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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
TW
When they landed, it was not where she expected.
The Commission was made of sterile white walls and stone and marble staircases and grey offices and people in the same navy suits holding the same briefcases. It was a monotonous scene filled with a monotonous drone of people.
The corner of the room they ended up in was horrifically familiar and her stomach twisted at the Handlers intentions.
The hotel room was cold and devoid of life despite the fanciful fabrics and lavish rouge carpet.
They hadn't left Dallas, they hadn't left the sixties. She had been in this room just hours before when retrieving the location of the board with Five. Honey wanted no part of this hotel room, no part of it at all, and desperately wished that Five was with her.
No, not that he was with her, because she'd never drag anyone else into this mess, would never subject him to what she had been dealt, would never even wish it upon her worst enemy.
But she wished she was anywhere else but where she was, with the one person who could make it alright.
Before Honey was even able to gather her bearings, she subconciously pulled away from the woman but found little space to retreat into.
The Handler span, eyes narrowed, and tightened her grip above her elbow.
Honey's eyes shot up to meet hers warily. "You said you were taking us back to the Commission."
Her eyes lit up in amusement as she stepped into her personal space, making Honey back up until her back hit the wall and the edge of the desk to her right dug sharply into her hip.
"Where you could run and take off with any briefcase of your liking?" She tilted her head to the side. "Did you really think I'd make that mistake again?"
Honeys throat dried up as she realised how close she was. Her perfume made her eyes water. She could feel her nails beginning to bruise her arm.
Her voice was weaker than she's like as she attempted to maintain eyecontact. "Tell me where my tracker is."
Her painted lips turned into a pointed smirk as she gazed down at the girl. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Tell me."
"Why should I? Give me some incentive, Honey. What's in it for me?"
She hated her. She hated her. She hated her words and her perfume and her. Her. Everything about her. The way her eyes burned right through her and the way her skin felt against her own. The way she spoke to her like she was a child, always teasing and mocking and manipulating, but treated her like she was anything but when it suited her best.
What's in it for me?
She hated her so much.
"Nothing?" The Handler asked, leaning back slightly.
