Yu-Gi-Oh! 5Ds

White Chocolate Raspberry

By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! This takes place pre-Crash Town arc. I felt like experimenting a bit with a bit of a darker Radley, but one who is still inherently good as I honestly see him and believe is a canon-compliant possibility. I intend for this to take place in my usual verse. It was an interesting experiment and also gave me a chance to work more with Barbara. Considering her behavior in canon, I could definitely picture her pulling something like this.

The desert was cold at night.

He leaned on the side of a building, staring off into the distance. The wood was new and unsplintered against his leather-clad back, but the air carried a chill that nipped his skin. He let his hair blow into his face for a time before he reached to sweep it back.

The diner was still well-lit, with the Bunch engaging in a long celebration of life and love and togetherness. Usually he was right there with them. He was the life of the party, Scotch had told him many times. And he would need to go back soon or he would be missed. But for now, he had needed a quiet moment.

The war had been long and hard. It still raged every night as it had for years, with he and Malcolm each putting up a Duelist to fight to win new labor for the dyne mine. The rumors continued to persist that Malcolm was torturing his miners. Nothing could be proven, especially with the town held hostage as it was. Trying to stop Malcolm only resulted in injuries or disappearances or worse. He had to just keep fighting on and pray that a strong Duelist would eventually come along who could fight until Malcolm was beat.

Everyone looked to him to fix this. He was the leader, the hope. But . . . did he deserve to be? Had he become too caught up in the promise of the wealth in the mine, or was he mainly concerned to seize control in order to protect everyone?

Maybe it was a combination of both. He loved money and power, but not entirely for superficial reasons. Like it or not, one had to have money to really get ahead in the world. With the right amount of money, he could ensure a secure future for the Bunch and the town as well as himself. But even knowing that, he felt cold and bitter tonight.

If he was really a good leader, why couldn't he have ended this war years ago? Why had it dragged on and on, sending so many people to the mines and earning the town various dark nicknames such as the City of the Lost? Death hung in the very air. Occasionally there were mining accidents, but that wouldn't account for the sheer number of graves in the cemetery. The rumors about Malcolm were likely true, and he was stuck.

"I can't fix this," he muttered to the night sky. "I can't. I'm no hero."

To some people he was a villain, just as bad as Malcolm if not worse. They believed he, too, tortured his miners. They thought every vile thing possible about him and his habits.

And what did they base their opinions on? A bit of leather and jewelry and a motorcycle? Maybe thinking his diner served alcohol to underage patrons? Or just the fact that he was caught in this war with Malcolm and furthering it? He had been called everything from a bar rat to a male whore. He didn't try to refute the gossip because he'd seen it was useless and people would believe what they wanted. He'd seen too that it was the naughty people who seemed to get ahead in life, so he had also let the rumors stand for that reason. If he wasn't seen as a nice guy, maybe that would protect him, give him power as it did Malcolm. But he was disgusted with the whole lot of it. He wasn't what they thought. He didn't understand why they couldn't see from his actions that they were wrong.

He was so lonely. That was a strange and even selfish thing for him to think, when he was surrounded by people. But they were all kids; he couldn't fully confide in them. He couldn't tell them of how he hurt every time one of his men was taken to the mines or how ill-equipped he felt to cope with all of this. They needed to keep as much of their childhoods as they could. He would just have to bear his burden alone.

How had things ever come to this? He was just a sheltered kid kicked out of his home and forced to grow up and fend for himself. He wasn't sheltered anymore, but compared to someone like Malcolm his slate was still snow-white. Not that much of anyone really understood that or believed it. He was a motorcycle punk, so of course he was worldly. Of course he had been around.

Even though he wasn't and he hadn't.

He took a small bag out of his pocket and absently started eating one of the white chocolate raspberry sticks Scotch had given to him earlier. He had to laugh when he really considered the candy's shape. From a distance, it would no doubt look like he was smoking a cigarette. That was one more bizarre rumor about him that he didn't understand at all. He never smelled of smoke except the exhaust from his motorcycle.

"Out late tonight?"

He started at the sound of the voice. Barbara was just coming out of the combination flower shop and lingerie store she owned. The crude name overlooking the street referred mostly to the name of the lingerie store, but everyone was so used to it that they thought of it as referring to the flower shop as well.

He kept leaning back against the wall, his head back too, and looked at her in a rather withering manner. "Looks like we both are." He finished the candy stick and slipped the rest in his pocket. Barbara was supposed to be neutral in the conflict, but he wasn't at all sure she was. Something just felt off about her, no matter how sweet she made her voice sound.

