Author's Note: This started life as a short, intermediate piece before the all-singing, all-dancing action bits started. However, Evelyn has rather a lot to say for herself. So, here it is: another dose of fluff (which could be seen as an alternative title).

Depending on the feedback I get, we may very well hear something from Mr. O'Connell in the next part (you have been warned…)

Thanks for reading!

Chapter Fourteen: The Love of my Beloved

It takes me a few moments when I awake to remember where I am and what happened last night. The expanse of dull whiteness in front of my eyes is, I think, the walls of that hateful little cabin. But then I realise that it's the mosquito netting and that I am, in fact, back in my own bed, in my own hotel room.

And Rick is not dead.

Nor is he lying next to me.

I fell asleep in his arms last night and I do not believe that I have ever slept more soundly. Even though I know that he is safe I need to find him.

Every part of my body is hurting slightly - to be honest, it isn't exactly painful, just more of a dull ache in my muscles. Every movement takes twice as long and simply sitting up is an achievement in itself. Chin up, Evelyn - forward march. I mount an attack on the mosquito netting, which seems to have increased in volume and been deprived of any form of exit in my absence. I almost tumble head first to the floor, but am able to preserve both my footing and my dignity, but am a little grateful that Rick is not here to witness this. At times like this he laughs at me for ten minutes before finally helping me up. It occurs to me that I am in my night-gown and should really get dressed before I begin a search for my errant fiancé, but I don't care. I need to see him.

I find Rick far more quickly than I anticipated - he is in a chair, near my bed and appears to be fast asleep. He is unshaven and his hair, as ever, is falling across his forehead. The sight of him makes my heart hurt. The day after the Embassy party, Rick told me what had happened; why he had been so unlike himself. He seemed a little embarrassed about telling me; and I felt ashamed of myself for never having realised…

I never really paid that much attention to Winston, but I liked him. Now he is another name on the list of people who died because of Imhotep and that book ... and me. If I had not read it none of those awful things would have happened. I have the most terrible nightmares about it. Sometimes I see their faces in front of me even when I am awake. I wonder if I will always be haunted so. It never occurred to me that it would affect Rick in the same way. I had assumed that because of his profession and that devil-may-care attitude of his that he wouldn't really be bothered by things like that - guilt and so on.

He is beautiful. Rick would laugh at me if I were to say that to him, but it's true. Especially when he is asleep, like now, and he isn't putting on his 'tough-guy' persona. There is something quite fine about the lines of his face. Rick. Richard. Richard the Lionheart. He is certainly courageous; and there is something leonine about his face. I gently run the back of my hand down his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against my knuckles.

He sits bolt upright, grabbing hold of my wrist and producing a gun from some unfathomable recess. I let out an inadvertent squeak of surprise. Well done, Evelyn - the poor man has been frantic, he's spent the night in a chair and you've just nearly scared the life out of him. Fine engagement, this is. His eyes soften when he realises who has woken him so rudely and he relaxes his grip slightly.

'Hey there.'

I bring my other hand up and brush the hair out of his eyes - it is becoming a habitual gesture. 'Good morning.'

Rick pulls me down until I am sitting in his lap. I eye the gun and take hold of the nozzle gingerly, pointing it in a very opposite direction. 'Did you have that thing in my room all night?'

'No, not all night. Just some of the night. Okay, most of the night. But I'm supposed to be protecting you and that's what I'm doing.' He places the gun on the table next to him and then holds me, both arms around my waist. His eyes study my face and I see a muscle in his cheek twitch. He is trying to control the anger, but I know he wants to kill the man who hit me. The bruise looks worse than it is - it hardly hurts at all now, but I don't want to have this conversation. I fiddle with one of his shirt buttons and my fingers brush against the tanned skin revealed by his open collar. He relaxes slightly and when I meet his eyes again he is watching me with a different type of intensity.

'Darling, how long did you sleep in this chair?'

'Dunno. Few hours maybe. Y'know, you're really cute when you call me that.'

Blood rushes to my face until my cheeks are stinging with it. I have never been one for endearments. Despite our closeness, Jonathan and I have tended to express our affection through loving - and frequently not so loving - insults. His favourite names for me are 'brat', 'pest' and the ubiquitous 'old mum'. And yet, somehow, it feels natural to call Rick by a term that proclaims what he is to me. My darling; my beloved. On occasion he has called me "honey" - usually, I am sure he would claim, when he has been distracted and isn't really paying attention to what he is saying. I have never been certain if his use of that expression stems from the fact that Americans tend to be more effusive than the English. I flatter myself that he reserves it solely for my benefit, but is simply too embarrassed at being caught doing anything so un-masculine as calling his fiancée by such a term of affection. I wonder if I have embarrassed him now.

He grins up at me and his eye blaze with emotion. 'Say it again.'

'Darling.'

He kisses me and everything in the world stops.

I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, squeezing him with all the strength I have. He offers no complaint, but his kisses deepen. I can hold him as tightly as I can and it won't hurt him. I actually think he likes it when I do that. Eventually I bury my head in the curve of his neck, inhaling his spicy scent. His hands stroke my back and I can feel his stubble against my forehead. I am so close to him that I swear I can feel his heart beating.

