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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After god knows how many jobs together and nearly a year of getting to know eachother, Honey finally asked a question that had burned her curiosity since they first met.
"Who's Delores?"
Now it was safe to say when Five nearly dropped his ice cream as they sat quietly on a park bench, that Honey Springfield knew absolutely no boundaries.
In fact, she trampled on the so called notion, and slapped him in the face with something that tugged at the withering heartstrings that he did actually possess.
And it was safe to say he had not had enough coffee to even consider opening that door again, the one pushed so far back in his mind next to the others labelled 'everyones going to die a horrible death' and 'it was up to him to fix it.'
She had asked so calmly, like she was discussing the weather with him, no clue as to how much that name had effected him.
His grip was so tight on his cone that he had to take a deep breath to stop himself from making a mess. He squared his jaw in deliberation, looking out absently at the park fountain.
She looked at him from the side curiously, tapping her fingers on the cone of her chocolate chip ice cream.
"How do you know that name?" Is all he could force out. It was like the breath had been knocked from his lungs. He couldn't look at her.
"Do you want the real answer?" She asked softly.
He didn't respond, mind racing with all sorts of possibilities. All of them making him question the fact he was actually beginning to trust her.
Honey finished her ice cream and took a single bite of the cone. Her eyes scanned the side of his face as she said, "I've heard you mutter it so many times in your sleep that I'm beginning to hear the name in my dreams, too."
He looked over at her stonily, his teeth grinding, and his appetite for the sweet treat in his hand was diminishing.
She was expressionless. Calm. Blank. Normal. Only semi joking.
He knew, however, that because of the way Honey Springfield was wired that she would be the least likely to judge him in the entire world. (Including his own family, which was a troubling thought to pick apart.) It didn't make admitting it any easier but at the same time it did.
He got up with a sigh and tossed his ice cream in the trash. When he sat back down he continued to avoid her gaze, rubbing his palms over his thighs.
She knew he had spent most of his life in an apocalyptic wasteland all alone, and so had assumed she was someone from his childhood. Judging by the haunted look in his eye, she wasn't so sure.
She tilted her head. "Is she an old friend?"
He angled his head slightly, grimacing. "You could say that."
