In and Out of Focus
Part III: Sehnsucht
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AN: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I hope you all continue to enjoy the journey! Please read and review! I have also noticed I screwed up with the names. Pharaoh Atemkahanet is Atem's father. Pharaoh Tutenkatem is Atem's full royal name. I noticed there was a lot of similarities between Pharaoh Tut's life, being erased from history via the Wall of Kings by Pharaoh Set I and Set II, while his advisor Sye ended up becoming Pharaoh, and was also erased by from history by the Wall of Kings, after him until Horebi (not sure if I spelled that correctly) succeeded him, into which he is stated as the next Pharaoh after Pharaoh Tut's father and sort of Atem's 'life', with him being a boy king as well. Most of the inspiration from this is from a few recent documentaries I watched. (Secrets of the Dead in case you were wondering.)
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He hears music that he learned the sound of as a child and finds that he is wrapped in the dust of ages. Bakura can't focus on the present when he sees tablets in hieroglyphs in front of him. The images are eroded, taken by the sun and sky but he knows the coloring of the stone from the times he walked past some of these salvaged walls long before he was ever in the modern world.
The earth strikes him as a strange thing to contemplate, that time is a measure and he has found himself to be a whirlwind of different eons packed in one. His breath catches and he teeters. His proverbial past is put on a wall with depictions of what people think it is saying, but instead of theory and historical guesses, Bakura knows. He knows what the words mean. It is his wanted poster in front of him, along with the names of known associates and at the bottom of the list, he finds Teanna's name barely there, but there all the same.
He finds that the urge to break the glass holding the tablet surges like fire in a dry forest. Bakura wants to grab the stone and break it into thousands of pieces. He knows the price of his head, knows the price that he paid a thousand times over, and he even knows that Teanna does not deserve to be on that slab with him. It is the first time since he has woken from his strange slumber that Bakura feels the rumbling of rage within him. The old part of himself wants to grasp onto the familiar emotion, but he knows better. His enemies are long gone and Teanna is nothing but a whispered name he echoes at night to no one.
"...I didn't think Ishizu was here, curating still..." The soothing lilt of Anzu's voice stops Bakura's thoughts from going down the emotional hold he had felt for so long before all of this had happened. He is at once relieved at the feel of Anzu's soft fingers wrapped in his, massaging his knuckles with her thumb while she speaks. She has brought him back to standing in the present where the list of names mean nothing really to no one alive other than some part of a previous time.
"Well...It is what it is." His heart aches, dust flowing with each pulse, eroding to a dullness that beats just barely. Anzu gives him a worried glance, taking him in as if he were to shatter at any moment but they both are clever enough to know he won't that easily. Ishizu is here, likely with Malik behind her. The children of tomb guardians playing at being keepers of knowledge. Bakura can only breath a sigh of annoyance as he looks at the description on the wall of the tablet. He points to it for Anzu, to bring her eyes to the tablet as he reads off the description for her.
"This is a bulletin from the era of Pharaoh Tutenkatem the boy king. This reads a list of names and their offenses along with the reward for their capture." He gives her a dark chortle. His eyes tracing the hieroglyphs, reading and memorizing the forgotten words and phrases into his mind to be kept as a reminder that he is of this age stuck behind glass. "This is the stone they put up in the market lane entrance. The name at the top is mine. It is for information about me. Ishizu and her group of archaeologists are keeping the words hidden enough."
He points to the small paragraph that is beside the tablet. "A notice about a Tomb Robber that was highly prevalent during Pharaoh Tutenkatem's short reign." Bakura laughs, almost brokenly as Anzu watches him with careful eyes. "My life is put to one sentence in time." His finger drags downwards to one of the last few hieroglyphs on the tablet. "Teanna is there. She is nothing more than sand now." The Thief King finally takes his eyes off the stone in front of them, glancing over at Anzu.
Anzu cannot breathe for there is such heartache in his face that she is sure he is tearing apart in front of her, but she knows better. Bakura is the fall of the sun behind the distant day, becoming enveloped in the night by a new moon. He is held within her sights with a rueful smile on his lips. For the first time since Anzu has seen him talk of Teanna, she can tell he regrets his part completely. He regrets that time has forgotten someone he knew so innocently, but remembered him instead.
She swallows the hard knot that has developed in her throat, trying to keep the pretense of calm along her heart, but Bakura ravages her sense of calmness with his being.
"Sorry. Do you still want to walk around?" Her smile is slow to her lips as the feeling of discomfort fills the silence between them. Bakura's fingers tighten around her own as he thinks of how history can forget the innocent, much like they forgot Kul Elna. When he looks over at Anzu, watching the gentle smile on her lips, Bakura hopes to himself that time doesn't forget Anzu, that she will be brilliant on the stage she has chosen, even more than Teanna was in her days. Her thumb soothes him while she waits for an answer.
"It's been interesting so far." He murmurs between them, not wanting Anzu to let go of his hand. The strange feeling of her comforting warmth is something that Bakura finds himself desiring during the night while she slumbers across the room from him. During the day, she gives it without thought and he takes without consequence but he knows one day, sooner or later, Anzu may forget that he needs her hand to keep him anchored to this side, to their strange reality where they are both real.
"I'm glad." When she speaks this, Bakura feels heat creep up along his neck with his blood pounding in his veins if only for a moment because Anzu means it, every word. He has yet to find a person as genuine for him as she is, to be truthful, he has yet to look for any other. He is certain that if anyone else spoke that way to him, he would be skeptical of it, but he knows that Anzu's words mean something and even more, she means something.
"You make it sound like you live for entertaining me." He hides behind sarcasm, trying to keep her from noticing the heavy sway her words have for him. Glancing down towards Anzu, he sees that her hesitant smile is now growing.
"Oh, you should know better than to think that." She laughs and it is the laughter that makes Bakura feel light on his feet. He is wrapped in her sunlight with the day burning bright in the building inside. He doesn't want this to end at all, enjoying every moment he spends with her, even the most ridiculous times when they are arguing over Jeopardy or perhaps debating on dinner.
"You have been very accommodating since this started." He is in wonder, watching Anzu for any sense of betrayal as he openly talks of their situation, the unique sense of belonging she has with him. Their quandary is full of tangles and possibilities that neither of them have chosen to explore to its end, too precarious to do so. Anzu is accepting of him, in a way that Bakura is learning to accept himself, while both are so very cautious of each other, careful of their symbiotic halves.
