Chapter Text
The world comes to a screeching halt.
Twilight blinks. “Sorry?”
Yor’s smile wobbles ever so slightly around the edges. “Well, um, Happy Valentine’s Day, Loid.”
Oh.
That’s what he thought she’d said.
There’s really no reason for the guilt that settles heavily in his stomach. “Oh, yes.” But it’s there nonetheless, heavy in his gut like lead. Guilt . “I’m sorry—Is it Valentine's Day, Yor?”
It can’t be.
He can’t have forgotten.
Twilight is a spy. And as a spy, he is meticulous.
He is always on time. He is always alert.
He is always measured in his demeanor.
He is whoever he needs to be.
He remembers all sorts of important information and dates.
And while Valentine’s Day isn’t important to Twilight — it isn’t, not at all — it certainly should be important to Loid Forger. It is certainly important for maintaining appearances. Appearances, as Yor was so kind as to remind him at her work's New Year’s party, are vital for the continued success of Operation Strix. Keeping up the appearance of a happy family and a happy, loving couple is paramount .
...
He couldn’t have possibly forgotten, could he?
She blinks at him. Twice.
“Well, yes.” She said, “It’s the fourteenth, Loid.”
Was it?
In late January, he’d been assigned a small undercover mission infiltrating a local grassroots pro-war organization thought to be and, ultimately, confirmed to be in contact with a notorious black market arms dealer from a hostile nation. Under another pseudonym – Larry Schitz – he had been attending meetings and building connections with the members for the last few weeks. He’d told Yor and Anya that the resignation of another psychiatrist meant he had to pick up extra shifts until the hospital hired someone else — in actuality, his cover had been so deep that he hadn’t even set foot in the hospital for weeks . He had Fiona inform the staff that he had come down with a bug and convince them that under no circumstances were they to visit him at his home no matter how much they wanted to check in on him and his family. It had been a delicate juggling act. But, thankfully, the whole thing had ended just yesterday with assistance from a handful of WISE agents, a close call from a zealous man with a rusty knife, and a narrow escape from the SSS who stopped by to round up most of the group members.
And yesterday was…
The thirteenth.
“That it is,” Twilight exhales. He’d forgotten. He hasn’t forgotten valuable information while undercover for ten years. He remembered complex schedules when he was acting as the Vice Minister’s secretary. He’d learned the names of over three hundred gang members when he infiltrated the Red Skull. He could still recite all three thousand of Zan Lao’s sonnets from his time as a literature professor. But, today of all days, he’s forgotten this . Valentine’s Day. “I’m sorry, Yor. I’ve been so busy at—“
“I thought you might have forgotten.” There was a slight blush on her cheeks and she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Was she… was she upset? “Which is why—“
She was upset.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit .
He needs to fix this. Now. “Give me an hour. No— thirty minutes, Yor.” He would have to call Franky. It would be hard getting a reservation anywhere last minute on Valentine’s Day but not impossible with his connections. And money was no object. Especially if it meant keeping Yor happy— the mission . If it meant ensuring the continuing success of Operation Strix. Yes. Operation Strix . He needs to fix this for the mission. “I’ll figure something out, Yor. I’m so sorry I forg—“
A hand on his arm stops him.
She finally looks at him, blush and all.
“Don’t be. I made plans.”
The thing about Yor that worries Twilight the most is her eyes.
Red. A dark red. Not quite marron, almost black in some lights. Her eyes worry him because whenever she looks at him, no matter what he’s doing or saying, he finds himself lingering . Lingering, halting, ceasing. Stopping. Stopping whatever he’s saying, whatever he’s doing. Whatever he’s thinking and just looking into her eyes. It’s never for too long – just the fraction of a second, the blink of an eye, the beat of a heart – but it’s longer than he should. Longer than he’s allowed.
He shakes it off. “You made plans?”
Yor nods. “I did.”
“For Valentine’s Day?”
“For Valentine’s Day, yes.”
