Dark Roses

Disclaimer - Do I really have to say this every single time? I'm not making any money off this, therefore I don't own them. If I did, Bakura would be . . . ummm . . . eternally busy?

Author's Notes - Way ahead of schedule, but I'm in a good mood tonite and thought I'd put up another chapter of this. Another chapter of Going On will probably be appearing this friday. Enjoy!

2 – Proving Grounds

Malik literally scrambled out the door at the end of the class, his heart thumping painfully in his chest as he escaped those violet eyes, which had been burning into his back all through the teacher’s lecture on European history. Who was that guy? Why did he look so much like him? And why the HELL had he been staring at him the whole damn class!?

It was freaky . . . and his fears about his father having something to do with it only returned with each passing minute that he’d felt those eyes on his back. Maybe he was being paranoid, but after what his father had done to him . . .

Shaking his head brusquely to dispel that thought, he made his way to his locker and dumped off the books he didn’t need, gathering the ones he did need before turning . . . only to find himself running into someone’s chest for the second time in under an hour.

“Well, well, look what we have here,” a deep voice rumbled from somewhere up above him. Lavender eyes went up . . . and up . . . and up, until finally coming to the dark grey eyes of the teenager standing right behind him. “A new student. What do you guys say to showing the new kid how things are done around here?” His cronies chuckled at his words, and Malik rolled his eyes slightly. Why was it that every bully in every school he’d been enrolled in so far needed to be taught first hand that just because he was small didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous?

But, for Ishizu’s sake, he really did need to try to behave himself first.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he murmured, putting his book bag down at his feet, freeing his hands just in case. “Yeah, I’m new here, but I don’t need any lessons on how things are run. It’s your school, you run it, great. You can have it. Just let me get the hell out of your way.” One meaty hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and he sighed. So much for the nice way.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” the bully growled, shoving him back against the locker. “You need a lesson in manners, pretty boy.”
Bakura started forward from where he stood a few lockers down, only to be stopped by a tanned arm as Marik shook his head. He knew why Bakura wanted to get involved . . . not because of the new kid, but because it was a perfect opportunity to beat the living shit out of Ushio.

The black haired teenager currently menacing his look-alike was a thorn in all their sides . . . he thought he ran the school, and he was too stupid to realize that he only did it at their allowance. They’d had plenty of run-ins with Ushio before . . . Ryou and Yugi had been his favorite targets, until they’d cornered the guy off school grounds and pounded it into him that touching them could very well mean his death.

But he wanted to see what the new kid would do . . . and he had a suspicion that it was going to surprise the living hell out of all of them. He had almost been disappointed when the slight blonde had begun speaking . . . until he saw the kid put his book bag down and nudge it out of the way with one foot.

Malik winced as his back hit the lockers with more force than was absolutely necessary, starting to get angry. This guy was nothing but a brute . . . no brains, just a lot of brawn that he liked to throw around. It was annoying . . . but he was about to get a lesson that he wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon. It would be somewhat anti-climatic for the audience they seemed to have gathered, but he really didn’t have time for this, and he didn’t want to get blood on his white jeans. And maybe, if he made an example out of this guy, he could avoid other such confrontations as he settled in.

Reaching up, one tan hand wrapped around the wrist holding his shirt . . . and squeezed, finding the pressure points almost too easily. It was amusing to hear the big lug squeal like a stuck pig as he temporarily lost any use of his hand, but that wasn’t the end of it as far as Malik was concerned. Pressing harder, he forced Ushio to his knees in front of him, going down to a crouch in front of the now kneeling figure, listening to the whimpers of pain absently.

“Smaller does not always mean ‘easier target’,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “A lesson I think you need to learn. Muscle is not as important, nor as deadly, as brains, and I use mine. You should do the same.” He leaned closer, practically whispering into Ushio’s ear, making sure that every word was heard by the whimpering teenager. “If you ever come near me again, the next time I will paralyze you with a simple touch . . . permanently.” His other hand reached up, lightly pressing against the soft spot just below the ear, and the whimpering got louder. “There are many spots on the human body that can be manipulated in such a way . . . and I know every single one. So I suggest you stay away from me . . . and tell your friends to do the same.” With a soft growl, he released the captive wrist and stood back up, gathering his bag easily with one hand before striding out of the clump of students, who all quickly moved out of his way like he’d developed a strange, catching disease. He heard clapping behind him, but didn’t bother to turn around and see who it was. So he’d made somebody’s day . . . goody for them. He was just fed up with it all.
“First day, and already I’m a trouble maker and a terror,” he muttered to himself, stalking out of the school. “Great.”

Malik couldn’t help but stare after the departing teen in shock, surprised even though he’d known it was coming. Yami had begun clapping behind him, and Bakura was smirking next to him as Yugi and Ryou joined them, Seto coming up not long behind.
“Wow,” Yami murmured finally. “That was impressive. He didn’t even get violent . . . but he had Ushio on his knees. And pissing himself,” he added as Ushio stood shakily, an obvious and embarrassing wet spot marring the front of his pants. “I wonder what it was he whispered that turned that fucker so white?”

