Oi, sorry for making Isis's lines so jumpy and bumpy. I've been thinking along the lines of essay writing; leave me alone!
Song from the theme song of 'Air', sung by Lia. The song is called 'Tori no Uta', 'Song of the Bird.' I've had this song forever stuck in my head all week. I've always imagined Amane being cheerful enough to sing such a beautiful song. And Ryou's mother as well.
I should give Ryou's mother a Japanese name. So far, I call her "Yale," but that's her English adaptive name that I've given her. I guess it's James Bakura's way of calling her. Maybe her name should be like, Yare or something. Ya-re. Ah! I know. Who likes the name Yae? (Ya – eh) Or Yaeko? (Ya – eh- ko). I better search these definitions first… Yale apparently means an old English moor. O.o
Oh well, more research for me. Wee.
Anyways, Happy Valentines! Read and Review please!
Chapter Twenty-Five:I n My Hand (Are Wishes About to Fly)
Life was certainly getting repetitive to Bakura. Reliving the most excruciating moments in his memory world was harsh enough; but now even little moments with his yami-hikari life were getting awfully repetitive…almost tedious.
Once again, he had gotten an urgent plea from Malik, begging that Ryou needed him. Once again, Bakura swore to the gods, and once again, Bakura momentarily stopped his quest to avenge his villages to aid Ryou, and to clean up Marik's mess.
The things I do for Malik, I swear, Bakura grumbled to himself as he walked through the halls of the labyrinth. I totally better get laid for this one…
As he approached one of the doors to his right, Bakura immediately noticed Isis and Malik walking down the other direction. He leaned against the wall, smirking as usual, and as usual, Malik quickened his pace and greeted him with a hug.
"I'm so glad you're home," Malik whispered into Bakura's chest. The thief chuckled and wrapped an arm around Malik's shoulder.
"Girly hikari," Bakura teased. "You're what, my housewife now?"
A small, half-hearted smirk twitched on Malik's lips, and he gave Bakura a lack-luster shove. Bakura chuckled again, before noticing Malik's distinct drop of enthusiasm.
"Something wrong?" Bakura asked. He slowly trailed his hand down Malik's cheek, brushing away the golden, flaxen bangs. Malik sighed and shrugged.
"Ryou and Marik again," Malik sighed. He leaned against Bakura and closed his eyes. "Sorry for bothering you so much…I know you don't like coming here too often…"
Bakura shrugged. "Whatever for you."
At this, Malik smiled, and he hugged Bakura warmly. "Thanks for coming, Bakura."
Bakura shrugged again, and watched Isis open the door. He momentarily shoved his arm between her and the doorframe, impeding her progress inside. She stilled and slowly turned her head towards him, blue eyes flashing warily. Bakura's eyes narrowed.
"As for your healing method, Isis," Bakura said lowly, "suffice to say that it was rather stupid."
Isis's gaze on Bakura did not waver as she replied, in equal tone.
"Suffice to say that you think like my brother, and for that, your current opinion hardly counts."
Ignoring Bakura's arm, she ducked beneath it coolly, and entered the room. The door shut softly behind her. Bakura's arm fell and he rolled his eyes.
"Women. What's up with them?"
Malik sighed and shrugged. "Isis and Marik got into another argument after Ryou's healing. Isis didn't think Marik was being responsible enough to take care of Ryou properly, while Marik thought that Isis's healing techniques were stupid."
"Well, they kinda are," Bakura said, snorting. "You know what Ryou's like…"
"Yes, I know." Malik huffed and straightened, looking into Bakura's eyes. "Yes, I know what he's like when he has a fever."
"Then bringing back to the place where he was tortured and strapping him down was not exactly the best idea," Bakura retorted. He ran a hand through his hair. "How bad is his fever now?"
Malik sighed and shook his head. "It's really high. Isis said that he couldn't even recognize her when she came for his healing. He could only see Marik."
The Thief King shook his head, sighing. "That's not good."
"What do you mean?" Malik was immediately alarmed. "Is Ryou going to get worse?"
Bakura shrugged, and leaned against the wall, as though tired. "He might."
"He might?" Malik repeated. "He MIGHT?"
"Well, okay fine," Bakura snapped tiredly. "He will, okay? He's going to get worse if he's starting to forget who's who. After this, he's going to hallucinate, and after that, he's not going to be able to tell what's real and what's fake until his fever breaks. There. Happy?"
Malik gave a frustrated sigh, and slumped his shoulders. Bakura immediately noticed the other's upset body language, and apologetically cupped Malik's cheek and leaned his forehead against it.
"Sorry," Bakura mumbled. "Didn't mean to snap at you."
Looking somewhat guilty, Malik shook his head and slouched against Bakura. A sigh escaped his lips.
"I'm sorry too," Malik muttered. "I…It's been really stressing this week…we hadn't even had time to spend with each other."
Bakura snorted and ran a hand up Malik's silky tresses. "Tell me about it. Ou-sama-yo isn't as smart as everyone thinks he is. He's got a one-track mind, I swear. He's been back for a couple of days of his memory world and all he cares about is witnessing the origin of Duel Monsters."
Malik snorted and chuckled, nuzzling into Bakura's throat. "Well, at least we don't have one track minds," Malik smiled, slowly tracing Bakura's jaw. "…Do you think…maybe we can do something…together soon?"
At this, Bakura couldn't help but smile. Malik was right; it had been stressful that week. Perhaps it was time to finally relive moments that they've both neglected for so long.
