Author's Note: Wow, you like me . . . you really like me. ;) I really didn't expect this story to get such good feedback! In any case, Rick, Evelyn, and Jonathan are not mine. However, Charlie is mine, and based off my best friend, Beautifully Twisted, who would've made a heck of an aviatrix back in the day. Also, this chapter is dedicated to She's a Star, for channeling inspiration in my direction, and Forever and a Day for keeping me company while writing.



Chapter Two
What Women Want



The next day, everything went on in a strange parody of normalcy. Evelyn went in to work at the museum, and Rick came to help her, as he usually did. However, Evelyn was quite fidgety over the fact Rick had been talking to Jonathan about her, and then, of course, there was the smile.

But today, the smile was gone.

The logical side of Evelyn's brain was relieved . . . while the other side was oddly disappointed.

Rick was acting like a perfect gentleman, helping her set up the exhibit that had arrived the day before. The museum was gradually getting back to a semblance of its former glory – before Imhotep had come crashing through – and despite Ardeth Bay's hesitation in allowing her to become curator – a duty usually reserved for the Med-jai, for obvious reasons – she was doing a stunning job of it.

If Evelyn hadn't been so self-conscious and fidgety, however, she might have noticed the fact that Rick was acting much the same way, and several times he had opened his mouth as if he wished to say something to her – only to close it again and go off about his business.

Needless to say, it made things a bit tense. Usually, they had at least a bit of witty banter flying back and forth.

But Evelyn was holding to her former resolve. She did not fancy O'Connell.

Of course not.

And apparently, now, he didn't seem to fancy her, either.

So why did that make her unhappy?

She had been staring at the card catalogue for a good ten minutes, unblinking, with a card in her hand that she was supposed to place under the 'R' section. Unfortunately, this had sparked thoughts of 'Rick,' and the way he was acting all day. Finally, someone approached, jarring her out of her reverie, and she nearly slammed the drawer shut on her own hand.

Turning away from the neatly organized file cabinet, Evelyn saw O'Connell standing there, looking again as if he wanted to say something to her.

"I, uh . . ." Rick started, then trailed off with hesitation.

"Yes?" Evelyn asked expectantly, wondering distantly why her heart was fluttering so rapidly in her chest.

"I've gotta go," he said awkwardly, gesturing to his wrist as if he wore a watch – which he didn't, but it was merely to emphasize his point.

"Go?" she repeated dumbly.

"Yeah," he said, then making a motion toward the door.

Well, naturally, she knew what 'go' meant.

"I'm meeting an old friend of mine, Charlie, for some drinks," he finally explained.

"Oh," she said.

"Yeah," he said again.

"All right."

"All right."

"Have . . . um, fun."

"Yeah, thanks."

Then he left, and Evelyn turned back to her business of organizing the card catalogue, berating herself for acting so foolishly. However, it wasn't long before she moved to the 'O' section, and her thoughts again wandered to O'Connell.

Drat.



"What do women want?" Rick asked, leaning back perplexedly in his chair and fidgeting with the stout crystal tumbler in his hands.

"That's the question of the ages, my friend," Charlie responded.

"Yeah, but shouldn't you know? You're a woman."

And so she was indeed – five feet and nine inches of woman, with mile-long legs and curves that could flip a car, auburn hair and liquid eyes the color of the brandy in his glass. But oddly enough, Charlotte – who went by 'Charlie' due to her penchant for aviation – had always seemed more like one of the guys. She had a poker face that could drive a professional gambler to shame, and despite her bombshell appearance, she got more of a rush flying a biplane than flirting with a man.

That wasn't to say she didn't like men, of course – she loved them. But she and Rick had never gone anywhere past friendly flirtation, and when Charlie's aviation brought her into Cairo, the two of them often got together and just enjoyed each other's company. She found something novel in the concept of being able to have a conversation with a man as an equal, instead of him slavering all over her like a dog.

"O'Connell," she said shortly, setting her drink aside. "I'm going to be honest with you, let you in on a little secret. Women don't know what they want, not really. When it comes along, they might think, 'Hey, that'd be nice,' but when they sit around and think about it, it's usually just some fanciful notion that springs to mind."

Not quite satisfied with this answer, Rick furrowed a brow in a display of confusion, and drained his own glass before setting it aside as well. "It's just . . . there's this girl, Evelyn. She saved my neck – literally. 'Course, I returned the favor by saving her a couple of times from this mummy that wanted to kill her so he could bring his dead girlfriend back to life . . ."

Oddly enough, Charlie didn't seem fazed to hear this odd tale – she attributed it to Rick being a little drunk, and she'd always been fascinated – if not completely pulled in – by Egyptian myth.

"Anyway," Rick went on, shaking his head, "She's really great. I mean . . . beautiful, smart, funny . . . and did I mention beautiful?"

"I got the impression," Charlie responded dryly, then she offered him an expression of skepticism. "Can it be – Rick O'Connell's in love?"

Rick fidgeted around in his seat, made suddenly self-conscious and defensive by his friend's proclamation. He glanced around the quiet little hotel bar, as if fearing Evelyn happened to be standing only two feet away, listening to them, and then satisfied that no one had heard after all, he gave a reluctant shrug and turned back.

