Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A FAINT POUNDING RESOUNDED THROUGH ANYA'S SKULL as she felt light shine against her eyelids. Anya’s legs felt heavy as she attempted to move, as a pain jolted through her left side.

Where am I?

Anya felt the grime in the crevices of her eyes as she cracked them open, grogginess spreading through every inch of her body. The throbbing pain in her head grew as it settled into her jaw and her teeth began to ache. Slowly, her bleary eyes cleared as her surroundings got brighter.

“Yor, she’s awake,” the stern voice of her father echoed, his face getting less blurry as her mind focuses.

Thank god. Anya could hear the thoughts resounding her father’s mind, as she felt the relief rolling off Loid’s body. Moments passed as she attempted to gain some understanding of where she was, her throat getting constricted by the second as unfamiliarity crept in.

This is not my clothes, and definitely not my bedroom. She scanned her surroundings, the faint but shrill beeping of monitors and machinery filling the room. The room was stark white, almost clinical, with a large window overlooking the city. The orange glow of the evening sun filtered through the room, making her parents glow in the light.

Confused, Anya looked at both of her parents, who were hovering over her concerningly. But the youthful glow that surrounded her parents had faded as she looked at their faces, both of them significantly older than how she remembered them to be.

Yor’s soft face now showed the test of time, small wrinkles around her smile and underneath her eyes. She could see the faint gray hairs, but she was still stood with poise and elegance, just like Anya remembered. Every small nick and scar that her skin once held was faded, her skin almost delicate with age.

Loid was the same as ever, his stance and posture strong, but the small glints of white hairs in his blonde gave him away. She could notice the crinkles in his forehead, the slight sag of his skin, probably from the myriad of anxiety attacks he got working Operation Strix.

“Papa,” Anya echoed, smiling as her voice cracked with disuse. “Where am I?”

Yor, gentle as ever, ran her hand comfortingly over Anya’s arm, smiling as her eyes watered. “You got into a car crash. The two of you were in a coma for the past three days.”

And thank god for that. What would have Alana done without them? The voice of her mother echoed through her mind, and she could feel the waves of relief from her, the same as she felt from her father.

The two of us?

“Loid, you should let the doctor know Anya is awake,” Yor said to her husband, Loid’s eyes still glued to Anya.

Loid’s hands were trembling before they firmly gripped the edge of the hospital bed, as though holding himself back, before patting Anya’s forehead, gently pushing back her pink hair.

Loid’s hands were warm and familiar to Anya, the feel of her father’s rough palms against her skin comforting to her bones. But his hands were significantly rougher than she remembered as she leaned into the warmth of his hands, the sinews of his youthful arms now older with age.

How did I not notice how old they were getting?

Loid opened his mouth, his eyes glazed over with a rare emotion that Anya never saw in the spy’s eyes, before closing it once more, opting to smile at his daughter instead. Swiftly, he turned towards the door, presumably making his way to the nurses’ station.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the reflection of herself, except the person that stared back wasn’t quite her. Sure, the person in the reflection had her signature pink hair and green eyes, but where she once saw the delicate features of her a girl, her reflection had much stronger looks than she remembered.

Anya looked too mature for how she felt, the face fully developed into angular cheeks and jawline, without her signature baby fat cheeks. It felt as though her body was too big for her mind, as she looked down at her arms, now almost like a woman than the girl she remembered being.

There was a still silence that filled the room, as Yor quietly held Anya’s hand, the same way she did when Anya was only four and nervous about passing Eden’s entrance interview. Her mother’s hands went to slowly pat her head as Anya shut her eyes, the exhaustion taking of her body once more. It felt bizarre, as though her body told her she was too old to be comforted like this but her mind still youthful as ever.

She tried to give herself some peace of mind, but all she could think about was how bizarre Loid and Yor’s faces appeared to be. How much older she looked, how different the air felt. It felt unfamiliar, so far removed from what she remembered her life to be like.

She tried to recall what her life was like, before she woke up, but she came up entirely blank, as though the past couple months of memories were erased in her mind. The last thing she could remember was being seated at the library at Eden Academy, trying to absorb the textbooks before her final exams. She remembered hanging out with Becky, spending her days in cafes or planning another hijink to try to get closer to Damian. She remembered spending her afternoons in the gardens with Damian, trying to pester him until they settled into a comfortable silence.

But she remembered nothing recent. She couldn’t remember what she last ate, what she was doing before the alleged car accident. Her mind came up blank everytime she attempted to search for even a glimpse of explanation for how she ended up here. Her parents told her she had been asleep for three days, but it felt as though she’s been in a coma for years.

So Anya laid there, her head gently cradled by her mother, as she waited for more answers, for someone’s mind she could read who could explain what was happening.

At last, she heard the sounds of shuffling feet at the edge of her bed as she opened her eyes once more, the room filled with the clamoring thoughts of her doctor and the gaggle of attending nurses. The brilliant white coats were too bright for her eyes, the calmor of all their silent thoughts creating more chaos in her mind. Two nurses were checking on her vitals, or whatever wires and tubes that were currently running down her arms and her body, as the doctor stood at her bedside.

“Mrs. Forger, I’m glad to see you are awake,” one of the doctors said, presumably her primary doctor. “Your injuries were dire by the time you reached the hospital, the both of you sustaining major blood loss and internal bleeding. Luckily, we were able to operate on you quickly, since your family has a reserved ward at Ostania General, but you fell into a coma post-op.”

Anya nodded weakly, trying her best to stay focused on the doctor’s words, but her mind was running a mile a minute. Since when did she have a ward at the hospital? And who the hell was in the car with her? There was too much clambering in her head, and she wanted to blurt out every question she had.

“We’ll keep you closely monitored, but after a day of rest, you should be cleared to at least move around the hospital. Unfortunately, your husband—”

“Husband? I’m too young to have a husband!” she interrupted the doctor, unable to control herself as she looked to the panel of people staring back at her.

She was met with stunned silence as everyone looked back at her, wide eyed and blinking. Their minds were blank, as Anya ground her teeth in frustration with the shocked stares.

“Mrs. Forger, could you please state your full name, age, your current occupation and country of residence, please?” the doctor asked her, adjusting his glasses as his eyebrows scrunched. He clicked his pen against his clipboard as his eyes went back and forth between her and the keyboard.

“My name is Anya Forger, I am sixteen years old and attending Eden Academy as an Imperial Scholar. I live in Ostania.” she recited as frustration grew in her throat watching the doctor scribble frantically in their clipboard.

“And your immediate family?”

“My father is Loid Forger and my mother is Yor Forger.”

“And no one else?” the doctor prodded her.

“Is there someone I am forgetting?” she furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at her father, only to be met with an expression of worry. Who am I forgetting? She fretted, trying to dig in her mind, but everything coming up blank. What is she missing?

“Papa… what year is it?” she twisted to face Loid, trying to get some comfort, begging her papa to say that she is missing nothing from her life. That she is Anya, she is sixteen and a student at Eden Academy at Ostania. That she is still his daughter, that she is still helping him with Operation Strix.

But she was met with a contemplative silence as he looked at his daughter. Will what I tell her shock her memory? It’s a very delicate thing to mess with, especially after surgery. But still… his thoughts trailed off.

“How old is Anya?” her voice was frantic now, unsettled by the fact that her very own papa doesn’t have an answer ready for her.

“Mrs. Forger, it seems you have amnesia. It’s common to see this, especially when you’ve gone through something traumatic,” the doctor stepped in to answer for her father, but it offered no comfort.

“Is it…” she swallowed down her emotions, before continuing. “Is it permanent?”

“It’s too early to tell. In most cases, it is temporary and memories will start to come back as time passes. But until we know for sure, try not to put too much pressure on yourself to remember,” he answered. “I believe your parents will have to fill you in with your personal details, but remember to take it a step at a time. Memory is a very fragile thing.”

Anya simply nodded, before looking expectantly at her parents, who were looking at each other with mirrored expressions of worry and hesitance.

I don’t want to shock her just after she woke up. How can I tell her anything without causing her alarm?

Our poor girl, how will she manage going back to her life when she doesn’t remember anything?

“Please, papa, mama, explain what’s going on. How old am I?” Anya’s voice was frantic, the anger and desperation tingeing her voice.

“Anya… you’re twenty seven years old.” her father explained, emphasizing the end.

“And my…husband?” she almost choked on the word.

“You’re happily married to Damian Desmond,” he said gently, trying to gauge her reaction.

“Sy-on boy?” Anya blurted out, lurching forwards in the bed. “I’m married to Sy-on boy?”

“Yes. And there’s one more—”

“Wait where is he? Is he okay?” she interrupted her father once more, as she remembered that she was in the crash not just by herself but with her husband. Sy-on boy. Damian.

The words felt foreign in her mind, the idea of loving him as more than just a friend, or as more than just a target so removed from the memories she held of him.

“He’s fine, but still in a coma just like you. He is in another ward, but we made sure to check up on him as well,” he calmly explained. A relief settled into her body, despite the confusion she felt at how strong the relief really was. Her body reacted differently to her memories, almost like every molecule in her body remembered what her mind couldn’t.

“And my work?”

“You work as a psychiatrist as well, in my clinic,” Loid answered, but there was a strange emphasize at the end. You’re a spy, Anya. Agent Starlight. Trained at WISE, rebelling against my every wish for you to grow up like a normal citizen.

I was a spy? Just like papa? She blinked. At least one of her dreams seems to be a reality, something that brought her a sense of comfort.

“There’s also someone else.” Loid started, taking in a deep breath, hesitation. “You and Damian have a child. A daughter named Alana.”

“A daughter? I have a daughter?” Anya was at the verge of screaming now, the myriad of confusion, pain and alarm rising into her throat like poison. A husband? A daughter? I have a whole family?

“Uncle Frankie is looking after her, back at our apartment. We’ll bring her to see you tomorrow… if you’d like,” her mother’s voice was kind as she looked at Anya.

Anya only nodded in response, her eyes still wide as stared almost blankly at the white walls of her hospital room. There was too much to process in such a limited time. In the span of a couple hours, she had woken up in a body that wasn’t quite hers, into a life that she doesn’t remember creating. Almost half her memories were stolen, and she was left stranded and unknown.

Anya felt like she was four again, desperately fearing that those scientists will come back to force her into the facility she was born into, unable to have any control of her own life, gifted with abilities that she never asked for.

For her entire childhood, she searched for something stable before being gifted with her father and her mother, but even then she was aware that being their child was something that could disappear with just one mistake on her parents or her part.

Anya vowed to herself to never vulnerable ever again, trying her hardest to please her parents and stay with them. Yet here she was again, at the mercy of other’s who held all her memories, her life. Everything was stolen from her in an instant and she was right back where she started, except now with a marriage and a child she doesn’t remember having.

A marriage. With Damian Desmond of all people. The son of her father’s target, the boy that she held a deep rivalry with since childhood. Despite him mellowing out in her teenage years, it was strange to even consider that she loved him more than anything platonic.

A child. A daughter who was named Alana Desmond. Anya shut her eyes, trying to conjure up an image of her daughter, but she came up empty. She had no memory of her face, her hair color, her eyes. She had no memory of what her own daughter was like not even a hint of an idea about her personality. She barely knew about her own age, let alone her daughter.

What kind of mother doesn’t remember her own daughter?

Unfamiliarity and fear bloomed in her chest, but for some inexplicable reason she felt a craving to see Damian. Something that was deeply residing within her, a feeling almost etched into her bones begged to see Damian, whispering to her that she will feel at ease the moment she sets her eyes on him.

It was odd, her memories not matching up to the rest of her body. Her body yearned to see Damian and Alana, from the moment their names were mentioned, even though she had no memory of either person. There was something telling her that she will feel better when she reunited with them.

Anya shifted her eyes to the door as her parents sat watch next to her, her father unpacking a kit of food for her. Alas, she was bound to her bed, all the tubes and wires connecting and reading her condition holding her firmly in place to her bed.

Tomorrow. I will see him tomorrow. I will meet Alana and visit him, and hope that he’s awake.

Chapter Text

THE FIRST THING DAMIEN DESMOND NOTICED when he awoke was the time. 2 AM, the clock indicated, hung in the wall across his bed.

Rhythmically, the low tick-tock of the clock, filling the emptiness he felt course through the room. Almost out of habit, he timed his breathing to each sound, inhaling and exhaling until they were in time with each other.

2 AM. He should be asleep in his dorm by now, after coming back from the library at midnight, eyes tired and blurry from sleep. He should be laying in bed, staring at the plain ceilings of his dorm room, trying to connect the patterns cast by the moonlight filtering through his window. He should be contemplating his life, daydreaming about the girl with bubblegum pink hair that would sit close enough to him to send him into a cardiac arrest.

Instead, he wakes up to find his arms with tubes running down the side. His head pounded unnaturally, and his body felt as though it was moving through molasses. His muscles creaked and ached as he attempted movement, screaming in protest. His vision blurry and strained as the dimmed lights made the room look ominous.

Dark.

Lonely.

A slow panic flooded his mind as he tried to piece together why he was here, what happened, only to find empty spots in his mind. The very last thing he could remember about himself was being sixteen, studying to sustain his Imperial Scholar status and trying to impress his father in the only way he knew how to.

Temporary Amnesia, the doctor on call had explained to him when they did their nightly rounds. He was found in a wreck with someone else, although Damian faired better. She assured him that it would probably come back in the course of a couple months, and that he could return to his daily life.

Except he had no clue what his daily life was once he saw his face on the reflection of a mirror. His teenaged face had transformed into a strong jaw and a proud nose, looking more like a man. HIs voice was almost unrecognizable to himself, no longer the clear low tones that it used to be. It was clear as he clenched his arms, observed the palms of his hands, that he was no longer the image of the person he remembered being.

He was twenty seven apparently, a senator-elect rather than the sixteen year old boy he remembers, trying to hit every target set in front of him.

Ambitious and progressive.

Youthful and headstrong.

So, not much had changed.

The slow shuffle of the doctors, with their pens clacking against clipboards, washed out into the darkness as they exited the room. Just to be left alone, once more.

An empty hospital room. No one to visit him. To care about him.

Damian sighed into the darkness, trying to close his eyes once more. Wondered where his brother was, whether his father even knew about the crash.

He had to know right? Damian was someone important now, someone who joined his father’s party as a candidate. That must have meant that he did something right in the past twenty seven years.

Or maybe nothing changed. Maybe his father is still disappointed in him, and all his efforts were vain.

Who knows what his life was like in the past 10 years?

The low heels of the nurse’s shoes clacked on the linoleum floor of the hospital, as she approached his bed. Damian was sat up on his bed, watching as the nurse wrote down notes on his chart, before rearranging some of the tubing.

“You must love her quite a lot,” hummed the nurse, as she instructed him about how to stand and move around his room with the IV tubing attached to his arms.

“Huh?”

“Your wife,” she said, a small smile stretched across her face as she stepped back to allow him to rise to his feet. “You were found cradling her body to yours in the wreckage, probably shielding her moments before the crash.”

Damian blinked.

“I have a wife?”

“Ah, has no one informed you?”

“No…”

“She’s in the ward next to you, she woke up this morning,” she informed.

“What’s her name?” he asked, with his traitorous heart hoping to hear a certain name that he had shoved to the recesses of his mind. Or, at least tired to.

“Anya Forger.”

The nurse chuckled slightly when she noticed the steady beep of his heart rate monitor increase sharply at the name, before leaving the room. Damian could feel his face heat, the blood rushing to his cheeks faster than he could imagine, but he couldn’t care less about who witnessed him.

Despite the hope he held deep in his heart, his breath stil stuttered hearing that name come out of her mouth.

Anya Forger. His wife, Anya Forger. HIS WIFE.

She was the love of his life. The bane of his existence. The girl of his dreams. The thorn under the pads of his foot. The most gorgeous and the most vexing girl he had ever met.

Until he was 6 years old, Damian was raised under the impression that he had everything anyone could ever ask for. A mansion, a chef, a butler. A rich and prestigious family.

And then, she walked into his life, punching not only the breath out of his lungs but also his face. She was the constant nag in the back of his mind, her taunting grin stuck in his mind, only to be replaced with her round green eyes and the softest, chubbiest cheeks. Every time his mind drifted to her, she was glowing golden in his memory.

Every time he believed he had no more to learn about life as pretentious elementary student, she would waltz in to show another side of himself, teach him how to be kind by practically forcing his hand.

It was absolutely infuriating. It drove him up the wall, every single day, that a measly commoner had so much to teach him about life. Every time she did so much as look at him, he could feel his heart burst into flames, a pain that wrapped around his heart, throat, and lungs like she stuck her hand directly into his chest and touched his heart.

The connection between his heart, his mind, and his mouth would sever the moment he looked into those eyes of hers, causing whatever words to come out of his mouth to be lies. He treated her so rudely, every time she unearthed a kindness or thoughtfulness from him that his mind didn’t want to acknowledge.

Then he was named the imperial scholar at the ripe age of 14; the first one in their year to become one. The title, like the cloak, weighed down on his shoulders, the red and gold colors an eternal reminder of who he is meant to be.

Soon after, Anya joined his ranks, the second one in their year, and for the first time, both of them were in the same boat. Desperate for their parents approval in one way or another, despite coming from different social classes and backgrounds, they both had to study harder than anyone else in their year. They had to prove that they were worthy of the cloaks they wore.

Damian was used to spending a lot of time by himself, in the dorms or even in the schoolyard. But now he found himself next to her, time after time, studying in the library or reading books together in the courtyard. She’d poke him and he’d jab back, almost like clockwork, until they settled into a harmonious working pattern. Spending time with her became like spending time by himself.

Unknowingly, he had her coffee order memorized, from the amount they had prepared and chugged to make their bodies endure the sleepless nights. He knew what highlighters she liked, the exact pens she used to take her notes. He knew the best method to teach her every subject, from history to math, and exactly how to explain every concept to her. He knew every slope and loop of her handwriting, the way the pen pressed into the paper as she wrote down notes.

These were the last things he remembered about her.

Something must have changed between them in the next 10 years for them to have married. They must have fallen in love at some point, made the active decision to choose each other despite all the barriers between them.

It’s just a shame that he didn’t remember any of their story.

Damian moved forward, the stand with packets of liquids and tubes running through it trailing behind him, as he stood in front of the window that looked out into the city. The lights twinkled back at him, just the same as the stars.

The slow opening of his hospital room door alerted him, yet he didn’t turn to see who visited him. Instead, he studied the reflection of the girl— no, now the woman, on the window he was facing. The fuzzy pink hair gained clarity as the woman approached him, the reflection growing focused.

It was hard to pick apart her image, when so much of it was the same as he remembered. Her bubblegum pink hair was longer now, the slow waves of her hair framing her face perfectly as the small blonde strands shone in the light. Her eyes were just as wide and innocent as he remembered, the forest green eyes almost captivating.

But her face was leaner, all the baby fat in her face gone. She stood tall and proud, the curves of her body so much more pronounced. There was very little doubt in her stance, even when she was dressed in just a hospital gown as she approached him.

Still, the effects of the accident lingered on her body. She was much frailer than he remembered, her skin pale and each step she took towards him was hobbled, as though she was enduring pain just moving an inch.

A stab of pain seized his heart, watching as she approached to stand beside him, clad in her matching hospital gown. He could still hear the gentle scrape of the stand trailing behind her, as she stood next to him, barely a feather away from his arms as he instinctively breathed in.

He faced forward, despite his body itching to turn to face her and take in all of her at once. He could feel his heart race at feel of her next to him, and god you would think he would stop feeling like this by now.

She was still as beautiful as he remembered.

His fingertips itched to clutch at her hospital gown, to bring her closer to him, to drown himself in her. Damian’s mind felt hazy and heedy in her presence, feeling as though he could get drunk on her mere existence.

It felt different than he remembered, the way the love used to course through his body almost uncontrollably at the sight of her. At sixteen, it felt overpowering, as though the emotion was something his body should be fighting against. But now, it was as though his bones were pacified by the electricity that coursed through him, his body accepting that rush, almost like it was something he felt every single day of his life.

“You’re still short, aren’t you Forger?” he blurted out, his mind trying to make sure he doesn’t say something utterly stupid, like how ethereal she looked in the dim hospital light.

“You’re still a prick, aren’t you Sy-on boy?” she scoffed, her expression familiar. He fought the urge to tug down his smile, but it was too late as the corners of his mouth betrayed his orders.

“Do you remember anything after Eden?” he asked her, hoping that she did so at least one of them wasn’t utterly lost at what to do.

“No,” she sighed, turning to look up at him now.

“I don’t either.” A comfortable silence stretched between them, before he felt a slight jab on the side of his cheek.

“Hey!” he exclaimed as he whipped around to face her. Annoyance was acrid in his throat, as though he wasn’t enjoying every minute of her presence.

“I would have thought you’d develop more wrinkles by now,” Anya said, her tone taunting in a way that made Damian grit his teeth slightly. “Heh,” she smirked and it was like he was six years old again.

