As the World Falls Down

He had to have appeared half mad.

Drenched, pure white tendrils clung to his face as he gazed upon the ER patrons with wide, feral eyes. They swiveled to and fro as they adjusted to the fluorescent light. His chest heaved as he held a barely conscious boy in his arms.

Oh yes, Bakura looked absolutely mental.

The walk to the counter was obliterated from his memory in adrenaline rage, unnoted as it was of little import.

"I need help."

His voice was a weak rasp, unearthly, unhuman. Since the Pharaoh destroyed his hearth and home and destroyed the inner mechanism that made him more than a beast, Bakura had never uttered those words, never asked for anything. Why should he? He, who was revered as the Thief King; he, who was vessel to Zorc Necrophades; he who had the means to take anything he wanted! "Help" was not something he had ever required, as no loner has, no, Bakura was above the faculties of mortals.

But Ryou had mended those broken pieces deep within the catacombs of Bakura's mind, had fixed up his neglected heart and made a spot for himself within. It was for this boy, his flower, that he bowed his head in pure submission and asked for help. For Ryou.

The receptionist looked up at him, at his deranged expression. "Wh-what do you need assistance with?"

Was it not obvious! He held in his arms a semi-conscious boy! Still, he answered the stupid tart with:

"He fell; I'm pretty sure it was his knee, I don't know, I didn't see. It might be broken."

The receptionist handed him a clipboard and tried to hide from his piercing gaze by looking into her computer monitor, clacking the keys to pull up some window of insignificant importance. "Fill out the paper work while we take him back. You'll need to wait out in the holding area."

A small noise came from Ryou and he weakly tried to pull Bakura closer.

"No. I won't leave him." Bakura shifted the boy closer, taking a protective stance.

"Sir, not just anyone can go back there. Who-"

"I'm his father."

He tried to hold back the growl, the snarl, the flash of teeth, the curl of his lip, he tried, but couldn't. The unholy noise made the receptionist shirk back. "Fine, but you still have to fill out the paperwork."

As to punctuate her sentence, two double doors fluttered on their hinges and a large male nurse rolled a wheel chair out. His dark skin glistened in the low fluorescent light, and when he spoke, his voice was a rich timbre. "Is that the boy who fell? Come along, we'll get him to an x-ray unit right away.

He vaguely registered the lack of Bakura's heat, and then the lack of support. His feet were up on something, and his arms lay across some object, but his head lolled. That much at least, he knew.

It must have been the cold that woke him.

Ryou muzzily lifted his head and looked at the blurred distortions around him. They sharpened, as did the pain in his head. His body began to move faster, his heart pump fresh awakening into his system. He blinked, absently noting a dull throb in his leg, and finally cleared up his vision.

He then realized he was lying on a metal table in a hospital gown.

Panic swung a sledge hammer into his fragile chest, already worn out from the continuous stress that the last few days had slathered onto him. His first thought was not concern for his own wellbeing, nut for where his Baka was, and how his Baka was, and why his Baka was gone!

He gave a startled yelp when the surface beneath him shifted and some machine rumbled to start. He looked around wildly, squeaking out "Baka!" as he entered some tube, the overhead lights being replaced by blackness. He struggled to slow his panting as he rationalized. One, he was in a hospital gown, two, he was conscious and the table was going into a machine, so that meant x-ray, right? Or CAT scan or MRI…

Ryou's knee throbbed furiously as his blood pressure rose, screaming for Ryou to remember and tend to it.

The hardware store. He had fallen.

Bakura had held him in his arms while he cried.

The guilt and remorse that brimmed up directly crystalized into ribbons that lacerated down his cheeks. How could he worry Bakura like that? Bakura's heart was rendered in two at even the smallest of upsets. If it were that rare occasion when Ryou was down, Bakura's mood would instantaneously color to match, and he would do whatever it took to make Ryou feel better. Bakura gave and gave to him no matter how much it reamed his heart in the process. And all this time spent protecting his Baka from harm was cast back in his face by his own hand. When Bakura was heart sick, it was purely physical, Ryou had secretly come to know as he grew. His emotions turned tangible; his anger turned to a heat that erubesced his skin, his jealousy and fear hand in hand would become a prickling sensation that made him twitch, and sorrow became a pain that left Bakura clenching his shirt approximately where his heart was at.

His Baka was good at hiding it, oh he was, but he also didn't realize just how much Ryou watched him.

And now, to know that he had irrevocably hurt Bakura and his protective cage was somewhere hurting and Ryou couldn't get to him, he wept.

Glass. He hated it. He would shatter it right now if it didn't have that damn crisscross of wire that prevented him from doing so.

It was the glass that separated him from his flower.

