A/N: This is, as with the previous, AU. Only slightly, however. It's assuming that after the events of the Memory World, the Pharaoh decided to stay around for a while. One year later, they're on the ship to the Ceremonial Duel.

It's – weird. Rambling, like. And probably doesn't make much sense.

Anyone besides me see the significance of the title in relation to Marik's general feelings?

Don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!

The cool breeze bushed against his face, tossing his blond bangs up playfully. Far above, the stars glittered with their cold light, reflected a thousand times over in the dark, water of the river. Darkness had wrapped the world in velvety silence, as if the entire world was holding its collective breath, waiting.

He shifted against the rail, knuckles white on the cold metal. His upper body strained forward, as if by that motion alone he could sprout wings and fly. For one perfect moment, it almost seemed possible. His fingers, barely visible in the unlit night, reached forward and brushed the stars.

The sudden jerk of the boat nearly sent him tumbling over the edge.

There was a moment of panic as his entire body pitched forward, his palms slipping as they lost their grip, and then his feet were flat on the deck again. His heart still pounding, Marik let out a breath of air, sliding down the rail until he was sitting, legs spread out, eyes pressed shut. For a moment, he had been able to pretend that he wasn't trapped here on this tiny little boat, hadn't given into his destiny, hadn't been born.

But it was nothing more than a pretty, deceptive illusion, and the same motion that had brought him crashing back to the deck had brought him back to reality. He was still here on this boat. Battle City had come and gone, and despite fighting against it for his entire life, he had fulfilled his destiny. And for what? His family hadn't gotten anything out of this, not in the end. They were just stepping-stones for the Pharaoh and his endless quest for his memories – which he now had. They weren't even useful anymore. And once the Pharaoh had completed his final test, for better or for worse, they would be left to pick up the broken remnants of their family, their life, and start over – forever bearing the scars, both physical and mental, that had resulted from it all.

Marik drew his knees up to his chest, curling his arms around them and, for the first time since he had received the initiation, cried.

"Mr. Ishtar?" The quiet, hesitant voice cut through the night, shattering the last of the silence. "Are – you alright?"

His entire frame tensed in surprise, startled to be disturbed so late – or early, rather. A dull, throbbing sensation – one that he recognized as anger – followed quickly. Gritting his teeth, Marik raised his head, pretending that the kohl lining his eyes wasn't smudged, that traitorous tears weren't still running down his cheeks.

"I'm fine," he snapped back, swiping angrily at his eyes, succeeding only in smearing the kohl further. It didn't really register who he was talking to – they were still an indistinct blur around the film that was still in his eyes. Feeling distinctly vulnerable, Marik pulled himself to his feet by the rail, spinning to face the water again.

"Alright." The calm acceptance was a bit of a change for the Egyptian, so used to having every aspect of his emotions analyzed. Now that he was actually paying attention, he could hear the accent laced through the words, and felt his mood, if possible, drop even further.

Ryo Bakura. Yet another victim of his self-induced madness during Battle City. True, he hadn't ever had personal dealings with the shy teenager – they hadn't even had a conversation, if he was remembering correctly. Marik and the Spirit of the Ring had both manipulated the teenager into doing what they wanted; with the result that Marik knew he didn't remember most of the tournament.

There was a sudden feeling of having his personal bubble invaded, and Marik automatically shied away from the person who had moved to stand next to him. The white haired teenager said nothing further, however, and simply leaned against the rail much the same way Marik had been doing earlier. The silence stretched on, and Marik – though he had been steadfastly staring at the waves, refusing to look at Ryo – couldn't help but glance at the other from the corner of his eyes.

The pale duelist looked better than Marik could ever remember him appearing. There weren't shadows under his eyes anymore, and he was standing taller. No hunched, secretive posture that those who had something to hide always adopted unconsciously, and no fading bruises or bandages that were mementos of events best not spoken of. Unconsciously, Marik found his sidelong gaze moving up to the other's shoulder, covered as it was by the striped t-shirt he seemed so fond of wearing.

He wondered if there was a scar.

