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❛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘ. ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇʀ ᴇғғᴇᴄᴛ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐒𝐈𝐗 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ɪ ᴡᴀs ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ
ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴀʟғ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ ꒱


❝ THEN I COULDN'T LOVE BUT
NOW I CAN / YOU PICK ME UP
WHEN I'M FEELING SAD / MORE
SOUL THAN I'VE EVER HAD ❞

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[ the first year ]

Five prided himself on being the best at as many things as possible. He knew that he was a genius and he had the desire to use his potential for greatness— a potent combination that had lead to both tragedy and success in his long life. He could outsmart even the most highly accolated professors at their own game. He was hard pressed to lose a fight, especially when his powers were in use. His paranoia, passion and dedication had helped him shoot to the top of his career at the Commission. There were very few things he'd openly admit to being unable to do; he knew he could learn anything given enough time. The one obstacle he hadn't expected to need to overcome? Living a normal life.

Everything he'd ever done had been based on survival: surviving his father, the academy, the apocalypse, a time travelling organization, another apocalypse (times two.) He'd never had an opportunity to just. . . settle down. Like with most things, that was something he needed to learn how to do and it was proving to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. Sure, he knew it wouldn't be all smooth sailing, but had had thought that maybe it mostly would be now that he and Alexa could actually be together in a way they'd never gotten to be even before he'd time travelled. Unfortunately, this hypothesis was not proving to be as correct as he'd hoped.

Now that he wasn't constantly on the run, watching his back, having plan after plan spinning in his mind, he could finally decompress. It was giving him an opportunity to sort through forty-five-plus years of trauma that he'd expertly boxed up and compartmentalized. Five had done his best to ignore the cropping up memories of his past lives but he couldn't be in control every second of the day— particularly when he was sleeping.

In the first few weeks in this new timeline, their sleeping arrangements hadn't been great. He'd refused to sleep outside, mostly for Alexa's safety— he wouldn't have minded either way. By the time she'd gotten them a job at the library, they had decided to camp out there after hours, out of sight of the security footage. He still hadn't felt as safe as he'd have liked them to be so he had kept watch until Alexa noticed the bags under his eyes and forced him to sleep.

The first night he'd gotten a full night's rest, not a single dream disturbed him as exhausted as he was. During the consecutive evenings, he wasn't so lucky. Flashes of the apocalypses he'd survived would appear in his dreams: wasted landscape, the fires that had burned for months, the crushing loneliness, the smell of rotting corpses, the cries of the parents whose children he'd murdered. . . the list went on.

He would startle awake from his nightmares, gasping for breath on ash that was not there. A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin, causing his hair to stick to his forehead. He'd struggle to get his breathing under control, quietly, so as to not wake his girlfriend as she slept next to him. Then he would lay back down and pull her into his arms, press his nose into her hair and reassure himself of her heart beating steadily under his palm.

Five would lie there, feeling the comforting warmth of her body pressing against his. To keep his mind on the present, he thought about their current situation: how Alexa deserved so much more than being homeless. She had chosen to stick with him when she could've very well went off on her own; she probably would've flourished a lot faster if he wasn't weighing her down with his lack of experience with 'real life.' The guilt would always twist his stomach as he thought about all the times she'd protected him but now that it was time to pay her back, he was falling horribly short.

"I'll figure something out," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as she slept. "I promise I'll make this right. You deserve better than this. You deserve better than. . ." His throat closed on the final word, unable to choke out the truth: me.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

[ the second year ]

The first time Alexa experienced one of Five's flashbacks had been terrifying, though she'd been more scared for him than anything else. She hadn't known what to do and it had taken a while to figure out the right combination of reassuring touches and words to bring him back. After that, she'd discreetly read about the best ways to help him. There were a few times when his nightmares got bad enough that they jerked her awake from a dead sleep; in the morning, Five never remembered the disturbance so she kept those instances to herself, not wanting to embarrass or unsettle him.

There were some times, however, that they came up suddenly, even if it was the middle of the day. It could be triggered by an obscure reminder whose connection to his past wouldn't occur to Five until it was upon him. Even something as simple and benign as walking through a park on a snowy day with his girlfriend could send him spiraling.

"I could really use some hot chocolate," Alexa remarked, her breath puffing out in a cloud from the cold temperature. Although she wore gloves, she rubbed her hands together to ward off the chill.

The brunet sighed. "You couldn't have thought of that before we started our walk?"

"I didn't know how cold it would be then!" she insisted. "I saw a stand at the entrance and now I just keep thinking about it. You can stay here while I go get some. Want one?"

"I'll take a coffee if they have it," he allowed begrudgingly. He couldn't help but add: "if I only I could still blink. . ."

She pressed her chilled lips to his cheek comfortingly. "We haven't gone far; I'll be right back."

