Uh...surprise! I know it's been a very, very, very long time since I've done anything with this story, but I got active in the last couple of weeks and decided to dust this up a bit, and continue. I have some idea of where I'm going with this, I really do, although it may change along the way. Anyway, this chapter-I actually had most of this chapter, or half of it at any rate, on my computer for a very long while (probably since 2008/2009), I just never did anything with it.

It's strange-I started this before I saw the 4th Indiana Jones movie, and before I saw the 4th series of Doctor Who. I was relatively on target with some developments, although I changed some things-apparently, Henry Jones Senior died in 1951, according to the movie cannon, but I thought it would be more poignant if he was already gone. Oh well. And perhaps some people might expect River Song to be in here, because she is a Professor, although I have a funny feeling that if I do modernize this story somewhat...

Chapter 3: Crossing Paths

In the small town of Barnett, established around the same time as its College, the shop windows along Main Street were lit up with strands of Christmas lights glowing bright in the midst of this harsh season. Children pressed their noses against the glass, looking in at the toys on display in amazement, hoping that they might receive these toys in just a couple of weeks.

Down the sidewalk, a lady dressed primly in the uniform of the Salvation Army rang her bell and the people passing by her were obliged to toss in some coins if they had any to spare. The Great Depression had hardly faded, but lingered still, especially with the recession that had occurred about two years ago.

Inside the diner down the street, however, it was warm and cozy as the customers ate their lunch and drank coffee at the counter or in the booths by the windows, forgetting for awhile their worries and cares with a hot meal and a nice cup. The women chatted together, gossiping and sharing news of friends and family, while the men read their newspapers alone, quiet as they only shook their heads in resignation and dismay, rustling the pages in their perusal of world and national affairs gone awry.

However, in the distance, a car honked its horn loudly and repeatedly, in rapid-fire succession. Several children turned their heads, covered by caps, ear muffs, or just wrapped round with colorful scarves, and watched with interest as a LaSalle swerved round another car that had just been driving along at a slower pace, nearly colliding with oncoming traffic. They could just barely see two large men in the front seat, one in the back, the front seat fellows seemed to be arguing.

Just behind the LaSalle, they could just see another automobile-a Plymouth roadster-moving at a faster speed, and catching up with the LaSalle. The two cars seemed to have come from the direction of the college. Main Street had already been treated by the snowplow earlier today, and it was salted as well, and so was relatively clear of any snow that could hinder traffic.

A few cars had been driving along the two-lane thoroughfare before the chase arrived, normal traffic for midday in December, with stops every now and again at any sign of red. But suddenly from both directions, they were forced to veer off to the side of the road as the two mavericks now rushed down the middle of the road, heading towards the woods.

The Salvation Army lady dropped her bell and jumped out of the way as one discombobulated, innocent driver desperately tried to brake to get out of the way of the madcap chase. His sedan only stopped once it had hit, and jumped over the curb, knocking over the red kettle and spilling out the donations. Nearby, the kids cheered and waved at the spectacle of this chase before they rushed over to grab at the pennies, nickels, dimes, and even a few quarters that had fallen out, until the Salvation Army lady returned to kick them away, ringing her bell furiously.

From inside the diner, the ladies had stopped talking and the fellows had raised their heads from their newspapers at the sounds of horn and bell. All looked out the windows in time to see the two cars pass by as a bit of a blur. They were silent for a little while afterwards, everyone staring at each other and out the window, as they wondered what was happening.

If any of them had been within the LaSalle, however, they probably wouldn't be able to understand what was going on. Dr. Marcus Brody sat in the backseat, his head turning frantically to look out either of the side windows, glimpsing the shocked faces of the townspeople and the cars veering off the road.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He cried, hoping they could hear him somehow, and forgive him for what was not necessarily his fault. He had just gotten wrapped in this mess, and he still didn't—

"Shut up!" The front passenger said, turning around to point a gun in Marcus's face. "Where are they?" He asked.

"Where is what?" Marcus replied, staring at the gun.

"The devices! The two devices that you and your friends stole from us in 1918!" The man shouted.

"Listen, I don't know what devices you are talking about." Marcus said, shaking his head. "There have been so many devices over the years that I can't keep track of them all!"

"The boxes! The two boxes!" The front passenger said.

The driver asked, "Alexi, we are heading towards the woods, is this the right way? We came here over the river-"

"The river is in the opposite direction!" Alexi cried, looking back at the driver. "The woods is the right way for now. I can't keep track of where we are going. We can lose our pursuit in the woods if you would go faster! I should have drove." He muttered, turning back around to face Marcus.

Marcus had taken the opportunity to glance over his shoulder with the reassuring sight of the Plymouth roadster in hot pursuit. Knowing that Indiana Jones would catch up with them, Marcus turned back to Alexi and his gun. "I haven't the faintest idea what sort of boxes you are talking about." He said, though he had an idea.

"The magic boxes." Alexi said, pointing his gun closer at Marcus. "The ones that you, the professor, and the Doctor stole from us. We had them, the keys to interstellar travel, and time manipulation, and you stole them from us."

"Oh. Those boxes." Marcus said, a little uneasy. "Yes, well, I seem to have forgotten where we put them." He said, grimacing. Oh, Doctor, was that really him before?

"Wrong answer, Marcus." Alexi grimaced.

Earlier…

"Please, just leave me alone!" Dr. Marcus Brody huffed, striding down the college corridor as quickly as he could in a half-sprint. "You can't be the same Doctor, you're just-you're just too young to be him, or at least too modern." Brody said, turning around to face his pursuer. "The Doctor I met, while he was about your age or so, looked quite different. His hair was lighter, curly, not so spiky-longer, like a mane. And he dressed in Victorian clothes—a frock coat, a wainscot, even a cravat. He looked differently overall."

