Archive of Our Own


Twilight crouched next to Anya, staring into her solemn little face. She had a request, and it was his duty to his mission to see it through.

“I- I want to go trick or treating!” She held up a flyer in both hands, and with the expertise of a long-time spy, Twilight read the text upside down.

Celebrate in Safety and Elegance!

Anya was staring at him, with her little brow furrowed, a curiously intense look on her face. He put on a sweet smile for her. 

“All participants are required to wear costumes,” he read aloud.

“Yus.”

Twilight thought: it might be an opportunity to get close to the Desmond boys, even if their father would not be present. 

“Anya, what would you like to dress up as for Halloween?” 

She gasped and clutched the paper to her chest, eyes wide and determined. All her breath came out behind one word, almost a shriek. 

“BONDMAN!”

Twilight chuckled. Of course it was Bondman she wanted. And to be a good father, to succeed at his mission, he should, of course, support her in her night of play. “Let’s see what we can find.”

The costume supply store, a temporary facility for those who did not wish to pay Academy uniform prices for a single night’s usage, was an absurdity. Cheap wigs that wouldn’t pass a momentary inspection. Makeup that looked plastic even in the palette. ‘Spy’ gear that was, at best, cheap plastic imitations, and decades out of date. 

In other words, it was perfect.

In one hand, he held a child’s costume: a mask and little blazer, and a pair of black trousers that could not be confused for a luxurious Eden uniform. Spy Wars seemed to be all the rage this year, and the costumers were making a strong effort at exploiting its popularity.

“Mama, you be Princess Honey!” Anya held up a blond wig to Yor, who crouched and cooed, “Oh my! Do you think I could?” 

“Yus!” Anya was already off again, making her way purposefully toward a rack of pink dresses. Someone had laid an artful makeup display in the proper colors to suggest Princess Honey’s iconic eyeshadow, even without stating the character’s name.

“Who should I dress up as, Anya?” Twilight followed along, deep in his role as a proud and indulgent parent. Anya gave him a sparkling grin, and he felt a rush of - success, yes. The girl was doing so well!

“Papa, you be the Commander!” She held up a packaged fake mustache. It entirely obscured her mouth and part of her nose.

“Okay. I’ll wear this and a big hat. I can wear a suit I already have.” 

“No,” Anya protested. “It has to be a costume. All participins are required to wear costumes!”

“All right. Then how do we make it a costume, and not my suit?”

“Wear that one!”

The suit on the wall was made of papery, stiff fabric the precise purple of a ripe eggplant. Twilight felt his eyes widen. “That one?”

“Papa, you have to!”

When they checked out, he put it on the Organization’s card. He had to wear it, to make Anya happy, to succeed at the mission. He was saving money over visiting the tailors. They should be pleased with his frugality.

He had to, and not one bit because it would deeply irritate Sherwood, if she ever saw him in this getup. With the careful mental partitioning of a masterful spy, he was not thinking about her likely facial expressions.

Twilight smiled at the clerk as he paid for the items. Anya, for reasons known only to small girls, was snickering. Yor scooped her up, and out they went, new costumes in hand.

Halloween night arrived without fanfare. The Eden Academy Halloween Extravaganza arrived with substantially more. In the courtyard, students and their families thronged, each one dressed for the occasion. Loid saw a young ghost go dashing past, streamers flying, in pursuit of someone in a jacket with a fabric penguin’s head for a hood. Anya clung to his hand in her little suit and mask. Yor, splendid in pink, looked nothing like a damsel in distress.

“Let’s go see the decorations,” he said, but Anya tugged him toward where grey steam billowed out of a door.

“It’s a haunted house,” she informed him, and took Yor’s hand as well. “I’ll hold your hands, so you don’t get scared!”

The event would stand out as a series of snapshots in his mind, later. Rooms of fog and distorted paths made navigation difficult, even for him. Someone had strung string cobwebs everywhere. Yor’s wig tangled a plastic bat, and Anya tugged bat, wig, and all free, proclaiming that Bondman would save Mama Honey! While Yor put her wig back on, a sculpted werewolf appeared from a corner, sending Anya screaming into his arms.

 Finally, they emerged. Loid carried Anya until she laughed and wriggled, and the adults exchanged a fond look as she squirmed free.

“That was scary,” she said, eyes wide.

Yor crouched, an elegant movement if Loid had ever seen one. “And what do we do when something scares us?” She smiled at Anya, speaking in a sweet, happy tone. In a moment, the girl’s watery eyes were clear.

“I tell you and Papa.” 



“That’s right.” 


Loid came up alongside her, and crouched too. “But you’re Bondman tonight,” he pointed out.


“And what would Bondman do?”


“Go back and GET IT!”

Laughing, Anya waved her hat in the air, and ran for the door again. Yor smiled at Loid. He grinned back, and together they strolled back toward the haunted house.