"It's not polite to stare." To anyone who knew Ryo, the light words were teasing. The albino had noticed what Marik thought were unobtrusive glances some time ago, but had decided to ignore them. At the profoundly uncomfortable look that had flashed across Egyptian's face, he had thought it best to interrupt.

Marik, for his part, wasn't very good at recognizing when someone wasn't being serious with him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, turning his head away, allowing his bangs to make a curtain between them. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for – staring, or for everything he had done.

"The more you say it, the truer it sounds, doesn't it?" Ryo leaned on the rail, hair blowing about his face, staring out at their invisible destination, not looking at his companion, missing the startled, guilty look that passed over Marik's face. "You're good, I'll give you that. You can fool everyone around you, even yourself." He half turned his head to consider the other. "But you can't lie to another liar."

"I'm not – I don't – but I am." Marik floundered for words, staring back at Bakura with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. "I am sorry for what I've done." Too late, he realized that the words sounded like he was trying to convince himself – and for that matter, he couldn't really say he wasn't.

A half smile ghosted across Ryo's face. "No you aren't. You feel badly for it, perhaps, but you aren't sorry. You don't even regret it." The white haired teenager turned his head to look forward again. "If you had the chance to go back to the moment where everything started, you wouldn't do anything."

Marik's startled look twisted. "I'd change everything," he said fervently. "I'd make sure my father never got the chance to carve my back apart, make sure that my darker half wasn't ever born."

"You say that now. It's understandable." Marik got the feeling that Ryo was laughing at him. "It's been nearly a year, but you've already demonstrated that you're very good at holding a grudge. "Give it some time, when we're all gone. Everything fades."

"I gave it time. I thought – after Battle City – I didn't – hate him." The words were halting. Marik himself was unsure why he was even telling this to someone who, despite having controlled them, he barely knew. Perhaps that was why – the judgment of a stranger wouldn't hurt as much.

Ryo sighed softly. "You were grateful. As I said, it's understandable. You'd just been saved from yourself, from an eternity in darkness. That's why you showed him your back, isn't it? You thought everything had passed, that there was nothing in between you anymore." A faint, bitter note seeped into his voice.

Marik, too, turned to look out over the water, hands clenched around the railing in a white knuckled grip. "Yeah," he murmured back, more to himself than to the other. "It – seemed like the right thing to do. And – I was forgiven."

The ex-holder of the Ring snorted. "It didn't last, did it?" His hands, clasped together as they were, tightened. "It never does. Everyone is still wary of you, never trusting. They can say they've forgiven you, that it wasn't your fault, but it's hard to forget what you've done to them."

"We aren't talking about me anymore, are we?" Marik glanced at Ryo, who was wearing an almost angry expression. This was unlike the teen he had come to know through Bakura, who had always insisted his host was a spineless little jellyfish. Though, Marik supposed, it had been a year. Without the Spirit of the Ring constantly looming over him, without that ever present threat, Ryo had clearly had a chance to flourish, to express his true personality.

Ryo's features darkened briefly. "Not really, no. But you and I aren't so different, are we?" Again, that faint bitter note, hiding just under the accent. "Not when you get right down to it."

"Yes, because you're also a murderer with a psychotic split personality, aren't you?" Though it was a sensitive topic, Marik managed to insert some degree of humor into his voice.

The laugh that escaped Ryo's lips was not so much of a laugh as it was a dark, rasping sound. "We both had our bodies taken over by someone –"

Marik glared. "The difference is, Ryo, that I started it. My darker self and I had the same goal – he just had a different, rather more permanent way of going about it. Everyone knows that you had nothing to do with the Ring's goals. You were used against your will."

"By Bakura, and by you, yes." The words were spoken harshly, Ryo turning his head to glare at the Egyptian, eyes flashing. "Everyone in my life has taken advantage of me – I guess you get used to being stepped on after a while."

"You deserved it, convenient footstool that you were. If you'd been less of a spineless wimp, maybe you could have broken my control," Marik said back just as heatedly, earrings swinging wildly as he turned his head to meet the brown stare of the other. "But what am I saying? You couldn't even gather the courage to take control of your own body."

