Disclaimer: As much as I wish I could, I still don't own Yugioh. Rats...

Bakura: Anyways...On with the story!

X: I'm supposed to say that!

Bakura: Oh yeah??

X: Yeah!! *Jumps over, and pushed Bakura to the ground*

Bakura: *Punches*

Bakura and xNyc_fitaX: *Fighting wildly*

Ryou: *Comes out of nowhere, and pushes them away with his leg* Let's get on with the story shall we?


Dim sunlight slanted through the window, as she slowly opened her pale eyes. She stared up at the ceiling, regaining consciousness. Grunting with effort, she slowly sat up and squinted around the room. She seemed to be in a small den, which had a damp breeze blowing around her. The couch she was sitting on had old clothes lying around on it. Not to mention dirty sweat socks hanging on the armrest. Raising an eyebrow, she scanned the room some more. A glass table stood in front of her; with mugs and glasses filled with drinkable liquids. Across from the table, was a woven cloth hanging on the wall. There was a picture of a young woman with white hair carrying a small child in her arms that was sewn in to the cloth. Cocking her head to the side, she studied the cloth closely.

Bakura's POV

I watched her in the dark shadows. She was quite beautiful. Her black hair with white streaks hung just below her shoulders. Her gray eyes were shining with interest. Her dark-silver cloak covered her pale skin, and her tight black jumpsuit. A silver belt hung around her waist. When she cocked her head, her black hair fell in her face, making her looked mysterious. Her curiosity made me smirk, as I walked out of the shadows. She stared at me, her eyes widened. "Who are you?" she asked accusingly. I slowly walked over to her. She backed an inch away, and asked again, "Who are you?"

"My name's Bakura. And who might you be?" I replied. Before she could answer, I moved closer to her, and our noses practically touched. She glared slightly at me, and answered, "My name is Nightingale. What am I doing here?"

"Why...you sound as if I were to hurt you."

"You might. And if you do, you'll regret it."

"And why might that be?" I raised an eyebrow, and smirked. She growled quietly, and pushed me roughly away. "Why did you take me here?"

"You looked hurt, and so I brought you here so the guards won't take you away."

"But why did you care?"

"Did I say that I cared?"

"You took me here. That tells me that you cared." She smiled slightly, and rolled her eyes. "Oh I get it. You wanted my sword. No wonder." Jumping off my couch, she ran to the window. She was about to step out, but she turned around, and muttered, "Where is my sword?"


"Yes. My sword. From the museum."

"I don't have it. I thought you might-"

"Give it to me!"

"Now, now. Don't have to yell." I smiled slyly at her, and shrugged. "Look. I don't have it. You must have left it at the museum when I brought you here."

"I know you took it. That's why you brought me here. You just wanted it." I shook my head, and walked over to her. When I reached her, I stared in to her eyes. "You know...we could work together. We both steal priceless items. You only steal, because you rely on it. Am I right?" I asked in a whisper. She just stood there, breathing steadily. Then she sighed angrily, and turned back to the window. She jumped out on to the fire escape. Then, I could hear her mumble back, "I would never work with you." She grabbed the edge of the fire escape, and sprung off the cold metal. The air wooshed past her, as she dropped down in to the streets. I watched her as she dodged past curious padestrions, and ran in to a dark alley. Disappearing from view.

Nightingale's POV

'You know...we could work together. We both steal priceless items. You only steal because you rely on it...'

'...rely on it...' I sat in my cold room apartment room, shuddering. "I want to work with someone. Someone I could rely on. Someone I could befriend with," I murmured. I slid my knees up to my chin, and lay it on them. I raised my left arm, and stared at my wounds. My pale complexion had red swollen slits on it. Dried blood ran around the wounds. The cuts were painful, but worth it.

I sighed.

Every time I stole something, I would cut myself with a knife, so I could punish myself for it. I shuddered again, this time from the cold. I stood up, and walked over to my polished cabinet. I opened it up, and took out the knife. It still had dried blood stuck on the blade. I gripped the iron handle tightly, and I placed the sharp blade on my pale arm. With a swift movement, I cut my arm cleanly. I put the knife away, and watched the blood drip down the length of my arm. My eyes welled up, but I forced myself not to let them drop and roll down my cheeks. I walked over to my apartment window, and stared outside. "Maybe..." I whispered. "Maybe one day we'll work together. When we meet again...Bakura. Maybe...."


Hope you enjoyed it! R&R! ^.^