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Yor loves rain.
Not so much when she’s caught in it, especially when she’s just killed someone and the rain collects blood and pools it at her feet when she’s trying to avoid attention—but when she’s inside on a day off work, her family around her. She and Yuri used to spend rainy days splashing around and getting ice cream, even though anyone with sense would have known to stay dry. She’s done the same with Anya, who squeals with joy every time Yor tosses her into the air and swings her around as they go from puddle to puddle. Sometimes, they can even convince Loid to join them, though he prefers to wait at the window, shaking his head at them with befuddled amusement and welcoming them in with warm drinks and warmer hugs.
This morning, however, when Yor wakes up and pokes her head into Anya’s room, her daughter is ignoring the weather to doze in bed, Bond at her feet. She must be tired after a particularly intense week at school, Yor muses, stroking Anya’s hair back from her face. “Mama,” Anya mumbles, and Yor hushes her quietly, humming under her breath until Anya is still.
Bond raises his head. Yor giggles and ruffles the fur on crown, presses a smacking kiss between his eyes. “You’re such a good boy,” she coos, and she swears he looks delighted. His tail whips a few times, and he returns her kiss with a few licks to her hand. As Yor heads out the door, he settles down for another nap of his own.
Yor smiles to herself. It’s a rare slow day for the Forgers—no missions for Loid, no jobs for Yor, and no shenanigans for Anya to get caught up in.
The perfect day for coziness.
Yor stretches as she heads out of the shower, revelling in the laziness in her bones. As she dries her hair, she wonders what Loid is up to. He wasn’t in bed or in the living room when she woke up this morning.
Just as she finishes pulling her hair into a braid, she hears the front door open. She freezes for a second, relaxing when she recognizes Loid’s footsteps.
“Groceries?” she asks brightly. Loid grunts and says nothing else.
Oh, no, Yor thinks. She watches him in silence as he unpacks, then slowly pads up behind him.
“Loid?” she whispers.
Loid jumps. He twists, arm rearing back for a punch that Yor easily ducks. She uses the momentum to curl into his chest, catching his arm in an iron grip.
“Loid?” she asks, more strongly this time. “Are you alright?”
He’s not—Yor can clearly see that. He looks tired, distant, not all there.
Ah. So it’s one of those days, then.
Before any guilt can come rushing into his eyes, Yor cups his face in one hand. “Go shower,” she orders. “I’ll finish up here.”
Loid opens his mouth, a little more clarity entering his eyes. Instead, he lets out a long breath, then nods, disappearing into the bathroom.
Yor stares after him, biting her lip. She feels a sharp edge of concern, as insistent as a dagger.
It won’t be a relaxing day after all, then. But that’s alright. This is always more important.
She puts the groceries away and starts the kettle. Her hand hovers over the tea, but she changes course and grabs the hot chocolate instead. It’s far more comforting, and a reminder of Anya’s favourite drink will hopefully make him feel better.
The kettle chimes just as Loid emerges from the bathroom, dead-eyed. Yor smiles at him, warm, and gestures at the living room. He sits down on the couch slowly. Setting down their mugs, steaming and overfilled with marshmallows, Yor sits beside him. The windows rattle slightly with the force of the wind, raindrops loudly scattering against the glass. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles softly.
Yor takes a deep breath.
“What do you need?” she asks.
When this first happened, Yor had had no idea what to do—not at first. She, Loid, and Anya had only revealed their identities to each other a few weeks before, and she and her husband were still adjusting to the new partnership between their agencies—and to the fact that their marriage was now real. They hadn’t really had time to talk about the repercussions of their jobs and that they no longer had to hide from each other.
Loid woke up one night, shaking and full of nightmares. When Yor reached for him, he had lunged for her, teeth bared. Yor’s shock had allowed him to land one blow to her shoulder before she caught him by the arms, gently flipped him over onto the bed, and pinned him down. When he came to, he crumpled into her arms and cried like she’d never seen him for almost an hour.
