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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꒱


❝ [ EVERYONE ] HAS A BLACK HOLE
IN THEIR BACKYARD, RIGHT NEXT
TO THEIR BIRDBATH ❞

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January 18th, 1959

Dolores stood alone on the sidewalk for many long moments after Hazel disappeared, still reeling from the abrupt change of events. Now that she was pre-apocalypse, the January temperatures were much more tolerable and the people milling about on the street were evidence to that fact. Even though she wasn't alone anymore, the brunette still couldn't help but feel completely isolated from the rest of the citizens, as if she were a singular planet on an orbit when everyone else was part of a solar system.

What she really needed was a drink. It would help her sort out all of these feelings that were threatening to spill over, yet no one would serve alcohol to a minor. She'd have to wait until dark to steal some.

✧✧✧

During the hours in between, Dolores kept to the less-travelled streets since she knew her more than unkempt appearance would draw stares and unwanted questions. Besides, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to have an actual conversation with anyone.

Once late night arrive— and the rain along with it— she made her way back to the main street as her clothes became soaked through. She ignored the wetness since she'd suffered through worse and stopped outside of a darkened window. She bent and picked up a loose, medium-sized piece of gravel from the sidewalk and hurled it at the glass door, causing it to shatter the solid barrier. Thankfully, the late fifties had no concept of security alarms or cameras so she'd only be caught if there was a witness. As far as she could tell, there wasn't one and she made her way into the darkened room without difficulty. She picked up the first bottle she could get her hands on and took a long swallow, ignoring the burn of the drink.

If anyone were to walk in on the sight of the teenage girl drinking by herself they'd first stop to stare at her strange assortment of clothes, from the white-and-red bowling shoes to her jeans— which were primarily male attire during the time— to her grimy black-and-white polka-dotted shirt and oversized school uniform jacket that had seen obvious wear. They would next notice her face which, while it held a youthful look, could be described as aged with an expression more often seen on some veteran's face than a girl's. Then, they might call the police.

It was a good thing that no one was curious about a broken shop window at one a.m. on a Sunday.

✧✧✧

January 19th, 1959 7:30 a.m.

Later that morning at a more reasonable hour, Dolores stumbled out of the bar. Her clouded mind figured that her best course of action would be to get some coffee. After all, it was what she and Five had done at The Commission whenever they'd had a spare moment (which, while not often, had happened.)

She lost track of the number of people she bumped into as she made her way down the street and ignored the stares she'd been worried about the day before. The nearest coffee shop was just down the block, Mary's Café, though she didn't notice the name as she pushed the door open. Light 50s music was playing in the background as waitresses in blue uniform dresses bustled around the space while they served early-morning customers. Blue, white and red wallpaper striped the walls and booths lined the edge of the room.

The older woman behind the counter hardly paid her any attention, too busy serving the seated patrons to give her any mind— at least, until she started causing a scene. If there was anything Mary hated more than rude children it was people disturbing the efficiency of her restaurant.

Looking up in annoyance, she laid eyes on the young brunette girl who had just walked in and had, apparently, stood stock-still as she stared at a dark-haired boy who was sitting in a booth with similarly-aged people, presumably his siblings. The brunette's eyes had welled up until she suddenly burst into tears, right in the middle of the café. Probably a recent breakup, Mary thought with an irritated sigh. She looked over to one of the nearby waitresses— a blonde named Peggy— and motioned to the girl. "Calm her down, would you? She's being a nuisance."

Nodding, Peggy— as usual— obediently followed the request and made her way towards the brunette. The white-haired woman thought that was the end of that until the blonde's voice carried loudly over to her: "you're drunk!"

The exclamation attracted even more attention than the crying girl so Mary rolled her eyes and joined the pair as she shooed the blonde away. "Take over my customers at the counter, would you?" She didn't wait for an answer before she steered the younger girl away from the crowd and towards the back, into the kitchens.

Dolores felt incredibly stupid as she followed the older woman and wiped at her eyes as she did so. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately. Her voice was slightly shaky but it had taken on a more sober tone. "I don't make it a habit to cry in public. I just-I just—" She sighed. "I saw someone that reminded me of someone I love and well, here we are." In habit, her hand slid into her pocket where the ring on the broken chain was stored.

