Two archaeologists accompanying each other deep into a mostly unexplored jungle wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. They get along well with each other, they even love each other in a way, like you'd love a sibling that's also nearly been sacrificed in India. The problem with these particular archaeologists working together is that, combined, their self-preservation is only a half-remembered concept.

Also, they're both too stubborn for their own good.

"I am going into the cave," Justine states. She has her arms crossed over her chest as she glares at her colleague. She hasn't come this far and nearly been shot by a traitorous guide to just stand around outside like some sort of fainting damsel. "There's nothing you can do or say that will stop me."

"You're staying out here and keeping watch," Indiana shoots back with his hands on his hips. Both are glaring, both are too hard-headed to turn back now, and both are exhausted after the long trek through the jungle. Sweat makes their clothes stick to their bodies uncomfortably and Justine has walked the last mile with a pebble in her boot.

"I am not! I'm going in there and I'm going to handle that damned idol with my own two hands, and I'll let you hold it on the way back if I'm feeling generous."

"You know what? Fine. Just waltz inside like you own the damn place, but I don't want to hear you complain when you set off a trap!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" She flicks some of her hair over her shoulder and starts inside, making it a grand total of ten feet before tucking tail and running back out. She's pale beneath the dark flush of red, looking nauseated at what she'd seen. "Spiders?" Justine nods and swallows hard, finding a nice rock to sit on.

"It's all yours, Indy." He looks smug as he and the only remaining guide walk into the cave, but Justine doubts he'll be so smug when he realizes the spiders are the size of horses. She shudders at the memory of hairy legs crawling over her back, involuntarily swiping her hand over the spot.

Justine Sophia Laurent has faced down mercenaries, she's survived countless booby traps and a cult, all without flinching, but spiders…. Spiders are just terrifying.

With a sigh, she shrugs out of the overcoat she'd been wearing, letting it drop to the ground as she focuses on rolling up the sleeves of her button-down. Normally she wouldn't be caught dead in trousers, but long strolls through jungles in search of ancient treasures mean wanting as much protection as she can get. Still, she has a nice skirt and blouse waiting for her in the little hotel in the village and that thought keeps her going more than the golden idol that Indiana is so obsessed with obtaining.

"Spiders," she mumbles, heaving out a long breath. "Why did it have to be spiders?" Rats are something she can handle, bats are simple as long as they don't get tangled in her short hair, but spiders.

Justine shakes her head, stubbornly pushing all thoughts of eight-legged monstrosities out of her mind and focusing instead on what planning needs done for them to return to Connecticut.

"We'll need tickets for the trip home." She stands despite her aching feet protesting she does otherwise, pacing in front of the cave's entrance and ticking things off on her hand. "Transportation to the air strip, some light snacks for the flight, tests to be graded, museum to be notified of our find…"

She bites her lip, trying to remember if there's anything else that needs to be done. There's the little problem of teaching her own French class at the college, but the students were given light homework to keep them busy while she was gone, so that will be easy to grade.

I could always just stamp an A on them and call it done. Surely her students grasp the verbs by now and those that don't probably shouldn't be taking a French class at all.

She continues mumbling to herself for a few moments more, realizing there is more to do than when she'd left in the first place. She still has tests to write and an entire lecture to pull out of thin air for a guest spot in Indiana's archaeology class the day after their return. Him focusing on Egypt for a week is always her favorite part of the year, but it also serves to double her workload.

It's not until she feels a hand on her shoulder that Justine realizes she's no longer by herself, letting out an undignified squeak as she jerks back a couple of feet. The man who'd scared her only laughs in response, breathy and almost sarcastic as Justine covers her chest with one hand.

"T'es rien qu'un petit connard," she hisses in return, glaring at the man. He's a full head taller than her, dressed more like an English tourist than an actual archaeologist with an honest-to-God pith helmet on. Sure, René Belloq is a handsome man, but the pith helmet—and his personality—aren't exactly things that make him shine in a positive light in her eyes.

"Such foul language," he scolds, shaking his head like he's disappointed in her. She knows this expression well after seeing him do it for years, though she no longer finds it as endearing as it had once been. "What would your father say if he could hear you?"