With that, Alexa half-jogged, half-fast-walked back the way they came. Overall, Five did enjoy being alone when it was his choice, unlike how it had been forced upon him when he was younger. He didn't mind the brief absence of her company and took in the quiet stillness of the woods. The trees were stark and bare, their branches reaching up to a gray sky. Fallen snow muffled his footsteps. The crisp air burned his lungs slightly and maybe that should have been the first sign of trouble.

Then, snow started to fall. He tried to tell himself that this was a perfectly natural phenomenon and was nothing to freak out about, but the now-oppressive silence and untouched snow ahead of him said otherwise. Fluffy white flakes that promised an afternoon of fun were replaced by the acrid tang of smoke as it turned to ash. It was falling from the sky weightlessly, covering his clothes, hair, his exposed skin. The dark bits of cinder swept around his face and landed on his eyelashes.

Five froze, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. His pulse quickened and he could feel the familiar tightening of his chest as his mind slipped deeper into the memory. Buildings in the distance, once just shadows against the winter sky, now morphed into shattered ruins. Every detail sharpened and he could almost hear the crackling fires that hadn't stopped burning for months.

He wanted to move, to remind himself that this wasn't real, that he wasn't back in that hellish wasteland, but his body wouldn't respond. His hands twitched slightly, his jaw clenched. He could still taste the ash on his tongue, gritty and bitter, as though he were back there again. Alone.

The familiar panic started to grip him. His thoughts scrambled, disjointed, jumping from one fragmented memory to another. He staggered back, trying to ground himself, but his breath came in sharp, shallow gasps. He could see the familiar skeletal remains of the world, the endless stretch of ruins that had been his only company for years.

--

"Five?" Alexa's voice was soft, cautious, as she came closer. She had been gone only minutes but could already tell something was wrong. The shift in his posture, the haunted look in his eyes— it was all too familiar now. She stepped around him slowly, careful not to startle him. Still, Five flinched as she gently touched his arm. "It's okay," she said, her voice steady but soothing. "I'm here. You're safe. It's just snow— just snow, Five."

His breathing was still uneven, his fists clenched as though bracing for some invisible enemy. His eyes remained wide, unblinking and distant. Alexa swallowed the lump in her throat as she moved closer. Setting the drinks on the ground, she came over to wrap her arms around him from behind, pressing her body gently against his back.

"Hey," she whispered, straining to be tall enough to rest her cheek against his shoulder. "You're not there anymore. It's over. It's just us. I'm right here with you."

She felt his trembling, could hear the shallow, frantic breaths as he tried to pull himself free of the memory. Her fingers traced slow circles on his chest, a grounding technique she had read about. "Breathe with me," she whispered. "In, out. Nice and slow."

The blonde's voice was a distant hum in Five's ears at first but gradually it grew louder, clearer. The warmth of her body against his, her calm presence, and her steady breathing helped anchor him. After a few moments, his breathing began to match hers, slower and more controlled. The smell of ash faded, replaced by the crispness of the winter air again. The heavy weight of the memory started to lift and the cold woods returned. Alexa's hold on him tightened as she felt him begin to relax.

He exhaled shakily, the tension finally releasing from his shoulders. "Lexa. . ." His voice was raspy, the word barely audible.

"I'm here," she repeated softly, her arms still around him. "You're okay."

Five blinked a few times, his vision finally clearing. He looked down at her hands, her touch pulling him fully back into the moment. For a long beat, he just stood there, leaning into her warmth, letting the calmness of the present take over. He turned in her arms, burying his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent— something real, something safe. She ran her fingers through his hair, soothing the last remnants of fear.

As he came around, he eventually pulled away and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, muttering harshly, "goddamn it. This wasn't supposed to happen anymore. Now that we're done with all the world-saving shit it was supposed to just go away—"

The blonde lightly tugged his hands away, clasping them with her own. Her eyes were soft with concern, her heart aching for the man she loved. Quietly, she reminded him, "that's not how it works, Fi. You can't just keep bottling things up and expect it to be fixed."

"It worked well enough for five decades," he grumbled, though he didn't take his hands out of her grasp.

"Did it?" she countered gently. "With how it's cropping up now—"

"I'm not going to see a therapist," Five snapped, sounding suddenly fierce. He was holding himself stiffly again, his posture tense as he brought up one of their few points of contention.

Knowing that now wasn't the time to argue about it, Alexa squeezed his hands reassuringly. "I know, I know. I just. . . I wish I knew how to help you more."

His expression softened at her acquiescence. "You're all I need, Lexa."

That's not how it works, she wanted to reiterate, but doing so would only prolong their disagreement. She saved the reproach for another day and instead smiled warmly at him. "Well, it's a good thing I need you too, then."

Although it felt like there was a disparity between how much he needed her versus the other way around, Five appreciated her response nonetheless— even if she'd just said it to make him feel less like a pathetic idiot than he already did.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

[ the fourth year ]

"'Miss Hargreeves?'" one of the receptionists that worked in her department of the CIA spoke on the speaker of her desk phone.

Alexa pressed the button to reply, leaning forward as she did so. "Yes?"

"'It's your brother— the cop.'"

