Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yor loved what had become of her shop.

Admittedly, it only really served as a cover for her real activity – she didn’t actually even need to run it, thanks to the more than generous pay the Shopkeeper offered her for each job well executed. And Yor was nothing but a perfectionist in her missions, so she was naturally very well paid.

Still, she’d made the effort to run it properly – get flowers delivered regularly, welcoming curious customers and chatting amiably with some passers-by when she was taking care of the few plants placed at the storefront. It took time, money and energy, maybe more than she should have spent had she lived a normal life; but she’d found that the scent of flowers and soil efficiently covered the metallic smell of blood that sometimes lingered on her skin hours after her mission, and the bursts of petals brought a lovely change to the splatter of crimson that tainted her clothes.

The shop itself was lovely as well, cute and cozy, conveniently located at the corner of a small street that was just discreet enough not to attract too much unwarranted attention. She’d painted the storefront in lovely shades of red and white, had hung fairy lights across the room, and had bought herself expensive furniture carved in the most delicate mahogany room – maybe a bit too fancy for a mere flower shop lost in the suburbs of the city, yet the unique atmosphere it created had gotten her many compliments already from her customers. Her clientele was small, too, since the district wasn’t that popular or attractive; but money had never been a problem to begin with, and the absence of pressed customers had been a blessing rather than a curse.

Since Yor often came back quite late at night, or sometimes right before the wake of dawn, she regularly ended up taking care of the shop as a small, self-granted reward for the success of her mission. After cleaning potential messes (more than often bloodstains, along with the occasional bruises and wounds,) she would indulge herself by pruning leaves and watering flowers, sorting through the pots and sweeping away the dust and dirt, cleaning the counter and planning the orders she’d have to make for the next delivery.

It felt like coming home, and the flowers were a much better company than her noisy, ever-bickering neighbors.

Yuri had been endearingly approving of her business – he’d told her that she would fit better in this little colorful world of hers than in an office, and that the freedom she had been granted as the owner was just perfect for her to also go out and meet new people. A quiet, peaceful job, he’d said.

He had no idea.

And as long as Yor would have this job, she mused as she sorted through her daily delivery of flowers in search for a specific floral arrangement, it would remain this way.

There.

The bouquet she’d been looking for was of a modest size, all radiant blooms of blue, white and pink wrapped in a white lace bow. It was a strange assortment of flowers, mismatched petals that formed an unusual combination – but it didn’t really matter, as the intent there wasn’t harmony.

Yor walked behind the counter and deposited the flowers on the polished wood, before reaching out for a small, worn-out floriography book. It was quite small for an encyclopedia, but that size also made it much easier to move around and skim through; besides, the explanations were as clear as the illustrations were lovely, and it’d been a cherished gift from the Shopkeeper upon the official opening of her small flower shop.

“Let’s see,” she hummed, inspecting the bouquet, mentally repeating the instructions out of habit. Start at the center, then follow a clockwise spiral.

Beautiful star-shaped white blooms sat in the very middle of the bouquet, and she bit back a smile, wondering how they’d even gotten their hands on freshly cut edelweiss flowers. Courage.

Pink-striped carnations were the next, bright and soft to the touch. Refusal.

Blue and purple morning glories. Affection.

Candytuft blooms, for inspiration.

And finally, at the back of the floral composition, cornflowers. Gentleness.

C-R-A-I-G. Edmond Craig. A well known, moderately popular local politician who’d recently gained in greed when it came to the bribes he was offered. Garden didn’t like greed, nor did they like their gifts being sneered at.

The ribbon had a meaning of its own: the lace meant the job had to be done the next day, at dusk. The color was the sign employed for the nature of her new mission; white, for elimination. Closing her book, Yor sighed. Her employer had been giving her shorter deadlines lately – and while it had never hindered her ability to complete her mission, she did appreciate when she was given enough time to study her target in depth.

The soft chime of a bell reached her ears and pulled her out of her musings – a customer had just entered her little shop, an old man with white, receding hair, and curious eyes. He had a golden band on his ring finger, that he was toying with absent-mindedly.

Yor smiled, setting the bouquet and encyclopedia away before coming to his encounter. It was a stark contrast to her real clients, but she found out she didn’t quite mind this kind of customers either.

“Hello, sir. How may I help you?”

It was hours later that she came home, tired but unscathed – the sun had already long disappeared between the buildings, to give place to the dark ink of a moonless night. The mission itself had gone rather well; she’d even managed to avoid bloodstains, which was a true blessing, since it meant she didn’t have to spend hours washing the blood off with soap and cold water for the second time this week.

The mid-April evening had sent a brisk breeze chilling her body to the bones; but flower-scented warmth engulfed her as soon as she stepped inside, and she felt the last of the tension from the aftermath of the mission (which, ironically enough, was always the most dangerous phase of said mission) leaving her shoulders.

She turned on the neons and the small fairy lights scattered around, and discarded her coat in the back room while making sure she hadn’t gotten an injury without her noticing, before getting to her dearly-awaited routine : wiping the counter, sweeping the floor, watering the plants, pruning dead leaves and checking the register.

It was a mind numbing repetition, an efficient way to release pent-up energy and frustrations. Not that she had many to begin with – her life was pretty simple, after all: flowers, blood and money. But each job, even this one, came with its frustrations; and when it came to her situation, it wasn’t an activity she could exactly talk about to the first newcomer.

The doorbell chimed.

She turned around, mouth already opening to remind the newcomer that the shop was closed for the night, before freezing. A blonde, well-dressed man had just tumbled in, panting loudly, and threw a glance behind him before walking to the counter.

He was very handsome, Yor noted.

And also very much covered in blood.

“I’m very sorry for barging in here, Miss, but may I possibly hide behind your counter for a few minutes?”

The request made her blink in reeling confusion, before instincts honed with years of experience made her nod before she could even think about it – she’d recognized the urgency of his tone, and the need to hide. Besides, she doubted he’d be able to get the advantage over her. He was tall, yes, lean and graceful – but he was also battered, panting, and had a slight limp on his left leg.

