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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴀ
ʀᴜʙʏ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴ ᴏғ ʀᴏᴄᴋs꒱


❝ THERE'S ONLY ONE GIRL
THAT I'LL EVER LOVE / [. . .] /
I KNOW I'LL NEVER GET HER
OUT OF MY HEART ❞

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[ timeline 032 ]

Mannequin.

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 434 ]

Mannequin.

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 201 ]

Mannequin.

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 116 ]

While they couldn't search every timeline— some they left immediately in fear of being shot or stabbed— the ones where they were able to go to Gimbel's Brothers, the store was nearly the same in all of them. He always located the dark-skinned employee, Brittany, who had the same bad attitude every time. He tapped on her shoulder and announced: "I need to speak to Edward Gimbel. Immediately."

Brittany glanced over at him, scanned over him once, and arched a brow. "Aren't you a little young to be a Karen?"

He'd learned that this was now some kind of insult; Lila had laughed her ass off the first time she'd overheard, then explained its meaning. He ignored the jab, having more pressing matters at hand, and pinned her with one of his trademark glares. It would've made any normal person quail under the look, but the employee merely appeared nonplussed in return. He repeated sharply, "I need to talk to him. Is—he—here?"

The young woman sighed as if the task required far more effort than she was willing to put out. She roughly slammed the hanger down on the rack with a metal clang!, irritated by both the boy's tone and at her chore being interrupted. "Wait here."

It took some time in which Five paced the aisle irately. Lila scanned the shelves, occasionally pocketing a useful tool or item surreptitiously. He didn't have the energy to scold her for stealing from his wife's family's store. Finally, Brittany returned with a blond-haired man behind her. Five's heart gave a painful squeeze at the sight of Edward's very familiar blue eyes. While it had been different in every timeline so far— sometimes Edward was alive and his brother wasn't, sometimes Gimbel's was owned by a completely different family, very rarely were both of them alive— their appearance stayed constant.

The blond smiled genially at him— a customer service smile, one that spoke of no immediate recognition. "Hello. Brittany here told me you wanted to speak to one of the owners?"

Owners. Plural. He told himself that meant nothing. They'd been alive, together, but his wife hadn't been. It usually turned out that Edmund never had children. In those timelines, he'd never even gotten to asking; he could see Dolores' blue eyes worn by one of the mannequins that stood in the middle of the main isle. He hadn't seen that particular mannequin in this timeline, but he reminded himself not to jump to conclusions.

"Yes. I'm looking for someone. Her name is D-Dolores." His voice caught on her name as it always did.

The man's expression softened, tinged with sadness. "You knew Dolores?"

KNEW. She'd been alive in this timeline. Five stared at Edmund, his breath hitching in his throat. His words took on a raspy, hoarse quality as he managed to ask, "w-what happened?"

"She. . . she passed away a few years back in a tragic car accident. I'm sorry, if you knew her well," the blond explained, breaking the news to the young man as gently as he could. The boy looked as if one piece of bad news could knock him over. His brother was always better at reading people, but if Edmund had to guess, he'd already experienced more hardship than he deserved; he wished he could have given a more positive answer.

Five reached out and grasped the rack next to him for support, feeling that vicelike grip in his chest— it never did get more comfortable, no matter how many times he'd experienced it. "When. . . when did she—?"

"About six years ago."

"Six years," he echoed, his voice barely a whisper. He squeezed the metal rack harder, the cold of it grounding him in the present even as his mind spun backward. Six years. Dolores had been alive in this timeline— lived a life, one he hadn't been there for, a life without him.

Lila, who was close enough to overhear the conversation, stopped her rummaging . She'd begun to sense when Five was at a tipping point and news like this. . . well, whatever the fallout was would be dealt with best in private. "Hey, uh. . . maybe we should go," she muttered.

He didn't acknowledge her. His eyes were still fixed on Edmund, who was watching him with a look of growing concern. Five wanted to ask more— where Dolores had lived, what she had done in the years leading up to the accident, if she'd been happy—  but the words lodged in his throat, suffocated by the heavy, sinking dread in his chest. Six years. Gone. Again.

Edmund cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly under the weight of Five's silence. "I'm sorry," he repeated, as if saying it again could somehow lessen the blow. "She was a lovely woman. A lot of people around here still talk about her."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear. Pointless platitudes were never comforting. Seeing Edmund's gaze fill with pity as he looked at him made his stomach twist in unease. His voice was tight as he tried to maintain some semblance of politeness: "I appreciate your time."

Lila hesitated for a moment, watching Five as he turned and headed back towards the glass doors, which would eventually bring them to the subway entrance. She offered a strained smile to Edmund before trailing after him, moving faster to catch up. "Five. . ." she started, her voice careful, but unsure of what to say. Comfort wasn't her strong suit— sarcasm, yes, deflection, definitely, but this?

He shook his head, eyes trained forward as they neared the stairwell. "Don't."

There was no edge to his voice, just exhaustion. And Lila, for once, didn't push. She simply followed him down the steps, letting the eerie quiet of the subway settle between them.

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 567 ]

Dead. 

Six years. It was always six years.

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 106 ]

This time, the streets were on fire. As soon as they stepped out of the subway, a wave of heat hit them, the stench of smoke thick in the air. Buildings crumbled in the distance, and the sky was filled with ash and soot.

"Well, that's new," Lila remarked, shielding her face from the heat as she surveyed the chaos.

Five's eyes darted toward Gimbel's. The store still stood, but the windows were shattered and flames licked up the sides of the building. "We can't stay here," he said quickly, already turning back toward the subway.

"No shit," Lila replied, following him as another explosion rocked the ground beneath them. They barely made it back inside the subway before the entire street collapsed in on itself.

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 010 ]

It was one of the most peaceful timelines they'd ever encountered. The forest around them was lush and full of life; they could hear birds chirping and the scuttle of small animals under the brush. They weren't the only ones to see its potential, either; there was a cottage that stood some distance away, overgrown now from years of disuse. The cobblestone path was hidden beneath tall grass, ivy was growing up the sides and a part of the roof looked like it had water damage. Still, Lila's eyes lit up at the sight of it, the promise of running water and decent food— even if it was old or canned— making her turn to Five with a pleading look on her face.

