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Spirit.
Bakura was ordinarily not an easy person to startle.
The millenia he had spent imprisoned within the Millenium Ring had given him ample time to grow accustomed to each tiny sound in the dark, untouched crypt the artifact had laid in, encased in stone. Every slight shifting of his surroundings, the gentle falling of dust from the ceiling, or a distant howling of wind far beyond the crypt walls may as well have been at the volume of a sudden cave-in.
When he had finally been given a form in the physical world once more (“I am borrowing your body, Landlord. Stop your whining! You’ll get it back later!”) he found he loved noise. Loud, sudden, explosive — noise, to him, was life.
And yet the soft, exasperated sigh of his host’s voice in his mind just then made him jump and duck for cover behind the worn concrete wall he was hiding behind.
What are you doing?
“Landlord!” he rasped in a sharp whisper. “...Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Really? Because it seems like you’ve been following that guy over there.
Bakura scoffed, glancing out from behind the wall again. The motorcycle was still there, its rider still casually leaning against it, tapping away at a charm-adorned cell phone with a small smirk. There was a slight wrinkle of mischief in his nose, and when he looked up from the phone, his violet eyes seemed to sparkle in the sun.
It had been the motorcycle that had first drawn Bakura’s attention – it had whizzed past him with such a delightfully loud uproar that he couldn’t help but stop to watch it. But then he’d heard the rider’s cackling laugh over the cacophony – a sound of such unfettered joy he wanted nothing more than to locate its source.
He had followed the lingering exhaust to where he now stood, carefully observing. The young man’s golden hair was ruffled by the slight breeze, falling perfectly around his face even though it had moments earlier been covered by a helmet.
Oh, dear. You’re smitten, aren’t you?
“What?!” Bakura gritted his teeth. “No, I am not. I was just… thinking about stealing his bike!”
Mm-hmm. Ryou’s voice was flat, expressionless – and yet somehow intensely judging. I guess that’s why you didn’t notice his Millennium Item…
“His–?!” Bakura’s gaze snapped to the biker’s belt – where a telltale glimmer of gold rested – and then to the ring resting on his chest, one spike eagerly pointing toward it.
Bakura cleared his throat, trying to play off his shock. “Good you noticed that, Landlord. You passed the test.”
Look, Ryou said, his voice brightening considerably, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but – you should go talk to him! He looks nice. And normal… or at least more normal than you. And you clearly think he’s cute. This could end up being really great for you.
“Pff, no way,” Bakura snorted. “I am going to go take that Millennium Item from him, though.”
Have fun and be yourself! Well. Not too much yourself.
Bakura finally emerged from behind the wall and started toward the young man, mulling over what to say. Should he try to be smooth? Scary? Tough and intimidating? He usually never stopped to consider his approach, so why now was he–
“Where the fuck did you come from?”
Too late. The biker had beaten him to it.
His voice was reedy and grating – and loud. Just like the bike. Bakura found himself only more intrigued.
“I should be asking you, biker-boy,” Bakura snarled, narrowing his eyes.
Fantastic. Off to a wonderful start, Spirit, Ryou sighed, voice dripping sarcasm.
The young man looked deeply offended. “Biker-boy?”
“Hand over your Millennium Rod and I might let you live!” Bakura called out, his voice echoing across the empty parking lot. A long silence followed, and he smirked to himself. He was so terrifying, he’d completely shocked him into silence.
But the silence shattered when he snorted a laugh. “Oh, so you’ve got one of these too,” he twirled a finger around a lock of his hair before pointing at the Millennium Ring. “Cute. Say, I’ve got a bit of an idea, actually.”
“Hmm?” Bakura crossed his arms and scowled.
“Intros first. I’m Marik Ishtar,” he stated matter of factly, with a slight preen as he pushed the stray hair out of his face.
“Do I look like I give a flying fuck what your name is?” Bakura spat. Marik. It sounded nice.
“Wow. Rude. I like it. And you are…?”
Almost as though it were against his will, he found the word drawn out of him. “Bakura.” Strange… As a spirit, the Rod shouldn’t have worked on him. Maybe it was something else.
