Gaaaaah, I do not deserve such wonderful reviews! Seriously, thank you all so much, and I am so glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I promise not to make you wait another year again. And lookie, a new chapter today! I'm doing a bit better at least, although I don't think this one is as interesting as yesterday's. Thank you so much for your kind words and patience~ - Jem

Bakura grabbed Marik's wrist and pulled him closer, his deep brown eyes narrowed as he stared into Marik's face. He was searching for any sort of recognition in Marik's eyes, any kind of familiarity in his expression that would tell Bakura that this whole situation was some horrible kind of practical joke.

He was disappointed.

"I told you to get the hell off me!" Marik tugged back out Bakura's grip, rubbing his wrist.

Bakura took a step closer, but Marik skittered back with his hands in front of his face, clenching them into fists. "I am warning you. Tell me what the hell is going on!"

"I don't know," Bakura responded aggressively.

Marik faltered. "But you have to know!"

"Well, I don't. I don't know why the fuck you don't recognise me." Bakura kept his eyes tight, his expression unmoving. He refused to show Marik how badly he was hurting. This was plain wrong – Marik should never look at him with such cold, harsh eyes. Even in Battle City, he hadn't looked this distrustful.

Marik drew back, pursing his lips. His expression was still as angry and demanding as ever – Bakura recognised it from their Battle City days – but his eyes betrayed his true, deep confusion. Marik never could keep his feelings out of his eyes. He folded his arms and jutted his jaw out. "Do I know you, then?"

Bakura snorted. "You more than know me; you fuck me."

Marik's eyes widened.

"And a little more than that too." Bakura would have smirked if he hadn't been so damn angry. "You love me, you bastard."

Marik gaped. His deep violet eyes almost popped out of his head, his hands hovering uncertainly by his sides as he simply stood and stared at Bakura. Marik had never looked at Bakura with such shock, not ever. It was … wrong.

"I…" Marik stopped, swallowed, and tried again, his voice sounding thin. "…I what?"

"Need me to demonstrate?" Bakura arched a brow and took one step closer, but Marik skittered back about five. Bakura rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"…But…" Marik shifted, his fingers bunching tightly in the material of his trousers. "…You're a guy…"

Bakura cackled. "Is that really what you're worried about?"

Marik's eyes narrowed. "You're lying. I'm not…! I don't like guys!"

"Please." Bakura folded his arms and smirked. "You used to think that, before you met me."

"I haven't met you," Marik seethed.

Bakura shook his head, his mouth dropping back into a thin, serious line. His brown eyes bored straight into Marik's. "You have. You heard what that other oversized version of you said – he took away your memories."

Marik swallowed. "…That's impossible."

"Please. You know about magic. You know about the Millennium Items." Bakura gestured to the Ring around his neck. "Your other delightful self had the Rod."

"…So you're saying" Marik took another step back, his eyes narrowing further into a dangerous, sparkling glare, "…I've just lost two entire years of my life?"

Bakura jerked his head in a curt nod.

Marik swallowed. "…Two years … that involved … you."

Bakura folded his arms and smirked. "I'd say they were the two best years of your life."

"Arrogant, aren't you?" Despite himself, Marik's lips twitched slightly.

Bakura snorted. "Coming from you, Ishtar?"

Marik grinned before he caught himself and forced his expression back into a frown. He shifted on his feet, plucking at the hem of his shirt as he squeezed his eyes shut. "…But I still don't know you."

Bakura's expression dipped into an angry frown. A part of him had still hoped that Marik was just winding him up, and any minute now he was going to burst into the cheeky laughter that Bakura knew so well and screech, 'Got you! You should have seen your face!'

But Marik's eyes were filled with honest confusion.

"I'll get your memories back," Bakura growled roughly.

Marik glanced at him. "I don't even remember having memories." His eyes looked distant, different – as if he didn't trust or like Bakura. Bakura tensed when a slightly horrifying thought came over him. What if Marik didn't want to get his memories back? What if … he never remembered Bakura again?

