Matchmaker Millennium

Bakura dusted some of the dry desert sand off his dark clothing as he strode into the bar. Anyone watching the fiend carefully would see signs of fatigue under the smudges on his face, his pale hair a little wilder than it normally was, and that he was walking at a little more exhausted gait than normal. But in this den of thieves and criminals, still no one dared mess with Bakura, even if he was on the brink of collapsing.

"Your usual?" asked the bartender as Bakura took a seat at the counter, still absently brushing filth off his clothing.

Bakura nodded in agreement at the offer, neglecting to mention that at the moment, he didn't have the money to pay for the drink he was handed. After a week of unsuccessful targets, as well as an almost run in with the palace guards, Bakura was not only broke, but in desperate need for a drink. He'd have to pull a really major heist soon if he didn't want to just plain starve to death in the sun-scorched streets of Egypt.

It wasn't as if Bakura and the bartender were exactly friends, they had more of a business arrangement. The bartender told Bakura of any rumors of new tombs of nobles, or fancy trinkets that the temples acquired, and Bakura was kind enough to not kill the man out of plain crankiness. He tended to do that to people sometimes. Especially on his bad days, like this one.

The bartender waited until another customer paid for his drink and moved away, before he leaned in a little toward Bakura to speak in a low whisper.

"You hear the big news yet?" he murmured, a wicked grin crossing over his thick cracked lips. "Heard it from the guards themselves as the passed through here earlier today."

Bakura raised an eyebrow and sipped on his drink. Perhaps things were looking up? A good tomb robbery was just what he needed to make an awful day into something wonderful. "Who died?"

The bartender's ugly grin widened. "The Pharaoh."

Bakura's eyes suddenly narrowed dangerously, his grip on his cup tightening until his knuckles whitened to bone color. "When?"

"Earlier today. No one knows exactly how, but as the rumor goes, they've made quick work with loading up the tomb already." It looked like the bartender was having the time of his life sharing this little bit of news to the thief. "If you hurry up there quick, you'll get good pickings."

Bakura was hardly listening, his skin almost ashen, shaking imperceptivity. With a snarled curse, he slammed the mug back down on the counter and took off running out of the bar.

"Hey!" yelled the bartender from behind him. "You didn't pay! You rotten little-"

His curses quickly faded behind Bakura, his own pounding heartbeat drowning out any other sounds around him.

***

It was true.

Standing in the entrance of Pharaoh Yami's inner tomb, Bakura still could hardly believe it. His torchlight glittered like molten gold over all the treasures piled up in the little chamber, but Bakura's full attention rested on the centerpiece, the massive and beautiful sarcophagus that sat in the middle of it all.

Around this, stationed like silent sentinels, were large scale statues of the Pharaoh's most loyal protectors. The Dark Magician's carved face watched Bakura stoically from amid the ranks. Bakura swallowed, wiping one sweaty palm on his tattered pants, finding a place where he could set the torch to light the room. Then he crept forward, his eyes on the guardian statues.

"Be easy, great ones," Bakura murmured, bowing slightly and hoping to appease the shadow realm spirits. "I'm not here to cause harm."

Nothing happened as he passed the silent statues, and he relaxed, figuring if he hadn't been struck dead by this point, then he wasn't going to be. He chewed his lip a moment, before finally taking hold of the sarcophagus lid and shoving it off to reveal the contents of the ornate case.

Lying peacefully amid this entire glittering splendor was the simply wrapped body of the Pharaoh. His mummy was adorned with protective talismans, the head covered with an expertly crafted death mask of gold, set with semi-precious stones, and glittering rubies set for the eyes. Bakura stared at the features so familiar to him, staring back at him from an impassive cold metal mask.

Bakura sneered at the corpse. "Weakling," he finally snarled at it, leaning over the edge of the sarcophagus so he could yell in the carved golden face. "How the mighty have fallen indeed! Even I, a mere thief, have outlived you, mighty Pharaoh! How could you disgrace yourself like this?! How could you just go and DIE like this?! How could you…" he choked on a sob that rose up in his throat, wiping at his eyes that threatened to spill tears. "…how could you just go and leave me?"

He rested his forehead on the edge of the sarcophagus, fighting back the tears. Actually, Pharaoh Yami probably had no idea that when he'd died, so had died Bakura's reason to live. After all, the Pharaoh had never even seen Bakura during his lifetime. But Bakura had seen him.   

Bakura was a master of stealth, and his title was well earned. Several times a week, sometimes daily when he felt like it, Bakura would creep undetected into Pharaoh Yami's palace. He'd done it so often, there was no challenge in it anymore. It was neither the challenge, nor the promise of the Pharaoh's wealth that lured the thief inside time and time again. It was the Pharaoh Yami himself.

Watching from the safety of shadows, around corners, or atop ceiling beams, Bakura had watched the Pharaoh conduct his business. Both political and… personal. It seemed to Bakura that Yami was a master in everything he did. He ruled his kingdom with compassion, but a firm hand. He cared about the people he ruled, and they in turn adored him. His strength and character were things Bakura couldn't help but admire.

But it was other things as well that fascinated the thief. The clever, sometimes teasing glint in Yami's bright ruby eyes. That sexy husky quality in Yami's voice that rarely failed to make Bakura shiver in delight simply hearing it. The smooth, confident way he walked. And that one time Bakura had made the mistake of spying on the Pharaoh in the middle of a lover's tryst with his sexy but stern High Priest. The image was explosive fuel for many of Bakura's future dreams. As well as the inspiration for a list of 101 ways to kill the High Priest. Bakura didn't deal well with jealousy.

And now Yami was dead. Bakura had never even had the chance to speak to the object of his affection and lust, and now it was too late.

Bakura leaned in to brush a soft kiss over the golden mask's lips, pulling the lid back over the sarcophagus to cover the body. He couldn't hold the tears back now, and he was too tired, physically and emotionally, to even try. He looked around the small room, piled high with treasures fit for a king.

"They certainly sent you off well stocked," he commented softly in the darkness. "So many pretty things to take to your next life with you. I hope you enjoy them."

His eyes returned to the sarcophagus lid, inlaid with several items adorned with the eye of Horus; Pharaoh Yami's most prized treasures, the symbols and embodiments of his power. A small smile started to form on Bakura's lips as an idea took shape. He scrambled to his feet, pulling a golden blade from amid the treasures. With a maniacal grin, he slit both his wrists deep.

He clung to the coffin as his blood and strength seeped away. Bakura pressed the gaping wounds to the cold metal of one of the Pharaoh's treasures; the Millennium Ring. His blood made the gold gleam like rubies. Like Yami's eyes. Bakura smiled at that, willing his spirit into the Ring as it took its leave of his body.

"I will follow you into death," he whispered hoarsely, a smile still on his lips. "And I will find you again… in your next life…"

Bakura's corpse finally slid off the sarcophagus lid, crumpled in a heap on the floor. His spirit settled into its new vessel; the Millennium Ring. He could feel the Pharaoh's spirit so close to him, sleeping, unaware, peaceful. Happy, Bakura settled down, to wait for however many centuries it took before he could see the world again. A world with Yami in it.

Silently, the statues of Yami's loyal protectors guarded their master, and now, Bakura as well. The torchlight gleamed over the gold of Yami's tomb, and the bright ruby of Bakura's blood, before at last, the flame finally guttered and went out.