"It's unusual to see you without all your attack dogs," Barbara remarked.

Radley considered the Bunch his friends, but he wasn't sure he wanted to bother pointing that out to her. He doubted she really cared anyway.

"The Bunch is having a party. I'm going back in a minute," he said at last.

"You are? You look more like you're lonely . . . hungry for something those kids can't give you," Barbara said.

Well, can't wasn't really the right word, as Radley knew they would all jump to try to comfort him if they knew he was discouraged. But he still didn't want to burden them.

"I do, huh?" he said noncommittally.

"Mmhmm. I can tell. You see, I'm actually a lonely girl," she said.

Now that was a line if he'd ever heard one. But he just said, "Oh?"

"Yes." She went over to him. "You can't imagine how hard it is on a girl when she's always judged to be a gold-digger or a slut."

He was still wary. Barbara had never shown any interest in him before. Maybe this was all an act for some reason. Maybe she was gold-digging now. He didn't want to be a hypocrite and judge her when he'd just been thinking of how he was always misjudged, but he wasn't a fool. He didn't trust this woman.

"Do people have any reason to think such things?" he asked at last.

"Just . . . superficial things. My revealing clothes. The name of my shop." She touched the earring in his left ear. "It's the same with you, isn't it?"

"Is it?" he said vaguely. "Maybe with me it's actually the truth."

"Oh, I don't really believe that," she purred. "I see how you look after those boys. They idolize you. They couldn't love you if you were bad, could they?"

"Bad boys seem to get a lot of love," he smirked.

She draped her arms around his neck. "True, I guess. But we're both still lonely, aren't we?"

"Are we?" He still wasn't at all sure what to make of this. What did she want?

He tried to ignore that his heart was picking up speed. He liked being held like this, and yet it reminded him too much of his ex-girlfriend Brittanie. She had brought him nothing but pain. He didn't trust Barbara, so it was unlikely she wouldn't do the same thing. He loved physical contact, thrived on it, but not for any lustful reasons. He just wanted to feel warm and loved. He still felt cold here. To watch her now, she almost seemed like she knew of his sorrows and struggles in the past and wanted to commiserate with him . . . but he didn't think so.

Barbara leaned forward, whispering in his ear. "There's no need for us to feel as lonely as we do tonight. Why don't you come upstairs at my place?"

He reached up to pull her arms away, but hesitated. "Upstairs?"

She gave him a sultry smile. "We both know what's up there, don't we? It's not just a lingerie shop. We're grown-up; we can take it."

He sneered at her, even as she ran her hand down his cheek. "Yeah, I don't think so," he said.

"You want to. I can see it in your eyes." She moved closer, starting to lightly press her upper body against his chest.

Did he want to? It would feel so good to get the burden off of him, to share it with someone. But she wasn't much interested in talk. Her offer was only physical. He had never thought she of all people lusted after him, but here she was. From the look in her eyes, she was hungry for a good-looking man and she had a plan.

Suddenly it was Brittanie he saw standing there and not Barbara. He saw his ex-girlfriend reaching for him, caressing her hands down his shirt, letting herself feel every outline of his well-toned body. Then she was moving her hands again, lowering them, reaching for the belt on his leather pants. The illusion faded and it was Barbara, not Brittanie, who was grabbing for him.

He grabbed her hand instinctively, without warning. "You're reaching too low and moving too fast, Chickie-Baby," he scolded.

She scowled, jerking her hand away. "Just what is it with you anyway?" she snapped. "Anyone can see you're lonely and sad. Usually people in that state are easy prey."

"I might like to have an intellectual conversation with someone," he replied. "But you're not thinking of any such thing, are you? For you it's all about getting a guy into bed."

She was still fuming to have actually been stopped and turned down by someone. "That's the inevitable conclusion, even if there is a conversation first," she retorted. "Why fight it? You've been around. There's no way you're a virgin."

He sneered at her. "Oh? You have some way of telling that now?"

"I know men!" she snapped.

"So we all fit into little cookie-cutter patterns and we can't ever break the mold? That kind of attitude is just as tiresome and worn-out regarding men as it is women." He boredly swept his hand through the air.

"First you act like you are worldly, now you deny it!" Barbara snapped.

