A/N: Just some scenes for a Goldie Gold and Action Jack reboot (think along the lines for a hypothetical movie) I cooked up that I currently have no plans to develop into a larger fic. For the fans out there or anyone else wanting to follow along, the background plot is largely the first episode Night of the Crystal Skull with some exceptions.

Begin File.

Where are they now? Goldie Gold.

"It was only seven years ago that the world's richest girl and heir to the Gold family fortune notoriously vanished after self-destructing outside a cabaret night club one night in downtown San Francisco."

Scenes of a clearly inebriated Caucasian young woman with blonde hair wearing an expensive outfit and a pearl necklace was seen yelling loudly at the crowds heckling her while taking photos and video footage of her. After a few moments of this, police arrived and she struggled against them briefly before breaking down in tears and being led away in handcuffs.

Newspaper clippings and news reports scrolled past condemning the actions of the young heiress. A gaggle of reporters were seen outside the famed Gold Mansion gates demanding entrance to interview Goldie for her behavior.

"One voice conspicuously absent in its reporting of the actions of Goldie Gold was the Gold Street Journal which is owned by the Gold family. Because of this, accusations flew about the impartiality of the newspaper. An accusation editor Sam Gritt was only too happy to deny."

A middle-aged African-American man in typical bullpen clothes sat behind his desk clearly not happy about interviews taking up his time rather than be working on things that actually needed reporting.

"The reason we haven't reported on this story beyond basic headlines is because there is nothing to report. The Goldie Gold you seem to be reporting on, a self-centered conceited brat, I've never met her. The Goldie I know is a compassionate young woman still trying to find her way in the world.

If you had journalistic integrity you might recognize her father was finally declared dead after having gone missing for five years. So while Goldie was hanging on the verge of being an orphan, now she finally is one now with almost no one to really turn to. It is little wonder she acted the way she did. I am not saying we should approve of her actions but we shouldn't rush to condemn her either. She needs our help and support at this time and not our scorn.

This journal has reported on the tragic deaths of too many young women in the public eye. We are not going to contribute to the loss of another."

"But less than a week after this interview, Goldie Gold was reported to have disappeared entirely."

Newspaper headlines and television footage reporting the vanishing of the heiress now filled the screen. Many speculating on the fate of the young heiress. The Gold Street Journal for its part posted a reward for any information leading to Goldie's whereabouts.

Sam Gritt was again interviewed.

"No, I don't know where Goldie Gold is or what she's up to, she never told me nor should she have had to. If you ask me where she is, she went to go find herself…her better half. And when she does, she'll return triumphant. But in the meantime we have an obligation to find our journal's sole owner and benefactor."

Newspaper clippings from the Gold Street Journal from the black haired tall Caucasian reporter "Action" Jack Travis from his travelogue around the world searching for the elusive Goldie Gold were seen. But after a year they became more and more sporadic until finally ceasing altogether after 18 months of no results and the need to assign him to more relevant reporting.

"Despite the cessation of Jack Travis's investigative reporting on Goldie Gold's disappearance, occasional reports of the heiress still come in. But none have panned out. And so we are still left to ponder where she is today and what became of her…"

End File.

"Damn, he got away,"

Machu Picchu, Peru: Action Jack Travis watched vainly at the fleeting image of the plane which had taken off from the abandoned Inca City for parts unknown and with it his quarry. He had been tracking reports of missing and kidnapped NASA scientists and personnel for a few weeks now with the only common factor in the disappearances being a man seen in a crystal skull mask and accompanied by men dressed as native Inca warriors reported as being in the area every time.

With little else to go on, he tried his luck at visiting Machu Picchu as various strange reports had been coming out of that area as well in recent weeks. He sincerely hoped the Inca references on the part of kidnappers wasn't just for show but was some clue designed to taunt would be pursuers.

With what he uncovered he wasn't certain if he would've been happier or not if it hadn't panned out. He'd discovered a secret rocket launching pad underneath the city with a half-built rocket being readied to launch to the stars. And then he had been confronted by the Crystal Skull and his men. In the ensuing fracas he'd been captured and ended up with one of the biggest surprise so far: that Professor Harker, a famed astrophysicist and one of the first men to have disappeared, was in fact the Crystal Skull!

But all of that paled in comparison to the next mystery in this strange case.

