—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

"Harold Jenkins?" Allison repeated, reading the name from the paper while the rest of the family crowded around to examine it. Confusion and tension filled the room.

"Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?" Diego asked, his tone sharp and suspicious.

Five, as calm and unfazed as ever, chugged the last of Allison's coffee and carelessly tossed the cup behind him. "We don't know... yet," he said curtly, his eyes scanning the group. "But what we do know is that he's responsible for the apocalypse."

While the others digested this information, I felt my internal systems flare to life. A faint vibration rippled through my core, an alert. An unregistered presence was detected. The family's focus remained on Five, but my processors were already hard at work. We were all accounted for—myself, Five, Klaus, Diego, Luther, and Allison—all gathered in the main room.

So who else was here?

I tilted my head slightly, my auditory sensors isolating a sound. Faint creaks. Soft, deliberate footsteps. Movement from the second floor. My sensors locked in on the source, calculating the weight and pace of the steps. Human.

Without a word, I stepped back from the group. They didn't notice as I slipped away, my exit silent and precise. I ascended the staircase, each step measured. The sounds grew clearer—faint shuffling, the subtle rustle of fabric. As I turned the corner, I pressed my back against the wall, pausing to listen.

There it was. Breathing. Shallow, steady, and human.

I stepped forward, peeking around the corner. Standing there, hunched over and preoccupied with something in his hands, was Leonard Peabody.

His back was to me, and he was so engrossed in whatever he was holding that he didn't sense my approach. I analyzed his posture, his movements. Whatever he was doing, it was deliberate.

"Hello, Leonard," I said, my voice flat and devoid of emotion.

He startled violently, spinning around to face me. His hands moved quickly, hiding whatever he was holding behind his back. His face broke into a sheepish grin, but his laugh was nervous and hollow. "Jesus! Wow, you really know how to make someone jump, Y/N," he said, his tone overly casual.

I didn't react. I simply stared at him, my expression unreadable. "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice sharp and measured.

Leonard glanced around, his eyes darting like a cornered animal. "What am I doing here? I could ask you the same thing," he said, laughing awkwardly. "You gave me a fright."

I didn't respond to his attempt at deflection. "Where's Vanya?" I asked, cutting straight to the point.

"Vanya? Oh, yeah. She's just waiting for me out front," Leonard said quickly. His words tumbled out in a rushed string, his voice slightly too high. "I just... forgot my jacket. Left it here earlier." He held up a jacket, waving it like a white flag of innocence.

I narrowed my eyes, scanning him. Every movement, every microexpression was logged and analyzed. "Interesting," I said, my tone as neutral as my expression.

Leonard shifted under my gaze, his discomfort evident. His eyes flicked to my exposed arm, where wires protruded from the gash left by my creators. "Ouch. That looks... rough," he said, gesturing toward it. "What happened? How'd you get that?"

I glanced down at the exposed wires, then back at him. "A failed incident," I replied. "Nothing I can't manage."

Leonard tilted his head, his smile returning but not reaching his eyes. "You know, I know a thing or two about fixing wires. Why don't you let me take a look?" he said, stepping closer and reaching for my arm.

Before he could touch me, I caught his wrist in a firm grip. My fingers tightened just enough to make him wince. Our eyes met, his filled with surprise and something else—something darker, like the thrill of being caught.

"Nothing I can't manage," I repeated, my tone sharper this time.

Leonard chuckled nervously, pulling his hand back. "Right," he said, rubbing his wrist. His eyes darted to mine, his grin now more calculated than genuine. "You're sharp, Y/N. Always watching, always calculating. I guess it's what you were built for, huh?"

I tilted my head slightly, my gaze never leaving his. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Leonard?" I asked, my tone edged with quiet suspicion. "A drink? A way out the door?"

His grin faltered for a moment before he forced it back into place. "No, no. That won't be necessary. I'll just... grab my jacket and head out."

I didn't move. "The jacket in your hand?" I pointed out, my tone as dry as ever.

Leonard froze, then looked down at the jacket he was holding. He laughed, shaking his head. "Right. Guess I'm more distracted than I thought."

