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Chapter Text

“So hear me out,” Franky began.

That never boded well. Twilight gave a long sigh and leaned back against the counter of his informant’s cigarette stand, planting his elbows behind him. And here he’d thought he could go home early to bake those cookies that Anya and Yor both liked. Anya needed a little extra motivation to study for exams. And it was important to keep Yor happy as well, lest she fall into another bout of insecurity about her value as a wife. Cover wife.

“There’s this girl.”

Twilight sighed again and made sure Franky heard it.

“I will ignore your rudeness and make you an offer to start with, how about that?” the informant said peevishly. At the spy’s silence, he went on. “Next job half off. Deal?”

“I’m listening.”

“So there’s this girl,” Franky resumed with enamored glee. “Veronica Valla. Platinum blonde, tall, amazing legs, gorgeous smile. She works Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays at Mick’s until close. She’s single. I checked this time.”

Twilight suppressed another sigh at the pride in the man’s voice. Count on Franky to be proud of doing the bare minimum to ensure he wasn’t stalking a woman who was already spoken for. 

“I want you to help me ask her out.”

After the last time he’d wasted an afternoon helping Franky get a date, Twilight had learned his lesson. His informant was hopeless when it came to romance. Better to circumvent his innate weaknesses altogether.

“Alright. Here’s my offer,” the spy said. “I’ll disguise myself as you and ask her out on your behalf. Then you take over. Voila.”

For a moment Franky was silent. Since Twilight’s back was turned, he couldn’t see if it was a silence of dismay and offense, or shock at such a foolproof idea. Well, it wasn’t exactly foolproof. Twilight was a full head taller than Franky; it’d be tricky to hide that. And Franky was still not what most women would find attractive, no matter how much Twilight might turn up the charm while wearing his face. And then there was the question of how Franky would handle the first date, bumbling around and stuttering, a complete 180 from the suave act he would have originally presented to her. The woman was bound to be confused and turn tail and run.

But that was for Franky to worry about. Twilight was only agreeing to help him ask the girl out. Whatever happened or didn’t happen on the first date was none of his concern.

“No.”

Twilight did turn around, then. He looked at his informant with one eyebrow raised in skepticism. 

“What do you mean ‘no?’ You want to turn down a 78% chance of success and 53% reduction in wasted time for both of us?”

“78%?” Franky questioned. “You really think that if I learned to talk to women like you, I could have that high of a chance of getting a date? With a woman as gorgeous as Veronica?”

The man had gotten sidetracked. Again, not what Twilight had intended. 

“Yes,” Twilight said impatiently. Usually he was scientific about calculating probabilities, but this time he really had pulled that particular number out of his ass. His informant didn’t need to know that, though. Let him have the little ego boost. “So why don’t we just go with my plan?”

“Because I don’t want that 78% to plummet to 0% as soon as I step into the picture,” Franky pointed out. “I want a plan that gives me success in the long haul. Teach a man to fish, if you will.”

“There are books for this. TV shows. Even acting classes to make you a better conversationalist and help you hide your nervous tics. Why waste my time?” Twilight said in exasperation.

“Because I’ve tried all the books and the TV shows and they don’t work! And no acting class is going to teach me better than you can! You’re not just a master actor. You literally act like your life depends on it!” Franky said emphatically.

It was a strange compliment to receive from his informant, but that was beside the point. Twilight had such little time as it was, time he needed to spend helping Anya study harder, to prepare for the endless side missions Sylvia had been throwing at him, to guide his child and wife in a surreptitious manner so that Plan B and Plan C remained viable. 

“Next job’ll be free of charge!” Franky finally caved.

“Hold on, what is it you want me to do? Coach you on how to talk to women?” Twilight pressed.

“Yes. In disguise. Like you did with Monica.”

“Oh my God,” Twilight groaned. “You cannot be serious.”

“What? I thought you dressed as women all the time. And it didn’t take you that much time to put together that Monica disguise, either.”

“Excuse me, I get maybe one mission a year where I have to impersonate a woman! ‘All the time’ my ass. You make it sound like it’s a fetish.”

“...Is it not?”

He growled and walked away from the counter at a brisk pace.

“Hey! Hey!” Franky whisper-shouted frantically behind him.

A pack of cigarettes hit him between the shoulder blades, and he reluctantly stopped.

“I’m keeping these, as compensation for wasting my time just now,” Twilight said as he pocketed them. “And my answer is no. Monica was a one-time deal. I regret ever–”

“Two jobs free. Plus one night a week of free babysitting, as long as you keep coaching me on the regular.”

Twilight paused. “Make that two nights a week.”

Franky ground his teeth in resistance, but as soon as Twilight made to leave again, the informant gave in. “Okay! Okay, it’s a deal.”

“Tomorrow noon, lunch, corner cafe, same table,” Twilight said over his shoulder. “We’ll start with intensive prep for Veronica. Then it goes down to once a week. Got it?”

“Got it, sir, yes, sir!”

Twilight sighed deeply once more and finally left for home, feeling more defeated than he had in a while despite the fairly good deal he was getting in return. He had a lot of faith in his own skills, but when it came to Franky’s inability to talk to women, it might require a miracle even he couldn’t pull off.

Chapter Text

Every one of Twilight’s missions had a name. It was only fair that Franky’s self-appointed mission also had a name, to lend some gravity to the huge time commitment he had managed to wrangle out of the veteran spy. And to remind said spy that this was indeed serious work that deserved to be treated seriously! Giving up his pay for two whole jobs and two nights out of each week to watch a hyperactive first grader was no small price to pay for Twilight’s services.

Franky belatedly realized that he hadn’t specified what kind of jobs he’d do for free, which likely meant Twilight would take full advantage of the vague terms and work him to the bone. And he hadn’t specified which days he’d babysit Anya either, which again meant the spy would likely call him over on the best nights of the week, Friday and Saturday, so that he could go through his list of 862 date ideas with his wife and keep pretending he wasn’t knee-deep in compromise already.

Franky really had to work on his negotiation skills. Maybe he’d be able to slip that in amidst the dating lessons. Relationships were about negotiation, right?

The next day at the appointed time, he left his cigarette stand to embark on Operation Fishnet. It was the best name he could think of in a short time that both embodied what he wanted out of the whole effort, and carried some saucy innuendo around what he hoped his ideal date would wear one day, just for him. 

Franky Franklin was determined to become a certified fishnet for women. He felt good about this. He had the best teacher he could possibly ask for. He was about to meet him in a few minutes. He…

He’d forgotten that they were hitting the water on day one. Twilight would be in full disguise at that cafe, and if he knew anything about that man, it was that he did not know how to half-ass anything. Franky looked down at his own clothes. He looked like a slob, with a coffee stain on his wrinkled shirt, and patches of armpit sweat to boot. He also smelled like cigarettes.

A few strangers glanced at him oddly as he rushed back to his stand and rooted around in the storage area for a spare outfit and some cologne. Twilight would be peeved that he’d be late. But it was either fail the first lesson altogether by showing up looking and smelling terrible, or get docked a few points for tardiness. He could be fashionably late. That was a thing in dating, right?

Thankfully the liberal amount of anti-perspirant he’d applied to his armpits saved his new shirt from encountering the same problem as the old, because he booked it to the corner cafe as fast as he could, hoping to save a minute or two.

He shoved the door open too forcefully by accident, the cheery welcome chime drowned out by the loud bang of the metal frame against the wall. He winced, and so did several other customers, including the tall blonde woman sitting alone at the back of the cafe.

“Sorry,” he muttered to the employee at the counter, and hurried over to the back where his friend was waiting. He flashed what he hoped was a winsome smile.

Twilight did not look impressed. Even when he was disguised as a beautiful bombshell of a woman, his condescension seeped through his mask of benevolent surprise.

“Oh,” Twilight said, and suddenly all traces of his deep male voice and sarcasm were gone. Instead, he sounded light and airy. “I was just having a quick lunch on my own here. Who might you be?”

The act was so good that Franky froze for a second in creeping terror. Was this woman actually Twilight? Or had he bailed, and Franky had unwittingly approached an innocent, unsuspecting bystander to his selfish machinations?

At Franky’s panicked look, the woman’s eyes narrowed a fraction, revealing the sharp blue glare he knew all too well. Franky breathed a sigh of relief and draped his jacket over the back of a chair before flopping down in the seat.

“Really had me there,” he whispered, still out of breath from rushing all the way here. “Damn, it’s almost creepy.”

The icy stare had disappeared in a flash, replaced by feigned confusion. “What do you mean? You find me creepy?”

Oh, Twilight meant for the lesson to start immediately. No warmup, no instructions, no insulting banter. Franky sat up rigidly in his chair, starting to sweat as his instinctive fear around women reared its head. His throat felt thick and his tongue was a deadweight in his mouth. 

“Uh…I…no…I mean…” he stuttered uselessly.

“Are you lost?” Twilight prodded gently, with the tiniest amount of impatience filtering through. Franky latched onto it like a lifeline. A tether to reality. 

“No, I…I apologize, miss,” Franky finally found his footing. Oddly enough, his footing was in a misty no man’s land where he perceived a glimmer of the spy’s familiar face beneath the immaculate feminine disguise and flawless acting. “I’m not lost, and I’ve been awfully rude. I…I was just stopping by here for lunch myself. Would you…would you…”

Suddenly his brain, vocal cords, and mouth would not work in sync. This was what always happened when it was time to ask a woman a question. Especially when the question was a request for something more. To ask for her name or number. To ask her out on a date. And now, to ask whether he, a complete stranger still catching his breath from running all the way here, could sit with her for lunch.

But he was not a stranger. He knew Twilight better than anyone. 

“Would you mind if I joined you?” he managed to grit out at last. He tried to school his twitching face into something resembling a smile, but he was certain it came out more as a grimace.

To his credit, Twilight didn’t react negatively. Peach-painted lips curved in a welcoming smile, and he tilted his head slightly. “Sure. I suppose I have a bit of time.”

Manicured nails pushed a menu over to him. Wow. Twilight really had gone all out with this disguise. 

Franky forced himself to focus on the menu, and gave himself a brief reprieve by excusing himself to order. He surreptitiously wiped his sweaty hands on his pants as he walked up to the counter where the employee gave him a bored look. 

“What’ll you have today, sir?” the young man drawled.

Franky fought the urge to glance over his shoulder at the blonde woman while he ordered a sandwich and coffee. On second thought, maybe coffee was a bad idea. He changed it to tea. In his state of elevated nerves, he didn’t want to stain his shirt again.

He took a laminated number on a metal stand and returned to his table. Twilight watched him with a hint of shy interest until he sat down.

“Do you come here often?” he asked softly.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Franky blurted out.

Another infinitesimal flash of ice. Twilight was docking more points. Franky was sure he would ruthlessly tear apart his performance and give him a play-by-play of everything he’d done wrong later. But right now, Twilight was absolutely committed to maintaining his cover. Obviously. They were out in public. The spy couldn’t afford to slip and speak in his normal voice when he looked like that. 

“I’m Gisela.” His friend’s tone was a tiny bit on edge, but otherwise smooth and friendly. Gisela offered one dainty hand for Franky to shake. How the hell had Twilight managed to make his large hands look dainty? “Um, you can let go of my hand now.”

Franky dropped it like a hot coal. “Sorry! Sorry.”

Gisela merely shook her head, her long wavy locks flowing around her shoulders, and took a sip of her iced tea. Her lipstick smudged the glass. 

“So, what’s your name?” Gisela prompted.

“Oh, right. Right. Uh, my name is…it’s Franky. Franky Franklin,” he answered in a hurry.

“Nice to meet you, Franky. Do you come here often?” she asked with another disarming tilt of her head. Franky stared at her jawline, seeing the familiar shape of Twilight’s chin, and the ghost of an Adam’s apple on his throat, expertly overshadowed by Gisela’s voluminous hair and choice of jewelry.

“No…not really. Just chanced upon it. Today. Totally random. I’m glad though,” Franky began to ramble. More points went down the drain. He was totally flunking this. Twilight was only humoring him at this point so that he could get that free intel and babysitting. 

Franky mustered his resolve at the thought of the hefty price he was paying for this. He wasn’t stumbling over himself for Twilight’s benefit. No. This was all for his own benefit! He had asked for this. He wanted, no, he needed to get better at handling women, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to improve. No one else in the world had access to Westalis’ top spy as a dating coach. Franky would be damned if he failed to make the most of this.

“I’m glad because I got to meet you,” Franky continued. The words felt unnatural and weird coming out of his mouth in such a calm manner. Usually he squeaked or shouted when he attempted to compliment women. But again, he latched onto the tiny crack in Gisela’s beautiful face where Twilight’s ornery, jaded demeanor peeked through, and maintained his composure. “How about we do this again sometime?”

Only after he said it, he realized that they had talked about absolutely nothing of substance on this fake date so far. They had exchanged names, and that was it. Franky’s lunch order hadn’t even arrived yet. He had inadvertently signaled the end of the date, and mentally scrambled to reverse what he’d done.

“Oh, are you in a rush to get somewhere?” Gisela graciously said. Nice save. Twilight really was doing him a favor. No woman would be this kind in real life, except maybe Yor. They’d all have made their polite excuses and left by now. Or not even polite excuses…they’d have just gotten up with a look of distaste, and marched out.

“No, not really. I guess I can stick around a bit longer, if you don’t mind,” Franky said too quickly. Calm down. It’s just Twilight. “So, do you work near here?”

“Yes, in fact, I work at the bookstore down the street.”

“Ah, I love that bookstore!” In the back of his mind he thought this was a good backstory. Twilight must have thought about this carefully when crafting his mask, to consider what kind of job would make for easier conversation. “I like browsing the science fiction section. You always have the best stuff on display.”

“We do have some interesting titles coming out this month. The newest novel by R.S. Maddox. And book three in the Continuum series.”

Franky’s eyes lit up. “Wow! I didn’t realize it was coming out so soon! I can’t wait.”

Gisela giggled. It sounded so real that Franky forgot for a moment that it took considerable effort and practice for a man to school his voice that way.

“I guess I’ll see you on the 17th, then, when the book hits the shelves. I usually do all the arranging the night before.”

For all his social ineptitude when it came to women, Franky recognized the subtle opening Twilight was giving him. Enough blathering about his own interests. It was time to ask about her.

“Do you have to work a lot of late nights? That sounds tough,” he said. Nailed it! Nailed it for the first time, maybe ever! He had not only noticed the opening, but he’d taken it with grace, without yelling or squealing, and he’d asked an intelligent, empathetic question! He could do this!

“Maybe once a week. And when major books debut. Most of the time I just work the day shift.”

There was an awkward pause as Franky tried to figure out what to ask next. He could ask more about the mechanics of her work, the exact hours she worked, when she had days off…but that could come off as too forward and creepy. No, it was better to ask about her preferences. What she liked about her work. Yes! He was getting this!

“What kind of books do you like the most?”

“Hmm. Well, I think it’s a tie between historical fiction and mystery.”

“Mystery?” he said with genuine surprise. “Mystery, as in paranormal? Ghost stories? Or like, murder-on-a-moving-train mystery?”

Gisela laughed again, a light tittering that made him feel warm and uneasy at the same time. He had to remind himself that this was Twilight. Twilight putting his expert acting skills to use. “I’ll leave that to you to figure out next time. I do have to go back to work now. I come here a lot for lunch, so maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Oh, okay. Yes. Sure. I would love to. I’ll come here every day to look for you. I mean, no. I’ll come here once in a while. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m stalking you. Not at all.”

What…what had happened? He thought he’d had this in the bag, but suddenly his mind and voice were no longer collaborating. They had conspired against him in a mockery of his short-lived burst of competence.

Gisela’s giggle reassured him, oddly enough. There was something about her giggle that calmed his fears and set off distant alarm bells in the back of his mind at the same time. He’d have to talk to Twilight about that. This was definitely not a normal reaction to hearing a woman laugh.

“Not stalking. Got it,” Gisela joked, and got up just as Franky’s food arrived. “Have a nice lunch!”

Franky gave a tentative wave as she walked to the door, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. He stared at the graceful hourglass shape his friend had molded around himself under a modest knee-length dress. How much of that was padding? Had he actually shaved his legs under that pantyhose? If he did, how would he explain that to Yor? 

Then Franky remembered. Yor didn’t see his bare legs. She didn’t see his bare anything. They weren’t there yet in their relationship. For all of Twilight’s supposed expertise on women, his own wife remained a befuddling mystery to him. One he would undoubtedly use Franky’s free babysitting nights to try to solve.

“What have I gotten myself into?” Franky muttered as he dug into his sandwich alone.

Chapter Text

Late. Automatic -10.

Walked too fast to table. Desperate. -5.

Stuttered throughout. -20.

Smile ranged from creepy to constipated. -15.

Asked for name awkwardly. -5.

Didn’t let go of handshake until prompted. Potentially threatening. -10.

Didn’t introduce self until prompted. -5.

Prematurely asked for second date. -10.

Ordered food that must be eaten with hands. Potential for mess. -5.

Apologized for rudeness. +5.

Reasonable back-and-forth about her job. +5.

Showed interest in her interests. +10.

Overall Score: -65.

Harriet’s Cafe, tomorrow noon, back table.

Friday babysitting, 6-10 PM.

—

Franky looked at the “shopping list” Twilight had dropped off without a word on his way to the hospital the next morning. Tapping his fingers against the counter of his cigarette stand, he squinted at the encrypted text until he had finally deciphered it all.

The nervous anticipation leaked out of him bit by bit like a sagging balloon with each scathing comment he translated. His shoulders slumped and he pressed his forehead against the greasy metal of the counter. “Ughhh…negative 65? Really? What kind of grading system is this? What even is the goal? 0? Positive 100?”

And why did Twilight have to start with the negatives first? There were so many. Didn’t he know the rule of leading with praise? Making a praise sandwich to soften the blow? This was just all pickles and no bread. Only a tiny bit of mayonnaise and ham at the end. 

Franky groaned at the thought of having to go through all that again and getting a worse than failing grade as soon as tomorrow. Twilight had changed the location. It made sense. He didn’t want to draw attention to his new cover. Would he pretend not to recognize Franky and make him introduce himself a second time? To keep breaking the ice with Gisela until he got a neutral score instead of a negative one?

Gisela had stretched the bounds of realism. No woman would have been that patient and pleasant in front of a strange man who blurted out questions at the wrong time and broke into stuttering at random. Maybe Gisela would treat him more harshly tomorrow. Remove the handicaps that his friend had so obviously put in place the first time. 

Or maybe it wouldn’t be Gisela at all. Maybe Twilight would switch to a different persona. Keep Franky on his toes. 

All the unknowns made his head hurt. He felt like he was in high school again, having procrastinated in the leadup to final exams and then paying for it with a near nervous breakdown the night before the first test. He had no idea what to expect. He only had a vague understanding of the criteria. Some were at least written out for him on the fake shopping list. He would have to work with that.

Franky zeroed in on the most egregious faux pas he had made. “Stuttered throughout.” Negative 20. He wasn’t sure how Twilight came up with his scale of reference, but he guessed the terrible score was due to the frequency of his stuttering. Every other sentence out of his mouth had been nearly unintelligible. How could he fix that?

He could stop talking. Once he started stuttering, he could prevent himself from making it worse by merely shutting his mouth or taking a drink of water. Maybe that would be enough to jump start his brain back into alignment with his voice.

Franky moved on to the next worst mistake. Apparently his smile ranged from “creepy to constipated.” The nerve of that spy! Franky fumed in silence for a few seconds, crumpling the edges of the piece of paper. He wasn’t just offended. He was…hurt. 

Twilight never held back his disdain for Franky. Franky had gotten used to it long ago, and fired back insults in return just as easily whenever the spy slipped up. But somehow this new judgment stung like none of the previous ones had. Franky’s headache intensified. What was with him all of a sudden? It wasn’t personal. He had asked for help with dating and Twilight was delivering what he wanted, even if his methods were callous. 

The best explanation he could come up with was that he felt like he had failed a real woman. That Gisela—patient, polite Gisela—was the one who secretly thought he looked creepy and constipated, that the sweet smile she had directed at him throughout their conversation had melted away to reveal utter disgust as soon as she had walked out of the cafe. Somehow the thought of a real woman playing nice to his face while secretly detesting him hurt worse than all the offhand dismissals and scornful looks countless women had shot at him directly. But Gisela was not a real woman. 

Franky shoved the disconcerting conundrum aside and went back to the list. There were a few things he could correct more easily. He wouldn’t be late next time, though that had been unfair on Twilight’s part since it hadn’t been a scheduled date with Gisela, only their first “random” meeting. He could control his walking speed. He could manage a proper handshake. He could definitely order food that he could eat with utensils instead of his hands. 

Asking for the woman’s name and introducing himself at the right time seemed hard. It was a judgment call. He resigned himself to failing that one again until he had enough practice.

Asking for a second date was also a judgment call. Franky’s problem was that anytime a woman showed him an iota of kindness, he tripped over himself to reciprocate tenfold and drove her away with his overeager behavior. One word summed it up: desperate. He was too desperate. It was his greatest weakness, which he had all but given up on overcoming. It was a paradox. In order not to be desperate, he had to have confidence in himself. In order to have confidence in himself, he needed women to like him. In order for women to like him, he couldn’t be desperate. 

How was a man supposed to escape the Mobius strip of desperation?

Twilight was giving him a way. In her defiance of human nature, Gisela hadn’t immediately rejected him amidst all his egregious displays of desperation. Training wheels. Gisela would be his training wheels. Franky hoped that Twilight wouldn’t rip the training wheels off too quickly. He didn’t think his heart could take it.

The rest of the day passed in a blur as random strangers bought newspapers, cigarettes, and assorted snacks from his stand. All the while he stared at the “shopping list” he’d taped behind the counter, determined to score at least a negative 30 on the next date.

—

The next day, Franky was not late. He left the cigarette stand fifteen minutes early. He made sure not to smoke that morning. He wore cologne. His shirt and pants were neatly pressed, without any food stains.

Franky even arrived early at Harriet’s Cafe. But he hesitated to enter, wondering if Twilight had seated himself yet. He really wished they had gone over more ground rules before diving into the deep end. Was Twilight always going to wait for him at a table in the back? Was Franky always supposed to approach “randomly” and ask if he could sit with the woman? That didn’t seem to be how most men picked up women. It was easier to strike up a conversation at the counter, or at a bar.

On second thought, Twilight probably didn’t want to sit anywhere more noticeable given how jittery Franky still was. If Franky slipped up too badly, it could risk the spy’s cover and lead to all sorts of uncomfortable questions from civilian bystanders, or worse, the SSS. For the first time, he felt a bit guilty about this whole arrangement. Twilight really was going out of his way to help him regardless of the high price Franky was willing to pay.

When his watch read noon, Franky took a deep breath and entered the cafe. The interior wasn’t as brightly lit as the other establishment, and it took a second for his eyes to adjust. He tried to appear casual as he scanned the mostly empty tables until he found the lone blonde woman sitting in the back. She held a book in her hands and took a sip from a coffee mug. She did not look at him.

Right. Franky knew what to do now. Method acting. Was that what they called it?

He went up to the counter and ordered a bowl of pasta and a bottle of soda. Easy. A whole 5 points saved. Then he took a number placard and braced himself. He could do this.

Franky turned around and walked toward the back. Slowly. He shoved one of his hands in his pockets to keep it from trembling. He tried to look nonchalant, as if searching for a decent place to sit without making it obvious that he was beelining for the woman sitting alone. His efforts suddenly backfired as he tripped on a chair leg and bumped into an empty table, knocking over the salt and pepper shakers. 

“Shit!” He quickly righted the table and glanced up guiltily at Twilight. Gisela. It was Gisela again. There were too many variables at play! It was Gisela, so that meant that they were going to pick up their conversation from two days ago. Franky would not have to start from scratch. Or would he? No, Twilight would have picked a whole new face if that were the case. So then had Gisela seen him stumble? Twilight undoubtedly had, but had Gisela noticed? Or was she just being polite and pretending to ignore the clumsy man making his way toward her?

There were still salt and pepper grains scattered across the table he had knocked into. But the napkin holder was empty. In a burst of genius, Franky improvised. He took ten steps over to Gisela’s table, where the napkin holder was full.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said in what he hoped was a friendly manner. Not creepy or constipated at all. He reached tentatively for the napkins in the middle of her table. “I just need to clean up that mess I made. Pardon me.” 

“Oh, please, go ahead,” Gisela replied in her light, airy voice. There was no hint of recognition in her face. So they were starting over then. Too late, Franky realized Twilight might have merely taken his cue. He had addressed her as “miss” instead of by her name. 

Franky gave a quick nod and grabbed a fistful of napkins, then hurried back to the empty table. He could feel Gisela’s curious eyes on his back. His heart pounded in his chest. He was far enough away from her that she couldn’t hear his nervous breathing, or so he hoped. He felt like he was being scrutinized by an SSS agent. Or the most dangerous spy in the world. 

He shoved his nonsensical fears down and tried to breathe normally. Twilight was the most dangerous spy in the world, and he was on his side. Right now he was not dangerous. He was a nice, beautiful woman who had let him take some napkins from her table. 

In another unexpected burst of insight, Franky went to another empty table and took a bunch of clean napkins, then approached Gisela again. 

“Thanks. Thought I’d return these to you,” he said with a smile. He kept his smile small. The less effort he put into it, the less likely his facial muscles were to twitch out of control and make him look like a clown. He put the spare napkins into the holder. His hand was shaking slightly, but he hoped Gisela wouldn’t notice even if Twilight did.

“How thoughtful,” Gisela said, covering her mouth as she giggled. Franky momentarily froze at the sound, then remembered he was still holding his placard for his order and hadn’t yet found a place to sit.

“I…I…” he began. His tongue rapidly disconnected from his brain like a snipped wire.

Shit! The stuttering! A gargantuan 20 points were on the line!

Franky shut his mouth so hard he almost bit himself. He had to get things under control! He couldn’t fuck this up! He still didn’t know if Gisela was going to be just as unrealistically nice as before or if Twilight would start removing the handicaps. 

Franky put his hand on the back of the empty chair across from Gisela just to give himself something to do. He didn’t yet have the courage to look at her directly, so he turned around to peer at the counter and the employees moving to and fro behind it, as if he had forgotten something over there.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He took a deep breath and turned to face Gisela again. “Sorry. Sorry, I…I…” NO! Not this again!

Gisela said nothing, merely tilting her head curiously at him. The training wheels were coming off, then. He would get no help from her.

“I thought I left my wallet over there. But it’s right here,” he managed to say, patting his pocket. He forced a smile back on his face. Too wide. Definitely creepy. He toned it down immediately. “Is anyone sitting here? Would you mind if I joined you?”

Gisela looked a bit uncomfortable this time. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. A purposeful nervous tic. “Um, I suppose that would be alright.”

Yes. That was more within the realm of normal behavior. Uneasy politeness in the face of a stranger who had randomly taken napkins from her table when there were plenty of other tables with full napkin holders. A stranger who had then started stuttering out of nowhere and smiled creepily for 0.5 seconds.

“Thank you. I promise I’m not—” creepy had been the next word poised on his tongue, but Franky cut himself off almost violently, “—going to make a mess of this table, too.” 

Another giggle. Success! 5 points? That pivot was surely worth at least 5 points, right?

Franky placed his placard and bottle of soda on the table and draped his jacket over the chair. Every second counted. He used the idle time to think about his plan of attack. What should he say next? The “shopping list” flashed across his mind.

“What’s your…” No, it was too forward to ask for her name first. He hoped Gisela would ignore the awkward stops and starts. He was just like a kid trying to ride a bike for the first time without training wheels. “I’m Franky. What’s your name?”

“Gisela. Nice to meet you, Franky,” she replied, and held out her dainty, manicured hand. Had Twilight wiped off the nail polish two days ago and painted his nails again this morning? They were the same color as before. If Yor caught sight of nail polish in his room or smelled acetone, what would she say? But that was right. She never went into his room. They didn’t sleep together. 

Shit! Franky had been too distracted to accept the handshake on time. His hand shot out to grip Gisela’s even as a look of confusion crossed her face at the odd delay. He forced a smile back on his face. Only 0.1 seconds of creepiness this time. Or maybe constipation. His brain couldn’t keep up with the rapid chain of events unfolding before him and threatening to tumble into chaos. 

Let go. Let go! Don’t be potentially threatening!

He withdrew his hand one second beyond the acceptable range. He hoped those negative 10 points would shrink to negative 5 instead.

“So, no lunch?” he said, gesturing shakily at her coffee mug and lack of food. “Are you not hungry?”

He had just said the first thing he could think of in a desperate attempt to pull himself out of the impending spiral of doom. He hid a wince in anticipation of another uneasy reaction from Gisela, but apparently she accepted the question without issue.

“No, I had a late breakfast,” she said. “Late night at work yesterday.”

Another opening! “Oh, what do you do for work?”

“I work at the bookstore over on Quincy and Main.”

Yes! Familiar territory! Franky scrambled toward it like a drowning man grabbing onto a life raft.

“That’s cool! I love books!” Urk, awkward wording, recover, fast! “I mean, I love reading. You were reading when I walked in, right?”

Shit, was that weird to say? Would she think he was a stalker?

“Yes, actually.” She was still smiling, so maybe he wouldn’t get docked points for that. She took out the book from where she’d set it aside. “It’s historical fiction set during the Roman Empire.”

“Oh, wow.” For a moment Franky forgot who he was really talking to and felt genuinely impressed by the woman in front of him. “Lots of people in togas backstabbing each other and gladiators fighting lions then?”

She laughed again. He was getting this! “Some of that, yes. What about you? What do you enjoy reading?”

“Me? Uh…” Franky was taken off guard by Gisela turning the question back on him. Wasn’t he supposed to learn more about her interests? Damn Twilight and his unpredictability! “I like sci-fi. Space exploration type stuff. Sometimes time travel, but the explanations about time loops and such get tedious after a while.”

Was he talking too much about himself? Should he pull back?

“I agree. That genre does seem to be rife with cliches,” she said. Franky could swear he heard a hint of Twilight’s condescension peeking through before Gisela’s warm demeanor washed over it like the tide over a footprint in the sand. “We have some interesting titles coming out soon. The newest novel by R.S. Maddox. And book three in the Continuum series.”

Deja vu paralyzed him for a second. How had he responded last time? 

“Not ringing a bell?” she prompted. 

His pride rallied within him and kicked his brain back into action. He couldn’t let her or Twilight challenge his knowledge of science fiction! “Oh, I was just thinking about what happened in book two. Continuum is great! For a first time author, the series is chugging along well. And I’ve read all of Maddox’s novels except Wormhole. Everyone pretends that one doesn’t exist anyway.”

“What do you mean? Wormhole is my favorite book,” Gisela said, sounding wounded.

Franky paled and backtracked. “Oh…uh…I mean…I was never one to take the critics seriously, anyway! What do they know! Hah! It’s probably the brilliant underdog out of all his works! You have great taste, Gisela!”

Gisela put her hand over her mouth and laughed. This time, she kept laughing, and soon bowed her head with her beautiful blonde hair cascading in front of her face, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Wha…what?” Franky couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He’d made her laugh for real. Not just out of politeness, to cover for something silly he’d done. What had just happened?

Had Gisela just tricked him? Had that been a joke? It had to be. Wormhole was universally hated and ignored by all sci-fi devotees.

“I’ve never read it,” she said between giggles. “Who names a book that?”

“Oh…oh, you got me there,” Franky laughed nervously. “Ha ha. For a second I thought I might have to take my lunch somewhere else.”

Was that too harsh of a joke to respond with? Gisela’s gaze drifted over his shoulder and Franky’s heart rate shot up for a moment, but it was only the cafe employee coming over with his lunch order.

“Pasta salad,” the young man said, and set the bowl down in front of him. 

“That looks good,” Gisela said as Franky unwrapped his utensils from the oversized napkin.

“I probably should have ordered an actual salad,” he quipped. Self-deprecating humor was good. Anything to make her laugh again. “Gotta watch my figure!”

He was practically inviting her to notice how he was out of shape and shorter than average. All women noticed his diminutive height, even if they never said anything outright. It was the most prominent thing about him other than maybe his scruffy hair. 

“Me too,” Gisela said with a wry smile. “I may have lied about that late breakfast.”

Franky gaped at her in shock. “What? No! You’re drop-dead gorgeous and your figure is perfect.”

Shit. SHIT. He had come on way too strong there! How could he save this? 

Gisela’s eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t look offended or creeped out. A light pink blush spread across her cheeks. “Oh…well…” She looked down at her lap and fidgeted with her book.

“Sorry!” he rushed to say. “I didn’t mean to be so forward. I take back what I said! Wait, no I don’t. It’s not like I was lying. It’s 100% the truth! But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Sorry. I’m rambling. I…I…”

The train had gone off the tracks in an instant and was now crashing and lighting a wildfire in the surrounding woods. There was no saving this anymore.

“I’ll get a to-go box for this,” he said, and grabbed his untouched bowl of pasta as he stood up. “Sorry I made your lunch break so awkward.”

“No,” Gisela stopped him. “Please stay.”

Franky’s heart skipped a beat as he stared at her. Her cheeks were still flushed, but she was smiling tentatively. She looked absolutely lovely. 

“R…really?”

“Yes,” she said. “I don’t mind. That was…nice. What you said.”

“Oh…okay. Well, it was the truth.” Franky clamped his mouth shut before it could go off on another uncontrolled tangent. He looked at Gisela’s hands, which still gripped her book. “Although I don’t think the way you look matters as much as the things you’re interested in. Like reading about the Roman Empire. You…seem like a really interesting person, Gisela.”

Suddenly he knew it was time for that all-important judgment call. Asking for the second date. The words teetered on the edge of his tongue in the midst of all the whiplash. Could he do it? Could he do it without breaking into unintelligible stutters?

“I…I would love to get to know you better.” Franky took the first steps out onto that rickety wooden bridge to a second date. Or rather, the first real one. “What do you say I drop by the bookstore after one of your shifts and we can get coffee?”

Gisela’s smile widened into something achingly genuine. It took Franky’s breath away before he reminded himself starkly that this was all Twilight’s expert acting. The man was the best actor on the planet. 

“That would be nice. Maybe Friday. I have a morning to afternoon shift and get out at 3.”

They exchanged some closing pleasantries as Franky mentally came back down to earth from the wormhole he had been sucked into. This was Twilight. This had been Twilight all along. Damn, he was fucked. This whole setup was messing with his head really badly, and this was only the second practice session. 

“See you then, Gisela,” Franky said, managing a steady smile as he took his half-finished lunch and left the table.

Chapter Text

Stuttering slightly improved. -15.

Clumsy. -10.

Handshake still too long. -5.

Too bold with beauty compliments. -10.

Recovery methods: 

• Napkin trick. +5.
• Wallet lie. +5.
• Nuanced compliment at the end. +5

Joking about interests. +5.

Overall Score: -20.

Outside bookstore, 3 PM Friday.

Babysitting after. 6-10 PM.

—

“Yes!” Franky pumped his fist when Twilight was out of sight. He hadn’t even translated the note yet, but he saw that the last number was -20. So much better than last time! Even better than his own expectations! There wasn’t as much to work on, either. 

He’d keep trying to tone down the stuttering. He’d try to be more focused so he wouldn’t bump into anything. And the handshake thing was a fluke because Gisela’s giggle continued to confuse his brain. Regular women wouldn’t have that effect. So then the only net new problem was his overly enthusiastic compliment near the end about her beauty.

You’re drop-dead gorgeous and your figure is perfect.

What woman didn’t like to hear that? Especially if she’d been acting insecure right beforehand. If anyone came up to Franky and told him he was devilishly handsome with a smoking hot body, it would have made his day. And while Gisela had been flustered, she hadn’t gotten up and left or told him to get lost. She had actually invited him to stay.

But maybe Twilight hadn’t ripped off the training wheels completely. Franky suddenly wasn’t sure how a real woman would have reacted. From his past experience, some certainly would have been weirded out and run away.

Reluctantly, Franky acknowledged that his friend was right, as much as he wanted to argue. Women had to be approached delicately, especially regarding their appearance. There were more subtle, measured ways to give compliments without calling her a supermodel within fifteen minutes of meeting her. He would have to control his impulses better.

He moved on to the positives and smirked as he read between the lines of Twilight’s neat handwriting. He could almost feel the spy’s begrudging glare emanating off the piece of paper as he had avoided giving any outright praise for Franky’s cleverness and quick thinking. 

Not once, not twice, but three times he had managed to recover from a fumble and keep Gisela’s attention and favor. And the last time had been particularly genius, if he could say so himself.

Although I don’t think the way you look matters as much as the things you’re interested in. 

Nailed it! Absolutely nailed it. For a few minutes Franky basked in his own accomplishments and enjoyed a celebratory smoke. Negative 20. At this rate, in a few dates he was going to be at positive 100! The sky was the limit.

—

Friday afternoon, Franky closed his stand early and dressed up. Nothing too fancy, just a nice shirt with a bow tie and suspenders. He spritzed a new cologne on his neck. Applied lots of anti-perspirant. Made sure none of his hair was sticking out wildly. 

Looking at himself in the mirror, he realized that he had worn his earring to both dates with Gisela so far. He hadn’t noticed her looking at it at all. Maybe it was the training wheels again.

He was always conscious of the image that earring gave off, and sometimes removed it when trying to approach a woman. In a conservative society like Ostania, very few men wore piercings. No “respectable” ones did. But the fact that he was short, scruffy-haired, and kind of goofy-looking contrasted with the dangerous rebel vibe that an earring was supposed to evoke. 

