The Life We Spin

By: ACE329

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over YGO, sadly :(

…Nor do I own any of the songs at the beginning of each one-shot.

Summary: A collection of one-shots orbiting around a different character each time. In life, there will always be a moment when an inevitable revelation strikes. Only then can we let change happen or move on. In unusual ways, each character comes to realize this.

Note(s): When I mention "honorifics" in here, I am referring to the Japanese terms that are tagged onto the end of a person's name. I don't make a point to use them in my stories, but in here when I mention Rishid, I allude to the fact he used to call Malik "Malik-sama," which is the highest form of respect for the subject, I believe. An English translation would be "Master" in this sense, and honestly, it doesn't sound as good. Sometimes words are best not translated, and this would be the case— I mean, saying "Master Malik" isn't nearly as awesome as saying "Malik-sama," don't you think?

Also, I refer (and will always refer) to Malik's sister as Isis. I know it's supposed to be Ishizu, yet I can't bring myself to use it since 4Kids decided to keep that name for whatever reason in the dub. So whenever I read "Ishizu," I imagine Marik's obnoxious, blaring voice saying it, and then I can't take it seriously. Um, so that's my reason for using "Isis."

Lastly, note that the legal age to drink beer in Egypt is 18, while the legal age to drink anything else is 21.

And ending rambling…now.

Track One- Eyes On the Now- (Isis)

I don't want to wait for our lives to be over
I want to know right now what will it be
I don't want to wait for our lives to be over
Will it be yes or will it be
Sorry

"I Don't Want to Wait," – Paula Cole

It barely took the faintest click of a doorknob, the smallest shred of sound, for Isis to know that her brother was home. She resisted the urge to stand up or even turn her head, merely resting her back against the couch as if to imply her indifference.

So that way, when Malik slowly, carefully, began creeping up the stairs, throwing out a casual "Where have you been?" sounded more convincing from her lounging spot. She didn't want for it to seem liked she cared—at least not too much. She even flipped a page of a magazine as idly as possible for good measure.

Malik stopped. Isis couldn't help but notice how her brother placed a hand on a nearby wall for support. She forced her head to lower back to her magazine, not wanting to indicate her concern.

"Where have you been?" Isis repeated, slower this time, as if it would increase his chances of answering.

"Out," Malik replied rudely, stifling a scoff. His attempt was a useless one though, being that Isis heard it anyway. Remain calm, don't raise your voice... It took many years of practice for Isis to perfect her composed façade, and she wasn't about to let her brother's behavior destroy it now.

"You've been gone for three days," Isis said, almost nonchalantly. But not quite. "That's a long time to be away. Especially considering that you didn't tell me or Rishid. Don't you think?" She turned a page in her magazine, looking at the vibrant displays without a single word or image registering.

Malik swiveled around to face his sister, although all he could see was her back. "What does it matter where or when I go?" he demanded flippantly. "I'm back now, aren't I?" He proceeded to head up the stairs.

"Malik," Isis instinctively said, with such conviction it made her brother pause. He lifted an eyebrow at her as she finally rotated her body to look at him. "Don't you have any consideration for your family? Me or Rishid at all? You've been missing for three days, Malik. Three! We were worried that—" she immediately cut herself off as her gaze evaluated her brother critically. Malik returned her stare for only a moment before his eyes drifted off to something in the distance, then back to her, then away. "Malik, are you—"

"Why are these stairs so, so freaking hard to get up?" the teen asked aloud, getting up a few before falling back one. "It's a good, no, wonderful thing none of us are handicapped, or we'd…we'd be screwed."

"You're drunk," Isis incredulously declared. It was so obvious now, the way Malik struggled to remain still, the way he had to hold onto the railing to keep from falling, his unfocused gaze. "I can't believe it. You're drunk."

Malik's face broke out into a sloppy grin. "Congratulations, Sis. You've answered the million dollar question: what has her little brother Malik been doing these past few days? Oh, that's right! Having a life!" The teenager swaggered slightly before venturing a few more steps up the staircase. "You should be proud, Isis. You didn't even need a Sennen item to find the answer." Malik slapped a hand over his mouth to smother a giggle. "To discover the omniscient and, and fantastical Truth."

With unnerving care, Isis placed her magazine on the coffee table before standing up. She shook her head. "I thought we agreed to never speak of the Sennen items for your sake. To forget it all, Malik. It's why we got a new house."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Malik announced, clasping onto the railing before crumbling to the ground. His fingers were still twined with the thin pillars of the banister. It looked as if he simply took a seat on one of the steps, though Isis figured it was because he couldn't keep himself standing. "Not saying something won't…won't make you forget. It's still there. In here," Malik tapped his head with his forefinger. For a moment, his eyes were wild. "And I will never forget."

Isis felt a chill run over her body. She was vaguely aware her brother was suffering even after the Sennen items were put to rest, but she didn't know it would last this long. It had been two years since their mission had been fulfilled, two years of moving out of their underground home and into a brand new one right outside of Cairo. It was new, and quaint, and completely different from their old home, yet even that wasn't enough to help Malik get over the past. Now, more and more recently, Malik had been disappearing doing things Isis would rather not know about. Yet she was scared, no, terrified, that her brother would get himself into trouble he would regret later. It didn't help with her recent revelation that Malik had been drinking, of all things. And judging from the state he was in, he was not indulging himself in just beer, the only legal beverage for his age. Malik was only nineteen years old, and yet was likely consuming drinks that he wasn't permitted to have.

Isis felt her composure slipping. She wanted to walk over to Malik and shake some sense into him, at the very least. What was he thinking? Didn't he know how much trouble he could get in? Egypt wasn't too forgiving when it came to tampering with the law, and then what? Isis certainly wouldn't have been able to get her brother out of that situation.

"Where did you get the alcohol from?" Isis asked, making a strong effort to avoid the topic Malik had been addressing moments ago. She knew there weren't any bars nearby, and was currently more bent on knowing where her brother had been wandering.

Malik stretched his arms over his head slowly. "Where didn't I? If you know where to look, you can get anything…"

Isis felt her shoulders tense up. "Do you understand the severity of what you have been doing? Think of what could have happened if you were caught, Malik, there are terrible consequences for your horrific lack of judgment. I wouldn't be able to get you out of the situation. You can't continue on like this!"