"I didn't trust you from the beginning," he pointed out. "It sounded off when you started talking like you thought I was a good boy, so of course I didn't agree with you. Now you've shown your true colors. You never really believed that; you've thought I was an easy mark all along."

"And you expect me to believe you're not!" she fumed.

"I don't expect you to believe anything," he remarked. "But we are clearly not lonely for the same things, so I would greatly appreciate it if you would leave me alone. There are plenty of guys like what you want in Malcolm's Crew."

She gave him a dark smirk. "Most of the good-looking men in Malcolm's Crew are the young kids. You're the best-looking adult guy in town."

He grinned and flipped his hair over his shoulder. "Oh, why, thank you."

"Everyone in town talks about you," she informed him. "You're one of the most powerful people here! You could have anything you want, you know."

"Anything I want?" He spoke mildly. "Really? Or would that be anything you think I want?" What he wanted was a confidante, a best friend, someone to share everything with so he wouldn't have to burden the Bunch. He wanted . . . to not have to be strong all alone.

She glowered at him. "I could help you, you know! I know things. If you wanted to play the game my way, I could help you overthrow Malcolm and then we could share Crash Town together!"

"You know things?" He still spoke mildly, seemingly unaffected. "What kinds of things?"

"How to prove what happens in Malcolm's part of the mine. How to stage secret attacks on him and his men so they wouldn't have any chance to get out of it! How to make sure he can't keep hold of his control on this town!" She stepped closer to him again. "If you're such a bleeding heart, then think about what that would mean for your boys. For those waifs pining for their father. For this entire town!" She smirked darkly. "And I know you like money and power too. You'd have it all."

"And all I'd have to do is play hopscotch under the sheets with you and promise you what? Half the town?"

She leaned in to kiss him. "Something like that."

His mind was racing again. He didn't think he could trust Barbara, but . . . maybe if what she was after was the town, she would follow through with everything she said. Maybe she'd think she could then quietly wrest his part of the town away from him and have it all to herself, but if he was wise to her plots, he could make sure that didn't happen.

He owed it to everyone, didn't he? The Bunch . . . Nico and West . . . all the miners. . . . He could sacrifice himself and save the town. He'd still have his money and power too, so he wouldn't be giving up everything.

Just his virginity. . . . And his honor. . . .

When he had realized Brittanie only wanted him as a sex toy and didn't even care about him, he had ended their relationship. His virginity was something that could only be taken once and then it was gone for good. He didn't want to lose it in such a meaningless way.

But . . . this way . . . maybe there would be a point to it.

Maybe . . .

He might wake up the next morning and feel dirty and wish he hadn't done it, but it would be too late to change what he had done.

Maybe it would be an amazing experience as some said. Maybe he would like it. Maybe he wouldn't regret it under the circumstances.

But . . .

It wasn't what he had wanted.

He had lost so much of himself through the years. He had been so innocent, so naive, in the past. He had learned over and over that life was cruel, that things didn't turn out for the best, that people betrayed him at the drop of a hat even if they'd known him all his life. Money and power were easier things to count on than people, although those things could betray and be gone as well. There was nothing that really, truly lasted.

The Bunch had mostly all come from sad and even abusive families and foster homes. He took care of all of them, having really raised them during their final teen years, and they all saw him as a big brother or even a father figure. He loved it, dwelled on it. He was important and it felt so good after how his family had treated him. He had hoped that coming here would be a good thing for all of them, but instead he had plunged them headlong into this war. And even as his own hope faltered and sometimes faded, he tried to be cheerful and give hope to the Bunch. They had been through enough; he wouldn't let Malcolm take the rest of their innocence or their ability to celebrate and have fun in their second childhoods (really their firsts, since their real childhoods had been stolen from most of them). It was a full job, but he didn't mind. He was interested in companionship, not sex, and the Bunch provided plenty of company. But there was still something else he sought, something more elusive. It wasn't base desire or even pure romance. He wanted to lay bare his soul and have someone not only still love him, but understand him. It didn't matter to him if it was romantic, platonic, or something else, just as long as it was true and loyal.

It had been hard living as he did in this dark world that was so different from the strict villa where he had grown up. When he had got out on his own and seen what life was really like, he had no longer agreed with all of his family's rigid rules and values. He had created his own code of honor, and although much of it was his own conclusions, some consisted of lingering values he had grown up with that he still agreed with. He had tried to keep all of his morals even in this Godless Hellhole, but he often feared that he had given up too much out of his interest in wealth and power.

