Roses are Red

A Mummy fanfiction by BlueRose

Author's note: this fic was inspired by my best friend Adrian and her boyfriend Kevin. Kevin wrote her this really horrible (and I mean it, it was soooooooooo cheesy) poem for when they were first going out, and she showed it to me and we had a laugh. Then I had a thought, "hey what if Rick tried to write a poem for Evie?" And so a story was born.

Anywho, this fic is dedicated to them both, for being inspirational in their weirdness.

Now I've seen a lot of things in my day. Mummies, curses, and chaps sleazy enough to make me look like an angel. But I have never in my adventuring career seen anything quite like the relationship between my sister and Rick O'Connell. Now I grant it, I'm not the brightest bulb in the pack, but I just don't get off on how Evie can be so stuck on a man like O'Connell. Sure, he's attractive enough (not like I would notice such things, but I know women and as far as I can see, they certainly seem to like the whole dashing ex-Legionairre thing) but what can a man who's never so much as opened a book in my presence have in common with my librarian sister?

Which is why I was appalled at the sight in front of me.

I was sitting at the local Casbah, minding my drink when I felt eyes boring holes into the back of my head.

"Ah, O'Connell," I greeted. "Sit down, sit down." And, gesturing to the stool next to mine, "drink?"

That's when I saw it.

At first, I thought it might be the Seagram's. It's been known to do all sorts of amusing things to one's sense of judgment. Just ask Evie, or Rick from that matter. But what I saw before my very eyes was not an illusion but reality: Rick bloody O'Connell had a paper and pen in hand. Now, I'll have you know that I do on occasion write things down. Things like "meet for drinks and 9 o'clock" and "pay back loan from bartender." But those are on short little sheets of paper with a pencil. This was a pad of paper and a pen.

This spelled trouble.

So of course, I asked, with my customary coolness under pressure. "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

O'Connell cleared his throat briefly and looked about him cautiously. I know the look well. The "I can't let anyone else hear me saying this" look was rather popular with myself and my comrades, for various reasons I won't go into at the moment.

"Well?" I demanded.

"Uh, yeah, see it's kinda complicated..." He stammered.

This wasn't good. This just wasn't good at all. I know the man, one doesn't save a chap from nearly being sacrificed by a 3,000 year old walking corpse with an attitude without learning something about him. And I happen to know that the only time O'Connell gets all "um" and "uh" and "you know...yeah" is when a certain doe-eyed librarian comes into play.

I took a swift sip from my drink. I was going to need several more of those in order to deal with what ever my dear, sweet baby sister had managed to do to him.

"My good man, " I said companionably, throwing my arm around his shoulder in true brotherly fashion. "This has got to do with Evie, hasn't it?"

"Don't make me hurt you," he said, throwing my arm off of him with, by the way, no regard to my personal safety.

"So I'm right?" I asked. After all, he wouldn't dare hurt the beloved brother of his favored lady. Especially if I was right.

"Dammit, Jonathan!"

Looks like I was.

He shifted towards me, pen and paper in hand. "Look, remember when I asked you what I should do for Evie? You know, to make her understand how much I care about her?"

Oh, this was good. Damn better than what I'd suspected. No matter that I couldn't remember for the life of me what I'd said to him.

"Go on," I bluffed.

"You said," he indicate the pen and paper. "That I should do something, creative and meaningful. Like um, write her a poem."

I snorted, praying he would think it was the drink going to my head. This was too good to be true! Wait till the guys at the Pharaoh's Staff hear about this one! Rick O'Connell, Mr. "Tough guy, take no prisoners, shoot first ask questions later" wanted to write my sister a poem! A bloody poem! I was sure he'd never written a poem in his life, save the "roses are red violets, lemons are yellow, you're a stinky fellow" sort in elementary school.

"And, so..." I continued, trying to save face from laughing. "What do you have written now?"

He gave me a pained expression.

"Well, you came here for my help." I said, "whether you like it or not. And I can't help you unless I know where you are."

I really thought he was going to hurt me then. But low and behold, he began to read.

"Roses are red," he said.

I waited. And waited. Nothing could be heard save the clinking of glasses and occasional rowdy laughter from another table.

"And...?
He shifted in his seat, "that's all I've got."

*** want more? Let me know. I plan to make this a chapter story, but I need you guys to show me love, so push that little button at the bottom of the screen that says "review." ***