DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Night at the Museum, or any of its contents, characters, actors, ideas...or anything at all related to it. I never have, and I never will. This is written for fun. I'm dirt poor, so sorry. This is for my entertainment and for those who read this.

I also don't own anything remotely recognizable in the story; music, devices, brand names or anything; if you recognize it, I don't own it. I make nothing off of anything. None of my works provide me a profit. Basically, I own absolutely nothing. Point blank.

I want to thank you all for your patience! This chapter took far too long, and I apologize, but reality was far more demanding than fantasy, so I had to attend to life itself. Sigh.

As always, review replies:

To keacdragon: Thank you! I tend to be a little too detailed at times, so I'm glad you're enjoying it! Thanks for your review!

To XxXLuvTheOriginalsXxX: Of course! I'm a sucker for happy endings, though they tend to come with a price...but anyway, thank you!

To Dominosowner: You were! Me and my desire for happy endings... -Sigh.- I'm utterly predictable. Anyway! I have a penchant for drama, but at least it wasn't awful! But thank you! And the tear-jerker will be later on...maybe next chapter. Not sure yet. I'm letting this story do its thing, and Emma and Ahk tend to just go on for me, anyway. -Nodnod.- And...well, after all, would we know happiness without sorrow? I think it'll be worth it, anyway. And...thank you! I couldn't really just...throw him out there. I see a lot of people imagining him as very child-like in his curiosity, and I realize that he would have to learn much, but I couldn't leave that as sort of a gaping hole, considering the circumstances. That, and the tablet clearly transfers memories...so I thought I'd cheat a tad with that little tidbit, though if I hadn't, I imagine poor Ahk would've just struggled insanely with adapting. So thanks!

Now, despite how long it's taken me and the interruption of life, this chapter turned out to be a decent length, and in truth, I couldn't seem to close it properly...it feels like I missed something, but I think it might be the fact that it's like two in the morning here. Possibly. So, anyway, if the ending seems a bit off, I apologize, but Emma and Ahk were...well, they kept going on me.

WARNING: This chapter is mostly made up of Emma giving her memories to Ahk—all of her life. This includes her rape. Now, I did not write it in detail; in fact, I left it as vague as I could, while giving it its due attention for its place in the story, but anyone who might be bothered or find it too difficult to read, please skip over it. I won't be offended in the least, and I don't want to discomfort my readers. You will know when it's about to begin, and simply just skip down until you feel it's safe to read. This chapter also has many dark themes and mentions depression often, and it's not the most pleasant of chapters. Again, I offer this warning because I know well how a certain thing can make us remember foul memories of our own, and know that, if you should spot such in this story, please feel free to skip it.

Now, without further delay from life, I offer you the new chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen

Emma awoke to the feeling of her son pressed deeply in to her back, his tiny fingers knotted in her shirt, and felt her lips quirk up at the sensation. It was one she hadn't felt in a long time; the little boy, often, preferred his own bed. He'd learned to sleep on his own in good time, and the child rarely went to his mother, unless he had a terrible nightmare. She'd worked hard to raise him well; he wasn't afraid of the dark, and had a little lamp at his bedside he could merely tap to turn on, if he awoke in the middle of the night.

But when he wanted to sleep with her, and didn't want to wake her, he always managed to clamber behind her and snuggle in to her back, and clutched at whatever she was wearing that night.

She knew he must have been worried about her, and she carefully reached backward, her hand finding his side, and she rubbed it gently, "Hey little man," she murmured, shaking him softly. "Will you let me turn over?"He stretched, and his bony knee knocked in to her, making her groan, "Buddy, you're getting awfully bony! I think you're stretching out on me," she teased, and she heard him giggle in his half-sleep, but his warmth slid farther away, and she made it on to her back. After that, she propped her knees up, and lifted her little boy so that he sat on her belly, leaning against her legs, grinning at him. "You're going to be so tall. One day you're gonna have to get all the stuff off the top shelves for your mother," she teased.

The child was still sleepy, but he grinned at her, "But then you won't be able to hide the cookies from me," he said.

"Hmm...well, when you're that tall, I hope you'll listen to me when I tell you something." She reached out, ruffling his hair, and laughed, "But you do that pretty well now, so I think I'll be okay to put the cookie jar out on the counter," she joked.

The sleepiness seemed to be pulling at him still, for he gave a yawn, "Can I have a cookie now?"

She laughed, but she shook her head, "That depends on what time it is, buddy, and I think we should have some real food first," she added.

He pouted at her, but it was mild. "Can we have waffles, Mama?"

"Hmm...we'll see, sweetheart," she murmured. "We'll see if we can find a place to get some, but if we do, you have to promise to eat eggs, too. You have to eat something decent," she said.

He thought that over, "Okay, Mama," he managed, yawning again, and Emma laughed, turning her head. The clock on the little night stand said it was after noon, and she groaned, sinking her head in to the pillow, "I'm going to turn in to an owl, at this rate," she mumbled.

"What do you mean, Mama?"

She laughed softly, "Staying up so late, buddy! Owls are more active at night," she said, smiling. "They hunt at night," she added, when he looked at her curiously.

"But Daddy's going to live with us!" His sleepiness seemed to disappear with the idea, his eyes going wide and excited, "He'll be awake with us!"

She thought that over, but she smiled, "You know, that's true," she admitted. "What do you think about that, buddy? Are you going to be good for Daddy, too?"

His nod was instant and fast, and he nearly trembled with his excitement, "I'll be the best ever! I'll help him all the time, Mama! And I'll be good and teach him everything I know!"

