A/N I did the math, and I figure Mutt is about 21 in the movie, so I'm going with that.
Damn Motorcycles
Henry Jones Jr. was, in all honestly, a fairly patient man.
In his younger days, of course, he easily ran thin when it came to the wait, but over the years, after the second war, he matured. Even as the Cold rolled in, he found himself growing like that. He was patient, even-tempered. Calm, dare he say. But this, in truth, was cutting it very close.
"Where is that boy?" he mumbled to his wife, leaning against the counter and eyeing an oddly designed plate Marione had to have. The clock ticked incessently over the door, and the sink went on and off while she washed something.
"He's probably just running late," Marione reasoned, a half smirk twitching the corners of her lips at her husbands impatience, "give him some time."
"We ask him for one day out of his week and he can't even make it on time." Henry grumbled, turning around to see Marione putting a tray of some kind of meat back into the oven, "What are you doing?"
"Keeping the meatloaf warm."
Henry made a face, "Why?"
Marione smiled at Henry like someone would a naive three year old, a condesending smirk, "So it doesn't get cold, oh wise college professor."
"Why should we have to wait an hour for him and give him hot food? My father always said---"
"---Your father always said the 'milk don't wait to be put in the fridge to spoil'," she wrapped her arms around his waste and looked up at him, "we all know. He's just a kid, Indy. Go easy on him."
He pulled away from his arms and opened the refridgerator door, glowering at the sudden air of bad cheese, "He's not a kid anymore, Marione. He should---"
The phone interupted him, and he let his wife answer it, leaning back against the counter.
"Hello?" said Marione.
The rest of the conversation, to Henry, seemed to move in a painfully slow blur.
The words he didn't hear, maybe because he wasn't paying attention, or maybe because they didn't matter. It moved along in snap shots. Marione's face falling, covering her mouth with a hand, tears brimming at her eyes, leaning back against the wall. Side by side, he could still remember.
She hadn't said anything, the phone only inches from her ear, so Henry took it from her, asking, demanding.
He only caught a few words of the monotonous women's word's, but they seemed to be enough.
"Accident...motorcycle...Henry Williams..."
They said something about claiming a body.
Damn kids and their motorcycles.
A/N Another challenge. When I heard the sentence I thought of Mutt Williams, so....