Honey Springfield was called the Handlers 'favourite' - a nickname she despised right down to the bones of her very existence - almost as much as she despised the woman herself. No one ever looked closer enough to realise that it was given to her fo...
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As more and more jobs passed and they sort of grew into a routine of not getting in eachothers way and actually working together, Five began to realise that maybe Honey wasn't as bad as he had initially thought.
She was frustratingly quiet sometimes, which he wasn't sure how to take, imagining that she was hiding things from him or constantly wondering what she was thinking.
Judging by the fact that Five hadn't faced any trouble yet, he knew that Honey had stuck to her word and not mentioned his book to the Handler. Which, although strange, did mean something - not much, admittedly, but certainly something.
She could have been waiting until the opportune moment to strike and have it all come crashing down on him, but the more he got to observe her solemn, quiet behaviour, the more he began to think maybe that wasn't the type of person she was.
But what type of person was she, then? She still worked for the commission, and the people that worked there were a very specific type of people.
In some ways he thought that Honey didn't quite fit in to that dynamic. (Or maybe he was fooling himself because he wasn't used to being able to trust someone, and desperately wanted to.) To not have to fight, to hide everything, it would be a release. But still he was unsure.
Honey wouldn't say she was content with a partner, but they got the job done quicker and more efficiently than any of the others could, so she kept her mouth shut. (And neither mentioned the little book with numbers or the hidden threat everytime he looked at her - she had kept her mouth shut as far as he knew up until now, so he just kept an eye on her.)
Five didn't know what to think.
He'd seen her work - she was meticulous, thoughtful and quiet and he liked that. She didn't ask annoying questions about how he got the job or where he came from or about his home life and in return, he didn't either. That didnt stop him from wondering, however.
(And she knew vaguely that he came from an academy, born in the year nineteen eighty nine, from her snooping and listening in to rumours where she wasn't the intended ear.)
For the life of him he couldnt place what decade she was from. She was a mixture of modern and a little bit gothic, but with a blunt way of speaking; She spoke strangely in a manner he couldn't predict. And she asked odd questions that threw him for a loop - only on rare occasions, though - they both preferred the silence.
He couldn't deny that this peculiar woman piqued his curiosity, but ignored that for the sake of getting the job done.
She rarely smiled, and if she did it was either akin to a smirk or a dead behind the eye twitch of the lips. She wasn't emotionless, just entirely apathetic to most things around her. Like murder, for instance. She didn't bat an eye at violence, she didn't complain when things went wrong, she just dealt with them.
