Trying to kill some boredom here...and pre-birthday jitters (turning 24 on Wednesday, hooah -_-).
Although the schematic of this fic is laid out like a filler, in this case that is not its main purpose. This is mostly an insight into what Daniels's opinions and feelings might be of some of the other characters, because I know he is definitely not without them. :P The movie novelization describes him as an "antisocial, mercurial brooder" (in particular I love Chamberlin's observation: "No disrespect meant, but you have the social skills of a drill sergeant"), so I'm kinda playing off that too.
Long story short, I'm diving into his head again.
Set after the race and before the discovery of the Anubis statue.
Daniels/The Mummy: (c) Stephen Sommers

Mind's Transparent Eye

The hilt of the revolver thumped against his thigh, the Stetson pushed down low over his eyes. The arid desert air flowed past him in a smooth current, for a moment taking the edge off the stifling heat that was permeating through his clothes. There was some shouting, shrill orders being issued to move things along, but he did not budge. He stood quietly, chest out and back rigid, watching the progress of the party before him.

The excavation into the ruins of Hamunaptra had begun, but Daniels was not as eager as the others to get his hands dirty so quickly. He outright refused to do manual labor under the intense Sahara sun as well, so he opted to keep an eye on the Bedouin diggers as they slaved away exhaustedly to open up a passage to the underground. He rubbed the nape of his neck, felt the slick perspiration sink into his palm, grimaced disgustedly.

"God I hate the desert."

He rocked for a moment on his heel, prodded the dry cavern of his mouth with his tongue. It had a distinct cottony texture to it, and he winced in revulsion. I need some Goddamn water. He turned his head, saw Burns kneeling in the sand by a newly erected tent. "You gotta canteen or somethin' on ya?"

Burns stood up, brushed the dirt and dust off his pants. "Heat gettin' to you already?"

Daniels rolled his eyes, winced as he felt the icy glide of sweat rolling down his back. "I could drain the Sabine."

"Yeah, so could I," Burns said in agreement. "Gimme a second and I'll get one." And he disappeared into the tent.

Daniels nodded wordlessly, strolled casually towards the crumbling remains of an ancient pillar and leaned heavily against it. He took off his hat, dragged the sleeve of his jacket across his forehead swiftly, tried to swallow against the dryness in his throat. He yawned absently, took a few steps forward.

And promptly collided with a passing Beni.

Beni staggered backwards awkwardly, looked with skittish regard at the annoyed cowboy. "My humblest apologies, barat'm," he uttered, his voice dripping in a false sincerity he hoped Daniels wouldn't detect.

Daniels huffed, placed his hands akimbo-style on his hips. "Jus' move yer hide along, 'fore I decide to turn it into a new pair of boots."

Beni caught the hard glare of the dark-haired yank, saw that he looked dead serious as he tapped his fingers menacingly over the barrel of the revolver. The skinny little guide scurried off quickly to the safer vicinity of Dr. Chamberlin, lingering about as the Egyptologist continued barking his orders.

"That's right, you skedaddle over to that tea-swiggin' jackass," Daniels grumbled to himself, folding his arms over his chest. He had harbored an intense dislike for Beni the moment he met him, had no trust in him whatsoever. He saw the way the Hungarian's eyes lit up at the sight of his first payment, like a fat tick on a mangy terrier. It mattered not to Daniels that Beni had actually kept his word and gotten them to Hamunaptra like he promised; he still had to prove there was something valuable under the ruins and take them back to Cairo in one piece. He remembered Henderson laughing at him, trying to convince him that Beni wouldn't have the guts to go turncoat on them.

"Ya think that weasel stands a chance mutinyin' against the three of us? Not with the hefty bag of clams he's gettin' from us on the line he don't."

It was obvious Beni shared a mutual distaste for his three American clients, but he was not vocal about it. Whatever feelings he had for them were concealed tightly under the shroud of his forced but temporary alliance with them. He knew especially not to tick off the quick-tempered Daniels, who would soon turn any insubordinate into pistol fodder without a second thought. And while Daniels was satisfied that Beni kept a relatively large distance from him, he still made it a point to have at least one eye on the ex-Legionnaire. "You can't trust 'im no more'an you can trust a coyote in a henhouse," he had said to Henderson.

Taking another step forward, he suddenly stopped dead, struck by a random thought that filtered back through the colander of his mind. What the hell's a barat'm anyway? He could not tell if the title that Beni addressed him by frequently was a show of respect, or a subtle insult hidden well by Daniels's inability to comprehend any other language but English. He settled for the former.

Henderson materialized a few moments later as he came towards Daniels, absentmindedly wringing his neckerchief in his hands. Daniels folded his arms over his chest in an agitated fashion. "Ya reckon we'll find somethin' other than sand in this no man's land?"

