A bombshell shook everything. Riza gripped the nearest table to keep her balance. A few nurses tumbled down, but their colleagues helped them back up. Everyone was in super work mode. More and more injured men kept coming in. Not many were leaving any time soon either; they were running out of beds.
"Hey! Outta our way, Missy!" someone shouted.
A group of men pushed their way past some nurses. Two had a man propped between them. Another, much bigger than the rest, was snarling and sneering at everyone that looked at him.
"Sir! SIR! You can't be in here! You'll have to fill out some forms while we-" the poor nurse cried.
"SHOVE THEM UP YOUR ASS!" the big man snapped.
"Hey! Leave her alone!" Riza shouted.
She slipped through the mess of nurses, patients and doctors. Riza stood in front of the men, fearless, and the nurse silently thanked her. She had her hands on her hips in a "no-nonsense-here" fashion. The injured man and his larger companion looked awfully familiar, but she couldn't place it.
"His brother," one of the men, keeping his injured brother-in-arms standing, began, "is really injured."
If they were who Riza thought they were, he wasn't injured at all. It was hard to tell with all the dirt, blood and rips in his uniform though. She promised to tend to him, personally. The soldiers "woo"ed at that. Laughing, they left the tent.
"Your brother's in good hands. You can leave," Riza insisted. "I need this man moved to solitary! Stat!"
"I wanna come with. I wanna make sure Jimmy is taken care of," he shrugged.
"Fine. Come with me," Riza sighed.
She was too tired to argue with Creed. It wouldn't matter anyway. She wasn't going to do anything to him. Dress where he was wounded and clean him up at least.
"You smell familiar," Creed said flatly once they were alone.
"You look familiar," Riza responded.
"You're that brat from the Civil War. That mutant brat."
"You're the asshole with the nice brother."
"Grew up nice though," Creed smirked.
"You're such an animal," she rolled her eyes.
"We didn't get much time to get to know each other. What's your name, Doll?"
"Riza. What's yours?"
"Victor Creed."
"His?"
"James Logan."
"Where you two from?"
"Canada."
"How long... Have you had your powers?" Riza asked.
"Since we were kids. After that it was just the two of us against the world," Creed sniffed.
"Almost literally. I assume you fought in the first World War, too?"
"Yup. Hey. I'm hungry. Where's the food?"
"Sniff it out, you filthy animal," she laughed.
"Keep talkin' dirty to me, Doll. I like it," Creed laughed and left.
He didn't come back for a while. Riza guessed he knew Jimmy was in safe hands. She got a chair and sat, patiently, waiting. She untied her hair and let it tumble down. It shielded her eyes; she dozed off. After a few hours of undisturbed sleep a tray clattered to the ground. She jumped to her feet; hands curled into fists.
"Shit," a voice hissed.
Riza lit a nearby lantern; the back room slowly filled with a dim light. Logan was crouching near the exit, but upon the room's illumination he straightened himself. He was scruffy, and his brown hair stood on end, going every which way. Riza felt her heart leap, but she quickly suppressed the feeling. Logan stooped down and picked up the tray. They stared at each other while he twirled it in his hands.
"You tore off your bandages," Riza said flatly.
He stared down at his body. "Um... Yeah. I didn't see the point... I'm not injured."
"You were, and you got better. It's ok, Jimmy, I know."
Logan tensed up. He slowly walked to his right while Riza walked to her left. They started circling each other.
"... How do you know my name?" he demanded.
"Your brother told me," she shrugged.
Logan felt himself relax slightly. He gingerly tossed the tray back on the ground.
"You gonna tell anyone?" he asked.
"It'll die with me," Riza promised. It wasn't necessarily a lie; it wasn't like she was going to die any time soon.
"So... About those bandages?" Logan cleared his throat.
"Yeah. Everyone thinks you're injured. You'll need some bloody bandages. Not those. You tore them to shreds, but how? There aren't any knives in here..."
"Sorry about that," Logan said, "It was a rough night."
"Don't worry about it. I'll get some more," Riza nodded.
She disappeared through the tent flaps and returned moments later with a knife, a pen and bandages. Riza motioned for Logan to sit on the cot, and he did. She dragged her chair over to the cot and sat in front of him with the bandages
"What's the pen for?" he asked.
"Marking where the bullets were. They're in the dish over there if you want them," Riza replied.
She marked his right arm and shoulder, left leg, stomach and chest with the pen. Logan gave her a quizzical look, as if to ask where she knew to mark. She smiled and pointed to the holes in his uniform. He nodded understandingly.
"Shirt off," she stated and picked up the knife and bandages.
"You gonna stab me?" Logan laughed as he unbuttoned his shirt.
"No. Undershirt too."
"What do you mean 'no'?" he stared at her blankly.
"It'll look different, and it'll bother me."
"Shoot me then."
"It'll make too much noise. Take off your undershirt."
He sighed and pulled up his shirt. As it passed over his face, Riza got a good look at his abs. In her head, she screamed and tackled him. Outside of her head, however, she stabbed her hand and dripped blood onto the first bandage.
"What the fuck are you doing? Are you insane?" Logan hissed.
She held up her palm, smiling. "See? I'm fine."
She re-dressed Logan's fake wounds on the upper half of his body. Logan tried to not smile as she contemplated how to dress that one. He started laughing silently.
"Pants too?" he chortled.
"That one hit your femoral artery; we'll need more blood," she stated plainly, "Oh, and, yes. The pants too."
As Logan fumbled with his pants, Riza sliced her arm open. She winced as the blood slowly poured over her arm. With the older bandages, she mopped some of the blood up. A few minutes later Logan's leg was bandaged up as well.
"I feel like a fucking mummy," he sighed.
"You sorta look like one," Riza smiled.
"Haha... So... What's your name? It's only fair, you know mine."
"Riza."
"Riza, huh... How do you know about... Me? What I am, I mean."
"You told me. During the American Civil War," she said.
"Ah yeah. I remember that now. So... Where you from? America?"
"Liverpool, originally. After the Civil War we moved back to England. Lived in Liverpool, Manchester and finally settled in London," she said. "Once I got a little older I moved around from Leeds, Halifax, Bristol and a few places in Scotland."
"I love traveling," Logan smiled.
"After this war is over, I'm going all over the world," Riza nodded, staring at her lap.
"Need company?"
She snapped her head up and stared at him. Riza was about to say something, but Logan pulled her onto his lap.
"Don't stop there," Logan laughed.
Riza smiled. She had reiterated her second encounter with Logan without the part of Creed being his brother. The professor was right; he would have to figure that out on his own. She felt a little bothered by it; it was practically lying.
"Did we meet again?" he asked.
"Maybe in passing. I was a photojournalist during the Vietnam War," Riza shrugged.
"... Is that all you know about me?"
"I'm afraid so," she lied.
"I have a brother... Did he use his real name?"
"No. I checked military records for both of you after the war. Neither of your names came up. Your brother gave me a fake name," another lie.
"Crafty."
"Are you done eating? I need to get back to my daughter," Riza said.
"Yeah. Let's go... Home," Logan stood up and went to the bar to pay.
"Ha. Home," Riza smiled.