Twilight isn’t confused often. “For…” He’s very confused now. “For us, together, Yor?”
“I, um– yes?” Her blush deepens. Pink to rose to peach to a pretty coral color. “I mean! I don’t mean–I didn’t– um,I just thought, you know… Maybe it would be good? If we went out today? Since, you know. Since we’re supposed to be married. But you know that, ha. Just, just…”
She is rambling.
That is fine. That is good .
Living with Yor over the last few months has provided Twilight with detailed information on his fake wife. And, in a strange turn of events for a spy, that information has been freely given. Yor is, above all, honest. Honest to a fault. Honest to the point of being blunt. It was startling, at first, but over time Twilight has come to appreciate her for it. Her honesty is, perhaps, one of his favorite things about her.
So he knows what that look on her face means, he knows why she’s going on and on as though her thoughts have run away from her and are escaping through her mouth without so much as a go-ahead from her. He knows what that blush means. It means she isn’t upset.
Just embarrassed.
In another world, one in which this very thought isn’t borderline traitorous, he’d find it cute.
Here it’s an opportunity.
(And if some deep down part of himself finds it cute, well then, no one else needs to know that.)
He could deal with an embarrassed Yor.
“Yor?”
She stops abruptly. “Yes?”
“Breath”
She inhales.
And…
And…
“ Exhale , Yor.”
She finally breathes out with a cough. “Oh, thank you, Loid.”
“No problem, Yor.” He leads her gently to the couch, his hand resting against the warmth of her back where her sweater revealed smooth, toned skin. The trip to the couch from the door isn’t long – their apartment isn’t big by design, with fewer places to plant bugs – but by the time they take a seat the skin under his fingers is the same red as her cheeks. He removes his hand and watches as Yor shuffles in her seat. It was a good thing Anya was with Becky tonight, having her here giggling about mama and papa being “ lovey-dovey ” definitely wouldn’t have helped the situation. He sat next to her. “Now, what were you saying?”
She sighs.
“I planned the night for us.” Yor toys with her hands, clicking the nails of her thumbs against each other like she sometimes does. Whenever she’s shy or nervous or just flustered. He has seen her do it enough times around him for him to notice. “Nothing fancy! I just… I made reservations at this new restaurant that the girls at work were talking about. They have this, like, specialty drink – the Strawberry Sweetheart or Mango Matrimony or something – that Sharon said was delicious and they have that brand of whiskey you like… but don’t worry, Loid!” She holds her hands up to her face, covering the now scarlet shade on her cheeks. “I’ll pay!”
Twilight looks at her for a moment.
And then he stands, straightening the lapels of his suit as he does.
This won’t do.
“No.” He says and it’s not enough, he supposes, because Yor’s face falls and she says, “Oh, I understand. I guess I was being presump–”
And that’s not what he means.
Not at all. Yor is...
Well, she's perfect, isn't she?
But this whole day…
He had a plan. Regardless of how it looks now there had been a plan. He’d been planning for this eventuality – this day – since the day he proposed to Yor because if everything went well, they were meant to get to this day. They were meant to last long enough for his mission to be successful. And for that to happen he had to plan. And he had.
In his mind, he’d had a plan.
But, nevertheless, Twilight is a spy.
A really good spy. The best the west has.
And as a really good spy, he has more tools in his arsenal than preparedness.
He’s adaptable.
He reaches for his wife’s hand and gently helps her stand up. “That isn’t what I meant, Yor.” He smiles at her. A perfect smile, charming and disarming. “I meant no my wife isn’t paying for our Valentine’s date. Especially not for a date she had to plan because I was too absentminded to remember.” Adapt, Twilight. You were trained for this . “I’ll be paying for our date tonight. Thank you for planning something, Yor. I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”
He can tell the exact moment when Yor realizes that they’re still holding hands because she drops his immediately “Oh, um.” She rubs her arm awkwardly but there’s a dopey, pleased sort of smile on her face. “It’s alright. You were busy, Loid.”
