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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ
ғʀʏɪɴɢ ᴘᴀɴ, ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀᴇ ꒱


❝ I NEED YOU TO PROMISE
ME SOMETHING ❞

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2029

The monotonous landscape of crumbled buildings and scattered rubble had faded into darkness as night fell, covering the landscape in a blackness so thick it was impossible to see your hand in front of your face. There were still no stars or moon in the sky most nights so the only light available was the fading fire.

The only use for the flame had been for warmth for there was little in the way of food and less in the way of water. Five had long since grown used to the sharp pangs of hunger that came with being stuck ten years into the apocalypse; while the earth was recovering, it wasn't nearly fast enough for two humans that needed daily nourishment. He knew Dolores felt them too, though they both tried their best not to complain for that would do little to make them feel better. Instead, the brunette had suggested that instead of food at once-daily mealtimes, they feed their minds. This consisted of debates on a series of topics that they both knew enough about to have an hour— or longer— discussion.

Today's subject had been the existence of multiverses which, to his surprise, they both agreed upon. His opinion, of course, came with the math to theoretically prove it. Dolores' was based on pure belief so their different perspectives had provided an interesting conversation— or so he'd thought: the brunette was now asleep with her head in his lap. (A part of the reason for her lack of interest could be that the repetitive motion of his fingers combing through her hair had lulled her into unconsciousness.)

Now he sat alone in the growing darkness, the faint remaining embers of the flame providing barely enough light for him to see the outline of Dolores' face. He wasn't sure how long ago she'd fallen asleep— time was nearly irrelevant in a post-apocalyptic world— but her breathing was deep and even, the sound audible enough in the otherwise silent night. As she slept, he thought.

He often thought about a great many things and his mind was never fully able to rest, even in sleep. On this particular night his mind took him to his life in the Academy, his father's voice a constant timbre over all the memories he had of the place. None of them were particularly pleasant but he found that he often took them out to examine them when time was allowed to think that what the outcome might've been if he had done something differently. There were a thousand different possibilities, of course, hence the multiverse.

He then went forward in time to the present, now, when he was alone except for the only other person in the world and what, exactly, the statistics were that led to to cause this to happen. There was potentially a one in a billion chances that Dolores was the person he ended up with. Somehow, that made his time here seem less. . . unbearable. He didn't know how she did it but in the span of ten years she'd become the most important person to him. Another, more pleasant, permanent fixture in his existence.

Every equation had a constant. Without them, nothing could be solved. Five often preferred to think of his life as an equation and in that equation, one variable had to remain the same or else it would stop functioning. Until he was fifteen, his father had taken that place. Now, it was Dolores.

He wasn't quite sure how it happened that she had come to replace his father but she had. He knew constants weren't supposed to change but sometimes the original formula was improved upon due to another variable being added in to replace the old, so that was how he explained it. He had long since known she had become the one person he couldn't live without, though putting it in the context of numbers was a more noticeable realization that made him consider a tangent of the equation: her safety.

Because Dolores was his constant, he needed to ensure she was protected especially because she was, essentially, powerless. Now, he did not mean this in terms of weak, for she certainly was not, but in the actual definition of "power-having" like him and his siblings. His life at the Academy was nothing close to a cakewalk and danger had been around every turn, whether it be his father or the criminals The Umbrella Academy had fought. Saving the world would be no easy feat either once he got the equations right. He had no delusions that there would be those who would try to stop them— time was too fickle to be left to its own devices— and would provide an extra threat in their attempt to stop the apocalypse.

By now, he knew that Dolores was a hopeless romantic in some of the worst ways and her hamartia was the selflessness that always led to something terribly, stupidly heroic that he would have no power over to prevent. He could easily see her sacrificing herself for the "greater good," or trading lives so that— in her eyes, at least— the "more important" member of their team could continue their mission. At that thought, he shook the brunette roughly awake.

She jolted slightly and mumbled incoherently until her words became clearer. "Huh? W-what?" Her eyes blinked open and she squinted up at him. "Fives?"

"I need you to promise me something," he told her, his voice blunt and firm. This was something he would never joke around about or take lightly.

