Fic: once more with feeling
Title: once more with feeling
Author: d_sieya
Spoilers: For Raiders through Crystal Skull.
Rating/Warnings: PG
Pairing: Indy/Marion
Word Count: 914
Disclaimer: Belongs to George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. Warning! This was written almost two years ago.
1937
When he was a kid, it took Indy years to learn how to take off his bandages. The cloth would dry with the cut, and taking off the bandage also meant that some of the scab was coming with it.
At first, bit by bit. Each little millimeter lifted stung, then subsided, then stung, then subsided… Finally, his father had pinned his arm onto the table and ripped the damn thing off. Jesus, that had hurt. But then it suddenly didn't.
It was with this rationale that last week he left his fiancée alone in the house that they had shared. He saw he was hurting her, and that he would continue to hurt her-he would leave her for months at a time, then come back to leave her again. They fought. Too much.
So he decided to rip himself out of her life-
yes, that was best.
1938
The light from the candle was very dim. The room flickered yellow and orange, and it was almost as dark as no light at all. But he didn't need that much for his present task. In either case, it would not do to wake Elsa.
The letter was long and rambling, and he couldn't remember after he sealed it whether he had properly explained the bandage analogy.
1939
Marion was strong, she could deal with this.
1940
Twice.
1941
Once more, he was in Germany, except now under very different circumstances.
This time, he thought about his girl he left behind.
Not my girl, he reminded himself.
He wondered if someone-one of his comrades, maybe, maybe even someone he knew, someone he could see from here-had Marion Ravenwood waiting for him.
Indy kicked a wall. His foot did not forgive him.
1942
Indy found that it was easier for him-to fight, to be a hero, as they mislabeled him.
He was one of the few that didn't have anything to lose.
1943
Good God (or whatever was up there that was letting this happen)-it isn't as if this is good for my head, You know.
1944
Indy almost considered writing her, but then decided that she probably had forgotten.
1945
Even only seven years later, by now he was too old-too old, too old.
It wasn't the years, it was the mileage, and Indy was pretty sure that at this point he was topping off.
1946
Indy was in Asia now. He was hardly home for a week after the War before the University sent him back out again.
1947
Somehow-somehow, seriously, how the hell-he runs into Short Round. The kid is-well, not a kid; he's in his early twenties. He remembers-they had stayed up in a pretty seedy bar, drinking something, and then the place went fuzzy and painful and he woke up in a pigsty with blood on his knuckles-but he remembers that he had almost nicknamed the kid Short Stuff.
Then he realized that he had already baptized someone else with that name.
He preferred tall women anyway.
1948
Back to the University. The house wasn't lonely. The waitress at the restaurant was quite a beauty. Taller than even Indy, with her shoes on.
1949
A brunette walked past him, wearing a long white dress. His chest lurched. He hoped he wasn't having heart issues. (Was he really that old?)
1950
"Junior."
Indy walked to the bedside. He could bear to be obedient, with Henry Jones, Sr. on his deathbed.
"When are you going to crawl back to that girl with your tail in between your legs?"
He had expected to be ordered to recite a prayer-in Latin-or something equally anticipatory. As it was, he was dumbfounded.
"I'm not," he muttered. It was vindictive; he knew his father's hearing was terrible.
1951
Even if she hadn't forgotten, it wasn't if she would want him back anyway.
1952
Especially-as he realized today when his doctor told him to ease up on "whatever the hell you're doing"-since he was gaining the old geezer status. She was still young.
1953
And it wasn't as if he wanted her, either. He had other things to focus on.
1954
Indiana realized that he was content. Happy, even.
1955
He still thought about her. Only occasionally, like how one wondered about an old friend that they hadn't thought about in years. (Except he thinks about her a lot. No. Occasionally. Didn't he already establish that it was only occasionally?
Yes. Occasionally.
He was too busy, anyway to think about her. Always too busy to think about her.
(Not on purpose, of course.)
1956
Oh, fuck. It just never would have worked out. He didn't even want to get married. Not even to her.
1957
In the bar, talking to Mutt Williams, he had asked who his mother was.
"Mary-"-on Ravenwood, his mind automatically, dare he say hopefully, completed. But then the kid finished his sentence. "Mary Williams?" He said it as a question.
Indy had replied vaguely that he knew a lot of Marys. Which wasn't really true. But he didn't know what else to say. He wondered if he was getting senile.
Probably.
Apparently he looked like eighty.
…
Despite all this, when he saw her get dragged out of the tent, yelling and fighting and brown hair flying and then grinning and just overall Marion, he couldn't help the stupid smile from near breaking his face in half.
Not because I missed her, one part of his brain protested.
Oh, shut up. And it did.
