Unfortunately for Frank, no one has mentioned the possibility of alternate realities or different versions of oneself to Maine. So, when the Freelancer glances at Frank from the corner of his eye, his look is a quizzical one. The kind of look that suggests Maine might think Frank is a little nuts, though he doesn't appear fazed by it.

It's only then that Maine gets a decent look at the other man's face.

Instantly, tension snaps into Maine's frame. His muscles tighten; his pupils dilate; his heart rate picks up as though his body is getting ready for a fight. He feels his lips part like he's about to say something, but no sound comes out. He just stares, silent and still.

It's like looking at a ghost. Frank's hairy and older and still looks red from the cold, but fuck, it's too familiar. Like he's looking at an uncle or cousin — or a future that was killed long before it could happen.

Something clenches tight in his chest. He jerks his gaze away. Stares into the fire without really seeing it. Grabs hold of the images roiling on the surface of his mind and shoves them down.

Focus, Agent.

The Freelancer swallows. Wipes the emotion from his face. Speaks again, voice unchanged.

"Theme?" Unless it's 'names that start with the letter A,' he can't guess what it is.