There were a million and one more productive things Yami Bakura could have been doing instead of standing there with his head bowed, paying his respects. Many, or rather, most of these things involved causing trouble in the form of theft, pain, and vandalism. A few would have involved his Hikari, maybe Ryou's idea of a good time.

Anything would be better than standing here, watching the coffin being lowered into the hole, and wondering what he was doing there.

He'd always though Marik was a person to respebect. Fiendishly clever and maniacal as all hell; a person who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. Bakura respected very few people, but Marik... He didn't ask for respect, he demanded it in a way that suggested if you didn't follow him in complete agreement, he'd sever your head.

And if that got boring, or you were necessary to one of his plots, he'd brainwash you and do whatever he pleased. Rape, torture, abuse, blackmail, pain and suffering. Nothing was beyond the power of the Millennium Rod he possessed.

Bakura loved his Hikari selflessly, in an unusual way, in a way necessary for the survival of the pair of them. There had been times throughout the Battle City tournament when he felt his heart race, his blood rushing, surging through his body, excited and thrilled at the insanity in the blond's actions.

He supposed if he were more quixotic, he might have romanticized the feelings, believing himself in love with the man. But brief moments they shared together and possible mutual respect did not a love make. Not for Bakura, who would rather burn in acid then admit to beliving in love at first sight.

Instead, he'd summed up his bizarre feelings of thrill and power and adoration and an unexplainable love of sadomasochism. And he felt it right to attend the funeral to pay respects to a man he'd admired, one who he hoped to continue to admire.

Insanity was the price to be paid for genius and a fierce, true belief that he, Marik Ishtar, was above all other human beings. He believed in his own immortality. Surviving imprisoned in an object for many years could do that to you.

The mass car crash he'd caused in his own death, and that of his Hikari, Malik, had been a wreck of sheer stupidity. He was foolish. But the death and pain caused.. Marik sure knew how to leave with a bang.

In an act of remembrance and respect, Bakura had stolen the Rod from the coffin. Marik would live again, in a host body of his choosing.

For now, he allowed himself to touch the cool metal of the Rod, stroking it with the tips of his fingers. He dreamt of delightedly unsheathing it and slicing various chosen parts of skin. He was leaning towards the torso and thighs, so as to alleviate visible annoyances, and to cause maximum pain.

He stayed long past everyone else, lost in thought, but mostly just zoned out. It was rather easy when you'd spent most of the last 5000 years in a comatose state. When he was sure everyone had gone, Bakura proceeded to make himself comfy on the freshly turned earth above where Marik's carcass lay, encased in the box in the ground.

So maybe he was a little crazy too, but no one was going to notice. One of the skills of a tomb robber is invisibility and Bakura was very good at making himself scarce.

He was sure Ryou wouldn't mind a few nights sleep in the graveyard. They'd been through worse together.

He was sure he wasn't in love.

He was sure this was just an act of respect, along with stroking the Rod to help him get to sleep.

He was sure he wasn't going to admit to himself what he really felt, whatever it was.

It was a little bit too unreal for words, even for him.

Or rather, especially for him.