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It’s midday, and Loid Forger is dismissed from his work at the hospital early. Apparently, it’s because today is a statutory holiday—celebrating an Ostanian historical figure from the early days of the war. Though he is far, far from the mind to honour said figure, having the rest of the day off is a godsend to Twilight.
Because for some reason that he cannot—but is wracking his head to discern—the last few days have been terribly exhausting. It isn’t that work has been any more taxing, nor his family tiresome—no, Anya and Yor have been beyond wonderful. When are they not? They supply no shortage of effort to carry the (fake) family afloat and care for one another, Loid included.
To Twilight’s surprise, it’s actually gotten to the point where he looks forward to going home; to watch Spy Wars with Anya while she snuggles with Bond, and make dinner with Yor as they exchange soft glances and kind, encouraging sentiments, unwinding each other with the comfort of their company. And perhaps this, he realizes as he walks along the sidewalk that afternoon, is the very core of the dilemma he is facing.
The birds chirp from atop the trees lining the sidewalk, and Twilight sticks close to the cool shade. He gazes around his environment as he walks, observantly peeking at car windows and benches. No tips from WISE today, it would seem. They seldom fail to take advantages of days such as these to supply him with brief reconnaissance missions of some kind.
Maybe Handler graced him with a day off after their briefing the other day, wherein Twilight iterated that Anya’s friend who normally rides her home is down with the flu, so I’ll be needing to pick her up for the next couple of days.
At the time, he intentionally omitted the Blackbell name to avoid any discourse regarding the family’s association to the Desmonds. As the sun hits his face and he pulls open his car door, he wonders if he was subconsciously trying to protect Anya’s friendship with the girl.
No, he whispers in argument against the voice in his head—that information is just not particularly relevant to Strix. Besides, if their friendship helps Anya look forward to school more, we can safely consider it an asset.
Now, he gets to spend time with his family.
Correction. Fake family. Not his. Loid Forger’s.
Twilight knows this. He always has.
But before moving to sit inside, he halts against his own judgement. He soaks in the spring weather for a moment, glancing toward the blue sky as he feels the light breeze against his jacket.
It’s a nice day outside.
There’s definitely something wrong with him.
But these days, when isn’t there?
He picks up Anya from school with little trouble, save for the extent traffic on the way there—but since he left early, he makes it on time, and that’s what matters. Anya hops into the backseat and tells Loid a recollection of her day with such overwhelming speed that he barely has time to process her words; but he tries anyway, because he wants her to know he’s listening.
An art project, a quiz, a game of soccer, a math lesson, and a pastry sale during lunch—second one this year—which she most definitely indulged in (“rumour has it that they make you smarter, Papa.”) And all this in a half-day! By the time Anya is done recounting her day’s work, she is fast asleep, and they’ve arrived home.
Twilight opens the car door and takes in the sight of the young girl.
Her hair is messily strewn across her face, and she’s drooling onto her patchy Chimera doll (she requested Papa to bring it on his way to pick her up so she could cuddle with it on their way back.)
Twilight thinks to himself, she’s certainly exhausted herself. Eden College is ruthless.
But even then, even while he puts her through this.. enhanced education system thats rigor often makes him feel guilty for subjecting her to it in the first place..
She seems so happy regardless.
How can it be?
He smiles, and gently lifts her in his arms so as to not wake her. He holds her, and she holds Chimera, and together they go home.
He corrects himself. This is Loid Forger’s home. But his smile doesn’t falter, and he pushes a strand of Anya’s hair away from her face. And this is Loid Forger’s family, too. It doesn’t sadden him as badly as it used to, but his cynical heart still twinges.
It’s been 7 months now.
Enough time had passed since the beginning of Operation Strix, that Twilight had consigned himself to be ever envious of the persona he himself had created.
What is a family? And how can someone who barely understands it form one so seemingly ideal?
