Title: Countering – Part 2

Author: GIA B

Rating: PG-13-ish

Spoilers: The Mummy

Summary: I always wondered what would have happened had Evy actually kissed Rick during her inebriated excursion… simply, my take on that situation. This is my first "Mummy" fan fiction.

Disclaimer: Do not own the characters, nor the preceding events, but only the situation that follows. These events are mere figments of my imagination, and any resemblance to anything living or dead is purely coincidental. The poetry featured in this story is not my work, and no money is being made. Copyright infringement not intended.

Author's Notes: The scenes that follow may or may not be similar to those in the movies. I have taken great license with this story and the characters, and I apologize to any and all who find the story being out of cannon offensive to the characters. It happens, and since it has already been written, you must simply accept it. Or, read another story. Either way, what is in the story stays. I said I apologize for it, I did not say that I regret writing it.

***

Countering – Part 2
***

The following day went by rather uneventfully; I spent the entire duration ignoring O'Connell, and he noticed. Not that I cared that he noticed, but for arguments sake, I'm including it. We continued excavating the dig site, and turned up nothing really that seemed important. This was unfortunate, because our old dig spot had turned up an amazing little artifact. It wasn't quite the book of Amun-Ra, but it was useful as well.

"Well if their book was at the base of Anubis, then where is the book of Amun-Ra?" Jonathon asked, and sadly, for once, I could not venture an idea. The Bembridge Scholars had an intelligence that simple minds could not begin to fathom, so I wasn't even sure where to begin on questioning it. Had they gotten it wrong, purposefully, to hide its true whereabouts, or did they actually mix up the locations? I had no idea, and did not see an answer coming in the near future, all that I was sure of, was that the Book of Amun-Ra was still out there, and I was going to be the first one to find it.

The excavation went on in such a manner: digging aimlessly at the walls, and following cavern after cavern in search of something of importance, all the while cursing the American's because of their dumb luck. O'Connell was quiet for the most part, really only communicating a few words whenever was dictated, and then returning to his tasks, never once meeting my eyes. I was happy for the silence, if for the only reason being that I could have the opportunity to figure myself out. I thought Jonathon suspected something was up because when we decided to break for lunch, which was just as well, since there was really no point going about pretending there was more to discover within this crypt, and O'Connell left to retrieve food from our camp, he approached me and stated, "Something is up."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied indignantly.

"Sure, you do, sis," he replied happily, taking a seat beside me on a blanket we had set out, "and I'll let you in on a little secret: O'Connell, though it took me a while to realize this myself, is not the eleventh plague of Egypt." I laughed, simply because it was absurd, and Jonathon couldn't have been further from the truth.

"Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed, and he just looked at me with that knowing look. O'Connell picked that moment to saunter in, carrying the food, and we went about eating in silence; Jonathon, watching our every moves; Myself, eating quietly and pretending not to notice every time O'Connell's hand caressed mine as he brushed sand into piles all around himself, and him, dividing his attention between watching me candidly and pushing sand into piles.

***

"I believe you need a key to open that book," I stated to the Egyptologist as he struggled to pry open the book. He scowled at me, and I walked away, immediately an idea forming in my head. Since I had the key within my grasp I could easily "borrow" the book from the Egyptologist. After all, Jonathon and O'Connell both condone it, in a sense.

As the night claimed the American group in sleep, I crept silently up to the doctor and quietly and slowly removed the heavy book from beneath his sleeping grasp. He did not stir, and so I was in the clear. I walked briskly back to our camp, placed the book on a flat surface, and then crept over to wear Jonathon lay passed out, and removed the key from within his coat pocket.

"That's call stealing, you know?" There was that voice I remembered. Rather then ignoring him further, I responded in kind to his easy teasing.

"According to you and my brother, it's called 'borrowing'." I heard him rise from where he had just been sleeping, or dozing rather, and he sat next to me as I kneeled in the sand and placed the key into the slot and turned it with a bit of force.


"I thought that the book of Amun-Ra was gold…"

"This," I said, as a smile spread across my face, "is not the book of Amun-Ra." The latches slapped open and I opened the book, and felt its weight in my hands as I slid the "pages" open. "I think this is the book of the dead."

"Should you be playing around with that?"

"Oh, truly O'Connell, it's just a book. No harm ever came from reading a book." As I slid my fingers over the inscribed incantations, I read them aloud.

I never realized how soon I would be eating my last uttered English words.

