Chapter Text
Five walked the halls of the Commission alone to answer the Handler’s summons.
It was not long ago that he would be constantly accompanied everywhere by the woman herself, never really allowed to be alone unless he was in his room sleeping.
But that had changed after his first assignment. Five passed initiation he supposed, despite his…reaction afterwards. Spilled blood in the name of preserving the timeline and shackled himself further to the Handler. He was apparently now trustworthy enough to be allowed in the halls unaccompanied.
It had been days now, just shy of a week, since that first assignment and now he could only assume he was about to get another.
The Handler’s secretary waved him inside the office when he arrived, smiling at him absently. Five kept his face schooled as blank as he could.
He hadn’t been around the Handler much since that night. When they’d returned to the base the Handler had not taken him to his room, instead she led him to her office. Five had felt wrung hollow, hardly processing his surroundings in his numb state. The Handler sat him down next to her on one of her couches, hand combing through his hair as he’d stared blankly ahead.
“Everyone’s first time is different. Their reactions unpredictable,” The Handler whispered against his head, leaning against him. “It gets easier each time. You may find that you even enjoy it.”
The problem was it was already easy, that once he’d started the Carson’s had ceased to be people and just became obstacles in his way, and part of Five knew he should be horrified by that. The small naïve part of him that wanted to remain untainted by this new world he’d stepped into. An idyllic, foolish notion that he should’ve obliterated sooner.
Five didn’t voice his thoughts, allowing the Handler to continue her ministrations like some maternal creature, like she hadn’t cornered him and made him look into the darkest depths of himself. He wishes he could avoid her and ignore what happened that night and how he’d humiliated himself in front of her.
Instead, he opens the door to her office and steps inside. Calm, calm, calm, calm, he chants in his head, hoping his face doesn’t betray his discomfort of being back in the room. The Handler is behind her desk as usual, looking through some papers.
But what catches Five’s eye are the set of teacups sitting out. One by the Handler’s elbow and the other across the desk and in front of the chair Five never sits in. There’s sugar spilled all over the surface surrounding the second cup and the wood of the desk is scuffed with dirt. Someone had propped their feet on the Handler’s desk, had felt comfortable and confident enough to do so.
“Number Five,” the Handler greets, setting aside her work to focus solely on him. Five moves, ignoring the cup to settle in the seat to the left of the other. “Tea?” the Handler offers.
“No, thank you,” Five replies. He’s never enjoyed tea, finding it to be nothing more than water with an unpleasant flavor. Allison had become obsessed with all the different kinds of teas and forced her siblings to sit and taste them with her. Five had been banned after the first taste test for spitting the tea out.
“Very well, straight to business. You have a new assignment.” She grabs a folder from on top of her pile, eyes not leaving Five as she does so. Her look is assessing, most likely looking for his reaction to the news, searching for any distress or unease within him.
He can’t feel much of anything either way. Maybe he’d shed all his emotion after the Carson’s or maybe he’ll have a breakdown again after this assignment. In the moment he feels a general acceptance, this is the way things will be from now on (until he figures out the equation) and so there is no use in getting worked up.
The Handler seems satisfied with his non-reaction. “We’ll leave in an hour. The target’s name is William Shafford…”
***
The man is a degenerate.
A desperate man with no control over his darker impulses, multiple counts of assault, each one worse than the last.
“He’s escalating,” the Handler explains as they watch the target from a roof. He blends in well with the crowd, sporting the long hair typical of the era and the bright and more relaxed clothes of the 70’s. The Handler has swapped her usual style of dress for a less flared and more sheath-like style and opted for tall red boots to match. “The police haven’t been able to identify him through the victims and they never will. Soon, he will find that simply leaving his victims alive is not thrilling enough and he’ll have his first kill. Eventually he will leave Washington state in search of a new hunting ground.”
“He’ll be a serial killer,” Five comments, watching the innocuous man.
