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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ
ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ꒱


❝ I'M FIFTY-THREE, NOT DEAD ❞

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Thirty years seemed like both a millennia and no time at all. The world after the apocalypse had begun to heal as small plants pushed their way up through cracks in the pavement. The sky was more blue now than not and rain fell at an almost predictable rate. There was still little to eat besides bugs and the occasional (usually spoiled) canned food they found but after so many years of empty stomachs, it was almost unnatural to feel anywhere close to full. Dolores and Five had made do with what the world provided for them and managed to stake out a content— they weren't quite happy but they understood their allotment— life.

The two survivors themselves had changed quite a bit from when they first met. They both sported white hair now as their brown locks had turned soft and snowy around the same time. The constant years of exposure to the elements (and later the sun) left them with weathered faces and a few more wrinkles than what an average fifty-ish-year-old would have. The one thing that hadn't changed with time, however, was that they were both still very much in love with each other (Dolores liked to tease her husband that it was because she was the only woman left.)

Over the years, Five's work on the equations to get home had slowed so that he could enjoy spending time with his wife (something he was still getting used to calling her), though he never stopped worrying about his family's future— or, well, their past. There wasn't much one could do for entertainment in the apocalypse but Dolores— ever the creative one— found ways to keep themselves amused. They'd played her 'what's the most complicated word you know' game several hundred times (Dolores claimed that number was six hundred twenty-three.) They played card games with her old, worn-out deck that was barely surviving their later apocalypse years. She tried to invent new magic tricks, though most of them failed. In her most creative efforts, Dolores figured out how they could play both checkers and chess though Five had to teach her how to actually play the game.

Arguments were still par for the course as was the case in most marriages, but none of them were extremely heated or had no resolution. Sometimes they argued just for the sake of entertainment, sometimes Dolores was fed up with Five's so-called 'recklessness' (he thought he was very cautious, thank you very much.) Her favorite— well, not argument, but thing to tease him about was his age. Since Five was technically older than her, she'd given him a hard time all through puberty and had laughed especially when his voice cracked. And then, even when they were only in their thirties, she'd called him 'old man' countless times (truthfully, it was one thousand one hundred and forty three times.) She still called him that even now, in their old age.

The broken library where they first staked out their claim all those years ago was still the place they called 'home' and returned to each day and time they jumped through the seasons. The space had become cluttered with belongings that they'd thought were useful— mostly books on time travel. Dolores kept the white violin she'd found in her solo adventures, The Book Thief and her deck of cards. Everything else was shared between the two of them, though the old school lunchbox with his family's faces on it that Dolores had given him was still Five's most important possession.

They sat in the hollow of the still-standing stone with the woman positioned on the floor of their home as her back rested against one of the pillars. Five sat on an upturned crate and was opening a bottle of wine for them to share. "Do you remember that little mansion just outside the city limits where we, uh. . ."

A smile quirked at the woman's lips. "Where you couldn't kiss me?"

He chuckled slightly, still embarrassed about the memory. "Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, it turns out their wine cellar was untouched. Picked up a few cases of your favorite Bordeaux."

Lola rolled her eyes. "You drink every day, Fives."

"Ah, that's an exaggeration. I don't drink that much," he finished opening the bottle and took the first sip. "You know, I work hard all day, every day."

"Okay, Five," the woman agreed dryly, making the man's eyes widen in indignation.

"I— why would you say that?"

Lola laughed and leaned over to press a kiss to his lips that were hidden behind his whiskers. She made to pull away, but the man stopped her gently and returned the gesture in a much longer fashion, causing her to close her eyes contentedly.

✧✧✧

Later, after they'd finished the bottle of Bordeaux, Lola had shifted her position so she could lean comfortably against Five's leg as he continued to work on his equations. Their solitude, however, was broken by the appearance of a very unexpected visitor. At the feeling of an unfamiliar presence, Five's head shot up from where he was working. His gaze landed on a woman who was several yards away. She was dressed in black while clutching a briefcase at her side.