Did Gisela care? If she were real, would she find the earring objectionable? An immediate turn-off or a reason to be on guard against him?

Then he shook his head wryly at his reflection. Gisela wasn’t real, and she had accepted his earring without issue. It would be pointless to take it off now. He might as well be himself.

That was the whole point, wasn’t it? To be himself? Otherwise how was he going to keep someone around long term?

Was that why Twilight had laughed at his jokes? Even set up his own with the Wormhole trap? 

The more he thought about it, the more confused Franky got. He knew his friend never half-assed anything once he had committed to it. But at the same time he was shocked that Gisela felt so real. And yet so unrealistically kind and accommodating of his quirks at the same time.

The optimistic side of him chose to believe that Twilight was being a good friend, or at least an honest business partner. That there was no catch, no long con or hidden prank waiting to snag him when he least expected it. He was holding up his end of the deal to help Franky succeed in dating. In convincing Veronica Valla to go out with him.

Yes. Veronica Valla. She was the end goal here. The beautiful, busty blonde who probably earned more tips at Mick’s than any other server. She was welcoming and friendly to all customers, but efficient and professional at the same time, turning over tables fairly quickly despite her charming demeanor. A coveted talent in the restaurant and hospitality industry. Franky wondered what she did on the four days she wasn’t working at the restaurant. Did she have another job? Or did she live with her parents? On principle, he had decided not to stalk her to the usual extent. He was determined to do it the proper way this time. 

One thing was for sure. A woman like her wouldn’t be single for long. He had to learn as much as he could from Gisela and as soon as he crossed that invisible threshold of confidence, he would make his move. 

—

Just like last time, he made it to the appointed place a few minutes early. The bookstore was right next to a metro station and thus drew a lot of foot traffic. Twilight had told him to meet outside, so he stayed on the sidewalk, people-watching and occasionally glancing inside the large windows of the store.

Like clockwork, at 2:59, a familiar blonde woman came into view from within the bookstore, flipping through a magazine near the front. She didn’t appear to be working, but merely browsing like any other customer. Franky put on his best non-creepy, non-constipated smile and went inside.

“Hey, whatcha reading there?” A tall, dark-haired man had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and was peering over Gisela’s shoulder at the magazine. He casually braced one hand against the shelf in front of her, effectively blocking her from retreating toward the door.

Franky narrowed his eyes and puffed out his chest. No way was he going to let some leering stranger harass his date! Or friend!

“Just passing the time,” Gisela said testily. The steel in her voice sent a shiver down Franky’s spine before he remembered that this was Twilight. Unbeknownst to the smarmy man, the woman he was hitting on knew how to disable or kill him ten different ways before he could blink. “I’m waiting for a date.”

“Oh, a date? That’s a pity,” the man said, clearly not registering the threat in her posture. “What kind of date makes you wait in a bookstore?”

“I’m the one who asked. And he’s right on time.” Gisela’s sharp blue eyes found Franky as if she’d known he was there all along. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The moment the man noticed Franky, the informant braced himself for how his expression would change. He was used to this. He didn’t make it a habit of drawing unwanted attention, especially from men twice his size who acted like any woman within a five meter radius was part of their territory. But whenever other men did notice him, he could expect to see an air of dismissal and disdain settle over their features, even if they tried to hide it under a veneer of politeness. There was no veneer here. The man’s eyes swept up and down Franky’s diminutive form as he literally looked down his nose at him.

“Come on, let’s go,” Gisela said as she passed him, and walked out of the store without a backward glance. Franky had enough wits about him to catch the words she had mouthed at the same time. Place’s compromised.

That cleared away the remnants of the confusing effect Gisela’s presence had on him, and he turned his back on the man and followed the spy out of the store. He studiously ignored the muttered curses and insults behind him, letting them roll off his back like water over a rain jacket. 

He nearly had to jog to keep up with Gisela’s brisk pace as she weaved through the crowded city streets on Friday afternoon. Franky recognized the evasive maneuvers for what they were. He had practice at this too, from all those years on the run after he’d deserted the military. As he started to sweat and lose his breath from being out of shape, he thought Twilight might be taking this a bit too seriously. The man was no threat. They’d lost him long ago, if he had even bothered to follow them out of the bookstore.

Finally, they ended up in a secluded area of the park where tall trees surrounded the winding path, their long branches shielding some of the benches in shadow. Gisela’s high-heeled feet carried her to the end of a bench where she sat down primly, folding her hands in her lap as she stared at Franky with a clear command. Sit.

Franky looked at her crossed legs and graceful ankles. Twilight’s feet had to be killing him from walking that far in those heels. Somehow he’d managed not to look flat-footed at all through the whole trip. 

He sat down a respectful distance away from her on the bench, and gave her a wry smile.

“Sorry that happened.”

Gisela, or rather Twilight, gave a long exasperated sigh. Then she brushed a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, pulled her modest skirt down an inch toward her knees, and straightened up in her seat. A pleasant, unaffected smile returned to her face. 

“Looks like I won’t be working at that bookstore for much longer.” This disguise is too risky to use for much longer.

“Oh…” Franky scrambled to remember how to code-speak. He could read others just fine, but coordinating the movements of his own lips had always been hard. “That’s a pity, it seemed you really liked your job.” That was just a one-off. We can be more careful.

“I do like my work, but not the kind of people who tend to loiter around that store. There are plenty of other bookstores in the city that might hire me.” The longer I use it, the more civilians will recognize me. There are plenty of other masks I can use.

“No,” Franky said immediately before he could think. “I mean…oh no, has that happened a lot before? It must be really uncomfortable and annoying.” No, I just started talking like a normal human with you! It’s too soon to start from scratch again!

Gisela rolled her eyes with all the condescension Twilight could muster without knocking her fake eyelashes askew. “Yes, it unfortunately happens all the time. I don’t want to deal with it anymore.” You’ve started over plenty of times. What’s one more?

“Come on…I mean, I’m sorry your life is so tough.” With his limited ability to code-speak, Franky gave up on trying not to sound awkward, focusing more on the hidden words than the overt ones. Please, cut me a break! I’m in this for the long haul!

Piercing blue eyes glared at him from behind long thick lashes and expertly applied eyeliner.

“I suppose...I can try to stay for a bit longer. But how can I avoid those men in the future?” How do you plan to make it worth my while?

Franky wracked his brain. “That’s brave of you. I thought you handled that just fine!” Third job half off. You’re killing me here!

“Well, I can’t just walk out when I’m on shift. I have to be professional so we don’t lose business.” Make it free and we’re in business.

Franky gritted his teeth as Gisela smiled serenely. He shoved his ever-simmering confusion aside and focused on the miserly spy underneath. At this rate he would be both broke and unavailable to date any real women on the best nights of the week!

“I suppose I could talk to my manager about the harassment. I’m sure they don’t want to lose me due to an unsafe work environment,” Gisela continued. I’m the one taking all the risks here. If anyone catches wind of this, I’m worse than dead. Take it or leave it.

“Okay, okay!” Franky blurted out. “Yes, talk to your manager. Talk to them and make them protect you.” FINE. Wouldn’t want your fake wife to see you as a fake woman.

That apparently struck a nerve. Gisela’s eyes narrowed for a hundredth of a second before she pursed her lips and huffed. “Not only my manager, but maybe the owner of the bookstore. And my colleagues. Need all the support I can get.” My handler. My brother-in-law, the SSS agent. Any of my WISE colleagues.

Twilight did have a point there. Franky could only imagine how hard Twilight’s boss would bring the hammer down if she knew her best agent was spending so many of his daylight hours teaching his informant how to date instead of making progress on Strix. Although the spy would probably have a way of spinning it like he always did. He could say he was saving WISE money not only on intel but on keeping his cover wife happy with more date nights, so that he could more easily use her to advance Plan C. 

Now if Yuri Briar figured him out, though…that was a completely different story. The sadistic part of Franky wanted to see it happen. He briefly considered putting Twilight in an embarrassing situation at the very end of all these lessons, just to see how the spy would weasel his way out of that one. 

But no, he wouldn’t do that to his friend. He wasn’t that evil.

“Yes. You deserve the support,” Franky said evenly, and didn’t add anything in code. He glanced at his watch. It was almost 3:45 and they hadn’t started their real date yet.

Gisela gave a prim nod and closed her eyes for a brief moment. Franky watched in fascination as the spy schooled the woman’s features back into pristine calm, like a potter’s hand smoothing away wrinkles in clay.

“Franky! Good to see you again,” she said pleasantly when her eyes found him again.

They were still sitting on the same bench with barely half a meter of distance between them, but Franky suddenly felt like he’d been transported to a whole different destination. He straightened up and fought the urge to tug on his collar. 

“Er, yes. Hi, Gisela! How have you been?” 

And just like that, the game resumed.

Chapter Text

My favorite color is blue.

My mother is from Swissland and my father was born in Ostania, but his own parents immigrated from Frigis.

I hope to run my own bookstore one day. Or work in a library, but I’d need to go back to school for that.

I live alone. I prefer the quiet at the end of a long day.

If I could travel anywhere, I’d probably go to Roma. So much history in the middle of the city.

Over a simple conversation on the park bench, Franky learned a lot about Gisela. He also shared some of his own interests and hobbies, but quickly realized that he couldn’t tell her much of substance. How could he disclose that he was an army deserter? That the entire career he had built since then was highly illegal and could land him in prison for life or worse? That he chose to run a cigarette stand not because he liked making small talk with people from different walks of life, but because it was a good front for his real business?

Franky had never figured out how to get around this problem in his dating life. Not that he had much of a dating life to begin with. He struggled with even getting his foot in the door. If he were lucky enough to get a second date, then he could start worrying about the nuanced stuff.

But if the nuanced stuff was a dealbreaker? Then what? 

People like you and I can’t afford to have feelings for others. Even if we could pursue relationships, they’d only end badly.

As he and Gisela parted ways at 5 PM, he glanced at her tall, graceful form in the distance and remembered Twilight’s words from the bar all those months ago. The spy was heading somewhere private, probably a back alley or a bathroom in a department store, to transform back into Loid Forger, respected psychiatrist and family man. Then he would go to Park Avenue, where Franky would soon be headed as well. Loid would open the door and greet him with his welcoming, fake smile, and offer his thanks for babysitting his fake daughter so he could take his fake wife out for dinner.

What were they both playing at?

Even if Franky learned to talk to women without stuttering, and achieved moderate success in dating, how would he ever find someone who could accept the entirety of who he was? Unless he gave up his career and hard-earned network and started making an honest living. But something inside him resisted the idea with all the stubbornness of an ox. Was it really worth changing so much of himself to find love?

As he climbed the steps to his friend’s apartment, he shoved those uncertainties aside and prepared himself mentally for babysitting duty, trying to think of some imaginary games that might keep Anya entertained. The little girl was growing up fast and had already gotten bored of toys and games that had fascinated her just a couple months ago. She definitely knew how to keep the adults around her on their toes, even a fun uncle like Franky. 

When all else failed, there was always TV. Loid didn’t like it, but tough luck. If Franky was going to babysit the girl two nights a week, he would run out of ideas fast.

“Franky! Come in, thanks for making the time.” Loid’s flawless act met him at the door, as predicted. 

Franky gave him a half-hearted wave and stepped inside with his hands in his pockets, not meeting his friend’s eyes. It still felt weird to think that just an hour ago, the model Ostanian gentleman and well-reputed doctor of 128 Park Avenue had been a gorgeous, demure woman conversing with him on a park bench.

“Uncle Scruffy’s here!” Anya crowed, and barreled into his legs. He ruffled her pink hair as she looked up at him with her infectious grin. To his surprise, that grin quickly faded to a look of confusion. He brought a hand up to his face to check for any crumbs or sauce he’d forgotten to wipe away. Just as fast, however, her furrowed eyebrows softened and she jumped up and down in excitement, making him wince as she stepped on his toes. “Bondman marathon, Bondman marathon, Bondman marathon!”

“Anya,” Loid warned in his ‘dad’ voice. “Only half an hour of TV, understand? Those are the rules.”

She stopped jumping and looked down guiltily. “Okay, Papa.”

But as soon as Loid turned his back to put on his jacket and shoes, she pulled on Franky’s hand and let him know with a sneaky smile that she’d been crossing her fingers while agreeing with her father. Franky couldn’t help but shoot her a conspiratorial grin in return. 

“Oh, Franky!” Yor’s voice sounded from the hall as she emerged from her room. “Thank you so much for coming over tonight.”

She bowed to him politely even though they were friends by now. She had dressed up for the date, with a modest navy sheath dress under a beige cardigan. She had taken the time to style her hair in waves, which was a new look on her. It was a good sign for Twilight. At the least, she was taking the date seriously. She might even be looking for her husband’s approval.

“Of course, don’t mention it,” Franky replied.

“You look wonderful, Yor,” Loid said without missing a beat, and turned up the charm by softening his smile the slightest bit. Franky had seen him use that effortless smile on women before, and it almost always got results.

“Oh…thank you,” Yor stammered with a blush, and fiddled with the hem of her cardigan. She looked around briskly and snatched her purse from the table, then hurried to the door to put on her shoes. 

That reminded him. Franky glanced at Twilight’s feet. They were once again clad in men’s shoes. Polished brown Oxfords with perfectly tied laces. He wondered if he was sporting any blisters under there from the heels.

To his consternation, Anya’s gaze followed his, and the furrow was back between her eyebrows.

“Papa, do your feet hurt?” she asked out of the blue. 

About to open the door for his wife, Twilight turned to look at Anya with his own look of confusion, glancing at Franky for a split-second.

“No, they’re fine. Why?”

“Uh…nothing! Anya had to run a lot in gym today. Anya’s feet hurt!”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie,” Yor said sympathetically, and knelt by her daughter’s side. “Why don’t you wear those new bunny slippers I got you? They’re soft and comfy and they’ll make the owies go away in no time!”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Mama, I will!”

Franky didn’t miss the fond look that Twilight gave his wife even though her back was turned. “Thank you, Yor. Shall we get going?”

The door closed behind them with a soft click, marking the start of a long four hours ahead with a little girl and her dog. Bond finally got up from the sunny spot in the living room and came over to nuzzle Franky’s legs. Gisela had said she liked dogs. Franky fleetingly wondered if he could bring Bond out for a walk with her. But that would be completely absurd. And dangerous. Bond would sniff out his owner’s scent under all that perfume and feminine clothing with no trouble at all. And why would Gisela be impressed by a dog she saw every day?

Anya was staring up at him again with a look of intense concentration. Had he zoned out that badly?

“Er, alright, what’s for dinner? Did your dad make anything for us?”

That successfully diverted her attention. She nodded enthusiastically and tugged him toward the fridge, which at this point was almost completely covered in stickers, family photos, and crayon drawings of a happy, fake family.

—

Twilight’s feet, in fact, did hurt. They hurt like hell. 

It was odd that Anya had noticed it on her own. His keen ears hadn’t caught any whispering between his informant and his daughter, which they often tried to do behind his back as if he were just some oblivious civilian. Maybe he was slipping. Anya had probably caught an involuntary wince or two as he’d stepped toward the door. 

He’d concealed much worse injuries and continued acting as if nothing were bothering him. Even on dates, like the one he was embarking on now. Sometimes he’d gone from high-speed chases and gritty fistfights straight into an upscale restaurant or ballroom to seduce a high-profile target or schmooze with elite businessmen, expertly schooling his features so the shooting pain of his wounds never had a chance to break his cover.

But enough thinking about himself. He turned to his wife and gave her a reassuring smile. She had been watching him just now with a look of concern, perhaps internally debating whether she should say anything. This would normally be when he’d reach for his date’s hand, but he couldn’t do that with Yor. She still reacted to physical touch, even an innocent squeeze of a hand, with violent flinches and sometimes worse.

However, it wouldn’t do to walk so far apart if they were a proper couple heading to a romantic dinner. He held the passenger car door open for her and let his hand hover just a few millimeters over her head so she wouldn’t bump it against the frame. As predicted, she blushed at the thoughtful gesture and settled quickly in the seat, clutching her purse tightly in her lap without meeting his eyes.

The drive to the restaurant was more relaxed and even pleasant. He asked about her day, her whole week, how her coworkers were treating her as of late, and she asked the same of him. Casual conversation, they could pull off. She showed genuine interest and care for his work and the toll it took on his sleep and stress levels. While she never pushed outright, she often gave him gentle, indirect reminders that he should try to rest more and even take days off.

Considering how often he’d had to brute force his way through missions in his decade-long career, he was well aware of how much sheer undeserved luck had befallen him in constructing his current cover. Well, maybe not Anya. She was nowhere near Imperial Scholar material, but it had always been a crapshoot to depend on a child anyway. She was trying her best regardless, and he had to remind himself not to be too hard on her. Yor, however. He had really lucked out with Yor.

One, she rarely asked questions. When she did, she always bought his excuses, no matter how outlandish. He had conveniently omitted the mention of concussive therapy in his reports to WISE, as he was sure some out-of-touch higher-up would have ordered an unnecessary investigation into the veracity of the matter.

Two, she was unfailingly kind and self-sacrificing. Even when upset, tired, or stressed, she never took it out on him or Anya in the slightest way. She tried her best to fulfill her role as wife and mother, not only for outside eyes but within the privacy of their home. 

Three, the one area where she did not fulfill her role as wife was the bedroom, which worked out perfectly for him. He was grateful to have his own private space to return to at the end of the day, where he could do sensitive paperwork away from prying eyes and sneak out for nighttime missions. And honey traps always left him feeling disgusted with himself, as if he wore a layer of slime he couldn’t quite scrub off his skin. 

The one time he’d tried the honey trap approach on Yor, she had answered him with a sound rejection that left his chin smarting for days. While his ego as a spy had taken a blow, he had also felt immense relief that she hadn’t actually harbored any expectations of him in that department. One less act to put on. One less messy entanglement he’d have to maneuver out of later. One less broken heart on his conscience. 

As he pulled out her chair and glimpsed her telltale blush in the dim glow of the restaurant lighting, he privately admitted it mattered that it was Yor’s heart on the line. He’d crossed many red lines in his career and consistently operated in a moral no man’s land, but breaking Yor’s heart was a boundary he did not want to cross. It was on par with making Anya cry. Genuine tears, not the fake waterworks she put on sometimes to try to manipulate him.

It was because they were innocent civilians. Not targets. Yor was an upstanding citizen and had somehow retained her kindhearted nature despite having suffered so much in childhood. The thought of staining someone so pure with the dirty tricks of his trade made him sick to his stomach.

These were not appropriate reactions for a spy to have. He checked himself and refocused fully on the conversation at hand. The waiter approached to check on them midway through the meal, granting him a short reprieve. He excused himself and went to the restroom. He retreated into the recesses of the largest stall and took off his shoes gingerly. The gauze he’d stuffed inside them was already stained red, as he’d bled through his socks. He threw away the old gauze and socks and put on a new pair. Then he packed fresh gauze into the toe and heel, and made sure they weren’t visible as he forced his feet back inside. Here, all alone in a restaurant bathroom, he didn’t have to hide his grimace at the cutting pain of aggravating the blisters. Franky owed him big time.

Yor tilted her head in that soft, concerned way of hers when he sat back down. “Loid, are you sure your feet are alright? I noticed you were…walking a bit differently on the way here. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping!”

“No, not at all,” he waved off her apology. How to play this? Yor was uncannily perceptive at times when it came to his physical discomfort. He could usually pass it off as stomach trouble, but that wouldn’t work this time. “I tripped on the way up the stairs in the hospital earlier today. No sprain or anything. Just a bit sore.”

“Oh,” she said with a slight frown. “It didn’t look like you were limping, though. Did you injure both feet?”

At his pause, she backtracked. “I mean, I’m sure you’ll be fine, you’re a doctor and know how to take care of yourself, I just thought—”

“No, I appreciate the concern, really,” he said, injecting a bit of sheepishness into his voice. He ran a hand through his hair for extra effect. He should have known better than to lie poorly to someone as experienced with sports injuries as Yor undoubtedly was. He couldn’t use the violent patient excuse in any believable way this time. How to recover without making his initial lie seem weird? “I didn’t want you to worry…but…one of my colleagues happened to have made a poor choice in footwear. Her new shoes were too tight and caused her pain. So I volunteered to switch shoes with her for the day. She…er…happens to be rather tall and has large feet. So she was able to fit into my shoes.”

He had to hide a wince at how flimsy the story sounded. The only other lie that had come to him in the moment was that one of his male patients was curious about women’s clothing but too ashamed to try it on publicly. So as his psychiatrist, he had worn feminine shoes in a show of support. But he would have been sitting down for the duration of the appointment. No chance for blisters to form.

He was overthinking this. Yor usually accepted his excuses without issue. For a tense moment she didn’t react, and then a tentative smile touched her lips.

“You’re such a kind person, Loid. I’m sure your colleague appreciated your sacrifice a lot.”

Safe. He continued the embarrassed act for a little longer just to seal the deal. “Oh, it was nothing…but I may have bitten off more than I could chew. I had no idea that women’s shoes were basically wearable torture devices. How do you manage to walk around so gracefully in them day in and day out?”

It was a classic conversational technique. Turn the attention back on her with a touch of praise. 

“Oh, I guess…I just got used to them. I remember having blisters at the beginning, too. I had to wear bandaids or put cotton balls in my shoes until my skin hardened enough.”

“Do you actually like high heels though? Or do you prefer some other style?”

And just like that, he’d successfully steered her mind off his awkward secret. He’d definitely have to procure different shoes for the next practice session with Franky. 

Twilight had to admit the informant was progressing rather well, relative to his starting point. Granted, Twilight had crafted an extremely accommodating mask so that their practice sessions wouldn’t end with the woman fleeing in the first five minutes. He’d considered making Franky learn the hard way by rejecting him quickly and disguising himself as a new woman each date. But the thought of creating all those disguises and personas gave him a headache. His handler was already working him to the bone as it was. So he had planned to stick with the Gisela getup until Franky gained enough confidence to stop stuttering and blurting out awkward declarations. Then he would impersonate Veronica Valla as the “final exam.”

But the compromising situation at the bookstore had thrown off his plans. Twilight cursed himself for his carelessness. He should have known not to linger too long in a public place and invite unwanted attention. As he’d led Franky on a winding route away from the store until he was sure no one was following them, he had inwardly groaned at the thought he’d have to craft a new disguise anyway. Oddly enough, Franky had objected and even upped his payment to keep Gisela. 

Twilight begrudgingly understood. The informant had started to see a sliver of hope in his own efforts to become dateable, and must have felt like his hard-earned success would be snatched away. Gisela was a crutch as he learned how to navigate the world of relationships. A crutch who didn’t mind his short stature, gave him the chance to talk about sci-fi novels, and laughed at his quirks instead of scorning them.

Twilight could see where this was going if he didn’t change direction. He had to give Franky a dose of reality and dial down Gisela’s angelic personality to something more ordinary. Less patient, more judgmental, more flighty. Otherwise Franky would begin to forget he had a crutch and assume that was how all people got around. 

There were no women like Gisela in real life. In all the honey traps he’d conducted and all the psychological profiles he’d formed on female targets and assets and colleagues alike, he found women to be just as flawed as men, albeit in different ways. Insecurity, vanity, desire for attention, moodiness, inclination toward gossip, a savior or martyr complex coupled with attraction to troubled men. He could go on. 

“Loid, I’ve been thinking about our weekend schedule, and I’d like to change it a bit, if you don’t mind,” Yor said. They’d just been discussing ideas for how to entertain Anya over the weekend. As usual, he had gravitated toward academic enrichment while Yor had wanted to relax outdoors. 

“Of course. Always open to suggestions.”

“You have such a demanding job, and you sacrifice so much for our family and even your colleagues. You deserve to sleep in on Saturday and Sunday. I’ll take care of Anya and make a simple breakfast. And don’t worry about Bond, either. I’ll take him out for his morning walk with Anya.”

“No, Yor, that’s hardly fair to you,” he objected immediately. “You also work hard and deserve to rest. I’m fine with the way things are.”

While he usually accommodated Yor’s preferences just to keep their partnership running smoothly, whenever he did assert his opinion, Yor would usually cave. But this time, she didn’t. In her gentle manner, she stood firm and insisted that he sleep in tomorrow.

As they went back and forth on the topic over dessert, Twilight suddenly realized that a woman like Gisela did in fact exist. She was sitting right in front of him. She might have even been the unconscious inspiration for so many of Gisela’s traits.

Yor was effortlessly kind, guileless, and refreshingly pure in intent. She was insecure, but almost in a childlike way, never twisting her low self-esteem into opportunities to manipulate or fish for compliments. Despite her beauty, she wasn’t vain and seemed genuinely surprised when others admired her appearance. Gossip was a foreign concept to her, as well as the many other petty behaviors her City Hall coworkers routinely displayed. To his knowledge, she was not romantically attracted to anyone at the moment, and thus showed no signs of a savior or martyr complex, both of which implied a sense of possessiveness and the irrational belief that unrepentant “bad boys” were fixable by a woman’s love.

Twilight couldn’t help but wonder what she would be like if she were attracted to someone. Would her hidden flaws come to light and prove her a mere mortal like all the others? Would it bring her down from the pedestal she unwittingly occupied in his mind?

“Loid?” she prompted when he had failed to respond to her latest question.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said with what he hoped was a disarming smile. “I was just thinking about how thoughtful you are to come up with this idea, even if I still disagree with it. I wanted to let you know that I’m grateful for you and everything you do for me and Anya. And…I guess I can sleep in tomorrow. But not Sunday. Let’s meet in the middle. Alright?”

A blush had bloomed on her face as soon as he had started complimenting her, but at his partial acquiescence at the end, her soft smile widened until she was positively beaming. It made his heart skip inside his chest in a rather alarming way.

Shit. He’d been silently castigating Franky for using an outrageously unrealistic woman as a crutch. But she was indeed real, and she was his fake wife.

What did that say about him?

—

After dinner, Yor felt like she was enveloped in a soothing warm cloud as she sat quietly in the passenger seat, lulled by her husband’s smooth driving. Tonight’s date had been unhurried and refreshing. She had even persuaded Loid to take it easy this weekend. To trust her a bit more with taking care of him, as she’d first urged him to do when he’d come home injured and exhausted a month ago.

She was beyond lucky to have married such a wonderful, giving man. Loid sometimes seemed like a fairytale prince. Too good to be real. He had even swapped shoes to help out a coworker today, subjecting his own feet to painful blisters.

There was just one small thing that bothered her about tonight. She tried to ignore it, to curtail her imagination, but it was hard to brush aside when he was sitting so close to her in an enclosed space. It was very slight, but she could detect a whiff of floral perfume on his neck.

She tried to reassure herself that it was nothing. Maybe he’d just had to spend a lot of time around his female colleagues or patients, and they’d sprayed perfume on themselves when he’d been nearby. 

But even as he offered his hand with a warm smile and helped her out of the car, the dark, insecure corners of her heart couldn’t help but question how the scent had gotten there. She couldn’t help but stay awake in her room later that night, and wonder about the unnamed woman who’d worn her husband’s shoes.

Chapter Text

Showed sympathy on family situation. +5

Made observations in non-stalkerish way. +5

Sweaty handshake. -10

Food in teeth. -10

Stuttered slightly. -5

Overall Score: -15

—

No stuttering. +10

Glasses dirty. -5

Burped (rule: no carbonated beverages). -15

Stared at cleavage. -15

Overall Score: -25

—

Chose decent drink. +5

Smiled normally. +5

Gracious at bartender’s mistake. +5

Dandruff on shoulders. -10

Fidgeted with coaster. -5

Overall Score: 0

—

Kept eye contact. +5

Recovered well from spill. +5

Weird color scheme on clothes. -10

Spilled. -5

Rambled on niche topic. -5

Overall Score: -10

—

Not overly competitive at carnival games. +5

Interacted well with kids. +10

Offered steadying hand at ferris wheel. +5.

Cologne too strong. -5

Shaky leg. -5

Overall Score: 10

—

As Twilight approached Franky’s cigarette stand, the latter tried to look bored but welcoming, the way he greeted all customers. Inside, he was thrumming with excitement and trepidation. Operation Fishnet was slowly but steadily working. It had had its ups and downs, in both numerical scores and Franky’s yo-yoing emotions, but his latest score had finally broken zero and gone into positives. 

Sure, Twilight had been rather unfair with his grading (especially the time Gisela had worn a low-cut top—any man would have had trouble averting his eyes!), and Franky still hadn’t arrived at an exhaustive list of all the turn-offs and taboo behaviors he should avoid, but the informant felt a new confidence that he’d never experienced before when it came to women. The world of dating norms and women’s expectations had been a dark shadowy forest to him before. Now, he had filled out the key parts of the map to that forest—at least the locations of the grizzly bear dens and beehives. He still had trouble distinguishing harmless plants from poison ivy, but—

“You’re ready for the final exam,” Twilight interrupted his train of thought with no preamble. He pushed a few coins onto the counter in exchange for the daily newspaper. “We’ll need to choose a location carefully since Veronica works close by.”

“Hello to you too,” Franky said peevishly, even as his mind raced to catch up with Twilight’s assessment. 

The spy really thought he was ready for the big leagues? To ask a real woman on a date? With a real chance of success?

He should have been over the moon about it, but part of him held back. He had grown comfortable with Gisela. One woman. Who wasn’t even a real woman. What if he couldn’t transfer his experience with Gisela over to the real world?

Over the past two weeks, his infatuation with the fake woman had only deepened. And as much as he tried, he couldn’t distance himself from it, not while he was working so hard to impress her and earn a positive score at the same time. In comparison, his attraction to Veronica had faded quite a bit. He almost had to remind himself to think about her and focus on the fact she was the end goal here. Gisela was only a means to that end.

He shoved his uncertainty aside and nodded. “I know her commute and where she lives. Pandolfo’s is on the other side of town from her. Let’s meet there.”

“Fine. Tomorrow night, 6 PM. And here’s the job.” Twilight slid a sealed envelope over to Franky. Before even touching it, Franky could tell it was heavy. He suppressed a sigh. Of course the man would take advantage of him. Just like he’d been doing with the free babysitting, since Franky had never specified how many hours he would babysit each time. Sometimes Twilight didn’t come back until 11 or even midnight. He wasn’t always out on dates with his wife. Some nights Yor was also busy with work, and Twilight used the extra time for side missions. At least Yor was gracious and deferential to him for watching Anya so late. Twilight was only polite when Yor was watching. 

Anya, for her part, seemed to know something was up, that it wasn’t just out of the kindness of Franky’s heart that he was constantly over at the Forgers’ home playing tea party and superhero games with her. She had always had a strange habit of staring blankly at people and startling out of nowhere. Franky chalked it up to her wild imagination and early childhood trauma. He sometimes had to remind himself that Anya had passed through four adoptive families before Twilight had picked her up. Who knew what kind of loneliness and neglect she’d experienced for the first five years of her life?

What he did know was that the girl loved her adoptive parents dearly. She looked up to them like heroes second only to Bondman. Whenever Franky grew tired of chasing her around the living room and asked for a break, she would sit at the dining table and draw. Her scribbles were almost always of her parents, doing both mundane and fantastical things. Taking her to the bus stop. Cooking her favorite foods. Punching a mustachioed blob that was either a Spy Wars villain or Murdoch Swan. Dancing, doing acrobatics, or both, under a spray of fireworks.

He tried not to think about it, but all this extra time with Anya reminded him that neither he nor Twilight had the luxury of settling down with real families. At least not right now. Not without burning all the bridges that kept them alive and able to operate in Ostania. Not without leaving behind their entire careers and highly specific skill sets. And in Twilight’s case, not without abandoning a critical mission to maintain the peace between Ostania and Westalis.

As the spy walked away from his cigarette stand, Franky remembered how he’d once warned him not to get too attached to his cover family. He would have to leave them one day, faking his death in some kind of freak accident. And it would absolutely devastate Anya. A girl who’d already been abandoned so many times, forced to grieve the only father who had kept her around and shown her affection and love, albeit in his emotionally stunted way.

If Franky actually succeeded in landing a relationship with a woman, wouldn’t a similar fate be in the cards for him? Not that he’d have a child with her and then fake his death and abandon them both. But sooner or later the reality of his underground profession would come to light, and she’d either leave him on the spot or take the outrageous risk of living with him as a potential accomplice in the eyes of the SSS.

Once again, Franky had to stop his train of thought before it could sink him into a depressive state. For the umpteenth time, he forced himself to kick the can down the road. He was still far from securing a real relationship anyway. And his situation wasn’t as extreme as Twilight’s. He could afford to start over much more easily than the spy could.

That night, to give himself a concrete reminder of his goal in all this, he went for drinks solo at Mick’s. Taking up a seat at the bar, he surreptitiously watched the tall leggy blonde waitress as she expertly welcomed long-time patrons and newcomers alike, gliding gracefully between the kitchen and the bar and her assigned tables like the seasoned professional she was. He wasn’t the only person admiring her. Even the married men at the tables she waited allowed their gazes to linger on her for a second too long, and predictably got an earful from their wives about it.

When Veronica’s shift was about to end, Franky debated whether to skip Twilight’s final exam altogether and put his new skills to the test on his own tonight. For once he didn’t feel like he was going to hyperventilate at the thought of striking up a conversation with a gorgeous woman. Ironically, the fact that his heart wasn’t in it anymore made it all the easier.

But, just before he was about to make his move, a new visitor came into the restaurant and asked the hostess for Veronica. Franky froze mid-step and backtracked toward his seat at the bar. The man was tall, well-built, sharply dressed, and had an air of confident anticipation about him. He was the standard pretty boy nemesis Franky was used to seeing whenever he fell for a woman. Always swooping in at the eleventh hour to declare the woman was his. 

He was new. Franky had thoroughly investigated Veronica’s relationship status. It was just his luck that in the few weeks he had been hyping himself up to ask her out, he had both fallen out of infatuation with her and she had found someone else. Veronica confirmed it seconds later as she swept out of the kitchen and into the man’s arms, a rare break in her professional demeanor. But it made sense. There were hardly any customers in the restaurant at this hour other than Franky. 

As he paid his tab and left, Franky waited for the sting of disappointment to hit him. It would start in his sinuses, an unseen force tugging behind his eyes, sometimes summoning tears if he had been truly invested in the woman. It would spread to his throat and chest like a spring coiled tight around his esophagus. He would become extra self-conscious, especially about his short stature, as he walked by other people on the street. He would compare himself to every man he saw within a decade of his age, and count all the ways he was lacking.

But tonight, there was no sting. It was more like a tired sigh. Like when Anya put him through the wringer with her hyperactive sugar-driven antics (partly his fault—he couldn’t say no to the girl when she asked for sweets) and he collapsed in the Forgers’ living room after she finally went to sleep. He wanted another shot of hard liquor, sure. But he didn’t feel like absolute shit.

He and Twilight had never covered what would happen in this scenario. They’d both assumed that he’d be able to ask Veronica out and either succeed or fail, after which Twilight would cut down his dating lessons to once a week. 

His heart betrayed him with a slight skip of elation as he realized the upside. He could convince Twilight to continue the thrice a week practice sessions. With Gisela. It was only fair. He was still paying an astronomical price in his time and sanity for the spy’s services. 

Franky studiously ignored the little voice of reason that suggested they could both reduce their respective investments in this endeavor. One practice session a week for one night of babysitting, for example. 

But he had improved so much in so little time in the intensive boot camp of Gisela’s charming presence. Surely if he kept up the same rigorous regimen, he would reach Twilight’s level of dateability in no time! Height handicap notwithstanding.

—

“You better have a good reason to take up my lunch break. Why couldn’t this wait until tonight?” Twilight said as he sat down across from his informant. They were at a back table at a no-frills neighborhood restaurant, one of their usual haunts for discussing serious business.

For once, the look on Franky’s face was hard to decipher. He could not tell if he had good news or bad news. 

Twilight furrowed his brow as Franky explained what had happened at Mick’s. The target was no longer available. They’d been too slow. 

The spy sighed deeply, a pent-up store of weariness leaking from his soul into his bones, and put his head in his hands. 

An irrational reaction. He hadn’t gone through all this trouble for nothing. Franky had upheld his end of the bargain and babysat twice a week, sometimes for six hours at a time, and was now undertaking a difficult intel job for free. It had never mattered to Twilight whether Franky actually succeeded in wooing Veronica Valla. Hadn’t he agreed to this arrangement with extremely low expectations to begin with? 

But, if he was totally honest with himself, a small part of him did care. The part of him that always took a last look in the mirror before leaving the bathroom to make sure his Gisela disguise was flawless. The part of him that felt a traitorous flicker of pride whenever Franky managed to speak without stuttering, nailed a genuine compliment, or made a joke that was objectively funny and not creepy. It was the same part that felt happy for Anya when she improved her grades even marginally at school, or demonstrated maturity beyond her age.

He had underestimated his informant. The man was capable of improvement in the dateability department after all. He wasn’t going to score a 100 anytime soon, but just getting into the positives was all that was necessary in Twilight’s estimation. Just to get his foot in the door and have a fighting chance.

“Alright. Well, it’s unfortunate Veronica’s off the market. But you have the bare minimum skill set now to ask your next obsession out without absolutely humiliating yourself.”

Franky’s neutral expression turned sour. “Man, you suck at condolences.”

“Was anything I said untrue?” 

“Obsession is a strong word—”

“That’s what they are to you.”

“And I beg to differ on bare minimum!”

