AN: I have no excuse or explanation for this.

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"007, Britain's finest secret agent. License to kill. Mixing business with girls, and thrills." Bakura said quietly to himself, holding the Windex bottle like a pistol. He pressed his back against the wall and peeked around the corner at his target. The window had been streaky for a few days and Marik had done nothing about it. The apartment hadn't had a good cleaning for a while and the dirt had begun to piss Bakura off so he took it upon himself to scrub down the place while Marik was out. He did a ducking roll from behind the wall and got to one knee, shooting the window three times.

"Bulls-eye" he grinned, as the chemical trickled down the glass. He picked up one of the many rags Marik had lying around the house (how many rags did one guy need, anyway) and wiped down the window until it sparkled. Bakura had saved the window for last, he turned to the rest of the apartment to admire his handiwork. He decided he wasn't so bad at this cleaning thing. The room looked impeccable. He dropped the rag in with the last load of laundry and lowered the heat on the oven so the steak wouldn't overcook, then went to shower. Marik would be home soon and what kind of James Bond would he be if he weren't sitting in the dark with everything finished by the time he got back. He blow dried his hair and went to take the dinner out of the oven. It was perfect. He really was better at this kind of thing than he thought. He set the plates and pulled some liquor out of the cabinet. Setting it on the counter he went back upstairs to finish getting dressed. Moments later he was jogging back downstairs in a three-piece suit, still fixing his cuff. He mixed the drinks, set them by the plates, and lit a candle to complete his classic Bond image. Now all he had to do was wait. He sat down crossing his legs and picking up his drink. He flung his other arm over the back of the couch and took a sip. He heard keys jingling in the lock and he flipped the light switch so the candle was the only light in the room. The door swung open and Marik almost dropped the bag he was holding.

"What's this?" He asked, stepping into the room.

"I cleaned the house and made dinner. What does it look like?"

"How did you do all this? I wasn't gone that long."

"The name is Bond. James Bond." He raised his martini. "Shaken, not stirred."

Marik smiled and shook his head.

"You're unbelievable."