"Wha-what are you talkin' 'bout?" It was clear she'd been deeply asleep, but this was more important.

"I need you to promise me something," he repeated.

The brunette sat up and rubbed her eyes, yawning slightly. "I was asleep," she complained.

Five ignored the pang of guilt he felt at her words; he knew as well as she did that sleep— any sleep— was hard to come by. He pushed it aside. "You can go back to sleep after this. I need you to promise me something."

"You've said that three times now," Dolores told him grumpily.

"It's important."

"So is sleep," she grumbled, but his tone— for she could not see his face now that their fire was well and truly out— must have caught her attention, for she frowned. "What is it?"

"I need you to promise that you'll never take a bullet for me." In her sleep-muddled mind, the sentence, out of context, did not make sense. She stared at him blankly. "Please," he added, thinking that was why she hadn't responded; she'd been on him about manners recently.

Dolores took a moment to understand his words. She could figure out his tone well enough; it was stern and unyielding with a strange desperation around the edge that only began to make sense as the sentence seeped into her mind. "Fives—"

"Promise me," he insisted as the desperation became pleading.

"I. . . promise," she said hesitantly. She placed one hand behind her back and crossed her fingers, the darkness preventing him from seeing the action.

He knew her too well, though. Five reached forward and pulled both of the arms towards him, his hands sliding down to grasp hers tightly as he insisted, "say the whole thing."

Swallowing past the leaden feeling that sat heavy in her stomach, the brunette started slowly: "I promise that I'll never take—" Here, she paused to swallow again, her throat dry. In an instant, she recovered and finished the sentence: "—a bullet for you."

Relieved, Five helped settle her back down into a more comfortable position and the burden of her recklessness eased from his shoulders. For all of his genius, though, he did not recognize his mistake:

a bullet.

✧✧✧
[Present Day]

Dolores, Five and The Handler walked up to the front entrance of The Commission, a building that the brunette did not miss. Once she and Five had left, she never thought they'd have to return. It was almost more daunting to enter the building now, especially in her child-sized body.

Since landing in the time period, The Handler had not stopped talking: "I must admit, Number Five, in all the time I've been here, I've never met anyone quite like you. Hazel and Cha-Cha, for example, are talented, certainly, but. . . they can't see the big picture. Your spunk, your enterprising spirit— well, it reminds me a great deal of myself, if I may be so vainglorious."

As the white-haired woman spoke, Dolores tugged slightly on her husband's arm, creating distance between him and The Handler. The outdoor path they were walking along was narrow and the brunette was uncomfortable with how close the two were. The Handler tried to take advantage of their close quarters and wrap an arm around the boy's shoulders but Dolores saw the motion and got there first, her arm awkwardly propped up due to their difference in height. The Handler dropped her arm with a faint huff and continued: "if things work out for you here, you could potentially make a fine successor, Five."

The trio approached the entrance of the gray-stone building and entered the large, open space of the lobby area as Five replied, "I'd like to discuss the logistics of my family's safety at your earliest convenience."

"Such chutzpah," The Handler responded. "It's refreshing, I'll admit. Slow down, Five, all in good time. In fact, now that you've finally agreed to work with us, we've got all the time in the world."

Dolores shot the woman an irritated look. She'd been the first person to use chutzpah to describe her husband and it was disconcerting— bordering on annoying— that The Handler would also notice.

"The Commission works in support of a delicate balance," she resumed speaking as they reached the upper levels of the building, "between the time line of events and mankind's free will." She noticed that both Hargreeves looked towards the room they were passing and added, "the briefcase is no longer part of your kit, Five. Free your mind. You're management now, one of us. All the people on this floor are case managers, each one responsible for one major event at a time." They stopped in front of the once-familiar room that Dolores had spent so many hours in.

The white-haired woman turned to her. "I'm sure I don't need to explain all of this to you— you should already be quite familiar with it, Dolores. Although," she added, pausing as if she was considering a point before she continued thoughtfully: "I have heard that old age can affect your memory."

The brunette gave the woman a flat, unimpressed look and said dryly, "who are you, again?"