The Doctor, ambling along just behind Marcus with his hands stuffed inside his pockets, groaned. "While it is nice to be taken as being young, I'm really not. I'm much older than I was before, but that's besides the point!" He exclaimed.

"What you see, all of this, is just the result of regeneration." The Doctor explained. "It's just a new body that I got when my old one was about to give up the ghost. Everything in me just switched itself around and renewed itself into this form. Actually, it's done that twice since you last saw me, but that's besides the point, I'm still me!" The Doctor exclaimed.

Dr. Brody, getting closer to the main college doors, glanced back. "Well, why don't you-why don't you prove it?" He asked. "When I met you before, we were such good friends, you and I and Henry, that we had done-"

The Time Lord tilted his head back and grimaced. "Oh, you're not making this any easier on me, Marcus." He muttered. "All right, all right, uhm, let me think—now how did that motto go-ah, yes," He said, leaning forward and smiling. "'Genius of the restoration, aid our own resuscitation.' Is that what you wanted to hear, Marcus?"

"Oh, I'm just not sure..." Marcus said.

"Oh, come on, Marcus, why don't you have a little more faith? You always had some faith, Marcus." He said. "Even when we were stuck on Tropicanus Major Delta, with the river swelling and the Dingons chasing after us, you always did have some faith that we would get rescued, or find our way back to the TARDIS in time."

Marcus blinked and stared at this stranger standing before him as two fellows walked down the hallway from the opposite direction towards them. "Is it you, Doctor?" Marcus asked, hope in his eyes. "If it's you, Doctor, I think you should know-"

However, at that moment, one of the two men, in a heavy accent, shouted, "Sir, are you not Dr. Marcus Brody? If so, we would like to speak with you!"

Brody appeared puzzled as the Doctor turned around with a grimace, facing the strangers now coming upon them. "Look, I was talking with him first and I will have you know-" He started to say, until one of the fellows punched him.

"Doctor!" Marcus cried, as the two thugs picked up Marcus, and dragged him towards the door.

"Doctor?" One of the thugs said, turning around to look at the fellow lying on the floor.

"It's not him." The other thug—Alexi, now that Marcus remembered him—said. "The Doctor we are searching for would be older, in his 50s at least. He would most likely be dressed in fancy clothes, not in such a raggedy state, with blue suit and tie." Alexi chuckled. "Come on, we've got what we wanted," He said, as he and his friend rushed out with Marcus Brody to the LeSalle.

"You're going to get someone killed, driving like that!" The Doctor exclaimed, turning to the strange man hunched over the wheel like a maniac as they entered the woods. "And it could be Marcus! We don't want that, do we?" He asked, frowning.

"Quiet, I don't need you lecturing me," The strange man said, but he eased up a little on the gas, but only just, when he remained focused on the task at hand.

"Why didn't you honk or something while we were driving through the town?" The Doctor asked, annoyed. "Like those Russians did. It's only fair warning-"

"Russians?" The strange man asked, turning to the Doctor.

"Yes, Russians, that's what my impression of them was," The Doctor said. "They were speaking Russian."

"What are Russians doing here, and what would they want with Marcus?" The other man asked.

"Funny you should ask me that," The Doctor said, sitting up a little, until the strange man frowned at him. "Okay, not so funny then," The Doctor said, easing back down a bit. "I came here quite by accident, not knowing where I was, and who should I happen to run into but Marcus, my old friend! I haven't seen him in years." The Doctor said, sighing. "We had some fun adventures back in the old days, before the Time War."

"Time War? Don't you mean the Great War or something?" The strange man said, turning the wheel.

"Something like that," The Doctor said, frowning as they started to approach alongside the LeSalle. "What are you doing?" He asked.

"Trust me on this." The strange man said, reaching towards the glove compartment across the Doctor's lap. "I've done this before." He said, opening the glove compartment. "First of all, I don't believe you." The strange man said, lifting out a gun. "Second of all, you're too young to have been friends with Marcus before the Great War-"

"What are you doing?" The Doctor cried.

"Getting a clear shot!" The strange man said, and then hesitated. "Move over, Doctor, it's your turn to drive!" He exclaimed, starting to crawl over the Doctor.

"I never have believed violence was the way to solve anything!" The Doctor exclaimed, reaching over to grab hold of the wheel.

"You're a pacifist, eh? Keep her steady, Doctor!" The strange man cried, about to roll down the passenger window. "And keep your foot on the gas! We're just about on top of them!" He said, as the passenger window shattered.

The Doctor ducked, avoiding a bullet. "I can't believe we are doing this!" He cried.

"Believe it, Doctor!" The strange man cried, shooting at the Russians' car.

"Alexi, they're here! Right alongside us!" The Russian driver exclaimed, as Alexi and Marcus looked up.

"Son of a-" Alexi started to say, then climbed into the backseat. "Move over, Marcus!" Alexi said, rolling down the passenger window closest to the Plymouth, with his gun pulled out. Marcus cowered down. Alexi shot at the passenger window of the other car, but apparently missed hitting the driver or anyone, as someone shot back at him. Alexi ducked and shot back.

One of the tires of the LeSalle popped. "Alexi!" The driver cried.

"Shut up, I know!" Alexi cried, turning around. "Marcus-" He said, leveling his gun at the older man, but then another tire popped, and Alexi's gun misfired-at the driver.

"Son of a!" Alexi cried, lunging for the wheel as the LeSalle swerved out of control. He heard one of the backseat doors open, and turned around in time to see Marcus falling out of the car and rolling away.

"Marcus!" Alexi cried as the car went off the road, towards a tree.

I just decided to stop here. Seems fitting to end with a cliffhanger. I will write more soon, it won't be another four years!