“It is the golden age of serial killers.”
Then why kill this man specifically and let so many others continue to prey on regular people? “He…kills someone he shouldn’t,” Five posits slowly.
The Handler’s lips curl, “Very astute. A disruption of the timeline is caused by the death of one of his future kills. But we’ll fix that tonight.”
***
They wait and watch Shafford as the light of day disappears early in the pacific North-West. He goes about his day just as any normal person, stopping in cafés and sitting on park benches to enjoy the warming weather of early spring. He’d be nothing of note if not for the way his eyes track the people around him, following their moves with assessing eyes.
Now he prowls, stalking a small woman on her way home from work. She remains unaware of the predator hunting her and looking to whet his appetite.
Yet, the predator himself is unaware that tonight he is someone else’s prey.
“Quick and quiet,” the Handler orders as she passes Five a knife.
Five could argue that a silenced pistol would do the job just as well, but he recognizes the knife as the very same one he’d sliced Sophia Carson’s throat with.
Another test.
Five meets the Handler’s eyes, sees the calculation shadowing her, the challenging curl to her lips.
He takes the knife in a steady hand and disappears in a flash, jumping the short distance from the roof down to the street with only a small stumble.
***
William Shafford doesn’t see what hits him until he’s crumpled to the ground in an expanding puddle of his own blood.
He paws weakly at his throat, choking and gasping, eyes wide with panic and fading light.
He’s a despicable man, of that Five is sure.
Five expects to feel something. Satisfaction at taking this man out, similar to how he felt taking down criminals with his family.
It’s nothing quite like that.
Five watches the man convulse in his death throes, eyes wide and losing awareness beyond the realization that he’s dying. Trying desperately to reach for some impossible thing to save him. He looks remarkably similar to Sophia as she faded away under Five’s hands. That despite how very different the two are, they’ve both come to an end in much the same way and felt the same fear of death.
In the end Five doesn’t feel much of anything as William Shafford stops moving.
***
The Handler is pleased when he returns.
Together they travel back to headquarters via briefcase. Upon their landing in the arrivals section they are immediately accosted by Carla, the secretary looking harried.
“I’m sorry ma’am but she couldn’t wait, and I tried to keep her out of the office while you were gone,” Carla rambles quickly.
Five’s eyebrows jump. Who would be ballsy enough to barge into the Handler’s office?
Contrary to Five’s expectations, the Handler smiles without a trace of malice. “That’s quite alright, Carla. Would you bring tea to my office?” The secretary nods quickly, obviously relieved by the answer as she hurries to do just that. The Handler turns to Five, “I have to attend to this meeting. You are free to return to your quarters.”
Five almost asks if this is the same person she had tea with earlier but restrains himself. He doesn’t want to linger or get himself dragged into a situation he’d rather not be in, and the Handler has given him the rest of the day off essentially, important hours he can use to work on his equation in secret.
He nods and turns.
“Hold on a tic,” the Handler orders, and Five freezes, worried she’ll rescind her previous order. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, wetting it with her tongue and then grasping his chin to tilt it aside and get at his neck. She dabs at him and he shoves down the urge to push her away. “There we go, all clean.” She holds up the hanky, showing the red spots of blood she’d wiped away. “A lot less than last time,” she comments.
“Thank you,” Five forces out.
***
Five is eating more now.
He figured that would help with his energy levels, but he still tires out fast and stumbles out of his jumps. He’s weak and he knows it.
There’s progress of course, he’s nothing like when he first arrived at the Commission.
But even now his chest hurts after exercising, leaving him thoroughly winded, and he’s still stick thin in a way that’s not healthy.
But most annoyingly is his lack of energy, especially now that he’s jumping again. He hasn’t had such small limits since he was a child.
He…finds a remedy quite on accident.
Carla is away from her desk and Five has been left in the small waiting area while the Handler talks with some analysts. He’s thirsty. But he’s expected to stay where he’s told.
