A/N: This chapter is full of rather graphic flashbacks to Marik's initiation, so I'm just throwing the possible trigger warning out there for you all. Read on at your own risk, and I hope you enjoy!
His footsteps were silent as he stole through the darkened hallways, hiding in the shadows between the flickering torches on the walls. His father's outraged screams of maddened panic already flickered through his mind, what would come when he realized his heir had escaped his grasp.
Brother...sister...forgive me, he thought as he hurried down the corridor, hurtling closer to his destination. Hopefully they would have enough sense to hide in a distant corner of the tomb, or make a run for it themselves. May we'll meet again someday...
Up ahead the torches ended, the hall fanning out into the main courtyard. The moon shone down through the round skylight, their only window to the outside. His face broke into a smile, eyes shining as they stared up at the crescent peeking over the stone. The guards were nowhere to be seen; they were usually at the other ends of the halls they patrolled when the moon was directly overhead, or at least had been every night for the last month he had snuck out here to gaze up at the sky. He took a deep breath and ran across the empty space, past the pillars and hieroglyphs, leaving them all behind as he reached the winding staircase towards the surface.
"COME BACK!"
"THE TOMBKEEPER'S SON IS ESCAPING!"
Marik's heart stumbled as he took the stairs two at a time, trying to push himself further. If I can just get to the doors he thought, panting. I can make it out...
" MASTER MARIK! COME BACK!"
"No!" He could see the door ahead of him, the fire from the guard's torches glinting off the wood and metal. Clenching his fists, he put on a burst of speed, pushing his shoulder forward as he rammed into the door with all the force he could muster.
The door bounced on its hinges, flashing a single strip of dark blue sky...but still remained shut His heart stammered and plunged into panic as he stared at the door for an ever-lengthening second.
"No..." his voice fell under the footsteps of the oncoming guards for a moment before overtaking them.
"NO! NO! NO! I WON'T GO!"
The door buckled as he threw all of his weight against it, beating wildly against the unforgiving beams. If there was pain he couldn't feel it, not when he was so close, not when he could smell the night air wafting through the cracks in the door.
"I WON'T GO!"
Hands grabbed him by the arms, so he kicked at the door with his heels, writhing as they pulled him away.
"NO! LET ME GO!"
The door grew smaller and disappeared around the corner as they carried him away. He lost track of his screaming as he slipped out of their grasp, scrambling on all fours back up a few stairs before they caught him again, dragging him away.
"LET ME GO, PLEASE, I'LL DO-"
Had to get away, had to run, had to keep running and never stop.
"-ANYTHING, JUST PLEASE, DON'T-"
Back down the stairs, the moon beckoning him with a grasp he couldn't reach as he passed under its lights.
"DON'T MAKE ME, DON'T MAKE ME DO IT, PLEASE!"
The moon, the light disappeared, replaced by the fire against the ancient stones. He couldn't breathe, choking as he writhed against his captors' grasp. They ignored his pleas. The gods ignored his prayers.
In his struggles he glanced up ahead, his heart swooping as he saw a figure standing in the shadows of a pillar.
"Odion!" He cried out. "Odion, Help me!"
His brother stared at the proceedings, his mouth a thin line.
"HELP ME, ODION!"
Their eyes met for a long moment, just as he passed the pillar.
"ODION!"
The green eyes dropped sadly to the floor.
He choked, heart falling all over again.
"ODION!"
He twisted around, begging for him to look up, to cry out against what he saw, but his brother did not move.
"HELP ME!" Tears wore rivulets down his cheeks as his brother grew smaller and smaller before disappearing around a corner. "ODION!"
His own cries bounced back at him, mockingly, echoing off the cold stone. They chased him down the passageways, turning from words into strings of barely coherent words.
"Save your breath, kid," hissed a guard under his breath, earning a glare from his fellow. "You'll need it."
"'llo?"
"...You actually picked up..."
"That's what you do with a phone when it rings, isn't it?"
"You haven't been, though."
"Well, I've been busy..."A pause. "How are you, sister?"
"Fine. Busy...The museum's getting ready to repaint the Middle Kingdom wing, so that's been a bit of an undertaking, putting everything in storage. What about you? How are things in Domino City?"
"Just fine...cold, though."
