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Marion Ravenwood sat alone. Her father’s colleagues drank scotch and smoked (well, most of them smoked) and were in a rare state of reminiscing their past adventures and prizes claimed. The daughter of the famous archeologist sat in the corner and sipped her tea while the stuffy old men laughed uproariously at a joke pointed at the youngest member, a certain Dr. Henry Jones, Jr.
Marion watched as the younger man (admittedly a considerable amount of years older than she) huffed a charming smile and stretched, nesting his large hands in his mop of sandy brown hair. He looked handsome in his jacket and tie, all black, almost like it wasn’t designed for such a casual meeting. He averted his eyes to the watchful stare of Marion and winked. She stiffened and blushed, and his smile only grew wider.
“Marion, why don’t you come over here and enlighten us with that bookish knowledge of yours,” he called. He returned his attention to the laughing men at the table. “But really, she’s read more than any of us, especially since her father and I barely let her do anything at the digs.” His crooked smile was aimed sarcastically at Marion and she played along, realizing that he was just teasing her, as usual.
“Just don’t believe a girl can do a man’s work, is what I say,” Marion ventured. She watched ‘Indiana’—’Indy’s’ face change to faux perplexment as she finished speaking. She glanced at her father, who had his head bowed and was shaking it gently. Of course he disagreed, said that they were worried about her safety, worried about the other men in the dig getting a hold of the only woman in camp, but Marion liked to think that it was just his overprotectiveness. Honestly, Indy was bad with it sometimes, too, but she didn’t have to remind him too many times that she had survived worse with neither of them around.
Jones opened his mouth to speak but Marion silenced him with a glare. She may be younger, but he knew to watch it around her. She would not hesitate to bring up something that may make him look like a fool, and considering his name was Indiana Jones, it was very easy for her. He had made mistakes that someone who had never worked in the field before would be hasty to make, and being the proud bastard he was, he’d try to make up for it by only making matters worse.
“You know, most girls just talk about college or something when they’re called upon,” said Indy, rather errantly.
“Most girls don’t go gallivanting around the world with their father and his assistant and discover long-lost treasures,” she said melodramatically. “But if you insist I talk about my education, it’s pretty self-explanatory. Archeology is in my blood, gentlemen, and I intend to keep it that way.” She clapped Indy on the shoulder (really, they had become great friends over the time that she had spent with him) and strode out of the room.
She ran up the steps and to her room, where she shut the door and flopped down on the bed. She took her long black hair in her fingers and began to plait it messily. The dress she wore via her father’s demands rode up scandalously and left the very tops of her thighs for anyone who may be bold or stupid enough to barge into her room without knocking.
With a soft smile, she got up and crossed the room to her bookshelf. It was filled with many non-fiction tomes about many legends on artifacts and peoples (Indy had bought most them for her last Christmas), but also contained some literature and shorter novels and novellas. She chose a book about the Maya and cracked it open. Indiana Jones had shared his knowledge of them with her as a first lesson a few months ago, and when he had given her the book for Christmas (privately, for this one was more special), he had enclosed a small moleskin of ‘observations.’ They were notes he had written in a journal or other scraps of paper about how she picked things up or how certain things caused certain reactions out of her. He called it “The Book of Marion.” It was meant as friendly and courteous to show his respect of her, but turned into something more poignant the more she read into it. Really, he was not interested in her: it was just professional pleasantry, but the way he looked at her lately caused Marion to form keen but cautious suspicions, and she read his observations more now as if he meant them in a more than friendly way.
The first time he had acted differently was when he had given her the book itself. He wasn’t really there to see the reaction, but on Christmas Eve, he had placed the book just inside her room (her door was open and he had just slipped it in, as to not intrude on her privacy). She found it that evening after he left, but, recognizing his flamboyant scrawl, waited until the next morning to open it. Originally, she found it dull, but obviously it’s hidden content was of much greater interest. She thought that he had placed it in the book by accident, but when he returned for Christmas dinner, he did not seem distressed and asked in a tone that was much more interested than had the right to be if she had liked it.
