Hello, hello, hello! My apologies for the delay. Everyone was being
mulish and uncooperative. Especially Rick. I think he's still mad at me
for 'What Might Have Been.' Oh well. These things happen. Reviews!
Sailor Elf: Heya, good to see you back! I decided since it was AU, I could indulge my h/c complex, and let Rick be all protective of Ardeth. I'm no h/c diva like Deana, but I do have my moments. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story! The first few chapters will contain the bulk of the humor, as everything is still being set up. . .the true angst doesn't come until much later. Just be patient with me.
Deana: You do realize that when I call you an h/c diva, it's meant in the nicest possible way, don't you? Glad you like the idea of Rick and Ardeth as actually being brothers. That last comment of Ardeth's in TMR was a bit on the cryptic side. With him, you're never entirely sure what he knows that the O'Connells don't (aside from leaving tombs alone that shouldn't be touched).
Brunette: Hi! Wow, I'm seriously happy! I love your 'Hamunaptra High.' Especially your high school version of Ardeth. Wish there was someone like him when I was in high school! I'm actually thinking of doing another AU story after this, culled from my previous story, 'What Might Have Been.' What would have happened if Imhotep rose for the first time in 1913, when our heroes were still very, very young?
Quick warning. . .a semi-schmaltzy Rick in this chapter, along with a very mischievous Ardeth. Okay. . .now, on with the story!
The Learning Curve
Part Two
While Rick O'Connell was ministering to his stepbrother, Imhotep, the great gentleman jewel thief, was fine-tuning his cover at the university. He knew about the arrival of the young Med-jai chieftain, of course. His people made sure he knew that. But none of them understood why Imhotep remained. Lock-nah thought he knew, of course. He thought Imhotep remained so he could kill the boy personally.
He was wrong. Imhotep did not hate young Ardeth Bey. There were actually very few people whom he did hate. Nor did he wish to kill the young man. He wanted to see what Ardeth Bey would become, over time. He was only twenty-two now, with the potential to become as great as his father, if not greater. Such potential should not be wasted. Lock-nah was a fool. He thought because he thought he hated Ardeth Bey and the Med-jai, everyone else should.
He failed to understand Imhotep's respect for his opponents. But perhaps Imhotep should expect that. Lock-nah wasn't so much a fool as a brute. He was an enforcer. . .or as American hockey fans liked to say, a goon. Although, calling him a good was something of an understatement, and should not be understood in the same context as hockey goons. Imhotep seriously doubted if those hockey players labeled as goons actually enjoyed causing pain.
He hired Lock-nah because his own head of security was killed in a skirmish with the Tuareg, in an area of the Sahara not patrolled by the Med- jai. It was so hard to find good help, and Imhotep's late security man, Jacques, was with him for nearly ten years. Unlike most of Imhotep's staff, he had a healthy respect for the artifacts and treasures which they. . .liberated. That was something that worried Imhotep about Lock-nah. He had no respect. If he didn't need Lock-nah's services, he would have fired him after the liberation of the Book of Amun-Ra.
Imhotep was a jewel thief, but he had his standards. Threatening the lives of two small girls was not acceptable behavior, and he warned Lock- nah what would happen if he ever did such a thing again. He had no idea if Lock-nah took him seriously. It was hard to know these things. But Imhotep didn't make threats he couldn't keep. The next time Lock-nah threatened an innocent, under any circumstances, there would be a reckoning.
There was, of course, the question of what an innocent was. Thalia and Yasmina O'Connell were not a direct, or even an indirect, threat to Imhotep and his aims. However, they were the younger sisters of the Med- jai chieftain, albeit half-sisters. . .which meant to Lock-nah, they were anything but innocent. Yes, he would have to keep a very careful eye on his enforcer. In the meantime, he would continue with his own plans.
He honestly didn't expect the Med-jai to track him down that quickly. On the other hand, he also never expected Lock-nah to threaten the lives of two children. So, perhaps he should have expected Ardeth Bey's swift reaction. That knowledge, however, did not give Imhotep any solutions to his current problem. His buyer for the Book didn't want to meet with him for at least three months, though the Book was stolen ahead of the agreed- upon schedule.
And the thief needed time to hide. Time to plan his next heist, for he chose his next target well in advance. That gave him time to do the research into the lore surrounding the object, the current status of the object, and start gathering information about the security system that protected it. He usually gave himself at least a year to plan a heist. Once he chose a target, gathered the necessary information, he began running simulations based on the security system of his chosen target.
He had an entire year before he pulled his next heist. He needed a base of operations. Everything fit together perfectly. Further, it appealed to Imhotep's twisted sense of humor to hide in plain sight. It gave him even more pleasure to watch the Med-jai, and know they were watching him. He was hiding in plain sight. The Med-jai knew exactly where he was, and yet, they could do nothing about it.
The Med-jai would kill to protect things under the sand that should not be seen. They took that upon their souls, so the entire world would not know the true horrors that existed, about the demons which walked the earth. The human demons and the supernatural ones. Imhotep never met a supernatural demon, but he knew many human demons. Those were frightening enough, even frightening Imhotep, who didn't scare easily.
So yes, the Med-jai killed. That was not up for debate. But the Med- jai did not believe in killing indiscriminately. Ardeth Bey would not allow an entire campus full of innocents to suffer, just to catch Imhotep. He was still young and idealistic, and he was learning other ways to do what had to be done. Imhotep had no wish to kill the chieftain. . .or anyone else. . .but he also had no qualms about using the young man's own inexperience against him.
After all, in a way, Imhotep was doing Ardeth a favor, was he not? He was teaching Ardeth how to succeed as a protector. That was Imhotep liked to think.
He was quite aware that his opponent would not agree with that summation, but that only amused him further. There was a light rap at the door, and Imhotep beckoned his visitor to enter. The door opened, revealing his front man, Dr Balthazar Hafez. A nervous, scheming little man, Hafez had his uses. Something Imhotep struggled to remember each time the little weasel irritated him. It was Hafez who helped him. . .set up shop at the university.
And Hafez irritated him often. Like now. The little weasel blustered, "I have good news, my lord!" Imhotep barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes. If the little insect called him 'my lord' one more time, Imhotep would be forced to do something terribly painful and more or less permanent to him. However, his impatience was forgotten as soon as the little weasel spoke once more. Hafez blubbered, "I just received a call from Dr Bey. . .his nephew is to be my new teaching assistant! This is a great opportunity for us, my lord!"
It took Imhotep a moment to understand what Hafez was saying. Then he smiled. He acknowledged on more than one occasion that he had a warped sense of humor. He took pride in that understanding. But right now, he felt that he wasn't the only one. Dr Bey delivered his own nephew straight into the hands of Imhotep's own front-man. The entire universe had his twisted sense of humor. Ardeth Bey was at his mercy and didn't even know it!
. . .
Evelyn Carnahan was not, regardless of what people said, an idiot. She knew what people said about her, what people said about her two roommates. She simply didn't care. Well, she didn't care about what was said about her. She did, however, care about the way people talked about Anck and Celia. Despite her differences with Anck, she was still Evy's roommate, still the girl who helped Evy take care of their other roommate.
Evy was also not blind. She knew all too well that she had her share of flaws. She was stubborn, occasionally self-righteous, too uptight, and too clumsy. Which was why she never teased Celia when she tripped while going *up*stairs. It was something that Evy would do, whether she was drunk or sober. She never saw Celia drunk, and wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see that, either. While she was far more easy-going than Evy, the Englishwoman had a feeling that her quiet American roommate would be a handful when she was drunk.
Anck was a handful when she was fully sober. Her blouses were too low-cut, her jeans too tight, her skirts too high. And Evy was thoroughly envious of her. She was envious, because Anck could get away with such things. She had the figure for it. She had the personality to successfully carry it off. On the other hand, if Evy ever tried to wear something similar, she would look like a tart. She had neither the figure, nor the personality, for it.
There were many other reasons for Evy to be jealous of Anck. Evy envied her roommate's ease with boys. Evy stuttered and stammered, and hid behind the mask she cultivated. She bitterly resented Anck for being able to wear what she did, for being able to talk to members of the opposite sex without stammering. And she covered that resentment by pretending that there were no members of the male population worthy of her attention.
That was why she was closer to Celia. . .one of many reasons. Like Evy, Celia had a hard time relating to members of the male population. Like Evy, she stuttered and stammered, and tried desperately to pretend like it didn't matter. In another ten years, it was entirely likely that it wouldn't matter. But right now, they were nineteen and struggling with themselves. For Evy, who hated the social aspect of school, university was a frustrating, intriguing world.
Before university, she hid herself in her books and in her digs. She took care of her brother when they were together, and pretended that her books and her digs and her brother were all the things in this world she needed. She certainly didn't need the condescending no-hopes who thought they were so much better than she was because they could get a date, and she was stuck at home. She wanted to be at home. What good would these dances do her when she became an Egyptologist?
University shook up all these beliefs. Anck shook up all these beliefs, as did Celia. Anck, because she wanted to experience everything. Celia, because in her American roommate, Evy saw a mirror of herself. What she saw frightened her, and she vowed that she would not allow those visions to come true. For herself, or for Celia. In the second semester of her freshman year, Evy dragged Celia to every concert, every art exhibit which came to the campus.
Celia, however, drew the line at art cinema. She went to two movies, and said 'no more.' At least she agreed with Evy, that most popular actors were worthless. Since she was such a good sport about going to things that bored her because Evy wanted company, Evy acceded to her wishes. And in those months, many of Evy's protective walls began crumbling. She could confide in Celia, who was sympathetic and understood Evy's perspective.
At the same time Evy was dragging Celia to the cultural events at the campus, Anck was dragging the other two girls to every party and movie night she could find. Considering the other girl had friends in nearly every dormitory on campus, they were kept very busy. And yet, Evy was shocked to realize she had no trouble keeping up her GPA. In fact, her grades were never better.
They balanced each other out, the three of them. Evy with her stiffness, Anck with her wild streak, and Celia, who kept them both stable. Evy heard some of her more perceptive hallmates describe the American girl as the bridge between Evy and Anck. That was actually a fairly good description of her. It told Evy that *some* of the people were paying attention to something other than the fact that Celia's hair was a little longer than it really should have been, and its tendency to fly all over the place when it was windy. Evy didn't think such people existed, until she got to university. She only had experience, up to that point, with people who sniggered behind their hands and pointed, making fun of anyone who was different.
Evy honestly had little use for people her own age. They were too cruel, too shallow, too inconsiderate. And she didn't see how Celia could put up with some of the rude remarks they overheard about her. If they weren't making fun of her weight, they were making fun of her wild dark hair, which refused to be tamed no matter what she did. Both things annoyed Evy. So her roommate was slender, so what? Celia was small-boned and short. . .there was nothing unhealthy about her weight. She certainly wasn't anorexic, or even bulimic!
There were many times in the last year, when Evy wanted to confront one of those rude people, but Celia always talked her out of it. They had better things to do, and besides, if those jerks had any idea how badly it upset Evy, it would get worse, instead of better. Evy allowed herself to be talked out of confronting them, but Anck was another story entirely. The first time she ever heard the jocks on the hall making fun of her roommate was also the last. She left several football players in a world of hurt.
Evy grinned, thinking about that. After the tickle fest made its way to all three women, they collapsed on the bed, giggling and gasping. Now, they sat together, reminding each other of the things done and said the previous semester. Anck asked, "What has you smiling like a Cheshire cat, Evelyn?" The English girl grinned at her roommate, and Anck grinned back, though her dark eyes reflected confusion.
