past_amelia_icon.png past_doctor_icon.png past_zan_icon.png

Where: Las Vegas

When: August 24, 1955;Daytime

What: Zan pulls some sass with Amelia, or tries to.

For Zan, it's been an uncomfortable couple of days. There's a couple people he doesn't know very well and doesn't particularly like, plus the handcuffs and that tranq dart incident. But at least they take him out on walks! And out to look for the missing girlfriend.

The good news about being out with Amelia is that the cuffs are missing. The bad news is that they're replaced with a mental compulsion to stick close. The sad thing is, it is more secure than handcuffs, the mental binding. She probably should have asked, but that part slipped her mind. In any case, they're outside in the daylight, which in Vegas in late August isn't exactly pleasant, but they're natives. They can handle it. Amelia is looking the part of a nineteen-fifties housewife, and can't seem to stop swishing her skirts around.

"So, where do you want to start this time? We're looking or Blondie still, yeah? Not taking a day to gamble away whatever money we've got?"

He might like them better, but being confined and kept, mostly, under lock and chain is a bit chafing. A lot chafing. That he wasn't attached for this outing made Zan a little wary. Admittedly. Not that he questioned it, but he had given the woman an odd look when the opportunity to go out again presented itself, and it was without those metal bracelets that Finn is so fond of.

For the moment, he's paying little attention to the skirt swishing and more attention to faces as they pass by. His hands are jammed into his pants pockets, shirt sleeves, for once, rolled to nearly his elbows, collar unbuttoned. Almost entirely taking the role of rebellious youth to heart. "Still looking," he answers, as if it were ludicrous to do anything else. "What about the Doc's place?"

"You shouldn't let our success plant unrealistic expectations. Just as a note," even without Finn around, her husband-on-paper for this mission, she keeps up the southern accent she's adopted for the role. "Cute girl let loose in the past, she could be anywhere." Amelia's also really good at encouragement.

"We can go see the Doc, sure. But, if she's your girlfriend, don't you know where she'd want to go hang out back here? I mean, she got a think for Dean Martin or period clothes or original Coke?" She gestures for him to lead the way, since she doesn't know where to find the Doctor, except that he hangs around the hotel. She might be getting a little cabin fever, too, since that was the one place she was unwilling to look around.

"With friends," Zan answers, almost absently. He doesn't exactly stop, but he slows enough to look at Amelia. "She's… Could she still be nearby?" He's wondering aloud now and actually stops in place long enough to look beyond the people to the businesses themselves. "I should read those papers again to try to see what conclusions she drew from."

His stop isn't for long, barely more than a step behind Amelia and he's falling in alongside her again. "Let's go to the west side," he suggests. Though the idea might very well be crazy and far fetched. "We might find something there, before we go back." It's the first glimmer of hope he's shown outside of stubborn determination.

"You think she'd go to the west side?" It isn't like they're far from it, though, with the hotel sitting on the boarder. Amelia just shrugs, though, one place is as good as another. When he catches up to her, she slips her arm through his, a friendly enough gesture, although there's still that terribly condescending smile she's been wearing— well, since he met her. The hair color can change, but not the girl under it.

"You won't find answers in those papers. This Thisbe? Blondie stole her limelight, right? It looks like it was a good thing, because that first paper said she killed herself after a failed performance that night. Funny how hope works, isn't it? She isn't killing herself now, because she still can dream about singing and getting famous or whatever. But then, it was fact and she couldn't handle it. Whatever drove your girlfriend back here, it isn't in the papers. It's in the hospital tag." At least she's honest about having gone through his stuff.

"How…" Zan gives Amelia that look again, the same one he'd given her at the hotel when he found he was going to be allowed to walk without being attached. "Never mind. The hospital tag?" He hadn't looked terribly close at that either, haste to catch up making him stuff it all into his pack and go without much consideration. He's definitely thinking about it now.

He pulls his arm free of hers and takes a half step away. He's still beside her, but there's a little bit of space. "Tell me your thoughts on that tag," he says. And though free, he stops and reaches out to grab her shoulder and stop her, too. "Why would she think she needs to be here, or what could she be trying to fix?" No sense in dodging around things he thought secret if the agents have already gone through his belongings.

"Yeah, you know? The tags they give you when you go visiting. So they know you're not some guy with a gun coming to kill everyone. The papers don't have a reason for coming here. But she left this tag with them, meaning she either did research and then went to see someone in the hospital, or she went to see someone in the hospital and then sat down to do some research. Either way, if you want to know why she came here, that's where the answer is." Amelia pulls out a cigarette, genuine nineteen-fifties cigarette, too, which means it's just that much less healthy, and lights it up.

Looking over at him, she tilts her head before lifting a shoulder. "I don't know. But to tell you the truth, I'd feel better about this if she were just having a joyride, you know? She came back to change something and that's dangerous. That's where you get paradox and timeline shifts and never seeing home again. Hopping back here isn't a walk in the park, you're taking the risk that when you get home, you'll remember a whole different life. And really, will probably end up committed in the end." The cigarette goes between her lips and she spreads her arms a little, helplessly.

