A/N: Got round to typing an update to this story at last, so am pretty happy. I've even managed to stick mostly to my original plot, which is surprising. I was worried that this story was going to become blocked, because of the way all my ideas had suddenly become full of flaws, but after a bit of inspiration from various sources I've managed to get the story rolling again. And if you could hit the lil' button at the bottom of the page which says 'Review', that would really make my day even better. Thanks.

Khara: Arabic for 'shit.' There is some Japanese used in this chapter, only a few lines, which I translated in brackets. Why do I use Japanese? I don't know…I suppose I like to remind people what language everyone is talking in.

Ryou Bakura's Best Friend Chapter Five: Stolen Property

Determined that no scrawny mortal child was going to be more skilled than him at wielding a Millennium Item, Yami Bakura spent the rest of the evening exploring and practising every area of his Item's abilities. It was laborious work and required concentration, but by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon he had managed to send nearly every solid object in the apartment to the Shadow Realm. He had also succeeded in getting them all back in more or less original condition, although it was doubtful whether Ryou's homework would recover enough from the experience to be handed in tomorrow.

The Ring-spirit also coached his host thoroughly on what he was going to say to Yugi tomorrow, and it might be true to say that this process was more lengthy and tiring than any amount of practising with Shadow-powers…

((Now, yadonushi, when you go to school and Yugi asks why you did not go to his house, what will you say?))

(I…) Ryou frowned in concentration. (Don't tell me! I know this! I…I'll say that I didn't come because…because I didn't feel very well.)

((That's good. And what was wrong with you?))

(I…can't remember.)

His dark massaged his temples. ((How many times, yadonushi? If you can't remember what was supposed to be wrong with you then you make it up. I don't think amnesia will be a sufficient excuse.))

(No,) Ryou agreed. (…Koe, why do I have to say I was off sick? Because I wasn't.)

((I have told you already.))

(I know, but tell me again.)

He grits his teeth. ((It's a game we are playing. A pretending game.))

(Oh yeah. I like games.)

An image sprang, unbidden, into Yami Bakura's mind, and for a moment he saw the Pharaoh smiling as he pushed the knife nearer into his hand.

(Do you like games, koe?)

Taken off guard, the spirit replied, ((Only if I win.))

(Oh. But that isn't very nice, is it? Winning doesn't really matter, just as long as you enjoy the game. You don't like losing things, do you?)

His dark gave a distant smile. ((No, yadonushi. I don't.))

…………

Pleasantly exhausted by using so much shadow power, Yami Bakura slept. He slept for five days, in which Ryou attended school, handed in his homework and received it back two days later with an 'A-' awarded (he got a mark deducted for messiness), and told Yugi in a passable imitation of the truth that he had had a horrible headache after school and had gone straight home. Yugi was sympathetic, and the two arranged to meet up after school that afternoon instead. They both had enormous fun, and Yugi introduced his friend to a new game that had just come in. It proved more addictive than either of them had thought, and Ryou stayed for over three hours.

In this way the days passed happily and uneventfully for Ryou; they might have continued to do so for a long time if it were not for the unexpected phone call he received three days after his first visit to Yugi's house.

It started, obviously, with the phone ringing. Ryou put down his Japanese homework on prepositions and picked up the receiver.

"Moshi moshi?"

"Konbanwa, Ryou-kun."

"Who is this?" the light asked uncertainly.

"Don't worry. I'm your friend. I want to talk to your koe; could you get him for me?"

"You…you know about him?"

"Yes. You should go and get him. Now."

Ryou was puzzled. This person obviously knew his koe, or he wouldn't have asked for him; and he had called him 'Ryou-kun', so it meant he was a friend. But why did this person want to talk to his spirit anyway? "I…He's asleep at the moment. But I can wake him up if you want."

"Thank you very much."

"It's okay." Ryou screwed up his eyes. (Spirit?)

Within his soul room, a voice complained, ((I told you that you were never to disturb me when I am sleeping.))

(I know, but there's a person on the phone who wants to talk to you.)

Yami Bakura let out an exasperated grunt as he stretched. ((On the what?))

(On the telephone.)

