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godihatethiswebsite · 16 days

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Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

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✽ Part 4 - A conversation behind bars

I'm quickly learning that dialogue is a massive pain in the ass and makes this process a gazillion times longer. Also thank you to the small handful of you who have acknowledged my existence and are reading this <3

Walking into a Cairo prison was not how you thought you'd be starting off your afternoon.

When your cousin told you he'd found a guy, he absolutely failed to mention that the man in question had been incarcerated for the past five months for what he claimed was a bit of 'disorderly conduct'. And by that what he really meant was for beating the ever living shit out of some bloke to the point of permanently crippling him.

You ignored the greasy smiles and uncouth jeers as you passed by the other inmates, the weight of Kyle's arm around your shoulders keeping you close a welcome security blanket. Guards banged on the cells to silence their rude remarks, you trying to keep your cool despite your obvious nerves as you were led deeper into the facility.

You didn't understand why your cousin was walking with lighter steps. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was no stranger to dealing with dangerous men. Maybe it was simple patriarchal ignorance considering he wasn't the one the comments were being directed at (though he was certainly pretty enough for them you thought to yourself). He was on edge and alert, sure, but it felt more like he was eager for what lay ahead instead of the cautiousness you yourself displayed.

You got your answer when you came to a halt outside a heavy gate, an open air courtyard lay beyond full of all sorts of wirey types of folk. You and Kyle had to be the cleanest people in there as your gaze swept over the group, most coated in a layer of grimy sand and sweat. The guard who had been escorting you through the prison shouted something in Arabic that caught the attention of some of the others standing around, the crowd turning to look towards a singular point near the back of the group as a figure stood up from his spot at a table and made his way over to your location.

He easily stood apart from the rest of the people here, not just because it was clear by his facial features and skin tone that he wasn't a native to these parts, but also just by the way he carried himself. His clothes were ragged same as everyone else inside the cage, but there was a stockiness to his build and a purely male arrogance to his walk. He looked rough from all the time spent in imprisonment; filthy dry skin, hair wildly uneven with oily strands slicked back from his face, a dark messy beard grown quite bushy. Everything about him screamed scoundrel. Hardly seemed the type you should be asking for assistance from.

It didn't escape your notice that as he approached the bars there were a handful of inmates that gave him a wide berth. If this was the type of man that made others like him give pause then who the hell knew what he was capable of.

Apparently your cousin, given the lazy wave being sent his way much to your complete and utter confusion. Your brows furrowed as you glanced between the two of them. Why such familiarity?

Kyle just gives him a shit eating grin leaning against the bars and says, "Hope you didn't have to bend over for anyone in there."

"Nah. They said mah mouth's prettier than mah arse anyways."

Scottish - definitely not an accent you're used to hearing. And just as vulgar as his appearance would suggest, even if your cousin technically encouraged it first with his own remark. It ruffled your skirts the same way his appearance did as he approached and stood only a foot away from the gate, taking an instinctual step back only to be halted by a gentle but firm hand on your lower back by Kyle.

"Dolly," he began, gesturing towards the figure in question, "allow me to introduce you to an old comrade of mine, John MacTavish. John, meet my cousin, dolly."

You had enough manners to politely correct the man with your actual name rather than the fond nickname you're cousin had been referring to you with. He must've recognized yours the same as you had his going by the way his eyebrow quirked up with interest.

"Aye, ah ken who ya are, hen." There's a twinkle of a hidden joke somewhere in those baby blues. "Heard many a tale about ye from this fella 'ere. Yer picture doesnae do ya justice."

It slightly surprises you that he's seen your face before, but it makes sense given the small snapshot you'd sent along with Kyle before his first real foray out into combat. It warms something inside of you that he'd shared the photo with some of the lads he served with.

"So," he crosses his arms over his chest as he returns his attention back to his old teammate. "Are ye 'ere to give me mah sponge bath or did ya jus' miss seein' mah ugly mug too much and decided to pop by fer a wee chinwag?"

Kyle shrugs off his crude comments with an ease that speaks of how common this sort of behavior must be from the man. Going off the tales you'd been told over the years you were sure he was well versed in dealing with his particular brand of behavior. "How's about I'm calling in a favor for all those times spent digging you out of the mud. You still the same man who'd charge headlong with me into the trenches?"

"As long as ah get tae be the one who jumps in first."