Not only is Yor honest but she honestly believes in the good parts of everyone. It’s a great quality to have in the mother of his fake daughter. It’s a great quality to have in his wife.
(It’s the analytical, deceptive part of him that thinks it’s a great quality to have in a pawn as well but he doesn’t like to dwell on that and no one else needs to know that. And besides, in this cat and mouse game, isn’t he a pawn too.)
“You should never be too busy for family.”He says. And he means it. A good father and husband would have made time to plan something. Twilight has been neglecting his role recently and that isn’t okay. His family doesn’t just need to look happy — they needed to be happy. That was how a good cover was maintained. With a truth. “Thank you, Yor.”
He’d do better.
Starting with tonight.
“Oh, no, Loid, you don’t need to thank me! It’s just as much my responsibility to keep this family safe from scrutiny as it is yours. We’re…” She pauses, unsure. “ We may not actually be married. But… we’re partners , aren’t we?”
It takes a lot to give Twilight pause – a sudden mission, a present and unexpected threat, Anya’s distress, Yor’s eyes – but that gives him pause.
Twilight is a man without a name or a past. He’s a blank slate. And he’s been alone for as long as he can truly remember.
That’s what makes him such a good spy. His reliability to work quickly and methodically while involving the fewest number of outside parties. He’s stopped terrorist plots alone. He’s infiltrated some of the most dangerous organizations in the world alone. He’s been alone for almost two decades.
He doesn’t do many group missions at all. He doesn’t work with many other agents.
And that is a choice.
He’s better alone.
If he could have successfully carried out Operation Strix alone then he would have. It would have been for the best. He wouldn’t have had to endanger civilians like he’s doing. He wouldn’t have had to adopt a child under false pretenses and convince a woman to marry a man who she didn’t love, who she could never love. Anya wouldn’t have cried at the interview. Yor wouldn’t have been berated. They wouldn’t have to suffer any of the emotional trauma that they had since they met him. And… and…
They wouldn’t be part of a family with a quickly approaching expiration date.
“But we’re partners, aren’t we?”
A partner.
Twilight had never had a partner.
For good reason.
So instead of answering, he tucks a stray piece of hair behind his wife’s ear, watches her blush for the umpteenth time, and asks her, “What time is our reservation??”
The restaurant is dressed in red.
Red roses are draped down from the ceiling and scattered around the floor. The walls are deep maroon color, almost black but not quite, and even with the overhead fluorescent lightning the whole restaurant has a moody sort of darkness to it. The waiters and staff are dressed for the occasion as well. Red button-up shirts, black trousers with a red rose pinned to their pocket and rose cufflinks for the men. The women are wearing different red dresses of the same color with a red corsage on their right wrist.
It was all…
Well…
The tablecloths on the tables are a shiny white sort of fabric but the cutlery was the same red as the roses which was the same red as the cushioned chairs they were led to. And the same red as Twilight’s hand when he lets go of the back of Yor’s chair helping her to the table.
Paint.
That explains the smell of paint like turpentine in the air.
“This is,” Yor frowns as pulls away red-tinged fingers after lifting her knife. “It’s different than Sharon described.” She wipes her hands on a napkin, leaving a smear like a bloodstain. “It’s more…”
Twilight nudges his own utensils to the side. “Red?”
Yor sighs. “Yes.”
“What color did Sharon say the decor was.”
Yor frowns, “White.”
Twilight flags down a waiter for new, unpainted utensils and glasses, and smiles at his wife.
Sure, this restaurant may be a health hazard and, yes, he’s not sure how much he can trust a proprietor who is willing to hastily paint his chairs and restaurant red to cash in on the zeal of Valentine’s Day hopefuls at the expense of poisoning them with his food but…
For Yor, Twilight is willing to remain positive.
