Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or any character depicted in this fic.

Jabberwocky

"He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought - -

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought"

"Jabberwocky" - Lewis Carrol

The fire flickered gently, tongues of flame bathing his feet in a familiar, comforting heat. His yami came forward, closer to the blaze, to him, and he did not move away. Without looking at him, the spirit spoke.

"Usi. In our ancient tongue this was the word for smoke. It never fitted anybody better than it did him."

Bakura frowned. "Was he one of your men?"

He was answered by a snort. "Oh no. He was never one of mine. I'd known him too long for that."

"So . . . you knew him as you were growing up?"

A grimace followed, quickly banished. "Kul Elna was my village. Before the Pharoah's men destroyed it." He held up a hand to stall Bakura's questions. The boy closed his mouth hurriedly. "Usi was a wanderer, a gypsy you could say. He came to our village many times before the massacre. I knew him, for the short periods he stayed."

Silence. "And?" Bakura prompted.

The reddish glow on the spirit's skin made him seem almost transluscent and Bakura experienced a moment of intense internal struggle equating him to the rough, wild, reckless bandit he had seen. The spirit was so much colder, contained, calculating. Having his soul trapped in a Millenium item for so many ages was the cause, no doubt, one that had sapped his joy in everything that people set value on, the ability to feel, to take pleasure in little wonders, to be alive . . .

Turning to face him, the spirit broke his train of thought. "The man I once knew was ageless. He looked much the same in that memory as when I first saw him. He disappeared the night before the Pharoah's men came. It made me wonder . . . long after when I thought about it. There was no real connection I could make." The sharp features contorted in a shadow of long forgotten hate. "He returned, many years later. He had sought me out, purposefully. Said his skills in sabotage and stealth would benefit me greatly."

"And you didn't kill him on sight?" Bakura cocked an eyebrow sceptically.

The spirit rolled his eyes. "No, fool, how else would I exploit his talents while getting the answers I wanted?"

The boy stared back. A corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily. Apparantly oblivious, his yami continued. "He had a knack for escaping tight corners. A way of coming back all the time."

Bakura was tempted to point out some glaring similarities, but was saved the trouble by the thief's own words as he glanced at him with a cunning smile. "Yes, I learnt a lot from him, boy. More than you know. More than he himself knew."

"So it's him," said Bakura softly, "You think he's returned, somehow."

The spirit whirled around, a snarl evident. "I know that he's returned, you fool! You're not the only one whose been having dreams! He's back, and he's going to use you!"

Bakura started, eyes widening. "Wha . . . what . . . why?"

"Because you're the weak link. Without you I cannot manifest in the physical world. We are light and darkness. He knows he cannot defeat me, he's tried before, but I was always a step ahead. This time, my soul is complete only while you are alive. You must be wary host, but you must learn to trust me. When he strikes, I must face him. And you have to be willing to let me do that."

Shaking his head as if to clear it of confusion, the boy stared back, misgiving clear in his eyes. "You've used me one time too many," he whispered.

"And this time, I do it for your sake! For both of our survival! You don't know who we're dealing with!"

"You do nothing for anyone's sake but your own." He took a step back, placing more distance between them. "You warn me of this danger, but you give me no proof."

And the tide turned, the spirit's anger lifting him right off the ground and pinning him to the wall upside-down. "You dare question me . . ." The voice was one of pure venom, the eyes narrowed to cobra slits, rage delineated on every taught muscle in the wiry body. Struggling wildly, Bakura felt a sudden surge of emotion along the mind link, one that startled him so much that he froze. For a moment, the faintest fraction of a second, he could have sworn that the spirit was . . . afraid. A howl of fury escaped the thief as he detected Bakura's unprotected thought. Shouting in terror the boy felt himself wrenched from the wall, crashing to the floor, wincing as a foot came down on his cheek, holding his head painfully in place.

