Word count: 1600
Warnings: Knives, death threats, nothing too bad here.
A/n: @crayjai / @muryjain had the wicked idea for a part two for this story. I think you could probably read this as a one shot, but it’d maybe make a little more sense if you read this one first. :) Also, go follow @crayjai! They’re awesome :P Feedback is greatly appreciated xo
Summary: Y/n was forced to fake her death and leave her old life behind for the sake of the Commission. Everything was going fine, until she saw him and everything changed.
He was the last person you expected to see here. In fact, you never expected to see him again. But here he was with a mop of long hair and retro clothes, a huge change from the all-black wearing, clean-shaven man you left behind, but there was no mistaking that this was the boy who you were forced to leave.
Your hands were gripping the small table you sat at, how in the hell was he here? In this timeline? How was that even possible? You watched as he ran down the opposite end of the street after the woman you had been watching; your mother. You swore silently under your breath, quickly shoved your sun-glasses back onto your nose and looped your bag over your head. Maybe this was your fault to begin with. You weren’t supposed to be trying to find your mother, the commission had made that very clear. And it was an accident that you even stumbled across her. But now that you had, it was becoming difficult to stop ‘accidentally’ crossing paths with her. She looked nearly exactly like you did. It was like watching a mirror and you could see why everyone used to say ‘you’re so much like your mother was’ because you really were.
You left the table and hurried after them, planning a route in your head so you wouldn’t be seen by-
“What the fuck are you doing here”
“Jesus! Christ!” you jumped back, instinctively holding your hands out in front of you clenched as fists and after a second of realisation, … “Five?!” you yelled
“Shut up!” he hissed. The little boy had jumped out of nowhere. A ‘poomff’ sound and then his angry little face staring into yours.
You stared at him dumbfounded for a moment before you realised how much trouble this would get you in.
“You need to leave” you stared at him. You and he had never gotten close in the short period of time he was back from the future before you were forced to fake your death. You had no doubt in your mind Five knew you worked for the commission, but you weren’t about to spell it out for him.
“No, you need to leave” he warned, sounding dangerous, You could tell he was thinking for Diego.
“I don’t have time for your games, Y/n. you broke him, don’t go messing everything up again. I need him to work with me, and you’ll only get in the way, so I won’t say it again but, get lost, y/l/n.”
“Watch it, Five. You don’t wanna cross me”
“Oh trust me, I know” he whispered as he flicked his wrist, flashing a watch in his view and with that he threw a threatening glare and ran off after his brother.
“We need to send you back”
“What do you mean… ‘send me back’ this is the only place I’ve ever been!”
You were angry. You weren’t supposed to be here. You had called it quits and said your goodbyes long ago. The Commission was doing fine without you, so now, after they’d smuggled you into the back seat of their very stalker-ish car, you were mightily pissed off.
“I have a life, you will not mess this up for me like you’ve done everything else”
The man stared back at you, none of this mattered to him. He was just the messenger boy, but you knew all too well that there would be multiple microphones planted inside the backseat.
“Not my problem, girly. Unless you want your brains splattered over these seats, I suggest you shut up and listen” he glared back. His breath stank. He was gritty looking and intimidating. You wondered how he was even involved with the Commission.
“Good, now. Dallas, 1963-”
“Nineteen fucking sixty-three?!” you exploded. He cocked his gun and pointed at your head. You knew he wouldn’t warn you a third time.
“1963. The Handler needs the President alive”
“You mean Kennedy?”
“You bet ya”
“Fine, I should be gone… What? A month?”
“Commission has decided you’ll need to stay indefinitely.”
The words rang in your ears.
“No… absolutely not! Shoot me dead and find someone else!”
“Sorry, girly, you’re going whether you want to or not.”
Elliot’s apartment was creepy alone. Diego sat at the kitchen table, nicking at the edge of it with his thumb. All his weird machines beeping and buzzing, it was giving him a headache. Harley’s number sat staring at him from the other side. There was no way he was going to call her. But the idea was tempting nonetheless. He was replaying the moment you first kissed. It was the strangest, most perfect, most wonderful time to have a first kiss, but that was how Y/n did everything. In the strangest, perfectly wonderful way possible.
