Author's Note: I need to credit Lucky Fannah with the idea for this scene; when she told me about it, I was wary at first that it wasn't within Gretchen's character. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought it could be achieved in a very Gretchen-y way. So, anyway, thanks for the idea! I hope you enjoy it!

A Harlot's Welcome

"He has most certainly taken her to the Chamber of Anubis."

Ardeth was explaining as he strode quickly through the ruins, his eyes flitting over each building in a determined search. Helpless in their ignorance, his three companions followed behind him, stealing puzzled glances behind his back. Gretchen knew they had to trust the Med-Jai to be knowledgable on the present subject, but, to be honest, she was having trouble putting her life in his hands. For someone whose lifelong duty it was to keep Imhotep from being reborn, he hadn't exactly done everything in his power to prevent that from happening. Granted, his moral stumbling block with killing was the only reason she was alive right now.

Well, that and Anck-su-namun. But she really didn't want to trouble herself with accrediting spirits.

"The ancient Med-Jai kept a secret entrance into the Chamber--"

"Hey, I've heard of that!" Jonathan piped up, a wide, excited grin plastered across his face. Ardeth raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"You have?"

The Englishman nodded empathically. "Well, of course! You chaps call it the 'Doorway to Hell,' as I recall."

O'Connell wet his lips, his head declining thoughtfully. "It's what everybody comes here looking for..."

"Leads right to the treasure room," Jonathan supplied happily.

Ardeth slowed to a stop in front of a building, glancing back at Jonathan with a hard stare. "It leads through the treasure room."

"Oh, well...prepositions," the Englishman muttered under his breath.

Gretchen cleared her throat, feeling phlem rattling in it. She sighed darkly; it seemed her short period of health was slipping to an end. She supposed it was only a matter of time; since the Creature's resurrection, she'd barely eaten and slept even less. She was falling back into her old routines, it seemed. Forcing that thought from her head, she motioned towards the building they stood in front of.

"So what's this?"

Ardeth's hand brushed the side of the crumbling building. "This...is the doorway to the Doorway," he explained with a wry smile. He led them through the wide threshhold, the sun's beams filling the first several yards of the hallway. Gretchen took a breath, remembering her last trip into the ruins, and her recent blackout on the plane. Her lungs suddenly felt very tight, but she told herself that her own paranoia was causing it. She gasped in another draught of air through her mouth and quickened her steps behind them. Watching their Med-Jai leader grasp two torches from a wall sconce didn't exactly bring comfort, though.

They did not make it far enough down the hallway to light the torches, however. A large, imposing wall of rocks effectively cut them off. O'Connell's irritated sigh filled their cramped space.

"Well--"

But Ardeth obediently crouched down, starting to remove the heavy barriers. Jonathan groaned loudly.

"Can't we just...blow it open?"

O'Connell bent down to shove a particularly large rock from the mound. "This could be a cave-in," he explained through difficult breaths. "If we blow it up, we might bring the whole ceiling down on us."

Jonathan gulped, taking a step back from them. "Oh...well, then. Carry on."

Gretchen awkwardly inched towards the pile, grasping one of the smaller stones. With a grunting effort, she managed to pull it from the rest, sending a rain of pebbles skittering over her. As O'Connell pushed another formidble rock out of the way, he shot Jonathan an aggrivated glance.

"You wanna tell me why you're standing around while the girl does the work?"

But the Englishman was too distracted to take offense.

"Hey, gents, come have a look at this."

Gretchen straightened immediately, already tired of their laborious task. She took a few steps towards Jonathan, not particularly interested in his find, but liking the excuse to leave the pile. O'Connell and Ardeth didn't even bother to glance in Jonathan's direction.

The Englishman was enchanted with a little, blue stone bug in his palm. She snorted, letting him know that his find wasn't exactly impressive. She didn't have a chance to voice her low opinion of the carving, however, when its shimmering shell cracked open. A skittering black something squirmed from its encasement and plunged into Jonathan's flesh. His pained screams urgently caught their companions' attention. Gretchen jumped away from him with a yelp, watching helplessly as Ardeth and O'Connell jumped to his aid.

"Do something! Do something!" Jonathan shouted desperately. The men glanced at each other, nodding mutually. The Med-Jai took a firm hold of Jonathan's shoulders, anchoring him against his body. O'Connell pursed his lips, watching the strange mound burrowing in his arm, his skin stretching to compensate for its movement. In a quick, fluid motion, the American withdrew a weapon and flicked the blade into usage. Jonathan's eyes widened at the gleaming article. "Not that! Not that!"

But O'Connell dug the blade into his arm with deft precision, cutting off the beetle's path and plucking it from Jonathan's body. It landed on the sand with a screetch, and before Gretchen had a moment to react, it burst into smoke. She glanced up to see O'Connell's gun still trained on the spot where it had been.

