Metal Heart - Part 1 of 2

[apollymi]

Word Count: 15,008
Pairings: Bakura/Seto, some Ryou/Malik and Yuugi/Yami/Jyonouchi
Warnings: Shounen-ai, alternate universe
Notes: This story loosely uses the lyrics of the Garbage song “Metal Heart” as its basis.
Entries: Gundam Wing 2005 OTP Challenge (Wild Card Category) - 1st Place, Sands of Time Character Challenge
Summary: (Alternate Universe) After Kaiba Seto escapes the Institute to join the Bakuras on the outside, all manner of hell starts to break loose....

He was running. It seemed he’d been running forever, and he was starting to forget a time, if there had ever been one, when he wasn’t running. Every breath in and out of his lungs hurt now, and his legs felt like they were burning. His whole body was aching to collapse, but there was no way he could stop now. He had to find them, the Bakuras. They were somewhere in this city. This city had been his only clue, if he had read the elder Bakura’s sign three months ago right. Dear God, let him have interpreted the sign right.

One neon sign blurred into another then finally bled out as the shopping district gave way to apartment buildings and homes. How the hell was he going to find them in all this mess of people? The clue he’d been given wasn’t enough to go on after all, and he couldn’t slow down. For all he knew, they were closing in on him right now.

“Kaiba Seto?” The voice was unfamiliar but spoke with such surety that, despite the phrasing, informed him the speaker knew exactly who he was and what he was doing in Domino City. The voice wasn’t old, though, the speaker probably no older than him - not one of his pursuers.

He stopped and slowly turned to take in the tan young man sitting on the doorstep of the building he’d been passing. With that skin tone, coupled with the blond hair and purple eyes, he had to be a gaijin, though there was something… familiar about him. “Who are you?” He had to be proud that, no matter how tired he was, he didn’t allow himself to show it to this virtual stranger.

“You’re a little earlier than I thought you’d be. Good thing I came down early anyway. I’m Malik Ishtar. I live upstairs with the Bakuras.”

This was almost too good to be true. No, forget ‘almost’. “Prove it.”

”What, that I knew you were coming isn’t good enough?” No, there were too many ways that information could have been found out. He shook his head, and Malik laughed in response, a harsh, broken sound like shattered glass. The tanned man dug in one of the many pockets on the vest he was wearing and tossing something at him.

In the split second before he caught it, an image flashed through his mind of a tanned hand digging through a pocket. That’s why Malik seemed familiar: one of the Bakuras must have included it in the message. Then he caught the thrown object, and a new wave of images assaulted him: Malik settling down on the steps to wait; one of the Bakuras putting the object in his palm; “get upstairs, Seto, it’s getting late;” one of the Bakuras (sometimes it was so hard to tell which one was which) grabbing this object and the one they’d left him before from the younger spiky-haired kid; “get your ass upstairs, Seto, now…”

With an effort, he stemmed off the flashes and focused weary eyes on Malik, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Do you believe me now?”

He nodded slowly. “Where are they?”

The blond man bounced to his feet. “Upstairs waiting on you. Ryou’s been in a fit since we heard you escaped.”

Then the younger Bakura hadn’t changed much, he mused as he followed Malik inside and into an elevator. Good, he didn’t think he could take stairs. All the same, he had to glance over his shoulder a few times. Paranoia was a force of habit now.

A hand touched his shoulder, hitting nothing but the cloth of the long-sleeved shirt he wore, but still he shied back, almost to the wall but not letting himself touch it. Malik held both hands up before himself, his voice and face apologetic. “Sorry, I forgot they said not to touch you. I just wanted to tell you that you lost them four blocks back. You’re safe here for now.”

”For how long?” He must be tired, if that slipped out.

The blond shrugged. “A few hours ahead is my limit, but right now I don’t sense any danger coming for a while.”

The Bakuras obviously trusted this guy, and it sounded like he was one of them. Maybe he could relax for a little bit. As the elevator started to rise, he glanced down at the object he still held in the palm of his hand: a domino, one of Yuugi’s at that. Had the elder Bakura been saving it till now, so he’d know it was safe?