“I can’t believe you don’t look like an old hag by now. Aren’t commoners supposed to age faster?”

“Well, at least now your age matches your attitude, doesn’t it old man Damian?” she taunted him, but all that echoed in his ears was her melodic voice saying his name, as though it was a practiced motion.

“Forger, you’re just as short and annoying as you used to be. I can’t believe I married you,” he scoffed, trying level his breathing as he replayed her voice saying his name.

Anya, you’re just as beautiful as I remember. I can’t believe you’re my wife.

“Liar,” she whispered as she tilted her head to match his gaze. Startling green eyes met his, and Damian swore that they glinted in the light the exact way they did when they were just kindergarteners running around the playground.

It’s clear he doesn’t need his memory to be in love with Anya Forger. His body ignited with a simple look of hers, the blood quickly rushing to his face as he looked at her, starstruck.

Involuntarily, his fingers reached up to her face. He could count each breath he was taking, in and out, as he felt the time slow down between them. His thumb lightly brushed the soft skin of her chin, before moving up to the errant pink curl of hers that was itching to be tucked behind her ear.

Damian could feel Anya’s breath hitch, just slightly, and just that small sound filled him with such inexplicable contentment. For years, he’s restrained himself from even touching her, and the idea that his touch can illicit even a slight reaction was satisfying.

There was something nagging in the back of his mind, whispering to him that this had happened before. His subconscious mumbled to him, that he had earned more than just a gasp from her, more than just a taunt and a push.

Damian has never been more jealous of himself.

“We’re twenty seven, you know? And married.” she whispered.

All of a sudden something flashed before his eyes, the image of a younger Anya telling him… something. His fingers stiffened and he jolted back from her, as he blinked, trying to remember what had come back to him. His breathing grew heavier as he tried to scramble back, clinging onto a snippet that he wasn’t even sure would give him any answers.

I’m a year younger than you Sy-on boy.

“You aren’t…? You’re younger than me,” Damian said, his voice hesitantly asking her.

“How did you—”

“I don’t know… Something told me you were…”

“You got back a memory?”

“I think so.”

Anya nodded hesitantly, refusing to meet his eyes for some reason. A beat passes, before she opens her mouth once more.

“Chichi is bringing Alana tomorrow to meet us. For the first time, for both of us I guess…”

“Alana? Who…” he trailed off, his eyebrows furrowed at the deep feeling of confusion. His mind drew a blank on the name, but his body yelled back in protest, a frustration that spread from the tips of his fingers and up his forearms.

“Ah, I guess no one really told you anything but apparently,” she paused, clearing her throat. She took a breath, and he could once again feel the agitation spread through his body. Spit it out, Forger.

“We have a daughter together.”

Silence.

And then Damian sputtered, choking on his own spit as he processed what Anya said.

“A daughter?” he blinked, his eyes almost bugging out. “Wait, wait, I have a child? With… you?” Every word was coated in disbelief, as though they were lodged into his lungs.

This is it, this is what breaks me. Not that I missed out on ten years, or the fact that I’m married to Forger, no, but the fact that I have a child, a daughter with her. A child. I’m a father.

Anya cringed slightly, as she refused to meet his eyes, choosing to look into the endless darkness that stretched beyond the hospital window.

“I have a wife. A daughter. I’m twenty seven.” he mutters to himself, almost repeatedly because his mind was having so much trouble wrapping itself around what was happening. “What happened in ten years?”

“I don’t even know, Sy-on boy. The last thing I remember was being sixteen and worried about midterms and the next minute I wake up here, and told that I have a daughter with my biggest rival.”

“I’m your biggest rival?”

“Is that all you got from this?”

“No, no. I also got that we’re both stuck in the same boat here,” he sighed.

“All we can really do is wait until Chichi and mama explain our lives to us. And maybe something about how we got here.”

How we got here. How we got married. How we… fell in love. How we had a family together.

“Wow, you already have a plan set out. Guess I don’t have as much practice being clueless like you do, Forger.”

Anya stuck her tongue out at him, and Damian laughed, her childish antics bringing him so much more comfort than he wanted to admit to himself.

“I can’t believe we got married.” she scoffed.

Me either, Forger. It’s a dream come true.

Chapter Text

"MAMA!" A SHRILL VOICE rang out from where a young girl sat encircled in Yor’s arms, as Yor entered the hospital room. The little girl, clearly inheriting her mother’s energy, all but leapt from Yor’s arms in an effort to greet Anya.

It didn’t take much to conclude who this child was.

Alana Desmond, daughter of Anya Forger and Damian Desmond.

“Now, you’ll need to be careful, okay Alana?” Yor’s voice was melodic, as Alana nodded solemnly, her brown hair bouncing with the strength of her nod.

Pain seized Anya’s heart, a debilitating shock that filled her lungs and chest until they reached the brim of her throat. With every step Yor took in her direction, the little girl bouncing in her arms, Anya felt her limbs paralyze, like lead was stitched into her skin.

She barely knew herself and how to function as an adult in this world, but almost overnight, she was a mother. Someone responsible for another child’s life, their wellbeing and protector.

This was too soon, her mind was screaming, but time flew faster with every plead.

Yet, as Alana climbed onto Anya’s bed, Anya could only look at her daughter with a wave of wonder.

Alana was the perfect mixture of Damian and her own features. She had Damian’s signature brown hair, a copy of the glossy texture and shine that Damian’s hair had since they were children. Alana had the longest eyelashes, just like him, sweeping across her skin at every blink.

But Alana’s facial structure was a mirror to Anya’s, the round chubby cheeks with a smile that was a carbon copy of hers. Her stature was just like Anya’s when she was just three or four, Alana’s arms and legs just as stubby as hers were. Her eyes were shining green, but it was mixed with gold rings near her pupils, deepening her eye color to be a swirl between her and Damian.

One look at her daughter’s shining eyes, the ones that held so much adoration, and Anya knew that she would clear fields of people just to protect the child she held in her arms.

“Mama!” she yelled once more, enthusiastic as she launched herself at Anya. Her chubby arms went to grasp at her hospital gown as her head nestled into the crook of her neck, and on instinct, Anya’s arms went to wrap her small body.

“Why are you so panicked mama?” Her voice was muffled, but the vibrations of her words soft on Anya’s skin.

Her heart stuttered as she looked at her daughter, encircled in her arms. Can she read thoughts like me?

Alana, say yes if you can hear what I’m saying.

“No need for panic! Agent Alana is here to save you!” Alana announced, her face scrunched in determination as she drew away.

“My hero,” Anya chuckled softly, her hands moving up to push back Alana’s silky brown hair, and placing a small kiss. “How was your day, my little peanut?”

She wasn’t quite sure where the nickname came from as the words slipped out of her mouth, but by the beam of her daughter’s smile, she must have done something right.

“Good! Uncle Franky and Grandmama took care of me at home!” Alana’s cheerful voice suddenly changed, her head dipping down onto Anya’s chest once more. A watery frown overtook her delicate face.

“I missed Dada’s cooking,” her eyes were downcast, looking at her hospital gown instead, and god, Anya felt her heart crumble into dust. “Can Dada make us waffles when you get home?”

Anya’s ears rang when she heard that word fall from her daughter’s mouth with ease. Dada. Damian. The weight of that word vibrated through her skull, heavy and disorienting.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The young girl tilted her head up to Anya, her hazel-green eyes wide and glimmering in the light, her expression practically begging Anya to give in. Her small head was tilted to the side, her brown hair falling around her face. In that small motion, Alana looked exactly like Damian, the tilted, wide eyed expression he would make when he wanted something.

“Sure,” Anya answered, breathlessly observing Alana. No matter how many times she blinked, all she could see was Damian, in every mannerism and in her speech patterns.

The reality of her life and her memories keep clashing with each other, like there was some wide gap that was left between the two. It was difficult to believe that they are married with children, even though she had the proof right here in her arms.

After watching her parents create a nurturing environment despite their wrought pasts, Anya was sure she wanted to build a family one day. It was a hidden fantasy of hers, one that kept her pushing through the thick of the cold war and stress of their lives. But as she looked at her daughter, all that planning and knowledge left her mind, the ideas all theoretical than physical.

She was dropped into a pitch black cave with no flashlight, no map to guide her. And alongside her was this three year old child, one that looked uncannily like Damian, peering up at her through hazel green eyes as though Anya can protect her.

I don’t know what to do, she wanted to scream. I’m just as lost as you.

What’s worse was imagining the sixteen year old boy she once knew as a father.

Damian, the boy who once chugged two energy drinks before every class, running on two hours of sleep, trying to make the it through the day by pushing his body further. The same boy who fell down from the tree in the Eden courtyard trying to prove to her that he had a better balance than she did. He was known to drive his body to the verge of collapse, barely able to take care of himself during high school with the overwhelming pressure of his parents.

Imagining that same boy as a father, as someone who gets up in the morning just to make his family waffles, who nurtured the very child that she held in her arms, felt like a fever dream.

Everything was spiraling out of her control too quickly. She didn’t know the first thing to managing a household, the responsibilities of a mother, of an adult. The last memory she held was sat in the Eden courtyard, daydreaming about her future that seemed so hypothetical that it felt impossible.

But here she was, in the position she dreamed of being in, but with an empty toolkit and no knowledge about how their family used to be.

Anya wondered if this was the same overwhelming emotions that Loid and Yor had felt back when they adopted Anya, the confusion of transitioning from being independent to tied down. Her parents situation was different to hers, of course, but in this moment, she felt more connected to them than ever.

Anya cradled the young girl tighter then, Alana burying her head into the crook of her mother’s neck once more as her hands rubbed her back in a slow rhythm. Alana’s weight was almost soothing to Anya, like it was regulating the panic within her body with a simple embrace. She fit right into her arms, like she was designed to be carried around by Anya herself.

The weight somehow took away some of the uncertainty of the situation, somehow making her more comfortable in her own skin. The way Alana clung to her at least told her that her past self must have done something right when she raised her, made her feel safe and secure in a way Anya wasn’t as a child. And somehow, she needed to figure out how to keep providing that to her child.

It was hard to tell how much time passed before the door to her hospital room opened abruptly. Damian walked in, still in a matching hospital gown that she saw him in last night. Loid followed closely behind, a gentle hand placed on Damian’s shoulder, her father ensuring that his path wasn’t obscured by the myriad of tubes connected to his body.

While not much time had passed since she saw Damian, it took her breath away to see how much he changed. He still had the softest features, with his full lips, his round eyes, and his long lashes. There was a kind of cherub like beauty to him, even as children, and that aura never faded from his face.

But his face shape had lost all that baby fat, his jaw angular and his cheekbones sharp. With a slight clench of his jaw, she could tell all those muscles were more pronounced than they were before. He was always a pretty boy, but combined with his tall, almost imposing frame, he was handsome.

Despite his dependence on Loid’s shoulder and the tiredness that haunted his body, it was clear that Damian was a strong man, just from the way his broad shoulders and powerful arms. He was still lean, yet you could tell he kept himself in great shape.

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him in his Eden uniform, the black button up shirt and slacks with golden embroidery that matched his eyes. Even at sixteen, he’d managed to steal her breath away, his posture perfect and his head held high like he was a king looking down at his subjects.

She knew most of it was bravado, that he was softer than he looked, but on the outside, he was a noble bred, rich socialite through and through. Even after ten years, it lingered in the way he carried himself, the stiffness in his shoulders, and the expressionless mask on his face.

“I wanna see Dada!” Alana’s head shot up from the crook of Anya’s neck, a wide smile plastered across her face as she saw Damian. Alana stretched out her hands towards Yor, trying to motion for help to get down from Anya’s bed, her eyes wide.

Yor picked her up with ease, Alana already clambering down with speed at the sight of her father. Anya felt her heart squeeze at the sight, seeing that her daughter— no their daughter running towards him with such enthusiasm. She has a lot of affection for Damian it seems.

A expression akin to horror flits through Damian’s tired face though, his eyes wide with panic. His hands were frozen at his sides, almost fearfully watching the little girl walk towards him.

Almost instantly, Anya was hit with a barrage of Damian’s thoughts— most of them panic and confusion— yet it brought comfort that he was as nervous as she was. Anya giggled softly at the sight of a six foot tall man scared of a child that was a quarter of his size.

Damian cleared his throat, suddenly outstretching his hand. “Um, hi,” his low voice strong and clear, as though greeting a business partner and not a three year old.

Anya sputtered out a sharp laugh, everyone’s head snapping to her figure. Her shoulders shook with laughter as she watched Damian shoot her a withering glare. Anya might have been utterly lost with Alana, but at least she wasn’t this bad.

Alana, uncaring of the exchanged looks, paid the outstretched hand no mind. Instead, she zipped to Damian’s legs, the little girl wrapping her arms around him as much as she could.

She’s precious.

“Dada!” she exclaimed.

Damian only blinked in confusion as he looked down at the little girl, and Anya watches him melt at the sight of it. His eyes soften down to some incomprehensible emotion as he looks down at their little girl, before meeting Anya’s eyes.

Anya could sense the apprehension, the fear, the questions behind his eyes as she held his gaze. For a moment, she forgot that there was someone else that was just as lost as her. She could sense the emotions in Damian mimic and mirror hers perfectly, somehow every fear feeling familiar to Anya as though they were her own emotions.

How am I supposed to do this? he was asking, as though she had any more of a clue than he did.

She shrugged. I don’t know, but we have to make it work.

Damian brought a hand down to pat Alana’s hair, his touch tentative. Alana simply leaned into the slow pats, the motion growing confident as she clung on harder.

Alana craned her head, trying to look up at Damian while still clinging onto his leg. “Can we have waffles tomorrow, Dada? Mama promised!”

Anya watched him literally melt, his eyes softening imperceptibly at the young girl. All eyes were on Damian and Alana, Anya looking on with curious eyes, as Yor and Loid looked at the pair with nostalgia.

“Of course, peanut,” he crouches down to her level now, and Alana launches herself onto him. Damian lets out a soft oof, before her arms curled around his neck, anchoring herself to him. It pushes him down to the ground, firmly sat on the marble tiles as Alana clung to him. A slow grin spreads across his face, and Anya’s heart squeezes involuntarily.

Oh, Alana definitely had him wrapped around her finger.

Loid cleared his throat, a soft smile on his face as he looked at the scene that was unfolding. Damian was still sat on the floor, Alana firmly burying her head into the crook of his neck as he looked up at Loid curiously.

“I spoke with your doctors. They have just a couple examinations to do, but if everything comes back clear, you two can be discharged tomorrow,” he paused, giving them time to digest it. “You will not be cleared to go back to work until a week after though, so Yor and I can take Alana for the weekend and allow you to readjust.”

He glanced at his wife then, the assassin nodding along as she looked at Anya. “Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything, we can always come by and help.” Yor’s hand reached out to cradle Anya’s head, her mother’s hand so comforting against her hair. Anya let out a shuddering breath, closing her eyes once more as she tried to remember how Yor raised her, with so much love and gentle care. Then about how to become that for Alana.

Anya listened to the sounds of Damian and her mother talking, ear straining for Alana’s small voice and laughter, and soon she was lulled into a deep sleep.

It was almost evening by the time Loid drove Damian and Anya to their apartment, the series of paperwork and test results making up most of their hectic morning. It was a confusing process to say the least, the doctors having to remind her that she had to sign her own documents now that she’s an adult and no longer under her parents care.

Her father flinched at each reminder, his mind echoing how he would never get used to people referring to her as an adult. Me either, papa, she wanted to respond, but her words failed every time.

Anya’s mind was sent into a panic, not remembering how her signature even looked like, but her hands saved her from the embarrassment, scrawling out her name from muscle memory. Her voice remembered how to be strong, when her mind was scrambling. Her limbs acted on their own accord, rather than following the pathetic requests of a sixteen year old mind, as though it’s telling her that we are much older than you think you are.

There was a cavern between her body and mind, and every scream across it was quickly drowned by the rushing winds, the voice falling down to the pits of a dark valley. It was an empty void that Anya didn’t know how to navigate, and every moment spent trying just pushed her to the edge of a tantrum fueled by the confusion.

Her head was already pounding, as the nurses watched her and Damian with curious eyes. There were a million questions that circled through their minds, and it angered her that they knew more about their relationship than herself.

Everything was silent and loud at the same time, unfamiliar and familiar, and the more time she spent awake enough to be aware of it, the more panic she felt climbing up her throat. She tried to keep her mind blank as she sat through all the paperwork and instructions, lulling her mind into some limbo state where she was cognizant enough to function.

It wasn’t long before they were all seated in the car, Loid in the driver’s seat, quietly guiding the two of them to their home.

Well, if she could even call it that.

Every image she could conjure up was of her childhood bedroom, or her parent’s apartment, even though it felt wrong to call it home anymore.

So she let her mind go blank, trying her hardest not to think of anything as she watched the trees on the sides of the road blur out. The greens and blues of nature blended together like visual white noise, soothing her.

She felt like a child once more, sat in the back of this car with no clue where they were going. She tried to remember the street names, and match her memory to the present but it got harder and harder as they went on. Some places looked the exact same as she had last seen it, but most places looked different.

It was clear there were riots and fights that broke out in Berlint since she last remembered. Berlint was a historic city, most of the modern buildings wedged in between churches and structures that looked like they were built during the 12th century.

So many office buildings were old gothic structures, the modern always clashing with the ancient. But now, the contrast between the old and the young was more prominent, the newer constructions in stark white paint versus the old stone architecture of the city. The tensions between the east and west clearly came to a head at some point, looking at the construction sites built on so much debris and decay.

She could pick out the buildings were replaced, name the shops that used to be there. Still, the more she noticed, the more her memory nagged her, her body trying to remember what happened to each shop. Anya wanted to scream, the memories feeling like they were at the tip of her tongue but still inaccessible, unreachable. It was that same mixture of panic, confusion and anger.

The biggest reminder, though, sat right next to her. Damian was sat with his body pushed to the door, his eyes firmly stuck to the sights outside. His frame took up more room than she remembered, and with the way he was squeezing himself to the door, it was clear he wasn’t used to his stature.

Everything about the way he was behaving irked her. He hadn’t said something utterly arrogant and goading in hours. His shoulders were shrugged in, looking so far from the regal boy that ruled over Eden. His jaw was clenched, his hair was less than pristine.

In some perverse way, she was glad he was lost, glad that he was confused. But then, she noticed the way he stuffed himself into the corner, like he couldn’t bare to be near her.

Like touching her would catch him on fire.

Hurt rose within her, almost involuntarily, then confusion at why she was feeling hurt. Then came the frustration, not being able to measure and understand what she was feeling.

It didn’t help that his mind was infuriatingly blank, not one full, readable thought passing through his mind. It didn’t help that he looked so far from the sixteen year old boy that she grew up with, his face so much older.

It was eerily unsettling, and quite irritating that she couldn’t read his thoughts. His mind was always so loud, so crowded, and she had grown used to his thoughts taking half of the space in her mind. But now it felt startlingly empty, like some part of her was missing, which only irritated her more.

“Are we going to my father’s house?” Damian asked, breaking the silence abruptly.

“Er… Demetrius lives there, actually,” Loid answered him, his eyes firm on the road. “You live at one of your father’s older estates after you were married, in the opposite side of town.”

There was a hint of hardness to her father’s voice, something telling her that he isn’t telling them the whole truth. Anya’s brows furrowed slightly, her ears pricking as she tried to scan through her father’s thoughts, but only came up with fragments, all battling each other.

Damian pursed his lips, his eyes swarming with an emotion that she couldn’t decipher, and the discomfort dug into her chest, the pain becoming a sharp reminder that she was missing something.

After everything that happened with Operation Strix, I was surprised that you two stayed in the city at all. Loid’s wandering thought filled Anya’s mind, and she blinked, suddenly remembering the mission for which Anya was sent to Eden in the first place.

There was something nagging her, something important, but she couldn’t remember the exact details. Anya shut her eyes tight, trying to will the fuzzy edges of her memory to gain clarity, but all she can remember is the waves of emotions that attacked her at some moment.

Something strong— angry, pained, frustrated, relieved, all at once.

The last she remembered of Operation Strix, the plan was almost two year ahead of schedule. Loid had gotten to build a relationship with Donovan, surprisingly through Yor’s connection to Melinda Desmond and not through Anya. While he needed Anya to maintain her status at Eden, it wasn’t as integral was it was when the mission started.

Judging by the rate of her father’s thoughts, Operation Strix didn’t go quite to plan. Obviously better than expected since Berlint wasn’t a smoking hole on the earth, or in the midst of a war. But clearly, there were casualties.

Ones that even Loid couldn’t prevent.

She felt almost numb by the time Anya reached her house, not even registering the place as her own. It wasn’t until the door was shut behind them that she really took in her surroundings.

The interior of the house, or well mansion, almost gave her whiplash. The house was spacious, much bigger than her childhood apartment. Her old apartment could fit into the foyer of her new home, and there was too much space for any one family of three to occupy.

“Apparently, this house was one of your father’s estates,” Loid spoke, his voice bouncing off the walls in a way that made Anya startlingly aware of the enormity of her situation.