"I . . . I'm sorry!" He raised his hands, trying to pry the relentless spirit off but his arms were caught by the invisible bands of force once again and thrust downwards. Eyes watering in pain, he made out the blurry outline of his yami dropping into a crouch beside him.

"Do you know that he betrayed me to the Pharoah? That those skills he so freely offered nearly killed me? He knew me as a boy, he knew what happened to my village. He had hated me as a child for a single deed I performed in innocence, he hated me as an adult. Nothing had changed, no matter how respectful and obseqious he appeared. He enjoyed manipulation, suffering, to see his opponent crushed so low that he would never rise again. I hunted him, I cornered him and he escaped! I was the King of all Thieves, nobody dared defy me unless they wished a slow . . . painful . . . death . . ." each of the words being punctuated by a vicious twist of Bakura's hair. Clenching his teeth tightly, the boy resisted the urge to scream in agony. He knew that a display of weakness would not benefit him now. The spirit released him abruptly and he let out an involuntary gasp of relief. "What would you know, boy? You've led a sheltered life, a pampered, spoilt little puppy, much like the royal brats at the palace. You've never had to kill for a scrap of bread, steal to sustain your very soul, never had to watch your life, your home, your people burn for another's greed. You dream don't you? I know you do. I watch your pathetic hopes for a better life, for friends, for acceptance." A cruel laugh lashed at Bakura's ears, barbed wire scoring bare flesh. "Did you ever wonder what it would have been like if you'd never had a choice? If all you had to live by were your own wits, your cunning, your quickness with a blade? In my world there was never a chance for acceptance. I was a demon, marked by my own hair. Even the gods would shun my pleas. That was what the priests told me the first time I tried to offer prayers. I was five years old. I had just escaped the desert, just watched my family torn to pieces, survived for weeks by eating locusts and sucking the fat from lizards. I was bloody, delirious, almost beyond saving. The temple was cool and dark. I had heard of the Gods. I hoped that they would help me. Instead I received a kick to the head and a curse. That was when I stopped hoping, boy. That was when I learned that people are cruel, sick and twisted creatures. You cannot trust them, they do not trust you. Remember that, at least, if not a fraction of what I have taught you, and you might survive what this man will bring to us."

As suddenly as he had attacked, the spirit backed away. Bakura sat up slowly, a burning, prickling sensation behind his eyes, one he recognised too well. Refusing to meet his yami's invasive stare, he began to rise, only to find a pale, sinewy hand thrust before his face. He took it, allowing himself to be pulled firmly to his feet. The burning sensation grew and he looked away. The spirit said nothing, but Bakura could feel his gaze.

"H . . . How did he come back?" His voice was hoarse, but controlled.

"I do not know. The Millenium Items were not the only magical resources at that time. There were many instruments of power, though none as great, which might have been capable of housing a spirit, or more. And I'm willing to stake my soul on the fact that he knew of these and possessed at least one."

"And you . . . you've been having dreams too?"

"Yes, boy, the same as those you yourself have, night after night."

Bakura looked up in surprise, his misery temporarily forgotten. "The same?"

"Not entirely." If he wasn't mistaken, the spirit seemed almost pleased at his emotional control. "In my dreams, I am myself and Usi is beside me. In your dream, you were Usi. Don't look so surprised, fool. You need much better control of the mind link. Your positions were interchanged. It is a clear warning that he will involve you as deeply as he can. I remember well the feeling I got when he was close or approaching. It was the same, a message from him. He will not let me go, even now. It is unmistakeable."

"And what is this feeling?" asked the boy, tentatively.

The spirit watched him blankly. "It is unmistakeable," he repeated.

"He's different."

"No, he isn't! He looks the same to me . . . "

"Looks can be deceiving, we know that, Yugi."

"I know, Yami, but I don't sense anything different about him either. He just looks tired. And he did say he was feeling a bit peaky."

"Whatever it is, I don't like it. And somehow, I think I know . . . "

"No," returned the spiky-haired boy firmly, "We can't assume that. The spirit of the ring hasn't made an appearance for some time now."

