Chapter 6

The coming weeks blurred together in a strange, peaceful rhythm. I slept on the sofa, but every morning, I joined Lila in her bed for a cup of herbal tea. It became our ritual, a quiet moment to start each day. My days were spent reading through books, piecing together the history of this place, while Lila devoted her time to the garden, learning about the plants, setting snares to catch what game was left. We didn't talk about the family or Lila's children anymore; it was easier that way, as if this place existed in a separate timeline just for us.

There were subtle shifts between us. Lila finally convinced me to let her give me a long-overdue haircut. My hair had grown down to my shoulders, a wild mess that she trimmed back to a much more manageable length. Her fingers brushed against my skin as she worked, and I found myself leaning into her touch, an unconscious gesture that neither of us acknowledged out loud.

We started playing chess again, our edges softening as we settled into this new life. Sometimes, after a game, we'd linger at the table, not quite ready to return to our separate tasks. Lila would brush her hand against mine as she reached for a piece or rest her arm against my shoulder as she pointed out a move. These touches became part of our routine, small, fleeting moments of connection that felt oddly natural.

One afternoon, while I was helping Lila water the plants, she handed me the hose and our fingers brushed. Neither of us pulled away immediately, a small, shared smile passing between us. Later, when she was pruning some vines, I stood nearby, quietly watching her work. She looked up, catching me staring, and for a moment, we just stood there, the air between us charged with something unspoken.

At some point, as we worked together in the garden, she tossed a strawberry at me. I smiled, but decided to ignore it. Then another one hit me. Then another.

"You know," I said, trying to keep a straight face, "if you keep throwing them like that, we won't have enough when the snow comes."

She threw two more, stepping closer. "So, we'll just eat snow—" she started, but cut off when she slipped. I instinctively caught her, pulling her close.

It should have been a quick save, nothing more, but our eyes met, and in that split second, everything else fell away. There was no family, no timelines, no complicated history. Just the two of us, here and now.

Our lips met, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. Lila pulled away, looking concerned. "Don't."

"Don't what?" I asked softly, though I already knew what she was trying to say.

"Make it weird."

"Was that weird?" I asked, feeling a mix of nerves and hope, though she hadn't let go of me either.

"No," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, "which is what makes it weird."

Gently, I brushed her hair away from her face, fingers lingering against her cheek, and leaned in to kiss her again. This time, she kissed back, and we stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, neither one of us willing to break the connection until our foreheads rested against each other, sharing the same breath, the same quiet understanding.

"What do you want?" I asked, concerned about the answer.

"I don't know," she replied, but still, neither of us moved.

Internally, I thought, I do. I want this. I've never had this. Never had time for this. I kissed her once more, just a quick peck to let her know I didn't regret anything, and then I gently broke the embrace to give her the space to retreat if she wanted to. Instead, she bent down and started picking up the strawberries from the ground.

"Don't want to slip again," she said, avoiding my eyes.

"Wasn't the worst thing," I replied, my smile half-hidden.

As Lila stood up, she offered me a strawberry, and for once, we just let the moment be.

Over the next few days, not much changed outwardly, but there was a new undercurrent between us. I still slept on the sofa, but there were more lingering glances, subtle touches, and moments that passed between us. When she was chopping vegetables, I found myself standing behind her, my arms resting on the counter, my chin on her shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but it felt natural—like we were finding our way toward something more.

Our morning tea ritual evolved too. What used to be quiet mornings sipping hot tea turned into cups left on the side, forgotten and growing cold, as we held each other, sometimes kissing. It was never intense or rushed—just sweet, easy moments that we both seemed to savour. Neither of us pushed for more. This wasn't what I had expected from Lila, the assassin who must have used her looks and charms to seduce in the past. But this wasn't about playing games or hard to get. It was just the two of us, in our own timeline, doing things in our own way.

I wanted to do something more for Lila, something meaningful that would show her what she meant to me. But I wasn't sure what. Recently, I had been reading up on metalsmithing, specifically about making jewellery like bracelets, and I wondered if it was something I could pull off. I found an old toolset in a chest in the study, the kind that might have been used for repairs or small crafting projects, and thought I could give it a try. If it turned out awful, I didn't have to show her.

During the day, we still did our own things. We left each other alone for walks and time to think. I often found myself heading back to the subway station where we first arrived. I must have walked back there dozens of times over the months, sitting and thinking. Sometimes, I thought that if I sat there long enough, something would click—maybe a way to fix things, a solution to all this. But it never did, and I can't say I tried too hard to force it.

