Disclaimer: Hmmm….I still don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, last time I checked.

Chapter Two

The next day, Malik woke up with a gigantic headache. Grabbing his head in his hands, he leaned over the side of the couch, groaning. He didn't remember much of the previous night, just getting super drunk and then meeting some random dude who had white hair and claimed he was a doctor. Not the best thing to wake up to, but that tended to happen to him. Sighing, he sat up, still holding his head and stumbled into his kitchen. He started a pot of coffee, hoping that the highly caffeinated beverage could help to clear up the pain that was pounding somewhere behind his right eye. Malik also decided that taking some aspirin might help with things as well. The hangover afterward was the only bad part of drinking, really. The rest was pretty much good to him.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Malik added a bit of whiskey to it and then started sipping on it, staring at a hole in the wall. As far as he could recall, he had punched it in one day when he was in a drunken rage. The apartment was riddled with cracks and imperfections that he had created. Whenever Shadi was over he would try to fix some of them, and would succeed, but Malik would just create more later. Grimacing slightly, he set his cup down, and rested his chin on his fist, glaring at the entire apartment. It was the same as ever, cracked, and dilapidated; the only difference being a folded piece of paper on his coffee table that Malik had missed before. Walking over to the table, Malik unfolded the piece of paper, only vaguely interested in what it had to say.

The page was very simple, with only a few words inscribed upon it. In a scribbled, messy script, the letter said 'Hello, Malik. Do you remember me from last night? If not, then my name is Bakura Yami, the doctor who helped you last night. I'd really love it if you could come down to my clinic today.' The address was written beneath the message, with his scrawled signature beneath it.

Malik glared at the letter, extremely annoyed. He didn't need help from a doctor, let alone one as creepy as this Bakura guy. Crumbling the paper into a little ball, Malik threw it at the trash can, superbly angry at people right now. He jumped slightly when his cell phone rang, not used to having anyone call him, since no one but Shadi and the people he worked with had his number. Picking it up, Malik simply glared at his phone, not saying a word.

"Um, hello, is, uh, is anyone there?" a timid male voice spoke into the phone. "Is a Mr. Malik Ishtar at this number?"

"That depends on who's asking." Malik spat into the phone, hearing the voice on the other side breathe in softly, surprised by the answer.

"The doctor told me to call this number to confirm an appointment….? I'm Ryou Hikari, a nurse from Dr. Bakura's clinic." The young man on the other side of the line breathed softly, waiting for a response to his statement.

Malik froze for a second, shocked beyond belief. This crazy doctor had somehow gotten his number, and was now sending his nurses after him. He had most likely gone through his phone while he was passed out last night. Apparently the fucker had no sense of personal privacy whatsoever. Gaining his composure slightly, Malik replied, "I don't believe I set up an appointment with him, so tell that to the doctor." He was about to hang up when the male nurse spoke again.

"I just told him that, and he said that you agreed to one last night when he was walking you home, apparently. I can put him on the phone...if you want." The boy's voice faltered slightly at the end of the second sentence, the semi-question teetering on the tip of his tongue.

Malik groaned, hating himself at that moment. He vaguely recalled the white-haired individual asking him a bunch of questions while he was dragging Malik home, so he had probably asked him about an appointment, and Malik had most likely agreed to just to shut Bakura up. Groaning at the ceiling, he sighed and then spoke into the phone, saying, "I do remember that now, I'll be over there in about fifteen minutes." He hung up the phone angrily, and stormed over to where the note had been thrown. It hadn't landed in its original destination, the trash can, but it had landed close. Malik picked it up and then shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. At least his wallet was still there. Grabbing his leather jacket that was balled up in the corner of his living room and his keys from the floor, Malik slipped it on quickly and then left his apartment, slamming and locking the door behind him angrily, muttering to himself about psycho stalkers, and got onto his motorcycle, not bothering with a helmet anymore. And then he groaned. He forgot the damn aspirin.

Driving to the address that had been given to him the previous night on Bakura's card and on the piece of paper this morning, Malik pulled up in front of the building, which was situated in a ritzy part of the city that he had never been in before. Staring at it in disbelief, he walked inside slowly, wondering if this was really the place he was supposed to be. Pushing open the door to the office marked "Doctor's Clinic", Malik was greeted by an attractive blonde woman sitting at the front desk. Looking up at him, she sighed softly and looked at him with apparent disgust. "Are you Malik Ishtar?"

Glaring at her, he replied, "Yes, I am. What's it to you, lady? Or is it just an excuse for you to act like a bitch?"

She shrugged, examining her nails and responded, "I'm Mai Kujaku, the secretary for Bakura Yami. Now sign in, sit down, shut up, and wait for the nurse to call you in."

He did as she asked, not wanting to bother with her anymore, annoyed at the way he was being treated. Looking around, Malik groaned inwardly at the fancy things that surrounded him. If anything pissed him off more than anything else, it would be rich people; and this doctor seemed to be fucking rich.

Malik looked up as a seemingly timid boy walked up to him and spoke. "Hello, I'm Ryou Hikari…the nurse who called you earlier. I can take you in now."