"I can't really do anything about it." Anzu doesn't hesitate, looking forward at the tablet with her previous incarnation's name on it, barely legible even to her eyes. In the moment that she speaks, Teanna stands there under the awning, sharing a cup of water saying the same thing to him, eyes forward staring into the crowd on a day of celebration. Bakura is caught between the two lives, noting how similar they both are and yet how different, before Anzu's blue eyes drift to him, driving forth that she is the here and now.
"Do you want to?" Bakura wants to curse his tongue for the questions slipping out of his mouth, seeping through the dam of his will, unable to fully stop himself. He swallows on the spot, unsure of her answer. His heart beats and beats, caught in a rhythm that should not be while the world balances, moving to and fro on a pendulum based on her opinion. He doesn't know why he feels as if he is about to drop into the unknown, as if something is to change for them as she holds his hand, breathes him in, and keeps him at her side. He is sure she dislikes him being attached as she isn't as free as she once could be without him.
He doesn't know what he would do honestly if Anzu decided that she wanted to do something about their connection, to change it so it never existed, as if he never existed.
"No, I don't." Her declaration is spoken, a balm on his insecurity as her other hand comes to rest on his arm, trailing lightly on his darker skin without thought. The relief that floods him is questionable. He doesn't want to understand why. Being without had always somehow suited him, but it made him greedy and selfish in his past life for more, for something of value, while now he finds as he is lost that Anzu Mazaki is more than enough for him.
"Neither do I." It is a whisper spoken intimately just for her. Bakura gives a small smile, cheeks burning at the truth he has told her willingly. The woman next to him glows with affection at his confession that he doesn't want to give this up, not now at the moment. She is rose red and ocean blue swirling in edges of brown, unable to answer, unable to respond to such a personal disclosure. In lieu of a spoken reply, Anzu gives him a tug, pulling him from his past on the wall, heading deeper into the Brooklyn Museum's Egyptian exhibit.
Bakura digs deep to try to discover any sort of refusal but at one glance of Anzu's bright face in front of him, and he follows without question.
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When they are at the bust of Nefertiti, Anzu excuses herself to head to the bathroom. Left alone, Bakura is unnoticed, once again part of nothing but shadows and dusk against the backdrop of historical importance on the walls. People pass him with no glances or exclamations at the strange dark boy's bright white hair or his scar that he doesn't hide. He dislikes the moments he is a phantom being, the spectre that he truly should be, as he is to the history of Egypt.
"Bakura." The sound of a hollow coffin meets his ears. It is the emptiness that calls to him, making his stomach drop into a pit of nothing. It taps out his name with a deep groan of sand and dust, heaving from its empty chest, crooning to his soul with each syllable of his name. Cold seizes the tips of his body.
"Mazaki?" His voice wavers and Bakura damns himself for the feeling of fear that drips down his spine. He has cheated Anubis and Osiris for so long that he is sure they have come to make him pay his debt by now. Ironically enough, it would have to be in front of the very history he has outlived, wouldn't it? There is no answer from Anzu as restlessness pervades his body.
His eyes dart towards the small hallway she wandered into. People are going about their business, no sign of the woman he has followed. He knows that Anzu may enjoy the occaisional mischief but he has yet to hear her try anything like this to him. The unknown frightens him more than anything and the fear is deep rooted. He grimaces as a piercing thump resounds in his chest, painfully, rubbing it slowly with his hand. The thump feels it will jump out of his chest, drawing short ragged gasps from Bakura, stranded as he is.
"Bakura." It calls his name again. The grinding halt of old earth upon the heavy slabs of stone remind him of the empty temples at night back in ancient Egypt where he would wander in as a child to hide from the elements of the desert. The back of his neck rises up and he tries his best to keep himself as still as possible. Fear is something he is acquainted with. He has driven himself as its companion for ages beyond. In his soul, there is a strong tug, a dedicated line that Bakura had assumed only belonged to the sennen ring but with the sharp strikes from his heart, he is not so sure.
He shakes as he stays still. The tug pulls him, harder, much harder than he thought the insistent pull could. His knees all but buckle beneath him as he takes a step forward, then another.
"Bakura, come this way." The voice croons, echoing around him. A pathway between the walls that wasn't there before opens up in front of him. It is a hallway that continues down a path that he cannot see the end to. He tries to step backward, to fight, but the force that has made him come this far, pushes again, pressing him until the white-haired thief relents, following the drawing sensation from the center of his chest to wherever it will lead him into the darkened hallway.
He prays to whichever god will listen that he makes it back to Anzu. Brown-red eyes glance over his shoulder towards where he had been waiting. Anzu's coming out of the bathroom before the hallway closes off, shutting her from view to leave him only with a wall where she once was. Bakura swallows thickly, anxiety setting in, drifting further away from the brunette dancer with each pressured step.
With the hallway closing, light from the museum is gone, leaving him in pitch black darkness. Fear wraps him up, slithering into his gut and eating his insides. He exudes the cold. He doesn't know if its a minute or twenty years when a small flame appears in front of him. It illuminates the hallway, showing the stone walls that is written in Assyrian texts that flow so fast, Bakura finds that he can't even catch any of the words.
He takes a deep breath, tightening his hands into fists before taking another step forward, towards the small ball of flame floating in front of him. The flame is a soft blue, foxfire, Bakura reminds himself. He has heard tales of those who get lost chasing the shadow world but he has yet to truly be lost in it himself, though he had been possessed by Zorc Necrophades at his own free will.
When the flame circles around him is when the voices start, chimes of bells softly calling in the echoing hallway. They are whispers in languages, none that he recognizes and none that he can decipher in the tiniest bit. The whispers are of children, of women, of men of all different ages. All of them are too quiet, but the one thing other than eerie, is how much they are chanting together in their different tongues. With each step, the whispering is stronger, gaining strength with his momentum. More and more of the white-blue flames line up along the hallway, a trail to light the way, dooming him to follow for the darkness frightened him far more than the unknowing light.
