In response to the 5things meme that seems to have surfaced in almost every category but this. :D
Note: There's a little cussing (alright, fine, there's a f word) in number 3, but I'm not about to make this M just for that when everything else is quite innocently T, and I think (hope) you'll understand why I included it when you see it. So, ignore it if it offends you.
Hopefully I'll try to manage another chapter of At the Beginning before the school year starts and I'm swamped, if I can get it out on time. Meanwhile, enjoy, and review, please!
5 Things that Never Happened
(and 4 things we wish had.)
1
When in doubt, wear red and your heart on your sleeve.
He noticed the slight movement from the corner of his eyes, sensed her presence at the doorway, and it was all he could do not to turn and crush her in his arms. They might not have been a fairy-tale romance but didn't they at least qualify for a last lingering kiss? But his rationality—damn he wished so badly he wasn't such a decent guy—told him clearly it would only make things worse; he would hate himself for it, and she would hate him, but it had to be done.
So he continued resolutely, lifted a stack of shirts from the drawer and placed them into his suitcase, swept the contents of the bedside table into a bag, all the time his back still to her.
She would speak soon, he knew. She had some chronic aversion to silence (he remembers the many times he had teased her about it, notanymore), and she had to be there for a reason. He wasn't about to speculate.
His room, with the pale sunlight filtering in through the windows and now almost empty, maintained its deathly silence, and it was unnerving. Finally he swivelled around. 'You shouldn't be here.' The dismissal of his tone seemed to awaken some sort of emotion in her, and her eyes flashed as she tensed. He looked away, locking his suitcase and locate his keys.
Because she could not know how much this was tearing him apart.
She advanced unsteadily, planted herself right in front of him, until he could look nowhere but into the depths of those soft, speckled, hazel eyes. 'You have no right.' Her voice trembled with rage as she jabbed in the air at him. 'You cannot do this to me.'
He was tired, so tired of all this, and her insinuation makes him seethe. 'Do you think that I want to do this? Do you think it's great fun for me to lose my mentor and the girl I've been in love with in one go?' he grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her violently, breathing heavily. She stood there, pliant in his grasp, looking at him with pleading eyes. He released her and turned away, speaking bitterly, 'Don't make this any harder than it is, sweetheart.' One of them had to be mature about this, and he supposed the unpleasant duty fell to him.
She followed him, undaunted. 'This isn't right. I don't give a damn what Abner wants to think. i…I love you.' She brightened up hopefully.
He could not help the reluctant smile on his face at their old routine.
'And I love you too, honey, baby, sweetheart.'
She was visibly relieved, and he tilted her chin up. 'Don't you ever doubt that, Marion.'
Her face was thoughtful and some other indecipherable emotion, then she leaned into his chest, and he circled his arms around her. Forget rationality. Just for one last time. When he kissed her, it was sweet, tender, whole, slow, like they had the whole world to themselves and all the time on their hands. She pulled herself away slowly, her expression serious. 'Ask me.' She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her, and when he did, his mind raced.
It took him a moment to register and accept what she meant, and he spoke too, with incredulity and hopefulness and bemusement and regret and love in his voice, 'Come with me?'
He braced himself for rejection. Maybe that's not what she meant, maybe he was being overly presumptuous and hopeful, maybe she did want him to leave, maybe they just weren't meant to be.
Tears surged in her eyes, and she swallowed as he brushed at her wet cheeks with his thumb. She had vowed not to shed any tears, never to cry for the unfairness for the situation they were in, never to weep in defeat or regret, but that seemed inconsequential. She took a step forward, the reply coming to her easily, 'We have to work on your confidence-'
His breath caught in his throat at her choice of pronoun.
'But, yes. Yes, please.' She spoke, dignified to the last.
-
2
Candour has always done them good.
'Why haven't you settled down and had 9 kids like Sallah?'
'Who says I haven't?'
'You haven't.'
'You're right. I haven't. That should change though, shouldn't it? Let's get married.'
-
3
They have all the love in the world, but only a lifetime to enjoy it.
She trips her way down the corridor, balancing the basin of water in her arms precariously, grumbling under her breath.
It would be nice to borrow one of Indy's shirts instead. He had rather nice long white shirts. Smelled good too. And she loved what was implied and assumed when people saw her in them, his arms wrapped possessively around her.