But Malik brushed her off. "I'm not a child."

Isis was almost certain she would have lost it if she didn't hear an additional set of footsteps breaking her out of her steady boil. The slow, heavy shuffle clearly belonged to Rishid.

"Malik—" Rishid greeted in his husky, tired voice. There was always an awkward pause after he said his adopted brother's name, as if he still struggled to cut off the honorific that used to follow it.

Malik glanced up from the floor and offered a lazy smile. "Hey, you're up too. You two both stayed up for me? What time is it anyway?"

"It's 2:30," Isis supplied brusquely.

"Right," Malik said, unfazed. "And how'd you know I'd be back tonight?"

"We didn't," Rishid answered, his voice not indicating how he felt about it.

"It's stupid, you know, to worry about me," Malik said. He turned to look back at Isis. "Nothing's gonna happen. Well, maybe. But in the end, it's nothing, compared to—"

"Don't finish that," Isis interjected. She knew her brother was veering dangerously towards the forbidden topic once more. "And would you like to know what's really 'stupid'?" She made sure to accentuate her distaste for Malik vocabulary with a wave of her hand, "Assuming we wouldn't care, or shouldn't. Why would you want that?"

Malik only shrugged, not offering a response.

"Malik—" there was that awkward pause again, "If I may ask, where's your bike at? I didn't hear it when you came home."

"Ah…" Malik strained to think of the details, "It's somewhere. I took a cab back here. I didn't want to…to uh, damage it or anything."

"Yes, Gods forbid the bike gets damaged…never mind you..." Isis said bitterly.

"Glad to know you see my line of reasoning," Malik cheekily replied. "Now if you two are done—done interrogating me, I'd like to go to bed now." He made a move to rise from his spot, yet lost his grip on the handrail and flailed downward. Rishid instinctively grabbed a hold of his brother's shirt and, after briefly considering Malik's inability to walk, easily scooped him up to take him to his bedroom. Malik protested only weakly.

"I'm sorry, Malik—you know you're hardly in a condition to stand, let alone walk," Rishid said solemnly. If Malik were more sober, he would have been grateful that his older brother didn't take the opportunity to further lecture him on his poor-life decisions. But then again, Rishid was never one to criticize.

Isis watched Rishid's retreating form carrying Malik. "We'll talk about this tomorrow," she called. Even as she said it, she was well aware that it wouldn't make a difference in what she told her younger brother—he would merely turn a deaf ear.

Malik only waved his sister off dismissively from over Rishid's arms.

A safer distance away, Rishid turned his attention back to Malik. "Why did you decide to come home now?" he asked him quietly. "Why not earlier, or later?"

"Ran outta money," the teen muttered grudgingly into the large man's shoulder.

Isis made a sound of disgust as the two voices died down into another room. Her brother was acting way out of control, and she had no idea what to do. She couldn't help but feel that anything that happened to Malik was her responsibility. Because she was the oldest, and, being that they had no parents, felt the need to fill that role.

It was getting harder though, keeping up with her demanding job at the museum while maintaining their home. Rishid helped when he could, of course, but he held a full-time job as well and his cooking skills left much to be desired. She wanted to make sure Malik had a balanced, healthy yet fulfilling meal at all times, and fortunately she was quick to progress in her culinary abilities. Then of course, there was the issue of whether or not Malik would actually be home to eat these said meals…

She was doing it again. Worrying and fretting over the details, just like a frazzled, middle-aged housewife. And she was only in her early twenties! Would she always be destined to live this sort of life? Isis had hopes that maybe someday, Malik would straighten up and get into the work force, so at least some of the financial burden wouldn't lay so heavily on her. But now, judging from Malik's erratic behavior, it didn't even seem likely.

Isis sighed into her hands, feeling utterly exhausted. It pained her to think she had to be up in four hours, and here she was, restless over the future.

If only she had the Sennen Tauk to give her some answers.

"Ms. Ishtal?"

The fatigued woman resisted the urge to yawn as she steadily returned the gaze of her co-worker. "Yes, what is it?"

The man absentmindedly readjusted a stack of papers he had just placed on Isis' desk. "Don't be too alarmed, but there are rumors that the director is meaning to lay off one of us today." Isis preserved her calm expression as she nodded her head. "The museum is having trouble with funding, and so naturally it needs to downsize," the man continued. He suddenly looked uncomfortable as he eyed Isis. "Maybe…maybe you should try not to look so tired?"

Truly, what a fortunate time for Malik to come home late last night. Not. Isis carefully smoothed out her dress as she strove to look unconcerned. "Mr. Vladi, I appreciate the warning. But the director relies heavily on me, and I doubt one day of slight inefficiency out of many productive days will not put me at risk." She even mustered enough strength to smile at the man to prove her point.

Mr. Vladi frowned, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. "Okay. Sorry to have troubled you."

"No trouble at all," Isis replied politely as she watched her co-worker exit her office. Really, it would be foolish to worry over the director's decision. If anyone was getting laid off, it would not be her. After all, as one of the primary curators, it had been Isis who brought many astounding and unique ancient Egyptian relics to add to the museum's collection. For the director to get rid of Isis would be, frankly, ungrateful.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she continued filling out her spreadsheet without a second thought pertaining to the fate of her job.

The first thing Isis did, when she arrived home, was collapse onto her favorite couch. Even as she saw Rishid eyeing her from the kitchen, she couldn't find it in her to formulate a greeting. As the malleable cushions of the couch enveloped her, she let out a slow, long exhale. She didn't even bother to take off her shoes. Folding her arms across her eyes, she wished it was somehow darker. But at the moment, all she could really focus on was erasing away her stress, to smooth over any lines of anguish or fatigue that might give her away. Composure, composure, composure.

"Would it be in poor taste to ask how your day went?" Isis uncovered her eyes to see Rishid's concerned face, whose looming figure thankfully blocked out an irksome stream of light that was filtering through the window.

"Stay there, please," Isis instructed softly. She tried to offer up a smile, but for some reason her muscles weren't obeying. Instead she felt the corners of her mouth drag ever downward and her eyebrows pinching together. But she had to keep it together. She couldn't let anyone see how utterly wounded she was.