The blonde sighed. "Thank you, Ann Marie. Send him through."

"'Hey, Al.'"

"Hi, Diego. Do I need to pick him up again?" It was a testament to the recurring situation that she didn't call her brother by her favorite (annoying) nickname.

"'Yeah. Our brother's got himself arrested again.'"

She grimaced. "Ugh, gross. Don't call him that— that makes it weird."

"'It is weird; you don't need my help for that,'" Diego retorted, once again going on one of his many tirades about how he disapproved of her relationship with Five. "'It's pseudo-incest. I'm telling you, you should drop him. Go out with someone more stable, like one of your CIA buddies. He's accumulating a record. It's not a good look.'"

Alexa took a deep breath, willing herself not to lose her temper. She knew he was only trying to look out for her even if he was going about it all wrong. "I'm not going to drop him, as you so astutely put it. I love him. I'll be there in a few hours."

She hung up and slumped in her chair, closing her eyes for a moment. Five had done his best to adjust to normal life— trying to find hobbies and going on dates with her— but with a mind like his, he could never stay idle for long. Some days were worse than others, like today. She didn't know if it was the what the Commission had turned him into or if it was pent-up rage from surviving all those years or what, but on his worst, most bored days, he went picking fights. He would go to a bar and, if they refused to serve alcohol to a 'minor,' he would just. . . snap. Other times he would steal liquor from a convenience store, get drunk, and find some thugs to start a street fight.

It worried her, to say the least. Five always forgot that he couldn't blink out of real danger anymore so if he got himself into a tight spot, he would get injured or if the cops were called, he took the heat.

Ann Marie noticed her early departure. "Is it your boyfriend again?"

The blonde let out another sigh. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."

--

After paying for Five's bail— at least with Diego on the team it was always affordable and never on the steeper end— they released him back into her custody. Her heart tugged painfully at the sight of his beaten-up, bruised face; there was dried blood under his nose that had gotten onto his teeth, which she saw when he smiled drunkenly at her. Since Diego was out patrolling, a non-related cop shoved him none-too-gently towards her. She recognized him vaguely from her recurrent visits to the place.

The blonde slipped her arm around the teen's waist, letting him lean on her as she walked him back to the car. "Mio angelo," he slurred a little, his green eyes trying to focus on her. "Sei venuto per me, mio ​​bellissimo salvatore."

She huffed as she got him into the passenger's seat. "You really are drunk if you're speaking Italian."

--

Once they got back to their apartment, she sat him down on the dining table chair and went to get the first aid kit. When she returned, his eyes were drooping slightly as if exhausted from the events of the day. Alexa gently cupped her hands around his face, tilting it up to take in the damage. Sadly, she murmured, "why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

His eyes flickered open, looking remorseful. His words were still a little blurry as he mumbled, "I'm sorry. . . I've tried. I've tried to be normal. I can't. Not after everything. . ." His voice faltered. "I don't know how to. . . live. This is all I know."

Her heart gave another painful tug at the vulnerability in his tone. She wished she could take away his pain, make him see that he wasn't as lost as he thought. Her thumb lightly brushed over his cheek, careful not to hurt him further. "Oh, Fi," she breathed out, "I never expected you to be normal. I'm sorry that I made you feel like you had to be. I just want you to be. . . you. I want you to be happy."

Five chuckled but there was no humor in it, only bitterness. "For the longest time my only goal was to make the world safe enough for my family to live in it. I spent so long doing only that and now it's moved on without me. I don't belong anywhere."

Alexa didn't reply for a moment, taking the time to wipe away the crusted blood around his mouth. When she'd finished, she replied quietly: "maybe belonging isn't a place or a time, maybe it's with a person. With. . . me."

His eyes closed briefly. "I just. . . I don't want to drag you down with me."

"You're not dragging me anywhere," she responded firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt. "We're in this together, Fi. Whatever comes, we'll face it together. I love you. And I'm not going anywhere."

The teen's eyes cleared, some of the clouded emotion brought on by drink melting away, touched by her promise. "Okay," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. "Together."

She smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "Always."

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

"So. . . I've been thinking about what you said the other day," Alexa began hesitantly, knowing that it was a sensitive subject for her boyfriend. They had been sitting together, doing their individual activities as they enjoyed a companionable silence until now. Five's words had plagued her since their conversation and there was only one solution that she found, though she knew he would be against it. "You know, when you mentioned feeling like you don't fit in anywhere."

Five, predictably, stiffened, though he looked more embarrassed than anything else as she brought up his moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability. "I was. . . hoping we'd never mention it again and just move on?"

