DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!

A/N: Yeah, I know this is a couple weeks late, but I had some computer issues and couldn't post it earlier. Hope y'all enjoy it!

For Indiana Jones, the Fourth of July was usually a day like any other, no barbecues, no going to watch fireworks, just a few drinks in his study alone to mark the occasion. This year was different; he would be spending it with his wife Marion and their son Mutt. Marion had insisted on having a celebration, since this was going to be their first holiday as a family. She had just finished decorating the backyard with red-white-and-blue streamers and was now in the house.

Indy poured some charcoal into their brand-new grill. He couldn't remember the last time he'd used one, but he figured it had to be close to cooking over a campfire, something he was quite used to. He examined the container of lighter fluid in his hand, not sure how much was the appropriate amount. He decided to just sprinkle the stuff over the charcoal and stop when he thought there was enough. Indy did just that, placed the grate on the grill, and reached for the box of matches on the picnic table. He struck a match across the box, then quickly dropped it onto the charcoal. The resulting two-foot high flames and loud whoosh sound were enough to startle even a seasoned adventurer like himself.

"Indy, are you all right?" Marion called, sticking her head out the kitchen window.

"Yeah, Marion, everything's fine!" Indy called back.

He noticed some appetizing smells drifting out the kitchen window and decided to investigate. He entered the house through the back door and looked around the kitchen. There was a bowl of potato salad on the counter, in between a cherry pie and a plate of fresh brownies. Indy found himself unable to resist the temptation the brownies presented. Marion was currently occupied with getting hamburgers and hot dogs out of the refrigerator, so he decided to use that to his advantage. But no sooner had grabbed one from the plate than she turned around and caught him.

"Indiana Jones!" she scolded.

"Come on, Marion, it's just one brownie," Indy reasoned.

"We have to wait for our guests." Marion insisted.

Marion had invited their mutual friend (and sort of godfather to Mutt) Harold Oxley to the barbecue. Indy's old friend from Egypt, Sallah, had always been interested in attending an American Independence Day celebration, so Indy had decided to let him in on the fun too.

"You oughta know better than to leave these sitting around," said Indy, reluctantly setting down his brownie. "Mutt's liable come along and eat the whole plate." (Sometimes, he swore the kid had been born with a bottomless pit in place of a stomach). Indy suddenly realized he hadn't seen his son that day. "Where is he, anyway, still in bed?"

Marion shook her head. "I sent him to the store to get a watermelon, some ice cream, and potato chips."

"How the hell is he gonna get a watermelon home?" Indy wanted to know. He had a fleeting vision of Mutt strapping the watermelon to the back of his motorcycle, only to have it slip off somehow and splatter all over the road.

"He'll figure out some way. He is your son," said Marion.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," said Indy.

He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Through the window, he noticed a yellow taxi idling in front of the house. Indy opened the front door and grinned at the person standing on his front porch. Sallah's hair and beard were definitely grayer and his face sported more and deeper lines than the last time Indy had seen him, but other than that, Sallah was his usual plump, jolly self.

"Indy!" Sallah shouted delightedly, embracing his old friend.

When he let go, Indy noticed a couple of suitcases sitting on the porch. He picked them up and brought them inside. Sallah followed and Indy suddenly noticed his friend's attire: a bowling shirt with Tiki gods and palm trees printed on it, a pair of Bermuda shorts, leather sandals, and a New York Yankees baseball cap. This outfit was hardly unusual by American standards, but definitely strange for Sallah. Indy guessed he was trying to blend in with the locals.

"I am so pleased you have invited me to your home," Sallah was saying. "It has been far too long, my friend, far too long."

"It sure has, Sallah," Indy agreed.

"You said in your letter that you're married now, Indy," said Sallah. "Where is your wife?"

"She's in the kitchen." Indy showed Sallah the way. Marion was sitting at the table, cutting little stars out of tinfoil to hang in the backyard. "Sallah, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Marion Jones."

