𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚄𝙼 ☂ Five Hargreeves

02 ☂ Nothing's changed

☂ Nothing's changed ☂

The two arguably best assassins in Temps Commission history were sat in an Irish Pub in Dallas in 1963.

Eight was growing bored with her surroundings while Five was downing a pint.

Stopping by a pub wasn't a bad idea as the two had an hour to kill and were on a mission to ensure the President is killed.

Eight was greeted with "Hello there, lady" by an inebriated man in his fifties. She found some fun right away.

She opted to find something to occupy herself with while they waited after turning to look at Five, who appeared to be oblivious to the situation. She did not, however, notice Five's clenched fists beneath the table.

She said with a cheeky grin, "Hey handsome."

She so began to flirt with him, and he eventually gave in and ordered her a drink. Despite her dislike for the man, Eight would never turn down a free drink.

After plenty of bad jokes and a few drinks, Five had had enough and attacked the man, striking him in the throat and anywhere else he could potentially deliver a punch.

Even though they were both in their 50s and he knew Eight was attractive and drew attention wherever she went, the jealously he felt had grown intolerable.

However, it's possible that punching the man went too far.

"Five. Five, stop it!" The man could hear Eight's voice clearly.

She yelled again, grabbing his shoulders and yanking him away. "He did nothing wrong!"

Five panted heavily, his white knuckles streaked with blood, his eyes filled with rage, his heart racing, his breath hitching in his throat.

As he stood up, the only sounds in the bar were the man's loud panting and whispered voices.

He gave Eight's angry face one more glance before picking up the two suitcases he had been holding all along and storming out of the bar, panic and rage taking over his head.

"He is flirting with what is mine; who does he think he is. And who does she think she is? Allowing him to do so." he breathed under his nose.

He watched the woman, with whom he has been in love for the past 40 years, assist the injured man and run to the bartender to get some ice for him while he peered back inside through the building's large window.

He understood his actions were bad. He knew it was wrong, but he was unable to stop himself. He could not hear her laughing with another man or to listen to the many compliments she would give him.

He had only ever wanted her attention.

Years spent in the post-apocalypse should have been enough to enlighten her, but instead she was being offered drinks in a random Irish bar by a man whose jokes were terrible, but she still found them entertaining.

He unknowingly held in a heavy breath, which he let out as he began to move toward the grassy knoll, where the assassination would be committed.

He heard the beautiful voice he so adored say, "Five," laced with rage from behind, but he refrained from objecting.

And the last thing he wanted was to be yelled at.

The speedster, though, had no trouble catching up with him.

In a fit of rage, the woman exclaimed, "What was that?"

No response.

"Five, I'm talking to you!" Everyone in the streets turned to face them when she roared aloud.