With only a vague idea of what the object in discussion was, the spirit stumbled from his soul room and out of the door.

((How do I work this?))

(Um, you hold it up to your ear so you can hear the other person talking. Then you just talk normally.)

((A new method of communication using this…what is it? Technology?))

(Yeah.)

Muttering nonsensically to himself, Yami Bakura picked up the phone as if it were an unwashed sock; putting it to his ear, he said cautiously, "Who is this?"

"Malik," came the cool voice from the speaker. "Have a nice sleep?"

Yami Bakura could almost see him smirking. "Fuck that. Where did you get this number?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

The spirit gripped the handset tightly, squeezing it as if it was the Egyptian's throat. "Don't bother playing around with me. I am not a tolerant person."

Malik's tone was infuriatingly lazy. "Uh-huh. Your vessel is sweet, by the way. Very polite."

This was not how Yami Bakura had planned on the conversation going; in an ideal world, he would have been the one in control of the situation, and Malik would be the one feeling somewhat at a loss. "Did you actually have a reason for calling? My time is precious, obviously unlike yours."

When the Egyptian next replied, the false casualness had slid away like a snakeskin and his tone was cold. "I'm sure I have achieved more in my lifetime then you have in your two. And for your information, I called to see if you had managed to come up with any starting plans for the destruction of the Pharaoh, or if you had simply spent the last five days sitting on your bony arse."

Touché, the Ring-spirit thought with a yawn. And if you wanted to be technical about it, he didn't have a bony arse because he didn't have any physical bones. Neither did he have an arse. So stick that up your own arse and shit on it.

"And have you?"

"No, of course not." The bored undercurrent was back in Malik's tone. "Your vessel is a strange person, but he has some interesting information in his head. Like…telephone numbers."

Yami Bakura stiffened. "What?"

He heard a low laugh. "You aren't the only person who can read his mind."

The spirit's eyes narrowed; he knew he was asking exactly what Malik wanted him to ask, but said it all the same. "How?"

"A little secret of mine."

Yami Bakura did not like this reply; he only approved of one person having the right to know secrets, and it certainly wasn't the person on the other end of the phone. "You can see into anyone's mind?"

"Easily. But your vessel was an interesting one. Strange perspective of life. I might have another look sometime and amuse myself with all his naïve little thoughts."

Yami Bakura clenched his fingers around the receiver so tightly he could feel the plastic squash out of place. "Listen to me, you bastard. If you ever, ever touch my yadonushi's mind again, I am going to hurt you so much that you are going to beg for death."

Malik didn't sound particularly bothered. "Ever so sorry. I didn't realise you were so fond of him."

"I am not fond of him!" the spirit screamed down the phone.

"I appreciate your unfamiliarity with modern technology, but that doesn't mean you have to shout. The sound quality on this mobile phone is quite excellent."

"Don't patronise me," the Ring-spirit snapped.

"Have you heard of 'Duel Monsters'?"

Yami Bakura was getting more than slightly irritated with the way Malik kept changing the subject. "No. Should I?"

"Perhaps. It isn't well known yet, but I can see its popularity increasing quickly. It's a card game, little more than a craze really…and yet, I think it is more than that. Or will be. You should think about expressing interest."

"Oh?" Voice heavy with sarcasm. "And why should I waste my time in this way?"

"It's the sort of thing that would appeal to the Pharaoh. And there are ancient rumours that he is gifted at games."

"Really? I can think of more useful things to be gifted at."

"There are also rumours that defeating him in a game is a way of bringing about his destruction."

"Indeed?" Yami Bakura was interested now. "…How can I get hold of some of these cards?"

Malik's voice was very casual. "Oh, many places. You can buy them in shops. Such as, to choose a random example, the one the Pharaoh's vessel helps run in his spare time."

"Oh, how convenient." As if he would not hesitate to run around doing the Egyptian's bidding. "I might have a look in a day or two. If I do not have anything else planned, of course."

"See that you don't."

Yami Bakura laughed, deliberately making the sound as dislikeable as possible. "Fear not, mortal child. Your orders are my top priority."

On the other end, Malik made as if to slam the mobile phone into the tree he was leaning against, but pulled back at the last moment. "Glad to hear it."

