𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━ five hargreeves

19│QUE SERÁ, SERÁ

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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ǫᴜᴇ sᴇʀᴀ́ , sᴇʀᴀ́ ꒱


❝ HOLD ON! IT'S
GONNA GET MESSY! ❞

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The motel had clearly not been updated since it was first built, with wooden paneling on the walls meeting dark green (rather ugly) paint that matched each room's doors. The lights were dim and gave the hallway an eerie feeling, especially as she and Five approached room twelve.

"Five?" a voice that was unmistakably The Handler's called out. "Wasn't that cannister addressed solely to you?"

The pair exchanged an apprehensive look before the boy pushed open the door to an equally-ugly room. Dolores could immediately tell why it was called Quail. In the middle of the room was a heart-shaped bathtub filled with bubbly water and a food-laden table sat next to it lit with a single candle. On top of the bath, a white-haired woman sat strapped to a chair with a piece of duct tape over her mouth and Dolores was certain it had been Cha-Cha's work at one point. It took her a few seconds but she recognized the captive as Agnes from Griddy's, who had served them when they'd first reappeared in 2019.

"He must really like donuts," Five muttered as he eyed the woman. Dolores elbowed him lightly in the side in quiet rebuke.

At their arrival, her eyes widened pleadingly as she mumbled out, "help me!"

"It's been a while," The Handler said, poised on the bed that sat at the top of a short set of stairs.

"Three days," Five corrected her.

"For you, maybe. But for me, it's been a lot longer since I've seen those adorable little shorts," she all but purred.

Next to him, Dolores stiffened as her eyes narrowed at the white-haired woman. He squeezed her hand, warning her to keep her temper in check (and she was worried about him!) Before the brunette could speak, he replied, "well, you've had time to heal."

She inhaled and stood, her cigarette holder kept aloft as she stepped down the stairs towards them. "Luckily, for both of us, time. . . is the one thing my organization has an abundance of."

"Got your message, by the way," he added. "Nice packaging, but so much for Commission protocol."

She let out a hum of interest as she picked up a carrot from the display of food. "There have been. . . a lot of changes since you left The Commission. You really did some damage," she remarked with an amused sort of smile. Dolores took a step back from her advances, trying to pull Five with her. If she wasn't allowed to say anything, this was the least she could do. Instead, he remained in place as she continued: "the briefcases were all but destroyed, to say nothing of the highly trained personnel you killed."

"They couldn't have been highly trained if they were killed so easily," the brunette interrupted her snarkily.

The Handler barley glanced at her. "After all, what is an institution if not for—"

"What do you want?" Five asked, cutting across her.

"To be happy," she answered simply. "To have a simple, unfettered life, to. . . do the work my superiors require." Dolores let out a sigh of relief as she stepped back and towards the couch. "But. . . your being here, well, it complicates all that," she finished as she took a seat.

"Billions of people are about to die tonight," the boy insisted. "You can change that."

"Tonight, tomorrow. So little difference in the scheme of things," she replied casually. Her arms opened wide. "Don't you remember The Commission's raison d'etre? What's meant to be is meant to be— or, as I like to say, que será, será."