The Path of Vengeance

A/N: This chapter is one of those "get into the character's heads" sorta deals. They are the angst-author's best friend :)

Also to avoid confusion, I've kept any reference to money written in U.S. format. I've tried to make it clear when the use of Japanese Yen stops and U.S. Dollars begins.


The sound of running water pulled Malik from his restful slumber. A glance at the clock told him it was about noon. He rolled onto his stomach, stretching his lithe body feline style before yawning loudly and sitting up. It was odd not to see Marik drooling in the bed next to him. A sight the blonde was not sorry to say he missed.

With a heavy sigh, he flopped back down onto the pillows. He could sense Marik though their link and knew his yami was dead asleep. Experience warned him against waking his dark.

This blows, he thought bitterly. Damn it, Bakura, couldn’t you think of another way to get back at Yami for whatever he did?

He missed his friends. Marik was the other half of his soul and Bakura was the object of his affection. Now he was stuck pretending to like the damned friendship alliance. It would be worth it though if he could help the two yamis. Besides, as soon as his work was done, he had every intention of joining the pair…wherever they were.

A soft knock sounded on his door, pulling him from his reverie. “What?” he responded.

Isis peeked her head in through the door. “I didn’t wake you two did I?”

“No,” Malik replied. “What’s up?”

Isis stepped inside. “Where’s Marik?”

“Probably getting his dick polished at this point,” Malik replied without missing a beat.

Isis wrinkled her nose. “Gods, Malik, I don’t need to know that.”

Malik grinned. “Hey, you asked.”

“I’ll file that under ‘worst mistakes ever’,” Isis quipped. “Are you going to see Yugi today?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s he doing?”

“As good as can be expected, I guess.”

Isis shook her head. “It’s awful. How are you? I know you and Bakura are friends.”

“Pissed,” Malik replied honestly. “But I'm not going to stop being friends with Bakura because of it. This is between him and Yami.”

“And Yugi,” Isis said gently.

“Yeah, and Yugi.”

Isis stepped forward and brushed a few locks from Malik’s eyes. “Well, if you need my help at all, let me know.”

“Thanks, sis.”

The Egyptian beauty made her way back to the door. “I’ll be working late at the museum tonight so you’ll be in charge of dinner.”

“Alright. See you later.”

When she left, Malik stood up and walked to his and Marik’s bathroom, intent on taking a shower and preparing to spend the pretending that he gave a damn about everyone’s ‘feelings’.


The everlasting drone of his IV battled fiercely against that of the ticking wall clock in an unending battle to see which could drive Yugi mad first. The teen lay perfectly still in the large hospital bed, staring at the offending clock which not only provided the lovely background music but also the continuous taunting reminder that outside his room time was going by much as it always had…only now it was going on without him.

He turned his head to the left and saw Ryou curled up into a tiny ball in one of the room’s matching chairs. On his right he found Yami in another. Only the pharaoh wasn’t curled, he was sprawled out everywhere, his head hanging over the back of the chair.

Yugi blinked, assessing his physical state. The dizziness was gone, thankfully. An all-over burning sensation came from the various cuts but it was tolerable. He tried to pull himself into a sitting position but immediately changed his mind as a fresh sting came from his mutilated abdomen. Any time the muscles were used he felt pain like he had never experienced before.

He debated giving up and going back to sleep, but for the first time in the past three days, he wasn’t at all tired. He instead took and deep breath and pressed a button on the guardrail that made the top half of his bed slowly lift up. He felt a sense of accomplishment when his head was fully raised that easily surpassed the additional discomfort of the change in position.

From this new arrangement he was able to peer into the hallway at the bustle of nurses on the floor and visitors streaming past. The mid-morning sun tried in vain to peek through the vertical blinds behind the sleeping Ryou.

Don’t fight it, Yugi.

Yugi groaned. Not again, he thought miserably. Not only were his dreams haunted by his encounter with Bakura, he could swear that he heard the man’s voice while he was awake.

Do you think the Pharaoh will want you now? You betrayed him. You could have held back had you really wanted to.

Yugi’s bottom lip began to tremble. He brought his hands, laden with medical tape and IV tubes to his ears, trying to block out the sound of that voice.

Stroke yourself. And call my name as you do so.

“No,” Yugi whimpered, his small frame beginning to shake. “Stop…go away…”

You know, Yugi, your screams only turn me on more.