This time, though, I went with a different agenda. I knew there had to be scrap metal or copper lying around, something I could repurpose. The station's utility rooms were the safest bet for that. They were always stocked with spare parts for maintenance—copper wiring, old nuts, bolts, and metal scraps from disused fixtures. It was the kind of stuff that went unnoticed but could be exactly what I needed.

I collected what I could, making sure to only take what was safe and easy to pry loose. A few lengths of copper wire, some small metal plates, and even a couple of thin rods that I thought I could hammer into shape.

In the evenings, after Lila had gone to bed and thought I had too, I would sneak into the study. The desk there became my workstation. I used pliers to bend the metal, slowly shaping it into something resembling a bracelet. It was delicate work, clasping the metal together, trying to create something that not only looked decent but also carried meaning.

I didn't know if it would turn out the way I hoped, but it felt good to be working on something just for her. A way to show her, in my own quiet way, that she mattered.

The next day felt different. From the moment I brought up our morning teas, I could tell something was off. Lila was quieter, more withdrawn. The usual sharpness in her eyes was muted, replaced with a heaviness that settled in the room like a thick fog. We both knew what day it was, her wedding anniversary, and that fact hung between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

I sat down beside her, holding my cup in one hand, the other loosely resting at my side—if she needed comfort, she'd take it. No need to spell it out. But she didn't. She just sat there, sipping her tea slower than usual, lost in her thoughts.

When she finally finished, she slinked over to me, resting her head on my lap. My hand came up to rest on her shoulder, offering silent comfort. We stayed like that for a while, neither of us speaking, just existing in the quiet heaviness of the moment.

Eventually, Lila pulled away and headed to the bathroom. I took that as my cue to give her some space, so I wandered downstairs, leaving her to process on her own. She could stay up there or come down when she was ready.

To my surprise, she came down sooner than I expected. Without a word, she went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a half-open bottle of whiskey, and took a long swig.

"A bit early, don't you think?" I called out, but she didn't stop. She sat next to me on the sofa and took another swig, passing me the bottle.

I could see where this was heading, and I wasn't going to stop her. I took the bottle, had a sip, then handed it back. This was going to be one of those days, and it was better to let her go through it rather than try to steer her in a direction she clearly wasn't ready to take.

She took another deep drink, the whiskey hitting her hard on an empty stomach. Her mood soured as she drank more, frustration and self-loathing beginning to bubble to the surface. It wasn't long before she started lashing out.

"Can't handle your liquor, Five?" she slurred, the words cutting through the silence like a blade.

I forced a smirk, trying to keep things light. "Just not trying to wake up with a headache the size of Texas tomorrow. One of us has to keep our wits about us."

She scoffed, her eyes narrowing as she took another swig. "Right, always the sensible one. And yet, here you are, stuck with me. The great Five Hargreeves, always in control, always one step ahead."

I let her words roll off me. I knew she was hurting, and it wasn't really me she was mad at. Not entirely, anyway.

"You know," she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "you have a habit of clinging to things to keep yourself sane. First, it was Delores, right? Your precious mannequin. Then me."

"Lila, don't," I warned, but she was on a roll.

"Why not? It's true, isn't it? Forty years alone with a mannequin, talking to her, pretending she was real. And now, you're doing the same thing with me."

"That's not the same," I snapped, unable to hold back. "Delores kept me sane when I had nothing and no one. Forty years alone, Lila. Forty years. You don't get to judge what I did to survive that. But don't you dare compare yourself to her. You're not some inanimate object. You're real. You're here. And it's not the same, you know I care about you."

For a moment, she seemed to falter, the harshness in her gaze flickering, but she quickly covered it up with a mocking laugh. "Care about me, huh? Like you cared about that fucking mannequin? Did you talk to her, too? Whisper sweet nothings in her plastic ear? Did you fuck her, Five? Did she keep you warm at night?"

"That's enough, Lila," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but my anger was starting to seep through. "You're not Delores. You're not just something to keep me company. You're...you're different."

"Oh, am I?" she sneered, taking another drink. "What makes me so special, huh? What makes me different?"

I opened my mouth to respond, to try to defuse this before it got any worse, but the words came out before I could stop them, raw, unfiltered through gritted teeth. "Because I love you, damn it!"

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. It wasn't how I wanted to say it, not in the middle of an argument, not when she was drunk and angry. But there it was, out in the open, and there was no taking it back.

