Between Two Worlds

AUTHOR'S DISCLAIMER: Char belongs to Kerri. Matt belongs to the creators of "Captain Power and the Soldiers of the Future." Marvel characters belong to Marvel...god help their pathetic souls. We use them for entertainment (and angst purposes!) only...please don't sue. Neither of us has any money to pay you in any case.
Char is Souls Char. and Matt is...well, Matt. This is a crossover between CP and Kerri's Beyond Souls' universe. Enjoy!

BETWEEN TWO WORLDS (and a hard place!)

By Kylen and Kerri

Prologue

****

Brown. Everything that he saw was that same, uniform, unrelenting brown, with a few patches of grey and fires thrown in for good measure.

As far as Matthew "Hawk" Masterson could tell, whoever had decided to call Montana "God's Country" had one hell of a sense of irony...or hadn't been around to witness Dread's fleecing of the world.

"Heads up, people, trouble overhead!" Scout's voice, echoing from his position on the point, snapped Matt out of his daydreaming. A second later, a flurry of shots sailed over his head and slammed into the dead ground mere feet from his position.

"Company knows we're here, I think it's time to crash the party, Captain!" Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Hawk powered up his suit and and prepared to follow Soaron into the sky.

The scene unfolded in front of his eyes. Members of the Northwest resistance were scattering in front of him, desperately searching for cover as Soaron blasted away from the sky. It almost seemed surrealistic. Bodies were flying in slow motion when Soaron's salvo managed to connect with its intended targets. Then brightly-colored shots from the rest of the team heading back from the opposite direction.

"Hawk, go!" Captain Jonathan Power's voice came back to Matt, tinged with desperation, frustration and the weight of emotions Matt had heard too much in the last six months. "We're evacuating, get Soaron out of our hair and then get out of there!"

"Acknowledged." Matt clambered to his feet and regarded the heavy grey skies. Perfect day for flying really...unless you counted the fact Soaron was going to try and blow him out of the sky. He pushed off from his toes, fed power to the jetpack on his back, and a second later, he was in the air.

The wind whistling past his ears couldn't drown out the battle below, or the screams. As he finally swung into firing range on Soaron, the biodread let loose a volley of shots, blasting a member of the resistance off his feet in a cloud of brown dust. Matt snapped a wrist rocket into place and fired in the space of a second, but when he shot a glance over his shoulder, the body below was in two different places.

"Dammit." Matt's swearing was hardly audible, but he didn't have time to dwell. Grabbing Soaron's attention had been absurdly easily. Always was, probably always would be. And now that damned monstrosity was taking aim at his flying suit's power pack.

The aim was a little too good for Matt's comfort. In the space of a momemt, Hawk went from being in total control of the space around him to a wild, spinning mass, completely out of control. Only it wasn't Soaron's fire that had put him that way.

"Hawk, Blastarr's on the ground! We're sending Tank to cover him! Get out of there, now!" Jon's voice was frantic, and Matt could hear the edge of desperation creeping in. They were overmatched, overpowered and being outfought. Even as Matt got marginal control of his systems again and went to answer Jon, another batch of shots slammed into him from behind.

"Roger that, Captain, but let's see if I can't get a little heat out of the kitchen first." Finally, he had control of the stabilization again. With a sharp bank to the right, Matt twisted in Soaron's direction, taking a direct head-on course.

"Matt, what the ... GET OUT OF THERE!" Jon's voice was bordering on panic now, and frankly, Hawk couldn't blame him. But he didn't have the time to explain. If...when he got out of this, he'd just have to hope Jon wouldn't go completely over the edge.

Slamming two more wrist rockets into the firing mechanism, Matt punched into Soaron's backside, throwing the biodread's course into a sharp angle towards the ground below. Hawk forced all of his Powersuit's energy into the engine, and suddenly they were on a collision course with Blastarr.

"You...shall....NOT..." And then Soaron, Blastarr and Matt were nothing but heat and fire, all three caught up in the massive explosion of three colliding bodies and Matt's firepower. At the last second, he tried to pull away, but the explosion blew out the stabilization pack for the second and final time, sending him rocketing away from the explosion with no control, wild light, cold air and the insane feeling of nothingness surrounding him.

Hawk crashed into the ground with an inglorious thump, every muscle and bone in his body flaring with pain and then fading to blackness. But before the last of the sensations faded away, Matt had just enough time to notice the ground had changed from an unrelenting brown to the sweet soft green of spring grass, and he faded away into it with one thought echoing through his mind.

If this was heaven, then it had been one hell of a painful trip.

Chapter 1

****

Quapoa Valley, Montana
May 27, 2148

"I'll finish closing up the house by the end of next week," Charlotte Ashcroft said aloud as she dressed in her bedroom. "I'll stop through San Francisco and check on things there before heading back to New York. Think you can last that long without me?"

A soft masculine chuckle came through the audio system. "I think so. Guess I'll have ta clear out all them dancin' girls at my place."

She laughed in response. "If those dancin' girls make you happy, you keep 'em," she told Nick Fury, her long time lover and closest friend. "I'd hate to interrupt your recreational time. You SHIELD people work so damned hard."

"Not any harder 'n I'm gonna work you when ya get here."

"Promises, promises," she purred back at him. Two thousand miles away and the low sexy growl in his voice could still make her shiver. "I'm picking up the phone downstairs, hang on a second."

She muted the communications system in the bedroom and made her way to the first floor. While she didn't appreciate many of the so-called improvements of the current time, she had to admit she liked hands free communications running through the audio system. She -had- to admit it after Nicademis insisted she have it installed.

Reluctantly, oh so very reluctantly, she allowed a few techs Nicademis recommended in to do it. Nicky promised he'd stay with them and keep an eye on things. Nick took her away for a long weekend to play while the work went on. When she returned, she discovered they were actually SHIELD techs and they had orders to do more than just upgrade her comm system. She should've expected this. Nicademis never knew when to pull back.

The work order, however, carried Col. Nick Fury's name rather than Commander Nicademis Logan's. They'd ganged up on her, her lover and her son.

Now her mountain retreat boasted one of the finest security systems in existence, generally saved for current despots, rapists of industry and religious zealots, and Col. Nick Fury. The entire house was wired for touch and voice commands, from air and heating systems to visual and auditory surveillance of her land. She could whisper in the basement or down at the lake and be heard at SHIELD headquarters if she chose. It wasn't just here, either. Both coastal residences were done at the same time.

She knew it was at Nick's directive she was so well protected. It made her feel only slightly less conspicuous to know that all high-ranking SHIELD officers had the same treatment, and she'd felt for a long time her rank was more a gift than something she'd earned. Being the colonel's girlfriend had its perks, even if they'd fallen into a more casual relationship over the last few decades. She supposed Nick could use the excuse that he spent inordinate amounts of time in her company, and he was their number one security priority. Can't have the colonel caught with his pants down, so to speak.

Downstairs, she activated the comm with a touch on the control panel in the kitchen. "Still there?"

"Always, baby."

Pouring herself coffee, she carried the cup down to the basement to her own computer room. Here the almost impossible happened. Torelan and human technology merged into a semi-peaceful co-existence. "Have you sent the current roster yet?"

"You ain't teachin' this time, Charlie. Got somethin' special I want ya ta take on. Tell ya all about it when ya get here."

"Does this include a vacation for two to the Bahamas or can I choose what's behind Door Number Three?" Standing at the raised keyboard, she tapped a few commands, directing the computer to conduct a perimeter check and download all her current messages.

"That's what I love about ya, baby. Take Door Number Three. I dare ya."

"I'm sure that's all you---" She paused as the screen flashed at her.

"Charlie?"

"I'll have to call you back, Nick. Something's going on nearby." A few more taps activated her 'eyes and ears' but whatever it was, it was just outside her range. It seemed to be smack dab in the middle of the meadowlands about a mile to the west.

"What?"

