Disclaimer: Don't own YGO - or Doctor Who, or anything else referenced in the piece.

Warnings: Thief King Bakura is sporting his manga personality, not his anime personality. This personality is near–identical to Yami Bakura's own personality, so please bear that in mind. As for other warnings... Well, HumanReincarnation!Zorc shows up - I think that's fair warning - and the whole thing is borderline-crackfic.

We Need a Doctor Over Here!

The oversized banners hung limply from the ceiling. They did not, as stated upon the packet, 'flutter gaily in the breeze'. In fact, they were not even moved by the icy draughts that swept the tiny flat on a regular basis. No, they just hung there, as carcasses in a butcher's shop might – enormous banners that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of being bumped into, blinded by, and entangled in. This, too, was not stated on the packet; what was stated was only that the banners should have read 'HAPPY HOUSEY WARMIONG'.

The peeling red letters instead spoke of something along the lines of 'H PPY H EYM ON'.

Happy Honeymoon.

...God damn it.

Somewhere in a dark corner, something or someone (perhaps a rat, or perhaps a fangirl) was laughing its head off – but for the pale teenager, staring sadly upwards at the banners, this was a disappointment beyond disappointments. Even before the phone had rung no less than six times, each one bearing the saddening message that yet another of his supposed friends just couldn't come to his flat warming party, due to 'outside commitments' (or as one of the blunter males had put it, 'stuff you wouldn't like much'), the party's future hadn't exactly borne well. Now it was a simple gathering of one, under a raggedy flag that didn't even say the right thing (and if it had said what it was supposed to, would have been badly misspelled anyway) – something which could hardly be termed a party.

With a sigh and a shake of the head, the pale teen turned to leave the room, taking a step backwards as he did so – only to trip over the chair he had been using whilst attaching the strips of utterly useless plastic to his ceiling. Yelping in a most unmanly way, he tumbled to the floor, thrashing instinctively against the legs of the chair as they brushed against his arms. Snarling as he hit the ground, he lashed out with both fists against his attacker, because someone must have put that there (it couldn't have been him, of course, because it was never his fault, nothing was his fault), and they were going to pay. He felt something break off the thing, slammed into it again–

The chair slid into the cupboards with a dull thunk, something clattering to the floor behind it.

And the victorious combatant lay on his back before the banner, close to tears, teeth gritted against the growing pain and panic flooding his system. He was all alone, exhausted from the struggle, and now one of the legs of his favourite chair was broken and his knuckles really hurt and... and it was all his fault... and...

...Well, why exactly had he done that?

For starters, he couldn't have wanted to do that – so it couldn't have been his fault. Maybe he was going mad; he couldn't help it – yes, that was it. Nothing was his fault.

This cheered him up a little.

Contemplating the banners high above him, the teenager decided that the abrupt cancellation of all his friends could not have been coincidental. He didn't see what reason they could possibly have to fear him; all the crazy Egyptian stuff had happened months ago. They'd explained it to him afterwards; he'd nodded and walked away, and they'd all forgotten about it. He hadn't talked to them much since then, but they were all still on reasonable terms; why they had all refused his invites like this was beyond him–

–actually, it wasn't quite beyond his understanding. Brown eyes narrowed in anger at the thought; perhaps they had heard something more about their precious Yami or Pharaoh or whatever he was called (he'd lost track a while ago), and now they were all off to save him. They hadn't let him go last time; so why should they want him along this time?

Because... because...

And there it was: he couldn't think of a reason. For a moment, he wondered if they'd have wanted him if he'd been wearing the Ring. Maybe, if that horrible voice in his head had actually returned, they'd have at least paid him some attention. A tear slid down his cheek, as he finally came to the conclusion, getting to his feet and bowing his head to cry: he really was hopeless. Not like it was his fault or anything; he was just hopeless. Destined to be a puppet, a weak little thing that couldn't hold its own, couldn't become likeable, unless a puppetmaster moved him – and now that the master was gone, he was about as useful as a broken toy.