“Bakura. Look, I don’t really need this thing – not once all my business is taken care of. Tell you what, you help me defeat the Pharaoh and his little friends, and it’s yours.”
Er, alright – you know, on second thought, maybe we should get back to working on your new tabletop idea, Spirit. I think this guy might be bad news–
Bakura’s mind – and the heart he often forgot he had – raced at the thought. All this, and he hated the Pharaoh? It seemed almost too good to be true. To be partners in scheming, a devious pair, hellbent on the Pharaoh’s destruction…
“Yes! Yes, let’s do it!”
“Perfect,” Marik murmured dangerously. “Then here’s what we’re going to do–”
“ This!” Bakura cried, withdrawing the knife he’d found on the road some weeks past from his back pocket and deftly flicking it open.
Marik raised an eyebrow, his pleased smirk turning confused. “Uh… Okay, so what are you going to do with–”
Bakura cackled – and jabbed the knife with all the force he could muster into his arm.
WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING, YOU DAFT BASTARD?! WHAT REASON COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE TO STAB US IN THE ARM?!
Bakura chuckled, tossing aside the knife and stepping forward. It clattered, rather sadly and anti-climactic, onto the pavement. Blood gushed from the new wound, and Bakura found his head was starting to grow faintly fuzzy. “There,” he slurred, wobbling a bit before he toppled in Marik’s direction. “I think that should speak for my… sheriousness. ”
“Oh– Gods, what the fuck did you just do?!” Marik shrieked. He seemed to consider dropping Bakura, who was now half-conscious in his arms, blood still spurting every which way. “Oh, I’m going to be sick– Someone?! Anyone?! Help?!”
Marik looked in every direction in a panic – and then slung Bakura over the back of his bike as though he were an old gym bag, and took off once again toward the center of Domino City.
The last thing Bakura thought before the lights went out was that those flare-leg cargos really did make Marik’s butt look nice.
“You know I just realized, I never did actually take a look at your deck.”
Bakura looked up from where he sat across from Marik’s bed, thumbing through a bunch of worn-looking Duel Monsters cards. They weren’t even sleeved, a fact that made Marik’s skin crawl.
“No need. It’s already perfect,” Bakura said with a wry smirk.
Marik rolled his eyes. “Look, I make decks for all of my ghouls. You shouldn’t be any exception.”
The hum of the Battle City blimp was soothing, and it had gotten to be very late – they’d spent quite some time prowling the halls of the cabin together, eavesdropping on conversations and looking for possible sabotage opportunities before retreating to Marik’s quarters.
“Well, I’m not one of your little ghouls,” Bakura countered, baring a single sharp tooth in Marik’s direction as he spoke.
“Ugh, fine. Let’s at least do something fun before we go to sleep, then.” Marik suppressed a yawn. He was exhausted, but he didn’t want to send Bakura away just yet. “It can be like a sleepover. Like in the movies! I’ve always wanted to have one.”
Bakura grinned. “Ohh, like the ones where the killer breaks in, and murders everyone–”
“No, idiot!” Marik swung the Millennium Rod at him, and he deftly ducked out of the way. “Like… I don’t know. I could paint your nails maybe? Braid your hair?”
For as disgusting as his hygiene habits were, Bakura did have surprisingly nice hair - Marik suspected that was likely due to his host’s intervention. It was thick, silky, and had a pretty silvery shine in the harsh light of the lamp he sat next to. The pieces in the front which always inexplicably stood up when Bakura took control were charming, too.
“And what would the point of that be, exactly? Sounds like a waste of time to me.” Bakura slapped his deck down onto the end table beside him.
“Look, you can’t go looking like that when you fight the Pharaoh. Come here, I’ve got a bunch of different colors to choose from.”
Bakura approached the bed like a skittish cat before sitting down next to Marik, suspiciously eyeing the makeup bag he brought out.
Marik hardly noticed the time passing as they sat together. Bakura – predictably – chose the black nail polish, and chuckled about how it matched the depths of his soul as Marik meticulously applied it to each ragged nail (and desperately tried not to see the state his cuticles were in as he worked.)
“Alright, while you wait for that to dry, I can braid your hair,” Marik said decidedly.
