"With?" The shock of meeting a 21st century man didn't quite dim the worry she'd had churning in her gut all afternoon.

"My backpack," she answered, "it's beneath the rock I got off the guy I brought in, and it's got enough technology to bring about the digital age a few decades early."

"Technology?"

"Yes, and my ID's. Pretty much anything that will tell someone that I'm not from around these parts."

"I see," Yusuf lifted his head, "and you cannot go get it."

"I'm a prisoner."

"You are the best treated prisoner I have ever seen," the man hummed, producing a package of bandages. "He does not consider you a threat."

"No, but he's suspicious," keeping worry or the visible fact that they were gossiping off her face was difficult, but she'd managed through school and she'd manage now. "For good reason."

"Tully Pettigrew," he said suddenly, "born August 12th, 1996," his dark eyes were filled with gentle humor. "I did eat one of the cookies in your bag."

"You already got it?"

"Tully is a terrible name for a baby," he remarked as an answer, "I wonder if your parents were really loving."

The laugh that escaped was louder than she anticipated, and a glance across the tent told her that the captain and the sheik had heard. Dietrich looked amused, and the other man seemed a little concerned. "You're not the first person to say that," she looked away from her injured hand, slowly vanishing beneath bandages again. "But I like my name."

"I like it too," he replied, and something like a blush felt like it might be working its way up her sides. It probably went a long way to sell the image that they were faintly flirting and not plotting resistance -like things. "Is it possible for you to meet me later this evening?"

"Not sure. They watch me pretty close."

"We must...be stealthy, we cannot meet in public without drawing suspicion or gossip."

"True…" she sighed. "Is it hidden?"

"It is."

"Good. ow." She peered at her newly bandaged hand, and snuck a peek at the two men. They were still engrossed in their conversation, but she could feel the constantly assessing gaze of the captain shifting over to her often enough to be irritating but not often enough to make her protest. "Is my phone in-tact?"

"Yes, you did a good job hiding it."

Past the haze of pain in her hands she decided to ask. "What gave me away?"

"Your boots," he answered, and Tully glanced over at where she'd removed her boots. "Modern materials and style. Very comfortable looking."

"Ah," she glanced around, "I never would have guessed you."

"I was already wearing traditional clothing when I...fell back through time."

"Oh."

"You were wise to hide your items. I particularly enjoyed the fact that the leverage mechanism couldn't be seen unless you actively dug for it."

"I can't believe you found it."

"I couldn't imagine a park ranger wandering anywhere without enough supplies to survive for a few days." The smiled again, and Tully noted that he seemed to do that alot. Some men smiled and it was a con-job, some never smiled on the grounds that it was too-feminine and made them look weak. He smiled honestly, but not broadly and showy...just...a smile to suit his face.

Nice.

"Any idea how we got here?"

"Some," he paused. "We cannot discuss this here."

"He doesn't seem too dangerous," she paused, the reality of being surrounded soldiers fighting for Hitler's Germany had never left her, but it had been a risk she'd known about when she'd dragged Sgt. Wolfgang to safety. "I'd rather take the chance."

"I understand," with shadowed eyes, he turned to his bag. "I will see what I can do, but given my position I cannot endanger my family."

"Your family?"

"Do you think it is a coincidence that I ended up here?"

"Yes...no? Your….grandfather."

"If you add a few greats," he gently pressed the final turn of her bandage closed, "yes, he is. I cannot put him in danger with my actions."

"I'll have to escape on my own," she muttered, "I understand, but you'll need to come with me."

"Excuse you?" Yusuf's frown made his eyes crinkle in such a way that she absently reached out to smooth away. Neither of them noticed the smiles touching the observers faces.

"We're both from...the future. You can't stay here."

"Where will I go?"

"Home," she said firmly, "we get back home, but if we're here then we've got to be here for a reason. We need to figure out what's happening."

"You seem so certain," Yusuf paused, his fingertips lingering against her wrist. "Tully...medical school has instructed me to prepare for anything and everything."

