Title: Plain and Simple, Amelia
Summary: Larry hasn't been able to forget about Amelia since their night together, saving the Smithsonian. Finally he realizes things can never be the same for him. Oneshot.
Disclaimer: I own none of the plot, characters, or ideas for Night at the Museum or Night at the Museum: Battle at the Smithsonian. All rights belong to their original owners.
Author's Note: This is my first Night at the Museum fanfic. I saw it the day it came into theatres, I couldn't miss it because I'm a very big Amy Adams fan. And, wow, she was impressive. Now that the dvd is out and the movie is all the rage, writing an Amelia/Larry fic was inevitable. Hope you enjoy!
It so happened that things would, frankly, never be the same. He had already seen her. He had already been with her. He had already been completely and utterly entranced by her. The funny part was that he quite honestly had no idea how in the world how he found himself falling head over heels for this woman.
A woman. That's what she was. Not a girl. Not even a lady. She was a die-hard woman. She had driven a nail into his heart, and for awhile it had been okay. That is, until she ripped it out and he began to bleed.
So what was it about her that ingrained her image into his sub cranium after only a few short hours? Why in the world did he feel this way? He had never been attracted to women that behaved in that manner before—not that he had necessarily ever met another woman who acted quite like she had. He supposed it might have been…refreshing? Was that it? Was it the prospect of something different and new that pitched him over the edge of his seat? No, it couldn't be. It had to just plain and simple be…
Amelia.
Larry Daley was a sensible man. He may have had quite the—to put it in simple terms—interesting career, but he was, indeed, sensible. He made good decisions, and liked to think that more often than not that those decisions were the right ones to make. He did a fine job raising his son and dealing with his divorce and the obstacles such an event gave him when it came to being a good father. But what really bothered him? Well, what really bothered him was that despite his fiasco at the Smithsonian being almost a full six months behind him, he could not get Amelia Earhart out of his head.
It didn't help matters that a girl called Mia—who looked painstakingly identical to Amelia—liked to peruse the Museum of National history every other weekend or so. Larry couldn't decide if this was a comfort, or a curse. He quite often wondered if somehow, in some way, Amelia sent Mia to the museum for Larry. A form of herself to remind him of her. And when Larry pondered this idea, he also debated with himself whether this made him grateful toward Amelia, or angry with her. However, when it almost pained him to watch Mia look at the aviation display in awe, he tended to lean toward the latter.
To Larry, it seemed that if Amelia really had convinced herself that having Mia around helped anything, she was wrong. Because the problem was that no matter how much he might have wanted to believe that Mia was in some way Amelia, he knew that she wasn't. Mia didn't talk like Amelia. She did not act like Amelia. She simply could not--in any way, shape, or form--be Amelia.
Over time, Larry was convinced that he would finally be able to put Amelia behind him. He had no idea that she seemed to have so much grip and power over his every thought, her voice always ebbing at the edge of his mind.
It so happened that one day, as Larry watched Mia peering over the aviation display, Dr. McPhee came alongside Larry and made a comment that Larry couldn't help but take advantage of.
"You know, that aviation section is a wee bit on the small side."
At first, Larry had been silent, having been taken slightly aback. Partially because it was very rare that Dr. McPhee made anything other than a snide comment directed at Larry, but also because he had been so lost in his own thoughts of Amelia that any distraction whatsoever would have pulled him back down to earth so fast that he would have to have been befuddled for a few moments, as he was.
"Yeah, I'm sure no one really cares," Larry said, thinking fast, "Oh, but you should see the aviation building at the Smithsonian! Brilliant place…" With that, Larry walked away, letting that thought settle in McPhee's mind for now. Maybe it would settle in and he might think about expanding the exhibit. What happened next took Larry even more aback than before.
"Huh… What would you say is the best part?"
Larry halted mid-step and pivoted around to face McPhee again, "Amelia Earhart's plane. It's breathtaking to envision a woman who would have the gusto to do what she did. Y'know, it's just too bad the Smithsonian keeps her wax figure in storage rather than in the display. It really takes away from the effect."
A month later, Larry found himself standing before two large, wooden boxes. He didn't want to let himself believe that… He couldn't cause himself that kind of hurt, if it were to turn out… For a long time he just stood there, looking at the crates. What if…? Could it be…? Who he really have…?
Innumerable open ended questions filled his mind. When it became completely unbearable, he had to leave the room.
And return with a crow bar.
He feverishly set to work on the smaller of the two boxes. It was about seven feet long, three feet wide, and three feet deep. All the while, as he pried the lid off the crate, he could think of nothing but her. He didn't care that she was made of wax, or that she could only come to life at night. If it was her…nothing else in the whole world mattered.
After a good half an hour of prying at the box, he managed to crudely get the top off. Inside, it was dark, and he could see nothing but styrofoam packing peanuts. At this point, he hadn't the gumption to continue on in the same feverish manner. He was too nervous, too afraid that he had been wrong.
Slowly, Larry scooped the styrofoam away. After he had removed about a foot of the white material, his heart began to sink, just as the sun had decided to do the same. And then it happened.
First there was just a single curl of red hair. Then the pointy tip of a nose. And suddenly, all at once, she was standing right there in front of him, clear as day, knee deep in styrofoam.
"I knew you could."
"Could—could what?"
She smiled, a twinkle in her eyes, "Find your moxy."
Plain and simple,
Amelia.