Helen Moffit smiled at her host, wondering what the hell she was going to do about getting home. Over eighty-ish years in the past she was stranded with a total stranger who, despite being an American man, had had no objections to listening to her lecture on archaeology. She was nervous, and babbled when she was nervous and had gotten through the history of ancient Egypt, Miles inputting various details he knew about mummies.

He was also physically exhausted, and his hands had trembled when he reached for a cup of water. She had noticed it before, but their long trek across the desert had done little to help him. She'd recovered easily, only needing water and a long sleep. The women of the camp had clucked and fussed over her refusing to stay down, and considering that help had been sent for, she was planning on getting a headstart on seeing who was coming.

She was arrested by the sight of the old jeeps, something like horror and fascination slipping through her system, and clutching her notebook a little more closely, she watched them climb out of their vehicles.

There were four men who climbed out, but her attention focused almost entirely on the Japanese man stepping down from the jeep. He looked...well, dusty. It covered the black and white of his robes, and there was a coating of it over his face and short dark hair. He wore a sword at his side and there was a pack over his back that likes of which Helen hadn't seen outside old J-dramas.

It was impossible to mistake him for anyone other than the man in the notebook.

"Hello, gentleman." She straightened slightly as they paused at the sight of her. The greeting party was coming. "A surprise to be sure."

"Agreed," the man in the slouch cap looked very familiar, and the man in the beret looked too familiar. Her grandfather, the shadow over every part of her life. "Are you Ms. Moffitt?" Her grandfather looked gobsmacked, and since he didn't seem ready to be involved in the conversation, she focused on the American.

"Dr. Moffitt actually," she held a head, "Archaeology."

"Dr. Moffitt," the soldier accepted her hand, shaking firmly. "I'm Sergeant Sam Troy, you know your brother, Jack."

""Ulllo, Jack," she waved, her grandfather's name feeling awkward on her tongue. "A bit of a shock to see you all here. I apologize that you were called on my account, but there was absolute nonsense, and most of my supplies were lost and destroyed."

"We understand," Sergeant Troy had a deeply unnervingly intense gaze that made her fear he was seeing straight through her deception. "Strange things happen in the desert."

"Quite right," Jack finally chimed in, no doubt stunned by just how similar she looked to his mother. Helen might have lived in her grandfather's intellectual shadow, but she'd lived as an echo of her great-grandmother. "Ah….my dear...we should."

"My friends!" Sheik Ibriham approached, looking as cheerful as ever. "Welcome! You have already found your wayward sister!"

Jack Moffitt's eyes focused on Helen, before jerking away swiftly. "Right, yes...wayward. My deepest thanks for saving her."

"I." Helen sighed, and thought back to Miles just as the last two Americans approached. One wearing a standard helmet and the other in a red cap and round glasses who was so strikingly similar to Miles that it was impossible not to stare. If not for the battle-hardened stare, old-fashioned hair-style, and bubble gum; he was an exact copy for Miles Merry.

Or Miles Merry was an exact copy for... him .

"My great-grandfather fought out in the desert. I still have his stupid litle hat in the display case"

Mile's had never said who his grandfather was, and she wasn't sure who this man was. Catching her eyes, the man gave a slow smile that managed to be proper and flirtatious. It was an impressive feat, and it dimmed the longer she surveyed him.

Waiting for a break in the conversation, she cleared her throat when an opportunity to say. "Sergeant, I wouldn't want to put you and your men out, but my companion's clothes were ruined entirely and he is in need of...pants." She refused to blush at the man's questioning gaze.

"I'd need to see him," Sergeant Troy answered, glancing at the three men still in the background.

"Of course," she led the way while her grandfather and his friend were still talking, the two private's stayed behind, and the Japanese man followed and was utterly content to ignore Troy's waved order to stay behind. The three of them proceeded to the guest tent where Miles had passed a bored couple of hours, he perked up as they entered.

"Hi!" He waved at them, eyes skipping from Sergeant Troy to the unknown man, and then to Helen.

"Hitch." the second man asked, eying Miles and turning his head toward the tent flap.

"Not Hitchcock," Miles answered. "Miles Merry." He held out a hand to Sergeant Troy, and winced when the man shook it.

