definitely maybe i will live to love || Five x Reader/OC ||

oh sinnerman, where you gonna run to

Sinnerman

Vanya stayed up with you to talk about what happened at the department store, the apocalypse Five revealed happening soon (you intentionally leave out certain details), and the overall craziness that went down while she continued her "normal" life. The conversation went late into the night. You threw away your shot-up uniform and exchanged it for comfortable, familiar pajamas.

"So, Delores is a mannequin?"

"Seems like it."

"That's...sad." But she said it in a sincere way, not a deprecating one. "I guess if you're alone in the apocalypse for forty-three years, you try to find some way to remind yourself you're human."

Talking with Vanya is the reason why she rushes out the door the following morning with her violin case, cursing about being late for orchestral practice. You would have woken her up yourself had you not fallen asleep on the couch and only jerked into consciousness when you heard her bustling around the apartment.

"I'm so sorry—I love you!" you call.

"Love you, too," she echoes hurriedly. The door shuts. Your head plops back down onto a throw cushion.

...Then another knock wakes you up again. You peer at the clock; it's been half an hour since Vanya left.

You roll off the couch and stumble to the door to peer through the peephole. The person standing on the other side makes you whisper, "Shit."

Patch stares back at you when you crack the door open a bit, obviously discontent. You've only ever seen Diego receive the look she currently gives you.

"Hey, Patch."

"Hi, Eight." Her smile is thin-lipped. "I didn't take you for the kind of person to wear pajamas this late."

"It's still kind of early. I have an occasional lazy day."

"Uh huh. A lazy day to follow an exciting night, perhaps?"

"Um..."

She puts a hand on her hip and holds up a plastic evidence bag. Inside is fabric from your uniform skirt. "Now, I know Diego does not wear his ridiculous academy outfit anymore. Nobody does, really, except for perhaps someone still young enough to fit in the clothes. So, as the most responsible one in this dysfunctional family of yours, wanna tell me why I found this at the scene of a shootout in Gimbel Brothers?"

You pause, quiet and concentrated, weighing the options. Patch waits with blatant expectation.

"Is this on or off the record?"

"Depends on what you say, Eight."

She watches you let out a sigh that reveals your true age instead of the one your body displays. "Honestly, Patch, things have gotten very weird lately. If you want to know what happened, then you need to set aside your cop brain for a second."

Smirking, she puts the evidence back in her pocket. "Yeah, well," she confesses resignedly while you allow her to enter the apartment, "I didn't tell anyone I recognized the pattern, so looks like I've already got a head start."

"Thanks for covering."

"Thank me when you tell me what the hell is going on in this town."

You tell Patch you're going to get changed before giving any explanation. While you put on some proper clothes for the day, the detective wanders to the kitchen garbage. Her foot presses on the pedal to lift the lid up. She clicks her tongue at the crumpled heap of a bullet-torn, powder-streaked academy uniform sitting in the trash.