When he’d gotten the first one, hand-delivered by Yuugi several months after the Bakuras’ disappearance, he’d been so confused and skeptical that he almost hadn’t taken off his gloves to see what was going on. Curiosity (Why was Yuugi, the only one of them who still got mail from his family, getting a domino with a note attached that only said for ‘For Kaiba Seto’?) got the better of him, though, and he’d looked. After that, it had just been a matter of planning his own escape, waiting for the right moment, and running for it… and running and running and…

A bell dinged, and he straightened to attention as the doors open. “This way,” Malik stated, leading him to door 601 and knocking two times, pausing, then knocking once more. He could hear locks opening, and the door swung open. For a moment, he wondered which of the Bakuras he was seeing, till Malik solved the dilemma by grinning and stating, “I’m back, Ryou! I told you guys he’d be here soon.” The blond moved past the white-haired man, still talking. “Man, it was cold out there! I hate Japanese winters. How can you people stand all the damn snow?”

Ryou shook his head before turning back to him. “I’m sorry about Malik, Kaiba-kun.” As unfailing polite as he remembered, most definitely. “Please, come in. Our home is your home for as long as you wish to stay.”

It had been so long since he’d been anywhere but the Institute that he almost forgot to take off his rather battered shoes and put on slippers. A pair was waiting for him just inside the door, blue at that. The elder Bakura was the only one who knew how much he liked the color, though, so this had to be his touch.

“Where’s your brother?” he found himself asking. It felt so good to be inside where it was warm and not a chilled sterile white. Every part of him was trembling with exhaustion, but he couldn’t drop yet. Not until he saw the other Bakura too and was sure he was all right also.

“Setting you up a place to sleep.” Ryou smiled faintly. “We thought you might like a place to rest first then eat and settle in.”

It was just like the Bakuras to think of everything. For two people whose abilities didn’t include foreseeing the future, they always seemed to be prepared for it. “Thank you,” he muttered softly. “Which way?”

//Down the hall, first door on your left,// whispered in his mind.

It had always surprised him how at ease he felt with the other Bakura. He was a very private person and had actively rejected the other telepaths at the Institute. Bakura he got along with, though, probably because the white-haired man never tried once to pick his thoughts apart, no more than his brother had ever tried to mess with his emotions.

He moved past Ryou and Malik, following the directions he’d been given. The door wasn’t even pulled closed all the way, so he had only to elbow it open. “Bakura?”

Another white-haired man straightened from smoothing out the covers on the bed. //Welcome to Domino, Seto.//

He’d never heard Bakura speak anywhere but in his mind. He doubted anyone except Ryou and perhaps the scientists at the Institute had heard the man’s voice. He had only ever used his telepathy to speak for as long as Seto had known him. “You could have left me a clearer message, you know.”

//You wouldn’t have believed it was from me if I did. I know you, remember?// Silver eyes looked over him critically. //You look like hell.//

“I feel like I’ve seen a slice of it.”

“Niisan, here’s the extra blanket.” He nearly jumped to hear Ryou’s voice behind him. The pair of them were both too quiet, but usually it was only the older Bakura that was able to sneak up on him, though Ryou had managed it a time or two before. Today, though, he was jumping at shadows. He’d be better once he got some sleep. “And here, Kaiba-kun. These are the only gloves we have. Malik and I will go pick you up a better pair tomorrow.” Carefully, he accepted the proffered gloves, slipping them on and forcing a brief stream of images to stay back for now.

//How did you make it this far without them?// And there was that familiar faint note of worry. No one else but Bakura really worried about him anymore, since his own family died six years ago. This was why he found his way here, after a year since he’d seen the other man.

And both Bakuras were staring at him expectantly, obviously await an answer. “The doctors would have suspected something if I’d gone outside with them on.”

Bakura was nodding, but it was Ryou who replied. “Of course, and those people’s ideas of clothes don’t exactly include lots of pockets.”

He nodded. “Then I just ran and kept running and tried to keep from touching anything or anyone.”

//You’ll be safe here for the time being,// Bakura’s voice whispered in his head, thoughts so soft he could nearly wrap himself around them. Hell, he seemed to recall having done that a few times before the Bakuras’ vanishing act. There had been times he’d stumbled into the room he’d shared with Bakura, barely getting one foot in front of the other as exhausted as he was by what seemed like endless tests, much as he was now from running, and found the white-haired man awaiting him, and before he knew it, his body would be tucked into one of the two beds while his mind was in whatever new scenery Bakura managed to dream up. It was the advantage of having a skilled, powerful telepath for a roommate.