Next to her, the boy's eyes widened slightly and he hissed, "Dolly," for what felt like the umpteenth time, though the faint lift at the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement. Hoping to salvage the situation, he turned his gaze to the— admittedly— remarkable room. "So many of them."

Seeming to agree to ignore the previous comment, The Handler agreed, "impressive, isn't it? To be part of something. . . so grand." After a moment, she said, "come along."

The two Hargreeves lingered for a second longer, Five turning to his wife as he gave her a stern look. "Behave," he told her.

Dolores sent him a tight smile. "I will if she does," she answered before she followed the woman's path onward.

"Whenever someone chooses the wrong path and the timeline is changed, The Commission gets a report from field agents on the ground. These field reports are sorted and assigned to a case manager. They determine if anyone needs to be. . . removed from the equation to assure that their event happens as it should." The group of three turned to look into a quieter room off the main hallway that was filled with pneumatic tubes. "Based on that determination, the case manager sends instructions via pneumatic tube to temporal assassins like you formerly were, Number Five. Any queries so far?"

"Yeah. Who was the case manager handling me?"

"Ah," The Handler said in acknowledgement, "you mean the apocalypse." Seemingly out of habit, she reached up with a finger outstretched, but Dolores was there first. She shouldered the boy aside to give the woman a cold look. Her hand dropped back down and she gave the brunette an apologetic one in return, but she could see straight through the demure front the woman was putting up. Behind her, Five huffed.

✧✧✧

They returned to the previous room that Dolores had worked in what felt like a lifetime ago but in reality had only been. . . not even a week. Time seemed much longer when you were saving the world from an apocalypse she supposed.

"Five, meet Dot. Dot, I'm sure you already know your former co-worker."

"Hi!" she greeted them, cheerful as ever. Dolores gave her a more genuine smile, remembering how the other woman had always been so fascinated by her magic tricks.

"Dot is responsible for all apocalypse matters," the brunette said before she could stop herself.

Both Five— and, looking a bit put out— The Handler turned to look at her. It was her husband who asked, "how do you know that?" in a tone that suggested why didn't you tell me?

"We've talked," Dolores said with a shrug, replying with it's not that important. Ignoring his incredulous look she received, the girl gave the white-haired woman a sickly-sweet smile. "Sorry, you were saying?"

She continued reluctantly, agreeing, "yes. In fact, it was Dot here who first flagged your appearance in 2019."

"No hard feelings," the woman said quickly.

"Well, you certainly put us through the ringer. Outsmarting two of our so-called best temporal assassins. If that doesn't spell leadership material—" Here, The Handler raised her voice, bringing the typing to a stop. "—I just don't know." She moved away from Dot's work desk to the empty one in front. "I suspect you like a challenge, Five." She pulled out the desk chair. "Which is why I've given you a particularly complex first case." She handed him a red folder.

As the boy opened it, she explained: "too bad Joseph Späh decided against sabotaging the fuel tank. It would've been so much easier."

Dolores peered over Five's shoulder to look at the contents of the folder. "The Hindenburg."

"I'm glad all those years working for us weren't wasted, though I would have thought your case recognition skills might be a bit sharper," The Handler said with a smile. "Ah, well, I suppose that's the old age memory loss I was talking about earlier. Perhaps you should look into that while you're here, it might give you something to do while Five is working on his case. I'd be quite surprised if he needs your help."

The brunette's eyes narrowed in annoyance and she opened her mouth to respond, but Five beat her to it. "I'd say you're in for quite a shock, then," he answered with slightly forced pleasantness. "I'll need her expertise to ensure I'm following company protocol."

The white-haired woman sighed. "If you must. Anyhoo— if you have any questions, I'll be right behind you."

She left the duo at the desk and returned to the front where she'd indicated. Dolores awkwardly stood off to the side as Five reopened the folder to examine it more thoroughly, the brunette not having been given a place to sit or task to do. As she debated on what her next best move was, her gaze fell on her husband's slightly hunched shoulders as he studied the case, his brows creased in concentration as he frowned over his work. Dolores' expression softened.

