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last01standingTitle: This Time Around
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Mainly for The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull , mentions of Raiders and the Last Crusade.
Disclaimer: I can lay no claim to Indiana Jones.
Notes: I appear to be stuck in second person. But hey if it means Indy fic, that’s all right.
Summary: The first time he left, you learned to hate him. [Marion, The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull]
This Time Around
The first time he left, you learned to hate him.
But you didn’t hate him. Not really. It was just something to tell yourself until he came back. And he did come back and before you knew it, you were falling again. You told yourself it was going to end badly, that this would never work and then on the boat, he looks at you, face all beat to hell and you loose all semblance of your self control.
You know it’s going to end messy, but it’s going to be damn good while it lasts.
And it lasts a lot longer then you expect it to. It lasts a good year, through dates and vacations and most of the wedding preparations and then it’s over like it never even happened. Under the heartache, you’re surprised he let it get this far.
A month after he leaves, you find out about the pregnancy. And you hate him again. Just a little.
________________________________________________________________________
A year after he left you, Indy sends a letter. You get it the day after you bring your son (his son) back from the hospital. It’s a long letter, somewhat convoluted as if he’s looking to capture the rush of one of his adventures on paper. It’s an account about the Nazis looking for the holy grail and his father almost dying. The entire letter is so fantastic, you almost don’t believe it was true, but then you remember the Lost Arc and melted faces and you reconsider.
There’s nothing in the letter about how he left you or why and you find you’re not surprised. He signs it missing you, Indy in that same cramped chicken scrawl you remember.
You don’t hate him anymore.
________________________________________________________________________
You almost name your son Indiana. But then you remember how much he hated his real name and scribbled Henry Jones on the birth certificate. Years later, little Henry decides Mutt’s a much better name and you wonder what the hell it is with Jones men and dogs.
________________________________________________________________________
You marry Colin Williams who’s intelligent and steady and stable. He comes from the same sort of background Indy does, a professor of physics at Berkley, but you don’t think they could be more different. Colin is one of those in the classroom types that Indy always despised. He’s sensible and dignified and charming and your first real date is in a high-end restaurant where you order salmon and white wine and try not to laugh at Colin when he makes the mistake of trying to keep up with your pace.
Indy probably would have destroyed that restaurant, you remember thinking. He would have destroyed the place, incapacitated a few dozen Nazis and started off running. But that was Indy for you, wild and passionate and unpredictable. Colin on the other hand walks you to the door, slurring his words and stumbling just a little as he plants a shy kiss on your cheek. And it’s good. Really it is. It’s so good you say yes when he asks you to marry him and it doesn’t bother you when your son calls him Dad. Because he’s a good father and a good man and you’re as happy as you’ve ever been.
The day Colin dies is the worst one of your life. He’s shot down overseas just like millions of others. You’ve been waiting for this since he left, expecting the worst every second he was gone.
Oddly, you weren’t the slightest bit worried about Indy. After what you’ve seen him do, you’re half surprised he doesn’t topple the Nazi regime on his lonesome.
________________________________________________________________________
Henry gets older and you start to see pieces of Indy shining out around the edges of his personality. You see it in the way he looks at you when you tell him stories about his father (and Colin is his father because Colin’s the one who stayed, no matter how much you wish things were different). He stops answering to Henry, starts calling himself Mutt (and you used to think Indiana was a stupid name). He spends his time at the places where all the greasers hang out. He starts talking about owning a motorcycle. He still listens to Oxley’s stories but he stops listening to the teachers at school and then he drops out of school all together. You try to push him back in, but Henry’s a stubborn kid. It shouldn’t surprise you. After all, look at his parents. Indy’s the most stubborn bastard you know. And you, well, you certainly have your moments.
So you roll with the punches. You always were good at that. You buy him a leather jacket for his sixteenth birthday and then a switchblade for his seventeenth. You call him Mutt when he won’t answer to Henry, but make it a point to roll your eyes at the stupid nickname.
You object to the motorcycle. Strongly. But you suspect that your objections only make the damn thing that much more attractive. You look on the bright side.
It could have been a bull whip.
________________________________________________________________________
Mutt leaves when he turns nineteen. You’re honestly surprised he made it that long. Ever since he was a kid he’s always been on the move, climbing, getting into trouble. He sends you a letter from every town he stops in. They tend to be brief and to the point and you know for a fact that he’s not telling you most of his stories. That he’s probably off getting into bar fights and taunting communists in his free time. Oxley tells you not to worry, but you’re a mother. What else are you supposed to do?
So you go about your day like normal, talk to Ox, go to your bar and pour drinks and listen to sob stories that aren’t half as sad as yours.
And you try not to think about the way the postmarks on Mutt’s letters are getting closer and closer to Marshell college were a certain Dr. Jones got his tenure five years prior.
________________________________________________________________________
Oxley leaves for a couple weeks on an expedition one day, looking for some fabled crystal skull in the Amazon. He asks you to come with him, says between your dad and Indy, you’ve got experience. You turn him down cold saying you’d rather not romp around in a jungle for weeks on end. The Sahara was bad enough and there wasn’t even any mud there.
