"…Doctor John Smith, huh?" Carl asked, once he had found his voice. Idly, he wondered how the Doctor had managed to find him—assuming this was the right Doctor John Smith.

"Yes, that's right," the Doctor replied. "I understand that you are seeking to stop an Osirian named Sutekh—as am I."

"Yeah, I am, actually," Carl said, now convinced that this was the right Doctor Smith. "Can you tell me anything about him?"

"Well, I was rather hoping that you could tell me something; I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea of who he is or what he wants," the Doctor replied, sheepishly. "I do apologize if you were expecting me to be a font of information… But I'm afraid I'm at a loss—and it's most vexing to me."

"No, no; that's fine," Carl said, remembering what Sarah Jane had told him about the Doctor not knowing. "I'll tell you what I can."

"Oh, very nice. Now then, my hands are a little full right now, as it were, so I'll be sending my very good companion in my stead to meet with you—Mr. James McCrimmon…" The Doctor trailed off, and Carl distinctly heard him mutter, "Where has he gotten to…? Oh, never mind. Mr. Kolchak, I'll let him know the moment I find him. Where would be the best place to meet?"

"Ah… Well, we could meet over a brunch," Carl offered. "There's a nice breakfast place uptown."

"Oh, yes, he will like that very much indeed—he loves to eat," the Doctor said, with a chuckle.

"Then it's settled," Carl said, giving him the address of the eatery. "I'll meet him there in half an hour."

"Yes!" the Doctor agreed. "Goodbye!"

Carl ended the call and looked to Tony.

"You know who that was?" he asked.

"Let me guess," Tony sighed. "It's that alien in the bow tie?"

"Pretty sure that it is," Carl said. "I just need to confirm it; I'll hopefully get the confirmation from that associate of his I'll be meeting—a James McCrimmon, he said his name was."

"McCrimmon?" Tony repeated. "Sounds like a Scottish name, doesn't it?"

Carl blinked, recalling the Scottish accent he had heard in the museum the previous night. Of course, that must have been him…

"Yeah, I guess so," he said. "Well, I can't sit around and talk about it, Tony; I have to go and meet this guy. We've got a lot of work to do in dealing with this—"

"Yeah, yeah; I know—this whole Sutekh business," Tony groaned. "Just… Be careful, Carl, huh? If you can leave it to this Doctor Smith guy, just let him deal with it. Don't put yourself in any danger, okay? These guys you're dealing with are dangerous. I don't want to hear…!"

He trailed off, not wanting to voice the thought of hearing from someone that Carl was in a coma—or dead. He'd had enough scares from some of Carl's previous stories—though he'd never admit it, of course.

"Don't worry, Tony," Carl said. "Contrary to what you may think sometimes, I actually do have some sense of self-preservation."

"Good—see that you use it!" Tony said.

"You don't mind my going after this story?"

"Of course I mind, but when does that influence your decision!?" Tony countered. "Just go and make sure you come back!"

"Sure, Tony, sure! I'll try to call in when I can!"

Tony just groaned in response as Carl headed out the door again.

Jamie gave a sigh as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror of the TARDIS wardrobe. He could barely recognize himself in the uncomfortable clothes he was now wearing. He could hear the Doctor calling for him, but he was more focused on his current appearance—and he wasn't particularly fond of it, either.

It has t' be done, he silently reminded himself. I have t' meet with that famed beastie hunter. And he's been known t' go after aliens. I cannae let him know that the Doctor is an alien. And t' ensure that, I cannae let him know that I'm from the past. I have t' be modern, e'en if it means dressing like this.

The piper was giving his kilt a longing glance as the Doctor entered the wardrobe, stopping in his tracks at the sight.

"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" the Doctor asked. "What are you doing in my wardrobe?"

Jamie quietly grumbled, remembering how the Doctor's people tended to identify others by their clothing, rather than their faces. After what had happened in the Land of Fiction, he could certainly never forget the Doctor's inability to remember faces.

"Doctor, it's me—Jamie!" he exclaimed.

"What? But you can't be…" The Doctor trailed off as Jamie grumpily held his kilt up at waist-level. "Oh my word; it is you! So this is where you'd wandered off to! But… what are you wearing!?"

"Well, last night, ye were saying that my tartan would give me away as being from the past, and that I'd have t' find some way of explaining that t' the beastie hunter. So I'm wearing future clothes so that he won' know that I'm from the past when we meet him," Jamie said, plainly. "I was looking around the shops this morning, and I found these hidden in the back of a consignment shop."