Lila froze, the bottle halfway to her lips. For a second, I thought she might actually respond, might acknowledge what I'd just said. But then, with a bitter laugh, she shook her head and took another swig. "Right."

"Lila—" I started, but she cut me off, the anger in her voice sharpening.

"What?" she shot back, her voice bitter. "What are we doing here, Five? I have a fucking family at home. We should be getting back to them, instead we're playing happy families here."

"Lila, we've tried everything. I've gone back countless times trying to work it out. I can't. This, this isn't some placeholder in time, this is our reality, and very possibly for the rest of our lives. We've both done things we regret, things we can't take back. But this... us... now... it's real, and not just some form of distraction."

I could see how angry she was, her fists clenched at her sides. For a moment, I thought she was going to throw a punch. But instead, she surprised me. She collapsed into my chest, full-on sobbing. I held her there for as long as she needed, just letting her cry it out.

After a while, the tears stopped, and she fell asleep, the alcohol finally doing its thing and numbing her. I gently shifted, letting her spread out on the sofa, taking up all the space. I pried the nearly empty bottle from her grasp and set it down by the sofa.

"Don't," she slurred, barely coherent.

"Don't what?" I replied, my voice soft.

"Leave."

There was a small space behind her on the sofa, so I carefully climbed over her and settled in, hugging her from behind. She relaxed slightly in my arms, her breathing evening out as she drifted deeper into sleep.

After a long afternoon nap, Lila stirred in my arms. I hadn't slept at all, too restless to find any comfort while she lay there. She was still drunk, but the anger from earlier seemed to have faded. She rolled to face me, her eyes still heavy with the remnants of the whiskey.

She tried to move in to kiss me, but I recoiled slightly, pressing myself back into the sofa. I kept my arms around her, but I wasn't ready to give in. Her previous words had stung, and I needed more time to process what had happened between us.

"Five," she murmured, her voice soft and somewhat hesitant. "I... I didn't mean everything I said earlier. I'm sorry for... well, for all of it."

I leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, but I didn't let it go any further. "It's okay," I said softly, though it wasn't really okay.

"Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and longing. "Why haven't we... you know... done more? We've had all this closeness, all those morning in bed and yet you still sleep on the sofa. Why?"

I sighed, trying to find the right words. "You've never invited me to your bed."

Lila laughed softly, though it was tinged with a bit of sadness. "I didn't think I had to."

"I'm not really good at this sort of thing," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've never had someone real. Not like this."

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Even after we lost our powers for six years, you didn't find anyone? I thought..."

I shrugged, trying to brush off the weight of it all. "I always put my job first. It's not that I didn't want anyone, it's just that I didn't have the time. And, well, I was technically still young in body, but my mind was older and more accepting of solitude. I've always been waiting for the next disaster to fix. Here we are, and I can't fix this."

Lila looked at me, a mix of empathy and understanding in her eyes. Again she went to kiss and once again I pulled back.

I watched the frustration flash across her face. Clearly normally, this is how she would make up but it certainly wasn't how I wanted to. "Not with alcohol in our systems, not when emotions are still raw." I said sternly.

She rested her head against my chest, letting out a long, slow breath. "Okay, Five. I understand."

Sometime passed and tensions eased. "Five, why don't you have a name instead of your number?"

I was surprised by the question, not because it was a bad one, but because it had rarely been asked. "A couple of reasons. Our dear old father never gave us any. Instead, he asked Grace to do it, and I wasn't the easiest of kids."

"You don't say," she replied. Her tone was so much flatter than normal.

"I told her 'fuck you' when she asked. If he only thought of us as numbers, then a number I would be. It wasn't long after that I jumped forwards in time anyway."

Lila considered this for a moment. "What actually happened with Dolores?"

"Well, she didn't come with me to the Commission but when I got back to my time and messed up my age in the jump, I found her in a department store. I may have stolen her, which wasn't too hard after Cha-Cha and Hazel blew half of her to bits. In the end, I returned her, and I guess now she's in a pile of rubble again. Full circle."

"Shit, you really did care. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"Objectophilia never sounds right to say, but again, you go mad talking to yourself, so at least talking to an object helps. Anyway, it's only madness when they start talking back," I said, trying to lighten the mood slightly and maybe cover a bit of my embarrassment.

"Did she?" Lila asked, sounding a little concerned.

"Of course," I replied, giving a half-sad smile and I didn't want to elaborate any further and thankfully she didn't ask anymore.

