Chapter 25: Sleep
"Ryou? Ryou. Come on, wake up. You've got to eat."
Malik shook Ryou's shoulder gently and then sighed when he didn't even stir. The doctor certainly hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that the strong antibiotics would hit Ryou hard. The pills themselves were alarmingly large, like some kind of medicine you'd expect to give to a horse or rhinoceros, and the first dose had knocked Ryou out for so long that it had seemed like he wouldn't wake up in time for the second lot.
Malik hadn't liked that.
He'd started to regret sending Bakura away, because being alone in a silent apartment, trying to no avail to wake his friend, had filled him with the most sickening sense of history repeating itself.
Maybe he'd panicked a little. Stared raptly at the phone, desperately wanting to call the doctor, an ambulance, Bakura, anyone, but always stopping himself at the last minute. Thinking, wait five more minutes, he might wake up, wait just a little longer.
He didn't really remember it too clearly now. Anxiety like that made his brain shut down.
In any case, they were now on Day Three, and Malik was now calm (sort of) and certain (in a shaky kind of way) that Ryou would always wake up eventually from his drug- and general-exhaustion-induced stupor.
Still, that didn't stop him from tugging the duvet aside and pinching the skin of Ryou's arm more roughly than was strictly necessary. It was a successful enough tactic, he found; Ryou jumped awake with a startled squeak of pain.
"...Why?" he mumbled pathetically, drawing the word out into a whine. His voice was hoarse to the point where it was almost funny. Almost.
"It's time to eat," Malik replied. "No point in taking your medicine if you're not going to start eating properly. Look at you, you're so...bony."
"Whatever," Ryou groaned, reluctantly hauling himself into a sitting position. "Even if I take my medicine and eat properly, I'm still going to have bruises up and down my arm if you don't stop doing that."
"Should I dunk cold water over you next time?" Malik asked. Despite himself, he could feel a small smile tugging at his mouth. "You're really difficult to wake up gently, you know. I guess your body's trying to catch up on all the sleep it's been missing for...I dunno, two years?"
Ryou muttered something croaky and unintelligible, scratching absently at the skin of his throat with one hand.
"Cut that out," Malik said, batting the hand away. This seemed to be a new habit of Ryou's, and he'd been doing it almost non-stop. "Do you want to claw your own throat out?"
"It hurts," Ryou complained. "And it itches."
"Yeah, on the inside. You've got a packet of throat soothers right there, I'd say those would be more effective."
Ryou grumbled some more but stopped scratching. He'd exhausted himself yesterday and the day before with his protests about how Malik didn't have to look after him and cook for him and pinch him awake every so often, but he'd been steadfastly ignored and had now fallen into a kind of sullen, humiliated acceptance of his fate. He'd eat the food he was given, he'd take whatever medicine was thrown at him and, most crucially, he'd do as he was told. He probably didn't want to get slapped again. In a way, Malik was glad that the dynamic of their friendship had changed so much from what it had been before. He got the worst feeling that they wouldn't even be in this situation if he'd been firmer with Ryou last time.
"You get soup today," Malik said, picking up the tray he'd left on the chest of drawers and plopping it in Ryou's lap. "Don't ask me what kind because I don't know. If it tastes bad, I'm sorry."
"Thanks," Ryou mumbled, picking up the spoon and not looking at him once. Malik was privately amused that even Bakura was less awkward about accepting a meal these days.
Speaking of which, he hoped Bakura hadn't burned his apartment building down or poisoned himself in his absence. Was cooking a mandatory skill for a King of Thieves? Maybe he should throw a few meals together for Bakura to put in the ice-box back home. Reheating food couldn't be too much of a challenge.
Lunch was partaken mostly in silence. Ryou didn't seem terrified to open his mouth and speak like he had after all the fireworks yesterday; he just seemed genuinely too exhausted to make much conversation. Malik knew he was feeling resentful – he'd already complained more than once that he'd never felt this sick until he'd been officially declared sick. And Malik could only repeat the doctor's words in his own defence: worse before you get better, worse before you get better. It'll be worth it, I swear. What would you prefer, feeling like this for a little while or feeling only half-alive until your body finally gives out and-?
No.
Malik finished his own food and marched briskly to the kitchen to rinse his bowl out, shaking his head sharply to banish any residual morbid thoughts. When he came back, Ryou was still working his way through his small bowl of soup, sluggishly and without enthusiasm. Every so often he'd glance up at the living room doorway, or tilt his head slightly as if listening for some sound.
"He's not here," Malik informed him. Ryou jumped before frowning.
"I wasn't..." he started.
"You were," Malik corrected him mildly. "But he's not here. I sent him away. Figured you'd only end up hurting yourself if he stuck around. And him, if you got your way."
Ryou snorted derisively and didn't say anything more.
"...I'm not going to stop giving you a hard time about him, you know," Malik said. "It's going to become part of the routine now. Every time you wake up, you're going to eat something, and I'm going to talk to you about Bakura."
"Maybe I won't wake up, then," Ryou snapped unthinkingly. He instantly paled at the look Malik shot him. "I...didn't mean that. I just...why?"
"Why?" Malik repeated. "Where do you want me to start? Because that hate is like a poison in you. It's ruining you. Because you've hurt each other enough. Because, in the end, it's so pointless."
"So you think he and I are even now?" Ryou asked quietly. It was Malik's turn to snort.
"Is that really what it's all about? Getting even?" he said. Ryou looked away, shamefaced. "No, I didn't think so. It's about...blame? Blame and frustration and making yourself feel better."
