Disclaimer: I do not own the Indiana Jones series, so, please do not sue me.
Summary: As he lay dying, Colin Williams ponders his life and where it has taken him.
Rating: PG-13/T for mild innuendo, cursing, and rather dark thoughts.
Pairings: Colin/Marion, Indy/Marion
Author's Note: This is written in 2nd person POV, and is rather depressing. Be warned.
You're not sure how you survived the impact, but you're almost positive that you won't make it through the crash. Every nerve ending on your body is radiating excruciating pain, and you can easily taste the salty tang of blood on your tongue. You can't move your legs, or feel your fingers. You hear the roar of the jets above you and the distinct whistle of dropped bombs. You can't miss the explosion they make as the hit the ground and the shaking that follows.
You wonder when they'll find you, or if they'll even look for you. Most likely, they'll assume you died with your plane. It's what you thought when you watched some of your buddies crash after being shot down by Nazi scum. It's more heroic that way — dying in a blaze of flame and glory. Who wants to be though of as dying, crying and bleeding on the ground, especially for an Air Force boy?
If you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that the jet you were flying had been your closest friend in the world. It kills you to admit it, but it was the only thing that you loved, and had it had emotions, would have loved you back unconditionally. Nothing comes between the bond of a man and plane. You almost wish you had gone up with your plane; that way, you wouldn't have to be stuck thinking about your death and how much of failure your life had been.
A small, niggling part of your brain tells you that you had a wife and kid, which should count as something. Reality sets in with the knowledge that the kid isn't yours and your wife is that in name only, because she sure as hell doesn't love you the same way you love her. Hell, you love her. Ever since the day you met her, you loved her. She'd been the most beautiful girl you'd ever met, and had the prettiest name to boot — Marion Ravenwood. Everything about her drew you to her: her smile, voice, laugh. You finally understood how Romeo felt when he met Juliet. Catch was, her Romeo was Indiana Jones. Like hell you could compete with that. Even when he left her, alone and pregnant, you couldn't compete with that man. Even when you married her, you couldn't compete. You never were good enough. You never could be Indiana Jones.
Sure she smiled, and kissed you, and said she loved you; but, her eyes never told you that she did. Eyes were the window to the soul, and hers were as empty as the hole Indy had left in her heart — the heart that Jones still owns. She acts, at least around you, that she doesn't, but you know the truth. You may be a fool for still loving her, but you aren't a fool in not seeing the truth. You know about the letter that he sent her, the one that she didn't show you. You found it in her pillowcase, all neatly folded up. I had been obvious she had read it many times, and it hurt; however, it wasn't as painful as the night she whispered his name while you were making love. She didn't even notice it either, didn't realize that she had shoved an icy dagger through your heart. When the War began, and you had to leave, she didn't even cry. She kissed you, and held you, and made love to you just a bit more, but never cried. Weren't women supposed to cry when their husbands went off to war? You think she would have cried if he had been Jones. She'd cried over him plenty times before.
You hate Jones with as much passion as you love Marion. He doesn't deserve her love, and yet he still has it. You, on the other hand, had done everything right, and you are the loveless one. You are the one who is dying. Right now, he's probably living it up in America, having the time of his life with a pretty little bird he picked up in some random bar, if not leaving a trail of human wreckage on some dig, looking for the fortune and glory he'd never find. Well, he did find it, Marion, but he didn't realize it when he had her. Now you have her, but her heart belongs to him. What a bang up job, there.
Your vision blurs, and your thoughts begin to grow fuzzy. Maybe you'll be lucky and pass out before you die. You shake the thought. You always found a little good luck in a bad situation. Marion may be still in love with Indy, but she was still your wife. Together, the both of you were able to put on the little charade of a loving marriage, with a baby, too. He's the reason you really regret dying. Poor kid, will grow up never knowing his father, neither him nor Jones. At least, you think with the largest smile you can manage, he'd think his father died a hero in War. You father died in the Great War, and though you missed him, you couldn't deny the pride you felt thinking your daddy was hero. Only, Henry isn't your son, but Jones's. Maybe Marion will tell him the truth about Jones. The thought twists the invisible dagger further into your heart.
Isn't death supposed to be peaceful?
You try to think happy thoughts. The thrill of first flying a plane. Meeting Marion. Marrying her. Those thought make your dwindling heart swell just a bit more with warmth. Then Jones waltzes once again into your mind. You want to scream but nothing comes out. You picture Marion in his arms, and you pray that death will finally set you free from these thoughts. She made you happier than anything in the world, but he ruined it. You wanted nothing more than to make her happy, but you weren't him. Maybe, once you die, she will finally be happy, because she will finally be with Jones. As much as you hate the thought, you love Marion more. If your death will make her happy, you'll welcome it.
The EndAuthor's Note: Thanks for reading. Drop a review and tell me what you think!