A gift fic for duskysunset, one of the best friends anyone could ask for. Thank you for always listening, helping me improve as a writer, and brightening my day.

Oxymorons

Marik liked reading.

Ever since he'd gotten out of that Ra-forsaken, dark hell of a tomb, he'd been enamored with the faraway places described in the colorful little books his prison never had. It was from these picture books that his love grew, and soon he managed to steal a magazine. He fondly remembered completing the thing within minutes and convincing his sister to buy a book for him, one with just words upon words, pages upon pages. A book he'd hoped wouldn't end so quickly.

Within mere paper whole worlds were waiting, full of life and light and wonder.

Even now, when he was living in the sun, they fascinated him.

This fascination was what brought him to the bookstore one Saturday afternoon. It was a small place, just a block or two from his sister's museum. Its plaster sides were bright and cheery, and a simple wooden sign stood above its awning. It wasn't really a name at all, Used Bookstore, but somehow, it stood out. After all, Marik wouldn't become a regular patron at just any shop.

He stayed outside the store for a moment, leaning against a telephone pole and lazily drifting his eyes over the new titles in the window. The sun was shining, the cicadas were chirping, and if not for the sweltering heat it would have been rather pleasant. Although, he supposed, everything would seem pleasant after the Millennium Item fiasco. He had power ─ lots of it ─ and even enjoyed it, but some sense had needed to be smacked into him eventually.

Marik rubbed his cheek at the memory. His sister had a strong arm on her.

Stop being such a wimp.

Marik leapt into the air as if he had stepped on a pin, hair standing on end.

"What…?" What are you doing here? was what he wanted to say, but a frog was in his throat, leaving him croaking and short of breath.

The presence in his mind paused for a moment, and in that moment the silence was deafening.

You can't get rid of your stronger half, weak little Marik. Only suppress it. The voice used a tone reserved for talking to small children. Marik grit his teeth, only for his mouth to open wide when the presence blew by his ear, carrying more whispers along with it.

I'll be back in just a moment.

The oddity of the statement didn't occur to Marik as he strained his ears for anything else. He gave up quickly and hurried to the bookshelf, convincing himself it was just a hallucination. He'd gotten rid of that part of himself when he had decided to live in Japan. Ishizu had even given him a clean bill of health.

Marik browsed the shelves, his gasping calming to steady breaths. He eventually settled on a title with an interesting plot tied to it. After paying for it (legally, of course), he walked out onto the streets of Domino city and towards his apartment, the conversation pushed to the back of his mind.

That is, until he settled down on the couch to read the book.

What do you have there?

Marik stiffened, wanting to move away from the strange presence at his shoulder but not able too. "A book," he said shakily. The pages started turning by themselves, wobbling in a sudden gust of wind.

Strange choice of reading material, the voice said mockingly, giving a little laugh. Marik hugged the book to his chest, away from unseen hands, though he knew it wouldn't help.

"If you hate it so much, why don't you just leave me alone?" Marik's fear ebbed away in his annoyance. If all the voice could do was rustle up a few winds, there was no reason to be afraid. Besides, wasn't the first step to overcoming a fear facing it head-on? Granted, it hadn't worked in the past, but that was when Marik was the plaything, a puppet in control of his master. He was his own person now, and no one would take that away from him. His yami (the word didn't suit, but Marik used it anyway, accustomed to it after using it so often in the past to excuse his despicable actions) may patronize him, call him weak-willed and fragile, but Marik wasn't, and he never would be again.

His yami cackled again, that mocking, evil laugh he so often used when dueling. Oh, don't mind me. I'll wait.

Marik narrowed his eyes, but leaned into the couch and began reading. Not a paragraph into the first chapter, his yami began laughing again.

Malik sighed. "What?"

That boy certainly likes his staff. Here, his yami let out a giggle akin to a grade-schooler's. Marik could practically feel his teeth slowly degrading to dust as he grinded them. He supposed it was only right that a personality born from an immature time in his life would have an immature sense of humor. Marik just had to wonder why it didn't show until now.

You'll find that world domination tends to force such things out of one's mind, his yami offered, but Marik could sense him shaking his head as he did so. Keep reading.

Breathing deeply through his nose, Marik continued. He managed to make it through a whole chapter without interruption. But it seemed the stupid thing had found something else to laugh at.

"What is it now?"

Oh, nothing, his yami said coyly, but continued on even when he received no further prompting. I just didn't know you liked to read about those sorts of things.

Malik's face grew red in anger, but he scanned the page nonetheless, looking for what could have possibly set his yami off. And then he found it.

"…It barely even mentions a rooster."

But you know as well as I that there's another word for them. But I suppose there's nothing suspicious about a boy chasing cocks. Carry on.

Marik groaned and swatted at the air, hoping to somehow push his intangible counterpart away. Failing to see results, he continued reading. A small smile grew on his face as he reached the third chapter of the book. This was definitely a good find. The protagonist was trapped at the bottom of a dark pit, but he'd surely make it out to see his bright homeland again. If there was a sequel, Marik promised himself to buy it, if for no other reason than to see more of this world. It really was fascinating, with two full moons and-

This is boring.