Despite his age, he moved quickly to his feet and reached for the gun lying nearby as Lola quickly followed his path upwards. As he lined the barrel up with the strange woman's head, his wife stepped up behind him and, in an odd gesture, wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, though it wasn't in one of her backwards hugs. Instead, she placed her right hand on the left side of his chest and her other hand on top of it. She then rested her chin on the shoulder that wasn't holding the rifle before her blue eyes peered at the woman in half-curious, half-wary expression.

"Who the hell are you?" Five called to the stranger.

"I'm here to help," the woman answered plainly as she cautiously stepped towards the pair.

"Tell me why I shouldn't put a bullet through your head right now!" he yelled, Dolores' tense form against his back warning him to be watchful of the visitor.

"Because," the white-haired woman began, entering their library, "if you did," she sat on one of the larger pieces of rubble, "you wouldn't hear the offer I'm about to make you." She removed her sunglasses. "Which would be rather tragic given your. . . current circumstances."

Five relaxed his stance with the gun though Lola continued to eye the woman mistrustfully as she began to explain: "I work for an organization called The Commission. We are tasked with the preservation of time continuum through manipulation and removals."

The man glanced towards his wife whose expression was doubtful before he turned back to their. . . guest. "I don't understand."

"Sometimes, people. . . make choices that alter time." Casually, she removed a smoking pipe from its case and lit it. "Free will, don't get me started. When that happens, we dispatch our agents to. . . eliminate the threat."

Immediately, Five resumed his protective stance over the woman as he aimed the gun at the stranger. Dolores fell back into her original position of placing her hands over the left side of his chest. The woman laughed. "No, no, no, you misunderstand me. You're not a target. You're a recruit. I've come to offer you a job, Number Five." At her words, the man relaxed again, though Dolores did not. "We've had our eye on you— I'm sorry, both of you— for quite some time. We think you both have a lot of potential. Your survival skills have made you quite the celebrities back at headquarters. That, and your ability to jump through time."

"You're saying that we. . . we could actually leave here?" It seemed too good to be true (it was.) "Go back?"

"In return for five years of service from each of you. Once your contract is done you can retire to a time and place of your choosing with a pension plan to boot," she answered.

"If you can alter time. . ." Five said slowly, "why not just stop all of this from ever happening?"

"That's quite impossible, I'm afraid. You see, all of this. . . it was supposed to happen."

"That's insane!" Five protested, "the end of everything?"

"Not everything," she corrected him, "just the end of. . . something."

Finally, Lola had had enough and she grabbed her husband's arm. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

The man turned to her, confused. "What's there to talk about? You heard her. We can leave this place—"

"And if you want to stay married, you'll talk to me," she cut across him fiercely.

That got him into action and he glanced at their visitor. "Can you give us a moment?"

"But of course," she said with an understanding smile. Lola pulled the man away to where they'd been sitting earlier but she could still feel the woman's eyes on them. 

"I don't trust her," she announced quietly.

Five scoffed. "Well, aren't you a genius. Only a goldfish would be smart enough to trust her, Dolly. Is that all?"

The woman swallowed before saying, "you haven't even asked what the job is."

"So what? If it gets us out of here—"

"It's not worth losing your soul over, Fives," she told him angrily, "I'd rather live the rest of our days in this hellscape than lose you for comfortable living."

Five's expression softened at her discomfort. "What's the matter, Dol? Something's bothering you."

"Oh, now you're the genius," she sneered and then added more normally: "I don't like this. I don't like her. It's— it's—" As she struggled to explain why she felt so much foreboding when she looked at the woman, their conversation repeated in her head as Five waited patiently for her to explain.

In return for five years of service from each of you. Once your contract is done. Contract. Why was that word sticking out to her?

Then, one day, a woman from an important organization came to him, promising that he would get world-renowned fame if he agreed to her contract. [. . .] Had he asked the woman what the contract entailed, he might have thought twice about agreeing to it, but he hadn't and now this was the path his life was taking him.

There it was. Her uncle's long-forgotten stories about how a boy— number five in his family— ran away to improve himself only to get caught up in something. She swallowed again, this time nervously as she remembered the ending to The Soul Machine. She looked up at the man she loved— the only person in the entire world she couldn't afford to lose— and felt a heavy weight in her chest that she'd never noticed before.

