I know this is an actual fanfic, but for some reason I felt it would be more suited for this site. Besides, I've seen other fanfics on this site before. I think the fact that this is based on my own point-of-view makes it more suitable to put it up here. This isn't any special kind of story - in fact, many of you may be disappointed or like "wtf?" when and if you get done reading it. Doesn't matter - this site is free to all.

Just so it's less confusing, this man I'm referring to is Al Capone - played by Jon Bernthal in the second Night at the Museum movie. But the actor hardly matters - we all know it's the character we're focusing on here. ;)

And yes, I do think he is tragically handsome.

Night After Night

It wasn't until I had first laid eyes on him that I began frequenting the Museum of Natural History. I didn't really have a motive - I had been there before, of course, and was naturally and properly dazzled by the exhibits on display. Who wouldn't be? But later, when the museum underwent some modifications and introduced an entirely new set of attractions (and I mean that quite literally), I found one in particular that made my visits there so recurrent, that by then I had memorized every statue, every display, every corner and hallway. But it wasn't those things I paid attention to.

What I did pay attention to was a man.

To be honest…he was actually part of the museum's attractions. He was an exhibit.

It's weird, I know…that I would be this smitten by someone that, technically, is not even real. At least, not 24/7. I can't help it. The very first time I saw him, he was strolling (or rather, swaggering) through the museum halls. Thinking back on it now, it's surprisingly hard to remember what my first impression of him was. I know for sure I thought he was good-looking - more specifically, drop-dead handsome. But the full-force of his magnetism didn't hit me until later, when I decided to come back to the museum to take another look around for…for someone's sake.

In truth, I think the subconscious part of my mind really came back because of him. Something about him intrigued me immensely, and I didn't even realize it at first. I suppose, though, a part of me must have, because I didn't have much of a reason to go back other than him. After all, I had been there several times before, so it wasn't like I was seeing everything at the museum for the first time.

First and foremost, what, exactly, is it that I find so appealing about this man? I've thought about it, and I've come to the conclusion that it's…just everything. He walks through the halls in black and white, his gun held faithfully at his side, seemingly looking for someone, or something to do. He seems restless and, at times, impatient. He strikes me as the type of man who likes action, the type who likes things to go his way. He's sleek and confident, and not just a little intimidating.

Of course, I don't know - this is all observation. I've never spoken to him before. I've come to this museum night after night just to see him. Yet I've never spoken to him.

A lot of people probably think I'm stalking (can you stalk a museum exhibit?), so lately I've had to make my visits to the museum less frequent. But heck, who wouldn't go back to a museum whose attractions come to life each night?

But about this speaking thing…in a way, I've so wanted to! And of course another part of me is afraid. What if he doesn't like me? What if he thinks I'm a pest? What if he tries to pull his gun on me? Biggest of all…what do I say?

I just don't feel comfortable with the possibility that I might ruin any chance with this guy.

…And wait, what am I saying? My chances can't be ruined because I have no chances. There are countless things that would prevent us from ever developing a relationship, even if he was interested in me. I don't even know if he's ever so much as looked at me, in all this time. Sure, I've done enough looking for the both of us, but attraction can't be one-way. It just can't. Only one of two things could happen: he's interested in me, or he's not. I'm so helplessly smitten and afraid, that when the question arises, "Is he interested?" I would rather still have "yes" be a possibility than have a definite "no." If he refused, there would be no going back to my fantasies of "what ifs." It would be destroyed, completely and utterly.

I don't know which is worse - living with an unanswered question, or living with the prospect of his answer basically being no. Neither seemed bearable.

According to what's been said about this museum, all of the exhibits revert back to their solid selves during the day, and come back to life at night.

I say to myself: Are you serious? Do you really think a relationship would work out?

No. No, I don't. I don't think it would work at all.

I've said that to myself a thousand times by now, and I still can't get that guy out of my head. I still imagine a time when I might actually try to talk to him, and get to know him (at the very least, get to know him). That is, knowing the man behind the crimes and countless other dark deeds he's no doubt performed. Which is another reason I shouldn't be wanting him like this.

He's obviously a dangerous criminal. Everyone knows that. Al Capone - leader of a powerful crime syndicate, and not just any leader - their greatest leader. Why do they think he's in a museum? He's the last kind of person I ever imagined myself becoming enamored with.

But it's weird…when I look at him, I see a handsome young man who has the air of someone who knew he couldn't lose. Overly-confident, fearless, and ferocious. My heart made a decision for me: I had to know him.