No. That was impossible. Bakura was never going to let that happen.

Marik grimaced and pressed a hand to his forehead. Bakura noticed with a small tug of worry that his fingers were shaking. "My head feels like it's going to explode."

Bakura automatically crossed to Marik's side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer. "Close your eyes, the light mustn't help."

Marik stiffened. He pulled himself out of Bakura's grip and took a step away.

Bakura growled, but closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't take rejection well, and it was hard remembering that this wasn't Marik's fault. No matter how much he wanted to just grab the other man and hold him tight until he remembered, that would only make the situation worse.

"…Sorry…" Marik sounded uncertain. "…I just … don't know you."

Bakura took another moment to gather himself, and then opened his eyes to send Marik an arrogant smirk. "Now I know there's something wrong. You never apologise."

Marik managed a tentative grin. "So maybe you do know me."

"I do." Bakura's tone dipped into seriousness and his brown eyes trained straight onto Marik's face. "Better than anyone."

Marik shifted. He held his hand to his forehead again and groaned. "…I need a coffee."

Ryou's old apartment was a mess.

Stacks of old papers were chucked around the floor, broken and empty dishes strewn over just about every available surface, and the furniture was all turned sideways where it wasn't broken or smashed. Bits of glass littered the floor, glinting slightly, and the stench of must made Ryou's nose wrinkle. When he had lived here, Bakura had mostly been in control, and Ryou had forgotten what a mess the spirit liked to make. Marik must be the one to keep the other house tidy.

Even Kek looked around with a disgusted expression on his face. "You lived here?"

"Not by choice." Ryou sighed, staring glumly at the mess that had once been his home.

Kek sent him a questioning glance.

"I lived here with my father," Ryou explained, "But he moved to Europe, so then I stayed here alone. Bakura took control most of the time though."

Kek's glowing dark eyes narrowed at that. His hands clenched into tight fists, leaving indents in his palms; this body was stronger than Marik's, he realised, and it was filled with all the strength of his anger and darkness. All he had ever known was Marik's hate – Marik's hate and Marik's pain and Marik's bitter sorrow. He had thought he was alone in that.

But Ryou…

"How did it feel?" Kek eventually blurted out.

Ryou blinked. "How did what feel?"

"When Bakura took over."

Ryou flinched at the question despite himself. He drew in a slow breath and wrapped his arms around his torso, glancing down at the floor. "Horrible. I tried to fight him, but I didn't usually succeed. Just occasionally I was strong enough to stop him, but he punished me."

Kek's expression darkened. "What did he do?"

Ryou shrugged lightly. He lifted his left hand and held it out towards Kek, his finger tracing out the faint scar still displayed there. "Stabbed me once because I stopped him from hurting my friends."

Kek's brows furrowed and he grabbed Ryou's hand, lifting it up closer to his face. He examined it closely. "…Did it hurt?"

Ryou smiled faintly. "Yep."

"And does it hurt from when I stabbed you?" Kek looked over. "Well … when I stabbed him."

Ryou looked away, debating, and nodded. "Not when you did it, because he was in control. I just get the aftermath. Speaking of which," Ryou rubbed carefully at his still-unbandaged neck, "I need to clean up. Come on."

Kek balked. "What?"

"You're going to help me." He caught Kek's confusion and chuckled. "Come on. The first aid kit should still be in the kitchen." He turned and stepped carefully through the precarious piles of mess, edging his way through the door.

Kek stared after him for a few moments before he followed.

Thankfully, the first aid kit was still in its usual cupboard in the kitchen. Ryou got it down with a slight wince and pulled out a cloth, handing it to Kek.

Kek merely stared at it.

Ryou gestured to the sink, explaining patiently, "I'm going to need you to wipe the blood away."

"Eh?" Kek blinked, glancing between the cloth, the sink, and Ryou himself. His eyes narrowed.

