#for now her past is supposed to be insignificant and unknown to an extent

[quaddmgd]

PARTY LIKE IT'S 2072

Place me in my casket tonight Because I'm already dying inside Pale skin so cold to the touch Like a rose in bloom when we blush Dark eyes meet under the sky The stars are out, we're alive in the night My hollow heart finds it too hard to trust We're all alone until we turn back to dust

Sidewalks and Skeletons - GOTH

[diegosclownshoes]

more s2 progress! the agent and elliott talk and five brings back diego and lila. this part’s around 3.3k since I wanted to really get the ball rolling on the storyline, and I also really wanted to finally bring in diego, who’s my absolute fav lol

The agent turns away from Elliott and looks back at the spot where the boy had just stood. She puffs out her cheeks before pushing out a loud breath of air in exasperation. Elliott speaks up first.

“So I take it he’s... also from the future?”

The agent sighs. Honestly, she hadn’t thought this far ahead, about what would happen once her mission actually began. If she’s being completely honest with herself, a part of her believed it would never happen.When she’d told Elliott the truth about herself, that she was one of multiple children all spontaneously born on the same day, with superpowers, sent from the year 2007 on an unknown mission, she’d been more concerned with whether or not he would believe her. He’d accepted the explanation easily enough, and it hadn’t come up again after that.

“I think,” she begins slowly, “I think he, and the rest of what, his family? He called them that. I think it’s safe to say that they’re all from the future. But I have no idea what year. And I have no idea what they’re here for either. Because telling me would have been far too much.” She feels herself getting more and more angry as the words leave her mouth. “The only thing I know is that I was supposed to wait for them here, and then once he shows up, keep him safe. I don’t even know from what and I don’t know why. Hell I didn’t even know he’d turn up three years later.”

She knows she hadn’t exactly been The Handler’s favorite, and doesn’t blame her for it completely. Maybe it’s because she can still remember her parents, still remembers her mother’s voice as she sang softly to her each night, the amber of her perfume enveloping her as she drifted to sleep. Maybe it’s because she could never truly see The Handler as a parental figure; if anything she was more of a teacher, especially given the hours of training that made up the majority of the extent of their relationship. And while Lila happily called her mum, the agent, even as a child, would call her The Handler in a quick, clipped tone. She feels an odd mix of guilt in her stomach when she remembers the times The Handler would pull both her and Lila close, saying how proud she was of her daughters, regardless of the agent’s own coolness towards her.

Still, she thinks, abandoning her in a completely different time, stressing the importance of this mission, and then not giving her any direction, leaving her to wait in a constant state of anticipation eating at her is a little much. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye to Lila, who no matter the peculiarity of their relationship, was still a sister to her. The Handler had insisted that Lila would join her on the mission soon, before she was sent through time with nothing but the clothes on her back and the photograph in her hand.

The agent’s pulled out of her reverie when Elliott speaks again. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, stepping closer and placing a warm, sturdy hand on her shoulder. “I know we’ve been pulling up empty, for years, but hey, this is a major step forward. This means it’s actually something. You don’t have to wait anymore, this is actually going to begin. And I’ll be right here too.”

The agent swallows hard. The emotions she’s been forcing down the past few years have caught up, and between the feelings of disorientation, anger, and insignificance that now bubble up in her chest, combined with Elliott’s reassurance, she doesn’t know what to say and doesn’t dare try. She blinks away the heat at her eyes and gives him a silent nod, and she’s grateful when he doesn’t try to nudge her into speaking. Instead, he gives her shoulder an extra squeeze in understanding before letting go.

“I’ll make us some coffee, and then we can discuss this when you’re ready.”

*

The agent sits across from Elliott at the kitchen table, fingers clasped around a mug of steaming coffee, and feels a sense of déja vu. That first night three years ago had them in the same arrangement, though instead of the distrust and trepidation she’d felt as she’d eyed Elliott back then, this time she feels a wave of gratitude. She gives the mug a squeeze, lets her palms feel the burn of the scalding coffee for just a moment before she lets go with a sigh.