This night I followed routine and entered the museum a little after nightfall. As usual, the place was crowded and full of people, families marveling over the exhibits - now moving around as freely as the observers. The only comfort I actually got out of the crowds was that it probably made my constant appearances less noticeable. Ah well, at the very least, I'm sure the people who run the museum are grateful for the money from my membership.

I immediately directed myself to the place where his cardboard standee was on display. Of course, I did pretend to walk nonchalantly past it, as if I was just glancing around the area like a mildly interested tourist or something. My mouth parted when I saw that the standee wasn't there - he came to life. So where was he?

I walked a little faster down the enormous hallways, sliding past observers and dodging out-of-control little kids who, apparently, got a little too excited about being in a museum full of exhibits that came to life (not that I blame them). There was a faint pounding in the halls behind me, and I knew it could only be the t-rex skeleton - a favorite among many of those who, like myself, frequented the museum. Kinda weird, because he didn't usually stray from his pedestal (I think it was a game of his that he liked to play with the observers - pretending like he was some kind of robot, then scaring the living daylights out of pretty much anyone he wanted.)

I grew more anxious the farther I went. The man didn't seem to be anywhere. Yet not a moment too soon, I turned a corner and there he was. His back was faced toward me, so I couldn't tell what he was doing - but it looked like he was staring at the statue of Columbus. Or was it the window?

My throat constricted and I quickly turned back the way I came. I leaned against the cold wall and folded my arms, unsure of what to do. My mind wandered. Why was I doing this, again? Why was I using my free time to come to this museum night after night just to observe this one man? Who, by the way, I couldn't even sum up the courage to talk to. It was beyond pathetic.

I took a deep breath and sunk to the floor, arms comfortably folded over my knees. At the moment, I didn't really care if any passers-by glanced at me - wondering why in the world this person was sitting on the floor in a museum full of live, moving, talking exhibitions. Well, they'd probably be too busy gawking at said exhibitions themselves anyway.

And speaking of gawking, I chanced a glance around the corner to see if Mr. Capone was still there. He wasn't. I stared at the empty spot where he had been, wondering where he had gone.

Retreating back to my position, I let my eyes wander down the hallway. Several animals, and a few soldiers in uniform were heading my way, but I chose to ignore them. I took out my wallet, just so as not to look too pathetic, and pretended I was looking for something. When they passed, my eyes lingered on a library card I had signed up for, but almost never used.

After about half an hour of contemplating what I should do, I gave up.

'This is crazy,' I thought. 'I'm going home.'

I was never going to get anywhere with this guy. I wondered how much longer I would be coming back to this museum just for his sake. The logical side of my mind told me that none of it mattered - that I was the only one in the building who cared that I was there. It's amazing how much more alone you feel when you're attracted to someone who doesn't even know you exist (ironic, isn't it?) I guess he wouldn't, though. I've never made an effort to make myself known to him. All I've been so far is a quiet observer.

No…it had to be more than that. It went beyond just wanting to stare at him - which, I couldn't lie, I seriously enjoyed doing. To be even more blatantly honest, I have never been attracted to a guy before. Sure, there were men I thought were handsome, but in all honestly, mister Al "Scarface" Capone is the first man I have ever truly been drawn to.

I understand, of course, that the Al Capone who existed years and years ago looked nothing like the one that walked this museum at night. This young one was merely a model of a younger-looking Al.

Easing myself up, I sighed and peeked around the corner one last time. As if I expected to see him standing there again, in that dashing pinstripe suit.

Still…I couldn't help but thinking in the end, none of it mattered. My coming here night after night didn't matter, and my fascination with him didn't matter. I was intrigued with him because of his looks, and because of his demeanor. Who would he be if he were to interact with me? Nothing I could do would ever change the kind of person he is, and I would never have it any other way. Sure, it may be painful to see him, to know he's there every night and yet I'm unable to speak to him (out of my own cowardice.)

But maybe, for his own sake, it's better that way. Probably, some other girl will come along - one with confidence who obviously has the guts to make a move - or vice versa - and strike up conversation with him. Just as well. I am so not worthy of that gorgeous man. He deserves better than me, even if he is a criminal. It didn't matter, I couldn't help but feel that he was out of my league, as it was. Who as I to him?

No…no…I still wanted him.

My footsteps were silenced by the commotion of the guests and museum inhabitants. The marble hallways shone as beautifully and elegantly as they always have - oblivious, as if something tragic had not just occurred within their walls. I let my eyes stray through the crowd only for a minute as I made my way toward the exit. Perhaps I was looking for him?

The night air was chilly, and I put my hands in my pockets, heading in the direction toward home. It was another night come and gone. No change, no nothing. But I did see him. That, at least, I am grateful for.

Oh well...