There were countless definitions, and infinite potential origins backing the etymology of this word. Family. A family is when a group of people care about each other. As a child, this definition of family gave Twilight—who had lost his two parents and all his known relatives—hope that it could one day be recreated in a less conventional manner. But then, his only friends were killed. And whatever family meant to anybody, it didn’t matter anymore.
But suddenly, it mattered a lot.
He is devoted, beyond his mission’s necessity, to sustain this family. Yor and Anya are happy. Twilight is proud; and deep, deep in the locked bottom-corner of his heart, he knows this pride isn’t with regards to Strix, but in defiance to God himself, as if to say look at me. You took everything away from me, but here I am. I can play the part. I can do this. I could always do this.
Before opening the front door, he glances down at a sleeping Anya, and wonders to himself if, somehow, he—who had never been so privileged so as to learn from example—has successfully created the perfect family.
He huffs a quiet laugh. No. If it were so easy, he thinks, perhaps I’d have done it along time ago. Strix be damned.
Because no matter how perfect the Forgers appear, they will always be subject to a fatal flaw—that they are, in fact, an artificial family. After all, such beautiful things are ill-permitted to truly exist, let alone in a life as solitary as Twilight’s own.
Anya interrupts his thoughts with a loud snore, and Twilight remembers himself as Loid Forger. He carries her to her room and gingerly lays her down on her star-patterned sheets, pulling up her blanket and tucking her in. Satisfied, he places Chimera right next to her, face-up on her pillow. Together, the two are adorned by the afternoon glow.
But perhaps it’s that very imperfection that makes them so very worth protecting, isn’t it?
The fleetingness of this moment makes his heart ache ever so slightly. And only because she is asleep, he leans down, presses a kiss on her forehead, and silently exits her room.
"Yor should be here any minute now," he mutters to himself—makes for the living room, hangs up his coat and hat, slips out of his shoes—and begins to prepare lunch. A stew would do nicely, with ample vegetables to ensure Anya gets her nutrition. She’s already quite feeble for her age, and this concerns Twilight on the regular, prompting him to often dote on her to finish her plate. For seasoning, it has to be perfectly attuned to Anya and Yor’s tastes—there is no other option—so he carefully discerns the exact amounts of certain spices he would need, and..
After short while, he hears the jangling of keys from outside the front door, and quickly rinses off his hands, making for the foyer. Against his better judgement, he’s excited to see her. He always is.
“Yor,” he pipes up, a soft smile creeping onto his face. “Welcome home.”
She looks like she’d just run a marathon—night-black hair disheveled, breathing a tad too heavy. “H-Hi Loid! I’m home!”
(Twilight notes that this current scene between them mimics husband and wife duos on TV, albeit with the roles reversed. Somehow, he prefers this.)
“Are you alright? You seem exhausted,” he asks. Like any caring husband would, of course . And before she can answer, he’s already made up his mind. “Let me help with that.” He leans over and begins helping her out of her coat, to which her mouth falls agape, but her arms comply nonetheless.
“I’m alright! I-I just got so busy trying to get all my work done before the end of my shift, since City Hall got closed early. Not to mention, Camilla called in sick, so I had to meet both our quotas, and..” Yor trails off as Loid wordlessly kneels down, and begins untying the laces on her boots.
“Loid, it’s really..” he continues working away and hears her let out a faint sigh. She resigns, and lifts her legs as he pulls off her shoes—one, then the next. “Thank you.” He can hear the smile in her voice just before he rises up to stand again, and it makes his heart dance.
“Of course.” His brows furrow out of concern. “But you do look very tired, Yor; I’m sorry about your coworker calling out at the last minute. It’s not fair to you.”
“No, no, it’s okay! Just,”—she looks at him directly with those sweet, tired eyes—“I want to put that behind me now. I’m glad to be home.”
Twilight never expects words meant for Loid Forger to make him feel so much. He should be used to it by now. But he never has been, and he doubts he ever will be.
