And just like that, we're on the last chapter for this fic. It's been so long since I updated it and there's not much to say about this latest one, but hopefully you'll like this (really really really sappy) last chapter. This is set post-Battle City, and I thank you all for the reviews and follows!
Rishid almost never asks for anything.
Whether it's because he's genuinely unselfish or because he simply doesn't know how to, the older man refrains from requesting things for himself. On the exceptionally rare occasions that he does, however, his younger siblings stop everything they're doing; they know how hard it is for the older Egyptian to ask for anything in the first place.
Unfortunately, Rishid never asks for birthday presents—which brings Marik to his current predicament.
He's been in and out of so many stores that he's lost count; he's also returned to certain stores so often that clerks are starting to recognize him. He's wandered in the aisles with restless irritation, he's stared at the shelves with an intensity that would rival Kaiba's, he's tired, he's annoyed, and Rishid's birthday is tomorrow.
Rishid never brings up his birthday and over the years the day has come and gone without fanfare. This is partially due to their father; the man forbade Ishizu and Marik to acknowledge the day. Rishid had also ordered them to ignore it, as their father would severely punish any who disobeyed him. It also has a lot to do with Marik himself; as a child he had been more preoccupied with his own birthday (having hieroglyphs carved into his back with a white-hot knife, what a glorious present that was).
It shames him to admit it now, but Marik hasn't acknowledged Rishid's birthday in years. Being in charge of your own secret evil organization tended to push out time for birthday parties and Marik had been far too caught up in his own problems to remember Rishid's birthday. Since Ishizu had not known their whereabouts during the years her brothers had been Rare Hunters, she had not been able to do anything for either of them.
But this time it's different. Their father is dead. Battle City is over and done with, and has been for almost a year. The Rare Hunters are disbanded, and his family is together once again. Rishid is not one for parties of any kind and in fact the notion of recognizing his own birthday is one that makes the older man actually squirm in discomfort. Even so, Rishid has long since earned the right to have a decent birthday present.
And that's why Marik's been scouring the stores for weeks now, because there's a lot he has to make up for. Rishid has done so much over the years without complaining, and if he's getting his brother a present it has to be perfect.
…And so far, that perfect gift is eluding him.
He groans and sags onto a nearby bench. Marik's got very few options at this point and he looks into the sky, almost hoping for an idea to drop from the clouds above and smack him in the face.
He could try to get Rishid to relax tomorrow, to sit down with a good book and to put up his feet for a change—and he promptly shakes his head, a rueful grin lighting his features. He knows Rishid won't stay idle if he perceives there's work to be done, and there's no way to convince the older man to stay still; the only time that Rishid rests is if he's sick (and the times that has happened can be counted on three fingers).
He could ask Ishizu for help. She's just as adamant as Marik is about getting Rishid an actual present this year for his birthday…but he shakes his head again. Ishizu is at the museum with Rishid, and even if she wasn't he knows she's just as perplexed as he is.
So…what then? Rishid is not one for expensive or elaborate possessions. He doesn't prefer sweets, though he does seem to at least tolerate gummy bears (a discovery that still does not fail to amuse Marik). He could get his older brother a book, but what does Rishid even read? Maybe he should get Rishid a music box…? No, that's too girly. Maybe—
The sound of shattering pottery catches Marik's attention and he jumps, searching for the source of the noise. A small boy across the street has accidentally jostled a flowerpot and knocked the orange pot off the shelf. His mother is already apologizing to the store owner, but Marik's eyes are drawn to the shards of pottery on the ground.
In a startling burst of insight he realizes that he knows exactly what to do.
It takes Marik all night and most of the following day. It would have taken longer and Marik initially panics at the amount of time he has, but Ishizu has taken a day off and is offering her services; this is not the first time she's aided a brother in creating this gift, and after sending Rishid on a few errands to keep him from the house she falls to helping.
He gains new respect for his older brother, because what he's doing is both difficult and it hurts. His fingers and hands are soon littered with cuts, and the work requires razor focus and a steady hand. When he's not working on it Ishizu is, though she manages to avoid cutting her own fingers.
