Title: "Ghosts"
Rating: pg
Disclaimer: don't own anything to do with Indiana Jones.
Authors notes: "Sometimes its forever" was supposed to be a one off, but thanks to the encouragement from kat1021 I have written this sequel. I have not read the books with Deidre Campbell in them, so all of my drabbles will be conjecture.
The sun was setting deeply, orange streaks cut low across the sky and stars were just pinpricking the velvety blackness in the east. Smoke rose haphazardly into the sky from the torches that surrounded the excavation site. Sitting back on her heels, Deidre Campbell glanced at the other workers frantically shovelling or carefully brushing dirt, rocks and grass away from their discovery. Smiling, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand as her eyes fell on one particular, handsome archaeologist. He was talking to a bespectacled, older man, who was holding a map out in front of them. Gesturing towards the south end of the site, where Deidre happened to be watching from, Indiana Jones then hit the map, turned and walked to the supplies tent. Frowning, Deidre stood and followed him; something had upset him and she was determined to find out what.
Once inside the tent Deidre found a depressed looking Indy. He was sitting on the makeshift bench, a bottle of whisky in his hands, his head hanging low. She stood in front of him, her arms crossed; all she had to do was wait.
"Alcott's an idiot."
"I know that, you know that, what can we do about it?"
"I don't know . . . but he better sleep with one eye open tonight."
Sighing, Deidre pulled herself up onto the bench next to him and lay her head on his shoulder, "darling, don't get violent now . . . the dig will be over soon enough and we'll have what we're looking for and that will be that."
Indy turned and kissed the top of her head, "he's destroying any chance we have at finding the link we need, and we need it quick if we're to stay ahead of Powell . . . what would I do without you?"
Deidre smiled, but inside she felt sadness, a sadness that emanated from Indy. He could seduce her, whisper pretty words in her ear, care about her, make love to her, but Deidre sometimes got the impression that he was just moving through the motions. Shivering a little, Deidre leapt of the bench and went to turn the tent lamps on. Suddenly three large pops and a shout came from outside. Indy was outside the tent before Deidre even had a chance to look up. Quickly she followed. What she saw horrified her; she suppressed a scream. Armed men had infiltrated the site and Thomas Alcott and two of the workers lay dead from gunshot wounds.
"Miss Campbell, where is it?"
Deidre turned to face Adrian Powell. His gun was trained on her, but he was alone, his henchmen to busy dealing with the workers. Deidre paled taking a step backwards.
"I . . . I don't know what you mean . . ." She could not rip her eyes from the gun, it was as though she was looking down the tunnel of death.
Sneering, Powell took a step towards her, "Miss Campbell don't play games, come on, hand the scroll over and all this will go away . . . hmm, don't you want to live Miss Campbell?"
"I . . . um," Deidre swallowed. She could not think, she could not move, fear had frozen her limbs and tongue. Yet in that moment, a flick and a crack snapped through the air. The gun that had been so studiously trained on her flew into the air, landing a few metres away from both Deidre and Powell. A large, warm hand grabbed hers and yanked her away into the blackness of the forest.
-
Deidre sat up from her bed of leaves. The sun was rising over the tips of the trees and she guessed it to be a little after nine in the morning. Stretching her arms out, she shuddered slightly as she remembered the horrors of the previous night. Beside her, still snoring gently, lay Indy, curled into the foetal position for warmth. Leaning over, she kissed his cheek before rubbing her cold nose all over his face.
"Marion . . . stop . . . " he murmured. Deidre froze. Even as she kissed his cheek again, a sinking feeling sat like ice in her stomach. It was hard enough competing with his passion for archaeology – which fortunately she shared – but it was proving more disconcerting competing with a ghost. Sometimes she wondered if it was worth it, he obviously still cherished feelings for this girl. A snort interrupted her musings. Glancing at him she could see that he was waking up, his eyes darting around, looking for a point of reference, eventually settling on her. Sitting up, he reached over and took her hand.
"Are you ok?"
She smiled softly, "yeah . . . I'm fine."