By the time Bakura arrived in Luxor, his muscles were stiff from the nine hours spent on the train. It had been an interesting ride through lovely scenery, however. Though he had been to Egypt only once before, he felt intimately connected with the land here. He had grown up hearing stories about Egypt and its pyramids and tombs from his father, and ever since he'd had the Millennium Ring it had felt as if a little bit of his soul had been forged here. England and Japan were both home to him in ancestry and upbringing, but Egypt was somehow like native soil in a way neither other place could ever be.
As he made his way down the aisle to exit the train, he spotted through the window a group of four standing together on the platform, watching the passengers emerge from the train. Three of them he recognized from Battle City two years previous and from his trip to Egypt last winter, while the fourth was a woman he'd never seen before.
In the center, flanked by her two brothers, was Ishizu Ishtar, a regal twenty-two-year-old woman of medium height, copper complexion, sleek black hair, and deep turquoise eyes. Despite being the shortest of the group, Ishizu had the most commanding presence among them and carried herself with a majestic bearing that would have made the royalty from either of Bakura's home countries envious. Towering over her on her right was her adopted brother, Odion. In his late twenties, Odion had dark green eyes and was bald except for a black ponytail that hung down his back. Egyptian hieroglyphs were tattooed into his dark caramel skin down the left side of his face, which, coupled with the grim expression he almost always wore, made him appear somewhat menacing, but he actually was the most diffident of the group—at least of the three Bakura knew. To Odion's right stood a tall, slender woman in her mid-twenties whom Bakura had never seen before. She had rich dark skin, small black eyes, and black hair pulled into an elegant braid that hung down her back. This must be Odion's wife, Rashida, Bakura mused. Before he'd left Cairo, Yugi had told him that Odion had gotten married not more than a month ago.
On Ishizu's left side, in stark contrast to the formality of the other three, stood Ishizu's other brother, Marik. Slightly shorter than Odion and the same age as Bakura, Marik had the same copper skin as his sister, but with pale lavender eyes and a mane of long platinum blond hair that was almost incandescent. Where the other three were draped in traditional Egyptian or middle-eastern attire, Marik's sleeveless hooded light-pink crop top and black cargo pants were decidedly more western. He wore a lot of jewelry; long gold earrings dangled from both ears and thick gold bands adorned his neck, forearms, and upper arms. He slouched in an almost insolent way, with legs apart and thumbs careless crooked in his belt loops. Of all of them, Marik made Bakura the most nervous, mostly because of the history their darker counterparts shared, but also because of his flamboyant demeanor and, Bakura realized swallowing uncomfortably, because he was quite simply one of the most stunning men he had ever met.
As Bakura made his way down the steps to the platform, Ishizu spotted him and smiled, then led her entourage toward him. "Bakura, it is good to see you again," she said warmly. "I hope your train ride was pleasant."
"Yes," Bakura said, feeling awkward.
"You remember my brothers Odion and Marik? And this is my sister-in-law Rashida," she introduced. Bakura shook Odion's and then Rashida's hands before turning to Marik.
"Bakura, I'm glad you decided to come back to Egypt," Marik said, shaking his hand. "I think you'll find there is much to learn here."
"Yes, I'm sure I will," Bakura replied, not sure what else to say.
"You must be tired and hungry after the long train ride," Ishizu said. "Let's get you to your hotel and then we would love for you to join us for dinner."
"That's very kind of you, but please don't go out of your way. You must be very busy."
"Never too busy to spend time with an old friend," Ishizu assured him. Though she had meant it kindly, it was another reminder that whatever connections they had to his counterpart, to him they were still largely strangers.
After dinner, Bakura had intended to return to his hotel room and to get some sleep before getting an early start the next day. He didn't have a plan, exactly. He knew he wanted to see the museum in Luxor, the various monuments around the city, and of course, the Valley of the Kings, but he wasn't sure exactly where to start or what he hoped to accomplish. He politely declined Marik's offer to show him around, but when Marik insisted that it was too early too retire and he had to see some of the nightlife Luxor had to offer, he wouldn't take no for an answer. They found themselves at a quiet café with a name Bakura couldn't pronounce but Marik said translated to "The Crocodile." It boasted a spectacular view of the Nile, excellent Turkish coffee, and an absolutely fabulous traditional Egyptian raisin cake called umm ali.