Unfortunately, the set of his jaw and stony look in his eyes told her that he wouldn't be swayed easily. In fact, he hadn't moved since they'd laid eyes on the house, his attention fixed on the cottage as his gaze took on a hollow, haunted look. But, Lila wasn't going to back down from the promise of a decent night's sleep easily. "C'mon, it won't hurt to just look around! What'dya say to a nice hot meal?"

"No," he replied firmly, his tone unyielding. When he spoke again, it was weaker, almost. . . afraid? But that wasn't right, because Five wasn't afraid of anything. "No. Don't make me go in there."

"What? Why not? Are you worried about the roof collapsing or something?" she asked, not understanding his hesitation.

"There's something wrong with it," he said quietly, almost to himself. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the cottage like it held some unspeakable truth. "Doesn't feel right."

Lila sighed, folding her arms across her chest as she tried to tamp down her frustration. "Seriously? You don't wanna go in there because of. . . what? A bad vibe?" She gestured towards the cottage, her words brimming with disbelief. "Look, I know it's not exactly the Hilton, but we've stayed in worse places. A roof, a bed— well, maybe not a bed, but a roof and a floor, that's something, yeah?"

"I can't— there's just—" He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face to try and wipe away whatever feeling gnawed at him. "There's something wrong with it."

The brunette's confusion deepened as she watched Five's stance stiffen, his hands balling into fists by his sides. She had seen him face down far worse than a dilapidated cottage. This hesitation, the almost imperceptible tremble in his voice, was unnerving. Five wasn't one to back away from anything. She'd seen him hopeless, lost, tipping over the edge, but this. . . She thought it might've been his troubled expression or the fact that he didn't seem to know (because Five prided himself on knowing everything, so for him to not know something disturbed both of them), but she decided it was for the best if she didn't push it.

"Okay," Lila agreed, resigned. "We'll move on."

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 773 ]

Five stared at the display in Gimbel's, the mannequin propped up in the same lifeless posture as always. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. Lila stood beside him, hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, rocking back on her heels as if she were waiting for a bus.

"Well," she said, breaking the silence, "looks like the Dolores Special again. Fifty-fifty that it's the same in the next one?"

Five shot her a glare but didn't respond. It wasn't worth it. He turned on his heel, heading for the subway. Lila sighed, scuffing her feet as she followed behind him.

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 291 ]

Five didn't even stop to examine the details this time. As soon as they stepped out of the subway, his eyes landed on the mannequin standing by the entrance of Gimbel's, her face eerily similar to the Dolores he'd known. Without a second glance, he spun on his heel and stepped back into the subway car, Lila trailing behind with an exaggerated sigh.

"That's what? The tenth time today?" Lila asked, leaning against the wall of the train.

"Eleventh," Five muttered under his breath, crossing off another stop on their railway map. He was beginning to lose count.

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 493 ]

This timeline was different. Five felt it the moment they stepped out of the subway. The air was thick with tension, a quiet hum of something lurking beneath the surface. He scanned the area cautiously as they approached Gimbel's, his instincts prickling with unease.

Lila nudged him. "You feeling it too?"

Five nodded, his eyes narrowing as he spotted two men standing near the entrance, dressed in black suits and looking distinctly out of place. They weren't customers, that much was clear.

"Get ready to jump back," he muttered to Lila, his voice low. He reached for the door of Gimbel's, but before his hand touched the handle, one of the men stepped forward, blocking his path.

"Sorry, kid," the man said, his tone casual but with an underlying threat. "This store's closed today."

Five's pulse quickened. The last thing he needed was a fight, but there was something about this timeline— something that made his instincts scream to get inside.

"I don't have time for this," Five snapped, stepping forward. "Move."

The man didn't flinch. Instead, he pulled out a gun. "I'd think twice about that."

Before Five could react, Lila grabbed his arm, yanking him back toward the subway. "Not worth it," she hissed, already dragging him toward the stairs. "Let's go."

They raced back down to the platform just as a gunshot echoed through the street behind them. The doors to the train slid shut, and Lila collapsed onto a seat, her chest heaving.

"Jesus," she breathed, glancing over at him. "You really know how to pick 'em, don't you?"

Five didn't respond. He was too busy staring at the map of timelines, his mind spinning. They hadn't gotten close enough to see her— if she was there or if it was another mannequin— but something about that place had been wrong.

✧ ✧ ✧

[ the subway ]

By now, Five was an old hat at getting lost in time. He was almost living in luxury compared to the last apocalypse. At least he had four intact walls, a decent source of food and, most importantly, he wasn't alone (even if Lila wasn't his first pick.) If he looked on the bright side (something that didn't come naturally to him), things weren't so bad. The one drawback— and what was arguably wearing him down the most— was the constant failure of his wife not being present in any timeline. He'd been trying to keep track of how many they'd visited, but had lost count somewhere in the hundreds. (The quiet, nagging, voice in the back of his head that sounded like his wife's pointed out snidely that she wouldn't have lost count.)

On the other hand, Lila wasn't use to this kind of survival. Combat and undercover missions, certainly, but not scavenging for food or the lack of hygiene. Their appearances were both showing the wear and tear of travelling through time; their hair was longer with a lank, dirty quality, their skin was smeared with soot from the train and their general activities, their clothes were rumpled and soiled from daily use. As the years passed, Lila had begun to drag her feet, not having the same dogged determination that Five did as he swore that his wife was somewhere in time (she had to be.)

On her insistence, they'd set up camp so at least they'd have a place to return to after their endless searching. Eventually, Five couldn't cajole or threaten her to search a hundred timelines a day, so the number steadily dwindled to the tens. She'd been taking their 'camp' more literally and turning it into a home; they even had a makeshift grill for their fire. That's what they were currently sitting in front of, trying to keep warm as they roasted their repetitive dinner.

"I think subway rats have a little more flavor than the apocalypse ones," Five commented, having thought about the comparison for a while. "Probably because they have more to eat than just cockroaches."

Lila picked up one of the fruits they'd managed to snag from a previous timeline. "If you add an orange peel to it, it kind of tastes like duck à l'orange. Care to guess how long we've been here?"

He opened a well-worn amalgamation of calendars to consult it. "Well, according to my calendar, it's been. . . six years, five months, two days."

"Yeah, well, we'll find a way home soon enough, right?" the brunette said with forced optimism.

Of course, Five did nothing to look on the bright side of things, as he pointed out: "if we don't get stabbed, shot, or blown up the next time we go topside. In some of those timeline we've been lucky to get out alive."

