A/N: This fic is centred around a Ryou with a Yugi-personality transplant (metaphorically speaking.) In other words Ryou is exceedingly naïve and immature. I appreciate many Ryou-fans will object, and I admit my hand shook when writing some of these lines, but I thought it would make an original and hopefully interesting story. Don't like it? Don't read it then. But I would be grateful if you reviewed, even if you just came along and glanced at the first few lines, thought, 'nah, that's crap,' and gone onto something else. At least I know you considered reading it.

Ryou Bakura's Best Friend – Chapter One

A tinny ding-dong resonated though the house, making Ryou throw aside the book he was reading and run excitedly for the door.

"Daddy!"

Professor Bakura, his arms loaded with dilapidated suitcases and bursting bags, was instantly enveloped in an enthusiastic bear hug. He returned it was best as he could, as his son capered eagerly around him like a monkey.

"Easy, Ryou-chan. Just let me put these down, will you?"

The boy immediately picked up the nearest bag and attempted unsuccessfully to manoeuvre it out of the way.

"Where should I put it?" He had wisely chosen the heaviest bag present, full of iron shovels and rusty spades, and ended up dragging it along the floor. A large rip was already spreading down the side, like an inkblot in a tablecloth. His father sighed.

Between them they managed to cart the luggage upstairs, with Ryou (who had now been assigned the bag with the lightest and least valuable contents) panting even more than his father.

When the professor had had a chance to sit down he pulled out a hastily wrapped box and announced that he had brought his son a present. Ryou was, to put it mildly, ecstatic.

"A present! Oh, thank you so much!" More hugs followed. The box was then unwrapped as carefully as if the wrapping paper alone were worth billions of yen. He lifted up the lid to reveal a large gold pendant, cushioned comfortably in silk.

"What do you think?"

"Its…beautiful," Ryou whispered.

In time, the Millennium Ring would come to be described as many things, but this would be the only time the word 'beautiful' was used. Not that it was an entirely inappropriate word. Its surface was smooth and unpitted, and the gold pyramid with the eye of Ra engraved upon it and framed by the endless golden circle could certainly be thought of as aesthetically pleasing, if you had that sort of mind. The tines hanging at precisely equal intervals around the edge softened its appearance, giving it a somewhat more delicate feel. All the same, from the beginning the Ring held for the more sensitive viewer a sweetly deadly fascination, like a sleeping tiger. There was that same feeling of withheld strength, of power coiled up and ready to strike. Once it had found a suitable victim, of course.

None of these sensations communicated themselves to Ryou or his father strongly enough to be taken notice of. They (the people, that is) weren't of the overtly sensitive type.

Noticing how his son's wonder morphed gradually into confusion, Professor Bakura hastened to explain the purpose of this gift. Sliding fingers that were callused and sunburnt by work in Egypt underneath the silk, he drew out a piece of cord, mossy in colour.

"This goes through the loop at the top. You wear it as a necklace."

Ryou's bafflement gave way to understanding, albeit limited. "Oh. I get it!"

"I found it in one of the markets in Egypt. It felt like you should have it."

"Thank you." Ryou hugged him tightly. Then he picked up the necklace and its cord in one hand, and his book in the other, saying, "I'm going to try it on upstairs. Then maybe read for a bit more, okay?"

"Sure, son. Do whatever you want." The professor's initial concern at his son's reaction had long since died down. He was leaving again tomorrow anyway and wouldn't see Ryou for weeks, maybe even months. His visits were infrequent at the best of times, and it was perhaps the faint guilt at this that had compelled him to buy his son some sort of gift. Presents instead of presence, as some would say. A bribe, almost, or perhaps just something to distract Ryou from the fact that his father was never there. Even more he felt detached from his son, and the old guilt pangs were reminding him how they were practically strangers, how Ryou's friends at school probably knew him better than his own father.

Professor Bakura managed to console himself somewhat with the thought that his son was such a happy, likeable child that he probably had plenty of friends to take his mind off his father's absence. He'd never actually met any of these 'friends,' but was sure, stubbornly, immovably sure, that they existed.

