Umbrella Academy fic: Hunger Pains (2/4)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
-o-
For a week, now -- more, really -- Allison has waited. She’s played the long game. Frankly, she’s done. She’s really, really done. Every instinct she has tells her to march down to the courthouse and demand to see the judge and ask him, right then and there, to assess her case.
This would likely get her arrested and further jeopardize her relationship with Claire, however. That -- and only that -- is the reason for her restraint in that matter.
That is also the reason why restraint no longer applies to any other part of her life at all.
So, when she wakes up and finds Five at the bar drinking coffee and reading the newspaper at 10 in the morning, she sits down next to him and throws caution to the wind.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” she asks.
“What do you think I’m having?” Five returns, not looking up from the local news.
“I think you’re drinking coffee instead of eating food -- again,” she says. “So I think we should go out.”
“And do what?” he asks, looking up at her now, quizzical.
“And not drink coffee,” she says flatly. “Pancakes, eggs, waffles, bacon. I don’t care. Eat oatmeal if it makes you happy. Dry cereal. You just need to eat.”
He’s not stupid, so he probably knows that this has been building for quite some time. He studies her now, a little quizzical, and is clearly measured in his response. “What if I told you I’m not hungry?”
“Then I’d say you’re a liar,” she returns with much less care. “And a moron. You’d be better at your equations if you ate a proper diet.”
At this, he scoffs. “My equations are more advanced than you could even understand.”
“Sure,” Allison says, and she shrugs. “That’s why you calculated your way into a 13 year old body. Super advanced.”
He reddens at that, and it’s clear that she’s tweak his pride. “Gee, now I really want to go out and spend time with you,” he says, putting the paper down. He pushes the cup of coffee away and gets to his feet. “Well played, Allison, but you don’t do stupid quite as violently as Diego or quite as endearingly as Klaus, so I’ll take a rain check.”
He offers her a mock salute and blinks clean out of the room.
Allison doesn’t follow.
She also doesn’t quit.
-o-
Five avoids her astudiously for the rest of the day, but she catches him unaware a few days later, just after noon. She’s prepared this time, and she waltzes into the library with two sub sandwiches that she’s just purchased.
Not her, technically. She had Luther pick them up, and she’s had Luther pick them up every day since her disastrous call with the lawyer. That’s something that’s going right at the moment -- her relationship with Luther. They’re cautious about it, quiet and tentative. He still apologizes when he wants to touch her, and they aren’t quite to the point where they’re openly showing affection. But they smile when they see each other, and in a world of messed up relationships, Allison is more than pleased to call that a win.
That said, Luther is more than happy to pick up sub sandwiches for everyone -- everyday.
And Allison feels more than comfortable pretending like it’s just a nice thing to do for the family.
Five, for his part, is just self centered enough not to notice any of this.
That is to say, the sub sandwich catches him totally off guard.
“Hey,” Allison says, like this is totally casual and totally normal as she slings the sub in front of him. “Luther picked up food. We got you something.”
Five stares at the sandwich like it might be a bomb. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
She shrugs, sitting down next to him and unwrapping her own like she hasn’t been planning this for days. “Well, we got you something. That’s what families do.”
The family card is always a good one to play with Five, who has so few sentimental attachments. If he hadn’t risked so much to come back to save them, it’d be easy to think he’s devoid of feeling. But he’s not, and Allison knows it.
The uncomfortable look on Five’s face is suggestive of the fact that he knows it, too.
“Luther bought it,” she says, heaping on the guilt factor. “But it was Klaus who knew what you liked. Or thought he did, anyway. Pastrami and rye. Little bit of mustard and onion.”
Five still stares at the sandwich like he has no concept of what she’s actually talking about. “I do like pastrami.”
“See?” Allison says. “There you go.”
He looks up at her, more uncomfortable than ever as she takes a large bite of her own sandwich.
“Everyone got one?” he asks, hesitating.
“Already done eating,” she says. “We would have waited, but we didn’t know where you were.”
Abruptly, he seems to come to some kind of decision. He shakes his head, pushing the sandwich away. “I’m good, thanks.”
“But Luther bought it,” Allison says. “And Klaus thought hard about what you’d like.”
Five knits his brows together. “You’re not playing fair, Allison. This whole thing, I know what you’re doing. You’re not playing fair.”
She looks back at him, calm and level. “And who says I’m playing, Five?”
The sandwich is still there when Five blinks out of the room, likely to get as far away as he possibly can.
That’s fine, Allison decides as she finishes her own sandwich. Because she think she’s closer than ever.
-o-
Not that Five makes it easy.
For the next several days, he’s literally nowhere to be found. In fact, he’s so distant that the others are starting to notice. He still shows up to talk to Vanya from time to time, but Diego starts complaining that he’s skipping out on training. Klaus keeps looking for him to go with him to AA meetings. Clearly, Five is avoiding them all -- and no one else knows why.
She’s trying to challenge Five’s relationship with food, not destroy his relationship with his family. It’s possible she needs to try a different tact.
It’s Luther who finally brings it to a head. “Hey,” he says, knocking on her door one night. “You have a minute?”
She grins. Despite everything -- and there is a lot of things -- it’s always good to see him. He can still make her smile when the rest of life has gone to shit. “For you? Sure.”
“If you’re busy--”
She pushes aside her phone where she’s been reading about eating disorders while switching tabs to family law websites. “No, no,” she says. “Not busy.”
In a self deprecating way, he ducks inside the room. “Actually, I, uh, wanted to talk to you,” he says, and he clears his throat. “Have you heard about Claire yet?”
“No, not yet,” she says, not hiding her disappointment. “Still waiting, I guess. They keep telling me it’s normal--”
“But hard,” Luther says sympathetically. “I think it’s crazy that they’d keep you from her. You are her mother.”
“And I made some bad choices,” she says.
“We all have,” he says.
She beckons him over to sit down on the bed next to her. “That doesn’t mean they’re all the same,” she says, smiling as he sits down and the bed creaks loudly. “I know I have to do this relationship right. I mean, relationships are worth doing right, I think.”
A blush rises predictably in his cheeks.
She reaches out and squeezes his hand. “It’s just a shame that not all relationships come so naturally.”
“Are you kidding?” Luther says. “Claire adores you.”
“If she even remembers me by this point,” Allison says. “And it’s not just Claire. It’s all of us here, at the Academy, being a family again. Trying to be sisters with Vanya. Trying not to punch Diego in the throat. And Five -- don’t even get me started with Five.”
Luther frowns a little. “What’s wrong with Five?”
She scoffs before she realizes that it may not be obvious to everyone. “Well, just that he’s acting weird.”
“Sure,” Luther says. “But he’s Five. He always acts weird.”
Allison has to concede that point. “Sure, but now that we’ve saved the world, you’d think he’d start to normalize a little more, don’t you?”
Luther appears to consider this point quite seriously. “I guess I haven’t thought about it,” he admits. “I mean, he was gone for so long that I’m not sure what really is normal for him. And given the life he’s lived, what would normal even look like?”
“That’s the thing, though,” Allison says. “He should be adapting to a new kind of normal. He’s not exactly fitting in with the rest of us very well.”
This is a point that Luther won’t argue, but he softly points out the reality. “This is new to all of us, though. It’s not like any of us are doing perfect.”
