Author's note: Hey guys! While it's only been a few days since I posted my other Night at the Museum fic, I had an idea for this little story. I noticed there are a lot of OC stories in this fandom that are romantically involved with a majority of the main characters. While there is nothing wrong with that, I wanted to take a little break from that road and write one where it is just a friendship story. I wondered what it would be like if there was more a childlike prescence in the movie, so I began to think. Along with that, since my character is a child and will not be paired with any of the characters. That would be just plain gross. So without further ado, here is my story.

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I do not own Night at the Museum and never will. All OCs used are mine. Thank you

There is nothing more boring than take your daughter to work day.

Okay, let me rephrase that: There is nothing more boring than taking your brother's daughter to work day because a certain little girl's dad decided that going on a business meeting to Paris was more important than spending time with his own kid.

Wow, what a great guy, wouldn't you say?

I swung my legs out in front of me from my seat in my Uncle Charlie's car, my legs barely touching the floor. He glanced at me awkwardly through the rearview mirror, hands clenched tightly on the gray steering wheel. "So," he began after a few minutes of silence. "How's school? Do you like it? Do you have any friends?"

My Uncle Charlie isn't much of a Chatty Cathy like me. Whereas I can talk a mile a minute, he usually just gives one word sentences or phrases. It's not that he's mean or a snob, or anything of that sort, he's just kind of shy. My dad is his older brother and he's like me, a talker. Uncle Charlie is more of a listener, which I find to be a lot more bearable. So for him, asking a bunch of questions in a row is a big milestone.

"School is boring," I complain, slouching in my seat with my arms crossed. "I can't wait until summer vacation! Most people in my grade are a bunch of babies. And of course I have friends! Why wouldn't I?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and shook his head, as if whatever he was about to say was bad. "I hated math in school," he said slowly after a minute of silence. "I was never any good at it."

"I hate it too," I grumbled. "But Dad insists that I become good at it so I can take over his stupid coffee business one day. Why would I even be interested in it? I don't even drink the stuff! It's nasty!"

He cracked a smile. "You might like it one day," he sighed, glancing at the muted radio. "And math is important. You need it for paying taxes, bills, and other things."

"I don't know what taxes are."

"You'll find out one day."

He sometimes forgets that I'm only ten years old. A smart mouthed ten year old, but a ten year old none the less. "I think History is the most boring subject," I continued, much to his chagrin. "It's just a bunch of useless junk. Why study it?"

His mouth tightened and for a moment, I thought that maybe I'd crossed the line, whatever that saying means. "Those who don't learn from the past are doomed to repeat it," he replied in kind of a short tone. "And people who made history are what make us who we are."

"What does that mean?"

"You'll understand when you're older."

He pulled into the back lot, parking his car where a bunch of other looking vehicles were. We hoped out, heading inside. It was only five, so not a lot of vehicles were there, but the ones that were didn't look very expensive. Uncle Charlie is a night guard here at the Smithsonian and although he likes the job, I heard Mom tell Dad that he actually wants to become a History teacher. I don't know why, since it sounds like the most boring job in the world, but Mom told me not to ask. Something about how it would be rude.

He leaded me across the sidewalk, making sure my hand was clenched tightly in his as we avoided the many cars and buses that held both tourists and locals alike. Trying to keep up with his long legs, I practically ran to follow him into the Smithsonian Institution Building. It wasn't as if it was my fault for being short, but he could at least make an effort to slow down!

The doors opened, revealing a couple people looking at pamphlets inside or talking to a few of the people that worked here. One woman, a young lady in her late twenties with curly brown hair and a dimpled smile came over, her blue eyes looking at my uncle sweetly. "Hello Charlie," she began, looking down to get a good look at me. "And who is this little cutie?"

"I'm not little; I'm ten!" I shot back, annoyance rushing through me. Ten was a much more grown up number than nine. And I am not little; I'm just rather short. "And I am not cute."

The lady just smiled, probably thinking I am still cute. "Is this your niece?" she asked him, the smile seeming to go on forever. Uncle Charlie nodded, giving her the answer. I watched the two of them, noticing how her smile reached her eyes. Uncle Charlie had a light blush on his cheeks, his hands fidgeting at his sides. If she noticed this, her smile just grew larger. "And you're taking her to work with you? That's really sweet! I hope you have a good time!"

She walked away, giving a little wave. Uncle Charlie just cleared his throat, motioning for me to follow him. "Who was that?" I asked as we headed down the stairs to the locker room. "She seemed really friendly."

"Paula," he answered. "Paula Smith."

"Do you like her?"

"Of course I do," he replied, looking as if I had asked a silly question. "She's a very nice young woman."

