[Team four] grease and oil

[alchemicink]

Threw together another bit of the neverending angstshipping fic!

YGO, g-rated, less than 1k words


"...up to his elbows in grease every time."

Malik pauses, a handful of steps away from completing his trek from his bedroom to the bathroom, but now his feet feel rooted to the floor of the hallway. That's Ishizu's voice, very obviously talking about him to Rishid. He's pretty sure she doesn't know anyone else who spends their free time getting dirty while tinkering around with his motorcycle.

He holds his breath, waiting to hear disappointment in her voice as she continues. She's never approved of his fascination with two-wheeled motorized transportation.

"It does make quite a mess sometimes," Rishid replies instead, his tone much more lighthearted than Malik had expected. Or as lighthearted as his stoic older brother is capable of. "Last week, I stepped into the shed, I got motor oil all over my shoes."

Malik covers his mouth to stifle a laugh. He remembers the way Rishid had frozen in his tracks as if he'd stepped on something much worse, wary even to look down at the damage to his shoes.

"Oh is that how that pair of shoes mysteriously disappeared?" Ishizu giggles. "You know, I probably could have figured out how to wash them."

There's a silence following that which Malik imagines is probably Rishid just shrugging his shoulders over the loss.

"Well, anyway," Ishizu continues, dismissing the tangent to jump back on whatever she was talking about first. "I just never would have expected Malik to take an interest in mechanics. He's very good at it, I believe."

Malik blinks. That's not the 'discouraging sister' tone he assumed it would be. She sounds amazed. Pleased. Proud.

"He seems to have a knack for it," Rishid agrees.

"Do you think there are classes he could take to learn more about it?" Ishizu muses. "If he was interested in pursuing some sort of mechanic job instead of working on motorcycles as a hobby." She pauses. "Or is that more of an apprenticeship sort of thing? I'm not sure how it works."

Another silence follows, which presumably is where Rishid shakes his head instead of verbalizing "I don't know."

By this point, Malik's eyes feel like they might pop out of his head in shock and his quest for the bathroom is long forgotten. He knows Ishizu and Rishid love him very much and they've always taken care of him, no matter what that personally cost them along the way. But he didn't expect this kind of support. He's known for years that they don't understand his love of working with motorcycle engines and figuring out how they tick. And Ishizu has been trying to dissuade him from driving them for a long while.

But here they are now, wondering how they can help him learn more? He thinks he might still be dreaming. So without thinking, he stumbles through the door and bursts into the living room.

Ishizu looks startled. Rishid remains as unflappable as ever.

"You mean that?" he blurts out. His eyes start to sting and he belatedly realizes (slightly horrified) that he’s got tears brimming. "You two aren't secretly plotting to make me give up my motorcycle forever?"

"Of course, we aren't," Ishizu answers once she's regained her own composure. "I worry about your safety when you ride, but why would you think I'd discourage you from something you're interested in?"

"Because..." he trails off, unsure of the answer himself.

Ishizu sits up a little straighter, looking a bit like when she's playing tour guide at the museum and is about to share an important bit of information.

"Malik, we don’t live underground in an old tomb anymore. We're not bound by those old traditions or weighed down by our family duties. It is time for us -- all three of us -- to live as we see fit. And if mechanic work makes you happy, then we both support that. Just as you'd support us in what we want to do."

Rishid nods in agreement.

"Concerns about your safety are not the same as forbidding you to do anything at all," she continues. "And I'm sorry I haven't always made that clear."

Malik stands there, feeling how the fabric of his shirt rubs against the scars on his back, an unforgettable reminder of the past. But he looks down at his hands too, and can remember how they look stained with grease and oil as he works.

His back is only one part of his body. And Ishizu is right. He doesn't have to let that part define him anymore. Not when he can do more useful things with his hands.

"Thanks, Sis. Thanks, Rishid."

Then he scrubs at his eyes because treacherous teardrops of happiness start to fall.

"I think we can discuss more details and plans this week," Rishid chimes in. "After we've all had more sleep."

"Right," Ishizu nods. She stands up and grabs a mug to deposit in the kitchen sink. "And we can also discuss how the shed is in dire need of a cleaning."

Ah, now that sounds more like Ishizu. Malik makes an exasperated groan to emphasize how he feels about that idea. Rishid retreats to his own bedroom before he can get roped into another discussion.

"In the morning," Ishizu says, a promise that she won't forget to finish this conversation later. "Maybe your friends would volunteer to help." And then she too disappears to her room.

Malik's mind immediately conjures up an image of Ryou with his long hair pinned up out of the way. He'd probably be dressed in some old comfy t-shirt perfect for cleaning up. And maybe that pair of ratty-looking shoes Malik has seen shoved to the back of his closet.

Yeah, okay, it might be nice to have an extra set of hands.


You're up next scytale!