Word count: 4125

"𝐀𝐍𝐃" —𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 the top of the atmospheric radar— "done!"

"Great, thanks, Elliott." Elizabeth patted him on the back as she stared at the screen. It was all green, and, judging by the fact that there were no blinking dots or beeping alarms, there were no distressing soundwaves anywhere near.

"So if this baby picks up on any soundwaves within a hundred-mile radius, there'll be a loud alarm and it'll show us the location," he informed her as he tapped on the screen with his index finger. "And we'll be able to . . . What was it? Why do we need to do this?"

She patted him on the back once more, an awkward smile on her face. "Uh . . . Don't worry about it."

"Right, so, uh . . ." He looked back and forth between Elizabeth and the atmospheric radar. "What now?"

She sighed as she put her hands on her hips and gave him a small shrug. "We've just got to wait, I guess."

"So then, while we wait" —Elliott drummed his fingers on the table for a few moments before standing up— "lunch?"

"Okay." She gave a small wave as he headed off into the kitchen, and then looked back to the radar. She didn't expect it to go off right away, but still, she could hope.

After a few minutes of watching and nothing happening, she got up and walked towards the kitchen.

To her horror, Elliott stood at the counter, in the process of opening a can of tuna.

"Elliott, we had tuna mold two days ago!" she exclaimed, folding her arms. She had made Elliott promise that he would only make the dish once a week.

"Yeah, but . . ." Elliott frowned as he looked from her to the tuna. "I didn't know what else to make."

"You know what? Maybe I'll make lunch today," she sighed, putting her hands on her hips.

"You got it—aw, man." Elliott frowned, having accidentally flung the tuna out of the can and onto himself in the process of giving her a thumbs-up. "I'm . . . I'm gonna go take a shower, then."

"Mhm." She wrinkled her nose as he threw the can away and headed towards his room.

She looked around, thinking to herself. What could she make? They had had sandwiches for lunch and fish for dinner the day before, so she didn't want any of that. Maybe she could make pasta?

She grabbed a pot out of the pantry and put it under the sink, water splashing the metal as she turned it on. Once it was filled plentifully, she turned the sink off and placed the pot on the stove.

"Hm. Potsta," she giggled to herself before quickly shaking her head. "Nope."

Elizabeth went into the pantry and took out a bag that had some strands of spaghetti left—just enough for the two of them.

She took the dry spaghetti out of the bag and plopped them into the pot, a couple of them breaking upon impact. 

She then sat down at the table and picked up the half-finished mug of coffee that she had left a half-hour before, taking a sip of it and letting out a small sigh of happiness. Elliott made the best coffee. Far better than Klaus's, that was for sure.

After about five minutes, Elizabeth went to check on the pasta but soon frowned. It wasn't any more cooked than it was before. Was this some sort of magic pasta that never cooked?

Another five minutes passed by, and the pasta was still as dry as the Sahara desert.

"What the fuck, pasta," Elizabeth muttered, folding her arms.

She inspected the stove. Was it broken?

But upon looking under the pot, she soon realized that it wasn't the stove that was broken—it was her brain.

"Jesus Christ," she groaned softly to herself as she turned the burner on. "Aren't I supposed to be a supergenius?"

But before the water could even start to boil, there was a knock at the door. Elizabeth looked between the heating pot and the door. Maybe Elliott could answer.

But the sound of the shower running told her that perhaps Elliott wasn't going to be able to answer the door.

With a small sigh, turned the burner off and walked over to the door. She wasn't too sure what to expect as she pulled the door open; Elliott didn't really have any friends, and the mailman usually left their stuff outside the building.

But when she saw who stood in front of the door, her eyes widened immensely.

Five was squinting at the gold plate that was in front of him, too distracted by that to see who was at the door. 

Hearing the door open, he turned and said, "Hi, I'm selling encylo—" 

Their eyes met, and he instantly froze. 

"Elle?"

"Five," she breathed out, her eyes beginning to well up with tears from the sight of his face.

Swiftly, she placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him, and his soft lips were more comforting than ever. 

