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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚ ▎❛ 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ❜ ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴅᴏʟᴏʀᴇs ʜᴀʀɢʀᴇᴇᴠᴇs,
ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄɪᴀɴ ꒱
❝ IT IS BETTER TO BE
FEARED THAN LOVED ❞
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If the apocalypse was bad, The Commission was worse.
At least at the end of the world it had just been Dolores and Five, the two lone survivors of a once vastly-populated earth. She'd been able to see him every day, have him be the last thing she saw at night and the first thing she saw in the morning. She'd known he was as safe as one could get in the apocalypse. She'd spent every waking minute with him which, while they didn't always get along, was still definitely nothing to complain about.
Now, though, she rarely saw him. He'd been taken in as a field agent as she'd suspected and had spent many months training with other Commission workers before he was sent out to the field. There, he'd made a name for himself as she'd known he would and had become what was arguably The Commission's most valuable asset. On the one hand, this was good because it was far less likely that the organization would send them back to the apocalypse and interrupt their further attempts to return to a pre-apocalyptic earth. On the other, this was terrible because she was now on her own more often than not and when she did finally see her husband, he was distant and preoccupied.
Dolores knew from her uncle's stories the effect the missions had on the man but no matter how she worded her question about his wellbeing, he brushed her off. Sometimes he'd gently squeeze her hand and reassure her he was okay. Sometimes he would place a distracted kiss on the top of her head in answer, but he'd never say what he was truly feeling. Even when she tried to talk to him about other things, like what happened at her end of the job, he seemed to only listen with half an ear or zone out completely so that she was better off talking to a brick wall. Even worse, she'd noticed that Five was now failing to meet her eyes more often than not. This was, of course, only when she could see him and The Handler seemed hellbent on keeping them separated.
Five Hargreeves was— is— incredible. There was no denying this fact and it was more than Dolores saying that just because he was her husband. The man seemed to have the ability to adapt to any place (and time) with chameleon-like ease, no matter how foreign or uncomfortable the setting was. It was how he'd adapted to the apocalypse so well after the first few days and had changed again when they'd signed the contract. In the beginning, he hadn't been gone as much and she'd been able to monitor his adaptation more closely. As he'd passed training, though, they'd seen each other less and less so that, by the time they'd been there a year, he was hardly a person she recognized.
That never stopped her from worrying incessantly whenever he was gone or about his wellbeing whenever they were together. Someone had to, or he'd work himself into an early grave and she was the only one he could fully rely on. Even when he told her nothing of what he was going through, Dolores did her best to shoulder as much of his burden as she could so that he could rest easier, though that, in itself, was a whole other problem entirely.
She'd known since the first day that stopping the apocalypse would now fall to her, at least until she got her Five back (this silent, distant shell of a person wasn't him) and she'd do whatever it took to solve the riddle.
✧✧✧
The line for Taco Tuesday was quite long, but luckily Dolores had worked methodically through her cases so that she didn't need to worry about returning to work until later in the afternoon. She walked slowly towards the queue, noting how Dot— in her usual routine— was also making her way towards the line. The two women arrived at the same time. Dolores paused and gestured for her to step in front. "Go ahead, you got here first."
"No, really, I couldn't," the woman argued kindly, "you arrived before me."
"Please, I don't mind an extra person in front," Dolores insisted, "I've seen how much you like Taco Tuesday."
The dark-haired employee gave her a beaming smile. "Thank you so much," she gushed as she stepped in front of the older woman. "I really do love Taco Tuesday, you know. There are so many toppings to chose from! I've been working my way down the list for years and I still haven't had everything that's offered. My favorite so far is the Pico de Gallo. . ." She continued to ramble happily about everything she'd tried so far as Dolores made an effort to listen attentively.
As she did, she took out her coin purse and pulled out a quarter. The Commission accepted all types of currency from different times and places, but Dolores preferred twenty-first century money as a reminder of where she'd come from. She rolled the cent piece between her fingers, feeling the smooth edge of the coin. Hand magic had never been her strong suit which is why she'd stuck with her card tricks but in this instance, it was more conspicuous. She continued to listen to Dot as the woman moved on from Taco toppings to the sides and she tried a few practice flicks of her wrist to vanish the coin from her hand.
