can't even get it out, why should I bother answering? You're such a weak-willed wimp. Why was I saddled to something so pathetic?"
Ryou was near steaming. How dare he-no, why think it? It didn't pack enough punch.
"How dare you, you egocentric, manipulative, cruel, evil creature! No, not even that! I can't put my hand through a creature. You're just smoke!"
Bakura was on his feet beside him instantly, tugging a lock of his hair, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to sting. "I can touch you, you insignificant little wimp." He flicked the white silk-like chunk of hair away from him. "You can feel me."
"Just me, though," Ryou pointed out almost smugly. "Don't you think I've noticed?" Bakura's eyes darted quickly to the previously thrown ball. "And I can tell it bothers you."
Bakura gritted his teeth and crossed his arms over his chest in a nearly pouting motion. "Not at all," he said unconvincingly. Seemingly desperate to regain a hold on the situation, Bakura whirled on him so their faces were nearly touching. "Don't go thinking you are so in control. Don't forget that ticking clock. But especially," he purred in a silky but biting voice. "Don't fuck with me. I decide how to make all your dreams come true and this last year will be hell for you if I want it to. You'll be begging for death by the end if you don't start shaping up."
Ryou could feel Bakura's breath wash across his face and yet somehow it had no heat to it. Despite knowing that he was in front of him, there was no warmth exuding from his body. If Bakura hadn't talked and Ryou closed his eyes, he would never know that another person was there. No scent wafted off of him either. It was as though some of Ryou's senses were muted near him.
And apparently Ryou's self-control was muted as well.
"You can go right to hell!" he snapped, poking Bakura in the chest pointedly. Bakura's eyes widened a bit and one eyebrow went up. Ryou wasn't sure why but he suspected he'd be told soon enough. "If I only get one y-year," he faltered a bit, the idea of it still tender, but regained his bearings. "Then the least you can do is make it okay. I don't know about you or what you think but I haven't done anything worth having a last miserable year of life over!" He jabbed Bakura's chest again. "You could stand-" poke- "to be-" poke- "A little-" poke- "nicer!"
Ryou's actions caught up with him then. What was he doing? Bakura stared at him as though he'd gone completely out of his mind, which, to be fair, Ryou hadn't exactly ruled out as a possibility himself.
Before he could reprimand himself, out loud or mentally, Bakura's laughter erupted like a volcanic explosion; loud, booming and projecting unidentified substances.
Ryou backed off and wiped his check clean of Bakura's spit, cringing in disgust and glaring hard at him.
Bakura's teeth were undeniably white and slightly too sharp in the wide, Cheshire cat like grin displayed on his face. His eyes were wide and manic, pools of blood with veiny rivers running into them. Ryou was surprised to find that within the red eyes there were miniscule stripes of blackish brown, likely a product of his own visage having been copied onto another format, and even flecks of gold, though whether these were relevant to his own appearance, Bakura's original, an homage to the gold Ring he was forced to suffer in or something completely unrelated escaped him.
Of course he only noticed all of this because he could swear that their eyes were almost touching, so close was their proximity courtesy of his new counterpart.
"You know, you have a little brave streak in you. Or is it a stupid streak?" he asked, dark mirth laced in every word. Ryou was being mocked and he knew it. Because it mattered little if it was bravery or stupidity because it all ended the same anyways.
It was probably a stupid streak. He was so used to dealing with people that understood him, or people in the literal sense, that he almost couldn't handle Bakura at all. Not to mention any time spent in the company of another was fleeting and temporary. Bakura was going to be there every minute of every day for the next… last… year of his life. Constant and unchanging and simply present. And it pissed him off. So much so that he assumed this was not the last time he would flare up over something so inconsequential as his choice in situational niceties.
"Enough," Ryou said, moving his head back as far as his neck would allow. "I need you to tell me, please," Ryou said, teeth clenching. "Please," he repeated, eyes closing and composing himself after a deep breath. "I think I already know," he admitted. "But I need you to tell me. Did you do that?"
Bakura reluctantly turned to where Ryou had redirected his attention. The news report had moved onto some other inconsequential story to their current predicament, but he would have been a fool not to know Ryou's intent.
"Why do you want to know?" He was buying time and it was so obvious to both of them but he did it anyways.
"I just want to know of it's my fault. Tell me!"
The Ring flashed against his chest and Bakura's grimaced with an audible sigh. Apparently Ryou wanted this more than either of them had known.
"Yes," he ground out between teeth clenched so tightly that they could have crushed concrete.
