KITTEN || five hargreeves

04

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Kit watched the water wash away the dried blood coating her hands, the red staining the crisp, white sink. Weaving her fingers in and out of each other, she watch the droplets rush down the drain. She wished the weight on her conscious would be washed away with it.

For almost four years she had been with Five so far, the two having racked up hundreds of kills and retrievals. Today was the most difficult mission they had faced in a long time. Not since their very first one together, where they were still getting used to the other's skills and how they operated.

Kit felt her eyes close, and she rested her forehead on the counter, arms on either side of her head. She was tired. So tired.

A small rebellion within the Commission had sent everyone reeling, and The Handler had requested her and Five to stay put in 1963 so they wouldn't be there to witness the rebellion. So, until they heard otherwise, they were both stuck. Which would be fine, except for the fact that they were in dangerous territory. Not to mention it was the 1960s. Her home time, her hometown. She almost cried when she realized she was going to Dallas, Texas in 1963.

Oh, and not to mention, Kit had gotten shot.

She was separated from Five as they attempted to navigate the crowd that was nearing the president. Kit was on the fringes, and she was the first to get hit when the firing started.

Five still hadn't returned to their hotel room and Kit was left to tend to herself. After removing the small bullet, each stitch had felt like another bullet hitting her side, and she had to use one of the extra towels in order to stifle the flow of blood enough for her to finish.

She lifted her head off of the counter, blinking hard at her reflection. She tried to concentrate on it, to make her vision clearer, but those attempts failed. She stumbled out of the bathroom past the bloody towels, collapsing on her bed and proceeding to pass out.

☂️

The Kitten groaned as the hands continued to shake her limp body, her own hand falling to her side to apply pressure to the makeshift bandage. As she slowly came to her senses, she realized Five was the culprit, his yelling of her name only slightly less alarming than the fear behind his piecing blue eyes.

"Five, Five stop," Kit whispered weakly, groaning again. Five's hands withdrew quickly from her shoulders, covering her side and pressing. He ignored Kit's pained yelp as he slowly took off the bloodied towel.

"Kit, who's the current head of the Commission?" He said quickly, continuing to panic as he examined Kit's hasty stitches.

"Five-"

"Just answer it, please." Kit silenced her complaining when she noticed Five's imploring look. Imploring? Five was never imploring.

"The Handler."

Five nodded at her answer. It was protocol to ask that question when someone was hit to determine how coherent they were. Answering it correctly was a good sign.

"What took you so long," Kit asked, complying in holding the towel back on her bullet wound as Five ducked into the bathroom to get the (already somewhat used) first aid kit.

"Had to deal with some of the protestors," he answered, smirking when he reappeared at Kit's side, first aid kit in hand. "They spray painted the town hall doors."

Kit smiled with him, looking at the ceiling as Five started to undo her stitches. He knew her hatred of the government well.

She tried to silence her cries of pain, but as Five's scissors accidently cut through flesh, but she couldn't stifle them.

Five concentrated intensely as he helped to re-stitch her bullet wound, trying to ignore Kit's yelps of pain. He tied the last one shut and snipped the string, re-covering the wound. He sighed, wiping his face with the non-bloodstained part of his arm.

"I'm done," he announced, getting off of the bed to check in on Kit. She looked up at him and smiled blearily, her eyes half closed.

"You okay?"

Kit nodded, her energy low.

"Well, rest for now, okay? We have time to spare before we have to kill the president." Uncharacteristically, Five stroked Kit's wild, matted hair back away from her eyes. He held her gaze, trying to read her.

"Five..."

Kit grabbed his hand.

"Thank you."

Five nodded, gently setting her hand back on the bed before walking over to his own, sitting and watching over Kit.

After Kit fell asleep, Five gently latched a small ruby necklace around her neck. Five had lost count of the days, but he knew he was nearing 5 years of service. "When are you going when you retire?" Kit had asked him. "I'm going to try and stop the apocalypse. You?" Kit had paused, shuffling the papers on her desk and taking a sip of the vodka he had bought for them to share. "The 1960s, Dallas. My home."

Well, it wouldn't be long before his contact would be completed, and he didn't want the Commission to be the one to tell him he couldn't try and stop the apocalypse.

So, he gave her the ruby, in case he wouldn't be able to say goodbye. And so he could find her grave when he returned to the 2010s. Plus, that fiery red had reminded him of her hair.

He moved away when she shuffled, sighing in her sleep.

He was so fucked.

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