Chapter 8

"WHAT in bloody hell are you doing to my apartment?" All semblance of composure lost, McKenzie swayed in her doorway, certain she was about to faint.

Her mother calmly stared back at her. "It's most undignified for a lady to swear. If you were younger, I would wash your tongue off! As for what I'm doing here, I am merely doing your job of homemaker for you- no need to thank me."

The girl had no intention of thanking her. Still stupefied, McKenzie staggered into the living room, where two workmen were covering up her homey furniture with white shrouds and another was painting her walls a sickly mockery of robin's egg blue. "Where are all my books? Where is my rug? What color are you splattering on my walls?!"

"Like it? It's called 'Whitewash Pistol.' Odd name, but the hue is very calming. And don't fret, dear, your books are safely packed away in storage until renovations are complete. Your rug I threw out- it smelled like two cats had urinated on it! Never fear, though, I bought you a new one- hand woven from pure wool! Here, have a look. I ordered it last night, so it'll be a couple of days before-" Struggling not acknowledge how lovely the wool rug appeared on the tablet's screen, McKenzie tuned out her mother's voice as she first mentally reassured herself that her most prized books were safe- as far as she knew- and then struggled to understand why her dear Mama was doing this. Again.

"I must go, sorry, I'm late enough as it is." Actually, she was early, but leaving was a must. If she didn't, Hell, then Chaos, then Hell again would be unleashed, and her apartment would probably be even more disfigured from it.

"Really, so soon? Well, if you must. Please give my regards to Mr. Daley and your patient, dear!"

McKenzie cut her off with the slamming of the door. Despite all her psychological research, it boggled her mind how her mother still felt the need to interfere in her adult life- and why she partially allowed her to. First, an uncooperative pharaoh; now, her mother's poor redecorating tastes.

She'd take on the ancient pharaoh any day.

Ahkmenrah groaned as he roughly shoved aside the lid of his sarcophagus. Judging by the harsh crack of it hitting the floor, he'd been too careless with it, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care. This last vision he'd experienced was the most vivid yet- he'd felt the flames licking his cloak as he ran. He half-expected his bandages to be singed, but they were the same as ever: worn but intact.

"Ahk?" Teddy looked down at him in concern. "Are you sure you're all right?"

He was about to say his customary lie, but this time he nearly chocked on it. "No, Teddy, I am not. I am weary tonight, far too much to join you in our customary rounds, I am afraid."

The president nodded his understanding. "You look more than ready for a good, long rest. Are you able to see your therapist?" Seeing the dejected sigh, he added, "You don't have to if you don't want to- I can tell her you're ill."

Ahkmenrah nearly accepted the man's offer, but decided against it- a pharaoh upheld his obligations as much as possible, and he felt awful he was already bailing on his friend. "No, it would be best if I did not. I can hear her and Larry speaking in the hallway; it would be rude to send her away after she traveled here to assist me. Perhaps this session will be the one to break my dreams. Besides," here he cracked his best smile, "Her suggested treatments can be rather amusing."

Unfortunately, Ahkmenrah regretted his decision instantly when McKenzie stormed in and slammed her bag down on the desk. He'd never noticed what a deadly sound carrier bags can make- what did she carry around with her?! His fears were not appeased when she glowered at him. "If you didn't complete your mental exercises, so help me Lord..."

Someone is in a foul mood. Right when he'd hoped tonight would be better.

It was dark. He couldn't breathe. This was wrong, all of it was wrong. Somehow, he knew he was dead, or supposed to be- he remembered his death all too clearly. Was this the afterlife, then? Quite disappointing, very different from what he'd been expecting. For starters, he was in a box. There should be no confinement in paradise, of that he was certain.

Yet confined he was. Linen wrappings scratched against his shin as he shifted, rocking the container he was imprisoned within. Despite his best efforts, the stone refused to yield. Wait, he should have been buried with shabti, right? Maybe the helpful spirits would let him out! No such luck. Instinctively he shouted for his guards, to no avail. His breaths constricted further as his pleas were answered by echoes and then silence. Desperate- surely he was running out of air?- he banged and kicked until his knuckles were raw and oozing crimson. Still silence and darkness. Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King, was reduced to sniffling.

At last, noises! A scraping sound, followed by a thud and mild cursing. Barely conscious, Ahkmenrah croaked out a final plea for aid and waited, shuddering and gasping. Nothing. Had he imagined it? No! Footsteps cautiously click-clacked closer towards him, followed by a burst of light as the crate's lid was thrown off. With a rising plume of dust, Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King, was released. Remembering his dignity, he forced himself to rise slowly and regally, only to be met by a startled pair of ice-blue eyes.

