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Where: Primatech Paper

When: August 11, 2012

What: Zan shares a few more details of his first hour in 1955 with Finn. And apologizes for losing his cool.

Making another trip to the cells of the Company, Finnegan is not empty handed. The drink caddy today boasts two Big Gulp sized Slurpees, both blue raspberry, and the other hand holds a pizza box. It takes a little juggling to punch in the code to the door, but he manages; another guard stand watching just in case the inmate inside decides to take advantage of Finnegan's hands-full status.

"Sup, Al?" Finn says cheerfully, moving to toss the pizza box onto the empty bunk before handing one of the slurpees to the other man. "Felt like some company, hm?" There's a slight smirk at the pun that only he can appreciate.

There hasn't been any attempt at escape, nor does Zan seem inclined to do so now. If that were his goal, he'd have tried to bolt when he was first brought out for questioning. Even the cameras that must be watching his every move are likely to show little beyond him pacing and worrying, hardly sleeping and barely eating, and taking those negation drugs with a sense of detachment. And while he isn't shying away from the agent coming in this time, he does keep himself to the wall opposite the opened door, only moving away once it's been closed again.

The drink is accepted, though the Caldecott boy only stares at it for a moment. The pun is entirely lost on him, only knowing the agents are… agents. Of what agency he can't fathom to guess. CIA maybe. "Thanks," Zan replies after a beat. His gaze lifts off the cup to Finn, a shadow of a grin twitching briefly, then disappearing again. "I thought of something. Not sure if it would help, but… Maybe. Something."

Finn slumps down onto the cot and opens the pizza box, releasing with the steam the aroma of oregano and pepperoni and mozzarella and bread.

He helps himself to a piece before picking up the box and sliding it across the floor toward Zan. He knows Zan won't come for it, and he's lazy, apparently.

"Anything you think that might be useful, I'm all ears," he says leaning back to rest shoulders and head against the wall behind him.

"When I got back to the Moulin Rouge," Zan begins as his eyes follow the pizza box, "there was no sign of Rylie anywhere." He slides down the wall to sit on the floor, much like the last time Finn had visited. This time, however, he lacks the intense apprehension, though he's reserved in demeanor and more forthcoming about whatever he can remember. Or trying to be.

"I went to find Thisbe, thinking she might be able to help." Zan looks up from the pizza to Finn, and folds his legs in front of him, cross legged. "But I also read over the papers I found at Rylie's place. I… can't guess at what Amelia might have told you. She knows a lot for never asking questions." He still hasn't picked up on her special trick it would seem. "Thisbe's real name was Barbara Fisher. And she originally killed herself that year."

"Barbara Fisher," Finnegan repeats, perhaps to instill the name into his memory. "Papers… you said Rylie went back because she thought you changed something and needed to fix it, right? So you mean things about this Thisbe… Barbara… whatever else that might have changed? She'd done research or something coming back that made her realize something was different, I guess? Did Barbara kill herself only because you'd changed something, or did she… not kill herself because you'd changed something?"

Finn frowns at that — going back to make sure someone still kills themselves would be pretty awful, even if you did it with good intentions. "I'm guessing the former?" He can't imagine Rylie — even if he doesn't know her at all — trying to make sure someone died.

"She went back because she thought we changed something," Zan confirms, "or that someone changed something. But she felt she needed to be there, to fix it." His brow creases and he looks down for a moment. "I'm… Thisbe's the only one actually in nineteen-fifty-five that we talked to that night we went together. But she killed herself originally, before we messed up the timeline. Rylie found the original print obituary from when Thisbe died, then found that same day's obituary after we'd gone and it was different."

Zan pauses there, briefly. He considers the slurpee that he was given, then takes an experimental sip at it before continuing. "Thisbe ended up getting married to some old guy, and then a few weeks later she's murdered." His teeth scrape against his lower lip while he mulls over all that he's said so far. "Finn, you think… can you be in two places at once? If you're able to change time? Like… could the guy in the hospital be the Doc too? Could… Thisbe've been supposed to marry Doc, but Rylie stepped in for… I don't know."

