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Powerless	By : Ochodre Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Het - Male/Female Views: 2661 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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And just run away, run away tonight

It ain't no victory, but I don't care

I don't care if it's wrong or right

We could just run away, run away tonight
This ain't no night to be on your own

You got to know where you're coming from

To know just where you're going on

This ain't no night to be on your own...

~Live, 'Run Away'
Bakura had no destination in mind as he ran through the darkening streets. He just wanted to put as much distance between himself and the place of his revelation as he could.
He had hoped against all hope that his condition was all an illusion, some sort of trick, but the fact that he wasn't even a match against Ryou - Ryou - had made it painfully real. Malik hadn't been making idle threats.
Bakura slowed, leaning against a wall. Running was far more difficult than it should have been. His strides were shorter, his balance was slightly off, and most of all, his new body was thin and out of shape. It was as though his body had been crafted purely for display purposes, not for any practical, actual use. Nausea coiled around his stomach as he realized it probably had been, Malik twisting Bakura's shape until it resembled some archetype of fantasy, male fantasy...
The thief felt bile rising in his throat as he stared down at his hands. He couldn't get the image of Ryou's hand overshadowing his own out of his head. His fingers should not have been that thin, his wrists that slim, his nails that long. Not his hands...
Not entirely appropriate anymore, is it? A cynical, sneering voice sounded from the back of the thief's head. It was his own voice, or at least, the voice he used to have. He swallowed hard, and was reminded of the bandages wound around his chest. He put them there in a desperate attempt to hide one of his new features, features which did not take kindly to being bound up so tightly. Queasiness made his face contort, and he had to concede. That damn voice was right.
They weren't his hands... they were her hands.
Bakura quickly brought her hands up, burying her fingers in her hair in an attempt to get them out of her sight. For once in her life, she was a loss of what to do. She had immediately challenged Malik to a rematch when she lost, but the Egyptian had only laughed and smiled at her in a way that made her ill. Ryou had come dangerously close to figuring out what had happened, and once he knew, he'd tell Pharaoh and his followers all about it. Then the Pharaoh would know Bakura hadn't kept her oath, and she'd be sent to the Shadow Realm.
The Shadow Realm was not unknown territory to the thief, but this time it would be very different. Instead of being master of the shadows, she'd be as helpless as any mortal hapless enough to end up in the dark dimension.
She grasped the edge of the Ring, where it was tucked under her shirt. It was no longer warm and alive with magic; it hung around her throat like a piece of cold, dead metal. It might as well have been nothing else. The power was still there, but Malik had made sure to cut her off, separating her from the energies that had once been all but an extension of her own body.
She had gotten used to being able to rely on her menacing manners and intimidating appearance to make her way in the world, and she had had the Ring to fall back on for as long as she could remember. But now those were both gone, and she was stranded in a land and time far from her own, in an unfamiliar body that just screamed vulnerable. Living in modern day Domino hadn't been so difficult when she had all of Ryou's memories and knowledge at hand to draw upon, but now, the roaring cars and flashing lights and tall buildings and dropping air temperature were almost overwhelming.
Bakura growled and shook her head firmly, pushing herself away from the wall. She tried to draw her confidence up to face the world and figure out a plan, but the base she had always built it on was missing. Her reckless abandon had been cultivated from a sense of dark power, immortality, and a fierce reputation, but now...
Cars rushed by, and Domino's skyscrapers loomed over her, emphasizing just how small she was now. Her stern expression wavered.
You're afraid.
She heard heavy footsteps behind her, and quickly turned to face them.
"Well, what a pleasant surprise," the deep, familiar voice of the Egyptian purred, "What's a pretty thing like you doing in this part of town?"
"You..." Bakura backed up and tried to snarl convincingly, but it fell short. She couldn't remember him being so... big. Malik' dark form would have dwarfed even Ryou, which meant that she now stood completely in the towering psychopath's shadow.
"What do you want?!" She snapped, glancing around at passing pedestrians. They paid no heed to the confrontation. Still smiling his lecherous smile, Malik stepped up to Bakura and flourished his cape in a polite bow.