Glaring at him, Malik spat back, "I don't even know why I'm here, much less why you want me to be here, so just lead me to where I need to be and then let me live my fucking life as I want to live it.

The nurse stepped back a little surprised, but led Malik to the patient area nonetheless. Malik glared at him the entire time, not trusting anyone or anything that was here. The nurse stood next to a scale and said politely "Please take off your shoes and step on the scale, sir." Malik was about to yell at the kid when he noticed a white-haired male standing behind a corner and smirking lightly at him. Rolling his eyes, Malik did what he was told, and then was led to a small room.

Looking at Malik, the boy named Ryou smiled nervously and walked out saying "The doctor will be with you shortly, please wait until he can see you." Malik sat on a chair, and pulled out a flask, taking a hearty swig. Forget slightly tipsy, Malik needed to be full-on drunk before he could deal with the shit that was happening. Malik barely glanced up as the door opened; he knew who it was, and he sure as hell didn't want to deal with any fucking queers right now.

The doctor was the first one to talk, saying "Ah, Mr. Ishtar, I'm afraid that I don't allow drinking in my clinic, if you'd be so kind as to put that away." Malik merely glared up at him and took another drink, mumbling something about how he could do 'whatever the hell he wanted to'. The next thing he knew, the flask was out of his hand and in Bakura's, who placed the small metal canister in his lab-coat pocket. "I said, Mr. Ishtar, there will be no drinking in my office, so unless you want this back, I would suggest you keep your attitude and drinking problem in check."

Malik growled slightly, but did as he was asked. He did want his flask back, and maybe he could steal the doctor's wallet while he was getting his booze back. Bakura noticed his plans from the slight way his expression of annoyance changed into a smirk, but just shook his head slightly and continued checking the Egyptian man's blood pressure and temperature. After a couple of minutes, he stood away from Malik, folding his arms, and said "I need to ask you some questions about your health and family health history before I can really do anything about anything." Malik just widened his eyes and glared at him, "Hell no."

Bakura laughed slightly, expecting the man to object to answering his questions. "Malik, I need to get a small glimpse at why you're the way you are. The answer might lie in your family history." Malik's glare lessened slightly, but still held its place. He threw his hands up in the air eventually, obviously exasperated..

"Alright, you win. I'll answer your fucking questions. Just get this over with. I actually have to work tonight, if that surprises you." He looked at Bakura both angrily and expectantly, and the doctor smirked slightly.

"Alright, then. Let's start with basic information. Full name, age, place of birth, and names of family members." Malik raised one eyebrow.

"Malik Seth Ishtar. Twenty-five, born in Cairo, Egypt. My father's name is Hafiz Ishtar, my mother's is Jazira Ishtar, and my sister is named Isis Ishtar. My adopted brother is named Rishid Ishtar." The doctor nodded and took some notes.

"Okay...now, tell me any health problems of family members that you know of. Keep it simple; I obviously don't expect you to know every single problem that every single family member has had. Oh, I also want you to include psychiatric issues." Bakura said, looking at Malik. The blonde-haired man looked down sadly.

"My father was a heavy drinker, too. I think he had bi-polar disorder, and maybe split-personality. Nothing was ever diagnosed, we never went to doctors. Physically, he was fine, I think. I think my mother was healthy, too, but she died in childbirth with me. My sister was just depressed, but that was because of the burdens she had. But what does that all matter? They're all dead now." He said softly, causing Bakura to glance up slightly at him.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did they die?" Bakura asked him softly. Malik smiled cynically.

"My father went insane one day. Strapped me down to a table and started slashing my back with hot knives. My sister and brother ran in and released the bindings, and told me to run. So I did. I ran into my room, and I just heard my sister screaming for my dad to put the shotgun down. I did what any kid would do. I hid under my bed. He shot it, but it missed hitting anyone. It hit a gas-line in the wall instead. Blew up most of the house. If I hadn't been under that bed, I'd be dead. I still have the scars from those knife slashes to this day. I guess..." He glanced up quickly, looking angry and confused. "Wait, why am I even telling you these things?! I don't even know you! Fuck this!" He stood up quickly, shoving the chair to the ground, and stormed towards the door. He didn't get that far, however, for Bakura stood in his path, effectively blocking the door.

"Malik, it's important that you deal with all of this trauma. You obviously have major issues that you need to work out. If you don't, you'll probably drink yourself to death. And as a doctor, I can't step back knowing about this, and let you do this. Alright?" The doctor said simply, making the other man purse his lips tightly, almost prudishly. Malik opened his mouth and spoke candidly.

"Honestly, I have no desire to deal with my shit. It's the past. And I also don't feel like stopping. If I die, that's fine with me. I've thought about ending it before. Better alcohol than a bullet to the brain, right? Now, move away from the damn door before I have to move you myself." He crossed his arms, and glared at the white-haired man, who was just smirking lightly.

"No thanks. Like I said, you need professional help. And while I'm not a psychiatric doctor, I can help you with some of your issues." Bakura was about to continue when his phone started ringing. He glanced at the number quickly and then held up a finger. "Ah, excuse me. I have to take this." He lightly tapped the screen to answer the call.

