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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years

Text

Remnants, Part X

Closing Note: Well, kids. Saddle up because this monster has a word count of over 12k. I want to thank you for taking this journey with me, and I hope you have enjoyed reading this version of Ahkmenrah as much as I’ve enjoyed writing him.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX

Story Summary: You are in the midst of formulating your dissertation, but you’ve hit a wall. Your doting aunt, Rebecca, has a solution that brings you face to face with Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King. As the connection between you and Ahkmenrah grows, and as the secrets of his ancient tablet unlock, the once-king will find himself faced with a difficult choice.

Tag List: @kitkatcronch @kpopperotp12 @seafrost-fangirl @sassystrawberryk @perfect-rami @txmel @limabein @rami-malek-trash @underworldsheiress and @sherlollydramoine

Thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, and leaving comments that kept me motivated!

Warnings: Little bit of swearing

Reading Note: 20--* = Borrowing from the writers of old, I left the exact year blank to let the story feel a little more timeless.

Larry was en route to the British Natural History Museum where you were waiting to meet him in Merenkahre’s and Shepseheret’s exhibit. According to the American museum, Ahkmenrah and his tablet would arrive the following day.

It took a bit of convincing to get them to ship Ahkmenrah early, but you insisted you only needed the sarcophagus and the tablet. The rest of his display could be shipped later at the arranged date. Larry explained to Ahkmenrah that there were experts at the British museum who could help with his tablet. Considering the relationship Ahk had with Jack, he readily agreed to return to England.

To pass the time while you waited for Larry, you fussed about, dusting even though the exhibits were spotless, and adjusting artifacts, some real and some recreated from your trips into Ahkmenrah’s memories.

Another thing you did to prepare for the awakening of Ahkmenrah’s parents was to write a letter in ancient Egyptian that would clarify what had just happened to them. Although your ability to speak their language was improving, it was nowhere near fluent enough to explain the urgency of Ahkmenrah’s situation.

The vibration of your phone pulled you away from your unnecessary tidying. Larry texted to say he was in the lobby; you had left specific instructions with the night guard, Tilly, to let Larry in, no matter what time he arrived.

Rather than wait on the elevator, you took the stairs two by two, both excited to see Larry and nervous to hear more about Ahk. When you entered the lobby just a little out of breath, Tilly and Larry were deep in conversation about their respective flashlights. You laughed aloud at the fact that Larry had brought his along.

Your laughter caused them to look up and Larry opened his arms to wrap you in a strong hug.

“I missed you, kiddo.”

“Me too, Lar,” you said, returning his smile. “Thanks, Tilly. We’ll be sure to let you know when we leave.”

You took the elevator up to Ahkmenrah’s parents’ exhibit.

When you entered the Egyptian wing, Larry let out a low whistle of appreciation as he took in each exhibit, including Ahkmenrah’s future room.

“Wow! This makes me feel bad all Ahk has in America is a dark room with a couple of hieroglyph walls and two giant guard dogs. This will be a real step up!”

“How is he?”

Larry shifted his gaze away from the fountain taps of the bath, and you could see the worry lines that had settled on his forehead.

“He’s getting worse. As of two nights ago, the tablet was visibly corroded.”

“How could this have happened? It’s existed in perfect condition for 4,000 years—over 4,000. It’s made of solid gold for Christ’s sake!”

“No one has any idea, least of all Ahk. He’s . . . angry, irritable. Not like himself at all.”

You frowned and looked at the ground, unwilling to meet Larry’s eye.

“Don’t, Y/N. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Maybe it does, though. Maybe I did something to it the last night we used it. This could be all my fault,” you said, crossing your arms and looking over Larry’s shoulder at the doorway that connected to Shepseheret’s exhibit, the peace of her garden a slap in the face to your churning guilt.

“What last night? What are you talking about?”

“The last thing Ahkmenrah asked of me was to return with him to the night he died. We saw him murdered by his brother. It was . . . I don’t even have a word. Worse than horrible. Ahk was in shock, so I had to use the tablet to escape his memory. Maybe my use of it did something.”

Larry was quiet for a bit while he worked through what you said.

“That was, what? Over a year and a half ago?”

You nodded.

“The tablet was fine until just a month ago. Besides, Rebecca’s used it. I’ve used it. Even Nick’s used it.”

You raised your eyebrows and asked, “Exactly what’s been going on at the museum, Larry?”

Larry laughed nervously, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he ran his hand through his dark hair.

“You know this gig isn’t easy. Sometimes, the exhibits get a bit restless, things get out of hand, elephants end up in Central Park, Custer recreates his last stand in Rockefeller Center, you know, typical museum shenanigans,” Larry finished, his foot tapping a nervous staccato on the floor as he hands settled on his hips.

You stared, slowly processing the strain of being a night guard in a museum where the exhibits come to life, a strain Larry had certainly done his best to keep hidden for the past few years.

“If you can handle all of that, Lar, you’re going to make an excellent teacher.”

Larry smiled that cute, crooked smile of his.

“Thanks. I sure hope so, but I have to admit I’m glad I don’t have to handle this one on my own. If something happens to Ahk—”

“It won’t,” you stated with a finality that hid your desperation.

Larry nodded, encouraged by your strong statement.

“Letting you go . . . it wasn’t easy for him, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

“I do. Doesn’t mean I like it any better now than I did then, but what is a girl in love to do?”

“Find his mummified parents, painstakingly rebuild pieces of their lives, and arrange an it’s been a long time, oh, say 4,000 years comin’ reunion?”

You laughed, at first, and then fell into Larry’s arms as the tears came. You gripped the front of his coat, and felt like an idiot, laughing and crying, but it also felt damn good to say aloud that you were still in love with Ahkmenrah.

Larry smoothed your hair and kept muttering that it was okay until you composed yourself.

Embarrassed by your spontaneous overflow of emotion, you stepped back and wiped away your tears, sniffing loudly before declaring, “I’m fine—really I am. I just had this all planned out, you know. Things were going according to plan and I needed that. Really, really needed that focus to keep me from thinking about him—about us.”

Larry smiled and shook his head. “Love’s like that. It enjoys laughing in the face of your carefully laid plans even more than god himself does.”

You narrowed your eyes, something deep in your mind struggling to make a connection.

“Love. That tablet—it was birthed from an act of pure love. It only makes sense that love will be able to restore it . . . or at least lead us to the right answer.”

On your way out of the exhibit, you stopped at Merenkahre’s coffin and laid your hand on top of it.

“Please help the son you loved so much,” you whispered.

* * * * *

The following cold, February afternoon, you and Larry met the delivery truck that housed Ahkmenrah and his tablet. You couldn’t help but to just stare as they unloaded the pine crate, a seemingly ordinary box that you knew contained the extraordinary. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You had no idea if it was just your imagination, but you thought you could feel his presence.

“Miss?”

“Hmm?” you answered as the deliverers scuttled back into the truck, their breath visible as they aligned two more similar, large crates with the tines of the forklift. “I’m sorry—what was it you asked?”

“I need a signature from the director of the museum or from the curator.”

You shook your head, took the proffered clipboard, and promised the man you’d be right back.

The British museum’s director was a woman by the name of Anastasia Waterhouse; she had been the director for the last twenty years and was damn near old enough to be an exhibit in the museum herself. She held more than one PhD and was one of the most knowledgeable people you had ever met. Dr. Waterhouse was also damn good at her job. She was the one who had negotiated for Merenkahre’s family’s exhibit, promising to relinquish the rights to all three mummies to Cairo once the exhibit spent a suitable time at the British museum.

She also hadn’t fussed when you exploded into her office, begging to bring the Ahkmenrah exhibit over immediately. You explained that something had happened to the tablet and the restorers in the British museum had far more experience with Egyptian relics than the Americans, so it was only logical that Ahkmenrah was brought here now so your entire life wasn’t ruined by being unable to display the famed Tablet of Ahkmenrah.

In typical Dr. Waterhouse fashion, she needed only to raise her weathered hand and your babbling came to an immediate cease. She told you exactly what needed to be done and that was that.

Rather than blow the old wooden door off the hinges again, this time, you politely told Dr. Waterhouse’s secretary you needed a signature and waited for her to clear you to go into the office.

After Dr. Waterhouse signed the delivery slip, she said she would head down to the storage area as she was most excited to see the famed tablet in person, not to mention Ahkmenrah’s ornate sarcophagus.

You rushed back to return the slip to the delivery man, and as soon as the back door on the truck was latched, Larry started a bumbling speech that included wild gesticulations in an attempt to bring your attention to the other two crates.

“No. No way—you mean to say those are not Ahk’s?”

Larry shook his head.

Fuck—you grabbed one of the crow bars that was hanging with the other tools on the pegboard and started prying open the crate closest to the loading bay. Sure enough, it was Teddy on his horse along with Atilla. You were certain that a little cowboy and his Roman friend were also buried in the packing straw.

“I’m not even going to attempt to open the other crate. The museum director is going to be here any minute to see Ahk’s crate. You have to stall her while I grab the forklift and hide these other two crates.”

“Wait—which one is Ahk’s crate?”

“Shit—open them and find out,” you said as you handed Larry the crowbar and hurried off in the direction of the forklift.

“Wait! What am I supposed to say? I don’t even know what she looks like! I’m not even British!”

“Can you drive a forklift?” you shouted over your shoulder as you jogged toward the ramp.

“Damnit,” Larry muttered before shoving the crowbar into the second crate.

You ran down the ramp of the loading dock to where one of the deliverers had parked the museum’s forklift. It was wedged into a corner, but its bright aqua coloring made it easy to see straightaway.

The keys were almost always left in the machine because the storage area was one of the most secure sites in the museum. But of course, today, the key was nowhere to be found—the deliverers must have returned it to the office. You slammed your hands against the wheel in frustration and climbed back out, your feet thudding on the concrete. You ran back up the loading dock and into the small office that housed more tools, delivery paperwork, and an ancient computer that checked artifacts in and out.

Hanging on the wall along with several other sets of keys was the forklift key—or at least what you hoped was the right key. You glanced at the logo etched into the key and it said “MITSUB.” As far as you knew, nothing else around the loading dock was of the Mitsubishi brand.

You ran back to the forklift and shoved the key in the ignition, uttering a nervous, crazy little laugh when the ignition sputtered before kicking on. You revved the engine and quickly backed out of the corner, silently thanking your own tenacity for always wanting to do things yourself. When you worked all hours of the night, you needed to know how to do every job in the museum.

As you approached the crates, Larry shouted and pointed to the box furthest from the dock: “This is Ahk!”

You gave him a thumb’s up and then furiously waved him in the direction of the door.

“Distract her!”

Larry took off as you maneuvered the forklift to quickly pick up the first box and scoot it back into the dark corner of the first aisle. The storage room was a massive maze of towering steel aisles that held thousands of artifacts of all shapes and sizes.

