Bakura's understanding of Kul Elna was an incomplete patchwork of memories and stories from Yugi and his friends. For most of the time he'd been controlled by his darker self, it had been a mantra that meant nothing to him other than hatred, anger, and vengeance. He didn't know until after Yugi and the others had returned from their trip into the Pharaoh's memory world that Kul Elna had been a village. His village, the place of his darker half's birth. All its inhabitants had been murdered by the Pharaoh's uncle, sacrificed to create the seven Millennium Items, and the village was burned to the ground. Bakura's counterpart, a young child at the time, was its only survivor.
Bakura only knew this from what Yugi had told him; he had no memories of Kul Elna or anything else from his counterpart's previous life; neither did he remember anything his counterpart had done to the Pharaoh and his friends while in the memory world. His last memories through his darker half were of stealing the Millennium Ring from Weevil Underwood and Rex Raptor, who had in turn stolen it, along with the other Millennium Items and the Egyptian god cards, from Yugi, and sending them to the Shadow Realm. He also remembered knocking out twelve-year-old Mokuba Kaiba to lure his older brother into a duel, and then following Yugi and his friends to Cairo and to Giza. Then there was nothing until he woke up on a dark underground stairway, exhausted and hungry, with Yugi and his friends having just returned from the memory world.
"Does this bring back any memories?" Marik asked him.
They were standing in an archaeological site in the desert outside of Luxor.
"No," Bakura answered. "At least not the kind you're thinking. It just makes me think of my father and the digs he used to go on. And, of course, the shrine where Yugi and the Pharaoh fought the Ceremonial Battle was around here somewhere, wasn't it?"
Marik nodded and knelt down, sifting through the sand with his hand. "After the shrine collapsed, interest in this site was renewed and archaeologists have been posing all sorts of theories about what happened to this village. Do you know what these are?" he asked, pointing to some dark remains.
Bakura knelt down beside him. He was not an archaeologist, but as the son of one, he knew a lot about fossils and artifacts.
He knew human bones when he saw them. Charred human bones.
Recoiling, he stood up quickly. "Dear Lord," he muttered softly.
Marik stood up and brushed his hands on his pants. "The archaeologists theorized that a battle was fought here thousands of years ago. Probably marauders from the north threatening the kingdom." He looked at Bakura. "Of course, you and I know differently, but as of yet, no records have been discovered to explain what happened. I doubt any will be; Akunadin covered his tracks well. The knowledge of what really happened at Kul Elna will likely die with our generation, Ry. But you must remember."
"I don't remember," Bakura insisted. "I don't want to remember, Marik. Whatever you might think of my connection to my darker half, he did have a whole life he lived before I was ever born. This is not a part of me."
"But it is, Ry. It's a part of you because it's a part of him. It's what made him, don't you understand? He was a young child and he watched every single person he ever knew slaughtered. In the name of the Pharaoh. Do you understand why he hated Aknamkanon and his son, Atem, so much? Why he was so angry, so twisted?"
"It's not an excuse!" Bakura shouted angrily. "How many thousands of holocaust survivors are there, Marik? You don't see them all turned to homicidal maniacs, killing whomever they please to get revenge! It's no excuse!" he repeated, furious.
"Neither is this," Marik said calmly, removing his shirt. Bakura gaped at him, confused for a moment, until Marik turned around slowly, showing Bakura his back.
Bakura gasped. He of course knew about the scars that would be there, the hieroglyphs cruelly carved into his back when he was only ten. But knowing about and seeing were not the same. "Marik," he whispered.
"This is how my darker half was made," Marik said, his back still toward Bakura. "It's no excuse, but it's important to understand. He—I—we didn't come out of a vacuum, fully formed evil. We became what we were because of what was done to us. We chose to take this evil and create more evil and that's our—that's my responsibility. I cannot undo what I've done because of this. But I will never forget why. I have to understand why in order to know how I can choose to be different."
Bakura took a step toward Marik. He reached out tentatively, then lightly touched the scars on Marik's back, tracing them with his fingertips. He felt Marik shiver under his touch, but neither of them pulled away from the other. "Oh God, Marik, I'm so sorry."
"The scars Kul Elna has left on you aren't visible the way mine are," Marik said quietly as Bakura continued to trace the hieroglyphs etched into his back. "You didn't experience that for yourself, but you were left with all the pain and rage that was created here. Understand it, Ry, and you'll understand better how to move past it."
Bakura, however, was still transfixed by Marik's scars. "This happened to you because of him. Because of me," Bakura breathed, and Marik turned abruptly to face him.
"What?"
"The Tomb Keeper's initiation, this was all to preserve a record of what he did so that when the Pharaoh returned he could be defeated. I'm the reason you went through this!"
"Have you completely lost your mind?" Marik cried. "Ry, you weren't even ten years old when this was done to me! How could you possibly be responsible?"
"Because we're the same. All the pain he caused, everyone who was hurt along the way, it's my responsibility to bear now." He covered his mouth with his hand, feeling like he was going to be sick. "Oh God, Lady Macbeth was right. The blood will never come clean. It will never wash away, no matter how many street kids I feed or—"
"Shit," Marik spat, "Ishizu was right, you weren't ready for this." He grabbed Bakura's shoulders and shook him. "Ry you have to stop. I didn't show you that to pile on even more guilt. I brought you here for this." He stooped down and picked up one of the charred bones. "This is what was done to you!" He waved the bone in Bakura's face. When he tried to turn away, Marik grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Look, Ry! Understand! You were a victim of his rage and he was a victim of Akunadin's. But the difference is you're a survivor. He lived there, in that moment, in Kul Elna forever. You won't, Ry. You're going to get past this."