"Isis?" Rishid was kneeling next to the couch now, which made the woman wince from the sudden slap of light. Rishid seemed to have caught on, and hurried over to the other side of the room to draw the blinds. He returned back to his spot, waiting patiently for his sister to speak, or perhaps give further instruction.

Isis kept her eyes trained on Rishid's reassuring face. "I've come to realize, throughout the years, that things happen for a reason." She was pretty sure she said this not to prepare her brother for the news, but to comfort herself. "Even…even with our childhood, I'd like to think. It was awful, Rishid, you know that, but at least it brought us all closer together. Right?" Rishid nodded his head, keeping quiet.

Isis' lip trembled only slightly. "Oh, Rishid, they fired me."

Rishid's face crumpled into a visage of confusion. "Why?"

"One would think that the usual reason to terminate an employee's career is due to a lack of focus or ambition," Isis said dully. "For me, it was neither of these reasons. They ultimately fired me because I am a woman."

Rishid's golden gaze was sharp. "Was that really what your boss said?"

"More or less," Isis sighed. She frantically scrambled to keep everything in check: her tone, her words, her image. But the devastation she felt for losing a job that was so dear to her was eating away at her, the pain refusing to lessen even slightly.

The befuddlement on the man's face prompted Isis to elaborate. "There's a subtext behind everyone's words, Rishid. The director told me that our more conservative benefactors were 'troubled' by the museum's choice in employees. I am the only woman there. I just wish the director had been more straightforward with me, I suppose." Isis paused slightly. "But then again, I should have foreseen this." Once more, she couldn't help but bitterly wish that she had the powers of her Sennen Tauk to aid her decisions. At the very least, it would have prepared her for a blow like this. That way she would have had a chance to find another job until her miserable excuse for an employer revealed the devastating news. Isis groaned, feeling a persistent throbbing in her temples— a prelude to a painful tension headache.

"No, I can't agree," Rishid said carefully. "This man hired you in the first place. Therefore he knew what consequences he might have to face." He reached out to hold onto Isis' hand, which was beginning to tremble. "You are a hard worker, Sister. And it was his mistake for letting you go."

Isis distantly realized she was nodding. "Yes. Yes, I do work hard, don't I?" she murmured. Her grasp tightened onto Rishid's large hand. "But I guess it doesn't matter, at least not here. I wonder who would be willing to hire someone with my background. It's so awfully competitive in this field, you know. Where could I go?"

"Don't worry about it right now," Rishid replied. "I still have my job, and we can work out the details later. We still have enough money saved up to last us a while."

"What will I tell Malik?" Isis asked. Her gaze lazily trailed over to the wall clock. 6:20.

Suddenly, as if jolted by a thought, she sat up. "It's getting late. I should go make dinner." Rather succinctly, the woman slipped off the couch and began heading over to the kitchen, as if she hadn't just had a sobering conversation pertaining to her ill-fated career. It was quite commendable, really, the way she was able to shove her despair aside into some dark crevice in her mind, only intruding as a mild afterthought to her actions. She realized her shoes were still on and paused for barely a half-second before placing them neatly off to the side in the hallway.

Rishid began to protest. "Perhaps it would be best if we ordered out tonight."

"No," Isis immediately snapped. She softened her voice when she saw her brother recoil. "Please. Just let me do this. It's my job to take care of this family, and I'd like to see to it that I do." No, she couldn't bear to be relieved of both her duties as head of the household. She was already stripped of her job, and didn't want to feel the same with making dinner as well.

Rishid straightened up from his spot. "You don't have to do it alone."

"I know. Thank you." She turned back to the kitchen and went to fetch several pots and pans.

It was just when she turned on the stove to heat up some water for the rice that she heard the steady, tentative chopping of a knife. She glanced over at Rishid, who was hunched over the counter as he sliced several onions. She gazed at him silently before the man momentarily stopped to return the stare.

"I told you, you don't have to do anything alone." He proceeded to bring the knife down on the onions, growing more confident with each motion.

Isis shook her head. "Just don't cut your finger off." But a hint of a smile had crept across her face, and somehow it made her feel a little better. She was truly blessed, she realized, to have the family that she did. They might have been small, but no one could ruin their bond. Which reminded her…

"Where's Malik?" Isis asked.

Chop. "Out," he said. Chop, chop. "He didn't exactly tell me where." Chop.

"And you let him go?" Isis persisted, adjusting the heat levels on the stove. "Just like that?"

Rishid carefully placed the diced onion into a bowl and set it aside. "Yes. I don't think I could have told him otherwise."

"And why's that?"

"Would he really listen to me?"

Isis let out a stream of air between her pursed lips. "…No, I suppose not." She began picking off jars of spices from the revolving spice rack: cumin, dried rosemary, curry powder. "I just hope he's home in time for dinner." She walked over to the fridge to retrieve an armful of vegetables and herbs.

Rishid only shrugged as he took the load of produce out of his sister's arms to prepare to wash them.

"I'm really concerned about Malik," Isis said, a short time later. She dumped several cups of rice into the boiling water and began stirring. "He's been leaving more frequently, and not once has he told us where he's going, or when he's coming back." Turning the heat down, she put a lid over the pot. "And then he's been bringing up the Sennen items more often, as if he's trying to get at something."

Rishid shifted his weight. "I know."

"What's gotten into him?" Isis speculated, eyeing her distorted reflection from the shiny metal of the pot. She turned away. "I'm afraid that he's going to wake up one day, and—" immediately she cut herself off, horrified at where her thoughts were heading. She clamped down on her bottom lip, silently cursing herself for even considering it.

But Rishid had no qualms about addressing the issue. "I understand. The thought crossed my mind too," he admitted. "But we need to remember that the Sennen items are put to rest, and what happened only a few years ago will never happen again."

Isis' shoulders slumped. "Malik would be very angry if he knew what we were talking about." She could hardly bring herself to imagine the look of rage contorting his features, accusation smoldering in his expressive eyes.

Rishid brushed off the previous statement. "We have our reasons for feeling this way. It's nothing to be guilty about."

"Yes, I think you're right," Isis sighed. "If anyone should be feeling guilty, it would be Malik. The way he's been acting…really now, it's like he said last night, he is not a child! And yet it's like he expects us to take care of him as if he's barely more than five years old. If dinner isn't made, he throws a fit, but then again, he's not even here half the time." Distractedly, Isis grabbed a handful of coriander, basil, and mint and began chopping them.

