Summary: Ah...yes, well, I'm sorry about my absence on for the last couple of months, but I hope to get back on track with some of these stories, especially this crossover of Doctor Who and Indiana Jones; I've received some recent encouragement and it sort of has pushed me into continuing. In any case, for all of those who reviewed, added me to author alert, or added this to your story alert, I hope you all had lovely holidays and are off to starting a great new year; hopefully, 2008 will be my year of writing!

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or Indiana Jones...though I try to be accommodating to their characterizations...

Chapter 1: From Inconvenience

The TARDIS…suspended in one facade, that of a blue police box common to the streets of London in the 1950s; outside on the door, there was a panel with a telephone inside, which would have connected you to the police switchboard and officers would have used the box itself to secure prisoners inside as they waited for a car to be sent round. Of course, the TARDIS wasn't supposed to be stuck in that form, but the Chameleon Circuit, which would have allowed this Time Lord vehicle to disguise itself in any fashion that suited its environment, had broken long ago and couldn't be fixed…not after everything that had happened. Still, it was a nice shape, very sturdy and accessible while being easy to find with such a blatant blue color…however, on most occasions, even in the farthest reaches of the universe or in the flow of time, sometimes it was barely noticed by others, especially humans, all wrapped up in their own affairs without looking around at their surroundings.

Sometimes, though, things go wrong if you don't pay attention…inside the TARDIS, the Doctor held his hands up and muttered, "You know, you could have told me you would do that."

He was staring sternly at Kulu-thik, a Chelonian (cybernetic humanoid tortoise) now pointing a ray gun at him; the Chelonian smirked, his molar teeth glinting. "If I had told you, Doctor, you would not have let me aboard your ship."

"Yes, well, here I was thinking that you would be…peaceful, but obviously I was mistaken."

"Of course you were, Doctor, you have always been mistaken, especially when it came to Chelonia. Why did you interfere?"

The Doctor grimaced. "I had to interfere, your people were becoming too powerful and…your society needed a new direction. The pacifists made Chelonia into a better world."

Kulu-thik stomped forward, hunched slightly within his shell armor as his claws scratched against the ray gun, and bellowed, "But flower arrangements!"

The Doctor smiled a little. "What? What's wrong with flower arrangements? It was a way for Chelonians to make a peaceful transition into a productive society that the other worlds might be able to forgive for its terrible past of war. Flower arrangements are something beautiful that everyone can appreciate, that was much better for your people than always making war and-"

"You interfered! The pacifists should have failed, we would have taken over the universe, but you interfered and betrayed us! The flower arrangements that we created may have been beautiful, but the other worlds took them from us as reparations, we were unable to recover and our society collapsed! The pacifists did nothing for us…we must go back in time and correct the mistakes, stop your interference and annihilate the pacifist faction before they grow too strong, we must undo the damage that has been done so that the Chelonians will conquer the universe!"

"Ah," the Doctor remarked and strode over to the console, his hands slowly dropping to rest on the controls. "Is that all you want? Well, why didn't you say so? Now let me see, Chelonia at the time of the Insularity Collapse, that would be about… before the year 2781 on the Jara Star calendar and just off the Nebulus Belt, galactic coordinate 3.4.9.2…"

The Doctor continued mumbling as he twisted an orb that glowed and flicked a few switches, then rushed over to the other side while the Chelonian flinched, but didn't fire his ray gun, still positioned by the door…at last, the Time Lord pulled a lever and his TARDIS dematerialized into the Time Vortex. Kulu-thik stumbled slightly at the jostling of the vehicle hurtling through time and space, his shell keeping him off-balanced, and so the Doctor took the opportunity to turn a dial into the mauve range before tightly gripping the console…his ship abruptly jerked to a halt, tilting as the doors swung open and the Chelonian fell back, his ray gun misfiring when his shell got wedged in the doorway. The Doctor ducked as sparks ignited on the main console, wincing in wait for another shot, but the pull of space, though it did not affect the atmosphere inside the TARDIS, still had gotten a hold on part of Kulu-thik's body and soon he plopped through the opening, floating away while the doors closed after his departure.

The Doctor straightened up and sighed as he examined the damage on his console. "Oh…why did he have to do that…"

"A Phoney War…" Professor Jones shook his head and folded up the newspaper. "Poland has already fallen and they're calling it a Phoney War!"

In the break room of Barnett College, the percolator brews on the stove while Dr. Marcus Brody stands at the window, staring out at the lawn being covered by gentle snowfall on this early afternoon in December of 1939, and shakes his head. Indiana Jones, meanwhile, reached down for his briefcase in a huff, swinging it onto the tabletop beside the paper before unclasping and opening the case to remove his brown-bag lunch, its exterior a little soggy as some of the graded essays beneath had gotten stained. It was the final week of term before holiday and the students, as usual, were trying to catch up with everything they should have been learning before the final test, but if these last essays were any indication, some would never get into archeology…he had not even wanted to get up this morning to teach his classes.

Brody turns away from the window and crosses over to the stove as the perking sound starts to wind down. "Ah, Indy, they're just trying to reassure themselves that what is happening in Europe won't be bad, though we know this is only the beginning."

