Chapter Eight: Theft.

A/N: Don't worry if you find Bakura's personality confusing, it's meant to be like that. Until you find it all out later, blame it on…um…mood swings or hormones or something.

Warnings: Bad language, violence

……………..

It was the calm before the storm. Ryou walked along the hallway aimlessly. He's up to something, I know it. His yami had been quiet all day, and Ryou was certain he was planning something, probably with Malik. He knew Bakura must have erased his mind earlier, because he couldn't remember anything that had happened all day, and this added to his worry. Bakura only erased his memory when he was planning something he knew Ryou wouldn't approve of. The white-haired hikari reached his room and unlocked the door slowly, not sure what to expect.

Bakura was lying on the sofa, utterly relaxed. There were knives scattered on the floor around him, some with dried blood on. The Ring-spirit was staring dreamily at the ceiling, while absently cleaning one of his daggers, and didn't seem to notice Ryou come in. However, as Ryou stepped into the room, Bakura said "hello hikari," without looking at him.

Ryou picked his way carefully across the floor, trying not to step on anything. His suspicions were increasing rapidly. "You're up to something, aren't you?"

"Is that a question or a statement?" Bakura said in a bored voice. He continued to clean his dagger.

Ryou thought for a moment. Amongst the various weapons lying on the floor, he could se a small can of oil, wire-cutters and some paperclips – Bakura's standard burglary kit. His insides turned cold. "You're going to steal something," he blurted out.

"Now why would I want to do that?" Bakura's tone was innocent.

Too innocent, Ryou thought, and his yami chuckled quietly. The sound sent a shiver up Ryou's spine. His mind worked rapidly, mentally listing all the things Bakura would want to steal. Then the truth hit him. Hard. "The knife," he whispered softly. "Will's subtle knife."

Bakura's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything.

"Tell me I've made a mistake. Please." There was disbelief in Ryou's voice. Bakura stood up, putting the now-clean dagger in his pocket.

"I'm going now, hikari. See you later."

Ryou ran to the open doorway and stood in front of it, blocking his yami's path. "No…" he whispered. "You can't. Please don't."

"Get out of the way." There was a dangerous note in the spirit's voice.

Ryou heard it, but didn't give up. "I'm not going to let you do this!" He hesitated, amazed at his own daring, then drew back his fist and punched his yami in the chest.

Bakura blinked in shock. "You…you hit me." Shock was showing clearly on his pale features. It turned rapidly to anger. "I'll teach you to know your place!"

He slapped Ryou viciously across the face. His hikari stumbled sideways, and Bakura slammed the door shut. "What have you got to say for yourself now, yadonushi?" He grabbed Ryou's arm and twisted hard.

A small, barely audible mumble came from his other half. "S-sorry."

Bakura sneered at this. "It's too late for regrets now." He hit his hikari's face again.

Ryou endured the blow silently, and braced himself for the next one. His thoughts came piling out in a jumble. What was I thinking I shouldn't have done it why oh why please don't hit me it hurts…

There were three types of pain – physical, mental and spiritual, and Ryou had experienced them all many times, but that didn't mean he like it. He had found, after long agonising hours of experience, that physical was best because he could learn to block out the pain. Some of it.

The next blow caught him in the side of the neck and he staggered back, trying to will the pain away. But it wasn't working – everything was happening too fast. Ryou could tell by the blackness eating away at the sides of his vision that he was about to lose consciousness, and he welcomed this with relief. At least then the pain will stop.

Bakura, also realising this, kicked his shin hard, sending Ryou tumbling back into reality. (Please stop, I'll do anything…)

The door opened and Malik poked his head in. "Am I interrupting anything?" His voice was casual.

"No." Bakura hit Ryou again, but mentally, so that he fell back clutching his head. "I'll be ready in a moment."

Malik watched in silence as Bakura hit Ryou several times, resulting in whimpers of pain, each weaker than the last.

The Ring spirit kicked his hikari hard, so that he skidded painfully backwards and lay sprawled on the ground. "Get up yadonushi," Bakura snapped.

Ryou heard his yami's command and put out a hand to raise himself up, but was overcome with weakness and fell back down again.

Bakura trod carefully on his wrist. "Do what I tell you."

