Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Bittersweet ❯ Chapter 1

Bakura drifted weightlessly within the Millennium Ring, arms wrapped around his legs as he stared sadly into the velvety blackness. The spirit had taken control of his body again, shunting the teenager to some mental backwater in order to carry out grand schemes Bakura only guessed at. He'd awaken to a body that was occasionally bruised, battered, and exhausted, but the tomb robber always refused to answer his questions. All Bakura could do was sigh and hope his body wasn't being used for anything too illegal.

A soft tremor shook the ebony space as a fissure of light twisted towards the youth. Bakura had only seen the flaw once before, but his hopes soared at the implications; the Millennium spirit's attention was focused elsewhere. This might be his only chance to escape! Bakura dove for the shimmering opening, pushing against the flimsy crack like a chick leaving the egg. . .

. . .and lurched his way into the cool evening air, the ground flowing past his running feet. Something was wrong; Bakura's sneakers were translucent, faintly obscuring the world as he moved. And his physical body was sprinting away from him, shirttails flapping in the wind. Bakura escaped his prison, but why was the spirit still in control? And what was he clutching in his ghostly hand? The youth sucked in lungfuls of air he couldn't feel and dashed after the tomb robber, suddenly aware of the angry shouts and footsteps dogging their trail.

"What did you do?" Bakura demanded as they skidded past a lone cyclist.

The tomb robber turned as he ran, lustful exhilaration beaming from his half-hidden face, and the youth's insides twisted indignantly. The spirit actually enjoyed this! "We don't want to be caught, that's for sure," he called.

The thief surged across the narrow alley in two strides, the momentum powering his body as he leaped, twisting over a high granite wall. Bakura followed, crouching beside the tomb robber on the other side as the agitated commotion rumbled past their hiding spot. The youth anxiously peered into the street, concerned about their pursuers, but the thief paid no attention. Curled around himself, he was preoccupied with plucking glass shards out of his bloodied right hand. Bakura tentatively sidled closer to the spirit, hoping to re-enter his body, but was countered by an angry glare and mental shove; for now, the thief remained in control. After several minutes the spirit climbed to his feet and scouted the area, unmindful of his ripped jeans and tattered shirt. Bakura looked down at his silvery hands, bewildered by what they both possessed.

"You did all this, for Duel Monsters cards?" he asked in disbelief.

The spirit shot Bakura a silent answer, but he refused to acknowledge it, coaxing the thief to deal with the youth on his terms. With an exasperated snarl, the tomb robber turned away, folding his arms as his soft white hair bristled irritably. Bakura swore that the spirit was pouting.

"We needed them," the thief responded with surprising dignity.

"Don't even think about using `we'. I could've bought these, you know!"

The tomb robber's back faced him, hunched and unresponsive. Frustrated, Bakura circled the thief just in time to catch the spirit smearing his injured hand across Bakura's favorite shirt.

"For a padfoot, you certainly aren't very subtle," the youth grumbled. "I'll never be able to visit that shop again!"

The spirit cocked his head slightly, dark eyes wide with sudden comprehension.

"That's right."

Chuckling softly, he formed the slow smile Bakura had learned to dread. "We still have a few places left on my list," he purred, scarlet fingers squelching into a fist.

And once again, Bakura was surrounded by darkness.

*******************

The rich, sonorous tones of an oboe piped through the air like a graceful butterfly, the perfect accompaniment to the flurry of dust motes dancing in the sun. Bakura sank down into his dainty chair, humming along to the classical melody and enjoying the performance. His bandaged hand twinged occasionally, but not even the reminder of last night's escapades could dampen his mood. He was meeting all of his friends that afternoon, and the rarity of a day without duels, bitter rivalries, or life-and-death struggles made the outing doubly precious to Bakura. Plus the waitresses' distant chatter meant that his order would be ready soon. The dessert shop never failed to bolster his spirits; the lacy doilies, antique furniture, and refined atmosphere reminded him of shops he visited long ago. Besides, this was a place the tomb robber absolutely loathed.