The past few days had been hell for both of them for different reasons. They were both exhausted, though Dolores was more unsuited for the extremes due to lack of experience; she tended to take better care of herself on her own accord than Five did (it was only on her prompting that he took care of any of his needs.) Coming to a decision, she stepped into the small space between the back of her husband's chair and the front of Dot's desk. She placed her hands supportively on the boy's shoulders and her grip tightened slightly as her fingers settled onto the rough fabric of the navy jacket.

She felt him tense for a moment, surprised, but almost a second later, he relaxed. Allowing himself a moment of luxury— after, of course, making sure The Handler was otherwise occupied— he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his wife. His shoulders fell into a more normal position at her touch. Dolores startled at the unexpected reaction but before she could respond, the moment was over and Five had gone back to studying the papers as if nothing had happened.

The sound of typewriters was more familiar to Dolores than it should have been for a girl born in 2004, but the noise was enough to drown out her thoughts and keep her mind pleasantly blank in a pseudo-nap as she stored up energy for the next leg of their plan. Some time later, Dot's voice broke the monotonous noises, bright and piercing in an otherwise focused room: "hiya, Five! How's it going?"

Five did not appreciate the distraction from the task at hand and responded, "I must have utter silence in order to complete this task," in a cold, flat voice.

Behind him, Dolores huffed in annoyance and gave his shoulders a particularly strong squeeze, scolding him for his tone. For once, he didn't care. He continued to roll up his finished order, heedless of Dot's stammered reply.

Still, it seemed as if nothing could deter her as she spoke again, her voice resuming its usual tone: "hey, a few of us are having lunch and I was wondering if you. . ." She trailed off as Five continued to ignore her, opening his drawer to complete the report. "You're doing something."

He stood, and Dolores' hands fell from his shoulders. He completely ignored the woman sitting at the desk behind him and his wife's admonishing look. Instead, he grabbed her hand and strode briskly out of the room, back to where he had seen the pneumatic tubes during their brief tour retake. As he pulled the brunette along a row of tubes, he was glad, at least, that she wasn't verbally scolding him. They had more important things to worry about than offending some temporary coworkers and he didn't need to be distracted arguing with her about it.

They paused in front of a tube labeled sixty-five and the boy reached out, carefully lifting the lid to slide the carrier inside but The Handler's voice made him freeze. "I'm afraid that's not procedure," she said as she approached the pair.

Dolores was certain she wanted to come closer, but she sent the woman a frigid look that stopped her in her tracks— for now. The woman smiled as if she hadn't noticed the expression and reached out to pluck the carrier from Five's grasp. "Five, meet Gloria."

They both turned to at the advance of an elderly woman who was watching them with a concerned expression. The Handler beckoned her over, explaining: "Gloria is, perhaps, the most vital cog in our machine." She paused, allowing the older woman to chuckle as she smiled proudly. "Gloria, meet Number Five. And, of course, dear Dolores," she added, almost as an afterthought.

Dolores gave the older woman a once-over. Despite her elderly appearance, there was something distinctly off about her that most Commission members shared. While she could have been someone's grandmother, the brunette was more keen to liken her to the Big Bad Wolf from Little Red Riding Hood wearing the grandmother's clothing. It wasn't too hard to imagine Gloria proclaiming, "better to see you with, my dear."

As the two women stared at the younger pair, The Handler lifted the cap off the container and pulled out the piece of paper. She unfurled it as Gloria cooed, "look at you. Deadly little thing. So happy we decided to close the contract on your life."

"I'm afraid your reputation precedes you," The Handler explained apologetically. She reached a hand out to place a consoling pat on the boy's shoulder but Dolores' free one flashed out to stop her.

"This is not a 'please touch' museum," the brunette told her sharply. "What I said was a promise, not a threat."

The white-haired woman jerked her arm from the girl's grip and dropped her hand to her side, choosing to ignore her pesky reminder as she turned back to the boy. She looked down at the slip of paper in her hands that read Terminate Karl Weber. "Oh. . . Karl Weber. Now, tell me, why unfortunate Karl?"