"I don't know. Doesn't seem to be big. Maybe a moose came down from Canada to die." Something was very odd about the readings. A disturbance was the only way she could think to describe it. It was almost like the readings Valeo created when he popped through to visit. "I'll check it out. I need the exercise anyway. Talk to you later?"

"Call me back when ya find out what it is. I'll be waitin'."

Translated, that meant if she didn't call him back within the hour he'd be at her doorstep with guns a-blazin'. Sheriff Fury to the rescue.

"An' take a comm link, Charlie. If ya need help, I wanna hear ya yell."

"Can't fool me, you dirty old man. You just like to hear me yell, period."

~*~*~*~*~

Thirty minutes later, sporting an old-fashioned, and hardly necessary, large hunting knife strapped to one thigh and letting her psi sense lead the way, Charlotte found her anomaly.

It was a man. Well, she hoped it was a man. There were some truly amazing advances in bio-disguises these days. Short of a very personal search, she'd just assume he was male and move on.

A strange man wearing an odd sort of uniform of the style she hadn't seen in a very long time.

He lay sprawled in the long rough meadow grass, unconscious with a nasty bruise on his forehead and sporting what looked like high speed re-entry burns, as if he'd fallen from the sky at a very great height. Kneeling at his side, she did a quick body check while probing his mind as gently as she could. Nope, very unconscious. That was a good thing, really. She could sense what his body was currently feeling and it was going to scream bloody murder at him when he finally woke up.

She lifted his eyelids gently, checking to see if his eyes were clear and the pupils normal. So far, so good. Brushing aside fatigue rags and drawing down the long zipper on his chest, she quickly checked the pulse points within reach, including the femoral arteries in both legs. Sliding her hands inside his jumpsuit made a tight fit, but she did it. All points responded with strong throbs, and she had her answer regarding his gender.

Options. She could call up Nick on the comm link or shout for the computer system to recognize her and send help. She could take him to the nearest medical facility through the transport gate. Or back to her place.

Something about him felt off. Not wrong, but off. Transporting him out of here didn't feel right. She didn't know why it did, but she'd learned long ago to trust her instincts. They said bringing him out of here before he woke up on his own and explained what the hell he was doing two hundred miles from civilization with no visible means of transportation was a bad idea.

There was no help for it; she had to take him back to her place.

Standing up, she took a deep breath and used telekinesis to lift him, picturing him in a feather cocoon in her mind. As long as she kept her concentration, she could hold him in this manner until she made it back to the house and keep from injuring him further.

~*~*~*~*~

In the small bedroom at the back of the house, she lowered his body to the bed before releasing the TK field. Damn, she was going to have one hell of a headache later. Her unexpected guest was still out of it like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

First order of business: get those clothes off him.

Using more TK, and know she'd be sorry for it later, she lifted and turned his body carefully, cutting off the ragged fatigues he wore to the one piece suit underneath. Fortunately it had zippers. Taking a closer look at the outfit, she noticed it wasn't just a uniform; there were electrodes of some sort running all through it. Cutting this wasn't an option. The effect on him was unknown and possibly fatal.

Unzipping everything she could find, she rolled and tugged it off him and tossed it to a corner with the rags, leaving his underclothing alone. That was a little too friendly and she didn't see any blood to deal with. The undershirt came off, however, revealing a large puffy, bruised area over his ribs.

Damn, he must've cracked a few ribs. No wonder his mind was still out. Time for some old-fashioned medicines like the shamans used to make. One of the associate medics at SHIELD was still after her to share the old remedies, but it seemed like she would be telling secrets. The last time he offered the pink slip on his hover car.

The comm line chimed at her insistently. Hell, she forgot to call Nick back. For once, he decided to call rather than just show up. He was busier in the office than he'd let on.

"What?" she asked shortly, setting her patient down. She didn't want to drop him while talking to Nick.

"Anythin' ta worry 'bout?"

She eyed her nearly naked visitor. "No, nothing. It was a false alarm. Thanks for checking back in, Nick." Crossing her fingers did not get her out of the fact she was lying, but she did it anyway.

"If yer sure, honey. See ya next week?"

"I'll be there, bells and all. Bye." With a sigh, she settled in to work on her guest.

~*~*~*~*~

His first sensation was that there shouldn't be any sensations. And there were.

Very painful ones at that. Matt Masterson groaned softly as he stretched out, his ribs protesting none too quietly against the movement. Not too bad, though...he would bet his power suit that they were just bruised and not broken this time. Another little tangible he'd have to thank Blastarr for one of these days...preferably with a thermal grenade up its...

His hands curled into the quilt, tucked neatly around him, in frustration. One of these days would have to come...

Quilt? Matt loosened his grip and opened his eyes. What he saw made him blink several times in quick successful and then collapse back against the pillow with a groan. He was beginning to feel the need to close his eyes and click his heels together three times. We aren't in Kansas anymore, Toto.

After a few minutes of solitude, with no whistling winds dying to cue his arrival in Oz, he opened his eyes again.

Same scene, this time without the ring of haze coating his vision.

Damn.

It was a small room, maybe ten feet by twelve, full of old, antique furniture the likes of which he hadn't seen in over fifteen years. The walls were a quiet white; maybe ivory...his vision was still a little blurry to be totally certain. Bright sunshine was streaming in through a large window that was framed with old-fashioned lace curtains, reflecting off prints on the walls and sending prisms of light all over the room.

As he struggled up onto his elbows, he saw a small pile of clothing sitting in an old rocker next to the bed. A small note was propped up against the clock on the bedside table.

__

Clothes are in the chair, coffee's in the kitchen...assuming you can even read what passes for English these days. I'm down at the lake. DON'T join me if you're in pain. -Char

__

Who the hell was Char? Must be the person behind the wrapping he was feeling on his ribs now that he was awake. Hadn't done a half-bad job, either...halfway between being smothered and keeping him from taking a deep enough breath where it'd really hurt. He sat up and fingered the old fashioned quilt, and recognized finally that he'd been laying on old-fashioned down feather pillows.

He definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore, and he'd bet his power suit this Char hadn't even heard of the place, either. Eyeing the pile of clothes balefully, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and reached for the button-down flannel shirt that topped the pile. It was worn smooth by too many washings, but it smelled cleaner than anything he'd had to wear in a long time. And it looked like it might actually fit without a whole lot of work.

Maybe it was time to go off in search of that coffee she'd offered ...

~

After he'd groaned his way into the clothes, he wobbled his way through the door into the hallway, his body screaming in protest every step of the way. He'd be damned if he went back to bed after going through all of the trouble of getting dressed, but this wasn't a whole lot of fun. Only the promise of coffee, and lots of it, was keeping him going at the moment.

He let his nose plot a way to the kitchen for him, following the aroma with a grin of satisfaction creasing his face. A grin that was greeted with all sorts of warning bells in his head, the same ones that had started with the lace curtains, jumped up ten notches with the feather pillows and risen to a clamor with the old-fashioned wood floors he was stumbling across.

Well, hell, he thought with a snort. It was either a hallucination or he was dead. Either way, he might as well get a cup of coffee out of it.

He pushed the door to the kitchen open with a grunt, looking at the tables and chairs with a satisfactory nod. Good old-fashioned oak. Couldn't go wrong with oak. He nodded his approval at the modern appliances, which was finishing a pot of freshly dripped coffee, and the double-basin sink, complete with clean white towels hanging on the towel holder on the front of the cupboard.

Then his brain caught up with the rest of his body.

Oak.

Wooden chairs.

A coffeemaker dripping fresh-brewed coffee.

As in ground coffee beans and real, fresh water. And it didn't smell like it was the wimpy stuff either.

Damn. He never figured heaven would have his mother's kitchen waiting for him. Or was this someone's perfect idea of a lifetime of torture in hell? Would he get within a half-step of the coffeemaker only to have it pulled twenty feet away? Maybe the oak chairs would vanish beneath when he went to sit down.

