Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh or any characters therein.
A/N: Much thanks to Do The Cool Whip, Velgamidragon, TOD ZUYO, HighOnCookies, DesecratedPharaoh, Always a Bookworm, Roserietta, Mysia Ri, lovenyami, Melodies Cry Beyond, FireGoddess101, Akatsukimember54, gaarafangirl91, Zie Ayton, MemoriesOfBetrayal, SeekerofAncientLegend, Shantih, SilverWolfLaguz, VivienneLaFaye, scrambled-eggs-at-midnight, Silver Wolf 551, LimeyGirl09, aibou-doodle, Pikana, wolfen princess14, YamiBakura1988, Ranma Higurashi, rosie isis and rai the kitsune, Lazy Cat 44, Two-Tail Demon, HolyChicken, ArrancarMaiden, Indiana Joanna, Audrianna13, Massive explosion of firey goo (love your penname XD) and Eight Days A Weeke!
No excuse for the wait (aside from that pesky little thing known as Real Life), but I'm going to finish this story, dammit. I refuse to abandon it. =_=; Oh, and props if you recognize the name of the real intern. ;)
Job Hunting for Psychopaths: Chapter Ten
…
"Atem…remember what I said about Bakura being quiet lately?"
The pharaoh recalled their conversation in school earlier. The psycho in question had briefly appeared directly after that talk, for reasons Atem was still suspicious of. "Yes."
"Well-" Ryo's tone became extremely pained "-forget I ever said that."
Now, Ryo would be the first to admit that since living with the thief, he might have become just a tiny bit paranoid. That is, he tended to blame Bakura for everything. It had become a habit, a reflex if you will, and to be completely fair his suspicions were very rarely proven wrong. Still, he realized that automatically pinning every little household disaster on his yami was a less than kind thing to do.
But this—this could only be Bakura's fault. There was simply no other explanation. Why else would Ryo come home to find a smashed window, an ongoing microwave timer (good god, even Bakura could figure out how to press the 'END' button-couldn't he?) and a furious note taped to the door by the neighbor?
His house alarm was still going as well. Ryo entered the combination and the noise stopped.
I really should just pay the extra money and connect the thing to the police station. He considered the notion and sighed. Then again, do I really want to have to explain every one of Bakura's escapades to the authorities?
"I think I found what broke the window," Atem remarked, pointing out of the gaping hole where glass had been that morning. Not really wanting to look, Ryo bit his lip and cast a glance outside. There was his old toolbox, contents lying everywhere—including, it seemed, the yard next door. Well, at least that explained the angry note…
Ryo turned to Atem with a poorly disguised expression of misery. "I only want to know one thing," he said softly. "Why me?"
Atem patted his shoulder sympathetically. "You should make the thief go and apologize," he said, but Ryo shook his head frantically.
"You'll forgive me when I say that that is an awful suggestion. Terrible things happen when Bakura tries to 'apologize'. Things typically involving trauma and police and every ounce of my lying ability, not to mention months of serious therapy for all involved. No, no, no. I'll do it myself."
And he went off to do just that. The minute the door closed, a disgruntled Bakura climbed out of the pantry.
"Such little faith," he observed dryly.
"Can you blame him?" Atem retorted, gesturing around. "Can you honestly blame him?" He paused, having just computed the other man's abrupt appearance. "…Have you been in there long?"
"Too bloody long for my liking," Bakura grumbled, stretching. "I was starting to think he'd never leave. If it weren't for three thousand years spent inside of a ring, I'd've developed claustrophobia just now."
"Fascinating," Atem stated, looking at the thief with interest.
Bakura scowled. "What?"
"Your use of a large word," the pharaoh replied, perfectly straight-faced. "Incredible. Have you been reading the dictionary lately?"
At which point Bakura decided to fling all attempts at patience to the metaphorical winds and throw the nearest heavy object—a toaster, incidentally—at his foe's unnaturally pointy and colorful head.
…
The next day (after Bakura was woken up by another gleefully vengeful Pharaoh prank—a spoonful of Ryo's leftover vegetable stew being ladled into his sleeping mouth, thank you very much), the hunt continued.
Or rather, Bakura sat at the kitchen table (looking highly reminiscent of a zombie in one of his horror movies) hoping for the means for such a continuation to fall out of the sky.
His options were dwindling, and why? He'd been the King of Thieves long before the moron in the green tights went about stealing from rich people (and giving the profits to the poor—hence, "moron"). He didn't need a job. He'd never needed one. Theoretically, he could steal whatever he wanted. Ryo had simply used the whole thing as an excuse to keep his more chaotic counterpart busy.
So why was Bakura still playing along? He was the one in control here, after all.
The answer was fairly obvious: Bakura loathed losing. And quitting was always equated with losing. He would prove his doubters wrong on this or he would get arrested trying.
Nodding to himself, Bakura headed for the computer. It was time to find something different. Something simple. Something…foolproof.