"O my mother Nut, spread yourself over me, so that I may be placed among the imperishable stars and may never die." Ice encases Bakura at the soft voice, in ancient Egyptian that he understands. The tongue is old, but the prayer was one that had been said all too often by those he knew. It is a prayer of death, of crying out before Osiris takes the dying to Ma'at to be weighed by their sins. His breath catches with the start of a dawning realization.
He is in the realm of the dead, someplace he was technically already supposed to be in. Apprehension teases his gut, dancing on his nerves as the force that dragged him here, continues to push, insistent for him to keep going until there is a doorway, emptying into a bigger hall of nothingness. The push stabs into him again, too powerful for him to keep from following.
With a step over the threshold, there is a brightness in the darkness and one whole moment the world is filled with a golden warming light that quickly dissipates into a room, a room with a table and two chairs and another full-bodied man standing there. There are hieroglyphs dancing along the walls, too fast for him to read as souls flicker in and out of the area. It is the mere outline of people on the edges of an era that Bakura can only barely remember. A fisherman, a guard, a wife, all people who once were and now never will be again. The hieroglyphs date before Bakura's birth, crossing each other on the walls with little care for their legibility. The room is lit with orbs of light, brightening the area with a soft light blue glow.
Bakura gapes at the apparition standing opposite of the table in front of twinge in his chest, the pulling from each loud bump of his heart, disappears at the sight of the man in front of him. The man is cloaked in a long beige cloak, bundled to keep the length from dragging on the marble floor beneath them, head wrapped in a turban. Familiarity worms itself into his mind. He knew this man, knows him now as the last of the tomb guardians, the only guard left from when Bakura once reigned.
Shadi stares at Bakura with unseeing sky-blue eyes, the eyes that goddess, Nut, had given him from the stars in the night sky. There is no emotion behind them as they rove over Bakura's form, nodding once satisfied to whatever unanswered question he was asking. He is being judged and he knows it.
"How interesting to see you again, Shadi." Discomfort courses through the once great thief king of Egypt as Shadi has yet to take his eyes from Bakura's form. Meeting Shadi has always been disastrous for Bakura, even more so now than before since now Bakura did not have Zorc possessing him. The bravado and arrogance from before has left him a vulnerable man.
"I doubt that you are amused." Shadi moves towards one of the floating souls, holding the warming spirit in his hand. The guardian of the sennen items says nothing as the soul floats away before disappearing into the ancient pictographs on the wall. The silence crawls under Bakura's skin, singeing it from the inside as a flash of irritation crosses his face.
"If you have nothing to say, I will be going." A growl clambers from the thief king's chest, as he bares his teeth in displeasure at the the guardian spirit. Shadi has always been a mystery in and of itself. The first time Bakura ever saw him was after he had been sealed away in the tomb of the Pharaoh. He could feel Shadi, who at the time had been sacrificed by Siamon after the death of Tutenkatem, rise to the spell that Siamon had called out.
"You will not be going anywhere just yet." The sennen guardian settles to sit down on one of the chairs at the table, pointedly looking up at Bakura. Swallowing, Bakura follows his lead, sitting down in the chair opposite, knowing a threat when he heard one. The spell for Shadi was a double-sword for the spirit, one that Bakura had learned right before he had been sent into the chasm with the sennen ring. The ancient soul was tied to the sennen items, a judge for the ones who held them, and mostly a guardian to ensure their safety until the Pharaoh dismissed him back to the underworld. Staring at Shadi in wonder, Bakura realizes that Shadi was under that same contract, a contract that could never be fulfilled.
The Pharaoh had gone into the afterlife, never dismissing Shadi, never releasing the spirit from the bonds that Siamon had placed upon him when he took the kingdom from Tutenkatem.
"You're stuck in this in between." Bakura whispers the words, having them come unbidden as his thoughts form about Shadi's eternal imprisonment. Maybe that was why the sennen ring was still around, still working when it should have been lost to the earth like all the others, the thief king muses.
"Your bond with the Mazaki girl." The Thief King had no idea if he struck a nerve with the ghost of his past, but Shadi's immediate phrase about Anzu seemed to tell him that he had. Bakura wants to tell him that she was not to be talked about. Anzu was Anzu and whether or not they had a bond or whatever it was at the moment, definitely did not include Shadi and his mysticism. The thief didn't question it and so why should Shadi?
"What about it?" He growls towards the spirit, crossing his arms across his chest in hopes of looking rightfully intimidating. If Shadi was scared, he didn't show it. The guard holds another wandering light blue spirit in his hands, the soul of some poor man speaking in Persian. Glimpses of the man he had once been flickering to life.
"Is it going well?" The guardian flicks the wisp away, unamused by whatever he had seem to be seeking. Shadi could have very well been asking about the weather at this point with the placid way he brought up Anzu but Bakura knew better. His instincts cut into him and his hackles were rising quickly.
"What does Mazaki have to do with this?" Apprehension slides from the tips of his fingers to his arms, freezing his veins as Bakura desperately hopes, hopes probrably for the actual first time in his afterlife, the strange thing that it is, that Shadi tells him that Anzu Mazaki and all five foot, eight inches of her is safe from whatever Shadi has to do with him.
"Everything." The sound of satisfaction leaving from Shadi's lips leave no question to Bakura that the tomb guardian is taking well-measured, possibly very human, pleasure from the Thief King's anxiety when it comes to the dancer he has found himself tied to. Before Bakura could even ask what Shadi means exactly, as everything is in fact a fairly broad term to begin with, Shadi talks on as if he never stopped. "You were vanquished back into the ring before the duel between Atem and Yugi."
"I kind of got that from talking with Mazaki." His reply is short as his temper seems to be heading towards. The Guardian tilts his head, blue eyes set on staring through Bakura.
"With Atem gone to the Underworld, almost all of the sennen items lost their powers." Shadi's voice is a quiet calm that comes with the empty halls at night. He is the very definition of unperturbed, something that Bakura is beginning to envy more and more as Shadi's starting to grind on his nerves, nerves that are already sizzling from the deep-rooted fear surrounding him.
"I would assume they would." Scoffing, the spirit looks away from Shadi, watching the scrolling letters and phrases, all in languages so old or foreign that he is unable to translate. He swears that he can see parts of people he knew but he knows that shouldn't be. Shadi has him in the realm of the dead, right where Bakura actually belongs.