“So.

“So.”

Well he’ll be back sooner or later, so we need to get our story straight,” says the agent, feeling much more in control of herself than she had before. “We already know he has powers, and it’s safe to assume the rest of his family does as well. Strange how he didn’t make any attempt to hide it though. He just zoomed around the place, pretty casually too.”

Well,” says Elliot, “He did also mention saving the world. Maybe whatever happens is worth letting a couple strangers in on his not-so-secret-powers.” The agent nods in agreement. “We definitely need to ask him about that too, he said he only has ten days? How does he know that?”

“I think being from the future kinda gave him a clue,” the agent replies drily. “Hm, but if it’s only ten days away he can’t have been born at the same time I was. That was 1989.” She frowns.” Wait, if the world ends in 1963 then how was I born?” Her eyes widen. “Do you think something from the future accidentally got sent back here? Whatever it is that’s gonna end the world? Like a Godzilla egg that got smuggled over or something?”

Elliott’s brows shoot up as he leans forwards across the table. “Could be. Do you think that’s why he was saying all that stuff about Area 51? Because it’s actually relevant to this end of the world business? Shit, there probably is some weird alien creature that’s going to doom us all. Think we bought enough groceries? Should we go stock up on some more?” He asks almost frantically.

“No,” the agent says quickly, “No, hold on, we don’t know for sure what it is yet. I think for now we should wait for him to come back, and then we’ll give him the rest of the info that we have on his family. At least then we can get an explanation out of them.” Elliot nods firmly.

“Agreed. I’ll get everything together in the meanwhile. And hey, we’re not going to bring up your own little skill now either are we?“ The agent quickly shakes her head.

“No, not until we know what the rest of them can do, and not until they actually tell us just what the hell is going on. We don’t even know what they’re here for yet either.”

”Well then, let’s get to work.”

*

They don’t see the boy again until the next morning. The agent finds herself awake earlier than usual, and a look out the window tells her it’s before sunrise. Groaning, she pulls herself up, splashes some cold water on her face, slowly gets dressed, and makes her way into the kitchen. She and Elliott have yet to splurge on an espresso machine, but they have a battered little Moka pot which works well enough for now. She’s just set it up on the stove top and is about to run down to grab the day’s paper in the few minutes it’ll take for the coffee to brew, when she sees a shadow flit across the wall behind the stove. She turns around with a startle and upon spotting the boy from the day before, lets out a sigh that’s somewhere between relief and annoyance.

“You know you’re gonna have to either learn to use the door like a normal person or make some noise when you’re lurking around in here like a little creep.” She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, scowling as he, in turn, looks the least bit bothered.

“Well, this way’s just faster, wouldn’t you agree?” He eyes her for a moment before catching sight of the pot on the stove. The agent follows his line of sight before turning back to pull the coffee off the stove. She has a feeling she’s going to need it extra more than usual today. Wordlessly, she pours out two cups and means to carry them out to the table when he once again blinks over to right in front of her, takes a mug from her hand and lifts it up slightly in a silent (and what she feels is also mildly sarcastic) thank you. She scowls when she sees he’s once again taken her mug, but doesn’t have the energy to fight him on it.

Instead she says, “That’ll stunt your growth, you know. Can’t have that, now can we.”

“Speaking from experience?” He shoots back. The agent rolls her and takes herself over to the open area of their study-cum-living room, before perching on the arm of the sofa, the only clear place to sit on it as it’s still covered in piles of papers and cardboard boxes from Elliott’s search yesterday.

Speaking of Elliott, the man himself walks in right at the moment already dressed for the day. He spots the boy drinking coffee, leaning up against the arched entryway, and, as if this were nothing out of the ordinary, and schoolboys stealing their coffee is regular occurrence, pulls a carton of milk out of the fridge before pouring himself a bowl of cereal. The agent can’t lie, it’s not the strangest morning she’s had.