His hands soon wrapped themselves around her waist and he pulled her closer to him so that there was almost no space in between their bodies. The butterflies that had been absent from her stomach for so long were now back, fluttering around wherever they pleased.

After a few moments, she pulled back and then slapped him on the cheek. "What the hell, Five!"

"Wha—I'm so confused." Five stared at her in bewilderment, rubbing his reddening cheek.

"What happened?" she exclaimed as she embraced him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her voice was a little muffled, but still, she continued, "Everything's fucked up now! Luther, Allison, Klaus, and Vanya are missing, Diego is in a mental institution, and I've had to eat tuna mold for the past eight months! I mean, that's not as bad, but still!"

"Hold on—eight months?" Five furrowed his eyebrows as he gently rubbed her back. He peered at her face as she pulled away from him, and worriedly asked, "Have you all been here for eight months?"

"No, it's—it's complicated." She sighed as she leaned over and shut the door behind him. 

She took his hand and pulled him towards the living room.

The two of them sat down on the couch and she shifted as close as possible towards him. She kept his hand in hers, beginning to nervously play with his fingers as she steadied her breathing.

"So, we all got here at different times," she began as she matched her gaze with his. "Klaus came in 1960, Allison got here in 1961, Luther got here in 1962, and Vanya came earlier this year. I got here in March, and then Diego arrived in September."

"Oh, Jesus." Five ran his free hand through his messy hair, a distressed look coming over his face. "I scattered them all over the timeline. And the other stuff—you don't know where they are?"

She shook her head. "Other than Diego, I haven't got a clue."

"And Diego?"

"Well, he tried to kill Lee Harvey Oswald, and, obviously, it did not go well. He was arrested," Elizabeth sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "He's staying at a mental institution a few miles away, I've been visiting about once or twice a week."

"Lee Harvey—" Five's eyes widened upon recognition of the name and he let out a loud groan. "The guy who assassinated Kennedy? Or will assassinate, I guess."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, I'm glad you were paying attention in our history class."

He gave a small scoff of amusement before chiding, "You know I didn't."

"Mhm, I know," she chuckled lightly before her face resumed the serious expression from before. "But yeah, he's that guy."

"Aw, shit." Five let out a long exhale, an irritated expression crossing his face as he groaned. "Doesn't he know about—"

"The butterfly effect?" Elizabeth finished his sentence for him, her eyebrows lifted. "I've explained it to him about a million times. He does not care."

"Shit. And this—did you set up those satellites?" he questioned, pointing up towards the roof that held the same satellites that she had at first grown suspicious of.

"Oh, no. That was Elliott." She let go of his hand and gestured around the room as she informed him, "This is Elliott's place."

He immediately furrowed his eyebrows at the name and he tilted his head as he repeated, "Elliott—who's Elliott?"

"Oh, uh, well, he's been helping me look for everyone," she answered as she nodded towards the board that held everyone's photos. "He's a nice guy—a little crazy, but nice."

Five's gaze moved to the board, and he swallowed. "How long have you been staying with him?"

"The whole eight months," she answered with a small shrug.

He folded his arms as his expression soured slightly. "Does anyone else live here?"

"No," she said as she shook her head, "it's just me and Elliott."

"Oh." Five's eyes were now glued to the wall in front of them as he chewed on his lower lip. The grip that he had placed on his arms was tightening, his knuckles soon growing white.

Elizabeth worriedly peered at his face, not liking how tightly his eyebrows were knit together nor how clenched his jaw was. "Five?"

Snapped out of his little trance, Five blinked a couple of times before he responded with a soft "Hm?"

"Is everything okay?"

"I—uh, yeah." He shook his head slightly before he turned her, his expression growing serious. His eyes studied her face for a few moments before he murmured, "Hey, listen."

"Yeah?"

Five sighed, "This wasn't my first stop in 1963."

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, tilting her head. "What do you mean?"

"I got dropped off on November 25th—ten days from now. And you know what I saw?"