"Well, yeah...Not a problem at home, you know."
"Don't start, Ishizu."
"I'm just saying-"
"I don't need this today, sister! Especially from you!"
She sucked in a hasty breath. "Marik, I'm sorry...I forgot."
"Lucky you." Marik chewed his lip, trying to stop his hands from shaking against the phone. "Is that all you wanted?"
Ishizu was silent for a moment. "I suppose. You're not going to be alone today, are you?"
Marik glanced back towards the bedroom, where Bakura was still asleep. "No...not really."
"That's good at least..." There was a long silence as Marik paced the floor, waiting for her response. "I guess I'll let you go then...if you're sure you're...okay."
"I'll..." Marik sighed. "No guarantees, sister. Not today."
"Talk to you soon then...And Marik?"
"Hm?"
She sighed. "Try to have a happy birthday, alright?"
Marik snapped the phone shut, tossing it onto the couch. "Yeah right," he hissed, sinking down on the leather. It groaned as he curled up in the corner, resting his head on the back as he stared down at the snow drifting past the window. His shoulders were tense, alert and aching as he cursed under his breath at his still shaking hands. His legs twitched, itching to run, but there was no more running. Not anymore. There was nothing to distract him from the memories of the day, no work to throw himself into, no revenge against the pharaoh to seek. No running away from it this year. It would just catch up to him, anyways. It always did, just as they had, eight years ago.
They pushed through a cloth draped over a doorway and threw him to the floor at his father's feet.
"He was trying to escape," one said.
"We caught him at the door," finished the other.
His father did not turn from the altar. "Leave us."
He dared not move as they retreated without a second glance. His fists shook against the stones at he stared up at his father. His head spun as the incense crept into his nostrils, catching in his throat and choking him.
"Father-" he coughed, quivering. "Please-"
"On your feet," his father grunted. "A Tombkeeper kneels before the Pharaoh alone."
He rose slowly, stumbling to his feet. "Father-"
"Go bathe."
"But-"
"NOW, MARIK." His father spun and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him over to the pool at the edge of the chamber. "You couldn't wait until sun rose, and now you're here, so I guess we'll just have to start now!"
"No-" His father plunged his face into the water, cutting him off. He struggled against the sides of the basin, against his fathers hands as he screamed. His father pulled him up, spluttering and sobbing. The hand let go of his hair and he slumped against the tub, crumpling to the floor.
"Father...please..." He murmured, staring up at him pleadingly. "Don't make me do this-"
His father's hand came down in a lightning strike, throwing him backwards.
"This is what you must do!" His father roared, spit flying from his mouth. "This is your destiny, Marik! And you will take it like a man!" He sneered and turned away, grabbing a pot of oils from the side of the tub. "Now stand up."
His heart pounded. A voice in his head was screaming for him to run, to try to escape, but his feet would not follow. Shaking, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the edge of the basin.
His father sighed, smearing the oil over his back before spreading it roughly across the skin. "It is truly glorious, my son...the role of the Tombkeeper. We are the guardians of the ancient ways, preserving them until the Pharaoh returns..."
He was barely listening, his tears rolling down his face and dripping into the water below. His mind was terrifyingly blank. There was no way out. If he ran, the guards would only catch him and bring him back, and his father would punish him further. If he tried to speak, his father would not listen.
Please, he begged, closing his eyes. Please...gods...help me...
His father set aside the brush and poured water down his back. "Now my son," he said joyfully, spinning him around. He pressed a smear of perfume over his heart, then in the middle of his forehead. "You are ready."
"You're up early."
Marik jumped, uncoiling onto his feet. Bakura arched an eyebrow over his coffee mug, sipping it coolly.
"Did I scare you?"
"Like hell you did," Marik spat, bristling. "And what the fuck do you have to be cheerful about this morning?"
Bakura shrugged, pushing aside the curtains and staring out at the whitened ground below. "Maybe I just like snow storms," he said. "How the world, for a few hours, descends into chaos as people try to shovel themselves out." He smiled to himself. "At least here."
Marik followed his gaze to the street below, noting the lack of cars on the road, the people trudging through the blizzard outside.
"People stranded, locked in their houses by the elements. Schools and businesses shut down. Few cars can make it onto the road-'
"I see," Marik sniffed, turning away. "You just like it because it means you don't have to let Ryou go to school."