…
Somehow the requirements of 'different', 'simple' and 'foolproof' had become linked to hospitals somewhere in Bakura's twisted mind. Somehow. Which was how he found himself at the front desk of Domino Hospital, lying through his teeth and doing it well.
"So…you're the new intern? Tomoya Hanasaki?" the woman was asking him skeptically.
"Of course," Bakura replied. And he might as well be—the real Hanasaki had had all the tires of his car mysteriously slashed that morning. His phone cords had all been mysteriously cut as well, so that he (conveniently) couldn't phone police or repairmen. His alarm clock had also been flushed down a public toilet. Mysteriously.
"Then why," she asked with a frown, "does the name on your resume say 'Ryo Bakura'?"
Damn. He really should have thought of that one.
"It's a nickname," he replied smoothly. "Inside joke."
The woman went back to eyeing his resume doubtfully. His new and improved resume.
It had occurred to Bakura sometime after Pan's laughing fit that perhaps his resume was not quite up to snuff. Not every employer was going to have a sense of humor. So before setting out, he had modified the document. He'd removed some bits, added others, and was rather pleased with the result.
…
Name: Ryo Bakura
Goal: To find a cure for cancer.
Experience: A week at Doctor Camp learning how to heal injured kittens.
Interests: Healing injured kittens, hence the week spent at Doctor Camp. In my spare time, working on creating world peace. And curing cancer, as that is my goal (see above).
Awards: Employee of the Month Award at multiple respectable establishments.
…
Really, now—what employer could resist that? Sometimes Bakura truly enjoyed living in a world of schmucks.
The desk lady finally rubbed her temples and spoke again. "Well, Mr. Hanasaki, we already checked your credentials when you first called about the job, so I suppose you pass." She pointed down a hallway. "Third door on the left. Doctor Yabu will be with you shortly."
Bakura pasted on a saccharine smile. "Thank you."
He started walking down the hallway, nose twitching. In hindsight, a hospital had not been his best choice. He loathed the antiseptic smell. It gave him a bigger migraine even than one of Ryo's "why-do-you-do-these-things-to-me-are-you-trying-to-give-me-an-anuerism?" lectures. Honestly. If the sitcoms were to be believed, living with the boy was almost like being married.
Trying very, very hard to push that image from his mind, Bakura opened the third door.
The room was large enough. Everything was either a sickeningly pristine white or made of glittering, shiny metal. There was a bed with a body in it. IV drips and other medical devices Bakura had no knowledge of were protruding from it.
The body—which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be a small female—glanced up at him and smiled a wan little smile.
"Hi," she said. "Who're you?"
Bakura blinked. "Hanasaki. Apparently."
"Nice to meet you, Hanasaki." She eyed the ceiling thoughtfully. "Can I call you Hana for short?"
"…If you absolutely feel you must." Ra smite him the day he felt compelled to pick fights with a child.
"My name's Tomoko. Are you the new nurse?"
Now, that one simply couldn't be allowed to pass. "Nurse?" Bakura repeated irritably. "Do I look like a nurse to you?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Who else would you be?"
"I am an intern, for your information."
"Oh. Okay. What's the difference between a nurse and an 'intern', anyway?"
Well. She rather had him there.
She also had a very short attention span, Bakura discovered. Not five seconds later she was asking him another question.
"Do you like games?"
An evil smirk almost fought its way to the surface. If she only knew. "I do. I'm quite fond of them, in fact."
"I like them too. But I'm not very good at them."
"That's very sad," Bakura replied, glancing around for any escape routes (should one become necessary). He was already getting bored. What exactly was he supposed to be doing here, any-
"The only game I ever win at is Duel Monsters."
The thief's gaze snapped right back onto Tomoko.
"Really."
She nodded. "I like to watch the tournaments and stuff when they're on TV."
"Is that so." His eyes narrowed. "I suppose you're a fan of the Pha—of Yugi Mutou, then."
"Umm, he's okay. I mean, he's really awesome at Dueling and everything, but using those God card things kind of seem like…cheating, I guess. I like Katsuya Jonouchi the best." She blushed and Bakura barely restrained an eye roll. Really. How old was this kid?
"Do you play the game at all?" she inquired.
He smirked. "I was in the Battle City Finals a few years back."
Her eyes widened. "Battle City? Really? I missed it when they televised that one. I was really upset, but they couldn't move the surgery date so I ended up having to look up the results. I guess everybody knew Yugi was going to win, anyway."
Bakura snorted.
…
The next few days went smoothly enough. Domino wasn't exactly a city filled to the brim with injuries, so basically all Bakura'd had to so far was watch Doctor Yabu in action and carry a few towels.
