A/N: THESE WILL NOT MAKE SNESE UNLESS YOU HAVE READ MY OTHER INDIANA JONES STORY! If you have, enjoy reading some of Char's back story!

This is crazy; no, not just crazy, this is insane. Mental, ridiculous, unheard of. Who has ever seen something as odd as a twenty-eight year old man marrying his eighteen year old bride? Nobody in the Western world, that's who. Well, not until today.

I pace around Sallah's living room, wearing a track into the already archaic wooden floor. Today, I'm to be married. Yes, the infamous commitment-a-phobe is finally giving in to his stubborn, raven-haired beauty. Thinking of Marion makes me loosen my tie. Even the thought of her drives me to the brink of insanity. From the outsider's point of view, we're terrible for each other. I've met my match in stubbornness and argumentativeness. We never have a battle that I end up winning, even when I'm in the right. Sometimes, I feel like I let her win. She's feisty, never conforming to what anyone wants of her. And, the most obvious difference between us, our ten year age gap. People think I'm some wolf in sheep's clothing, whisking away a young girl who shouldn't even be coming near me. When I met her, she was just sixteen. Even then, she was a rebellious, yet mature teen who resented Abner, her father, for dragging her all over the globe in a vain search for the Ark of the Covenant.

I was Abner's student and friend who weaseled his way into staying with him. Having left my father at sixteen to join the war effort and worn out my welcome with him by age eighteen, I had no other place to stay besides the poor house. Abner took me in and taught me everything he knew. Soon enough, I became interested in the dark haired, blue eyed girl who hung around the huge house with a defiant gleam in her eyes. When her seventeenth birthday rolled around, I took it as an excuse to befriend her further, something I genuinely wanted to do. Conversations between us became impossibly easy and smooth while we got to know each other. I came to love her, just like I knew I would.

When our relationship started, I knew this wasn't just another small affair that would drag on until one of us got tired of it. I was in love. We were in love. However, that didn't stop the logical thoughts that occurred to me, telling me that our love was wrong. I was a grown man secretly romancing a teenage girl. In what way was it right? Despite these thoughts, I continued with our affair, drunk on love. Then one fateful day, it occurred to me why our relationship would never work out; I was like Abner. I wanted to travel the world, to find treasures that had long since been forgotten by mankind. That was the precise reason Marion resented Abner. What kind of life could I give her besides the one my father gave my mother, a life full of loneliness and regrets? So, after my epiphany, I left the Ravenwood manor. Abner was on the verge of finding out anyway, I reasoned with myself. His friendship with me was growing tense. I did the right thing.

I shiver at the memory. I can't think about this, especially not on our wedding day. It all worked out in the end, I remind myself. When Sallah walks in the room hopelessly trying to tie his simple, black satin tie, I smile again. We have to live for today, not yesterday. And today? Today is a good day.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." How can these seven, simple words erase years of pain, sorrow, and hurt? I don't know how, but they do. As I pull Marion in for our first kiss as husband and wife, it feels as though I never left her a year ago. Everything is falling in place like it should. I pull away, looking into her deep blue eyes that lured me in in the first place.

"Shall we go, Mrs. Jones?" I ask. She sighs contently at her new name.

"Let's get out of here." I smile at my wife as we walk back down the carpet in the tent that was set up for our wedding. Sallah, his wife and his nine children are the only ones in attendance besides the reverend. It's better that way. As we walk away, hand in hand, I feel a peace I've never felt wash over me. Finally, my life is at a point where I'm not constantly seeking something I feel is missing. It's complete.

This is all happening so fast. Marion is delivering a baby seven months after our wedding. Yes, she got pregnant that quickly. Actually, she was pregnant during the wedding. It wasn't planned, but it was welcomed. The whole experience has been rather surreal for me. I've been the one who has needed comfort instead of Marion, who has stayed strong throughout the entire pregnancy. That's just Marion. She's the real strong one. I'm waiting outside a room in the house of Cairo's best medical doctor. Because we have no permanent place of residence here in Cairo, it felt too odd to deliver the baby at Sallah's house. However, he sits beside me, trying to take my mind off the fact that I'll be a father in a few hours, maybe even a few minutes. Easy for him, though. I swear, he and his wife pop out a new one every year.

"It will be just fine, Indy," he insists. I shake my head, refusing to listen to his reasoning.

"I'm gonna be a terrible father, Sallah," I mutter. "I can't do this. I can't do this..." There's my silent fear, then; of being just like my own dad, a cold, un-loving man who ruined my outlook on what fatherhood was about. To him, fatherhood was more about discipline and making sure I had an education. He never hugged me, never told me he loved me, and barely paid attention to me unless I was in trouble. I'm terrified that I won't be able to be the father to my kid that I wanted my father to be because I just don't know how. No one taught me. Sallah pats me on the back sympathetically.