Crossposted @ ravenwood_jones
Author: d_sieya
Spoilers: For Raiders through Crystal Skull.
Rating/Warnings: PG
Pairing: Indy/Marion
Word Count: 914
Disclaimer: Belongs to George Lucas and Steven Spielberg. Warning! This was written almost two years ago.
1937
When he was a kid, it took Indy years to learn how to take off his bandages. The cloth would dry with the cut, and taking off the bandage also meant that some of the scab was coming with it.
At first, bit by bit. Each little millimeter lifted stung, then subsided, then stung, then subsided… Finally, his father had pinned his arm onto the table and ripped the damn thing off. Jesus, that had hurt. But then it suddenly didn't.
It was with this rationale that last week he left his fiancée alone in the house that they had shared. He saw he was hurting her, and that he would continue to hurt her-he would leave her for months at a time, then come back to leave her again. They fought. Too much.
So he decided to rip himself out of her life-
yes, that was best.
1938
The light from the candle was very dim. The room flickered yellow and orange, and it was almost as dark as no light at all. But he didn't need that much for his present task. In either case, it would not do to wake Elsa.
The letter was long and rambling, and he couldn't remember after he sealed it whether he had properly explained the bandage analogy.
1939
Marion was strong, she could deal with this.
1940
Twice.
1941
Once more, he was in Germany, except now under very different circumstances.
This time, he thought about his girl he left behind.
Not my girl, he reminded himself.
He wondered if someone-one of his comrades, maybe, maybe even someone he knew, someone he could see from here-had Marion Ravenwood waiting for him.
Indy kicked a wall. His foot did not forgive him.
1942
Indy found that it was easier for him-to fight, to be a hero, as they mislabeled him.
He was one of the few that didn't have anything to lose.
1943
Good God (or whatever was up there that was letting this happen)-it isn't as if this is good for my head, You know.
1944
Indy almost considered writing her, but then decided that she probably had forgotten.
1945
Even only seven years later, by now he was too old-too old, too old.
It wasn't the years, it was the mileage, and Indy was pretty sure that at this point he was topping off.
1946
Indy was in Asia now. He was hardly home for a week after the War before the University sent him back out again.
1947
Somehow-somehow, seriously, how the hell-he runs into Short Round. The kid is-well, not a kid; he's in his early twenties. He remembers-they had stayed up in a pretty seedy bar, drinking something, and then the place went fuzzy and painful and he woke up in a pigsty with blood on his knuckles-but he remembers that he had almost nicknamed the kid Short Stuff.
Then he realized that he had already baptized someone else with that name.
He preferred tall women anyway.
1948
Back to the University. The house wasn't lonely. The waitress at the restaurant was quite a beauty. Taller than even Indy, with her shoes on.
1949
A brunette walked past him, wearing a long white dress. His chest lurched. He hoped he wasn't having heart issues. (Was he really that old?)
1950
"Junior."
Indy walked to the bedside. He could bear to be obedient, with Henry Jones, Sr. on his deathbed.
"When are you going to crawl back to that girl with your tail in between your legs?"
He had expected to be ordered to recite a prayer-in Latin-or something equally anticipatory. As it was, he was dumbfounded.
"I'm not," he muttered. It was vindictive; he knew his father's hearing was terrible.
1951
Even if she hadn't forgotten, it wasn't if she would want him back anyway.
1952
Especially-as he realized today when his doctor told him to ease up on "whatever the hell you're doing"-since he was gaining the old geezer status. She was still young.
1953
And it wasn't as if he wanted her, either. He had other things to focus on.
1954
Indiana realized that he was content. Happy, even.
1955
He still thought about her. Only occasionally, like how one wondered about an old friend that they hadn't thought about in years. (Except he thinks about her a lot. No. Occasionally. Didn't he already establish that it was only occasionally?
Yes. Occasionally.
He was too busy, anyway to think about her. Always too busy to think about her.
(Not on purpose, of course.)
1956
Oh, fuck. It just never would have worked out. He didn't even want to get married. Not even to her.
1957
In the bar, talking to Mutt Williams, he had asked who his mother was.
"Mary-"-on Ravenwood, his mind automatically, dare he say hopefully, completed. But then the kid finished his sentence. "Mary Williams?" He said it as a question.
Indy had replied vaguely that he knew a lot of Marys. Which wasn't really true. But he didn't know what else to say. He wondered if he was getting senile.
Probably.
Apparently he looked like eighty.
…
Despite all this, when he saw her get dragged out of the tent, yelling and fighting and brown hair flying and then grinning and just overall Marion, he couldn't help the stupid smile from near breaking his face in half.
Not because I missed her, one part of his brain protested.
Oh, shut up. And it did.
Crossposted @ ravenwood_jones