Fear won over pain, and his hikari forced himself to stand, his legs shaking continuously. Bakura immediately kicked him in the stomach, and Ryou fell back against the wall, bent over double in pain. There was a wet, salty substance in his mouth, and he spat it out weakly, to realise it was blood. The Tomb Robber watched emotionlessly as Ryou coughed up blood onto the floor, gagging and retching. His throat felt like rough sandpaper, and he gasped for air, his thin chest heaving as he choked on his own blood. Just before he lost consciousness, Bakura hit him sharply on the side of the head, and blood flew out of Ryou's mouth. He gulped down air desperately.

His gaze met Malik's in a last silent plea for help. For a second, something that might have been pity flickered in the purple eyes, but then the Egyptian shook his head slightly. No words passed between them but the message was clear – fight your own battles.

The Ring-spirit was amused. "Aww, you want help, yadonushi?" Another kick. "Who the hell do you think would want to help you?" The scarlet eyes, brimming with bloodlust and a twisted sort of pleasure bored into his hikari who, to Bakura's surprise, held his gaze. Beneath the fear he could still sense a last spark of defiance. Battered but not yet broken. But not for much longer. "You think Malik will help you? He doesn't care." He looked across at his friend. "You want to help him?"

The Egyptian leaned casually against the wall, as if nothing was happening. "No. Why should I care?" He saw the last glimmer of hope in Ryou's eyes flicker and die.

Bakura smiled. "I think he's disappointed now. Isn't that sweet? You though Malik would help you out, didn't you hikari?" He gave his light a push, but Ryou remained silent. "Go on then. Beg for help." He shoved him forwards.

The Egyptian backed away in disgust. "For Ra's sake, Bakura, don't bring him near me." His tone hardened. "I don't want blood all over my clothes."

Ryou looked as if Malik had hit him in the face. There was deep hurt in his expression, mingled with growing anger. "B-Bastard…" he whispered.

His yami slapped him hard. "Mind your manners, host. You say shit like that to Malik again and I'll let him hurt you instead." He noticed that his hands were soaked in his light's blood and licked them slowly, savouring the sugary taste. Revolted, the Rod-holder looked away. Ryou was too used to his yami doing this to care.

The next blow took him off guard and he was knocked to the floor, the impact causing him to cough up the last of the blood in his mouth. There was a strange look in Malik's eyes as he watched this. He seemed about to say something, then shrugged and started playing with the Rod.

His limbs folding beneath him, Ryou lay on the floor in a battered bloody heap, too weak to move.

"Get up."

He tried, he really did. But his body wouldn't support him. He made another attempt, then collapsed.

Gripping his shoulders, Bakura pulled him gently to his feet. "You okay?"

His hikari swayed and fell over again. The spirit caught him, holding him upright. "You can lean on me if you want."

Ryou hesitated, then rested against his yami for a moment, taking deep shuddering breaths. There was a faint light of hope in his eyes. His yami put an arm around him. "All better?"

It wasn't, but Ryou nodded anyway.

"Good." Bakura shoved him to the floor.

The blade was dragged roughly along his arm and Ryou screamed. The sound pleased his yami, who smiled. Pulling the knife away, he licked it lovingly. ((You know, I asked you a little while back if you wanted to try some. You changed your mind since then?))

He held the knife. With the last of his strength, Ryou backed away as far as he could.

((Too bad. You know, the pain isn't so bad once you get used to it.)) Laughing crazily, Bakura gripped his hikari's mind hard, so he couldn't move. Ryou's dark eyes were round with terror.

The Ring-spirit leisurely took a sharp knife from his pocket. When he spoke, it was in a ruthless, cutting tone that made his host flinch at the sound. "Yadonushi, I don't like it when you're rude to me. I don't like it at all…" He slid the knife very gradually into Ryou's chest.

Ryou felt the blade enter, but was too weak to do anything except lie there and breathe. Suddenly, he realised Bakura was going to kill him. He struggled desperately, but the knife just kept coming in. I'm going to die oh my God I'm going to die he's going to kill me please someone help anyone don't let him kill me-

Bakura pulled out the knife and threw it to the ground. He walked slowly backwards, away from his hikari. And kept going.

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" he screamed suddenly. But not at Ryou. He aimed his question at Malik, who had one hand resting on the Millennium Rod. Against his will, Bakura was forced to sit on the bed and stay there.

That's enough, the Egyptian said quietly. You've gone far enough. Now stop. There was anger building in his voice, as well as deep disgust. "For Ra's sake, Bakura, are you trying to kill him?"

The spirit stood up slowly, fighting the Rod's control. "It's none of your business what I do to my host. And since when did you care anyway?"