"Are you planning on specialising in counselling psychology?" Ryou asked sourly. "Because, to be honest, you aren't great in the tact department."
"I believe in honesty between friends," Malik replied. He'd been prepared for Ryou to make every effort to change the subject at this early stage. But he'd persevere, just like he'd warned. Every time Ryou woke up, there was going to be a lecture waiting for him. One way or another, Malik was going to get through to him.
"Being honest doesn't make you right," Ryou muttered.
"Really?" Malik said, settling himself comfortably on the sofa since it seemed this debate could go on a while. "So you think you do have something to gain from attacking Bakura at the slightest provocation?"
"It's not about gaining anything," Ryou said, and Malik could hear the old anger in his voice, could tell that he'd gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. "It doesn't matter if there's no point. It's...about..."
"You don't want to stop hating him," Malik finished for him. "You don't want anything to change."
Ryou was sick and Ryou was very, very tired, but his eyes flashed with fury at that.
"Don't you say that as if you're so disgusted by it," he said, raising his voice as much as he was able to. "You're no better. Where's Mariku? You don't even know. You haven't spoken to him, gone looking for him, tried to forgive him-"
"That's different," Malik started to protest, feeling his chest tighten.
"How is it different?" Ryou howled. "Because you're scared instead of angry? It's not different at all. You don't want to forgive him, you don't want to be near him, and so you do nothing. So don't sit there and feel superior because you've made some kind of peace with Bakura, when he never hurt you or...I mean, worry about fixing yourself before you start-!"
He broke off, coughing harshly. Malik got to his feet and placed two pills on the edge of the bed.
"Take your medicine," he said flatly before leaving the room.
Bakura had concluded that Domino City was just about the dreariest and most boring place in the modern world.
He'd woken early that morning and, instead of enjoying the peace and quiet and the knowledge that he wouldn't be getting abused by Ryou at the Lot later, had felt too restless and fidgety to even stay within the confines of Malik's warm apartment. And so he'd thrown on his coat and gone for a walk. Or perhaps a wander would be more accurate. He was wandering down endless streets that all looked the same, and it wasn't helping.
Maybe this place didn't seem so bad when you were part of it, he mused resentfully as he sank onto a bench and absently watched the passersby. It was probably as good a place as any when you were a college student going along chattering to your friends, or an office worker eating lunch with your colleagues, or a young mother pushing a stroller and being harassed by your toddler for candy. But when you were pretty much alone in this city, with no roots or connection to it and no real reason to be there, it was...dismal.
"Why are you always making that face?" asked a familiar voice. "Does your stomach hurt?"
Bakura felt he did very well not to jump when Mariku suddenly sat down beside him, as if they had prearranged this meeting and he hadn't just appeared out of nowhere.
"What?" he said.
"You always look like you have a stomach-ache," Mariku reiterated.
"...What are you doing here?" Bakura asked, opting not to comment on this observation. Mariku blinked and looked at him as if this was just about the dumbest question he'd ever heard.
"I wanted to talk to you," he replied warily. "That's allowed now, right?"
"How did you find me?" Bakura demanded, feeling a headache starting to pulse in his temples already. "Did the Shadow Realm give you super-powers too?"
"No," Mariku said, looking surprised. The seriousness of his expression made Bakura want to groan and thump his head against a wall. "I was outside Ryou's building and I saw you. You went past three times."
"...I did?" Bakura said, startled out of his annoyance. He really hadn't been paying attention to where his feet took him, and it was more than a little embarrassing that he had gone to that particular place on autopilot. Three times, no less. He frowned and glanced around him and confirmed that he currently wasn't even in South Domino. "How long have you been following me?"
"I wanted to wait until you stopped."
"Then..." Bakura paused, decided it wasn't worth it, gave up and moved on. "What do you want?"
Mariku shifted unhappily in his seat.
"Something's wrong with omote," he said.
"Must you call him that?" Bakura said, injecting his voice with more annoyance than he really felt. "And don't tell me he's sick too now."
"Not sick. But not happy, either."
"Well," Bakura said with a shrug, "he's worried about Ryou."
"But it's not just 'worried'," Mariku persisted. "I know 'worried' now. It's something else. A whole lot of things. He keeps getting sad and angry and scared and then really angry and really scared."
"Oh." Bakura nodded in understanding. "Yeah. That's probably because..." He tried to think of a tactful way to word it. "Ryou isn't the easiest person to take care of these days."
"But he and omote are friends, right?"
"Yeah."
"And friends are good."
"So they say."
"Then why...?"
"Look, it's complicated," Bakura interrupted. He snorted humourlessly. "That's pretty much the first thing you have to know about being human. Everything is complicated."
Mariku pondered this for a few moments.
"You and omote are friends too?" he said finally.
"His name is Malik," Bakura hissed in response. "And...I don't know. I never thought about it."
"So think about it."
"What's it to you, anyway?" Bakura snapped.
"You make him angry sometimes, too," Mariku informed him with a small smile. "But other times, you make him happy. Same with Ryou. So is that what being friends means?"
"Like I just told you, it's complicated," Bakura said gruffly, looking away. "...I really make him happy?"
"Sometimes. Mostly he just wants to hit you."
Bakura chuckled quietly. "Good to know I haven't completely lost my touch."
"Will you go see him?" Mariku asked suddenly. "It feels like he's going crazy up there. Just this morning – scared, angry, scared-"
"He told me to stay away," Bakura informed him. "Ryou needs to chill the fuck out and get some rest if he's going to get better, and that's never going to happen while I'm around."