The glint of the surface caught the other woman's eye and they widened. "Oh, good thinking! I should probably count out my money beforehand. It's always so much pressure to do it up at the stand, don't you think? All those people just waiting on you to finish counting your coins. Truthfully, I prefer the French Franc to any other coinage. Old money just has such a nice feel to it, you know? I really think—" She trailed off as the coin in the white-haired woman's hands vanished. "How—?" she gasped, "it's gone! You made it disappear! You're— you're Five Hargreeves' wife, right?" She lowered her voice to a whisper, "are you superpowered, too?"
Dolores grinned, having expected the question. "No, I'm completely ordinary. What I do is called slight of hand, or prestidigitation if you're a pompous asshole. I use my own skills to make things disappear and reappear."
"Prestidigitation? I don't think I've ever heard of that," Dot seemed genuinely curious. "Can you make my coin disappear?"
"Sure," she said with a shrug, and took the Franc from her. She practiced the motion again, causing the same reaction from the dark-haired woman.
"Can you do it again?"
Dolores repeated the gesture several more times as the line moved forward. Dot's enthusiasm and surprise was as genuine as the first time she'd done the trick. "I can also do card tricks, too," Dolores told her.
"Card tricks?"
"Yeah, I can do things like guess your card or find it in the deck without knowing where it is. It's a lot easier to show than explain but I've been into this sort of magic since I was a little girl. If I have props I can do other things but card tricks are my area of expertise."
"Could— could I see them some time?"
"Of course," Dolores said with a smile. "I just need a deck of cards which are back in my room. Just let me know when you want me to show you."
The other woman beamed happily. "I'm going to tell everyone that Dolores Hargreeves is a magician!"
✧✧✧
After Five checked his briefcase in to the Briefcase Room, he sighed as he walked towards The Handler's office for debrief. What he really needed was a hot cup of coffee and a warm shower. It seemed like that was all he ran on these days was the dark, bitter liquid. It kept the sleep at bay and the. . . side effects of his job farther from his mind. The lack of sleep helped to make his days longer and allowed for more time to work on his equations. As for the shower, he knew that no amount of hot water could scrub off the blood that now stained his soul. He was practically swimming in an endless river of red that not even the sight of his wife could vanish completely.
Dolores. She deserved so much better than him, than what he had to offer. What woman in their right mind would chose an apocalypse over a normal life? A killer as opposed to a normal man? Someone who only saw her once a fortnight and gave her lukewarm support at best versus a dedicated and loyal husband? He could barely look her in the eye anymore, partly in fear of what he would see when she looked at him and partly for her own good, for he feared he could infect her. The Commission had changed him and not for the better. There were even some days that the voice in his head didn't sound like his at all and those were the ones where he avoided his wife the most.
He knocked on the door and opened it after admittance. He sat in his normal chair across from the white-haired woman, surrounded by various (illegal) historical artefacts. There was nothing unusual about this debrief; the target was secured and hit, everything had gone as planned. The Handler had reached across the expanse of wood several times to rest her hand on his arm or grasp his hand in hers, the final time making him move it to his lap. It was only as they were wrapping things up did anything out of the ordinary happen.
"Now," the woman said, "there is a matter of. . . importance that I'd like to discuss with you."
"I'm all ears," he responded evenly, uncertain of what play she was going to make.
"It. . . has to do with your wife."
Five made a conscious effort not to tense, though his hands grasping the arm rests clenched tightly— an action that did not go unnoticed. "What about her?"
"She has certainly been making some ripples with our employees. I have to admit, I never thought she had it in her. There is talk that she is. . . superpowered—"
"I can assure you that she is not," the man interrupted her firmly. "I've spent more than thirty years with her and I would know if she were hiding something like that from me—" Shut up, idiot, he thought as he snapped his mouth shut. He never rambled, and if he showed too much fear that would put him at a disadvantage.