***

So much had occurred, and had I not been there to witness it first stand myself, I would probably not have believed that a 3000-year-old mummy was alive, kicking, or rather taking appendages and organs, and was after me. But we had fled to Cairo because of this, and it was the reason Rick and I were fighting at this particular moment in my bed quarters at Fort Brydon. I thought we should stay and fight Imhotep; send him back to whatever hell he came from.

Rick disagreed.

"Is that my problem?" Oh what a man! He could be intelligent once instance, and then idiotic beyond any possible course of repair.

"It is everyone's problem." As though that needed to be said. Could it be more obvious: if we didn't stop him, the whole of the world was in grave danger.

We stopped circling my luggage, finally, and he pivoted toward me. "Evelyn, I agreed to take you out there and bring you back," he stated calmly, "and I did; now we're even, end of job, contract terminated!"

I stared shocked, how could he say that to me? I suppose every one of my emotions played horribly on my face, because at that moment he reached for my hand. I let him grasp it, and I felt him squeeze. I should have taken it back, but I liked the contact, and I was indulging just this once.

"You mean more to me then a contract," he whispered, as though reading my trepidation. I shook my head, not believing him. He reached his other hand up and cupped my jaw, pulling my eyes to his. He smiled at the desperation, as though the victory did, in deed, taste sweet. I dislodged my jaw from his hand, and tried to pull my hand, he just held on tighter. "Now," he continued, "you can come with me, or you can stay here and try to save the world."

I wanted to go with him, believe me I did. But I truly saw this as my quest. Why else would this have happened to me, and not some other librarian? I believe he was meant to be here with me to help me, but if he thought not, I wasn't about to beg.

"I'm staying," I confirmed. He dropped his head, and shook it gently. I wanted to retract my decision right then, as he did that, and that just confirmed my answer more so. If I spent anymore time with him, who knew what he could convince me to do.

Dropping my hand, he threw up his arms into the air in a dramatic show of exasperation. He headed towards the door and I followed to a point. "Fine!"

"Fine," I shouted back.

"Fine." He always had to get the last word, and with that the door slammed with a reverberation that could be heard even in the cold chambers of my heart. As it beat faster then it had ever beat before.

It was while later during that same day that I saw him again. I hadn't expected him to actually leave, but the satisfaction of seeing him return was just to great, and I could not with hold the arrogant grin that danced on my lips when I saw him. It was unfortunate that I could not relish in these emotions, because when he stated we had problems, ignited sulfur decided to make its theatrical entrance.  

And soon we were running, towards what, I was not too sure. As it were, we ran into O'Connell's "friend" Beni and after a brief "chat" with him, we were running towards my room again. Now, I was not going to mention this but as we ran up the stairs, down the hall, and into my room, our hands were clasped together, and I must say, he has a power that emanates more so then originally presumed. Now that that is out of the way, back to the problem that now faced us: How to stop Imhotep.

When we found our dear American friend, Mr. Burns, he was in an unfortunate state; his entire soul and life-force sucked out of his body. Terrible state, really, and a horrid look he had permanently on his face. If I never had to see that look, I would be too grateful. But he was truly the last thing on my mind, when I saw, who was now referred to as, "the creature" regenerating before us. O'Connell, bless his moronic heart, tried to shoot the creature as he neared us. Too bad for us, immortal weapons couldn't kill him. And too bad for O'Connell, the creature had a strength not even he could match. As he threw him, the remaining American's chose that moment to enter into the scene, and fall flat on their backs as O'Connell landed unceremoniously atop of them.

Now the creature was approaching me, and I could do nothing but be girly and disgusted by his advances. He tried to kiss me, granted, and he had little to no facial skin, and he told me that I saved him, but I was still appalled at the fact that I could not be indifferent at this stage in the game. Suddenly, a rather disgusting note played on the piano opposite from us. The distraction provoked the creature to turn and let his eyes fall upon my harmless white cat.

Unexpectedly, he screamed, and then burst into a sand storm, and we all had to duck to avoid the flying granules. When that was finished, it was a unanimous decision to get some bloody answers. And there was truly only one person capable of doing just that.

***

After we discovered the truth about two things; Imhotep, and the appearance of the Med-Jai, we all congregated in my foyer of my room. O'Connell stared out the window, and I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I was afraid to ask him. It was not my place to know the inner-workings of his mind.