She laughed softly, but she finally sat up, allowing Evan to fall in to her lap, and she grinned at him, "When Daddy comes home with us, he'll have a lot to learn. It's going to be hard for him," she explained, her voice gentle. "So if he asks you to do something, or tells you something, you need to listen, okay? And I know you're a good boy, and you'll be wonderful with him, but I want you to do your best to help Daddy, okay?"

Evan nodded slowly, but he seemed to understand what his mother was trying to tell him. "What will it be like? Will he get to live with us, Mama?"

She smiled at him, "Definitely," she declared, nodding. "Daddy will live with us, and he'll be with us all the time," she added. "It's going to take time, though, to figure out what we'll do. Daddy may want to get a job, and might want to explore the world, once he adjusts, so we'll have to take this one step at a time, okay?"

He gave another nod, a slow, distinct one, and he grinned, "Can we travel, Mama? I wanna go to a theme park, and ride rides! And we should take him to the zoo!"

She laughed, and she nodded, tugging her son in to a tight hug, "We're going to do a lot of stuff, buddy," she said, grinning. "I promise. I bet Daddy would like to do all of that," she offered.

"Can Grandmama come, too?" Evan was already excited by the idea, nearly bouncing in place, "She told me she likes that roller coaster and she wants to do it again!"

Emma grinned, "Oh, we're going to take Grandmama, too, buddy. We're going to put her on even better roller coasters!"

As Evan laughed, the hotel door beeped and groaned mechanically, and they smelled, instantly, a familiar aroma. It was sweet, and savory, and Evan nearly leaped across the room in a bound, "WAFFLES!"

Emma burst in to a rich, warm laughter, and she peered around the corner to see her mother holding boxes over her head as Evan nearly tackled her. "How on earth do you know what I have?" Her mother's words were filled with laughter, and she reached down to pat the little boy's head carefully, grinning.

"I wanted waffles when I woke up!" He was nearly bouncing still, but his focus had changed; he wanted the sweet breakfast right then.

"Well, you're lucky," she said, making her way toward the little table in the room. "Grandmama had to walk a long way for breakfast and they had just enough for you two," she said, placing the boxes on the table. "But I know what you like, so go wash your hands and come back in here," she said, grinning.

Evan did as his grandmother asked with all haste, and Emma laughed, shaking her head, and she ran a hand through her hair carefully. "You're amazing," she said, grinning. "What possessed you to get waffles for us?"

The woman grinned at her daughter, "Actually, I went for a walk," she admitted. "London is beautiful! I passed a shop, though, and I just thought you two could use a not-so-healthy-but-extra-tasty breakfast, after the night you had," she explained. "You still eat strawberries and blackberries on yours, right?"

Emma stared at the older woman, wide-eyed, "You didn't!"

"With a little strawberry syrup, and bacon, sausage, and eggs," she said, grinning. "Your husband gave me the short version of what happened. You both deserve a little spoiling today," she declared with a single, firm nod. "Evan got the same, but I asked them to make it a little smaller...you know he likes to eat like his mother," she said. "Oh, and no blackberries. He doesn't like the seeds."

Emma grinned, but she shook her head, "You're a miracle-worker, Mom." She finally pushed the blankets from herself, throwing her legs over the side of the bed, and realized, suddenly, that she was still in the dress from the night before, though it was decidedly wrinkled. She gave a sigh, "You know...I think I'll change and wash up before I eat," she murmured, rubbing her temples. "I fell asleep on Ahk, didn't I?"

"We didn't even get through Asia before you were out," she said, carefully popping open the box with Evan's food. "Ahk stayed for a little while. He climbed on the bed after you and just held you for a while," she murmured. "He was worried sick when he got me at the museum," she added, listening for the water to stop running. "I think he would've stayed, if he could've."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Emma nodded, "He would have...if he wasn't a rotten corpse during the day," she admitted.

Her mother chuckled, "Well, it won't be long before he can," she said, and there was something in her tone that made Emma look up. "I know he's not like that..." The elder woman trailed off, and Emma saw her jaw clench and her eyes darken. "I know. But I know, even with your feelings for him, it might take time before you fully trust him physically," she said, her voice soft. "And that's okay, and it's normal," she added, her words gentle. "But when you're ready for that and you need time with your husband, all you have to do is let me know," she offered. "You know I'll take Evan whenever you need."

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and Emma averted her eyes, but she bit her lip. "I...I appreciate that," she managed, embarrassed, but grateful.

"I was young and in love once too, honey," she said, grinning. "It's okay."

Emma gave a little nod, but her mind was wandering. "...Mom?"

The tone of her voice made her mother stop instantly; she'd put out the food neatly for her daughter and grandson and had gotten both a drink, and had begun to put the little plastic forks and napkins down. But that tone in her daughter's voice made her walk to the younger woman, and sit on the bed beside her.

Though she said nothing, Emma knew that her mother was there for her; she didn't have to speak, and she would listen if she needed. Her mother was comforting, and the elder woman had been her rock when she'd been raped. Her mother had kept her from spiraling in to suicidal tendencies, and had, with all the effort she had, pulled Emma from the pit of resentment she'd found. Ahkmenrah had saved her, too, but her mother had always been there for her.

"I...I know...I know I said I would gladly give all my memories to Ahk, to help him...adjust, but...but...what will he...what will he think, when he sees...?"

Her mother instantly wrapped her arm tightly around her little shoulders, "Oh, baby, Ahk will love you even more," she said, her voice soft. "A lesser man might judge you for what happened to you, but I think seeing what happened to you will make him cherish you even more," she said, meaning it. "You are so strong, baby, and Ahk admires that in you. What happened to you hasn't made you any less valuable to anyone, least of all to him," she assured.

