Author's Note: Hi everyone. First Mummy-related fic, so… yeah. This little plot-bunny was quite literally at my throat recently, and wouldn't leave me alone. Hope it's entertaining enough to grip your attention, though not much happens in this first chapter. Cast is all the same, except for – obviously – Alex, who is no longer Freddie Boath, for clear age difference. He is now represented by Shane West as seen in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Thanks. Enjoy, and let me know what you think.

In a rush and flurry of fluidic motion, he spun on his right heel, lowering his left knee to contact lightly with the ground, and lashed out with his right blade, hearing the solid and hollow contact as it struck against his opponent's quarterstaff with such swift precision that it startled and almost unbalanced the fighter. Though experienced, there were still little things that caught him off guard, and at his age, he should know better than to drop it even in the slightest. It could cost him dearly, and with a grunt and a sneer, he leapt back, spinning, and then lashing out with both the lengthened Bowie knives he gripped, blades out, before his opponent twisted their body in such a way that both strikes missed, and the staff struck out at the back of his knees.

Rick O'Connell allowed his eyes to widen just a fraction, and failed to move fast enough. He slammed to the ground, and felt the air rush out of him in the process. He winced, and quickly rolled back with as much agility as he could muster, feeling the perspiration on his back and arms as he did so, hearing more than seeing the tip of the staff crack down where his chest had been.

His opponent came at him again, but Rick was ready for him, and with a cheeky grin, bowed down, nimbly slotting one Bowie into his hardy belt, as he snatched out with a hand, and jerked the staff in his fingers, twisting it in such a way that his fellow fighter was forced to let go… or sprain their wrist. They did what he had expected, and let the staff drop, but arched their body, and yanked the sheathed Bowie from the belt.

Okay, should've seen that one coming.

Quickly stepping back, throwing the snatched quarterstaff to one side, he heard it clatter to the ground, rolling away to stop near the wall of the grand room they stood in. Both chests heaved with the exertion of combat, and their eyes locked across the slight expanse, intense and challenging.

"What're you waiting for?" Rick goaded lightly, cocking his head so that brown bangs fell in his eyes lightly, moistened by perspiration from his brow. He had grown accustomed to it over the years, and even though – despite him being loath and stubborn to admit it – his hairline was receding somewhat, he had learned to just fight through it, and ignore it. He could see well enough, and it had never hindered him enough to spur cutting it. Keen eyes watched as his opponent took the bait, and rushed forward, spinning and striking out with the Bowie, which clashed against Rick's own weapon, and the two entered into a bizarre, dangerous dance, blades flashing and glinting in the illumination around them, their bodies twisting and arching impressively to avoid blows.

Rick saw his opportunity when the opponent foolishly exposed a blind spot, but instead of lashing out with the blade in what could have potentially been a fatal blow, he struck out with a foot instead. He didn't want to kill… no, victory could come in disarming and immobilising as well, and he had also learned this over the years, and learned it well.

His foot landed in the back of his opponent's vulnerable right knee, and there was a solid connection. The other man gave a sharp yell, and went down, in which Rick lashed out with a hand, snatching the Bowie away and throwing it to the side, out of reach, before forcing the other fighter right down to the ground with a knee on his chest. The Bowie he held went to the throat, and he loomed over him, victorious, panting slightly, but triumphant nevertheless.

The other, younger fighter, remained perfectly still under him, bright intelligent eyes staring up fixatedly at the victor, and Rick could feel the rise and fall of the chest as the breathing was forced into a faster pant from the weight on his body. Both palms were exposed in defeat, and the blonde hair was cast into disarray around the tousled head. But still, despite the blade at his neck, he didn't move.

Rick was vaguely aware of the third presence at the doorway to the room, simply standing, eyes wide in observation, stock still, not wanting to move in case something happened upon her doing so. So she just watched, with bated breath.

Silence fell upon the three, and finally, the pinned young man wheezed out, "You're goddamn heavy."

Rick laughed, and sprung back, rocking on his heels for a moment, before standing and sheathing his knife, reaching down with a hand to help up his sparring partner. The younger man heaved himself upright, and winced slightly.

"Watch your language," came the voice of the observer from the doorway, ever gentle and loving, but always somehow carrying an obvious undertone of chiding when it came to the topic.

The young man grinned, much in the trademark style, and said with an exaggerated accent, "Rather weighty, this." He gave Rick a playful shove as he said it, and the older man laughed, moving to retrieve the tossed weapons, to replace them on the wall racks where they belonged.

Evelyn 'Evie' O'Connell strode into the room, a slight smile delicately touching her lean, red lips as she approached. Her black pants showed she had been in the library, no doubt sorting through her overly-numerous volumes or perhaps casting her mind back in history, to past events and reflecting on them as she often did. The past twenty years had been anything but dull.