We figured out who had opened the chest, and by extension, who was most likely to be killed as Imhotep's next victims. Daniel, Henderson, and the Egyptologist were the only ones left who had opened that chest, and the Egyptologist wasn't with us.

"We must find the Egyptologist and bring him back here to the safety of the fort, before the creature can get to him," I said, and O'Connell seemed to agree. He glanced between Daniel, Henderson, and I before appearing to come to some sort of a decision.

"You two with me, you," he said to me, "stay here."

How dare he!? Who did he think he was? I gave him my two cents about his completely ridiculous idea. Just because I was a woman did not mean I could not handle a position of importance in this battle! I approached him, all the while, giving him a piece of my mind. I was in the middle of a particularly good rant-point, when the Neanderthal of a man hoisted me over his shoulder and carried me into my room. He plopped me on my bed and then turned back to shut the doors. Turning to me, he appeared angry, and his scowl was a bit intimidating, but I was undeterred in my anger as well.

"Who put you in charge, O'Connell?" I demanded. But I did not receive an answer, and I'll tell you why. This man, whom I should have strangled the moment he brought us back to Cairo, cupped my face in his big hands, and kissed me. His lips were hard, as were mine, but with a bit of coaxing both of our lips softened considerably. My hands held his upper arms, as our heads dipped back and forth not allowing the contact to really break. I chalked up my response to being instinctive, after all, what more could I have done? Precisely my point.

His hands sifted through my hair, and he moved his lips to place gentle nipping kisses on my jaw-line. He pulled back, and I was breathless, and stupidly blushing. I bit my lip, and I could feel a bruise forming underneath the delicate skin of my lip, but at this moment, I did not particularly care much.

"You will stay here," he ordered, and my anger returned ten-fold.

"Well I have never in my life—" I did not have the opportunity to finish that thought, as he stormed through the doors. I could see the looks of the American's, and knew instantaneously that they knew what had just happened. Not that they could have thought otherwise; one minute I'm shouting and commanding, and the next there's silence? I was naïve at times, sure, but not that naïve.

I heard the brute give orders that no one was to enter my room, and I was not to leave. That brute, who did he think was? If only my brother wasn't such a coward, perhaps I would have had a fighting chance.

***

I knew this was a dream.

Why else would I be engaging in sexual congress with Rick O'Connell? But since it was, in fact, a dream, I was willing to let it play out without my waking intervention. I had a gift that way; I could wake myself, if I wanted, in most cases. This was not one of those cases, however. Even if he was a cruel person, and a decidedly unwelcome travel mate, he certainly had one thing going for him: sexuality. The man bathed in it. He was like the men I had read about in those romance rubbish books.

So my dream played out without interruption. At the present moment, the dream version of O'Connell was making me laugh with some inane joke that in the waking world I would not have found even slightly amusing, but anyway. He was kissing my knee, and making his way up my thigh, his "five-o'clock" shadow brushing teasingly against my skin. He kissed my stomach and my abdomen, and then my collar bone, and finally my lips. It was an extremely erotic, albeit fake, experience, and it seemed real no matter how fake I knew it to be.

But it seemed so real. So real in fact, my brain could not take the intensity any further, and I had to open my eyes. Upon which my eyes met that off the slowly decaying, but mostly all there, face of the now deceased Imhotep.

"Ahhhh!" my scream bellowed off the bedroom walls, and I heard O'Connell say something dramatic, before holding up my cat to Imhotep in a defense that worked quite well.

"Are you okay?" he asked me, a minute later. Naturally, my brother never being quite the smartest person to grace the world replied but I'm sure Rick, err—O'Connell got the point.

***

We spent that night recuperating. I tried to sleep as much as was possible, but found it increasingly difficult. The men were playing poker, with the exception of O'Connell who sat alone on a chair in my bedroom reading some of the books I had brought along with me. He was doing research, I thought, on mummies and their general habits as myth dictated.

One could certainly not call O'Connell an idiot. Though he made stupid mistakes sometimes, he was not without more than his fair share of intelligence. I walked up towards him, attempting not to disturb him, and sat across from him on my bed.

"Do you always watch people as they read?" he asked, his head not looking up. I smiled.

"Not always." I was glad, in a way, to return to some light banter. The last few days had been more then strenuous, and it was definitely beginning to wear on my nerves. I flopped back on the bed, and felt my weight sink into the mattress slightly. He went about reading his book, and I attempted to nap, just a moment or two.

