Chapter Text
The kitchenette stood against the wall across from the entryway, as Yor went through the motions of brewing coffee. Pouring herself a cup, she sat back comfortably in her seat. Biting into another homemade cookie with a warm smile on her lips. The sweet mixture of chocolate chips and salted peanuts was wonderfully crunchy, the contrast made it all the more delicious.
With a sip, she could feel her body melting away all of her worries.
There was always something about Loid’s cooking that brought her so much comfort, now more than ever. He was constantly experimenting with new recipes to surprise her and Anya, and it was becoming a weekly occasion at this point.
When she asked why he was going through the trouble one night, after Anya had been tucked into bed, he smiled warmly at her, setting another clean dish aside, “Learning new recipes is one way I can take care of my family.” Part of her couldn't help the twinge of jealousy she felt over how easily it all came to him sometimes. He never bragged, never seeked praise for his efforts, they were felt throughout the home, and throughout the Forger’s lives. It was almost second nature to him, being a father to Anya and a husband to her. Meanwhile she’d only been able to nail her mother’s southern stew so far after much trial and tribulations.
Even worse still, when she was down and feeling overwhelmed, incredibly lacking in her role as the Forger wife and mother, he did his best to comfort her, reassure her, and always let her know she was valued and respected by him, in ways he still struggled with. Why was he so perfect?
She shook her head. Putting herself down and raising Loid up on a pedestal wasn’t helpful. He was still human. He still needed her as much as she needed him. As fake husband and wife, they were still a team at the end of the day, and she would always remain loyal to him, to the Forgers for as long as they’d have her.
…Maybe she could ask him for a cooking lesson sometime.
A throat clearing caught her attention and she turned, spotting McMahon standing by the water cooler out in the hallway. “After work, the garden will need tending.” he said, sipping his cup, “We’re bringing in extra help.” his glasses glinting in the light.
Yor paused, it was extremely rare for Shopkeeper to look outside of Garden’s army. She nodded and recited her code, “I suppose there’s been some very… troublesome weeds sprouting up lately.” she spoke carefully, offering a cookie to McMahon. He paused, hesitantly, before Yor added “My husband made them.”
He took one, taking a small bite, and giving a nod approvingly a moment later as he finished it off, before leaving her to enjoy her break in peace.
Garden members gathered into the Greenhouse, a beautiful, glass building framed in steel. Filled from top to bottom in rare flora from almost every continent, obtained through black market auction and trades. It stood as a symbol for “the possibility of world peace”, as the different species cohabitated in the same ecosystem harmoniously; Shopkeeper’s little slice of heaven.
The older, long haired man, who ran Garden as carefully and tenderly as any gardener would, growing and nurturing his plants, stood at the head of their meeting point: a large, rectangular, iron-frame table covered in smooth glass sheets. As Yor approached, she noticed that each assassin sitting across a corresponding Garden member, donned a suit of armor. At first glance, her immediate thought was how ridiculous it looked to wear a metal suit. Not very practical mobility wise and it stuck out like a sore thumb.
She bit back a giggle, to avoid insulting their new comrades. Some wore their helmets, others were brandishing their swords playfully. Twirling it mid-air before catching the handle and doing it all over again with a flick of their wrists. She was, admittedly, a little impressed at their strength and control to make that look easy. Even with her skills, she wasn’t careful enough to wield a sword, she found them less effective than stilettos, which made much quicker work of her clients.
Their leader, she presumed, was a large, bald gentleman with an air of patience and refinement she normally didn’t come across in her line of work. He was sitting at the other end of the table, across from Shopkeeper, observing each Garden member. On his head lay a golden crown, embedded with jewels. An impressive beard grew from his chin, starkly white and trimmed neatly.
She hardly remembered much from her school days, too busy taking care of the Briar home, and working long hours into the night at such a tender age. She made the best of a desperate situation, even if it came at the expense of her schooling and other typical life experiences shared amongst her peers. Despite the pitfalls with her lackluster performance in school, she distinctly recognized that they were meant to be taking heavy inspiration from Arthurian legend.
I suppose that makes him King Arthur. Yor observed, taking her seat. Were all underworld leaders such eccentrics?
