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John Banning let out a yawn, sleepily opening his eyes as he stretched his muscles. He felt… tired. So very, very tired. More than he usually did in the morning. It was to be expected, he supposed… yesterday had been taxing for him.
It had been a while since he had been out to town all by himself without his cane.
Nothing special, of course… but a colleague had asked for his help with some new relics that had been brought into the British Museum. How could he have possibly said no to that? He had been delighted to do something other than paperwork and archiving for once. Not only that, but he had not even felt the need for his cane. It was a sign that his leg wasn’t as bad as everyone kept telling him, John thought. That as long as he just put in the effort, the injury would get better.
Well, those thoughts faded away in an instant as soon as he tried to get up.
John let out a cry of pain, his leg feeling like a block of concrete as he moved it. It felt as if it had been snapped in two all over again. Clenching his jaw, he tried to sit up, but he ultimately just slumped down against his pillow as he realised that there was no way that he was going to get out of bed with his leg hurting like this. “Damn it…”, he groaned, running his hand through his hair. How was he going to have to explain this to Isobel…?
Suddenly, he saw and heard his bedroom’s doorknob moving. With a creak, the door opened just ever so slightly. Dark brown eyes stared at him from behind the small gap between the door and its frame. It was almost as if the mummy standing behind the door had sensed his pain.
…Or he could have simply heard the other’s groans of anguish, but John imagined the former explanation for some reason.
“...Good morning, Kharis”, the archaeologist muttered, smiling clumsily. He felt… embarrassed, for some reason. Kharis, for obvious reasons, said nothing in reply. Instead, he slowly shuffled into the room, never breaking eye contact. John went red in the face as he saw the mummy approach him. “I’m sorry if my groans alerted you…”, he stammered. “I promise, there’s nothing to worry about. I just-” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out another pained groan as he tried to move. “I just hurt my leg, that’s all…”
He immediately fell silent as Kharis let his hand rest on his leg, gripping it tightly and holding it still as his deep eyes gave the other a meaningful look.
John gulped. “…You aren’t going to let me get out of bed, are you…?”, he asked hesitantly.
The mummy shook his head. Perhaps, the archaeologist should have found his never breaking eye contact unsettling, but he had gotten more than used to it by now. It was to be expected, he supposed, considering that Kharis’ eyes were one of his only ways of communication without writing.
The mummy moved his gaze towards John’s leg, a sad look in his eyes. Or was it… concern? John could not quite tell.
“It’s fine, I promise”, he said to the mummy, but Kharis did not move an inch. For some reason, John felt… flustered, having the other worrying for him like this. “I’ve lived with my leg like this for multiple years now… I assure you, I can handle it.”
The mummy frowned, still holding the other’s leg in place. He shook his head after a while, though he did eventually loosen his grip. He stared at John in silence, looking desperate to speak to him, but finding himself unable to.
The sight made John feel immense pity for Kharis. He relaxed his body a bit, laying down against his pillows. “…I’m sorry, Kharis”, he muttered. “I know you’re looking out for me, I just…” He sighed, looking down at his blanket-covered leg miserably. “…I don’t like being reminded of my injury.”
The two shared a long, meaningful look. The archaeologist frowned, a troubled look on his face. “…I suppose I should not be one to talk about being reminded of injuries”, he mumbled. “…I’d imagine you have to be reminded of yours constantly. I- I’m sorry, I- I shouldn’t be complaining about all this to you-”
He stopped speaking, his eyes widening in shock as the mummy pulled away his blanket and scooped him up in his long arms. Kharis looked at his leg first, before turning to look at John’s face again, tilting his head a bit. Almost as if he was… trying to ask if it hurt being held like this, maybe…? The archaeologist hesitantly shook his head. “N- no, you’re not hurting, I-” He gulped, feeling his heart go aflutter as he felt the firm grip of the mummy’s arms around him, carrying him as if he were a bride. “…I just… don’t think this is necessary, really…”
Kharis did not seem to take note of the remark, or, more likely, chose to ignore it. He simply strided out of the room, carefully holding John close to him, as if he was a fragile object that could shatter if he bumped against even the slightest thing. John… did not like to think of himself that way, but he supposed that he had no choice in the matter right now. He just… tried to look at what was in front of him, instead of focusing on all of the physical contact he and Kharis were making. Or the concerned look in the mummy’s eyes that he gave him whenever he stared at him intently. Or the way he gently cradled him in his arms, as if he was a small child that needed to be shushed to sleep.
Those thoughts made him feel things that he would rather not think about, and so he chose to ignore them as much as he could.
