Fox was up at dawn the next morning, packing the last of his items, staring out the window and out to the Nile. No more would they have the luxury of beds, fancy dinners, cool places to seek out for a reprieve.

And he could not have been happier at the prospect of living rough.

A knock sounded at his door, surprising him, believing himself to be the only person who could possibly be awake at that early hour. When he opened it, he found Dana, looking happy, but slightly nervous.

"Good morning," he said with a smile.

"Hello. I know it's early, but…" She took a deep breath and let it out. "Would you like to have breakfast? Just you and I, before the others wake to join us?" She smiled and, as always seemed to happen, it caused his stomach to flip.

"I would love to have breakfast with you," he answered and she nodded. "Let me get my jacket and we can go downstairs."

It was slightly cooler in the mornings, and he also had something for Dana tucked inside the inner pocket. He had wanted to give it to her on Christmas, but mistakes being made, he was unable to do so. As they would now be alone, possibly for the last time in a while, he knew the timing was perfect.

Closing his door and locking it, he fell in step beside her. She was quiet but seemed to be giving off the same excited energy he himself was feeling. He looked at her appreciatively, the simple yet attractive style in which she dressed always pleasing to behold.

She did not have overly fashionable clothes, but she did not seem to care or desire them. And yet for he, who had grown up with women of all ages dressed in the latest fashions and the best jewels, her simple dress drew him to her even more. Her beauty was held in the simplicity of dress, her manners, and her intelligence.

And her eyes, which spoke to him, even when her mouth did not.

"Have you everything ready?" he asked and she nodded.

"Yes. I packed and repacked last night. Kept thinking I'd forgotten something. Or could rearrange things and find room to add one more thing."

"Are you needing something?"

"Not at all. I have everything I need," she assured him with a smile. "It was simply in case I needed or, more accurately, wanted it." He laughed softly and nodded in understanding.

The dining room was nearly empty, most of the patrons still sleeping. Suggesting a table on the veranda, she accepted and they sat down. She smiled and he smiled back before the waiter walked up to ask them what they wanted to eat.

After he had walked away, he began to reach into his jacket pocket when she let out a deep breath and turned those blue eyes onto him. They were serious and he drew his hand back, folding them in his lap.

"I want to talk about… to tell you why I came here. You've never asked and I've never volunteered the information, but I want you to know." She drew in a breath, licked her lips, and closed her eyes briefly. Opening them, she smiled softly and he waited, not wanting to hurry her.

Coffees and sweet biscuits were set on the table and for a few minutes their attention was diverted. When she had taken a few sips of coffee, she nodded and exhaled.

"I… my family is from Maryland, as I told you, and two houses down from us was a family with three children. We all grew up together, though they were slightly older than me. The youngest boy, Matthew…" At this, she trailed off as her hand went to her throat and he knew what she was going to say. He wanted to stop her, tell her it was not necessary, but she had said she wanted him to know, so he would listen.

"Matthew was two years older than me and I…" She laughed bitterly, shaking her head and wiping at her eyes. He swallowed, hating to see her hurting, but knowing there was nothing he could do to help her. "I tagged along with all of them, equally hating and loving him. He treated me like an annoying little sister, but then brought me flowers or held my hand when I had fallen and scraped my knee. He had a way about him. I was in love with him for most of my life." She smiled at him with tears in her eyes and she sniffled, dabbing her eyes with a napkin.

"He… he never encouraged it, or expected it, showing attention to other girls which broke my heart. But one summer, I stayed with my grandparents and came home in September before school started. I had changed and he noticed, his attention no longer given to other girls, only me. I was fourteen, he was sixteen, and a far off war had recently been declared. Our lives, though not yet consumed by it, soon would be." She took a second, drinking more of her coffee, not meeting his eyes.

"We were still the same, but different. I had our lives planned in my mind: engaged once I was eighteen, married by nineteen or twenty, a family not far off. I was so happy." She let out such a shuddering breath, Fox reached for her hand, not caring what others thought or if she would object. She clung to his hand, still not meeting his eyes, tears on her cheeks.

