Thanks to- Guest, Yeko Yaoitard, BreakfastForLife -For reviewing

IN THE LAST CHAPTER- Ryou undergoes horrible torture under Mariku's capture, the plan begins and Bakura finally comes closer to saving Ryou but is shot by a rogue assailant at the last minute. Will he survive, and what state will Ryou be in when he is rescued?

He'd never been a particularly poetic man, and anybody who knew him even a little could attest to that, but if he had to describe this pain a million adjectives would suddenly come screaming into his mind almost as his mouth opened to do the same. Searing, tearing, ripping, burning, scalding. Yet strangely the second he'd been blown backwards by the sudden, unexpected shot of gunfire, wait, shots, the pain had died and he'd raised his gun too late to do anything, his assailant not getting time to cry out before red spattered the wall behind him and he was down.

"Trainer to Jackdaw, target has been eliminated, Dove is injured, I repeat, Dove is injured, requesting backup."

"Leave him there, backup is on the way, stay on guard," he recognised the voice, snappy, harder than he'd heard it, blinking absently as another soldier came up to him, grabbing him by the arm that didn't hang limply by his side, saying something he couldn't hear. There was golden blonde in his peripheral and he heard the command pass through the chain, lockdown all exits, marksmen to change their target, Lion had been spotted.

Everything in him froze, nothing in his vision or his thoughts other than Mariku, stood there and regarding the armed, highly trained forces as if he was only mildly inconvenienced by them, actually daring to tut in displeasure as he toed at his fluffy rug.

"I hope you plan to compensate me for this, it's real fur," only after he'd spoken did his gaze turn to Bakura, regarding his increasingly wet sleeve with absent amusement, lip twitching into a half smile and adjusting to lean on the other leg, gunmen following his every breath. He just stared at him, blinking slowly and raising an unimpressed eyebrow as he stepped forwards to meet him, handle of his gun getting sticky with drying fluid, shifting his grip and swallowing hard as he decided to talk first and act later for once.

"I guess crime does pay," Bakura remarked calmly, though his insides were screaming at him, warm blood trickling down his arm dripping from his fingertips to stain the already destroyed rug he stood on, trying not to sway with the increasing dizziness overwhelming his body. All he could think of was Ryou, was he near? Were they even in the right place? This lavish, modern space was not what he had expected from Mariku's secret hideout, but then the other Egyptian had always managed to surprise him, just smirking as if there weren't at least ten guns on him and spreading his arms proudly.

"You'd know, Thief." His remark was barbed, because after all hadn't Bakura himself just committed a crime to earn some easy money? Losing his Hikari and part of himself, both literally and not, in the process, sacrificing something huge in return for money that seemed less than useless in comparison. "You like it?"

"Very tasteful," he smiled, but there was ice in his eyes and this small talk was driving him crazy. He knew the compound was surrounded, Kaiba had assured him so multiple times, to his knowledge there was even a helicopter surveying the air around it in case they tried to escape by air, something he wouldn't put past Mariku. But his mind still told him that the other was stalling for time, distracting him while somebody dispatched or transported Ryou somewhere else, hid him away where he couldn't find him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, remembering the solid weight of the gun in his hand, utterly glad Kaiba had finally caved and allowed him to have one too, hoping his rushed training would suffice. If it was up to him he'd use a knife, slowly bleed him out until he was begging for death, carve letters into his skin then watch as he squirmed and screamed and pleaded with him, he'd show no mercy and enjoy watching the life in his eyes die as he did.

But no, Kaiba had informed him that he should immobilize Mariku and let him be jailed, and live a comfortable life in a prison he easily had the contacts to escape from, or dispatch him quickly, one bullet, straight through his forehead if he could, in the heart if not. Problem was, Bakura was almost certain he didn't have a heart, so how could he aim for something that didn't exist?