"Of course she isn't," The Handler agreed rather condescendingly. "She has merely been doing parlor tricks to entertain her simpleton audience, though it seems they are easily impressed. It is often said, after all, that birds of a feather. . ." she trailed off knowingly.
Five's eyes narrowed before he could stop them. He didn't like that she was implying that Dolores was stupid when she wasn't. There was a bigger issue here at stake, though. "I can get her to stop," he offered instead. If she was getting negative attention. . . he didn't even want to think about the resulting consequence.
A cat-like smile spread across the woman's face. "There's no need as long as she continues to make only ripples, not waves."
Five gave a single nod. "Understood."
"Now, I already have your next mission. . ."
✧✧✧
The one good thing The Commission provided— besides its wide variety of food— were its nice living quarters. After so long of living in a broken library it was almost strange to be living somewhere that had four walls let alone the basic necessities. Dolores made sure to take advantage of this and, when she wasn't working, was often found in the shower or cleaning their rooms. For the shower, at least, it seemed like she could never truly wipe away the years of grime that had gotten into every crevice of her skin. Even when she'd turned pink from the scalding heat of the water it still seemed like she could never be clean enough and continued to scrub hard at every pore of her body in an effort to wipe the apocalypse from her body.
As for the cleaning, well, that was her way of coping with the loss of her closest companion. It wasn't like she could talk to anyone, after all, and she certainly didn't want to bother Five with something so inconsequential, so she turned to cleaning. Whenever she worried about him, she cleaned. Whenever she was working through the next part of her plan, she cleaned. Whenever she couldn't stop thinking about her untimely death, she cleaned. It was therapeutic to work her way through the Commission-issued pots and pans, handwashing all of their plates and utensils, polishing the counters until they shone, getting rid of every speck of dust that could exist in their apartments. She'd rather be known for being a neat freak than for someone who couldn't handle their emotions as well as their husband did.
She was in the middle of shining up their refrigerator when she heard the door to their apartment close. Immediately, she dropped the rag she'd been using and rushed towards the sound. It had been months since she'd last seen Five and now she had something worthwhile to bother him about.
"Five!" The man's name slipped from her mouth eagerly as she ran towards him. She threw her arms around his frame and hugged him tightly. As was often the case nowadays, he remained as stiff as a board in her arms but the gentle sigh that escaped his lips was almost as good as a return of the gesture.
Dolores pulled away from him after awhile of non-response, swallowing the sting of hurt. She knew he never wanted to be touched right after missions. She'd known that. "You're back," she said instead, pleased.
The man's eyes flicked around the spotless apartment, seeming to take it in, but truthfully they were avoiding the woman's blue gaze. "You've been busy."
The woman tucked a piece of flyaway hair behind her ear. "Uh, yeah. Cleaning's about the only hobby—"
"Not that," he interrupted her flatly, "you've been practicing magic again."
"Oh. Oh, yeah. I have," she risked a tentative smile. "People really seem to like it, y'know?"
"I want you to stop."
"I'm sorry?"
"You shouldn't practice magic anymore," he repeated. He kept his eyes on a point somewhere over her shoulder. "The Handler, she's noticed. I thought you wanted to fly under the radar."
"Well— well I did, but then I came up with this plan where—"
"No one asked you to come up with a plan," he cut across her, "I'm handling it. I've been working on the equations and I've almost figured it out."
"But I can help," Dolores started, and she reached towards him. She stopped when he dodged her and took several steps back.
"Just— just lay low, okay? I can't afford to worry about you while I'm on the job. Just keep your head down and everyone will forget, in time," he told her. The man's voice sounded hollow and distant and Dolores knew that wherever her Five went, he was slipping away again. "I'm going to take a shower, we can talk about this later," he finished.
Dolores' hands balled into fists, her anger rising to the surface so suddenly that she couldn't stop it from spilling out as she crossed the room in several long strides and barred the way to the bathroom. "No, we won't," she snapped, "because after you take your shower, you'll go down to the cafeteria and have your coffee. You'll stay there until I fall asleep— or try to, at least. Then you'll come back up here and work on your equations. The only time you ever talk to me now is when you first get back and you always say we'll talk later, but we don't!"