I rolled my eyes. "No, I mean like-like her. Like you want to kiss her," I wrinkled my nose. "And that is totally gross."

His face turned red as he strapped on his dark blue uniform jacket, his flashlight and keys hooked to his belt. "Didn't your dad ever tell you not to be nosey?" he huffed, leading me along through the front of the building and out the double sliding doors.

"No," I skipped in front of him, ignoring his annoyed face. "He's too busy selling coffee."

"Uh-huh."

The sun was starting to set, the last rays of light creating large shadows out of anything it touched. I sighed, wiping my forehead to get rid of the small bits of sweat that had piled up. Even it was a few days before Memorial Day, it was still really hot. Even Uncle Charlie looked uncomfortable. He had loosened his uniform a bit too cool off, sweat tricking down his brow. I let out a loud sigh. "Are we there yet?"

He glanced at me incredulously. "Do you even know where we're going?"

He got me there. I sagged my shoulders, glaring as he laughed at me. "No," I grumbled. "But it's just so hot out!"

"Don't worry; we'll be there soon."

"Where are we even going?"

"To the Archives. I have to check on things before heading to the other exhibits, alright?"

"Fine," I nodded my head, grinning largely as he turned the corner to walk into the nearest building, pulling me along as I almost ran into a group of old people. He led us down a long stretch of hallway, greeting a few of the other watchmen with a curt nod and hello. It was all very boring, except for watching one of the night guard's get in a fight with a sharply dressed man in a suit, arguing about how his name was pronounced Brundon, not, Brandon.

"Here we are," Uncle Charlie slid his I.D into a slot, the bared door flashing green and opening. We stepped inside, and I will admit, I was intrigued by all there boxes and crates. My eyes went wide taking it all in and Uncle Charlie just smiled. "Don't get any ideas; you can't open them."

"Dang it!"

He laughed for a second, lifting me up and setting me down on one of the crates. "Now, I want you to sit and WAIT here. That means you can't run off and explore," he narrowed his eyes at me, as if he knew what I was thinking. "I'll be back in exactly ten minutes."

"Okay."

He disappeared into the rows and shelves of unopened objects, the sound of his footsteps echoing into the distance. I swung my legs out, swinging them back and forth against the crate I was sitting on. My heels slammed into with a loud bang, and I hummed a little as I waited, with absolutely nothing to do.

"This is boring," I muttered. "I wonder what's in this crate anyway."

I hoped off, looking down at the nametag that was strapped to the side. "Napoleon…Bonaparte?" I stumbled over his last name, most likely butchering it by calling him Bonaparty. What? Some languages do pronounce the letter e like that!

I hoped back on the box, giving another impatient sigh. I looked at the pink watch strapped around my wrist. Uncle Charlie had been gone for fifteen minutes now. What was the hold up? "He said not to explore," I mused to myself, my light brown eyes probably looking mischievous. "But he never said not to go looking for him."

With that in mind, I got up off the crate and headed towards the direction he went. Sadly, I didn't get very far. Two minutes into the whole thing, I ended right back to where I started, back at the Frenchie's crate. "Well, this is just great," I grumbled. "Freaking wonderful."

"HEY! LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

I shrieked, falling off the crate with a loud thud. My eyes widened, jaw dropping quite a ways down as the crate began to move, along with many of the others. "LET US OUT!" the voice, distinctly sounding French, shouted. "LET US OUT, MAINTENANT!"

"What the…?" I trailed off, heart thudding. "There is no way…"

"I can hear you! Let us out!"

I looked around the area frantically, a flash of blue catching my eye. The same man I'd seen earlier, the one in the sharp suit, ran past the many crates and boxes. A woman in an aviator's get up followed him, looking rather excited as a group of angry looking Egyptians. A man in a strange looking hat followed, shouting at the men in Egyptian. Panicked, I did the only thing I could think of: I ducked under a box and hid.

"This is not happening," I repeated to myself, trying to not start crying. "Where's Uncle Charlie? Did those strange men get him? Why isn't he here?"

BAM

The sound of something wooden and heavy hit the ground, the sounds of grumbling French men and snickering Italian's could be heard, I peered from underneath the large box, the opening small enough for me to see through. I watched with horrified eyes as the wax figures from the box stood up, brushing hay off their clothes. The shortest one wearing a big hat began to yell at the black and white colored man near him, the latter smirking down at him.

"Gentlemen, please," the Egyptian man from earlier stepped forward, a man dressed in silver robes with a large scepter soon followed, appearing next to the man. "There is something I must ask of you.

"Well," I found myself saying inwardly. "I guess tonight isn't going to be as boring as I thought."

"I am Kahmunrah. Half-God, once removed on my mother's side. Rightful ruler of Egypt, future ruler of, well, everything else."