"But he'll see what I felt," she breathed, shaking. "He'll see how much I hated myself, and how scared I was, and...and how you had to force me to live, just so I wouldn't..."

She felt her head lift when her mother grabbed her cheeks, making her look at the older woman, "Ahk loves you, baby, and that isn't going to change when he sees what that monster did to you," she said, keeping her voice firm, making her daughter meet her eyes. "None of what happened to you was your fault, baby, and Ahk knows that," she assured. "He'll better understand you, and if he thinks any less of you for what was done to you, he's not the man you should love."

Emma hesitated, but let that thought roll over her. She knew, in her heart, that her mother was right. She knew that, most of all, Ahkmenrah would love her even after he saw her memories. She knew, deep down, that it wouldn't change his feelings for her; it might increase them, in the end, but it was still hard to think that, when she had hated herself so much...that someone could love her after it. And she knew that her mother was right at the last, too; the man she loved should not think less of her for her being raped.

But the scars that had surfaced on her soul still called back to that feeling, the way she had thought that she was dirty and sullied and that she couldn't be loved...that she shouldn't be loved, when she couldn't love herself.

She would always have that doubt, she knew. It was not something that could be mended, when it was branded in to her very brain, when, for a time, the only thing keeping her alive was her mother's begging her to be strong and not leave her like her father had done so many years ago.

She made herself take a deep breath, and she nodded, at last, before she gave a sigh. "Thanks, Mom," she murmured.

"Of course, baby," she said, rubbing her daughter's back. "Now, you need breakfast, and we'll go see the city with Evan until night falls," she offered, turning the subject to something more pleasant; the vacation she was allowed.

Emma managed to pull herself together to have breakfast, and then a shower, and she dressed casually, this time; if the tablet caused as much pain this time, she was afraid she would vomit again. She determined not to eat too late, too, and though they explored the city for a little while, as night fell, they made their way back toward the museum, and Emma had to tell herself, several times, that Ahkmenrah would still love her.

Doubt was a powerful thing.

She did not doubt Ahkmenrah, in the end, she knew. She doubted herself, far more than she doubted him, but the thought that her husband would still love and care for her when he saw her worst memories was an idea that helped keep her mind stable. It kept her from panic, to make that her mantra, just for that night, and she clung to it as they went inside, Tilly giving a brief nod as they passed.

Her husband's sarcophagus was cleaner than she remembered, and the box he'd come in was, now, relabeled; it seemed they were going to ship him out soon, and she thought it appropriate. Had they already done what they needed? Or were they still working? She supposed she'd find out later, but for now, she saw that the tablet was beginning to glow, and she heard that raspy, rattling breath that Ahkmenrah always gave at his awakening. The sound of it jarred her bones and made her chest hurt, and she immediately went to help him out, helping him shed his wrappings, and when she heard his shaky breathing, she pulled him in to her arms.

She knew how that felt.

His chin fell on to the top of her head, and he wrapped her in his arms tightly, his grip just a little too tight, but he began to calm down shortly. "I am never going to miss that box," he mumbled.

She smiled, and she pressed it in to his skin, "It won't be long, love. Besides," she said, softly, keeping close to him, "you still have my ribbon around your arm. I'm with you all the time," she murmured. He hadn't yet loosened his grip enough for her to pull away, but it wasn't quite as tight as he began to realize he was safe; her warmth and softness in his arms reminded him that he was...well, he wasn't alone anymore.

He gave a soft sigh, but he nuzzled in to her gently, pressing his lips to her temple. "I suppose we should go to my father," he said, slowly, but he pulled back to look at her, now. "You know that you don't have to give me your memories, Emma, don't you?"

She smiled, but she was nervous, and she knew he sensed it. "I want to, love," she said, and she meant it. "It...I just...I just..." She took a deep, shuddering breath, and he squeezed her carefully. "There are certain things I wish you didn't have to see of me," she admitted.

His face darkened, and he gripped her tighter, "My love, nothing will change, even if I see that," he said, his declaration stout. "Though, if I should ever see the man who did it, I do not know that he will live through the meeting," he hissed.

She shook her head, "No, love...let him rot," she said, reassured by his fierceness. "After all, what happened let me meet you, and that gave us Evan...so for all the evil he did...good came of it," she murmured. "Besides, I don't want my husband in jail," she added.

He seemed to take his time in considering this, but he gave a sigh, at last, "I suppose I will merely have to wait for the judgment to be placed on his soul at death. I think the Gods will quite dislike him," he grumbled, but there was some glee in the idea that the man would not be allowed anywhere near himself, his lover, or his son in death.

She laughed softly, but she drew him to her, and she kissed him softly, lingering on his lips. "I love you, Ahk," she said, breathing it. "Don't hate him for me. My only care is that he doesn't get out and do this to anyone else. He doesn't matter anymore." His deeds still affected her, true, but she had made herself let go of him. She made herself be free of it, as much as she could, and she didn't want to cling to the event, she didn't want to let her hate fester, and she had enough scars to carry without the burden of hatred.

He studied her for a time, but he found himself smiling, and he kissed her back. "You are wise, little queen," he breathed. "I will do my best." He paused, suddenly, and he grinned at her, "And I love you, too."

Somehow, hearing those little words soothed her nerves, and she smiled at him, drawing him in to her arms, clutching him, but she knew they must see his father soon. At last, she tugged gently at his neck, leaving a soft little kiss on his cheek, "We have things to do, love. Shall we?"