Even when the food arrives and…
Well…
His chicken alfredo is red with something he really hopes is food coloring and not salmonella. “I’m so sorry, Loid!” Yor looks panicked as he tries to swirl his noddles onto his fork and they remain in place, unwilling to budge from the plate like they're cemented. Never mind that her own meal doesn’t look much better. “I should have checked the reviews.”
Positive.
“It’s okay, Yor.”
“At least the drinks are good?”
They are. If strong means good which, given her past drinking habits, perhaps to Yor it does . She at least looks happy nursing her drink. But… “You might want to slow down a bit, Yor.” He can smell the alcohol coming from her Love Potion #9 from across the table. The menu said it was made with half an ounce of vodka and one and a half ounces of white crème de cacao liqueur but, from Twilight’s time as a bartender during his time in the North, it smells suspiciously like moonshine . “The night is still young afterall.”
It was.
It was only eight.
She hiccups. “Oh, Loid.” He’d never heard anyone actually hiccup from alcohol before. Except for characters from those, suspiciously adult, cartoons that Anya liked to watch. In real life… From Yor, at least, it was oddly endearing . Which was another dangerous thought. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why?”
“Just… I know this whole night is a mess. And I know we have a,” thankfully she still had the wherewithal to drop her voice to a whisper,” fake marriage but I really did want this to be a nice night. You… you do so much for me and I wanted to, I don’t know, thank you with a nice night out. But the food is…” Her steak was a strange, almost grey color. “I think serving food like this is illegal, isn't it?” He keeps his comment about the food she’s served him to himself and lets her continue. “Then, of course, the paint fumes aren’t helping. And our waitress– well, never mind that .”
He should really let that go but. “Never mind what, Yor?”
He hadn’t thought it was possible but Yor’s frown deepens. “She’s being inappropriate.”
She was. The young lady with the clearly box-dyed ginger hair had been making eyes at him since they walked in and he’d seen her damn near concuss another waitress just to be assigned their table. If it was she had been else, he would have expected Yor to be jealous because of all of the attention but she didn’t look jealous. In fact, the sharpness of her gaze whenever the waitress came over and the curt tone seemed more murderous than jealous. Which was surprising for his usually kind and friendly wife but he supposed not wholly unfounded.
What was strange was how she failed to notice how all of the other servers were also looking at her.
He’d noticed that immediately.
And if he was pressed for how he felt about it…
Well, he had every weapon in his arsenal at the ready if anyone tried anything untoward.
…
On second thought…
Maybe her reaction wasn’t so strange. They did have appearances to maintain, afterall.
Twilight clears his throat. “She is being inappropriate but you have nothing to worry about, Yor.”
His words are meant to relieve her of any insecurity but they seem to do very little to appease her because she takes another large gulp of her drink, holding it in two hands as though it were her most prized possession. “And now I’m drunk because I’m so nervous. And… and…” She deflates. “I’m just sorry, Loid.”
He frowns. “You’re sorry?”
“You probably didn’t even want to be out tonight.” She sits back, swirling her straw absentmindedly. She’d changed before they’d left the house. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder red dress that he’s never seen before. It cinches at the waist and bellows out into a midi-length skirt. He’d wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful in it but when he’d opened his mouth the words had gotten stuck in his throat. They would have sounded too much like truth and his body wasn’t quite used to that. So instead he’d coughed and told her that she looked pretty. Pretty. A word that wasn’t quite strong enough. But close enough to a lie. “Today about love and… You probably want to be out with… with someone you love tonight.” Now her dress stands out just perfectly against their surrounding. Just the right shade of red – light enough to highlight but dark enough for the nighttime – to draw the eye. “ I’m sure this was a happier day when your wife was still around. And now it’s… now it’s this .”
But still not the same shade of red as her eyes.
Nothing in this restaurant was quite the right shade.
Not the chairs nor the table settings.
Not the roses pinned to the waiters.
Not the corsages. Not even the walls.
None of it was a hypnotizing – as distracting, as devastating – as the color of Yor’s eyes.