"He'd probably agree with me." He smiles even as her frown deepens, looking every inch the charming man she'd grown up alongside. Back when they were still young, she'd thought he could do no wrong, but now she knows the truth. He's a cold-blooded murderer and a grave robber with nothing in his life he doesn't view as a possession.

Justine looks over Belloq's shoulder, finding the guide that had run off after nearly shooting Indy, supported by the native tribe called the Hovitos.

"I see you still don't want to face Indiana in a fair fight."

"Brains over brawn, my dear."

"Cowardice, you mean," she asks, narrowing her eyes. "You would never beat him without any help, so you make sure you always have someone bigger to fight your battles for you."

"And you think Doctor Jones is any better?"

"I know he is." She looks at the cowardly Peruvian man again, giving him a spiteful sneer that she usually reserves for her ex-husband alone. "And you, trying to kill the only person in two hundred miles that could lead you to the idol, you're nothing but a rat of a man."

"Actually, my dear, he's a corpse of a man." Her stomach drops at that, wide eyes turning to look back at Belloq. It never fails to make her sick, the realization of the man she'd loved being a monster disguised in a gentleman's clothes. "Oh, don't look so shocked. He's hardly the first man to die in pursuit of the Chachapoyan idol."

"You're disgusting." His brow twitches in a micro-expression that means she's dealt a blow to his vanity. She doesn't care anymore, hasn't in years now, and she'll do him another blow as long as she can keep the bile down.

"You don't look so grand yourself," he shoots back. "I suppose Jones is taking care of the booby traps inside."

"And he'll take care of you too. One of these days, you'll fight him and you won't be walking away." Belloq comes to stand next to her again, warm fingers curling along her chin with just enough pressure to tilt her head back. "I hope I'm there to see it."

"You really do." His voice is soft, but his gaze is hard as he stares down at her. Justine jerks her chin out of his grasp, rubbing her sleeve over it as though to wipe away the feeling. "Perhaps one day Jones and I will have that fight, but what will you do if I'm the victor?"

"Finish the job myself." He opens his mouth, looking ready to launch in the familiar spiel about how she isn't cold enough to kill him, but he's cut off by a thundering boom that echoes through the jungle and sends birds flying away. They both spin to face the entrance of the cave, finding Indiana sitting in the tall grass with a large boulder lodged in the entrance, looking up at both of them in a daze. "What…?"

"Ugh," Indiana groans in answer. He's absolutely covered in cobwebs, thick things that stick to him like thin burial shrouds. Willie would pitch a fit to see him like this, Justine thinks with a vague sense of amusement.

"I think I'd prefer to be stuck in that cave with the spiders." She jerks her chin in Belloq's direction, sneering at him in disgust. "At least those spiders aren't wearing pith helmets."

"Not everyone is born with a keen eye for fashion," Belloq says, stepping closer to Indiana. The other man stares up at Belloq with the slightly glazed expression of a man that's just beaten death only to end up facing something much worse. It's an expression that Justine has seen much of in the past seven years. "I believe you have something for me, Doctor Jones."

"A swift kick in the pants," he grouses.

"I was thinking something more along the lines of that revolver you're so fond of." He holds out his hand and Indiana slaps the gun into it with a scowl. Behind them is the sound of bowstrings being tightened, arrows pulled back into a firing position in case Indiana tries anything funny.

"I thought you'd grown bored with this expedition."

"Just frustrated. It's so hard to find good help these days." Belloq glances over his shoulder in time to see the dead guide drop to the ground with a heavy thud. "Perhaps I should steal my wife back along with the idol."

"Unless you got remarried in the past year, then you have no wife. And the reason you have no wife is because you talk about her like she's an object." He peers past Belloq and Justine gives him a proud smile. "That's why she makes me cupcakes."

"Don't try and distract me with thoughts of food. Give me the idol." Justine and Indiana lock gazes for an instant, blue flicking towards the pistol tucked away in Belloq's belt and back to gray. Justine nods her understanding and eases closer, making it look casual so she doesn't get shot in the ass with a poisoned dart.