That’s an understatement, and they both know it. There have been more than a few hiccups as the Hargreeves become a family again, and some have been more pressing than others. Allison knows she’s been preoccupied with Five for the last few weeks, but she hasn’t been totally oblivious. She knows that Diego is restless. She knows that Klaus is struggling with sobriety. She knows that Vanya is terrified of her powers. Even Luther, who is so strong for all of them, is nearly crippled by his self doubt.
They’re all a mess.
And they all know it.
All of them except Five. “But we all know what we need to work on,” she says. “And we don’t close ourselves out -- if anything, we’re gravitating toward each other naturally. Even you and Diego, who never get along, are doing pretty well right now.”
Luther makes a little face. “I still want to throttle him sometimes.”
She chuckles. “You and everyone else. It’s Diego. But this isn’t about Diego.”
Earnestly, Luther frowns deeper. “Then what is it about?”
“About Five,” she says, because the truth is easy with Luther. It always had been; that’s one of the many reasons why she’d left him behind. He made it too hard to be a liar. “And his relationship with...I don’t know. The real world, maybe?”
Luther is beautiful in that he doesn’t doubt her. But they’re equals, the two of them. He adores her, but he’s not blinded by her. There is give and take, and it’s so damn refreshing after years with Patrick. “But he gave up Delores. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” she says. “But what did he trade her for? All he does since we got back is hide in spare rooms, scribbling on the walls.”
“Well, he does like math--”
“This isn’t about a hobby,” Allison says, because she knows Luther is too prone to giving people the benefit of the doubt. “You can like math without becoming a recluse -- much less reducing yourself to antisocial vandalism.”
This is far more blunt than Luther would ever be, and he flinches instinctively even if he clearly has no grounds -- much less desire -- to argue. Still, for Luther, family is everything. Even when they’re all morons. “I guess,” he says, but he’s clearly hedging. “But he’s always been a little different from the rest of us.”
She knows this is true -- it’s almost comically true, for all of them, really -- but that’s why it’s not the point. It’s a given, something that doesn’t need to be discussed. She shakes her head, keeping to the actual point. “But what is he trying to figure out exactly? What probabilities is he looking at? What equation is he trying to solve?”
This is plainly a question that hasn’t even occurred to Luther. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Have you asked him?”
Luther has always been good at seeing the simple answers, the straightforward solutions. He’s always been the type to see a problem and fix it, no nuances involved. The problem with that is that Five is all nuances. He’s idiosyncracies and complications. There’s nothing simple or straightforward about him. “So it doesn’t worry you?” she asks. “I mean, we hardly see him some days. He doesn’t even come down for meals most of the time.”
“Well,” Luther says with a little scoff. “It’s not like any of us come down for meals or something. I mean, this isn’t like with Dad. Dinner isn’t every night at 5:30. There’s no schedule. There’s no requirements. We get to be fully independent people who choose to be under the same roof.”
Allison levels her stare at him. “And we also happen to be forming an elite crime fighting unit,” she reminds him.
At this, he has the decency to be chagrined. The blush rises to his ears. “I’m just saying that everyone gets to be who they are. I mean, I was wrong before, when I tried to lock up Vanya because I forgot that. I don’t plan on making that same mistake.”
That’s a noble thing, and Allison doesn’t doubt his sincerity. Luther is very teachable, and the lessons he learns, he learns well. She knows how hard he’s worked to put the best of the Umbrella Academy back together while leaving out the parts that didn’t work. He’s been rebuilding the team by rebuilding their trust, sibling by sibling.
Allison can’t underestimate that. She won’t discredit it.
But she also recognizes that there’s a fine line involved. Luther’s assumption is that the siblings are best off with independent choices. Her worry is that Five’s not quite ready to be making those choices for himself. She knows she has to be careful -- she knows what it means to take choices from someone -- but there has to be a way to help them make the right choices.
There has to be.
“So you’re saying it’s okay if he doesn’t eat?” she asks. “As long as it’s his choice.”
Luther sighs a little. “You said it yourself, we hardly see him some days. We don’t know for sure he’s not eating.”
It’s a logical take on things that assumes that Allison hasn’t been subvertly tracking their smallest siblings for nearly two weeks now.
Luther notices her hesitation. He leans down, catching her reluctant gaze again. “Wait, you do know he’s not eating.”
There’s no reason to deny it -- not with Luther, at any rate. Allison is committed to the truth now. Always the truth.
And always with Luther.
“I’ve been watching him, okay?” she admits. “I mean, I’ve been worried. I can’t help it.”
Luther blinks a few times, but there’s no hint of accusation. “Okay,” he says, rolling with this new information. “And?”
She breathes, almost like she’s forgotten to for the last several minutes. She forgets sometimes, what it’s like to be with Luther. To be with someone who she trusts so completely, who trusts her. Between them, there’s no pretense. He’s not an overgrown ape, and she’s not a lying bitch. They’re well paired, the two of them. If by nothing other than the simple choice they’ve always made to be together, to be real.
“And,” she says, the words coming out in a rush. “He eats -- sometimes. But not regularly, and it’s not a balanced diet by any stretch of the imagination. What he’s doing -- his eating habits, his whole relationship with food -- it’s not healthy. Not physically and not emotionally.”
Luther’s thick brows are drawn together. “So it’s a problem, then.”
“Luther, of course it’s a problem,” she says. She flits her hand through the air. “I mean, maybe some of it is a learned behavior, something from the trauma of being in the apocalypse. It could be representative of his failure to cope with his second life as a 13 year old boy. I don’t know. Five’s the smartest of us all, but he’s also a moron. He can save all our asses, but I’m not convinced that he has any idea how to save himself sometimes. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s in danger.”
“Look, if you’re worried, then just make it a thing,” Luther says. “Prep the meals. Summon the family. Like I said before, we can make it a making, something official. Five has a sense of that kind of thing. He’ll come.”
Allison doesn’t bother to hide her skepticism. “Are you sure?”
He pats her on the arm. “Of course I am,” he says. “But this is an awful lot of talking about Five. And food. Speaking of -- are you hungry?”
She laughs outright, even though she knows Luther’s not making a joke. That’s what makes it funny.
That’s what makes it endearing. “Yeah,” she says, getting to her feet and pulling him alongside. “I could eat.”
Because Allison has a pretty good relationship with food.
She has an even better relationship with Luther.
-o-
Allison eats that night. She eats and she laughs and she spends time. She doesn’t think about Five. She doesn’t think about his diet or his emotional trauma. For the night, Allison focuses on a different relationship.
Tomorrow, after all, she knows it’ll be time to get back to work.
-o-
She starts early the next day. Luther and Diego are updating the security system, so she enlists Klaus and Vanya to start with instead. Vanya loves the idea of a family dinner -- another tradition she wants to redefine -- and Klaus likes the idea of something with a bit of flair, so he’s on board. Plus, he knows that Diego will recruit him for security testing if he isn’t otherwise preoccupied, so he’s happy to help where it’s easiest.
Vanya helps develop the menu, and then Allison takes Klaus to the store while Vanya starts the preparations. They have to consult Mom several times with basic cooking questions, and she offers to do the job for them, but Allison insists. It has to be them.
Grocery shopping takes longer than she expects -- Klaus is very easily distracted -- but when they get back just after lunch, things are in full swing. In the mid-afternoon, Luther and Diego stop in, and she recruits them, too. Rather, she recruits Luther and Diego joins reluctantly when he realizes that he has no other choice. Even Ben gets involved, reading out the recipes while the motley group of siblings does its best not to burn the house down.