It was also extremely unlikely the stranger knew he was hiding behind an assassin’s counter.

Also, he’d been pleasantly polite – and Yor couldn’t refuse such a pleasantly-worded request now, could she?

Yor moved to the side to give him space, and watched as he curled on the floor, back against the wall, a hand reaching under his vest – for a weapon, most probably.

She remembered he was hiding, then, and tore her eyes away from him, pretending to busy herself with cleaning the counter as she removed specks of dirt and crumbled petals that had still been laying here and there.

Shadows flew past her shop, slowing down as they passed the huge glass panels. Yor didn’t tense nor flinch, and pretended to be oblivious to their presence – but her muscle had coiled with tension, ready to act at the first sign of violence. She hadn’t spent years working on her business only for it to get destroyed by a few overzealous thugs.

But the silhouettes kept going, and the street was soon enough as empty as it always was. Nevertheless, caution was the key there, so Yor still waited one, two minutes before speaking up.

“I think they’re gone.”

She felt the weight of his gaze on her – it was unsettling, having him out of her sight despite being aware of his presence, but she focused on the mahogany wood of her counter.

He rose slowly, as if animated with a feline grace, to peek over her counter into the poorly lit street. It lasted a few seconds before he finally stood to his full weight, visibly satisfied with the lack of life outside.

He looked at her, then and she realized she had no idea what to even say to him. She tripped on her words as she racked her brain for an appropriate question. “Are you… are you alright?”

Comfortingly enough, the stranger seemed to feel as awkward as she did. “I am, and I’m terribly sorry for disturbing you so late, by the way-”

“No – I meant, you… have some blood stains on your suit?”

That was quite the understatement, but then again Yor didn’t exactly deal with what was considered as regular amounts of blood.

“Oh, indeed,” the man looked down nonchalantly at himself, seeming to only just remember that his formerly green suit was now quite literally covered in red. “It’s alright. It’s not mine.”

Yor blinked. “Huh.”

He seemed to realize what he’d just said, and he spluttered, cheeks turning pink as he raised his hands in the air.

“I didn’t mean to say that, it’s just – I’m a psychiatrist, if that helps?”

It didn't.

But she’d seen weirder, and had met strangers far less polite than this man over her career. A man covered in blood, asking politely for shelter in her shop, was quite tame compared to what she’d already lived.

Instead, she nodded, willing to pretend his explanation made sense. “A psychiatrist? This is quite a strange situation for a man like you to end in, especially in this part of the town.”

“Ah, well,” the man started, respectfully stepping from behind the counter to stroll between her flower-flooded shelves with a look of lazy curiosity. He was still avoiding the windows, she noticed, and not quite fully turning his back to her. “One of my clients decided I was to blame for the lack of progress in his recovery. He invited me to a nearby pub tonight, saying he wanted to buy me a drink as a thank you for the help I’d been giving, before trying to smash a bottle into my head.”

She hummed in disapproval – what a mess he’d gotten in, indeed. The pub she’d once seen at the corner of a nearby street certainly fitted the description of a building frequented by this kind of individuals, too.

That didn’t explain the blood on his clothes, though.

“You didn’t get hurt, did you?” she asked him, trying to assess more accurately the man’s state from where he was standing. The limp was too discreet to be pointed out without seeming suspiciously observant, so she kept that part for herself.

He sent her a charming smile. “I’m alright, thank you. That’s a lovely place you have there.”

She pretended not to pick on the obvious change of subject, and rather kept her gaze on the man who was still admiring the various blooms with sharp, curious eyes.

“I don’t remember seeing it last time I’ve been around here,” he continued. “Did you settle there recently?”

He traced the wood of a shelf pensively, with the tip of a gloved finger – it left no trace behind.

“Oh, not at all,” Yor shook her head. “Or well – not that new, at least. It’s my fourth year here.”

“Ah,” he hummed, appreciatively, “you’ve been taking excellent care of the place, then – it looks as if it’s just opened.”

She felt more than she saw the blush spread across her skin at the compliment – then he picked up something small and rectangular from the shelves, and she startled.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, making the man whirl back to her with a subtle flinch. She felt suddenly extremely grateful for not having ever written something compromising across the small pages. “I've been looking for this everywhere. I forgot to replace it correctly this morning.”

“A book on flower language?” he asked lightly, holding out the book to her.

“Thank you.” Embarrassment turned her cheeks pink. “Well, yes, I– you could say it’s a job requirement,” she explained, wondering how to tiptoe around the matter – the best lies were the ones closest to the truth, after all. “Some clients ask me about flower meanings. I’ve been trying to learn them. I know it can sound somewhat ridiculous, to some people.”

“I find it very entertaining, actually,” the psychiatrist replied. “I like the idea of being able to send coded messages through flowers and colors – ones only the sender and receiver can decode accurately.”

A shiver ran down her spine, and she hoped her laughter didn’t sound too nervous. “I know, right?”

They chatted a little more – and Yor was surprised by just how pleasant this man was, and how comfortable their conversations felt despite the odd circumstances of their meeting.

“It’s getting late,” the man finally said with the edge of a tone that almost sounded regretful. “I probably should go home and let you close your shop... and maybe try to see if I can salvage the suit.”

“Use cold water and lemon juice, if you have some,” she suggested pensively. “That should do the trick.”

With the hazards that came with her job, she’d come to accept just how vital the fruit had become in her life.

His lips twitched in what she guessed to be amusement, but his gaze was full of gratitude. “I will. Thank you, miss. For everything.”

She bid him goodnight with a last smile, and closed the shop soon after, ready to go home and rest.

Yor only realized hours later that she hadn’t even asked for his name.

It turned out she didn’t even have to search for him – although why she’d felt compelled to do so had been an absolute mystery.

The man indeed came back two days later, holding a small box wrapped in a blue ribbon. It took her a beat to remind herself that this piece of fabric held no secret meaning, and she berated herself for acting like, much like flowers, all actions and objects held a second meaning.