"I hope you don't mind my asking," Marik began as he sipped his coffee, "but I was wondering if Yugi talked with you about his experience with the Pharaoh's memories."
Bakura chewed his lip nervously. "If you mean how he remembers things the Pharaoh did while inhabiting his body, even things he wasn't conscious of previously, yes, he mentioned it. We didn't really talk about it much."
Marik raised his eyebrows. "Huh. He's been sort of obsessed with it ever since he got here. I would've thought he would have jumped at the chance to talk to someone with similar experiences. At least, I'm guessing you've had similar experiences. Are you remembering things your other self did?"
"Yes," Bakura admitted, "but it isn't exactly the same as what Yugi described to me. The memories are a little hazy. And really, Yugi's and my experiences weren't exactly the same. He shared a deep bond with his counterpart. I… well, I was more of a prisoner, wasn't I? And you know Yugi. He wants to always think the best of everyone. He wants to believe he can be what the Pharaoh was, that he was more than just a vessel. But at the same time, he wants to believe I have no connection with the spirit that inhabited me, that we are completely separate. That… that the Pharaoh's mortal enemy is not the same person as his classmate."
Marik nodded thoughtfully. "What do you think, Bakura? Were you just a vessel or was the connection deeper?"
Bakura sighed in frustration. "I don't know. I know I was powerless, that I could do nothing while he was controlling me. And yet…" He trailed off, unsure how to finish.
"And yet, he is still you," Marik finished for him.
"Yes."
Marik leaned forward, templing his fingers under his chin. "When I came home after Battle City, all I wanted was to distance myself from my darker half, to make him a completely separate entity from the real me. I wanted to believe I'm not capable of the horrible things he did. That I wouldn't rape people's minds and control them, that I wouldn't play sick mind games with innocent bystanders like Mai Valentine or Téa Gardner or Joey Wheeler. That was Yami Marik, not me. Sound familiar?"
Bakura sighed. "Yes, quite familiar."
"The thing is, the more I tried to separate myself from him, the more he controlled me. Even when he was gone, even when I was back home and trying to live my life and fulfill my duties as Tomb Keeper. He was always like this stain I couldn't quite wash away, like Lady Macbeth and the blood she thought she couldn't wash from her hands even when it wasn't really there anymore."
"Yes, that's it exactly!" Bakura said nodding, surprised at how deeply Marik's words resonated with him. "'Here's the smell of the blood still; all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand,'" he quoted from Macbeth, closing his eyes as the coppery taste of blood assaulted his memory. Not King Duncan's blood, but Pegasus's blood from the Millennium Eye, ripped out of its socket by his darker self. Ripped out with his hand. Licked with his tongue. The blood in his mouth.
Then he felt a hand on his. His eyes flew open and he jerked his hand away from Marik's. If the Egyptian was offended, he didn't show it. Resolutely, he reached for Bakura's hand again, covering it with his own. "It can get better, Bakura," he said softly, "but not by distancing yourself from him. The only way to put the past behind you is to accept it. I am capable of raping people's minds and playing sick mind games. But I don't have to choose to be that person anymore. Whatever your connection with the other Bakura, it's in the past. Accept it and choose differently from this point on."
Bakura nodded numbly, accepting the comfort Marik's touch offered him. After a moment, Marik pulled his hand away and Bakura's cheeks reddened slightly as he realized that how much he wanted that small contact to continue.
"You know, in a way, I think Yugi faces the same challenge," Marik continued thoughtfully. "The reasons are different for him, but he has just as much trouble accepting his other self as a part of him as we do. The difference is we don't want it to be true while he doesn't believe he's good enough for it to be true."
"That sounds like Yugi," Bakura agreed.
"But I think you and I are more alike, even though your other half's origins are more similar to Yugi's," Marik went on. He suddenly sat up straight and slapped his hands on the table. "I'd like you to reconsider letting me show you around Luxor. I think that maybe I can help you find what you came to Egypt seeking."
Bakura considered this. "Actually, I would like that very much," he agreed.