And the thing is, it works. It comes together. They’re capable superheroes some of the time, they’re a barely functional family occasionally, but today they’re damn good in the kitchen.
As the dinner hour approaches, Allison pulls Vanya aside for one last task.
The most important task.
“Sure, I can see if Five wants to come,” Vanya says amiably.
Allison shakes her head so there can be no confusion. “No, don’t see if he wants to come,” she says. “Tell him that he’s going to come. Tell him to come now.”
Vanya looks a little confused despite Allison’s clarity. “But what if he doesn’t want to?”
“He probably doesn’t,” she says. “That’s why you’re not giving him the choice.”
Vanya simply looks more vexed.
“This is a family thing,” Allison says. “Therefore, as part of the family, the family he broke time and space to save, he has to come.”
“I’m not sure he’ll buy into that argument,” Vanya admits.
“From you?” Allison asks with a knowing smile. “I’m pretty sure he would.”
Vanya’s confusion only deepens, like she doesn’t know that she’s Five’s favorite -- that she’s always been his favorite. The one he likes the most, the one he trusts the most. It’s not a fair move, using Five’s most successful relationship to address one of his weakest -- but Allison doesn’t give a shit about being fair.
“I don’t -- understand,” Vanya stutters.
Allison smiles. “It’ll work,” she promises. “Trust me.”
-o-
The table is set; the family is gathered.
Vanya comes down the stairs, Five slinking a step behind her. He eyes the spread skeptically, gaze lingering on Allison with distrust.
“Come on,” Vanya beckons as she goes to her spot on the end of the table. “You have to try to pasta -- we tweaked the recipe, and I think it turned out fantastic.”
“Uh, yeah, but not as good as my biscuits!” Klaus says. He lifts up a biscuits and waves it in the air, in what is probably a provocative gesture. “I made the best biscuits.”
“They were from a can, dude,” Diego grunts. “Unlike my mashed potatoes. I mean, usually I go for the chopping, but I mashed the hell out of those things.”
Five’s paced has slowed, and he watches as Vanya sits down. He edges closer to the table uncertainly.
“We were out of luck until Ben found that recipe for seasoned chicken,” Luther says. “I’m worried I got it a little too dry--”
“But the spices were dead on,” Ben finishes for him, grinning. Ben has his own table spot, and Klaus has already generously served him a helping that they all know he can’t eat. Ben, however, clearly appreciates the gesture.
They all do. Despite their differences, despite their conflicts, it’s a powerful thing when they come together. Powerful in a way their father may or may not have intended. Relationship was never the priority growing up, but it was the necessary unpinning of everything else they did.
Relationship.
Five sits down, pulling the chair out as it scrapes along the floor. He sits down like he’s almost forgotten what a dinner table is. He realizes that they’re looking at him, waiting for him. For his approval. Awkwardly, he picks up the napkins and clears his throat. “Well,” he says. “It looks like you put a lot of work into it.”
He looks around, his gaze moving haltingly from one sibling to the next. He stops at Allison.
“A lot of work,” he says. “So I guess we better dig in.”
The others take this invitation with a cheer, starting to pass the pasta and the potatoes. Klaus is on his second biscuit, and Luther piles three chicken breasts onto his plate.
Allison accepts a plate of corn on the cob. Across the table, Five accepts the basket with the biscuits and puts one onto his plate, eyes still locked on Allison.
They both know what this is, after all.
They both know what it means.
They both know it’s a fight now.
They just don’t know for sure who will win.
-o-
Dinner, by most accounts, goes really well. The food is actually very good with minimal exceptions. The conversation is vibrant and upbeat. They tell stories, they laugh at jokes, they are a family. They are the family they are meant to be.
Five stays for the dinner. He listens to the stories. He almost chuckles at the jokes. He’s there, part of this family.
But the one thing he doesn’t do?
Is eat his dinner.
He eats little bites here and there. He eats enough to tell Klaus he makes a good dinner roll and he offers some feedback to Luther about how to tell when meat is too well done. He eats the most of Vanya’s pasta, mostly when she’s looking at him, and he concedes that the potatoes are, indeed, quite well mashed.
Afterward, the others retire to the newly minted game room, which has has been updated with an actual TV and a video game system. Allison offers to stay behind and pick up the mess.
Five offers to help her.
They work together to clear the table in relative silence, and Allison is running the water while Five brings in the last of the dishes. He holds his own plate, still full with food, and he clears it into the trash, slowly and loudly for Allison to see.
“Thanks for dinner,” he says, and there’s a smile plastered over his face.
Allison watches the food fall, chunk by chunk, into the trash can. “I didn’t make it.”
“No,” he says, making sure to scrape all the potatoes clear. “But it was your idea.”
Allison kills the water as suds waft in the air. “So?”
“So,” Five says, bringing the plate around and offering it to Allison, empty. “Thank you for the thought.”
She accepts the plate unflinchingly. “Anytime.”
-o-
It takes a long time to clean up. It always does. Picking up the pieces, putting everything back together, that’s always the hardest part. The most intense work with the least reward. But it has to be done.
You have to believe it’s worth it.
Otherwise, what the hell would the point to any of this be.
-o-
After she’s done, she heads back out. She can hear the others, laughing in the game room. She drifts to the door and lingers there, watching as her siblings engage in a rousing game of Mario Kart. To her surprise, even Five is there. He’s made himself a drink, sipping it while he sits with his knees cross on the couch. It’s as happy as she’s seen him. He’s the only one who notices her, lifting his drink in a mock toast.
Needless to say, she doesn’t join them.
Failure makes some people angry. It makes some people try harder. It makes others bitter.
Allison doesn’t know what it makes her yet.
Tired, mostly.
Just really, really tired.
-o-
Back in her room, Allison gets into her pajamas and curls up on her bed. She checks her phone for messages, skipping through the heap she doesn’t care about. There are several from Patrick, and she’s cold and she’s lonely and she wants something tonight.
She texts him back, fingers shaking. I get it with the girlfriend. Not a big deal.
The reply is fast -- almost like he’s been waiting to hear from her. I’m so glad you understand.
Allison swallows, the taste of dinner still lingering in the back of her throat. We’re family whether we like it or not. Sometimes you have to compromise
This time, the reply is slower. Yeah.
She hesitates in her reply, blinking back tears she didn’t realize she was about to cry. Maybe I can call. Maybe I can talk to you. Maybe I can talk to Claire.
Her heart flutters as she hits send, and then it lodges in her throat. She feels like she can’t breathe, her chest is so tight.
The answer comes, slower than before. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.
She closes her eyes, and the tears slip down her cheeks. She puts the phone aside, turning it to silent. She draws her knees up, and tucks herself in close, breathing out through her nose as she stifles a sob.
Failure, as it turns out, makes her very tired, indeed.
-o-
The next morning, Allison feels like actual hell. Her stomach feels bloated from too much food, and her mouth is starchy from sleeping with her mouth open. Her breath is rancid, and her hair is rumpled. She doesn’t much care as she shuffles out of bed and slips on a robe. For once, she’ll concede that this is a morning when all she wants for breakfast is coffee.
It’s still early, and the rest of her siblings seem to be still asleep. She’s slept long and hard, but she’s never felt more tired. She makes it to the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and is surprised to find Five already sitting on the counter next to a running coffee pot.
He’s sipping from his mug.