"We're still kicking, so we must be doing something right," she countered. She paused, gauging his mood— which, believe it or not, was one of his more cheerful ones (not that he was ever particularly happy in the last decade)— and decided that it would be worth it to bring up the subject that had been plaguing her mind. "Do you remember that timeline we found the other day? With the cottage?"

He was immediately on guard, knowing exactly what she was talking about. Still, he tried to deflect by pretending he didn't know. "What about it?"

"I know you weren't a fan of it, but it's a house, Five. A real house, maybe with running water. Nothing tried to kill us in that timeline. I was thinking. . . we might go back and check it out?" she proposed, watching his face carefully. His brows were furrowed and the tenseness of his jaw told her that he was ready to shoot down her idea. So, she pulled out her trump card: "I mean, when we do find your wife in one of these timelines, you don't want to be smelly and have rat-breath, do you? What's gonna happen if we find her in the next one and you look like. . ." She gestured to his appearance. "She'd run screaming, I think— or at least she'd want you to stay ten feet away from her."

Although he hated to admit it, he realized that she had a point. He glanced down at himself, as if he were just now seeing the disrepair his clothes were in. He wished it were any other timeline but that one. While he was never one for gut instinct or intuition, there had been something so fundamentally wrong about that house that his feet had refused to let him go closer. He thought it might have something to do with the way he was connected to the timeline; maybe he'd experienced Paradox Psychosis enough to recognize when his other self had been in proximity. (He didn't think that's what this was; the cottage had very clearly been abandoned, but maybe this other version of him had lived there once upon a time.) Regardless, he didn't think that this time, this feeling was something to be dismissed.

"Lila. . ." he said with a sigh, "I-I just—"

"I know you feel like you can't," the brunette cut him off with surprising gentleness. "You don't even have to go in if you don't want to, but I don't know about you, but I'd strangle a kitten for a hot bath. That's the only place we've seen that has that potential. I think we should at least do some recon before we write it off completely. If it's really as wonky as you feel it is, we'll leave. Sound good?"

He could tell that she was going to keep pushing, even more than when they'd first found the place. He saw the spark of defiance in her eyes and knew that she would go with or without him. They were teammates now, partners against the weight of the timelines that pressed around them— he wouldn't let her go alone, and she knew that. "Fine. Just a shower. That's it. If we stay in one place too long, it'll be too tempting to give up. I'm not giving up."

"Of course not," she agreed. "Just a shower." 

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 010 ]

Five stared at the cottage, hesitant to go in. He'd seen a lot of things in his long life— things he'd rather have not seen— and all of them played through his head in what-if scenarios. From the gut feeling he was experiencing, nothing good could be behind that solid wood door. He knew by now that the universe had it out for him; it was probably something horrible that was karma for all of the sin he'd committed throughout the years. Lila, obviously, had no such qualms. She pushed the door open.

Five stared some more. It was just a house.

There was no traumatic scene awaiting him, just dusty darkness that spoke of a long period of emptiness. Stale scents lingered in the air: old perfume, growing things, and a hint of wet dog that could never be completely erased. The house was quiet, the dark foyer sitting before them innocently. Still, his feeling of wrongness persisted. He didn't stop Lila from setting foot inside, though. After a minute, he followed her.

They were both wary of potential collapse from time-worn rafters, but it seemed stable enough. Lila sneezed. "God, when was the last time someone cleaned in here?"

Her question went unanswered as he slowly trailed her. His eyes were sharp, alert for anything— anyone— that might pose a threat. They entered the kitchen. The counters were clear, with a vase of old, long-dead flowers sitting on the peninsula. A heavy iron skillet sat on the stove, the basin filled with cobwebs from lack of use. Of the three bar chairs, one was crooked, as if someone had gotten up in a hurry and had never pushed the seat back in. The most interesting feature of the room was the fridge, where a child's artwork— faded and yellowing— was pinned to the front with magnets.

Five didn't pay much attention to the aforementioned details, still on the lookout for the source of his unease. He tensed as something in the house creaked, but relaxed a moment later when he realized it was just the bones settling. Lila flitted about the room in her easily distracted way. She tested out the sink to check for running water. Nothing came out at first, but then she let out an excited gasp when brown, rusty water poured from the spigot. After a few minutes, it ran clear.

"I call the shower first!" she exclaimed, shoving past him to charge upstairs.

The brunet's hand whipped out and stopped her in her tracks. "Stay with me," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

While she normally would have balked at being ordered about, the look on his face made her swallow her words. She'd beat him to the shower later. They went into the living room.

There was nothing immediately amiss here, either. It opened onto a greenhouse, its glass paneling letting in light that made this room easier to see. A desk sat facing towards a window. A runner rug sat on the long strip of floor between that and the couch, which was positioned to face the fireplace on the other side of the room. Built-in bookshelves framed the hearth, above which sat a dusty mirror that took up the remaining wall space. It was the pictures on the mantle that caught Five's attention.

He made his way over towards them, feeling as if he were walking through molasses— or his legs were made of lead. His eyes took them in, unseeing for a moment. He saw the dark-haired man and blue-eyed woman smiling back at him. In a few of them, there was a child that shared their features. In others, a mutt sat by his master's feet.

Five froze, gazing at the photos, his pulse pounding in his ears. He felt the weight of a thousand questions settling on his chest, yet he found he couldn't breathe well enough to voice a single one. This dark-haired man was smiling with a warmth Five hadn't felt in. . . a decade. But he was beginning to recognize the swoop of the dark hair— reminiscent of the shorter style he used to wear. He recognized the man's sharp, calculating green eyes, intelligent even with the downright cheerful expression on his face. He recognized the angle of the jawline and the faint dimple that appeared in the brighter smiles. It was him. In every one of these pictures, it was his own face— older, certainly, but unmistakably his. And that had to mean— the woman—

His breath caught in his throat. It was her. Dolores.

He'd spent years and years searching for her, and now he was looking at her face for the first time in a decade. It was the real, physical proof of her existence that he'd been searching for. She was older than when he'd lost her. Her hair was longer, pulled back in a ponytail in most of the pictures, but a few of them he could see it was almost elbow-length. She still had her bangs, which made his lips quirk into a faint smile. Her blue eyes were unchanged, bringing him a source of comfort and eased some of the ache in his heart. She seemed happy, in a way that she hadn't been in this lifetime. Her expression was open, radiant even, and the smile she wore wasn't just for the camera. It was for him, as if he'd been the center of her world.

