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Title: The Past Returns

Series: Indiana Jones

Rating: PG/PG-13 (for safety's sake)

Genre: Drama/Romance

Pairing: IndyxMarion

Plot: Marion's POV before and during Indy's appearance in her bar. Just what was she thinking? How did she feel about this expected yet unexpected visitor? What happened to them in the past?

Spoilers: Raiders of the Lost Ark

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. All I known is a clarinet and a closet full of manga.

AN: Out of the massive writer's block that my other two multi-chapter fics have given me and spending the afternoon watching the latest Indy film. I decided to try to revamp this story. Yes, I loved the original product dearly but I feel that my writing ability was grown since two years ago (give or take a few months). I also feel that maybe, after some romantic issues of my own taking place, I could capture Marion's character better. After all, one should write what they know. Or at least they should try to use what they know. Some of the later details (those of you who have read the original should remember) might be changed or explained more.

Besides, I was hoping that I would regain the inspiration to continue this from revamping. This chapter is not much different (in my humble opinion) than it was before, but I did make some minor changes.

(Though, this is still unbetaed.)

The Past Returns


Drinking against another person for myself isn't so much about being able to just hold your liquor. It's more about being able to read the person who's challenging you to see when they had reached their limit. For the longest time I had perfected my technique. I had the physical endurance to keep up with anyone. What I meant was the ability to read someone without them catching on. I had always known that even if I didn't have the ability to do such I could still win. But I had always had the feeling that I would need this ability for more than This was just one of the many things I had learned since I had taken over the bar. As I look around I begin to realize the crowd of locals surrounding the small wooden table were even more worked up than usual. I then faced my challenger and began to study his aged face.

His eyes were beginning to droop and he seemed to have a lot of trouble even sitting up. I began to note to myself that he couldn't make it after another one or two shots. I began to wonder if he was going to forfeit. I wanted to suggest to him that it might be the smartest thing he could do at the moment but when he began to raise his third glass I decided to stop myself. He had chosen this route. He wanted to finish no matter what would happen. Unfortunately I wasn't going to easy on him because he couldn't keep up me. As he finished this shot his eyes caught on to mine in a drunken haze. The crowd began to loudly mutter amongst themselves. I quickly raised my drink and began to slowly drink. Now this was what caught their attention. This was my 'secret weapon.' After I had finished the crowd grew silent after a few words from me spoken in the local dialect.

The older man now looked as if he was going to black out at any second. He didn't seem aware of his state as he then raised the final shot glass.

I narrowed my eyes as he finished the drink. For a moment it seemed as if he was fine before he shut his eyes and fell into the audience. This was my chance to finish. I carefully picked up my glass and gulped the drink down. It for a moment went down the wrong way causing me to choke for a moment but as I set the empty glass down on the table I felt a chill go down my spine.

The crowd had taken no notice of my pause and silence as they handed me my share of the winnings and began to file out of the dim and dingy bar. I picked the winning glass and money up and started across the room. I paused a moment to put the money in my pocket before I stood looking at the cracked and dirty wall. The chill had come back. It was then followed my stomach feeling like it was being tied into knots. I for a moment began to think that I was sick then I froze. I had never gotten sick once in my life. That couldn't have been it. Especially after feeling great as I could feel all day. I put my hands into my curly, dark, and braided hair despite one of them just barely holding on to an old shot glass. I shut my eyes and began praying under my breath.

As I had shut my eyes I felt another's lie on me. The gaze had felt familiar. It had felt like his. But it couldn't be. He had left so many years ago without a word. He had ended things between the two of them without any warning. I had loved him for God's sake! I 'had'.

But not now. I had accepted everything and moved on. I never wanted to see him again, never wanted to even remember those days. Those days--the ones that I had treasured and for a short time believed were going to last forever, going to

Now is not the time for this..it's been years.

We had met when I was sixteen and still living in England.

Those were the days when I was living in a bubble by myself. For the longest time I had been dragged around place to place and never long enough to make any friends or even to get used to a place Not that it could even happen. I was home schooled and often alone in a large house for days while my father who was a famous archaeologist would I always acted out and begun to refer to my father by his first name rather than as my dad. I had placed walls around myself without even realizing it.

