AN: Written in tribute to my ex-neighbours' cat, which I used to steal occasionally. It wasn't my fault: the cat was obviously convinced it had every right to be inside my house whenever it wanted to – and who was I to contradict it?

Set at a not more clearly defined time after the events that are replayed during the AE-arc; staring characters that should be dead/not yet be born at the time, hence the AU-ness.

According to this website: terraflex . co . il/ad/egypt/timelines/topics/vegetables . htm (no spaces), coconuts were rare and expensive fruit in Ancient Egypt.

Disclaimer: I don't own yuugiou or its characters; no copyright infringement is intended, and I make no money with this.

Serious Attempt at Taming a Cat

The two silvery circles, blank like polished metal, were the only thing he could see.

The darkness held a haunting opacity, as if it was made of solid matter rather than of artificial absence of light, created by the walls that were surrounding him, and which's placement he could only guess. Only the silvery circles had the ability to piece through the darkness as if it was mere air.

They were fixing him for a long moment, before indifferently wandering around, disappearing and flashing up again.

He cursed silently, as, again, he caught himself searching for them, and then not leaving them out of sight as soon as he found them. They were breaking his concentration.

He'd always secretly been jealous of people who had a natural skill for seeing in the dark: he'd never had it. But he'd learned to orientate himself in the dark by other means, to catch the faintest sound, to analyse the smallest change in the air, to understand a place's structure by being able to reach and touch only few parts of it.

Those blank mirror-like eyes that did not seem to be part of a living creature were distracting him.

Angrily, he closed his eyes: he should be able to put all his concentration into his other senses without this additional help; having his eyes closed was another weakness in case of an attack.

He forced his harsh breath to calm down, concentrated on recollecting his information and revising his possibilities. They were, especially the latter, sadly small, close to inexistent.

He was kneeing on hard earth, his back leaning against a stone wall to which the shackles on his wrists were attached by a chain: he had climbed on this chain earlier, to attempt to remove it where it had to be the most attackable, at the place at which it was fixed to the wall or the ceiling. No avail.

There was near to no resonance in the room, so it could not be very large, and somewhere, there had to be an opening large enough to let in the faintest bit of light, large enough for a cat to pass: he was guessing it was right across of him, but he'd not been able to make sure.

When he opened his eyes, the silver circles were right in front of him, calm and motionless: he hadn't felt the cat come closer, and he still couldn't see even as much as the contours of its head. He launched to catch it – chains rattling, reminding him of his imprisonment – and they vanished.

xxx

If he was entirely honest with himself, Malik would have to admit he didn't even particularly like coconuts.

However, acknowledging this would take a lot of the fun out of this expedition: he was aware, and not trying to deny it, that the main pleasure in eating them resided in the knowledge they were stolen, and in the delicious risk it included (admittedly, most of the risk was for Rishid, who would have trouble explaining what he was doing standing in front of the corridor that was leading to main food storage room, while he would have time to hide, but in his mind that was quite enough; besides, taking advantage of the power he hold over Rishid in such an innocent and lucrative way was quite delicious on its own). Still, admitting he did steal them only to steal them would make the whole action somewhat pathetic.

Thus, he convinced himself that coconuts were better than his usual food, and drained as many of them as he could, before reserving a few for Rishid, which, after all, was the least he could do. He was so lost in this, and so trusting in Rishid, that he didn't pay attention, and was caught unaware by the other.

"Malik?"

At first, he didn't recognise the voice, and looked up, alarmed; he relaxed immediately as he looked into two incredibly large violet eyes, and gulped down a last sip of coconut milk, before standing and dusting off his robes.

The chosen keeper of memory and future head of the Ishtar clan in person, of course: Rishid would not have let anyone else pass without warning, and no-one else would speak his name without a hint of disapprobation when finding him stealing their food.

He nodded down at the boy: Yuugi was two months older than him, but was not taller than most ten years olds, and a certain condescendence towards him didn't seem out of place. Yuugi returned that vague greeting with a smile.

"Are you robbing our storage room?" he did inquire after all, sounding a little unhappy.

"That is exactly what I am doing," Malik replied proudly, while eying the smaller boy with suspicion, at which Yuugi lowered his eyes.

"Honda and Jounouchi brought them here only yesterday," he added.

"Hm," Malik said, trying not to look too pleased (Honda and Jounouchi were most irritating people and he'd be damned it he wasn't glad to steal stuff they'd spend a whole day dragging to their underground!): Yuugi tended to be a pushover until his friends were concerned, and getting on the heir's bad side was an annoyance he could do without. "That's actually why I am getting them today."

Pure logic that, and nothing against Honda and Jounouchi in particular: who knew how long there was any of it left, after all?

Yuugi made a face, and Malik decided to prevent future recrimination by a diversion:

"And you could help me carry a few over to Rishid."

He smiled sweetly at the moral conflict he seemed to have created by this request: Yuugi certainly agreed that that was the least he could do for Rishid, and also knew he was very much capable of not doing it if he now refused to help him. Which, on the other hand, would make him an accomplice. Not to mention that as the Ishtar heir, he would have to expect a much worse punishment if he was caught than Malik, who was only part of a lesser branch.