"...Are you scared?" Mariku asked. There was a faintly sly twinkle in his eye, suggesting that perhaps he hadn't lost all of his powers of manipulation.
"Let's not play that game," Bakura said with a scowl. Mariku shrugged.
"If Ryou's so difficult to take care of, like you said," he said, "then omote might need some help."
Bakura couldn't help but roll his eyes.
"What the hell did the Shadows do to your head?" he asked.
"My head?"
"You were a murderous psychopath," Bakura reminded him. "Now you just want Malik to be ok? What happened?"
"...It wasn't the Shadows," Mariku told him with a small shrug. "I thought about a lot of things there. But I couldn't understand those things, because I only knew 'hate' and 'rage'. That's all I was. But..." he paused, tilting his head back to look at the sky. "Whatever brought us back to this world made us whole. We're not just spirits or monsters anymore. We have our own bodies. Our own souls."
Bakura stared at him mutely.
"Coming back felt very...big," Mariku laughed. "Everything felt different. Looked different. Just was different. I thought I'd explode."
"So before, you really were just...a part of Malik that had gone bad," Bakura said slowly, trying to fit the pieces together. "The part he cut away from himself. All that anger and...right. But now you're...?"
Mariku got to his feet, still looking cheerfully at the clouds overhead.
"Human, I guess," he said. "Or half-way there, at least."
Bakura blinked and then chuckled again.
"You and me, both," he said.
"You'll go and see omote, won't you?" Mariku said, looking down at him.
"Alright," Bakura groaned, though the prospect wasn't half as unpleasant as he was making out. "But if I get attacked, I'm blaming you."
Malik got the oddest feeling that he really was starting to go mad.
Ryou was sleeping again, of course, and here he was, standing over his bed with his arms folded, scowling at nothing in particular and just itching to reach out and pinch his friend's arm again, or to make good on that threat of a cold water dunk. Because he'd figured out what he wanted to say, and it needed to be said now, damn it. It all made sense in his head right now, but if he had to wait a few hours to put it to Ryou, he knew he'd use that time to question and second-guess himself, and in the end he'd just finish up in a hopeless, miserable muddle.
"Is that your plan?" he muttered out loud. It was surprising how quickly you started talking to yourself when you were alone – or as good as alone. "To just sleep until I confuse myself and...?"
He trailed off abruptly and froze in place when he became aware of the sound of...footsteps. Nearby. Far too nearby for comfort.
He swallowed hard. He wasn't in the habit of locking his own door during the day when he was in his apartment, and so he hadn't done so here either. But that had probably been stupid. This place was a world away from his home. Ryou almost definitely kept the door locked at all times. Hell, he'd probably piled furniture against the door when he first moved here, the place just had that unsafe feel to it.
Fortunately (he supposed), in a moment of strange paranoia, he had brought Ryou's trusty baseball bat with him from the hallway into the living room the day before. He picked it up uncertainly. He'd done a number of questionable things in his life, but beating another human being with a bat wasn't one of them. He rather hoped he wouldn't have to start now.
Heart beating furiously, he reached out and gripped the door-handle. The sounds could just be the product of his stressed and currently otherwise unoccupied mind, but he had to be sure. Opening the door as quietly as he could, he poked his head out into the hallway.
It was empty.
Blinking, he stepped out of the living room. Gods, he really had imagined it? He was losing it.
Then something touched his shoulder.
An odd yelping sound escaped his mouth and he automatically raised the bat as he spun around. A strong hand gripped his wrist before he could bring it crashing down on anything.
"Holy shit, not you too," a familiar (and rather startled) voice exclaimed. "Haven't you people ever heard of just saying 'hello'?"
Malik blinked again, staring at the intruder. Bakura stared back, looking unsure whether to be amused or afraid for his life.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Malik hissed finally, wrenching his arm out of his grasp. "And where the hell were you hiding-?"
"Thief King," Bakura reminded him patiently. "And I wasn't hiding. I was...well. Trying not to startle you."
"Good job on that," Malik said as his heart continued to race as if he'd just run a marathon. "What are you doing here? If Ryou wakes up, he's going to-"
"Let's keep our voices down, then, will we?" Bakura suggested, rolling his eyes. "And maybe move this little chat to the kitchen?"
Malik grumbled but obliged, since this got them as far from Ryou as the small apartment would allow.
"So, I repeat: why are you here?" he said, setting the bat down gingerly on the table. "Didn't we agree that it'd be best if you made yourself scarce?"
"...It's been a few days," Bakura shrugged. "I thought I should check in."
"You could've just called," Malik pointed out. "Or texted, if you've got the hang of that yet."
"I didn't think it'd be such a big problem," Bakura said, folding his arms. "I mean, I figured the company wasn't exactly great here. I know you and Ryou are friends, but you have him under house-arrest so I doubt he's in the best of tempers."
"...He just sleeps most of the time. It gets awfully quiet," Malik admitted before managing a small smile. "So, you just dropped by to raise my spirits?"
"Whatever," Bakura snorted. "Your apartment is awfully quiet just now too, you know."
"Aw, you're making me blush."
"Shut up," Bakura grunted. "It's easy for you to tell me to stay away. But in this whole city...hn. There's you, and there's Ryou. And not a lot else for me to bother with."
"You have a really roundabout way of saying you give a shit," Malik remarked, shaking his head in amusement.
