And we are done! Aw, I felt kind of sad writing this last chapter. It certainly was an emotional rollercoaster the whole way through! I hope you all enjoyed it. If you feel up to it, please leave me a quick comment and tell me your thoughts!

It had never occurred to Bakura that there would be so many people in Marik's university cohort. Sure, he'd heard Marik speak of them a few times, but he'd never paid too much attention, and assumed there was around five of them at most.

He wasn't expecting thirty. He certainly wasn't expecting all eyes to be on him as if he were royalty. For the class's current module, they had to write a formative essay on a Pharaoh of their choice. Given the significant media coverage over the last few years concerning the Millennium Items and the discovery of Atem's name, nearly every student wanted to write about Atem or his father, Akhenamkhanen. There was only so much they could research on their own, however, and even less that they could cite, so Marik had asked Yugi if he wouldn't mind coming in to chat with the cohort about their collective experiences with the once-Nameless Pharaoh. When Bakura found out, he had exploded with rage and demanded that he be present too, in case Yugi tried to twist his words.

So now, Bakura, feeling rather self-conscious and out of place, sat cross-legged on a desk in front of thirty students, one being his bright-eyed, drop-dead-gorgeous boyfriend, and occasionally shot glares at Yugi, who looked pristine and smart and practically exuding sheer excitement. The way everyone stared still unnerved him, but he knew why they were doing it; finally, they were getting to see the talented artist that Marik had told them so much about – mostly to ward off his admirers, mind, but he enjoyed talking about Bakura all the same.

"…Mm-hm. Seven of them," Yugi was saying, in answer to a student's question. "They were worn by the royal court and the Pharaoh himself, and…well, I think Bakura is better suited to explain this part." As Bakura glanced up at Yugi, he saw him holding out a drywipe marker. "Here, you should draw the Items. Not everyone will have seen them."

Bakura scowled lightly, but took the marker from Yugi and slid off the desk to quickly sketch the seven Millennium Items on the whiteboard. When finished, he tapped the pen against each one. "Puzzle," he growled. "Ring. Eye. Rod. Necklace. Key. Scales. Priceless artefacts created by shadow magic and a blood sacrifice of ninety-nine screaming souls."

"Wait, what?!" Younis, an Egyptian student, looked alarmed. "Surely this would be documented somewhere. How is this not common knowledge in Egypt?"

"Because," Bakura replied, tossing the marker back to Yugi, "Akhenaden, one of the priests, kept the whole thing a secret. Atem's father, Akhenamkhanen, was Pharaoh then, and he was…" He pursed his lips, trying to find the right words. Akhenamkhanen had been a peaceful ruler, kind and wise, but ignorant to the hunger and suffering of the poorer people of Kemet, and for that, Bakura had never been able to find any love in his heart for him.

"He was needlessly sheltered," he continued, after a moment's thought, "and Akhenaden was the Pharaoh's brother, and felt he knew better in this situation. The Pharaoh might have been the living incarnation of Horus to the people of Kemet, but they didn't see the pressure and the duties that came with being the ruler, and it was the royal court and the advisers that came down on the Pharaoh like a ton of bricks. Akhenamkhanen probably had enough on his plate at the time, so Akhenaden, he…he took matters into his own hands."

He looked across the room, seeking out Marik's gaze. He'd barely taken his eyes off Bakura since the moment he'd arrived, and now he looked anxious, as if worried that Bakura might get angry, or cry, when he began to explain the Items and their history. He said nothing, just continued to watch, but those beautiful, haunting violet eyes comforted Bakura somewhat, and he managed to carry on after a few deep breaths.

"Kemet's villages were struggling. They couldn't get enough to eat, while those in the capital flourished. Many turned to thievery and tomb robbing in order to survive, and the village of Kul Elna was no different. Akhenaden, he knew about this, but he never told his brother. All he told him was that he'd found a way to restore some order to Kemet, and that he'd need a week to prepare the spell."

A Japanese girl, Inoue, raised her hand. "If I may…was this spell the…the blood sacrifice you spoke of?"

"That's the one."

"But I don't understand. Pray, forgive my rudeness, but how is it that you possess such knowledge, when there is no record of anything you have said?"

Bakura looked back up at Marik. "How much have you told them?" he asked.

"Nothing about your past," Marik replied, shrugging. "It wasn't my place to say."

"Then this is going to be hard to believe," Bakura sighed, "but it's the truth, and I'm sure Yugi can back me up with some concrete evidence…I was there, kid. I saw the whole thing. I saw my people burn, to be melted down into those oversized pieces of jewellery."