Five began to speak as The Handler placed the paper back in its container: "Karl Weber is the butcher at the sop where Captain Ernst A. Lehmann acquires his weekly roast. So, if Karl dies, his butcher shop is passed down to his son Otto, who never washes his hands, which is disgusting."

The Handler's eyes widened. "So he's the one who gives the captain his roast."

"And that gives him food poisoning—"

"Which makes him late for work," Dolores added as she caught on to the chain of events. "Which delays the takeoff."

Gloria looked between them as if watching a slow-paced tennis match, her expression earnest and interested as Five continued: "and to make up for lost time, the Hindenburg flies through a weather front of high electrical charge and humidity."

The Handler's expression turned nearly predatory. "And the static electricity inside the aircraft makes it a virtual tinderbox. Tiny engine sparks. . ."

"And just like that, we have. . ." Five trailed off, mimicking an explosion as Gloria's face turned into one of shock and amazement and The Handler's shone with pride. He didn't care about either reaction, though, as he waited for the one he did— it was tiny, easily missed, but he held himself still enough that he could feel the slight pressure of the single squeeze that came from Dolores' hand holding his.

✧✧✧

The Handler was particularly chatty as they returned to the work room, though neither Five nor Dolores paid much attention to her. As they entered the space, the woman called the attention of the employees: "I'm sure you've all heard that Mr. Five has proven to be as adept with a pen as he was with a sword. Let his effort serve as inspiration to you all."

The pair returned to their previous workspace but Dolores didn't miss the annoyance in the gaze of the man who sat next to him. She huffed and resumed her place behind Five. It wasn't her fault that Herb couldn't solve a case on his own. The Handler wasn't done. 

"Herb!" she barked, causing the man to jump. "You couldn't have solved that Lusitania case without dear Dolores' help, correct? And how long have you been working on Henry Ford?"

The man tried to stammer out a response, the white-haired woman seemingly oblivious of his embarrassment. Five returned to work and picked up another file. The bell rang for lunch, causing the workers to all get up at the same time and bustle out, leaving the two as the only remaining ones in the room. Not letting his eyes lift from the page he was working on, the boy muttered a quiet, "Dolly," that only she would hear.

The brunette's attention snapped to him, though when he didn't continue, she bent so he could whisper in her ear. She tried to suppress it (since now was not the time), but she shivered slightly as his lips brushed against her skin: "can you do a magic trick?"

She blinked, wondering what sort of code he was trying to use. "Er, it depends on what it is," she murmured back as she pretended to read the open page.

"Make the apocalypse file disappear," he whispered in reply and she smirked faintly in amusement.

"You got it, Mr. Five," she answered teasingly. As she stood, she flicked him lightly on the side of the head in jest. He rolled his eyes at the gesture, though he was pleased when she turned around to grab the file so as to miss the light warmth that spread over his face.

✧✧✧

Dolores paused outside the stall to the women's restroom, causing Five to look back at her, half-exasperated, half-curious. "What's wrong now?"

"That's the woman's," the brunette pointed out helpfully. "You can't go in there."

Rolling his eyes, the boy tugged her forward. "Everyone's at lunch, Dolly. Would you rather we go to the men's?"

She huffed and allowed herself to be pulled into one of the stalls that lined the wall of the bathroom. A smirk briefly flickered over her face as the boy sat down on the toilet. He caught her expression as he looked up. "What?"

"Have you realized what four feet might imply to others who use the bathroom?" she asked suggestively, watching his ears turn pink.

"Stay focused," was all he said in reply, holding his hand out for the folder. She didn't miss the way his voice lowered a fraction, though.

Giving him a smug smile (which he ignored), she handed him the file she'd snatched from Dot's desk and leaned against the stall door as he opened it. Before they got a good look at the contents (though why a smiley face was the cover sheet was beyond her), the door opened and an annoyingly familiar pair of heels clacked on the floor.

"So, how's your first day going?" The Handler asked as the door swung shut behind her.

"Couldn't be better," Five replied, glaring slightly as Dolores stifled a snort behind her hand.

Next to them, a dark skirt dropped to the floor as she sat. "Glad to hear it," she responded with a cough.

