December 21, 1922

Tsarskoe Selo, Russia

"They left the palace standing, I see." Bakura said, looking up at the old building. His heart panged a bit as he adjusted his cloak. Yami shrugged under his.

"What use did they have for it?"

"A centre or something." He suggested, quickly taking down a board from the door. "Help me."

"Why dirty my hands?" Seto asked, inspecting his nails.

"Good to see that the nobles of Wales are so giving and helpful." Yami scoffed.

"Never trust giving people." Bakura told him softly, prying off one of the boards.

---

October 3, 1917

"HELP! HELP!" The young girl cried, pointing to her brother in tears. The young prince gripped his bleeding hand, his white pants stained with blood. A boy answered the call, pushing his snowy white hair out of his eyes as he did so.

"How did you cut yourself?" Ryou asked, his brown eyes narrowed at Bakura. The young prince just continued to nurse his hand, sitting down in the grass.

"I was practicing with my-"
"Oh, the more you practice, the more likely you'll die, you KNOW you're anemic." Ryou scoffed, sitting Bakura down. "Here, here, let me see." He grabbed his fellow white-haired males' hand, inspecting the cut. "You got through the glove. What did you do? Cut your hand on purpose?"
"I'm not that dumb." Bakura scoffed.

"Honey," Ryou looked to the crying girl. "I need you to do me a favor-now stop CRYING, child, he'll be alright...yes, I'm certain. Now please go inside and tell your mother to get the nice man on the phone, the one who's been helping your brother lately, okay? Good girl." He smiled, sending the child on her way, through her tears and all. Once she left, Ryou removed his overcoat, paid for courtesy of the royal family, and ripped it into thin strips, wrapping up Bakura's hand with one and tying the end of that one with another strip, making it longer.
"That never works." Bakura said quietly.

"Oh, shut up." Ryou smacked him upside the head. The prince yelped.
"I ought to tell my parents!"

"And they'll tell me I was right!" Ryou scoffed, fixing the bandage. "it'll have to do until he gets here. Come on, let's get you upstairs.

"He's creepy-looking." Bakura shuddered. "It's those eyes...."
"Yours aren't much better." Ryou joked. Bakura looked down at his hand.

"...Danke."

"It's fine." Ryou shrugged. Bakura smiled a tiny bit.

---

"Three....Two....One!"

There was a sudden crash into the door. But it didn't budge. Another and it bust open, the three toppling to the floor, the English noble, the Romanov, and the French Ambassadors son. Seto brushed the dust out of his hair with his hand, squinting through the dust cloud.

"Wow. The Bolsheviks really took care of this place."

The palace, although abandoned and old, was still in good condition, strangely.

Well...as good as soviet revolutionists would leave it anyway.

"You had it pretty good." Yami told him.

"Russia was wonderful if you had the money to enjoy it." Bakura shrugged. "Unfortunately....not many have the money."

"How sad." Seto said without much sympathy.

"Be nice." Yami said, thwacking the boy gently.

The Romanov removed his cloak, his old clothes torn and rumbled, loosing their regal sheen. He'd lost his blue sash long ago and his red pants were torn at the bottom, shoes were replaced with cheaper ones that lasted longer but didn't match.

But his white jacket still had its gold buttons and cufflinks, the collar was still white, and the small broach he had in the middle of the long collar remained, a light baby blue pearly object in the middle, obviously cheaper than his old clothes, but still very expensive.

The once-prince looked around, inspecting the pictures above the windows, the once perfect carpeting that was torn and faded and dusty and the very mansion that was once his home seemed to loom over him like some impending monster....

---

November 15th, 1917

*BANG*

A shot fired in the young princes' room. Bakura rolled out of where he was, the bullet had hit the wall, being only a quarter off from him.

"Romanov!" The seething rebel yelled, preparing to fire another shot.

The door slammed open, Ryou bursting through and knocking him down.

"JUST LIKE I TOLD YOU, SIR!" He yelled as several guards' game in. The captain of the guard himself was last to enter, looking eager for the capture.
"Good work." He congratulated the boy as the Bolshevik was pinned, his weapon removed. Ryou got up, quickly going to Bakura as the man was secured.

"You're alright?" He asked, watching the prince tremble.
"How did you..." the pale prince sputtered to ask.

"Your father, our Tsar, has me spying on the Bolshevik party." Ryou said quietly. "If anything happens, I'll know and warn him." He looked back at the man. "And you won't be seeing your friends anytime soon."