"Actually, I came to tell you something," he said, using a diversion as well; Malik conceded to wait for the information: after all, the only news one usually got in their underground home were those of birth and death, and something else might be worth letting Yuugi out of this innocent.

Pleased to see Malik was waiting, Yuugi went on:

"A thief tried to break –" He interrupted himself. "A thief did break in; he reopened the northern entrance and got to the first room – he got past the trap, they still don't know how. They caught him there, and he wounded both Shaada and Karim really bad before."

"A thief?" The story seemed hard to believe: the northern entrance had still existed when they'd been kids, but Yuugi's grandfather, the head of the clan at the time, had decided to have it locked definitely, so that the well was the only exit of the place; however, he had done so because he wished to minimalise the danger of someone finding the place by hazard. Could somebody have found it back then, and kept it secret until now, so that he knew where to re-enter? "How the hell did he find the northern entrance?"

"I've no idea. He hadn't waken up when I left." Suddenly remembering he wasn't supposed to be there, he added: "Couldn't we get out of here?"

Malik nodded; the news seemed worth as much, at least if they'd not killed the intruder, and because that was likely to happen, he and Yuugi should better hurry. As far as they knew, only two people who had not been born in the undergrounds had entered them in the last few hundred years (since both of these people had come within the last thirty years, Malik tended to doubt this was entirely correct, but the fact remained that anyone from the outside world entering this place, let alone coming in by force, was something pretty unusual).

"Let's hurry."

He walked past Yuugi, as if the initiative had come from him, and quickly went down the corridor until he reached Rishid, into which's arms he dropped his spoils, before continuing his way without a word; Yuugi followed, briefly stopped to cast Rishid an a bit embarrassed smile, and ran after him.

xxx

Two men had come, both dressed in long brown robes, like priests; they had brought a torch – finally, he could see! – and water for him. They had not said a word.

No doubt, he was really still inside the tomb, and those people, whoever they were, were really either coming inside on a regular basis, or even living there; as for the actual treasures he'd come for in the first place – well, he'd not really gotten very far, but he'd not seen any of it.

He did not blame them: they never knew about such things as that. But how could this fact, that someone had found the tomb before him and not been content with it, taken possession of it, have escaped him? It were not just those two men: he'd fought against six men at least, and there'd been more of them, before passing out; and they were armed and trained too, as if they were expecting to be attacked, at least prepared for the possibility.

He had not accepted the water: it was a risk he judged reasonable to take: if they were really only trying to spare him dehydratation, they would probably come again. But the water might be spiked, so, as long as he could – which wasn't very long, he was aware of that – he would refuse it.

And later, as they had left the torch, he had seen the cat for the first time.

The cat didn't seem bothered by the fact the light was robbing it of an advantage, so it could be seen just as well as it was seeing him; in calm gracious steps, it entered through the passage that was indeed exactly across of him (there was a corridor behind, but Bakura had had no occasion to see where it might lead, for a curtain was hiding it); this mere emplacement was already arrogant, as far as he was concerned, robbing those who had chained him up of the advantage of surprise.

It made a few more steps, and sat down; it was a young but adult cat, thin but clearly strong and not underfed. It had a white stomach, while the rest of the fur was black, except on its face and its feet, where a few white spots were breaking the symmetry.

It looked at him for a moment – the flames were reflecting in its dark eyes that did not held a hint of silver, of course – and then began to clean itself.

Bakura glared down at the animal; he was standing, so that his arms had some freedom of movement rather than hanging down on the chains that were rubbing against his wrists... the cat didn't seem to notice him at all, so he made a move, briskly went forwards as far as he could.

The cat, right outside of his reach, paused for a moment, glanced at him, and proceeded to lick its foot, before passing it over its head with accomplished grace. The thief sacked back against the wall behind himself.

xxx

"You're going to get in trouble for this!" Yuugi whispered to the taller boy, who ignored him. "Malik!"

Malik stopped, as much to make sure the corridor was empty as because of Yuugi.

"Only if I get caught," he answered logically, thus creating another conflict: Yuugi tended to be most obedient to the clan's rule, at least since the ritual that had covered his back with scars (major intimidation, Malik had judged, but Yuugi had assured that this wasn't the reason: he'd simply gained conscience of the importance of their mission), and he hated to have to keep anything hidden from Jounouchi, Honda and Anzu; on the other hand, he did not really wish to betray Malik, especially as the latter had openly told him of his plan. "Yuugi...?"

"I... I won't tell anyone. But..."

"Thank you." He smiled at him. "I knew I could count on you. Maybe you should go back to your room – I think you might get in much more trouble..."

Yuugi's shoulders sacked down, but finally, he turned round and left in direction of his room. He had had a break during which he'd looked for Malik, but he was over the time now...

Malik turned back round, and without another look back, moved forwards.

He hadn't been in this part of the underground labyrinth since ages; since he was a child, and didn't really know how dangerous defying the clan's rules could be, and his hate for them had begun to grow.

The prisoner's head snapped up when he entered; Malik paused only for a moment, then let the curtain fall down behind himself, and walked forwards.

The prisoner was hanging from the chains that were attached to his writs, and looked utterly exhausted; the grey eyes that looked up at him from behind completely white hair were way too bright – fewer – but clearly attentive, showing that despite of his exhausted body, he had kept his intellectual abilities awake.