"Like you're one to talk?" Their voices were getting louder, and had either of them stopped to think, they might have realized that they were bound to attract the attention of the other passengers on the boat eventually. "Your darkness nearly banished you. Even with Bakura's help you couldn't do anything."

"I wanted to die." Marik bit the words off as soon as they were out of his mouth, realizing his mistake a moment too late. He hadn't told anyone that, not even Odion. The anger dissipated almost instantly, replaced instead by a thick, uncomfortable silence. Marik turned his head away, training his eyes on the dark water, the little waves slapping lightly at the side of their vessel.

Ryo looked away as well, the truth of what they were – strangers – weighing heavily on both of their shoulders. "Really?" Gone was the harsh edge to his tone, replaced with something that was more innocent curiosity, with something that Marik couldn't quite place added in.

"Yeah." The word was rough, and the Egyptian's head lowered as he said it. He wasn't proud of the fact. It would have been better that way.

A sudden pressure on his shoulder made him jump – he had always been very against physical contact. His head snapped around to glare, an angry word on his lips, but they both died as he saw the expression on Ryo's face. It was a mixture of sadness and some sort of strange, perverse relief. He felt his eyes brows rising as he regarded the other in silence. On his shoulder, Ryo's hand tightened.

"I'm not the only one, then." He seemed almost – happy. "I thought it was wrong to want to."

Marik couldn't help it – it was just too ridiculous. "And because I was suicidal, you think that makes what you feel alright?" He pulled away from Ryo's touch. "Now there's some twisted logic."

Ryo shot him a frustrated look. "I didn't mean it like that and you know it," he pointed out, drawing back his hand. He wrapped his arms around himself, leaning back against the railing, looking out over the ship's deck. Silence fell between them, and Marik got the distinct feeling that he had said something wrong. And even more surprising – he actually cared. He hardly knew Ryo, if he were honest with himself, but of everyone on this ship, he seemed the most likely to understand.

"It would have been easier," he said at last, turning to face in the same direction as the other, crossing his arms as a chilly breeze blew past. Ryo's head turned slightly to show that he was listening. "I didn't want to fulfill my destiny – not then, not now. I encouraged the Pharaoh to win by any means possible – and he still tried to save me." Marik looked down, his bangs shadowing his face. "I didn't – still don't – understand it. I tried to kill him and his friends. I wasn't worth saving."

"The Pharaoh is funny that way," Ryo agreed, managing a chuckle despite the gravity of the conversation. "It's almost as if saving people is a switch that he can't turn off. I told him to attack me too, and he didn't."

Marik started. "You've been in the same – situation – that I was?" This was news to him. As far as he had been able to tell, Bakura hadn't liked his host, but wouldn't have intentionally placed him in danger. The risk to the body would have been too much, whereas his darker half hadn't needed to worry about that.

A small smile ghosted across Ryo's face. "Yeah. Sort of. Bakura – introduced – himself to everyone by sealing our souls into our favourite cards, and then playing a Shadow Game with us as the monsters. I was the Change of Heart –" The smile twitched and faded. "I would have won the game for him – the Puzzle would have been his, and none of this would have ever happened. But – I betrayed him. I took control of the only monster he had on the field, and told Yugi to destroy me – send me to the Graveyard. I was tired of being controlled." There was a note of justification in his voice, as if Ryo regretted doing it.

"Let me guess – he found a way around it." Marik's voice was wry.

Ryo sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "Yeah. He – switched mine and Bakura's souls, and sent him to the Graveyard in my place." The white haired teenager shuddered in remembered pain. "Our souls were pulled apart when he did that. It felt like I was being sawed in half…"

Marik, who had undergone much the same thing – though his relationship with his darker half had been significantly different – made a small noise of both sympathy and agreement. It was turning out that he had a lot more in common with this quiet teenager than he had initially thought. While they apparently had different ideas on the possession – from what he understood, Ryo had actually sort of liked having Bakura around – they were both survivors of something that Yugi and his friends, the rest of the world, couldn't imagine.

"And he kept on doing it." Ryo's voice was low, his expression suddenly dark. "Banishing Bakura, ripping us apart. I don't remember much of Battle City, but I remember that."