When he first met Bakura, he had thought the other man was much, much older than he was. The white hair and his old, world-weary eyes threw him off. Of course, he met Ryou shortly after that and soon came to realize that apparently both Bakuras’ hair had gone white from the force of their powers. They were incredibly strong individually but even more so when together, so they’d been forbidden to room together in the hopes it might keep them from being powerful enough to escape. No one at the Institute except the Bakuras, him, and maybe Ryou’s former roommate Yuugi knew that, no matter the distance they were separated, the brothers could always communicate telepathically, just as they could always sense each others’ emotions.

One of the first times Bakura had pulled him into his mind for the night, he’d summoned up the nerve to ask what he never would aloud: why Bakura’s eyes were so ancient, especially compared to his brother’s, who was only three years younger. Bakura just did that sad half-smile and replied that Ryou never had thousands of people’s thoughts hitting him all the time - and he was shielding him from the worst of the emotions. It seemed Bakura had always been trying to protect them all from as much as he could.

“Thank you, Ryou, Bakura,” he said softly, letting himself sink down on the bed. He’d almost forgotten how a real bed felt after six years of sleeping on the cot-like beds the Institute provided. Trust Bakura to find a way to get a Western-style bed. Then again, as he looked around, he recognized telltale signs that this was most certainly Bakura’s room and therefore Bakura’s bed.

“Good night, niisan. Good night, Kaiba-kun,” Ryou called over his shoulder on his way to the door. “Sleep in if you’d like. Malik and I are going to get up early and get some shopping done. Niisan will make you breakfast or whatever when you get up.” He pulled the door closed behind him, forestalling any reply he might have had.

He was battling to keep his eyes open at this point, but… He plucked at his shirt tiredly.

//They feel like that place, don’t they?// He nodded, and Bakura left his post next to the bed to cross over to a chest-of-drawers. //I’ve got a pair of sleep pants here that should fit you.//

“I don’t want to kick you out of your room, Bakura,” he stated softly, closely watching the other’s movements in lieu of letting himself fall over asleep as his body was begging to do. “I can sleep somewhere else.”

//Seto, you can be such a dumb shit sometimes, for as intelligent as you’re supposed to be.//

He blinked, half-wishing he could and half-glad he couldn’t see Bakura’s face with his back turned. “What?”

//We roomed together how many years?//

“Five,” he replied immediately. He had been thirteen when he was brought to the Institute, while the Bakuras had already been there at least a year at that point. He remembered wishing he could room with the other Bakura because the tall sixteen-year-old with the strange eyes was intimidating. “This isn’t the Institute, though, and it’s been a year since we’ve seen each other.” And Bakura had left him behind when he and Ryou ran. He winced as the thought slipped out unguarded; there was no way Bakura hadn’t heard that. “I’m -“

//If you dare say you’re sorry, Seto, I’m going to punch the shit out of you.// Bakura slowly turned to face him, hands apparently still grasping something in the drawer. //The bed is yours while you’re here. We either share it like we used to or I’ll go sleep on the couch. It’s up to you. But don’t you dare say you’re sorry for anything to me. I don’t want to think they broke you that much while I was gone.//

How had he nearly forgotten how passionate Bakura was about everything? “It’ll be all right if we both stay here, I guess,” he decided aloud. “It’s not like we’ve never done it before, right?”

He could watch Bakura relaxing, then the grin he recognized built on the other’s face. //All right. Catch.// Blue flew at him, and he caught it reflexively.

”Did you feel the need to buy everything for me in my favorite color?” he asked, allowing a faint smile to grace his face as he examined the matched pajama set.

//I even sent a color sample out with Ryou and Malik.// Bakura was smirking, but that was pretty typical. //Granted, Malik wanted to bitch about it a bit, but I convinced him otherwise. Think they’ll fit?//

“Yeah.” Didn’t Bakura go out anymore?

Another pair of pants in hand, Bakura headed towards the other door. //The bathroom’s through here when you need it. I’ll be back in a few, so you go ahead and change if you want.// Bakura vanished behind the door, and he even felt his mental presence retreat a bit too.

He shrugged, starting to peel his way out of the clothes he was wearing. Bakura always was a bit odd, even for a telepath.