"Where is he?" His voice was demanding, but Mariku just tilted his head to one side, smirk so smug Bakura wanted to beat it off his face with the butt of his gun, hands twitching on the cool metal. He'd never even shot a gun until Kaiba finally caved and insisted he get proper training, and only now was he aware what a deadly weapon he held in his hands, heavier and somehow more intimidating than his daggers, although he'd brought those too, of course.

"Who? Oh, the little creampuff," His answer was as cocky as Bakura had come to expect, and he noticed the unnerved wave travelling through the men who surrounded them in a ring, guns shifting uneasily at his calm attitude. Bakura bristled at the use of the nickname, because how dare he use it now, after all this, use it like he'd always used to before this mess, to make it sound like he might actually care about somebody other than himself. It made Bakura feel sick, gun a reassuring weight in his hands, finger resting by the trigger, remembering what he'd been taught, fifteen rounds to one clip, so fifteen shots before he had to slide in the one of the other two that were attached to his belt. "He's not here."

Bakura's hand slipped, gun sliding down between his fingers for a second, hastily correcting the slip up but knowing Mariku had seen, chill travelling through the floor and up to his chest where it settled unnervingly. But no, he didn't believe him, aggressive stance making him feel bigger and the others lack of weapon reminding him that he was still in control, he could keep Mariku alive as long as he wanted, or he could fire a single, well-aimed bullet and kill him instantly.

"Bullshit," he spat, lips twisted into a snarl, flicking the safety off his gun deliberately slowly, remembering what the trainer had told him, red equals dead, it was terribly fitting. He hadn't cocked it yet, but that could wait until this bastard started telling the truth, at the very least he might have to kneecap him. In fact the idea was growing increasingly tempting the more he stared at his smug asshole face, somehow still managing to taunt him even though he had the clear disadvantage. One wrong move and he'd be shot so many times he'd be unrecognisable, so his unflappable demeanour was unnerving, although he could be doing it on purpose to psyche them out, he wouldn't be surprised. "Where is he?"

He sighed as if disappointed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and raising an amused eyebrow as the men surrounding him moved accordingly, guns still trained on him without waving, unlike Bakura's pistol which seemed to shake in his hands. "Come now Thief, by now you surely know my line of business," he spoke like they were friends having a polite conversation in a coffee shop, authoritative aura always surrounding him just making Bakura's heart beat rise erratically, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Ryou's been gone a while, sent him off in a lorry couple of days ago. Don't worry though Thief, he's going somewhere nice and warm."

If he knew he could get away with it he'd drop the fucking gun and rip a chunk out of his neck instead, but the plan was clear, they were here to save Ryou and either capture or kill Mariku, Seto had been deliberately vague about that. He was either to kill him cleanly and in such a way there'd be no debate as to his identity, or to let him live, and the second option was just fucking illogical, this bastard deserved to die, that much was clear, and the Thief was going to be the one to do it.

"I doubt if you'll ever find him now, got a good price for him though. Pretty little thing like him, they just snapped him up," his leer was spiteful and his lip twisted in amusement as Bakura's hands shook, barely feeling the blood on his arm and hands suddenly steady on the gun.

It was obvious nobody expected it when he took aim and fired, jolt of the gun sending a shock of electric pain through his arm and shoulder and making him grunt even as Mariku's roar of pain tore through the room.

The bullet had torn straight through his hand, leaving a messy hole as it cut through his palm and fingers, slamming through bones so badly they wouldn't be fixable and rendering his trigger finger useless whether he had a weapon concealed or not. He hadn't really aimed for there, he'd intended on grazing his side, but his hands were shaking and had slid on the grip, slick with blood he for a moment couldn't remember the source of, shock and adrenaline burning through his lungs and hiding the pain for now.

He exhaled shakily, not sure why there were lights dancing in front of his eyes, just seeing pools of red everywhere he looked, against the wall in twisted artistic patterns, on fingers and small flecks on faces and unguarded hands. But Mariku barely flinched, just examining his destroyed hand with a distant expression, as if it wasn't even attached to him, as if he wouldn't almost certainly lose a finger if not two. Rolling his eyes as if his act of displeasure had been nothing more than a child throwing a tantrum, continuing to speak, to goad him in that silky smooth voice like he was still in control here.

