Mutt would definitely have lost his appetite if he'd joined his parents for dinner. Indy and Marion, however, had a wonderful time. They laughed and flirted, fed each other bites of their entrees, and played footsie under the table.

"I should order another Scotch" Indy said thoughtfully, as their waiter cleared the flan they'd split for dessert.

He received a Wifely Look, and grinned. "Hey, think of my manly pride-how could I miss a chance to out-drink you? They don't come along too often."

The Scotch had barely been touched when the small band began to play. Indy had always loved to dance-it was one of the few socially acceptable outlets for his restless energy. So when the music started, he rose with his hand outstretched. "C'mon, babe."

Marion fished under the table for her pumps, and grimaced.

"What's the matter?'

'Yet another one of the joys of pregnancy, Jones. My feet are swollen and I can't get my shoes back on."

Indy's smile, if possible, became warmer and deeper. "You've danced with me in your stocking feet before. Don't you remember?"

Marion smiled back. "Well, now that you mention it…"

Chicago, 1922

Marion Ravenwood, thirteen years old, was sprawled chin in hand on the Oriental rug in her father's front parlor. She'd been listening to the Victrola and brooding-well, alright, maybe sulking was a better word- but even Harry Lauder's comedy routines hadn't lifted her spirits. Marion was about to write the day off as a bad job and head to her room with a book, when she heard a car pull up outside. Soon the oak front door squeaked and heavy footfalls sounded. There was a babel of masculine voices as a group of students gathered in Abner's gracious foyer.

"Lord, I thought this term would never be over…"

"You're a fine one to talk, pal. You didn't have to write that Linguistics final!"

"Lingistics, my grandmother's left foot. Dr. Ravenwood made me revise my final paper three times..."

"But we're free men till the dig starts..."

"You said a mouthful, brother. Time to celebrate!"

The distinctive voice of Indiana Jones, her father's protégé, rose above the others. "You fellas know Elliott's kind of a goody two shoes, right? So he's not gonna be serving any hooch. Why don't we just keep it in the car, stay at his party for a couple of hours and then head for the lake with the girls..."

At this, a mischievous smile turned up the corners of Marion's mouth. She scrambled to her feet, smoothed her crumpled skirt, and opened the parlor doors. She surveyed the motley crew in the hall with a knowledgable eye.

"If you bad boys came here for what I think you might have," Marion said coolly, "it's not where you left it. That new upstairs maid is strict Southern Baptist and she'd drop a dime to the coppers as soon as look at you."

"Not where we left it? said Jack Shannon. "Not where Jones left it, you mean." Jack turned to his friend with a conspiratorial grin. "Y'know, lndy, I have a sneaking suspicion that somebody here might know where the booze is hidden."

"If that person knows anything, why- she's a peach, fellas," Indy replied.

"And some people owe her a big vote of thanks for saving their bacon-again," Charlie Evans chimed in.

"Well', said Marion, slightly mollified, "If certain parties are looking for 'coffin varnish', they might want to walk to the carriage house out back and excavate the old tack room. I hear tell there are some remarkable finds in those parts."

With that, she lifted her nose, turned on her heel, and beat a dignified retreat to the wingchair by the Victrola.

Glances were exchanged over Marion's head. With a nod from Indiana, the students trooped into the parlor after her. Sure, they were all looking forward to their night on the town, but 'Abner's little girl' was their mascot and none of them liked to see her unhappy.

Indy crouched in front of the chair and tipped her chin up with a finger. "Why the long face, Short Stuff?"

"Isn't it obvious? Well, if you can't tell, I hate Chicago, I detest Fridays, I abhor dancing class, and I'm never going back there as long as I live!"

Indy tugged her braids. "Whole lotta hatin' there for one little girl, Freckle Face."

Marion put her hands over her hair ribbons and glared at him indignantly. "Stop pulling my hair, Indiana Jones. You don't know anything about anything! You're nothing but a male, and males are-are nothing but a disgusting scourge upon the face of the earth!"

Somebody's got your number, Jones" Pete McGregor snickered.

"Yeah, McGregor, so's your old man!" Indy shot back.

Just as things were beginning to get out of hand, Harold Oxley quietly placed himself at the forefront of the group. The soft –spoken Briton took Marion's hand and bowed over it gallantly. "My very dear Miss Ravenwood," said 'The Ox' in his cultured Received Pronunciation, "on behalf of the masculine gender, if one of our number has offended you in some way, may I venture to offer our humblest apologies?"

Marion dimpled at this, but Indiana scowled and said "…If one of our number has… Hey, wait a minute… Kiddo, does this mean Indy needs to whip somebody's a -?"