I couldn't help it, but a giggle broke its way through my lips. I instantly clapped my hands over my mouth, trying to keep my breathing quiet. I stretched my legs out, feeling rather cramped from underneath the box. Couldn't the lisp man hurry up his speech so I could leave? Being stuck under a crate isn't exactly how I want to spend my evening.

"Now, I have lost some men. So I am in need of some new generals to join me in my little plan of conquering this world."

He turned to the silver dressed man. "Ivan the Terrible."

He turned the French man. "Napoleon Bonaparte."

Finally, he looked over to the monochromatic men. "And Young Al Capone."

He paced back and forth, trying to pull off an evil grin. "Gentlemen," his evil grin faltered, his expression now changing into one like a kid in a candy store. "Really, it's just fantastic to meet you all!"

The three men nodded, giving polite smiles. Well Napoleon, or whatever his name is, looked rather proud of being acknowledged, but it amused me none the less. Kahmunrah continued on, clapping his hands once again. "All I ask is your allegiance and in return, I offer you the world. Literally. Are there any questions?"

Al Capone spoke up. "Yeah, I got one. How come you're wearin' a dress?"

Another giggle burst past my lips, now realizing the mobster was right. The Egyptian did look like he was wearing dress. He gave the mobster an insulted look. "This is not a dress, it is a tunic. It was the height of fashion three thousand years ago, I assure you."

Right….

"Are there any other questions?" He continued.

Ivan raised his scepter. "Da. This, um, dress you're wearing. Do we have to wear one too?"

The former Pharaoh looked now even more insulted. "Of course not! Were you not just listening? I just told Mr. Capone here that this is not a dress; it is in fact a tunic. Very big difference. Now are there any other questions?"

Napoleon raised his hand, only to bring it down once the Pharaoh sighed. "Are there any questions not about the dress…tunic," he shook his head, as if he were trying to put the topic behind him. "Alright then, moonlight is wasting and the time is short-"

"Short? Why do you look at me when you say short?"

Napoleon laid his hand on his dagger, glaring harshly at the pharaoh. Kahmunrah blinked, obviously not seeing the problem. "I, uh, sorry. Slipped out."

I should have kept my mouth shut all those times; I really should have. Before I could even let out a sigh of relief that they were done talking, a pair of gloved hands wrapped around my ankles. I yelped, being thrown on my back as I was dragged out of my hideout, meeting the dark eyes of a French soldier, who held me up in midair by my armpits. Kahmunrah stepped forward, head cocked. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

"Looks like a kid," Capone said, looking rather surprised himself. "But aren't they supposed to be in bed by now?"

"I'm not a kid!" I snapped. "I'm ten!"

"Oh, we're dealing with a lady here, gentlemen," Kahmunrah rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "You wouldn't happen to know what happened to the Golden Tablet of Ahkmunrah, would you?"

"The what?" I asked, squirming in the soldier's arms. He let me down, keeping a firm grip on my shoulders. "Look Pyramid guy, I came here with my Uncle. Have you seen him?"

Kahmunrah tapped his chin. "We did knock out a night guard a little while ago…" he trailed off before shaking his head. "But he is not important. He got in my way; I had to take care of him. Now, where is the Tablet? A man named Mr. Daley ran by with it; you must have seen him."

I fought back the urge to stamp my feet. "I don't have your stupid tablet! If you want one so badly, why don't you go to Apple and buy one?"

Kahmunrah glanced at the others. "Do any of you know what "Apple", is?"

The three of them shook their heads, looking just as confused as the Pharaoh. I glowered at him, fighting against the soldier. "Where is my Uncle? Show me where he is, now!"

"Give me the tablet and I'll tell you."

"I don't have your tablet! I don't even know a Mr. Daley!"

He flicked a finger against my forehead before crossing his arms. "You will show your ruler the proper respect or you will die!"

I had no idea what this phrase meant, or even if I should be using it, but I heard our neighbor's ex-girlfriend shout it at him. "Up yours!" I spat out, slamming my left foot down hard on the soldier's toe and giving the weird Pharaoh a swift kick in the shin before dashing off into the rest of the archives.

Kahmunrah howled behind me. "GET HER!" He shouted, and I could hear the pain in his voice. "BRING ME THAT LITTLE GIRL NOW! GET THAT BRAT!"

Ah, I hate using dialogue from the movie, but for this story I must. Please review! I'll do my best at trying to sound like a smart mouthed ten year old to the best of my abilities! More updates will be coming soon! I hope Ava doesn't sound like too much of a Mary-Sue by this point, but we'll see how the rest of it turns out. If you have something to point out, then by all means, point it out!

No flames though. Those are just rude and unhelpful. If you do have something to say, then please say it constructively.