He didn’t remember getting changed or collapsing on the bed, though surely both must have happened because that’s where he found himself when he stirred a while later. Some things, at least, never changed: Bakura still took whichever side of the bed was closest to the door, and he still ended up wrapped around the other man during the night. Surely he had noticed as well, despite never breathing a word about it. He knew it never bothered him because it saved him from a hundred horrible dreams and memories, since the older Bakura was the only person he could touch without gloves or other clothes and never be assaulted by images.

Bakura seemed to be asleep now, apparently oblivious to his sudden return to wakefulness, so he cautiously crawled over the man and headed into the bathroom, completely unaware of silvery eyes following his every movement till they were blocked by the bathroom door.

/What’s bothering you, niisan?/

He almost laughed aloud at the worry in his brother’s mental voice. //Nothing’s wrong.//

/You feel… concerned about something. Is Kaiba-kun all right?/

He let out a laugh purely between their minds. //I’m just glad he made it out. Now I can take care of him properly. He needs to be spoiled.//

/He doesn’t need an older brother, you know./

A smile twitched briefly on his face before he carefully wiped it off as the bathroom door opened again and he returned to faking sleep. //That’s not the position I had in mind.//

Seto crawled back over him and started arranging himself into the spot he’d originally occupied, carefully making sure the bed sheets were between him and the wall and several inches were between his bed partner and himself.

/Be careful not to rush him, niisan. I don’t think Kaiba-kun’s ready for any relationships right now./

//I know. I will be.//

He nearly gave himself away by jumping or speaking or something when Seto’s bare hand touched his face. “I’m glad I made it back to you, Bakura.”

He pulled back, feeling heat flushing his cheeks, and buried his face in the pillow. If Bakura was even marginally awake, he’d have either heard the words or picked up on the thoughts behind them. Still, he was too tired to be embarrassed for long, probably the reason why he kept slipping, and soon enough he’d drifted off again.

The next time he awoke, the bed was empty. It took him a few minutes sitting up on the bed and glancing around the room to place where he was again. He was a little amazed at what all Bakura had managed to accumulate over a year: a chest of drawers that he presumed to be full of clothes, books liberally covering every available surface save the bed and most of the floor, a few J-rock posters, and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and the walls. He liked that touch; it was very Bakura.

Speaking of the white-haired man, where was he? The room was lit by sunshine peeking in through the window covering, but the door into the room was still closed. He grabbed his gloves off the bedside table and pulled them on before moving to explore beyond Bakura’s room. Last night he’d been too tired to really look around. The Bakuras had definitely made this apartment their own, with little knick-knacks littered down the hallway to the living room on small end tables or displays on the wall, definitely a Ryou touch. The living room, however, was crowded, and he could see more than just their tastes? It was a bit more Middle Eastern; Malik’s maybe? He had to wonder what the gaijin’s story was; he’d never seen anyone like him at the Institute, though he was obviously a talent like the rest of them. He’d have to ask Bakura about it whenever he found him.

The aroma drew him into the next room even before Bakura spoke in his mind, //Ask me about what?//

He would never in a million years would have pictured Bakura as being in the least bit domestic. He had always figured Ryou cooked and did everything around the house, but now that he saw it, it made a strange sense, especially since it seemed Bakura was the one inside most of (all of?) the time, not Ryou as he’d originally thought. “Malik? What’s his deal?”

Bakura shrugged, setting two bowls down on the table. //He’s a precog. Ryou found him frisking people blind, mostly in stuff like blackjack or anything else where he could make bets on what would come up next.// Bakura huffed, the breath fluttering his hair. //Ryou, being the kind-hearted sap that he is, brought him home and kept him, like a stray cat or something. All in all, he’s not too bad.//

Of course, there was more to all that, but it certainly wasn’t any of his business. He took a sip of the miso soup Bakura had given him before asking his next question, “What about this place? How’d you guys find it?”

//It found us.// His confusion must have showed on his face because Bakura chuckled and clarified, //When Ryou and I left that place, we had nowhere to go. He remembered the return address that had been on Yuugi’s letters, so that seemed like as good an idea as any to start, and we went to Yuugi’s grandfather’s place.// That was strange. He couldn’t remember ever hearing admiration for anyone from Bakura before. //He took us in for a while, then he went into debt to buy this building before it could be torn down. Everyone in here is working to pay him back for the place to live - and most of us for more than that.//

Sooner or later, everything always came down to Yuugi these days. He’d known the boy was generous to a fault, but he never would have suspected it was a genetic trait or something. “I’m glad there was someone here who would do something like that.” Till he’d gotten Bakura’s message, he’d had nightmares of the brothers living on the streets or something, nothing protecting their abilities from becoming overwhelming or anything of that ilk. He could never bring himself to admit something like that. There was one more thing he would allow himself to admit, however: “I’m glad you’re all right.”

