"Hope the stories are cool."

At the half-murmured words, Ben turned to their source in the passenger seat beside him, brow furrowed. "What was that?"

Riley, staring out the window of Patrick's weird-smelling car at the night around them, seemed surprised at the question. "Hm?" When he looked at Ben, however, it was clear he hadn't realized he'd said anything aloud until that moment. "Oh! Uh—" He shrugged it off with a nonchalant grin, turning away again. "Uh, nothing. Sorry."

Oh, you're not getting off that easy, Ben thought. "What'd you say? What stories?"

Riley rolled his eyes. "Ben—"

"No, no," he interrupted, before a snide remark could be made, "I heard 'stories' and 'cool'. Now, what cool stories were you talking about?"

Riley gave him perhaps half of a death glare, and for a moment, Ben thought he was going to ignore the question. But then he sulked back against his seat, and seemed to give in. "Well—" He scoffed, eyes on the ceiling. "Ours, I guess. I mean, we just stole the Declaration of Independence, Ben! The Declara—do you have any idea what this means?"

Ben frowned: maybe he was avoiding the question after all. "Yes, I think you've given me several ideas of the things this could possibly mean." Besides, I thought you'd be worried out at this time of night, he added mentally.

"Yeah, but I'm not talking about going to prison, and Ian shooting us, and Abigail doing a lot more than slapping and shouting if we screw it up. She'll probably… I dunno, impale us with those pointy heels or something." He picked up an old neck pillow (he'd knocked it off the seat when he first climbed up front), and put it in his lap. "You know, maybe that's why the spy chicks in the movies wear them all the time—if you can get used to running around and doing all those acrobatics in them, they can double as a lethal weapon."

"Well, what are you talking about, then?" Ben pressed before the conversation could get too far off base: Riley could easily and resourcefully use the smallest sidetrack to avoid a topic he didn't want to talk about. Kid was practically an escape artist.

"I'm talking about America. They're not gonna let us off with a simple little life sentence. They're gonna have us pegged even after we're dead."

Ben bit back a comment about him watching too many ghost hunter shows, opting for the simpler, "How do you mean?"

Riley turned to fix blue eyes firmly on Ben; eyes that, to his surprise, he now saw were grounded in a gravity greater than worry. "Ben… whether we win or not, we're gonna be locked up for basically the rest of time. Why?"

He leaned in closer, and spoke with such certainty, Ben had to suppress a shiver.

"Because we're going to be in all the American history books for basically the rest of time. Do you understand that, Mr. History Buff? Kids are gonna be learning our names in the future. Your name, my name, maybe even her name—and unless something crazy happens, like really crazy, then…" He sighed, and plopped back against the seat. "Then even if we keep the Declaration away from Ian, we're gonna be the ones they remember stealing it." He looked back up. "You know that, Ben?"

It took a moment for Ben to find the voice to reply. When he did, he let it out with a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, blinking a few times. "Huh, yeah." He sat back, stunned, as the full weight of it befell him. "Yeah..." he whispered again.

The fact was, he had thought of it. From the moment he determined to undertake the task, he'd been aware of it. But throughout their escapades and machinations, he had kept it as just that—a fact—an awareness at the back of his mind. He hadn't thought about it. Not until that moment, in an empty parking lot in the middle of the night. Not until Riley decided to be seriously, deeply right.

And… he wanted to tell him that. He wanted to tell Riley just how dead-center his aim had been. He wanted to confess to him the sudden fear it had struck in his heart. But somehow, he couldn't. What somehow it was, he didn't know. But it kept his voice from him.

He started to tell himself he just didn't want to worry him further, especially with the way things were now, but he knew that wasn't it. Riley was the one who started this particular concern anyway. It wasn't a matter of trust, either. This was his best friend—Riley knew things about him even his father didn't know, and Ben would have willingly put his life in his hands. There were times when he'd had to. And there were times that Riley's life had been in his hands, his alone, and they both knew it. And for all he knew, that could've been what stopped him from saying those words.

You're dead right. We'll never be forgotten. And it terrifies me.