And god knows what Indy would assume when he saw her in this…miserable excuse for lingerie.
She fumbles with the knob irritably, then sets down the basin with a sigh and roll of the eyes heavenwards to twist it open, and edges backwards into the room, stepping over his jacket and suitcase thrown open on the floor. 'Indy?'
It still surprises her the way they had eased back into familiarity and comfort with endearments and nicknames and stolen kisses and fleeing hand in hand (self-preservation to Indy, she supposes) and now, a (blatantly) shared cabin (with one bed). In fact—
Her hand flies to her mouth, and she lets out a piercing scream, dropping the basin, not caring (or noticing) as the warm water laps at her bare feet, rushing forward, as Indiana Jones lifts his gaze to her, a weariness and heaviness in the tilt and slant of his head, his eyes wryly acknowledging his presence, and ohgodohgodohgod. Because his fingers are shifting away from his chest and they are wet and sticky with blood and the expression in his eyes just scares the shit out of her. She screams again, but her throat is constricted with pure terror and she begins to hear footsteps but she can't hear things right because everything seems to be a blur and it doesn't take a genius to realize this isn't just a paper cut or something that can be bandaged neatly and kissed away and she's cradling his chest and her fingers are sticky and red with his blood, Indiana Jones' blood and he is smiling (what the hell is wrong with him?), brings her knuckles to her lips and kisses them so gently and tenderly it brings on a fresh surge of tears, 'I always knew it would end like this.'
She shakes her head, because this cannot be happening, this is Indiana Jones, he can't just get shot like that and talk about it like this, and she loves him. 'When?' she manages, running her hand along his cheek, the stubble grazing her palm. 'When..when did this happen?'
People are shouting and crowding around the door, and Katanga is pushing his way through, his crew in tow.
'I didn't see it until just now…when I was under the truck, there was a metal pole. God, it fucking hurts…'
The crimson viscous liquid oozes out of him and onto his hand, and she strains to hear the rugged timbre of his voice. She remembers the first time she met him, she had noticed his hands were rough, calloused, not hands professors ought to have, but he has gentle, gentle eyes. And they are pulling her away from him, slinging his arm around their shoulders for support as Katanga radios someone, and she is pressing her hand to her mouth as she sobs, never mind about the blood (his blood) staining her lips, and she watches, numb, as he touches his pinkie finger to his ring finger and her heart aches at the familiarity of the gesture, she would give anything to be 17 again and feeling the butterflies flutter in her stomach at the invitation of a secret rendezvous away from her fathers' watchful eyes, and his mouth opens and rounds around the words, I love you.
Her hand latches onto his, desperate, as her lips quaver, an automatic reply she has always reserved for him, only for him: I love you too.
And people are swarming around him on the bed and people are running in with syringes and bottles and gauze and drips and she tells herself that he'll be alright, and she's gonna feel like a hugest ass when he teases her about crying like this and butchering his palm but even she recognizes that is wild optimism and selective blindness. They pull her away as his grip slackens on her palm, and she is tired, too tired to resist.
-
4
Not a love declaration, not an extended invitation, merely the cold, hard truth.
She walks down the empty hallway, her heels clicking on the wooden polished floor as she strides confidently towards the office at the end of the hall.
She can hear the intermittent mumble around her, as professors lecture, students listen, take notes, flirt with them (in his case) or enjoy a nap, and their lives go on. She had once been like that too, home-schooled by Abner, buried into her work until secret rendezvous and kisses on her ear came along…
The last time she had been walking down here, it had been the night he proposed.
Her teeth draw blood, and it stings.
His assistant, sitting cross-legged on a chair and sticking her tongue out in intense concentration as she brushes ocean blue nail polish across her fingernails, sits up immediately when she notices her, walking towards the office. The spark of recognition and subsequent tumble of confusion, surprise, joy and excitement in her eyes are exactly what she has feared. She clears her throat, brushing her hair out of her face self-consciously. 'Hi. Is Professor Henry Jones in?'
