A/N: Whoa! That's a lot of reviews for one chapter, for me! Thank you so much, it's really appreciated! Take a look at the next one and I'll keep my fingers crossed that more people will find this fic worth reading!
Lumen: Well, you're reading and keeping up with it, right? That's cause for joy! There's hope for your kind yet, my friend. *wink*
Ankhutenshi: Since the segment below happens to include a psych-session, you'll get to see a little bit of the "parroting".
Monica: Liked that duel? Just you wait. There's plenty more where that came from!
Neferkimi: In the Document Manager page, there should be directions on how to make sure that the italics appear in your story. If you write using Microsoft Word, you can save your chapter as HTML and the italics will stick, instead of falling off regular Word documents. If you submit stories in .txt format, you can use HTML tags. For example, to put something in italics, surround "i" in brackets before the selection, and surround "/i" in brackets after the selection. And yes, I've seen the other chapters of your story, I just got waylaid before I could review. Gomen nasai.
Penny: Update-ness! Happiness?
Count-Hagane: Thanks for the compliment. And sure, I'll take a look when I manage to get the time to read anything. Classes, sleep, writing, and work are killing my free time.
Skraku: Actually, believe it or not, I hadn't thought about doing any "foreigner" reaction until you brought it up. Now I'll have to!
Wolf: Hadn't actually thought of emulating you through Gerald. He's an amateur wuss, after all, nothing like you. And yeah, yeah, cradle that Magical Marionette all you like. What use do you have for Blader and Blue-Eyes when you've got that?
--
"Kyle! Please, do come in."
Kyle made his way into the moderately-sized office of Dr. Dawson. The psychologist – whose job title Kyle took great pains in remembering through the root word "psycho" – was a little older than his father, and a little more lean, too. His hairline was receding, and he had a well-trimmed mustache and goatee. When Kyle had first met the man, he'd expected him to look like a modern Sigmund Freud and to be wearing a white lab coat and a surly expression. But no, his expression was never as severe as those pictures Kyle had seen of Freud, and he wore simple, plain clothing – not even anything dressy, just jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He also had a very easygoing nature. Kyle had quickly found out that the man was near-infinitely adaptable, a trait that he might consider inspiring if he wasn't being forced to come here every week.
This was one of those days.
"Care to have a seat, or would you prefer to stay on your feet?"
Kyle narrowed his eyes. "Which do you prefer?"
"I don't care," Dr. Dawson said candidly. "It's not about me, after all. It's about you."
"So you've said."
"And you still don't believe me?"
"I have a damned hard time believing anyone who seems so eager to cater to me."
"I'm not catering to you, Kyle," Dawson said, a trace of amusement in his voice. "I'm just letting you know your options. They both have their advantages, you know. Standing allows you to pace around and get some exercise in while you're venting; sitting gives your feet and back a little time off." He leaned back in his chair. "Would it help you make a decision if I told you what I wanted?"
"Probably would."
"What's the point? After all, you would do the exact opposite, wouldn't you?"
"Hell, yes."
"Why would you do the opposite?"
"Because what you want just might not be what I want," Kyle responded, anger weaving through his tone. "Might not be a damned thing like what I want."
"So if I told you to sit down, you would stay standing precisely because I wanted you to sit down."
"You're catching on."
Dawson leaned forward again and laced his fingers. "All right, then. How long have you made choices that way?"
"What difference does it make?"
"I'm just curious. You don't have to tell me."
Kyle shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I don't know how long. I just know that's how I've been doing it."
"Has it brought you more wisdom to do things the way people don't want you to do them?"
Kyle scoffed. "Get to the goddamned point, Doc."
Dawson held his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I'm just asking."
"Then maybe I won't answer."
"Which is fine."
"And if I do...?"
"That's fine, too."
Kyle scowled.
Dawson rocked his head to one side. "Am I making you angry, Kyle?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you haven't told me which you prefer. This way..." Kyle held up one flat palm. "...or this." He held up the other.
"It doesn't matter to me whether you tell me or not," said Dawson.
"You don't care?"
"No."
"Then what the hell am I doing here?"
Dawson allowed a small smile. "I don't mean to say 'I don't care' as in 'I don't sympathize and I don't listen.' I say 'I don't care" as in 'It doesn't make any difference to me because I'm here to listen to whatever you have to say and help you work through it.'"