"TRAITOR!" The man yelled as he was propped to his feet. "You'll rue the day you turned your back!" He threatened as he was lead out of the room, struggling and fighting.

"Oh God..." Bakura groaned, face in his hands. He felt like a damned fool....like some weak little...

"I'm sorry." Ryou said softly. "Security was supposed to be tighter than that...."

Bakura didn't hear.

"Bakura?" Ryou asked softly.

Dumb Bakura, weak Bakura, can't even fight off some fucker with a gun Bakura...

He felt an arm around his shoulders, a head on top of his.

"Ryou?" he asked his lifelong friend, his servant since birth. The boy just smiled, closing his eyes and humming out a tune.

"Kak uzor na okne,

"Snova proshloe rjadom.

"Kto-to pel pesnju mne

"V zimniy vecher kogda-to,"

"Ryou, knock it off." Bakura spat, hating how much he loved the sound of the boys voice. It always relaxed him. "I was just SHOT. AT."

"I know." Ryou said softly. "But I won't let it happen again."

Bakura gripped his sleeves.

Ryou continued.

"Slovno v proshlom ozhilo.

"Ch'ikh-to bereznhykh ruk teplo,"

---

"Vals izyskannykh gostey

"I beg lihikh konei."

The prince sang the words softly to himself, wandering the room by his lonesome, Yami and Seto having chosen to wander the halls. He tossed his cape to the floor, no longer needing it.

He was home.

He walked forward, towards the stairs, inspecting them quietly, his hand ran along the stairwell bar, his own red eyes scanning the rest of the room. Quietly he sighed, leaning against the stairwell.

God, he missed Ryou.

---

December 1, 1917

The boy gave a content sound, pressing Bakura closer to him. The prince kissed his servant deeper, needing the full contact with Ryou.

He needed Ryou.

He didn't NEED Ryou, he needed RYOU.

The kiss broke, the boys face flushed.

"Something wrong?" The boy asked, face slightly flush.
"Why would anything be wrong?" He prince grinned, leaning in for another.

A hand stopped him.

"You're very clingy lately."

"I need you." Bakura said softly, kissing the boys' forehead.

"It's because the guard thought I was a Bolshevik and nearly had me arrested?"
Bakura cast his gaze away, not sure how to respond.
"Or is it the second shooting from two days ago?"
"Ryou-"
"Tell me." Ryou pressed. Bakura bit his lip.

"...A bit of both....and a bit of everything else." He confessed, leaning down again and kissing along the boys' temple.

"I'm not going anywhere." He chuckled a bit, kissing Bakura. Warmth filled the prince as his eyes slid shut, consuming the taste of Ryou.

"My room?" Bakura asked, his voice quiet but strong. The other laughed silently.

"Do you always think about sex?"
"Only with you." The Romanov confessed with a grin.

"If we must." Ryou said with faux exasperation.

"Yes, we must." Bakura insisted, holding Ryou tighter.

God, he needed him. Nothing would be worth anything otherwise.

---

He felt it still, in his veins. That night....the ball, the laughter, Ryou....the screeching halt.....

He stepped down from his place on the stairs, raising his arms to position, searching his mind for the steps. He wasn't sure he remembered it all...

No....Hm...Wait.

Papa and Mama were over there...grandmother was in the corner...the girls were off with the older men and his brother and younger sister were dancing together. He remembered that. It had been rather cute.

And Ryou...

No one seemed to care that the servant in his arms was just that, a servant. But he didn't look like one. Bakura'd dressed him up, made him look the part of a noble, and they danced that night...Ryou had been the 'woman' in their dance...

He grinned to himself, the steps flowing back into his mind, the image of Ryou in his heart and eye. He moved slowly, his body remembering the movement the rhythm, everything.

And he could have sworn he heard it, Ryou's precious voice.

"Val's kruzhil I njos menja,

"Slovno v skazku svojo manja" He let the words sound out, for his lovers' sake, to feel a bit of that warmth again.

---

"Go, go, go!" Ryou huffed, pulling Bakura through the snow of the winter.
"Papa!" Bakura yelped his eyes on the yelling and screaming back in Tsarskoe Selo, but the servant wouldn't let him.
"Bakura." He tried, though his tears stung his face red and thickened his voice, making it hard to hear. They stopped a bit, Ryou looking right at him. "Your father's gone. We have to go, you need to get out of here."
"But they won't-"
"But you will." Ryou stressed. "And that's all I can ask. Please." Bakura huffed a bit, fighting back tears, he needed to see.

"Let's go." He strained, the two of them picking up speed again.