"Even if that leads us into the lost city of Hamunuptra?"

Whatever he thought Kyle was going to say was obviously not that, his turn to look confused as a dark shadow replaced the excited gleam in his eyes. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure we were the closest to being alone as we could get in a place like this, he leaned into our space even more as the metal bars would allow, his voice dropping down into something more hushed as his expression hardened.

"Whaddya doin' in a place like that, Garrick? 'S not somewhere ye take civilized company like the lass 'ere, that's fer damn sure."

"We just want to know if it's real." You speak up for the first time in the conversation, two pairs of eyes suddenly focusing on you with rapt attention that you struggle not to waver under. "We're not looking for trouble. Only the chance to gather as much information as we can about the city's existence."

"It's real, hen. Jus' take mah word on that and leave it be."

Something in you tugs at his refusal, the same feeling as being talked down to by both your parents and Dr. Price emboldens you in a way you normally aren't. Not that it's reflected in your outward stature unfortunately.

"I'm not blind to it's fabled history, Mr. MacTavish, but I'm not one for the paranormal either. Take us there long enough for me to know my head isn't just filled with silly notions and storybooks and I'll be satisfied... please."

He considers you for a long moment with eyes more intelligent than his current looks would give him credit for, searching for something in your soul he must find before turning his gaze back to Kyle with a resigned sigh.

"Ah'll not be goin' much of anywhere wit' these bloody chains 'round mah wrists. Unless ya have the patience ta hold off on this lil' expedition 'til ah'm good and free."

"Depends. How much longer you stuck in here?"

"Longer than ah deserve tae be."

Maybe your cousin had rubbed off on you a bit too much over the years. Maybe the well cultivated mind that lost itself quite easily in books of long forgotten kingdoms was just turning it's gears wanting to solve a puzzle other than education for a change. Or maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself that just because you aren't as worldly as your two companions that you weren't just some useless thing.

You hold up your palm to them as you glanced around the area, spying one of the guards lingering far enough away to give you a modicum of privacy while forming an idea in your head. Biting your lip nervously, you smoothed out the lines in your garments before you turned and strolled over to the man, hands folded petitely in front of you as you plastered on the most doe-eyed genteel smile that your mother had ingrained in you since you were old enough to begin taking etiquette lessons.

It only took a few demure flutters of your lashes and a well placed touch on his bicep for the guard to lead you away from the caged in courtyard and down a series of hallways, flashing the guys a nervous but reassuring smile that kept Kyle in his place instead of running along after you, having been granted an audience with the warden of the prison.

You tried your best to remain steady on your feet as you were shuffled along to a small office near the back of the compound, very aware you were currently alone with considerably questionable men as you quietly took a deep breath to calm your racing heart. This was the second time today you were about to undergo something well outside your wheelhouse all for the chance to do something incredibly reckless that may or may not even be worth it. With a knock on the door and a beckoning 'enter', you stepped inside the cramped but well lit room to try and barter for a stranger's freedom.

You'd returned a short while later, interrupting whatever hushed conversation they appeared to be engrossed in and looking far more at ease than you left them. Before either one had a chance to open their mouths at your arrival, the warden you'd previously been speaking with was barking out a command in Arabic to some of the guards nearby. For a moment, John began to struggle as two pairs of hands wrapped themselves around his arms, practically growling in objection to being manhandled before the warden spoke up again with a mocking sneer, halting his movements.

"Escort our friend here back to his cell until further notice. Apparently, Scotsman, lady luck is on your side this day."

Once the slimy man retreated out of view, you let out the breath you'd been holding since you began this charade, a hand over your heart and another resting on your cousin's shoulder to help ground yourself. How you got away with that was beyond your comprehension and certainly not something you'd like to repeat again.

"And just what do you call that, dolly?" Kyle inquires with a bemused grin as a slightly befuddled John is lead away by his jailers, glancing over his shoulder at the two of you as he tries to work out whatever mischief you did that managed to get him an early release.

"I call that a proper utilization of my upbringing." You respond with a pleasantly surprised and satisfied smile, catching eyes with your future travel companion and dropping into the most perfectly executed curtsey before turning on your heels to walk back out the way you came, missing the look you're given in return by a man who finally saw a glimpse of the clever lass he'd always heard so much about.

[Edited 5/8/24: changed formatting, title, tags, and numbering system]

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