A/N: This is supposed to be a songfic to "Famous Blue Raincoat", by Leonard Cohen and sung by Tori Amos. If you'd like to read the real story, I will post a link to is someday when I have it posted, since The Powers That Be no longer allow songfics. Yay.

He was so very tired of the way he was treated. He was so very tired of being ignored, of being shoved into the background, of being ridiculed, insulted and hurt... He had long since given up with emotions. They got in the way.

Oh, how his emotions got in the way.

He hated this country- he hated this city. Japan was too cold, and Domino was too crowded. He longed for the golden sands of Egypt, for the simple tomb he had known his entire life.

Even if it held painful memories. Horrible memories. Memories he'd rather forget.

The scars on his back throbbed briefly, as if the mere thought of what caused them caused them to hurt. Even now he was unwanted.

At least he wasn't beaten anymore. It was an improvement. Physically.

Mentally...? Things could be better.

But then again, he never did have much of an ego. Or self-esteem. Or... anything.

How he longed for the tombs... for the desert... He couldn't stop. He wanted to... he wanted to be happy for Malik, for Isis, for them both, for their freedom... But he would never be free. He couldn't.

Not here. Not in this place so far from his homeland. He stayed inside most of the time, unless Malik left and wanted him with him. The house felt more like a prison than a home to him...

But at least in here, he was safe. At least in here, people didn't stare at him, at his scarred face and mutter about him... Saying that he was some sort of criminal, a gangster, a killer, even...

He supposed, in a way, he was. All the things he had done, all the people he had hurt, all the threats he had made...

Now...

lik lived for himself, for Isis... But not for him. He was kind to him now, not cold as he had been when obsessed with destroying the Pharaoh, but he was in no way brotherly.

He would have died for Malik. He would still. He always would. And from what he saw, Malik did not care.

No, Malik was with his lover. Lovers. Whatever. It didn't matter.

So... in a way... he lived for nothing.

He loved for nothing.

Gods knew he had tried to talk to Malik, to explain how he felt... But how could he explain how he felt to Malik when he could not explain how he felt to himself? It was impossible, this situation was impossible, his life was impossible...

Ishtar-sama should have killed him that day, when he had the chance. He would have died and Malik's other would have taken over too early and the Gods only know what would have happened...

But he would no longer be in pain. Physical, emotional and mental pain.

How to explain to Malik... when he could not explain to himself?

When Malik had come home one day, near tears because of his lover's yami, he had wanted to go and destroy them. Malik wouldn't let him. Because Malik loved them.

Even when he came home bleeding and limping from Bakura's rough treatment. He insisted that he had asked for it... That he wanted it. That he enjoyed it.

He had vowed long ago that he would never be so rough with Malik if he had ever approached him in that way. But he never had. He was starting to realize that he never would.

He was starting to realize that Malik truly did like it. He did love Ryou, and he did love Bakura.

There was no place for his servant, for the man who would be his brother.

He had hoped, for the longest time... He had stayed up each night, until Malik returned from his lovers' home... until one day, he simply stopped coming home. He would stop by sometime, if he wanted something, to see his sister, or if he had had a fight with his lovers.

Never to see him.

It hurt. More than he had expected to.

He had braced himself for this from the beginning he had realized that he loved Malik. But he couldn't stop himself from loving him. We cannot help who we love, he thought wryly, as he watched Malik leave for Bakura's home yet again.

One hand went to the scars on his face, the vow he had made to protect his little brother until his death.

Malik's death. Not his. No, he had told himself that he would not die until Malik was gone, so that he was no longer needed.

But he was already unneeded.

He supposed Bakura was a thief for a reason. Who would question someone who was so breathtakingly handsome? Someone who could look so innocent at the drop of a hat? He was certainly more beautiful than he was. He understood why Malik chose him. Who wouldn't want the pale, snowy-haired thief, or his innocent, brown-eyed hikari, compared to a scarred, unassuming man a almost a decade his senior?

Why would anyone ever want him?

Isis didn't understand. But Isis didn't love her brother. Not in the way he did. She was happy that her brother was happy.

He was sad... because his brother was happy.

And he hated himself for it.

He tapped his pen against the paper, the words flowing effortlessly for once. He could not speak to his brother... But he could write.

He could finally tell his brother how he felt... how sorry he was for being nothing but a burden on his brother... He could apologize to being nothing but dead weight on Isis. He had no job, and she had to support him and Malik. He couldn't do that to her anymore. He could finally tell Malik he loved him.

And since by the time Malik read this note, he would be far away, he could write whatever he wanted. He had no fear of repercussions.

Not where he was going. And not about this.

"Malik,

"I am sorry that I have been nothing but trouble for you. It was indeed my fault that Marik was "alive". I can never atone for what that monster did to you. I only hope that you are truly as happy as you say you are.

"Isis, I am also sorry to you. I have done nothing but a burden for you as well. You have been patient and kind, and I am sorry that I did nothing but sit around and twiddle my thumbs. I hope you find happiness, as Malik seems to have.

"I hope this has not come at a bad time, Malik. I hope you can forgive me for everything.

"I love you.

"Rishid."

Now there were no challengers for Malik's attentions. Only Isis, and she was hardly a threat. Not like him.

Malik's heart was now free. Not that he had ever cared for Rishid in that way. If he had... Well, it was news to him.

If he had known, he might have changed his mind before this.

But now there was no turning back.

He closed his eyes and sighed shakily, looking up at the ceiling. Part of him was content, knowing that Malik truly was happy with Ryou and Bakura. Part of him was completely depressed and wanted nothing more than to sleep forever.

He supposed that was what he was doing.

Ishtar-sama had said that suicide was the coward's way out.

Rishid had never thought of himself as particularly brave.

He examined the long dagger he had purloined from the thief on the rare occasion that Malik had dragged his boyfriends to the house. One good thing about living in this country- the Japanese had suicide down to an art form.

And he always had been a quick study.

He knelt on the floor of his room and placed the note aside carefully. He didn't want to bleed on it after all.

It was better this way.


A/N: Wow. That was angsty. Wow. Somewhat for Kotori-chan because she wanted Rishid/Malik. Even if it probably isn't exactly what she wanted. ... I'm too depressed right now to write fluff. Sorry. -shifty eyes- Whatever.