She sighed. "That's not a healthy way of working through things. And. . . I wish I could understand how you feel, but like you always say: I don't know what it was like to live alone in an apocalypse for forty-five years or how it was to work for the Commission. But there are people who have experience with that sort thing—"

"What sort of thing?" he asked. There was a bite to his tone now. His eyes turned flinty, daring her to continue. He knew exactly what she was going to say, but he wanted to see if she would. Just the implication that he needed help was enough to make rage simmer in his stomach, building steadily. He welcomed it; sometimes, Alexa could be so infuriating— her seemingly endless patience, the kindness he didn't deserve, her boundless empathy. In his better moods, Five knew it was wrong that a part of him itched to have an argument with her; he wanted her to get angry, to lose her temper. (Or maybe he wanted an excuse to push her away, because keeping people at arm's length was safer than actively caring about them.)

"PTSD," the blonde continued, her voice firm even as she watched him uncertainly. "Other things that come with extended periods of isolation. Therapists have tools—"

He scoffed, shaking his head angrily. "A therapist isn't going to fix me, Lexa," he snapped, his voice rising. He stood up sharply and began to pace. "I don't need someone poking around in my head, trying to psychoanalyze me like I'm some kind of broken science experiment. I had enough of that with dad."

"It wouldn't be like dad," she countered. "You know it helps— just look at Viktor! I think he's seeing a therapist now, too."

"Yeah, and he still ended the world— three fucking times. Fat lot of good that did him," he snapped.

"He probably would've ended it a lot sooner if he kept all that stuff inside of him!" Alexa insisted. "If you don't believe me, talk to him. He'll tell you that it's helped him move forward. He doesn't have to carry everything he's done— whether by choice or not— by himself," she added pointedly.

His jaw tightened further at her words. He hated that she saw him like this, like some fragile thing that needed protecting; that was always how it was with her. She needed something (or someone) to shield. Now it was him, but she was wrong. He wasn't weak. He didn't need saving.

"You know what?" Five said, his voice dropping to a cold, detached tone. "I don't need this. I don't need you telling me what's best." He stalked towards the door, his movements jerky with suppressed rage. "I'm leaving."

Cold fear crashed over her. She wavered between the past and present: then, Five walking out after Reginald had said he couldn't time travel and that being the last time she'd seen him for fifteen years. Now, with that same anger, the same stiffness in his shoulders and jut to his chin, the same determination to prove them (her) wrong. He was leaving. He was leaving, she'd failed again, she kept failing, she could never get anyone to stay—

The door slammed shut in front of her; Alexa had barely registered that she'd gotten up to follow him and she jumped at the loudness of it. Her vision swam, both with tears and the memory of another door slamming, the clang of a front gate, her father's voice calling after—

She scrambled over to the landline, her fingers fumbling on the buttons to call Viktor. He was the best option of her brothers; Diego would be smug and say I-told-you-so, Klaus would probably tell her health facts, Luther might have been a good option but there was something about Viktor's reassuring steadiness that made him her first choice.

"'Hello?'"

The sound of her brother's greeting helped anchor her, the deeper voice from his transition providing an unexpected benefit in helping her decipher the past from the present. She let out a shaky breath that was more of a sob. "Vik. . ."

"'Shit, Lexi, what's wrong?'"

--

Five let his rage carry him for several blocks, mostly unaware of where his feet were taking him as he fumed about the gall Alexa had. How dare she? He was a grown-ass man who could take care of himself! He had been practically since the day he'd been born. He didn't need someone with a 'fix it' complex trying to-to. . . he couldn't even think in complete sentences with how angry he was.

He eventually pushed open the door to a bar that was on his path. He barely paid attention to its atmosphere, bar what his ingrained instincts provided: there was no immediate threat. The noise was a low hum— a few patrons scattered at tables, a couple of regulars hunched over the bar, and the bartender wiping down glasses without much interest.

The teen made his way to the bar and dropped onto a stool. The bartender approached, glancing briefly at him before asking, "what'll it be?"

"Vodka," Five replied shortly. He was finally old enough to look like he could drink, at least until he was caught. Luck seemed to be on his side and the bartender served him without issue, either sensing his mood or not caring enough about his job to ask for an ID. He grabbed it without waiting for any acknowledgment, downing half of it in one gulp. The burn in his throat was sharp, a welcome distraction from the rage still churning inside him.

He stared at the glass in his hand, watching the clear liquid swirl around the bottom. Alexa's words kept echoing in his head, gnawing at him even though he desperately tried to push them away. She had good intentions— she always did— but that didn't change the fact that he didn't want to talk about it; didn't want to unpack the horrors of his past like some kind of goddamn emotional baggage bellhop.

The problem was, Alexa wasn't like anyone else he'd ever known. She wasn't afraid of him, of his temper, of his jagged edges. She saw the mess that he was and instead of running away, she kept trying to hold him together. It both infuriated and terrified him. Because what if one day she realized he wasn't worth saving?

"Another," Five muttered, sliding his glass toward the bartender.

One of the other men who was sitting nearby raised an eyebrow at the request. "Chick problems or job problems?"

Although he didn't feel much like talking, he grunted out, "chick problems."

The stranger nodded knowledgably. "I've had my fair share of those." He gestured to the bartender. "The next one's on me. My friend here's gonna need it."

He cast the man a sidelong glance but didn't protest. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. You need advice from someone who's been there?"