Chuckling, Bakura slid an arm around Malik's waist, and drew him close. A small smile spread across the blonde's lips before he claimed them with Bakura's, gently soothing along the silky texture of the thief's lips. Bakura moaned softly, kissing the other gently in little pecks, before drawing Malik into a deeper, stronger kiss.
Neither of them was sure what was going on, but a moment later, Isis had opened the door with a rather large slam, breaking their embrace. Startled, both Bakura and Malik instantly broke their kiss, each glaring at Isis accusingly for breaking such a tender moment. The Priestess's eyes narrowed.
"For Osiris's sake, Malik!" she scolded. "Control yourself!"
"But we haven't kissed in so long," Malik whined. He slithered and wrapped both his arms around Bakura's neck, eyes large and pouting. Isis nearly rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"Do you two want to visit Ryou?" she asked, her hands on her hips. Bakura arched an eyebrow, although he was still looking at Isis rather accusingly. The Priestess ignored him.
"How is he?" asked Malik hesitantly.
Isis shook her head and sighed exasperatedly. "I've done all I can, Malik," she exclaimed. "There really is nothing else I can do to make him better. All we can do is wait for his fever to break."
"Anything to help ease his pain though?" asked Malik. Isis shook her head slowly.
"Other than the pills I've given Marik, no…" The priestess sighed again. "Go visit him," she ushered, looking beyond fatigued. "Hopefully he'll recognize some of you now that he's a little better…his lungs are healed now, but they're stiff from the healing. Don't make him talk unless he has to. I'm sure he's having difficulty breathing as it is."
"And his wounds?" inquired Malik, as Bakura leaned towards the door to take a peep. Isis closed her eyes.
"Most of them are healed, though I think the wound Marik bestowed on him is more than likely going to leave a scar. His legs are nearly healed, but they're extremely weak and I doubt Ryou's going to walk with them any time soon. Other than that, he just has his fever."
"Is it a high fever?" asked Malik worriedly. Isis nodded resignedly.
"I think that's his worse ailment at the moment," Isis admitted. "It's dangerous for his fever to be with him for so long. Usually fevers disappear within a week or so, but because of his wounds, his fever is taking a longer time to break."
"How will that affect him?" prompted Malik anxiously. The Priestess bit her lip in thought.
"Based on what you have told me, I doubt Ryou will heal," Isis said slowly. "Unless he is
free from stress or any other wounds, I think he just has a hair of a chance of making it. Other that, all we can do is pray."
"Isn't there something else you can do?" Malik cried. Isis shook her head helplessly.
"His fever is too high! I've tried breaking it, but it's still present! All we can hope is that Ryou will get enough sleep, rest, and food so that he can fight this fever on his own! What else do you want me to suggest?"
"Maybe tying Marik to the bed will help," Bakura cut through. Isis narrowed her eyes and
arched one eyebrow at him.
"Bakura, this is no time for any of your antics…"
"It's not an antic, Priestess," Bakura snapped, his voice coldly accenting Isis's status. "The most logical thing to do is to tie Marik to the bed."
"And why is that?" Isis asked, hands on her hips.
Bakura gave her a flat look. "Because Ryou heals faster when he's in the presence of those he loves."
"Where's the logic in that?" Isis snapped. "Ryou can't even see Marik!"
"Ryou lives on being self-sacrificial," Bakura hissed. "If he thinks Marik is there, he will fight everything and anything to make sure he lives for Marik. That is, if Marik wants him to."
Malik looked appalled. "Of course Marik will want Ryou to live!"
"Care to ask him?" Bakura asked pointedly. He waved his hand at the door. "By all means, be my guest."
Isis quickly wrapped her hand around the knob. She glared at Bakura and forced her voice to be even.
"Thank you, Bakura," she said slowly, "but I think Ryou needs his rest."
"I'll be quiet," Bakura scowled, his voice on the hint of whining.
The Priestess groaned exasperatedly and shoved herself away from the door. Bakura rolled his eyes.
"Women."
This received a glare from Isis. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The
expression on her face a look of obvious pain. Malik regarded her worriedly.
"Sister?"
"I'm fine," she assured, although she looked as though she wished for nothing more than a migraine pill. Malik tentatively placed a hand on her arm. The priestess opened one eye and gazed at her brother with something akin to confusion. Malik's lavender eyes were serious.
"Don't push yourself so hard, sister," Malik breathed seriously. He squeezed her arm softly. "Get some rest. Please?"
The Priestess analyzed Malik softly, as though unsure whether or not to take his face. A soft smile made its way on Isis's usually serious face. Gently, she laid her own hand on Malik's, and patted it gently.
"Of course I will," she whispered back. She tenderly brushed back some of Malik's bangs. "Don't worry about me, brother. I'll be fine. I promise."
Malik gazed at her warily. She smiled comfortingly, and gave Malik a kiss on the forehead.
"Go visit Ryou now," she chided. "I'm sure he'll need some good company."
Nodding, Malik turned towards the door. The Priestess smiled and turned the other way, heading down the corridor. After she had disappeared, Bakura followed after Malik, and both of them entered the room.
When they had creaked open the door, the first thing they noticed was that Marik had not acknowledged them. The former Darkness was standing next to the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, and his expression unseen.
Unsure, Malik fidgeted. He considered knocking softly, but Bakura, not accustomed at all to mannerism, nearly barged his way through and glared at Marik darkly. Marik still did not turn around.