"Don't give me that shit." Malik's voice was frostily cold. Purple fire flickered around him, merging with his outline. Bakura's shadow powers were also coming to the surface, blue flames flaring dangerously. The challenge rang out unspoken between them.

Icy purple eyes met fiery red, and eventually the red ones looked away. The scarlet glow was visibly draining away, fading into a calmer brown. Bakura sat back down on the bed, not saying a word.

Still holding the Rod, Malik walked slowly over to Ryou. Slipping in and out of consciousness, the battered hikari saw him approach, and recoiled slightly, although he was unaware of it. The Egyptian looked into Ryou's tortured eyes. "I believe I've just saved your life," he said quietly. He paused and looked at Bakura for a second. Even more quietly he said, "You could push him back if you really wanted to."

He left Ryou's side and sat on the bed next to Bakura, releasing his control over him. Bakura, finding he could move, glared at him with all the hate he could muster. "Whose side are you on? Mine or his?"

Malik avoided the question. "Are you going to leave Ryou lying there all night? I thought we had other things we wanted to do."

Bakura looked into his friend's eyes, and suddenly, for a moment, he saw himself as Malik saw him. Then the moment passed, and he was himself again. The spirit sighed, suddenly feeling tired. He was more than three thousand years old, and at the moment he felt like it.

Ryou watched silently as Bakura crossed the room towards him, and tried feebly to back away. "Come on hikari," his yami said. "Let's get you to bed." Ryou stiffened instinctively as Bakura bent down and picked him up, cradling him in the way mothers do with their children. He was held in his yami's arms, surprisingly gently. As he drifted from consciousness again, Bakura carried him carefully over to the bed and put him in it. His head was laid gently onto a pillow, and the blankets were tucked fastidiously around him.

"Y-yami?" he murmured weakly.

"Ssssh, hikari. Go to sleep." Bakura's voice was – gentle? Soothing?

Ryou's eyes closed despite himself. He snuggled deep into the blankets like a little hamster, shifting instinctively as his thousands of fresh bruises made themselves known. The blankets were already stained a deep red.

Bakura stood over him for a moment. When he was sure Ryou was asleep, he turned and saw Malik gazing at them with a strange expression on his face. For a few minutes, neither spoke as they looked silently down at Ryou. His soft white hair was spread messily around his pale face, which was covered in bruises.

Malik felt a sudden pang. He looks so young…

Bakura felt the Tomb Keeper's gaze shift from Ryou to himself, and half-turned around. "What?" he murmured, careful not to wake his hikari.

"You…you're such a confusing person, Bakura," Malik whispered. "First you hurt Ryou until you practically kill him, then you're so-" He stopped, struggling for an appropriate word. "So kind," he finished finally. "Why?"

There was silence, then Bakura said, "So, are we going to steal the knife or not?" He still hadn't answered Malik's question, and both knew he never would.

Malik shrugged. "Makes no difference to me. But if you still want to, I'll help you."

Bakura nodded. "Then let's go."

……….

A little while later, they walked carefully down the hallway. Bakura lifted up his feet and put them down carefully, avoiding any noise. He had memorised the location of the creaky floorboards yesterday, but was determined not to take any chances.

It was half past eleven, and they hoped everyone would be asleep by now. Emphasise the word "hoped." They were about half-way along to the corridor when a torch was snapped on, enveloping them both in its glare, and a voice said, "Shouldn't you boys be in bed?"

Bakura shrank against the wall like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights. Malik recognised the uniform the woman was wearing, and sighed in relief. It was only a maid on her nightly patrol around the inn. Squat and ugly, she resembled a pug dog. Malik looked into her small, piggy eyes. It doesn't matter. Leave us. There was no one here.

The woman's eyes were blank as she waddled off obediently in the opposite direction. Bakura watched her bulk disappear in distaste. He looked down and snickered quietly as he saw Malik's hand was in his pocket.

…………..

"Here we are." Malik kept his voice down to a murmur, having learnt the hard way that a murmur is much harder to detect than a whisper.

"Step aside. This is my area of expertise." There was a shadow of a smile on Malik's face as he moved back to give Bakura more room.

The white-haired spirit looked at the door with a critical eye, then plunged his hands into his jacket to select his tools. He rooted around for a few moments, then produced a small can. He oiled the door hinges with practised ease. Then he took a paperclip from his pocket and proceeded to pick the lock.

