Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! and/or Vampire Hunter D.

Alternatively titled, "Everyone really needs a break".

Enjoy :D

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Interlude

The sounds of the quiet world were further hushed by the pitter patter of rain as it hit abandoned vehicles and empty sidewalks alike. It seemed as if the two wandering children had entered a realm where no one else existed. Colors washed themselves from their vision, for day was nearly fading into night and the faint smell of dirt wafted by the two on the breeze that carelessly blew past them. Only the persistent chatter of one reminded the other that there was such a thing as speech.

"It's cold."

"I'm aware."

"It's wet."

"Well, it is raining."

"You look sick."

D stopped, turning to his rather perturbed companion. She stared at him with a look that seemed to mimic "the darkness" in his "not-dream". As if she knew something he did not. Yet, how would she know anything that he did not know about his body? He would know if anything was wrong first. He was his father's success, of course.

"I do not get sick," he replied, his tone flat.

"Well, you look sick," came the heated, and concerned, response.

Shifting the bag he carried to his other shoulder, D turned away, unnerved. Claire had met him in broad daylight, so she was fully aware of how naturally pale he was. If she was seeing something off about him, it was less likely a trick of the eye. Also, he would have been a fool if he did not accept that he did feel "off". He was still oddly tired. Maybe that was what she was seeing, or sensing. He glanced down at his left hand, still tied with the bindings he had placed there before. A nagging sensation came up from his consciousness, but was interrupted by Claire.

"You aren't allergic to bees, right?" She asked, looking at the hand he had just glanced at. "Or maybe it was a spider! It was night, you might not have really seen what it was!"

"Maybe," D replied. "I'm fine, though."

"You've had it on for a long time, are you sure you are okay?"

"Yes," he said, exasperation and a hint of appreciation in his voice. "I'm fine, really." Now, to focus on that nagging feeling…

'No, you're not.'

D jolted and spun on his heal to see a rather confused, and rather soaked Claire staring at him. Her eyes told him everything. She had not been the one to speak.

"What's wrong?" She asked, on guard. She squinted as she looked in front of them, and as she turned to look behind them. Her eyes were not accustomed to the deepening night, nor had any lights been turned on to aid them.

"You didn't hear that?" He asked, wondering if they had been found.

"No," came the reply from Claire, and the voice.

D tried not to let his face show his distress, as he tried to piece together where that other voice was coming from. It had sounded as if it had come from all around him. Had the being from his "not-dream" taken some sort of form in reality? What other reason could there be? Only when his left hand jerked of its own accord did he even think of the other possibility. He had only attempted such a thing once before, after all. It was not like they were friends.

'Finally!' The being in his left hand exclaimed within his mind. 'What is the point of telepathy if you don't use it, kid?'

The boy was dumbfounded. 'I forgot,' he thought.

'I forgot,' the hand mimicked. D frowned.

'You are as bad as Claire.'

'Only with more info on you,' Left Hand conceded, 'I would argue I talk a little less when given the opportunity. But that's not what is important right now. You, jerk, are experiencing something. And…I don't know what it is.'

'What!' As D's expression changed, Claire began to eye him curiously. Her previous concern was no doubt deeper than before, however, D did not have time to respond, as Left Hand continued—

'I know, isn't that just fascinating. All I know is it is not normal, and whatever it is, is trying real hard to drag your body down. Either way, since we sort of, y'know, depend on each other, be a little more careful with yourself right now.'

'Duly noted.'

'…Hey, have you eaten lately?'

'What does that matter right now?' D furrowed his brow, only furthering the unrest on Claire's face.

'Just a nagging suspicion, but it wouldn't make sense. Maybe your hormones are doing weird things, who knows. Be careful.'

'I will, we just have to find Bakura-sama.'

'Yeah, good luck with that.'

D clenched his fist, feeling the bindings tighten and strain against his skin. Here the boy had been, almost appreciative for his companion, only to be let down again. Would they ever get along? 'Who cares,' he thought to himself angrily. He would find Bakura, and they would all get out of there in one piece; he would accept no other outcome.