He hadn’t been able to look her in the eye the next morning and left for the day without a word after seeing a wide-eyed, scared Anya, who was no doubt picking up on their thoughts, off for school. Yor didn’t know what to do. Was she pressing if she asked about it? Would he get angry at her? She sought advice from her work friends, and this time, it was actually sound. When she got home, she had sent Anya to her room and forced Loid to talk to her. It was an awkward, painful conversation, but they both came out of it with a better understanding of each other’s fears and triggers—and what to do when the other was having an off day.
In response to her question, Loid shrugs minutely. His shoulders are tense, his eyes glassy and far away. Yor reaches over, projecting the movement, and takes his hand, running her thumb over his knuckles. He barely reacts—which she knew would happen, though her worry swells. She settles in closer to his side, their legs inches from each other.
On Loid’s worse days, he’s told her that sometimes, he doesn’t like more than the barest of touches. A hand to hold, though, is always more than welcome.
Just when Yor determines that they’ll be spending the rest of the day in quiet, Loid’s hand twitches in hers.
“What was it like,” he says softly, finally, his words almost lost under the patter of the rain, “the first time you killed someone?”
Yor tilts her head. “The first time,” she hums. “The first time…I was eleven.”
Loid lets out a long exhale, as if he’s just realized the gravity of the question. “If you don’t want to answer,” he starts belatedly, but Yor shakes her head.
“It’s alright,” she says, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back, weaving their fingers together. “Yes, I was eleven. I had been on missions before, accompanying some of the other assassins with the Garden, but this was the first time I was expected to kill on my own. Doing it would finally secure my employment.”
She pauses, lost in memory. “You always remember your first kill,” she murmurs.
Loid listens.
It had rained that day, just like this, until the clouds cleared that night to reveal the stars. The target had been a woman running an infamous kidnapping ring that had been in the news for two months, the leader of the whole organization. Yor had infiltrated as a kidnapped child, and when dark fell, she snuck out past the guards and followed the leader home. The woman had been lying in bed alone, moonlight streaming over her face. Yor had felt her handler’s eyes on her from the rooftop across the street. She had hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment sink into her feet. There would be no going back.
She could have been one of those kidnapped, thought. Yuri could have been.
Yor drove the knife into the woman’s throat.
“And that’s really it, I suppose,” Yor finishes. The memory still gives her vague tingles of satisfaction.
Loid slumps a little, his shoulder knocking hers. “Do you ever regret it? All the lives you’ve taken?”
Yor weighs her words carefully. “Yes,” she allows. “Sometimes I think there were better ways to resolve things than to kill someone. Sometimes I wondered if a court couldn’t have dealt with them better. Sometimes I wonder if I was ever on the wrong side, or if the Garden was being manipulated itself. I wonder if peace can truly happen when it requires so much blood to obtain.”
She pauses. “During the cruise,” she says, and Loid nods, knowing what her job had been, now, “I realized that, even now, I constantly wonder if what I’m doing is right. And I hate that I need to extinguish people and leave all their families and loved ones behind, especially the ones who didn’t know about someone’s work. Even if deserved, and especially if it’s less certain, it’s hard to know you’re the reason for hundreds of people’s grief.”
“That I understand,” Loid murmurs, words heavy with ache. He leans his head against her shoulder.
Yor leans against him. Her chest fills with sadness. “I suppose I regret that I do something as awful as killing. But I also regret that I don’t regret it as much as I should. The blood on my hands feels like it’s always meant to be there, especially because it helped me carve out a life for me and my brother, and now with you and Anya.”
Loid huffs out a tired laugh. Yor grins. “That was a bit dramatic, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but I understand you,” Loid says. Yor’s heart warms. “So,” he continues, wry, “you don’t know?”
Yor laughs, glad to see that he’s coming back to life. “It’s complicated,” she says. “As I’m sure you well know.”
Loid exhales. “Yes. Yes, I know.” Yor can see the echoes of his past in his expression. She wonders at the lives he’s taken, the guilt he bears.
Yor strokes his hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Loid shakes his head. “Not now,” he says, exhausted, curling into her arms. His arms wrap around her midsection as he lies himself over her lap. “But…soon.”
“Alright,” Yor says, kissing his forehead as his eyes slip closed. She settles back to watch the rain. “We have all the time in the world.”