Marik shrugged. "The Pharaoh hasn't ever lost Yugi," he pointed out, "so how could he possibly know what going through something like that feels like? Hell, I hated my other self and it still hurt."

Ryo let out a strange little laugh, eyes narrowing. For a moment, he looked so much like Bakura that Marik was looking for the Ring before he could stop himself. "But now he does know." There was a strange sort of satisfaction in that tone, and it was profoundly unRyo-like. "Before they came to Egypt – there was another international crisis. Something called the Seal of Orichalcos. It was like a Shadow Game, only the loser's soul was used to awaken some great beast that would swallow the world."

Marik stared. This was the first he had heard of anything – Yugi and his friends had acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened since Battle City. (Though, he had to admit that to them, soul-stealing maniacs out to kill them was probably the norm by now.)

Ryo's arms curved tighter around himself. "The Pharaoh lost." If he had been anyone but Ryo, Marik would have said that he was almost happy. "He lost a duel, and Yugi let the Seal take him in the Pharaoh's place."

"Ya – Atem – lost a duel?" A traitorous spark of glee curled in his stomach.

"Yeah. And was torn from Yugi in the process. They think I don't know." Ryo's expression twisted again, growing darker. "But I do. They kept me in the dark for so long, and I was tired of it. When they came back from the States, they were all so – secretive about something. Obviously they didn't consider me trustworthy enough to tell – so I found out on my own."

Marik raised an eyebrow. "If they were that close-lipped about it, how'd you –?"

There was that weird glitter in Ryo's brown eyes again. "They were. But there were two other people who disappeared along with them. Most people didn't notice, but I pay attention. I did. So I found Rex and Weevil, after. I made them tell me what had happened."

"You forced someone to give you information?" Now that was hard to believe, even coming from this newly revealed side of Ryo.

The glitter vanished, and his shoulders slumped slightly. "Not me, no. I just – benefited from the information. Bakura, on the other hand, was only too happy to oblige me." A thick pause. "That was the first time he and I had gotten along since we found the Puzzle."

Marik leaned back against the rail further, maintaining that precious point between balance and falling over. "Then – before the Puzzle – you two were, ah, friends?" It was hard to imagine the Spirit of the Ring, whom Marik had been slightly afraid of, being nice to anyone.

"Not friends, exactly," Ryo said, amused despite himself. "I don't think Bakura ever had a friend in the sense you and I understand it. But we – dealt with one another. Less people lost souls, back before the Puzzle. He and I actually talked some of the time. He called me by my name. And then we moved to Domino." His voice grew dark. "And then I met Yugi Mutou, and everything went downhill from there. Bakura started acting – strange. More souls started vanishing, and he wouldn't have anything to do with me anymore. I was reduced to being 'landlord,' and acting like a goddamn taxi service for his needs. And now – now –"

"You didn't even get to know what happened to him." Marik filled in the words that Ryo, though he was not crying, couldn't seem to bring himself to say. "I know how you feel, though probably not for the same reasons. I spent my childhood in the darkness for that man, and I didn't even get to see what it was that my back revealed to him. I had more to do with the Pharaoh than those stupid cheerleaders he drags around with him, and I had to remain outside."

"I woke up –" Ryo's voice was tiny, and Marik wasn't sure if the other had even heard what he had just said. "I woke up inside that – tomb – and – and – I felt so empty. Like there was a gaping hole where something had once been. I tried going to my soul room. There – there isn't a door across the hallway. There isn't even a hallway anymore. Just flat, empty wall where it used to be. I heard voices – went to see who it was, and collapsed.

"The next thing I know, I'm on a plane back to Domino, and my Ring is gone. They took it from me." A sort of wild desperation had filled his words. "No one can take the Ring from its Bearer, not while Bakura was inside it. The last time I tried to take it off, he stuck the pointers into my chest." Now there were silent tears streaking down his pale skin. "He was gone. And I didn't even know why. I won't ever know why, because I'm not allowed to know. They got funny looks every time I asked – so I stopped asking."