Five carefully folded the file before he stuffed it under his vest. Dolores held her hand out for it but the boy shook his head, giving her a firm look.

"I burned my rugae," The Handler continued conversationally. "Ever burn your rugae? Ru-gae. The ridges on the hard palate that help pass food to the esophagus. Anyway, I'm on a liquid diet for two days, hence the marathon of urination."

In the next stall, the brunette caught the boy's eye and mouthed, "TMI," to which he rolled his eyes.

"One faulty cog and nothing works as it should. You know, we value integrity at the office above all else. Trust is essential and that trust is. . . built over time. But in the event of a breach, The Commission will act swiftly and without mercy, an efficiency I'm sure you above all people can appreciate, Number Five." She paused to allow the toilet to flush. "Though if all you are currently doing is enjoying a coitus rendezvous with your wife, there's nothing I can do to stop you."

It was Five's turn to cough unexpectedly in surprise and his face flushed darkly as he recovered from The Handler's blunt words. She continued despite the boy's obvious discomfort: "I'm feeling peckish. Have you had your lunch?"

He tried to recover his breath as he wheezed slightly. "N-not yet."

"Great. How would you two like to have lunch with me in my office, provided your wife can appropriately satisfy your needs before break is over? You can eat solid foods and I can live vicariously through you," she finished. The top of her head appeared above the stall door as she laid eyes on the two red-faced teens, Five's from chronic embarrassment and Dolores' from more recent irritation.

"Sounds great," the boy replied.

✧✧✧

Five and Dolores sat opposite of the white-haired woman at her desk in her office. The Handler slurped noisily from a straw before she put the drink down once it was finished. "And that's how Phil determined that the archduke just had to go. Care for dessert?"

The two teens exchanged a look. "We shared a bad Twinkie in the apocalypse once. It kind of put us off desserts."

"Please, indulge me," she insisted, gesturing to the bowl of neatly-wrapped sweets.

Glancing at each other again, they came to a consensus and reached forward to pluck two candies from the dish. They were a golden color that reminded Dolores distinctly of caramel and didn't seem poisonous. She startled slightly as the taste that was clearly not caramel covered her tongue, the flavor closer to a sour-y strawberry.

"What does that taste like to you two?" she asked.

They both took a minute to respond as they thought over the flavor. Five was first, saying, "the 1950s?"

The Handler turned to the brunette expectantly and the girl quickly guessed, "the sixties?"

"Precisely right! Our metaphysics division concocted a way to perfectly distill an entire decade into a candy," she explained. "Five, yours was modeled after the Fudge Mutt, America's favorite in 1955. Dolores, yours was modeled after the original starburst, first popular in 1967."

"Remarkable," Five said, though he sounded entirely uninterested.

The Handler took a drag of her cigarette which had been lit a few moments ago. "You'll be happy to know it's the very division that's building your new body. Oh, that reminds me. There was something else I wanted to show you, Five." She pressed the button on the intercom. "Carla? Will you please bring the box in?"

"Certainly!" the voice on the other end responded cheerfully.

Seconds later, the door opened and a brunette walked in holding a box which she placed on The Handler's desk before she departed. Five stood to examine the box while Dolores remained seated, frowning slightly over the implication of Five's new body. While she didn't trust The Handler for a second and highly doubted that it would arrive anytime soon. On the other hand, her husband getting a new body while she remained a teen would quite complicate matters in ways she didn't like. She knew it was one of The Handler's ways of trying to separate them as she made the effort to time and time again, but if they stayed here long enough, it might actually work.

"Go ahead, open it," the woman told him. Five looked up at her before back down to the box, and he lifted the lid to reveal an adult-sized suit. "Clothes make the man, Five," The Handler said. "Won't it be nice when you can actually wear it?"

He was quite for a moment, considering the implications before he answered, "thank you. It's a very kind gift."

The boy turned away from the box to the display of weapons The Handler showed off in her office. "Is that a Chinese flamethrower?"

"Good eye!" The Handler praised him. Dolores finally stood, following behind so she could keep a close eye on the white-haired woman as she continued: "war. Such a fascinating concept. A temporary salve for a permanent human flaw." She laughed softly. "Of course, it's a bit easier to see from thirty-thousand feet."