When he nodded, she pulled away from him carefully, and little Evan almost instantly took her place; he leaped at his father, giving him an immense hug, and once the pharaoh had time to pull on his robe, beads, and crown, they departed; her mother promised she would be somewhere in the museum, but she was going to explore again.

Shepseheret was, once more, the one waiting for them, and she first hugged Emma, asking if she was alright, and then she took Evan from Ahkmenrah. Merenkahre took the tablet—which Emma had carried—and immediately began to twist the tiles, angling them carefully, and Shepseheret watched him as she spoke to her son and daughter-in-law, "Your father says that this may cause both of you great pain," she said slowly, distinctly. "And we have no idea how long it might take. It would be best if we began now," she added, knowing her husband was concentrating on the task at hand. "The tablet has carried memories in to the figures in museums, and in to us, and it causes us no pain, because they are our own...but this may not be the case for you," she said, addressing Emma directly. "Are you certain you are ready for this?"

"I survived last night," she said, nodding. "I think...I think I'll be fine. Besides, I don't...I can't just...leave him in the dark. The world is so complicated now, and it's not...it's not easy, even for someone born in this era. I can't do that to him, when he's giving up so much," she said, growing more determined with each word.

Shepseheret nodded, and she squeezed her son's hand tightly; she didn't have to ask if he was ready, for she saw it on his face, and she knew how deeply he loved the woman at his side. Their first night, he had talked endlessly about his wife, and about his son, telling both his parents as much as he could, and he had been nearly trembling with excitement and love for the two. She had known, then, that whatever would happen, he would follow them. "Very well," she said, and she gestured toward the floor. "I suggest the floor, so that, if you happen to fall...well, we wouldn't want either of you injured," she offered.

Evan, even in his grandmother's arms, looked worried, and he watched his parents take a seat, facing each other, knees touching. He saw them kiss, a soft, lingering one, before, at last, Merenkahre approached; he had only one hand on the tablet, holding it by the top, and the tiles were turned in a complicated, yet distinct order. He lowered it slowly between them, "Emma, you must take it first. Grasp it here, and here," he said, gesturing with his free hand, and she slid one hand in to the opening of the middle tile on the side nearest her, and she instantly felt the electricity crackling from her hand, singing her nerves up her wrist and twisting up through her neck and in to her head—she felt a migraine coming on again, and slammed her eyes shut, barely managing to grip the other hand on to the tablet.

Ahkmenrah wanted to help, wanted to stop her pain, but he knew she was set in her choice, so, at last, he mimicked her grip, and he felt it, too; the burning, sizzling sensation that felt like boiling water was seeping through his brain, and he instantly admired his wife all the more; she hadn't made more than a small groan at the sensation, but he swore in his native language and hissed between his teeth, slamming his eyes shut.

When the spots behind his eyes began to diminish, he heard soft singing in his head. It was...familiar.

Hum dum dandee...

It was the song she'd given him when the tablet was nearing death, but it was not her voice. He could feel something soft beneath his left shoulder, and he felt warm.

The sensations began to become clearer, and he realized he was seeing Emma's memory through her own eyes. He was a little girl, curled in a ball, tears on her face, afraid, and her mother had her arm around her. She was in bed with her mother, and the older woman was exhausted and barely able to hum the soft lullaby, but he felt calm and sleep creeping up.

She'd had a nightmare.

He saw her back yard, wide and green, and she was chasing butterflies, laughing. A cat meandered past, and she followed it, petting it when it finally stopped. The sky was clear and the air was perfect and the memory was of nothing in particular; it was just happy.

He saw her reflection in the mirror in passing, and watched her grow; he saw her mother work hard and care for her, and watched her father leave every day for work. He saw the man the way Emma did. She loved her father dearly, and he clearly loved her, but he saw the way she had begun to judge her memories. She saw him acting poorly toward people of other races, and watched him sneer at couples of the same sex. As a child, it had just been her father, but as an adult, she judged him; she thought it rude and foul and, though she loved her father, she knew his behavior wasn't right. But her memory, living in it with her, showed a man who loved his family and cared for his daughter in the best way he could.

He saw his lover attend school, and he saw her bullied. She was intelligent, and other children made fun of her. He watched her try to make friends, only to feel excluded, and when her body began to change, he saw the way people made fun of her.

But she moved on, and made the so-called friends that had dragged her to New York when he'd first met her. Emma didn't see it, but he did; they were poor friends, lying to her, choosing each other over her, no matter what she did to gain their attention. She gave them gifts and they took them, but never gave her the affection she needed; every child needed a friend, and they were poor excuses for what she needed.

He watched her life pass quickly; he saw her childhood in minutes, and watched her father grow sick. He saw her grandmother take her in while her mother went to the hospital with her father.

He saw her father in a hospital bed, wired up and forced to breathe with a machine.

She was old enough to understand what it was, now, and through her eyes, Ahkmenrah knew, too. Through her eyes, he'd learned history, and science, and learn the patterns of the world.

And he knew this was the moment she lost her father.

Time slowed. He felt her, little and lithe and scared; she felt like a child again, though she was a teenager now. She had to make herself walk in to the room.

Her father couldn't talk. She couldn't even see him smile at her through the mask, but she felt his big, rough hand take hers, and squeeze, and though she now saw that he wasn't always the best person...he was her father.

Ahkmenrah felt like he'd had his heart torn out when the grip fell slack, and the most awful noise rang in his head. He wanted to scream...or was it Emma? The piercing beep felt like a sword going through his brain and time stopped.