So instead, Bakura peered through it, watching as Ryou disappeared from sight into the gaping maw of the mechanical beast that would look inside of his flower's delicate body. He stared with a pleading look on his face, looking as if he were about to let out a pitiful whine. His arms were tight across his breast, his long fingers tearing, gnawing, into his bicep. His knees darted forth and back as he shifted his weight, nerves making him fidgety. Bakura had tendencies to catch cases of still-as-the-dead, so all of these subtleties that would appear normal to the humans around him revealed just how torn the fabric of his psyche was.

And he knew it. He knew it, but couldn't care. He was too engrossed in the fear for his flower. He was drowning, choking, blacking out from the heavy current of numbness that physically weighed down his limbs and swam in his system. He was cold, so cold, from the morgue-esque conditions of the hospital, from the dread.

His eyes flickered to the side as he heard something shuffle. To his horror, he saw that is was a corpse. The teethe were rotted, some non-existent in the swollen grey gums. The eyes were nothing more than holes in their sockets, carved out by some arcane device that left the flesh hanging in tattered strips. But the rest of the body, the rest that should have been mangled, was as smooth as waster across glass. It was burned smooth.

The corpse slumped forward in one of the chairs that were tucked in the corner by a plastic fern in the radiology ward, then fell to the floor in a wet slump. Beneath the corpse was a doll with wide chocolate eyes. It looked so life-like, as if it would start breathing – his breath caught in his throat and the air made a sick, regurgitive noise as it passes through his chest rather painfully; it wasn't a doll… it was an infant… and those were Ryou's eyes.

His hands hit the floor before his knees did, his back arching as every system told him to expel the contents of his stomach. He locked his teeth and held it in, however, much to his body's dismay. Through tear flooded eyes, he looked up and saw no traces of the corpse. Then, through the periphery of his sight, he saw the black scrubs of the man who had brought Ryou in.

"Mr. Bakura!" he shouted, rushing to Bakura's aid and extending an ebony hand out to him, which Bakura gratefully took.

He helped the distressed white haired man up and supported him. "Are you alright? Let's get you sitting down."

Bakura shuffled along with him, gripping onto his hand. "I-I'll be fine, I just got… dizzy… from being worried."

The radiologist, Bakura assumed that's who he was, led him to a chair.

"Not there," he said weakly. He had no want of being where the imaginary corpse was.

The radiologist the moved him inot the opposite chair, then looked up when an aggressive buzzing filled the room and a light above that damned glass window blinked.

"That's Ryou. His scans are done."

He returned to the light.

Ryou's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim surroundings that were illumed by a single, over-bearing white light.

A dark skinned man fell into his vision, and Ryou gave a startled little yip. Never had he seen such dark skin on a person; it looked like this man was cut from the night sky. It awed him.

"Oh, Ryou, I see you're awake!" He smiled down at him with blindingly white teeth. "That's good. I'm Aki Izayoi; I'm your radiologist. You just had an x-ray so that we can see what's going on with your little knee. These will take a bit to develop, so we'll get you all set up in a room. Your father is out in the waiting room; would you like to go see him?"

"Baka." It was pleading, wanting, relieved all in one; his heart fluttered.

"Pardon?" Izayoi said, not sure if he heard him right or not. Surely the small boy wasn't calling him and idiot!

"Oh, s-sorry. It's what I call him… Can we go now?" He tried to sit up, but his chest felt abnormally heavy.

"Here, let me get that." Izayoi lifted the lead vest that was protecting Ryou, then helped him into the wheel chair adjacent to the machine.

"Thank you," Ryou said.

I'm coming, Baka.

The first sight of Ryou scared Bakura.

He was pale like watered down milk, his skin translucent and exposing the veins beneath. His eyes and cheeks were pinpricked with little scratches of red, like he had been crying. The over-sized mass of sea-green gown made him look so thin… starved… and peering from the folds of the gown was Ryou's knee, black with surfaced blood.

"Baka!" Ryou shouted when he saw him, sounding over joyed.

Bakura pushed himself from the chair and into a rolling cant which in two strides he was splaying his hand son the wheel chair arms and pressing his lips to Ryou's hair line. The boy reached up and roped his willowy arms around Bakura's neck. He let out a content squeak. "Baka."

"Mm, Ryou," he smiled against Ryou's tangled hair. It had dried from the rain and was now snarled in several places. Bakura would have to go home and wash and brush it.

Beneath his mouth he could feel the natural temperature of Ryou's flesh, beneath his nose he could smell the sweet yet soft scent that naturally permeated his presence, eradicating the wretched miasma of chemicals that the hospital belched out. This was right, good; his flower was going to be alright.

The radiologist cleared his throat, signaling for their moment to end. Ryou unlocked his arms from Bakura's neck and allowed him to stand erect.