Five was pretty sure the other guy was at least tipsy if he was this loose-lipped to talk to someone whose name he didn't even know. As he took another sip from his glass, he scowled. "Everyone wants me to talk all of a sudden."

"Communication issues it is, then," he confirmed. "She think you're cheating on her or somethin'?"

"No!" he exclaimed quickly. "God no. Look, thanks for the free drink but I don't need help. I don't need the help she thinks I need or what you're offering. I've dealt with things on my own for long enough."

The man's eyebrows bunched together as he took in the teen's words. "Wait. . . the help she thinks you need?" He paused for a second, then let out a knowing hum. "You mean therapist help, don't you?"

Five tensed at the word, his hand tightening around the glass. "So what if I do?"

The man let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're sitting here pissed off because she cares about you enough to want you to get better?"

Five's scowl deepened, irritated by the stranger's sudden shift in tone. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it, though?" The man took a long sip from his beer before he set it down with a soft thud. "Look, I don't know your story and I'm not trying to get in your business, but take it from someone who's been through some shit: when someone cares enough to stick around, even when you're a total mess, that's something. Most people run for the hills."

Five stared into his drink to avoid the stranger's gaze. "She doesn't understand what I've been through," he muttered. "And talking about it isn't going to change anything."

The man chuckled softly. "Maybe not. But you ever think that talking's not just for you? Maybe she needs to know you're at least trying, even if it's messy. Hell, my ex-wife. . . she left because I never let her in. Thought I could handle everything on my own." He sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. "Spoiler alert: I couldn't."

Five felt the man's words sinking in, uninvited but persistent. He wanted to reject them, to bury them beneath the wall of anger he'd built up. But he couldn't shake the truth in them, either. For so long, he had survived by relying on no one but himself. Letting someone in, letting someone care—it felt dangerous. But pushing Alexa away wasn't an option, either. Not really. He'd already lost so much. The thought of losing her, too, made his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with anger.

The bartender placed another whiskey in front of him. Five stared at it for a moment, then pushed it away. He stood up, throwing a few bills on the counter.

The stranger raised an eyebrow. "Leaving already?"

Five glanced back at him, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. I've got someone to talk to."

--

When he returned home that night— he'd spent longer out than he'd realized— he expected Alexa to have gone to bed, maybe resentful about their argument. Of course, he should've expected more from her. He was surprised to find the golden glow of lights coming through the crack at the bottom of their door. When he opened it, he found all of the lights still on and the back of a blonde head resting on the couch. Since she hadn't moved with the opening of the door, he figured she'd fallen asleep. The thought that she'd waited up for him made his chest tighten with guilt.

As he came around to face her, the knot inside of him only grew. Her hair had a slightly frazzled quality from her habit of running her fingers through it when she was upset. Her face was stained with tear tracks, her closed eyes puffy and red. Alexa's knees were pulled up to her chest, one arm resting loosely by her side, her fingers splayed open so that the landline tilted precariously in them. Scooping the phone up, Five saw that the total talk time was 4:30:12. . .13. . . 14. . . He recognized Viktor's Canadian area code and could hear faint bar sounds emitting from the speaker. He hung up, knowing he'd probably have his brother— well deservedly— on his ass later. Then, he slid his arms under his girlfriend's legs and around her back, hefting her up to rest against his chest. Thankfully, she'd worn herself out and didn't stir.

--

When Alexa woke the next morning, she was a bit disoriented; her head was foggy with a hungover quality, though she knew she hadn't had anything to drink. It took her a moment to take in her surroundings, then another few minutes to recall the night before. Her heart squeezed in her chest at the memory of Five's anger. She hastily patted the space next to her— which was funny, since she was pretty sure she'd fallen asleep on the couch— for her boyfriend, the panic returning when she felt that his spot was cold. Had he not come back last night? I'm leaving. He hadn't specified a timeframe for his absence. What if he time travelled again? (She was not quite in the right mind to remember their lack of their powers.)

But then Five appeared in the doorway with two coffees in hand. His expression was wary, though softer than the night before. He stopped in the doorway, noticing her wide-eyed look of alarm as she clutched the blanket. Relief swamped her and she let out a breath. Her heart pounded in her chest as she accepted the cup, her fingers brushing against his briefly.

"Morning," he said, his tone more neutral than cold.

"Morning. . ." she echoed, searching his face for any sign of what he was feeling. She took a sip of the coffee, letting the warmth soothe her frayed nerves.

Alexa glanced at him, trying to gauge his mood. Normally, after a blow-up like last night, he would continue stewing for hours, if not days. But today, as he sat down next to her, there was something different in the way he moved, his natural old-man hunch slightly more pronounced, fingers drumming against his coffee cup. Silence fell between them and she studied the teen's expression, his brows furrowed and face a bit pinched in concentration. Though she didn't know it, he had spent the better part of the night and morning trying to figure out what to say to smooth things over between them. Finally, after much deliberation (and many mental drafts of sentiments he'd discarded), he came up with:

"I. . . know I'm not the easiest person to live with; I'm still figuring things out. But I want you to know that I appreciate how much you care, even if I don't always say things the right way."