He was not dressed in green, this time, but in a charming light-gray suit and a blue tie that seemed to make his eye color a dozen times more piercing. “I wanted to apologize for the other night – it was quite rude of me to intrude into your shop after closing hours, and I realized after leaving that I hadn’t even told you my name or asked for yours.”

“I’m Yor Briar,” she offered politely, glad as well for the opportunity of learning more about this strange person, as she held out a hand. “I can assure you it was no trouble, Mr…?”

“Forger,” he said back, removing his gloves and taking her hand for a gentle shake. “Loid Forger. I’m in your debt, Miss Briar.”

His hold was firm but not overbearing – his hand, warm and soft.

His fingers had gun callouses.

“Don’t be ridiculous – it was nothing, really,” she exclaimed with a blush that only worsened when Mr Forger pushed his gift into her hands with a pleased quirk of the mouth. “You shouldn’t have!”

“That was the least I could do, after your tremendous help the other night.”

She finally accepted the box and removed the bow to take a short peek inside – her eyes widened as the rich, strong fragrance of chocolate hit her nose.

“Thank you, Mr Forger,” she told him pleasantly. She usually felt uneasy with human interactions, especially when it came to clients she wasn’t familiar with, but the man had an aura that seemed to put everyone around him at ease. “That was very kind of you.”

“Oh– please, call me Loid.”

A smile – shy, genuine, the kind that warmed her chest for hours afterwards – pulled at her mouth. “Only if you call me Yor, then.”

He didn’t seem too pressed to leave, and the shop was empty if not for the two of them, so she figured he wouldn’t mind if she started arranging the flowers while they chatted.

“That must have been quite the way away from your home, if you’re not from around here,” she offered, gathering a bunch of roses on the counter and working to remove their thorns.

He watched her work curiously. “Not at all, actually. I just deposited my daughter at her school. It’s a few blocks away from here.”

She hummed, filing away the new elements of knowledge, before the realization settled in and she felt her eyes widen. “A few– Eden? Your daughter is going to that school?”

His expression turned sheepish, tainted with pride. “Yes, she does.”

“She must be incredibly bright,” Yor praised. “I’ve heard only the best could get enrolled.”

Loid chuckled. “Getting her enrolled wasn’t that easy, I’ll admit. Even if she did pass the tests they’d given her, the mere fact that I was a single parent almost got her rejected.”

She sent him a compassionate glance, not quite daring to ask – but he caught her gaze, and nodded in acknowledgement. “It was my late wife’s last wish, to get Anya enrolled here – it was complicated, but we eventually convinced the school board.”

Yor couldn’t help but wonder what the child was like – was she anything like her father? Poised and sharp, noticing every little detail?

“You’ve both made great efforts, then – you can be proud,” she said instead, mirroring the smile he sent her.

The door chimed – a middle aged woman strolled in, taking in the small shop with an appraising glance.

“I won’t bother you any longer, then,” Loid said quietly, eyeing the newcomer as well. His eyes had narrowed slightly, as if refusing to be as open as he was to her in front of another person. “Thank you for welcoming me once again here.”

Yor opened her mouth to speak, oddly disappointed at having to let him leave already, when a burst of yellow caught her attention.

She perked up. “Oh, if you could wait just a second –”

She went to the shelf and reached for one of the yellow blooms, taking one of the freshest ones – barely in bloom, but covered in petals that were already of the most lovely shade of gold.

“Take this,” she told him, holding out the stem. He took it delicately, eyes rounding up in surprise, and glanced at her in confusion.

“It’s a yellow lily, for your daughter,” she explained, not quite able to stop herself from beaming when his expression lit up with gratitude and understanding. “No, no – it’s a gift,” she added hurriedly when she saw him reaching for his pocket with his free hand, undoubtedly looking for a wallet or something of the kind.

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Loid spoke softly, twirling the bloom between his fingers pensively. “What do they mean?”

Her chest exploded in a burst of warmth, pleased that he’d remembered.

“Ah, they’re for happiness,” she explained, as she accompanied him outside with a quick promise to the woman to take care of her shortly. “Gaiety.”

Or falsehood, depending on the context, she mused as she watched the man with kind eyes and gun-calloused hands exit her shop. The word certainly seemed to fit the man as greatly as one of his elegant suits.

For some reason, Yor found the prospect of it exciting rather than worrying.

Loid kept coming back.

It made Yor nervous, at first – she wondered if her side job had somehow been exposed. He could have been trying to gain more information from her before denouncing her to the secret police, or, maybe, he was even part of it himself.

He was also suspiciously nice. His expression always seemed to light up when he’d spot her, assessing eyes widening to something lighter and more genuinely pleased. He’d buy flowers with each of his visits – for a colleague or a recovering patient, and more often his daughter.

“She keeps pestering me to get a flower from your shop,” he told her once, shaking his head exasperatedly. “She pretends that it’s to wear on her uniform pocket and make her classmates admire her, but really, I think she’s getting too spoiled.”

Yor had to bite back a smile, and very respectfully avoided pointing out how, despite his complaints, he was there anyway.

They chatted a lot about mundane things, as well. She greatly enjoyed asking him about Anya, wondering if she’d ever get to meet the little girl her father was so visibly proud of – in exchange, he’d ask about her brother after she’d told him about Yuri, or would try to talk about her flowers.

In fact, he seemed to ask a lot of questions about her flowers; at each visit, Loid would inevitably stop in front of a blooming plant, and ask her: “What’s the meaning of this one?”

It became a game, somehow – for him to try to get the name of the chosen flower correctly, without looking at the tag, and for her to tell him about its coded meaning without having to check her small book.

He’d grin, then, when she’d tell him – not quite fully fleshed, but a pull at the corner of his lips, his expression softening ever further. She won much more often than he did, but he never seemed to mind.

It caused a weird twinge in her chest.

The strangest part, however, was how she kept waiting for him to come back.

