The Ties That Bind Us

By:

Mystwalker

A/N: Slight retcon here, Amane was eight, not nine at the time of the disastrous car crash. I'm also using the Japanese names for the other characters in this one because even though I'm more used to their English names, the little writer inside of me can't seem to reconcile the fact that they're in Japan with the fact that they have English names. Sorry if that bothers anyone.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yugioh.

XxXxX

It was dark again by the time they arrived in Japan, the country being about 7 hours ahead of Cairo in time. Marik was looking forward to actually seeing the sun tomorrow. The constant darkness was oppressive, reminding him too much of the tomb he had grown up in. Of course, tomorrow would bring its own challenges, like trying to find a place to live, or going to school. School. Honestly. Of all of the stupid ideas Isis could come up with.

"We can get you and Amane set up right away," said Ryou as they walked down the sidewalk. "Marik, you can borrow one of my uniforms, and Amane, I talked to Jounouchi, a boy in my year. He says you should be able to borrow one of his sister's uniforms. Shizuka-san is going to be in your year, and she said she'd show you around. Marik—."

"Yes, Ryou, that's great. Whatever it is is just great," said Marik sarcastically. He muttered a curse under his breath as the wheel of his bike twisted, the whole thing nearly falling over. The Egyptian boy kept his hands on the handlebars, pushing it steadily down the road. The siblings had insisted on walking, which left Marik in the awkward position of having to drag his bike beside them. He had considered letting Bakura ride with him, just so that he didn't have to drag the bike and would still have someone who could let him into the house, but Bakura had told him in no uncertain terms that the only way that that would happen would be if he was driving.

And it would be a cold day in the Sahara before Marik let the thief—or anybody for that matter—drive his bike.

"Reconsidered yet?" asked Bakura as Marik painstakingly maneuvered the bike around a bump in the road.

"Shut up! You are not driving!" snapped Marik.

"It was just a thought."

Marik rolled his eyes. Amane flashed him a small smile as she and Ryou walked ahead of them, hand in hand. He noticed idly that although the two of them seemed happy to see each other, there was a slight hesitance in their interactions, as if they didn't know what to make of each other. Amane walked on Ryou's right, keeping her gloved arm away from him.

Then there was Bakura who walked behind them, watching with a frown on his face that told Marik he was thinking something over. He hadn't said much on the walk over, aside from his usual taunts.

Amane had met him in the past. He wondered, not for the first time, how that had turned out.

They were at the house now, a modest home in Domino's suburbs. Marik sighed in relief, grateful for the driveway as he turned his bike onto it. He stretched, loosening stiff muscles, as Ryou dug around in his pocket for his keys.

"The house isn't much, but you do have your own room," said Ryou as he found his keys, sorting through them. "Father bought it when he decided to move back to Japan. It has three bedrooms, supposedly one for him and Mother, one for you, and one for me. But after the…accident…it was mostly just me living here alone."

"All by yourself?" asked Amane, frowning as she turned towards him.

Ryou nodded. "Father comes by when he can, but it was just me for a while. And my yami eventually." He acknowledged the former spirit with a nod. Bakura smirked, placing his hand on his hip.

"Yes, hikari, I live here too. Now are you going to get on with it, or am I going to have to break in for you?"

Ryou rolled his eyes. "You have your own set of keys, so I don't see what you're on about," he said. He did move forward, though, fitting the key into the lock and turning it. Marik turned his head to hide his smirk at Bakura's sudden glare. Ryou had been a pushover for a full two weeks after he and the spirit had been separated, before he discovered that the only way he was ever going to get some semblance of order back into his life would be to push back. The two of them now reportedly got along alright, although they did occasionally bicker like cats and dogs. Marik privately thought that Bakura liked Ryou's newly-recovered backbone, but he didn't share those thoughts out loud.

"Anyway, as I was saying," said Ryou, flipping on the lights and stepping into the foyer. He slipped off his shoes and placed them by the door. Amane and Bakura followed suit. Marik hesitated for a moment before slipping his own shoes off as well. "I called Father. He says he'll come as soon as he possibly can, but for now, you still have your old room." He hesitated for a moment, clearing his throat. "I…that is, we…never touched it…when Yami and I got separate bodies, I moved into the master bedroom."

"What do you do when Father comes?" asked Amane, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and following Ryou into the living room.

