Graceland Too
Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, Violence, and Drug Use (Not by Reader or Five)
A/N: This is inspired by Graceland Too by Phoebe Bridgers. The lyrics are italicized!
Summary: Five Hargreeves embarks on a mission with you, a Commission mystery.
Five Hargreeves had not been there when you arrived with scars on your skin and your lips in a thin line.
Although he hadn’t been there, he had heard all the stories.
You were a Commission daydream. You were hard as steel. Took orders without a second thought. No one ever broke through that stony exterior of yours, something the two of you had in common. But that didn’t stop the stories from getting around. That day you showed up scarred and cold, you had been running from something. Abusive family, violent parents, constantly cracked up or hungover. No food on the table, barely a warm sheet to cover you at night. You had been in and out of depression. In and out of your mind.
Then one night, things changed.
The night you decided you were no longer a danger to yourself or others.
You made up your mind that night, the night your parents didn’t show. You laced up your shoes, yelled down the hall of your crumbling apartment building. Nobody answered. So you walked outside without an excuse to stay. That night, as you stumbled through city streets, starving, thirsty, bruised, defeated… the Commission saved you.
You were everything they could’ve wanted. A clean shot of an assassin, a hardened soldier loyal to its infantry. You spoke little. Friends were out of the picture. Another thing, you and him had in common. But one thing was never doubted , that you could do anything you wanted to. One of the highest kill counts, most assignments completed, employee of the year.
A Commission daydream.
Your story was infamous. It was one Five Hargreeves resonated with, admired. After all, his family had never been the definition of functional but at least he had had people to call home. Your story ran through his head as he stood outside the Handler’s office listening to your voice, quiet but firm. Your voice never raised and he wondered how you did it. He was indulgent to his anger. It was the driving force behind every kill, every shot. But even as you argued, the Handler’s voice becoming increasingly frustrated, yours never raised, not a decibel.
The result of the argument over this particular assignment had ended in your favor. Not a shock, you could do whatever you wanted to do. A high-end assignment could easily be won in your favor. What was a shock was you approaching Five, paper in hand.
“Boss says I’ve got to have a partner for this one.” you state blankly, sliding the paper across the lunch table to him. “How about it, Hargreeves?”
He blinked, reading the paper, glancing up at you. Another thing Five knew about you, you could go home. The Commission had signed off on it, the works and all. But no, you stayed. Dedicated as ever before. The thought ran through his head, your eyes glared into his. You could go home, but you weren’t going to.
He didn’t know what prompted him to state a firm, “Sure”. Maybe it was the cold, blank stare in your eyes. Maybe it was the quite beautiful, stoic impression you had. Like the marble of a Greek statue, depicting some tragic tall tale. But whatever it was, it earned him a delicate smile. “Thanks.” you replied, leaving him wondering what on Earth he had gotten himself into.
——
Traveling with you, he learned you weren’t all you were made out to be.
Sure, the quiet, cold exterior was still there. But upon first glance, he noticed the slight care you put into things. The way you packed two mugs of coffee as opposed to just one. Not a word said but the action said enough. The way you meticulously packed each and every item you brought, making sure to extend the same courtesy to his belongings.
Small things really, but it said enough.
So you picked a direction, foot pressing down on the gas pedal of the 1977 Ford F-150 you had chosen out of a random parking lot. You were going 90 in Memphis, turning up the music. An old Van Morrison song, he could recognize the voice. It reminded him of his sister.
“Why so loud?” he ventured to ask.
Your eyes never left the road. “So thoughts don’t intrude.”
He blinked, not sure of what to say. You raised the coffee mug to your lips and he was once again reminded of the one you had brought for him. It raised a curious thought in his head. “Not an easy thing to just not think.” he remarked.
You glanced at him, almost as though you were taking him in. “I’ve managed.” you said plainly. A moment of silence went by. “Although, I will say Hargreeves you’re making it quite difficult to not think of anything with all your yapping.”
He chuckled, eyes peeled towards the rising sun. “Well what are you thinking about now that I’ve disturbed your peace of mind.”
Your lips turned up slightly, almost sadly although it was a smile. “Predictably, I wound up thinking of Elvis.” you chuckle softly. It was the first time he had heard you laugh. It was a nice sound, comforting almost. Somehow reminded him of home.
“Why Elvis?” he asked, a slight smile coming to his face.
You took one hand off the wheel, shrugging. “Mom always had it on the few times she was around.” you remarked. He noticed the way your lips curved as you spoke. The one small notation of emotion in your face, the one thing that gave you away. “Plus I wonder if he believes songs could come true.”
Five’s brows furrow. Your hand drums on the middle compartment of the truck. “Well, he spouts all this bullshit about love. Shit, he made a career off of it. But does the man actually believe in it? Love?”
“I don’t know.” he commented. “I mean I don’t think you have to believe in something to sing about it. There are thousands of others who wrote about it so I’m sure he had plenty of background to work with.”
You scoffed. “Well, then that would be plenty sad. I’m usually a cynic but I’d like to believe the man who wrote some of the most notable love songs the world’s known to have believed in it himself.”