There’s another one on the counter. He gestures to it with his head, and Allison picks it up, too tired to be disdainful. Instead, she takes a few sips, grateful for how strong it is, before sitting unceremoniously in one of the chairs at the table.
She’s content to leave it that today.
Five, however, has other plans. “So, what did you have planned for breakfast?” he asks.
She makes a face. “You actually want breakfast?”
“No,” he says. “But I figured you would offer. Waffles. Eggs. Something overly grandiose to impress me enough into eating with you.”
Allison rolls her eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “You’ve made it pretty clear what your intentions are.”
“Exactly,” Five says. “I’ve made it clear for weeks, and you keep ignoring me.”
“So, what, then?” Allison asks. “This is an ambush?”
“Yes,” Five says, plaintive. “This is an ambush because you’ve been engaging in covert warfare for weeks.”
It’s too early for this. It’s too late for this. It’s too everything for this. “It’s not covert warfare,” she says, and she’s been doing this too long to pretend otherwise now. “It’s just me being worried about you. You don’t eat right.”
“I eat fine,” Five says, his whole body stiffening as he chafes against the argument he’s set into motion. “And it’s none of your business if I don’t.”
“Of course it’s my business,” Allison says. “You’re my brother, Five. Family. I don’t want to see you hurting yourself.”
“I told you, I eat just fine,” Five says. “I’ve survived on way less for way longer, and I’m still alive.”
“That’s the problem,” Allison says. “Five, you’re still living like you’re in the apocalypse. There’s no reason to live on survival rations, skipping meals for days on end and then binging on the first thing you find. If you’re going to be a part of this family -- a part of the Umbrella Academy -- then you need to eat normal meals.”
He appears indignant, which is almost comically accentuated by the way he’s perched on the counter like a toddler. “Are you suggesting that I’m not capable of performing my duties?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Allison shoots back. “I’m telling you facts. Cold, hard data. Run the probabilities, okay? On whether or not it’s smart to eat erratically when there is ample access to food in front of you all the time.”
She’s using data and facts, but not in the clinical way she’d intended. She’s throwing them at him, couching them in emotion to make them weapons he doesn’t need to reason away. Just weapons he needs to deflect. “This is nothing more than your mothering instinct,” he says. “And it’s misplaced because you want to see Claire and you can’t--”
“Yeah? And what if it is?” she asks, the challenge rising in her voice.
He recoils, his face twisting up. “I’m not a child.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “You sure about that? Because you should look in the mirror.”
He glares at her. “Oh, shut up,” he mutters.
She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying.”
“And I’m saying stop.”
She doesn’t back down. Hell, she won’t back down. With Patrick, she has no grounds, but with Five? She doesn’t need grounds. Five’s her stupid ass little brother, and she’s going to treat him that way until he grows up and acts his age. If this is war, then Allison is going to win. “And I’m saying no.”
He hops down off the counter, stalking past her with a glare. “Enjoy your damn coffee.”
“I will,” she says. “And don’t worry -- lunch is on me!”
He’s gone in a flash of light.
Patrick thinks it’s a bad idea.
Five thinks it’s a bad idea.
Allison will take pleasure in showing both of them just how wrong they are.
-o-
If Five wants war, then Allison will wage war.
And she does.
In the kitchen, at every meal.
She makes food constantly, and she serves it to Five wherever he is. She takes hot meals to the attic. She carts three course meals to the library. She tracks him down and attacks him with unplanned snacks, unexpected desserts, and fresh selections of fruit and vegetables. Sometimes, she corners him into group meals, coercing him to eat with Vanya or Klaus or Diego, in which he’s too polite to say no.
When he tries to evade her, she employes desperate measures to find him. She works with Luther to learn about the security system, and she tracks Five’s movements throughout the day. She pays off Pogo and Mom, and they help her get him meals no matter where he tucks himself into the corners of the house. She has pizzas delivered; she gets carry out. She leaves Chinese takeout containers outside his door.
It’s a constant barrage of food, a coordinated and organized and relentless attack.
Five resists, of course. But she sees him salivate. She sees him try it. She notices when the containers are thrown out, not quite empty. He tries to hide it from her, throwing out his trash directly into the dumpster, but she gets Ben to help. Pretty soon, he has nowhere to hide.
There’s only food.
Five can’t avoid it, not forever.
Just like he can’t avoid himself.
-o-
It’s not for a lack of trying, however.
Allison is persistent, but Five is stubborn. He endures her advances better than she expects, and though he shows signs of weakness, there’s no indication that he’s going to break.
In the meantime, Luther has started to notice that things are strange.
“They’re not strange,” Allison retorts.
“You’re cooking an awful lot,” he says, making a small, almost apologetic gesture to the food in front of him.
“So? You don’t like it?”
“Of course I like it,” Luther says. “But, I mean, it’s pretty clear that you’re not doing this just for me.”
Allison presses her lips closed, not sure what to say. She’s been so focused on Five that she hasn’t thought about much beyond that. She hasn’t thought much about the Umbrella Academy or yay sisters or even Claire for that matter.
“As much as I love the leftovers -- don’t get me wrong, I do -- I just wonder if, I don’t know, you’re overdoing it?” he ventures.
Her mouth drops open, but the indignation can’t quite become realized.
He backtracks anyway, gentleman that he is. “I know you want to fix it, Five’s relationship with food,” he says quickly. “But I’m not sure you’ve got the healthiest relationship with food right now either.”
She sighs. “Luther, it’s not about food. It’s about Five.”
“I know,” he says. “And it’s been a week since dinner. Have you seen any progress?”
“I mean, not exactly--”
“So you’ve made him constant meals for a week -- and for what?” he asks.
“For him to see that he can’t escape this,” she says. “He needs to be forced to acknowledge his relationship with food and fix it.”
“Okay,” Luther says. He nods again to the food, a spread of deli meats, cheese and crackers served with various nut and bean spreads, most of which Allison has made entirely from scratch. “But maybe this isn’t the way?”
She shakes her head, finding resolve where she shouldn’t have it. “No, it is,” she says. “Five responds to conflict. He responds to pressure. I’m going to break him. He’s going to crack first.”
Luther frowns. “And you’re sure everything’s really okay?”
“What? Of course,” she says. “I told you, he’s going to break--”
“I meant with Claire.”
The name of her daughter comes out quietly but it hits Allison like a punch to the gut. She tries to remember the last text she got from Patrick. She tries to remember if she’s called her lawyer for an update. She tries to remember, but all she can think about is food.
Luther smiles gently. “Just don’t get confused, okay? About why you’re doing this.”
She swallows it back, all of it, and blinks her eyes dry. “I have to fix something, Luther. I have to fix something.”
“I know,” he says. “Which is why I’m confused that you keep talking about breaking Five.”
Her throat constricts, but she focuses on her voice. “Some things have to break before you can rebuild them.”
“Are you sure?” Luther asks.
Allison almost laughs to keep herself from almost crying. “I hope so,” she admits, and she feels her own broken bits shift and cut against the rawness of her emotions. “I really, really hope so.”
-o-
Allison doesn’t quit.
She can’t quit.
She doesn’t know how to quit.
Not with her daughter, playing with another woman in California.
Not with Five’s vitality, compromised by his inability to eat a full meal.
Not with her own identity in limbo, as the world wonders if she’s telling the truth or full of shit.
She used to think she knew the answer.
