ATLAS // Five Hargreeves

[#40] Paradox Psychosis

IN THE IDEAL SITUATION, Atlas would have locked the door. She knew that Five would want to speak to her, and that it would be awkward when he tried to do so, but she was too tired to move from the floor of the bedroom to flick the lock – therefore allowing a short knock to rattle the wood before Five appeared at the doorway, swallowing nervously and his eyes darting around her face to catch her expression.

"I come with gifts," He said, protruding a small box of a few packets of sweets in front of him with a shy smile. "Diego suggested it. Apparently you have a sweet tooth."

She didn't respond and he took it as a sign to enter, lightly closing the door behind him and watching her scowl, shifting uncomfortably on the floor and shuffling to the right in order to make space for him. He shot her a tight smile and slipped into the spot next to her, taking notice of how she pulled her legs away so that they didn't touch his. He frowned but didn't mention it and placed the box of sweets between them.

"How's your shoulder?" He asked, taking note of the way she was lightly touching it, as though it had been twisted somehow. She responded with a blank expression, keeping her gaze forwards and staring at the dresser in front of her as if something was going to pop out and scare them.

"Functional," She replied.

"Ah," Five said and nodded weakly. He cast his eyes to the floor and continued to nod for an awkwardly long period of time, before recognizing the discomfort and adding; "As it should be."

"Yes," She said, blandly. "A nonfunctional shoulder would be inconvenient."

"Definitely."

A silence blanketed over them and Five began to notice the way that she wouldn't turn to look at him, her eyes darting everywhere but the boy that sat next to her. Legs pressed together, they could hear Klaus and Luther laughing from the lounge, the clinking of glasses. It was quite peaceful, illuminated by the bedroom light – a place that had become a designated safety spot for the pair. Five sat, with his legs stretched out and his head against the end of the bed as he turned his gaze towards her. Eyes casted forwards in thought, Atlas' gaze remained unreadable and vacant, a few unruly pieces of hair sticking out from behind her ears. He wanted to know what she was thinking but looked away before she could catch him watching her. He asks a question to avoid looking at her, again.

"What are you thinking about?"

To his surprise, Atlas answered almost immediately, as if she was waiting for his question. "Do you think that I would have been a good daughter?"

Five remained silent to feign thought, but it was useless when both of them knew that his answer was quickly decided. "No. Not as Atlas. Maybe as Maeve."

Atlas didn't respond with hostility like he would have expected, instead just raising her eyebrows in agreement and nodding her head, as if he had confirmed the answer that she had begun to ponder herself. It was a question that both of them understood the meaning behind – sure, Atlas wasn't a good daughter (I mean, she fucking shot her father), but the 'would' was an important aspect to consider.

She swallowed, guilt rising onto her throat as she winced, blinking harshly as she admitted; "I killed my father today."

Five recoiled, silence stretching between them. He didn't know how to respond, or what exactly she meant, but the pieces quickly strung together much faster than he thought they might – a detached expression, hands coated in blood, the abrupt rage to kill The Handler. And he had yelled at her, ridiculed her and scorned her for being late.

"Shit," He sighed, carding a hand through his hair. "Atlas, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Funny," She snorted, letting out a dry chuckle and shifting her position, wincing as she did so. "I didn't know, either. That was until I had dug a bullet into his chest. Ironic timing, am I right?"