Forgiveshipping (Kawai Shizuka/Thief King Bakura)

. . .

Damn. That's...a lot of blood.

He coughs, and a faint spray of blood comes with it. He rubs the back of his hand against his lips and snarls, knowing that there is blood in his teeth. At least it's only from a cut inside his cheek—and not something worse. At least...he hopes.

He stumbles along, blood dripping into his eye and trailing down the side of his face. He supposes he should count himself lucky that the knife missed his eye and only cut the cheek underneath it, but he doesn't feel lucky. His free hand clutches at his side where the other blade stabbed in deep, and he drags his half broken leg behind him at a stumble. He's lost his pursuers, somehow, and he still has the bag of coins clutched beneath his robe. Hopefully he'll still be alive to enjoy the fruits of his botched thieving attempt.

Gods, how could he have messed up this badly? He knows thieving like the back of his hand this late in the game. To think that he, of all people, had gotten caught by a few measly caravan guards...

He stumbles, then, and loses his footing. He crashes with a puff of dust, face first into the sand. He's not going to be able to get up. He's actually going to die after stealing a mere handful of coins. He's robbed lords and magicians and dead kings guarded by ancient spells and one measly merchant is what's going to do him in? What bloody irony. He doesn't deserve to be called the king of thieves anymore.

Somehow, though, he finds himself waking up with a start. It is still night, or perhaps, a day has passed? One way or another, he is staring up at the starry sky, and he can hear the breeze rustling through palm leaves and the lap of water in the distance. Warmth blossoms over his side along with an orangey glow—there is a fire built just a foot away from him, keeping him warm against the chill desert night. Where is he?

He hears the splash of someone dunking cloth into the water, and he managed to turn his head—flinching at the pain that comes with the motion.

"You shouldn't move," comes the voice—faint, high, young. "You've lost a lot of blood."

He doesn't see her at first, not until his eyes adjust and he sees the shadow of the girl bent at the edge of the oasis, her body illuminated by the moonlight. She stands, walking back with a wet cloth, and kneels at his side, gently dabbing at his face.

He hisses—it stings! His hand fumbles at his side for his knife—but it's gone. Where is it? Did he lose it? Did she—did she steal it?

"Oh, be quiet," she whispers. "Do you want it to get infected?"

"I could kill you," he mumbles.

"I suppose you could," she says, still wiping at the blood on his face and cleaning up the scar. "But you might find it a little bit difficult."

She pokes him with one finger in the side and he yelps, a shudder shivering down his entire body.

"What the hell," he says. "That hurt."

"If you want it to stop hurting, you'll stop moving."

He glares, but there is something immovable about her hazel eyes and blank expression. He lays still despite the sting as she finishes cleaning up the wound.

"I am going to have to sew these shut or they'll never heal," she says. "Do try to stay still."

He flinches the first time the needle comes for his face, and she raises an eyebrow at him.

"I thought you were some kind of tough bandit," she says, sniffing. "You can't handle one little needle?"

His jaw clenches, but he tries his absolute best to remain still. Her fingers are quick, deft, and sure, and although it takes everything he has not to flinch at the sight of the flashing needle or the pinpricks of pain, it's almost no time at all before his wound is sealed.

"That's going to scar," she says. "I've already sewn up the other deep wound. The other cuts will seal on their own."

She stands, taking the cloth away. He turns his head to watch her walk around him, and kneel on his other side to put her things away into her basket. There doesn't appear to be any dwellings anywhere near...where has she come from? Is she really all alone? She doesn't have much with her; only the medical basket and another small pack near the fire.

"Who are you?" he says.

"A secret," she replies.

"Tell me."

She looks back over her shoulder, eyes glinting in the firelight. Now that she is set aglow by the flames, he can see that she is foreign. Tanned skin and fiery red hair that rivals the flames that light it, a dusting of sun spots over her nose and cheeks.

"Who are you?" he says again. "Why are you helping me?"

"A secret," she replies yet again. "And what else was I supposed to do? Leave you to die?"

"A wiser girl would have. You don't know me."

He managed to sit himself up despite the pain in his side, and leans in towards her until their faces are inches apart. He reaches up with one hand to drag his fingers through her hair, grinning at the barest shiver that passes through her.

"I could do...unspeakable things to a pretty little girl like you..."

Her face doesn't change.

And then there is another finger jabbing him in the side and he yelps, collapsing immediately back to the mat and groaning as he clutches at his side.

"I'm very sure you could," she says, as though she didn't just leave him writhing on the ground in pain. "But you won't."

She is gone in the morning when he wakes up. Part of him wonders if it was only a dream, but the embers of her fire, and the threads sewn into his skin remain.

Part of him wonders if it was a dream anyway.

. . .

A/N: Idk? Kinda cool. Next is Foreshipping (Ishizu x Yugi).