Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

51 Hours Missing

“Merry fucking Christmas.”

They had only been down there two days. Give or take. They’d finally caved to exhaustion after running onto different trains, up different stairwells, only to be met each time by another dilapidated world. So, logically, it probably was the 25th.

Five said nothing. He just watched Lila kick a piece of rubbish out of her way as she stalked forward.

“They’re going to be devastated,” she continued, the rage in her voice dropping into something quieter. Sadder. “To wake up and not find me. Never mind the panic that must be going on. Then again, I just left Diego… They wouldn’t all assume I would just get up and leave. Right.”

There wasn’t really a question there.

Five knew better than to answer after having his head bitten off for every suggestion he’d made in the last forty-eight hours. They were both frazzled—hungry, tired, fed up. Not being able to find your way home after twenty-four hours was plausible. After forty-eight, things started to look bleak.

If they hit seventy-two…

Five glanced down at his watch. It was starting to look like they might be gone for a lot longer than just missing Christmas.

---

53 Days Missing

Lila wandered over while Five was marking off his makeshift calendar, poking at the date with her finger.

“Huh. Who would’ve guessed, recently single me, would be hanging out with you on Valentine’s.”

“Didn’t realise I was that bad company.”

“Would you want to be stuck with you—”

She stopped herself as the words ran away from her. The deepening scowl on his face confirmed she’d misstepped.

“No,” Five said flatly. “Forty years alone in my own head was quite enough.”

“Look—shit. Sorry, Five.”

He waved her off. Something they’d both learned was easier than engaging, followed by the usual change of subject.

“You’ve got the dates wrong.”

“Oh?” Five didn’t even look up, half-considering folding the calendar away. His mind—especially now his powers were back—were super sharp, instinctual even, with keeping track of time.

“Those little stars you’ve drawn,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing as ran a finger across the 6 days. “You think that’s when I’m on?”

He felt the blood rush to the tips of his ears. At least his hair covered it.

One sharp nod. No eye contact.

“You were two days out this month, you little perv,” she smirked. “Why are you tracking it anyway? Knowing when not to pick a fight or something?”

He could practically hear the eye roll with the last part—clearly something his idiot of a brother would’ve said over the years.

“Nothing like that.” Five cleared his throat, his tone turning clinical. “It’s been almost two months, Lila. We’ve both lost weight. I’m using string as a makeshift belt. Tailored trousers are great when your weight doesn’t fluctuate, but malnutrition is becoming a concern. And aside from weight and appearance, there are other ways to track how badly this might be affecting us. The body shuts down what isn't needed.”

Lila blinked, caught off guard.

“Two days out,” she repeated quietly, “because it was two days less.”

Five gave a sad half-smile before picking up his pen, crossing out the last two stars and folding the calendar, tucking it away.

---

282 Days Missing

“How old are you today?”

It wasn’t a happy birthday. And, to be fair, if Lila hadn’t said anything, Five would’ve let the day slip by without a second thought. The first of October—the day they’d all been magically birthed into a world that hadn’t wanted them, except for an alien and a narcissistic psychopath.

“Twenty.”

“I didn’t ask how old you feel,” she said dryly. “I asked how old you are.”

“Sixty-five.”

“Wow.” She gave a low whistle. “We need to get out of here soon, before you start forgetting things. I mean, I’m sure I can crack this, but an extra pair of eyes doesn’t hurt.”

They were still jabbing at each other. Some nights harder than others but the underlying respect was back now. It had been buried to start with, under guilt and frustration, however it was slowly resurfacing. Each day reinforced the same truth: having each other’s backs was the only way forward, especially when every stop ahead seemed to land them two stations back.

“As you so freely asked,” Five said, “my turn. How old does this rotation around the sun make you?”

“C’mon, Five. I can ask you, but you can’t ask a lady that.”

“I didn’t ask a lady,” he replied. “I asked you.”

He flashed that sharp, infuriating grin—cheeks less full than they’d been a month ago. Food had grown harder to come by in these newer stations, and their rations were dwindling fast.

He waited for the playful shove that usually followed. It didn’t come. Wasted energy—better saved for getting up when the train finally arrived. 

If it arrived. 

It had been at least three days since the last one.

“Thirty-eight,” Lila muttered, quiet, like the rats might pass judgement.

“Roughly two years older, then.” Five hummed thoughtfully. “I think everyone’s ages are completely messed up by this point. Who would’ve thought Klaus would technically be the ‘big brother’ of us lot?”

He shook his head as he reset a trap, hoping to catch anything with a trace of protein. At this point, they’d settle for cockroaches. 

“Do you miss them?”

Five gave a small shrug.

Of course he did. He’d spent a lifetime trying to get back to them. But since he had—since the mundane reality of simply existing in a normal world had set in—he hadn’t seen them as much as he’d hoped. Viktor had moved away. Ben—not their Ben, but still Ben—was in prison. Luther had become obsessive, manic at times, throwing himself into a fruitless search for Sloane. Allison was busy recreating the life she’d once lost. Klaus was hard to see anywhere except the house he shared with Allison.

And Diego…

Diego was complicated. It wasn’t just about seeing him when he did—it was everyone else as well, or more accurately, that one person. 

Five didn’t need to ask the question back, if Lila missed her children. He never would. It was evident every day in the way she talked about them constantly—every small detail, as if repeating them kept them real. As if silence might erase them.

The same couldn’t be said for Diego. If she missed him, she kept it neutral. She didn’t complain about him anymore, not like she had before. Whatever sharp edge she’d once had there seemed to have dulled down here. Maybe out of guilt for how things had been left. Maybe because speaking ill of his brother felt wrong when Five might be silently missing him.

---

1 Year and 2 Days Missing

Another holiday.

He waited to see if she would say Merry Christmas—even if it came out bitter, like last year. 

A year. 

This truly marked a full year away from home.

Five remembered the devastation of his first anniversary in the apocalypse. How numb he’d felt that day. How everything he’d tried to do for an entire year had amounted to nothing. Futile. He’d been ready to scream, to curse the condemned world, to kick dirt and throw rubble.

Instead, he’d found himself a fresh notebook and started it with a list—everything he’d learned in that year instead.