"D…" Claire said, breaking him out of his thoughts. She had a hand ready to swing her rifle into position; it was covered to protect it against the rain. "Do you hear Outies?"

The boy looked down, shaking his head. "Sorry, I thought I heard something. I was imagining things, I think."

The girl sighed with blatant irritation, but it was clear relief that crossed her face. "Don't scare me like that! Jerk."

"Yeah," D replied, his voice quiet. "I'm a jerk."

Claire glared at him in silence, unsure if he was contrite or joking, and then rolled her eyes. "Come on," she snapped, "I want out of the rain and you're dragging me around outside, at night. If we are going to find Bakura we can't waste time." She unceremoniously snatched his arm in hers, and smiled at him. He knew she was struggling to see his face now, but he could see hers. It was comforting, her strange confidence. "We will find him."

He nodded at her with the same assurance. "Yes, we will."

They took to assessing the city in a spiral. They knew that someone was being held captive, and both were positive that someone was Bakura. However, they did not know where. D assumed it would be in a place out of the way, to better hide any of the unpleasantries of keeping someone against their will. Claire thought it was somewhere deep in the heart of the city, where most of the people were surely keeping guard. They had debated for a good thirty minutes, the debate heated on Claire's side, before agreeing on the method. It was decided that it was a win-win situation: If Bakura was on the outside, they could get him out quicker, while if he was somewhere deep in the city, they would understand the land they would have to traverse. They agreed that continuing to roam at night would also allow them to sneak around, although Claire grumbled that it was getting cold, and they did not have any extra change of clothes. D had shrugged and said they would worry about it later. Claire was decidedly displeased with the idea, but agreed because it allowed for immediate action.

The first night, they found nothing. The remnants of the city seemed awake however, and the center of town was alight. This helped Claire see that night, but not well. She stumbled over shadowed potholes, and slipped in grimy puddles. D did what he could to help her, but she was stubborn, if not a little proud. Part of her little accidents came from her overconfidence. Thankfully, neither were injured, and as dawn creeped over the buildings, and the sun peeked through the clouds, the two were able to rest in peace in an abandoned building. Claire huddled in a corner that allowed the sun to shine upon her, aiding in the drying of her clothes. D sat in the shadowed corner, keeping a close eye on what he was beginning to tentatively think of as a friend. He pulled out his journal, the edges damp, but not ruined from their night's travel. Hugging it close to him, he wondered what his life would have been like, without the intervention of Bakura. The ideas that ran through his mind saddened him, so he thought of what would happen when they found Bakura again. D pulled the journal from him, grabbed a pen, and began writing a short entry.

November 17, 2003 (I am going to stop writing I think; does it even matter?)

We are still looking for Bakura-sama. Claire is sleeping, but I can't just yet. I want to be certain no one is following us. I just needed to write something, to let my worries out a little.

The weather seems to be getting better, but as our visibility improves, so does our adversary's. For that is what I have come to believe that Jessica is. Why else would she lie to us? Isn't omission of the truth a lie of some sort? Why did she waste her time taking us into town as she did? We were never there long, and…

It sickens me to think that Bakura could have been in that very building, in need of our help, and there we were, just sitting in our enemy's home as if she were the perfect hostess. I feel like an idiot. Furthermore, I feel like there is something I am forgetting, but I just can't place it. Perhaps it is due to stress. It doesn't help that my companion (the one attached to me) is so cruel sometimes. Even if he has a point. I know that I am just a child, stronger than most, yes, but there are many things I do not know or understand yet. It is through these little failures of mine that even I am wondering how I am going to find Bakura-sama. Yet, I must have faith, for thinking about this over and over again is just going to stress me out further, which is the last thing we need. Claire does not know of my…condition? My biological existence? Nor do I think she would stay if she knew. Staying with us might be the safest thing for her, even if she annoys me sometimes. Often. Very often. So, I must remain ready for anything.