"This is really interesting," he said, moving up from his chair. My eyes were closed, and so I only felt the mattress sink, as he joined me atop it. Under normal circumstances, I would be completely out of sorts about this sort of advancement, but I was much too tired to protest at great length. "Did you know that Tutankhamen was found buried with a gold mask on his mummified body, and that he was buried with jewelry, and his coffin was made of gold," he continued. I knew all about King Tut, and though I had gotten sick of hearing about him and the great discovery by Mr. Howard Carter, I let him continue on in this manner. I turned toward him, and snuggled further into my pillows as he recited verbatim the excavation of the tomb of King Tut that I had read a few times before.

He stood and returned the book to my bureau, and I stretched my arms to touch the slope and indentation that he had left when he had laid down, and as he returned there was a quiet knock at my bedroom door. Jonathon walked in, a moment later, and surveyed the image before him: Rick O'Connell standing by my bed, and me lying atop it with my arms splayed out a bit, to occupy the space O'Connell had just vacated.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," Jonathon muttered, putting his hands up in surrender. I rolled my eyes, at my brother's non-to-subtle remarks, "I just wanted to inform you that the American chaps and I are retiring to the casbah downstairs, and then off to our own rooms afterwards." He eyed O'Connell for a moment, then continued, looking towards O'Connell, "I'll lock the door to the room, so don't worry about it being unlocked while you're not there. Goodnight sis," he said to me. He turned and shut the door.

"Decency and discretion, Jonathon," I ground out between my tightly shut teeth. O'Connell just raised an eyebrow at me, and then grabbed another book from atop the bureau.

"Italian poetry?" He chuckled a bit, before looking at me expectantly. "I didn't know you knew Italian."

"I don't," I said groggily, "I just like to listen to people read it to me."

"Is that the romantic coming out of the hard-as-a-rock Carnahan?" he teased lightly, before settling back on the bed. As he laid down, he trapped my right hand underneath him, so I shoved him to move forward so I could retrieve it. I slid my hand out from underneath him as he turned towards me, "Do you want me to read you some?"

I couldn't help it! I had to laugh, the situation was far too comical. He seemed hurt, and I felt guilty for laughing, but, honestly, Rick O'Connell reading me Italian Love Poetry? Would you have believed it when you heard it?

"If you want to, you're going to do it anyway, no matter how I protest."

"After hearing my languid voice, you won't be protesting much," he grinned and I narrowed my eyebrows, and rotated to face the ceiling.

"Well, I much doubt that, but get on with it."

il buio unì due corpi
tra gli ulivi
in un pianto distrutto
due anime.

My eyes opened instantaneously. I knew this one, and I knew what the words meant. I glanced briefly at him, and he continued fluently through the poem.

persone tra i tavoli del bar
fantasmi sui muri
lacrime nel cielo
sogni lungo i passi della sera.

He couldn't possibly know what the words meant. It was probably a random poem, and he was as indifferent to it as if it were a poem about elephants running an ice cream store, rather then one about love and devotion. I was so sure of this until he turned his eyes up to me, continuing to recite the poem.

li dividevano
la povertà, la malattia
lui non poteva
starle vicino, viverla.
Lei pianse in silenzio.

in tre in silenzio e seduti al tramonto,
lei la gatta era gravida e incurvata di bontà.

quelle fragili piume
mi mancano i fremiti, lacrime
gli itinerari tortuosi nei vicoli
le ascese,
i tramonti che si aprono
le pietre antiche e i cipressi
le more;
mi mancano i sogni e i fantasmi;
quella dolce eccitazione del tè
prima del treno che va
per unire
per sempre.

I was transfixed by his gaze. I could not believe he knew the words, and was saying them to me now.

He flipped the page, as if he was still reading it. The pages were worn as I had read it many times before, as had a few of my would-be suitors, knowing it was my favorite. I wanted to cry, because for the first time since I heard this poem uttered from another's mouth, I wanted it to be truly for me. I wanted to cry because it was this man, lying still with the only movements being his eyes going between mine and his lips whispering the beautiful words. I know it sounds trite, and far too poetic, but this was what I felt at the core of me.