"You sound tired." It was a statement, not a question.

"Do I?" Isis asked absently. "I just want Malik to make something of himself. He's been at a standstill for a long time now, with no indication whatsoever about his future. Does he want to get a higher education? Or maybe find a job? I don't know."

Rishid looked slightly uncomfortable. "He's no one's responsibility but his own."

Isis adjusted the heat for a large sauté pan and threw in handfuls of diced vegetables. A satisfying sizzle erupted from the hot surface. "But he is my responsibility, Rishid. I just wish he would start to accept that he can't live like this forever…he's nineteen now, that's almost an adult."

Rishid nodded his head.

"At the very least, maybe he could show some gratitude."

"Then why do you allow this to continue?"

Isis stared down at the steaming vegetables, their pungent smells meshing into an indecipherable medley of flavors. "Would you ever deny Malik anything?" It was a low question, yet she always knew what the response would be.

"Never."

Isis faced her brother, waving a spoon at him. "Do you see that? He's manipulative. Oh, and he knows it, too. He'll take advantage of this for all it's worth. I bet…" she paused here, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, "I bet he'd be perfectly happy leeching of us forever if he could!"

Rishid was silent for a moment, likely pondering over something. "If he meets someone, then he'll get a place of his own." He hesitated before adding, "I'll probably have to leave too, at some point, to find my own place…" His voice was unusually solemn.

There was only the sound of the gently simmering rice and quiet hiss of the vegetables before Isis spoke. "…I don't want us to separate," she said grudgingly.

A smile barely touched Rishid's stony features. "But you said you didn't want Malik 'leeching' off of you."

Isis sounded thoughtful, yet troubled. "Well, I suppose I don't know what I want, then." She frowned, unsatisfied at her response. "I want what's best for everyone," she amended. Rishid nodded once, content with that answer.

Once more, the room fell into a companionable quiet, filled only with the occasional shift or murmur of cooking food. Isis was just about to throw a few shredded pieces of mint into the nearly-done rice when it was Rishid who spoke first this time.

"Isis. Are you…happy?"

"Of course," was the woman's instinctive reply.

Rishid cleared his throat, a little uneasily. "Even with what happened today with your job?"

"Well, there's that," Isis replied smoothly, ignoring the doubts beginning to bubble in her chest, "But if you and Malik are happy, then I am too."

"That's a very selfless response," Rishid commented. From his profile, Isis could tell he was mulling over something.

"What's on your mind, Rishid?" She knew that her brother often needed encouragement to continue with any point he wanted to prove. It pained her to think that his whole life, he had been trained to keep silent or obedient, and still struggled to communicate his thoughts. She could only hope that one day, he would feel free enough to not worry about a person's disapproval.

"Happiness, I think, needs to come purely from the inside," Rishid finally managed. "It can't be wholly dependent on what another person feels…even if it's your family." The man's golden eyes stared down at Isis with reluctance. "I…I don't believe you when you say you are happy. This is something I've been feeling the day our mission as Tomb Keepers was over."

Isis stopped moving around the kitchen, her arm suspended towards a cabinet. She lowered her arm, slowly.

"It was our life's purpose, to guard the Pharaoh's secret," Rishid said. "But when it was all over, I don't think you knew what to do with yourself. Before, you knew…satisfaction out of life didn't have to be an option, because your mission was to serve someone other than yourself. How about now, though? It's like you insist on dedicating yourself entirely to our family. You don't know what happiness purely for yourself means." The man looked like he was having an internal struggle before he forced out his last thought. "It shouldn't be that way."

Isis could feel herself trembling. "I…" she started, but couldn't gather enough will to finish. How had Rishid managed to pinpoint exactly what had been on her mind, but what she feared to acknowledge? She barely opened up her mouth again to retry answering when a loud rumbling from outside cut her off. She and Rishid hastily glanced out the window, seeing their younger brother pull into the driveway with his motorbike.

"It looks like he was getting his bike from last night," Rishid commented.

"He's not wearing a helmet," Isis frowned.

"At least he came home."

The purring of the engine silenced. The two watched as Malik gracefully swung off his bike. He casually tossed his keys up in the air before catching it with an absentminded swipe of his hand, strutting over to the front door.

Isis glided over to the entrance of their home and opened the door before Malik had the chance to. "Glad to see you're not intoxicated," she greeted coolly.

The teen blinked, his arm still poised as if to turn the doorknob, before breaking into a teasing grin. "At least for now," he drawled. Rishid slipped up from behind Isis before Malik saw him. "Hey, bro. Isis driving you to insanity yet with her nagging?" He didn't bother waiting for a response, passing his two siblings to head straight to the kitchen. "I'm starving. What's for dinner?"

"Why don't you stay and find out?" suggested Isis dryly.

Malik spared a glance over his shoulder before opening up the fridge. "I was planning on it." Finding something that appeased him, the teen reached out to grab a beer. He snapped off the bottle cap with his teeth. "Wow, you guys are depressing today. It's like I can feel these negative energy vibes practically oozing from you both." He pulled out a nearby chair and plopped down.

All Isis could think, while Malik stared up at her with his deceptively pretty eyes from his chair, was how she would never approve of him even holding a beer ever, whether he was of age or not. He looked so young—no, he was young in her eyes. Yet she knew expressing her disapproval with such things would only spark another fight between them, and she didn't have the energy to carry one out.

Nevertheless, there was one battle she had to face.

"Malik," she said, hoping to snag a bit of his limited attention, "About last night."

The teen raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah?"

"Don't do it again, please. You can't just leave without letting either me or Rishid know. It worries us, Malik, and we have no way of knowing—"

"I left you a note on your dresser," Malik interjected, as if that were all the explanation that would be needed.

"I just—" Isis stopped to sigh when she noticed Malik's already-drifting attention, "Never mind. I can see this isn't going to register no matter what I say. Please, tell me in person the next time you plan on running off like that?" She knew, with an inescapable feeling of defeat, that if only she had more energy, she would have been more up to getting a response out of him. But she was so tired, and for once the thought occurred to her that her brother was certainly old enough to take care of himself. Or at the very least, make mistakes and learn from them. She wanted to be done with this constant worrying, freed from the responsibilities that had been thrust on her since she could remember.