"Except for the Ring." Trying not to gape, the Thief King turns his head back to look at the guardian who is contemplating the thief's reaction. Bakura swears to see Shadi smiling the smallest twitch of a smile.
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Having inadvertantly lost Bakura, Anzu searches the exhibits trying to find him in a mess of people with all different colors of hair and tiers of height. Her own height gives her little more than the ability to peak over half of the people in the crowd and the need to take a rest eventually makes her escape the main exhibits to one of the museum cafes.
Anzu takes a seat away from everyone else, feeling the impact of too many people in one area take its toll on her. Without Bakura at her side, the dancer feels as if she is too cloistered in the building, surrounded by so many she doesn't know and way too many that press against her. The need to find space to breath is far too overwhelming and the alarming thought of Bakura having kept those feelings at bay when they went into so many places filled with people is a first.
"Is this seat taken?" Anzu blinks at the familiar accented voice before she gawks in surprise.
"Ishizu!" She gasps outloud, nodding quickly towards the chair that Ishizu Ishtar, the museum's curator, is resting one of her hands upon, indicating for the ex-tomb guardian to take it. Ishizu smiles with a soothing aura that exudes from her, much like the warmth of sunshine on a summer's day. Anzu can't help the feeling of smiling back.
"Ms. Mazaki. It is good to see you." Ishizu sits down with a water bottle in her hand that she sets on the table. Anzu takes a moment to take in the former tomb guardian. The last time she had seen Ishizu, the Egyptian was clad in beige robes, dirty from the battles they had all endured and holding onto her brother's hand as they were leaving to head back home, worried sick over him.
That world seems so distant now that she takes in Ishizu's calm demeanor and clothing. It is the first time Anzu has seen her in western clothing, a blue and white blouse patterned with silver symbols, and black high-waisted slacks. Her hair is braided and still so long with a golden ornament intertwined with it. Her cheeks are vibrant, Anzu muses, and the worried look is far gone from Ishizu, giving her the feeling of being far older and wiser than Anzu has ever thought herself to be.
One of the cafe workers flags Ishizu's attention for a fleeting moment. Faced with this woman who is known, popular and respected after the attempts by her brother six and a half years before, Anzu can only find herself to be in awe. Looking at her strong profile, Anzu is left to wonder if she would ever be strong enough to continue her work if something like that had happened to her brother.
"I'm so glad that you weren't in the riots." It's the truth and Ishizu smiles at that. There are a lot of reasons for Anzu to have wished otherwise but for now, the Ishtar sibling is satisfied with this. With everything going on, Anzu didn't want either of the siblings to be caught up in the chaos of what they were calling on television the Egyptian Spring.
"We just missed them actually." Ishizu states the fact, smiling wryly, a small upturn of her lips at the truth.
"You did?"Anzu leans forward, wide-eyed as she listens.
"Yes. We were bringing some artifacts out of Egypt to here, actually." Ishizu nods, taking a long sip of her water as the noise around them seems to have dulled. The cafe is a haven during the busy times of the museum, something that Ishizu has seemed to treasure as the cafe workers nod at Ishizu in greeting before going on with their bussing.
"Oh, wow. That must have been a stroke of luck." Anzu murmurs this but Ishizu hears and gives her a rather disarming look. Anzu Mazaki is simple but has always been a forthright personality, something that Ishizu has a hard time looking at. Mazaki reminds her too much of Seto Kaiba, the CEO of Kaiba Corp., the funder for her archaeological digs, donator for the museum in Domino and her exhibits, and a major pain in her ass at times concerning the budget.
"Perhaps it was." Ishizu pauses, not wanting to really talk about the elephant at the table. Anzu and her have talks, but more often than not, it's simple catching up and nothing too big to think upon, but seeing the look on Anzu's face from when she had entered the cafe, Ishizu felt that perhaps she shouldn't bring up their common past. "Are you enjoying the exhibit?"
"Yeah, I am, actually. You made it more kid-friendly this time." The time before is when Anzu and Atem visited the Domino museum. It hadn't been as interactive and filled with noise, mostly things put on display with descriptions hiding most of their true purposes and history. Ishizu seems to glow in pride at the comment.
"That was Malik's suggestion. He thought more kids would want to learn about the past if it wasn't so much just facts." She smiles at the memory of her troubled little brother making comments on the exhibits he had helped set up with the others. His grumbling had earned him an earful but once he actually spoke his mind out loud to Ishizu and the other curators, she realized he had been right. Kids needed to be engaged. Noise, lights, and things that brought forth amazement is what brought children to learn. Malik mentioned it had made him want to learn too when he was younger.
This last exhibit had been progress from the last six years, something Ishizu was truly proud of.
"I'm surprised." All of that pride at her brother's progress immediately became an edge at Anzu's thoughtless words.
"There is more to Malik than his illness." The curator's sharp words gave Anzu pause before she realized what a blunder she had made. Ishizu was protective of her brother even more than before, especially when it came to talking about his mentality.
"I-I didn't mean it like that." Quickly, Anzu waved her hands and shook her head as the weight of her words hit her and the probable misunderstanding. "I just meant that it is surprising he gave one. Last time we talked he wasn't as forward with anything."
"He has his days still but he has been getting better." Ishizu's eyes soften from the glare she had been preparing to give Anzu. Her fingers play idly with the straw in her water while memories of the hardships with her younger brother's progress flash across her mind. There are some days Malik finds it frightening to come out of his room. His door is kept open and there is always at least two lights on, something he can't seem to live without.
"I see." Ishizu looks up at the brunette with a moment of wonder. Does Anzu find herself in need of to make a mark on calendar, double check her wallet and her clothing to make sure it's her choices and her way of showing herself that she is alright, not possessed? The curator doubts it as the ballerina does not in any way seem as if she needs to do things in a certain manner, a certain way, much like Malik finds himself doing. She can only assume such as Anzu, if she does, never has spoken of anything of the sort.
"Ms. Mazaki, I know it will be awhile before he can face what he has done to you and to the rest, but he is working at getting better." The long road ahead for Malik is treacherous, full of footfalls and passages that are too rocky to traverse without help along the way, help that Ishizu has been trying to provide for years. The few guardians that are left have no one in their groups that are psychologists, that can understand the hazardous alter ego that the sennen items created, that their own group imposed upon her young brother's psyche when he was so young.