“A score of 10 is by definition bare minimum. I suppose I could have sent you out in the wild with a 5, but that would really be flirting with failure.”

“Oh come on, you pulled that scale out of your ass!”

“Okay, okay,” Twilight said placatingly. It was pointless to argue and waste precious time. Both of them fell quiet as the waiter brought their food over and refilled their drinks. Once the man walked away, he cut to the chase. “We can go into maintenance mode now. Practice once a week. When your next obsession strikes, we can adjust the deal as needed.”

“No, I want to keep going as is,” Franky said. Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look! If you really think I’m barely passing, then I need more intensive lessons just to get to ‘average!’”

“I don’t have time,” Twilight said flatly. He had never had time for this. It felt like he had somehow magically created extra time in his week to go through all these Gisela transformations for Franky. 

“Yes you do! I babysat 12 hours for you last week! More than enough to make up for the time you spend dolling yourself up!”

“Shh!” Twilight warned as the waiter had glanced over at them just now. Franky pressed his mouth into a line and dialed it down a bit.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be an ass,” the informant said more quietly. “I just don’t want to lose all the hard-earned progress I’ve made. Thank you, by the way. Even though you suck at encouragement, you really have helped me a lot. I couldn’t have gotten to this point without you.”

The rare authentic gratitude made Twilight uncomfortable. He chose to ignore it. “I don’t think you’ll lose progress just by going down to once a week. Why don’t you practice on your own time by chatting up strangers in a park or something?”

“No, seriously, it’s like working out! I’m not at my goal fitness level yet and can’t slack off now! And practicing on strangers isn’t the same. You’re a professional! The best in the trade!”

Twilight wasn’t sure whether to be flattered that he was apparently the best in the trade at either impersonating a beautiful woman or coaching nervous wrecks like Franky. Or both.

He considered the pros and cons of Franky’s request. Aside from his natural aversion to having his plans changed unexpectedly, what was wrong with continuing as is?

Con #1: It was straight-up annoying to don this particular disguise three times a week. The nail polish, the shoes (even with flat heels), the tight clothes, the fake breasts, the hair, the painstaking process of applying makeup (especially eyeliner). Not to mention the cleanup afterward. He hated the smell of acetone.

Con #2: He really didn’t have that much time. The arrangement was net neutral in many ways. Even though Franky’s babysitting freed him up two nights a week, Twilight sacrificed precious daylight hours that he could instead spend shoring up his cover at the hospital or shadowing Anya at school. Or literally anything else other than pretending to be a pin-up girl.

Con #3: It was weird. 

Twilight had a high bar for weird. He had impersonated women before and seduced men just enough to get the intel he needed. Obviously not to the point of disrobing and giving himself away. But kisses and heated makeout sessions, sure. He had even honey trapped a few men while remaining a man himself. He shrugged all of these encounters off as just another necessary part of his job, no matter how dirty or dishonest he felt when he dwelled on it too long. He had learned very quickly not to dwell on honey traps at all.

But this arrangement with Franky he couldn’t help but dwell on. He had to “date” the guy for hours each week. It wasn’t a one and done deal. And he knew Franky. And Franky knew him. The real him. Franky had known him longer than anyone at WISE. He was the only person who knew the boy-not-quite-man he had been before WISE had enlisted him.

As mortifying as it was to admit, Twilight was starting to feel a bit unnerved by the genuine camaraderie between his feminine cover and his informant. They hadn’t held hands or embraced or touched at all beyond an introductory handshake. But their conversations had veered into emotional intimacy. On Franky’s end, at least. Twilight learned new things about his informant’s personal life every time. How he had grown up in a loving family with doting parents and grandparents. How he had gotten his optimism and belief in true love from seeing his father woo his mother on a daily basis, and the latter returning his affection. How he had also inherited his interest in engineering and inventing gadgets from his father. 

Twilight knew that Franky had only shared these insights into his past to practice for that kind of deeply personal conversation with a future love interest. But he also felt guilty that Franky had freely disclosed so much to him. He didn’t deserve to hear it. It almost felt like extracting information through a honey trap, though that was absurd. This was the opposite of a honey trap. He was all but teaching Franky how to honey trap others. Or as normal people called it, dating and courtship.

As he did with most disconcerting feelings in his nearly non-existent personal life, Twilight shoved them down deep in the cellar of his mind and kicked the door shut. He had enough to worry about without adding this strange dynamic between his informant and his feminine alter-ego to the mix. 

Enough with the cons, on to the pros.

Pro #1: It actually helped his stress level to have two free nights a week to do whatever he wished, even if his wishes were dictated by WISE. Before Strix, he never would have thought that parenting a young child could be ulcer-inducing, but here he was. Getting out of the house and away from the hyper six year-old he had adopted for the mission helped him clear his mind and approach the next day better rested than before. 

Pro #2: The free intel jobs Franky had agreed to do would save his cash-strapped agency a fair amount of money. Money that could then go into recruiting and training at least one more agent to take some of the workload off of Twilight’s back. Or to increase the budget for Strix. He never knew when Anya would spring the next 5,000 dalc expense on him.

Pro #3: Taking Yor out on more dates was already starting to pay off. While at first she had seemed nervous and a bit insecure about the extra time they were spending together, she eventually grew to accept it and stopped apologizing for wasting his time. It was absurd that she would think she was wasting his time. A sign of his failure to maintain a plausible cover as a caring husband. The very point of these dates was to assure Yor that she was important to Loid Forger. To put her mind at ease, to make her more comfortable around him, so that they could better play the part of a happily married couple. Operation Strix was a long-term mission. At some point they would need to attend a formal event at Eden Academy together, and he could not afford for Yor to flinch at an innocent touch from him, or worse—to kick him in the face while surrounded by elite society.

And, personally, he found that going on dates with Yor was…nice.

It was another thought that he consistently shoved into the cellar. The cellar was getting a bit crowded these days. Ever since his disturbing epiphany that he had subconsciously built Gisela off of Yor, he had to perform quite a complicated routine of mental acrobatics to avoid reading into his own feelings too much. It was difficult when he had to become Gisela practically every other day. Con #4.

Or was it Pro #4? In a strange way, becoming Gisela gave him new insight into Yor’s personality and psyche. Or at least how he imagined her. It could only help his cover that he understood his wife on a deeper level. Her purity of heart, her selfless motivations, her inclination to see the best in everyone.

“Well?” Franky prodded. 

Only about three seconds had passed, but that was more than double his usual reaction time. Twilight took a sip of his drink to buy himself another few seconds to recover.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” He somehow managed to sound begrudging and conciliatory at the same time. 

Franky beamed in triumph, oddly reminding him of how Yor looked whenever Loid agreed to accept her help. 

Con #5: this whole arrangement was fucking with his head on too many levels and constantly muddied his mental lanes when he needed them to be starkly delineated, never crossing, and free of obstacles.

Twilight sighed. What had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Text

Ever since the debacle with Winston Wheeler, Nightfall had been slowly, painfully coming to grips with her limits. 

While her training in the mountains had saved her from becoming permanently disabled, her injuries were still severe. She had only recently begun walking without crutches. And even then she had to take it painstakingly slow. Since she had a ready alibi for all her civilian colleagues, there was no point in hiding her limp or trying to walk normally. To everyone at Berlint General, she was recovering from her nasty fall down four flights of stairs. 

Psh. She viscerally hated that alibi. As if she—Fiona Frost, Doctor Forger’s ever reliable assistant, or the lethal spy underneath—could ever be so clumsy.

Sylvia had benched her from the field for three whole months. She was relegated to desk duty and non-combat missions. Unacceptable. At this rate, Twilight would forget that she was capable of combat altogether. He would see her as a weakling, unable to keep up with the rigorous demands of the job. 

Nightfall saw with her own eyes how the man of her dreams was currently running himself ragged with side missions as the perpetual staffing shortage at WISE worsened. Her inability to contribute put a greater burden on Twilight’s shoulders. Her heart cracked every weekday morning at the sight of his tense expression and weary countenance when they were alone in his office, away from civilian eyes.

He had even begun taking side missions during daylight hours. His lunch breaks formerly lasted barely 15 minutes, give or take 20 to 30 seconds. He only took longer breaks as calculated moves to socialize with his hospital colleagues and maintain his welcoming, genial image.

Recently, three times a week, Twilight left the hospital for more than two hours at a time. It wasn’t always lunch. Sometimes he left work early in the afternoon, saying he needed to attend an Eden event for his fake daughter or to conduct a house visit for a patient. But Nightfall knew better. Eden Academy didn’t have that many events requiring parental involvement. And as Doctor Forger’s assistant, Fiona Frost made it her duty to memorize all of his appointments and patients, both fake and real. When she checked his files, she saw that he had fabricated a few extra patients on his own to cover for his absences. 

Nightfall felt offended that he would take on such menial tasks. Did he no longer have any faith in her, not even to do the basics of her job? 

Deep down, she was also hurt. Twilight was so preoccupied these days that he barely paid attention to her. When she tried to talk to him in code about WISE business, he responded in a clipped and almost impatient manner, as if he couldn’t wait to end the conversation and move on to the next mission or pile of paperwork. It might not have even crossed his mind to ask her for help with his additional workload. 

Being invisible to him was even worse than when he reprimanded her. At least when he was harsh, he looked at her with the full intensity of his piercing blue eyes. And sometimes, if she were lucky, he would even grab her wrist or shoulder to emphasize his point. Sometimes she turned away prematurely just to elicit that reaction from him.

Nightfall had received several warnings from their handler and Twilight himself not to interfere in his missions. And Sylvia knew the mortifying secret of her love for Twilight. She could potentially use that against her if she stepped out of line. So Nightfall had to be discreet.

Poking around the WISE office turned up no evidence of extra daytime missions assigned to Twilight. Nightfall frowned. It was possible he had been assigned a highly classified op that no one was privy to except Sylvia. But that usually wasn’t the case. Nightfall would have been able to find at least a hint of such an urgent mission.

She did not ask Twilight where he went on his extended breaks, knowing he wouldn’t tell her. Her only chance to find out the truth and potentially ease his burden was to tail him.

It would not be easy. With her injuries, she was slow and clumsy. She would have to take extra care to remain hidden. Twilight was always alert and would be quick to detect any stray shadow or lingering gaze. He was the best of the best. One of the many reasons she loved him.

Nightfall picked a day where he appeared more run-down and listless than usual. Inwardly she scoffed once more at Twilight’s cover wife, Yor Briar. The least the woman could do was to cook a decent meal for her husband and pack him lunch. But she couldn’t even do that. When Twilight took his meals in his office, they were obviously still his own cooking. Gourmet leftovers like lobster risotto, chicken cordon bleu, seafood paella. If Nightfall were his wife, she would run his household like a well-oiled machine—five star hotel, restaurant, and elite tutoring and childcare service all in one—and erase those dark circles under his eyes in no time.

She donned a disguise and followed him at a safe distance when he made his excuses to leave. He took his briefcase with him, no doubt holding a disguise, weapons, and other spy equipment. A block away from the hospital, he began to walk faster. Ever the professional, he blended in with the lunch hour crowd and made sure his quick pace did not appear suspicious, merely lengthening his strides instead of speeding up his actual movements. He made the most ordinary physical acts look like an art form.

Soon they were on a busy shopping street with a public bathroom. Nightfall ducked into a fast food restaurant and pretended to study the menu while she waited for him to emerge. The average Twilight transformation took 47 seconds, if he had the mask and accessories already crafted. More complicated disguises took an average of 2 minutes, 35 seconds. 

Nightfall was surprised, then, that after four minutes, he was still in the bathroom. Had he been held up by a long line? Was he apprehending a target in there? Was he waiting for the other people who’d gone in at the same time to leave first, to avoid suspicion?

She almost forgot to avert her gaze the next time the door opened. Luckily, she could tell from the elderly man’s diminutive stature that he could not be Twilight. She took a calming breath and pretended to rummage through her handbag, putting up a front of an average civilian woman who had misplaced something.

Nightfall all but froze when in the corner of her eye, she saw a beautiful, impeccably dressed blonde woman around the same height as Twilight slip out of the bathroom. She knew immediately it was him. No normal woman would have been able to sneak out of the men’s bathroom completely unnoticed. 

So that was why he had taken so long. He had been waiting for an opening.

Hypotheses spun wildly in her head. Of all the possible missions he might have been tasked with, impersonating a woman had not crossed her mind at all. She was immediately disappointed in herself for not being able to take this burden off his plate. Did he have to honey trap someone? Was this the first time he had donned this disguise, or was this a routine occurrence? Her stomach sank at the thought of Twilight having to demean himself this way. Whatever smarmy politician or paranoid businessman he had to seduce, it should have been Nightfall doing the dirty work instead of her dear Twilight.

Or maybe he was merely infiltrating the social circle of a high society woman like Melinda Desmond. That was plausible. By a stroke of dumb luck, Yor Briar had gotten into the former First Lady’s good graces. But of course she would be absolutely useless in obtaining any valuable information. Again Nightfall cursed the ill timing of Operation Strix. If it had only started a few weeks later, she could have taken the wife role and become Melinda Desmond’s closest confidante by now. 

As she followed her mentor at a reasonable distance, she couldn’t help but admire his artistry. It was only because she had been looking for him that she could tell the fashionable, gorgeous woman gracefully gliding down the street was actually a man. His expertly made up face drew more than a few admiring eyes. None of them held the slightest confusion over what they were seeing.

Twilight slipped into a cafe and disappeared into the back, beyond Nightfall’s vantage point from the street. She would have to go inside to see what he was doing there. As she silently debated how she could enter without him noticing, another familiar face rounded the corner.

Franky Franklin, Twilight’s informant and the most ridiculous man Nightfall had ever met, paused at the door to straighten his bowtie and take a deep breath, as if psyching himself up for something. The gears in Nightfall’s head whirred into overdrive. What was going on?

She managed to turn away nonchalantly and continue inspecting her purse when Franky suddenly looked up in her direction. Right. As goofy as the informant appeared, he had keen survival instincts and was good at his trade. She could not underestimate him.

Soon he seemed to shrug off his suspicion and went into the cafe without a backward glance.

Nightfall ducked into the convenience store across the street and took a moment to recompose herself. What on earth was going on? Was Twilight trying to honey trap his own informant? That made absolutely no sense. No, Franky had to know that the woman he was meeting with was Twilight. The two men had been working together for years, almost as long as Twilight had been an active agent in Ostania.

Then…

It could only mean…

What, exactly?

Try as she might, Nightfall could not make heads or tails of the situation. Part of her wondered if she was still asleep and this was just a long elaborate dream her brain had rebelliously vomited out of the depths of her sleep deprivation. She pinched herself to check that she was indeed awake and in the real world. 

She could continue to stand around and wait for one of them to emerge. Or she could take a risk and go into the cafe and hope neither of them would notice her presence. In her current jittery state, there was no way she could remain under the radar. 

It was just her luck that the cafe door opened and the two men, one disguised as a woman, walked out onto the street, coffee cups in hand. They chatted amiably as if they were good friends. No…more than that. Nightfall felt sick. They looked to be romantically involved. They weren’t holding hands, but their body language said it all. The way they were walking so close together. How Twilight covered his mouth with one dainty hand and laughed at one of Franky’s stupid jokes. The sheer happiness in Franky’s face.

What. The. Fuck. Was. Going. On.

Twilight would never have done this of his own accord, to act out this lurid fantasy for his romantically hopeless informant. That had to be what it was. Franky had grown so desperate, so lonely and pathetic, that he had somehow blackmailed Twilight into pretending to be his girlfriend. What kind of damning information had he gotten a hold of that would force the legendary spy to stoop so low?

Nightfall seethed with all the rage of a primordial monster out of ancient myths. She would get to the bottom of this and rescue her beloved from the abject misery he had somehow fallen into.

Chapter Text

By mid-day, Franky had the unnerving sense that someone was following him.

He was out making the rounds to his network. Some stops were merely to collect the latest salient rumors, hints on where the SSS would crack down next, whispers on notable deals struck between major players. Other stops were for a specific purpose. This week, it was to gather the intel Twilight needed on an up-and-coming chemicals and explosives supplier in the underground.

Whoever was tailing him was quite good. They stayed out of sight and at a distance, and always managed to find someplace to hide even when Franky purposely entered wide open spaces to try to draw them out. He was reasonably sure it was just one person. He sensed only one pair of eyes on him and detected no hints that they had a partner. Probably not the SSS then. A private detective? A hitman? 

His mind raced at the possibilities. Franky made sure to maintain a reputation of trustworthiness and generosity when he could afford it. He would rather go hungry than make a late payment to one of his contacts. Still, his track record wasn’t perfect. His tendency to get carried away when it came to women—buying cigars he didn’t even like from Monica’s shop, for example—carried a hefty price tag and sometimes landed him in debt. He owed a couple of friends money at the moment. Money he wouldn’t be able to pay back for a while for obvious reasons. Women again. And Twilight’s miserliness.

But Franky considered both of those men his friends. They wouldn’t go so far as to send muscle after him without talking to him first. So then, who could his tail be?

He hoped he hadn’t compromised his morning stops. Ever since he’d realized someone was watching him, he had avoided approaching anyone outright, merely making discreet hand signals from afar to alert them of the danger. He made one last stop at the race track, caught Teller’s attention from across the street, and gave him the no-go.

This was not good. He would somehow have to get the news to Twilight, too. He was supposed to babysit Anya tonight, but there was no way he would give away the Forgers’ home residence to some unknown stalker. Perhaps the best way was simply to go back to his cigarette stand and camp there. If he were lucky, the spy would drop by on his way home from the hospital.

A block away from his cigarette stand, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The unnerving presence had suddenly vanished. In his experience, that didn’t bode well.

He only had a couple of self-defense items on him, and neither of them were lethal. Just pepper spray and a switchblade. He had never actually stabbed anyone before and prayed he wouldn’t have to. But who was he kidding? A tail this good was undoubtedly well-trained and would disarm him in an instant. 

His heart began to pound in anticipation. Any moment now, someone might jump him. His best bet was to keep acting normal and stay in the middle of the street, far away from any alleys and dark corners. 

By some miracle, maybe Twilight was nearby and would notice he was in trouble—

“Franklin,” a deadpan voice sounded right behind his ear. 

Franky stumbled so badly he nearly fell against a parked car, but an arm snaked around his waist in a steadying hold. 

“Come with me,” Grumpy Lady said. 

She had plastered a frozen, fake smile on her face to deter suspicion from curious passersby. He registered belatedly that she still had her arm around him, as if they were dating. For once, he didn’t blush or stutter or tremble. Not out of attraction, anyway. Not to this woman.

No, he was shaking from adrenaline. The nerve! She had dared to follow him all day, making him fear for his life and the safety of his associates, and then suddenly decided to throw a jumpscare at him out in broad daylight?

“What do you want—erk!”

She dragged him toward an alleyway, playing it off as two overenthusiastic lovers needing some alone time. 

“Jeez, what’s your problem?” he said once she let go of him roughly. He brushed off his jacket and leaned against the wall, keeping a respectable distance from her perpetual glower. “Why couldn’t you have just waited until I got to my stand?”

“I grew impatient with how slow you were walking. And I don’t want any customers of yours to interrupt.” The woman looked him up and down like he was nothing more than a scuttling cockroach. “Now I’m only going to ask this once, and you either come clean or I break your nose. What do you have on Twilight?”

“What?”

Her fingers curled into a fist.

“Whoa, whoa! I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Can you at least give me some context?” Franky sputtered.

The spy’s one visible eye narrowed further. He could almost feel the red hot rage emanating from her normally icy demeanor. What the hell had he done to piss her off this much? They hadn’t run into each other for months.

“Wednesday, 1:16 PM. You entered the Armory Cafe and exited with a tall blonde woman.”

Franky felt all the blood drain from his face. So his sixth sense had been right that day. For a brief moment, he’d thought someone was watching him. He’d shaken it off as a false alarm and gone ahead with his practice session anyway. But there had indeed been someone watching. This woman. One of Twilight’s WISE colleagues, who Franky put up with just to stave off her threats of calling the SSS on him. Even though he had flirted with her the first time they’d met, she was the only beautiful woman toward whom he felt zero attraction. She was too much of a pain in the ass.

“Yeah, and?” he ventured, on the slight chance she hadn’t drawn the right conclusion.

Wrong move. She grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him against the wall, knocking his glasses askew.

“Okay, okay!” he rushed to say, putting his hands up in surrender. Twilight was going to kill him for this. “But you have to swear on your life not to tell anyone! For his sake. Not mine.”

“What do you have on him?” she repeated venomously. 

She clearly had the wrong idea and thought that Franky had blackmailed Twilight. Franky certainly had plenty of blackmail material on him. But he wasn’t that kind of guy.

It also struck Franky as odd that she was so worked up about it.

“We made a deal. I’m not twisting his arm at all, okay? Don’t worry, WISE’s superstar spy isn't compromised. Now would you put me down? It’s getting hard to breathe.”

She huffed and loosened her grip on his collar. His feet landed back on the ground and he dusted himself off again.

“A deal? Why would he make a deal with you?” 

It was the most condescending tone a woman had ever taken with him. And that said a lot.

“You do know we’re friends, right? We go way back.” Now that he’d recovered from the initial fright, Franky wasn’t going to cower in front of her. He was beginning to suspect some incriminating truths about her, too. 

She scoffed outright. The second most condescending noise he’d ever heard.

“Twilight doesn’t have petty human attachments. None of us do. It’s incompatible with the path we’ve chosen.”

“Wow. You have even more of a stick up your ass than he does.” He ignored how she seethed at the fact he still wasn’t taking her seriously. “Well, believe what you will, but we did make a deal, fair and square. I wanted dating lessons. He wanted free babysitting and intel. We shook on it, and here we are.”

“Dating lessons?” she all but shrieked, then remembered they were trying to avoid attention and hissed through her teeth instead. “That’s what you’re wasting Twilight’s time on? Do you have any idea how valuable his time is? He’s single-handedly stopped nuclear missile launches. Prevented assassinations of senior government officials. Kept the peace—”

“Yeah yeah, I get it. I know his resume. But what does it matter to you if he voluntarily agreed to it? Go ask him yourself. I didn’t force him into anything.”

“It matters because this is blatantly unprofessional! A complete waste of his talent! If our superior found out about this, she would pull him from the field and throw him into retraining!”

That sounded like a gross exaggeration, but Franky agreed that Twilight would have a tough time avoiding an unpleasant punishment from his handler in this case. 

“If you think so highly of Twilight, then surely you can trust his ability to make rational decisions. Right?” he pressed. 

“He’s lost his edge since Strix began,” the woman spat, then ground her teeth together as if physically restraining herself from revealing the rest of her thoughts on the matter. She was practically turning red from the effort. 

Franky tried not to smirk as he poked the hornet’s nest some more. Just one more test, and he could confirm his hypothesis. “But the whole point of this is to help him succeed on Strix. More time for dates with his wife.”

“Fake wife,” she corrected at once, her aura darkening vengefully. Her entire posture shifted, both hands tightening into fists. 

He did smirk then, and almost laughed as her uncovered eye widened in horrified realization. 

“Somebody sounds jealous,” he commented, and immediately backed into the wall as she took one menacing step forward. Before she could lay hands on him, he added in a rush, “Let’s make a deal! I keep your secret, you keep mine.”

In the back of his mind, he wondered if Twilight knew about his colleague’s rather obvious crush on him. Twilight had never mentioned anything of the sort, but then again he never discussed anything ‘non-essential’ with Franky anyway. 

The woman had chosen to hunt Franky down instead of confronting Twilight directly. That, and the fact she was nearly radiating steam from mortification and fury at being outsmarted, seemed to tell him this was a closely guarded secret.

“WISE stays in the dark about this. I mean, if you want to talk to Twilight about it, fine. Man needs to be taken down a few pegs,” he said. She bristled at the casual insult against the object of her affections. “Otherwise, no harm done. If anything, it’s saving you guys money.”

Her jaw worked subtly as she considered his offer. Franky suppressed a laugh at the fact she had gone through all this trouble out of the erroneous belief that he’d blackmailed Twilight, only to wind up trapped in blackmail against herself. 

“Well?” he prompted. Man, it felt good to one-up these arrogant spies once a while.

“Fine,” she gritted out. Her fingers twitched as if she wanted nothing more than to choke the life out of him.

“Alright then. Nice chat and all, but I have to get back to my stand. You made me miss all my major stops today, by the way. It’ll delay the intel job I’m doing for Twilight. I’ll have to explain that to him somehow.”

“I’m sure he won’t be too surprised,” she said derisively. “What can he expect from a rat like you?”

Despite knowing that she hated his guts, the insult stung harder than anything else she’d said. He shook it off and put on his most professional smile. 

“To stay under the radar and away from traps,” he answered. “Hope you can do the same. See ya around, Grumpy Lady.”

Chapter Text

Anya was beginning to understand why Becky loved mushy shows so much. 

The past few weeks, reading the minds of her parents and Uncle Scruffy had been the best entertainment she had ever come across in her young life. It was even more exciting and full of surprises than the Bondman movie Scruffy had taken her to see in the cinema last week. 

Anya was used to keeping secrets, both her own and those of the grown-ups around her. From the start, she knew her Papa was the top spy of the West and had to hide his true identity from everyone, even Mama. And Mama was the top assassin in the East, and had to hide her nighttime job from everyone, including Papa. Especially Papa. Mama worried a lot that Papa would be horrified and run away with Anya if he ever found out that she stabbed lots of bad guys, sometimes dozens in a single night. 

But now there were even more secrets, so many that Anya’s head spun trying to keep track of them all. Sure, they were the mushy, lovey-dovey kind of secrets that usually made her zone out whenever Becky gushed about the latest Berlint in Love episode, but Anya found these particular ones fascinating and mysterious. Although she couldn’t understand half of what was going on in this real life drama playing out around her, she found the guessing to be part of the fun. She got to play detective and hunt for clues in the grown-ups’ minds and try to piece together what each of them wanted out of the deal Papa and Scruffy had made. Or at least Papa thought it was just a deal. Scruffy saw it as his own personal mission. ‘Operation Fishnet’ was what he called it in his mind.

Anya had figured out that it all started with Scruffy. He was the most fun grown-up she knew, after all. Scruffy had gotten tired of ladies rejecting him, so he had asked Papa to help him be more of a ladies’ man. He made Papa pretend to be a lady so he could practice, or ‘role-play’ as Anya’s teachers at Eden sometimes made the class do so that History and Literature lessons could be more interesting. Papa had agreed to turn into Girl Papa three times a week for Scruffy.

Girl Papa was very pretty. Anya had never seen her in real life, only in Scruffy’s mind. Scruffy thought about her a lot. A lot a lot. She was just as tall as Papa and had the same color hair, but it was long and wavy and shiny. She wore fancy clothes and shoes and those stretchy invisible socks that Anya hated wearing because they were always too tight. She wore makeup that made her even prettier. Her lipstick was light pink. Scruffy thought about that color a lot. He also liked her smile and laugh. He got all mushy inside when he thought about her giggle and how she covered her mouth shyly.

Scruffy’s mind got all staticky like a messed up TV when he remembered that Girl Papa was actually Papa most of the time. He didn’t like Papa like that. He thought of Papa like most of the boys at school thought of each other. They were friends and played together, but also called each other names and pushed each other down randomly. 

Scruffy got sad sometimes. When he let Anya watch TV, sometimes his mind wandered to the date that he had had earlier that day with Girl Papa. He tried to be happy about it, but then he reminded himself Papa was coming home with Mama later that night and he would be Regular Papa then. Not Girl Papa.

Grown-ups sure were confusing.

Papa was confusing too. Anya wasn’t able to catch many of his thoughts about Operation Fishnet because Papa was very good at separating things out in his mind. Anything he didn’t want to think about, he put away neatly, like filing papers in his desk drawers. The few times she had heard him think about his dates with Scruffy, he was usually complaining to himself. Girl Papa took a long time to create. She used a lot of makeup, and her clothes were uncomfortable, and early on her shoes were too tight and made Papa’s feet bleed. Papa also had to be extra careful to hide Girl Papa from anyone who might recognize him. He had to change into Girl Papa in a different bathroom each time. 

It had taken Anya a while to put together the puzzle pieces on why Papa was doing all of this if Girl Papa annoyed him so much. On the surface, he told himself he wanted the free babysitting and Scruffy’s detective work. And he did enjoy going out with Mama more often. But, he also secretly liked being Girl Papa, just a little bit.

And that was because Girl Papa reminded him of Mama. And Papa liked Mama a lot. 

Papa had liked Mama for a while. Anya had been Papa’s daughter long enough to know that when he shoved a thought away too quickly into the desk drawers of his mind, it meant that it had to be true. He did that a lot when he was around Mama. He would hear Mama laugh at something Anya said and feel happy, like he wanted to hear her laugh again, but then he would force himself to forget about it. He saw how hard she worked to learn how to cook, and sometimes when he ate the less-and-less burnt eggs and toast she made for breakfast, his thoughts would get soft and floaty until he flicked them away. Lately, when Mama came out of her room all dressed up for a date, his mind would go blank for a bit and his heart would beat a little faster, before he straightened up and recited his theme song: it’s for the mission.

Mama had liked Papa for a long time, too. But she was not as good at hiding her thoughts. Her thoughts were hard to read for a different reason. When Mama thought about Papa, her mind often ran too fast, like how Mama’s legs could run faster than a car. Her thoughts split in many directions, asking all sorts of questions that Anya couldn’t keep track of. Over time Anya caught on to a few that kept repeating. Am I good enough? Is he just being nice? Isn’t this just for the cover? 

And lately: Is he cheating?

Anya had only heard of cheating on a test at school. But Mama and Papa were too old to go to school. She had no idea what Mama meant, so she asked Becky one day. Becky got all excited because she thought Anya finally wanted to watch Berlint in Love. In the end, Anya learned that cheating was when a Mama or a Papa kissed someone they weren’t married to. 

Anya had to know more. Why would Mama think Papa was cheating? Papa liked her so much! He never had lovey-dovey thoughts about other Mamas. Even though he had had lots of fake girlfriends in the past, it had always been ‘for the mission,’ and he hated remembering them. 

After a few weeks, Anya figured it out at last. Mama thought that Girl Papa was a real person. A different person from Papa. She thought that Papa was in love with Girl Papa. 

Dumb Papa! He really was ‘slipping,’ as he often told himself these days. Sometimes he was in such a hurry to get home on time that he didn’t wipe off all the lipstick or perfume from Girl Papa. No one else noticed except Mama, because Mama was good at noticing small things about Papa. She looked at him with lovey-dovey eyes a lot when he wasn’t paying attention. 

Anya didn’t know what to do. It was obvious that Papa and Scruffy didn’t want anyone to know about Operation Fishnet, least of all Mama. When Papa was especially annoyed at Girl Papa’s tight-fitting clothes some days, he would think to himself that he would beat up Scruffy if anyone ever found out about this. 

Anya settled for trying to comfort her Mama the best way she knew how. She snuggled with her more during bedtime and praised her cooking and even ate some of the burnt, weird-looking bits. She reminded her she was strong and byoo-tee-ful and the best Mama in the world. But while it always made Mama smile, her thoughts were not as happy as they used to be. 

Anya had to do something about this! If Mama thought Papa loved someone else, she might give up and leave! Or worse, she might accuse Papa of cheating and then Papa would have to tell her about Girl Papa, and then Mama would ask how he had learned to dress up as a lady so perfectly, and he would be ‘compromised’ and have to leave! And Scruffy would probably get beaten up real bad.

Scruffy was babysitting Anya again tonight. He gave her an odd look after Mama and Papa left for their date, because she was quiet for once. She even shushed him when he opened his mouth to suggest a new game. 

“Anya’s thinking!” she scolded. She leaned forward with her elbows on the table and narrowed her eyes, holding her head in her hands, as she had seen Papa do when he was trying to solve a hard problem.

“Uh, okay. I’ll go warm up your dinner, then,” he said with a shrug. She sorta looks like that grumpy spy lady with those eyes.

Grumpy Spy Lady? Anya perked up while Scruffy’s back was turned in the kitchen. Had he just run into Scary Lady?

Anya spent most of dinnertime in silence, combing Scruffy’s distracted thoughts for more clues of what had happened today. She knew he hadn’t had a date with Girl Papa, because otherwise he would have been thinking about her non-stop. 

She caught bits and pieces of the argument Scruffy had with Scary Lady in an alleyway. It was just like when Bondman was cornered by goons and had to kick them into a dumpster! But today Scary Lady had almost thrown Scruffy into a dumpster. She was mad about Scruffy dating Girl Papa. Huh. Anya thought she only cared about Regular Papa.

And…

Scruffy felt proud. Like when Anya got to brag to all her classmates and they actually listened and oo’ed and aah’ed. He was proud because he found out Scary Lady’s secret. She liked Papa a lot. It was ‘prime blackmail material.’

What was blackmail? Anya imagined a black envelope stuck to Scary Lady’s forehead, taped to her curtain-like bangs.

Scruffy stared at her in surprise all of a sudden. Anya realized she had asked the question out loud. Oh no! Evasive ma-noo-vers! Lie like Papa!

“I saw it in Spy Wars. A bad guy gave Bondman blackmail,” she explained, and hoped Scruffy would believe it. Grown-ups almost always believed her, because they thought mind-reading was impossible.

“You don’t give someone blackmail,” Scruffy said. The furrow in his brow smoothed out. “You can have blackmail on someone. Or you simply blackmail someone. You hold it over their heads like a bully who’s taller than you might dangle your favorite toy.”

“Are you a bully, Scruffy?”

“What, me? No! No, never! I was the one who got bullied as a kid.”

“Then what is it like when someone has blackmail on you?”

He gave her a questioning look before shrugging it off. Really into that spy show. Not sure if I should let her watch so many hours of it. 

“Hmm. Tell me something funny or embarrassing you know about your friends. That snooty boy, Damian?”

Anya had a ton of embarrassing intel on Sy-on Boy. But what could she tell Scruffy without looking like she knew too much?

“He…uh…he’s scared of bugs.” Yeah. That was a safe one. 

Scruffy nodded knowingly. “Excellent. From what you’ve told me about him, he wants to project extreme confidence, like he’s the boss. His friends literally call him Boss Man, right?”

“Yeah!”

“How do you think his friends and the rest of the school would react if they all knew Boss Man was scared of harmless little bugs?”

Anya wasn’t so sure. A lot of her classmates were scared of bugs. Most of them were rich and lived in super clean houses with servants to sweep away all the spiders and swat all the flies before they even saw them.

“Uh…they would…laugh?” Anya would laugh, at least.

“Exactly. They would point and laugh at him, and realize he isn’t so cool and tough after all,” Scruffy said with a sly smile. He had remembered a certain mean boy from his own childhood, and how he had played a prank on that boy as revenge. “And Damian would feel embarrassed and panic over how he could possibly gain his reputation back.”

That did sound like Sy-on Boy. He was always afraid that someone would find out he didn’t actually know everything like he said he did. Or that he had nice feelings about Anya sometimes and felt bad when she cried.

“So…should Anya blackmail Sy-on Boy?” She had trouble remembering why they were on this topic in the first place.

“It’s all about timing. And you need to have an end goal in mind. Sure, it’s nice to take someone down a few pegs, especially if they’ve been pushing you around a long time. But blackmail works best when you want your enemy to do something specific for you. Something they usually wouldn’t do, or that costs them a lot.”

“Wow, Scruffy, you really sound like a bad guy.”

“No, no, there’s a difference. I happen to know a lot about…” 

Scruffy trailed off. He’d been about to say your dad. But he didn’t want to be a ‘bad influence.’ 

“…a lot of people. But I don’t blackmail them, because I’m a nice guy. Even my enemies, I don’t try to hurt them unless they back me into a corner and give me no choice. With great power comes great responsibility!”

Scruffy was starting to sound like Papa when he gave his lectures on being a good student and a model sit-ee-zin.

“So then…when should Anya use her great power?”

“That’s tricky. But when you feel like they’re really out to get you, maybe by embarrassing you in front of the class or being extra mean and nasty, you spring the trap. Do it in private. You pull them aside and tell them in a low threatening whisper exactly what kind of dirt you have on them. Enough to sink them for life. Or at least a week or however long first graders can remember anything.”

“Hmm.”

Scruffy had given Anya a lot to consider. She had collected all sorts of boring, embarrassing, and weird facts about her classmates, but hadn’t imagined they could be used as traps. She felt like she had just discovered a brand new continent, like what Professor Henderson had mentioned in History about the first Europan voyages to the Americias. The possy-bill-ities were endless.

Chapter Text

Twilight’s date with Yor was progressing nicely tonight. He had chosen a restaurant by the harbor, with a corner table right next to the window. Of course, he gave Yor the better seat so she had an unobstructed view of the sunset over the river. While she admired the display of natural color and the many boats lined up at the docks, he studied how the fading sunlight cast a warm hue across her delicate features.

Yor was objectively beautiful. Twilight would have to be blind to deny that. And as much as he told himself it didn’t matter what his cover wife looked like as long as she didn’t get in the way of the mission, he considered it quite a bonus that Yor was very pleasing to the eye. It was easy to spend hours in her company every day, as the mission would probably last more than a year, even a couple years according to his latest estimates. 

By now, Twilight had come to acknowledge the calming effect his cover wife had on him as well as Anya. Yor added warmth and a quiet, stabilizing energy to every room she stepped into. And it wasn’t only because of her beauty. It was the way she always put others’ needs before her own. She was polite and thoughtful toward everyone she met. She even treated Bond with the utmost respect as if he were a human. And she did it without a hint of resentment or the expectation of reciprocation. She gave of her time and energy freely, and it remained a mystery to him just how deep the well of her generosity ran. 