“Pressure points,” Bakura replied, nodding his head in agreement with the tri-haired teenager. “Don’t see many people taking the time to learn them these days. That one spot he put his finger on below the ear can do some serious damage to a person . . . which is probably what he was telling that dumb sot. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m certainly intrigued.”

“Did we miss something?” Ryou asked, sidling up to his lover and wrapping an arm around Bakura’s waist. Yugi and Yami were already lip-locked, muffled whimpers coming out of the smaller youth as Yami melted him with a kiss, pushing him back into the lockers as if they would go right through them.

“Just Marik’s twin putting Ushio in his place and scaring the shit out of all the little sacrificial lambs around here,” the tall, white haired youth replied, tucking his own arm around the smaller youth’s shoulders. “Speaking of which . . . Earth to Marik, come in Marik!”

Marik shook his head, coming out of his daze abruptly at Bakura’s taunting words.

“What?” he snapped, turning around to glare at Bakura. The pale teenager chuckled slightly, one snowy eyebrow arching up at the tone.

“Just admit that you’re interested and get it over with, bud,” he said, pulling Ryou into him. He turned to the others, gathering up his and Ryou’s bags with one hand. “Come on,” he said, nodding his head toward the door. “Let’s go cause some mayhem. This place is boring now.”

The group moved off . . . but each of them was thinking about the display Malik had just put on, and Marik’s obvious reaction to the youth.


*-------*-------*-------*-------*


The crowded city streets made him feel lonelier than ever as he made his way home, passing groups of fellow students who were spending their free time hanging out together until they headed home. Would he ever have friends like that? Would he ever be allowed to?

Shoving his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders as if expecting a blow, he walked slowly through the crowded sidewalks, making his way to the cheaper part of town and the apartment complex that he, Ishizu, and Odion had settled into. How long before they were forced to move again? How much stuff would they have to leave behind this time?

So many moves . . . so much time spent running. He was tired of it . . . but he also knew that it was necessary. He shivered as he thought about what would happen if his father ever got hold of them again . . . especially if he got a hold of him. He still didn’t understand why his father did the things he had done. He probably never would.

The apartment complex sat in a rundown neighborhood . . . embarrassing considering the amount of money they had, but it was one of the few ways to protect themselves when they moved. Father always expected them to use the money they had . . . he would expect them to be living in some upscale condo in the rich part of town, not some run-down hovel of an apartment.

Stalking up the darkened stairwell slowly, he let himself into the apartment, slightly relieved to find that Odion wasn’t home. He’d known his sister would be gone . . . she was at the museum, where she’d managed to find an assistant curator’s job. Odion was probably out looking for a job of his own. That was all to the good though . . . without his older siblings around, he could drop the tough guy act and simply be himself, wounded and scared as he was inside.

He dropped his books by the door, toeing off his shoes before winding his way through the boxes of stuff that they had managed to bring with them, making his way toward the bathroom. Once there, he stripped down to nothing, turning on the shower to allow the hot water to warm up before turning back to the sink. He caught a glimpse of his back in the full length mirror and shuddered, quickly averting his gaze. Those reminders were not something he wanted to see . . . not so soon after narrowly escaping his father’s grasp once again.

Looking into the mirror, he tried to block out the sound of his father’s voice, chanting words like a mantra in his head.

‘You’re worthless . . . you’re weak . . . you’re not worthy of being my son . . . you’re pathetic . . . you’re stupid . . . you’re ugly . . .’
Closing his eyes, he tried to shut out the memory, feeling the few tears he allowed himself seep from beneath the closed lids to trickle silently down his face.

“Father, why do you hate me so much?” he whispered, his voice choked with pain. Turning away from the mirror, and the memories that continued to haunt him, he stepped under the hot water, and tried to let it wash his pain away again.


*-------*-------*-------*-------*


Marik started when Bakura dropped a burger and some fries in front of him, looking up at his friend with a wry smirk as the thief sat down across from him in the food court of the arcade. Yami was off dueling someone, with Yugi beside him . . . Ryou and Seto had challenged each other to a shooting game. It was just the two of them at the moment . . . and something told him that Bakura had planned it that way.

“Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” his friend asked without preamble. “You’ve been acting funny ever since you saw that new kid at lunch. It’s not like you to let someone distract you so much . . . you didn’t even join in when we found those freshman looking at porno magazines in the bookstore. What gives?”

Marik shook his head slightly, ragged blonde bangs falling in front of violet eyes as the gold hoops in his ears jangled a little.
“Do you remember how I was when we first met?” he asked. Bakura looked surprised at the question, but nodded after a moment, his face thoughtful. It wasn’t a look that he usually wore . . . and never did anyone outside of the close knit group of friends see it. It made him look years older than he really was.