"Dinner isn't ready yet," Malik randomly noted. "That's a first. What have you been doing all day, slacking off?"

There were about a million things Isis would have liked to say to that, many involving the hypocrisy in that question, yet she chose what she felt was the most shocking. "I was late from work because the director called me in afterwards to fire me." She waited, almost smugly, for Malik's surprised expression.

Instead he took a sip of beer, eying Rishid checking on the curry sauce. "…Huh," was all he offered.

Isis brushed her disappointment aside. "Did you hear what I said?" she slowly asked.

"Yeah."

"Do you care at all?"

"Not too much, no."

All right, Malik was just being his inconsiderate self. Just same old, selfish Malik. Yet somehow Isis wished for something more out of him, perhaps some sympathy or at least a generic line of condolence.

It was beyond foolish for her to hope that Malik would show even a hint of caring. If it didn't involve him, why should he?

Deflated, Isis went to the rice and opened the lid. A massive cloud of steam rose in the air, bringing with it the fresh scent of mint and spices she had thrown into the pot earlier. With a large spoon, she began to cut into it and stirred, her motions agitated. The more she dug into the rice, she more furious her movements became. Yet her face remained perfectly blank. Rishid glanced down at Isis from his spot near the stove, and it occurred to her then that he was gazing at her with pity.

Oddly enough, this angered her. Poor, wretched Isis, a woman who just lost her job and couldn't even keep a handle on her younger brother. She was falling apart, she could feel it, and her mad scramble to collect the pieces was in vain. Of all things, it was Rishid's innocent observation on her suspected unhappiness that served as the key to unlocking these chaotic emotions that might just shatter her composure. Unlike the rice, Isis knew it wouldn't be so easy putting a lid on her surmounting feelings. Yet for now, she made one last frantic attempt to keep her face stoic, kicking back her stewing thoughts as she piled the rice onto a serving plate. Wordlessly, she ladled the red curry sauce—containing all the vegetables she had prepared earlier—over the rice and handed the plate to Rishid to take over to the table.

Isis was barely registering the animated conversation Malik was exchanging with Rishid (well, he mostly listened) as she took out the loaf of bread she made the other day and began slicing it into thick pieces. The rosemary and olive oil that was brushed over the golden crust smelled enticing, yet Isis knew her appetite was nonexistent.

When she joined the table, Malik was ranting to Rishid about the creepy people who came onto him while he was away.

"I guess I don't understand what makes someone want to come up to a random stranger and ask for a one-night stand," Malik said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "And seriously, why me?"

Rishid purposely avoided eye-contact. "Perhaps if you wore something less…"

"Less what?" Malik demanded.

"Suggestive." Well, the soft-spoken man did bring up a good point. Despite Isis' pleas in the past for Malik to wear normal shirts (as in, a portion of his abdominals wouldn't be showing), the teen refused to listen. He claimed that he didn't want to adhere to the "confines of conformity." To that Isis would have said if that were the case, then Malik was truly a fish out of water to be living in Egypt. Now though, the woman didn't bother to bring up her previous argument, too disheartened to listen.

"Well, it's funny," Malik began, just coming up with a response to Rishid's comment, "But had these people any idea what I was capable of only a few years ago, they wouldn't have stayed within a five-mile radius of me." He shrugged. "I could have easily killed them."

That snapped Isis out of her silence.

"Malik, that isn't something to joke about," she said icily. Rishid looked horribly uncomfortable as he shifted his weight.

"Oh, so you were listening!" Malik exclaimed. "And here I thought you had fallen off the deep-end."

"I could say the same about you," Isis replied, anger slowly stirring within her chest.

Malik's face darkened only slightly. "What, Isis? You afraid I'm going to break off into two personalities again?"

Rishid cleared his throat.

"Yes, actually," Isis snapped. She gestured to Rishid. "We both are."

"Please don't bring me into this," Rishid said quietly.

For a moment, Malik looked betrayed. He shook his head. "Ra, no wonder I left," he managed. "I feel so…so strangled when I'm here. You, Isis, especially you, I always feel like you're suffocating me with your rules and nagging—"

"You feel suffocated!" Isis hissed incredulously. There it was again, that anger, seeping through the tiny cracks in her composure, filling the pores of her entire being…

"Yeah, I do," Malik returned. "I just want to live my life, to enjoy parts of it I was never able to before, and you always have to tear me down!"

"Do you honestly think you're the only one who feels deprived?" Isis demanded. "Do you honestly think that I don't feel like a part of my life has been robbed from me? And, damn it," — Rishid winced at the curse word Isis never made a point to use before—"it's partly your fault that I can't do anything about it! I'm always worrying about you, Malik, and I'm the one who should feel suffocated because you're always going to have to be my responsibility!"

Malik's eyes burned with malice. "Well get over it Isis, because that's your job."

With the agility of a cobra, Isis lashed out to slap Malik across the face. His head snapped to the side, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"I'm not your mother!" she shouted. Her voice was shrill, pained with desperation. All of her rules on composure were hurled out the window, and suddenly she couldn't remember why she was so insistent on remaining calm and perfect around Malik. Her life was shattering to pieces, and all he had to say about it was that it was her job to ignore her needs in favor of his. She spent her whole life caring for him, and who knew if he would ever feel a shred of gratitude. She understood now how one-sided her existence had been, giving and giving without a single thing in return.

I don't want to live this life anymore!

And that was why she wasn't happy, just as Rishid observed despite lacking an explanation. It was more than her constant struggle with Malik, or the loss of her job, or how vulnerable she felt without her Sennen Tauk—it was a combination of all these things and more, and also the realization it was just about impossible for change to happen. There was a locked-up terror inside of her, one that festered from the knowledge that her life just might always be about caring for others but not herself, making sacrifices, and denying the fact that she had selfish desires just like any other human.

She felt guilty even as she thought this. Regret flooded to her even stronger when she saw the look of shock on Malik's and Rishid's faces.

"Isis…" Malik began, his tone indicating he still didn't believe what just happened. Slowly, he raised a hand to his cheek. He looked more wounded than angry, as if that one strike had drained all the rage from him.

But before Malik opened his mouth again, something inside Isis forced her to rise and soon she was out the door, indicated with a resounding slam.