To hell with it. If it was heaven or hell, he might as well go with the flow. If it was a hallucination, it damned well better be worth the pain when it was over. He rummaged through the cupboards above the coffeemaker, finally coming up with a plain white mug after a few frustratingly long moments. On second glance, though, he realized it was adorned with "World's Best Kisser."

He stared at the mug for a long moment, and finally just poured the coffee. Wherever he was, he hoped the mug showed a sense of humor. The owner'd need it when they tried to explain whatever the hell was going on.

He paused just long enough to deeply inhale the chicory smell rising from the mug, and then stupidly gulped down a large sip. Sputtering, he felt the sip burn its way down his throat and into his stomach. Brilliant. He doubted there was a single part of his body that DIDN'T hurt now.

Of course, with this coffee...he wandered over to the table and collapsed into one of the chairs. Good, old-fashioned chicory coffee. Definitely freshly ground. He hadn't had any ... well, in as long as he could remember. Fifteen years, maybe twenty. However long it had been since rations had made all but the essentials available to even the richest of Earth's inhabitants.

He took another sip, this time taking the time to savor the flavor, letting it soak into his mouth and override every last bit of confusion he felt. Hell, if it was a hallucination, maybe it was worth it. After a moment, he clambered back to his feet and topped off the coffee mug. Leaning against the counter, he remembered the other part of the note. Char. A lake ... a lake?

Well, whatever else had happened, he didn't figure he'd find the lake in this house. So maybe it was time to see just where else his little adventure would take him.

~*~*~*~*~

From her position in the water, Charlotte floated on her back and watched the sun begin its final decent.

She should be in the house watching her unexpected houseguest, but routine was hard to abandon. She swam each afternoon, and after the time spent treating the stranger, she really needed the downtime. Besides, she couldn't explain why, but she felt no sense of danger from him. Nothing. He just ... was. There was a void in him, but she couldn't pinpoint the source. Maybe she could explore that a little more after he woke up.

Still, she could hear Nick in the back of her head yelling about taking an unknown into her home. He seemed to forget she'd been taking in strays of all sorts for -decades- longer than he'd been alive.

Hearing the front screen door slam shut, she turned to peer up at the house. Well, look who was awake. Time to get the ball rolling and find out who he was and what the heck he was doing in this area.

She lazily swam back to shore and walked out of the icy water. Standing on the bank, she stretched in the disappearing sunlight and wrung the water from her hair before picking up a robe she'd left on a convenient rock. The man on her front porch didn't react when she waved toward him. What, he'd never seen a nude woman before? Char shrugged and slipped her robe and shoes on before heading back.

And look, he had her special mug. Nick gave her that mug as a joke years ago, and he made sure to use it each time he was here. It was too good to miss teasing him about it.

"Feel any better?" she called out to him when she reached the halfway point.

He just stared at her, his jaw gaping in surprise.

Okay, this was a little odd, but she could be diplomatic when she chose. He could possibly be mentally handicapped, or his experience may have left him temporarily senseless. "What am I saying, just being conscious should be better, right?"

Still he didn't make a sound, just his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He stared at her, at the sky, at the trees, the mug in his hand dangerously close to dropping.

She smiled slightly as she climbed the steps and took it from his non-responsive fingers, mindful of the steaming liquid. "Do you speak English?" When that didn't get a response, she shook her head at him. "You know, cowboy, you have to earn the right to use this mug, and I haven't kissed you."

That tore his attention away from the scenery to focus on her. "Wha...." Glancing down at the mug, he reread the phrase and blushed. "Umm...."

"Well, that answers my question about English. I'll let it slide this one time. Next time, I'll have to kiss you first and judge your worthiness." Smiling mischievously, she asked again. "Now, how are you feeling?"

When his eyes finally turned back to her, she was amused to note his confusion was now tinged with some annoyance. "I'm not hallucinating?"

Of all the things he could have said, that was ... well, that was something she would expect. Why was she reminded of 'Buck Rogers in the 25th Century'? "I suppose that depends. What are you seeing?"

"Something that hasn't existed on Earth in over fifteen years." Something clicked into place in his head. "Is this Eden II?" That would explain everything.

"I've never heard of it. This has been called God's Country before, but around here we call it Montana." He wasn't going to move, so she detoured around him into the house. "Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I'll get dinner on the fire. You hungry?"

He grabbed her arm before she made it through the doorway, desperate to stop her. "Waitaminute..." he garbled in a rush "...did you just say ... Montana?" Matt could hardly get the word out. This couldn't be Montana. He'd BEEN in Montana that morning.

Char glanced down at his hand on her arm, then up at his face with a raised brow. "In general, yes. Technically you're on the old Quapoa reservation."

The puzzled look on his face grew darker. She could see he was struggling to come to terms with something, but she had no idea what it was or how to help him.

"Quapoa reservation?" He shook his head as if to clear it.

It was a known fact she was a sucker for a lost puppy dog look. This one was as lost as any she'd ever met before. Patting his hand in her best motherly manner, she smiled gently. "We'll try and clear up your hallucinations after I get dressed." When he still didn't let go, just staring at her, her look became more pointed. "Unless you're going to watch...?"

The red flooded his face when he realized what he was doing; he backed off with an 'oh no, not me' gesture that almost made her laugh. "Uhh...no. Point me back in the direction of the kitchen and I'll be fine, thanks."

"Straight down the hall, you can't miss it." The flush gave his pale skin color, but the shock was still evident. "If you'd like a little old-fashioned courage, the bar is in the library." Char smiled again. "I'll be right back down."

She started up the stairs, pausing to see him wander through the hall in a daze, only to stop at the library doorway. Waiting a moment, she watched him go before she continued up.

~

This was even more amazing than the coffee. He knew he was staring in shock and his jaw was hanging on the floor, but this was beyond comprehension. The world he'd left this morning had been gutted, a wasteland. All of a sudden he was surrounded by green grass, blue skies, lakes and streams.

And books. Thousands of books. Two of the walls in this huge, oversized room were covered by bookshelves, all of which were loaded with volumes of material. A third wall was part bookshelves, part oversized fireplace. He stared in amazement at the furniture. Two high-backed chairs, and a sofa, both older than he could remember seeing in a long time. He wasn't even sure anything like this was left anymore, any place on Earth.

Well. HIS Earth, anyhow. Just what the hell was going on here, anyhow? He wandered over to the bookshelves, just letting his hand slide across the bindings. Titles he hadn't remembered even reading started jumping out at him. Thoreau's "Walden." Walt Whitman and "Leaves of Grass." Shakespeare. Dumas. More authors, more books, all shapes and sizes. Lightweight paperbacks he'd never even seen before.

Then he looked down at the bottom shelf, a handful of large, brightly colored volumes catching his eye. His stomach bottomed out, and his knees almost buckled as he dropped down to the floor and reached for what were obviously well-loved, well-read children's books.

~

After putting on a worn pair of jeans, Char pulled on an equally old flannel shirt and began to tuck it in before realizing that she was being more foolish than usual. The man was a stranger, a mysterious stranger to boot. Those sounded good in books and legends, but they were rarely convenient in real life.

With a sigh, she untucked her shirt and let it hang loose past her hips. A sheathed knife went into the waistband at the small of her back and fastened to the center belt loop, small enough to escape notice, lethal enough to separate body from soul. She left the top and bottom buttons of her shirt open, giving her some freedom of movement and quick access to her weapon if necessary.

Thrusting her feet into sheepskin slippers, she made her way downstairs by way of the back stairs to the kitchen, braiding her hair in a long tail over her shoulder. She was hungry, dammit. The long swim in freezing water and her busy day made sure of that. Hungry enough for bear.

But she'd make do with the venison steaks in the freezer. And potatoes... oh yes, baked potatoes with butter and sour cream and cheese... Damn, her stomach growled, loud enough for Whosits in the library to hear.