Self-denial, as you will continue to see, seemed to be a hereditary trait in the Bakura family.

…………

Ryou skipped gaily up the stairs like a Maypole dancer, clutching his new necklace as though it would run away. In coming years he would wish, as he cried himself to sleep at night while holding the cold, emotionless metal as far from his skin as he could, that the Ring would leave and never come back. But for now the part of his mind focused on the Millennium Ring was simply concentrating on not dropping it.

Plopping onto his bed and feeling the ancient springs creak and groan and sink a bit deeper, he tossed his book to one side and turned his full attention to the Item. It was dropped carefully onto the duvet, and he looked at it happily. The cord lay there like a coiled snake, surveying him. He picked it up and attempted to thread it through the loop, but it was like trying to thread a needle – somehow his fingers kept mis-aligning it. On the third attempt he succeeded, and held the two pieces of cord at arms length, feeling absurdly pleased by his success. As he sat there admiring it, for a moment it seemed to flash. But that was ridiculous – it must have just caught the light. But it was mid-afternoon, and all the lights in the room were switched off…

He shrugged and, as a young child blocks out that which is unwelcome or unnerving to think, he pushed the unease to the back of his mind. Fingers moving surprisingly deftly, he tied the two ends of the cord in a neat knot and tried it on for size.

Hmmm. Not bad. It hung surprisingly low, feeling as if it covered every inch of his young chest, and when he took it off to make the cord slightly shorter he found he couldn't untie the knot. It was a basic one that he knew well how to undo, but it seemed to want to stay that length, stubbornly resisting and defying his attempts to unpick it. So in the end he gave up.

It seemed natural to put it on again, and he found that wearing it gave him a sort of satisfaction, the feeling seeming to come from nowhere and for no reason, other than that it was right to wear it. He sat cross-legged on the bed, hunched over his book, and as he leaned forward the necklace also swung forward on its cord, giving the appearance of one leaning in, coming close so they could see better. As he settled there, a young boy engrossed in his story and oblivious to the world, the Millennium Ring flashed again. After a moment the flash steadied and then dulled to a less-noticeable glow. After this happened, Yami Bakura woke up.

………….

Of course, he didn't know his name, or rather his nickname was Yami Bakura. At this precise moment in time he didn't know anything. But as his mind started, groggily, to clear of the fog surrounding his consciousness, he sat up and began to take an interest in his surroundings.

He was in a completely dark room, the darkness so intense it seemed to swallow him up. There didn't seem to be anything of note around him – just total, unpenetrable blackness. He rose, shakily, feeling slightly nauseous. Then came the traditional waker's question:

Where am I?

The thought seemed to echo hollowly around him, bouncing against non-existent walls.

I think I am lost.

Looooost… The words swirled crazily around his head as if mocking him.

Who am I?

That question at least, he knew the answer to. The phrase King Thief Bakura leapt into his mind with startling clarity, overtaking everything else in its wake. Pity everything else was still a blur, though.

A thief. Yes, he was a thief. The best thief of them all.

Perhaps he was lost in a tomb? Oh yes, that would make sense – he'd probably been in the middle of robbing one of those lovely pyramids, redolent and brimming with treasure, then taken a wrong turn somewhere and got lost. He might even have walked into a wall. That would at least account for why he had been lying down, and for the nausea.

But although this answer was logical, it still failed to satisfy him. What sort of tomb had no lights, no walls and, most importantly, no doors? It didn't feel like a proper tomb either. He should know, having robbed so many; this place lacked the distinctive feel and smell of a pyramid.

This darkness too was disconcerting. It didn't seem the sort you could simply wave a hand through, to reassure yourself you still had substance. It felt so thick, so heavy, like having water pressing in on him from all sides. He was feeling confined, trapped, almost claustrophobic. But he was a tomb robber, What sort of tomb robber could feel claustrophobic?

This darkness…it felt as if it were moving with him. But then that meant he couldn't be free of it, couldn't escape it. And he so wanted to.