Ryou sat himself down in one of the (still-standing) chairs. "I can't do it myself; I can't see where the cut is."

Kek waited another moment before he growled, "I inflict wounds; I don't clean them up."

"Well, maybe it's time you learned how." Ryou smiled.

Kek's brows remained furrowed.

"Come on," Ryou arched a brow. "You have your own body now, after all – what happens if you get yourself injured?"

Kek scowled. "I'd make you sort it out."

"Wouldn't you rather not be reliant?" Ryou leaned forwards a little. "I thought the whole point of this was to be free…"

"I am free!" Kek snarled, his eyes revealing the depths of purple shadows.

Ryou looked at him calmly. "I know. So help me."

Kek continued to glare at him for another moment before he turned, grabbed an upturned chair, and roughly dragged it to Ryou's side. He took the cloth and carefully reached for Ryou's neck. Ryou tilted his head back accordingly and closed his eyes, breathing slow as the cool liquid dripped against the burning cut in his neck. Kek's brows remained furrowed as he worked, his touch a little rough, but as he worked, he slowly grew softer. His eyes shifted up to flick over Ryou's face, noting the slight pained crease in his forehead, the long strands of white hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead.

How had such a little thing survived in the darkness for so long?

Ryou, sensing his stare, opened his eyes and found himself looking straight into Kek's dark gaze. He startled for a moment.

"Don't…" Kek started, swallowing.

Ryou blinked. "Don't what?"

"Don't … move away." Kek brusquely picked up the cloth again and started scrubbing at Ryou's neck.

Ryou's lips twitched into a slight smile as he obediently kept still. He spoke softly. "Did Marik lock you up too?"

Kek growled. "Think so. My memory's a bit hazy."

Ryou's eyes rounded slightly, interesting lighting his gaze. His fingers twitched. "But you always existed in his head?"

"Yeah, I guess." Kek jabbed again at Ryou's throat. "At least since the Initiation."

Ryou swallowed. He had heard Bakura and Marik mentioning the Initiation, but he had never fully understood exactly what it meant. He wasn't sure how sensitive an issue it was, but he was itching with curiosity. Eventually, he just asked. "What exactly was that?"

"Huh?" Kek looked into Ryou's eyes with a frown. "Why do you want to know?"

Ryou shrugged lightly. "I'm trying to understand you."

"Oh." Kek looked back down, his touch turning lighter again as he dabbed at Ryou's neck. "It's this Tombkeepers' ceremony where hieroglyphs are carved into the back of the heir."

Ryou almost choked. "What?"

Kek looked back at Ryou. "A ceremony where hieroglyphs are…"

"No, I heard you." Ryou trembled slightly. "But – I mean – didn't that hurt?"

Kek smirked. "Yep. Little Marik couldn't cope, so I took over."

"But…" Ryou frowned. "You must have been hurt."

"I can handle it." Kek grinned. "Gave me a way in. I grew after that, lurking in the shadows. I kept Marik company. I even killed his father for him, when he was too weak to do it himself, and what thanks do I get? Banishment back to the shadows." Kek's face screwed back up in anger.

Ryou blinked, digesting that information. "…You killed his father…"

"Yeah, and got us out of the tomb." Kek snarled. "I should have been free then, but Marik's stupid brother kept him strong. I could only get out when he was finished."

"Which was during Battle City." Ryou briefly remembered Odion – or at least, what Marik had told Bakura of Odion.

Kek jerked his head in a nod. He grinned. "Then, I was free. Properly free. But that bastard Pharaoh beat me through trickery, and then back to the shadows I went. I was never going to stay there, though. I waited and waited until I was strong enough to put Marik away for good."

Ryou wanted to smile. Even though he knew it was wrong to take over someone else's body – he knew that first hand – he was glad that Kek had taken this chance to live. In fact, he sort of admired him. Kek had the patience to wait until his time was right, and he seized life with every piece of him that he could. Ryou knew all too well what that felt like; clinging to life with everything you had.

