Work Text:
Silco leaned over the scrap of paper in his hand, his single good eye narrowing in futile focus. The symbols scratched across it were a chaotic sprawl—letters tumbling over each other, some sharp and jagged, others looping lazily as if they had been scrawled in a fit of whimsy or frustration. He tilted the page, squinting at it as though a different angle might reveal its secrets. It didn’t.
“Is this… a three?” he murmured, almost to himself, tapping a spidery curl with his finger. “Or is it an eight? No, wait—it could be a B…” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Jinx sat perched on his desk, legs swinging idly, her blue eyes flicking toward him with faint amusement. Her smirk was unmistakable. She knew he was struggling.
“Something funny, dear?” he asked without looking up, though his tone was softer than sharp.
“Y’makin’ that face again,” she teased. “The one where y’look like the answer’s on the tip of your tongue but it’s just outta reach.”
Silco lowered the page, fixing her with a steady gaze. “That’s because it is,” he said evenly. He held up the paper. “Care to enlighten me as to what this says? Because unless the ratios for your newest toy involve hieroglyphics, I’m at a loss.”
Jinx plucked the paper from his hand and studied it with exaggerated concentration, squinting and tilting it just as he had. “Looks fine to me,” she said lightly, grinning up at him.
“Of course it does,” Silco said with a faint chuckle, folding his arms. “Because you wrote it. To the rest of us mere mortals, though, it’s… shall we say, an enigma.”
Jinx pouted theatrically, clutching the paper to her chest. “You sayin’ my handwriting’s bad, huh?”
“Not bad, exactly,” Silco said carefully, choosing his words with the precision of a blade. “But… unique. Let’s call it that.”
Jinx raised an eyebrow, her grin slipping into a mock glare. “Unique?”
Silco sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice softened, low and even, as though coaxing a skittish creature. “Jinx, you know I value everything you do. Every design, every innovation—your work is extraordinary. But if I can’t read it, I can’t help you refine it. And I’d very much like to avoid any… unfortunate accidents due to a misread ratio.”
Her glare faltered, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “Y’sayin’ I’mma blow somethin’ up by accident.”
“No,” Silco said firmly. “I’m saying you’ve got brilliance pouring out of you, and I want to make sure none of it gets lost. But that means your notes need to be clear. For both of us.”
Jinx shifted her weight, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. For all her bravado, she was still fifteen—a tangle of sharp edges and soft vulnerability. “Guess I could try…”
Silco reached out, gently taking the paper back from her. “That’s all I ask,” he said. “You don’t need to change who you are. Just slow down. Be precise. Your work deserves it.”
For a moment, she looked at him, her gaze uncharacteristically open. Then she grinned again, wider this time.
“Fine,” she said, laughing. “But only cause y’said it so nicely, ol’ man.”
“Old man?” Silco scoffed, though there was warmth in his voice. He set a fresh sheet of paper and a pen on the desk before Jinx. “Alright, dear,” he said, voice calm but laced with amusement. “Let’s start again. Write down the ratios for the bomb—slowly this time. Walk me through it as you go.”
Jinx leaned over with a dramatic sigh, picking up the pen in her right hand. “Fine, but if you still can’t read it, it’s your fault, not mine.”
Silco’s brow furrowed slightly as she begun writing. He had watched her tinker a thousand times, and yet something felt… off.
“Wait a moment,” he interrupted.
Jinx looked up, pen hovering over the paper. “Hmm?”
“Why are you using your right hand?”
She tilted her head, blinking at him in genuine confusion. “Cause it’s there?”
Silco narrowed his eye, suspicion creeping in. “I could’ve sworn you wrote with your left one.”
Jinx shrugged nonchalantly, tapping the pen against the paper. “I do”
“So why?” Silco asked slowly, gesturing to her hand, “Is your left hand injured? Is that why you’re using the right?”
Jinx let out a sharp laugh. “What? No. My left hand’s fine.”
“Then why not use it?”
She blinked again, as if this were the most nonsensical question she’d ever heard. Without a word, she switched the pen to her left hand and continued writing, as casually as if she’d adjusted her seat.
Silco stared, his lips parting in realization. “Jinx… are you always writing with both hands?”
“Duh,” she said, her tone bordering on a scoff. “They get tired. What else am I supposed to do, stop?”
He sat back, momentarily at a loss for words. The absurdity of the revelation hit him all at once, and he laughed—quiet and sharp, more to himself than anything. He rubbed his chin, shaking his head. “You’re telling me you’ve been switching hands this entire time? You didn’t think that might… affect the legibility of your notes?”
“Legi-what?” Jinx muttered, scribbling as she went. To her credit, her handwriting was already markedly improved compared to the notes she provided him earlier.
“Readable,” Silco clarified, leaning closer again. “It means whether or not someone else can make sense of it.”
She shrugged again, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “Didn’t think about it. They both work, so I use ‘em.”
He shook his head again, marveling at her casual dismissal of what he now realized was a fundamental quirk. Years, he thought. Years they’ve spent together, and somehow this small detail had eluded him.
“Most people use one hand, you know,” he said, watching her intently now, the pen darting from left to right again.
“Well, y’should’ve told me earlier” Jinx retorted, not looking up.
Silco was too amused to find the right answer to that. “It explains a great deal, though. Why your notes always looked like three different people wrote them.”
“Hey!” she protested, though her grin suggested she wasn’t offended.
“It’s not an insult,” he said smoothly. “It’s… fascinating, really. Practical, even. But it does mean you’ll have to be doubly careful if you want anyone else to read them.”
Jinx snorted. “Why would I care if anyone else reads them? You’re the only one who ever tries.”
Silco gave her a wry look. “And I’d rather not have to decode them every time, dear.”
She laughed at that, a bright, unguarded sound that filled the room. “Fine, fine. I’ll try to keep ‘em… readable. But don’t expect miracles, ol’ man.”
He smiled faintly, watching as she continued to write, her focus shifting between hands as naturally as breathing. She was absurd, unpredictable, and entirely her own creature.