"Ironic, isn't it, how well he reacts to drugs. How compliant he gets, how he'll do anything you want with just one little pill," Bakura's jaw was set like rock and he just stared across the room at him, feeling the sickening, slow trickle of blood down his arm and wondering how he was even keeping the gun held up. "He's so soft, Thief. But then you wouldn't know that, would you? So innocent and warm and naive. Really he made quite a good pet, but I'm surprised you put this much effort into getting him back, I never did think you much cared for him."

He wondered if he wanted to die, if he was doing all this to bring the end closer instead of prolonging it as he'd initially suspected, but his arm was beginning to throb the longer he held it still and he could see Hayashi's eyes flitting between them, ready to take over if Bakura didn't act.

"Follow your orders," through the headset but it was like Mariku had heard, like Kaiba knew what he wanted to do, reaching up with his free hand to rip out the stupid device, landing wetly in the pool of red soaking into the Italian carpet his feet sunk into. Three things happened at once then, Mariku began laughing, Hayashi began giving orders to his soldiers to incapacitate and capture him, and Bakura pulled the trigger just once.

He screamed, actually screamed, a roar of agony that seemed to set every one of Bakura's hairs on end, stumbling onto his knees and collapsing to the ground, not complaining about getting his carpet dirty now. His shattered hand came to clutch where the bullet had lodged inside him, thick, almost gloopy blood trickling through the gaps in his fingers where he pressed them against his stomach, voice quieting down to growls and the closest noise to a whimper he'd ever make.

Bakura's hand was shaking but he could lower his gun now, adrenaline, shock and a million other things making his mind forget the pain of his wounds, because now he could see there were two, the first having hit without him even registering it, through the soft skin of his upper arm. A flesh wound, nothing in comparison to Mariku's which would slowly leak blood until he died, either that or he'd be taken to hospital and would die of infection from the bacteria in his stomach or bowel seeping into his wound.

His face was damp with sweat and his tanned skin had grown pale when he looked up, trying to smile smugly but not quite managing as he heaved for breath, panting between bloodless lips and eyes too wide, maybe afraid for the first time. "Too scared to finish me off, Thief?"

His voice was weak and Bakura wasn't afraid of him anymore, not that he ever had been really, wary, yes, but he'd never been scared, lowering his gun and ignoring the soldiers who were staring at him nervously, who had seen him blatantly ignore his orders, break the link with the man in charge.

"It takes up to half an hour to bleed out from a stomach wound. I suggest you pray it's quick," he was tempted, so tempted to step forwards and kick him right where his bullet had torn, but he was in enough pain to satisfy him already and besides, if he died too early it would be useless.

"I'm not a praying man," he replied, and it was still horribly serene, like he knew something he shouldn't, like he expected to be reborn again, or to be rescued at the last possible minute even though the longer he stayed there, breath wheezing, the less chance he had of surviving.

"Where's Ryou?" It wasn't a question, it was a demand, he knew he was bullshitting it was obvious in his eyes even as they grew duller and the blood soaking his shirt didn't hesitate in flowing out, swallowing thickly and giving one last smirk.

"He's below you, Thief. You can do so much better."

"I don't have time for riddles," Mariku didn't respond, just staring blankly at him, eyes glazed over and hand flopping from his stomach to hang weakly at his side, heavy body collapsing to the floor and chest barely rising and falling. He'd been lucky and unconsciousness had claimed him, the ultimate unfairness and Bakura was angry even as the soldiers guarding him drew back, one chosen to assess his state, deeming him incapacitated and issuing orders Bakura didn't, couldn't hear.

There'd been the tiniest, faintest ripple in his mind that he recognised and he'd set off running in its direction before he even worked out what it was, what it could mean, registering only now that the dread he'd felt hadn't been his own, it had been Ryou's. He could hear voices yelling after him and a crackle of static that bore into his head like a burrowing insect, feeling confusion and disorientation flow into his head and making him feel suddenly dizzy, ending up at the end of the dark hallway where only a dull, worn metal staircase remained.