Now, keeping one eye on Lila as she sat at the bottom of the stairs of a timeline that was mostly flooded, Five pulled out his notebook. He flipped through notes accumulated over the past year: which stations had the best game, which ones still held canned goods or medical supplies, and which they would never resurface to again—either due to harsh apocalyptic conditions or the even harsher humans left behind to roam them.

All the useful information was there. Summed up. Finalised.

He tore the page out and stood—only to start moving at the same moment Lila did.

“I’m getting some air.”

It was blunt. Cold. A leave me alone tone they’d both learned to recognise when the other had reached their limit. It was a distance that usually needed to be respected—the look in her eyes, barely visible through her bangs, screamed at him to not follow.

The subway entrance above led to higher ground, but there was nowhere to go beyond hopping across a few exposed rocks.

Lila had already done it once, much to his disapproval. One slip and she’d be in the water.

“I can swim!” she’d said then, waving him off as she made the first jump look effortless.

Swimming wasn’t the issue.

The unknown water was.

It looked safe—odorless, no strange colouring, no scum across the surface. Still, no visible current. But it would be freezing and it wasn't like the subway kept any real warmth. If she got wet, it was the kind of cold that would be hard to recover from, even with a fire. 

It wasn’t worth the risk.

But that wasn’t how Lila saw it. A moment of something different—something new—was what she craved. Dopamine for a brain starved of it.

So she skipped ahead, and Five kept his mouth shut. Watching. Waiting. Prepared for a slip he might be able to blink her back from, landing harshly in the subway—or worse, a moment where they’d both end up in the drink.

And now—right now—she wanted to go up there alone.

Five swallowed as he watched her climb the stairs. Instead of shouting stay, his lips settled on the next best thing he could think of to get her to come back.

“Breakfast will be ready in ten.”

A dismissive flick of her hand told him she’d heard.

He turned away, pocketing the torn page before kneeling beside one of the rucksacks.

---

1 Year and 8 Days Missing

Lila was still in a lull.

There was no back-and-forth banter. No sniping remarks. Suggestions were offered once—take it or leave it—instead of the old pestering until Five gave in and they tried it anyway. She was functioning. She got up. Helped source and sort food. Prepared meals and water. Packed the bags and got ready to move.

Outside of that, she was empty.

New Year’s Day. If there was ever a day to pass the note, it was now.

“Here.”

Five pulled the paper from his pocket, neatly folded, and held it out. He gave a small, sideways smile as cold fingers brushed his when she took it. Then he turned away, continuing to tidy up from lunch.

It wasn’t a long list. It wouldn’t take much time to read.

When he turned back around, it was gone—no longer in her hands, no longer accompanied by that distant, lost look.

Hopefully, some of the less shit parts of what they’d been through would sink in.

---

1 Year, 1 Month, and 23 Days Missing

Five woke to a small origami star placed neatly in front of his face.

It was tiny—no bigger than his thumbnail—but appeared to be carefully folded, precise even. It would’ve been easy to have accidentally brushed it aside had he of stretched, or to miss entirely if he’d sat up with his eyes still closed from the morning fog.

He reached for it. Rolled it between his fingers, feeling the rounded points, and as he turned it, he recognised the faint bleed of handwriting from the other side.

The note.

The one he’d given her a month or so ago—now some part of it had been folded into something small, deliberately. Making something like that would’ve taken time. Was it placed there, for him to wake up and see?

He sat up to find Lila sorting through cans, likely for some form of breakfast.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” she mumbled back, still half asleep herself.

Maybe she’d dropped it. Made it absent-mindedly and thought nothing of it. It was small enough that when she stood, it could’ve rolled away and found its way over to him.

That was more than likely it.

He should place it back down, leave it where he found it. It would join all the other bits of wrappers and things that littered the subway floors. But this wasn't rubbish, it wasn't completely mindless even if it was made absentmindedly. It could have maybe even been classed as a trinket but useless things were never kept unless they served a secondary purpose. Space in their bags was limited. But this was small. 

It could live in his pocket, rather than the floor.

He dropped it in the coat pocket, so light he couldn't even notice it was there. 

Then she looked over at him, preparing a question like she was attempting to prepare a meal. 

Maybe he imagined it. But when she glanced back over—he swore he saw her eyes flick briefly to the space beside him before meeting his eyes.

“Fresh from the can or heated?” She waved the tin towards him. 

The smile that followed wasn’t new—but it was one she hadn’t worn in a while.

---

1 Year, 9 Months, and 8 Days Missing

It had been so long since the last one that Five was genuinely surprised when another small star appeared in front of him. 

Or maybe there had been others and he missed them. 

It was almost identical and folded from the same sheet of paper. Different letters bled through this time, illegible, but unmistakably his handwriting.

He told himself the date of the last one was irrelevant. Coincidence. Lila didn’t have the calendar. It was something he cared for and maintained alone, with her asking periodically where they were rather than something she compulsorily kept track of unlike him. Sometimes he thought that not knowing the date all the time was a barrier she put up to try and keep her from spiraling backwards. 

She was doing better. Not brilliant, but better. Playful jabs had returned, and something like a new layer of trust had formed between them. Nights spent staying up talking about The Commission days were no longer unusual and the only time recently she had brought up Diego. Only to say, it was something that she had never been able to talk about with him because although he had his own demons from the umbrella days, taking down and killing bad guys was one thing, being the bad guy was another. Diego simply would have never understood.

But Five did.

Those late nights had turned into something resembling therapy—both of them talking, really talking, about things neither had said aloud before. Shared commiseration about the violent jobs slowly gave way to something deeper for Five too. In the context of where they were now, he found himself opening up about the apocalypse.

For the first time. Properly.

Because now—now she would understand.

She knew what it was like to be uncertain about the next meal, the next source of clean water. What it was like to go longer than either of them cared to admit without properly bathing. What it meant to cross wastelands and find absolutely nothing at the end of them. The rest of the world wouldn’t understand that.

But Lila did.

So when he took out a piece of A4 paper, pen and ruler to start making October’s month. Five concluded it was those actions which reminded her, why she leant across, bumped her shoulder with him and uttered. “Happy Birthday, old man,” 

Coincidence, nothing more.

Chapter Text

2 Years and 2 Days Missing

There were only so many times something could be dismissed as chance—a fluke, happenstance—before it became something else entirely. An occurrence. Repetition. A pattern.