As always, Bakura seemed to know what he meant. //I was worried about you too.// A knee nudged him under the table. //Now eat. Ryou and Malik will be home soon.//

“Oh?” It definitely wasn’t the best miso soup he’d ever had, but it was certainly far from the worst. “Do we have plans?”

//They’re taking you out to get more clothes. Unless you wanted to keep wearing that all the time?//

“You’re not coming?”

//…// He watched Bakura look away from him almost guiltily. So his suspicions had been correct?

“Bakura?” he prompted.

//I haven’t been able to leave the building in four months, Seto.//

He could have been knocked over with a feather in that instant. Bakura, housebound, like some kind of common talent? The hell? “What do you mean?”

//I’m shielding almost every talent in here to some extent, some more than others. I’m extended to the point that I can barely shield my own mind inside the building, much less out of it.// A faint smirk touched his face as he looked back at him. //So, as much as I’d like to ogle you trying on new clothes, I’m afraid I’m stuck here.// He winked. //You could always model for me here, though.//

He felt heat flush his cheeks. Only Bakura could make him blush, and he had given up trying to make him stop years ago. He never thought he’d have missed this too, though. “Ba-Bakura!”

//What?// That voice was too innocent for Bakura. Why did the white-haired man have to so enjoy teasing him? He’d been doing it since he turned fifteen and had finally started shooting up till he was a little taller than Bakura. A pale hand picked up the bowl that he’d finished, and he glanced up. //Ryou and Malik are in the elevator on their way up. You might want to start getting dressed. No one outside this apartment is allowed to ogle you in your PJs, after all.// There was a brief pause. //And I’m not sure Malik’s allowed either. Let me know if he tries, and I’ll turn him into a vegetable, okay?//

“Does he get to pick which vegetable?” he deadpanned, drawing a laugh in his mind from Bakura.

“We’re home, niisan, Kaiba-kun!” Ryou’s voice called out.

“We’re back and ready to go out again - Oww! Damn it, Ryou! That hurt!” And there was Malik’s voice. A second later, the pair appeared, Malik rubbing his stomach and glaring at Ryou. “I’m not a punching bag, you know.”

“Poor baby. You’ll live.” Ryou was smiling broadly, more so than he’d ever seen him do before, and even he could read the lack of tension coming off him. Life outside the Institute was obviously agreeing with one Bakura at least.

//Knock it off, you two. You’ll traumatize him,// Bakura chided. //Go get dressed, Seto. Some of my clothes may still fit you - or at least come close. I’ll do my best to kick these two into shape before you get back.//

“Be back in a few.” He stood slowly and left the three of them in the kitchen. It was a lot to process at once. He’d never thought of Bakura’s powers having such a limit on them, even though he’d know there had to be some kind of limitation or else the white-haired man probably would have gone mad or died from the drain by now. But that he was playing guardian to so many people that he could barely take care of himself? That was unlike the somewhat selfish Bakura he’d known.

This new Bakura was only somewhat similar to his Bakura - err, the Bakura he’d known at the Institute, the only who had rerouted all the guards’ minds so they thought they were chimps, the one who had put fudge in Atem’s shampoo bottle, the one who had stepped up to take the blame for anyone else’s mistakes, the one who hadn’t spoken a word aloud in at least six years, though probably more. After the Bakuras, Atem had been there the next longest, and he had told him once that he’d never heard Bakura speak before either, so it was almost definitely a good deal longer than the stretch of time he himself had known the man, he pondered to himself as he selected a pair of slacks and a long-sleeved button-down shirt that didn’t fit too poorly. So maybe Bakura hadn’t changed that much after all and just had developed a large base of people - probably with a smaller idea of their own potential - to play older brother to.

He tugged at the shirt sleeves till they just met the edge of his gloves. It was the best fit he was going to find here, of that he was fairly certain, but he was still enough taller than Bakura that it wasn’t perfect. He’d have to wear a jacket or something because otherwise he ran the possibility of touching someone or something, neither of which he wanted to chance.