"Sergeant Troy," Troy said, and whatever he was thinking was hidden deep in his cobalt eyes. "This is Isshiki." Said man bowed, and Miles waved.

"Konnichiwa," he said, surprising the man. "Sorry, that's all I know."

"More than anyone else here," Troy muttered, "Dr. Moffitt, can I have a word with him?"

"Certainly," she agreed, watching closely and ducked out of the tent.

"She said you need pants?"

"And a shirt, if you can spare one...I'm not exactly a soldier though."

"You're a civilian." Troy was looming uncomfortably tall over him. Isshiki had taken the opportunity to settle on the cushion beside his bed, and was staring intently at him.

"Well, you know what they say….there is no war in Ba Sing Se." Miles would have had to be a total fool to miss the way Isshiki's eyes widened, shock on his face, followed swiftly by recognition.

"Sure," Sergeant Troy squinted at him. "What?"

"It's a reference to an old play...uh….from the Warring States period...it's about a city that seals it's city up so tight that it doesn't even acknowledge the century old war going on outside it's city walls."

"Warring states period."

"You know...China?"

"China," he echoed, glancing down at Isshiki. "I'll see what we've got in terms of pants...and we'll have our medic check you out."

"Thanks," Miles said quietly, and the man excused himself after a searching glance, and as soon as he was gone, Isshiki leaned over to hiss.

" You know Avatar ?" His accent was undeniably american, and for some reason Miles practically melted with relief.

"You're from?"

"Duh, that's when that show aired." Isshiki's entire body language shifted into something less formal and the casual expressiveness suited him. "Thank God."

"So is Helen," Miles added, and watched the other man open his pack and produce a tea-set, seat, a canteen of water, and a cell phone. "Oh man, no service right?"

"Not a bar," Isshiki groused. "The Rats don't know I speak English. Ddon't tell them."

"Why are you...is it safer?"

"I thought it might be handy." He began to set up a pot of tea, looking tired. "Hey, do you want some Advil?"

"Yes ," he accepted the tablets, washing it down with warm water. "Holy cow, that's great."

"Yeah, you're a person of interest because you look exactly like that guy out there."

"What guy?"

"Someone named Mark Hitchcock," Isshiki sighed, and when Miles blinked, staring pointedly, he rubbed his temples. "You're related to him?"

"My Great-grandfather."

"Shit."

"Yep."

"And Troy is my great-grandfather."

"...no kidding." Miles watched the man measure out the tea-leaves. "That's too coincidental, because Helen's grandfather is here apparently?"

"Sergeant Moffit, a doctor of anthropology."

"So...nerd does run in the family."

"What are the odds?" He eyed small fire pit and the pot beginning to eat. "What are the odds we all fall back?"

"No idea...but we really need to find the forth."

"The forth?"

"Yeah," Miles tried to sit up, "look, there are four on that team right?"

"Yes."

"And so far it's only been three of us related to three of them."

"So it seems….you're wondering where the fourth one is?"

"I guess...the great-grand kid or grandkid of the fourth one...what's his name?"

"Tully Pettigrew...do you think we can find them?"

#$#$#

Dietrich's curiosity about the young American who had saved Sergeant Wolfgang was echoed in the minds and eyes of every soldier in town. By the time he had woken the next day, the news had spread like wildfire and gossip abounded. They were holding steady and waiting for things to happen, and the rescue had been the most interesting thing to happen in several days. While many had suspected that the Rat Patrol had been behind Sergeant Wolfgang's sudden disappearance, it had been interesting to learn that he had taken a bad fall and ended up trapped by a boulder.

Searchers said they found blood, and the many tracks made by the American, none of them could accurately say where she had come from, and the woman had been closed off about it.

He wanted answers since finding a citizen of the enemy's country this far in his territory was worrying.

He entered the small hospital and ducked behind the curtain separating Tulip from the rest of the patients only to find the bed empty and the stenson gone.

"Guard!" He barked, and the man rushed around, "where is the woman?"

"I do not know, sir!" The man looked confused and Dietrich almost felt sorry for him.