The brunet hadn't known that his hands were shaking until he reached up to pick up one of the pictures. It was a photo of all three of them and. . . and that had to mean. . . The second realization hit him like a freight train: he'd been a father.

At this, he found that he couldn't hold himself up on his own two feet anymore and he sank to the floor, kneeling in front of the fireplace with the picture cradled in his hands. The little girl had his dark hair and Dolores' blue eyes. Even at her young age— she couldn't have been more than three in this one— he could see the cleverness behind her gaze. Dolores was holding the girl against her side, the smaller brunette's hand grasping the front of her mother's sundress.

He'd never imagined himself in such a role. He hoped he'd been a good one, though that seemed unlikely considering his only example of fatherhood was a harsh, uncaring man from another planet. But if Dolores' and the girl's smiles were anything to go by, maybe he had figured it out, somehow. But, as it turned out, it didn't matter what he'd always thought; even if he'd never met his child, even if she wasn't really his child, he loved her on the spot. And maybe that was what being a father really was about.

Five was so lost in the sudden onslaught of emotions he was feeling that he didn't sense Lila return to his side. She knelt next to him, peering intrusively over his shoulder to see what he was so taken with. She let out a faint breath, immediately recognizing the couple in the picture. "Oh. Oh, shit."

"Yeah," he managed to get out, though the word came out crackly and dry.

Lila's gaze fell on the child, the mother side of her softening at the sight of the girl. She thought about her own kids, somewhere on the other side of the timeline. She wondered if they still remembered her, if they missed her as much as she missed them. She swallowed, thinking about how she'd feel if hers and Five's roles were reversed; if she was the one who got a glimpse of a life she could've had. Her heart squeezed at the thought of never having gotten to meet Gracie, Coco and Ronnie— of never even knowing their names. She knew platitudes wouldn't help, so she offered the only other thing she came up with: "she's beautiful."

Five swallowed hard, his voice barely audible. "I didn't. . . I didn't know."

Lila's expression softened further. She hesitated, reaching out a hand to rest on his shoulder. "Guess that explains why this place. . . why it felt off to you, yeah?"

He nodded absently, his eyes never leaving the photo. There were so many memories in these walls— memories that he'd never lived, moments that had been stripped from him before he even knew to miss them. And for what? For this lonely existence that had been his only reality, filled with pain and loss. He gripped the photograph tighter, his jaw clenching as the questions surfaced in a silent roar. How could the universe be so cruel? How could it give him this life only to make him a stranger to it?

The brunette glanced back at the picture and then at Five, wondering what she should say next. She remembered how against coming here he'd been, but maybe his opinion had changed now that he'd found— sort of— what he'd been looking for. She shifted next to him. "So. . . what now?"

"I. . . I want to look around," he replied, his voice still hoarse. If Dolores had lived here, that meant. . . that meant those kid's drawings on the fridge, they'd been his daughter's. 

Been. Past tense. He clearly didn't live here with Dolores and the girl or even the dog anymore. Something soured in his stomach as he wondered what happened to them. Something else told him that he already knew. After all, there were no pictures of his daughter past six years old.

Five stood shakily, clutching onto the photo as if it were a lifeline. It was Lila who trailed him now, watching him with concern. He walked through the first floor of the house again, feeling as if he were in a dream. He began to see Dolores' touches here and there: the dead flowers in the kitchen, a stained-glass window decoration, the children's rainboots by the back door. He drank every detail in, trying to soak up as much of the life he'd never lived as he could.

Eventually, they made their way upstairs. There was a child's bedroom, a bathroom, and the master bedroom. He stopped before he entered the last one, turning to face Lila to prevent her from entering. "Wait here."

She let out a disbelieving laugh. "What? You can't be serious! I wanna be nosy! What dirty secrets were you hiding in this life?"

His stony expression didn't change and he stood firmly in the entrance. "I'll lock the door."

The brunette threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Okay, you crazy lunatic."

Relieved, he faced the bedroom again. This was where he'd slept with Dolores. His wife. It felt wrong to let Lila in here, almost as if he were desecrating his wife's memory. It made his skin crawl to think about Lila sleeping in the king bed, or wearing Dolores' clothes, or even playing the female role when it should have been his wife here with him. Even if he couldn't keep Lila from the rest of the house, he would make sure she never stepped foot in this room, the last sanctuary he had of Dolores being solely his.

He could even still smell her lingering in the air, the flowery, feminine scent complimenting the more outdoorsy one that must've belonged to him. There were still more pictures in here, decorating the bedside tables and other surfaces. He went over to the closet and took a look inside. This version of himself had been far more relaxed; there wasn't a suit in sight. Instead, he was met with thick sweaters, flannel, and even a fishing vest or two, reminiscent of the one he'd worn during his ten-second retirement. There weren't even any loafers or dress shoes; his only options were sneakers, hiking shoes, or waterproof boots.

Dolores' clothes were next to his, also different than what he was used to her wearing. Most of her wardrobe was made up of the sundresses he'd seen in the pictures, along with cardigans and a few jeans and t-shirts. Her shoes were much the same as his.

"Hey, control freak, anything in there for me to wear?" Lila called over from where she stood just outside the room.

He wanted to say no. It felt wrong to even give her one of the dresses, let alone see her wearing it. But she'd struggled to survive just as much as he had and he wasn't heartless. He could bear to part with one or two of his wife's clothes; there would still be plenty for him to keep for himself. With a sigh, he picked out a few of the more faded dresses and older sweaters before he returned to the brunette's side and handed them to her.

"You're not to come in here. Ever," he said with an air of finality.

✧ ✧ ✧

He hated this.

It had been a few months since they'd settled in the cottage— a huge upgrade from their meager subway camp— but there was a long list of 'cons,' in Five's opinion. He hated being here with Lila. He would never get used to seeing her in Dolores' clothes or even her hair being similar to his wife's style. Watching her live in the house he'd shared with Dolores— even if it had been another version of himself— was driving him mad, both with anger and in the insane way. It was better for both of them if he was gone more often than not, so he'd started taking long walks through the forest as he tried to picture his girls doing the same beside him.

On one of his many meanderings he found a fallen tree by the side of a small river where he took to eating his lunch. He felt at peace in the forest, a chosen isolation. He had the company of birdsong and even began to take a mild interest in identifying like species. It was the spot where he'd read the first entry in Dolores' journal, having found the book in her bedside table the night before, much to his delight. Reading it made him feel bittersweet, being able to imagine the kind of life he could've had while never being able to achieve it. At least he'd learned his daughter's name: Aoife, after his birthmother, whom he had apparently known slightly better in this timeline.

