A/N: I know that not a lot of people are probably reading this since the Indiana Jones file isn't visited often (I have no idea why), but I like making it, and that's all that matters.
16 years later...
"I'm telling you, Char, your dad won't like this." My best and only friend Belinda tells me as we sit outside, waiting for my dad's lecture to end. I shrug.
"He'll be glad I wasn't hurt. That boy had it coming". I had just gotten out of a fight with a boy my age who had some so not so polite things about Belinda. Being the hot-head that I am, I challenged him to a fight. Boys are so dense. They believe that girls will fall down dead if you even blow on them. That's what gave me the upper hand. Somewhere, that rude boy is nursing a black eye. I may be small, but I can throw a mean punch.
Suddenly, the door flies open and college students shuffle out, most of them girls. Yes, my dad is... attractive for his age. Girls have been taking his class for years. He once told me a story about a girl who wrote 'love you' on her eyelids so he saw it every time she blinked. I was laughing harder than I ever have, but he was blushing harder than he ever has.
I watch as the college students file out, paying no attention to the two girls lounging on a bench. When it seems clear, I stride in, Belinda near me. Dad is at his desk as always, sorting through some papers with a concentrated look on his face and his glasses pushed up. His 'professor gear'. Sometimes I wonder if he even needs glasses, or if they're just a clever cover.
"Ahem," I clear my throat not-so-discretely. Dad looks up from his paperwork, a grin spreading across his face.
"How's my little Char?" he asks affectionately while pulling me into a hug. I squeeze back, enjoying the feeling of being close to my only parent. I've missed his quirkiness so much while he was gone, searching for a stolen item that started his nearly life-long career. He came home in the dead of night, greeting me when I woke up. When he pulls back, we can see Belinda making herself comfortable at one of the desks like she's part of the family, which she pretty much is. We've been inseparable since age four. Dad smiles at her.
"Hey, Belinda. How was your day, guys?" I brace myself before telling him and shoot Belinda a 'don't you dare' look.
"Well, our day was pretty eventful." Dad takes more of an interest.
"Oh?"
Belinda laughs.
"Oh, yeah it was." I hush her and turn back to Dad, trying my best to formulate a nice way to tell him in my head. Being the overprotective parent he is, I don't think this will blow over too well.
"Belinda and I were walking here by ourselves, like we usually do, when this stupid boy that's in our class came up to us and started to insult her. I told him to back off, so he started to call me some things that I know you wouldn't want me to repeat. Long story short, I ended up beating him up. Any questions?" Lame excuse, Char. Dad frowns at me. The last time this happened, he lectured me about how dangerously stupid I was being and how it better never happen again.
"Char, you could have been seriously hurt. Some of these people aren't just messing around." He says it with such seriousness that I have to remember he has experience in this field. Too much experience. I sigh.
"I know, Dad, but I felt like I had to! Besides, according to the teacher, I know how to throw a punch really well." This time, Dad chuckles, unable to hold back his amusement. He ruffles my hair slightly.
"You're just like I was at your age. Do you want to come with me to see Mr. Brody?" he asks. I nod happily and turn to Belinda. Before I can say anything, she puts her hands up in the air.
"I'm on my way out. See ya Char, Mr. Jones". I throw her a smile before she walks out the door. As soon as she leaves, Dad opens the drawer to his desk and pulls out a gold cross with rubies on each end of it. The cross itself is attached to a gold chain that looks like it's brand new. The Cross of Coronado.
"Wow, Dad. It's beautiful," I whisper in awe. He smiles at me.
"Isn't it? That's what we'll be giving Mr. Brody when we visit him." Looking down at the valuable necklace that men kill for, I wonder what Dad went through to get it. He never tells me the full extent of what happens on these excursions, but I know that they are all something out of a fantasy.
He used to tell me the 'clean' versions of some of his older adventures before I went to bed at night. I fell asleep dreaming of him and Mom running through Cairo in search of the Ark of the Covenant. He told me everything about that one adventure, mostly because I would request it constantly. He told me all about how they searched all over Cairo, how they reconciled after a year apart, got married in a private ceremony at Sallah's house, and had me not that long after. Of course, he left out the part where she was killed when the truck full of explosives carrying her crashed. The stories were better that way, though.
We walk hand in hand to Mr. Brody's after escaping the hoards of his female students that hound him as he walks out of his office everyday. I don't really mind it at all. Dad has only ever attempted two or three relationships since Mom died when I was barely a few months old. He says that she was the love of his life and that no woman could ever compete with her. He doesn't want to make them. Something seems weighing heavily on Dad's mind as we stroll through the park on the way to Mr. Brody's museum. At first, I think my fight upset him. I hate upsetting or disappointing Dad. He's all I have. However, as I feel how he guiltily squeezes my hand, I know it's something different entirely.
"Dad? Is something wrong?" He looks up from our hands into my eyes.
"Honey..." He trails off momentarily before swallowing. "Does it ever bother you when I.. you know... leave for a while?" I look down at the grass, avoiding his eyes. Truth be told, it does bother me. For one, I worry that he'll be killed someday. Even a cat only has nine lives. And sometimes, I just miss him. I miss greeting him after school, I miss him reading with me, I miss our nightly ritual of a home-cooked dinner together, I miss him telling me he loves me. I miss everything. Even though I want to tell him this, I just shrug.
"A little, I guess..." I don't want him to feel like he needs to abandon his career for my stupid emotions. Dad looks down at me sadly and wraps one of his arms around my shoulder. "You know that I love you, right?" he asks. I nod with a smile on my face. That's something I have never doubted.
"Marcus!" Dad calls as we enter Mr. Brody's office. Mr. Brody looks up from his papers.
"Ah, it's good to see you, my boy," he says to Dad.