"Remember what you did to the football players last year?" Evy asked with a broad grin. Anck almost choked on her root beer, her eyes glittering. Celia didn't have to worry about choking on her drink, as she finished it a few minutes earlier. Evy continued, laughing at the memory as well as Anck's expression, "I don't think those guys could walk for a week after you finished with them!" Evy tried not to remember the details of exactly what Anck did, but she couldn't forget that it involved a certain *very* sensitive part of the male body.
Anck merely smirked and replied, "They'll think twice next time about whipping it out. And they certainly think twice before making fun of one of my roommates, yes?" Celia threw back her head and laughed, drawing winces from all three when her head solidly connected with the brick wall. She rubbed the back of her head, wincing, and Anck rubbed the sore spot as well, saying, "Celia, querida, we all know that you have a hard head! You need not further demonstrate for us!"
"Oh, hush, Anck, or I'll help Evy double-team you!" Celia retorted, scowling and wincing at the same time. Evy, however, was struggling to keep from laughing. She wasn't the only klutz in the room, thank God. Celia glared at her, adding, "And as for you, Evelyn, the next time you do that, I'll have to hurt you!" Evy pressed one hand to her chest, with her best innocent 'who, me' look. Celia scowled, "Yes, you!"
"Why, Cecelia, I have no idea what you mean!" Evy retorted, still laughing helplessly. It wasn't that funny. Really. But they were all tired and giddy, and despite their snack earlier, they were still hungry. Maybe that would help to settle them all down. Evy pushed herself to her feet, walking to the phone, and said, "Okay, time to order pizza. The usual? And Celia, don't even think about pouncing while my back is turned."
It was Celia's turn to favor her with an innocent 'who me' look. Unfortunately, she was much better at it, which made Evy wonder how she got so much practice at it. After a moment, however, the English girl decided she didn't *want* to know. There were some illusions that were best left alone, and she thought this was one of them.
Anck said with a laugh, "I'll watch your back, Evelyn. . .after all, we wouldn't want you to mess up our order because our evil little roommate decided on a sneak attack. . .ow!" She rubbed her shoulder where Celia hit her, glaring at the other brunette. Celia glared right back, and Evy grinned. Her roommate hated any references to her diminutive size. However, Anck was right. Celia wouldn't do anything untoward if she wanted their order placed properly. A new mock quarrel broke out behind her, but Evy only laughed. It would be a while before they could be this carefree once more. . .why not enjoy it while it lasted?
. . .
The smell of food awoke him. He slowly came awake, groaning as sharp pains piercing his skull reminded him why he fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon. Something he *never* did. . .unless he had a raging headache. Ardeth closed his eyes once more, relaxing against the pillows behind him. He had very little memory of the drive home. After their meeting with Isidore. . .Izzy Buttons. . .Ardeth's headache became progressively worse.
Thankfully, Rick said little during the drive home. . .or if he did, he didn't press Ardeth for answers to his questions. The Med-jai had vague memories of Rick's hand on the back of his neck, then Rick dragging him inside the house and depositing him on the sofa. Beyond that, Ardeth remembered little, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to remember. He certainly didn't want to remember if he vomited all over Rick's car, for he had the distinct and very unpleasant memory of retching.
"Hey. . .you're awake," a soft voice said from the kitchen. Ardeth opened his eyes and smiled faintly as his stepbrother entered the living room. Rick sat down beside him on the sofa, resting a hand on Ardeth's left knee. A pair of bright blue eyes focused on him, and Rick continued, "You know, you gotta stop pulling stunts like that, Ardeth." The accusatory words couldn't quite mask the genuine concern in his voice.
"Stunts like what?" Ardeth managed to croak out. Rick just gave him a Look, and Ardeth continued, closing his eyes, "I have no idea what you're talking about, ya ahi." That wasn't entirely true. There were days when Ardeth was so caught up in his duties as a chieftain, he forgot to take care of himself. . .usually by missing at least one mea. Sometimes more than that. However, in the time they were in the US, that never happened. Well. . .rarely.
A sigh, then Rick answered, "I know. This was a tension headache. Ardeth, when are you gonna let me help you with this?" At that, Ardeth *did* open his eyes. He looked at his stepbrother inquiringly, not entirely sure what Rick meant by that remark. Help with what, exactly? Ardeth wasn't sure if he should be exasperated or amused. Even after eight years, there were many times when he didn't fully understand the other man.
The American obliged him by saying, "I came here so you wouldn't have to deal with this entire situation alone. But you still get tension headaches. You were sick earlier today, Ardeth, and you didn't tell me! How can I help you if you won't let me?" Now Ardeth was confused. . .truly confused. He couldn't figure out what Rick meant by that. How did Rick figure that Ardeth wasn't allowing him to help?
"Rick," he began, then grimaced as he attempted to sit up. Rick froze him with a Look of his own, then helped Ardeth to sit upright. The Med-jai bit his lip, now unsure if his memory was true. His stomach muscles ached as if he was sick often during the last few hours. Rick arranged the pillows behind him with an ease born of practice. Once they were stable, he allowed Ardeth to lean back, and the Med-jai replied wearily, "I had a headache, Rick, nothing more. It did not become bad until we returned to the apartment."
"Not bad? Ardeth, when we got back to the apartment, your knees were pressed against your chest, and your feet were against the dashboard. I don't think I need to tell you, of all people, that that was the closest a person can come to a fetal position inside a car! I had to half carry your ass inside the damn apartment!" Rick fired back. He was quite unaware of it, but his voice rose in volume, sending fresh pains stabbing into Ardeth's head.
The Med-jai dropped his head back against the pillow, unconcerned with his brother seeing him so vulnerable. He didn't care. He didn't have the energy to care. Rick, however, was still in full rant mode. He continued, "Are you trying to get yourself killed? 'Cause I can do that for you! I. . ." His voice continued to rise, and Ardeth struggled to hold back a groan of pain. His headache was returning as Rick continued to yell.
And then there was silence. Ardeth registered this, barely, and Rick said softly, "Christ. I'm sorry, buddy. You just scared me, that's all." A cool hand slipped around the back of his neck, a thumb rubbing against the vertebrae back there. Rick wasn't given to affectionate gestures. This was the equivalent of a Rick O'Connell hug, at least where another man was concerned. Rick said softly, "Look, you're still not at one hundred percent, and the food isn't ready yet. You rest, and I'll check on dinner."
"What is for dinner?" Ardeth inquired, his eyes still closed. He didn't really care one way or the other, but if he at least gave some indication of being interested in food, his brother wouldn't worry so much. His relationship with Rick was a little odd, to anyone looking at it from the outside, but it was one that Ardeth knew, and accepted. Rick, like himself, had a difficult time showing emotion. Especially softer emotions.
"Macaroni and cheese. One of the few things I can fix," came the answer.
Ardeth considered that for a few moments, before bobbing his head in acceptance. It wasn't as if he had a choice, really. Rick went through the trouble of making dinner for him. But he was grateful that he didn't feel another rise of nausea at the very thought of food. That brought up something else. He asked, opening his eyes once more, "In the car. . .I did not. . ." He gestured with his hand, trying to ask.
Fortunately for him, Rick understood. One thing Ardeth absolutely hated about these damnable headaches. . .they made it nearly impossible for him to think properly. His brother answered gently, "Nothing came up, Ardeth. You don't have to worry about it." Nodding ever so gently, Ardeth closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillows once more. He was vaguely aware of his stepbrother pulling a blanket, or something, around him more securely. Ardeth wouldn't allow himself to return to sleep, but he would rest.
Half a dozen thoughts floated through his mind. While he was away, his father's youngest brother, Nassor, was looking out for the twelve tribes. Ardeth allowed himself a half-smile, thinking about his uncle. Nassor was younger than Suleiman, Ardeth's late father, by fifteen years. In some ways, he was more like a much older brother than a father figure. He loved to tease Ardeth. Sometimes, too, his uncle's teasing was the source of Ardeth's lighter moments. His uncle, and Rick, between the two of them. . .they helped him keep his sanity.
Right before Ardeth left for America with his stepbrother, Uncle Nassor took him to one side, telling him that perhaps while he was in the United States, he would find a reason to smile once more. For once, his uncle's dark eyes were serious. He added, gripping Ardeth's shoulders tightly, "You are my nephew, and I love you more than anyone else, except my daughter, my little Monifa. You are too young to be so serious, and for once, I would see you happy."
Happy. Ardeth considered that word. What exactly did it mean? He tried to think of a time when he was truly happy, for more than a moment or two. A faint smile curved his mouth as he remembered. It was right after he was stabbed in the raid which led to the beginning of his friendship with Rick. If Ardeth's memory was correct, it was three days after he woke up the first time. Rick wouldn't leave him, not for more than an hour or two.
And every time he returned, he brought something with him. A book, a comic book, a deck of cards. Anything he thought Ardeth might like. Half the things he brought, Ardeth had no clue what they were for, but that didn't matter. Rick brought them from his little treasure trove, things he never shared with anyone before. They were important to Rick, and that was all that mattered. His stepbrother was finally accepting him.
On this third day, Ardeth was becoming restless. He almost died, and he knew that, but he was fifteen years old. He recovered quickly, and he wanted to return to his training. Of course, all of the adults, plus Andreas, were dead set against that idea. His step-father, his mother, the healer. . .all of them. Andreas promised that he would return as soon as he was strong enough to hold a scimitar once more. But his eyes told the truth. . .they were all afraid for Ardeth, and the young boy could look forward to several months of them all being over-protective of him. It happened before. This time would be no different.
Rick returned after Andreas left, and the two boys sat in silence for a while. At last, unable to bear the silence any longer, Rick began talking. He told Ardeth about his mother, who died when he was thirteen. Rick's mother died when he was thirteen. . .Ardeth's father died when the Med-jai boy was thirteen. There was some importance to that revelation, though he couldn't have said what.
Something, which was true seven years later. Ardeth knew his uncle really meant that he hoped Ardeth would find someone. A girl. But the young man didn't see that happening. Where would he find a woman, a girl, who could be what he needed? Where would he find a woman who could accept the little he had to offer? Ardeth didn't think such a woman existed. But he promised his uncle that he would try. Ardeth just hoped Uncle Nassor didn't say something similar to Rick before the departure, because if he did. . . If he did, Ardeth knew he was doomed. The idea of his stepbrother playing matchmaker frightened him. Badly.
. . .
Cecelia Anne Ferguson made a discovery about herself when she was fourteen years old. She was a freak. . .a mutant. Not in the way that Nightcrawler, her favorite character among the X-Men, was a mutant. She had no powers, nothing that made her 'special.' And she wasn't a freak in that she was extremely small or looked like she belonged in a circus show. But she certainly wasn't like other people. . .much less other people her own age. She was different. Not just because she came from a rich family, though that certainly played into being different.
She was different because she looked at the world differently from most people her own age. That included both Evy and Anck, though the duo were her two best friends in the world. She was a mutant because until she was eighteen years old and starting college, she never truly rebelled against her parents. Even when she did, it was in a quiet, understated way. . .quiet and understated, at least, for any teenager.
She never talked back. Never thought she was somehow smarter than her parents. . .or grandparents, when you came right down to it. She was a good little girl, and for some reason, that bothered her not at all. Perhaps part of it came from the knowledge that her life could be much worse. Or maybe it came from her parents' memory of the near miss involving her and her older brother more than fifteen years earlier.
Celia simply had no desire to do anything that might cost her the love of her parents. At least, that was the case until she was eighteen years old, and her parents wanted her to choose something nice and unthreatening as a career. Unthreatening to a male ego, since they wanted to see her married to a nice, stable, rich boy, preferably the son of one of their friends.