Ryou sensed his reluctance to tell him had nothing to do with the actual repulsive wish he had granted but more with the loss of power he had experienced in the face of his new host, or 'hikari' Ryou supposed. He chose to focused on this initially because the nature of what he had discovered made Ryou quite morally appalled at himself.
"When did I-" he cut himself off, remembering briefly a point where he had wished such atrocities. "You idiot! I didn't want you to-"
"I know."
Ryou was nearly beyond words, and he suspected that if he had not been brought up in a family where words were often encouraged and intelligence was often rewarded and even recognized within words he may not have been able to speak. As it was, he rarely ran out of words.
"And yet you did it anyways," Ryou hissed, teeth grinding together so hard he wondered if Bakura could hear it.
"Yeah, I did," he said, leaning down a bit to get eye to eye with him. Ryou couldn't help but find it annoying that he had ended up taller than him despite being a darker version of him. What, did being evil just make him taller? If Ryou went around kicking puppies would he suddenly shoot up a few inches? "What are you gonna do about it?"
"Take it back!" Ryou shouted. "You have too! There's nothing I want more."
Bakura barked out a laugh. "Well that just ain't gonna happen I guess. I already told you I don't have to do what you say."
Ryou narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you."
Bakura stared at him darkly. He knew a challenge when he heard one.
"You don't believe me," he repeated, standing back straight and regarding him coolly. Too coolly. Ryou could see right through him. If he lost even the littlest bit of control over a situation or a person then he was, in Ryou's book, done. If he only had intimidation to back him up and fell apart at the first sense of being called out, Ryou wondered if he really would have such a hard time dealing with him after all.
He had nothing on Malik. No layers of depth or hidden meaning or subtlety. Just brute in-your-face intimidation with nothing to fall back on.
"What, hair stuck in your ears?" Ryou mocked. "Yeah that's what I said."
Bakura lifted an eyebrow. "Care to expand on that?"
"Why should I? You never do," he remarked bitingly. "But I'm not like you, I have manners. I guess I will." He grabbed the Ring dangling around his chest and shook it lightly, enough to get the ominous tinkling sound to arise in the room; ominous only because of its representation as a sort of chime to his death. It likely would have been almost pleasant but for what the Ring meant in his life. "I think that you can grant whatever heart wish, or whatever it is, that you want as long as it meets your requirements, which," he stated dryly. "I'm not too familiar with but I am starting to understand. It seems more like selfish wishes to me as opposed to ones from my heart."
"They maybe you're just a selfish person," Bakura said with a smirk.
"Shut up," Ryou growled. "I'm not done."
Bakura rolled his eyes but waved him on.
"Besides, you could probably twist any wish into a selfish one if you wanted to and make me think I'm selfish. I'd almost believe it if I thought you had the subtlety, brain-power or finesse to actually do it." Ryou gave his own smirk, more triumphant than Bakura's condescending one.
"Get on with it," Bakura hissed, clearly annoyed.
"Anyways, I think that if I vocalize one of my 'heart wishes,' no matter which one and if it meets your qualifications, then you have to do it. Sure you can grant any wish but if I strictly ask, no, if I order," he sneered at this, "you to do one, then you have to. As long as it is one of the grantable heart wishes.'"
Bakura had gone rigid and his jaw seemed to be locked in place, likely due to the fact that he'd probably at this point grinded his teeth dull. Could a spirit do that, he wondered?
Yes, Ryou knew it was true now. Bakura was far too easily read.
"I'm right, I know it. If I didn't before then I do now."
"High and mighty little bitch-" Bakura hissed venomously as he advanced but a step in his direction before being cut off by his comparatively more innocent but surprisingly sharp tongued counterpart.
"And what can you do about it? I bet you can't hurt me. I certainly wouldn't want that now would I."
"Funny, isn't it though," he said, voice dropping an octave to sound menacing. Obvious, definitely, but nonetheless effective. "What you do want, even for the smallest of moments." He paced away from Ryou, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly though his maniacal grin signified he was feeling anything but subdued. "Quite a mean streak you have in you. Or maybe it's more of that stupid streak."
"I don't want that-"
"You did," Bakura corrected. "For a moment in time, when a man stepped on a leaf you identified with, you wanted it cut off. More than anything. And nothing you can do could take it back. I can't even do that. Wouldn't want miracles suddenly happening, a man's foot just reappearing. And it's your fault that he'll have to live like this for the rest of his life."
Ryou was brought up short. How awful. Awful because he couldn't deny it.