Jones grunted and removed his glasses, leaning forward as he rubbed his forehead. "It's just so…frustrating, all of the signs have been there and yet hardly anything had been done to prevent this, just…appeasement. The Nazis have always been fanatics and nothing would have changed their goals of domination, of making everything fit their ideals…they're probably spending the winter building up their forces for more invasions to come."

Marcus turned off the stove and then reached up to the cabinet to pick out two mugs. "At least we're not dealing with Hannibal."

"Marcus…just pour the coffee."

Brody emptied out the percolator into each of the mugs, handed one black to Jones and then tipped some creamer into his own. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that…you're keeping yourself sober?"

Indiana slowly nodded as he took the mug and sipped. "I'm trying, but it's rough…still, dad would have wanted me to get serious and I am getting older."

"Yet you're still yourself, Indy, no matter how much you try to settle…I think Henry would rather have you content then miserable."

Indiana Jones shrugged and slipped his glasses back on his nose, sniffing while he took another gulp of black coffee and then practically tore apart the brown bag to get at his lunch; Marcus Brody walked over to the couch and sat down with a sigh, swallowing his lighter brew. It had been several months since Professor Henry Jones Senior had passed away…Indiana had managed to return in time to be at his bedside at the end; after awhile, he finished eating and wadded up the brown bag, throwing it toward the trash can before he closed his briefcase and stood, clearing his throat while Marcus finished his coffee.

"Well, I'll go show you the library then," Jones remarked as he walked toward the door. "It's not as specialized as the one at Marshall College, but it has plenty of resources and Ms. Kitredge the librarian is ready to help."

Brody smiled. "I'm sure she is if you're around…still, I wish you would have stayed at Marshall College, it's quite a trip up to New York."

"A trip? Marcus, you need to travel more often, Connecticut to New York hardly amounts to a trip."

"No, thank you, I…I already have done enough traveling in my time. You must believe me when I say I could not manage more than the…trip from Connecticut to New York."

The Doctor, having unlatched the hatch of the grated floor to reach the sublevel power source, groaned as he wiggled out of the crawl space, covered in grease with his sonic screwdriver, the tool with a thousand applications, clenched in his teeth. He spit it out into his hand and gagged slightly, then closed the hatch with a loud thud to glare at his console, still smoking; the TARDIS would have to make a landing for repairs, though that would mean fine-tuning some of the circuits…hopefully he would wind up on a technologically advanced planet. The Doctor marched over to the main console, twisting a wheel and then dashing toward the bicycle pump, furiously squeezing as much energy into his ship as possible, hoping that there would be enough power for the time rotor to function properly…he pulled the lever.

There was a whirring, grinding noise of time and space disrupted in the materialization of the TARDIS; the Time Lord pushed open the door and hit a mop as he glanced around, realizing that he was in a janitor's closet…well, at least it was still possible he might find something compatible to the circuits here. The Doctor made a quick exit into a quiet corridor, wood-paneled with trophy cases in between the framed pictures and plaques hanging along the walls…it was distinctly Earth and academic as well, though not what he had in mind when it came to his repairs. Still, he had a certain respect for such hallowed halls where young minds were expanded to see beyond their own circumstances through experiments and lectures and…books; he strolled off down the hallway, examining the framed portraits and black-and-white pictures before the plaques gave him the information he needed.

Barnett College…probably a small establishment somewhere in America, around 1939 judging by the newest plaques and when the Doctor caught a glimpse of snowfall outside a window…the winter of 1939 and of discontent, not even the rumbling furnace here could warm the chill he received just thinking of the atrocities taking place in Europe. Another thing to check…he reached the double doors marked as the library and pushed one of them open, treading past the threshold; it was peaceful within, hardly anyone stirring except for the librarian at her desk with shelves of books and reading tables arranged in front of her watchful eyes.

The Doctor walked over to the front desk. "Um…pardon me, ma'am, but where do you have the newspapers here? I just want to look something up."

The librarian, who had been stamping a few books, raised her head and frowned. "You're certainly not a student here, sir."

The Doctor lowered his head, glancing at the nameplate on her desk. "Well, Ms. Kitredge, that is true. My name is Smith, John Smith, I'm visiting from Britain and I just want to know what's going on back home…I only want to look."

Ms. Kitredge hesitated, staring at him, and then nodded before she bent down behind her desk, pulling out a drawer and removing a newspaper that she held out to him. "This is today's paper, Mr. Smith, but there still isn't very much happening since Poland fell. I'm sure everything is fine back at your home…do you have family?"

The Doctor, accepting the paper, scratched the back of his neck. "Unfortunately, not anymore, but I have plenty of friends…I don't want to impose, but could I still browse the college library? I may need to read up a little on technology or so…"

"Check the 600s, Mr. Smith, and I hope you find what you need."

"Thank you, Ms. Kitredge, you're just lovely."

The Doctor turned and strode away from the front desk, disappearing amidst the bookshelves as Ms. Kitredge inhaled; she nearly jumped when the library doors opened again, but relaxed at the familiar figure that entered. "…Stirling is on the right track, Marcus, I've read about his progress in Tres Zapotes and from the evidence, the Olmec might…oh, yes. Good afternoon, Ms. Kitredge, this is an old friend of mine, Marcus Brody."

The librarian and Brody started chatting as Professor Jones walked down the aisle to the 900s, to gather the books that Marcus had wanted; he passed by the 600s, not noticing the lanky fellow in between the shelves who had paused with a frown while he had been rifling through the books.