Fate really did have a strange way to bring them together.

Yor had just torn her dress after a mission that had turned out rougher than initially planned – a shame, since it’d been brand new – and had decided to close her shop early and visit Mona & Monacca to have the clothes mended.

She’d just reached the tailor shop and opened the door when she paused at the sight of a familiar blond mop of hair and elegant green suit. There was a pink-haired, bright-eyed child in his arms, who turned her head in Yor’s direction as soon as she’d stepped in.

“Oh!” the small girl exclaimed, prompting her father to turn as well.

He blinked. “Yor?”

“Oh my,” she chuckled, wishing she could swat at the weird feeling that had stormed back into her now erratic heart. “I didn’t think I’d meet you there.”

“Neither did I,” he replied with his usual politeness, voice laced with pleased surprise, “but it’s good to see you.”

The child was staring at her with a gaze so intense Yor felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over her.

“Are you the flower shop lady?” she asked, glancing at her father for confirmation.

“Let me introduce you,’ Loid intervened, letting the young girl to the ground before he ushered her gently to Yor, kneeling to be at the child’s size. “This is Anya, my daughter. Anya, this is Yor – and yes, she’s the owner of the flower shop I told you about.”

Yor felt her cheeks heat up at the idea of Loid talking about her to anyone – especially his daughter, out of all people – while Anya’s face distorted in an enormous gasp, cheeks turning scarlet and eyes shining almost unnaturally, as she pointed out Yor from the tip of her chubby finger.

“You are so pretty! Just like Papa said!”

Loid, who had seemed to realize what he’d just told her and had been sending her an embarrassed glance, spluttered and turned an alarming shade of red.

The apotheosis of their embarrassment, though, came when a shop clerk went to see them, took in the sight of two adults blushing away from the other and an over excited child, only to coo softly, “Awh, what a pretty family the three of you make!”

Yor doubted she’d ever be able to recover from this.

And from the sight of it, Loid apparently wouldn’t either.

A blonde man entered the shop, and warmth spread like fire within her chest. There had been diseases spreading around lately – had she gotten sick?

"Hello, Loid," Yor greeted pleasantly, the words rolling off her tongue in a familiar, joy filling tilt. “What’s today’s occasion?”

“Anya earned a Stella, today,” he answered with the endearing expression of someone who wanted to downplay how truly proud they felt. “I’ve been trying to think of a gift to reward her.”

Her eyes widened. Anya was a wonderful girl, but this was still an incredible accomplishment for a first-grader. “That’s amazing! She’ll become a scholar in no time, at this rate.”

The man chuckled awkwardly. “If only it was this simple.”

His gaze landed on a basket of purple-shaded roses. “That’s the first time I’ve seen roses of this color.”

“Lavender roses. They’re not that common,” Yor nodded, hearing the question without him having to ask it aloud. “They express enchantment towards the recipient.”

“Ah,” Loid hummed, picking out a few stems before walking to the counter. “I’ll get a few of these for Anya – I’m sure she’ll love the color.”

He held out the flowers to her with a smile, and waited for her to take them, as if the counter between them had never existed to begin with.

The warmth in her chest intensified – her mouth felt dry, now, and her heartrate was definitely reaching new records.

She really hoped she wasn’t getting sick.

The doorbell chimed its usual melody on a friday night. Yor was busy arranging the shelves behind the counter, her back facing the door, but she did hear the creak of a leather shoe against her wood tiles.

It was not Loid.

Honed instincts had Yor duck to the side just in time to avoid the sharp blade of a dagger against her pale throat – she immediately took position with a whirl of her hips, and countered the attack with a powerful kick to her assailant’s face before she could even properly turn around and determine their identity.

Her foot connected with an elbow, and the stranger was forced to step back with a grunt. At once, she relaxed, fists unclenching and falling back to her side.

“Shopkeeper,” she greeted politely, with a slight rush of embarrassment to her cheeks. “I apologize; I didn’t recognize you right away.”

Fortunately, her employer didn’t seem to mind – on the contrary, he nodded appreciatively as he hid the blade back into his vest. “It’s quite alright, Thorn Princess. I’m rather glad to know your reflexes are still as piercing as your stilettos.”

Yor blinked. “Was that the reason for your visit here? Testing my abilities?”

The man eyed the shelves on his right, looking pensive. He wasn’t usually so expressive, and the sight of it made her uneasy. “Partly. I wished to talk with you about a somewhat urgent matter of yours, that may have myself and Garden concerned in the near future.”

“Such as?” She tried to think about which of her recent missions might have raised doubts about her or her abilities, but her mind went blank. All of her previous assessments had been accomplished without a hitch.

“Loid Forger.”

Her blood went cold – and, predictably enough, her reaction didn’t escape the Shopkeeper’s acute attention. He turned the full weight of his gaze back to her, pinning her under it.

“Indeed,” the man continued, “it’d been brought to my attention that you’ve been frequenting this man during your free time.”

Each of his words seemed to breathe a blizzard into her body, and she had to force the following words out of her mouth. “I wasn’t aware this would be a problem.”

Being watched wasn’t a surprise – she’d known Garden liked to keep an eye on its assassins, even when they were out of assignments. But spying on Loid?

The cold, slow feeling was ever-growing, spready through her entire frame in nauseating waves. She wondered if that was how fear felt like – it’d been too long since she’d genuinely felt it.

“It isn't – not yet, at least. But, as I’m sure you’re aware already, our work follows the following principle: the closer people are to you, the more they become a liability. Are you sure to be ready for what it entails?”

Confusion spread through the ice in her veins. “What do you mean?”

“People are a weakness, whether they know of the real you or not. He also has a child, doesn’t he, Yor?”

It wasn’t fear, Yor realized then. No, despite being as unfamiliar to her as terror was, the cold seeping down to her bones, and the tremor were due to another, much more unpredictable feeling.

Anger.

An anger that broke down into white-hot fury, rushing into her blood and sublimating the ice within as quickly as her restraint melted away.

