Chapter 4: Crucifixus

-Cheapside Street, 12:00 am-

Eventually, Touzokuo slowed his pace to a leisurely walk once he was quite certain of the absence of the threat of police. Ryou and he even began engaging in casual conversation.

"…Grave robbing may not be the most glamorous job, but it pays."

"Do you take Zydrate yourself?"

"No. I don't particularly ENJOY people poking around inside me, so I'm defiantly not into surgery. I never needed Zydrate, so I never got addicted."

"Don't you ever feel bad for the people who are addicted?"

Touzokuo laughed at what he thought would have been a rhetorical question, but considering Ryou's obvious ignorance of such matters, he answered, "Of course not, for several reasons: One, they PAY me to feed their addiction. If they weren't addicted, guess who would be out of a job? Two, they LIKE being the way they are. Sure, you hear all the fuss about 'support networks' and 'addiction hotlines' but it's all just a mess of shit. They aren't ashamed of themselves, so why should I pity them?"

Ryou folded his arms to his chest, and stared hard at the payment. He quirked his head several times, implying he wanted to give an answer, but said nothing else of the matter. "How did you-"

"Damn you ask a lot of questions!"

Ryou cracked a small smile, "I guess I do. Sorry, it's just so different for me to talk to someone besides my dad. This is my first real unbiased conversation ever."

"…Ever? Really?"

Calmly, he explained the death of his mother, his disease, his father's strict 'no contact' policy and naturally his inclination towards the graveyard.

Touzokuo's hardened eyes suddenly made Ryou uneasy, "That's just bullshit. You can't let him keep you locked up like that, it's cruel and it's wrong."

'It is wrong, but it isn't cruel." Ryou sighed resignedly, "He doesn't do it out of spite. You have to understand, my dad doesn't have anyone. He's so engrossed in work…and me, that he isolates himself from everyone. He doesn't know how else to love me except to horde me, and center his whole life on me. I've tried to convince him otherwise, but he has become so set in his ways that he cannot be reasoned with. I might not even live very much longer, so would it really be so bad to spend your indefinite lifespan with someone who desperately needs the company?"

"But don't you hate that you never even GOT a chance to live at all?"

He folded into himself once again, honey eyes darting back to his sneakers. "No, I don't hate him. I could never hate him. I am only sad. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't bother me anymore." Touzokuo did not push him about it again.

The thief himself was actually surprised how much he cared that Ryou was unhappy. Marik was his childhood friend, so it was only natural for him to care about him. Ryou was just a sick kid (who was admittedly very pretty) that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, so he helped him a bit.

There was something special…or different at least, about Ryou; something that wasn't about his beauty, his illness, or even his peculiar forgiving and understanding nature. This was a strange, undetectable kind of special…

"We're here," Ryou interrupted his thoughts to point out a Victorian-style home. Touzokuo nearly snorted at the irony that this was the house Ryou lived in; complete with the tower and balcony.

"Well, I guess this is goodnight…" he murmured.

Ryou had already opened the Iron Gate under the trellis when he turned back, "Will I…see you again?"

The elder smiled, finding he flattered himself that the youth indeed wanted to see him again. He bowed, and blew a kiss gallantly, "Of course! Come back to Kul Elna anytime. I'll be waiting."

He smiled a full, genuine smile. The whole vicinity seemed to light up with the glimmer of ecstasy that filled Ryou's angelic face, "Great! Umm, I'll come as soon as I can. Goodbye, Touzokuo!" He scampered to the front door and quietly crept in.

The graverobber felt dizzy with a feeling he couldn't quite identify, 'I'll be waiting,' he thought.

-Bakura-

Why am I doing this? I have many more pressing assignments to attend to. What is so important about this graverobber that he has to come before everything else?

Further, who is this child I'm apprehending? What could he possibly have information of that he is worth all the trouble of interrogating? Ridiculous. I couldn't get a good look at him before he went inside, but he looks pretty small, easy prey. A toothpick, that's all he is, one little toothpick.

I'd better get rid of the graverobber first. I'm not so sure about the simplicity of his disposal. He's not exactly small or scrawny like that toothpick. He's more like a statue…like the ones that you see in the museum. No matter, one push in the right direction and he'll crumble.

Sorry graverobber, your time is up.

-Cheapside street, 12:15 am-

The silence of the street was unsettling. The muddy coat tails of his cloak slapped against the thief's ankles. Touzokuo clenched his Zydrate-needle in his white-knuckled fist.

"I know you're out there, whoever you are," he called out into the darkness with false confidence, "Just come out and tell me what you want."

And then he heard it.

A deep, boastful cackle. It resonated from the person's chest, bouncing off the asphalt and echoing eerily. It was amused, in the most sinister of ways, breathy and light but chilling and terrifying in its darkened pitch.

It had been some time since the graverobber had been so mortally afraid.