Henderson squinted hard against a hot prism of the solar nemesis as it bore into his weary eyes."I'm reckonin' yes. I think we're gettin' somewhere finally."

Daniels returned the Stetson to his head. "We break through yet?"

"No, but we're close." Henderson ran a hand through his tousled hair, its blonde pigment magnified greatly by the sunlight. He thumbed his nose in Dr. Chamberlin's direction. "Doc's pretty sure we have this one in the bag."

Daniels huffed. "You really think he knows what he's talkin' about, or that he even knows what he's doin'?"

Henderson looked at him incredulously. "Why else do you think we hired him?"

Allen Chamberlin was the kind of scholar that enjoyed strutting around like a puffed-up peacock, preening his feathers whenever he got the chance. His reservoir of knowledge was there for his own benefit only; he thoroughly enjoyed being the token genius in any social setting. His intellectual narcissism rivaled closely to Daniels's brawny clout, and Daniels could sense the silent resistance Chamberlin made in retaining his position as alpha male of the whole operation. Well I got news fer you, Doc. You don't tell this boy what to do.

"He sounds like he's fulla hot air to me," Daniels replied, scratching his neck. "For all I know, he's got us diggin' no more than one big hole in the middle of this Goddamn sandbox."

Henderson grunted, amazed at his friend's lack of confidence in just about everything. "This ain't no play time, Daniels. He's not here to build sandcastles. I think he knows that."

Daniels scoffed, scanned the perimeter of the ruins like a wired sentry. He turned his head when Henderson continued his train of thought. "Doc thinks we ain't got nothin' to worry about with Miss Fancypants an' the Ragtag Brigade."

"Didn't think we did," Daniels sniffed. He looked over to the area the other group claimed as their campsite, watching them set their equipment up. Of the four members of the party, Daniels made his acquaintance with only three of them. He remembered meeting Jonathan Carnahan first, the British fool they played poker with on the Sudan who was all too happy to divulge anything and everything after downing one too many. I can only imagine how much trouble that mouth a' his has gotten him into. Daniels, being a man of little patience, explained to Jonathan on more than one occasion to "shut the hell up an' play the hand" before he decided to turn the harmless game of poker into Russian Roulette, volunteering Jonathan for the first round. The pusillanimous Brit seemed to quiet down after that, much to Daniels's pleasure and relief.

"Doc summed it up pretty good: they're screwed if they got the girl tellin' 'em where to dig. She'll probably halt the entire operation if she ends up gettin' a little sand in her britches," Henderson said.

Daniels snorted amusedly, glimpsing with some strain at the blurry silhouette of the only woman (whom he found out was also Jonathan's younger sister, since the man wouldn't stop blathering about her) on the expedition. Unlike Henderson, he assumed Evelyn Carnahan was one of those spitfire suffragette types, the kind that would rather get dirt under her nails than keep them perfectly polished. Although Daniels admired women who knew how to take care of themselves, he wasn't exactly attracted to ones that thought they had something to prove by taking on a man's position. To him, that was exactly what Evelyn seemed like. She was cute, that was at least one plus, but nothing tempting to a mind that was apt to roam, like his. Seeing her made him think about his girl back at home. Mm-hmm, Gracie ain't got nothin' to worry about.

"We'll see about that. Who the hell knows, she probably is one huge ball an' chain for them."

Henderson snickered. "Seems like she's yankin' his chain pretty tight. She got him followin' her all over the damn place!"

Henderson was, of course, referring to the Carnahan party's only American, Rick O'Connell, whom Daniels could see standing not too far from Evelyn. From the get-go, Daniels had felt a pang of jealousy towards the dashing and strapping mercenary of Midwestern origins, the solid wall of muscle the man was made of casting a shadow over Daniels's planet-sized ego. That ego was dealt an unexpected bruise after watching Evelyn sail right through the entrance to the city, cementing her title as victor of Daniels's 500 dollar wager to get to Hamunaptra first. O'Connell only added salt to the wound with a gut-turning smile, holding out his hand. "I believe you owe the lady 500 dollars." With teeth bared, Daniels coughed up his part of the bet and stormed off before his itch to clock the smile right off O'Connell's face became too hard to ignore. He wasn't too happy either with the way Beni tried on more than one occasion to fraternize with O'Connell, and it made Daniels think that the two men had some prior history with each other. Hell, whatever it is, it better not interfere with my chances a' hittin' pay dirt.
Henderson snapped him out of his thoughts, saying to him, "C'mon, take a look at the progress yourself. Ya haven't since we got here."

"Yeah, yeah," Daniels muttered, following his blonde friend towards Chamberlin and the diggers. He heard some shuffling, turned around to see Burns jogging towards them. In his hand was the blessed canteen Daniels had asked for. "What the hellfire took ya so long, Burns?"