Malik's journey at the moment is keeping track of himself the best he can with as little stress. When Ishizu comes home, she can find it in disarray, Malik sitting in the center of the dining room floor, having pushed the small breakfast table they share into the kitchen, surrounded by journal entries. He can be laughing or crying, but whichever it is, it is the sound of someone lost and keening for help. She can find him quietly reading or trying to work on the motorcycle parts he shines and shines before he decides to put it together. Every day it is a guess. Sometimes the medicine works and she sees her brother. Other times, it doesn't.
"I know." The heaviness blankets the two of them in silence as both think on Malik Ishtar and his impact, the trials they have both faced and the ones that Ishizu continues to.
"How has Sugeroku been? Last that I heard, Yugi was playing in an international tournament to pay for his grandfather's stay in the hospital." Ishizu breaks the silence with thoughts of the young man that periodically sends her an email on the weekends. The tournament she knows is from Seto Kaiba's boasting email that he was going to put Yugi Mutou down to second place. The difference between the two made Ishizu glad to know both. Seto Kaiba is a guarded man, ambitious, and wanting to find ways to help those like him find success despite horrible beginnings, though he had his sweet moments too. Yugi Mutou is a kind soul, even kinder with how much good will he has for her younger brother and her.
In the years that have passed, the boy has kept her apprised of anything that has happened in his life, perhaps in thanks for helping the Pharaoh that had possessed him during his teenage years, whilst it was trapped in the sennen puzzle. Ishizu has never really questioned his goodwill. She learned quickly, that whether or not she replied to his emails, he would always send another. She had decided long ago that it was nice to have a friend who knew everything about her brother, his issues, and her. The only other person who had been as much of a friend in that manner was Seto Kaiba, but his emails were perfunctory and filled with only matters concerning either her archaeology pursuits, or about Mokuba. He didn't do emotion-filled prose.
Ishizu assumed it was simply not his way. He always asked her about something, leading to a reply email, most to deal with Mokuba. The curator knew that Kaiba had the entire internet at his disposal and could fund anyone to be an advisor when it concerned younger brothers, but the fact that Seto Kaiba found himself sending her emails about his brother always made her smile, because in a small way, Kaiba cared about her opinion.
Not that she was going to let him know that she knew.
"He's on an upswing. He's been pretty much stable enough for Yugi and Rebecca to leave the house for a few hours from the latest tweets from Rebecca." Anzu gives Ishizu a warming smile as she pulls up Rebecca Hawkin's twitter account with a picture of her and Yugi at a local ramen restaurant, close by Sugeroku's home.
"I'm glad. I know that Sugeroku is very dear to Yugi." Dear is an understatement. Ishizu knows that Yugi would give up all he could for the very man who taught him so much about life, who raised him and treated him as a son when his mother was unable to care for him. The curator knows the feeling all too well when hopelessness is the only companion in watching someone's decline. Unlike Malik, Sugeroku will never actually get better and stay that way.
He is frail and everyone whispers the truth. Sugeroku Mutou is dying. Yugi can't think of the words, can't say them out loud, but it is there, plain as day.
"Yeah..." For Sugeroku, there is only comfort left.
LLLL
With Shadi's declaration, Bakura wants to ignore every bit he has heard. The sennen ring is active enough that he is what he is now, but he has no idea what to actually to think about it, about what it can do and mean for him, for Anzu. To question his existence is not what he's ready to face, but with one look at the other spirit, he has no choice. It is time to face the proverbial music.
"The souls that made up the sennen ring are that of Kul Elna." Shadi speaks as if there is nothing wrong. He intones facts that are true to his world in the realm of the dead. Kul Elna is an echo, a place from so long ago the sands had devoured the last charred remains before Bakura had grown old enough to have a beard. He can no longer remember any particulars that belonged to Kul Elna, other than its destruction."The reason that you have resurfaced is because of the wish of your people."
"Kul Elna was destroyed three thousand years ago." It is harsh whisper taken from Bakura's chapped lips. The flash of flames, too hot to breath, stealing the oxygen from his dry mouth, taking what the desert hadn't already stolen during the day is all too real in that moment. Kul Elna of huts that were cool in the evenings, buildings filled with his past, his people wraps him in its final moments. There is a thunderous wave, rhythmic hooves against the hard packed dirt. He knows it's the Pharaoh's men. The sound of their weapons hitting their thighs with each weighted hoof beat against the sands beat into his bones, sapping him of any strength. He is no longer three thousand or so years in the future, but seven years old, hiding behind the back of a building that is on fire. The dreaded gold clinking comes to a stop as the deep, rich voice of Pharaoh Atemkahanet resounds just as powerful and shaking Bakura's core as before. His search for more power through the sennen items was insatiable. Kul Elna, with the rumors of the white-haired citizens being people with secret powers, was an easy target for the Pharaoh.
Shadi has no words for Kul Elna's destruction as it plays out on the walls around them. Surges of heat brush along his robes, doing little to disturb him. This is Bakura's memory and one that the tomb guardian can not twist to different circumstances. The tomb guardian watches the dying embers and soot coat the golden bits of earth as the sun rises behind Bakura in the memory.
"Without the presence of the Dark One, Bakura," A shiver treads down the Thief King's spine, playing upon the unspoken name that Bakura cannot draw strength from anymore. Zorc Necrophades, a monster of darkness that had taken him over, grabbed him into the shadows and never let him go until his defeat by Yugi Mutou in a shadow game. The familiarity of the spirit orbs and constant whispers bring Shadi back to focus from the memory that played out. "the magic of the ring has awakened fully."
"The souls that were used to make the sennen ring have recognized you as one of their own." A quizzical expression flits across Bakura's face. The implication is all but stated. The souls of the sennen ring are of Kul Elna. The people he cannot name, those he cannot fathom bringing forth as they are lost forever to everyone except perhaps Shadi and the realm of the dead.
"It was awakened when I was with Ryou." Bakura knows that he's not even completely convincing himself, let alone Shaadi. His voice wavers as the idea of Kul Elna having been taken for this reason, for the selfishness of one Pharaoh, but even more, the idea that Kul Elna survived in some way, some fashion is even worse.