Bakura fell oddly, uncharacteristically silent, drumming his newly-painted fingertips on his knees with a frown.
“What’s wrong? Hasn’t anyone ever braided your hair before?” Marik asked him teasingly. “My sister always braided my hair for me when we were kids.”
“Once,” he muttered, his voice bizarrely serious. “But that was a very long time ago.”
“Well,” Marik sighed. “Up to you. What would you like to do?”
The next day, as Bakura took to the stage in the first duel of the tournament, he flashed a wicked grin for the cameras, being sure to toss his hair into the wind such that it showed off a small, neat braid behind his ear that had been tied off with a lilac rubber band.
Ra.
Marik had always been taught to fear and respect the gods. He thought he had, when told tales of their power as a young boy – but he realized now as he stared down the fearsome amalgamation of the Winged Dragon and his darker half what fear truly was.
This was it, he thought – end of the line. If he were a better person, perhaps he might have turned to Bakura and told him something encouraging, or thanked him for his help… Instead, every misplay Bakura had made to bring them to this point paraded through his thoughts.
And so, he unleashed what was really on his mind.
"We are FUCKED! Completely and totally fucked, and it's YOUR fault! And… And…"
Marik looked across the gloomy haze at Bakura, who stared back at him, uncharacteristically nervous, brown eyes warmly illuminated by the gathering ball of fire that was about to raze them to ashes. He gave a cry of frustration.
"Oh, I HATE when you look at me like that!" He shrieked. "With your big stupid brown baby cow eyes! Gods, I really want to kiss you right now, you know that?!"
Bakura's eyes grew even wider. " What?"
Marik blinked, realizing he had spoken out loud– very out loud. "Uh. Kill. I said kill. I really want to kill you right now."
The innocent, endearing, wide-eyed caught-off-guard stupor of Bakura's expression evaporated. Marik once again found himself facing down a smarmy, toothy grin.
"Oh, I heard you," Bakura chuckled. The light laughter crescendoed to a guffaw, though most of its volume was snatched away in the roaring wind. "Hear that, Domino City?! Marik Ishtar wants to kiss m–"
The rest of Bakura's declaration was promptly swallowed up in Ra's overwhelming inferno. All Marik could see around him was flames, they engulfed everything, even the air around them to the point Marik could no longer do so much as cry out. Then the flames dissipated, and everything went very, very dark.
Distantly, as the darkness swallowed him into an ocean of nothingness, Marik was briefly aware that someone was holding his hand.
Bakura.
Ryou had been immensely glad when the tournament was over. He was exhausted, and had not stopped feeling vaguely ill since the whole affair began.
It had luckily been easy to slip out unnoticed to begin the trek back to his apartment, the Ring tucked safely under his shirt and what he assumed to be a Duel Disk Bakura had stolen folded up in the backpack slung over his shoulder.
Why on earth am I still protecting you? He wondered to Bakura. He didn’t expect an answer, and none came. Bakura had been weak ever since the duel against Marik’s other half, drifting in and out of semi-consciousness.
The silence allowed Ryou to notice that he was being followed.
He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Marik. He wasn’t trying to conceal himself - and he even waved when he saw Ryou notice him.
"Hey," Marik said, with a small pause as though he were trying to recall something. "Ryou."
Ryou was somewhat put off that Marik hadn't immediately remembered his name, after they had all been sharing the same metaphysical space for the past several weeks… but then, he supposed he had probably been hard to notice under the mountain of chaos those two had been up to.
"What do you want?" Ryou asked, a bit more bristly than he'd meant to be. He subconsciously turned half-away, hoping Marik was perhaps only walking by and didn’t actually want to talk.
No such luck. The gesture only made him rush forward, grabbing Ryou’s shoulder. “Look, I– I’m sorry you got caught up in all that, and I’ll leave you alone if you want. I just need to know…after all that… Bakura isn’t… gone, is he?”
Marik looked like he might burst into tears – something Ryou would not have expected, given his normal bravado. It seemed Bakura’s feelings were indeed reciprocated.