The white-haired woman pursed her lips as she gestured to an overturned bucket. "Yes, well, I'd appreciate if you didn't start doing so in my restaurant." She made her way over to one of the preparation tables as she moved easily around the other kitchen staff. She poured a cup of coffee before she returned to the girl and handed it to her. "Do you take it with anything?"

Dolores didn't answer right away and stared into the dark contents of the cup as she remembered how often she'd seen her husband drink black coffee. (She almost wished Hazel hadn't brought her back to civilization so that she could remain numb.) As the older woman cleared her throat, the brunette jumped and hastily answered, "no, black is fine." She'd get used to it.

"Do you have a name?"

"Dolores," the brunette answered quietly. She did her best not to grimace at the bitter taste. "Dolores Hargreeves."

"And do you have any family I can call to pick you up, Dolores Hargreeves? As my waitress so kindly pointed out, you are clearly working off the effects of alcohol."

"No family," she answered. Her gaze fixed on the contents of her mug. "I don't have anyone."

Mary gave her a disbelieving look. "Everyone has someone."

"I don't."

At first glance, she'd thought the young girl had been just that. Now that she was giving the brunette the time of day, though, she could see that Dolores Hargreeves wasn't like any of her waitresses— the only other teenagers she knew. She carried herself differently, with less grace and more ease than the employees that worked with her. It wasn't just the outer appearance, either— though that was abominable and she stank to high heaven— but there was a rasp to her voice and a hollowness in her eyes that didn't just come from a night of drinking. Perhaps she really didn't have anyone.

"What experience do you have waitressing?" Mary asked suddenly, causing the girl to jump again.

"None."

"Never mind that," she said dismissively. "One of the girls can train you. I happen to have a spare room in the basement and an open position on my staff if you're interested."

"Oh," Dolores replied. She met the other woman's eyes for the first time. "Um, thank you. I'll take it."

"Of course you will," the woman told her. "I'm Mary. Once you take a shower we can get you started. I don't make it a habit to turn away orphans."

Orphan. The brunette flinched at the word, a little shocked to find that it applied to her but it was true. Whatever family she had was in 2019 or missing or— or dead.

Standing, she followed the older woman down to the basement (and tried to ignore the prickling discomfort of being in such a space again) as she thought for the first of many times: Five, where are you?

✧✧✧

January 31st,1959 12:30 a.m.

Dolores made her way upstairs to where Mary spent most of her time after work hours, still slightly groggy from her lack of sleep. Her stomach was unsettled and writhed uncomfortably from the nightmare that had had so much red.

Entering the kitchen and turning on the light, she made a cup of black coffee and sat at the counter as she stared blearily into space. The dark liquid was bitter on her tongue and helped wake her up, clearing the fog of her restless sleep from her head. Her gaze was inevitably drawn upwards to the shelves above the sink where Mary stored her alcohol. It was a tempting thought to take one off the shelf and add a healthy dose to her coffee.

She weighed her decision and even went so far as to slide out of her chair to stand against the counter in case she gave in. Warm breath hit her cheek, causing her to freeze. Had Mary found her? When she turned, but the woman was nowhere in sight. Instead, a whispered word made her still further: "don't."

Dolores whipped around and her eyes widened as she stared wildly about the kitchen. Hope surged through her. That was Five's voice— she was absolutely certain of it. He was here, somewhere.

Her search was fruitless as no dark-haired boy appeared in thin air. Her heart sank as she lowered herself back onto her chair, berating herself for being so foolish.

✧✧✧

February 14th, 1959 4:00 p.m.

Mid-afternoon was often the slowest time in the diner as Dolores soon grew to learn and the other girls— Peggy, Linda, Nancy and Betty— would huddle together over the silverware as they sorted the utensils while they gossiped about school. So far, the subject had not come up to send Dolores there but she knew it was only a matter of time and she was dreading the conversation.

Right now, though, the main topic of conversation between the girls was who they were going out with later that night for Valentine's Day. The brunette ignored them as she was more focused on cleaning the tables than their trivial talk. For the most part, they left each other alone, though sometimes the girls tried to include her on things which were promptly shut down.

As expected, Peggy looked up from her task. "So, Dolly, what are your plans for this evening?"

She stiffened at the nickname and closed her eyes briefly at the sharp pang of longing that made her take in a sudden breath before she quickly released it. She'd asked Peggy many (ninety-seven) times not to call her that. "What have I said about that nickname?" she asked in response.

