"What?" Indy stood in the entry hall, looking as though he were prepared for anything, even a fist fight.
Shorty paused, staring at him for a moment.
"I saw you running to the door, through the window." Dr. Jones explained, closing the door behind Shorty, since his son had left it open.
"Oh. Sorry." Shorty stood awkwardly for a moment and then walked through the living room, calling over his shoulder. "Let me change. Then we need to talk."
Indy raised an eyebrow but allowed himself to settle back into his chair where he'd been half-heartedly reading the Sunday morning paper. He retrieved it from it's position on the floor and began reading once again. The local library was raising funds for an upgrade. Boring.
"Ok."
Indy folded the paper unceremoniously and eyed the boy in front of him. Shorty sat stiffly on the sofa and said, "I think... I want to see a psychiatrist."
"Come again?" the older man asked, though he knew what had been said.
"I want counseling or something."
Silence for a moment. Then Indy responded in a half-interested tone, reopening the newspaper. "I'm certainly not against it. Why do you think you need counseling?"
"Want, not need." Shorty corrected him. "Will you please put that down and look at me!?"
Distraction lost, Indy looked up at his son, trying not to show his discomfort. He needed to stay calm. If Shorty wanted to see a psychiatrist, it had to be bad. "So why do you want counseling?"
"Well, to tell you quite honestly, I don't understand some of my... thoughts. Reactions. I'd like an expert's opinion on why my brain reacts the way it does." Shorty fumbled for words. "I'd like to know if there's some logical way I can control my 'anger management problem'."
"What made you decide this so suddenly?" Keep him talking, calm him down, and maybe he'd realize he could just talk to Indy. He didn't need a psych.
"The preacher.. he read this verse." Indy grimaced. Here we go again. He really needs to spend more time doing homework and hanging out with friends. All this religious stuff can't be helping.
"Go on." Better to get it over with now, he reasoned.
"It was about how father's discipline their sons because they love them."
That hit home. Indy felt the little stabs of awkwardness crawling through him. "What does that have to do with counseling?"
"I thought that that verse made a lot of sense." Shorty leaned forward slightly. "I realized that I wasn't appreciating your discipline. I thought perhaps seeing a counselor would clear my mind, and help me to understand why you acted the way you did. And quite frankly," the Chinese teen interlaced his hands behind his head, stretching casually. "I think I might even find a way to not become so dependent on things staying as they are. Just in case they change for the worse." With that, he stood once again. "Thanks for talking, Dr. Jones. Do you have any recommendations on who I might be able to see?"
Indy blinked, then replied carefully. "The school counselor would be my first try."
"Excellent, thanks." Shorty turned to the stairway and proceeded to his room.
Teens and their 'business' like discussions.
From the kitchen, Indy could hear the phone ringing. Crossly, he strode into the adjoining room and picked up the receiver. "Jones."
"Hello, Dr. Jones." It was a feminine voice. The woman sounded around his own age, possibly five years younger. The voice was extremely familiar, and Indy's brow furrowed, trying to remember it as it continued. "It's been a long time."
There was only one person such a beautiful and innocent voice could belong to. Marion.
"Marion.. what the h-"
"I'm calling from the pay phone on the corner of your block." Indy couldn't believe his ears. Marion... here? Calling him? As if he needed any more complications.
"Look, Marion, I can't talk. I.." He didn't want to have to explain about Shorty, but he couldn't talk to her for long without the teen listening in.
"Listen to me, Indiana Jones." That voice. It demanded his attention like no one else's. He waited, holding his breath.
"I've come a long way to see you. The least you can do is stop stammering and say hello."
Indy sat down shakily at the kitchen table, resting the hand holding the phone on cheekbone.
"Hello."
"Nice, Indy." The hint of a chuckle. It sounded dry, pained. "I needed to come. I finally accepted the fact that you would never come to me." Her voice shook slightly, but Indy could tell she was trying (and doing a rather good job) of keeping it steady and business like. What was it with people getting upset at him and then trying to sound like they were trying to sell him a vacuum cleaner?
"Marion - I.. I couldn't. You don't understand what I've been going through."
"What you've been going through?" That dry laugh again. "What about me, Indy? What about me!? You can't possibly expect me to just forget about the one man I ever could of had a future with!"
"Marion, please." Indy's features, though Marion couldn't see him, were easy enough to imagine. His eyes had that guilty and desperate shine to them. "Wait for me. I'm coming to you now, I can't talk here any more. I've got... someone who can not hear me talking to you." Silence for a moment. With a jolt of panic, Dr. Jones thought maybe Marion'd hung up. At last, she responded.
"You've only got one chance, Jones. Don't blow it."
Indy placed the receiver on it's pedestal, yanked on his leather jacket, shoved his hat onto his brown hair and exited the house without a word to Shorty. He would explain later.