"Though America had not officially entered the war, we all knew it was imminent. It weighed upon everyone. The Lusitania…" She shook her head and closed her eyes. He knew what she was thinking and it made his stomach turn. Opening her eyes, she exhaled quietly. "When Matthew turned eighteen, in August of 1916, he enlisted in the military. He was so proud, ready to fight the Germans and stomp them out. I was terrified."

"Dana," Fox said, as she began to cry quietly, but she shook her head, determined to see her story through.

"When… when war was declared… he was so happy. Oh, that makes him sound… I didn't mean-"

"I understand," he whispered and she nodded, her head down.

"He left not long after for training and then to England. He asked me to promise to wait for him. It was the easiest promise I ever made." She blew her nose in the napkin and wiped her eyes. "He arrived in England in June of 1917 and was killed in October of the same year." She covered her face and cried and he swallowed down the large lump in his throat, turning his head to give them both a chance to compose themselves.

When he had, he looked at her, seeing her tears were subsiding as she took deep calming breaths. Uncovering her face, she looked at him, tears clinging to her lashes.

"My life was planned. I only wanted a husband and a family. And I lost it all. My life ended when his did. My heart was broken."

"I'm so sorry."

"It was… I can't describe it. I…" She wiped her eyes and shook her head. "I was devastated. Then angry. Then devastated again. My brother came home, wounded but alive, and I hated him for it. My sister's husband had not fought, a childhood illness of scarlet fever keeping him from doing so. I hated him too. I hated all of them, until I found an old book of mine, one Matthew and used to read together, about the gods and goddesses of Egypt, planning one day to see them together. That's when I read about Kha'ari. When my heart was broken, I found her."

He took a drink and tried to dislodge the lump which once again sat there, as she cried softly for a second.

"My path was clear, I needed to come here, to find her temple. My parents didn't want me to leave, my father was adamant that I stay, wanting to keep an eye on me, but I was still angry, still hurting. I had to leave. I came here with my aunt and uncle, two people who knew to keep quiet about subjects and let me grieve. They helped set me up at my flat and get me the job at the museum in a training program. They left me and for the first time I felt like I could breathe. When I discovered there was not a temple dedicated to Kha'ari, I was broken again. I did my work, but felt empty for quite a while. But when King Tutankhamun was discovered, I once again felt hopeful. Felt that spark within me ignite, just as it did for you."

She smiled and he stared at her, once again amazed by her, and by women in general. Women who suffer and hurt, yet carry on every day without giving any indication of their pain.

"I'm so sorry," he said again and she frowned. "I had no idea."

"I hadn't told you, how could you have known?" she asked softly.

"I kissed you. I… should not have done that, not when you…"

"Fox…"

"I took liberties and you're… grieving… you're hurting."

"No, Fox," she said, softly still. "No. Well, not exactly. I did grieve. I suppose I always will, but it's… mellowed. It's evened out. I'm not hurting anymore. Not the way I was. I have a new path now. It's this… and after this… I don't know. But, my grief and pain are no longer the same."

"That's why you want to find it. To thank her," he stated, as it all finally made sense and she smiled.

"When I first arrived and did not find it here, when all I had wanted was to offer up my pain to her and have it taken from me, I wanted it for different reasons. But now, five years have passed since the worst day of my life, and yes, I want to thank her."

He stared at her and felt a new desire grow within him. If it took years, he would work to find that temple for her, to present to her the opportunity to give her proper thanks.

If she asked him for the moon, he would attempt to try, wanting nothing more than to see her happy.

They were quiet after her story, but a comfortable quiet that did not feel strained. He kept feeling he should reciprocate with his own story, but it did not feel like the right moment. That had not been what drove her to speak, so he remained silent.

"The dress your mother sent two years ago," he said, her eyes raising to his in question, as the puzzle pieces he knew of her life began to fall into place.

"Yes," she said with a nod. "She sent it with a note hoping it would be something I would wear 'out with a young man.' I never found an occasion worthy of it, until recently anyway." She smiled and he nodded.

"Or the young man, I suppose," he joked and she held his gaze, saying nothing as she then looked away.

Clearing his throat, finding double meaning in her answer, or lack thereof, he once again reached toward his jacket pocket and took out the gift he had purchased for her a few days past, placing it onto the table. Pushing it toward her, he watched her looking at it.