"What are you doing here?" the man snapped, in a rough voice.

Malik raised an eyebrow at that and made another step forwards, wondering how the prisoner could know that he was not supposed to be here, but determined not to start asking questions.

Yuugi had told him about the white hair on their way here, reluctantly explaining that a few members of the clan were of the opinion that alone was an obvious sign of the man's wickedness. Malik had not paid much attention to the heir's indignation – Yuugi had his own reasons for not believing white hair was a sign for evilness – and had silently wondered why anyone would need further evidence that someone who had attempted to rob them and almost killed Shaada and Kalim was scum. But Yuugi had assured they were not yet determined to kill the intruder.

He glanced said intruder up and down; the black kilt he must have been wearing had unfolded and fallen down to his feet, leaving him naked. Even now that he seemed tired, he looked stronger than him; several long scars covered his body, some of them obviously fresh. One large, nasty looking gash on his left inner thigh and the one under the right eye caught Malik's attention, as the latter seemed to be a deliberately made sign, not an accident, and why anyone would purposely dig a knife in his own body was beyond him.

He made yet another step, and, even though he wasn't able to detect any movement, could hear the prisoner's chain's rattle faintly, testing their length; he was out of reach, luckily.

xxx

"Why haven't they killed him yet?"

He rolled his eyes as Yuugi almost chocked on his bit of bread at the question, as if he was somehow horribly shocked by it.

With persistence and patience, Yuugi and the others had managed to gain themselves an hour of real freedom in the early evening: the hall, one of the larger rooms, was almost empty, after Malik had Rishid throw out the other servants.

"Are you all right?" Malik inquired in fake concern, as the smaller boy coughed several time, while nodding (he had tried, but as much as Malik disliked his own clan and its rules that confined him inside this place forever, he found it hard to actually dislike Yuugi; but it wasn't like he was actually going to chock to death).

"I'm not sure..." Yuugi said carefully. "They haven't told me yet. But from what I caught, it's because they don't think they're allowed to judge him for this crime."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's such a serious crime that only the pharaoh can judge him for it."

Malik gave him a sceptic look. That didn't make sense. It was clear that when someone broke in, they'd be killed. They hadn't bothered about pharaohs since forever – not alive ones, at least. He'd have to find out on his own...

Yuugi didn't seem to notice; he was distracted by the arrival of another person.

Yuugi blushed as soon as the pale girl arrived, even though she was there since almost a year, and as far as Malik knew, he'd had a crush on her ever since. Malik wondered what would happen if Yuugi decided he wanted to marry her: they would hardly agree, but Yuugi had that way of looking at people as if certain they would and could not be as mean as it appeared, that had amazing results. He was curious about what would happen if he had a son, too. He was simply unable to imagine Yuugi's respect of their clan's rules going as far as to mutilate his own son – or, even, anyone – with a knife. It would be interesting. Malik did hope it wouldn't all end up getting back at him: there were still arguments about it, but he might be next in the line...

Yuugi's fascinated attention was quickly divided as Anzu, Honda and Jounouchi entered; Anzu briefly cast him a conspiratorial smile that made him blush again, before asking if anyone wanted to dance. Honda and Jounouchi immediately complained about exhaustion and never doing any physical work ever again, but seeing Yuugi's pleading glance, Jounouchi sighed and stood up. He seemed to have fun too, after all, though, especially compared to Anzu, he was a horrible dancer.

"Do you know what is going to happen with the thief?" Malik asked Honda, as the others were occupied.

Honda looked around, his gaze lingering on Yuugi with concern: the heir wasn't paying attention, murmuring quietly to Kisara, without stopping to look at the dancers (he might be seriously in love this time, but Anzu would never stop looking attractive; Kisara didn't seem to mind).

"Why?" he asked. Honda wasn't a terribly trusty person.

"I don't understand why they haven't killed him."

Honda hesitated again, before he whispered back.

"They want to know how he found the place. There might be accomplices..."

"Do they want to torture him?" Malik raised an eyebrow. He could have sworn all the wounds he'd seen had been from the fight. "How do you know this? Yuugi doesn't," he added; there was a careful menace in his words. If, what he didn't really believe to be very likely, Honda decided to tell on him for asking too many questions, he'd rather point out how suspicious it was the other boy could answer them.

He had to keep himself from recoiling when Honda glared at him, and instinctively looked around for Rishid. He'd had some sword-training, but there was no way he'd stand a chance in a fight with Honda.

"None of your business," he snapped, turning away.

Malik considered pushing further, but he didn't think he'd get more out of it. His sister would probably know, but she wouldn't tell him either.

Honda had walked back to where the others were standing: they had stopped dancing, and Jounouchi let himself fall on the stone floor with an exhausted sigh.

"You were great," Yuugi was telling Anzu, who had stopped to dance.

"You weren't paying attention," Anzu threw back, more-glaring at him and Kisara, but there was no real bite in the reply.

Anzu had been a little jealous of the other girl at first: she was Yuugi oldest friend, and he had had a crush on her since they could remember; but the shared love, and the group's victory over the parts of the clan that had wanted the stranger to be thrown out, if not killed, had helped Yuugi regain some of the confidence he had lost after the ceremony, and she was grateful for that. And in the end, she was probably glad she didn't have to feel guilty for not returning her friend's feelings anymore.