"Find her," he ordered, and moved back through the hospital to the most expedient escape route he would have used, had he not known it led directly into a courtyard surrounded by high walls. Another guard was hot on his heels and nearly ran into him as he was drawn up short as he caught sight of the woman sitting beside the fountain, her arms rested on a propped up knee, and the quiet, contemplative look on her face was so strangely familiar that he squinted a bit. Something about her face was familiar, there was something too familiar about her. He could understand how she would want to be a park ranger, given the utterly peaceful expression on her face as she surveyed the various plants. But, despite the hat perched on her head and giving her shade, her shirt was draped over a nearby stone bench leaving her only in her undershirt.

"Miss Tulip," he waved the guard back. "It is not safe to be wandering around the base unaccompanied."

"Oh?" She didn't take her attention off the plants. "This is a nice courtyard," she stood, moving as comfortably and as lithely as a jungle cat. Her bandaged hands swept out to seize her shirt, which she pulled on and began to button. Since she seemed perfectly comfortable with her state of undress, he decided to make no mention of it. "What do you want?"

He paused, her forthright manner bringing him sharply back to the problem at hand. He didn't want to use any serious interrogation methods on someone clearly a civilian, and he hoped to pry whatever she knew with softer approaches.

"Would you like to see Sergeant Wolfgang?" He asked. "He is recovering and curious about his rescuer."

"Sure," she said slowly, her eyes moving from him to the guard. "But you'll have to translate."

"Ami!" A voice called from overhead, and Dietrich looked up to see Sergeant Wolfgang leaning over the courtyard balcony. "Ami!" He was dressed in a hospital robe and his arm was bandaged heavily.

"Hey!" She waved back, a curious smile on his face. "He's in a good mood."

"You saved his life," he replied, watching her as she shrugged modestly.

"Just trying to help," Tulip replied, "how do we get up there?"

"Follow me," he said, and guided the young woman through the hospital. She nodded politely at the nurses and tipped her hat to the priest who was giving last rights to one of the men, and followed him through the building and to the second floor where Sergeant Wolfgang was waiting with a smile on his face and breakfast laid out.

"Fraulein Tulip!" Sergeant Wolfgang did his best to greet the American. "Thank you! I owe you my life!"

"He thanks you," Dietrich translated for the American, who, despite having a friendly expression, had her arms folded across her chest and was tilted away from the man. "And that he owes you his life."

"Nothing to it, Sergeant," she was looking directly at Wolfgang, bypassing Dietrich. "How does your arm feel?"

"I feel very well and I am not dying in the sun! Ach, your hands!" Wolfgang gestured at the bandages over her hands, and she jerked them away. Staring at the bandages for a moment, the American shrugged.

"These things do happen." She said plainly, "I'm glad to see my efforts didn't go to waste."

"They did not," Dietrich assured her, and for a few minutes they observed the niceties of conversation before Sergeant Wolfgang was called away by a nurse.

"Fraulein Tulip, are you well?"

"I haven't eaten yet," she told him frankly, "and I could use a bite to eat."

"Of course," he nodded, "follow me."

He led her out of the hospital and into the street where a few townsfolk and soldiers did a surprised double-take as they caught sight of her. Tulip was staring around, equally curious about the town and the people within it.

"I must admit to my curiosity," he said, not sure exactly how to handle the situation with a civilian American woman. "As to how you came to the desert?"

"Same way as anyone else, I suppose," she tilted her head to the never-ending blue sky. Her eyes, a soft, doe-like brown seemed to sparkle as she caught sight of a young man standing just outside a food stall. He was arguing with the vendor with a loud voice and animated motions, but the conversation was friendly enough. "Huh, neat looking outfit."

"He is the grandson of the sheik who lives nearby." He had also, according to the rumors and a few intelligence people, never appeared before a few days ago. Only a striking resemblance, barring a lighter skin-tone, to the sheik kept naysayers and gossipers quiet. Dietrich had only caught a glimpse of the young man once or twice since he'd arrived, and he hadn't gotten the opportunity to greet the young man yet.

"Huh," the American was squinting at him, and as if sensing the the weight of her eyes on his back, the young man turned. He really was handsome, with dark brown eyes and a smooth, beardless face in contrast with the men around him, his skin was lighter and something in his features seemed almost European, but Dietrich was struck by the cool recognition in his eyes. Tulip waved, and the young man gave a regal nod in return. Seeming to finish his conversation, he ambled away with a slight nod for Dietrich and Tulip to intersect him. It was almost natural for an untrained observer, which no one here was.