"Henry," Ox interrupted sternly, "Ladies present! Kindly endeavor..."

"…to behave like a gentleman," Indy finished wryly. He ducked his head, shamefaced. "Sorry, Ox. Look, I know I should watch my language, but that's not what's important right now." He turned to Marion. "Has some palooka hurt your feelings, honey?"

Marion sighed. "Well," she allowed, "I guess dancing class wasn't too awful until I had to do the waltz with horrid, nasty, repulsive Robby Fletcher. " A few tongues were bitten around the room as the young men recalled their own dancing lessons.

"So what happened?" Jack asked.

"I think the teacher made me waltz with Robby because most of the other girls are taller than he is. And that wasn't too bad-I was trying to be nice, honest-but he kept stepping on my feet and it hurt and I told him to cut it out and then he said…" her voice trailed off.

"He said what…." demanded Indy, in a voice that brooked no argument.

"C'mon Marion, you can tell us" Pete encouraged.

"It's a right, my dear," Ox smiled.

Marion took a breath and let the words tumble out. "He said that dancing with me was like dancing with a washboard and I should"-she gulped- " just shut up and be grateful if any fella gave an oil can like me the time of day...And he's a fine one to talk," she finished resentfully. "His palms sweat, his breath reeks, and he has spots!"

A few laughs were hastily converted to throat clearings and coughs.

Indy bit back a few choice words as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Y'know," he said at last, "I'll bet this kid's sweet on you."

"What? No, he's not!"

"Oh, I think he might be. The trouble is, he hasn't been out of short pants long enough to know how to treat a lady. And us fellas can act kinda goofy when we're around a pretty girl."

"Well, you're all wet there, Indy, 'cause I'm not pretty."

"Not pretty? Says you!" Indy put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Why, give it a year or two and my little Freckle Face is gonna be the prettiest girl in Chicago. Isn't that right, guys?"

He gave the group a meaningful look, and there were nods and murmurs of agreement.

"Boys will be fighting for a spot on your dance card pretty soon", Indy continued. "And this young fella-why, he's sure gonna be sorry that he lost his chance with you. Oh, he'll be eating his heart out; just you wait and see… "

Marion was starting to look more cheerful.

"Of course" Indy finished offhandedly, "there's one little problem. You can't show him up like he deserves if you can't dance..."

Marion's face fell, and Indy's eyes danced with mischief.

"So tell you what, kid. If you go back to your dancing lessons, and Abner doesn't get any calls from your teacher, Indy will take you to a baseball game. How would that be?"

Marion wavered. "Lemonade?"

Indy chuckled. "You drive a hard bargain, little lady. But sure, lemonade, hot dogs, and all the Cracker Jack you can eat. But I get to root for the Yankees if they're playing-and I bet I can still spit a peanut shell farther than you can."

Marion gave him a challenging look. "Think so?"

"No need to encourage the girl to be a hoyden, Indiana" Ox put in.

"And no need to break her spirit, Ox" Indy answered, serious for once. He extended a hand to Marion.

"So, Shoulder High, have we got a deal?"

"Deal," she agreed, and they shook solemnly.

"As for the dancing, all you probably need is a little practice with some fellas who know how. And I know just the ones." Indy made a sweeping gesture toward his friends. "Look right here-answers to the sighs of maidens, every one of us…"

"Yeah, Marion, let's do a little dancing" said Charlie. "Dave put some records in the car -why don't we cut a rug while Indy and Ox, ah, 'excavate the tack room' ".

He struck a pose that was meant to emulate Rudolph Valentino and began to sing- off key- "I am the Sheeeeik of Aaar-a-by, your loooove belongs to meee….."

"Let's scram, Ox, before we have to hear any more", said Indy with a grin.

By the time the trunk had been loaded, I Wish That I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate was blaring from the Victrola. Marion, flushed and laughing, was being spun around the parlor by the celebrating students. Jack fanned her out for a twirl, and she executed a rather impressive shimmy when she turned back to him. Everyone laughed and clapped.

Jones and Oxley paused in the doorway to take it all in. Indy grinned and turned to his friend. "Just look at that, willya? And she thinks she's not pretty. Abe will be borrowing my bullwhip to keep the boys in line soon, mark my words."

Ox nodded in agreement. "You're awfully good with her, you know," he said.

"Nah," Indy answered. "I just try to think of what my mother would have told my little sister."

"I didn't know you had a sister." This was the first time Ox had heard Indiana mention anything about his family.

Indy pressed his lips together and looked down. "Not anymore," he said softly. "Scarlet Fever."

"My condolences," Ox said sincerely.