Will keep you posted on what happens next.

Putting the journal away, D closed his eyes. In an instant, he fell into a slumber so deep, a normal person would have had difficulty waking up if something crashed beside them. Yet he was attuned to every strange noise, and was only allowed the peace of uninterrupted rest as no one bothered that part of the city that day. He did not dream that day, even though he had been prepared for it.

Dark eyes snapped open as they heard a shuffling noise, and D was awake at once. The light that filtered through the window was an orangish haze, shrouding Claire in a soothing, warm, light. She was rubbing at her eyes, and D could tell that what he had heard had been her waking. He straightened himself and allowed himself a brief yawn. She turned to look at the dimming light, and then glanced at him, before stretching.

"We slept too long," her tired proclamation cut through the silence of the empty building.

"All the better," D said, standing up and offering his hand to her. "When they're tired, we will be alert."

"Guess that's okay, then. Outies are really messed up, y'know?" She took his hand and hefted herself up. She held it a little longer than necessary before letting go, and adding, "Get that gloomy look off of your face. We will find him. I bet you we will find him today!"

"I can only hope," came his soft reply.

Yet, they did not find him that day. They only found a neighborhood that seemed relatively empty, for they were continuing their quiet and careful spiral, and a house that could shelter them from any possible attack. D refrained from saying anything, afraid that all he would be able to offer to a conversation would have been worrying assumptions. Claire was also quiet for once, perhaps attuned to the change in D's demeanor.

That morning, as Claire bunkered down, D took a step outside into the fenced off backyard. What was left of dead clumps of grass lay amongst their rooted mounds, the dirt having shifted around them. A large tree leaned against the wooden fence it had been accustomed to all its life. Its leaves were the only greenery on the lot. The pinkish beige paint of the house was peeling due to the consistent heat of the recently departed summer air. The lot was surrounded by similar looking homes, with different paint schemes. An all-around unassuming neighborhood. It was perfect for hiding out for the day. D wanted to be proud of their find, but he found nothing solid enough for his spirits to rise.

He was trying to keep his composure, but he could feel tears forming in his eyes. Repeatedly he told himself that he needed to pull it together. He would not be a child for very much longer, and he could not afford to be one at that moment. Both Claire and Bakura were depending on him, so he thought. Glancing up at the sky, D wondered if he would ever be able to handle his emotions, or if he would be able to just kill them off entirely, for what did they ever do but make him much too sad, too often?

With that thought, and his eyes trained on the blue of the early morning sky, he gasped as his body suddenly revolted. What had been exhaustion became complete debilitation, and what had once been a regulated body temperature rose far too high, much too quickly. Exacerbated by the lack of blood, the sun that beat down on him at present, the hellscape that had drained him (for that "dream" land was something he did not understand and took a great deal of vitality with it), and for the simple reason he was a child, he fell to his knees. D clutched at his throat and began to gag. Heaving, he gripped at the dirt under his hand in agony, feeling the full force of Sunlight Syndrome.

Claire had just rested her head against a dusty pillow when she remembered that she had to take apart and clean her rifle first. Shaking her head at her stupidity, she slapped her forehead. How could she so easily forget the things that her parents had taught her. Was that not the only thing she had left of them? "Take good care of your weapons," she repeated aloud, as she leapt up. Pulling her hair back into a sensible ponytail (sensible in her mind being off to the side), she began checking her father's rifle for any damage that may have come to it. She was intent on showing D that she was a smart and helpful person, and she knew that he was sad, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Not to mention, she was the only one with a weapon. What was D going to do? Punch people three times bigger than him?

Even though she hardly knew Bakura, she knew he meant a great deal to D. Claire could understand his feelings, as they were close in age, and she could also tell by the short time they had been together, that D was like a son to that strange man. Something about their story did not add up, she did not know enough of their past to know the whole truth of it, but that feeling was true enough. As she intended on being important to both of them, she made it her mission at that point to be as supportive as possible. Humming a tune, Claire cleaned and maintained her weapon of choice.