"That's not to say he won't. He's been biding his time for three thousand years, a few months . . . really now."

Despite himself, Yugi smiled. "I don't think so. But that's not to say we shouldn't make sure . . ."

The Pharoah chuckled. "Very well. Invite him to the game shop after your lessons."

"Please Bakura? We'll order take-out, my grandpa's got this great new RPG . . ."

The taller boy reached up and ruffled his hair awkwardly. "Um . . . I'd love to, Yugi, but . . ."

"Please? You've been looking really down recently . . . I know, I know, you've got a chill, but hanging around in that apartment all by yourself won't help either."

Bakura sighed. "All right, I suppose there's no harm." He gave a defeated smile in response to Yugi's beaming one. "See you after school."

How wrong he had been. No harm indeed. And so it came to this . . . an entirely unwanted confrontation between two angry spirits and two teenage boys to intervene. Well, not completely.

"Bakura, listen to me," the ancient Pharoah folded his arms, imposing and authoritative as ever. "If the spirit is back, and I know he is, I can sense his darkness, you need to be open with me. I cannot help you if you hide and keep things from your friends. We both know where it landed you the last time . . . "

"Yami, don't be so harsh!" came Yugi's reprimand across the mind link.

The Pharoah sighed in slight assent, gazing at the stubborn figure seated across from him. "Bakura, please . . ."

The white-haired boy frowned down at the table-top. "Yami Yugi, I'm going to call you that because . . . well . . . I'm not supposed to say Pharoah . . ."

An imperious snort. "Do not let that insolent thief dictate terms to you."

Bakura winced as an internal barrage of indignance beat at his mind. "Yes, about that . . . he's back."

It was Yugi's turn to send a shamefaced chuckle down the mind link. The Pharoah shook his head. "It doesn't matter what he's done in the past, Bakura. It's your life and you make the choices. He is a Yami, your relationship should be a mutually beneficial one, a peaceful co-existence . . ."

Another comment reached Bakura from the thief, this one concerning where "that pompous ass" could shove his "condescending, sentimental advice".

Clearing his throat, the boy looked up at the Pharoah, holding his gaze. "Yami Yugi, the spirit of the ring has returned to help me."

A silence greeted this statement. Bakura could almost smell the Pharoah's disbelief radiating from him in powerful waves. The spirit quieted down within him, which he was thankful for.

"Help . . . you? Why?"

"I am in danger. He warned me and I have reason to believe that he will protect me to the best of his abilities."

"Really?" Anger was growing behind the dark violet eyes and Bakura shivered. "Why don't you tell him to come out and elaborate on this . . . danger."

Fingers digging into the bottom of the tables surface so that the Pharoah would not notice, Bakura tried his utmost to quell the rising, choking control of the spirit within him. He knew he would not last long unless he stopped this immediately.

He shook his head furiously. "No, Yami Yugi, he won't tell you anything. But he's telling the truth, I know it."

"How can you defend him?" asked the Pharoah in disbelief, "He's a common thief, a murderer, the worst outlaw of our time . . ."

And before he was even conscious of what he was doing, Bakura was on his feet, the chair pushed over, clattering to the ground. "He's not lying! Are you always this quick to judge? He's nothing like you, I know. He'll never be gentle or kind or helpful, but he's my yami! My darkness! It's my soul he shares, not yours. I'm not a child, neither am I helpless and I can fight my own battles. Let me deal with this . . . let him help me the way you help Yugi." He stopped, breathing hard, his pale face flushed, the placid brown eyes flashing with undisguised defiance. The Pharoah stared at the boy across him as if seeing him for the first time.

And strange, creeping, involuntary, came the connection between the shy, charming, peace-loving British boy and a bandit who had once been the terror of all Egypt . . .

"My Pharoah, the prisoner you requested brought before you."

"Bring him in."