These days, she must admit, she’s not so sure.
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
-o-
For a week, now -- more, really -- Allison has waited. She’s played the long game. Frankly, she’s done. She’s really, really done. Every instinct she has tells her to march down to the courthouse and demand to see the judge and ask him, right then and there, to assess her case.
This would likely get her arrested and further jeopardize her relationship with Claire, however. That -- and only that -- is the reason for her restraint in that matter.
That is also the reason why restraint no longer applies to any other part of her life at all.
So, when she wakes up and finds Five at the bar drinking coffee and reading the newspaper at 10 in the morning, she sits down next to him and throws caution to the wind.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” she asks.
“What do you think I’m having?” Five returns, not looking up from the local news.
“I think you’re drinking coffee instead of eating food -- again,” she says. “So I think we should go out.”
“And do what?” he asks, looking up at her now, quizzical.
“And not drink coffee,” she says flatly. “Pancakes, eggs, waffles, bacon. I don’t care. Eat oatmeal if it makes you happy. Dry cereal. You just need to eat.”
He’s not stupid, so he probably knows that this has been building for quite some time. He studies her now, a little quizzical, and is clearly measured in his response. “What if I told you I’m not hungry?”
“Then I’d say you’re a liar,” she returns with much less care. “And a moron. You’d be better at your equations if you ate a proper diet.”
At this, he scoffs. “My equations are more advanced than you could even understand.”
“Sure,” Allison says, and she shrugs. “That’s why you calculated your way into a 13 year old body. Super advanced.”
He reddens at that, and it’s clear that she’s tweak his pride. “Gee, now I really want to go out and spend time with you,” he says, putting the paper down. He pushes the cup of coffee away and gets to his feet. “Well played, Allison, but you don’t do stupid quite as violently as Diego or quite as endearingly as Klaus, so I’ll take a rain check.”
He offers her a mock salute and blinks clean out of the room.
Allison doesn’t follow.
She also doesn’t quit.
-o-
Five avoids her astudiously for the rest of the day, but she catches him unaware a few days later, just after noon. She’s prepared this time, and she waltzes into the library with two sub sandwiches that she’s just purchased.
Not her, technically. She had Luther pick them up, and she’s had Luther pick them up every day since her disastrous call with the lawyer. That’s something that’s going right at the moment -- her relationship with Luther. They’re cautious about it, quiet and tentative. He still apologizes when he wants to touch her, and they aren’t quite to the point where they’re openly showing affection. But they smile when they see each other, and in a world of messed up relationships, Allison is more than pleased to call that a win.
That said, Luther is more than happy to pick up sub sandwiches for everyone -- everyday.
And Allison feels more than comfortable pretending like it’s just a nice thing to do for the family.
Five, for his part, is just self centered enough not to notice any of this.
That is to say, the sub sandwich catches him totally off guard.
“Hey,” Allison says, like this is totally casual and totally normal as she slings the sub in front of him. “Luther picked up food. We got you something.”
Five stares at the sandwich like it might be a bomb. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
She shrugs, sitting down next to him and unwrapping her own like she hasn’t been planning this for days. “Well, we got you something. That’s what families do.”
The family card is always a good one to play with Five, who has so few sentimental attachments. If he hadn’t risked so much to come back to save them, it’d be easy to think he’s devoid of feeling. But he’s not, and Allison knows it.
The uncomfortable look on Five’s face is suggestive of the fact that he knows it, too.
“Luther bought it,” she says, heaping on the guilt factor. “But it was Klaus who knew what you liked. Or thought he did, anyway. Pastrami and rye. Little bit of mustard and onion.”
Five still stares at the sandwich like he has no concept of what she’s actually talking about. “I do like pastrami.”
“See?” Allison says. “There you go.”
He looks up at her, more uncomfortable than ever as she takes a large bite of her own sandwich.
“Everyone got one?” he asks, hesitating.
“Already done eating,” she says. “We would have waited, but we didn’t know where you were.”
Abruptly, he seems to come to some kind of decision. He shakes his head, pushing the sandwich away. “I’m good, thanks.”
“But Luther bought it,” Allison says. “And Klaus thought hard about what you’d like.”
Five knits his brows together. “You’re not playing fair, Allison. This whole thing, I know what you’re doing. You’re not playing fair.”
She looks back at him, calm and level. “And who says I’m playing, Five?”
The sandwich is still there when Five blinks out of the room, likely to get as far away as he possibly can.
That’s fine, Allison decides as she finishes her own sandwich. Because she think she’s closer than ever.
-o-
Not that Five makes it easy.
For the next several days, he’s literally nowhere to be found. In fact, he’s so distant that the others are starting to notice. He still shows up to talk to Vanya from time to time, but Diego starts complaining that he’s skipping out on training. Klaus keeps looking for him to go with him to AA meetings. Clearly, Five is avoiding them all -- and no one else knows why.
She’s trying to challenge Five’s relationship with food, not destroy his relationship with his family. It’s possible she needs to try a different tact.
It’s Luther who finally brings it to a head. “Hey,” he says, knocking on her door one night. “You have a minute?”
She grins. Despite everything -- and there is a lot of things -- it’s always good to see him. He can still make her smile when the rest of life has gone to shit. “For you? Sure.”
“If you’re busy--”
She pushes aside her phone where she’s been reading about eating disorders while switching tabs to family law websites. “No, no,” she says. “Not busy.”
In a self deprecating way, he ducks inside the room. “Actually, I, uh, wanted to talk to you,” he says, and he clears his throat. “Have you heard about Claire yet?”
“No, not yet,” she says, not hiding her disappointment. “Still waiting, I guess. They keep telling me it’s normal--”
“But hard,” Luther says sympathetically. “I think it’s crazy that they’d keep you from her. You are her mother.”
“And I made some bad choices,” she says.
“We all have,” he says.
She beckons him over to sit down on the bed next to her. “That doesn’t mean they’re all the same,” she says, smiling as he sits down and the bed creaks loudly. “I know I have to do this relationship right. I mean, relationships are worth doing right, I think.”
A blush rises predictably in his cheeks.
She reaches out and squeezes his hand. “It’s just a shame that not all relationships come so naturally.”
“Are you kidding?” Luther says. “Claire adores you.”
“If she even remembers me by this point,” Allison says. “And it’s not just Claire. It’s all of us here, at the Academy, being a family again. Trying to be sisters with Vanya. Trying not to punch Diego in the throat. And Five -- don’t even get me started with Five.”
Luther frowns a little. “What’s wrong with Five?”
She scoffs before she realizes that it may not be obvious to everyone. “Well, just that he’s acting weird.”
“Sure,” Luther says. “But he’s Five. He always acts weird.”
Allison has to concede that point. “Sure, but now that we’ve saved the world, you’d think he’d start to normalize a little more, don’t you?”
Luther appears to consider this point quite seriously. “I guess I haven’t thought about it,” he admits. “I mean, he was gone for so long that I’m not sure what really is normal for him. And given the life he’s lived, what would normal even look like?”
“That’s the thing, though,” Allison says. “He should be adapting to a new kind of normal. He’s not exactly fitting in with the rest of us very well.”
This is a point that Luther won’t argue, but he softly points out the reality. “This is new to all of us, though. It’s not like any of us are doing perfect.”