è un sorriso
una speranza, un volo
nel cielo,
una rosa tra le violette,
un girasole lucente,
un grillo tra le verdure
nel sole che nasce,
l'odore delle ginestre nel monte,
il cinguettio degli uccelli,
l'ulivo ritorto,
la carezza del vento del sud.

con corpi distesi che si sfiorano
fra i gialli i rosa i rossi
delle case del porto,
nelle acque smeraldo,
tra i vicoli intrecciati d'amore,
lungo i sentieri in cammino
verso il sole,
fra i fiori di campo—

I held my breath as he stopped.

"I don't know the rest," he muttered quickly. I turned my head toward him, and saw the apprehension in his eyes.

"Yes you do," I said before I could think. What was I saying? It was for the best that he didn't say the last words. This had become far too personal, and it had to stop right then and there, and yet I waited patiently for an answer. He looked between me and the book for a second, and then took a deep breath.

"No I don't," he whispered so soft that it was hard to hear with the pounding of my heart in my ears. I huffed a deep breath, and then sat up and got off the bed. I grabbed the book from his hands and threw it to the chair he had sat in earlier that night.

"You're a coward!" He laid there with his eyes downcast, and I stomped to the bedroom door. I didn't actually hear what he said, as my rage can sometimes block out external sounds, and so when I pivoted towards him with confusion he dropped his eyes. "What did you say?"

"ho detto ti amo." I was breathless, and had barely a moment to catch a small lungful of air before I fell against the still-closed door and slid to the ground. O'Connell rushed off the bed in an instant, thinking I was injured or something. He cupped my flush cheeks and felt my neck for the pulse that vibrated against my neck. When he was brushing my hair out of my face to feel my forehead for a fever, I got in touch with my impulsive side.

I leaned forward and captured his lips.

He was certainly shocked, because he tried to pull back, but my lips pursued his. When I caught them again, he got the hang of it better. His lips grasped mine, his tongue sneaking out instinctively to brush against my bottom lip. I opened my mouth, in offering, and our tongues met up with the dark sanction of my mouth, and I couldn't get enough. I didn't know what possessed me, but as we continued it seemed undeniably right.

I dropped small kisses on his cheeks, feeling more bold as the moment progressed, and I heard him let out a ragged breath. "Evy," he breathed.

"Shh," I silenced him with a well-placed kiss to his neck, "It's okay, just let it happen." I had him and I was relishing in the fire the information ignited within me. He let out a deep, resonating growl in his throat, and suddenly I was pushed up against the door and he was ravishing my neck. My head slammed against the door, as I gave over to this. This kiss definitely blew the other ones out of the water.

"I need—" Was that my voice?! Goodness, what had this resorted me to? He grinned against my collar-bone. I bit my lip, and groaned. "L-l-love me," I muttered. He slowly lifted his head to look me in the eyes. I opened them unwillingly, and he watched the surrender flicker. He leaned forward to kiss me, and at once, pulled back.

Completely away from me.

He stood, and my eyes widened in confusion, and I stood up, meaning to reach for him.

"I can't-can't do this," he mumbled quickly before stepping behind me to open the door, and leave. The door closed with an audible click, and it resonated in my ears, and the tears came unbidden to my eyes. I had given in completely, and lost everything.

I would not make that mistake twice.

***

Poems

By Romeo Guili

two souls
in the darkness
among the olive trees.
A cry, desperate
creates their bond.

people, seated,
bar tables.
Fleeting shadows on the walls
star tears in heaven
dreams evoked
by distant footsteps
in the night.

poverty, sickness
separated them.
He stood distant
longing for closeness.
in the silence, she wept.

in three, in silence, seated at sunset
the cat, languid, heavy with the birth-to-be.

I miss
the tears
the sensibility delicate
as feathers,
the tortuous windings
along secret paths
the ascents
the sunsets that tinted
the time-worn stones,
the cypress, the myrtle,
I miss
the dreams, the ghosts
the sweet teas
sipped before the parting train
that separated
to unit.

***

DONE PART 2 FINALLY! God, it only took me… however long it took me! I really hope you all liked this chapter, as it was probably the hardest chapter I've ever had to write, for anything!

As always, feedback is so very important, and I totally feed off it. Flames and all! As for those who did review the last chapter, thanks so much! I was really grateful for the exemplary response, and am hoping for the same enthusiasm this time around. ;)

Sincerely,

GIA

P.S. The excerpts of poems were written by Romeo Guili, and can be read in their entirety here:

I have no affiliation with Romeo Guili, but rather much appreciated his writings. As well, I don't think these are part of a consecutive poem, but are rather several poems, but I liked them all, and decided to show them as though they were one whole poem.