"I cannot believe you would do this, Rameses!"

"Nefertiri, if you would--perhaps--I mean, do really think this is the best place to be having this discussion?"

A bashful scribe that the Pharaoh had recently been dictating to turned his head, held his breath, and attempted to fade discreetly into the wall.

"Discussion? I could have sworn that I was shouting at you!"

"Yes, yes," Rameses winced away from the lash of her voice, "indeed, you are right. You are shouting. I was merely suggesting that if you would lower your voice, and if we could carry out the rest of this conversation as sensible--"

"Sensible, is that what you are calling it now? I call it cold, heartless, unfeeling, and…and…"

"Nefertiri," the Pharaoh begged, "if you have ever loved me, you will be more mindful of the company we are in…"

The queen folded her arms around herself and huffed in a way that condensed all her disapproval into one breath. "Of course, I would never embarrass you in front of any of your admirers. I will wait."

"My--heartfelt--thanks." The most powerful man in all of the Two Lands rounded on the unfortunate scribe with an awkward, plastered-on half-smile. "My friend, if we could continue this at a later time? I am afraid a more pressing matter has been brought to my attention by this most gracious lady. You are dismissed."

The scribe performed his obeisance hastily, clumsily, and disappeared from the chamber with remarkable speed for a man of his girth and a more than adequate amount of relief.

"Now, Tiy," Rameses reverted to youthful nicknames with a childlike smile, "if you would--"

"No."

"But--"

"No."

The smile dropped off his face. "Please?"

"No, no, no. No."

"Well, can I at least say something--without you interrupting me?"

"Fine. If you must."

Rameses drew in a long breath and swept up Nefertiri's hands with a theatrical flourish, pressing them against his heart. "My dearest sister, I am dreadfully sorry."

Nefertiri forcefully jerked her hands out of his grip. "Ooo, that is a new emotion for you, isn't it? Sorry. You are always sorry about something. You were sorry when you dropped my favorite doll off the roof when I was six. This is a man's life. There is no sorry."

"A Hittite's life, or had you forgotten? You would understand the decision I had to make if you had ever been Pharaoh."

"If I were in your place, I would have found a way." Her eyes were damp in the outermost edges, and her voice was low and soft but terribly fervent.

Rameses succeeded in recapturing one of her hands, and he pressed it soothingly, trying to impart some solace across the distance between them. "Which is why you are the better person, and I am the Pharaoh. I admire your compassion, but in the interest of the country, you cannot try to rescue every creature with a sad story that makes eyes at you--"

Nefertiri was indignant, "He did not."

"Of course, if you say so. Regardless, you must believe that I considered your feelings, but not even a demi-god has enough power to reverse a year's worth of decrees without inciting a rebellion. I did not think one pair of charming blues eyes was worth the kingdom's stability."

He cut through her protest even as her mouth opened, "No, do not say a word, Tiy. I refuse to be swayed, and you were always better at this arguing business. I even consulted Humay on the matter, since he had been with you, and he approved so much that he personally offered to carry out the execution. Clearly, he is a man who understands that the Pharaoh must attend to his appearance. I cannot let everyone know that I allow a woman to govern my policies, now can I?"

"Humay--" Revelation passed over her face, too quickly to be tracked. "Oh."

"I know, I know," Rameses crooned gently, attempting to avert his sister's wrath. "You must be so disappointed in him, in both of us, but trust that we would never deliberately hurt you."

"No, I understand that." She laid her other hand over his and smiled ever so slightly, suddenly pleasant. "You are my brother, my best friend, Rameses, and in comparison I had known the Hittite for only the space of a heartbeat. I lost sight of that for a moment. Of course you are forgiven, you are always forgiven."

"Good," he said, shifting from foot to foot as a dodgy look descended in his eyes, "then you will not mind when I tell you I have worse news."

She retracted her hands so as to cross her arms gravely across her chest. "What now, Ses?"

"No, do not start accusing me just yet." He waved his hands as if to fend off some invisible attack on his character. "I think that I handled the situation brilliantly."

"I will not believe that until you tell me exactly what happened," Nefertiri urged him impatiently, anxiety beginning to shiver in the small of her back.

"High Priest Amenemhat approached me again today, this time in a public so that his plea could not be ignored. He is cleverer than we have given him credit for."

