#making breakfast

Though they didn’t talk about it, Five had been in bad shape when they had arrived home. Diego wondered just how much Five remembered of that time, or ever thought about how close he might have been to not making it home at all. Between the abuse of his powers and the further abuse in Reginald’s dungeon, Five had emerged with the constitution and complaints of an old man, despite his previously healthy-ish teenage body. 

But that didn’t mean they had to talk about it. Just like they didn’t talk about how Diego’s broken nose was healing a little crookedly, or that he would carry an additional facial scar as a permanent reminder of his fight with Reginald. 

But today, things seemed to be looking brighter for both of them. Diego was pleased to see Five was standing squarely, if a bit stiffly, and most of the visible bruising had faded to pale shadows on his face and neck.

His assessment done, Diego returned his attention to the egg pan. Just in time too, as Lila didn't like her yolks runny (a preference that Diego thought bordered on the verge of obscene) but didn't like them hard either. 

Diego was pretty sure that she had made up the last preference just to be petty. Eggs should have a nice jiggle, like your ass in a nice pair of pants she had complained the last time he had overcooked them. 

“So what are you making?” Five asked, his tone a too-forced casual.

“Eggs,” Diego answered noncommittally, continuing to survey the eggs’ progress. He had heard from the others that Five was attempting small talk this week, and didn’t want to cut him off, but also wanted to avoid another reaming out from Lila.

“Hm,” Five said, and Diego could hear the frown in his voice. “Luther said you ate your eggs raw.”

“Luther’s a dumbass,” Diego retorted. 

They fell into silence again. 

He wasn't avoiding talking to Five, Diego kept telling himself as he used the spatula to pry up the eggs. 

“That wasn’t a no,” Five pointed out. “So why are you cooking them?”

Diego felt his lips pull up into a small, tight smile, not quite a grimace, but certainly not an expression that reached his eyes. “These are for Lila,” he explained, carefully maneuvering the perfectly cooked eggs out of the pan and onto a ceramic plate. 

“Oh,” Five said. “I see.”

Silence.

Diego felt a pang of guilt, sighed, then took pity on his brother still awkwardly standing in the doorway and waved him towards the table. “Sit down, Five. I'll make you some too. How do you like yours?”

“Not raw,” Five said dryly. 

As he wiped out the pan, Diego turned to Five and raised an eyebrow. “Come on, man. I already get enough shit from Lila.” 

Diego watched Five avoid his eyes, looking around the kitchen as if the answer would be found on one of the glass cabinets. 

“Over easy?” Five finally said. 

The way it was said, Diego was instantly certain that Five had picked a style at random. He felt a pang of frustration but kept his face carefully neutral. “Over easy,” he confirmed. Then, “You sure?”

As the words left his mouth, Diego remembered that Grace had always made scrambled eggs, so it was more than possible that Five had never been asked how he liked his eggs before. 

The way Five's lips suddenly set and his jaw tightened confirmed to Diego that he was right. 

“Look, it's not a big deal,” Diego backtracked. He turned back towards the stove, and added more butter to the pan. “Over easy it is.” 

A sudden jolt of panic hit Diego as he saw the plate of steaming eggs cooling next to the stove. “Hey, Five, you mind taking these up to Lila first?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Five said. 

Once Five departed, Diego shook his head to clear his thoughts. He cracked six eggs into the browning butter in the pan. He looked at them, looked back at the package, frowned, then grabbed four more eggs and added them to the pan. 

Five was healing nicely, Diego mused, mentally checking through the list of Five’s injuries. He was on his way back to normal. But Diego also was very well aware that normal for Five Hargreeves wasn't something that he, anyone really, was familiar with. And would normal even be possible for a fifty-eight year old man stuck in a teenager’s body? Diego became again aware of the anxious knot that hadn’t left the pit of his stomach since they had found Five in Reginald’s basement. He knew he was driving Five, himself, hell everyone, nuts with anxiety. 

But he couldn't stop himself. 

Besides, Five had always driven Diego crazy: as a kid due to his overly competitive nature, and now, as an agent of chaos disrupting their lives. 

Five said it himself, he’s the four freakin’ horsemen, Diego recalled. And he was viscerally aware, more than the others, of the death that had followed in Five’s wake. 