"Give me a break," Bakura groaned, raking a hand through his hair agitatedly.
"Sorry," Malik chuckled. "Heart-attack notwithstanding, it is good to see you."
"Is everything alright here?" Bakura asked shortly, ignoring that last comment every bit as gruffly as Malik had come to expect.
"I think so," Malik said. "It's only been a few days, so it's hard to tell if Ryou's getting any better or not, but...well, nothing terrible has happened either."
"...Are you alright, though?" Bakura asked, stealing a sideways glance at him.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Malik said with a reassuring smile. "It feels like Ryou and I are at war sometimes, but I saw that coming. We've sort of...grown apart, me and him. It's only now that I'm starting to see how much."
"Don't ask me for advice about fighting with him," Bakura said, grimacing. "I don't think I ever win."
"Nobody ever wins," Malik corrected. "That's why it's so annoying."
"...Is there anything I can do?" Bakura asked. His eyes roved awkwardly around the room, as if following the path of a highly erratic fly. "I'm pretty much bored out of my mind. My day is just empty without you psychoanalysing me and Ryou throwing things at me."
Malik laughed. He couldn't help it. He quickly clapped a hand over his mouth and tried to silence himself, lest Ryou heard and worried that he'd finally flipped his lid.
"Um," he managed finally, "Jou missed a few things on that shopping list I gave him the other day. He mostly lives on microwave meals, so shopping for actual food isn't his strong suit."
"...You want me to go grocery shopping?" Bakura interpreted, looking faintly scandalised.
"It'd be a big help," Malik said with his most innocent and imploring smile. Bakura shook his head irritably.
"The things I've been reduced to..." he muttered.
"It's not so bad," Malik said breezily, locating a pen and a scrap of paper and starting to jot down anything that came to mind. "Besides, it's the twenty-first century. It's about time we got you...domesticated."
Bakura swatted him lightly over the head. He just laughed again.
It didn't take long for him to finish making the list, and Bakura took it with undisguised disdain before leaving. The silence was more noticeable and suffocating after he was gone. Malik supposed he'd been getting used to it before that little shake-up to his day.
He heaved a sigh and wandered back into the bedroom where Ryou was, of course, still fast asleep.
"...I figured out why it's different for me," he stated sullenly. "You're right, I don't know where...Mariku is. And I don't plan on finding out. But the difference between you and me is that I'm not letting the things he did ruin my whole life. Bakura is your excuse for everything. There's no way forward for you until you let this go."
He paused.
"And even if it doesn't matter to you right now..." he went on, "I think he wants to...I dunno. Be part of things. Look after you. Y'know, make sure you're ok always and not just now." He snorted with rueful laughter and shook his head. "Even if he isn't quite ready to admit it."
When Bakura returned to Ryou's apartment, embarrassingly laden with white plastic bags full of food, he found Mariku loitering outside, looking extremely conspicuous in his ridiculous cloak.
"You're going to get spotted sooner or later, you know," Bakura told him dully.
"I'm careful," Mariku replied, eyeing the bags with interest. "Where did you go?"
"You mean you didn't follow me for once?" Bakura drawled, rolling his eyes. "Thanks to you, I got sent to run errands. You know people used to be scared of me? You know I used to have a reputation?"
"What did you buy?" Mariku asked, ignoring his wounded rant. His gaze alighted on something sticking out the top of one bag. "What's that?"
"Those are leeks," Bakura said as patiently as he could. "Apparently that's what you give to people when they're sick."
"What do you do with them?"
"...You eat them," Bakura said with a deep frown. "What else would you do with them...?"
Mariku shrugged.
"How're things on the Malik-radar now?" Bakura asked him, making a conscious decision not to pursue the leek line of enquiry.
"You scared him. He really wanted to hit you. But he's calmer now. Better."
"...Good."
"Are you going to see him again?"
"Well this food isn't for me."
"Don't scare him again," Mariku said almost sternly.
"What, is that your job?" Bakura snorted. He felt something very akin to guilt when Mariku just looked forlornly at the ground. "Alright, I'll do my best."
He stomped up the dreary stairwell and decided to play nice and give a warning knock this time before he barged inside. (Due in part, admittedly, to the fact that his head had no desire to get reacquainted with that baseball bat.) Unfortunately, Malik must have locked the door after he left, and being weighed down with bags of food prevented Bakura from locating his lock-picking equipment before Malik answered the door.
"...You locked me out," Bakura said accusingly.
"Not you specifically," Malik replied with a blink. "Just being safety-conscious."
Bakura continued grumbling as he dragged himself and his offerings to the kitchen.
"I come bearing gifts," he muttered, dumping everything on the table.
"Did you pay for that stuff?" Malik asked.
"Why does that matter?" Bakura countered, raising an eyebrow. "And yes, actually. Robbing a discount supermarket doesn't quite provide the same thrill as robbing a tomb stuffed full of traps and magic."
"I just wondered," Malik said vaguely.
"...What's the matter?" Bakura asked suspiciously, peering at him. He rolled his eyes.
"Money's going to become a problem, is all," he said. "Isis and Rishid are sending me extra funds now that I'm out of a job, but it's still less than I had before. And Ryou can't work just now, and I really doubt he's got savings put aside for an emergency like this..."
"Don't worry about money," Bakura ordered. "Gods, don't you worry about enough? Money...isn't an issue."
Malik stared at him for a very long moment. His expression was that of a parent waiting for their child to own up to some gross misdemeanour.
