Disclaimer: Disclaiming stuff, blah blah blah…
Theme Song: "Time is Running Out" by Muse
A/N: Uh… I don't know either. (shrugs, grinning)
Unwell
Short Fuses
"Ryou," the psychologist said with a polite smile. "Come on in."
The white-haired boy walked hesitantly into the office and perched on the cushion of a sitting chair, crossing his arms uncomfortably.
"Do you know why you're here?" she asked while slipping paper under the clasp on her clipboard.
Ryou considered how to answer.
Use your puppy eyes.
His hikari almost grinned, swallowed it in a cough, and answered.
"No, I don't."
"Ryou." She studied him critically. "You look smarter than that."
Your father picked a good one.
Too good.
Bakura made a mental snort as if realizing something. Ha! You'd think you'd be able to shield your thoughts from someone by now.
Ryou tactfully decided to ignore him.
He picked up the glass of water the psychologist had just poured for him and took a sip. It was lukewarm.
"That's a very nice piece of jewelry," she commented abruptly, nodding to the Ring. "Where did you come upon it?"
Ryou answered while attempting to muffle Bakura's injured squawks at the idea of his precious Ring as 'jewelry'. "My father did. In Egypt."
The woman continued, "Mr. Bakura mentioned you thought you were in contact with the spirits, is that correct?"
Ryou choked on the mouthful of water, practically inhaling it before he began coughing reflexively. Where had that come from!
It seems as though she knows something, though not everything.
You're right… oh… do you think… should I?
Bakura read what he was thinking.
Are you crazy! Tell her about the Ring? About me!
No, listen to me! I think it would work. She seems like the sympathetic type, after all. What's the worst that could happen?
Hmph. Bakura grumbled, obviously unwilling to think about that possibility. Just don't mess up.
Ryou could feel he'd hurt his yami into a puzzled mess, but he didn't know what else to say. If he just denied it to her, she would send him elsewhere and the whole process would begin anew; his father was not one to give up easily.
"It's only one spirit," he said after taking a deep breath.
"Pardon?" She had been expecting something more along the lines of a flat out denial or even a simple 'What?'.
"I'm only in contact with one spirit."
She studied this boy closely. His psychology did seem a little off. Too… non-angsty for the type of people she usually encountered in her office.
"Just one? So no other voices?" she tried to clarify.
"None."
Ryou watched her write something down on that little clipboard. He tilted his head in curiosity.
She stood up. "I'll go get us some more water."
He watched her leave. It was obvious that she wanted to catch him rifling through something like a hooligan on some hidden camera. He had other plans.
Go.
The corporeal form of his yami strode purposely over to the table and looked down at the clipboard. His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, squinting. Locks of hair blocked his confused eyes from sight, sliding before his gaze and molding into one thick strand. A minute later, he shook his head in hopelessness.
I… don't understand what it means, he confessed, scowling. The tomb robber didn't like admitting ignorance.
What, is her handwriting messy?
No. I don't get. He sent a picture of it to Ryou.
What! She thinks I have a multiple personality disorder. His eyes bugged out.
That's a disorder?
Yes! The hikari yelped, distressed.
… and that's bad?
Very.
Oh. Shit. What do we do?
I'm not sure there's anything we can do, Ryou said glumly. The damage was already done after all.
The young psychologist was slumped in a chair near the water cooler, trying to puzzle her strange client out. She huffed a sigh of exasperation and got herself another cup of chilled water.
It made no sense. It seemed like he was really certain there was a voice in his head. He seemed positively, absolutely, without a doubt nuts. But he didn't feel crazy. He had a cute lopsided smile that he'd almost shown once when they were talking. Psycho people didn't tend to have such a lazy, easygoing way about them. They were always walking or pacing or tapping or making some other indication that they were nervous and ready to bolt. Though Ryou had indeed seemed a bit nervous, he had relaxed slightly as the session went on, which was completely normal and line to line with a normal human being.
After all, no one likes the doctor.
Despite this, she felt she had to do what she had to do. She's made her diagnosis. It was as accurate as could be. A little time in a facility might straighten him out. In fact, if it happened almost immediately, she would very well suspect his father.
Parents were often the source of trouble in their children. There was no exception made with the deranged.