She watches as the boy pushes himself off the wall and slowly walks over to inspect the room. He stops and looks over one of the cork boards they have set up, photographs and video stills pinned to every available inch of its surface. Elliott trails after him, eating his cereal as he walks.

“Elliott, did you develop these photos yourself?”

“Of course. Can't exactly drop that stuff off at the neighborhood Fotomat. Government's got eyes everywhere." He takes another spoonful of cereal.

"I didn't see a darkroom."

"We converted the hallway closet,” the agent explains. She watches the boy pull a small yellow film box out of his pocket, then frowns when she sees him grab a pen off one of the tables and scribble something over the back of the box.

“Can you develop this?” He asks Elliott, but before the man has a chance to respond the agent’s on her feet and snatching the box out of his hand. She frowns.

“Why’d you scratch over the date?”

“The date’s irrelevant,” he shoots back shortly.

“Okay, well, if it’s so irrelevant why don’t you want us to know what it is?” She quickly pulls the box behind her back when he makes a grab for it. She quirks a brow, but before she can say anything the box is pulled out of her grip.

“Hey!” she protests and whips around to see the boy holding the box. “If you don’t stop doing that we’re gonna have a problem.” She glares.

“Oh, I think we already have a problem,” he scoffs, before Elliott plucks the box out his hand and flips it around, munching thoughtfully.

“‘Frankel Footage,’” he reads. “Friends of yours?”

The boy sighs. “Look, can you do it or not?”

“Sure I can.”

“How long?”

“Well, I mean, I’m running low on acetic acid. Beeker’s Camera’s is open today, but it’s two miles away. I mean, I’d have to take the bu-”

“It’s five hours, give or take,” the agent says, cutting him short. She knows when Elliott’s going to go off on a tangent annoyingly well by now. She’s about to again ask him why he’s hiding the date on the footage from them, before a crackling on the (stolen) police scanner interrupts.

“Attention all units, we have a code 3-15 at the Holbrook Sanitarium,” a man's voice says over the radio.

“The hell is a code 3-15?”

“Fugitives on the run,” Elliott explains.

The radio man's voice continues. "Twenty five patients still at large.” The trio make their way closer to the radio, the agent reaching over to quickly fiddle with it until the voice comes across more clearly “Many are considered armed and dangerous."

“Oh, Diego,” the boy whispers.

“You said that name yesterday, too,” the agent points out. “Who is he?”

“Imagine Batman,” he puts his hand out flat, then lowers it considerably, “Then aim lower.” The agent snorts, quickly covering it with a cough.

The indistinct radio chatter continues as the boy continues. “You get started on that film, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Before either of them can ask just where he’s going, he’s once again gone with a blip.

“Is it too soon to be getting sick of that already?”

*

The agent sits in the middle of a pile of newspapers. Elliott was finishing up on the Frankel Footage, and she’d spent that morning trying to piece together just where the rest of the strangers in the alley were now located. Diego, the only one whose name she was now familiar with, was arrested and placed in the Holbrook Sanitorium, the same place with the mass fugitive escape that morning. The next two were easy to pin down; the first was one Allison Chestnut, a prominent civil rights activist, and the second was simply known as Klaus, leader of one of the largest cults that she’d heard of. The last two, the insanely huge man, and the small woman in white, were much harder to track down. In fact, she couldn’t even find anything on the woman, but the man was a bouncer at a nightclub owned by Jack Ruby. That couldn’t be good.

She’s just finished writing down the relevant information on a slip of paper when she hears the door click open as Elliott enters. She watches as he begins to set up the now-developed film. He catches her gaze and beckons her over before heading over to close the curtains

“Now let’s see what we’ve got here,” he says. The agent nods, and then the footage rolls to a start.

It opens to an elderly couple struggling to determine whether or not their camera is on before it begins to make some sense.

“I'm Dan Frankel, and-"

"I'm Edna Frankel."

"Edna Frankel. We are in Dallas, Texas to see the president. Today's date is November 22, 1963" 

"That’s six days from now!” Elliot says incredulously.

“Shit,” says the agent, as realization dawns on her. “Shit, I know what this is.” Elliott gives her a puzzled look.