"How is he?" asked Malik suddenly, making sure to keep his voice soft to prevent waking Ryou. He had to grab hold of Bakura's wrist to make sure that the Thief King wouldn't start a Ka rampage with Marik.
Although he responded, Marik still didn't turn around.
"He's getting better."
Bakura arched an eyebrow suspiciously, his red brown eyes lingering at the foot of Ryou's bed, which were the only part of Ryou that could be seen, as Marik was standing in front of the head of the bed. Malik 'mphf'ed in response, unsure of exactly what to say. He longed to blame Marik for Ryou's second emotional attack, but somehow, seeing Marik so subdued seemed to throw Malik off a bit. He had never seen his former Darkness so…quiet…
By this time, Bakura had refrained himself from ripping Marik apart right then and there, and was glaring deeply at Marik from his position. Sighing, Malik gently tugged Bakura towards the direction of Ryou's bed, and eventually, both of them ended up next to Marik and gazing down at Ryou.
Malik gave a disheartened sigh.
Although breathing more evenly than usual, the boy below was still radiating illness. His normally porcelain cheeks were glowing a bright, flushed red, and his normally pale skin seemed to have yellowed in hue. His white hair was a damp mess, strewn across the pillow as he struggled to maintain a peaceful sleep.
Malik gazed at Marik from the side. The Darkness still had not acknowledged them much at all, and was still staring at the boy below him. Although his eyes were narrowed in intense frustration, the Darkness's irises were distant, far away. It seemed as though he were pondering extremely deeply while internally berating himself at the same time.
Bakura finally spoke up, and his voice was certainly not as pleasant as Malik's had been.
"He sure has hell doesn't look better."
Marik's eyes flickered to Bakura sharply, but only briefly before they returned to Ryou's side.
"Not like as if you're here enough to tell," Marik retorted coldly. Bakura's eyes narrowed.
"And what exactly were you thinking when Isis told you she'd be healing him like she did?" Bakura snarled darkly. Marik didn't even flinch.
"Do you expect me to control and command everything my sister does? I had no idea that she was planning to heal Ryou where I had last destroyed his spirit."
Bakura exhaled lowly. "You should have been more responsible, bastard."
Marik's eyes glittered brightly for a moment, though he was still staring at Ryou.
"What would you have suggested, then?" he asked Bakura, forcing his voice evenly through his teeth. Bakura narrowed his eyes.
"There's nothing you really can do, Marik," the thief hissed. "I've already told you what was to be expected if you neglected Ryou any longer."
"Then tell me again," Marik retorted dryly. "Teach me again, oh great wise one." His voice dripped acidly with sarcasm.
Bakura's wrist twitched, and noticing it, Malik quickly soothed his hand over Bakura's fingers comfortingly. The thief calmed his anger down a notch.
"He's been hallucinating already, hasn't he?" Although his voice was calm, it was evidently forced. "Isis said he couldn't even recognize her."
Marik said nothing. Bakura took this as a confirmation and continued.
"After this, Ryou isn't going to get much better," Bakura said flatly. "He's already going downhill. Unless his fever breaks soon, he will be hallucinating and dreaming of nightmares."
"And when he forgets the identity of those who surround him?" asked Marik warily.
Bakura paused. He narrowed his eyes at Marik, and arched one eyebrow. It was strange enough to see Marik actually having no heart to lash out at him in murder, and stranger to see Marik so solemn about Ryou's wellbeing. Of course, this struck Bakura as extremely odd, but when Marik turned to gaze at him evenly in the eye, Bakura knew.
"You're worried he'll forget you, aren't you?" he asked quietly.
Marik instantly reverted his eyes back to the boy in the bed. Malik's shoulders sank in sympathy.
Bakura watched Marik's reaction carefully. It was not expected of to see Marik so silent. In truth, Bakura had somewhat expected that Marik would've lashed out at him defensively, snarled that of course, he cared nothing for Ryou and that he could take Bakura here and now and annihilate the world in one shot…but instead, he was silent.
Bakura narrowed his eyes and looked away. He now had to choose his words carefully. One misinterpreted word had the potential to send Marik over the edge, and when that happened, it could've meant death for Ryou.
Inwardly, the thief sighed. Why was he so attached to his host?
Regardless, something inside Bakura steered him to force the words …'courteously' from his mouth. He was not notorious for his tender moments, and even being slightly civil to the man who had beaten, hurt, betrayed, and nearly destroyed both the Lights made Bakura sick. It made Bakura want to spit at Marik's feet again and possibly beat him to the ground…but for Ryou's sake (and Malik's), Bakura kept his cool.
"You're worried he'll won't remember you, isn't that it?" Bakura tried to even his voice so it wouldn't sound patronizing.
Marik's eyes dulled, and he looked away, staring at the farthest wall from Ryou, Malik, or Bakura. The thief silently sighed and shook his head.
"He'll remember you, don't worry," Bakura tried in futility. He winced. The comforting words sounded so awkward and harsh and flimsy against his lips. He yearningly wanted to wash out his mouth with soap.
Marik raised his head, but once again, neither Malik nor Bakura could see the expression upon his face. When Marik finally spoke, the words from his lips sounded so soft that they were also somewhat awkward and flimsy. In fact, they were layered with a lining if defensive harshness, as though out off all the people he could protect (Ryou mostly.) Marik was mostly trying to protect his pride.
"Thanks for trying."
A couple of shoulders sagged in defeat.
The blue curtains hung silently in the darkness of the apartment. Rubbing his eyes, Ryou stretched a yawn, and deftly brushed his hand against the opening of the curtains. The soft fabric was swept softly away, and Ryou's hand followed through, pushing the window open.