He eventually relaxed again as Kharis laid him down on the couch in the living room, delicately letting him go with the utmost caution. He propped up the pillows behind him, staring at him intently as he sat on his knees beside the couch. The archaeologist had to admit that the sight was quite humorous in some way, the mummy almost resembling a large dog that wanted to play with its owner. He tried to lean forward to thank Kharis, but the other immediately grabbed his leg again as soon as he made even the slightest semblance of movement. John sighed. “…You’re right”, he reluctantly admitted. “I just… I don’t like having to sit still… I feel like I am being lazy…”
The mummy did nothing for a while, before standing up and grabbing a pen and paper. The archaeologist observed how he began to write fanatically, before folding up the note and handing it to the other. John did not quite know why, but he felt himself blush as he slowly deciphered what Kharis had written down:
‘How is it being lazy when moving hurts you? I do not know the specifics of your injury, but you are in pain. You should not bring that upon yourself.’
The archaeologist frowned. This could be another opportunity for him to try and sharpen up his hieroglyphics a bit more, he supposed. He tried to sit up again to get more writing material, before laying down and sighing as he felt his leg ache again. “…Could you please get me some more paper?”, he asked Kharis. “I can’t reach it without having to walk.”
The mummy seemed pleased by that request, patting John on the head as if he was a pet that had finally understood a command before eagerly getting him more paper. He scribbled down another note, handing it over to the archaeologist again:
‘Ask me if you need anything. You focus on soothing the pain.’
John frowned, scratching his chin in deep thought before responding:
‘Leg healed wrong. Broke it. Walked long distance yesterday. Just needs time, I think.’
‘You have a cane.’
‘Do not like to use.’
‘Why?’
John stayed silent for a long time as he read that word.
Why?
For some reason, those few symbols threw him off completely. He was not one to think about his feelings too intently. He had never even… thought about it, really.
Why did he feel uncomfortable using his cane, indeed…?
He rubbed his temples, before directly looking Kharis in the eye. “…It makes me feel weak, I suppose…”, he hesitantly muttered. “…I shouldn’t have to use it. Barely anyone has to use one. I- I’m not an old man, I…” He sighed, looking at the floor. “…I just don’t want to be seen having an injury like this…”
Kharis thought for a moment, intently staring at the archaeologist’s leg. He then began to write again, as elegant as ever. John could not help but be fascinated by it as he observed it.
‘A weak man would not have escaped my former master’s wrath. A weak man would not have been able to put up a fight against me, even if it ended so quickly.’
He paused for a few seconds, before continuing:
‘…A weak man would not have offered a creature like me so much kindness. Even if I have done nothing but plague you and your family. Even after all that, you remain… so terribly, terribly kind to me. I do not understand it. But even then, I know that a weak man would not have treated me like you do.’
The archaeologist felt that familiar strange feeling in his stomach rise up once again as he read those words, something about them moving him so much that he did not have words to describe it. “Kharis…”, he softly muttered, looking at the mummy. He could not look away from that profound sadness that always haunted the man’s eyes, even back when he had been forced into violence.
Seeing that look on his face, the only thing that John could think of was why someone wouldn’t show kindness to this tortured soul?
“Kharis…”, he repeated. “You of all people in this entire world deserves, no… needs kindness.”
Observing the mummy’s face for a moment, he could swear that he could see some faint tears building up in his eyes. Kharis moved a little closer, before writing down another note.
‘And that is where your strength lies. If only you could see it yourself… If only you could give yourself the kindness that you need.’
He let his hand rest over John’s injured leg, gently holding it in place.
‘But I will happily happily provide it instead. Please let me repay you.’
The archaeologist stayed silent for a while, frowning. It was strange… he had never seen it like that. He had always pushed through the pain. Or any hardship, for that matter. It was how he had been raised. It was the reason why he did not return to camp to have his leg set when the accident happened in the first place… Doing that would mean seriously delaying everything, and why shouldn’t he have pushed through back then? Especially when it concerned such an important archaeological discovery…
…Ever since this whole business with Kharis had begun, he would often think back to that day. What would have happened if he had not been prevented from entering that tomb by his injury… Would he have witnessed the undead priest first? Would the sight have shattered his mind like it did to his father, or would he have managed to walk away unscathed?
…So many questions. And now, this very same mummy that had been forced to kill his father and his uncle and almost succeeded at killing him, had it not been for Isobel… Now, he was sitting by his side, keeping his injury from getting worse like a guard dog, pressing him to be kind to himself.
Even if John didn’t want to admit it, he couldn’t help but feel that strange feeling in his stomach again as he thought about it all.
He let out a sigh, before looking at the mummy and giving him a nod.
“Very well, Kharis”, he said. “I will. For your sake.”
The old priest narrowed his eyes in glee. Had his face not been covered in bandages, the archaeologist might have been able to spot a smile on his face for the very first time. He readjusted the pillows that John was leaning against, before standing up and searching around the room for a while.
