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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ɪɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴀᴍ ꒱


❝ WHAT'S WITH YOU
& THAT BOOK? ❞

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"You're awfully quiet today," Five observed as they walked.

Lola shrugged, not caring to answer. The girl's silence made him frown in confusion as he was used to his companion's normally chatty personality. Taking a one-eighty didn't sit as well with him as he would've liked— she hadn't even vocalized an answer to his most recent statement, much less any of the ones before that.

She sighed, "I'm just. . . thinking."

"About what?" It was unlike him to be so nosy but again, he was unused to the persistent silence.

She shrugged again. "The past, my family. I realized I don't actually know that much about them. Sure, I lived with my uncle, mom and dad my entire life and we had a ton of memories together but I never knew about them— where they came from, my heritage, what they were like as kids— I was always focused on the present and interacting with them as my parents and my uncle that I never really hung out with them as I would a friend."

"So? I never hung out with my siblings like that."

"We were always a close family," the girl told him. "It was just the three of us. Mom didn't have any siblings and both of their parents died before I was born so I never met my grandparents. I suppose since you have a larger family and a different childhood than me it's not something you're as concerned about. It just seems like I should know the three most constant people in my life better than I do."

"I'm sure they understand why you never asked," the boy said with a surprising amount of thoughtfulness. "It's a parent's job to raise their child, not to be their friend. They probably wouldn't have expected you to ask them anything like that."

"Probably," Lola agreed quietly, "but that still doesn't change the fact that I wish I could know. I'll never know now if I'm fifteen percent Italian or twelve percent English. I'll never know how many friends my dad had growing up or who my mom's childhood crush was. My uncle won't be able to tell me why he and my dad were so close or why they decided to start a department store. I just know the basics and retold stories, like how my parents met or what happened when I was born. I don't know anything before that."

"Neither do I and I'm not too worried about it. I'm adopted so maybe that's a part of it but I was never too concerned about my birth mother or finding out where I was from."

"That's right," the brunette said with sudden realization. "You don't have a real dad, do you? All of the women that gave birth on October first weren't pregnant when the day first began. That is so weird," to his (unexpected) relief, her tone had lightened.

"I suppose it is a bit unorthodox," he admitted, "I've never been able to do a DNA test to see how that messed with my genetics but I expect that would be quite interesting. I think that's the only interest I'd ever have in my past, though."

"You are more concerned about the future, aren't you?" she teased him. The boy rolled his eyes in exasperation but let the question slide. 

"There's no point in wishing for what can't be," he told her instead, "it will only make you regret what you've lost and cause you to lose focus on the future. Anything that's happened up until this point has made you, you, and I don't see a reason to worry about it."

"But I want to know what makes me, me. I want to know the percentages of where I'm from and what events occurred to bring me into being. I just feel it's more important to know your past because even the slightest sentence change could've made me not exist or exist differently."

"The Butterfly effect," Five offered.

"Exactly, which is why the past is so important. My dad was a bit of a history buff so maybe that's why I have such a fascination with it and my uncle was always interested in time so that could play a part too," she sighed, "I just should've known to ask about those things. I mean, I was writing a damn autobiography! I should've asked about pre-me and included that too!"

"D'you really think you might exist differently in a parallel universe?"

"Who knows? My uncle was a big fan of the Multiverse Theory and we talked about hundreds of potential possibilities when he worked on clocks. He even came up with the idea that he and dad would still run Gimbel's Brothers but instead of me being dad's daughter, I'd be a mannequin in their store." She laughed as she remembered that particular theory.

"Your uncle worked on clocks?" Five's voice was suddenly intrigued.

"Oh yeah," the girl said with a nod. "He liked to tinker on them when he had free time. He had a whole shed and everything. He worked on anything between antique clocks and digital ones, both to fix them and understand how they worked," she gave a little sigh, "he always seemed like a giant kid most of the time but when he was in his shed, he sort of turned into this whole other person. I think he even minored in general relativity when he was in college and he understood it."