"Better luck next time, huh, Jack?" asked a woman's voice from behind him. Turning Jack spotted a red-haired American woman in jungle gear but spotting an oddly out-of-place pearl necklace around her neck.

No, the biggest mystery was this strange woman who had turned up and rescued him after being captured by the Crystal Skull and left out to dry over a lava flow. The Crystal Skull had slowly had him lowered towards it and he would've met a rather gruesome fate had the woman not shown up out of nowhere on rockets built into her seemingly normal boots. She'd pulled him off the rope and onto safe ground and then with a flying kick knocked off the Crystal Skull mask revealing Dr. Harker underneath.

Chaos had subsequently ensued and in the confusion Harker had escaped with his men in a plane. Thereby leading to his current predicament of not knowing where they were going now.

"Yeah, yeah," he said waving off the plane for another time before turning to the new arrival. "You seem to know me but I didn't get your name?"

The woman paused and stared blankly as if she hadn't been expecting that question. But why not?

"It's Carla," she began after a moment's thought. "Carla Aurum."

"Aurum?" asked Jack with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. In all his travels he'd never heard of someone with that last name before.

"It's Latin," Carla shot back, not happy about being accused of making things up. Jack just gave a little shake of his head as it was getting him nowhere and of little importance to his current assignment. Some mysteries would have to be left unsolved he guessed.

"How did you know who I was?" he asked next as he turned back around and grabbed his binoculars to try and get a final glimpse of the plane and its direction.

"Well I heard the Crystal Skull call you by that name," the woman began. "But even down here we get the South American edition of the Gold Street Journal. What brings you to our neck of the woods, still looking for Goldie Gold?"

The woman laughed heartily at that notion as Jack was glad he wasn't facing her as he allowed a little bit of red into his face. That assignment still made him the butt of jokes every now and then in the pressroom and from his fellow journalistic colleagues. And in other instances from the general public as well. But he certainly hadn't expected it this far south of the equator.

"No," he responded curtly and then wrote some notes in his notepad about the plane including its identifier number. And then he headed for the steps to begin the long trek back to civilization.

"Wait, aren't you going to investigate the launch pad?" asked Carla chasing after him.

Jack shook his head. "I wouldn't even know what to look for in the first place that I didn't already see on the way in. No, I'll let the police investigators sort that out. Besides," he added slyly. "I'll bet you covered that place head to toe already and you can be my source."

Carla was surprised by that admission. "What makes you think I'll help you?" she had to ask, curious.

"Reporters instinct," Jack answered truthfully. "I don't think you're in this for the glory but for something else. But what that is, I don't know. So, yes, I think you'll help me."

Carla gave a small smile at that. "So what's the next step?" she asked next.

"We regroup and go back to San Francisco," Jack stated as he reached the steps leading down to the valley below and began walking straight down them.

Carla paused briefly, almost imperceptibly at that, but with Jack's honed reporters instincts he still caught it.

Without her bothering to ask the obvious he went ahead and answered it anyway. "I need the resources at the Gold Street Journal and speak to my fellow journalists to try and build some leads for this case and find Dr. Harker."

Carla seemed to have a long internal debate with herself for several moments before coming to an answer.

"I suppose it could be good to finally return home. I'd need to find my passport," Carla admitted next. "But I don't really have the money to fly back to the States."

"I'll pay it," Jack told her as he glanced back at her to read her emotions. "I have just enough on my stipend to pay for two tickets."

Goldie eyed him curiously. "But where would I stay, I also can't really afford a hotel," she admitted helplessly before something crossed her mind and she stopped in her tracks. "Oh let me guess, the only room left at the inn is your one bedroom apartment."

Jack couldn't help it, he laughed at that.

"Tempting as that might be, Dr. Harker knows who I am as well. I can't afford to put myself at risk by going back there until he's caught," he pointed out before resuming his trek down the mountain. "But we do have another place we can use in the case of emergencies."

"Where?" asked Carla intensely curious. Jack wished he could face her with what he was about to say but he couldn't risk tipping his hand.

"The Gold Family Mansion,"

Carla's eyes went wide open at that as she hurried again to keep up.

Later, San Francisco: The flight back to the States had been uneventful but Carla occasionally found herself forgetting certain words in English, evidently proof she hadn't spoken the language in some time.