---

That awful day...

"Pervyj bal I pervyj val's," he continued to sing, to try to block that awful thought out.
"Svuchat vo mne sejchas."

---

"BAKURA GO!" Ryou yelled, pushing the prince ahead. The boy tripped, looking worriedly back.
"RYOU!" Bakura yelled.
"You'll be fine!" He yelled. "RISHIDO! GTE HIM OUT!"

A man emerged from the shadows, his hand on Bakura's shoulder.

"Come, young prince."
"No, wait, Ryou-" The Romanov protested, looking back at the man he held so dear.

Ryou's eyes were wide, watery.

'I love you.' He mouthed, before a hard black foot stomped on his back, a gun pressed to his temple.
"RYOU!" The prince tried to go for him, but Rishido held him back, trying to drag him away.

The gun cocked.

Rishido hadn't been fast enough. The prince had seen.

---

The prince continued to dance, not seeing, but remembering.

"Zerkala v jantare"

He and Ryou sang, the entire ballroom on them, Papa, Mama, the girls, his brother, everyone,. He smiled, his eyes on his love, always, nowhere else.

"Moj vostorg otrazhajut."

Bakura held Ryou tight. He'd never let him go, not once, not ever. And once this revolution was out of the way, he'd....he'd....he'd something. Marry him?

"Kto-to pel na zAre."

He would. He'd change every rule if he had too, but he would.

He spun Ryou out, the boy giggled mid-song which started the prince in a snicker fit too.

"Dom rodnoj pokidaja."

He spun Ryou back him, holding him closer than before, his smile was broad, Ryou's broader.

He loved him. He did. He'd keep him forever. He wouldn't let anything take Ryou away.

The palace door was thrown open.

He froze, his memory world erased in a heartbeat as a gun barrel was pressed to the back of his head.

"....I should've known." Bakura said softly. "French Ambassadors son, my ass."

"Shut up, Romanov." Yami scoffed.

"Where's Seto-"
"None of your business." The Bolshevik scoffed, shrugging off his cloak, the pick and hammer band tied onto his arm.

"Bakura?!"

Ryou?
"Run!" The boy griped his lovers arm, pulling him up the staircase, ready with an escape route. "We'll be okay!"
"Any last words?" Yami asked him. "You're the last Romanov....you ought to pay your family your last respects."

There was a silence.

"Budesh' ty, v dekabre," His gripped his hand tight.

If only Ryou's hand was in his.

The servant kissed the prince's forehead softly, urging him to go first, the escape open to them both.

The gun clicked, ready to fire.

"Vnov' so mnoj, dorogaja." He finished, his eyes sliding shut, just listening for Ryou's voice, somewhere....somehow...

In the faintest way, he did.

He pulled the trigger.

Bakura Romanov

February 18, 1899- December 21, 1922

You will be, in December

Again with me, darling.

---

.......okay, a few points.

1)...does it matter if I told you all that I almost cried writing this?....No?

2) Obviously the inspiration was 'Once Upon A December' from Anastasia, the animated movie. I got curious for the Russian part (Considering it takes PLACE in Russia) and when I looked it up, I loved it,.

3) I don't know why I made Yami a Soviet, but I DO know why I made Bakura the prince. It's because, like all monarchies, the Romanovs had a corrupt family line, or so I've been told. Though the entirety of what happened to Nicholas Romanov and his famous family IS a tragedy, one must remember, the lineage of the Russian Tsar. I made Bakura Romanov prince because it was corrupt in the past and because such a thing would suit him very well. (I'm aware many other monarch-like lineages were also corrupt, but this just worked for me.)

4) I do completely understand that the Russian Revolution was a very serious event in history. But I had to get this fanfic off my chest. I apologize deeply, sincerely, and profoundly if I offended anyone and I disclaim everything.

5) Yaaay, English lyrics! What you just saw was the Russian version of 'Once Upon A December'. And here is the DIRECT English translation. (I apologize also, if the Russian wasn't spot-on. I got it off Quizilla.)


Like a pattern on a window,
The past is near again.
Someone sang a song to me
One winter night sometime
As if coming alive in the past.
The warmth of someone's gentle arms,

The waltz of exquisite guests,
And brave horses running.
The waltz spun and carried me
As if beckoning in its tale.

The first ball and the first waltz
Resound in me right now.
Mirrors in amber
Reflect my delight.
Someone sang at dawnbreak,
Leaving her cherished home.
You will be, in December,
Again with me, darling.

Thanks for reading!