"No, I haven't robbed a bank," Bakura growled quietly.
"Then what are you up to?" Malik asked.
"You know I get paid at that...place," Bakura reminded him. "It's nothing great but it's money I don't even need. And just because Ryou's laid-up doesn't mean I am. There's always something that needs done at that dump."
"...So now you're the breadwinner, huh?" Malik said, a smile slowly spreading across his face. Bakura wasn't sure he liked the gleeful amusement in his eyes.
"Well, you're the full-time nurse," Bakura snorted. "How's your patient, anyway? Anything new?"
"Not in the last few hours," Malik informed him, still smiling. "He was still sleeping a minute ago."
"Is that good?"
"I hope so."
"At least he can't try to kill me while he's sleeping, I guess," Bakura chuckled.
"Yeah, it's pretty much the only time that it's relatively safe for you to see him," Malik agreed casually.
Bakura narrowed his eyes at him, as if wondering if he was being led into some kind of trap.
"What? Are you going to tell me you don't want to?" Malik challenged with a smirk that was far from innocent. "Come on."
Bakura scowled but reluctantly followed him as he turned and led the way into the bedroom. Luckily, Ryou hadn't woken in Malik's brief absence, so for the first time in a long time Bakura found himself in his former host's presence without the threat of imminent injury looming over him.
"...He doesn't look so good," he remarked at length. When he'd inadvertently discovered Ryou's ailing health, one of the dead give-aways had been the alarming lack of colour in his face. His complexion now seemed to have swung to the other extreme – rather than sickly-pale, his face was flushed, particularly his cheeks, which were practically glowing.
"Well. He's sick," Malik said flatly. He swept Ryou's bangs away from his forehead and pressed his hand against it before grimacing. "His temperature is up a little today."
"A little?" Bakura said sceptically. He didn't think Ryou looked especially relaxed for someone supposedly resting and recuperating, either. His breath was coming just a little too quickly, and his eyes were visibly flicking back and forth behind his slightly scrunched eyelids. "I think he's dreaming."
"Maybe," Malik said with a shrug. "His sleeping pattern, if he ever had one, is totally messed up just now. I wouldn't be surprised if he was having all sorts of weird dreams."
"Not as weird as the ones I've been having since I got back, I bet," Bakura snorted.
The timing was almost comical. Bakura had barely finished speaking when Ryou suddenly became even more restless – his forehead twitched into a frown and his lips parted slightly and began to move just a little. For the most part no sound came out, but one word escaped him with startling clarity. It left a stunned silence in its wake.
"...What did he just say?" Malik asked finally.
"You know what he just said," Bakura replied with a heavy calmness he didn't really feel. "You know the Ancient Egyptian language."
"Yeah, but he doesn't-!" Malik sputtered. "How could he possibly-?"
"You know exactly how," Bakura interrupted shortly.
Malik was quiet for a long moment, his bewildered stare flicking rapidly between Bakura's stony face and Ryou's sleeping one. His eyes widened when he suddenly understood.
"Dreams," he said disbelievingly. "He's having the same kind of dreams as you. You see things from his life and he..."
"Brat," Bakura muttered venomously. "He has no right. And he's never even said anything."
"You've seen all kinds of things about him. You have no more right," Malik shot back at him sharply. "And have you ever mentioned your dreams to him? I don't think you have."
"...No," Bakura admitted. The momentary fury drained from his entire frame, leaving him looking oddly tired. "You're right. I should've known, anyway. A connection works both ways."
"I can't believe I never even thought..." Malik groaned, shaking his head. He paused and looked pensive. "You know this means that he'll see...well. The truth."
"You don't know that," Bakura growled softly.
"He's going to find out!" Malik insisted, looking frustrated. "Have any of your dreams shown you some trivial, pointless scene? Sooner or later he's going to find out about your village and Zorc and-"
"Let it go, Malik," Bakura said warningly.
"Would you prefer for him to just see it in a dream? Don't you want to tell him?"
"That would involve a conversation. He and I don't really do conversation," Bakura reminded him, turning away. "Just...leave it."
"But-"
"I said leave it," Bakura repeated, leaving the room. A moment later Malik heard him leave the apartment too. He stood unmoving next to Ryou's bed, trying to process this latest revelation. He felt a faint jolt when that same word slipped past Ryou's lips again, still in that dead language he couldn't possibly know.
Mother.
Night-time had become a ...strange time for Ryou.
Since his horrendously strong medication had him dead to the world for most of the daylight hours, sleep didn't come easily to him after the sun went down. He'd take his last batch of antibiotics with his evening meal and be promptly out cold, and then he'd wake up close to midnight and that'd be it. After dozing all day, he'd finally feel awake, well-rested and ready to go, and he'd want to get up and do something despite his scratchy throat and sore head and generally bunged-up respiratory system.
Except, by that time of night, Malik would finally have relented in his bedside vigil and gone to sleep himself, and Ryou wouldn't want to wake him. (Because Malik was reluctant to sleep when Ryou was ill – because who knew what he might get up to, hm? – and so every second he got was precious. And also because a sleeping Malik couldn't nag and scold and say things Ryou really didn't want to hear.)
And so Ryou would just lie there in the dark, trying not to move or cough or breathe too loudly. It was always so quiet. He'd try to hear Malik's breathing – if he couldn't, he'd sit up just to make sure that he was breathing. He'd alternate between throwing the duvet back because he was too hot and wrapping himself in it because he was suddenly shivering with the cold.
