He didn't know where to start. How had he escaped the Shadows when they were sealed? Especially without the Ring. How did he have a body? And why had he materialized in Marik's apartment?

Questions spun around Bakura's aching head, and he rubbed his brow. In an instant Marik was there, grabbing Bakura's arm and leading him backward to the couch.

"What-?"

"You were swaying on your feet."

"Oh." He hadn't noticed with everything in the room seeming to move on its own.

"Start from the beginning," Marik suggested, his hands hovering beside Bakura, ready to catch him at a moment's notice. "Where did you come from?"

"The Shadow Realm."

Marik pursed his lips in thought. "I thought Atem sealed the Shadows?"

Bakura grimaced at the mention of his long-time enemy, but shrugged and answered. "So had I. They were suppose to close off with his True Death."

"Then how?"

Bakura shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Last I knew I was with Zorc and surrounded by darkness, then I felt this pull and I was on the floor looking up at you. You look older."

Marik laughed at the unexpected change of subject. "I would assume so, seeing as how it's been almost five years." Then he frowned, taking in Bakura's naked, pale torso. "And I'm not the only one who looks different."

Bakura looked down his own body and realized Marik was right. If he'd thought about it, he would have expected his body to look brand new, or at least just have the same scars as Ryou, given that the body resembled him. But more scars were visible than he remembered Ryou having, like a strange oblong scar near his belly button that matched the knife wound on his left bicep. Most of them were faded and not very obvious against the pale skin.

Bakura jerked back when Marik reached out and stroked a thumb under Bakura's right eye. Marik pulled back.

"Sorry. How did it happen?"

"What?" Bakura cautiously reached up and felt his face. Familiar lines of scar tissue met his searching fingers, and Bakura gaped. "Mirror," he breathed.

"What?"

"Mirror!" Marik started at Bakura's urgent tone, but pointed to a decorative mirror mounted on a nearby wall.

Rushing over, Bakura stared at his appearance.

This new body did resemble Ryou's, but it also seemed to have all of the scars he remembered from his previous life. Lifting his pant leg, he saw a nick on his left calf where he'd narrowly avoided an arrow trap once while robbing a tomb, and of course there was the scar beneath his eye. His back felt stiff in a familiar way that told him without looking that lines crisscrossed it, souvenirs of the Pharaoh's guards from the rare occasions he'd gotten caught. More subtle marks peppered his whole body from a pox he'd almost died of as a child. Every mark was the same, but they looked wrong transposed onto Ryou's form and juxtaposed with the ones he'd given the boy.

"Damn, you might have even more scars than me."

Bakura saw Marik reflected in the mirror as he studied Bakura's back. The fresh memory of seeing a young Marik receiving his own scars resurfaced, and Bakura wanted to pull Marik to him and comfort him. Instead, he turned around and crossed his arms, smirking.

"So, are you just going to keep ogling me, or do I get a shirt to go with the pants?"

Marik's head snapped up, his eyes gluing to Bakura's.

"Uh, yeah. One sec."

Marik disappeared back behind a door Bakura assumed led to his bedroom. He returned with another black t-shirt. Taking it, Bakura smirked at the phrase emblazoned in bold red: I'm not a minion of evil-I'm upper management.

"Apt," he commented, slipping it on.

For the first time, he took a good look at his surroundings.

The sofa Bakura had vacated sat nestled into the corner, a glass-top coffee table centered between it and a fifty inch plasma television. Marik had left the door to his bedroom ajar, but Bakura couldn't make out more than the side of a tall, dark wood armoire. The walls and floor were the unremarkable beige most apartment buildings seem to prefer. Other than a bookshelf with some novels and knickknacks and the mirror Bakura stood in front of, there weren't any real homey touches to distinguish it as Marik's. It felt more like a floor model than a place where anyone actually lived.

"So…" Marik drawled, fidgeting with his earrings-the ones Bakura recalled had belonged to his father. "Are you hungry, or…?"

Bakura started to shake his head no, but then realized he was, in fact, very hungry. He held a hand to his suddenly aching stomach. "Famished, actually."

Marik looked him over, a slight crease between his perfectly arched, golden brows. "That might explain why you're wavering on your feet. Come on, I'll fix you-something..." he trailed off, walking through a doorway to the conjoined kitchen. Bakura hesitated a beat before following.

X

The kitchen was nearly as barren as the living room had been, only a few stray dishes in the sink and a couple open pieces of mail on the counter to indicate anyone used it. That, and Marik hanging half out of the refrigerator.

Moonlight peeked in through a small window over the sink. White-striated black marble counters formed an L along two walls of the long room, and the entryway door claimed a third. The last wall was blank, not even a family photo to give it a bit of life.

