[✐ fanfic] yugioh: "the last theft"
Title: The Last Theft
Prompt: Wall
Summary: Malik is a natural problem-solver, which in itself can be a problem.
"You're home," Malik remarks from his recumbent position on the sofa as Isis enters the apartment, closes the door behind her. She sighs and unwinds her shawl from around her shoulders, hanging it on the hook beside the door: though her brothers currently stay with her, she had supervised the redecoration of her apartment, and everything she owns has a place where it belongs.
"Is that surprising?" she asks, mildly upset to see him just lying there, magazine on his lap without a care in the world. He lost another job last week and he won't share why, just spins his wheels but travels nowhere. It has to bother him even more than it does her. So why?...She doesn't want that to be what she wonders every time she looks at the brother she once feared she'd never see again, but life has dealt an imperfect, though merciful, hand.
Malik shrugs. "First I've seen you this week. Up before down, home after everyone else...." He flips a page in his magazine. "It's funny. I thought all coming to live together in Egypt would mean, you know. Seeing each other."
It's a barb and meant to be one; what's more, it's wielded by an expert (albeit petulantly). Isis steels herself with grace and settles into a chair across from him, shoulders sagging a bit more than she'd like. There's shadows under her eyes, she knows as she rubs them. He does have a point: she's been sleeping too little.
"A particularly important artifact has been stolen from a site," she explains, almost tempted to go into details but no, she's with her family, she has to think of family and not of work. "It's an extremely touchy and complicated situation. We believe we know the culprit, but they work for an influential art dealer. There are parties - interested - in not exposing them..."
"You work for the government," Malik objects, tossing the magazine aside and crossing his arms under his head. "The government's afraid of itself now?"
"It's not that simple," Isis begins, but Malik cuts her off.
"Because you've made it complicated." He waves a hand to dispel the argument. "Forget it. You've had that long work day, placating people despite them wanting to stop you. Cook's started dinner already and Rishid will be home late. I'll be in my room."
He swung himself off the couch and began loping out of the room - her brother hadn't loped before coming to stay with her, either, without a purpose in life he's spiraled slowly downward - and Isis starts, begins to rise from her chair despite having just sat down.
"Malik..." she begins. "We could - I did leave early today. We could spend the evening...?"
Malik doesn't turn around. "I'm tired," he says simply, and disappears down the hall. She can hear the door shutting behind him, and closes her eyes, trying not to feel like the door isn't the only thing separating her from her brother any more.
--
She rises later than she has been the next morning, takes her time getting ready: she has a meeting to prepare for, and -
"Phone's been ringing off the hook," says Malik, sticking his head out of the bathroom as Isis heads for the kitchen. "I said you'd call back once you were available. Didn't make it sound like you were still asleep."
"You should have woken me," Isis objects; Malik ducks his head back into the bathroom. "You needed the sleep," he replies, and she can't argue with that.
She enters the kitchen and stops dead in her tracks when she catches sight of what's sitting on the table. Suddenly the phone ringing at odd hours in the morning makes perfect sense.
She hurries back to the bathroom; Malik is now combing his hair, leaning over to peer into the mirror with an almost casual vanity. "Malik," Isis says sternly. "What did you do?"
"I fixed your problem." Malik puts down his comb and feathers the ends of his bangs with his fingertips. "Bandits stole from the thieves. They were good-hearted bandits, and returned the object to its rightful location. The people they stole from have no case they can use to demand its return. There. Solved. Dinner tonight?"
Isis's eyes flare, she stands even straighter than usual. "Malik," she repeats, searching for the right words beyond her brother's name. "How did - not by yourself - but then..."
He turns away. "What's it matter how?" he asks. "It's back."
She takes his shoulder and turns him to make him look at her. "It matters if my brother still traffics with criminals," Isis insists sternly. "Malik, are you still...?"
"The Ghouls are history," Malik responds, looking at her neck instead of her face. "But the name Malik Ishtar....It's still got....influence. I--"
Why she folds her arms around him even Isis doesn't know, since she's furious with him. Or thinks she is. Knows she should be. But she's losing him, she's losing him again, and maybe holding on is the only way she can be certain her brother is still here. Is he really all right with this? Does he really see nothing wrong...?