Griddys. Patch. Kennedy. Dad (twice). 

How many countless others? 

Diego felt the knot twist in his stomach. He knew it was wrong, but it was hard not to blame Five for the destruction that they had all experienced. The chaos that seemed to follow him like a shadow. 

And Diego did feel a tiny bit justified being angry at Five’s antics. The killing sprees. Lying about the killing sprees. Normal people don’t act like that, Diego told himself. But he knew that didn’t justify blaming Five for everything else. 

Diego sighed and jiggled the eggs in the pan. What a fucked up family we are. But not so deep down Diego knew that he loved his fucked up family, and would hold onto them as long as he could. 

Even Five. 

And so Diego was doing what he could to take care of Five. Even though he knew it made him annoying as shit to himself and everyone else. 

Five came back into the kitchen just as Diego’s ruminations and the eggs were done. Diego shook his head to clear it, then divided the copious pile of eggs onto two plates. 

“Lila said ‘keep trying’, then some disgusting stuff that I’m not going to repeat,” Five smirked. 

Diego growled as he maneuvered the plates of eggs onto the table and went to grab forks. 

Five maneuvered himself into one of the chairs at the table. Interestingly, as he sat, Diego saw him lay a small package on the table. But he didn’t say anything about it, so Diego ignored it for now and simply slid a fork and a plate of eggs over to Five. 

“Goddamn it,” Diego muttered, clattering his own plate down on the table and taking a seat. “I've been making that woman eggs for weeks now and….She can make her own damn eggs next time.” Reaching for the salt and pepper shakers, he saw Five frowning at his plate. 

“Something wrong?” Diego asked, pepper shaker in hand. 

When Five ignored him, he kept talking. “Hey, look, Lila’s a limey idiot. These are good eggs.”

Five still said nothing. Diego continued adding his condiments, then shoveled a perfectly cooked egg into his mouth. They were good eggs. 

Five was still sitting motionless, now staring through the plate of eggs more than at it. 

“Something wrong?” Diego asked again, a new sense of unease limiting his enjoyment of the deliciously runny yolk. 

Five looked up, as if finally noticing Diego. He blinked, then shook his head. “No, I—nevermind.” He looked around the room again, as if seeing it for the first time. “Last time I was in here I, uh, used the stove as a bomb. It was—” he picked up his fork and stabbed at an egg. “—more kinetic than I expected.” 

Diego remembered witnessing the explosion from down the block. At the time, it had certainly been one hell of a distraction, and had given the Umbrellas the perfect cover to sneak into the Academy. “Well, we can’t all be perfect,” he scoffed. “Not even you.” 

Five’s face twisted. 

Immediately, Diego regretted the words. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Five’s mouth twitched again, but he said nothing. 

They ate in silence for a minute. “Lila’s wrong,” Five finally proclaimed through the last bite of eggs. 

“Come again?” Diego asked. 

“You do make good eggs.” 

“Uh,” Diego began, trying to hide his surprise. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He couldn't remember the last compliment he had gotten from Five. Hell, he couldn't remember ever getting a compliment from Five. 

Five reached down and slid the small package across the table to “Here. I got, well,” he amended. “I found something for you.”

Diego reached for the package. It was a small object, wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper. He unwrapped it carefully, feeling Five’s eyes watch him the entire time. 

When it was open, Diego placed the object on the table and simply stared at it. Then he looked up and stared at Five quizzically. 

“I thought,” Five began haltingly, “that you’d want to have it. A memento. To remind us that he’s finally gone for good.”

Diego looked down again at Reginald’s monocle. It somehow seemed to be staring back at him, which was creepy, so Diego palmed it, squeezing his hand around the glass and metal. It was cold, colder than Diego would have expected. “Where did you find this?” he demanded. 

Five shrugged and looked embarrassed. “There’s a secret compartment under dads liquor shelf. I saw it in the, uh, Sparrow Timeline. Thought it might be here, too.” 

“I…” Diego picked up the monocle and dangled it from his fingers, frowning at it. “Five, I threw this monocle into the river after Dad died.”

Five blinked, looked uncomfortable for a moment, then shrugged it off. “Reginald probably had a spare.” 

Diego twisted the monocle between his fingers and considered the idea. 

“Either that or we’re in a different timeline.”

At those words, Diego looked up sharply.

