Duck and Run

Disclaimer: The Mummy is not mine, hence the fact that I can't make money from this. I also lay no claim upon my crazy mind, which saw fit to come up with this piece of absolute and utter nonsense.

Setting: Takes place just after the end of The Mummy, back in Cairo.

Summary: Sometimes standing your ground isn't an option, and the only thing you can do is duck and run: Rick and Evie have minor identity crises. Chaos, fun, and police ensue.

Feedback: Yes, please, and make it a double.

Fluffiness warning: You are entering the pillow fight zone. And the ending is really cheesy.

Three weary travelers and their four camels got back to Cairo hot, sweaty, exhausted, and looking forward to a bath and a proper bed. It was probably the hottest day so far that year, which wasn't saying a whole lot, but it was certainly very uncomfortable. Evelyn Carnahan fairly jumped off of her mount, eager to be rid of it. Before their harrowing journey she had liked camels, and it wasn't too awful to be riding one beside (or rather, in front of) Rick O'Connell, but a week atop one of the beasts would change anyone's mind.

She glanced over her shoulder then, smiling slightly to herself as she watched Rick dismount. His hair, too long and too fair for Egypt, was fairly dripping with sweat, and Evie had to wonder why she found this attractive. It was uncouth, she told herself, and ungentlemanly to sweat. Not to mention improper to have fantasies about it.

And yet there it was- she did want to run her fingers through his hair, she did want to run into his arms and kiss him for all she was worth, and she did not care if he was all sweaty; in fact, the sweatier the better-

A blush crept across her cheeks, for Rick's gaze turned upon her then. He had a slightly suggestive, roguish sort of half-grin on his face, which was so incredibly endearing that she wanted to slap him and kiss him at the same time. The blush deepened.

Rick, of course, noticed, and the lewd leer widened. Evie steeled herself to hear some equally suggestive comment, but it never came; suddenly the sweaty hair fantasy wasn't one and, although it was far too hot to be so close to another person, Rick's arms were around her, his lips were on hers, and his hair was every bit as soft and sweaty as she'd imagined-

They kept up the kiss for a good thirty seconds just to get a reaction out of Jonathan, which was more fun than it should have been. Come to think of it, Evie was quite sure that wasn't what made it so enthralling, but she didn't want to think about that, and didn't. At any rate, Jonathan still broke up the party by insisting that they unload the camels before the locals got too curious. It was all well and good when the party was on his terms, but he could be such a spoilsport when he wasn't invited.

*

They unloaded the camels and brought the goods, still in their saddlebags, into Rick's hotel room. Though Jonathan protested loudly, Rick and Evelyn agreed on one thing (or a few): that Jonathan was probably the least likely person to be fair with the treasure, and Evelyn keeping it was out of the question. Jonathan had easy access to her suite, which automatically made the hotel room safest.

Not that that was comforting; Rick had had enough treasure to last him quite a while and would gladly sell most of it off as soon as possible. He was ready to take a vacation, escape from adventure; walk the straight and narrow. Settle down for a while.

He paused at the thought. Not only was it completely uncharacteristic, but it was slightly frightening. No, he thought, scratch the slightly. The mere idea petrified him. One week with this girl- not even with her, really, just chasing around after her, helping her clean up her mess- and he was going soft! Imagine where he'd be in ten years if that kept up!

This, Rick found, was not the train of thought to discourage him from falling in love (Love? What love? Who said anything about love?) with Evelyn , because he pictured himself in ten years as thirty-five, somewhat domesticated, with a few extra pounds and maybe a kid or two running around. He could just see what their son might be like- the spitting image of himself at that age, with Evelyn's brains, a mouth made for swearing, and an unfortunate taste for adventure. Rick could imagine himself sitting in a large, overstuffed chair with Evelyn, fascinated by the roundness of her stomach, and that was disturbing enough in itself. Yet the scariest thing about that mental image was that he was happy. Yes, happy: over-the-moon, completely content, disgustingly, unrealistically, blissfully happy.