Ryou felt himself soften slightly at Marik’s genuine concern. “Please,” he scoffed. “He’s not remotely that easy to get rid of.” His hand brushed over his shirt where it covered the Ring. “He’s just… asleep right now.”
Marik let out a heavy sigh, his face falling into relief. “Oh, that’s…” He caught himself, glancing away. “Well, I… have a bone to pick with him. When he wakes up, make sure you tell him that.”
“Tell you what,” Ryou muttered. “There’s actually something I’d like to talk to you about. Want to walk me back to my place?”
Marik seemed confused but intrigued, and nodded his agreement as Ryou led the way.
“He’s called Zorc Necrophades,” Ryou carefully explained, leaning against the railing surrounding the roof of his apartment building.
“So he’s… what? Something Bakura made up?” Marik asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip from the soda Ryou had given him.
“No. He’s very real. Bakura – you know when he’s having the time of his life, and then suddenly he’ll start going on about wiping out all life in the universe?”
“I thought he was just being edgy.”
Ryou let out a sharp sigh, his shoulders tensing. “ That’s Zorc.”
Marik frowned. “Oh.”
“Marik, listen – I think we can stop him. Something… changed, since the two of you fought that duel against your dark half. I think watching you overcome your darkness… Even if it’s just subconscious, I think he wants to fight his too. He doesn’t want to end the world, not really… He’s angry and bitter, and he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of one of the pyramids–” Ryou stopped, letting out a shuddering breath, “But really, he just wants to live. Especially since he met you. It… probably sounds odd of me to say, but I believe there is good in there, somewhere. That he can be good. And I think you can help him.”
Marik remembered the fear of facing down his dark half, struggling for control as his essence had slipped away, little by little, losing himself more and more with each passing moment. In that desperate darkness, he’d been clinging to the memory of his brother, his sister… and fingers intertwined with his, resolute, when Ra’s flames had engulfed them.
Bakura had been a hand for Marik to hold in the darkness – now he could return the favor.
In the end, as it turned out, Bakura had been instrumental in saving the world.
A carefully orchestrated plan – one that involved him following Zorc’s wishes through to the end – had seen him construct a Shadow Game unlike any before. Only Marik and Ryou knew the truth – that Bakura’s loyalty to Zorc, this time, was fabricated.
So of course, when the time came for Bakura to face Yugi at Zorc’s behest… He refused.
“I’ve been telling you all along,” he said to a stunned Yugi and his equally stunned group of friends as he refused the duel and stood aside, “I’m your friend. You can trust me.”
Ryou, who stood only a few paces behind him, called out to Yugi across the stone bridge. “He can help us, Yugi,” he said earnestly. “He can help us take down Zorc.”
“And won’t that be the most delicious irony,” Bakura sneered as the befuddled group slowly approached him.
“Wow,” Yugi murmured incredulously. “I don’t know what to say, except…” He offered a small smile. “I knew you had it in you somewhere.”
“No, no you didn’t. Right up until this very moment I have been awful. And after this is over I am likely going to go right back to it.” Bakura very pointedly looked away from Yugi over his shoulder to Marik, hoping someone would back him up on this – but Marik only shrugged.
Yugi gave a soft chuckle. “Sure. Well… We need to get going now, there isn’t much time!”
“But I am not doing this for the Pharaoh!” Bakura barked, crossing his arms as the group started to rush from the now-collapsing cave. “I want that on record. This is not for his sake.”
“Ugh, forget the Pharaoh, you idiot, let’s go!” Marik shouted, dragging Bakura by the arm and dragging him along as they scrambled out of the cave.
“ Marik! Stop interrupting! You never even let me say who I am doing this for!”
“Does it matter?! Pick up your feet before we get crushed, idiot!”
Marik had entertained few ideas of what Zorc Necrophades might look like, when they finally faced him down – but this was not at all what he had been expecting.
Even the monsters of his nightmares couldn’t compare to this, and he wondered how Bakura had managed to exist as he did with such a thing coiled around his soul.
Nonetheless, Bakura had no fear. As the skies darkened, he laughed - half mad, drunk on adrenaline, and turned to Marik.
“This is for you, Marik! I love you!” he cried over the howling winds.
