𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━ five hargreeves

14│AN AFTERNOON WITH ME, MYSELF & I

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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴀɴ ᴀғᴛᴇʀɴᴏᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ
ᴍᴇ, ᴍʏsᴇʟғ & ɪ ꒱


❝ MEN. YOU GOTTA LOCK 'EM UP ❞

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Note: Since this chapter has two versions of Five and Dolores, I tried to make it easier to follow
- Dolores/younger is in reference to teenaged Dolores while Lola/older is in reference to "adult" Dolores
- Five/younger is in reference to teenaged Five while Five Senior/older is in reference to "adult" Five

✧✧✧

Lively Irish music greeted them as the trio pushed open the door to the pub Five and Dolores had visited what felt like a lifetime ago. There was an air of celebration as the patrons waited for their Irish president to arrive in Dallas and nearly all the tables were full. They paused at the opening of the entrance hallway to look for the older pair, which Five was the first to spot. "Well, there we are."

Dolores gave her older— well, really younger self— a once-over as she'd gone much longer than her husband without her correct physical body. Oh, god, had her hair really looked like that? She was glad she'd gotten it cut. Five was next to her, diligently scribbling away in his book while she completed a crossword puzzle. In front of the man was a pint of Guinness while she'd opted to avoid any distractions.

"Why don't we just grab the briefcase and run?" Luther asked the couple with his finger pointed in the older Five's direction.

"Luther, I would never let that happen," the boy told him. "We're trained to guard these briefcases with our lives."

"Right," he nodded.

"Plus, it's the inherent paradox where this gets tricky," Five continued. "I'm endangering my existence just being in the same room with myself."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Keep up, Luther," Dolores reprimanded him. "If our older selves don't travel back to 2019 like we're supposed to, the whole thing unravels itself and we—" Here, she gestured between herself and her husband. "—cease to exist. Capeesh?"

"Sure," he replied, sounding entirely uncertain.

"So, our best chance is to talk with him, to reason with him," the boy added. "He'll understand. Trust me. I know myself better than, uh-"

"Me?" the brunette suggested before she frowned. "No, that's not grammatically correct. I?" She paused as the boy reached up and surreptitiously itched his neck. "Nah. Myself? But that's repetitive—"

"You just itched your neck!" Luther accused him. His eyes widened as he pointed to the indicated area. "That's stage two of Paradox Psychosis."

"No, I didn't. I didn't itch my neck."

"Denial is stage one," Dolores reminded him cheerfully.

"I'm fine, okay?" the boy snapped. "Let's stay on task, shall we?" He grasped the girl's wrist and began to tug her forward.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Maybe I should go first," Luther offered.

"Why?"

"Come on, Five. Do you really think you're going to react kindly to bumping into your own tiny doppelgänger? Older you will lose his shit," the man explained quickly.