And sitting oh so innocently on Carla’s desk is a mug of liquid.
Five has very few scruples after his months spent in the Apocalypse. He’s eaten things he never thought himself capable of. What’s a mug someone’s lips have touched to squirming cockroaches?
He snatches the mug and sips the liquid. It’s not tea he’s thankful to realize, though he wouldn’t care too much at the moment. It’s slightly bitter, but also sweet, infinitely better than soggy leaf water. He downs the rest of it and sets the mug back exactly where it sat before, licking his lips clear of evidence.
Later Carla returns to her empty little waiting room and finds her mug curiously empty. Her eyes dart around in suspicion, entirely sure she’d had at least two-thirds of her coffee left to drink.
Down in the lower levels Five’s body shakes as he tries to write out numbers in Extra Ordinary with steady hands. He feels the need to move, shifting restlessly on the bed until he can’t take it anymore and stands. He paces, his steps speeding up and slowing down unconsciously as he buzzes.
Finally, he blinks to the other side of the room, sure that will drain him enough to sit still. He doesn’t so much as stumble as he lands.
***
He hunts for more of the energy giving liquid.
Carla starts taking her mug with her everywhere after the fifth time she returns to find it empty. Other Commission employees are finding themselves in a similar situation of losing their coffee if they so much as take their eyes off it for more than a few seconds. Accusations are thrown around, un-caffeinated and irritable workers looking for whoever thinks themselves such a funny prankster. Poor Bob nearly gets impaled by a pencil when he wanders too close to his deskmate’s mug.
Five meanwhile finds himself having more energy to jump about.
He likes the coffee he’s stolen, though he prefers it when it’s warm and not chilled to room temperature and slimy.
He is aware that there is a source somewhere, a place where everyone is getting their coffee supply. And after far too many cold cups he decides to locate the source himself.
He supposes he could’ve done so earlier instead of taking from office workers. But it had been nice to inconvenience them. He’d even seen the analyst, Dot, copying papers and managed to take her coffee without being noticed.
But now he stands at the source of the precious, energy giving liquid, the employee breakroom.
It’s empty save for him, the time far past lunch and ensuring he won’t be interrupted. He goes to the coffeemaker and eyes the dark liquid.
Most of the cups he’d taken were a lighter brown, most likely filled with cream to sweeten the liquid.
He sets about making himself a cup, pouring coffee and then cream into a mug and bringing it to his lips. He sips—
—and spits it back out into the mug as hot and bitter liquid hits his tastebuds.
He hisses, face scrunching up in distaste. None of the other cups had been so nasty, so absolutely unpleasant. They were aromatic and—and sweet…
“Sugar, stupid,” Five groans to himself.
Sure enough, on the counter there is a container filled with sugar packets, the surface itself is covered in the small granules.
His father hadn’t banned sugar outright, but it was never permitted in excess. Five wasn’t sure where the line of acceptable and excess lay and he didn’t particularly care as he stood alone in the Commission. He grabbed a few packets and then some more. Five packets for Five, he thought, ripping their tops and pouring them together.
The waterline of his cup rose to match the displacement, dangerously close to overflowing. Five carefully stirred his concoction, moving slow to ensure no drops escape.
That finished, he stared down at the overfull mug and decided it was too full to attempt lifting. He leaned down and sipped at the liquid, the pleasant sweetness soothing his tongue of the previous bitter taste. Perhaps sugar would fix tea as well.
Satisfied he wouldn’t spill, Five picked up his mug and made for the door.
The door that swung into him just as he reached it.
“Shit,” he curses, as hot liquid is flung onto him, his mug shattering on the ground.
“Shit!” the girl in the doorway exclaims, grabbing his elbow to steady him as he stumbles.
Five regains his stability, looking down at his gray uniform to see a large wet stain all over the front, sticking his clothes to him uncomfortably.