"The man." Zan shakes his head. "The guy Thisbe was waiting for. He ran into me at the gala, gave me the address to the house. The one that leads into the Moulin Rouge." It's an effort to keep his tone more casual. Already animated as he tries to piece together a puzzle from the inside out, it's possible a couple of looks have gone his way. "Stupid. I should have talked to him first."

Vexed, likely with himself, he turns to go back to the hotel, nearly breaking into a run. Nearly, he hardly gets a step away before stopping again. Which seems odd, even he appears to be wondering why. His mind grasps for reasoning before he turns back to Amelia. "If I go back, find the guy and talk to him, I'm coming back to find Rylie." He's not asking, either. He's doing it.

"Probably," Amelia says, and not exactly kindly, either. But not accusatory, either, even though his taking this risk meant that she had to, too. When he turns to run, she just watches with a sort of amused crook to her lips. But she reaches out to touch his arm as she steps closer. "Can't be helped now, not until that portal opens up again. And there's a few days before that happens. So we look for her until then and we make as little waves as possible. Just be unassuming tourists. If we're lucky, we'll find her and we can toss the two of you back and no one has to see that portal again. But understand, your choices in this are to stay with us cuffed to a bed while we look or you go through that portal and you don't come back. And you won't be coming back, whatever your determination. You don't know what you're doing. We do. We're not the bad guys, Zan. We're trying to safeguard our home, yours and ours. And you and her and us, too."

"I know what I'm doing," Zan counters. "I've made as little impact as I can manage since I've been here. The Doc promised to keep an eye out for her. We could cover more ground if you didn't keep me chained to you and Gomer Pyle. Whatever paradox you're hoping to avoid is happening right now because neither of you seem too worried about finding her. Like… you've given up"

He pauses, hands clasping together behind his head, elbows pulling him downward. When he continues again, he sounds tense with anxiety, almost pleading. "I just want to find Rylie and go home. You want me to believe you're not the bad guys? Prove it. Have a little faith that maybe, just once in my life, I won't screw something up."

"Are you kidding? You flew to get here, you ran in here with modern technology in your modern backpack and your modern clothes. It must be nice to think you know what you're doing, but you're a bull in the proverbial china shop. You're a bull in a vat of nitro glycerin. You pissed of this Doctor guy, who is obviously some sort of undercover operative, you told him about your missing girlfriend and you wondered around here wearing exactly the right mismatch of clothes to draw all the attention."

How she knows any of that, she's not saying. But she knows it. Maybe they've been tailing him longer than they've said. "You're staying right here, because it's the only way I can know just how much of a mess we have to fix once we've sent you home. This isn't trusting you with the family car, this is life as we know it and no, I'm not putting it the hands of an entitled kid who think he has a clue. You don't trust me? I don't care. My job gets done either way. You don't want this to be easy, I can do that just fine. I brought more than handcuffs along." Her hands go to her hips, and she starts back for the hotel, too. And oddly enough, she only gets a few steps beyond him before he feels the urge to follow her.

Zan's left to stare, entirely taken aback. Not just that she knows, but how accurately is a bit of a surprise. Sure his coming here unprepared was the product of haste. He could have left his pack behind, kept the essentials with him. Not accused the Doc of anything or handled it with far more tact. Certainly he could have handled himself better. But bull in a china shop? He's left speechless, trying to gather his thoughts and quickly, determine what to do that won't make things worse, before he realizes he needs to follow her.

So he swallows whatever pride he might have left and starts after her. "Amelia," he starts, weakly at first. He jogs a couple of steps to catch up properly, reaching out to grab her arm, to stop her and turn her to face him. "Please. I'm sorry. I know I made a shit ton of mistakes coming here. But… I've got to find her. Just let me help. Let's go… to the Doc, I'll start with fixing things there."

Amelia pauses at the apology, as if she has to consider it, but she turns around to face him after that brief consideration. "Alright, we'll go to the Doctor. But no accusations. Play nice. If he knows where Rylie is, we might have to find out the hard way. Like by spying on him. If you can play it cool."

She nods her head, the universal follow me gesture as she turns to walk in the general direction of the Doctor's office.

Fingers rake back through his hair, doing much to dishevel it and little to ease his fraying nerves. But Zan follows, whether compulsory or not. He does what he can to get control of himself again as they walk toward the Doctor's office. He gives few directions, pointing out the way with a nod or a tilt of his head, maybe a word or two when absolutely necessary. But otherwise he says little or nothing during the trip.

Silence is the order of the day, it seems, since Amelia doesn't say anything, either. But when they get to the building where the Doctor's Office sits, the door sits open and the inside is full of boxes. Zan recognizes those boxes, they used to sit in the side room across from the front door. Cleaning day, maybe? But there's no sign of the Doctor. Amelia peeks inside before she takes a step in, but she does so as if she were any normal office visitor.