He was driving, or maybe she was… but at one point along the highway, in the middle of Hanson’s MMMBop, she leant over and kissed him until the car swayed and another honked at them.
He kicked himself for not remembering if he was driving or not. One of the best moments in his life, and he couldn’t remember the entirety of it.
Suddenly, he heard something creak.
And it wasn’t those stupid machines. Someone else was in the apartment.
“Luther?… Klaus?” Diego pushed himself out of the chair and walked to the stairs, “Five? You back?” no reply.
He tentatively made his way down the stairs, he was sure that was where the noise came from when he heard the chair legs skid upstairs.
“Shit…” he uttered, turning and running up the stairs again.
The chair was now facing the other way, accidentally knocked on the way out. But the front door was left wide open, outside in the hallway, he could’ve given up so easily and gone back inside. Nothing was stolen, at least nothing important, and he didn’t really give a damn… except he felt like he should. And he could feel somebody watching him.
He turned in a circle and looked up and down the stairwell before-
“Hey!” he yelled as someone dashed past him in an attempt to escape. But he kicked out a foot and tripped them down the corridor. “Alright, now what the fuck do you wan-”
He froze on top of you.
His eyes wide, his mouth open, his knee heavily sinking into your hip in an effort to pin you still.
Five was right. Goddamit. You knew this would happen, but you’d been so careful around not being seen by your mother, you figured this would be fine too. You should have known better. You should have known him.
His hair dangled in front of his eyes, you doubted he could even see you well. His breathing was fast, but he still crouched, dumbfounded over your body. You didn’t know what to say… ‘oh hey! By the way, sorry I broke your heart, faked my death and moved to a different timeline’’
No. definitely not.
So a “Hey, Diego” would have to settle.
At the sound of your voice, he scrambled off you quicker than you could blink. He backtracked until he was standing in the doorway of the apartment. You moved slowly off the ground as if he were a creature you could scare away.
“What… wait, no! Who the hell are you?!” he yelled, jabbing a finger toward you.
This was not good.
“I… It’s me?”
“Nope, nuh-uh. Sorry lady. I don’t know who you’re tryna impress here but it’s not funny.”
“Diego! Lemme explain-”
“Stop it! Stop saying my name..”
You bit your lip and back up a little. This was bad. Very bad. How could you do this to him?!
He stared at you for what seemed like forever. No words seemed to work for either of you.
An ‘I’m sorry’ would never be enough. You would never be forgiven for this. He’d never want you back. Not after this. This was torture. For you and him both.
His breathing slowed, but you eyed his fingers hooking around a knife.
Him and his stupid knives!
“Woah… okay… I get it, you’re upset. Obviously! I’m a terrible human being and I know you’ll never forgive me… But Diego, Please! It’s me!” you panicked as he closed in on you and the wall. He held the knife between him and your stomach, pressing hard enough so you could feel it pierce. “Diego!”
“Hey! No, okay. You can tell whoever the fuck you’re working for that this” he waved the knife in front of your eyes, “Stops now. My girlfriend died in my arms… she died and left me and you’re not fooling anybody!” he was close enough you could see his eyes were teary and his bottom lip quivering. You breathed in deeply, he still smelled the same, even in 1963.
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this close to him. Your arms seemed to ache and your stomach felt hollow. All you wanted was to curl up against him.
But he didn’t want that, you didn’t know what to say. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look dangerous. He just looked so confused and you could tell he was collapsing on himself.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. Dieg- I’ll leave” you whispered, gasping in a breath, hoping to God the tears in your own eyes wouldn’t spill over.
“She died…” he repeated, searching your eyes for an answer. But it was one you didn’t know how to give him. He let in a shuddering breath and you heard the knife clatter to the ground, his shoulders hunched insecurely, “Who are you?”
You sighed, gave a small smile and tried to tense against your now rolling tears, “I had to fake it, Diego. Otherwise, they would have killed us all.”