“I spent a lot of my summers here,” the edge of Damian’s mouth twitched, his eyes looking hopelessly fond. “My mother loved this house. But we didn’t visit much after I was ten.”

It made sense, considering how historic the house looked. The exterior of the house was distinctly Victorian, with the stone exterior and the ornate trim. There were white columns that decorated the wrap around porch, giving a distinct style.

The interior was much more modernized, but still the hints of the house remained. There were long windows wrapped with wood, the light filtering through contrasting the darkness of the wood paneling. The house had a lot more character than she expected, even though it was clear this house had gone through many changes in its time. Most shockingly, her traitorous body felt at home here.

She was betraying herself, calling another place home. Especially since this house was nothing like her parents’ apartment: worn and dusty, small but still homely. This place was sprawling, almost like there was too much space for three people to occupy. Why Damian and her had chosen this house at all was a mystery.

Still, she saw hints of them everywhere. The color of the walls, to the china sets placed inside cabinets, to the furniture choices. It was weird, being able to tell exactly what was her choice versus his choice. Which things they compromised on and which parts they still disagreed on.

Not to mention all the pictures. There were photos of Damian and Anya scattered everywhere. There were pictures of Becky, Ewan, Emile and both of them, in all stages of life. From random middle school group photos to their graduation parties, she could track exactly how they grew up together.

Some were clearly from graduation, or even the college lives neither of them have a memory of. There were too many people they didn’t recognize, presumably new friends and acquaintances. Every wall was suddenly a new chore, a new task that was closing in on her. Every unknown face was another mystery to unpack, something new to wonder about, and her skin began to itch at the thought.

The softness of her winter jacket now felt suffocating, as though her skin was able to feel every fiber and thread of the cloth. Everything felt too near, too close, and the air felt like it was touching her skin so much that she wanted to itch and itch and itch until she could get rid of the feeling. The hair was uncomfortably sticking to the back of her neck, and she could feel the irritation rise slowly in her chest until it gathered in her throat.

“I think I need some air,” she announced abruptly, trying her best to keep her voice even, before she spun around and marched outside the house. She didn’t wait for Loid or Damian’s reaction, keeping her eyes focused on the wooden paneling. Before she knew it, the cold air whipped into her face, and the sharp burn in lungs felt soothing.

Instinctively, Anya ripped off her winter jacket, trying to get the air onto her skin, and hoping the searing cold would shock her mind into working again. Her every breath burst out of her in a large puff, the fog billowing out in front of her as she shut her eyes tight and crouched to the pavement.

Her mind was used to being overwhelmed, having the thoughts of everyone crowding into her mind from the moment she could remember. Yet, this was a different kind of over-stimulation, the kind that flooded her sense until every rational thought was buried deep.

It was hard to tell how long she spent out in the winter air, trying her best to remember how to function all over again. Not a soul was out on the street, not one car rushing past the house for her to keep track. No one came outside the house, her house, to check in on her. It was just her and the cold winter air, and the fear that this would become her normal.

Loid had already set up their tea set in the living room by the time she came back inside the house. Her father sat primly in the armchair, one leg was slung over the other. His hands were carefully poised and she noted the far away look in his eyes as Loid’s eyes flickered to her.

“Are you okay?” he asked as she sat on the couch opposite him, trying to warm up from the shock of the air outside.

She shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. Her ears pricked with the sound of the ticking clock, hung on the wall opposite to her.

“I don’t know,” she settled on, and hoping that he couldn’t see the millions of thoughts running through her mind.

Loid simply nodded, his calculating eyes now concerned. Anya could tell from the rate of the thoughts flicking through his mind that he was worried about her, but she quickly shut them out.

“Damian will be back in a moment,” he settled on, instead pouring her a cup of tea. “For now, you should warm up.”

Her eyes were still downcast as she picked up the cup, both hands cradling it as though it was her anchor. A few moments of silence passed between them, both of them idly sipping their tea, when they sensed Damian’s footsteps.

Anya’s eyes locked with his as he opened the door, and he froze, his gaze wide. She drew a breath, before it lodged in her throat and the moment broke. Damian walked forward, now standing in front of the table as he looked at Loid. He was biting down on his lip, as though apprehensive about what he would do next, but Loid simply handed him a cup of tea.

Quietly, Damian took his seat on the other end of the couch, as though sitting as far away from her as possible would make her disappear.

“Pops, I wanted to ask… Well, this house…” Damian broke off the sentence, heaving out a breath before trying to start again. “My father had given this house off to one of his advisors just last— for the past couple years. What made him… Why do I have the house now?”

Loid set down his cup, and Anya could see the shift in his eyes that made her whole body tense.

“A couple years ago, there was a insurrection, of sorts. Ostania was going through a lot of political instability at the time, and some local factions thought it was best to take it into their own hands,” Loid paused, as though searching for words. “Unfortunately, your father was killed through a rigged crash. I’m really sorry, Damian.”

“Wait so—”

“He left you this house, as well as some of the other assets. The Desmond foundation should also have some more details, if you wanted to look into it.”

Damian took in a sharp breath, his chest filling up as he gave a catatonic stare to Loid. His eyes were wide, but he was motionless, and Anya swore she could hear the ticking of the clock in the living room slow down. Anya and Loid’s eyes were glued to him, waiting for an outburst or at the very least, a response.

“Excuse me, I—” Damian scrambled up out of his seat, his limbs flailing. She could see the slight shiver in his fingers as he set the tea cup down on the glass, the clattering making her teeth ache. Without much of a response, he ran out of the living room, every footstep thumping against the hardwood. Loid sighed deeply, but Anya’s eyes were still glued to where Damian once was, wondering how much their lives had changed in the span of a couple days.

“You should go,” Loid’s head jerked towards the path Damian took, as he smiled earnestly at his daughter, standing up out of his seat. “Yor and I have a couples’ cooking class tonight, but I’ll come back to check up on you two soon. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

He kissed her forehead softly, and as Anya closed her eyes, she wished she was young enough to believe in her father’s reassurances again.

Chapter Text

DAMIAN WASN’T SURE how he found his way to their bedroom considering that he barely knew the layout of the house. Even though he spent every summer from the ages of three to nine here, the house went through enough remodeling to make the interior look unrecognizable.

The wooden paneling of the floor he sat on was freezing cold, but he found that his skin was numb to the feeling. It was almost an hour since the conversation with Loid, almost two hours since he had stepped into this house. He was sat in the center of the room, his back against the solid wood paneling of the near-perfect bed that he didn’t want to think about.

There were a lot of things he didn’t want to think about. All of the changes that he was going through. Alana’s eyes looking up at him, filled with a childlike adoration that he was both jealous and scared of. Anya’s eyes carefully evaluating him like he had changed overnight. Loid’s eyes filled with so much pity that it made his stomach acidic.

Most of all, he didn’t want to think about his father.

Maybe father was too much credit for the man Donovan Desmond had been. He was a firm leader, his eyes too cold and his fists too demanding. He’d never used any physical force, of course, because that was too demeaning. Instead, he’d use his words and the hundreds of people between him and his son as his shield.

In the end, Donovan was just the distant, looming figure in his life. The threat in the corner of his peripheral vision, ready to strike him down when he least expected it.

He certainly didn’t see this coming.

Damian drew his knees in, his arms wrapping around them in an effort to block everything out for just a moment. He laid his head to rest on his knees, and just breathed. For the first time, it felt like the oxygen reached every corner of his lungs, like there wasn’t a rope around his throat tightening at his every breath.

And then immediately, all he could feel was guilt.

Guilt that he felt something similar to relief at his father’s death. That his insides were so twisted that he forgot that his father was the entire reason he was breathing at the moment. The very house he was living in, the clothes he was wearing, everything was because of his father.

Suddenly, he was glad that every inch of the interior was replaced with his own designs, with the traces of a hundred others that had been here before him.

Damian bit his lips, trying to ignore the burn behind his eyes. Everything just felt confusing. Every time he thought he knew something, every time he just figured out his life, the rug was pulled out from underneath him.

He was near hopeless by the end of the discharge process this morning, every set of examination and doctors asking him questions that he didn’t know how to answer. The stacks of paperwork adding to the blanks in his life, every eye looking at him expectantly.

There was no lasting comfort, no familiarity to be found. Not in his wife, not in his child, not in his home. Every time he looks into a room in his house, he expects to see the designs of his youth, seeing his life in shades of before with no after.

His head hurt looking around the city that was promised to him by his father, his memory struggling to connect the changing landscape with his recollections. His body felt too big sitting in the backseat of Loid’s car, as though he was seven again driven around by his classmate’s father than his father-in-law, sitting next to his wife.

And god, his wife. It was the biggest mystery of all. He spent the majority of his youth pining after her, so ingrained into his body that his twenty-seven year old body remembered the aftershocks of her touch. Yet, the idea that she was real, that she was his, brought him no real comfort.

Because it wasn’t real. He doesn’t remember their first date. He doesn’t remember who confessed first. He doesn’t remember when she liked him back, when he decided that this was worth it. He doesn’t remember what it was like to fall in love, in real love, not his daydreams about love.

Some deep part of him wished he wasn’t married to her, because then all he lost was the idea of loving her. He’s now saddled with someone he could very easily lose, resigned to watch as she slipped through his fingers.

Somehow, having a family made things so much worse. He could tell that some version of him loved them, he could see it everywhere he looked, especially in this bedroom.

The room belonged in a catalogue, the symmetrical design of it and the carefully planned color palette. There were two large windows on either side of the headboard of king-sized bed, the translucent curtains making the room look airy. Each wall was the same cream white color, save for one.

It was a shade of green that Damian could recognize from miles away. The shade of green that he would daydream about, the color sparkling in his mind. The shade of green now swirling in his daughter’s eyes, the shade that made his heart overflow with love.

Even at twenty-seven, it seemed Damian was still so obvious. He painted his room, the one room he should feel safest in, the same shade that swirled in his wife and his daughter’s eyes, and it made him nauseous. Nauseous with the idea of being a father, of being a husband, when he has never had that in his life. He has no blueprint, no game plan; only a list of things he didn’t want to be.

Damian moved his head out of the safety of his arms, his eyes catching a movement underneath the closed doors of the bedroom. He sat staring at the feet pacing forward, and then turning back, as though nervous to enter the room.

“You can come in you know,” he tilted his head, and the door cracked open to reveal a blur of pink.

“I made hot chocolate,” she said, sticking a hand out with a white mug. She padded into the room tentatively, before crouching down where he sat. She sat down, across from him, before handing him the mug.

He breathed in the sweet smell, before his eyes narrowed at her. “You better not be trying to poison me with cheap chocolate.”

Anya rolled her eyes. She hummed as she drank her hot chocolate, and he couldn’t help but stare. She looked just as pretty as he remembered her at sixteen, and somehow his yearning for her seemed to reside with his heart. His heart had not changed much, even though his mind did.

“Don’t worry, I used the stash of chocolate in the upper cabinet for this.” Anya took a long sip, before looking up at him. The edges of a memory flashed through his eyes, but he tried to cover his gasp with another sip of the warm chocolate, the sweetness making his throat hurt.

Anya’s eyes were carefully studying him, and his eyes immediately flickered to a random spot on the wooden floor, his heart beating as though he got caught doing something illegal.

“How did you find me?”

“How did you know how to come here?”

“Muscle memory, I guess,” he shrugged, and suddenly he was glad to have the mug to anchor himself with. His fingertips were tingling, and suddenly, he was a little more aware of the fact that he and Anya were alone in the room. He swallowed down the thought that his muscle memory, his comfort was now shared between him and Anya.

Anya stayed quiet instead, her eyes flickering to the mattress and back down to the wooden paneling of the bed. It was hard to measure how long they had stayed, quietly drinking hot chocolate, but the setting sun’s light had disappeared by the time the silence broke.

“God, how are you not freezing to death?” she asked after a moment, before eyeing the comforter piled on top of their bed.

“I don’t know, I didn’t really feel the chill.”

Anya snorted, before getting up and moving towards the bed. Damian felt his breath slightly catch at the notion. The bed was something he pretended wasn’t there, as if acknowledging it’s existence would make this moment too intimate.

Anya dragged the comforter off, gathering the plush blanket in her arms like a ball, and Damian wanted to laugh at the sight. The comforter engulfed her, filling up her arms and trailing behind her as she threw it on both of them, before sitting down beside him.

Anya sighed as she took her seat down, and buried herself underneath the covers. But Damian froze for a beat, the heat radiating off her legs and into his, before settling into the comfort. Her shoulder pressed into his, the heat bleeding through her skin onto his as her knees bumped his.

“How do you feel?” she asked, the words carefully whispered as though the question would break him. Her words were half muffled by the blanket, but the words sounded louder than ever to him. Damian drew in a shuddering breath, his eyes trained far off.

He opened his mouth, but the words were lodged at his throat. They felt stuck, trapped in his lungs until they disappeared.

“I don’t know why I’m not crying,” he started. “I feel like I should be crying, but I’m not and I don’t really know why. Why am I not crying?”

“It’s okay, you—”

“No, it isn’t. Don’t say that it’s okay to feel like this. I shouldn’t feel like this knowing my father died,” Damian shook his head, looking down at the roaming patterns of the comforter. The words now tumbling out without control now. “I should be crying right? I feel like I should be.”

Damian’s eyes didn’t stray from the wooden paneling, as though he was afraid that seeing Anya would make this real. As if he wasn’t speaking out into the void.

“My mother had left him, you know?” He wasn’t quite sure why he was saying this, as the words slipped out of his mouth. “That’s when we stopped coming to this house. It was never public, because of course it can’t go public. But I haven’t seen her since.”

“Do you want to see her?”

Damian took a moment, running his hand through his hair before grabbing a chunk of it on the side, the pull of his scalp acting like a reminder that he was here.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I should do. I don’t even know how long ago he died. I don’t know where his grave is, I— I just don’t know.”

He paused, his breathing heavy, waiting for her to say something. But the silence stretched on, her eyes glued to the side of his face.

Damian could feel his neck burn, and suddenly he felt mortified. The embarrassment crawled up his neck and into his cheeks, and all he wanted to do was shut the door in her face and leave. Each moment the silence stretched was one moment that he replayed in his head, remembering everything that he just poured out to her and god it was all so embarrassing.

His heartbeat wildly, his ears pricking for her voice, and yet she didn’t say anything. The silence stretched instead, and he wasn’t sure what to do. Do I pretend like this never happened? Or do I keep talking?

Instead, her hand settled on top of his, and Damian lurched forward. He tried to not to jerk his hand, with no success.

“Sorry, I thought that—”

“It’s okay I just wasn’t—”

Their gazes met, wide eyed, before huffing out a puff of laughter. Damian felt her hand relax over his, as he maneuvered his own hand to grasp hers.

The feel of her palm against his felt new, yet practiced at the same time. It filled him with an unknown warmth, something familiar that awoke the side of the brain he had lost. Yet, it felt too much to stay, for his hands to know the feel of hers so intimately. Like some kind of eternal reminder that he lost something that he didn’t realize he had.

He never had a family, a real family that wasn’t carefully curated for photographs and interviews until now.

His brother wasn’t real, he was only the idol of the man he once wanted to be. Damian knows nothing about him: no idea how to find him, how to reach out, how to ask. His mother had left a long time ago, running away from his father the moment she got the chance. She drowned herself with wealth, with status, with the groups of women that guarded her. He didn’t even know whether she was alive.

It took time for him to feel comfortable in his skin again, when her hand was clasped in his. There was a small sense of panic that buzzed underneath his skin, something telling him that this peace would never last. Something so intimate that made him want to run away.

But to where? Where was familiar and comfortable for him anymore, except beside the girl he grew up with?

Damian doesn’t know how long this facade will last, this role that he’s playing. For now all he could do was succumb to the exhaustion in his bones, relish in the feel of Anya’s head pressed onto his shoulder.

Chapter Text

CHUBBY FINGERS PRESSED into the sides of Damian’s cheeks. His mind was dipping in and out of sleep, his eyes still shut as he could feel a weight shifting on his lap. There was a twinge of annoyance for being woken up especially when he felt so tired, but it disappeared when he heard the voice calling him.

“Dada,” a small voice whispered into his ear, “Wake up.”

The hands then shifted their grip to his shoulders, now yanking on his shirt. For a small figure, the girl had impressive strength as she pulled at his shirt with more urgency.

“Wake up, wake up,” her voice was louder now, her weight bouncing with excitement on his lap once again.

Damian creaked his eyes open, before immediately shutting it against how bright the lights were in the room. He tried once more, now much slower despite the ruckus his daughter was making.

“What is it, peanut?” Damian’s voice was rough and low from sleep, but his arms went to circle around Alana nonetheless. She curled into him, the notion of how small and delicate she was settling into a corner of his mind.

“Waffles,” she replied, her small voice muffled by her snuggling her head into the crook of his neck. “Mama told me to wake you up so you can make breakfast.”

Indeed, the woman who fell asleep on his shoulder the night before was no where to be found. Instead, the blanket they shared was firmly draped over him now, as if she was never beside him in the first place.

He took a moment, just to chant through who he was, what he did, how old he was, where he was. Things that people knew instinctively no longer came to him naturally, and there was nothing worse than drawing a blank on the most basic information about himself. It felt like every morning, he started from scratch, trying to piece together his identity.

“Hold on tight,” he whispered once more, before picking himself up off the floor. One of his hands went to hold Alana firmly on his shoulder, while the young girl’s arms wrapped around his neck to anchor herself. She giggled slightly as she jostled in his arms, and Damian couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

As soon as he stepped out of the bedroom, he had to pause to gather his bearings. This house did not look like he once remembered, most of the interior being remodeled after his father gave it off to one of his advisors. Damian looked both ways, trying to plot the fastest way to the kitchen.

“Where’s mama?” he whispered down to Alana, after a couple seconds of confusion that brought back the permanent furrow on his eyebrows.

“In the kitchen, that way,” she whispered back, barely lifting her head from where it lay on his shoulder.

He didn’t even know if Alana was old enough to comprehend what the question really meant, or to pick up on the clues that something was wrong. The young girl certainly didn’t indicate that there was anything different between them either.

Alana nestled into him once more, her soft breathing the only sounds that surrounded him as he found his way to the kitchen. For an overwhelming moment, he hoped that she didn’t know that there was something wrong with her parents, that they don’t remember her.

Damian’s mind wandered as he walked down the hallway, every wall still covered with memories of a life that didn’t seem to belong to him. He hadn’t stopped mourning what he lost, all that time and memories, and the fear that he would never stop mourning didn’t stop growing since last night.

His high school graduation, his college graduation, his marriage, his daughter’s birth. All essential milestones and goals in his life that was missing, and he couldn’t connect the bridge of who he remembered and who he currently was without the journey here.

Maybe he was neither. Maybe he would never be able to go back to those versions of him, and he’s stuck with this fragmented body of his. He’d never be able to remember building his family, his daughter’s first steps and first words.

Suddenly, the slow movements of a hand on his back broke his concentration. Without realizing it, Damian had been soothing Alana with one hand on her back, and the young girl repeated the gesture to him, moving her small hand slowly down his back, over and over. He smiled a little at her antics, his heart squeezing, before the tension left his shoulders.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the kitchen, for him to hear the whispers of conversation. The kitchen had plenty of light filtering through, similar to the rest of the house. The house followed a similar color palette throughout, and it seemed the kitchen wasn’t exempt from it.

The teal backsplash, the color that was so similar to Alana and Anya’s eyes, was presumably custom made for the kitchen. There were gold accents, closer to the same rings of gold in Damian and Alana’s eyes, and white walls to provide contrast, and everything was a little too much of them.

“Good morning,” Anya greeted both of them, sitting on the table sipping her coffee. Loid and Yor were sat across from her, and despite knowing that this was his own house, he felt out of place.

Watching the three Forgers as he clung onto his child, made him feel lonelier than ever. The Forgers were the picturesque, stable family at their academy, despite their humble backgrounds. For all the money and refinement they lacked, they made up for with love.

Her parents attended every event and festival at school since they were kindergartners, with a bouquet of flowers and a kiss on the forehead for their daughter. They were even kind to her friends, which eventually grew to include him, with Loid and Yor taking turns to attend his soccer games when he made the varsity team.

There was a kinetic energy between the three of them, a familiarity that Damian found that he shared with no one. It was something that drew and bound them together, even though the girl sitting in front of the couple was an adult, and the couple was edging into retirement. Damian could chalk it up to responsibility, the oath that Loid and Yor took on when they raised Anya together, but he knew there was a lot more lurking behind the surface.

Suddenly, he felt a profound and wide cavern of sadness open into his stomach. Not for himself, but for Alana.

Alana wouldn’t have two sets of grandparents, a sprawling family of uncles and aunts to accept and guide her. She wouldn’t have cousins to go on trips with, to hold sleepovers with and bond with. There would be no massive family gatherings, and celebrations to take Alana on, even as she grew older.