"But I'm not like that," he said in a shaky but sure voice. "I know I'm not. And you can't twist me!" His voice grew stronger as he continued. "I am not a bad person! I'm not mean or selfish or any of those things! I'm a person. Everybody wants things. Everybody has mean thoughts. It's you," he said, glaring at Bakura. "That is a terrible per-no, spirit. You are mean and cruel and selfish, so those are the wishes you grant. You know what? I hope you're miserable in this life, or non-life or whatever! I hope it eats away at you every day and I hope it drives you crazy!"
With that, Ryou stomped out of the room, infuriated.
Bakura watched him go, thoroughly shocked. He blinked once before shrugging it off. Yes, he indeed had a stupid streak and a mean streak. But a strong one too, or so it seemed.
He glanced down at the decorative ball, still on the couch, and tried to pick it up. His fingers passed through and he frowned heavily.
Perhaps, a perceptive streak as well.
XXX
Malik sat on the steps to his backyard, leaning on his hand that was propped up by the elbow on his knees. Their backyard wasn't big, nothing they owned really was, but it did its job. Isis even had a small garden out in the corner, though she had as of yet to produce a decent return on it. Not at all due to any lack of talent regarding her gardening though. No. It always came back to It.
It always sabotaged her garden in bouts of fury for keeping It from Malik. It blamed Isis more than any other for taking Malik away from It and made no attempt to hide It's rage. It was not stupid though and would not dare confront her directly. Too great was her skill and power and intense control over her millennium item. She had been quite thorough in her learning and training from Rishid and other reading material, any she could find, on the lore, usage and abilities of a magical power so grand. She had mastered her ability, her curse, and conquered it in turn.
Or so she said. Malik was a firm believer that you could never truly conquer a curse like the one attached to the necklace. She made the most of it, more than anyone else ever could; but in the end she could not conquer something that shortened a life. The ultimate penalty for the user was death, regardless of knowledge or power or control. It took your life, little by little, and there was no stopping the ultimate end.
He equated it to smoking a cigarette. Each one, each inhale of the substance, drew you closer to the end. You could research them endlessly and learn everything about them. Learn how to breathe correctly, get the most (or least, depending on your preference) out of any given puff, the proper technique for holding it, the most efficient way of discarding it. Every little detail could be hand-picked down to the finest pinprick of experience, evaluated and manipulated and executed perfectly to form. But what did it matter? It still killed you slowly, ever so slowly, and who could truly conquer death? You could never, ever conquer something that would, and not could but would, kill you. Like a knife through your throat, but drawn out over years.
Still, when saddled with a millennium item, he supposed she handled hers far better than he handled his own; that is to say fearing and avoiding it at all costs. Well, it the item and It the… It, so to speak.
And yet…
"If you keep thinking in circles you might just lose your mind. But that's okay. Trust me, it's not so bad. We could be mad together, my love."
Wards were useful things and generally kept spirits and demons away just fine. Most wouldn't go near a ward as it indicated that there existed in the vicinity someone who understood their nature and likely how they could end their wretched existences. The wards set up by his sister were generally very powerful, as the spirit they dealt with was powerful in turn. Other spirits and creatures of their ilk never neared the city, usually. It was a… special case.
It remained the only creature of non-human being that idly treaded near the wards, their house, even the city. The wards on the house were very strong and as such It could not enter the premises. That meant nothing for the surrounding area though and It was content to sit near to him, as close as It could be without incinerating. The backyard counted, apparently. Funny, he hadn't thought it used to.
"We've been through this, love. I only grow stronger with time."
"Other demons don't seem to," Malik commented flatly.
Marik lay in the grass, head towards Malik, with It's head laying on It's crossed arms, heated lavender eyes staring him down in a gaze hungry and morose, though somehow still manic and excited.
"Others do not have you to fight for. Makes me try harder."
"You're lucky Isis is at the museum or your ass would be so fried right now."
Marik's grin widened a bit, eyes closing from the force of it all. "My heart guides me to you at the best times. Saves us both trouble, don't you agree?"
"I would," Malik said flatly. "If I thought you had a heart." Malik's eyes lifted to the sky in contemplation before staring back at Marik. "Actually no, not even then."
Marik let his head fall deeper into his crossed arms, mouth now not visible. However, somehow his eyes piercing gaze only grew stronger. It was fascinating, in a way.
"I yearn for you day and night," he said seriously, his voice hard and cold. "I can barely stand it when I cannot see you. I ache in places I never knew I had and I have done everything in my power to protect you, to help you. And yet over and over and over you deny me!"
