Disclaimer: I don't own Indiana Jones or any of the characters from the movies.
Note: Takes place Post-Last Crusade, pre Crystal Skull. Oneshot. Hopefully nothing is too OOC!
A Little Help From Friends
By: Lost-Remembrance (Red Tail)
"I get by with a little help from my friends…" -Beatles
He paused in his script, the pen in his hand stilling as well. He blankly stared at the paper before him. With a heavy sigh, he raised a hand to rub overtop his tired and overworked eyes. His other hand reached for the almost empty bottle of whiskey near the edge of his desk.
His hand seemed to have overreached just enough that the bottle fell to the ground, shattering into a million pieces and jerking the man from his memory and alcohol-induced stupor.
"Ugh." He groaned, clearing the frog in his throat while leaning back from his desk. He shut the journal in front of him with a snap. For a moment, he could almost see the blood again.
He jerked himself from the vision—the memory, one that had plagued him for nearly a week now.
"Damnit," he moaned as he let his head fall into his resting arms. "I need to get myself together." His class had been slightly worried—the girls in particular—at the beginning signs of the dark shadows under his eyes.
He was a tough man, a man with little fear—except for snakes—who had witnessed more things than most did in a lifetime. The Ark of the Covenant might have given him the chills but that was easily offset by the potential the artifact presented for the museum and scholars across the globe. He barely had nightmares over that!
Maybe it was because he was giving himself too much time to think? Indy shook that thought almost immediately. He had finally caught up with the stacks of paperwork that almost caused his desk to collapse inward. His students had been pleased by that no doubt.
Deep down he knew what it really was. He knew from the nightmares themselves. He might not have been close to his father, nor might they have seen eye to eye on pretty much everything, but damnit he did love his father. Sure they had issues, but the image of his father, lying there on the floor, choking on his own blood…
Indy's fist slammed against the wood of his desk. He glared down at the journal his father had yet to ask for back. He didn't know why he kept it, especially since they knew where the Grail was—or had been—and the secrets it held. But the little journal meant so much for being such a small insignificant and hate worthy thing.
He supposed it was irony that led his father to send him the book that Indy had hated as a child. Constantly vying for the attention of a father more interested in an inanimate object and a quest for a legendary item only spoken of in lore and myth. He knew the psychologists in the Psych department would love to get their hands on him, peel him back layer by layer and see what made him the man he is today.
The ringing of the phone pulled him from his melancholy and rather upsetting thoughts. He stood and made his way to the buried machine. Finally unearthing it from a mountain of paperwork, Indy tried to make his voice sound less annoyed, "Hello?"
"Ah, Indy!" Marcus. A smile crossed his face. The old man was always a welcomed distraction. "How have you been my boy? I trust the museum shouldn't have to wait too long for that next artifact, hmm?"
Indy's hands reached down to the paperwork previously covering the phone, fingering the sheets with neat notes and diagrams. "I think I've got everything all set up that I need. It shouldn't be—or take—too long."
The glee in Marcus' voice was almost contagious. "Splendid!"
There was a lull in conversation.
"Indy…"
"Hmm?" He supposed his got a little too preoccupied with reading his notes. His mind seemed to be everywhere today. Perhaps he did need to take a vacation—a non-work related one.
"I saw Henry today. He seemed to be excited about some new artifact he's placed his interest in. I think I heard mention of him penning a book."
Indy grunted into the phone. Other than a monosyllabic response, he wasn't sure what to say, or what Marcus was getting at.
"He seemed so energetic, as if he needed to try everything once. I think… Well, I think that he really is glad to be alive."
Now Indy really didn't know what to say. "I am too…"
He could almost hear Marcus's smile through the telephone lines. "As are we all no doubt. It wouldn't be possible without you, Indiana."
His full name, not Indy. A soft smile crossed his lips. "Thanks, Marcus."
"You just remember that, Indiana Jones. He may have been shot, but you healed him. And that's all that really matters."
He must have seen the signs as well—the guilt that weighed him down. He should have been faster, should have been stronger—thank goodness he chose wisely. There was a difference between an estranged parent and a deceased parent. He preferred the former, obviously.
He closed his eyes and at that moment, he saw the bloody wound on his father bubble and steam, flesh knitting together and healing what the bullet tore.
"Indy?"
The archaeologist smiled, eyes still closed as he relished the moment, the feelings of relief and elation at having his father healed and alive. "Thanks Marcus. I… thanks." His voice was gruff and hopefully helped offset the less-than-manly emotional drama moment.
"No trouble at all. I figured it was better than—" His voice cut off, catching Indy off guard and making his eyes snap open in alarm.
"Marcus? Marcus!"
"Junior!" A different, familiar and oddl comforting voice wafting through the phone. His shoulders straightened and stiffened in response to the voice.
"Dad."
"Junior," his father began, tone implying a rant, "You listen to me. Don't make me come down there and take you over my knee! You've been giving Marcus and from what I hear a lot of people grief over spilled milk!" Figures his father would take his near-death experience so lightly now that it was in the past. "You hear me?"
Indy couldn't help but grin. "Yes, sir."
Henry paused for a minute across the line. "I… I know I didn't get to say this before or as often as I should, but I'm proud to have you as my son, Indiana."
Indy felt stunned at the almost sudden emission. He shifted his feet, feeling slightly awkward. "Thanks, Dad." And he meant it.
"Now don't cause anymore trouble!"
Marcus' voice crackled back over the phone. "Henry says goodbye. I do wish you the best of luck in Brazil next week!"
"Thanks Marcus, I'll see you later." He placed the phone back down and felt strangely light, as if a heavy weight was pulled from his shoulders. He snorted at the thought. To think such a trivial thing plagued him.
A grin spread across his face and his heart rate increased. He had some bags to pack and a plane to catch. Another adventure was waiting…
FIN