"So have the rangers...and the scouts, we just need to find the solution to our problem."

"But time travel?"

"Is everything alright?" Dietrich's cool voice broke over their conversation and suddenly realizing that they were a little too close, they pulled away a little too quickly. Tully grimacing as she flexed her fingers and offered a double thumbs-up. The man nodded, and they moved to stand, and as they excused themselves, she smashed her feet back into her foots before realizing that her tightly bound fingers would remove any of the remaining dexterity.

Crouching there in the sand, fingers limply grasping at her shoestrings, the appearance of the doctor startled her faintly.

"Allow me to help," he offered, taking the laces from her unprotesting fingers. He was the epitome of grace and gentleness as he tightened the laces on her boots before finished off with a delicate knot. "You're only going to reopen your injuries if you continue to stress them."

"I have things to do," she replied, ignoring the sheik and Dietrich.

"You must heal," he patted her boot, and moved to the next. "Try to not move your fingers and tear open your scabs. The cuts will not heal as long as you keep using your hands."

"How else am I supposed to," she swallowed as long, clever fingers lingered over her ankle. "Ya..know?"

"Asking for assistance," he replied, something like a wicked smile on his face as he managed the last lace without any apparent trouble. Reaching for her hat, he gently settled it back on her head. "Is not impossible."

"Ah," Tully grinned, managing to ride without help. As she and the captain exited the tent and turned toward the town, she tipped her hat at the other time traveller. "Thank you, kindly." Yusuf raised his fingers to his forehead in a lazy salute, and she turned toward the town. As they walked back toward the building and the city center where the hospital stood, she turned as Dietrich cleared his throat before lighting a cigarette.

"How are your hands?"

"Fine," she flexed them as far as she dared.

"He is a good doctor then?"

"Yes," she agreed, titling her hat back to stare at the stars above, clearer than she'd ever seen them. "Very attentive." Entirely missing his faint smirk as she tracked the ever constant constellations.

#$#$#$#

A visit to Sergeant Woflgang after dropping the park ranger back off with the nurses was something he hadn't planned on, but he'd been a soldier too long to ignore his feelings on a subject such as this.

"Sir?" The man was pale from the lingering pain, and propped awkwardly up on his cot an effort to take the weight off his damaged arm. He was as comfortable as one could get, and not likely to see combat for some time.

"Sergeant," sitting on the cot beside the man, he observed him for a long moment. "I know you were feverish and injured, but is there anything you remember from your initial encounter with the American?"

"I," the man blinked, "she was...as surprised as I was."

"I see," no doubt she wouldn't consider that she'd find a man trapped beneath a boulder. "Did she do anything else?"

"She removed the bullets from my rifle," the man's face soured, "but she did save my life and it took her a good while to dig the dirt away from my arm. The splint she had was."

"The splint she had?" Dietrich held up a hand. "Where did she get it?"

"From her bag, mein herr...the bag on her back."

"She was not found with a bag," the captain replied, "are you certain you saw her carrying a bag?"

"I am certain. I was not clear-headed most of the time, but I remember a bag and she was very kind." He added, "with food and water. I don't remember much of the walk to town."

"Food?"

"Bread...a kind I have never tried before, and water."

"I see." He smoked a few moments longer. Tulip had not been carrying water or food or anything on her person when she'd brought Sgt. Wolfgang. No identification papers, no knives, and nothing that would indicate who she was or what she was doing here. If her bag had been left behind then it was left behind deliberately and hidden for later retrieval. Tomorrow he would search the spot where the man had been found, this time looking for something specific. "Can you describe this bag?"

"I'm sorry, herr Hauptmann, I...my memories are hazy...I only remember it in her hands. I did not note it beyond that."

"It is quite alright, sergeant," he lied, thinking back on what he knew of the woman. Young, intelligent, quiet but not subdued. Half mad with exhaustion she had been...loopy and had offered to fight him with a bizarre collection of words that had been as amusing as they had been threatening.

