A/N: As always, when I start a fic, I'm overwhelmed with excitement to post right away, so have a fresh new update. Thank you for your reviews and support!
Wandering Starmaster, thank you! I'm sorry I vanished on all of you. A lot of life happened all at once, but I really appreciate that you still care, and your support.
RoxasOtaku, thank you so much for the review! I'm glad you enjoyed it and hope you enjoy this chapter. I appreciate your support, and I'm happy to be back. I have a strong soft spot for Bakura (any of the three characters with the name) too.
The boy-Bakura-led her to a cave cut into the side of a hill, its entrance hidden by a covering of dried palm leaves. Once they were inside, he pulled the covering closed behind them, and then pointed authoritatively at a collection of clay pots in the corner. Amane opened one and found that they contained water, made warm by the heat of the day. She was so thirsty that she would have drunk it even if it were boiling. She crouched down and drank and drank until Bakura finally pushed her away from the jar with a snarl and an angry word, pointing her in the direction of the cavern wall, where the floor was softened by another pile of palm leaves with rumpled blankets discarded on top of them.
Amane crawled over to it and sat, her feet by now blistered and throbbing. She curled up in the corner, watching as Bakura paced in the cavern, muttering to himself and occasionally pausing to run a hand through his hair. He seemed to be arguing with himself. She was too afraid and too tired to say anything, so she sat there and watched him, flinching like a scared rabbit when he eventually swung around to face her. He started walking towards her, and she shrank back against the wall in fear when he reached for her, but he made an impatient sound and grabbed at her ankle with a grip like a vise, turning it so that he could see her feet.
If she had been wearing sandals, they had broken long ago. She didn't remember how far she had walked, didn't remember anything but the heat. The pain in her feet, though, told her that it must have been too far. She sat there, trembling, as Bakura examined the damage before eventually releasing her, pushing her roughly back. He stood up, walking over to one side of the cave, and returned with a rag and a jar filled with a foul smelling paste. Amane cried out at the sting when he pressed the paste to the sole of her foot, but he grabbed onto her tightly and said something sharp and furious, and fear made her quiet down to little, hiccupping sobs until he was done.
He left the cave and returned a few hours later with half a loaf of bread and a handful of dates, which he tossed disdainfully at her before perching on top of the water jars on the other side of the cave, hunching over his own meager supper. Amane ate, and even though her stomach was still crying out for more at the end of it, she didn't dare ask. When the sun set, the heat of the day was replaced by bitter cold, and they slept huddled under blankets, on opposite sides of the patch of palms. Bakura slept with his back to her, as far away from her as it was possible to get. More than once, she thought she saw him stand up and move to the mouth of the cave, a gleaming knife clutched in his hand. He would stand at the entrance for a few moments before muttering to himself, coming back and dropping down onto the palms again.
While her feet healed, life settled into a routine. In the morning, Bakura would leave before dawn, taking one of the empty jars of water. When he returned with a full jar, they would break their fast on whatever scraps they had leftover from the night before, and then Bakura would leave again. He would be gone for most of the day, and would return close to sunset, carrying food and supplies. Sometimes, the food was very little-scraps of bread, or dried fruit, or once, which turned her stomach, rats. Sometimes, he would return with some vegetables, or a bit of cheese. Very rarely, he would come back with fresh meat, which he'd cook over a fire they'd made, and snatch up with his hands when it was barely cooked, eating it hungrily. Sometimes, it was trinkets, or clothes, or medicine. Sometimes, it was coins.
It wasn't uncommon for him to come back with bruises, or scratches or once, with a cut deep enough that it soaked through the bandage he had wrapped around it. Each time this happened, he didn't complain, but his mood was worse throughout the evening. Amane didn't have the words to ask him what had happened, or what he was doing, so she stayed out of his way.