“That’s my bad,” the girl says quickly, waving her hand in the air between them as if to pat him clean. She seems to find that idea good, hurrying past him to the counter to grab napkins, dark braids trailing after her. Five stares.
He hasn’t seen anyone his age at the Commission and it’s starting to register that he is in fact seeing a young girl right this instant. She speaks with a lilting accent, similar to how Allison used to do a British accent imitation, though this girl’s is natural and fluid in comparison.
“Here let me!” she says, coming back and shoving a wad of napkins against his chest, and proceeding to pat him down forcefully.
Five scowls, stepping back and swatting her still moving hands away. The way she tries to help is like Klaus, overenthusiastic and not actually helpful. “Back off!”
“No, no I insist!” she says, reaching for him once more with a scowl of her own.
She follows him stubbornly as he steps back. “Would you stop!?” Five growls.
She lunges forward and Five catches her wrists, her momentum making them slide in the coffee puddle on the floor. Five’s feet slip from under him, sending both of them to the ground in a tangle.
Five yelps as his hand catches on a ceramic shard from his broken mug and the girl grunts as her chin collides with his knee.
“Ow,” the girl whines, hand holding her jaw as she works it.
Five slides away from her, cheeks red with anger and cradling his hand to his chest. “You deserve that.”
The girl drops her hand, anger flaring in her eyes. “Excuse me! I was just trying to help!”
“I told you to back off!” Five yells back.
She shrinks back a little at his volume and then puffs up, unwilling to back down. “You’re an utter bastard that needs to learn gratitude!” she yells childishly.
“And you need to use those useless lumps of flesh on your head and learn to listen!” Five shoots back, pulling himself from the ground.
“U-useless—”
“That’s what I said,” Five confirms, moving to the door and ignoring the mess on the floor. Now he desperately needs a shower.
“You shit, get back here!” the girl calls indignantly.
Five doesn’t look back, slipping out the door and blinking away when it swings shut.
***
He barely makes it inside his bathroom when there’s a knock on the door.
Another summons from the Handler. Urgent business apparently.
Five scowls at the employee’s back as the man leads him to the upper levels insistently. His clothes are still soaked through, and the liquid marring them has begun to cling in a sticky combination of sugar and coffee. The Handler will have a field day seeing him like this.
Carla doesn’t even glance up from her post and Five takes that as his cue to enter the office.
“Lila this is Number Five,” the Handler says as the door closes, looking to the other occupant of the office.
“You!” the girl from earlier hisses, finger jabbing at Five accusatorily.
The Handler stares at Lila and then her eyes sweep to Five, taking in his state. One remarkably similar to Lila’s. “I see you two have already met,” she says amused now.
“Unfortunately,” Five can’t help but mutter.
“I concur,” Lila adds.
The Handler moves to sit at her desk, while Five and Lila size each other up from opposite sides of the room. “Five, this is my daughter, Lila.”
Five blinks in surprise, eyes darting between them. Lila catches it and smirks, arms crossing over her chest. The smirk drops off fast.
“You two will be working together,” the Handler informs them, drawing incredulous looks from both of them.
“You never mentioned that,” Lila says.
“I did tell you that you would have a new companion soon.”
Lila’s eyes go wide, shooting to Five, “Him?”
“What do you mean working together?” Five asks.
The Handler fixes him with a pleasant smile that isn’t actually pleasant. “I mean working together in whatever way I see fit. The two of you will be my most trusted and loyal, far above everyone else working here. We’re a unit now, none of us are alone.” Her head tilts, “Consider us like family.”
“I have a family,” Five corrects. He won’t fall into her game, playing family with her and Lila to replace what he’s lost. He’s not giving up on his family even if they’re gone right now. He never will.
Lila’s head snaps his way, but he ignores her. The Handler is all that matters in this moment.
“A dead family,” she answers back bluntly. “You are effectively an orphan. Have I not granted you everything you need? Didn’t I save you from a lifetime of suffering alone?”