“Yeah . . . you were so damn afraid to let anyone into that shell of yours,” he muttered, taking a drink of his soda as he met his friends gaze solemnly. “You’d been through too much too soon, and you were like a fucking badger backed into a corner if anyone tried to come near you. Why do you ask?” Marik sighed, toying with his food absently.

“That kid . . . he’s got the same look in his eyes that I did back then,” he said finally. “Like he’s seen a war zone, and had to pick his way through the bodies too many times to count.” He sighed, sitting back in his seat to look at his friend seriously. “Bakura . . . I’ve seen the signs . . . hell, I’ve lived through them. He’s on the verge of breakdown . . . and for some reason, I want to know why.”

“Maybe because he reminds you of how you were?” Bakura reasoned, using a french fry as a pointer to accentuate his statement. “That, and the fact that he looks so much like you . . .”

“Maybe,” Marik replied, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know . . . it’s just weird. I mean . . . I remember what you said, when I asked you about Ryou. How maybe it was the gods sign that you belonged together that you looked so much alike. If that’s true, then maybe that’s why I feel the need to reach out to this kid. But I’ve never felt this way so suddenly about anyone before.”

“His name is Malik Ishtar,” the white-haired teenager said. “That’s about all I know. He seems pretty damn smart, and he’s definitely more than he appears to be. Other than that, there’s not a damn thing I can tell you, Marik. But if you want, I’ll see what I can dig up. The office files aren’t too hard to hack into . . . I’ll have to use Seto’s system to do it, but I should be able to get more information that way.” Marik nodded, a slight smile crossing his features.

“Thanks, ‘Kura,” he muttered. He lapsed back into silence as Yami and Yugi appeared from the dueling arena, heading their way. As much as he was friends with all of them, Bakura was the only one that he really ever opened up to. Bakura had been there in the beginning, to help pick up the pieces of what was left of his shattered life when it all fell apart, and that had built a bond between them that he had with no one else. It was Bakura that had suggested him moving in with Seto after his father landed in jail for killing his mother, and it was Bakura that had hacked the computer system that had made him an emancipated teenager. He was friends with the others, but Bakura was like his brother.

The smirk Yami was wearing was telling enough that they didn’t have to ask who had won . . . not that it had ever been in question to begin with.

“How badly did you whomp your opponent this time?” Bakura asked as the two tri-haired teenagers settled in at the table. Yami just smiled and shrugged, but Yugi simply couldn’t resist bragging.

“Does negative 4500 have any meaning?” he said. Violet and magenta turned in unison to look at their crimson eyed counterpart, and Yami looked smug and embarrassed all at once.

“Dark Paladin can get rather nasty when you’re playing against a dragon deck with dragon’s of your own in the graveyard,” he muttered. Bakura shuddered slightly as Marik winced. They’d both been on the receiving end of Yami’s Dark Paladin several times, and it was never a pleasant experience. While they all enjoyed the game, it was a passion for Yami, and the care and power of his deck showed that, as well as the pure ruthlessness he exhibited when he played.

“How much boost did it get this time?” Marik asked, not really sure he wanted to know, but it was sort of a morbid curiosity. Just how badly had Yami’s opponent been slaughtered?

“Ten dragons in the graveyard and on the field, total,” Yami replied, counting them off on his fingers silently before replying. “So 7900 attack strength . . . with a Reborn Dark Magician on my side as well. He had a couple of creatures in defense, but a Fairy Meteor Crush took care of that.” Both of them shuddered . . . yeah, Yami had slaughtered whoever the poor sap was that had been stupid enough to challenge him. He wasn’t the King of Duel Monster’s purely by luck.

“Damn Yami . . . you really don’t play nice,” Bakura muttered. Yami looked at him darkly.

“Look who’s talking,” he said, pointing a finger at the thief accusingly. “That deck of yours is no picnic either. Between that damn Destiny Board and your Necrofear . . .” Bakura smirked slightly. It was true . . . he was quite proud of his deck, which had earned the nickname of ‘The Occult’ among his friends. He didn’t play the way Yami did . . . but at least he could give Yami a run for his money on occasion.

He glanced back at Marik, noticing that his blonde friend was back off in his thoughts, and frowned slightly. He hoped this wasn’t going to be another Duke Devlin . . . that asshole had taken everything Marik had to offer and then turned around and stomped on his friend’s already overly-fragile heart. Was Marik setting himself up to be the knight in tarnished armor only to be dragged through the mud again?

He hoped not . . . because if he was, then Bakura was going to have to get bloody again, and he hated what it did to his hair.


AN - Just a note on the dueling stuff mentioned above . . . I have actually pulled this off in a duel with my Dungeons and Dragons Deck . . . and let me tell you, my opponent was PO'd! But lords was it fun . . . and I'm pretty sure my smile was just as smug as Yami's when I did it. Bakura's deck actually is referred to as 'The Occult Deck' and if I ever get the full listing of his deck up on the shrine I'm building, you'll understand why, trust me. It's not a nice deck . . . I know, because I have it built and play it : ) It's fun, too : )