Perhaps they had not been a joke after all, and the young woman was a spy, but that was an accusation he could not make without access to her bag.

"Will you return her to the Amis? She is a civilian, sir."

"True," he considered his options. "I will see, Sergeant. Return to your recovery. I will speak to you in the morning." He left, thinking hard about their peculiar circumstances.

#$#$#$

"We're in trouble," Isshiki told Miles that evening in a voice so soft that even Miles had trouble hearing and understanding him. "Helen is with the other women, and the Rats are in their tents, we need to confer with her."

"I am not sneaking," Miles' voice was louder, a consequence of his years in noisy situations, and he was not used to being quiet, he did his best. "Into a women's tent in the middle of the middleof the night. I'm going to get shot."

"I am not suggesting that we sneak into the women's tent." Isshiki was surprisingly animated when he wasn't playing the part of a 19th - 20th century Japanese man. Miles didn't know what he expected, but the young man's willingness to roll his eyes was deeply gratifying. "We need to find a way to talk and we need to find a way to find number four."

"Number four? Where do you suggest we start?"

In the darkness of the tent, offset by the fires outside and the movement of the guards, Miles watched the stunningly dark eyes shift around.

"I'm not sure."

"I'm not, but there's got to be a Kentukian person running around who either looks or sounds like Tully, so we just need to find them, but look, man. First we need to focus on Helen. Get her into a meeting, and since I'm guessing you don't want the others to know that ou're American."

"We cannot be around them." Isshiki agreed, and he yawned. "Fuck, I'm tired. I need coffee."

"Dude, same. A nice caramel macchiato from Starbucks would be great right about now."

"Starbucks?" Isshiki rolled his eyes, "so basic."

"Whatever," Miles huffed, "look, it'll be hella suspicious if they see the three of us trying to wander off together."

"That only half of it," the man sighed, leaning against the pillows and looking deeply exhausted with a worry Miles hadn't seen before. "It won't be safe for me around other Americans."

"Shit, you're right."

"And I need a cover story." Isshiki reminded him. "If they do find out that I speak English, then I need a cover story."

"Well...say that you were...uh...hired by Spain. Spain is neutral, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then say you were hired by Spain."

"To do what?" Isshiki asked with absolute disbelief. "Spy?"

"To uh...write...poetry about Spain," suddenly beaming with excitement, he scooted across the distance between them. "Look, Spain doesn't know much about Japan and Japan doesn't know too much about Spain at this point. Just tell them that...you were hired to visit Spain and talk about what you saw."

"Dude," Isshiki beamed, his nearly perfectly white teeth gleaming in the dim light. "That's perfect. I don't think any of them can read Japanese. I know the traditional craft, so I can paint something."

"Do you have the pain for it?"

"Hai," the man moved to light a candle. "I have a reference on my phone that should work."

"Really? You want to do that here and now?"

"Yes," the man reached for his pack. "I don't have to make it too elaborate, just enough to make them think that I'm legit. Keep quiet and go to sleep. I have some work to do."

"Alright?" Miles rolled over again, groaning past the pain, and tried to get comfortable.

"Do you want some more Advil?" In the light of the candle, he could see shades of the artificial brightness offered only by a 21st-century cell phone.

"Save it," he suggested, pulling the blankets up to his shoulder. "Good luck, man."

"Thanks," Isshiki replied, and watched the blond drift off into an uncomfortable sleep. Squinting at the image on his phone, displaying the landscape surrounding Madrid, he was never so happy to have a friend from Spain who sent him pictures of the landscape and historical sites. The groundwork wouldn't take too long, and soon there would be a foundation for his lie. Grinning at his new friend, he thanks whoever was listening for his intuition and cleverness.

A haiku he could do, easy peasy, and he could do it in his best calligraphy too; not a single American or Englishman would look twice.

If it weren't for the very real danger that he could get shot in a sick sort of reprisal or revenge murder or just because he would have chuckled.

Isshiki loved a good trick.