Most nights, he would point at an object and say a word to her until she could repeat it back to him. This way, she learned the words for 'water' and 'bread', 'locust' and 'blanket' and 'medicine', 'sand', 'moon', 'sun', 'fire', 'knife', and 'blood'. When she began to understand the point of the exercise, she started to collect objects throughout the day and bring them to him, asking him to name each of them in turn. He was usually in a good enough mood to do so, if only because it meant that they could stop speaking to each other in pantomime. She learned simple words and phrases. 'Yes' and 'no'. 'I'm hungry' and 'I'm thirsty'. 'Quiet'.
One day, when she had recovered to the point that she could walk around without much difficulty, Bakura returned with a pair of sandals. They were big for her and had clearly been used before, but Bakura had glared at her as if daring her to complain. She tied them tightly and stuffed the gaps with papyrus, then had shuffled awkwardly out of the cave after him. They walked for about twenty minutes before she realized that he was leading her to a well on the outskirts of a village. A line of people waited, jars in hand to collect water. He handed her their empty jar, pushing her in the direction of the well. Amane understood and joined the line.
The next morning, and all the mornings after that, she was in charge of fetching the water.
At first, she struggled, unused to bearing the weight and travelling such long distances. She slipped a few times, and once, came close to dropping the jar in the sands. But she learned. Eventually, she could handle the task without trouble.
One day, as she was walking back to the cave, a group of older boys accosted her. They had seen her lugging water, and from what little she understood, they had been intrigued by her fair, already sunburned skin, her white hair, her green eyes. They called her a witch and pushed her around between them, laughing. By then, she knew the word for 'stop', but they didn't listen when she shouted it. She lost her grip on the jar she was holding and it fell, splashing them all with the water.
The sound of shattering pottery drew the town guards' attention and they broke up the commotion. In the chaos, Amane was able to flee. She returned to the cave clothing damp, empty-handed, still clutching shards of pottery in her hand. By the time she arrived, she was close to tears. And furious. She remembered being furious.
Bakura looked up from where he was bent over the fire, scowling when he saw her.
"What did you do, stupid girl?" he demanded. "Where is the water-?"
He stopped when she looked up at him. There must have been something in her eyes, because he didn't say anything when she threw the shards of pottery at his feet, when she stormed off to wrap herself in a blanket and sit down on the ground. Looking back, she wondered if what had happened must have been obvious, because Bakura got up and left the cave without a word.
When he returned that evening, he had fresh bruises, and had split his knuckles. There was dried blood on the wrap he was wearing. He didn't answer when she asked him, in her halting speech, what had happened. But he did have a present for her.
He'd gotten her a knife.
#
Amane awoke, gasping, to hands on her shoulders and someone grabbing her arm. She twisted her body around quickly, lashing out at the hands that held her. The world around her was all white lights and beeping sounds and something that smelled vaguely embalmed, but even disoriented as she was, she felt her hand strike flesh. Someone gasped, loosening up enough for Amane to slide her free hand down to her side, groping for a knife.
Her fingers closed around empty air, brushing against scratchy fabric, and she felt a flash of panic. What had happened to her knives? Her clothes? She was lying on a bed, and people were shouting at her, but she didn't understand the words. Her heart was beating too quickly, and she jerked her arm out of the grasp of the man holding it, swinging her legs over the metal side of the bed. Her bare feet touched something cold, and she felt a shudder run through her.
A woman dressed in white reached for her, saying something, but Amane couldn't breathe. She reached out and shoved her, making her crash into a cart behind her. Metal tools clattered to the ground as she tried to push her way towards the door. Two people grabbed her, barring her way.
"Get out of my way!" she shouted, but the woman in front of her stared at her like she had grown a second head, her eyes wide with fear. "Get out-!"
"Amane!"
The sound of the voice made her stop struggling, made her breath catch in her throat. She looked up at the door and saw a boy standing there, his hair the same silvery white as her own. His eyes were wide and brown, fixed on hers. His skin was pale, like hers. He was breathing hard, as if he had been running, one hand gripping the door frame for support.
It was like the first time, in the desert. Except-except she knew this boy.