It was only when she heard a strange, strangled, gagging noise that she stopped.

At first, her mind strayed off, and thought it was just a cat coughing up a hairball. She had seen a few felines in her time, and knew what that worrying noise sounded like. Yet, it persisted far longer, and did not have a wet ending note to it. When she could hear what sounded like a strangled sob, she stood, alarmed. Where was her gentle, if not gloomy, companion? She knew that he had wandered off somewhere in the house. For some reason, he seemed to enjoy dark closets and corners. Her mind raced as it came to the possibility of possible capture. If someone had caught him, was hurting him…

She left her rifle where it lay, as it was not completely reassembled and would have been useless to her, and creeped to where she thought the sound was coming from. Her eyes searched for a possible weapon, but the only thing available was a detachable bar from a towel rack. She took it as it was her only option. As Claire reached the open door, she held her breath, listening for any adult who may have been gloating at their find. She only hoped that whatever damage D was suffering was not irreversible. No other noise but that awful wheezing sound came to her ears.

Gathering her courage, Claire took a step outside, and was greeted with a terrible sight. D was laying in the dirt, his breathing erratic. She could see the scuff marks in the earth where he had stumbled to the shadiest area, the shadow of the tree. His dark eyes seemed distant, heavy lidded, and when she ran up to him it was like they did not see her. His long black hair was pasted to his pale forehead, as if it were sweltering outside. Yet, when her hand touched the exposed skin, he was as cold and clammy as her mother had been in her last moments. She would not have said it aloud, but she believed he was getting colder by the minute. A large hole was beside him, and his left arm rested on the edge of it, moving slowly, as if it was trying to dig at the side of the opening.

Claire had glanced at the backyard when they had arrived, and did not recall a hole. Yet, here one was, and with her newfound friend having some sort of reaction right beside it. She was afraid that there was another bee around, but she also worried that whatever had stung his hand had made him ill. Strange things happened in the world she was brought into. Noting that the bandage he covered his hand with had fallen off, she considered checking the hand to see if it was swollen. To see if her fears were true.

There was not enough time to consider. He was either dying or on the brink of it, so even as the hand seemed to move (slower still) as if it was not functioning with the full strength of his arm, and his eyes had closed, she had to check it. With a delicate grasp of the shirt's fabric between her index finger and thumb, she dragged the arm out. What alarmed her was not the weak groan that passed through D's lips, but the face that was on the palm of his hand. Claire would have shrieked if she had not been so concerned for D's welfare, and the fact that there could be Outies anywhere at this point.

"A…demon?" she allowed herself to whisper. Her mind was only able to travel to the fables and myths her parents had taught her, but she tried her best to reason as to what the strange appendage was. The hand seemed to note she was still ahold of her senses, and seemed relieved. Not many would have taken the surprise so well.

"No, but no time for introductions," it replied, "Shove this kid in the hole for me, and cover him up to his neck in dirt. Also, keep him in some shade!"

"What?"

"Listen, I know this looks crazy, but if you want this guy to live, you better shove him in the damn hole and cover him up like I said!"

Claire's eyes lit up in anger, even as they shone with the tears of possibly being left alone again. "Why should I trust a demon?! When did you get in his hand?!"

"Kid, my life and his are a little on the line now, and if you ever want to chat his ear off again, just do it."

Afraid that it was a lie, but more afraid for if it was not, Claire did as she was told. Hefting the boy up by his armpits, she dragged him over and adjusted him as the best she could to fit into the hole. It was imperfect, but it would do the job. She used her feet to kick down the dirt that was beside them, and just as it covered his body, it covered her shoes, her socks, her hands, her face. She realized she could not hear his breathing. Tears began streaming, leaving clear tracks along her dirt covered cheeks. Her arms and legs ached, but she was certain to make sure that the dirt was evenly spread around his neck. She did not know how stringent the expectations were, and thus made sure he was as covered as possible.