Five’s hands curl into fists, the cut from the broken mug stinging and bleeding, filling his palm with heat.
The Handler doesn’t allow his silence. “Answer me, Number Five.”
“Yes, you did,” Five says, cheeks burning at having the Handler and Lila watching him in this moment.
“This is your new home, Five,” the Handler says softer, but no less firm. “You have me and Lila now.”
Five drops his eyes, “Right.”
***
The thing is…
…Five really doesn’t like Lila.
***
Five is starting to tire as Lila pushes towards him, forcing him to block jabs or risk a broken nose. She’s pressing forward after him much like the Handler does in their matches, trying to herd him where she wants.
But Lila is not the Handler.
She lacks experience where the older woman has it in droves. This means Five can redirect them whenever he feels too close to being cornered and inexperienced Lila takes a few moments too long to block him as he slips past her assault.
He’s tiring though, they’ve been pushing and pulling for uninterrupted minutes now and he can feel the way his chest burns from the exertion. He usually doesn’t last this long in the ring with the Handler and he’s finding his endurance being tested.
Lila’s tan face is tinged red, hair frizzing out of her twin braids, yet she isn’t breathing hard.
Five needs to end the fight.
Lila overswings a punch and Five is too slow to take advantage before she recovers. What it does is throw off the rhythm she had and Five decides it’s time to go on the offensive. He slaps a slow punch away from himself and punches Lila right in her sternum. She grunts in surprise and Five quickly switches from retreat to forward attack, forcing her to give ground to him. They fall into a new pattern and Five allows it. It was a tactic he used against Diego time and time again, lulling his brother with the repetitiveness until he was responding instinctively, and then Five would end it by suddenly switching out of his pattern and watching his brother fail to adapt.
Lila doesn’t adapt.
Five catches her fist, an attempt to push him back, and takes the opportunity to pull her legs from under her with a backward sweep of his own. Lila goes down with a yelp and Five quickly puts his foot on her chest. He keeps the pressure light, nothing more than a warning not to get up.
Her dark eyes glare up at him and he returns the look whole heartedly.
“Good show,” the Handler says from the sidelines.
Five takes his eyes off Lila for a moment and regrets it instantly.
As he looks away and she grabs his stable foot and yanks, sending him to the ground with jarring impact. Five’s breath rushes out of him and in the next moment Lila is up and planting her own foot on his chest.
“You shouldn’t be so lax around the enemy,” she sing-songs, just like Klaus would. She’s smug and arrogant like Diego and Allison when they got the better of Five. She looks down at him haughtily, lips curled in a smirk and eyes challenging him to contest her. He can’t of course, too tired from their fight. His chest presses into her sole as he gasps to recover his breath.
Five hates her.
The Handler is talking and Five can’t hear it. Lila does look away though, adding pressure to his chest so he can’t try the same trick on her. He watches her face morph, open and seeking approval from the Handler like a flower seeking the sun. She looks remarkably like Luther when he tried to impress their father and Five wishes he could smack her and make the similarities he sees disappear. He closes his eyes instead.
“That’s enough for today, little one,” the Handler says.
“I can keep going though,” Lila is quick to inform.
“Of that I have little doubt, however I think Five could do with a break.”
“Right,” Lila mutters, removing her foot finally. Five remains where he is, enjoying the reclined position as he waits.
“Clean up in here, I have work to attend to, and later we can have dinner together,” the Handler says, voice fading away.
It’s quiet for a moment as the doors close behind her.
“Oi, you asleep?” Lila asks, toe poking at Five’s side. “Get up and help me.”
Five smiles. “Sure thing,” he chirps, far brighter than he normally is, and twists to kick Lila’s feet from under her. She shrieks, slamming into the ground again.
They lay sprawled on the floor, the only sound in the training area is their breathing, Five’s still overly loud compared to Lila’s.
“I hate you,” she growls eventually.
“Good,” Five says back.