Someone who could take care of her. Celia, however, demonstrated the stubborn streak she inherited from her grandmother Annabelle, and announced she would major in Egyptology. The worst part was, Celia didn't choose the field because it would annoy her parents. She chose it because it fascinated her, and the more she learned, the more she wanted to learn. Unfortunately for Bruce and Madeleine Ferguson, however, their quiet, good little girl put her foot down and refused to consider anything else.
Money, Celia said, could go away. There could be another stock market crash, there were the ramifications of a situation like Enron. Celia could not depend on her family's money, or the money of any man she chose to marry. She had to be able to take care of herself, or she would never survive. Bruce and Madeleine were nonplussed. Their teenaged daughter wasn't supposed to know about such things! Never mind, of course, that they discussed the Enron situation every night at supper. . .they never thought the children might actually be listening!
They were listening. Not so much their youngest child Jason, who was the reckless one. But Celia listened, as did her older brother Galen. He came to the house where he grew up every night for dinner. Galen was a doctor, and no matter what happened, he would always be needed. That, however, was tolerable, because he brought a certain amount of prestige to the family, by becoming a doctor.
Celia planned on being a different kind of doctor, and besides, she was a woman. In the beginning, Galen thought his younger sister should have chosen a field like his own. Not necessarily a doctor, but a lawyer, or a journalist, or someone who would always be necessary. He supported his sister's desire to be able to take care of herself, but really thought she should have chosen something different.
With a strength no one ever guessed she possessed (except, perhaps, her grandmother), Celia stuck to her guns. Not only did she choose Egyptology as her major, but she excelled in her classes, finding a place on the Dean's List in her first semester. She sacrificed all of her free time to the pursuit of her goals, but she didn't care. She needed the focus, needed to direct her attention away from her family, before she strangled them all out of sheer frustration.
During that time, she had only her grandmother's unconditional support. Her brother kept trying to change her mind about what her major should be, while her parents trying to convince her to drop out of college all together. Things got progressively worse after her grandmother's death. It was like sharks sensing blood, and the pressure on the eighteen year old mounted to do what her family wanted, instead of what she wanted.
Celia's patience finally snapped right before she returned to school after Thanksgiving. Thoroughly frustrated, she threatened not to come home for Christmas if they all didn't leave her alone. Christmas break lasted a month. Her friend Margit invited her to join her for a European trip, and with some of the money that her grandmother left her, she could have a pressure-free Christmas. Her parents didn't believe her. . .and as soon as she returned to school, she made the arrangements. One of the last things her grandmother did before her death was arrange for Celia to have a credit card. . .granting Annabelle's only granddaughter some much needed freedom.
She had the tickets arranged. . .the only thing needed to do was find a way to the airport. Here, Galen came through for her. Chastened by her outburst, her older brother agreed to drive her to the airport, and promised to never bring up the subject again. That was one roadblock removed. The second came when her mother wanted to know when she would be coming home for Christmas. Celia answered very calmly that she wasn't. . .she already told the family she was going to Europe to visit Margit.
There was a long silence, then Madeleine Ferguson said in a faltering voice, "But I. . .but I thought you were just. . .you meant what you said?" Celia said nothing, and her mother asked next, "How did you get the money? Wait a minute, never mind. I didn't ask that question. My dear mother is interfering from beyond the grave, isn't she? It wasn't enough that I was such a failure in her eyes, no, she has to turn my daughter against me."
Celia stared at the phone, then said very quietly, "No, Mother, Grandmother was dead by the time you pushed me too far. This was my decision. Mine alone. Just as my choice to become an Egyptologist is my own." A preternatural calm stole over her, as if she was no longer Celia, but someone else. The real Celia couldn't believe she was saying these things to her mother, what if her mother turned against her, didn't love her any more?
There was another long silence, then Madeleine exhaled slowly. Celia could hear murmurings in the background, and could make out Galen's voice. Then her mother said softly, "Mother warned me that this day was coming. She told me before she died that I should back off and let you make your own choices, your own mistakes. She said that if I continued to pressure you, I would lose you. . .and I would have only myself to blame."
Celia closed her eyes. That sounded like her grandmother, all right. Madeleine asked, her voice shaking, "I haven't lost you yet, have I? That was just a warning, right?" It was Celia's turn to exhale, and she opened her eyes to see Anck watching her very closely. The young American girl couldn't quite figure out her roommate's expression, and what it meant exactly. But it seemed as if Anck was waiting.
Celia replied after a moment, "Of course you haven't lost me, Mother. I love you. I just need. . .I just need to be away. I was afraid, during Thanksgiving break, that if I didn't put some space between us during my next break, I'd end up strangling everyone of you." That included Jason, who insisted on playing his music as loudly as his speakers could tolerate while Celia was trying to sleep. He was starting to turn into a demon child as he hit his teens.
There was another long silence, then her mother whispered, "I didn't realize this meant so much to you, honey. I thought. . .I thought you would grow out of it. Your credit line, will it be enough to take care of your expenses while you're in Europe?" The subject seemed to be settled, but Celia knew her parents. Sooner or later, the battle would start up once more. It was just a question of time. Eighteen years of living with her parents taught her how it would go. All in the guise of doing what was best for Celia, it would start with one of her father's business partners heckling him about his headstrong daughter. It would have never occurred to Celia to consider her father a weak man, but he was.
He worried about what his friends would say. And thus, began working on his wife, putting pressure on her to make Celia fall into line. Those were Galen's words, who became doubly protective of his sister when she returned from Europe. His patience with their parents was running out. Celia struggled to hold onto her own, reminding herself that they were her parents, and they loved her, but their idea of what made her happy was at odds with the reality.
Bruce Ferguson convinced his wife that their quiet, dutiful daughter was finally rebelling. Which was true enough, but Bruce made a fatal error in dealing with his quiet, but headstrong, only daughter. He believed that if they pressured Celia enough, she would realize her dreams weren't worth tearing her family apart, and she would go along with what they wanted for her. Celia would return to being their quiet, dutiful daughter, and everything would be fine.
He was stunned when Celia only dug her heels in deeper, even more stunned when Galen threw all of his support behind his younger sister. Bruce threatened to cut off Celia's trust fund to make her do what he wanted. . .she responded by looking for a job. Galen helped once more. He had a friend who worked at a local warehouse, a warehouse that was desperately in need of warm, capable bodies.
As the three siblings stayed at their grandmother's house that summer, Celia began her first real job. She received seven dollars per hour for packing boxes, and she loved it. She wore Galen's old jeans, from when he was a teenager, saved her money, and spent her free time studying. For the first two months of the summer, she was happy. Then came the incident that would haunt Celia's life for the next several months.
His name was Neil Grady, and he was thirty years old, only a year older than Galen. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he had a nice smile. He seemed dependable. . .whenever one of the packers needed supplies, he got it for them. He was strong, a big, burly man who was at least twice Celia's size. And Celia was utterly fascinated with him. He seemed to be exactly the kind of man whom her grandmother wanted for her.
They were beginning a slow, tentative friendship, despite the eleven year age difference. And then, without warning, he turned against her. If she tried to speak to him, he ran to their supervisor's office, threatening her with a sexual harassment complaint. And of course, the supervisor warned Celia to stay away from him. She was to have nothing further to do with Neil Grady, or it would mean her job. Confused and hurt, Celia did exactly what she was told, and then some. Not only did she stay away from Neil, but she began to withdraw into herself. She didn't know what she had done to deserve this, and no longer trusted herself.
Celia's reaction didn't go un-noticed. A few of the other packers started a quiet investigation. . .at least, as quiet as possible in a warehouse setting. Rumors and gossip flew as quickly as any Air Force jet. What they discovered caused a mini-explosion inside the warehouse. Neil Grady was falling in love with Celia Ferguson when he found out that not only was she a very bright young college student, who had her whole life ahead of her. . .but she was also the daughter of rich parents. Her family was old money, something no one even guessed at, because it never occurred to Celia to tell anyone. Here, it didn't matter. Or, so she thought.
Neil considered himself just average, nobody special. He was a fork truck driver, a simple man who wanted a simple girl. Celia Ferguson was far from simple. By the time she was finished, she would have a college education. And she was the daughter of rich people. She had a trust fund. She didn't need this job. . .she was just here to salve her guilt at being born into a higher social strata. She didn't really care about the people she worked with. . .this was all just a ploy to make herself look good. She was using Neil to get her kicks.
Enraged by what he considered her deception, and by his own complicated feelings, Neil lashed out, threatening something she worked hard to accomplish. Her job. When the truth came out, it was in the last week of Celia's time at the warehouse, and the dust was still settling. The others in the warehouse shunned Neil Grady, and Celia still bore the scars of the whole incident. When she returned to school, she was determined to focus on one thing, and one thing only. Her schoolwork. She was driven now, in a way she wasn't previously.
Her anger and hurt needed an outlet. She wasn't ready to talk to Anck about it, or Evy. So when Anck teased her about her friendship with Beni, Celia almost lashed out at her for it. Celia was not the same girl she was when she left for summer vacation three months earlier, and worse yet, the young sophomore was still coming to terms with the changes within herself. The boys on the hall all reminded her of Neil, in some form or another.
Beni was someone uncomplicated, who accepted her for herself. Something she needed desperately, and someone she believed wouldn't betray her. There was no reason for him to betray her, after all. He knew she came from a wealthy family, and didn't hold it against her. He knew that she was a college student, knew about her dreams, and didn't think she behaved superior to him in any way.
Anck was afraid the others in the hall would start saying that Celia was Beni's girlfriend. Was that such a bad thing to be? Beni had his faults, but he was never anything but nice to her. She was reminded of this as she left the room to pick up the pizza. Beni was finishing up the girls' bathroom, and getting ready to do the boys. She wasn't going to ask him about it, wanted to spare him that indignity, at least.
But her feet had a mind of their own. They stopped at Beni's cart, and she looked at him inquiringly. He returned the look, asking, "What is it, my little American queen? What is it that troubles your mind and brings you to my ever-so-humble cart?" Queen. That was something Neil called her, in the final blowout confrontation that left the warehouse in ruins. Emotionally speaking. But Beni's use of the term held only affection.
"You're full of bullshit, Beni, Anck was right about that," Celia answered in a conversational tone. Beni smiled at her, his blue eyes alight with laughter. She grinned back at him, feeling the tension slowly easing from her body. That gave her the courage to ask, "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be totally honest with me when you answer. Do you think I'm stuck up? Think I'm better than everyone else?" Something else Neil accused her of being. One of many things. Beni was full of bullshit, but that was part of his charm. It was expected, you dealt with it, and moved on.
And, for once, she surprised him. He responded with a mouthful of Hungarian expletives, most of which Celia knew from her friendship with Margit. The young Hungarian girl took great delight in teaching Hungarian swear words to Celia. When he ran out of invectives, Beni said forcefully, "Of course not! What stupid man has told you such nonsense?"
Celia raised her eyebrows. . .and just how did he know it was a man? Beni continued, his Hungarian accent thickening, "You only doubt yourself where men are concerned, Cecelia. No other time. Now answer my question. . .what kind of stupid man would ever say such a thing?" He was gesturing wildly, which demonstrated his level of agitation. Beni was, not to put too fine a point on it, pissed. That, in turn, surprised her. She never expected Beni to react so violently!
"A guy I worked with this summer. He also called me a liar. Among other things," Celia answered. She should forget about this, she knew, just let it go. But she couldn't. It hurt too much. Neil Grady hurt her in a way she was never hurt before, in a way she was determined to never be hurt again. She would rather spend the rest of her life alone than allow another man to hurt her like this. And before she could let this go, she had to try to understand why it happened.