When she had nodded, he cracked a wide smile and his hand rested on the shoulder exposed by her dress (once again forced upon her by her father). His thumb had moved softly against her skin and she looked up at him in a mild state of alarm. Immediately he backed off and returned to the dining room to drink with her father. He left her confused and wishing for an explanation, but maybe there was one in the book that she had not yet read.
The next time was New Year’s Eve. Abner had an archeology party to go to and he had left his daughter home alone. He had made her swear she would not misbehave, so when Indy came over, he took her out on the town. The cold attacked the two of them as the wind whipped down the streets of Chicago. Marion found herself cuddled into Indy’s side and his arm around her as if nothing else could be more natural. He smelled good and he was so warm. His arms were loose around her and they stood together in the street as the clocks struck midnight.
“He may never know,” she muttered in his chest. The cheering nearly drowned her out, but she clung to him, nearly afraid that the wind or the throngs of people would drag her away from him and this chance she had to feel like a real woman. All women got kissed as the clocks struck midnight, as far as she was concerned, and being seventeen, there was no reason that her lips should still be subject to their virginity much longer. A rumble in her companion’s chest caused her to lift her head and look at him. The lights struck around his fedora and cast dark shadows around his face. His eyes were bright in the white evening and he stared at her as if she were a new creation. He must have hummed as a means of asking for clarification, but by the way he was looking at her, she feared repeating herself. She had always fancied being kissed by a handsome man, but the fact that it was Indiana Jones, a man much her senior, as well as the fact that he worked with her father, who if finding out would breathe fire enough to burn the entire city down again, made her hesitant to reiterate her speculation.
“Did you say something, Marion?” His voice was raspy and blew a cloud in her face. She smiled sweetly at him and he blinked a few times, taken aback by the sudden change in the air.
“I was just thinking…” She trailed off as the masses abated. “We should head back soon,” she added, not bothering to use the first phrase as a segway to her self-preserving thoughts. Indy nodded in agreement and offered his arm to her. She took it stiffly and walked beside him slowly. He hailed a cab and they rode together in silence all the way back to her house.
“Thank you for such a wonderful night,” she said as they stood on the doorstep. He had told the cab to wait, that he would not be more than five minutes, but the cabbie gave him a knowing grin and said he’d wait all night, and to just remember that the time was ticking. “And what I was saying downtown…it’s nothing, really.” She fiddled with his collar and smoothed her hand over his lapel. “I was just thinking silly girl thoughts.”
“No,” Indy corrected, shaking his head. “I’ve never known you to think silly girl things, Marion. You barely have an ounce of silly in you. Makes you damn frustrating.” He smirked and slowly reached up to cradle her jawline with a calloused, hard-worked hand. Interestingly, Marion mused, he had not worn gloves for their escapade. “You just go and go and you don’t put up with anyone’s shit, especially my own, but you read that in the book,” he said, suddenly doubting himself as he referred to his gift.
“I haven’t read all of it, yet,” she replied, leaning into his touch. “I got to the part where you mentioned how ‘ready-to-work’ I looked with my hair pulled up and when I bit my lip in concentration. You know no one’s ever really paid attention to that before? What do you think you’re playing at, Jones?”
His smirk grew into a cocky grin. “I’d say I feel more than—” The door flew open and Indy jumped away. “Good evening, Abner,” he sputtered, “I was just bringing Marion back from—”
“Get off my doorstep, Jones, and don’t come back until you are invited. This is not your home.” The sharp glare of the large man made the leaner one blink and instantly become submissive.
“Yes, sir.” He made no attempt to argue and Marion was disappointed. That side of Indiana Jones she had not experienced in it’s full fruition before. His shoulders slouched and he shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced back and only looked at Marion. A hint of a smile turned his lips upward and his eyes glittered with mischief. Marion blushed but refused to betray herself with a smile. She knew this was more than platonic. He’d made it evident and their next meeting was surely going to prove quite interesting.
Abner turned Marion away from the charming professor and hurried her inside. After a thorough rebuke, he sent her to bed.
But now he was toying with her. She glanced over to the corner of the room and the small box that was wrapped in the newspaper comics. She smiled at the box and put her book down. She picked it up and returned to her bed with it, rubbing her hand over the cover. There was a tentative knock at the door and Marion jumped, whipping her head around and causing the braid to nearly whip her in the face.
