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"Why don't you just rumor the old man? You could do anything ."
Allison stares at him wide-eyed. Five rarely blinks when he wants to make a point. He isn't teasing either. He isn't one for jokes, at least not inane ones.
He means it, as much as he means anything.
"You want me to rumor Father ?"
Five nods. He pops a marshmallow into his mouth. "Should be easy. It's not like he'd be expecting it. He thinks we're all nice and subdued."
Allison envies his ease, the way he carries his arguments, slipping in big words, showing off without really needing to prove anything. He's not afraid of anything and anyone. The adults around them are just obstacles in his path. They won't be there for long.
"Maybe you could do something like that," she says, swinging her legs to and fro on the courtyard bench. "But I -"
Five shakes the bag for any leftover pieces. He scoffs. "Oh, I totally would. But I'm not the one with mind persuasion. Sadly."
"It's a good thing you don't have it," she muses, staring at his impish profile. They say kids are cruel bastards, but no one ever met him. He’d give Peter Pan a run for his money.
Five smiles with half his mouth. "If I ever find a way to steal it, I might."
Allison draws away from him, skirt brushing up faintly against her knees.
Five hunches forward, steeples his palms, stares at her like he’s found the chink in her armor, the spring of her powers.
“Do you realize you could rumor me right now to sit here forever? You could rumor me to forget this entire conversation. Hell, you could rumor us all. You could rule the world.”
She doesn’t like his talk, she’s never liked his talk, if she’s honest.
He sounds power hungry, too power hungry for a thirteen year-old, and yet he also sounds contemplative.
He’d like her to take over the world just to see what happens.
It’s tempting to keep listening.
She gets up.
“Lunch break is over.”
Five leans back, arms draped over the back of the bench. He looks magisterial, statuary. A hungry piece of ivory. He could spread his arms and snatch her too.
He shrugs. “So run back to Reginald like the good girl you are, why don’t you?”
Allison grits her teeth. She wants to slap him, or rumor him to do it on himself until he cuts himself on those cheekbones.
But he’d probably just get confirmation that his words work on her.
Five smiles serenely. What are you gonna do, Sis?
She walks back into the house, fists clenched.
She’s gonna rule the world someday, but she’ll do it her way.
"The people want to know, what's your secret, Allison?"
The Late Show host is nearly besotted with her. He waits on her every word.
Allison looks into the cameras with a glowing smile. "I'll tell you. Hard work and just a pinch of good luck."
Five chuckles as he takes off his boots and sets the gun on the bed.
The Handler gave him two days to finish the job. He can't linger. He's fine with that. The early 2000s are nothing to write home about.
Of course he misses his family, but so much time has passed and he's lived so many lives, they're like dead ancestors to him.
He feels sad about not feeling sad enough.
And yet, he smiles at his sister, the deceiver. She has weaved such an intricate matrix around herself.
The only one of the siblings who is luxuriating.
Once she gets a real taste of it, she'll probably want more.
He never thought she'd have the stomach for it. Then again, he never thought he'd be a gun for hire.
It's odd, how similar they are. Two bloodhounds, chewing on their leashes.
Fifteen years later and he's still a heartless little shit.
While the rest of the family marvels at how much time travel has changed him - "turned him into a dick", being Diego's exact words - Allison disagrees. She thinks, he was already fifty when we were kids.
She catches him in the hallway as he's about to run off on one of his mysterious missions and she pulls him into an awkward half-embrace.
"Slow down, kiddo. And yes, I did just call you that to annoy you."
She smiles down at him.
Five stares up at her, cool fondness in his eyes.
"I've been called worse."
She runs her hand down his arm. "Now that you're back, are you gonna clue us in on what you're doing?"
"Would it matter? None of you are useful enough in this fight."
Allison drops her hand. Little shit.
But she's trying to be a better sister in general. She reins in her temper.
"We might surprise you. But hey, do whatever you think is best. God knows we can't stop you."
He chews the inside of his jaw. "I said useful enough . If you really wanted to help me, I've got a whole list of people you could rumor for me. But I hear you don't do that anymore."
She swallows. "You heard right."
He shrugs. "Pity that. You weren't half bad."
She really wants to snap at him, but she's the literal adult here.
"Well," he drawls, "I always keep the list in my pocket, just in case."
"Bye, Five."
He chuckles. "That's more like it."
He turns to leave, but before he does, he says, off-hand, "by the way, I liked you better as a redhead."
The remark doesn't register at first.
He's out of the house before she stops to consider what he said.
She remembers she dyed her hair red for an early part in some fantasy trilogy that did moderately well at the box office. She had not cared for the movie, but she'd liked the Red Sonja look more than she liked to admit.
The red made her feel like a superhero, only undercover.
She kept it for a few months after the shoot was over.
It was such a small period of time that it makes her wonder how Five got a hold of a picture. She's managed to rumor a lot of photos of her off the internet, especially the early days. She's also made sure copies of that movie are not easy to come by.
But he's been to the future and back. He can go anywhere. He must have come across it somehow.
Or her.
Come across her.