"I share with my yami," said Ryou, shrugging. "We've shared a body, so a room for a week or so is nothing. We just prefer to have our own space."

"I still can't believe you inherited the Ring," said Amane. "I mean, I knew—I figured that Bakura was your past incarnation, but I didn't think—."

"Didn't think I was that persistent?" asked Bakura, jumping onto the couch and putting his feet up.

"Didn't think you were that obsessive," corrected Amane with a grin as she looked over her shoulder at him.

Bakura frowned for a moment as if he was deciding whether or not he considered that an insult. Apparently, he decided it wasn't, because he shrugged, picking up the remote and cycling through the TV channels.

"Marik, you're welcome to the couch until you can find a place, if you can get Yami off of it."

Bakura gave Marik a look that plainly said 'come and try'. Ryou folded his arms, and although Marik couldn't hear it, he could imagine the mental back and forth that was going on between the two of them.

"Where's the bathroom?" asked Amane, interrupting.

"It's upstairs, the second door on the right," said Ryou, turning towards her. "I'll be up in a minute to help you get settled."

Amane nodded, making a hasty exit. Ryou sighed, glancing at the TV.

"Why are you even watching this, anyway?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be studying for the Japanese history test?"

"Why?" asked Bakura. "You already know the answers. I'll just get them from your mind."

"I am not helping you cheat."

"It's not cheating if you're technically the same person."

Ryou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright," he said, turning away and walking towards the stairs. "If you're content with letting the Pharaoh get a higher score than you, I suppose I can't do much else."

There was a pause, and then Bakura jumped up from the couch, brushing past Ryou and walking up the stairs. Ryou waited until he heard the door to Bakura's room slam shut, then glanced over at Marik. Marik blinked in surprise as he saw the white-haired British teen raise a hand to his mouth and…chuckle?

"There should be a blanket and pillows in the storage closet," he said, "Help yourself to what's in the kitchen, and let me know if you need anything else. I'll be right down."

Ryou walked past Marik, making his way up the stairs and following Amane.

Marik watched Ryou go, a slightly amused smile on his face as he took his place on the couch before Bakura could reclaim it.

Reincarnation indeed.

XxXxX

Bakura crept into the dark room, the shadows hiding his movements as he stepped behind the figure. She stood with her back towards him, facing the window. The room was completely silent, the only light coming from the streetlight outside. He smirked, his hand going towards the knife he had brought. He drew it in one rapid motion, slashing out at her.

In an instant, she moved, whirling around sharply to face him. Her hand moved, pushing his knife hand down and away from her as her free hand immediately snatched something up from her desk and bringing it up to his neck.

They froze in place, staring at each other.

Bakura's smirk widened as he met Amane's green eyes. The girl stared back, unfazed. He remembered the last time he had found himself in this position, except that time, she had had a real knife, and that time, she had come to kill him. She could never have, he knew, just as he knew that she wouldn't kill him now.

"Looks like you're still sharp," he commented.

"Hm," said Amane, "I should be saying that to you. What's been two days for me was three thousand years for you."

"Give or take," said Bakura. His eyes moved towards the object she held angled towards his neck, and he chuckled. "A pencil?" he asked. "Really?"

"It would have worked," said Amane, frowning up at him.

"Who do you think you are? The Joker?" Amane frowned in confusion, and Bakura's eyes moved down to her. "Oh, I forgot. You weren't around for that reference. At any rate…" His smirk grew a little more crazed, and he tapped the flat of the knife against her side to remind her that it was there. "Yield, girl."

Amane glanced down at the knife and back up at Bakura. She nodded once, and the both of them stepped back at the same time, Bakura putting away his knife. Amane set the pencil back on her desk, folding her arms and leaning back against it. She watched him carefully. Bakura watched her, grinning. He slipped one hand in his pocket, taking note of her posture. It was almost casual, but he could tell that she was on guard, and that she had surrounded herself with items that she could use as a weapon if it came to that. He could already see her eyes moving towards his knife, and could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

"Don't even try," he said. "You couldn't disarm me."

Amane blinked in surprise. "I wasn't going to," she said, innocently. "I know better than that, Kura."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. You're as much of a fairy princess as I am."

She smiled slyly, scooting up so that she was sitting on her desk. "Well, you would look good in a tutu," she said.