Why, she had a second boy coming in later today just like Ryou, and his symptoms were exactly the same…
"Are you kidding me!" Ryou bellowed, an impressive feat for his normally soft-spoken tone. He leapt up from the easy chair in the waiting room and clenched his fists.
"It will help you!" his father defended. "Don't you want to get better?"
"I'm fine!" Ryou reiterated. "Fine, fine, fine!"
Honestly, Bakura was holding in the most wicked side comment right here, but he didn't voice it. This was a tense moment. He was looking through Ryou's eyes when he saw Seiko's face, drawn taunt with anger, begin to morph into something far more ugly. Bakura growled, though he kept it from Ryou. No need to alarm his host; if it was necessary for him to act, he would do so.
"Ryou, listen to me," the other man ground out from between clenched teeth. "I am your father! You will do as I say! Do you hear me? Do you?"
"I'm a week from being eighteen, in case you forgot!" Ryou blurted out. "Stop treating me like the me from ten years ago that you missed growing up, and you listen to me!"
His tone enraged Seiko past reason. Snarling, the older man reached to wring his neck, break his arm, do something, but just as his hand closed around Ryou's wrist- it disappeared.
Ryou's white hair hung into his eyes as he crouched with his head down from his position on the floor about four feet away. But it was no longer Ryou's hair. It was far too shaggy and wild to be Ryou's hair.
"How dare you…" the teen's voice cut the silence in the room like a butcher's knife.
Seiko was still panting from his rage-induced leap. "What… what did you say?"
"How… dare you lay a hand on my host!" the yami roared, launching himself with agile feet toward the man he perceived as a threat.
NO!
Stop trying to protect him! Bakura rasped, ironically, even as he sought to gain a hold on Seiko's neck. He would choke him, yes, slowly of course, to pay back the debt. He had never been there for Ryou, and suddenly he'd just expected to walk into their apartment and ruin their lives! First, sending them to this psycho ologist and then ordering they attend this institution!
"Stop this at once."
A familiar voice interrupted the fight's madness long enough for three burly security guards to grab the back of Bakura's shirt and wrestle him away from Seiko. He was snarling viciously still, almost inhumanly as he savagely ripped a chunk out of a guard's arm. The man howled in pain, dropping his fistful of shirt to grip at the wound, whimpering.
"Stop this," the psychologist, who had spoken at first, now voiced quietly. "You're only making it worse for yourself."
The darker half looked too riled to understand. His chest was heaving with every shuddering breath he took, and his fierce eyes glinted up like a demon's through thick locks of stark white hair. The guard's blood was dribbling from a corner of his mouth, and as she watched, his pink tongue darted out to lap it up like milk.
"Stop that," she said, more feebly. She grimaced with disgust.
But Bakura was fed up with orders and 'stop this' and 'stop that'. He wrenched his fist from the other guard and, without losing a moment, plowed it through his face. "Enough!" the psychologist shrieked, losing all composure. "I'll call more guards, and away you'll go!" Her eyes were welling up. "I didn't want to have to do this, Bakura. I only wanted you to take an overnight stay or two. But you've forced me to do this. Don't forget that. I never wanted to!"
The tomb robber ignored her babbling and instead let his gaze wander to the ceiling. She gave up and picked up a nearby phone to dial security. "Yes, there's been complications… right away? Lovely. Please, hurry." Bakura allowed her a crazed grin. "Yes, hurry, it's urgent."
He chuckled. "Am I making you nervous?" His voice was deeper, scratchier, and certainly more feral. Where had this come from? His eyes- they hadn't been as cruelly twisted. Or his hair- it wasn't as well-groomed as before. Even his stance- despite the lone remaining guard's efforts to pin him to the ground, he stood tall and proud, his stance as lithe and fluid as a cat's.
"Hold on… wait a minute…" she whispered, her throat hoarse from fear as Bakura disposed of the last guard by shoving him into the rather heavy-looking bookcase. "You're… you're… I must be crazy."
"Oh?" Bakura mocked. "You've finally gotten it, have you?"
"You're the spirit!"
Six more guards entered the room at that moment.
"No shit, Sherlock," the yami confirmed before he tapped the psychologist over the head with a nearby statue. "Nighty night."