The spirit gazed at the clock, calculating how long it would take to walk to Yugi's house while trying to work out what all the moving lines meant. Why were there three, and of different lengths? Only one was necessary, and it didn't even have to be solid. Perhaps, as this country received so much less sunlight than Egypt, its inhabitants had invented a clock that did not require sunlight to function. How strange.

"I will ring you back in two days."

"Agreed." A click as the teenager hung up.

Yami Bakura looked at the handset, wondering what to do; after jabbing several random buttons he placed it to his ear and frowned at the sounds the phone made, before shoving it moodily back into place. Splitting off, he demanded, ((have you heard of this 'Duel Monsters'?))

Ryou smiled dazedly. (Yeah; everyone has. It's a game.)

((I know. Anything else about it?))

Ryou thought for a moment. (It involves cards.)

((Absolute mine of information, aren't you?)) his dark said nastily.

Rapid blink. (…That wasn't a nice thing to say, spirit.)

Yami Bakura put his hands together and prayed silently for several seconds. After he had done this he looked up and said in an oddly calm voice, ((Yadonushi, I am truly sorry if I have offended you. Now, would you be so kind as to tell me everything you know about this card game?))

Ryou beamed his approval and opened his mouth.

………

Ryou had been the obvious, if not the best, way to find out more about the game; despite his seeming ignorance on nearly everything, he had his uses. After a great deal of coaxing, digressing and weight loss the yami knew everything his host did about the game known to some as 'Duel Monsters'. He could simply have raided Ryou's mind for the appropriate information, of course, but this action would not become a habit until later. For now, talking to his vessel would have to suffice.

A few kilometres away, someone else was facing a challenge of their own. Yugi Motou, having taken up position in front of the hall mirror, was repeating variations of the same question over and over again, watching carefully all the while to see how he looked.

"Um hi, it's Yugi; may I speak to Anzu?" Pause. "Hi. I was wondering, um, if you weren't busy or anything, do you want to meet up for lunch? …Um, I was thinking about the café down the corner. And after that, um, we can hang out and stuff- oh Kami-sama, that's all wrong!"

His reflection smirked at him as he frowned, muttering, "too many 'um's.'" He sighed and unconsciously smoothed back his tri-coloured hair. Taking a deep breath: "Would you like to go out for lunch together? …No, I can't say that; it sounds too…like we're going out. Does the 'together' make me sound too keen? Yeah." Cue the heaving of the world-weary sigh. "Why is life so complicated?" he wondered aloud.

His reflection shrugged.

Yugi shrugged too and picked up the phone. He eyed it nervously. "Okay, I…I can do this." He took a deep breath and dialled.

"Moshi moshi?" (Hello?)

"Anzu-kun wa imaska?" (Is Anzu there please?)

"Aa. Chotto mattete." (Yes. Hold on.)

Yugi waited for what seemed like an eternity and a half, anxiously gnawing his lip away to nothing, before the receiver was breathlessly snatched up. "Hello?"

"Um, hi. How are you?" Damn, first 'um' already.

"Oh, I'm fine. And you?"

"Yeah. Look, I was w-wondering if you wanted to go out for lunch? …Really? Well, I was thinking…you know that café in town…?"

Half an hour, hardly believing his luck, Yugi was strolling down the high street, feeling as if he were walking on clouds every inch of the way. After all those dreams, it was finally happening: he had a date with Anzu. Well, not really a date, but if it went well then who knew what could happen next? Just as long as he didn't say or do anything embarrassing…

"Yugi-kun!"

No 'chan', at least not yet. Which was probably just as well; Yugi's euphoria at hearing this would have made Ryou's delight at the same suffix coming from Yugi's mouth seem like less than nothing.

"Hi. It's nice to see you again." He hesitated. "You…you look really pretty."

Anzu blushed, fingering her new pink jumper. "T-Thanks."

They edged awkwardly over to the café. Anzu's hand brushed against Yugi's, and he barely prevented a shiver. It stayed within his body, making his limbs tremble.