Nefertiri's jaw clenched with several years' worth of annoyance. "Why must he persist? If he could only accept things--"

"As they are--yes, I know," Rameses completed the well-worn saying. "Personally, I would be flattered that someone cares so much for my wellbeing. He merely wonders how a woman so privileged, so graceful, so beautiful, so virtuous could be so cursed by the gods."

She shook her head pensively. "Which we both know is completely untrue."

"Yes," her brother agreed flatly, "if he spent more time in your presence he would quickly discover that you are neither graceful nor beautiful, and certainly not virtuous."

She deliberately discarded his comment and sharpened her tone. "What I mean is, why can we not simply tell him--"

"What, Tiy? That we have been married from the time you were twelve, but we have never bothered to produce any princes because we want to preserve our childhood friendship?"

"Well," she faltered, "not exactly those words, but yes."

"No, he would not accept it. The people would not accept it."

"You have other wives, other children; why are they not enough?"

"I do not need another heir, Nefertiri, you know that. What I need is something more. You are…" he dug for a single word that would encapsulate the spiritual role of the Great Royal Wife, "a symbol, an embodiment of the greatness of Egypt. When you prosper, the land prospers. And," he added slyly, his head tilted slightly to the side as if anticipating a blow, "you could solve our problems very easily if you would only take a lover…"

"Rameses!" He said it purely for the opportunity to see his sister redden to the ears. "Just--just tell me how you answered Amenemhat."

"I ordered him to perform a pilgrimage with several of his priests," Rameses answered with the smirk he usually wore when speaking of the majestic alter ego he undertook when wearing the crown. Sometimes the mischievous part of him enjoyed acting the part of king far too much. "They are to ask guidance of the Oracle of Amun-Ra. Do you see, Tiy," he exclaimed, delighted with himself for his own ingeniousness, eager to share, "do you see how perfect it is? If they complete the journey, and if the Oracle gives them an answer--which I honestly doubt, given the circumstances--then we have more than a year in the meantime to devise a solution."

"Yes, it is wonderful, Ses," she hesitantly allowed herself to be drawn into his excitement. "But--"

"No, I will not hear it. You are not to worry. I am going to take care of everything."

He smiled infectiously at her, and she, unable to resist, smiled back. For a moment, the troubles in her world moved away, all forgotten in the company of her brother's endless cheerfulness--even the Hittite.

°

The fireplace was blazing, and in every possible place their clothes were draped near its heat, slowly drying. Evelyn was seated on the floor, cross-legged, with her back to the searing warmth of the flames, waiting impatiently for it to seep into the frozen corners of her flesh. She shivered and tugged an old, sorely-abused quilt--her only piece of covering--closer around her bare shoulders.

Her husband, however, did not seem interested in the least with the availability of her current position, and was instead situated in the farthest possible seat from his wife. He was wearing with noticeable discomfort an ill-fitting silk dressing gown most likely forgotten by Jonathan at some point or other, and a chilling glower.

"How many ways can I say 'no', Evelyn?"

"If you would only listen to me for a moment--I don't feel as if you've even heard a word I've said."

"Alright, then. You've got thirty seconds."

Her voice rose with irritation, "That hardly seems fair--"

"Talk," his gruff bark drowned out the rest of her objection.

"You see," she exclaimed, "this is exactly what I mean, Rick! This city is getting to us, making us both cross--with each other of all people!"

"We have one fight…" Rick muttered in an undertone that Evie studiously ignored.

"We can't pretend we're the sort of people that can live like this; it's far too domestic to suit us all year long. We need to travel, at least every once in awhile, renew that sense of excitement that brought us together in the first place--and why not to Egypt? If we could only get away to Cairo for a few weeks…" She lowered her voice alluringly. "Just you and me…" She allowed a pause while the image of them together surrounded by all the glories of Egypt formed itself in her husband's mind, and then added quickly, "And Jonathan."

"Okay, two fights," Rick conceded before registering the meaning of what she had just said. "Jonathan? Absolutely not. Don't get me wrong, I like your brother well enough--no, scratch that, I think he's a deceitful son of a bitch--"

"Rick!"

"--and I don't want to spend any sort of 'vacation' babysitting good ol' Jon. I have enough trouble keeping one Carnahan out of danger, much less two."