Soft, golden light of sun flittered through the break in the curtains. Wide-awake now, Ryou grinned softly to himself and swung the windows wide open.
A burst of wind greeted Ryou, sweeping the curtains in a magnificent flurry. As Ryou felt the rays of the sun basking his skin, he leaned his head back, his eyes shut in peace. The blue curtains about him swirled and fluttered with flourish, singing with him their appreciation for the spring's morning sun.
Light glowed through the window, basking the formerly dark apartment in a soft, peaceful shade of yellow. Opening his eyes, Ryou brushed the curtains to each side, opening the window as much as he could. He then turned and proceeded to the same thing to all of the windows in his apartment.
Pretty soon, the entire apartment was bathing in a soft, shimmering pond of yellow-gold. Ryou smiled to himself widely and made some tea, before sinking into a couch and watched the sun rise from beyond his balcony doors.
It had been so long since he had found time to appreciate the sun all by himself. He curled his legs to himself in content, sitting comfortably in a small ball on the couch, nursing his warm cup of lemon tea in his hands. Even the grumbling of his yami did not stir him.
Sighing serenely to himself, Ryou leaned his head back, pretending that the rays of the sun were caressing his hair.
"Is he dreaming?" Malik inquired curiously, watching Ryou shift his head towards the side. Marik said nothing.
Bakura's eyes flickered for a brief moment at Ryou's form, and nodded his head.
"It's not a nightmare," Bakura said calmly. Malik looked at him hopefully.
"Is he at peace?"
Bakura shrugged. "I would suppose so. He's not thrashing about or mumbling in his sleep."
Malik gently stroked Ryou's hair. "Poor thing…"
Bakura snorted and leaned against the wall. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked away from Ryou.
Ignoring Bakura, Malik smiled gently on Ryou. Softly, he bent down and fluttered a kiss on Ryou's forehead. Marik's eyes flashed warily, but he did nothing.
"I hope you get better soon, Ryou-chan," Malik whispered. "We'll all miss you if you were gone."
"He'll get better," Marik said shortly. He sat himself down in the seat next to Ryou's bed. "Stupid Light."
"Well, you are going to take good care of him, right?" asked Malik. "Because I was wondering…if you didn't mind, maybe I could take him to Bakura's, and we could both help Ryou….Bakura knows a lot about Ryou's past, afterall…"
"And I don't?" Marik growled. Malik flinched uncertainly.
"Well…just in case if Ryou's…dreaming about something more…family-oriented, I think it might be better if Bakura takes care of him."
"And what family-orientated things would that be?" asked Marik sarcastically.
Malik fidgeted uncomfortably.
Bakura snorted softly to himself and looked away. A soft breeze fluttered by him, and distinctively, he stiffened. Perhaps he was just going insane, but he could've sworn that the breeze had carried the voice of a very familiar one…
Bakura's eyes darkened. The spirits of Kuru Eruna were not exactly the happiest of people, nor the most peaceful of people. But this breeze…this presence…somehow, it calmed Bakura's heart, and Bakura was wary of its presence in such an unknown situation.
In the distance, Bakura heard Malik say, "Well…you know…..family oriented stuff, Marik…"
Marik snorted. "Family…."
The breeze sang softly in Bakura's ear.
"Who the hell needs family?"
The breeze's breath washed Bakura's cheek.
"So what if Bakura can relate…"
Bakura's eyes widened.
"…how's it going to help Ryou…?"
Bakura stiffened so rigidly that he could've snapped. He slowly turned his head to glare at Marik.
The breeze sang.
"kodomotachi wa natsu no senro aruku,
fuku kaze ni suashi wo sarashite
tooku ni wa osanakatta hibi wo
ryoute ni wa tobidatsu kibou wo."
Bakura blinked. He scowled and turned away. Marik glared at him haughtily.
"What the hell was that?"
Bakura snorted in disgust. "Nothing."
"Is it one of your stupid occult crap?" Marik demanded. Bakura's eyes flared.
"You know the language, idiot. You should know what it means."
"And what does it mean?" asked Malik curiously. He looked at Bakura curiously. "What was that?"
Bakura raised a hand and self-consciously rubbed his scar. In the distance, he heard Amane singing, her voice floating so cheerfully as her perfect, Japanese accent bounced about the room.
"The children walk on the railway in summer," Bakura recalled slowly,
"…exposing their bare feet to the blowing wind,
So far away are my childhood days,
In my hands are wishes about to fly."
The breeze swept around Bakura proudly, before lifting.
Ryou turned his head to the side. He smiled warmly as the sun rose even higher. The breeze that had fluttered through his window curled contently around him, as though its air was a spirit itself. Ryou sighed to himself and shook his head. He had always had a strange sixth sense about spirits…perhaps that was why Bakura was so attracted to him…spirit-vessel-command-host-wise.
Ryou remembered how soft his sister's presence had been. For the first time ever, Ryou was amazed that his remembrance of his sister did not weigh his heart with guilt and shame. Usually he blamed himself for Amane's death, but this time, he almost appreciated the presence of his sister's memory…as though Amane was sitting there next to him herself.
Ryou lifted his head, and recalled Amane's beautiful, crisp voice. He remembered how his mother would clap and encourage Amane to continue singing, how Amane would twirl in the crisp breeze of a English spring day, how she would dance with her arms towards the skies.