His mind would drift. Often he would...doze. It wasn't the same as sleeping – it was like he was floating on the line precisely halfway between waking and sleeping, that strange in-between state where reality and imagination become hopelessly confused. Things moved in the dark. He dreamed, or half-dreamed. Once, he thought he saw Mariku, standing over his bed like some harbinger of death in that crazy cloak of his. His brow was crinkled in a look of lost, puzzled concern.
"What did you do this time?" he asked in an anxious whisper. "What did you do? Omote is scared, he's scared and tired and upset-"
Ryou blinked and he was gone. In hindsight, he supposed he'd probably never been there at all.
But none of that was as bad – as strange – as the dreams that came to him during the day, when he was in a deep, somewhat-drug-induced slumber that was hard to escape from.
Mostly he dreamed of other people. Amane. His mother. Malik (the one from before and the one of now). Sometimes Yuugi and the others. Sometimes the friends he'd watched fall into comas one by one.
But more often he dreamed of another mother, another little sister. A girl who wasn't Amane and a woman he didn't know. But in those strange, vivid, hot and dry dreams, he was brother and son to them. And they always called him Bakura, and he always answered.
He tried to forget when he woke up.
The Lot was quiet that night, which Bakura thought was just typical. He needed something to occupy himself – anything to take his mind off the bombshell that Ryou had unintentionally dropped on him with that one single word.
Mariku hadn't followed him here, seeming to sense that he really needed to be left alone right now. The other Lot employees seemed to be getting the same vibe, if the wide berth and nervous glances they were giving him were any indication.
There simply wasn't enough for him to do, though, and he was left with no choice but to consider the afternoon's...incident. He simmered at the obviousness of it – why had it never occurred to him that Ryou was most likely to be experiencing the same kind of strange dreams? And he wondered how much Ryou already knew. What had he seen so far? Surely not the massacre. Not even Ryou could have failed to mention that.
Bakura clenched his fists tightly. He didn't want Ryou to see Kul Elna's last night. No one deserved to witness that kind of horror.
He couldn't help but feel it was...unfair, though. That he still couldn't see the family he'd lost all that time ago, and yet Ryou could.
Bakura hadn't thought about his mother in a long time.
And that was insane, considering he'd spent three thousand years and then some completely fixated on avenging her and the rest of Kul Elna. How long had it been? When was the last time he'd thought of a single individual loved face instead of just the generic whole...?
He couldn't even remember.
But, of course, Zorc had stolen his humanity. Zorc had twisted it all up in his head, and made him fight out of rage and hate instead of love. Zorc had made it about the principle of the thing, the injustice, the fact that the Pharaoh had dared take something from him-
At least, Bakura hoped it had been Zorc.
Remembering his mother made him feel somewhat queasy. (Nervous – as if he were a child again, misbehaving and hoping she didn't catch him.) She'd been no soft, lullaby-singing darling – that was how the modern world liked to depict mothers, wasn't it? It made Bakura want to laugh out loud, but he was oddly paranoid that she'd somehow hear him. The memories of her were suddenly vivid. A strong woman, harsh and work-hardened. A fan of tough love. She'd called him her jackal-child – 'look at you, you scrawny creature, always creeping around for scraps to steal! Do you bite too, hm? Do you need a slap?'
Oh yes, the slaps. She'd probably dealt him more slaps than hugs or kisses in his eight years with her.
And he'd loved her so fiercely that, if he'd ever stopped to think about it and let it fill him up, it felt like some kind of maddened fever that his body just couldn't contain.
And now...
He shifted uncomfortably. Well. Maybe it was good that she wasn't here now. She probably wouldn't even recognise him.
Bakura stared down blankly at the pale skin of his hands and arms – a complexion his new form must have somehow inherited from his time as a parasite in Ryou's similar body. He wasn't normally one to give much thought to how he looked, but just then, thinking about his family and friends, he felt that now that he no longer even looked like one of them, he'd finally lost his last link to them. His race, his heritage.
That hurt.
He wondered what his mother would have thought of Ryou.
(...That sounded weird. Like he wondered whether she would have considered Ryou a good choice of wife or something.)
He sighed heavily. Now that he was back in his right mind again (relatively speaking) and didn't have some bastard demon screwing with his head, he had drawn the sombre conclusion that his fellow villagers wouldn't have approved of the lengths he went to in the pursuit of revenge. Especially his mother. Gods. If she was restored to the world now, even if she did recognise him, she wouldn't acknowledge him. Because no way could this be her son, she didn't raise her son to steal and murder and forget who he was supposed to be-
Bakura's mouth quirked into a humourless smile. And of course, he knew without a doubt that, of all the atrocities he'd committed in the name of justice, his cruelty to and disregard of Ryou would be the thing that infuriated her most.
Because his mother would have liked Ryou, he decided. The old Ryou, especially. She would have called him a good, well-mannered boy. ('Not like you, you nasty little jackal, why can't you behave like that-?') Ryou would have been the kind of play-mate she always wanted her son to have. Because Bakura could have toughened him up a bit, and maybe Ryou could have softened him just a little.
Bakura could just imagine confronting the fuming spirit of his mother now, and trying to explain himself. He could picture the exchange perfectly in his head – children knew their parents, especially their mother. Eight years was long enough to etch her permanently into his mind. He could see it all. She'd be screeching at him and he'd be trying to get a few sentences in edge-ways. And she'd be clouting him over the head between every second word and he'd let her because she was his damn mother and even the King of Thieves has to take a lashing from his mother when he knows he's done wrong.