He was glad he was alone for most of the entries, allowing him to express his emotions freely without the self-conscious feeling of being judged by another party (namely, Lila.) Most of them made him laugh— a sound that he hadn't made for years— as her tone spoke clearly through her words. She had the same sense of humor and affinity for numbers that his Dolores had, which was a comfort. He read and re-read the journal pages until he'd committed them to memory, then continued to read them as if each one were still new. He could never get enough of the glimpse of what-might-have-been.

--

Aoife's first word, of course, was 'dada.' She's her dad's little girl through and through. I swear, every day with Aoife is like seeing you in miniature; you'd think you were the one who birthed her, not me. At least she has my eyes, so there. But if I'm being honest, I'm glad she learned 'dada' first; I know Five's life hasn't been easy, so I wanted him to have this 'win.' We'll have to be careful, though— we don't want her calling him 'daddy;' that might get a little weird. When I brought this up to Five, he'd agreed with a smirk, "'daddy' is kind of. . . already reserved for me."

--

The weather's been perfectly warm, the kind of sun that isn't harsh but feels like a gentle embrace. Five doesn't quite know what to do with himself on days like these, but I managed to get him out of the cottage to help me hang up the laundry. Of course, he rolled his eyes when I handed him the basket of clothespins, complaining about how his talents were being wasted, but I caught him adjusting the lines just so, making sure everything hung perfectly even.

Aoife toddled around with her little wooden toy broom, trailing after him and trying to "help" by sweeping the ground as he worked. Five kept glancing down at her, pretending to ignore her, but I saw him slow his steps so she could keep up. At one point, she looked up at him with this huge, toothy grin and called out, "Dada!" He nearly dropped the entire basket of laundry. (He's still not used to hearing it yet, though I can't blame him— 'mama' is just as much of a surprise to me.) He didn't say much for the rest of the afternoon, but it was the thoughtful, contemplative silent he gets when good emotions become too much for him to fully process.

--

We found a puppy not long ago. Aoife and I took him home and cleaned him up; he's a scruffy little creature that was abandoned by the forest's edge. We tried to hide him from Five— who would surely detest an animal in the house— but when dinnertime came 'round, the pup couldn't be held back from the table, he was so hungry. Five wanted nothing to do with it at first—"this isn't a charity," he said, "and I'm not running a farm." But Aoife had those big, pleading eyes, and I. . . well, I reminded him that a dog would be good company when he was working late.

He kept insisting that the dog would leave the next night, but something always got in the way. It was raining. It was 'too dark.' We hadn't fed the dog enough of a last meal. Finally, after two weeks of both pleading to keep him (Aoife) and half-hearted name suggestions (me), I left him no choice but to pick one today. He sat with us on the floor, frowning at the little furball as if it was somehow his lifelong nemesis, then out of nowhere said, "fine. Mr. Pennycrumb."

He hated that he'd been the one to name him, I could tell. The look on his face afterward was priceless, as if he'd handed over a piece of himself he hadn't meant to. But the name stuck, and that little fluff now follows him around like he's the sun. It's a sight: Five with Mr. Pennycrumb at his heels, that scowl of his somehow softer. He pretends he doesn't care for him, but they both know the truth.

--

Aoife has taken to wandering the yard, picking every wildflower she can find, and bringing them to us one by one. She made such a mess of the kitchen, scattering leaves and petals all over the floor, but I didn't mind. Five pretended he was annoyed, sweeping up the leaves and muttering about the state of the place, but I saw him stash one of her little bouquets on the kitchen windowsill.

Later, he tried teaching Aoife a few words in Latin— she mostly laughed and babbled back, but Five looked so serious as he corrected her pronunciation, saying she "has to get it right." He doesn't know it, but I snuck a photo of them. I have a little album for all of Aoife's firsts, and this one's going right in the middle.

--

Summer's in full bloom here and Aoife's taken to making crowns from wildflowers she picks by the meadow. She made one for each of us, even Mr. Pennycrumb. I had to practically bribe Five into wearing his, but when Aoife asked, there was no way he could refuse. He put it on, grumbling the whole time, saying he looked like a fool, but his smile said otherwise. That's one of the things I love most about him— he'll never say he cares, but his actions give him away every time.

He even wore it for longer than he needed to, sneaking a look in the mirror when he thought no one was watching. Our Aoife said he looked like a "flower prince," which only made him scowl deeper. . . but he wore that crown till it wilted.

--

Today was Aoife's first attempt at picking strawberries. I spent the whole morning teaching her how to carefully twist them from the stem and she picked up on it quickly— mostly because she kept wanting to eat them as she went along. Five had been grumbling about "country chores," muttering about how we could just as well buy them at the market, but he surprised me by joining us. When he leaned down to help Aoife, he kept whispering instructions on how to find "the fattest ones" and pretending he could see them better than I could. And when I teased him about it, he gave me one of those deadpan looks and said, "I aim to please." He hated it, I know he did, but it made Aoife laugh, and I caught him smiling every time she looked his way.

Later, I watched him cut up strawberries for our dessert, brow furrowed in concentration like he was tackling the world's most difficult problem. Mr. Pennycrumb stayed at his feet, hoping for a bit of strawberry or, better yet, a lick of whipped cream.

--

Aoife has powers. Or power, thankfully. We weren't sure if she would, since no one's done research to know if that's a recessive trait or not. It was slow to develop— she's almost six. Five's never been prouder; obviously his daughter would be exceptional. Of course, he only wishes they'd shown up sooner. I, on the other hand, worry about how we're going to teach her to control them. They're not like Five's; she got more of his ability to control time. Well, she doesn't control it, exactly (even beyond the lack of ability to master her powers.) She can't ride around on his subway system or spatial jump. Instead, we found out that she could control time around things.

That's how we discovered her ability in the first place. She's always had her father's impatience with things, especially when it comes to waiting for anything she finds exciting. Last week, with spring right around the corner, she was eager to see our flowers bloom. I'd told her we'd have to wait a little bit, but she looked at it with such focus, like she was trying to will them to open. And then, as I watched, they did. All at once. Her flowers burst open, fully bloomed as if weeks had passed. She was delighted, and Five was. . . well, he was shocked, though I could see that familiar glint of pride in his eyes. I tried to hide my worry, but it's hard not to be a little afraid of what this means.

