A/n: I blame Echochoas for this. I talk to her too damn much. Mostly messing around with a different style, may make a sequel sometime. I like the idea of a childish Mariku, I think there should be more fic about that. Post Canon.

When Marik first heard of splitting a soul in half, from Bakura, he had thought that someone would have to be crazy and stupid to do it. Giving it a body using Shadow magic, even more so. But years later, after the return of his split personilty, he found himself doing it. Originally he was going to split the two, and then kill Mariku. It would be simple, and quick.

Or so he thought.

The body that Mariku had been given hadn't been what he had been expecting. Mariku's body reflected his chronological age, eight. Since Marik wasn't a cold hearted killer he couldn't bring himself to kill the child. When he was going to send it (it, not him, it) away, it began to cry. And apologize. One thing was for sure, it was damn cute. Even Bakura's heart would melt if he would to see it.

So Marik took Mariku to his home, much to his distaste. Of course Ishizu found it cute. "Maybe we should give him a second chance. Just in case." She had told him, after it had said sorry for the hundredth time. It was around this time Marik noticed his eyes were twitching.

The following week was nothing but Mariku following him around. A lot of people, ones who didn't know who Mariku was, thought it was cute. Everyone thought it was cute. It was annoying. Marik was able to tolerate it, but he really hated Mariku. That was until the last day of its "trial period."

Mariku had ran up to him, at about noon. Without saying a word, it handed Marik a piece of paper. At first the Egyptian was confused. One side said nothing but "Sorry" about a thousand times(and thank you, once). The other side was a drawing, it was simple, but better then most eight year olds. The drawing itself was hard to describe, it was almost dark yet... sweet. Then Marik saw the connection. A picture is worth a thousand words. Mariku just wanted to belong. It was around this time Marik noticed his eyes were full of tears.

Marik soon found out the Mariku was different. He (he, not it, he) had just been trying to help and didn't understand what was wrong. His anger, and slight sadism, had gotten the best of him. But he claimed to have learned his lesson.

While mature for his age, he was still a child. And children needed to be cared for and taught right from wrong. Marik decided to take up that responsibility. It was like having a younger brother.

But of course some things hadn't changed, as Marik found out one night. Mariku had gotten separated one time in an Egyptian market. When he was found, Marik wondered how much Mariku had really changed.

Mariku stood by a badly mangled body, a bloody knife in his hand. He had blood on him as well. "What did you do?"

"He tried to have sex with me, so I killed him." Mariku had answered, confused. "He was a bad person, right? Don't grown-ups kill bad people?"

Marik sighed, knowing that nothing he could say would do any good, and scooped up the small boy into his arms. He petted his spiked hair, something Mariku loved. "Come on, let's get home."

Some things wouldn't change, but perhaps it would be for the better. Mariku wouldn't be Mariku if it did, now would he?