Mostly he ended up spending time with the girl. She liked Duel Monsters and knew a fair amount about the game, making her easily a thousand times more interesting than any of the other patients. On Bakura's third day as an official intern she produced her prized deck, the contents of which withered his soul. The cards collected were almost all common ones, and any strategies he could glean from them were depressingly amateurish. Not to mention the girl's choice of monsters left much to be desired:
"Kuriboh? You have a Kuriboh in your Dueling deck?"
She glared back defensively. "What's wrong with that?"
"Do you have a Shift trap?"
A shake of the head.
"What about Multiply?"
Another shake of the head.
"Then why keep such a pitiful little monster in your deck?"
"Because…it's cute?"
Little girls. Bakura internally wept for the future of the game—that is, until he reached the bottom of the deck.
"…Call of the Haunted?"
She grinned. "My cousin gave it to me. It helps me win a lot of the time."
Hmm. Maybe there was hope after all. But still, it was clear that this deck needed help. Bakura straightened.
"Pay attention," he instructed in a tone that held no room for argument. He withdrew his own deck from a coat pocket. "I am going to show you how to compile a truly terrifying deck…"
…
It was day five of hospital work and Bakura was beginning to feel that hijacking the real Hanasaki's internship was one of the best strategic moves he had ever made. Barely any real work to be done, decent pay, easy to maintain—and he was getting to teach an impressionable young mind all about the best ways to Duel. Tomoko was a fair apprentice, even if it did get a tad boring going at a quarter-strength all the time. She didn't even talk too much. Bakura was not a fan of children that talked.
Today, however, seemed to be an exception. Tomoko was babbling up a relative storm. Her already short attention span had shrunk. Bakura had already been signed in almost two hours and they hadn't even gotten through one practice duel.
"What is the problem?" he finally snapped. "Why are you being so…chatty?"
"Chatty?" she squeaked. "Am I being chatty? I don't think I'm…" She caught sight of the look on Bakura's face and bit her lip.
"Umm…sorry, Hana. I'm just tired, I think."
"Then there's no point in Dueling," Bakura pointed out sharply, loathe to miss a teaching opportunity. "Never pick a fight of any kind when you're at a disadvantage…unless, of course, you have a pre-decided cheating strategy mapped out."
"Right. I understand."
"Good." He gathered his cards and stood, tone crisp. "Go to sleep. I'll explain the finer points of Occult deck usage tomorrow."
"Okay."
Bakura closed the door behind him, unimpressed with the kid's lying skills. That would have to be the next thing to tutor her in.
Breaking into the hospital's patient records was simple to the point where Bakura almost felt pity for the people maintaining them. Clearly they didn't know any better, poor miserable creatures.
Tomoko Hadashi. There you are…
…
Domino Hospital Patient File #567
Name: Tomoko Hadashi
Age: 9
Ailment: See attached file
Recent Updates:
11/23 Patient seems to be stabilizing. Continue with regular medicine administration.
11/30 Patient has relapsed. Administer higher dosages?
12/5 Higher dosages not fixing the problem. Dr. Kimie recommends surgery.
12/8 Surgery discussed w/ patient's family. Financial problems rendering it improbable (see insurance information, page 4). Discuss experimental treatment?
…
There was a lot of medical psychobabble to sift through, but Bakura managed to get the gist. The girl needed some sort of surgery for some disease he couldn't begin to pronounce, and for some reason the family was unable to afford it.
This was exactly why thievery should not have been allowed to die out as an art form.
Bakura flipped through a few more pages (for such a young patient, the girl's file was abnormally thick) to find out just how much this surgery was going to cost. The answer was enough to merit an eyebrow raise.
There was an idea nudging at the back of his brain. A dusty, mostly unused corner of his brain—the one that provided rational thought—was insisting that the idea was a rather terrible one. The thief frowned and reexamined the updates section. It looked like the only other option at the moment was some vague "experimental treatment".
Bakura twitched at the choice of words. He was fine with experimentation in general, particularly when it involved plumbing and/or explosives, but when so-called professionals and people in power started experimenting, nothing good could come of it.
The experiment that resulted in the Millennium Items came to mind.
More specifically, Kul Elna came to mind.
He scowled.
Stupidity be damned. Tomoko was shaping up to be the finest (never mind only) pupil he'd ever had, and hell if he was going to let a bunch of clueless doctors "experiment" on her.
Ohhh no. The only one screwing around with his student's young mind and possibly giving her a few mental scars would be him.
…
Perhaps his righteous fury was to blame for not noticing the danger until it was too late. All he knew was that by the time he finished robbing the bank, breaking into Tomoko's home (the address had been in the file—really, what idiots), depositing the money in the microwave where someone was sure to find it and signing out of work, someone had gotten wise. Probably the secretary at the hospital. He'd never liked her.
They got him in the parking lot.
With tranquilizer darts.
Bakura truly, utterly and completely loathed law enforcement.
TBC
A/N: Don't kill me yet. JHFP is nearing its conclusion, so don't kill me yet.