"Jackdaw to Hawk, Where is he?" A snap, but with more nervousness than he'd wanted to convey, feeling anxiety flow through him as Bakura refused to answer his damned demands for updates, he had the feeling something like this would happen but he hadn't really planned for it. He supposed if he died it couldn't rest on his conscience, he'd disobeyed direct orders after all, he couldn't be held liable for that, except maybe by Joey, but he pushed that to the back of his mind.

"Dove has gone rogue, Lion is incapacitated."

"How?"

"Gunshot wound to the abdomen."

"Is he dead?" He knew they were trained to give specific answers, but sometimes the procedures meant he was left more confused than he was be before asking the question, incapacitated could have several meanings and he wanted specifics so he could work out what to do next.

"Negative, Sir, just unconscious."

"How long until he is?"

"Twenty minutes max."

"Any chance of escape?"

"Medics are putting survival rate at 12%," an oddly specific number, in fact it was so specific Kaiba seriously doubted it was anything more than a total guess designed to sound professional, accepting though that he could pretty much be left to die without any risk of escape.

"Leave two guarding him, get the others out and transported to the station. Leave Ba- Dove to find Lamb, have medics ready and waiting."

"Affirmative."

Then the signal cut out and he was left to sit there, examining the screens that flooded the front of the van and flitting through the tablet, reading the updated medical report. Four of their own injured, one with life threatening gunshot wounds, the others injuries no less serious but having no major risk to their lives, they'd already been patched up and Gamma squad were preparing to airlift them to his hospital. He'd been told he was being too cautious when he ordered two air ambulances to wait nearby in case of emergency evacuations, but he'd known they'd be necessary, Mariku wasn't some neighbourhood thug, he was part of an organised crime ring and they wouldn't go down easily.

But there wasn't much he could do now, Major Hayashi was in control of their ground based operation and the snipers jobs were all but done now, just watching the surrounding area in case they had secret escape points.

All he could do was sit back, relax, and hope that Bakura would find Ryou and escape unscathed, or no more than he was now, wondering absently how badly he was wounded, having not received any more detail after the initial report came in and backup had arrived.

His fingers slipped on the handrail and he almost fell the last few steps, spiral staircase and the strange drugged nausea making his stomach twist almost as nastily as Mariku's must be, feeling the out of control sensation heightening as he staggered down the dimly lit hallway.

It was lit with old fashioned strip light, covered in protective cages and throwing, dim, flickering light down onto the neatly built hallway, ceiling curved over his head into an arch and doors leading off in either direction occasionally. Even down here there were signs of a scuffle, stepping weakly over shattered glass and tunnel dimming under the busted light where a bullet had ricocheted off the wall and presumably into somebody, small flecks of blood patterning the rough wall.

The other doors were all open, light streaming out and Bakura not feeling any need to examine them, he knew where Ryou was now, he could sense him, there was a distant, dull feeling of recognition, as if he'd realised Bakura was near, as if he could hear him approaching.

The air smelled staler suddenly, scent of sweat and iron filling his nostrils and eyes trying hard to adjust to the dimness in here, flickering around frantically to find the source of the alarmed, spiking thoughts he could feel surround him like a thick blanket. He felt like he was suffocating under it already and he'd only had to deal with it for a few minutes, let alone the weeks Ryou had been here, at least two if not more.

Then he spotted him, a dimmed spot of white hair in amongst the dark, unfurnished room, leaning against the wall and his head flopped back, loose on his neck like it didn't have the strength to support him. Hearing the door push open with a long, low creak and opening his hazy eyes, Bakura able to see even from several feet away that something was wrong, that his gaze didn't quite see him.