Bakura smirked. "Call it an added bonus." He sat down on the couch, flicking on the television. "Not that I've really been going, anyways. Had him call in a week ago, say he had caught some nasty flu."
"And here I thought it was just you being lazy, lying in bed all day." Marik replied snidely. "If I had known, I would have locked you up for quarantine."
"As I recalled, you spent most of that time in bed with me, asshole."
Marik shrugged, shuffling out to the kitchen and looking around. The smell streaming from the coffee maker made his stomach churn, but at least a cup would give him something to hold onto. He stirred some cream into it slowly, clutching the milk bottle in a desperate attempt not to drop it.
"So how long are you going to keep your host away from school?"
"Long as I feel like it." Bakura shrugged on his coat. "Want to go out?"
He paused in the doorway, lips resting on the edge of the mug. "Why the fuck would I want to go out in the cold?" he asked quietly.
"Just a suggestion," Bakura grunted, pulling white leather gloves on his fingers. "Coming from Egypt, I figured your experience with snow was little to nothing, but...your choice."
Marik sniffed. "You make it sound much more exciting than it actually is, I'm sure."
"Perhaps," Bakura smirked. "Depends on your definition of exciting, I suppose." He shrugged. "Well, I'll be outside. Come join me, if you want." He swept out the door and slammed it behind him, whistling loudly all the way down the hall.
Marik harrumphed, leaning back against the door frame as the apartment settled back into creaking silence. He stared at his coffee, nostrils flaring at the smell until he gagged, slamming the cup down on the table and reclaiming his spot on the couch. He perched on the edge of the black leather, shudders prickling down his spine as he closed his eyes, massaging them with the heels of his hands. Pinpricks of light shifted and danced, morphing into candle-flame that flickered as he passed, as he let his father pull him along, praying harder that he ever had that, any minute now, he'd wake up in bed, crying for a mother that would pick him up and assure him that it was all just a nightmare that couldn't hurt him.
His father pushed him to his knees before the raised platform, turning to the altar.
"In the name of the pharaoh,"
Please, let me wake up-"
"I present my first-born son and heir, Marik-"
-Please-
"-As future head of the Ishtar clan, and keeper of the tomb of the Nameless Pharaoh, guardian of his memories and of the millennium items entrusted to us-
I'll do anything, just wake me up... His father snapped his fingers and the guards reappeared, grabbing him by the arms and laying him out across the stone. There were anchors in the corners of the stone, where they tied his wrists and ankles.
"And through this initiation, he shall become a man, and a tombkeeper."
"Please," He cried one last time, twisting in his bonds. "Stop!"
His father turned, and for a moment caught his son's eye. Pulling the knife from its stand, he held it aloft. "So let it be written, so let it be done."
"Fuck it," Marik hissed, grabbing his coat from the hook and hurrying after Bakura. The door to the complex was shut, but a cold draft flitted underneath, cutting through the threads of his khakis. He swore under his breath, pushing out into the snow before the urge to turn back grew any stronger.
He sank into the snow as the concrete step ended, dampness flooding the mesh of his sneakers. The drifts stopped around mid-calf, snow clinging to branches in thick, heavy clumps on the trees lining the hidden sidewalk. From where he stood to the street was an almost untouched plane of white, punctured only by a few sparse footprints.
"Bakura...?" he asked cautiously, following the footsteps out from the shadow of the apartment building. "Where the hell are you?"
Without warning, something cold and hard slammed into the side of his face, making him jump.
"The fuck?!" he screeched, stumbling backwards. "Bakura?! The fuck are you-"
Another snowball flew from behind him, glancing off his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed movement against the white surrounding him, some silver dancing among the snowflakes. He ducked as another projectile whizzed past him, heart pounding as he crouched behind a drift.
"Fuck you too," he hissed under his breath, grabbing a handful of snow and lobbing it in Bakura's general direction.
"Not quite," Bakura drawled with a chuckle, his voice already miles away from the spot Marik had aimed for. "Try again."
"Go fuck yourself," Marik retorted, trudging back through the snow towards the door. "I'm going back in."
Suddenly he felt breath on the back of his neck. A hand snaking around his waist. "Not without a fight you're not," Bakura murmured in his ear.