“I’m not sure what your intentions concerning the Forger family are,” she started out in an almost-hiss, more coldly than she’d ever spoken to the Shopkeeper, “but I can assure you they are not worthy of your attention. They’re regular civilians.”

The man – her employer, her mentor, the man who had given the means to survive – levelled her with an appraising gaze. It was heavy, clinical, and Yor knew the question he was about to ask before the words were even out of his mouth.

“And if I asked you to kill him?”

“No.”

The lack of hesitation and reaction seemed to surprise him, and he faltered for just a second, and it only took a subtle shifting of his body before he regained full composure. “No?”

“You won’t ask me”, Yor continued, suddenly feeling bolder, surer of herself. She’d never talked back to the man this way before, but she wasn’t about to stop now. Not if it endangered them. “He hasn’t done anything but come into my shop and talk with me. I will not kill him.”

He hummed. “This is the first time I’ve heard you express an opinion about your assignments, Yor. Does that mean you’ll start refusing targets if you disagree with the orders?”

“This is different,” she argued. “I’ve always accepted your missions, and I will keep doing, except for this one – not him, nor his child. Please consider this a favor I’m asking you.”

His expression turned pensive. “A favor, you say.”

She held her breath. She didn’t want to fight the Shopkeeper, or the other Garden assassins. She really didn’t. She owed them everything. But deep down, she knew it – she would fight them, should the need arise.

“Very well,” her employer declared at last, and the air that rushed to her lungs at the words was almost dizzying. “As long as you keep your… infatuation, we will say, and your career separate enough, I see no reason why your relation with those civilians should be considered an issue.”

He tilted his head almost imperceptibly, studying her once more. It didn’t feel as threatening, this time. “You’ve always done an excellent job, my dear Thorn Princess – never leaving any trace, never causing any ripples, never asking for more than what you were given. I suppose this is the least I can offer you in exchange for your ever-reliable services.”

“Thank you,” Yor breathed out with a deep bow, genuinely grateful. “I won’t disappoint you, Shopkeeper.”

“I know you won’t.”

Loid was, as always, a sight for sore eyes. Yor had also come to terms that there was no getting rid of the persistent twinge in her chest at the mere sight of him, and she’d gotten better at schooling her expressions in front of him.

“You seem a little distracted today. You’ve been staring at those plants for a few minutes now.”

She’d been staring at him, actually, but he didn’t really need to know that. Yor blushed. “Sorry – I’m a little tired today, that’s all.”

“Was it last night’s storm? I’ve heard that some people in my neighborhood even had their windows smashed by the hail.”

“Something like this,” she nodded, grateful for not having to come up with an excuse. His gaze landed on a bright, red flower as she spoke, and she smiled. “This one’s an amaryllis.”

“Oh, wait – I think I know what this one means.”

“Do you, now?”

She meant to tease him lightly, but then he looked her in the eye, and stated more than he asked: “Your beauty mesmerizes me?”

Her fever seemed to rush back in all at once. “Yes,” she croaked out, feeling oddly choked up. “Something like that.”

The mission had been an absolute mess. The assignments that had her act as a bodyguard were often much harder, and much more exhausting – mostly because the persons she had to protect were as vital as she was to the missions’ success but were less practical and yet a lot more stubborn than she was.

They also had no survival instinct – really, how had they managed to run towards their would-be murderer instead of away from them? – which now left her biting back a hiss as she leaned against the mahogany counter of her shop and tried with exasperating clumsiness to clean the wound she’d gotten on her right forearm.

“Yor? What happened to you?”

She didn’t quite scream – that would have been terribly embarrassing, and Yor felt like she’d suffered enough for the night already – but the shock made her take in a dizzying gasp as she jumped to her feet and whirled around. Surely enough, none other than Loid Forger was standing in front of the counter, his face carved in surprise and concern. The sun was diving down slowly, projecting golden glows and growing shadows into her shop – his hair was a halo of platinum, and his eyes beads of piercing blue light.

He was staring at her wounded arm.

She hadn’t heard him enter. Why hadn’t she heard him enter?

“H-hi, Loid. I, well- I got clumsy when I was trying to cut stems,” she stammered, the cold clutches of panic gripping at her heart and closing around her throat.

It was good, she tried telling herself. This excuse made sense. She did have scissors, somewhere on the counter, she’d gotten from her first aid kit.

The look Loid gave her was blank at best – suspicious at worst. “You’re telling me,” he drawled slowly, “that those small embroidery scissors caused a gash of this size?”

The roof of her mouth was dry. “I was really clumsy?” she offered, voice pinched into a half-squeak.

A beat passed. Then, a sigh that was not hers echoed in the room.

“I see.” And then he closed off the last of the distance between them, reaching over the counter, fingers hovering over her exposed skin, inspecting the wound with pure professionalism.

He glanced at her. His gaze was soft. His hands would probably be even more so. “May I?”

She nodded, feeling light-headed. She wasn’t sure it had to do with the blood loss.

He didn’t point out the absurdity of her explanation – nor did he remind her that, as a right-handed woman, she would have never been able to inflict such a wound on her right forearm by herself.

He didn’t point out, either, that her injury was clearly a bullet wound and not due to a knife’s slash, even though she supposed the difference was harder to tell if he was inexperienced with weapons – she knew, deep down, that he wasn’t.

Yor knew he’d noticed all the incoherences of her words, the small oddities and blatant lies in her weak explanation. He was great at seeing the details – he could always tell the freshly delivered flowers from the ones of the day before, even with the blooms that were in the most pristine conditions. He was curious about each change of price, and complimented her on the new pots she’d chosen to show off on the days he’d visit.

And yet he wasn’t saying anything. Loid bandaged her arm with infinite gentleness, a myriad of emotions flashing across his eyes as he inevitably caught sight of the blooming shades of blue and purple on her skin, peeking out from her clothes.

“I’m sorry you had to see this,” Yor offered quietly, unsure of what to tell him.