Large tears forced their way through Yugi’s clenched eyelids. The heaving of his chest made him shift where he sat, sending a shockwave of pain from his damaged rectum.

Make sure the Pharaoh finds him alive.

“STOP!” Yugi screamed, covering his ears. “STOP IT!”

Both of the sleeping men jolted awake. “Yugi!” Yami cried, jumping to his feet. Yugi’s screams continued.

“I’ll find a nurse,” Ryou said, rushing out of the room.

“Yugi, you have to calm down,” Yami said in a firm but gentle tone. “Yugi, its Yami. Listen to my voice, Aibou. Yugi!”

Yugi stopped screaming. “Yami?” he whispered.

Yami smiled sadly. “I’m here, hikari.”

Ignoring his body’s objection, Yugi lunged at the former pharaoh, clinging to him with severe desperation. “Yami…help me…”

Yami held the shaking body as tightly as he dared. “Tell me how, Yugi.”

Yugi shook his head. “I don’t know…

The spirit bowed his head into the teen’s hair, hiding his expression from his light at the feeling of warm liquid soaking the front of his shirt. “Yugi, I need to put you down.”

“NO!” Yugi clung tighter.

Tears began to pool in the crimson eyes. “Aibou, please. You’re bleeding.”

“Yami don’t let go.”

“Yugi, I'm hurting you.”

The doctor’s voice prevented Yugi from responding. “Well now, what’s going on, Yugi?” he asked pleasantly.

The sound of the new voice helped to pull the teen back into reality. He loosened his grip on the spirit and allowed Yami to set him back down.

“I'm Dr. Moore,” he said, stepping into Yugi’s line of sight. “You don’t look like you feel so well.”

“No, sir,” Yugi replied solemnly.

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that bleeding, okay?”

Yugi nodded slowly. “Yami?” he called.

“I'm right here, Aibou,” Yami replied, stepping to the other side of the bed, facing Yugi’s back.

Ryou could see how badly the incident had shaken the former pharaoh. He took a few steps forward and slid his arms around the spirit’s waist, kissing his shoulder. “I'm here, Yami,” he whispered.

Yami leaned back into the embrace, one hand still firmly holding Yugi’s. He nodded in acknowledgment.

“Well Yugi, it looks like you pulled out several of your stitches. Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “The worst part’s over. You won’t even feel me replacing them.”

You know, Yugi, your screams only turn me on more.


Yami stood in the hall with Dr. Moore. It had only taken a short while to repair Yugi’s torn stitches and the teen was resting in his bed, Ryou at his side.

“Despite this morning’s setback, he is healing very nicely,” Dr Moore explained. “I'm going to recommend that he be released in two days.”

“Two days?” Yami repeated. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“I think his mental state will benefit more from a comfortable and familiar environment. Of course, I’ll have to consult with his proctologist before I can release him.” He closed Yugi’s file and slid it into the plastic bin on the doorframe. “But I expect that he’ll agree with me.”

Yami nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Instead of returning to the room where Yugi and Ryou both waited to hear the doctor’s news, he began to walk. He decided not to tell Yugi of the doctor’s prediction until it was definite. He didn’t want to get the teen’s hopes up.

Despite his conviction, bits of doubt began to creep in.

Is this how Bakura felt? He wondered. Is this the ‘lesson’ I'm supposed to learn?...No…I'm not like him. I could never…

Many heads turned to see the broken pharaoh sink to his knees in the busy hallway, his shirt soaked in blood. Not surprisingly however, everyone that turned to look quickly turned away again. Such sights were not uncommon in a hospital.


Yami was still gone at two-thirty. Yugi was back in bed, feeling quite a bit better, truth be told. He looked at Ryou from his half-raised position, startled to find him silently crying. “Ryou? Are you okay?”

Ryou quickly wiped at his eyes. “Not really,” he admitted. “How about you?”

“Not so much.”

Ryou smiled sadly. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

Yugi looked at him with pleading eyes. “Just tell me it gets easier.”

“It does,” Ryou replied. “But it doesn’t go away.”

Yugi nodded. He’d expected as much. “Ryou? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did Bakura ever do this to you?”

“Define ‘this’.”

Yugi took a deep breath. “You know…”

“If you mean force himself on me, the answer is no. Hit me? Yes. Cut me? Yes. Make me touch myself while he sat there and watched? Yes.” His voice had risen, his body shaking. He looked at the shocked teen on the bed. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly.