Almost nervous about what they would say, he stepped out of the bedroom, still pulling at the shirt self-consciously as he walked into the living room where they were now waiting. Silver eyes glanced up at him first as he’d expected, but it wasn’t Bakura who spoke first. “You look like a foreign business man,” Malik began, before choking on his laughter as Ryou elbowed him in the stomach.

“Then we’ll just let you do the talking, Malik-chan,” Ryou returned too sweetly, “and they’ll think we’re all gaijin for sure.” The younger Bakura snickered and grinned as he sank down in a mismatched oversized chair. “You might be able to negotiate us some nice price mark-ups.”

Bakura stood and headed over to a closet near the door, emerging with a long, thin coat as he spoke, //Mutou said to put it on the card this time, but don’t go overboard. We’re already in the hole for the month. Here.// He set the coat around his shoulders, careful not to touch him directly, not that he’d have really minded it from Bakura. He could tell Bakura’s next words were for him alone. //Try to relax and have a little fun while you’re out. Malik says there’s nothing to worry about for today, and I have someone downstairs trying to make sure everything flows your way. So have a good time, okay?//

“I’ll try,” he leaned up to whisper in Bakura’s ear. “I wish you could come.”

//I can’t, I’m afraid to say. I’ll walk you guys downstairs, though.//

Maybe he was talking to Ryou at the same time he was talking to him, but the younger Bakura hopped to his feet and announced, “It’s time to go, Malik! Time for more of your favorite thing in the world.”

He had to smile as the gaijin groaned. “I hate shopping.” But he started slipping back on a coat way too heavy for the current weather, grumbling something to himself about stupid freezing Japanese winters. As he pushed himself to his feet, he took a moment to really look at the strange young man: he’d already noted the bright blond hair and lavender eyes, plus the apparent precognitive powers, the odd fashion sense, probably about the same age as himself and Ryou, and… And apparently he was attached at the hip to the younger Bakura, who had been playfully messing with the many layers Malik was wearing but now was being tickled till he laughed helplessly by the blond. It was good to see, perhaps reaffirming in its own way. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a touch of envy though, as he frequently did for people who either had no talents to speak of or had ones that were less obtrusive; they’d never have to go through life without being able to touch a single thing or keeping a mile-deep shield around their mind. Maybe Malik’s ability had some hidden drawback he’d yet to see, aside from the limited timeframe he’d mentioned before, but for now…

For now he would content himself to just follow where the elder Bakura pulled him, though, stepping onto the elevator and watching as the doors closed behind them.

“Are you going down to see Jyonouchi-kun while we’re gone, niisan?” Ryou asked. Who was this Jyonouchi, he wondered? Better still, what was this odd, hot emotion he felt upon hearing that? And why was Ryou giggling? “He was saying how much he missed seeing you the other day.”

Very nonchalantly, Bakura leaned over and lightly smacked the back of his brother’s head. //You make it sound like we’re having a torrid affair or something, you little pervert. Now knock it off before you break Seto.//

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, niisan.” The younger Bakura grinned at him, as if he was part of whatever joke was being played on the young man’s brother. Problem was, he had absolutely no idea what the joke was or if he even really was a part of it. He rarely got the joke, especially with these two.

//Don’t worry about that. My little brother’s just a pervert.// The words were accompanied by a purely mental sensation of arms wrapping around him. //Just try to put up with him a bit, okay?//

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced over to the other two occupants of the small elevator. Malik and Ryou seemed to be in some sort of protracted conversation that involved a lot of whispering and an equivalent amount of giggling. Why did he have the feeling he and Bakura were their topic of choice at the moment? Still… He leaned back so that he was just barely touching Bakura and whispered, “Thanks. I’ll try to put up with him.”

Was it his imagination, or were the other two oddly silent?

//Good.// Bakura sounded like he was grinning, but he didn’t look as the elevator doors opened. //Try to have some fun today, all right?//

“Sure.”

Malik and Ryou stepped around them and started speaking to a young man sitting on the steps, much as the tanned gaijin had been last night. “Jyonouchi-kun!” Ryou greeted him, turning that smile of his on a thousand watts.

“What’re you up to?” Malik continued, stepping up behind Ryou.

The new blond man turned slightly to look at them behind the other two. “Waiting to see Bakura.” Why was he almost literally seeing red? Bakura didn’t even answer in words, merely tilting his head to the side. “Dad wanted to talk to you. Something about a case he needs help with.”

