𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━ five hargreeves

24│WELCOME TO THE COMMISSION

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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ
ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ꒱


❝ I'M FIFTY-THREE, NOT DEAD ❞

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Thirty years seemed like both a millennia and no time at all. The world after the apocalypse had begun to heal as small plants pushed their way up through cracks in the pavement. The sky was more blue now than not and rain fell at an almost predictable rate. There was still little to eat besides bugs and the occasional (usually spoiled) canned food they found but after so many years of empty stomachs, it was almost unnatural to feel anywhere close to full. Dolores and Five had made do with what the world provided for them and managed to stake out a content— they weren't quite happy but they understood their allotment— life.

The two survivors themselves had changed quite a bit from when they first met. They both sported white hair now as their brown locks had turned soft and snowy around the same time. The constant years of exposure to the elements (and later the sun) left them with weathered faces and a few more wrinkles than what an average fifty-ish-year-old would have. The one thing that hadn't changed with time, however, was that they were both still very much in love with each other (Dolores liked to tease her husband that it was because she was the only woman left.)

Over the years, Five's work on the equations to get home had slowed so that he could enjoy spending time with his wife (something he was still getting used to calling her), though he never stopped worrying about his family's future— or, well, their past. There wasn't much one could do for entertainment in the apocalypse but Dolores— ever the creative one— found ways to keep themselves amused. They'd played her 'what's the most complicated word you know' game several hundred times (Dolores claimed that number was six hundred twenty-three.) They played card games with her old, worn-out deck that was barely surviving their later apocalypse years. She tried to invent new magic tricks, though most of them failed. In her most creative efforts, Dolores figured out how they could play both checkers and chess though Five had to teach her how to actually play the game.

Arguments were still par for the course as was the case in most marriages, but none of them were extremely heated or had no resolution. Sometimes they argued just for the sake of entertainment, sometimes Dolores was fed up with Five's so-called 'recklessness' (he thought he was very cautious, thank you very much.) Her favorite— well, not argument, but thing to tease him about was his age. Since Five was technically older than her, she'd given him a hard time all through puberty and had laughed especially when his voice cracked. And then, even when they were only in their thirties, she'd called him 'old man' countless times (truthfully, it was one thousand one hundred and forty three times.) She still called him that even now, in their old age.

The broken library where they first staked out their claim all those years ago was still the place they called 'home' and returned to each day and time they jumped through the seasons. The space had become cluttered with belongings that they'd thought were useful— mostly books on time travel. Dolores kept the white violin she'd found in her solo adventures, The Book Thief and her deck of cards. Everything else was shared between the two of them, though the old school lunchbox with his family's faces on it that Dolores had given him was still Five's most important possession.

They sat in the hollow of the still-standing stone with the woman positioned on the floor of their home as her back rested against one of the pillars. Five sat on an upturned crate and was opening a bottle of wine for them to share. "Do you remember that little mansion just outside the city limits where we, uh. . ."