Author's Notes: Hmmm...not much to say. I've found that I am obsessed with The Mummy/The Mummy Returns, hence the two one-shots that I am posting. This piece was just to satisfy my need for fluff. After all, don't we all want a strong, handsome, sweet, slightly insane American soldier saving them from creepy undead mummies?

Hmm? Let me see a show of hands.

Quite Contrary

Oh, this is typical. This is just so typical. Just my luck. The wonderful Sod's Law stepping in right on time. What impeccable timing Murphy has!

A handsome and mysterious stranger . . . all right, a handsome and mysterious criminal kisses me – my first kiss, might I add. And how pathetic is that, at twenty-four years old? – and the only reason he did it was because it seemed like a good idea at the time.


We all know what that means. A dying man, in the spur of the moment, decides to have a last hurrah before he goes, and then in marches this mousy little librarian and her brother—oh, well, she's no raving beauty, but she's got two breasts, hasn't she?

Honestly. He is just so . . . infuriating.

I mean, that's the reason this is such a big deal. After all, what right does he have to waltz into my life with all his I'm-Sooooo-Dashing-and-Brave-and-Heroic-and-I-Will-Lead-You-To-Your-Wildest-Dreams-In-A-Completely-Non-Sexual-Way-Although-I'm-Up-For-That-Too Glory? Hmm?

Rick O'Connell is the most arrogant, rude, vulgar, pompous . . . wait, no, 'pompous' is a synonym for 'arrogant' . . . oh, whatever. He's arrogant twice, then! If we didn't need him to lead us to Hamunaptra, you can bet that I would make Jonathan get rid of him!

. . . Not that Jonathan would be able to, because O'Connell is rather tall and strong . . . but the point is, Jonathan could get people who could rid of him.

And yes, I mean it.

I have absolutely no attachment to that Neanderthal whatsoever.


What do you mean, romantic interest? That's rubbish. Rick O'Connell is not my type. My type is . . . well, all right, granted, I haven't had enough experience to determine quite what my type is, but I'm pretty . . . no, absolutely sure that it is not Rick O'Connell.

I mean, I guess I can understand how some women might find the whole brave, kind in his own way, heroic, strong, handsome with eyes that are easy to drown in, arms that just make a body want to fall into them and burrow down so far that I . . . that is, one, can never find their way out again thing attractive, but me?


Just because I can understand doesn't mean I agree. I'd prefer someone who is a little more . . . that is, a little less . . . well, he'd have to have at least . . . after all, O'Connell just . . . my ideal guy would be a bit . . . at any rate, he'd be able to . . .

Anyway. This is a silly topic to discuss. I do not fancy O'Connell, I have no interest in him other than the fact that he is leading me to my life's goal, and furthermore, even if I did have some sort of . . . attachment . . . to him – which I don't – it wouldn't matter, because he clearly has no romantic feelings for me.

'It seemed like a good idea at the time'? Who says that?

But it's not like it matters that he doesn't. At all. Just as my nonexistent feelings don't matter to him. It's that simple.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Jonathan murmurs in my ear as he passes. I fix him with my perfected Death Glare – which, unsurprisingly, has no effect on him – and call him something that I really would rather not repeat.

"I didn't know a lady like you knew such bad words." O'Connell's irritating, American accent sounds from behind me. I blow out air through my nose.

"Bastard," I mutter as I turn to face him. He raises an eyebrow.

"Did you kiss me with that mouth?" He asks, obviously enjoying my foul mood, and therefore the foul language that seeps from it.

I glare at him. "No, you kissed me, if you need reminding," I snap, shoving past him forcefully. He rubs his shoulder lightly.

"Ow! What was that for?" I narrow my eyes, although I am still walking with my back to him.

"I don't know," I call back sweetly, "It seemed like a good idea at the time." He lets out a sigh and mutters something in audible.



My shoulder tingles, just a bit, where it touched his.

But of course, that's just left over from the force of the contact.

Not . . . you know. Our-skin-touched-and-I-knew-he-was-the-one sort of tingle.