If he could get his hands on Ryou and Malik, he might have to smack them both. Bakura was right; they made it sound like they were… involved. That seemed to be untrue now, though, and he wanted to know why they had implied so heavily. It wasn’t like he and Bakura were in a relationship or anything after all, and even if they were, he certainly was not the jealous type - and why was Bakura grinning like that?

//You’re ranting a bit there, Seto.//

He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to think back ‘So?’, even if he wasn’t sure it got through.

The elder white-haired man smiled even more broadly. //So, nothing. It was cute.// He started to bristle, but Bakura kept speaking. //There’s nothing going on between Katsuya and me.// If it were anyone but Bakura, he’d be concerned by the usage of a given, instead of a family, name, but it was Bakura and he used first names for damn near everyone. //Don’t worry over it, and go have fun. I’ll see you when you get back.//

He had to fight a flush of heat to his cheeks as Bakura lifted his gloved hands and laid a kiss on the covered palm of each. Did the man know what he did to him? The grin had turned a bit mischievous; he’d say, yes, he knew, and he’d probably been counting on it. He - he couldn’t think. It was barely a touch, not even connecting with his flesh, and he couldn’t think. He shakily drew his hands back to himself and stammered, “I - I’ll see you soon, Bakura.”

He was pretty sure he was still red when Malik and Ryou dragged him out the front door, each of them pulling him by an end of his borrowed jacket.

It was starting to seem to him that Ryou and Malik knew everyone in this town, as well as exactly how to work each and every one of them. Every article of clothing had been bought at discount prices, and even the lunch they were now eating was at a reduced rate. Finally, he had to ask as the waitress brought some kind of desert with a wink and a grin, “Do you know everyone in this city?”

Malik was digging into the sweet with gusto. “Her?” He pointed at the waitress’s back with one of the forks she’d also brought. “Never saw her before in my life.”

“It’s probably horrible of us, but we worked out a system.” This didn’t sound good; he wondered if the elder Bakura knew. “Malik’s good at finding people who are easily manipulated, and I can make that even easier because I can follow where their emotions are going and steer them in the direction I want them to go.”

Malik laughed, a little alarmingly in its sudden appearance and volume. “You should have seen it when Bakura still used to come out. He and Ryou could work a person like nobody’s business. It was great. We never had to pay for anything.”

“Are you guys really that broke?” something inside made him inquire.

As if by some unspoken signal, Malik set his fork down and Ryou picked up his own. “We are beyond broke. ‘Broke’ implies that you once had money. Niisan and I never have had any. Everything we have was either borrowed, stolen, or donated.”

The Bakura he remembered was as prideful as they came, nearly as much as he himself was. He’d rather steal than take charity. How much in that room was stolen? Most of those lovely books to start with, he'd bet. Loans or things he could eventually return he’d have taken with fewer qualms than if they were ‘donated’. He could understand the mentality; he was much the same way, after all. He would be paying all this back the second he got money of his own. He wasn’t too sure how he was going to accomplish that, of course. His… handler back at the Institute frequently said he had a gift for investments. Maybe he could still make money move without that old bastard over his shoulder. Where to get the money to start with though? His parents had set up a trust fund for him and his brother before their deaths, but he couldn’t touch it till he turned twenty, another eleven months from now. He wasn’t waiting that long, not for something this important.

“Kaiba-kun?” Ryou sounded worried. How odd. Someone aside from Bakura and his own six-years-dead family was concerned for him?

“Yes?”

”Did I say something to upset you?” What an odd question, but Ryou was pushing on. “It’s not really that bad, I swear. For the most part, we just have to cut out… luxuries, and niisan has got a deal going with the local police so we use our talents to help them out and they pay us a bit.”

And the answer to his problem just fell into his lap. “I could help with that.” Malik looked up sharply. “I could… I don’t know… see crime scenes, tell them about the criminal. I know one of the police forces in Tokyo has someone like me on retainer.”

“It’s not easy, you know,” Malik cautioned. “Half the cops resent us being there, and the other half only just barely tolerate us. Not to mention the nightmares from using your abilities like that.” He gave a visible shudder. “It’s horrible.” He grabbed his fork up again, stabbed a bite off the desert, and shoved it in his mouth, looking sharply away.

Ryou winced but turned back to him to explain, “Malik picks up murders when he goes up to the station. His surroundings determine what he sees.”

