Disclaimer: Indiana Jones and all other related characters are the property of Lucasfilm and Paramount Pictures. No money is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. The only characters that belong to me are Jillian Flynn and her father John.
Author's Notes: My very first Indiana Jones fic. The whole thing is based on a prompt from my friend Miasen in connection with our Christmas Prompts Calendar. The prompt was as follows: Today's story is going to contain three things: Indiana Jones, a female OC and an old book. This is what came to me. Also, this prompt was for December 5th, and I'm fully aware that I'm posting three days behind schedule. This is because Indy decided not to cooperate with me, and it took a while for me to coax him into giving me something remotely worthy of posting.
It was the fall of 1958, and the US and the USSR had begun competing for the grand prize that was Space. On a different note the students and professors at Marshall College, along with the rest of the city, were experiencing something of an Indian Summer. It made lecturing difficult, even for a gifted and engaging professor like Henry Jones Jr, because the students ached to be everywhere but in the auditoriums.
Today he had surrendered and let them go early, because he couldn't think of anything that would keep them interested for the last fifteen minutes of their appointed time. As an added bonus it gave him fifteen minutes to stop by his office and switch his lecture notes with notes pertaining to a meeting he needed to attend later. He loathed the meetings, but it was part of his position as Assistant Dean, so he needed to endure them as best he could.
An elderly secretary, a woman named Dorothy Clarence, a personal logbook and motherly figure to all the professors within the Archaeology Department, stopped him as he was about to climb the stairs to his office.
"Professor Jones? There's someone to see you, I told her to wait in the reception…"
Surprised, he hurried to his office and hastily put his papers away, then walked the main staircase down to the reception area. On the way he wondered who could have asked for him. He ruled out Marion, his wife, first. Miss Clarence knew her, and would probably have referred to her as 'Mrs. Jones'. This swift realization left his mind devoid of any other possibilities regarding women who would seek him out on campus.
He looked around curiously as he entered the reception, wondering if he could distinguish this mystery woman by appearance. But after only a few seconds he gave up, and turned to Miss Clarence for help. She nodded carefully in the direction of a tall, wiry blonde, who stood with her back towards him looking out of a window.
He approached cautiously, knowing now that there was something familiar about her, but still not able to pinpoint where he might have met her. Not until he was close enough to see her reflection in the glass. For a moment their eyes met, and as she turned to face him his mind finally connected a name with her face.
"Jill? Jill Flynn?!"
Jillian Flynn, daughter of esteemed historian John Flynn, was an acquaintance from several years back. They had first met during an Archaeology course in London in the summer of 1925, and had met on several digs in the years after. Their interest in history and archaeology was hereditary for both of them, both having grown up with parents more interested in the past than the future.
She smiled at the shocked recognition in his voice, and leant in to give him a quick hug before returning the favour.
"Indiana Jones. Good to see you."
Her voice was soft, but clearly audible, and it rose and fell with a typically British accent.
Both stood for a moment surveying the other. Although she had recently turned fifty, Jill Flynn had kept a youthful appearance, accented by her dark eyes and golden hair. From the look in her eyes it seemed some similar thoughts were crossing her mind about him, and although he was not sure if he agreed with them or not, he took them as a compliment.
"What are you doing here? Last I heard you were at a dig somewhere in England, don't tell me you just decided to drop by?!"
She chuckled, and smiled at him.
"That dig was months ago, Indy. I'm on my way back to London after a research trip, and I decided to take a little detour to see if you were still boring the life out of your students here at Marshall. But something tells me that that might have been a bad idea on my part…"
She raised an eyebrow in question, and he shook his head.
"I didn't mean it that way…you know that. You're always welcome. I was just surprised, that's all."
She shrugged and smiled again.
"I can have that effect sometimes. Anyway, I just wondered if you would like to have dinner with me tonight? I have something I would love to show you..."
He hesitated.
"I don't know, Jill. My wife might take that the wrong way…"
Jill laughed.
"You can ensure your wife that my intentions are strictly honourable. I'm not looking to steal you away from house and home, though I was surprised to hear you had finally settled down. I'm leaving for London the day after tomorrow, I just want to catch up on old times…"
"You said you wanted to show me something."
"I do…but I'm hardly going to get that chance if you don't show up, now am I?"
Again she smiled, but this time her smile was a bit more coy and mischievous than before. She had thrown out bait more tempting that he had it in himself to resist, and they both knew it.
Finally, after rethinking what she had said, he nodded in agreement.
"Alright…but if my wife goes off on you, you're on your own."
"Perfect! And don't worry, I still have that sword collection my father dug up ages ago, I'll manage. I'm staying at the Winchester Hotel, meet me in the restaurant there eight o'clock?"
He nodded, and they parted with a hug. He watched as she walked away from him out onto the campus grounds, and felt slightly confused, like he had just come out of a time capsule in a different century. It had to be years at least since he had last seen anything of Jill Flynn, and now, all of a sudden, she had appeared out of the blue. But he also found, somewhat to his own surprise, that her appearance had not been unwelcome.
There was a freshness about Jillian Flynn that seemed to affect everyone in the vicinity of her, and yet no one had, as of yet, been able to put their finger on what exactly it was about her. He felt it again now, as he sat with a glass of wine in his hand, on one end of their conversation about digs, history and life in general, including family.
"How's your father, Jill?"
She chuckled and took a sip of her glass before answering.
"Oh, very much alive and kicking, thank you. He visited me on the dig site in England, and I half expected him to jump into the trenches with me and the others out of sheer eagerness."
As she finished, both of them broke out laughing.
The laughter seemed to echo through the next couple of hours, making them feel as if time stopped until they stood outside her hotel room door. With a fluid motion she unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for him to go inside. He did so hesitantly, and she followed, making her way past him as he looked around the room. It was a hotel room like any other, curiously devoid of any personality, except for the brief influence of its current occupant.
While he stood surveying the room, she had moved to the bed and pulled a medium sized black suitcase from under it, placing it on the bed. She produced a key from somewhere he did not see, and unlocked it, opening the lid with a sudden reverence. She turned to him and smiled, a hand waving him over to her.
"This is what I wanted you to see…I found it during the dig in England. Originally I was going to hand it to the British Museum after examining it myself, but a couple of researcher friends of mine over here practically got down on their knees and begged me to let them see it first. They finished with it two days ago, and since I was already in the States there was one other person whom I wanted to show it to…"
In the suitcase was a leather-bound manuscript, visibly centuries old. As he stepped closer to get a better look, Indiana Jones understood just what it was he was seeing.
"You found it!"
Amazed, he looked from the book to her and back to the book again.
"You found an original copy of 'The History of the Kings of Britain'?!"
She grinned, and said slowly;
"I may have found the original copy…"
Surprisingly, she proceeded to lean forward and give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Then, with their faces only inches apart, she whispered;
"Thank you…"
He smiled, bewildered.
"For what?"
She smiled too, and gestured towards the suitcase and the book inside.
"For believing in me."