But what else was I supposed to do? No one was ever around. At the least, no one that would had paid any attention to me was ever around. The various servants...or rather housekeepers and butler were always busy with their own work, Abner was always busy with his own things, his students were always with him and often times they never stayed longer than a week or two, and the few guests we ever got were shady or just plain like the old fool that was my 'father'.

It was around the beginning of June on a rainy night when we had first met. I remember seeing him walk into the house soaking wet from the rain, carrying a nervous look on his face. Though, most of the people who ever stopped over at one time or another carried that same face. The house was well furnished, if one counted the dozens of historical items that lined the walls and covered the floors. I still remember the large anicent theater mask that was at the bottom of the stairs, in perfect detail, and I remember that he seemed fairly interested in it.

Though, I never (even years after) understood why.

"Where is your umbrella?"

However he didn't seem to notice me so this time I spoke a little louder.

"Um who are you?"

He turned around after a few minutes and introduced himself as "Indiana Jones." It sounded like the name that some kid would give their dog. I remember trying and failing to keep myself from laughing as I began found myself beginning to believe that this guy had to be the biggest joke in the world.

So as I found the self control to stop myself I decided to see just how far the joke would go and asked, "What kind of a name is that?"

"A better one than the one I was given." (His tone sounded more than a little bitter.)

I remember having the feeling that we might be alike. I never understood why but I had that feeling.

The more I felt about it the angrier I became. It still hurt after all of these years. It hurt as badly as the day he had left, than the day

He had done something that I wasn't sure could ever be eased from my mind.

At that time I internally began to cry out "Don't let it be him!" and my inner self began to pick up the defensive shield that I had created because of that moment. I wanted to turn around as his shadow appeared on the wall but I couldn't even move. I felt myself shaking uncontrollably. I tried to speak but my mouth began to feel dry and it wouldn't open.

He was the first to speak with a curt, tough, indifferent "Hello Marion."

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if that was really him or not. There were so many things I wanted to do if it was. But instead my anger took over me causing me to smash the glass that was in my hand seconds before.

I felt so confused and I felt my mouth began to run with "Indiana Jones. I always knew some day you'd come walking back through my door. I never doubted that. Something made it inevitable. So, what are you doing here in Nepal?' in a tone that was strange even to myself.

When I had gotten a good look at his face I had noticed that he was at least slightly confused with my tone of voice. In fact for a moment he looked hurt. I had felt a tiny twinge of guilt and froze.

"I need one of the pieces your father collected."

After a few more painfully long minutes I suddenly found myself punching him as hard as I could.

After I had lowered by arm I felt my hand begin to throb. I must have hit him harder than I thought I had. The moment his gaze came back on to me I quickly mouthed off a simple and downright vicious, "I've learned to hate you in the last ten years" as I felt my heartbeat quicken and lump in throat form.

"That was true enough to some extent. A part of me does hate him but still.."

We had begun to bond after he was invited to live with us.

The shields I had create fell.

I had laughed and smiled more.

I started to become even a little bit interested in my father's work.

I began to call my father 'Father' again.

After three months I had finally become aware of something. That something was a feeling that I had thought I would never experience in my life.

I liked him.

I really liked him.

When I had realized that I was scared. I didn't know what to do. What if he didn't like me? What would I do? But if he did like me? For days I couldn't focus on anything. I wasn't even aware of what I was doing.

Finally after a week I decided to just tell him how I felt.

That had definitely caught his attention.

"I never meant to hurt you."

At this point I couldn't control myself any longer. All of the feelings that I had been holding onto for so long had become to come out. Both the real ones and the ones that I had forced myself to believe I had from the hours of disappointed sighs and looks that Abner had given me during the long years I spent in this frozen hell. (Sometimes I even internally referred to it was "Dante's Inferno". After all, my own father hated me at that point and it felt as if I was being consumed by.)