The girl hurriedly scrabbles for the phone, still staring at her, as if she would disappear in a swirl of clouds any moment now. 'Professor Jones.' She speaks, and Marion feels the familiar ache, but pushes it out. She would not think, she would not feel, she would just do what was supposed to be done, and get the hell out of here. 'Someone here to see you. It's-'
She leans forward urgently, clasping the receiver of the phone, whispering, 'Don't tell him who I am.'
She nods, looking a little frightened. 'She..she didn't say, professor. Right. Okay.' She glanced up at Marion. 'He'll be here in a moment.' She dropped the cool, business-like veneer as she leaned closer. 'Good luck.'
Marion stares open-mouthed at her. How much exactly do people know about them? At that moment, the bell ring, and there is a flurry activity as doors burst open and students flood out, chattering noisily. A few of them stop, stunned, and she stares back defiantly, defensiveness and injustice rankling her. This was how it had been like for her with a bulging belly and no wedding ring, this was how it always would be, and he was the one to blame.
She clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palm, closing her eyes briefly. She is completely prepared to live without him, raise Mutt on her own, but no, Oxley just had to stick his nose into her businesses and drag her out here, depositing her on the doorstep and waiting until she promised to speak to him. It greatly amused Mutt. 'This is not about you or your independence or your ability, it's about the father about your child.' Oxley had ended sharply, and she had felt tears brim in her eyes as Mutt's head jerked up and asked, hope shining in his eyes, Indy's eyes, 'Daddy?'
And now she is here. But she would say exactly what she rehearsed, which was 'I have a son, you're his father. His name is Mutt. Whether or not you want to get involved is entirely your choice.' Oxley had this maddening knowing look on his face. 'We'll see how that works out.'
Footsteps advance towards her, and she jerks up, feeling her heart thumping in her chest, hating herself for wondering how he looked now, if he still had those eyes she could lose herself in.
He rounds the corner, the top buttons of his wrinkled white shirt unbuttoned, rubbing his eyes. His hair is unruly and he looks like he hasn't slept for days. 'You look like shit.' The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, and she sees the assistant hide a giggle behind her hand. Verbal incontinence always chooses the best times to bless her.
'Than-' the beginnings of that lopsided grin is reflected on his lips when he stops and stares at her, disbelieving. 'Marion?'
Say it, say it! Just tell him about Mutt and get the shit out of here! 'Hello, Indy.'
Nonononononono, say it!
'Well, uh-' he runs his hand through his hair, a sure sign of distress. 'Do you want to come into my office?'
She glances around. His office wasn't her first choice, but then again this hallway wasn't what she would call private either.
He watches her warily, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. 'You're not considering punching me, are you?'
She glares at him. 'Yeah, I was thinking of killing you for leaving me, but this isn't a very private place for a murder.'
A strange look appears on his face, but he responds woodenly, 'Come on, let's go in.' A few students are crowding around, whispering behind their textbooks. He turns and starts walking, naturally assuming she would follow.
And she sighs, knowing that she has to.
He holds the door open for her, and she avoids her gaze, and they sit opposite each other, and look anywhere but at each other. She swallows. 'You look-'
'I-'
They both start speaking simultaneously and stop, glancing at each other. They are such a cliché it is sickening. He looks the same, except for the weariness and almost imperceptible regret in his bloodshot eyes. He was watching her intently as well, and she flushed. She used to love it when he did that.
'I..' and then she stops, somehow unable to continue.
'How are you, Marion?' if not for the genuine interest in his voice she would have lurched over and socked him right in the face, the way he was acting as if nothing had happened between them, as if he had not betrayed her over and over again when she was stupid enough to trust him.
'Uh…great. As good as one can be after her wedding is called off, of course, and her relatives all think she's a whore.'
He sighs. 'Look, Marion, I did-'
'Don't tell me you did what you had to, because no one went there and put a gun to your head.' She spat savagely, all the familiar hurt and pain coming back to her.
'You're right, no one did that. And by the way, I wasn't actually going to say that. I was going to say, 'I did what I thought was right. I'm not all that sure now.'
'You're not all that sure?' she stands up in a huff, pulling on her coat. 'Forget it, I'm going.' At least get out of here before you break down in front of him…
'Wait!' he stands up and lays a hand on her arm, gently but firmly pushing her down on her seat, then leaning against the desk. 'You didn't come here just to lash out at me.'