'You miserable stupid boy, didn't I teach you anything? (Smack.) Didn't your mother teach you better than that, didn't I tell you – ALWAYS TELL YOU – that you don't treat people like that? What makes you think you're any better than any other person-?'
'I'm sorry, I- (Smack.) Everything I did was for you, for the village, for everyone-'
'STUPID BOY. (Smack.) You sure went and lost your head, didn't you? Your mother wasn't happy to die, none of us were, but don't you think we were happy my jackal-brat survived? And THEN (Smack.) – you make us watch you forget everything we ever taught you! Making deals with demons! (Smack.) Hurting people who had nothing to do with nothing! (Smack.) AND THEN THAT BOY, THAT POOR BOY, YOU HURT HIM AND BROKE HIM LIKE THE DEMON YOU ARE-!'
'I-I'm not! I didn't mean to-!'
(It would do no good – his mother had never been the type to accept excuses.)
'Quiet! (Smack.) If anyone had hurt you like that, I would have cut out their heart and burnt it. So to know my own stupid boy would do such a thing-! Why would you do that, DIDN'T I TEACH YOU BETTER THAN THAT-?'
'I'm sorry! I'll...I'll...'
'(Smack.) You'll what? Hm? What, my stupid boy?'
'I'll fix it.'
'You will, hm?'
'Y-yes. Yes! I'll take care of him. I'll keep him safe.'
'For how long, little thief-brat?'
'Forever. I'll take care of him. Always. Forever.'
'...Keh. Good. You fix it. And don't mess up this time, my idiot boy.'
'I won't. I promise.'
Bakura snorted to himself. He needed some sleep.
When Kazuma finally handed him his pitiful wages for the night, he trudged back to Malik's silent apartment, wanting nothing more than to just lose himself in the painless relief of unconsciousness.
Unfortunately, a peaceful night's rest just wasn't on the cards for him.
It was a funny kind of feeling, coming home to find someone else already outside your apartment door.
I frowned tiredly as I finished climbing the last flight of stairs (the elevator was broken again, typically) and caught sight of the unfamiliar figure hovering awkwardly on my doorstep. He was turned away from me, so I couldn't tell much about him other than the fact that he was, in fact, a him. My first thought was that he was either selling something or he had the wrong apartment. His blond hair, dark skin and loose-fitting dark clothing weren't awfully familiar to me.
I gave a small sigh as I approached, a little irked by this unscheduled interruption to my daily routine. Especially since today had been a bad day and I really just wanted to go inside and sleep.
"Can I help you?" I said politely enough, but the words seemed to hit him like the lash of a whip. He looked as if he had been trying to convince himself to reach out and ring the doorbell, and at the sound of my voice his head jerked around to face me so quickly I wondered that he didn't snap his neck.
Until this point I had still been entertaining my little 'wrong address' theory, but when I saw his face it struck a strange chord somewhere deep inside my mind. Like something half-remembered from a dream. I wondered if I knew him from somewhere. It was the eyes, mostly – the pale lilac eyes with the striking black markings underneath, curving across his cheekbones. I recognised those eyes. I was sure of it.
"Ryou Bakura?" he questioned, but something about the way his voice caught, forcing itself around my name, and the look that crossed his face upon seeing me (the look of a person who's just realised they're going to puke) told me that he knew exactly who I was. I wasn't sure why the sight of me would provoke such a reaction, but I hoped he could keep it together. I wasn't feeling so great myself, and the last thing I needed was some demi-stranger expiring on my welcome mat.
"That's me. And you..." I trailed off, noticing the blossoming panic in my chest for the first time. Because some part of me did know this boy, did remember him, and that part was not happy.
My thoughts turned slightly frantic – You. I know you. How, when...? Oh, wait. Yes. I do know you, you're him, you're...you're...
"Malik Ishtar," he informed me quietly just as my brain succeeded in snatching up the name from the depths of a closed-up box at the back of my mind.
I stared at him. What else could I do? What was I supposed to say to this boy I barely knew, whom I didn't think I'd ever exchanged a single word with?
My heart gave a sickening lurch. This boy who sided with him, fought with him...
I took a step back.
"What do you want?" I asked warily in a voice more shrill than I'd intended. I'd never been any good at hiding fear. He could undoubtedly see it rising in me now, like a cloud of thickening smoke.
He surprised me, though. What had I expected? A smirk, a knife, a hostage situation unfolding in my nearby living room?
That wasn't what I got.
He shut his eyes briefly and seemed to physically recoil from my tense words, albeit with a rather resigned expression, as if my mistrust hurt him even though he'd been expecting it. It made me pause.
"...To talk," he said, not looking at me. His voice sounded nervous, and his hands seemed unable to keep still. "I just...I wondered if I could talk to you."
My suspicion didn't go away. I frowned questioningly at him, but he kept his eyes trained on the floor, sandy hair hanging in his face. I couldn't imagine what he'd want to talk to me about.
Malik must have misinterpreted my lengthy, contemplative silence as dismissal or disdain. He lowered his head further, looking almost as if he were bowing.
"Please?" he added in a voice so hollow and desperate that it almost broke my heart.
I knew that I was stupid and that I, of all people, should really have learned not to be so quick to trust others, but I couldn't help but pity him then. He seemed...sad? No, that wasn't it. It was something much worse than just sadness that hung around him. Something darker. Crueller.
And the 'please' really caught my attention. I couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked me for anything instead of just taking.