………….

Later, Ryou put down his book and went to get some Calpol – he had a really bad headache. His mind felt so busy, so full of thoughts, most of which didn't even seem to make sense. It was as if he had a little worm in his head, and it was wriggling about in all the nooks and crannies. And this worm was armed with a giant hammer, and it was pounding away at his temples like it wanted them to burst…

………….

When Yami Bakura next opened his eyes, it was with the feeling that more time had passed. Had he blacked out? That would have been humiliating beyond imagination. And yet…

The word black felt appropriate, at least. He felt very, very black. As black as the darkness surrounding him. As black as if someone had come along with a paintbrush and painted his soul. But his perception had changed – this darkness no longer felt like a hindrance. Almost like an extension of his consciousness. To test this theory he reached out, extending a tendril of black, and saw the darkness ripple, shivering before him. I can control it. And with this thought his mind reared up, slamming into this nameless obstacle. The darkness cleared, and he could now see his surroundings. The power he commanded filled him with adrenaline, as if he could do anything and everything at all, and no one could stop him.

A little thought squirmed in his mind. I can only control this darkness because it is a part of me. I am the darkness.

This thought pleased him, and he mentally embraced the new power this sentence brought, even as another part of him shuddered at himself.

It seemed like an awful lot of work for very little, though. He was in a small room, perhaps ten strides across. There was a bed in the far corner, and a door in front of him. The walls were black, the same eternal shade of darkness that had previously been clouding his mind, and yet the whole room was filled with a faint light that seemed to come from somewhere else.

But the occupant didn't notice this. As soon as his mind had registered the presence of a door, he was up and running towards it, freedom apparently hovering just in front of him. At the last moment, however, his survival instincts took over and he slowed to a soft walk, eyes roving over the door as he wondered how to open it. There was a doorknob exactly at his hip level, and he touched it cautiously.

When nothing happened he tried pushing it. Surprisingly enough, this achieved absolutely nought. The closed door seemed to grin mockingly at him and he scowled at it, before falling into a desperate frenzy, fingers tugging and pulling blindly. He even tried shouting at it.

Suddenly it gave way, and he fell to the ground in an undignified heap, limbs tangled up in each other. He lay there for a few minutes, surprise ebbing into a sort of weary resignation.

Once he had got to his feet, the first thing he did was to go back to the door, now swinging silently to and fro on its hinges, and examine the doorknob. It seemed exactly the same as before, so he reluctantly pushed the door shut and tried again from the other side.

This time it took him only a couple of seconds to work out the secret, and he watched in fascination as the knob swivelled in his palm. But now that the mystery was revealed he lost interest, and wandered into this new environment.

All at once he was besieged by a volley of thoughts that weren't his, overwhelming him as they clattered incessantly around his head.

Ow my head hurts stupid Calpol don't work huh this book's really bad I bet I know what happens oh God can't be bothered to finish my head still hurts I think Daddy should sue the Calpol company this necklace is cold but its also kinda pretty so I don't mind think I'll take it off-

Letting out a startled yelp, Yami Bakura clutched his head, which felt on the verge of explosion, and ran back into his soul room, slamming the door behind him.

…………

Once the door was shut the noises abruptly ceased, and he gave a faint moan of relief. There was an insistent booming in his ears, as if someone had stood next to him with a massive bell and whacked it as hard as possible.

As the booming drained gradually away to be replaced with a dull ache, curiosity took over. What in the name of Ra had just happened?

After his mind tried and failed to come up with any vaguely plausible explanations, his curiosity got the better of him.

One hand hovering over the handle, his whole self tensed and ready to bolt should the need arise, he took a deep breath of nothingness and stepped outside.

At once he was assailed by the mental storm again. But this time it was softer, as if someone had turned the volume down. He could even begin to make out words, and although he understood them perfectly, they were in no language he knew.

Strange.

…………

A/N: And that is it for the first chapter. Review, please. I'm planning to continue this soon, and ideas are welcome, although I've got a rough idea of how the story is going to go.