Standing in the centre of the room, recuperating from his defeat, was Alexander 'Alex' O'Connell. His youthful eyes were an interesting blend of blue – just a subtle hint of hazel – and green, and his blonde hair was a mystery still to both his mother and father. Evie's hair was an ebony shade – if you could call black a shade – and Rick's was a mahogany brown. But then again, it had been that light – almost sunny – shade since Alex was a child, and it hadn't changed yet, only darkened slightly. His inherited mischief and cunning still shone out of him like a radiant light, exuded from his playful smile or his intelligent eyes. He stood close to Rick's height now, far from the short boy he had once been, and now much more imposing if he wanted to be. But then, Alex had seen much recently.

Over the past decade, he had been drafted into service in the armed forces, to fight in the war, and Rick and Evie – though the father himself had gone home to America to help with his own side – had waited with bated breath for their son to return to them, unharmed. Rick had been firm in the belief, that if Alex could survive the Bracelet of Anubis, then what was a little field combat? Evie hadn't been so confident, but her optimism had held resolute. It had paid off when Alex had strode through the main doors of the large house they called home, healthy as ever, but having seen much more death and destruction than he might have liked, even with Rick and Evie for parents. He was slightly harder than he had been upon leaving, but most of it was shoved beneath the surface.

Rick had been proud to hear that Alex had been one of the best shots in his regiment. It had made him grin for about three hours, causing Evie to deliver a light cuff to his ear, telling him that not everything was down to pulling – or squeezing – a trigger and landing a blow. Of course, after that, Rick's pride had been hidden from the apparently offended Evie who had simply been overjoyed to have Alex home again. He had had more spoiling over the next month than he had in years.

Being twenty now, Alex had tried to insist to his mother that he knew how to take care of himself, and – for example – didn't need to have all his meals prepared for him, and that he could make coffee for himself. But Evie had had none of it, and had waited on him hand and foot for a while until Rick had stepped in with a gentle rebuke. She had backed off a little after that, and even though his son had said very little on the topic for fear of reintroducing it, Rick knew he was grateful for the reprieve from the over-lavishing of a relieved mother.

"Are you all right, Alex?" Evie asked, throwing Rick a somewhat scolding glare sidelong as she stood before her son, who now overshadowed her much like his father did. Rick had to smile at that. "You took quite a blow."

"I'm fine, mum," he insisted, waving off Evie's lifted hand.

"He's fine, Evie, he knows how to take care of himself."

"Well, try and be more careful, Rick. What good are sparring lessons if you try and knock him out every time?" Evie turned on Rick with a trademark lifting of the brows. Rick inwardly insisted that, one day, they were just going to disappear right up into her hairline, never to be seen again.

Alex rolled his eyes subtly, but Evie caught it, without even seeing her son do so, and warned, "Don't do that."

Alex actually laughed, cheeky but wary as always, and even took a step away from his more than capable mother. If the two ever sparred, Rick probably would have put money on Evie. He'd seen her in combat… briefly… once or twice.

He shook his head to focus his mind, and tried to change the subject, "Dinner nearly ready?"

"Rick, it's half past three in the afternoon." Evie narrowed her eyes, catching onto the deception and attempt at misdirection.

Damn her for being so quick… okay, I can't damn her. Who am I kidding?

She could be so awkward and challenging at times, even downright bracing, but that didn't stop him from remembering why he had fallen in love with her. Sighing, he said, "Never too early for dinner."

Alex snorted rather unflatteringly at his father's attempt to cover his mistake, and crossed his arms over his chest casually, glancing between Rick and Evie, intrigued.

"If you wish to have dinner now, you know very well where the kitchen is… darling." She smiled triumphantly, knowing already that her victory was sound enough to end the pointless argument. Rick slumped his shoulders.

"Fine. We'll do it your way." He smiled a winning smile, and it was the woman's turn to roll her eyes. She moved over to Rick, and sighed lightly, before giving him a knowing, yet pleading gaze. Rick smiled warmly, and heard Alex groan lightly under his breath. He was half-aware of his son leaving the room, saying, "I'll be at Uncle John's."

"Be back by seven," Evie muttered, more a subconscious action than anything. Why she was so controlling over her clearly-matured son, Rick would never know, but family was more important to her than anything. Which was probably why Jonathan Carnahan – her brother – lived only a five minute walk away. He had purchased a house with his percentage of the colossal diamond they had 'acquired' from the top of the pyramid in the oasis in the middle of the desert a little over ten years ago. Had it really been so long? It felt like only yesterday… but he was in no mood for nostalgia.

Smiling down at her, he bowed his head, and kissed her lovingly on the lips, never growing tired of the feel, smell or taste of his wife, even as so many years together.

To Be Continued…