𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━ five hargreeves

25│DOLORES HARGREEVES, THE MAGICIAN

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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴅᴏʟᴏʀᴇs ʜᴀʀɢʀᴇᴇᴠᴇs,
ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄɪᴀɴ ꒱


❝ IT IS BETTER TO BE
FEARED THAN LOVED ❞

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If the apocalypse was bad, The Commission was worse.

At least at the end of the world it had just been Dolores and Five, the two lone survivors of a once vastly-populated earth. She'd been able to see him every day, have him be the last thing she saw at night and the first thing she saw in the morning. She'd known he was as safe as one could get in the apocalypse. She'd spent every waking minute with him which, while they didn't always get along, was still definitely nothing to complain about.

Now, though, she rarely saw him. He'd been taken in as a field agent as she'd suspected and had spent many months training with other Commission workers before he was sent out to the field. There, he'd made a name for himself as she'd known he would and had become what was arguably The Commission's most valuable asset. On the one hand, this was good because it was far less likely that the organization would send them back to the apocalypse and interrupt their further attempts to return to a pre-apocalyptic earth. On the other, this was terrible because she was now on her own more often than not and when she did finally see her husband, he was distant and preoccupied.

Dolores knew from her uncle's stories the effect the missions had on the man but no matter how she worded her question about his wellbeing, he brushed her off. Sometimes he'd gently squeeze her hand and reassure her he was okay. Sometimes he would place a distracted kiss on the top of her head in answer, but he'd never say what he was truly feeling. Even when she tried to talk to him about other things, like what happened at her end of the job, he seemed to only listen with half an ear or zone out completely so that she was better off talking to a brick wall. Even worse, she'd noticed that Five was now failing to meet her eyes more often than not. This was, of course, only when she could see him and The Handler seemed hellbent on keeping them separated.

Five Hargreeves was— is— incredible. There was no denying this fact and it was more than Dolores saying that just because he was her husband. The man seemed to have the ability to adapt to any place (and time) with chameleon-like ease, no matter how foreign or uncomfortable the setting was. It was how he'd adapted to the apocalypse so well after the first few days and had changed again when they'd signed the contract. In the beginning, he hadn't been gone as much and she'd been able to monitor his adaptation more closely. As he'd passed training, though, they'd seen each other less and less so that, by the time they'd been there a year, he was hardly a person she recognized.

That never stopped her from worrying incessantly whenever he was gone or about his wellbeing whenever they were together. Someone had to, or he'd work himself into an early grave and she was the only one he could fully rely on. Even when he told her nothing of what he was going through, Dolores did her best to shoulder as much of his burden as she could so that he could rest easier, though that, in itself, was a whole other problem entirely.

She'd known since the first day that stopping the apocalypse would now fall to her, at least until she got her Five back (this silent, distant shell of a person wasn't him) and she'd do whatever it took to solve the riddle.

✧✧✧

The line for Taco Tuesday was quite long, but luckily Dolores had worked methodically through her cases so that she didn't need to worry about returning to work until later in the afternoon. She walked slowly towards the queue, noting how Dot— in her usual routine— was also making her way towards the line. The two women arrived at the same time. Dolores paused and gestured for her to step in front. "Go ahead, you got here first."