"Not to call you that," the blonde replied and the smile was evident in her voice. "It's our thing. Anyway, plans?"

"Trying to get some sleep." That was her plan every night but so far, all she'd managed to have was a few hours in a row before muted memories would jolt her awake.

Behind her back, the girls rolled their eyes at her predictable answer. "But that's so boring," Linda complained. "Why don't you come out and have some fun with us? You could meet some of our friends."

That was the last thing Dolores would ever want to do. She turned to face the girls and narrowed her eyes. Her words came out ice-cold as she replied, "I'd rather stick my finger in a pencil sharpener and start grinding away."

The quartet exchanged wide-eyed looks and quickly turned back to their chore. Quiet giggles emitted from them as they whispered together.

✧✧✧

July 16th, 1959 7:45 p.m.

It was a rare evening that Dolores and Mary had dinner together as the older woman often provided her with food before she left her to her own devices. Even that wasn't necessary as the brunette didn't eat much and often left most of her food untouched. Sometimes she'd even "save it for later" where she would bring the plate to her room and store it away in a container with her other stashed food that Mary didn't know about.

Tonight, though, the two were eating at the same time and the older woman had announced there was something she wanted to talk about. Dolores pushed the peas around on her plate in an effort to make them look eaten so her host wouldn't feel offended as the older woman began, "now, I know your business isn't my business and I think I've done a good job of keeping my nose where it belongs. However, you are a school-aged teenager who spends most of her days doing God-knows-what, though I do appreciate that you've stayed away from the alcohol. I think it would be beneficial, though, if you received an education and worked for me in the mornings and afternoon."

Dolores knew she didn't have a choice in the matter and sighed. "Fine."

Mary rolled her eyes at the teenage response.

✧✧✧

September 4th, 1959 8:30 a.m.-3:30 p.m.

Going to school in 1959 was much the same as in 2019 with only a few noticeable differences. Most of the learning was done from books, which Dolores thought was a vast improvement. The classes were slightly smaller with desks and chairs that were all in one, however she did miss the usefulness of lockers. Most students went home for lunch while she stayed in the school's library to usually work on homework.

The biggest culture shock she experienced, though, was the segregation in schools. She hadn't given it much thought during her first months in the 50s except for the suspicion that there was definitely something off. Now she could see exactly what it was and couldn't help but wonder how Allison was faring, if she'd made it.

Most of the classes were taught in relatively the same manner though, with English still being English, History was still History (though it was interesting to see how much less of it there was) and Math was still Math— yet that wasn't exactly true.

Dolores had always been okay in Math. She'd gotten passing grades but had needed to put in more to work to do extra well on tests. Five's math, obviously, had been completely over her head and she'd had no hope of understanding it unless he spent time explaining it to her (and he wasn't the best teacher.) She hadn't exactly been dreading returning to the subject but she hadn't been looking forward to it either.

It was, perhaps, the second most notable surprise when, in the first lesson of her Algebra course, she'd been able to solve the question in her notes on her own without difficulty. She stared at the answer in shock for a moment before she looked up at the board to make sure that she was right— and she was. Curious, she tried a few more problems on her own before the teacher demonstrated them on the board and she was consistently correct.

Startled at this newfound discovery, Dolores wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Maybe listening to Five had paid off?

✧✧✧

December 31st, 1959 11:45 p.m.

Dolores was still awake, which was not an uncommon occurrence. She sat on the cot that had been set up against one of the basement walls and twisted the broken necklace between her fingers as the (non-digital) clock on her bedside table ticked closer to midnight.

She'd been in the 50s— soon to be 60s— for almost a year and there was no sign of any of the Hargreeves. She hadn't necessarily expected them to waltz into the restaurant, of course, but she'd spent every morning scanning through newspapers in both the missing persons section and the obituaries. Her heart jumped at any variation of "Hargreeves" or any of Five's siblings' names.

She felt Five's absence acutely every day she was without him and the ache in her chest never disappeared or lessened as he was always on her mind and in her heart. The only good thing was that she knew he was still alive. She was one hundred percent certain that she'd feel it if he wasn't.

11:55.

She wondered where he was (again) and when he was. She hoped that he'd escaped the third apocalypse and had managed to catch a break. Maybe he was looking for her right now.

11:58.