That’s an understatement, and they both know it. There have been more than a few hiccups as the Hargreeves become a family again, and some have been more pressing than others. Allison knows she’s been preoccupied with Five for the last few weeks, but she hasn’t been totally oblivious. She knows that Diego is restless. She knows that Klaus is struggling with sobriety. She knows that Vanya is terrified of her powers. Even Luther, who is so strong for all of them, is nearly crippled by his self doubt.
They’re all a mess.
And they all know it.
All of them except Five. “But we all know what we need to work on,” she says. “And we don’t close ourselves out -- if anything, we’re gravitating toward each other naturally. Even you and Diego, who never get along, are doing pretty well right now.”
Luther makes a little face. “I still want to throttle him sometimes.”
She chuckles. “You and everyone else. It’s Diego. But this isn’t about Diego.”
Earnestly, Luther frowns deeper. “Then what is it about?”
“About Five,” she says, because the truth is easy with Luther. It always had been; that’s one of the many reasons why she’d left him behind. He made it too hard to be a liar. “And his relationship with...I don’t know. The real world, maybe?”
Luther is beautiful in that he doesn’t doubt her. But they’re equals, the two of them. He adores her, but he’s not blinded by her. There is give and take, and it’s so damn refreshing after years with Patrick. “But he gave up Delores. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” she says. “But what did he trade her for? All he does since we got back is hide in spare rooms, scribbling on the walls.”
“Well, he does like math--”
“This isn’t about a hobby,” Allison says, because she knows Luther is too prone to giving people the benefit of the doubt. “You can like math without becoming a recluse -- much less reducing yourself to antisocial vandalism.”
This is far more blunt than Luther would ever be, and he flinches instinctively even if he clearly has no grounds -- much less desire -- to argue. Still, for Luther, family is everything. Even when they’re all morons. “I guess,” he says, but he’s clearly hedging. “But he’s always been a little different from the rest of us.”
She knows this is true -- it’s almost comically true, for all of them, really -- but that’s why it’s not the point. It’s a given, something that doesn’t need to be discussed. She shakes her head, keeping to the actual point. “But what is he trying to figure out exactly? What probabilities is he looking at? What equation is he trying to solve?”
This is plainly a question that hasn’t even occurred to Luther. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Have you asked him?”
Luther has always been good at seeing the simple answers, the straightforward solutions. He’s always been the type to see a problem and fix it, no nuances involved. The problem with that is that Five is all nuances. He’s idiosyncracies and complications. There’s nothing simple or straightforward about him. “So it doesn’t worry you?” she asks. “I mean, we hardly see him some days. He doesn’t even come down for meals most of the time.”
“Well,” Luther says with a little scoff. “It’s not like any of us come down for meals or something. I mean, this isn’t like with Dad. Dinner isn’t every night at 5:30. There’s no schedule. There’s no requirements. We get to be fully independent people who choose to be under the same roof.”
Allison levels her stare at him. “And we also happen to be forming an elite crime fighting unit,” she reminds him.
At this, he has the decency to be chagrined. The blush rises to his ears. “I’m just saying that everyone gets to be who they are. I mean, I was wrong before, when I tried to lock up Vanya because I forgot that. I don’t plan on making that same mistake.”
That’s a noble thing, and Allison doesn’t doubt his sincerity. Luther is very teachable, and the lessons he learns, he learns well. She knows how hard he’s worked to put the best of the Umbrella Academy back together while leaving out the parts that didn’t work. He’s been rebuilding the team by rebuilding their trust, sibling by sibling.
Allison can’t underestimate that. She won’t discredit it.
But she also recognizes that there’s a fine line involved. Luther’s assumption is that the siblings are best off with independent choices. Her worry is that Five’s not quite ready to be making those choices for himself. She knows she has to be careful -- she knows what it means to take choices from someone -- but there has to be a way to help them make the right choices.
There has to be.
“So you’re saying it’s okay if he doesn’t eat?” she asks. “As long as it’s his choice.”
Luther sighs a little. “You said it yourself, we hardly see him some days. We don’t know for sure he’s not eating.”
It’s a logical take on things that assumes that Allison hasn’t been subvertly tracking their smallest siblings for nearly two weeks now.
Luther notices her hesitation. He leans down, catching her reluctant gaze again. “Wait, you do know he’s not eating.”
There’s no reason to deny it -- not with Luther, at any rate. Allison is committed to the truth now. Always the truth.
And always with Luther.
“I’ve been watching him, okay?” she admits. “I mean, I’ve been worried. I can’t help it.”
Luther blinks a few times, but there’s no hint of accusation. “Okay,” he says, rolling with this new information. “And?”
She breathes, almost like she’s forgotten to for the last several minutes. She forgets sometimes, what it’s like to be with Luther. To be with someone who she trusts so completely, who trusts her. Between them, there’s no pretense. He’s not an overgrown ape, and she’s not a lying bitch. They’re well paired, the two of them. If by nothing other than the simple choice they’ve always made to be together, to be real.
“And,” she says, the words coming out in a rush. “He eats -- sometimes. But not regularly, and it’s not a balanced diet by any stretch of the imagination. What he’s doing -- his eating habits, his whole relationship with food -- it’s not healthy. Not physically and not emotionally.”
Luther’s thick brows are drawn together. “So it’s a problem, then.”
“Luther, of course it’s a problem,” she says. She flits her hand through the air. “I mean, maybe some of it is a learned behavior, something from the trauma of being in the apocalypse. It could be representative of his failure to cope with his second life as a 13 year old boy. I don’t know. Five’s the smartest of us all, but he’s also a moron. He can save all our asses, but I’m not convinced that he has any idea how to save himself sometimes. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s in danger.”
“Look, if you’re worried, then just make it a thing,” Luther says. “Prep the meals. Summon the family. Like I said before, we can make it a making, something official. Five has a sense of that kind of thing. He’ll come.”
Allison doesn’t bother to hide her skepticism. “Are you sure?”
He pats her on the arm. “Of course I am,” he says. “But this is an awful lot of talking about Five. And food. Speaking of -- are you hungry?”
She laughs outright, even though she knows Luther’s not making a joke. That’s what makes it funny.
That’s what makes it endearing. “Yeah,” she says, getting to her feet and pulling him alongside. “I could eat.”
Because Allison has a pretty good relationship with food.
She has an even better relationship with Luther.
-o-
Allison eats that night. She eats and she laughs and she spends time. She doesn’t think about Five. She doesn’t think about his diet or his emotional trauma. For the night, Allison focuses on a different relationship.
Tomorrow, after all, she knows it’ll be time to get back to work.
-o-
She starts early the next day. Luther and Diego are updating the security system, so she enlists Klaus and Vanya to start with instead. Vanya loves the idea of a family dinner -- another tradition she wants to redefine -- and Klaus likes the idea of something with a bit of flair, so he’s on board. Plus, he knows that Diego will recruit him for security testing if he isn’t otherwise preoccupied, so he’s happy to help where it’s easiest.
Vanya helps develop the menu, and then Allison takes Klaus to the store while Vanya starts the preparations. They have to consult Mom several times with basic cooking questions, and she offers to do the job for them, but Allison insists. It has to be them.
Grocery shopping takes longer than she expects -- Klaus is very easily distracted -- but when they get back just after lunch, things are in full swing. In the mid-afternoon, Luther and Diego stop in, and she recruits them, too. Rather, she recruits Luther and Diego joins reluctantly when he realizes that he has no other choice. Even Ben gets involved, reading out the recipes while the motley group of siblings does its best not to burn the house down.