“Loid?” She’s looking at him, confused. “Are you okay?”
He’s done it again. “Sorry.” This was bad. It was much too easy to be captivated by her. It was dangerous. “What were you saying?”
“I said,” she leans forward. “Could you find it in your heart to forgive me? For the night?”
To forgive her?
How could she be asking him to forgive her when he was the one who was constantly messing up. She was a civilian, an innocent. The archetypal person he’d forsaken his whole entire being to protect and what had he been doing?
He’s been lying to her since they met.
And the thing is he should keep lying to her. He shouldn’t feel guilty for that. Yes, he was endangering her. Yes, he was lying to her. And yes, he had every intention to leave her at the end of this charade. But that was how it was supposed to be. That was how it had to be.
He was a spy.
He was Twilight.
Guilt wasn’t an emotion he had the luxury of feeling because at the first inkling of it then — bam . That was it. He would be dead or he would be arrested or he would be dead . That was the risk. That was why he had to throw away everything that made him who he once was, everything that was unnecessary for his mission. Because he couldn’t complete it if he was dead.
And Yor…
Yor and Anya were bad for him.
They made him feel all these things.
They made him…
They made him weak.
And he needed to get himself together—
“Loid,” her voice breaks through his thoughts. But he won’t look at her. He can’t. She’s dangerous and he’s weak and that won’t do any of them any good. “Loid? Are you okay?”
But then she touches him.
Her hand falls gently on top of his and he’s done for.
He looks at her and he’s finished.
“But we’re partners, aren’t we?” That’s what she had asked him, right?
Partners.
She’s holding his hand and his gaze in this restaurant with no other motive than to check if he’s okay.
And…
That’s something , isn’t it?
And…
And now that he's thinking about it he supposes... she isn't exactly wrong, now is she?
Because here they were together. Two people with a shared secret. And maybe she didn’t know all of his secrets just like, he was sure, he didn’t quite know all of hers but what they did know, what they did share, had been enough for her to plan this trip to keep them together. Enough for her to hold his hand in this crowded restaurant that smells like turpentine and rubber filled with other genuine last-minute planners enjoying each other’s company despite it all.
Enough for her to want to know if he’s okay.
He’d never had that, he realises. He’s never had someone around to anticipate his shortcomings and try and compensate for them. Someone to wonder if he’s okay. He’s had Nightfall and Handler but neither of them would have gone this far to keep up this ruse, neither of them would have willingly suffered through this night with him. Neither of them would have wondered if he was okay.
But Yor…
She actually cares.
Genuinely. Freely.
Sadly.
“I’m okay.” He says. And even though it isn’t entirely true it’s true enough.
Because as far as he can tell… Even though the food is bad and even though these drinks are much too strong for her to have already had three, she is enjoying herself.
She’s honest.
And that honesty is probably going to be Operation Strix’s saving grace one of these days.
(And maybe his downfall.)
Perhaps that was what partnership was.
Wondering if the other person was okay.
Caring.
Just enough to keep them together.
And maybe that was okay.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
She looks up at him, pouting ever so slightly, and waits for him to continue.
She doesn’t, he notices, pulling her hand away.
“Today,” Twilight smiles. An eye crinkling, lip quirking, soft at the edges smile . And despite himself, it’s a real one. “Today is a day dedicated to love. All types of love. Romantic love is just one type of love.” He says. “And our marriage may be fake in a lot of ways but…” The truth is hard to get out but he manages it this time. “We are family. I do believe there is love here. Our own special kind.” A partnership. “Thank you for celebrating that.”
“I-I… I…” That same red blush paints her cheeks slowly. Red. Just like the roses and the decor. Red like the alcohol in her glass. Red like her lipstick. A red that pales only to the red of her eyes. “Thank you for saying that, Loid.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Yor, it’s all true.”
And he means it.
“I—“ She takes a sudden sip of her drink. “Just thank you anyway, Loid.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Yor.”