One of the scenarios that often helped her get to sleep was imagining what she'd do when she saw him again. All she wanted to do was collapse in his arms and maybe never move again as she held on to him so tightly that they couldn't ever be separated.

11:59.

A faint, now-rare smile curled on her lips. Maybe they could get remarried, this time with his siblings present. Wouldn't that be nice?

12:00.

Happy New Year, Five.

✧✧✧

May 12th, 1960 6:45 p.m.

Dolores and the other waitresses were closing up the restaurant to prepare it for the next day while the four girls chatted away as usual and the brunette kept to herself. Peggy was complaining loudly about her current boyfriend Charles and how she compared to his previous girlfriends appearance-wise. Linda, Nancy and Betty kept reassuring her that she was equally beautiful and Dolores' eyes hurt from her rolling them so much. But then the attention turned to her.

"Dolly is so lucky," the blonde sighed. "You look like you barely weigh anything at all! I wish I could be that thin."

The brunette barely paid attention to her, intent on sweeping the dirt into a neat pile.

"It's a wonder she doesn't have a boyfriend," Linda remarked as she studied the other girl critically. "Do you think she'd look good with James?"

"Basketball James or nerdy James?" Betty asked with a giggle.

"Nerdy James, of course," Linda replied dismissively. "She'd never be able to keep up with Basketball James."

Dolores tried (really, she did) not to react but her face flushed as irritation bubbled to the surface. Unfortunately, the girls mistook the reaction for another emotion. "Oh look, she's embarrassed! Is it because you actually like nerdy James?" Betty suggested, directing the question to her for the first time.

"No," the brunette shot back. "I happen to have a relationship, thank you very much."

"Oh yeah, with who?" Linda pried curiously.

"None of your business."

Peggy leaned over to the other girls and whispered loudly, "I bet he doesn't even exist." They snickered in a way that reminded Dolores of a flock of seagulls.

"Not that I need to justify myself to you but he does exist," Dolores retorted. "He's just out of town for now."

"For now," Linda mocked her. "For how long? Your entire life?"

She turned away, not deigning to give the girl a response. For the fifty-third time, she wondered Five, where are you?

✧✧✧

June 6th, 1960 2:15 a.m.

The apocalypse was all around her, yet she wasn't afraid. The air was humid and hot and she could sense other people nearby— odd for the setting— but that didn't matter. She was with him— Five. His head was resting in her lap and her fingers combed through his hair. She looked down with a fond expression on her face as she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. It was rare, after all, that he got a proper night's rest.

Her gaze must have zoned out as she sat with him in contentment as she blinked suddenly. She looked back down at him and frowned. There was something off about her husband, yet she couldn't place what it was. He was still sleeping, his chest— she froze. It had stopped moving.

No!

Panic surged through her and she shook him roughly as her voice grew shrilly. "Five, wake up! This isn't funny!"

To her relief, Five's eyes opened— yet they weren't the beautiful green that she loved. Instead, they were red. Red was pouring down his face like tears, soaking into his clothes—

Dolores jolted awake with a start and her heart pounded in her chest as she threw off her covers. Her skin was coated with sweat as she stared up at the black ceiling. It wasn't the first time she'd had a nightmare like that; her memories of Vietnam were mixing with the apocalypses to create a toxic mess that provided her with only a few hours of sleep each night. Each time they involved something terrible and gruesome happening to the man she loved.

Usually, she would get up and brew some coffee as the black liquid calmed her and reminded her of her missing husband. Tonight, though, she made her way to the desk Mary had put in her room for her to do schoolwork and sat down before she pulled a piece of paper and pencil towards her.

✧✧✧

August 25th, 1960 8:00 p.m.

Dolores sat across from Mary at the kitchen table at dinnertime that evening as both of them ate in complete silence. The brunette was pushing a bite of chicken through the sauce the woman had made while her left hand was buried in her pocket as it fiddled with her ring. She'd tried to keep the habit discrete but it had become too tempting to give into the urge to do so, even out in the open.

Mary— with eyes as sharp as her tongue— had noticed. While she wasn't one to pry into others' personal lives unlike her employees, she had come to the end of her rope with the girl's constant movements. "What's that your messing with?"

The brunette jumped— Mary had noticed she tended do that when a prolonged silence was broken— and looked guilty. "Sorry, I'll stop."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It's nothing."

"That might work for the girls but I'm older than they are. Now, I'm not going to ask again. What is it?"