"Tell me, Bakura, do you yearn for the death and destruction of those around you? Do you feel urges to destroy the emotions of those you know? To toy with them if only to gather information for your ultimate goal of retrieving the sennen puzzle and to kill the Pharaoh's spirit?" Shaadi's inquiry is as measured as the scale of Ma'at. His intonation is clinical, dripping almost with detached condescension.
"...Not any longer." He knows that any of those feelings have left him. He can remember the rage, the ever blinding need that tugged often in his soul to go after the Pharaoh. It had been his one ambition for three thousand years. The feel of his bones drinking in the anger, the desperation to get revenge for Kul Elna were now faint memories. Anger is so far removed from him. He doesn't even get annoyed with Anzu's chatter as he watches her practice in the apartment her stretches, pirouettes, and plies or the constant background noise of the city around them when they walk.
"Not since you reappeared after these six years."The Tomb Guardian reads off history that Bakura has kept quiet, to himself. Bakura is no longer listless, apathetic to their situation, but neither is he trying to do more. If there is anything left in him, it is no longer sparked by the ambition he once followed during the years he was with Ryou. "The Dark One suppressed the souls of the sennen ring, just as he used you to do his bidding."
"You must make a choice." Shadi continues talking as Bakura feels the coldness seep into him at that phrase. Zorc Necrophades had said the same. The images did not play, would not play against the backdrop of the ever changing pictograms as the Dark One had been all but swallowed by the cosmic hells of an underworld he now lived his undeath in. Bakura's memories resound with words instead. The murmur of something so inhuman makes his skin tingle with fright. He knows what its saying, but it won't replay the conversation fully.
He hears his acceptance to the gargled mass of tongues that he knows the words to, but the world of the dead won't decipher it, bring it to clarity. Bakura swallows from the knowledge that he had answered the darkness and it had claimed him with its promises.
"Great. I've been spectacular at those all my life." He had said yes to Zorc's promise of revenge, of full destruction for Pharaoh Tutenkatem's line, for the gods to fall to the earth and to never rise again, only for the promise to be partially unfullfilled as Tutenkatem was a clever man and an even cleverer player of the shadow games.
"The sennen ring's powers will bring you back to life if you want to, after wards, it will become nothing more than a decoration." Shaadi's declaration gives Bakura pause at the words. He would become real? He would exist past mere touches from Tutenkatem's best friend. He would actually breathe and experience the life he had once forsaken. He would and could do so much without his anchor to the physical realm.
Bakura stopped himself from thinking further into any sort of plans he could make, anything he could follow through.
There was always a catch.
"And what if I don't want to?" He hesitates. His voice is small, wary and scared. Freedom to be again, is a hope that he has only found in himself recently. With Anzu's fingers bringing him to reality, sharing coffee and general outings with her, Bakura desires more and more of the outside world in a way he never did with Ryou. She brings him to experiences that seem so mundane, that Bakura can't help but find the extraordinary in them.
To have that hope dangled in front of him in such a way is cruel if there is more attached, the hidden context in the line of a contract that he can't help but read past to the bottom line.
"Then you will disappear and go into the underworld where you will await judgment." The Tomb Guardian, unphased, speaking with facts only. If he is to disappear, if he is to finally go to the place that he is supposed to have gone so many eons ago, then, what would happen to the one person who is with him?
"What about Anzu?" Anzu brings the light into the world. She laughs and it doesn't set him on edge immediately. If he is to live again, would she be there? Would she hold his hand and take him on a long trip to some beach where the sand is finer than the coarse grains he was used to? If he chose to follow his original fate, would she even remember him? Would she eat breakfast by herself and wake to nothing but the bare twilight of an early morning without speaking a word to anyone?
Even with her in mind, choosing to live or choosing to die was a decision that Bakura was not sure to make.
"She will remember everything. The ring recognizes the descendants of Kul Ena." Shaadi shrugged at Bakura, not inherently caring about the thief's dilemma as he just was, embodying a time that no longer existed.
If Anzu remembered their time together, Bakura was not sure which option was crueler. Looking at Shaadi, staring through the timeless ghost that he was, the thief chooses the unheard of option.
"I cannot decide this." He speaks truth and it burns like brandy on his tongue, ashes in his throat. The souls of his people want to give him a chance to change, to become and he doesn't even know what he really wants. He wants a chance at life, but what chance is there really? He doesn't technically exist. He shouldn't even exist.
"The magic of the sennen ring will fade by December this year, Bakura. You have until then." Bakura grits his teeth at the reprieve of time, but what would change? What can change? He stands up and the world spins. It teeters out of place until his vision adjusts. He is standing on the other side of the wall in a gift shop. The noise from children and parents tittering about, looking at educational toys and well-crafted replicas of Egyptian art make his head spin.
Shaadi is nowhere to be found.
LLLLLLLL
"Ishizu, do you mind if I ask a question that may be insensitive?" Ishizu stops mid-chew of her club sandwich with turkey, instead of ham and bacon, to shake her head at Anzu's sudden question. They had been eating in silence as soon as the food had arrived, after talking about the most solemn of topics, Sugeroku's illness.
The darker woman waits expectantly for Anzu to begin. The brunette is staring hard at the sandwich in her hand, as if it held a puzzle to be solved before slowly speaking.
"Do you ever wish to have the excitement from before?" Her query is only met with a stunned gaze. Ishizu thinks upon the words but there are so many meanings, so many different particular items she might be speaking of for their past is complicated. All of Yugi's friends gifted part of his journey has found complications in their stay with him.
"What do you mean?" Anzu takes a slow sip of her drink.
"I was with Yugi for years as we ended up in one strange event into another without barely a chance to rest. When Yugi faced Atem and the sennen items disappeared, that all came to a stop." As Anzu thinks on the past six years, time hits her with all the change that has happened. "Everything sort of did. We went back to Domino City, to school. All of us finished our third year and graduated." She can remember the pink blossoms in the air as the five of them, Yugi, Jou, Ryou, Honda, and herself held up their diplomas, posing for Sugeroku and Yugi's mother to get them in frame for a picture that Anzu had on a shelf at her home. "I got a scholarship to Juilliard. Yugi's going to college for game design and dueling competitively. Jou and Mai got married." The blush of Jounouchi's cheeks when Reina had been born their second year as he got down to beg Mai to marry him for Reina's sake if any one's was a memory that burned brightly. As soon as Jou had learned about Reina, he became determined to be nothing like his own father.
