Ascension [A Yu-Gi-Oh! FanFiction]

37: Water

Half-clothed and seated on the edge of the bathhouse spa, Atem watched the way the ripples of water radiated from around his legs, sliding across the steaming surface to lap at Satiah's back. She was sitting neck-deep in the water before him, her knees drawn up to her chest. Through the distorted reflection, he could see the distance drawn into her deep-set eyes. Her mind was gone — left wandering somewhere between the planes of gods and men.

Her stare had been long and empty since the moment they emerged into the shadow of Khafra's pyramid. Nothing seemed able to break this trance that was gripping her — not even the warm embrace her father had wrapped her in upon their return to the villa. In their bedchamber, Atem had tried to speak with her — had sat her on their bed and cradled her in his arms, whispering his love and devotion to her. But none of it — not a single word had reached her.

Even now, as he reached out to pull her wet hair over her shoulders, she barely registered his touch. With a deep breath, he took up a pitcher of washing oils from the side of the spa. "Lift your head," he said, soft as he could manage. She swayed a bit, her head lolling backward. Gently, he slipped his fingers beneath her chin and lifted it the rest of the way, then raised the pitcher to pour the oils over her head, careful not to let them drip down into her eyes. After combing his fingers through her hair a moment, he repeated the process with a pitcher of water.

He let steam and silence envelop them again — busied himself wringing out her hair and taking up a cloth to cleanse whatever skin he could reach. He was in the middle of wiping away a patch of dirt on her shoulder when she sucked in a deep breath. The sharpness of it caused him to pull back with a start, fearing he'd hurt her somehow. But she simply blinked, her knees sliding out of her grasp to lay flat against the seat beneath her. Slowly, she lifted her hands up, holding pools of water in her palms for a moment before separating her fingers to let thin rivers trickle down onto the surface.

Hopeful, Atem waited — but her eyes remained glazed and shining, even as her lips parted to speak at last.

"I almost let you die."

He could almost see the very moment shame sank into her, like the fangs of an asp. His own heart grew heavy as he reached out and took one of her hands, folding his fingers over hers to form a loose fist. "Sati—"

"No." She pulled her hand away sharply, turning to face him. The look she gave was one of almost anger. She uncurled her fingers, looking down into her palm again. Then, as if on impulse, she reached out and pressed her fingertips into his middle, just below his navel. "I almost let you die."

Her touch was soft, but Atem still winced a moment. As he looked down, he realized why: She was resting her fingers on the short, raised scar on his abdomen — the spot where Bakura had driven his knife not two months prior.

"I was so afraid," Satiah whispered. "Afraid of everything you stood for. Afraid of who you would become." She pushed her palm tight against his skin — as if concealing damning evidence. "But I didn't even know you then. I was so worried about who you might be, I didn't realize who you were." At last, she looked up at him. Tears were now coming to join the dull shine in her eyes. "I almost let him kill you—"

The last syllable was drowned in a tortured sob. Before a second one could seize her, Atem found himself sliding down into the water and encircling her with his arms. She resisted at first, but he drew her tight against him, hushing her in strained, urgent hisses. He smoothed a hand against the side of her head, brushing back a tangle of her wet hair so he could press his lips to her ear. "I forgive you," he said, no more than a whisper at first — then, more fiercely: "I forgive you."

She stifled her weeping into her hand, then into the curve of his neck as she finally turned and fitted herself to him. There, he rocked her like a child, hopeful that time and tenderness might be enough to draw out the venom of her guilt.