The brunette grimaced slightly as the taste of the candy turned bitter in her mouth. The subject brought up the carefully locked-away memories of combat in the humid temperatures of Vietnam. Her lips thinned into a flat line in an attempt to keep her temper in check.

"These are just some of the things I've collected during my travels," she explained as she looked over the objects to chose one off the shelf. "Like these M26 grenades from the Vietnam War."

The shelf her memory box was on shook slightly, moving the container towards the edge a centimeter as The Handler's cool expression landed on her. For once, Dolores had to force herself not to flinch away from her gaze. Five's hand slid into her own, his fingers tightening protectively around hers. She shoved the box back into place.

"Fascinating," the brunette allowed, moving her gaze from the explosive to the shelf. "Is that—"

"My Walther pistol," The Handler agreed, sounding proud of her trophy. "The very one Hitler used to kill himself." She held up the weapon to test its balance.

"How did you get that?" Five asked, his face expressionless.

The woman's smile was deceivingly sheepish. "Well, we're not supposed to take these kinds of things but. . . he wasn't going to use it anymore, was he?" She sighed and put it back in its original position. "Feel how perfectly balanced that is." She handed the pistol to the boy, who took it from her.

As he examined the weapon, he began to speak: "I had some thoughts I wanted to run by you. Some suggestions to improve Commission protocol."

Dolores reached for the pistol herself. Though the gruesome history of war did not give her cause to admire the story behind the weapon, the history itself did. Five carefully held it out of her reach and gave her a side look that said don't as The Handler made an interested sound. She pulled the object from his grasp and replaced it on the shelf. "Shaking things up already. I admire that. Go on. Do tell!"

"Gloria," Five said immediately. He followed her back to the desk and pulled Dolores along with him. "The tube operator. Wouldn't it be simpler if case managers were to send their own messages?"

"I appreciate the thought— I really do— but everyone loves Gloria. I-I would never hear the end of it. She's been with the Commission family for years and she's this close to making pension," she said, holding up two fingers and pinching them together.

There was a knock at the door and Dot entered, panting slightly. "Sorry to interrupt. May I have a moment alone?"

"Of course," The Handler agreed. "Duty calls. We'll continue this discussion later, Five."

"Sure, may I?" he asked, gesturing to the candies.

"Please."

✧✧✧

Five and Dolores stood at the corner of the hallway intersection and the boy leaned out periodically to check to see if the coast was clear. As they waited, he turned to her, his expression concerned as he examined hers. "Are you alright, Dolly?"

The brunette blinked at him, slightly confused. "Yeah, why?"

He shook his head. "Never mind. Let's get out of here."

"Finally," she murmured in agreement.

Inside the tube room, Dot approached Gloria's desk. "Gloria, The Handler knows that Five is up to something."

Outside, the boy grasped the girl's hand tightly and disappeared in a flash of blue. They reappeared inside of the room just as the elderly woman was turning around. Five let go of her hand and in an instant, the older woman collapsed. Dolores approached the unconscious form and gave the woman's body a gentle nudge with her foot, making sure she really was out. "Good. She was creepy."

Five gave her an amused smile as he plucked the tube from the woman and opened it quickly, bending over a typewriter as he unfurled the paper. Dolores turned away from the office to take up post by the door and kept her eyes open for any witnesses. She might not have the power to reappear almost magically behind someone to knock them out, but she could use a good old-fashioned punch.

Once he was finished, he handed her a container and together they sent the pair down the tube. They both looked up as The Handler's voice sounded from the door. "You know that's not how we do things here."

Five leaned casually against the row of tubes and Dolores tried to emulate him, though her heart was pounding in her chest at the sense of danger that grew ever more present as the seconds ticked by. The rhythm in her ears sounded as if it were saying do something, do something, do something, but all she could think of in reply was do what?

"Where's Gloria?" The Handler asked.

Do something, do something, do something.

"Don't know. Couldn't find her anywhere."