"My mother's gone, too, "Indy added after a moment. "So Abner and little Marion are the closest thing to a family I've got left. Which reminds me, I'm gonna duck down to the kitchen and make sure Cook has left her some dinner. Abe is doing some 'celebrating' of his own and won't be back 'till late."

When Indy came back, Ox had unbent sufficiently to lead Marion through a spirited two-step to the tune of Toot Toot Tootsie Goodbye. Charlie, Dave, Pete and Jack sang along in improvised harmony. "Watch for the mail-I'll never fail. If you don't get a letter than ya know I'm in jail…."

"I think we've just got time to try the modern waltz", Pete said as they finished. "Here, Marion, take my hand."

The waltz did not start well. One moment Marion was a glowing sprite, floating on the music and the young men's admiring smiles. But after Pete put his arm around her, her shoulders hunched, her back stiffened, and she started to stumble over his feet.

Indy frowned as it dawned on him what the problem likely was. Abner could charitably be described as a distant father. Motherless Marion received little if any physical affection. Of course she was self-conscious and uncomfortable being held close by a man. Come to think of it, the most affection she likely got was from the fella who used to carry her piggyback- who still pulled her hair, thumb-wrestled with her, and picked her up and swung her when he came back from travelling. Well, what the hell. Maybe it would be easier if that guy held her.

Indy crossed the parlor floor and tapped Pete on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in, pal?"

Pete smiled with relief and handed Marion over.

Indy put a hand on her shoulder to make her stand still. "Kid, it's a little harder to catch on to the waltz than the two-step because you are dancing close and the girl has to follow pretty well. And I'll bet my last dime Robby-boy can't lead worth cr- I, ah, mean peanuts. No wonder you were having trouble. So I want you to practice following first. Just stand on my feet and move when I do."

Marion actually giggled. "Well they are big enough for both of us!"

Indy cleared his throat, the picture of offended dignity, and did his best Ox impression. "Kindly refrain from casting aspersions on my extremities, Miss Ravenwood."

Then he grinned. "Now, off with your shoes and all aboard."

Marion kicked her shoes toward the wing chair and let Indy hoist her up. She perched on his big brogans like a little girl 'dancing' with her Daddy or older brother, and put her hands on his waist for balance. Indy produced a soothing flow of talk as he walked her around the rug, 1-2-3, 1-2-3.

"Say, fellas, did I ever tell you how I got introduced to Freckle Face here? –Oh we go back a long way, lemme tell you. I met her in Jerusalem when I was 10 years old and she was just a baby."

Marion began to relax as Indy reminisced about the archaeological dig in Jerusalem, the two travelling scholars, and the tea at the American Embassy where they had met each other's families. She leaned her head into his chest and sighed as he went on -this was a familiar story, as beloved as a fairy tale, and she never got tired of hearing it.

"Then Mrs. Ravenwood showed me the baby," Indy finished, "so I leaned over her and said 'Hello, Marion.' I was trying to be a polite young gentleman, OK? And then you know what she did, the little stinker? She waved those tiny fists and pow! Right in the kisser! She punched me!"

There was a general roar of laughter as Indy and Marion fetched up by the Victrola.
She grinned at him and said, as she always did, "I'm sure you had it coming, Jones."

He tweaked her nose in response and said, as he always did, "Oh, at some point somewhere, I probably did something to deserve it."

Then Indy cleared his throat and said "I think you're ready to try the dance step with music, Short Stuff. Say, Ox- since you're our resident authority on propriety, come show Marion where a gentleman puts his hands when he's waltzing with a lady."

"Yeah, 'cause Jones wouldn't know!" David Brothers laughed.

Indy scowled and his right hand began to curl into a fist, but before he could say anything Oxley fixed the offender with a withering glare. "It surely behooves us all to behave like gentlemen with Dr. Ravenwood's daughter," he said frostily.

Dave subsided, abashed, and Ox turned his attention to the couple before him.

"Now then, you lot-the waltz. The gentleman, Indiana, takes the lady's right hand in his left, and holds it at a height comfortable for them both. I'd recommend lowering your arm slightly, as Marion is rather petite. Then, Marion, the lady places her left arm on her partner's right. You may also put your hand on his shoulder if you prefer. " She did prefer, and tipped her head back to smile at him.

"Finally, the gentleman lightly encircles the lady's waist with his right arm, and places the palm of his hand just above her waist line, keeping it over her clothing if she is wearing a low-backed gown. And there you are."

Ox smiled approvingly as he stepped back. "Charming picture."

"You sure are, sweetheart," said Indy to Marion.