"I was a child! I was in love! It was wrong and you knew it."

No it wasn't completely that. I should have known better. After all I---

My poker face must have slipped because he had caught me on that and made it known to me by staring at me intently. I remembered that gaze; he often gave it to me whenever I was lying or had done something "foolish". I felt my body tense up and my face burn a little.

I already know that! Ugh just go away!

"Well now I do-- get out!"

My mind had begun to wander off towards the past which was one place I didn't want it to go.

"I-I uh like you too."

He sounded so shy when he said that to me but I was very happy to hear those words. But he looked a little bit relieved and I found myself wondering just how such a handsome man who could have any woman he wanted, could be so nervous around a plain and indifferent girl like myself. For a moment we stood in silence.

Until he brought up what I didn't want to hear.

"But I'm ten years older than you."

That was a good point.

"And your father--"

That was another point.

"That doesn't matter! Age is nothing to me! It's just an number."

"What about--"

"He doesn't need to know until I'm of age. Besides I don't care about what he thinks or what he wants."

He tried to hold back a chuckle as he said "I guess we are alike."

Those words made me feel warm and happy.

I loved the feeling and I never wanted it to fade.

I felt the twinge come back so I then began to clean the tables around us off throwing each glass as hard as I could into the sink without causing them to break. I then sounded even more defensive then before when he asked me about my father.

My father and I had never been close but I still loved him. When Jones had felt it didn't just hurt me. It had almost killed my father too. He was his best student and dare I assume one of his closest friends. I knew that even after what had happened my father would still consider him that even if he openly referred to him as a 'bum'.


I had for that one moment let my guard down.

I quickly put it back up.

I then spat out "Everyone's sorry" and began to rant out loud out of anger, I was not even the slightest bit aware of what was spewing out of my mouth but I did know that it was years of frustration and anger coming out into the open air. After a few moments I was absolutely positive that I had scared him off but when I had looked over again he was still there waiting silently.

"I can only say sorry so many times."

I feel tears beginning to form in my eyes as I shout "Then say it again!"

Things then became to blur for me until he then asks the for the piece again. When I got to raise my fist again he grabbed my hand shoved a bunch of paper bills into it.

"There's three thousand" he curtly announced as I look at my hand.

"That's enough to get me out of here but not in style."

He sighed "Fine there's another two thousand in it when we get back to the states."

It was an tempting offer, it really was. I did want to get out of this god forsaken place, in fact, that was the only thing that I had found myself pining for since Abner disappeared. But, I would be lying to myself if I did not admit that I was a little weary. After all, I remembered, the many times that Jones that gotten himself into trouble and the many times I had gotten myself knee-high and without a paddle myself. Besides, something did not seem quite right here.

I then assumed it was worth the hassle but first things first. I wanted to know if he meant that I was coming with him.

"Alright fine. Just come back tomorrow Indiana Jones."

For little over a year we spent every chance we had together. My first 'date', my first kiss, and even my first night. We did everything we could do together. My father was unaware of our relationship and I at least had planned to keep it that way for at least a little while. Even with the fact that I was lying to my father and going behind his back I was happy and every day was like a dream for me. I never wanted it to end..

Fate had other plans for me.

I found myself thrust into the middle of nowhere and forced to do so many things that I would ever be proud of,

Fate had other plans for him.

He disappeared just months before my eighteenth birthday without a word or any warning. I never knew why but for the longest time I had thought it was my fault. I was angry. I was sad. But most of all I was hurt.

The rest they say is history...

He had then reluctantly left and I was at last alone. I quickly found where I hid the piece and held it in my hand. My eyes began to scan the object noting the smallest detail in wonder. I began to wonder why Jones needed it so badly.

I then heard a few sets of footsteps enter my bar. Oh, how I should have known. Wherever Jones goes, trouble is always right behind him. I knew the stories; the rumors. Even in Nepal, they could be heard throughout this "fine" establishment, especially since most of the customers that ever showed up were in some way associated with the old fool or those who wanted to be the man standing in front of me now.

A feeling I had told me that I was about to find out.


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