Firing up the broiler, she popped in two frozen steaks, seasoning them carefully first, and scrubbed a couple of large potatoes to cook in the microwave. Debating on something green, she opted to wash and slice some tomatoes for a salad, sprinkling the slices with sweet basil. If Mystery Man wasn't hungry, he'd just have to suffer and watch her eat.

And now she couldn't -not- deal with him any longer.

~*~*~*~*~

She found him in the library, crouched at the bottom of a heavy oak wall bookcase, with one of the children's old Dr. Seuss books sitting in his lap. She resisted the urge to laugh and suggest the so-called "adult" books further up. The way things were going it was a good enough omen that he appeared to know who Dr. Seuss was.

"'I would not, could not, in the rain,'" he read softly. "'Not in the dark. Not on a train. Not in a car, not in a tree. I do not like them, Sam, you see...'"

"'Not in a house, not in a box. Not with a mouse. Not with a fox.'" The silly, rhythmic words brought back the countless hours she and Logan spent reading to their children. "Of course, I'd like to think I'm a little better company. Find anything else you like?"

Startled, Matt spun around and dropped the book. "My daughter ... I used to read these to her all the time, this one in particular." He picked it up carefully and closed it. The faded picture of cheeky Sam grinned up at him. "Never understood what it was about green and ham, though..."

"My favorite is Thadwick the Wrong Way Moose." Charlotte smiled. "I see you took a turn on the way to the kitchen."

He touched the cover again carefully and put it back. "I haven't seen this many books in years ... and none in this kind of shape." Leaning against the bookshelf for support, he did his best to hide the fact his knees were trembling. "Maybe you oughta start from the top?"

"Maybe you should sit down and let me pour you a drink. C'mon." Taking his elbow, she steered him toward a chair. "Sit before you fall down, you're still much too shaky for my preference. What's your name? I can't keep calling you Cowboy, unless you like it. Then I'll probably think of something else to call you."

Surprise and shock kept him from doing anything more than following her directions. He sank into the chair gratefully. "Masterson. Major Matt Masterson. Codename Hawk. I fight with Capt. Power and his people." He still wasn't entirely sure this whole place wasn't a hallucination of some sort.

She patted his shoulder and went to the bar. "Bourbon okay? I've got an unopened bottle here somewhere..."

Matt watched as she opened a set of cabinet doors and slid a moving shelf out. "Anything."

"Nice to meet you, Matthew. Charlotte Ashcroft." She broke the paper on bottle and twisted it open. "I hadn't heard there were any militant groups in the area. Most of them moved toward Oregon." Pouring two drinks, one stiffer than the other, she recapped the bottle and slid the shelf back before carrying them over to his chair.

"We aren't military, we're resistance." He gazed at her with a puzzled look. Even a hallucination should know that much, especially if it came from him. "And it's Matt."

Charlotte handed him the one with more alcohol in it and sat down in the other chair. "Resistance? When did you form and what are you resisting?"

He put his drink down on the small table between the chairs and looked at her oddly. "We 'formed' when Dread and Overmind launched their plans to take over the world. You know, Lord Dread?" He could accept his mind would conjure up a virtual paradise for him to hide in while his body healed or that he was dead and this -was- Heaven. He could even believe that his brain would produce some very private wishes he'd harbored over the years, a place to get away from the world, time to read and relax, someone for companionship. He'd always thought that it would be his wife, but if he couldn't have everything, it was at least a hallucination he could stand, maybe.

What he could -not- believe was that she didn't know who Dread was.

She set her drink down as well, getting up to stand in front of him. "My first scan didn't suggest a concussion. I hoped your ribs would be the worry, not your brain." Her voice was gentle, as was the hand she rested on his cheek. "Let me take another look at you, Matthew. Are you on any sort of medication?"

Matt pushed her hand away and tried to stand up, gritting his teeth at the pain in his ribs. She was fast becoming a pain in his ass as well. "I don't think I like that tone. I'm telling you the truth here!"

He didn't get anywhere. She calmly pushed him back down. "I never said you weren't. I'm concerned that you're seriously injured beyond my ability to help you." Peering into his eyes again, she re-checked for some signs of hemorrhage. "I've never heard of Dread or Overmind, and frankly, if I haven't heard of them, they're not much of a threat."

He couldn't stop staring at her. "Not a threat? What world are...." His voice trailed off. He couldn't believe this.

"Hmm, your eyes look okay. You seem perfectly lucid."

All right, now she'd gone too far. Him thinking he might be hallucinating was a reasonable explanation, given the fact that NONE of this made ANY sense whatsoever. But hallucinations that talked back were taking it one step too far.

"Look, I don't know who you are, or where I've ended up, but if you've never heard of Lord Dread or Overmind, or Capt. Power and the Resistance, we've got problems."

"Then we'll figure them out. I've got dinner going. Maybe this'll all make more sense after you eat something. Come back with me to the kitchen and bring your drink." She patted his cheek before picking up her own, downing it in one gulp, and heading for the door. "Rare or medium?"

He sat frozen in the chair for a moment before leaping out to grab at her arm, ignoring the screaming pain from his ribs at the sudden movement. "You don't believe me."

Once more she looked at his hand on her. He was awfully touchy for a stranger. It wasn't a question, but she answered him anyway. "No, I don't believe you, and you don't believe me."

"You're damned right I don't!" He dropped his hand, but continued to tower over her, trying to get some sort of handle on this situation. And on her. "I get caught up in an explosion during a fight, and the next thing I know, I'm smack dab in the middle of a world I didn't think existed anymore...complete with blue skies, green grass and real coffee and liquor." He broke off, the expression on his face changing from frustration to sour confusion. "Not that I don't believe in fairy tale endings, but this isn't Snow White and the seven swans."

"Swans? What happened to Dopey and Sleepy? This Dread person get 'em?" He was upset and she was making jokes. "Come on, there's not a lot that can't look better over dinner." She took his arm this time, making sure he moved with her and stopped grabbing. If he caught her just right, she'd react instinctively and hurt him. "The steaks will burn if I don't get back there to poke at them. I'll try to answer as many questions as I can, and you can answer a few of mine."

She kept saying the unexpected, he groused to himself. He had almost been yelling at her, and she made a joke. She didn't intimidate easily, either. Any other time, he might admire that trait. Right now it was as irritating as hell.

"I haven't had time to make any calls about you, yet," she continued. "I'll contact some people after dinner and see what they can dig up on you and this Lord Dread just to make sure there's nothing there before I start assuming you escaped from Bedlam, okay?"

"I'm not crazy, dammit!" He slapped the wall in frustration. Picture frames rattled, some tilting on their fasteners. Then he stopped in his tracks. He had another problem. "Where's my suit?"

"You've got to stop this. I don't care where you think you're from I'm not burning perfectly good venison because you're throwing a temper tantrum. Your clothes were charred and shredded, so I tossed them into the trash after I cut them off you. The rubber suit is in the basement for now." This time she didn't try to get him to come with her; she went ahead alone, talking over her shoulder.

In the kitchen, she went directly to the broiler and opened the lid. Fragrant steam swirled into the air. "Okay, we're going to settle for medium well."

Matt stopped in the doorway, leaning to one side. Getting information out of her was as hard as trying to get a Dreadhead and a resistance fighter on the same side of an argument about humanity. Where did -that- come from? This place was scrambling his brains faster than he had a chance to do it. He heaved a sigh. "Did you keep the phoenix badge on the fatigues?"

"Phoenix?" Char glanced back at him, startled. "Phoenix hasn't been spotted here in-" No, it couldn't be. She would've have felt the Phoenix entity from the very first moment. He had to be referring to something else. Besides, the Phoenix entity was attracted to female hosts. As far as she was aware, it wasn't anywhere near Earth, and that was if it still existed. "I don't recall one, but your fatigues are down in a box in the basement. As you can see, I don't exactly get regular trash pick-up here.

"Take me down there."