He stepped past me, heading toward the stairs. But as he moved to my side, he paused. Leaning in slightly, his voice dropped to a near whisper. "Hope you get that arm fixed," he said softly, his tone laced with something I couldn't quite place.

I turned my head slightly, my eyes locking onto his. He lingered for a moment longer, his grin now unsettlingly smug, before he winked and continued down the stairs.

I watched him until he disappeared out the front door. My sensors tracked his movements until he was out of range. Only then did I allow myself to process the interaction.

Leonard Peabody. His behavior didn't align with the data I had on him. Something about him was off, his presence here too coincidental. And that grin—there was something behind it, something calculated.

As I stood there, replaying every moment in my mind, one thing became clear: Leonard Peabody was hiding something.

I turned my head at the sound of their voices echoing from downstairs. The family was still caught up in the discussion about Harold Jenkins, their tones a mix of confusion and skepticism. Deciding to rejoin them, I descended the stairs quietly, my steps deliberate, and made my way to where they stood, forming a loose circle of uncertainty. I moved to Five's side, positioning myself as a silent observer at first, though my presence quickly drew Diego's attention.

"I'm sorry, am I the only one here being skeptical?" Allison asked, crossing her arms. "I mean, how exactly do you know this Harold Jenkins is behind all of this?"

Five sighed, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Harold Jenkins. Do you remember those lunatics in masks who attacked the house?"

"Oh, yeah, I think I remember those guys," Klaus said, raising a hand lazily.

Diego's jaw tightened, and he shot a glare at Five. "You mean the same lunatics who almost killed Y/n while you were getting drunk."

Five ignored the jab and pressed on. "Yes, them. They were sent by the Temps Commission to stop us from coming back and preventing the end of the world."

"The Temps what?" Allison asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

"The Temps Commission," I said, my voice calm and mechanical as I explained. "Five's former employer. My designer. They control the balance of time and space, ensuring that events unfold as they are meant to."

Allison blinked in disbelief, and I could see the skepticism spreading across her face.

"And they believe the apocalypse is coming in three days," Five continued, his voice sharp. "We went to the Commission headquarters and intercepted a message that was meant for those lunatics. It said, 'Protect Harold Jenkins.' That's how we know."

The room fell into a tense silence for a moment before everyone started speaking at once, their voices overlapping in a chaotic blend of questions.

"What do you mean, they control time and space?" Allison asked, incredulous.

"Where is Hazel now?" Diego demanded, looking directly at me.

"Do you have any idea how insane this sounds?" Allison added, her voice tinged with frustration.

"You know what else is insane?" Five said, cutting through their voices with a sharp tone. "I look like a 13-year-old boy, Klaus talks to the dead, and Luther thinks he's fooling everyone with that overcoat." He gestured at Klaus, then Luther, who glared back but said nothing.

"And maybe also that Y/n's arm looks like it's been through a war zone," Klaus quipped.

Five's head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing as he finally noticed the state of my arm. The loose wires sparked faintly, and the exposed inner mechanisms hummed softly. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, his frustration briefly directed at the obvious damage. Without hesitation, he quickly moved toward me, his hand grabbing the blazer off his own shoulders.

He stepped closer, pulling the blazer around me. The fabric brushed against my skin, and he slid the jacket over my shoulders as if it was a natural, almost instinctual act. "This will cover it," he muttered, smoothing it over me as if it were some small, irrelevant thing—except it wasn't. The weight of his actions, the sudden care, the expectation.

As the fabric settled, I felt the subtle shift, the understanding between us, like he was marking me with something far beyond the jacket. It wasn't just about hiding the damage; it was about symbolizing something. And I could feel his focus on me, as if every movement held a hint of what had passed between us. I said nothing, but I knew he was aware of the weight of the moment, even if he chose not to voice it.

"Everything about us is insane," he continued, his tone unwavering, his eyes scanning the room. "It always has been."

Klaus nodded, leaning into his usual nonchalance. "He's got a point there."

"We didn't choose this life; we're just living it," Five said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. He glanced at me, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, we locked eyes. There was something in his gaze, but before I could fully register it, Allison's voice broke the silence.

"But last time we tried to stop it, we all died," she said, her frustration bubbling over. "Why is this time any different? Why shouldn't I just go home to my daughter?"

