Authors' note: This fic addresses a little, minor "what-if" scenario I've had in my head for quite some time.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Night at the Museum, ya hear?
*****
The phone screamed, causing the nearby occupant of the desk to flinch. Grumbling, he nasally answered.
"Hello? Yes, this is- What? Honestly? They're done? That's fantast-" His mood immediately changed.
A tinny buzz could be heard echoing throughout the old, somewhat dusty office, cutting off the speaker.
"Yes, yes, naturally….Very rare…the originals? My, how far technology has come…So, the display could be assembled within the day?"
An excited onslaught cut him off yet again.
"Right, I understand. We can close for the day. Consider it done. No, thank you…"
Terminating the call, Dr. McPhee leapt to his feet, ecstatic. "Yesss!" He hissed to himself, enthusiastically pumping his arm high in the air. Although his total lack of hand-eye coordination made it appear as though he was seizing whilst imitating a rapidly deflating truck tire, he hardly cared. He bolted down the hall to tell Rebecca the news.
*****
Despite the recent upswing in museum attendance, Dr. McPhee, as a rule, was always on the constant lookout for new finds, new discoveries, and new inter-museum loans. When he first started as a curator, he was surprised (and somewhat amused) to learn of the dog-eat-dog, cutthroat competition that dominated the acquisition of exhibits and artifacts between institutions. Naturally, the Smithsonian held the monopoly on most new offers, but some universities and prominent individuals (like that one donor…who was he? She?) had their preferences and sentiments for smaller establishments.
Not that the New York Museum of Natural History was a small establishment, but it did frequently play second-fiddle to the 'Big S' (Daley…so annoying sometimes…). Of course, there were, are, and will continue to be exceptions; the tomb contents and mummy of Ahkmenrah was not to be sneezed at, and many tempting offers over the years have been made by other museums to both McPhee and his predecessors for an exchange. He had always refused, not on sentimental or even pragmatic reasons, but because of an unspoken rule that had maintained itself for almost 50 years within the institution: Never let go of your best. The Ahkmenrah exhibit would never leave, and if it ever did, it wouldn't be under McPhee's watch. The same rule he subconsciously applied to the Tyrannosaur and Roosevelt.
But this! This would overshadow everything – at least, for awhile and then mainly for children. It would be amazing to see it with animatronics; after all, the current exhibits were retrofitted quite successfully, and there was no reason this couldn't be, either.
*****
Rebecca nodded tightly at Larry's disbelief.
"Whhhaaat?? He's bringing in whhhhhaaat?" He was beyond stunned, and more than a little pale.
"Yes." She responded in a voice bordering on frantic. "But what could I tell him? 'No Dr. McPhee, that exhibit would be bad because all this stuff isn't really animatronic, it just comes to life at night and can't really be controlled?' There's nothing we can do – except hope for the best."
"If I live that long. Or hell, if the guests do."
She sighed. "Look, Larry, we have three days before the crew arrives to assemble the display. Surely we can think of something."
"God, I hope so."