My first Indy fanfic! It's a plot bunny that's been bugging me for a while, so I decided to try it. Hope you enjoy! Please R&R! Rated T for mild language, just in case.
I hate Jones sometimes. I really do. Just because he's ruggedly handsome and funny and charming doesn't mean I have to like him all of the time. Although I'm sure my best friend wouldn't agree.
"A…Achoo!" Damn. Another sneeze. I pull another tissue out of the half-empty box by my bed and blow my nose haphazardly.
It's all his fault, really. He was the one that dragged me out of the museum yesterday in the pouring rain just so I could help him save some stupid artifact. I shiver involuntarily and wrap the blanket around me tighter. I gingerly fold the blankets around me tightly and slump back down onto my wonderful pillow. Just before I hit it, a horrendous noise exploded from downstairs. It almost sounded like Jones sneezing, which brings a smirk to my face. Good. He deserves it.
The stupid noise persists. I lift my head and glance around, wondering what in the world it is. Obviously not Jones. The noise stops so I put my head back down. Wait! It's back again. Angry, I flip the covers off of myself and wrap my robe over my boyish pajamas. I'm in a foul mood, so I trudge down the steps. The noise is coming from Abner's study. Each step I take seems to be in rhythm with whatever it is. I stop and the noise does too after a few moments. I sigh out and continue my shuffling march to Abner's study. I barge in, unaware, and uncaring, of whoever resides.
To my surprise, I see Jones sitting in the armchair—it had been mine before, he seems to have taken it over—humming merrily and reading the newspaper from—I glance at the clock—at least ten hours ago. I turn my head to glare at him, then the record player, then back to him. I don't know what my face looks like, but it must be pretty funny since Jones laughs as soon as he turns the page of the newspaper and sees me standing there in my wonderful state.
I unconsciously run a hand through my hair and barely get an inch into it before realizing that I haven't washed it since running around in the rain, which makes me glare at him more. No doubt being sick has made me look even more devilish. I grumpily sit on the floor, glaring up at the still laughing Jones.
"Turn that loud crap off," I yell for effect. Jones complies, leaning over and lifting the needle up.
"What's the matter, sweetheart? Don't like music?" He smirks the whole time. Why does he always do that?
"For your information, Jones, I like music just fine. But that's not music. That is a bunch of random noises," I flail my arms around for more emphasis. I must look insane because Jones chuckles. "What," I yell, "is so funny?!"
Jones replies simply, "You, sweetheart." There he goes again. Calling me 'sweetheart'. Who does this guy think he is? I calmly sit and wait for him to explain. Jones folds his newspaper up, setting on a side table. Sure, this guy is a few… okay, several, years older than me, but that does not mean I'm some little—
"Achoo!" Damn it. My head slammed forward that time. Way to look mature, Marion. I silently take the long sleeve of my pajamas and brush the area under my nose. Hopefully Jones won't notice. My head is still hung, anyway. I lift my head up to stare at Jones, who is still smirking. Thankfully, he breaks the silence by explaining.
"Haven't you ever heard classical music?" he asks, crossing his arms. Ha! I can do that too, Jones.
"Of course I have. But it's been around forever. You're missing the new music," I reply, deftly crossing my arms too. Jones chuckles, and I feel like I need to keep going. "Besides, what's so great," I stop here for a small moment to draw him in. It works! He leans forward slightly, eyebrow raised. Hook, line, and sinker. I don't even know what that means, but Abner says it sometimes. "about this classical music?"
Jones sits back up and laughs. "It's got emotion!" he barks out between laughs. "Just sit down and listen to this one song, sweetheart?" Of course, he doesn't inform me that this song is nearly 20 minutes long!
I smirk, willing to take on the challenge. "Fine, Jones. This one song. What's it called, anyway?"
"Rhapsody in Blue," he replies, setting up the record player, "by George Gershwin. It's fairly new, actually. Only a year or two old," he continues, as if I care.
The record starts with some weird instrument playing by itself. It sounds a little hectic, but somehow under control. It's a soothing song, and I find myself nodding off, so I set myself down on the floor to stare at the ceiling. Some other instrument comes in, even more soothing. Now another and another! Geez, how many instruments are there in this stupid band?
Then they all come in, which surprises me. Most of them leave, except for a piano. I only know that because Abner made me take lessons. Sounds like this piano has a lot of solos, with the rest of the instruments coming in occasionally. I have to admit, the music pulls my emotions around like puppets. I glance at the clock. It's already been a few minutes. When is this gonna end?
Out of nowhere, all the instruments start playing at once! It scares me and I jump a little. Then they stop. If I was sitting on a seat, I'd be at the edge. The entire band comes back in and my feet start tapping the floor by themselves. The song slows down, and the woodwind section, as Indy so gallantly informed me it is called, plays an uplifting melody. By the end of the song, I am out of energy.
"So, whaddya think?" he smirks yet again as I sit up, a stunning look showing on my face.
Being stubborn, I start to say, "I think it's terrib—" but a deep breath and another sneeze stops me.
Indy chuckles and sits down in front of me. He gingerly lifts my head up by placing a finger under my chin. "Feeling blue?" he asks with a smirk.