The Clock
Four was used to fake people. All his life had been one giant game of politics, filled with weak handshakes, empty compliments and smiles that never reached the eyes. Even now, as a mercenary he was surrounded by liars constantly. Nobody could be trusted. Everyone always had an ulterior motive. Everyone was skin-deep. Everyone except Five, that is.
He was not blind. He knew that the girl had secrets of her own. But not even he, the single most paranoid man in the galaxy, could deny that when she smiled, it was always one hundred percent real. So real, in fact, that whenever she directed it at him, he felt completely out of his element. Have you ever wanted to know what it was like to be punched in the face by a thousand megawatts of sunshine? Four didn't. But he did now. And he was not prepared to deal with that shit.
….
"Hey," she says, standing up and padding over. He had just walked in on her suspiciously crawling around underneath the table, searching for something. He was about to grill her on what she was doing, but was taken aback when she spotted him and her face broke into the hugest smile he had ever seen in his life.
"I just wanted to say thank you."
"For what?"
She looks so genuinely grateful, and he wondered what she could have possibly dreamt that made her so excited about his existence all of a sudden.
"Just. For everything."
He snorts, as if trying to dismiss her. He forgot why he came to the mess hall. He no longer cared. He just wanted to get out of there.
….
She was a foreign creature to him, one that he had no idea how to interact with. He tried to ignore her. Yet, just like the real sun, he found himself constantly orbiting her. They rarely spoke, but he was always aware of her presence, studying her movements and facial expressions as if they were somehow relevant to the task at hand. It was because she had all of their memories, so he had to watch her. To make sure she wasn't a threat.
It had been one hundred and seventeen days since they first woke up, and exactly 32 days since Six betrayed them. Ever since then, he noticed she had changed. She began to isolate herself, never talking with the others, and usually hiding in the vents. He told himself it didn't matter, but an increasingly annoying voice in his head kept nagging at him. Eventually, he reasoned that her sadness had become distracting. It was keeping the two of them from focusing on their work, so the logical solution would be to fix the problem. Out of practicality, of course.
He has to knock several times before the door finally opens. On the occasions that Five did spend time with the group-which were becoming fewer and further in between-she kept her head down, making it difficult to get a good look at her. But now he can clearly see the dark circles underneath her eyes, and the pronounced edges of her cheekbones. She had skipped breakfast today, again. He had half a mind to just shove the awful tasting bars down her throat, but he's learned that with her, it's best to have a more gentle approach.
Plus, he's pretty sure that force feeding someone their shitty space food would be considered a crime against humanity. And because he doesn't want to add yet another crime to his already infamous record, he's got a better idea.
"Hey." She says, "Is something wrong with the ship?"
"No." He plops a small brown box in her hands. "I need you to fix this."
She opens it up. Inside were the butchered remains of a murdered clock. The shop keeper had looked very alarmed when he had bought the thing and then proceeded to violently beat it with a hammer, but there was a method to his madness. A girl like Five would have no use for a working object. She needed a challenge, something to nurture her curiosity. She needed a dead clock.
She gingerly picks up an arm that had fallen off. "It looks like it was hit by a bus."
"Yes. It has been through much. But it's made out of strong materials, and I believe that it can function again."
She looks up at him. He clears his throat.
"Can you fix it?"
For a moment, he worries that he might have been a little too enthusiastic and she wasn't going to be able to repair it and his plan had failed. But she seems to consider it. Turning it around, he can practically see her brain working.
"Yeah," she says, quietly. "I think so."
...
One hundred and twenty one days in, he finds her crying in one of the far corners of the ship, her clock still in pieces beside her. He moves into her peripheral vision, and waits for her to compose herself. She sniffles, wiping her face on her sleeve.
"I looked at it." She murmurs, eyes downcast. "But it's broken really bad. I don't think it's fixable."
"Maybe for somebody else. But not for you."
"I don't know if I can."
"You have to."
She chuckles, a dry humourless sound that was entirely wrong coming from her. "Why? There are lots of other ways to tell time on this ship. More efficient ways."
"Maybe, but I don't want a different clock." He meets her gaze and holds it there. "I want this one. I know you can fix it, Five, and you will make it better than it was before. I expect nothing less from you."
She closes her eyes, seeming to age decades. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, Four. I shouldn't make excuses. It's just that ever since Six-"
"Do not think about that now." He interrupts. "Just focus. What's the first step?"
She takes a deep breath. "Well, first, I need to remove the…"
As he listens to her ramble mostly to herself, he feels his anger renewed, and he makes a vow in his own mind: If he ever sees Six again, he will break him just as badly as he had the clock. But this time, no one will be able to repair him.
….
For the next few weeks, he watches her come back to life. Day after day, she sits at the dining table, tinkering away at things he doesn't even try to understand. Sometimes he would sit beside her in silence and hands her her tools while she worked. With Six finally expelled from her mind, she was very focused, and determined, in a way she hasn't been for a long time. Perhaps overly so.
"Dammit!" she yells, on day one hundred and thirty. Her screwdriver clatters loudly on the table, making them all look up.
"Something wrong, sweetheart?" One asks.
She growls, "One of the springs came out again! Stupid motherfuc-" she spirals into a sling of colourful curses.
Two immediately narrows her eyes at Three. "What have you been teaching her?"
"Nothing!" She doesn't look convinced. "Really! I got no fucking clue where she learned her damn language from. Honest."
"Three!"
While the rest of his team continued to bicker, Four felt hope like the first rays of light, peeking out from behind the clouds after a storm. Feeling frustration was better than feeling nothing at all. This was progress. He slides into the chair next to her and presses a green protein bar into her palm.
"You'll think better on a full stomach."
She nods, and begins to eat.
….
On day one hundred and thirty four, Five bursts into the training room, her cheeks pink with excitement.
"It's done, Four." She says, breathlessly. "I did it. Or at least, I think I did. I haven't tried to set it yet, I'm too nervous."
Wordlessly, he sets down his sword, and goes to sit on a bench.
"Let's see it." She comes over, and carefully takes it out of its box. It's not even recognizable. The broken glass had been replaced. The wood, freshly sanded to be cherry red. The metal polished until it gleamed. When Four had first seen the clock in the back corner of the shop, it sat forgotten and covered in a thick layer of dust. Now, it was something entirely new. A different clock. A better one.
He nods once, and she opens the little door on the back to take out the pendulum. He can see all the little gears, and is fascinated by how something so small and seemingly simple could be so complex.
She turns the winding key, letting it ring out twelve times. Then she places the pendulum back inside, sets the time, and waits. They both find themselves holding their breaths in the millisecond it takes for it to begin working.
Then, the ticking starts. But Four hardly noticed. Instead, his attention was on Five. Surprise colours her face, briefly, before it shifts and slowly, the sun comes out again. But this time it doesn't startle him.
"It's working!" her smile widens, making the corners of her eyes crinkle. "It's actually working! I did it!"
"It's perfect." He agrees. "You did good, little warrior."
Her expression softens. She tries to hand it to him, but he shakes his head.
"Keep it."
Her eyebrows scrunch together. "But I thought you wanted it."
"No," he says, watching the yellow light reflect off her cheek. "I already got what I was looking for."