No–one wants me...

The doorbell went off; he didn't care. It was probably someone who had mistaken the place for the home of its previous owner. And so the teenager just stood there, silently consulting the blank wall (which gave him exactly as much comfort as could be expected from a blank wall).

No–one wants me.

And the full stop gave this thought a sense of finality. No–one wanted him, and that was that. So, he continued to stand there, turning this thought over a little more in his mind – embellishing it a little, letting it sink deep into his very being, and at last applying different accentuations to it:

No–one wants me.

(Because there was no–one at all who did; they had all pushed him aside, and this was a truth.)

No–one wants me.

(Because no–one actually wanted him around – perhaps they would talk, but only briefly. They wanted to pretend he didn't exist.)

No–one wants me.

(Because if people ever sought him out, it was only because they wanted to talk to his master, or spar with his master, or try to kill his master. It was never Ryou they wanted.)


That voice – well, he'd never heard it outside his head, but now it was right behind him. He froze like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming ute, a quivering mess of pale wet skin and white bangs, this couldn't be happening, it just couldn't be happeni–

"Someone wants you."

There it was again – and this time, he jumped a foot in the air, feeling his head smack into the chin of another. Whoever It Was let loose with a roar of unbridled rage, and whimpering in terror, Ryou bolted forwards – only to find himself unable to turn in time. And so, instead of artfully skidding around the corner, he crashed straight into the wall before him, vision full of white plaster and white paint and now it was white ceiling–

But it was no longer white. His visitor towered over him, all tousled white bangs and familiar Ryou features, all arranged in a format that the teen knew far too well. It was what he'd seen every time he'd been about to be possessed and had bothered looking in the mirror, what the security cameras saw every time that spirit possessed him.

It was, in short, his body, though not exactly his mind in control of it. He looked up into his own eyes, pupils narrow slits, mouth grinning savagely, and... well, what was there to say?

Not even the stupid evil spirit needed him now. To be honest, he wouldn't have been surprised if he was about to be annihilated. It wasn't that he exactly wanted to be torn into a thousand pieces, of course, but he accepted that it was something of a possibility.

"H–how?" His voice was husky, rough from the whimpering and crying, strained with terror. "How did you do it?"

The creature stared at him, gaze boring into his until he closed his eyes tight to shut it out. His hands clenched into little fists, and he bit his lip a little. "Are you going to kill me, Bakura?"

The thing laughed at him then, a deep bass rumbling that soon developed into an all–out cackle, horrible gratings echoing in his ears. The teen curled up in a ball at the sound, twitching when something cold and hard smacked into his side, something wrapped around his neck, and he automatically braced for some horrible, stabbing pain–

Nothing happened.

After a long silence, the teen opened one eye.

Nothing remained of the apparition, but for a little mound of white dust on the boy's leg, and a small metal pendant he knew far too well, the cord now hanging around Ryou's neck. Shivering, he put a hand to it, licking a small pink tongue around dry lips.

"How did you...?"

Bakura's voice sounded in his head, semi–relaxed for once. Well, there was this hole in the plot. Every last card Pegasus made had its own counterpart in Ancient Egypt, right?


So, Jounouchi's Time Machine card... also had a counterpart.

A long silence.

"Oh... oh no."

Oh yes. I just got my ancestor to secretly steal a time machine and bring me his Millennium Ring just before he died. I gave him a clay replica in exchange, he was supposed to have died with that, then I hid my Ring and handed his Ring over when I lost to the Pharaoh. And since I'd already offered the Egyptian Gods sixty bucks and a cheeseburger in advance, they pretended that my ancestor's Ring was the right thing needed to suck the Pharaoh into the afterlife. All it took after that was to get one of my fragments to come over here and deliver the Ring. And when it took it off, the body just fell apart. Simple, eh?

The teen sighed, gently stroking the cord around his neck. "Not really."