You almost did something really stupid by placing the second, unopened box on top of the other before you realized the panic that would ensue when the exhibits came to life. Instead, you backed out of the first aisle and dropped the box off at the back of the second aisle.

Just as you were driving back to head down the ramp, Larry and Dr. Waterhouse entered the loading bay, Larry cackling like a madman and talking her ear off.

You wheeled around and slid the prongs of the forklift under Ahk’s crate. You cut the engine, then jumped out to greet Dr. Waterhouse.

“Mr. Daley. For the last time, this is MY museum. I do not need a lecture about the proper care of any of its antiquities! I also have no interest in purchasing in American-made flashlight. The flashlights we have here are more than suitable.”

“I apologize, Dr. Waterhouse. This is my uncle-to-be, Larry Daley. He’s been working with Ahkmenrah for the past few years and feels rather attached to him. He also, clearly, believes in the versatility of well-made flashlights,” you finished lamely as you shot Larry a “what-the-fuck” look.

Dr. Waterhouse softened; first, she understood what it was like to get attached to a piece of history. Second, she was delighted to meet a familial relation, considering you were rather reserved about your personal life.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Daley. Perhaps you should have opened by explaining your relationship to one of the best anthropologists with whom I have had the pleasure to work.”

“That would have been . . . better,” Larry agreed, grimacing a bit.

“I was just getting ready to take Ahk’s—Ahkmenrah’s sarcophagus into the transition room. Better lightening there, of course.”

“Most excellent—carry on. I cannot wait to behold the famed tablet with my own eyes!”

Dr. Waterhouse walked off in the direction of the transition room, stopping to press the button that opened the garage-style door so the forklift could drop off the crate.

“She wasn’t exactly impressed with me, but I see the other crates are gone.”

“She doesn’t impress easily. And yeah, by an actual millisecond. The bloody key wasn’t in the machine!”

Larry chuckled as he said in a horrible British accent, “Righty-oh, miss. I see you’re pickin’ up on the language of the land, ya!”

You blinked several times before sighing, “That was about five accents rolled into one, so I don’t wanna hear it. Come on—make sure Ahk’s crate is secure before I move it into the transition room.”

You climbed back into the forklift and cautiously loaded the crate. Larry checked that it was securely tucked up against the back of the forks and you lifted it a few inches. Maneuvering into the transition room could be a bit tricky, so you drove slowly.

Dr. Waterhouse was waiting inside with a crow bar, still unafraid to get her hands dirty. One of the most exciting things about being a museum director was having the first access to new acquirements.

You set Ahkmenrah’s crate down on the marked patch of concrete and backed the forklift out of the smaller room. You parked at the end of one of the closest aisles and jogged back into the transition room.

The transition room looked like an operating room for antiquities. Tools lined the walls as did work benches that accommodated magnifying glasses of all sizes, microscopes, and other sensitive equipment used to run tests. Around the middle of the floor were some lamps that could be swung this way or that to capture the object on the floor in the best light. In this room, the curator worked with his team to get the antiquities ready for display, conducting as much restoration and preservation as was necessary.

“James will be delighted,” Dr. Waterhouse said quietly as she eyed the crate, clearly eager to see the sarcophagus and the tablet.

“James is our head curator,” you explained to Larry. “That’s actually what my aunt does now at the museum in New York.”

“Lovely,” Dr. Waterhouse whispered, more to the crate than as an acknowledgement to your comment. “Shall we?”

Dr. Waterhouse didn’t wait for a reply before she popped out the first nail of the crate. You thanked whatever cosmic power that existed she started at the end that had not already been pried open. She worked slowly, and you and Larry watched with bated breath.

When she was finished, she set the crowbar on a bench and stepped back to allow you and Larry to lift off the crate’s lid. The gold from Ahk’s coffin was blinding as it reflected all the lights in the center of the room. You pivoted some of them to an angle as Dr. Waterhouse ran her gnarled fingers over the face etched into the gold, then slide her hand down to touch some of the jewels that adorned the sides of the sarcophagus.

“Beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking,” she said.

Same, you thought, thinking of Ahkmenrah’s actual face.

Dr. Waterhouse moved around the crate and reached in to pull out the Tablet of Ahkmenrah. The gold of it was also blinding under the lights, but along the bottom, you could see the greyish hue of corrosion.

“You were correct, Y/N. The tablet is in dire need of restoration. I’ve never seen anything like this on pure gold, unless, perhaps this is not?”

“James can run some tests, but I am positive that it is, and that it is the real tablet,” you said, attempting to placate Dr. Waterhouse.

She nodded, and placed the tablet on the work table. “Shall we see what’s inside the sarcophagus?”

“No!” you and Larry both yelled, surprising Dr. Waterhouse so much that she took a step back.

“Goodness! What has gotten into you, Y/N?”

You felt the cold fingers of panic creep across your chest and squeeze as your mind raced for a suitable answer.

“The curse!” Larry yelled from beside you, startling both you and Dr. Waterhouse this time.

Oh, fuck me, you inwardly groaned.

Dr. Waterhouse’s eyebrows shot straight into her hairline before her mouth turned downward, irritation practically leaking from the corners.

“Americans and their superstitions,” you said, giggling nervously, searching for a way to prevent Dr. Waterhouse from prying inside the coffin. “The American museum just completed a full photographic report on the mummy, right Lar?”

“Report? Ah, yes! Yes, I know they did. Took the pictures myself,” he muttered.

Dr. Waterhouse looked offended. “A night-guard photographed a 4,000-year-old, precious artifact?”

“Larry just has a real attachment to Ahkmenrah,” you said as you moved next to Dr. Waterhouse and whispered, “They really just humor him.”

Dr. Waterhouse continued to frown, but nodded. “If the American museum was really just in there poking about, we shouldn’t disturb the mummy again for a suitable period of time.”

“Right! And our clear concern is the tablet,” you said while walking over to the work table and hoping that Dr. Waterhouse’s attention would be diverted.

“Indeed! I’ve never seen anything like this, except, well, let me think—” and Dr. Waterhouse began recounting an experience with a gold statue brought to the museum from the Mayan Temple of Tikal.

You shot a glance at Larry that conveyed your relief as she took the bait, but a quick glance at your phone let you know it was getting late. It was after 4:00, and in mid-February, sunset was around 5:00.

“So, in the end, the makers of the statue proved to be clever by housing the true statue within a false statue. It protected it for centuries,” Dr. Waterhouse concluded.

“That’s fascinating—I can’t wait to see what James discovers when he examines the tablet,” you said as Dr. Waterhouse agreed.

You made a bit of a production of pulling out your phone and checking the time.

“4:18—wow! Time has just flown by this afternoon.”

“My! It has—I need to call the American museum to let them know we received Ahkmenrah and his tablet. I would also like to request a copy of that report.”

You walked over to the interior door of the transition room and held it open for Dr. Waterhouse to exit. You clicked off the lights and as the three of you exited the storage room, Dr. Waterhouse pulled out her keys and locked the door; she also unclicked her radio from her hip and walkied for the head of security to make sure the loading dock and the storage area were all properly secured.

Larry’s face flickered with worry, but you shook your head and patted your jacket’s packet. You had already been entrusted with a key to the storage room.

After saying good-night to Dr. Waterhouse, you and Larry walked back to the lobby.

“Soooo what’s the plan?” Larry asked.

“You’ve got to get back to Ahk,” you said, handing Larry your key to the storage room. “I don’t want him waking up alone and in the dark, especially since he’s been sick. Just keep the lights off as long as you can—actually, put that damn flashlight of yours to good use!”

“Got it,” Larry said while patting over the pocket of his jacket that held his flashlight. “Then, I’ll bring him to you in his parents’ exhibit.”

“Yup. I’ve written a letter explaining what’s happening. There’s no way they are going to wake up speaking English. The real question is what the hell we are going to do about our stowaways.”

“I can’t believe they figured out how to ship themselves here,” Larry said, settling his hands on his hips after sliding the key to the storage room in his pants’ pocket.

“I’m sure they just want to help Ahk, but perhaps we just ‘forget’ they are here for the time being. Maybe they won’t even make it out of the storage room?”

“Y/N, they managed to ship themselves here from New York. We aren’t going to trick them by leaving them alone in a dark room.”

You sighed in frustration.

“Focus on Ahk’s parents. Leave the rest of the guys to me.”

“Thank you—shit, it’s late! Dr. Waterhouse leaves at 6:30 every day after security finishes its sweep. I’m sealing off the Egyptian wing to work, so they won’t walk in on Meren and Shep when they wake up. If you stay inside the transition room with Ahk until 6:30, you’ll be fine.”

“Got it,” Larry said with a firm nod. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes,” you said slowly, your stomach fluttering at the thought of seeing Ahkmenrah in less than two hours.

As you and Larry headed in your separate directions, you once again found yourself asking the cosmos to help you get this right—to help Merenkahre and Shepseheret wake up without losing their minds.

Armed with your letter, you sat in the tiny hallway between the two exhibits and waited for the sun to set. You took off your jacket and used it to cushion your seat on the floor.

As you were reading over your letter for the tenth time, the rattling of the sarcophaguses caused you to shoot up from the floor; unfortunately, your foot had fallen asleep and you fell face forward, just barely catching yourself with your hands.

“Fuck me!”

You shook it off and hobbled your way to Merenkahre’s coffin first; as you lifted the lid, up popped a very dusty mummy. His wrappings were badly decayed, so you figured he could fuss with them himself and you ran over to Shepseheret’s coffin. She had flung her lid aside and was already unwrapping her bandages. You could just see her eyes as you approached and she froze, clearly frightened. You relied on your knowledge of their culture, and bent at the knee, splaying your arms to show you meant only respect.

She spoke, but you were unsure what she said as it was still muffled by her bandages.

Merenkahre had made fast work of his own wrappings and came, dressed in his regal splendor through the opening between their exhibits, stumbling when he realized who had spoken.

Shepseheret began crying as she struggled with her bandages. You stood up and helped her, then helped her out of the coffin.

She looked equally as stunning as her husband, her full regalia much more ornate than anything you had ever seen. She was buried with the highest honors, and you wondered what exactly happened after Ahkmenrah was killed. Surely, Kahmunrah wouldn’t have allowed Meren and Shep to be buried in such ornate clothes because they were a dead giveaway of their identity.

You pushed your questions aside, knowing you had no way to ask them anyway, and watched as Merenkahre gathered his wife into his arms. They cried and hugged each other, whispering in ancient Egyptian. It pained you to break up their reunion, but their son needed them.

“Ahkmenrah,” you stated, hoping to get their attention.

They both turned and looked at you, Shepseheret’s blue-green eyes, the exact same as her son’s, widening. You began the speech you had rehearsed and hoped your ancient Egyptian was understandable.