"Magical princess fairies riding rainbow unicorns while eating cotton candy ice cream?" she asked hopefully, knowing that it was definitely going to be far, far from that.

"Nuclear war," he answered heavily, his eyes shifting down towards the floor. "The world ends in ten days, and I have no idea how to stop it."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Elizabeth exhaled, her elbows leaning on her knees as she put her head in her hands.

Of course. Of course. Just when she found Diego; just when she found Five . . . Yet another apocalypse. And in ten days, too.

He sighed, "I wish I was."

She let out a small groan. "Five, what're we gonna—"

"Hey, Elizabeth, I was thinking that maybe we could—" Elliott stopped in his tracks, seeing the unfamiliar face on the couch. "Oh, we have a visitor? Who's this? Is this Diego?" He peered around at Five and squinted his eyes. "Where are the knives?"

Elizabeth turned to see Elliott, his hair still wet from his shower, and his confused eyes on Five. She grinned as she shook her head and told him, "No, this is Five!"

"Five? Five . . . Five . . . Five . . ." he murmured as he pulled the crinkled paper out of his pocket, and began searching for the description that she had given to him many months before. Once he had found it, he quickly scanned it before looking up at Five and squinting at him for a few moments. "Eh, I think you made him out to be cuter than he actually is."

"What?" Five looked towards Elizabeth with furrowed eyebrows.

"Nothing, don't worry about it, you're very cute," she reassured him quickly as she pecked his cheek. She glanced back at the man as she gestured towards him and introduced, "Anyway, Five, this is Elliott."

Five's head whipped around to look at the man, letting out a small chuckle as he analyzed him, "Oh, you're Elliott." He let out a small exhale, muttering to himself, "Thank God."

Elizabeth turned to face him, her eyebrows knit together tightly. "Hm?"

"Nothing." He gave her a small smile before turning to Elliott. His smile soon turned into the sarcastic one that he used most of the time. "Anyway, Elliott, mind scurrying off?"

"Just give us a second." Elizabeth smiled. Seeing Elliott heading towards the kitchen and about to open his mouth to ask them something, she quickly interjected, "No, no tuna mold. Absolutely not. I left pasta on the stove, you can finish cooking that."

"Your loss." Elliott shrugged before disappearing into the kitchen

"You've been staying with . . . him for eight months?" Five wrinkled his nose as his eyes gravitated towards the kitchen.

"It's not like I had a lot of options. Plus, he had already been tracking those four—or their appearances at least. But that's not important." Elizabeth suddenly furrowed her eyebrows as she realized something. "Hold on—how'd you even get here? You said you came on the 25th?"

"Oh, right. Well, I arrived on the 25th to see—you know— nuclear war, all of you guys fighting, that kind of stuff. Then, Hazel came—"

"Hazel?" she cut him off, a surprised expression prominent on her face. "Hazel Hazel?"

"Yeah, Hazel, Hazel," Five confirmed with a firm nod. "He brought me here, told me that the world's supposed to end in three days because of nukes, and then got shot by these . . . Swedish men—who belong to the Commission."

"Okay, okay, that's a lot to unpack . . ." Elizabeth began to rub the area of her tattoo, immediately feeling stress come over her. "Oh, God, Five. What're we supposed to do?"

"I don't know." Five let out a deep sigh, leaning back on the couch as he shook his head. "Best we can start with is finding everyone else."

"I've been trying." Her fingers unconsciously began to rub more aggressively but she ignored the additional pain. "But I haven't found any of them. Diego doesn't count, he made himself easy to find because he's an idiot."

"Well, I'm here now," Five said softly. He gently threaded his fingers through hers, stopping her vigorous actions.

The warm hand in hers soothed her, although her mind was still more than stressed out. She sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling him plant a kiss on the top of her head.

Elizabeth lifted her head off of Five's shoulder and looked up towards him, taking a moment to admire the features that she had missed so dearly. 

Although, the lips she had waited to kiss for so long were now formed into a small frown, and faint lines were created in the soft skin of his forehead.

She adjusted her hand in his, tightening her grip on his fingers.

