Chapter Text
Commission Headquarters
Time Is A Construct
The Handler
If The Handler had been asked what she was currently doing she would say she was reviewing reports and making small adjustments where they were needed to ensure the Apocalypse ran as smoothly as possible. This was of course technically true; she was reviewing reports and she was making adjustments. She just didn’t usually drum her fingernails on the desk in irritation as she did so.
Her operatives had been forced to put the advertisement featuring Helen in the upcoming concert for Jenkins to finally get the bright idea that if she were gone Vanya might audition. This was concerning; Vanya Hargreeves was supposed to explain to Jenkins who Helen Cho was in terms of the orchestra, but she hadn’t.
On the one hand Number Five was chasing his tail trying to find the owner of a prosthetic eye who did not yet need one and Vanya Hargreeves had finally entered the stage again, calling Howard Jenkins to meet up for coffee. The bomb and the match were finally getting together and the pesky loose thread was following a dead end.
On the other hand something felt wrong. Like a conductor hearing one wrong note in an orchestra The Handler could feel something wrong with The Apocalypse.