"But – "

"- And yes, it was three thousand years ago. I was still there."

Inoue shook her head. "I wish it were not so, but this is indeed very hard to believe."

"We know," Yugi smiled sadly. He reached out to give Bakura's hand a squeeze, and it was only the numerous pairs of eyes on them that kept Bakura from jerking away. "It sounds crazy, doesn't it? But those Items, they're real, and on display in the museum in Cairo." Bakura had to fight back the urge to cackle madly as Yugi tactfully left out the part about the Ring on display being fake. "And remember Battle City? All the strange business that went on then? That was the power of the Millennium Items. I held one myself, as did Bakura…as did Marik."

Suddenly, all eyes turned to Marik, who shifted in his seat, looking a little uncomfortable. "I knew I recognised your name from somewhere," another Japanese student, Gin, remarked. "You were in the finals, weren't you?"

Marik scratched the back of his head. "Uh, yeah…yeah, I was."

"You had the Rod."

"Yup."

"And you – "

"Yeah, everything you're about to say is most likely true," Marik snapped. "I'm not proud of it, but what's done is done. Look, Bakura doesn't lie, and he wouldn't lie about something like this. He's here in this time because of shadow magic, and it's shadow magic that got him into this mess as a child. He wouldn't come here today to spin you a web of lies, and neither would Yugi. Yugi's body housed the spirit of the Pharaoh Atem himself for two years. I met him. I knew him. And he was cocky and arrogant, but he was also one of the kindest people I've ever known. I think he'd have done everything in his power to make things in Kemet right, if only he'd known what was going wrong."

It was clear Marik wasn't willing to talk about himself, nor did Bakura want him to. It was difficult enough accepting his past without his cohort interrogating him on the life he used to live.

Luckily, Yugi took the reins from there, taking the attention away from a glowering, shamefaced Marik. "Atem really was…he was something special," he said with a smile. "He cared for all his friends as though they were his family, and he always looked out for people, regardless of whether they had wronged him or not. Though it is true that he carried an arrogant streak, I believe he was over-confident, and this was how it showed itself in him."

An English student, Coren, raised her hand. "What was he like as Pharaoh? He didn't rule for very long, did he?"

"A year, if that," Bakura replied, "and the dumb kid was every bit as sheltered as his father. Knew nothing of the goings-on outside the palace walls, nor do I think he truly cared at that point." Bakura could feel the familiar rage bubbling inside him at the thought of Atem's angry dismissal of his claims, all those millennia ago; the stupid child had never even thought to slow down and fucking listen to what he'd had to say. Okay, granted, Bakura had literally dragged Akhenamkhanen's mummified corpse into the throne room like a grisly piñata, which hadn't really helped the overall atmosphere, but dammit, he'd needed to make an impression somehow.

"But…" he continued, his voice softer now, toned down by the saddened, wistful look in Yugi's sparkling eyes that sent a guilty pang straight to his heart, "he loved his country, and his people. He couldn't fix what he didn't know. He was too young to have had a real shot at uniting his kingdom, and maybe his first few years would have been shaky, but…" Bakura ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, "I think…I think he would have been a good ruler, had he gotten that chance."

Yugi turned away, sniffling. "Dammit, Bakura," he laughed, dabbing at his cheeks with his sleeve, "how dare you put water in my eyes like this."

"Grow a pair, pipsqueak," Bakura grinned, "they'll match your shiny new muscles." Inside, his guts had twisted themselves into embarrassed, emotional knots, but as he glanced over at Marik, he saw his Egyptian beauty with his hands clasped as if in prayer, half-covering his face and a silly little smile turning up his lips, even as tears, full of pride and adoration for his thief, fell from his eyes. That was all Bakura needed to relax, and know he'd done the right thing in coming along today.

Later, back at home, Marik had made his appreciation known in the way only he could – a barrage of overly-affectionate kisses and nuzzles, followed by playful bites at his neck, and before Bakura knew it, he'd been pinned to the sofa by his lover's delicious body weight as his lips were attacked and his clothes carelessly flung away. Their ever-present supply of lube was dug out from beneath the sofa cushions, and Bakura pushed Marik up into a sitting position, moving to straddle his lap and drop down on his waiting cock without prior preparation. They rocked together, kissing, panting, moaning, and when it was over, Marik whispered soft words of thanks into Bakura's hair as they embraced tenderly.

"They're all going to want to speak to you two again, you know," Marik told Bakura, a few hours after their passionate session. They'd ordered takeout, put on a movie, and Bakura had dragged the blankets from their bed into the living room so they could curl underneath them and definitely not snuggle, but somehow he'd ended up with Marik cuddled into his chest anyway, like a lovestruck teenager.