Ryou smiled to himself, a swell of tears welling in his eyes. He did not let them fall though.
"Kieru Hikoukigumo….oikakete oikakete…"
He lifted his head once more.
"We watched the plane depart…we kept chasing and chasing…"
The tea in his cup shimmered.
"Since that day we've crossed this hill
In order to make it straight…
We will always have kept that strength…"
He pressed his lips to the top the cup.
"Watatsumi no youna….tsuyosa wo mamoreru…yo…kitto."
Marik scowled at Bakura as though the other were stupid. "Don't disrupt us with your pathetic occult crap, thief."
Bakura snorted coldly. "It's sad that you can't appreciate Ryou's life like it is."
"And what the hell does that mean?"
Bakura's eyes slowly brightened menacingly.
"Betcha he's singing that same song in his head right now."
Bakura stuffed his hand in his pocket, and when he retrieved his hand, he was grasping a deep, rich amethyst stone. A coarse leather strap hung from it, intended to be clasped around a throat, wrist, or ankle. He flung it at Marik.
"Here, take it," Bakura snapped. "You should be grateful that I would go through so much trouble to make sure that you will take care of Ryou well. Do you honestly think I'd want to be burdened by him? You're his lover."
Marik caught the necklace deftly. He analyzed it critically before raising his eyes to meet Bakura's. The thief's eyes were a dangerous red.
"Take it," Bakura said again. "It holds most of Ryou's memories that I had transferred from my own experiences. "
"And how the bloody hell does this work?" Marik raised the gem and rolled it in his fingers skeptically. He could sense a familiar dark presence about it.
"Yes, it's Shadow Magic," Bakura retorted. "If you put it on, it will strengthen your link with Ryou that you made with your Rod. When you wear it or activate it, the Shadows will present to you any memories that you'd want to see."
"I'm wary of your makings, thief," Marik retorted. "How do I know this isn't a trick to get me overwhelmed by the Shadows themselves? That you mean to trap me?"
Bakura shrugged. "That's up to you to decide. But if you truly want to take care of Ryou, you'd take that chance. And plus," Bakura grinned wickedly, baring one fang. "You're the master of the Shadows, are you not? You should be able to control them."
Marik scowled at Bakura so darkly that it seemed as though Marik's whole face had darkened. Cursing the thief, Marik promptly tied the thing around his wrist, making sure that he could see it in plain view. He held his wrist out and brandished it at Bakura.
"There. It's on. Happy now?"
Bakura grinned wickedly and turned away.
A soft knock interrupted Ryou. Blinking curiously, he stood up from his couch and headed towards the front door. The knock genuinely surprised Ryou…in fact, it somewhat scared him. No one ever came to his place. Never.
Nervous, he took a deep breath, hoping that he couldn't sound too contrived when he asked, "Who's there?"
The person on the other side of the door said nothing. Ryou fidgeted and slowly slid the bolt open. He opened the door a crack and peeked through.
"May I help…"
His eyes widened. The man on the other side of the door nervously averted his blue eyes and sheepishly scratched the back of his long hair. An archeologist's hat sat on his head, his hair in a ponytail behind the nape of his neck. The features may not have been easily recognizable, but both his and Ryou's blush were identical.
They even had the same hesitant, sheepish, shy glance.
James Bakura raised his head. Ryou gaped.
"Dad…?"
With all his heart, Ryou hoped that Bakura would not bother him. The last thing he wanted was to go rampage on his own father…especially for the first time since Mother and Amane had died.
James Bakura sat nervously in his kitchen seat, watching his son bustle about the cabinets, searching for another cup for some more tea. His heart twinged as he saw his …son…flourish about the kitchen like so…his long white hair, his large, effeminate eyes…when James first saw him through the crack in the door, he could've sworn he saw his wife behind those doors.
But now that James finally had a decent look, he noticed that…the boy in front of him not only resembled his mother, but now held some features of James himself. Still effeminate, Ryou's shoulders held a bit like James' did…quiet, shy, distant. His stance was almost like James's as well…Yale had been very curvaceous, very delicate, very elegant. As much as Ryou was all that, he had that boyish tinge to everything he did…the same dull, blank, boyish tinge that James used to do when he was a teen.
James fidgeted nervously again. He averted his eyes when Ryou placed a mug of tea before him, and sat himself across from James. James was about to lose his courage and just leave, but Ryou's soft voice…almost like Yale's soft voice…startled him.
"What are you doing here, Dad?"
James widened his eyes. After all these years, Ryou still called him 'Dad'?
James cleared his throat. "They said I was working too hard…they told me to retire for a while."
Ryou nodded softly. "Oh." His eyes looked up at James again. "Well…you didn't have to come home…you could've traveled a bit, if you wanted…"
James was incredulous. He raised his head and looked at Ryou unsure. The boy before him was blushing shyly, but his eyes held the same brightness that James had fallen in love with.
"Well…I just…thought I'd…drop by," James mumbled. The bridge of his nose turned pink. Ryou smiled tentatively.
"Well…that's great that you've come," Ryou said softly. His eyes diverted back to his cup. "I…I missed you. It's…wonderful to see you again…otoou-san…"
James flinched. Ryou immediately turned bright red and quickly stood, nearly spilling his tea.
"I…I'm sorry," Ryou mumbled, his bangs hiding his eyes. "I…I'm sorry…I didn't mean…"
He cleared his wavering tone and quickly pushed his chair in. "Excuse me…"
Before James could stop him, his son quickly disappeared out of the kitchen.
