Disclaimer: I, Haydn Pachelbel, do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! And y'all should be glad for that.

Things You Should Know: Almost all of my fics are based on writings by someone else. I decided to keep the bits that spawned the plot (in this case, a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox called, "Compensations 03: Shut In") because I liked the poem just that much. This is part One of Four.

Compensations

chapter one

Across my window glass
The moving shadows of the people pass.
Sometimes the shadows pause; and through the hall
Kind neighbors come to call,
Bringing a word or smile
To cheer my loneliness a little while.

Ryou Bakura had been sixteen the first time he attempted murder.

Well, truthfully he'd been fifteen, but that was only if you were counting it as murder to try to "kill" a spirit. But if you were going to be technical about it, then he'd also been fifteen when he had first attempted "suicide"—except that had been to save his friends, and so Ryou didn't count that anyway. It was only suicide if you wanted to die.

He wasn't sure if his friends knew it, but Ryou, and not the spirit of the Ring, had been the one who had tried to kill Yugi the night of March 14. Really, his reasons had been innocent enough. He knew what the spirit wanted to do with Yugi and the other Yugi, when and if he ever bested them in a Game. And he also knew what would happen to his friends along the road to that Game, and…well, if Ryou had been in Yugi's position, he would have wanted someone to stop it from happening.

He just hadn't thought Yugi's grandfather would be so strong.

In hindsight, it probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Atem would have come out and then he would have discovered it wasn't the Thief there after all, and Ryou would have been killed or worse. So it was really a good thing that Yugi had come running out when he did, finding Ryou pinned to the floor, knife turned against him. Yugi's grandfather had needed more stitches than Ryou, though.

Yugi had assumed that the Thief had come with the knife, but after being caught off guard had forced Ryou out to protect himself.

Sugoroku pressed charges, no matter how his grandson insisted that he didn't understand what was really going on.

Ryou took the only defense he could.

The first psychiatric evaluation had been sometime in late March or early April, and for the first time in days the sun was finally streaming through a patchwork of gray clouds. He wasn't so naïve as to think it was an omen, and just tried to appreciate the beauty of it.

The questions had slowly worked inward from, "Can you tell me your name?" and "What is your favorite food?" to "Why did you try to kill your friend?"

Ryou was careful not to readjust the way he was sitting, even though it was a little uncomfortable. "I did it because he needed me to."

She stared for a moment, but went on smoothly, "Had you argued with him?"

He shook his head, but made sure not to turn his eyes very far from hers. "No, I've never fought with Yugi. He's a very good friend; he's always willing to listen."

"Could you explain your earlier statement for me, then, Bakura?"

"Of course." He paused a moment to uncross his legs now. "I didn't want to kill him, you must understand that. I care very much about him—I wish that there were more people like Yugi. I tried to kill him because I want to be as good of a friend to him as he has been to me."

She waited for him to go on, so Ryou took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If I didn't kill him now, in a few years—possibly sooner—everything that he cares about would be gone. And Yugi would be in so much pain…. He would beg for death, and it wouldn't come, and then…then it would just get worse, for as long as it took to break his mind. I had to protect him from that."

"That sounds terrible, Bakura." Her tone was meticulously neutral even as she said that. "So Yugi is in danger?"

"He is."

"From…what?"

The Ring had been taken from him when he was first arrested, but Ryou could still feel the threats burning at him from somewhere in his mind. He blinked away the images and gazed steadily at the psychiatrist. "From me."

It amused him that he'd practically had to lie just to get in here. What sort of truth was so ridiculous that it would make you look as if you were trying to sound insane if you told it?

There wasn't much to do after Ryou's self-condemnation. He was placed in an intensive care facility, and the only time his resolve broke was when his father—sobbing, hopeless—had asked him if he was innocent.

He hadn't seen his father since. He hoped for a post card whenever the mail came, but he wasn't surprised when his name was never called. He'd lost his family and he knew it; the only consolation was that he hadn't lost his father to the thief.

… … …

It was eery, the way she always knew. She wasn't as up front about it, didn't ask as many questions these days, but…well, Anzu could still tell when things weren't quite right with Ryou, and Ryou knew that she knew. Being a naturally quiet person, he was able to slip in and out of crowds without people really noticing—except, of course, for Anzu.

He'd even tried it, just once, and he'd never admitted aloud that that was what he'd been up to. Especially since she'd caught him. He'd been walking swiftly, silently, right behind her and she'd just tossed a smile over her shoulder and waved, as if he'd called her name.

The day before he tried to kill Yugi, Anzu had wandered out into the yard at lunch and offered Bakura an apple. He'd just blinked at her and taken it with a 'thank you', and because it was Anzu, he didn't bother to keep the slight amusement from his voice.

"You looked hungry," she said, sitting down next to him and keeping a hand on her skirt to stop the wind from blowing it up. "You should have more than soda, you know."

Bakura twisted the stem until it came away, peeled the sticker off, polished the apple on his sleeve, and began to run out of ways to put off eating it. "I just haven't wanted to make lunch, that's all," he said lamely.

He should have known better than to lie that way. Anzu smiled a bit at him, her blue eyes vaguely annoyed. "You mean, you just carry Eiri's lunch until he decides he wants to eat it?"

It was a strange way to make money, and he knew it. But he didn't want to take any money out of his account, since his father (and possibly the police) would notice. And over the years he'd become pretty good at cooking…if someone wanted to pay him to make them lunch three times a week, he wouldn't complain.

Ryou had waited too long to start laughing at what she'd said, and it made the air between them a little thicker. He shrugged. "He pays me pretty well, at least. I just don't think he wants it to get around that he's buying lunch from me."

"Oh, he doesn't want it to get around, does he?"

The silence dragged on a bit longer, this time because Ryou just didn't have anything to say to that. Finally he took a bite of the apple, since he was starting to think Anzu wouldn't leave until he did, whether or not their conversation continued. "Thank you again," he said when he'd swallowed. The apple was a little tart, but it wasn't bad.

"No problem. I have plenty more where that came from." She gave him a significant look. "But how exactly did Eiri talk you into making lunch? Or is cooking something guys usually talk about in the locker room?"

He chuckled a little. "No…he just found out I live alone, and wondered what I eat." He was careful not to let his expression become too blank as he spoke and waited for her to respond.

"So, you two are friends?"

Bakura tried to weigh out which answer would be less incriminating. "He was cleaning one of the classrooms, and I had to speak with the teacher. She asked how my father was, and I told her he was still in Greece…that's how he found out."

"Well…. How is your father?" Bakura wasn't sure what to make of the change of subject.

But he never got to work it out, because then Yugi and Jounouchi came outside and drew Anzu and Ryou into their last minute bid to finish their homework.

After school, Ryou went home to change and have something to eat (the apple had reminded his stomach just how long it had been since he'd eaten.) He worked on a little of his homework, watched TV, and then got on his shoes.

He went to a pawn shop two blocks from his apartment and used the money he'd earned from Eiri to buy a small, tarnished boot knife. He chose it because it came with a sheath, otherwise he'd have taken a more ornate—and expensive—wartime replica.

By morning, he wished he'd taken the replica.