Thiefshipping one shots

Good cop, bad cop. And then theres just Marik

Happy very late birthday to -KiteOwls- !!!

A good, long squint at Bakura through the other side of the glass made Marik feel like he were deep in thought about the case, about whether or not this suspect was indeed to culprit. After all, he'd been found at several scenes of the crime, all as an innocent bystander. It made for a clever disguise, but it wasn't bound to last.

So there he was— Bakura, dead panned face, cold brown eyes gazing down at the cuffs around his wrist. He fiddled with them, their jingling and jangling making them more and more irritable. Silence broken with frustrated grunting and chains.

Marik stares harder at his face. This one wasn't very easy to read— his eyes read the same for every emotion, Marik couldn't tell guilt from indifference— and the evidence for his arrest was very flimsy. His alibi didn't check out and they had a search warrant check his house for a knife, that they didn't find. It was suspicious solely because of his collection of other knives.

Bakura looked up at what he saw as a mirror, but Marik felt like he was being looked it. It felt like he was being violated, somehow.

He stepped aside quietly.

Ishizu entered the room. "You heard what he said, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not letting you go in there."

"We need our answers, Ishizu. He's not giving them to you, so—"

"Marik, it's obviously a trap. As plain as day. He's going to try and manipulate you! He's our guy, I know it.

"But we can't confirm that if he doesn't talk." He shuffled toward the door. "Push comes to shove and you need to intervene, then do. He's in handcuffs, he can't do anything to me."

Then he closed the door behind him, Ishizu looked through the glass in a worrying stare.

Bakura glanced up all too quickly when Marik entered the room. It was like watching a child in a suit attempt to be all grown up— sleeves of his jacket were rolled up making him look oddly attractive— it was clear that his suit was too big for him. A hand-me-down, maybe.

"What's my diagnosis, doctor?" He said this through a sneer. "What's wrong with me?"

"Take this seriously. You're in enough trouble."

"Oh? It's serious?" He leaned back in his seat. "Is it going to kill me?"

"Is what going to kill you?"

"My illness. That's the only reason I could think of why you look as though seeing me is a misfortune."

Marik huffed. "What are you even doing?"

His eyes twinkled. "A little role play never hurt anyone."

"Maybe not," he slid a file across the table, opened to a picture of a victim for Bakura to see. "But murder usually does."

"Murder? Who's she?" He glanced at the victim blankly. "I don't know her."

"You don't have to. But she's dead, and you might be to blame."

"Oh." He leaned back into his seat, lifted up his eyes to meet Marik's observant gaze.

"Oh what?"