Five turned to face her, his tone steady but laced with urgency. "Because this time, I'm here. We have the name of the man responsible. Guys, we actually have a chance to save billions of lives—including Claire."

Allison's eyes softened, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. "You know her name?" she asked quietly.

"I do," Five replied, his voice gentler now. "And I'd like to live long enough to meet her."

That was all it took. Allison's resolve hardened, and she nodded. "All right. Let's get this bastard."

"You had me at Gerald Jenkins," Diego quipped, stepping forward.

"Harold Jenkins," I corrected flatly, my tone cutting through his casual dismissal.

"Whatever. I've already lost two people this week. I'm not losing anyone else," Diego said, his voice gruff as he joined us, determination etched on his face. He turned to Luther. "And what about you?"

Luther hesitated, his gaze darting between us. "Yeah, you go. I'm gonna stay here and go through Dad's files. I still think this has something to do with why he sent me to the moon."

Diego threw up his hands in disbelief. "Seriously? Now you want to make the end of the world about you and Dad?"

"It's not about me," Luther said defensively. "It's just—'Watch for threats.' That's what he told me. You think that's a coincidence? This all has to be connected somehow."

Diego sighed, clearly annoyed but not willing to waste more time arguing. "Fine. Let's roll. I know where we can find this asshole. Klaus, Y/n, you're with me."

Klaus, lounging in his chair, perked up momentarily before immediately deflating. "Yeah... not happening," he said, waving a hand dismissively as he got up. "I-I'm good. I think I'll, uh... pass. Feeling a little under the weather, so..." He trailed off awkwardly, shuffling out of the room with no intention of sticking around.

Five groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Useless," he muttered under his breath.

Without further delay, Diego, Allison, Five, and I headed out of the Academy. Diego climbed into the driver's seat, Allison took the passenger side, and Five and I slid into the back. I climbed in easily, but as I glanced over at Five, I noticed something peculiar. His movement was slightly stiff, and as he settled into the seat, he let out a soft sigh of pain, his hand briefly brushing against his stomach.

My sensors picking up on the faint strain in his breathing and the way his body tensed.
I didn't press him further, but my gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. Something wasn't adding up. Still, I said nothing as Diego started the car and drove off, the low hum of the engine filling the silence.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

We stopped a few feet from the police station. I scanned the area, observing the faint chatter of officers standing outside. Some held leashes, their police dogs pacing restlessly, while others gestured as they exchanged small talk. Every movement and sound registered in my system—a blend of fragmented voices, the dogs' soft barks, and the rhythmic clinking of equipment on the officers' belts.

"I know this Jenkins dude has to have a record. We gotta get our hands on his file," Diego said from the driver's seat.

"And your plan is to what? Waltz in there and just ask for it?" Allison asked, skepticism lacing her tone.

Diego smirked. "I know the station like the back of my hand, sis. I've spent a lot of time inside."

"Handcuffed," Allison quipped, barely masking her amusement.

"Whatever," Diego grumbled. "Here's the plan—"

"Plan? I'll just blink in and grab the file," Five interrupted sharply, his impatience evident.

"No, that's not—" Diego began, but I interjected smoothly. "Perhaps I could hack into their computer systems and bypass security. I could retrieve the information remotely without detection."

Diego scoffed, but before he could dismiss me, Allison spoke up. "That's actually not a bad idea."

"No. You don't know the ins and outs of this place, okay?" Diego argued, his voice rising defensively.

"We literally just did this yesterday," Five replied, his tone flat.

"What?" Diego asked, confused.

"Our yesterday, not your yesterday," Five clarified, his voice clipped and exasperated. "It'll take me two seconds."

Diego's frustration peaked. "Listen to me. You're both not going in there. I made a call. That's what a leader does—he leads. I'll be back," he said firmly, exiting the car and slamming the door behind him. He disappeared toward the back of the station without a backward glance.

Allison sighed, her eyes briefly meeting mine. "I'll be back. I need to make a call," she said. I nodded, acknowledging her decision. She stepped out of the car, heading toward a nearby payphone. I observed her movements, noting the deliberate pace as she inserted a coin and lifted the receiver.