What frightened her to the point of fleeing, she realized, was not the fact that she had finally lost control with Malik, but how honest her selfish thoughts were.

And she didn't want to believe it.

Isis had only been sitting outside on their porch bench for half an hour when Rishid's heavy boots creaked against the wooden floor.

"Sister."

Isis didn't say anything, staring out at the setting sun.

"Malik…he didn't mean what he said, you know." There was another creak, indicating his nervous shuffle. "People throw around harsh words when they're angry."

Still, Isis said nothing. She hadn't changed positions or did so much as fidget the moment she sat on the bench. It was like her entire brain had shut down, incapable of conjuring even a nod of acknowledgment.

"He wants to talk to you, but is afraid you won't listen."

The Egyptian sun was blinding in its power and brightness, even in its dying hours. It set the endless sand and palm trees aflame, burning and burning and burning without a reprieve. It hurt to look at even the sky, yet Isis' vacant blue eyes continued to gaze straight ahead.

Rishid went back inside.

"She's been in bed for five days."

"I know. Has she come out for anything?"

"Probably when I'm at work and when you're gone."

"Rishid." Pause. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I don't know."

"It's my fault. I didn't know she'd react that way. I'm such an asshole."

A humorless grunt. "You were just the trigger, I think. She's been unhappy for a while now."

"…Really?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know."

"I know."

This was the conversation that took place right outside Isis' bedroom, while the woman stared at the ceiling blankly.

But these words, they meant nothing to her. She didn't hear them.

All that would register was the steady trickle of tears that streamed off her face and into the damp pillow beneath her.

There was a dream that revisited Isis many times in her period of depression. As she remained in bed day after day, sleep would engulf her in frequent, unexpected bursts, and the next thing she knew she had just woken up from the same vision.

But after a few days of the same routine, her reoccurring dream made another grand appearance, this time seeming so real Isis almost confused it with reality.

She was waiting for Malik to come home. He had disappeared for such a long time that she was no longer sure how many days had passed, but for that particular night, she could no longer take the waiting any more. There was a constant, steady ticking from an unseen clock, a marker of lost time, and Isis knew remaining still any longer would drive her to madness. So she got out of her chair and walked out the door. She could vaguely hear Rishid calling after her, warning her that it wasn't safe, yet chose to ignore him.

Malik was her responsibility, after all, and had to make sure he was all right.

Upon walking outside, an unshakable feeling of dread filled her entire body, so heavy it would have dragged her down if she didn't force herself to keep moving. The wind was screaming in her face, clawing at her hair, yet still she pressed on.

"Malik," she called out, hoping the teen would be nearby. "Malik!" Her heartbeats were becoming frantic now, though she couldn't quite place where the sudden burst of anxiety came from. And there was that horrid ticking of a clock again, counting down the seconds…til what?

"Isis!" A voice, an unmistakable one, shot through the air and sliced through the woman's heart. She began whipping her head around rapidly, hoping to catch where the voice was calling out from.

"Malik!" Isis screamed. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here!" the voice desperately replied. "Can't you help me?"

"Just tell me where you are!" Isis exclaimed, panic choking her. She began to run now, frantic to seek out her brother. He sounded hurt, upset, maybe even in real agony…

It was when terrorized screams ripped through the air that tears began spilling down the woman's cheeks. She wanted to help her brother so bad but was unable to find him.

There was a faint glimmer of light. It was as subtle as a faraway star, but then it rapidly grew in size, rushing to greet Isis. She had to close her eyes against the brightness, pained by the oncoming glow. And she couldn't help but wish fervently that the ticking from that wretched clock would just stop…

"Looking for someone?" Isis opened her eyes, immediately being greeted by a familiar set of violet ones.

"Mali—" she started, but then stopped. No, those eyes weren't her brother's. Staring intently at her were pools of malice, of wicked amusement, of hatred.

"It's you," Isis gasped, taking a step back. From a further distance away, she could see the violent explosion of hair around the man's head and that maddening, half-lidded stare.

A distorted grin stretched wide on his mouth. "Darkness can't hide for long. I'm back, and it's all your fault." The smile was so wide Isis thought it just might fall off the man's face. "Thank you."

No, it couldn't possibly have been her fault. What did she do that was so horrible? It wasn't true, there was no way…

"What did you do to Malik?" Isis asked hoarsely. She became aware once more of the ticking clock, coinciding with the beating of her heart.

"Gone," the other Malik said, shaking his head mockingly. Isis felt her blood freeze over at the single word. Impulsively, the man frowned, reminding Isis of the grotesque mask in ancient Greek tragedy plays. He whipped out his arm and pointed at Isis. "And it's all your fault! It's all your fault!"

"No, it isn't!" Isis shouted. She clasped her hands over her ears. "I didn't do anything! I did everything I could to save him!"

"Liar! You're corrupted with lies!" the other Malik exclaimed, suddenly shrieking with laughter. "You've had your chance to save Malik, to save yourself, and you failed! Your time is up!"

The ticking that had been torturing Isis finally screeched to a halt. The only sound now was of the other Malik's taunts and explosions of horrific laughter, as slowly Isis could feel herself sinking, sinking, sinking, deep into the caving ground.

Her pleas were drowned out by wicked laughter, so pleased that the Darkness had finally won.

The only sound left, by the time she had been dragged into total blackness, was the echoing sting of truth-soaked words:

"It's all your fault! It's all your fault!"

"It's all your fault!"

Isis shot up from bed, her chest heaving at the appalling nightmare that still reverberated in her humming ears. If she closed her eyes, she could have sworn she still heard the other Malik screaming at her.

Her heart fluttered in terror, as it occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, her nightmare was a sort of premonition, that her selfish deeds would result in a very corrupted brother. And then the other Malik would have been right; it really would have been all her fault.

She tried not to go back to sleep after that.

~A Couple Days Later~

Malik was standing behind Isis.

She could feel his presence, lingering quietly out of view. Malik was too graceful in his movements to have been heard walking up to her—many times in the past he had relished in sneaking behind his siblings and scaring them senseless—but in time Isis learned to simply know when he was nearby. It was an odd sort of intuition she acquired, even without the gifts of the Sennen Tauk.