………

"All right. Yes, I know he can be difficult; if that continues, remind him what will happen if my displeasure is aroused. …No, I can't do it myself. I am in a different city, in case you didn't notice. …No, I didn't bother using it: I didn't feel there was a need. If you really think it would be better for me to use the Rod then I will; for now, however, I have other business to attend to in Tokyo. Where are you now? …Where the hell is that? These fucking towns all sound the same. …Don't you dare address me in that manner. When you know every single place in this fucking country then give me a call. Until then, don't phone me unless it actually concerns a matter of importance." Malik hung up, fuming.

Perhaps four or five metres away, a man who went by the name of Akio scuffed his grimy trainers further into the dirt. He had a large, though not particularly muscular, build; and although his appearance suggested ungainliness it was in this situation deceptive; his sausage-like fingers were as dextrous as a monkey's, and like a monkey's they could snatch the smallest objects and hide them in a pocket before the owner's eyes had even registered the movement. Limp black hair hung in oily clumps around his pockmarked face as his eyes, black and darting, looked around, scrutinising his surroundings in a glance. Slowly, greasily, his head turned in Malik's direction.

The teenager glared at his screen as if it were still a portal to somewhere else; almost ferociously, he began to jab buttons as he prepared to make another call. Then, suddenly, his fingers were pushing air.

"What the fu-give my phone back!"

"Thanks for the gift!" was Akio's parting shot as he shot across the busy road, the cars swerving and screeching but miraculously avoiding him. He made a habit of thanking his 'customers' each time he acquired something - one had to be polite.

Back on the other side, Malik simply stood there in disbelieving rage. Why that little- no one stole from him and escaped unscathed. How dare he?

Olive fingers curled tightly around the object in his pocket, and it began to glow.

…………

Akio was mentally congratulating himself before he tripped over a log and hit the pavement.

Log?

He grunted and began to get to his feet, before someone seized him by the shirt and helped him. Actually, it was more of a yank. It certainly wasn't meant to be helpful.

"That phone is not yours," said a cold voice. "Hand it over."

Mind still foggy from having his face smashed into cement, Akio said, "huh?"

The person heaved a somewhat melodramatic sigh, and began to tap their foot. "The word 'primitive' really does not do you justice. Now, for the second and last time, hand over the phone."

Akio squinted. This person was a young Japanese adult, about twenty-two, with short, closely-cropped raven hair and very black eyes. "…You aren't the person I st- I mean, it isn't yours."

Malik wasn't the sort of person who was famed for his patience. Raku pivoted a hundred degrees on his left foot and dealt Akio a perfect side-kick, leg fully extended for maximum force. The mobile flew from his grasping fingers as the man instinctively tried to break his fall. It clattered noisily through the door of a busy café, and Malik hissed, "Khara!" under his breath.

………

"Two days." Yami Bakura rifled idly through his new deck with the tip of a white finger. Then, with an elegant shrug, he reached over and picked up the handset.

………

Yugi carefully wiped his lips with a dragon-patterned napkin, careful to pick up any stains. Pity to spoil the design, actually: it was quite a pretty one. But the problem with noodles was that the accompanying sauces invariably ended up all over you.

He leaned back, and a small sigh of satisfaction escaped his now clean-lips. The meal had been so wonderful. And Anzu hadn't been half-bad either. They had succeeded in making interesting conversation with virtually no awkward pauses, except for once or twice at the beginning, and that didn't really count. What was important was that Anzu liked him. Well, maybe not liked him, but they were friends. And she was funny and pretty and intelligent and all the things he had ever dreamed she would be.

There was a sliding sound, and he automatically looked down. "Oh, look, Anzu-kun. Someone's dropped their mobile."

Anzu leaned over to one side to see it better. "Maybe you should pick it up. It'd be a pity if it got dirty. And it looks expensive."

"Yeah, you're right." And just as Yugi was about to bend down, the mobile began to ring.

…………

Raku's eyes were roving carefully over the room, when a sound which meant very little to him but a lot more to the person wielding his body came from underneath a table in the south corner. He tensed, nostrils flaring slightly, before letting the barest of hisses escape his lips. His eyes widened in their sockets as he took in Yugi and Anzu: he had no idea who might be calling him, but it certainly wasn't a call he wanted intercepted by the Pharaoh's vessel or his girlfriend. He had to get the mobile back, and at once.