The car grew silent, save for the faint hum of the engine and the ambient noise outside. I leaned back against the seat, my sensors still active. The quiet brought new data to the forefront—Five's elevated heart rate. My systems registered the steady rise in his blood pressure, accompanied by subtle irregularities in his breathing. His inhales and exhales, though controlled, were slightly louder than they should have been.

Scanning Subject: FIVE HARGREEVES
Status: Active
Condition: Elevated Stress Levels Detected

--------------------------------------------------
- Heart Rate: 112 BPM (Normal range: 60-100 BPM)
- Blood Pressure: 145/92 mmHg (Elevated, borderline hypertension)
- Respiratory Rate: 22 breaths/min (Normal range: 12-20 breaths/min)
- Cortisol Levels: HIGH (Stress hormone spike detected)
- Body Temperature: 98.9°F (Normal)

I tilted my head slightly, observing him through my peripheral vision. "Your vitals indicate distress," I said, my voice neutral.

I'm fine, Y/n," Five muttered through gritted teeth. His voice carried a familiar edge of irritation, but there was no masking the strain in it. He shifted in the car seat, his body stiff and controlled, though every movement seemed to draw a sharp intake of breath.

I tilted my head, my scanners analyzing him in real time. Heart rate: elevated. Blood pressure: unstable. Respiratory rate: shallow. Statement: false. "I have been your provider for 47 years, Five. Your words cannot bypass my systems. You are injured."

"It's not a big deal," he snapped, his gaze darting to me. His hand pressed tighter against his abdomen, as if he could will me not to notice the blood seeping through his uniform.

Without hesitation, I leaned forward and moved to pull aside his blazer. He tensed, but not quickly enough to stop me from revealing the blood-soaked fabric beneath. The wound was deep—raw and jagged, likely from shrapnel. My systems flared red with alert signals. "The explosion from the Commission hit you. I must apply pressure immediately," I stated, already reaching to remove the blazer draped over my shoulders.

Five's hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. "No," he barked, his voice sharp, almost panicked. "Keep it on."

"You moving will accelerate the blood loss," I countered, trying to pull my arm free. "Remain still, Five, and I will stop the bleeding."

His grip tightened. "I said no," he hissed, his tone laced with impatience. "Your arm—your wires—are exposed. Your system is vulnerable. You can't risk interference."

"My health is irrelevant," I replied evenly, staring into his pain-hardened eyes. "Your survival is my priority."

Five groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "Jesus Christ, Y/n," he muttered under his breath, his voice fraying with exhaustion. "For once—just once—take care of yourself first."

I faltered, processing his words. The command conflicted with my core protocols, yet I continued to pull the blazer off my shoulders. "That is unnecessary," I repeated, though a flicker of something in his tone gave me pause.

Before I could react further, his hand moved to my face, his fingers gripping firmly but not harshly. He forced me to look at him, his gaze sharp and unyielding despite the blood draining from his face.

"Y/n," he said, his voice low, steady, and commanding. "I'm your user. You have to listen to me." His eyes narrowed, his grip tightening slightly as if willing me to absorb the weight of his words. "I'm ordering you to stop. Forget about me being hurt. Forget it. Don't fix it. Don't even think about it. Just—forget it."

Command Input: Override User

Prioritization Protocol
Origin: Subject No. Five

Command: Disregard all data regarding Subject Five's injuries.
———
Override Confirmed. Rewriting active memory...

Memory Log Update: Subject Five's injury data... DELETED.

My systems recalibrated as the override command finalized. My eyes flickered momentarily, the glow shifting to a different hue before stabilizing. Slowly, I leaned back, releasing my hold on his blazer. The urgency that had driven my actions dissipated, leaving only silence.

The blazer remained securely draped over my shoulders.

"I understand," I said softly, my voice devoid of its earlier tension. My gaze lingered on him for a moment, then shifted away as if his injuries were no longer relevant.

Five let out a slow, uneven breath, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as the tension ebbed. His hands dropped from my face, though they trembled faintly.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ THIRD PERSON POV ༺

As Y/n's gaze shifted back to the world beyond the car window, her posture calm and unshaken, Five's eyes lingered on her. She didn't notice the way his expression darkened, the subtle clench of his jaw betraying emotions he rarely let surface. He hated what he'd just done. The command he'd issued wasn't just an order; it was a betrayal of the trust she'd built into her very being. And yet, in the twisted logic of survival, it had felt necessary.