"You too, dear Charlotte." Mr. Brody is like a second grandfather to me, while to Dad, he's the father he never had. Grandfather is perfectly fine to me, but he and Dad were never on the best of terms. I think he likes Mr. Brody better. Dad walks up to him and shakes his hand.
"Good to see you too, Marcus. Now, I think we have some things to discus, don't you?" I can see Dad discretely slip the Cross of Coronado out of his bag to show Mr. Brody. A smile slowly spreads across his face.
"Very well, my boy. This will go quite nicely with the Spanish collection in my museum. Now, we have another matter to discus. It's about your father." Dad tenses up when Mr. Brody mentions Grandfather. Exhibit A that he doesn't like Grandfather that much.
"What about my father?" he asks. Mr. Brody sighs and shakes his head.
"I went to visit him and I found his house... ransacked. He's missing."
"Dad!"
"Henry!"
"Grandfather!"
No response to any of us.
"Where the hell is he?" Dad asks himself as we walk through the ransacked house. Mr. Brody shrugs.
"I haven't seen him in quite a while." I can hear Dad scoff lightly.
"What else is new." I know Dad is bitter over Grandfather's indifference towards him his entire life, but they have their rare moments of compassion towards each other. Emphasis on rare. I think I've seen them hug once, if ever. The living room of Grandfather's home is an absolute wreck; furniture is turned over, papers are scattered along the floor, valuables are broken. Whoever came here was not messing around. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice some pieces of paper sitting on his desk, virtually untouched. Slowly and carefully, I pick it up. It's today's mail.
"Dad!" I scream. He and Mr. Brody come running, or rather stumbling, in from Grandfather's study.
"What?" I hand him the mail, which he takes cautiously. His eyes seem to pop out when he looks at it.
"It's today's mail." Suddenly, his hand goes to his pocket and he pulls out a small package. It's the same mysterious package that he found while we were in his office. "Venice.." he says to himself while ripping it open. Much to our surprise, it's Grandfather's Grail journal; his most prized possession.
"Dad loves this thing more than he loves me. Why would he send it to me?" Dad and Brody look perplexed, but the answer comes naturally to me. "It must not be safe for him to keep it."
Dad looks at me in shock.
"Good call, Char," he says proudly. I smile, happy that I did something to earn Dad's praise.
"Now, why would the journal be unsafe with him?" Mr. Brody asks. "Who would want Henry's work?" Grandfather's work all revolves around the Grail, so why would it be valuable to anyone but him? Dad snaps his fingers together, showing us that he has an idea.
"Marcus, what have you learned from Dad is the Grail's power?"
Mr. Brody seems to think for a minute, but I, having listened to Grandfather's rants about the Grail, answer immediately, "It gives whoever drinks from it immortality." Dad laughs.
"Someone's full of answers today. But correct, it gives immortality. Whoever is going after my father's journal must need or want immortality badly if they are willing to go to such great lengths in order achieve it. Who do we know that would do this?" Almost instantly after he says this, Mr. Brody and Dad look at each other presciently.
As if on cue, they say the exact same thing; "Nazis." Unexpectedly, Dad slams his fist into the nightstand, making me jump at his mercurial change in action.
"When will those damn traitors to mankind leave my family alone?!" he asks no one in particular. Dad has a bit of a history with the Nazis. I think he blames them for Mom's death.
"Calm down, lad," Mr. Brody says. Dad exhales and shoves the journal in his pocket.
"I'm getting two tickets to Venice, Marcus," he announces, completely ignoring me.
"No way! You're getting three," I demand. He simply looks at me and shakes his head.
"No way, no how. You could get hurt." He starts to walk away towards the door, but I grab his brown 'day-job' jacket.
"Dad, I'm sixteen. You can't keep me here forever!" He looks at me firmly, his eyes burning a hole into mine.
"But I can keep you out of trouble for as long as possible. I get in a lot of bad situations when I do what I do, and now we're dealing with Nazis, Char. They wouldn't think twice about killing you. You're not going." I look at Mr. Brody, silently demanding privacy. Without another word, he walks out of the house, allowing Dad and I to talk.
I put my hands on my hips, being just as defiant as usual.
"You're not going to look for Grandfather without me. You two are my only family, and I can't sit here and do nothing while you guys are getting attacked!" Dad puts his hands on my shoulders tightly and sternly.
"Charlotte Desmona Jones, you are NOT going, and that is final!" I feel like I could scream at him for saying that, but instead, I breathe in deeply and exhale, trying to think of how I can explain to him how much I worry about him. If he thinks I can take this life anymore, he's crazy.
"Dad," I start. "You know I worry about you. I worry about you a lot. What if, one of these days, you can't find your way out of a bad situation? Do you know what it's like when you're gone? When I sit up at night wondering when you'll come home, and whether or not it's in a coffin? Maybe if you're coming home at all? It's a terrible feeling. We lost Mom such a long time ago that all I remember is you and I. You know I can't stay here worrying when you're gone on your most dangerous mission yet. Please, don't leave me here, Dad. I promise I'll stay out of your way when you need me to. Just please take me." My plea is heartfelt and true. He can sense this, because the next thing I know, I'm wrapped up in a hug, his hand on the back of my head while the other rests on my back.
"I'm sorry, Char..." he mumbles into my hair.
"It's alright," I murmur back to him. I can feel him shake his head.
"No, it isn't. I don't want to put you through that as much as I do. I don't want to become my dad. Yes, you're getting older, and I think you can handle it. You can come along, but you have to do what I say when I say it. Deal?" I squeeze Dad excitedly. I'm actually going with him this time!
"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" I exclaim. Now that that's over with, I'm determined that we will be successful in finding Grandfather.
A/N: Ahhhh, isn't Indy an amazing Dad? :) I love him! I'll have another chapter up tomorrow or the next day.