“It’s only fair I return the favor,” he replied with the same tone of voice, eyes never leaving the skin of her arm. “Our first meeting did involve me rushing into your shop while being covered in blood, after all.”

His breath was hot on her skin.

She didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell – a perfect mirroring of their first encounter, indeed. Loid finished his ministrations in silence, the lack of words neither pressuring nor awkward; he needed the focus, she supposed, and Yor herself was starting to feel quite tired.

Alright, maybe she’d lost just a little more blood than she’d anticipated.

The hours that followed were a blur – she faintly remembered Loid helping her off the counter and making her sit in the chair while he cleaned off the blood stains she’d left behind, before insisting to drive her home. The car ride had been filled with nothing but the radio’s soft tunes, Loid’s quiet questions – about how she was feeling, if she needed him to call anyone, if she was safe enough at home – and her own reassurances.

She’d be able to take down a buffalo with her eyes closed, she’d told him, and all he did was to nod his head in agreement.

The next morning she found a bouquet of pure-white yarrow on the doorstep of her shop, along with a small card. She recognized the elegant tilt of his writing, even without ever having seen it before.

“Get well soon, L.”

She pocketed the card with a smile, and it remained on her mouth for the entire day. The yarrow earned a prized spot on the wall shelf behind her counter.

Yarrow, for healing.

Looked like he’d really stepped up his game – she would have to study her encyclopedia even harder.

“How’s your arm?”

“It’s healed well,” she announced as she turned around to greet him, showing off the now pinkish scar running along the skin of her forearm.

He hummed, tilting his head to study her exposed arm, before nodding. “I’m glad you didn’t have to go to the hospital. I guess the wound didn’t run as deep as it first looked like.”

“So am I,” she confessed. “That would have been quite bothersome.”

The only thought of having to come up with a plausible explanation for her injury had already seemed like a nightmare.

Loid pointed out a pot of dwarf sunflowers with a glance in her direction. “Those are new, are they not? Sunflowers?”

“Indeed. They’re used to mean affection. But you know that already, don’t you?”

She received no verbal answer, but the smile at the corner of his lips might as well have been one.

“I’ll take it, then.”

He held out the flowers to her instead of setting them on the counter, as he always did. Recently, she’d started doing the same when she’d give his purchases back to him – the look on his face, the first time she’d done so (white camellias, you’re adorable), had been utterly priceless.

She felt his gaze on her as she rang up the flowers, and as she glanced up at him she saw the edge of hesitation in his eyes before it smoothed down into his usual mask of quiet confidence.

“Would you join Anya and I for dinner, tonight? She’s asked many times about you – and she’s let me know she really wants you to meet Bond.”

The flutter in her chest was back, but she’d grown quite fond of it by now. “I would love that.”

Anya waited for her father to leave the table and go to the bathroom before she leant in with an expression that screamed of successful conspiracy.

“Papa has been studying very hard on his book about the flowers,” she whispered, “So each time I get a good grade I ask him to buy a flower from you. You’re welcome.”

Yor choked on her water.

Summer came faster than she would have expected; the heat was almost unbearable at times, the shop stuffy under the harsher hours of the day and the glare of the sun hitting on her windows.

Loid hadn’t come to visit in almost two weeks now – Anya was gone for the next few days along with Bond at her friend’s summer estate, and she guessed her father had been busy with work. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she was getting antsy. It wasn’t that big of a time span, to be fair – besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t know where he lived – but this time had somehow felt different.

Or maybe she was just getting impatient.

The doorbell chimed, and she whirled around.

“Express delivery for a Miss Yor Briar?”

“That’s me”, she called out, a bit uselessly: she was the only one in the shop, after all. The delivery man was holding out a bouquet to her, wrapped in a ribbon.

An unease rolled in her stomach as she quickly deciphered the floral code, fingers skimming through the blooms.

Columbines, Larkspurs, pink-striped carnations, cornflowers, heliotropes and rosemaries.

Foolishness, open hearts, refusals, gentleness, eternal love, and remembrance.

Forger.

The ribbon was soft to the touch, a stripe of deep-red silk. Immediate rescue required.

Her fingers went cold. There was a card along with the flowers. She never received cards with her assignments. The writing was sharp, and precise. His words were just as much.

“He is not who he pretends to be, but I have no doubts you were already aware of it. Consider this a gift for your loyalty to us, and go save him, dearest rose. For as long as he does not endanger our activity or your safety, we will leave him be.”

Below the dark flow of the ink there was another code, almost invisible this time, as it was carved lightly into the material with maybe the tip of a blade. Coordinates.

Yor pushed the panic and concern aside with a deep breath, and went to work.

She had an assignment to complete.

Yor disliked guns. They were loud, impracticable, and imprecise. They made messes more often than they cleaned them.

Those men had a lot of guns. And judging by the way they were holding them, they barely knew how to use it.

She took them down with a speed that was almost insulting. They shot at her with no avail, and the few of them that still had the semblance of a will to live tried to run away. Unfortunately for them, Yor was lucky to possess an excellent aim, and her blades just happened to make excellent projectiles.

It took her only a few minutes to locate the container Loid had been detained in, but each second had seemed to drag on infinitely and she couldn’t quite hold back the sigh of relief that escaped her mouth at the sight of him.

There was blood running down the nape of his neck, she noted with a flash of anger. He’d probably been knocked out from behind. Cowards.

She stepped inside the container, her heels knocking loudly against the metal, and Loid glanced at her, bruised and battered and radiant. A flash of surprise lighting his face shortly.

“Hello, Loid,” she called out gently – if he was concussed, she doubted the sound would be very pleasant to his ears. “I’m sorry for the interruption, but those gentlemen weren’t of very good company, I'm afraid.”

“Hello, Yor,” he offered back with his usual, cool composure, like he hadn’t just been held prisoner in a box of metal. “They were very poor hosts, indeed.”

Her head was spinning from relief and anticipation at the knowledge he was now a witness to her activity, and yet she felt calm. Content. He knew about her, as she knew about him. Neither of them was innocent. Both of them were alive.