"Jou works at the card shop when he's not dueling nationally. Honda joined the American Navy in Okinawa right after graduation." Honda's running away to the navy had been a surprise to everyone. He had laughed it off when Anzu had thought it might have to do with Miho marrying some college boy in Tokyo University aiming to be in the political diet. Now and again, Anzu was tagged in group emails where he talked about his current crew, mentioning some of the sights he saw on his off days. His instagram account was full of food though; some he cooked and many that he found in the streets from the local shoppes. "He's stationed in Naples right now. Ryou's in London working under Kaiba for Monster World. Then there's you and Malik, travelling the world while holding exhibits. The only person who's unchanged it seems is Kaiba and Mokuba."
Anzu's long winded lament brought up only slight confusion as Ishizu found the changes for her, from constantly fearing her brother's enmity when it sharpened on her to his casual annoyance with her in general, to the state that he was in now and their regulated home life and regiment of medications and therapies that she was working on with him to be a near godsend. The nights of fear and feeling of cloistered by the tomb guardians in charge were no more. She was left with her brother in her charge and only a passing note to her superior guardians from time to time were the only ties for them to their once locked childhood.
"You miss the danger?" The curator quizzes Anzu, intent on finding the exact thing that the dancer is trying her best to express.
"No...It is just strange to think of. When you come back from an adventure, to the life of working to make your bills each month, it all seems so inconsequential." Finding the right way to phrase it, Anzu breathes a sigh of relief as she does realizes that everything from the time the sennen items dropped into the earth until she found Bakura sitting on the toilet bringing back memories of the time before, was mundane compared to their adventures.
Anzu learned how to survive in the forest, navigate caves, and even learned how to lockpick from Ryou, though now that she thought about it, that may have been Bakura. She found herself in so many situations compared to now. There was some excitement, but most, if any, dealt with who was visiting, what new programs were on the television, and how much she had left over from bills every two weeks.
Nothing to compare her skills against, to push her to the brink of almost losing her faith. It was all just so normal, as if their time at Duelist Island, Battle City, Noah's game, Bakura's past world, and Egypt had never actually happened to them. There were no more shadow games. The only type of person that even came after her now were just those who wanted her to perform or to get news about Yugi's personal life.
"Everything does, but I believe you must put it into perspective, Ms. Mazaki." Ishizu understood the forlorn glance in Anzu's eyes. She had it often when she was stuck behind a desk instead of creating new exhibits or working in her field at a dig site. Ishizu's drop from dueling, having taken her brother's condition into mind, was nothing she would change. It was something she would never miss as much. Those days and the damage that was done by Malik were past. Her brother and her were making strides to get through life together. "This is a new chapter of your life. You will always miss the older ones, but this is the now. You make the most of it."
"Thank you. I think I may have forgotten that." Anzu smiled softly, bowing her head in thanks as she finished up one half of her sandwich. She thought idly on the point that the curator was making. For being in the shadows half the time that Anzu had known her, Ishizu seemed extremely mature beyond her years, not that Anzu even really knew her age. She was practically as young looking as Rebecca in some lights, yet spoke as wisely as someone centuries old. "Ishizu, I have one last question."
"I am glad to be of help." Taking a bit of her fries and dipping them in a sauce packet, Ishizu inclined her head for Anzu to continue while she ate. Anzu seemed less hesitant before. She was more confidant talking to the curator, opening up slowly to the woman in the short time they were talking face-to-face.
"If one of the people that we ended up beating from so many years ago came back and was not like themselves, at least not in the way you remembered them, what would you do?" Swallowing her fries as she took in the question, Ishizu frowned. This was rather strange to ask her. If Marik ever came back to Ishizu instead of Malik, she really wouldn't know what to do. She had never known the entity that cursed her brother's mind as anything but full of guile and maliciousness even towards her.
"I feel this is something that has happened to you." Piercing her eyes at Anzu's, Ishizu tried to figure out where exactly this question was coming from. The dancer looked off to the side, shoulders hunching as she did. Embarrassment tipping her cheeks with pinkness as the dancer bit her lip.
"Hypothetically, maybe." She squeaked out, trying to look anywhere but at Ishizu's dark blue eyes for fear of spilling the beans about the spirit that currently haunted her. The thought of speaking up about Bakura made her feel uneasy. As far as she knew, she was the only one who could interact with him, who saw him.
"Ms. Mazaki, I would go with my instincts. Did they tell you that this enemy is still an enemy?" Ishizu took Anzu's relunctance to meet her gaze as a confirmation that this had happened. With the many people that had been against Yugi and his friends, even from the knowledge of some only from emails, an inkling of worry furrowed her strong brow. Was the young woman in trouble? Waiting for an answer, Ishizu held her napkin in a ball in her hand.
"No."Anzu shook her head firmly. Seeing Bakura as a phantom on the toilet had not caused her to hide from him, nor scream in fear. The want to yelp had been distinctly from the shock of someone else in the bathroom while she bathed. He had looked so lost and confused. There was nothing in him that sparked fear for her at that moment. It had been like when she had sat next to Ryou right after graduation, when he had more than enough of hearing Yugi, Jou, and Honda talk about their future plans with him before heading off.
His eyes were filled with emptiness and his face lacked any determination. Anzu remembered thinking that he couldn't harm her, that if even he had wanted to, she would not have seen it coming.
"Whatever you choose to do, my dear, will be up to you, but I would go with my heart." Seeing Anzu's jaw strengthen, Ishizu chose to not voice any of her concerns. If Anzu believed them to be a friend, who was she to state otherwise? Ishizu had never chosen to leave her little brother behind, never to blame him for their father's abuse, despite all logic telling her to do so. Logic told her repeatedly Malik could not be helped with the amount of anger and hatred his alter ego spewed and the maliciousness that was caused by him. She held out hope that he would mend, and as soon as he was away from the sennen items, his mind was doing better. She could see that reflection of hope, even if Anzu was not voicing it, in the dancer in front of her. "No matter how much logic you put into your decision, you will have to live with your heart's choice as well. It is better to go with the right choice from your heart than to coldly follow your mind."