He closed his eyes again and allowed Kek to keep cleaning up his neck.

Bakura took Marik out to his favourite café. As soon as they were out on the streets, Marik's eyes had grown as round as dinner plates, his jaw dropping open whilst he turned his head and took in the various crowds of people striding through the packed streets. He swallowed. "…This isn't Egypt…"

"No," Bakura answered dryly, "It's Domino City."

"Domino?" Marik continued to stare around, glancing down at the ground beneath his feet. His tone became excited. "No. You're kidding me. The Domino City?"

"If you mean the one home to Kaiba Corp. and various Duel Monsters' Arenas, then yes." Bakura smirked.

"So..." Marik turned to face Bakura, and the look on his face made Bakura's stomach flip. It held hope – so much more hope than Bakura was used to seeing from those bright violet eyes. "I actually did it? I made it to Battle City?"

Bakura jerked his head in a nod.

"Yes!" Marik whooped, jumping up into the air with one fist raised high. He was grinning now, the first true grin Bakura had seen since he had got his own body, and his bright mood was so infectious that Bakura found his own lips twitching. "I did it! I beat the Pharaoh!"

"Well, actually," Bakura broke in with a sour expression, "Not quite."

"Huh?" Marik blinked, spinning on his heel to regard Bakura.

"I've got a lot to tell you. Come on."

The two of them strode through the streets until they arrived at the café that Marik usually dragged Bakura out to. It was a small, out-of-the-way place with few customers and even fewer workers. Bakura kept a close eye on Marik, hunting his face for some small flicker of recognition, but there was nothing there. Marik acted as if he was entering the place for the first time.

Bakura ordered their usual and then pulled Marik to a table.

Marik frowned. "How do you know what I like to drink?"

"Because I know you." Bakura tapped his fingers against the table, glancing out of the window. How on earth was he going to do this? It was just plain wrong for Marik not to know him. He felt like he'd completely lost the person he had loved, and was instead landed with a total stranger.

But no. This was still Marik, just Marik as he had been two years earlier.

"I can't get used to this." Marik's voice broke into Bakura's thoughts, and he looked back around to see the young Egyptian staring out of the window with a slightly pensive expression. "I've lost two years?"

"Seems that way," Bakura shrugged.

"So I'm … what, I'm eighteen now?" Marik stared down at his hands, inspecting them closely with a slight crease in his brow. "I'd better not have wrinkles."

Despite himself, Bakura released a dark chuckle. "Trust you to be worried about that. You'll be checking if you've gone grey next."

Marik glared, although he did grab a strand of his blond hair. Just to check.

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Calm down, Ishtar. You're still a lot younger than me."

"Oh?" Marik arched a brow and sent Bakura an appraising look. Bakura almost shivered under the scrutiny. "How old are you then?"

Bakura smirked. "Older than you."

"That bad, huh?" Marik grinned, then glanced up as their coffee was brought to them. He wrapped his hands tight around the mug in just the way he always had every time they came here.

Bakura folded his arms. "I'm an Ancient Egyptian spirit. So I'm about 5000 years older than you, if you must know."

Marik almost spat out his coffee.

Bakura grinned, still delighting in surprising his partner. Marik collected himself, shook his head, and then glanced back up into Bakura's eyes. "You are an Ancient Egyptian spirit?"

Bakura nodded once.

"…You're not the Pharaoh, are you?" Marik's eyes narrowed in suspicion and he leaned back just a little.

Bakura growled, smashing one fist down onto the table at just the implication of that being a possibility. "No, I bloody well am not."

"Alright, alright." Marik raised his hands. "That's the only spirit I know still in existence, except…" his eyes widened for a moment, "…Oh hell."

"What?" Bakura pressed, leaning closer.

Marik shook his head. "No, you couldn't be…"

"Couldn't be what?"

"The Thief King." Marik looked back into Bakura's eyes, flicking a look at him. "Although, white hair … is this his reincarnation, or something?"