Burns slowed his step after catching up, took a long, wheezing breath and handed over the canteen, but not before he stole a sip from it first. "Sorry. Was looking for my toolkit. I can't find the damn thing."

Daniels waved him off. "Who the hell cares? You'll manage without it."

Burns raised an irate eyebrow. "It could've come in handy. This is a dig, you know."

"That's why we have diggers," Daniels replied, giving his bespectacled friend a complacent smirk.

Failing to find a suitable retort, Burns simply clamped his mouth shut and continued walking.

Daniels smirked again, put the canteen to his mouth and took a hearty swig from it. It was lukewarm of course, but it was better than total dehydration. His expression contorted into a dolorous scowl when he suddenly felt the teasing tickle of hunger stirring in his belly. Daniels groaned inwardly, felt the irritation coming back. I'm about two damn seconds away from eatin' my own phalanges.

"Gentlemen! We have cleared an entrance!" It was the hoarse but excited voice of Dr. Chamberlin, who was frantically waving his one free hand that wasn't grasping the ridiculous parasol he was holding over his head. "Please, come look!"

The three men suddenly perked up, running over to Chamberlin as fast as they could. "About damn time," Daniels said, clapping his hands together expectantly. They pushed through the diggers, Daniels sneering at them to back up and give them some ground. He absolutely hated the way they all clamored together everywhere they stood, like a confused flock of big dumb birds. Only when Daniels flashed his pistol and a snarl did the diggers respond to him, more than eager to get out of the ornery man's way.

It appeared to be a tunnel, some faded hieroglyphs chiseled onto its walls, snaking its way down deep into the Earth. "Wow," Burns breathed, straining to see through the intense darkness that swallowed it. "How far do ya think it goes down? I can barely see a thing. Maybe I should get a lantern," he said in something of a rambling sequence, backing away to retrieve one from the tents.

"Yeah, yeah," Daniels answered somewhat absently, suddenly aware of the muffled beating of his heart behind his jacket. It beat harder and faster with his growing exhilaration, a flourishing crescendo that surged inside his chest and rattled the safeguard of his ribcage. Breathless, he took off the Stetson, stared down into the gaping maw of the tunnel. Despite the intense desert heat, looking into the depths of the subterranean passageway had managed to send a sizable chill up his spine. "Whaddya think?" he asked Henderson.

Without replying, Henderson threw his arm up, snapping his fingers as if summoning a servant. "Hey, Gabor. Front an' center."

Daniels rolled his eyes, watched as Beni came creeping forward and stopping next to the right side of the tunnel. Before Beni could say anything, Henderson continued, "What's down there?"

Beni shrugged disinterestedly, didn't look at any of them. "That I cannot tell you. It has not been my fortune to have gone beneath the city."

"Then guess," Daniels growled impatiently.

"My guess is that you will never find out if you don't go down, barat'm," Beni answered evenly.

Daniels narrowed his eyes viciously on him. "The next time you call me that is when I cut out that whiny little voice box a' yours."

"Gentlemen, please. Let us get back to the matter at hand," Dr. Chamberlin interrupted, stepping between the two men. Daniels gave him a biting glare, miffed that Chamberlin didn't wilt under it. In fact, it seemed to encourage him to keep talking. "Mr. Gabor is right. Whatever we are looking for is sure to be below ground. We must make this a joint effort though, if we are to find anything at all."

"Great, then he can lead us down there," Henderson added, thumbing his nose in Beni's direction. "So, get to it."

Beni remained reluctant. "How can I show you if I do not know what's down there?"

"Improvise," Daniels cut in, his temper starting to show in not just his voice, but in his impatient gesticulations with his pistol. He drew it out, cocked it, and pointed it right at Beni's forehead. "Ya told us it would be worth our money to come out here, an' we took your word for it. Now, git yer ass down into that tunnel an' prove it to us before I decide to add yer splattered head to them pretty lil' pictures on the walls there."

Beni's eyes (and just about everyone else's) grew as wide as cake plates. "Yes, of course! Follow me!" he stammered, clearing the line of fire from Daniels's gun and practically sprinting into the thick darkness. The diggers filed in after him, obeying Chamberlin's commands as he followed them down.

Satisfied, Daniels tucked the firearm back into its holster, giving Henderson a smirk so smug it almost took on a life of its own. "Well, we goin'?"

Henderson just shook his head, speechless. Moments later, Burns reappeared with a lantern. Upon seeing his two friends' expressions, he asked bewilderedly, "What'd I miss?"

"Frank Butler's gun show," Henderson answered nonchalantly, nodding over to Daniels before they both entered the tunnel. "C'mon, let's go."

Burns arched an eyebrow, switching the lantern on as he followed behind Daniels. "You didn't shoot anybody, did ya?"

Daniels was still smiling as he answered, "Nah, I jus' finally got this big, golden ball rollin', that's all."

An' there ain't no stoppin' it now.