Marik let out a laugh. It certainly wasn't a happy one. Not even an angry one. It was more what one hears before they are stabbed in the chest and thrown into a dumpster.

"But I'm not reading it for you, am I?" Marik said, eye twitching. "Don't you have innocent civilians to kill?"

Oh, but I'd much rather be with you, dear little Marik. Who else would guide you at such a vulnerable age? The presence ruffled his hair, leaving it messy and tangled. Marik let out a yell of aggravation, swatting at the wind and desperately wishing he could smack the spirit.

"But you weren't there when I needed you." Marik shut the book, nostrils flaring. "And when you were, you only made things worse."

The presence seemed to draw away, blowing past him in the slightest of movements. Marik couldn't help but squirm in the palpable silence.

I only wanted to protect you.

It was small, hardly a whisper in his mind. It was soft and stuttering, unsure and so much like a child. It shocked Marik. There wasn't any anger or cunning to those words. No manipulating phrases designed to hit in just the right spot to make a person break. Just a broken sort of sorrow, a resigned sigh.

"Revenge isn't the same as protection," Marik said, quoting something he'd heard before. Maybe it was from Ishizu. She always seemed to have those nuggets of wisdom running around her head.

You wanted to retaliate, Marik, and I have always essentially been you.

Marik clenched his fists, wanting to storm away somewhere his yami couldn't follow. But then, that wasn't possible, was it? After all, he'd been trapped in the same damned cage for years, trapped by the presence in his mind that just wouldn't go away.

So he sat there, left with only introspective thoughts and a worn paperback in his yami's silence.

That thing wasn't him, or even a part of him. Marik was sure of that. It was too twisted, and dark, and wrong. Marik wasn't like that. He may have been a criminal, but a criminal was nothing compared to such an insane being. And it suddenly dared to say that Marik had wanted to kill his father? That it was only doing what Marik wanted? Sure, maybe Marik wanted his father to hurt a bit. That was only normal. But to suggest that Marik, at such a young age, would even think of—

Marik stopped himself. That image wasn't something he wanted to see ever again. Be it dream or reality, he remembered it, and just the aftermath, the glimpses of might haves and what ifs had scarred deeper than the glyphs on his back. And the thing said it wanted to protect him. He certainly hadn't felt very safe.

The presence pressed in around him in some mockery of a hug.

I don't have any reason to lie. It's just you here.

Marik yelled, the noise ugly and weighted down with emotion. He lept to his feet and pointed an accusing finger.

"Don't. Touch me." The words were low and growling, almost as inhuman as Marik claimed the being inside of him was.

A wave of pain radiated through his body, sending him to his knees. It wasn't physical; there was no pounding head, no migraines. Instead, a foreign blur of emotions raced through his head, clawing at his throat and tearing at his eyes as a heavy weight dropped onto his shoulders.

Marik rubbed at his eyes and felt the moisture there. These tears weren't his.

Marik, I'm sorry.

There was that name again. Marik. Nothing attached to it, no insults or scathing remarks. It was a surprise, and Marik didn't know what to think of it. But that feeling was nothing compared to what he felt at those two words.

I'm sorry.

Marik wasn't sure if the words were spoken, or if they were still echoing in his ears. All he knew was that those two words were in the air, and they weren't spoken by him. Not by Yugi, the Pharoah, any of their little group. It was spoken by the monster.

Ishizu's words came back to him once again. Those days of counseling, when he'd felt sick at what he'd done, she said,

"People do bad things, Marik. But the thing that sets those who err from the monsters is regret. To regret makes you human, Marik. Don't forget that."

Regret. I'm sorry.

"Why…" Marik gasped for breath, a prickling sensation in his eyes. "Why didn't you apologize earlier?" Marik's voice raised. "Why do you choose now, two damn years after everything ended, to say 'sorry'? If you regretted it so damn much, why didn't you say something?" Marik was screaming by the end, face red, but not just from anger. His eyes were blotchy, and mucus dripped from his nose. He wiped at them uselessly.

There wasn't an answer for a long while.

I was angry, it started. Angry, Marik, on your behalf. I acted rashly.

Marik almost laughed. Rashly. He acted rashly. Did that really excuse all he'd done?

No, it doesn't. The presence displaced itself for a moment before settling once again. But I'm apologizing now, Marik. I regret it now. Ishizu said that's all that matters.

There it was. The manipulation. But Marik couldn't bring himself to be angry. He was just as bad. He'd controlled people as a means to an end for years, and he couldn't truthfully say it had all been the spirit's influence.

Marik deflated. It felt as if he'd gone weeks without sleep, like weights had been placed on his eyelids. The tears ebbed away, leaving only soft red marks in their place. Silence settled over him, warm and comforting in the way familiar things were, things from childhood or precious memories that brought smiles with them no matter how unwanted.

It took a moment for him to realize that it was actually his yami's arms invoking that safe feeling.

They were invisible, not even really tangible, but Marik leaned into them nonetheless, falling then sinking into the couch but still with that presence around his shoulders. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

Maybe he could learn to love himself.