The archaeologist was about to ask him what he was planning to do when the mummy returned carrying a soft blanket, gently draping it over the other’s body and tucking him in, taking particular care when wrapping it around John’s leg. He then gave his companion another pat on the head before shuffling off to the kitchen, where he remained for a while. Sitting up as much as he could without hurting his injury, the archaeologist tried to listen and deduce what Kharis was doing with a confused frown on his face. It seemed like he was taking his duties as a caretaker very seriously, despite his charge’s countless insistences that he was fine.
After a while, the mummy returned carrying a steaming mug. He offered it to John, staring intently at him with those big brown eyes of his. The archaeologist carefully took it, inspecting its contents and raising his eyebrows in surprise as he noticed a familiar scent coming from the liquid.
Ginger tea. A personal favourite of his, especially during these cold months.
He looked back at Kharis to thank him, but he noticed that the mummy was busy writing yet another note. He waited for him to be done, taking a few sips from his beverage and noting that it was the perfect blend of sweet and spicy, precisely how he liked it. When Kharis gave him the note to read, he could not help but blush:
‘Isobel was so kind as to show me how to make this… ‘tea’, you call it? She gave me a few sips of it. I quite like it. She also said that you like to have yours steeped for four minutes and one lump of sugar, so I made it just like that.’
“That… that is very kind of you, Kharis”, he muttered, looking away to hide how red his cheeks were becoming. He simply took some more sips from his drink before looking back at the mummy, who showed him another note.
‘I remember a similar drink from back then. We made it with the hibiscus plant. Very tart, a bit bitter. The scent wafting from your cup brings me back to those old days.’
Fascinating, John thought to himself. It was then that he realised that Kharis had never really talked about his life before… well, mummification. He tilted his head with curiosity as he scratched his chin, deep in thought. He had never really asked the mummy about any of those things, and yet, as the two of them were getting along better and better, he could not help but wonder.
“...Do you miss those times, Kharis?”, he asked.
The priest stared into the distance for a while, a wistful, melancholic look in his eyes. The archaeologist began to regret asking such a personal question just as Kharis began to write again, a pensive frown on his face.
‘More than anything, I… regret. I regret my own actions, but I also regret fate. How… cruel it was. I did not choose to fall in love with her. She did not choose to fall in love with me… And yet, we were both punished for it, in our own ways. I can only pray that she did not have to go through the same suffering that I did.’
He paused for a moment, before adding to the note:
‘It brings me joy, seeing Isobel happy. It makes me think that wherever Ananka is, she has the very same smile on her face. It… brings peace, in a way.’
Having finished his tea, John put his mug down and just… stared at Kharis in silence. Poor fellow. What horrible, unimaginable torment he must have suffered through… and for what reason? In the end, all he did was love someone. The archaeologist found himself completely overwhelmed by the sheer pity he felt for the priest, so much that he was at a loss for words. And so they simply stared at each other, both unable to speak.
John did not quite know why he did it, but before he knew it he had opened up his arms to offer a comforting embrace, and the mummy quickly accepted it.
He felt his heart beating in his chest as he held the other, his head feeling like it was spinning, and yet he did not let go as he gently patted the priest’s back.
“There, there”, he stammered, a bit awkwardly, but most of all tenderly. “It’s all right. I want to help you find peace from all that suffering. And who knows… there must be a way to break this curse. I will find it. I promise.”
Kharis gave a nod, closing his eyes as he softly squeezed John’s hand, almost as if to say thank you. He did not move out of the embrace, but the archaeologist strangely did not mind it. If anything, the pressure of being held felt rather… nice, actually. He closed his eyes as well, feeling the warmth of the tea spread through his body and hopefully warming the mummy up a bit as well.
Before he knew it he drifted off to sleep, the pain in his leg melting away and being replaced by nothing but sheer comfort.
Perhaps, it was a good idea to be more gentle with himself after all.
***
Isobel was surprised to find the house so quiet when she returned home. John hadn’t gone out again, had he? If he had, she just prayed that he had taken his cane with him this time around… She had not liked it when her husband had set out for London yesterday without even considering packing it, should anything happen. Isobel shook her head. She was going to have to keep a closer eye on that in the future. She would not allow her husband to end up getting hurt like that again, not if she had anything to say about it.
She was pleasantly surprised, however, upon entering the living room, discovering the reason for the silence
John was thankfully at home, peacefully asleep on the couch. What surprised her more, however, was the fact that Kharis lay next to him, perfectly content and sleeping as well, curled around the other with his long body like a cat. The sight was so incredibly endearing, she couldn’t help but smile at it. She stepped towards them, taking the blanket that John was sleeping under and draping it over the both of them, ensuring that the mummy would stay warm as well. She then lovingly ruffled her husband's hair and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead, giving him a loving smile.
“Rest well, boys”, she whispered softly. “You’ve both earned it.”