So that was the drawback to Malik’s abilities: they were like his own, but instead of seeing the past, he saw the future. Given what the blond liked to wear when not outside in the winter air, he was willing to bet he wasn’t limited by touch either. It was strange, but he was almost glad he had that limitation now; it kept him from catching images at random.

Malik turned back towards them and spoke slowly but with excitement clear in his eyes. “Bakura says I’m sitting on a plateau with my powers. They’re slowly stopping to increase and finally are evening out. Pretty soon I’ll be able to control them better.”

This seemed to cheer Ryou back up immediately. “Niisan’s our resident expert. If he says Malik’s powers are about to even out, then they will.” He must have looked curious or confused or something because Ryou then kept speaking. “We were at that place for just about forever. He picked stuff up, more than I did.”

Something in his stomach was tying itself into knots. “How long is ‘just about forever’?”

“Since he was twelve and I was nine.”

Nine years?! They were there for nine years? Holy fuck, no wonder Bakura could work the system in that place the way he could. “So long?”

Ryou snorted inelegantly, tossing his fork down on the table with a loud clatter. “They had to wait till Kaasan and Tousan had a little ‘accident’ before they could get us. Of course, I’m sure they didn’t mean to kill our little sister Amane along with our parents.”

Ryou sounded so callous, he could almost swear it was the man's brother he was speaking to. No, not callous. No, his words were just matter-of-fact, like his family being murdered wasn't the topic of conversation. If Malik hadn't already climbed onto the younger Bakura's lap to wrap his arms around him, he might have been half-tempted to reach out to Ryou himself - because suddenly Ryou seemed a lot more like Bakura than ever before.

//Seto?//

The mental voice was little more than a whisper. Given how far they were from the apartment building, that really wasn't a surprise. Still... He had to resist the urge to check over his shoulder for the white-haired man.

Concentrating to form coherent words in his mind wasn't as easy as those two made it seem, and his eyes closed to work properly at sending the message. 'Ryou's okay. He's just upset.' He paused a beat then added, 'I asked some stupid questions.'

There was a mental brush, so faint he couldn't tell if it was Bakura's equivalent of a slap or a hug before silence return to his mind, nearly deafening in its quiet. Ryou let out a jagged laugh, an almost frightening noise which sounded thick and wet and so very loud that his eyes were drawn open again. Malik was smiling as tears ran down his face. Looking around, though, the dark-skinned man was far from the only one upset; at least half the restaurant patrons were sobbing.

//He'll be just fine in a little bit. Come on home now, though, before my little brother decides all of Domino needs a good cry.//

He had to hold back the urge to nod. Sometimes it still surprised him just how much like talking this could really be. "Bakura-" he began aloud.

"Says to come home," Malik finished, wiping at his face. "He doesn't like Ryou being out when he's upset."

Between himself and the lamppost, he thought Bakura might have a rather wise idea there. But he wasn't going to say anything about it. And he wasn't going to mention that they'd just left without paying either.

"So that's one of the infamous Bakuras?"

He scowled at the voice's owner as the man spoke through almost hysterical tears. "Given the fact you're sobbing like a little bitch, I'd say that was Bakura Ryou."

"How can you tell?"

Really, if it wasn't such a public place, he'd probably go ahead and shoot the man in the face for his stupidity. "If it was the other Bakura, you'd be a drooling misfit now." More than normal, he clarified strictly to himself.

He'd known, if Kaiba Seto ever escaped, he'd lead them straight to the ever-elusive Bakuras. It had been a gamble, but so far it was paying off. As long as the other Kaiba never found out he'd allowed the man's favorite test subject to get out, it'd all be fine.

"If he's with the Bakuras, though, and they're as powerful as all that, how are we going to retrieve him?"

Again something twitched in the back of his mind, urging him to just go ahead and shoot his companion - put the man out of his own misery. He resisted. There was something odd about the thought. Not that he didn't regularly entertain notions of murdering this guy in his sleep, but there was a touch of 'other' there, something that simply screamed to him that someone else was influencing his thoughts. He knew the 'hand' of a telepath when he felt it. It was a little clumsy; either the telepath was a novice or he was too far away to work him properly. And given the topic of their conversation...

"We need someone who can get around the Bakuras and the young Kaiba," he reasoned aloud. His companion stared at him expectantly. "We need the summoner."

Go to Part II