Author's Note: So I took this down quite a while ago, and I've decided to put it up again, with a different direction in mind. Let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own the characters from the 1999 and 2001 films, The Mummy and The Mummy Returns. Gretchen Fagan and Ghazi are my own creations.

THE LADY AND THE TRAMP

"Therefore, behold, I will allure her, bring her into the wilderness and speak kindly to her."
Hosea 2:14

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Debts Paid

"Today is gonna be the day
That they're gonna throw it back to you..."

Gretchen rolled over in bed, gasping sharply. Her eyes snapped open, and she realized she was staring up at a tin ceiling, each panel shaped with (most likely expensive) care. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment as she rolled over to her side, glancing at an antique dresser. Her eyes darted about the room, each luxurious piece of furniture becoming a little more familiar. She pulled herself to a seat with a moan; her head pulsed with pain, but she was much too impatient with her present balance of confusion and vague memory to wait out a hangover.

A strange, grunting noise caught her attention, and she turned to look at the other side of the bed. A pair of feet were propped up on the pillow. Gretchen pressed her lips together and leaned towards the foot of the bed. Lifting the wrinkled comforter revealed Jonathan's deeply sleeping face. She let out a sigh and rolled her eyes; now everything was coming back.

The previous evening, they had made it back to Cairo. They were dirty and it was getting late, so the Carnahans had offered their baths and guest rooms to Gretchen and O'Connell. She remembered Evelyn's face flushing when Jonathan had bluntly informed her that there would be no need to "hole Gretchen up in that dusty old closet." She remembered a long, groggy soak in the tub, interrupted much sooner than she would have liked by Jonathan and a bottle of champagne. From there on, things seemed to get a little hazy...but judging from the disheveled state of the bed, she could guess that the two of them had not gone right to sleep.

Gretchen glanced at the floor, noticing a familiar-looking silk robe. She picked it up, running her fingers over the the faded embroidery. "It was my mother's," Jonathan had said, his words slurring a little, "so I do hope you'll do me a favor and take it off as soon as possible. It's just...rather peculiar to me--seducing a woman in my mother's robe..." She glanced at him again as she slipped it on, wishing she could remember what became of her clothes--

Wait. Those were Evelyn's clothes. She had borrowed them at the fort, after they returned from Hamunaptra the first time. Gretchen glanced at the ceiling in irritation; so she had, literally, nothing to wear--and what was worse, she would have to find Evelyn and ask to borrow clothes before she could sneak out of here. Pulling herself to her feet, Gretchen crept to the door. Her hand was on the doorknob as she glanced cautiously about the room, her gaze landing on Jonathan's dresser. She ran her tongue over her lips thoughtfully. Jonathan wasn't a terribly big man...

Gretchen tiptoed to the dresser, gently tugging the first drawer open. She sifted through the mess of wrinkled shirts, managing to pull out one that seemed smaller than the rest. She held it up with a slight frown; it was obviously a man's shirt, which meant she'd look ridiculous in it, but...well, at least she wouldn't be searching the house for Evelyn in her mother's robe. She pulled the slick fabric from her shoulders, trading it for Jonathan's linen. It was much bigger than she had imagined; the hem almost brushed her knees, and the arms were too long. She fiddled with the awkward piece of clothing, cuffing the sleeves and folding the collar. She eventually sighed in defeat, moving to the next drawer.

She didn't have much hope for finding pants that would fit her, but she rifled through Jonathan's wardrobe, anyway. After trying a few different pairs without any success of keeping them on her hips, Gretchen decided that the shirt would suffice until she could borrow women's clothes. She left the room as quietly as she could, tiptoeing down the hallway until she came to the staircase. She walked down the stairs with less attention to noise; she concentrated more on remembering the arrangement of the house.

Gretchen wandered through a few empty rooms, considering the idea of just shouting until someone appeared. The size of the place astounded her; Jonathan had always given the impression that he and his sister had fallen on hard times, that his estate was pathetically dwindled. The house must have been all paid up by the time their parents died--

A clock somewhere in the house chimed 9:00. Gretchen found her way to the dining room, and realized as she surveyed the gleaming table that she was hungry. She crossed the room to a small door, certain that the kitchen had to be close. She walked into the adjacent room, noticing immediately the rich aroma of coffee and the pot on the stove. A moment later, she saw O'Connell sitting on the counter, a steaming cup at his side. He looked her over curiously, but said nothing.

"Good morning."

She smiled politely. "Mind if I join you?"

"Sure." He jerked his head at the cupboard above the stove. "Cups are up there, if you want some coffee."

"I do."

Gretchen nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to get to the cupboard. She found a china cup and filled it with the hot, black liquid, taking a scalding sip because she couldn't help herself. Her eyes scanned the room, coming to rest on a crate pushed against the wall.

"What's that?"

O'Connell shrugged, raising his cup to his lips. "I don't know. It's for you, I guess."

Gretchen's brow furrowed. She set her cup down and walked over to examine it more closely. The crate was nailed shut, and an envelope with her name on it was pasted to the top. She glanced up at O'Connell, but he only returned her puzzled gaze. With a sigh, she gently pulled the envelope from the lid. She ripped it open and found a note. In neat, almost primitive letters, was written:

Gretchen,
These are yours (the mirror will be coming later). Your debt to me was paid.
Ghazi

She frowned at the note. She knew Ghazi couldn't write in English; it wouldn't surprise her if he was illiterate in his own language. Someone must have done it for him. But certainly more puzzling than the note supposedly written by her Egyptian pimp was the message being delivered. Someone had paid her debt?

"So what is it?" O'Connell's voice cut through her thoughts.

She glanced up at him and held up the note. He slid down from the counter and took the slip of paper. Gretchen knelt down to examine the crate and how well it was sealed; she could feel O'Connell's questioning gaze on the back of her neck.

"I don't get it."

Gretchen sighed, trying to get her fingernails beneath one of the nail heads. "When you're whoring, your room and board's all taken care of. You pay back a part of your earnings to the pimp for getting you customers, you know. But since he pays for you to live there--and other stuff, too. Some girls really get into drugs, or you might need an abortion or maybe you find out your mother's sick--whatever. He takes care of this stuff, and then if you ever get to leave, you got to pay up your debt."

She didn't have to look up to know O'Connell looked a little disgusted. "Sounds like a good way to con someone out of a lot of money."

Gretchen breathed a laugh. "Yeah, well, it is...usually. But I guess someone paid for me."

O'Connell nodded slowly, opening one of the drawers to find a large cutting knife. He knelt down beside her, jamming the blade into the seam.

"And it must have been someone who's pretty scary," he said, putting his weight down on the handle. The wood made a cracking noise, and the lid lifted a little from the box. "Otherwise, I think he'd try to to screw you out of more money."

She shrugged. "Mmhmm."

He gaze the knife another hard push and the lid dislodged. Gretchen looked impressed.

"Hey, thanks."

The crate was full of clothes and underwear, most of them ratty and moth-eaten. Her rouge cabinet was at the bottom, along with a few pairs of shoes. She sighed, a red, lacy slip caught between her fingers.

"I guess this solves my clothes problem," she muttered under her breath. She glanced up at O'Connell. "I wonder who did all this?" She laughed, sounding a little nervous. "I mean, who do I even know who'd want to do this for me?"