"…They were hidden in the back of the shop for a good reason," the Doctor said. "Oh, Jamie…"

He wordlessly looked the piper up and down, from the loudly colorful, squiggly designs on his trousers-which seemed more in-place on a bowling alley carpet than on trousers—to the white shirt that was splotched with splashes of electric yellow, hot pink, lime green, and neon orange. Capping everything off was a pair of lime green-rimmed sunglasses perched on top of Jamie's head.

The Doctor drew his handkerchief from his pocket, pretending to mop his brow, but really trying to hide the fact that he was close to laughing.

Jamie wasn't fooled.

"I got the same kind of clothes the future people in this magazine were wearing," he defended, waving the magazine. "This was in yer library."

The Doctor took the magazine from him, looking at the date that was on the cover before handing it back.

"Jamie…" the Doctor said, gently. "This magazine is from 1995. The year is currently 2015."

"Aye, so I was two decades off," Jamie said, waving a hand in dismissal. "I was born in 1724; it's still all the future to me. It's close enough, aye?"

"Jamie, I want you to open the TARDIS doors, look outside, and tell me if anyone else is wearing clothes like those."

"Do I have to?"

"No," the Doctor said. "Now that I think about it, you'd best get a move on before you're late with your meeting with Mr. Kolchak—or, as you call him, the beastie hunter." He paused, glancing at Jamie again. "But you probably should switch those trousers for something else before we go. Here…" He retrieved a pair of jeans. "Wear that, and the shirt and sunglasses will make you come across as just overly nostalgic for the 1990s, rather than as an anachronism."

Jamie stared disdainfully at the heavy denim jeans, dreading the thought of those around his legs, but eventually agreed. The Doctor left to let him change, but Jamie could distinctly hear him chuckling as he headed down the corridor.

Still, the piper couldn't be mad at him. At least there was the satisfaction of knowing that he had given the Doctor some much-needed amusement.

He emerged from the wardrobe in the jeans.

"How do people wear these!?" he demanded, walking bow-legged like an Old West cowboy. "These are nae trousers; these are leg prisons!"

The Doctor once again placed the handkerchief to his mouth.

"Jamie, I hate to break it to you, but if you want to look convincing, you'll have to walk normally—one foot in front of the other."

"That's a tall order," the piper insisted, as he struggled to do so.

"Well, I suppose you're as ready as you shall ever be," the Doctor said, handing him the list of questions, as well as the location of the meeting place. "Make sure you get the answers to all of those."

"Aye, I will."

And whatever you do, don't get into discussions about current events—you shan't have any idea about them."

"Och, I do have an idea," Jamie said, proudly. "I've been studying all aboot the 20th century thanks to this wee song!"

He handed his smartphone to the Doctor.

"'We Didn't Start the Fire?' Well I suppose you can learn a condensed version of history from that," the Doctor admitted. "But that song only covers history until 1989—how will you make up for 1990 through 2015?"

"If that happens, I shall just…" Jamie trailed off, paging through his magazine to find the right phrase. "I shall 'fake it til I make it.' Aye, that."

The Doctor suppressed another giggle.

"Good luck, Jamie," he said, at last. "Keep me informed of what's going on."

"Aye, I will," Jamie promised.

He waved as he departed the TARDIS, heading for the meeting place, ignoring the looks that he was getting from passersby on account of his loud, neon-colored shirt. And as he arrived at the restaurant and saw Carl there, he took note that the reporter also did a double-take at his appearance.

"…Are you James McCrimmon?" Carl asked.

"Aye, I am," Jamie replied. "Ye must be Carl Kolchak."

"Yes…" Carl said. "Well, ah, go on and sit down—you can go ahead and order something. And we can get to work. …First of all, I have to ask—that was you and Doctor Smith at the museum last night, wasn't it?"

"Aye—I think we gave ye a wee bit of a fright in the Egypt exhibit," Jamie said, with an apologetic smile. "Sorry aboot that."

"That's alright; I think I gave you guys a scare, too," Carl said. "I'm just curious as to how you two made it out without getting caught by Captain Rausch and his men after those Sutekh cultists got the heck out of Dodge."

"They werenae in Dodge; they were in the Hall of Gems," Jamie said, never having heard that expression before.

Carl blinked.

"Sure. But how did you and Doctor Smith get out of there?"