"Could he have figured out my time travel issue, do you think?" the boy asked much to her surprise, "if he was so well-versed in it?"

"I dunno. Like I said, I don't know much about him yet I know everything. I know what he minored in yet I don't know why. I know what his favorite foods are but I don't know his middle name— really, I don't. I know what his theories on the Multiverse are but I don't know what his favorite color is. It's a paradox of sorts, I suppose."

"You talk about your uncle a lot," he commented, "were you two close?"

"Yeah, I thought so. He was always the one who looked after me when my dad spent overtime at the store and my mom was busy at work. I never really had friends growing up but he seemed to always act my age that it never really mattered to me."

"If it helps, I only knew the basic information about my siblings. My sister's book almost gave me more information on them than what I already knew. Even those who I was closest too— Six and Seven— I didn't know much about them."

Lola gave the boy a surprised look, not used to his openness about his relationship with his siblings. "Did you ever make an effort to know them? I'm just saying that 'cause it's taken you months to even lukewarm up to me. I suspect you were a bit closer to people you've lived with for fifteen years but maybe not enough to really know them."

Five shook his head. "You have to understand that our upbringing wasn't normal. That seems like it would be obvious, I know, but you can't really even begin to fathom it unless you were there. I know you've said before that pre-apocalypse you felt your days were repetitive but mine actually were. We had the same schedule almost every day with only a half-hour on Saturdays for fun. Otherwise, it was mental and physical training all the time except for sleeping and eating. I never understood what, exactly, we were training for until I landed here but now I almost wish I could've made more of the days— but the only thing I can do is adapt to survive."

"I can't even imagine," Lola admitted quietly, "and I've always had a good imagination. I know the press made it seem like that life was exciting and dangerous— which it probably was during those times— but they never mentioned anything about in between missions."

The boy scoffed as he swung his leg to kick at a rock to send it skittering out of their path. "They wouldn't. They don't care that we stayed up for hours on end with stakeouts or that in training One is forced to lift things not even he could possibly hope to lift or that Four was locked in a mausoleum with dad's attempt to make him control his powers. All they cared about were our powers, our uniforms, our missions— not the life behind the glamor."

"All that glitters is not gold," the girl said immediately.

"Exactly," the boy agreed, then he seemed to realize the line she'd said and turned to the girl in surprise. "You've read The Merchant of Venice?"

"Oh yeah, it was one of the books I borrowed from your library."

"My library?" Five's brows furrowed in confusion. Lola stopped walking suddenly and froze before she forced herself back into motion. 

"I meant the library."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes I did."

He gave a louder-than-necessary sigh. "You clearly said 'your library,' so there's no point in trying to deny it. What did you mean by that?"

"Fine, I'll tell you but you'll probably be pissed."

"Probably," he agreed.

"Well, before this whole thing happened," she waved her arms around the scene. "I lived about a block away from the Academy but it was already caput by the time I took interest in it. One night, I saw a weird figure in a window in a house that I thought was empty and so I snooped around and found the library. Books are probably my favorite thing in the world next to words and I'd never seen a house with so many books," the girl paused before she finished: "my favorite character stole books and I wanted to be like her, but I returned the ones I read instead."

"Are you mad?" the boy demanded, "breaking into my father's house? Do you know what would've happened if he caught you?"

She shrugged. "I was never caught but I suspect I'd be dead. He doesn't seem like your average Frau Hermann."

"Your average what?" there was clear frustration in the boy's tone.

"Never mind. Why couldn't I have been stuck with someone from 2019? At least then they'd appreciate all of my references," the girl grumbled as she tried to avoid Five's expected anger.

"Well, maybe I would understand them if you weren't an idiot. You returned nightly to steal books from my father? That only increased your probability of getting caught!"

"There's no need to raise your voice," she said with annoyance, "besides, what's done is done and I'm here now, unfortunately. I don't see why you care."

"I don't," Five said, "your moping was getting annoying."