Another star sat directly in his line of sight when he opened his eyes.

The night before, he’d half-wondered if one would appear. Today, it had. These weren’t accidents—but neither was Lila making a thing of them. They arrived, and then the day simply continued as normal.

The note he’d originally written for her had been on a small piece of A6 paper. Each star took a narrow strip to create. Five hadn’t taken one apart, but he’d spent many nights—while she slept—turning them over in his fingers, figuring out the folds, working out the construction.

She must have been running out of paper.

But if she’d created a tradition for him, he could create one in return.

Once he was fully awake, he dug through the notes from the past year, compiling the highlights like he had before. This time, it felt harder. There were more timelines they considered safe enough to scavenge—places for supplies, food, medical basics—but nothing that felt positive in the way they wanted. Nothing that led them closer to home.

So he turned to the things that weren’t written down.

The trashed station they’d found once—empty cans and scattered rubbish everywhere. Lila had leapt over a pile of debris, picked something up, shaken it, then held it aloft like a trophy: a long-expired gumball machine. The colours were faded, speckled white where the sugar had oxidised. Useless by most standards—but it was still sugar. Lower on his list than coffee, but still one of Five’s small pleasures.

And the way she’d smiled as she popped one into her mouth somehow made it sweeter than it had any right to be.

But he simply wrote: Finding a gumball machine. 

All the little moments which made this year more bearable laid out on the piece of paper like bullet point facts. Detached, no feelings but he found himself chuckling under his breath whilst writing them or a small little smile. 

He wrote them all with his back turned to her, sitting on a cold bench within the station. To her it would look like any of the other times he wrote a note. He leant back, rolled his shoulders from sitting hunched and then stood, folding the piece of paper only once, not wanting to add any unnecessary extra creases to the paper but it felt too strange to just hand over a flat piece.

“Merry Christmas.”

---

2 Years, 1 Week and 1 Days Missing

Another star appeared, this time the writing wasn't on the inside bleeding through. She had folded it the other way. Maybe to make them look a little different for this year. 

It went in the pocket along with the other three.

---

2 Years, 1 Month and 22 Days Missing

His arm stretched out from where he slept, and immediately Five knew he’d knocked something. He heard the faint scrape and soft ticking as it skittered across the hard tiled floor.

“Shit,” he muttered, still too tired—too half-asleep—to start searching properly.

He stayed still, eyes scanning from the path it must have taken.

There.

He got up, straightened his shirt and then his jacket, took a few steps, and bent down to retrieve it—slipping it quickly into his pocket.

He glanced over.

Lila was still asleep.

She’d finally been sleeping better. Resting more. A little less on edge since they’d worked out that although years were passing for them down here, time on the surface barely moved at all. It had taken a long time to realise—longer to prove.

They’d only managed it by revisiting several timelines with clear markers of time.

The one that cemented their theory was a forest they’d been to before. Dense. Endless in every direction. They’d been starving then—desperate for supplies, whether that meant catching something, foraging for fruit, mushrooms—anything.

But a forest like that looked the same no matter which way you turned.

They’d taken a knife and carved arrows into the trees. Deep gashes that left some of them weeping sap.

Aside from the risk of getting lost—nullified by patience and frequent, legible markings—it hadn’t been a bad timeline. No immediate threats. A haul of apples. A few rabbits they’d managed to snare. It made Five’s yearly list of viable stops if food ever became scarce.

They avoided repeating timelines where they could. Doing so often meant backtracking, moving away from wherever they hoped to try next. But sometimes the choice came down to food or no food—and with an unknown amount of time before getting back to a station, necessity won.

So they’d stopped there again.

That was when they saw it.

Every nick in the trees looked exactly the same as the day they’d carved them—months ago. Wounds on trees healed slowly, yes, but the gashes shouldn’t have still been green. Some even glistened, sap still sticky to the touch.

That was when they noticed the weather.

It was just as mild as the day they’d first arrived.

If time had moved at all, it had been minutes. Hours at most. Nothing compared to the months they’d spent away.

They’d continued as planned—gathering more food—but instead of using the old markings, they carved new arrows beneath them.

Then they stayed in the station below for a full week.

The sap should have dried. The fresh cuts should have faded to brown. A week of intentional stillness—of not searching—went against everything they’d done for the last two years. But this discovery could change everything. Their timeline. Their expectations. The difference between returning to a world already destroyed… or one still waiting for them.

When they emerged a week later, nothing had changed.

Everything was exactly as they’d left it.

Five had even noted the position of the sun in the sky.

It hadn’t moved.

Relief washed over them both in that moment—disbelief close behind it. Time wasn’t moving on without them back home. And if it was, it was minutes, not years. Not like-for-like loss. That difference meant everything.

For Lila, it meant she wasn’t missing every moment of her children’s lives. She hadn’t lost two full years of them growing up without her.

For Five, it meant the odds of returning to nothing but ash grew smaller by the second.

The star was a sweet, recurring gift she left for him—but nothing compared to seeing her finally allow herself to rest. To sleep without the constant, gnawing fear that time was slipping through her fingers.

Their situation still sucked. That hadn’t changed.

But the punch to the gut no longer twisted and yanked at every moment they spent down there.

---

2 Years, 9 Months and 8 Days Missing

There was no star waiting.

Five never went to sleep.

Lila didn’t wake up.

He sat on the floor with her head cradled in his lap, his folded legs forming a makeshift pillow. A small plastic straw rested against her cheek, just inside the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t as clean as he would’ve liked—but the water was.

The last of their good water.

He drip-fed it slowly, pinching the straw on and off, watching every swallow. When she went still, he held a shard of broken glass beneath her nose to check for breath. When the stillness gave way to cold, sweating fits, he wiped her brow and started again.

She was trapped in some kind of fever dream.

And the fever terrified him.

Terrified him enough that the risk was worth it—the chance she might knock the bottle from his hand, rip the straw out, waste what little lifeline they had left. Because none of it mattered if one of them didn’t make it.

Five didn’t let himself consider what came after. Didn’t allow the thought space to form. He couldn’t. It wasn’t going to happen.

“C’mon, Lila,” he murmured, again and again. Not a mantra.

A prayer.