No, this was not going at all as he'd planned. Which meant, of course, revising the plans, and revising them well.

*

It wasn't raining, but she was soaking wet. The sun wasn't shining, but she wasn't cold; she should have been exhausted, and she was, but she was having far too good of a time to show it. Evelyn Carnahan could not believe that she'd nearly been arrested for causing a public disturbance. The thought was completely absurd.

How did I get myself into this? she wondered, but at the same time, she knew that she had almost nothing to do with it. It was all Rick's fault. Yes, indeed…

He'd shown up at her doorstep at a quarter to nine, which was strange enough in itself. The neighborhood gossips would have enough fun with that, Evie was sure; receiving gentlemen callers past the hour of eight was definitely unheard of. What's more was that he had had a bottle of fine wine and two glasses with him, as well as a bouquet of flowers, which were rare enough in Egypt as it was. His suggestion was that they go "out on the town, and I'll help you brush up on those fighting skills" which was definitely iffy, considering what had happened the last time she'd had any wine. But he'd smiled that Goddamned grin of his and she'd gone along with him anyway, against her better (or poorer) judgement, and had had the time of her life.

'Out on the town' was a somewhat relative expression, when one thought about it, as there weren't too many places to go after eight in Cairo. The museums opened and closed early. The bars opened and closed late, but it was hardly proper for a couple to go to a bar for their first date, besides the fact that bars weren't very romantic. So the two of them had wandered around, just talking, until they found a relatively quiet area with a few benches and a courtyard with a fountain in which to drink their wine. Yet another sign that something funny was going on; what was a fountain doing in Cairo?

As had happened the last (first) time Evelyn had gotten drunk, they ended up practicing fighting skills after she was totally inebriated, which was less than helpful for the skills at the very least. Unlike the previous incident, however, Rick was very reluctant to give her too much; he wasn't that smart, but he wasn't that stupid, either.

This time, when she tried to punch him, he dodged, and that was how Evelyn Carnahan ended up in the fountain.

To his surprise and relief, she was not angry. In fact, she was laughing so hard that she could not pull herself off of her feet (although that may have been the wine taking effect). She sat in the fountain, tears of mirth streaming down her face, until finally Rick began to worry that she might drown and tried to pull her out.

This might have worked if Evelyn had not been quite so silly. Instead of allowing him to help her out of the fountain, she pulled him in with her.

There were now two very wet, somewhat drunk, very happy people sitting in a fountain in the middle of Cairo. It was pretty much a given that, once they started singing every drinking song Rick knew, the authorities were going to be notified.

Rick clapped his hand over Evelyn's mouth halfway through their third round of In Heaven There Is No Beer. "Someone's coming," he said, sobering up some and sticking his head out of the fountain.

They listened in silence for a moment until they saw the light of a torch at the end of the courtyard. "Friend of yours?" Evelyn asked with a slight lisp.

"We gotta get out of here," Rick muttered, grabbing her hand and hauling her out of the fountain. "Shit- we're going to leave tracks. Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. Let's go, Evelyn."

They ducked low and stuck to the shadows while fleeing the courtyard, but due to the squishing of their shoes, the torch's light was not long in following them. "There they are!" someone called in Egyptian.

"Run!" Rick hissed, and so they did.

Which brings us up to date with Evie's drunken, soggy discomfort. They were hiding in an alcove behind a statue of a mummy, crowded close together. It was basically impossible to be cold- although they were both soaked through, in the tiny amount of space that they did have, there was no room for cold air, just one another. They were pretty sure that the law enforcement officers were gone, but wanted to be sure before they took any chances.

As it turned out, this was a good idea, because the police went past one more time before giving up entirely.

It was also, Evie thought a split second later, a good idea for a totally different reason.

Unlike the kiss they had shared earlier that day, this one was slow, tentative and lingering. This kiss melted barriers and defied borders and started fires, and when it finally ended, both of them were panting slightly.