His first thought was to slap him, to get up, pace across the room calmly, then slap him with all his strength, he probably would have done if his limbs didn't feel like lead and he was still dealing with the fizzling tablet in his stomach. But no, he deserved worse than that, how could he have lied to him like that? Putting his own life on the line was one thing, but risking Ryou's, having him as some sick reward like the prize of a bet, was not okay and he had to make the Thief realize that.

But oh god he was scared, his hands were shaking and he was so cold, his legs quaked under him as he managed to stand, wiping dirty strands of hair away from his eyes as they slid across the room to stare at his feet. Not his face, he didn't think he could stand to look him in the eyes. He could feel his presence as he lingered in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the hallway beyond like some movie hero, come to rescue his damsel in distress and save the day. But this was no movie, and Ryou was not anybody's damsel. Bakura certainly wasn't a hero, he was scum. He had lied to Ryou for months, dragged him into something he had no need to be involved in, had risked getting him sent to jail, or killed, or worse. He had betrayed Ryou in the cruelest way possible, worming his way back into his life as a reformed character, an abuser who had realized the folly of their ways and wanted to make things right, and Ryou had let him. He had put on an elaborate ruse, making up for years of abuse and neglect with movie night cuddled on the sofa and take-away pizza and noodles, with hugs and kisses on the forehead before he went to sleep. But he could feel his eyes filling with tears as the feet blurred and distorted, light flickering and fading as the figure stepped forwards, shoes shuffling nervously over the harsh stone floor.

"Ry?" The voice was a soft whisper, filled with despair and horror and so caring that it made Ryou sick. Where had his care been before? When he involved him in a drug deal and basically handed him over to a sadistic lunatic with an unhealthy obsession for him? This care was as false as every word he'd ever said before, he was a Thief, and Thieves could not be trusted.

He didn't answer, he couldn't trust his voice not to crack and he would not, could not show weakness in front of him, not now, not ever again. He ignored the hot tears leaking down his face now, not entirely sure why he was crying, at Bakura's betrayal, or at finally being freed. Maybe both. But he hated himself for crying one single tear over that worthless bastard, shrinking back against the rough wall as he walked closer, slowly, like he was approaching a wounded animal. A horribly appropriate metaphor for Ryou's current state.

He hated him, hated him more than he'd ever hated anything before. But as he walked nearer his scent filled Ryou's nose, blood and iron and, with a hitch in his breathing, home. The smell radiated warmth and safety and a feeling of finally belonging somewhere, it made him nostalgic and homesick and so very tired. He opened his mouth and the shaky, wet breath that left it rang loudly in the silent room, it sounded childish, and hurt and weary. He closed his eyes as the figure blocked out all the light, leaving him once again in the darkness he had begun to grow accustomed to. One sense cut off, the others crashed over him like a tsunami, the familiar scent flooding his nose and the feeling of heat approaching his skin making the air between them sizzle. He flinched as a hand touched his cheek, whisper soft, barely brushing the pasty skin, pad of a familiar thumb running across the dark circles under his eye, wiping away his tears.

He was terrified, it was obvious in his frozen frame and the way his breathing hitched and sputtered every time Bakura moved his hand over his face, brushing a cut that looked red and inflamed against the black bruise that surrounded it.

"Ry, open your eyes." Bakura urged, hand cupping his cold cheek, the other hanging uselessly by his side. "Look at me, I need..."

What was he going to say? I need to know you're alright? I need to know that the boy I knew is still there, hidden under layers of hurt and pain and loneliness, but still there, buried somewhere and just waiting to be freed. His voice stilted, breaking up on the words he didn't know how to say, swallowing thickly as the lids lifted and familiar chocolate brown eyes looked up at him. They were glazed over with tears and had lost their shine, but oh he knew them so well, unable to read the myriad of emotions that swirled in them. They looked empty, and exhausted, and done, like a child who was out of energy and just longed for their bed, pupils blown huge with the drugs he had to have in his system to make him seem so doll-like and absent.