Beni was the only male whom she trusted, aside from her brothers, and Celia didn't want to tell Galen. He would want to beat up Neil. As it was, Beni spat something rude in Hungarian, then said, "As I said! He is a stupid, stupid man. Probably has more balls than brains. Me, I am a coward. You are very brave, and I see the hurt it causes you. But that will not stop you. That is why you are brave, and I am a coward." Celia blinked, trying to process that.
When she finally sorted it through in her mind, she replied, "Beni, I'm not that brave. I'm nobody special, you of all people should know that!" She knew that. She wasn't the prettiest roommate out of her small trio, nor was she the smartest. She had to work hard to get the grades she did. She was still trying to figure out how she managed to make Dean's List the last semester, since she wasn't focusing solely on her classes.
"You are not a stupid girl, Cecelia, but you say stupid things. This man does not deserve your tears," Beni retorted. Well, they agreed about that, at the least. Her friend continued after a moment, "Cecelia, my dear friend, my good friend, you must listen to Beni. You asked me if I thought you were stuck up, or considered yourself better than anyone else. That alone shows that you do not. If you truly believed such a thing, you would have never asked me."
Okay, she could hardly argue with that. Beni continued, "You deserve only the best. That is why you should not be friends with me. Someone as brave as you, you deserve someone who is brave. Not someone who will hide behind you." Celia started to answer, but Beni shook his head and continued, "No, my friend. I speak the truth. You deserve only the best, Celia. Only the best is good enough for someone like you."
Celia laughed, asking with barely-suppressed bitterness, "How do I know what best is, Beni? I thought I might have found the best, and I was wrong. What is the best? The smartest? The most handsome? The nicest? The most honest? I don't trust my judgment anymore. I thought he was nice, I thought he was dependable and stable. I was wrong."
She didn't trust her judgment. And she didn't think it was possible to find what she was looking for in a man. Someone strong and honorable. Someone who was strong enough to lean on her, and on whom she could rely when she needed his strength. Someone who thought she was worth the risk. Someone who. . .someone who was the exact opposite of Neil Grady, when you came right down to it.
Celia looked at Beni, saying softly, "Even if such a man exists. . .I won't meet him for a long time to come. He's sure as hell not a student here. You're the only decent guy I've met in the last year." Beni looked at her almost sadly, and Celia added, "They tease me, you know. About being your girlfriend. But what would be so bad about that? What would be so bad, Beni, I don't understand?"
"You are too nice for your own good, Cecelia. Besides. Whoever said that it had to be a student? There are grad students, teaching assistants, the occasional professor. Do not limit yourself, Cecelia. . .now go. Do not keep your friends waiting for your pizza. I am sure they do not wish to carry you back upstairs when you collapse from hunger," Beni answered. Celia rolled her eyes, swatting his shoulder with the back of her hand, but headed toward the stairs. As she walked, she thought about what he said. Teaching assistants? That was almost as bad as professors! No, if she found The One, it wouldn't be here, and it wouldn't be for a long time.
. . .
So. He was a security guard. That was okay. He could handle that. Better a security guard than a cook. The idea was to smoke out Imhotep, not to poison him. Although, if all else failed, they could always do that. Of course, he knew better than to say that to his stepbrother. Ardeth didn't always have a sense of humor. Rick carefully ladled out a heaping spoonful of the macaroni and cheese, eyeing it speculatively. Nope. Everything seemed fine to him.
It was one of the few things he could make without ruining it. Rick smiled almost wistfully. His mother taught him how to make macaroni and cheese, and he always considered it a final gift from her. He never forgot what she taught him. Most of what she taught him, at least. Right now, he wanted to make sure Ardeth ate something. His brother didn't turn green when the macaroni and cheese was mentioned, which was a good sign.
Rick cast a glance into the other room. Ardeth was asleep again. Maybe that was for the best. He didn't sleep most of the time these days. . .he was too tense. Rick sighed as he carried the macaroni and cheese into the living room, sitting it on the coffee table. Ardeth mumbled something and opened his eyes, giving Rick a sleepy smile. Rick smiled back, saying softly, "I'll get you some Coke. . .be right back."
Ardeth nodded, cringing a little as he pushed himself upright. Rick patted his shoulder, then went into the kitchen for his brother's favorite beverage. When he returned with the opened plastic bottle, Ardeth was digging into the food. Rick sat the Coke down on the coffee table, then sat down on the floor. Ardeth took a sip of the Coke, then said softly, "I am sorry for worrying you, Rick."
He should have known this was coming. It was Rick's own fault, for yelling at Ardeth earlier. He couldn't seem to help it, though. Whenever he was angry or scared, he lashed out. Even now, when he was twenty-three, instead of fifteen. And the more he cared for someone, the worse he lashed out. Rick was a man, and he couldn't admit out loud to anyone just how much his stepbrother meant to him.
For all that Rick watched out for Ardeth, watched his back and made sure he didn't starve himself while taking care of the Med-jai people, the American knew that his step-brother was stronger than he was. And whenever Rick thought back to those terrifying days after Ardeth was stabbed while protecting him, his blood ran cold. He didn't know what he would do without Ardeth. . .he didn't *want* to think about it.
There were times in the last seven years, even after Ardeth almost died, when Rick tried to drive him away. The people who were the most important to him ended up dying, and Rick didn't think he could handle losing someone else. But the more he tried to push Ardeth away, the more his stepbrother stood up to him. He couldn't be pushed away. He didn't understand that Rick was pushing him away because he loved him so much. . .that probably never even occurred to Ardeth. But. . .he was still there.
The truth was, love, of any kind, scared the hell out of Rick O'Connell. Love, even for his brother, meant a loss of control. Things that frightened Rick O'Connell, in turn, angered him. Ardeth was one of the few people whom he trusted. The last person whom he trusted, outside of his blood relations, betrayed him. Ardeth would never willingly betray Rick, he *knew* that. But he could leave him. Just as Rick's mother did.
Then Rick looked at Ardeth. Saw his brother's dark eyes leveled on him in a way that made all of his fears vanish. Ardeth would never leave him. . .and he would not leave Ardeth.
He replied, "Don't worry about it, buddy. I was being a jerk. That happens from time to time." Ardeth arched his eyebrows, his eyes glittering with mischief, and Rick pointed both his index fingers at him, saying, "Not a word outta you, Ardeth Bey, I mean it." Now Ardeth was smiling, and Rick congratulated him for that particular accomplishment. Even after all these years, Rick didn't usually see his brother smile.
"I? I said nothing, ya ahi, you said it all for me," Ardeth fired back. Rick growled at him, disguising his relief. Ardeth was joking, which was a very good sign. He smiled rarely, laughed even more rarely, but that didn't prevent him from cracking jokes. Occasionally at Rick's expense. Since his brother's dry sense of humor didn't often make an appearance while they were on a mission, Rick came to cherish these moments.
"Smart-ass," the American muttered. Ardeth merely smiled impishly. Rick took Ardeth's plate, now without a morsel of food, and asked, "Did you want seconds?" Ardeth's expression became considering, and Rick added, "On second thought, forget I asked. I haven't eaten yet." Ardeth nodded, his dark eyes glittering with an imp Rick learned to fear years earlier, and the elder added, "And don't tell me 'it takes one to know one.' That's irritating."
"Actually," Ardeth answered solemnly, "I would have said, 'I learned from the best.' Which I did." Rick glared at him, trying not to let a smile slip through. Damn, he should know by now not to underestimate Ardeth! Just when he thought he had his brother figured out, Ardeth threw him a curve ball. The other continued after a moment, "Well, if you plan to eat, you should get it while it is still hot."
There was a double meaning there. Rick knew there was a double meaning there. That imp was still lurking in Ardeth's eyes. But his brother's expression was so innocent, Rick couldn't figure out what that double meaning was. He shook his head and headed into the kitchen, glancing every few minutes at his younger brother. Ardeth was up to something. He knew he was up to something. He had to be.
Rick dumped the now soggy paper plate in the trash. As he put the remaining macaroni and cheese on his own plate, he kept an ear open for any sounds from the other room. There was, but only the usual creaking of the sofa whenever Ardeth shifted his position. Rick chided himself for his suspicious nature. Juvenile pranks were his calling card, his and Anatol's. Ardeth was too mature to pull such childish stunts. Satisfied in this particular truth, Rick called back into the other room, "You want another Coke?" He received a 'yes, please,' and briefly considered telling Ardeth to get it himself.
However, he dismissed that idea after only a moment. Ardeth was in a strange mood. Right now, he wouldn't put it past his brother to tell him, 'but you are already up.' Besides, it wasn't that much trouble. Rick could easily put two cans on the one plate. It wouldn't take much effort. . .just a little balancing act. And. . .Rick was worried. As bad as that headache was, he knew Ardeth would still be wobbly. The last thing Rick needed was Ardeth taking a header because his legs wouldn't hold him. Oh no. Rick *really* did not want to spend the entire night at the ER while his brother got his head stitched up!
He carried his plate, and both Cokes, back into the living room. Ardeth was writing something on a notebook. He said without looking up, "Your cover is a member of campus security. Your partner is Nicholas Burns, from Texas." Rick cocked an eyebrow while he placed the plate on the coffee table. And what exactly was that supposed to mean? He handed Ardeth's Coke to him, and Ardeth obliged him by adding, "Uncle Terrence never does things without a reason, a very specific reason. Thank you."
Rick bobbed his head, sliding his own Coke Can beside the plate, replying, "You're welcome." He was on the verge of saying more, when he sat down. Big mistake. Ardeth used his time alone in the living room very well. He placed a whoopee cushion under the cushion of the armchair where Rick was sitting. The sound had Rick on his feet once more, glaring at his younger brother as he removed the source of the offending noise.
Ardeth merely looked at him, asking, "Something you ate, ya ahi?" Rick almost smacked him over the head with the cushion, then decided that might not be such a good idea. He might knock what little remaining sense Ardeth had right out of his head. Damn, Ardeth was getting too good at this practical joke thing. . .by now he could even pull one of his pranks and keep a straight face all the time.
Rick growled, "That was juvenile, Ardeth, just plain juvenile." But damn it was funny! He was only a year older than Ardeth, but there were times when he wished his stepbrother wasn't so damn serious. He was only twenty-two. . .he should be one of the students at this college, instead of pretending to be a teaching assistant. Rick added, just because he thought he should, "I will get you back, you know that."
"Ahh, but I would expect nothing else from you. Can I assume then, Rick, that I will hear no more comments about my sense of humor. . .or lack thereof?" Ardeth asked, a tiny smile now appearing on his face. This time, Rick picked up one of the small pillows resting behind him in the chair and threw it at his brother. Ardeth dodged it easily, saying with that tiny smile, "You are losing your touch, ya ahi. I can remember a time when you didn't miss."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were saying something about my cover? You figure this Burns fella was chosen as my partner for a reason?" Rick asked, successfully diverting his brother's attention from further harassing him. He was kinda sorry he did. The laughter died from Ardeth's eyes and he nodded, sitting forward. The mischievous younger brother disappeared, giving way to the serious, focused chieftain.
On the other hand, Rick was more comfortable with Ardeth like this. His intensity tended to frighten people, and Rick was around women enough to know they found Ardeth attractive. If Ardeth suddenly developed a true mischievous streak, like the one Acacia had. . .well, Rick would find himself with competition he never had before. The last thing Rick wanted was to be in competition with his brother for any woman's affections.