“Yeah.. you’re home now. Come, Yor. I’m making lunch right now, so just take a seat and relax while I wrap things up, alright?”
“Oh! But you just got back from work too, didn’t you? You didn’t have to..”
“It’s already almost finished, Yor.”
Her eyes widen. “Ah… fine.” She dramatically slumps onto the couch, to which Loid raises an eyebrow at her, as if to say I win this time, and returns to the kitchen.
Yor continues, a rare, teasing lilt to her voice. “It smells so good too.. You’re such an amazing cook. I guess I can’t surpass you overnight, can I?” She sets her elbow on the armrest facing the kitchen, and props her chin onto her palm.
He looks straight down at the carrots he finished slicing up before grabbing a handful and sprinkling them into the pot. “Untrue, really. With you, I’m sure anything could happen.”
“Heheh. Thank you for doing this, Loid. But at least let me make dinner, please? Save some kitchen space for a novice.”
Twilight finds his smile unable to be quelled. It’s a little unnerving, to experience an emotion so visceral that it cannot be controlled.
“We’ll see about that.”
“Wha—! C-Come on, now..”
And as he looks over at Yor—even though he knows this is Loid’s wife, and not his own—he can’t help it when he bears witness to the rare occasion wherein she is comfortable enough to loosen up, while being sober at that. It makes him feel proud, and guilty, and happy.
He clears his throat. “We can both make it together, if you like.” He turns his head towards the stove and stirs the pot, face either hot from the steam, or sheer embarrassment—he couldn’t tell.
Doing mundane things together is normal for a married couple. And so, though Twilight has never been one to indulge, he goes along with the camaraderie, the gentle teasing and light jabs that make him feel like a smitten child. Stop, he tells himself. This will all end.
“Oh.. w-well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Yor replies shyly, and Twilight is so endeared that he wishes he had the courage to look at her face. He opts to hum back at her instead, and inhales the scent of his stew. She’s right, actually. It does smell pretty good.
After a few moments, he hears Yor let out a resounding hmmm. “Miss Anya is in her room?”
“Yeah. She knocked out in the car, though, so I decided to let her nap for a bit.”
“You really are a kind father. I’ll go change, and then wake her.”
“Okay.” The praise makes his heart twitch. Yor stands up and brushes off her skirt. She gives him a stray glance as she heads past him and into the hallway, grin plain on her face.
This leaves Twilight to begin pulling bowls from the cupboard, ensuring that Anya gets her stew in the one with little dancing penguins on it (she always eats more when it’s out of this one), and a small spoon. Then, though it doesn’t even matter, he pours into the blue bowl for himself, and the red bowl for Yor. It just seems fitting.
B.. Because of their eyes.
Yeah, he’s lost his mind.
Yor’s fond voice echoes in his mind. You really are a kind father.
Twilight rolls up his sleeves, and moves to wash the pot and utensils. The soap bubbles well up, and as he scrubs, he lets out a faint, dry laugh. These hands of his can never be cleaned.
If you truly knew me, you wouldn’t think so.
Suddenly, he feels two lean hands take hold of his shoulders, and a jolt runs through him. He doesn’t look behind him—he quickly recognizes Yor’s scent—and that only baffles him even more. How did she sneak up behind me? I could’ve sworn she..?
He feels those fingers slowly rubbing circles into his shoulders, a gesture that takes the breath out of his lungs, tightens his heart, and makes his hands—still submerged in the sink—freeze.
The pushing and pulling of her fingers is exceedingly tender. “I used to do this for Yuri all the time.” Her voice is gentle as a feather in the air. “He would stay up so late studying as a kid, so he got back aches all the time. Heh.”
Calm down, Twilight. You have been touched by countless women, used in countless ways for various missions. But..
Loid’s thoughts race, but he doesn’t dare speak aloud. “In the beginning,” Yor mutters softly, “I had no idea how to do it, so I hurt him quite a lot by mistake. But I learned, and I think I got better.”
Is this really the same as being used?