Wiping her eyes, she observed her handiwork. He lay as still and silent as death, as if she had failed to appropriately bury a body. However, she could tell the expression on his face was one of unconsciousness, not the one she had seen shroud the faces of the dead. The girl had so many questions, but knew her mission was not yet over. It had rained the day before, and the strange thing on the boy's hand had told her to ensure that D was in shaded area. She had to cover him somehow.

Before leaving, Claire checked on the status of her friend. There was the faintest of heartbeats where she pressed her finger on what was exposed of his neck, and she could have sworn she saw him breathe. An uprooted strand of grass wriggled in front of his nose, confirming her assumption, and she sighed in relief. She now got to work.

In the garage, she found a tarp. Running back to the backyard, she unceremoniously threw the tarp over him before running back to search for anything that could hold it up. There were plenty of racks of varying sizes, but most looked too heavy for her to move. Some were even bolted to the wall. She managed to find twine on one of the racks and nodded to herself. This would have to do for now. As D had somehow dug a hole (another question she had) near the tree, she was able to tie the tarp so that it covered him as some sort of leaning structure. She hopped over the fence and made her way around the house and surrounding houses, to check if it was odd or noticeable. Figuring that unless someone payed close attention to any changes in an empty neighborhood they should be fine, she nodded to herself again. Then it was back to her comatose friend.

He was still lying in the same position she had left him when she returned. Figuring there was little point in sleeping inside and worrying for his safety, she dragged their stuff and two pillows she found outside and under the tarp. She even dragged over a blanket and covered them both with it. Claire thought it was a little strange, that she would share her blanket in such a way, but figured it was because she felt bad. She spent a little time resuming the task of putting her weapon back together before attempting to sleep as she had intended. It took some time, even for as exhausted as she felt, to finally fall into a fitful rest. That day, and part of the night, she tossed and turned. Part of her restlessness was due to the ground beneath her, but it was mostly worry that kept her from sleeping well. Any strange noise set her off, and she would sit frozen, hidden by the tarp and covered by the blanket. D did not move or shift, which worried her further. He would need to eat something soon…

And so, they remained there as day turned to night, then day again. A friend cautiously defending another, as they dealt with a strange and unnatural ailment.

Bakura's pace quickened as every night passed by. The first day, he had searched with the others carefully, noting that for children, they left few tracks to track. He assumed it was due to D being light of foot, and Claire's natural caution from being raised in a dangerous world. For once it was more a hindrance than a boon. The next day, he had hurried around the general vicinity of where he would have assumed they would hide, as the others he implored to help him kept a check on the inner part of the city. The woman named Jessica seemed almost as frantic as he in her search, and even a bit apologetic. They had been able to speak briefly before beginning the search, and apparently, she had assumed that he had been a bad parent. At present he was inclined to agree, but Aaron of all people had told her to let it be, and that he had been the cause of Bakura's absence. He nearly missed her request for forgiveness in his astonishment. This was certainly not the same man that had given him the scars that were now forming on his face, yet it was. He would need to be cautious, a man like that did not change his stripes so soon unless it came with a cost, even if that man had seen something unnatural.

It was also true that whatever awe Bakura had inspired in the man, that it was diminishing as time went on. Oh, he was still impressed, but since the young man had not brandished any powers as of late, it seemed that Aaron was beginning to yet again see him as in the realm of humans. Even still, he had introduced Bakura to the town as someone who would help them, as he had helped Aaron fight off the one who had killed their precious Jerry, and Randall. There seemed to be no love lost amongst the townspeople, begging the question as to why they had been in power in the first place. Or why they still followed Aaron's lead as he managed the activities for the day. Bakura figured he would be able to ask in time, and that opportunity presented itself on the third day of the search.