She didn't function, for a long time. She and her mother lived sparsely and she barely attended school. Her friends brought her gifts, showing, just once, true worry...but only time would mend the gaping hole left in her chest.

Time passed. She began to heal, and she became stronger. When she was old enough, she took a job, and spent late nights on homework, barely sleeping.

She graduated.

He could feel the knowledge seeping in to him, slowly, as she earned it, yet it was fast—the tablet was giving him everything that she held in her brain, but he could feel gaps of time where she had nothing truly remarkable to remember.

He saw her reluctantly agree to go out one night with her friends, and something in him prickled...or was it her own distaste for the memory?

Her friends were drinking—they were old enough, but Emma had a few months to go, so she was the designated driver—and she was curled in the corner of a booth, listening to music, her nose buried in a book, wishing desperately to go home. She couldn't shut out all the noise, and one of her friends and her boyfriend were nearly suffocating her in the corner, despite how small she tried to make herself.

When his hands wandered from his girlfriend on to Emma, she ducked under the table and stepped outside, her heart hammering in her chest, wanting to leave.

But she was too nice, and wouldn't leave her friends without a ride home.

A man approached, and Ahkmenrah knew, instantly, who it was. She'd described him only once, yet it came back to him in an instant. He was around her age, and had short, dirty blonde hair, and light hazel eyes. He was only barely taller than Emma, and so pale he looked unhealthy. He was a scrawny man, though not entirely unattractive—Emma hadn't fled at the sight of him.

Indeed, he had a charming smile and had managed to perfect a look of gentility when he approached her, asking if she was okay, coaxing her in to talking, making her feel wanted.

She'd never felt wanted.

Only used. People only talked to her when they needed her. When they wanted something out of her, and then she was as appealing as orange juice after toothpaste.

He charmed her, and played nice, and he saw through her eyes; Ahkmenrah saw that he was sweet and kind and wanted her, but the part of him that was not experiencing the events, the part of him that was left to process things, wanted to kill him.

Viciously.

He saw the look in the monster's eyes, the way he eyed her like prey, the way he pushed her boundaries. He saw her push him away when his lips would go too far down her neck, or pull his hands away, telling him he was going too far, but he always pushed, and pushed, and he saw her always protest...but he saw her self-doubt, the want to be loved. He saw her wish, longingly, for someone who cared for her; her friends hardly spoke to her and she needed someone other than her mother.

His own skin crawled when he felt the bastard's hand on her back, fingers pushing beneath the band of her jeans, and he wanted to vomit when he kissed her.

But Emma didn't know better, then, and though she now regretted her time with him, she had enjoyed it...until he pushed too far.

She began to doubt him, too, but it was too late.

He had conditioned her in to loving him, and it made Ahkmenrah sick, the way he manipulated her. He made her feel like he needed her, too, and Emma had always been vulnerable to helping people. She had always cared too much, and he'd taken her for everything she had.

He watched the bastard tie her around his finger and bind her in a too-small cage and torment her emotionally and mentally. He watched her begin to doubt and fear and it made him sick.

If he had a stomach, he might have retched a hundred times.

Then he saw the night come, and the terrible memory slowed, as it had when she lost her father. Her happy memories seemed fast and fleeting, yet the foul ones lingered like a stain on her soul, and this one was worse than her father.

He felt the bastard's hand on her, he felt the sloppy kiss on her mouth, he felt his fingers bruising on her skin and his teeth on her throat, and he felt her physically push him away from her, felt her rise and walk away, and watched him storm out.

And later, he watched him come back. He could taste the wine in her mouth and he could feel the drugs taking over; he could feel her senses dull and she hadn't known until it was too late. She thought it was just the drowsiness from the wine, but when she tried to push him away again, she'd been barely in control.

His mouth felt slimy and his hands were bruising. He felt her crying, slurring, begging him to stop, tears rolling down her face, unable to breathe through the crying. He felt tape on her mouth, and she nearly suffocated as she fought, helplessly, to try and push him away.

But her arms were jelly and she was weak, and the scrawny monster took her until the torment took her under; she couldn't bear it, couldn't watch, couldn't stand it any more, and only unconsciousness spared her pain. She was bleeding and bruised and his nails had cut her, his teeth left marks all over her skin, and she couldn't walk; she was in too much pain and she didn't want to live.

But her mother found her. Her mother found her, weak, bleeding, crying, purple and black and blue, and called for an ambulance.

She was sick for days and wouldn't eat; the doctors that took care of her had to keep a nurse by her to make sure she didn't try to remove the things giving her the necessary nutrition to live. They gave her medicine that would, hopefully, keep her from getting pregnant, and kept her until she calmed down, feeding her medication so that she wouldn't try to hurt herself, for the first few days.

But she didn't want to live.

He heard her mother's muffled voice, begging her to stay; she'd lost her husband, and she couldn't bear to lose her daughter, and it was the only thing that kept Emma going.

Just to keep her mother from having to endure that pain.

She wished she could hate him. She wished she could blame it all on him, but she felt weak, and stupid, and couldn't fathom why he'd done what he'd done. Was it her? Had she been too slow? Had she been too much of a prude?

The thoughts enraged Ahkmenrah, and he would admit his mild jealousy as he'd seen her falling for him, but more than jealousy or rage, he wanted to erase him. He wanted to erase that monster, because he had tormented his lover. He wanted her to never have to remember the evils he'd done, and he wanted to help her forget the feeling of his awful touch, the way he treated her.

He admired her all the more for her comfort and trust in him; in her place, he was not sure he would ever have let another man touch him. Not for a long time, and it would take more than a few nights to allow one to kiss him. But she trusted him; she had even allowed him to trap her with his weight on a wall and kiss her breathless.