A brow rose at his order. It was an order; she couldn't mistake that tone of voice anywhere. Her expression told him what she thought of him giving orders of any sort.

He strained for politeness. "Please."

"No." She shook her head. "I spent a good portion of my day lugging your ass back here and doctoring you up. I've now had my swim and I'm ready to eat." Criminey, did she have to sound like a spoiled brat to her own ears? She tried again. "Let me put it this way. If I showed up wearing something that made me look like a fugitive from a bad 1970s science fiction movie, would you immediately let me have it back? Along with my weapons? Not knowing a damned thing about me?"

He stared at her before cracking a grin. She had a point. "Well, no, probably not." He was pushing too hard. She didn't seem dangerous and as long as she was being nice, it couldn't hurt him to reciprocate. Might even help things move quicker. "But how eating dinner's gonna solve it is beyond me."

"Everything looks better on a full stomach. Besides, this venison has to be eaten up. It's last fall's kill. It'll take some time to check you and this Dread and Overwhosits. I'm not discussing the suit until then." She forked the meat out of the broiler onto a warm plate and set it on the table. "Sit."

Matt followed the direction, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a sigh. "If you don't know 'em already, I doubt you're going to find very much."

"Maybe not, but in the meantime, I'm hungry.'" She took two plates from the cupboard and silverware from a nearby drawer and quickly set the table, winking at him as she set a sharp steak knife down next to his plate. "I never asked if you were a vegetarian. Would you rather have a green salad? I sliced some tomatoes, or I could scramble some eggs and whip you up an omelet."

He finally realized what she was asking. "Did you say venison?"

Opening the microwave, Char removed the baked potatoes, playing a quick game of hot potato getting them to a bowl. At least this would be okay if he didn't eat meat. "Please tell me you don't subscribe to the synthetic meat crap they're got out there. Star Trek was just supposed to be entertainment, not a blueprint for the future. Yes, venison. Shot the deer myself. I don't buy beef much, not with my own deer herd here, but if you'd prefer chicken, I have some breasts in the freezer. Wouldn't take long to broil at all."

He finally smiled at her, a faint play of bitter humor around his mouth. "I suppose if I were to tell you we haven't had a choice in the matter, you wouldn't believe that, either."

Taking butter and sour cream out of the fridge, she turned to look at him. The kindness in her eyes almost hurt. "It depends on perception, Matthew. I can believe that. If I were to say that I'm..." she paused "...not human, would you believe that or think I'm crazy?"

He looked at her for a long minute. "I'd call it an even trade if you believe what I'm about to tell you. I come from the year 2148. My commander is Capt. Jonathan Power, the son of Stuart Power. Stuart was a good friend who was killed by Dread fifteen years ago. We've been fighting this war together ever since. In my world, none of this still exists. I haven't seen a blue sky in fifteen years or green grass in as long a time. Dread has burned half the earth to the ground. He has plans for the other half and humanity might not survive the year. You've got to believe me, I'm telling the truth."

Pausing by his chair and setting down the items in her hands, she touched his forehead carefully, scanning him more forcefully than she normally would. He winced, feeling an icy, burning sensation that was gone just as quickly.

"I'd say we have to find out what happened, because the year is 2148 and that isn't the Earth I live on. And I'm afraid that means we're going to have to bring in someone more official, too. In the meantime, eat. Butter or sour cream."

Did anything make an impression on this woman? He gave up. "Butter."

"Aw, go for broke. Have both."

Sighing, he reached for his fork. "When I said I wanted to get away from it all, this ain't what I meant."

"We'll get this straightened out, Matthew, one way or another." Char almost patted his hand, but held back just in time. It would take a lot more than some absentminded mothering to make this right for him.

He shot a long hard look at her as she sat across the table. He seemed to be doing that a lot. Staring at her in frustration or confusion, or both. He didn't like it. "Matt."

Charlotte smiled innocently at him. She'd call him whatever she damned well pleased. Damn if she wasn't beginning to enjoy this whole situation. "Of course, whatever you say."

~*~*~*~*~

Charlotte retired to the library after seeing her guest to his room.

His wide-eyed surprise at being served meat prompted her to toss a second frozen steak in the broiler and put another potato in the micro. He half-heartedly protested, but she knew the look of a hungry man when she saw the glimmer in his eyes. It was as if he hadn't realized he was starving until the first bite. Wherever he'd been before arriving here, he hadn't eaten well at all. Something in her responded to that, her 'Earth Mother' urge taking over. Her family used to laugh about it, but none of them ever left her table hungry.

Matthew grumbled through the meal more, she suspected, out of habit than any real complaint. At one point, she caught a look on his face she'd only ever associated with sex and chocolate, just as he forked in a bite of potato loaded with butter and seasoned with garlic into his mouth.

And the tomatoes! Where had he been that he had to ask what the rich, red slices were before shooting a look of disbelief at her over the answer? He ate the entire plate before she'd had a chance to get a slice for herself, and she found she didn't mind.

Even more entertaining, he continued eating until the simple act of chewing wore him out, his eyes growing heavy despite the pot of strong coffee she poured for him. Matthew barely made it to his room under his own effort with the heavy meal weighing him down, and she cleaned up the kitchen alone, humming under her breath.

He was sleeping somewhat peacefully when she passed his room later, so she didn't check on him. Instead, she began a computer trace on the military tags that she'd kept when she stripped him down earlier that day. It wouldn't get her a definitive answer, but it was a start. Wouldn't it surprise him more if she managed to find his family before morning and have him delivered back to them?

When the clock chimed three a.m., she rose and stretched the kinks out of her back, discouraged that she hadn't made any headway with his identity. Once more, she found herself considering the options. She could turn him over to the authorities and let them worry about who he was and where he came from, or she could call Nicademis in the morning and ask him to make a few private inquiries.

Mulling it over, she picked up her coffee cup and headed back to the kitchen. She was debating whether or not to brew another pot when she heard stumbling and cursing in Matt's room. Fearing he'd hurt himself, not to mention the uncertain condition of his ribs, she opened the door without knocking...just in time to see him slam the bathroom door shut.

"Matthew?" She knocked on the door. All she heard was the sound of labored breathing. "Matthew," she said again, this time a note of warning in her voice.

When he still didn't answer her, she TK'd the lock and pushed the door open.

Sitting on the tub edge, he whipped around to glare at her, his pale face whitening further with the movement. A groan escaped him despite his effort to swallow it back. "Dammitall, I just want a little privacy!"

"Wanting is free," she answered automatically, quickly evaluating the situation. Shaking, sweating, he looked like he was going to pass out any second.

"You get your kicks outta watching a grown man get sick?" Why wouldn't she just go away? The last thing he needed or wanted was some kid around while he puked up his guts.

"Of course, that's why you're here, isn't it?" She pulled a hand towel off the nearby rack and wet it down in cold water. "To give me kicks?" Forcefully tilting his face to hers, she wiped the cold sweat away. "I should've known this would happen, the way you ate was a dead giveaway."

The nausea welled up in him again. He tried for a weak glare; not realizing it only made him look more pathetic to her. "Would ... you ... leave ... me ... be ... PLEASE?!" The last was said through gritted teeth as he tried to pull away from her.

She paid no attention to him. "Anyone who looks that surprised at blue sky probably hasn't had fresh food in years," she muttered to the room in general. Dropping the towel on the sink counter, she braced herself and slid her arm around his upper chest to support him. Char brushed his hair out off his forehead with gentle fingers. "You're not dying on my watch, cowboy. Argue with me and I'll take your temperature the old fashioned way."

Clenching his eyes closed, refusing to give in to the unexpected urge to let her take over, he struggled to his feet, angry at himself for leaning heavily on her as he did. She didn't protest at his weight, moving under his arm to support him with her body.

"I am -not- going to die." As soon as he thought he had his balance, Matt pushed her toward the open door. "I am going to get sick ... -in private-."

