This fic is dedicated to Battered Notebook of Stories, who writes what is simply the best Indy fic around! If you haven't, you should all go and read her stuff. Now.
Written for the quill_it challenge at Livejournal. Song is 'Drop in the Ocean' by Ron Pope.
Enjoy! :)
A drop in the ocean,
A change in the weather,
I was praying that you and me might end up together.
Sixteen and twenty-five, going on twenty-six. Ten years. Two different worlds. She pores over her math homework, and worries herself sick over history tests that she must not fail, and he - when he isn't trekking halfway across the globe for some artifact or another - is buried in books, surrounded by names of the long dead, and resting places of rich kings.
And yet, somehow, they were drawn to each other. It was forbidden, in the strictest sense of the word - not only was she the professor's daughter, for Christ's sake, but she was also sixteen years old. Despite the fact that she was wise beyond her years, she was still innocent, and trusting. Too trusting, he sometimes thinks. She would do anything for him, anything at all. She looked up at him with stars in her eyes, like he was the most amazing, perfect thing she'd ever seen - her knight in shining armor. Her hero. Her Indy.
This is wrong. Then why did it feel so natural, so right? She wasn't a child anymore. As far as she was concerned, Indiana could just get rid of his stupid moral issues. It was her who had kissed him first, her who had slipped into his tent in the dead of night. Not the other way around. All of this, everything, was because of her. God knows he probably wouldn't have ever started anything - as rough and tumble as he could be, Indiana Jones was a perfect gentlemen, and then some.
Their lives are made up of pounding hearts, heated glances, stolen kisses and touches when no one is looking. Whispered 'I love you's' as they're curled up together, limbs tangled, her head over his heart, his hand running through her hair.
She spends her days in her tent, reading, or in the burning heat of the desert, bringing water to the diggers, including him, and it's a miracle that no one has actually seen the current of delicious electricity that ripples through them both when his hand brushes hers, as she hands him the cup.
She thinks he's amazing, the most wonderful man she's ever known, and she doesn't want anyone else, ever. He knows that she thinks far too highly of him, and he thinks she's perfect.
Deep down, he knows this is too blissful to last, but she swears she will never let him go, never leave him. He just kisses her, and they both fall back onto the cot, succumbing to lust and love and forgetting the world for just a little while.
It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert,
But I'm holding you closer than most,
'Cause you are my heaven