Reluctantly, Dolores pulled out her jewelry and placed the ring on the table in front of her. "Its, uh, my mom's wedding ring. She gave it to me before she passed."

The white-haired woman gave her an unimpressed look. "You're a shit liar, Dolores. Tell me the truth."

She sighed. "You're not going to believe me."

"Try me. I have a more open mind than you might think."

With a completely straight face, she said, "my husband, Five Hargreeves, found our rings in a pile of rubble in the apocalypse that's going to happen fifty-eight years from now." Not including the one I arrived in, she added in her head.

"Well, at least it doesn't happen in my lifetime."

✧✧✧

October 25th, 1960 5:00 p.m.

The diner was approaching the dinnertime rush and the waitresses were busily preparing setups for the tables before their customers started to come in. Dolores methodically folded paper napkins and placed them on a stack next to her, half-asleep from her exhausting night before. Thankfully, the girls had learned to stay away as she only offered snappy, Five-esque replies that made them keep their distance.

Out of all the employees, Nancy was the most clumsy and she usually spilled or dropped something at least once a shift. Normally, Dolores was unaffected by the disturbing atmosphere and often rolled her eyes when it happened. There had been a few close calls when she hadn't been paying attention and had frozen momentarily before she'd jerked herself back to work.

As usual, a plate dropped behind the counter with a loud crash! and the brunette— zoned out as she did her menial task— yelped and dove under the table. She clamped her hands to her ears as she stared out into the restaurant.

The other girls laughed off the mistake and gave Nancy a light-hearted hard time, but Mary had heard the exclamation from the brunette. She turned and was surprised to see her missing from her station. Sighing, she dropped the cleaning cloth and came out from behind the counter to look around the shop curiously. She'd only been standing at the table a moment ago.

"Did you see where Dolores went?" she asked the girls. They exchanged puzzled looks and shook their heads.

Mary rolled her eyes and went to the table, only to startle slightly when a hand reached out and touched her leg. She bent down and gave the brunette a perplexed look. "Whatever are you doing down there?"

"I heard gunshots," Dolores whispered.

The older woman frowned. "There were no gunshots. Linda dropped a plate. Again. I swear I'm going to have to fire her one of these days." (She wouldn't, of course.) "Why don't you come out from under there?"

Dolores didn't really want to but acquiesced. She emerged slowly and looked around the shop like a cornered rabbit. The girls gave her odd looks and she could feel their blatant stares on her as she turned back to her task, swallowing against the dryness in her throat.

Later that night, the brunette ripped off a piece of receipt paper and wrote on the back of it: Plate. Vietnam. Gunshots.

✧✧✧

February 11th, 1960 3:45 p.m.

Dolores walked home from school on Thursday lost in thought as she often was about the missing Hargreeves. She'd had a niggling sensation eating away at her during the many sleepless nights she had but was almost afraid to try out her idea. She didn't want to be disappointed when it didn't work. Still, she couldn't help but try to recall how Five started out his time-travelling equations in the many, many times he worked and reworked them.

If it was true that she had better math skills because of his tutelage then perhaps she could recreate the equations he'd used to help them escape 2019. If she couldn't— or got stuck— there was always plan B: Reginald Hargreeves. She'd done the math and knew he was definitely around during this time, though whether he was nearby was another story.

She'd always been curious about the mysterious man behind The Umbrella Academy. Her only knowledge of him came from the clip she'd watched a lifetime ago about his speech when the team had made their debut and Five's stories. Neither made him remotely appealing but she'd be damned if she let him walk all over her.

So lost in her plans for the future, Dolores didn't notice the blue flash in the alleyway she had passed moments ago, signaling the arrival of two time-travelling siblings.

✧✧✧

April 1st, 1960 4:00 p.m.

After school, Dolores changed into her work uniform and joined the waitresses upstairs to prepare for the evening rush. As she set the tables, Mary approached her with several books. "You seem like a reader," she started abruptly as she held out the items. "My nephew and I are in our own book club and these are some of the ones we've already read. I thought you might like them. Otherwise I'll donate them to the church."

The brunette was briefly surprised before she accepted the gift. "Thank you. I haven't read a book in forever. I'll be sure to put them to good use."