"I can't," Bakura gasped, then sunk to his knees burying his face in his hands, sobbing. "I can't. Nothing I do will be good enough, nothing I do will erase what I've already done…"
He felt Marik slide down beside him and pull him into a warm embrace. "You're right, you can't erase the past, Ry. If you think you can, if you think that's what we're doing with those kids in the shelter, you've got it wrong," he said softly into Bakura's hair. "The past is done, gone. You could save a million kids, a hundred million, and it wouldn't undo a single thing that's already been done. Understand the past as a part of who you are today, but that's all that matters, Ry. Today. What you do today. And today, you are a beautiful, amazing, kind, and loving person. Damaged, maybe. In pain. But all the more beautiful for it. Do you understand? That's why I brought you here. My scars make me who I am and I like who I am, even if I don't like who I was. Kul Elna makes you who you are, and you… you…"
"What am I, Marik? Because I don't know! I don't—"
He turned his head toward Marik, the words dying in his throat when he found his face was bare centimeters from the Egyptian's. They froze for a moment, then Marik's lips brushed against his. He shivered and closed his eyes as the contact, feather-light at first, deepened until Marik's mouth was covering his. An unexpected warmth spread from his lips throughout his whole body, filling all the places that had been empty. He wrapped his arms around Marik's neck, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a hunger that took his breath away, and a moan escaped him.
Marik pulled back suddenly as if remembering himself. "I shouldn't… you're upset, and I'm taking advantage…."
"Not really complaining," Bakura murmured. "I've been trying for weeks to figure out how to tell you how much I—"
"Not here," Marik said abruptly, untangling himself from Bakura and standing. "It's too dangerous. We can go to your place, if you're sure you want…."
"I'm sure. I don't think I've ever been more sure about wanting something."
The ride back to his apartment was the longest fifteen minutes of Bakura's life. It was all he could do to sit up straight on the motorcycle behind Marik and not rest his head on the Egyptian's shoulder or do more with his hands than clasp them around Marik's waist just to hang on. When they finally arrived, they walked from the parking lot up to Bakura's room quietly with Marik following a good five feet behind him. Once inside, however, with the door locked, the shades drawn, and music turned up on Bakura's small clock radio to drown out any noise they might make, Marik grabbed him, pulling him roughly toward him, his lips greedily locking onto Bakura's. Bakura returned this kiss for a moment, then drew back.
"I want to see the scars again," he said.
"No," Marik shook his head. "That was stupid of me. I don't want to bring you back to that place again."
"You won't," Bakura assured him. "Please, Marik, I need to see them again. I need to see what made you who you are."
Marik regarded him for a moment, than slowly took off his shirt and turned around. Bakura sat behind him, first tracing the scars with his fingers, and then leaning forward and touching his lips to one of the scars near Marik's neck. He felt Marik shiver again and he began making a slow trail of soft kisses down the scars. "I thought…" he began between kisses, "that no one… could ever… understand." He was now at Marik's shoulder blade. "But you knew… exactly what I needed." The middle of his back. "I needed to see Kul Elna, Marik." His other shoulder blade. "I needed to see this…" just above his waist… "to remember… that I'm not the only one who is scarred." Back up Marik's spine. "If you can survive, then I can, too." His shoulder. "I needed this, Marik." His neck. "I need you."
"Ry," Marik breathed, turning and curling his hands into Bakura's hair, pressing against him as his lips captured Bakura's once more, pushing him back onto the couch that was almost the only piece of furniture in the small apartment. The kiss grew more fevered and then Bakura gasped as he was filled with the sudden sensation of Marik's mind melting into his. He could feel Marik's longing and affection and concern and then he could feel his own desire and infatuation reflecting back through Marik, then Marik's through him again, in an infinite loop that was rather like two mirrors placed across from each other, each a reflection of the other reflecting back. Not since his darker half had finally left for good had he felt this connected to someone, this completely a part of their being and he a part of theirs. Only where that had been a brutal, terrifying invasion, this was an intensely intimate sharing, a knowing that was so excruciatingly thrilling it was almost painful when it ended as abruptly as it began and Marik pulled away from him, inhaling sharply.
"What the hell was that?" Marik panted, his eyes wide as he stared into Bakura's.
"I don't know," Bakura murmured, feeling like he was drowning in the longing he felt. "I've never felt anything like that in my life. It was like for a moment you were a part of me."
Marik's eyes widened and he jerked away, rising from the couch. "Shit," he moaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Bakura sat up, alarmed. "What's wrong?"
"I… oh shit, Ry, I should've never… you aren't ready…"
"I think I can decide that for myself, thank you very much," Bakura shot back.
Marik grabbed his shirt from where he'd dropped it on the floor and started pulling it back over his head. "I have to go."
"What? Marik! What's the matter with you?"
"I'm sorry, Ry. I'll talk to you later," Marik said. He unlocked the door and opened it, stepping out into the hall and pulling the door shut behind him before Bakura could even scramble up off the couch. When he did make it to the door, he stopped, his hand on the doorknob. It would be stupid to try and chase Marik down the hallway or outside the building. The last thing he needed was to make his neighbors suspicious. Slowly he let go of the doorknob and went back to the couch. Flopping down on it, he rubbed his eyes with his hand, trying to figure out exactly what had gone wrong and why after that moment of brief, intense connection he now found himself completely alone once more.