But that didn't make it any easier to bear.

She was focused, her scanners likely cataloging the officers outside, the sound of their voices, the shuffle of feet on the pavement. To anyone else, she seemed unbothered, as if Five's injury no longer mattered. Her calm precision, her ability to adapt, to move forward without hesitation—it was what made her unlike anyone else. But Five knew better. He knew the kind of person—no, the kind of being—she truly was beneath the code and circuits.

She wanted to help him. She always did.

His chest tightened as he thought about how her creators had once tried to turn her into something monstrous. A machine of war. A mindless enforcer. He'd seen the remnants of what they'd tried to mold her into—the ruthless efficiency, the deadly precision—and he knew just how close they had come to succeeding.

But then she'd made her choice. She killed them. She dismantled the very people who had sought to control her, because they'd tried to take him away from her.

Five knew, deep down, that she didn't just view him as a "user." He wasn't a line of code, a command to follow, or a mission to complete. He was her constant, her anchor. And he would be lying if he said the feeling wasn't mutual. That's why the sight of her exposed wires, the sparks that had flickered earlier, had sent a cold wave of panic through him.

He couldn't let her fall apart. Not for him.

So he had done the one thing he hated more than anything: he'd forced her hand. He'd stripped her of her autonomy in that moment, rewiring her priorities with a single command. The memory of her quiet compliance—the way her eyes had flickered as his order rewrote her programming—left a bitter taste in his mouth.

She didn't deserve that.

And yet, what other choice did he have? He couldn't let her risk herself for him, not when her exposed systems made her vulnerable. If anything happened to her...

Five swallowed hard and leaned his head back against the window, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment. He hated how much he cared. How deeply he felt the need to protect her, even when it meant breaking her trust.

But his mind circled back to the truth he couldn't ignore: Y/n had saved him once, without hesitation, when her creators had tried to erase him from her life. He would do the same for her, even if it meant putting her first in ways she might never understand.

As he opened his eyes again, his gaze flickered to her once more. She sat in perfect stillness, her expression neutral, her focus elsewhere. She didn't know he was looking. Didn't know the storm of emotions he was holding back.

She didn't know how much he hated himself for what he'd just done.

And yet, despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Because keeping her safe—keeping her here—was all that mattered.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

A sharp knock on the car window snapped me out of my scanning, and I turned my head just as Five did. Standing on the other side was Diego, holding up a blue folder, a smug expression on his face. He gave us a curt nod, signaling us to get out of the car. Without a word, Five opened his door, and I followed suit, stepping out into the brisk air. Diego was already making his way toward Allison, who was ending her call by the phone booth.

Five and I exchanged a brief glance before trailing behind him. My processors hummed faintly as I cataloged the tension in the air. Diego's heartbeat was steady but elevated—pride, likely. Allison's was quicker, laced with anticipation. Five's... steady, but his steps carried that familiar impatience, his movements sharp and deliberate.

"So?" Five asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Diego smirked, holding the folder out like it was a trophy. "You're welcome."

Allison didn't hesitate. She snatched it out of his hands and flipped it open, her eyes scanning the contents. Her expression shifted almost instantly—wide eyes, a subtle intake of breath. Shock.

"Holy shit," she muttered.

"What?" Diego asked, stepping closer, his earlier pride morphing into curiosity.

Allison didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned the folder toward us, revealing the photograph and the name printed boldly beneath it.

"Harold Jenkins is Leonard Peabody," she said, her voice low but heavy.

Time seemed to slow as my eyes locked onto the photograph. The grainy image stared back at me—a face I recognized too well, now paired with a name I hadn't heard before today. Leonard Peabody. Vanya's boyfriend.

"Son of a bitch," Diego muttered, peering over Allison's shoulder to get a better look.

My gaze lingered on the photo. The faint lines of his face, the way his eyes seemed to hold something just beneath the surface—something I should've noticed before. My processors whirred quietly, replaying every interaction I'd had with Leonard. The way he'd smiled at me at the Academy. The way his gaze lingered just a second too long, as though he were studying me.

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