Ben's highest hope, even beyond the actual finding of the treasure, had always been to become a part of history. Just like his ancestors. Just like the Founders. Just like the men who had been his heroes since he was a boy. And throughout his adventure, there had been many times when he had thought to himself, you're continuing that story. This is the same old tale Grandpa told you, but it's not over. It's going on, in this exact minute, and you're the one carrying it now.

The thought had given him purpose, over all those years. But now, he could not help but wonder what his part in that history would be. Would he be a hero, like those men of history, the knights (official or not) that he had always looked up to? Or would he be the one to bring it all down when he failed?

But, whatever the reason, he couldn't say all that to Riley. He couldn't say anything at the moment. So the moment was filled with silence instead, a weighty, waiting silence, on the precipice of what tomorrow might bring. The burden of history, both written and as yet unwritten, was for him in that moment almost physical.

"That wasn't the story I was talking about when you heard me, though."

The breaking of the silence almost startled him. Ben glanced up at Riley, confused and close to bewildered. For a moment, all he could manage was, "Then… what—what were you…?"

Riley also looked up, and seemed to notice something strange in his hushed tone. "Oh. Sorry." What was there to apologize for? "It's just, I accidentally had, like, a lot of thoughts, while you and Abigail were talking. That stuff was part of it, but it wasn't the main thing."

He fell silent a moment, but Ben gestured him on, almost insistently. If there was more, even if it was worse, he felt he had to hear it. What could Riley have possibly meant?

Riley hesitated, then looked down and began fidgeting with a loose string on the neck pillow in his lap. "You were telling her the story. About the treasure, and how you got all that history from your grandpa."

Ben's ears perked up: anybody talking about his grandfather got his full attention.

"And I got thinking about it, and I just…" He shrugged. "I wondered about, y'know, what if that's us someday? What if… what if we're the ones some cool old guy tells his grandkids about? I mean, I know he still might think it's bad, but at least grandpas and textbooks don't really tell stories the same way. I assume," he added, with a glance at Ben for confirmation.

To his own surprise, Ben felt a smile tugging at his lips. Something in that homier view of history—despite the continued possibility of failure—put him more at ease, as if he were still listening to old yarns at his grandfather's house, slowly losing the fear of the storms outside. The cloud of heaviness that had been on him began to dissipate. Even the night around them seemed less dark.

Ben breathed a chuckle. "No, you're right. They really don't."

"Yeah, so he'd be telling like a grandpa, not like some bored guy in Milwaukee having to crank out school material! Right? And then, like, he says," and at this, Riley briefly put on the persona of an old man, complete with motions and raspy grandpa voice, "'Come here, m'boy, let me tell you the story of the Templar Treasure,' and the kids go huddle up in front of him with those ginormous eyes little kids always have, because apparently the smaller you are the bigger your eyes look, and he tells 'em the whole thing, right up to where your grandpa told it, and then—and then he tells about us."

There was a noticeable pause, as if it even took a little of Riley's breath away. He smiled softly, almost in awe himself. "He tells about us."

A few seconds passed before he noticed the gap of words, which he immediately jumped over to continue his own tale. "And—and maybe there'll be this one kid who actually thinks about it and is like, 'man, this Ben guy was nuts! He just goes, oh let's steal the Declaration of Independence, and expects everybody to be totally fine with it? How could anybody deal with such a crazy guy?' And the grandpa would be like, 'Well, shucks, I always knew you were a smart kid.'"

At this, Ben laughed. Really laughed, clear and from the heart. How in the world could Riley complain and fret about their plans so heavily, and yet paint the future with such lightness that you could laugh at it? All the time he'd known this kid, and he still couldn't quite understand him. But he didn't mind. And, for the moment, there seemed nothing to fear. The weight was gone.

But Riley wasn't finished. "Oh, but you know he'd still get pulled into it, the same way your grandpa pulled you in—the same way you pulled me in—and end up thinking it's the coolest thing ever, of course. I mean, who wouldn't, if they tell it like a Gates tells it? You guys don't skimp on the history stuff, especially family history. That's what bought my ticket for this whole… train of thought... thing... in the first place, you and Abigail and all your history nerd talk the whole way here."