An hour later, James still had not left. As much as he wanted to, the emptiness of the apartment overwhelmed him. There was still a master bedroom for him, still a piano in the corner…still the pictures in his room of his excavations.
But everything else…everything else that was Ryou's…was blank. There was nothing left. Even Monster World, the game that James had forgotten Ryou loved so much, had been put away. Despite his guilt, James even somewhat hoped that Ryou had kept the ouija board that James had carved for him so long ago…but even that was not in sight.
He wanted to walk away so much, wanted run away from the son whom reminded him too much of his wife and daughter…he wanted to wallow in his loneliness again, but…
Yale had loved Ryou so much…James remembered watching her cradle him, a small little boy, in her arms, sing to him songs and lullabies that James never heard of. He remembered how when Ryou cried and would not stop crying, Yale would hold him tight to her, and silently cry with him. He remembered her long, white curls, being tugged upon by Ryou's little baby hands, his eyes wide in wonder as he brought the strands to his eyes and stared at them curiously.
Yale had loved Ryou so much…James was sure that she would've died to save Ryou from any harm.
James shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Yale…what would Yale have thought, if she saw him neglecting her favorite son? How Yale would be so disappointed in him if she knew that in his heart, he ran away from his son, the pain of seeing him so great that James was afraid? That James was too selfish to wallow in his own misery that he left his son at the age of nine and never came back ever?
That James even, at some point in his life, blamed Ryou for being the only survivor in that car crash…
James felt as though he could've cried. He wanted to have his wife and daughter back so badly… the loss was too great… why couldn't he have lost Ryou as well, so that his torment could've been completed?
A soft violin played in the distance. James wanted to cry. It was Ryou's violin, he knew it…the violin he gave to his son when he was three…
Yale would've hated him, James was sure. His son was going to be a man the next year…going to Oxford as one of Japan's top students, going to go to the home where James had kept him away from, in the prison that had been his wife's memory…
And James would never see him again…
Silently, James knocked on Ryou's door, and opened it a crack. The violin's strings abruptly stopped in a halfhearted squeak, and James peered through the crack in the door. Ryou was sitting on his bed, the violin in his hand, and the Sennen Ring on his chest.
James was struck with guilt once more. His son loved him so much that up until now, Ryou would always wear that scary, bulky thing?
James opened the door wider and nervously stepped in. "Hey…could I…come in?"
Even his English accent was identical to Ryou's.
Ryou nervously nodded his head, and for once, James saw the clarity of loneliness in his son's eyes. They were emotional, like Yale's, distant, like Yale's. But Ryou…his eyes shone memories of darkness that James was sure he caused, and dared not tread again.
He gently shut the door and slowly sat himself on Ryou's bed. He smiled weakly at the violin in Ryou's arms.
"You…still play really nicely," James said weakly. Ryou looked away and tucked the violin underneath his bed with shaking hands.
"…I…I'm sorry," Ryou mumbled softly. James heard the wavering, tearful tone, and his heart twanged again.
"It's okay," James lied. Ryou would not look up.
"I'm sorry…it…it was habit," Ryou mumbled. "I…I've been living in Japan for so long…it…it rubbed of…I'm sorry…"
James fidgeted again. "Well…don't be…you…you could call me otoou….otoou-san if you want…" He forced out the word, some part of him in misery at the remembrance of his daughter, and some part of him hating Ryou for tarnishing what memory of the daughter he once had. Only Amane had called him byhisJapanese title. Ryou apparently, felt this, and did not reply. James sighed.
"Well…um…." He took a deep breath and saw a tear course down Ryou's cheek. Immediately, James was alarmed. Never before had he made his son cry. Ryou sniffled and shook his head.
James was alarmed, and for the first time in a decade and a half, he was concerned. Oh crap…he made his son cry! He made Yale's son cry!
"Hey…come on," James tried in futility. "It's okay…really…I… I'm sorry I came, I shouldn't…I shouldn't have just popped that on you…" He unsurely laid a foreign hand on Ryou's shoulders. "Hey…come on…don't…don't cry…"
Ryou's shoulders shook in silence, and James grew increasingly worried. He made Yale's son cry!
James winced. "Oh come now…don't cry…you're a boy, a man…you…" James winced, remembering that he too, was a boy, a man, and that he had cried equally hard for his wife and daughter. It then struck him that Ryou must've cried too, someone as emotional as Yale was…and yet, he had never seen Ryou cry.
His son was stronger than him. Instead of father caring son, James realized that coming home, his son was actually caring him.
"Oh…come on…don't cry…" He unsurely patted Ryou's shoulder. "Come on…I…I…" James gave up helplessly. "Come on, Ryou…"
The son before him continued to sob quietly. As a last ditch attempt, James wrapped his arms around Ryou's shoulders.
The boy momentarily stilled, and James was wondering how his body could've down something without his mind's consent. He hadn't held his son in so long…in fact, he couldn't even remember holding his son at all. Yale was always the one…he was always holding Amane…
James desperately wanted to bring up the idea of his wife, knowing now that Ryou must've suffered through more than he did. At least, James knew he had a son somewhere on the other side of the world…Ryou, to Ryou, at age nine, losing a father to an archeology dig was equally as bad as losing a father in a car crash.
James found himself petting Ryou's hair, trying his best to imitate his wife. Ryou's shoulders shook once more, and James bit his lip.
"You're graduating this year, right?" James asked. Ryou nodded weakly. James fidgeted again. "Well…I…I won't be excavating for…another year….would you want me to come…for your graduation?"
