Author: Darks Light
Beta Reader: flamethrowerqueen
Chapter 7
"Where is he?" Malik asked impatiently. He wanted to see him, for the older boy to hold him and talk to him like he did with the paler one.
"Out," Bakura stated, glaring at the kid; the good looking ones always seemed to be brats or too cold for their own good and only interested in killing.
"Oh, and we're leaving," Bakura added, walking towards the living room door that led out into the forest.
"Leaving? Where? And why am I leaving with you?" The younger boy demanded, not keen on being alone with the white haired teenager after what had nearly happened in the bedroom.
"You need new clothes and unless you want to wear what I bring back for you you'll come and listen to what I say," Bakura retorted, walking out the door. Looking back, he noticed that the kid hadn't budged.
"I'm not going to rape you," Bakura told him pointedly. "Marik would probably kill me" he muttered, more to himself than to the young boy in the room. Malik followed at a distance.
They walked through the small forest and out onto the sand dunes, the sun now high in the sky, its blistering heat beaming down upon the two as they hurried across the hot sands.
"Why am I living with you two?" Malik asked, skidding to a halt as soon as they entered the outer edges of Cairo; still insisting on keeping a distance between him and the other guy.
"Because I saved you," Bakura replied not really paying attention, instead continuing to walk towards the main market streets.
"And my parents?" Malik asked again, trying to keep the older boy in sight: he needed him to lead him back to the house they had come from.
"They abandoned you, now what's with the questions?" Bakura asked frustrated, looking around for a stall he could steal the kid some clothes from but instead spotting Duke's small stand in the shadows of one of the surrounding buildings.
"This way," Bakura muttered, suddenly pulling the boy along with him.
"So this is it? You're right; it does look a lot like Marik," Duke commented, looking over the counter of his stand, the cube Bakura had given him rolling around in his hand.
"I'm not an it!" Malik snapped. "And you know Marik?" he asked, curious.
"Yeh, I was surprised to see him today heading up towards the city centre, didn't think you guys did day jobs," Duke noted.
"We don't," Bakura told him glaring at some of the passers-by. "I'm looking to get the kid some clothes," he added.
"In that case, try the lady at the end of this stretch of the street; even with the crowds she'd be an easy job, she's supposedly nearly blind in one eye," Duke informed them.
…
Bakura stumbled in through the door, arms full of clothes of different fabrics and colours, not to mention a lot of other junk.
"This way!" he called back, not all too enthusiastically, to the young blonde boy who had followed him in; the brat didn't seem to understand that thievery was not like shopping: you couldn't stand around all day debating on what you want. However, it worked out all right, although they ended up with a lot of pointless junk and Bakura having to carry most of it. He walked down the hall that would usually lead to Marik's room before kicking open the first door on the right. Moving towards the bed he dropped the clothes and belongings on top of it as the kid walked in.
"You'll stay here," he told him shortly, walking back out the door and into the living room before falling onto one of the lounges. It was nearly dark and he was exhausted; the bloody brat had almost lead him around the whole market place in Cairo.
…
Bakura opened one eye and glanced at the small figure sitting on the floor by the doorway in the living room that led out onto the tiled courtyard.
"You're wasting your time," he muttered. "What part of 'works nights' didn't you understand?" he added, glaring at the boy who had turned around to glance back at him, agitated. Ever since the brat had come out of his room he had been sitting by the door looking out into the night, waiting for Marik to return. During that time Bakura had been bombarded with hassling questions that he couldn't truthfully answer.
These were questions about how Malik came to be here, what Marik and he did for jobs, what was his relationship with Marik ... the list could go on and on. What the kid was expecting when Marik returned he didn't know.
Today was the very first time Marik had spoken to him, it was the first time he had ever heard Marik's voice; it suited his body perfectly. Today was also the first time Marik hadn't been so untouchable. That embrace puzzled him; well, not so much the embrace but Marik's eyes. Those cold purple eyes just didn't fit in with the rest of Marik. It didn't make sense, but then again nothing that made Marik who he was made any sense. Why didn't he talk? Why only kill? What was his grudge against the pharaoh? And those damn letters. However these were old things he had dwelled on a lot since moving in here around three years ago.
There was something else that was confusing him now, something that only occurred recently: why stop him from having the boy? He had brought home young slaves before; boys, girls, he wasn't picky. They were returned to their owners after he was through with them with no memories of him or anything else and yet Marik had never interfered before.