No one to rely on except her parents, who had now forgotten her.

He swallowed, the lead settling into his stomach as he couldn’t get rid of the guilt that he wouldn’t be able to provide her what he was missing. Damian’s grip on Alana tightened, and hoped to god that Alana never realized what she’d never have.

He took the seat next to Anya, albeit a little hesitantly, helping Alana settle into his lap. But it was clear the toddler had other plans as Alana wriggled out of his grasp, her feet touching down on the hardwood with lightning speed. She was already racing towards Loid before he knew it, and there was no hesitation when the older man allowed his grand-daughter to settle in his lap.

Alana’s hands clutched at a smaller cup, filled with what he presumed to be hot cocoa rather than coffee. He couldn’t help the adoring smile that spread across his face, as she picked up the mug and took a sip, a perfect cocoa mustache decorating her face as she did so.

“Such a pretty china set,” and he tried not to wince at the awkwardness of his words. Anya made a face at his statement, her eyebrows questioning his sudden statement, but he kept his face blank as he shrugged back.

He looked down at his own mug that was set out, steam still emanating from it. He took a hesitant sip, expecting to wince if his coffee was made wrong, but was pleasantly surprised.

Black coffee, with just one spoon of sugar.

Damian’s eyes flashed up to Anya, as if asking if she made this, but she shook her head no.

“Mama made it for you,” Anya looked into her cup. “I didn’t really know what you liked, so I hope she did.”

“Thank you Mrs. Forger, for the coffee.” he smiled at the Forgers. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting for long.”

“Mrs. Forger,” the elder woman repeated, giggling a little at his words. “Damian, you haven’t called me that in so long. It’s almost like when they were dating.” Yor bumped her elbow into Loid’s, eyes twinkling.

Damian’s face grew a little hot, and he was sure his face was very slowly turning red. The teenage instinct to deny ever liking Anya in any way lurked beneath this skin, but it’s a little too late considering he married her.

Dating, marriage; girlfriend, wife. They all felt volatile to him, the weight of the words something he’d rather ignore.

He tried to clear his throat, but the sound felt stuck instead, watching as the blanket of silence fell across the room. It was peaceful, but it made his skin itch with anticipation.

“I’ll start breakfast,” Damian abruptly stood, his chair scratching against the wooden floor as everyone looked up at him. He made himself busy, putting on an apron, and desperately trying not to look at the four people sat at the dining table, looking like a family that wasn’t his.

Once he had his apron on however, Damian felt more himself than he had in days. His muscle memory was kicking back in as he opened the exact right cabinets to find the ingredients (including the pre-made waffle mix he used, but he’d never tell Alana that), and he barely stumbled to find the utensils and it’s right place.

He could feel Anya’s eyes follow his every move, and he rolled his shoulders back, trying to ignore the heat spreading across his body at the thought of her eyes on his. The thrill of her attention never seemed to wear off, the idea that she fell in love with the boy pining away at her since he was in kindergarten difficult to contend with.

Damian couldn’t help, but wonder if he ever told her about his feelings, about how he expressed himself with the words that didn’t seem to come to him anymore.

Time slipped away as he lost himself in the familiar routine, feeling his surroundings wash away until he placed the plate of waffles for everyone to eat. Alana, watching the plate wide-eyed as she tracked exactly how many waffles were placed on her plate, was already digging into her food when Damian settled into his seat.

“I know it’ll be a tough transition period for both of you, so please take it easy.” Loid advised them after finishing his meal, and Damian could see the psychiatrist in him shine in that moment.

“Maybe take a couple days off and spend sometime getting familiar with Alana,” Yor brought the mug to her lips. “Bonding time always helps strengthen relationships.” This time the woman’s soft gaze was on Anya instead.

Was she really talking about Alana or was she talking about Anya and him?

“Yeah,” Anya’s gaze fell on his, “I think that’s a good idea.” Her words were carefully said, as if she was thinking over the weight of every single word, and Damian struggled to remember a time that Anya wasn’t carefree. Watching the girl he remembered so vibrantly dim down at her mother’s advice caused a twinge at his heart.

“Mama and Papa are staying home?” Alana’s eyes widened comically, and Damian felt mesmerized that this was his daughter. Her words were muffled, her mouth still full with food as she looked up at them.

Instinctively, Damian reached across the table with a napkin, trying to brush away the sticky syrup that stained the corners of the mouth. “For a couple days, peanut.”

The resulting smile was blinding, if not enough to make his heart clench and wish that he didn’t have work and responsibilities to answer to all the time. And at the same time, it was a reminder of how fragile his state was, how this fever dream of a life could slip away if he couldn’t remember his life. The familiar fear never really left his body, leaving him always at the edge of panic.

A small fear crawled up Damian’s throat at Alana’s eager reaction. Was he not around often? He felt a little sick at the notion that he might be more similar to his parents than he thought.

He made a mental note to buy a couple parenting books, or at the very least, look for some.

“A lot of the old parenting books papa lent you are still in our library,” Anya answered sitting up straight in her chair. “Also the notes you took from him are in one of your old journals.”

A faint memory bit at the edges of his mind, a flash of voices at Loid’s study and his body feeling all the emotions with none of the visual connection. Damian’s cheeks flushed as Anya turned to look at him with puzzled eyebrows, and he felt as puzzled as she looked at the feeling.

“How did you…”

“I’m not sure,” Anya bit her lip instead, her wide green eyes staring back into his.

“Oh!” Yor sat up straight for a moment, her face clearing with some kind of reminder. “I almost forgot, but I wanted to share some of your photo albums with you. From your wedding, and Alana’s baby shower, and such.”

The woman placed a rugged tote bag from her side onto the cleared table, filled with photo albums. “These are the copies you had made for us, but I’m sure you can find more albums in the library as well.”

Damian’s eyes instantly shifted to the sound of Anya’s sharp breath. Nervousness roiled in his stomach as he watched her turn stark white, her green eyes widened and a fixed on the large stack of albums. Of their memories.

“I wouldn’t advise you to look at them right at this moment,” Loid’s gentle eyes settled on his daughter, and for a brief moment, Damian wished for his mother’s comfort, craved the familiar assurance from his parents that never seemed to be there. “It might be too much at once, so only do so when you’re ready.”

Damian stayed quiet. When they’re ready. Would they ever be ready to see what they were missing so desperately? What if when they see all that their life was, they draw away from each other?

The paranoia of what these pictures presented was too much for him to handle, so he stood up from his place, trying not to look side ways at Anya who hadn’t looked away from the photo albums for a moment.

“I’m going to try to find those parenting books,” Damian announced, before placing a small kiss on Alana’s head. He nodded his goodbye to the Forgers, feeling awkward at the notion that they’re family, but brushing it off to find a distraction. There was only so much he could handle in one day, but the books seemed a far safer option to the woman and child sitting by him.

Finding the library was not as tough as finding the dining room this morning, even though he did wind up entering the wrong rooms at least three times before reaching his study. It seemed this room, unlike a majority of the household, was kept frozen in the architectural style of his younger years. Something about it nagged at the back of his mind, but he brushed it off in favor of the comfort that it offered him.

There was a sense of normalcy, of order, that he could find here. His desk, a heavy dark writing desk situated at the back of the room, looked methodically organized. This older version of him did not differ much from his teenage self when it came to organizing his desk, his notes, and his work.

The comfort of knowing washed over him as he took a deep breath, his eyes searching his bookshelves to find the sets of books he was looking for. It wasn’t too hard when they lined the bottom of the shelves closest to his desk, and as his finger slid across the line, he could feel himself falter at the journals he kept at age seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty all the way to twenty-seven. The bindings on them felt different, almost unrecognizable to himself, but he tried to brush of the feelings as he skipped through them, trying to find the parenting journals at the end of the shelves instead.

Damian knows he should read them, that it would help him understand the body he was placed in right now, but there was something illicit about the notion of reading those journal entries. There was a sense of shame, as though he was invading the privacy of someone else entirely, rather than reading his own thoughts and feelings.

And perhaps there was a side of himself that felt like it betrayed Anya, however convoluted it was. It felt unfair for him to know so much, when she did not remember anything.

So Damian ignored it, pulling out Loid’s books, and hoped that he would never have to look at those journals as a primary source in his life.

Chapter Text

ANYA FELT THE STING OF SAYING GOODBYE to her parents sharper today than yesterday, if that was even possible. Her arms lingered a little longer around Loid’s chest, aware of how she was tall enough to fit comfortably in his embrace, unlike the times she was cradled within her father’s arms. Her hands ran over the lightly wrinkled skin of Yor’s arms, the feeling of her mother’s hands no longer as strong and unyielding as she remembered.

She clung on to them a little longer than usual, and when she stepped back, Alana jumped into her arms instead, insisting to be carried on her hip. Alana sat comfortably, leaning her head into the crook of her neck, and Anya’s face turned to watch her as she waved goodbye. And if her daughter felt her mother’s arms circle around her a little tighter, Alana did not complain.

A part of Anya wanted to ask them to take her home with them. The part that was still sixteen, the part that was still the little girl that Loid picked up from the orphanage, wanted to beg them not to abandon her again.

And yet, her body did not allow her to do so. It was external to her, something foreign rooted around her to keep her from crossing the threshold. Some part of her that she couldn’t recognize knew that this was her place now, that this was home now, and that whatever she would find in that apartment would not fulfill the feeling she craves.

Alana sat up suddenly, her weight shifting disproportionately, causing Anya to lurch to keep her secure in her arms. Her eyes were wide and shining, and Anya felt a soft smile stretch across her face. “Mama, can we watch cartoons?”

“If we watch cartoons, will you let mama braid your hair?” she asked, watching as Alana smiled brightly.

Anya carried her to the living room smiling at her daughter, Alana practically vibrating with excitement as she set her on the rug. Her eyes lingered briefly at the tote bag Yor brought over, the stack of albums still sat on their dining room table, untouched since Damian left to search for Loid’s books.

Her parents had spoken in quiet words and reassurances after he’d left, trying their best not to alarm Alana to anything going on. Anya wasn’t quite sure it worked though, especially after catching Alana’s lingering glances on her face, before she turned away to her toys. Even with the distraction of cocoa and waffles, Alana looked puzzled in that way only kids can, the young girl surprisingly intuitive to the conversations and emotions floating around her.

There was a lot that she had to learn in the short respite offered by both her work and the world after the accident. Her parents already took measures on their behalf to keep the situation under wraps, considering Damian’s public position and Anya’s line of work. They’d left it up to Anya and Damian to decide who knows the truth about what happened, or whether they’d let people know at all.

She let out a deep sigh, allowing all these thoughts to crowd her mind as her hands fumbled with the knob of the TV, hoping that instinct would take over for what her memory could not provide. Anya wasn’t sure what she would do about the future, but right now, she just wanted to enjoy this day with her daughter.

Anya sat behind her daughter, her legs folded neatly as her daughter leaned into her touch, Alana’s small frame barely blocking her view from the rug. She combed through her daughter’s hair with her fingers, slowly and painstakingly brushing out the knots without hurting her tender head too much.

As she carefully parted Alana’s hair, she thought of all the afternoons she spent in Eden’s courtyard, in the small break the academy allowed between lunch and the second half of classes. She still remembers the lazy afternoons, Becky’s head on her lap, as she basked in the autumn sun, her back leaning against the old oak tree. Ewan and Emile would carry with them the soccer ball, alternating between napping and playing with Damian. When they didn’t play, Damian would bury his nose in a book and pretend to read, but instead listen in on Ewan and Becky’s gossiping sessions.

Almost instinctively, her hands started weaving a french braid, her body remembering the way Becky’s hands used to weave through her own head as Becky taught her how to braid for the very first time. Anya almost burst into tears when she realized the pattern forming underneath her hands.

Anya would never be able to feel the breeze on her face as her best friend’s fingers weaved through her hair, her thoughts lingering on the next day’s homework or exams. She would no longer look forward to rushing back home, shedding her backpack immediately to play with Bond and watch cartoons while her father read the newspaper.

All that time and memory that she will never be able to experience again, never be able to remember and relive over and over in her mind. It’s odd to miss something she never experienced first hand, her body ebbing and flowing through the waves of emotion she felt, but her mind unable to fill the memory clearly, always fuzzy at the edges.

“Mama,” Alana’s voice broke through her thoughts, her eyebrows furrowing cutely. “Why are you sad?”

Anya’s hands stilled in her hair, swallowing a breath before schooling her expression, trying to make sure her voice didn’t break. “I’m not sad, peanut. Just thinking, s’all.”

Alana’s expression grew more serious, her eyes staring deeply into hers. “You shouldn’t be sad, Mama.”

“I’m not sad, peanut, I promise,” Anya stated gently, hoping that saying the phrase firmly would make her daughter believe it’s true.

Mama’s lying.

Anya stared back at her daughter as she heard the thought clear as day, stunned as Alana’s expression wobbled, her lower lip trembling slowly as tears welled up in her eyes. Her eyelashes clumped together as she cried, and the mere sound of it made Anya’s heart shatter into pieces.

Her body froze, wide eyed as she watched Alana start to sob, her mind barely processing anything except for her daughters’ pain. And yet, she was paralyzed about what to do to calm the little girl. The last thing she wanted to do was act out of character, to alarm Alana further that something was wrong.

And yet, she had no idea what would be out of character for her.

For a brief moment, she shut her eyes, willing herself to think of a solution. Suddenly, her arms instinctively gathered Alana into her embrace, cradling her as close to her as she could. Unable to think of anything else, Anya kissed her forehead, quietly rocking her back and forth in her arms.

Her reaction felt near automatic, her body acting for her on instinct knowing that her mind was confused. Despite the mess her mind was at the moment, she was glad her body remembers it’s normal reactions, even if she herself did not know.

Anya stayed in that position, rocking her back and forth, the cartoons till playing on in the background, until Alana slowly calmed down. She barely felt the pain in her arms, or the stiffness in her spine as she held her, only focused into Alana’s thoughts and feelings. The young girl’s face was still red from the exertion, her eyes slightly swollen as she turned her head towards the cartoons once more, absorbed by the bright lights and animation.

Still, she didn’t want to let go of her, so Anya held the girl a little closer to her, Anya’s own heart aching a little when she realize just how frail the young girl was compared to her.

This was what Yor must have felt like whenever I cried.

Anya’s lips twitched into a soft smile, thinking of all the times Yor turned into a superhuman to protect her from harm. She didn’t quite understand the effects of a daughter’s cry until Alana cried out to her. Although Yor had an intense protective instinct innate to her, perhaps partially because she was such a skilled assassin, Anya felt a wave of sympathy for her mother, and how hard she must have tried to care for her.

Anya never gave the idea much thought, considering how her dreams were fulfilled just by having a mother and father overnight. She had the time to learn what it meant to be a daughter, to have someone care for you so much easier because she spent so much of her time without one.

But for Yor, it must have been an entirely different challenge, even if she practically raised Yuri. Almost overnight, her mother had gained a new identity, a new reality, and a pressure to play the part perfectly in order to not rouse suspicion. Especially since Yor had to balance between being her mother, whilst not trying to replace her “old” mother, even though no one like that ever existed for Anya.

Anya never felt closer to what her mother was feeling until this very moment. Even though many circumstances were different, for the first time, Anya understood what it felt like to constantly questions ones instincts and adjust to a new reality, especially when the consequences were so dire.

Perhaps it isn’t surprising how instinctively protective she was of Alana. After all, Yor is the only mother she can look up to, the only motherly affection she has felt in her life. The way Yor loves her bound to show in the way Anya loves her daughter.

Alana became distracted with the show once more, although she hadn’t stopped sniffling and burying herself more into Anya’s arms. As she continued her distraction, a new and perhaps more alarming thought gathered in Anya’s mind.

How did Alana know what I was feeling?

When Anya first saw her daughter, the biggest fear in her heart was that Alana would be an esper like her. The idea of seeing her parents hurt was enough; the thought that Alana would also be aware of Damian and Anya’s internal thoughts through this process was even more terrifying.

But, even at the hospital, Alana did not show any signs of understanding her thoughts. Perhaps it is a naive hope, but after observing the way Alana reacted, it didn’t seem like she knew the true monologues inside Anya’s mind.

So how did she know I was sad?

“Watching cartoons so early in the morning?”

Alana stiffened in her embrace, suddenly looking up at Anya in alarm. For a brief moment, Anya was too distracted by her daughter to realize that the deep voice belonged to Damian.

Anya was still not used to the rich tones of Damian’s voice, still expecting his voice to break like the teenager she remembered him as. As if caught doing something illicit, Anya slowly turned to face Damian.

Damian’s eyes narrowed at the two of them suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you two have been watching cartoons all morning?”

“Just one episode—”

“Only for an hour—”

Both Anya and Alana answered simultaneously, both mother and daughter caught looking sheepish when they realized their statements did not match up.

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, as those ever familiar wrinkles in his forehead appeared, clearly annoyed. She wanted to laugh at the similarities between this Damian and her sixteen year old Damian, the exasperated expression somehow etched into her mind even though his features had matured so much.

Anya always knew he was handsome; frankly, it was hard not to when he occupied the thoughts of majority of the students at Eden academy. Add in the fact that Damian was her father’s target, it was her job to notice everything about him.

Yet, some part of her stirred at the notion of finding him attractive in any way. Her teenage sensibilities rebelled against the rush, forcing the butterflies to stay firmly in her stomach before they crawled up into her lungs. Her mind reminded her how this was the same boy who was so immature and reckless the moment his pride was hurt, but her heart was saying something entirely different.

“It was only one episode,” she pouted, her eyes narrowed at him in annoyance of being caught. “Quality time, right Alana?”

“Yes! Mama braided my hair, see!” Alana launched out of Anya’s embrace, already excited to show Damian. Damian caught the young girl into his arms, immediately picking her up and into his arms.

Alana already launched into a monologue about the morning, recounting everything that happened in the episodes in great detail, her small arms gesturing wide. Damian, on the other hand, watched with wide eyes, rapt in attention to every small detail of his daughters musings.

Damian’s eyes shot back to Anya, amusement dancing in his eyes as Alana’s descriptions got more detailed. She’s just like you. His mind seems to echo towards her, and even if he didn’t know she could read his mind, he certainly knew she could read his expression.

Anya grinned, still sat on the floor as she looked up to her husband and daughter. In moments like this, there was no doubt in her that this was where she belonged. It was a sliver of hope, something that told her that her life would go back to the way it was, even if it wasn’t the reality she’d hoped for.

She stood up, her hands automatically smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt, before approaching the two. Almost immediately, Alana jumped back into her arms, the shift in weight causing Damian to careen into her before ensuring she was secure within Anya’s arms.

“How about we have a day in the park?” she suggested, looking at Alana’s to see a sign of approval.

Damian frowned, shaking his head in protest. “It’s too cold.”

“Yes!” Alana bounced in enthusiasm instead, before looking up at Damian, her eyes now wide-eyed and innocent. “Could we go to the park, please Dada?”

Damian blinked, almost shocked at her expression, and Anya held back a smirk at his reaction. Alana knew that she had her father wrapped around her finger, and exactly how to make him agree, because Anya could see her resolve slipping.

If it makes her happy, then…

Anya could tell he’d given in before he even said the words, rushing to get them dressed for the day out. There was a special kind of comfort in the whirlwind of getting Alana ready, Damian already ready with too many layers of coats and scarfs for them.

“Don’t you think that’s enough layers?” Anya asked him after the 3rd coat he’d put onto her, making Alana look more and more like an inflated balloon than a three year old.

“She’ll get sick much easier than we will,” Damian said as he put on the smallest pair of gloves onto Alana’s fingers. He looked up at her, before narrowing his eyes. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this either, you catch colds so easily.”

Anya rolled her eyes at his dramatics, and yet, her heart flared with warmth at how much he cared for them. She focused on the feeling, trying to spread it to her hands and her mind to soak up the alarm bells in her mind, warning her that he knew her too well.

There was a connection there, something that seemed to transcend memories, as her body went through the emotion of loving him when her mind didn’t truly accept it as her reality.

Anya just hoped that it was enough for them to rebuild whatever normal they once had.

The three of them had a long day out, first taking a trip to the park, before Anya pushed them to buy some groceries to have enough food to last the family for the next two weeks. Alana was cranky from the lack of a mid afternoon nap, and soon fell asleep in Damian’s arms, causing him to carry her the rest of the way home.

The rest of the day was filled with the menial tasks of running a home, trying to make sure the house was clean and cooking enough food for the three of them for the week. Anya had to admit, watching her parents run a home was much easier than doing it herself.

Her bones already felt the exertion from the long day out, let alone the pain crawling in as the painkillers wore off her body. She was already feeling the intense back and neck pain the doctors warned her about, and it seemed Damian felt the same as she watched him wince, trying to pick up Alana’s toys off the floor.

Still, there was a kinetic energy she’d felt with her parents rekindling her once more in this house. Perhaps it was the day out with Damian and Alana, but it made her feel more herself than she had in the past couple days. Everything she did felt purposeful, like there was a invisible task list she was checking off by spending time with her daughter, and doing everything she was supposed to do.

Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all going to fall apart as quick as it’d been built. Anya couldn’t shake off the feeling of impending danger, an anxiety that would creep up inside her throughout the day. She wasn’t entirely unused to this fear, after all, she’d spent most of her childhood hinged on the success of a spy’s mission.

A part of her, something bitter and hurt from her childhood, resented the fact that she’d ended up just as insecure in her future family. There was little stability to be found, and in a way, she was right back where she started.

Still, there wasn’t much room for these thoughts when her body was already so exhausted from physical exertion. Alana, still so young, seemed to have endless energy, as she was still bouncing in her seat during dinner. On the other hand, Damian and Anya looked utterly exhausted by dinner time, quietly eating their dinners as if they were starved out the entire day.

“Alana,” Damian cleared his throat slowly after dinner, and Anya wanted to snort at his sudden firm expression. “It’s time for bed, sweetheart.”

Alana’s nose scrunched up in displeasure, despite already dressed in her pajamas. “But we haven’t read a story together!”

Damian blinked at the young girl for a few moments, and Anya could see him mentally digging through all the information Loid had given them on her routine, and all the notes he had painstakingly taken in his little journal.

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” she was pouting now, her voice impatient and a little wobbly. “You promised before you left last week!”

The young couple stared down at their daughter, for a moment unsure what to do, other than to comply to her demands. An intense wave of guilt washed over Anya, her heart clenching at the thought of the young girl who was so confused in her parent’s abrupt change in behavior. The fear that Alana would catch on still hadn’t left her mind since their conversation this morning, and the sooner Anya knew how to act normal, the better.

Alana already picked out her book of choice before the two of them could agree to anything, running up to her small bookshelf in the corner of her room. It was a simple children’s book, and in the pristine gloss of the cover, Anya knew that it was probably a book they’d bought her right before the crash.

Damian lifted up Alana, already carrying her to her room and placing her on the bed, as he sat over top of the covers on one side. He stared at Anya expectantly, raising his eyebrows as Anya stayed frozen in her position, before Alana tugged on her hand.

“Come on, mama.” Alana patted over the side of her bed, looking up at her expectantly as the young girl snuggled into her covers. “It’s your turn to read!”

Alana practically dragged Anya down to sit beside him, the both of them now cuddling Alana in the middle, with the book propped up. His forearm was pressed against hers, and she held her breath as Damian looked into her wide green eyes.

Anya started reading the story out loud to the both of them, Damian helping her turn the page in time to not interrupt the flow. He stayed silent for the most part, but she could feel his fingers rubbing patterns into their daughters arms, silently soothing her and lulling her into a sleep. She tried not to smile at the gesture, watching out of the corner of her eye at the gentle, content expression on his face.

Alana’s eyes closed before they even reached half way through the story, and Anya closed the book slowly, afraid that the crinkle of paper would wake her up.

“Becky used to braid your hair like that,” he whispered as his hands traced the braid on Alana’s head.

“You remember that?”

“Yeah,” his voice stayed quiet, before his eyes looked down to the bed sheets. “You used to complain so much, but was the first to volunteer when Becky asked.”

“Oh,” she swallowed the lump growing at her throat. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”

Damian snorted. “I’m pretty sure I learned all the different styles Becky can do just from the amount of times I’ve seen you mess up and get corrected by her.”

“Shut up,” her face heating up, “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Becky got a hairbrush stuck in her hair from the gigantic knot you left in her hair, and had to get it cut out. It’s all she talked about for two months.”

“Well, clearly I’ve improved.”

“God, I hope I don’t find any pictures of our daughter with a hairbrush stuck in her hair.”

Our daughter.

How casually he could call something as theirs when she didn’t even know what they are. It was terrifying how confident he seemed in their life together, when she felt like everything around them was so fragile it could go away in an instant. Even when she visited him in the hospital room, she could sense how everything about their future felt so right to him, how it was what he’d wanted.

Meanwhile, Anya was still confused at what she’d wanted at all. Whether this was the right choice in her life, or hell, how she even ended up making this choice at all. Everything was confusing to her all the time, and it was terrifying that the one person who she thought would understand was somehow more confident than her.

Wordlessly, they peeled away from each other, trying to leave Alana’s bedroom quietly without waking her up. Anya shut the lamp off before she left the room, and Damian leaned the door closed as quietly as possible.

The tension in the air was suffocating her as they walked to their bedroom in silence after tucking Alana in for the night. Not one word was spoken between them, and Anya was sure her heart would race harder if she had to hear his voice.

You’re not walking to your death, she had to remind herself, the dread pooling in her stomach as she saw the bedroom door in sight. What felt natural yesterday when she followed Damian to that bedroom, now feels daunting. The mere idea of sharing a bedroom with someone, let alone a boy, was so foreign to her. Never mind the fact that she literally fell asleep folded into his shoulder the day before, because now it was a conscious decision she was making.

Anya briefly considered asking to sleep in a separate room, just to save her from her anxiety and preserve the last of her sanity, but it took her all of five seconds to rule against the idea. After Alana’s reaction to their awkwardness, and the growing sense that her daughter is catching onto them the more time they spend with her, it didn’t seem like separate rooms was the solution to figuring out their life together. Plus, after their agreement to at least give this a fair chance, would it be right for her to ask this?

“I, uh,” Damian paused as he opened the bedroom door, his hand quickly scratching the back of his head as his eyes firmly stuck to the floor, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

Anya nodded, pressing her lips together in a thin line because she didn’t trust her voice to deliver a coherent sentence.

Somehow, the room without his presence was even more suffocating. The only sounds that filled the house was that of her breathing, and the soft sounds of Damian in their shared bathroom, getting himself ready to take a shower. Anya felt the awkwardness meld with her anxiety as her ears strained to hear Damian’s movements, the knowledge that he was possibly stripping just one door away from her stuck in the front of her mind.

Anya felt positively like a teenager, her hormones somehow worse in her twenty-seven year old body, as the blood rushed to her face. If she didn’t get a distraction now, she was sure she would combust on the spot.

She quickly busied herself trying to take in the room around her. Not much of her focus went to the surroundings yesterday, when all that was on her mind was taking care of Damian. But now that her mind was trying to find a distraction from that boy, all the surroundings became so much more interesting than it was yesterday.

The room, much like the rest of the house, was remodeled to suit their tastes. The room was symmetrical in design, with a large window at each side of the large four poster bed that was situated at the center of the room. Translucent curtains adorned the windows, giving the room an air of openness, with majority of the walls painted in a similar creme shade, with the exception of one that was painted a gorgeous emerald shade.

The old Damian and Anya seemed to adore the color of their daughters’ eyes considering it was splashed everywhere across the house. She couldn’t fault them, of course, when Alana was one of the most adorable things she’s ever seen in her life.

I wonder how it felt to bring her home for the first time…

The beautiful emerald shade seemed to lose it’s luster at that thought, and suddenly the room that was supposed to be her sanctuary became her cage. The bed, the vanities, the furniture… All of it felt like it belonged to someone else, like this life was not hers to begin with. She was an imposter was now living within the walls of this house, surrounded by memories and choices that did not belong to her.

As Anya tried to shake the thoughts off her mind, her eyes widened with excitement when she spotted the bookshelf carefully placed next to the dark velvet armchair. Arranged in all it’s glory was every edition of the Spy Wars manga, including the stacks of new ones published in her late teens and early twenties.

Automatically, her hands reached for the book where she last left off, her mouth salivating at getting back into the series she was sure ended years ago. Out of all the responsibilities she was saddled with as an adult, by far the best thing to find was an entire collection of some of her favorite manga and books, all lined up in their full glory.

She scanned through some of the other books decorating their shelves, and it was clear from the state of the older editions that these were Damian and Anya’s childhood possessions. Many of the books she recognized from her own bookshelf from the apartment, and quickly realized so many of the unrecognizable series was Damian’s additions to the collection.

Anya settled into the armchair, book flopped open in hand as she wrapped herself in a blanket to read. And clearly, it was the perfect distraction as she found the tension in her chest ease as she sank into the story and her seat.

Time seemed to pass quicker as she re-met her favorite characters since the time she was a child watching the cartoons every evening. The world felt like a warm blanket and a cup of cocoa, something soothing and knowing to delve into.

“Isn’t that for kids?”

“What the—” Anya shot up in her seat, the voice startling her. She got so captivated by the story that she almost forgot she wasn’t alone. “At least give a warning before you sneak up on people.”

Damian towered over her, and her eyes gave a quick glance over him without realizing what she was really doing. His pajamas were not too different to what he wore around the house, just a worn, dark shirt with a loose pair of sweatpants. And yet, Anya couldn’t help the butterflies gathering in her stomach as she peered up at him from her seat, almost dumbfounded at this new attraction she was facing.

“What are you looking at, stubby legs?” Damian’s eyes narrowed at her gaze, but she didn’t fail to notice the way his cheeks turned pink at her attention.

“Ugh,” she frowned, her eyes quickly diverting to anywhere but his warm hazel eyes, watching as his hair dripped water onto the floor, “You’re gonna damage the floors if you don’t dry your hair.”

Almost in retaliation, Damian shook his hair like a wet dog, the droplets spraying into her face.

“You’re so annoying,” Anya wrinkled her nose at his mischievous laughter, “How the hell did you convince people to vote for you?”

Damian let out a sharp bark of laughter. “How the hell did you get certified to be a psychologist? You’re still reading cartoons for babies!”

“You’re a bigger baby than me since half the books on that shelf are yours!” Anya huffed, as Damian’s face turned scarlet as he quickly cataloged the bookshelf. Instead of a sharp retort, he walked to his vanity, frowning as he rummaged through the drawers.

Anya looked back down to her novel, but she wasn’t able to focus when her body was so aware of his presence in the room. The feeling of being watched lingering on her skin, she hastily made her way to take a shower instead, deciding that a door between them would help ease the tension she felt in her lungs.

The bathroom was clearly preserved in its ornate Victorian style, with just the colors and fixtures changed to suit their tastes. It was peculiar how her hands trembled more when she saw the bathroom sink and showers, bottles of her facial cleansers and his shaving cream cluttered together in a messy pile.

Quickly and efficiently, she took her shower, her hands stumbling to find her toiletries amongst the cluster of bottles. She tried to ignore how it still smelled like Damian’s body wash, tried to forget how soothing that smell was. Every part of this house was a reminder of how intertwined their lives had become, how messy, and yet inevitable it all felt.

It was inescapable, and it seemed like there was no corner of this house she could hide in that wasn’t an eternal reminder of what her life had become.

When Anya walked out of her shower, Damian was sat in the armchair next to their bed, his head buried in that morning’s newspaper, his hair still dripping wet. Anya gasped before gritting her teeth, and instinctively, she stalked towards him with a glare.

Damian straightened in his position, startled at the sharp noise, and before Anya was aware of her actions, her hands were already grabbing his towel from around his neck to dry his hair.

“You’re gonna get sick if you let the water sit in your hair like that,” she nagged, her hands roughly moving the towel in his hair, trying to soak up the water as much as possible. She wasn’t sure where this instinct even came from, the rush of irritation and anxiety at the notion he was going to fall ill. Anya focused on her movements instead, stretching to reach the back of his hair as well to ensure all of it was dried thoroughly.

Instead, his hand grasped her wrists, slowly bringing her actions to a pause. Anya looked down at him, confused at why he stopped her, and her breath lodged in her throat at the sight of him.

Damian’s eyes were shades deeper that she’d ever seen it, the light brown and gold eyes now closer to dark molasses, the gold blending into the brown. His body stiffened, almost like he was holding himself taut as his eyes settled on her face, on her neck, on her shoulders, before trailing back sharply.

There was something magnetic in his gaze, something in her body that was responding to his pull without really understanding why. He was handsome, more handsome than she remembered him being in school, and for some reason, she wasn’t able to brush it off like she usually does.

“I can do it myself,” his voice sounded hoarse, like he was barely breathing. “You should get dressed for bed.”

Anya ignored the zing that ran through her chest as he said those words, her hands loosening her grip on the towel, before letting him take over the movements. Instead, she busied herself by walking into her closet, and searched for a nice set of pajamas. Preferably, something shaped like a nun’s habit so she can keep her mind from wandering into strictly dangerous territory.

Anya tried to ignore his gaze as she walked back to her vanity, the heat spreading upwards from the base of her neck, as she dried and combed her hair for the night. The way he looked at her, wide-eyed and wonder struck, ran though her mind on loop. It didn’t help how she could feel his gaze on him, her eyes meeting his through the mirror, his lips slightly parted and his hair still messy.

There was something so intimate about seeing him disheveled and relaxed. Despite all the time they had spent together during the year and even over the summers, Anya only got to know the side of Damian that was present at school. Even at sixteen, she knew that no one really knew him like she did, and likewise for him. There was so much shared history between them, just through their isolation and competitiveness at school, not to mention Loid’s mission bringing him into such focus.

Yet, she had never seen him at home, without his uniform or a carefully ironed outfit when they met outside school grounds. It felt raw, like she was seeing him without any of the armor he’d built himself, without the identity of an imperial scholar or her target.

It was just Damian.

After drying her hair, she sat staring at the mirror for a moment, trying to psych herself up for what was going to happen next.

“So…” Anya started, feeling unnaturally nervous before clearing her throat. Damian’s gaze snapped up to hers, no longer pretending to read the book in his hands. “We can share the bed for today right?”

“I— What?”

“We should sleep together,” the words slipped out of her mouth, and she winced at the way it sounded.

“WHAT?” Damian sprang out of his chair now, his face entirely scarlet. His knuckles were turning white with how hard he clenched them, his body practically frozen with disbelief. Anya winced with the barrage of emotion and noise that was going through her mind, and she instantly shut it off before she got a headache.

“I-I meant—”

“No, I’ll just sleep on the armchair, instead.” His eyes avoided the bed and her entirely, his eyes boring into the wall next to her like his life depended on it.

I can’t sleep with her, I just can’t.

“Oh, come on,” Anya pressed, unsure of the reason she was so annoyed by his statement. “We’re adults. We can share a bed.”

“I can’t sleep with a commoner!”

“That’s what you have a problem with?”

“Well that, and you’re a girl! It’s weird to sleep with girls!”

How the hell did he think we ended up a with a child? The thought raced through her mind before she quickly chased it off with annoyance, her ears burning red. Suddenly, an idea popped into her mind.

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re scared?”

“What?”

“You’re scared of girls! You’re practically trembling,” Anya cooed, her mischievous smirk morphing her face. “It’s okay Damian, I know, I’m too stunning for you to be near.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” Damian gritted his teeth, and she was restraining herself from laughing at how easy it was to rile him up. She could practically see the steam coming out of his ears, his face turning red like he bit down on a hot pepper.

“I don’t know…” she practically sang the words, calmly walking to the edge of the bed.

“I can totally spend a night sleeping with you,” Damian mimicked her, stomping towards the other side.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Prove it, then!” Anya yanked the covers, settling into one side of the bed with a huff, not looking to see if he’d even follow. She relished the sweet distraction that the soft bed offered her, before she felt bed dip once more.

“Fine!” his voice was much closer now, and despite the vastness of the bed, the proximity sent her heart racing.

“Fine!” her voice was muffled into the pillow, burying her head into the soft silk, before relaxing into her position.

In a haste, both their hands reached out to the lights, the blanket of darkness soon covering them. And along with came an eerie silence, the sounds of their breathing amplified somehow in the pitch black of the room. Her ears strained to sense his movement, and her body swore it could feel the way the bed would shift and dip as he did.

All her bravado huffed out of her, the anxiousness replacing the annoyance she originally felt at his statement. Her body was so aware of someone else in the room, much more than when she was getting ready for bed or reading a novel in the corner. Her body could feel the dip in the mattress, even if her mind ignored it, and she felt more self conscious than ever.

Her limbs locked up as she counted her breaths for what felt like half an hour, afraid that any small movement would alert him. It was easier to pretend he wasn’t there when she was facing away from him, but her senses were in hyper drive, her ears picking up every small tussle of the covers, her body acutely aware of a second source of warmth.

“Do you think we can do this?” His voice was muffled by the covers, and yet she could feel the vibrations of his voice between them.

“Do what?”

“This. Figure out how to be adults, take care of Alana…” and her mind could fill in what he wasn’t saying. Figure out how to be together.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, suddenly glad that she could not see his features staring into hers. “One moment I think I can, and the next I don’t.”

“Yeah… I feel the same. One moment, this entire thing feels doable, and the next it feels impossible. And I don’t know what to do.”

Her shoulders relaxed at his admission, comforted that she wasn’t alone in all this. Before she could say anything, Anya could feel him shift in the bed, turning to face her as she felt the soft puffs of his breath on the back of her neck.

Anya turned to face him in response, but in the dark, she severely miscalculated the distance between them. Now instead of facing him a respectful distance away, tip of her nose brushed his, making her gasp in response. She could feel the warmth radiating off his body, and the back of her mind pleaded with her to curl into his arms to steal some of it.

If he was shocked by her sudden proximity, he didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he stared at her wide eyed and breathless, his mind entirely devoid of thoughts. It was so unlike the Damian she knew, the boy who’s mind was constantly filled with an internal monologue. It was unsettling for Anya not to know what he was feeling, and even more unsettling, when she realized how much it bothered her.

The silence between them stretched on, and perhaps, the darkness helped them hide what they felt was too obvious in the light. Anya made no move to pull away from him, and somehow, she knew she couldn’t do it even if she wanted to. She always felt that magnetic pull, something that kept her in orbit around him no matter what, and it was never a question to try to pull back.

Damian’s hands fell on top of hers, and her mind didn’t have the time to question whether it was intentional or not, before her hand clasped his tightly. Almost like an anchor, the touch grounded her body, kept her from floating too far away from where she was.

She swallowed a breath before closing her eyes, and the warmth of his hands pulled her into the lull of deep sleep.

Chapter Text

BECKY CRASHED INTO THEIR LIVES with a whirlwind of concern, plenty of gifts, and an overwhelming heap of affection.

“Anya!” Becky gushed as soon as she entered the house, and she felt herself surging to meet her best friend’s embrace. Her body rushed with an avalanche of emotion, all rapidly crashing through her like the rocky waves of the sea. One after one, she was hit with the familiar nostalgia, the memory of her best friend’s warm embrace, and a deep well of sadness she could not decipher. However, she did not feel the overwhelming confusion that followed her body’s reaction, and Anya reeled with how comforting it felt to be confident in her feelings for once.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Damian asked dryly, holding an overly excited Alana in his arms, his eyes narrowed, but his lips twitching up with a smile. His eyes met Anya’s with an indescribable look of warmth and comfort, and she didn’t need to read his mind to know how centered he felt with Becky around.

“Hello to you too, Desmond,” Becky rolled her eyes, before her arms reached out to Alana. “Alana, darling, your favorite aunt is here!”

“You’re her only aunt,” Damian grumbled, but allowed Alana to lurch out of his arms and into hers.

“How is my girl doing?”

“Good,” the young girl smiled brightly, nuzzling into Becky’s arms before lifting her head to meet her gaze, “Dada and I built a block tower yesterday, and it was taller than me! And Mama braided my hair today, just like you Aunt Becky!”

Becky tugged on the end of the young girl’s braid lightly, laughing as she paid rapt attention to Alana, the little girl telling her all about the past week and the time she spent with her parents. Becky shot an amused glance up at Anya, and she felt her heart soften at her best friend’s familiar smile.

Anya shifted her gaze to Alana’s rambling, with so much fervor and wonder, and realized how grown up her daughter sounded.

An image of a smaller, chubbier version of her daughter floated through her mind, and Anya remembered the thump of her small feet on the hardwood floor as her daughter clumsily chased a mechanical toy, trying to grasp at the edges of the plastic.

Now look at her.

A pang of guilt rang through Anya, and she had an urge to apologize to her daughter for forgetting. For not remembering her childhood, for not being able to parent and show guidance in the way Alana needed, and she’s never felt more resentful in her life. It was resentment with no place to go, anger with nowhere to place it except on herself.

She swallowed the feeling quickly, trying to focus on Becky rather than the fears that followed her around like a ghost.

“You spoil her too much,” Damian shook his head in mock disapproval when he saw the bags of gifts Becky was holding.

“It’s my job!” Becky glared at him, before pinching Alana’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, Alana?”

The young girl nodded her head, her face solemn in agreement, but her façade easily broke when Damian narrowed his eyes at her. Alana giggled at him, and Anya could see the planes of his face ease once more.

“What do we say to Aunt Becky, peanut?” Anya asked Alana, raising her eyebrows in expectation.

“Thank you!” Alana’s arms were wrapped around Becky’s neck once more, and Becky laughed as she hugged her tightly.

In a flash, Alana was already climbing down, leading the way towards their living room and her play area, leaving the three of them alone in the foyer. There was a brief moment of silence, before they burst into laughter, and Anya felt giddy when she watched Becky and Damian laugh with her.