"It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to let a helpless girl wander the dark streets all alone, would it?" he chuckled, his voice dripping with... something. Bakura ignored it, too busy bristling at the emphasis he put on her new gender to notice. She turned on her heels and headed off in the opposite direction.
"Tsk, not even going to hear out my proposal?" Malik didn't move from where he stood, folding his arms.
"I have no interest in doing business with the likes of you," Bakura hissed, lengthening her strides.
"Not even if I offered to change you back?"
Bakura stopped in her tracks. She hated the tone of his voice. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist such an offer, and she could practically hear the smug grin in the way he spoke.
"You heard me," he continued, stepping towards her, "I suppose I realized my punishment, amusing as it was, is a little... hm... harsh. So, I'm offering you an opportunity to get change you back, good as new. After all, I'm sure you miss your powers," he snickered, "though probably not as much as other things."
Bakura didn't turn around, glare fixated on the pavement. Finally, she spoke bitterly, knowing she'd regret her words. "...what do you want, fiend?"
"Oh, nothing much, nothing much at all," Malik stood directly behind her, nearly touching her. A disgusted chill shot down her spine as she felt him finger a lock of her hair, but Bakura refused to let herself shudder or shy away. She would not be intimidated.
"It's just that I'm so unfamiliar with this city, and I've experienced so little in my short time on this world. Just for one night, I'd like to put my plans aside and relax, go for a night on the town... but what fun is wining and dining, without an attractive female companion?" Malik's fingers wound through her hair gently, and she tensed.
"Come now, it's not that bad. All you have to do to get your body back is let me treat you some entertainment and a warm meal, just for tonight. Why, you may ask? Well, I'm sure you're too ashamed to realize it, but..." his voice dropped to a husky whisper, "...you do make for a beautiful woman, thief."
Bakura set her jaw and curled her hands into fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream and lash out at him. Her rational mind fought to weigh her options. She didn't believe one word of what he said, but she knew he was insane, and that made him impossible to predict. He might be willing to change her back, just for a chance to humiliate her in public for one night....
Bakura knew it wasn't wise, but she couldn't help but latch onto the thought that she'd get her body back, her power, her strength. Her desperation sickened her, but the encounter with Ryou ran through her head, and the sheer feeling of weakness that accompanied it convinced her that the risk was worth it.
Bakura's shoulders slumped. She was trapped.
"I knew you'd see things my way," Malik snickered quietly, his warm breath washing over the top of her head, and she pulled away from him with a violent jerk. He stepped back, waving his hand. "Follow me, I know the perfect place."
Sweeping aside his cape, he started walking down the street. As his cape whipped in the breeze, Bakura caught a glimpse of gold, strapped in his belt, and her breath caught in her throat.
It was the Rod.
Her hands itched, thieving instincts set off immediately. He had stupidly slipped it in the back loop of his belt, making it a prime target for any pick-pocket. Even if she couldn't use its power to defend herself, at least she could get it back and reunite it with the other items. She followed him slowly, making a point to drag her feet and act as though she hadn't noticed a thing.
Once she had caught up with him, she struggled to keep pace with his long strides, her now oversized sneakers threatening to fall off with every step she took. Nevertheless, she wouldn't be distracted from the task at hand. She knew that as soon as she had it, it would be simple to conceal it somewhere in her loose over-shirt. Judging from his attitude, he'd be too busy gloating to notice it missing until after their 'date' was over. Watching for his reaction, she reached forward carefully, brushing his cape aside --
"Touch it, woman, and I break the offending wrist," Malik mentioned in a disturbingly casual tone, not even bothering to look back at her. Bakura's hand froze in the air, before she muttered venomously and withdrew it. But like any good thief, she knew when to be patient. She'd just have to try later, hoping the idiot would get himself drunk.
"I can certainly understand why you'd want it, though. The Rod is easily the most powerful item, far more than that silly Ring of yours," he chuckled as if he had said something clever, and Bakura unconsciously curled her fingers around the precious metal beneath her shirt, glaring at him. He continued, ignoring her, "Oh, the Ring has a few nice tricks, but the Rod turns the world into your pawn."