"Keep that up and you'll do more damage to your ribs. What exactly is your problem, anyway?" She didn't push back, but she didn't move either. "That I might see you vomit? Maybe see you just might be a tad vulnerable? Guess what, cowboy, I don't care. You need help and I'm all you have if you're sticking to your story."

"All I'm asking for is a little dignity!" he growled at her through clenched teeth.

Figured he'd pulled that male macho bullshit. "I promise, your dignity is intact. I've already had my hands in your pants, so what else is there? Please, stop acting like some stubborn kid and let me help."

That part of him that wanted to give in just gained more support from the rest of his body. He sat back down on the edge of the tub with a groan, fresh sweat popping out on his forehead. He shivered. "HOW?"

Charlotte retrieved the towel and soaked it again. "You're so shaky you're going to fall over. Lean on me. I'll hold your head and keep you from cracking it on the porcelain. Then I'll help you back to bed. Trust me, Matthew."

He couldn't hold back anymore, and he was tired of trying. He sank to his knees in front of the commode, his stomach in full reverse. He swung out in her general direction, connecting to her shoulder with a dull slap.

Goddamn stubborn man. Charlotte moved back and let him alone. Standing just outside the door, she resorted to telekinetics. She didn't want to expose herself like this, but he didn't leave her any choice. Hopefully he was too miserable to realize an external force supported him.

When the heaving subsided, he sat back on his haunches and reached for the towel she left on the sink to wipe his face and mouth. His stomach wasn't empty yet; the remains of his dinner still sloshed around. His ribs hurt worse than they had when he woke up this morning.

And on top of it, now he felt as weak as a kitten. Not alone, though. "You can quite hiding outside the door now."

"I'm not hiding, I'm waiting." Her voice was quiet and even, none of the previous carefree tone he was becoming used to. "I'm worried about your ribs, Matthew. We're a long way from real medical help here."

Matt sighed. He should've guessed she had a reason for being so damned pushy. "They're sore, I'll live." He tried for a bit of humor as a peace offering. "I'm sure you'll do your best to keep this from being a nightly occurrence."

"I'm going to try," she told him seriously. "I can't imagine what did this to you. The venison was fine, but if you're not used to game meat that might have done it. Maybe the butter was too rich." It could be a dozen things. "I am sorry for invading your privacy, but I could hear you having problems."

"I wasn't making that much noise," he groused irritably.

"You were making enough. Would you like something to drink? I can get you something to help settle your stomach."

"My stomach's as settled as it's gonna get. I just wanna go back to sleep." He flushed the toilet, and pulled himself to his feet and over to the sink. The reflection facing him looked like Death left cold. Splashing some water on his face, he drank some to clear the awful taste from his mouth. Great, now he was Death left cold and wet.

When he entered the bedroom, she was already gone, but just as he knew she hadn't gone far before, he knew she was outside the door. He didn't know how he knew, or even cared at the moment. He crawled back into bed, back between those soft cotton sheets with the patchwork quilt on top, burrowing his face into the cool feather pillows with a sigh. A comfortable bed was an untold luxury, and he had an entire one to himself. This would all be gone in the morning. If he could take this feeling back to the real world, it might almost be worth the nausea.

"Charlotte?" he murmured, closing his eyes. The exhaustion flooded him.

She'd been waiting in the hall to make sure he found his way to bed in one piece. "Yes Matthew?" Peeking around the corner, she leaned against the doorjamb.

"Food was fine ... just ate too much." Every bite was delicious - on the way down. "Real meat ... and butter ... coffee ..."

Charlotte smiled as his voice trailed off. Tomorrow it would be soft, easy to digest food. "We'll talk in the morning, Matthew."

His whisper was lost in the dark as she left for the library. "Tomatoes ... mmmm ...

~*~*~*~*~

Midmorning found Char coming from her thrice weekly (or whenever she remembered and didn't go to SHIELD's gym) workout in the basement gym, wiping her face and neck with a towel. Today she remembered because she couldn't sleep and she needed something to do at home to keep an eye on her houseguest. The last thing either of them needed was a repeat of last night.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she passed by Matt's door and heard him moving around. Did she dare knock and see if he needed anything? Hell yes, she dared. She'd been accommodating by putting on shorts and a crop top to lift weights; she could damn well knock on a door. Stopping outside his door, she knocked lightly.

"Matthew? Do you need help getting dressed? Don't be shy; speak up if you do."

On the other side of the door, Matt rolled his eyes as he fastened the cuffs on the clean shirt he found in the closet. She never quit. He'd been awake for awhile, finally rising to wash up and get a better look at himself. Some bandages he didn't remove, but he peeked under the ones he could. Everything still looked raw enough not to chance a shower just yet. Damn, a hot shower sounded good at that moment, with real water, too. He'd even turned it on earlier to see it run.

"No, but come in if you want." -Like I could stop you,- he muttered to himself.

She opened the door, but didn't step inside. "Well, good morning. You're looking better than you did last night. How do your ribs feel?"

"Better, thanks." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I couldn't find a razor in the bathroom. Any chance there's one around here?"

"I kinda like the scruffy look," she winked at him, "but I'll get you one if you like. I have to go on up and shower anyway. Coffee's fresh if you're interested."

Matt nodded, realizing for the first time she was sweaty and flushed, and showing almost as much skin as she had the day before emerging from the lake. Guess that wasn't a hallucination either. "No hurry. Coffee sounds good." He was proud of himself. She was only mildly annoying and he managed to be both polite and professional.

"Kitchen's around the corner, and you know where the coffee mugs are. Help yourself, I'll be back in ten minutes."

In the kitchen, he bypassed the 'world's best kisser' mug for a plain white one, double checking to be sure it had nothing written on it that she could tease him about. The coffee tasted as good as it had yesterday, too. This was some small compensation for being stuck God knew where with a woman who thought he was crazy.

Ten minutes later - he timed it just out of curiosity - Charlotte re-entered the kitchen dressed in clean clothes and fastening the end of a long, wet braid over her shoulder. A bottle and a razor were tucked in the crook of her arm while her hands were busy.

"Here you go." She handed them to him. "Just so you know, shaving's not mandatory."

He took the items, glancing at them. The bottle had 'shaving gel' across it and the razor had a shiny new blade. "Thanks. It's just one of those things, like brushing your teeth in the morning. I'll be a couple of minutes."

She paused in the middle of pouring herself a cup of coffee. Did she leave him a toothbrush? There must've been some new ones in the bathroom, or he would've asked for one along with the razor. Maybe things would look better to him now that he'd slept a few hours.

Matt reappeared a few minutes later rubbing his now smooth chin. "I owe you a thank you."

Char looked up from the toaster where she lightly buttered slices of browned white bread, not willing to bring out the cracked wheat sourdough until his stomach was completely settled. "Hmm?", she asked.

"I almost feel human," he offered a halfway genuine smile.

The 'almost human part' had her wanting to laugh again, but she contained herself. "That's a step in the right direction. Have a seat and we'll see what we can do for that fussy stomach of yours. Toast and coffee for now. If that stays down okay, we'll trying something more substantial for lunch."

"I can keep anything down," he muttered, ignoring his still slightly queasy stomach. "Coffee and toast is fine."

Her smile widened at the mutters; she turned away so he wouldn't see and piled the toast on a plate to set on the table near his mug. "Freshen that cup for you, cowboy?"

"No, thanks. It's the perfect color." He took a swig, savoring the taste. "... uh, I also owe you an apology."

Charlotte sat down across from him. "Do you now?" A thank you -and- an apology. She had to mark this day on the calendar.

He flushed a bit, but didn't stumble over his words. "I'm sorry I hit you last night."

She blinked, trying to think if he'd struck her at any time. "Oh, that. Don't worry about it. I can see where you thought I was being pushy."

"But you don't hit a woman."

Charming, but the man didn't realize who he was dealing with. "Believe me, Matthew, I have no qualms about hitting you if I think you need it."