Marik whirled around, shoving him backwards. "If you like the cold so much, you can stay out here," he snapped, taking another few steps towards the door. "For the rest of the day."
He grabbed Marik's wrist, pulling him down into the snow next to him. "If it's the cold that bothers you, maybe we should find some way to warm up," he murmured, lips brushing against his cheek. "If that would be more to your liking."
He paused for a moment, a shiver running down his spine as the snow quickly melted against his clothes. "Fine," he said finally, pulling Bakura to his feet. If it'll keep my mind off...
As he stuck the blade into the torch flame, a guard knelt by his head, wrenching his jaw open and sticking a rope-wrapped bone between his teeth. He tried to spit it out but the guard shook his head warningly before backing away. He tried to pull away as his father strode towards him, trying to loosen the ropes biting into his wrist.
"Come on," Marik said, his footsteps falling quicker on the snow. "Now." He took the stairs three at a time, Bakura's boots stomping up behind him, hurrying towards the third floor. He grabbed him and pulled him in the door, kissing their way into the apartment. Wet coats fell to the floor Their only pause came at the doorway of Bakura's bedroom for the light switch, which proved useless.
"Power must be out," Bakura growled, peeling away. "We could just do it in the dark."
Marik shook his head. "Candles," he muttered. "Ryou should have some, shouldn't he?"
A match flared in the darkness, moving away as Bakura threw open a desk drawer, rummaging through it and coming up with a handful of uneven stubs.
"Good enough," he said, drifting back over and wrapping an arm around Marik's waist. "Now where were we?"
Marik tried to crack a cocky grin. "My tongue was about halfway down your throat," he said quietly, returning to their earlier lip lock. He pushed Bakura down onto the bed, straddling his chest and slipping cold fingers under his t-shirt. "We better get these wet clothes off you," he said, tugging it over his head roughly. "Wouldn't want you getting actually sick, would we?"
"Just get on with it," Bakura replied, teeth bared. "And for fuck's sake, warm your hands up."
"Why? Is this uncomfortable?" Marik grinned as he slipped a hand down Bakura's jeans, watching him shiver.
"I'm warning you, stop fucking around."
"Or what, you'll fuck me?" Marik toyed with his lower lip, fingertips pressing against Bakura's teeth. "If you want it so badly, you'll have to warm them up yourself."
He sniffed, pushing Marik's hands away. "You don't really want them that close to my teeth, do you?" he asked, fingers curling around Marik's wrist. "It doesn't take that much effort to bite fingers off."
"How romantic," Marik spat, digging under the covers for the bottle of lube. "Can we just do this then? Without the fussing?"
"You're the one with his clothes still on."
Marik pinned him down, smile spreading as his hand brushed Bakura's hardening cock, toying with the zipper of his jeans. "And I don't intend to change that. You on the other hand..." As Bakura's pants left his hips, Marik missed the smile crossing his face, his hands and legs moving into position. He leaned in to steal a kiss and found himself in motion, the world inverting.
"There," Bakura laughed, shaking his hair out of his face. "Better."
Marik's heart stammered in his chest, tightening at the pressure of Bakura's weight on his chest.
"Nice fucking try," he hissed, trying to right himself. Bakura threw his weight against him, the sheets and blankets drifting off the bed as they wrestled.
"Give it up," Marik grunted, teetering on the edge of the mattress. "This can only end badly-"
Bakura scoffed. "For you, maybe." He grabbed him, jerking him back from the edge and slamming him face down into the mattress.
His father knelt over him, brushing his hair away from his back. "It will hurt more if you continue struggling, trust me." He steadied his hand on his shoulder, pressing him into the cold stone. "Hold as still as possible."
"No-" Marik swore, trying to twist around-confused to see a kohl pot and brush in his hands. His head swam, his vision going fuzzy as his stomach churned. "Bakura?! Bakura?!"
He could barely hear the faint reply, the words covered and jumbled by his father's harsh breath, the swish of the brush before he could feel the cold wax against the skin of his back, and he froze.
This is really happening, bleated a voice in his mind
Really happening. Really going to happen. It's going to hurt. Hurt a lot-
He shook his head fretfully, screwing his eyes shut. No, he whimpered to himself. This can't be real. I just have to wake up...