As the passenger plane flew in a holding pattern over the City by the Bay, Jack accessed what remaining information on his laptop that he could from the plane's wi-fi before it was turned off and they landed. Carla for her part had her face pressed to the window.

"What are you looking for?" asked Jack willing to multitask.

"Just curious if I could spot the Gold Street Journal," Carla answered honestly. But the city was fog ridden so there wasn't much to see so she sat back in her seat. The two were in Economy Class as while Jack had a stipend it apparently wasn't quite that generous, especially not with two people involved.

"Are you planning on reporting in tonight?"

Jack shook his head. "It's getting a little too late and I need to type up a preliminary report first. I'll probably go in tomorrow. The only people working this late are Sam Gritt and the printing crew."

The name of the Editor in Chief had no impact on Carla's features that Jack could tell. Instead she winced as her knees hit the chair in front of her.

"If staff at the Journal have access to the mansion then how come we couldn't fly back on one of the Gold Family jets?" Carla opined. "I heard Goldie's main private jet was so big it housed an Olympic-Class swimming pool and a glass roof."

"Some things in the media can be exaggerated," Jack informed her while leaving out that that story was completely true. But in truth when Goldie Gold had vanished she had left behind explicit instructions on what to do with all of her assets. The private fleet of vehicles (boats, planes, cars, trains, etc.) could only be used to provide transportation for non-profit humanitarian groups that could not afford transportation themselves to important charitable events. One primary user was the Give-a-Wish Foundation.

Besides even if he could Jack had no desire to travel in such opulence.

The plane landed.

Later Still: The rented car from Gold Transportation Industries pulled up to the front gates of the grounds of the Gold Estate. Carla looked up at the intimidating walls partly covered in ivy as Jack fished out his entry card. A storm was now rumbling in and occasional lightning flashes could be seen overheard illuminating the area.

"This place looks like something Dr. Moreau or Frankenstein would stay at," Carla began shivering and not just because of the cold.

"It just looks like that from the outside," Jack replied trying to wave offer her concerns. He finally plugged in his card into the reader and it beeped. The gates swung open with barely a creak and the car drove in.

Far across the way the mansion loomed ever and ever larger as they drove closer to it and Carla's jaw dropped lower and lower upon seeing it.

"I had no idea it was this big," she whispered in awe. The mansion may have been the largest residential building on the planet in terms of sheer square footage. Not even the Pentagon or Congress could rival its size. "You could almost fly a helicopter in there."

Jack snorted at that. "A feat Goldie was known to do on occasion," he said lightly as he parked the car, grabbed his things, and headed inside. Carla took her modest belongings, a backpack and duffel bag, and followed him up the steps. The mansion still had its lighting on which seemed odd.

"Does anybody still live her?" she asked in a hushed whisper. Now Jack was fishing for the key to open the front door.

"When Goldie Gold left behind written instructions of what to do in her absence, one of them told her Estate to continue to pay the support staff regardless of if they do any work or not," the reporter told her as he heard the satisfying click of the front door and pushed open the doors to the main hall which was easily several stories tall. "Out of loyalty to their former employer to this day they still routinely come in and maintain the building and grounds. They also regularly stock the kitchen with plenty of food which is good in our case because I'm hungry."

"Why would they continue to do all that after all these years?" asked Carla perplexed but felt a little misty-eyed hearing that. Jack paused and turned to her as if it should be obvious.

"In the hope that Goldie Gold will one day return home,"

Much later:

Jack and Carla walked down another hallway, this time the residential wing. I basically looked like a hotel with multiple stories and walkways leading down the various floors. They just happened to be on the bottom for convenience's sake.

"Which one of these rooms was Goldie's?" Carla asked looking around.

"Looking to break in and rob her?" Jack teased as Carla lightly shoved him.

"It's this one, I think," he said as he stopped in front of a room with the stylized letters GG adorned on it in trademark gold. He put his hand on the door handle and was pleased when he found it locked.

"You wouldn't get very far in the attempt. The staff keeps this room under lock & key so no would be grave robbers can think about getting ambitious," Jack said as he looked at his map to try and figure out which rooms they would stay in. Carla for her part noticed a small swinging door at the bottom of the door to Goldie's room.

"Doggie door…say didn't Goldie used to have a dog?" she seemed to recall, her face scrunched up as if in remembrance. Jack was distracted by the map that he had largely tuned out of her conversation but did look up when Carla put her hand on his shoulder and asked her question again.