Bakura was silent. She wasn't about to humor him with conversation, choosing to stare at the ground instead. She didn't know what direction Malik was taking her, but all of Domino looked the same to her - colorful, noisy, maddening - so it hardly mattered. The quiet stretched, and she focused on formulating another plan to get the Rod back.
"Hm... but it's not power you're after, is it?" His blank purple eyes glanced over her, practically dancing with sick amusement, "Somehow, I don't think that's what you ever wanted."
Her glare became slightly confused, and he smiled. "It's touching, really, how you tried so hard to gather them all up, how doggedly you tried to protect them once someone else had managed to get them when you could not. I could never understand why you were so possessive of them when my host first met you, but now that I have the Rod back, your mind and memories are an open book."
Malik's tone took on an air of exaggerated sweetness, and he looked down at Bakura with an expression of false pity, "You poor thing, having to watch your entire town slaughtered and skewered, and see their blood and flesh boil in the melted gold that became the Items..."
The hair on the back of Bakura's neck stood up. She had learned to ignore insults and taunts over the ages, but it was sacred ground Malik was metaphorically pissing on with his mocking tone. Her rage was ignited, and it coursed through her blood.
"Shut up!" Bakura seethed, nearly lunging for her tormentor, but she stopped short. The sounds of screaming and the smell of blood suddenly flooded her senses, and she stumbled back, clutching her head. A burst of memories, vivid as the day they happened, crashed down upon her psyche, and what part of her mind that wasn't caught in the deluge suspected the Rod was at work.
Malik simply laughed quietly. "Oh, I'm sorry, is that a sore spot? I must remember that you're far more sensitive now." He had stopped walking, leering and grinning devilishly as she struggled to fight off the graphic images.
"Bastard! Get the... get out of my head!" Bakura spat and shook her head sharply, waging a hopeless fight against the flood. The memories and illusions ran into her vision, and Egyptian foot soldiers wielding bloodied swords appeared in the corner of her eye. The grungy concrete walls of the surrounding buildings warped into the dirty mudbrick walls of her childhood home. The sounds of killing and human slaughter rang in her ears, and an old feeling gripped her heart. It was the same feeling that had haunted her since that day, when she had been a small boy able only to watch in horror as his parents fell beneath the blades of the Pharaoh's men, a feeling she had spent three millennia trying to shake off, to disprove, to overcome...
Powerlessness.
Bakura forced her head to lift. She summoned all the hate and loathing she could muster and channeled it into one ferocious glare, wrenching her lips back into a snarl. "The hell is this for?!"
With her eyes off the ground, she noticed for the first time that she had been led into a dark, trash filled lot, poorly lit and isolated. They were alone. She had been caught unaware. He had probably put the Rod just where she could see it, just so she'd obsess over stealing it, not paying attention to where they went, not considering the obvious danger...
He was toying with you the whole damn time. Ironic, isn't it? He didn't even have to use the Rod. He dangled a treat in front of your nose, and you followed him like a naive lamb, straight to the slaughter...
Real dread started to rise in her chest, and Malik smiled like a hungry wolf that knew it had its prey. He started towards her, his wild cape and hair flying in the wind behind him and filling her vision with his dark silhouette.
Bakura back-tracked, preparing to break into a run, when she felt her back scrape against a wall. The screams of the past now mixed with her internal verbal self-abuse, calling herself every synonym of 'idiot' in every language she knew. Desperate, the thief sprung away from the wall, but a strong hand caught her shoulder and shoved her back against it. She kicked out with all the strength of the cornered and frantic, until Malik delivered a stunning blow to her temple with the back of his fist.
"It would seem I failed to mention that you were going to be the dinner and entertainment tonight, my dear," his lips peeled back in a twisted grin. With his free hand, he produced the athame knife hidden in the Rod's sheath, and set the glimmering blade to Bakura's throat. Malik lowered his head, sending a wash of warm air over her face, and his dead eyes became alive with carnal hunger. "How very rude of me..."
Bakura watched with detached disbelief. It was all she could do; she was petrified, and she didn't know if she was in shock or if the Rod had commandeered control of her muscles. As if you could do anything against him, anyway, the spiteful voice from earlier buzzed like a mosquito in her ear, just another voice in the storm raging within her head.
