Work Text:
Belloq reached for the wine bottle. "Mademoiselle Ravenwood, I don't know if I have adequately explained just how much I appreciate your company."
It wasn't even a lie. It had been almost a month since he had had time to spend time with anyone who wasn't a Nazi.
"The Nazis, they are terrible conversationalists."
"And yet it's a company you choose to keep, no? Mister Belloq."
René gave a look to Marion. "At this time and place they are useful to me. This... Usefulness will not last indefinitely. They do not trust me and I do not relish working with them."
Marion scoffed.
René reached to fill her glass and almost spilled the wine. Maybe he was a bit more drunk than he had thought. It had been his plan to offer her wine first, but she had gone for the hard liquor almost immediately.
She is trying to get me drunk.
Well, two could play that game. He was confident he could hold his liquor better, and it was only a matter of time until she let something slip.
Of course, that was only the added benefit.
"Please, call me René."
Marion smiled as she reached to drink. "Marion. Call me Marion."
René wasn't all that certain she had any useful information. But it didn't matter. He was confident he could locate the Well of Souls even without the Map Room. It would simply take more time.
Time the Nazis were not planning on giving him.
"Trust me, my association with the Nazis is purely for practical reasons. They are small-minded idiots, devoid of any true imagination. They have no actual love for the past, all they are interested in cherry-picking details to support their pre-existing delusions. Even the Ark means nothing to them. Not really."
"The Ark." Her tone was bitter. "Maybe it should stay hidden under the sands, or where-ever it is."
Curious.
"You are not looking to find the Ark?"
Marion downed her drink. "Who gives a shit about the Ark?"
He gave her an evaluating look. "Your father cared about the Ark a great deal."
He had met Abner Ravenwood once. He had given a speech at an archaeological conference, and afterwards René had had the chance to discuss his work with him. Some of his theories had been outlandish, and René had not been convinced of many of his ideas, but the man had been brilliant.
"Who gives a shit?"
Marion stared at René. "Have you known Indiana for long?"
René raised an eyebrow at the change in topic.
"Yes, we met at university, back in the 20s."
"Do you hate him?" Marion poured an another drink for herself. "I do. I hate him."
René wondered what had happened between the two.
"He has that effect on people," he told her.
He downed his drink. He hadn't planned on actually getting drunk but it was suddenly very appealing. He wasn't certain if he hated Indiana by now. At some point, he hadn't. He had even thought it likely the professor would finally give in and join him. That there had been a chance at a partnership.
But he kept on clinging to the light.
"At least I am honest about being a rotten piece of work," René said.
Marion laughed.
René looked at her and wondered again. It was a bizarre situation, the two of them in the tent middle of nowhere. Cold wind blew in and Marion shivered.
"I thought I got away from the cold when I left Nepal."
"The desert gets freezing in the night." René smiled, recalling her earlier escape attempt. "But it will be warmer in the morning. There's nothing a little sunshine can't fix."
He thought of the scorching desert sun. If anything it was more hostile than the night.
Suddenly, he wished the night would go on forever. There was something odd in the air, an approaching storm perhaps, but it only served to make their little secluded tent feel like a world of its own.
Come morning, the Nazis would expect results.
René downed yet another glass of wine.
He couldn't help a laugh. It was amusing, the two of them.
"Did you love him?" he asked.
Marion shook her head. Nevertheless when she spoke it was to say: "Maybe. Yes. To my defense I was young and naive."
She frowned at René. "What's so funny?"
René shook his head.
Had he loved Indiana once? He had thought so. But perhaps it was also an illusion brought on by the naivete of youth.
He lifted his glass. "I propose a toast. For us. For the people who had the misfortune of knowing Indiana Jones."
If she got the implication she didn't let it show. She merely raised her glass enthusiastically, spilling half of it on the rug. "Cheers to that!"