"Excuse me-" as he strode hastily over to the boy with a three-thousand-year old secret hanging around his neck- "that's my phone."

Yugi looked up, brow creased with the faintest suggestion of suspicion. "…It is? Are you sure?" His eyes were threatening to drop down to look at the screen, at the person who was calling.

"Yes," Raku/Malik replied, deliberately putting enough conviction in the voice to make the Pharaoh's vessel look at him. Come on, hand it over… "I dropped it just now; it must have slid over here. May I have it back?"

"I…suppose so." With obvious reluctance, the transfer is made.

"Thank you." Brief customary smile, before he turns to leave. Yugi will never talk to this person again; and the next time the two meet it will be in a duel to the death.

He waited until he had left the café before glancing casually down at the screen. His eyes flicked across, taking in the words, 'One Missed Call: Yami no Bakura', and his eyebrows drew together in a scowl. Some sixth sense caused him to look over his shoulder, and immediately he observed a policeman strolling up the street, no doubt to investigate what Akio was doing sprawled in an untidy heap on the pavement. Nonchalantly he crossed over to a bin and wrapped the phone in a plastic bag, where he would retrieve it four minutes later in his own body. After this action was done he abandoned Raku's body, leaving the man to his dazed freedom.

Four minutes and two seconds later, no one took any notice of the dark-skinned foreigner as he strutted idly up the street, or the quick movement of his hand as he recovered his stolen possession from the rubbish container. Malik could have left things there, but curiosity begged him to steal another look at the one he had sworn to kill. Mobile now safely buried in his pocket, he sauntered recklessly up to the café. Secretly stealing glances at Yugi while pretending to examine the menu, he felt the old disbelief renew itself: how could this child possibly have the soul of a ruler of Egypt hidden within him? So obviously simple, foolish, gullible. So fucking small. Were these the sorts of qualities that had caused him to reconstruct the Millennium Puzzle after all those years as fragments?

He stayed outside the café for longer than he should have, troubled by these and other thoughts, feeling the certainty that had kept him going all these years beginning to waver, like the foundations of a mighty building. He barely noticed other people pushing past him; his return to reality was triggered as Yugi and Anzu walked out of the café, the former smiling and chirping gaily: "So do you want to meet up again some time?" The sound of the boy's voice caused him to stiffen and glance furtively round. Yugi, now joyful from his conversations at Anzu, had a visible spring in his step. His eyes met Malik's for a millisecond and he suddenly smiled. I know you, that gaze whispered. Taken off guard, Malik stared back. The he tore their gazes apart, feeling oddly shaken, but Yami had already walked on.

…………

"You could have killed him!"

"Well I didn't. Deal with it," Malik managed to snap in the nanosecond when the Ring-spirit had paused for breath. After he and Yugi had gone in their opposite directions, Malik had rung the spirit and relayed to him the events of the afternoon. After a brief period of hysterical laughing when he found out Yugi and Anzu had gone out together, an irate Yami Bakura had given his uncensored opinion on the Egyptian's inconceivable stupidity at coming face-to-face with the Pharaoh's vessel and doing nothing. Malik, who was, for no reason he could explain, still haunted by the way the Pharaoh had looked at him, didn't so much as reply to any of the insults. Yami Bakura was seething at the wasted opportunity, and didn't hold back in telling him so.

Dully: "I've already told you: I did not go there with the intention of killing him. Besides, it was a public area. I couldn't do anything."

"Yet you managed to beat someone up with no one intervening?" the spirit shot back.

"I did that through another person's body."

"Fine, whatever. You are completely unbelievable."

Anger finally flaring up, and stung at the remark, Malik snarled, "So the fact that you called me at the worst time imaginable, causing me to be more concerned with getting my phone back before the Pharaoh's vessel saw who was calling rather than killing him, means nothing?"

Yami Bakura sneered at this. "And I am meant to know exactly when to call you?"

"Laa…" (Arabic: No)

"Exactly. I think I am justified in saying that you acted like a complete fool."