Ben reeled back, taking false offense. "Oh, nerd talk, is it?"

"One hundred percent, man, and don't you forget it. And it'll still be nerd stuff when you're the subject boring another average guy like me to sleep in the back of the car." Riley threw his hands in the air with an air of finality. "And, who knows? Maybe one of those cute little grandkids gets all inspired the same way you did, and wants to go find a treasure and fight bad guys and figure all kind of crazy puzzles, and, heck, probably decides to go be a knight and stuff, just like u—"

He bit his lip, checking himself. But Ben took note of his near-words. Riley quickly continued on a corrected course.

"You. Just like you," and he shoved his arm with a smirk, "Mister Sir Benjamin Franklin knighted-at-age-eleven Gates. You and all your Templars and Crusaders. 'Cause I mean, what kid wouldn't think a guy smart enough to steal the Declaration of Independence, and crazy enough or brave enough to try to save it from the bad guys, was totally awesome?"

Ben was unvoiced. All his mouth could manage was a speechless smile, as he looked at his young friend. He felt like he'd just heard a little brother tell him he was his hero. And… maybe, in a way, he had.

But it didn't take long for Riley to notice the smile. The moment he did, he covered his tracks with a roll of the eyes, hoping to pretend he hadn't said as much as he had. "Except for the kids who actually have the misfortune to know you, I mean." And on "know", he chucked the neck pillow at Ben's face, nailing him squarely.

"Wha—they have the misfortune?"

"Yeah, you know, studies show, the coolness-craziness ratio really gets skewed over time, especially where little kids are involved."

Snatching the pillow from where it had fallen, Ben grinned and replied, laughter in his voice. "Well, maybe they should ask you to tell the story, then. You seem to have it pretty well mapped out."

Riley gave him a look. "If I live to have grandkids, I might. And if that pun was actually intended."

Noticing suddenly how the thought had come out, Ben considered it. "It is now."

"Thought so."

As he studied the young snark, another thought lit up Ben's mind. One that simply could not be left under a bushel. But he did hide a growing grin behind his hand, as he prepared to speak again.

"But you know," he mused, acting thoughtful, "I'm a little surprised at you, Riley. I mean, you left out one of the key historical figures involved in the story of the Templar Treasure. And he's not one I thought you'd forget, either, let me tell you."

"Oh great, here comes the history lecture." Riley turned to him, eyes firmly planted on the ceiling just above Ben's head, looking like a teen braced for a parental scolding. "Fine. Who'd I miss?"

"The other knight."

At his confused look, Ben leaned back, gesturing with a bit of storytelling flair himself. "Riley Poole: computer genius and sole source of common sense, fellow treasure protector against the forces of evil and Ian Howe." Then, as Riley gaped, Ben launched into a series of smaller voices (although he barely tried to sound like a child, let alone the three to four he seemed to be acting out). "'Tell me more about him, Grandpa! Oh, he's such a funny guy, I like his jokes! How ever did he put up with that crazy Ben? That guy couldn't have got anywhere without Riley!'"

Riley stared at him for a few seconds. But then, to Ben's surprise, his mouth snapped shut, and the jaw behind it seemed, for a second at least, to clench. "Come on, Ben, not cool," Riley muttered, jerking his face the other way. "I was serious."

Ben felt a twinge of guilt at the almost angry reaction: Riley thought he was being mocked. But before he could feel so (mistakenly) betrayed he cut himself off from anything Ben had to say—a situation Ben really, really hated—he settled a hand on Riley's shoulder. This earned him a rather cross glance. But, seeing past the glare, he looked his young friend dead in the eyes, with a small, sincere smile.

"So was I."

The glance lengthened into a full-on stare. "Wait, you—"

Ben could see the exact moment that the words fully sank in. The irritation became stunned surprise, and that turned to a swelling, glowing pride. It wasn't a joke. Ben meant every word. A smile twitched at his lips. Then the swell burst, short and sudden, in a laugh like a firework. "Wow."

And it pleased Ben mightily to see it. The sight of those blue eyes lighting up with real joy, with no hint of sarcasm, was rare. And he was doubly happy, because he was also telling the truth. Truth in every single word. Including one word in particular. One that required a little testing. Ben paused, taking the moment in a bit longer, then lifted his eyebrows, almost humourously. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to drop the knight part…"

"No!"