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

"Okay, I think I actually have a solution this time," Alexa announced almost a month later, far more confidently than when she'd first broached this subject. They were sitting down to eat dinner when she'd come home late from work that day— and she hadn't come straight from work, either; she'd made a quick stop by Lila's for a debrief on the new information she'd found out about the Keepers.

Five arched a brow. "A solution?"

"You know, to the you're-tired-of-retirement-but-I-refuse-to-let-you-work issue, which I think is a contributing factor to, ah, your choice of recreational activities," she explained with a little more care than strictly necessary.

He gave her an amused look, clearly in a much better mood this time around. "You mean when I get arrested for exercising my right to punch someone?"

She nodded. "Exactly. Do you remember the passion project I mentioned awhile ago?" (This question was hardly necessary; ever since she had first talked about it, Five had probed her with 'nonchalant' insistence that he could help. It was only her determination to get him to relax for once in his goddamn life that kept her from telling him.)

"I remember you talking about it once or twice," he answered with his usual blasé tone that indicated he was trying not to be too invested despite his obvious desire to be invested.

"Well. . . if you're up for it, I think I could actually use your help. I've already got someone on the inside—"

"Who?" he spluttered in surprise.

The blonde smiled mysteriously. "That's for me to know and you to. . . maybe figure out. Anyway, I really think a second person would move this along much faster. They've got too many branches for me to infiltrate even if I deployed everyone I know. Derek and I can only do so much—"

"Is that who you have on the inside?" Five interrupted.

"No; we're both CIA and, well, that's kind of the crux of the issue." Alexa was relieved to finally spill everything she'd put together to her boyfriend, whose mind was made for this sort of thing much more than hers was. She told him about the Keepers— a cult-like group of people who believed this timeline was an amalgamation of other timelines— and how even the Director (and probably her other colleagues) were members. "The one thing they keep talking about is this Cleanse thing, but even the spy I have can't seem to figure out what it is. It's some sort of timeline reset, but we don't know what or how it will happen. Mostly it's used as a therapy session for people who can't sort out their current memories from their past ones."

Ah, there it was, the teen thought, more impressed than annoyed by his girlfriend's finagling. (In fact, the concise way she presented the situation was more of a turn on than anything else.) "So what do you want me to do if you already have someone who's figured all this out?"

"Well, it will take you some time to earn their trust, but hopefully with two people on the inside we'll get to understand how much of a threat this 'Cleanse' is; it doesn't really sound like a hot steam bath to me. I have no idea how to expose them but that sort of thing is right up your alley, so it'll give you something productive to do without actually putting you back to work, which will fix that, too," Alexa finished, sounding quite pleased with herself.

The brunet gave her an exasperated look. "Lexa, you know you don't have to fix everything, right? But in any case, I'm in."

She made a mumbled sound of assent as she quickly took a bite of her dinner. Five mused that maybe she should consider talking to someone, too.

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

[ the fifth year ]

Between the two of them, it was Alexa who had the most stamina when it came to the younger members of their family. She was the one who loved kids. He'd gotten better with his niblings over the years, but he'd be the first to admit that he preferred peace and quiet over children's shouting. He was happy to let his girlfriend take over most of their aunt/uncle responsibilities, especially in the babysitting area. While he would sometimes come in for a visit, he preferred to act as her chauffer to make sure she got home safely.

Whenever he picked her up after a night at Diego and Lila's, she always talked about what she'd done while she babysat them. Five had heard lots of stories— both from the girl herself and others, particularly his siblings— about what a natural she was. A part of him felt guilty for depriving her of a more direct source for children, but would she really want to have kids with him? He was already old and tired, for one; he didn't know if he'd have the energy to keep up with them. And, more pressing, what if he hurt his own child? Or equally as bad, what if the child adopted the twisted mindset he'd needed to use to get back home to his family? He didn't want to tempt fate so he made sure to keep his mouth shut and not bring up the topic unless she did.

Sometimes, even when he had planned to idle the car outside while his girlfriend wrapped up taking care of the kids, he was forced inside. She would usually wait on the front porch or called ahead of time to let him know that she would be later than they'd originally planned. Tonight, though, she had done neither.

All of the first floor lights were on so he could see clearly that the porch was empty. He sighed and readied himself to wait for her. The radio softly played early 2000s rock music. The suburban street was otherwise silent. Normally, Five appreciated this stillness; being around his noisy siblings again was reminding him just how precious it was. But there were still times that such heavy silence brought worse memories to the surface: smoggy air that was too thick to breathe, the night sky lit by orange fires, the eerie soundlessness of being the only person left alive. . .