Still unsteady on his feet, Bakura took up one of the dining chairs at the dark wooden table, his back to the door. He let his eyes rove for a bit before they settled on Marik's ass hanging out of the refrigerator. The silken sleeper pants shaped it generously, and Bakura fought down a different kind of hunger, averting his eyes to stare at the splashes of fridge light on the table's surface.

"Well, there's not much since I haven't gone grocery shopping in a while and I only buy food for myself, but I've got some leftover Bissara(1) and Eish Baladi(2) ." He looked over his shoulder for Bakura's input.

Bakura shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not really picky at this point."

"No quips or complaints? You must be hungry," Marik muttered, pulling out the containers. He flicked on the kitchen light before dishing out a portion of the Bissara . Putting the bowl on a plate with a serving of the bread beside it, he popped the meal into the microwave to warm. Turning back to Bakura, he leaned against the counter, ankles crossed, and appraised him again. Bakura took notice and grinned.

"Like what you see?"

Marik smirked back before shrugging and looking out the window. "I've seen worse."

Bakura snorted.

A loud, sustained beep filled the kitchen, and Marik turned to pull the now-steaming plate out and set it before Bakura. It smelled incredible, and Bakura dug in immediately, tearing off a chunk of bread to dip into the creamy soup. At the first taste, Bakura groaned and shoveled more in. He ate like he'd never tasted food before-well, he supposed this body technically hadn't, had it?

Marik watched, horrified and fascinated as Bakura mopped the bowl clean with his last bite of bread before making that disappear as efficiently as the rest.

"Would you like to eat the bowl too?"

Bakura looked up to find Marik gaping at him, and he felt his face heat. "I told you I was famished," Bakura grunted, defensive.

Marik raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, just took Bakura's bowl and plate and heated him a second serving. Once it was hot, he set it before Bakura same as the first.

Bakura ate more leisurely this time, but with no less zeal. He moaned as the food warmed him from within, the flavors of garlic, red pepper, and cumin mixing on his tongue.

"You make this yourself?" Bakura asked as Marik set to making them some tea.

"Yeah. Had to learn quite a few skills since my emancipation from my previous calling."

"Must have been an interesting adjustment period."

Marik shrugged. "Ishizu taught me the basics and how to make some staple dishes. After settling down here I also picked up a couple Japanese recipe books. I don't mind cooking, and I enjoy challenging myself every once in awhile to try dishes from some of the countries Rishid and I visited during our travels…"

Marik seemed to find the steam from the kettle fascinating, a sad-yet-wistful smile tilting his lips. Bakura wondered what he was remembering, but didn't ask, electing instead to finish off his food. Marik jolted back to the present when the kettle signaled their water was hot.

Grabbing down two mugs, Marik poured some leaves and water into each. He let them steep a minute before adding sugar, milk, and mint leaves to the light brew. Handing one to Bakura, he took his own mug to the opposite end of the small table.

Bakura took a drink, grimaced, then took another testing sip.

Marik laughed. "If you don't like it, don't drink it."

Bakura shook his head and took another swallow. "I'm just used to the way Ryou used to drink his tea. It's a palette adjustment."

"It's Koshary tea," Marik explained. "It's the way Ishizu makes it."

"Do your siblings live in Domino too?"

"Yeah. They share an apartment over on Harding."

They sat quietly sipping tea for a bit. Bakura let his mind drift, not really thinking about anything in particular-it seemed like too much trouble to think. His new body felt weary and a bit disconnected from his surroundings, although the food in his belly helped to ground him a bit. Half-formed questions kept wanting to take over his tired mind, but he pushed them aside to deal with later. It was too much to deal with all at once.

Looking up, he noticed Marik's eyes locked on him, and he smirked.

"You're staring again."

Marik's blush was almost indistinguishable from his copper complexion. "Sorry. I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you're here-looking like you, but not. You know?"

Bakura grunted his agreement. "More than you. You only saw me as Ryou."

"So are the eyes from your previous body?" Marik wondered, sipping tea.

Bakura frowned. "Eyes?"

"Yeah." Marik pointed to his right eye. "The left one is brown, but the scarred one is gray."

"Really?" Bakura had been so preoccupied with all the scars he'd completely forgotten to look if there were any other differences.

Marik nodded and Bakura looked thoughtful.

"No, my eyes were both gray in my first life."

"Huh. Well, they look pretty badass."

Bakura smirked. "So glad you approve."

Bakura glanced over Marik's shoulder at the clock set into the stove. The digital display read: 2:13. "Don't you need to be heading to bed?"

Marik shook his head. "No, this is mid-day for me."

"Mid-day?"

"I tend bar-it's how I pay the rent."

Bakura's eyebrows lifted into his bangs. "That's certainly a change of scenery from running a crime ring. What's it like?"

Marik grinned and finished off his tea. "Like being paid to be the center of attention."

"Strippers also get paid to be the center of attention," Bakura pointed out.

Marik cackled. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Bakura shrugged one shoulder. Marik's eyes sharpened.