She's so young, and she doesn't understand her powers or their limits. For now, it's small things— a flower here, the cake baking in the oven—but what if it grows? She doesn't yet understand that the world around her isn't ready for someone who can bend time to her will, even in tiny ways. Five wants to start training her right away, of course, teaching her to channel her power. I suppose it's best that she learns early, before her abilities start to impact bigger things around her, things she might not even realize she's changing.

Five brushed off my concerns, as always, with that stubborn practicality of his, saying that our daughter has his strength, his talent— she'll manage. But he didn't see her face that night when the flower bloomed. Her eyes lit up like a spark. She whispered, "look, Mama, it's magic." And though I knew better, for a moment, I let myself believe it was magic, too.

--

Afterward, Five closed the journal and stared out at the forest, lost in thought. In some ways, reading Dolores' words made it worse, an unshakable reminder of what he'd lost. And yet, these entries felt like an invisible thread binding him to this long-lost version of his life, to his wife, and to Aoife. He just tried not to think too hard about how the entries stopped abruptly in Aoife's sixth year while he was teaching her how to control her powers.

✧ ✧ ✧

Five never stopped searching for Dolores— his Dolores— even though he'd found a version of her here, in this cottage. Knowing that she'd lived a happy life with him in another timeline was a balm to the pain he'd lived with since her disappearance, but it wasn't a solution. The only thing that would make him feel completely whole again was having her— the one who shared his memories— by his side. So, while Lila remained reluctant to continue to traverse the subway, he took daily trips to cross more timelines off the map. Although each time he was disheartened to be met with another dead end, he'd go stir crazy if he stayed cooped up in that house, even with his daily walks. At least he was doing something, which was more than he could say for the first six years he'd lived without her.

It also helped him gather necessary supplies, some from other timelines and some from their broken-down platform. During one of these trips, he'd been gathering scrap metal, which was a potentially risky venture at the best of times. He'd found some loose wires that had been hanging from the ceiling and began to pull at them. They sparked, causing him to startle and instinctively jerk backwards. In doing so, he dropped his flashlight and it tumbled into the train tracks below.

Cursing, he jumped down into the track bed to fetch it. As he bent down to collect it, his gaze caught on something in the dim light. Picking up his flashlight to get a better look at it, he saw that it was a worn book. Opening it, he flipped through a few pages and recognized both his handwriting and the math equations that were scribbled across the pages.

"Holy shit," he breathed out. "This is. . . This is it. This is. . . our way home."

He was left with two choices. The first was to go back to Lila and tell her about his discovery. No doubt, they would head straight home; he knew she'd been missing her kids and even, for some reason, Diego. (And, okay, maybe he missed his siblings on some deep, Mariana-Trench level, but he'd never admit that aloud.) But, he'd have to stop searching for his wife. He'd have to leave Dolores and Aoife— again, apparently— and he'd have to subject himself to seeing Lila happily reuniting with her family while he was torn away from his.

He'd always, always put his siblings first. They'd been the driving reason behind his desire to survive against all odds. But, doing so had cost him everything. Even indirectly, they'd been the reason he'd lost Dolores. Sure, he'd been the initial cause, but it had been Allison who'd pressed the button without a care for his wellbeing. He wanted to be selfish for once. Dolores was his family, too, and she deserved the same devotion— if not more— that he'd given his siblings for decades.

That brought him to the other option: hide the notebook. It would give him more time with his girls, living in their memories and being surrounded by the physical proof his wife had existed. He could keep looking for her. He wouldn't have to go back and face the painful existence that was life without her. He'd argue that he was even doing better in this timeline; he wasn't drinking himself into a stupor nearly as much (not that there was any alcohol to do that with), but he also didn't feel the need to, not with his family right at his fingertips. That solidified his decision. He climbed out of the gulley.

But, maybe he had more of a heart than he gave himself credit for as he discovered that he couldn't in good consciousness leave the book where he'd found it, which would have been the smart thing to do. He knew that if their positions were reversed and Lila had found the book while he was missing his family, he'd want to go home immediately, too. So, to ease the guilt that that nagged at him, he tucked it back into his satchel and resolved to say nothing about it.

--

Lila knew that Five would go berserk— the paranoid control freak he was— if he found out that she was rifling through his precious stuff, but she just needed one specific thing to fix the damned record player! What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Plus, he was the rat bastard hoarder that kept all the useful things for himself, so it was really his own fault that she was invading his personal space. All she was looking for was a small, narrow piece of metal— like an unbent paperclip— to fit in the smallest parts of her latest project. He'd thank her later when they were listening to Abba records instead of the dead silence it had been for almost the past year.

As she dug through Five's collection of supplies, she muttered to herself, flicking various items aside with growing impatience. She'd already searched through an assortment of nuts, bolts, bits of twisted metal, and other random knick-knacks he'd salvaged from God-knows-where. There were no paperclips or anything remotely close to what she needed, and she was about to give up when her fingers brushed something worn and square beneath the folded map.

It was an old notebook.

Pausing, she raised an eyebrow and pulled it out, flipping through the pages covered in math equations and scribbled calculations. Lila's heartbeat quickened as she recognized the scrawls— she'd seen equations like these before, and she'd know Five's chicken-scratch handwriting anywhere. Every solution to get them home was laid out before her. Her eyes narrowed.

"Son of a. . . you sneaky little bastard," she whispered with a mix of frustration and surprise, a dry chuckle escaping her. She supposed she should've expected this. Five's obsession with Dolores had turned into a fierce need to stay. She had caught glimpses of it in the way he'd wander through the cottage as if expecting to find his wife behind every corner, in every shadow. He wouldn't let go of this version of Dolores any more than she would let go of her family.

For a moment, Lila stood frozen, her grip tightening around the notebook as a conflict of emotions swirled within her. She understood the pull of family— heaven knew she missed hers with a depth that she tried not to show. But they had a way out, right here in her hands. She could practically see her kids' faces, hear their voices. She couldn't just ignore that.

"God, Five," she muttered, pacing as she clutched the book to her chest. He always made everything so damn complicated. She knew he'd never forgive her if she took the choice away from him, and yet, hadn't he already done the same by hiding this? She exhaled, her decision made without much consternation. He needed to face this head-on, even if it tore a hole in his stubborn, miserable heart.