"All the more reason to take him with us. If we were to leave him here, with all his gambling friends, then we'd probably have no home to come back to. Best to keep his type under your thumb."

"We wouldn't have to worry about it if we never left in the first place."

She was quiet for a moment and Rick allowed himself to believe that he had successfully deterred her, but then Evelyn drew the blanket around her, stood, and crossed the room to take a seat next to her husband on the couch. Rick was torn between storming out of the room and grabbing her by the shoulders in order to shake some sense into the girl. Her hand slid over top of his while he was still deciding.

"Forget Jonathan for a minute," she commanded softly, capturing his eyes. "Just look at me and tell me that you don't feel it, Rick. Don't you ever get that itch? That sensation that you're wasting away in mediocrity when there's a whole world out there full of adventures and thrills and new discoveries? Don't you ever miss it? Don't you ever regret giving it up?"

Rick swallowed and looked down at their entangled fingers. "I didn't give anything up, Evelyn. Do you think I enjoy getting shot at? And besides, I got you in the deal."

Her other hand rose to frame his face, following the contours of his cheek. "That's sweet, Rick, but is it enough? For the rest of our lives? We can't live off Hamunaptra forever; one day, you'll have to take a job you hate--and my career is going nowhere just dawdling around in the museum. One day, we won't even recognize ourselves. I don't want to lose this, I don't want to lose the people that we are right now."

Perhaps it was the gentleness in her tone, the sudden redirection of her argument, which made suspicion claw at the back of his neck. This was not the Evelyn who so recently had been sitting in front the fire, battling with him, and he got the distinct feeling that this mildness was meant to distract him from her true motives, quell his doubts with rationale he would listen to. Rick returned his gaze to that open, serene face with a renewed fire. "What is that you really want? What's in Egypt for you?"

"Us. Not the people who sulk around this house all day, but the ones who fell in love in the first place."

He withdrew his hand, moving a few inches back, away from the temptation of her words. "The truth, Evelyn, I deserve as much. What did you find?"

It was her turn to glance away. "A tomb--just a tomb."

His voice grew dark, "And what's the danger in it?"

"None, honestly. Nothing more than a dead prince and all his treasure. And if I'm right--and I'm sure that I am--no one's entered the tomb in over three thousand years, not a single grave robber. Do you know what that means, Rick? This--this is bigger than Howard Carter."

"That's it, then? You're after the fame and glory?"

She appeared insulted that the thought had even occurred to him. "No, not at all! I'm thinking of the academic advancements. No one has ever found such a complete Egyptian burial, and the possibilities are absolutely astounding."

"You swear," he pinned her with a stare, "you swear that's all you want from this?"

"I haven't lied to you, Rick. I want this discovery to be ours, but more than that I want you with me, in Egypt. I want us, the way we were."

He shook his head slowly, regretfully, and closed his eyes briefly. "I don't believe you."

She didn't say a word, only fixed him with an expression of utter disappointment, gathered her blanket and her dignity around her, and swept out of the room.

°

"Labarnas, prince of the Hittites, is dead."

The prince in question flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as he awaited the killing blow that was sure to follow the pronouncement. After a moment of unbearable stillness, he mustered an air of bravery he did not feel, snarling, "Yes, we all know that. There is no sense in repeating what has already been said, so could we just end it now?" As another period of inaction passed, he took the time to wonder why he had closed his eyes instinctively, and, if there was an afterlife, would he regret not witnessing the last few seconds of his life?

He opened his eyes.

Humay had not yet drawn the sword that rested at his hip, his hands spread in front of him, palms facing towards Labarnas, in a gesture of peace. "I have no intention of hurting you," the Medjai captain swore solemnly.

The Hittite shook his head, mystified by this display. "That is an odd way of saying you are going to be humane about executing me."

"No, you misunderstand. I am not going to kill you."

His knees buckled with relief, and he was forced to lean his weight against the solid support of the wall behind him. "That certainly goes against the proclamation your Pharaoh made earlier," he pointed out boldly, though he had no real intention of debating Humay's decision.

"Not entirely so." The smile touched his voice more than it did his lips. "Not if Rameses believes you are dead."

"I must admit that I intend to be a willing accomplice, but at the same time I still do not understand. This action goes against your faith. Disobeying a god is a serious offense."