"I'm not moping," Lola answered sharply, "excuse me for having emotions like a normal human and being able to admit that I miss my family."

"I have emotions too!"

"Yeah, like what?" she scoffed, "hatred, anger, disgust and big-headedness?"

"Well, it's better than sadness and complaining."

"Complaining isn't an emotion, idiot."

"My point being is two things: one, you shouldn't have been stealing from my father ("borrowing!") doesn't matter," he said dismissively when she tried to correct him. "And two, as I've said before, wishing for things that will never be is pointless. You've had months to adapt so I don't know why you're regressing now."

"Grief is different for everyone, you insensitive prick. It can come and go or happen all at once. For me, it's the first one. I think for you it's the third: it doesn't happen at all."

"I just know where to put my energy. I can grieve when I'm dead."

They fell into a prickly silence after that as neither one was willing to admit the other was right. It was only later— much later— when they were settling down for the evening that one of them spoke again.

✧✧✧

"My mom's favorite song was Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen," Lola offered quietly into the darkness, "and my dad's was I Got You Babe by Sonny and Cher. I suppose that's enough to tell me the things I don't know and will never have a chance to ask but it doesn't really make up for what I've missed."

She could hear the boy sigh softly. "I suppose I'm acting like an 'insensitive prick' as you've said because there are no words of comfort that I can give you when everything is so uncertain."

Very quietly— almost hoping that he would miss her response— the girl said, "well, maybe I don't need words."

The boy had caught her words. "Then what?"

"Can— can you hold my hand again?" the brunette asked tentatively, fearing he would mock her or say something just as abrasive. To her surprise, he only startled. 

"Oh— uh, I guess," there was a rustle of fabric as he moved closer to her.

She saw him stretch out his hand in the flickering light and placed hers on top of it. It was still strange to touch someone like this especially since their last contact had only been out of necessity— Five made it a point to avoid touching her like the plague (something about 'contact and connection' that he always went on about.) She was glad he said nothing about it now.

They sat in silence as the girl looked at their intertwined fingers before she suddenly shook them loose. The boy felt a surprising sting of disappointment as he watched her hand retract from his. The brunette began pulling off the fingers of her gloves to reveal her bare hand before she offered it back. Lola interpreted his confused silence correctly. 

"Uh, I was thinking that maybe regular contact would be more helpful than just through cloth," she said to explain her actions.

"Oh," came his response, "uh, d'you want me to—"

"If— if you don't mind," she said hesitantly.

The boy pulled his own glove off and discarded it on the ground next to him before he offered his hand again. The familiar heat crept up her face as she reached out to grab his hand and the feeling was even more foreign than when they wore gloves. Five's hand was larger than hers by several centimeters, his fingers long and slim as they reached past her own. Both of their hands had remained surprisingly clean but that was only thanks to the gloves that had protected them. Five's skin was slightly rough— most likely from superhero training— and comfortably warm as she joined their palms again.

To his surprise, the girl's hand was smaller than his by a good bit although his only other experience with female hands came from his sisters— neither of which he'd ever gotten to examine except from afar (and really, he had had far more important things to think about.) Now, though, he could see the rather startling difference in size that their gloves hid well. Her fingers were slightly wider and shorter than his, with rough nails and the occasional obviously-bitten area. As far as he could remember, Allison had always taken care in her hands and had spent as many hours as their father would allow in her room doing whatever girly thing she did. Vanya had been far less fussy and her hands had probably more closely resembled the one he was currently holding.

For Lola, it was odd to see her fingers without ink-stained tips or smudged lead from the pencils she'd used while writing. The only thing that marred the pale skin was the occasional patch of dirt where her gloves hadn't quite protected her. She preferred looking at Five's hand rather than her own. 

"Did you ever play the piano?" she asked suddenly as she studied his longer fingers.

"Uh— no," the boy cleared his throat. "My father wasn't much into the arts. He only let Vanya play the violin since she didn't have a power. Why?"

