Once again, I am beginning my story with a quote. I'm planning to add another chapter to this soon. :) It will be a two-shot, if all goes according to plan.

I know you'd never think so, but Mutt, Indy, Marion and Spalko are definitely not mine.

PRESSURE POINTS

1: Nerve

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"Don't give these pigs a thing."

How a few licks of the comb could give the kid so much daring, Indy didn't know, but he found himself somewhat admiring it.

Irina Spalko was not impressed in the slightest. "Oh, you will give me what I want, Dr. Jones," she said. "It is merely a matter of pressure points." She nodded and two of her Russian associates came forward to take Mutt by the arms as she put her sword away.

Mutt looked a little uneasy, but he stayed silent for once.

Spalko spoke a few words in Russian. One of the thugs twisted Mutt's left arm behind his back.

Mutt's eyes widened, but he still didn't make a sound.

Indy knew the teenager must be in serious pain. He kept his features as composed as he could manage.

Again, Spalko gave a command. A third thug approached the others and landed a punch squarely in Mutt's stomach.

Mutt slumped a little, which no doubt put more pressure on the arm that was already twisted so painfully.

Indy knew from experience how bad it felt to get hit in the bread basket. He was shocked that a winded moan was all that escaped Mutt. The boy's eyes remained defiant.

The next order earned Mutt a slap in the face. Not a light, I-challenge-you-to-a-duel slap, but a resounding, you'll-feel-this-tomorrow slap. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and Indy could hear his breathing growing heavier.

But somehow, there was still some fight in the rebel biker. Mutt lifted his head and looked Spalko in the eye. "Had enough?" he gasped. "Or do I need to teach you another lesson?"

Indy marveled at his guts. He needed to do something before the kid got himself killed. But as he looked around, he didn't see any way out. No way to get a weapon, no way to distract them.

Spalko's cold stare had become colder still, something Indy would not have thought possible. Her words were just as hard as her expression.

The first two thugs pulled off Mutt's leather jacket and dropped it on the ground. Then they moved apart a little, stretching Mutt's arms out.. The third man retrieved a light, springy-looking stick from a nearby table and approached Mutt from behind.

The punk was going to be beaten to death in front of him. If Indy was going to act, it had to be now, before the kid lost any of his nerve.

"You're wasting your time," he told Spalko.

"I don't think so," she replied, looking pleased that Indy had spoken.

"Then you're not as psychic as you claim."

"Really. And why do you say that?"

"First, because he won't break. And second, because I wouldn't give you anything if he did."

"That remains to be seen. I can spare him." She turned back toward Mutt and his captors. She nodded to the third thug and the switch was brought down across Mutt's back.

Mutt lurched against the brawny arms that held him, a little yelp escaping him at last. His gaze met Indy's and the young eyes weren't sure anymore. The defiance was almost spent.

"Then I guess I can spare him too," Indy said in a tone of indifference.

Mutt's eyes seemed to glaze over and he looked ready to faint. The kid knew his goose was cooked.

But then Indy winked at him. It had been enough for Shorty back in the cultic temple all those years ago. With any luck, Mutt would be as quick on the uptake as the little Chinese boy had been.

Another blow fell as Spalko turned to look at Indy with suspicion. "Oh, indeed?"

Then Mutt shouted, "You used me? You never cared if we found Ox—or my mom! All you cared about was that stupid skull!"

The whip cracked again.

Indy shrugged. "What can I say, kid? I already had everything I needed to find it—except Ox's letter."

"Go to hell," Mutt spat.

"After you," Indy replied.

Crack.

"Enough!" said Spalko. She looked from Mutt's near-tears expression to Indy's sneering one. "Clearly, I have chosen the wrong pressure point."

Indy barely heard the rest of her statement as the thugs released Mutt. The boy fell to his knees and stayed down, panting. He didn't look up as he retrieved his jacket and slowly pulled it on.

Indy knew he couldn't talk to him yet. He couldn't do anything to let on to those villains that his part, at least, had been a ruse.

"Indiana Jones."

That voice. It wasn't possible. Indy looked up to see that his mind had not been playing tricks on him. There was Marion Ravenwood. He smiled a little. The aging process had been kind to her. And it was so good to see a familiar face. He opened his arms.

"It's about time you got here," she added, moving past him.

Indy turned to find that Mutt had gotten to his feet and wiped some of the blood off his face, but the injury was still obvious.

"Mom," Mutt said, wrapping his arms around her.

"What are you doing here?" Marion demanded. "And what happened to you?"

"Mom?" Indy said, incredulously.

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It was some time before Indy could talk to Mutt openly. It wasn't until the kid staged a little attempt at their rescue that they got apart from the Russians for a bit. Even though Marion and Oxley were there (well, that was debatable, in Oxley's case), Indy knew he couldn't put it off any longer.

"Hey, kid," he said quietly while they were waiting to see whether Spalko and her men had discovered which way they went. "You know I didn't mean what I said back there."

"Yeah, I know," Mutt whispered back. "You think I would have bothered to include you in our escape if I didn't?"

"Probably not," Indy agreed. "But I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Mutt shrugged. "Sticks and stones, Professor."

"No, I meant...for what they did to you."

"What did they do?" Marion demanded.

"That wasn't your fault," Mutt said, looking surprised.

Indy shook his head. "They wouldn't have done it if they weren't using you to try to get me to help them."

"Jones," Marion said sharply, "he is my son and I insist that you tell me what happened to him!"

Fortunately...or maybe not...the Russians wandered closer then, and they scurried further into the forest.

Only to find a delightful patch of dry quicksand.

It wasn't the sand Indy minded so much. It wasn't learning the most shocking news of his life. It wasn't even that horrible snake. The worst part of that pit experience was realizing that he had watched his own son getting tortured and done nothing.

OK, so if he was honest with himself, maybe the snake did bother him more.

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