“One moment!” Hastily, she shoved the book under her pillow and righted her dress. She pushed the hair out of her face and took a deep breath. The knock indicated who might be behind the door. Her hand poised on the knob, she readied her most winning smile.
Leaning against the doorpost was one Indiana Jones. He had a soft smirk on his lips and a nearly sinful look in his eye. He reached forward and tugged at the shoulder of her dress. When Marion glanced over, she notice that he had tugged it up. Her breast was overly exposed and an ample amount of flesh was offering itself.
“You should be happy that someone here has some self control,” he said brazenly. “I know some younger men who wouldn’t be so civilized.”
“My father will kill you,” she hissed, pulling him inside and closing the door softly and pressing her back to it. “And he’ll make me clean up the mess.”
“Did you get through the book?” He seemed unphased by her worries. “I thought very hard about it, Marion.”
“I hope you didn’t strain anything,” she quipped. It was followed by smiles on both ends.
“That’s why the boys don’t like you, sweetheart.” He stepped forward so that they were an appropriate space away from each other. “You need someone who can keep up with you.” He lifted her chin with a crooked index finger.
“And who do you think you are,” she said lowly. Indy cocked his head and a soft smile made Marion step a little bit forward. “Do you think you can keep up with me?” They shared the same space. He was a heat that surrounded her and made her wish that he could just take her like this with her father downstairs and it being completely wrong, if she wasn’t so terribly afraid of what might happen in these few moments where everything could sway one way or another.
“I don’t think you can keep up with me,” he said, emphasizing the opposing pronouns. “But what were you saying a few nights ago? Really, I can take anything. I’m sure it was something along the lines of a deathwish.” His sure grin made her want to slap him. He deserved a good smacking every now and then, but this was neither the now nor the then.
“I wasn’t lying, Jones. Silly girl stuff.” She looked embarrassed and traced a pattern in the carpet with her shoe. “You’d think it was stupid.”
“For Christ’s sake, Marion, I already told you that not you and not anything you say is stupid. Get it through your head. I just don’t get that about you. You’ll play with the big guys but when it comes to me you get all gushy and think you’re dumb or something. I just wish I could straighten you out.” He shook her firmly. “You don’t even know what you have going for you.”
“Because I’m a kid, right? That’s all I am to you. What would a kid know about herself? Maybe that’s my problem. Abner’s so busy with finding that damn Ark that he doesn’t care about me as long as I’m not harmed.” She wasn’t phased. Perhaps he wanted to play this way. Her tactics could change in an instant if he regretted what he said, but Indiana Jones wasn’t quick to regret much of anything.
“Abner wouldn’t kill the person who harmed you. He’d be there as the last drops of blood spilled out, though, because if you did’t manage to kick his ass, I’d be there before you can scream my full name.” His voice turned gentle toward the tail end of the last sentence. His eyes were so soft and warm and tired. He had mentioned something about mileage once and perhaps now it was better manifested in his stance. He stood as a man fully exposed. “Are you worried that no man or boy will fancy you enough to kiss you?” He looked at her as she stared at the floor. He took her hand. It was clammy and cold.
“That’s not really what I was thinking…” She shied away, but realized that there was very little space for her to go. Her eyes focussed on him and he was just standing there, ready to listen to her and not judge or dismiss her. He said he didn’t think she was stupid or childish, so she threw caution to the wind. “I’m a woman now, Indy. You know what a woman does? She gets kissed on New Years. If you don’t think I’m some kid, some girl, then it just makes sense, you know?”
“That’s what you were going on about?” He chuckled and shook his head.
“You said you weren’t going to make fun of me!” Her hand was poised to smack him hard across the face, but he caught her mid-swing.
“I did not!” He pointed her in the face for emphasis and released his hold on her. “Marion, if you wanted me to kiss you, you should have mentioned something.”
“But it’s you, and it’s not good. Abner would be furious!”
“Who’s to say he would find out?” Marion recalled the exact thing she had muttered into his chest that night that they were so close in the throng of people and she felt like the entire world had melted away and it was just her and him with his big hands circling her and his strong arms resting around her shoulders. “And what’s so bad about me, anyway?” He sounded indignant, but she knew he was just playing, as he always was when teasing her.