Marik stood up, too fast for mortal eyes to see the motion. He must have been mad then, as he rarely, if ever, did anything that could startle or unsettle Malik. "I have helped you escape fates worse than death! I have protected you from abuse! I have offered you my undying and all-encompassing love!" Back and forth he paced, his movements otherworldly in their grace, as though he were gliding more so than walking. He was a fascinating creature, entrancing even, but it only made him more dangerous.
"I have studied love. I've been alive-" At Malik's look of distaste he paused briefly and huffed a bit. "I have existed," he corrected. "For so long, I have come across it again and again. I wanted to understand it, and now I do! I had thought my years of experience and knowledge would win your heart as I have done everything anyone else would fall for."
Marik turned sharply and was towering over him in a second. Malik knew it frustrated him, how he could stand so close but not touch. Malik was protected by the house wards in his current position and Marik could only come so close. But it was, to be fair, incredibly close. Inches, really. The look Marik gave him, though. Unsettling, to say the least. He may as well have been on another planet by the way Marik looked at him with such hopelessness and longing. Those few inches were worse than any expanse of space to him as the wards prevented him from coming in on a deeper level, one he could not overcome with strength or determination. It was a flaw in his being, an attribute of his evil nature, and the reason he would never have Malik. Both understood the significance of it all too well, though neither were particularly willing to talk about it, due to pride or distaste of the other party respectively.
"I've offered you all I could. My heart, my soul, my life! I have freely given you everything I have to offer, and I know it isn't much, that my collection of material possessions is sorely lacking, but I swear to you Malik, I swear to you," He crouched to eye level with Malik, noses but millimetres from touching. So close. Malik even felt the compulsion to lean out, to let Marik finally do something about the torch he carried so devotedly. "No one will ever love you like I do. You are everything to me, Malik."
Malik stood up abruptly at this point. As he was on stairs he was able to tower over the crouching demon. Until he too stood up and they were relatively eye level with each other.
Malik could not help but be infuriated. His face was even growing red but his eyes were cold and solid as frozen steel.
"You killed my father! Ruthlessly, mercilessly! You murdered him right in front of me! When I was ten! I thought you were my friend, I thought you cared about me." His fists clenched and he bit back a sob. "I know he was harsh sometimes, cruel even. But he was still my dad!"
"And who was it that kept you trapped in that god-forsaken tomb out of some flimsy religious excuse? Who was it that forced you into his ways, to protect ancient bloodied artifacts that had nothing to do with you?" His voice dropped to a gravelly baritone, a horrible edge to his voice full of malice and hatred. "Who was it that carved into your back the words of the ancients? Forced you to endure hours and hours, days of pain and suffering to inscribe you with teachings, allowing it to 'sink in' as it were? That left you bloody and broken on a stone table to heal yourself, never caring about his son?" Marik tried to reach out, only for his hand to be burned ferociously upon near contact with Malik's skin. Isis had not been lax with the wards this time.
"You manipulated me," Malik hissed. "You told me to use the rod, you told me everything would be fine, but you never told me what you were actually going to do!"
"Ouch!"
"Ah, I'm sorry."
"It's o-okay. It just hurts a lot, you know?"
"I can't imagine, little love."
Marik sat on the bed, positioned behind Malik. He carefully dressed his wounds, being as gentle as he could. With an all-consuming rage ready to envelop him, however, he sometimes lost focus. The scars were many and varied, methodical and purposeful in their execution. He gently petted Malik's head for a moment, knowing how much Malik liked having his hair played with affectionately. Malik seemed to thrive off of his affection in general, garnering so little of it from his father. Though his sister was very loving towards him, they did not see each other so often, as Isis was allowed on the surface, above the tomb where they lived to acquire necessities for living. She had a garden there where she grew essential food and in times of desperation had become a grand thief. It was the males' of the family that stayed below to guard the mystical Millennium Items and uphold their beliefs over time and the women were to assist and gather necessities. As she was the only woman in the tomb, she was not often readily available for her brother's needs. But Marik was.
"Mmmm," Malik murmured, the pleasant feelings giving him temporary relief from his pain. "Marik?"
"Yes, little one?"
"How come you always call me that? Like little one, or little love. We're about the same age."
"Not so, little one," he punctuated the nickname with humor and Malik giggled lightly, a soft tingling sound that Marik always enjoyed hearing but even more so now when Malik was in the clutches of so much undeserved pain. "I may look young, but I'm actually pretty old."