“We’re in a world full of copycats and unoriginal imbeciles. The chances that Elvis believed in love songs is slim.”
At that you gave a laugh, a full bellied laugh. He looked up quizzically. Your face scrunched up as you did. The marble statue seemed to have melted into a beautiful glaze of colors. Five delighted in it. The fact that he had made your statue slightly crack and crumble. You had done the same to him, if he were being honest.
“And I thought I was the cynic.” you smirked, cheeks lifting ever so slightly. You sigh, looking at the sunrise with a sense of warmth. A nostalgic pull in your eyes. “All I’m saying is I’m asking for it if they do. Those love songs, I mean.”
Five nodded briefly, his eyes also glancing out at the sun.
“Have you ever loved someone like that?”
“No… have you?”
“No.”
The silence lay steady as you went ninety in Memphis.
——
The two of you stopped at a 7-Eleven, dead of night. The bright fluorescent lights blinked as you walked through, taking a grab at the edible things that stuck out to you. When the two of you arrived at the register, your hand moved to your pocket. A ten and a five folded up nicely. There you were again, doing the thing he got such a mental kick out of. He had come prepared but it hadn’t even occurred to you to ask him for money.
You handed the cash to the man at the register, the same stony expression on your face.
A beautiful thin line.
There you were, paying for his things. If it were anyone else, he would’ve rejected this action. He would’ve seen it as a one up, a power dynamic, a petty maneuver. But with you, he realized it seemed to be your nature. There was a gentle nurturing you hid beneath your surface.
Five desperately wanted to know more.
You sat at a shitty table, wobbly with faded seats. You bit into a burger, silence hanging in the air almost peacefully as it always seemed to do with you. He looked down at his coffee and bagel. “Why’d you take this?” he asked quietly. “I mean… this assignment.”
You blinked, eyes vacant and blank. It was as though you were conjuring an answer to that yourself. As if, you still didn’t know the answer to it yourself. He was slowly beginning to realize that maybe you didn’t know what you wanted.
Your composure slacked, putting down your burger. “Better than nothing.” you responded, taking a sip of coffee. “This is my job. Might as well take the interesting ones.”
The lights seemed to blink with the slow pace of his heart. He took a bite of his bagel. “What are you going to do… after this is all over?”
You frown, as though the next thing that you were going to say would make you sad. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
He took a quiet sip of his coffee. “Me neither.”
The silence lay peacefully thick once more.
You were a rebel without a clue.
——-
Traveling with you only made Five more enamored with your presence.
You were gentle. Quite the opposite of him, actually. Sure, both of you were statues, cracked and slightly damaged, depicting a long life of sorrow. But you had a gentle warmth beneath the surface which Five rejoiced in.
The truck was filled with music as you went along. Sometimes you talked, other times you didn’t. You were there though. Present, in the moment. You pulled him back to Earth when his head seemed to wander off. You were deep, intellectual, interesting.
All the little things you did only made him admire you more. The way you quietly filled the gas tank. The way you flipped the pages of your book when he drove. The cadence of your voice, the vocabulary you used. The sad peaceful look on your face after a clean shot, the way your finger rested on the trigger.
A peaceful kind of falling.
One night, the two of you stopped at a motel. The night was dark, the stars shining brightly over an Alabama sky. Two beds, a small television that played old reruns of fifties sitcoms. “This is oddly nostalgic.” you commented. “Reminds me of home.”
It was one of the rare times you talked of home. He smiled softly. “Reminds me of home too… Maybe we can make the most of it.”
That night, you spent what was left of your serotonin. The motel door lay wide open, the laugh track on the television muffled as you sat on the second floor balcony. Both your backs lay stiff against the brick wall.
Five looked over at you, and you were gorgeous.
You chewed on your cheek and stared at the moon. “Hargreeves, I’ve got a confession.”
He blinked, looking over at you. The moonlight seemed to illuminate your graceful features. “What’s that?’
“I know I lived through it, all that pain… I lived through it to get to this moment.”
“This mission?”
You nodded. “With you.”
Five paused, his breath seemed to hitch in his throat. You glanced over at him. “I’ve got to say… I kinda like you, Hargreeves.”
He didn’t know words could mean so much. They were simple, short, barely a sentence. But you had said them and he knew from even the brief conversations with you, that you said what you meant. His lips upturned slightly, not enough to give him away. “I kinda like you too.”
Silence ensued. Five had a handful of grapes in his hand. You ate a sleeve of saltines on the floor. No proof of anything, not much said. But what was said was enough. In that moment, Five knew: he would do anything you wanted to.
You didn’t demand much. Maybe that was how people realized they would do anything for someone. Because they wouldn’t demand something irrational for them? Maybe that’s what made the few irrational demands doable? He realized he would do anything for you.
Whatever you want.
You looked over at him, a slight smile. “I Love Lucy marathon?”
He couldn’t drag his eyes away from your face.
“Whatever you want.”
…
Whatever you want.
——
No tags except @olive-recs because i literally don’t know if any of my other mutuals are active 🕺