They were walking along the same road that the trio had been traversing (with Aaron occasionally muttering that he hated the 140, Bakura choosing not to inquire) to see if they were attempting to move across the town for whatever reason. Jessica and the bearded man, who was named Osvaldo, were heading back to the house that D and Claire had played in when Bakura had been captured, to see if they had returned there. Bakura had his hair tied back and had been given new clothing, jeans, a t-shirt, and a long-sleeved shirt at his request. His face no longer itched, but it was still a little raw looking, with the edges of his skin growing into pale scars that he would never be rid of. He touched the injury lightly, aware once again that it was healing faster than it was supposed to. No one had brought it up yet, however, although he did notice that Aaron was giving him a look at present, that made the young man recall the question he had wanted to ask. Anything to take his mind off the horrible possibilities that could have befallen the children.

"How do you guys survive here?" he inquired as his eyes scanned for even the slightest movement on the road. A ground squirrel peaked its head up from its hole in the dirt, and skittered out. Bakura watched as it dashed in a circle, and apparently dissatisfied with its surroundings, ran back to its home.

"How do we survive?" The scrawny man asked, rubbing at his chin.

"I mean, how did this place come to be? How does your government work…those things…"

The initial reply was a laugh, and Bakura tried to think of what was so amusing. Aaron shook his head. "We aren't all that organized you know. That's the problem. Why we are having all the problems that we've been having."

"Well?"

"Well—how do I put it—most of us who are here lived here before everything went to shit. None of us anything special, most of us living with family and stuff. Not me," he held up his hands, "I had a job."

"Doing what?" Bakura asked, raising an eyebrow. "And why does having had a job before this matter so much?"

"Nothing big, just a supervisor for a packing plant," he replied, and then pointed at him, "but that was what mattered. Have you ever experienced a whole town just up and run? Run away without thought for their own family? I mean, not everyone did, but there were plenty. Plenty who couldn't walk, because they were injured or had something going on with them, some who didn't pay attention well. Some people stuck around after they saw that. Thought it wasn't right."

"And…they put those people in charge?"

"Not quite. Took weeks to figure out how many people were here, lots were hiding. Couldn't blame them. Then after that, we were attacked the first time."

Bakura could not help but show the astonishment he felt on his face. "Attacked? By who?"

"There's a few cities around us, well, used to be, and since the bulk of our population ran for the hills, some to those different cities, we were easy targets."

"Sort of like I was," Bakura replied dryly.

"Yeah, pretty much. Sorry 'bout that." Again, Aaron did look sorry, but the young man felt he was apologizing for the wrong reason. "Some died, some of us took prisoners, and some people hid. Those of us who took prisoners found out that because we were what we were, and they thought we were easy picking, this shit would happen until they got all they could from here. Y'know, since their numbers had grown. Well, some of us said fuck that, and we decided we were going to make this town what it once was, only with the rejects. Most of the people here thought it was crazy talk, but what was going to become the Main Street Gang, we thought it was worth a try. First, they left their own to die, and then they wanted to steal what was left?!"

He spit to the side and looked at Bakura, who only nodded for him to continue on. "So, we said we were going to do whatever it took to make the city run again. Anyone who had a job had to take up something like one of the jobs they had had before. That's how I got my job."

"And the other two."

"…yeah and them. But even with all of the planning, all of the discussion, it still was hard to keep up with what the town needed, and our own needs. Didn't help that most of the people that approached us were hostile, either. And knew we were weak. Jerry and Randall were god awful at planning, too. We had to prove that we worked at the places we did, and holy shit they weren't lying, but based on what I watched throughout the years, they either did not adapt well, or they were shit at their jobs."

Bakura cocked his head to the side, "Which one do you believe it was?"

"I saw everything they did, so I'm saying they've always been shit. We got along, don't get me wrong, up until the end, when I got sick of it."

"And you wanted to lead alone?"

"No," Aaron looked at him with an expression Bakura could not read. "No, I wanted help. I'm good at dealing with the hard stuff. Not the gentle stuff."

"What about the others in the town?"

"Some of them would be fine if they could move around more, defend themselves. But this world isn't made for them. Which is why we have to protect them."