Marik nodded, not looking at the other. He felt the same as Ryo did – where his darker half had been, there was now only an empty void, one that hurt if he thought about it too much. It was not out of any feelings he might have had for the twisted nightmare of his own creation, but a simple lack of something that was meant to be there. He supposed that once the duel between the Pharaoh and Yugi was complete, Yugi would have the same sense of loss.

"By tomorrow, Yugi will know what it's like." Ryo unconsciously echoed Marik's thoughts. The Egyptian wasn't sure, but he thought there was a hint of bitter happiness in that statement – he couldn't deny that he too was glad, in a perverse sort of way.

"Do you think he'll understand us better after?" He was surprised at himself for even bothering to voice it aloud. They both knew the answer already.

Ryo turned to look at him, tears still running silently down his face. "No." His voice was harsh. "He won't ever understand." The white haired teenager uncrossed his arms, pushing himself off of the railing. He ran his hands through his hair once, and then wiped the tears away with a corner of his striped shirt. One of his hands reached into his jean pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to Marik, who took it without comment.

"I know – you don't get out much." Ryo's tone was hesitant again. "But if you ever want to – talk – feel free." His smile was watery, the tears threatening to spill over again. "You'll have to do it – I know you don't have your own phone." He half turned to go, before pausing and glancing back. "Thanks. For listening. No one else has."

Marik offered a lopsided, slightly bitter smile, folding the paper and tucking it in his pocket. "You too."

With that, Ryo turned and walked back across the rocking deck of the boat. Marik watched him go, until the door that led to the outside had swung shut behind the other. With that clunk of finality still ringing in his ears, Marik turned back around, resting his elbows on the chilly rail.

The water was still dark below him, slapping lightly at the side of their ship, unable to stop their movement forward. In some way, Marik thought as he stared at the waves, that was what he was doing. Everything was moving forward, and he was still dwelling on the past, the only one unable to let go of what he had once had. Well – not the only one, not anymore. The knowledge that someone else out there was in the same situation as himself was comforting, in a strange way.

He clasped his hands together, fingers threading tightly as if by that motion alone he could hold himself together. His forehead dropped to his forearms for a moment, body a hunched shape in the darkness. Lavender eyes focused blindly on the patch of water that he could see from this position.

"I hate you," Marik whispered to himself, the words sour in his mouth. "For what you've done, for what you haven't. For the pain that you'll never really know." His expression twisted, and he lifted his head. "I don't regret what I've done." The silent night sky was easier to speak to than the subject of his words. "I won't regret what I've done. But – I know it wasn't right. I ruined my own life through my actions – as for you, I don't think you ever really cared. I was just something in the way of your true goal. Just like Bakura. Just like Ryo, in the end." His hands clenched tighter, until his knuckles were almost white and it hurt.

"I said I would live with the guilt of what I'd caused. I'm living with it, and I'm cracking under the weight of it all. But I'd rather shatter into a million tiny pieces than live like you do, unable to see past your little group of friends."

Marik lifted his head, unclasping his hands as he straightened up. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the scrap of paper that Ryo had given him. He considered the string of numbers written on it, done in a spiky, harsh fashion that was nothing like the one who had written them. The black lines danced in his vision for a moment, brilliant and sharp against the white paper. A breeze plucked at the corner of it, and after a moment, Marik opened his fingers.

The wind snatched the paper like a child with anew toy, sending it fluttering high. Marik watched the white spot grow smaller and smaller as it was carried away.

"People like us don't deserve a second chance." He could feel a laugh building in the back of his throat, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets in an attempt to distract himself. Marik glanced out over the cold, dark water one last time before turning his back to it. His steps – in the same direction Ryo had gone not a moment before – were jerky, uncertain.

I'll live with this guilt for the rest of my life, if you could call what I do living. I hate you for taking away my choice, forcing me to bear this like the scars on my back, he thought silently; hoping the thought would fly on dark wings to the room the Pharaoh was in. His fingers reached the handle, curling around the cold metal. His breath hitched, and the Egyptian rested his forehead on the door, clamping his eyes shut. For one moment, Marik was nearly overwhelmed by the desire to scream.

Death would have been kinder.