Five seemed unfazed by her sudden outburst and took a step forward. "Get out of the way, Dolores," he said firmly, using her full name. "I really don't have the patience for this right now."
"Well, bully for you, then! All I've been is patient. I've waited for you to tell me what's going on. I've waited for you to answer after I ask if you're okay— which I know you're not. I've waited for you to come back. I've tried to help you but you just won't let me!"
"I don't need help," he told her firmly, "I'm dealing with it, I've told you. Now let me by."
"No," the woman responded in the same tone.
The man's eyes narrowed. "Let me by, Dolores."
She raised her chin and tried to look him in the eye but his quickly flicked away again. "Would it kill you to let someone care about you?" she asked plainly, "you don't have to handle everything yourself. It's been a year and this is the longest conversation we've had, though I'd hardly call it that."
He took another step forward, his expression impatient and the woman scoffed. "What are you gonna do? I'm not gonna move." There was a bright flash of light and the man reappeared in the hallway. "Dammit, Five!"
She rolled her eyes, undeterred as she followed him to their 'shared' room. "If you think you getting undressed is gonna stop me from talking to you, well too bad. It's nothing I haven't seen before." She followed him back out once he'd gathered his clothes. "We are going to talk about this. I'm tired of you shutting me out, Five!"
The man paused at the door to the bathroom and turned, finally, finally meeting her eyes with a look so full of regret it took her breath away. "Do you think I like shutting you out, Dolly?" he asked, his quiet voice almost worse than his firm one. "I wouldn't do it unless I had a very good reason. And— and I'm just asking you to trust me on this, okay?" Almost as quickly as they'd met her gaze, his eyes moved away.
A part of her wanted to be petty and respond I don't know if I can in an effort to snap him out of it. It was an answer that would do more harm than good, though, and she swallowed the response back. "I— I do, but—" The rest of her reply was cut off by Five shutting the bathroom door in her face.
The woman closed her eyes and sighed as she pressed her palm against the expanse of wood. She rested her forehead against the smooth surface. On the other side, Five had dropped the bundle of clothes and mirrored her. She trusted him even when he could barely trust himself. Quietly, the man murmured: "I love you."
He needn't have worried about being heard, though.
Dolores was already gone.
✧✧✧
The next time she saw him was several months later.
Despite her irritation with his. . . demand, the woman had kept her magic tricks to herself and made up excuses when people asked her about them. She'd gotten what she needed, after all, and she didn't need to do them anymore even if talking to people had been her sort of super power. Instead, she spent her time trying to figure out how to break through the walls Five had built around himself. They were even stronger than when they'd landed in the apocalypse.
It had been a rough night last night as the compressing feeling darkness brought had been heavier than usual and she'd been in a fog all day. Now she sat on the stool in the kitchen, half-bent as she tried to let the coolness of the stone clear her head as her thoughts swirled. Five's face was most prominent among them and she could see the expression he'd worn after the very first mission all too well. He'd flinched each time she'd touched him, no matter how many times she told him she loved him. He'd only withdrawn from her further after that and her heart ached for the boy— the man— she'd grown to love. A part of her couldn't believe she missed his pompous assholery but anything was better than this.
She was so deep in thought that she missed the sound of the door opening and the man dropping his non-time-travelling briefcase on the floor next to the door. She didn't even hear the sound of his footsteps or how they stilled at the sight of her bent over the kitchen counter until the man asked, "Dolly?"
She lifted her head and blinked several times. "Fives?"
He walked over to her slowly and placed a careful, light hand on her back. "Are— are you okay?" There was an obvious note of worry in his voice. "Is— is it your time of the month?"
"What?"
"You know. . ." he trailed off and gestured downward.
"Oh, uh, no. Just— nothing," she finished, unwilling to tell him about the recent up crop of nightmares.
His eyes narrowed and then he frowned. "Are— are you crying?"