"I noticed that your journal was nearly full as you wrote in it recently. I knew you needed a new one, and I had planned on making it a Christmas gift, but…" He pulled his hands back and she smiled as she looked at the dark, rich brown of the leather.

"Thank you. I was in need of a new journal… oh, Fox…" she breathed and then gasped as she opened the journal and saw what he had added to it.

Every night before he had gone to sleep, he sketched copies of his sketches from his own journal into hers. The first three pages were dedicated to the sketches of what they had seen and what had caught his eye.

"This is beautiful. Oh, the details of this one… Fox. This is from Karnak. I remember turning around and you weren't there. I came back and you were sketching this one." She looked up at him and he smiled with a nod. "Thank you, this is an amazing gift. One I will treasure always."

He nodded, saying nothing, her story weighing heavily on his mind as they finished their meal. He was thoughtful as they left the veranda and for the first time, her words did not reach his ears as they walked and she spoke to him. His mind was full and he needed time to think of all he had learned.

The arrival of the men was a welcome distraction, their excitement driving away the heaviness of the morning. They were all laughing and talking, Pierre both writing and signing.

Their trunks were brought down and added to the wagons, a third one procured for all of the extra bits they had not accounted for, the others too full to hold any more.

They had to ferry across the river one wagon at a time, the weight of all too heavy to sustain them if they did not. Once they were all together, they set off. Akl drove one wagon, his boys the others, with everyone else on horseback, using borrowed horses which would be brought back when they were settled.

It would take nearly three full days to reach their final destination, needing to stop and camp for two nights. The weather was perfect, the sky cloudless, the company easy. No one could have asked for a better start.

By the time they stopped for the day, they were sore and tired. Akl's sons began to prepare a fire as he set about making them dinner.

The three men insisted they had bedrolls and were not in need of a tent for two nights, so long as the fire was warm, they would be quite fine.

Fox insisted they put up the smaller tent for Dana, and though she refused, not wanting to be of any trouble, with the help of Sobek and Atum it was quickly erected and her bed made up. As she stepped inside to have a look at it, she brushed Fox's arm, her eyes thanking him.

They ate and sat around the fire talking, getting to know one another better.

John, 28, was from Kansas, the middle of six boys, and the son of a very tough man to please. He was cruel at times, enticing his sons to squabble and fight one another, believing it made them stronger. No weak sons for him, thank you.

"Although it doesn't excuse me," John said, as he looked at Dana. "It's part of why I was willing to leave when we first met. My father's voice in my ear telling me a man should never be led by a woman. That I was weak if I allowed it."

"I understand. I do," Dana said softly, but she shook her head. "It doesn't mean that it's right, however. To be diminished because of my sex… to be thought as less than another, it is unfair."

Pierre clapped his hands at this, nodding vigorously and tapping his chest. He signed something to John, who nodded and signed back with a rueful smile.

"Yes, it is unfair and I apologize again, to you both. For my thoughts were somewhat similar when I met Pierre, though it was wrong of me." He nodded at his friend again. "It's hard. To get that voice out of your head, even after all this time. I haven't seen my father in nearly ten years. I left home when I was eighteen, moving from place to place doing odd jobs and never went back. I got into a lot of scraps and some of them… I'm surprised I survived. Surprised I survived that, more than I survived the war. But I did and I learned from them, though not enough it seems. I apologize to you once again, Miss Scully." He bowed his head to her and she smiled kindly at him.

"For the last time," she stated softly and he grinned as he met her eyes, his forgiveness granted.

Charles, 30, was from London, very near Fox's family, though they had never met. He had two younger sisters, both now married and in the country somewhere.

"I've been away from home for a long time myself. After the war, I couldn't go back. I was different and the thought of home did not hold the same appeal. My mother had passed while I was in Belgium, the letter from my sister reaching me nearly a month after it happened. I… I read it and put it in my pocket, took one breath, and was back to the fight. I had no time to think about it, to dwell and remember her. I felt nothing because I would not allow myself to do so. I was twenty three, in the middle of a bloody war, and it was I, not my mother who survived." He shook his head and wiped at his eyes quickly. Pierre clapped him on the back gently and Charles nodded.