“I’m kidding, Diego,” Five said with a hint of a smile. Then, the smile transformed into a concentrated frown. “Well, maybe…the temporal math…hmm, it's not impossible…”

As Five rambled, Diego inspected the monocle. It was still cold, and he thought it was very odd that it hadn’t picked up any body heat from his hand. In fact, Diego realized that he now felt a chill in his fingers, as if something was draining the heat out of them.

On a whim, he put the monocle up to his eye and looked through it.

Immediately the world shifted and Diego’s stomach lurched. He squinted through the glass and panned around the room, frowning at seeing what had just been formerly functional kitchen appliances replaced by broken equipment and debris.

But when he looked up from the monocle, the image was gone.

He turned to Five, intending to interrupt his incoherent monologue to point out what he just saw. Yet the words died on his lips when Diego caught a glimpse of Five through the monocle’s glass. 

Where Five was sitting, Diego saw an old man with weathered cheeks and a scraggly beard. Diego blinked, and the image shifted to that of another stranger, another old man, this one impeccably dressed in a vintage suit. A pistol was expertly laid out on the table in front of him. 

Diego blinked again, and other versions of Five appeared through the monocle:

Five as a young adult, wearing a ripped and ratty version of Dad's hunting outfit, Diego’s own knife harness strapped to his gaunt frame. 

Five, still young and skinny, in a dirtier version of the Academy uniform. 

Then, the scene changed slightly and the uniform was clean, but blood spattered. 

The perspective warped dizzyingly, and suddenly this version of Five stood over Diego clutching an axe, his face contorted into a feral grin. Diego’s felt his heart palpitate as he looked up into Five’s eyes, glinting with madness, staring straight down into his own. 

Diego blinked rapidly, and the monocle responded with more visions. 

Five in suits and rags, his hands clutching weapons, briefcases, or unidentifiable objects. 

Five in a Sparrow Academy uniform, a black eye and a bloody lip complementing the ensemble.

At one point Diego could swear he saw a woman's face, with blond hair and a kind smile. But he blinked again, and the vision was gone.

Diego wasn't sure how long he was captured by the spell of the monocle, blinking through what seemed like an almost infinite number of portraits of Five.

“Diego? Diego?”

Suddenly Diego saw a familiar version of Five: Five as a child again, a young child who wore a frown too old for his face, his eyes pleading with Diego. 

With effort, Diego ripped the monocle away from his eye. For a moment, the world swam, then snapped back into focus.

“Diego?” Five said again, his voice tinged with impatience. “Are you okay?”

Diego stuffed the monocle into his pocket. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “I'm fine. Thanks for the present.” 

Five worked his jaw like he was going to say something, but Diego decided to quickly change the subject. “So, do you want to train sometime?”

The non-sequitur caught Five off guard and he raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, you’re almost healed,” Diego explained. “And I don't know what you did at the Commission…and I know you’re probably not at your peak, but…” he trailed off. “Look if I were you I'd be itching to get back in the gym,” Diego admitted. “And I started boxing again so…”

“Diego, are you asking me to fight you?” Five asked, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

Diego rolled his eyes. “I mean you don't have to spar with me or anything. Luther used to, but it's fine there's plenty of people at the gym. For someone of your age—”

The words dried up in Diego’s mouth as his memory superimposed the older versions of Five in his vision. Diego instinctively felt the monocle in his pocket. He could feel the coolness even through the cloth. “There's older…I mean younger…” Diego threw up his hands in frustration. “Fuck, I don't know how damn old you're supposed to be, Five!”

Five’s raised eyebrow went even higher, and the corner of his mouth twisted into wry amusement. He seemed to be relishing Diego's discomfort. He held the beat for a moment, then turned serious. “Sparring with you would be fine, Diego. I think….I think I'd enjoy that,” Five admitted. 

Before Diego could say anything, he continued. “I mean, as long as you don't mind your friends watching you get your ass handed to you by someone who looks like…” Five trailed off and gestured to his body. 

“Oh, I don't mind,” Diego said, leaning over the table and looking Five in the eye. He flashed him a ruthless smile. “Because, you see, that is never going to happen.”

Five stared back at him. For a moment, Diego could have sworn he saw that glint of madness flash in his eyes, and his adrenaline spiked.