Ryou momentarily stilled. From his shirt, James could feel Ryou's mouth gaping open in surprise. He looked up to the sky, imagining that his wife was looking down upon him, nodding her head in encouragement. He imagined that Amane shot him a thumbs up, grinning as he continued to hold his son like an actual father.
Smiling despite his wounded heart, James pulled away from his son. He raised his son's face and looked at Ryou in the eye, although the boy looked away. James brushed a bang away.
"You look just like your mother, do you know?" James asked softly.
you's eyes flickered and more tears swelled in his eyes, but James decided that this was the time to finally overcome what he and Ryou had been running from.
"I look at you," James said seriously, "and I see your mother. Your eyes are just like hers. You hair is just like hers. Your skin and even the way you talk…are like her." James closed his eyes in a pained way, trying to control himself so he wouldn't cry in front of his own son. "But…you are like me…too…" James grinned at Ryou weakly. "You play the violin like I do, and you even blush the way I used to when I was your age. But your strength…"
James tucked a lock of white hair over Ryou's ear.
"…is like your mother's."
Ryou's eyes flickered and glowed, and unintentionally, he raised them to meet James in an incredulous, gaping look. James's weak smile grew stronger.
"I know I've been a….bad father," James admitted, "…but if it does make you feel any better….I see you now and I…I'm proud of you." James patted his son on the head. "And…if you want me to…I'll be there for your graduation."
Ryou's eyes widened, if possible, even more.
"Promise?" Ryou whispered. "Will you really, Dad?"
Once again, James felt that pang of pain in his heart, but he nodded. Somewhere in the heavens, he was sure that Yale and Amane would've been proud to finally see him muster up the strength to care for his son…even it was a late, and pathetic start.
But it was a start none of the less.
He nodded his head and embraced his son awkwardly, as a father would. Even though he had not seen his father in so long, Ryou sank in James's awkward embrace, and cried silently against his father. James patted his son on the back.
"I promise…"
He held Ryou closer, and for a moment, he could even smell the former scent of Yale upon her son.
"…my son."
"Take care of Ryou, okay?" Malik asked urgently to Marik. The darker Egyptian scowled darkly.
"I will, I will."
"Great." Bakura grabbed Malik hand and headed for the door. "Come then, Malik. The night's still young."
"But, I didn't say goodbye to Ryou!" Malik protested almost already out the door.
They had been standing by the doorframe for a while now, prepared to leave. Malik was about t finish his goodbyes when Bakura snatched his hand and tried to stalk out of the door. Marik couldn't care less, either way.
"Take care of him for me!" Malik called, as he was nearly dragged out the door. "Use the thingy Baku gave you!"
"I won't need it," Marik snarled. He stared at the sharp, angular gem critically on his wrist.
Bakura had already disappeared, and Malik was just about to be pulled out of sight. He gave one last wave and disappeared.
"Tell me if anything goes wrong, Marik!"
And with that, they were gone.
The day was dark, and gloomy. Normally, Domino wasn't this dark and dreary, but Ryou supposed it was for the sake of the mood. He stared at the new tombstone, the coffin before him encasing the last of the only relatives he had.
The newly dug rectangular hole was ready for its occupant. Its sides were damp form the rain, the grass thriving and hungry to decompose the one within the coffin.
Ryou lowered his head and stared at his black gloves. His black pants, his black suit, the black ribbon that tied his hair in a ponytail like his father's. A priest stood next to the tombstone, his balding hair wet from the rain and his heavy English accent depicting the journey Ryou's father was expected to take.
He had graduated with high honors, sure. He had graduated with one of the world's biggest scholarships. He had the girls in the front row squealing for him, the dean's handshake, and even plaques depicting his success.
But he didn't have his father there.
Strangely enough, Ryou didn't cry a lot for this funeral. He supposed that he had mostly shed nearly all his tears on the initial shock when he received the call from the hospital, stating that his father had been in an extreme accident and was not likely going to survive. Ryou had done everything he could to help his father, but his father had been in Arabia, on his 'last trip' with the English Archeology Council.
'I'll be back,' his father had said. 'I promised I'd be there for grad, right?'
Ryou looked at the floor, not even realizing that the priest had finished and that the workers were already lowering the casket into the hole. Ryou hadn't had the courage to open the thing. His father had been in an extreme accident…to be truthful, Ryou wasn't even sure if his father's face was even remotely intact any longer.
Strangely enough, Bakura did not spite him for his loss. In fact, the Sennen Ring hung limply beneath his shirt, as though it had nothing to say.
'You broke your promise again,' Ryou thought to himself a he heard the sound of scraping dirt and metal. He raised his head and his eyes drifted to all the other tombstones next to his father's…Amane's…and Mother's.
When the casket had been fully buried, Ryou placed a bouquet of roses on his mother's grave, a bouquet of buttercups on his sister's, and a bouquet of lilies for his father's. Ryou didn't want to think about who'd be there when he was buried next to all of them. Probably no one. He was the only one for today's funeral, anyway.
The priest cleared his throat and returned his glasses to his pocket. He coughed and shook his great head, as though relieving himself of heartburn. He looked at Ryou but said nothing in respect to Ryou's mourning.
Feeling that pitying gaze, Ryou straightened to his feet. He wished he could've said something meaningful, some wondrous speech about his father, but nothing came to mind. All he could be thankful for was that he saw his father one more time, but this time, Ryou was sure that he would never hope again.
Everyone was gone.
