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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐒𝐈𝐗 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ
ɪɴ ʟɪғᴇ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ? ꒱


❝ WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?
/ SIT AROUND AND WAIT FOR
YOU? ❞

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It had been eight hours, thirty minutes and four. . . five. . . six. . . seconds since Dolores and Five had parted ways. The count kept increasing in the back of her mind as she lay in the big bed by herself. The darkness of the surrounding room pressed down on her like a heavy, suffocating blanket until she threw her real blankets off of her body. The quietness was uncomfortable as well since even in the apocalypse, she'd at least had the sound of Five's sleep-breaths to create a soothing disruption against the otherwise silent world. Now, she had nothing.

The sun was just rising as seven o'clock crept nearer and the early-morning light began to bathe the room in a dull grey. Dolores had probably only slept two or three hours the previous night as her spinning mind had kept her awake. Her argument with Five played over and over in her head as she thought about what she might've said differently, how she could've convinced him that he was making a mistake. They'd argued countless times before but they'd always, always come to a compromise. Even if they'd gone several hours without speaking to each other, one of them would eventually cave and make the first step towards an agreement.

As she'd reviewed their conflict, her hand had reached up to play with the ring on the silver necklace, which had become a habit of comfort for her. Too late, she would realize it wasn't there anymore and she'd have to blink back tears. If there was absolutely one thing that she refused to do it was to mope around and act like she'd gotten her heart broken. That had been the whole point of her leaving him: to give her the independence she wouldn't have otherwise had. She was sixty-something damn years old; it wouldn't do to act like a teenager who was inconsolable over their high school boyfriend.

If there was something that Dolores and Five were equally good at, it was compartmentalizing their emotions. She'd had years of experience of shoving her trauma into a box, burying it six feet under and pretending like she was fine. She would treat this situation in the same exact way. So, by the time eight o'clock rolled around, Dolores had packed all of her feelings up in a nice, neat package and decided not to think about it anymore. She'd lived the first fifteen years of her life without Five, after all, so she'd just have to remember how to do that again.

Once she'd gotten ready for the day, she went downstairs to have breakfast at the buffet bar. She even decided to celebrate the lack of an upcoming apocalypse by ordering a Mimosa from the bartender. If there was one good thing to say about Hotel Oblivion, it was that they didn't even bat an eye when a supposed minor ordered alcohol.

None of the Hargreeves were in the immediate vicinity when she started on her meal but by the time she was halfway through, Vanya made an appearance. Except. . . she didn't really look or act like Vanya anymore. Dolores took in the changes that the seventh Hargreeves displayed: their hair was cut short and close to their head and their clothes had definitely taken on a more masculine appearance. Upon seeing Dolores sitting at the table by herself, not-Vanya made their way over to her.

When they were close enough, her (ex?)in-law spoke first: "oh, good, at least you're here. I thought you might've gone off with Five."

The brunette placed her fork on her plate and pointedly ignored the mention of her ex-husband. "Hello," she said instead. Then, after a pause, she added: "how would you like me to address you?"

Not-Vanya looked startled by her question. ". . .What?"

Dolores gave them a patient smile. "There's no need to be surprised. I grew up in the 2000s, you know. Even though I might be old enough to be a boomer I don't agree with most— or any of— their opinions. I'm not so blind that I can't see past the end of my own nose."

"Oh. . . Um, you can call me Viktor," he replied.

She nodded in response. "Alright, Viktor. Although, you do know that Vanya is a male diminutive name for Ivan, right?"

"Yes," Viktor agreed. "I did think about that, but I wanted more of a distinction between my old self and who I am now."

Rather than speaking any more on that particular subject, Dolores eyed Viktor's new hairstyle. "I see that you copied my haircut. What's with the Hargreeves and stealing my sense of style? First Allison with her bangs and now you. Well, at least it means my fashion is enviable, I suppose."

The brunet looked faintly amused by her comment. "I actually only picked it out because I liked it— I wasn't even thinking about you at the time."

"At least I can say that my bangs are better than yours— no offence. I prefer the floppy style. I'm thinking about growing my hair out again anyway so it's basically a moot point." Then, Dolores remembered that Viktor had seemed to be looking for her in the first place. "Sorry. I got off topic, didn't I? Did you need something?"

