#m; five

“Don’t ask me for my ID again, unless you want a kick in the ass,” Five threatened, taking a deep gulp of his fifth margarita. He had been here for a while, just watching the crowd and getting increasingly volatile towards all the people giving the kid shitty looks.

He gritted his teeth as Amber stepped forward and ran a hand across the cut, healing it. With a huff, he mumbled, “Thanks--not that I was dying or anything.” He sighed and settled onto the stairs, feeling unusually down on himself despite how mild the injury was.

Yet the questions she asked weigh heavy on him. He kept his voice low as well, understanding that they never knew when someone might be nearby. As a given, the commission owned their lives, every moment of them, because time was a precious resource. “I’m not sure. I suppose that’s somewhere in the fine print of the contracts,” he admitted. His throat began to close, going dry the more he thought about it. “Look, no matter what, we won’t give in.” He took a step closer and grabbed her hand. “They shouldn’t have this much control over us. We’ll run if it comes to that. I promise.”

Five had taken off his jacket at his lone table littered with empty glasses. He leaned back with an arm draped across the chair and gulped down the glass of whiskey still in his hand. “Mhm--sure. Consider this, I’m going out the way I survived the apocalypse, hammered.” If they made it to the morning, he’d simply start again.

Five shook his head. He had plenty on his plate between his siblings and his nascent interest in time travel. “Not really, no.” He took a bite out of a strip of bacon. “Maybe you’re just hungry--did you get enough sleep last night?”

Five held out a cup of coffee to her with a judgmental glower. “Really? Careful, or I’m going to be just as tempted to throw you an intervention as I am Klaus,” he admonished her. “Caffeine is my drug of choice and the only drug that makes sense this early in the morning.”