“It would appear so. In that case…” She kneeled before him, checking for potential life-threatening injuries, and not missing the way his eyes tracked her every move. “May I have the honor of saving your life?”

He smiled – there was blood on the corner of his chapped lips, and she was overwhelmed with the urge to wipe it away. With her lips, maybe. “The honor would be mine, truly.”

She quickly took care of the ropes binding his wrists and legs. They were barely even rubbed raw; he hadn’t pulled against his bonds at all, like a civilian would probably have; rather, he’d gotten to work on his bindings with the edge of a piece of metal he’d hidden in his clenched fists, she discovered as he let the small object fall to the ground with a loud clang.

She didn’t ask how he’d gotten there. He didn’t ask how she had known he was here. It had been their game, since their very beginning; don’t ask, don’t tell.

They walked in comfortable silence to her car. The sun was getting low, the sky set aflame, blazing clouds floating away in a lazy rhythm.

“I’ll drive you home,” Yor offered, ushering Loid into the passenger seat.

“That would be most appreciated – would you care to stay for a drink, after? Maybe dinner?”

She chuckled, more at the normalcy of their conversation than at the oddity of their relation. “That’d be my pleasure. I’ll cook, if you want. You must be quite tired.”

“Actually,” he started with a tone that was just slightly too casual to truly sound genuine, “I can take care of the cooking. You’ll be the guest, after all.”

Yor hummed, and couldn’t really find herself to feel offended at the grimace that had crossed Loid’s face.

Her previous cooking attempt at his place had really been a disaster.

“I do realize offering you flowers might be slightly redundant, considering your activity,” Loid told her a few days later as he stood at her doorstep, his face half hidden behind the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen, “but I felt like it seemed like an appropriate gift for you getting me out of a quite unpleasant situation.”

“Unfortunate situations do seem to be something you’re prone to,” she answered innocently, pretending not to see the twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes.

They were playing a dangerous game, the two of them. But then again, wasn’t it the appeal of it all?

“You know me too well,” he murmured, and then his lips were brushing against hers.

The floral composition was gorgeous – blue and pink hydrangeas, gardenias and honeysuckle painting a canvas of blooms before her eyes. It was, however, another detail that really made her smile.

At the center of it, almost hidden between the gorgeous blooms, sat a single, vibrant yellow lily.

Chapter Text

The air was crisp as Loid stepped outside, and he repressed a shiver when the exceptionally cold wind of an early February morning went to nip at his cheeks. Had he been able to, he would have adjusted the collar of his vest for a better protection against the chills – but he was too busy holding a brown paper bag with one hand, still pleasantly warm from the heat of the poppyseed muffins he’d baked earlier seeping through the paper, and his remaining limb was rendered utterly useless by a yawning child clutching at his sleeve like her life depended on it.

“I told you to stop reading those comics at night,” he chided gently, biting back a smile as Anya gave him a bleary look in answer. “I’ll have to confiscate them if you’re unable to go to sleep because you can’t stop reading them at a reasonable hour. What if you fall asleep at school today?”

That snapped her wide awake, and she shook her head. “No!” she exclaimed, utterly horrified. “I’m not tired!”

She let go of his sleeve and ran before him, before swirling in a dramatic fashion and planting herself right in his path, clearly determined to prove him wrong.

“Look, Papa! I’m super energic!” she announced proudly, punctuating her words by pumping her fists in the air. The effect was somewhat ruined by the enormous yawn that escaped her mouth right after her sentence, and her attempt at snapping her mouth shut with her small hands did little to salvage it.

“I see that,” he nodded amiably, knowing it would be no use to correct her; instead, he pointlessly tried to hide his amusement and used his newly freed hand to adjust his collar back against his previously uncovered neck – the added warmth was much appreciated, and he sighed contentedly. “Let’s go to Yor’s, then. I'm sure her hot cocoa will help you wake up.”

She beamed bright at him, the apples of her cheeks red from the cold and excitation, and jumped with great enthusiasm on her feet. “Miss Yor makes the best hot cocoa. Can we bring some back for Bond?”

“I don’t think Bond would like it. Dogs are allergic to chocolate, and it could make him very sick.”

The gasp that escaped her mouth was one of pure horror, so he quickly added, “But that’s why we gave him that big bone before leaving, remember? And he’ll have plenty of treats when we come back.”

Anya made a face, remembering a clearly distasteful memory. “But treats don’t taste like chocolate.”

Loid knew exactly what she was thinking about, and chuckled softly. “Which is exactly why I had warned you not to eat them, but you didn’t believe me.”

“Bleh. It was so bad!”

The drive didn’t take too long; at this hour of the morning, the sun was still shy on the horizon, painting clouds in hues of pinks and purples, and the streets were mostly empty. He had driven to Yor’s flowershop often enough to do so with his eyes closed, which proved especially useful when he knew to keep an eye on sweet-toothed Anya – whose flickering gaze seemed to stray dangerously towards the bag of baked goods next to her, despite having already eaten copiously before leaving. To her credit, the tantalizing smell of freshly baked muffin had permeated the confined space of their car, and Loid himself had to ignore the soft rumbles his stomach gave in protest.

As he had expected, the storefront was already illuminated when they reached their destination, an inviting beacon of glows and colors contrasted starkly to the darkened street and seemed to call out to them. Large batches of fresh flowers and bouquets had already been displayed behind the large windows, their vibrant petals highlighted with matching ribbons tied neatly around the stems; it seemed like Yor had already gotten a lot done before even the wake of dawn, and he could only admire once more the passion and energy she dedicated to her activity.

A familiar, soft chime rang when they opened the door, waves of delicate floral scents swirling around them in welcome, and was followed by an even more familiar voice.

“Coming!”

Yor appeared from the back shop carrying a basket of pink and pure-white daisies, looking as radiant as ever – and quite literally so. Her midnight-coloured hair was up in a loose bun, allowing the sharp edges of her earrings to gleam gold under the neons. Her smile, though, was the one thing that never failed to make his mouth run dry – it was always wide and genuine, and conveyed so much more than words would ever be able to.