Bakura went to say something about that, but then changed his mind. I just thought of something.

"Something good?"

Something bad. Ryou - we have to get out of here, before–

With a noise like a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a poodle fighting over a baby dragon, something large and rectangular simply appeared in Ryou's living room. Its shape was obscured a little by the debris raining down around it, mostly originating from the gaping hole in the teen's ceiling, but it looked somehow familiar, as though he had seen it somewhere before.

...that happens.

"Ahahahaha!" An eccentric young man (or perhaps insane, Ryou couldn't tell which for now) came leaping out, brandishing a striped scarf with great gusto - and again, the scarf looked oddly familiar, even if its owner did not (or at least, Ryou hoped he did not).

"Steal of the millennium!", the newcomer crowed, giving the larger object a friendly slap. "I'll have to call you the Millennium Steal!"

Ryou? You need to get out. Now.

The spirit's voice was tense as a watch spring inside his head, but the pale boy couldn't care less; he was too busy gazing open–mouthed at the bizarre combo of pale–haired, tan–skinned madman, and strangely familiar blue telephone box.

"D–Doctor?", he managed at last, wincing at the voice's shrieks of utter rage inside his head.

Imbecile! Why are you drawing his attention? What are you even doing?

At that, Ryou let a slight frown cross his features, mumbling under his breath to avoid arousing suspicion. "He looks like… someone I might know. Or at least, the things he's got remind me of someone..."

Moron! Nincompoop! Listen, I know that one – he probably KILLED that 'someone you might know' to get those things!

Ryou shivered at that, eyes going wide; but it was too late for him to take back the dreadful mistake he had made. The man drew himself upright, piercing Ryou with a steely glare that made running an impossibility. "I am the Thief King. And you are Ryou Bakura, yes?"

Say that you're not.

But Ryou couldn't say a word, so fearful was he of this terrible man who could (judging by the memories pouring in from Bakura's side of the mind–fence) do horrible things to someone weak like him – and someone who would laugh whilst doing it. The teen's bottom lip trembled in fear, and the older man's curled in a smirk. "Yes, I thought so." Whistling to himself, he removed a knife from his belt, stalking across towards the victim. "You're coming with me."

After some consulting his sneakers, the pale boy believed that he had a response. "Wh–why?"

"Because–"– and here Ryou abruptly found his head being forced up and backwards by wiry fingers, a rusted blade now resting against his jugular –"–your little spirit friend needs to be thrown into a black hole. He tried to kill me."

Well, he was supposed to die. Victim of Destiny and all that. Honestly, what can I say?

The pale boy shut his eyes, ignoring Bakura's voice as best he could – one twitc of terror from him, and that blade would snuff out his life ever so easily–

Don't think about that, you'll twitch!

"C–can't you just take the Ring?"

The Thief King growled so ferociously at that, that Ryou couldn't help but be reminded of a Pitbull Terrier recently relieved of a bone. "If I did, he'd try something like this again." One arm went around his shoulder. "So, I can't really let you out of my sight." The knife dug a little into the fragile skin, and the man smiled benevolently. "Unless you'd like to be killed? I don't normally take innocent lives, but I suppose for you I could make an excepti–"


The blade relaxed, the older man stepping back with a grin. "Thought not." He beckoned. "Come. We're leaving."

Ryou took a hesitant step forwards, then shook his head. "But... Why can't we stay here?"

The older man stepped back with a sigh, running greasy fingers through his white locks. "So, maybe someone knows that I took this Millennium Steal here. And maybe they're comi–"


Something pink and fast moving blew a hole in the pale teen's wall, only to embed itself in the couch. With a roar, the Thief King slammed Ryou's face into the ground; forcing the two of them into cover behind a conveniently placed armchair.

"If you idiots start yelling 'Exterminate!' and try shooting me, I swear I'm going to–"


The Thief Kind broke off his threats with a choke (not to mention a mumbled 'Think of the children'), instead choosing to roll off Ryou. A few seconds later, two heads appeared from around the side of the hiding place, two pairs of eyes beholding with some shock the perfectly ordinary twelve year old boy standing there.