Atem sat in the place of honour at his father's right, watching with interest as the man was escorted in, his progress through the audience chambers somewhat impeded by the number of lowered spears surrounding him. Atem's eyes widened as he took in the infamous thief. He had heard of his legendary appearance, but nothing quite prepared one for the sheer, overwhelming nature of the man's dominance. He saw now how it was possible for one man to gather under him the worst and most skilled of Egypt's bandits in a single, devastating onslought against the monarchy. Yet, there were flaws in the best-laid plans as was evident here. Here he was, the King of Thieves, under their power, betrayed by one of his own. The white hair gleamed like a beacon in the light cast by the torches, the powerful torso, bare and scored deeply with barbed whips, the eyes gleaming like a wild cat's, unearthly power, deathly amusement, a madman's hunger blazing from their veiled depths as he surveyed the Pharoah, sparing not a glance for the boy at his side. Khemnebi, the black panther, as he was known to his men. A shimmering collar of swirling energy surrounded his throat, a collective enchantment effected by the high priests of the Royal Temple, preventing the summoning of the terrible Ka beast that had been commonly named as the scourge of Upper Egypt. The restraints had done nothing to dampen his spirit, however, evident from his arrogant posture and the cocky smirk.

"Thief," boomed the Pharoah, "You have been summoned before this council to answer for your crimes against the people of our land, Egypt. Read the charges."

One of the High Priests in attendance, Gahiji, raised a scroll of papyrus that was almost amusing in its hefty length if it weren't for the gravity of the charges inscribed thereon. "Unlawful life-taking of citizens of Egypt, of members of the royal guard, of the city guard, of guardians of the royal tombs, plundering of aforementioned tombs, unlawful acquisition of wealth belonging to the Royal Treasury . . ."

The longer and more convoluted the charges leveled against him, the broader became the careless smile. When Gahiji was complete, a deathly silence reigned in the audience hall. The Pharoah's booming voice broke the spell the reading of the Thief's crimes had brought.

"How do you answer to these charges, thief?"

The one called Khemnebi laughed, a deep, raspy chuckle that made the young prince actually wish that he were elsewhere. "How do I answer? How about yourself, your Majesty . . . how do you answer for crimes committed against the people of Egypt?"

Atem glanced up at his father in bewilderment. The Pharoah's face was cast in stone. "How do you answer to the charges, Thief? Repent before your soul is judged and consumed . . . "

Another laugh, derisive, demented. "Everything I have done, all atrocities I commit are in your name, Pharoah. I am a product of your own darkness . . . or do the crimes of a king bear no weight on the scales of justice? Is this your definition of a fair trial? When the judge's heart is as black as the man he condemns?"

"This man speaks treason!" cried Gahiji, "Seize him!"

The royal guard closed ranks again, the harsh prod of a spear to the base of the prisoner's neck forcing him to move towards the chamber doors. "Your flimsy palace walls will not hold me! You have but to wait for my vengeance to fall upon you, greater than ever before . . . "

With this dire warning ringing in their ears, the High Priests and the Pharoah were left in a strange emptiness, one that succeeds a presence of great power, of great destruction.

Khemnebi had escaped that very night, assisted by the best of his bandits. A more daring attempt had never been documented in the history of their dynasty, but Atem did not dwell on the details. It was said that the thief had not wasted another moment after being free of the palace walls; he had begun the search for the informer in his ranks immediately, a man called Usi. Some said he had found and killed the man within two days, some sources said otherwise. Most where in favour of the former theory.

Whatever the outcome of Khemnebi's brief imprisonment, there was no mistaking the mark he had left on Atem's reign and that of his father, a catalyst for the upheaval and strife that followed. The former Pharoah had never thought to see a reflection of that same spirit, that anger within any other man, and yet here stood this boy, this young, impressionable, timid vessel of an age old fury. Here he stood with a rebellion burning within him, one that flared from his own spirit, not that housed in the Millenium Ring. For a moment, Atem had seen how they were connected, the desire for freedom that spurred them both; the King of all Thieves and Ryou Bakura.

A/N: A lot of conversation in this chapter, but interaction was very necessary. Remember to leave a review!