A/N: The adventure continues for Indy and Char! Like I said, just because the Holy Grail is out of the way does not mean this is over. Nope, not in the least. As always, thank you SO MUCH for favoriting, following, and reviewing. Indy fans are just awesome in general, aren't they?
The chilly air nips at the uncovered skin on my face, causing my cheeks to turn a fiery red despite the low temperature. Early winter in Chicago; not very pleasant for someone who thrives in the dry heat of Cairo.
It's been a few months since the quest for the Grail. Our lives have gone back to normal, or at least as normal as it was before our little adventure. As Dad taught me when I was young, I will never be 'normal' by any standards. Besides the feeling of being watched, which I'm sure is just paranoia, the only thing that has bothered me since the adventure is the vision I had. The vision where a man told me Mom was alive.
I sat down with Dad a few days after we returned and laid it all down on the table, from the man who I feel I should know to the cryptic message he brought me. As I suspected he would, he listened intently and let me state my theories, fears, confusion, and my gut instincts. When someone has been dead all of your life, you come to accept the fact that you will never see them again. This threw that idea all away for me.
After I was done ranting, he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, saying softly, "Maybe it was from the near-death experience. You thought of someone who had been dead." When I told him about the man mentioning a basket switch, Dad became slightly alarmed, letting me catch him off guard for the first time.. well, ever. He shook his head and mumbled something about a coincidence before rushing off for the university to get to his job. We haven't talked about it since.
I push myself forward on my roller skates, loving the feeling I get when I go faster and faster with each push my foot. Belinda is grabbing onto my arm with her skates on, struggling to keep up with me, then giving up and letting me pull us both. This is our afterschool activity; skating in the park together, talking and laughing like idiots the whole time.
"Geez, don't you ever take a break?" she asks jokingly.
I laugh and respond, "Now when do I ever take a break, Lindy?" She pretends to consider this for a minute.
"Hmmm.. whenever we're both working on a science project and you decide to 'supervise'." I scoff, remembering that time when I just couldn't figure out how to put together the project Belinda and I were assigned together. I sat back as she worked on it, claiming I was 'supervising' her work to make sure she didn't mess up on our project or our grade. In my defense, if I had so much as touched it, we could say goodbye to that 'A'.
"Are you ever going to let that go?" I ask. She shakes her head at me, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Now when do I ever let anything go, Char?" I chuckle, bringing my skates inwards, pointed down to stop them from continuing on. We park ourselves at a bench near Belinda's house, her stop for the day.
"See ya, Lindy," I say sadly. She smiles.
"See ya too, Char. Say 'hi' to your dad for me, okay?" I nod, watching as she vanishes into the orange grooves surrounding her apartment complex. We haven't had much time together since we walked into Dad's office that day that started it all.
I sigh, getting up from the bench and steadying myself when my wheels hit the pavement so I don't fall flat on my face. Just like always, my feet mold back into the skates I've been using my whole life. I start to push back with my foot again, continuing like I never stopped. The wind pushes back against me, cold and hard. I push back, trying to compete against an unstoppable, invisible force. Does my competitiveness have no limits? What will I challenge next? The sun? The feeling skating gives me is matched by no other. I feel free, alive and useful.
As I go faster, I feel the world around me fade away, as if I'm the only one around the park. Skating time is reflecting time for me. I think about everything, ponder little, unimportant things and talk to no one. For the hundredth time in the past few months, my thoughts drift to Mom. I wish I knew her. Maybe if I did, the man's words would make more sense to me. I wonder what it would be like to know her. Was she just like Dad tells me? Was she beautiful, wonderful, and spunky?
My thoughts are cut off when I collide with a warm, solid body in front of me. In a haze of panic, I grab onto whatever is there to support me, which just so happens to be the man's arm. Remembering the last time I fell, I stick my knees out and lean forward to keep from injuring myself. We both go down as I do this, but my method keeps me safe, unlike his.
"Hey! Watch it!" whoever I ran into snaps at me. Petty anger builds inside me at his impatience.