'I love you Rick. So, so much. I can't tell you how much.'

One of his hands cradles the back of my head, his fingers twining through my hair.

'I know, baby. I've been going out of my mind the past twenty-four hours, you know that? Getting ready for the nut house. I thought I might have lost you.'

'I thought... He-he told me you and Jonathan were dead...' I shut my eyes, trying to fight the prickling pressure that has suddenly built behind them. All those hours on that barge I did not weep - I will not start now when there is no reason to. Rick's arms tighten around me, so much so that I can barely breath. I raise my head for air and our eyes meet. For a moment we watch each other before he takes possession of my mouth. I give into him. I want to give into him completely.

Since we got engaged, Rick has made some subtle (admittedly his idea of subtle is about as refined as being hit over the head with a cricket bat) allusions to our sleeping together. I made it very clear that I wish to wait until we are married and since then he has not tried to pressure me.

I don't want to wait.

I don't think I ever really did, but I was clinging to the notion that this is the proper way in which matters are conducted between respectable people. Rick doesn't give a toss about respectability and, I realise belatedly, neither do I. I don't have the words to describe my love for this man. I love him, he is mine and I will give him everything I am. I take his face in my hands and try to think of the words that will not sound crass, nor make me sound utterly wanton.

'Rick, I-'

'Oh for heaven's sake!'

One of these days, I am going to introduce my dear brother to the concept of knocking. He stands in the doorway, turning a delicate shade of pink, and glares at us. I always find it amusing when Jonathan attempts to assume the moral high ground, but at the moment I feel like strangling him. And I am very aware of my scandalous state of undress.

'I thought you were only bloody well watching her!'

'I was. She only just woke up.'

'She is sitting right here, if the pair of you don't mind,' I object indignantly. Or at least as indignantly as I can when one of my straps is falling down my arm and my neckline is plunging in a southerly direction. My face is turning a hue to match Jonathan's. Rick keeps his arms around my waist and I am effectively pinioned to him.

'You said, "just watching". "Oh, Evy's fast asleep, just creeping in here to get my gun," he tells me.' Jonathan snorts in a very unappealing manner. 'Likely bloody story and I don't think. You could have let me know if you'd had anything else planned - would have spared my bloody blushes. Actually, what you really should have done is lock the door.'

Humph. So much for defending his sister's honour.

Jonathan has deposited himself on the corner of my bed and is making himself quite at home. 'We've got a madman running around the desert - the pair of you could at least hold off canoodling until we've bloody well stopped him.'

'Jon, buddy, I think we need to find you a girl. He's just jealous,' Rick adds.

'Ooh. That's it.' I extricate myself with as much grace as possible from Rick's embrace and struggle to my feet. 'Out.'

'See ya later, Jon.'

'Both of you out!' I ignore the wounded look from Rick and fold my arms. 'I have to get dressed and I prefer not to have an audience while I do.'

Neither of them move. In fact they glance at each other as though they know what the other is thinking. I suspect that in my absence their relationship has grown closer than it was before - that may be all well and good for the future, but at the moment I think I preferred it when they were always quarrelling. At least then I always knew that I had one of them on my side. Now I have the distinct impression that they are ganging up on me.

'And what, exactly, do you think you are getting changed for?'

'As Jonathan has pointed out, David is still at liberty. He will try to awaken the Sphinx and unleash the forces of the ancient gods. If we don't stop him, who will?'

We have had almost exactly this conversation before. All they way back from Hamunaptra and then all around Cairo. I have a sudden vision of us, ten years from now, still having the same argument.

'There's no "we" in this, sister - you are staying here.'

Sister?!? Just who does he think he's talking to? There are times when Mr Richard O'Connell is just a little too high handed for his own good. 'I am not staying here.'

'Dammit, Evelyn!' His eyes flash - steel and ice. I hate it when he gets like this.

'Don't think you can stand there and talk to me like that!'

'I'll talk however I damn well like! Jonathan, talk some sense into her will ya.'

Jonathan throws up his hands. 'Don't drag me into it - you're on your own old boy. See that look on her face? I first saw that when she was three years old. Couldn't get her to change her mind then.'

Ha! From accomplice to turncoat in less than ten minutes. If there is one thing you can rely on my brother for, it is inconstancy. He scuttles towards the door and I think I here him mutter "Good luck" to Rick. 'I'll order you up something to eat, old mum. Don't know about you, but I'm famished.'

And then he is gone and I am left alone with six-foot-something of annoyed ex-Legionnaire. Poor man. I can see the frustration and the fear in his eyes. I know that he wants to look after me, but we are supposed to be equals in this relationship. If I give into him now, if I stay behind and sit quietly until this all is over, then it will be all the more difficult to convince him not to leave me behind the next time. And it would end up with him charging around the world and me sitting at home until we didn't know each other any more and he would wonder how he ended up with this dull, parochial little wife; and I would resent him for always leaving me. I never thought of myself as an adventuress, but that is what I have become and that is who he fell in love with.