"Oh. That's kinda creepy," Malik said, wrinkling his nose.
Marik laughed. "Yes, I suppose so. But when you get to be my age, years lived doesn't mean much anymore." And never anything to demons, he thought to himself.
"Hey Marik?" Malik said, his voice soft and, if Marik was seeing this right, a blush stained his ears. It must have been a bright blush if it could reach that far as Marik could not see his likely blushing face from his vantage point.
"Always questions. If you wish to say something, you don't need my permission. Little love," he said with a grin as an afterthought.
Malik smiled softly, his body shaking with little giggles before being abruptly cut off by a groan of pain. Marik frowned and stroked his hair again, very gently massaging his shoulders with his free hand. "Don't strain yourself, little love."
"Sorry," he murmured. "I just wanted to say, well, umm," he blushed deeper. "Thanks. For everything. Taking care of me and being so nice to me and I just, umm, I really appreciate it."
Mark felt his supposedly non-existent heart melt at those words. Never had he ever had a sweet-hearted child so dependent on him, so caring of him. It made him immeasurably happy, though admittedly in a very twisted and possibly quite terrifying way. To be decades, centuries old and have very odd loving thoughts towards a ten year old was frightening, but more so was the intensity of his feelings, equal parts vehement protective instinct and genuine affection. Somewhere between a father or family figure and a lover. Which was in and of itself more disturbing then he liked to think about. He had not, as of yet, experienced any sexual attraction to the child, though he regarded him as quite adorable in his innocence and eyes that would look more at home on some overly sad looking puppy plushy. He was marginally grateful that he had no thoughts about having sex with a child barely a decade old but it left him to ponder on the extent of his own feelings for him. If not sexual in nature, which would be the norm for most demons as lust was a sinful, common act among humans but especially among the damned, then where did he stand on that line? He assumed, at some point when the boy had grown into himself a bit more, that he would grow to like him in a more sexual way suited to a lover, but for the time being he had no such feelings. He enjoyed cuddling and pampering the boy, certainly. Ruffling his hair or allowing playful and gentle touches. Marik admitted he liked touching the boy, though not in a sexual way. He liked that his touch, regarded with fear by the rest of the world, was so happily accepted and eagerly awaited by his little Malik.
It was love. Or at least, it was a start.
"You don't need to thank me for that. I should be thanking you for allowing it," he said, punctuating the statement with a small ruffling of his hair. Malik looked back at him, confirming Marik's theory of a tomato red blush across his face, and gave him a big, happy grin. But it was of course cut off as the movement seemed to have jarred a cut muscle in his back and he grimaced with his eyes closed, letting out a helpless sob. "Oh, Malik," Marik whispered, pulling Malik into him, so he was curled up in his lap and help him gently, as to not harm him further, but firmly, to cement his presence to the frightened child.
"He's gonna- he-he's gonna-" Malik sobbed out, clutching at Marik's shirt, very reminiscent of Malik's. It would have to be as Marik had become his 'dark half' after he curiously touched the Rod years before. "He want-wants to d-do it again. S-slice d-d-deeper. Make them b-better."
Marik's eyes hardened and he accidentally clutched Malik a bit too hard as he cried out momentarily.
"Ah, forgive me, little love," he whispered, resting his head atop Malik's in hopes of reassuring him. It seemed to work as Malik's whimpers quickly died down to the odd sniffle.
Marik was formulating a plan. Malik was all he cared about, his true obsession. He had never loved before and as such the only thing he had ever loved took precedence above all else. He would protect him, even if it meant dire consequences to their relationship. If he could protect him, it was worth it.
"Malik?" he coaxed, lifting his chin up to look Marik dead in the eye. "I know how you can stop him."
Malik seemed surprised. "How?"
Marik's eyes were so steely cold and yet so completely confident, and his voice reflected that. "Use the rod. Control him to never do it again. I will make sure it happens."
Malik knew he was the Rod's spirit. He knew the rod had mysterious powers over people's minds. He knew that there was a price with every use of it. But, he did not know what the price was.
"Use it? Dad told me never to use-"
"And look what he has done to you!" he bellowed, anger making him nearly salivate. He reigned in his temper though. "You don't have to worry. I'll take care of everything," he said in a comforting tone. "Just take the rod and order it done. Then he won't be able to hurt you anymore. I swear, the price will not affect you at all."
Malik contemplated it. "You promise? I'll be okay?"
Marik smiled softly. "I swear it. No harm will come to you."