“What? What is it?” Before she has a chance to reply, the sound of gunshots and screams break out through the film. Dan Frankel’s voice can be heard exclaiming, oh my God! The president!

Elliott’s face pales and he immediately turns to look at the agent. “What the hell was that? What the hell was that?” He gets up in a panic and as the agent rises to meet him he takes a stumbled step backwards. “You knew about this? You said you knew that what, that the president is going to be assassinated in six days?”

“Elliott, listen to me.” She holds her hands up placatingly. '' Yes, the president was- or, is going to be, assassinated and I knew that it happens but you’ve gotta understand. I mean just consider the years of history that happen afterwards. That was nearly 45 years ago in history for me! You can’t expect me to have remembered that And okay, I know about, so then what? What are we supposed to do about it? If we tell someone, the cops, anyone, they’ll think we’re threatening them. And even if we do something about this, and we manage to stop it, then are we just supposed to try to stop every single bad world event that we can? What happens then?” She finds herself out of breath as her words stumble to a stop and breathes in sharply.

“I-,” Elliott opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again. “Look, I know you’re not a bad person, or a spy or anything like that, but you can’t expect me to not be a little skeptical at the moment!”

The agent sighs. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry, But it happens, and it’s not our fault. As bad as it sounds it’s a known historical event that just happens. I know what you’re thinking, but neither I nor that guy and his family are involved in it. It happened before I was born and sent back here, and it looks like it’s going to happen again now. As for the footage, I have no idea how he got that but again, none of us are involved.”

Elliott, still looking conflicted, though less so than moments before, sighs before taking a seat, dropping his head in his hands. “I-” He swallows before looking back up. “I believe you. You’ve been here for what, three years now, and you know how much I know too. You could have killed me for knowing any time. I just. It’s just a big shock.”

“Of course,” she replies immediately. “Of course, I know this is just ridiculous to hear. But I’m on your side here, and once that kid gets back we’ll ask him everything.” Elliott nods wordlessly. “Come one, I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

*

It’s half an hour later when the sound of the front door of the shop opening catches their attention. Not a minute later there’s footsteps coming up the stairs and the agent heads over to check on who’s come. She’s unsurprised to see the boy, next to him a tall man with long, scraggly hair and an unkept beard (she assumes this is Diego, the escaped felon), but the sight of the next person her eyes land on makes her stop dead in her tracks. Lila.

Surprise flits across the agent’s face for only a split second before she schools her expression back into one of neutrality, maybe mild confusion. Lila, who looks considerably older since she’d last seen her, (nearly ten years older if she had to guess) looks unsurprised as well, and doesn’t say anything to her, though she does give her a cursory look

“Who’s this, five?” The man she figures is Diego asks. She scowls.

“Well I’m not sure how good your eyesight is but even then anyone can tell that I’m clearly not five. I’m twenty one, the same as what I’m going to assume your IQ is.”

While Diego looks annoyed, Lila bursts out a laugh and automatically holds up a hand for a high-five. The agent smiles softly and slaps her hand, hoping the gesture didn’t look as familiar as it felt.

The boy gives her an amused look, shaking his head before he says, “Five would be me. Though you’re right about my brother being less than intelligent.” The boy, Five (which, the agent thinks, is a pretty weird name), pointedly ignores Diego’s hey! Of protest. “And come to think of it, you still haven’t introduced yourself either.” He gives her an expectant look.

“Alright then, if you’re Five, you can call me Apeiron.” The smug feeling only lasts a second before Five, without missing a beat, replies.

“Huh. Well, while I can appreciate the use of ancient Greek, the language itself is actually derived from Sanskrit. If you want a truer version of Apeiron, I’d recommend Ananta.” He gives her an infuriatingly smarmy grin.

“From Final Fantasy?” Diego cuts in, confused.

“Final what?” Asks Elliott, then frowns. “Actually never mind, that’s not important. What is important, is just what the hell exactly it is that we saw on that footage and why you had it.”