Surprise and curiosity flicker across his expression at the sight they find, but Zan keeps himself composed. He follows her closely, brows furrowing when he steps into the office and takes in a better view of the changes just a couple of days have brought. It's several seconds of studying the boxes, though he remains next to the agent and hopefully only looking as though his scrutiny were of idle wondering. Then following, his gaze shifts to the door to the side room. Then he glances toward Amelia in askance before calling out a little hesitantly, "Doc?"

The Doctor's head pops out as Amelia idly tugs at her gloves. Lacy, since it is summer and she's not that crazy. "Hello— Oh." He isn't too happy to see Zan, but his smile returns when he sees Amelia with him. "Mrs. Finnegan," he greets warmly. He shuts the door behind him before he comes over to take her hand. "Lovely to see you again. This young man isn't giving you trouble is he?"

"When aren't young men giving someone trouble, Doctor," she replies with a soft smile, he laughs, and ushers them both toward the chairs. Crowded though it may be. "Forgive the mess, but please, come sit." Amelia does without seeming worried about the fact that the Doctor stays standing.

Apology is replaced by a frown that twitches across Zan's brow while Amelia and the Doc exchange smiles and laughs. Briefly. His head ducks as if reminded by some earlier talk that left him chastised, but moreso to hide his expression until he's smoothed it over. He angles himself to sit in a chair, yet at Amelia's side. And through his downward gaze, he looks again toward the boxes, wondering, and letting the adults chat first.

"I just wanted a chance to thank you for the help the other night. And this young man helped me find you to tell you so. On the way, he's told me you're helping him find his friend and I just think that's admirable. You don't see people willing to go out of their way for another," Amelia says, and the Doctor just shines under the praise. There's a glance over Zan's way, and a subtle lean toward the Doctor. His turn to talk, apparently, although she doesn't say as much.

To his credit, Zan isn't so engrossed as to miss his turn at talking. He looks up at the Doc, then to Amelia. He might just be asking her permission to speak. Or asking if he really has to. Though he does so without actually waiting for a reply. "Yes, sir. Thank you for watching for Rylie. It's really good of you to offer after… I made a real jerk of myself. I'm very sorry about that, sir. I'm… kind of torn up, being unable to find my girlfriend. I shouldn't have doubted you though."

Amelia smiles as Zan starts and she looks over at the Doctor to watch him. His reactions, maybe.

"All water under the bridge. I understand completely, my boy. I haven't seen her, but I have people — good people, you understand — keeping their eyes out as well." The man may smile, he may sound sincere, but Amelia starts to stand up there, her own smile still demure.

"That's awful good of you, Doctor. We won't take up any more of your time. I see you're in the middle of spring cleaning, I'd hate to interrupt for too long," she says, and the man nods, accepting. "Be sure to see Mrs. Finnegan back to her hotel, won't you? There's a good lad."

Zan shows himself to be a little slow on the uptake, still sitting for a full beat after Amelia has stood up. Fitting, to follow the Doc's suggestion to see the agent back to the hotel like that's what had prompted him to move. "Yes, sir," he agrees with a nod of his head. "I'll check back with you in another couple of days. About Rylie." He puts his hands into his pockets, flicking a look toward the woman then back to the Doc.

"I look forward to it," the Doctor says with a smile. Amelia smiles, nodding her goodbyes before she moves to the door and then out through it. She keeps up the demure wifey bit for a long while, either from paranoia or comfort, it's hard to say. She certainly doesn't say.

"So what made you think he had Blondie in the first place?" She asks, out of nowhere, when they're about a block from the office. her eyebrows raise and she gives him a questioning look, it even has this air of innocence about it that goes with the persona, but not the person.

He's certainly quiet while they leave the office. Maybe in effort to keep his cool. Her question, however, gives him pause and Zan meets the questioning look with one of his own. "How could you know that," he asks, before supplying his own answer. "A cook or some worker, at the Moulin Rouge, said she left with him. Doc said she'd had an altercation with someone at the hotel but he dropped her off at Pearlies. She was going to contact some friends and wouldn't stay with him."

"What? Oh. I'm very good." It might explain why she was infiltrating la Vida Mala for… whatever reason she was doing that. Practice? Showing off? Amelia listens, though, as he explains, eyes narrowing toward the end. "And you think he didn't drop her off at all, but shoved her in a closet or something? Do you still think that? Or was it a heat of the moment situation?"

"Something with him doesn't sit right with me," Zan admits. He doesn't even pause to think about it. "So yeah, I checked his closet." His brows raise, askance plainly dealt, however this time he doesn't question her sources. "I'd check it again if I could. All those boxes were in that closet last time. Now it's like he's moving out.

"Hmm," is Amelia's very intelligent reply to his thoughts, and she fiddles with her gloves a little bit. "I think we should all steer clear of him, for now. He'll come to us if he hears word of Rylie and isn't hiding something. And if he his hiding something, he'll come to us anyway. We need to employ my favorite piece of dating advice for now." She looks over at Zan and smiles crookedly, slyly, even.

"Always leave them wanting more."

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