"When the war was over, I couldn't go home. Not even for my sisters. I had to leave, to go anywhere. Anywhere hot. I'd spent nights freezing without a fire and I could not abide a cold London winter. I had to go somewhere warm. I traveled through Africa, visiting many of its countries. I like it here, this continent suits me." Dana smiled at him and he nodded. Pierre rubbed his back again and looked at Dana and then John.

"Right," John said. "Charles and I know Pierre's story, having heard it before, but Charles is not as fluent in sign language as I am, so I'll be translating for him." Pierre smiled at Dana again and she smiled back. He began to speak with his hands and John spoke his words quietly.

"I am twenty five, from Bordeaux. My parents have a vineyard there and I have two brothers. An older and a younger. I don't remember ever being able to speak, though my parents said I did. I fell when I was two and was in the hospital for a long time, though I have no memory of it. I was brought to Paris by train and had surgeries done as my brain was swollen. I survived them, though it was a long time in the hospital, again something I do not remember much of, but from it, I was left unable to speak. I eventually attended schools for the deaf and the mute where I learned sign language. My parents thankfully did not lose their vineyard, as my injuries and costs thereafter were expensive, but it thrived. I will never be in charge of it, my…" Here Pierre paused his hands and took a deep breath. "My younger brother will, my older brother having died in the war."

It was now Charles's turn to offer support, his hand on Pierre's shoulder. Pierre nodded and then shook his head, his hands once again moving quickly.

"I came to Italy four years ago, a doctor there claiming he could treat and cure muteness. I…" Again he paused, his hands lying in his lap. The fire crackled and they all jumped, laughing in embarrassment. Pierre smiled and began again. "I was in love with a young woman and I wanted to be able to speak to her. To speak the words I love you and not just write them. But the treatment was not what I believed it would be. It was…" He swallowed and wiped at his eyes. "Terrible. Just… terrible. I won't go into more detail."

"And you never went back to her?" Dana asked softly. Fox looked at her and saw tears on her cheeks as she stared at Pierre. "You didn't go home?" He shook his head and looked down at his lap, his hands moving, but his gaze not meeting hers.

"No," John said for him, his voice very quiet. "I was and still am ashamed. Of my imperfections and my cowardice to face her with them."

"Oh…" Dana breathed and she began to cry softly. Pierre looked up at her and then stood to his feet, walking close to her. He handed her a handkerchief and she took it, grasping his hand. "I'm so sorry. If she loved you, she saw past what you consider imperfections. I know she did." He shook his head and shrugged, sitting back down as the rest of them were silent.

Dana, after her tears subsided, told them about herself and Matthew. Fox was thankful to her for telling him privately that morning, the shock and pain at hearing her pain would have been hard to hear in front of strangers. He would have been unable to hide his feelings and desire to comfort her.

When she had finished, Pierre was sitting beside her, holding her hand. Their stories were somewhat similar, thus they seemed to find comfort with one another.

All eyes turned to Fox and he cleared his throat. He had never told Dana his whole story and as he relayed it now, of being stabbed and shot, his multiple illnesses both during and after the war, she rose from her seat and sat close to him, taking his large hand in her small one. She would squeeze it when he paused, needing a second to compose himself, the panic rising within him. When he was done, she remained next to him, now holding his hand in both of hers.

"Bloody hell," Charles said, shaking his head. "We're all quite a broken bloody mess, aren't we?" They all laughed, Dana wiping her eyes as she did, still holding onto Fox's hand with the other.

"I'd say so," John said almost bitterly. "And with that, I think I'm going to call it a night."

They all agreed and stood to make their beds ready. Fox walked Dana to her tent and she stopped at the door before going inside. She searched his face and he smiled, not wanting her to worry. She took his hand and squeezed gently.

"Goodnight, Fox," she whispered.

"And to you, Dana."

One more squeeze and she let go of his hand, stepping inside the tent. He waited for a second and then rejoined the men around the fire.

He lay on his back looking up at the stars, the sand cool beneath his fingers, and he thought of what Charles said; they were all a broken mess, each in their own way. He turned onto his side and stared at Dana's tent, hoping she was asleep or at least near to it.

A snore from Akl, around his own smaller fire with his sons, came from his left. The other men seemed to be asleep already also. He closed his eyes, his thoughts once again on Dana, hoping she was able to find peace as she slept.