A/N: Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

The way Bakura was staring at Marik was much like a lion watching a gazelle moments before pouncing. His long, admittedly fluffy hair was tied back loosely while he held a still-steaming cup of coffee, slouched forward in the dining room chair. A vague memory of a woman scolding him to sit upright came unbidden – not his. He took a very controlled sip of coffee, taking no bother in how it burned his tongue. "Come again?"
"Road trip," Marik repeated with a frown, watching Bakura's face. He was smarter than he looked; he'd learned that Bakura was a rubber band held taut, ready to snap forward at any moment. "In lesser terms. My Ghouls learned of something that could aid in the destruction of the Pharaoh. The issue is that it's not here. So we have to go get it."
"And just what is 'it'?" Bakura asked, setting the mug down on the table, eye twitching involuntarily.

Marik leaned opposite of Bakura, moving backwards as he moved forwards, and crossed his arms. "...Alright, that's the secondary issue. No one can get in to tell us what it is. Which is why I'm asking you to come with."
"You think I'm some walking deus ex machina, is that it?"
"You're powerful, in ways that I'm not."
Bakura grinned at that, which made Marik shift just so subtly in his chair. He was well aware that even someone like Marik Ishtar was unnerved by him sometimes, which was all very well and fine with him. "I was wondering when you'd admit it."

"Shut up. Are you coming?"

The car that had been 'acquired' for them was a cherry red convertible number, definitely not of the 21st century and definitely not inconspicuous. After a good amount of grooming on both parts, they headed out with the hood drawn back. Unlike the movies, however, the grim reality was that this was not very friendly towards longer hairstyles, as the way their hair whipped around guaranteed much swearing at hairbrushes later.
Radio stations out here were non-existent, which was fine with Bakura; he had always preferred to travel in silence. There was a certain comfort in watching the desert landscape race by, with the occasional dust storm in the distance, that he gladly indulged, even if it brought forth a strange sense of longing that he easily suppressed.
"... and you're not even listening."

He blinked, tipping his sunglasses down as he turned to look at Marik, who had that annoying expression of indignation. How dare someone not bow to his whims, after all. "Oh, you were talking?"
Marik scoffed, turning the ignition off and unclasping his seatbelt. "I'm going in for water. One of my Ghouls should be here to help shed some light on this little adventure, too. Don't cause trouble." With that, he patted the door and headed into the gas station that they had stopped at while Bakura was lost in the landscape, slipping his keys into his back pocket.
He glanced towards the station after a few minutes of being absent of company to stare at Marik's informant, following him until he could see through the glass door that Marik was in a very intense conversation with the clerk. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the expanse, trying to determine what kind of cactus was in the distance.

Another minute later, he glanced back, and blinked at the massive streak of blood across the windows. Now that had definitely not been there before. Slowly, he unclasped his own seatbelt and jumped out of his seat, taking a moment to open the glovebox and retrieve a dagger before beginning the approach.
There was no sign of life in the station, but the hairs on Bakura's neck were standing straight up. Something was definitely not right, but the nature of it was both familiar and foreign – an intense vortex of darkness with the station as the epicenter. Slowly, he placed his hand on the glass.

Which was when Marik came crashing through the door.

Bakura grunted as he was sent careening across the sand, Marik straddling his hips with an arm pressed against his neck and something sharp pressing into his ribs. He clawed at Marik's arm, pressing his nails deep into bronzed flesh, and looked up, one eye shut tight in pain.
The coy, Cheshire Cat-esque smile that sat on Marik's face told him everything he needed to know. The darkness he'd felt was right in front of him now, on top of him. "Were you going to do something with that?" Bakura's grip tightened around the dagger still in his hand. "Oh, don't grab it now, it's no good." His voice was deep, a perverted parody of itself, a hint of turbulence just barely stifled underneath its smoothness.

"Marik –"

"Mm." Marik cut him off with a little more pressure to Bakura's throat; he started to see black spots in a sky that was growing brighter and brighter white. "Sort of, but better." He relaxed his grip on Bakura's throat and leaned forward so that their noses were almost touching, and Bakura looked into his eyes to see nothing. A small amount of amusement, sure, but nothing more than that, even as Bakura shifted underneath him and hissed as the blade pressed against his side became a more insistent pain.
"What's your damage, then?" Bakura scoffed, opening both eyes again and narrowing them critically.
"I told you. Marik, but better." He licked his lips thoughtfully, cocking his head to the side. "Now the question is, what does someone like me do with someone like y-"

Bakura acted then, bringing the hilt of the dagger up against Marik's skull, just forcefully enough to rock him to the side. With enough momentum, Bakura pushed, rolling the both of them over so that he was on top now, pressing the blade of the dagger to Marik's throat.
Marik turned his head slowly to look back up, his lips spreading into a wide grin, one that rivaled one of Bakura's in its malevolence. Bakura's eye twitched again, and he grimaced upon the burning realization that, whatever Marik had been holding to his side, it was now firmly stabbed into him. "Ooh. You're good."

"Marik," Bakura said, taking a slow breath now that he was in control of the situation and immediately regretting it with the sharp pain that went through him. "Had a few secrets, did you?"
"Mm. Only as much as anyone else." Marik shrugged, seemingly uncaring that the blade dug deeper against his skin every time he moved, drawing a trickle of blood. "Shamefully, the main personality has an anger problem."
Bakura nodded slowly, a wry smile coming to his lips. "Multiple personalities. So is it just you I have to concern myself with?"
"Yes – but you are concerned."
"Only since you stabbed me." He promptly wished he hadn't said that, as the wide grin on Marik's face warned him of what was coming next mere seconds before whatever was intruding his ribs was promptly pulled out, making him groan in pain – and his grip faltered.

But Marik didn't use the advantage to his own gain. "I do remember, however, a certain deal you made with him. Me. But instead of wasting time taking a roundabout way, why not just get to the heart of it?" He leaned forward, smile twitching as the blade against his neck dug even deeper still. "Let's just kill the Pharaoh."
Bakura raised an eyebrow, re-adjusting his grip on the situation... although this was feeling less like a battle and more like a negotiation. "And how, exactly, do you propose that?"
"I figured slicing him open would suffice."

Something in Bakura's heart stirred. He pushed it back down and scoffed. "We'd have to get to him, first."
"You say that like it'd be hard. Which it shouldn't be, unless you're a lot less competent than you seem."
There was silence as they stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Bakura scoffed, pulling the knife away and standing up, a hand reflexively coming to hold the stab wound on his side. Which was when he noticed Marik's weapon – the Millennium Rod. Only the bottom had been screwed off, revealing a dagger inside. "Clever."

Marik stood with an uneasily casual pace, rubbing his throat and wiping away the blood from his own injury, examining it with an almost amused expression. "You agree?"
Bakura furrowed his brow, blowing hair out of his face as he regarded the new Marik before him. On the one hand, he could easily overpower Bakura with brute force if he really wanted to, and the fact he'd attacked Bakura at all despite knowing their arrangement was not very comforting. On the other hand... he knew his way around a blade. And more importantly, he wanted in on cutting to the chase and just killing the Pharaoh outright.
"...Tch." Bakura shook his head, running his free hand through his hair and getting it tangled on a snare almost immediately. "Let me fix this first."
Marik's grin was of Cheshire Cat proportions as Bakura stumbled to the car, fished out the first aid, and retreated to the bathroom. He gave himself a quick glance in the mirror and shook his head. What the hell had he just agreed to?