Sitting across from her, was one of the knights with his helmet off, catching his sword mid air. Taking notice of her, his bored expression seemed to spark to life as they locked eyes for a moment. With soft brown eyes, dark curled hair, and a dimple appearing in his cheek when he smiled at her, he came across as friendly. A little excited perhaps but non threatening.
Scooting his chair in closer, he leaned in, greeting her, “Hello there, princess.”
Yor blinked, then looked at her name card, “Oh- yes, I’m Thorn Princess.” She corrected him helpfully. He just held his chin up with a gloved palm, smiling pleasantly, “A lovely name, princess. I’m Lancelot.” he gestured to himself, placing a hand over his chest. His colleague to the right rolled his eyes, but she couldn’t figure out what for. She’d hardly met an assassin so welcoming before, it was a pleasant change of pace in her opinion. “Ignore my friend, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Lancelot laughed off, patting the knight’s back a few times. The clang of metal against metal rang out. He was shrugged off and ignored, which didn’t seem to bother him one bit.
Glancing at the clock, she already called Loid about being home late tonight, missing out on dinner this time. She recalled hearing the disappointment in his voice, “Oh. I was looking forward to hearing your thoughts on tonight’s dish, it originates from around where you and Yuri grew up. …Anyways, I hope you’ll be back before it gets too dark either way, please take a cab if you have to.”
Dining with her daughter and husband had turned into her favorite part of coming home after a long day’s work, getting to catch up with them and hearing what they’d gotten up to. Their normal lives as doctor and student, made up for the hectic days she experienced, making her feel more settled into their home. She sighed, taking sips of her water to ease the hunger forming in her stomach.
Shopkeeper began the meeting with a warm welcome for the Knights of the Round Table and thanked them for meeting with Garden at their headquarters. Hushed tones fell upon the group as they watched the two respected leaders look at one another and share a single nod. A projector and white screen were wheeled in, Shopkeeper taking the remote and moving to the first slide. “Arthur and I have come to an agreement. There’s a service that must be performed for the greater good, therefore, despite our initial hesitance, the benefits of our collaboration are too great to pass.” As images came into focus: depicting maps, schedules, and other such information, Yor could feel herself almost lulled into sleep, snapping to as McMahon kicked her seat. She sat, straightened stiffly, feeling a rush of heat spread across her neck. A snicker pricked her ears toward the man across from her, and she sheepishly smiled at him as he jokingly “tsked” her with a finger waggle.
Files were passed out, she opened hers to find a list of targets, each report containing a photo, location & time confirmation. Along with additional details on crimes committed and personnel affiliations. For Yor, these files did more than just provide her details on her next job. They served as a motivator, a reminder that as the world turns and each day passes by, evil men continue to commit evil deeds. It was in their nature, and it was in hers to eradicate them. By all technicalities, it was murder, but Yor found nothing more rewarding to do with her life. That was, beside taking care of her family, protecting them from these harsh realities, for as long as she lived.
From what she gathered, in hushed, lively discussions, many of the targets were well known in the public eye, even publicly backed and well endorsed by major political parties. Their reputation was, in fact, scrubbed squeaky clean.
Yor could see that taking out such high profile targets would require a highly trained team for the utmost discretion in the next, carefully planned out months ahead. King Arthur, clearing his throat, caught their attention, gesturing to each Garden member with the Knight across from them. “We’ve created teams of two, you’ll find you’ve been seated across the fellow assassin that we found to be the best possible fit. These pairings should ensure a seamless transition into this new arrangement. As such, we expect you and your partner to “play nice”, he chuckled. “Teamwork is the most important puzzle piece in this entire operation.”
Shopkeeper nodded, “We’ll start off with regular training sessions to build your fighting disciplines, help you understand one another on the field.”
Yor suddenly shuddered, memories of her training days flashing before her eyes. The cold nights spent in the woods, perfecting moves with her stilettos and honing her reflexes to speeds incomprehensible for most living beings. If Arthur was anything like Shopkeeper… it was going to be a rough couple of nights ahead. The other Garden members seemed just about as enthusiastic, elbows resting on the table, some put their heads down in utter defeat. The illusion of the perfect killing specimen of Garden shattered before their guest’s very eyes.