Twilight could fake a generous temperament, sure. He could even do it for long stretches of time very convincingly. He did it every day at Berlint General, and had thereby won the fawning admiration and trust of all the hospital staff. But internally, he had little compassion or interest in any of the personal lives and petty problems of the people around him. 

Yor was forgiving and kind not only to her family and friends, but to people who were openly hostile and condescending toward her. Her City Hall coworkers were foremost on that list. All those months ago at Camilla’s party, when the hostess had aired Yor’s dirty laundry for all to see, Yor hadn’t defended herself or sought payback. It struck him as incredibly noble when he happened to think back on it. She never spoke ill of Camilla or the other women, even though Twilight knew they still gave her a hard time now and then. Instead, she always made sure to mention when they’d done her a small favor or graciously invited her to dinner, as if she had received some great privilege.

If anything was a privilege, it was to be Yor’s family. Her fake husband. As much as he tried to shove the thoughts aside, spending so much time with her on these dates made it impossible not to admire her as a partner. In his efforts to keep up the act of a doting husband, he found that for once his actions and sentiments had started to align. The affable, harmless front of Loid Forger was still fake. But his reassuring words, his chivalrous care, the thoughtfulness he put into all the details of each date, were not.

If his handler knew, she would tell him it was a problem. Agent Twilight from a year ago would have agreed. 

But right now, he had a more important problem to worry about.

Despite all the romantic dates he’d had with Yor lately, she seemed unhappier than before. Of course, she tried to hide it, as she did with any negative emotions, so as not to inconvenience him. 

At first he’d wondered if she was actually interested in him, and wanted him to move faster. He’d thought she had made her disinterest clear with her violent rejections early on. But it was possible she had warmed up to him, and now desired something more. When he turned up the charm the slightest bit or tried to initiate physical contact, though, she still tensed up and shied away. He knew she wasn’t playing hard to get. Yor was incapable of such guile.

As part of their routine casual conversations about their day-to-day work, he had tried to figure out if her coworkers were causing her any trouble. But that didn’t seem to be it either. 

Nothing had happened in Yuri’s life to make her worried for him.

Nothing about Anya either.

Whatever it was, she apparently didn’t want to tell him. He tried to see her reticence in a positive light. She was still willing to go on dates, and didn’t give any signals that she was having a bad time or wanted to cut their time short. That seemed to suggest that her problem wasn’t with him. 

But then he truly had no idea what it could be. And as with any unsolved mystery, it bothered him to no end. He couldn’t suppress his deeply ingrained instinct to hunt after the truth. Even if it was none of his business. 

It was his business, in a way. If his cover wife were unhappy, it would undoubtedly be detrimental to his mission. Perhaps not right away, but over time it would chip away at his cover and the home environment he’d so carefully curated for Anya. He had to get to the bottom of this soon.

Near the end of dinner, Twilight drew out a small box from his pocket. It was flat and rectangular, so it couldn’t be mistaken for a ring box. Yor might have a heart attack otherwise.

Still, her eyes widened to almost comical proportions as he held the unassuming velvet box out in one palm. Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a loud gasp. He merely chuckled and gave her a reassuring smile.

“I realized you don’t wear that much jewelry, which is a pity. Your gold earrings and that pearl necklace look really nice on you. This is just a little trinket I saw in a window and thought you might like. I won’t be offended if you don’t, though.” 

“Loid, I could never—” She cut herself off with another gasp as he opened the box to reveal a delicate gold chain interspersed with petal-shaped rubies. “Oh…”

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the elderly couple at a nearby table watching them with fondness. It wasn’t a proposal, but surprise gifts of jewelry were quite romantic when given in public. 

Yor became even more self-conscious as she noticed their onlookers as well. She hurriedly took the box from Loid and clasped it to her chest, then snatched the bracelet up before it could spill from the soft lining.

“Oh, I’m so clumsy. I hardly deserve something so nice. This must have cost a lot, there are so many jewels. Loid, you didn’t have to do this for me.”

He took a major risk and reached for her hand. Slowly and deliberately, so she had plenty of time to draw back. She tensed but didn’t react negatively as his fingers brushed hers.

“I wanted to do this,” he said softly. “We’re married. And yet I’ve never gifted you jewelry. Quite an oversight on my part.”

She glanced at the couple at the next table and nodded. “R—right. I guess I…well, thank you, Loid. I love it.”

He had given her the wrong idea by making it sound like it was only for the cover. He lowered his voice in a way he often did for honey traps, but it was still more genuine than he usually sounded to his own ears.

“You do deserve it, more than anyone. You are a wonderful wife and mother, and I truly appreciate everything you do for me and Anya. I should do a better job of showing it.”

She blushed even more fiercely and stammered something unintelligible. Twilight managed to lift the bracelet from her fingers before she accidentally snapped the chain in her nervousness.

“Here, why don’t you try it on? May I?”

She held out one trembling wrist and nearly flinched at the cool touch of the metal. The clasp was tiny, and it took him a few seconds to maneuver the hook into place. She let out a long breath when he withdrew his hands. 

“It’s so nice,” she repeated, staring down at her wrist. Her gaze flickered up to him, then back down. She bit her lip. 

Twilight’s senses sharpened as they always did when he was on the cusp of eliciting vital intel from a target. Yor had something important to say, but couldn’t figure out how to say it. 

“Loid…we’ve…been going out a lot recently. And now…you gave me this gift. Are you sure…you’re okay spending this much money? It can’t be cheap to cover all these dinners and Franky’s babysitting.” She twiddled her fingers in her lap. Another glance up, then away.

She had inched closer to her true question, but wasn’t there yet.

At the start of all this, part of him had wondered if she would find it odd that Franky had so much free time to babysit. He had a ready answer. “Don’t worry about that, Yor. I recently got a raise at work. And Franky has been looking for some extra income, so I am helping him out in a way. Works out for all of us.”

He could try to coax more out of her, but decided it was better to wait. She was easily spooked and he didn’t want her to make an excuse to dart off to the bathroom all of a sudden. 

“Okay. But are you sure…you want…to spend this much time? With me?” She involuntarily hunched her shoulders in an attempt to make herself smaller.

There it was. After all this time, she was still insecure about her standing in his eyes. 

He had learned his lesson from past mishaps. He could not use the standard honey trap approach in any fashion, not in his facial expression, posture, or tone. He could not touch her. He simply had to be…honest. Which was a very dangerous thing to attempt as a spy.

“I am sure.” He spoke with what he hoped was the right balance between softness and confidence. “I truly appreciate you. And I enjoy spending time together.“

There was more he could say. He could assert that she deserved to be treated well. She had worked so hard her whole life to take care of her brother, and now she was pouring the same zeal into raising Anya. He could tell her the many things he appreciated about her, and why he enjoyed spending time with her.

But he had to move slowly and cautiously. Too much all at once, and she might close up or flee or lash out. 

They were in the midst of a delicate dance. One that was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. In the past when he had honey trapped targets who were inexperienced or shy, he sometimes refrained from declaring his own ‘feelings’ so as to get a better unmuddied picture of how far along they were in their attraction to him. Both he and the woman would play their cards close to the chest until little by little he discerned how she felt toward him and how much she trusted him.

This dance was unfamiliar because he truly did not know how Yor felt, if her skittishness stemmed from budding attraction or from unease at receiving so much attention and feeling obligated to reciprocate. He had misread her too many times before. He could not afford to mess up again.

“Are you okay with it? With spending all this time together?” he ventured before the silence could grow too awkward.

“Yes, of course,” she said quietly, but there was little conviction in it.

”Yor, you know you can tell me anything, right?” It was a tried and true line he rather hated using on Yor, but she was giving him so little to work with that he had to resort to dirtier tactics. “If something’s bothering you, I want to know, so I can help you. I promise I’ll do my best to fix it, or just to listen to whatever’s on your mind.”

Yor nodded, still having trouble meeting his gaze. Her smile didn’t touch her eyes. “Thank you, Loid. You’re always so considerate.”

Twilight debated whether to keep pushing, but Yor seemed determined in her soft, apologetic way not to disclose anything more. Before he could create a mental map of his options, the dessert arrived, and the pattern of chocolate sauce on his plate caught his eye immediately. 

A cipher. He suppressed a groan.

He’d made his annoyance known to Sylvia the previous times WISE had sent him messages during dinner dates or outings with his family. Especially on his food. Before Strix, he wouldn’t have cared, but now, it almost felt purposely rude.

The waiter soon delivered the rest of the information about the upcoming mission via the check. There was a barely noticeable watermark on the slip of paper, which he’d have to decipher fully at home. But the basic parameters already made him frown.

“Loid?” Yor asked. “Did they get the amount wrong? Or is it more expensive than you thought? Here, why don’t I pick it up this time?”

“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong,” he said, snapping out of his momentary distraction. The mission would take at least three days, and he’d have to travel to the other side of the country. Last time he’d been away that long, the Red Circus had terrorized Eden Academy and taken Anya and the rest of her classmates hostage. He quickly slipped cash into the slim leather folder and closed it before Yor could try to take it from him.

While normally he’d try to extend the date with a leisurely walk along the pier, he instead drove them home with an excuse about giving Franky a bit of a break tonight. He would need to tell Franky about the new mission in any case, and might even need his help with intel-gathering beforehand. 

The bracelet glinted on Yor’s wrist as they passed innumerable streetlights on the way home. She remained politely silent and unreadable to him in her hidden unhappiness. As concerning as this was, he begrudgingly put it aside for now, for the sake of the mission.

—

There was another woman in Twilight’s life who seemed unhappy with him as of late. He saw her every weekday at the hospital, efficiently managing his calendar of patient appointments and meetings, and passing along news from their handler when relevant. 

It had taken him a while to realize that Nightfall’s perpetual stony glare was darker and more menacing than usual. But she was a highly trained agent, whom he’d mentored personally. If she had a problem she needed to discuss with him, it was up to her to bring it up. 

He was about to brush it off as another marker of her aggressive ambition to get ahead in her career when he noticed another red flag.

It was part of basic training for spies to memorize their surroundings and the exact locations of their belongings and equipment. It was essential to stay on alert for signs of tampering. Any given moment, Twilight knew the exact orientation in which he had left his briefcase against his desk – standing straight up, at a slight lean, or flat on the floor. He knew what each compartment in the briefcase held, and which ones were empty. He even knew if the items in the briefcase were face-down or face-up. 

So, when he happened to inspect the briefcase holding his Gisela disguise, he noticed immediately that the wig was not arranged in the same position as he’d left it. An amateur wouldn’t have noticed, especially for something as haphazard in appearance as a wig, but he was the best agent at WISE. Such signs were often a matter of life or death, buying him precious minutes or seconds to escape before the SSS arrived in force.

A quick review of the rest of the briefcase showed slight signs of tampering as well. His notebook was an inch or two to the right from where it usually sat in a side pocket. The small boxes that held clip-on earrings and other jewelry were turned 90 degrees from how he had left them. 

Someone had looked through his briefcase and then put everything back in what they believed to be perfect order. But they weren’t as good as he was. 

Standard procedure was to evacuate ASAP after warning fellow agents in the vicinity and sending a signal to his handler. He strode into the corridor and found Nightfall.

“Early lunch?” was all he needed to say. 

Nightfall broke off her conversation with a physician’s assistant even as the latter tried to recommend her favorite lunch spot to them. They hurried down the stairs until they reached the garage stairwell where they could soon get to an escape vehicle, their footsteps echoing lightly against the concrete floors.

“Have you seen my briefcase?” he said as if making light conversation. It was code for compromised belongings. 

To his surprise, Nightfall halted all of a sudden. He turned around and looked up at where she stood several steps above him, her posture ramrod straight and almost…nervous. Odd. Nightfall never appeared nervous, at least not the way most people did.

“Fiona?” he prompted. “My briefcase?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I inspected it to ensure nothing was forgotten, Doctor.”

It took him a second to process what she was saying. Then his shoulders deflated and he leaned against the cold metal railing with a deep sigh of relief. His identity wasn’t compromised. He was safe.

From the SSS, at least.

“Why the hell did you snoop through my things?” he demanded in a sharp whisper. 

Shit. She hadn’t snooped through a random desk drawer or one of his many other identical-looking briefcases. She had specifically rifled through the one that held his feminine disguise. But it was none of her business. She and the rest of WISE were well aware that he sometimes had to impersonate women. He could play it off as a sensitive mission she wasn’t privy to. He could tell her that—

“There are better ways to save money for our employer, Doctor,” she said. 

He paused.

“What?”

She pressed her lips together, clearly displeased. “You’re doing this to secure free babysitting and research. But it’s hardly a worthwhile trade for a professional of your caliber.”

Shit. She knew. She must have followed him to one of his sessions with Franky and then looked in his briefcase for the evidence. He cursed her needless ambition to get ahead at any cost. Was she really so unscrupulous as to stalk him and threaten him with blackmail? 

How did she know what he was getting out of the deal? Had she interrogated Franky? But his informant would have told him right away if Nightfall had approached him. 

“What the hell, Fiona?” he hissed through his teeth, a deep sense of betrayal quickly overtaking his embarrassment. “What are you playing at?”

“I am telling you that these appointments are a waste of your time and talent, though your intentions may be noble.”

“What I do during my own appointments is my business and no one else’s. What do you want?”

Again she pursed her lips, and her cold eyes flashed with determination. “I want to offer a better trade on behalf of our employer, so that you can get back to what you do best. I will take your place.”

Of the hundreds of responses Nightfall might have given, this one was the least expected.

“What?” he said again, like a slow child.

“I am still recovering from my injuries and cannot cover the same range of responsibilities as before,” she explained testily. “Allow me to shoulder this burden, so that you are free to pursue more mission-critical tasks.”

He narrowed his eyes. There had to be a catch. Nightfall never went out of her way to help fellow agents without something in it for her. Something that could boost her career and reputation. If this was yet another attempt to muscle her way into Operation Strix, he would–

“Franklin has agreed to undertake several research projects free of charge, to my understanding. He can do them for me instead, in exchange for my time. His services will come in handy when I’m back to full capacity in the near future.”

Ah. So that was her play. She wanted to get a leg up on intel for her own missions, which were often just as challenging as Twilight’s.

“And if he doesn’t accept the deal? As far as I know, we are not equivalent in his eyes,” he said.

When he’d woken up this morning, he had never thought he would be standing in a garage stairwell after a false SSS scare, arguing in bare minimum code with his protege about which one of them his informant would rather date. Fake date.

Nightfall’s one visible eye flashed in what might have been annoyance. Or offense at the implication that Franky would prefer to date a fake woman over a real woman like her. Twilight had no false comfort to offer. In his estimation, most men would prefer to date a fake woman or no woman at all rather than spend their lunch hour talking to an icy wall. Despite his and other agents’ efforts to train her, she had never mastered the delicate art of honey traps, which was supposed to be easier for female agents to begin with.

“If he doesn’t accept it as is, then we can negotiate. Less babysitting, to start.” 

She raised one eyebrow slightly as if knowing this would be a sore point for him. For his part, he managed not to react, not allowing a single tell to manifest in his posture or breathing.

“Surely you don’t need to devote two full nights a week to keeping your wife happy with expensive dinners. No real married man outside of a newlywed would waste so much of his time and money on such an endeavor,” she added, undoubtedly with the intent to provoke.

“Watch it, Fiona,” he warned. “My home life is outside your purview.”

“I’m just saying that our work at the hospital is a matter of life and death. The lives of so many patients depend on us to perform at our best at all times. Especially you, Doctor Forger. Whereas for Franklin, the stakes literally could not be lower.”

Twilight ground his teeth as he forced himself to consider the logic of Nightfall’s argument. He recognized it was a bad sign that he felt so defensive. It wasn’t only that Nightfall could threaten to tell their handler about all of this and land him at the top of her shitlist, the worst place for any agent to be.

It was that he had grown comfortable—comfortable!—with this odd arrangement he’d made with Franky, and the extra free time he could spend with Yor or on his own missions. 

“I fail to understand your reluctance to accept my offer,” she continued, pressing her advantage. He had trained her all too well on this front. “What of actual importance do you have to lose?”

Objectively, she was right. Twilight didn’t need free intel or free babysitting, per se. And the Gisela getup had always carried high risk, requiring extreme caution to slip into the disguise without drawing attention. It would indeed be easier for an actual woman to replace him as Franky’s coach. Even if the woman was an emotionless rock like Nightfall.

And it might be good, albeit painful, for Franky to experience a date with a completely different type of woman from a kindhearted saint like Gisela. Hadn’t he wanted Franky to lose the crutch sooner rather than later?

“Your proposal makes sense,” he said evenly, and swore he saw a flash of triumph in Nightfall’s otherwise stony expression. He suppressed the knee-jerk reaction to bristle and offer self-justifications. There was no room to nurse his injured pride—another lesson he had tried to teach her. An agent had to maintain objectivity at all times and willingly concede they were wrong when it served the greater cause. “But, Franky is a valuable asset. To the hospital. It’s important to keep him happy and cooperative. So we will first conduct a trial period. Next week, I have a three-day business trip to Dresdene. I will inform him that you will be his new…point-of-contact, for the duration of my trip.”

She nodded briskly. Twilight hesitated, then swallowed the bullet-ridden remains of his pride and added, “The department head does not need to know about this. It is beneath their attention.”

She scoffed, and this time he did bristle. “Agreed. Doctor.”

Chapter Text

This time, Franky could sense the spy’s glowering aura before the woman appeared in his direct line of vision. A curtain of lavender bangs covered half of her scowling visage as she pressed a coin very deliberately onto the counter of his cigarette stand. Only she could make the act of buying a stick of chewing gum look passive-aggressive.

“Miss Grumpy,” he said, casually tossing the gum onto the counter. “How’s life been treating you?”

“I’m taking over your lessons on behalf of Doctor Forger,” she said without preamble.

Franky slammed his palm down on the rectangle of gum before she could snatch it away. He glared at her and she glared back. She dug her nails into the plastic wrapping and managed to wrench it free, scratching him in the process. He bit back a curse.

“Taking over?” he snapped. “Says who?”

“Doctor Forger has already agreed. And if–”

“Does he know you’re his number one closet fangirl?”

“AND IF you dare tell him, finding a girlfriend will be the least of your worries. The you-know-who’s will be onto you so fast you won’t have time to put any of those lessons into practice.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “You wanna play dirty? I could threaten you with the exact same fate twice as fast.”

“You can’t do that without endangering Doctor Forger. I’m his assistant at the hospital,” she said with a shark’s smile.

“Well then you can’t threaten me either! I’m his friend! I babysit his kid every week!”

“Fine. I have other ways. I could make you permanently undateable with a single well-placed kick.”

“Really. You’d go there.”

“You and the Quill have seen how I operate firsthand. I always take the quickest route to success.”

Franky ground his teeth. “How did you even bring up the subject and get him to agree?”

Nightfall raised an eyebrow. “You really think he was dying to continue this farce with you? Him, the top doctor at Berlint General, perhaps the entire country?”

That stung, in a confusing way. Yes, Franky felt hurt that his long-time friend would have scorned him in front of a WISE colleague. But deeper than that, he felt like the illusory woman he had come to admire had just brushed him off the first chance she had gotten.

I really enjoyed our date today! See you next time.

You’re so considerate, Franky, thank you.

What a creative idea! You always have a way of thinking outside the box.

But no, all those friendly chats and warm smiles had been fake. As fake as any of Twilight’s masks.

Before he could stumble too far down the spiral staircase of disappointment, he pulled himself back. This lady was far from an unbiased source. No, he had to get to the bottom of this with Twilight next time they saw each other. He wouldn’t fall for her mind games. In fact…

“Well, if I get you as a replacement, I’m not paying anything until you prove your value,” he diverted the topic.

It was her turn to grind her teeth. “One night of babysitting instead of two.”

“Make that zero. And same on the jobs. Why should I pay when I didn’t agree to this in the first place?”

“My threat still stands.”

He guffawed. “Wait, you would threaten to kick me in the balls just for a chance to date me when there’s nothing in it for you? I guess that’s flattering.”

She flushed an angry pink. “I’m just carrying on the deal that you and my colleague made.”

“Lady, I don’t think the good doctor gives a shit whether you replace him or not. In fact I’d rather date nobody than deal with you. So let’s just call it a day and end it here, how about that?”

“No,” she gritted out.

Franky realized then what this was about. She didn’t want to let Twilight down. She knew Twilight was in this for Franky’s generous services, enabling him to enjoy two free nights a week and to get free intel. There were no other babysitters he trusted to spend that much time in his home.

He was reluctantly impressed by her level of dedication and weird streak of altruism. She had to know that this was counterproductive to her own goals, letting Twilight spend more time with Yor. Unless she thought she could impress Twilight with her performance as a dating coach?

Whatever. Franky wasn’t going to dive into this case of abnormal psychology. He was going to take this basket of lemons and figure out a way to make explosives with them. How would she react if he reported back to Twilight with a resolutely negative review of her skills?

He couldn’t wait to find out.

“Alright, fine. What should I call you then, other than Grumpy Lady?” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

Her single eye flashed in seeming victory. “My name is Fiona Frost. But when I see you next, we’ll start again. Prepare yourself.”

She placed a folded piece of paper on the counter, turned around, and strode away. He peered at the neat, tiny handwriting. The time and location of their first session.

Oh, he would be prepared, alright.

—

Franky readily accepted Twilight’s last-minute invitation to dinner at his home that night. Yor had business at City Hall, so they only had to keep Anya occupied with TV while they talked in low voices over the dining table. Oddly, the girl seemed reluctant to sit apart from them, constantly sneaking glances over her shoulder at Franky. Twilight supposed she would find it strange that Franky had eaten dinner with them without having to babysit. 

In any case, once Spy Wars came on, Anya’s eyes were fully riveted on the TV, and Twilight felt free to disclose what had happened at the hospital that day.

“So I have some bad news,” Twilight began.

Franky looked up from his third helping of pasta carbonara and raised an eyebrow.

“Our deal is compromised.”

Franky set down his fork, giving him his full attention. 

“A WISE colleague found out. The woman you’ve helped with a couple of jobs.”

Other than making a face of unique distaste, Franky didn’t interrupt.

“She followed us at some point and discovered the full details of our arrangement. Suffice it to say it was a rather mortifying conversation.” Twilight paused at the continued lack of a verbal response. He narrowed his eyes. “You already know.”

Franky picked up his fork and calmly took another bite. “Yep, I do.”

Twilight sighed in exasperation. “The hell? Why didn’t you just say so when I first dropped by your stand today?”

“Because I would never turn down a free meal,” Franky stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Somebody’s been fleecing me out of my intel and babysitting income.”

“Oh please.” Twilight rolled his eyes. “You just wanted to hold it over my head.”

“That too.”

“When?”

“When did I know that she knew?” Franky paused as if considering which version of events to tell. Twilight made note of this. “She threatened me at my stand earlier today. Said she was going to take your place and that you agreed.”

Twilight bit back his annoyance at the fact his informant had withheld this information the whole afternoon. And that Nightfall had apparently raced out of the hospital right after their conversation in the stairwell to deliver her ultimatum to Franky before Twilight could talk to him first.

“You’re way too calm for today to be the first time you’d talked to her about this,” he accused. “How long, for real?”

“Pass the wine, will you?”

Twilight held the bottle back before Franky could grab it. “How long?”

“She may have…accosted me in an alley last week.”

“Last week?” Twilight sputtered. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, she’s scary as hell.”

“So she forced you to keep silent?” Twilight contemplated this. That seemed in line with Nightfall’s modus operandi. Control every variable possible, often through brute force, so she could proceed on her own terms.

For a moment Franky looked like he wanted to say more, but shook his head with a resigned sigh. 

“What else?” Twilight pressed.

“Just…thinking about the time she called the SSS on me and my contact, then ‘saved’ us so that we’d owe her. She doesn’t fuck around,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper around the curse so Anya wouldn’t hear it.

Twilight was half-sure that wasn’t what Franky had originally been about to say, but let it go. “I proposed a trial period while I’m out of town on a mission next week.”

That got Franky’s attention. “Trial period, huh.”

Of course Nightfall would have omitted that detail. “Yes. Think what you will of me, but I wasn’t going to pawn you off at the drop of a hat.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“I’ll be gone for three days. She’ll stand in for a session or two during that time. I made it clear to her that you’re an important asset to WISE and that she needs to treat you with respect.”

“So kind of you.”

Twilight tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “Franky, what did you tell her?”

A devious half-smirk appeared on his face. “...That I’m paying nothing until she proves she’s worth my time.”

Twilight opened his mouth to object, then closed it begrudgingly. It was within Franky’s right to renegotiate as he saw fit, given he hadn’t chosen for a third party to barge in and mess with the original agreement. 

Nightfall wouldn’t care if Franky stopped babysitting Anya for free. But Twilight had thought the main reason she’d wanted to take over was to get free intel. If Franky had refused that as well, why had she persisted? Out of pure stubbornness?

Twilight’s head was starting to hurt trying to work out the primordial goop of both his informant and his colleague’s motivations, on top of the existing puzzle of his wife’s mind. If there was any combination of two people who could create an unpredictable vortex of absolute chaos, it was Franky and Nightfall being shoved into a fake dating arrangement.

Just then his sixth sense made him glance at the living room, where sure enough, his daughter was peeking over the couch at him and Franky. 

“Anya,” he warned, “what did I tell you about eavesdropping on adult conversations?”

“Count Scruffius is a vampire with no age, he’s not an adult.”

“Don’t make excuses.”

“On the contrary,” Franky said, waggling a finger, “I am more adult than all the adults you know! If being a thousand years old doesn’t make me an adult, I don’t know what does!”

“Acting mature, for one,” Twilight muttered.

“Papa, are you going on a trip?” Anya asked as a commercial break droned on in the background.

“Yes,” he said, wondering what else she had overheard. “But it’s only for three days. And your mother already knows. I’ll make sure to stock the fridge with plenty of meals so you’ll have enough to eat.”

For some reason Anya looked unhappy about this, and came over to climb onto his lap. “I’ll miss you, Papa. And Mama will, too.”

He was acutely aware of Franky’s eyes on him as he tentatively returned Anya’s hug. “Well, it won’t be that long. I’ve been on trips in the past, I thought you might have gotten used to it.”

He ignored how Franky shook his head slightly as if disappointed. At least he hadn’t made a snide comment.

Anya pulled back from his loose hold and frowned up at him. “Will Papa miss us?”

Franky stilled, and Twilight shifted uncomfortably as both of them waited for his answer. 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll miss you,” he said awkwardly, and for once he turned off the part of his brain that catalogued everything he said as a truth, a lie, or something in between. He was just trying to be a normal father. A normal father would miss his wife and child.

“Tell Mama.”

“What?” 

Twilight had heard what Anya said. He just didn’t want to react to it in front of an audience, especially with said audience smirking at him. 

“Tell Mama you’ll miss her,” Anya said.

“Well…I don’t…that’s not really…”

“Tell her, Loid,” Franky said flatly.

Twilight glared at him even as Anya cheered at the support. 

“Don’t let all my free babysitting be for nothing. Don’t drop the ball when it really matters, man,” Franky persisted.

“Alright, alright,” he caved. “I’ll tell her, before I go.”

Chapter Text

It was late morning at City Hall. Yor typed more slowly than usual as she kept losing track of where she was in each sentence. She knew better than to aim for her normal speed in such a distracted state of mind, as she would surely make too many mistakes and have to wad up the paper and start afresh.

I’ll miss you, Yor. 

Loid had gotten up earlier than usual to cook a filling breakfast for her and Anya before leaving for his business trip. He had dressed in a darker, more formal suit, as he planned to arrive directly at the conference center instead of going to his hotel first. Yor had been tempted to stay in her room, feeling terribly plain in her City Hall uniform, her hair arranged under the same old white headband she always wore.

But of course it would have been rude not to show her face on the morning her husband was to leave for three days. And to show her gratitude for his selfless acts of service to the family, even when he should be busy preparing for his research meetings.

Ah, you’re wearing the bracelet. 

Loid had looked so pleased at the sight of the gold chain peeking out from her sleeve. She had blushed and ducked her head, wolfing down her breakfast twice as fast so she could at least do some of the dishes before he got to them. It wouldn’t do for him to dirty his suit. In fact, he’d probably need some more cologne to cover the scent of fried eggs and bacon on his clothes. She thought he looked slightly crestfallen as she scurried off down the hall without explanation, but again that couldn’t be right. Nothing was right nowadays.

Then he’d smiled again, almost relieved, as she came back with the small bottle of cologne he kept behind the bathroom mirror. Their fingers had brushed as he took it from her and unscrewed the tiny cap. She couldn’t help but watch the simple movements of his long, deft fingers as he dabbed the transparent liquid on his neck. As always, she’d stammered and nearly tripped over herself when he looked up at her and she realized she’d been staring.

Then there was the goodbye. He’d had to leave before Anya woke up, so it was just the two of them standing at the doorway. Usually she held his briefcase while he put on his shoes, but today his briefcase rested on top of his suitcase, a matching set. So she had simply stood there, trying not to fidget too much while he took one last glance around the apartment before his gaze settled on her.

Nothing was right nowadays, but he had still looked at her like he truly cared about her, and her alone. He hadn’t touched her, but he had said the words with such genuine warmth: I’ll miss you, Yor.

She could not remember how she had responded. Likely with a jumble of unintelligible sounds, which he had interpreted charitably like he always did. A slight tilt of his head, a wave and a smile, and the door closed behind him.

Why was she wearing the bracelet? She pondered the question as she moved mechanically around the apartment, trying to ignore the heavy, solitary silence after Loid had left. Anya tried to cheer her up, saying Papa would be back soon, and that he would definitely miss them both, and would call them as soon as he could, and Mama should be happy. 

I am happy, she tried to insist, but Anya always had an uncanny ability to see through her halfhearted excuses and smiles she didn’t feel.

Yor fiddled with the ruby charms on the chain as she took the metro to work. It was good for releasing a tiny bit of nervous energy, at least. And for appearances. Always for appearances. 

That was what their marriage was for. Keeping up appearances, so that the SSS wouldn’t suspect her of being a spy or anything else nefarious. She had no right to expect anything more of Loid. For a long time, she had been content with the lack of expectations on both sides.

But then he had started taking her out on fancy dinner dates more often. Sometimes twice a week, always at a different upscale locale. He gave her his full attention for hours, no longer politely hurrying the conversation along so that he could get back to his work—a habit from before, which he probably thought she was too socially inept to have noticed. 

The force of Loid Forger’s full attention was almost too much for her to bear. She’d buckled under it at first, making her insecurities painfully obvious as she balked at the expensive prices of all the menu items and constantly apologized for not knowing which fork or knife or spoon to use out of the dizzying array of silverware on the table. She had looked down at her hands or around the venue, anywhere but the piercing blue of her husband’s eyes as he tried to make meaningful conversation. To get to know her.

Why did he want to know her, when someone else’s perfume clung to his skin? 

Yor was never good at expressing her doubts, not when someone as perfect as Loid treated her with such kindness and respect. She didn’t even know how to bring it up, and thus tried to ignore it. Maybe it had been a fluke. Maybe there was no one else. 

For a few dates, she rallied her willpower and made herself forget about it. It was easier than she thought, perhaps due to the practice she’d had from all her years bloodying her hands for Garden and making herself forget about her targets’ screams so she could go to sleep. For a few dates, she had managed to relax and enjoy Loid’s company and conversation, and accepted his warm gaze and undivided attention as genuine. 

Then she’d seen another damning piece of evidence. One corner of his mouth had been slightly pink. Pinker than the natural tan of his lips and the lighter tone of his perfectly shaven, unblemished skin. Her heart fell. For lipstick to stain the corner of his mouth as opposed to the middle of the lip, he must have been quite…engaged with the target of his affections. 

Loid must have noticed her growing reticence after that particular date, and yet he hadn’t said anything outright, instead gifting her the bracelet and continuously offering vague verbal reassurances. She could see the concern and puzzlement in his eyes. That hurt her even more, that he projected confusion instead of guilt. Perhaps he felt no guilt.

But then, if he didn’t feel guilty, since this was only a cover marriage after all, why bother with all of the expensive dates? If this went on for much longer, Yor would have to confront him and break it off. Her heart and dignity could only take so much. She had no idea why Loid seemed to be playing with her feelings like this. All she knew was that it was painful to be around him. And nothing felt right anymore.

Yor soon regretted wearing the bracelet as it drew the attention of her coworkers during a coffee break. They hovered around her in the break room, demanding she hold out her wrist for them to inspect. She ducked her head under their scrutiny. She already felt abnormal in their eyes on a regular day. Today it would take no effort at all for them to tell something was off.

Camilla whistled. “Must have cost a pretty penny with those rubies. Though I prefer diamonds myself.”

“When did he give it to you? Was it on another one of your romantic dates?” Millie said excitedly. They all knew that Loid had been taking her out more often as of late. Sometimes he came to City Hall to pick her up. Appearances.

“Yes,” Yor said, and left it at that. 

“What’s with the glum face? If Dom gave me a gift like that, I’d be over the moon. And showing it off instead of hiding it under my sleeve,” Camilla said.

“Oh, I thought it was bad to show off. Isn’t it impolite?” Yor ventured. Camilla had accused her many times of rubbing her happy marriage in their faces. It made Yor’s head hurt trying to discern what counted as boastful or not.

Camilla rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

She didn’t, but said nothing.

“So how did you show your appreciation?” Sharon spoke up. 

“Appreciation?” Yor echoed. Was she supposed to give him jewelry in return?

For some reason Millie leaned in with a devious grin. “Oo, tell us, tell us! But not in too much detail, don’t be gross.”

At Yor’s confused look, Camilla sighed. “She means sex, Yor.”

Immediately Yor’s face flamed. “N-no, I didn’t!”

Sharon raised an eyebrow. “Really. He must be disappointed.”

“Ugh, Yor! You’re already married to Mr. Perfect and when he does something even more perfect, you don’t even give him the one thing a husband expects for his effort?”

“Well, he’s away on a work trip! I won’t see him for a while!” she tried to divert.

“Oh, that means you have time to prepare! Better go out shopping and buy a nice welcome home ensemble.”

Again Yor had no idea what Camilla was talking about. An ensemble of what? Furniture?

But then the blonde woman’s eyes narrowed in a familiar calculating way as she studied Yor’s nervous expression. “Wait. You said he’s on a work trip? How long?”

“Th-three days.”

“Hm.” Camilla crossed her arms and tapped her manicured fingernails against her elbow. “And he gave you an expensive gift right before that. Has he been dressing differently? Any change in his usual style?”

“N-no. I don’t think so,” Yor said. She did not like the conniving look in Camilla’s eyes.

“You sure?”

“Well…” Yor thought about it. “He does like to wear sweaters and turtlenecks nowadays. Fewer button-downs.”

“A-ha!” Camilla said triumphantly. “I knew it. The three signs.”

“Camilla…” Sharon said tiredly. 

“No, no, the theory’s solid! I’ve seen it play out at least twice now in my friends’ marriages.”

“Signs of what?” Yor dared to ask.

“Oh, Yor,” Camilla said with pity. “It’s possible that your perfect husband might be…cheating.”

Yor couldn’t hide her panic. She didn’t want to smear Loid’s reputation. She hadn’t even talked to him and given him a chance to explain. Her heart lurched further as she realized Camilla might tell Dominic, who might tell Yuri. If her brother ever caught wind of such an ugly rumor, who knew what crazy things he would do to get back at Loid?

“That must be why you’ve been so down lately. I’m sorry,” Camilla said. 

Yor wasn’t sure if Camilla really was sorry. She just wanted her to keep the rumor to herself. Sharon and Millie, too.

“N-no, Loid wouldn’t,” Yor managed to say. “Those signs are just a coincidence. He’s a good man and would never cheat.”

“Well, you want to be sure, right? Let me try to help you figure this out. Do you even know why these three signs are so significant?”

Yor shook her head.

“Okay. One, a cheater buys gifts for his wife out of guilt. It’s a way for him to feel like he’s still being a good husband. Two, he goes on so-called business trips but they’re really just mini vacations with his mistress. Three, he changes his style—his clothes, his cologne maybe—to cater to the new woman’s tastes.”

Yor frowned. Camilla’s theory seemed to make sense, except there was no explanation for all the extra time Loid had spent with her on fancy dinner dates. And the warmth in his demeanor. And the fact he had told her this morning that he would miss her, and sounded like he meant it. Was he truly doing all that out of guilt?

“I still don’t think Loid would cheat. He’s been nothing but kind to me since we got married. And he’s a wonderful father to Anya. Please don’t spread any nasty rumors about my husband.”

She bravely faced down Camilla and Millie’s skepticism and Sharon’s aloof resignation, starting to feel defensive of Loid. It was one thing for her to doubt him privately. It was an entirely different thing for outsiders to cast judgment when they barely knew him. She ignored the little voice inside that told her she barely knew him, too.

If Loid were publicly suspected of infidelity, it could erode the social standing he’d worked so hard to achieve at the hospital and among Eden Academy parents. It would bring shame upon Anya, too, and the little girl had suffered enough with the death of her birth mother. No, Yor had to figure out a way to disprove the rumor or at least keep it under wraps, until Loid came back from his trip and she somehow summoned the courage to ask him directly. 

