Chimeshipping (Marik Ishtar/Kujaku Mai/Thief King Bakura)

. . .

"Let me guess—you don't want to be here either."

"Is that a trick question?"

Marik didn't answer her—or look at her. He felt...guilt eating away at his stomach even standing in the same room as her. He wondered what he would see if he looked at her. Hate, probably. Or at the least, irritation and discomfort. She had a right. He was sure that over half of her post traumatic hallucinations had to do with him. The darker him, of course, but that didn't matter. It had still been a part of him with the same face as him that had put her through hell.

"So why are you here?"

Her voice echoed around the back of the museum—this room in the exhibit was empty of people, and mostly empty of artifacts. Only a few display cases shone in the dull museum light. Marik put his hand against the glass—it wasn't an ancient Egyptian exhibit for once. Not one of his sister's. He had been in that area for a bit, but the nausea had gotten too much to handle, so he was in the Art Through the Ages exhibit now. This case had just a large series of various glass blown wind chimes. At least it wasn't another fucking Egyptian artifact. He didn't know why he was here. He couldn't answer her.

"Supporting my sister," was what he said.

She snorted softly.

"I don't think she cares," she said. "And I think you know that. Why are you really here?"

Marik's fingers curled against the glass.

He was lying to himself. He knew why he was here.

"What about you?" he said. "Why are you here?"

"To see the wind chimes."

That was a lie, and both of them knew it. He could see her in the reflection of the glass display, but her eyes were hidden by a glare. He couldn't turn around to look at the real here. He felt guilty enough being here as it was, in her presence.

"I'll tell the truth if you do," he said.

"I would agree to that as a fair trade if I didn't feel like you already owe me."

He actually laughed a bit at that—her tone was so snarky that she could have been talking about him owing her a few dollars, instead of the fact that his darker half had imprisoned her brain in a torture hallucination for days.

"Fine," he breathed. "I'm here because they brought him here. Part of him. In the jars down there."

Mai's image shifted in the reflection, her hands cupping her elbows.

"Him?" she said, and her voice was...soft. Gentle.

Marik found himself leaning forward to press his head against the glass case.

"You know," he said. "The thief. He...he was what Bakura's other half used to be."

Mai did not respond for a long, long time.

"Did you care about him?"

"Can someone care about an ancient psychopathic god of destruction?"

He thought he felt her fingers reaching for him for a moment, thought he felt her fingers brush past his hair without quite reaching his shoulder.

"Who knows," was all she said. "A a dead thief, huh? You have weird friends."

Marik laughed, his breath fogging up the glass of the display.

"I have a weird life," he countered.

Mai actually—chuckled.

"Well," she said, and then her hand actually found his shoulder, and he found himself looking up from the glass and seeing her eyes right behind him. "Why don't you come down there with me—you can introduce me."

It was so ridiculous that Marik almost laughed out loud again, and he thought maybe she would too. But neither of them did. And in the end, Marik just inclined his head, agreeing silently before they both walked away from the display, down to the exhibit.

She hadn't told him why she was really here.

He didn't ask again.

. . .

A/N: TKB was only a mention I didn't fucking know how to put these three together sheez. Next is Chibishipping (Yugi x Mokuba).