Disclaimer: I don't own Indy, Marcus, Belloq or anyone else particularly recognizeable from Indiana Jones books/movies. Or anyone else's fanfictions for that matter.

Revised again. I can't help myself, but I don't think you'll mind. I'm only making it better. (Hopefully.)

Indiana Jones and the Shadow of Death

I

The rainforest was stifling, a temperature of a little less than one hundred degrees coupled with unbearable humidity. The archaeologist moved with caution, hesitantly putting one foot in front of the other, unsure of whether his next movement would throw him off balance. Breathing was as difficult as movement; heat, sweat and nerves crippled his lungs, perspiration cascaded down his face. The atmosphere was alive with sound and movement: leaves rustled, frogs croaked, shadows flitted, and sporadic breaths burst through heat-chapped lips.

The archaeologist raised a shaking hand to his face and drew it across his brow; his fingers were uncharacteristically cold and damp with nervousness. wrapped around his other wrist was the reason he had come: At the end of a long chain dangled a solid gold Brazilian tribal pendant inlaid with sapphire and jade, dating back as far as 668 B.C. The locals called it the Jewel of the Siharuk Cayatana. Sure, this wasn't as significant a thing as the Ark or the Grail - or even the Cross of Coronado - but enough for it to feel a part of him. His gaze brimmed with an almost paternal pride as it caught a faint shimmer of gold. Edging along the rough bark, the archaeologist told himself that the worst would be over after just a few more steps.

A foreboding hiss sounded from the dusk mere inches away. Indy tried to swallow, but a lump had grown in his throat; nervous sweat laced his brow. One hand gripped the pendant, so tightly that the knuckles turned white, while the other reached for the revolver.

A nearly inaudible groan escaped Indy's throat. God, it's inevitable.

Indiana felt the limb beneath his feet snap and watched his revolver plummet to the forest floor, horrified. Snakes didn't matter at the moment; the immobile Jones was suddenly more afraid of falling than being bitten. Instinctively his free hand reached outward seeking something to hold onto, and what it found was twenty pounds of angry viper. Tumbling backward with an involuntary yell, he dodged a split-second strike, catching the gleam of two venom-bathed fangs in the faded light.

After crashing through a few feet of foliage, Indy landed with a groan on the rainforest floor. Luckily he hadn't hit anything very hard on the way down. Slightly injured, the archaeologist propped himself up on his elbows and dusted off his fedora. Though his mind reeled and temples throbbed, Indiana propelled himself to stand up. Too fast, he decided, when he felt himself reeling and near black-out point. Using the trunk of a gargantuan tree, he steadied his quaking limbs.

Chest heaving, heart pounding, Indy imagined he heard drumbeats off in the distance and tried to dismiss the notion as absurd, a product of his anxiety. Hurriedly he began the search for his gun, still holding the artifact tightly in his palm. The chain cut savagely into his wrist now, increasing the pain that he already felt. A few minutes later Indy gave the revolver up for lost, half musing that someday another archaeologist would be out there, wrestling for his life trying to put it in a museum.

The rhythmic pounding grew louder and Indy had to seriously rethink his earlier dismissal. What if somebody was following him; what if it was the same old thing all over again? He wasn't teaching a class anymore, in limbo of transfer between his old University and the one in New York, so nobody there had been notified of his absence. Indy hadn't breathed a word to even Marcus or Dad. . . No guide this time, either. So what was left uncovered?

Even though he was fairly confident he hadn't missed anything, it was better to play it safe. Indy's hand slid deftly to his holster, only to discover empty leather. It was a habitual action; he cursed himself inwardly for having dropped the damn thing.

As the adventurer's fingers darted to the bullwhip still coiled at his waist, a figure emerged unannounced from the gathering gloom. Its presence loomed mockingly over Indiana and his accomplishment, shuddering with a malicious chuckle.

"Let's see you get out of this one, Jones," the form spoke, a jeering quality to its Parisian accent.

Indy's jaw clenched as his glare pierced the shadows that shrouded his long-time adversary.

Indy's utterance was almost more growl than intelligible speech. He glanced up, narrowing his eyes into the distance. "I see you've invited friends again, Belloq; they're almost ugly enough to be your type."

The Frenchman, raising an eyebrow, gestured to the multitude of natives that stood poised behind him. "Hah. No friends of mine, I assure you," he mulled, "They do have their good qualities, though. Very fond of killing, for example." His eyes, full of mockery and pride, met Indy's; his words were an attempt to toy with the archaeologist's sanity. A stone-cold steely glare told Belloq it wasn't working. With a casual shrug he continued. "And after this, I just might let them. I really have no use for you anymore. Be a good little archaeologist and hand it over, hm?" It was clear that Belloq and Indy were no longer equals in Belloq's eyes, as the Frenchman had suggested long ago in a Cairo cafe. Whether it was the heat, or the urge to forget the memory, Indy could only recall a vague remembrance of the conversation they'd had. We're not so different, you and I. . . The words bubbled abruptly to the surface of his mind, echoing eerily. A new anger burned in his eyes.

"Or what?"

Indiana didn't care much how Belloq had found out, and wasn't in a position to inquire anyway. Obstinacy was the best policy here, if he wanted any sort of a chance to escape - even though it was looking less likely every second.

René paused with a hand stretched expectantly outward. His chest rose and fell slightly with each haughtily drawn out breath and moonlight glistened in his eyes. It seemed an eon before he spoke. "Professor, you can't delay destiny. Buyers can't wait forever. . . and neither can I. Test my patience this last time, and you'll beg to be back with the Nazis before long." The corners of his mouth twisted upward in a victor's grin.

Indy's fingers clenched the edges of the artifact as he hugged it to his thigh; cruel stony facets bit into his palm. The eyes beneath his battered fedora brim flitted across the faces of the aborigine, catching little more than smears of red and black on their cheeks. The warriors glared unblinkingly back at Indy, but he could feel that they weren't focusing on him so much as on the gold that peeked through the cracks of his protective hand.

The Amazon settled deeper into darkness, and the cornered Jones heaved a heavy sigh. Using his shoulders against the tree, he pushed himself wholly to his feet. Belloq and the natives tensed in alarm.

Movement in the back of their ranks caught Indy's attention; a dart whizzed perilously close past Belloq's left cheek and into the bark above his shoulder. With a countenance of firm resolve, Indy shook the chain from his wrist. I let him do it twice, and I'll be damned if he ever takes anything from me ever again. He cocked his arm and pitched the pendant in a high arc above the tribesmen. Indy hated to lose another artifact, but this would be his last - Indy could see as Belloq scrambled for the artifact that the natives would kill him, and took satisfaction from the fact that this final time, Belloq was the helpless one.

Slipping deftly off through the trees, leaving the demise he knew was coming to his nemesis far behind him, Indy recalled that a girl once told him that he might die doing such dangerous things. Smiling to himself, Indy's answer still applied.

Maybe, but not today.