Five turned off the car and scrambled out of it, slamming the door shut behind him. While his flashbacks had improved, coming less often than they used to, anything was better than facing them alone. He went up to the door and knocked, wishing he could just blink inside like he once had been able to do. It didn't take long for Alexa to appear, looking appropriately guilty. "Five! Sorry, I saw you waiting outside but Go-Go and Lila aren't back yet; I couldn't just leave the kids by themselves— oomph."

He crushed her against him in a breathtakingly tight hug. She stood stiffly in his arms for a moment, out of surprise, but quickly returned the gesture, burying her face against his shoulder. She could probably hear his shaky breaths but thankfully didn't comment on them. When he finally released her, her eyes scanned his face, taking in the lingering hauntedness of his gaze. Her expression quickly changed to one of cheerful brightness and she clapped her hands.

"Let's get you inside," Alexa said, ushering him through the door and closing it behind her. "Since Go-Go and Lila are late, I was about to feed the kids a snack since it's not my fault if they're on a sugar high later. Why don't you go wait with them while I get it together?"

"Lexa, you know—" he began urgently, still shaken from the beginnings of his flashback.

"Auntie Al!" came a young girl's voice, which grew steadily nearer. A five-year-old brunette careened towards them, holding a piece of paper in her hands. "Look what I drew! It's a birdie, just like you showed me!"

Alexa's attention switched to Grace. She bent down to examine the drawing, her features lighting up with a smile. "That's wonderful, Gracie!"

"Can you help me add glitter to it?" Grace asked. Her gaze had been focused on her aunt, but something made her eyes slide towards the other person in the room. As her gaze fell on the young man, she reigned in some of her enthusiasm but still smiled happily. "Hi, Uncle Five."

"Hello, Grace," he responded; he was still reeling from being subjected to his past memories so the greeting was more formal, even for him.

The blonde gave him a concerned look, sensing his shaken emotions. "Come on, Gracie. I'll help you with the glitter. Fi, do you want to get the snacks together instead? We need one for each kid."

Grateful to be relieved of child-watching until he was in a better frame of mind, he pressed a kiss to his girlfriend's cheek (to Gracie's chorus of 'ew, gross!') and made his way to the kitchen. There, he prepared five peanut butter-and-marshmallow sandwiches. The familiarity of the task eased his mind and brought him back to the present. He took his time so he could calm down, making sure to give each sandwich exactly the same amount of marshmallows. He realized that they should probably have something to drink with the food but he didn't know what kids could have (he guessed water, but he thought he should check with Alexa first.)

He made his way out to the dining room where children's voices could be heard babbling nonsense about unicorns, rainbows and princesses. Five stood in the threshold and opened his mouth to ask the question but then the sight in front of him really sank in, and every word he'd ever learned promptly left his brain.

Alexa sat cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by her nieces, each of them engrossed in their own little projects. Glitter sparkled on the floor, the table and even in their hair, but the blonde didn't seem to mind. She was completely focused on the kids, laughing as Coco tried to apply glue to a tiny piece of paper with way more precision than her small hands allowed. Ronnie was nestled in Alexa's lap, his chubby hands carefully holding onto a piece of construction paper.

Alexa's eyes sparkled with warmth and patience as she guided Grace through adding the finishing touches to her bird drawing. She was so effortlessly caring, so naturally tender, and it struck Five straight in his heart. It made him realize that he'd never actually seen her interact with children before; throughout the past five years, something had always kept them from being around kids together— whether it was his own standoffishness or their siblings providing a distraction. But now, there was something about the way she played them; the softness in her voice, the way she seemed to understand their needs without them even having to ask, that made his chest tighten with a sensation that was slowly becoming more familiar over time.

In that moment, it wasn't just affection or admiration that filled him. It was something deeper, something that rooted itself in his very core. He didn't just love Alexa— he was in love with her, and that realization hit him like a freight train. He wanted this. Not just moments like these, but a future full of them. He could see it so clearly: a life where they were always together, where their home was filled with warmth and laughter, maybe even their own children one day.

He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like he was standing on the edge of something monumental. The idea of marriage had always seemed so distant, so far removed from his own life, but now it was all he could think about. The thought of spending forever with her, of making this— them— permanent, wasn't just appealing; it felt like the only logical next step.

Clearing his throat, Five finally managed to find his voice. "Hey, Lexa," he called, trying not to clue her in on the epiphany he'd just had. He was pleased when the words came out steadier than he felt.

Alexa looked up, her face glowing with happiness. "Yes, Fi?"

"Uh, I made sandwiches," he said, holding up the plate. "And I wanted to know what kind of drink was appropriate for this time of night?"

☂︎ ☂︎ ☂︎

[ six months later ]

Five decided that he needed advice about this whole marriage thing. While he knew a lot about everything, feelings and emotions weren't always clear to him. So, he thought that it was best to talk them over with someone who was good at listening. He told Alexa that he was following a lead for one of the Keepers' meetings and would be gone for a few days. While he hated lying to her, she would've wanted to come see Viktor with him and that wasn't what this trip was about. He called ahead to make sure his brother was okay with his visit, then made the long drive up to Canada.

