Sorry about the loooooong wait. I've been caught up in Simply Glorfindel and A Few Minutes.

Michael was propped up against the headboard, his head against the intricate metal monstrosity. Minutes before, two young ladies had entered and begun to work. They had taken out leaves of different sizes and shapes and ground them into a fine powder, adding water and other liquids to make poultices and then took off the bandages from their wounds. Now, Michael was never one to be lustful or overly obvious about being attracted to a woman, but oh dear Lord. These women were more beautiful than any he had seen before. They weren't sexy or hot, and he felt terrible for putting those words in a thought with the two ladies that were milling about the room. 'Sexy' and 'hot' were too coarse to describe them. They were beautiful, with dark hair and the lady that was fixing David up had blue eyes and the one helping him had the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen. Except on his daughter, of course.

They were speaking in a different language than the men Michael and David had been with before. The language the two ladies spoke was more delicate and light and seemed to flow over the tongue more smoothly. Michael listened eagerly, watching their bodies earnestly so that he might identify objects with those beautiful words.

"Mike, I think we may be in heaven." David commented as one of the beauties began to tend to the wound on his face.

"Don't you have a wife?" Mike asked with a raised eyebrow. "Feeling-cheater." He accused with a grin.

David shrugged. "Yes, I do, and I love her very much and I think she's more beautiful than any other woman." He declared. "But these girls are second-best and second-best isn't that bad." He commented delicately, glancing at Mike innocently.

"Oh, don't give me that." Mike rolled his eyes, highly amused.

"My-kul?" The brown-eyed lady asked David.

The Hispanic shook his head. "David." He pointed to himself.

The ladies nodded and began to wrap their many wounds. Michael groaned as a bandage was placed on the long wound on his thigh. His favorite knee-length tan shorts had been cut away and he was still smarting from that blow. The entire change of worlds/dimensions/universes was starting to get to him and he was clinging to everything that reminded him of where he came from. He didn't even know where he was, he couldn't communicate with anyone, not to the extent that would keep him sane, and he was terribly injured. He was restless, though he would be forever awed by the world, whatever world it was, he was in now. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he remembered his apartment, his computer with the novel he was writing on it, his pile of laundry on the couch and the mail he needed to go through on the table. He missed the normality, the routine of his life.

Of course, he had made the choice to change all of it. When he had been asked to be a potential wartime journalist, he hadn't skipped a beat before saying yes. What a way to serve his country. He didn't regret the choice, but his body was regretting it. He was covered in blood, sweat, grime, and bruises. His hormones loved that he was being tended to by a beautiful woman (who wasn't exactly a woman, of course), but he wanted to go home. Since Gandalf could speak into minds, perhaps he could help them back to their time. Except they had to be in a different dimension or something, because he was a history nut. He hadn't heard of anyone called Gandalf in his several years of randomly searching the histories of countries.

Michael sighed and leaned against the fluffy pillow he had been provided with. The two ladies inclined their heads as they left a light meal for them to eat and then left. Mike turned to David.

"You think we'll get home?" He asked, reaching for a slice of bread. He took a bite out of it, wiping the crumbs from his bloodied and ripped shirt.

"I don't know, Mike." David said, taking a bunch of grapes. "But whether there is hope to get back or not, we have to assume the worst and march on."

Mike wanted to snap something in reply, but he realized, despite his childish want to say there was always hope, there may be no way to get back. He might never see his daughter again. He might never slouch on his couch to watch some cheesy made-for-TV movie again. He gulped and blinked.

"You're right." He glanced at David. "I hate it when you're right." He let out a sigh, and then realized he sighed. A lot.

David grinned. "Well, what can I say?" He shrugged, before wincing. "Ugh." He muttered, having just jarred one of his severely bruised ribs.

David looked down at his attire. His once pristinely cleaned and well cared for United States Army uniform was ripped, bloody and in pieces. The pant legs had been cut away so Strider and Halbarad could tend to his leg wounds and the rest was drenched in his own blood and the grime from living in a tent for many days. He wrinkled his nose, glancing at Mike, who was in the same state as himself.

"We could really use a shower, you know?" David commented dryly.

Mike looked up and grinned, laughing. "I suppose. And I wouldn't be against deodorant or a shave, either." He never was one of those fruity guys who always cared about his looks, but he was in dire need of a shower or a bath or a swim in a lake or something. Anything to get the dried blood out of his mop of hair.

"This place is… amazing." David said, looking around. "And these people, those women… they aren't normal people either. They're way better looking, to start, and their ears are pointed. What do you think they are? Just humans with heightened genes?"

"I don't know." Mike shrugged. "Probably. But really good genes." He said, thinking about the two women who had bound their wounds. "I'm so glad I'm not married." He joked.

"Yeah, because you could so get one of them." David replied sarcastically. "They're out of your league. And how are you going to try to 'lay on the charm'? Just grab one and kiss them? If they had heightened genes, even those girls could take you."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because if you didn't have a wife, you could get one."

"Of course. Because I know a romance language." David stuck his tongue out, tasting his lips. "Water!" He squeaked. In a manly way, of course. He had just realized his lips were covered in dried blood and dirt, and the combination didn't tickle his fancy. He chugged the water quickly before putting the cup down thoughtfully. "The water tastes weird." He said, his eyebrows furrowed.

Mike reached for his cup and took a sip, nodding. "It does. It tastes lighter, I guess."

"Well, everything else in this world is a little messed up."

The journalist nodded. "True." He agreed with a yawn. "Aw, crap." He reached a finger to the gash on his chin and felt blood trickling down his neck. "So… where do you think Strider and Halbarad are?"

"… Making out with beautiful women?"

What Mike didn't know that he was only half-right. It was Strider who was kissing the beautiful woman.