Mother, Amane, Father…
Marik…
Ryou's heart ached and a tear rolled down his face. Marik… that loss had been the worse for Ryou.
He quickly wiped that tear with his gloved hand, and turned away from the priest. His heart ached and his shoulders slumped, but Ryou did not care. What else had he had to live for?
Ryou walked away from the cemetery.
Sensing Ryou stirring, Marik stepped back and returned to the bedside. Finally. Malik and Bakura were gone, which meant he could spend some decent time with Ryou. Although Marik wasn't exactly the most sensitive person alive, he wanted to at least make sure Ryou was emotionally well after all the trauma he had been through.
Marik recalled the shadows and their deceptive manipulation. He had nearly lost Ryou that time, and he was certain that it would never happen again. Love or no love, Marik could not let Ryou die, no matter what the circumstances.
Unless you hate him, the shadows whispered in Marik's ear. Unless you want more than what you have now…he hates you, Marik. He fears you. He lies to you…
Quickly, Marik shut out the demonic voices that tickled his ears and watched Ryou awaken. The boy slowly opened his eyes, blinking tears away, his face in the expression of utter defeat and misery.
Marik looked down up Ryou with concern.
"Are you alright?"
It took Ryou a moment to realize who was talking to him, and when he finally recognized Marik's features, he nodded weakly. Frowning, Marik pressed his wrist against Ryou's forehead, noting the increase in heat. When Ryou spoke, Marik immediately noted the wavering, thick voice.
"You…came back…for me…"
Marik momentarily paused in his ministrations, and averted his eyes downward to meet Ryou's. Although Ryou looked too weak to smile, his eyes glimmered with tears of thanks, of appreciation. Marik slid a hand beneath the covers and grasped Ryou's hand.
"Yeah…yeah I did."
Ryou's eyes glimmered again, and he summoned all his strength for a smile. Marik responded with a wry smirk of his own, and brushed away a bang from Ryou's eyes affectionately.
"I promised, didn't I?"
Ryou's deep, chocolate eyes brimmed with tears, but Marik wasn't sure if they were tears of thanks, happiness, or mourning misery.
"Yeah…" Ryou whispered distantly. "You promised…"
With a soft sigh, Ryou's eyes fell shut. A drop of tear escaped when his eyelids fell, and trickled down his cheek. His lips were in a soft, slightly parted position, and Marik could hear the younger own taking deep breaths from his lips.
Marik brushed the tear away. The white-haired boy nuzzled Marik's hand weakly, his expression falling sleepier and sleepier.
"Are you breathing better?" Marik asked softly, not wanting to disturb Ryou now. The white-haired boy nodded slightly.
"A…bit better…"
"And your fever?" Marik whispered. He brushed Ryou's bangs away slowly, tucking them behind Ryou's hair. Ryou winced slowly, as though such a simple response took a great deal of strength.
"…I…feel…" Ryou winced again, just as slowly as last time. "…so tired…"
"Hot?" Marik guessed. Ryou nodded a fraction, his head twitching somewhat as he fought to control his body from the ailment.
"H-hot….tired…" Ryou sucked in a slow, uneven breath. "…can barely….move…"
"Your legs are healed now," Marik said softly. "And so are your wounds. After a few days, I think you can walk again." Ryou sucked in another uneven breath.
"Really…?" Ryou whispered sleepily. Marik nodded and hushed the other softly.
"Yes….really." Marik found himself slowly stroking Ryou's hair. "Really."
Ryou sighed again, his head limply turning to the side. Marik again brushed Ryou's bangs away, but this time, he slowly draped a cold, wet cloth onto Ryou's forehead. The boy winced slowly again, but relaxed beneath Marik's comforting hand.
"Better?" Marik breathed.
Ryou nodded and inhaled shakily once more.
"Better…"
Marik nodded slowly.
"Go to sleep…" He hushed Ryou softly. "You've had a rough day today."
Ryou nodded weakly. He opened his eyes for a moment, blearily focusing them on Marik. He summoned another weak smile.
"Thank you…Marik…"
Marik's former smirk turned smile. He bent down low so that his nose and Ryou's were almost touching. Ryou giggled tiredly and poked his nose against Marik's. Marik's smile grew.
"No problem." He gently nuzzled Ryou's nose. "I won't go."
Despite his fever, Ryou's face glowed graciously. Although he was too weak to say it, his smile showed his gratitude beyond any words, and softly, he kissed Marik on the nose.
"I love you…"
His voice trailed off into sleep, and softly, Ryou slumped against Marik's shoulder. For a moment, Marik was unsure of what he just heard, daring to believe it. Ryou had sounded too sleepy for it to be truly sincere…at least…that's what Marik thought…
Still, despite all that, Marik slowly hooked an arm around Ryou's shoulders. When he was certain that Ryou was deeply in slumber, Marik rested his chin against the crown of Ryou's head.
I love you too.
And so starts another romance with Ryou and Marik. Of course, there will still be….um..two more chapters of angst, although either the next one or the one after that will have Thief Bakura / Malik. It's just getting really steamy, so I'm trying to tinker it out so that Marik and Ryou won't get so much attention.
Bakura's random song was weird, but it will all turn out good in the end. There's a song Ryou sings to Bakura too soon, but that'll be like, three, four chapters later.
This chapter was actually rather good. I've been on an inspirational streak this week. I hope it lasts until next week too.
Anyways, happy Valentine's day! Read and review tons!
And thanks to starskittle410 for beta-reading!