“Its okay,” Yugi replied truthfully. “But why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“It’s not exactly something I'm proud of, Yugi.”

“But we could have helped you.”

Ryou shook his head sadly. “No one can help me.”

Yugi raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What do you mean?”

The pale teen shook his head. “I don’t want to lay all this on you, Yugi.”

“I don’t mind,” Yugi said quickly. “It helps to be able to listen to someone else rather than what’s up here,” he tapped his forehead. “So…what did you mean by that?”

Ryou took a deep breath. “Well, Tristan and Joey both hate me now. I'm in love with Yami and don’t have the courage to do anything about it. Not to mention the fact that Yami and Bakura are life-long sworn enemies and as such I'm in the middle of them. I love Bakura like I’ll love no one else and yet I hate him with a fiery passion for what he did to you.” He paused. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

Yugi blinked. “But Ryou, nowhere in that sentence did mention what Bakura did to you.”

“Why should I?”

“Gods, how can you ignore it?” Yugi exclaimed.

“I kind of got used to it,” Ryou admitted softly.

Yugi shook his head. “That’s not healthy, Ryou.”

“Shh,” Ryou said quickly. About five seconds later Yami came through the door.

“How are you feeling, Aibou?” he asked.

“Better,” Yugi replied. /Look at Ryou./

Yami turned to the object of his desire. “Ryou, what’s wrong?” he asked, seeing the teen’s state.

Ryou shot a glare at Yugi. “Nothing,” he replied. “I'm okay, Yami.”

/No, he’s not./

//I can see that. But he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.//

“Guys, I'm fine,” Ryou insisted, well acquainted with the glazed looks in their eyes. “Stop talking about me when I'm sitting right here.”

Yugi opened his mouth to deny it but knew he was beat. “Sorry, Ryou. I'm just worried.”

“Well I'm worried about you,” Ryou said. “So let’s focus on you for now.”

Yugi’s reply was cut off by the arrival of Joey, Serenity, and Mai. The trio peeked through the door and Joey spoke up.

“Is this an okay time?” he asked.

“Sure,” Yugi replied.

“How are you feeling, kiddo?” Mai asked from behind a sea of colorful balloons.

“A little better,” he stated.

“We brought you some CD’s and Joey’s portable stereo,” Serenity said in her smooth voice.

“Thank you guys,” Yugi replied gratefully. “Shouldn’t you all be in school?”

Joey turned on some soft music. “I didn’t go today and the rest of these deviants ditched after lunch. Duke had to take care of some problems at the shop. He said he’d be here in about an hour. So, any news?” he asked.

“Not that I’ve heard,” Yugi answered. “Sit down, all of you.”

“Looks like you’re low on seating,” Mai said.

Ryou shot up. “Take my seat,” he said, quickly pushing his way out of the room to avoid Joey.

“Ryou,” Yami said hesitantly.

/Go after him./

The spirit turned to Yugi. //But you need me…//

/He needs you too, Yami./

//No. I need to be with you right now.//

Yugi shook his head. As much as he loved Yami, he knew now that they could never be together. Bakura had made sure of that. Now he only wanted to see his dark happy and he knew that Ryou could provide that happiness. He could only hope that Ryou would be alright.


The teen in question made his way to the street, paying little heed to anything that stood in his way. He wanted to be there for Yami and Yugi but being in the same room with either Joey or Tristan at this point was causing more damage than his not being there at all.

With a heavy sigh, he headed for home. Even though he’d promised his friends he wouldn’t, he knew he couldn’t stay away forever. Besides, he needed to check up on things.

His feet led the way much as they had ever since his move to Domino. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come home to a house in the exact state he had left it in. Usually he ‘d find Bakura crashed on the couch, chips in one hand, the remote in the other or burrowed halfway into the refrigerator and cursing at him for taking so long to get home from school.

Shaking his head, he padded on silent feet upstairs, habitually making as little noise as possible. He picked up his backpack from his desk and emptied it of all his school supplies. It would be a few days yet before he returned to his classes. He stuffed in a two pairs of jeans and three shirts before moving to the bathroom where he added his comb and toothbrush.