Ben nearly laughed again at the eager speed of the answer. But Riley, upon realizing the same, nearly stumbled over himself to cover up with, "Um, no, no, that's fine. The knight part… the knight part works. D-don't worry about it."

"Who's worrying?" Ben grinned, hopes fulfilled. Ever since he'd told Riley about his boyhood knighthood (and truth be told, he'd never really dropped the title, at least in his own mind), he'd found it easier and easier to think of the two of them as fellow knights. But he never said that. He didn't want to push a title on someone else if they might think it a little childish. That was why he'd needed a test, which Riley had passed with eagerness.

And yet, pleased as he was by that eagerness, it suddenly hit him how easily it could be snuffed out. The nearer they got to the treasure, the greater the danger would grow. He was sure of that. They'd already been through some real perils, and they'd escaped without injury, but how long would it be before they wound up in front of Ian's gun again, with ever-dwindling negotiables? The old weight began to creep back over him.

"You are."

Ben looked back up, confused. "I'm what?"

"Worrying."

Is it that noticeable? "Oh. Am I?"

At that, something inside Riley seemed to crumble, something he tried very much to hide. "Oh."

Ben furrowed his brow, definitely worried now. What happened? Did I say something wrong?

He started to open his mouth to ask, but Riley seemed to steel himself, taking a breath and lifting his head. "Yeah, and you know, I totally get it," he said, quickly and in something of an apologetic tone, "it's a personal thing from your childhood, it feels weird letting somebody else take over it. I get it. The knight part is your thing. So if you don't want me tacking it on," he raised his hands in surrender, "it's fine, I won't say anything else about it."

"What?" This was it? After all the—he still felt out of place in Ben's life? He still felt like he was being just a burden, a tagalong?

"What?"

Ben sighed and shook his head. "You're not taking anything over. Knighthood is meant to be passed from one to another. And it's too important a promise to tack on to just anybody."

"Tell that to Jagger."

"Too important for me to just tack on, then."

Riley seemed reluctant to accept acceptance, no matter how many times he'd received it. "Really?"

"Trust me. You're good. That wasn't even close to what I was worrying about."

He let out a quiet breath of relief. "Okay." The pause wasn't long, however, before he glanced back up. "But you were worrying, though. That was definitely the Ben Gates worry face."

"I have a worry face?"

"Ehh, it's rare, but I know it when I see it. I mean, it's you. Worrying." Ben conceded the point with a shrug. "So why?"

"Why?" Ben hesitated, taking a breath, but his mind made itself up quickly. No more. Riley had opened up to him; it was high time, however his friend reacted, he did the same. He slowly let out his breath. "Because I think we're gonna need the knight part pretty soon. We're probably coming up on some… well, some pretty difficult chapters of that story, if you know what I mean. And, if I'm gonna be honest," and at this, his voice dropped, "I'm a little afraid to know the ending."

Riley stared at him for a silent moment. Ben wasn't quite sure what he was hoping for next. Hope I didn't say too much. But then Riley nodded, slowly at first. "Wow. Yeah, I mean, me too, man." His nodding sped up. "You know, maybe I will keep the knight part after all."

Ben smiled, relieved, though he wasn't sure why. "Sounds like a good idea."

"Yeah." Riley was quiet only a moment more before he scoffed. "You know, it's all fine when you're just hearing about the dangerous stuff the heroes go through. You don't really think about how threats to your life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness actually feel."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"But hey," he shrugged, "at least those future-kids are gonna have a heck of a story. I mean, for them, we're probably coming up on the best parts!" He laughed at his own words, but still grimaced slightly.

Ben smiled. Again, the complainer held the candle in the dark. And in that moment, Ben knew he was glad to have him on this… adventure, or whatever it could be called, no matter what happened. Riley really had been the common sense, the genius, the light (shaded in sarcasm though it was), throughout the whole thing. And Ben was sure he truly couldn't have gotten this far without him. But he knew they were about to head off into more trouble when they got to Philadelphia tomorrow, very possibly of the life-threatening type. He had to make sure Riley was okay with facing it down.