"Oh! Right. Yes, I wanted to tell you that I've arranged a meeting with Marcus— the leader of the Sparrow Academy— to retrieve our briefcase. If all goes well, we can go back to our original timeline."

"Our original timeline?" Dolores echoed. "Why would we do that?"

"We don't belong here," he explained. "Allison's daughter, Claire, doesn't even exist here. Surely you want to go home properly and see your parents again?"

She thought about her most recent reunion with her uncle and her first experience with Paradox Psychosis. Dolores looked down at her mostly-eaten plate of food that suddenly looked very unappealing. "I can't go home, Viktor. Not in any timeline."

"What do you mean?"

"When Five—" Even just speaking his name made her heart twist in her chest. "—and I first returned to 2019, my original self still existed in that timeline— the one who had yet to survive the apocalypse. She gets to live with my parents and uncle. I wouldn't have anywhere to go. I mean, I suppose that I could strike out on my own but even then, being myself would get complicated. Having two Doloreses born on the same day with nearly identical names would be hell for the IRS and any other government agency—"

"Dolores," Viktor cut across her gently, "you know that you'll always have a place with us, right? You're a part of the family now."

"But that's just it," the brunette said softly. She finally looked up to meet his eyes. Her own blurred slightly as she admitted: "Five and I are no longer together. There's no reason for me to be a part of the Hargreeves."

The man stared at her uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"Five and I are divorced in all but name. It only just happened last night."

They stood in silence for a moment as the seventh Hargreeves processed this information. Finally, he spoke in a decisive tone: "well, he's more of an idiot than I ever thought possible."

Dolores blinked back her tears— she wouldn't cry over Five. She wouldn't.— to look at him in surprise. It was her turn to ask, "what?" If anything, she would've thought that Five's siblings would side with him.

Viktor reached out and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Even if Five is a dumbass, what I said before hasn't changed. You'll always have a place with us. God knows we've put you through enough to make you an honorary eighth member."

Finally, she couldn't keep the tears at bay, but at least she was crying for a different reason rather than over her broken marriage. She quickly slid off her chair and threw her arms around the man. He was clearly startled but after a moment, he returned the gesture. So quietly that he almost missed the words, Dolores breathed out: "thank you."

✧✧✧

After she'd recovered from her emotional sort-of heart-to-heart with Viktor, Dolores finished her breakfast. She'd promised him that she would stay in the hotel and be ready for when it was time to leave. Now, she just had to find something to fill her time. As she wandered around the first floor, she came across Diego and a young boy as they approached the turnstile entrance.

The dark-haired man caught sight of her almost as soon as she appeared and he waved her over. Once she neared, he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Good, I'm glad you're here. Dolores, meet Stan. My. . . my son."

The brunette took in the boy who was standing next to him. He had closely cropped hair and he was wearing a leather jacket. There was a rebellious, tough-guy air about him as he met her gaze unflinchingly. "Diego. . ." she began slowly. "I hate to break this to you, but that's about the whitest white boy I've ever seen in my life."

"That? Who're you calling a that?" the boy— Stan— asked aggressively.

Diego ignored him and gave her a confused look. "What are you on about?"

Dolores hoped that she had enough patience to last her the whole day— or even the next hour would be nice. "Diego, you're not white," she explained slowly. "You're Hispanic, I think. If Lila's the mother like I'm assuming she is, she's definitely also not white. Ergo, it's impossible for Stan to be your son. It's called genes."

"I'm not wearing any jeans," he replied with confusion evident in his tone. "Anyway, Lila told me that Stan's my son. She wouldn't lie about something like this. Stan, this is. . . your aunt. Your Tía Dolores."

For the time being, Dolores decided not to mention her break-up with Five. "Diego, have you met Lila? She's even more manipulative than your rat-bastard father."

"Hey," Diego retorted. He pointed a stern finger at her. "Don't talk about Lila like that. Anyway, I've taken to calling Stan my alleged son. I was just looking for you, actually. How do you feel about babysitting?"

"I'm not a baby!"

She let the argument about Lila's chronic lying habits go and eyed the boy. "Uncertain," she replied after a moment. "What's in it for me?"

The man huffed. "What, you can't just do it 'cause we're family?" When her expression didn't change, he sighed. "Fine. How about eight bucks a day?"