The server arrived with his plate, covered with sweets, ice cream scoops, and delicate swirls of strawberry sauce. As she bowed and left Bakura reached for his fork, but a slight rumbling from the Millennium Ring made him pause as the spirit suddenly appeared. Sitting on the back of the Victorian-era chair, he stretched his long legs out so his misty feet rudely rested next to the banana torte. He stared contemptuously at the astonished teenager, then turned away, scanning the room.

"A worthless place," the spirit finally declared, "there's nothing of value here."

Bakura furtively glanced around, hoping no one noticed him apparently talking to himself. "To you, maybe. But Anzu and I like this place well enough."

He smiled fondly at the thought of his friends, but as he brushed over Honda's face, the spirit averted his gaze, mumbling words Bakura guessed were Egyptian curses.

"Yes, Honda's coming as well," he chastised the thief. "You'd better get used to seeing him around."

The tomb robber frowned deeply, crackling with dislike. "Why do you care about such a….. such a righteous mortal?" he hissed.

Bakura didn't bother answering the question, wistfully eyeing his plate while his good hand rubbed his scalp in frustration. Couldn't the spirit leave him alone for just one day?

"If he hadn't punched me…." the thief muttered, clenching the Ring with his injured hand, "….if he hadn't been so lucky…."

The teenager blinked his welling tears away, new emotions taking seed amidst the sadness.

Anger and resentment.

"You would have crushed him utterly. A total victory," Bakura murmured, toying with his napkin. "And you would have acquired a new host! I'm sure Kaiba-kun would have been pleased."

The thief jerked at the unexpected response, and Bakura stifled a tiny smile; an angry Kaiba versus a Mokuba-shaped tomb robber would have been worth seeing. The spirit's indignant gasp swelled into a furious snarl as Bakura envisioned the thief latching onto Kaiba's leg, yelling "Nii-sama!" in a twisted parody of Mokuba's childish voice.

"Why, you…." the spirit raged furiously.

"Thinking about taking over?" Bakura asked softly, desperately clutching his wavering courage as the Ring shuddered ominously. "I'm sure you could, but I'm meeting everyone shortly. And Honda would notice if anything was amiss."

The spirit's vicious anger withered away, leaving stony resentment in its wake. Resigned to the thief's meddling, Bakura turned to his desserts, losing himself in the wonderful flavors.

In a flash, the tomb robber coalesced behind him. He curved around Bakura, eyeing the plate with naked curiosity. The youth endured a slight dizziness when the spirit assumed control of his senses, nostrils quivering as he scented the wafting aromas.

"It's chocolate," Bakura pointed at his favorite cake, "….sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet. Try it."

Bakura took a bite and chewed. Tasteless, the cake balled into a cottony mess in his mouth, but he endured the unpleasantness for the thief's benefit. The spirit was preoccupied, moving his jaw in exaggerated motions as he studied the new sensation. He opened his mouth to reply, but catching sight of something, he disappeared with an unpleasant frown. Bakura followed the spirit's gaze and saw his friends entering the shop.

As they chatted happily, Bakura quickly polished off his plate and paid his bill. The youth lightly fingered the Millennium Ring as they walked together, searching for the spirit held inside. But a blank emptiness met his gentle probe; Bakura wondered if the tomb robber was upset, or simply uninterested. Reluctantly he let the matter drop, turning his full attention back to Anzu and the others. After all, it was a Sunday.

*******************

Later that night, Bakura pondered a more difficult challenge. The object of his discontent rested heavily in his toweled hand, denser than its golden exterior suggested. The Millennium Eye had been buried in his desk, ignored save for a hasty swipe with a cloth. But after a few days the youth reluctantly accepted his enforced stewardship; the role was a lot better than slinking around his own bedroom, pretending the Sennen Item was anywhere but in his possession.