There is no reply she can think of, so she manages, 'If you aren't sure, why didn't you come to find me?'
'I…there's no excuse, I suppose. I thought you wouldn't want me back. After what I did and all, it was inexcusable.'
She blinks. He isn't supposed to agree with her! He's supposed to be a complete jerk! Anyway, she would say what she came for, and leave before she changed her mind. 'Indy, I have a-'
'No, wait, let me finish please.' His voice is quiet but pleading somehow. 'It's been terrible for me-'
It's been terrible for him?!
'I mean, the Cross of Coronado was right in my reach, I thought I would get it and come back, but then Belloq sent that message-'
Oh screw not interrupting. 'What message?'
'He sent a…messenger. To threaten…us, you. They said if I as much as tried to look for it, we would never be safe. And I knew I couldn't stay with all these kind of things hounding us all the time, it wouldn't be fair. To both of us.' He pauses, as she stares at him, shell-shocked. All this time, she had hated him, resented him, and he never told her.
'I…' she starts, her lips trembling. And she tries again, 'What…Why the hell didn't you tell me?!'
He looks taken-aback that she would even consider that, and replies simply. 'If I told you, you wouldn't let me go.'
'Maybe then I would've been right.' she can feel her face heat up, a tell-tale sign she was going to cry soon. All this time…all the years he'd missed with Mutt…she had to tell him. 'Indy, the thing is before we get married-'
She freezes as she heard a familiar laugh. 'Ox, wait up!' and heavy bootsteps, Ox's bootsteps, thunder down the hallway. And she is on her feet, slamming on the door, but Ox pushes through. 'Henry.'
Indy gets to his feet, a hesitant grin on his face. 'Ox.'
Oxley looks furious, and she thinks this will be interesting, but Mutt peeps through the door. She panics and gestures furiously at him, but he takes that as encouragement and grins. 'Mum!' and hurtles to wrap his arms around her legs.
The room is completely silent.
She glances up, and there is shock and hurt and betrayal in his eyes. He thinks there's someone else…
'Harold.' She snapped curtly. 'Outside for a moment, please.'
'What the hell do you think you're doing?! Bringing Mutt in like this…'
'Have you told him?' Oxley asked, resolute.
'You can't just do this to me! I-'
'Have you told him?' Oxley cut in sternly.
She withers under his scrutiny. 'Okay, I haven't. but I was getting to it, no thanks to you!'
Indy sighs as they converse outside in furious whispers. And then the kid—he must've been, what 2, 3 years old? Marion was having an affair. Surprisingly, he feels no rage. I deserved it. But he cannot admit that it hurts him so, so much.
The boy totters towards him, and he kneels down and smiles, a tragic one. The boy stares curiously at him, 'Are you my dad?'
Wha--what?!
Then it hit him. Why she came back here all of a sudden, why she was so angry at him. Because for the 3 years he was gone, she had him.
'I don't know,' he admits humbly, 'Am I?' and he can see Marion's cheeky grin mirrored on the boy's young face, see the joy reflected in those eyes, his brown eyes.
Mutt studies him seriously, and Indy crosses his arms, humouring him as Marion and Oxley continue arguing outside. And he pronounces. 'I like you. Yeah, you're my daddy.' And his eyes are full of trust as he runs into Indy's arms.
Marion tenses—is that some mother's instinct or what?—and turns, meeting his eyes as he wraps his arms around this boy, so small, so adorable, his son. And he can tell, from the look on her face, that the boy was right.
He doesn't quite know what to do with that information, and settles for pulling the boy (my son) in closer.
-
5
The second time around, he stays.
She comes back with the seating plan tucked securely into her purse and her wedding dress slung over her shoulder, and he grins and kisses her and pulls her into his arms And there is no empty house awaiting her, no hastily written note tacked onto the refrigerator, no screaming and no sobbing and no savage ripping of white fabric and lace and no kicking at walls.
A week later, their hands are clasped and fingers intertwined and identical rings are adorning them and they smile stupidly at each other, and they kiss, as husband and wife. And there is no downing of shot after shot of whisky, no tears and no eating of chocolate spread until mid-morning and no half-written, tear-stained letters thrown into the fire. Because they have finally found each other, and they couldn't be happier.
Now that you're read it, well? Drop me a review/pm please(;