"Let's get him set up in a room."

Bakura nodded.

"Baka," Ryou squeaked, and when he looked down, he saw Ryou reaching for his hand.

He took it and held him tight as they walked down the halls.

Ryou watched the door close. He watched Bakura look around absently from where he sat, twiddling his thumbs.

He felt so far away.

In his bed, Ryou felt isolated, tiny. His small hands trembled in his lap, wanting so badly to reach out to Bakura. An iron curtain seemed to fall between them, a barrier of silence that had no assailable points. Why? Bakura seemed fine in the hall , but now something was troubling him.

His voice was barely 20 hertz. "Baka…"

He stared at his hands, a white curtain nearly obscuring his peripheral vision. He almost didn't see Bakura start and lean forward.

"Yes?"

"Will you come and hold me like you used to when I was sick?"

He heard a rustle of cloth and then the strike of Bakura's shoes on the linoleum. When he looked up, the sweet, consoling smile that Bakura washed him in melted the iron curtain. "Of course."

He sat at Ryou's side and then swung his legs up onto the bed and laid out, inviting Ryou to cuddle up against him. The boy pressed his forehead against Bakura's neck and pressed his finger tips to the man's sternum. Ryou then felt the man's arms enclose his tiny torso.

"How is your knee?"

"I can't feel it. The morphine drip kicked in to fast." Ryou lifted his arm to show off the IV tube in his arm.

The needle had made him squeamish – the thought of anything going into his body made him squeamish – but he was thankful for the drip. It eased his pain without causing delirium, so far.

"I suppose that's good." He didn't sound too convincing.

Ryou found a small strand of hair to grip in his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's my fault."

Ryou's chocolate brown eyes pushed his forehead and eyebrows up as he looked up to Bakura. So that's what was causing the rift. "Bakura," he said, his full name feeling strange in his mouth. "Stop."

The man looked down at him, some foreign emotion written in his features. It sent a shockwave of remorse and pain through Ryou's heart.

"We're not playing the Blame Game," he forced himself to continue. "It was an accident. It's no one's fault." To seal his words he pressed a little kiss into Bakura's chest.

The man scooped him a little closer. "I remember when you used to sleep curled up in the crook of my arm." He chuckled, eyes warming.

"But I still do!" cried Ryou.

"I meant when your whole body fit."

Ryou giggled and tried to scoot closer to Bakura, but his knee prevented him from moving anymore so he decided to lie still.

Ryou's curious hands were soon toying with the Sennen Ring. He traced the ring portion, the delighted himself by making the blades dink together like wind chimes.

"Baka, you've had this thing forever, and I've never seen you take it off. Where did you get it? Is it special?"

His curiosity was overflowing today, and Ryou's face shaped into an inquisitive, if not innocent, look.

Bakura chuckled. "Would you believe me if I told you it was stolen from a king?"

Ryou's eyes went wide and his mouth popped into a tiny "A" of inquisitiveness. "Was it an evil king?"

Bakura laughed harder, making Ryou even more curious. "You could say that."

Ryou wowed at him. His Baka was so amazing! He had so many stories, and knew practically everything about anything, and must've traveled the whole world! He was at least bilingual; that much Ryou knew because he was too.

"Baka," he started, getting the man's attention, "are you fluent in French?"

"Oui."

"German?"

"Nein."

"Spanish."

"No. No me gusta este lingua."

"Italian?"

"Si."

"Have you been to other countries?"

"Korea, China, America, Egypt, Italy, and India. Does your curiosity know no bounds?"

"Nope," Ryou giggled.

This experience was truly a blessed one in his eyes. Never before had Bakura willing given up so much about himself, but then again Ryou had never truly asked. The boy still had so many questions!

"Baka," he continued, tangling up more into Bakura's embrace. "How old are—"

Before he could finish the door to Ryou's room clicked open.

"Hello, hello, I'm doctor Montoya." He made a bustling show of shaking both their hands from the sockets. "Let's have a look see at these x-rays."

Both Ryou and Bakura's lips pursed into thin lines of dissatisfaction, Ryou at the fact that he had been interrupted, Bakura at the idea of another person touching his flower. But beneath that tight grimace lurked a hidden fear that made Bakura's heart hammer a little too hard to pass unnoticed. Ryou gave him a worried glance, but chalked it up to apprehension about what his x-rays would detail; he reassuringly stroke Bakura's sternum. But it wasn't the x-rays Bakura was worried about, it was Ryou's question. He most certainly did not like keeping secrets from the boy, but his age was — he did not know how the boy would react. He wanted a pure human guise for Ryou, not his true demonic person. He feared soon he wouldn't be able to dodge the boy's curiosity.

