The Silver Killer

Eleven: The Microphone

You ignored Five as he rambled on and on about how you needed to rest, instead going to your room and opening your computer, furiously clicking away at the keys until the password had been entered. Now, you were all business.

"If you want me to relax," you called nonchalantly over your shoulder, "Get me a chair so I don't have to stand here."

He muttered something under his breath, but in an instant a chair was being shoved against your legs. You grabbed your computer and fell back into the softness of the desk chair, groaning when the bandage shifted on your wound.

"See? That's why you need to-"

"Rest? Yeah, well, I just found out somebody's bugged my house for who knows how long. Forgive me for being a little curious and perturbed," you shot back, voice thick with sarcasm that Five recognized from his own voice.

He exhaled and looked around the room; your lace mask, discarded on the ground beside your cloak and a puddle of blood, your scythe leaning against the wall, the first aid kit's contents littered all over the place. You didn't seem to care, eyes glued to the computer screen even as a wad of gauze lay at your feet.

But it wasn't like he was in any place to say a word. This was your home, and he wasn't even sure if you still wanted him around. Besides, he had a tendency to clutter up a space when he was working hard on something, like you seemed to be doing.

And indeed, it was hard. Working with this simple laptop instead of the multiple, more advanced computers you had stored down in the basement. That was your space, with all of the notepads and pens and pencils and computers and monitors that you and you alone knew like the back of your hand.

But you weren't ready to take Five there yet. Sure, you trusted him, but that didn't mean you were ready to open up about every part of your life yet. The only reason you knew everything about him was because you'd stolen it from the SA's website. And there was a whole lot you were hiding from him. Stuff you'd never told anybody, ever ... .

"Anything?" he asked, coming to peer over your shoulder at the computer and the computer chip.

"Maybe. Kinda." You cursed and leaned back in the chair. "I don't know. I got somewhere but I don't know exactly where that is."

His eyes strayed back to the blood puddled on the ground. "You should probably mop that up."

Your eyes followed his and you snorted. "Alright, Mister-you-need-to-rest-right-now." Nonetheless, you got to your feet and headed into the kitchen to grab the mop.

Five's eyes trailed after you, and he couldn't suppress the surge of protectiveness that boiled inside him when he caught sight of the trail of blood that you'd dragged into the room. He forced a breath out through his clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and trying not to think of his siblings, locked up in the building, all alone-

His eyes snapped open. "Oh no."

"Oh what?" You asked, head popping around the corner of the doorframe. A mop was steadying your form, like a cane against the tan carpet.

Five's hand moved to his mouth, then his neck and then his arm and then his hair. He wasn't quite sure what to do. "My siblings, they're all alone in the building and it's been hours, I'm not sure-"

You'd hobbled over to him and now had a soothing hand resting on his arm. "Get back to them."

His eyes searched yours desperately, not sure what he was looking for or why he was even doing what he was. "Are you sure? You're hurt-"

"And they could be too. They're more important anyway. They're your family." A sad smile twitched up at your lips, making Five's mind wander to why you did that every time the word family was mentioned.