"All we need is an easy dance tune", Ox added, as he rummaged through the shelves in the Victrola. "How about the Merry Widow Waltz?"

At this, there was a wave of suppressed chortles and guffaws.

"First rube who cracks the joke you're all thinkin' is gonna find 'knuckle sandwich' on the menu, "Indy remarked sweetly.

"Why is everybody laughing?" asked Marion, affronted.

"Nobody's laughing at us, honey. They're laughing because Ox doesn't know American slang yet, and he said something 'warm' that he didn't mean to." (Author's note: The Merry Widow was a wildly popular operetta from the early 1900s, which featured a lovely waltz tune. By the '20s a 'merry widow' was also a euphemism for *ahem* male birth control. The 'merry widow waltz' alluded to the situation when such 'precautions' might be needed. Ox didn't mean to be naughty.)

"My apologies" said Ox. "Quite unintentional, I assure you. What on earth did I did I say?"

"Yeah, Indy, what did he say?"

Indy took a deep breath. "Never you mind, little Bright Eyes. Besides, it's rude to talk about one gentleman when you're waltzing with another. Keep that in mind when all the boys line up to dance with you."

He nodded to Ox. "Maestro?" Ox put the needle down on the wax disc, and a sweet, haunting waltz began to play. Indy counted a few bars in Marion's ear, took her hand, and led her off around the room.

They did make a charming sight- the slim girl, just beginning to outgrow the coltishness of childhood, and her tall, handsome partner. She gazed up at him with trusting blue eyes. He looked down at her with a mixture of amusement and tenderness, as he carefully guided her steps.

"Say, Ox" said Jack behind his hand "who's Indy taking to the party tonight?"

"Miss Andrews, I believe," Ox answered.

Jack snorted. "God help us. Imogen Andrews would cast a kitten if she were here. Jones may pitch a little woo here and there, but I've never seen him like this with anyone."

Ox nodded in agreement. "He's waiting for Marion to grow up, you know," he replied quietly. "Even if neither of them realizes it yet."

Gran Hotel Ciudad de Mexico, Mexico City, 1958

Indy could never manage to be stern when those blue eyes looked up at him, but he tried his best. He cleared his throat and said "You do remember that the man does the leading?"

Marion tossed her head. "As long as you remember where a gentleman puts his hands."

"Oh, trust me. I can put them somewhere ungentlemanly later. "

So Marion abandoned her shoes, stood on her tiptoes, and stepped into her husband's waiting arms. Since the restaurant on the roof was well beyond the means of the rock-n-roll generation, the band catered to the taste of older, more affluent patrons. They played the Jazz and standards Indy and Marion knew, one after another- I've Got You Under My Skin, That Old Black Magic, String of Pearls, Fools Rush In.

At the end of their set, the band played Time After Time. Indy hummed along with the words.

"I only know, what I know –the passing years may show You've kept my love so young, so new And time after time You'll hear me say that I'm So lucky to be loving you..."

As the last bars faded, Marion's eyes were half closed, and her head rested heavily on Indy's shoulder. "Time to call it a night, Mrs. Jones" he murmured into her ear. "I want my daughter in at a decent hour."

Back in their suite, Marion chucked the offending shoes in a corner, hung up her Paris dress and relaxed gratefully on the bed. Indy leaned on the bedroom door to admire her while he loosened his tie.

"Look at you in those stockings with your hair on my pillow. You could be a Vargas pin-up."

"And how would you know about those, Dr. Jones?"

"I have students. They have hormones. Q.E.D. I might ask you the same question, wife of mine."

"We have a son. He has friends. Q.E.D., yourself, professor. "

The bedsprings creaked as Indy sat down. One big hand smoothed her slip over the bump on her stomach. "I think you're beginning to show, a little."

"I think you're right. Maybe she won't be shy, now that she knows her Daddy wants her."

"Of course her Daddy wants her. But," he sighed, "it's gonna be a long few months, sweetheart."

Marion frowned in puzzlement. "What? Why?"

"Honey, know that you're pregnant, don't we have to stop…."

"Indy, what did we do last night?"

"If I thought there was gonna be a test, baby, I woulda taken notes."

"Don't you remember?" she teased.

"Of course I do. A beautiful houri slipped into my arms and made someone who loves her very, very happy. And" he added, "he hopes he did the same for her."

Men. Well, even the most confident among them craved a little reassurance on this point. Marion lifted his hand to her cheek, and laid a kiss in the palm. "He's a wonderful lover, and he always does. Always."

Instead of smiling or kissing her, Indy kept his eyes down and licked his lips nervously. "Honey? Well, um, about last night…"

"What about it?"

