Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or anything from the Indiana Jones franchise/universe, etc. The character Edwin/Eddy Averill, however, is entirely my own invention. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is not intended for any kind of monetary gain, etc. Do not use Mutt Williams as a grammar role model. ;-)

Chapter 1

Mutt glanced back over his shoulder as he quickly made his way down the corridor. Class started in another two minutes. If he could just sneak out of the building before then—he bumped into someone in front of him.

"Sorry, didn't see you there," he muttered automatically, before he glanced up to see who he'd run into. When he did, he sighed in irritation.

The man standing before him was tall and broad shouldered, and had graying hair. He wore a brownish-gray suit coat and jacket over a white collared shirt, with a red bow tie. His arms were folded and he was looking sternly at Mutt from behind his round reading glasses. It was Mutt's father, Henry Walton Jones II—better known as "Indiana" Jones. And he also happened to be the professor whose class it was Mutt was trying to avoid.

"Where do you think you're going, Junior?" his father asked.

"It's Mutt…Dad," Mutt was still getting used to calling him that, "You know it's Mutt."

His father gave him an exasperated look. "We've been over this. I'm not going to call you a term for a mongrel dog. I mean, if it's an insult to a dog, what makes you think it's complimentary to a human?"

"Yeah, like you're one to talk, Indiana. Ox told me you named yourself after the dog you had when you were a kid."

The professor looked a little uncomfortable. "That's different, OK?" he said at last.

"Yeah? How?" Mutt persisted.

"It was a good dog. And—at least it's an actual name."

Mutt rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Look, we're both going to be late for my class," Indiana said, taking Mutt by the arm of his leather jacket and propelling him down the hall.

Mutt planted his feet and stopped moving. "Why?" he asked.

His father turned and looked at him. "Why what? Why are we going to be late for class? Because it starts at 2:30; it's already 2:29; it takes approximately two and half minutes to get there from here, and—"

"That's not what I meant. I meant, why do I have to take your dumb archeology class? Why do I have to be here?" Mutt asked, gesturing around him.

His father gave him a hard look and leaned towards him. "First of all, my archeology class is not 'dumb.' Second of all, do you have any idea how hard it was to convince Charles Stanforth to admit you—in the middle of a semester—when you never even graduated high school?"

"Not too hard, I bet," said Mutt, "seeing as how the guy practically worships you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Junior, I—" he suddenly glanced down at his watch. "Oh, great, now look, you've made us late. Come on," Indiana said, gesturing impatiently at Mutt to follow him as he rushed down the hall.

Mutt jogged to keep up with him. "You're only gonna be like, what, five minutes late at the most? Who's gonna care?"

Indiana looked back at his son. "I will, Junior. I just got this job back."

"Yeah, well, it's not like they're gonna fire you after they made you the Associate Dean."

Indiana shot him an irritated look. "You never know."

They arrived outside the door of the classroom at exactly 2:35.

"We'll continue our discussion of your attending school after class, Junior," said Indiana before they entered the classroom.

"…Now, the discovery of the Rosetta Stone was very important because it allowed linguists to finally be able to begin the translation of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. If it hadn't been found, it is very unlikely that we would have any ability to translate things today that—oh, well, it looks like we're out of time for today." As soon as Professor Jones made this observation, there was a sudden rustle of movement throughout the room as students shoved papers and books into their bags, getting ready to leave.

"But, be sure to read the first four parts of the next chapter of Maspero's History of Egypt, Chaldea, Syria, Babylonia, and Assyria," he continued, as students began to hurry towards the door. "We'll be having a quiz over it, so don't forget. And make sure you're reading volume one," he called as the students filed out the door.

Mutt gathered his books and prepared to go, hoping to slip out unnoticed amongst the other students before his father saw him.

Unfortunately, he was too late.

"Not you, Henry. We're supposed to have a talk, remember?" Indiana said, looking pointedly at his son.

Mutt sighed, but remained in his seat.

Mutt's friend Edwin Averill elbowed him, teasing, "Uh-oh, looks like someone's in trouble with the Prof. What'd you do, plagiarize that last essay?"

Mutt smiled slightly, "Come on, Eddy. I'm not that stupid."

Eddy laughed. "Yeah, says you. Well, see you later, Mutt," he added as he headed for the door.

Indiana waited until the classroom was empty. Then he walked over and shut the door, and motioned Mutt up to his desk.

"Sit down," Indiana said, gesturing to the stool behind the desk.

Mutt sat.

Indiana leaned casually against the desk, with his hands in his pockets. Suddenly, he frowned.
"Put that thing away, would you?"

It took Mutt a moment to realize he was talking about the comb he was running through his hair—a habit he had when he was nervous. He hastily stuffed the comb back into the pocket of his leather jacket.

Indiana looked at Mutt as though he expected him to say something. When he didn't, Indiana nodded resolutely and began, "You know, I'm…glad to see that you're making friends with people like Edwin…he's a good kid. Maybe his scholarliness will rub off on you."

"Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a 'scholar,' OK, Dad? All these…rules…and—and deadlines, and schedules—it's just a waste of time."

"Everything in life has rules and deadlines and schedules, Junior. Even if—heaven forbid—you were to quit school and started a motorcycle repair shop or something—"

Mutt looked up hopefully.

Indiana glared at him. "Keep in mind that was a purely hypothetical example. Even if you were to do something like that, you'd still have deadlines, and rules and schedules. So you might as well learn to deal with them now so they don't drive you crazy later on in life. And you might as well finish school so that you don't have to start a repair shop. I mean, you could get a nice, well-paying job like mine, and then fix motorcycles on the side for fun if that's what you really want."

"Yeah, whatever. There is no way I'm ever becoming a teacher, not ever."

Indiana sighed, and said, "Look, all I'm asking you to do is to finish out your four years. Is that really so hard?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"It's boring! I'm way smarter than half the people in any of my classes, and I could do my homework in my sleep. I can't do this for four years!"

"So, put those extraordinary brains of yours to work, and maybe you'll finish early."

Mutt rolled his eyes.

"What's it going to take to get you to finish? You want me to promise to buy you a puppy?" Indiana asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"Why do you want me to finish so bad?"

"I'm your father, Henry. Despite your apparent misconceptions, I really do care about your future." He seemed to consider to himself for a moment. Then he said, "Tell you what, Junior, start getting better grades in your classes—promise me you'll try to finish out four years—and I'll give you enough money to start half of your motorcycle repair shop."

Mutt started up. "Really? You mean it?" he asked eagerly.

"Now, don't get too excited, I said half. That means you've still got to pay for the other half."

"Yeah, but…Gee, thanks, Dad," he said, and for once he really meant it.

"Remember, now, that's only if you get through school. And if your grades in my class are any indication, you have some serious work to do."

Mutt groaned. "But archeology is so boring."

Indiana stared at him in disbelief. "Boring? After the incident with that Crystal Skull and the KGB in Akator, you think archeology is boring?"

"Well, that wasn't so bad. But it's different when you're actually doing things, than when you're just reading about how some long-dead guys dug up the remains of some even longer-dead guys…it's just…just not the same as, like, doing it yourself, you know?"

"Ah. I see. Well, maybe it's time I took you on another 'field trip.'"

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be swell," said Mutt.

"Well, I guess we should be headed home. Don't want your mother to worry. Want me to give you a ride?"

"Nah, I rode my Harley." Then, he added after a moment, "Thanks, though."