He needn't have worried. The young woman ultimately destined to win his brother's heart wasn't one Rick would have looked at twice.
Sailor Elf: Heya, good to see you back! I decided since it was AU, I could indulge my h/c complex, and let Rick be all protective of Ardeth. I'm no h/c diva like Deana, but I do have my moments. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story! The first few chapters will contain the bulk of the humor, as everything is still being set up. . .the true angst doesn't come until much later. Just be patient with me.
Deana: You do realize that when I call you an h/c diva, it's meant in the nicest possible way, don't you? Glad you like the idea of Rick and Ardeth as actually being brothers. That last comment of Ardeth's in TMR was a bit on the cryptic side. With him, you're never entirely sure what he knows that the O'Connells don't (aside from leaving tombs alone that shouldn't be touched).
Brunette: Hi! Wow, I'm seriously happy! I love your 'Hamunaptra High.' Especially your high school version of Ardeth. Wish there was someone like him when I was in high school! I'm actually thinking of doing another AU story after this, culled from my previous story, 'What Might Have Been.' What would have happened if Imhotep rose for the first time in 1913, when our heroes were still very, very young?
Quick warning. . .a semi-schmaltzy Rick in this chapter, along with a very mischievous Ardeth. Okay. . .now, on with the story!
The Learning Curve
Part Two
While Rick O'Connell was ministering to his stepbrother, Imhotep, the great gentleman jewel thief, was fine-tuning his cover at the university. He knew about the arrival of the young Med-jai chieftain, of course. His people made sure he knew that. But none of them understood why Imhotep remained. Lock-nah thought he knew, of course. He thought Imhotep remained so he could kill the boy personally.
He was wrong. Imhotep did not hate young Ardeth Bey. There were actually very few people whom he did hate. Nor did he wish to kill the young man. He wanted to see what Ardeth Bey would become, over time. He was only twenty-two now, with the potential to become as great as his father, if not greater. Such potential should not be wasted. Lock-nah was a fool. He thought because he thought he hated Ardeth Bey and the Med-jai, everyone else should.
He failed to understand Imhotep's respect for his opponents. But perhaps Imhotep should expect that. Lock-nah wasn't so much a fool as a brute. He was an enforcer. . .or as American hockey fans liked to say, a goon. Although, calling him a good was something of an understatement, and should not be understood in the same context as hockey goons. Imhotep seriously doubted if those hockey players labeled as goons actually enjoyed causing pain.
He hired Lock-nah because his own head of security was killed in a skirmish with the Tuareg, in an area of the Sahara not patrolled by the Med- jai. It was so hard to find good help, and Imhotep's late security man, Jacques, was with him for nearly ten years. Unlike most of Imhotep's staff, he had a healthy respect for the artifacts and treasures which they. . .liberated. That was something that worried Imhotep about Lock-nah. He had no respect. If he didn't need Lock-nah's services, he would have fired him after the liberation of the Book of Amun-Ra.
Imhotep was a jewel thief, but he had his standards. Threatening the lives of two small girls was not acceptable behavior, and he warned Lock- nah what would happen if he ever did such a thing again. He had no idea if Lock-nah took him seriously. It was hard to know these things. But Imhotep didn't make threats he couldn't keep. The next time Lock-nah threatened an innocent, under any circumstances, there would be a reckoning.
There was, of course, the question of what an innocent was. Thalia and Yasmina O'Connell were not a direct, or even an indirect, threat to Imhotep and his aims. However, they were the younger sisters of the Med- jai chieftain, albeit half-sisters. . .which meant to Lock-nah, they were anything but innocent. Yes, he would have to keep a very careful eye on his enforcer. In the meantime, he would continue with his own plans.
He honestly didn't expect the Med-jai to track him down that quickly. On the other hand, he also never expected Lock-nah to threaten the lives of two children. So, perhaps he should have expected Ardeth Bey's swift reaction. That knowledge, however, did not give Imhotep any solutions to his current problem. His buyer for the Book didn't want to meet with him for at least three months, though the Book was stolen ahead of the agreed- upon schedule.
And the thief needed time to hide. Time to plan his next heist, for he chose his next target well in advance. That gave him time to do the research into the lore surrounding the object, the current status of the object, and start gathering information about the security system that protected it. He usually gave himself at least a year to plan a heist. Once he chose a target, gathered the necessary information, he began running simulations based on the security system of his chosen target.
He had an entire year before he pulled his next heist. He needed a base of operations. Everything fit together perfectly. Further, it appealed to Imhotep's twisted sense of humor to hide in plain sight. It gave him even more pleasure to watch the Med-jai, and know they were watching him. He was hiding in plain sight. The Med-jai knew exactly where he was, and yet, they could do nothing about it.
The Med-jai would kill to protect things under the sand that should not be seen. They took that upon their souls, so the entire world would not know the true horrors that existed, about the demons which walked the earth. The human demons and the supernatural ones. Imhotep never met a supernatural demon, but he knew many human demons. Those were frightening enough, even frightening Imhotep, who didn't scare easily.
So yes, the Med-jai killed. That was not up for debate. But the Med- jai did not believe in killing indiscriminately. Ardeth Bey would not allow an entire campus full of innocents to suffer, just to catch Imhotep. He was still young and idealistic, and he was learning other ways to do what had to be done. Imhotep had no wish to kill the chieftain. . .or anyone else. . .but he also had no qualms about using the young man's own inexperience against him.
After all, in a way, Imhotep was doing Ardeth a favor, was he not? He was teaching Ardeth how to succeed as a protector. That was Imhotep liked to think.
He was quite aware that his opponent would not agree with that summation, but that only amused him further. There was a light rap at the door, and Imhotep beckoned his visitor to enter. The door opened, revealing his front man, Dr Balthazar Hafez. A nervous, scheming little man, Hafez had his uses. Something Imhotep struggled to remember each time the little weasel irritated him. It was Hafez who helped him. . .set up shop at the university.
And Hafez irritated him often. Like now. The little weasel blustered, "I have good news, my lord!" Imhotep barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes. If the little insect called him 'my lord' one more time, Imhotep would be forced to do something terribly painful and more or less permanent to him. However, his impatience was forgotten as soon as the little weasel spoke once more. Hafez blubbered, "I just received a call from Dr Bey. . .his nephew is to be my new teaching assistant! This is a great opportunity for us, my lord!"
It took Imhotep a moment to understand what Hafez was saying. Then he smiled. He acknowledged on more than one occasion that he had a warped sense of humor. He took pride in that understanding. But right now, he felt that he wasn't the only one. Dr Bey delivered his own nephew straight into the hands of Imhotep's own front-man. The entire universe had his twisted sense of humor. Ardeth Bey was at his mercy and didn't even know it!
. . .
Evelyn Carnahan was not, regardless of what people said, an idiot. She knew what people said about her, what people said about her two roommates. She simply didn't care. Well, she didn't care about what was said about her. She did, however, care about the way people talked about Anck and Celia. Despite her differences with Anck, she was still Evy's roommate, still the girl who helped Evy take care of their other roommate.
Evy was also not blind. She knew all too well that she had her share of flaws. She was stubborn, occasionally self-righteous, too uptight, and too clumsy. Which was why she never teased Celia when she tripped while going *up*stairs. It was something that Evy would do, whether she was drunk or sober. She never saw Celia drunk, and wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see that, either. While she was far more easy-going than Evy, the Englishwoman had a feeling that her quiet American roommate would be a handful when she was drunk.
Anck was a handful when she was fully sober. Her blouses were too low-cut, her jeans too tight, her skirts too high. And Evy was thoroughly envious of her. She was envious, because Anck could get away with such things. She had the figure for it. She had the personality to successfully carry it off. On the other hand, if Evy ever tried to wear something similar, she would look like a tart. She had neither the figure, nor the personality, for it.
There were many other reasons for Evy to be jealous of Anck. Evy envied her roommate's ease with boys. Evy stuttered and stammered, and hid behind the mask she cultivated. She bitterly resented Anck for being able to wear what she did, for being able to talk to members of the opposite sex without stammering. And she covered that resentment by pretending that there were no members of the male population worthy of her attention.
That was why she was closer to Celia. . .one of many reasons. Like Evy, Celia had a hard time relating to members of the male population. Like Evy, she stuttered and stammered, and tried desperately to pretend like it didn't matter. In another ten years, it was entirely likely that it wouldn't matter. But right now, they were nineteen and struggling with themselves. For Evy, who hated the social aspect of school, university was a frustrating, intriguing world.
Before university, she hid herself in her books and in her digs. She took care of her brother when they were together, and pretended that her books and her digs and her brother were all the things in this world she needed. She certainly didn't need the condescending no-hopes who thought they were so much better than she was because they could get a date, and she was stuck at home. She wanted to be at home. What good would these dances do her when she became an Egyptologist?
University shook up all these beliefs. Anck shook up all these beliefs, as did Celia. Anck, because she wanted to experience everything. Celia, because in her American roommate, Evy saw a mirror of herself. What she saw frightened her, and she vowed that she would not allow those visions to come true. For herself, or for Celia. In the second semester of her freshman year, Evy dragged Celia to every concert, every art exhibit which came to the campus.
Celia, however, drew the line at art cinema. She went to two movies, and said 'no more.' At least she agreed with Evy, that most popular actors were worthless. Since she was such a good sport about going to things that bored her because Evy wanted company, Evy acceded to her wishes. And in those months, many of Evy's protective walls began crumbling. She could confide in Celia, who was sympathetic and understood Evy's perspective.
At the same time Evy was dragging Celia to the cultural events at the campus, Anck was dragging the other two girls to every party and movie night she could find. Considering the other girl had friends in nearly every dormitory on campus, they were kept very busy. And yet, Evy was shocked to realize she had no trouble keeping up her GPA. In fact, her grades were never better.
They balanced each other out, the three of them. Evy with her stiffness, Anck with her wild streak, and Celia, who kept them both stable. Evy heard some of her more perceptive hallmates describe the American girl as the bridge between Evy and Anck. That was actually a fairly good description of her. It told Evy that *some* of the people were paying attention to something other than the fact that Celia's hair was a little longer than it really should have been, and its tendency to fly all over the place when it was windy. Evy didn't think such people existed, until she got to university. She only had experience, up to that point, with people who sniggered behind their hands and pointed, making fun of anyone who was different.
Evy honestly had little use for people her own age. They were too cruel, too shallow, too inconsiderate. And she didn't see how Celia could put up with some of the rude remarks they overheard about her. If they weren't making fun of her weight, they were making fun of her wild dark hair, which refused to be tamed no matter what she did. Both things annoyed Evy. So her roommate was slender, so what? Celia was small-boned and short. . .there was nothing unhealthy about her weight. She certainly wasn't anorexic, or even bulimic!
There were many times in the last year, when Evy wanted to confront one of those rude people, but Celia always talked her out of it. They had better things to do, and besides, if those jerks had any idea how badly it upset Evy, it would get worse, instead of better. Evy allowed herself to be talked out of confronting them, but Anck was another story entirely. The first time she ever heard the jocks on the hall making fun of her roommate was also the last. She left several football players in a world of hurt.
Evy grinned, thinking about that. After the tickle fest made its way to all three women, they collapsed on the bed, giggling and gasping. Now, they sat together, reminding each other of the things done and said the previous semester. Anck asked, "What has you smiling like a Cheshire cat, Evelyn?" The English girl grinned at her roommate, and Anck grinned back, though her dark eyes reflected confusion.