The doctor placed the x-rays onto the wall projector. "Well," he said, getting both of the white haired males' attention, "it's not broken. He'll just have some swelling. Typical parent over-reaction. We see this all the time.

Bakura let out a soft growl; he had not over-reacted.

"So does that mean we can go home?" Ryou asked quietly.

Doctor Montoya fiddled with his pen. "Actually, Mr. Bakura, I would like to have a word with you outside."

A sharp stab of fear lanced through Bakura's heart and his mind kicked to a thousand different scenarios, each more dreadful than the last.

He shifted Ryou off him, unable to meet his wide gaze. There was too much pleading, too much sorrow at his departure. "I'll be back."

Breaking free of Ryou's embrace was like pulling free of brambles and briar that were swallowing him down. Without so much as a glance to his flower, Bakura accompanied Doctor Montoya into the hall.

The door clicked and he began to speak. "Mr. Bakura, we cannot find any information on Ryou. No birth certificate, no shot records, no medical files, nothing."

The millisecond flicker of emotion on Bakura's face went unnoticed by Doctor Montoya, but he felt as though the widening of his eyes, the dilation of his pupils, and the tightening of his lips was written on his face with no hope of covering it up.

"He wasn't born here. We did his shots at home, I have a medical license to do so." That was a lie, but he could forge one faster than the doctor could search for it.

"That may be so, but we can't find any files on YOU either. No medical history, no credit records—"

"If this is about the bill I can pay cash." Bakura wasn't fronting here.

The doctor scoffed. "You, pay a two thousand dollar medical bill in cash?"

Bakura growled. "Money is of no object. I plan to pay and leave. I'm done with this."

"I'm not so sure about that, Mr. Bakura; your credentials are still in question."

Tremors racked Bakura's frame. His whole life he had lived in the shadows, subservient to no one, self sufficient. He had never had any need to show proof of identification, never had to assume and identity either for that matter. He wasn't about to start now. His hair blustered back as light and energy poured forth from the Sennen Ring. A ring for finding, useless in this scenario, but a device to draw energy from for other worldly powers. He took one, deliberate step forward to stare down Doctor Montoya, quite easily because he rose a good five inches over the doctor. Ever so gently his hands clasped around the doctor's collar and he lifted the pathetic man to eye level.

He could see the dirty, meek soul drifting from behind the man's dull, flat brown eyes. It disgusted him.

Seizing all control of the vessel before him, he uttered a single word.

"Forget."

Ryou gazed out the window of his room. The skies were a wet grey, product of an incessant drizzle.

The weather reflected his loneliness.

Bakura and the doctor had been out talking for the past fifteen minutes, and in that time Ryou had grown continuously more sad. The notion of feeling small returned and magnified with greater intensity. Each beep of the heart monitor that sung in time with the drip of morphine made him jump in fright. This place was so foreign; he had never been hospitalized. He was always healthy — Bakura made sure of it — and the few times that he was sick, Bakura took his care into his own hands. He had never seen a doctor, never had a check-up, no. Bakura always handled those things.

It was in this unfamiliar room that Ryou realized he was not like the other children.

Before he could dwell on it, his attention was caught by the sound of the door being opened. Bakura slinked in, wiping at his nose. His shoulders were hunched over and he looked incredibly weary.

"Baka!" Ryou's voice was a mix of elation and worry, catching in his dry throat.

Bakura's head snapped up and he gave the boy a wide grin. "Guess what, Dork. We're leaving."

Ryou's whole demeanor perked. "Really!"

"Yep, I talked Doctor Montoya into letting you go home. He's sending a nurse up as we speak."

"Oh, Baka, thank you!" The boy beckoned the man over and threw his arms around his neck, the over sized gown slipping down and allowing for his arms to blossom free of it. He could feel Bakura's warmth and the rustle of his breath near his ear as his beloved guardian let out a soft chuckle.

"I'll cook you anything you want," he said with a rich rumble in his voice. Bakura wrapped his arms around Ryou's small back and picked the boy up slightly from the bed, deepening their embrace.

A small gasp burst from Ryou's lips. "Even rice and gravy? You normally hate to cook that because it takes so long!"

Bakura laughed. "Even that. Anything for you."

The boy squealed in delight and squeezed Bakura even tighter. He loved his Baka with all his might and decided then and there that this little upset had only made them stronger. He saw so many facets of Bakura's heart, hard like a diamond, shot through with light and darkness. He loved both intensely and found himself craving all of Bakura. His scent made the rapid hammer of his frightened heart palpitate into easy thumps, and his warmth soothed him. Warmth it may be, but the morphine also had a hand in this all and Ryou could feel the droop of his eyelids. Slipping from Bakura's embrace, he looked out into the window once more and saw the sun part the clouds.

And then he drifted into sleep.