He rocked slightly between drips, anything to keep himself from tipping into full panic. He didn’t panic. He was calm. Collected. Logical. That was how he’d rigged the hydration system in the first place.

But sitting there—doing nothing but holding the bottle, watching the water fall, pressing a cool hand to her burning skin—his mind kept trying to wander into what ifs.

None of those.

It took two full days for the fever to break.

Two days before relief was allowed to settle in.

And one full day after that of a lecture she didn’t get to opt out of—whether she wanted to hear it or not.

Followed by three days of her ignoring him. At first Five thought she was just angry at him for droning on and on at her but he later realised it was embarrassment. Making a small mistake almost cost her life, likely their lives, so he let her dwell in her own thoughts. 

A temporary silence and grudge was better than a permanent one. 

---

3 Years and 2 Days Missing 

No star.

He felt a little foolish for assuming certain dates would come with one—or that getting a star at all was something to expect. Maybe she’d gotten bored of making them. Maybe she’d made more but had simply tossed them, throwing them away. Or maybe she’d simply run out of paper.

His notebook pages were better than any rubbish they found lying around. Had she been waiting for a fresh piece of paper?

His pen tapped against the page.

What positives could he even list?

“We survived?” he muttered to himself, before writing instead: we are not losing time.

Positives were harder to come by this year. More stations crossed off. A different line, new timelines—none of them pleasant. They’d found a first-aid kit, a rusty metal box with clean, packaged, sterile needles inside. Useful, but pointless without antibiotics or something to go with them.

The first year, he’d written the list to give her hope. The second, so she’d have something to tear up and use. Did this year serve a purpose?

Tradition, he told himself again. Having something like that down here where none existed was important. 

He folded the paper once and walked over.

Lila eyed it and smiled. “We should close our eyes and stick out our hands.”

“What do you mean?” Five asked as he sat cross-legged in front of her.

“Well, neither of us has wrapping paper, so…” She grinned, shut her eyes, and stuck out both hands—one clenched in a fist, the other flat.

With her eyes closed, Five let himself smile—just a little—as he mirrored her. One hand flat. The other held the folded paper between two fingers, dangling toward her open palm.

“Does this matter?” he asked. “We both know what the other’s gotten, right?”

“Shut up and play along.”

He felt the paper tugged from his grip—and then something small and weightless dropped into his other hand. His eyes flew open, just to make sure it had stuck the landing.

The star.

Just like the others. Letters faintly visible along the folds as he rolled it between his fingers.

“You should teach me,” he said at last, glancing over to find her reading his list.

“Nah. I know you always like to fidget with your hands but stick to just rolling them around. Won’t be special otherwise will they.”

“You think these are special?” One eyebrow lifted.

She shrugged without looking up. “You tell me why this year wasn’t completely shit, and I turn it into something to play around with whilst you think. Sounds like a pretty solid production line.”

Five let a huff of air exhale from his nose softly. 

---

3 Years and 9 Days Missing

Just like that, he woke to another identical piece of origami in front of him. And just like the others, it joined the rest.

No conversation around it, with the day carrying on like any other.

---

3 Years, 1 Month and 22 Days Missing

This star was always the most puzzling to wake up to.

Galentine’s Day—or Palentine’s, depending on who you asked—existed, and although that technically should’ve been the day before, maybe it still made sense for it to be today. Besides, days like that were invented for exactly this reason, to soften loneliness. Usually with some kind of activity. Crafts, or something.

He told himself that as he rolled the star between his fingers.

It would’ve been nice to have another activity. Something else to do. They grabbed books when they could—read them, then abandoned them in stations rather than carry the extra weight. It helped. The same way it had helped him keep his sanity during the first apocalypse.

But something else, small. Something they could keep. Something to bridge quiet evenings.

A pack of cards, maybe.

It wasn’t a pack of cards he found while rummaging through an abandoned house. It was something considerably larger—and far more frustrating.

“Whatcha got there?” Lila asked, stepping through the doorway toward him. The box was already open in his hands.

“A checkers board,” Five deadpanned. “With exactly six checkers.”

He rolled his eyes, about to close the box and toss it aside when a hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

“You don’t need draughtsmen to play draughts,” she said brightly. “Use your imagination, Five.”

The hunt for canned goods was immediately abandoned as Lila rummaged triumphantly through a sewing box. “Ha! A thimble. See? We just need things that are small.”

“The sewing needles are objectively more useful,” Five pointed out flatly.

She ignored him.

Now fully committed, Lila pulled out a pom-pom of wool. A bell. Some kind of fastening. When the box stopped yielding treasures, she moved on to drawers—dumping their contents with growing enthusiasm.

A die. A tiny metal cup. A little china ornament. A circular piece of metal that might once have framed a picture, hanging around someone’s neck.

The pile on the coffee table grew—odd, mismatched, bizarre items Five would’ve dismissed without a second glance.

Lila stopped and started counting. “Twenty… twenty-one… twenty-two… twenty-three. Ugh. We need one more.”

“Here.”

The word left Five before he could stop himself.

His hand dipped into his pocket and came back with one of the small stars. He inspected it quickly—just long enough to make sure it was one with writing visible on the outside, not one from the first year.

She didn’t need to know he kept them all.

Lila grinned as she took it. “Twenty-four! I didn’t know you were such a sentimental man—keeping this little thing.”

Five shrugged, hoping the faint rustle of seven other folded stars in his pocket didn’t suddenly decide to announce themselves.

“Come on, then!” she said, plopping down. “Sit down, old man, so you can head back to the subway even grumpier that we didn’t find any non-expired coffee today.”

Why did she have to rub it in?

They did occasionally find some. Some instant rubbish which was tolerable. But whatever had happened in this version of reality…

His fingers brushed across the coffee table as they sat.

Thick with dust.

It had been a long time since anyone here had needed caffeine.

---

3 Years, 9 Months and 8 Days Missing

He knew what he was expecting when he woke up today, and the disappointment that filled him when he didn’t see it felt slightly ridiculous.

It could’ve rolled.

He glanced side to side without making it obvious. He hadn’t looked over at Lila yet, but he was fairly certain she was awake—there was too much quiet movement for her not to be.

Nothing.