“Ahkmenrah needs help. His tablet is dying.”

Merenkahre began speaking, much more rapidly than you could follow. You held up your hands and shook your head to indicate that you didn’t understand.

You jogged the few steps to where you had been waiting and grabbed the letter explaining how you knew their son, where he was, where they were, and about the tablet’s corrosion.

Their eyes flew over the hieroglyphs, and Shepseheret’s hand covered her mouth as it fell open, her face filling with concern.

Once again, they began to converse with one another, and you only picked up that they discussed Ahk and his brother, and they definitely did know Kahmunrah had killed them all.

Surprisingly, they didn’t seem all that shocked to be awake. That made you wonder just how much more they knew about their gift to their son.

Merenkahre frowned and tried speaking again. You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders, unable to follow enough of what he was saying. You had planned on Larry and Ahk having arrived by now. You wondered what was keeping them, and then, you remembered you had left your backpack and your notebook in Meren’s exhibit.

You ran to fetch it and hastily wrote out that you could read his language but not speak it.

Merenkahre stared at your pen for a moment and ran a hand over the paper in awe; then, he scrawled in the notebook:

“Where is my son?”

“He’s here, now. That’s why you’ve come to life. The tablet is with him. Can you help?”

“I need to see it, but yes, I believe I know what is wrong.”

“What is wrong?”

“The tablet is most likely in need of Khonsu’s light.”

You nodded, unsure exactly what the moon god had to do with Ahk’s tablet, but you were overjoyed that his father seemed to know what was wrong.

Shepseheret reached for the notebook and pen and scrawled a request:

“Explain more about when and where we are.”

“England,” you scrawled before drawing a crude map that showed them where they were in relation to Egypt. “The year is 20–.”*

“Did you find us?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find us for my son?”

“Yes.”

Shepseheret smiled at you, a soft, knowing smile. She turned and spoke to her husband, and he listened intently.

You stepped away to allow them to converse, and you used that moment to try to call Larry.

He answered, panting into the phone.

“We’ve got—a—slight—problem!”

“Where are you?!”

And in response, you heard some yelling and scuffling before the line went dead. You were left to stare at your phone and wonder what the hell had gone wrong.

You decided to stay in the exhibit with Ahk’s parents, trusting that Larry would get Ahkmenrah here. This was what Larry did best.

Merenkahre and Shepseheret were still deep in conversation but had begun to wonder around each of their exhibits, pointing at artifacts as they examined each room.

Just as you stepped back into the small hallway that separated Meren’s throne room from Shep’s garden, Larry and Ahk, followed by a small, very awkward crew of supporters, thundered up the stairs and skidded into the exhibit. Ahkmenrah’s mouth dropped open as he approached his mother’s garden.

Shepseheret ran to her son, the two of them melting into a loving embrace. Merenkahre followed and reached out to touch his son’s face in disbelief. They began to speak in hushed, low voices, and each of their faces was streaked with tears. Ahkmenrah’s smile was so blinding, it dulled the tracks of tears that had slid from his eyes.

Ahkmenrah asked his mother a question, and she turned and pointed to you as you stood in the shadow of the hallway between the two exhibits.

You walked out slowly, unsure if your legs would sustain you as you saw Ahkmenrah for the first time in nearly two years.

“Y/N,” Ahkmenrah breathed, and asked with awe, “What have you done?”

“I found your family, and my team built this for them. And I had hoped . . . for you, too,” you said as you gestured to the hallway separating Shepseheret’s garden from Ahkmenrah’s chamber.

Ahkmenrah glanced to the doorway and then to his father’s throne room, the golden sun that had been excavated and painstaking restored, glittered within a glass casing on the floor.

Ahkmenrah moved from his mother’s embrace, and he slowly closed the distance between you. When he stopped in front of you, he was so close that you could count his eyelashes, close enough that you could smell the rich scent of papyrus, sandalwood, and the open air of the desert that was so determined to cling to him, even after 4,000 years. Ahk took a deep breath and reached out to grip your upper arms.

You froze as he laid his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, breathing you in. When he opened his eyes, and locked them onto yours, he asked one simple question: “Why?”

You were still frozen, hypnotized by the intensity of his gaze and the only thing that would come out of your mouth was the truth.

“Because I love you.”

Ahkmenrah pulled you to him, and your body softened within his embrace as you wrapped your arms around his waist, sliding your hands across the smooth, warm skin of his back.

When he pulled away, he began murmuring, “I am deeply sorry, Y/N. I should have told you. I am and have been wholly in lo—”

Ahkmenrah’s face grimaced as he staggered forward, almost knocking the wind out of you as you caught him and struggled to hold him upright. As you looked into his face, you were horrified to see the black lines of decay that ringed his eyes, his smooth skin wrinkling to some grey-matter before slowly, slowly turning back to flesh.

His father rushed forward and wrapped his arm around his son, holding him steady, his face full of concern.

Ahkmenrah must have explained what was happening and Merenkahre followed up with talking about Khonsu. You could feel the tension between the two of them, and Shepseheret interrupted, speaking gently as she gripped her husband’s arm.

“That’s it?!” Ahkmenrah exclaimed in English.

“What? What’s it?!” Larry shouted, unable to wait any longer.

“All we need to do is expose the tablet to moonlight,” Ahkmenrah said, irritation tinging his speech.

You felt like your heart stopped—that was easy!

Too easy.

Larry sighed. “That would be easy. If we had the tablet.”

“Uhh, say what now, Lar?” you questioned. “Everyone is alive—the tablet is obviously here. We saw it an hour ago!”

“It was stolen by a loathsome metal man,” Ahk said through clenched teeth, clearly ready to destroy the thief as his fists clenched in anger.

You glanced at Ahkmenrah, worried because you’d never seen him so angry, and worried because of the way he had spoken to his parents.

“Lancelot. You know, of the knights and the round table. He stole the tablet,” Larry finished, looking at you.

“Why would Lancelot steal? That breaks like 500 codes of chivalry.”

“He said something about a quest?” Larry answered, clearly unsure about Lancelot’s motive.

You thumped your hand to your forehead, interrupting yourself.

“Of course! The display here was built around the knights’ quest for the holy grail. I bet he thinks the tablet can help him find the grail.”

“The grail, yes.” Ahkmenrah said, his teeth still gritted. “That’s what the little fuck was babbling about.”

You raised your brows, taken aback by Ahkmenrah’s language.

“Are you okay, Ahk?”

“No—I am clearly not o-fucking-kay as I nearly turned into a pile of rot and bones a moment ago,” he snapped.

Shepseheret, reading her son’s tone, scolded him.

He glared at her, anger tinging his cheeks, before something came over him, washing his anger away. His features softened and he apologized to you and to his mother.

“You don’t need to apologize to me, Ahk. This is all my fault.”

“My mother says I certainly do need to apologize—wait, what do you mean this is your fault?”

“I think I did something the night I used it to return us from your memory.”

Ahkmenrah shook his head before returning to stand in front of you, his hands grasping your face.

“No. This has nothing to do with that night. If anything, it’s my fault for overusing the tablet. I continued my experiments, and thanks to my parents, never knew it needed moonlight to survive.”

“Don’t be angry with them, Ahk,” you said as you reached up to grasp his wrist, stroking your thumb across his skin. “They made that tablet out of love.”

Ahkmenrah lowered his hands and sighed. “I know, Y/N. And I thank you for reuniting us. This means more to me than I can ever express.”

Merenkahre, every bit still a pharaoh, had grown tired of not knowing what was going on and tapped his staff on the floor, the loud clanging causing everyone except Ahkmenrah to jump.

Merenkahre spoke, and Ahk said while rolling his eyes, “He wants me to translate.”

As Ahkmenrah began speaking to his father, you took time to greet Teddy and the others, noticing how depressed and lethargic they seemed, before turning your attention to Larry.

“How familiar are you with Sir Lancelot?”

“He was a knight of the round table, a pretty good one, I think, at least until he fell in love with King Arthur’s wife, Guinevere.”

“Exactly. And guess who is in King Arthur’s display?”

Larry narrowed his eyes, “Y/N . . . I’m afraid of what is about to come out of your mouth.”

“They’re wax!” you barked, startling yourself and causing Ahkmenrah to look up from his conversation.

You huffed and pulled Larry through the hallway and into Merenkahre’s exhibit, damn near shoving him against the wall in your haste to explain.

“Ahkmenrah, his parents—they are flesh and blood! I don’t care if I have to throw that stupid hunk of wax into an incinerator to get the tablet back.”

“I know! I know!” Larry said, his hands raised in defense. “It’s just that, well, I don’t just think of them as wax. I’ve gotten to know all of them, Y/N, and they are real—at least the tablet makes them real enough. Think about it—Teddy and Sacagawea. Jed and Octavius. Those connections didn’t exist in their lifetime. They were forged after the tablet brought them to life. And they remember. Just like you and I do.”

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration.

Larry knew he wasn’t getting through to you, so he tried a different tactic.

“You can’t just take on a knight of THE roundtable.”

“I’m not planning on it,” you said before sighing. “I care about the others, too, Lar, but this is about Ahkmenrah, and now, his parents. What would you do if you were faced with losing Rebecca or Nicky forever?”

Larry answered without hesitation, “I would do whatever it took to save them.”

“So help me—I do have a plan, ya know.”

“Lay it on me, kiddo,” Larry said with a nervous grin.

* * * * *

“Alright, Gigantress,” Jed said from the display he and Octavius were standing on. “The queen is alone—she followed the trail of flowers we left, just like you said she would.”

“This version of Guinevere isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed,” you explained as you readied your rope, gag, and dagger.

“May Fortuna shine upon you,” Octavius said, giving you a tiny bow.

You shot him a nervous smile, muttered your thanks, and took off up to the Arctic exhibit. Larry had taken Ahk to distract the mummies that had risen and had been terrorizing most of the other exhibits, hoping that he would be able to command them.

There was also a very large, very angry rhinoceros that was charging through the museum. It was during that encounter that Lancelot happened upon Larry and Ahk and stole the tablet.

What a mess—Tilly should get a month’s vacation after this.

You hoped that your plan would be executed with a little less chaos. You chose the Arctic exhibit as the place to kidnap Guinevere because it was on the topmost floor of the museum, closest to the roof. Also, because it was kept really cool, the doors sealed shut. You wanted to get Guinevere far away from Arthur or any of the other knights. So far, Teddy had done an excellent job of sending Arthur and his knights on a chase across the museum, claiming to be in possession of the grail because he was the reincarnation of Jesus Christ himself.

On the other hand, Atilla the Hun was busy herding Lancelot toward the Arctic exhibit, relying on a lot of chasing, screaming, and yelling to push the knight into a location where he would see the kidnapped queen.

