Disclaimer: If I owned Indiana Jones, I would not be wasting creative talents on a non-profit web-site. My talents cannot begin to match those of George Lucas, Steven Speilberge and the rest of the cast and crew that put so much har5d work into the Indiana Jones trilogy.

Rating: PG-13 (you know me, always on the safe side)

A/N: This may be one chapter for quite some time. Just wanted the idea out there. I'm starting school again soon, so that will slow my already slow updates.

I was thirty, let's just start like that. I used to live in Cairo and work for a Librarian and Museum Curator until I raised enough money to move to the states and go to a university. I was going to take Archaeology; my former employer had told me that I barely needed take the class, because I already knew so much. I insisted, just to get the diploma, and he helped me raise the funds for it. He was like a father to me, and the sorrow of leaving him behind was over-powered only by the excitement of starting school. I was really looking forward to being in this class. That is, until the first day I stepped through that door.

I was early, but the class was still surprisingly packed. Everyone was at least 10 years younger than I was. All of the girls gave me a glare or two as I sat in the middle row of the stadium-like arrangement of seats. I sat as far to the side as I could. Close to the door, as well, just in case I needed to run for it.

I…overheard a few girls talking about the professor. And, my lord, the things they said. They were saying such…graphic things I was almost sick. He's most likely in his late fifties, I thought, and they speak like they want to… I shuddered at the thought. I always imagined a college professor as a small old man with glasses that were too big, a bald spot that consumed a head of otherwise white hair and a suit that looked like it needed a good press. My, was I mistaken.

The bell rang to start class and, as if on cue, a man walked in. I knew he was the professor, but he was nothing like I had imagined. He was tall, probably slightly older than I am, he wore a light brown suit, reading glasses, and his hair was full and brown. Though his hair did look like it needed to be combed like, last full moon. I think I might've laughed quietly at the thought.

"Okay, quiet down everyone," he said, putting his briefcase on his desk, "The bell rang, if you want to talk all day, your welcome to leave now." He looked as if he hadn't gotten the right amount of sleep in a while. I noticed bags under his eyes when he looked up at me. "New student?" he asked.

I nodded and smiled weakly when a few heads turned and stared at me. "Yes, I am new," I said. I apparently had an accent, because I got a few snickers and some one said 'foreign' as the class got to snickering.

He nodded and scanned the class. "Alright," he said, "Don't laugh because she's new, or I'll personally fill out your applications back to elementary school."

One girl raised her hand. "Dr. Jones," she addressed him, "She doesn't have her books yet. I'll lend her mine if you like."

Dr. Jones…that sounded familiar for some reason. Anyway, he sighed and nodded. "At least I still have some mature students," he said, "Now, on with today's lecture…"

The lecture was long, but it went by quickly. I found myself able to answer most of his questions, which he allowed me to do, without the aid of the books. I also realized that the girl only 'lent' me her books to get Dr. Jones' attention. She was one of those students that was only there to gawk at him. I knew a lot of what he was talking about, but I found a single flaw in his lecture when he went into a talk about the lost Arc of the Covenant. The bell rang before I knew it, though, so I didn't get to bring it up in class. I decided I'd go to his office.

"Alright, that's it for today, then," he said, "I want chapter three one my desk by Wednesday, and I'll be in my office for a few minutes if you have questions." He grabbed his suitcase, and seemed relieved as he walked out, following the crowd of students.

I fell behind and left as soon as the class was empty. I guess you could say I was daydreaming. That doesn't usually happen to me, but my first day at school left me with thoughts about one person in particular.

Space in time...dun dun duh!

I found it quite impossible to get into Dr. Jones' office, due to a crowd of students—mostly girls, I noticed. I asked his secretary and she whispered something to me that other students didn't hear.

"He slipped through the window again," she said, "don't tell anyone, or they'll be after him in ten seconds flat. I only tell you, because you look like you've actually got something to say to him."

I thanked her and fought my way to the exit. After I finally reached the door and was outside of it, I stopped and panted. This is what he goes through every day? I thought. He must really dislike his job. I laughed as I thought of him crawling through a window. Then I remembered my need to speak with him and I ran outside.

I caught him in the parking lot; he had adorned an old-looking fedora and ditched his glasses. "Dr. Jones!" I called, I was beginning to suspect him of something, but I wasn't about to make wild accusations.

He turned and looked as if was about to tell me to go away, but when he saw it was the new student, he shrugged as if to say "what harm could it do?" I must've been caught smiling.

"Yes, it's me, the new student," I said, "My name is Alexandria Markus. But please call me Al. I wanted to talk to you about your lecture today. I caught an error that I thought I'd bring to your attention."

"This is new," he said, "Usually the only thing female student comes up to me for is some stupid reason. Sometimes they can't even think of a good excuse." He seemed to be talking to himself partly. "Where are you from? I recognize that accent."

"I used to live in Cairo," I said, "But that doesn't matter much, now does it? And I'm not one of those silly girls in your class who constantly gossip about some of the most…never mind." I caught myself shuddering at the recollection of the conversation I'd overheard. "To the point," I began again, "about the Arc of the Covenant, you claimed that it had never been uncovered. It came to my knowledge that a group of Nazis found the Arc, but it was stolen from them."

"You got your news the wrong way round," he said, "An American archaeologist found the Well of Souls with the help of an Egyptian digger by the name of Sallah. The group of Nazis you speak of were lead by a French archaeologist by the name of Belloq. The Nazis stole the arc and left the American in the chamber to die."

This is quite an interesting story I was uncovering. I noticed there was one name he didn't give me. "Did the American escape?" I blurted out. I couldn't deny I was interested.

"Yeah," he said, "Somehow, he escaped and followed the Nazis. He got the arc back, but only for a short time. The Nazis stole it back and captured him. The entire group of Nazis and the Frenchman opened the arch before taking it back to Berlin, to the Furor. Every single man of that group died. But the American survived and took the Arc to the states where they secretly locked it up in and unmarked box in a warehouse never to be seen again."

I was stunned. How could he know this? Was he ever telling the truth? "If it was a secret, then how do you know?" I said, very skeptical of his story.

"Because I was that American archaeologist," he said, fixing his hat, though it didn't need it.

"Aha!" I shouted, then I quieted myself, "You are Indiana Jones! I knew it! In fact, I should've known it from the fedora. Did you really survive a Thugee cult and find the Holy Grail? The latter of which was conveniently lost, was it not?"

"Look, believe what you like," he said, "Start a God damned fan club if you know so much about me. I could care less. How old are you anyway?"

"How old are you?" I shot back, "I have no interest in starting a fan club. I've just always wondered if the publicity wasn't a little…exaggerated."

"I'm thirty-four," he said with a sigh, "Now if you excuse me—"

"What?" I said, "I'm thirty. You're a college professor at thirty-four?"

"You're just starting college at thirty?"

I couldn't say anything against that. I shrugged it off and watched as he turned to walk away. "Hey," I said suddenly, "Wait! Could you tell me your stories?" I found myself unwilling to let him just walk away like that. After all, he was my teacher. Wasn't it his job to tell me things?

"I could," he said without turning back to face me, "but I'd rather just get home to a nice bottle of whiskey."

"Then would you mind if I tagged along?" I asked following him to his car. He said nothing in either ascent or protest as I buckled myself into the passenger side.