A/N: This was originally written for a "cross-a-drabble" meme on Livejournal.
Rating: K+.
Spoilers: Through Kingdom of the Crystal Skull; none specifically for Doctor Who.
Disclaimer: Indy and the Doctor belong to their respective creators. I don't own anything here but the words.
Smith and Jones – Take 2
There's a break-in at Marcus's museum. An artifact Indy recovered from Egypt months ago is nabbed by a gang of black market dealers, and Indy tracks them to their headquarters in the city. He finds his way inside an old building and into an interior room teeming with antiques. The Egyptian piece, a decorated urn with markings unusual for its time, sits in a locked display case on the other side of the room, as do two men in dark coats. Indy hides behind an English police box near the door, taking note of his unloaded revolver and his surroundings before advancing.
Which is why he's especially frustrated when a third man shows up out of nowhere, heading straight toward the display case while Indy fistfights his way through the thugs. Something buzzes; Indy kicks down the last of the thugs and looks up. The display case has swung open, and now the third man is reaching for the urn.
By the time the man turns around, Indy's revolver is already aimed at his chest. "That doesn't belong to you."
"Right you are." The man tosses the urn to Indy, who, caught off guard, barely catches it. "Keep that safe, Professor. It's worth more than you think."
Angry voices drift in from the hall, and Indy has no choice but to run. The man follows him into the hallway, where the two of them exchange glances. "Go on, then," the man says, gesturing Indy to go right. "I'll keep them distracted."
Indy hesitates. "Who are you?"
The man grins, his whole face elastic with it, and darts off down the hall. "Not just yet, Dr. Jones," he calls over his shoulder.
His name is the Doctor. That's all Indy can get out of him the second time they cross paths, this time in Chicago. The mafia is on Indy's tail—again—and he's running through the hallways of his hotel after being ambushed in his room when a familiar face beams at him from the elevator.
They ride to the top, the lower floors crawling with mafia henchmen. While Indy checks one end of the hall for unlocked rooms, the Doctor finds one on the other, and once inside, Indy goes to unlatch the window. He leans his head out into the night air to judge the distance to the building across the street, the Doctor rambling about something behind him. Indy ignores him, having noticed the power lines strung between the two buildings.
He uncoils the whip at his belt, and suddenly the Doctor is interested. Climbing out onto the ledge, Indy cracks the whip, and it snaps around the power lines. He looks back to find the Doctor halfway out the window, mouth open in a gleeful smile. "Oh," the Doctor says, "now that's brilliant."
He never seems to age. Years pass between each visit, and yet the Doctor stays the same, almost always dressed in that brown trench coat. Indy is not stupid, far from it, but there is something about the Doctor that keeps him from thinking too long about the details that don't add up—the sudden disappearances, how he first knew Indy's name, why he ever helped Indy to begin with. Perhaps Indy doesn't really want to know. He finds himself holding back whenever Marcus asks about the mysterious man, as though saying his name out loud will make him less real.
Once, just after New Years in 1937, Indy spots him in Mexico City. When he calls his name, the Doctor looks as though he's never seen him before. "It's me, Doctor," Indy says, frowning. "Indy. Indiana Jones."
The Doctor considers him for a moment. A woman shouts for him, and before Indy can react the Doctor is gone, lost among the crowds.
The next time they meet, Indy breaches the subject. "Rubbish," the Doctor laughs, "of course I recognized you," yet Indy is unconvinced. They escape their binds and look for a way out of the room they've been imprisoned in, but by the time they're free and the Doctor has vanished, Indy has forgotten to ask him again.
Not until 1939 does the Doctor witness Indy using a gun. It's loaded this time, rattling in its holster as Indy guides his horse closer to the train speeding across England's countryside. For once, the Doctor has approached Indy with a mission instead of following Indy on one of his. Indy still isn't sure what's in the train car, or why it's important, but he learned a long time ago that asking the Doctor such questions is a fruitless endeavor. For now, the Doctor is keeping up behind him, and Indy is focusing on how best to make his way onto the train.
Someone must have seen them, because suddenly the train whistle blows, the sound reverberating in Indy's chest. A man heaves open a door on the car parallel to Indy and the Doctor, aiming a shotgun. Indy knees his horse forward and draws his revolver, noticing movement from the Doctor out of the corner of his eye. He glances back; the Doctor is yelling something, but the whistle blares again, and the words are lost to the wind. The man on the train fires, and Indy dodges just in time. He pulls the trigger. The man collapses, legs swinging over the tracks in rhythm with the sway of the train car.
Chuckling, Indy looks to the Doctor, expecting that infectious smile. Instead he sees in the Doctor his father's face, disappointment turning down the corners of his mouth.
It's a long time before Indy sees him again.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
Indy is looking through the open door of that intolerable blue police box, his shoes just inches from the threshold. Interdimensional beings, he thinks, and now this. Ten long years have passed, during which Indy has almost convinced himself that the man never existed. But today the Doctor is anything but imaginary, and he doesn't look a day older than the last time Indy saw him. For once, Indy isn't surprised.
The Doctor slides his hands deep into his trouser pockets. "Come now, Indy," he says. "Haven't you always known?"
He is perched on the windowsill of Indy's room, ankles crossed. The moment Indy sees his face, he sinks onto the edge of his bed, chest tightening.
"This is the end, isn't it," Indy says. "The last time."
The Doctor nods.
Indy looks at his hands, old and callused, then at the Doctor. The setting sun outlines him in gold and shadow, and finally Indy can see age in the young man's eyes, wisdom beyond Indy's years. "My son," Indy says. "I wish you could have met him."
"Don't worry." A grin lights his features. "My adventures with him aren't over yet."
At that Indy smiles. He tries to picture his son running with the Doctor and can't help but laugh. "We had some fun ones, didn't we, Doctor?"
The Doctor hops off the windowsill and takes a seat on the bed. "Oh yes, Indy. The best of times."
Later, in the backyard, Indy listens to that strange whine as the Doctor and his police box fade away. He looks up. The stars are beginning to shine in the wake of twilight, and for a long time he stands there, hands in his pockets, staring upwards.
Marion's voice drifts out from the kitchen. Slowly, Indy makes his way back to the house.
-end-