You also knew the Artic exhibit mostly contained the Canadian Inuit and used dioramas and paintings to showcase their life. While the end of the exhibit displayed the animals, the polar bear and the caribou were behind glass, like Sacagawea had been. Your only real worry was avoiding the walrus. There was a massive re-creation of a walrus attacking a boat that served as the centerpiece in the room that housed the polar creatures. While walruses aren’t prone to attacking humans, they did not appreciate boats intruding on their hunting ground. They had proven to be formidable foes for the Inuit.

After slowly pushing the door open, you stopped to listen for any danger in the exhibit. It was eerily quiet, and the only light came from the dim, round floor lamps. You walked slowly, hoping to catch a glimpse of Guinevere’s silver gown.

As you wound through the entryway, you came upon a reconstruction of an igloo, and inside, seated with all the flowers she had gathered as part of Jed and Octavius’s trail, was the queen. Her entire being seemed to emit a silvery glow, like she was made of some unearthly substance. Her long blonde hair even seemed to glitter, nearly matching the silver of her gown.

You slackened the rope in your hands, hoping you would be able to loop it right over her head.

“You have come to kidnap me, I suppose,” Guinevere spoke up, her musical voice doing little to hide the sigh that escaped as she easily surrendered.

You raised your eyebrows, unaware how she even saw you approaching from the darkened hallway.

“Yes, I have come to kidnap you,” you said slowly. “But I don’t want to harm you. I honestly don’t have the time to.”

Guinevere placed the floral crown she had been weaving on the table in the igloo and stood, proffering her hands.

“Are you a witch?” she asked as you looped the rope around her wrists.

“Nope. Just a regular girl trying to save the not so regular guy she loves.”

“Oh! You are in love?” Guinevere sighed, a light springing into her eyes. “I love falling in love. There is no better feeling in all the realm!”

“Yeah,” you said, tightening the rope. “Camelot really appreciated that quality of yours. Do I need the gag?”

“I’ll scream only if you want me to,” Guinevere offered politely.

“Not yet, sis. But when we see Lancelot, I’m going to need you to scream like a bloody Banshee.”

“Lancelot,” Guinevere sighed. “Such a wonderful knight. It will be quite exciting to be rescued by him. Again.”

You narrowed your eyes, and even though you didn’t have the time, you had to ask.

“Why did you marry Arthur?”

“It twas my duty, and he was so very charming when first he wooed me. But then it all changed,” Guinevere said as she looked through you, clearly lost in the remnants of her past.

“He was trying to build a kingdom, to promote equality and—Jesus, why am I explaining this? You’re a myth.”

Guinevere looked at you again, her eyes looking just as real as any other person’s.

“But my name is known throughout lands and throughout time, and so it will always be. Can you say the same for yours?”

You didn’t answer her and instead took her by the arm and lead her in the direction of the exit. If Atilla had done his job, Lancelot would be on his way to the roof with the tablet to rescue his lover. If you got to the central balcony, you might be able to get Guinevere to scream loud enough to hurry the process along. Ahk and Larry should be on their way there, too, barring the mummies didn’t—

No. No time to think of the what-ifs.

As you hurried Guinevere down the hallway, you finally replied, “No, Queen Guinevere, my name won’t survive for centuries, but I do hope to live with integrity in this one.”

“You would have made an excellent knight.”

Before you could say anything else, the sound of a deep bark stopped you in your tracks.

“Can you run?”

“I am a lady. I needn’t bother with ru—"

“RUN!” you yelled as the walrus began crashing forward, his massive weight shaking the floor as he moved, much quicker than you would have imagined. You pushed Guinevere in the direction of the door, the flickering of her silver dress and blonde hair flashing in your peripheral vision.

The two of you crashed through the door and Guinevere stumbled, and unable to catch herself, fell to the floor.

You grabbed a nearby trashcan and shoved the rim under the door, hopefully buying you some time as the walrus crashed into the door, rattling the glass.

It definitely wouldn’t hold for long.

“Up you go, queen,” you said hoisting Guinevere to her feet.

“What was that?”

“It’s called a walrus, but right now, I need you to look over this railing and scream your head off.”

Guinevere immediately complied and you almost dropped the dagger to clasp your ears. You grabbed her arm again to stop her and looked over the ledge. Sure enough, Lancelot was bounding up the spiral stairs, Attila on his heels.

“FIEND,” he screamed. “You will die for touching the queen! Guinevere, your Lancelot is coming for you!”

“I’m counting on that,” you said, as you pulled her along before she could reply.

“How romantic,” she sighed as you hurried her up the stairs that let out to the roof.

Lancelot was not far behind and just as you shoved Guinevere on to the ledge of the roof, he burst through the door.

Lancelot’s eyes widened at the sight of you with your dagger against Guinevere’s back, her feet just the width of the bricks on which she stood. For the first time, Guinevere actually did appear frightened, and had you been able to see the look on your face, it wouldn’t have come as a surprise that she was.

Your teeth were bared and the hand that wasn’t clutching the dagger was balled into a fist. Rage radiated from you, unable to believe that this idiot was about to inadvertently kill Ahkmenrah.

“Give me the fucking tablet, Lancelot, or I kill her,” you said evenly and with excellent annunciation. Lancelot needed to understand your threat was not idle.

Just as Lancelot was about to reply, Ahkmenrah and Larry, along with Atilla, Teddy and his horse, Jed, Octavius, several mummies, and a few of the other British and American exhibits burst through the door. Larry was holding Ahkmenrah up, his face twisted in pain.

“The game’s over Lancelot—be a true knight—of the round table—and return what you stole,” Larry said through his pants.

“Stole?” Lancelot spat out. “This will lead me to THE Holy Grail. THE greatest gift left to man by THE Holy God!”

“A gift for which you will prove to be unworthy, Lancelot!” you shouted, poking Guinevere in the back so she uttered a sharp little cry. “Give the tablet to Ahkmenrah NOW!”

Before Lancelot could reply, Ahkmenrah’s knees buckled and Larry nearly lost his hold on him. Ahk was gasping for breath as life slowly began to wither out of him.

Attila was next, dropping to his knees, his eyes looking forward in a blank stare. Teddy began to freeze, his mouth an “o” of surprise.

Your scream was damn near feral as you dropped the dagger and abandoned Guinevere to run to Ahkmenrah.

“HE’S DYING!” you yelled through the sob that tore from your throat.

Ahk clung to you as you reached him, dropping to your knees to try to support his torso, cradling him in your arms like the night you returned from witnessing his murder by the hands of his own brother.

Ahkmenrah’s eyes were fixed on you as he tried to speak, but failed.

You whipped your head to look at Lancelot as you said, “The others—they’re wax and clay and stuffing, but Ahkmenrah is real. He’s real,” you repeated before looking into your rotting king’s face and whispering, “You are real.”

Ahkmenrah smiled, a sad quick upturn of his lips.

“Please don’t leave me, Ahk. Please, please, please,” you begged as you pressed a kiss to his greying lips, pieces of flesh wrinkling and falling away, his body becoming lighter, skeletal within your grip.

Ahkmenrah fixed his eyes on you and spoke, his voice faded but capable now, strengthened only by the imminence of his true death.

“Y/N, I love you. I have loved you all this time. I was wrong to push you away. Forgive me?”

“I love you, Ahkmenrah. I never stopped,” you said through the tears that were falling, landing on the greying flesh that was turning to dust, mixing to make tiny spots of ashy-mud.

“What have I done?!” Lancelot cried as he quickly pulled the tablet from within his armor.

“It needs moonlight!” Larry yelled.

Lancelot held the tablet high over his head in an offering to the night sky.

As the moon’s silvery rays hit it, the tablet’s corrosion stopped, then began to reverse; however, instead of just reverting to its golden state, it turned white as the moonlight restored its power, building until it flashed in a blinding white light that pulsed across the rooftop.

You watched in awe as Ahkmenrah was immediately restored, his body growing strong again in your arms, his flesh hardening and smoothing back into its familiar, brown coloring.

Ahkmenrah reached up to grasp your cheek with his palm, cupping it to pull you into a kiss. You could hear the others cheering and you pulled back, laughing with Ahk as the two of you clambered to your feet.

“I believe this belongs to you, your Royal Highness. Please accept my humblest apology,” Lancelot said with a bow.

You could feel Ahkmenrah’s anger, but you shifted into his arms, drawing his attention back to you. You rested your hand on Ahk’s warm abdomen and said to him in ancient Egyptian, “He is a remnant. That is all he is.”

Ahkmenrah’s eyes softened as he understood the implication of your words. Never again would you allow him to use the excuse of only being an artifact. He was bone, blood, and flesh. He was human.

Ahkmenrah tilted his head and accepted the errant knight’s apology.

Soon, the others gathered around you, cheering and celebrating that life would continue for them all.

Larry pulled you into a hug and whispered, “You did it, kiddo!” before releasing you to wrap Ahk into an even stronger hug.

“We saved,” Atilla spoke up, his gravelly voice speaking English and causing everyone to turn. “We PARTY!”

The group on the rooftop exploded into excitement, Ahkmenrah’s laughter warming you despite the cold air of the night that whipped across the rooftop.

* * * * *

You were quite certain the world had never seen a party like this. To an outsider, it might look like a really broadly themed costume party, but you couldn’t help but think about how to now define the word real. You and Larry and Tilly were real. So was Ahkmenrah, his parents, and the other mummies. But the other exhibits? Could you qualify them as real?

Even if you did, you would have shoved a dagger into Guinevere or melted Lancelot with a torch to save Ahkmenrah. Still, Larry’s earlier words resonated with you.

You smiled unabashedly as you saw Ahk manning the DJ table as usual, this time with his parents by his side, utterly fascinated by the technology their son could so easily use.

Someone had found a bubble machine along with an entire crate of Christmas crackers. Bubbles filled the air as tiny bangs burst along with the music, the exhibits dancing gleefully through the throngs of confetti that popped out of the crackers, some even fighting over the tiny prizes inside.

You closed your eyes for a moment and thanked whoever or whatever may be listening, then you turned away from the noise and began climbing the stairs to the Egyptian wing. You were so tired, but at the same time, it felt like your skin was thrumming with electricity. The very air felt different to you; things seemed brighter, more real than they had in the past year and a half. You assumed that’s what love was—finding someone who could electrify your life, brighten it, just with their presence.

You wondered through Ahkmenrah’s chambers, thinking about what the future would hold. It was clear that your life would never be “normal,” but normal was subjective.

You eventually returned to Shepseheret’s garden, settling into the roped hammock that closely resembled a porch swing. You closed your eyes and listened to the distant thudding of the music and the quiet trickling of the stream that ran through the grasses. It was almost as if you were back there, in Ahk’s memory. You could swear that you could even smell him—

“It seems that every time a crisis is averted, we throw a party,” Ahkmenrah said as his sandaled feet crunched along the tiny rocks of the garden path.