And the thing is, it works. It comes together. They’re capable superheroes some of the time, they’re a barely functional family occasionally, but today they’re damn good in the kitchen.
As the dinner hour approaches, Allison pulls Vanya aside for one last task.
The most important task.
“Sure, I can see if Five wants to come,” Vanya says amiably.
Allison shakes her head so there can be no confusion. “No, don’t see if he wants to come,” she says. “Tell him that he’s going to come. Tell him to come now.”
Vanya looks a little confused despite Allison’s clarity. “But what if he doesn’t want to?”
“He probably doesn’t,” she says. “That’s why you’re not giving him the choice.”
Vanya simply looks more vexed.
“This is a family thing,” Allison says. “Therefore, as part of the family, the family he broke time and space to save, he has to come.”
“I’m not sure he’ll buy into that argument,” Vanya admits.
“From you?” Allison asks with a knowing smile. “I’m pretty sure he would.”
Vanya’s confusion only deepens, like she doesn’t know that she’s Five’s favorite -- that she’s always been his favorite. The one he likes the most, the one he trusts the most. It’s not a fair move, using Five’s most successful relationship to address one of his weakest -- but Allison doesn’t give a shit about being fair.
“I don’t -- understand,” Vanya stutters.
Allison smiles. “It’ll work,” she promises. “Trust me.”
-o-
The table is set; the family is gathered.
Vanya comes down the stairs, Five slinking a step behind her. He eyes the spread skeptically, gaze lingering on Allison with distrust.
“Come on,” Vanya beckons as she goes to her spot on the end of the table. “You have to try to pasta -- we tweaked the recipe, and I think it turned out fantastic.”
“Uh, yeah, but not as good as my biscuits!” Klaus says. He lifts up a biscuits and waves it in the air, in what is probably a provocative gesture. “I made the best biscuits.”
“They were from a can, dude,” Diego grunts. “Unlike my mashed potatoes. I mean, usually I go for the chopping, but I mashed the hell out of those things.”
Five’s paced has slowed, and he watches as Vanya sits down. He edges closer to the table uncertainly.
“We were out of luck until Ben found that recipe for seasoned chicken,” Luther says. “I’m worried I got it a little too dry--”
“But the spices were dead on,” Ben finishes for him, grinning. Ben has his own table spot, and Klaus has already generously served him a helping that they all know he can’t eat. Ben, however, clearly appreciates the gesture.
They all do. Despite their differences, despite their conflicts, it’s a powerful thing when they come together. Powerful in a way their father may or may not have intended. Relationship was never the priority growing up, but it was the necessary unpinning of everything else they did.
Relationship.
Five sits down, pulling the chair out as it scrapes along the floor. He sits down like he’s almost forgotten what a dinner table is. He realizes that they’re looking at him, waiting for him. For his approval. Awkwardly, he picks up the napkins and clears his throat. “Well,” he says. “It looks like you put a lot of work into it.”
He looks around, his gaze moving haltingly from one sibling to the next. He stops at Allison.
“A lot of work,” he says. “So I guess we better dig in.”
The others take this invitation with a cheer, starting to pass the pasta and the potatoes. Klaus is on his second biscuit, and Luther piles three chicken breasts onto his plate.
Allison accepts a plate of corn on the cob. Across the table, Five accepts the basket with the biscuits and puts one onto his plate, eyes still locked on Allison.
They both know what this is, after all.
They both know what it means.
They both know it’s a fight now.
They just don’t know for sure who will win.
-o-
Dinner, by most accounts, goes really well. The food is actually very good with minimal exceptions. The conversation is vibrant and upbeat. They tell stories, they laugh at jokes, they are a family. They are the family they are meant to be.
Five stays for the dinner. He listens to the stories. He almost chuckles at the jokes. He’s there, part of this family.
But the one thing he doesn’t do?
Is eat his dinner.
He eats little bites here and there. He eats enough to tell Klaus he makes a good dinner roll and he offers some feedback to Luther about how to tell when meat is too well done. He eats the most of Vanya’s pasta, mostly when she’s looking at him, and he concedes that the potatoes are, indeed, quite well mashed.
Afterward, the others retire to the newly minted game room, which has has been updated with an actual TV and a video game system. Allison offers to stay behind and pick up the mess.
Five offers to help her.
They work together to clear the table in relative silence, and Allison is running the water while Five brings in the last of the dishes. He holds his own plate, still full with food, and he clears it into the trash, slowly and loudly for Allison to see.
“Thanks for dinner,” he says, and there’s a smile plastered over his face.
Allison watches the food fall, chunk by chunk, into the trash can. “I didn’t make it.”
“No,” he says, making sure to scrape all the potatoes clear. “But it was your idea.”
Allison kills the water as suds waft in the air. “So?”
“So,” Five says, bringing the plate around and offering it to Allison, empty. “Thank you for the thought.”
She accepts the plate unflinchingly. “Anytime.”
-o-
It takes a long time to clean up. It always does. Picking up the pieces, putting everything back together, that’s always the hardest part. The most intense work with the least reward. But it has to be done.
You have to believe it’s worth it.
Otherwise, what the hell would the point to any of this be.
-o-
After she’s done, she heads back out. She can hear the others, laughing in the game room. She drifts to the door and lingers there, watching as her siblings engage in a rousing game of Mario Kart. To her surprise, even Five is there. He’s made himself a drink, sipping it while he sits with his knees cross on the couch. It’s as happy as she’s seen him. He’s the only one who notices her, lifting his drink in a mock toast.
Needless to say, she doesn’t join them.
Failure makes some people angry. It makes some people try harder. It makes others bitter.
Allison doesn’t know what it makes her yet.
Tired, mostly.
Just really, really tired.
-o-
Back in her room, Allison gets into her pajamas and curls up on her bed. She checks her phone for messages, skipping through the heap she doesn’t care about. There are several from Patrick, and she’s cold and she’s lonely and she wants something tonight.
She texts him back, fingers shaking. I get it with the girlfriend. Not a big deal.
The reply is fast -- almost like he’s been waiting to hear from her. I’m so glad you understand.
Allison swallows, the taste of dinner still lingering in the back of her throat. We’re family whether we like it or not. Sometimes you have to compromise
This time, the reply is slower. Yeah.
She hesitates in her reply, blinking back tears she didn’t realize she was about to cry. Maybe I can call. Maybe I can talk to you. Maybe I can talk to Claire.
Her heart flutters as she hits send, and then it lodges in her throat. She feels like she can’t breathe, her chest is so tight.
The answer comes, slower than before. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.
She closes her eyes, and the tears slip down her cheeks. She puts the phone aside, turning it to silent. She draws her knees up, and tucks herself in close, breathing out through her nose as she stifles a sob.
Failure, as it turns out, makes her very tired, indeed.
-o-
The next morning, Allison feels like actual hell. Her stomach feels bloated from too much food, and her mouth is starchy from sleeping with her mouth open. Her breath is rancid, and her hair is rumpled. She doesn’t much care as she shuffles out of bed and slips on a robe. For once, she’ll concede that this is a morning when all she wants for breakfast is coffee.
It’s still early, and the rest of her siblings seem to be still asleep. She’s slept long and hard, but she’s never felt more tired. She makes it to the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and is surprised to find Five already sitting on the counter next to a running coffee pot.
He’s sipping from his mug.