It's 2009 and the Mediterranean summer is wreaking havoc on her pores.
She loves the heat, though. Can feed on it for days, lounging at the spa, buried in hot stones, then stepping into the warm pool that overflows the edge of the terrace.
She lies in the water and sees only water below, the sea stretching an olive blue into eternity.
She's living the good life.
That evening she meets with the richest man in Malta. She has rumored him to put diamond rings on her toes.
She feels better knowing she's also made him donate half his income to the less privileged. But the "haves" and the "have nots" are abstractions for her.
She sometimes forgets what she's doing all of this for.
She walks through the holiday village, feet bare, diamonds clinking as she takes each step.
Nothing can touch her. No one can hurt her.
She could walk on air. She unravels her red curls.
She stops by one of the fish-shops where the music blares greasily from the speakers and everything is briny and salt-licked.
She wants to eat something that will make her sick.
She has pickled fish on her fingers as she starts swaying to the incomprehensible music.
The people fear her, they keep their distance. She hasn't even rumored them, but her power is like the mosquitoes, buzzing ceaselessly, thirsting for blood.
It doesn't take long for her to feel it; someone's gaze has managed to intrude, after all.
Across the street, a man stretches his legs in a dark tailored suit. He is leaning against the bar, cigarette perched between his lips.
She feels hot just looking at him. How is he not sweltering? He's even wearing a vest.
His dark shock of hair is rigorously combed back, but one parenthetical lock falls over a face that is...antiquated, like looking at a sepia photograph.
And yet he can't be older than thirty-five. And not bad to look at if you're into that sort of thing.
He exhales smoke slowly. Almost as if it's not coming out of him. His eyes are hooded, not entirely attentive.
And yet, she feels him watching her.
Something about the way he's standing there casually, unbothered by the sun - it makes her want to rumor him, just to take him down a notch.
But the need lasts only a moment.
She doesn't like how often this happens nowadays - the itch to subjugate.
Besides, she kind of likes him watching her.
This pristine, professor-looking type is having a smoke, watching her sway her hips and eat fried fish.
The contrast tickles her.
Later, when she's lying awake next to the richest man on the island, she thinks about the man out of place, the professor, the boy...
In a certain slant of light...but no.
That's - Jesus, she would've recognized her own brother, wouldn't she?
When she dyes her hair blond, she forgets about the whole thing. Almost like rumoring herself.
Okay, so maybe he lied to the Handler about popping in to see his siblings.
Oops.
He doesn't regret it. It's immensely fun and immensely sad to test their perceptions, knowing he can't fully reveal himself.
So far, none of them have recognized him.
But when Allison is dancing in that bodega and their eyes meet across the street and the smoke steals from his mouth to her diamoned feet, he feels a touch of awareness.
He's not attracted to her, not in the way people normally define it, anyway.
They're bloodhounds. They like their meals to have a certain splash of terror.
He's attracted to what Allison is attracted to.
They both want to possess people without touching them. They want to be adored without even being there.
It probably has to do with their father.
Doesn't everything have to do with fathers?
To be invisible, to be whisper, to be air - he senses that possibility in her, his own scent.
He finishes his cigarette.
He remembers at least one of his brothers used to be in love with her.
He smiles sadly. It's like trying to love a ripe peach in God's hand.
The apocalypse is happening tomorrow. Allison wants to ask him, was it you in Malta?
But instead, she accepts the margarita and sips pensively.
Five enjoys the companionable silence. Or rather he's too numb to care. He rubs his eyes wearily.
Her chest tightens. He's only a kid now and he's as fragile as he is powerful. It's odd, he used to be older when they were younger.
Allison purses her lips. "I did rumor him once, you know."
Five raises a quizzical brow. "Him being the omnipotent Reginald?"
She smiles. "The very same."
"Do tell."
She shrugs. "It was something small. Made him start drinking coffee."
Five blinks. "He hated caffeine with every ounce of his being. Almost as much as I love it."
Allison takes another sip. "I know."
Five cocks his head to the side. "That's - that's fucking brilliant."
She tosses a few locks over her shoulder. "Big words coming from you."
He smiles. "Oh, come now. I'm not that stingy with the compliments, am I?"
She scoffs. "Listen, you'll always be my brother, but you were my personal nightmare when we were growing up. You were constantly putting us all down. Hell, we didn't need Dad with you around."
Five runs a hand through his hair. A dark lock falls parenthetically into his face and she thinks, it was him in Malta, the bastard. Had to be him.
"I guess it was a good thing I got trapped in a post-apocalyptic landscape for so long. Taught me humility."
Allison shrugs. "Did it, though?"
He laughs. "Maybe not."
She wants to reach out and brush the lock from his face.
"For what it's worth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "When I said you could rule the world I meant it. I'd actually trust you with it."
Allison almost coughs up the margarita. He has a real knack for catching her off-guard. "Are you serious right now?"
He nods. “Like a heart attack. Of course, I’d have to be the one guiding you from behind.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re a piece of shit.”
Five beams.
Yeah, him and his sis. Bloodhounds.