"Eh? Ah… We're affiliated with UNIT," Jamie said. "United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. We have passes and things to let us get access to places like that. So no one stopped us."

"That's definitely handy," Carl commented. "So, you've known Doctor Smith for… how long?"

"Aboot five years now."

"…He's not one of us, right?"

Jamie's heart skipped a beat.

"He's nae an American, if that's what ye mean," he said, at last. "But neither am I. I'm Scottish."

"I kinda figured that on my own," Carl said. "I mean that Doctor Smith isn't from Earth, right?" He stared as Jamie didn't answer. "Look, I need to find a Time Lord who goes by the name of Doctor Smith!"

"That's a verra common name," Jamie said, flatly, refusing to divulge the Doctor's identity for fear that Carl wanted to hunt him down for something related to Sutekh and the coven.

"Yeah, I know, but, since you've known him for that long, maybe you know…. Oh, never mind." Carl knew that Jamie didn't want to talk about it; if Doctor Smith had a reason for being incognito, he'd better not press the matter—for now, anyway. "So, what do you need to know about Sutekh?"

"Aye…" Jamie consulted the list of questions. "Have ye heard aboot Sutekh before? Have ye seen these men in the purple robes before? Have ye heard anything aboot their plans? Do ye know what they're after in the museum? Do ye know why they're putting people into comas? Do ye know anything aboot Sutekh or these people in the robes? Do ye know anything aboot-"

"One at a time!" Carl exclaimed. "No, I'd never heard of Sutekh or seen these guys before yesterday, and I don't know why they're putting people in comas or what they want in the museum. I heard that Sutekh was from a race of aliens that were seen by the ancient Egyptians as gods, so I thought that they were going to turn up at the Egyptian exhibit. I guess you and Doctor Smith also thought the same thing."

"Aye, but we were wrong in the end. They turned up in the Hall of Gems instead," Jamie said.

"And based on that, I think there's something in the Hall of Gems they're after," Carl said. "But somehow, I doubt that they're just there to steal jewelry. They keep talking about the full moon, and something needing to be done in time."

Jamie blinked.

"Aye, really?" he asked. "They do sound like witches… Moonlit rituals and all those sorts of things…"

"You believe in witches?" Carl asked, surprised to hear that. He knew how often he was scoffed at for his stories on the supernatural, and finding someone who so readily believed in it was unexpected.

"Oh, aye!" the Scot exclaimed. "My papa warned me aboot this old hag in our village; he was certain she was a witch…" He trailed off, remembering not to reveal too much about his past.

"Well, I don't know about witches, but Sutekh is definitely getting these people to work for him," Carl said. "And I have a feeling that Sutekh is getting impatient—he's going to go back to the museum tonight."

"Aye, then we should be there," Jamie said. "We'll have t' stop them this time—we cannae let them steal whate'er it is they want to steal."

"That may be easier said than done. I guess we'll meet there tonight? After closing time?"

"Aye, but I don' know if the Doctor can be there," Jamie said, still wanting the Doctor to keep his distance from Carl. "I will be, there, though. Maybe I can be of help when Sutekh and his coven come back."

"I'll have to go along with that," Carl said. "But, ah, I really need to know if this Doctor Smith is the Doctor Smith I'm looking for. Has he ever mentioned a TARDIS or a police box? Or a place called Gallifrey?"

Jamie paled.

"I don' know what ye're talking aboot!" he lied. "Look, this is nae important right now—we have t' stop Sutekh. I'll tell the Doctor aboot what ye said—see ye tonight at the museum—ootside the Hall of Gems!"

He threw the necessary money on the table, picked up his food, and left with a quick wave.

"Wait!" Carl exclaimed. "I really need to know…!"

He trailed off as Jamie quickly ran out of earshot; Carl considered following him, but the waiter was waiting expectantly for him to pay his half of the money.

The reporter sighed, sitting back down. He hadn't even had the chance to ask about Sarah Jane or deliver the warning about Sutekh wanting revenge for something that the Doctor's future self would do.

"What the heck is he so nervous about?" Carl wondered.

He'd have to figure that out later why that Scottish kid didn't want to reveal that the Doctor was an alien; the main focus was on figuring out what Sutekh wanted from the Hall of Gems and stopping him from getting it.

And, hopefully, he could deliver the warning to the Doctor before it was too late for them. After all, if Sarah Jane was right and the Doctor was the only one who had a chance against Sutekh, then it was imperative that Sutekh didn't eliminate him before he had a chance to fight back.