Bakura laced his fingertips together. "Of sorts. I was the Thief King in Ancient Egypt. Ryou, my pathetic little host that you met earlier, is my reincarnation. I inhabited his body through this." He gestured to the Ring still hanging about his neck. It had clearly been attracted to Bakura, rather than Ryou, when their bodies split.

Marik sat still, processing the information. "…Like the Pharaoh and the Puzzle?"

"Yes," Bakura growled, "Though that is where the similarity ends."

Marik wet his lips. He looked quickly away from Bakura, fists tightening as he bit down on his inner cheek. "…The Thief King…"

"How do you even know that name?" Bakura questioned with a frown. To his knowledge, Marik only knew that title because Bakura had told him during their time as allies in Battle City. But this Marik shouldn't remember that.

Marik twitched. "I read about him when I was growing up. How he battled the Pharaoh by dragging the sarcophagus of his dead father right into the throne room, and then proceeded to wage war against the Gods themselves. I kind of idolised him, and I knew he couldn't really have died."

Bakura smirked. "I'm flattered."

"Not that I mean you!" Marik was a bit flustered, Bakura noticed with a grin. This information was new, and he was pleased to know it. So Marik had looked up to him as a child in the tomb? Interesting. Very interesting.

"Like it or not, I am the Thief King," Bakura responded.

Marik's expression turned a little strange. "You're not telling me I dated the Thief King."

"Hate to break it to you, Ishtar, but we did a bit more than dating."

Marik flicked him a quick glance before looking steadfastly down into his coffee. "…How much more?"

Bakura smirked. "That house we were just in is ours. We've lived in it for the past year or so."

"…Together?" Marik's tone was as even as he could make it.

"Naturally. And before you ask, yes we shared a bed, and no we didn't use it just to sleep."

Marik's cheeks tinted. He refused to look up.

Bakura folded his arms and grinned widely. "I've never seen you so flustered before, Marik."

Marik wriggled, peeking up for just long enough to send Bakura a dangerous stare. "Shut it."

"There, that's more like you."

Marik looked away again. He drew in a careful breath, sitting up a little straighter. "How did it start? I mean, when did we…?"

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Long story. We met in Battle City."

"So I did make it there?" Marik glanced up at Bakura, interest lighting his violet eyes.

Bakura jerked his head in a nod. "My Ring led me to your Rod. We were both working against the Pharaoh, so I agreed to work with you. We made it into the finals, but there were some … unexpected circumstances."

"'Unexpected circumstances'?" Marik quirked a brow. "Like what?"

Bakura snorted. "Your darkness, for one. He showed up out of nowhere and kicked you out of your body."

Marik blinked. "My … my what? What are you saying?"

"That eerie copy of you who was running around with my host earlier. He came from you."

Marik choked. "Excuse me?"

Bakura tilted his head. "Think back to your childhood. The tomb; the Initiation. You relied on a stronger part of you, yes?"

"How do you know about…"

"You told me," Bakura answered brusquely. "Now think. There was a voice, wasn't there? Some darker part of you that you never wanted to admit was real. But you needed him when you were in pain, or weak."

Marik faltered, but his eyes hardened. "I was never weak."

"Don't lie to me." Bakura folded his arms. "That voice was your darkness. Look inside your head now – go on, it's perfectly safe. He's out and in his own body now, thanks to me."

Marik shook his head, dumbfounded. Bakura was right. His mind felt … empty. Free. It was only him in there, for the first time since the Initiation ceremony he had undergone aged 10.

He was … free.

"Explain." Marik's tone was low, throbbing with unseen emotion.

Bakura sighed. "During Battle City, the Pharaoh managed to banish your darkness and give you your body back. As a result, you let him win." Bakura's eyes flashed with anger momentarily. He was still a little sore about that, though he now realised that Marik had had no real choice.

Marik's eyes flashed. "I did what?!"