The younger man looks up at the agent. "What if what we did at the Moulin Rouge was what caused Thisbe to die before we further messed up the timeline?"

Zan's words have Finn scowling, one hand coming up to scratch at that cut on his brow. He shakes his head. "I… yeah. You can be in two places at the same time. I'm not an expert. That was the first time I've done time travel stuff." He probably shouldn't have admitted any such thing, but then, if Zan gets some reprogramming soon, it won't really matter.

He shakes his head. "We'll see. If the two guys are the same… well. Didn't you see the guy in the hospital? Did he look like the Doc? Is he old?" It wasn't Finn's job to go check on that guy — as far as he knows anyway.

Zan drags his hands through his hair, fingers curling as though to make the memory of the gala play out like R2D2's recordings. No such luck, he isn't a droid. "I didn't get a good look," he admits, "not enough to remember. There were so many people at the Gala, security came in fast to respond to his dilemma, all I remember is he wasn't dressed for it." How he was dressed, the boy can't recall, shaking his head to that self-asked question after a beat. "I didn't go see him in the hospital either. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have gone with Rylie…"

He takes a breath after his voice cracks near the end. Zan's hands come away from his head and his arms fold against his chest. "When I found Thisbe she was crying. She accused me and my girlfriend of ruining things, that I broke her heart and Rylie stole her spotlight…"

The agent chews pizza and then washes it down with a long pull on the Slurpee straw. "Interesting. Well. We'll be sure to follow up on that, then," he says, glancing at the door, then back to Zan.

"It's okay, kid. You didn't mean to do whatever it is she said, and it's likely whoever this guy is, he put himself in danger of ruining things more than you two did. She can't know exactly what changed what, you know?" His voice is quiet and lacks any of the cockiness or joking it's had in the past. "As for Miss Abrams… You have my word that we'll do whatever we can to help her. We have some extremely good specialists. They'll do what they can."

Zan nods at first, looking everywhere but at Finn, or the door, or even the food. "She'll remember," he says quietly, partly trying to convince himself of it. Not seeing her has been rough enough, he's struggling to keep hope that things will turn out alright. "I'll do anything for her."

It's a minute before Zan's mostly composed himself. As much as he's been composed since stepping foot into the Moulin Rouge a second time. "I also …wanted to apologize, Agent Finnegan." His face turns toward the older man, but it's a beat or two before he looks up at him. Stress and fear and loss have put lines into his brow, more noticeable as they're pushed together. "I didn't make your job easy and… and I don't have any excuses for attacking you. I'm sorry."

Finn takes another bite of pizza, chewing it as he mulls over Zan's words, then shakes his head. "Shit, kid, no need to apologize for that. I wasn't exactly on my best behavior the other night either. I'd have done the same thing in your situation. If I could, you know, do what you can." He smiles and brushes his hands off on his jeans.

"Bygones. But thanks for the apology. Sorry I pissed you off enough to make you do that." He lifts one shoulder and rises, picking up his Slurpee. "I should get moving on some of this stuff, see what shakes out, if anything. Thanks for the pow wow."

Letting out a breath, Zan nods. When Finn stands, he sets himself further from the door, even looking away from it. "What I do is nothing but trouble," he admits quietly. "I'd give it all up if it brought my girlfriend back." His hands rub against his face and he glances up at the agent. "Yeah, see you later, Agent Finnegan."

The agent looks away and nods, brow furrowing a bit. "I know what you mean," is muttered lowly as he moves to punch in numbers to the keypad again, then glances back over his shoulder. "We'll do what we can. Keep your chin up. And eat that pizza. It's not the cheap shit." At least Finnegan has good taste in fast food. The door opens and he steps out, leaving Zan to his lonesome.

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