"Indy, we parents are not perfect. We mess up, we make mistakes, and sometimes, we disappoint our kids. However, we always try to do right by them. I can't describe this well, but when you hold your baby for the first time, you'll know." I'll know what? Sallah has had nine kids, so he must know what he's talking about, right?

The sound of a baby crying breaks me out of my thoughts. The moment has come. I'm paralyzed, unable to move from my seat. Just a second ago, I was basically a newlywed with no responsibilities and certainly no kids. Now, I'm a parent. How does something so life-changing happen so quickly?

"Sallah..." I start, trying to form a solid sentence. He claps me on the back.

"Welcome to parenthood, Indy!"

The doctor walks into the hallway with a small bundle in his arms. A small bundle that could only be one thing. He looks at me and smiles.

"Congratulations, Dr. Jones. It's a girl!" A girl... After months of guessing, I finally know that Marion was pregnant with a little girl, which I was secretly hoping for. Most men want a son who can carry on the family name. I always hoped for a girl who would be a 'daddy's girl'. Now, I have that. I find myself holding my arms out, fully prepared to hold my daughter for the first time. The doctor looks shocked that I've said nothing and have not changed my expression, but he hands me the baby. My baby. Bringing her in towards my chest, I look down at her.

"Oh my God..." I whisper to myself.

She's beautiful; even more than I imagined. She has my light blue eyes and already has a full head of light brown hair. Her seraphic little face is glowing. She looks at me curiously. I feel my heart swell up with pride and love for this beautiful little girl in my arms. I'm holding her tightly, like I never want to let go. I realize that I don't want to let go. I love her, I'd die a thousand times for her, and I've just met her. She's just minutes old. Is parenthood really this powerful? I can't believe my dad treated me the way he did. Looking at the little girl in my arms that I helped make, I know I'd never be able to do that to her. It would kill me if she felt unloved. I know that I want to make every second of her life happy. Sallah shakes my shoulder lightly.

"You should go to see Marion, don't you think?" he asks. I nod, not taking my eyes off my beautiful daughter. Before I stand up to go see Marion, I kiss my baby's forehead. She's so beautiful...

Marion's sweaty, flushed, and exhausted. She's never looked as beautiful as she does at this moment.

"Marion..." I whisper. She opens her eyes slowly and turns her head towards me. When she spots our baby in my arms, she smiles.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" I nod.

"Just like her mother." Marion laughs quietly. She probably has no energy. I feel terrible for her, especially knowing I'm the one who got her pregnant. Her screams that she would never let me touch her again reminded me of that fact a few hours ago.

"I have a name picked out," she says. I lean in, our daughter still in my arms.

"Yeah?" I ask, waiting to hear it.

"Charlotte Desmona Jones."

I raise my eyebrows at the unusual, but actually very pretty name.

She continues, "Charlotte can mean small and feminine, which is the female version of Charles, meaning manly. She's a girl, but she's your daughter, so we both know how she could turn out." I chuckle, looking down at the tiny little girl before us. If she turns out to be like me, we're screwed. "Desmona is derived from Desdemona, which means unlucky. I thought it would be fitting after everything we've been through." I can't help but agree that we have not had the best luck in our lives. Besides, the name Charlotte Desmona Jones really has a nice ring to it. "If she's anything like you, I know she'll pick a nickname, anyway," Marion jokes.

I wrap my arm around her and place Charlotte on her lap. We coo over her for a while, pointing out which features she got and from whom. I realize that she does not take after a specific parent; she's a perfect blend of both of us. When Marion falls asleep, I rock little Charlotte in my arms carefully. She's looking up at me with her light-blue eyes that so closely mirror my own, which absolutely melts my heart. I smile down at her. Finally, I know what Sallah meant when he said that I'd 'just know'.

"Hey there, Charlotte," I whisper, even though I know whatever I say won't make a difference to her. "I know I'll make a few mistakes, and sometimes you might hate me for it, but I promise that I'll be the best possible dad to you as I can be."

And I intend to keep that promise.

"I don't care what you say, Dad. I'm raising her as I see fit!"

This isn't the first argument Dad and I have had since I came back from Cairo with my newborn daughter. He seems to believe that I'm not raising her properly, that I'm too grief-stricken to be a proper father-figure. He talks as if he knows all about these things, as if he wasn't the neglectful father I grew up with after Mom died. I know differently, though. He was always cold and distant as a father, and I can't imagine he knows what's best for his granddaughter.