As he turned back to face down Zorc, his trenchcoat whipping wildly in the fierce gale, he held up his fists, thrusting both middle fingers into the air.
“Fuck off, Zorc!”
In the end, of course, it was Horakhty who dealt the final blow, who banished Zorc from existence at last. In a dazzling explosion of light, the ancient demon was finally obliterated, his influence faded, and the apocalypse was wholly averted.
But in the end, everyone agreed – Bakura’s final taunt certainly had only helped things along.
When the Shadow Game had ended, reality had finally set in. With Zorc finally gone, it was time to return the Millennium Items to where they were meant to rest forever - and Ryou struggled to grapple with the idea of finally being alone in his own mind.
This had been something he’d wished for for years, but now…
I don't… want you to go.
Bakura seemed to be handling all this much better – his answer was resigned. Come on, Landlord. We knew this would happen someday. At least this way I got to help save the world, yeah?
Ryou looked up across the room where Yugi and his friends stood, Yugi clutching the Puzzle just as Ryou now held the Ring. The stone stood between them at the room's center, seeming to radiate impatience, waiting for the final two items to be placed within it.
Ryou sighed. It just doesn't seem fair.
Well, that's life, isn't it? We've all got limited time on this earth, and I'm far past due.
One thing before I go, though, Landlord…
Right. Ryou nodded, wiping away the tears that had started to well in his eyes on his sleeves. He glanced across the room where Marik stood, staring down at the stone floor in a daze.
Marik looked up as he noticed Ryou was approaching him– No. Not Ryou. Bakura.
"You're here," Marik said incredulously as Bakura came to a stop before him. As usual, his posture was carelessly slouchy, his face set in his typical slight smirk. But… even in the dim light, Marik could see the slight shine of tears over his eyes.
"Well, of course. Like I'd just bugger off without saying goodbye–"
Bakura was cut off with a sharp grunt as Marik threw himself at him, gathering him into a hard hug.
"Stay," he begged through gritted teeth. "Please don't go."
"What's this? Marik Ishtar , getting desperate? You're going to ruin your reputation, you know," Bakura chuckled, gently returning the hug.
"I mean it, idiot," Marik sniffled.
"I know. But I have to – we can't seal Zorc forever unless the Millennium Items go too. Look, I had a good run, yeah? But we're out of time now."
He pulled away, looking surprisingly nervous before leaning in again to kiss Marik.
Marik found it difficult not to be swept up in the bitterness of this being his first and last kiss. It had to be Bakura’s, too – he had all the clumsy exuberance of a first-timer, throwing both arms around Marik’s neck and finishing off with a playful bite to his lower lip. It was tactless and awkward and cringeworthy and not at all the smooth swoon-inducing first kiss Marik had dreamed about in all his years as a hopeless romantic – but it was perfect.
He remembered Bakura holding his hand when the darkness had engulfed them both. This time he would face it alone.
"For all it's worth, Marik…" Bakura said, slow and quiet, "you were the best thing that's ever happened to me, my whole life. Pretty good for three thousand years, eh?"
Marik only sniffled again as Bakura stepped back.
“I love you,” Bakura said, in perhaps the most sincere tone he’d ever spoken in his life.
“I love you too,” Marik answered.
"Alright, Landlord," Bakura said, sounding nonchalant but unable to keep a faint quivering from his voice, "It's time."
The crests of his hair that stuck up like wings flattened, his face softened – and Ryou was once again in control.
He blinked, orienting himself to the world again – then cast Marik a pitiful, apologetic look before stepping over to the stone where Yugi stood. Yugi's eyes, too, gleamed with tears.
"You ready?" He gently asked Ryou, removing the Puzzle from around his neck.
Ryou hesitated, then nodded and did the same with the Ring. "Yeah," he said with a sniff.
Marik felt a hand on his shoulder, then on the other. He looked to either side – Ishizu and Odion stood beside him.
Miserable, he watched as Ryou and Yugi each placed their items into the Millennium Stone. There was a sudden flash of light–
Everyone cried out in surprise. Marik held a hand up to shield his eyes, squinting at the blazing intensity of the light that burned so fiercely it was impossible to make out anything in the room.