"Oh dear," Evelyn giggled as she let out a loud hiccup. "Rick, I think I might be drunk."

Rick snorted softly in the darkness. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

She tried then to work her way out from behind the statue and barely managed, stumbling. Rick caught her hand from behind and, laughing to himself, declared, "We'd better get you home before you pass out again." But he was too late, because at that moment, Evelyn let out another hiccup and went totally limp. Rick caught her, rolled his eyes to the sky (This again?), and headed for her apartments.

*

Evie awoke to something of a cheerful morning (there were few other kinds in Cairo unless it involved some sort of curse or plague) and an even more cheerful voice. Both annoyed her immensely, as she had a headache the size of the Great Pyramid. "Go away," she said, rolling over and sticking her head under her pillow.

Wait a second… what in the underworld was Rick O'Connell doing in her apartment at that hour in the morning?

"I brought you coffee," he said in a singsong voice, immediately winning his way into her heart.

She sat up too quickly, the color drained from her face, and reached for the cup to take a sip. Evie downed half the mug before she began to cough so hard that Rick had to put the coffee on the bedside table and pat her on the back to get her breathing properly again. "You call that coffee?" she managed, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I never claimed I'd made it like you Brits. That stuff you drink's not coffee, it's mud."

Evie groaned again. "I'd argue, but I don't have the strength."

"Perfect," Rick replied, smiling in a way she'd never seen him do before. If Evie hadn't known better, she would have thought he was nervous. "Don't move. I have to say something."

She decided against telling him that she probably couldn't have moved more than a few inches if she'd wanted to. Evie attempted raising an eyebrow at him, but had a feeling it came off more as a bleary-eyed stare. "I'm listening," she said, privately thinking that he was going to pay for doing whatever he had done to give her such a hangover.

Then, to her amazement (and amusement) he began to pace. Watching Rick O'Connell pace was quite amusing, Evie found; she had known him for little more than a week, the most trying week of her entire life, and he had never done that before. He had sworn, he had fought, killed, and gotten very impatient and even scared, but she had never seen him disturbed enough to pace. It was hilarious.

"Evelyn," Rick started, paced some more, then stopped abruptly. "Damn. Do you have any bourbon?

Evie blinked. "At this hour in the morning?"

"I'll take that as a no." Rick didn't start pacing again. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat down somewhat awkwardly. "Have you ever gotten that feeling that you know someone when really you don't?"

Why don't I like where this is going? "Well… yes," Evie answered haltingly.

"Well, I… damn!" Rick exclaimed again.

Evelyn decided against reprimanding him for swearing as it was likely to do exactly nothing. "You were saying?" she asked, in a state of better humor despite herself.

"I'm no good at speeches," he mumbled.

"Perhaps not, but I seem to recall a few good one-liners here and there during the course of the last week." 'You dream about dead guys?' Only from an American…

"You're right," he said, grinning (albeit weakly) again. "Forget the speech. I love you, Evelyn. Will you marry me?"

Evie, who had been taking another sip of what Rick loosely termed coffee, choked again. "You- what did you- oh my." She shook herself mentally. "You want to get married?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Um, yes?"

Evie would have laughed, but she had a feeling it would have hurt her head. "Then-" and she couldn't stop the somewhat goofy grin from spreading across her face, "it's just a matter of when."

THE END

"Now's good."

"Now?"

"Why not? Do you have plans?"

"No, but I do have a hangover. Which is your fault, by the way."

"I'm not responsible for what you drink!"

"Neither am I, apparently, when you're around."

AHEM. I SAID, THE END.

"Oh, come on. Didn't it feel good to be bad for once?"

"Bad? Just to recapitulate, how… bad… were we?"

"You almost got us arrested. Oh, and the neighbors will be talking, because we didn't get back 'til around one in the morning. And you're a lot heavier when you're soaking wet."

THE. END.

"When I'm what?"

Oh, forget it.

FIN