So today would be like the last several. Sitting. Waiting. Hoping the train would arrive. They couldn’t risk going topside, not even for a walk—if they missed it, who knew when the next one would come. The trains certainly didn’t run like clockwork. There was nothing predictable about them, no matter how many notes Five took.

It would be food. Read a little. And—

“Hey, I was thinking…”

“Dangerous,” Five cut in as he got to his feet, starting his morning stretches—anything to shake off the way the floor had set into his bones overnight.

Lila ignored him and kept going. “We should spar.”

“Now that is dangerous.”

“I don’t mean actually beating the crap out of each other,” she said quickly. “Can’t have you becoming useless with broken ribs or something.”

“Please. Like you’d land a jab with anything other than your words.”

But it did pique his interest. Days stuck doing nothing—throwing things to see what would bounce, boxes on-scrap-paper games, checkers until neither of them was paying attention anymore. Something to get the blood pumping sounded… good.

“Alright,” he said. “What’re you thinking?”

“Let’s start with some newaza,” she replied. “Can’t have you getting rusty if we get into a scuffle out there.”

“I’m rusty?” Pride got the better of him—his mouth moving before his brain had finished the thought. “I’m not the one who was at—”

He put down his stupid words to his non-morning brain.

“At what, Five?” Her tone shifted.

He’d said it now. Might as well finish it.

“Home.”

He expected the idea of sparring to vanish. A fist. A sharp word or something to come flying at him. 

Instead, she laughed.

“What do you think you do with small children?” she said. “You’re wrestling them down, pinning them, figuring out how to grab their hand faster than they can grab whatever they shouldn’t.”

Relief washed through him as she turned it back into her usual teasing.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the missing star.

“The winner gets to keep this,” she said, holding it up. “As a trophy.”

Well, he couldn't lose.

He was becoming quite the collector.

The floor was swept clear of anything that could cause unnecessary damage—larger pieces of debris kicked aside with the edge of a boot.

Coats came off first, thick jackets underneath left on. Something to keep warm. Something to grab. Something close enough to a gi to make this fair.

They dropped to their knees, sitting back on their heels, balanced and coiled.

Hands darted forward, searching for grips. Wrists batted away, forearms blocked until both of them latched onto something that felt decisive. Five drove his bony hip into her side, flipping her over it and quickly cinching a hold—trapping her arm beneath his armpit and wrapping around her head.

Basic, but effective. 

The pressure was crushing, setting up cleanly for an armbar.

The problem was weight.

Five was light, and even malnourished, Lila was still strong. She moved constantly beneath him, shifting, forcing him to adjust. He countered each motion, but every correction stole a little of his balance.

She bridged—once, twice—until finally she got him to shift just enough. The bridge-to-shrimp technique worked. She slipped free, rising fast, her arm snaking around him trying to get to his neck, despite his chin being tucked tight to his chest. She started to drag him backward.

He widened his stance, threw his weight backward, trying to force her to break off.

Instead, her leg hooked around the front of his, dragged it out from under him and off to the side.

The hold broke—momentum taking over.

Five hit the floor on his back.

Lila followed.

Straddling him.

His heart pounded hard—but not from the fight. Not from the exertion. From the position.

She was applying a hold but it certainly wasn't a technical one. Nothing that would end a real fight.

Completely useless.

Yet it froze him.

“One…”

Her hands pinned his wrists beside his head.

“Two…”

Her weight settled fully over him.

“Thre—”

Shit. The fight.

He tried to move—but she simply sank down further, and whatever instinct he had to throw her off evaporated.

It was the surprise of it. 

They’d agreed to groundwork. He knew it meant contact, closeness—

But not this.

There had been proximity before. Sharing space. A thigh used as a better pillow than a rucksack when one of them was sick.

But this?

When was the last time someone had been over his body like this?

Too long for his mind to recall.

But not too long for his body.

The fight was over.

When she finally released one wrist, he felt it—flinched as her finger brushed his jaw, like a match striking with his stubble. 

“You need a shave.”

Their faces weren’t that close. Plenty of space, technically.

Below the waist was another story.

Maybe if he didn’t move, she wouldn’t notice.

Or he could—lean up, close the distance, press chapped lips to flaking ones—

Why was he thinking this?

Proximity. Human reaction. Forced contact.

Nothing else.

“Probably,” he managed.

She was off him immediately.

“I’ll go get stuff set up for you,” she said. Then paused. “Or…”

“Or what?” He pushed himself upright, sitting awkwardly on the floor—legs crossed, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

“You could treat this like the dentist,” she grinned. “If you’re a good boy, instead of a sticker, you get another way to win your star back.”

Holy shit.

She was absolutely playing him today.

First she suggested a fight—which he had apparently lost in a quietly humiliating way—and now she wanted free rein with a razor at his throat?

No.

Absolutely not.

She had lost her mind.

She wanted to kill him again.

And yet—

“Fine,” he said.

Chapter Text

4 Years and 2 Days Missing

It was that time again.

He should have started using the days leading up to today to compile his list—the new safe stations, hunting grounds, what they’d learned. Just like the years before. Small wins, too. Things like the checkerboard that broke the monotony.

But something else kept interrupting his thought process.

Something that made this year harder to catalogue.

It was no longer things and small comforts that were making it bearable, but someone. 

Someone who made it not boring.

The truth was, she had been doing it for longer than 4 years. 

Five could have continued the pretence that his life after the reset was fine. On paper, it was. He’d done everything he set out to do—earned his PhD, secured a job that let him watch the world on a larger scale, not just from inside America.

And yet it felt empty.

He tried to fill it with the methods he knew best. Bars were the simplest option. With a CIA-issued fake ID, getting served wasn’t exactly difficult. He could charm whoever he felt like for a night—but that was all it ever was. A night.

Otherwise, there was the self-help group. A circle of people talking about how the world they lived in didn’t feel like it was theirs. Some of them were clearly delusional.

But he still found himself sympathising more than he cared to admit. He knew what it was like to feel that the reality that defined you, was gone. How adjusting to having everything was just as disorienting as surviving with nothing. 

Of course life was easier. 

Of course he was glad to be out of there.

And yet a world full of everything and everyone could still feel just as empty as one with nothing.

He craved simplicity—but he couldn’t sit still. He needed balance. Something to focus on.

And he found it.