Malik watched as Honda said something less complimenting about Jounouchi's dancing skills (which he hadn't paid attention to either, but there probably wasn't anything new), and got whacked for it; then, Yuugi produced a game board out of nowhere. He waved to him to come and join them, but Malik shook his head.

Torture. He wasn't exactly shocked, but he could only imagine how Yuugi would react. And he was rather miffed by the fact all new, interesting things just had to be ruined. He shouldn't be complaining, he supposed. It'd mean the thief would stay alive for a little longer.

xxx

The cat kept coming back.

It was infuriating. It would walk through the room, stop to clean itself calmly, and come very, very close. He could almost touch its soft-looking fur. When it was that near, it would stop, lazily stretch out, and show off its sharp claws. Despite of his annoyance, he couldn't help admiring the cat's grace, and its careless fearlessness.

xxx

"Who the hell are you?" the thief snapped at him when he entered.

He didn't look worse, at first glance, than when he'd last seen him. Maybe he had just told them how he found the place – but then, they would already have killed him.

Malik choose not to answer; instead, he sat down where he was. The thief glared at him.

"How did you find the entrance?" he asked in a mild tone instead of an answer; he didn't think he'd tell them if he managed to find out, but he was curious as well.

The prisoner sneered at him.

"Whoever you are, I'm at least damn sure you're not supposed to be here and ask questions."

Malik crossed his arms, and decided he wasn't even going to answer that.

"What were you hoping to steal here anyway?" he asked, doing his best to keep the very strong interested out of his voice. Just curiosity, that was all. Still, if...

"Gold. Silver. Jewels. Cups. Masks."

Malik blinked.

"Why the... This isn't a tomb, you know," he snapped, hiding his disappointment under anger.

The thief blinked back.

"Yes it is." He paused. "Used to be, anyway. Apparently."

"No. My people have lived here for centuries."

There was a small pause; the thief didn't seem startled by this, but he might just be hiding it well; actually, he looked like he was making some very fast thinking.

"So? The place is older than that. They probably carried away all the spoils when they moved in." (Malik shoot him an indignant glare). "Look, if you want me to keep talking, get me something to drink."

But Malik ignored him. It had been taught to him that the clan had fled beneath the ground when Kemet was menaced by a war again; since then, while they kept contact with the world above, they left the place as rarely as possible. The heir himself, and most members of the Ishtar family, Malik himself included, never did. He had always assumed they had then constructed the place themselves; but maybe the thief was right, and it had once been a tomb.

"How do you know?" he asked again.

The thief shook his head.

"How did you not know? Why are you idiots living here, if not to protect the tomb?"

Malik frowned at him.

"We're protecting... something else," he said, somewhat lamely.

"And obviously you couldn't have done that elsewhere?" the thief answered sarcastically.

"No," he said bitterly. "Apparently not." He glared up. "Do you think I've chosen to spend my whole life in a tomb?"

The thief's head snapped up, his gaze suddenly so intense that Malik wondered whether he'd made a mistake; he didn't see how. It wasn't like everyone didn't know he hated the place.

"Then you're a prisoner here as well..." the thief murmured thoughtfully, before adding, decidedly: "Free me. We can flee together."

"Ex – " Malik interrupted himself and stared; actually, had he, for an instant believed the thief serious, he would have thought that, thrown out like this, the offer had something quite tempting. "You must be insane," he snapped. The lake of water. Probably.

"Why?" the thief continued, still staring at him intensely; his voice had lost some of its sharp edge. "You hate being here. You want to be free." Malik instinctively made a step backward when the thief proceeded to look him up and down interestedly. "You've never actually been outside, have you?" he asked softly.

Malik didn't answer, hating the thief all the sudden: really old childhood dreams about leaving, riding away under the stars, that had all since long been muted into anger about his imprisonment were awaken in him.

"You could be free to go anywhere you want, to do anything you want," the thief added, softly. "To take anything you want..."

Malik straightened back up, and glared.

"You expect me to become a thief?"

"Why not? You'd be completely independent and free."

"That's rich, coming from someone who's chained to a wall."

"If you'd free me, I wouldn't be anymore," the man answered calmly.

Malik rolled his eyes. It was tempting, yes, in a completely abstract way, but aside from the fact he was certain the thief would kill him as soon as he could, he knew that it did not really work like that.

"I don't need you to get away, if I want to, you know."

The other one grinned at him.

"But you've never left on your own..."

xxx

Rishid was tall and imposing and very good at not getting noticed. Much better than Malik himself, or any of Yuugi's friends, better than Isis even: he heard the soft rumours that went through their home. And then he'd tell Malik.

Kisara ought to leave; she wasn't safe, would never fully be. And Yuugi, Yuugi...

Sooner or later, Malik thought, letting himself fall down, upper body only, unto the bed when Rishid had left him, they'd demand something of shy, respectful Yuugi that he wouldn't agree with, and then hell would break loose. And as interesting as that might turn out to be, Malik would rather not be there to pay the price.