"Don't tell me you're allergic. But it doesn't really matter. Yes, Goldie had a dog whose name was Nugget. Wherever Goldie went she couldn't take him with her. The groundskeepers did their best to keep him happy but after a few months he ran away. Nobody's seen him since,"

"Oh," was all Carla could say in response to that as she looked again at the door to Goldie's room. And then Jack finally figured out which rooms they were in and pushed them open.

Later still:

The door to the room Carla had been assigned by Jack creaked open and the young woman looked up and down the darkened hallway. Carla poked her head out but no creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Silently heading out while only wearing her socks to try and minimize any noise, she approached Goldie Gold's bedroom door with trepidation. Standing in front of it she again looked as if she wanted to run away and be anywhere but here.

But realizing retreat was not an option, she breathed in deeply and held up her right hand in which was an old iron key. She pushed the key into the lock, turned it, and listened as it made a satisfying click. The noise seemed to echo loudly down the hallway in her mind and so she snapped her head to the side and looked at Jack's door. But after a few moments and no sign of movement she returned her attention to the door. She put her hand on the door handle and pushed it open.

The door opened with only the slightest noise and Carla again summoned up her courage and ventured inside, closing it behind her.

Clasping her hands briefly in front of her chest in fear and trepidation, she nevertheless freed one hand and flipped on the lights.

The lights came on without any hesitation and she looked around the room.

Rather than being completely clean and orderly the room looked like it had when its occupant had last departed it. True the cleaning staff kept it dust and dirt free but otherwise it looked lived in. Movie posters adorned the walls, a small mini-fridge sat humming away, on a nearby table sat a half-completed science experiment (Goldie had always had a secret passion for designing and building gadgets and gizmos), and the bed-while its sheets had been regularly cleaned-had a corner folded back at the top left just like its missing occupant liked it.

Walking through the room, Carla looked at the older iMac with an old 5th generation iPod still plugged into it. Picking up the mp3 player, she was pleased to see it still powered up and scrolled through the tracks on it with the wheel before placing it back down on the table.

Stepping up to the workbench with the science experiment on it, she examined the device which was currently a circuit board with various odds and ends sticking out of it. The enigmatic woman then tilted her head up at the corner of the room as if in deep remembrance. Finally after a few moments realization dawned on her and she reached out into the nearby toolbox and pulled out some wire clippers. She then clipped part of a long stray piece of wire and then twisted it together with a second piece of exposed wire. Satisfied for now she then put the experiment back on the bench and then her eyes slowly drifted to the queen-sized bed in the room.

Reluctantly moving towards it, Carla took a seat on the edge and looked at the nightstand. On it were the usual things: a clock, a handheld mirror, a lamp…and two framed photos.

Picking up one photo, Carla looked and saw a much younger Goldie Gold in a family photo with her mother and father. Holding it in trembling hands she lightly brushed the edge of the frame with her thumb and read the inscription: Gold Family: Joseph, Amanda, and Goldie 1997.

"Mom, dad," she said sadly as a sniffle emerged.

Without another word she then silently put it back.

The second photo contained an image of an older Goldie Gold with a big smile on her face. In her hands was a warm and friendly dog with an equally happy expression on its face. The inscription read: Gold Family: Goldie and Nugget 2010.

"Oh, Nugget," Carla whimpered.

Finally breaking down, the woman clutched the picture frame close to her chest as tears flowed down her face in waves.

For the first time in a long time Goldie Gold cried.

Outside, Jack had finally left his room trying to find the bathroom in this crazy place. He was just about to pass Goldie Gold's room when he heard a noise coming from behind the door. Looking down he saw faint traces of light around the door frame. Without trying to be too intrusive he leaned closer to the door and clearly heard the sobs coming through.

"Oh, Goldie," he said sympathetically with a light shake of his head. He knew who Carla really was, it was obvious from the start. But she had to work out her own demons, there was nothing he could do about it. And so he left her in silence and continued on his way.

Next morning, the kitchen:

Jack Travis was enjoying some cereal in one of the side kitchens closest to the residential wing. The mansion had several and the main kitchen was easily the size of a restaurant, but this was the only one stocked by the staff.

The reporter was partway through reading the latest edition of the Gold Street Journal when Carla stumbled in half-asleep. Jack eyed her curiously. While the two had dined in the kitchen the night before he hadn't quite given her instructions for how to get back.