The wrong thing.

Four years ago, at a Keepers meeting.

Seeing her there.

He told himself he simply missed their banter. Their rhythm. The way they worked through problems together. The opportunity to do that again—to work together—was too tempting to ignore.

Nothing to do with how that red dress hung to her or how she introduced him as her ‘handsome fella’. 

They were both simply undercover.

Naturally, being undercover meant they needed somewhere else to discuss their findings. Nights at the bar were replaced with late night coffee shops. Neutral places. Somewhere to sit and talk without children underfoot or a particular person trying to insert themselves into something that wasn’t meant for them. 

If Lila wanted Diego involved, she would have asked. If she wanted her parents to babysit, she could have arranged it.

It was an escape. For both of them.

And it was that shared need to escape that had led them here.

Five unable to say no to her dragging him into every situation.

This was truly a shit show of a situation. 

Neither of them could pretend this counted as escaping everyday life anymore. Even Five suspected Lila would admit this was one step too far.

Besides—she missed her kids.

If there was ever something that could drag them out of bed for more than basic survival, it was them. To get her back to them. 

But the more Five worked through every angle he could wrap his head around, studied his notes, and watched all those little Xs appear across the map; one thing became clear. 

The likelihood of getting home was shrinking.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t as simple as finding the right line or the right train. If it had been, they would have been home a long time ago.

There was something they were missing. Something which more resembled a trick than maths. 

Now the maths Five was doing was more to do with reducing it to probabilities, to diminishing returns with each passing day—let alone each passing year. That piece of paper he could have handed over could have held a grim percentage at the end of a scrawled equation.

But she didn’t need that.

She didn’t need lies or false confidence either.

So he went back to what he’d done every year before.

Facts.

Just facts.

Ones that might—slowly, if he was lucky—turn into little stars he could carry in his pocket.

He wrote down what he could and the exchange was made.

---

4 Years and 9 Days Missing

It was meant to be quick—pop their heads out of the new station, see what was going on, grab supplies if it looked promising.

Instead, this world was complicated.

White. Completely blanketed in thick snow. 

Dense, Five corrected himself, as he placed one boot down, shifted his weight and didn’t sink at all. A thaw–freeze cycle had taken place. 

He frowned and looked up, shielding his eyes as the sun beat down. If it could even be called that. It couldn’t have been much above freezing.

“C’mon, Five!” Lila called, already several metres ahead.

He scanned the area one last time. There wasn’t much—like so many other stops. Not a wasteland, exactly, but wherever they’d emerged seemed to be an open field. Trees lined the distance. The subway entrance stood clear behind them, obvious and easy to locate.

Good. Easy exits mattered.

He took another step. A crisp boot print formed without sinking. Tracking would be easy here—animals, people. Even signs like waste would be clearly visible.

Five tugged at the rucksack on his back and followed Lila.

They didn’t have to walk far before seeing something genuinely exciting.

“Are those—?” Lila crouched, inspecting the tracks pressed into the snow. A second later she turned, beaming. “Deer!”

“Possibly more than one,” Five said, pointing toward the trees where more tracks crisscrossed. “Could be a small herd.”

“It’s worth a bullet, right?” Lila said, practically salivating.

Under normal circumstances, he would’ve said no.

Weapons were rare anyway and getting them usually meant a fight—not always worth the payoff. And it wasn’t like before, when he could blink wherever he wanted. Now, every jump dumped him straight back into the subway system. Useful in an emergency. Useless in a firefight.

If things went sideways, Lila would have to teleport first—actually retreat, a concept he wasn’t convinced she fully grasped. Only then could he follow. If he blinked first—dodging a bullet or some form of charge—she’d be left stranded.

What had once been an adaptable, elegant power was now borderline useless.

On top of that, blinking required fuel. Food. One jump on an empty stomach could leave him without it entirely.

Lila had her own version of the problem. They’d thought it smart for her to practise her laser eyes—learning control, turning them on and off. Sensible in theory.

In practice, it proved difficult to master—and when she did manage to hit a target, it left her starving afterward. The kind of drawback you didn’t notice when training in The Academy or working for The Commission, when kitchens were stocked and food was always within reach.

Powers always came with a cost.

Besides—lasers had just as much chance of killing a deer as they did of vaporising it.

And neither outcome was something they could afford to waste.

But a bullet?

They were both good shots. It wouldn’t be hard to bring one down. One bullet would do it.

They were also, potentially, in an ideal environment to preserve the meat. It would take planning—work—but the payoff would be worth it.

“Okay,” Five said at last. Lila blinked, clearly surprised. “Let’s see if we can start off the new year with a full belly.”

Her grin was immediate as she took off in the direction of the tracks.

Dark clouds were already forming overhead, and they followed the trail longer than Five liked. Just as he was about to suggest circling back—before a snowstorm closed in—they saw something.

Not a deer.

A large, barn-like structure rose ahead of them, the tracks leading straight toward it before veering off to the side. It would’ve been almost rude not to investigate. And as they drew closer, there they were—a small herd huddled together.

Instead of testing the doors, Five passed the gun to Lila.

He didn’t need the release.

She would appreciate it.

Bang.

The rest of the herd scattered as the buck dropped.

And then the heavens opened.

Snow began to fall—soft at first, fluttering white flakes—but it was clear where this was heading.

Now it was time to try the barn.

Luck, for once, was on their side. The door screeched open.

At first glance there wasn’t much—nothing worth looting—but a roof over their heads while the storm built was something. They left the door open and headed back for the deer.

It was a good size. Not huge, but certainly not small. Maybe two hundred and twenty pounds. Decent antlers, sturdy enough to use as handles. Dragging it was hard work, but the snow helped, letting them glide the weight across the ground rather than fight it the whole way.

Once inside, the doors were pulled shut firmly behind them.

They took a proper look around.

A tractor that had seen better days. Hay stacked neatly, raised off the ground and away from the walls—dry, well kept. Tools hung along one side. Something covered with a sheet in the corner.

They finished their circuit and came back to the deer, now just inside the doorway.

“Wow,” Lila breathed. “We are going to feast.”

They looked at each other and smiled.

Decent meat. Real food. Enough, if preserved properly, to keep them going for a while.