Do something—

The tubes whirred around them, though not loud enough to mask the older woman's groan as she came to, causing The Handler to turn and see a pair of legs sticking out from behind the desk.

Do something, do something—

"You're a great disappointment to me. You can't change what's to come, Five. I truly find it so odd that you can't shed this fantasy. You're a first-rate pragmatist. You belong here, with us."

"I only belong to one person," the boy replied through gritted teeth, "and it's not you."

"It was always me," the woman replied. "Why do you think you fit so well here? It's a shame you couldn't realize that on your own." She raised her hand, Hitler's pistol held steady and firm in her grip, only. . .

It wasn't pointed at him.

Anger turned his eyes a steely green as particles of space wooshed around him, his grip iron on Dolores' wrist as he pulled her with him to safety. The bullet entered the space she'd occupied a hairbreadth apart from when she disappeared. More gunshots sounded in the room as The Handler attempted to predict where Five and Dolores would show up next while outside, Dot froze by the entrance before she smashed the alarm button, sending the alert system blaring.

Security breach in tube room. Security breach in tube room—

Do something, do something, DO something—

They reappeared behind a rolling cart, which Five sent flying towards the white-haired woman who stopped it easily with her foot. Gunshots sounded over their heads and Dolores yanked her wrist out of Five's grasp. She clamped her hands over her ears as the box of memories tipped dangerously on at the edge of the shelf, her eyes wide as the boy grabbed her arm again, disappearing from sight.

"What's the rush, Five? We're just getting started!" The Handler called over the noise, turning as she tried to pinpoint their next appearance. "Is this how you want the last line of your report to read?" she asked as the pair reappeared again.

Dolores could feel the particles around them get thicker and she forced her hands down to turn to the boy. "Leave me here," she insisted quickly. "You can't take both of us!"

The look in his eyes was one she'd never seen before— darker than when he was angry and colder than when he was furious, his voice nearing a low growl as he hissed, "never," before he raised it to address The Handler: "when I'm done, I'm done, I guess."

"You can't keep this up, Five. We all know that even you have a limit. Listen to your wife and leave her here." The pistol, which she'd kept level on the brunette the whole time, clicked as she tried to shoot it, but nothing came out.

"I do listen to my wife," Five replied. His hand tightened around her arm as they disappeared again. The Handler turned to see the pair at the office entrance and the sound of a pin being pulled from a grenade reached her ears. Her eyes widened slightly as the boy shook it mockingly at her. "But not about this," he finished, rolling the explosive towards the woman's red heels.

He yanked Dolores out of the office and into the hall, wrapping his arms around the brunette as they huddled in the safety of the corridor. The girl buried her face in the boy's jacket. She took advantage of his momentary distraction as his arms tightened around her to turn them slightly so her back was to the blistering heat of the explosion, a barrier between her husband and the danger.

The do something roar in her ears continued.

✧✧✧

They approached the briefcase room and Five attempted to pull his hand from her grasp. He turned to give her a wild, furious look. "You're not coming with me!"

Dolores' eyes flashed and she bared her teeth slightly before she snarled, "like hell I'm not. We're in this together or not at all!"

He could feel their limited time slipping through his fingers as they stood in the hallway arguing. Commission employees ran frantically past the only two still people in the building as their steely eyes met in a stubborn standoff. The urge to protect her was strong, nearly drowning out his senses as he focused on their dangerous escape. One wrong move could put her in the line of fire and he refused to be the cause. At the same time, they could stand at an impasse until their time ran out. 

The boy's eyes flashed furiously at their checkmate before he handed her the last grenade. "You pull the pin, I'll grab the briefcase."

The brunette gave a firm nod and together, they vanished into the briefcase room. Five pulled out one of the time travelling devices and set the date while Dolores waited until the last second to pull the pin out. She held on to the boy's hand and they ran out of the room, leaving the grenade behind them.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

DO SOMETHING.

The explosion shook the building, shards of metal and glass flying towards them.

Five held up the briefcase to shield himself from the blow.

Dolores ducked underneath his arms and pressed her back against his chest, grasping the sides of the briefcase.

As they were engulfed in a wave of blue, something sharp pierced her side.