"Oh Ry..." Bakura whispered, face crumpling as Ryou's head fell forwards to rest on Bakura's chest, his hands coming to fist in his t-shirt, winding into the material like it was a life line as he finally recognized something familiar and refused to let go. Bakura's arms were around him before he even registered what he was doing, damage control was the last thing on his mind as Ryou just pressed his face into his chest, eyes shut and shaking, body covered in a faint sheen of sweat and swaying where he stood. He smelt of iron and Bakura could feel an unnervingly sticky patch on his back, praying it wasn't blood from some unknown injury he could feel under his fingers.

"Ry, I'm so sorry. I... I didn't… I never wanted you to get hurt. I'm so, so sorry." His voice was trembling as he pulled the boy closer towards him, hugging him so tight it probably hurt, he needed to know Ryou was there, alive and breathing right in front of him. Wanted to surround him with his arms and just hold him, to have him closer than he already was, pressed up to his chest. "I'm sorry."

The rest was a blur, picking him up into his arms, adrenaline and a sudden burst of hope flooding him and releasing endorphins that flooded his damaged arm and gave him the jolt of strength he needed to lift his dead-weight body. He wasn't unconscious but there was something dull and dead behind his eyes, pupils blown huge and brown almost entirely taken over by the black that regarded him as if seeing somebody unfamiliar, as if he was a stranger.

He must have blacked out as he got up the stairs, feeling tacky blood drying on his arm and matting into Ryou's hair as he adjusted him, numbness and tingling flooding into his fingertips, almost forgetting he'd been shot until he stumbled the last steps into the main room and the lighting flooded him.

There had been a low babble of official talk, some concerned voices and some tired but pleased with a well-executed mission, Mariku's body covered with some kind of sheet now, blood staining the material in a wide circle and his real fur rug utterly destroyed now. But then a couple of people noticed him and he wondered how he must look, stood there in the mouth of the passageway, face and body streaked with blood and hair matted with it, face pale, eyes wet and clutching Ryou in his arms. Like something out a movie, the brave hero who had saved the day, nobody mentioning that he was the one who had caused the trouble in the first place, just stood there in his bullet-torn combat uniform.

Then somebody had nudged Kou or he'd seen himself and he was stepping forwards and Bakura had staggered back, feeling light headed and the mind link too quiet for him to like it, clutching Ryou to his chest like he was all he had left.

"This is Keeper to Jackdaw, Lamb and Dove are back, repeat, Lamb has been rescued. We need medical support immediately, repeat, immediate medical support required," he hadn't been this urgent yet all operation, speaking fast and promptly, demanding they be given help now and if that wasn't a sign to how fucked up they both must look Bakura didn't know what was.

"Copy that, medics are on the way."

The walkie-talkie was lowered then and Kou was approaching, the Thief backing away because blood loss and lightheadedness and the slow death of the exhilaration that had taken away the pain were combining now, making him delirious and confused.

"Bakura, let me take him." He shook his head, pulling him closer into his body and feeling new wetness seep down his arm, closing his eyes for a long second to try and stave off the blackness that filtered into the edges of his vision like an encroaching storm. "He's fine now, we need to get you both to hospital, come on."

He paused, expression distrusting as he reached forwards, fingertips touching Ryou's side and once again, two things happened at once, Bakura's knees buckled and he almost fell, landing heavily against the wall on his damaged arm, streaking blood all the way down. Then he gave in, letting Kou take Ryou from his arms, holding him carefully, examining his face, feeling over his nose for breath and gesturing for somebody else to help the Thief up.

He'd blacked out again, or maybe just forgotten, because the next thing he knew all he could see of Ryou was a mop of messy white hair spread out on a stretcher, small body swarmed by people checking his pulse and shining light into his eyes. They were in the air and he had the odd feeling that as long as he could see Ryou everything would be fine, head trying to loll back, fighting unconsciousness and trying to bat away the mask-covered man who easily injected something into his arm, speaking words to him he couldn't understand.

Ryou was alive, and he was free, and that was all he could ask for, the painkillers lulling him to sleep were just a bonus.

Next chapter will be up on the 11th September