He tapped his foot on the floor, annoyed. He had never left on his own. He'd always meant to – well, not fully on his own. He'd take Rishid with him, of course. Sometimes he used to dream Isis would come with them as well. But he knew now that that was – not realistic. He didn't think she'd betray them, not really, but the choice would be hard on her, and in the end, it might be kinder not the ask her. Malik tried, not fully successful, to keep away the bitterness and the anger: it wasn't fair to her, he knew that, but she had been a bit like a mother to him, and he was demanding of her love.

No, Isis would stay behind. So would Yuugi and the others, of course: if they ever left – though he doubted it – it would have to be on their own.

Of course, there had never been any thought about there being anyone else, anyone from outside, even though there was no question that it'd be useful: Malik used to have illusions, but that was a long time ago: he didn't expect the world outside to be kind to him, or the people to be trustworthy.

And, well, the thief wasn't; there wasn't really any deception about that. He was a tomb robber, of all things, cursed by the gods on top of the rest; but of course, he told himself bitterly, that was part of the appeal.

He cursed silently and sat back up; in the hidden chamber that was his room, there was no saying what time of day it was outside. When he was a child, he used to go to the well that constituted one of the openings to stare up at the sky: nothing else, just stare. How far away it felt.

Angrily, he got to his feet and went to light another candle. He was letting the thief's cheap, cheesy seduction get to him, his talk about freedom, about theft: richer, better than simple destruction, to take, to own, anything that had not been passed down to him from a nameless pharaoh centuries ago. He wanted this. He just wasn't stupid enough to believe he could have it that easily. He could still see the thief's face when he spoke, like he knew that he knew he was baiting him and couldn't resist anyway.

He walked round the room twice, an sat back down on the bed; even more than his words, the thief's face wouldn't leave his mind; his whole body, his careful, sparing movement, his voice too, his attention, openly calculating but – yet maybe he was fooling himself – interested.

Maybe, Malik thought to himself, laying down, it was just the effect of only seeing the same people day after day and hating many of them (and most of them in a vague and impersonal way, because they weren't necessarily mean). The thief was new.

He shook at head; he hadn't reacted to Kisara this way; the thief wasn't just new, he was a strong breach into the stifling reality of their underground life – and all in all, maybe this was a pointless reflection, and the feeling wasn't as rational as that.

xxx

There was no denying now that he was waiting for it; worse, trying to attract it. He'd make soft, coaxing noises with his tongue, t t t, and finally, after what seemed, and probably was hours, the cat would finally appear. It would circle the room in terrible slowness – and then again, run and jump. It was free after all, to move, to come and leave, to get into his reach or not...

xxx

"Took you long enough," the thief greeted him.

Malik stopped where he was; the fact he was carrying a huge cup of water and a some bred prevented him from crossing his arms.

"You do realise that it's not exactly easy to sneak this stuff in, do you?"

The thief managed to snort, but he was staring at the food.

Malik settled down just out of reach, and laid cup and bread next to him on the floor; the thief followed his movement hungrily.

"Are you going to give it to me or not?"

"Of course." Malik looked up at him calmly. "I want to ask you a few things first."

The thief glared.

"I'll answer them. Promise. Now at least give me something to drink, or forget about it."

Malik didn't answer right away, stayed very still and thought this over.

"Fine," he eventually said, and stood to bring the cup to the captive.

The latter took it hungrily, but instead of drinking right away, watched, with a raised eyebrow, as he retreated back quickly.

"I'm not going to attack you..."

Malik shrugged and didn't answer, and sat back down in front of the thief, out of reach once again.

"Well," the thief asked, after he had emptied half of the cup. "What is it you want to know? What's your name?"

"That's none of your business," Malik snapped. The thief gave him a grin.

"Tell me. I'm Bakura. And if I wanted to betray you to your people, I could do that without knowing your name."

Malik leant back.

"Tell me how you found this place," he commanded.

Bakura didn't answer right away, and instead gave him a long, searching look; Malik managed to look back calmly, even though it was disquieting. Finally, when he was sure he wouldn't get an answer, the thief spoke:

"I told you, it's an ancient tomb. There are people who know that kind of things."

"What do you mean?"

"Tombrobbers. I know a whole village of them, they've had this knowledge for hundreds of years."

Malik narrowed his eyes at him.

"That doesn't make sense. If there was a village of tomb raiders who've kept this knowledge for that long – " and that alone was pretty unbelievable – "why haven't any of them come before?"

Bakura smiled.

"If you don't believe me, this isn't going to get anywhere."

Malik stood up angrily.

"If you're going to lie to me – "

"I'm not lying to you." The thief sounded annoyed. "Why do you need to know that anyway?"

Malik hesitated, then sat back down, but didn't answer the question; he was curious, that was all, and he needed to know just how skilled and how independent the thief was. A whole village of tomb raiders?

"So you are a tombrobber as well?"

Bakura smirked at him.

"Obviously."

"And you weren't expecting anyone to guard this one..." Malik continued thoughtfully. "So you aren't any good at stealing from people, are you?"