Your eyes popped open as you shook off the sleepiness that had nearly claimed you. Meeting his eyes, those beautiful, prominently intense and polychromatic eyes, you said, “Welcome to modern times. We party to forget our pain.”

“Definitely not a modern concept, my love,” Ahkmenrah said as he settled onto the hammock, scooting closer so you could use his lap as a pillow. One of his arms settled across your sweater-clad stomach, but the barrier of clothing didn’t stop your body from reacting to his proximity, your lower abdomen inwardly clenching at the remembrance of the pleasure this man had once given you.

Ahk had removed his crown, and now he kicked off his sandals. You could feel the muscles in his legs shift and tighten as wiggled his toes into the sand that was underneath the hammock.

“If only kids knew that historical figures were this into getting lit. They may actually pay attention in their history classes.”

Ahkmenrah chuckled, but it was clear he had something on his mind.

The atmosphere quickly grew serious. You could feel the tension rise in the air and in his body, his fingers rubbing a pattern, back and forth against your sweater. Suddenly, you were very awake. It occurred to you that you should’ve seen this coming, that you shouldn’t have been so goddamn stupid.

Well, this time, you’d beat him to the punch.

You sat up, Ahkmenrah pulling his arm back as you wiggled away from him. You swung your legs over the edge of the bench, sitting upright as if you were in a proper chair, your own body now taught, stress tightening your muscles.

Every fucking time you let a wall down, Ahkmenrah managed to come in à la Miley Cyrus and her wrecking ball; he flooded you with emotions and made you completely vulnerable.

So, you would babble. You would lie and then lie some more, all in the hope of stifling the blow that was about to come.

“I know, Ahk. You don’t even have to command me this time—I’ll ‘go gently into that good night’ before you even tell me that everything you said was because you thought you were dying. And if you were about to be dead, there was no harm in saying wonderful things because there would be NO issue of where the fuck we go from here because you’d be dead. So, it’s fine. It’s whatever. I did this once. I can do it again.”

Ahkmenrah was very quiet until you stopped speaking, allowing the silence to fill the room again, and just as it teetered on oppressive, he spoke.

“I love you,” he said, clearly and full of emotion.

You looked up from the hammock, your knuckles whitening as you gripped the edges of the woven ropes.

You dared to turn your head to look at him, only to find that he was staring at you.

“I love you,” he repeated, locking his eyes onto yours.

You looked away, the emotion too intense.

Ahkmenrah moved off the hammock and kneeled before you, placing his hands over your gripping fists. You looked down into his face, his beautiful face, and didn’t know what to say anymore. Your lies didn’t work; nothing would soften the blow of what was about to come.

Ahkmenrah continued while your heart pounded in your chest.

“I hurt you because I thought I had to—I thought it was the right thing to do. Never, have I ever regretted something so deeply as not coming after you, not running down the streets of the great city and yelling that I loved you, too. But I knew if I did, none of this would have happened. Look around you, Y/N. You have done this. You have built this. I will never ask you to give up your dreams, but what I am going to ask you for is any piece of your life you are willing to share with me. I will be with you in any way that you will let me.”

His eyes were bright and pleading. The irony of the once great pharaoh of Egypt on his knees before a commoner was not lost on you. This was as significant of a gesture as Ahk knew how to make. A god-king never kneeled, and here he was, his knees in the sandy dirt, begging for any scrap of you that you were willing to give him.

Your mind was engaged in a violent war: Lie, lie, lie, and keep lying your goddamn ass off, said one side. The other echoed only one simple plea: let him love you.

Ahkmenrah watched and couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his lips. “Let me in, Y/N. Let me know what’s going on in here,” he said as he softly touched the middle of your forehead.

It was your turn to let the silence grow, to let the war inside your head rage while the Fourth King of the Fourth King stayed on his knees, his eyes pleading for one more chance.

You took a deep breath and said, “You already have all my pieces, Ahk.”

Ahkmenrah pushed himself up from his knees and pulled you up from the hammock to take you in his arms and kiss you with that same passion you had once poured into your goodbye kiss after the night you witnessed his death. He kissed you with nearly two years’ worth of longing, of regret, and of heartbreak.

And most importantly, when he pulled his lips from yours to allow the both of you to breath, he cupped your face and rubbed his thumb over your cheek and told you he would never let himself become nothing more than a remnant of your past.

You both jumped when Merenkahre spoke up from the head of the garden, neither of you having heard the approach of Ahk’s parents.

You both turned, laughing nervously with your kiss-swollen lips. Ahkmenrah held your hand, tightening his grip when you tried to pull away to let him speak to his parents.

“I want to properly introduce you to them, Y/N,” Ahk explained as he pulled you forward.

“I already did that,” you said, trying to tug your hand away again.

Ahkmenrah stopped and turned to face you, awaiting your explanation.

“When Larry told me you were sick, I knew I wouldn’t have much time to explain to your parents what was happening and I certainly knew they wouldn’t wake up speaking English. So, I wrote them a letter and I . . . well, I told them that I loved you. That I’d do anything to save you.”

Ahkmenrah grinned and stepped forward to kiss you again, a gentle press of his lips to yours as he slid a finger under your chin.

His eyes danced with happiness as he said, “Then there is nothing to be nervous about now, my love.”

You sighed, clearly unable to avoid this awkward reintroduction.

Ahkmenrah spoke to first his father and then to his mother. You understood your name and the Egyptian words for love and for honor. He also referenced Shai, the god of fate. You were almost positive you caught Hathor somewhere in there, too.

When he finished speaking, he stepped back a little and nudged you forward.

“Say hello,” he said nodding with encouragement as if you were a toddler attempting to take your first steps.

You took a moment to gather your translated thoughts and said, “I am honored to be in your presence your Royal Majesties. I understand I am common, unworthy of your beloved son, but I love him and only wish to make him happy.”

Merenkahre and Shepseheret looked at each other and giggled, then Merenkahre clapped his somewhat embarrassed looking son on the back.

“What did I say,” you said, panic sweeping through your eyes.

“You just told my parents that you loved me . . . and wished to provide me with endless sexual satisfaction.”

Your mouth dropped open and you looked back at his parents who were grinning broadly, clearly amused by your gaffe.

You narrowed your eyes at Ahkmenrah and hissed, “This is your fault!”

Ahkmenrah, now grinning, too, clarified what you had meant by “happy.” You noticed the intonation of the two versions of the word were quite different.

Meren and Shep both nodded, laughing a little, clearly understanding what your intended meaning had been.

Shepseheret stepped forward and embraced you. You could feel the beads in her hair slide across your cheek and smell her sweet perfume, a mixture of lavender, rose, and of the subtle smell of papyrus, just like her son. She held on to your hands as she pulled back and said, “My son is lucky to have your love.”

You understood her and thanked her.

Then, Merenkahre moved forward as Shepseheret stepped back. He gripped your upper arms and thanked you for reuniting his family.

“I owe you a great debt, Y/N,” he said as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You smiled, and Ahkmenrah took his place at your side, wrapping his arm around your waist. He leaned over to whisper in your ear, “That was not so bad, was it?”

You lightly elbowed him in the ribs in response causing him to laugh softly into your ear before he straightened, his father clearly waiting to tell him something.

“What is it father?”

“Son, your tablet does not just restore life temporarily. The magic within it contains enough power to return you, fully, to your mortal state.”

Ahkmenrah stared in disbelief as you furrowed your brow, trying to piece together what Merenkahre was saying.

Shepseheret stepped forward and took her son in her arms, hugging him while whispering, “You could have the life your brother stole from you, my beloved. All we have ever wanted was for you to live a full, happy life.”

Ahkmenrah continued to stare in disbelief, your heart dropping into your stomach as you caught the mention of Kahmunrah and his murder of Ahk.

“The tablet will need to be bathed in Khonsu’s light every night for fourteen days. Once it has soaked in all of Khonsu’s magic, it will have the power to restore you, permanently.”

“Father, what do you mean by only saying that it will restore me, not us?”

Merenkahre looked at his son, pride chasing away the sadness that had filled his eyes as Ahk questioned him.

“I did not wish for you to ask that question, but you have always been clever, my son. Once the tablet is drained of its restorative magic, it will turn to dust, as will we.”

Ahkmenrah stared in disbelief at his parents. They were offering to give up their lives for his.

Unable to wait any longer, you seized the gap in the conversation to ask, “What did they say about the tablet and its magic?”

“Y/N,” Ahk said quickly, his robes swirling as he turned to face you. “What if—what if I could be . . . human? Not just at night, but all the time. Would you still want me?”

Your first instinct was to laugh, but the seriousness on Ahkmenrah’s face told you this was not a hypothetical question.

“The tablet . . . can make you . . . totally human?” you questioned.

“Yes.”

You felt light-headed and reached for the hammock, but it was nowhere near you. Ahkmenrah reached for you and held you firmly to his chest. His eyes were boring into yours, searching for an answer.

“Ahk, I love you—you are it for me. You’ve ruined me because I really believe you are the love of my life. Pharaoh ‘alive-only-at-night’ you, or mortal ‘alive-all-the-time’ you. I want you any way I can have you.”

Ahkmenrah smiled one of those blinding, million-dollar grins that you had missed so much.

“I want to be alive-all-the-time with you, Y/N. I want a life.”

You wanted to return his joyful smile but worry niggled too strongly in your mind.

“You won’t be immortal. You will get sick. Get old. You will—you’ll die, Ahk.”

“I know,” Ahkmenrah said softly, the remnants of his smile still on his lips. “But I will also have lived.”

This time, your smile acted of its own accord, exploding across your features and reaching your eyes, your face the embodiment of joy.

* * * * *

For two weeks, the inhabitants of the British museum came to life at night; Larry had stayed for two more days to help Tilly develop a schedule for keeping order, and despite her awed confusion, she vigorously delved into her role as a guardian.

You had kept Ahk’s secret from Larry about becoming mortal. After all, you mostly lived your life waiting for the next hammer to fall, so you figured that if everything did go according to plan, you could give Larry and Rebecca one hell of a surprise when you and Ahkmenrah showed up on their doorstep in the middle of the day.

You and Ahk followed his father’s instructions and exposed the tablet to moonlight every night at midnight. The tablet’s appearance didn’t seem to change, but Ahkmenrah seemed to fill with an energy that you couldn’t explain. You weren’t sure if it was the magic of the tablet or if it was the possibility of him living a life of his choosing.

Ahkmenrah spent most of his time with his parents and you respected their privacy. Besides, it was exactly what you had worked for—to bring them together so Ahk could be happy.

While Ahkmenrah was with his parents, you spent time with the unidentified mummies, unbandaging them and working to identify each of them. While they were no longer in such a chaotic state, they were struggling to transition. They weren’t discovered by someone like you or Jack; they were jostled out of their slumber and thrust into a word they did not understand.