"Remember what you did to the football players last year?" Evy asked with a broad grin. Anck almost choked on her root beer, her eyes glittering. Celia didn't have to worry about choking on her drink, as she finished it a few minutes earlier. Evy continued, laughing at the memory as well as Anck's expression, "I don't think those guys could walk for a week after you finished with them!" Evy tried not to remember the details of exactly what Anck did, but she couldn't forget that it involved a certain *very* sensitive part of the male body.
Anck merely smirked and replied, "They'll think twice next time about whipping it out. And they certainly think twice before making fun of one of my roommates, yes?" Celia threw back her head and laughed, drawing winces from all three when her head solidly connected with the brick wall. She rubbed the back of her head, wincing, and Anck rubbed the sore spot as well, saying, "Celia, querida, we all know that you have a hard head! You need not further demonstrate for us!"
"Oh, hush, Anck, or I'll help Evy double-team you!" Celia retorted, scowling and wincing at the same time. Evy, however, was struggling to keep from laughing. She wasn't the only klutz in the room, thank God. Celia glared at her, adding, "And as for you, Evelyn, the next time you do that, I'll have to hurt you!" Evy pressed one hand to her chest, with her best innocent 'who, me' look. Celia scowled, "Yes, you!"
"Why, Cecelia, I have no idea what you mean!" Evy retorted, still laughing helplessly. It wasn't that funny. Really. But they were all tired and giddy, and despite their snack earlier, they were still hungry. Maybe that would help to settle them all down. Evy pushed herself to her feet, walking to the phone, and said, "Okay, time to order pizza. The usual? And Celia, don't even think about pouncing while my back is turned."
It was Celia's turn to favor her with an innocent 'who me' look. Unfortunately, she was much better at it, which made Evy wonder how she got so much practice at it. After a moment, however, the English girl decided she didn't *want* to know. There were some illusions that were best left alone, and she thought this was one of them.
Anck said with a laugh, "I'll watch your back, Evelyn. . .after all, we wouldn't want you to mess up our order because our evil little roommate decided on a sneak attack. . .ow!" She rubbed her shoulder where Celia hit her, glaring at the other brunette. Celia glared right back, and Evy grinned. Her roommate hated any references to her diminutive size. However, Anck was right. Celia wouldn't do anything untoward if she wanted their order placed properly. A new mock quarrel broke out behind her, but Evy only laughed. It would be a while before they could be this carefree once more. . .why not enjoy it while it lasted?
. . .
The smell of food awoke him. He slowly came awake, groaning as sharp pains piercing his skull reminded him why he fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon. Something he *never* did. . .unless he had a raging headache. Ardeth closed his eyes once more, relaxing against the pillows behind him. He had very little memory of the drive home. After their meeting with Isidore. . .Izzy Buttons. . .Ardeth's headache became progressively worse.
Thankfully, Rick said little during the drive home. . .or if he did, he didn't press Ardeth for answers to his questions. The Med-jai had vague memories of Rick's hand on the back of his neck, then Rick dragging him inside the house and depositing him on the sofa. Beyond that, Ardeth remembered little, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to remember. He certainly didn't want to remember if he vomited all over Rick's car, for he had the distinct and very unpleasant memory of retching.
"Hey. . .you're awake," a soft voice said from the kitchen. Ardeth opened his eyes and smiled faintly as his stepbrother entered the living room. Rick sat down beside him on the sofa, resting a hand on Ardeth's left knee. A pair of bright blue eyes focused on him, and Rick continued, "You know, you gotta stop pulling stunts like that, Ardeth." The accusatory words couldn't quite mask the genuine concern in his voice.
"Stunts like what?" Ardeth managed to croak out. Rick just gave him a Look, and Ardeth continued, closing his eyes, "I have no idea what you're talking about, ya ahi." That wasn't entirely true. There were days when Ardeth was so caught up in his duties as a chieftain, he forgot to take care of himself. . .usually by missing at least one mea. Sometimes more than that. However, in the time they were in the US, that never happened. Well. . .rarely.
A sigh, then Rick answered, "I know. This was a tension headache. Ardeth, when are you gonna let me help you with this?" At that, Ardeth *did* open his eyes. He looked at his stepbrother inquiringly, not entirely sure what Rick meant by that remark. Help with what, exactly? Ardeth wasn't sure if he should be exasperated or amused. Even after eight years, there were many times when he didn't fully understand the other man.
The American obliged him by saying, "I came here so you wouldn't have to deal with this entire situation alone. But you still get tension headaches. You were sick earlier today, Ardeth, and you didn't tell me! How can I help you if you won't let me?" Now Ardeth was confused. . .truly confused. He couldn't figure out what Rick meant by that. How did Rick figure that Ardeth wasn't allowing him to help?
"Rick," he began, then grimaced as he attempted to sit up. Rick froze him with a Look of his own, then helped Ardeth to sit upright. The Med-jai bit his lip, now unsure if his memory was true. His stomach muscles ached as if he was sick often during the last few hours. Rick arranged the pillows behind him with an ease born of practice. Once they were stable, he allowed Ardeth to lean back, and the Med-jai replied wearily, "I had a headache, Rick, nothing more. It did not become bad until we returned to the apartment."
"Not bad? Ardeth, when we got back to the apartment, your knees were pressed against your chest, and your feet were against the dashboard. I don't think I need to tell you, of all people, that that was the closest a person can come to a fetal position inside a car! I had to half carry your ass inside the damn apartment!" Rick fired back. He was quite unaware of it, but his voice rose in volume, sending fresh pains stabbing into Ardeth's head.
The Med-jai dropped his head back against the pillow, unconcerned with his brother seeing him so vulnerable. He didn't care. He didn't have the energy to care. Rick, however, was still in full rant mode. He continued, "Are you trying to get yourself killed? 'Cause I can do that for you! I. . ." His voice continued to rise, and Ardeth struggled to hold back a groan of pain. His headache was returning as Rick continued to yell.
And then there was silence. Ardeth registered this, barely, and Rick said softly, "Christ. I'm sorry, buddy. You just scared me, that's all." A cool hand slipped around the back of his neck, a thumb rubbing against the vertebrae back there. Rick wasn't given to affectionate gestures. This was the equivalent of a Rick O'Connell hug, at least where another man was concerned. Rick said softly, "Look, you're still not at one hundred percent, and the food isn't ready yet. You rest, and I'll check on dinner."
"What is for dinner?" Ardeth inquired, his eyes still closed. He didn't really care one way or the other, but if he at least gave some indication of being interested in food, his brother wouldn't worry so much. His relationship with Rick was a little odd, to anyone looking at it from the outside, but it was one that Ardeth knew, and accepted. Rick, like himself, had a difficult time showing emotion. Especially softer emotions.
"Macaroni and cheese. One of the few things I can fix," came the answer.
Ardeth considered that for a few moments, before bobbing his head in acceptance. It wasn't as if he had a choice, really. Rick went through the trouble of making dinner for him. But he was grateful that he didn't feel another rise of nausea at the very thought of food. That brought up something else. He asked, opening his eyes once more, "In the car. . .I did not. . ." He gestured with his hand, trying to ask.
Fortunately for him, Rick understood. One thing Ardeth absolutely hated about these damnable headaches. . .they made it nearly impossible for him to think properly. His brother answered gently, "Nothing came up, Ardeth. You don't have to worry about it." Nodding ever so gently, Ardeth closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillows once more. He was vaguely aware of his stepbrother pulling a blanket, or something, around him more securely. Ardeth wouldn't allow himself to return to sleep, but he would rest.
Half a dozen thoughts floated through his mind. While he was away, his father's youngest brother, Nassor, was looking out for the twelve tribes. Ardeth allowed himself a half-smile, thinking about his uncle. Nassor was younger than Suleiman, Ardeth's late father, by fifteen years. In some ways, he was more like a much older brother than a father figure. He loved to tease Ardeth. Sometimes, too, his uncle's teasing was the source of Ardeth's lighter moments. His uncle, and Rick, between the two of them. . .they helped him keep his sanity.
Right before Ardeth left for America with his stepbrother, Uncle Nassor took him to one side, telling him that perhaps while he was in the United States, he would find a reason to smile once more. For once, his uncle's dark eyes were serious. He added, gripping Ardeth's shoulders tightly, "You are my nephew, and I love you more than anyone else, except my daughter, my little Monifa. You are too young to be so serious, and for once, I would see you happy."
Happy. Ardeth considered that word. What exactly did it mean? He tried to think of a time when he was truly happy, for more than a moment or two. A faint smile curved his mouth as he remembered. It was right after he was stabbed in the raid which led to the beginning of his friendship with Rick. If Ardeth's memory was correct, it was three days after he woke up the first time. Rick wouldn't leave him, not for more than an hour or two.
And every time he returned, he brought something with him. A book, a comic book, a deck of cards. Anything he thought Ardeth might like. Half the things he brought, Ardeth had no clue what they were for, but that didn't matter. Rick brought them from his little treasure trove, things he never shared with anyone before. They were important to Rick, and that was all that mattered. His stepbrother was finally accepting him.
On this third day, Ardeth was becoming restless. He almost died, and he knew that, but he was fifteen years old. He recovered quickly, and he wanted to return to his training. Of course, all of the adults, plus Andreas, were dead set against that idea. His step-father, his mother, the healer. . .all of them. Andreas promised that he would return as soon as he was strong enough to hold a scimitar once more. But his eyes told the truth. . .they were all afraid for Ardeth, and the young boy could look forward to several months of them all being over-protective of him. It happened before. This time would be no different.
Rick returned after Andreas left, and the two boys sat in silence for a while. At last, unable to bear the silence any longer, Rick began talking. He told Ardeth about his mother, who died when he was thirteen. Rick's mother died when he was thirteen. . .Ardeth's father died when the Med-jai boy was thirteen. There was some importance to that revelation, though he couldn't have said what.
Something, which was true seven years later. Ardeth knew his uncle really meant that he hoped Ardeth would find someone. A girl. But the young man didn't see that happening. Where would he find a woman, a girl, who could be what he needed? Where would he find a woman who could accept the little he had to offer? Ardeth didn't think such a woman existed. But he promised his uncle that he would try. Ardeth just hoped Uncle Nassor didn't say something similar to Rick before the departure, because if he did. . . If he did, Ardeth knew he was doomed. The idea of his stepbrother playing matchmaker frightened him. Badly.
. . .
Cecelia Anne Ferguson made a discovery about herself when she was fourteen years old. She was a freak. . .a mutant. Not in the way that Nightcrawler, her favorite character among the X-Men, was a mutant. She had no powers, nothing that made her 'special.' And she wasn't a freak in that she was extremely small or looked like she belonged in a circus show. But she certainly wasn't like other people. . .much less other people her own age. She was different. Not just because she came from a rich family, though that certainly played into being different.
She was different because she looked at the world differently from most people her own age. That included both Evy and Anck, though the duo were her two best friends in the world. She was a mutant because until she was eighteen years old and starting college, she never truly rebelled against her parents. Even when she did, it was in a quiet, understated way. . .quiet and understated, at least, for any teenager.
She never talked back. Never thought she was somehow smarter than her parents. . .or grandparents, when you came right down to it. She was a good little girl, and for some reason, that bothered her not at all. Perhaps part of it came from the knowledge that her life could be much worse. Or maybe it came from her parents' memory of the near miss involving her and her older brother more than fifteen years earlier.
Celia simply had no desire to do anything that might cost her the love of her parents. At least, that was the case until she was eighteen years old, and her parents wanted her to choose something nice and unthreatening as a career. Unthreatening to a male ego, since they wanted to see her married to a nice, stable, rich boy, preferably the son of one of their friends.