✧✧✧

At 1:15 a.m., Dolores woke from another rough sleep. Once her breathing had calmed, she stood, went to the kitchen and made herself a cup of black coffee. Then, she looked over the items Mary had given her and selected the top book: Watership Down. It was one that she hadn't read yet. She sat on the floor with her legs crossed and her steaming drink beside her as she opened the cover and began to read.

✧✧✧

Not even an hour later, the ache in Dolores' chest had worsened as she felt Five's absence even more acutely. The protagonist of the book was— while a rabbit and not human— named Fiver and she had made the obvious connection between the names. On top of that, the second main character was named Hazel— the same as their ex-coworker. And finally, the plot included the rabbit— Fiver— having the power to see the future and learn that his home would inevitably be destroyed.

She knew then that this would be her 1960s version of The Book Thief.

✧✧✧

May 7th, 1960 3:25 p.m.

Dolores sat on a bench down the street from the café with a sandwich in hand during one of the rare times she ate (a late) lunch. It had been hectic at the diner and Mary had let her off not too long ago, so she'd chosen to sit outside to enjoy the nice weather.

The oncoming apocalypse had been on her mind recently and she could feel the days slipping past as they ticked closer to the end of the world. The "superhero" in her wanted to do something about it, as she knew Five would want her to do. The logical part of her said that she was no superhero— that a normal girl couldn't save the world, that she should just enjoy her time while she still had it.

Her indecisiveness was causing her to stall.

As she weighed the pros and cons in her mind for the forty-seventh time, a family of four walked down the street on the opposite side of the road. The man had dark hair and slender build, the woman's appearance similar with the addition of medium-length bangs. Two children ran in front of them, both brunets. Their high-pitched voices reached Dolores' ears even from a distance as they laughed and chased each other down the street.

A wave of nostalgia hit the brunette so strongly that if she'd been standing, it would have knocked her off her feet. It was all too easy to imagine that the couple was her and Five. They'd never discussed children as survival had been too important to afford them that sort of luxury, but she certainly wouldn't have said no if they ever had that conversation. She watched as the man chased after his son before he scooped him up in the air and to swing him around, earning bright laughter. The woman exclaimed worriedly about the boy's wellbeing and the man put him down before he turned to kiss the brunette on the cheek.

Dolores' heart hurt at the scene and her hand slid to her pocket where the broken necklace was stored as she came to her decision.

First, she would need to find a jeweler.

✧✧✧

July 19th, 1961 9:10 p.m.

"You like the book, then?"

Dolores startled and looked up, away from the now well-worn pages of Watership Down. "Yeah." She paused. "Did you give this to me because the main character shared a name with my husband?"

Since she'd first admitted to why she had a ring, Dolores had spoken to Mary a few more times about her missing husband and the 2019 apocalypse. Surprisingly, the woman hadn't had any trouble believing her and accepted her story as fact. When asked why, Mary had shrugged and said that she'd never believed Dolores was really the age she appeared.

The white-haired woman gave her a dry look. "Don't be stupid."

✧✧✧

January 20th, 1961 2:30 p.m.

Since election day the prior year, the new candidate, John F. Kennedy had been frequent talk of the school, especially in Dolores' history class. It was intriguing to see how everyone reacted to the soon-to-be president in real time instead of from the reports her father had read from his news articles. While she hadn't voted— there were no papers to prove her existence in the sixties after all— the eligible waitresses at Mary's Café and the owner herself did.

Now, the teacher was setting up an old-fashioned TV in the front of the classroom so they could watch Kennedy's inauguration speech. If anyone were to ever ask her what she'd liked most about her time in the past, Dolores would answer this moment: watching a historical speech she'd only ever read about in the exact environment it was supposed to be heard.

✧✧✧

February 6th, 1961 8:30 a.m.-3:30 p.m.

Dolores hated snow.

She had never had an opinion about it either way but the moment she had stepped outside that morning, she'd felt the chill in the air and shivered. It would be the first snow since she was a sixty-seventeen-year-old and the cold settled uneasily in her bones.

The other waitresses, of course, were thrilled. They predicted that school would be let out early for the rare event and speculated over how much would fall. Dolores kept quiet and folded her arms across her chest as she slid her ring back and forth on her repaired necklace.

Her opinion formed soon after the flakes started falling.

The students rushed to the windows and interrupted class to catch a glimpse of the white flakes but the brunette had stayed in her seat. When it showed no signs of stopping, school was cancelled and everyone went home in the early afternoon. She stepped out into the chill and froze on the steps. Her eyes widened at the sight of the white fluff. Ash.