"'Kura, how long will you be?" Malik was a lot less at ease than Bakura, and kept stealing nervous glances over his shoulder.

In contrast, the Tomb Robber wasn't the least bit worried, having done this sort of thing hundreds of times before. "Just a moment." He jiggled the paperclip expertly, and as he spoke the door swung silently open.

Bakura stepped into the room, to realise Malik wasn't following. "Malik? You coming in?"

His friend shook his head. "I'll keep watch outside."

"Scared?" Bakura mouthed silently.

Malik raised an eyebrow in sardonic amusement. "You wish. Just think of it as a tomb. You're the robber and I'm the keeper."

The spirit of the Ring thought about that for a second. "Actually, it makes sense." He handed Malik the paperclip. "Open the door if anything happens."

Malik took it. "The Rod will keep any intruders away," he said in slight disdain.

Bakura smirked. "All of them?" He pointed to himself with a grin. "Hasn't worked so far then, has it?"

Malik gave him an exasperated look. "Just try not to get caught." He closed the door noiselessly.

Bakura snorted. "Me, get caught? As if." He used his shadow powers to make the Ring glow slightly, and it lit up the room in front of him. He crossed the room carefully, making less noise than a shadow, until he reached the bed where Will lay sleeping. Will's bed was in the middle, with Lyra and Yami on either side of him. Bakura glanced at Yami nervously, before casting the Ring's light around Will's bed. He looked on the bedside table, but it was empty. Damn, damn, damn. He hoped Will didn't sleep with the knife under his pillow. I bet he does, just to make things more awkward, that stupid little- His thoughts trailed off as he wondered how he was going to do this. And what if the knife wasn't under the pillow, but somewhere else altogether? Bakura doubted that, though. He had a sudden feeling that the knife was there. And he trusted his feelings. Now how can I get the knife out from under that stupid pillow?

Holding a corner of the pillow, he gradually raised it upwards until he could see underneath. Yami gave a loud snore and turned over. Bakura almost jumped, but controlled himself. Malik was right. That baka Pharaoh snores so loudly I'm surprised he doesn't wake himself up. He put his free hand under the pillow, feeling carefully. After a few tense moments he felt the cold smooth surface of a blade, and drew out the subtle knife in satisfaction. He looked at it carefully; turning it over to make sure it was the right one. There was no mistake – it was the subtle knife.

He made his way back across the room, more cautious than ever. This was the time when robbers usually got caught – after they had stolen their prize, they started relaxing. Bakura didn't make that mistake. His body tensed as he passed Lyra, ready to run like lightning if anyone woke up. But they didn't.

He reached the door and turned the handle. Malik was waiting outside; leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, he looked asleep. "Some guard you turned out to be," Bakura muttered.

Malik opened his violet eyes. "Actually, I was waiting for you to come out this week." His voice was calm and not at all sleepy. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah." Bakura showed him the knife.

"Should I look after it?"

In reply, Bakura tossed the knife to him, making it spin through the air. Malik reached out and caught it, handle first. Bakura was impressed but tried not to show it.

Malik stuck the subtle knife in his pocket. "It can keep my Rod company." There was a sudden flash of light, and Malik hastily removed the knife and put it in his other pocket. "Perhaps not," he concluded ruefully.

"Why? What happened?" Bakura asked in interest.

Malik shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the Rod sensed another magical object nearby and got jealous. Who knows?"

"Shall we go now?"

Malik nodded and they slunk back to their room.

………..

Taking control again, Bakura went back into his hikari's body and fell asleep almost immediately, as spirits usually did.

Malik got changed quickly, pulling on the over-sized T-shirt that he slept in. Picking his clothes up from the floor, he placed them on the bed and folded them carefully, making sure each item was folded in exactly the same way. Then, putting them back in the wardrobe, while painstakingly making sure that they were still neatly folded, he began the process of counting all his clothes, to make sure they were still there. To people like Bakura this seemed ridiculous, but for Malik, his Obsessive Compulsive Disorder meant that little 'rituals' like this were perfectly normal.

Checking one last time, he eventually climbed back into bed, but not before counting silently to a hundred, just to make sure.

…………

(A/N: Most authors, if they decide that Malik has OCD, portray it in a purely humorous way. I included the last bit because OCD (Which is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and not a Cleaning one, as many people seem to think) is a serious mental disorder, and I just wanted to sort of make that point clear.)