Currently, you were sitting in a circle, getting each of the mummies to share their history. A young boy with dark brown hair and eyes so big and dark they appeared to be black was talking about his parents—at least that was the gist of what you caught.

You knew Ahkmenrah had entered the room before you even saw him because each of the Egyptians stiffened and immediately shifted their positions to kneeling and bowing their heads.

Ahkmenrah told them to rise and to resume their discussion.

They hesitantly returned to more comfortable, seated positions, but their chatter was hushed, their eyes wide and glancing at Ahkmenrah.

“Hi, love,” you said, as he bent down to press a kiss to your temple.

“I do apologize for interrupting your meeting.”

“You are quite the distraction, King Ahkmenrah.”

He chuckled and said, “I only wanted to tell you that I’ll be with my parents until near dawn. It will be tonight, Y/N, that my father will reveal to me the final spell.”

“Oh,” you uttered, unable to articulate anything more than that tiny word.

Ahkmenrah smiled at you and nodded. “Come to the roof at 6:45 once the museum is quiet.”

“That’s cutting it awfully close, Ahk.”

“I am aware, but it needs to be this way.”

“Okay,” you said slowly processing what this meant. “Okay! I will see you then. Give your parents my love.”

Ahkmenrah said he would, and as he reached the door, he turned to look at you, reengaging the regenerated mummies, adding new scribbles to the scraps of paper that surrounded your seat on the floor. The corners of his mouth turned downward in a display of longing to bring them all to life again; while watching them, he felt so selfish.

Then, Ahkmenrah thought about the afterlife, something he and all of his people truly believed in. The tablet had ripped the souls in front of him from The Field of Reeds, including his own parents’. They all had families waiting for them there, and one day, Ahk would be reunited with his family again, too. By choosing to destroy the table, he was also choosing to bear the guilt of ending the earthly lives of the exhibits in the museum and of the mummies and his own parents.

Everything has its price.

* * * * *

“The mummies are all wrapped up and back in their coffins,” you said with a wave good-night to the Tilly.

“Thanks for your help, Y/N. Everyone else is all tucked in for their nighty-night!”

You smiled and popped into the elevator, heading to the roof.

When the doors opened, you were greeted by the bright grey of the pre-dawn. Ahkmenrah was looking toward the place where the sun would rise, a slash of pinkish-orange just barely visible near the line of the horizon.

His breath came out in little vapory puffs and you pulled your coat around you a bit tighter as you moved to stand next to him. You looked over, your eyes absorbing his regal profile. His eyes held a profound sadness that surprised you.

“Are you sure you’re ready to do this, Ahk? There’s no rush.”

“Waiting longer will not make this any easier,” Ahkmenrah said as he tore his eyes away from the growing pink and orange blur.

He turned to face you, his eyes locking on yours to draw strength. He took a deep breath and looked down at the tablet. You watched his lips as they issued a string of ancient Egyptian, his tone low and befitting of a spell.

The tablet began to glow as it did on the night it was reinvigorated by Khonsu’s light, but the light grew so bright that you had no choice but to turn away. Through your closed eyes, you saw a brilliant flash.

When you were able to see again, the bright white light was entering Ahk’s fingertips, slowly sliding its way up his arms. You watched the white light as it slid over his entire body. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even, so you knew that whatever was happening wasn’t painful. The bright light met at his chest and split, the light trailing up and down his torso. You watched as the light washed up and over his face and head, and then down his legs and over his toes.

There was a sudden gust of warm air that blew dirt and the remnants of the last snow out and away from the both of you. You searched Ahkmenrah’s face, and when he finally opened his eyes, you both looked to the tablet as it began to blacken.

In an instant, the tablet crumbled in Ahk’s hands, the black dust falling to the roof, blending in with the black of the dried tar that was partially obscured by the dirty snow.

“No,” you whispered. “Oh, no.”

You dropped to your knees and ran your fingers through the remnants of the tablet, your fingertips smudging with the ash. You rubbed your thumb, forefinger, and middle finger together in disbelief. You looked up at Ahkmenrah and he held his hands palm up. You slid your hands into his, the fingers with the ash drawing soft black smudges across his palm.

He pulled you up and slid his hands up your arms, gripping you.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I knew. I just . . . I just did not know how to tell you.”

“So that’s it? The tablet is gone. They’re all . . . gone. Forever.”

“Yes,” Ahkmenrah whispered, his eyes still the same intense, polychromatic swirl of blue and green, but they were filled with such hope, such infinite possibility that it took your breath away.

“You chose this?” you questioned.

“I chose you, yes,” Ahkmenrah said with a smile.

“But your parents! Did they know?”

“Of course they knew, and this is what they wanted for me. All they ever wanted was for me to be happy. For me to live.”

Your mind filled with an inability to believe what had just happened. The tablet was gone. No more would anything come to life in the museum—it was all, once again, reduced to wax, stuffing, and bone.

But Ahkmenrah was alive. You could feel that, and it squeezed at your heart in the same way his million-dollar smile did.

You took a deep breath and smiled at Ahkmenrah.

“Well, then how do you want to start living?”

“I want to watch the sun RISE,” Ahkmenrah said with firmness.

“And then?”

“I want to marry you.”

You laughed, and Ahkmenrah gave you that million-dollar grin.

“All in one day?” you questioned through your laughter. “Maybe we should take it a bit slower—"

“Do you doubt that this is our destiny?”

“I, uh . . . no. No, I don’t,” you said smiling at your eventual assuredness.

“Then let us begin our life together now. Let me teach you how to live like we lived, Y/N. I will prove to you that every day is a gift from the gods,” Ahkmenrah finished as he kissed you, his lips moving with practiced ease against yours, his tongue lightly twining with yours.

You closed the kiss, much quicker than you wished as you remembered what Ahk’s first request had been.

“You’re going to miss your first sun rise in 4,000 years!”

Ahkmenrah’s eyes never moved from your face, his gaze settling again on your lips.

“We have a lifetime to watch the sun rise, my queen. For now, kiss me until I cannot breathe.”

* * * * *

The streaks of pink and orange began to swirl together, combining until the ball of brightness that was the sun formed and burst above the horizon. The two figures on the top of the British Natural History Museum hardly noticed as the rays of the sun washed over their bodies, warming them as they continued to embrace, lost in what was considered a kiss for the ages.

Epilogue, forthcoming . . .

#Ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah fanfiction #natm ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah imagine #ahk #ahkmenrah x reader #female reader #rami malek's character #rami malek #NATM

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yuckitup-jwd · 4 years

Text

Men VS Women

Women have many faults Men only have 2 Everything they say And everything they do

RELATIONSHIPS: First, a man does not call a relationship a relationship - he refers to it as "that time when me and Suzie were boinking on a semi-regular basis."

When a relationship ends, a woman will cry and pour her heart out to her girlfriends, and she will write a poem titled "All Men Are Idiots." Then she will get on with her life.

A man has a little more trouble letting go. Six months after the breakup at 3 am early on a Sunday morning - he will call and say "I just wanted to let you know you ruined my life, and I'll never forgive you, and I hate you, and you're a total floozy. But I want you to know there's always a chance for us." This is known as the "I Hate You/I Love You" drunken phone call, that 99% of all men have made at least once. There are community colleges that offer courses to help men get over this need; alas these classes rarely prove effective.

SEX: Women prefer 30-45 minutes of foreplay.

Men prefer 30-45 seconds of foreplay. Men consider driving back to her place as part of the foreplay.

MATURITY: Women mature much faster than men. Most 17-year-old females can function as adults.

Most 17-year-old males are still trading baseball cards and giving each other wedgies after gym class. This is why high school romances rarely work out.

COMEDY: Let's say a small group of men and women are in a room, watching tele- vision, and an episode of "The Three Stooges" comes on. Immediately, the men will get very excited - they will laugh uproariously, and even try to imitate the actions of Curly, man's favorite Stooge.

The women will roll their eys, groan, and wait it out.

HANDWRITING: To their credit, men do not decorate their penmanship. They just chicken-scratch.

Women use scented, colored stationery and they dot their "i's" with circles and hearts. Women use ridiculously large loops in their "p's" and "g's." It is a royal pain to read a note from a woman. Even when she's dumping you, she'll put a smiley face at the end of the note.

BATHROOMS: A man has at most seven items in his bathroom - a toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, shampoo, a bar of soap, and a towel from the Holiday Inn.

The average number of items in a typical woman's bathroom is 437. A man would not be able to identify most of these items.

MAGAZINES: Men's magazines often feature pictures of naked women.

Women's magazines also feature pictures of naked women. This is because the female body is a beautiful work of art, while the male body is hairy and lumpy and should not be seen by the light of day.

GROCERIES: A woman makes a list of things she needs and then goes to the store and buys these things.

A man waits until the only items left in his fridge are half of a lemon, and something turning green. Then he goes grocery shopping. He buys everything that looks good. By the time he reaches the checkout counter, his cart is packed tighter than the Clampett's car on The Beverley Hillbillies. Of course, this will not stop him from going to the 10-items-or-less lane.

GOING OUT: When a man says he's ready to go out, it means he's ready to go out.

When a woman says she's ready to go out, it means that she WILL be ready to go out, as soon as she finds her other earring, finishes putting on her makeup...

SHOES: When preparing for work, a woman will put on a Mondi wool suit, and then slip into Reebok sneakers. She will carry her dress shoes in a plastic bag from Saks. When she arrives at work, she will put on her dress shoes. Five minutes later, she will kick them off because her feet are under her desk.

A man wears one pair of shoes for the entire day.

CATS: Women love cats.

Men say they love cats, but when women aren't looking, men kick cats.

MIRRORS: Men are vain; they will check themselves out in the mirror.

Women are ridiculous; they will check out their reflections in any shiny surface - mirrors, spoons, store windows, toasters, Joe Garagiola's head...

GARAGES: Women use garages to park their cars and to store their lawnmowers.

Men use garages for many things. They hang license plates in garages, they watch TV in garages, and they build useless wooden things in garages.

MOVIES: For women, their favorite movie scene is when Clark Gable kisses Vivien Leigh for the first time in "Gone With The Wind."

For men, it's when Jimmy Cagney shoves a grapefruit in Mae Clark's face in "Public Enemy."

JEWELRY: Women look nice when they wear jewelry.

A man can get away with wearing one ring, and that's it. Any more than that, and he will look like a lounge singer named Vic.

MENOPAUSE: When a woman reaches menopause, she goes through a variety of complicated emotional, psychological, and biological changes. The nature and degree of the changes varies with the individual.

Menopause in a man provokes a uniform reaction. He buys aviator glasses, a snazzy French cap, leather driving gloves, and goes shopping for an expensive foreign sports car.

THE TELEPHONE: Men see the telephone as a communications tool. They use the telephone to send short messages to other people.