It looked too much like ash.

A snowball hit her shoulder and she flinched badly but Peggy smiled brightly at her. "C'mon! Let's have fun!" The blonde didn't wait for an answer, and instead grabbed Linda's hand to pull her out into the schoolyard.

Dolores remained on the step as she watched the flakes fall from the sky warily. She did her best to keep thoughts of the past— or future— out of her mind. Instead, she pulled out a piece of paper.

Snow. Ash. Apocalypse.

✧✧✧

February 7th, 1961 1:45 p.m.

School remained closed the next day and during a break, Dolores proposed a question to Mary: "how would you feel if I repainted the basement?"

The older woman looked up from her task. "Repainted? Why?"

"I had an idea. It's not like anyone goes down there anyway."

"Alright," Mary agreed.

After work that afternoon, Dolores made her way to the nearby paint store. The bell chimed cheerfully as she pushed open the door to be greeted by the sight of a large selection of paints. Having never "remodeled" before, she wasn't sure where to start and so she made her way to the back of the shop where the service counter was.

For the tenth time since she'd arrived in 1959, she stopped and stared.

The face belonging to the boy— young man, really— that stood behind the counter was one she recognized. The male gave her a concerned look. "Are you alright, miss?"

Dolores swallowed against her dry throat and forced herself to speak: "yes, just fine. You're Dave, right?"

"Yeah," he sounded surprised before she gestured to his nametag. "Oh, right. How can I help you?"

"I've, uh, decided I need some paint."

Dave looked amused and waved to the store. "Well, you've come to the right place. Did you have a specific color in mind?"

"Er— yeah. Green, like a chalkboard."

"No problem," he replied. He confidently made his way to the right section to pick up a can. "This is an indoor project, right?"

"Yes," Dolores confirmed.

"How many cans of paint do you think you'll need?"

"Uh," the brunette hesitated. "I'm covering four walls of a medium sized room. It's just wood right now."

"Alright then, now we're working with something," he said as he picked up two gallons. "I'll mix these for you and then settle the bill in the back."

✧✧✧

Dolores spent the rest of the day painting the basement in the chalkboard-green color reminiscent of Five's room, unaware of the similarity. The task was soothing and meditative as she watched the brush cover the space in equal strokes as it turned the wall from brown to her chosen color.

✧✧✧

February 8th, 1961 8:30 a.m.

For the first time since arriving in the past, Dolores skipped school. Potentially saving the world seemed far more important than learning Algebra. Instead, she stood in front of her now-dry walls with a piece of chalk in hand as she pondered where to begin. It seemed so unceremonious just to start. An idea sparked.

Hurrying over to where her "arrival clothes" were, the brunette opened the drawer and pulled out Five's jacket. While it had certainly seen better days she had refused to get rid of it. She often pulled it out and wore it when she'd had a particularly bad night or when she missed her husband more often than usual. Now, though, she took it out and put it on in hopes of channeling Five's thought process. She scooped her hair out of the back of the collar as she made her way over to the wall. She just had to think.

✧✧✧

It was three hours later and nothing had been written down. Dolores frowned as she felt rather discouraged at her lack of progress. Five had made it look so easy. Maybe the mood wasn't right.

The brunette looked around the room and wondered what she could change while she ignored the scraps of paper that littered the floor from her three-word confessions. She twisted her hair in her fingers as she thought before she looked down at the brown strands.

It had been an awfully long time since she'd gotten a haircut.

✧✧✧

That afternoon, Dolores walked into Mary's Café with a whole new hairstyle. The waitresses and regulars who had grown used to her stared in surprise. Her hair was now cropped closer to her head than even a traditional pixie cut. Instead, it was mostly short all around except for the front part which was longer in a floppy-bangs style.

She ignored the attention and went to the basement to change into her work uniform as she promised herself that she'd make another attempt at the equations that night.

✧✧✧

March 1st, 1961 3:45 p.m.

"Back again?" Dave asked. He looked unsurprised.

Once she'd found where a remnant of her past— or future— worked, Dolores had made it a point to come by as often as possible to purchase a can of paint which she then stored in the basement next to the other supplies she'd collected over the past month (candles, matches and a hammer.)