"From people…who acted like you did with me."

Aaron sighed, and swung a friendly arm around Bakura's shoulders. The young man shrugged him off, but not rudely. The scrawny man made a motion as if to say, "oh well" and continued. "There were no hard feelings on our side, but you have to realize, we three were constantly under a lot of stress."

"And that makes it all better?" Bakura questioned. "Do you not think that I could also have been under a lot of stress?"

"I said I was sorry," Aaron said, as if that was that. "Anyway, once I realized that you had some courage, and could take a beating without hardly flinching, I thought you might be a better fit. But I had to be sure. That's why it took so long. And then you did what you did, and," he breathed in and raised his hands up to the sun, "it was the coolest thing I had ever seen in my life. Made the word 'awesome' have like some old archaic meaning again."

Bakura focused his eyes on the distant horizon, trying to make sense of the strange philanthropic ideals this man spouted, with the aggressive and terrible nature that he had shown. Had the world changed people so much? Was this what was in the depths of some people's souls? He looked at his hands and wondered, if in time, he would become something so twisted. With the latent powers he knew lay within him, he only hoped he would ever use his abilities for good. Then again, had he not sworn to himself he would kill all in the city if it meant he would be protecting the two children? He shuddered. He wanted to be nothing the man beside him.

"So, you mean to tell me you only chose me because I could handle getting beaten up?" Bakura asked finally, more than a little frustrated.

"You showed me that you could keep your mouth shut about something important to you, which is what those guys lacked. Not to mention, we had that thing going on between us."

"Thing?"

"Yeah," Aaron reached for Bakura again, and the latter took a step away. The former frowned. "Did I do something to piss you off?"

"First off, you never gave me a chance to say whether or not I wanted your advances."

"You never did what you did to Randall."

Bakura scoffed. "As if that is a good enough reason. What if I'm not into men?"

"Are you into women?"

That stopped the young man for a moment. A stray strand of his pale hair fell into his face and he twisted at it as he thought. "I…don't know."

Aaron laughed, and grabbed for him again. This time Bakura had not been expecting it, and was pulled into a one arm embrace. "You don't know? Have you ever liked anyone? Had the hots for anyone?"

"People have liked me…"

"Well duh, but that's not what I asked."

Bakura could not remember the last time he had ever thought about a relationship. Much less being interested in anyone. This was not the first time he had been asked though, and the fresh memories of the fall of Domino City still hurt. He let his mind flow back to a time when the city had been a bustling behemoth, when he was still in high school. People had created a fan club for him, which he still could not figure out why as he was a relatively shy individual, and plenty of people had shown interest even after he had graduated. Nothing there. Still, his mind did wander to a certain feeling, one that he had ignored because of the impossibility.

The memory of the sound of an airplane landing filled his ears. There were scents of a distant land wafting in the air. A tanned hand, holding his, it's strength surprising. Blonde hair, hanging just below robust shoulders. An unexpected, but no less appreciated, apology on full lips. The fluttering of his heart in gratitude, and something else, as he gazed into mirror-like purple eyes—

"I, I have liked someone, I guess. I suppose you could have called it a 'crush'."

"Who was it on?"

Bakura shrugged, and moved forward, escaping the man's grasp. "No one who is alive now," he replied, and the thought hurt. For even if he had never thought on it too hard, or expressed it in any way, he still hoped for the best for his friend. Saying it in such a final way made him wistful, and once again he wished for a world like the one before, and knew it was not to be.

"Hey, don't be like tha—"

Bakura shushed the man as his gaze caught something in the distance. It seemed as if trouble was brewing again. And quickly. A dark shape was coming slowly from the distance. He was certain that this was not the shape of two children wandering, either. Which left few possible alternatives, according to Aaron. "Tell me," he started, his hand going for his gun, "how talkative are the people who tend to attack you?"

Aaron looked from him to the newfound shape. "Not too talkative. Why?"

"Please tell me the protocol of a possible attack as quickly as you can, then."