Inevitable
It took a while, half the year in fact; in the end, however, she was the only one he felt he could talk to, she alone knew something of how the timelessness was, how living eternities could be. But it took some time to get past all her moaning, whining, petty bickering, and yelling. He had ignored her at first, no one came to the haunted girl's lavatory, but Bakura began feeling other things drawing him to the sanctuary. It was becoming more then a place to get away from worldly stupidity.
"Are you going away for the Christmas holidays?" Myrtle asked, already predicting his reply. He would probably say yes. He was probably already looking forward to going back to whoever it was he really liked spending time with. He would forget about her in the mad, after holiday rush, and then she would be alone again, it had happened so many times before. People forgetting to visit; she was left all alone once more. No one actually enjoyed spending time with her.
"No." Bakura replied, his blue eyes darkening for a second. They would hide Ryou from him, trying to see him now would only be a waste. The boy was his and he would have him once more. They thought they could keep him locked up in this hellhole of a school, but he would sit, plan, and wait.
Myrtle, though somewhat happy about his reply, still felt unquestionable that he would forget her. Harry never went home for the holidays after all, and he had forgotten so quickly. "Don't you have anyone that you want to spend the holidays with?"
Bakura rolled his eyes; rising to his feet he cast her a bored look. Human attachment was not something that he did. She should have known that.
"Will you come to see me then?" Myrtle half asked, half demanded, as she swept quickly down beside her visitor.
"Perhaps," Bakura shrugged, stepping slowly forward, away from her. "If you don't whine at me, that is." His face tightened at the last words, almost into an expression of disgust, Myrtle flinched back involuntarily.
"Bye then." The bespectacled specter looked at him rather forlornly as Bakura exited the lavatory briskly. Myrtle slowly ascended to the top of the sinks, her favorite perch.
How could she expect him to return? She was such a boring person. Sometimes she had nothing better to do then to gaze at herself in the mirror, that's usually when she ended up spying in the Prefect's bathroom, when she got so disgusted with herself. Who, for goodness sake, got killed in a girl's bathroom? Only outcast, pimply, dolts with glasses, that's who. She should be glad that the occasional first year girl made the mistake of coming in, she should not be asking for anything more. The sun set on the girl's contemplations, she sat there in the dark feeling sorry for herself.
-
Bakura despised the little bat cave of a common room he had been assigned too. Seriously, he didn't care what kind of quaint customs these underlings had for sorting people into these different houses. But, considering that there was nowhere else he would have preferred, the seclusion of the Slytherin common room over Christmas break was preferable; it matched his brooding mood.
All the seclusion in the world didn't do a jot for the temperature though. Bakura felt like a mummy, having dressed wrapped himself in several layers of thick clothing. Dampness still gnawed away at his bones though, what he wouldn't do for a nice desert, or at least a drought.
Without prying eyes always watching him Bakura had felt no need to visit his former sanctuary, spending much of the past few days sleeping or plotting the long hours away. She was, after all, rather trying on the nerves. He did not wish to spend time with her. He was friends with no one. He would not contemplate how she would be doing. He would not wonder if she spent the entire time moping over herself, disappointedly. He would not! He should be thinking about revenge upon his oppressors, they would not have Ryou.
He's just sitting there again. Why doesn't he come to see me? He must hate me! Myrtle muffled a loud sniff. She would not cry. He looked so unhappy. For once in her short human experience, but long existence, she had not felt so sad over another person. Though, of course, this was the first time in a long time she had ventured from her usual haunts, her former common room held too much sour memory in it.
Bakura continued staring drowsily into the fire, if you could call the flickering display of fire that put out no heat a fire. His ears twitching slightly at what was probably the sound of a rat sneezing, or something worse, who knew what infested these deep bowls of the castle.
He had promised to come and see her, no matter that miniscule condition he had set, it was not worth mentioning. He had, so far, broken that promise and a slight flicker of anger was beginning to flicker at the thought. He could use her bathroom as refuge any time he felt necessary and break his promises anytime he didn't need her. That had been the train of thought that had lead her here, she did plan on doing something about it.