He had every intention of going back downstairs, but his feet paused outside Bakura’s door. Fresh tears forming, he slowly turned the doorknob and peered inside. The room remained untouched. He stepped inside and turned in a sluggish circle, taking in his yami’s possessions. The furniture was basic, having been in the room when it was used as a guest room for his father’s company. That’s where the plainness stopped. The dresser and nightstand were covered in CD cases, clothes were draped everywhere, spilling onto the floor, and his massive entertainment center stood proud against the east wall. Ryou didn’t know how the spirit had gotten the equipment and was willing to bet that he didn’t want to.

The pale teen dropped his bag in the doorway and stepped further into the room. He stacked the wayward CD’s back in the slots on the entertainment center and picked up most of the clothes and shoved them into the hamper in the closet. He began crying openly as the scent of his yami’s cologne reached his nostrils when he put the clothes down. Taking up Bakura’s favorite black cashmere sweater, he sat on the unmade bed, bringing it to his nose.

“I miss you, yami,” he whimpered. “I hate that I miss you so much.” He pulled off his plain white sweat-shirt and tugged the sweater over his head. It was a bit loose but comfortably so.

He stood up and picked up his book bag. Before he closed the door he took another glance around the room. “I wish you’d tell me what drove you to this,” he whispered. “Because I don’t know how many more times I can forgive you.”



Bakura and Marik filed off of the jet way between the many other passengers at McCarran International Airport, both barely awake and starving. Bakura had even gone so far as to follow directly behind Marik, his arms wrapped around his lover’s waist, his pale head resting against the Egyptian’s back.

Marik trudged along, dragging Bakura with him. The sight that hit him when he entered the airport however stopped him dead in his tracks.

“What the fuck…” Bakura mumbled, crashing into him. “What’d you stop for?”

“Look,” Marik breathed.

The two ancient spirits were greeted by the view of many neon lights, video poker, blackjack, and slot machines, hundreds of people, and a barrage of foreign sounds. “Whoa…” Bakura mumbled. “Is this Las Vegas?”

“I think so,” Marik replied.

“Holy hells, Ishtar, nice choice!” Bakura squeezed his companion.

Marik grinned. “Told you,” he replied. “Now let’s go get some damn food.”

They maneuvered through the crowd and stepped up to the first vendor they came across. “This good?” Marik asked.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Bakura replied quickly.

“What’ll it be, gentlemen?” the clerk asked.

They each struggled slightly to read the menu, Bakura taking the lead with the help of his time spent in Ryou’s memories. “I’ll have the Colossal Burger with Super Fries and a Coke.”

“Make it two,” Marik said, giving up on the menu.

“Sure thing,” the man said. “That’ll be $7.28.” Bakura handed him several bills. The clerk raised his eyebrow. “We don’t accept foreign money. You’ll have to go to the conversion station at the end of this row. They’ll exchange your money for U.S. Dollars.”

“Um, okay,” Bakura said. He and Marik pushed their way through the crowd and stepped up to the bored looking woman behind the window. “I need U.S. Dollars,” Bakura stated.

“Alright,” the woman replied, gesturing to the slot at the base of the window.

Bakura crammed stack after stack of cash through the hole. “We have to find a hotel too,” he said to Marik.

Marik wasn’t listening. “Bakura,” he said. “How much do you have there?”

“Twenty thousand.”

“But then…how did you get our tickets?”

Bakura leaned back to whisper into Marik’s ear. “Look, am I a thief or aren’t I?”

Marik just shook his head. “Damn…”

“Here you are, sir,” the woman said, sliding eight bills and some change back through the window, along with a receipt.

The tomb robber narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so, wench,” he stated. “Where’s the rest of it?”

With a roll of her eyes, the woman explained. “American money is worth more than Japanese,” she said as though speaking to a very young child. “If you were to trade that money back in to me you would receive twenty thousand yen back.”

“You know,” Bakura said hotly. “I do believe this place is out to screw us. First they tell us that we can’t tell time and then they take our money away?”

The woman snorted. “Welcome to Vegas.” She pulled the wooden partition down, effectively closing her window and cutting the men off.

“This fucking blows,” Marik stated. “What are we going to do now?”

“I don’t know,” Bakura replied. “I can’t think when I'm this hungry. He wrapped an arm around Marik’s shoulders and led him back to the vendor. “Let’s go eat.”

Marik nodded and several minutes later they were seated at a small table for two in a dark corner, devouring their food. “So what do we do?”