"I wasn't the only one who needs to pay attention to where they're going," I retort, looking up as I do. The man -no, the boy- looks up at the same time I do. When our eyes meet, I can slowly see the hardness in his deep brown ones melt away, replaced with fascination. It seems as though my eyes did this to him. I nearly scoff at the thought. My eyes are nothing special; they look better on Dad and Grandfather. He breaks his gaze and pulls back, coughing awkwardly.
"I'm, um, I'm sorry, miss," he apologizes bashfully. I could tell by the way he talked to me earlier that he isn't the type to give out apologies. I stare at him curiously. What about my eyes made his anger dissolve?
"It's fine, and don't call me 'miss', please." I say it as politely as possible, but I'm sure that there was a dash of rudeness in it. He extends a hand to me.
"Mind if I help you up?" he asks. At first, I simply look at his hand. Being helped up by a boy who I knocked down? It seems like a far-fetched idea. Does he have something else up his sleeve? Geez, the Grail made me paranoid. When he puts his hand out a little bit more to further his point, I see no point in arguing, so I take it and pull myself up from the ground.
When I'm up, I examine the boy a little more. I know I said he was a boy, but he could easily be older than me, maybe even twenty. He has dark brown, slicked back hair and eyes that match. He has on a leather jacket, white shirt and dark jeans. I'm surprised at how his image comes close to mine; leather jacket, dark pants. In turn, I see his eyes go up and down my body, looking at my features as I did his. It's not a creepy stare, nor does it make me uncomfortable. He's just taking in my features. When he's done, he sticks his hand out.
"My name's Mutt, and it's nice to meet ya, Miss..." He waits for an answer.
"Nice to meet you, Mutt. My name's Charlotte, but everyone just calls me Char," I answer. That's a lie; only people I trust have gained the right to call me Char, a nickname Dad branded me with that I willingly took. Even Mom didn't live to hear my nickname. Something about Mutt makes me fine with telling him. He grins mischievously to match the mischievous gleam in his eyes as he shakes my hand.
"Got a last name, Char?" he asks. I tilt my head, staring at him like I don't trust him, but the truth is, I'm more amused than concerned. I think I should be, though. "What about you, Mutt?" He lets go of my hand and cocks his head.
"Tell ya what, doll. How about a trade-off? Last name for last name?" I nod, grinning at his plan and his slang. He's a likeable guy so far.
"On three, 'kay?" he asks. I nod again.
"One, two, three...Williams."
"Jones," I answer at the same time. He smiles, a bright, white smile that lights up his whole face. I wish my smile was as striking as his.
"Char Jones... Where have I heard that before?" I shrug. I think I would remember if I met someone named 'Mutt'. Then again, my father's name is 'Indiana', so who am I to judge... He snaps his fingers together, signaling that he knows who I am.
"You're Indy's girl, right? Y'know, Henry Jones Jr?" I stare at him in shock, wondering how the heck he knows my dad. Well, a lot of people do, but the way he's talking about him, he seems to be a family friend. How else would he know Dad has me?
"That's right. I'm his daughter, but how'd you know that?" I ask, dumbfounded. He grins cockily, like he knew I would be confused. I don't mind the arrogance. I'm surprised that Dad hasn't trademarked that smirk yet.
"Colin William's my old man. My folks named me after him. They're always sayin' that he's one of the best friends they've ever had. I already know he lives around here. I'm here on account of Ox." I smile on instinct at the thought of Ox.
Dear Harold Oxley, our completely lovable friend. I'm not sure how it's possible to be wise beyond measure yet clueless to most things around you at the same time, but Ox pulls it off. He's boring, but in a good way, if that makes any sense. His voice put me to sleep when I was a hyper toddler and his patience came in handy when I would want to play with him for hours on end. He comes to visit us from his home in London often. Dad says he has ever since Mom died. That makes sense, too, since I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't know Ox.