Despite this awareness of her brother's presence, she didn't bother to look back. She had been resting on a chair that was pulled out directly in front of the window, listlessly gazing at the sluggish outside life in the heat. Although she wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there, a steady awareness grew that it had been for a while after she became conscious of the soreness throughout her body.

Vaguely, Isis began to wonder what her brother wanted. Did he come to tell her he was leaving for good, that he never wanted to see her again? It took many hours of pondering for her to conclude that she wouldn't want Malik to leave, selfish or not. She was quite sure though, that the feeling was not mutual. Especially not after her behavior…was it really a week ago?

So it surprised her, to say the least, when she felt Malik drape his arms around her shoulders in a loose embrace.

"I'm sorry," Malik announced, his voice projecting into Isis' hair as a sigh. "I'm sorry I'm such a brat." His factual tone was remarkably sarcasm-free.

It felt strange to be hearing someone talking to her after it had been so long of sitting in silence. Her mind seemed particularly slow in formulating a response as she struggled to figure out a proper reaction.

"I…know I have been difficult ever since we were kids," Malik continued. He drew in a breath. "I think people hurt the ones they love the most because they know they will always be forgiven."

Isis felt words rushing behind her lips as the air strained to pass through her throat. It had been a while since she had last spoken and almost feared, even within the small span of a week, that her voice would fail her. "I was so sure…" she whispered, her voice hoarse but soft, "I was so sure that you hated me." Her words were a fragile proposition, ready to break at any given moment. As they came out, she couldn't help but remember the nightmare that would poke at her subconscious. How her own actions were so selfish, and Malik would hate her forever for it. But, somehow, he was implying the exact opposite.

Malik pulled away from the embrace and was soon facing his sister to look at her directly. His violet eyes drank in the streaming sunlight from the window to glitter as crystalline prisms. They shone even brighter when a smile reached them. Not at all like the cruel amusement that lurked in his other's violet depths. Isis shuddered.

"No, Isis," he asserted with a single shake of his head. "I would never think that."

A small amount of tension broke away from the woman as her shoulders relaxed. Perhaps a dream was only a dream. At the very least, Malik wasn't going to be announcing his permanent departure, or his hostility towards her, just as she had been speculating. But then again, recently she had been terrible at predicting the future.

It was that thought that compelled her to speak once more. "I feel like I will never get used to the fact that I can't rely on a Sennen item to reveal the future anymore." A frown settled across her features as she disregarded the puzzled expression on her brother's face. "Even now. Once I was so sure of everything, and knew that if I said or did something it wouldn't have been a gamble. I always knew the outcome. I would have known you would be coming today to talk to me, or maybe this whole situation would have been avoided. But I don't have that luxury anymore, and I feel so…helpless."

"Welcome to the rest of the population," Malik said with a raised eyebrow. "And I thought we agreed not to speak of the Sennen items anymore?"

"You broke that rule many times before," Isis pointed out gently.

"True," the teen admitted. "But guess what? The future always changes—I thought you learned that during the Battle City tournament when you lost."

"I was never happy about that," Isis remarked.

"Okay, but do you remember how sure you were that you would win that duel? By some freak chance though, Kaiba pretty much kicked your ass."

"He did not 'kick my—'" she cut herself off to avoid the profanity.

Malik wagged his finger at her. "However you want to put it, even the Sennen Tauk had flaws when predicting the future. No one, or nothing, can." The teen looked thoughtful. "Geez, Isis, I would have never predicted that you would have been this attached to a hunk of metal."

"Touché," Isis said, a smile threatening to break out. "I suppose I just learned to have a dependable life. Like I said, I could always avoid all the risks if I knew what the result would be."

"Huh. I think I would take the Sennen Rod any day over that boring necklace," Malik teased. "At least I could get people to do whatever I wanted…"

"Malik."

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't until just recently that you were willing to even allude to the Sennen items," Isis said. "Why has this changed?"

For once, the teen grew quiet. As if a cloud had passed over the sun, his face darkened. "The truth?"

"Nothing but." Despite her light tone, she couldn't help but think about her nightmare.

"There isn't a day that goes by where my mind doesn't reel back to the past," he revealed. "I think about it a lot. The Sennen items. The sacrifices we made. Him." A visible shudder coursed throughout his body and Isis immediately knew whom he was referring to. "Did you know that? Every day, he comes to haunt my mind."

Isis looked pained. "No, I had no idea…"

"For such a long time, I believed suppressing my fears and memories would make them fade. But I was wrong." Malik uncomfortably shifted positions. "So, I figured actually talking about it all—facing any fear head-on—would help."

Isis could barely find the words to express her horror. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," Malik said dismissively, "I might have tried once or twice. But you or Rishid would tell me to stop talking about it. Not that I'm blaming anybody," he hastily added. "So, um, that's why I turned to drinking."

"Well that's a very flawed way to think," Isis commented firmly. "It doesn't help, only temporarily when you're making a fool of yourself."

A wry smile twisted Malik's lips. "Yeah, I know."

"I just wish you would have told me all this sooner," Isis sighed. "I would have at least tried to help."

"That's the thing, I didn't want help," Malik said. "Sometimes, a problem doesn't fix itself unless you deal with it directly. Any intervention would leave you feeling even more helpless."

Isis' thoughts shifted back to the day she was fired. She felt so helpless then, but would have never asked a soul for help. It was a problem—a collection of problems, really—that she needed to solve on her own.

She nodded. "I think I can understand that."

Malik tilted his head slightly. "Well, everything's slowly getting better, just for the record. Rishid told me—and I think he's right—that in time, everything begins to fade. I just need to let it."

"Rishid's a very intelligent man," Isis remarked softly.

"He is." Malik hesitated. "So…I'm sorry my issues have been displaced on you."

"Okay, now I know Rishid has definitely been talking to you."

"That obvious, huh?"

"Yes."

A smile danced across his face before it vanished. "Are you…are you still upset, though? I'd understand if an apology wouldn't be enough. I know I was horrible."

"It could have been worse, I suppose," Isis replied. "Problems kept building up until I couldn't handle it anymore. I'm...I'm all right now." It wasn't exactly the best way for Isis to get her reflecting time, locking herself away in her bedroom, but she knew that the solitude was desperately needed. She had to have the time to think and simply not have to do anything, and was well aware that she could not have handled any intervention even a day earlier.