"This is Yami." He sat down and listened to the person on the other line. He glanced quickly at Malik and then spoke again. "Yes. No. I don't think so. Listen, I can't really talk right now." He glanced at Malik again, this time his eyes lingered, though. "I have a patient. Oh, you have that for me? Perfect. I'll be over there tonight." He paused for quite a long while, listening to what sounded to be a man. "That's not true. I told you that last time." Another quicker pause. "Yeah, I really have to go. Alright. See you later." He tapped the screen once more to end the call and then turned his gaze towards Malik again.

"Well, Mr. Ishtar, I am afraid that there is not much I can do for you. Alcoholism is a psychiatric condition, not a medical one, suffice it to say. And I can highly infer that you don't have any type of insurance." Malik gritted his teeth slightly, and glared at the wall.

"Whatever. Listen, Doctor, I need to leave. I have to get to my job. So just send me a bill or something, I can try to pay it. Just leave me alone after that." He stormed out of the office, closely followed by an amused Bakura. The male nurse, the white haired one looked up as the pair crossed his path. Malik paused as Ryou engaged Bakura in a hushed but urgent conversation. Neither of them realized it however, so Malik continued standing there, eavesdropping.

"Bakura..." the nurse started, "I don't have enough money...do you mind lending me some? Just about twenty...I promise I'll pay you back." Bakura shook his head slightly.

"I'm stopping by there tonight. I'll pick it up for you. Don't worry, I'll pay for it." Bakura said quietly. He leaned in more and whispered something to Ryou, his fingertips lightly brushing the younger man's waist. He pulled away again as Ryou nodded.

"I'll drop it off at your apartment tomorrow. I need the clinic closed anyway. I have some other business to take care of." Bakura said in a regular tone, glancing back at Malik. The Egyptian adopted a look of innocence and continued on his way outside, and his heart sank as he saw that the tires on his motorcycle were slashed. He swore loudly and kicked the curb. This type of shit just always had to happen to him, didn't it? He turned around and glared at Bakura who had walked up behind him.

"The hell do you want? I don't have enough fucking money to pay to get my bike towed or get the tires fixed. And this happened on your damn property!" He kicked the curb once more, and glared up at Bakura when he chuckled softly.

"Alright, Mr. Ishtar, calm down. I can drive you to your workplace and pay for the tow service and tires. I feel somewhat responsible. Just calm down." Malik did calm down slightly, and looked at Bakura.

"Thanks...I guess. Which one's your car?" He asked, and Bakura answered by pointing at a black sports car. Malik quickly slid in the passenger side, mumbling angrily about 'rich bastards'. Bakura snickered quietly as he slid into the driver's side. He started up the car and took off smoothly

"Where do you work?" Bakura asked, looking briefly over at Malik before looking back at the road.

"It's Domino Bike Shop, just up ahead on 75th Street." Malik answered. "Have my bike towed there, I can fix it if you pay for the parts." Bakura nodded and turned onto the street. Malik flipped the radio on to fill the uncomfortable silence, settling on an indie music station. The drive was only about ten minutes more, however, it felt longer.

At long last, they arrived at Malik's workplace, and Bakura stopped the car. Malik, instead of exiting the car, turned and looked at the doctor.

"Hey...thanks for the ride. You're not the stuck-up bastard I thought you were. If you uh, want to help me sometime...with my issues, you know where I live." Malik mumbled out, a faint blush on his cheeks. Bakura looked at him in shock, but recovered his composure and smirked as the Egyptian was quickly exiting the car.

"I think I may, Malik Ishtar. I may." Bakura said out loud, and then sped away, heading off to the one place in the world he shouldn't be.

Author's Note: All right, I want to explain some things about this chapter. If any of you are confused as to why Malik put some whiskey in his coffee, that's called 'the hair of the dog'. Surprisingly, one of the best cures for hangovers is more alcohol! Not a lot, but just a bit. The original phrase is 'the hair of the dog that bit me', which means putting something in your body that hurt you. So since the alcohol hurt you, put a bit of it in your body.

Malik's mom and dad's names are not just some random letters I came up with in my sleep. They actually have meaning in Arabic. Hafiz means 'father', and Jazira means 'mother'. Simple, but it's better than having them completely nameless. I mean, they're not even named in the manga! I did not actually come up with those names, though. One of my friends did, so I can actually take no credit for that one. So if you want to praise me, don't. I do not deserve such kind words.

About Malik's scars. They're not the beautiful, tattoo looking ones he has in the manga and anime. If you look in volume nineteen of Yu-Gi-Oh!: Duelist, at Chapter 173, it's more like the scars that Malik's dad is giving Rishid. I wanted to put scars on his back in this fic, but I didn't want some confusing, vague story about why a guy would give his kid intricate, Egyptian scars for apparently no reason in a story based in a more realistic environment. Therefore, I just decided to make them regular knife scars. However, Malik does not have as many as Rishid does. Probably just a couple, because his siblings stopped it before anything seriously bad happened.

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