"Damn it, just tell me, sit or stand?"
"It doesn't matter what I tell you to do, Kyle, because you'll just do the opposite. Why don't you make the choice?"
"What makes you think I should?"
"Well, isn't it your body? Your feet, tired or not? It should be your decision. I'm not the person to make it for you."
Kyle stepped to one side of the office and leaned against the wall. "Wish more people were like you," he mumbled.
Dawson blinked, then grabbed a pen and took a few notes on his notepad. "Why? Why should more people be like me, Kyle?"
"'Cause then they wouldn't get on my damned case so much and try to make me do shit I don't want to do."
"People try to make you do things you don't want to do?"
"No, not only try, they do make me do shit I don't want to do." Kyle sighed. "Well... they did. Until I started ignoring them and doing my own damned thing."
"But what is 'your own thing'?" Dawson asked. "Doing the exact opposite of what everyone wanted?"
"Well... yeah..."
"So are you really ignoring them?"
"I'm trying, dammit," Kyle cursed. "You try to ignore those damned fools."
"I would," Dawson smiled, "if not for the considerable paycheck I'm being afforded."
"Knew it." Kyle threw his hands up. "All you people care about is your goddamned money and making sure I have more than my fair share. What is it with this fu–"
"Kyle," Dawson interrupted, "I want to make something very clear to you right now, before you go any further. Yes, money is an important issue to me. It's how I earn my living. It's how I'm able to maintain this office and continue to do the thing I most love doing: talking to people like you and seeing them find better ways to curb or expel their anger. But money is not the focus here. I apologize if my joke offended you."
"About time someone said they were sorry for something," Kyle mumbled.
"Is that an issue of yours? Would you prefer more people offered you apologies?" Dawson's voice was once again calm and reasonable.
"Of course, dammit." Kyle slumped into one of the chairs. "I thought that kind of shit was pretty obvious by now, oh great analyst."
Dawson shrugged. "Just making sure we both know." He leaned forward. "You're an intelligent person, Kyle, mark my words. But sometimes you have a tendency to avoid seeing the solution even when it's right in front of you."
"Is that my fault?"
"I don't know. What do you think?"
Kyle frowned.
And couldn't come up with an answer.
--
Kyle looked up from his desk and frowned. "What?"
"Yes, Egypt," said his father. For once, the man sounded enthused... Kyle hadn't heard that quality in his voice for a long time. "We'll be spending a few days in Cairo."
"What possible interest do you think I have in going to that god-forsaken place?" Kyle snorted, turning back to his notebook.
"I know better, Kyle, but I never asked you what your interests were in the matter, did I?" His father's tone of voice was decidedly smug. That, Kyle had heard many times in the course of his life.
"No, you didn't," Kyle mumbled. "You never do."
"Kyle, if I were to give you a choice, what would it be?"
"To stay here, of course."
"Exactly. You would deprive yourself of the experience. Just imagine it, Kyle... what if you were to put your doctoral skills to use in other countries? They would pay you more and tax you less. You wouldn't be able to lose." The man leered at his son.
"I don't care about being a doctor," Kyle mumbled.
"I suggest you start caring. Because that's the career you're going into. You need a future, son. Medicine is that future."
Kyle muttered several foul curses under his breath. His father heard only incoherent grumbling, but it was enough to let him know how much his son disapproved.
"Look, Kyle, let's face it; if you had it your way, you would let yourself languish and you'd never make any plans or decisions for yourself. You never have. You always talk about how you're going to do this and that, and you never do it unless someone pushes you to. Or at least, you'll do something if someone pushes you to. It seems like you'll always do the opposite, but in this case, reverse psychology isn't going to do anything. You need guidance, and I'm doing the best I can. But frankly, you're not helping with your constant arguing and petty rebellion."
"I don't want guidance," Kyle muttered. "Why can't I just make my own damned mistakes? Surely you made some mistakes at my age."
"I did, I'll admit that. And I don't want to see my son go the same way. Have your things packed by tomorrow evening; we're leaving on Saturday."
--
Time seemed to move rather quickly after that. As it turned out, they were leaving a couple days before Kyle's school let out for winter vacation, so he had to gather his assignments before leaving. Just as well. I hope they pile it on so that I can work on it on the plane and say I'm concentrating so I don't have to listen to any damned rants about me going into medicine.