When I asked him why he visits so often, he simply shook his head and told me, "My dearest child, no matter how sure your father may seem of himself and his skill set, child rearing is no easy task to be done, especially by one very scared, very lonely man." At the time, I had no idea what he meant by it. After growing up and seeing how much Dad tried to shelter me and how much he worried when I hit a new milestone in my life, I understood what Ox had been trying to tell me. Dad's just as scared as he was when I was born.
"What about him?" I ask, the smile still plastered on my face. Mutt's smirk and happy expression fall slowly, replaced with a frown and sadness. I stare at him curiously, waiting for his response.
"Ox..." He gulps, scratching the back of his neck. "I just.. I-I need to talk to your old man," he gets out, looking rushed and impatient. I've known him for a few minutes and I can already see how he acts like his namesake. Without a word, I pull a pair of roller skates our of my backpack and show them to him. It's a pair that I carry around just in case Dad wants to skate with me, which is not often. I hand them to him wordlessly and sit down. He gets the message and starts to put on the skates.
"I don't know how to do this, babe," he warns. The little nickname gets my attention more than anything else. The last boy who called me 'babe' lived to regret it. I look up at him, giving him my best 'death stare', as Dad calls it.
"First of all, never, ever call me 'babe' unless you want to wake up tomorrow morning in Cairo, alone and surrounded by Asps. Second, just keep your hands on my waist and stay as steady as possible. You'll have to do almost no work besides keeping a good grip on me." Mutt smiles discretely, almost small enough that you wouldn't catch it, but I do. I roll my eyes. Boys; I could definitely live without them around to make it more complicated.
"So this how you get around?" he asks me as we as we skate down the sidewalk.
"Yep. How about you?" I ask. I dodge a fire hydrant as I wait for his answer.
"I'm the biker type, no doubt." Biker? I've picked up quite a boy, haven't I?
"Wow. I think my dad would kill me if I even dared to ride one once," I respond, speeding up my pace when I feel Mutt's catching on to how to ride skates.
"Is your old man strict?" he asks. I actually have to think about that before I answer. Is he? I always thought he was a relaxed Dad. Finally, I shrug.
"No. He's just really... attached. I'm not allowed to do that many things that he deems 'dangerous'." I know Dad's concerned about my well-being, as he always has been, but these past few months are getting ridiculous. It's like he thinks I'll go out and get shot again. With Grandfather around much more than usual, he actually has an excuse to not leave me alone or let me wander around as much. It's beyond frustrating.
"My mom's pretty angry about the bike. She wants me to sell it. No way in hell I'm getting rid of my baby." He refers to his bike as his baby... I wonder if he'll ever get a girl that he'll treat the same way.
I brake slowly for the beginner behind me when we reach my house. He grips my waist a little tighter when we stop so he won't slam into me. I don't mind, but he better not be enjoying it.
"Well, here we are," I announce. "Home, sweet, home." Our home isn't small, but it's no mansion. It's the inside that I'm mildly ashamed of. Dad, being an archaeologist, has his stuff lining every open space that isn't occupied by photos of us and Mom. Don't get me wrong, it's not tacky, but it gets embarrassing when people see an... umm... interesting piece and ask about it in either fascination or horror. I take my skates off at the door and motion for Mutt to do the same. He does, following me in setting them down by the door.
I walk in first, shouting, "Dad! I'm home!" as soon as I hit the entrance of our house.
"C'mon over here, Char!" he yells back. I turn over to Mutt, who's looking over our house. I can tell that the look is more curiosity than anything. Thank God.
"Coming!" Without warning, I grab Mutt's arm and drag him with me to Dad's study. He puts up little protest, even though I'm gripping him tightly.
"We have a guest," I say as we enter the study. Dad looks up from his paper work, probably expecting the usual visitor like Grandfather or Mr. Brody. When he sees Mutt, his face goes blank, like he doesn't know how to react. Mutt sticks his hand out rather reluctantly.
"Hello, Dr. Jones. My name is Henry Williams. I'm Colin William's son." Any sign on Dad's face that made him seem hostile ceases when Mutt says this. Dad and Colin go way back. Even though they haven't seen each other in a while, they're still great friends. Dad shakes Mutt's hand.