“Alright, Yor, you do live with the guy, so you know him best,” Camilla conceded, but even Yor could hear the sarcasm in her voice. “Just trying to look out for you. I did warn you early on that a wife has to keep up with her husband, or he’s likely to look elsewhere to satisfy his needs. Oh, that reminds me. I have a magazine back at my desk that might give you some tips.”

The magazine turned out to be last month’s edition of House and Home, which despite its unassuming title was geared toward young wives and mothers seeking to stay modest yet fashionable, maternal yet sexy, well-organized yet adventurous. Camilla pointed to a smaller set of words on the cover. 10 Ways To Keep Your Man.

“Take a look. There might be hope for you yet,” the blonde woman said, and tossed the magazine onto Yor’s desk.

On her commute home, Yor read the article and several other ‘expert’ interviews and features alongside it. Half of the tips were so suggestive and racy that she quickly flipped the page, hoping no one sitting nearby would notice her mortification. The other half, while not outright embarrassing, were still stark reminders of just how far she fell short of being a normal wife. Cooking exotic meals, decorating the house in an elegant fashion, helping the children learn etiquette and excel in school so as to give one’s husband peace of mind. All of it had the exact opposite effect of giving her hope, instead making her feel more and more inadequate.

Maybe she was the problem. Maybe Camilla was right. Could she really blame Loid for finding someone else?

Chapter Text

From his table at the back of the cafe, Franky surreptitiously peeked over the top of his newspaper every so often to survey the customers coming in the door. His ‘date’ was late. Unfashionably so. It had been more than fifteen minutes. His coffee had grown lukewarm.

Good thing he wasn’t paying a cent for these lessons until his new instructor proved her worth. At this point, he was mostly here out of curiosity. Even though she was a spy, he couldn’t imagine her swapping the stone-faced act for anything remotely sweet and approachable. Did WISE only send her on combat missions? Seemed awfully limiting.

Eventually she walked in, clad in a professional blouse and skirt, her lavender hair covered by a dark wig. Of course, she’d styled it to obscure half her face.

They hadn’t gone over any ground rules when she’d stopped by his stand and slipped him the location and time of their first ‘date.’ He was pretty sure Twilight hadn’t given her any details about their usual approach, either. 

Franky wasn’t too surprised when she went to the counter and sat down alone with her back to him. So she expected him to make a cold introduction. He had only practiced that twice on Gisela, but he’d be fine. He felt as calm as a caiman resting in the sun. There were absolutely no stakes.

Latte in hand, he sauntered to the counter and took a seat two chairs away. She did not react to his presence at all. He cleared his throat and put on a pleasant smile. “Hi. Could I sit here?”

The response was immediate. “No.”

He blinked. She still wasn’t looking at him. “Okay. Uh. I was just thinking these bar chairs aren’t that comfortable. The ones by the window are nicer. Want to try the seats over there?”

She finally turned toward him and looked him up and down like he was a speck of dirt on her shoe. “No.”

Franky rolled his eyes, took another sip of his latte, and hopped down from the chair. “Suit yourself. Have a nice day.” But in code-speak, he mouthed, Bye, Fiona. Stay lonely.

A manicured hand snagged his jacket sleeve as he passed her. “Wait.”

He paused but didn’t look at her. Two could play this game.

“A window table is acceptable.”

He stifled a laugh as she let him go and stiffly walked over to the seats he’d indicated. She sat facing the glass, her posture too prim and proper to be comfortable. He slid a chair out noisily and collapsed into it with a sigh. 

“What’s your deal?” he said quietly, so that only she could hear. He made sure to keep the movements of his lips as slight as possible. There weren’t many customers in the cafe, but there was always the small possibility that someone might be watching from the street.

“Realism,” she stated, matching his low volume. “That is how a real woman would have reacted to you, a short, unattractive stranger, randomly approaching her.”

He shook his head, letting the insult glance off of him like water off a turtle’s shell. “You think I don’t already know that? That’s been my entire adult life.”

“Well, then perhaps it’s best you just stop wasting your effort and give up.”

“Is that why you bothered to show up today when I’ve already said I’m not paying? To convince me to give up?”

“I am here to support my colleague, who is drastically overworked and wasting his precious time on you. If I can convince you to stop bothering him, then I’ll consider that a bonus.”

“What he and I agreed on is none of your business. But if you’d like me to stop bothering you, I have no problem with that. We can end this ‘trial period’ right now and call it a day.” 

Franky got up and made to leave again when she grabbed his wrist this time. Her hand was like a steel vise. WISE probably did only send her on combat missions.

“Sit back down,” she commanded softly.

“Who decides whether this trial period succeeds or not, anyway?” he said as he reluctantly obeyed. “Me. The way this is going, I’ll just go back to him and give you a zero star review, and that’s that.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Lady, you suck at negotiations. How are you gonna stop me? And don’t tell me you’ll kick me in the balls, that’s just a schoolyard threat.”

“He’s been too soft on you,” she switched tactics. “Such a beautiful, refined woman would never give you the time of day in real life. You need a heavy dose of reality if you are to truly improve. That’s what I will provide.”

“Hate to break it to you, but your dose of reality is just being a bitch. 99 percent of women don’t act the way you do, even when they’re turning me down.”

“If you hone your skills against the toughest opponents, then you’ll easily overcome the remaining 99 percent.”

Franky laughed out loud, planting his elbows on the table with his face in his hands. “Opponents? I’m not looking to win a martial arts tournament! This is dating. Relationships! Romance! Jeez, and you’re calling me delusional.”

She ground her teeth loud enough for him to hear above the background music in the cafe. “I knew you’d be too weak to meet the challenge.”

“No, no, I think it’s you who can’t meet the challenge. This is literally all you know how to be. A super-efficient machine that executes orders and doesn’t know how to act like a real human. Forget being a dateable woman, how about just a decent person? I know I’m far from dateable, but I have tons of friends. Friends who’d have my back in an instant if the you-know-who’s came knocking, including your esteemed colleague. And I’d do the same for them. How many friends do you have?”

At her prolonged silence, Franky realized he’d hit a nerve. Her icy expression hardened even more, like a layer of permafrost. He took a deep breath and sighed. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit that low.”

“I have no need for human attachments. The concept is incompatible with the path I’ve chosen. The path he’s chosen, as well. He was the one who drilled that lesson into my brain. But then…”

She clamped her mouth shut, clearly unhappy with the slight slip.

It sounded like Twilight had played a significant role in this woman’s training at WISE. More than just acting as the archetype of a perfect spy that every rookie naturally looked up to. Was that why she was so obsessed with him? Was he the one who’d recruited her in the first place? Or mentored her through all the basics?

“I hope you hear the contradiction in what you’re saying,” Franky said, without any smugness. “You claim not to have any human attachments, but you’re sure as hell attached to him. That’s why you’re sitting here with me. To try to impress him in the most convoluted way ever. You…”

He stumbled upon the epiphany mid-sentence. 

“You’re doing this to show him you’re dateable, aren’t you?” he said slowly. “You’re hoping that if you can help me improve, he’ll see your feminine charm or whatever it is you think he’s ignored all this time. Is that it?”

A hint of color rose to her pale cheeks. “I would never act so selfishly. I’m here to save him time, so he can focus his talents on far more important endeavors.”

“Right, so you want him to see that you’re self-sacrificing, always doing things ‘for the mission.’”

She growled, and for a moment, he thought she might shove him off his chair. Sitting right next to her, he could feel the pent-up aggression in her aura. Frustration from being overlooked by the object of her affections for however long she’d entertained this crush. 

Franky sighed again. This was the last thing he’d expected out of this date—not that he’d had any concrete expectations to begin with—but he actually felt bad for the woman. Yeah, she was utterly ruthless and cold, to the point where only men who had a fetish for punishment might find her attractive. However, underneath her spiky exterior was a wounded heart full of twisted, desperate yearning for WISE’s top spy, who himself was emotionally stunted and in denial about his own need for human connection. 

WISE sure knew how to create psychological train wrecks waiting to happen.

“What do you know of him, anyway?” she sniped. “You’re an asset. Not a colleague. Not privy to anything classified, or at least you shouldn’t be. I’ve been studying how he operates for years, all of his tactics and successes and near-impossible feats.”

Franky shrugged. “People can be one way at work and a totally different way off of work.”

“Not him. He’s always working. Even if his assignment right now is to act as a family man.”

“Again, hate to break it to you, but his family is not work to him. Hasn’t been for a while.”

“It’s a fake family, and you’re wrong. He is far too professional to let his guard down in front of civilians.”

“Alright, I won’t get anywhere by arguing with you. Believe what you want, it’s none of my business.”

“If he truly has let down his guard, then he would be deemed unfit to continue his mission. The most critical deep cover operation we have assigned anyone in years,” she went on. 

“Okay.”

She glared at him as if it were all his fault Twilight had fallen into compromise. 

“So tattle on him,” he said flippantly. “Tell your boss and get him fired. Or sent to the timeout corner or whatever.”

“I would never sabotage him like that!”

“But…you would butt in on his marriage—”

“Cover marriage!”

“—and try to break it up? Doesn’t wrecking someone’s cover marriage count as sabotage?”

She fumed, apparently embarrassed that he knew about what she’d done. Franky would never forget the giant bump on the chin Twilight had come home with after his attempt at damage control.

“I was doing what was best for the long term success of the mission. If he’d only picked me, I would have supported him seamlessly and accelerated his progress by twofold. Nothing like the ridiculous burden Yor Briar has been from day one.”

“…And did he pick you, after all that?”

She narrowed her eyes at the rhetorical question. Franky wasn’t often this cruel, but if anyone deserved the worst side of him, it was her.

“I don’t even know why we’re still sitting here, because this lost its chance of being a date half an hour ago. But while we’re here, let me try to give you some advice, which you can feel free to ignore,” Franky said, expecting her to stop him right there. When she didn’t, he continued. “If there’s one thing in the dating world that I’ve become an expert at, it’s accepting when someone isn’t interested, and moving on. It hurts like hell sometimes, but what’s the point of taking more hits when you won’t win?”

He hoped the combat analogy would connect with her warped psyche somehow. At the tiny hint of a contemplative look on her face, maybe he was succeeding.

“I have much more endurance for pain than you do,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I don’t give up until I win. That’s how I’ve survived this long.”

Franky wasn’t sure if she was referring to her career as a spy, or life in general; he assumed she had suffered as a child during the war like everyone in their generation. He did have to hand it to her. She had a lot of persistence, and clearly worked hard. Just on the wrong things.

“Have you ever been in a relationship before?” he asked.

She gave him a look of utter scorn. “I said I have no room for human attachments.”

“Come on, you weren’t born a spy,” he said, mouthing the last word so as not to attract attention. “You had a life before this. But okay. You’ve never been in a relationship.”

“Neither have you,” she shot back.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult! Jeez! I was just going to say that since you don’t have relationship experience, you might have some unrealistic expectations.”

He was trying to be diplomatic, but her perpetual glower darkened.

“And you don’t?”

“Can we stop talking about me for a second!”

“I’m not the one infatuated with someone who doesn’t even exist!”

Franky opened his mouth to respond, but hearing the truth from her of all people had taken him utterly off guard.

How long had she been observing the two of them? Was it really that easy to tell that he had fallen for Twilight’s alter-ego? How did she know he wasn’t just acting for the sake of practice?

He breathed out slowly and closed his eyes. The silence between them was heavy and awkward, more awkward than any interaction he’d had with her in the past. But what did he care? He had nothing to prove to this woman.

“And you aren’t?” he finally replied, with none of the humor and patience he always carried. 

Her uncovered eye flickered with offense, then something akin to fear, as if an enemy had disarmed her of all her weapons when she’d least expected it.

He stood up with his empty coffee cup and pushed out his chair.

“Nice getting to know you,” he said as he walked around her.

She could have stopped him if she really wanted, but perhaps she didn’t want to draw attention from other customers or the cafe employees. Or maybe she’d had enough of him, too.

Chapter Text

Infatuated with someone who doesn’t even exist.

The spy’s words rang in Franky’s head as he spent the rest of the afternoon making his usual rounds. 

He hadn’t seen Gisela in more than a week, thanks to Fiona or whatever her real name was. He missed her, and until today he hadn’t questioned the fact that he missed her. He’d stopped trying to puzzle out his feelings because the effort only gave him a headache and made him depressed.

If he knew what was good for him, he would distance himself. Create a plan for how to diminish his attraction to Gisela. It was different from getting over a rejection, which was like ripping off a bandaid since he had no choice but to move on. Twilight had designed Gisela never to reject him, to be ever understanding and accepting and uniquely interested in him, of all people. 

Maybe it was inevitable. Franky had spent so many years getting rejected that the first woman who showed sustained interest in him had immediately captured his heart. Even though that woman was an illusion. Maybe he didn’t have to feel so guilty or uneasy about his reaction to this unorthodox situation. Maybe it was a completely natural reaction given the circumstances.

In the middle of the afternoon, he passed through a shopping district after an intel stop. He was so preoccupied with his musings that he almost missed the feminine voice calling his name.

“Franky! Hi!” 

A petite blonde woman was waving at him from the fountain at the center of the square. He shook himself out of his trance and waved back with a genuine smile. 

“How’s it going, Priscilla?” he greeted as he changed course toward her. She appeared to be having a late lunch alone, and was feeding some crumbs to the birds nearby. 

Priscilla was a waitress at a historical pub on Second Street. She was friendly and cheerful, both on the job and outside of work. Franky had asked her out a couple of times, and she’d politely turned him down both times, but hadn’t snubbed his company altogether. She still went out of her way to greet him when he visited the pub, and said hi when they happened to see each other in public.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, indicating the rim of the fountain beside her.

“Not at all!” Priscilla offered him the crust of her sandwich to feed to the pigeons. “Haven’t seen you at the pub in a while! Checking out some newer places?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said as he broke off pieces of the bread. The group of pigeons gravitated toward him, their heads bobbing eagerly. “Guess they’re keeping you busy. You must be hungry, having to eat lunch this late. And you’re still feeding some of it to the birds?”

She waved it off. “I’m used to it! Gotta watch my figure, anyway.”

“Nah, you definitely don’t,” he said with a lopsided grin. 

“Franky!” Priscilla giggled and blushed. Her vivacious eyes always curved into little crescents when she laughed. One of the many endearing things about her. Too bad she had made it clear she wasn’t interested.

But what did he have to lose? Twilight was out of town, Franky had just ended the ‘trial period’ with Twilight’s dubious replacement, and he was feeling bold. Or rather, he just didn’t care.

Franky fished out two movie tickets that one of his contacts, Teller, had given him as a joke earlier that day. Take your girl out for a good time. If you can find one, that is.

“You busy later tonight? I have tickets to this movie…” he said, and glanced at the small print on the tickets. “Er, Kiss Distance?”

In hindsight, he probably should have paid attention to what the movie was called before asking her on a date. He sighed and braced himself for a third rejection.

“Sure, I’d love to go!”

“Yeah, I thought so—what?”

She laughed again and tilted her head. “I’ve been wanting to see that movie! What time?”

“Uh,” he peered at the tickets again, “6:15 PM. Kind of an awkward time, cuts into dinner.”

He was shooting himself in the foot again, as always. Why was he trying to talk her out of it? She’d already said yes.

She shrugged. “Then we can just have dinner afterward. I’m already having lunch pretty late anyway.”

Had she…had she just asked him to dinner, and willingly prolonged the date?

What was happening?

Were all those dating lessons actually paying off in real life?

Or had a single laughably disappointing date with Fiona cleansed him of the jitters?

Franky shoved aside the storm of doubts and wiped the look of shock from his face, offering Priscilla a wide smile. Then he recalled one of Twilight’s critiques about his smile looking creepy or constipated, and immediately tried to course-correct. A normal smile. He knew how to do that.

“Great. How about we meet at 6 at Alecs Square?” Somehow, he managed not to stutter. Now that there were actual stakes, all his old nervous habits threatened to rear up and ruin what had so far been a pleasant conversation.

“Sounds good! I’ll see you then, Franky! I have to get back to work now,” Priscilla said as she stood from the fountain and brushed the crumbs off her skirt. “Thanks again!”

“Don’t mention it!” he said, and went on his way before he could sabotage himself by accident.

I did it. I actually did it. I got a date! With a real woman! Oh man, if only Twilight were here to see this!

—

Unfortunately, there were still two and a half hours to kill before Franky had to meet up with Priscilla. That was plenty of time for his lifelong insecurities and failures to rise from the depths (or shallows) of his subconscious and paralyze him. So he did the only thing he could come up with to keep them at bay: he thought about Gisela.

Two hundred different inventions! Wow, that’s quite an accomplishment, Franky!

You really know the city inside and out. I’ve never had a better tour guide.

Thanks for listening. I know I shouldn’t feel too guilty, but I think I should visit my parents more often.

Twilight had painted such a masterful picture in creating Gisela that Franky couldn’t help but be drawn in by the little hints and mysteries of her life beneath the surface. Due to her love for reading, she had accumulated a decent body of knowledge about modern technology, and was able to keep up with his attempts to explain his latest inventions. She enjoyed exploring the city and its wide variety of eclectic cafes and restaurants with him, and didn’t mind traveling long distances by public transportation to try a new place. She also felt comfortable enough with him to share details about her family—a sick mother and a father who struggled to keep the family business afloat—and showed genuine gratitude for his listening ear and sympathetic advice.

As he donned his best suit and combed the tangles out of his frizzy hair, he resolutely ignored the fact that there was actually nothing under the surface of Gisela’s beautiful features and lovely personality other than Twilight’s industrial-level capacity to fabricate lies. For the time being, he pretended Gisela was real and that she was the one in whom he had ultimately invested his affections. Priscilla was just an acquaintance, a casual friend, maybe, who he would have a nice time with tonight, but her regard for him (or lack thereof) didn’t matter nearly as much as Gisela’s. 

The unconventional, perhaps unhealthy way of taking the pressure off himself worked. Bouquet of roses in hand, he strolled toward Alecs Square at a leisurely pace. He wished Gisela were the one he was seeing tonight, but he would still have a good time regardless. Priscilla was kindhearted, bubbly, easy to talk to, and laughed at his jokes. He just had to stay relaxed and let the night play out naturally.

Priscilla was still wearing her outfit from work, but had applied a fresh layer of makeup to her face and fixed up her hair. Franky managed to keep his excitement contained to a bright smile while he inwardly high-fived himself. His verbal greeting was only a second delayed as he recalled his many practice openers with Gisela.

“Hey, Priscilla! You look great!” At her answering smile and slight blush, he gave himself another mental high-five. He could do this! “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s grab the best seats!” she said, and they arrived at the theater a few minutes early so they could do exactly that. Franky briefly debated whether to buy popcorn or other snacks, but didn’t want to ruin the fresh mint smell of his breath. Not that he expected to get anywhere close to a kiss tonight.

Too late, he realized that Twilight hadn’t trained him in the art of physical affection at all. Usually casual brushes of the hand, touches on the shoulder, and holding hands while walking down the street preceded more serious stuff like hugging and kissing. He had barely done any of that with Gisela. Twilight had probably been planning to coach him on more advanced techniques after he’d successfully landed a first date. 

Franky forced himself to calm down. This was just a first date. He would act the part of a gentleman, and that meant not being pushy. Priscilla probably just saw him as a friend, given the fact she’d rejected him twice before. He had an uphill journey ahead to persuade her to see him as something more.

The movie, however, did not help, as he should have expected from something titled Kiss Distance. It was slathered with sappy romance, sultry stares, and steamy makeout scenes from the get-go. Most of the other theatergoers were couples, or groups of young women. Franky dealt with his discomfort by keeping his hands in his pockets where he’d conveniently brought a couple of small fidget toys he had invented out of boredom. Still, his mind couldn’t help but drift toward daydreams of Gisela as the starlet on screen pined after the male lead. Gisela was the only woman who had ever looked at him with a tiny hint of what the fictional heroine felt for the ‘bad boy’ with the ridiculous pompadour.

Luckily, Priscilla was completely engrossed in the movie and didn’t seem to find it awkward at all to watch steamy romantic scenes while sitting next to him. She clasped her hands together during heated arguments and fistfights, letting out little gasps of surprise at plot twists and wild declarations of love. It was rather adorable. 

Thus, Franky found his mind split between missing Gisela and admiring Priscilla’s cute behavior. Slowly, he steered himself in the direction of reality and focused on the very real woman at his side. Her taste in movies left something to be desired, but she was nevertheless sweet and endearing. It made him feel special that he’d contributed to her happiness tonight by bringing her to this movie, even if Teller had given him the tickets for free.

Dinner afterward was relatively easy, as well. He was only a little nervous at the start, as his date’s attention was now fully on him instead of on a movie screen. It helped that most of what she wanted to talk about, at least initially, was the plot of said movie. She gushed about the lead actor and how great of a job he’d done on bringing the antihero character to life with ‘unique’ quirks and flaws. She recounted how the few so-called action scenes (mostly jealous fistfights) had kept her on the edge of her seat. Franky nodded and affirmed all her opinions with the minimum input needed to keep the conversation going. This, at least, he’d practiced plenty during his dates with Gisela.

Mid-meal, Priscilla finally moved on from the topic of the movie, and began to ask Franky about his work and hobbies for the first time. Here, too, he’d had a lot of practice, particularly with delineating what was safe to disclose. Part of him feared she would instantly become bored with what he had to say, but the memory of Gisela’s pleasant smile as he had shared these very same facts with her spurred him on. Priscilla wasn’t so different from Gisela in this aspect. She was kind and polite, and laughed a couple of times when he shared funny tidbits from his daily encounters with all sorts of eccentric customers at his cigarette stand.

“Well, I should probably get home to put these roses in a vase! They’re going to dry out otherwise,” Priscilla said right after finishing her entree. She even had a nice way of excusing herself from prolonged conversation. 

“Can I walk you home?” Franky asked, more as a courtesy than anything. He expected her to turn him down, but to his surprise, she didn’t.

Walking the few blocks to her apartment complex, he saw no signs that she was uncomfortable or self-conscious being seen with him on a date. When he spent time with Gisela in public, usually at least a couple of strangers would eye him curiously or with disdain, clearly wondering how a short, funny-looking man like him could land a bombshell like Gisela. Here, even though they received those same looks, Priscilla either didn’t notice or chose to ignore them, continuing their amiable chat.

“I had a great time today, Franky! Thanks again!” she said sweetly and gave him a wave at the door.

The second date. He’d been so preoccupied analyzing their surroundings that he hadn’t prepared for this. But once more his ‘training’ kicked in, and he put a hand behind his head in a disarming gesture. 

“I had a great time too! I’d love to hang out again when you’re free,” he said, and almost had to bite his own cheek to prevent himself from self-sabotaging. Only if you want to. You probably don’t, it’s okay, had been on the tip of his tongue.

Priscilla’s smile warmed. “Yeah, let’s hang out again. I’ll let you know! Have a good night, Franky.”

She shut the door with a soft click, and Franky stood there in a moment of odd mind-body displacement. Had he really pulled off a successful date without stumbling once? And had she truly agreed to a second date at the end, as non-committal as she sounded? She hadn’t turned him down, that was for sure.

He meandered toward his nearest safehouse, floating in elation as well as uncertainty about his exact feelings for Priscilla given he had depended on the mental image of Gisela as a crutch throughout the night. Like a good luck talisman, or the patron goddess of his romantic life. There was no way this was normal or healthy, but if it got results, did it matter?

At home, he slowly changed out of his formal clothes and was about to pour himself a shot of whiskey when the phone rang. 

“Franky! Didja hear? The teller at the racetrack got fingered in the Latchkey Lachy business and just got raided by the you-know-who!” 

It was Chips, a contact who frequented the underground casinos as his primary source of intel and rumors. He liked to talk a big game but hid with his blanket over his head whenever his associates got into trouble.

Franky sighed. At least fate had granted him the courtesy of an uninterrupted date with Priscilla before springing an urgent, life-threatening event on him. He couldn’t leave Teller in the lurch. And he owed the man proper thanks and a bit of triumphant gloating for the movie tickets.

“Wish me luck, Gisela. Or Twilight. Whoever the hell can give me luck right now,” he muttered as he prepared his arsenal of gadgets and weapons. This was turning out to be the night of his life.

Chapter Text

Between blinding the SSS agents with gas, punching one of them in the gut with his rocket glove, tripping them with marbles, and gluing their shoes to the floor, Franky considered his rescue plan a smashing success. If only Twilight could see him now! Not only had he proved his dateability with flying colors, now he was facing down the SSS, one against three, and actually winning! That would teach anyone to underestimate him!

“You rescued me…just so you could gloat?” Teller huffed in disbelief as they fled through the building.

Franky merely laughed and slipped the gas mask back on his face, adrenaline pumping through his veins and filling him with daredevil courage.

They skidded by a window and noticed a van on the street below, more SSS standing guard and loading several handcuffed men into the back. 

“Hey, we got friends in that wagon!” Teller hissed, ducking behind the wall to better conceal himself.

“Those bastards,” Franky swore. He carefully studied the scene below, counting the number of SSS and noting their positions. They could only stand around and observe at this window for a few more seconds before their own pursuers would catch up. His mind raced. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve. It only took a split-second to decide. “Let’s show ‘em just how hard catching rats can be!”

Despite the purpling bruise on his face and the newly acquired limp, Teller readily agreed. They divided Franky’s tools and rushed down the fire escape on the side of the building, darting behind parked cars as they approached the back of the van. The engine was still idling, the agents taking a last look around before they would head for the front of the van or other patrol vehicles parked nearby. Franky and Teller had to move fast.

Franky held his breath behind the gas mask and took aim with his pistol, holding his hands as steady as possible. He swallowed down the instinctive terror of breaking cover in front of so many secret police. 

On my count, he gestured to Teller, also masked, who nodded from his hiding place behind another car. The man readied two gas grenades in his hands. One, two, three!

Franky shot five times at the tires of the van and managed to hit his mark once. He’d always had terrible aim, but this would at least be enough to slow down the van. Teller pitched the grenades at the agents still standing around the vehicle, sending them running for cover amid painful coughs and choked curses. In the chaos, Franky threw a smoke grenade to obscure their presence as he ran up to the back of the van and yanked the doors open. 

He yelped as a fist swung straight at his face. Of course, there would be at least one agent inside guarding the captives! He stumbled back as the man jumped out of the vehicle toward him, and nearly fell as another agent shoved him from the side. His two opponents growled curses, covering their mouths with one arm while they cornered him, stun batons raised in their free hands. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his captured friends seizing the moment to tumble out of the van, still handcuffed. They scattered in different directions, and gunshots rang out as a couple of agents scrambled after them amidst the smoke. He didn’t know where Teller was and whether he was facing off against enemies of his own.

Franky raised his pistol to fire again, but one quick swing from an SSS agent and he was disarmed. He reached into his pocket for mace, but the other agent lunged for him, sending him stumbling backward as he narrowly avoided a strike from the baton. Teller’s muffled shouts told him he was in trouble too, but Franky couldn’t help him.

Well, shit. Maybe there’s only so much luck to go around in one day, Franky thought in defeat. At least he’d saved his friends.

Just then, an explosion rocked the front of the empty van, sending everyone in the vicinity ducking for cover. Franky grabbed the opening and made a run for it, tossing his remaining caltrops onto the ground near the two agents’ feet in the hopes of stalling them a little longer. He bolted toward Teller as he finally pulled the mace out of his pocket, kicked at the hands of the agent who was trying to pin him down on the ground, and sprayed the man in the face. He hauled his friend up by the arm and tugged him toward an alleyway.

“What’s going on?” Teller exclaimed, his mask knocked askew in the scuffle. 

Franky shook his head and made a signal to be quiet, even as he glanced over his shoulder at the fiery shell of the van and heard sirens of emergency vehicles approaching from afar. Then the SSS agents started dropping to the ground with gruff shouts, clutching their limbs. Someone was shooting at them from above. The scene disappeared from their view as they made it into the narrow alley and beelined for the very back, where they could crawl into a hidden passageway behind one of the dumpsters.

They soon escaped into the sewer system and half-ran, half-limped toward the nightlife district, where they could more easily shake their pursuers if anyone had truly been able to track them this far. Though the stench of garbage might give them away. They’d have to find a safe place to change and clean up fast. Luckily, Franky had friends everywhere and knew they’d help him out.

Bob, the bouncer at the Dark Room nightclub, caught sight of them with wide eyes and immediately ushered them into the janitor’s closet in the basement. Before the beefy man shut the door, he grabbed a bottle of sanitizing spray and gave Franky a reproachful look as he went back upstairs to clear the air of the sewer smell.

“Whew,” Franky finally breathed a sigh of relief. “That was a close one.”

“You’re telling me,” Teller responded. “You’re batshit crazy, Franky Franklin. But I owe you big.”

They threw their ruined clothes into the trash and changed into simple shirts and shorts that Franky had stuffed into his backpack. Now they’d be cold in the night air, but at least they wouldn’t stink.

“So tell me about your date,” Teller said, waggling his eyebrows. “Was the movie romantic enough for you?”

A wide grin spread across Franky’s face. “She loved it. Dinner was perfect, too. I even got a sort-of-maybe-hopefully good chance at a second date at the end! Today’s been a great day, all things considered.”

Teller shook his head with a laugh, then winced as he probably had a concussion.

“Let’s get you some ice,” Franky said as they left the closet. They stuck to the shadows, even though everyone here was also wanted for one reason or another by the SSS. 

“Yo, Franky. You got a visitor,” Bob called from the top of the stairs. 

Franky froze mid-step. Had the SSS followed him all the way here? No, Bob would have pulled the evac alarm in that case instead of casually announcing the newcomer’s presence. It was probably one of the friends he’d rescued, or maybe even Chips, stopping by to thank him.

He did a double-take then, when instead of a shady-looking underground associate, a dark-haired woman with a very familiar one-eyed glare came into view in the waiting room inside the entrance.

“F–Fiona?” Franky said, dumbfounded. 

The spy wore the same wig she had for their date earlier that day, but had changed into a formfitting black outfit that afforded ease of movement and was classy enough to wear to a club. It dawned on him all at once. She’d been the one to blow up the van and shoot their pursuers, granting them a chance to escape.

Just how long had she been shadowing him? Had she been stalking him ever since he’d snubbed her at the end of the date? How else could she have been prepared to attack a convoy of SSS?

“Franklin,” she greeted. Her stoic gaze flicked over his shoulder, where Teller stood gaping awkwardly.

“Uh,” Teller said as he glanced at her and Franky. “Is this the girl you took to the movie?”

“No,” both of them answered simultaneously. 

Perhaps sensing the somewhat hostile tension in the air, Teller backed toward the exit and tried to give Franky an encouraging smile despite the new gap in his teeth. “A-alright, well, thanks again for the save, buddy. I owe you.”

Bob discreetly blocked off the waiting room so that Franky could have some privacy with his visitor. The bouncer shot him a suggestive grin before closing the door, even though Franky attempted a ‘no’ motion with his hand. He gave up with a sigh as the man chuckled. His life was just an unfortunate pileup of misunderstandings lately.

“So,” he said into the silence. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck. “Thanks for doing all that. You didn’t have to.”

“I am well aware,” she said tersely. “But as Twilight made clear to me, you are an important asset to WISE.”

Right. Of course she had done it for Twilight. 

Usually Franky didn’t dwell on what-ifs after the fact, but this time he allowed himself to consider just what would have happened if she hadn’t stepped in. He and Teller would have been shot dead on the spot, or thrown into the van to be tortured and executed at the whim of the SSS.

“Whatever your reasons, I’m grateful. And…I’m sorry for being rude at the end of the date,” he said. In truth, she owed him a bigger apology for her own rudeness and wrecking his arrangement with Twilight in the first place, but he wasn’t going to nitpick at the moment. 

She said nothing for a while, merely staring at him in emotionless, unblinking assessment. Just when he thought it couldn’t get more awkward, she suddenly extended her hand. He flinched, misinterpreting the move as a threat for a second. She huffed in impatience and flexed her palm outward, as if urging him to just get it over with.

Franky shook his head with a wry smile as he accepted the handshake. Her grip was firm and unyielding just like the whole of her personality. She withdrew her hand quickly and barely hid a look of distaste at having to touch him. 

“Now we’re even,” she stated. “And we can restart the trial period.”

Franky laughed out loud. “What? If all you wanted was a do-over, you could have just apologized and asked for one! I’m a forgiving guy. I don’t hold grudges, unlike some people.”

She gritted her teeth as her pale skin flushed in embarrassment. “Your kind may operate differently, but with me, actions speak louder than words. Consider this the only apology you will ever get from me. Sufficient to cover my past offenses and serve as credit against future ones.”

This lady was too much. Only she would conceptualize her reckless one-woman rescue as some sort of down payment against bitchy behavior on dates.

She was definitely one of a kind, he’d give her that. A weirdly refreshing, if annoying, contrast to Twilight with his ultra-logical, sanctimonious personality.

“Alright,” Franky shrugged. “I’ll chat with Twilight when he comes back about amending our deal.”

“Canceling it, you mean,” she tried to insist.

“Amending. You still have to pass the trial period,” he pointed out, and managed not to laugh as her glare intensified. “But give me a few days’ break. Dunno when you started stalking me today, but if you didn’t know, I had my first successful date with a real woman tonight. A romantic movie and a nice dinner.”

She snorted. “Only you would boast about such a pathetic achievement.”

“Actually, I might have you to thank for that too, at least partially,” he said, ignoring her jibe. “If I hadn’t been so jaded from talking to you, I might have been a lot more nervous and made a fool of myself like I usually do. So thanks for that!”

The look on her face was priceless. She clearly couldn’t figure out how to categorize him despite all her elite spy training.

“It’s late. We both had a rough night. I’d offer to walk you home, but the you-know-who’s are still looking for me and I’m fresh out of disguises,” he said apologetically.

“I’m going back to the hospital. Some of us have real work to do,” she sniffed. That seemed to signal the end of their rather odd conversation, as she moved past him toward the door.

Something about the way she held herself made him frown. She hid the pain well, but he could tell she was trying to conceal a limp. Not only had she risked her life to save him, but she’d done it while injured. His opinion of her changed once again. Perhaps he shouldn’t underestimate her, either.

“Hey, Fiona. Jokes aside, I’m grateful for what you did.” He debated whether to mention her injury, but decided not to. She was clearly a proud person. “And sorry again for the mean things I said earlier today. You’re…you’re alright.”

She made a dismissive noise over her shoulder, but there was no ire in it. “Just do a better job of staying under the radar and away from traps. You won’t always be so lucky.”

With that, she left the club and disappeared into the night. 

Franky blew out a breath and picked his backpack up off the floor. It was significantly lighter without the grenades and other tools he’d used in the fight. Still, his shoulders sagged at the prospect of trekking across town to a more secure hideout. What an exhausting rollercoaster of a day and night. 

But he’d had a nice date, rescued his friends from the SSS, and found common ground with the ornery spy lady. All in a day’s work for Franky Franklin. Not such a bad life, one might say.

Chapter Text

Twilight was exhausted. In his three days in Dresdene he had gotten barely five hours of sleep altogether between tedious stakeouts, constantly swapping between two extremely different disguises, and one lengthy nighttime infiltration that had almost ended in a shootout. Like all his other missions, though, he’d succeeded in the end, and rewarded himself by sleeping through the long drive back with a trusted colleague at the wheel.

He’d gotten home right before dawn, drowsy but determined to surprise Yor and Anya with home-cooked breakfast. As quietly and efficiently as he could, he whipped up several dishes to bake in the oven so as not to awaken them with the sizzling of a skillet. All the while he tried to ignore the traitorous part of him that had felt an illogical pang of disappointment when he had walked through the door to a silent apartment. Of course Yor wouldn’t have stayed up so absurdly late to wait for him. He had just grown so used to her warm presence greeting him from the dining area on late work nights, the steaming cup of tea she would prepare for him in advance. He was exhausted and instinctively seeking the comfort of familiar rituals, that was all.

He had spared no expense during the scant free time he had in Dresdene to pick up nice gifts for his family. It was what a caring husband and father like Loid Forger would do. Over breakfast, he’d present Anya with a box of gourmet chocolate-covered nuts, and Yor with a gold necklace. An even more traitorous part of him looked forward to seeing her wear it. Maybe she would allow him to help her put it on like she had with the bracelet.

“Papa!” Anya shouted in glee when she emerged from her room, all vestiges of sleep fleeing in an instant. 

She ran to him in the kitchen and hugged his legs. Resting a hand on her tousled hair, he gave the girl a fond smile that was not at all fake. Smiling at Anya came so naturally to him now, just as easily as the resigned sighs and twitches of exasperation had at the beginning.

As it often did, Anya’s face took on a look of concentration before she beamed excitedly. “Treats! Papa, where are the treats?”

Of course she would have figured out that he’d brought something back for her. “You can eat it as a snack when you get home from school. Not right now.”

She pouted, but skipped to the dining table anyway and diligently ate the breakfast he’d laid out for her. 

It was a bit odd that Yor hadn’t yet come out from her room. She usually rose before Anya on schooldays. But perhaps the past few days of caring for Anya solo had tired her out. Twilight couldn’t help but feel guilty. He’d have to make it up to her somehow. He’d already planned to take a half day off. Maybe he could deliver a bouquet of flowers to her workplace. It never hurt to remind her gossiping coworkers that Yor had a devoted husband who valued her highly, in spite of their attempts to seed doubts in her mind.

When Yor finally came out, she ducked her head and apologized profusely for being late. As he reassured her and plated her breakfast, he noticed that she had put on a lot of makeup this morning. To his knowledge, there was no special occasion happening today, and she was still clad in her regular office uniform. She was also obviously self-conscious about her appearance, constantly turning to the side or lowering her head as if not wanting him to see her face. 