Everything made sense now.

Maybe she was thinking too much into it but all of her uncle's stories had the same framework, the same start, middle, and end. Number five running away. A woman from an organization finding him and making him sign a contract. Him meeting Dolores. And finally, Dolores sacrificing herself for her. . . soulmate.

There was no other way to describe their love, not if her uncle's stories where more than. . . stories. How he'd known about them, she had no idea, but something told her they were based on real-life events. If this was the case, did she, this version of Dolores, let them play out how they were supposed to, ending in her (un)timely death somewhere along the way? Or did she try to convince her Number Five not to join The Commission and live their days out in the apocalypse? What about saving the world, especially if The Commission's goal was for it to end?

Five watched his wife's face carefully as she fell silent, practically seeing the gears turning in her head as she pieced something together. A riddle. She'd always loved riddles, especially the ones they'd found in puzzle books that had survived. This one didn't look like fun to solve, though, due to the drawn, slightly haunted look on her face. He gently picked up her hand, which startled her out of her thoughts. "Hey," he said softly, "everything will work out, alright? It always has for us."

His heart ached in his chest at the. . . grief in her eyes though from what, he wasn't sure. He hated seeing her in any sort of pain and was always quick to try and make it go away, though this time something told him he couldn't do anything about it. She'd been his rock through the entire apocalypse, even before he realized it. She was his anchor, the person keeping him from going insane and he knew he was hers. It was more than just his duty as a husband to give her comfort when she needed it but he didn't know how to help her.

"Tell me what to do," he said quietly, "I don't have to take this contract. I can work harder on my equations to get us out of here. I can shoot her, if you'd like."

"Stop," Lola's voice cracked as she said the word. "Just, please stop. I—" she swallowed against the lump in her throat. "We should take the contract," she whispered, closing her eyes briefly.

"Are you sure?" Five asked as he grasped her hands tightly. "We can just say no."

She shook her head. "We need to say yes if we want to get out of here."

If this were any other situation, he would have teased her for not having faith in his equations. As it was, he gave her a concerned look but nodded solemnly in agreement. Grasping his hand tightly in hers, the two made their way back to the white-haired woman, who smiled broadly. "Have you decided, then?" she asked and continued on without waiting for an answer. She stuck out her hand. "How wonderful!"

Before Five shook it, he gave the woman a firm look. "On one condition. We can get properly married."

They disappeared in a flash of blue.

✧✧✧

The Commission much resembled a hospital. A noisy, busy hospital, but the similar-styled, long, repetitive hallways had a very. . . sterile feel that reminded Lola of medical buildings. She would've compared the look to a hotel due to the added grandeur, but the too-clean feeling insisted hospital more than hotel.

The woman— who'd introduced herself as The Handler— had led the pair first to a public bath where they could get the smell of apocalypse off and stop attracting so much attention. Lola had shifted nervously the whole walk there due to the discomfort of so many people after so long of being around only one other person. Five, of course, had brushed it off as if he wasn't affected by the new surroundings but she knew him far too well to fall for his poker face. He was just as uncomfortable as she was and perhaps more so because the white-haired woman wouldn't stop touching him. It was driving Lola crazy. It took all of her self-control not to lash out at the woman who'd most likely be responsible for her death.

There was that fact, too. She was still reeling from the revelation and let The Handler chatter on about the 'good work' The Commission did by killing people who messed with the timeline. She was going to die. It was an obvious fact, really. Everyone died. It was just how she died that had her so shaken— young, in a selfless act of love. She would, of course, willingly sacrifice herself to save the man she loved, but to cut their time together so short (well, maybe not short, but so abruptly) was a hard thing to swallow. (And could she really consider herself 'young' anymore?)

"Well, here we are!" the woman exclaimed cheerfully, "get yourselves cleaned up and we'll sort everything out after, shall we?" She didn't wait for an answer before she grasped Five's arm and pulled him in the direction of the men's.

