The Sparks Between Us | Five Hargreeves x Reader

NINETEEN

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

As we walked through the Commission, the Handler's voice carried a polished authority that echoed through the halls, each word precise, each pause calculated. I stayed by her side, nodding at her words as though they naturally aligned with my own thoughts, though an unshakable weight pressed at the edges of my mind. Five walked on her other side, his expression unreadable, but I caught the way his gaze flicked toward me, sharp and questioning.

"I must admit, Number Five, in all the time I've been here, I've never met anyone quite like you," the Handler said, her tone light but edged with intrigue. "Hazel and Cha-Cha, for example, are talented, certainly, but they can't see the big picture. Your spunk, your enterprising spirit—well, it reminds me a great deal of myself, if I may be so vainglorious."

I nodded reflexively, her words syncing almost effortlessly with the rhythm of my own thoughts. Five's lips tightened, and his glance lingered on me again before he turned back to her.

"If things work out for you here," she continued, her pace steady as we ascended the grand staircase of the Commission's entrance, "you could potentially make a fine successor, Five."

Five's voice cut through the moment, low and deliberate. "I'd like to discuss the logistics of my family's and Y/n's safety at your earliest convenience. As well as the issue of our body replacements."

The Handler chuckled, a silky sound that filled the empty air around us. "Such chutzpah. It's refreshing, I'll admit. Slow down, Five. All in good time. In fact, now that you've both agreed to work for us, we've got all the time in the world."

The words carried a weight I couldn't quite explain, as though they settled deep within me, stirring something unfamiliar. Yet I followed her without hesitation, my mind still catching on the familiarity of the space—the walls, the faint hum of machinery, the sterile precision of it all. It was home. The place where I was built, designed, programmed.

We entered the vast hall where the pneumatic briefcases were stored, an array of flickering machinery and smooth metal stretching out before us. The Handler gestured with a sweep of her hand.

"The Commission works in support of a delicate balance between the timeline of events and mankind's free will," she explained. "The briefcase is no longer part of your kit, Five. Free your mind. You're both management now. One of us."

She turned to us, her sharp smile cutting through the moment. I returned it instinctively, a reflex that felt natural, though Five's expression remained guarded. His eyes darted between me and the Handler, unreadable but intense, as though he was searching for something neither of us could see.

"All the people on this floor are case managers," the Handler continued as she led us down a long corridor lined with doors. "Each one managing major events of time." She stopped in front of one room, gesturing for us to look inside.

I stepped closer, gazing into the vast chamber filled with rows of employees bent over typewriters, their fingers dancing over keys in a rhythm that seemed endless. The room stretched so far it almost seemed impossible, a sea of temporal architects laboring over the fabric of reality itself.

"So many of them," Five muttered, his voice soft but laced with disbelief.

"Impressive, isn't it?" the Handler said, her voice tinged with pride. "Being part of something... so grand."

She began walking again, and I followed without hesitation. Five hesitated, glancing once more at me before trailing after us.

"Whenever someone chooses the wrong path and the timeline is changed," the Handler explained, her voice slipping into a tone of authority, "the Commission gets a report from field agents on the ground. These field reports are sorted and assigned to a case manager. They determine if anyone needs to be... removed from the equation to ensure their event happens as it should."