Five barely had time to register the thought before Lila launched into a flurry of celebratory punches against his shoulder.

“Ow—what, you’ve never heard of a high five?”

“Please,” she scoffed. “Like you’d actually do one.”

He shrugged. “I could be convinced. If there’s something worth celebrating.”

She backed up, raised her hand, and waggled her eyebrows. “Don’t leave me hanging, then.”

A half-smirk crossed his face before the clap echoed through the barn. Their hands lingered for a second afterward—fingers clasped, a brief squeeze.

Purely congratulatory.

---

The preparations took a good while.

Long enough that Five had hoped the snowstorm would ease by the time they were finished. They gutted the deer, removed the entrails, left the hide on for now—protection against dirt during transport, if they needed to move it. They were lucky to find hooks already mounted, choosing one to hang the carcass. A couple of tools were wedged into the body cavity to keep it open and allow it to dry.

The cold helped. It was bitter, but steady. Hanging the carcass in a shaded, well-ventilated space was the best start they could ask for.

“Blimey,” Lila muttered from the far corner, as Five heard a dust sheet be yanked. “This is what I think it is, isn’t it?”

Five crossed over—and then stopped short.

A smoker.

This hadn’t just been a barn. The hay wasn’t storage—it was bait. Someone had been luring deer here, killing them, using the hooks to hang them and the smoker to preserve them.

Lila turned back to him, eyes bright despite the exhaustion.

“Think we could camp out tonight?”

Hesitation was clearly marked out across his face as she continued with. “C’mon Five you don't look a gift deer in the mouth. When was the last time we had anything resembling luck?”

She was right. Five knew she was right but that didn't stop the quick calculations. They had enough water. They could take clean snow back with them and boil it on their return so they wouldn't be losing any water by staying. They were well wrapped up and warm enough moving around but sleeping was another thing. Laying down somewhere, the cold would creep in. 

Five turned looking at the hay. It wasn't straw unfortunately, a much better insulator but for a night? It wouldn't be bad. The smoker when going would provide heat as well and that dust sheet could be shared. 

Shared.

However they did this, they would need to huddle for warmth as soon as they stopped moving.

Lila must have been tracking every flick of his eyes because she broke into a massive grin.

“Don’t worry, Fivey. I’m happy to be the big spoon.” She winked.

A retort formed and died on his tongue. By the time it untangled itself, she’d already wandered off, inspecting the tools beside the smoker. Machetes—far more practical than the knives they’d used earlier.

“We should check that it works,” Five said, nodding toward the smoker and deliberately ignoring her comment. “Before we start hacking at the deer.”

They checked the wood stored underneath, the condition of the smoker itself—and didn’t even need to use their matches to get it going.

They both froze, staring at it in disbelief.

There was no reason it shouldn’t work. And yet—when was the last time something like this had simply fallen into their laps? Lila had been right. 

There had to be a catch. Someone would turn up. Something would go wrong.

Instead, Lila uncovered a large sack of salt.

That changed everything.

This went from cooking enough meat to last a few days to the real possibility of preservation. Proper preservation. Large slabs would take weeks, but smaller cuts—thinly sliced, dry-rubbed—could be ready in twelve hours, then finished with low, steady heat. A day and a half. Maybe two.

Five sank down beside his rucksack, pulling everything out and checking it twice. They’d left most of their canned goods at the station—no point carrying excess weight—but they always kept enough for a day. If things went south, they could blink back.

They weren’t waiting this out and leaving empty-handed.

Two days and a load of cured meat would be worth it.

“So, do we have enough supplies to wait it out?” Lila asked, already reading his thoughts.

“I think so,” Five said. “More concerned about the cold.”

She didn’t joke this time. She raised her hands toward the smoker, wiggling her fingers in the heat.

“It’s putting out good warmth. And we’ve got plenty of wood.”

There was a decent pile already chopped, with more beside an axe.

No matter how many angles Five examined, he kept coming back to the same conclusion.

It was sensible.

“Okay,” he said—still faintly surprised the word came out at all.

They got to work immediately. Hacking off sections, slicing them thin, rubbing in the salt before laying them in the far corner of the barn where the temperature dropped sharply, like a natural fridge.

Once their hands felt as dry as the meat eventually would, they took two generous cuts and placed them in the smoker, ramping up the heat.

Dinner wouldn’t take long.

They could barely finish what they’d made. Their stomachs had shrunk so much that the fullness left them almost immobile—but it was a deeply satisfying discomfort. Both of them had forgotten what it felt like to be truly full.

They sat atop a dust sheet spread over a mound of hay they’d dragged closer to the smoker. Another pile waited beside them, ready to cocoon them for the night.

Someone had to make the first move. Five wasn’t going to suggest it. Lila always said what she wanted when she wanted it.

He could wait.

Or maybe they didn’t both need to sleep at once. One could keep watch. Make sure the owner—or anyone else—didn’t return unexpectedly.

“Do you think anyone will turn up tonight?” Lila asked.

Five narrowed his eyes, briefly suspicious she’d developed a third power.

“Tonight? No. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Then we should turn in.”

The hay crunched as she rolled her shoulders into it, back and forth.

“This is basically a mattress compared to the floor.”

They’d slept in separate beds before—other timelines, other houses—but rest had never come easily. Whatever had ended those worlds always hovered at the edges of their thoughts. The Commission had trained them to sleep lightly, even in safety.

Tonight would be no different.

The most comfortable position would be facing the smoker, letting the warmth hit their faces—but that would leave the door behind them.

“I’ll take the left side,” Five said, pulling his gun back out and setting it beside the hay, double-checking the safety was back on.

The door was covered but that wasn't what struck Five as the most important part. Them being back to back.

He picked up the loose hay meant for insulation.

“Ready?”

Lila nodded. He piled it over her—more than necessary so he could drag the extra toward himself.

Five lay down, pulled the hay tight, and fixed his eyes on the door.

The draft slipping through the crack and the sudden absence of direct heat from the smoker sent a shiver down his spine—one he couldn’t quite suppress.

“Roll over, Five.”

There was no teasing in her voice. Just direct instruction.

“I’ll get used to it in a minute. Besides, a second’s delay could be the difference between—”

His words cut off as she shifted, not arguing his logic as she rolled and curved into him.

Like two puzzle pieces.