They finish their work just as Rishid returns. Ishizu sneaks the present upstairs while Marik distracts Rishid—an admittedly easy task, Marik thinks wryly as the older Egyptian immediately notices the bleeding hands and starts tending to them. He does worry that Rishid might recognize the nature of the wounds, and he very quickly makes up a story about how a water glass shattered in his hands while he was doing dishes. Rishid does not question it.
Dinner passes by without incident. Ishizu makes Rishid's favorite dish and presents their older brother with a new blanket—a deep amethyst color, lined with intricate golden trim—that she made herself; the months had been growing colder and there has been talk about traveling between Luxor and Domino to regulate the artifacts on display. Marik wonders when the woman came up with the time to make the blanket while juggling her job as Secretary General and determines she's some form of a Superwoman.
They sit together in the family room for a couple of hours afterward, simply content to spend time in each other's company; Marik starts watching a movie on the television, Ishizu works on more translations and paperwork, and Rishid divides his attention between the book he's reading, the television, and what his sister is doing. It's not until Marik starts dozing off that the Ishtars finally decide it's time to go to bed.
Marik had been faking his exhaustion, however. The display was a ploy to get Rishid to go upstairs to bed. The moment the older man rises from his seat Marik darts up the stairs and hovers by his brother's closed door. Rishid raises an eyebrow as he passes Marik but does not comment, instead opening his door and stepping inside.
He hears it within seconds, a sharp intake of breath as Rishid registers what is in his room, and immediately a nervous train of thought starts running through his mind: he hates it, this is stupid, Marik really what were you thinking. Deciding that he'll never know unless he finds out for himself, the younger man steps into the room.
It's an almost forgotten scene from his past. The pinpricks of light are gentle, scattered liberally across the walls and blinking softly in the darkened room; the moon has hidden itself behind the clouds for the moment, though the stars beyond the window are still visible. Rishid is standing almost silently at a wall, his hand half raised toward the light blinking at him. He has not noticed Marik's presence yet, and he now turns and crosses the room.
Sitting on Rishid's nightstand is the source of these almost ethereal lights, a small ceramic vase that has been painstakingly carved with the constellations of the night sky above them. Marik's earlier decision to place slowly blinking electric lights inside the vase, rather than a candle, has paid off. He'd worried at first that it would not work until Ishizu did a test run.
"Your side of the house doesn't usually have a good view of the stars," Marik says then, and Rishid turns to mutely stare at him. "Ishizu and I decided to catch some of them for you. I tried asking like you did, but that didn't work as well."
The irony of this moment has not been lost on him. Years before, it was Rishid who was hiding his hands behind his back and presenting Marik with "stars". He wants to say more but cannot put his thoughts together and awkwardly shuffles in place. He can command the Rare Hunters and terrify others with ease, but somehow he can't even explain his gift to his own brother.
There's the rustling of a dress behind him and he knows Ishizu's entered the room. "You once mentioned that stars are the lights that guide the moon. You've guided us and watched over us over the years. What better gift to give than the stars themselves?"
Marik shoots his sister a grateful look. Somehow she always knows exactly what to say—maybe that gift of foresight was not something just limited to the Millennium Tauk.
Rishid is silent for several moments, and in the dim light it's hard to tell what his older brother is thinking or feeling. Marik again fears that perhaps his gift was not the correct choice after all. His words had been incredibly sappy and sounded childish to his ears, now that he thought of them. This might have worked when he was a child, but—
Those doubts are crushed, however, when Rishid suddenly crosses the room in three swift strides and pulls his siblings in for a hug. He's far too overwhelmed to speak, and Marik pretends not to notice that Rishid's eyes are maybe too bright given how little light there is in the room, but there's something very close to joy in his face and a smile is starting to grow.
The younger Ishtars then know they've done right by their brother, and so they return the embrace. Around them the lights twinkle in soft merriment, and beyond the room the stars seem to glow brighter than before.