Someone who could take care of her. Celia, however, demonstrated the stubborn streak she inherited from her grandmother Annabelle, and announced she would major in Egyptology. The worst part was, Celia didn't choose the field because it would annoy her parents. She chose it because it fascinated her, and the more she learned, the more she wanted to learn. Unfortunately for Bruce and Madeleine Ferguson, however, their quiet, good little girl put her foot down and refused to consider anything else.
Money, Celia said, could go away. There could be another stock market crash, there were the ramifications of a situation like Enron. Celia could not depend on her family's money, or the money of any man she chose to marry. She had to be able to take care of herself, or she would never survive. Bruce and Madeleine were nonplussed. Their teenaged daughter wasn't supposed to know about such things! Never mind, of course, that they discussed the Enron situation every night at supper. . .they never thought the children might actually be listening!
They were listening. Not so much their youngest child Jason, who was the reckless one. But Celia listened, as did her older brother Galen. He came to the house where he grew up every night for dinner. Galen was a doctor, and no matter what happened, he would always be needed. That, however, was tolerable, because he brought a certain amount of prestige to the family, by becoming a doctor.
Celia planned on being a different kind of doctor, and besides, she was a woman. In the beginning, Galen thought his younger sister should have chosen a field like his own. Not necessarily a doctor, but a lawyer, or a journalist, or someone who would always be necessary. He supported his sister's desire to be able to take care of herself, but really thought she should have chosen something different.
With a strength no one ever guessed she possessed (except, perhaps, her grandmother), Celia stuck to her guns. Not only did she choose Egyptology as her major, but she excelled in her classes, finding a place on the Dean's List in her first semester. She sacrificed all of her free time to the pursuit of her goals, but she didn't care. She needed the focus, needed to direct her attention away from her family, before she strangled them all out of sheer frustration.
During that time, she had only her grandmother's unconditional support. Her brother kept trying to change her mind about what her major should be, while her parents trying to convince her to drop out of college all together. Things got progressively worse after her grandmother's death. It was like sharks sensing blood, and the pressure on the eighteen year old mounted to do what her family wanted, instead of what she wanted.
Celia's patience finally snapped right before she returned to school after Thanksgiving. Thoroughly frustrated, she threatened not to come home for Christmas if they all didn't leave her alone. Christmas break lasted a month. Her friend Margit invited her to join her for a European trip, and with some of the money that her grandmother left her, she could have a pressure-free Christmas. Her parents didn't believe her. . .and as soon as she returned to school, she made the arrangements. One of the last things her grandmother did before her death was arrange for Celia to have a credit card. . .granting Annabelle's only granddaughter some much needed freedom.
She had the tickets arranged. . .the only thing needed to do was find a way to the airport. Here, Galen came through for her. Chastened by her outburst, her older brother agreed to drive her to the airport, and promised to never bring up the subject again. That was one roadblock removed. The second came when her mother wanted to know when she would be coming home for Christmas. Celia answered very calmly that she wasn't. . .she already told the family she was going to Europe to visit Margit.
There was a long silence, then Madeleine Ferguson said in a faltering voice, "But I. . .but I thought you were just. . .you meant what you said?" Celia said nothing, and her mother asked next, "How did you get the money? Wait a minute, never mind. I didn't ask that question. My dear mother is interfering from beyond the grave, isn't she? It wasn't enough that I was such a failure in her eyes, no, she has to turn my daughter against me."
Celia stared at the phone, then said very quietly, "No, Mother, Grandmother was dead by the time you pushed me too far. This was my decision. Mine alone. Just as my choice to become an Egyptologist is my own." A preternatural calm stole over her, as if she was no longer Celia, but someone else. The real Celia couldn't believe she was saying these things to her mother, what if her mother turned against her, didn't love her any more?
There was another long silence, then Madeleine exhaled slowly. Celia could hear murmurings in the background, and could make out Galen's voice. Then her mother said softly, "Mother warned me that this day was coming. She told me before she died that I should back off and let you make your own choices, your own mistakes. She said that if I continued to pressure you, I would lose you. . .and I would have only myself to blame."
Celia closed her eyes. That sounded like her grandmother, all right. Madeleine asked, her voice shaking, "I haven't lost you yet, have I? That was just a warning, right?" It was Celia's turn to exhale, and she opened her eyes to see Anck watching her very closely. The young American girl couldn't quite figure out her roommate's expression, and what it meant exactly. But it seemed as if Anck was waiting.
Celia replied after a moment, "Of course you haven't lost me, Mother. I love you. I just need. . .I just need to be away. I was afraid, during Thanksgiving break, that if I didn't put some space between us during my next break, I'd end up strangling everyone of you." That included Jason, who insisted on playing his music as loudly as his speakers could tolerate while Celia was trying to sleep. He was starting to turn into a demon child as he hit his teens.
There was another long silence, then her mother whispered, "I didn't realize this meant so much to you, honey. I thought. . .I thought you would grow out of it. Your credit line, will it be enough to take care of your expenses while you're in Europe?" The subject seemed to be settled, but Celia knew her parents. Sooner or later, the battle would start up once more. It was just a question of time. Eighteen years of living with her parents taught her how it would go. All in the guise of doing what was best for Celia, it would start with one of her father's business partners heckling him about his headstrong daughter. It would have never occurred to Celia to consider her father a weak man, but he was.
He worried about what his friends would say. And thus, began working on his wife, putting pressure on her to make Celia fall into line. Those were Galen's words, who became doubly protective of his sister when she returned from Europe. His patience with their parents was running out. Celia struggled to hold onto her own, reminding herself that they were her parents, and they loved her, but their idea of what made her happy was at odds with the reality.
Bruce Ferguson convinced his wife that their quiet, dutiful daughter was finally rebelling. Which was true enough, but Bruce made a fatal error in dealing with his quiet, but headstrong, only daughter. He believed that if they pressured Celia enough, she would realize her dreams weren't worth tearing her family apart, and she would go along with what they wanted for her. Celia would return to being their quiet, dutiful daughter, and everything would be fine.
He was stunned when Celia only dug her heels in deeper, even more stunned when Galen threw all of his support behind his younger sister. Bruce threatened to cut off Celia's trust fund to make her do what he wanted. . .she responded by looking for a job. Galen helped once more. He had a friend who worked at a local warehouse, a warehouse that was desperately in need of warm, capable bodies.
As the three siblings stayed at their grandmother's house that summer, Celia began her first real job. She received seven dollars per hour for packing boxes, and she loved it. She wore Galen's old jeans, from when he was a teenager, saved her money, and spent her free time studying. For the first two months of the summer, she was happy. Then came the incident that would haunt Celia's life for the next several months.
His name was Neil Grady, and he was thirty years old, only a year older than Galen. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he had a nice smile. He seemed dependable. . .whenever one of the packers needed supplies, he got it for them. He was strong, a big, burly man who was at least twice Celia's size. And Celia was utterly fascinated with him. He seemed to be exactly the kind of man whom her grandmother wanted for her.
They were beginning a slow, tentative friendship, despite the eleven year age difference. And then, without warning, he turned against her. If she tried to speak to him, he ran to their supervisor's office, threatening her with a sexual harassment complaint. And of course, the supervisor warned Celia to stay away from him. She was to have nothing further to do with Neil Grady, or it would mean her job. Confused and hurt, Celia did exactly what she was told, and then some. Not only did she stay away from Neil, but she began to withdraw into herself. She didn't know what she had done to deserve this, and no longer trusted herself.
Celia's reaction didn't go un-noticed. A few of the other packers started a quiet investigation. . .at least, as quiet as possible in a warehouse setting. Rumors and gossip flew as quickly as any Air Force jet. What they discovered caused a mini-explosion inside the warehouse. Neil Grady was falling in love with Celia Ferguson when he found out that not only was she a very bright young college student, who had her whole life ahead of her. . .but she was also the daughter of rich parents. Her family was old money, something no one even guessed at, because it never occurred to Celia to tell anyone. Here, it didn't matter. Or, so she thought.
Neil considered himself just average, nobody special. He was a fork truck driver, a simple man who wanted a simple girl. Celia Ferguson was far from simple. By the time she was finished, she would have a college education. And she was the daughter of rich people. She had a trust fund. She didn't need this job. . .she was just here to salve her guilt at being born into a higher social strata. She didn't really care about the people she worked with. . .this was all just a ploy to make herself look good. She was using Neil to get her kicks.
Enraged by what he considered her deception, and by his own complicated feelings, Neil lashed out, threatening something she worked hard to accomplish. Her job. When the truth came out, it was in the last week of Celia's time at the warehouse, and the dust was still settling. The others in the warehouse shunned Neil Grady, and Celia still bore the scars of the whole incident. When she returned to school, she was determined to focus on one thing, and one thing only. Her schoolwork. She was driven now, in a way she wasn't previously.
Her anger and hurt needed an outlet. She wasn't ready to talk to Anck about it, or Evy. So when Anck teased her about her friendship with Beni, Celia almost lashed out at her for it. Celia was not the same girl she was when she left for summer vacation three months earlier, and worse yet, the young sophomore was still coming to terms with the changes within herself. The boys on the hall all reminded her of Neil, in some form or another.
Beni was someone uncomplicated, who accepted her for herself. Something she needed desperately, and someone she believed wouldn't betray her. There was no reason for him to betray her, after all. He knew she came from a wealthy family, and didn't hold it against her. He knew that she was a college student, knew about her dreams, and didn't think she behaved superior to him in any way.
Anck was afraid the others in the hall would start saying that Celia was Beni's girlfriend. Was that such a bad thing to be? Beni had his faults, but he was never anything but nice to her. She was reminded of this as she left the room to pick up the pizza. Beni was finishing up the girls' bathroom, and getting ready to do the boys. She wasn't going to ask him about it, wanted to spare him that indignity, at least.
But her feet had a mind of their own. They stopped at Beni's cart, and she looked at him inquiringly. He returned the look, asking, "What is it, my little American queen? What is it that troubles your mind and brings you to my ever-so-humble cart?" Queen. That was something Neil called her, in the final blowout confrontation that left the warehouse in ruins. Emotionally speaking. But Beni's use of the term held only affection.
"You're full of bullshit, Beni, Anck was right about that," Celia answered in a conversational tone. Beni smiled at her, his blue eyes alight with laughter. She grinned back at him, feeling the tension slowly easing from her body. That gave her the courage to ask, "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be totally honest with me when you answer. Do you think I'm stuck up? Think I'm better than everyone else?" Something else Neil accused her of being. One of many things. Beni was full of bullshit, but that was part of his charm. It was expected, you dealt with it, and moved on.
And, for once, she surprised him. He responded with a mouthful of Hungarian expletives, most of which Celia knew from her friendship with Margit. The young Hungarian girl took great delight in teaching Hungarian swear words to Celia. When he ran out of invectives, Beni said forcefully, "Of course not! What stupid man has told you such nonsense?"
Celia raised her eyebrows. . .and just how did he know it was a man? Beni continued, his Hungarian accent thickening, "You only doubt yourself where men are concerned, Cecelia. No other time. Now answer my question. . .what kind of stupid man would ever say such a thing?" He was gesturing wildly, which demonstrated his level of agitation. Beni was, not to put too fine a point on it, pissed. That, in turn, surprised her. She never expected Beni to react so violently!
"A guy I worked with this summer. He also called me a liar. Among other things," Celia answered. She should forget about this, she knew, just let it go. But she couldn't. It hurt too much. Neil Grady hurt her in a way she was never hurt before, in a way she was determined to never be hurt again. She would rather spend the rest of her life alone than allow another man to hurt her like this. And before she could let this go, she had to try to understand why it happened.