“Hello, Anya and Loid,” she greeted warmly, as she placed the basket onto her counter and plucked one of the pink flowers to give it to the child, who squealed delightfully – gentle love, according to the floriography-themed book Yor had gifted him last Christmas. “You’re here just in time – the coffee and hot chocolate should be ready by now. You’re so pretty today, Anya! Is that your new school uniform? I never saw this one before.”

Loid watched fondly as the young girl nodded with a blush while sticking the flower in her hair, and nodded his encouragement when she seeked his gaze for validation. Reassured with her appearance, Anya then gave a twirl, showing off her winter uniform and the new addition in her air, and giggled loudly under Yor’s appreciative cooing.

“And we brought breakfast, as promised,” he said, holding out the paper bag for Yor to take. “I hope we’re not intruding.”

“Absolutely not,” she answered easily as she accepted the offering, and gave him a knowing smile. “I’m not expecting any bouquet delivery today.”

The thought that her day would be a peaceful one was a comforting one, and he nodded in acknowledgement. But then Yor peeked inside the bag, her expression brightening even more as she took in the sight of her favorite cakes; if he thought she’s been radiant before, the expression of gratitude and appreciation that lighted the crimson of her eyes was now positively blinding – and all thoughts of an appropriate answer evaporated from his mind as a spike of white-hot heat sprung straight to his chest. The sight of her sometimes seemed to be really, really bad for his heart, and he was often left to wonder how he could even mention it to a doctor without sounding like a fool.

Yor, oblivious to his inner turmoil, led them to the apartment above her shop while they both listened to Anya’s excited chatters – who seemed hellbent on explaining to Yor how she had almost managed to catch a squirrel with Bond’s help just a few days ago, which had resulted in a scraped knee and a nightmarish amount of mud splattered onto clothes and fur.

The poor animal must have had the scare of its life that day, and Loid still shuddered at the reminder of the endless mess of drying dirt, crumpled leaves and dog hair their apartment had become upon their return. Yor listened with rapt attention to the end of Anya’s tale while she helped the child out of her coat, reacting with soft, encouraging hums, and praising both girl and dog for their achievements.

“Speaking of Bond,” she started, curiosity coloring her tone, “It seems that you didn’t bring him today. Is he alright?”

Loid gave an apologetic smile and nodded in gratitude when she took his coat as well, hanging the two clothes on the coat hanger near her door. “He’s staying home today.I figured it would be for the best, considering he knocked into several of your shelves and broke three flower pots the last time we came here.”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it,” she waved him off amusedly, and ushered them to the small table in her living room, where he saw three sets of plates and cutlery already awaiting them. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve broken more than my share of pots this week, and I’m pretty sure those Bond knocked out were already cracked. It’s no trouble at all.”

Loid had still felt terribly embarrassed at the results of Bond’s clumsiness, and the poor dog had whined in guilt when he’d realized he was much larger than he’d originally thought. Yor, bless her, had only laughed, promising the dog she wasn’t mad. His attempts at paying her back for the damaged products had been duly ignored, too; instead, she’d invited them for breakfast, and had graciously accepted for him to bring the food as a compromise in his apology.

“You take your coffee black, don’t you?” she asked Loid, bringing three steaming mugs to the table.

He nodded with a small smile, pleasantly surprised. He’d only mentioned his preference once, in passing, and hadn’t really expected for her to pay such attention to the way he enjoyed his coffee – well, he did remember that she liked her own coffee best with one sugar and no milk, but it was part of his job to take notice of the smallest things about the people that surrounded him. “Please. Do you need help with anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Why don’t you go sit with Anya? I’ll bring some orange juice as well.”

“Can I have a black hot cocoa?” Anya piped up. “Like Papa?”

Yor chuckled lightly. “I’m not sure hot chocolate will taste so good without milk or sugar, dear. Careful, it’s hot. Blow on it a little before drinking, okay?”

The young girl nodded, hands clasped around the mug, and opened her mouth wide to–

“Softly,” Loid interjected quickly but kindly, painfully aware of just how ridiculously strongly she had been about to blow. Something about the dangerous glint in her eyes caused the suspicious thought that she, too, had been very aware of the potential outcomes of her attempted action, and he had to tamper down a sigh at her unending urge to cause chaos wherever she went. “You need to cool it, not spill it everywhere.”

Yor giggled lightly as she placed another mug in front of him – this time, the liquid a rich, dark color, from which emanated an heavenly bitter aroma.

“Thank you for today,” Loid offered a beat later, feeling uncharacteristically nervous as he watched Yor sit down next to Anya, who had already opened the bag to pick up one of the pastries and was now devouring it ravenously. “Maybe next time you could come over. Have breakfast with Bond and us.”

For a second, he feared having crossed a line – but soon enough, he was rewarded by a soft blush dusting her cheeks, and Yor nodded, ducking her gaze to hide her embarrassment and reddening face. “I would love that,” she accepted softly, before biting her lip in hesitation. “Do you think I could accompany the two of you to Anya’s school today? The weather is nice, today, and I thought I could get some fresh air as well.”

He felt his own face heat in return, and attempted to mask it by raising his mug to his lips. “Of course. You’ve never seen Anya’s school, have you? It’s an impressive establishment, I think you’ll like it.”

Yor nodded. “I’ve seen it from afar a few times, but I never really took the time to admire it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after this, enjoying their warm drinks and food to the wakening chirps of a family of finches that had nested under some loose tiles of Yor’s roof since last autumn – that is, until Anya spoke up again.

“Papa.”

Blinking, he turned towards his kid, mug still raised to his mouth. Exasperation was an odd look to her, he mused as he took in her expression.

She took a bite of her muffin while staring at him resolutely, and chewed thoroughly before speaking up.

“When are you going to finally kiss Miss Yor?”

Loid spat out his coffee.