"Shut the fuck up!" the Egyptian screamed in Arabic.

"Stop that childish shouting. It will solve nothing." Despite his glacial tone, Yami Bakura was nearly paralysed in fury.

"Stupid…bastard…" Malik's Japanese was starting to suffer in his anger, his accent becoming more and more prominent, and the soft sniggering he could hear in the background was not helping.

Yami Bakura stared at the buttons on the phone, trying to calm or at least contain his rage. It was difficult to say who would lose it first, although the way the connection was starting to break up because Malik was squeezing his mobile so hard was quite suggestive.

After a few moments of terse silence it was the spirit of the Millennium Ring who spoke first, his voice soft and even. "This is not achieving anything."

"Agreed." Malik's voice was shaking.

"I propose that we meet again in a few days, to discuss our plans face-to-face."

"That sounds reasonable."

"Thursday? I will bring my deck, if you think it a good idea."

The Egyptian's mind raced to his own deck, and the thought of his two God Cards soothed him slightly. "Very well."

The conversation was drawing to an end. After stating the location of their next meeting, Yami Bakura slammed the phone down, missing the place where it was meant to go by several inches. After a confused second the phone started beeping; he snatched it up and thrust it back into place with the movement of someone grinding dirt into the ground with their shoe.

After a moment spent in almost catatonic silence, the spirit got up slowly and walked over to the drawer, fists clenched into little balls of fury. He yanked the drawer open so hard it nearly fell out, grabbed the knife taken from the Pharaoh several days previously, and slammed the drawer shut with a force that caused its contents to jump up in the air. His eyes were turned the darkish red-brown of clotting blood.

He sat heavily back down, knife held carelessly in his right hand. It felt good to clench his fingers around its solid handle, and he watched as his knuckles turned milky-white as the blood drained away. He released his hold, revelling in the control he had over his light's body. Then, suddenly, all his rage came flooding back and he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and started slashing blindly at his wrist and lower arm. The pain came at once, searing fire under his skin, but he kept going and going and going, channelling his hatred into the knife and thinking how much he hated Malik and the Pharaoh and every other person in the fucking world.

The frenzy only stopped when the sensation of his swollen wrist began to override the previous almost pleasing sensations of pain; this was a dull ache. He wanted his pain bright and clear and in long straight lines all over his skin. Then he looked at his arm and felt a peculiar disappointment at how absurdly shallow the wounds were, mere scratches, and how little blood there was. He raked his fingernails along the trenches already carved into his skin, but it was the wrong sort of hurt and he stopped.

There was a little blood glistening near the underside of his wrist. He stared at it, fascinated at what had appeared; then, in a sudden moment of daring, raised his arm and licked it away with his tongue. The resulting taste was queer, and he couldn't make up his mind whether it was sweet or salty; perhaps some potent mixture of the two. He felt suddenly thrilled at what he had done, could feel adrenaline pounding in the sticky web of arteries and veins.

He gazed at the bloody knife. So slowly, he brought it up level with his mouth. There was life on that blade, essence of that spark which kept everything going, and he wanted it.

His tongue wrapped around the knife. Curling in close.

His left arm, resting against the arm of the chair, brushed against the abrasive surface. A scab collapsed inwards, and slowly the blood began to trickle down.

…………

A/N: Et voila. That's satisfied most of my writing urge; I still think I might work on another half-finished one-shot before I go to bed, however.

The last few paragraphs are based on my own experiences with self-harm (minus the consuming of blood).

I think that this story is going to end up with around 6 to 8 chapters in all, depending on how much I decide to include in each chapter. I've actually got an ending planned for this story now, which is pleasing. The next chapter may involve some events from the animated series which I decided to change to suit the story, because there were plenty of scenes in the anime which I felt could have been expanded further than they were.

Reviews are always welcome as an esteem-booster. I can get really low if I don't get reviews to my writing, after spending so much time on them. That isn't meant as something to get people to review; it's just the truth. I spend a lot of time on my writing. Usually I write in bursts of one to three hours, managing about six to eight hundred words an hour.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I would write individual thanks, but my Internet connection is about as iffy as you can get and so I just want to get this posted up as quickly as possible.