"You think they heard that?" he breathed. Ardeth shrugged, his hands now gripped around Jonathan's bleeding arms. His dark gaze flashed to Gretchen.

"Can you take care of this?"

The steady stream of glistening red made her stomach rock sickeningly. She gulped, shaking her head.

Ardeth let out a sigh, jerking his head at the pile. "It will go faster if I work on that."

Gretchen nodded, but her eyes were wide with apparent fear. "I can't...I just can't--"

But she caught Jonathan's glazed glance, and heard his whispered, "Please..."

For a split second, she saw Meela in her mind, chained to the chair, crying out the same word--

With a grimace, she pulled Evelyn's blouse from her body and extended it to Jonathan.

Ardeth looked up from the rocks and shook his head again. "You've got to do it. He cannot wrap it tightly enough by himself."

Gritting her teeth, Gretchen took a few steps nearer to Jonathan, staring stubbornly away from his wound. "Don't suppose you have a flask."

He swallowed hard, blinking at the tears in his eyes. "In my...in my coat pocket."

He nodded at the floor, where his jacket had been thrown carelessly. Gretchen bent down, her trembling fingers scouring the linen until she came across a dull, fingerprinted cantene. She grabbed it quickly, twisting the cap off and splashing a torrent of smelling liquor over the cut. Jonathan yelled in pain, and she nervously sputtered a "sorry," turning her attention to the blouse. With a quick jerk, the fabric split down the middle, and she uncertainly began to wrap it around Jonathan's arm.

"It needs to be tighter," he advised quietly. Gretchen glanced at him, her dark eyes helpless as she tried to do his bidding.

"I really have no idea what I'm doing," she whispered nervously.

He half-smiled, catching a glimpse down the sheer slip that was presently serving as her shirt. A little embarrassed by his own antics, he glanced up at her again. "You're doing alright."

Gretchen held his gaze for a moment, her throat contracting with personal anxiety. She shook her head, glancing away. "I just hope it holds up."

He watched her tie the ends of the fabric into a tight knot. Her eyes flitted up to his, surprised at the calm that glimmered back. She'd never known him to be the complacent soldier; she'd come to expect a kind of coward's panic when it came to Jonathan-in-danger. But he only looked at her with an expression that might have been satisfied, had he not just had a bug burrowing beneath his skin a moment ago. He opened his mouth to say something, but his gratitude was lost in the loud rumbling of rocks crashing to the ground. They glanced up to meet O'Connell and Ardeth's proud expressions. The dust had barely settled before O'Connell was struggling over the rubble. They climbed awkwardly behind him. Dropping onto the other side of the rocks, Gretchen found herself encompassed in darkness. A match hissed to life, and a moment later, Ardeth's torches provided their humble light. The yellow flame gleamed dully in the reflection of a silver disk, and O'Connell set the aim of his pistol on it. A bullet dinged against the metal, shifting its angle. A flash of white light bounced from the disk, to another and another, filling the room with light.

Gretchen felt her jaw unhinge, and couldn't quite make herself close her mouth again. As O'Connell started down the wide stairs, guns loaded and hammers pulled back, she had to force her feet to move.

The room carried on for an eternity, like a warehouse stocked with gilded merchandise. The entire chamber shimmered, treasure looming around them in golden, untouched glory. The larger statues were dulled with cobwebs, and Gretchen would have wondered how long the stash had gone undisturbed, if she would have been able to comprehend the wealth surrounding her.

And she thought five hundred dollars was a lot.

There was enough here to...to...to do anything. She couldn't even fathom the freedom those precious trinkets could buy. But Jonathan's dazed, inarticulate requests were quickly shut down by O'Connell. The message was clear: victory first, rewards later. Gretchen was wondering whether or not they'd even notice her pocketing a few of the smaller treasure pieces when an odd, unnatural noise caught her attention. She reluctantly jerked her gaze away from the gold, her eyes colliding with the jolting, awkward forms of a handful of mummies.

"Who're these guys?" O'Connell asked, his fingers tightening on his weapons.

"Priests," Ardeth answered. "Imhotep's priests."

Gretchen scoffed nervously. "How can you tell?"

O'Connell raised an eyebrow, taking her arm and jerking her away. A moment later, she realized why. The men opened fire, and she stiffened, uncertain of what to do. Only a moment ago, she would have stood in the crossfire; even if Imhotep had not killed her, there was no telling what a stray bullet could do. Her stomach clenched with the want of self-preservation, and she crept quietly away from the group, crouching behind a glinting statue. She bit down on her lip, waiting for the foray to quiet.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.