"I killed a few of your guards before they got me, and they caught me unaware. And I used to be a pickpocket." Grey eyes stared at him intensely. "If you want me to steal anything for you, I'm sure I can do that..."

xxx

Wary and careful but needy, it brushed against his legs. Its fur was soft under his hand: he caressed it up and down, his hands, that could have broken it in two, careful. From time to time, infuriatingly, it went out of reach, pointedly cleaned itself as if to complain about how much he had ruffled its perfect fur, ignored him – but it did come back, demandingly pushing against his hand.

xxx

"Hello... Malik."

Malik froze at the greeting, and then immediately regretted this obvious reaction, when the thief grinned at him victoriously.

"How do you know who I am?" he hissed, putting the things he had brought down at once, worried: there was something lively and hungry in the prisoner's gaze, and he didn't feel that secure about the chains. He'd have to go in range, and if he went though with it, he'd have to remove them...

"Do you have a sister?" Bakura said, instead of an answer. "The others mentioned you," he explained, when Malik just glared at him. "The way they talked, I figured it had to be you." He smiled. "I'm growing rather found of you, you know."

Malik decided not to ask, and picked the food up again.

"You should," he snapped, approaching the thief. "I'm feeding you."

"That too," Bakura acknowledged, and took the bread from him and bit into it instantly, obviously staved.

"And I've heard you're growing weak from hunger anyway."

"I just didn't want to attract attention to the fact I'm not." He finished water and bread in record time. "What do you want now?"

Malik sat down again.

"Tell me how you really knew about this place.

Bakura sighed.

"Fine. But you won't believe me. And I didn't lie to you – there is really an ancient village of thieves; but only their ghosts remain, and they told me."

Malik raised an eyebrow.

"And they've told no-one else in a few hundred years?"

"They drain everyone who approaches of their life-force." He paused. "They're vicious."

"So how did you escape them?"

"I compensated them."

"You..." Malik needed a moment to understand what that had to mean. "You brought them someone else?"

"Someone?" The thief smiled darkly. "More than one person." He paused, and gave Malik a curious look. "You do believe me," he stated.

"I didn't say that," Malik protested, doing his best not to sound defensive.

"You're guarding something magical, is it that?" Bakura asked. "You're not surprised I've met spirits. And I've wondered if some of your people have ways of detecting their touch on me, and that's why they're really so worried."

Malik was silent. The stories that were passed down spoke of a sacrificed village, which's blood was in the items, whose inhabitants couldn't find rest. But that would that be a rather strange coincidence. Only, it wasn't really a coincidence: these spirits had sent this thief here, and he had killed a few of the guardians before falling.

He shook his head. Wasn't it more likely the thief had heard about their existence, and knew some of the stories and now used them on him?

"I don't know," he truthfully answered Bakura's last question, but he thought they might have ways to detect such a touch with the items. Why hadn't Rishid told him anything about this? "But it's not impossible. Did they ever bring in golden items with a Horus eye on them?" he asked.

Bakura shrugged.

"Not while I was conscious." His tongue flicked over his lips. "You do have magic, don't you?"

"Yes."

The thief stared at him. He wants this, Malik thought, without even knowing what it is. He won't flee instead of taking them. But I'll have to force him to give them back...

"You'll have to free me if you want me to steal for you. And some map of this place would help too." He smiled. "It won't work if you don't trust me at all."

"You need me," Malik snapped. "You'll need me to get out as well." And I have Rishid, he thought. There was no need to tell the thief that though, he decided.

"I know," Bakura snapped. "So why don't you ever come in range?"

Malik glared at him, and briefly thought about just leaving, like he had the previous times Bakura had taunted him. But he would have to come back – or give up his plan. He narrowed his eyes. He would get away and tear them down with him.

Slowly, not taking his eyes off Bakura, he stepped forward; he was being careful, attentive, but the other one's movement still turned out to be too fast. Before he even knew he was already close enough to touch, Bakura grabbed him and dragged him forward, whirled him around – he was stronger than someone who had spent days chained to a wall with close to no food has any right to be – dragged his head down – and kissed him.

He let go when Malik pushed him back, chains rattling. Malik fought down the delighted grin that was tugging at his lips, with the irrational feeling of well-being and hope.

"What the...?" Malik broke off, leant his head against the wall.

Bakura shrugged. He was still close, the chains not permitting much leverage.

"I told you I was growing found of you," he remarked.

"I didn't think that's what you meant," Malik said, half-lying: he'd seen the way the thief had been looking at him.

The thief shrugged again. "Among other things," he said, and stepped back forward; Malik stood his ground, even as the thief lowered his head to his chest.

"You smell good."

Malik snorted.

"I can't say the same about you."

"What is it you want to have?" Bakura asked, in a low voice; Malik squirmed a little when his hand under his tunic to his hips in a tickling fashion. "A scroll? A spell-book?"

"No." Malik tentatively passed a hand through the thief's hair, and caressed down his still bent neck to his shoulder. "We have six magical artefacts."

"Six?" Grey eyes observed him intensely. "Share them with me."

"No."

"Why not? You don't need them – you just want to take them away." Damn him, Malik though; it was true. He didn't even know how to use them, or if he could ever learn. Straightening up, Bakura leant close and furtively licked over Malik's lips. "I'm less likely to betray you if I get something out of it."