"Bakura, where are you?!"
There's no way to wake up from this, his thoughts replied. There's no one coming to save you, no help...it's gonna hurt.
"Stop moving," his father grunted, cuffing him upside the head. "This needs to be legible."
He tried, he tried to stop the sobs leaking under the gag, shaking his shoulders with every terrified flail of his heart. He tried to keep his breathing steady, to not choke on the bone and the incense and his own saliva.
It'll be okay...he thought to himself. I'll make it through this.
I have to make it through this.
I have to make it through...
He felt the kohl leave his back, heard the footsteps of one of the guards approaching.
I have to make it through.
I have to be okay.
There was no sound but his father's ragged breath and the terrified whimper from behind his gag. He slammed his eyes shut, his fingernails digging into his palms as he tensed, waiting.
I'll be okay.
No you won't, replied his thoughts. You're gonna die.
The knife came down, and he screamed. He could feel every tendril of pain, every nerve snapping under the white-hot metal. With every skillful slice the sharp, burning feeling spread up and down the small of his back, from every stroke of each hieroglyph. His nails drew blood from his palms as it ran in rivulets down his back. The hands with cloths, anonymous, only made the pain worse, linen pressing against the open wounds to try to stem the crimson dripping down his sides. Only made him scream louder, twist harder against the ropes that dug into his wrists, unyielding. Every second brought another cut, another wave of pain. It surrounded him. Smothered him. Drowned him. The room dissolved even as he opened his eyes, the stones awash in a veil of red.
Why won't you help me?! a voice screamed in his head, even his thoughts sounding far away. Why have you forsaken me?!
No gods answered the cries, the screams that came with another row of text. The pain blurred together until he couldn't tell how much was done, only that there was another stroke waiting after the next. And another. And another...
Somewhere in the past, he laughed, perched on a maid's lap as his sister danced to the flute and the sistrum. Ran for a ball and caught it, grinning as he held it up high, seeing the look echoed upon his brother's face. Reading, laughing, singing to the echoing stones of his home; images projected on his eyelids before the darkness overtook them, devouring everything but the pain.
"HOLD HIM STEADY!" Hands took his shoulders again, pinning them against the slick stone. The tip of the knife slid under his skin, slicing through several layers between his shoulder blades. The pain from before faded as this new pain slammed it aside, his screams echoing in his own ears, eyes bugging wide as he tried to run, tried to pull away, anything to keep from exploding from the agony.
This is death echoed a thought in his mind. This must be death.
His eyes flitted skywards, the bloodwashed stones his only view. Let me die-for god's sake-help me.
No help came. No comfort, no end, only the knife, and cut after cut after cut. The room spun and whirled until he closed his eyes, choking, sobbing on his screams as he begged from behind the gag. The pain never wavered as he flitted in and out of consciousness, until he could barely remember how long ago it had started.
Please...Let me go
Make it stop..
"LET ME GO!"
He felt something jerk him backwards, hands digging into his shoulders. "Marik! Stop-"
"Please," He whimpered, his eyes slammed shut as he struggled against the hands holding him. "Just let me go...make it stop..."
"I'm not doing anything!" The hands spun him around, shaking him slightly. "Look at me, Marik. Open your eyes and look at me."
Marik blinked, Bakura's face swimming in his vision. His eyes were wide and startled, knuckles white as they clutched at his shoulders. "Ba...kura..?" He stammered, throat dry as he spoke. His hands shook as he raised them to his face. His cheeks were damp. A breeze played across his back, his shirt nowhere to be found.
"What...what happened..." He gasped, his breath catching in his throat. "I was-we were-" Marik pushed him aside, gaping across the bedroom at the disheveled bed. "Bakura-"
"You started screaming..." Bakura scanned his face, eyes flickering across his. "Screaming and twitching...then you tried to run for the door."
Marik shuddered, pulling out of Bakura's hands. "I-" He cringed, clutching his head as it pounded furiously, the blood and firelight still spinning in his minds eye. "Oh god...make it stop..." he moaned, jumping as he bumped into the bookshelf behind him. "Why won't it stop-"
"Make what stop?" Bakura asked, watching him warily. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Clinging to the shelf to keep himself upright, Marik closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I can feel it...I can feel it all..." His grip tightened. "Why can I still feel it?"
