AN: My first non-pwp! Feel free to let me know if you find any typos, and as always, constructive criticism is always welcome! :)

The sky was cloudless, giving the moon free reign to shine brighter than usual as it peeked through the slight space between the bedroom's blackout curtains. The light lay across the feet of the bed's occupants, who each slumbered restlessly.

Marik whimpered quietly as the ghost of a memory replayed in his mind, just as it had innumerable times before. Even dulled by the fog of dreams the pain was immense, causing him to jolt with each remembered cut of the blade, each crack of the whip, and each stinging, hate-filled word. He wasn't sure which was more painful to relive.

Then the dream changed. The blood that pooled around him was no longer his own. Confused, Marik looked down at his hands that were no longer stretched and bound. More blood coated his hands, the same blood that coated the rod inches from his knee. Marik didn't want to look up! He knew what he'd see, and he didn't want to look! But these were memories, and he had no power to change them.

In his dream Marik lifted his head, and before him, stripped to the waist and bound to a pillar, hung his father. His back was no more than a wall of blood and muscle, stripped of the tattoo that was twin to Marik's own. The world spun. Chants of denial fell in a voice as dry as the desert, soon tapering off to choked sobs of mixed grief, shame, horror, and, worst of all, relief...

Bakura sat back as Marik jolted to consciousness, his own sobs shaking him more than Bakura's gentle hands had. Bakura was used to shaking Marik awake from his nightmares, and usually Marik would gratefully turn into Bakura's embrace until he could tamp the memories down. Bakura was surprised when Marik pushed him away and darted for the conjoining bathroom. A second later he heard retching.

"Marik?" More sobs floated from around the door. Forehead creasing with concern, Bakura followed, pushing the unlatched door the rest of the way open. He held back Marik's hair as he continued to heave, even long after there was nothing left to expel.

Minutes later Marik finally settled down, his head resting against the toilet's basin. Bakura flushed for him before sitting back and smoothing Marik's hair.

"Feeling better?"

Marik whined as he spat bile and wiped his face. "No."

Bakura opened his mouth, but what could he say that he hadn't a hundred times before? With a resigned sigh, he pulled Marik back against him and buried his face in Marik's neck. Marik's arms came to rest on top of where Bakura's hugged him from behind. They sat like that for a long time until they both dozed, drifting in the state between asleep and awake.

"Bakura?"

Bakura snapped his head up at Marik's quiet address. "Mm-wah?"

Marik shifted so that he could rest his ear against Bakura's chest, the steady pulse calming in a strange way. "I don't want to be broken anymore."

Hearing those words, Bakura forced himself to full attention. "Marik, you're—you're not broken," he assured softly.

"Then why do I feel so empty?!" He sobbed, fresh tears stinging his cheeks as he turned his face into Bakura's nightshirt. " Why can't I move on? Why do I hurt so much even long after the scars are healed and their source a distant memory?"

Bakura tentatively stroked along Marik's back to calm him, which usually worked. After a few more minutes the bathroom fell silent once more.

"You're not broken, Marik. Everyone has regrets, for things they did or didn't do—and for things that were or weren't done to them. But you need to stop letting them get to you like this!"

"How do you do it? How do you relive the worst moments of your life and not fall apart?"

"I never repressed my memories of Kul Elna, and I've had three thousand years to cope with them. That doesn't make them any less painful to relive, but I can deal with the pain now."

"But how?" He sat up and stared into Bakura's eyes with a desperation Bakura hadn't seen since he'd lost himself to darkness in Battle City.

Bakura framed Marik's face between his hands tenderly, as if he were made of glass. He wasn't though. Bakura knew Marik was strong, even if Marik couldn't see it. He had survived atrocities that would break a grown man, and at a tragically young age. They both had.

And they were both still here to talk about it.

"Because I have you to look forward to when I wake up."

Marik snorted derisively before he realized Bakura was being serious. "That's it?"

Bakura grinned at Marik's disbelief. "After dealing with the pain and sorrow alone for so long, just having someone there to remind me it's in the past is comforting beyond words."

Marik leaned in to kiss Bakura before remembering he'd just gotten sick. Pulling back he kissed his forehead instead.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" Bakura asked, hands falling to Marik's waist.

Marik nodded. "Yeah, just let my brush my teeth and I'll be right in.

Bakura grunted his agreement and stood once Marik had unfolded from his lap.

Marik found Bakura lying on his back when he returned to the bedroom. Calmer, Marik snuggled against Bakura's side and nuzzled his chest. With Bakura's heart thumping strong beneath his ear and his arms holding Marik safe, he felt sleep overtaking him again. Bakura's words rang true in his ears, and he knew the nightmares wouldn't return that night. With this last comforting thought, Marik fell asleep smiling.