But all the same, he wanted to gather her to him and bind her in his warmth and safety; he wanted to protect her from the foul memories, and he knew she still felt them. He had seen her react with her headache. He saw her panic.

He wanted to show her how perfect she was, how loved she was, and he intended to do just that, every day he had with her. He would help her, he would show her that there was nothing wrong with her; only with the bastard that had raped her. He was demented. He was deformed, and evil, and cruel, and there was nothing wrong with her. Only with him.

The police came in; they'd already been, to ask her questions, but her memories of that were bland and fuzzy; it was a quiet buzzing of questions and her blank, empty responses that were so blunt he felt his chest ache. But now, they said they had enough evidence, just from her, to put him away for a very, very long time, if she would work with them.

That woke her. That made her want to fight, because her heart couldn't stand the thought of someone else feeling so empty and hateful toward themselves.

She dragged herself out of the pit she'd dug, running away from reality, and though she carried self-hatred and depression like her own, dead body on her back, she began to heal.

Her friends talked her in to the "vacation" she'd met Ahkmenrah on, and he watched them drag her to a club where she hid in a corner and began to panic.

He watched her leave, and her memory slowed again.

He saw the museum. He saw the dinosaur and felt his mind blank; the panic and fear slipped lower and she tried to comprehend what she saw, and then, he heard Larry.

He heard her talking to him, and felt himself, smaller, walking at the night guard's side.

Then, he saw himself.

To her, he was tall and handsome and confident, and he felt the instant magnetism awaken in her, as he had felt himself. She didn't recognize it, with her mind racing through a thousand thoughts and worries, but he knew, then, that she'd felt the attraction, too.

He heard his voice through her ears, low and soft and rhythmic, a soothing little drum beat that drew her thoughts from her panic. She remembered everything about that night; she even remembered the feeling of his warmth when he held her, and the way the muscles of his arms flexed as he'd lifted her on to the bench.

He heard her thoughts through the night, a random, yet forceful thought that she couldn't have a crush on a mummy! as she tried to remind herself, and it made him smile, at last, because it was a pleasant memory, to think that she had already begun to favor him.

But day drew close, and he watched her leave with Larry, and change hotels; he saw her sleep, the best sleep she'd had since her rape, and then he heard the phone call.

He felt her emptiness open like a gaping wound, and he felt the same panic rise, the urge to run, the despair and hate and fear, and he felt her heart beat too hard and fast and heard her panting when she ran. He felt her muscles burn and her skin freeze, and then...the museum. She was there again, and she saw him; he saw her eyes focus on his mouth when he bit his lip, grinning at her, and he felt her heart jump for a different reason.

He saw her crying on the roof and felt the despair rising higher. He felt the discordant screeching of her thoughts, hissing that she didn't want to live, that she would rather be dead, yet her mother's voice came to beg her to stay.

Her mind was chaos and fear and he felt that it might tear him asunder, until he felt warm hands on his skin, pulling, and then arms around him, and warmth on his shoulders, and he realized that the cacophony of her thoughts fell short.

It was him. It was him, through her eyes, and at once, he felt better; her thoughts began to cease and she focused on him, she cried, and emptied herself until she had no tears left, and he'd let her.

He was glad, now, that he hadn't made her go inside. He was glad he'd let her get it out then.

He saw himself comfort her, hold her, and then, he felt the tablet react to her; he felt the jolts she'd endured, and the pain when she awoke.

The memories were faster now, and he felt her body swelling with Evan's growth. He felt her fear diminish and love grow in its place.

His birth caused pain...but then, she had him in her arms, and nothing else mattered.

He saw his own eyes in the child's face, even as tiny as the little boy was, and peace fell on her.

"Hello," she whispered, cradling him against her, exhausted. "Hello, baby," she murmured again, wondering at his wide eyes, taking her in, his little fist gripping the hospital gown she wore. "You're my little miracle, buddy," she whispered, and the child watched her intently.

He saw her coo and speak to their son as long as the nurse allowed, and she named the little boy as soon as she had her phone; she needed to find just the right name.

Evan, for he was a miracle from God, and though she didn't yet understand...in her heart, she knew it was true.

The little figure returned home with her shortly, and she attended him closely.

She hummed to him, rocking him in her arms, and read to him often, though he didn't yet understand. She played soft music for him, and when he awoke in the middle of the night, she woke with him.

Ahkmenrah watched his son grow through her eyes, and saw her singing the lullaby to him every night, until he was old enough to sleep on his own, and when he had a nightmare and came to her, she always soothed him with it.

He watched her play with him every day, read to him, teach him, and she gave the child all the love in her heart, for she feared she might burst if she didn't.

The men she'd dated, briefly, all passed with barely a note on her memory.

He watched her grow stronger, and change, and he nearly burst when he saw her confidence and strength. She was incredible.

Then, as their son grew, her mind often brought forth Ahkmenrah's image; Evan was looking more like the pharaoh each day, and when she could no longer deny the resemblance, she finally gave in, planning her vacation in New York with her son.

He saw Larry's shocked face, and time slowed again, until he was lifting her off the floor, and she was laughing, and her heart leaped in recognition when she found him again. It was like electricity, jump-starting her heart, and when he kissed her, he felt it.

He felt it arch between them and felt her fight the incredible urge to kiss him back, but she hadn't been able to resist. He felt his own skin beneath her hands and felt her nerves jump at the touch of his hand in her hair.