Morale had hit an all time low.
Shopkeeper hit his gardening shears against the floor, several pairs of eyes automatically looking up. Both Garden and Knight alike were taken in by his command of the Greenhouse. “We all want to reach a common goal. Rid the world of the corrupt, the greedy, the powerful who cause more harm than good for the innocent. That’s what matters at the end of the day. Your efforts will be felt through generations of innocent lives, do not relent now, do not forget why we do this.”
Silence.
Then little by little, claps and cheers were given around the table.
Times like these reminded Yor why Shopkeeper was head of Garden. Why she and her colleagues remained loyal after so many years of service. Shopkeeper had a clear moral compass (as moral as one can in the underworld), his visions for the world ultimately came down to creating peace that would be prosperous, where sacrifices such as theirs would never be needed again. Yor raised her glass to clink with her fellow Garden members and new colleagues. Intermingling was still hard for her to do, regardless of her cover or real job, but she did her best to greet everyone politely and show her support and enthusiasm for the opportunities ahead.
Once their meeting concluded, people soon split themselves into their assigned pairings, and Lancelot walked right up to Yor with a confident swagger in his step. A sliver bird, spreading his feathers out in a cocky strut, hoping to impress. She couldn’t understand what on earth for, as he took her hand and gave it a quick peck, Yor stiffened for a moment. Well, wasn’t he forward. Even Loid refrained from touching her hand out in public without explicit permission, let alone grasping and kissing it. “I’m so glad we’ll be working together.” he grinned, his eyes seeming bright with excitement. Yor couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on behind those brown eyes, to pinpoint what exactly, she couldn’t piece together.
“So… princess, what do you do for fun?” Lancelot asked her one evening, as they were staking out a group of men entering a safe house. Yor blinked, “It’s Thorn Princess,” she corrected him again, “and how is that relevant to our jobs?” He shrugged, “I’d like to get to know you better. We’ve spent over a week working together, and I’m curious about the partner I’m teamed up with.” He reasoned, peering through a pair of binoculars, watching their targets enter and lock the doors.
He made a fair point. Teamwork did require some bonding, it was the key to her relationship with Loid afterall. With how much of a success the Forgers ended up, despite the hurdles along the way, they were stronger together, connected and trusting one another. If the concept could be applied to this, she would do whatever it took. With a determined huff, she turned to Lancelot with a serious gaze in her eyes, catching him off guard.
“Something the matter?” he asked a tad nervously.
Then, without missing a beat, “Apples are my favorite!” she blurted. There was a pause between them. Oh no, was that too sudden-? He blinked, chuckling with relief a moment later, “Oh? I’m more of a cherries man myself.”
She relaxed, the small burst of nerves settling back into her chest. She felt encouraged by his genuine, thoughtful responses to keep going. Without even meaning to, she told him all about her little brother, some of her favorite shows and hobbies she enjoyed in her free time. It wasn’t exactly the juicy details of a person’s life one would find exciting to hear about, but he seemed pleased with her enthusiasm and in return, responded in kind.
“Fishing kinda relaxes me, part of it has to do with the fact I still get to kill something.” he admitted sheepishly, “Sounds insane doesn’t it?” he added, playing with his hands. “I’ve been doing this so long that it’s just normal for me, I guess.” The delivery of that last line held a hint of melancholy, mixed with regret, spending a lifetime committing an act that often reshaped one’s very soul. It was a feeling she’d let into her life a long time ago.
She shook her head, “I understand how you feel. It’s become a part of who you are. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that there’s more to life than Death.” she reached over, patting his shoulder.
“...Exactly.”
A quiet moment fell between them, and Yor was the one to break it, remembering what they came for.
In sync, Yor and Lancelot took on the bodyguards in their way, as Senator Truman was locked inside the safehouse underground. A stiletto sliced through the air, stopping halfway through a bodyguard’s skull, his eyes crossing over as knees gave way and the body fell over. Yor glanced at Lancelot, he returned the look with a smirk, before they separated. She ran up a table, jumping up and over the group, spinning mid-air and landing gracefully behind them. “Good evening gentlemen.” She greeted, reaching down and ripping her weapon out from the head, flicking the blood away in one powerful motion.