"Marik-"
"WHY CAN I STILL FEEL IT?!" He wrenched the shelf from the wall, bent nails and plaster falling behind it. The books fell in a rumble of paper and hard covers, followed by the crunch of cheap particle board.
"I thought I could take it, I thought I could make it through!" He grabbed a fallen shelf, slamming it against the frame repeatedly. "I thought I could behind with the fucking pharaoh!"
SMACK!
"But I couldn't-I can't-"
SMACK!
"I can't-"
Smack!
"Can't escape-"
Smack...
"Can't forget-"
Smack.
The board slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor as he swayed, staring at the wreckage without seeing it. "I want to forget-"
He tipped forward and Bakura darted towards him, tripping over the bookcase to try to catch him as they both tumbled to the floor. Bronze hands clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as Marik buried his face in Bakura's chest.
Bakura froze, leaning back on his hands as the dust cleared around them. He stared down of Marik, watching as his shoulders trembled.
"For fuck's sake," he muttered, trying to push him away. "Come on, get up."
Marik shook his head. "I tried so hard," he murmured, barely audible as his words stuck to Bakura's chest. "I tried so hard to forget...to try and keep it out of my mind..." He bit back a sob, shuddering in Bakura's tentative grasp. "B-but today-"
"Marik-"
"Today I couldn't-"
"Marik."
"Couldn't pretend anymore-"
"Marik, look at me!" Bakura grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back to arms length. He caught only a glimpse of the tears in his eyes before his hand shot out in a fist, colliding with his face and sending him reeling. Breaking from his grasp, Marik scrambled backwards, wedging himself in the corner between the wall and the dresser.
Bakura stared at him hollowly for a moment, running his tongue over his split lip. "What the fuck is your problem?!" He hissed, kicking the boards of the bookcase across the room. "Destroying furniture?! Punching me?!"
"I didn't-"
"You're acting like a fucking psycho!"
"I'M NOT!" Marik yelled back, his fingers yanking hair from his scalp. "Don't you dare-you dare call me-"
"-Then stop acting like a child throwing a tantrum!" Bakura took a step forward, glaring down at him. "Can't you tell me what-"
"Go fuck yourself," Marik snapped. "I don't want to talk about it!"
"Then don't." Bakura stormed to the door, throwing it open. "Don't bother coming out of there until your done throwing your fit."
Marik was on his feet in a flash, slamming Bakura back against the wall. "Stop talking to me like I'm weak," he yelled, tears still dripping down his face. "I'm not."
Bakura stared down at him. "I never said you were," he said. "Just...stop crying already-"
Marik roughly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I don't want to be-I don't want today be like this-" His grasp loosened on Bakura's shoulders. "I just want it to be over..."
"I can't make the day go faster." Bakura murmured. "What do you want me to do?"
Marik chewed his lip. "Don't...don't leave me alone in the dark. I just don't want to be there anymore."
With a sigh, Bakura nodded. "Alright," he said. "Come here then." He wrapped an arm around Marik's shoulders, pulling him close. "Is this-"
"Yeah." Marik closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of Bakura's neck. "This is good."
...He was barely aware of the knife hitting the floor as his father stepped away, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Head swimming, he couldn't move as the ropes tying him down went slack and slithered away, hissing over the sound of his own wheezing breath. The room was muddled before him, swimming in the haze of pain and incense that floated in front of his vision.
A rough hand grabbed his head, pulling it back as his father's smile veered into view.
"...Finishing touch..." He closed his eyes his father drew a stick of kohl across his lids, flicking it outward and downward at the corner of each eye.
"My son..." His father smiled, leaning in to lay a kiss on his sweat-soaked forehead. "Finally a man. Finally a Tombkeeper."
His father stood and walked over to the pool, rinsing the blood from his hands, humming under his breath.
And then he was gone, blotted out by the black dots filling his vision. He slumped against the stone, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift, the pain following him down into the darkness...
"...Hey."
Marik stirred, blinking drowsily. "Hm?"
"You're going to have to move for a second." Bakura nudged him aside, stretching out his arm. "Cutting off my circulation."
"S'rry-" Marik rubbed his eyes and looked around. "How'd we end up on the floor?"