Scarcely had such a haunting overture of malevolence, saturated with the insanity of a deranged mind been emitted. The man stepped out of the shadows, and instantly Touzokuo wished he hadn't. The trench coat and mask ensemble gave away his identity as a Repo man. Ghostly violets bravely bored into brilliant pools of bloody terror.

His instrument of destruction was not a scalpel, but a freshly sharpened knife. He stepped even closer…his boots made no sound on the pavement.

With a flash, he was upon his victim, sitting on his chest, his knife at his neck. Touzokuo reacted instantly. He embedded his foot in the Repo man's back and toppled him off in a somersault.

The graverobber leapt to his feet and ran back the way he came, towards Ryou's house. The assassin had anticipated the struggle, and ran after him.

Catching up quickly, he grappled the thief into a headlock and wrestled him to the ground. Touzokuo reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his syringe, thrusting it into the side of Bakura's partially exposed neck. Bakura inhaled sharply, but did not waver in his grip.

Feeling his hands slide up to his head, meaning to snap his neck, Touzokuo gripped his arms and held fast. Rearing up his head, he did a backwards head butt and chomped down on the offending arm.

Feeling his nose crunch from the impact, the Repo man snarled in frustration and slackened his arms.

Seeing his opportunity, the captive broke through the restraints, and tried again to flee. He was closing in on the gate when Bakura retrieved his knife that he had dropped in the initial struggle. Just as Touzokuo had picked up his feet to jump the fence, Bakura's blade was flung at him, swiftly cutting through the air before embedding itself with a perfect stab to the thief's calf.

His leg went limp, and caught between the metal rungs of the fence, giving a 180 degree twist and crack to his ankle. The thief went down hard, his shoulder connecting with the dirt and shattering upon impact. He let out a strangled howl of anguish.

He shuddered; fearing death would soon claim him. At the moment, his vision met two black boots stepping languidly over the iron fence. He was hauled up by his arms and dragged to the nearest wall of the house. Those evil, murderous eyes seemed to mock him as he felt the cool metal once again connect with the tender skin below his Adam's Apple.

All inclination to resist had vanished as the pupils of the burgundy eyes grew smaller, slanted, the light leaving them, revealing only hollow orbs with the anticipation of the kill consuming them.

The knife was drawn back, prepared to strike. Touzokuo winced and looked away.

The knife was halted on its downward course by the sound of an opening door. Bakura froze, turning his head towards the source of the disturbance. The balcony of the side-tower he now had his soon-to-be victim pinned against, indeed, had opened its doors.

Touzokuo opened his mouth to scream but was met with Bakura's gloved hand. He pushed the thief even further against the wall, and held him still with his body.

The Repo man kept his gaze locked on the balcony, hoping whoever had come to investigate would leave soon…

…Until he was able to fully see the heavenly figure that had emerged.

Ryou peered over the railing of the balcony, quite certain that he had heard someone scream only moments ago when he was changing back into his t-shirt. He saw only the tiny light provided by the street lamps.

Staring up at the boy, Bakura no longer wanted to kidnap the teenage boy, if that indeed was him, and he no longer felt driven to kill the graverobber either. So beautiful was the child, Bakura felt moisture slip from his eyes.

Ryou left the balcony, and shut the glass door behind him.

Bakura paused several minutes before jerking his head back to Touzokuo, "Listen exactly to what I say, and I won't kill you," he whispered. His voice was powerful, but held an undertone of a sharp soprano.

Slowly, the knife was removed from his neck, but the grip on his body did not let up. Touzokuo's heart skipped, thinking he really might live after all.

"Tell me, corpse leech, who that boy is. What is his name?" The thief's eyes suddenly clouded with concern, and turned towards Ryou's balcony.

Bakura withdrew his knife once more, "TELL ME," the tip made a small nick near his collar bone. He removed the offending hand from his captive's mouth, "Are you so eager to see your own esophagus? I promise I will not be gentile with your death if you choose to ignore me."

"R-Ryou," Touzokuo cursed his cowardice.

Bakura took a moment to revel in how perfectly suited that name was for the pale teen. "I see…" he took one last look towards the balcony. "Now…get out of here."

Touzokuo's eyes slid away from Bakura's, "But you-he's only-"

"Don't forget, you scum, that I can just as easily get rid of you." Touzokuo fell silent.

The assassin chuckled, and gave him a sharp shove towards the ground, "We'll meet again. Oh, and not a word of this is to be mentioned. If you do, you will not escape me, is that clear?"

Touzokuo made no reply, but stared dumbly at the man he had thought for sure was going to kill him. Finally coming to his senses, he picked himself up and limped away from the brick wall of the tower. 'I'm sorry, Ryou…'

-Orichalchos District, 1:00 am-

It wasn't often Touzokuo returned to his apartment before 3 o'clock am on a weekday. The hours between midnight and five were considered primetime for all manner of seedy and unlawful extracurricular activities. He usually collected his peddling product earlier than most (many consider this to be risky, but Touzokuo had never before been caught) and ended earlier. Since he was already out of Zydrate and beaten within an inch of his life, he thought it only appropriate he should end early.

