Count On It

amelia_icon.png finnegan_icon.png

Where: Primatech Paper

When: August 21, 2012

What: The pair discuss a plan of attack. And voodoo.

The door to Amelia's room opens and in seems to walk a giant plush panda bear. With really long legs wearing jeans — which is really all she can see of Finnegan until he puts the stuffed bear in the chair he has sat in more than a few times. He's already had balloons and flowers and food sent to her over the last few weeks. It's the gifting cycle of a man with guilty feelings (got no rhythm), much like a cheating husband gives to an angry wife.

"Good mornin', sunshine," he says, and in one hand he also has a bag of Krispy Kreme doughnuts which he sets on her bedside table.

"Oh thank god," Amelia says as she shifts to sit up, "Conversation that doesn't involved medical jargon. You know they won't let me out of this bed without supervision? Yeah, it's that ridiculous." Abject boredom is probably a good sign for her recovery, especially since she hasn't uttered a complaint during his previous visits. Plus, she isn't lingering in that unsettling pale today.

Her gaze flicks to the bear, and she smirks just a little bit. "Did you happen by a carnival today, Finny?" A tease soften by her moving her feet out of the way so he'll have room to sit.

"Had a job out at Circus Circus," he says with a shrug, moving to sit down in front of the bear on the edge of the seat. "I come from a lawin' family, not a medical one, so I can't even come up with enough to even pretend to talk medical jargon just to give you a hard time. Opportunity missed."

Apparently he never watched ER or Grey's Anatomy either to talk about CCs of epi or something.

He frowns as he looks at all the equipment in her room, rather than directly at her. "When you gettin' outta here?"

"I'll count myself lucky you didn't bring me a clown, then. Circus," she says, hand waving as if to try to erase the attempted joke. "I'll call it a win for me that your folks opted for the other rich person occupation, then. I could pretend to be annoyed by lawyer talk, though, if it'd help."

Her smile dims, too, when he looks around the room. Or maybe when she notices that he's not really looking her way. "Oh, as soon as they notice that I'm perfectly fine." Which is probably not entirely true. "Tell them for me, won't you? Otherwise, another week in here," she says with a dramatic groan. The touch of a button brings the top half of the bed up to meet her, and she leans back against it as she looks over at him. "I don't look that bad, do I?"

"You look beautiful as always, though your roots are showing." Been a while since she's had time to dye her hair after all! "And I don't got no law school behind my belt, so I can't do much of that either, except what I heard at the dinner table growing up."

Finnegan's eyes finally reach her face. "So I talked to Doc. Did I tell you I dragged him back with us? He's a douchebag though. Refuses to admit anything at all. Might need you to poke around a bit when you're finally on your feet. You said he feels bad somehow… did you get the impression he belongs in that time period? 'Cause I have my doubts."

"You're supposed to pretend not to notice the roots while I'm in a hospital bed. I tried to get the nurses to touch it up, but they are so not game." Amelia looks upward, as if she might be able to see how much of her roots are showing. But she'll just have to imagine.

"You said something about it last time, I think," she was a bit on the mind-altering drugs then, though, "Not surprised that he's a douche. Hey, if he's here now, I get to punch him when he's sexist, yeah?" But the question brings a more serious expression around. Her brow furrows, her lips press together and she narrows her eyes a bit. "I'm not sure. There is something weird about him, though. Last time I poked around up there, his head was all… mismatched."

Finnegan grins at the comment regarding the dye. "I can bring you a Sharpie," he suggests. It's pretty much the same thing right?

The rest sobers him up again. "Mismatched?" he echoes. "He didn't seem bothered at all by the thought he might have to stay here. And this time crap hurts my head." He puts his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, a regular Rodin's "Thinker" for a moment. "Abrams' memory got erased, I think; did you feel anything about him that might have been able to do that to her? My guess is he's either a time manip or he's a telepath. But you'd know if he was a telepath right? Don't you guys make each other static or whatever?"

The smack that hits his leg isn't halfhearted, but is wimpier than usual all the same. Amelia shakes her head a little, too, but she leans back against her pillow a moment later.

"Mm, yeah, mental feedback. It wasn't like that, but I do think he's the reason Blondie doesn't know she is. I just don't know if he did it or if someone did it to him. But he's got… other lives in his head. More than hers. I couldn't even find hers, specifically. Or his, either. If he's used to having his life erased and replaced…" She lifts a hand to make a sort of helpless gesture. "I can poke at him more, just see about getting the medical staff to let me out of here, huh? Oh, and if he sucks me in, beat the crap out of him, yeah?"

"Who, me? Do I look like a fighter?" Finnegan says, widening his eyes in feigned innocence.

"If we negate him, can you still tell what he can do, or does it muddy it all up?" he asks. He has no powers — he has no idea how mental things "feel" on the inside to a telepath. "Fuck, I'm not smart enough for this crazy shit. I should have left him in 1955, but he pissed me off when he pulled that shit."

"Nah, but I'm laid up, someone's got to pick up the ass kicking slack." Amelia smirks a little, but it fades shortly. Her hand reaches out to tap a finger against his knee. "We'd have zero hope of figuring this out if you'd left him back then. So don't worry about it. If he's negated, I can still probably work it out. Maybe not what he can do, but what's up there."

There's just a momentary pause before she adds, "I'm not kidding about kicking his ass. Cognitive reboot."

Finnegan's eyes are solemn when they lift to look at her, despite her joking words. "I blame him for what happened to you and Tilly," he says. It's only partially the truth, and she can likely tell he blames himself more. "So count on it." The ass kicking, that is.

He leans back and scrubs a hand over his face. "We fucked something up, too, don't know what, except there's shit where there used to be other shit here in town. Anyway. I guess I should let you rest, huh? I'll see what I can do about getting you liberated. You need anything besides a manicure and dye job?"

The shift in tone has her sitting up a little again, and she listens with a furrowed brow.

"Hey," she says after a moment, "You saved my life, that's all I remember." And granted, that's more to make him feel better than to give their guest a pass, but it is framed that way. She leans back again, letting out a heavy sigh. "Just my dignity back," she answers with a crooked smile.

His gaze drops when she grows serious, but he nods once, perhaps in thanks or just acknowledgment that he hears her. Hard to tell.

As he rises, he grins at her words. "Sorry, sweetheart. You had to have some to begin with." He steps swiftly out of her reach before she can swat him. "I should try to track down Thisbe's time hopping gentleman caller, though might be useful with you. I can see what I can gather on my own without relying on your creepy voodoo, though."

"Oh, you're just begging for some mental torture when I'm cleared, I hope you know." But in truth, she doesn't look too upset. Amused might even cover it. "And I'll have you know, my voodoo is not creepy. Unless you're into that," she adds, wiping away the serious moment with an overdone wink. "But let me know what you find out. About all of it. Him, the doc, whatever changes we might have… inadvertently caused. Although, I'm putting that on the kid. And Nobara."

He chuckles. "All your voodoo is creepy. You're just lucky you're cute enough to compensate for it. Even with your roots all showin'." Finnegan doesn't comment on the fault of other people, but shrugs. "I'll find out what I can. I better get, before the doctor comes to yell at me for taking too long and wearing you out. If I'm gonna wear someone out, it should at least entail less clothes."

With that, he's out the door before she can throw something at him. Like a bedpan.


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