"It's great to finally meet Colin's boy. How is Col, anyway?" I know something's wrong when Mutt looks down at his feet, refusing to meet Dad's eyes.
"Dead, sir." I gasp in spite of myself. The words are the last thing I ever expected to hear. Colin's dead? He was such a sweet, friendly man. Everyone loved him, including Dad and I. Dad looks unsure of what to say to Mutt. What do you say to someone who lost a parent? Even though we lost Mom, I can't imagine losing someone who actually raised me.
"I... I'm so sorry. Colin was a good man," Dad consoles uncomfortably. Mutt nods tersely.
"Yeah, he sure was. He always said you were one of his best friends. That's why I'm here."
"What can I do for you?" Dad asks. Mutt doesn't respond. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded up picture. When Dad takes it and unfolds it, turning it back over, I can see who it is; Ox.
"Harold Oxley," Dad says slowly. He examines the picture carefully, as if to see if there is anything interesting or suspicious about it that made Mutt want to show him the photo.
"What about him?" he asks, much like I did earlier. Mutt sighs heavily. It doesn't take a genius to see he's been under great stress and pressure recently.
"Ox is missing. We think it has something to do with Nazis, or somethin' like that. Pops was shot down in the war, now right when Ox finally gets on the scent of something big, the Nazis get him before he can get his hands on it. It's all just..." He pauses, rubbing his temples in frustration. Dad seems sympathetic towards the boy he just met. After all, it's the son of his deceased friend.
News of Ox's disappearance, however, hits me like a cannonball to the stomach. Colin's dead, and now we find out that Ox is missing? It's all so much to digest. Don't get me wrong; I loved Col, but Ox was always like my second father. His visits were the highlight of my month, always bringing out the best of me on my worst days. The hate I feel for the vile Nazis still lingers from my own experience almost dying at their hands. Now they have Ox.
"I can't believe it..." I mumble. Dad's hand automatically flies up to rest on my shoulder comfortingly. No amount of comfort can make me feel better right now.
"What was Ox on the scent of, as you say?" Dad asks. Mutt hesitates, looking around like there might be someone else listening besides us.
He tells us in a lowered voice, "The golden crown of Queen Mary." Dad sits straight up in his chair, almost knocking himself over in the process. I've never seen him so shocked.
"Was the old man insane?!" Dad exclaims in a whisper. "We don't even know if that exists! The risks are higher than they even are to find the Holy Grail." He exchanges a knowing look with me. Trust me, I know the effects of having gone after the Holy Grail. But, what is this crown they're talking about?
"The what?" I ask ignorantly. Dad stares at me as if I haven't been paying attention to anything he's said for the past sixteen years.
"It's only one of the most powerful artifacts in the world... Well, if it actually does exist like Ox must think." I stare at him, still not knowing what to say. The Holy Grail makes sense to me; it gives everlasting life. The Ark of the Covenant; gives you a direct portal to God, which Dad witnessed first-hand was not a good thing. What the heck does a golden crown do that is more powerful than the freakin' HOLY GRAIL?!
"What does it supposedly do?" I ask. Dad and Mutt look at each other presciently, almost waiting for the other to answer me. Dad finally sighs and looks me straight in the eyes, keeping a stone cold expression on his face as he says,
"It makes you do whatever the wearer tells you to."
A/N: I, Brilliant Brunette Beauty (or Yogie, as I am more commonly known), solemnly swear that this will not be like Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Now, don't hate me, but... I didn't think the 4th movie was that bad! Okay, it wasn't as good as the others, but it didn't suck like everyone says. There was no defining factor that told me, 'This is a bad movie'. The acting was good, the storyline was pretty good and the aliens reflected the sy-fy obsession of the 50s (when the movie is set), and the action was still awesome. However, this is no Crystal Skull ripoff. Also, I'm having some trouble. Do you guys want Mutt to be related to Indy and Char or not? Trust me, if he were, I would find a way to explain it in a good way that wouldn't outrage you. So, please VOTE:
Should Mutt be...
a) unrelated to them totally
b) related to one of them
c) related to both of them