"Sure you still wanna be a part of it?" he asked, nodding toward him. "It's a big responsibility."

Riley tapped the red, metal, tube-like container hanging on Ben's seat. "I know."

Ben nodded. "You're right. There is a very big responsibility to keep the Declaration safe. We have enough danger just from that. But the duty of the Templars, the Freemasons, and the family Gates, now, that's all on me. Not you or Abigail or anybody else. I know I pretty much dragged you into this from the beginning, and if you'd rather stay out of the line of fire, I… wouldn't mind letting you—"

"Oh no you don't, Mr. Gates," Riley interrupted, grinning widely and pointing threateningly, "you made me a treasure protector, same as all your Templars, Freemasons, and family Gates! And I promise you, I'm not about to let you write me out now!"

That's a good enough promise for me. Then, attitude restored, Ben responded in a tone of dry humour. "Well, then, in that case, I dub thee Sir Riley." And he smacked him on the shoulder with the neck pillow.

Sir Riley seemed to take offense to the smacking as a personal challenge, and snatched the pillow away. Ben could see a glint of war fire in his eye. However, before battle could be engaged, his eye caught a sight that was becoming pleasantly familiar, to him at least. He laughingly held up a hand.

"Okay, hold up, hold up, Abigail's coming back."

"Oh joy," Riley deadpanned, a little disappointed in the forced ceasefire. Then, with a thought, he smirked at Ben. "You think even she'd be okay in a story? Like as a character?"

"Abigail?" Ben considered her qualifications for such a role. And he found he couldn't help but smile; smile at her deep passion for history (close akin to his own), her unflagging determination, and of course, her absolute refusal to ever shut up. "Could be." He chuckled softly. "Could be…"

He looked up to find Riley giving him a very pointed look, so Ben ignored him and glanced out at her instead. As Abigail crossed the parking lot, he pondered her a little longer. "Wonder if she thinks we're the heroes or the villains."

By the time he noticed Riley's movement, the window was already halfway rolled down. "Good question." Riley stuck his head out the window and yelled across the parking lot, "Hey, Abi, do you think we're the heroes or the villains?"

Still halfway across, she stopped to give him a look and shook her head. "It's Abigail to you, and for the record, I still think you're lunatics."

"Well, I knew that!"

"I mean for yelling across the parking lot."

"Well, if we're stating things for the record, you're yelling too."

Abigail simply rolled her eyes and resumed her walk. Riley laughed again. "Guess we're gonna have to call off the Second Revolutionary War, huh, Ben?"

"Oh, you'll probably break the truce at some point."

"Keep on your toes, old man."

Riley smiled, but fell silent as he did so, staring at the dashboard. In the moment before Abigail came up to the car, his voice returned. "So… just to be clear…" He took a breath before he spoke again, and looked up at Ben hopefully when he did. "Knights?"

Ben practically beamed as he nodded: he could finally say it was true. "Knights."

Riley held up his fist, and they sealed their eternal covenant of knighthood and brotherhood with a knuckle-bump.

A moment later, the passenger door opened. "Also, you took my seat, Bill."

"Sir Riley, actually. Nice to meet you, milady."

Happy Independence Day!

This was a blast to write! My first National Treasure fic, and it makes me happy. Ben and Riley have such fun perspectives to write for, and the RELATIONSHIPS OF ALL THE CHARACTERS. Y'ALL.

Well, I'm sure if you've read this far, you know what National Treasure is and who it belongs to. Credit also goes to J. R. R. Tolkien and save changes to normal for the inspiration. (save changes to normal, by the way, has the BEST National Treasure fics. Absolutely nails Ben and Riley, along with everyone else. I definitely took a lot of inspiration from those fics and the portrayal of the characters/relationships in them. [I kinda wrote this to be able to fit in perfectly with those stories, TBH...])

Hope you enjoyed, guys! This was a lot of fun! And if none of you got the Lord of the Rings reference that is basically the whole thing, you doggone well better start reading. It's near the end of Two Towers. "The Stairs of Cirith Ungol". Check it out.