go ahead, underestimate me

•

There’s something in his eyes, Anthony thinks, but he brushes it off as soon as he thinks it. tonight was going to be about him, wine, and good company; what else could it be about? Unless he was going to poison his cup, who was he to deny him a generous offer? “If you wish it,” he replied, mirroring his grin, “I would have just gotten a waiter to get us some, but if it behooves you, go ahead! Grab a double for yourself!”

His face felt hot and everything was simmering down low in his vision. But the expedition hasn’t even started yet, so he was allowed one night where he can cut loose. “Tell me about yourself when you get back, Ramses. I’ve got half a mind to know all these people I’m supposed to payroll.”

.

Going to the bar was a small reprieve. Gave him a chance to organize his thoughts. It was best, he decided, to befriend Anthony. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, right? And there was almost certainly going to be an opportunity to draw more money out of him—and Ramses had found that was easier when you were on good terms with a person.

Play nice, then. Ramses could play nice.

He ordered another wine and a double shot of whiskey. It didn’t have gold in it, but it was certainly nicer than he would have ordered for himself.

Ramses returned with a flourish and set the drinks down. He took a sip of his own with a shrug. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, as they say. A question for a question?”

•

“Don’t worry, Ramses. I’ll be sure to crush any troublesome scorpions under my well-made heel.” Drinking his wine, Anthony noted the small buzz on his skin and the heat on his face. Maybe he looked a little more flush than he was used to, talking to people in his employ, but he was hardly the one to talk about propriety. They were friends, comrades, going on adventure for fame and fortune! A little impropriety never hurt anyone. Much.

Finishing off the goblet and setting it down, he gave Ramses a cursory glance, before lounging on the chair. “Do you drink? Just grab whatever you think you want—I’ll pay. Consider it the testament to my goodwill. Or an omen of the expedition yet to come. Whichever one sounds more poetic. And makes me look good.”

.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Ramses seriously hoped the other man had shoes that were more worn in than the ones he was wearing for the journey or he was in for long days filled with painful blisters.

As for alcohol, well, it was complicated. Alcohol in Cairo was generally seen as a tourist-y thing; most locals were Muslim and thus religiously opposed to the stuff. Ramses wasn’t the biggest fan of it—the sharp scent reminded him of bruised knuckles, of home—but it could be useful, he’d found, to share drinks between friends. There was a sort of connection that happened when drinks were shared that didn’t happen anywhere else. And he worked in the tourist industry, after all—it had made sense for him to embrace tourist-y things.

“I’ll try to find something with gold flakes in it, then. For luck, of course,” Ramses grinned boyishly, getting to his feet. He nodded to Anthony’s goblet. “Can I get you another?”

.

              Sean heard that manners are different in each country,   so the fact that a stranger is looming over and glaring at him doesn’t activate any alarms in his brain.   In fact,    he’s glad to be approached at all.    He was starting to get bored. 

      “I’m waiting for someone to tell me it’s time to go,    preferably Anthony Perez,"    he responds,   because Sean has really been sitting around for the past few hours and patiently waiting to do the job he was hired for only this morning.    

       He smiles at the stranger.    “What are you doing?” 

.

The stranger’s response was jarring to say the least. Not only was he disconcertingly happy, he had also mentioned Perez. Oh, gods...

“How do you know Perez?” Ramses asked, dreading the answer. He narrowed his eyes at the man and tried to collect his thoughts. Was this man seriously going to be on the team he was guiding? An entire godsdamned planet and he’d managed to end up on a team with this asshole.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ramses.” the wolfish grin on his face never fell, practiced from years upon years of socialization and dinner parties. “My name’s Anthony Perez—just Anthony, seeing as we’ll be working closely together for weeks upon weeks. Cairo’s lovely, but if anyone had told me I would be meeting such wonderful people, I’d have run away here years ago.”

Wine in hand, he waved down to a seat in front of him, happy to indulge in conversation. Edith had gotten tired of him and Ben no fun at all, but the new face was going to be fun to talk to, he supposed. “So, I take it you’re the guide to wherever it is we’re going? Anything I should know about?”

.

Despite the predator’s grin, there was nothing feral about the man, not to Ramses. Anthony’s edges were polished smooth from decades of tumbling in a sea of elites; Ramses’ were jagged glass beneath a veil of smirks and satin.

That didn’t mean Anthony wasn’t dangerous, of course—just that Anthony’s danger wasn’t the same as his. Ramses had learned the hard way to tread carefully where wealth was involved. Money, he’d found, brought out the worst in people.

Ramses laughed where he was meant to laugh, sat when he was meant to sit, and did it all with the practiced ease of someone who’d been doing it their whole life not to thrive but to survive.

“That I am,” Ramses nodded, leaning back in his chair and sprawling out artfully. “Learn to embrace the sand. And don’t step on any scorpions.”

    it felt almost unbecoming not marvel at the scene, the outlines of the lounge’s furniture reverberating the golden glow of the dusk. as much as she attempted to disguise her gaiety, ofrah still felt stripped of her breath. no qualms remained for not joining the others at dinner, seeing as they’d be spending all of the upcoming days as a group starting soon. even when enjoying the calmness alone ( or so she thought ), it all felt at ease. 

  “ah, i’d heard of you, though i believe we hadn’t been acquainted,” ofrah returned the gesture, though offered a comparably more subdued grin. “i am ofrah, and i will be the one analyzing whichever hieroglyphs we come across – not as fast-paced of a job as being the guide.” 

