Indiana Jones had woken up in a lot of strange places in his life. It came with the territory, really. Spin a globe and put your finger somewhere on it, and Indy had, more likely than not, started another day there.
Still, it didn’t take him long to figure out that this one was going to take the cake.
He’d gone to bed reasonably early the night before, planning on getting up by seven to slog through the last of those term papers before heading in to the office. Later he’d remember ruefully how itchy he’d been to get out of Barnett College--Less than two months since you found the Holy Grail, Jones, and you’re already desperate to race off again, he’d thought with a grin as his head was hitting the pillow.
One of these days, he was going to have to learn to be more careful what he wished for. As soon as he opened them, Indy’s highly discerning scientist’s eyes told him that this was definitely not his bed.
Admittedly, it wouldn’t have been the very first time he'd been a little surprised by his surroundings in the morning, but the lack of feminine company was a strong argument against that possibility. Indy took a closer look around at the bare, sterile little room. The place looked like some kind of hospital.
Indy tried to remember any questionable judgment calls he’d made recently that could have landed him here, but he’d been unusually good about not jumping from moving vehicles or getting into fistfights with Nazi stooges in the last couple of months. The most serious threats on his life had come from the undergraduates mobbing outside his office for their papers. Indy quickly did a mental rundown of his body but found nothing that suggested devastating illness or injury.
He was saved from the need to theorize about this by the entrance of a nurse--looked like late 50s, gray hair, built like a Chachapoyan fertility idol. No, this definitely wasn’t that kind of morning after.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lucas,” she greeted him flatly. “Ready to head over to the Sun Room?”
It should have sounded like a question, Indy reflected, but it didn’t. He gave her his best ingratiating smile anyway. “I’m sorry, there must be some misunderstanding. My name is Indiana Jones.” And I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here, so I hope you can tell me.
She sighed. Indy got the sudden feeling that this wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation. “Most of our patients have similar delusions about their identities, Mr. Lucas. You’re in Landel’s Institute to sort them out.” She was holding the door for him, clearly waiting.
Indy considered his options. Unless she was armed (and she didn’t look like it), he could get past her pretty easily, but then what? Until he knew what he was dealing with here, his old knock-out-a-guard-and-take-his-uniform trick might not be the best bet. Hers didn’t quite look like his size, anyway.
Still, it didn’t take him long to figure out that this one was going to take the cake.
He’d gone to bed reasonably early the night before, planning on getting up by seven to slog through the last of those term papers before heading in to the office. Later he’d remember ruefully how itchy he’d been to get out of Barnett College--Less than two months since you found the Holy Grail, Jones, and you’re already desperate to race off again, he’d thought with a grin as his head was hitting the pillow.
One of these days, he was going to have to learn to be more careful what he wished for. As soon as he opened them, Indy’s highly discerning scientist’s eyes told him that this was definitely not his bed.
Admittedly, it wouldn’t have been the very first time he'd been a little surprised by his surroundings in the morning, but the lack of feminine company was a strong argument against that possibility. Indy took a closer look around at the bare, sterile little room. The place looked like some kind of hospital.
Indy tried to remember any questionable judgment calls he’d made recently that could have landed him here, but he’d been unusually good about not jumping from moving vehicles or getting into fistfights with Nazi stooges in the last couple of months. The most serious threats on his life had come from the undergraduates mobbing outside his office for their papers. Indy quickly did a mental rundown of his body but found nothing that suggested devastating illness or injury.
He was saved from the need to theorize about this by the entrance of a nurse--looked like late 50s, gray hair, built like a Chachapoyan fertility idol. No, this definitely wasn’t that kind of morning after.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lucas,” she greeted him flatly. “Ready to head over to the Sun Room?”
It should have sounded like a question, Indy reflected, but it didn’t. He gave her his best ingratiating smile anyway. “I’m sorry, there must be some misunderstanding. My name is Indiana Jones.” And I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here, so I hope you can tell me.
She sighed. Indy got the sudden feeling that this wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation. “Most of our patients have similar delusions about their identities, Mr. Lucas. You’re in Landel’s Institute to sort them out.” She was holding the door for him, clearly waiting.
Indy considered his options. Unless she was armed (and she didn’t look like it), he could get past her pretty easily, but then what? Until he knew what he was dealing with here, his old knock-out-a-guard-and-take-his-uniform trick might not be the best bet. Hers didn’t quite look like his size, anyway.
“Lead on,” he said gamely. Time to explore.
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