The man looked over his shoulder to where his wife paused outside of the women's as she opened her mouth to object, not wanting to be parted from him in such a strange, untrustworthy place. He gave the slightest shake of his head and a reassuring look that said just play along, for now. Lola closed her mouth and watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, her own uncertainty (and fear) leaving her hesitant at the door of her own.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" The Handler had reappeared next to her. She sounded far less enthusiastic. "We haven't got all day."

She clenched her teeth together to stop herself from snapping out a reply and instead gave the woman a wide, fake smile before she pushed open the bathroom door. As she let the shower water pour over her (she tried not to be too grateful for anything that came from this place but it was hard when she hadn't had a proper shower in years), she thought about their next move.

If— when— she was going to die, she wasn't going to go down without doing something worthwhile first. Up until now, it had been Five's job to figure out how to stop the apocalypse since he'd been the one with the math skills. Now they had more than that. They had resources, there were people, this was an organization that dealt with time. It her turn to work on their problem. It was her riddle to solve and she was gathering the puzzle pieces to do so.

They'd brought the eyeball with them— seeing as it could fit in Five's pocket— but she'd left everything behind. It had been a hard goodbye to let her book go but she was a woman now, not a scared little girl that needed the comfort of something familiar— not inanimate comfort, anyway.

She had a feeling that she knew what kind of job The Handler would require of Five and it made her heart sink in dread. Her uncle had never sugar-coated the effect that years of murder had on number five's soul and now it would happen to her Number Five. She didn't know what The Handler had planned for her, but the woman was already showing her characteristic signs of dislike and jealousy that her uncle had always described about the 'woman from the organization.'

Lola finally forced herself out of the steaming hot water and changed into the Commission-issued blue uniform. When she finally exited the bathroom, Five was waiting with The Handler, purposely standing a few feet farther away from her than strictly necessary. A surprised, delighted smile crossed Lola's face as she took in his new appearance. "You've shaved!" she exclaimed as she joined them.

Almost against his will, Five allowed his own smile to form. "I figured it was time and I still didn't take as long as you did."

"Shut up," she huffed and crossed her arms.

As The Handler showed them around The Commission, Lola's hand found Five's as she was unable to resist the comfort of physical touch underneath the pressure of so many eyes. She'd never liked being up at the front of the classroom and this was almost a thousand times worse. The employees were curious about the unfamiliar faces but none of them were quite brave enough to approach them with the white-haired woman power-walking the pair through the building. Even when they stopped at notable places, all they received were curious glances before the workers moved on hurrriedly.

On what seemed like their hours-long tour, there were three important stops according to Lola: one, case management.

It was plain door and the only giveaway that it held a room of any importance was the plaque in the center that labeled the room case management.

"Now, Lola, dear," The Handler started, her voice saccharine-sweet.

"It's Dolores," the woman cut her off.

"Excuse me?"

"My name. It's Dolores."

Five shot his wife a surprised look. "Are you sure?"

Dolores gave a firm nod. "Lola was a girl of the past who was stuck in the apocalypse. Dolores is me, who I am now."

"You can call yourself whatever you'd like," the white-haired woman started before she seemed to realize that it wasn't just the two of them and she tried again. This time her voice was syrupy, "now, Dolores, dear, I've heard so much about how adept you are with a pen. We'd like to put those wonderful skills to good use in case management where you'll get to solve riddles to your heart's content. The Head Case Manager will help get you settled." Her hand reached out and grasped Five's arm. "Come now, Five, let's leave her to it while we show you the rest of the building."

The man resisted. "I really think Dolores should come with us. If I'm not going to be around her all the time I don't want her getting lost."

"Well, she can just ask for directions. All of our employees would be happy to help."

Having no other argument, Five shot the woman an apologetic look but Dolores was not as easily stopped. Instead, she grasped his hand more tightly and wrapped an arm around his. "It's not just getting lost," she explained, adding vulnerability to her voice. "I just don't know how I'll cope not seeing him all the time since he's been the only one I've seen for years." Her eyes in faux-fear. If she could fly under the radar because The Handler thought she was a coward, then all the better. "I really, really don't want to be parted from him before I have to."

The white-haired woman gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Then by all means. We can return here once we're done."

Stop two: the Infinite Switchboard.

