Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it. If we come across anything that I do own, I'll tell you. .

Indiana Jones and the Shadow of Death

II

An explosion of light hit Indy in the face, feeling immensely foreign, harsh and bright. he moaned ruefully and squeezed his eyes shut, pulling handfuls of blankets over his head. It's too damn early. . .

Bare feet pattered in soft rhythm on worn hardwood across the room, from the window to a cushioned armchair near the door. The slim brunette - bright mischievous eyes gleaming - laughed breathlessly to herself. Sighing abruptly, she paused and then walked back toward the bed, running her fingers over the folds in the sheets. Another groan of protest sounded from beneath the bundle of blankets.

Indy's muffled voice followed a few seconds later. "Go back to sleep, will ya?"

"You're a hell of a lot lazier than I remembered you," she said, sitting down. The hint of a wry smile lighted on her face.

"Yeah, maybe a bit, but it's not like I can help it."

One of her eyebrows perked inquiringly. "Why not?"

Indy relinquished the covers and tucked them underneath his chin. "I dreamed again, Marion - about Belloq." The mention of him made her skin crawl. "I. . . can't seem to leave him in the past, you know?" His eyes narrowed at the ceiling. For some time now, the archaeologist had been haunted by things from his past exploits. It wasn't always Belloq; virtually anyone who had ever been involved with his projects entered his thoughts, sometimes even plagued them.

Marion shifted herself more toward the center of the bed. "The whole experience is something neither of us will ever forget," she said, pausing in thought, then adding, "Do you think it could mean something?"

"Like?" He was going to say, 'Like Belloq's going to come back from the dead?' but decided this was not the most opportune time to let his sarcasm take the best of him.

"Maybe there's something else you're supposed to be doing. Jones, you were built for adventure; sitting around teaching and. . . collecting dust isn't your thing." He looked at her with the implication of a shrug. It did sound like she was describing some moldy, centuries old artifact rather than himself. Her gaze had been resting lightly on Indy when she started talking, but now held the weight of a heavier thought. "Weren't you always telling me how unlike your father you are? Sometimes I see a lot of him in you." The words bit like shrapnel.

Indy slid out of bed and stood by the window, looking out upon the bustling Manhattan streets. The people were no more than spiders to Indy, moving frantically this way and that, caught up in the web of life. He felt trapped in his own web now. "I'm nothing like my father."

"Have you looked at yourself lately?"

The truth was, he really hadn't. Not deeply. In the window Indy could see a faint reflection of himself and as he glanced at it, his mind's eye told him something that he wasn't ready to admit: he was becoming more and more like his dad. And while Indy realized he'd never be ready to identify with that - would never allow himself to turn into his father - he was undeniably changed. Watching his father nearly die a few months before had been more of a dose of reality than he could handle. Practicality was slowly creeping in on him; spontaneous adventure became less and less the way he wanted to live these days. "You weren't there, Marion. What happened with the Grail wasn't fun and games - it was serious. Dad was dying. . . and I almost couldn't save him." A brief, sick feeling constricted Indy's stomach.

Though it was true that Marion hadn't been there, she'd heard the story a few times since she'd come back to visit - as many times as to give her a clear picture of how it looked and felt when Henry was shot; enough, almost to make her wish she had returned from Nepal in time to be there for him. Why had she gone back to that godforsaken country anyway? She thought a moment. Her father's things. . . yes, that was it. Marion had gone to collect the few valuable bits of Abner's "junk" that survived the Raven fire, because she owed it to him. What was supposed to have been a short trip turned into a lengthy and unwanted vacation.

The spirited brunette rose and moved toward Indy, whose back was still to her. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she squeezed it lightly. "He's alive now, though - don't think about it anymore. What's past is past; all you can do is move on."