That Carla then walked right up to the cabinet which had the cereal, and then the one with the bowl, and finally the silverware without Jack having ever told her where they were located further confirmed his opinion on who she really was.

As the strange young woman poured some milk that was sitting on the table, Jack sighed inwardly and decided to just dive in.

"Good morning, Goldie," Jack told her matter-of-factly.

"Good morning, Jack," said Goldie still half-asleep. She then pushed her spoon into her cereal and brought it up but then paused as what Jack had said finally registered with her.

She slowly looked up at him, not with anger or frustration, but emotional detachment.

"I am not Goldie Gold," was all she said in denial of his statement.

"Yes you are," Jack refused to back down as he returned to his newspaper. "I may have only met you once before you vanished but I know it's you."

"Regardless of who you think I am, Goldie Gold died seven years ago," she stated and finally shoved in some cereal. "Besides, you told me you didn't go to South America to find her." She accused with a full mouth.

"That's true," Jack agreed as he read the Sports Column. "Which is why I haven't reported your return to anybody. It's not my story to tell, only yours."

"Then it's one that will never be told," Goldie promised. Jack shrugged which was only evidenced to her by the paper moving briefly. Goldie then began to dread what she knew was coming next.

"Don't you think Sam deserves to know?" the male reporter felt like he had to ask.

Goldie dropped her hands onto the table making a noise. "And why would that be?" she demanded stubbornly.

This time Jack did lower the paper and looked at her dimly.

"Goldie, I don't need to tell you that man loves you like you were his own daughter," he pointed out as Goldie slightly shrunk at that declaration. "He risked his own professional and personal reputation defending you from those media vultures. He ran column after column talking about the Goldie he knew versus the one the public perceived to try and alter public opinion. Then he sent me on an 18-month wild goose chase around the country around the world on his own dime in the hopes of finding you.

Sam still keeps a photo of you on his desk and a direct line for tips about your whereabouts after seven years. I think that answers itself. And I think you should go see him. But that's your story to tell," he concluded disgusted at her as he threw out his remaining cereal and put the bowl in the dishwasher. He then left the kitchen to go to the computer lab to work on his assignment.

Leaving Goldie Gold alone with her thoughts.

That evening Goldie walked into the massive garage on the grounds which was practically its own wing. Expensive European Exotics to American Muscle Cars to Japanese Imports to your standard affordable family cars sat idly by covered in tarps to prevent damage.

The collection had largely been started by her father but Goldie had become a bit of a gearhead herself. But she passed by all the cars most people could only dream of owning and driving until reaching one slip in particular. Pulling back the tarp it revealed a 1950s era Bentley. The car was Goldie's favorite as it belonged to her grandparents and she had ridden in it many a time as a child. The car had been specifically gifted to her in her grandparents' will and she had personally modified the car from top to bottom with all sorts of devices while still keeping the outer shell intact.

Looking inside she saw the keys laying on the dashboard. With keys sitting out like that, one would think the car could be easily stolen, but the opposite was the case. Not through any specific design element but perhaps because of the TLC Goldie had given the car, it refused to start for anyone but her.

Sitting in the car, Goldie closed her eyes and wrapped her hands around the steering wheel and felt the thrill of driving this car flow through her again.

Smiling just faintly at the life she had willingly given up, she got out of the car and threw it into neutral and pushed it over to the gas pumps. Because make no mistake with her modest stature, she had gained a considerable amount of muscle being on her own in some of the most remote places in the world.

After a quick filling of the entire tank, Goldie then checked the rest of the fluids, spark plugs, and whatever else she could and was pleased that the grounds staff had kept the car regularly maintained knowing it was her favorite.

Getting once more into the car, Goldie put the key into the ignition and twisted it.

*Vroom*

The car started up first try. Goldie lightly patted the dashboard in thanks and listened to the motor hum for a few moments. Satisfied, she put the car into gear and rolled out of the garage. But rather that head for the front gates, she instead took the car to the back of the estate.

An air strip long enough to accompany large jumbo jets sat along with accompanying hangars. Driving the car towards the maintenance area, she brought it up to the jet fuel pumps. Getting out, she popped open the trunk where a hidden intake was housed and she plugged the jet fuel line to it and began pumping. As that was going on she then crawled underneath the car and checked certain non-standard components attached to each wheel.

