July 8, 1922, 10 a.m.

I had the weirdest (and, not gonna lie, definitely the best) dream of my young life last night. Well, second only to the one where I flew to one of dad's dig sites on a giant turtle and found the Lost Bark. (I was nine—I thought it was the Lost Bark, okay?) I didn't immediately get why that dream made me so happy; it wasn't like finding the Ark was my dream or anything. Later, it hit me that because I found it, Abner could stop looking, could finally stop dragging me all over the globe the way he had been since Mom died in 1913. China, Australia, Mali, Egypt, Germany, France, Brazil, Peru, Ecuador, Japan, Russia, you name it. Anyways, what I remember so distinctly from that dream, even now, was the – what's the word I'm looking for – content look on his face. It was a look I couldn't ever remember seeing, and couldn't imagine seeing ever again.

So I said that was the best dream, but coming in at a close second is this crazy one I had last night about me and Indy (of course). We were arguing about how awkward things are between us, and then suddenly the scene changed and he was asking me out on a date (except he didn't say it that way, I forget how he said it), and then we went out for drinks, and then we argued again, and then he kissed me! Actually, correction: I kissed him, I remember that part really well. It was one of those dreams that has a really happy, satisfying ending, as opposed to those ones where you wake up right before something really good's about to happen. In the same way, though, that just made it more disappointing, because I've already decided that it's just not gonna—

WAIT. Wait. Wait a minute.

Oh, shit.

Let me get back to you on that one.

Later That Day (sometime late at night, I'm too lazy to take that pile of clothes off the clock and find out what time it actually is)

Okay, so… not a dream. We have officially established that it was not a dream. Apparently, we have also officially established that it was a mistake. We established that it was a mistake and then… oh crap, I'm getting way ahead of myself.

When I left you, I'd just realized the above revelation, and you could say it was a little bit of a shock.

I tried to sit down and missed the chair. That was a lot of fun.

Pride and bum both wounded, I changed super quickly out of my nightclothes and into something that made me look well-rested, not like I'd gotten home at two o'clock this morning, just in case Abner was still home and more paternally acute than usual. As quietly as possible, I slipped out of my room and down the still-creaky stairs towards our underused kitchen, trying to figure out if I wanted to run into him or not. I was leaning towards "not," when suddenly he appeared out of nowhere in the kitchen doorway, smirking. One big stumble and a very close call later, I realized that had I not been on the bottom step when my balance decided to up and go on hiatus, I would've taken my second fall of the day, and it would not have been pretty.

"Morning, sunshine," he said, obviously trying not to laugh. I rolled my eyes, secretly a little confused by his blasé behavior, and I wondered if the whole thing really had been in my head.

"Don't try and be all cute, Jones," I ordered (in retrospect, it came out as more of a question), straightening up and doing my best to glare at him. He, of course, was not terrified at all. He did, however, sigh and look a little resigned. I knew he had a well-earned and shamelessly self-promoted reputation as a kind of ladies' man on campus (and in the field, and in the military, and in the greater New Jersey area), but even he seemed to get that this was a little different. More than a little.

"We've got to…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he cut me off. "We've got to talk. Again." I nodded nervously, my brain racing for the opening sentence to our (third? fourth?) of many awkward confrontations, but as I sat and he stood at our respective ends of the table, he beat me to the punch.

"I'd just like to clarify one thing, sister," Indy started, "you kissed me, not the other way around, OK?" He leaned forward on the table slightly, emphasizing the point. I just gaped. Well, actually I opened my mouth a few times to try and say something, but every time only air came out. That happened for about 20 seconds before he finally spoke again. "Ok, maybe that came out wrong."

This time, I found myself able to nod frantically; still no words though. He took that as a sign to continue and sat down across from me, effectively leveling the playing field.

"What I mean is, you knew exactly what you were doing, am I right?" I shrugged nonchalantly, but it turned slowly into a nod. He leaned forward again, all playfulness and smirking uncharacteristically gone, and he said in a lowered voice, "Marion, can we agree that last night was a mistake?"

Not like I hadn't seen that one coming, but it stung a little. Deciding to give the conversation a little shove in another direction, I relaxed into my chair and smirked.

"Mistake, sure," I admitted. That was when I leaned forward, challenging him. "But we both know that as far as mistakes go, it was a damn good one." (Pretty impressive, if I may say so myself.)

He lifted an eyebrow, definitely reacting to the change. "I was that good, huh?"

"Uh-oh, that's going straight to the ego," I smiled and shook my head at the weird and sudden turn our intense discussion had taken into something kind of lighthearted, witty, and (needless to say) sexually charged. Mmm that's fun to think about.

Indy leaned forward a little farther – I could tell he wasn't full in the chair anymore, because he had to lean on his elbows to stay up and the distance between us was visibly shrinking – and replied, "Marion, sweetheart... put some ice on it. We've got to talk."

Huh.

I became indignant. "Henry Jones Jr., you can't just up and SAY that!" He just fell back into his chair and laughed. He was laughing at me, and I couldn't stand it.

"And why is that, Marion Claire Ravenwood?" he teased, mocking my use of his full name.

"Because…" I started to respond, and then realized I didn't actually have a good reason to give. He looked at me expectantly, and I had to say something. "Because that's what the girl is supposed to say, that's why." It was a valid enough point.

I feel a bout of wordiness coming on (chances are, you've already started to spot the symptoms, symptoms that I refuse to fall prey to), and considering that the following conversation was one I'd rather not rehash line-by-line, here's the short story made even shorter:

That was when the fun ended. As frustrating as it is that this situation actually deserves to be taken seriously, it only took 20 minutes to determine that:

1. Last night was, in fact, a mistake.

2. Half of it was his fault, because the whole "date" thing was his idea. Half of it, for reasons that need not be explained, was mine.

3. It was also, as previously noted, a damn good mistake.

4. It was a mistake that neither of us feel particularly inclined to correct.

If Abner found out either about the initial mistake or about our inability to correct it, we were both dead. For Indy, that meant an end to his protégé status. For me, it probably meant getting yanked out of what was only my second consecutive year of normal high school to go world-traipsing at my father's side, again.

The conclusion? The mistake goes uncorrected and exacerbated behind Abner's back (a very entertaining and satisfying condition on my end) for as long as Indy's here and as long as neither of us gets too attached. That was unconditional—after all, he'll head off to Cyrene for UoC field school next semester (or whenever my dad finally gets those permits from the Libyan government), and I – God willing – will get to stay here and finish out my senior year of high school, uninterrupted by the never-ending search for the Ark.

It's fool proof, and neither of us are even fools.

What could go wrong?

Sneakily yours,

Marion