"Thank you for the advice." Anzu smiled softly, bowing her head in gratitude, despite being in a different country. The curator let out a soft squeak as her phone chimed with a message from the assistant curator for the exhibit. Immediately, Ishizu stood up, giving Anzu an apologetic smile in return, collecting the last bits of her lunch.
"Do not be a stranger, Ms. Mazaki." Ishizu waves at Anzu, taking her lunch and disposing it in one of the bins. The curator finds that her words are the truth. This afternoon, even with the history of Malik's illness between them and the awful things he attempted and those that succeeded, had been a delight in her rather usual business of handling the day-to-day function of the museum's Egyptian exhibit.
Giving one last wave to Anzu Mazaki before Ishizu turns down one of the staff only halls, away from the cafe, she hopes that whatever seems to be weighing upon the dancer's shoulders, will ease itself into understanding.
LLLL
"Bakura?" The name escapes her lips in query as she peers past the last group of tourists who had left the building. If Anzu had to give a name to Bakura's appearance it would be shaken to the core. He looked fragile, ready to shatter at the barest hint of emotion. She swallowed, not understanding just why he was staring at her as if she were water in a desert. She steps forward towards him. That's all it seems to take before he flits his way through the crowd of people between them.
Anzu. His mind whispers it desperately. He will not admit that he was afraid.
"Mazaki." He stops until he is standing in front of her. His body instantly becomes less tense as soon as Anzu smiles up at him, reaching over to take his shaking hand in her own. He didn't think he had been shaking, but as soon as her firm, warm fingers took hold of his, it stopped.
"I was wondering where you went to." She implies the question but just even thinking of the realm of the dead is enough to make Bakura want to hide. Shaadi might decide the realm of the dead was where he really belonged, as much as Bakura knew that he did belong there.
"I was scoffing at the Pharaoh they had on display." It is a lie. She frowns, head tilting but the rise to fight his words dies instantly at the sight of his unusually dark maroon eyes. They are faded, greyed out by something that has caused him to look disheveled, made him shake so much that he didn't want to give her any notion of what happened.
"Oh, be kind. They're dead. They can't look as good as you on a whim." It's a silly joke, almost pitiful but the relief Bakura tries to hide tells Anzu all she needs to know. Bakura doesn't want to tell her. She assumes it's something bad, has to be, if it has him actually feeling much more than amusement or apathy.
"As good as me?" He snorts, enjoying the playful banter between the two of them. The exhibits no longer matter. For him, at this moment, it's that Anzu is bringing him to reality. He can breath. His heart is beating. It's the physicality that astounds him, the magic of the ring surrounding him. He wants to say it is because of Anzu. He paused in his mind as he remembered something that had slipped past him when talking to Shaadi. Technically, Anzu was part of Kul Ena, a descendant. Did that mean it was her bringing him to life with the ring's help at her unknowing fingertips?
"Well, maybe?" The joking aside, the dancer kept her eyes on Bakura while they stepped out of the museum plaza. She hadn't gotten anything at the gift shop, having forgotten to do so while looking for the spirit currently holding her hand. Bakura seemed to have gotten back to his usual self rather quickly. The distant gaze disappearing from his eyes as he focuses on her instead.
"Nice to know that some dried up husk is no longer competition for your attention." She laughs, imagining a mummy actually trying to use a pick up line on her from his sarcophagus. Bakura snorts with her, a foolish smirk on his lips at her laughter.
"Funny, funny, Bakura." She pats his arm with her other hand, a soft smile on her face as they step towards the bus stop nearby, moving with some of the crowd from the museum. She asks the million dollar question that she has learned to dread slowly during her time with Bakura. "What do you want for dinner?"
"Steak." She groans, dramatically throwing her head back in annoyance. Bakura raises an eyebrow at her antics. He couldn't help it. He absolutely loved steak. The feel of the red meat cooked just right, with a tinge of pink in the middle and tender all around. He could feel the imaginary drip of juices down the sides of his lips to the bottom of his chin. Just the thought was enough to get his appetite going.
"Steak gets expensive!" Anzu cries out, looking up at him with a frown on her usually upturned face. It didn't help that Bakura seemed to only mildly like chicken. He found fish appetizing enough, but the enjoyment of steak, the pure attention he gave the red meat while eating it was enough to make Anzu feel like she was intruding on a private moment.
"You asked." Bakura grumps as they wait. Anzu taps her cheek with her other in thought as she tries to think of an alternative to the thief's favorite food. They had fish the previous night, mac and cheese with hotdogs mixed in for the night before that and steak from a local resteraunt the night before even that.
"How about pizza?" Anzu expects Bakura to give her a monosyllabic 'No,' and eat it anyway, like he normally did when she made any sort of food that he found either too puzzling to figure out what they are without explanation, or just because he didn't like it as much as he liked eating steak. Hamburgers were quickly becoming a favorite for lunch.
"As long as they have steak." Anzu gave him an eyeroll. Bakura's obsession with meat was going to murder her budget and cause concern from Seto Kaiba on her expenses. If she didn't allot things correctly in her paperwork, and made sure to go through Mokuba's assistant who was kinder and not as attentive as Seto's assistant was, Kaiba would make trouble for her.
"They have pepperoni." He shrugs, taking a moment to think about it. In Domino City, pepperoni was rare to eat. Ryou preferred sausage on his pizza while Domino City had been all about seafood otherwise and cheese. Being away from the musuem, away from Shaadi and his past on display, Bakura finally lets out a heavy sigh.
"Pepperoni then." Anzu smiles as the last of the tension from Bakura's firm hold on her fingers disappear. Ishizu's words from earlier come to mind.
Waiting at the bus stop in front of the museum, Anzu considers Bakura. She traces the fine strands of his hair down to his strong brow and almost aristocratic nose, to his plump lips, then lastly, to the scar that is a reminder that he is nothing she really knows. He is silver mined from the blood of the earth, refined in the roughness of the world and she draws a deep breath as it dawns upon her. If this is to be the next part of her life, the next part of her journey, she sees her answer clearly in front of her.
When the bus eventually comes, Bakura and Anzu step in, together.