"If that's the sort of thing you're into, you could always work the pole. You're going to need a job anyway, right? Now that you're corporeal."

Bakura grinned and shook his head. "Kind of difficult considering that, as far as this century is concerned, I don't exist."

"I could help you with that," Marik offered. "Ishizu, Rishid, and I didn't have official documentation when we left the tomb, so I had to get creative. I still have a few contacts from my time as the leader of the Rare Hunters; I can get you the necessary paperwork."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "But Marik, isn't that illegal?"

Marik's mouth twitched. "Technically? Yes. But my source works for the government, so the documents themselves are legit."

"I'll keep that in mind."

They sat quietly while Bakura finished his tea. Marik rinsed their mugs and set them in the sink before rejoining Bakura back at the table.

"So what's it like being back in your own body?"

Bakura mulled it over. "Strange. I suppose it doesn't feel too different from when I was in the Shadow Realm, except I now feel hunger and the like, obviously. I felt all of that when I possessed Ryou, of course, but it was distant."

"Because it wasn't really your body?"

Bakura nodded. "That, and there was Zorc. His bond with me hampered my emotions and-well, dehumanized me, I suppose."

Marik shook his head. "I've heard things-from Ryou and the others-about Zorc, but it's hard to imagine. Yugi and the others only saw him in his physical form in the memory world, and Ryou only felt his presence as backlash from the connection the three of you shared."

Bakura frowned. "He felt Zorc?" Marik nodded. "I tried to keep Zorc away from Ryou. Guess I didn't do a great job."

"He said he felt him more in the beginning."

"Makes sense. Ryou weakened Zorc's influence over me when we played our first Shadow Game against Yugi and his groupies."

"I know. Ryou told me."

"You still speak to him?"

"Yeah. We hang out sometimes. You should let him know you're back."

"Why would he want to see the evil spirit that made his life a living hell?"

Marik's expression softened. "He doesn't hold that against you. It's not like him to hold a grudge-and he understands your motives and how much control Zorc had over you."

Bakura narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. "I'm getting the distinct impression the two of you talk about me often."

Marik shrugged. "You were the one thing we really had in common. I was curious about you, and he didn't mind sharing what he knew."

Bakura's fingers dug into his arms. "So he told you who I was? My reason for seeking revenge?"

"Only the highlights. Most of the Memory World Shadow Game is a blur to him since Zorc basically completely took over. He just said you did it for your village, that your people were-" Marik faltered, his eyes sympathetic. "It broke my heart to hear it. I'm sorry-for what you and your people went through."

Bakura's throat closed up. When he could speak, he said, "What's done is done. My people are free now."

"So are you."

Bakura grunted and pondered the hidden messages in the table's grainy surface. He didn't notice Marik had gotten up until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Hey." Bakura looked up. "Maybe you should get some sleep."

"Don't suppose you have a guest room?"

"No, but the couch is pretty comfortable, and I've got spare blankets and pillows." His concern melted into a lecherous smirk. "Unless, of course, you'd rather share my bed? I'll warn you, though: I'm a blanket hog."

Bakura's heart stuttered at the invitation, but he wasn't sure if it was genuine or if Marik was just messing with him. Either way, he didn't think he was going to be getting much rest if Marik were laying beside him.

Lead me not into temptation… he thought.

"The couch is fine."

For a second he thought he saw disappointment in Marik's eyes, but then Marik shrugged and waved for Bakura to follow him.

"The bathroom is right there," Marik said, pointing at a second door beside the one leading to his bedroom. "Feel free to use my shower stuff. I'll go grab you some bedding."

He disappeared into his room and returned with a thin, black, faux fur blanket and a pillow wrapped in matching satin. He piled them on the sofa and turned back to Bakura.

"If this blanket isn't enough, let me know, but it shouldn't get too cold out here."

"Thanks."

Marik nodded and headed back into the bedroom. Stopping in the doorway, he said, "If you get hungry again-though I can't imagine you would-feel free to eat whatever you can dig up. If you need anything, just let me know."

"Okay."

With that, Marik closed his door, leaving Bakura alone.

(1)Bissara is both a soup and a bean dip in African cuisine, prepared with dried, puréed broad beans as a primary ingredient. Additional ingredients used include garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, hot red pepper, cumin and salt. Bissara is sometimes prepared using split peas or chickpeas. It is typically inexpensive, and has been described as a pauper's dish.

Bissara is a dish in Egyptian cuisine and Moroccan cuisine. In Morocco, bissara is typically served in shallow bowls or soup plates, and topped with olive oil, paprika and cumin. Bread is sometimes eaten dipped into the dish, and lemon juice is sometimes added as a topping.

(2)Similar to pita, but made with whole wheat flour, this Egyptian flatbread is traditionally baked in scorching-hot ovens in Cairo's bustling markets.