"Your fingers," she observed, turning his hand over in hers. "They're quite long— you'd probably have good reach for the keys. You never did anything with music at all?"

While she certainly wouldn't call herself a musician, her parents had been avid music listeners and had transferred the same love to her. She couldn't possibly imagine such a quiet life. Next to her, Five shook his head. "We were never really afforded the opportunity. Besides Vanya, Ben's not that bad of a drawer but that's about the extent of our talents. I've certainly never tried anything."

"Not even singing? That doesn't really require any extra tool to do."

"Nope. Luther's the one who was interested in records." There was a slight edge to his tone at her persistence, and he decided to turn it back on her with a question that had bounced around for several days. "Anyway, what's with you and that book?"

"What book?"

"The one with the girl on it. You carry it around with you everywhere and it's got no real value except sentimental, really. You'd do better by putting your energy elsewhere."

With a roll of her eyes, the brunette allowed him to change the subject and reached over to grab her belonging. "It's more than just sentiment," she explained softly as she opened it past the cover. "It's the very first book I ever received as a gift and it's what inspired me from the very beginning."

She passed him the open book and Five saw handwriting on the page that he hadn't noticed the first time. It was written in spikey script, similar to an old Germanic hand. Sequins, it started.

"Sequins?"

"Shut up and read," the girl answered as pink returned to her face at his curious tone.

Sequins,

Like you, Liesel has an affinity for words. When I read her story I was immediately reminded of you. I hope you'll find more similarities than differences as I have. Remember always that you have a brilliant mind and endless potential, both which will serve you well and get you far in life. If you ever need it, I hope you'll remember Liesel's story and draw strength from her struggles when you have your own.

Love always, Word Shaker.

Uncle Ed.

When the boy was done reading, Lola explained quietly: "he was the first one to ever truly believe in me. When you're a kid and your first word is 'octopus' rather than something like 'mom' or 'dad,' you know something's going to be different. He always treated me like I was normal— but never normal in a bad way."

"Alright, so it's a bit more than sentiment," Five allowed after she spoke, "but is it really that— is it really worth keeping? I mean, you'd always have the memory of it so it's not that important to carry around the physical copy."

"Fine," she said in acknowledgement as she took the book back. "Listen to this, then. Besides just the story, the author truly has a way with words," she flipped to the exact page she was looking for. "'He must have longed for it so much. He must have loved her so incredibly hard. So hard that he would never ask for her lips again and would go to his grave without them.' I know you don't have context but that's just so romantic," the girl breathed dreamily. "If you read the whole book you'd understand. There's so many passages like that that are just so incredible—"

"Is it a romance novel?" Five interrupted her.

"What? Oh, I mean, sort of, I suppose. There's romance in there, but it's mostly about a girl's affinity for words, like mine. She's the one who inspired me to write my autobiography. I just— I've just always wanted someone to love me like Rudy loved Liesel."

"What, and die before anything happens? That's dumb," the boy scoffed, "that's why feelings will always be a weakness—"

"Of course you wouldn't understand," she answered with an eye roll. "You're far too mathematically inclined to believe in the power of emotion but trust me when I say that it has inspired people to do great things. Even scientists feel love. There's another quote from the play The Clean House that was turned into a book: 'I loved her to the point of invention,'" she sighed happily, remembering reading the line from the book and being blown away by it.

"I never knew you were such a romantic," the boy said, eyeing her in surprise, "I'd pegged you for someone with much more sense."

"I have sense!" the girl exclaimed, "just because I'm a fan of romance doesn't mean that I lack for something else."

"Please," Five scoffed, "love makes people do stupid things, meaning it makes them lack sense. I would never do something so foolish."

"So you wouldn't try to reverse time for someone you love?"

"Of course not since I don't love anyone and probably never will. It's just not in the cards for me."

"I suppose it isn't in the cards for me either," the brunette said with a sadder tone, "I thought it might've been, but now with only you left I guess it never will."