    “i, uh–” for a moment, she considered lying– “no, not much. i’m familiar with the logistics in theory, but not in practice. you? how often do you guide groups of historians and archaeologists seeking old tombs?” 

Ramses snorted somewhat indelicately and ran a hand through his hair. “All good things, I hope,” he said wryly. “It’s nice to meet you, Ofrah.”

“Hieroglyphs,” he echoed curiously, tilting his head, eyes sharpening the way they did when he latched onto something he was truly curious about. “Someone has to know how to read them, I guess. They seem confusing.”

His expression flattened once again into the familiar smile when the conversation turned back to his job, to the familiar.

“Can’t say I’ve been on an trip like this, but I’ve been on my share of adventures,” Ramses admitted. “Usually it’s just thrill-seeking tourists. This time it’s thrill-seeking tourists with a mission,” he added dryly.

the shop looked different now than it had all those years ago and that was before meryem practically turned it over as she gathered what she needed for the weeks ahead. potions and salves could be made anywhere, but oils and the base plants were a different tale entirely. her research is spread across the countertops, journals of cures buried beneath. this is what she was made to do, or so she likes to believe.

she glances up as the bell above the door jingles, an indication to pull her from the back of the shop where she normally dwelled and currently a useless tool. the young man she finds looking back at her is … familiar to her. a sense of deja vu pulling at her mind, but she cannot figure out why. not until he mentions his name. they had not exchanged pleasantries that night, there was little time; but she had gotten his mother’s name, had heard the exhausted woman pleading for her son. she was wise enough to put those together. 

“ meryem alkin, ” she offers in return, a nod of acknowledgement of his name. she glances down to the root and herbs placed in front of her.   “ if i am honest, i have not fully taken stock of what i have yet, but having extra of anything is never a poor decision. ”

The overwhelming barrage of scents in the shop was overwhelming and disorienting. Thoughts he’d spent years repressing were made sharper by the unexpectedly familiar smells. Some things had changed, he noted, but the energy hadn’t. The memories.

He fought the urge to turn tail and bolt by widening his smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Meryem Alkan,” Ramses demurred. He ran a finger along a shelf as he sauntered deeper inward.

“There’s a supplier about a twenty minutes walk from here that gets fresh deliveries weekly,” he said. The owner was a friend—Ramses knew that most weeks they were closed on delivery days to organize the new stock, but he also knew they’d make an exception for him. “I saw the truck drop in about an hour ago; if we head over soon, we should still be able to get first pickings. If you’re interested.”

When Ramses first saw him, he jolted like he’d seen a ghost.

There, in the flesh—the asshole who’d side-swiped his bike while downtown in a manner that Ramses would describe as “criminally reckless”.

»Of course,« Ramses muttered under his breath in Arabic, »he's American.«

“What are you doing here?” Ramses asked in English, narrowing his eyes at the man and crossing his arms in front of his chest. Did he know the man’s name? No. Did he care? Also no.

The steam from the coffee warmed his face as Ramses brought it up to take his first sip. Hotel coffee, he thought disdainfully, left much to be desired. He thought longingly of his favorite café just off the Nile in Old Cairo with a sigh. It would be a while before he went back, he feared—but such was the price of adventure.

A newcomer walked into the lounge. One of those obnoxiously large Americans; he still couldn’t tell them apart. He knew he hated one of them, though, so it was the only logical conclusion to hate both of them. It was easier than trying to figure out which one to hate, and anyway, assholery probably ran in the family.

“Shawn,” Ramses greeted icily before taking another sip of his coffee. It probably wasn’t a good idea to get on the bad side of either one of the brutes, but it was early and Ramses couldn’t bring himself to feign a personality before another few sips of coffee.

Anthony Perez. Ramses had gotten that name down early.

Ramses was familiar with the type. Handsome, smartly dressed, with more money than God and no problem spending it. Ramses hated him on principle.

Still. He wasn’t about to let that stop him from taking the other man’s money. Principles only went so far, after all; the sum they were offering him was enough to make any head turn. It was going to be a long trip and Ramses could behave when he wanted to.

He put on his best public face and sauntered into the lounge with a smile. Just his luck—Anthony was the closest person to him and the only one not currently engaged in conversation. Fantastic.

“Hello,” Ramses said, holding out his hand to shake. “Ramses Samir. Welcome to Cairo.”

The setting sun filled the lounge with light, gilding everything from the furniture to the picture frames to the motes of dust floating through the air. It was quiet, with most of the company seeking out dinner—just Ramses and one other remained. Ofrah, he believed? He’d heard the name thrown around, but he hadn’t yet properly met her.

He stood and walked over with a broad smile. “Ramses Samir. I don’t believe we’ve met yet. I’ll be your guide for the trip. Do you have much experience with expeditions like this?”

It had been the worst night of Ramses’ life. Every moment lived crystal clear in his brain but behind a veil, like photographs he’d taken of another person’s life.

His mother, clothes soaked through with sweat from a fever that just wouldn’t break. The seizures. The rush to the medic in the middle of the night. The minutes, the hours that felt like days.

Finally, dawn—and with it, an ebb in his mother’s delirium.

Ramses had done everything he could to put it past him but now, here he was, face to face with the person who had saved his mother’s life. What was there even to say? For a man whose words came easy, the loss was staggering. Nothing, then. He’d say nothing and hope she’d forgotten. His jaw was sharper now, his hair shorter. Maybe she’d forgotten him.

“Ramses Samir,” he smiled, by way of introduction. Had names even been exchanged that night? “Is there anything you’re missing from your med kit?”