"Rameses is no god of mine," Humay declared in a tone that made Labarnas glance reflexively to his left and right, ensuring no one in the courtyard was in range of hearing of such treason. No one was. "My people are originally nomads from Nubia, and we have a very convoluted history with the Pharaoh. We have served him, we have fought beside him, but at times in our history we have also fought against him. I owe Rameses my allegiance, but I answer to my own sense of honor first."

"Well," Labarnas attempted to sound collected and unruffled as he tested out his legs once again, discovering that, though trembling, they would support him, "I do not think that my gratitude is enough to cover such a debt. I suppose you will want something from me in return."

"You owe me nothing. I am doing this because the lady charged me with your protection. You will have to take up the debt with her."

Furrows appeared in the Hittite's brow. "Perhaps I overestimated my understanding of Egyptian, because I cannot follow a single piece of your reasoning. Why is the lady any different than her brother? They are both Egyptian royalty."

"Nefertiri holds my friendship. Without her influence, I would never have risen to the position I am in. And…I owe her a life. Yours will do just as well as any other."

"A life?" Labarnas found himself repeating, trying to imagine that delicate flower of a lady from the Theban street ever becoming violent, much less taking a life.

Darkness clouded the Medjai's face, veiling as many emotions as it revealed. "Seti's death last year was no accident. And I could do nothing to stop it."

Labarnas' lips drew back far enough to be considered a sneer at the mention of the deceased Pharaoh. "Not exactly a crime in and of itself."

The captain's eyes flashed, sending him a reproaching look. "Seti was not the monster you want to believe he was; he was simply human. And his daughter loved him very, very much. The fact that you were orphaned by a war has very little to do with your current situation. Seti was not the man who exiled you. Perhaps," he said, his voice deceptively soft, "you are placing the blame where it does not belong."

He frowned as those words resonated painfully with some truth he had hidden from himself. I have not been abandoned by my people, and I will not abandon them, he reminded himself. Banishing his doubt as quickly as it materialized, he settled the issue briskly, "In spite of my contempt for the father, I do intend on paying my debt."

"As to that, you will be living with the Medjai in the palace barracks. Thebes is a meeting place of many cultures," he clarified as he examined his taller, fairer companion, "and no one with think to mention your differences. You will no longer use your Hattian name, but will answer only to Shu. I expect you to train with us, to fight with us, to never question orders," the words took on a harsh bite as authority crept in, "and one day, you may be privileged enough to give your life in the protection of Lady Nefertiri."

The once-prince swallowed his humiliation at being ordered around in such a manner, his life decided for him. "That is it?" he asked softly to prevent anger from leaking into his voice. "That is all I have to hope for, for all my life?"

"Is it not enough?" Humay lifted his eyebrows, a threat turning his tone deadly, "Because I could still kill you here, now."

He shrugged nonchalantly, letting his hopes slide away from him with the movement. "I do not seem to be in any sort of position to refuse your offer."

Humay proffered a hand which the other man took cautiously, reluctantly. "Then welcome to my company, soldier."

°

Rick had known war in all the worst of its conditions; he knew all of its strategies and posturing, its ambushes and retreats, its weapons, its bloodshed, its torture. He knew its rhythms as well, as instinctively, as he knew how to breathe.

This was no war he had ever known. It was fought in the sitting room, in the kitchen, in the bedroom, with tense silences and searing glares and closed doors. It was not a test of strength or valor, but one of wills. And he had a sneaking suspicion he was losing.

Evelyn was an adversary unlike any he had ever known, with unfamiliar skills honed after years of practice on an unwitting Jonathan. Rick, on the contrary, had no experience with this sort of maneuvering; he had a strictly straight-forward approach to any confrontation: if he couldn't intimidate his opponent with his size and stature, then he simply put a bullet into any available, vulnerable body part. The latter obviously didn't apply to Mrs. O'Connell. Nor was it appropriate with her brother. Or their society friends he was expected to play nice with on Sunday afternoons.

Marriage was teaching him a great deal about proper, civilized behavior, more than he had ever expected. But sometimes he felt as if he wasn't learning the lessons quickly enough.

Like now, for instance.