Yes, the perfectly stereotypical little boy, freckles and pale skin, chubby cheeks and a big black mop of hair, dressed a tiny ebony tuxedo (somewhat tattered now, and covered in white plaster dust due to his encounter with Ryou's wall), a set of matching black mittens and moccassins, and sporting a cute little black cap, two stuffed horns curling out on either side, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes–

–his brilliant red eyes, with not a glimmer of white in sight – just pure red, a black slit forming the pupil.

"Um. Hello. Please don't let Mommy see me."

The Thief King took in a sharp breath, and Ryou felt a chill sweep through his body; a sure sign that Bakura was worried. After a dreadful silence, the older man stepped forwards, crouching before the boy and peering into the other's feral eyes.

"...Zorc? Is that you?"

One foot stomped against the floor in a gesture of defiance. "D–don't call me that! I'm Tommy! Even Mommy calls me Zorc, but I'm not Zorc! Just like she's not my mother!"

The Thief King blinked in confusion, and Ryou shuddered, then he twitched a little, and then he was quite suddenly not in control anymore.

"Reincarnation appears to have happened here.", he was saying (not that he was actually controlling his saying of it, but his body was certainly saying it)

The man whirled on him, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, Yami Bakura?"

"My host is not related to you, Thief King; and yet he may bear the Millennium Ring. He is you, reborn."

"That wimp?"

I'm not a wimp!, Ryou snarled, but it was useless – instead, he smiled as though the older man had just made a most amusing joke.

"There are... some differences."

"Quite a few, I believe. So, this child is Zorc's reincarnation?"

"So it would seem."

Letmegoletmegoletmego!, the teen shrieked at his captor, almost collapsing when he was abruptly released from Bakura's control. By the time he had gotten to his feet, the tanned man was now bending over Zorc's reincarnation, studying the boy's slightly elongated canines.

"I have to say, it is difficult to believe that you would return in such a form as this." A despairing glance at Ryou. "Then again, I would not have thought that–"

A glare that could have made a hungry lion back down interrupted the possible taunt. "I'm not Zorc's anything! I'm Tommy!"

The pale teen took a deep breath, mentally slapped Bakura for snickering at his attempts to be brave, then stepped between the angry thief and the equally angry young boy. This was admittedly a suicidal move; but then again, someone was going to be murdered if he hadn't stepped in. "Tommy, what does your Mommy look like?"

"She–" the little boy's eyes narrowed. "H–hey! You're not gonna take me back to her, are you?"

"I'm... I'm..." And then Bakura saved him. "I'm worried that she might want you back. We have to know what she looks like to avoid her." There was a slight click after that, as Ryou's jaw snapped back under the teen's control.

Tommy looked as though he was about to ask why that had just happened, but then appeared to think better of it. "Well, if you say so... Um, she's big. And gold. And she's got wings. And she's scary as he–"

"Horakhty!" The Thief King's voice was filled with absolute hatred, and Ryou jumped; for a second, he had sounded exactly like–

Me, I know, shut it.

Ryou's ancestor (sort of) then turned on his heel, and stalked back towards the spacecraft. "I don't care whether or not you bring that brat with you. But you're coming with me. Now." And once again, his voice really did sound identical to-

I thought I told you to cut that out!

Deciding not to pursue that train of thought, the pale teen sighed. "Look, I'd love to look after you, but–"

Two small mittens clasped his leg. "I'm coming with you."

The teen looked down, and wisely decided not to comment; he could see long grey claws just within the weave, the sort that could quite easily burrow into his leg if Tommy decided to cling on. He hesitated - some part of him didn't exactly want to leave the kid behind, but then again, Ryou didn't want him to get into trouble - which was undoubtedly going to happen if he went with Ryou, given the Thief King's penchant for finding danger. It would be much easier, he decided, if he could just somehow take Tommy to some orphanage or other or leave him with Anzu or something, and then slip away with the Thief King–

Oh, I don't think so. Zorc's reincarnation could be of great use to us.