About a month later, a group of Russian communists kidnap you out of your house and your last thought before you lose consciousness is somehow this is probably Indy’s fault.
________________________________________________________________________
They want some of Oxley’s notes translated. The poor old man really isn’t in the right state to do it himself. You can’t make heads or tails of it, but they’d pulled your name out of the mess that is Oxley’s head and it’s translate the thing or die.
You’d really rather not die and there’s only one person you know outside Oxley himself who could translate this stuff.
So you tell them there’s this guy you know who could do the job for you. His name is Henry Jones. You see the gleam of recognition in their eyes and you smile. You know this is a trap, but you also know Indy. They aren’t going to know what hit them.
The black haired one with the bob cut tells you to send the letter. You address it to Henry Jones but you send it to Mutt.
________________________________________________________________________
It’s just like old times. From the second Indy shows up, you don’t stop moving don’t stop running and with the adrenaline pumping, you feel twenty years younger.
You never meant to tell him about Mutt. You don’t need him after all. You’ve made it this long without him and you can damn well make it longer. But you think you’re going to die and well, it wasn’t a secret you wanted to take to the grave.
Shock flickers across his face, then disbelief, anger and frustration. It’s not the reaction you wanted per say, but it’s the one you expected.
Then something strange happens. Indy slips into the role of a father with remarkable ease even if Mutt doesn’t approve. There’s still a certain amount of frustration, but it’s tinged with pride and you realize you’re stuck with him now. Indy’s as stubborn as you are and he’s not giving this up without a fight.
And boy, Indy can still fight. You’re impressed with despite yourself. It’s nowhere near as smooth as you remember but he’s never been the world’s most graceful fighter. He just gets it done.
For a second you think it’s still twenty years ago and you’re racing through the desert trying to hop a Nazi plane but before you get caught up in the memory, you see your son fighting just like his father and your heart stops for a moment. Watching him fight is like watching him break through all his bravado, break through the front he’s put up for years. This is what he was made to do.
And it’s beautiful.
________________________________________________________________________
It’s not until this whole thing is over that time slows down enough to let you see things properly. The four of you are standing on old Mayan ruins watching as the Amazon swallows all evidence of the fantastic. You feel the adrenaline leaving your system as Indy comes up beside you and puts a hand over your shoulder. You look up at him, half-expecting to see the same man who stormed into your life all those years ago. But that’s not who you see at all.
Indy got older. He grew up.
Then again so did you.
You think it might work this time around.
(end)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Mainly for The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull , mentions of Raiders and the Last Crusade.
Disclaimer: I can lay no claim to Indiana Jones.
Notes: I appear to be stuck in second person. But hey if it means Indy fic, that’s all right.
Summary: The first time he left, you learned to hate him. [Marion, The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull]
The first time he left, you learned to hate him.
But you didn’t hate him. Not really. It was just something to tell yourself until he came back. And he did come back and before you knew it, you were falling again. You told yourself it was going to end badly, that this would never work and then on the boat, he looks at you, face all beat to hell and you loose all semblance of your self control.
You know it’s going to end messy, but it’s going to be damn good while it lasts.
And it lasts a lot longer then you expect it to. It lasts a good year, through dates and vacations and most of the wedding preparations and then it’s over like it never even happened. Under the heartache, you’re surprised he let it get this far.
A month after he leaves, you find out about the pregnancy. And you hate him again. Just a little.
A year after he left you, Indy sends a letter. You get it the day after you bring your son (his son) back from the hospital. It’s a long letter, somewhat convoluted as if he’s looking to capture the rush of one of his adventures on paper. It’s an account about the Nazis looking for the holy grail and his father almost dying. The entire letter is so fantastic, you almost don’t believe it was true, but then you remember the Lost Arc and melted faces and you reconsider.
There’s nothing in the letter about how he left you or why and you find you’re not surprised. He signs it missing you, Indy in that same cramped chicken scrawl you remember.
You don’t hate him anymore.
You almost name your son Indiana. But then you remember how much he hated his real name and scribbled Henry Jones on the birth certificate. Years later, little Henry decides Mutt’s a much better name and you wonder what the hell it is with Jones men and dogs.
You marry Colin Williams who’s intelligent and steady and stable. He comes from the same sort of background Indy does, a professor of physics at Berkley, but you don’t think they could be more different. Colin is one of those in the classroom types that Indy always despised. He’s sensible and dignified and charming and your first real date is in a high-end restaurant where you order salmon and white wine and try not to laugh at Colin when he makes the mistake of trying to keep up with your pace.
Indy probably would have destroyed that restaurant, you remember thinking. He would have destroyed the place, incapacitated a few dozen Nazis and started off running. But that was Indy for you, wild and passionate and unpredictable. Colin on the other hand walks you to the door, slurring his words and stumbling just a little as he plants a shy kiss on your cheek. And it’s good. Really it is. It’s so good you say yes when he asks you to marry him and it doesn’t bother you when your son calls him Dad. Because he’s a good father and a good man and you’re as happy as you’ve ever been.