"That's below minimum wage!" she protested. "But how about this? I'll cut you a deal. You keep the eight bucks and teach me something instead."

He watched her warily. "What did you have in mind?"

Dolores straightened and met his gaze with a determined look on her face. "Teach me how to fight."

"How to fight?" he repeated doubtfully. "I dunno. . . Five would probably kill me in my sleep."

She scoffed. "You don't have to worry about Five anymore, Diego. We broke up."

Similarly to Viktor's reaction, he stared at her uncomprehendingly. "Broke up? What, like the Beatles?"

She gave him a wry smile. "No. More like if Clyde shot Bonnie in the chest and Bonnie divorced him before she died."

Diego let out a stunned breath. "Man. If there's no hope for you and that old crosspot then what does that mean for me and Lila?"

The brunette patted him rather condescendingly on the arm. "I hate to break it to you Dollar-Store Batman, but I don't think you two had much hope to begin with. So, do we have a deal?"

✧✧✧

"I can't believe that you and Five broke up," Diego said for the sixteenth time as he pushed open the doors to the convenience store.

"Diego," Dolores sighed. "We've been through this."

The man turned to his son. "Hurry up. Alright? I want to get back to the hotel so I can kick my brother's ass."

She couldn't help but let a small smile curl on her lips. Although only two of the five Hargreeves had found out so far, their support had taken her by surprise. She'd fully expected that once her tie to them had been cut, she'd be sent adrift by herself. Surprisingly, this wasn't turning out to be the case and she felt rather less despairing than she would've if she'd been alone.

They made their way down the aisle in search of the ear medicine that Stanley needed. When they got to the right section, he paused to study the containers. "Yeah, I gotta find the right one."

"Just get the no-name shit," Diego said.

"Have you tried the no-name shit?"

"No, because my ears don't squirt juice every time I get excited."

The brunette grimaced. "That's still nasty— and I've seen a lot of gross stuff in my time."

"No one asked you for your opinion, boomer!" Stan snapped in response. On the walk over, Diego had explained that Dolores only appeared to be in her late teens and that she was mentally much older.

The girl made a rather childish face at the younger boy. "Maybe babysitting is the right term for you, generation alpha."

"See, you can't turn my age into an insult." He smirked at her cockily before he answered Diego: "trust me. I need my brand."

He resumed his search for his medicine. Diego's suspicious nature wouldn't let him rest and he looked around the store warily as he waited for his son. This cautiousness turned out to be necessary as the bell chimed above the convenience store doors. An unfortunately familiar voice rang through the shop: "Jayme, get me munchies."

Alphonso and his sister appeared in the aisle moments later on their way to get the items they needed. Diego grasped Dolores' arm to get her attention and silently indicated the Sparrows' arrival. Stan remained oblivious to the older pair's sudden alertness as he located what he was looking for. "Oh, I found it—"

The man shushed him and crouched behind the aisle. He gently pushed on the boy's shoulder. "Go wait outside."

"Why?"

"I'm about to give Dolores her first fighting lesson," he explained.

Stan wasn't so easily persuaded. "Don't worry. I've got your back."

"Go."

The boy stayed in place as Diego made his way stealthily towards the Sparrows. Dolores followed him and made an effort to follow his careful footsteps. They stopped a few aisles away from where Alphonso was sniffing hairspray bottles. In a quiet voice, Diego began: "now, the first rule of fighting is—"

"Don't talk about Fight Club?" Dolores guessed. Her smug expression faltered as she did her best to ignore the pang of longing that followed. If Five were here, he would've rolled his eyes and asked something along the lines of was that a reference? 

No. Bad Dolores. Don't think about him.

"What? No." Diego frowned. "This is serious business, Dolores. If you're gonna joke around then you can go outside and wait with Stan."

She held up her hands placatingly. "Alright, alright. Sorry. I'm listening."

"The first rule of fighting is to observe your opponent. This will help you find their weak spots and know how to catch them off guard. Studying their habits can give you the upper hand when you attack them."

She nodded. "Makes sense. Go on."

"Tell me what you notice about this fool."

The brunette watched him thoughtfully for a moment. "He's confident. He doesn't think that anyone will pick a fight with him in a convenience store. He's oblivious right now since he's invested in. . . whatever he's doing. He's also alone since Jayde? Jaycee? Whatever his sister's name is isn't nearby."