"Yeah, well ..." She'd do it too, he just knew it. "If you'd just left me alone ..."

"I would have, if your ribs weren't injured. There's no way to tell if they're just bruised or actually cracked or broken. You might have punctured a lung if you heaved too violently. I'm sorry, but finding a gurgling almost dead man in my bathroom was -not- on my list of things to do today."

"They aren't broken. Trust me." He had to admit it was a valid reason. It could've been messy if they had been. "Why'd you finally give up?"

"I was afraid you'd hurt yourself more fussing with me. Chose the lesser of two evils, me being the greater evil, of course. I insist on top billing."

Matt snorted a little. "Yeah, well ... as far as I can tell, you're not an evil ... not yet, anyway."

"Wait till you get to know me better. I have it on good authority I can be very evil." She almost had him there; he nearly laughed. "It's been a long time since someone took care of you, hasn't it?" she asked casually.

He smiled slightly, sad. "Yeah, though my wife knew enough to leave me alone when I was sick. Been a little too busy taking care of others lately."

"I thought so. You behave like you have. Let me say again for the record, if you'd just been sick I would've checked on you but left you alone. I'm still worried about your ribs. Maybe I should get you to a doctor today."

"I'm fine," he waved her off, "I'd know if they were broken, and they're not."

"I'm supposed to trust that out of a man who doesn't even know where he is?"

She kept throwing that at him. "No, but you can trust that out of a guy who's broken them too many times to count in the last three years."

Charlotte softened a bit. "In a resistance that doesn't exist here, against a villain that doesn't even make the history books. You're going to have to deal with me overreacting until this is sorted out."

"Can't say I blame you," he allowed.

"Does the world look any more familiar to you this morning?"

The frustrated look was back. "No," he said flatly.

"That would've been an easy solution, too. I made some calls last night to get help tracking down your family." Finishing her coffee, she got up to pour herself another cup and refill his. "Shouldn't take more than a few days."

"You're not going to find anything, you know that?"

"I know you believe that. You're also intelligent enough to know that it's better to eliminate the easy possibilities before accepting a more difficult one. For all either of us knows, you could be a mountain climber hurt in a rock slide around here with temporary amnesia."

"Yeah, right," he harrumphed. "Look, you got any maps?"

She paused. "In the library. There are some atlases on a bottom shelf."

Matt gulped the coffee, feeling more like himself with the strong brew beginning to circulate in him. "Good. I wanna find out exactly where I landed, and then I can start figuring out exactly how I ..." His voice trailed off as he eyed her suspiciously for a long minute.

Charlotte looked calmly back at him. "If you don't believe me, how are you going to believe a map?" Her brow rose at the rude stare. "What? Have I suddenly turned purple?"

He set his cup down on the table carefully. "You know ... this could all be some sort of Dread trap. You could be a new type of projection device, and all of this ..." he waved his hand around "... could be his latest form of torture."

She was amazed he'd managed to make it to that conclusion. She was a trap. Well, she'd been accused of worse. "Torture?" Biting her lip, she couldn't quite muffle the snickers. "Oh, can I use that the next time the family wants to drop in and stay for a month? Don't tell anyone I'm a projection. They'll start looking for my OFF switch."

"I'm serious!" he glared at her. He could see that didn't help either. "Or I ... I don't know. This is just so unbelievable."

"I know," Char tried to stop, more successful this time. "I know, but we're in the same boat, Matthew. How would I convince you I'm not one of your Dread torture traps? Probably the same way you'd convince me there is actually a Dread."

Another long minute passed as he glared at her again. "Matt," he said finally, "the name's Matt."

Snickers gone, she smiled, eyes twinkling at him. "Charlotte. We met yesterday. Maybe you remember?"

"You keep calling me Matthew. Name's Matt. That would be a good place to start."

"Whatever you say. Eat something."

"I'm not hungry," he snapped. "I think I'll go check out those maps." Find out where he was and how to get out of here as soon as possible - just to get away from that infuriating woman. Leaving his cup on the table, he stood up and marched out of the room.

Charlotte settled back in her chair. "Projection trap. Who thinks up these things?" she asked the ceiling. "I wonder how old those atlases are, anyway."

Well, he could waste his time if he wanted. She had things to do. If she stuck to schedule, she'd be leaving at the end of the week. There was still a lot to be done before then.

~*~*~*~*~

One ear ~listening~ out for him, Charlotte chuckled to herself as he figured out how to run the daily news feed over the comm system, then as he talked back to it for nearly an hour while he pulled books out of the shelves and poured over them for information. Matt's mood grew more and more sour the longer it went on.

"What the hell...." Matt's frustration was beginning to push him over the edge. Hell, frustration would be the understatement of the year. None of this made any damned sense. The hard copies in front of him seemed to be either inaccurate or old. The last time he'd checked, the United States had more than 48 states.

Of course, since nothing else seemed to match what he knew, why would this be any different? His stomach growling at him in protest, he pushed away from the table and cursed softly.

"I can hear you grumbling all the way from the other end of the house."

Matt looked up and saw Char standing in the door, leaning against the frame with a small grin on her face. His mood soured a little more. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was enjoying this.

"I wasn't grumbling."

"Oh yes you were, Matthew. I believe the phrase was 'this can't be right, dammit'." She walked into the room to see books scattered on the desk and floor, all opened to the Pacific Northwest. What, he thought each one was lying and had to check another?

He looked at her, his eyes nearly overflowing with frustration and a bit of fear. "Well, it can't be!" Tapping the book in front of him, he pointed out the map. "You said we're in Montana, right?"

"Yes." At the desk, looking over his shoulder, Char indicated the spot on the colorful plate. "Right about here."

Matt took a deep breath, nodding to himself. "All right. Do you have anything that shows coordinates? Something I can pinpoint?"

She looked around at the clutter. "What exactly are you looking for that you didn't find in one of those books? I'm not a cartographer and my sense of direction is pretty lousy."

"Exact coordinates, breakdowns of specific grids ..." His eyes fell on the closed lid of her laptop computer sitting to the side on the desk. "Something on computer, maybe?"

"Of course. You see how much time I spend looking at maps." Opening the lid, Char pressed the power switch and waited for it to boot. "The office keeps maps for general use. Are you still trying to prove this isn't Montana?"

"Not the one I know." Matt stood there impatiently, making a concerted effort not to drum his fingers on the computer desk. Last thing he wanted to do was give her any more ammunition.

"We've already established that." She rapidly typed in a series of commands, and the screen went from black to a complicated logo that he didn't recognize. Her voice was decidedly carefree. "No trees, no water, no blue sky. If I was going to create a fantasy world, I'd try to make a better one."

He gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath. "It's not a fantasy." He presumed she didn't hear him, because there was no resulting wisecrack. About damned time he won one of their spars.

"Are we up and running?" This time he tried to put some dignity in his voice.

"Hold on, it's checking my ID. Can't have them thinking I'm a hacker, now can we?" She smiled at him briefly, trying to reassure him, but he wasn't buying it. "The boss hates it when someone's trying to browse the files." A minute's worth of typing produced a list, file names scrolling down quickly before resolving itself in a search prompt.

She typed in what he wanted and the outline of the North American coast appeared. When he crowded her to get a better look, she shouldered him back a little. "Would you like me to move out of the way?"

His expression changed from irritation to attempted patience. "Please?"

"Sure." Char slid back and vacated the chair, hiding a grin at how fast he filled the spot. "You'll understand if I wait here while you're tiptoeing under my ID."

She was silent for the length of time it took him to explore several of the basic commands displayed, but he locked up the screen before getting too far. "Damn," he whispered in a seething voice. Closing his eyes, he leaned on his elbow, face in his hand.

"Here, let me." Sliding the computer toward her, Char managed to get things moving again. "Look at the screen and tell me exactly what you want."

"Montana," Matt gritted out between his teeth. This had to be someone's idea of torture, the more he thought about it. Even Tank had never been this ... bull-headedly irritating. He gestured around him. "Zoom in to where this place is."