When it faded, the stone chamber was once again illuminated only by the torches on the walls – and Marik’s eyes widened at the sight before him.
The Pharaoh stood at the stone, where Yugi had stood only a moment before – Yugi had been knocked back by some force, and was slowly picking himself up off the ground. They turned and stared at one another, dumbfounded, perfect mirror images of each other.
Marik's gaze drifted to the other side of the stone.
"Bakura?"
Ryou spoke before he could, lifting himself up from where he'd fallen with a grunt.
"Bakura…" Marik whispered as his eyes widened even more.
Bakura looked down at himself, patting himself down as if to confirm he truly stood there. He whirled on his heel. "Landlord! I'm still here!"
Ryou slowly climbed back to his feet. "What on Earth…"
Bakura cackled, sweeping Ryou into a rough hug and ruffling his hair. They, too, were each other's double – as if they were twins, Marik thought.
Marik turned around, facing Ishizu. "How did this happen?" he asked, dumbfounded.
Ishizu seemed to have no more answers than Marik. "I can only guess… The gods must have somehow chosen to spare them."
Marik yelped as he turned around, finding Bakura standing directly in front of him, grinning wickedly.
"So, can I take back that goodbye?" He asked with a laugh.
Marik scowled back at him. “ Stupid!” he cried, shoving Bakura away and turning toward the wall. “You made me cry, and now my eyeliner is running, in front of everyone–”
"Well that was your fault for not buying waterproof!" Bakura guffawed. He reached up to wipe away the tears that still trailed down Marik's cheek. "There. No one will ever know."
"Idiot," Marik huffed. "I could kiss you right now–"
Bakura smirked. "You mean kill, right?"
"No. Come here."
Their faces pressed together, and their lips met once again. The second kiss was just as desperate, awkward, and smacking of inexperience as the first – and just as perfect.
Marik was really going to have to train Bakura out of the biting – seriously, where on Earth had he learned that?
But that could wait. They had time.
“Just how long is this going to take, exactly?”
“As long as it takes!”
Bakura rolled his eyes as he walked into the bathroom, wrapping his arms around Marik’s waist as he watched him apply his eyeliner in the mirror. “Your sister is going to yell at us if we’re late again.”
Marik snorted, carefully drawing a smooth wing right over the edge of his upper eyelid. “Tough. You can’t rush perfection.”
Bakura smirked, pulling away and sitting on the edge of the tub as Marik finished the last of his preparations to leave for dinner. They hadn’t been in this apartment long, and it was small, perhaps a bit cramped… but Marik was here. It was home.
Marik must have felt Bakura’s eyes on him, because he turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “What? Why are you staring at me?”
Bakura’s smirk softened into a genuine smile for a moment. “Oh, nothing. Just enjoying the view.”
“Oh, right, half my face done, I look positively stunning.”
“Well, that’s your fault for taking so long. My eyeliner is already done,” Bakura said pointedly, gesturing to himself.
Marik turned to look at him again, then back at the mirror. “How long did that take you?”
“Ninety seconds. Give or take.”
“Well, it shows. ”
“You,” Bakura grunted as he stood up from the edge of the tub again, noticing Marik was nearly finished, “are just jealous that I can have a complete look and be ready to walk out the door in five minutes flat.”
“Oh, sure, if I wanted to wear the same grungy t-shirt I slept in and style my makeup like a washed-up punk band frontman who hasn’t slept in fifteen years. Maybe that look works for you. ”
Bakura leaned on the counter, gazing at Marik in the mirror again. “Mm-hmm.” As he glanced at his own reflection, he remembered something.
“Marik,” he said sincerely, perhaps even a little timid. “Do you think you could put a braid in my hair? Like you did that one time.”
Marik looked taken aback. “What, in Battle City? Gods, how long ago was that now… five years?”
“Something like that.”
They each met the other’s gazes in the mirror, falling silent for a long time.
“Sure,” Marik agreed with a soft chuckle, running his fingers through Bakura’s hair. “I’ll remind you that you were the one worried about us being late, though…”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bakura said, leaning into Marik’s touch. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”