"It's nice to see you again," said Marion.

"It's a pleasure, Marion. Oh, the years have been kind to you; you're as beautiful as I remember."

"Watch it, that's my wife you're talking to."

Sallah chuckled. "I knew it!" he exclaimed. "I knew she would be the one to tame you, Indy."

"Well, I wouldn't say he's tame, but I did manage to house-break him," Marion quipped, causing Sallah to roar with laughter. "I did a lot of cooking today, so I hope you brought an appetite."

"When was the last time I accepted a dinner invitation without an appetite?" asked Sallah, jiggling his ample belly.

A moment later, Indy heard the front door open. He looked around the kitchen doorway and saw Oxley walk through the living room toward them. Neither Indy nor Marion was particularly bothered about Oxley letting himself in; he had a key, after all, and he'd had a habit of dropping in on people since they'd known him.

Indy, Sallah, Marion, and Oxley spent a long time in deep conversation, catching up on what had been happening in each other's lives recently. Indy eventually excused himself to take the hamburgers and hot dogs outside and check to see if the grill was hot enough to cook anything yet. Yeah, it was definitely ready. Indy picked up a hamburger and was about to set it on the grill when he realized they might still be missing someone.

"Marion!" he called.

Several minutes passed, then Marion appeared in the backyard. "What is it, Indy?" she asked.

"What time did you send Mutt to the store?" he wanted to know.

"Around 2:30 or so, I guess." Marion replied.

"Is he back yet?"

"No."

Indy glanced at the watch on his wife's wrist. "He's been gone for two hours. What the hell's happened, he get lost in the supermarket?"

"Mutt can be a little distractable sometimes," Marion reasoned.

"He might not be if he'd take a sleeping pill once in a while," Indy pointed out. "I keep tellin' him he's gonna drive himself crazy not sleeping for days."

Indy set the hamburger he'd been holding on the grill.

"What're you doing?" asked Marion.

"Making dinner." Indy said, somewhat confused by the question.

"But Mutt isn't here."

"I know that, Marion."

"Indy, this is our first holiday as a family. We can't start eating without him. It'd be rude," Marion's voice was rising slightly.

"Well, we can't sit around all night waiting for him to show up either," Indy argued.

He started to cook a few more hamburgers and hot dogs. Marion watched her husband cook, debating with herself about whether or not to call the police. Sure, Mutt had proven that he was definitely capable of taking care of himself, but still...he'd been gone way too long. Distractable or no, it shouldn't have taken Mutt this much time to get a few groceries. She was just about to go into the house to make the call when she heard loud engine noise coming from the driveway, a sound that could only be made by her son's motorcycle.

A few minutes later, Mutt entered the yard via the gate. Because of the heat, he wasn't wearing his trademark leather jacket. Instead, he wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off to display his lean, muscular arms. He was sweating a little as he awkwardly balanced a carton of ice cream, a huge watermelon, a bag of chips, and a rather large crate. Indy relieved his son of the groceries and set them on the picnic table. Mutt hung onto the crate.

"And just where have you been, Henry Jones III?" Marion asked, hands on her hips.

"Shopping, ma'am." He only called his mom that when she got angry enough to call him by his real name; curiously, he never called his dad "sir" in similar situations.

"Is that the truth?" Marion wanted to know.

Mutt put the crate down in the grass beside the picnic table and fished a Dr. Pepper out of the cooler. He drew his switchblade from his pocket, flicked it open, and used it to remove the bottle top. He sat down on the tabletop and took a long drink before answering.

"Yeah, it's the truth. It took me a while to get the watermelon strapped on my bike and when I hit a bump on my way home, it fell off. I had to go back to the store and by then, the ice cream was dripping everywhere. I ran into this girl I know at the store and we started talking. I replaced the stuff and then I came straight home."

"What's in the crate, son?" Indy inquired.

"Say, Pops, is dinner almost done? I'm starved."