“You’re proud, for one thing,” she said, ruffling his hair but smoothing his brow. He had made a joke and she felt less scared than she had before. As a person who had never been kissed or held in a way that entailed any form of desire, she was apprehensive of what may happen. “But somehow I think I can deal with that. You put yourself in terrible situations and you’re one cocky son of a bitch.”
“I’d say that’s pretty good for someone who’s not good enough for you. Then again, no one really is, are they?” He leaned forward and kissed the back corner of her jaw. She stiffened and gasped, her hands pressing firmly on his chest. Immediately, Indy backed off and watched her intently. “Am I going too fast?”
Marion shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just…”
“You’ve never been kissed before. I was going to fast,” he affirmed. “Here,” he amended. Their lips met softly. She could smell the aftershave he had used before he came to the party. He sighed through his nose and relaxed a little, pulling her toward him by pushing with his palms on the small of her back. Too soon, he broke away and rested his forehead on hers.
“Okay?” He could smell the soap she had used to freshen up. It was sweetly rose scented and mixed with her human scent cleanly. He opened his eyes and found her staring blankly at his chest. “Marion, was that okay?”
Her head rose and she looked at him with a fresh light in her eyes. She crashed their lips together and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands rested on her hips and rubbed up and down, playing with her dress. When is hands moved back to press her closer to him this time, she gasped and he used it to command her mouth with his tongue. They brushed past each other and she recoiled in shock. Slowly, she moved her tongue forward to taste him. The liquor tasted bitter against her unaccustomed tastebuds. Another kind of fluid made her brain blur with drunkenness.
Her breath hitched as he lifted her to rest on his hips. He held her up on his own volition, taking advantage of her light frame. Her hands clutched his face desperately and their noses crossed each other’s paths slowly as the desperation of all of those repressed smiles and looks poured out of them. The stubble that he missed tickled her upper lip and she huffed out a sigh of pleasure. Indy took that as an excuse to pause and catch their breaths.
He set her down softly on the carpet. She nuzzled into his neck and inhaled deeply. She had embraced that smell before and had loved it since that night a few days ago when she really got the chance to break through the sweat and dirt that always masked him. He had embraced her before on digs when things had gone exactly as planned, and that really was only on the last few days of the last dig. He hadn’t touched her until Christmas dinner a few weeks ago. Perhaps that touch was what sparked the change in the relationship, or maybe it was when he had enough moxie to put the book in her room, anyway.
“So that’s what it’s like,” she grinned. “I can understand why people like it so much.” She kissed him again, and this time it was nearly chaste. “Hold on,” She backed away from him and furrowed her brows. “Is it safe for you to be up here?”
“I said I was using the bathroom,” he replied sheepishly.
“Indiana, that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth!”
“How does ‘I love you’ shape up?” Once again, he showed her an open self. He wasn’t being cocky or teasing or anything. “I’ve just been thinking about it. Really, that first entry in the book, hell, the reason I wrote the book was because something was special and I was too stupid to figure out what, so I guess that’s what it was.”
Marion couldn’t say another word. “This is too much for me to handle right now,” she said in the most honest tone she could muster. “But I just…I just remembered something,” she muttered. Marion brushed past him and went to her pillow and pulled out the box that she had wrapped. “I saw it in a window one day and I just thought that maybe since every archaeologist needs something that sets him apart, I’d help you find your…thing.” She handed him the present. “I don’t really know when my father’s going to invite you over again, so maybe you should open it now so I can see what you think. I don’t know if you’ll like it…” She was interrupted by the ripping of paper. The box was a simple cardboard one about ten inches square and two inches high.
“I couldn’t get it wrapped up nice because that was extra and I—” Marion was silenced by Indy’s face. His eyes had gone wide and that smirk returned to his lips. “You know, I had one of these when I was younger.” He pulled up the long strand of leather and weighed it in his hand. “I don’t know of anyone else who has one of these. Thank you.” He grinned like a child and kissed her fiercely but quickly.
“I should be able to sneak it down. I’ll see you again, Marion, and maybe take you out properly, if you’re good.” He winked at her once more and ran a thumb over the supple leather of the bullwhip. With an appreciative glance, he offered one last smile before disappearing down the hallway.