Willie would never let her live that down.

"Too bad the Hovitos don't know you the way I do," Indiana says, pulling out the coveted idol from the safety of his coat. Sunlight, fractured as it breaks through the canopy overhead, makes the idol gleam; fairly small, around the size of a football, it must be a heavy weight in Indiana's hand.

"Yes, that is too bad for them. They think I'm here to keep you from stealing their idol." Justine doesn't have to see Belloq's face to know that he's smiling, an amused thing that used to make butterflies swarm in her belly. "If only you could warn them, Jones."

"Think they understand Latin?"

"Something tells me they wouldn't quite grasp it." Justine slowly reaches out one hand, fingers grazing the butt of the pistol and beginning to wrap around it. The idol is in Belloq's hand now and he straightens from where he'd bent over Indiana, holding the idol up and shouting something victorious in a language Justine doesn't understand. The tribe all drop to their knees in reverence, heads bowed and weapons lowered.

Justine's gaze flicks to her friend and he nods, getting to his feet. They move in tandem, Justine yanking the stolen pistol out of Belloq's belt while Indiana snatches the idol from his grasp. The Frenchman doesn't get the chance to protest, Justine cracking him behind the ear with the gun before taking off at a dead sprint through the trees.

Indiana is right next to her, slapping vines and thick leaves out of his face as he goes. They just need to make it two miles, then they can swim across a river to where their plane is waiting on them. Ugh, I really hope there aren't any leaches this time.

They don't even make it a full mile before arrows and darts begin shooting past them, the Hovitos hot on their trail. Justine really wishes she could say being chased through strange jungles while the indigenous people shoot weapons at her is a new thing.

Justine and Indiana blow past the statue that had terrified one of their guides, then the mules that had been left behind with gear still strapped to their backs, and then Justine can see the river.

A dart whistles past her ear close enough that she can feel the gush of air it's carried on and she speeds up even more.

They burst out of the trees, now on a steady downhill slope that makes her boots slip and slide in places, grass damp from the humidity. The slope could have been covered in chocolate pudding and she wouldn't have cared because she can see the plane now, and she can see the pilot fishing off the side of it.

"Jock," Indiana yells," start the engine!" Jock, for his part, drops the makeshift fishing pole into the Urubamba River and climbs up the wing before dropping down into the cockpit. "Start the engines! Get it up!"

Justine splashes into the water, wading up to her waist until she can clamber up onto one of the steps and then up over the air strut until she can flop into the seat behind Jock. Indiana climbs in after her, squeezing and wiggling until he's half in her lap with one of his feet propped on the wing.

The plane slowly gains altitude and then its doing a graceful curve that takes them away from the angry tribe below, and more importantly, away from the goddamn spiders.

"God almighty, I smell awful," Justine groans, resting her forehead on Indiana's shoulder. "I need a long soak in a hot bath."

"Yeah, and I need a— Holy shit! Jock, there's a snake! There's a snake in the plane!" Jock spares the pair a glance over his shoulder, his grin showing off teeth that are yellow from nicotine.

"That's just Reggie," he calls back to them. "Show a little backbone!" All the color has drained out of Indiana's face and he uses one booted foot to gently nudge the boa further away. "Relax, man, he's harmless!"

"Harmless, my ass," he grumbles under his breath. Justine gives a breathless laugh, ignoring the cold scales rubbing over her foot. I've lost a boot. She wonders when it could have flown off without her realizing it, but she's not terribly worried. It was the one that had the pebble in it.

"Did you get the idol," she asks, glancing up at him.

"Yeah, it's in my satchel." He brings the bag up for her to dig through, smiling when she lets out a little gasp. It's an ugly thing, ninety percent of it is an enormous head with bared teeth while the rest is a torso with legs folded under it. She was right earlier, it's fairly heavy in her palms, the gold smooth and warm.

"The museum's really going to owe us for bringing this to them."

"Marcus will make sure your boots are replaced, Tina."

"I'm more concerned about finding a nice enough restaurant to take Willie to since I missed Easter for this little trip."

"T'es rien qu'un petit connard" = You really are an asshole.