Lila nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. "And what about us, Five? You admitted something earlier and now I don't know how to bring it up."

I stared back into her dark brown eyes, unsure how to respond. "That... didn't come out right."

"So you're not falling in love with me?"

"No, I certainly am. I just didn't want to say it like that. To be honest, I wasn't sure how or when I was going to."

Lila looked at me with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. "Where do you stand on this? I don't want to let this get more complicated if it's not right."

"You said it yourself—this is our reality. I miss my kids dreadfully still. I know barely any time has gone by for them, what, a few hours."

"You're not saying you miss Diego." I state very matter of fact.

"It was a bit of a mess when we left, but I don't know. This is here and now, and where we are."

I noticed she wasn't outright saying she was done with my brother, but she wasn't dismissing this either.

"Your call. You know where I stand." I said, giving her a gentle smile, though I felt an ache in my chest.

She snuggled into my neck, and I instinctively kissed the top of her head.

"How is the world's second most deadly assassin this soft underneath?"

"Second most?" I replied with a hint of surprise, knowing what she was implying.

"Laser eyes and mimicry? For sure, second most."

"To be fair, mine is completely useless now unless you want to go to that damned subway station. I have the ability to retreat," I said, rolling my eyes at myself. "So you're probably right somewhat."

Despite the heated argument just hours earlier, the tension between us had smoothed over. As much as I had wanted to walk away or say "fuck you," I managed to stay and face it. For me, that felt like a strange success of the day.

After the emotional rollercoaster of the day, I decided to offer to make some dinner. The day had been heavy, and a bit of normalcy might do us good. I watched Lila as she tried to get up to help, but she stumbled, nearly losing her balance. "Sit back down," I said firmly. "I'll bring it over to you shortly."

She complied, and I went to the kitchen to prepare something simple but comforting. It wasn't gourmet, but it was hot and satisfying. When I finally brought the food to her, the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease slightly. We ate in quiet companionship, the silence between us now less strained, more soothing.

After dinner, I noticed how drained Lila looked. Today had been harder on her than usual. "Why don't I run you a bath?" I offered gently.

She agreed, and I set to work heating the water and getting everything ready. I was careful to make sure it was just the right temperature and that the bathroom was comfortable. Once the bath was drawn, I called out to her, "The bath is ready. You can come up whenever you're ready."

I could hear her moving slowly, her footsteps a bit unsteady. I planned to wait outside the door, figuring I'd hear if she needed help. But when she came into the bathroom, she looked at me with a soft, hesitant expression. "You can sit on the stool and be in here with me," she said, her voice slightly slurred but earnest.

I weighed her request in my mind. It was a bit unconventional, but she'd been through a lot today, and somehow it felt right to be there for her. I'd seen her in a bath before, in that messed up hotel, so it wasn't entirely new territory. "Alright," I said, nodding. "I'll stay."

As she got undressed I fiddled with a seem starting to come undone on my top. She stepped into the bath with a bit of a wobbly grace, and I took a seat on the stool beside the tub. The water was warm and inviting, and I watched her settle in with a sigh of relief. Despite the awkwardness, it felt oddly comforting to be here with her, sharing this quiet moment of vulnerability.

Lila looked up at me, her eyes tired but softened. "Thanks for today, Five," she murmured.

I nodded, not trusting myself to say much.

Lila seemed to be enjoying the bath more than I expected. She took her time washing herself and her hair, luxuriating in the warm water. When she finally finished, I handed her a towel, holding it out to give her some privacy as she stood. I'd be lying if I said I didn't steal a few glances whenever her eyes were closed or when she was submerged in the water. But I kept my gaze respectful.

She wrapped herself in the towel and then gestured toward the bath. "Hope in, while the water's still warm," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"Sure," I replied, but instead of leaving, she sat down on the stool beside the tub, grabbing a second towel to dry her hair. I raised an eyebrow at her, but she wasn't budging. I shook my head with a small smirk and began to undress with my back turned, though I could feel her eyes occasionally darting in my direction.

Once I was in the bath, she looked up from her hair-drying and remarked, "That really did take a chunk out of you, huh?" Her gaze settled on the scar on my shoulder, a remnant from the time when my older self had taken a shot at me.

"No stitches will do that," I said, running my fingers over the groove.

As I started scrubbing, I noticed that Lila was more focused on drying herself and drawing patterns in the steam on the glass rather than watching me.

When I finished, I asked for a towel, and she brought it over in the same manner I had, holding it out to me. I wrapped it around my waist and stepped out.