It all blurred past him – the gathering of his assignments, the packing, the trip to the airport, the flashlights-turned-suppositories of airport security (this didn't go by so quickly, what with all the zippers Kyle liked to keep on his person), the wait for the plane... he concentrated on his schoolwork and his writings through most of it. A few times his parents tried to get him interested in brochures and whatnot, but he kept up his shield of surliness and hunkered even closer to his texts and notebooks. After a while, they gave up on it and were content to simply peruse the various magazines found on the plane.
They had to take a transfer flight in England. That took a little longer, as Kyle found himself running out of things to do – and worse, inspiration. He racked his brain and looked around, as if trying to find his muse somewhere in the terminal. At one point, he left his parents behind in search of a bookstore that might have something good to offer him. He found a pair of appealing fantasy novels and virtually pounced on them after purchasing them.
When they were back in the air, he ignored the majesty of London from a bird's eye in favor of one of his books. He'd already made it almost three-fourths of the way through by the time the announcement came that they would be landing in Cairo within the next half-hour. He idly chewed on a piece of gum to keep the air pressure in his ears equalized as they descended, his mind intensely focused on the plot of the story. This shit's great... maybe I can take a few clues from this author... He rummaged through his carry-on case and dug out his notebook to take a few notes.
"Kyle, we're almost there," his father said, hints of amusement and irritation both in his voice. "Don't you think this would be the time to put your things away so we can get off the plane that much more quickly?"
"In first-class seats, we'll be the first ones out anyway," Kyle said. "Besides, it's just a damned notebook and pen. I can hold them myself. Lay off."
"Kyle, would you please at least try to control your language?" his mother hissed.
"Why?" he sneered. "First-class seats don't mean first-class mouth. You wanted me along, this is how I'm going to be. Deal with it."
She paused for a moment, then nodded in contentment. "Better."
He blinked and frowned at that for a moment, then scoffed and shook his head as the realization dawned on him: he hadn't cursed in response.
--
Getting off the plane, out of the airport, and to their hotel seemed an eternity, as compared to everything else that had already happened on this trip – or so it seemed to Kyle, who finished his first book and couldn't focus on the second one due to the luggage he had to carry around with both hands.
"Can you believe it?" his mother enthused, as they made their way through the traffic in a rental car. "We're actually in Egypt!"
La-de-freaking-da, Kyle thought, staring idly out the window. He didn't think his parents were expecting a response from him, and on this point he was correct; in fact, they didn't really want to hear one, considering the negative responses they'd gotten to such questions before.
"Where do you think we ought to go, dear?" his father asked.
"Pyramids of Giza. Definitely. No question," she answered. "And definitely some market shopping. It wouldn't be right to leave here without a few souvenirs."
His father nodded agreeably. "All right, then. How about we visit the market tomorrow, about noon, and then go visit the pyramids in the evening? I hear the desert looks rather spectacular when the sun's on the horizon."
Kyle rolled his eyes. Goody, just what I need. There'd better be some interesting shit in that market.
--
"Hurry or we'll be caught!"
"Oh, come on. We've got time still."
"No way. Patrols are coming back. We can move more of these rocks tomorrow."
"We need more men to do it with. And not old weaklings; some young, strong men."
"What the hell do you think this is? We're in this for ourselves. You want to divvy up the profits a dozen ways instead of half a dozen?"
"There's no other way we'll be able to get at whatever's in there."
"And what is it you want me to do? Just go up to guys in the market and say, 'Hey, we're ripping off a cave, wanna come along?'"
"Find the right guy and it might turn him on."
"That's called a necrophiliac. I'm staying away from people like that."
"Just making a point."
"Yeah, yeah, fine. But if they even say anything about turning us in..."
"Put that away, Rieger. I know what has to be done."
"Good. Let's get out of here before the patrols start snooping."
--
The men didn't know. They couldn't have known. The rocks occluded anything and everything on the other side from sight. But if they could have seen, they might have run screaming from where they worked.
Because a humanoid construct of stone was stirring not two meters away from the work site.
At its feet was the one item it had been created to watch over.
And the item was glowing.
--
What might tomorrow bring? Who knows? Well, I do! *grins* Pretty dramatic, huh? I dunno. You decide. That's what that Go button down there is for! Please use it and review! And please do not subject me to any sort of bodily, emotional, or spiritual harm, because then I'll just keep the secret to myself!