“You look very nice today, Yor,” he said, making sure to keep his tone light. It was better to compliment her than to feign ignorance. He was also very aware of Anya’s curious gaze on both of them. Somehow the girl always knew when something was off between her parents.

“Th-thank you,” she mumbled, and didn’t offer anything more. 

“Is there a party at the office today? Or a visiting dignitary?” he ventured.

“N-no.”

There were many techniques to kickstart a stalling conversation, but he hesitated to use them. The possible explanations for Yor’s appearance had narrowed down to two. One was very good. The other was very bad.

Yor never dolled herself up for no reason. It could only mean that she meant to impress someone today. And that person was either him, her husband who had recently returned from a business trip. Or some unknown man at her work.

He and Yor had never defined that aspect of their agreement—what would happen if one of them desired a romantic partner outside of their marriage. He’d never found it necessary, given Yor’s shyness around all things of a sexual nature, and later, her insecurity around Nightfall. He had thought she was content in their platonic relationship, and lately perhaps even yearning for something more with him. 

It was possible she meant to signal her attraction and invite reciprocation. He ignored the part of his heart that fluttered absurdly at the thought. 

The ruthless spy in him focused on the latter possibility. Was there another man who had somehow snuck into Yor’s life without him noticing? How was it possible, when he spent more time with her than before, with the upscale dates and post-dinner walks? 

It occurred to him that she did still occasionally work late nights at the office. But was that the truth? Had he put too much trust in her and failed to realize that those late nights were just an excuse for something else?

But if she were planning to meet someone, why would she doll herself up so early in the day that her husband would see it? Was she going to meet the man for lunch? A good spy could never let his guard down. He cursed his oversight–

“Anya missed Papa so much! And Mama did too! A lot!” Anya blurted out suddenly, slapping her little hands down on the table.

Yor flushed the same shade of pink as her cosmetic blush, and waved her hands in front of her while sputtering nonsense. To spare her the embarrassment, Twilight focused his gaze on Anya and gave her a tight smile.

“It has been a while since I went on a trip, hasn’t it? Don’t worry, I won’t leave again anytime soon,” he improvised, and patted her on the head.

Instead of smiling back, Anya only narrowed her eyes in a parody of a Bondman villain. Then she enunciated slowly, as if expecting him to repeat after her, “Papa missed us too.”

Twilight had encountered many situations where his opponent tried to trap him in a game of rhetoric, asking a slew of questions to box him into a corner where he could not offer a logical answer without contradicting himself. He was vaguely impressed that Anya was unconsciously developing such skills as a six year-old. He was also annoyed.

He gave a brief nod in reply and deflected. “I brought back gifts for the both of you to make up for my absence. As I said earlier, you can have the treats for snack but not now.”

“What is Mama’s gift?” Anya said immediately.

“We need to get you to the school bus or you’ll be late,” he said with a bit of sternness.

“Oh, Loid, you didn’t have to,” Yor said at the same time.

He turned a disarming smile back on Yor, who still had trouble meeting his eyes. “Don’t worry, Yor, I’ll send Anya to the bus stop today. I also have the morning off, so if you’re not in a rush, I’ll come back after drop-off and catch up.”

As he led Anya outside, he wondered if she knew something about Yor’s odd temperament. Perhaps Yor had shared something with her while he’d been away. But he didn’t exactly want to question a young child and feed into her overactive imagination. 

For better or worse, Anya proactively gave him the information anyway. “Mama was sad when Papa left. Mama is trying to be pretty for Papa! So go be pretty back! This is your mishun today and it’s utmost im-port-tent!”

“I think you mean ‘of utmost importance,’” he said dryly as the bus pulled up. Again he ignored the disturbing skip of his own heart at the implications of his daughter’s words, if they were indeed true and not a silly fabrication meant to instigate drama for her own entertainment. “Have a good day at school, don’t be distracted.”

“Utmost im-port-tence!” Anya called out the window, to his consternation. He gave a half-hearted wave and turned away quickly so as to make himself a smaller target. 

Back in the apartment, Yor had already retrieved her bag and put on her jacket, seemingly antsy to leave for work even though it was still early. 

“Yor, I…” He glanced down at her wrist, where a faint shimmer of gold and ruby peeked out from her sleeve. So she was still wearing the bracelet. The sight warmed his heart and gave him the conviction to cut to the chase. “I got you something to match my last gift.”

“You really didn’t have to,” she repeated, looking down at her feet. Anya was right. Yor did appear sad.

He drew the box out of his pocket, and as predicted, she gasped when she saw the gold chain inside. It came with a simple rose charm. “May I?”

She trembled under his light touch as he looped the necklace around her graceful neck and made sure the clasp was centered at her nape. She turned around shyly and fiddled with the straps of her bag, mumbling her thanks.

“I know you must be very tired from taking care of Anya by yourself. This is the least I could do for all your hard work,” he said. She still didn’t look at him. He took a risk and stepped closer to her, but stopped when she tensed up. “I did miss you, Yor. Could I give you a hug?”

She finally raised her long-lashed eyes, and pressed her rosy lips together as if summoning up the courage to say yes. She nodded, and wrapped her arms around him so abruptly that her bag swung wildly and hit him in the legs.

Slowly, the tension she seemed to have carried throughout the morning, and probably for the past several weeks if he cared to think about it, melted away as he held her in his arms. He breathed in her perfume. It was new. 

Was Anya right? Was all of this truly for him? Had all of those dates worked?

An average civilian wouldn’t have noticed, but Twilight heard the slight shift in Yor’s breathing as she inhaled his scent as well. He’d put on his go-to cologne this morning (or rather, Loid Forger’s go-to). It appeared to relax her further as she turned her head slightly and rested her cheek against his shoulder. 

“Thank you, Loid,” she murmured. 

From this angle, he couldn’t see her very clearly, but he knew that she was studying his face. His mouth. 

Did she expect something more from him? A kiss? The signs were there. But at the same time, the way she was looking at him was too intent and focused. As if she were searching for a blemish—or worse, the telltale seam of a mask—instead of anticipating a romantic gesture.

He didn’t react to her scrutiny, merely giving her one last squeeze before disengaging from her embrace. “I hope you have a wonderful day at work. Take it easy.”

The rest of the morning as he composed an exhaustive mission report, his mind continued to wander to Yor’s odd behavior. He was a bit more convinced now that there was no other man. But then, if she were interested in him, Loid Forger, what made her so hesitant and sad? And more alarmingly, what had led her to study his face so intently? Was she onto his ruse?

—

Twilight made no effort to hide his exhaustion when Franky visited his home for lunch. By way of greeting, the informant dropped a thick folder of intel onto the dining table where the man was hard at work right after returning from his out-of-town mission.

Twilight mumbled a gruff thanks as he looked through the contents of the folder, no doubt parsing and memorizing all the important details on the fly. Franky flopped down in the chair opposite him and stretched his arms behind his head.

“So, how was the wifey when you got back?”

Twilight rolled his eyes and didn’t answer, pretending to be engrossed in the files. 

“That bad, huh? I thought all those dates would have paid off by now.”

The spy huffed and set down the papers. “She’s fine. She’s just…different from other women.”

Franky guffawed and tipped the chair back with his feet against the edge of the table. Twilight rapped his toes with the folder disapprovingly.

“Different, eh? Sounds like you might need dating lessons of your own.”

Twilight glared at him. “Speaking of dating lessons, how did the trial with Fiona go?”

Franky went along with the obvious change in topic, only because he couldn’t wait to disclose the main reason he had dropped by so soon. “Before I get to that, let me tell you the best news I’ve had in years. I asked a girl out. And she said yes! And we actually went on a date!!”

“A real girl?”

“Yes, an honest-to-God real woman! Total knockout too! Her name’s Priscilla. She works at the pub on Second Street. I’ve known her for a while and she turned me down twice before. But you know what they say, third time’s the charm!”

Twilight looked amused and impressed. “Congratulations.” Then he picked up the files again and resumed reading.

“‘So, Franky, how did the date go?’ Why, thank you for asking, Twilight,” Franky continued. “We went to a romantic movie and she loved it! Totally set the mood. And then we went to dinner at a nice restaurant! That almost counts as two dates, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I got her flowers, and listened to her talk about her interests, mostly the movie and the actor she has a crush on, and I didn’t stutter once. Not once! And she asked me about my life too! She was actually interested and didn’t look bored. And here’s the kicker. When I walked her home, I said we should hang out again sometime, and she said, and I quote: ‘Yeah, let’s hang out again. I’ll let you know! Have a good night, Franky.’”

If Twilight found it creepy that he’d memorized Priscilla’s exact words and mimicked her high-pitched voice just now, he didn’t show it. “Great job, Franky. You’ve come a long way from scoring in the negative 60’s.”

Franky grinned. “It’s all thanks to Gisela, man. Thank you both.”

“You mean just me. Gisela isn’t real.”

“Yeah. Thank you.” Franky tried not to give away any signs of discomfort. “Hey, so now we gotta move onto the next stage!”

“Next stage?” 

“An actual second date! Holding hands! Maybe even a goodnight kiss!”

“Whoa there.” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “At your level, I’d advise holding off on physical displays of affection until the third date.”

Franky deflated a bit. “But…you should have seen Priscilla! She really enjoyed my company and had fun. I have to be prepared for any circumstance! Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Yeah, when I’m referring to life-or-death missions,” Twilight said dryly. He looked like he wanted to poke another hole in Franky’s bubble of excitement, but sat back and sighed. “Well, when’s the second date?”

“...I haven’t confirmed it yet.”

“Okay. Are you sure she was sincere?” Twilight asked. “Sometimes women say they’ll see you again just to be nice and avoid awkwardness, but then they disappear and avoid you.”

Franky was sure that had never happened to Twilight. He couldn’t help but sound defensive. “I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but I’m pretty sure! And anyway, let’s say in the worst case scenario she was just being nice. I’m still in the game now! I can ask out other women and have a decent chance at another date! So I should be prepared regardless.”

“Alright, alright. The next practice session, we’ll cover the basics of physical affection. Basics. I can already foresee that this will be just as difficult for you as learning not to stutter.”

Franky was excited enough to ignore the insult. He would get to see Gisela again, sometime soon! It had been way too long. 

“Now tell me about Fiona.” There was a slight change in Twilight’s tone. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but Franky knew him well. He sounded nervous.

“Honestly, I was going to give her a zero star review,” Franky began. Twilight winced in a way that said he’d fully expected that outcome. “But then she showed up for me and my buddies when we were in a pinch with the you-know-who’s. So we agreed to start clean. She’s still gotta pass the trial period, but I’m not writing her off. Seems like she’s more similar to you than I thought. All prickly on the outside but a big softie on the inside.”

“Excuse me?” Twilight objected. “I am not and have never been soft. I can’t afford to be.”

“Sure, sure. Your daughter and wife would disagree, though.”

“I only act that way around them for the mi–”

“Zip!” Franky made a quick zipping motion across his own mouth. “No. Just no. But anyway, I’ll see Fiona again at some point. I just want to practice with you first. Nailing my second date with Priscilla is top priority. I can’t keep her waiting for so long that she thinks I’m the one who was just being nice. Three day rule, right? I can’t keep her waiting more than three days before following up. So today or tomorrow I gotta go find her and ask.”

Twilight regarded him with a faint bemused smile once more. 

“What?” Franky prodded.

Twilight laughed lightly and shook his head. “Nothing. Just…I admit you’ve far surpassed my expectations. Granted, it was an extremely low bar to begin with–”

“Hey!”

“–but there’s hope for you yet. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll reach that 78% success rate on par with the plan I had initially proposed.”

He recalled that absurd plan where Twilight would have disguised himself as Franky and chatted up Veronica on his behalf. “Thanks. Even if you pulled that number and every other number since then straight out of your ass.”

Chapter Text

Franky could not believe his streak of good luck. He’d successfully asked Priscilla out and had a wonderful first date. He’d freed his friends from the clutches of the secret police. Fiona had then saved him to fulfill some weird debt of honor. 

And now, he had just secured a second date!

Oh, Franky! Good to see you again! You almost never come by for lunch anymore!

Dinner on Friday? Oh…okay! Sure!

Pegasus Bar? Alright! See you then!

Even better—after finishing his lunch at the pub where Priscilla worked, he was heading straight to a date with Gisela. He hadn’t seen Gisela for two weeks and his chest practically buzzed with anticipation. He whistled to himself as he strode down the street with a new confidence he usually only exhibited when it was payday for a big job.

He’d already dressed his best in order to make a good impression on Priscilla, so he didn’t need to stop at any of his safehouses to change. He merely popped some breath mints into his mouth and imagined what it would be like to see Gisela again. Would she be happy to see him too? Would she be interested in what he’d been up to during their time apart? What kinds of things had happened in her own life the past two weeks? 

Franky hoped Twilight would be a good sport and act the part. Even though he’d looked tired yesterday, he seemed to be in better spirits. Maybe he’d gone through with his promise to Anya and told his wife he would miss her before he’d left for Dresdene. Maybe she had reciprocated the sentiment. It was nice to know that all that babysitting had paid off somewhat.

Today, they would meet at the place where they’d had their first date. Franky could hardly believe how much he’d improved since then. As the quaint corner cafe came into view, he subconsciously slowed his pace and schooled the silly grin on his face into something a bit tamer. A shadow of the jitters he’d felt back then ghosted through his nerves. That first day, he’d walked in blind, not knowing what Twilight’s mask would look like or how she’d act. Whether she’d reject Franky off the bat or miraculously accommodate all his egregious fumbles. To his surprise and delight, she had surpassed all his expectations.

Aside from a few pointed out-of-character glares, Gisela had been the perfect picture of an angel. Beautiful, elegant, kind, empathetic, thoughtful. Someone tailored to fit his personality and allow him to forget all his flaws and failures for the brief time they were together.

Franky knew his time with Gisela was ticking down to a close. They’d have a few more dates before Twilight would probably push to wrap it up. Success had never felt more bittersweet. But he’d be damned if he wouldn’t enjoy every remaining minute.

He took a deep breath and straightened his spine, then walked into the cafe. 

There she was, sitting in the back, at the table where they’d first met. Golden hair cascading down one shoulder, her pink manicured nails striking a bold contrast against the white ceramic mug in her hands. As soon as she spotted him, she perked up with a brilliant smile. Franky’s heart skipped a beat in elation. He passed the counter in a hurry, not bothering to place an order as he went to greet her.

“Franky!” she said as he slowed to a stop and briefly hesitated. Was he supposed to go in for the hug now? But he’d already placed his hand on the back of an empty chair, so he decided to play it safe.

“Hi, Gisela! So good to see you again!” he gushed as he sat down opposite her. “It’s been way too long!”

She tilted her head and laughed in her mesmerizing way. “Life gets busy for all of us. I can’t wait to catch up!”

“Me too. What have you been up to? Did you get to visit your parents?” Franky asked. In the back of his mind he predicted that if Twilight was still planning to grade this date, he would have just earned five points for asking about her life first.

He listened intently to her every word as she brightened. It was the right question to ask. Gisela had felt guilty for some time about not living close to her parents. Now that guilt seemed to have lifted from her shoulders as she recounted a wonderful weekend trip she’d spent with them in a popular tourist city. Franky felt her happiness like it was his own. 

When it was his turn to share, he decided on a whim to be a bit more honest than usual. He leaned closer and his voice drew down to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone this, but I had a close call with the you-know-who’s.”

Gisela’s long-lashed eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in an infinitesimal flash of skepticism before settling back into mild concern. “What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry,” he said, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. He was laughing at both Gisela and Twilight for once. He’d never told Twilight the exact details of what had happened that night with Teller and Fiona. “I was just getting ready to turn in for the night when an old friend called me in a panic and told me another pal was in trouble. I thought about it for all of two seconds before I decided I had to go help him.”

“Franky…” Gisela said in a hush. Franky relished the surprise and uncertainty in her voice, and the fact he’d probably caught Twilight off guard too. Telling a civilian about a close brush with the SSS was not a safe topic of conversation for any date. Franky wondered how Twilight would play this. This would be good. Useful. Maybe one day when he found himself in a real relationship and wanted to test the waters, this unscripted practice run would come in handy.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m all in one piece and safe,” he said again. “Anyway, remember some of those gadgets I told you about? I reconfigured some of them on the fly and took them with me. Then I went to my friend’s apartment and found him in a bind. Literally. But I broke him out and we escaped!”

Gisela stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. Her lovely lips were slightly parted. ”Well…I’m glad you were able to help your friend. But…what exactly did he do?”

It was a completely reasonable question for a civilian to ask. Franky smiled conspiratorially, happy that Twilight was playing along. Maybe he should have taken more risks earlier. He already knew Gisela wouldn’t reject him, so why not share some tidbits about his secret life?

“Oh, you know, ran up some debts and had to resort to some shady stuff to get by,” Franky replied. “But he’s a good guy. I couldn’t just let him disappear.”

Gisela nodded slowly, still wary and hesitant. He could see the troubling questions in her eyes. Are all your friends like that? Are you like that?

Franky intuited that now was the time to get more serious. Continuing to joke about it would only make a normal civilian more alarmed and likely to flee, if not report him.

“Sorry if this is a lot to dump on you all at once,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I guess I just thought we’ve gotten to know each other enough that it might be okay for me to tell you some things I haven’t told anyone. And that it would only be fair. To you.”

Some of the tension seemed to lighten, and she gave him a tentative smile. “I appreciate that, Franky. I’m glad you trust me enough that you would tell me, even though I admit it still worries me. I…might need some time to think over things.”

“Of course,” Franky said, even as his stomach twisted a bit at the invisible wall that had come up between them. Fake invisible wall. “You can ask me anything, and I’ll answer honestly.”

Gisela appeared a bit intimidated by the offer of a blank check on his secrets. Twilight had to be debating internally how to play this. Never in any of his covers had he had to field this kind of conversation from the other end. He would have never given away a single hint that he wasn’t squeaky clean to a target.

Who knew, maybe this would give the spy some food for thought on how to broach his own secrets with Yor one day.

“Have you…” Gisela hesitated. “Have you told me anything untrue about yourself?”

It was an excellent question. Instead of feeling nervous or exposed, Franky felt excited. Like he was being given a chance to prove himself, and he was reasonably confident he would pass. 

“Not exactly untrue on its face. Just missing details,” he explained. Trust was just as important to him in his civilian life as it was in the underground. “I told you that I run a cigarette stand as my job. And that’s true. But I also do other work on the side.”

“I see.” Her tone was neutral, like she was waiting for more.

“And…I told you I fought in the war. That’s true too. But…” He lowered his voice. “I deserted.”

Gisela’s eyes widened again even as Franky could perceive the underlying wry recognition from Twilight. Their oldest inside joke.

“Oh…then…is Franky even your real name?” she whispered.

He shook his head with a grin. A light laugh escaped his lips. Then another. Gisela began to laugh quietly too, covering her mouth with her long graceful fingers. It was one of the best moments they had shared in their brief history together.

Conversation was easy after that. They veered back into normal topics, serious ones like what her previous relationships had been like (one ex of three years, and only casual dates after that), and Franky unashamedly told her that she was the first woman to pay extended attention to him in a positive way.

Buoyant on their newfound discoveries about each other, they left the cafe walking more closely together than usual. Franky suggested they take a detour through the park before they returned to their respective jobs. There were no overt lessons or prodding needed from the spy underneath the mask. Franky simply felt the time was right, so he reached across the tiny distance between them and brushed her hand. 

“This okay?” he asked softly, and enfolded her fingers within his own. 

She smiled down at him and nodded. They walked hand in hand for a while down the curving path and eventually sat down at a bench. Franky asked her again if it was okay to put his arm around her. A bit awkward, given their height difference, but she assented. This close, he could smell the particular brand of perfume that she always used. Unfortunately, he could also feel the hard, toned muscle of her arm, which jarred him out of their pleasant pretense. There was only so much Twilight could do to conceal his physique.

Franky had thought this would have been more difficult, requiring a few practice sessions before he’d get the hang of initiating physical touch without turning beet red or losing his composure. He wondered why it was so easy. Had he grown that comfortable with Gisela? Or was it because he was extra aware today that it was his friend behind the curtain? His friend, who already knew pretty much everything important and incriminating there was to know about him?

“Gisela,” Franky said, putting an end to that train of thought, “no matter what happens down the line, I wanted you to know—”

He paused as his date tensed rigidly and pulled away from his hold. Then he saw why.

“Excuse me,” the newcomer in front of them said coldly. “That is my boyfriend you’re touching.”

Franky tried to choke down a laugh and utterly failed. It came out as an undignified snort, with a spray of saliva to go with it, thankfully into his palm and not onto Gisela’s clothes.

“A-are you…shitting me?” Franky gasped between peals of laughter, doubling over on the bench. 

This was too rich. This could not be real life. And yet here the three of them were. Franky, infatuated with Twilight’s fake persona, Gisela. Grumpy Lady, wearing a dark wig again, infatuated with Twilight himself, yet willing to humiliate him in public by pretending to catch his alter-ego seducing her so-called boyfriend (when had that happened?). And finally Twilight, caught in the middle without a fucking clue that his spy colleague had the hots for him. 

And for once Franky couldn’t fault Twilight for being clueless. Because what woman in her right mind would pull a stunt like this on the man she claimed to love?

“I’m sorry,” Gisela gritted out in a low voice, halfway to Twilight already. “I wasn’t aware he was taken.”

“I’m not—” Franky tried to say.

“It’s complicated,” Fiona interrupted. “But he’s still mine.”

“Now hold on just a—”

“Never once has he ever brought you up during conversation,” Gisela said tersely. “Are you sure you aren’t mistaken?”

Was Twilight really going to get into this now? Franky glanced around and thanked whatever god was out there that no one was nearby. The average passerby already had a hard time believing that someone like him could attract a woman as beautiful as Gisela. Let alone inspire two women to fight over him.

He could also tell that the two spies were code-speaking, but the movements of their mouths were so fast and subtle that he couldn’t catch the words. Fiona was probably insisting that they continue their trial period. And Twilight had to be lambasting her for taking such a huge needless risk by approaching him in public. 

Franky grinned ear to ear as he recognized the barely suppressed anger in Fiona’s posture. This was only getting better and better. She could only be angry because Franky had dared to initiate physical contact with her beloved Twilight. Never mind that it was just for practice. Fiona had probably never gotten to hold Twilight’s hand or put her arm around him. 

How the hell had she survived this long as a spy? She possessed next to zero impulse control when it came to Twilight. 

The two agents seemed to come to a tense agreement of sorts as Gisela stood up and turned toward Franky with a semblance of a regretful smile. Underneath, though, Twilight looked like he wanted to murder someone.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, Franky. See you later.”

“Uh, no problem, Gisela. See you!” he said, trying to look somewhat sincere for her sake. Or for Twilight’s dignity. Whatever.

Gisela strode off, shoes clicking aggressively against the path, and Franky hoped the spy would maintain enough professionalism not to blow his own cover on the way home or wherever he was going next. Then, when he judged she was out of earshot, he doubled over laughing again.

Fiona sat down next to him, back straight as a steel beam, and waited for the fit of hysteria to pass. Franky wiped tears from his eyes and put his head in his hands. His laughter eventually tapered into a long amused sigh.

“You got balls, lady. I’ll give you that.”

“This is precisely the kind of unnecessary nonsense that I was afraid you would pull him —her— into. She does not have the time, nor does she deserve the indignity, of instructing you in that aspect of dating. If I hadn’t happened upon you in time–”

Franky tuned her out for a moment as she continued ranting. Clearly she had a lot of pent-up frustration, and today’s events had provided just the opening for it all to pour out. It was rather funny that Franky of all people was her scapegoat, though, when her real problem should have been Yor.

“–and I believe I made it clear that the trial period was still ongoing, and that it would include all such–”

“Are you done?” Franky interrupted, turning toward her with a bemused look. “You wanna restart the trial period, fine, let’s go.”

He held out his hand for her to take. She looked at it like it was covered in slime. He rolled his eyes and extended his arm further.

Gritting her teeth, she put her hand in his palm and stood abruptly, yanking him with her. He nearly stumbled into her before righting himself and following her brisk pace through the park, in the opposite direction from where Gisela had gone.

“Slow down, lady, people are gonna think you’re kidnapping me,” he huffed.

“Why, because you’re the size of a child?”

“Low blow.”

“You don’t deserve any better.”

“Hey, hey,” he said, pulling his hand out of her grip rather painfully. He slowed to a stop and called after her as she walked on. “I thought we were starting over. You gonna blow your second chance just ‘cause you got a little jealous?”

She stopped and clenched her fists, but didn’t turn around. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am not jealous.”

“Sure. Not jealous at all. That’s totally why you stormed in and nearly blew her cover,” he said, lowering his voice. “Not to mention it was a really dick move. Is that how you plan to win her affection?”

She whirled and had her hands on his jacket lapels in a flash. “Why would I be jealous of you? He —she— doesn’t hold any affection for you. I’m just outraged that you would ask such a thing of her. You don’t have an ounce of shame.”

“Again, she agreed to it fair and square, there’s no way I could strongarm someone like her into doing anything. So just face it, you’re jealous.”

“No, absolutely—”

“Did you know she used to assign numerical scores to our dates early on? I started off in the deep negative double digits but steadily made my way into the positives. That’s how her mind works. Right now she's probably grading you in the negative triple digits for what you just pulled. Good luck recovering from that.”

That made her pause and reconsider for the briefest of moments before her scowl darkened. “She should be thanking me for giving her an out from having to hold hands and God knows what else with you.”

Franky sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in defeat. There was no getting through to this woman. Whatever, he didn’t care if she failed in her own romantic life anyway. 

“Okay, let’s just forget about it. Start clean. Hello, Fiona! Fancy seeing you here! Wanna take a walk with me?”

She fumed silently for a second, clearly not done with their argument, but acceded in a rare demonstration of self-control. “I suppose.”

They walked side by side for a while, not talking. He knew better than to try to initiate physical contact with her right now. He didn’t really want to touch her, anyway. If they came out of this date on neutral terms, without any more threats and angry stares, he would count that as a win.

“I have a second date with Priscilla coming up soon,” he broke the silence. “That’s why I need practice for the next step.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time. Maybe she was surprised at his success. 

“You really think a woman would be receptive to physical advances on the second date? From you?”

“What is that thing your esteemed colleague loves to say? A good doctor is always prepared. I gotta be prepared for anything. And it’s not like I’m gonna ask her to stay the night.” He ignored the derisive snort from Fiona. “It’s just holding hands, maybe. Just in case the mood is right.”

More contemplative silence. He found he didn’t mind her presence all that much, at least when she wasn’t outright insulting him or literally pushing him around. 

He flinched when she reached toward him again, but relaxed when she merely took his hand. Her face was all steel, as if she were in the midst of a hostage negotiation. Only she could make a simple flirtatious act look like pulling a gun on someone.

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Franky stayed quiet and tried to enjoy their walk through the park. He tried to focus on the feel of her hand in his. It had calluses in the usual spots, and her knuckles were disfigured from combat. But the rest of her skin was soft and delicate. 

After a couple of minutes his palm began to sweat. No one had told him that holding hands could feel gross so quickly. But neither he nor Fiona let go. It became almost a contest of wills. Whoever let go first would lose and prove themselves ‘too weak for the challenge,’ as she would say.

“There are other tactics you should learn,” Fiona said abruptly as they neared the large fountain at the center of the park. 

“Yeah?” He was intrigued as to what she might suggest, or if this was just a subtle way to extricate her hand.

She nodded and drew him toward the edge of the fountain. They sat down next to each other, and she pulled his arm around her waist rather forcefully. He was suddenly pressed to her side, his face uncomfortably close to her neck, where he could smell the clean straightforward tones of her shampoo—or rather, whatever her wig was scented with. She was wearing a turtleneck, so there were plenty of layers of clothing between them. But the sudden closeness felt weirdly intimate. Like he was in the middle of infiltrating a heavily fortified building and had accidentally bypassed several layers of security without even meaning to.

“Sit up straight,” she commanded. 

He obeyed automatically, as if she were his superior in the military. It had been years since his army service, but as was common for soldiers, some of the training was deeply ingrained in his brain. 

She slouched a bit so that their shoulders were level. And then, slowly, she leaned her head over until it rested in the crook of his neck.

Every muscle in his body went tense. His heart rate shot up. He could hardly compute what was happening. But he wasn’t short-circuiting because he was turned on in any way. No, it felt more like he was in the grip of a large predator, a boa constrictor perhaps, fangs posed to strike at his jugular if he dared to move.

“Uh,” he gulped. “Is this comfortable for you?”

“We will hold this position for ten minutes. Or until your heart rate and breathing return to their resting state. You must become inoculated to casual physical contact with a woman.”

Franky would have laughed at the absurdity of it all if he didn’t also feel like a deer cornered by wolves. This lady really was something else. The weirdest woman he had ever met. And the most sincere. There was no guile to her, despite the fact she was a spy in enemy territory and risked her life undercover every day. 

“Alright,” he managed. “Ten minutes it is.”

The following ten minutes were the strangest he had ever experienced in his life. He calmed down somewhat, but didn’t feel completely out of the danger zone, if only because Fiona herself was extremely tense and hyper-aware of their surroundings. Perhaps she was afraid Twilight would come back and see them, and somehow misunderstand what was going on. Or maybe she just hated the fact that dozens of civilians were witnessing this awkward romantic act with someone she could barely stomach.

Or, maybe she had never done this before either. The blind leading the blind.

“Time,” she declared softly, and withdrew from his hold. His neck was damp with sweat, and her wig was slightly crooked. She fixed it up quickly and stood from the fountain. “There. You should be adequately prepared for the second engagement. We will debrief next time I stop by your stand.”

Despite himself, Franky grinned. “Alright, then. Thanks, Fiona.”

Chapter Text

Showtime.

Franky arrived early at Pegasus Bar and took a seat in the waiting area. He distracted himself from the jitters by studying his surroundings. It was a little game he played sometimes when bored in a new environment. He looked for the likeliest places for nefarious actors to plant bugs. After that, he dreamed up inventive ways to prank the entrance.

All the while he kept an eye on the street, in the direction of the bus stop where Priscilla would likely come from. As the clock ticked a few minutes past the agreed time, he tried to fight off the little spikes of dread in his stomach that warned him she wasn’t going to show up. She could have changed her mind and backed out. Twilight could be right about her just playing nice to his face.

Not a big deal, he told himself. Sure, it would suck to be rejected once again. But he knew how to take a loss. He’d been through that disappointment recently with Veronica. He hadn’t even felt down for that long, because in the back of his mind he knew there was always an upside: he could keep seeing Gisela.

Well, Fiona would likely barge into half of his dates with her now. But still, Franky had a higher chance of convincing Twilight to continue coaching him if he consistently failed at real dates.

Looking back on his last date with Gisela, where they’d held hands and sat next to each other on the bench for a brief moment, he felt the bittersweet pang of their inevitable separation even more acutely. It wasn’t exactly like the anticipation of a breakup or a rejection. It was…grief.

Grief, because they wouldn’t be parting ways to live their own separate lives. Gisela would no longer exist. 

Technically, she had never existed. She was a mask, an act Twilight had masterfully created. If Franky had any common sense, he would force himself to reframe what she was to him. She wasn’t a real person, and it wasn’t healthy to keep dreaming of her as one. She was a fictional character, like a heroine in the comic books he had loved as a kid. He remembered the volume in the Light Year League series where his favorite female character, Mandi Moonbeam, had died at the hands of the main villain. As a teen, even knowing it was just a story, he had cried in his room as he absorbed that tragic turn in the plot.

His eyes treacherously began to water as he sat there in the waiting area, staring out the window and no longer distinguishing the individual pedestrians moving on the sidewalk. Here he was, a grown man, still just as sentimental as he’d been back then.

The door jangled as Priscilla walked in. “Franky?”

He hadn’t even seen her approach. He hastily wiped his eyes and put on a broad smile as he stood up to greet her, hoping she hadn’t noticed his show of emotion.

“Are you okay?” she asked in concern. Too late.

“Yeah, yeah, there’s just something in the air that got in my eyes,” he waved it off, and offered his arm to her without thinking. She glanced at it, a bit puzzled, but before he could withdraw in haste, she placed a dainty hand on his elbow and smiled. 

The sight of her adorable crescent-shaped eyes brought him fully back to the present. She’d left her hair down and dressed up a little for their date. Her teardrop earrings glistened in the light. She had actually taken the time to do all this after her work shift. The thought floored him.

Strangely, instead of feeling nervous about the heightened stakes, it was as if the universe had just granted him a comforting hug. It wasn’t the end of the world if he lost Gisela. There were many other wonderful (real) women out there, like Priscilla.

They took a nice window seat, and Franky pulled out all the stops in ordering the expensive tasting menu despite her protests. She didn’t need to know that he was using the bulk of his remaining savings on their date. The odd sentimentality that had seized him earlier only deepened as the date went on. He felt like he was on top of the world, nailing every conversational turn and quirky joke and casual compliment, the words and actions flowing naturally out of him like he was simply hanging out with a dear friend. At the same time, beneath the surface of this perfect date, a yawning abyss of the unknown awaited, echoing with the question he’d begun to ask himself earlier tonight. How would he say goodbye to Gisela?

“Can I walk you home?” Franky asked as he helped her put on her jacket later. He’d purposely picked a restaurant that was a fifteen minute walk from her apartment.

“Sure, if you’re not busy,” Priscilla said, and put her hand on his elbow again without prompting. 

Plus five points, he thought to himself. Even Twilight would have graded this date a perfect 100 points, he was sure. It really had gone as smoothly as he could dream of. 

As the cool night air welcomed them outside, Franky became more reticent. His mind began to slow down, without any new ideas of what to talk about with Priscilla. The old him might have started panicking, but right now, he felt calm. It wasn’t so bad, walking in silence.

“Are you feeling okay, Franky?” Priscilla asked again. 

He was about to tell her he was fine and try to come up with some joke to divert her attention, but instead he sighed. They both began to walk slower.

“I’m feeling a bit nostalgic, I guess,” he admitted. Half the truth. “I got to thinking recently about some friends I’ve had to say goodbye to over the years. Some, as far back as the war.”

“Oh…I’m sorry, Franky,” Priscilla said softly, and drew a bit closer. “What made you think about them today?”

Lying convincingly on the fly wasn’t Franky’s forte, but Priscilla seemed like a trusting person. And it was true that he did think about the friends and family he had lost from time to time.

“It’s sort of funny…I was feeling really happy, looking forward to our date. I was thinking about how lucky I am.” For once, he didn’t stutter or feel self-conscious, though Priscilla did seem to tense a little. “And somehow that made me think about the good times in the past that I shared with old friends.”

He stopped there, hoping he wouldn’t have to embellish it any further. Priscilla didn’t know him all that well, so she probably wouldn’t pry.

He guessed correctly. She didn’t ask any more questions, merely humming in sympathy. Then she slid her hand downward from his elbow to entwine their fingers together. Her hand was small and delicate, unlike Gisela’s. And her skin was soft, without the calluses Fiona carried.

Franky was glad he’d practiced with the two spies. He managed to smile encouragingly at Priscilla without looking too nervous. Hopefully he wouldn’t start to sweat too quickly either.

“I like that you’re so optimistic,” she said after a while. “That you still have such a great sense of humor even after losing people close to you in the war. That’s really admirable.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, and gave her hand a squeeze. His training with Gisela kicked in. Now was the moment to compliment her in return and up the ante. But not too much, he couldn’t come on too strong. “I like you too. You’re a really kind person.”

Should he go further? Would it backfire?

“I haven’t had much luck in my dating life, as you could probably guess,” he went on before he could think too hard about it. “But I’ve only met a handful of women who turned me down so nicely that it almost didn’t feel like a rejection. You’re one of them. And…you’re the only one who changed her mind later and gave me a chance.”

“Oh…well…I…” she stammered. 

Crap. Had he messed it all up?

“If we’re being honest, I…I don’t want to make you feel bad, but…”

Here it was. He braced himself for the incoming blow. It would hit all the harder after he’d gotten his hopes up and done so well on their date.

“I originally said yes because I just really wanted to see that movie,” she confessed. 

“Oh. I see,” Franky answered neutrally. It was suddenly very awkward to hold hands with her. He wondered how he could let go without making it even more awkward. “Well, that’s alright–”

“But,” she interrupted quietly, “I think I have changed my mind. After getting to know you more, I really do admire you. It’s fun to be around you, and…I wouldn’t mind meeting up again.”

The yo-yo effect of her second admission struck him speechless for several seconds. The figurative punch to the gut never came. He was still standing, still in the game.

“Really?” he said, unable to conceal his shock. His grip on her hand slackened involuntarily, but she held on. 

“Yes,” she giggled. “This is fun. And…if it doesn’t work out, we’ll still be friends, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, for sure!”

They reached her door, and even though it was only their second date, the stakes had changed significantly. Without meaning to, Franky had secured a sort-of commitment to keep seeing each other. The first such commitment a woman had ever given him. 

She turned toward him before opening the door, and fidgeted with her purse before meeting his eyes. “I hope you feel better, Franky.”

“Oh,” he tried to brush it off again with a warm smile. “I already do. Thank you. I had a wonderful night, really looking forward to next time.”

Her tentative smile spread across her face and curved her lovely eyes into crescents once more. Before he knew what was happening, she stepped forward and hugged him. It only lasted for two seconds or so, but she had done it of her own accord, just like when she’d held hands with him. Two miracles in one night!