“Your little girl is growing up too fast,” Becky shook her head, her eyes still not taken away from Alana.

Damian hummed agreeably, but his shoulders were stiff. “Time is going by quicker than I’d like.”

I’ve missed out on so much already. His voice echoed in her mind, and Anya never agreed more, her eyes growing misty at the thought. Damian’s eyes met hers, and a similar flash of pain shone in his eyes, a moment of companionship between someone as lost as she was. She smiled at him, briefly, and he mimicked it.

“Earth to Desmond,” Becky snapped her fingers in front of Damian’s face, breaking their gaze. Anya’s face flushed slightly, Becky rolling her eyes when she caught sight of her face. Instead, Becky followed at Alana’s footsteps into the living room, shaking her head slightly, a small smile on her face.

Anya’s relief at the sound of Becky’s laughter was an understatement. In an odd way, she held much more apprehension to seeing Becky again than she did with Damian or even Alana. Perhaps, it was because her body quickly understood that they were constants, tethered to her whether she liked it or not. She knew how their story ended, she knew that she fell in love with Damian, that she had a daughter she cared more about than anything else in the world.

Becky was not like that.

Becky was a variable, her absence in her daily life stark considering how she saw Becky every single day of her life till she was sixteen. They were attached at the hip, and naively, Anya assumed it would continue into adulthood.

But as Becky looped her arm into Anya’s, she felt like she was back at Eden, strolling through the gardens during break. Her best friend had not changed that much from when they were teenagers, at least appearance wise. Her features had filled out, her arms and body robust and secure, and her movements were a tad more confident and polished than the 16 year old she’d remembered.

But her laugh was the same, her expressions hadn’t changed, and Anya felt so much gratitude that things between them hadn’t changed.

“I missed you,” Anya was the first to catch her breath as she caught up to her, leaning casually into Becky.

“I did too,” Becky smiled softly, before turning to Damian, hip checking him as they walked to the living room. “I even missed you, Desmond.”

“You better have, Blackbell,” Damian huffed. “You were overseas this weekend, right?”

Anya took the bags from Becky’s hands, placing them on the counter before joining the two of them. “You didn’t need to come see us so soon. Take more time to rest, there was no rush.”

“Nonsense,” Becky sat first, her hands smoothing her skirt on her lap as she looked down at her fingers. “When I heard what happened…”

The room went quiet, and Anya didn’t know what to respond with other than silence. She could barely manage to take her eyes up off the intricate patterns of the living room carpet, not wanting to acknowledge the real reason Becky was here. She just wanted things to feel normal again.

“Anyways, I knew I had to come check in,” Becky smiled at the two of them, but Anya saw how the corners of her smile strained uncomfortably. “How are the two of you doing? What did the doctors say?”

She wasn’t sure how much Becky had heard from her father, or even what the news had reported. Considering Damian’s position, she was sure many of the details were not public, but she hadn’t kept up with the papers for the past week. Her eyes met his, in a bid for help, before Damian spoke.

“They kept us for monitoring for a few days after we woke up from the coma, but we were released after our some further testing came back clear,” Damian clasped his fingers together, his eyebrows knitted, and Anya watched him transform the same way she had watched him take on responsibility when he became an imperial scholar.

Becky let out a huge rush of breath, her shoulders slumping. “I’m glad to hear that. When Loid had informed me about the accident, I was bracing myself for the worst.”

“Becky,” Anya said slowly, trying to search for her words, and she isn’t sure why breaking the news felt so hard now when she had prepared herself all morning. “How much did my father tell you about our accident?”

“Just a call when you were admitted into the ward and later, that you were fine and recovering,” Becky tucked her hair back around her ear. “Work had kept me busier than I liked, but I tried to get back home as soon as I could.”

The silence in the room grew thick, when Becky slowly looked up to the both of them. But Anya and Damian’s eyes were frozen on each other, trying to dare each other into speaking. A part of Anya didn’t want to share what they were going through, at least to preserve herself from dealing with the reality of it all.

“Guys,” her eyes flickered between the two of them, “Did something happen? Everything okay?”

“Anya and I have a severe case of memory loss.”

Becky opened her mouth, but no words followed.

“Becky, we don’t remember anything that happened after we were sixteen years old,” Anya breathed the words out, trying not to choke on how they felt in her mouth.

“What?” Becky’s voice was harsh and low, barely intelligible to either of them. “What do you mean?”

“We don’t remember anything about our lives since Eden,” Damian’s knuckles turned white, his grip tight and strained. “We’re not exactly sure how we got to the lives we’re living right now.”

“Wow,” Becky breathed out, “I— Oh. I don’t. I’m not sure what to say.”

Damian chuckled at that, slightly bitter and yet, amused at the same time. “I’m not either.”

“Is it permanent?”

“There’s no way to know. They mentioned that it might take a couple months, and that many of our memories will come back with time and familiarity as well.”

Silence blanketed the three of them as the words took time to sink into her bones. Part of Anya wanted to read Becky’s thoughts, but she shook the urge off, knowing that whatever she hears won’t fix what’s wrong.

Becky’s eyebrows knit with confusion, carefully watching them. “Both of you forgot the past decade of your lives?”

“Yeah,” Anya sighed.

“Exactly a decade?”

Anya glanced at Damian, confused on where the conversation was going. “What’s wrong?”

“How is it possible that both of you lost the exact same section of memories?”

“I…” Anya sat up straight. “I have no idea.”

Her eyes searched for Damian’s again, only met with a blank expression, his eyes darting around calculative. He shrugged, after a moment of deliberation. “I didn’t question it.”

Anya’s stomach churned uncomfortably, as anxiety ballooned in her chest. The accident, in her mind, was never a point of concern. It was a byproduct of something that just happened, a stroke of unluckiness that just so happened to wreck their lives. Yet it’s not so far from reality that all of this might have been orchestrated in some way, especially when they’re both such public figures with their lives exposed to the greater whims of the political climate.

“What are the last things you remember?”

“Nothing concrete, like a last day or a last memory,” Anya answered. “It’s just the firm idea that I’m a sixteen year old in Eden academy, with no clear recollection past that point.”

Damian nodded in agreement. “It’s like the only part of my mind that’s remotely accessible are events that happened nearly a decade ago, yet it all feels more recent.”

“So it’s not exactly the same section of memory,” Becky concluded. “Parts of your long term and short term memories are just jumbled up in your heads?”

“Yeah, except more disorienting. Everything feels like it’s on the tip of my tongue but if I press into it anymore than that, it’s like I hit a static wall. Sometimes I can remember events that I later can’t recall at all.”

Anya watched Damian carefully, her eyes ghosting over his face carefully. Everything about him felt unmoored, especially after the news of his father’s death, and the topic of their memories felt too volatile to touch. There were just too many questions to answer about their pasts, even if they agreed to hold onto one another as they jumped into their adult lives and responsibilities.

There was one thing uniting them, albeit hesitantly, and it was the little girl playing in the living room in front of them. Anya knew they were friends, and that they were classmates that grew up in the competitive and strict Eden Academy, but she knew just as well that this ruse could be over with one wrong move.

“Is that why you called, Damian?” Becky asked, leaning forward in her seat. Her eyes drifted to meet Anya, watching with an indescribable expression on her face. “To know more about the past decade?”

“In part,” Damian nodded. “I want to know the situation I’m coming back into, especially at the legislature. Seems like Berlint went through more political instability than I initially thought?”

“The party was already undergoing internal tension by the time you started the beginnings of your political career. You’ve had to do a lot of work to distance yourself from the older campaigns of the party,” Becky shook her head, biting her lip as she looked to the floor. “It’s a lot more complicated, and I don’t know if I can give you the answers you need on that regard.”

“Ah.”

“Have you considered reaching out to Demetrius? I assume he knows about your condition.”

He has no clue. And I don’t want to talk to him about this. Damian’s voice echoed through Anya’s mind as she sat quietly, observing the two of them. Becky’s eyes grew distant as they spoke, and Anya knows her well enough to know that there’s a whole lot that she isn’t sharing with them. But why?

“I thought it best to control how the news gets out, so I’ll tell him eventually,” Damian sighed. “I asked because your family is still in weapons manufacturing and testing, and still an integral part of the party for the past decade it seems.”

Becky shook her head in disagreement. “My father won’t allow me into the political affiliations of the group, he barely allows me to work in my position as is. Most of my role in the business side has been sidelined anyways. ”

“I can ask my father about it instead,” Anya offered instead. “I need to talk to him about going back to work anyways so I can ask him about getting you in touch with your brother.”

“You’re going back so soon?”

“I don’t have an option. The hospital is still understaffed as of late, and they already cleared my evaluation yesterday to come back into work. I’m simply taking up vacation time at this point.”

There was, of course, a lot more to it than just that. Something in Anya was itching to go back to her job, both for a sense of normalcy and to track what actually happened to her family over the past decade. Considering Yor and Loid are still recognized as her parents, the operation her father recruited her for didn’t go sideways entirely. But at the same time, her father clearly knows about her mind reading, and at some point, had introduced her into WISE.

Beyond her role as a civilian, there is a lot she forgot about her life, specifically the parts that would make her existence abnormal. The reminder of Damian’s position also doesn’t help, but there’s not much she can do to worry about it until she talks to Loid.

Becky swiveled to face Damian in that moment, her eyes narrowing onto his figure, and Damian jerked back at the sudden movement. “You really don’t want to ask me about anything else, Damian?”

“What would I even ask about?” he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, caught off guard by the sudden attention. He looked towards Anya, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, before turning back to her. “Is there something you… want me to ask you about?”

“Never mind,” Becky sighed deeply, but before she could continue, Alana came rushing back to the three of them, clambering past both Anya and Damian. It was like the two of them didn’t even exist around Becky, and Alana was clearly interested in monopolizing her aunt’s time.

“Aunt Becky,” the little girl whined, tugging at Becky’s long sleeve, “I need your help!”

The girl certainly had plenty of momentum as she crashed into their conversation, somehow breaking the tension in the room with such an innocent request. Alana was practically hanging off of Becky’s arm, her face twisting with the sheer effort she was putting into moving her aunt off the couch and onto her feet. She had little care for anything else in that moment, eyes scrunched shut and solely concentrated on the feat she had committed herself too.

“I’m getting up, Alana!” Becky responded, laughing at the young girls’ antics, but a slight hiss slipped out when the little girl twisted the skin of her arm a little too harshly.

“Alana, you’re hurting Aunt Becky,” Damian went to pick up the young girl, but she zipped behind Becky and wrapped a possessive arm around her leg. “Be more gentle.”

“But she was taking forever,” Alana dragged out the end, her feet stamping on the hardwood floor in frustration. “If she doesn’t come soon, I’ll miss the next show.”

“Alana—”

“It’s okay Desmond,” Becky bent to pick up the young girl, and Alana clambered on quickly, settling onto her hip. “Let’s go watch some cartoons!”

Becky scratched the young girl’s cheek affectionately as Alana giggled loudly, laughing at her father’s disgruntled face, before allowing herself to be carried and sat next to the TV.

“She’s really going to be the death of me,” Damian frowned at Anya, who stayed watching the interaction play out, still smiling softly at the sight of her best friend and her daughter playing together. It reminded her of all the times Anya herself had dragged Becky out into the courtyard, insisting they get their hands dirty in the playground instead of sticking to the picnic tables when the sun was too hot.

“Are you talking about Becky or Alana?”

“Both,” Damian ran a hand down his face, fingers pausing to massage around his temples. Anya stood up, joining Damian’s side as he hid his face in his hands. She could see the slight wrinkles on the corners of his face, around his eyes and his forehead, and Anya was overcome with the sudden urge to smooth it out with her own fingers.

Anya stifled the urge before her fingers moved on their own volition. It wasn’t the first time she had faced the sudden urge to touch him, but it was the first time the idea had popped into her mind so casually. Perhaps it was because she was getting used to constantly sharing space with him, but something in her craved being held in his arms.

She shook it off quickly, but still her arms went to capture his wrist before he rubbed his skin raw. Damian suddenly paused, looking into her eyes with such earnest and desperate longing that it knocked the breath from her lungs.

“Should we ask her? About us?”

Anya sighed deeply, before biting her lip. She could barely trust her own memory of who she was, let alone what she was to him, and everything about this arrangement felt tentative at best. Every promise made between them felt flimsy when questioned, and worst of all, the person questioning them was the one person so integral to their school years.

“I don’t know,” Anya shrugged him off, not meeting his eye as she moved towards Becky and Alana.

His hand shot out to grasp her wrist before she could follow them, pulling her attention back.

“We could solve this right now,” Damian swallowed, letting out a shuddering breath as he looked towards the ground. “She could just fill in this gap for us, and we can move on with our lives.”

“Do you think it would be that simple?” Anya shook her head, “Just because she tells us what she remembers doesn’t make it our own memory. And what if she’s wrong?”

“It’s Becky. What reason would she have to lie to us?”

“I’m not saying she would be lying, not intentionally at least. But we have had a decade go by, and what she might tell us might not be the entire truth of the situation, just her perception of it. Wouldn’t it be better if we could just remember it ourselves?”

Damian went silent at that. What if we don’t ever remember it ourselves?

Anya swallowed hearing the fear that was ringing through her, echoed back in his thoughts. Still, she shook it off. “There’s not any use worrying about it now. Let’s go join them.”

Becky handed her a glass of wine as Anya sank into the armchair, the velvet engulfing her as her fingers drew patterns into the soft, short hairs of the chair. She watched as the dark green lost it’s sheen as she ran her finger over it, before resetting it as it was. She stared at the drink for a brief second, her eyes watching the dark plum red swish against the walls of the glass, before tentatively taking a sip.

After spending majority of the day with Alana, all three of them were exhausted. Toddlers, it seemed, had an endless supply of energy and perhaps it was the extra attention with Becky’s visit, but Alana had no intention of letting them go.

Unlike her parents, Alana was an extrovert through and through. Anya could be an ambivert on her best days, but being an esper took a toll on her making her retreat into the quiet comfort of her home more often. And there was no doubt that Damian was an introvert, often reserved and living in his thoughts than speaking them out loud.

A brief image flashed in her mind at the thought, Damian’s head laying peacefully on her stomach as she ran her fingers through his hair, talking about his day at the office. Affection, and something close to a heart-aching want pained her heart, making her aware of how heavy her chest felt without the casual affection she was surrounded with in her lost life.

Alana naturally fell asleep after crawling onto Damian’s shoulder after a long day of play, the young girl exhausted but still stubborn enough to protest nap time. Damian graciously dismissed both Anya and Becky, offering them some much needed time to spend some time together, while he put the young girl to sleep.

Anya set up the living room for the two of them, as Becky ran to ask Damian for a match to light some candles. Her mind couldn’t help drifting to what Damian asked before joining Alana however.

She was in two minds, both craving the idea of ripping of the band-aid yet also wanting her mind to heal as naturally as possible. She could remember her university lectures in the back of her mind, most of it hazy and unfocused, the flashes of the patterns she drew on her notebook clearer than the voices of her professors.

Anya always thought of her memories like the trinkets and figurines in her room, static and unchangeable, something she could collect and carry with as she moved from place to place. It was something she could feel with her hands and know its exact density and features. It weighs you down and there isn’t a moment that you are unaware of it. Every choice you make is filtered through the lens of the choices you made prior, and the repercussions your life faced.

Science disagreed. Memory wasn’t static, far from it. It was an amorphous cloud of chemicals in your body, the sensors in your physical body converting the sensations into hormonal releases strengthening the connections of your synapses. With each recount and review, it can mutate and shift until it’s entirely unrecognizable and untrue. It’s volatile and uncontrollable, unreliable and transient. The pain you felt when you burned your finger as a child will feel impossible and large compared to the brief pinprick of pain you feel now.

Anya’s mouth salivated at the dryness of the wine, and a familiar layer of film coated her tongue as she tried to think back to the time when she first had alcohol.

“You made the exact same face when you tried wine for the first time,” Becky laughed cordially as she made herself comfortable, but her expression clouded. An image of a 18 year old Becky’s face scrunching up in disgust flashed through her mind, before it vanished.

“You were so convinced it would taste delicious just because of how much they drank it in the romantic shows you watched, ” Anya shook her head, “And yet, you hated it so much you immediately spit it out.”

Becky blinked. “Yeah,” she said, slowly. “Do you remember that night?”

“No,” she answered truthfully, “I just get glimpses and pieces of things. Sometimes it makes sense. Sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Do you want me to tell you about it?”

Anya pressed her lips together, eyebrows drawing together. “If you tell me, then it’s not like my memory is recovering. You’re just creating memories in my mind that isn’t real.”

“But maybe it can open some part of your mind that isn’t accessible to you. Maybe all you need is just a piece of information for your brain to cling onto. Is there a harm in trying?”

“Yes,” Anya took a long sip from her glass, her fingers tracing the rim, “There is. What if you tell me all of this, and I still don’t remember it? What if I don’t ever remember it? What if this is just how it will be for the rest of my life?”

But that’s not what she really wants to say.

What if you tell me something that I don’t want to remember, something my mind blocked out to keep itself in balance?

“What if it isn’t? Isn’t it better to try than to not try at all?”

She grew quiet. Part of her desperately wanted to believe Becky, to rebuild her mind block by block until it returns to the state it once was. Blissful, peaceful and content with the life she built for herself. She can see herself slot into that role once, the careful and spontaneous wife of a senator, dutiful and hardworking mother and psychiatrist.

However, that’s the precarious thing about memory. Even if she regains what she lost, will it feel the same? Or will she be haunted by this, tainting every good thing that’s happened in her life for the years she’s blacked out in her mind? What if this creates immutable baggage that makes it impossible for her to slot back into the role she once fit so well?

There was a simultaneous sense of guilt and curiosity building in her, wanting to know more about herself and yet, feeling bad that she was learning something about her memory when Damian was still in the dark. It felt like cheating, to ask about something when Damian wasn’t present. Despite herself, Anya nodded her permission for Becky to continue, her curiosity taking precedence.

“We stole a bottle of wine from my parents’ cellar, during a sleepover when we were 18,” Becky smiled. “I wanted to try some so badly, but didn’t know how to get into the cellar. Good thing, you were always gifted in breaking and entering into places you shouldn’t have been.” She sent her a warm look then, a familiar kinship bloomed in Anya’s chest, somehow nostalgic for a moment she doesn’t remember.

“I’m assuming there were chocolates, face masks and plenty of manga for the both of us?” Anya smiled, the taste still coating her tongue in a way she was slowly getting used to as she took another slow sip.

Becky nodded along, her smile growing fonder. “We got into an argument about what show to watch, then ended up missing the air time for both our shows.”

“Classic,” Anya giggled into her cup, and she could feel the low buzz and slight heaviness in her body grow.

“Of course, when it got late into the night, we both laid in bed and whispered about all the gossip at Eden.” Becky shook her head. “Everything was so simple then. The biggest thing I worried about was my rank, and organizing the founder’s day activities for that year.”

“When did our lives grow so complicated?”

“It’s not so complicated, not really. Most of our days are filled with same mundanity that our parents enjoyed. We go to work, we come back. We take care of our families, and fret about the uncertainties of tomorrow.”

“Except now we also worry about the futures of our children, and what the world will look like for them.”

“Yes,” Becky looked down in that moment, “The world is full of tensions Anya. It always has been, and it always will be.” Her best friend leaned forward then, setting down her glass of wine and reached out to clasp Anya’s hands instead.

Anya squeezed her friends fingers tight then, before launching herself into Becky’s embrace, a sob rising out of her before she could even control herself. “What do I do, Becky? Everything is so— I am so out of my depth, and I just don’t know where to look.”

Becky swept her closer, her hands clasped tightly as Anya continued to sob into her shoulder. “All we can do in this moment, is take care of ourselves and the people we hold dear..” She paused briefly, as though thinking through what she was going to say next.

“When we were seventeen, you disappeared out of Eden for almost three months.”

Anya reeled back from her, trying to meet Becky’s eyes, but they were distant and misty. Instead, she clutched onto her best friend’s forearm harder, trying to show that she was listening.

“We didn’t know what to do. The administration wouldn’t answer our questions, and we had no way of contacting your family. We were more scared than we’d ever been, not understanding where to go to even get you back.” Becky paused, gathering her words. “I was scared, I mean we were all scared. It felt like our safety bubble had popped when you left. But Damian, I don’t know if I had ever seen him as closed off and reclusive as he had been then.”

“Oh,” Anya’s voice grew soft.

“He hates talking about it. Still refuses to this day, but he survived because of the hope you would return. We all survived because we relied on each other, to hold each other through that period. So, even when things feel hard now, my darling Anya, know that you have us in your corner. If you’re scared, we’ll be scared together, and move on in this life together.”

WHEN BECKY ARRIVED IN THE AFTERNOON, Damian felt relief. Which is odd, considering Becky was not necessarily one of his allies back in school, but at the same time, she wasn’t an adversary either. She was somewhere in between, startling keen and calculative for a girl that was so bubbly and energetic. At 15, she was an it girl of the school, someone who could sense the changes in the wind and change herself with it.