He turned towards her, and the frown was replaced by a gentle smile before he kissed her on the forehead. He murmured to her, "Don't worry, beautiful. We'll be able to find everyone in time."

"I hope so," she sighed as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and stared at the board that sat a few feet away from them. 

She didn't even need to look at the photos to know what they looked like, nor read the sticky notes to know what they said; she had memorized the entire board months ago. 

"But I don't know . . . I've been trying to find them for eight months," she said hopelessly. "And Five, I love you, but how much of a difference can you make?"

"Well . . . What do you have so far?" he asked as he raised an eyebrow, his attention turning to the board.

"Oh, well, I . . . Hold on." She let go of his hand and reached over to the notebook that hid in the mess of papers and books. She pulled it out, flipping to the brainstorm she had made a couple of hours before and handed it to him.

Five took it from her, his eyebrows furrowing as he read her writing. He gave a small snort, "Luther has a fourteen percent chance of being dead? I hope that's right."

"Five!" She smacked him on the arm, shaking her head as he sent her a wink.

"Kidding." He resumed reading the notes, his eyes quickly following each word. He gave a nod after reading everything. "This is good. But, what, it didn't help?"

"Well, actually" —Elizabeth scratched the back of her neck— "I wrote that this morning."

He looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "It took you eight months to think of doing this?"

"Shut up." She shoved him lightly, causing him to let out a small chuckle.

He put the notebook back onto the coffee table, leaving it open on the page so that they could read her writing. "So, who do we start with? Vanya? Luther?"

"Diego," Elizabeth sighed as she folded her arms.

"What?" Five furrowed his eyebrows as he turned to her. "I thought you knew where he was?"

"I do, but I promised him that I'd visit as soon as you came," she explained with a small frown. "I think he might want to kill you, but it'll be fine."

Five scoffed, "Diego wouldn't be able to—"

"If he had knives, you'd have a seventy-six percent chance of dying."

"Oh, fuck you," Five muttered as he got up, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Don't blame me, blame the numbers." She elbowed him lightly before making a portal to the place she was familiar with. "Let's go."

Once they had gone through, Elizabeth and Five entered the mental facility that she had gotten so used to visiting.

As usual, the foyer was empty, save for Yvonne, who seemed to be highly invested in the magazine that she was reading.

She looked up at the sound of the door opening, her eyebrows raising in surprise when she saw the additional person. "Here to visit Diego Hargreeves?"

"Yeah." Elizabeth nodded as the two of them approached her desk.

Yvonne looked towards Five and questioned, "Relation?"

"Brother," he answered, shoving a hand into the pockets of his shorts.

"Weird family," she muttered to herself before getting up from her chair. With one last glance towards them, she headed off through the door she usually disappeared into.

"Nice lady." Five raised his eyebrows as he looked towards Elizabeth, who only shrugged in response.

After a few moments, Yvonne reappeared, and as usual, gestured for them to follow her into the next room.

Two chairs sat on their side of the table rather than one this time.

Elizabeth and Five took them, and Elizabeth nervously tapped her fingers against the table. She really hoped that Diego wasn't going to get mad at Five. Other than Lee Harvey Oswald, the boy was who Diego wanted to murder most (or so he had told her—multiple times).

Footsteps approached and Diego appeared, escorted by two guards. His hair had grown over the course of the past couple of months, and it now reached his chin, wild and wavy.

He had a small smile on his face, but it soon faded upon seeing who sat on the other side of the table. "Hey, Gol—Five."

"Hey, Diego," Five greeted coolly as Diego took his chair. "You look good in white."

Diego ignored his greeting, his eyes fixated on the boy as he murmured, "About time you showed up."

"How'd you know I'd be back?" Five asked, his chin tilting high in the air.

Diego leaned forward, causing Five to do the same. "Because that's the kind of shit you pull. When did you get here?"

"I got here this morning," Five told him. He glanced over at Elizabeth before raising his eyebrows at the man. "I heard that you tried to kill Lee Harvey Oswald. Care to explain?"