Bakura shrugged in response to Marik's statement as he dabbed pizza sauce from the corner of his mouth and sucked it off his finger. "They weren't that bad, I guess. I was more pissed that they rounded on you."

"No, it's fine, really," Marik replied. "I did do some horrible stuff in the past, and a lot was coming out of the woodwork today, so…it's okay. Forget about me, you and Yugi did really well today."

"Mm."

"It must have been hard for you, Kura. I mean it. Thank you for what you did today."

Bakura grinned, nuzzling the crown of Marik's head. "Don't mention it, fuckface."

"I think that's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I love you too, habibi."

They finished their food in relative silence, only speaking up occasionally to discuss something of the movie that they were only half paying attention to. Bakura made tea, and this time he was the one to cuddle up, nestling under Marik's arm and holding his steaming mug close to his chest, emulating the poetic warmth that seeped into his heart whenever Marik was near.

Marik, who had given him life, a home.

Marik, who was everything he needed.

Marik, who had come to be the sole reason Bakura desired to live on.

The light in Bakura's darkness, the shining sun that chased away the shadows of the night…Marik had done more to repair Bakura's broken heart in a single year than simple revenge against the Pharaoh, and Bakura's family finally being able to rest, could ever have. At first it had frightened Bakura, the sudden, overwhelming need for closeness, but as time went on, he had come to realise that his feelings were nothing to be afraid of. This was life. People loved in their lives. They spent time with their friends, they found hobbies, they laughed and cried and sometimes experienced every damn emotion at once. It was normal.

And now, wrapped up in blankets and Marik's arms, Bakura knew that he would never again deny himself the pleasures of life as he'd come to know it.

"Marik."

"Yeah, habibi?"

"I finished my latest piece this morning. You wanna see?"

Marik's face lit up. Bakura had been working on his latest canvas for months, but hadn't allowed anyone a single glance at it the whole time. "You bet I do!"

The blankets fell away from their boxer-clad bodies as they stood, mugs still in hand, and made their way to the spare bedroom, where Bakura worked. The canvas sat on an easel, covered with a sheet to conceal it from view. Bakura drained the remainder of his tea, set the empty mug on the floor, then twitched the cloth aside.

A swirl of indescribable darkness, purples and blacks, painted the scene. In the midst of it all, in the foreground, a white-haired young man knelt, naked and cold, his back to the viewer. He gazed upwards, to where the colours began to change – light filtering through the bleakness and reaching out to offer salvation, salvation in the shape of a circular pendant with five tines, and in the centre, where the eye of Anubis would have sat, instead dimly wavered a kohl-outlined orb of soft lavender.

Marik turned to Bakura and smiled warmly, setting his mug aside to draw him close and peck him on the lips. "It's wonderful," he whispered. "Are you selling this one?"

Bakura shook his head. "No. This one's for me and me alone."

"What are you going to call it?"

"See Me in Shadow."

"See Me in Shadow…" Marik repeated, nodding. "Very fitting. Suits it well."

"Well," Bakura grinned, "it's perfect, really, when you think about how you and Ryou dragged me out of eternal damnation."

"I see you didn't include anything of Ryou in this."

"He did his part and he did it well, but he isn't part of my love story." Bakura rested his head against Marik's, closing his eyes. "I painted this to show the beginning of life as I truly knew it. A life where I didn't have to be afraid of everything that might have been round the corner. Thanks to you, I've seen the world and more."

Bakura scowled, but nestled closer to Marik. "Fuck, I hate it. I hate being so soft. But I need it. I couldn't see it being any other way now. Marik, you…you've changed me so much. You're still as fucking annoying as you've ever been, but you know what? I can take it. I can take it and every other little annoyance you throw at me, because you…you vain, irritating, seductive little temptress…you've made me need it, and need you. God damn it all, I'm rambling, but fuck, I love you so fucking much, you know?"

Marik stroked Bakura's hair back from his face and kissed his blushing cheeks, giggling. "I love you too, Bakura. You and your filthy mouth, and your grumpiness, and even the fact you never wash up or do the laundry. I can ignore all that because of what we've been through together. I risked a hell of a lot to bring you back – my freedom, my family, my entire future – but here we are, and I wouldn't change a thing about us for the world."

"…Shut the fuck up, Ishtar." But Bakura smiled in mild amusement at his lover's words. Their fingers laced together as their lips met, sunlight and moonlight, light and dark, coming together as one.