Bakura felt the soft hand of sleep lowering his eyelids when a jolt of ice intruded at the back of his neck. What the hell! His head jerked around, now fully awake, to be confronted by a colorless glare. Eyes through which he could catch sight of a Slytherin banner, but which still bore holes through him. "Myrtle."
Myrtle noted with no lack of satisfaction that his voice was an octave higher then the serine drawl that he normally talked to her with. "That's for not coming to see me." She replied smugly as she floated around to between him and the fire. "You promised."
"I did no such thing." Bakura replied calmly, folding his arms and gazing upon her critically. "Besides, you're complaining." He continued, her face twitched at that and revealed some measure of forlornness before clouding with annoyance once more.
"I wouldn't have if you had come." Myrtle countered, her voice beginning to fall into the whining groove it was all so used to. Realizing this, she made a slight effort of end in a level tone.
"I'm not going to apologize." Bakura replied simply, not particularly inclined to send her away.
"I didn't think you would." Myrtle replied in a mutter. At least, Bakura thought, she was realizing who he was.
"Good." A long silence followed, and Bakura's thoughts began to drift away again. It was brought back again quickly, though, when he realized that Myrtle was still there, staring holes in him. "What?" Bakura asked, his agitation rising, he didn't like people staring at him.
"Nothing," Myrtle replied in what normally would have passed as a mumble, words obscured by a sense of shyness.
"Then could you please stop staring at me?" Bakura asked, her suddenly abashed demeanor disturbing him.
"Oh." She quickly turned away.
Bakura had always known that Myrtle was emotionally unbalanced, but this was odd, even for her. People couldn't enchant ghosts as they could jinx mortals could you? He did not deign it necessary to ask.
"Does no one care about you either?" Myrtle's tentative intrusion into Bakura's thoughts seemed rather awkward.
"No." Bakura replied simply, before he could stop his own tongue; he would rather not have replied at all. He had told her of his own spirit like existence and she must feel they had something in common, that was why she dogged him so. Silence dominated the scene once more.
Myrtle was at a loss, after contemplating the situation complete, she poked him again.
"Stop that!" Bakura snapped lashing out in automatic retaliation. His hand met something soft and icy and he looked up, startled. His hand had been stopped by her arm, it had not gone all the way thru. His hand immediately pulled back to his chest, his momentum carrying the chair over backwards.
"That hurt." Myrtle moaned, as she rubbed viciously at her arm. Surprise and annoyance dawning upon her face as she quickly realized what exactly had happened. "How did you do that?" she asked, slowly floating forward to bend over his form, which still lay sprawled out on the floor, shocked.
"I'm not sure…" Bakura replied slowly, getting to his feet as quickly as possible; hand still aching slightly from the cold. His eyes riveted on Myrtle.
"You," Myrtle reached a tentative hand forward, "touched me." Her hand passed, unobstructed, right thru his chest. "How?"
"I don't know." Bakura replied bluntly, her touch sending a shiver up and down his spine and catching at his breath. Moving his own hand to where her shoulder should be, he felt nothing but a frosty tingling at his fingertips. That was very odd. But he had felt her; he knew there was something there to feel. As these thoughts forcefully formed in his mind he felt the something forming under his hand. There was something to be felt for those who expected it.
"How?" Myrtle asked again as she felt the blazing heat of his hand touch her shoulder.
"Not sure." Bakura acknowledged as his other hand reached for her other shoulder. Grasping it he felt the frost lessen to a tolerable chill. "It has something to do with will…" Bakura tried to explain something he did not at all understand himself.
Myrtle's face fell into a concentrated scowl as she reached forward once more. Her fingers met the fabric of his shirt and closed around a handful of the heavy material. "I can touch you." Her voice was little more then a gasp of surprise as she gazed down at her own hand.
"Yes." Bakura's hand rose up, mechanically, to brush some stray hairs that had fallen into her face away.
"Could it have something to do with your spirit nature?" Myrtle asked vaguely as she drifted slowly even closer to him. Their robes touched.
"I guess." Bakura replied, entranced, as his arms fell about her.
"Bakura?"
Their lips met.