Indy could tell when his son was trying to change the subject, so he crouched to examine the crate for himself. Mutt watched nervously as he read the words "DANGER--EXPLOSIVES" stamped into the wood. He straightened up to his full height, glaring at his son. Mutt had to admit that, even in a "Kiss the Cook" apron, his dad was pretty damn intimidating.

"What the hell are these?" Indy demanded.

Mutt shrugged. "Just some fireworks."

"Fireworks aren't legal in this state. Where'd you get 'em?"

Another shrug. "I don't know. Some guy was selling 'em out of his pickup."

"And you bought them."

"Dad, it's not Fourth of July without fireworks."

Dangerous as this purchase was, Indy found it hard to argue with that logic. Hardly anybody celebrated America's birthday without them after the war.

Marion let out the deep breath she'd been holding. "Henry Jones III," she repeated. "Do you have any idea how dangerous those things are if you don't know what you're doing? I thought I raised you to have better sense than that. You're just lucky the police didn't catch you or you'd be in jail right now. This is one of the stupidest, most reckless things you've ever done and that's saying something." She paused for air, then asked her son sharply, "You know what I should do to you?"

Mutt didn't say anything. He knew better than to give his mom suggestions for how he should be punished. He'd done that a few times and his mom had always chosen to use his ideas, which were often more severe than the punishments she'd considered herself.

"I should send you to bed without any dinner." Marion finished.

The hazel-green eyes Mutt had inherited from his father widened. "Mom!" he exclaimed. He tried desperately to think of an alternative punishment; he'd been craving Marion's brownies all day.

Marion held up a palm. "That's what I should do to you and what I would do if we weren't having company over. What I'm going to do is send you to bed as soon as you finish eating and take away the bike for a couple days." She turned her hand over. "Give me the keys."

Mutt retrived them from with his back pocket and dropped them into his mother's hand without so much as an eye-roll. This definitely beat the other idea she had.

The back door opened and Oxley and Sallah walked out into the yard. The mood lightened considerably when Sallah dashed toward the picnic table, nearly tripping over his own sandals, on a collision course with Mutt.

"Little Indy!" roared Sallah, pulling him into a bear hug so tight the kid swore he felt his ribs cracking.

"Yep," Indy said, flipping a burger. "That's our son Mutt."

Sallah let go of Mutt, a puzzled look on his face. "He is named after the dog too?"

Marion chuckled. "No, Mutt is his nickname. He's named Henry after his father."

There was silence for a while as each of the Joneses each took a role in serving the meal. Marion doled out potato salad, Indy handed out hot dogs and hamburgers, and Mutt carved the watermelon with his switchblade. They swapped stories and a few jokes over dinner, dessert was reserved for complimenting Marion repeatedly on her pie and brownies.

"Now I know why so many people move to this country," said Sallah, laying down his fork, "to enjoy these wonderful foods all the time."

"Glad you enjoyed it, Sallah," said Marion, smiling.

He sighed. "I only wish my dear wife had chosen to accompany me. She's never cared much for traveling."

The poor woman doesn't know what she's missing, thought Marion.

Across the table from her, Mutt was yawning. He was tired and stuffed, but there was something he really wanted to do before bed. He wasn't sure he'd be able to, but it was worth a try. "Dad, can I see your lucky charm?"

"My shamrock lighter? Why?" mumbled an equally sleepy Indy.

"I just wanna have a little fun before Mom takes my bike away and grounds me." he said innocently.

Without really thinking about it, Indy handed the lighter over. Before anybody could stop him, Mutt had the fireworks crate open. It wasn't long before firecrackers were popping. Bottle rockets, Catherine wheels, and Roman candles were soaring into the sky over the Joneses backyard. Sallah was laughing loudly and applauding, Oxley didn't look very pleased, and Indy had passed out on the table and didn't notice what was happening.

'I wonder if all our holidays are going to be this interesting...' Marion wondered.

THE END