“See you next time, Franky!” she said cheerily as she went inside the apartment.

“See you!” He kept waving dumbly even after the door closed. 

His chest roiled with newfound hope and disbelief and confusion. Anticipation of what he needed to do next to keep this good thing going. This is what he had been wishing for all his life, and he was finally getting a real shot to prove himself.

In light of Priscilla’s compassion and gentle smile, his dark thoughts from earlier no longer hung over him so heavily as he made his way home. His natural optimism took root once more and buoyed him toward a horizon of possibilities. 

—

Franky was due to babysit for the Forgers the next day, as Twilight planned to take Yor out for a lunch date. This would be the first time they had gone out since the spy had returned from Dresdene. Distracted by Gisela and Priscilla, Franky hadn’t given too much thought to how his dating coach’s own love life was going. The man was still knee deep in denial, but that was to be expected. Franky was fairly certain that Yor would have to make the first move before Twilight would fully confront his own feelings. 

“Hi Franky!” Yor welcomed him into the Forger home. Bond borf’ed a greeting and nuzzled his hand right away, looking for treats. He’d spoiled the dog almost as much as he’d been spoiling Anya during his visits.

“Where’s Loid?” Franky asked once he’d settled down at the dining table. In the seat beside him, Anya was busy with a Spy Wars coloring book. 

“He had some work to do at the hospital, so he’ll meet me at the restaurant,” Yor explained, and self-consciously brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’d styled her hair in waves again, complementing the demure solid-colored blouse and skirt she’d chosen for the date. Gold jewelry glinted from her wrist and neck.

Twilight’s powers of denial were impressive indeed. Any normal man would have fallen over themselves to go out with a woman as beautiful as Yor twice a week. Let alone live with her as her husband. 

Despite all the fancy dates, though, Twilight had hinted that he was still having a tough time reading his wife. And now Franky was noticing firsthand that Yor looked uneasy. She had always had a nervous manner about her, but right now her nervousness was coupled with an aura of despondence that hadn’t been there before. 

Franky debated whether to try to find out more in the few minutes he was here with her, just to help his friend out. But if Twilight hadn’t been able to understand her after all this time, would Franky really have a chance of figuring out the problem?

“Anya’s going to her room to get all her stuffies ready for the Castle Invasion game,” the girl announced out of the blue, and promptly gathered up her book and crayons. “Bye, Mama!”

“See you later, sweetie!”

That had been oddly well-timed. But now that Franky was alone with Yor, he wasn’t exactly sure how to broach the subject. 

“You look really happy today, Franky. Even more so than usual!” Yor said, taking a seat across from him. 

“Oh, I do?” 

Only then did he realize that the high from his successful date yesterday hadn’t yet worn off. He must have been grinning like a fool for Yor to notice things were different.

“Well,” he began, fully leaning into his triumph, “I do have some good news to share! I had a second date with someone yesterday. And she wants to keep seeing me!”

The muted sadness in Yor’s countenance fled as she clapped excitedly. “Wow! Congratulations, Franky! That’s amazing!”

“Thank you, thank you!” He bowed his head in an exaggerated fashion. “I just hope I don’t mess this up!”

“I’m sure you won’t. Just try your best! I believe in you!” 

Her encouragement sounded like what she routinely said to Anya about her studies, but Franky appreciated the spirit of it. 

“So how did she start to show interest in you?” Yor sounded genuinely curious. “I seem to remember you didn’t have much luck before. I mean! Not that you’re lacking in any way! And I’m hardly one to speak, with my–”

Franky waved it off good-naturedly. “Totally valid question! Well, lately I, uh, learned a few new tips.”

He paused for a moment before deciding to hell with it, he might as well try to boost her opinion of her husband as a favor to the latter.

“Loid’s been giving me advice and such. It’s helped a lot,” he added. He planned to just leave it at that. It was completely normal for close friends to help each other out with their dating lives, after all. 

Oddly, her smile waned a bit before she forced it back in place—evidence that her unease was related to Twilight somehow. “Oh? That’s great to hear! I’m so glad Loid has been a good friend to you after all you’ve done for us, babysitting Anya so often.”

“Aw, it’s nothing. I love playing with Anya, she keeps me young!”

“She keeps me young, too,” Yor said with a light laugh. “She’s such a sweet girl and quick to listen. I’m really happy I get to help Loid raise her.”

It was a small opening, but he’d take it. “Loid better be showing his gratitude for everything you do for him. If he isn’t, let me know, I’ll knock some sense into him!”

Yor blushed immediately and looked down at her lap. “Oh, no, Loid’s fine. I mean, he’s very kind! He’s always very kind to me.”

‘Kind.’ It was too generic and standoffish of a word to describe one’s spouse. If it had been anyone but Franky as her audience, they probably would have raised an eyebrow. But Franky knew about the true nature of the Forgers’ marriage, and didn’t call her out.

Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure whether Yor was aware that he knew their marriage was a cover. He and Twilight hadn’t exactly gone out of their way to conceal it, but then again Yor wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box when it came to social cues. He decided to take a gamble. He was close enough to the family that he trusted it wouldn’t alarm Yor too much.

“How’s married life been overall? It’s been what, a bit more than half a year?”

“Ye–I mean, no, it’s been a year and a half!” she said, reddening further at her slip.

Franky chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “It’s okay, Yor. Me and Loid go way back. I know.”

Her eyes widened comically, and her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on the table. Warning bells went off in Franky’s head as it almost seemed like she was going to attack him. But then the strange aura around her dissipated, and she breathed a sigh of relief. A nervous smile touched her lips.

“Really? You…you’ve known all this time? And never…never told anyone?” she said timidly.

“Of course not. Loid’s like a brother to me. Your secret’s safe, don’t worry,” he promised.

“Thank you, Franky. I…I’ve always been grateful for how much you help us with Anya. And now I’m even more grateful,” she said, and her smile grew more genuine. “I’m glad that Loid has such a good friend he can count on.”

“I’m glad you came into his life, too. I can see the change in him clear as day,” he ventured. 

Twilight was going to kill him if he ever found out how much he was meddling. But from the way Yor’s expressive eyes lit up, he knew he’d hit a vein of pure gold. 

“He was a workaholic, all business, didn’t know how to loosen up and have any fun. He was struggling with Anya, too. Now…I guess he’s still a workaholic, but he’s definitely loosening up. And he’s a lot happier.”

“R-really?” Yor said in a half-whisper. 

“Trust me, Yor. You’ve been a godsend.”

Her deep red eyes took on an alarming sheen that sent him scrambling. The last thing he wanted was for her to start crying. 

“So I hope he’s been properly showing his appreciation! I mean, he has to be with all these dates, right?” Franky said quickly. 

“Oh…yes, of course he has. And more than just dates…” She hesitated and began to fidget with her gold bracelet. “He’s bought me nice gifts, and takes care of almost all the cooking and housework and bills, and…”

Franky didn’t know why she had deflated so much over the course of talking about Loid’s obvious affection for her, but he suspected she was close to revealing the answer. He just had to tread delicately.

“Franky…” Yor said softly. She stopped fidgeting and clasped her hands together on the table, as if summoning all her courage. “You must know Loid better than anyone…so…I hope…you don’t mind if I ask a rather personal question? If I’m overstepping, please forget I said anything!”

“Ask away! Don’t worry about it at all!”

“Is…is Loid an honest person?”

Franky paused, taken aback by the raw danger of the question. He’d been expecting something along the lines of whether Loid was romantically attracted to her, or tips on how she could be a better help to him, or why Loid was taking her on so many dates these days. But this signaled something else entirely.

Had Yor begun to suspect that Loid was a spy? Or at least that there was something fishy about him?

This was bad. Very, very bad. Franky wished in vain that he’d just minded his own business to begin with. This was what he got for trying to help Twilight out.

But…he could still help him. In fact, it was more important than ever that he relay this information to Twilight and ensure the spy shored up his cover ASAP. First, he had to salvage this conversation and assure Yor that nothing was off about her husband, even though he was terrible at lying under pressure.

He played off his initial shock as exactly that—bewilderment that Yor would believe her husband, Franky’s best friend, was a liar.

“What do you mean?” he asked. It was a defensive tactic he’d picked up from observing spies and other seasoned operators who had mastered the art of evading the authorities.

“I mean…” She faltered, looking a bit ashamed, but continued nonetheless. “Lately…I have this odd feeling that he…he’s hiding something. From me.”

Franky made a wry face. “Ah. Well. Could it be that his work is stressing him out? He just got back from that conference out of town, after all.”

She shook her head. “No, it started before that. I…”

As Yor fell silent and sank into an unseen internal debate, Franky rifled through his options. He could keep turning questions back on her to try to elicit more details about her doubts, but that would come off as shifty. He could defend Loid and assert that he was an upright and honest man, but part of him hesitated.

If one day, however it might come about, Twilight decided to come clean with Yor, Franky’s false assurances might make that conversation even more complicated and fraught than it would inevitably be. 

“Never mind,” Yor said in a small voice, sounding more defeated than before. And beneath the defeat, he thought he sensed guilt as well.

Franky should have felt relieved that she was giving up her line of inquiry, but instead he felt a pang of indignation at the sight of her slumped shoulders. Out of everyone in his immediate circle, Yor was an upright and honest person. A clean person. She didn’t deserve to have her feelings toyed with, intentionally or not, by Twilight’s mission parameters and denial-driven idiocy. She certainly didn’t deserve to feel guilty when she was being conned by a master spy.

“Yor, let me tell you about the kind of person Loid is,” Franky said slowly, picking each word with care. “He’s the kind of man who would do anything to make his daughter happy and keep her safe, even if it means fudging a few facts to get her into school and hiding his work injuries so she doesn’t feel scared for her Papa. He was willing to lie about your marriage to get her into Eden, right? And to help you with your own cover so you wouldn’t draw so much scrutiny as a single woman?”

“Y-yes,” Yor said a bit shakily, riveted by his words. 

“So…is he a completely honest person? No. But…his intentions are honest. And his heart’s in the right place. I wouldn’t have stayed friends with him this long if it wasn’t.”

Yor digested his words with a look of intense concentration. Her eyes, incapable of hiding emotion, slowly flickered from indecision to clarity.

“Last thing I’ll say is, he cares about you. No question about it. If he knew you had doubts about him, he’d want to talk it out with you right away. My advice is to tell him what’s on your mind, and give him a chance.”

Yor nodded, and gave him a small, wavering smile. “Thank you, Franky. I really appreciate this. You…you’ve helped me a lot.”

“Anytime!” Franky said, relieved to be out of the woods. Now it was on Twilight to field the rest of this thorny problem. Maybe starting in a few minutes, when he would meet his wife on their date.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t like Yor to be late, but Twilight took it in stride and waited patiently at the corner table in the intimate Latin Americian restaurant he’d chosen for their date. He had made Yor wait for him plenty of times due to unexpected complications on missions, starting with the fateful night they’d attended Camilla’s party together.

Usually, Twilight would use extra downtime to mull over strategies for his next side mission or prepare for his next meeting with Sylvia, but today his mind kept drifting back to Yor. Since he’d returned from his Dresdene trip, she had continued to wear an above-average amount of makeup, and they’d begun to hug each other goodbye when they parted ways for work. Her gaze lingered on him at random times, but not with the air of intense scrutiny from when he had first returned. 

He had never quite figured out what she had been looking for in his face that one time. She no longer seemed suspicious, although the hint of resignation remained beneath her hopeful glances and shy touches. Yor, as ever, was a mystery. A mystery he needed to decipher more urgently than before.

As he had learned all too well from the Shellbury incident, he could not afford to let his guard down. Once he allowed a seed of doubt to take root, it was only a matter of time before his cover would be blown.

The issue here was that Yor seemed genuinely attracted to him. He had replayed every interaction he could remember from the ill-fated kick to the chin until now, trying to puzzle out how she could have turned from violent rejection to, for lack of a better term, developing a crush on him. He had learned from all their conversations that she had never been in a relationship, had never even thought of anyone that way before. 

He tried to ignore the entirely inappropriate warmth in his gut at the thought he was the first man she had ever harbored feelings for. Then there was the immediate guilt that accompanied it, which he also tried to suppress. He was a spy. There was no room for such sentiment and attachments in his trade. One day, he would leave Yor and become nothing but a bittersweet—or merely bitter—memory to her. 

And that brought him back to the original purpose of all these dates, courtesy of Franky’s babysitting. He had intended to put Yor at ease in his company and shore up their cover as a married couple, enough to convince the Eden crowd at the next formal event. Instead he’d overshot his goal and unintentionally honey trapped her.

He could theoretically work with that. He could use her feelings to his benefit as he had done with so many other women. In the worst case, if she somehow suspected he wasn’t who he said he was, he might be able to manipulate her into keeping quiet.

Except.

The thought of manipulating Yor like any of his honey trap targets viscerally sickened him.

Here was where his planning and rationalization stuttered to a stop. He was in a treacherous spot, purposely ignoring and suppressing his innate reactions to what was happening. A spy of his caliber shouldn’t have fallen victim to such a blatant form of compromise. Shouldn’t have shied away from confronting the first telltale signs head-on, when there had still been plenty of time to course-correct.

The front door opened and Yor hurried in, apologizing unnecessarily to the hostess for being late. The latter graciously deflected and led her between the tightly packed tables toward the back where Twilight waited.

An easy, planned smile rose to his face, erasing his look of pensive concentration. Yor had styled her hair in waves again, which fell gracefully around her shoulders. She was wearing the necklace and bracelet he had gifted her, as she had every day this week. 

The moment she spotted him, her nervous frown shifted to a warm, sheepish smile. All the while he tried to fight the sinking feeling in his stomach that all of this was going sideways.

“I’m so sorry for being late, Loid! You must have been waiting for such a long time!” she gushed as he stood to greet her. 

She was so flustered that she didn’t give him any time to help her with her jacket or to pull her chair out, simply plopping down in her seat with her back ramrod straight as if ready to start on lunch right away.

“It’s totally fine, don’t worry about it,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Did Anya give you trouble at home?”

“No, not at all!”

“Was Franky late?”

“No! It really was just my fault. I stayed and talked to him for a bit and lost track of time.”

A faint warning chimed in his head. What could she have discussed with Franky that would have absorbed so much of her attention?

Her smile brightened. “So you’ve been giving Franky dating tips! He told me he had a really nice date with someone thanks to your help.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” 

Twilight hadn’t talked to Franky since Nightfall’s hostile takeover at the park bench. That afternoon had been so infuriating and humiliating that his blood still simmered just remembering it. Since then, he’d kept interactions with Nightfall at a bare minimum to drive home the rule that agents should avoid unnecessary contact while undercover. A bit petty of him, but Nightfall really should have known better, given the delicate context she had found him in. Her ambitions truly knew no bounds.

“Yes! I’m so happy for him! He’s such a nice person, he deserves someone who’ll appreciate him.” 

Yor was positively beaming, lateness forgotten. Twilight suppressed a sigh of relief. It seemed Franky had been discreet and hadn’t given away anything close to the nature of their deal. The informant would be a dead man if he ever let a hint slip to Yor or anyone else. The fact that a single WISE colleague had found out was already a nightmare to deal with.

“I hope it works out for him too,” he said, and silently thanked the waiter for bringing over the menus so he could change the topic.

But after some small talk about their respective mornings, she gravitated back toward the subject of Franky’s dating life. Beneath his dismay, Twilight felt a bit of pride on Yor’s behalf; at the start of these dates, she had almost never tried to steer the conversation, as if afraid he wouldn’t be interested in what she wanted to talk about. Seeing her grow in confidence was rewarding in itself.

In itself? What the hell was wrong with him?

“So what kind of advice did you give Franky?” she asked, curiosity glimmering in her deep red eyes. 

“Oh, the usual stuff. He had a pretty low baseline so I had to remind him of the basics. Don’t talk too much about yourself, don’t come on too strong too fast, don’t order food that you have to eat with your hands.”

She tilted her head quizzically. “Hmm. I never thought about the last one before.”

“Food? Yeah. Sandwiches, burgers and the like, those are a mess waiting to happen. Always choose something that can be eaten with a fork and knife.”

Yor looked to the variety of small plates on the table between them, some of which were finger foods. Twilight chuckled preemptively and dipped a piece of bread in chimichurri.

“Well, there are exceptions,” he said as he brought the morsel carefully to his mouth, “if you know what you’re doing.”

Yor giggled behind her napkin. He hadn’t seen her this carefree in quite some time, and tucked that fact away to investigate when he could. What exactly had Franky told her outside of boasting about Priscilla? Unease twisted lightly in his gut at the thought of his informant meddling in Yor’s perception of him, regardless of how positive his intentions might have been. Positive intentions had never gotten Franky very far in life.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Loid…” 

As her confidence began to falter, manifesting in a slight stutter, he had a good idea where her mind had drifted to. Already he was sifting through dozens of possible answers for the most appropriate one.

“Where…how did you…um, learn, to, uh, d-date? So you could give such good advice to Franky?” she rushed through the last sentence, a telltale blush blooming on her face. 

He continued eating as if completely unfazed by the question, hoping to put her at ease. In truth, if it were anyone else asking, he wouldn’t have been fazed at all. But with Yor, as always, he had to tread carefully.

Beneath the innocent question, what did she really want to know? Was she asking out of insecurity, wondering how she compared to other women he had been with, not least of all his non-existent late wife? Was she suspicious of his past and whether he had any womanizing tendencies? Was she hesitant to give into any nascent feelings of attraction because she wasn’t sure if he was fully trustworthy?

“I guess I learned from experience.” He decided to keep it as vague as possible, with a dash of self-deprecating humor. “I made my fair share of mistakes back in the day. Like the thing about food. One time a sandwich fell apart in my hands and made a huge mess, and the napkin holder at the table happened to be empty…it was quite embarrassing.”

“Oh…” Yor bit her lip, looking sheepishly amused. “I can’t imagine you ever making a mess, you’re always so perfect.”

“That’s hardly true. Everyone starts somewhere.” So far, his approach seemed to be working. He just had to offer another tactical example without mentioning anything about a specific partner, and–

“Did that…did that happen with your first wife? Or…or with another g-girlfriend?” Her face reddened, and he thought he heard the faint sound of her knuckles cracking underneath the table.

He chose his answer quickly but carefully, praying Yor wouldn’t lose control all of a sudden and break something. “It was with a classmate from university, before I met my wife. Suffice it to say she didn’t really want to go on another date with me after that.”

Yor frowned. “Really? That seems so harsh.”

He shrugged. “It was for the best, in the long run. And I always learned from my mistakes.”

Her frown turned contemplative. “So then…by the time you met your wife…you…” A deep blush spread across her face, and she began stuttering in earnest. “You must have been an expert at dating! I mean, you must have been really good at…at all the manners and what to say and such, from practicing a lot. With other women. Did you?”

The jumble of words didn’t make total sense, but he caught the gist of it and why she was so flustered. She was wondering about his track record. How many women he had been with. 

He laughed with a bit of purposeful nervousness. Better to nip this in the bud fast. “I suppose so…but none of those relationships were ever serious. I got married, and after my wife passed, I went a long time alone. And then I met you.”

In hindsight, that might have been too much information to dump on her at once. A complicated series of expressions passed across her face, from troubled to sympathetic to sad. Not the sentiment of hope he had aimed for. He truly was losing his touch.

“To be honest,” he began, and ignored the prick of discomfort at the common turn of phrase. How honest could he really be? “I’m glad that we didn’t have to go through all that when we met. The rituals of dating carry a certain amount of pressure, with all the reading in between the lines and guesswork. It can be rather tiring.”

She nodded, but the troubled expression didn’t leave her face. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before finally committing. “I…I guess we’re kind of doing things backwards, aren’t we? With all the d-dates we’re going on now.”

That was certainly one way to look at it, though the purpose of all these dates had become unhelpfully obscure. 

“I think it’s refreshing,” he said. Still honest. “To just spend quality time together without all the expectations and such.”

Yor bit her lip again, and the telltale crack of knuckles was louder this time. Twilight fumbled for a way to deescalate while berating himself inwardly. After all this time, he still didn’t know how to read her.

“I’ve…I’ve enjoyed spending time together too. A–a lot. I really li…I mean…but…I still…d-don’t really get why…I mean, without expectations? Do you really…? Is this really enough for you? Just to…to shore up our cover? Or is there…oh!” She flinched as the cloth napkin tore in her hands, and frantically shoved the jagged strips beneath an empty plate. “Sorry! I’m so nervous. I can’t…I’m sorry!”

“Yor, it’s okay,” he said, trying to sound soothing. Like a newly trained ringmaster attempting to soothe a tiger. “I said you can tell me anything that’s on your mind, and I’d listen. I think I understand what you’re–”

“Franky said I should just ask you!” she cut in loudly. His stomach dropped as he cursed Franky for however he might have misled her. “He said you’re an honest person at heart!”

At heart? What the hell did that mean? 

“Ask me what?” he said evenly, while his mind whirred at a thousand thoughts a second. Half of which were inventive torture methods he could use on his informant.

“Is there someone else?” she blurted out. It somehow came out half a mumble and half a shriek. 

The atmosphere grew ten times more tense as Twilight reeled at the sudden revelation. At the same time he became hyper-aware of every guest sitting at the tightly packed tables around them, the wait staff gliding expertly through the narrow spaces to pour drinks and set down steaming hot plates. He could not afford for any bystanders to catch what was going on and get the impression that they were having a marital spat.

“No,” he said firmly. Damage control. He had to stick to damage control first, and unravel the mystery patiently later. “No, Yor, I don’t know where you might–”

“But then how can you not have any expectations? Why are we going on all these dates? Was I really doing so badly at our cover? And the jewelry, that must have been so expensive! That can’t be a normal thing if you have no expectations, right?” 

She was in full rambling mode, everything she had apparently bottled up for weeks let loose in a hysterical storm of questions he couldn’t answer fast enough. 

His saving grace arrived in the strum of a classical guitar. In the corner of the restaurant, a wide pendant light illuminated a three-man band dressed in the traditional bright patterns of their home country of Argentea. The distinctive sound of a cajon broke through the constant buzz of guest conversations, and the guitarist nodded to the accordionist before they burst into song simultaneously, instruments striking up a lively foot-tapping tune underneath their lilting voices.

Everyone in the restaurant paused and turned to watch and clap in delight. Twilight had chosen this restaurant partly because the live music was rumored to be quite special, especially for someone like Yor who had limited exposure to foreign cultures. In the midst of their odd conversation-turned-interrogation, he’d forgotten when the band was scheduled to perform.

Yor was just as taken off guard as everyone else, attention drawn to the complicated rhythm and indecipherable words of the song. In the few seconds of reprieve, he went through the facts, conjectures, and possible options open to him.

Fact #1: Yor had all but declared her romantic interest in him.

Fact #2: She was afraid he was involved with another woman.

Fact #3: This had been the root of her discomfort throughout their many dates.

Conjecture #1: She’d delayed this long in bringing up her concerns because:

Conjecture #1a: Her low self-esteem and conflict-avoidant nature prevented her from speaking up.

Conjecture #1b: Or she was confused over the seemingly conflicting signals he’d sent, buying her jewelry and spending copious amounts of time with her without declaring his intentions outright.

Conjecture #1c: Or she feared she’d overstep the bounds of their agreement. They had never clarified whether their cover marriage had to stay monogamous, even though he’d asserted that he had no plans to replace her after Nightfall’s belligerent self-introduction.

Conjecture #2: As to how she had gotten the idea in her head in the first place…

Conjecture #2a: Her coworkers might have planted doubts in her head, as they had done many other times.

Conjecture #2b: Then he had conveniently left for three days on a ‘business trip,’ which in hindsight could have been misconstrued as an excuse to see a mistress.

Conjecture #2c: Or she had begun to wonder whether he was truly satisfied with zero physical intimacy after more than half a year of living under the same roof.

Conjecture #2d: Or he was simply an idiot. He’d taken her on more than ten upscale dates without overtly signaling that these dates meant something more than just upkeep of their cover. Never mind that the last time he’d tried to put the moves on her, she’d kicked him in the face and knocked him out cold.

For the sake of Operation Strix, he had to erase any doubt in her mind that there was another woman in the picture, as quickly as possible.

Option #1: He could remind her of his total commitment to their cover. The gossiping crones in neighboring units were constantly on the lookout for signs of a cheating husband and could easily report him to the SSS, after which their joint ruse would fall apart.

Option #1a: He could then, with a lawyer’s attention to detail, lay out all the stipulations and bounds of their agreement, in writing. With her input, of course. This would ensure they were on the exact same page regarding what was acceptable and unacceptable for their cover.

However…

That would not address the true problem.

The true problem was Fact #1. Yor was romantically interested in him.

Whether it was a mere crush or she had actually fallen in love, any woman in her shoes would not want to hear from the object of her affections that he was only remaining faithful ‘for the cover.’ So then, he would have to resort to:

Option #2: Follow through with his unintentional honey trap.

Option #2a: He could…

There, his brain stopped spitting out neatly delineated logical paths like WISE’s latest state-of-the-art decryption machine. The machine jammed, keys freezing, lights going haywire, paper crumpling up against the rollers.

He did not want to honey trap Yor. He never had.

This was not exactly a new sentiment. Technically, he had never wanted to honey trap any of his targets. The tactic was distasteful and sickening, the complete opposite of enticing and sexy. He’d just never allowed himself to get distracted and acknowledge his innate negative reactions in the middle of a job. Because he was a professional. The best in the business.

“What are they singing?” Yor’s voice brought him back to the moment. While he’d been spiraling, she’d fixed her attention completely on the music, her face a picture of enchantment.

He took a couple of seconds to listen and soon recognized the song. It was a popular tune in some dance halls and in immigrant neighborhoods.

“It’s about a man with an unfortunate addiction to gambling and women, vowing to give up all his vices for his one true love,” he explained above the noise. As with many songs by this particular artist, the lyrics were rather exaggerated and too embarrassing to translate line for line.

“Oh…” Her lips remained parted as she watched the band, mesmerized by the intricate harmony on the singers’ voices. 

For a moment he forgot about the crisis unraveling within his mind and simply focused on her. On her eyes, such a peculiar shade of crimson, so often full of wonder and compassion. Like a polished window to the core of her soul. She was a woman without guile or ill intent or self-absorption. A woman whose only significant weakness was her lack of self-esteem, her inability to see herself the way others saw her. Or rather, the way he saw her.

A phantom pain lanced through his right bicep. The bullet wound there had healed, but the scar might never fade completely. In the sewers of Shellbury, he’d taken that bullet for her, against all sense and training, acting on a split-second of pure instinct.

Unbidden, a third option took root in his mind. On its surface, it appeared exactly the same as a honey trap. Except it wasn’t, at all.

It went against everything he had committed to as a spy. The fact he’d cast aside his past, his personal ambition, any aspirations to a normal life, his very name, and pledged his life to WISE’s cause. To even consider this course of action was beyond dangerous and foolish. If allowing a seed of doubt to take root was the first small step toward disaster, this would constitute a giant leap.

Nonetheless he found himself reaching for Yor’s hand on the table. She flinched, but only slightly, before she turned those beautiful wide eyes toward him in an unspoken question.

He still owed her an answer.

“Why don’t we take a walk somewhere less crowded?” he suggested. 

He bought himself some time with the stalling tactic. To figure out some way out of this mess without falling face first into compromise, while still reassuring Yor as much as she needed. As the wait staff cleared their plates and brought the check, the band shifted to another tune. Another classic love song, but a much more melancholy one. 

It spoke of a man returning from exile to his homeland, to his first love, his hair now gray from decades of separation. It was a song of mourning and yearning for lost years that could never be relived, a love he feared had died in his long absence.

He was glad Yor didn’t ask him the meaning of it as they left the restaurant. The bright sun outside the restaurant made him shield his eyes in disorientation as if he had just crossed from one world to another.

One day, sooner rather than later, he would make that journey into exile, like he always had at the end of his missions. He had never looked back before, never found anything or anyone to miss. But he knew without a doubt that this time would be different. 

As much as he tried to force his brain to return to its modus operandi of cold, efficient logic, the raw truth unearthed by the Argentene song dominated his thoughts and would not be dislodged. He led Yor into the neighboring park where they had spent many afternoons as a family, taking Bond for walks or watching Anya play on the grass or enjoying a leisurely picnic. Early on, before the Eden interview, they had come here for a breather from the cultural crash course he had imposed on Anya and Yor for the sake of their cover. As they had looked out over the bustling streets below, at all the civilians going about their daily lives, Yor had shared a bit of insight into her singular mind. How proud she was to contribute to the peace and prosperity of the common people in some small way with her unassuming job.

Now, when they reached that same overlook, he stopped and faced her. The flurry of plans for risk mitigation and obfuscation fell to the wayside, his thoughts strangely clear as he took in her expectant, hopeful expression.

“I’m so sorry I made you worry, Yor,” he said. They were the exact same words he’d used on that one catastrophic date, but he actually meant them this time. “I’m sorry I haven’t been clear about my intentions. In hindsight I see how I could have caused you to feel doubt and frustration. Some dating expert I am, huh.”

“No, it’s my fault,” she began to say, as he could have predicted she would.

“No, it’s not. I’m the one who initiated the increased frequency of our dates, chose all the venues and booked all the reservations. Bought you the jewelry. I…might have told myself it was for our cover. But at some point, it stopped being about that.”

In the far corner of his mind where he’d shoved all his common sense and survival instincts, he revised his earlier assessment of his giant leap into shark-infested waters. The waters in fact were not shark-infested. This non-honey trap would still play into the success of the mission. He was simply kicking the astronomical personal cost of it down the line, for future Twilight to pick up the tab. And, regrettably, future Yor.

“L-Loid?” Yor whispered.

He swallowed against the completely uncharacteristic nervousness threatening to choke off his words. For the first time since his rookie training, he felt at real risk of devolving into Franky-level stuttering.

“There is no one else in the picture, Yor. There just couldn’t be. No one measures up to you,” he confessed. He clasped her slender hands in his, warming them with his gloves. “Please trust me on this.”

She tensed up and her cheeks turned pink, but she was nowhere near the fire engine red that signaled an impending explosive reaction. “Loid…I…I do trust you. I just…I was just…afraid, that, that you didn’t…or why…are…are you sure? About me?”

“Yor, you are the loveliest woman I know. Lovely in every way. Your kindness and self-sacrifice, the way you work so hard at everything, how you’re so gentle with Anya. I count myself very lucky to be your husband. So in short, yes, I am sure. About you.”

Her ruby eyes widened in surprise and delight before welling with emotion. He automatically reached up to brush her tears away, and she trembled under his light touch. Then, with a shaky laugh, she leaned forward into his embrace and hid her face against his shoulder. 

“Oh, Loid,” she mumbled into his jacket. “I’m so, so happy. But I’m scared too. I have no idea what I’m doing. What…what happens now?”

He offered a shaky laugh in return. “To be honest, I don’t know either. I’ve never been in a fake-marriage-turned-real before.”

And once again, he truly was being honest.

Chapter Text

As the spy approached his cigarette stand, Franky pulled out the last box of gourmet cigars he had bought during his Monica McBride phase and set them on the counter. 

“Congratulations, man,” he greeted with a wide grin. 

When Twilight and Yor had returned home from their lunch date the other day, Anya had run to the door excitedly even before they’d walked in, as if she knew something big had gone down. Franky had breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened to bright, genuine smiles from the couple. He’d seen Twilight fake all sorts of smiles with his many personas, but the spy underneath had never truly smiled in Franky’s presence. At that moment, he knew his friend had finally taken a dive headfirst off the cliff of compromise.

Or, in normal people language, Twilight had fallen in love and owned up to it.

He had also appeared to be out of the danger zone; no way Yor would look at him with that fawning expression if she still suspected him of nefarious activity. 

The spy nodded, straight-faced, and took the box of cigars with a brief mumbled thanks. In its place he left a slip of paper with a few lines of his tiny neat handwriting. Then he turned abruptly to go.

“Oh no you don’t. Get back here, buddy. You owe me a full mission report.”

Twilight shot a death glare at him over his shoulder. Franky rolled his eyes. He swept the stand for bugs every morning, and Twilight knew that.

“...Like the ones your daughter makes you do in Bondman games,” Franky said just to humor him.

“I have nothing to ‘report’ to you.”

“Bullshit! All those hours of babysitting and you won’t even tell me what happened? Come on!”

Twilight sighed, and dragged himself back to the counter. Out of habit, he slid his eyes to their surroundings, making sure no passersby were paying them any mind. 

“She…pushed for clarity in the parameters of our arrangement, given the increased frequency of our dates. She also harbored suspicions that I was insincere, and that said dates were merely a cover for a clandestine affair. I managed to dispel all such suspicions.”

Count on Twilight to dress up the story in fancy language. Franky’s grin only grew. It was rare that the spy acted so flustered in public. How was it that the man could masquerade with utter confidence as a supermodel with fake boobs and painted nails and the whole shebang, but talking about his own love life had him tying his tongue in knots?

“Uh-huh, and how did you do that?” Franky asked, trying to keep his grin from crossing over into shit-eating territory. He didn’t want Twilight to shut down before he got to the good part.

“I also know about your meddling,” Twilight warned, completely sidestepping the question. “What was that crap you fed her about me being ‘honest at heart?’”

“Meddling? How about setting you up for success? We got to talking about my second date with Priscilla—which went amazingly, by the way—and I told her how good of a friend you’ve been, giving me advice on dating. But she kept on looking sad for some reason, and eventually she coughed it up. She asked me straight-out if you’re an honest person and said you seemed to be hiding something from her. What was I supposed to do with that?”

Twilight pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. “You could have simply told her that yes, I am an honest person. Instead, that qualifier you added implied the opposite.”

“Well, I couldn’t really do that. I’d just told her that I knew your marriage is—was—fake,” he said, lowering his voice at the end. 

“You did what?”

“Chill out! It all turned out great for you, didn’t it? It’s real now, right?”

“Why on earth did you tell her that?”

Twilight’s death glare really was losing its effect on him. Maybe that was to be expected after all this time dating his sweet, angelic alter-ego.

“I knew what I was doing! I took a gamble, I mean, a calculated risk, at just the right time in the conversation, so that she’d open up and tell me what was bothering her! Has it ever occurred to you how isolated your wife must feel, without anyone to talk to about what’s really going on?”

Franky could almost hear his friend grinding his teeth. “I was handling it myself just fine. I am her husband, after all.”

“Oh get off your high horse, Loid. I boosted her opinion of you, you two clearly had a breakthrough, and now you’re actually happy for once in your damn life. A ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

More teeth-grinding. Finally, Twilight folded his arms and leaned his back against the counter with a third, bone-weary sigh.

“Thank you,” he said quietly over his shoulder. 

Franky smiled and gave his arm a light punch. They fell into a long amiable silence, watching the street traffic and everyday civilian life wind on around them. This was probably the closest both of them had ever gotten to enjoying the luxuries of a normal life.

“Given these new developments, some things will have to change,” Twilight eventually said. “Our deal, for one.”

Franky took the inevitable news in stride, not allowing his smile to falter.

“With Yor’s new comfort level with me, there’s no need for extended babysitting. And it would pose an unnecessary risk now that she feels more at liberty to pry into my private life.”

Franky wanted to joke that ‘extended babysitting’ would still help their newly authentic marriage in a major way, but kept his mouth shut. Let Twilight figure out that part on his own.

“And, based on the latest evidence,” Twilight said, straightening up the tiniest bit, “I don’t think you need lessons anymore.”

Franky lowered his gaze to the counter as his smile turned bittersweet. Not that his friend could see it, with his back still turned. 

“Never thought you’d see the day, huh,” Franky remarked. “So you think I’ve reached 78%?”

Twilight chuckled. “That number was a fabrication. But generally, yes. You’ve achieved a moderate chance of success, taking into consideration other constraints such as your body type, height, and level of debt–”

“Hey!”

“–and anything else you need, I’m sure you’ll learn on your own. Or with Fiona.”

“On my own it is.”

That earned another laugh from Twilight, and Franky soon joined him. It was a rare moment where they were actually laughing together and not at each other’s expense.

“Well, how about we end things in style? One last practice session so I can give Priscilla my best. Third date’s coming up soon, and you know what they say, that’s when the magic happens.”

At Twilight’s skeptical, weirded-out look, Franky hastily amended, “Like a goodnight kiss! Just a short little kiss, okay?!”

The spy rolled his eyes and pushed off the counter, putting one hand up lazily in a wave as he walked away. “Alright. It’s a deal. Details are on the note. See you then.”

Franky looked down at the forgotten slip of paper Twilight had placed there at the beginning of their conversation. That was right. He’d allotted time for one more date even before Franky had asked. A warm, sentimental smile touched his face. For once, he didn’t try to differentiate whether the sudden rush of gratitude was meant for Gisela or Twilight. They were the same person, after all.

—

Ever since Papa and Mama had confessed their feelings to each other, Starlight Anya felt she could finally take a break from her side mission of keeping the Forger family together. Her parents were so happy now, the mushy kind of happiness that sometimes made Anya want to burp.

Mama hadn’t even had to find out about Girl Papa! She believed Papa as soon as he’d made lovey-dovey eyes at her, and didn’t bother to ask about the lipstick. 

And Papa, his thoughts felt different now. All the cabinets and locked desk drawers in his mind slid open at random times, papers scattering around messily as he couldn’t shove them all back in the right place fast enough. Mama’s smiling face was printed on a lot of the papers, with a sparkly glow around her hair. He thought Mama was the most beautiful lady in the world.