A woman can visit her girlfriend for two weeks, and upon returning home, she will call the same friend and they will talk for three hours.

LOW BLOWS: Let's say a man and a woman are watching a boxing match on television, and one of the fighters is felled by a low blow.

The woman says, "Oh, gee, that must hurt."

The man doubles over and actually feels the pain.

DIRECTIONS: If a woman is out driving and she finds herself in unfamiliar surroundings, she will stop at a gas station and ask for directions.

Men consider this to be a sign of weakness. A man will never stop and ask for directions. Men will drive in a circle for hours, all the while saying things like, "Looks like I've found a new way to get there," and, "I know I'm in the neighborhood. I recognize that White Hen store."

ADMITTING MISTAKES: Women will sometimes admit making a mistake.

The last man who admitted that he was wrong was General George Custer.

RICHARD GERE: Women like Richard Gere because he is sexy in a dangerous way.

Men hate Richard Gere because he reminds them of that slick guy who works out at the health club and dates only married women.

DRESSING UP: A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the garbage, answer the phone, read a book, get the mail...

A man will dress up for: weddings and funerals.

NUDITY IN MOVIES: Every actress in the history of movies has had to do a nude scene. This is because every movie in the history of movies has been produced by men.

The only actor who has ever appeard nude in the movies is Richard Gere. This is another reason why men hate him.

DAVID LETTERMAN: Men think David Letterman is the funniest man on the face of the earth.

Women think he is a mean, semi-dorky guy who always has a bad haircut.

CAMERAS: Men take photography very seriously. They'll shell out $4000 for state- of-the-art equipment, and build darkrooms, and take photography classes.

Women purchase Kodak Insta-matics, and often produce better-looking shots.

POLITICS: Men love to talk about politics, but they often forget to do political things such as voting.

Women are very happy that another generation of Kennedys are growing up and getting into politics, because they will be able to campaign for them and cry on election night.

LOCKER ROOMS: In the locker room, men talk about three things: money, football, and women. They exaggerate about money, they don't know football nearly as well as they think they do, and they fabricate stories about women.

Women talk about one thing in the locker room - sex. Not in abstract terms, either. They're graphic and technical, and they *never* lie.

LAUNDRY: Women do laundry every couple of days.

A man will wear every article of clothing he owns, including his surgical pants that were hip about eight years ago, before he will do his laundry. When he is finally out of clothes, he will wear a dirty sweatshirt inside out, rent a U-Haul and take his mountain of clothes to the laundromat, and expect to meet a beautiful woman while he is there.

WEDDINGS: When reminiscing about weddings, women talk about the "ceremony."

Men talk about "the bachelor party."

GYM SOCKS: Men wear sensible socks. They wear standard white sweatsocks.

Women wear strange socks. They are cut way below the ankles, have pictures of clouds on them, and have a big fuzzy ball on the back.

TOYS: Little girls love to play with toys. Then, when they reach the age of 11 or 12, they lose interest.

Men never grow out of their obsession with toys. As they get older, their toys simply become more expensive and impractical. Examples of mens toys: miniature TV's, car phones, complicated juicers and blenders, graphic equalizers, small robots that serve cocktails on command, video games, and anything that blinks, beeps and requires at least six "D" batteries to operate.

PLANTS: A woman will ask a man to water her plants while she is on vacation. The man will water the plants. The woman returns five days later, to an apartment full of dead plants. No one knows why this happens.

NICKNAMES: With the exception of female body-builders, who call each other names like "Ultimate Pecs" and "Big Turk," women eschew the use of nicknames. If Gloria, Suzanne, Deborah and Michelle get together for lunch, they will call each other Gloria, Suzanne, Deborah and Michelle.

But if Mike, Dave, and Jack go out for a brewski, they will affectionately refer to each other as Peckerhead, Scumbag, and Louse.

There are five things that women should never, ever ask a guy, according to an article in last April's issue of Sassy magazine.

The five questions are: 1 - "What are you thinking?" 2 - "Do you love me?" 3 - "Do I look fat?" 4 - "Do you think she is prettier than me?" 5 - "What would you do if I died?"

What makes these questions so bad is that every one is guaranteed to explode into a major argument and/or divorce if the man does not answer properly, which is to say dishonestly. For example: 1 - "What are you thinking?"

The proper answer to this question, of course is, "I'm sorry if I've been pensive, dear. I was just reflecting on what a warm, wonderful, caring, thoughtful, intelligent, beautiful woman you are and what a lucky guy I am to have met you." Obviously, this statement bears no resemblance whatsoever to what the guy was really thinking at the time, which was most likely one of five things: a - Baseball b - Football c - How fat you are d - How much prettier she is than you e - How he would spend the insurance money if you died

According to the Sassy article, the best answer to this stupid question came from Al Bundy, of Married With Children, who was asked it by his wife, Peg. "If I wanted you to know," Al said, "I'd be talking instead of thinking."

The other questions also have only one right answer but many wrong answers: 2 - "Do you love me?"

The correct answer to this question is, "Yes." For those guys who feel the need to be more elaborate, you may answer, "Yes, dear." Wrong answers include: a - I suppose so. b - Would it make you feel better if I said yes? c - That depends on what you mean by "love". d - Does it matter? e - Who, me?

3 - "Do I look fat?"

The correct male response to this question is to quickly, confidently, and emphatically state, "No, of course not" and then quickly leave the room. Wrong answers include: a - I wouldn't call you fat, but I wouldn't call you thin either. b - Compared to what? c - A little extra weight looks good on you. d - I've seen fatter. e - Could you repeat the question? I was thinking about your insurance policy

4 - "Do you think she's prettier than me?"

The "she" in the question could be an ex-girlfriend, a passer-by you were staring at so hard that you almost caused a traffic accident or an actress in a movie you just saw. In any case, the correct response is, "No, you are much prettier." Wrong answers include: a - Not prettier, just pretty in a different way. b - I don't know how one goes about rating such things. c - Yes, but I bet you have a better personality. d - Only in the sense that she's younger and thinner. e - Could you repeat the question? I was thinking about your insurance policy.

5 - "What would you do if I died?"

Correct answer: "Dearest love, in the event of your untimely demise, life would cease to have meaning for me and I would perforce hurl myself under the front tires of the first Domino's Pizza truck that came my way." This might be the stupidest question of the lot, as is illustrated by the following stupid exchange: "Dear," said the wife. "What would you do if I died?" "Why, dear, I would be extremely upset," said the husband. "Why do you ask such a question?" "Would you remarry?" persevered the wife. "No, of course not, dear" said the husband. "Don't you like being married?" said the wife. "Of course I do, dear" he said. "Then why wouldn't you remarry?" "Alright," said the husband, "I'd remarry." "You would?" said the wife, looking vaguely hurt. "Yes" said the husband. "Would you sleep with her in our bed?" said the wife after a long pause. "Well yes, I suppose I would." replied the husband. "I see," said the wife indignantly. "And would you let her wear my old clothes? "I suppose, if she wanted to" said the husband. "Really," said the wife icily. "And would you take down the pictures of me and replace them with pictures of her?" "Yes. I think that would be the correct thing to do." "Is that so?" said the wife, leaping to her feet. "And I suppose you'd let her play with my golf clubs, too." "Of course not, dear," said the husband. "She's left-handed..."

#gender jokes #men vs women jokes #q&a

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itsclydebitches · 7 years

Note

Kind of an odd request probably but I like the way you write. A lot. The voices of the characters are so believable. There's a song called "Weeds or Wildflowers" by Parsonfields I think suits Cass and Jesse. Give it a listen and see if you write anything inspired by it? It's cool if not. 💜 I'll always keep reading.

Summary: As kids Jesse and Tulip find something living out in the woods. It calls itself Cassidy. It likes blood and cheap candy. Jesse wants to take it home with him.

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 2,762

Warnings: Blood, feeding

Pairings: Kid fic so no real pairings, but hinted Jesse/Cass

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 highly recommended for formatting)

Erode From Day to Day

They were so close; so very close to freedom. All the tiny feet clad in sneakers were poised like runners beneath their desks. Arms were straining, hands gripped tight to the edge of their seats, and not a single eye dared to stray from the clock. The only movement was the sneaky packing going on, slow as molasses—impatience lengthening those last five seconds as Mr. Rogan’s eyes narrowed.

“Hey, squirts, hey,” he said. “Settle down now. It’s not the weekend just yet—”

The bell made a liar out of him. The normally shrill annoyance might as well have been a call to arms given how quickly everyone was up and out the door. Mr. Rogan tried valiantly to remind them of the math homework due Monday, problems one through fifteen, but it mostly fell on deaf ears. There was a mob making for the bright, sunny afternoon and nothing could stop them.

Especially not with Jesse Custer leading the charge.

“Swing set!” he called and half the class cheered in response. The others had already turned towards the main doors, looking for parents and guardians to take them home, but Jesse’s group made a sharp right, pushing out onto the playground and flying over the wood-chips. They held tight to their backpack straps, bodies bent in an attempt to gain speed. They were sweaty, multi-colored blurs under the 3:00pm sun.

Past the jungle gym and around the sandbox. The swing set was in sight now—Jesse could nearly feel the hot metal under his palm—when, suddenly, a darker hand came out of nowhere to slap it first.

“Fucking O’Hare,” a kid said in a rare display of true cursing. Everyone collapsed as one, hands on their knees as they tried to get their breath back.

Tulip stood tall though. Her hand was already out and demanding the usual fare. Slowly, the other kids began pulling candy and knick-knacks out of their bags, handing them over. Grudgingly.

“You were closest to the door,” Simon grumbled, knowing the complaint wouldn’t do him any good. Tulip just shrugged.

“And I was all the way in the back last week in Ms. Julie’s class and I still won then. Not my fault all you idiots are so slow.” She wiggled her fingers. Simon deposited a half eaten Milky Way in her palm. “Thank you,” and with a vicious kick Tulip sent up a cloud of dust that had everyone else running, cutting across the playground to the cul-de-sac where parents were waiting to yell at them for being late.

Jesse scowled, threading a hand through the back of his hair. “You always win.”

“Turtle,” Tulip said, poking him in the chest. She started jogging in place. “Cheetah.”

“Yeah well c’mon, wasn’t there something about slow and steady?”

Jesse bent on one knee to pick up all the stuff Tulip was starting to drop. He nearly fell backwards when she bent too and just shoved it all into his arms.

“You can have it,” she said. “I’ve still got all that loot from Maya’s birthday party and besides, aren’t you going to see Him?”

Tulip said Him will all the gravity that a middle schooler could imbue in a word. It was grandiose and inexplicable, like all the years’ snow days rolled into one. Or winning relay day for your whole grade. Or even finding that shiny, glimmering rock outside and just knowing it was treasure. It was all those things and more, smushed together and made into a person. Something like a person, anyway.

Jesse wouldn’t even think to disagree.