But Malik wasn't satisfied. "Are you still mad at me?"

Isis' heart swelled instinctively at these words. He almost sounded childish, pleading, just like the times when he would ask the very same question if he broke an underground clan rule. And of course she would always forgive him, because saying no to those wide violet eyes was impossible.

The same held true now. Isis shook her head. "Not anymore. I could never stay angry with you."

Malik was quick to detect the hesitation. "But?"

"But to be honest, I am mad at myself."

Malik hopped onto the windowsill, swinging his legs up to rest flat against the narrow surface. "Why?"

Isis shook her head, folding her hands neatly on her lap. "My whole life has been about control, Malik. You know that," she started. She couldn't bear to look at her brother's bewildered expression so focused on her hands instead. "But what happened earlier…I became some sort of monster. I yelled at you, and even went so far as to hit you…" Guilt began bubbling within her chest again.

Malik gazed at Isis thoughtfully. "To be fair, I sort of deserved it," he offered.

"It was wrong of me regardless. For that I'm sorry." Isis began to fiddle with the hem of her dress. "And then there's the fact I said some terrible things."

The teen barely scoffed. "What, that you're not my mother? I think I can handle that."

A crease wedged between Isis' eyebrows. "It's more than that. It was what I was thinking while I said it."

Malik looked almost amused. "Which is?"

Isis drew in a shaky breath. She didn't want to tell Malik, but she knew she owed him the truth. "I'm not happy," she replied unsteadily. With faltering control, she lifted a hand to carefully sweep a strand of hair off her forehead. "I don't think I've been happy for a while, but was afraid to realize it."

"Yeah…I found that out just recently," Malik said carefully, averting his gaze. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Isis said flatly. "And this is a truth I didn't want to face. Now, I don't have much of a choice." She paused for only a moment. "Malik, I don't want to live like this anymore." Ra, she finally said it. Many times while she sat and thought about her actions, she had envisioned having this conversation with her brother. None of her imagined scenarios even dared to hope that he would be listening so patiently.

But then, staring into the oddly-blank face of her brother, the weight of her words finally pummeled her; did saying such things make her a horrible person? Was she being selfish? She was suddenly overcome with the urge to take back her assertion.

"Well good, neither do I," Malik said bluntly.

Isis snapped out of her brooding as she straightened up. She examined her brother's face for any sign of his usual sarcasm, but there was none.

"I'm serious," Malik continued, enthusiasm glinting in his eyes, "Let's get out of here. Leave Egypt. Go wherever, as long as it's somewhere."

This wasn't a response Isis had predicted. She imagined a very enraged Malik, dragging his heels every step of the way. "You really want to go?" she managed.

Malik nodded. "You know, it's like you said earlier, I am a fish out of water here. Egypt has always been our home, but maybe…maybe there's a better one." He leaned forward to be extra convincing. "Let's try to find it."

"I want it to be a place that will let me get a job," Isis said thoughtfully. "A place that recognizes that I could do a better job than any given male."

Malik laughed. "I'm sure the museum that let you go is burning to the ground right now without you."

Isis looked pleased. "I can only hope."

The lighthearted moment soon passed, and Malik was staring at his sister pensively.

"What?" Isis asked.

"I was really worried about you, this whole week," Malik said reluctantly. "I had never seen you so upset before. And when you wouldn't get out of bed…"

"It won't happen again," the woman reassured him. "It's just that it has been so long since I've broken down like that."

"Since the day father died," Malik added vaguely.

"Yes." The two fell into an awkward silence, waiting for the other to speak.

Malik went first. "I guess this means I'll try to be less of a burden to you. So you won't, uh, snap again."

"But you aren't a burden," Isis responded immediately. She paused, a shy smile playing her lips. "Well, maybe." She dismissed this comment with a shake of her head. "Still, the things I said before…I was just being…" she trailed off as she saw Malik lift up a hand.

"No. You were right. Expecting you to be the only one holding our family together is unfair. You did everything for us, Isis." Malik hesitated before lifting his chin determinedly. "I want to accept responsibility now."

Isis let these words soak in, slightly dazed from the unexpected turn in the conversation. "…Does this mean you'll finally get a job?" she lightly joked.

Malik snorted, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he grinned. "I guess so."

Isis reached out her hand, and Malik took it with a reassuring squeeze. "I have a particularly serious question," she said.

"Shoot."

"Did Rishid ask you to say all these things?"

Malik turned his head away to conceal his guilty smirk. "Well, yeah, sorta."

"Thought as much."

"So are we good now? You're not mad at me anymore?" The teen's hopeful expression was almost comical.

"Do I look angry?" Isis questioned.

"No. Tired, though," Malik teased. "But a little direct sunlight will change that." He hopped off the windowsill with the grace of a cat, then reached his arms over his head to stretch his limbs. Slyly, still in mid-stretch, he glanced over at his sister. "So..." he started. He then offered his hand to Isis, who accepted it as he pulled her to her feet.

It felt good to be standing after resting for such a long time. As a person who inherently desired to always be doing something productive, this was the longest the woman had spent being inactive. And now she was ready, finally able to climb over the mountain of her depression and move on with her life. Change was tantalizingly near, and Isis couldn't wait to decide where her family would be living next, or what life out of Egypt would be like.

She turned to face Malik, lifting her eyebrows. "So, what?" It was amazing how the room suddenly seemed brighter, lighter, all due to a change in mood. She hadn't noticed how beautiful it was outside, and how the sun bathed the room in a warm glow, chasing out all the shadows.

The teen gave a casual shrug of his shoulder, leisurely strolling out the door. He made sure he was a safe distance away before grinning playfully. "So, when's dinner?"

"Malik…"

~End~

A/N: Just so we are all clear, Malik was only teasing Isis at the end. This wasn't intended to be an angst-y ending, all right? Presumably, Isis will be perfectly content with her life from now on :)

Also, despite the results in my poll regarding which story you want out first, I chose this one because one-shots can stand alone, and this is merely a collection of one-shots inspired off of song lyrics. That way, when I head off for school again, if I have even a small fragment of time I will try to write a non-committal one-shot to add to this hopefully growing collection. But rest assured, the next multi-fic I should be doing will likely be the one involving the evil competition between Malik, Yuugi, and Ryou!

And of course, please review before you leave! I will love you forever :]