At any rate, the spirit didn't make his job any easier. Sprawled across Bakura's desk so his limbs took up as much space as possible, the tomb robber languidly observed Bakura's efforts, snickering whenever the Eye rolled upwards, casting its ancient gaze upon him. Undaunted, Bakura shifted his cleaning supplies closer to his desk lamp. A soft brush and some gentle solvent were all he needed. Bakura's brush twisted and dipped into the sweeping turns and crevices as he rolled the Sennen Item every which way.

"The Eye used to belong to Pegasus," the thief slurred, peering at him through his fluffy white fringe.

Bakura kept scouring, fondly recalling his trip to the amusement park earlier that day.

"It was lodged in a rather intimate orifice, once."

Jounouchi never remembered how to control his bumper car properly, and Honda and Otogi leaped at the opportunity….

"I never told you how I got the Eye, did I?"

.…finally Jounouchi had been jammed in the corner, taking Honda's and Otogi's repeated blows, blushing and laughing.….

"How it was all warm and slick in our hands.…"

.…a stranger had taken their picture with Anzu's camera, everyone cheerfully flashing peace signs…..

"And that fool screamed like a-"

"That'll be quite enough," Bakura interrupted, "Thank you."

The soft brush rasped over a rough spot; puzzled, Bakura flipped the tool over. He stared for a moment, then swallowed hard, reconciling his queasy stomach with the maroon flecks covering the stained bristles. The spirit scooted around on all fours, monitoring his progress.

"Such a gentle nature," he lamented sadly, tenderly regarding the crimson smears. "Can't handle a little blood, can you?"

The youth massaged the throbbing spot between his eyebrows and nose with a knuckle, wishing his physical and spiritual headaches would vanish. But a malicious laugh informed Bakura of his mistake; the contrary thief would never leave him alone now. The youth resolutely scrubbed away amidst the spirit's litany of insults directed towards the Eye's previous owner and himself. Finally he dried the little globe, its metallic surfaces glowing in the rich lamplight. He returned the Eye to its hiding spot, relieved that the unpleasant duty was finally over. Bakura didn't understand why he felt obligated to care for the Eye. Maybe in a small way, he atoned for actions he had no control of, but should have. What had been done was done. At least he'd be able to look at the Item now without seeing the physical residue of its violent past. With a lighter heart, he reached around the tomb robber's legs for a more complicated project- the Millenium Ring.

The spirit quieted as Bakura clumsily turned the Sennen Item over and over in his hands, the clanking parts chiming a discordant tune. He stopped abruptly, seized by the desire to shatter the delicate links and hammer the center until all that remained was twisted, lumpy metal. Entranced by the notion, the youth gripped the spikes tightly, as if his own strength would be enough to finish the job.

A soft shuffling tore Bakura's attention away from the Ring; the tomb robber was perched on the edge of his desk, weight concentrated on his overlapped hands as he leaned forward. Bakura had dealt with the spirit at his worst, but nothing prepared him for the quiet intensity seeping through their mental barrier; the thief rarely allowed his iron control to slip. Bakura simply watched and waited, calmly meeting the tomb robber's hypnotic gaze. Finally the misty figure leaped to his feet, towering over him.

"Why are you doing this?" the spirit whispered, perplexed.

Bakura froze in his chair as the thief continued. "You could try destroying the Ring, but I'd kill you in the process. I'd be without a host, and you'd be dead. Win or lose, you'd be free of me. And yet, you refuse to try. Why?"

He just wanted it all to stop. He just wanted it all to go away. Bakura closed his eyes and hugged the Ring to his chest, wishing for anything other than this, even the lonely blackness. But the Ring flared from within, becoming too hot to hold; Bakura shoved the Item off his lap with a sharp cry, blowing on his scorched skin. The tomb robber grabbed the arms of his chair and thrust himself so close to Bakura that his hair shimmered, disappearing into the youth's forehead.

"Answer me." His voice lashed at Bakura's soul, and the teenager clasped his burned fingers together, staring at a face he hated because it was his own.