She gulped down a breath of air and realized that she could also understand the people around her. It wasn't a language she had spoken in a long time, but she...she knew it. She understood it. Words began to take on meaning, the strange place resolving into something she hadn't seen in...in...gods, how long had it been?
"Miss-you need to calm down..."
"Sir, you really can't be in here right now..."
A hospital. The people were speaking Japanese. Her...her mother tongue. The floor was cold because it was tiled.
And the person in front of her was...
He was...
The words came out disbelieving. "O...nii-san...?"
#
Ryou and his sister were lost to the world. Looking at the girl, the most disconcerting approximation of a female Bakura Marik had seen, even if she was dressed in a hospital gown, Marik could tell that she didn't even notice him standing there behind her brother. And he could also tell that Ryou, who was staring at his sister as if she were a vision that could vanish at any moment, didn't notice that Bakura had shifted slightly to the side, so that he was hidden from the doorway.
While Ryou eyed Amane, Marik eyed the thief. When the situation in the hospital room had cleared up and the nurses were closing the door, leaving Ryou with his sister, Marik tugged on Bakura's sleeve, leading him further down the hallway, away from the door. The thief looked amused, but went anyway.
"What do you know about that girl?" Marik asked.
Bakura's smirk turned into a full-on, insufferable grin. "What makes you think I know anything about that girl?"
"Well for starters," Marik said, gesturing at the hospital, "You're here. You usually find any excuse you can to skip the sappy reunions."
"Maybe I was just curious."
Marik glared. "And the reason you don't want her to see you? Is that also because you're curious?"
"Now, now, Marik," Bakura said. "That girl's been missing for ten years. Do you really want me to be the first thing she sees?"
"Oh, because you expect me to believe you're hiding out of the goodness of your heart."
"I'm...what is it the landlord is always going on about? Turning over a new leaf? It worked well enough for you."
Marik snorted. "Just tell me what you know."
"You seem very interested. I didn't realize girls in hospitals were your kink."
Sometimes, Marik really regretted putting in the work to bring Bakura back from the Shadow Realm. And sometimes, he was glad he had, because it made it possible to strangle him. "I'm a tombkeeper. Ancient Egyptian magic is my job. And Ryou's dead sister in there shouting at medical staff in Ancient Egyptian. Isis is breathing down my neck enough as it is, so if you know something about her, for the love of Ra, tell me."
T
Bakura, if anything, only seemed more amused by his frustration. He stepped back, just out of grabbing reach, and said, "I don't know, Marik. Why don't you try asking her?"
#
There was something in the room with her.
After assuring her that her brother could come back tomorrow, the nurses had left Amane alone to get some sleep, but sleep had come to her in patches. The bed was too soft, the humming of the aircon kept her awake. She felt as if she had barely gotten to sleep when she was awakened by the sudden, bone-deep knowledge that she wasn't alone. She waited, forcing herself to keep the calm, peaceful breathing of sleep, as the presence drew closer. And then, when she felt it pull back an arm to strike, she moved, opening her eyes.
She caught a hand inches from her head, and lashed out with her other hand, fingers aiming for eye sockets. Her attacker jerked his head back, grabbing her wrist, and she looked up to see white hair reflected in the hospital room lights, brown eyes that looked so much like her brother's, but weren't. A savage grin.
"Well, Shadow," the figure said, in Egyptian, "It looks like you're still awake."
Amane blinked. It was impossible, and yet...this day had been filled with so many impossible things. "Ba...kura?" she asked.
"Amani," Bakura said, nodding his head. "Amani. Amane. You know, I never put two and two together. I actually forgot what you said to me the first time we met. Can you believe that?" He chuckled darkly. "We were such dumb brats."
Amane's eyes darted to the hand she was holding, to the weapon inches from her head. It turned out to be the back end of a ballpoint pen, not even the sharp part. She looked up at him and Bakura smirked, wiggling the pen in his hand.
