Bakura dreamed.

He dreamed that he was outside in the sunlight, surrounded by grass and trees. He was laying in a field, staring up at the clear blue sky, not doing or thinking anything, just staring. It was relaxing.

A sound drifted over to him from the forest, faint almost to the point of being inaudible. He listened carefully but was unable to identify what it was, just that it was unpleasant. It grew louder and louder as the time passed, seemingly calling to him. Finally he gave in. Into the woods he wandered, hoping he was going the right way. The thicker the woods got, the more they seemed to change. Vines turned into electrical cords. Walls of trees became walls of steel. Lumpy roots gave way to smooth metal floors. Before too long he was no longer in a forest of trees, but in a cold, familiar building.

He continued walking. The noise got louder, and sounded more unnatural, with every step he took. Eventually he came to a set of doors, bold signs saying "DO NOT ENTER" on both. He pushed on them, and they gave way. He entered the room, the source of noise, to find huge, bulky machines lining the walls, all pointing toward a tilted bed in the middle. In the bed lay an unconscious young man with dark skin and blond hair, his arms, legs and head strapped in place. He had hundreds of wires poking into him in various places, all connecting back to the machines, whose noises were now deafening. He didn't feel right.

"Marik," he said out loud. The person didn't stir. He went closer and repeated the name. Still nothing. He came beside the bed and slowly, hesitantly, placed a pale hand on the person's cheek. Then he lowered it to the neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, albeit slow and irregular. Now he felt very, very wrong, almost like he was in pain. He wanted to help, and he didn't know why, and he didn't know how. He felt helpless, and very alone.

Bakura woke up.

A loud sound of something slamming into the table brought Bakura out of his thoughts. He had stayed behind in the dining room after lunch, since it was quiet and he had some things to think about. He had sitting in front of him his philosophy book, the book he had gotten on eyesight the other day, the bucket list packet to mull over some more. He was just considering what his own bucket list would look like if he decided to make one when he was interrupted.

He looked up to find Marik standing on the other side of the table, arms across his chest and his face in an expression of suppressed anger. The two looked each other in the eyes for a moment, silent. This was the first time Marik had come near him since their 'disagreement' and Bakura wasn't sure how safe it was to engage in another conversation at this point. But, the boy had to have come here for some reason.

Finally, Marik broke the silence. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

Bakura thought back to the teacher suggesting he apologize. That was probably the best choice, he figured, since he was unsure of what else to say. "I'm sorry for offending you," he said slowly. He didn't think it smart to mention that he had no idea why he was apologing

Marik seemed to accept this, because he uncrossed his arms and took a seat in the chair next to Bakura's. "You're an idiot," he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Bakura shrugged. Marik glanced at him, then turned his gaze straight forward and took a deep breath. "You probably have no idea what I'm talking about." He paused. "Okay. I don't like it when you try and hide things from me," he said, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "Despite what the staff here believes, I'm not an idiot. Just because I can't control myself sometimes doesn't mean I don't know when I'm being lied to."

"I don't think you're stupid," Bakura defended. Marik leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest again, not saying anything. Bakura paused. "Why didyou get so upset anyway?"

Marik didn't say anything for a while, avoiding his gaze, but finally he spoke. "Remember how I said that the suicide rates are really high here? It always starts with them asking weird questions and being deceptive. I've listened to a lot of patients talking to each other and to staff acting just like that, and two weeks later they're dead."

Bakura remained silent, hoping that the boy would continue. Realizing that he was waiting, Marik did just that. "I already told you I never really talk to anyone in here. I don't want my only friend to off himself," he said, his tone defensive as he stared the Brit down.

That explained a lot. "We're friends," he said, as sort of a mix between a statement and a question. He wasn't completely sure how Marik would justify that. He personally hadn't given much thought to the question of what constituted a friendship, and what feelings should be behind it. Whichever ones they were he knew he was lacking in that department, but apparently to Marik it didn't make a difference. Maybe he just liked having some company. Bakura couldn't say he minded that either.