She waited until his usual late afternoon return, pacing the floorboards and glancing out the window every few minutes. When she finally heard his familiar footsteps approaching, she quickly straightened, set her jaw, and steeled herself for what was bound to be a battle.

Five barely had time to get through the door before Lila was on him, thrusting the notebook toward his chest with a sharp, accusatory glare. "Care to explain this, Five?"

It took him a few seconds to process what was going on. When he recognized the notebook she shoved at him, his eyes hardened, his voice coming out cold and biting as he demanded: "where did you get that?"

The brunette scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know? Figured I'd ask you the same thing— why did you keep this from me? How long have you had it? It's obviously not a recent discovery."

"Five. . . six months," he answered reluctantly, though his glower remained steady. "And you know why."

Lila stared at him, her expression a mixture of anger and furious betrayal. Her eyes took on a glossy sheen as she thought about how much sooner she could've been reunited with her children, with Diego, and her grip tightened on the book. "Well, that's just bloody convenient for you then, isn't it? Tell me, did you ever think about me in this deception of yours? Did you ever think about how I'd feel, you keeping me here against my will?"

"Against your will?" Five echoed in disbelief. "Lila, I don't recall you ever joining me in searching the timelines while we've been here! You seemed perfectly content to stay trapped in this strawberry-filled cottage nightmare!"

"You didn't want me there!" she exploded, her voice rising several octaves. "I've tried to be understanding. I've tried to be sympathetic— God knows that's not our strong suits— but all you want to do was live in that goddamned fairytale daydream life that wasn't even yours in the first place! I have a family to get back to! I have kids and a husband!" She gestured wildly around the cottage, especially to the pictures on the mantle. "None of this is real, Five! Not anymore, and especially not to this version of you."

Five clenched his jaw, his shoulders stiffening as Lila's words hit him square in the chest. She was right, in a way— this wasn't his reality. But every day he stayed, every memory he indulged, gave him a fragile comfort he was unwilling to let go of. Now, Lila was threatening to take all of it away, something he didn't think he'd ever be prepared for, hence why he hid the notebook in the first place. He felt his own anger rise to the surface with a potency that he hadn't felt in years. He wanted to hurt Lila— not physically, because she was trained to withstand that kind of pain just like he was— just like she was lashing out at him. His voice matched hers, intensifying into a roar as he got in her face to yell: "I NEVER EVEN GOT TO SAY GOODBYE!"

He was breathing heavily, his nose flaring and eyes wild, like an enraged bull. His hands were clenched into tight fists by his sides, his jaw equally tense. "I never got to say goodbye to my Dolores," he ground out, each word strained as he resisted the urge to shout again. "I didn't even know I was losing her— living all those moments, all those lasts without realizing they were the last time I'd ever see her face, hear her voice, or hold her. It was just. . . gone. She was gone."

Lila's expression softened, her usual sharp retorts fading as she took in his words, raw and heavy in the quiet. Her eyes traced the shadows in his face, his words painting a pain she didn't think he could even admit to, much less in front of her. Five had never been one to let his guard down—especially not with someone like her— but here he was, laid bare in his grief, his voice so fractured that it almost felt wrong to continue pushing him.

Still, her anger didn't evaporate. Even if she could understand his pain, her heart ached with her own longing. She took a slow breath, steadying herself before speaking again. "I get it. I do, Five," she said quietly, her tone softer but unyielding. "But I didn't get to say goodbye either. Not to Diego, not to my kids. I didn't get to choose this place or this reality any more than you did. And as much as I might care about you and your stupid tragic love story, I have to choose my family." Her voice wavered slightly, betraying the emotions she kept tightly guarded. "Just like you have to choose yours."

Five looked away, as if trying to hold back more words, but they poured out anyway. "You think I haven't been choosing them? You think I haven't given up everything for them over and over again? I did that— every damn time, Lila. That's why I'm here. Why I keep pushing myself to do all of this."

"And maybe you should choose them again," she pressed, her voice steady but almost pleading. "You keep clinging to something that isn't there, that you can't get back. But our family's still here. Diego is still here." She swallowed, her gaze searching his for any flicker of understanding. "You have them waiting for you. They're real. This is just a memory. It's not something you can keep."

He looked down, taking in the floor as if it held answers, his body stiff with the weight of her words. He'd been fighting against that reality from the moment he set foot in this timeline, choosing to build a life out of fragments and dreams, because it had been a relief to not feel the constant ache in his chest that had been present since he'd lost his wife. But Lila was right, and he knew it. His family— the ones he'd fought for, sacrificed everything for, and would keep protecting— they were still waiting.

The brunet looked around the room, taking in the pictures of the life a version of himself once lived with his wife. He met his daughter's eyes in the photo, her own blue ones so very like her mother's. The thought of leaving them— of abandoning them and failing them, because he hadn't been able to give them the same commitment he'd given to his siblings— felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He would've begged their forgiveness if he could, but he knew that Dolores would've understood, even loved him for it; she had always seen the best in him even when he couldn't himself.

He gave a heavy sigh, swallowing past the bitterness in his throat as he turned back to Lila. This time when he spoke, his voice was devoid of all emotion as he started to mentally prepare himself to give up everything for his siblings once again. "Fine. At least let me say goodbye."

✧ ✧ ✧

[ timeline 050 ]

Diego opened the door with a bright smile, his eyes locking on Lila as if he had been the one gone for seven years. "You're back!"

"We are," she agreed, her voice coming out more breathless than usual. They stared at each other for a moment, their own, unique experiences having made them realize how much they appreciated and loved one another. Then, she surged forward and wrapped her husband in a tight hug.

While she would be the first to speak out for feminism and the strength of women, she was still only human. She closed her eyes and sank against him, letting his strength hold her up. Diego, too, found comfort in his wife's embrace, recalling the other life he might've lead, had he prioritized his job above his family. He promised himself that he would no longer be an observer in his own life, but an active participant— he was even planning an outing to the nearby park for all of them after this was over, something he should've always been doing.

When they pulled apart, he gazed down at her fondly, taking in her rather bedraggled appearance. But to him, she could've been wearing the most expensive designer gown with how beautiful he thought she was. She glanced down at her clothes self-consciously. "What?"

"Oh, I don't know. I. . .I missed you," he finally said, realizing that's what he was feeling.

"You did?"

"Yeah! I mean, why wouldn't I?