What had he done? Was it right to do the nightly duels? The Duelists agreed to the terms, but whenever Malcolm gained someone new, there was always that risk that they would suffer.

It was partially his own fault, wasn't it? Malcolm wouldn't be gaining miners if his Duelists weren't losing to Malcolm's. It was all part of this twisted game of wealth and power they were playing. The Duelists agreed to the terms, but there shouldn't be such terms in the first place.

But . . . it wasn't as cut-and-dry as that. If he hadn't agreed to the set-up, Malcolm would have rained terror on the whole town. Malcolm had already tried abducting all the children. That was what had forced his rival to agree to the dusk duels concept. He couldn't risk that happening again . . . or worse.

Was that what it took to be a good leader, making hard choices for the greater good?

What was the greater good? Did it include giving in to Barbara now?

Wait. . . .

"You sure take a long time to make up your mind," Barbara said in annoyance.

"It's not an itty-bitty thing you're asking of me," he replied. He had said similar words to Brittanie those years past. It hurt, remembering that and having echoes of it tonight.

"Most people wouldn't bat an eye," Barbara informed him.

He resisted the urge to make a sarcastic retort of Most people would have lost their virginity years ago! Sometimes it felt like that, but he knew there were still people around who shared such values. And not even all who didn't would necessarily agree to Barbara's terms. Something still sounded wrong. And now he finally realized what it was.

". . . How do you even know all this information you said you could give me?" He narrowed his eyes. That was a red flag right there.

Barbara just gave a flippant laugh. "Malcolm told me, of course! Some of his men too."

"So you've been in with all of them?" He straightened. "And you're offering to betray Malcolm for me? Why?"

"Why? Because you're much better-looking than he is," Barbara smirked, brushing his hair away from his right eye. "And because I have this feeling you're on your way up. You're a better businessman than Malcolm is too. Sure, he's winning right now, but you've always got a plan. Your diner is much more successful and prestigious than Malcolm's Red Scarf Saloon. You know how to have your finger in many pies at once. That appeals to me in a man."

He sneered and brushed her hand away. "Well, I can't deny it feels good to hear you praise me, but if you'd betray him, it's equally possible you'd betray me if something better came along. Sorry, honey, no sale."

She fumed, clenching her fists at her sides as she stamped her foot. "You're a fool! I could help you overthrow Malcolm now! You could be ruling this town tomorrow!"

"Ooh, temper temper!" he mocked. "So we're five years old now?"

Barbara snarled at him. "I could also break you! You just don't appreciate the power and influence I have here!"

"I don't need you to help me rule Crash Town," he said, serious again. "And I'm not afraid of you. No, I'm gonna conquer Malcolm in my own way. I trust myself. I don't trust you."

"Your way hasn't worked so far!" she snapped.

He had to admit she was right about that. That was what he had been depressed about all night. Except . . . Malcolm hadn't been able to assume complete control as long as he and the Bunch were there. Maybe they couldn't overthrow him yet, but they were standing in the way of the totalitarian takeover he wanted. And maybe that was the best that could be done right now. It wasn't the answer he wanted, especially in the face of the probable deaths Malcolm had caused, but it might be the only answer he would get for a while.

"I don't know about that," he said calmly, stepping back. "Maybe it's working better than he thinks. Anyway, I'm due back at the diner. I'll see you later."

It was dangerous turning his back on Barbara. He knew about the whip she carried. So he walked backwards until he was out of range of that and then turned, heading back towards the diner.

Scotch met him outside. "Radley, where were you?!" he exclaimed. "We couldn't find you anywhere!"

Radley sighed to himself. He hadn't meant to make them worry. He finally smiled, laying a hand on Scotch's shoulder.

"I just stepped out for a few minutes," he said. "I wanted to think about some things."

"Oh." Scotch frowned. "Did you figure it out?"

"Not altogether, but maybe enough for now." Radley drew his arm around Scotch's shoulders and headed back for the steps. "Oh, I tried the candy you gave me. It was good."

Scotch beamed. "It's great!"

"Yeah, it is," Radley mused.

Someday they would beat Malcolm. He wouldn't let this go on indefinitely. And in the meantime, he would still keep hold of the values he held dear, whether or not people believed he did. He didn't have to surrender everything to the darkness. He prayed, however, that a solution would come soon, before any more people could be hurt by Malcolm's probable cruelty.

As they stepped inside, it almost sounded like the faint, mournful tune from a harmonica in the distance.