"I'm just stating a simple fact, son. A child should grow up in a stable family, and you have proven that it's nearly impossible for you to raise Charlotte on your own." I cross my arms over my chest defensively, a clear sign to Dad that I don't appreciate what he's accusing me of.

"And how exactly have I proved that, Father?" I ask through gritted teeth. I know I've done everything I possibly can to juggle being a single parent and being a professor at the same time, but it's difficult. Oh God, it's difficult. I had no idea that it would be like this. However, I refuse to give up any rights to my daughter, no matter how many sleepless nights and panic attacks I encounter in my life.

Dad shakes his head, seeming like he can't understand my stubbornness. I must have gotten it from my mother.

"I think that when she's old enough, you should consider sending her away to school for some time so you can gather yourself together." I can practically feel my face go red with fury. How dare my father suggest that I ship my own daughter away to some boarding school god-knows-where? I could never do that. The thought of placing my Charlotte in the hands of uncaring officials at a school full of wealthy, unloved children makes my blood run cold. It would be impossible for me to live with myself. I promised her when she was born that I would always make sure she felt loved and cared for. How could getting rid of her be remotely involved with keeping that promise?

"I'm not like you," I tell my father sternly. "I could never do that. She deserves to grow up around people who love her, not people who are paid to make sure she eats and stays out of trouble. Even I can do that easily." Dad still doesn't look convinced, but in the end, I know that he has no say in this. It's my choice to make, and there's no way in the world he could convince me otherwise.

We both turn as we hear Charlotte's sharp cry penetrate the still air. Quickly, I rush over to her crib and lift her small body into my arms, rocking her back and forth reassuringly. It's become second-nature to me. I know exactly what she needs every time she cries. I guess it's just a single parent sixth sense.

"If you'll excuse me, Father, I have to take care of my daughter." Dad looks at me and sighs in frustration. I know he thinks I'm making a mistake, but I know I'm not. I'm raising her the way I see fit, and I'm absolutely positive that I'm making all the right decisions. Charlotte will turn out to be a wonderful human being. I'm sure of it.

"Daddy?" Charlotte asks as she approaches me reluctantly. She's almost six years old now and one of the brightest children you'd ever meet. She catches on to things fast and reads as much as possible, which just expands her vast vocabulary and knowledge.

"Yes, Char?" I respond, using my nickname for her. She hesitates a moment, her sparkling blue eyes that match mine looking at me curiously while her long brown hair sways behind her.

"Ummm... nev-never mind." She starts to scurry off, but I grab the back of her shirt. I'm a little bit concerned about her reticence. Of course, knowing Char, the first thing that pops to mind is that she broke something. I could be wrong, though.

"Char, what's wrong?" I ask. She takes a sudden interest in her feet, keeping her focus on them instead of my eyes. I gently grab her chin and bring it up to look into her eyes.

"Char?" I repeat. She shifts around uncomfortably.

"Daddy, what was Mommy like?" I stiffen, not answering the question. Marion is not a topic that comes up often. I told Dad about her and showed him some pictures so he would know who his daughter-in-law was and sat Char down to tell her why she didn't have a mommy like her friends, but other than that, I haven't spoken of her in nearly six years. Char sees my discomfort and immediately backs away.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. It won't happen again, I promise." She begins to leave me there, my mouth wide open. I never knew Char was curious about Marion. Suddenly, I feel like a terrible father. I've been ignoring the topic of Marion for my own selfish reasons. I didn't want to feel the hurt all over again, so I let Char wonder about her mother for her whole life. Before she can walk away, I scoop her up in my arms, taking her by surprise. Sitting back down, I set her on my lap with my arms still around her.

"You want to know about your mommy?" I ask. She looks away and nods sheepishly. "Well, your mother was certainly something," I begin, laughing at how much of an understatement that is.

"She was... she was beautiful. Her hair was curly and fell to her shoulders. It was dark as the night and very soft. Her eyes were blue-green like the sea and could outshine any star in the sky. As for her personality, your mother was one of the kindest people on Earth if you were a nice person, but if someone treated her badly, she would not let herself be pushed around. It's kinda what you do when a boy in your class is being mean." Char's eyes widen in understanding.

"Mommy was like me?" she asks, surprised. I nod.

"Yep. She was just like you. She loved you so much. When you were a baby, she carried you everywhere and sang to you every night. You were her pride and joy." Char beams at this.

"Would she love me now?" she asks.

"Of course," I insist. 'If only Marion could see our little girl now...' I think. She would be thrilled to see what a little firecracker she is. Char snuggles closer into my side.

"Thanks, Daddy," she says, her voice muffled by my shirt.

"Anytime, Kiddo."

A/N: I have a few more ideas of things to post as little spinoffs of my other story 'The Last Crusade'.