"Of course we're friends," Marik spat, looking offended. "Stupid." Bakura wasn't sure how to answer this, but before he had to come up with something Marik sat up and scooted his chair over close enough to Bakura that their chairs were touching, and leaned over to see the papers he had been puzzling over. "Oh," he said, a pleased smile spreading over his face as he realized what it was. "Are you actually going to do this?"

"I'm not sure if I can," Bakura stated. "I can't think of anything I want to do."

"Oh, please," Marik rolled his eyes. "There has to be something. Are you planning on staying here forever?"

"No," Bakura answered.

"There's your first goal, then." Bakura obediently wrote it down in the first slot, adjacent to Marik's. "You'll have to come up with the other things by yourself. Maybe thinking about things you wanted to do before you had surgery would help," Marik suggested.

"Maybe..." He hadn't done much thinking about his former life. It wasn't a purposeful thing, it just never crossed his mind very much. That time seemed like it had been years ago, when in all actuality he knew it had only been a few months. It didn't really bother him, as he felt he had more important things to worry about now, but if Marik really wanted him to finish a bucket list he supposed he would have to do as the Egyptian had suggested.

Looking at the blue paper aimlessly, Bakura remembered what Marik had just said about keeping secrets, and after some quick consideration, he spoke again. "Remember when we met, and you asked if I was having eyesight troubles?"

Marik turned to look at him questioningly. "Yes. Why?"

"I was colorblind at the time," Bakura answered.

They were both silent for a few seconds. "But you said that your eyesight was fine," Marik said slowly, narrowing his eyes a bit.

"I didn't trust you," Bakura said, watching Marik carefully. The man looked unsure of how to react. He bit his bottom lip and stared at the floor, looking conflicted, from what Bakura could tell.

"I'm not colorblind anymore," Bakura told him, hoping to remedy the situation. "Not completely, anyway."

"What do you mean, 'not completely'?" Marik asked, turning to face him again.

"I can see some colors now. They seem to be coming back gradually, one by one," Bakura explained.

Now Marik looked genuinely interested. "Is there a system to it? Do you get each one back after a certain amount of time, or after doing something? Which ones can you see now?" he asked in rapid succession, grabbing his notebook and pen eagerly flipped to a blank page to begin scratching down notes.

Bakura paused. "Each one I've gotten back has been the same color as something you've given me," he said.

Marik paused and looked up at him again. "Really?" Bakura nodded. "That's odd... I've never heard of something like that happening before."

Bakura waited, giving Marik time to think it through. He had given it plenty of thought himself but had come up empty. The fact that Marik had been the very first bit of color he had seen since waking up was probably significant, but he wasn't ready to give away that piece of information yet. He hoped it wouldn't make too much of a difference for a potential diagnosis, if Marik was able to find a reason at all.

"Wait a minute!" Marik exclaimed, jerking his head up. "Do you think it has to be an unconscious thing? Or would you be able to see more colors if I gave more colorful things to you?"

"Anything could happen," Bakura shrugged. Marik began writing furiously in his notebook again.

"I could find some-" Suddenly he stopped and looked up and off in the distance, down a hallway. Bakura leaned forward in his chair to try and see what Marik was looking at, glancing between the boy's face and the hallway, one that he had never been down before. Nothing caught his eye. Finally Marik spoke again, saying "I have to go," and before Bakura could even say goodbye he had tucked his notebook and pen under his arm and was gone.

A/N: NaNoWriMo kicked my ass. I'm not going to end up finishing it this year, but that's not necessarily bad news for you-I am more inspired to write now! And the next few chapters are ones that I've been waiting to write for quite a while, so I'm thinking they're going to be up a lot quicker than these past ones have been. (Sorry again for the wait!)

This chapter is dedicated to all the people on tumblr that ordered me to write when I needed motivation to actually finish this chapter. Thank you, guys! (Speaking of tumblr, I've got writing, mostly thiefshipping, posted there that I haven't put anywhere else yet. The link is on my profile if you're interested.) Also, thank you to all of you readers and reviewers. Whenever I see that someone has alerted or reviewed this story my day is instantly made. C: