Disclaimer: And I still don't own anything to do with Yu Gi Oh…

Without Wax

The path of an Ishtar is not an easy one, but there are things that allow them to pull through together: forgiveness, love, and the strength of the bond that exists between siblings. Focuses on Malik, Isis, and Rishid. Written from Malik's point of view.

It was ten minutes before five o'clock in the afternoon when Rishid and Malik pulled up to the administrative building where Isis worked. They were a little early to pick her up but didn't think it would matter too much. People were already filing out of the building into the hot, dusty street to begin their homeward commute. Isis, therefore, should be ready to follow suit any minute. The two decided that Rishid would find a parking place and leave the car running while Malik went in to find her.

After a quick knock, Malik walked into Isis' office only to find it empty. Ever since their return from Japan a couple of days ago, Isis had been very busy. Work had piled up quickly and relentlessly in her absence, thus explaining the cluttered appearance of the room. Books were piled everywhere. Malik assumed she had some last minute details to attend to before she could go home.

He looked around and found a chair that was not doubling as a temporary bookcase, one of the few pieces of furniture that wasn't, and sat down. The afternoon sun filtered lazily through the wooden slats of the window shade creating a lattice of golden light that glowed against the floor of the otherwise dim room. Above him, the paddle-like blades of the ceiling fan were attempting to coax the warm air into circulation. It was a futile effort on the part of the machine, as the room remained stuffy. Malik laughed softly, almost wryly, to himself. So this was the focus of his sister's life above ground. Judging by the near airlessness and the muted light of the office, it seemed reminiscent of his former life below ground. He thought her career as the Director of Archaeology just might be as stifling as her role as a tomb-keeper, though he knew that wasn't really true.

He cast his gaze up at the clock on the wall. Nearly five o'clock. For Malik, the minutes were creeping by at a painstakingly slow pace. Where are you, sister? We are losing daylight! Now that he was able to be above ground – legitimately – and participate in the life that went on in the outside world, the last thing Malik wanted was to while away precious time in an empty office. There was just too much to do and experience. The second hand appeared to labor intensely as it completed its journey around the face of the clock. He stared at it; willing the hand to move faster knowing that in a few more minutes Isis would officially be off work and they could go. Patience was a virtue he lacked despite his past training and preparation as the Ishtar heir.

Not one to sit still, Malik soon took to wandering around the office while he waited for Isis' return. He carefully examined the various organized piles of books, journals, and photographs intermixed with many and sundry artifacts. One artifact in particular caught his eye. On his sister's desk stood a small marble bust of a nameless ancient Roman official.

Malik leaned in for a closer inspection. The careful craftsmanship that went into the sculpture was absolutely amazing. "Sine cera," he commented approvingly. Sine cera – Latin words literally meaning "without wax." Malik had learned Latin in addition to various forms of ancient Egyptian when he was younger, but this antiquated phrase was a little bit of trivia he had picked up from Isis. Years ago, she told him a story of how Roman sculptors would hide their mistakes by filling them in with wax. This practice was so common that when people went to purchase sculpted marble they would often ask whether or not it was sine cera or "without wax" thereby verifying the marble and the carving as flawless, pure, genuine. Whoever created this bust was most assuredly a master of the craft. Aside from the wear that was expected to accrue over the ages, the sculpture was perfect. Malik idly wondered where in Egypt it was excavated and how old it was.

From the volumes placed next to the bust, he inferred Isis was pondering the same questions. The artificial breeze generated by the ceiling fan, weak as it was, ruffled the pages of a book Isis had left open, threatening to lose her place. Malik inserted a sticky-note and thoughtfully closed the book. As he moved his hand away, another object on the desk grabbed his attention. It was a letter half-folded and resting on an open envelope. The exposed postmark of envelope indicated it was from Japan. Curiosity got the better of Malik. He picked up the letter and began to read:

Dear Ms. Ishtar:

We at the Domino Museum would like to express our deepest gratitude for

lending us your magnificent stone tablets. The public response to this

exhibit has been tremendous and more than exceeded our expectations.

Enclosed in this letter are the necessary documents you requested for the

future deaqusitioning……...

Malik's eyes remained focused on the letter, but he was no longer reading. He couldn't. Resisting the urge to crumple the letter and throw it across the room, Malik carefully replaced it in its original position resting upon the envelope. The letter had forced him to dredge up some awful memories. He recalled the real reason Isis had been so generous in lending the artifacts to the Domino museum. She was trying to save him - from himself. A sigh escaped from Malik's lips.

Things had ended well at Battle City, but it could have easily become something much worse. He was amazed at how quickly he slipped deeper and deeper into his evil persona, escalating to the point where he was no longer in control. Battle City was the culmination of his growing desire for power and his rage against the Pharaoh. Looking back at tournament and the preceding events was difficult for Malik, but he knew that he had to come to terms with what happened. He shook his head. How many people had he hurt because he had been unwilling to accept his fate as an Ishtar – a tomb-keeper for the Pharaoh and guardian of his memory? There were the innocents like Mai and Joey whom he believed to be in his way, then of course there was his family Isis and Rishid,…and his father.

Malik tightly squeezed his eyes shut and made a fist out of his right hand as the painful memories began to flow freely. He raised his fist in a menacing gesture against his no longer present darker half. "That's right," Malik had to remind himself. "He's gone; he's not coming back. I am not that person." His dark self was indeed gone – banished to the Shadow Realm by the Pharaoh. However, the effects of his actions still remained. Malik slowly re-opened his eyes. "Chichiue, father" he whispered sadly as he unclenched his fist. Malik gently placed his hand palm down on the letter, and hung his head. All of those actions his dark self committed were unforgivable.

But he had been forgiven. That was something Malik had a hard time believing was possible. Had it not been for Isis and Rishid's love and determination, his lighter self would have been lost forever to the Shadow Realm. Isis had hatched an elaborate plan to draw him out with the Egyptian god cards. She was unwilling to give up on him and put all of her faith into the chance that they would duel in the Battle City finals where she thought she would be able to save him with the help of the Pharaoh. Rishid never left his side: always steadfast, always loyal. It had been that way ever since Malik was very young. Rishid's pleas were able to reach Malik during the final duel with Yugi/ the Pharaoh allowing him to gain some ground in overcoming his darkness.

They had risked so much trying to save him – Malik the selfish, the ungrateful – including their own lives and the Ishtar family honor. The whole mess began when he finally convinced Isis and Rishid to break the Ishtar family law forbidding the heir to step into the outside world. He had never wanted to be the heir so that small taste of freedom was all it took to start him on his dark path. A shudder seized Malik as he thought with guilt shame and fear of his dark half's attempts to send Rishid to the Shadow Realm and how he had threatened Isis with the Millennium Rod. Malik knew he didn't deserve their love, not after what he put them through, and yet, they gave it to him anyway freely and unconditionally. They were the only ones who were able to see the hidden, real Malik when everyone else regarded him as a monster.

Malik asked Isis on their way back to Egypt why she didn't give up on him. She said it was because they are a family, and you don't give up on your family. When he didn't' think that could possibly be enough of a reason, she continued by saying that sometimes you have to make the decision to love someone. Rishid had nodded in agreement. Malik still didn't understand at the time, but decided to let the subject drop anyway.

Now that he had had some time to think about what Isis said about deciding to love someone, it began to make sense. Isis and Rishid made the decision to look past his betrayal of the Ishtar tradition and the terrible things his darker self had done. They did this not because they wanted to ignore these events or pretend they did not happen, but because they knew deep in their hearts he wasn't really the one committing those acts, that the little brother they cared about was still there but was trapped by his growing evil. As long as the slightest presence of light Malik existed, there was hope that he could be saved and they wouldn't turn their backs on him.

Malik was roused from his thoughts by the sounds of muffled voices outside the door. The male speaker was most definitely Rishid. It was five-ten. Poor man! He had evidently grown weary of waiting in the car or became concerned and came in to see what was taking so long. Malik distinguished the other voice as his sister's. The office door opened a crack allowing him to fully hear their words.

"…ry to keep you waiting. Just give me one more minute, Rishid. There are a few things I need to get from my office." Malik watched as the door continued to open revealing his family. "Oh! Hello, dear brother," greeted Isis. She smiled affectionately at him as she breezed in to collect her belongings. They left the office together walking side-by-side, with Malik in the middle now feeling happy, content, and very grateful. He threw his arms over the shoulders of his brother and sister and gave them a squeeze.

"What was that for?" Isis asked. There was laughter in her voice. His hug had taken both her and Rishid by surprise. Rishid yielded a small rare smile. Malik was certainly the most emotionally expressive of the three.

"Nothing," he grinned. "Just because."

As the trio walked along the worn parquet floor leading to the large double doors of the building's exit, Malik thought about what the future might hold for them now that the Pharaoh was one step closer in completing his destiny. There was really no way to tell without Isis' necklace, but Malik decided it didn't really matter. After what they had just survived, he felt that they could make it through anything fate may toss their way. Just as Isis and Rishid had accepted him despite what he had turned into Malik believed that if times should become difficult they wouldn't gloss over anything or fill in the cracks thereby trying hiding and ignoring their problems. Instead, they would face their troubles square in the face together with the determination that things will get better.

The bond they shared was strong – devotion in its sincerest form and perfect in its own way; it was "without wax."

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AN / Disclaimer #2: There are a couple primary explanations regarding the origins of the word sincere and many variations of those explanations. The one I used, sine cera, just happened to be my favorite variation. It is not necessarily the most accurate. The word may have also come from the Latin sincerus – whole, pure.

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There was quite a bit of fluff in this fic. Hopefully it wasn't too cheesy. I'd love to know what you thought. Please review.