He starts to breathe again. This isn’t an attack. It’s only Yor. And if Yor wanted to hurt you, she would have done it by now.
He tries to inhale and exhale again—at the pace of her rolling thumbs massaging up, and around. Up, and around. And as he comes to, he realizes that whatever she’s doing, it feels.. good. Really, really good. His neck and back muscles immediately begin to loosen up and find relief. He didn’t realize how sore he was until now. He tries to continue scrubbing the dishes without moving his arms too much—a weak attempt to tell her that he’s okay with this.
It feels good. It does.
So why the hell.. do I feel like crying right now?
Where’s the sense in it?
“You, uh.. had work today, too,” Yor whispers from behind him, voice quivering anxiously. “And I remembered, you, um, complained about your back a short while ago..”
When was the last time he was touched so innocently?
He stiffens at the thought, and Yor’s thumbs abruptly stop moving, her hands laying still. “Um.. does it—“
“It does helps really good.” Shit. He was thinking ‘it feels really good,’ and ‘it does help’ at the same time. He hears a snort from behind him, though, which somehow redeems his blunder. Get it together. “Um, it. It feels good, Yor. Thank you. You’re good at this.” He can’t bring himself to look at her while he says this.
“I’m.. glad, Loid. That it does really helps good ?” She chuckles behind him, and he can’t help but smile in spite of being teased. Her laugh is a pleasant, weightless sound. A beat passes, and for only a moment, Twilight unwittingly basks in the rare occasion of Yor’s touch—warm, soft hands resting upon his shoulders.
His peace is interrupted by a gasp. “Oh no! I totally forgot to wake up Anya! And the soup, it’s getting co—“
Crack.
His bliss is, as luck would have it, quickly interrupted by a sharp, needle-like pain surging through his spine. Oh. He shrieks in pain and lurches forward.
“Oh no! Oh my God.” Yor’s voice is a distant sound behind him.
He almost turns around to comfort her, but he still isn’t sure how to respond here. No, this isn’t you fault, Yor—Well it kind of is, but it’s not. Don’t worry about it. This is nothing. In his moment of reflection, the adrenaline wears off, and he realizes just how much pain he’s really in. He instinctively grabs the counter in an attempt to retain his balance.
“A.. Agh!”
“Loid.. Loid! Please look at me! Are you okay? I got anxious, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean t—“
“Yor.. Urgh. I’m fine, don’t worry.. I just—,” he tries to reassure her, but the sharp sensation of pain surges again as he loses track of his own thoughts. Yor’s hands clasp onto the sides of his arms to keep him upright.
He kind of wants to tell her to let go so that she won’t accidentally break another one of his bones. No.. this is okay, he tries to convince himself with pained urgency. You’ve been through much worse as a spy. This is probably not even a broken bone, so…
Loid makes an attempt to turn his head to look up at Yor and reassure her, but quickly realizes this was a terrible idea—because as fate would have it, the pain re-surges yet again mid-gesture, and suddenly he’s falling backward. A high-pitched yelp reverberates in his ears, and he can’t tell if it’s Yor’s or his own. In an instant, he feels himself falling on his back, landing on a soft cushion-like surface, tougher in certain areas—
This is a person. I’ve fallen on Yor.
The next thing he knows, his vision is all but faded to black—but before his senses are all lost to him, he hears the faintest voice from his own mind. It does not belong Loid Forger nor Twilight, and it whispers, untimely and laced with such fondness—
Oh, to have a family.
.
.
.
By the time he wakes in the hospital with a broken shoulder blade, Yor sniffling at his bedside (I’m okay, Yor! Seriously, I’ve had worse!) and Anya giving him an oddly knowing smile, he knows with utmost certainty that they are not perfect. But he would not rather be anywhere else. And perhaps, he would later think to himself shortly after being discharged—wide eyes and dryness in his throat, Yor clenching him in a painful hug that he would wince at but not end—that is just love.