The stranger before him stood less than a few inches away from himself, a fact Ahkmenrah was acutely aware of. The man was in evident shock, his mouth agape almost to his toes. He was dressed most peculiarly; he wore a white top (which he'd eventually learn was called a t-shirt) with heavy-looking, brown pants- at least, the pharaoh assumed they were heavy, for they were held in place by two belts pulled over his shoulders. Remembering his manners, the pharaoh unwrapped his facial coverings, an act that proved surprisingly discombobulating. Pharaoh and archaeologist appraised each other visually as only men of power can do.

"Well," the stranger finally spoke. "Looks like we have an unexpected guest."

"Pharaoh, are you listening to me?"

Ahkmenrah blinked away the flashback, confronting his therapist. "Sorry, I was... Nothing."

Struggling not to show her impatience, McKenzie nodded. "Out of curiosity, what were you daydreaming about?"

Ahkmenrah sighed, rubbing his temples. Regrettably, he failed to restrain his next words, "None of your business." Tempers were running exceedingly high for both of them- one could practically hear a tide breaking over their heads.

"Oh really? I'm afraid it is my business, pharaoh. As your therapist, I should know what you're thinking about at least sometimes. If you were as open with me as you are to the others, we might actually have gotten somewhere by now!"

"And if only you applied yourself to healing minds as much as you do to writing your notes, I might be more willing to do so!" He sincerely regretted those words the moment he'd uttered them, but there it was- the crux of their relationship. Mentally, he braced himself for a thorough tongue-lashing.

However, instead lecturing him as he'd expected (and now felt he deserved), McKenzie abruptly turned her back to him and leaned over her desk for support. Though he couldn't see her face, the sniffles from her were unmistakable- she was crying. Ahkmenrah had no idea how to comfort her; those words had been honest, but brutally so, and he knew he'd gone too far. "McKenzie, I-"

She turned to glare at him, but he could tell it was all for show- her anger was dissolving before his eyes. "What? Might as well say it more frankly, if possible: I'm a terrible therapist."

"No! Forgive me, I-"

"No! Either you're right and I'm terrible, or you're an ass and I'm innocent! Personally, I think it's the former." The pharaoh listened in stunned silence- not the least of which was inspired by what she'd called him, or not called him?- as she steamrolled on. "You're right, completely and utterly right, I don't know what I'm doing! Not a bloody, bleeding clue! Ask me what I got for my practical assignment? On second thought, don't answer that- you wouldn't know what a practical assignment is. Another thing that, as your therapist, I should know! I got a D! A bloody well-deserved D." Gulping down more sobs, she quieted down.

"Ironic, isn't it? The girl who's read more psychology textbooks than all of her classmates combined- and enjoyed every word- is terrible at interacting with her patients. Ask me to write an analysis or paper, I'm your woman. But ask me to sooth a stranger, and I'm at a loss how. Don't mistake me, I want to help people; I want to heal this chaotic world. Yet despite all of my research, all of my knowledge, I cannot apply any of it to successfully treating my patients. I follow the textbooks to the letter, to the letter, mind you! Yet none of what I've read has helped me connect enough. I sometimes wonder if it all isn't rubbish. Or maybe I'm the one who's rubbish! Yes, that's it, that's it..." The girl all but collapsed onto the sofa, not caring if her nose was practically dripping onto her skirt.

Fortunately, Ahkmenrah noticed. Quietly, he sat down beside her and handed her the tissue box, which she accepted half-dazedly. "You may be inexperienced, but you are not rubbish, McKenzie. Trust me, I know what it is like to feel worthless; you are far from it. Did it not ever occur to you perhaps I would open up to you more as a friend than as your patient?" When she looked up at him in mild surprise, he finished, "Perhaps instead of trying to be my psychologist, you can try being my friend."

Slowly, McKenzie nodded her head dully. "That might be an improvement."

"I promise I will try harder from now on as well. It can be quite difficult for me to open up to even the closest of companions, so please be patient with me."

"Ok, I promise to try, too. I'll admit, this whole mess is partially my fault- imagine what my psychology professor would've said if she's seen me abuse a patient like that!" She emitted a wet chuckle.

"It did take me off guard," Ahkmenrah smiled. "What happened that upset you so?"

"A subject for another time."

Occasionally, the calm follows the storm.

When Teddy checked on them later, they were pouring over his book about the American Colonial Era. He silently clicked the door shut and let them be, relieved Ahk had finally befriended someone close to his age. He needed it now more than ever.


Ah, friendship and therapy, a most soothing combination! Sounds like Ahk and McKenzie could use more of both. :)

Thank you all for your awesome comments! They provide some serious motivation for me, and I couldn't ask for better readers!

LadyofStarClan: If I were the janitor, I'd be quaking in my boots! lol

Wanli8970: Hmm, who IS this mysterious janitor?..