Bakura gave her a flat look, then grabbed the pillow from on top of the folded futon Ryou had set out for her and tossed it at her. She leaned back and caught it in the air before it hit her, smirking as she set it aside.

"Well," said Bakura. "Looks like you can still catch."

"Throw the knife next time, and I'll show you," said Amane with a grin.

Bakura smirked, exhaling once and shaking his head. "I am not that stupid," he said.

"Worth a try," said Amane.

Bakura looked up at her. "The Shadow of Ammit," he said. "Well, this is a surprise. You know, I never made the connection. When I saw a picture of you, I assumed you were her reincarnation."

Amane frowned, glancing away. The smile faded from her face. "No, not a reincarnation," she said. "Just the same kid that ended up meeting a thief in the desert."

The picture had been in one of Ryou's drawers—hidden, most of the time, even from him. It showed Amane at age seven, long-haired and shy, holding her older brother's hand. Interestingly enough, Ryou had been the more outgoing of the pair, smiling cheerfully at the camera. It was hard to equate the quiet girl he had seen in the picture to the assassin that had been named after the Egyptian devourer of evil hearts. But the picture had reminded him of another scene, one that he often kept out of his mind.

It was the memory of a confused eight-year-old girl in the desert, one who could speak his name and nothing else that made much sense.

He would never tell anyone, but even though she had been very much on the Pharaoh's side in the end, he had always felt a twisted sort of pride at hearing another criminal talk about her with fear.

He'd never feared her. Because in a strange sort of way, he had practically created her.

She looked up at him hesitantly and he frowned, noticing her expression. "What?" he asked.

"Are you going to make me finish what I started, Kura?"

Bakura scowled, turning away from her. It was a question he didn't want to answer, because answering it meant admitting failure. It meant the failure of his own plans, and meant that the inhabitants of Kul Elna would go unavenged. But she was still watching him, waiting for affirmation, wanting to hear that they weren't going to end up on opposite sides of the same conflict again.

He sighed.

"No, girl. I'm done."

She smiled, sliding off the desk. He raised an eyebrow as she padded softly over to him, her socks making barely any noise on the hardwood floor. She stood in front of him for a moment, then to his horror, opened her arms and hugged him. "Good," she said.

Bakura tensed, then exhaled slowly, seeming to relax. He placed his hand on her head. "Amane..." he said. She looked up at him. He moved his free hand suddenly, grabbing her other wrist and stopping her before she could touch the knife's hilt. He smirked. "Nice try." She uttered a word in Egyptian that made him chuckle, because it had been one of the words he had taught to her. "And don't let one of the tomb keepers or the Pharaoh catch you saying that."

"Too late," said Amane with a giggle. "And it was worth a shot." He released her wrist, stepping away from her.

"Also, I told you before," said Bakura, frowning at her. "No hugging."

"But I was nine!" said Amane. "Come on. It's been six years, and I tried to kill you once. I'm trying to apologize. Make an exception!"

"Three thousand for me, as I remember it, it was twice, and no exceptions," said Bakura.

"Fine," said Amane, folding her arms. "But on one condition."

"What?"

"Teach me the fun words in English?" asked Amane, smirking.

Bakura laughed. "That, pet, I can do." he said. He reached over, ruffling her hair. It was the most affection he would ever show for the girl who had traveled with him for the better part of three years. She squirmed just as she had in the past, ducking under his hand and fixing her hair.

He watched for a moment, amused. "And there's one more thing I can do," said Bakura.

"What?" asked Amane, looking up at him.

He reached into his pocket, tossing something underhand at her. She caught it, frowning as she stared down at it and turned it over in her fingers. It was a small folding pocket knife, not much, but small enough to hide and just large enough to cause some amount of damage. She unfolded it, turning it over and examining the blade. A grin spread over her face, and she folded the knife back into itself, looking up at him.

"No hugging," he said, raising a hand to stop her before she got any ideas.

"Of course," she said, slipping the knife into her pocket.

He didn't believe her for a second. As he turned to leave the room, he glanced back at her to make sure she wasn't secretly trying to hug him.

"And Kura…?"

Her voice stopped him as he was about to leave the room. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at her.

"Don't tell onii-chan about me," she said.

Bakura smirked. "Our secret," he said, closing the door.