"You mean yourself, don't you?", Ryou grated out-

And Bakura surged inside him, Bakura taking over his mind and body, Bakura gleefully picking the child up and following the Thief King inside the telephone box, with Ryou screaming blue murder the whole time. With a sound like a vacuum cleaner had attempted to swallow an elephant, the Time And Relative Dimensions In Space craft rose high into the air, lurched forwards, and–

–slammed into a tree. But it soon floated back upwards, and with a semi graceful turn, it sailed through the blue yonder, racing towards adventure, and–

–slammed into a tree.

And somehow, this was the same tree as the first time.

Needless to say, this was about when Ryou decided that maybe having company wasn't really such a good thing.

And the TARDIS, Ra bless its alien soul–

–slammed into a tree.

The same tree.


Epilogue(because every sci–fi fic needs one…)

THE THIEF KING somehow managed to drive the TARDIS into a single tree for several hours before his companions figured out that an instruction manual existed. After this, he journeyed through space and time, constantly on the run from his pursuers – until he discovered that they were only an insurance company, who were interested in knowing his age so as to charge him appropriately. He then sold the TARDIS back to its owner for an exorbitant price, stealing it back six seconds later – apparently to cover his insurance bills, though this reasoning is doubtful.

To this day, he repeats the trick with every alien race he encounters; often inadvertently saving humanity when the aliens rage quit their invasions, mostly out of frustration due to the man's utter lack of respect for science fiction rulings.

YAMI BAKURA did eventually get his own body, after many attempts by himself and his companions to steer the TARDIS the right way through all the weird wibbly–wobbly timey–wimey stuff. He is believed to be singlehandedly responsible for destroying most of the Daleks and Time Lords; but he did it so fast that neither side noticed, and so the survivors blame each other to this day.

By the time Yami Bakura gained his own body, the Thief King had decided that he actually liked the guy a fair bit, and so allowed him to live.

He still wants to go back in time and kill the Pharaoh, despite all attempts by the others to explain that without Atem, he likely wouldn't exist.

TOMMY soon discovered that Horakhty would not leave him alone, not even on the Internet. On one memorable occasion, several laptops were confiscated, after the crazy bird–lady figured out that she could track his movements through his Facebook his intense dislike of Christmas, he became accidentally responsible for the creation of Saint Nick (and by extension, the invention of Santa Claus), when he fell down a chimney whilst trying to impersonate a priest for some extra money. The sack of cash he was carrying at the time split open, coins spilling all over the floor, and he was forced to flee before he could recover it all.

He is still trying to get used to the name 'Zorc', and currently pines for an autograph from his past reincarnation.

RYOU wound up tirelessly accompanying the rest on many adventures, and was somehow not killed in the first few seconds of action. The only time he accidentally got in the way was when a certain Rose Tyler was attempting to use her Glowy Eyes of Doo– I mean, her Bad Wolf powers to make some other guy immortal. Ryou's Adorable Eyes of Cuteness had an adverse effect on the caster, and the end result was that all four crew members were made immortal instead – something which none of them actually wanted.

Whenever he can, he comes back to visit his friends; the future versions of whom don't understand why he's there, nor why he always looks the same age as when he first disappeared.


...Well, that was pretty crackish. Written as another art trade for Djpunupipi, she can link and repost it if she wishes.

For those of you wondering where I pulled that Time Machine thing from: Jounouchi uses that card in the manga twice - and he definitely owns it in YGO R, claiming that he took it from Keith after Duelist Kingdom.

As for the actual trick: Assuming that most (if not all) of the cards are real in Ancient Egypt... well, that means that time travel is technically possible, with Jounouchi's Time Wizard if not his Time Machine.