"You are Dietrich," the young man said, his English was lightly accented and smooth with a voice deeper than he'd expected. "A captain?"

"Yes," Dietrich gave the appropriate greeting, "I am Hauptmann Hans Dietrich." It only made sense to pay respect to the man's grandson, given how powerful the older man was. Though, from the attention being paid to the young American, it was clear why he'd bothered with Dietrich at all. "This is Fraulein Tulip."

"Hello," Tulip held out her hand, "Ranger Tulip," she said, with the friendly obliviousness to the cultural expectations around her that most Americans displayed.

"Yusuf al- Sharim." he replied, eyeing the outstretched hand. "I am aware that Americans shake hands, but I am not certain it would be appropriate here, Ranger Tulip." His eyes focused on her hat for several seconds, and there was something like recognition in his eyes and a sly smile that Dietrich couldn't begin to comprehend.

"Ah," she pulled her hand back and waved. "Right, right. So," she rocked onto the balls of her feet, "how are you?"

Yusuf gave a faint laugh, "I am well. I heard the tale of an American saving an enemy from the elements. I had not considered it true until I had seen your hand."

"Oh, yeah," Tulip waggled her bandaged fingers around. "Right, slightly broken rifles will do that."

The young man tilted his head, "it is a great deal of effort to spare on an enemy."

"You're insulting my integrity and my hat," Tulip replied blandly.

"Americans and their hats. I will have to tell my grandfather that this story is true and to doubt your sincerity is an insult to a...ranger?"

"Park Ranger, but also a personal insult," Tulip's hat tilted and Dietrich wondered what exactly she was looking at. "So, can I call you Yusuf?"

"Certainly, Ms. Tulip."

"Yuck, just call me Tulip or...Tulip is fine."

The nearly invisible pause caught his attention, and he raised an eyebrow as the young man nodded. He wondered what she had been about to say, or perhaps offering a nickname, as Americans were fond to do, to a strange man could be considered inappropriate.

"Of course, Ms. Tulip," he turned to Dietrich. "My grandfather wishes to extend an invitation to dinner in his tent."

"I would be pleased to accept," he glanced at Fraulein Tulip and asking in Arabic. "I must guess that he wishes to meet the young ranger?"

"My grandfather is a romantic who admires noble souls," Yusuf continued, "we could be grateful if you would act as the chaperon for the young woman."

"Of course," the young man's interest was undisguised, but it was not romantic or otherwise inclined. It was the face of someone who had found someone fascinating. He wondered if the young man realized that it would invite all sorts of talk in the town and nearby areas if he showed too much interest in the young American.

"You are invited as well," with the implicit permission, the young man turned to Fraulein Tulip. The American's face cleared, and she offered a faint smile.

"I'd be honored to accept," she tipped the edge of her hat in his direction. They traded a few more sentences, hashing out the necessary logistics, and when he left, Fraulein Tulip was staring thoughtfully in the direction he'd left. "Huh, do you think we should bring a gift?"

"A gift?"

"Well, it's considered rude to show up to dinner empty-handed," she rubbed her jaw. "Or would imposing a midwestern manner system on them be even more rude. On one hand, I can hear my grandmother shrieking in my ear about showing up without a gift, but on the other hand, I really wonder how appropriate it would be."

"I am certain that it would not offend them so badly," he interjected, "if you explain your reasonings they may consider it a charming cultural exchange."

"I'd rather not insult anyone," Fraulein Tulip said, and stared at her hands. "Also, my wallet is missing."

"Where did you lose your wallet," he asked, and she frowned.

"I have no idea," she said, "I had it until I didn't." She moved further down the street, either ignoring the bizarre looks being sent in her direction or totally uncaring. "You know how these things are, you put something down for safekeeping and then forget where you put it."

"I do not," he replied.

"Lucky you," she shrugged, "I'm sure I'll find it. I usually find these things eventually."

"It is a very large desert."

"I'm a park ranger, wandering aimlessly around is my job ." He was caught, momentarily by the bandages still wrapped around her hands, and wondered what he was missing.