"I never said I would hold you up for hours," he grumbled. "You get heavy after a while."
Marik shrugged. "What time is it?"
"Dunno...not dark yet..."
"Damn."
Bakura sighed. "So, you want to tell me what's so special about today?"
"Not really." Marik wrapped his arms around his legs, staring down into his lap. "It's a day I'd rather...forget." He could feel Bakura's eyes on him and met them firmly. "Trust me, it's not something you want to know."
The spirit sniffed, settling back. "Well it's not Christmas yet, or New Years..."
"Drop it."
"There's probably a feast or a festival for Egypt...is that it?"
"What part of 'drop it' don't you understand?!" Marik demanded, shoving him away. "I said I-"
"-Is it your birthday?"
Marik scowled. "How about go fuck yourself," he hissed, standing up and clutching the blanket closer around him. "It's not important."
"So you're a year older, big deal," Bakura said. "But still, correct me if I'm wrong, most people celebrate their birthdays. With cake and such."
"Well I don't want cake," Marik snapped."And I'm not most people. Most people didn't have to deal with..." He trailed off, drifting to the window. "What I went through..."
"Your back," Bakura said. "That's what this is about?"
Marik froze. "You looked?"
"Only for a second." He joined him, staring up at the darkening sky. "I forgot it was there..."
A cold draft wafted under the window, chilling their fingers. Marik sighed. "I wish I could," he said, closing his eyes. "I thought maybe I could, after facing the pharaoh and everything that happened..." His hands tightened on the window ledge, scraping the paint off the wood. "Instead I can remember it all, clearer than ever." His eyes shot open, turning to Bakura. "How the fuck is that fair?"
Bakura didn't move, just stared blankly out at the city below. "It's not," he said quietly. "The gods are cruel...as is the pharaoh." A grim smile crept across his face. "At the very least, I can make him pay for all of it."
Marik glared, pulling away. "I don't need you fighting my battles for me," He said coldly. "Nor do I want you to."
"The promise of the pharaoh's torture isn't a good enough present for you?" Bakura followed him, taking his hands and swinging him around.. "What do you want then?"
"This day to be over." Marik said. "Now."
"It will be soon..." Bakura murmured, reeling him in closer. "I could distract you for a while, if that would help..."
As he hooked his arms around Marik's neck, the taller boy shivered. "Because that went so well last time," he muttered, ducking out of his grasp. "I don't think that's going to happen...not tonight."
Bakura shrugged. "Your call." He rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Then what should I give you...it is you birthday after all..." He pulled away and crossed the room, rummaging through the books on the floor.
Marik rolled his eyes. "Look, you don't have to dig up something just to try and make me feel better-" Marik stopped, the candlelight glinting off the gold in Bakura's outstretched hand. "What is it?"
"A ring I've kept track of for a very long time. Hiding it in ruins, finding it again when the Ring found another host, while the Puzzle was still hidden. Lost it once or twice, only to have it turn up in auctions and such...most recently in a certain museum exhibit, right here in Domino city."
"So you stole it from my sister-"
Bakura laughed. "It isn't stealing if you owned it in the first place, now is it?" He tipped it into Marik's hand, curling his fingers around them both. "Don't lose it."
Marik nodded, holding it up to his eyes. "I wouldn't dare," he murmured, slipping it on his middle finger. He pressed the cold metal to his lips, closing his eyes. "Come here."
As Bakura approached, Marik pulled him into his lap, his arms tightening around his shoulders. "You'd part with this so easily? Really?"
Bakura's fingers intertwined with Marik's, holding their hands up to the candlelight. "It looks good on you." he murmured. He kissed the back of Marik's hand, massaging it with his thumb. "Do you like it?"
Marik nodded, a slight smile crossing his lips. "You still haven't answered my question, he murmured, fiddling with the band on his finger.
"It's just a ring," he said simply. "But for future birthdays...You'll have something to remind you that your memories can't hurt you anymore." He pulled him close once more, pressing his lips to his cheek.
Marik marveled at the ring for another few seconds, his mouth cracking into a fleeting half-smile. "You're really something, Bakura," he said, leaning in to kiss him back. "Really goddamn something." He wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. "Thank you," he murmured, so quietly Bakura almost couldn't hear him. Outside, the snow continued to fall.