"I was pretty happy to see you." His mouth quirked. "Hell, I can't think of a time I wasn't happy to have you in my bed. But I didn't know-about the baby, I mean- and I guess I got um, kind of…"

Marion tucked a smile in the corners of her mouth. "Enthusiastic?" she offered helpfully.

Indy flushed to the roots of his hair "I-I guess you could say that, yeah. But- what I wanted to know is- "

"Is what?"

He gripped her hand and blurted, "Last night-did we -did I do anything that could have hurt our baby? God, I'd never forgive myself if I…"

This, Marion thought lovingly, had to be worth a hundred bouts of morning sickness. Indiana Jones, scholar, adventurer, and man of the world, was holding her hand, blushing and stammering. Shy as a boy, with his heart in his eyes. Some of that love and affection Ox had been talking about was clearly in order. "Oh, you adorable man," she said, and put her arms around his neck.

A short while later they were snuggled together on the coverlet. Indy's tie had disappeared, his shirt collar was unbuttoned, and he had lipstick on his face and neck. He didn't, however, look too displeased with any of this.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Indy. You didn't know I was pregnant-but I did. I wouldn't have let anything happen that could hurt our baby. They can be surprisingly resilient little buggers, Jones. And''-she laid his hand on her belly-"you gave me a big, strong, healthy one last time."

Indy tried to look modest-and failed miserably. "Think I've done it again?"

Marion felt his chest puff out under her cheek, and looked up. That cocky grin was back-along with more than a hint of male smugness. She smiled, and ran a finger down his nose.
"You just may have. And, as for the question you're trying to be a gentleman about asking.."

"Uh, what about it?" Indy managed.

His wife gave him a reassuring smile. "We don't have to stop making love. Now, I don't think this is something men talk about among themselves"

"At least not any guys I know…"

"But women do. Most couples find ways to be, well, intimate and loving during a pregnancy and I'm sure we can, too."

Indy brightened up considerably at this thought. Marion poked him in the ribs.

"Hey! A gentleman shouldn't tickle a pregnant woman, but don't push me, kid."

'"Well, you better not get too happy yet, mister. That big, healthy baby also came with a big, healthy appetite and a fine set of lungs. And I warn you, for the first month he wanted to eat every two-and-a-half hours. Around the clock."

"Good God. What did you do?"

"I sure as hell didn't 'put him on a schedule and let him cry it out', like the busybodies said. I kept Mutt close, the way a Nepali mother does. He slept in a basket by my bed, and when he woke up, I'd just feed him and snuggle him until we both fell back to sleep."

Indy grinned. "Kid had the goddamn life of Reilly. He must have been one happy baby."

Marion smiled reminiscently. "Oh, he was. A fine happy baby, and a busy, happy little boy."

A shadow of regret mixed with the tenderness on Indy's face. "You're an amazing woman, you know that?" he said at last. "You and I both lost our mothers young and basically raised ourselves. Where did you learn to take care of a baby? I sure don't know a damn thing about them…."

"I watched other people who were doing it right and copied what they did. And-don't laugh- when I didn't know what to do, I listened to my heart. When my heart told me to pick up my hungry little boy and love him, I did."

She cupped his cheek in her hand. "Babies don't come with instructions, Indy. All parents make it up as we go."

"Make it up as we go, huh? Well," Indy said resolutely, "that I can do."

Coda

Indy's eyes snapped open in the darkened hotel room. He looked at the glowing hands on his travel alarm clock. Three in the morning. Good practice, I suppose, he thought wryly. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake his sleeping wife. He picked up his robe, and, on sudden impulse, the gun that rested on his nightstand. Indiana Jones had two people to protect now. And anyone who threatened them would find that he took that job very, very seriously.

He prowled the quiet rooms, checked all the windows, and cracked open the door to scout the hotel corridor. The American agent at the end of the hall sketched him the ghost of a salute. All clear, safe and sound.

Marion had turned onto his pillow when he got up, instinctively drawn to his warmth and scent. Indy slid in behind her, and she nestled against him, still sleeping. Awww….honey. Nothing there but trust for your Indy-the way it should have been all along. And the way it's gonna be from now on. For both of you. He stroked Marion's belly and his heart lurched at a minuscule shift from the occupant.

Are you awake in there, my Littlest Bright Eyes? he thought at the baby. Do you hear your mother's heart beat, I wonder? Do you feel mine, when I hold her? Funny. Yesterday, I didn't know you existed. Today, I'd die for you. What the hell- guess that means I'm a father. So let your mama rest in my arms, little one. Go to sleep-you're safe. Dad's here. Dad's here.