“May I have the honor of taking your life?”
One came rushing forward with a knife, swinging haphazardly in a wild, frenzied state of pure adrenaline. “You bitch-!” he roared, eyes crazed with survival instincts, closing in to take a stab at her. His knife hit the tip of her stiletto, and it reverberated on impact. He was no match for her strength, and it went flying through the air. She pulled the man in closer by the necktie, stabbing through the eye. Instantly the body went limp and fell over dead. As the rest rushed her, brandishing knives and guns, she moved like a serpent, striking first and dodging with reflexes beyond their reach. She held their attention until Lancelot, from behind, swung his sword swiftly in one quick motion, cutting off their heads in one move. He never so much as blinked as blood sprayed throughout the air, drenching him.
Once the sniveling Senator Trumann finished begging for his life, Yor (metaphorically) rolled up her sleeves. Lancelot seemed confused, watching her shove bodies and heads into garbage bags. “Doesn’t Garden employ cleaners to do all this?” he asked, helping out with a kick, rolling Truman’s large body over the carpet. “Shopkeeper prefers we all pitch in, cleaning up our own messes. I’m pretty good at getting stains out of a carpet.” she jokingly explained, rummaging around for chemicals and cleaning supplies in the bathroom. Lancelot blinked but didn’t protest when a mop was pushed into his hands, silently working to clear away the blood, pushing it down a drain.
Finally satisfied, Yor wiped her brow, using the now-deceased senator’s private safehouse bathroom. She desperately needed a proper shower once she returned home, looking forward to her soft bed and a warm home cooked meal. Anya’s probably asleep by now, it’s school night after all… Dejectedly, she combed through her wet hair with her fingers, splitting them into even, thin strands. Seeing less of the Forgers had begun taking its toll on her. She didn’t enjoy coming home to a quiet apartment, quite the contrary really. It just reminded her too much of her old life.
“Any plans after work?” She asked, already feeling her stomach gurgle at the thought of eating anything to satisfy her appetite.
“Enjoy my dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I’m low on groceries, and a shitty, lazy cook.” he admitted with a hearty laugh, rubbing a towel through his wet hair, having shed off his armor plates. Yor giggled, “Oh I know- even when I make one for Anya, it still comes out kind of bad.” shaking her head in embarrassment.
Lancelot paused, “Anya? Is she your niece?”
Oh shit.
She turned to him, “Oh, well she’s- family, I mean- sort of family, it’s hard to explain without going into more detail.” she waved a hand. “You probably don’t want to hear about it.” she laughed off nervously, swallowing dryly. There was a small pause, Yor turning back to mindlessly wash her hands in the sink.
Lancelot finished drying off his hair, leaning against the wall, “I didn’t mean to pry. I just thought it was only you and your brother.” He started, “If you don’t wanna talk about it, it’s fine. It’s just- it’s been really great getting to know you, I don’t really have anyone to talk to like this, everything about my life sort of revolves around this job, you know?” his eyes met hers through the mirror, catching her off guard. Rarely, did he have nervous moments, waiting for her reaction.
She knew exactly how he felt. She knew what it meant to her when Loid and Anya entered her life, and pulled her out of her lonely existence. They brought out the best in her, shaping her life into something more than that of Thorn Princess. Being an infamous assassin was a source of pride for her, as was being Yuri’s sister. But being a mother and wife now, was gratifying in different, exciting ways. The Forgers did so much for Yor, more than they’d ever really know. And maybe it was possible she could steer Lancelot in that direction as well.
“... My brother’s not married. She’s actually my daughter. Technically step daughter, but it hardly matters between us.” she explained. Lancelot raised his eyebrow, “So you’re married huh-? Must be hard keeping our line of work a secret from your husband” he observed.
“Oh, you have no idea. The things I’ve had to do, just to keep them in the dark...” she started, her voice trailing away, as Lancelot pushed himself off, retrieving his armor. Seemed the night finally caught up to him. “It has its challenges. But he’s a really good man, I’m lucky to have him.” she added quietly, mostly to herself at this point.
Envious eyes glanced at her for a moment, before he took a breath, smiling at her, “Good for you.”