After a moment's worth of typing, the computer screen produced a visual, and Char moved away, flexing her fingers and cracking her back as she did.

"There you go, that's about a fifty square mile chunk. Closer?"

"The red dot," He leaned over her shoulder again. "That's where we are?"

"Right around there, yes. Do those coordinates look familiar? It's Montana, any way you slice it."

Matt leaned back in the chair, unreality threatening to overwhelm him. The numbers he was staring at were pretty much the exact coordinates the team had been fighting at. Surrounded by brown, burnt-out land, gray skies, and more Dreadheads than the eye could see. He let out a loud sigh, and ran his fingers through what was left of his hair.

"What? Still think this is all a hallucination?" He was tempted to glare at her, but she'd said it with no mocking in her voice, nothing but simple curiosity. He was willing to guess if he turned around, she'd probably have a sympathetic look on her face.

"No. But here isn't where I left it." He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. In the space of twenty-four hours, his whole world had disappeared, replaced with an Earth that he'd hardly dreamed of in years. He couldn't exactly say he minded the change. Then again, it wasn't like he could just drop down on his knees, sing "Alleluia" and go merrily on his way, either.

He turned around, wanting to look her in the eye suddenly.

"You know, the last thing I remember is that damned biodread exploding, practically in my face, a big flare of light, and suddenly, everything I know is gone. Maybe you've got some thoughts on the matter?"

"One or two, if you're willing to listen." This time she successfully resisted the urge to grin. This wasn't funny, and she'd been in his position a time or two. Taking his glare as agreement, she continued. "In my opinion, barring any official explanation, it sounds like you were forcibly propelled from your dimension into this one. You are familiar with the theory of alternate Earths existing simultaneously in the same space, right?"

Had the world suddenly exploded around him, Matt likely wouldn't have noticed. His face just ... froze, his jaw rather comically dropping in the "mouth open, mind out to LaLaland" look. He rather mutely just nodded at her.

"Hmm ... maybe," she mused. "I'm no scientist, but I read a little. I used to think that shiver you get that people say is someone walking over your grave was really you and another entity occupying the same space. Or when you turn your head quickly and you could swear you see someone or something else? I get the same feeling swimming in the lake. One moment I'm in my world, and the next I'm in an underwater world where everything different. And like water, the doorways can be impenetrable stone or as flimsy as smoke."

"Water isn't solid or smoky." But something else was blowing smoke, and he had a suspicion it was sitting three feet away and looking far too comfortable with the sound of her own voice.

"It is if you land on it wrong. You can break every bone in your body by hitting the water at the wrong angle. It's also easy to move through when it's steam. In this case, the veil separating our two worlds was weak enough to let you burst through."

She offered a bare smile. "You said it yourself. Explosion, big flare, everything gone. You were the projectile; you ripped right through the space/time continuum. It's a little tricky how you managed not to be killed outright. Maybe that rubber suit of yours had something to do with it." Her voice lowered to a contemplative level as she worked through the idea.

"It's a power suit. A POWER suit, not a rubber suit," he muttered. "Does this mean you don't think I'm crazy now?" She was so damned calm, like this happened every day around her. "Or should I wonder if you are for even accepting my story."

"There are different levels of crazy. I don't believe you're dangerous to me, just confused. A mental breakdown would be the easiest explanation, you know. Then I could get you help and that would be that. This doesn't make it any easier to solve."

"If you think I'm gonna settle for being crazy, you're ..." He pushed away from the desk as the rest of what she said seemed to sink in.

"Yeah, you've got that right now, because none of this makes any damned sense!" He'd lost the battle on keeping control and was rapidly moving towards complete fury. "If you don't know how I got here, and I don't know how I got here, who DOES?!"

"That's what we're working on right now. You're just going to have to be patient. Adopt a somewhat more serene attitude." She was going to roast in hell for that one; she just knew it. "Think of yourself as being on vacation."

"I can't be on vacation right now!" Matt pounded his fist on the polished edge of her desk.

All Char did was raise an eyebrow. "Fine, then tell me where you belong and I'll have you taken there."

Matt couldn't help it. His jaw shut with a snap and he just stared at her. After her theories, she had to bring that up. "I don't know where I belong, just that it ain't -here.-"

"Well, that certainly clears things up." Her voice could have been sarcastic, but it skated the border of dry. "Looks like you're going to have to wait until I get a positive ID. So, you're on an indefinite vacation, you might as well enjoy it. Very few people get to spend time here."

"But ...I... you..." He leaned against the desk and let out a long sigh. He just couldn't get through to her what it this meant to him and the people he left behind. "Wonderful. Where's here again?"

"Quapoa Valley. NW Montana. United States. North America. Planet Earth."

He wasn't going to be able to take much more of this from her. He'd already lost his temper, but she was rapidly pushing him to the point of losing what was left of his sanity. And then she really WOULD have proof he was insane.

Opening a drawer, she took his military tags out and set them on the desk in front of her. "Searched the public databases last night. I thought your family would be worried about you."

"Lemme guess: you didn't find anything." His voice practically dripped with sarcasm.

"I found plenty. Matt Masterson exists, but so does Matt Masterson and Matt Masterson, and a couple of Matthew Mastersons. A few of them fit your general description but without pictures I can't pinpoint you." She shrugged again. "Until I do, or you change your story, you're Mr. X, the Unknown Gatecrasher."

THAT did it. He pushed himself away from the wall, and stormed out of the room. To hell with her.

Char watched him go, her smile never slipping. "You know, if you keep that up, we're going to have to consider you a drama queen." Letting out a light sigh of her own, she logged out of the SHIELD network, and gently closed the laptop.

She supposed she'd better go after him. Heaven only knew what would happen if he wandered off alone. Truth be told, she did feel somewhat responsible for this irritating man. She brought him here, when it would've been just as easy to call help for him.

Matt hadn't gotten far. She found him on the front porch, sitting on the top step and staring at the lake. His preoccupation with water should probably concern her, but she let it go."I'm sorry," she offered, sitting down on the other end of the step to keep him from feeling crowded.

He sat there for a moment, formulating a reply. The cool air had done a fair bit to clear his head. About damned time, too. He'd started to think it was filled with cotton. "Not your fault." If only she knew what a concession that was, even if it was the truth. "I just...I'm a little out of my element here."

"I know. I suppose my attempts at humor are just to keep the situation from appearing hopeless. It isn't. But I have to wonder why you want to go back to a world that's so grim and horrible, even one that might be a mental breakdown?"

"Yeah well," Matt cleared his throat, "it may be a bad world, but it's mine. And it's home to a lotta people besides me, and I need to get back."

"I can understand that, but I don't have to like it." She leaned back more comfortably. "Have you considered what will happen if you can't go back?"

He gave her a look. "I thought you didn't even believe me."

"I'm not willing to say one way or the other yet, not until I hear back about you. If you are from an alternate Earth and we can't get you home, we're going to need a Plan B."

"And if I'm not, you're gonna shove my ass in a booby hatch and forget me?"

"Not unless you drink all the coffee. Then I might have to get postal on you."

Matt harrumphed. "You really have to ask for the world, don't you?" He chuckled a little. "Especially given the quality of your coffee."

"Well, you make do with what's available." She winked teasingly.

Matt raised one hand in what he hoped was a sketchy attempt at a salute."Scout's honor, then." What he said finally caught up with him, and he let out a long, hearty laugh. He was a little surprised at how easily it came, and how good it felt.

Char looked at him a little askance, and he quickly sobered. The smile refused to slip off his face though.

"When we get to my world, remind me to introduce you to someone." He thought briefly about the idea of this woman meeting the rest of the team, and the smile strengthened. She'd have Scout laughing his ass off, Tank's head spinning and Jon's Power suit in a bundle in under a minute.

Definitely something to look forward to.

~*~*~*~*~

TO BE CONTINUED