Diego looked down at his lap as he muttered, "Let's just say Dallas Law Enforcement has not been supportive of my attempt to stop the assassination of" —he looked up towards them, his voice softening further— "John F. Kennedy."

"Because it hasn't happened yet," Five murmured back in exasperation.

"And it's not going to happen. Not on my watch." Diego shook his head, causing Elizabeth to groan. He leaned forward even closer, whispering, "Look, I've been shaving down the bars in my room. Another day or two, and I'll be out of this place, then I'm gonna stop Oswald and save the president. You want in" —he winked— "say the word."

"Listen to me very closely, you gibbering moron," Five whispered angrily. "You are not going to do a goddamn thing."

"Why. Not?"

"Because we have to stop the apocalypse," Five replied softly, though his tone was stern.

"No shit," Diego scoffed with a roll of the eyes. "But that doesn't happen for another sixty years."

"Not that apocalypse," Elizabeth corrected with a frown. "This is a new one."

"It followed us," Five sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I've seen it. Nuclear war, Diego, in ten days."

Diego began to laugh, folding his arms as he leaned back against his chair. "And I'm the one they locked up, huh? Fine, I'll play along." He rolled his eyes in amusement before asking, "What causes it?"

Five's voice became particularly high as he grew exasperated. "I don't know. Maybe some looney-tuned asshole with a hero complex tried to save the president and screwed everything up."

Diego leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes widened. "So you're saying it worked?"

Five scoffed, looking out towards the window as Elizabeth rubbed her forehead and sighed.

"I saved the president?" Diego continued. He growled softly in celebration, his fists clenched as he tried to hold himself back. "I knew I could do it. Okay, okay, I'll help you."

"Thank God," Elizabeth breathed out in relief.

"After I save Kennedy," Diego added with a nod. "And then you swing us back a few decades so I can slit Hitler's throat off with a butter knife.

Five shook his head. "This is why you don't have any friends."

Diego stared at him, taken aback.

"You know what?" Five sighed as he stood up, tugging on Elizabeth's arm to tell her to do the same. "Guard. My brother is plotting an escape. The bars of his room have been shaved down."

A look of fury dawned onto Diego's face before he began to climb over the table. "Piece of shit!"

Before he could do whatever he was planning on doing to the boy, the two guards pulled him back, their grips firm. One wrapped his hand around the back of Diego's neck and pushed him down onto the table as the other pressed down on his lower back and shoulder.

"Look, this is for your own good, Diego," Five mused as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"No! Five!"

"Listen, my brother is a very sick man," he sighed dramatically as a nurse came up to Diego, a large syringe in her hand.

"Elizabeth!"

A small smirk grew onto Five's face. "I only pray that he gets the help he so desperately needs."

"No, please! Not the needle!" Diego cried out as the nurse inserted the needle into his arm. "No! No! No!"

Elizabeth frowned; she didn't like the sight of this at all.

She leaned down, whispering into his ear, "Be back for you later, okay?"

Five took her hand and led her out of the room, pulling harder every time she glanced back over her shoulder. They soon left the big building, and Five brought them back to Elliott's place.

"Well," Five sighed as Elizabeth sat back down on the couch, "that was a disaster."

"I told you . . . Diego's gone insane," she murmured as she rubbed her eyes. She glanced over at Five as he sat down next to her, and mustered up a small smile as he shifted closer to her.

He picked up the notebook that he had left on the coffee table, his eyes scanning over it. "Top priority should be Vanya."

"I know." Elizabeth nodded. She pointed over to the set-up of radios that was across the room as she told him, "I had Elliott set up an atmospheric radar to—"

"Locate soundwaves," he finished her sentence for her, nodding. "Smart. Until we get a ping, we should get our Number One. So" —his eyes ran to the top of the page— "seventy-two percent chance that he's a bodyguard, twenty-three percent for wrestler, five percent . . . actor?"

She waved a dismissive hand as she shrugged. "I was just having fun."

"Okay," he chuckled before looking back to the paper. "Let's find Luther."