"What about Isis?" he said, suddenly looking worried again.
"Rest assured, little love, no harm will come to her either." He cuddled him closer, burying his face in Malik's hair in an attempt to soothe both of them, for different reasons. "I would not hurt someone who cares so deeply for you."
He felt Malik gulp, likely unsure, before he felt a nod of his head. "Okay."
"And you killed him," Malik growled. "Killed my father."
Marik looked so incredibly sad that Malik was a bit taken aback. Something in the memory had obviously triggered it.
"I only wanted to protect you. The price of the Rod is that, for every person you choose to control, one person you care for will die. It had to be someone."
"But you didn't tell me that!" Malik shrieked. "You manipulated me, used me. You led me on so you could kill my father!"
"Is it so wrong?" Marik asked, no, it seemed more like pleading. "I couldn't bear to see you in anymore pain. Your tears, each one, stung my heart. You are the only thing important to me at all. I needed to protect you!" He reached out again, letting his fingers burn more, but ultimately having to pull back before he could touch Malik.
"I know why you did it," Malik growled. "But you didn't care about me when you did it. Didn't care that you were killing a member of my family that, despite everything, I still loved. You lied and manipulated me, good intentions or no. You didn't care about my thoughts or feelings then." He turned away from Marik to hide his tear stained eyes. "And if something else happens, something bad with people I love, what if you do it again? Who would take away from me then?"
"Malik, I would never-"
"But you DID!" He whirled around again. "You did."
Marik lowered his head, his arms dangling lifelessly at his side. "I did. I will not again."
Malik did not lose his anger, not one bit. "I don't believe you."
Marik looked up at him sorrowfully. "There is nothing I can do to change your mind," he murmured, not a question but in knowledge. "I accept that. But I can never stop loving you." He gazed at Malik with pleading, desperate eyes again. "For old times' sake, can I play with your hair? Just once more if never again. I remember how happy it made you, how much you liked it. Please?"
Marik was begging him. Malik was floored. And for something so simple, so small. Something that made Malik happy, not necessarily Marik. At least, not directly. Marik wanted Malik to be happy, it was all he wanted. And it was such a tiny act of affection, one that Malik had so loved as a child.
But he did not waver.
"Leave me, Marik. I don't want to see you again," he growled as he turned and walked back into the house. He couldn't let Marik see how much, deep down, he wanted it as well.
"I can never leave you," he whispered, and it was such a heart wrenching, painful voice that it made Malik stop in his tracks. "I love you."
Malik turned around sharply, but Marik was already gone.
XXX
AN: So, here we go, another chapter. Weird thing about this chapter, the Marik/Malik part is longer than the Ryou/Bakura part. I think I'm slipping into making this more even between the two as opposed to Malik being a sort of subplot. I hope that's okay and that both parts are interesting. Of course I take all of your opinions into consideration so if you want me to cut back on the Malik/Marik or just have generally more Bakura/Ryou, then that's fine, just let me know.
So, the story. Ah, Bakura you sadistic little thing you. I don't want Ryou to seem weak or submissive to Bakura, not really. I want them both to be equals in this with their own personalities. Ryou can be pushed to far and snapped, and in his predicament I think it's normal that he would, and Bakura is the big bad, but not. He's tormented by his past and his non-human self. This is character establishment and development, as well as relationship building, more than anything, so I'm sorry I couldn't add any romance in there.
Malik and Marik, however, are chalk full of twisted dark romance. Despite my attempts to make Marik seem not pedophilic, which I am not into AT ALL so I didn't want it to come across that way, it is supposed to be unsettling. Marik is obsessed, completely. He says it's love, and it sort of is, but he has nothing else to feel anything for so he really goes off the wall with it. You're also not supposed to feel completely sympathetic for Marik, really. He did kill Malik's father. And Malik didn't want him to die. Even if parents can be horrible at times, I think there's still a bond there, to an extent. Especially at a young age, though I believe as we get older we gain more perspective, Malik's just sort of stuck there. I guess feel for whoever you want to and come to your own opinions and moral decisions on this one. Is Marik justified in killing Malik's father because he hurt him due to religious belief? Was it the right answer? Form your own opinion. I'm good with twisted character motivation (I think) but not so much resolving it cleanly. It usually comes out too complex or I make both characters seem in the wrong. Well I guess we'll see.
As always, comments are very welcome. I thank everyone that has reviewed and read this and liked/favorite it. It means a lot to me, it really does. So keep 'em coming! I hope you enjoyed so far and I will see you all in the next chapter.