Rick stares at me for a moment and then, apparently, decides to try a different approach. When he speaks, his voice is gentle.

'Is there even the slightest chance that you're gonna do what I want?'

'Not even the slightest. If you try to leave me behind I will climb out of the window.'

'Knowing you, you'd break you're neck. Actually, you'd probably land on some poor slob who'd break your fall but break his neck.'

He can be insufferable at times, but I am determined to remain calm and rational. I am not going to become hysterical, overwrought, or any of the other things that women are frequently accused of being.

'Well what else are you going to do? Tie me to the bed?'

He gets the strangest look on his face.

'Ooh, don't you dare even think about it!'

'I wasn't until you mentioned it.'

He is smirking now and I have just realised the implications of my previous statement. Not that I would allow that under any circumstances. Not ever. Certainly not whilst I am unmarried.

'Y'know, I always thought that librarians were supposed to be nice quiet girls. Kinda mousy.'

'If you wanted a quiet life, you should have found yourself another girl, Mr O'Connell.'

'Maybe I don't want another girl.' He catches me around the waist and pulls me to him; his voice is a low growl. 'You drive me crazy, you know that?'

'You can be rather infuriating yourself.' I run my hands up his back, enjoying the feel of muscle and bone through the thin fabric of his shirt. He makes a strange purring noise in the back of his throat and kisses me. Or maybe I kiss him.

'Honey, I thought I was gonna lose you,' his voice is urgent in my ear. 'Do you really want to put me through that again?'

'Do you think it would be any easier for me watching you go charging off into danger?'

His hand caresses the back of my neck and he murmurs my name. Just my name. For a moment I almost give in but then I loosen my hold on him and look him severely in the eye. He sighs and strokes my cheek.

'I know, I know. You don't have to say it.'

'I need to get dressed.'

'I could help,' he says hopefully.

I swat his hand away and then hold him at arm's length. 'No! Stop trying to distract me. I'll be ready in time for breakfast.'

'I think you mean lunch.'

'Don't be silly - who eats lunch before breakfast?'

He quirks an eyebrow at me. 'Hey, Sleeping Beauty, it's after twelve. Now, I'm all for cramming as many meals into a day as possible, but in my book, after twelve makes it lunch.'

It cannot be that late. I never sleep that late. Jonathan: yes - me: certainly not. Honestly, you would have thought that one of these men would have been less irresponsible and woken me at a reasonable hour. I should have thought that Rick would know better and I tell him so.

He leans against the door and folds his arms. 'You done yelling at me? Listen, you were exhausted and you needed sleep. Especially if you're insisting on tagging along...' He holds up his hands before I have time to object. 'Okay, you're not tagging. My point is, you need your strength and you need sleep. Yes? I'll see where Jonathan's got to.' Before he actually goes he turns back. 'Evy...' He says it uncertainly, looking deeply into my eyes. Rick has had never actually said "I love you", but he doesn't need words to tell me.

I smile. 'I know.'

He grins sheepishly and shuffles out of my room.

I dress quickly, donning my most practical clothes. A long cotton skirt may have been perfectly serviceable in a library, but it is not the easiest garment to wear in the middle of a desert adventure. A pair of trousers and some sturdy boots will be just the thing for our next venture, I think. Provided we survive this one, of course. I pin my hair up and grimace at my reflection - my cheekbone has an unlovely shade of puce across it, which is tinged with green at the edges. Very attractive. I tended to Rick's assorted injuries when we returned from Hamunaptra and I thought it rather romantic. A bit like one of those romances where the girl bandages her gallant saviour's wounds with a bit of her petticoat. Of course, I did have proper bandages, but the principle is the same. There is nothing even faintly romantic about the bruise on my face. It will fade in time and then, hopefully, Rick will stop feeling murderous on my behalf every time he looks at me. By the time I locate my spare pair of spectacles, there is a heavy knock on my door. I find Rick, Jonathan and our Medjai friend there, along with a few laden trays.

'Lunch in here, old mum. Apparently it's more private, although there does seem to have been an awful lot of traffic through here lately.'

Rick deposits his tray on the table and delivers a blow to the back of Jonathan's head without changing expression. I cheer him on silently, but can't help but wish that they would behave themselves in front of company. God knows what Ardeth must think of us. I smile apologetically and he reveals a set of dazzling white teeth in return.

He does look very impressive with all of those robes swirling about.

Rick certainly looked very dashing in his. Hmm, I wonder if he's kept them? He must have looked lovely in his Legionnaire uniform...

Mind back to work, Evelyn.

Maybe I'll ask him later.

Rick glances in our direction and decides to insert himself into the scene.

'Hey, Ardeth, something I've been wondering about - maybe you can help me out. If there's a whole bunch of you guys out there in the desert to make sure Imhotep stays dead, how come you were only the one who helped us take him down?'

The Egyptian stiffens and draws himself up. For a moment it looks as though he is going to speak, but then he remains silent.

Rick grins evilly.

'Finally something you don't have the answer to, huh? If I had a diary, I'd write this down.'

Insufferable man. I have a feeling that our council of war is going to take a very long time at this rate.