And he could see how Tulip’s hands shook as she re-wrapped the packet of Twizzlers. She wanted to go so badly.

“You went yesterday,” Jesse reminded her.

“I know.”

For a brief moment she bit her lip and Jesse realized, instinctually, that she was thinking about similarities between the three of them: dead parents, dead mom... dead existence. They didn’t really know how to deal with any of that. But they were kids, so they dealt anyway.

“I’ll tell your dad you had to stay behind and clean the chalkboards again, k?”

“K,” Jesse said and they shook on it, three slaps that ended in them linking fingers, pushing and pulling a bit before finishing with a fist-bump. They hauled themselves to their feet and Jesse crammed everything into his backpack.

“Careful,” Tulip said, already jogging away.

Jesse just flapped a hand at her back. “Never!”

She threw out a messy thumbs up. Always needed to have the last word.

Hauling himself in the opposite direction Jesse took off at a run, knowing that he only had so much time when he could be ‘cleaning chalkboards’ before Dad got suspicious. He took only a moment to make sure none of the teachers were sneaking out the back before jumping the small fence surrounding the playground. He landed in the soft dirt of a graveyard.

It wasn’t common, but sometimes people moved to Annville and when they did they had kids to put into the only school—and when they did that the parents inevitably balked at their angels playing next to the dead. Jesse had always liked it though: watching the tombstones crumble and the weeds grow taller each and every year, reading the strange first names attached to the surnames he’d grown up with; digging for bones, risking both the teachers' ire and some sort of ancient curse for disturbing the dead.

Except Jesse never thought of that as a bad thing. If he was dead he’d want someone to disturb him. Wasn’t that more exciting?

"Did you crawl out of the graveyard?"

"What graveyard?"

"The one back there. At the school."

"Nu uh, padre. Never been buried."

"...do you want to be?"

"Why the hell would I want that?"

"You’re dead aren’t you?"

“…am I?”

Jesse drew his hand over the last headstone for something like luck, plunging into the tree-line. It was the only ‘forest’ that he’d ever seen, but he knew it was paltry compared to other parts of the world, the desert encroaching even here and leaving patches of dry, dusty earth amongst the trees. There was enough brush to darken the sky though—hide things that needed hiding—and it took Jesse long, precious minutes to find the path again, finally distinguishable by the empty bag of Cheetos he’d brought last time. With that familiar route under his feet he made good time. He broke into a grin when he found the log.

“Cass,” he whispered, and an ethereal head popped out from the rotten wood.

It had startled Jesse the first time he’d seen it, that pale, bedraggled face; hair matted every which way with mud and leaves. It was something straight out of the B horror movies he and Tulip had snuck into last summer, telling his Dad that they were at the school’s kiddie camp, the kiddie camp that they were helping Dad with the church, and the lazy teenager managing the ticket booth that they’d just forgotten Tulip’s sweater from the previous film. No one ever bothered to check any of those stories.

The movies gave him nightmares, but of course Jesse never told. A month ago he had gone exploring, half to tell himself that there was nothing out there in the woods to scare him... and he'd been proven really, really wrong.

He’d wet himself a little, the first time he’d seen that face.

Now the face was just Cass. He clamored out of the hollow trunk, jeans stiff with grime and a once white shirt long gone grey. For a moment they just stood and stared at one another. Then Cass lifted his head and sniffed the wind like a dog.

“Hiya, Padre,” he said. He didn't blink.

“I’m not a ‘padre’ yet,” Jesse grumbled and began obediently rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. He’d learned quick that it was always better after this. Whatever parts of Cass were scary tended to leave after he’d fed. He was more Cass like... and for that Jesse was willing to pretend that the feeding wasn’t scary all on its own.

Still, he gave an involuntary cry when Cass materialized before him, seeming to move from There to Here with nothing more than a faded blur. Cass did that a lot. Jesse might have thought he was a ghost if he didn’t know better. But oh, he really did.

“Here,” Jesse said, extending his bare arm. Needing no further encouragement Cass latched on, biting deep into the tissue and hovering there, sucking in quick, jerky gulps. Jesse stared open-mouthed at the display. It hurt of course—fuck how it hurt—but this time, like every time, the pain was overshadowed by watching Cass move like a machine; like some horrible puppet twitching on a Master’s strings. It was only when he’d gotten a good number of mouthfuls down that his swaying grew natural, more human-like, and something similar to a blush crawled up into his cheeks. His animal chittering gave way to the happy hums of a kid just being a kid as he enjoyed dessert—and still Jesse stared.

“You’re hurting me!” he shrieked, the thing pinning him to the ground and taking directly from his neck. Jesse got a knee up into his groin—which did absolutely nothing—and grabbed for a loose branch instead, knocking the thing off his chest and into the weeds. It sprawled there, raving and wild until Jesse managed to raise the crucifix he wore around his neck.

A switch flipped. The monster blinked. It smiled.

"...do you really think that's gonna do somethin'?"

Jesse wouldn’t truly feel the pain until he was back home hours later, with his sleeve pulled down low and lies slipping through his teeth about where he’d been.

Except... this night he wouldn’t be lying. At least he hoped not. Jesse hadn’t told Tulip, but he wanted to bring Cass home with him today. Wanted to grab this strange, frightening thing and drag him straight to their church, praying only that he wouldn’t light up in flames along the way. Jesse would hide Cass beneath his bed every night and whisper any bad dreams he had. He'd sleep easier knowing that at least one monster there was his friend.

“There are Twizzlers too,” he said, like this was any sort of normal conversation. For them it kind of was. Cass finished up with a saner look in his eye, careful to lick away the stray runs of blood curling around Jesse’s arm. They still left rusty rings though. Bracelets he was proud of. When Cass stepped back (feet bare, cold looking) Jesse immediately dumped the loot out between them.

Kit-Kat, Twizzlers, the half eaten Milky Way, and a crushed bag of chips from lunch. There was an equally smashed paper airplane and a yo-yo with a fraying string. Cass poked at it, watching it roll lopsided through the dirt.

“We used to have these too,” he said and Jesse—

“Where are you from?”

Cass stared and grinned until Jesse got it.

“When are you from?”

“When is this?”

“2017.”

He let out a whistle as high and eerie as the wind through a keyhole. “Then I’m old, padre. I’ve got 120 years on you.”

Jesse wondered then how he’d done the math that fast. Jesse needed to know if that was true. Jesse had conflicting thoughts that Cass was both young and old and Jesse—

—knew better than to ask.

“You can have it all,” he said, feeling like those words somehow meant more, as if he hadn’t already brought a fool’s worth of treasure for Cass to play with. It was all piled up in that rotten log, the only things that felt real and tangible around her. Cass himself was sort of smudgy around the edges, like a picture someone got sick of drawing halfway through.

He worked methodically through the offerings though. Because wasn’t that what they were? Jesse had wandered into these woods and found something immense there... and he’d been offering up tributes ever since. Cass fiddled with the yo-yo a little more. He placed the paper airplane in one of the few strands of sunlight that broke through their canopy, inching it there with all the delicacy of a tightrope walker. When he got to the Milky Way he crammed it all at once into his mouth, eyes suddenly blowing wide.

“That good?” Jesse asked.

Cass grinned with caramel teeth. “Yeah. Sure. But there’s blood in it too,” and his eyes went wild again, edging the tattered bite on Jesse’s arm.

And the pain was there: a sharp throb that had him tugging at his sleeve.

Because Jesse remembered what Cass was talking about. Simon had pricked his finger on a picnic table splinter today, the piece of wood going sideways and causing a tiny spout of blood. It had dripped onto his sandwich—two red drops on white bread that made all the kids shriek in disgust—and it had apparently gotten in his chocolate too.

That was what got Jesse to move; the idea of Cass tasting someone else’s blood. Not his. Not Tulip’s. Fucking Simon's.

With a growl he leaned forward and snatched the Twizzlers out of Cass’ hand, mind too wooly to appreciate the surprised, human expression that flit across his face. Settling back in the dirt Jesse pulled out his switchblade with the same jerky movements and drew it sloppily over his arm.

It hurt enough to make the backs of his teeth ache, but who the hell cared? His arm was already a bruised, bloody mess from these daily meetings, and wasn’t it worth it to see that look creeping into Cass’ eyes?

A fool might have called it hunger. Jesse knew it was something closer to love.

“Here,” he said, dipping a Twizzler into the fresh blood and tossing it casually Cass’ way. Like you’d throw a friend a beer. Like you’d scoop cheese onto those fancy crackers. What they had was no different—except that it was better—and Jesse preened a little at seeing Cass gobble him up in two quick bites.

“You’re like a dog!” Jesse howled, amazed and disgusted when Cass relieved himself too close to his boots.

He laughed crazily. “I’m more dangerous than any dog!”

“You’re insatiable,” he said, here and now, and Cass laughed again (was always laughing), his matted hair flying in front of his eyes.

“Tulip teach you that word?”

“Book did. Tulip teaches me four letter words.”

Laughter, longer and louder and Jesse tossed him more blood-coated Twizzlers. He coated all the food in a thin layer of blood until it was gone and then Jesse stood, backlit by the tree’s shadows and feeling uncommonly nervous.

“C’mon,” he said.

Because this is what they did now. He came, Cass drank, he offered things and then he left. There was some boundary between Annville and Cass’ little world that had nothing to do with tree lines or cemetery markers. He didn’t need Jesse’s blood with all the critters about—but he preferred it. He didn’t need cheap candy and toys either—but took them ravenously.

Jesse didn’t need to pull Cass over to his side of the line—but he’d do it anyway.

He held out a hand and Cass just sat there, a mangy cat licking something from the back of his arm. When he was done (tongue papery white, almost iridescent in the red of his mouth) he looked at everything but Jesse before landing his eyes on a small crop of weeds. Cass tugged two out, heedless of the thorns.

“Here,” he said, slapping them into Jesse’s palm. He left his hand there too and hauled himself up. “You gotta protect me from the sun, padre.”

“Told you I’m not a ‘padre.'" Jesse's chest was ballooning up.

“And takin’ me in? Now you probably never will be.”

Maybe it was a lie, maybe not. Either way, Jesse tugged his shirt off and drew it over Cass’ head. He give him too-big boots to protect his feet and they set off together, the half mile to the church feeling unnaturally long.

“Who are you?” Jesse whispered in the dirt, dimly aware that he wasn’t nearly as afraid as he should be.

The monster shrugged. “Cassidy. But... whaddya need me to be?”

Jesse wasn’t sure yet. Something more than this.

On their way out he brushed the bouquet of weeds over the last gravestone. For luck.

Fin.

#Preacher #AMC Preacher #Jesse Custer #Cassidy #kid fic #prompt #preacherfic #here I am #just filling prompts more than half a YEAR after they're given to me #that's fine right??#Anonymous

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