Malik's head dipped down further, his bangs scratching at her face, and she felt a lustful tongue run down her neck. Bakura wanted to scream, in anger, in disgust, in fear and hate and panic, but her voice was robbed from her when a rough hand descended upon her shirt.
You're going to be raped and there's nothing you can do.
Though it was obvious, the thought exact wording was something of a revelation. Raped, raped, raped... The voice almost sung the word in a horrible, teasing mantra. The King of Thieves, raped like a common whore in an alley...
As the voice mocked her, she was able to move with a flood of strength born from sheer panic, trying to writhe away from the tongue on her throat and the hands unbuttoning her shirt.
Then Bakura felt the cold metal of the knife's blade run over her stomach, through her shirt, silently promising to gut her if she kept thrashing. The thief quickly became still, though part of her mind wondered if it was better to die. She wanted to cry, wanted to vomit, wanted to breathe, but found she could do nothing as the knife sunk in. In one deft slice, Malik cut through not only the shirt and bandages she had bound her chest with, but her first layer of skin as well --
And without warning, the knife fell and Bakura's attacker slumped against her.
She sputtered in confusion, trying to shove the crushing weight of the limp body away before she even realized what had happened. Bakura didn't know if he was unconscious or dead, much less what had happened, and she was too busy trying to get away from the sickening sensation of his weight atop her to care.
Another set of hands helped shove the would-be rapist to the side, and he hit the ground with a dull thud. Finally able to move again, Bakura lifted her hands and pushed her bangs out of her face, fighting to catch her breath.
"Are you all right?" a soft voice she knew all too well wondered.
Bakura raised her eyes to stare at Ryou in stupefied silence. He had no weapons, nothing he possibly could have felled the tall Egyptian with, but there he was.
Her former host looked down at her with grave concern, before he stumbled over an explanation. "I... I followed you, at a distance, and, um, I overheard some of what he said... I'm sorry, I should've got here sooner..."
His words faded from her senses as a numb sensation settled over her mind, skin crawling at the memory of the unwelcome touch. Bakura's hands hurriedly wiped off her throat as she cringed in repulsion. She quickly re-buttoned her shirt, fighting to hold the torn material together, but her movement slowed. Unbidden, the events of the past few minutes and hours replayed themselves in her head and distracted her.
She had been overpowered so... easily. First by Ryou, then by Malik. Bakura wasn't accustomed to winning her battles, but rarely was she so utterly defenseless...
The powerless feeling came over her again, and she struggled to swallow around a knot in her throat. The reality of what had happened was starting to sink in, and it was merciless.
"Bakura...?"
Ryou stepped closer, and Bakura tightly crossed her arms before her chest. It was a futile effort, but she felt painfully naked, painfully obvious without the bandages to conceal the alien weight on her chest. She sought for the energy to snap at him, to get him away so he wouldn't see her in this moment of weakness, but her voice was still missing.
"Come on, let's go home," Ryou suggested gently.
She glanced at him, faint puzzlement creasing her otherwise blank face. That was it? Surely he had seen what Malik had turned her into, hadn't he? She was pathetic. She was weak. She was everything she ever accused him of being, and he didn't even have one scathing remark? But Ryou's expression was neither smug nor pitiful, only concerned.
It didn't make any sense, but she felt no inclination to argue with him this time.
She stepped away from the wall, and followed Ryou on unsteady legs.
---
Bakura had never before been relieved to see the inside of the small apartment Ryou called home, but just this once, the familiar surroundings were welcome. It was warm, comfortable, and most of all, it felt far away from the dark streets outside.
The walk home had been uneasy and silent. Bakura could tell that Ryou had a million questions, but knew enough to keep quiet and give her space. The last thing she wanted was to talk or be touched, and for once, the teenager obeyed without question. The gesture almost inspired a tiny, smoldering spark of gratitude in the weary thief, but it was lost in a tumult of more pressing emotions.