The brunette's expression softened into a smile. "It's just, I. . . I can't remember the last time you said that. I missed you, too."

He winced inwardly, thinking about his new perspective. "Yeah. Sorry about that. That's gonna change. Lot of things are gonna change now."

"Mommy's home!" Grace's voice sounded from down the hall. As happy as she was to see her husband, Lila pushed past him to make a beeline for her daughter. She didn't waste any time as she wrapped the girl in a tight hug.

Diego didn't move from the doorway immediately, turning to take in his brother's appearance now that Lila wasn't his main focus. Ever since they'd entered this timeline, Five had looked. . . old and tired, as if his mental age was actually catching up to his physical one. But he'd still made an effort to hide his true emotions, putting on the façade that all of the Hargreeves were adept at. Now, though, even that had become fractured, as if he didn't have the energy— or desire— to care anymore.

"Diego," he greeted the other man, not bothering to put any emotion in his voice. It was when he spoke that Diego grasped what he was seeing on the brunet's face: defeat.

His initial excitement faltered as he looked at his brother, the shift undeniable. There was a time when Five's stoicism had been unbreakable, a protective shield, but now it was thin and cracked, his eyes hollow in a way that made Diego's stomach twist.

"Hey, man," Diego said softly, dropping the usual teasing edge. "You— uh, you look like hell, you know that?"

A huff escaped Five, faintly resembling a laugh. "Understatement of the century," he muttered, looking away. Unfortunately, that meant his gaze fell on where Lila was still embracing her daughter, ignoring the girl's protests. His heart twisted at the sight and he felt the old, worn photo in his breast pocket burn with everything that might-have-been. "So, you think it'll work out?"

Diego smiled fondly at the scene. "Yeah. We'll talk it out. I'm not gonna let her give up on us that easy."

"Good for you and Lila," he replied, even managing to sound reasonably genuine despite how the next words burned like acid on his lips as he spoke them: "you still have someone waiting. A family, a. . . future. Make it count."

Then, he slipped past his brother— remembering to take off his shoes— and further into the house, unable to watch the warm, familial scene anymore, his chest aching with the what-ifs he tried so hard to keep at bay. Had his family been like that? Had Dolores hugged Aoife with such intensity? Had his daughter known how much her parents had loved her?

He escaped into the kitchen as the rest of his siblings entered the house, making their presence known with loud exchanges. He pulled out the picture he hadn't been able to let go of, drinking in the sight of his wife's face— a luxury that he hadn't had for over a decade. Even though she was older than Dolores had been, her features were still the same, still recognizable. And, even better, they were echoed in their daughter's face as she held Aoife against her hip. His thumb brushed over his daughter's raven-dark hair— his raven-dark hair— as he stared into the blue eyes that she shared with her mother.

Five was so lost in the image that he didn't hear the barefooted steps of his brother come up behind him, causing him to startle badly when Klaus' arm came to rest heavily on his shoulders. "Hey, mi hermano. What've you got there?"

"Nothing," he snapped, his defenses rising double-time, not wanting anyone— much less his least family-oriented brother— to mar the few memories he had of the family he'd never known. He quickly folded the picture back up and stowed it away before Klaus could see. He gave the other man a once-over as he put space between them. "You look better than expected."

Luckily, that was enough to distract Klaus as he answered airily, "yeah, well, I couldn't have done it alone. I had a bit of help." He sent a smile towards a nondescript corner of the kitchen, where Five guessed one of his ghosts lingered. "N-e-way, I was thinkin' you and me haven't hung out enough. Why don't you join me upstairs? I think there's somethin' up there that you'd enjoy— and it's not Diego and Lila's stash of booze. I already checked."

Five sighed; he was rarely in the mood to entertain his brother's flight of fancy, but even less so with his current emotions. "Klaus. . ."

"C'mon, man!" Klaus' arm returned to its place around his shoulders, all but pinning him to the other man's side. The brunet scowled in response and crossed his arms against his chest. "It's your early Christmas present! Actually, it's your only Christmas present, so don't get all huffy with me tomorrow when you have nothing to unwrap. After this, I think I'll be covered for the next five— haha, get it?— Christmases." The ghost seemed to be protesting something, because his next words were clearly not aimed at Five as he waved an unconcerned hand in their direction. "Oh, pish-posh. Of course you're ready for this. You guys are gonna love me."

"You know, I'd be less suspicious if you didn't act like a lunatic every time you 'helped' me," he muttered, letting himself be dragged toward the stairs despite his protests.

Klaus snickered, giving a wink to the same corner of the room before nudging Five along. "Trust me, hermano; if anyone deserves this kind of holiday miracle, it's you."

Five arched a brow, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. "You know, you and I have very different definitions of what a 'miracle' is. I'm not interested in playing along with one of your. . . spiritual therapy sessions."

"It's not about me this time," Klaus told him with surprising sincerity, his usual playfulness momentarily softened by something more solemn. "Oh, you won't have to worry about speaking to some shrink— though some crying might be involved. Think of it as a reunion. One that's been a long time coming."

A/n: so here it is! I hope you guys liked my version of the subway arc, packed full of angst and ZERO Fivela (🤮 - customary barf emoji necessary) romance. I did like Mr. Five 'I-aim-to-please' Hargreeves, just with anyone else BUT Lila, so I adapted the strawberry scene and I think it's MUCH cuter and less vomit-inducing. (I know I'm biased, but I'm actually quite happy with how it turned out.) 

The whole cottage-belongs-to-Five was a spur-of-the-moment idea that I decided to run with. After all, why did those random clothes fit him so well? Because they belonged to another version of him, of course! And why was Lila fine with wearing sundresses all of a sudden? Because there was nothing else to wear since Five didn't give her many choices. 🤣 Plus, how did Five get the notebook full of equations? From the one that used to live in the cottage, of course! (We'll find out more about what happened to his family in the diner scene!)

I also thought it was a crime that we never got more than 5 seconds of Mr. Pennycrumb on-screen and he wasn't even Five's dog! So I had to include another comic reference to make up for that :) 

Also-also, Two Out of Three Ain't Bad (where the title and lyrics at the top are taken from) is one of my favorite songs and is very catchy. It doesn't really fit Five and Dolores' relationship, but these particular lyrics definitely do. I really recommend giving it a listen if you've never heard it, or if you want to do so while reading the chapter! (The angst vibes are top tier.)

Anyway, get excited for the next chapter since it's the one you've all been waiting for!!!!