The fuel pump stopped and Goldie got back up and wiped her grease stained hands. Cleaning them at a sink nearby, she then put the fuel line away and closed the trunk.

Driving the car out to the runway, she positioned the car as if to race off down it but instead she put her hand over a button on the radio and pressed it.

The car lifted straight up into the air as the wheels turned 90-degrees to point down. Goldie then hit the accelerator and the car rocketed off into the night sky leaving the mansion behind.

Gold Street Journal: Sam Gritt was again up late reviewing the latest issue of the Gold Street Journal for any typos or errors before giving formal approval for printing. The Gold Street Journal was still regarded as one of the most reputable news sources in the industry. Whereas other newspapers were often faced with dwindling subscriptions and forced to make tough choices, the Gold Family Trust made sure any losses were compensated for. That meant they could afford to still pay knowledgeable beat reporters and take the time to make sure the story was right, rather than get it out first.

*Ring*

He so engrossed in his work that when a phone rang he picked it up absently and spoke into it.

"Hello?"

But he got no response.

*Ring*

Looking up, Sam realized it was the dedicated line he had put in to get tips about Goldie Gold. The phone had rang constantly when Goldie first disappeared but these days it was mostly silent. The few phone calls he got often ended up being crank calls from bored college-aged students but Sam still dutifully picked up the receiver and spoke into it.

"Sam Gritt, how can I help you?" he stated, offering as little information as possible.

"Hello Mr. Gritt, I understand you are paying money for information leading to the whereabouts of Goldie Gold,"

A voice modulator to conceal the voice of the original speaker; that was a new one.

"Yes, if the tip pans out. I don't pay for false information," he warned. "So what's your tip?"

"I wanted to ask you some questions first," the voice requested.

Sam sighed, he had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going. "Go ahead but I don't have much time."

"Why do you care?"

That question surprised him. It clearly was in response to the subject and not his lack of time.

"Why wouldn't I care?" he shot back frankly.

"Because she owns your newspaper, your holding company, and your job," the voice figured that had to be it. Professional not personal reasons were the cause.

Sam laughed at that. "That couldn't be further from the truth. I care because she's worth it."

"How? By being a stuck-up rich girl who lost touch with reality?" the voice challenged.

Sam rubbed his eyes when being confronted with that statement for the umpteenth time.

"But that's not the woman I knew. The Goldie Gold I knew was a caring young person who wanted the world to be a better place. She donated large sums of money to all sorts of charities and philanthropic organizations all without publicity.

But more than that, she volunteered her time. She would go in disguise to food pantries, homeless shelters, and other places to help those who had nothing.

She cared when someone with her money and fame could easily have turned their back on society and lived only for herself. That is the Goldie I remember."

The voice was silent for a moment.

"How much did she mean to you?"

That question did surprise him.

"Nothing. Everything. I always did my best to be there for her. She would always drop by my office and ask me for advice and I gave her as much support as I could."

He then pointed behind him to the open window where cold air was starting to blow in. The motion was more for his sake than the unseen caller.

"That's why I keep my rear window open every night I'm here, even seven years after she disappeared. Because even being this many stories up, Goldie used to always sneak in that way and I would never want to shut her out. No matter the temperature or what the weather was like.

I know that one day she will come through that window and scare the living daylights out of me like before. And I would give anything to see her again. Does that answer your question?"

There was no response but the line hadn't gone dead. So Sam dutifully pulled out his notepad.

"So where is she?"

"Look behind you, Sam," came a voice he instantly recognized from his rear window.

For one of the few moments he could recall in his life, Sam froze. The phone receiver slipped from his hand and clattered noisily to the floor.

Turning around with slight trepidation he looked and saw Goldie Gold-albeit with red hair than her signature golden locks-leaning in on the windowsill with her cellphone in her hand. Behind her, her Bentley could clearly be seen in hover mode.

"Goldie…," he began stunned before his mental faculties kicked back in. "Goldie, how many times have I told you to get in here and close that window behind you? You'll catch a cold!"

Goldie laughed, a sound Sam hadn't realized how much he'd missed, and the heiress hopped in and shut the window behind her. The editor-in-chief had just stood up to greet her when Goldie rushed to him and hugged him as tightly as she could and happy tears streamed down her face. Sam for his part silently stroked her hair as support.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long," she apologized as they parted and she grabbed a tissue from his desk.