Bakura threw herself down on the couch with all the force of her frustration, self-loathing and denied fears, quickly curling into the same defensive ball she had been in most of the day. Try as she might, she wasn't able to remain tense for long, as both mental and physical exhaustion robbed her of the energy required to maintain her stiff posture. Her head felt heavy and sore, and she buried her face in her arms with the distant hope that she might be able to hide from an oncoming headache.
Amidst all her other woes, she was starting to miss being a spirit, too. With her own body came freedom, but also, as she had forgotten, all the aches and failings of the mortal form.
She heard a door close, and felt benevolent eyes watching her. Ryou was still vainly hoping for some answers, apparently.
"I suppose you think I owe you an explanation, right?" she muttered acidly, though it was mostly muffled by her arms.
There was a moment of hurt quiet from the boy. "No," he said softly, "I guess it's really none of my business."
"Oh, stop it. I know I'd be damned curious if you came home with a new pair of ti..." Bakura found herself unable to spit out the vulgar word, her throat suddenly tightening around another knot. Some immature part of her mind was unwilling to state the obvious, as if it might make her situation more true than she was ready for it to be.
She felt someone else sit down on the end of the couch, and she dug her fingers into her elbows, refusing to acknowledge Ryou by looking at him. He just sat there, watching her, and somehow his patient silence made her more uncomfortable than anything he could have said. She finally gave in.
"Fine, I lost a duel to him! Are you happy now?" Bakura bristled, raising her head just enough to shoot an agitated glare at him. Doing so, she caught a glimpse of his hazel eyes. He seemed wholly unconvinced by her angry display, as though he could see right past it, able to look directly at the highly contained mass of repressed fears and doubts festering in the back of her mind.
"Bastard likes to make his shadow games interesting... I should've figured as much from the last duel," Bakura continued, mumbling to herself to try and disguise the sense of transparency that had befallen her.
"He looks... familiar, but I can't quite place him," Ryou admitted, sounding perplexed.
"Heh, you wouldn't be able to," Bakura snorted in a low tone, "Malik -- that Egyptian that was after the Pharaoh and started the whole episode with the God Cards. Some kind of trauma gave him a sadistic split personality that manifested itself as a dark spirit. At least, that's what I gathered when his host was in my... your head."
Bakura was slightly surprised that she had given him such a relatively long-winded explanation, but then, it was her fault that the boy had been mostly unaware during those weeks. And, perhaps, some small, rebellious part of her did feel she owed him something. Her stomach clenched at the thought of what might've happened if he hadn't stepped in, doing whatever he did...
"I feel like I should know this," Ryou thankfully interrupted her thoughts and scratched the side of his head, staring at his lap. Disturbed by herself, she resumed her gruff demeanor.
"Ask one of your friends, if you really must know."
Ryou sighed, and Bakura had the fleeting hope that he'd get the message and leave, but he was too stubborn. "Why were you dueling him?" he wondered.
Bakura let out a sigh of her own, though this one was of irritation, "I was trying to win back the... shit." Realization hit her, and she fell into a loud cursing spell.
"Huh? What is it?" Ryou looked up in confusion, but Bakura ignored him, uttering oaths and curses in a medley of different languages. She pulled at her bangs hard enough to uproot a tuft of white hair, and the throbbing pain in her scalp only served to fuel her outburst.
"The Rod, I forgot to take the damned Rod! It was just lying there! All I could think about was stealing the stupid thing back, and then... then..." Nauseating memories washed over her conscious, and she grasped her forehead, closing her eyes. Her other hand pulled at the collar of her shirt, trying to cover her throat, an unconscious gesture to render herself less vulnerable. It almost worked, until her fingers fell on a long, diagonal gash of frayed threads, slit by knife blade.
"How the hell could I be so stupid..." she mumbled to herself. For the first in a long time, her mind and emotions felt out of control, all because Malik had somehow figured out how to derail all of her confidence and pride in one catastrophic, humiliating blow. How had one young spirit of hate managed to destroy something Bakura had spent three thousand years perfecting...?
She became aware of a shuffling sound, and by the time she looked up, a coat hung in front of her face.
"Here," Ryou's sympathetic eyes gazed just over the top of the coat, "It'll cover... that tear up, and it's probably warmer."
Bakura didn't know how to react to the offering, raising her lip. "I don't want your dirty clothes."