For a girl like Anya, who’s head was often floating high up in the sky, Becky was her tether. She kept her grounded, and took all of Anya’s quirks in stride.

But for Damian, Becky was the signal in the fog, flaring to let him know that there is something waiting for him at the end of the tunnel. Becky, unlike many of his friends, knew what the life of politics was, and how it shaped the expectations placed on him. Despite half her expressions consistent of rolling her eyes or carefully narrowed to break him down, Becky knew exactly what he needed to hear, and wasn’t afraid to say it.

But looking at the current state of his wife, Damian only feels dread when he looks at Becky.

“Did you get my wife drunk?” His voice was flat as he looked at Anya, slumped in his favorite armchair.

She snorted. “Anya did all the drinking by herself, thank you very much. You clearly forgot about her habits, huh?”

Damian laughs, a mixture of bitter and amusement, as he watches the realization dawn on Becky’s face. And then her face crumples.

“I’m sorry,” she swallows before he could say anything. “I know you lost just as much as her.”

Damian blinked, taken aback as he looked at Becky. It hit a nerve somewhere down deep, and perhaps he was not as adept at hiding his feelings as he once was, because Becky’s expression turns apologetic.

“I guess, I get drunk much quicker than I thought these days,” Becky rubs her hand down her face, the exhaustion plain.

He wants to ask her about what happened, pry into why she had changed from the confident girl he remembered at Eden. Yet, he feels especially awkward doing so, and the idea of reaching out makes it feel like the ground is crumbling underneath him. He doesn’t know nearly enough about their relationship, about what the dynamics of their friendship is like to really ask her about herself in such a personal level.

“Do you want to stay in our guest room tonight? You’re tipsy, and it’s late. If not, I can also call for your driver, but the offer is always on the table,” he shakes the thoughts off, swallowing his curiosity.

Becky nodded, a slow yes, before looking up at him. “You’re good at that you know,” she stretched as she stood up from the couch, moving her shoulder carefully from under Anya’s forehead. “Compartmentalizing.”

“What?”

“Just, shelving things away when you don’t want to deal with it,” Becky looked at him, her eyes slightly unfocused, and yet still unnerving. The young girl he knew from his childhood was still there, but this version of her was much more straightforward and pragmatic than Damian was expecting.

Damian opened his mouth before shutting it again, not sure how to reply, before settling on what he does best.

Deflecting.

“I’m not. I was just checking in, Blackbell, I’m not like that anymore.”

Becky shook her head, concern etched into her face. “I know you’re having a difficult time with everything. And I can’t say everything will work out either but… just know that in the past, you got through everything because you learned to rely on us Damian. Don’t forget that we’re all here for you.”

“I know.” Damian turned from her at that moment, shifting Anya’s head so her neck wasn’t twisted at such an awkward angle. It felt too much all of a sudden, to have this conversation with Becky when she was meant to help Anya. But it felt like her visit only made him more vulnerable, somehow feeling exposed and raw and like he was at the precipice of something.

“Good,” she nodded. “Goodnight Desmond. Take care of her and yourself.”

“Goodnight.”

He didn’t turn to watch her leave the room. Becky knew this house better than he would, but nonetheless, he had prepared the guest bedroom when he figured she would be here after taking care of Alana. He wanted to join them sooner, but the awkwardness and the respite he knew it would provide Anya prevented him from doing so.

But from Becky’s words, it seemed that they needed to have a conversation, about what he isn’t asking her. Or at least, what Becky wants him to ask her.

“Sy-on boy,” Anya sang, her head leaned back onto the armchair as she creaked her eyes open, gifting him with a dopey smile. “Hi.”

“How much did you drink?”

“One- No, two glasses?” her eyebrows drew together in thought, as if she had trouble remembering exactly what she was trying to recall. “Maybe three?”

Damian pinched his nose bridge, sighing deeply. There was a slight sense of annoyance that rose within him, still upset at her refusal to ask Becky about them, as though she was avoiding the topic entirely. It made him feel vulnerable, and exposed, and entirely annoyed that such a girl had so much power over him. But looking at her in this state, he wanted to smile at just how soft she looked.

He’s not sure he would ever stop finding her adorable, and the edges of his mouth naturally crept into a smile as he watched her blissfully lay in the armchair, staring at him. Anya’s eyes closed again, tipping her head back slightly to expose her throat, and Damian watched as she swallowed, and took a deep breath.

Anya, for all intents and purposes, looked like a 27 year old woman. You could not mistake this woman for anything younger, and yet when Damian looks at her, all he sees is the 16 year old that kept poking him with her pencil while they studied, or the girl that pushed him to be brave when all he wanted to do was cower in fear.

It’s plain affection that was brewing in his heart as he watched her, and he is confident that this older version of him adored her as much as the 16 year old version of him did.

“Can you hug me?” Anya blurted out suddenly, lurching out her seat and standing to face him.

“W-What?” His words were caught off guard, but his hands automatically went to steady her as she lost her balance trying to stand up. She slowly hit her forehead on his chest, leaning her weight onto the point for stability, as his hands naturally went to rest on her forearms to hold her steady against him.

“I want a hug,” Anya pursed her lips, pouting slightly. Her eyes were half lidded, as she peered up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Can you just hug me please? And not ask why?”

Damian just stared at her, not knowing how to respond. The immediate instinct in his was to flee, and as his face got hotter at the thought of being so close to her, his body was definitely leaning towards fleeing.

But a side of him, perhaps the side that he had forgotten, the one that was comfortable in the love she had for him, kept him rooted in his spot. It sprouted a sense of curiosity in him, a wonder into what it would feel like to pull her into his arms firmly. To cradle her into his embrace, how it would feel for her nose to be buried into the crook of his neck. What would she look like? Would she peer up at him with wonder, those wide emerald eyes shining just for him, with adoration and joy?

And for some reason, he thought of his mother. He remembered the look in her eyes when she cradled him, equal parts contempt and love. The sweet murmurings as she held him close, when he shut his eyes and slowed his breathing and pretended to be limp in her arms just for her to hold him closer.

Except she gave him away to the nearest maid, and built the wall back inside her heart as she saw her husband enter, and prepare herself for battle.

Is it foolish to hope that Anya would look at him any different?

He wrapped his arms around her, his hands tracing across her back as Damian slowly pulled Anya into her embrace. She quickly slumped into his body, her face and nose burying his way into his neck as he rested his chin on top of her bubblegum colored hair. Damian took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in tandem with Anya’s and he was enthralled with the smell of her shampoo enveloping him. He tried not to give the action much thought, trying to rewire his brain to act before overthinking.

And in his embrace, he could sense her slowed breathing, somehow syncing with his as the warmth of her bled into his body in an indescribable way. This felt entirely different to what he thought. It was soft, reverent somehow, and he could feel himself melt into her. Anya’s hands tightened at this, and he could feel the heat of her palm move up and rest between his shoulder blades.

It felt infinite and in that moment, he wished that their lives could continue like this, shielding each other from what’s to come, even when they were uncertain about everything else in life.

Chapter Text

DAMIAN’S HEAD WAS STILL BURIED in the middle of the last legislature session’s records when he picks up the sound of the door opening.

“Hey.”

Damian’s eyes flitted up to see Becky’s head poking out behind the door, her voice dampened by the silence of the room.

“Blackbell,” he nodded, looking back down to the funding proposal in front of him. He loosened the grip on his fountain pen as he capped it. “How was high tea with the girls?”

She shifted into the room, silently closing the door behind her. His eyes zeroed in on the folder in her arms, but she made no mention of it as she walked to his desk, pausing before him.

“Not bad,” Becky smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Alana almost knocked over the entire tower of sandwiches, but Anya’s quick reflexes saved us all. Didn’t save Anya’s dress from the tea stains, though.”

Damian smiled softly, the deep fondness feeling saccharine in his mouth. He spent fifteen minutes this morning, trying to make sure his girls were bundled up before they stepped out into the cold. Anya and Alana frowned in response, the same furrow crinkling between their eyebrows making the two look like carbon copies of each other.

Becky rolled her eyes when he tried to mother her, declaring how she wasn’t going to take advice from the boy that fell ill for two days as he refused to wear a coat during a winter storm since he “had thicker skin than everyone else.” Damian shoved a coat in her arms, and hoped that Alana did not get any ideas from her aunt. He’d like to think he still had a couple good years left before she started rebelling against Anya and him.

“I need to talk to you,” Becky’s voice wavered towards the end, a long sigh leaving her body as she said the words. Damian snapped out of his reverie, his attention refocused on her, eyes narrowed in concern.

Becky was fidgeting, which was unlike anything Damian had seen in Becky in their years of friendship. He didn’t realize Becky was capable of feeling nervous, and it inspired a familiar anxiety to bloom in his chest. The ever present tension in his shoulders only grew as he watched her shift her weight on her legs, swaying side to side as she contemplated her words.

“Sit down, Blackbell,” Damian gestured to the chair, shoving the documents back onto the stack near the corner of his desk. “What’s wrong?”

“Before I left for my trip a few weeks back, you asked me for a favor,” Becky started, her fingers tracing the edges of the file she placed on the desk. Her eyes did not meet his, focusing on the grooves of his wooden desk. “I thought that was why you called me to visit yesterday. To apologize for your request.”

He sat up straight, startled at her admission. “Apologize? For what?”

“Before the legislature adjourned, you tried to subpoena some documents from the Blackbell group. Specifically, the R&D division’s documentation from over two decades ago.”

“Didn’t the advisory committee block that from getting through?”

Becky’s head shot up to meet his gaze, startled by his interjection. “Yeah,” she swallowed a breath, “Do you remember anything else from that day?”

“No,” he trailed off, “I don’t even remember the veto happening, but it was in the legislature records I was just reviewing. Why is that important though? I thought you weren’t involved in the political aspects of the group.”

“I’m not,” Becky started, “But you wanted me to be involved. You asked me to steal the documents for you.”

“I— What?” He was truly shocked at himself. There were remnants of a memory that floated through the back of his mind, a spark that reminded him that there was a reason why Becky stepped back from the company. He couldn’t fathom asking her for a favor that involved her in the groups’ political history that they were trying to bury, let alone steal something.

“I was shocked too,” she shook her head as though she was still confounded over his actions. “You said it was about some contract work that the group had conducted in conjunction with your father. The last time I saw you, you were paranoid, thinking that your own advisors were spying on you.” Becky winced. “Our conversation didn’t end well. I didn’t think we would speak again.”

“I’m sorry I got you involved,” Damian shook his head, his fingers massaging his temple lightly, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I don’t either, but that’s not why I am here.”

Damian went quiet, still staring blankly. The guilt roiled in his stomach, but the curiosity and anxiety was greater than the shame. Becky pushed forward the stack of files on the desk towards him, and his fingers itched to rifle through them, try to remember what his past self was searching for.

“The conversation still bothered me, so I decided to look through the documents and bring them anyways. We only have a week before the legislature comes back into session, and my father comes back from his conference, so I need these back in a couple days.”

“I’m grateful, Becky but…” Damian shook his head, placing his hands around the files before pushing it towards her “…I wouldn’t even know what I was looking for. Hell, I don’t even remember why I asked in the first place.”

“I know that,” Becky snapped, hurried and impatient, “But I read through these documents. These detail experimental projects our fathers spearheaded. A majority of this research was started long before we were born, when the party was still young in its sway.”

“So?”

“This information isn’t available to the senior ranking officers, the board, or any current party member. Hell, half these researchers wouldn’t even admit to their involvement, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be able to track them down now. So how did you find out about this?”

“Becky, you know I wouldn’t—”

“—Desmond, I’m warning you to be careful. Almost a week and a half after our conversation, Anya and you—” Becky sighed, her shoulders deflating into a worried hunch. “You got in your accident.”

Oh.

Oh.

“You think someone knows I’m trying to access this information outside my office? That someone is trying to assassinate me because they think I know something?”

Becky had a crazed look in her eye, when she continued speaking, looking frazzled all over again. “The party and Berlint hasn’t been the same since your father died. Despite the ease in tension, the party is splintering and the coalitions formed in its place is fragile at best.” Becky slid the folders closer to him. “All I know is that two weeks after we talked, you got in that accident. Then when you mentioned how you both lost your memories, something about it didn’t sit right with me.”

Damian ran a hurried hand through his hair, trying to push it back from his eyes as he tried not to panic. Nausea overwhelmed him, and he could feel the paralyzing fear creep up his arms.

The actions of the past version of him felt uncharacteristic. Never could he imagine putting Becky in such a precarious position, endangering her life by involuntarily involving her in the tensions she never wanted a part in. And even more alarming is the idea that his mistake and hubris could have put his whole family in danger.

Before he knew it, he was already turning open the files, trying to scan for anything that could jog his memory. The documents were organized chronologically, however large swaths of information was blacked out. From his initial perusal, it detailed a large series of experiments carried out before Damian was born, but abruptly ended when he was four years old.

“Do you know when my father became involved in this research? Or why?”

“I’m not sure. Majority of the head researchers are either redacted, dead, or missing. I was hoping to find any documentation in my dad’s office with more detailed explanations, but this was the best I could find.”

Damian hummed in response, his eyes still scanning through the pages for anything that could catch his eye. It didn’t take that much detail to understand why the group wanted to bury this, and the party wanted to deny its existence. Most of these experiments were inhumane, and borderline grotesque. The psychological manipulation detailed with such detached methodology was enough to make him feel sick.

“From what I could understand, there were a series of projects that were started eight years before we were born. There’s almost ten different projects that started around the same time, focused on developing bio-weapons and later on, human enhancements. A lot of them didn’t seem successful enough to move past testing on animals. Project Orange, Apple, and Starfruit were based around neurological research, and the only ones to utilize human test subjects.”

Something about the project names raised the hairs on the back of Damian’s neck, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. A flash of pain shot across his temple, causing him to grit his teeth in reflex. He tried not to crumple the page with his reaction, immediately pressing his thumb into the throbbing vein near his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunted, the muscle in his jaw ticking with the effort not to wince at the radiating pain. “Becky, can you do me a favor?” Damian tried to hide the way his fingers trembled as they touched the files for a brief moment. “Don’t tell Anya about this. At least not yet.”

“Damian…”

“Please. I don’t know what I was looking at or why it bothers me, and until I can figure it out, I don’t want her or Alana involved.”

Becky looked defeated as she nodded in agreement, standing up from the desk. Wordlessly, she moved until she faced the heavy wooden door, pausing before it for a moment. “I need you to get out of this as soon as you can. I’m not just asking for their sake, but yours too.”

Damian nodded, unable to respond to her plea. The level of care she showed him was heartwarming and the enormity of the gesture was difficult to swallow.

Despite growing alongside Becky and Anya, he knew Anya was first in her heart. There is an unspoken understanding that forms in a close friendship such as theirs, but it intensifies when you watch each other grow up. Anya and Becky never needed words to understand each other, their meaningful expressions spoke to each other in a language no one else can understand.

They were an unbreakable duo, even with all their petty spats and teenage sensibilities. In the end, there would always be a inseverabletether between them.

Damian was unbound, lost in the ocean of his emotions and the whim of his worst fears. The loss that came with being detached to his family, to go through the grief of losing his father all over again, only exacerbated it. Loid, Yor, and Becky were all Anya’s safety net, always waiting to catch her if her footing faltered. His paranoia whispered to him that they only care about him because he was married to Anya.

It was unthinkable to him that Becky extended the same care to him. Yes, Becky meant a lot to him, in ways he is sure she doesn’t know. She was the first one to show him that there was a way to navigate their precarious world without compromising himself. She was the first to call him out when his pride and ego threatened to envelop him. Becky saw him beyond just a target or a someone to social climb with. Damian never gave her the credit for it, always assuming her feelings for her.

Out of all the things that the past version of him accomplished, Damian was glad that his friendships were strong. There is only a hope within him, that in the past decade, he conveyed his gratitude to her. He wasn’t sure how when it is still his first instinct to isolate and run away.

Damian dropped his head to look at the documents scattered around his desk, the files now spread across different corners. A sense of resolute purpose flooded him, his hands automatically rearranging the projects to connect different primary researchers together, grouping them by the type of experimentation.

So much of his life was spent running. Running from the reality of his family life, running from his own feelings. Pulling away was part of his instinct, his body drained of any sense of fight.

This felt different.

This wasn’t something he could run away from. He had too much to lose this time around, a lot more than just himself. He can’t risk his daughter the same way his parents did to him; he made that vow to himself before he ever brought another child into this world.

The files in his hands are the key to the mess they were in right now, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do anything about it.

There was nothing that could have prepared Damian for the sight in front of him.

His hands were still messing with his hair, trying to get the topmost layers to lay down correctly, casually opening the door to their bedroom to grab his hairbrush. However, the light pressure wasn’t enough to open the door, the wood physically resisting his entry.

With great force, he squeezed his body through, still confused as to what caused the blockade. He stepped into something that didn’t quite feel like the hardwood floor, but before he could take a step, his foot slipped against the slippery fabric.

Damian landed on the door with a thud, his hands grappling with the side of wooden door, clinging on for dear life.

“What the hell?” He whispered, carefully shutting the door behind him. Every inch of the hardwood floor was covered with clothes. There were gowns thrown across his side of the bed, sweaters lining the book cases, long skirts and scarfs and and even an Eden College graduation gown. He wasn’t even aware he owned so many clothes in his life, let alone see them all strewn out across his room.

“Anya?” he whispered out, unsure if she was the cause of this, or whether someone was robbing them and he was unaware. What they would do with his wife’s clothes, instead of the thousands of Dalc worth of jewelry sitting untouched in their armoire, he wasn’t exactly sure, but he couldn’t rule out any possibilities.

Instead of an answer, his foot nudged against the vague outline of Anya’s body lying underneath a pile of formal dresses, one of which he recognized from the picture he has on his desk. Her cotton candy hair was strewn around her like a cloud, some of it tangled in the myriad of sweaters and dresses laying around her.

“Is there a person underneath this mound, or have you become mummified by your own clothes?” Damian lifted the edge of a shirt, just enough to reveal her eyes creaked open to meet his. He tried his level best not to laugh at the sight, but his heart softened at her face of utter defeat.

“Leave me alone,” Anya droned out, grabbing another sweater to shield herself from the light. “This is my home now.”

Damian didn’t say anything as he sat beside her, watching her even breathing despite her arms and face still covered by different pieces of clothing. Instinctively, his hands searched for the closest mound of clothes, slowly starting to fold the shirts into different piles.

After a long day of sorting through legislature records, drafts of bills, and committee schedules, the rhythmic task of folding clothes became soothing. He spent a majority of the afternoon pouring over the files Becky gave him, trying to figure out what his past self was searching for, with no avail. When that got too tiring, he and Anya started cooking dinner, and getting Alana ready for bed.

It’s a curse, he thinks, the inability to sit still. Looking back on it, he filled up his high school days with a million activities just to keep his mind off of the reality of his life. He wasn’t sure where that pressure really came from, considering that neither of his parents ever verbally expressed that he wasn’t doing well.

It was just a looming anxiety that unknowingly welled up when the pride of being Donovan Desmond’s second son faded away. The crushing fear that he was worthless in his father’s eyes, the absence of his mother’s touch as he grew older, the ever present distance between Demetrius and himself.

Damian wonders if ever adjusted to the idea of doing nothing as he got older. Were there evenings where he rested with his family, sitting in each other’s company?

Right now, this feels like the closest he would ever get to it. Sitting in the chaos of their bedroom, the slow sounds of Anya’s breathing was a beacon of reassurance that his life turned out well in the end.

“You’re still here?”

“Mhm,” Damian absentmindedly hummed, his hands still too busy trying to smooth out the cardigan in his hands. “What, you thought I’d just go to sleep on top of all your slacks on our bed and call it a night?”

“Right,” she sighed, pushing off the clothes to sit up next to him, “I forgot you’re a clean freak.”

“Not a clean freak, I just like a tidy space.” Damian shrugged, sliding another tall pile of folded shirts to make room for more.

“And how is that working out for you so far?”

“No comment,” he winced, thinking of when he stepped on Alana’s blocks as Anya swept the floor when Alana was put down for her nap. He was hopping around the room holding his foot for a couple minutes, Anya’s laughter echoing against the walls of their living room.

“Toddler messes are another level, huh?”

“One would think I live with two toddlers if anyone saw the state of our room,” Damian slyly looked at her out of the corner of his eye, ducking sideways to dodge Anya’s elbow that was aimed into the side of his stomach. “You wanna tell me why our bedroom looks like a tornado ripped through it?”

“I don’t know what to wear,” she frowned, still looking down at the floor as her hands rifled through the shirts she was surrounded by. Her hands went to untangle her hair, the small metallic hooks embedded into the already knotted strands.

“What’s wrong with what you’re already wearing?” Damian frowned. Out of all the people, he never thought Anya worried about her appearance that much.

Subtly, his eyes drifted to look at the silken pajamas slipping down her shoulder, and tried his best not to sigh in annoyance. Always preferring oversized clothes, the lavender satin wrapped around her in swaths, the fabric barely having any shape to it.

