So he sat on Ishizu's sofa, sipping tea with a Ryou-grade smile on his face. Ishizu sat across from him in a chair with her mouth hanging ajar. Marik and Rishid sat to Bakura's right. Their suspicious frowns a perfect copy of each other. Even without being blood related, it was obvious they were brothers by the matching expressions on their faces.

"So . . ." Ishizu held her tea cup like a shield in front of her. She kept her gaze on Marik. As much as she looked like she wanted to scream, her good manners kept her glued together. "So . . . are you helping him get back on his feet?"

Bakura forced himself not to chuckle. Marik was more likely to help Bakura down to his knees before he ever lifted him to his feet.

Marik stared into his tea cup. Anyone else, and Marik would have had a forceful, sarcastic answer at the ready, but it was his sister – the one person in the world that brought the sincerity out of Marik's character.

"Well, um, not really. You see – the thing is—"

Bakura grabbed both of Marik's hands into his own, his stupid, cheerful grin never leaving his face. "Don't worry, Marik. Your family cares about you, and I'm sure that they only want you to be happy regardless of your life choices."

Bakura had to admit, he was damn good at acting. He wanted to vomit into his tea cup, but it was worth the look of horror on Marik's face.

Ishizu blinked. She looked like a gazelle, all grace and nervousness. "Marik?"

"Um, what Bakura's trying to say is—"

"That we're going to be together forever." Bakura leaned against Marik's shoulder.

Marik pushed him away in disgust. "Okay, that's enough, asshole. Stop it right now!"

Bakura blinked at Marik. "Whatever do you mean, Marik dear?"

"This isn't funny, Bakura. This is hard enough for me without you acting like a complete dick."

"Well," Bakura snapped without his fake smile, "you should have known better than to bring me along."

"Is a little support too much to ask for?"

"We're not dueling the Pharaoh. You don't need my support against your sister."

Marik growled, combing his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Gods, can't you think for five seconds? What if it were your family? Wouldn't you be a little . . . hesitant to have this conversation?"

"No," Bakura argued. "Not at all, because it's your family – family always has your back. That's how it was—" Bakura looked away. "Before. That's how it was with my family."

Marik stopped and looked at him. Bakura paused for a moment, realizing the conversation veered into an area he hadn't meant for it to go. He resorted to plan A, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest. Marik reached out as if to comfort Bakura, but pulled his hand back and stared at his tea sitting on the coffee table.

Rishid broke the tension. "Well, you two always did argue like a married couple. I'm glad to see you've made it official."

Marik's eyes bulged. "What?"

"It's not like that." Bakura kept his arms crossed and kept the scowl on his face.

It was Ishizu's turn to smile, sweet like the scent of decay from a shallow grave. "Actually, by Tomb Keeper law, if you share a bed then you are married to each other."

"Well, I'm not a Tomb Keeper!" Bakura shouted.

Rishid sipped from his tea cup. "But you are from ancient Egypt. Didn't they have similar marriage customs? Most research suggests the mere act of living together defined a marriage."

Once, once, Bakura wanted to have a scheme that didn't blow up in his face. He growled his protest in a few select curses, but that didn't detour the cheerful smile from Ishizu's face. "Congratulations, Marik, it's about time you settled down." She turned that wicked, vengeful smile on Bakura. "Welcome to the family."