Ryou frowned, the hand holding the coat lowering. "Sorry, I just..." his eyes fell on the rip in her shirt, "You're not cut, are you...?"
Bakura hissed and suddenly snatched the coat out of his hand. The last thing she needed or wanted was for him to start insisting she needed treatment. He blinked at her dumbly as she shoved her arms into the sleeves of his uniform, jerking it on and grumbling.
"Lovely," she leered and wrinkled her nose, "How nice of you to give me a coat that reeks."
"What?" Ryou was genuinely confused, "I just washed it not too long ago, I didn't smell anything --"
Bakura couldn't identify the pervasive scent, until her mind came back to the pathetic assault she launched at him. In the moment before Ryou detected her bandages, she had been close enough to smell...
"Of course not, it reeks of you," Bakura snorted, trying to expunge the odor from her memory and senses. It was a combination of soap, shampoo, hair, and something that was uniquely 'Ryou'. Despite her protests, it was not... entirely unpleasant, but it made her uncomfortable. The boy in question looked rather embarrassed.
"I have another coat somewhere, a clean one, w-want me to get it?" Ryou asked in a small voice.
"Just nevermind," she grated, too frustrated to form a coherent argument. Bakura wouldn't admit it, but she was glad the long coat now covered her arms. The more skin she could cover, the more layers she could add between her wretched new body and the outside world, the better. And the scent was surprisingly easy to get used to, now that she couldn't escape it. Somehow, it snaked into her mind and quieted her raucous thoughts and emotions, drowning them out with its presence. Her eyelids became heavy. She was too exhausted to fight it off, and wasn't even sure she wanted to...
"I'm going to go make supper, okay?"
Bakura's eyes flew open, and she hadn't even realized she closed them. His reassuring tone only incited offense in her overloaded mind. How dare he speak to her like she was a scared child? She opened her mouth to start railing at him, but had already stood and left, gifted with an impeccable sense of timing.
Though she was finally left to her thoughts, Bakura found that she didn't really feel like thinking. She shut her eyes tightly and withdrew into a tighter ball, stewing in the silence. The scent of a warm meal soon penetrated the fog that had descended over her mind, and when she looked up, she saw a plate of fish and rice held before her.
Faint hunger stirred in her stomach, but she had been too ravaged by emotions to have much of an appetite. The thief stared at the plate dispassionately.
"Do you, um, want something else?" Ryou asked uncertainly, "Or... if, you're too... I mean, if you're not hungry and want me to leave you alone, just say so."
Her earlier indignation came back with a vengeance at his words. Perhaps it was his almost motherly tone, or the fact that it was that obvious she was in turmoil. Her cacophony of emotions came back in full force, pushing her to the breaking point. He was so convinced something was wrong, that she needed help, and to her troubled mind, he was just looking for some way to humiliate her, to show he was superior, pretending to care...
"Stop mocking me!" Bakura shouted accusingly, and Ryou stumbled back in surprise as a pillow flew in his direction, "Don't you dare patronize me! I don't need your goddamn help, or your goddamn clothes, or your goddamn food, you arrogant ass! I had everything under control! I don't... just... get the hell..." She trailed off as it became difficult to breath, her eyes aching with suppressed tears. She wasn't sure if they were due to her emotions, or her sharp nails digging into her skin as she clutched herself.
Ryou was silent, standing there with the plate of food for a long time. Her vision was too blurry to discern his facial expression, but whatever it was, it didn't change. Bakura tried to ignore him, closing her eyes, but she couldn't block out his voice.
"Bakura... listen," Ryou started, his tone saddened, and she heard him set the plate down, "You have every right to be upset, but please, raising your voice isn't going to solve anything. I know we're not on the best terms, but no one deserves what happened to you, and I... I just want to try and make you feel better. Nothing else."
Bakura blinked into her folded arms. He sounded so... sincere. She'd spent enough time in his head to know he wasn't that good of a liar. Her posture sagged. Being so defensive was exhausting. She almost wanted to believe him, just so she could finally relax...
"Bakura?"
She didn't hear him. She had already fallen asleep.
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Powerless