He stopped in front of his apartment complex. The name of the building was no longer discernable; every other letter of the remaining words had been worn or scratched away.

Men and women were scattered around the premises. Some sat in the middle of the sidewalk with their knees to their chest, gently rocking back and forth, bloodshot eyes tearing, small snuffling whimpers brushing past their lips. Some danced drunkenly in the street, pressing against one another with little discretion. Others simply littered the street and alley, passed out or merely sleeping.

It wasn't misery, joy, pleasure of pain to see them. It was a morbid painting of reality. There was hardly any need for analyzing; this was a generally accepted display of humanity.

Guarding his crumpled shoulder with his hand, he tenderly pushed his way through the throng of people conglomerated in the hallway.

Room 123 was partially ajar. He leaned against with his good shoulder and slipped inside, closing it behind him with his stricken leg.

The room was poorly furnished and painfully small. The only furniture was a crooked table with three mismatched chairs, and a faded couch. Two futons were pushed against opposite walls of the room with worn blankets tossed across them. A tiny kitchen behind a divide, and a bathroom around the corner were the only other rooms.

Two women occupied the apartment besides the thief, both of whom were now staring at him curiously.

A long, dark haired young woman with pretty olive skin was curled up on the couch. "Touzokuo!" she said confidently, "Izayak?"

"Ilhimdoulilah," he mumbled, slumping against the doorframe.

The other woman was a bit older, with a perfect athletic build. Her brunette hair was short and spiked. She poked her pixie-like face out from around the kitchen divide, "Don't encourage her, make her speak English," her voice was quiet, but held inner strength. Her accent was only slight, and repressed.

"Right, sorry."

She smiled wearily. Leaning over the sink she cupped a handful of water and delicately washed a lingering bad taste out of her mouth. "Scoot off the couch, Bastet. Touzo is hurt."

The younger woman slid over on the cushions with youthful grace, "Touzokuo…falls?" she asked, gesturing to the shoulder that he cradled.

He nodded slowly, "Yes, I fell. How do you feel?" He sat down beside her and placed a tentative hand on her hipbone. He didn't fail to notice her wince.

"I can have some Zydrate now?" she asked politely with a heavy Arabic accent.

His eyes saddened and he moved his hand away, "I'm sorry miw-sher, there isn't any left today. Tomorrow night, ok?"

Bastet nodded, and lay down on the opposite side of the couch with her knees tucked in tight.

The brunette woman sighed exasperatedly, "Bast, I told you-"

"Leave her alone, Nailah. She's fine." Touzokuo moved off the couch and sat on his futon in the corner. Carefully, he shed his cloak and t-shirt. Nailah gasped softly when she saw the ivory bone poking through the skin of his shoulder.

"Oh Ra, Touzo-"

"I know, I should've gone to see Marik. I'm just so tired…and he's already done one favor for me today, well yesterday technically."

Nailah felt the foul taste return to her mouth, and promptly returned to the sink. Once the taste was cleansed, she swiped a roll of gauze from the counter and handed it to Touzokuo.

Tenderly, he set his shoulder, wrapping it tight with the gauze. Slipping out of his jeans and boots, he mimicked the treatment on his knife wound. Nailah watched all this is silence.

"You didn't fall." She stated this with decisiveness. He snorted and shook his head. "Will…they be back?" She asked with a tremor of fear.

"No." The finality of his answer set her slightly at ease. Touzokuo never embellished the truth.

"Are you meeting another client?" he asked.

"That all depends. How much did you make?"

"Not much…30."

"That's all?!" the woman instantly regretted her word choice, "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just…been a long day."

The grave robber's face softened, and he rolled unto his back. "Yea…you and me both."

Nailah slipped on a pair of black pumps, pulled her hair back and walked towards the door. "I'll be back in an hour. Get some sleep."

He nodded, already dozing off. His pale grey hair cushioned part of his head, while strands of it arranged around his caramel face. His solid muscled chest rose and fell gently with each breath. The last sound he heard was the door close.

His last conscious thought was of a lily white face with soft, twinkling doe eyes.

A/N: I actually didn't intend for this chapter to be this long. I was going to end it with Bakura and Touzo's pact, but I thought you all would appreciate a little back story for Touzo.

For those of you wondering, "Who the heck are Bastet and Nailah? Are they important? Why do they live with Touzo? What's wrong with Bastet? What sort of 'client' is Nailah seeing?"

Bastet and Nailah are ORIGINAL characters of mine created for the sole purpose of developing Touzokuo's character. They aren't really that important in regards to the story proper, but I thought I would include them anyway, at least for this chapter. If anyone is really that curious about who they are, and would like to see more of them, let me know! I might add them in again later if there's interest.

Translations:

Izayak- How are you?

Ilhimdoulilah- Fine/alright

(This is Egyptian-Arabic, the most commonly spoken language in modern day Egypt)