Still, the way her clothes were always askew had its own charm, and as a teenager, it drove him up the wall. She’s always been a little absentminded, and Damian remembers all the afternoons he would spend in class, glaring at the uniform stockings that would slip down her legs, or the imperial scholar cloak that was one breath away from falling from her shoulders. His fingers would itch, restless to correct it before she received a demerit, feeling exasperated and annoyed for no reason.

It must be some kind of curse, Damian mused. Some kind of genetic condition that affected his eyes which created this haze that tinted his vision when he looked at Anya. It was difficult to look away from her, even when her hair was tangled in a hook of her blouse.

Wordlessly, he reached over, brushing away her lithe fingers from the hook that was increasingly tangled in her hair. Her shoulders tensed, but he was too concentrated on trying to pull apart the fine strands of pink hair to notice. He felt the heat of her gaze out of the corner of his eye, and Damian tried to swallow down the butterflies that were threatening to claw up his throat.

“There,” Damian pulled away, careful not to let the blouse pull at her hair again, and get further tangled. He shifted, trying to hide away how hot his face felt when he was close enough to inhale her perfume, her skin somehow perpetually smelling the same since they were teenagers.

Damian blew out a breath, trying to let out the pressure building in chest, trying to feign nonchalance. His body feels like a live wire, as if he was struck by lighting and energized, when he flexed his fingers. He could go out into the biting cold winds of Berlint, run five kilometers, and still feel like he has enough energy to swim a couple laps.

Wasn’t marriage supposed to kill this feeling?

Anya looked away from him, but Damian could swear she was rolling her eyes, her cheeks suspiciously red. “I’m going back to work tomorrow, and I have no clue what the dress code is.”

“Oh,” Damian slowly put down the shirt he was playing with, twisting to face her. “Yeah, I never thought about that.”

“I got so used to wearing a uniform that I forgot I have to actually pick out clothes every morning for work,” she scrunched her nose in annoyance.

“Well, let’s start with a white coat. I’m pretty sure that’s what psychiatrists wear.”

“Wow, thank you,” she deadpanned, “I couldn’t have figured that out by myself.”

Damian took a deep breath, psyching himself up. “What I mean is… Maybe I can help? Pick out what you’re going to wear?”

He refused to make eye contact, pretending to pick at one of her cashmere sweaters instead. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt so embarrassed offering to help her, but he couldn’t stop phrasing it like a hesitant question. These were the types of things husbands were supposed to do, right?

“Really?” she peered at him through her bangs, as though nervous all of a sudden.

“Yeah,” he met her gaze head on, trying not to overthink the moment. “We’ll go through your options together. Do you remember what your mom used to wear when she worked at city hall?”

Anya bit her lip as she thought back. “She had a uniform, but usually it was a vest and an office skirt, with white long sleeved shirt underneath.”

“Let’s start there, yeah?” Damian nodded, going through the piles of clothes he had already sorted to pick out a couple of options. “Here, try these on first.”

Damian shoo’d her away into their bathroom, before going back to pick up the stacks of clothes he had already folded. He stacked them onto the shelves of Anya’s closet, before grabbing a basket to gather some more clothes, making himself comfortable in one of the armchairs.

Since they came back from the hospital, Damian found himself craving menial household chores. The day before, he pushed Anya and Becky out of the kitchen, trying to reassure them he knew how to operate a stove.

But he didn’t, really.

He wasn’t sure where that confidence came from, only that he had volunteered for the task before his mind remembered he didn’t know how to do the job. He couldn’t remember the last time he cooked a meal for himself, but the moment his hands started moving, he knew how to accomplish the task

It was one of the few things that helped him feel in his skin over the past couple days. His mind was constantly at war with his body, but the moment he let his body take over, it kept proving his mind wrong. It made him feel normal, like he had a definite purpose in the chaos of their lives. He could simultaneously lose himself in the robotic motions, and yet ground himself with definite purpose.

The door creaked open, and he could hear Anya shuffling out, the lack of surety clear in her footsteps. When he twisted around to look at her, he tried to stifle a smile at how comically defeated Anya looked. Her shoulders drooped, almost hunched over, and her mouth was curved down in an unhappy frown as she looked at herself in the mirror.

Damian gave himself a moment to drink in the sight of her. Despite her posture, formal wear suited her, even if it was a little wrinkled from being tossed around the room. The outfit was simple really; it was a white collared button down with an black office skirt that reached her knees.

For the first time, it really registered in his head how much Anya had grown up. Even when she was holding Alana, or standing alongside Becky, he was unable to shake off the sight of sixteen year old Anya.

Anya hadn’t changed all that much from when they were teenagers. She was still impish and playful, albeit her previously infectious energy was dimmed after their accident. Physically, she had filled out, her arms and shoulders broadened slightly. Her confidence had grown into an inner strength, her movements a little less clumsy and a little more graceful, almost like her mother.

No one would mistake her for a sixteen year old, but it was difficult to process such a change when he instinctively expected to see Anya wearing her Eden Academy uniform.

“This is perfect,” Damian stood behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “Okay, well your shirt definitely needs to be ironed, and…”

He trailed off, Anya’s face crumpling a little more with every word he said. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” Anya’s tiled her head up to the ceiling, her frown growing watery, as she turned to face him. Damian stepped closer on instinct, his hands going to press into her arms to pull her into an embrace, before he stopped himself. He squeezed his hands into fists to stop his palms from itching. “What if I can’t do this?”

“Pick out an outfit?”

“Go to work tomorrow. Act like there’s nothing different about me, when everything is different about me,” Anya pushed her forehead onto his chest, her eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “I don’t even know what I’m walking into. I don’t even know the first thing about my job.”

Damian froze, unsure about his next move. The moment felt too monumental for him to brush away, but if he reacted the wrong way, he would just undo all the progress they made this week. This was the first time Anya had sought comfort in him, laying herself vulnerable for him to see.

He pursed his lips, mentally shoving away the instinct to push away, and ignore the moment. His arms wrapped around her like the night before, his palm slowly creeping up her mid-back and settled between her shoulder blades, his thumb rubbing soothing little circles into her skin. Gently, Damian pushed her into his embrace, expecting her to lean against him like she did the night before, arms wrapped around his waist.

Instead, his arms circled around his neck, pulling his face down towards her and bringing him closer to her body. Damian let out a heavy breath, the unexpected warmth flooding him so quickly that he forgot his words. Anya pressed her head into the crook of his neck, her breath ghost across his neck and causing goosebumps to form across his shoulders and forearms.

“I don’t know how tomorrow will turn out,” he started, his voice in a low hum. He wasn’t sure if Anya could hear him, but she buried her body closer to his at the sound of his voice. Tentatively, he pressed a small kiss on top of her head, into her hair. “But I know that you will get through the day, one moment at a time. Yesterday, I didn’t think I knew how to peel a clove of garlic, but the moment my hands touched the knife I knew what to do. Sometimes, you should just move without thinking, and hope your body knows enough to catch up.”

Anya pulled her head away, but stayed anchored by his shoulders. Her head tipped up to meet his eyes, an indescribable emotion taking over her face. After all these years, Damian still couldn’t read her the same way she could read him. Still, it inspired something to bloom within his chest, something that felt like reassurance and faith.

“Thanks Damian,” she smiled, slow and warm into a soft smile, and he sighed deeply, his shoulders losing all tension. He wanted to draw her back in again, hold her closer and relish in the pressure of her body against his. It made him feel like he could breathe easier, but his warring mind tried to warn him.

Warn him that this feeling is fleeting, that he doesn’t know what he’s jumping into. It felt illicit, to hold her this close and have his heart claim her like she was his. Everything in his body told him this was right, even when his mind disagreed. It desperately tried to push back against his instinct, remind himself that he will only get burned by revealing his hand too early.

Why is he even listening to his mind anymore? It’s his body that has his memory. Not his mind. His mind was fractured to the point that he wasn’t sure who he was anymore, but his body wasn’t. When his body was in motion, there was little doubt that he knew himself, rarely needing the repeated chants of who he was and where he is.

Without thinking, he smoothed her hair back, pausing to push her back into his embrace. He wasn’t sure if he could ever acknowledge this moment again, or even have such a sacred and quiet second to himself again. It was now or never.

Time gelled, seconds stretching into what felt like minutes as they stood, wrapped in each others embrace. Naturally, his arms started growing tired, and his neck ached from bending down to meet her, but it was a dull ache compared to the idea of pulling away.

“You should get ready for bed,” he dipped down again to kiss the top of Anya’s head, but this time his lips lingered. He inhaled deeply, his eyes closing involuntarily as the smell of her perfume enveloped and overrode his senses entirely. Anya sighed, her body nearly limp in his embrace, allowing it to mold into him even more.

Reluctantly, he peeled himself away, stepping back to busy himself once more. If he stayed near her, Damian was afraid he’d never let go again.

Anya busied herself immediately, dipping into their bathroom to get ready for bed. The moment Damian heard the door close, his let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Quickly, he went through the clothes scattered throughout their room, methodically placing Anya’s clothes back onto hangers and shelves.

Time passed without mention, and he sank into the armchair with a novel, trying to relax his mind before he turned in for the night. He was too engrossed in the world illustrated by the book to even hear the door open, let alone the footsteps moving towards him.

“What do you think?”

Damian spun around in the armchair, expecting her to be back in her pajamas, ready for bed. Instead, the breath was knocked out of his lungs, like she had sucker punched him in the stomach.

Anya was wearing a gorgeous dark green gown, the fabric pooling around her toes. The top of the gown was fashioned into a halter, tied tightly around her neck. Slowly, she turned around to give him a full view of the dress, and Damian could feel the scorching heat creep up the sides of his neck and his face. The back of her dress dipped low, ending around her waist, exposing the expanse of her back.

Damian blinked rapidly, his body entirely frozen at the sight of her. He was overcome with the staggering urge to trace his fingers along her spine, but before he could give in, Anya spun around facing him.

“I found it hidden in the back of my closet,” Anya smoothed out the fabric to lay flat around her thighs, the satin slightly wrinkling from age. Undeterred, Damian’s fingers stretched out to feel the fabric, slipping it against his fingers. “Senator’s wife definitely has its perks huh?”

Instantaneously, his mind reeled, flashes of a memory racing through his mind from the familiar sensation. The sensation was overwhelming, almost like he could taste the memory on the tip of his tongue, the vivid images passing through his mind. Damian was panting heavy breaths, the novel dropping from his hands as he braced the sides of the armchair, his eyes wide in shock.

“You wore this for our engagement party,” Damian whispered out, amazed that he could recover a memory from something as simple as the feel of fabric against his finger tips. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to press the memory into his eyelids, before looking back up at her.

“Oh,” Anya whispered, her playful smile dimmed slightly, softening at the edges. A flash of sadness crossed her face, before replaced with curiosity. “What do you remember?”

Memories flashed behind his eyes once more. The soft haze of the chandelier. A younger, mellow version of Anya smiling at him. The incandescent joy he felt in his heart when he looked at her. The polite laughter of their classmates, teasing them asking “What took so long?”

“Dancing,” Damian started, his bewildered eyes wide as he stared at her in amazement. “Our first dance after our engagement.”

He opened his mouth to continue, but the words were gummed up, sticky and unformed. How do you communicate the feeling of a memory to another person? The nostalgic haze that transformed his memory of her into a brilliant picture, the colors more vivid than the event itself.

It was a sensation that flooded his body as though he was reliving that time all over again, as though he was back as a twenty-four year old looking into the eyes of his childhood friend and seeing the rest of his life laid out in front of him. The sensation of the rough cotton of his suit slipping against the satin of her dress, her hand firmly clasped in his hand as she swayed against him. Her brilliant, dazzling smile that crept on his face as they danced for the first time in front of their friends, young and carefree.

Every sense was heightened, the images crisp in a way photographs cannot recreate. It was impossible to summarize, the emotions it inspired within him.

“It wasn’t anything big, the memory of you wearing this dress that night,” he settled on instead, smiling softly at Anya. He continued to stare unabashedly, still wonder-struck at how ethereal she still looked.

“Your ears are bright red, Sy-on boy,” her fingers pinched the outer edge of his ear, tugging on it playfully before he whisked it away.

He cleared his throat, his fingers nervously pinching the back of his neck as he fidgeted with his hair. “You look good.”

“It killed you to say that, didn’t it?” Anya smirked, her hands clasped behind her back impishly as she leaned forward to look down at him. Her pink hair curtained around them, making him feel all the more isolated from the real world. “I thought you didn’t like commoner girls.”

His eyes roved over her face, unable to focus on one single point. Does she know, what she is doing to him? Does she know, she doesn’t look a day older than she did at their engagement party? Does she know, how desperately he wanted to kiss her?

Damian’s heart was lodged in his throat, his breathing paused. It was the first time he really considered it, what this coiling sensation was winding up to.

He wanted to kiss her.

Anya’s gaze changed, her emerald eyes now a dark forest green, staring into him like she knew exactly what he was thinking. How does she do that?

His fingers reached to tuck her bangs around her ear tenderly, the tips of his index and thumb lightly tracing across the side of her face and jaw as he moved. His eyes traced the goosebumps that erupted along Anya’s arms, and for the first time, he was confident she felt as suffocated by his presence as he did by hers.

Does he have the courage to do this? To pull her close to his, to press his lips against hers? Would it relieve this winding pressure he feels every time he looks at her, as though his heart was going to beat out of his chest?

“Mama?” A soft, small voice echoed in the room, snapping both of them out of their thoughts. Alana stood at the foot of their bed, tugging on the side of Anya’s dress. The young girl was still in her pajamas, dragging her little stuffed teddy bear blanket alongside her like it was a part of her. Her small fists rubbed at her eyes, the sleep and exhaustion clear on her face. “Can I sleep with you?”

Anya looked back at Damian, the question lingering in her eyes as she looked back down to what she was wearing, and Damian conceded immediately. “C’mere,” he picked up Alana with ease, “Mama’s gonna be back in a second.”

Alana curled into his shoulder immediately, her body falling limp. Her face crumpled slightly at the sight of Anya’s disappearance, the confusion evident on her face.

Damian slowly rocked her in his arms, trying his level best to prevent her from crying, silently hoping that Anya would change quickly. He rubbed small circles on her back, and slowly he could feel Alana slip into a deep sleep.

Anya rushed out, her hair still messy from the haste of changing, and Damian tried to not laugh, her satin shirt inside out as she stretched out to take Alana from him. Both of them tucked Alana in, their bodies facing each other as the watched the little girl breathe.

The remnants of his conversation with Becky played in the back of his mind as he watched Anya and Alana lay there, the picture of tranquility as all three of them nodded off into a deep sleep, a silent prayer sent to help him protect his family no matter what came next.

Damian shoved the door open, the heavy wood banging against the wall with a loud thud. His footsteps were heavy, marching into the foyer of his home. “Mother?”

His voice echoed, tinny and thin juxtaposed against the emptiness of the house. Within seconds, a group of maids came forward to help him with his coat, but Damian quickly dismissed them. He didn’t have the time to feign politeness, the irritation making his skin itch.

“Where is my mother?” He asked one of them before they scurried away, and the maid immediately looked down to the floor in subservience. Under any normal circumstance, the gesture would open a pit in his stomach, a profound uncomfortable feeling of being treated with more respect than he deserved as the twenty-two year old scion of a former minister.

“She’s in the study, sir,” the maid refused to make eye contact, as most of the servants in his mother’s townhouse.

“Thank you,” he nodded, before barging forward into the study. There’s been many moments that his family profoundly frustrated him, the amount of red tape preventing any of them from forming any bonds beyond formal. Still, Damian can’t remember any other time he felt this desperate with rage, the anger bleeding into every molecule of his body. He felt restless, forceful, as though his skin was buzzing and crawling and hot all at once.

“Damian,” Melinda Desmond smiled pleasantly, her compassionate gaze taking stock of her youngest son. “I did not know you were coming for a visit. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

He did not respond, too wound up and agitated to deign a greeting, clenching and unclenching his fist. The words stayed jammed in his throat, and the corners of his mother’s perfectly schooled face tugged downwards, before resetting in as a inscrutable mask. There was already a maid serving tea, careful to avoid their heavy gazes, pouring both of them a cup in a beautiful china set.

Melinda took a long sip, still looking at her son with expectation in her eyes. There was a carefully stitched poise that his mother possessed, and it was her armor just like his father’s indifference. Her hands folded into each other as she set down her cup, as if preparing herself to deal with a tantrum.

“Who told the press that our engagement will not be going through?”

“I wasn’t aware our family had any press releases recently,” Melinda placed the saucer down, her head tilting to observe him once more. Her eyes narrowed, the simple smile on her face more like a weapon than a comfort.

“Father gave me his blessing. Demetrius already told Sybil and her family that Anya and I will be wed. We already sent out the invitations to all our friends, including a majority of the families in the party.” Damian ran a hand through his hair, spinning back to face his mother. “How could you let him walk back on his promise?”

“I don’t have any effect on your father’s decisions,” her eyes narrowed, all pleasantry wiped away from her face.

“This is the only thing I’ve asked for. I agreed to all his conditions already,” Damian was undeterred, the words already pouring out of him regardless of his mother’s response. His voice cracked with desperation. “He doesn’t care about me. I’ve never measured up in his eyes, I know that. So, why can’t he just let this go?”

Melinda hummed, lifting her fountain pen once again to write on card stock, but her nonchalance made Damian grind his teeth. Every breath he took heaved, searing and scalding as his anger deepened and simmered. “Please mother, I’m begging you to change his mind. He already denied me entry into his study twice already.”

“Father is not the one who opposes the marriage, darling,” Melinda did not look up from her journal, the fountain pen still scraping roughly against the card stock. “I am.”

He blinked, frozen in his rage. Her words felt like a carefully sharpened knife, shoved into his back without remorse. It was a betrayal, one that made him feel like he was choking on his breath as it quelled his rage into a deep, dull ache.

“What? Why?” He knew he sounded erratic and desperate now, something his mother despised. He didn’t care. “You know Anya, you know the Forger family, what’s wrong?”

“Anya is a lovely young woman. She has a promising future, and I have always invited the Forger family in our community with welcoming arms, despite their status and political inclinations. But that doesn’t mean she is suited to be your wife, darling.”

“Mother,” he said, slowly. “Father approves of this marriage already. He did not see any issues with their family, and he is more distrusting of outsiders than you. What issues do you see with this if even he cannot point out a flaw?”

Melinda opened her mouth for a second, before pausing. For a brief moment, his mother looked pained. She pursed her lips, her eyebrows knitting with concern, as though she was reluctant in her decision. “There are many things about this family that you do not know, Damian. I care about my family, above everything else, and I will do anything to not put their position in jeopardy”

“Mother—”

“—I’m sorry, darling,” Melinda stood up, passing by him to pat his hair back, laying a kiss on his brow. “I will not allow this marriage to proceed. Do not ask me to interfere again.”

Damian jumped awake, kicking the comforter off of his legs in the panic. His body was coated with a layer of cold sweat, his body feeling damp and uncomfortably hot. He scrambled out of bed, trying his best not to alarm Anya or his daughter with his sudden movement.

I need to get out of here, his mind echoed, his chest heaving and panting. The only sound he could hear was the steady ticking of the clock hung on the wall, each movement of the hand driving his mind into overdrive. His teeth chattered, goosebumps erupting along his neck and arms, and he needed to get out of here.

The room was still pitch dark, his sight not adjusting to the darkness around him. His vision spotted, the anxiety leaping out of his chest and enfolding him into it, as though he was drowning.

Damian wasn’t able to think straight, almost at the verge hyperventilating. Within a second, there was cool water running along his arms, shocking him out of his panicked state. He wasn’t sure how long he stood like that, running his arms under cold water, before splashing it on his face.

Was that a memory or a nightmare? Reality became hard to discern, and the paranoia settled into his mind once again. Damian clenched his eyes, trying not to let the tears welling up in his eyes pour out.

He was too exhausted for this. He was tired of waking up and picking up the pieces of his scattered self all over again. The face reflected back to him in the mirror was a stranger, one who had lived more lifetimes than him. A stranger who got angry, who was erratic in throwing himself and his family into danger, a stranger who somehow got everything Damian dreamed of.

He had equal parts contempt and admiration for the man in the mirror. He had an insurmountable distrust in himself, weary of what he had to do to get here in the end. His life felt like an unbelievable stroke of luck, his job, his life aligning in ways he couldn’t have imagined. And now there’s a possibility that he cheated his way into his happy ending, that maybe he had abandoned his family before they could abandon him.

He wanted his memories back desperately until now, despite the loss and grief he would feel over the idealized version of events he had unconsciously made in his mind. The reality that his journey here wasn’t perfect, was difficult to contend with, and he was tired of it. Maybe it was better to not have any memories at all, than the fractured ones that haunted his mind.

Too exhausted and numb, he dragged himself back to bed, and prayed that he could forget this memory again.