Bakura shoved four fries into his mouth. “Well we have about a hundred and ninety dollars. Let’s see if we can find a place to sleep tonight.”

“Sounds good to me,” the blonde replied. “I need a shower.”

“You’re damn right you do,” Bakura chuckled.

“Oh fuck off,” Marik retorted, tossing a fry at his comrade.

Bakura caught the aerial launch and crammed it in his mouth. “Thanks.”

Marik rolled his eyes. He crumpled up his wrappers and sat back, taking a long drink of his soda before letting out a horrendous belch. “Oh yeah. I feel better already.”

Bakura stood up and carried their tray to the garbage can. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I'm exhausted.”

They found the main exit of the airport and were not surprised that the amount of people had not decreased outside. All around them were advertisements for casinos, hotels, and restaurants. At a loss for any other solution, they picked a direction and began to walk.

“This place looks terrible,” Marik said after a few moments.

Bakura laughed. “I don’t know,” he said. “It kind of reminds me of the area of Domino where you and Malik used to drag me to with all the dancing naked people.”

Marik took another look. “It does,” he relented.

After a few more minutes in the slum area of Las Vegas Bakura came to a stop. “Here we go,” he said, pointing to a sign. “’Rooms to rent by the hour, night, or week.’ Why the hell would someone want to rent a room for an hour?”

“Damned if I know,” Marik replied, pulling open the door to the office.

A fat, balding man sat behind the counter watching a tiny black and white television. “Whaddaya want?” he said loudly upon seeing the pair.

“We need a room,” Bakura stated.

“Show me the forty bucks. Cause if you ain’t got it, you ain’t’ staying.”

Marik stepped forward, placing his hands on the counter and leaned forward, well into the man’s personal space. “We need a room,” he said with deadly calm. “Do you have one available or not?”

“Sure, mister,” the man mumbled, rising to his feet and stepping back, out of the Egyptian’s range. He pulled an archaic hotel register from behind the counter and opened it to the bookmarked page. “Just one night?”

“One night,” Marik confirmed, never taking his eyes off the man.

“Will that be cash or charge?”

“Cash,” Bakura replied, placing forty dollars on the counter.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked

“Not right now,” Marik said. He took the key before turning and leading the way outside.

“Damn, Marik. Way to keep a low profile,” Bakura chided.

“Well he pissed me off,” Marik replied. “I'm not in the mood for this shit.” He crammed the key into the lock of room 130 and tried to open the door. It wouldn’t move. With a roll of his eyes he gave a mighty kick and it flew open. “After you,” he said.

Bakura could almost see the waves of irritation emanating from the blonde. He stepped inside the dank room and grimaced. “What the fuck is that stench?” he asked.

“I have no fucking idea,” Marik replied, stripping off his clothes. He went right into the bathroom and into the dingy shower.

Bakura sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes and wriggling his toes. To say that his plan was crumbling would be an understatement. He looked at the clock on the rickety nightstand. It told him it was after 11pm. His body insisted it was around 3pm. “This is fucking crazy,” he muttered, pulling off his coat and falling back onto the bed.

He wasn’t aware he had fallen asleep until the sound of Marik’s cursing woke him up. He looked at the clock again. Fifteen minutes had passed. “What the…”

“Ra damn it!” Marik yelled again. He appeared in the doorway, a microscopic towel barely reaching around the width of his slim hips. “Bakura are there any REAL towels out there?”

“I doubt it,” Bakura replied. He stood up and shuffled over to where Marik was fuming. “Let me,” he said, taking the thin white towel. He brought it to Marik’s chest and began to swiftly dry the other yami. When he was satisfied that Marik wouldn’t catch cold in the freezing room, he led him over to the bed and pulled the covers back, inspecting them for anything…unusual.

“You don’t have to baby me,” Marik yawned.

“Shut up, Ishtar,” Bakura replied, pushing the spirit onto the bed and pulling the blankets over him.

“Bakura?”

“What?”

Marik sat up. “What are we gonna do now?”

Bakura sighed. He knew good and well that he’d been the one to get them into this mess. The responsibility was his to get them out of it. He moved to the edge of the bed and sat again, shoving his feet into his shoes.

“Where are you going?” Marik asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bakura replied standing up and pulling on his jacket. “Just get some sleep. I’ll be back by morning.”

Alarm crossed Marik’s face. “What are you going to do?”

“What I do best.”