Later on, the group stopped next to a similarly-styled door with its only difference being the plaque that reported the room's purpose.

"Now, this is perhaps the most important part of everything that The Commission does. You have already seen our briefcase room where agents can travel to their field locations and the case management room where we communicate with them from our headquarters. Here is where everything begins: the Infinite Switchboard," The Handler explained.

"The Infinite Switchboard?" Dolores repeated, "what does that do? I'm guessing it's not for making a lot of phone calls."

"You would be correct," the woman agreed with forced-politeness. "It is an alert system that lets us know when someone. . . makes the wrong choice and changes the timeline. We can see any and all events from the past, present and future."

"Any and all?" Dolores echoed, "so everything from the Dinosaurs to, say, the end of the world?"

"Precisely. An employee educated in its usage would be able to see any event they wish, though personal viewing is strictly prohibited. It takes many years for one to be proficient in its usage which is why we have decided an easier path for you, dear," The Handler added, perhaps anticipating the woman's next question of relocation.

"Of course," Dolores agreed, "completely understandable."

As they walked away, she couldn't help but glance back at the room and jumped slightly as Five squeezed her hand. "Absolutely not," he murmured, "I know what you're thinking and I won't risk that. We don't know her plays yet and I can't put you in danger until we do, and even then—"

"You wouldn't," she said with a sigh, "but just imagine— we could figure everything out here and now without needing our leads—"

"No," the man said firmly, "put it out of your head. We'll find another way."

Stop three: the cafeteria.

Their final stop on the tour was the cafeteria which was currently bustling with employees who were taking a break for whatever meal it currently was. After so long spent without clocks or a way to decently tell the time, Dolores could only say for certain whether it was day or night.

"Our cafeteria hosts a wide range of food from all times and places. For lunch, you could get a nineteen-sixties Jell-o salad and for dinner, a twenty-first century American hamburger. Our most impressive highlight, however, is our coffee bar." They paused next to the said feature. "We host coffees from all over the world with as many add-ins as you can imagine— a necessary part of the on-the-go employee," The Handler said.

"May I?" Five asked as he gestured to the long bar.

"Please," the woman said, sounding satisfied.

As the man pondered what kind of coffee to pour himself, Dolores couldn't help but smirk as a long-forgotten joke sparked at the sight. "I know what you should get," she told him quietly, leaning against him as she looked at the choices.

He turned to her with a faintly amused smile on his face as he caught the underlying laughter in her tone. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, unable to hold back a giggle that slipped out. "Black, like your soul."

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "And what should you get? Super sweet with rainbow sprinkles on top?"

Unable to stop herself, she pressed a quick kiss to the man's cheek. "You're too kind," she teased him, "but I think you might actually be right. Black coffee is just. . . too bitter."

"Like me, right?" the man asked sarcastically.

"Yes, but luckily you've got a little cream to sweeten you out."

"Whatever," he huffed, trying to ignore the light pink that rose to his face. He moved away quickly before he could get too flustered— something that only she could do to him, even after all this time— and poured himself a to-go cup of the dark, hot liquid.

Hiding her own grin, Dolores busied herself by making a concoction of her own. And by concoction, she meant concoction. While she'd never liked coffee by itself as a girl, her uncle would sometimes bring home the sweeter version for her when he and her dad had one of their 'store meetings.' While they'd never had caffeine because her mom would have probably killed her uncle, she'd enjoyed the sweet warmth of the drink and was eager to replicate it here. Besides, there were just so many choices and after years of having none, she just couldn't pick one.

In the end, the finished product had ten packets of sugar, two scoops of cocoa powder, steamed milk with two shots of espresso, three pumps of caramel syrup and one of vanilla. Five gave her an amused glance. "Are you sure you have enough sugar in there?"

"Now I do, yes."

As she raised the hot drink to her lips, The Handler reached out a hand grasped her wrist, causing the woman to shiver slightly. "Are you sure you should be drinking that, dear? It can't possibly be good for your heart."

Dolores gave the woman an even look. "I'm fifty-three, not dead. I can handle it." Okay, maybe playing a fearful old woman was going to be a lot harder than she thought.