“I still can’t believe he agreed to marry me for our cover, it was incredibly selfless of him.” she admitted, checking herself in the mirror as she wiped off the last possible remnants of blood. She caught a glimpse of Lancelot behind her, his unreadable, strained smile turned to relief. Like he had held his breath for too long and could finally breathe again. “Oh, that makes so much sense. A fake family for your cover . That’s incredibly clever.” he reiterated, stepping up to her at the counter, leaning over it by her side. “I’m glad you’re not trapped with him.”
Red eyes locked with brown. Her mind couldn’t string together a coherent response with so many emotions bubbling to the surface. Confusion, offense, caution, but most of all, discomfort with his tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, confusion evident in her face, her eyebrows furrowing. She always struggled hiding exactly what she felt when provoked, a lack of control that earned her plenty of funny looks in the civilian world, but right now, his slight panic was satisfying.
Lancelot stood straight, wiping his hands on pants, playfully putting them up, “I’d just hate to imagine you marrying someone you truly cared for, who didn’t know exactly who you are . Assassin and all.” Backpedaling literally and figuratively, putting some distance between them.
He looked away, a sad tone right on cue. “I gave up imagining I’d ever find anyone in our world who’d understand me in that sense, at least, so I thought.” He began, reaching out for her hand. She swatted it away.
He stopped in his tracks.
“I’m- Lancelot, you misunderstand. I don’t have any intention in having a relationship outside of the one I have with my husband.” Yor began, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a cover. I could never do that to him.” Her voice and heart were at complete opposite ends, one steady and clear, the other, rattled and thumping, her nerves all over the place as her hands twitched. She didn’t appreciate the sudden shift in him as he tried to close in on her.
“Why?” He asked, standing across from her, giving her distance but staying just close enough. “Why would you suffer through a loveless marriage with a complete stranger? Wouldn’t you be better off with someone, anyone who’d understand you?” Lancelot began, ranting, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. Hostility spilling out over a man he’d never met. It just rubbed Yor in all the worst possible ways.
“You don’t know anything about me, and you don’t know my husband either.”
Her voice steeled, hands cracking, forcing him to stop his tirade. “If you had any respect for me, you’d stop whatever this is. Right now.” Blood red eyes narrowing into the cold, hard expression of the trained assassin she was feared as. If he was going to make this difficult for her, so be it.
Lancelot paused, staring at her, but falling back once more. “I know what it’s like to have this guilt, to lie to the people you care about, Princess. You think you’re helping your husband and daughter, but all you’re really doing is creating more opportunities for heartbreak by staying with them. You can’t be yourself around them, no matter how much you want to be. It eats at you. And if you’re not careful, it’ll swallow you whole.”
Yor felt herself falter, his trained eyes catching on and he knew he had her, “Do you think your husband could ever truly accept you? All of you? Or would he just run away at the first sign of trouble. Save himself, and his innocent daughter from a dangerous killer.” he asked “Be honest with me. Do you believe he could?”
Yor could hear her heartbeat in her ears. It was like he’d reached inside her head and laid out every fear she ever had, forcing her to confront them head on. “I’ve been where you are now. It never ends well.” Lancelot shook his head, slowly stepping forward, until he was close enough to reach out and take her hands.
“You deserve to be happy.”
Yor’s thoughts silenced at that last sentence. Happy? She was happy.
Despite the situation she found herself in with Loid, she’d truly never been more free and accepted to be herself in a long time. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, and maybe it would all come crashing down on her someday. But Loid saw her as a loving mother, and a good wife, and she wanted nothing more but to be seen as that person, she wanted to believe she could become that version of Yor Forger. Whether Loid knew who she was to every last detail or not, he knew her, well enough to know that she was doing her damn best for her family every single day.
Yor looked up at Lancelot, smiling softly, as if breaking her down like this was exactly what she needed to see what was right in front of her. Using her own fears and insecurities against her.
She punched him in the gut.
Lancelot wheezed out his lungs as his back hit the ground with a satisfying thud . A mixture of confusion, pain and heartbreak painted in his eyes. He barely got himself sitting upright again while Yor inspected her nails nonchalantly. “I-I don’t understand-.”
She said nothing as she swept past him and left him to pick himself back up that night, eager to be returning back home.