Malik did not find that very convincing: once the thief was freed of his chains... well, he'd still need him to lead the way. And Rishid would be there – it might be a good move to make him aware of this, after all.

"You will not get very far without my help," he warned.

"I might get further if I just left as fast as I can as soon as I'm free. I'm not the one who's so interested in these artefacts."

"You just said otherwise," Malik said, trailing his fingers down his arm, thoughtful.

Bakura shrugged.

"Not enough to die for them. Can I trust you, Malik?"

xxx

Evil, half-closed eyes, reflecting the torch-light; fast jumps and movements; sharp claws, and almost affectionate bites.

xxx

"Grapes?" the thief asked, in annoyance, when he saw what Malik was unpacking; Malik ignored the derisive tone, and held up a single grape to him. He had been thinking.

"Eat it," he ordered.

The prisoner was visibly too hungry to argue and obeyed.

"You get fresh fruit down here?" he asked unnecessarily

"Sometimes." Malik gave a shrug. The luxuries weren't worth the things taken from him. "Have another grape and kiss me."

Bakura drew back to look at him.

"What's this going at?"

"You taste terribly," Malik explained, matter-of-factly, earning himself a glare.

"Fuck you."

"You want to eat or not?" Malik asked, feeling it was about time he gained some ground back; Bakura shot him another glare, but obediently swallowed another grape, and dragged him close to kiss him before he could take initiative. Malik pushed back, pushed their bodies together completely.

"Satisfied?" Bakura asked sarcastically, when their separated for breath, faces and bodies still very close, though the thief had let go of him.

Malik fought for composure, and, in his opinion, did pretty well.

"Mm," he just said, and turned round, to bring the rest of the food. "I thought about your offer," he added casually, while Bakura began to devour the bread.

Bakura looked up.

"And?"

"If I give you exact directions to the place where the treasure is hidden, and some detail as to how it is protected, will you manage to get it back to me?"

"Probably. Are any of the protections magical?"

Malik shook his head.

"I don't think so. But the items themselves – they're powerful. They might resist to someone touching them."

"You mean," the thief guessed, with a grin, "that if someone like me can touch them without being burnt to ashes for it, a keeper like you should be safe, hm?"

Malik brushed it away in an annoyed gesture: of course he was using the other one as a guinea pig – what did the thief expect?

"I think," he said slowly, "that if you were really guided to this place by spirits, you should have nothing to worry about..."

"Can I kill whoever gets in my way?" Bakura asked, ignoring the jab.

Malik paused. It was stupid to worry; Rishid would be with him, and what were the odds of the thief encountering Isis or Yuugi on his way? They weren't supposed to be anywhere near the items. And the others might as well burn – they were all collaborating to their – and his – imprisonment, may they be damned!

"If you can't avoid it," he said, less assured than he had wanted to.

Bakura's lips twisted into a mocking smile.

"What about your sister? You could tell me what she looks like, you know. If I encounter any of the ones who've come to interrogate me – I don't think you'll care about these." He raised an eyebrow at the surprised look on Malik's face. "I'm trying to set us up for a lasting, positive partnership," he added sarcastically. "I'm willing not to start off with killing your family."

He cocked his head to the side. Malik guessed that he must still be mistrusting him; and, technically, it might be a smarter choice to have Rishid kill him once he returned with the items. It just wasn't what he wanted, at all, and he didn't feel like relenting now that it was suddenly all so close in reach...

"Well, good," he said slowly, looking the thief up and down, before sitting down in front of him, in reach this time. "Are you listening?"

"Of course."

xxx

He moved through the corridors quietly, a shadow among shadows; he did his best to avoid the bright, blinding torch-lights, but even here, Malik's indications were precise enough to be useful: he was skilled, clearly, if not for stealing himself, then for recognising what had to be seen.

Exhausted as he was from his captivity, all the things that usually came to him easily – keeping his steps fast and quiet and precise, his breathing even, ignoring any pain he might be feeling (and he was feeling pain, his wounds had not yet fully healed, through Malik had looked at them before he sent him off) – were strenuous: but he could do them.

There were no guards here: he was past that point; he had only met a single trap, and a simple one at that. All there was now were corridors over corridors, seeming to lead him in circles, and deeper and deeper under the earth: the walls were less smooth than earlier, older; there were still torches – this was no sealed tomb, no more – but far in-between, and sometimes flickering, close to burning down.

He was not afraid of losing his way; he had beaten worse labyrinths in the past. He would remember, almost as if the memory was physically impregnated into his very body, where to find the open air again. But he was afraid of not finding what he was looking for: if a single one of Malik's indications had been false, if he misremembered only one of them – and he trusted Malik to put the fault on him, no matter which was true – he had not a chance.

For a moment he stood in shock when he found himself at a dead end; then he saw. Clever, he decided; there was a torch, but just as simple and partly burned down as the others – someone had been smart enough not to place a bright light before the inner sanctuary – and the heavy stone door, of the same colour as the surrounding walls, was barely noticeable. He wanted to think that he would never have been stupid enough to pass by even without Malik telling him this was the last obstacle – but he had to admit that he wasn't sure.

He stopped, straightened up and smiled. The light was dim and might not last long, and this was an inconvenience, but nothing more.