"Yep," the brunette agreed. "How about a nice blue?"

"Sure thing," he said. "You've decided to repaint your whole house, then?"

"Something like that," the brunette replied with a shrug.

✧✧✧

March 24th, 1961 3:12 a.m.

"Time travel is, of course, possible," Five's rather pompous voice was the first sound her sleeping mind registered as a familiar apocalypse scene spread out before her. The boy appeared to be in his mid-teens, back when they'd first started getting along. "I'm evidence of that. For the common man, though, travelling to the future is far easier than the past. All one would have to do is have access to cryogenesis, travel at a relativistic speed or go close to a black hole horizon."

"Yes, because a layperson has a black hole in their back yard, right next to their birdbath," Dolores replied with a roll of her eyes.

He huffed. "It's mostly just theory! It would be nearly impossible for anyone but me to go to the past so the future is far more feasible."

"And yet you got stuck here."

The boy gave her an irritated look. "You're being ridiculous on purpose! I'm trying to have an intellectual conversation."

"Sorry, my bad. You were making the assumption that the guy next door is the Flash?"

"Forget it."

"No, no, I'm listening!" the brunette protested. "I'm just saying you need to have plausible ideas before claiming them as realistic."

"Fine," he sighed. "A factor that you have to consider is that the Earth ages as you go forwards or backwards, which adds a variable that most would overlook. Then, you'd have to consider how much energy it would take to have a relativistic speed so you'd get to the right time period. The base equation for this is t— for time— over the square root of one minus v squared, which would get you t-prime. If t-prime is exponentially larger than t, then v has to be exponentially close to one. A fuel take would have to be enormous to allow for these variables."

"But you don't need a fuel tank," Dolores pointed out.

"True," Five agreed, "but I do have a limit to my power which is very nearly the same. It's my only working theory right now for why I can't go back— I don't have enough fuel. Going backwards in time takes far more effort than forwards. Quantum mechanics only complicates matters since General relativity is not just a theory of some fields in spacetime but of spacetime itself, and so once you quantize it, you'd expect there to be fluctuations in the causal structure of spacetime."

Dolores woke with a jolt and her eyes flew open as she stared at the darkened ceiling. While her heart was pounding in her chest as if from a nightmare, the flush of triumph that swept through her was not her usual early-morning alarm.

Of course! She couldn't believe how much of an idiot she was.

✧✧✧

April 1st, 1961 4:45 p.m.

"So my brother got a new nanny this week," Peggy announced as she made a trip to the back. She deposited the dirty plates into the sink. "I think he likes her better than the old one."

"Didn't the old one steal?" Linda asked.

"Yeah, that's why we fired her. He never listened to Claudine anyway. Keiko seems much more promising."

"Keiko? Isn't that Japanese?" Betty questioned her.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Dolores couldn't stop herself from asking.

The brunette turned to her. "Poor, sweet Dolly—"

"—don't call me that—"

"Haven't your parents ever told you about Pearl Harbor or the Second World War?"

"Well yes. I'm not a complete idiot but that doesn't answer why it matters."

"It's the same reason why Blacks have their own section of town. We just don't mix," Betty replied casually, as if her reasoning made perfect sense. (It didn't.)

"Anyway," Peggy interrupted her. "I said since she tells all these myths and with Linda here being our hopeless romantic, I thought there was one she might like."

"You listened to her?" the other girl asked incredulously.

"I happened to overhear," the blonde said dismissively. "Anyway," she repeated. "There was this one story she told him where if one were to make a thousand paper cranes, they would be granted a wish by the gods. There was more to it, of course, but that was the gist of it. Maybe if you made a thousand cranes you'd be able to get a boyfriend."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "I'm not making dumb paper shapes. I'd rather just keep waiting."

Dolores tried to tell her that Peggy's story was exactly that— a story. Completely false with no basis of proof. Still— "Did she say you could only make one thousand or for every one thousand you make you get a wish?"

Peggy gave her a blank look. "How am I supposed to know?"

The brunette sighed. It looked like there was another subject she'd have to check out at the library.

Note I: Watership Down, the book mentioned in this chapter, was actually published in the 1970s in "real life." For the purposes of this story, though, it will be published in the 1950s.

Note II: the time travel talk later in this update comes from this lecture that I found (since I know nothing about General Relativity) https://www.scottaaronson.com/democritus/lec19.html