"Never again," she breathes into hair that he's just fixed, will have to fix again, but she doesn't care. "Never again, Malik. Not for me, or anyone. Leave that behind."
He stiffens in her arms, then reaches up and pats her back, a bit awkwardly - then grabs tightly. "And do what?" he asks, and she realizes his voice is shaky too. "What can I do, Sister? What's wrong with it, if I can help--"
"That's not help," Isis begins, but the phone rings again and he lets her go, pushes her away to indicate she should answer. She glares at him - they are not done talking - but picks up the receiver in the hall.
"Oh thank goodness!" says the voice on the end of the line - one of her archaeologists. "We didn't want to tell your brother when we left a message, but the--"
"I know," Isis replies, her face stony, her voice cool, professional. "I'm aware of the theft and I've seen to it. The item's been reclaimed."
An exhalation at the end of the line: her men are used to her doing the impossible - to her closing her eyes and telling them where to dig to make earth-shattering finds, though without the Necklace she's incapable of that particular service anymore - but even for her, she knows this is a feat and a half. "Thank goodness," her archaeologist replies. "Who - Director, how --"
"An underworld dispute, I believe," Isis replies coolly; the source of the underworld dispute wanders into the kitchen in search of something to snack on and raises an eyebrow. She glowers at him. "I'll be in shortly. The piece shall accompany me. We'll discuss it then."
She hangs up. Malik looks away. She sighs.
"This," she says, resting a hand on the reclaimed artifact, "was your last theft. Promise me, Malik. I'll try to be home more often. We can schedule time just for the family. I'll swear that to you if you swear me this. Never again."
He meets her eyes solemnly and nods. "Never again," he responds, sincerity ingrained in every syllable. She smiles, relaxes, though she can't quite bring herself to thank him still. But it's progress. They both have to work at this to make it really function. If he's floundering, cut off from everything he knows how to do, then they'll both just have to think even harder about where Malik might belong in this world.
She just wishes with all her heart, even as she carries back to the museum something reclaimed for her out of familial love, that she didn't fear her brother's promise was a lie.
Prompt: Wall
Summary: Malik is a natural problem-solver, which in itself can be a problem.
"You're home," Malik remarks from his recumbent position on the sofa as Isis enters the apartment, closes the door behind her. She sighs and unwinds her shawl from around her shoulders, hanging it on the hook beside the door: though her brothers currently stay with her, she had supervised the redecoration of her apartment, and everything she owns has a place where it belongs.
"Is that surprising?" she asks, mildly upset to see him just lying there, magazine on his lap without a care in the world. He lost another job last week and he won't share why, just spins his wheels but travels nowhere. It has to bother him even more than it does her. So why?...She doesn't want that to be what she wonders every time she looks at the brother she once feared she'd never see again, but life has dealt an imperfect, though merciful, hand.
Malik shrugs. "First I've seen you this week. Up before down, home after everyone else...." He flips a page in his magazine. "It's funny. I thought all coming to live together in Egypt would mean, you know. Seeing each other."
It's a barb and meant to be one; what's more, it's wielded by an expert (albeit petulantly). Isis steels herself with grace and settles into a chair across from him, shoulders sagging a bit more than she'd like. There's shadows under her eyes, she knows as she rubs them. He does have a point: she's been sleeping too little.
"A particularly important artifact has been stolen from a site," she explains, almost tempted to go into details but no, she's with her family, she has to think of family and not of work. "It's an extremely touchy and complicated situation. We believe we know the culprit, but they work for an influential art dealer. There are parties - interested - in not exposing them..."
"You work for the government," Malik objects, tossing the magazine aside and crossing his arms under his head. "The government's afraid of itself now?"
"It's not that simple," Isis begins, but Malik cuts her off.
"Because you've made it complicated." He waves a hand to dispel the argument. "Forget it. You've had that long work day, placating people despite them wanting to stop you. Cook's started dinner already and Rishid will be home late. I'll be in my room."
He swung himself off the couch and began loping out of the room - her brother hadn't loped before coming to stay with her, either, without a purpose in life he's spiraled slowly downward - and Isis starts, begins to rise from her chair despite having just sat down.