He watched her fall in love with him in a week, and he felt her fear for the future. He felt her joy when they were married, and his heart ached at the nightmares she suffered in his absence.

He relived their conversations from her side, late nights when she was curled up in her bed, slurring her words at him, but her mind floating with happy, excited emotions for the chance to speak to him.

He saw their son grow, and begin questioning her about him, and he understood, suddenly, whey she had been so flustered when she'd called him on the night they planned his surprise.

He saw her, overjoyed, when their son reacted so well to finding out Ahkmenrah was his father, and he felt greedy, wanting more time, right then, with them. Though he could see Evan's youth through her memories, it was not the same.

He watched Evan running toward himself on that first night, calling him "Daddy," and he nearly burst again for the memory.

Her contentedness was perfect, and he was elated by how happy she was with him.

But her memories were slowing again, and he watched himself through her eyes in the planetarium; he saw her looking in the mirror, awed, and humbled, and he felt her wonder. He listened to himself talk through her view, and he realized that, as much as she loved music, a part of her brain took in his voice in a rhythm that soothed her.

Then, he was kissing her again, and this time, he felt the heat in full; he felt her ache and want, and he felt the tingle that flared in to her belly at the soft bite on her lip. He felt her soft little shudder when his lips were on her neck, and his rough, unfamiliar language made the ache and pressure between her thighs worse.

He felt her want him, he felt her ache for his touch and when her hands slipped over his back, he nearly dropped the tablet; she wanted him, she trusted him, and she would have given herself to him, if they'd had the chance, he was sure.

It was, perhaps, one of the most gratifying memories he'd seen, if only for knowing her trust in him. She had not once felt uncomfortable with him, not in all of her memories, and that was an incredible feeling, though he could feel his own ache for her, now; he wanted to prove his worth and trustworthiness, and he wanted to love her as she deserved.

He wanted to replace the memory of her monster with the memory of her lover; he wanted to show her what she deserved, and to give her the pleasure she had been so cruelly deprived of in the past. He would properly love her, one day, in the way she deserved, and he would take his time and assure that she was alright with everything he did; he would never want to discomfort her, would never want to remind her of her rape, and he would take all the time needed to show her that he truly loved her, and would never, ever hurt her.

But that memory faded in to the next; seeing him, faint, and the green stain on the tablet, and he saw her sleepless night, and her sickness, and her fear. He saw her nearly sick with worry and he watched her fight at his side; he saw the new museum through her eyes and he saw her rage and impatience toward Lancelot turn to hatred and he thought, indeed, that she might have murdered him, if she had not been supporting Ahkmenrah with her body.

He saw the world through her, he felt his brain trying to accommodate all the information she held, and even when the final memories—grasping the tablet—passed in to him, he felt his head spinning. It was a strange feeling, to experience her memories through her; he had felt her pain as his own, he had seen himself through her eyes, and had even felt the changes in her body as she carried Evan.

She had knowledge that he didn't; street signs and the scent of chlorine in a pool, the feeling of grass between her toes and the spray of the ocean washing up to her ankles. She had knowledge earned from living in this time, not merely from reading about the changes of history and the turning of the world, the advancements.

His ears rang with the hum of fluorescent lights above them, and he heard the ventilation softly rumbling.

He had even tasted with her; her breakfast that day was sweet in a way he'd never tasted, and he thought he might never have enough strawberries, when he could finally have them himself.

It was overwhelming, but as the information filtered in to him, finding its proper place, the spinning slowed until he didn't feel so dizzy; merely aching with a pain his new knowledge named a migraine.

When he felt the pain slow and his mind settle, he pulled, slowly, away from the tablet, and his fingers tingled and shook, until, at last, he made them move, and the tablet fell between them, on to their knees, and he saw Emma shaking violently, when he managed to open his eyes. He saw tears on her face and her arms recoiled, wrapping around her stomach, and she looked pale.

He reached for her, carefully, his fingers brushing softly against her cheek, "Emma? Shall I collect your mother?" He was worried, of course; his lover had endured much in the past few days and nights, and he wanted to care for her. The pain splintering through his skull mattered little.

She surprised him when she reached around him, beneath his cloak, and on to his back. Her lithe fingers traced along the outer edge of his spine, until she found the small, raised flesh of a scar, rigid beneath the pads of her fingers, and he inhaled sharply, unable to resist from reaching out and grasping her elbow, a little too tightly, but she'd shocked him, and that was...that was...sensitive, in too many ways. "Emma..."

Her pupils were blown wide—barely any of her iris could be seen at the edges, and she looked pale and horrified. "He made you...he...killed you, he poisoned you to torment you and then murdered you with...with this?"

Ahkmenrah froze in place. He stared at her, wide-eyed, and she felt his hand shake on her arm, his grip nearly bruising when it tightened. "How...?"

"The...the tablet. It didn't just...it didn't just..." She was stuttering and trying to sort her thoughts out. "A door can be...can...a door can be walked through both ways...can't it...?" She paused, thinking over her words. "When my memories began to leave...yours began to enter," she breathed.

He stared at her, shocked, and his grip fell slack, "You...you saw...?"

"...Your childhood, and your home, and your brother...I felt you dying when he poisoned you, and then...then I felt...I felt him...stab you." The words made her pale further, and she shook all over. "I felt the life leave you...and I saw you awaken in your own tomb." Her finger had begun to trace the small slit of a scar in his flesh, "And...and at the museum, you—"

"That is in the past," he declared, firmly. "All in the past. This is what matters...isn't it?"