"What?" she exclaimed. She hastily brought a hand to her face and startled slightly as she realized it was wet. She quickly wiped away the tears. "No, no, of course not. I— um, just cleaned the counter and it was a bit wet so I guess it hadn't dried yet. Oops." She tried to laugh it off but the sound was hollow and unconvincing even in her ears.
She glanced up at him and saw his white eyebrows furrow in concern and the sharp, green eyes that never missed anything flick over her face. "You can tell me if something's wrong. "You know that, right?"
"Just like you'd tell me if something was wrong?" she asked bitterly.
"Dolly—"
"Don't 'Dolly' me, Five. I'm honestly not in the mood for it," Dolores said flatly.
He slumped slightly, though she didn't see it. "Right. I'll— I'll go take a shower then."
He moved off, down the hall. Dolores turned slightly to watch him go when a dawning sense of terror over took her. She wasn't sure what it was— what had caused it— but something, something told her that if she didn't go after him right now, they'd never, never— she'd—. The woman stumbled out of her chair, knocking it down in her haste as she scrambled after him. "Five! Five, wait!" she cried frantically as she ran down the hall.
The man paused in the doorway and turned to give her a worried look. "Do—" he started, but he didn't get to finish.
The woman grasped the lapels of his jacket and yanked him towards her so she could slam her lips to his. He startled, understandably, and all but forced himself not to kiss her back. She didn't care and continued to move her lips against his. Her grip tightened in the fabric until she felt his hands come to rest gently on her waist as he tugged her closer to him. It was then that he began to respond, kissing her back far more tentatively until his force of will caved to his desire for her. He guided her back towards the bed but she pulled away— though not completely— before they could get there.
"Don't you get it, you stupid, stupid man?" she asked breathlessly. "I love you. Nothing— nothing — can ever change that. You could be the one to end the world and I'd still love you. I don't care what you do because— because you're— you're my Five, and when I said ''till death do us part,' I meant it."
"I meant it, too," Five answered softly, "and I would never want you to think I didn't. I just— you deserve better than me, Dolly. Only an incredibly stupid person would want to chose me over a better man."
"Well, than I must be incredibly stupid," Dolores replied firmly, "because in my opinion, no one can even hold a candle to you."
He closed his eyes, unwilling to see how strongly she believed what she said, "I'm not good, Dolly. I've— I've killed more people than I can count. Some days the voice in my head doesn't sound like me at all—"
"Bullshit." The word made him open his eyes again and he saw the ferocity in her deep blue eyes. "Five, there are no bad or good people in this world, just people minding their business and going about their lives. This—" she gestured around the room to indicate The Commission. "It's what we have to do to save the world. And you are you. No one, not even this terrible place, can take that away."
✧✧✧
"Why did you do it, Dolly?" Five asked later as they lay in bed together.
"Do what?" the woman murmured sleepily as she curled her arms around his waist.
"The magic tricks. Getting attention went completely against your plan of lying low," he reminded her as he ran his fingers through her soft white hair. She sighed, her breath a gentle exhale against his chest.
"I wanted to be special," she admitted quietly.
He frowned. "But you are special."
"Not like you. You've got superpowers and you're a certified genius. Everybody's impressed with you even if they've never even met you. I've got no superpowers and, well, I'm not stupid, but I'm not. . . I'm not like you. Dot didn't even know for sure if we were married. It's stupid, I know. I shouldn't even be worried about what everyone here thinks of me, but I just— I just wanted to be able to measure up," she finished. It was the least of all her problems and it sounded incredibly cringe-y when she said it out loud, but it was better than telling him the full truth: she'd failed.
"Oh, Dolly," the man murmured, "you already do measure up. You've survived an apocalypse for heaven's sake. If that's not enough, you've put up with me for thirty years. I'd say that's an accomplishment in and of itself—"
"But I wanted to be known for something, like you are," she paused, realizing what she said, "not— not like that, but for the good things. People respect you."
"They fear me," he corrected her.
"'It is better to be feared than loved,'" she quoted, causing him to smile reluctantly.
"Machiavelli? Really?"
"I thought it was fitting," she said with a shrug. "And you, Five Hargreeves, are lucky to be both." She propped herself up to press a kiss to his lips.