"What makes you think that?" he countered.

"I'm a woman," she pointed out, a grin spreading across her face. "I can tell these things."

Rick sighed, beckoning to the bartender to give him another, then he turned back to Charlie with a despondent look on his face. "Only thing is, she doesn't really give me the time of day."

"Oh, come now, you're a handsome guy," she said, arching an eyebrow. "No Beni Gabor," she added, her tone teasing as she referred back to the incident in which they'd met four years before – when she punched the aforementioned Hungarian's lights out for getting fresh. It had been one of the highlights of Rick's life at that point. "But you have your merit. What makes you think she doesn't like you?"

Trusting in Charlie's 'womanly intuition' for the moment, Rick considered the question. "I don't know – she's a librarian, for one thing. She's the curator of the museum here in Cairo . . . English . . . blushes when I look at her."

"Doesn't sound much like your type, Rick," Charlie said frankly. But, she thought, maybe that was why he found this Evelyn girl so appealing.

"I didn't think so either," he admitted with little restraint. "But there it is."

"Well," his friend went on, an encouraging smile appearing. "You've always been the type to go get what you wanted . . . so go get her."

Rick fleetingly had a vision of himself going up to Evelyn, throwing her over his shoulder without ceremony, and carrying her off to the nearest cave while she pounded at his back and demanded that he put her down at once. Actually, the whole shoulder-carrying incident had happened once before, only then he was carrying her into a bedroom, and –

Stop right there.

"Er," he said weakly.

"I've seen you woo quite a few girls, Rick," Charlie stated matter-of-factly, a smirk now replacing her previous expression. "All of them melted under the glare of your smile."

"The only difference is," he said, "That I actually like this one."

"It doesn't matter," the aviatrix said carelessly. "She might not like typical things, but there are a few standards that hold true. Give her a little gift or something to show you care. Flowers, candy, maybe jewelry . . . I know I like jewelry. Or you could take the direct approach and just tell her how you feel."

"Right," he said with a sigh. "Like I can do that."

"Do what?" The distinctly English-accented voice interrupted the conversation of the two Americans, and Rick looked up to see none other than Jonathan Carnahan standing there, a curious look written all over the man's face.

"Nothing," Rick snapped, annoyed to have been sneaked up on by Evelyn's brother, of all people.

But it didn't really matter, because Jonathan's attention had soon enough turned to focus on Charlie, his eyes lighting up. "Well, well, well . . . who have we here?"

"Jonathan, meet Charlie. Charlie, this is Jonathan Carnahan – Evelyn's brother."

"Charlie, eh?" Jonathan said, seeming rather interested by this unusual name. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's mine," she countered, as she shook Jonathan's hand. "But I'm afraid I was just on my way out . . . so, Rick – I'll see you next time?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah. Have a nice trip out, Charlie."

"I will," she responded. "And – think about what I said."

She threw a wink back over her shoulder at Rick as she turned to go, and Jonathan's jaw dropped.

"Well," Jonathan said slowly, "I hate to see her go, but I have to say it's fun to watch her leave."

Rick, for his part, just shook his head and ordered another drink.



"You know, baby sister," Jonathan said a few hours later, as he sat settled boredly in a chair opposite Evelyn's desk, "You should get out more."

Evelyn looked up irritably from the stack of mail she had been sorting through – business for the museum, of course, all which fell into her lap since Dr. Bey had died (or, rather, been killed). "Jonathan, really, I have a lot of work to do . . ."

"Maybe you and O'Connell should do something," he went on, grabbing a little statuette off the desktop and tossing it up and down in the air.

Evelyn leaned forward to snatch the priceless Ushabtis from Jonathan's grasp, then she set it protectively back down on the desk. "Why do you say that?" she asked shortly, turning back to her paperwork.

"Well, the man certainly seems to know how to have a good time," Jonathan stated, apparently making an unintentional pun off Warden Hassan's original words to them when they'd inquired after what Rick was to be hanged for.

"What?" Evelyn asked with a blink, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"You wouldn't believe what I saw him doing today," Jonathan went on, obviously pleased by this little bit of gossip. He'd always been like that, of course – he got his daily interest out of his social events, especially now that they were all what you could consider rich.

"He was having drinks with an old friend of his," she said impatiently, obviously having considered this time spent drawing conversation out of Jonathan wasted. "Someone named Charlie."

"Ah, yes," Jonathan said, "But she didn't look like any Charlie I've ever seen."

She? Evelyn thought, dropping her letter opener rather abruptly.

"I always thought O'Connell was a bit less brains than brawn, but he's certainly smart about one thing."

Oh dear.

Ignoring the rather awful, sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Evelyn calmly picked the letter opener back up – resisting the urge to stab Jonathan in a non-vital area . . . maybe his foot – and went back to her mail. "I'm sure it was nothing."

After all, why should O'Connell have any reason to lie to her? And why should she care that he was seeing another woman anyway? It wasn't like they had any kind of commitment. It wasn't as if he was her boyfriend or anything . . .

Why, it wasn't even as if she liked him!

She didn't like him.

Not one bit.

In fact . . .

She loved him.