How one managed a decent night's sleep in the middle of a marital conflict was beyond his limited knowledge of the institution. But, to all appearances, Evelyn was slumbering quite peacefully, curled on her side, sheet pulled up to the tip of her chin, breathing evenly and undisturbed. His side of the bed, in contrast, had been ravaged by several hours' worth of restless tossing, a mangled confusion of pillow and sheet and comforter.

Unable to find any calm except vicariously through her, he had spent the past half-hour tracing the curve of her spine, observing the effortless rise and fall of her rib cage, feeling his heart twist as she stirred endearingly in her sleep, even brushing a few wayward strands of hair away from her face. But none of it satisfied his need to wrap himself around her, to pour his protection over her, to make himself a shield between her and the world.

She jumbled his emotions in ways that he couldn't explain. He would do anything, anything, to make her happy, to be the inspiration for one of those smiles. And yet, he would go to even greater lengths to see her safe, even if it meant breaking both their hearts in process.

An edginess descended on him again that not even her presence could erase. No longer thinking, he threw himself out the bed, out of the room, down the hallway. He paced that short stretch of wood for an untold amount of time, until the view from one the windows finally ensnared him enough to still his feet.

The pre-dawn hours had brought fog with it, curling through the streets, choking the trees, obscuring the buildings, sinking the whole city into a thick, swirling grayness. He felt like he was suffocating.

Bracing himself on the windowsill, he balanced on one leg as he lifted his other foot to scratch at an annoyance on his calf.

He couldn't admit she was right, he realized as his eyes drifted aimlessly over the dismal landscape, not because of his pride, but because it would be a defeat on a much deeper level. He would be admitting that he had misjudged the strength of their bond, letting go of that child-like belief in a love that would pull them through all challenges. Love was hard, marriage was harder. And it hurt like hell.

He snaked an arm around to rake his fingernails over his back, trying to relieve the burning sensation under his left shoulder.

He couldn't give in…because he was afraid.

He, Richard O'Connell, was afraid of a woman, for a woman.

His hand moved upward, intent on the itch irritating the nape of his neck.

He snatched his fingers back when he realized what was happening. "Shit," he swore fiercely. Don't you ever get that itch? He was allowing her under his skin, letting her arguments influence him subconsciously. There was no itch, it was all in his mind. All he had to do was believe there was no itch.

Except that his arm was on fire, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from flaying the skin from bone.

He tore back down the hall, no longer caring for the amount of noise he made. Deciding that ripping the door off the hinges would be too messy, he settled for sending it flying open with a crash. He crossed the distance to the bed in two strides. "Evelyn." He took her by the arms, shaking her with more tenderness than he felt. "Evelyn, wake up."

The clarity and expectation in her eyes when she opened them told him instantly that she had never actually been asleep.

"Is something wrong, Rick?" she asked innocently.

Infuriating little minx.

He sat heavily on the bed beside her. "If I were to say yes," he proposed before adding in one hasty breath,"and I'm not saying I'm going to...you have to agree to two conditions."

Apprehension creased the corners of her eyes. "And what would they be?"

"First of all, you have to promise me that you won't get yourself kidnapped or sacrificed or dead. Got it?"

He lips twitched as she listened to him, but she was solemn enough when she spoke, "I promise. What's the second condition?"

Rick smiled, though it wasn't a particularly nice smile. "You get to tell Jonathan he's going to Egypt with us."

To my lovely, lovely reviewers:

LalaithCat: Have a cookie and try to not blow away while waiting on the next update. I'd miss you and your wonderful compliments too much if you weren't around.

Lilyhead: Intrigued is good, very good. And I hope you'll be around when I post more chapters.

KhenemetamenSekhmet: Though I have changed most of the major details, the plot in past Egypt is historically based. There was a war between the Hittites and the Egyptians from Seti I's reign to the fifth year of Rameses II's, when a peace treaty (the first in recorded history) was signed between the two empires.

Nonnie: Where I'm going with this? Um, I hope you'll tell me when I get there, because, honestly, I'm winging it! (grin)

lilylynn: So glad you thought it was cute! I never know how my sense of humor will go over with other people.

Verona: Your reviews absolutely made my day! Not once, but twice.Thank you so much and don't be a stranger!

Sweetdeath04: Between you and me--though I didn't write in the story--I really do believe Jonathan took the money. And Rick is adorable, in all stages of intoxication.