Her front to his back. Her face tucked against his shoulder blade, using him as a shield from the cold as her breath spilled warm across the back of his neck.

His body reacted before his mind could catch it. A sharp, involuntary shudder.

A shiver, he corrected himself immediately. Just the draft.

Who was he trying to convince? It wasn’t like she’d asked.

He didn’t need to fool her.

Himself, though… that was different.

He began rehearsing explanations in advance, just in case she noticed he was still awake in an hour or more from now.

Keeping watch. That was reasonable. 

His gaze stayed fixed on the door, but he allowed his thoughts to drift elsewhere—to the small absence he’d noticed that morning. The thought he pushed aside then but not now. 

They’d arrived at the station, checked out the landscape, put on more layers while reorganising their rucksacks, and headed out immediately.

There was no time to pass along anything.

It was possible she hadn’t even had time to make one. They had been on the train for a couple of days, and she never folded them in front of him.

Usually he felt the lack of it—a subtle imbalance, a missing weight in his pocket and somewhere deeper.

But there was no sting. 

Nor did he feel it the next night as they spent it together.

It should have been the same routine, but the second night Lila couldn’t seem to get comfortable, and her arm coming up as a makeshift pillow under her head left an elbow in the back of Five’s neck.

With a theatrical huff, Five moved further away, only to roll onto his back, his head still lulled to the side facing the door. His arm opened, and wordlessly he felt the weight of her head settle on his chest.

“Better?”

Why did he ask?

“Much…” It was a mutter, a mumble. Was she too ashamed to admit it, or simply too tired from the day’s labour and going to bed with a full stomach?

His arm came to rest around her. She was comfortable. He was allowed to be too.

“How many times have you fallen asleep like this?”

“Lots.” It came out flat. He wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. It was true—he had let his company fall asleep like this if they chose, before he would leave at some point in the middle of the night.

One-night stands should always conclude with the same word used within the phrase: night.

“Mannequins don’t count.” Lila clearly tried to make light of the situation, but it just made everything feel flatter.

“I know,” he mumbled back.

He didn’t talk about his private life, no matter how much the family had poked and prodded. That was a matter of principle. This—was a matter of something else. For reasons he wouldn’t examine too closely, the one person he could tell everything to, was also the one person he didn’t want knowing about those empty nights.

---

No one came.

The blizzard never eased the entire time. In its own way, it was peaceful.

“This is going to be shit to take back,” Lila muttered.

They’d processed everything they could. The dust sheet had been torn into makeshift parcels, wrapped tight around cured pieces of meat. Not ideal, but manageable until they figured out better storage.

They just needed to reach the subway.

And with the storm still raging, that would be a challenge.

“Let’s just blink there,” Five said, holding out his hand. “Full belly. Fully charged. We’ll waste more energy fighting through that than it’s worth. Let’s finish this win with it actually being easy for once.”

She didn’t argue.

She gathered her bags, stepped close, and took his hand.

A lilac flash of light swallowed them.

---

4 Years, 1 Month, 22 Days Missing

Forty-four days with the deer was starting to feel like they were pushing their luck. It was time to finish it off.

As Five sat wondering if he could make this already good meal better, he felt a small thing ping against him.

He didn’t flinch. He simply tilted his head, tracking the soft arc of folded paper as it ricocheted off him and landed just off to the right. 

“Good thing it isn’t a shuriken star, huh,” Five said as he moved to retrieve it. 

Ever since they’d done their exchange at Christmas, Lila had been a lot more open about these little things. Freely giving them, always on the same days, but never acknowledging it as anything other than something they did.

And why would she?

It’s not like there was something else to consider.

It was just making light of days that might otherwise invite reflection of back home, he gathered.

And the fact that he’d been calculating whether the timeline above them was civilised enough to contain a halfway decent bottle of bourbon to pair with their final meal? 

That was nothing more than wanting to enjoy the last decent dinner they would likely have for a while. 

---

4 Years, 9 Months, 8 Days Missing

It was the day he swore every bone in his body cracked just a little louder than usual. He was only physically twenty-four. It shouldn’t hurt this much—but then, sleeping on floors or plastic chairs was never going to win a chiropractor’s approval.

Five looked over at Lila and wondered how much she ached. They tried not to complain about things they couldn’t change, but nearly five years of this would wear anyone down.

Even in his own apocalypse, Five had managed a decent bed. It hadn’t been difficult to drag a mattress into his shelter, and it had been one of the first things he’d done when he realised he wasn’t going home anytime soon.

Here, the best they could manage were flattened cardboard boxes.

Any houses, apartments, or spaces resembling something remotely livable above them—when the buildings weren’t completely destroyed—came with too many questions.

Why were they still standing?

What ended this world?

Who might return?

It wasn’t worth the risk. Or the stress.

The subway at least felt safe. No one had ever stumbled across it or found their way down the steps. Maybe it was something only they could see—tied to Five’s power and, by extension, Lila’s mimicry.

Five did his best not to think about the barn, the hay, how good it had felt to sleep on something that wasn’t this.

His gaze traced her outline beneath the blankets. She was moving, likely awake, uncomfortable just like him.

He wondered if he could ease it for her—her head, her neck—using him.

Stop it.

They were leftover thoughts. Silly. Foolish.

It meant nothing. Everyone craved touch, especially those starved of it. 

It was no different to any other time.

But it was.

Having company for an evening was almost as lonely as having none. Five couldn’t place why. Other people did it and seemed happy enough but for him it just left a hollow feeling. 

It wasn’t like that with Lila. It hadn’t been like that even before the subway. Words far too dangerous to admit because she was his brother’s wife.

Was.

It didn’t matter.

What did matter was getting her home to her children. And finding a way off this floor. It was coming up to five years too many.

When Lila began to rise, Five rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He didn’t expect it to fool her—but he also didn’t expect the star to be placed on his lips.

He couldn’t open his mouth in response, so his eyes snapped open, narrowing as Lila, still hunched over him, laughed.

“One way to keep you quiet.”

She wore the cheekiest grin, and the smile that curled his lips made the star roll away. Five didn’t move to search for it. It would be there, close to his face, somewhere.

But there was something else close to him as well. Her.

Instead, he held the same soft smile.

“Happy birthday to you too.”