Beni was the only male whom she trusted, aside from her brothers, and Celia didn't want to tell Galen. He would want to beat up Neil. As it was, Beni spat something rude in Hungarian, then said, "As I said! He is a stupid, stupid man. Probably has more balls than brains. Me, I am a coward. You are very brave, and I see the hurt it causes you. But that will not stop you. That is why you are brave, and I am a coward." Celia blinked, trying to process that.
When she finally sorted it through in her mind, she replied, "Beni, I'm not that brave. I'm nobody special, you of all people should know that!" She knew that. She wasn't the prettiest roommate out of her small trio, nor was she the smartest. She had to work hard to get the grades she did. She was still trying to figure out how she managed to make Dean's List the last semester, since she wasn't focusing solely on her classes.
"You are not a stupid girl, Cecelia, but you say stupid things. This man does not deserve your tears," Beni retorted. Well, they agreed about that, at the least. Her friend continued after a moment, "Cecelia, my dear friend, my good friend, you must listen to Beni. You asked me if I thought you were stuck up, or considered yourself better than anyone else. That alone shows that you do not. If you truly believed such a thing, you would have never asked me."
Okay, she could hardly argue with that. Beni continued, "You deserve only the best. That is why you should not be friends with me. Someone as brave as you, you deserve someone who is brave. Not someone who will hide behind you." Celia started to answer, but Beni shook his head and continued, "No, my friend. I speak the truth. You deserve only the best, Celia. Only the best is good enough for someone like you."
Celia laughed, asking with barely-suppressed bitterness, "How do I know what best is, Beni? I thought I might have found the best, and I was wrong. What is the best? The smartest? The most handsome? The nicest? The most honest? I don't trust my judgment anymore. I thought he was nice, I thought he was dependable and stable. I was wrong."
She didn't trust her judgment. And she didn't think it was possible to find what she was looking for in a man. Someone strong and honorable. Someone who was strong enough to lean on her, and on whom she could rely when she needed his strength. Someone who thought she was worth the risk. Someone who. . .someone who was the exact opposite of Neil Grady, when you came right down to it.
Celia looked at Beni, saying softly, "Even if such a man exists. . .I won't meet him for a long time to come. He's sure as hell not a student here. You're the only decent guy I've met in the last year." Beni looked at her almost sadly, and Celia added, "They tease me, you know. About being your girlfriend. But what would be so bad about that? What would be so bad, Beni, I don't understand?"
"You are too nice for your own good, Cecelia. Besides. Whoever said that it had to be a student? There are grad students, teaching assistants, the occasional professor. Do not limit yourself, Cecelia. . .now go. Do not keep your friends waiting for your pizza. I am sure they do not wish to carry you back upstairs when you collapse from hunger," Beni answered. Celia rolled her eyes, swatting his shoulder with the back of her hand, but headed toward the stairs. As she walked, she thought about what he said. Teaching assistants? That was almost as bad as professors! No, if she found The One, it wouldn't be here, and it wouldn't be for a long time.
. . .
So. He was a security guard. That was okay. He could handle that. Better a security guard than a cook. The idea was to smoke out Imhotep, not to poison him. Although, if all else failed, they could always do that. Of course, he knew better than to say that to his stepbrother. Ardeth didn't always have a sense of humor. Rick carefully ladled out a heaping spoonful of the macaroni and cheese, eyeing it speculatively. Nope. Everything seemed fine to him.
It was one of the few things he could make without ruining it. Rick smiled almost wistfully. His mother taught him how to make macaroni and cheese, and he always considered it a final gift from her. He never forgot what she taught him. Most of what she taught him, at least. Right now, he wanted to make sure Ardeth ate something. His brother didn't turn green when the macaroni and cheese was mentioned, which was a good sign.
Rick cast a glance into the other room. Ardeth was asleep again. Maybe that was for the best. He didn't sleep most of the time these days. . .he was too tense. Rick sighed as he carried the macaroni and cheese into the living room, sitting it on the coffee table. Ardeth mumbled something and opened his eyes, giving Rick a sleepy smile. Rick smiled back, saying softly, "I'll get you some Coke. . .be right back."
Ardeth nodded, cringing a little as he pushed himself upright. Rick patted his shoulder, then went into the kitchen for his brother's favorite beverage. When he returned with the opened plastic bottle, Ardeth was digging into the food. Rick sat the Coke down on the coffee table, then sat down on the floor. Ardeth took a sip of the Coke, then said softly, "I am sorry for worrying you, Rick."
He should have known this was coming. It was Rick's own fault, for yelling at Ardeth earlier. He couldn't seem to help it, though. Whenever he was angry or scared, he lashed out. Even now, when he was twenty-three, instead of fifteen. And the more he cared for someone, the worse he lashed out. Rick was a man, and he couldn't admit out loud to anyone just how much his stepbrother meant to him.
For all that Rick watched out for Ardeth, watched his back and made sure he didn't starve himself while taking care of the Med-jai people, the American knew that his step-brother was stronger than he was. And whenever Rick thought back to those terrifying days after Ardeth was stabbed while protecting him, his blood ran cold. He didn't know what he would do without Ardeth. . .he didn't *want* to think about it.
There were times in the last seven years, even after Ardeth almost died, when Rick tried to drive him away. The people who were the most important to him ended up dying, and Rick didn't think he could handle losing someone else. But the more he tried to push Ardeth away, the more his stepbrother stood up to him. He couldn't be pushed away. He didn't understand that Rick was pushing him away because he loved him so much. . .that probably never even occurred to Ardeth. But. . .he was still there.
The truth was, love, of any kind, scared the hell out of Rick O'Connell. Love, even for his brother, meant a loss of control. Things that frightened Rick O'Connell, in turn, angered him. Ardeth was one of the few people whom he trusted. The last person whom he trusted, outside of his blood relations, betrayed him. Ardeth would never willingly betray Rick, he *knew* that. But he could leave him. Just as Rick's mother did.
Then Rick looked at Ardeth. Saw his brother's dark eyes leveled on him in a way that made all of his fears vanish. Ardeth would never leave him. . .and he would not leave Ardeth.
He replied, "Don't worry about it, buddy. I was being a jerk. That happens from time to time." Ardeth arched his eyebrows, his eyes glittering with mischief, and Rick pointed both his index fingers at him, saying, "Not a word outta you, Ardeth Bey, I mean it." Now Ardeth was smiling, and Rick congratulated him for that particular accomplishment. Even after all these years, Rick didn't usually see his brother smile.
"I? I said nothing, ya ahi, you said it all for me," Ardeth fired back. Rick growled at him, disguising his relief. Ardeth was joking, which was a very good sign. He smiled rarely, laughed even more rarely, but that didn't prevent him from cracking jokes. Occasionally at Rick's expense. Since his brother's dry sense of humor didn't often make an appearance while they were on a mission, Rick came to cherish these moments.
"Smart-ass," the American muttered. Ardeth merely smiled impishly. Rick took Ardeth's plate, now without a morsel of food, and asked, "Did you want seconds?" Ardeth's expression became considering, and Rick added, "On second thought, forget I asked. I haven't eaten yet." Ardeth nodded, his dark eyes glittering with an imp Rick learned to fear years earlier, and the elder added, "And don't tell me 'it takes one to know one.' That's irritating."
"Actually," Ardeth answered solemnly, "I would have said, 'I learned from the best.' Which I did." Rick glared at him, trying not to let a smile slip through. Damn, he should know by now not to underestimate Ardeth! Just when he thought he had his brother figured out, Ardeth threw him a curve ball. The other continued after a moment, "Well, if you plan to eat, you should get it while it is still hot."
There was a double meaning there. Rick knew there was a double meaning there. That imp was still lurking in Ardeth's eyes. But his brother's expression was so innocent, Rick couldn't figure out what that double meaning was. He shook his head and headed into the kitchen, glancing every few minutes at his younger brother. Ardeth was up to something. He knew he was up to something. He had to be.
Rick dumped the now soggy paper plate in the trash. As he put the remaining macaroni and cheese on his own plate, he kept an ear open for any sounds from the other room. There was, but only the usual creaking of the sofa whenever Ardeth shifted his position. Rick chided himself for his suspicious nature. Juvenile pranks were his calling card, his and Anatol's. Ardeth was too mature to pull such childish stunts. Satisfied in this particular truth, Rick called back into the other room, "You want another Coke?" He received a 'yes, please,' and briefly considered telling Ardeth to get it himself.
However, he dismissed that idea after only a moment. Ardeth was in a strange mood. Right now, he wouldn't put it past his brother to tell him, 'but you are already up.' Besides, it wasn't that much trouble. Rick could easily put two cans on the one plate. It wouldn't take much effort. . .just a little balancing act. And. . .Rick was worried. As bad as that headache was, he knew Ardeth would still be wobbly. The last thing Rick needed was Ardeth taking a header because his legs wouldn't hold him. Oh no. Rick *really* did not want to spend the entire night at the ER while his brother got his head stitched up!
He carried his plate, and both Cokes, back into the living room. Ardeth was writing something on a notebook. He said without looking up, "Your cover is a member of campus security. Your partner is Nicholas Burns, from Texas." Rick cocked an eyebrow while he placed the plate on the coffee table. And what exactly was that supposed to mean? He handed Ardeth's Coke to him, and Ardeth obliged him by adding, "Uncle Terrence never does things without a reason, a very specific reason. Thank you."
Rick bobbed his head, sliding his own Coke Can beside the plate, replying, "You're welcome." He was on the verge of saying more, when he sat down. Big mistake. Ardeth used his time alone in the living room very well. He placed a whoopee cushion under the cushion of the armchair where Rick was sitting. The sound had Rick on his feet once more, glaring at his younger brother as he removed the source of the offending noise.
Ardeth merely looked at him, asking, "Something you ate, ya ahi?" Rick almost smacked him over the head with the cushion, then decided that might not be such a good idea. He might knock what little remaining sense Ardeth had right out of his head. Damn, Ardeth was getting too good at this practical joke thing. . .by now he could even pull one of his pranks and keep a straight face all the time.
Rick growled, "That was juvenile, Ardeth, just plain juvenile." But damn it was funny! He was only a year older than Ardeth, but there were times when he wished his stepbrother wasn't so damn serious. He was only twenty-two. . .he should be one of the students at this college, instead of pretending to be a teaching assistant. Rick added, just because he thought he should, "I will get you back, you know that."
"Ahh, but I would expect nothing else from you. Can I assume then, Rick, that I will hear no more comments about my sense of humor. . .or lack thereof?" Ardeth asked, a tiny smile now appearing on his face. This time, Rick picked up one of the small pillows resting behind him in the chair and threw it at his brother. Ardeth dodged it easily, saying with that tiny smile, "You are losing your touch, ya ahi. I can remember a time when you didn't miss."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were saying something about my cover? You figure this Burns fella was chosen as my partner for a reason?" Rick asked, successfully diverting his brother's attention from further harassing him. He was kinda sorry he did. The laughter died from Ardeth's eyes and he nodded, sitting forward. The mischievous younger brother disappeared, giving way to the serious, focused chieftain.
On the other hand, Rick was more comfortable with Ardeth like this. His intensity tended to frighten people, and Rick was around women enough to know they found Ardeth attractive. If Ardeth suddenly developed a true mischievous streak, like the one Acacia had. . .well, Rick would find himself with competition he never had before. The last thing Rick wanted was to be in competition with his brother for any woman's affections.
He needn't have worried. The young woman ultimately destined to win his brother's heart wasn't one Rick would have looked at twice.