"My own reflex test. Don't worry. I come in peace."
Amane frowned in suspicion, but after a moment of thought, released her hold on him. Bakura returned the favor and stepped back from the bed. He raised his hands beside his head, fingers splayed in a mocking way, and then lowered them to his side. Amane pulled her own wrist back towards herself, frowning at him.
He looked...different from the last time she had seen him. For starters, he had always looked like her brother, but now the resemblance was uncanny. The wildness she had seen in him back then had sharpened now, anger and rage morphing into cunning and irreverence. His scar was gone and he looked...He looked like he fit into the modern world better than she did, which irritated her to no end.
"How did you get here?" she asked.
"It's a very, very long story," Bakura said. "Unfortunately, you left just before it started getting good. Let's just say it had to do with your brother. And the Millennium Ring."
The Ring. An image flashed through her mind, the Ring hanging from Mahad's neck. She had seen Mahad just three days...no, no, of course it hadn't been three days ago. Her head was hurting, and she winced.
"What do you mean, I 'left'?" Amane asked instead, because it was easier.
"Well, at the time, everyone thought you died," Bakura said. "But let me guess. That was when you 'left'. It was that business with the sorcerer...what was his name again?"
"Khamet," Amane said, and Bakura's words did nothing to ease her suspicions. "How do you know about that?"
Bakura grinned. "When the Shadow of Ammit vanishes into thin air, people tend to take notice. It caused a bit of a stir in the underground."
"Oh," Amane said. "Well, that's a relief. I almost thought you cared."
"I cared enough to find out that you got him in the end."
Amane remembered the closing portal, remembered the knife leaving her hand as she fell. She felt a twinge of relief. She'd thought it had hit his mark, but she hadn't been sure. Portals, she was quickly beginning to understand, were very disconcerting. She looked at Bakura, who still looked like he was wearing her brother's skin, and wanted to know more about how he had gotten here. But the throbbing in her head had gotten stronger, and there would be time enough for that. Instead, she asked him, "Does my brother know?"
"The answer is usually 'no'."
She wanted to reach out and strangle him, but she thought that she might be sick if she moved, so she settled for a glare and asked again, "Does my brother know about me? About us, about...who we were back then?"
Bakura was still smirking, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having and was enjoying it entirely too much. But he said, simply and nonchalantly, "No."
Amane sagged in relief. She hadn't realized until she had seen her brother how much had changed. Between them, and with him, and with her. "Don't tell him..." she said. "Please."
"Don't worry," Bakura said, smiling as if at some private joke. "I'm used to keeping him in the dark."
She felt terrible about it, but the adrenaline had faded, leaving an exhaustion deeper than before. At that moment, all she wanted to do was sleep. She looked back up at the ceiling, not wanting to admit to the weakness, but Bakura must have seen it anyway, because she felt him start to leave.
A thought occurred to her when he was almost at the door. It was a wild, childish hope, and she surprised herself with the force of it, but she looked up. "Bakura..." she said. "If...if you're here...then...?"
Bakura stopped very deliberately, as if he had been expecting this the whole time. He looked at her over his shoulder, and the look in his eye, the dark amusement there, gave her a very bad feeling. "Yes?"
Amane swallowed, but she had already committed herself to the question. "Is there anyone else...from back then?"
"Anyone else?" Bakura asked. "Oh. Are you talking about the Pharaoh?"
Her heart jumped. She couldn't help it. That stupid, traitorous heart. She'd been cursing it since that day at the oasis. That day...
Bakura was watching her, so she nodded her head. His smirk widened. "Oh," he said. "This is lovely. You've just missed him. He's...well, you might say he's gone to the west." He laughed suddenly. It was a savage laugh, and it cut into her soul. "Gone off with Osiris. Gone to be with his ka." He was still laughing. "He's dead, little girl. He's dead. After everything you've done for him, you missed him in the end. Don't worry, though."
His grin widened, even as, in that moment, Amane felt like her heart was shattering. "You still have me..."