Sam disagreed with that. "You came back, that's what matters."

"But how do you know I am the real deal? I could be an imposter," Goldie pointed out with a sly smile.

"Ha. Only you would be crazy enough to come in my window this late at night in a flying car," Sam began. "Besides, Jack told me he was coming back to the States with someone named Carla Aurum. You've never been any good with pseudonyms. Jack may not know the history of this newspaper but I know it was founded by your great-great-grandmother Carlotta Gold. And Aurum is the Latin word that Gold's symbol, AU, is derived from on the periodic table of elements."

Goldie laughed nervously at that as she turned a shade of red equal to her recolored hair.

Sam went to grab his coat to head downstairs to give approval to the printers and then leave for the evening.

"So what brings you back, not a social call I take it?" he inquired, his reporters instinct never leaving him.

Goldie shook her head. "Like you said, I like to help people. I've travelled all over the world to both find myself and try and help those who can't help themselves. I caught wind of strange things going on at Machu Picchu and ran into Jack and Dr. Harker. Whatever it is he's up to.

That's why I wanted to use your terminal to do some research into it if that's okay?" she requested.

"Absolutely," Sam said without hesitation. "You're always welcome in the bullpen, Goldie."

"I know," Goldie agreed as her eyes drifted down to a photo on Sam's desk. It was of his office completely full with reporters and Sam in the middle of a heated moment. In the corner just barely visible was a visiting seven-year old Goldie with a fedora on writing down notes. The photo had been taken because there was a particularly earth-shattering political scandal that had broken out that year and the Journal's staff (sans-Goldie) had won the Pulitzer Prize for it.

"It's good to see you again, Sam," Goldie admitted truthfully.

"It's good to see you too, kid. Even it's not a permanent stay I'm glad you came back. Andrea is never going to believe this," he said in reference to his wife.

"I just don't know if I'll ever find myself," Goldie had to reluctantly admit, still needing some of Sam's advice.

"That's because you don't need to find what you never lost in the first place. You already know who you are," the editor-in-chief pointed out to Goldie's confusion.

"You're Goldie Gold: The World's Richest Girl,"

And then Sam was gone leaving Goldie alone. Sitting down at his desk, Goldie reached into the bottom left drawer and found Sam's secret stash of chocolate he never admitted to having.

Biting into a bar and silently waiting to log onto the network, Goldie looked once more at Sam's desk and the few other scattered framed photos on it. Standing next to a photo of the Gritt Family was a headshot of Goldie from her senior year in prep school. Crammed into the frame was her column in the school paper exposing an admissions scandal. She'd been warned by the administration what would happen if she published it, but she had done her investigative work confirming it was true and refused to back down. The article had nearly gotten her expelled but her father had pulled some strings and she'd still been allowed to graduate.

The one bright spot was when a cutout of the column arrived to her house with a sticky note on it from Sam reading "Good job, kid!-SG". She'd kept the column and she had bequeathed it back to Sam upon her disappearance. She was pleased to see he'd kept it along with the note.

The computer logged on and Goldie put all that aside. She too had the reporters instinct and knew when it was time be all business.

Sam and Jack were hardly surprised to come in the next morning and find Goldie passed out on Sam's desk underneath a stack of printed articles from the paper and countless notes.

Her red hair meant no one in the outside work area could identify who she really was so the two set her on the couch to sleep it off and wrote her off to the reporters as a new intern who didn't know when to quit. And that it should be a lesson to the staff about work ethic when pursuing an important story.

As for the flying car hovering outside, nobody believed it was real. Outside of the occasional online video or photo, no reputable newspaper could print such an absurd story so it was relegated to the tabloids.

Much time later at the Gold Family Space Mansion, the Crystal Skull had finally been defeated by Goldie's quick thinking with manipulating the artificial gravity. The good doctor had landed in the pond outside all wet and recognizing he had been thwarted

"Who, who are you?" Harker asked astounded that this young woman-whom was now standing over him and pulling him up by his collar-plus a newspaper reporter could have defeated his plans to take over space by destroying all of Earth's satellites. And then there was that dog that had seemingly appeared from nowhere…

The heiress, whose natural blonde hair had started growing back in, loomed over him with a renewed sense of purpose.

"I'm Goldie Gold,"