He and Alexa had been to Viktor's bar once on opening day, but after that had kept their distance at their brother's request. While it made the blonde sad to be separated from their siblings, she had respected his wishes. The establishment itself was on the medium side, size-wise. It was indoor seating only due to the freezing winters, with a dimly-lit atmosphere. By now, Viktor had regulars who would come in at all hours of the day. He'd become a successful business owner, though he was having a bit of trouble with finding employees to hire (and keeping a girlfriend for longer than a month.)

Viktor understood that Five wasn't one for warm-and-fuzzy icebreakers; the physically-younger man only planned three days for the whole trip: get up there, talk, get back. After a quick greeting and some refreshments (including beer since Alexa wasn't there to scold him for day drinking), he got right to the point. Once Viktor was free, he sat next to his brother at the bar in a way that was strongly reminiscent of the last time they'd done this: the café in the 60s. They were on better terms now, though, and there was no pressure of the world ending. Rather, there was the excitement of a new world beginning.

"So, what's up?" Vik asked, nursing his own beer.

"It's about Lexa," he began. For all his straightforwardness, he wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject.

Viktor frowned with concern. "Is everything okay between you two?"

"What? Oh, yeah. More than okay, really." He paused, then burst out: "I want to marry her."

Absolutely no tact, he scolded himself, nice job, idiot. His brother stared at him in shock. "Oh."

"Yeah, it was a surprise to me too when I realized it," Five admitted. "Who would've thought, huh?"

"The old man does have a heart then," the brunet teased him. "We've been wondering where you were hiding it all these years."

"It belonged to Lexa," he said with a shrug. "It always has. I didn't know how to love when we were younger but now I can. She's there for me when I need her and she has more soul than I've ever had."

Thankfully, Viktor's only jest of his uncharacteristically sweet words was the faint upturn of his lips, but his brown eyes were affectionate and serious. "She's always brought out your human side. She makes you more of a man than if you didn't have her." He considered his brother's words. "You seem pretty confident in your feelings. I don't know why you need my help."

Five kept his gaze on the neon sign that was hung up on the wall behind the bar rather than look at the man beside him. "I'm better at a lot of things than you morons but if there's one thing that I fall short on, it's expressing my feelings. If I'm gonna propose to Lexa, I. . . I want to do it right. You know how I struggled to even tell her I love you for the first time. I don't want to blurt it out like I did just now."

Now, Viktor did mess with him a little: "aww, that's so sweet of you! Who knew you had such a romantic side, Five? Maybe you should write her a poem. Or better yet, sing it! I'm sure she'd love that."

Five shot him a withering look. "You're hilarious. Remind me to laugh later."

Viktor chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. "Seriously though, you're overthinking it. Lexa loves you for who you are— awkward confessions and all. You don't need to turn into some Casanova to win her over. If you did, she'd probably already be with someone else."

"Great. Thanks for that," the brunet grumbled.

"Besides, I'm the last person you should be taking romantic advice from." The man sighed, his amusement fading as his thoughts turned to Sissy like they often did. "If there's anything that I can tell you, I would say don't wait. You of all people know how fickle time is. If your heart is set on it, just ask her. If I had known how little time I'd get with Sissy, I would've done everything differently."

Five thought it over. "I still need to find a ring, but I'll ask her this Christmas."

A/n: whew— another long one (what did I tell you? This is now at 8k words!) I'm not a huge fan of this chapter; I wanted to show that Five/Alexa's relationship isn't all sunshine and rainbows like I have been writing it. It was supposed to be showing both of their hardships and celebrations  but it was getting way too long and I had to scrap some ideas. 

(Like I wanted to include the end of the road trip Alexa had planned. Their last stop would've been Viktor's bar, where she'd secretly gathered all of their siblings to have a 'thank you party' in Five's honor since he's the reason they were all still around. Diego and Lila were supposed to bring the cake, which got burnt and the kids made the banner but misspelled things on it— the usual Hargreeves chaos. And then Alexa would be disappointed that it wasn't perfect, but Five wouldn't care because he was touched that his family made the effort to come through at all. Then, they would all go out to the parking lot where his present (for 'the forty-five birthdays we missed, since it cost about that much') would be waiting: the Corvette Stingray he mentioned in s3. All of the siblings pitched in to get it as a joint present. Since it was glossed over in all four seasons and they always blamed him for the apocalypses, I wanted to show him getting the appreciation he deserved, so just pretend that I wrote that 🤣.)

The other part I'm not so pleased about is the 'fourth year' section. I know Five likes to avoid violence whenever possible and all he wanted to do was retire, so I feel like him getting into fights is a bit of a stretch. But then I also think about s1 Five and slaughtering-the-board-members Five and I know all that rage is still in there somewhere, so maybe it's not so far-fetched. I really do think he'd struggle adapting to normal life. Hopefully it makes sense? Any time I write his aggression (like in 'the unbearable tragedy of getting (exactly) what you want' chapter for Wastelands of Time), I feel like it's ooc post-s2. . .