The day Colin dies is the worst one of your life. He’s shot down overseas just like millions of others. You’ve been waiting for this since he left, expecting the worst every second he was gone.
Oddly, you weren’t the slightest bit worried about Indy. After what you’ve seen him do, you’re half surprised he doesn’t topple the Nazi regime on his lonesome.
Henry gets older and you start to see pieces of Indy shining out around the edges of his personality. You see it in the way he looks at you when you tell him stories about his father (and Colin is his father because Colin’s the one who stayed, no matter how much you wish things were different). He stops answering to Henry, starts calling himself Mutt (and you used to think Indiana was a stupid name). He spends his time at the places where all the greasers hang out. He starts talking about owning a motorcycle. He still listens to Oxley’s stories but he stops listening to the teachers at school and then he drops out of school all together. You try to push him back in, but Henry’s a stubborn kid. It shouldn’t surprise you. After all, look at his parents. Indy’s the most stubborn bastard you know. And you, well, you certainly have your moments.
So you roll with the punches. You always were good at that. You buy him a leather jacket for his sixteenth birthday and then a switchblade for his seventeenth. You call him Mutt when he won’t answer to Henry, but make it a point to roll your eyes at the stupid nickname.
You object to the motorcycle. Strongly. But you suspect that your objections only make the damn thing that much more attractive. You look on the bright side.
It could have been a bull whip.
Mutt leaves when he turns nineteen. You’re honestly surprised he made it that long. Ever since he was a kid he’s always been on the move, climbing, getting into trouble. He sends you a letter from every town he stops in. They tend to be brief and to the point and you know for a fact that he’s not telling you most of his stories. That he’s probably off getting into bar fights and taunting communists in his free time. Oxley tells you not to worry, but you’re a mother. What else are you supposed to do?
So you go about your day like normal, talk to Ox, go to your bar and pour drinks and listen to sob stories that aren’t half as sad as yours.
And you try not to think about the way the postmarks on Mutt’s letters are getting closer and closer to Marshell college were a certain Dr. Jones got his tenure five years prior.
Oxley leaves for a couple weeks on an expedition one day, looking for some fabled crystal skull in the Amazon. He asks you to come with him, says between your dad and Indy, you’ve got experience. You turn him down cold saying you’d rather not romp around in a jungle for weeks on end. The Sahara was bad enough and there wasn’t even any mud there.
About a month later, a group of Russian communists kidnap you out of your house and your last thought before you lose consciousness is somehow this is probably Indy’s fault.
They want some of Oxley’s notes translated. The poor old man really isn’t in the right state to do it himself. You can’t make heads or tails of it, but they’d pulled your name out of the mess that is Oxley’s head and it’s translate the thing or die.
You’d really rather not die and there’s only one person you know outside Oxley himself who could translate this stuff.
So you tell them there’s this guy you know who could do the job for you. His name is Henry Jones. You see the gleam of recognition in their eyes and you smile. You know this is a trap, but you also know Indy. They aren’t going to know what hit them.
The black haired one with the bob cut tells you to send the letter. You address it to Henry Jones but you send it to Mutt.
It’s just like old times. From the second Indy shows up, you don’t stop moving don’t stop running and with the adrenaline pumping, you feel twenty years younger.
You never meant to tell him about Mutt. You don’t need him after all. You’ve made it this long without him and you can damn well make it longer. But you think you’re going to die and well, it wasn’t a secret you wanted to take to the grave.
Shock flickers across his face, then disbelief, anger and frustration. It’s not the reaction you wanted per say, but it’s the one you expected.
Then something strange happens. Indy slips into the role of a father with remarkable ease even if Mutt doesn’t approve. There’s still a certain amount of frustration, but it’s tinged with pride and you realize you’re stuck with him now. Indy’s as stubborn as you are and he’s not giving this up without a fight.
And boy, Indy can still fight. You’re impressed with despite yourself. It’s nowhere near as smooth as you remember but he’s never been the world’s most graceful fighter. He just gets it done.
For a second you think it’s still twenty years ago and you’re racing through the desert trying to hop a Nazi plane but before you get caught up in the memory, you see your son fighting just like his father and your heart stops for a moment. Watching him fight is like watching him break through all his bravado, break through the front he’s put up for years. This is what he was made to do.
And it’s beautiful.
It’s not until this whole thing is over that time slows down enough to let you see things properly. The four of you are standing on old Mayan ruins watching as the Amazon swallows all evidence of the fantastic. You feel the adrenaline leaving your system as Indy comes up beside you and puts a hand over your shoulder. You look up at him, half-expecting to see the same man who stormed into your life all those years ago. But that’s not who you see at all.
Indy got older. He grew up.
Then again so did you.
You think it might work this time around.
(end)
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3/6/08 14:27 (UTC)