"Good," he said with approval. "Do you notice anything that could contribute to his fighting skills?"

"Well. . . he's bulky. That could slow him down in a fight. We don't know what his powers are, though. You didn't fight him when we first landed in this timeline, right?"

"Unfortunately no," he replied. "That is something that could turn the tables on us. But we've got the element of surprise which is more useful than you might think."

"Plus this is their home turf," Dolores added. "Another downside."

"Right. Although a convenience store is pretty neutral territory. Come on." Together, they crept ever closer to the unaware Sparrow. "Stay here and watch," he instructed her. Before she could argue, he walked out to the middle of the aisle and stood. He gained the Sparrow's attention with a whistle.

The other man put down the spray he'd been sniffing and stood across from him. "Well, isn't this a coinkidink?"

"Only dink I see is yours, tough guy."

"You followed me here?" he asked as he stepped towards Diego.

"Don't flatter yourself." The Hargreeves closed the distance so that they met in the middle of the aisle.

"Leave now, or I'm gonna spank you like the little bitch you are."

Undeterred, Diego met his gaze evenly. "Take your best shot, Tubby."

Alphonso threw the first punch but missed, which allowed the other man to land a hit on his nose. Diego went reeling back with the return pain. "Oh, shit!"

"I know," the other man chuckled. "It doesn't feel good, does it?"

He scoffed before he aimed a kick at his opponent's stomach. Alphonso turned with the force and threw the dark-haired man against the aisle. The shelves gave way under his weight. As he scrambled up from the floor, the Sparrow retaliated with a kick of his own that sent Diego flying into a dairy display.

The two men continued to battle it out in the middle of the convenience store without paying the other patrons any mind. Dolores watched their fight more critically than she might've on a normal basis. It seemed that they were both equally matched but Alphonso appeared to be impervious to harm. Every time Diego attempted to attack him, the deformed man hardly flinched. Instead, it was the Hargreeves man that took the brunt of the hits every time.

The longer Dolores watched the fight, the more it looked like Alphonso wasn't even trying. Rather, his counters were always fake-outs, which tricked Diego into thinking that he was fighting. About ten minutes into their struggle, one of the brunet's kicks caused some of Alphonso's chin to separate from his face and fall on the ground. Diego paused. "Dude, your chin."

Except for his heavy breathing, his opponent remained unconcerned. "It does that sometimes."

The brunet met the girl's watchful eyes. "Rule number four: distract your opponent." He aimed a punch at the Sparrow's face and their bout resumed. 

"Wait! Diego, you skipped two and three!"

"We'll cover those later," he grunted in response. Then, he was sent flying through a neatly-stacked arrangement of canned goods.

Stan ran over and stole a knife. He hurled it at Alphonso and it surprisingly met its mark— except it caused him to yelp in pain as a slice appeared on his leg. He bent to grip the injured area as Diego got to his feet. The boy fell to the floor as he whimpered with pain.

"You getting how this works yet?"

"That's my kid, asshole!"

"Diego, stop!" Dolores exclaimed as the man went to avenge his son. "His power, it's—"

"Once you know all the rules of fighting, you can tell me what to do. Alright?" he retorted as he spun around to scold her. "Until then, I'm in charge here!"

He successfully aimed a kick to Alphonso's stomach, which caused the man to lose his balance. As he panted for breath, he got his inhaler out. Diego didn't give him a chance to recover. "Are you getting tired yet? Your heart's getting weaker?"

"Not even close."

The dark-haired man kicked the inhaler out of his grasp to send it skittering across the floor. "Dolores, get it!"

The brunette leapt into action to close her hand around the breathing aid. Diego's attention turned to Stan, who was still in pain from the knife wound he'd received. Unbeknownst to the trio, Jayme had had enough of their fight and was coming over to join it herself.

"You're good. You're okay. It's not that bad, alright? Stop crying," Diego reassured his son.

Dolores' attention was on the pair, so she didn't notice Jayme gear up her power. In quick succession, two dark saliva strands shot of out her mouth. One was aimed at Diego, who was kneeling next to the boy. The other was sent in Dolores' direction; the girl had moved towards the duo after her acquisition of Alphonso's inhaler. Fortunately for Diego, his son shielded him with a nearby pan to prevent him from hallucinating again.

Dolores, however, was not so lucky.