"I...I suppose," I said uncertainly, rummaging in my pocket for my key. "Um...let's go inside."
A look of mild surprise crossed his face at this invitation but he didn't comment. He didn't say a word or lift his gaze while I fumbled with the lock and eventually opened the door, and he remained silent as I led the way into the apartment. I couldn't help but think that he was keeping very quiet for someone who wanted to talk.
"Do you want something to drink?" I asked out of sheer, ingrained polite habit and immediately felt stupid. This wasn't exactly shaping up to be a light-hearted social call, after all.
"No, thanks."
At least my dumb question elicited a response. That silence had been rather painful.
We went into the living room, where I sat on the lone armchair and Malik took a seat on the sofa. He perched himself right at the end, up against the armrest, as if worried about taking up too much space.
"What did you want to talk about?" I ventured cautiously when he just stared at his knees for a few moments, like he was waiting for permission to speak. I had heard stories of Malik Ishtar – brash, arrogant, never short on words – and I was getting honestly confused.
"...I don't know how much you remember about Battle City..." he started, daring to glance up at me, seemingly hoping for an estimate.
"Not much at all," I replied. It came out cooler, curter than I'd expected. "Yuugi and the others filled me in on most of the details, though."
He nodded in understanding. He knew what I meant. I know what you did.
"First, you should know that I don't want you to feel sorry for me. That's not why I'm here," he said. His voice was still quiet but it was also the closest it had come yet to being firm. "I'm here because...well. The trials are meant to be over, aren't they? Everything to do with the Pharaoh and the Millennium Items is meant to be done. But I don't feel like it's all over. And so...I thought maybe I'm meant to come back here. To make up for the things that I did."
"Have you been to see Yuugi yet?"
The question seemed to surprise him. He blinked a few times, looking properly animated (properly alive) for the first time.
"...No," he replied. "No, I came to you first because..."
"...Because?"
"Because I hurt you, I..."
"I know why you came here first," I found myself saying with distant, bleak calm. "I know what you want me to tell you."
Malik dared to look at me again. Dared to look hopeful.
"You want to know why it doesn't feel good to be free." I gave a shaky laugh. "Do you want me to tell you why it just feels empty? Do you think I know?"
He stared. I'd expected him to be disappointed – despairing, maybe, that he'd come crawling for answers from the one person he'd thought could give them, only to find I was as lost as he was. And I could see it in him now – he felt it too, that sense of drifting aimlessly now that the 'destiny' we'd never been in control of had ended and left us to rot.
He didn't look disappointed, though.
"You understand," he breathed.
I laughed again, and maybe I sounded crazy but what did it matter?
"You have no idea how much," I told him.
Bakura woke feeling sick. In the aftermath of the dream, one image remained branded onto his mind – that of a skinny, scared-looking stranger with hollow cheeks and deep, dark shadows around their tired eyes-
"No way, Malik," he moaned, burying his face in the pillow.
END!
LOOK WHO'S STILL ALIVE 8D
(Hint: it's me x3)
Sorry if you had to go back and read a few of the previous chapters to remind yourself of what's going on. I know I did xD;
I can't apologise enough for the horribly long wait. You'll probably be glad to know that that was my first and last Fanfic Contest over the summer. It was fun and I'm pretty happy with the fics I wrote, but my poor WIPs suffered far too much ;A; Furthermore, college is now happily nomming on all my free time, so updates might be somewhat sporadic for a while. But not as bad as one every six months. At least, I hope not.
HUMUNGOUS thank you's to Junki, Out-Of-Control-Authoress, IceDragon1095, Obradyroxmysox, xxfangirlx, Tying, Shamrokk, hiddencry, pride1289, GoodAndPl3nty, CandyDevil, Hikari-Kira1, Hawaiianbabidoll, A Soul Alone, MaaTheDinosaur, guardianxofxmoon, Santora, Callette, Bokmal14, Lachen, Metalmark, ilovemanicures, Teddy syn, SilversShadow13, SoraSlayer, AliceCambio, thooruchan, PurpleWildcat2010, Enjeru, bbb136, albino-yaoi, Affy-Bakura, bleach15, Seto K4iba1, Tender Loving Care, SHADOWoftheFOX, Kek-t, Gee, Sizacu, Twilight-Imp-626, kal277, Yuui, Dark Blood Lust, StrawberryAshes, Kitsune Demon Girl, Fictatious, Black Satellite, Holly-Sempai, Aesop's Julie, Triva, BattleGoddess126, KittyWoman12, killerdoodlebug, VampirePrinssess, Mira, Tiikerikissa, sefina, Lilac Rose6, Franklyn, FanGorl, ACE329, BlackPanther1987, XionItachi, D Magic, Ilitia, xXMekkzyFwuffzXx, Hotaru Layla, Explosive Sugarberry, Mademoiselle Evandra, Aicutora, DarkMagicianMidget, crazyhikari, Professor lolz, TexasDreamer01, staidwaters, CrimsonEyes27, silvawolves, Hiira, TalaMattYazamaki, Proof of Repair, asdfasdfg, blazingoldarts, Enjeru, Rena, Strange Liou, snoopygirl11, noffermans, bakura kagamine ishtar 2173 and sunokofairytale. SUCH LOVELY REVIEWS, I'M SORRY I KEPT YOU WAITING SO LONG D'x
And thank you to sefina for being this chapter's celebrity-guest-beta! xD Because poor LadyBlackwell's time is also getting nommed. ILU LB, STAY STRONG D8
Review?
Fiver x