She stopped, shivering again, but she reached up to him, with both hands, cupping his cheeks, "You are...so strong, and...brave, and Ahk, I..." She couldn't speak, and she just held him, until, at last, her body took over where her mind could not —she pulled him in for a kiss, not enough to push him to the edge of sanity with heat, but one that evoked an entirely different feeling. It was passion, but there was respect and admiration in it, a tingling feeling of respect and appreciation, and she clutched him, kissing him until they were both breathless. "I did not think I could love you more," she breathed, clinging to him. "You prove me wrong each day," she said, her voice soft.

Though his head was still hurting and he was still overwhelmed and puzzled by the tablet's reaction, he had reacted; he'd drawn her in with an arm, the other going behind her head, tangling in her hair, keeping her close, and even after she had freed him and spoken, he could not find the will to set her free. "I think you are far stronger than I," he said, his voice soft. "I did not have to live with my demon, little queen," he breathed. "And I was not coerced in to loving him," he added. "But I love you, too, Emma," he said, his voice lowering and softening, barely a breath against her lips. "So much that I fear it might tear me asunder."

She smiled at him, slowly, but she couldn't bring herself to let go of him. She had lived inside him, as he had her; she saw his brother's resentment from his birth, his jealousy, the way he grew to hate Ahkmenrah. She watched, at the declaration that Ahkmenrah would take the throne, Kahmunrah's rage...and she felt his poison. It was slow and deliberate and the elder man spent years slowly killing her love; watching him grow sick and ill slowly, and she felt the foul wretch's knife. He'd slipped in to Ahkmenrah's bedchamber and had given a monologue that was torture in itself, and then had rolled his little brother on to his side and shoved a knife in to his spine; the aorta there had gushed blood and Emma had felt, on top of the illness from the poison, the wicked feeling of blood loss, the dizziness and nausea. She'd felt him dying, slipping away from life, and she felt the life and vigor leave his body. She felt him die.

She'd seen his childhood, his lessons and his growth; she'd seen him spoiled and loved by his parents, and that his people loved him. She even felt things that she wished she hadn't; Ahkmenrah was youthful, indeed, but practices of the time were far more relaxed, and the pharaoh had been offered concubines...and obligated to indulge at least once, to prove his willingness. A ruler, after all, needed to continue his line.

She was jealous, though she hated to admit it, and she knew she had no reason; it was in the past...and he had found it boring, at best. He hadn't enjoyed his experience; the woman was too eager to have Ahkmenrah, and he had not been enthused.

Yet she had felt the way he kissed her; she felt the sparks in him and the ache in his belly. She felt him want her, she saw the images in his mind, the wants of his body; he wanted to taste her skin and make her voice—which he already loved—lower and raspy. He wanted to feel her bare flesh and he wanted to make her forget the torment she'd endured.

He wanted to love her.

She felt that ache and desire, could see the images in his mind when he couldn't control his wayward thoughts and it made her own want grow. He wanted Emma, and she wanted him, and she knew that, one day, she would gladly give all of herself to him.

But now wasn't the time. Now, she wanted to keep him close, and safe, wanted to hold him in her arms, and be assured that his brother could not near him ever again.

It was worse than her rape; it had been brief, and she had been drawn out of her own dark pit by her mother, and the want to keep anyone else from enduring the same. But Ahkmenrah had suffered for long years, without a reprieve, only to have his brother kill him with a single knife wound.

She longed to comfort and protect him.

She clutched him tighter in her want, and she pressed her lips to his ears, promising she would always protect him.

He smiled, nuzzling her temple softly, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her skin. "And I you," he vowed.

A soft sigh escaped her, and she snuggled in to him, closing her eyes, "I love you, Ahk."

Those little words brought him to grinning, unable to help it, and he let her settle in to him, wanting her close, too. "I love you, too, Emma."

She sighed, melting in to his arms at those words, but she was surprised when she felt smaller arms around her, and around her husband, and she couldn't contain a laugh, releasing Ahkmenrah with one arm, to wrap it around their son, "I love you, too, Mama!" When she grinned at him, leaning in to softly kiss his forehead, he turned to his father, "And you, too, Daddy."

Ahkmenrah immediately shifted, drawing Evan between the two of them, and he kissed the top of his son's head gently, "We love you, too, Evan," he said, meaning every word. "So very much."

"Definitely," Emma affirmed, and with her husband, she merely held her son, the three bound in a tight embrace.

End Chapter

The memories, I know, are a bit vague, but I felt that to detail any one of them other than those mentioned in the story would...well, you'd be reading for entirely too long. Yeah. Uhm, anyway, I also imagine the tablet probably passed the memories as they're held; in chunks. We remember random things, and our memories are never whole, so I think the tablet probably gave Ahkmenrah the memories as Emma remembered them.

I also must admit that I have no idea as to how Kahmunrah truly murdered his brother; the original script for the second movie mentions that yes, indeed, he was the culprit in Ahk's young death, but it doesn't detail. I imagine he's the sadistic sort who'd enjoy watching him suffer and then take his life himself...so that's the source of that, I admit. We already know he likes to monologue too much, too.

Thank you all again for your patience; I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this enough to keep coming back for it!

I must, however, ask your patience again. I fear the next chapter may be equally delayed, or perhaps even worse; work, for me, is about to get quite busy, and I fear that, if I wrote when exhausted, the chapter would be less than stellar, and I want to give you all the best that I can, so I apologize for any future delays.

Thank you guys for sticking with me, truly! You're fantastic.

And as always, reviews are truly, truly appreciated—they make my day and urge me to write faster. I love to know that you're enjoying it! Feel free to ask questions or make suggestions, too.

Until next time!