"It was the only way you could keep your body," Bakura continued smoothly. "You went back to Egypt with your siblings. You didn't stay for long, though, because I showed back up." He smirked.

Marik arched a brow. "Steal me away, did you?"

"Why, yes, yes I did, actually." Bakura leaned back. "And we moved back in here to keep an eye on the Pharaoh. We stole your Rod back. But then, yesterday, out of nowhere, your darkness showed back up again."

Marik blinked.

"I tried to fight him, as did you, but he's rather strong," Bakura continued with a wry smirk. "So I made a deal and got us our own bodies."

Marik shook his head. "Impossible. No shadow magic is that strong."

"Mine is."

"No," Marik disagreed again, "Only demons can do that."

Bakura smirked.

Marik stared at him, eyes wide. "…You haven't."

"Let's just say I have a resident demon."

Marik's jaw dropped. "What? What?!"

"Don't look at me like that." Bakura rolled his eyes.

"You work with a demon?!" Marik's voice pitched up. "Don't you see how stupid that is?"

"Marik," Bakura began patiently, "I can handle i…"

"Shut up!" Marik glared. "I don't care what you were in a past life, no one can control that sort of power."

Bakura blew out a sigh. "Whatever you may think, I used the demon and got us our bodies back. But your darkness did something I don't understand, and now your memories are gone."

Marik shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't believe any of this."

"You don't have a choice, Ishtar," Bakura answered dryly. "I's the truth."

Marik just shook his head again.

Bakura remained silent for a few minutes, allowing Marik to catch up with all the information Bakura had just thrown at him. It was just strange to see this side to Marik – a younger Marik without the confidence of his battle against the Pharaoh, and without his knowledge of the shadows. There were still glimpses of his Marik, but Bakura knew it would take a lot for things to go back to the way they were. If that were even possible.

I don't suppose you can do anything about this?

No chance.Zorc cackled from his dark corner within Bakura's mind. I wouldn't anyway. You're much more useful when you don't have attachments.

Bakura growled and left him alone.

After a few more minutes, Marik looked back up, his eyes a little defiant. He cleared his throat. "Alright. Suppose what you're saying is true…"

"It is," Bakura interrupted impatiently.

Marik's eyes narrowed. "Assuming it is, what do we do about it? How do I get my memories back?"

Bakura drew a slow breath, his gaze dropping down to the cracked table beneath his fingers. He licked his lips. "I don't know, Marik. Honestly, I don't know."

Marik chewed his inner cheek. He stayed still for a few moments, thinking, before speaking again. "What about my siblings? Odion, Ishizu?"

Bakura shrugged. "Haven't seen them since we left Egypt."

"But they could help, right?" Marik leaned closer, and for a moment, he sounded like a child.

Bakura pursed his lips. Truth be told, he couldn't stand Marik's family – in his opinion, they smothered Marik and stopped him from being his true self. Plus, they hated Bakura. He would only go to them as a last resort.

"Or what about him – you know, my darkness?" Marik's voice quavered a bit. "Couldn't we force him to give them back?"

Bakura gave a dark chuckle. "Theoretically, yes, but I don't know how we'd make him listen. He isn't exactly reasonable."

Marik's eyes narrowed. "We could use your host."

"Excuse me?"

"Your host." Marik laid both his palms flat on the table. "They seemed to be getting on earlier."

Bakura growled. "Gods know why."

Marik shrugged. "I don't care, but if he could help with my memories, then I want to try."

Bakura's eyes narrowed. He tapped his chin, considering, before jerking his head. "It's the only idea I can think up. But we're going in armed."

Marik smiled slightly. "Is my evil side really that bad?"

"Oh, Ishtar, you have no idea." Bakura gave a hollow laugh. He truly did not relish the thought of facing the darker Marik again, but if it was the only way of getting his Marik back, then Bakura was willing to try.

He would try anything.

There you go, another update. I'm trying to be more regular, though I can't promise I'll keep them coming every day. But I won't leave it another year again XD I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading – Jem