He rummages through his bag: Malik had given him fresh clothes – good ones, if old and used – a bag, and the few tools he needed. A quick inspection told him that there was no way he would be able to break the lock; he'd have to pick it.

He lost count of time very soon; finally, the lock gave way. He threw it to the floor. Long ago, he had been collective things like this like trophies, but that had been before he could afford to keep the prizes themselves. This one, he would most certainly not sell.

The room behind the door was pitch black, and he had no choice but to stop for a moment, despite his eagerness; when he trusted that he'd gotten as used to the darkness as he would, he carefully walked on: the torches were difficult to take down, and he must have taken a while on the lock, for this one would be gone and burn his fingers if he used it very soon.

He caught a metallic scent as he approached the back of the room, and soon found it came of a heavy bronze chest that stood on a stone slab. Eagerly, he brushed the lid aside and looked down. Even in the faint light, gold flickered up at him faintly. He smiled.

Solid gold, he knew as once, as soon as he took up the first one, a ring on a long chain: he toyed with the cones for a moment, before he passed the chain around his neck: the glittering suddenly grew stronger, no longer only reflection (or had it ever been?), and he froze, stood still in fear and defiance. Malik had warned him, you had to hand him that.

But the magical item did not take revenge on him for his sacrilege: instead, the five cones on the ring, glowing now, faintly raised into the air, pointing at the chest before him. Tentatively, he made a few steps backward, turned to the side: the cones remained turned towards the chest, no matter which way he turned.

He laid a hand over the ring, and murmured: "dim," as much as he liked it, it wouldn't do to walk back with his own light glowing at his chest: to his own surprise, the glow died down immediately. He smiled again, and had to remember not to laugh out aloud in triumph.

xxx

It was surprising how fast he'd been able to stop to stare at the starlit sky above him, endlessly wide, no longer a small circle far above and out of reach: but he'd never ridden a horse, and even with Bakura to guide it, it had taken a certain amount of concentration. And so, he found, did the thief himself: he'd found himself staring at him for most of their ride, and felt dizzy with elation, hoping the other wouldn't notice how giddy the sudden freedom and the companionship – because that was it, he couldn't deny it – was making him. Judging by the mocking smiles Bakura gave him, he feared it was a lost cause, but then, the thief would probably look at him like that a lot. He hated it, but he couldn't help liking the affectionate edge he noticed in it all the same.

Rishid was not with them; Malik had sent him ahead to a town, to look for provisions for them and make them, by their separation, more difficult to find, and was feeling disturbingly guiltless for it. Yuugi would take the man's defence, if it came to it, he'd told himself, and then he hadn't been thinking of anyone but the two of them for quite a while: even the sweet anger and despair he anticipated in the devoted guardians among their group didn't seem to matter all that much for the moment.

Bakura had snorted when he'd mentioned provisions, but he hadn't complained, so Malik guessed that he wasn't as well furnished and easily self-sufficient as he'd like, and he'd lead him away, into the direction of the dead village he'd talked about – Malik refused to believe it until he saw it – and finally, they had camped in the shade of a large brown rock, waiting for the day's heat to pass, to share the loot.

"Mine!" Bakura now declared, holding the ring to his chest: the five pointers were still directed to the rest of the items, only sign of magic they had, so far, found in any of them. Malik rolled his eyes. Figured.

"I'll take that one," Malik immediately countered, grabbing the rod: he didn't know about the powers of any of the items, but he did know that the rod had a definite practical use: there was a blade concealed within the gold. "You can have this," he added, pushing the eye in the thief's direction.

"Fine," Bakura snapped, holding it up. "Then you take this one," he added, handing him the balance; Malik was a little surprised; he suspected there might be some complications when it came to using the eye, but he didn't see any with the balance, and he'd have expected Bakura, who, when Malik had freed him, had prattled on to him about the so-called justice of these allowed to wield it, to appreciate the symbolism. "It's not practical to carry."

"Then I get the necklace. You can have the... key?"

"Right." Bakura held the last item up, grinning: he seemed to like the symbolism of that one.

Malik fixed the rod on his belt, caressing over the shaft possessively, let the balance slide back into the now almost empty bag, and was fiddling with the complicated mechanism that closed the necklace, when hands grabbed his; he jumped: he hadn't even seen Bakura, who'd been seated right in front of him move.

He let his hands sink, as the thief took the ends of the necklace's chain from him.

"You do realise," Bakura whispered, his voice dark and dangerous right by his ear, as he tugged a bit at the chain. "That I could kill you now?"

Malik half turned round and rolled his eyes. A shiver ran down his spine, but that was just from the sudden, electrifying contact of the other's hands on the back of his neck. Couldn't expect a mere thief to know anything about power:

"But you won't," he declared confidently, staring back at Bakura.

The thief glared back at him.

"Turn round, I can't close this if you move," he just snapped.

Malik smiled and obeyed.

The End

AN: I was happily writing about Bakura and the ghosts when I realised that the part about him giving the angry spirits people to drain happens in Mouko's epic citronshipping fic "Aurora" (and not in canon), and I most probably stole the idea from there. I hope they forgive me.

I also hope that the fact Bakura probably doesn't strangle Malik after that comes across. Heh.

Thank you for reading! Comments would be great. ;)