Chapter Text
“When is your birthday?”
The question pulls Loid’s eyes from Anya and Bond, chasing each other through the forest clearing, Yuri stubbornly ignoring them as he examines a fallen log for insects, grumbling about them intruding on his birthday hike.
They were spending a long weekend camping out in the mountains near Neilsburg in celebration of her little brother’s birthday, and now she was sprawled out on a picnic blanket, watching her family enjoy themselves.
As it always is in Neilsberg, there’s a pang of sadness for what she’s lost, but it’s infinitesimal compared to the love for what she has.
Idly, her gaze finds her husband, and she wonders about what he’s lost.
Thus the question.
For an answer, Loid cocks an eyebrow, “You know my birthday,”
She lowers her voice, “I know Loid’s birthday,” she points out, “But not yours ,”
Anya wanders over, leaving Yuri at Bond’s mercy as [REDACTED] cocks his head back.
Warily, he eyes Yuri, engrossed in a one sided argument with Bond.
“May 25th,” his answer is almost casual, and she can’t really blame him. He’s a private man, by nature and by training, and-
The actual date suddenly slams into her.
“Did you say the 25th?”
He nods, “Is that important?”
Good god he thinks it isn’t.
But it is.
Because today was May 19th. Yuri’s birthday was two days ago.
She trades shocked glances with Anya.
“Loid! That a week away!”
Yuri looks up at her outburst.
“It’s fine dear," Loid attempts to reassure her, "There’s no need to celebrate it,”
She can only gawk at him, “Like heck I’m not celebrating it!”
“Celebrate what?” Yuri asks.
“Nothing important,” Loid says softly, so softly her heart twists in pain, shooting her a pleading look. Yuri doesn’t know, and for now at least he can’t.
“Papa’s Mama’s birthday!” Anya announces proudly, drawing all of their gazes.
A shattered expression crosses Loid’s face, there and gone in an instant.
“We should have a party!”
“Why?” Loid and Yuri ask as one, trading a glance.
"Well," Yor begins, crossing her arms with a stern pout, “Because she deserves to be remembered,”
And so does the little boy in her husband’s mind that he says is dead.
Anya copies her, nodding with a “Hpmh!” of agreement.
“You would do and have done the same for me, Loid,” she points out, much more softly, “And I want to do this for you,”
“Okay,” he says softly, reluctance leaving as a nervous half smile flutters across his face.
---
Papa’s upset with her. He doesn’t say it, and tries not to think it but Papa’s a liar and kinda a bad one, at least with her and Mama. Mama says it’s because they both ‘know his tells’ but…he’s not telling them? They just got good at figuring him out?
Grown ups are confusing.
So when Papa gently ushers into a side room, she figures he’s gonna be upset at her like when she does bad on a test.
“Anya-,”
“Mama needed an excuse,” she blurts before Papa can get mad at her.
He looks taken aback, “Anya I’m not-,” he stutters for a moment, glancing at the door before giving her the look and kneeling to her level, “I’m not mad, just…upset, that you would reveal something so personal without asking first,”
“But-,”
“I know you had a reason,” he reassures her, taking her hands in his, “That doesn’t mean I can’t be upset,”
Like Mama was with you, she silently finishes, memories of the Identity Incident and the nastiness making her head buzz like wasps.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, looking at her shoes as she prodded at the gap in her teeth, feeling a hand card through her hair and gently encouraging her to face him.
“You just wanted to help,” he smiles, before it turns kinda silly, “We just need to work on your improv skills,”
Anya bursts into laughter, but it dies as the stray thoughts that started this whole mess rears its head like an itchy bug bite.
“Papa, about Gramma…” she hesitates.
“Go on,” he prompts her, his voice soft like Bond’s fur.
Her Gramma flashes through her head, not her face, but her hair that’s like Papa’s, her voice like a movie star, and the scent of lilacs and powdered sugar tickling her nose.
“Was'th Gramma pretty?”
His smile turns sad again, hair and voice and scent flashing through his head.
“The only woman equal to your mother,”
---
When they get back to the hotel, Loid pulls Anya into a side room while she re-packs their suitcases, an ear trained to the soft, one sided murmuring as they evidently exploit Anya’s mind reading for privacy. They exit a few minutes later, Anya’s face buried in his neck as he rubs her back soothingly, and Yor’s brow knots in concern.
“Is everything alright?”
Both Loid and Anya nod, and Loid explains, “I was just reminding her to be cautious with what she learns with her mind reading,”
“What did she learn?”
Loid suddenly looks incredibly awkward, “Well…she wasn’t wrong about May 25th being my mom’s birthday,”
“Oh,” her eyes widen as the realization sets in, “Oh. Oh, Loid,”
“You can see why I wasn’t really excited,” he says, setting Anya on the bed with a head pat.
“Loid, are you sure-?”
“I do,” he sighs, his expression melting into something resignedly happy, the little admission that yes, he does actually want this, he’s just being stubborn because a part of him still doesn’t believe he deserves good things. “I do want this. I think I’d love this,”
Yuri bursts in, but he seems to falter at the sight of them.
“So,” he grunts out, “Are we doing this or not?”
The three of them nod at once.
“So,” Yor claps her hands together, “What did your mother do for her birthday?”
His expression turns quietly rueful, “Not much that I can actually remember, unfortunately. But I do remember that the birthday before the war, I helped my mother bake a bunch of Westalin cakes.”
Yuri stiffens beside her, obviously about to voice an objection, but she cuts in with a comment of her own.
“ Multiple cakes?”
He absently nods, pacing, with his mind a country and years away, “We’d keep whatever we didn’t eat that day for a week afterwards.”
A grin overtakes him, broad and childish, all teeth and dimpled cheeks, and her heart fills with butterflies at how beautiful he is.
“What s'th'orta cakes Papa?” Anya asks, a starstruck look in her eyes.
Loid wears a matching expression, “There was this light butter cake with powdered sugar that melted in your mouth, and what I want to say was a pound cake with cocoa powder, yeah that was it, ooh, and the absolute best one was this, thick, moist chocolate cake that you had to have with milk otherwise it felt like your throat was closing up,”
Anya’s openly drooling at this point, and the reverent silence in the room is broken by a massive gurgle, and Yuri suddenly looks very ashamed.
She giggles, “What else do you remember about her?”
“She was a musical woman. Always humming something when she wasn’t actively playing an instruments,”
“What sorta instruments?” Yuri asks, receiving an appreciative look from her and surprised ones from Loid and Anya.
“Her favourite was a violin. But not just any violin, no, she always emphasized that, but a one of a kind handcrafted piece made for her by a family of luthiers stretching back to the 16th century. She was probably exaggerating that last bit,” he admits with a bashful chuckle.
“A violinist, huh?” she smiles, crafting a plan in her head.