"You think I'd foist you on a child, such as Mokuba? Or someone like Yuugi?" An unwanted tear sluiced downwards, ice-cool against his inflamed skin. "They'd never stand a chance against you. They're weaker than I am. And I refuse to inflict you on someone like that. Besides, this was a gift from my father, and I'll not dishonor him by neglecting it."

He wiped the wetness away, shooting the thief a wry glance. "Although you might look more intimidating, running around with a filthy Millennium Ring."

The spirit's jaw clenched, but he offered nothing in reply. Bakura began cleaning the delicate links, but his bound hand made maneuvering the Ring awkward. He shifted around, seeking a more secure grip, the thick spikes prickling his fingers. Again, the Item slipped in his lap, but before Bakura could readjust his grip an identical pair of hands reached for the Ring. Bakura looked on, astonished, as the spirit rotated the Ring in his misty grasp, allowing the youth better access. The tomb robber's head hung low, so low that his face was completely obscured by his thick waves of hair. Bakura opened his mouth to ask a question, but after considering the spirit's bent profile, the words frittered away, unsaid.

Afraid to provoke the thief, Bakura resumed his work, scrubbing away in the heavy silence as they worked together to manipulate the Ring; occasionally a ghostly finger would point out a spot Bakura missed. And while youth was preoccupied with the fraying cord, he spied a translucent hand reverently touching the center, bandages grazing the embossed pyramid. Finally Bakura tossed the brush on his desk and wiped the beads of sweat from his face. The Ring vibrated in their embrace as he cleared his throat, unsure of what to say.

"Thank you," he finally managed.

The tomb robber huffed in surprise, then began to cackle, the low, guttural tones slowly blossoming into wicked laughter. The Ring dropped back into Bakura's lap as the amused spirit walked away, casting the youth a come-hither glance over his shoulder.

"You think I've gone soft on you?" he asked between chortles, avaricious eyes wild and glittering.

"Wait and see."

The misty form wavered into nothingness, leaving Bakura alone in the dimly-lit room. For a few precious moments, he and the spirit danced a reluctant détente. But in his heart, he knew the fragile truce wouldn't last for long.

*******************

"Bakura! Bakura! Are you all right?"

The youth's eyelids reached half-mast, the slight movement costing him all the strength he had. Nauseating sweetness slimed his mouth and chin, and nothing would or ever could cleanse the wretchedness away. Sitting up was also a bust; the fullness threatening to explode from his turgid stomach convinced him to stay right where he was. His blurred gaze barely discerned the shapes of his friends surrounding him, talking in excited voices.

"Bakura.…"

"Look at all these plates.…"

"Together we couldn't have eaten this much, Honda.…"

"You're not helping, Jounouchi!"

"Wait, he's waking up! Bakura, can you hear us?"

"I'm all right," he murmured faintly, weakly batting the anxious hands away from him as the scenery shifted into focus. The dessert shop. He was in the dessert shop. And across the acreage of soiled tablecloth, dirty dishes, and cake fork planted squarely into a half-eaten souffle, Bakura spotted a familiar figure, leaning nonchalantly against the counter. The tomb robber raised a sticky arm in a jaunty wave; noticing the cream coating his hand, he idly sucked his fingers clean, dark eyes crinkling with satisfaction as he triumphantly observed the chaos he'd sown. Finally the spirit smiled graciously and spoke, his voice echoing through Bakura's head, as husky and as intimate as if he'd stood right next to the youth and whispered into his ear.

"You were right…..chocolate is sweet."

As the thief disappeared, two well-meaning pairs of strong arms hauled Bakura to his feet. He tried to protest, but words failed to form amidst his overwhelmed senses. A glass of water was pressed to his caramel-coated lips; the sensation was enough to kick-start his digestive system into reverse. The shocked cries of his friends were only background noise as his stomach began to heave, and Bakura discovered just how much the tomb robber could eat. The last thing the youth remembered before the spasms slowed and died away was the rumbling of the Millennium Ring against his bloated midsection, jingling in perfect time to the mocking laugh booming in his ears.