There’s another one on the counter. He gestures to it with his head, and Allison picks it up, too tired to be disdainful. Instead, she takes a few sips, grateful for how strong it is, before sitting unceremoniously in one of the chairs at the table.
She’s content to leave it that today.
Five, however, has other plans. “So, what did you have planned for breakfast?” he asks.
She makes a face. “You actually want breakfast?”
“No,” he says. “But I figured you would offer. Waffles. Eggs. Something overly grandiose to impress me enough into eating with you.”
Allison rolls her eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “You’ve made it pretty clear what your intentions are.”
“Exactly,” Five says. “I’ve made it clear for weeks, and you keep ignoring me.”
“So, what, then?” Allison asks. “This is an ambush?”
“Yes,” Five says, plaintive. “This is an ambush because you’ve been engaging in covert warfare for weeks.”
It’s too early for this. It’s too late for this. It’s too everything for this. “It’s not covert warfare,” she says, and she’s been doing this too long to pretend otherwise now. “It’s just me being worried about you. You don’t eat right.”
“I eat fine,” Five says, his whole body stiffening as he chafes against the argument he’s set into motion. “And it’s none of your business if I don’t.”
“Of course it’s my business,” Allison says. “You’re my brother, Five. Family. I don’t want to see you hurting yourself.”
“I told you, I eat just fine,” Five says. “I’ve survived on way less for way longer, and I’m still alive.”
“That’s the problem,” Allison says. “Five, you’re still living like you’re in the apocalypse. There’s no reason to live on survival rations, skipping meals for days on end and then binging on the first thing you find. If you’re going to be a part of this family -- a part of the Umbrella Academy -- then you need to eat normal meals.”
He appears indignant, which is almost comically accentuated by the way he’s perched on the counter like a toddler. “Are you suggesting that I’m not capable of performing my duties?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Allison shoots back. “I’m telling you facts. Cold, hard data. Run the probabilities, okay? On whether or not it’s smart to eat erratically when there is ample access to food in front of you all the time.”
She’s using data and facts, but not in the clinical way she’d intended. She’s throwing them at him, couching them in emotion to make them weapons he doesn’t need to reason away. Just weapons he needs to deflect. “This is nothing more than your mothering instinct,” he says. “And it’s misplaced because you want to see Claire and you can’t--”
“Yeah? And what if it is?” she asks, the challenge rising in her voice.
He recoils, his face twisting up. “I’m not a child.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “You sure about that? Because you should look in the mirror.”
He glares at her. “Oh, shut up,” he mutters.
She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying.”
“And I’m saying stop.”
She doesn’t back down. Hell, she won’t back down. With Patrick, she has no grounds, but with Five? She doesn’t need grounds. Five’s her stupid ass little brother, and she’s going to treat him that way until he grows up and acts his age. If this is war, then Allison is going to win. “And I’m saying no.”
He hops down off the counter, stalking past her with a glare. “Enjoy your damn coffee.”
“I will,” she says. “And don’t worry -- lunch is on me!”
He’s gone in a flash of light.
Patrick thinks it’s a bad idea.
Five thinks it’s a bad idea.
Allison will take pleasure in showing both of them just how wrong they are.
-o-
If Five wants war, then Allison will wage war.
And she does.
In the kitchen, at every meal.
She makes food constantly, and she serves it to Five wherever he is. She takes hot meals to the attic. She carts three course meals to the library. She tracks him down and attacks him with unplanned snacks, unexpected desserts, and fresh selections of fruit and vegetables. Sometimes, she corners him into group meals, coercing him to eat with Vanya or Klaus or Diego, in which he’s too polite to say no.
When he tries to evade her, she employes desperate measures to find him. She works with Luther to learn about the security system, and she tracks Five’s movements throughout the day. She pays off Pogo and Mom, and they help her get him meals no matter where he tucks himself into the corners of the house. She has pizzas delivered; she gets carry out. She leaves Chinese takeout containers outside his door.
It’s a constant barrage of food, a coordinated and organized and relentless attack.
Five resists, of course. But she sees him salivate. She sees him try it. She notices when the containers are thrown out, not quite empty. He tries to hide it from her, throwing out his trash directly into the dumpster, but she gets Ben to help. Pretty soon, he has nowhere to hide.
There’s only food.
Five can’t avoid it, not forever.
Just like he can’t avoid himself.
-o-
It’s not for a lack of trying, however.
Allison is persistent, but Five is stubborn. He endures her advances better than she expects, and though he shows signs of weakness, there’s no indication that he’s going to break.
In the meantime, Luther has started to notice that things are strange.
“They’re not strange,” Allison retorts.
“You’re cooking an awful lot,” he says, making a small, almost apologetic gesture to the food in front of him.
“So? You don’t like it?”
“Of course I like it,” Luther says. “But, I mean, it’s pretty clear that you’re not doing this just for me.”
Allison presses her lips closed, not sure what to say. She’s been so focused on Five that she hasn’t thought about much beyond that. She hasn’t thought much about the Umbrella Academy or yay sisters or even Claire for that matter.
“As much as I love the leftovers -- don’t get me wrong, I do -- I just wonder if, I don’t know, you’re overdoing it?” he ventures.
Her mouth drops open, but the indignation can’t quite become realized.
He backtracks anyway, gentleman that he is. “I know you want to fix it, Five’s relationship with food,” he says quickly. “But I’m not sure you’ve got the healthiest relationship with food right now either.”
She sighs. “Luther, it’s not about food. It’s about Five.”
“I know,” he says. “And it’s been a week since dinner. Have you seen any progress?”
“I mean, not exactly--”
“So you’ve made him constant meals for a week -- and for what?” he asks.
“For him to see that he can’t escape this,” she says. “He needs to be forced to acknowledge his relationship with food and fix it.”
“Okay,” Luther says. He nods again to the food, a spread of deli meats, cheese and crackers served with various nut and bean spreads, most of which Allison has made entirely from scratch. “But maybe this isn’t the way?”
She shakes her head, finding resolve where she shouldn’t have it. “No, it is,” she says. “Five responds to conflict. He responds to pressure. I’m going to break him. He’s going to crack first.”
Luther frowns. “And you’re sure everything’s really okay?”
“What? Of course,” she says. “I told you, he’s going to break--”
“I meant with Claire.”
The name of her daughter comes out quietly but it hits Allison like a punch to the gut. She tries to remember the last text she got from Patrick. She tries to remember if she’s called her lawyer for an update. She tries to remember, but all she can think about is food.
Luther smiles gently. “Just don’t get confused, okay? About why you’re doing this.”
She swallows it back, all of it, and blinks her eyes dry. “I have to fix something, Luther. I have to fix something.”
“I know,” he says. “Which is why I’m confused that you keep talking about breaking Five.”
Her throat constricts, but she focuses on her voice. “Some things have to break before you can rebuild them.”
“Are you sure?” Luther asks.
Allison almost laughs to keep herself from almost crying. “I hope so,” she admits, and she feels her own broken bits shift and cut against the rawness of her emotions. “I really, really hope so.”
-o-
Allison doesn’t quit.
She can’t quit.
She doesn’t know how to quit.
Not with her daughter, playing with another woman in California.
Not with Five’s vitality, compromised by his inability to eat a full meal.
Not with her own identity in limbo, as the world wonders if she’s telling the truth or full of shit.
She used to think she knew the answer.
These days, she must admit, she’s not so sure.