"Malik..." she begins. "We could - I did leave early today. We could spend the evening...?"
Malik doesn't turn around. "I'm tired," he says simply, and disappears down the hall. She can hear the door shutting behind him, and closes her eyes, trying not to feel like the door isn't the only thing separating her from her brother any more.
--
She rises later than she has been the next morning, takes her time getting ready: she has a meeting to prepare for, and -
"Phone's been ringing off the hook," says Malik, sticking his head out of the bathroom as Isis heads for the kitchen. "I said you'd call back once you were available. Didn't make it sound like you were still asleep."
"You should have woken me," Isis objects; Malik ducks his head back into the bathroom. "You needed the sleep," he replies, and she can't argue with that.
She enters the kitchen and stops dead in her tracks when she catches sight of what's sitting on the table. Suddenly the phone ringing at odd hours in the morning makes perfect sense.
She hurries back to the bathroom; Malik is now combing his hair, leaning over to peer into the mirror with an almost casual vanity. "Malik," Isis says sternly. "What did you do?"
"I fixed your problem." Malik puts down his comb and feathers the ends of his bangs with his fingertips. "Bandits stole from the thieves. They were good-hearted bandits, and returned the object to its rightful location. The people they stole from have no case they can use to demand its return. There. Solved. Dinner tonight?"
Isis's eyes flare, she stands even straighter than usual. "Malik," she repeats, searching for the right words beyond her brother's name. "How did - not by yourself - but then..."
He turns away. "What's it matter how?" he asks. "It's back."
She takes his shoulder and turns him to make him look at her. "It matters if my brother still traffics with criminals," Isis insists sternly. "Malik, are you still...?"
"The Ghouls are history," Malik responds, looking at her neck instead of her face. "But the name Malik Ishtar....It's still got....influence. I--"
Why she folds her arms around him even Isis doesn't know, since she's furious with him. Or thinks she is. Knows she should be. But she's losing him, she's losing him again, and maybe holding on is the only way she can be certain her brother is still here. Is he really all right with this? Does he really see nothing wrong...?
"Never again," she breathes into hair that he's just fixed, will have to fix again, but she doesn't care. "Never again, Malik. Not for me, or anyone. Leave that behind."
He stiffens in her arms, then reaches up and pats her back, a bit awkwardly - then grabs tightly. "And do what?" he asks, and she realizes his voice is shaky too. "What can I do, Sister? What's wrong with it, if I can help--"
"That's not help," Isis begins, but the phone rings again and he lets her go, pushes her away to indicate she should answer. She glares at him - they are not done talking - but picks up the receiver in the hall.
"Oh thank goodness!" says the voice on the end of the line - one of her archaeologists. "We didn't want to tell your brother when we left a message, but the--"
"I know," Isis replies, her face stony, her voice cool, professional. "I'm aware of the theft and I've seen to it. The item's been reclaimed."
An exhalation at the end of the line: her men are used to her doing the impossible - to her closing her eyes and telling them where to dig to make earth-shattering finds, though without the Necklace she's incapable of that particular service anymore - but even for her, she knows this is a feat and a half. "Thank goodness," her archaeologist replies. "Who - Director, how --"
"An underworld dispute, I believe," Isis replies coolly; the source of the underworld dispute wanders into the kitchen in search of something to snack on and raises an eyebrow. She glowers at him. "I'll be in shortly. The piece shall accompany me. We'll discuss it then."
She hangs up. Malik looks away. She sighs.
"This," she says, resting a hand on the reclaimed artifact, "was your last theft. Promise me, Malik. I'll try to be home more often. We can schedule time just for the family. I'll swear that to you if you swear me this. Never again."
He meets her eyes solemnly and nods. "Never again," he responds, sincerity ingrained in every syllable. She smiles, relaxes, though she can't quite bring herself to thank him still. But it's progress. They both have to work at this to make it really function. If he's floundering, cut off from everything he knows how to do, then they'll both just have to think even harder about where Malik might belong in this world.
She just wishes with all her heart, even as she carries back to the museum something reclaimed for her out of familial love, that she didn't fear her brother's promise was a lie.