Papa was happy. But he was also worried and panicking, the way Anya panicked before a big test or when the teacher called on her in the middle of daydreaming. Papa constantly thought about what would happen after Operation Strix was done. He would have to leave Mama and Anya behind. And he was afraid he had only made it worse by telling Mama he liked her. 

Sometimes, when Anya listened carefully to his thoughts, she could hear a slow, pretty song with a guitar and a sad man’s voice in another language. She wasn’t sure what the words meant, but they made Papa even sadder.

Anya had just helped solve one big problem for her silly Papa and Mama. It made her feel more confident that she could solve the next one, too. Papa might not have to leave if Operation Strix just kept on going. Anya was not getting Stellas very fast. She could slow it down even further. And talk to Sy-on Boy less. And somehow get Mama to talk to Sy-on Boy’s mama less.

For now, Anya tried to stay happy and relaxed. Things were still better now than when Mama thought she wasn’t good enough for Papa. Mama’s thoughts had been really sad then.

Today, Scruffy took Anya and Bond for a walk in the park while Papa and Mama had another date somewhere. A real date where they would talk about their mushy feelings and maybe kiss for the first time. (That part puzzled Anya. From Becky’s shows, grown-ups in love always kissed right after they said they liked each other. But Papa and Mama were still super slow.)

Now that Scruffy knew how to talk to ladies, sort of, he was happier too. For as long as Anya had known Scruffy, he had always had ladies on his mind, but now he tended to think about a cheerful blonde-haired lady named Priscilla more often. Priscilla was the first ‘successful catch’ of Operation Fishnet. 

After Priscilla, he thought about Girl Papa. His feelings for her were still mixed up and sad, because he knew she would leave him soon, especially now that Regular Papa had won Mama over. Anya wanted to poke him and yell that Regular Papa was right there and would still be his best friend, just with shorter hair and no lipstick. But of course, she couldn’t do that. No one else could ever know about Girl Papa, especially now that Regular Papa and Mama were finally together.

The one other person who knew about Girl Papa was Scary Lady. And sometimes, Scruffy thought about her, too. He didn’t like her the way he liked Priscilla and Girl Papa. It was hard to describe Scruffy’s feelings toward her. Maybe like the way Anya had felt that one time she’d visited the zoo with Becky and seen the leopard exhibit. The leopard looked really cool with its spotted fur and graceful, quiet pacing back and forth, back and forth. But it had sharp claws and teeth too, and Anya wouldn’t really want to go inside its exhibit and pet it. 

Scruffy was starting to wonder if he should pet the leopard after all, once Girl Papa was gone. If Priscilla ended up not liking him back, then he might need to keep practicing, and Scary Lady was his only option for now.

Anya felt bad for Scruffy. He was the funnest grown-up in her life, and he was nice to everyone. He’d even helped Papa in a big way by telling Mama that Papa was honest and good. Anya had been listening by her bedroom door that day, and silently cheered when Mama had made up her mind to give Papa a chance.

As Anya played with Bond in the dog park, she kept an eye out for pretty ladies walking their dogs. She might be able to help Scruffy by talking to the ladies for him and telling them what a nice man he was and wouldn’t they say yes to a date with him? Grown-ups always thought Anya was cute and crouched down to listen to whatever she had to say, so she was sure she could get at least a few ladies to pay attention to him. She could be Scruffy’s wing-man, like he had done for Papa.

Then Bond perked up all of a sudden in the middle of chasing a ball. She forgot all about Scruffy for a moment and concentrated on Bond’s mind, eager to catch any important visions. But it turned out he wasn’t seeing the future right now. He had just caught the smell of a dog he knew.

Soon enough, a German shepherd came into view over the hill. It was Aaron! Anya clenched her fists in excitement. It was always fun to see Boss Lady! Maybe Aaron and Bond could have another contest, and Bond could actually win this time!

Anya ran toward Aaron, waving her hands over her head, but stopped when she saw who was holding his leash.

Of course, Franklin is just letting the girl wander about instead of training her toward a physical fitness Stella. Not that he has any athletic skills to impart in the first place.

It was Scary Lady in disguise! She wore a black wig over her lavender hair, but her bangs still covered one eye. Anya stared at her from a distance, then realized she should probably pretend not to recognize her, so she abruptly turned around and ran to the ball she’d thrown for Bond. 

Meanwhile, Bond and Aaron woofed to say hi and sniffed each other’s butts. Gross. 

Scruffy looked up from the book he was reading on a bench and noticed the two dogs circling each other, then spotted Scary Lady. He made a funny face, not really a smile at first, before making himself look friendly. 

“Hello!” he called with a wave. Wonder what she wants now. “Do our dogs know each other? I’m just the help.”

Anya couldn’t help but feel excited as Scary Lady waved back and approached Scruffy on the bench. She would get to see some secret spy stuff happen! Or maybe just Scruffy trying to pet a leopard. 

—

“What’s the deal with the dog?”

“It’s my superior’s. I help her out when she’s away on business.”

“I see.”

Franky and Fiona sat an arm’s length apart on the bench, looking out at the grassy field instead of at each other. He hadn’t seen her since their short ‘debrief’ of his second date with Priscilla. As she had promised, Fiona had stopped by his stand a few days later to hear about how the date had gone. 

An amateur wouldn’t have been able to tell, but Franky had noticed her defeated posture right away that day. Her stony face had been flat and emotionless as always, but to such an extreme degree that she was barely blinking. 

She had found out about Twilight and Yor, probably via her obsessive stalking, and the loss had obviously hit her like a freight train.

“So…” he ventured. “How have you been?”

She didn’t answer, continuing to stare dead-eyed straight ahead.

This was even more awkward than the time they’d sat frozen against each other at that fountain. He had to do something, anything, to break out of this skin-crawling state. He even wished for a moment that Anya would wander over and interrupt them, but banished the thought quickly. Of course he couldn’t expose the little girl to this convoluted mess.

“Well,” he said, with all the reluctance of a plumber called to clear a grease-clogged drain, “for what it’s worth, I think you—”

“Shut up,” she ordered quietly.

“Okay.”

Another long, long silence. Franky kept one hand in his pocket and fidgeted with the random assortment of coins, fake coins doubling as bugs, clicky pen, and crumpled breath mint wrappers there. 

He genuinely felt bad for Fiona. As annoying and rough around the edges as she could be, he didn’t like seeing anyone in such a state. Especially because he knew all too well what it was like to be in her shoes. 

Before, he hadn’t thought too hard about the nature and depth of Fiona’s obsession with Twilight. Obviously it was unhealthy and carried signs of stalkerish, possessive behavior. But beneath that, perhaps she truly loved him. 

“I really appreciate how you showed up for me and my friend that one night,” he tried again. This time, she didn’t stop him. “You came through when it really counted. And that, if anything, put you in the positive double digits in my eyes.”

Her complete lack of movement or acknowledgment made him feel like he was talking to a stone statue. But at least she was listening.

“How’s the leg, by the way? All healed up?” he asked, remembering how she had been limping that night.

In answer, she shifted one foot minutely, as if testing the old injury. Then, finally, she spoke.

“I broke it during a mission. All details classified. But…” 

She shifted her foot again. Franky leaned closer subconsciously, sensing that she was about to share something rare and personal.

“It was the first time I’d ever seen him like that. Down and out, at the mercy of the enemy. I thought I was hallucinating. It couldn’t be him. He was too good. Executed every mission to perfection. But…as his mask started to peel off, I knew it was him. And…”

Franky held his breath, afraid to interrupt the soft monotone of her speech. Again it felt as if he’d somehow bypassed several key layers of security in a clandestine facility, and now stood at the door to the heart of the operation, about to uncover its deepest secrets.

“And I lost it. I can’t even remember what I said or did. One moment the enemy was there, taunting me, threatening to kill him. The next, I was standing over the broken bloody mess of that bastard’s body, about to stomp on his throat with my one good leg. Later I found out I had broken six bones in that fight, taking on a highly trained operative twice my size. My superior benched me from the field for three months.”

She looked down at her lap and slowly clenched and unclenched her gloved hands, as if remembering what it felt like to shatter her knuckles against her opponent’s skull.

“I saved him. When he came to, he knew that I’d taken down the target, but that was all. He didn’t question how I’d gotten the absurd burst of strength to hit that hard. Hard enough to break my own bones and not feel any pain. But it was enough for me, to have saved his life. Until later, as I kept thinking back on it, the moment after he woke up…he admitted to me that he’d let his guard down because of Yor Briar. He made the conscious decision to put that woman’s interests ahead of the mission. Of course, he wrapped it up in his standard mission excuse. But even he couldn’t tell a convincing lie about that anymore.”

Her slender fingers tightened into fists and didn’t loosen this time.

“And now…it’s embarrassingly clear how far gone he is. Even the orderlies at the hospital can tell. Untrained civilians, remarking how he looks like the very picture of a man head over heels in love. It’s not even helping his cover at this point. He’s supposed to have been in this marriage for a year and a half. He’s not a newlywed. He should know better. He—”

She forcibly stopped herself from spitting more vitriol about the man she loved. Her entire body was so tense Franky was afraid she would strain one of her hidden injuries. 

So he took a risk. He placed a hand on top of her gloved fist and simply let it rest there. Inviting her to shove him off or rant at him or anything she needed to get the rest of the poison out. 

Instead she did nothing. She held stock still, a statue once more. She continued to look straight ahead, her dark-haired wig concealing her eyes from him.

“I’m sorry,” Franky said. “I know it doesn’t help, but I’m sorry. It sucks that you risked your life for him and he barely acknowledged it. And then you’ve had to watch all this unfold since then. I’m sorry for the part I played in it too, right in front of you.”

“No you’re not,” she said coldly. “And you shouldn’t be, anyway. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t even like me.”

“Now that’s not—”

“Whereas he trusts you far more than he trusts anyone else,” she went on. “Enough to agree to this ridiculous farce for all these weeks. Enough to listen to your poor advice and let himself fall deeper into compromise.”

Franky let out a snort. “Well, you’re wrong on that one, he never listens to me.”

She finally looked at him then, her uncovered eye radiating anger. “No, you’ve been feeding him lies all along, in the guise of your stupid jokes and your ongoing pathetic quest to get some unsuspecting civilian to fall in love with you. As if living a normal life and having normal relationships are even permitted for people like us. They’re not. They never have been. And you should know better.”

He recoiled from her venomous glare on instinct, but she had latched onto his hand in a vice grip.

“You may call me delusional, but at least he and I are in the same profession. We share the same goals, the same training, the same understanding of what we live and die for. A relationship between us would at least be viable, if ill-advised. But a civilian like Yor Briar? Impossible. A relationship built on lies, set on a timer that only he knows about, rigged to go up in flames as soon as his current assignment is over. Why would he do that to himself? If he cares so much about her, why would he do that to her?”

Franky stayed quiet as she finished her tirade, her shoulders heaving, pale skin flushed with anger. He managed to hold her gaze until she wrenched her face away with a dismissive curse, releasing his hand.

“Love makes people do crazy things. Even him,” he said as he rubbed his aching wrist. “He isn’t some perfect machine that can keep running without any real human connection forever. And maybe he’s finally acknowledging that about himself. As to what’s going to happen when this is over…that’s up to him, I guess. It doesn’t have to go up in flames. Not if he chooses to stay.”

“We don’t have the luxury of such choices,” she spat.

“Don’t you? Or is that just another lie you all tell yourselves?”

“You—of course you wouldn’t understand. You haven’t dedicated your life to any kind of worthy cause. You just live for yourself and your own petty fancies.”

He was sorely tempted to tell her, like he had once before, that none of this was about him. But he held back. She was in pain, and he still hadn’t found a way to make it any better for her.

With a deep sigh, he leaned back against the bench and tipped his head toward the sky, looking for some kind of answer in the clouds. How could he get through to this woman for once, not to drive home a point or to outsmart her, but to provide some small measure of comfort?

“You didn’t want my advice before, but I’ll offer it anyway, before I have to take the kid and the dog home,” he began. 

Against his expectations, she didn’t cut him off. Perhaps she had already spent all her rage and indignation. 

“When you’re tempted to feel down about yourself, remember that he’s only one person, and that he didn’t actively think through all the ways you’re now telling yourself you fall short, and then decide to reject you. Love and attraction don’t work like that, not even for hyper-analytical minds like his. The fact that he fell for someone else isn’t a personal attack on you. It’s not a reflection on how capable or smart or beautiful or resilient you are compared to some other woman. Because you’re your own person. And the fact remains that you are extremely capable. And smart and beautiful and all that. And you deserve a bit of a break to take care of yourself. Don’t run yourself ragged with work to try to bury it all or prove something to him. You don’t have anything to prove. You just need time to process it all and heal, like all those injuries you were hiding. It takes time. But you’ll feel better eventually.”

A small smile quirked his lips as he dared to toss in a joke.

“And since I’m a betting man, I’ll wager twenty dalc that one day you’ll look back on this and ask yourself what the hell you were thinking. Him, really? Mr. Constantly Constipated, Stick up his Ass, No Sense of Humor, Oblivious to Everything that Counts? That guy? I mean, sure, he’s good-looking. But so am I!”

When she didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds, he shrank back a bit and cursed himself for his poor timing. But then her shoulders began to tremble, and her breathing changed, like she was holding in a cough or a laugh or tears. Or all three. 

When she finally made a sound, it indeed was all three. Her hands flew to her mouth, desperately trying to stop the wave of emotion from pouring out in public. Franky sighed again and reached over to pat her on the back. He kept his hand there while she warred with herself. The ridges of her spine jumped under his palm every now and then with the sheer effort of muffling her cries.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and scooted closer to her on the bench. He drew her against him and she willingly buried her face in his neck in a parody of the embrace she had made them hold for ten minutes during their ‘practice session.’ 

But no, this wasn’t a parody. This was the real thing.

“You’ll be alright, Fiona,” he said into her fake hair. “And I’ll be here to talk and listen, whenever you want.”

Chapter Text

“Yor, how close are you to finishing M through N?”

Have a good day at work, Yor. I’ll miss you.

I’ll miss you.

I’ll miss you.

Loid’s words echoed through her head as she absently recorded responses to the latest survey City Hall had sent out to households around Berlint. She’d tallied all the check marks for the Yes/No questions already, a rather straightforward task. 

“Yor, are you almost done?”

However, she was taking longer to type up the freeform responses at the bottom where some residents had given very detailed opinions about the quality of the public parks in their neighborhood. Many of them also happened to have messy handwriting, which Yor was not in a proper state of mind to decipher efficiently. Her thoughts constantly wandered to much more important matters.

Loid’s gentle smile, a variation of the soft look he often gave her or Anya, now carrying an edge of longing in his half-lidded eyes. His quiet, embarrassed laugh, as if he were just as uncertain as she was in this new phase in their relationship. His broad, strong hands, still hesitant to reach for her outside of chaste, fleeting touches. 

“Yor, I swear to God, I do not want to work overtime tonight!”

Last night before bed, and this morning before they’d parted ways for work, Loid had kissed her cheek. The same spot both times, right beneath her cheekbone, his breath tickling the side of her mouth. They were the first two kisses she’d received in her life from a man other than her father and brother. 

He’d clearly thought about it a lot before taking that thrilling step. He was so considerate of her feelings and inexperience and how nervous she still was about everything. It made her fall even harder for him, in gratitude and admiration and longing. She longed for that next tiny step he would take, which would probably feel like a running leap for her. Their first actual kiss, full on the lips. Just imagining it sent little jolts of electricity all throughout her nervous system, like she was primed for the fight of her life.

No, Yor! she chastised herself. This isn’t a fight! Do not mess this up and kick your husband when he tries to kiss you! Again!

So this was what it was like to be in love. A force so potent that even the most lethal assassins couldn’t keep their focus under its sway. She was glad that Garden hadn’t given her any assignments recently. She was bound to make a mistake and either let the client escape or get another bullet in the butt during a moment of distraction.

Suddenly two manicured fingers snapped in front of her face. Yor flinched and reacted on instinct. She only regained awareness a split-second before she would have severed Camilla’s wrist with an envelope opener. With a gasp, she hastily dropped it onto her desk where it clanged against her stapler and bounced onto the floor.

“What the hell was that?! Did you just almost stab me?!” Camilla yelled, stumbling back against her own desk.

“No! No, I would never do that!” Yor exclaimed in absolute mortification. This was by far the closest call she had ever had of exposing her identity at the office.

“You should just give up on trying to cook, it’s a miracle you didn’t stab me during any of our lessons!”

“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to scare you,” Yor said, hanging her head. “I promise never to almost stab you again.”

Camilla raised an eyebrow. Yor waved her hands defensively. 

“Or actually stab you! I’ll put the envelope opener in a drawer to be safe!”

Camilla huffed and folded her arms. “What is wrong with you today anyway? I’ve been trying to get your attention for three minutes! How close are you to finishing your part?”

“Um…” Yor looked at the piles of unopened envelopes on her desk.

“Keep it down, Camilla,” Sharon cautioned from her own desk. “Last thing we need is a twenty minute lecture from the boss. I want to get home on time too.”

Camilla flipped her hair over her shoulder rather dramatically, but heeded their coworker’s advice and lowered her voice. “You know what, I don’t even care how many records you have left. I’ll give you mine and you stay past five to finish them, alright? That’s how you can apologize for almost stabbing me.”

“Oh…” Yor bit her lip, riven with guilt. “I’m really sorry, but I’m supposed to have dinner with Loid tonight. Can I take on your work some other day?”

Camilla sighed aggressively and looked up at the ceiling. “Rubbing it in yet again. You’re really the worst.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“Whatever. Go have your stupid date with your perfect doctor husband. Still have no idea how he puts up with you,” she grumbled. 

“Did you figure out what was going on with him, Yor?” Millie piped up from her desk. She shared a glance with Camilla, the two women holding an unspoken conversation with their eyes that Yor never knew how to read. When Camilla’s expression curved in a smirk, she knew it was about to get worse.

“Yeah, Yor. Did the tips from that magazine help tide things over?”

It took her a moment to understand what Camilla was talking about. 

“Oh! The magazine! I forgot to return it to you, I’m so sorry! I’ll make sure to bring it in tomorrow.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Camilla said, and now all three of her coworkers’ eyes were on her. “Did the tips work or not?”

“Um…” Yor wavered before remembering. “Yes! One did, at least! I put on more makeup, and he seemed to like that!”

Sharon sighed quietly and went back to typing, while the other two persisted. Millie swiveled her chair to face Yor. “That’s it? But did you figure out who the other girl was? Is she still around?”

Yor furrowed her brow, now fully realizing what Camilla was smirking about. 

At that moment, something changed in Yor. Ever since she had begun working at City Hall, she had always been on the defensive. Even with her lack of social awareness, she knew that the other women didn’t like her very much, and Camilla especially seemed to enjoy bullying her. 

It wasn’t that Yor didn’t want to fight back. Early on, she had often entertained thoughts of surreptitiously disposing of Camilla just like she would a typical Garden client. But of course she couldn’t do that. Garden only went after the worst evildoers, and Camilla wasn’t evil, just mean and petty. 

Then, the only other tools she could defend herself with were words. And Yor had never been good with words. She couldn’t think fast enough to interpret all the underhanded barbs and sly looks, let alone come up with rejoinders. So she simply took the hits, accepted her place at the bottom of the pecking order, and tried in vain to act more normal and make herself a smaller target for next time.

Not this time. 

“I already said before that Loid would never cheat,” she began. 

The smirk faded from Camilla’s face, and Sharon looked up from her desk as all three of them noticed the change in Yor’s demeanor. Good. For once, she wanted them to take her seriously.

“My husband is a good and honest man. He cares about me more than you know. So don’t spread any nasty rumors about him,” she stated. She looked at each of her colleagues in turn, as if they were unworthy opponents on the battlefield. Waiting for them to challenge her on this.

“...Okay, Yor,” Camilla said, and glanced at Millie for support. Yor could read the self-conscious fear in her body language, how she braced herself against her desk the slightest bit. “Sorry, it was just a joke.”

Yor didn’t respond right away, which seemed to unnerve them just like it did her clients when she advanced on them slowly with stilettos drawn. She didn’t actually intend to intimidate them with her silence; rather, she was debating whether to respond at all. Finally, she nodded.

“I’m sure we can find other things to joke about,” she said, closing the topic. “And to answer your first question, I think I need about half an hour more to finish this batch. Sorry that I’ve been slow.”

They resumed working in silence after that, without any small talk for an unusually long stretch. Yor waited for the delayed panic to set in, regret for speaking so harshly to her colleagues, uncertainty over whether she had overstepped and made herself look even more suspicious. But it didn’t come. She felt perfectly calm and at peace with what she’d done. 

For a moment she recalled another time she had felt like this—when two SSS agents had interrogated her on the street and threatened Yuri and Loid. She’d been so bold as to grab the arm of one of the agents when he’d gotten inappropriately close to her. In hindsight, they could have arrested her for assault on a law enforcement officer. Compared to that, standing up to her colleagues was nothing. 

Now, more than ever, she had something precious worth defending. The hidden, bursting joy of her newfound relationship with Loid. She hadn’t realized how the simple reality of his feelings for her, of their mutual affection and commitment, would fill her with such confidence and steel.

Yor found she didn’t mind the awkward silence. She preferred it to the constant gossip and complaining, anyway. It helped her get through the piles of survey responses faster, until Chief Barnes walked by and dropped a business card on her desk.

“Good, you look to be almost done. Mind helping me with something?”

This was yet another part of being at the bottom of the office pecking order—having to run Chief Barnes’ personal errands. Yor felt Camilla and Millie’s eyes on her as their boss explained that he didn’t have time to pick up a cake he’d ordered for his wife’s birthday. A light snicker reached her ears, a sign that they were once again gloating over her. 

But she paid them no mind. It was nice to get out of the office for this particular task. She could enjoy some fresh air, take the bus to a part of the city she didn’t often visit, and maybe pick up some treats for Anya and Loid. Her destination was a newly opened patisserie and cafe, Maison Isabelle.

As the bus rumbled down the street, Yor thought back to her colleagues’ assumptions about Loid. To her own assumptions, which she had thoroughly dismissed after their lunch date at the Argentene restaurant. 

Loid hadn’t cheated on her. He never would. The faint lipstick and perfume she thought he’d worn on a couple of occasions had probably been a figment of her insecure imagination. Or maybe he’d been injured by one of his violent patients, and what had appeared to be lipstick had actually been a swollen lip. As to the perfume, there were plenty of female assistants and patients walking around the hospital who could have spritzed the scents into the air nearby. Yor certainly found her own clothes taking on the scents of City Hall throughout the day—cheap coffee, ink, and cigarette smoke if she stood near Sharon during a break. 

Guilt pricked at her heart as she acknowledged her own hypocrisy. After all this hand-wringing over whether Loid had cheated, at the end of the day she was the actual liar between the two of them.

How, if ever, could she tell him about her job as an assassin? How would he react?

Yor fidgeted with her handbag as she looked out the window of the bus, at all the passenger cars and taxis and pedestrians going about their daily business. She was closer than ever to being truly normal, with a husband and daughter she loved dearly. But as long as she kept such dark secrets from Loid, she would never be fully at peace as a wife and mother. 

As she got off the bus, she thought back to the first time she had felt an undeniable sense of kinship with Loid. They had only just met and were still strangers in each other’s eyes. Yet he hadn’t hesitated for a second to defend her in front of Camilla and the other guests at the party. 

To endure such a harsh job for the sake of another, for the sake of something greater than oneself…I truly admire that.

A hopeful smile touched her lips and dispelled some of the forlorn weight that had settled over her. Loid was kinder and more understanding than any man she had met. If anyone had a chance of accepting her as she was, even with her bloody history, it was him. She just had to take it a step at a time, and think things through on the path to full honesty. 

—

For his final date with Gisela, Franky took plenty of extra time to make sure he looked his best. He’d gone to the barber the day before to trim his poofy hair into a less wild look. He picked up his best suit from the dry cleaner and got his shoes shined. He polished his glasses and adjusted them so they sat perfectly level on his face. He brushed and flossed his teeth thoroughly, and carried a few breath mints in his pocket for the trip over. 

Before leaving his apartment, he looked into the mirror and inspected his appearance. 

His trademark grin glinted in the mirror. “Let’s do this. Perfect 100 points for sure.”

He left home with time to spare. Along the way, everything in his surroundings from the potted flowers on apartment windowsills to the savory smells of roasted nuts wafting from vendors’ carts to the windblown streaks of clouds in the sky took on a sharper focus, like his brain was calibrated to memorize every detail about this day. 

When he’d woken up this morning, his mind had been strangely clear, a far cry from the confused mess it had been for most of his time with Gisela. He was determined to enjoy every remaining minute with her, to be fully present in the moment. Regret and second-guessing could come later. He wouldn’t let it prematurely ruin the best date of his life.

He had to tip his hat to Twilight, too. The spy had chosen a classy Galian bakery, Maison Isabelle, as the location for their final practice session. It was a thoughtful gesture, a sign of Twilight’s commitment to give his best effort to their deal until the very end.

In the back of his mind, Franky wondered if Fiona might try to crash the date like she had the last one. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting caught in the middle of another spat between the two spies, with upwards of twenty civilians as witnesses this time. But his intuition told him she wouldn’t interfere. That cathartic conversation in the park seemed to spell the end of her aspirations to win Twilight’s heart. 

Hopefully she would take Franky’s advice and start to move on, as painful as it might be. He had meant it when he had offered to be a sympathetic ear and simply a friend to her. God knew how much these spies needed real friends in their lives.

Franky shook all such musings out of his mind as he reached the door of the patisserie. He straightened his bowtie and swallowed the last of the crushed breath mint in his mouth. As he entered, he took a moment to savor the invigorating aroma of fresh coffee, buttery breads, and all sorts of sugary scents from the large array of pastries and cakes behind the counter.

A host greeted him politely and showed him to the corner table where Gisela was waiting for him. Franky didn’t waste a second in studying and memorizing her lovely appearance. Her golden hair was styled in luscious waves, long curled eyelashes fluttering over her captivating blue eyes, graceful manicured hands folded neatly on the round cafe table. She wore a flowing dark green dress with voluminous three quarter sleeves, a gold necklace tastefully adorning her neck.

“Hi, Franky.”

Her voice was as effortlessly dazzling as her smile. Franky’s heart skipped a beat as he purposely let go of his ever-present awareness that it was Twilight behind the gorgeous veneer. This was Gisela, the woman of his dreams. The first woman to accept him exactly as he was, to give him confidence that he had something to offer as a romantic partner.

“Hi, Gisela!” 

Instead of sitting directly across from her, Franky took the chair adjacent to her. This close, he could smell her flowery perfume and see her individual lush eyelashes when she blinked.

They began their date like any other—ordering food and coffee, catching up about their lives since they had last met, remarking on some noteworthy news item or another. But beneath each wry comment on how work was going and innocent question about friends and family, the time was ticking. Did Franky really want to spend this date practicing conversational turns he had already mastered?

No. This was his chance to tell her how he felt, how grateful he was to have met her. How much she had changed his life.

And to say goodbye with the least amount of regret. To grant himself closure and take the edge off the sadness that would inevitably visit him in the days to come. 

“So, Gisela…” he began. He held her enigmatic blue gaze and revealed his starting hand. “As we talked about before…this’ll be the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

A brief flicker of surprise passed through her eyes before she gave an infinitesimal nod. As he’d known she would, she was following his lead. 

“Yes,” she said softly. “Sadly, it will be.”

“You’re leaving town, and as much as I’d like to pack up and come with you, I can’t. I have a life here, my work, my friends…and I don’t think I’m ready to leave it all behind. But…”

Franky had long moved past his phase of stuttering like a fool in front of her, but now it wasn’t nervousness that threatened to bring the stuttering back. It was raw grief, tightening his throat and making each word ten times more difficult to get out.

He clenched and unclenched his hand under the table to ground himself, the prick of his nails in his palm diverting his senses enough to keep his composure.

“But the past two months I’ve spent with you, getting to know you, learning about where you grew up and the type of tea you like to drink and your favorite novels…they’ve honestly been the best two months of my life. I’ve learned so much from you, how kind and caring you are, how great of a listener you are, the way you notice and appreciate all the little things in life…I just can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me. You…you’re the first woman who’s ever given me the time of day, who really saw me for who I am and actually wanted to know more. And I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget you.”

He looked down at the table, unable to meet her compassionate gaze any longer. This was just as hard as he’d thought it would be. But he owed it to himself to see it through to the end.

“Franky,” Gisela replied at last, her voice steady but sad. “I’ll miss you too. It’s been wonderful getting to know you. I mean it. You’re kind, and funny, and smart, and so many other things I wish that more people would take the time to see. I won’t forget you, either.”

Franky managed to raise his eyes again and offer a smile, though his mouth trembled treacherously at the sight of her beautiful face and the complete understanding in her expression. As always, she met him exactly where he needed her to be. 

He reached for her hand on the table and entwined their fingers. With a wistful sigh, he studied their joined hands, wishing for a moment that he never had to let go.

“In another life, I’d like to imagine we could be together,” he confessed. “But I guess it isn’t meant to be.”

It was slight, but Franky didn’t miss the sharpening of her demeanor, one of the rare times she would push back on something he said.

“Franky, you will meet someone who’s actually meant for you one day. I have no doubt about it. And it’ll be sooner rather than later.”

Franky chuckled and found himself grinning in self-deprecation. “Thank you. I hope you’re right.”

She squeezed his hand, and somehow he caught the subtle signal underneath the simple gesture. It was an invitation for him to make his move. It was now or never.

“And I also hope you wouldn’t mind if…I mean I hope this isn’t too forward of me, I don’t mean to be presumptuous…”

Of course he would fumble the ball right at this key moment. But Gisela didn’t mind. She waited expectantly, her lovely lips slightly parted as if she knew exactly what he wanted to ask. He took a deep breath and tried again.

“Gisela, would it be alright if I kissed you? Just this once, to say goodbye?”

A small, secretive smile touched her lips, and she nodded. Franky’s heart began to race as he prepared himself to close the few inches of distance between them. He leaned forward slowly, carefully, praying he wouldn’t mess this up and ruin the crowning memory he would carry with him of this day.

Once he was close enough to feel her light sugary breath tickling his upper lip, he let his eyes fall closed. He tilted his head slightly so that their noses wouldn’t bump, and–

“Oh! Franky!” 

He froze. Gisela froze. Twilight froze.

Franky whipped his head around so fast he nearly knocked his glasses against Gisela’s nose. Shit, shit, shit!

Forget Fiona crashing their date. An even worse possibility, one that he and Twilight had taken many precautions to avoid, a possibility with only a one in a million chance of happening, had come to pass.

Hurrying toward them with an excited smile on her face was Twilight’s cover-turned-real wife, Yor. She was still dressed in her green and white City Hall uniform. City Hall was halfway across town. Why the hell was she here?!

Yor’s bright smile faltered, and her hand paused mid-wave and fell to her side. “Oh…I’m sorry? Is this a bad time?”

Franky jumped a bit as Gisela’s shoe nudged him sharply under the table. “No! No, not at all, Yor! I was just, uh, surprised to see you here! I mean, what are the odds, right? Middle of the workday and all, what a coincidence! Haha!”

For all her lack of social acumen, even Yor could pick up on Franky’s extreme nervousness, and offered a shaky laugh in return. He cursed himself for his utter inability to act or simply keep calm under pressure. He was sure Twilight was cursing him even more colorfully beneath all the immaculate layers of makeup. In his peripheral vision he noticed a few other cafe customers glancing their way, curious as to what was going on.

“Well, I, um, I just came here to run an errand for my manager,” Yor explained, her eyes shifting from Franky to Gisela, who she still hadn’t been introduced to. Just as quickly, she averted her eyes, and a blush rose to her cheeks. “Um, hi, I’m Yor. I’m sorry if I interrupted your, uh, d-date?”

Gisela was blushing harder than Franky had ever seen, but thankfully Twilight’s spy training had kicked in and he managed to maintain his act. They could safely pass her reaction off as embarrassment at meeting a stranger in the midst of an amorous moment.

“Hello, I’m Gisela. Nice to meet you.”

Franky suppressed a sigh of relief. Not a hint of Twilight’s real voice had leaked through into the dainty high-pitched inflection of his feminine persona. The spy really was the best in the business.

“Likewise!” Yor squeaked. She ventured to look at the blonde woman again, but once more couldn’t hold her gaze for more than a couple of seconds before blushing furiously. “Um, you must be, uh, the woman Franky told me about!”

Gisela looked to Franky with an appropriate amount of polite confusion. Another surreptitious kick to the shin jolted him out of his paralysis. 

“Yes! Yes, this is her. This is her, I told you about her the other day, that’s right, uh, she’s really nice, we’ve been getting to know each other,” Franky sputtered. He’d been transported fully back to day one of his training, when he couldn’t speak two words without stumbling and going off the rails.

“That’s so great!” Yor said too loudly, consciously or unconsciously matching Franky’s level of panic. “Well, I have to go pick up that order for my boss, so I’ll see you later! Hopefully! Good luck!”

She turned tail and all but teleported to the front of the store, the resulting wind from her sheer speed scattering stray napkins and receipts off of the tables in her path.

“Stay quiet,” Gisela instructed in a whisper. She still spoke in her demure feminine voice, but her eyes were all steel. “Not a word until she leaves. Turn around and drink your coffee.”

Franky was immensely grateful for the straightforward orders. He obeyed immediately, grasping his mug with both hands and taking a long draught of the lukewarm coffee. He hunched his shoulders on instinct, trying to make himself invisible even though he’d already been spotted.

But the important thing was that Twilight hadn’t been spotted. He was in the clear. Yor had no clue that the drop-dead gorgeous woman she’d seen almost kissing Franky was actually her husband in disguise. And she would never know. Both men would take the secret to their graves.

Only when Yor left the store and was fully out of sight did Franky take a full breath of air. Beside him, Gisela remained as tense as ever. 

“I regret cutting this short again, Franky.” Her voice was cordial and professional, absent of the gentle wistfulness from earlier. “But I really need to get back to work.”

Franky gave a vigorous nod. “I get it, totally, yeah, don’t worry about me! I’ll get the check, just, uh, hurry and make sure you get there safely! Bye!”

He waited until Gisela had vanished down the street before slumping forward and banging his forehead against the table. By now none of the guests around him paid him any heed, accepting his strange behavior as par for the course. Come to think of it, they probably believed he’d been caught with a new woman by his ex. How else could the average bystander interpret the bizarre scene that had just occurred?

Franky’s shoulders began to shake with barely contained mirth as he stifled great gasps of laughter against his forearm. He laughed so hard that tears sprang to his eyes, washing away every remnant of grief and melancholy that had overshadowed this fateful last date. 

One thing was for certain. Neither he nor Twilight would ever forget this.

Chapter Text

Twilight had an extremely high tolerance for embarrassment. Acts that the average person would consider humiliating or shameful hardly fazed him. In some of his honey traps, he had catered to a wide range of outlandish fetishes, sometimes for the explicit purpose of obtaining blackmail potent enough to sink the target’s career and thwart any nefarious plans they might have against the West. He’d worked as a towel boy at a nude beach for the same reason. And of course, he’d disguised himself as attractive women on occasion and performed the bare minimum amount of seduction required to elicit intel from old sleazy politicians and the like. At the end of each mission, he’d reported all the salacious details to his handler completely straight-faced. It was important to educate WISE trainees on unconventional field tactics, after all.

But what had happened earlier this afternoon somehow topped them all.

In fact the only person he would have dreaded to see more than his wife at that moment was his handler. He was beyond thankful that that horrible twist of fate hadn’t befallen him. Yet.

It would not befall him. He was done with Gisela. That mask was permanently retired.

He truly was losing his edge. Not only because he’d fallen into compromise with his civilian cover wife. But because he’d made the poor judgment call to grant his informant a sort of ‘farewell date’ as a completely unnecessary favor. 

Twilight managed to get through the rest of his workday at the hospital without giving away a hint of his discomfiture, though he could feel Nightfall’s cold assessing gaze on him as usual. He ignored her. He did not have the patience or energy to hold a conversation with her, let alone in code-speak.

Soon he would go home and see Yor again. They’d scheduled another date for tonight. Judging by her skittish behavior at the cafe, she’d been just as surprised and embarrassed as him and Franky. Perhaps she’d merely fed off Franky’s ridiculously high levels of nervous energy. But his intuition told him there was something more to it. 

The way she had looked at him and quickly glanced away, blushing to her roots, had sent the klaxons blaring in his head. He knew a double take when he saw one. She’d noticed something off about Gisela, something uncannily familiar, perhaps, even if she didn’t have the training to recognize what it was. Thankfully, his own training and keen survival instincts had kicked into overdrive, sealing up the invisible faultlines in his mask with the demure lilting voice and refined feminine mannerisms of Gisela. 

There was no way on earth Yor would have concluded that the tall blonde woman who happened to share her husband’s eye color, facial structure, and height could have actually been her husband. And in the one in a thousand chance the thought had crossed her mind, she would have immediately dismissed it as absurd. Why would her husband, respected doctor and family man, who had just confessed his affection for her, transform himself into a woman and go on a date with Franky? Why would he be willing to kiss Franky?

Why, indeed, he thought to himself wryly.

By the time he arrived home, he had cleared away the haze and remnants of panic in his mind. He was calm, rational, prepared for a proper dinner with his wife. Prepared to look for any minute tells of suspicion and unease, to deflect said suspicions, and to coax their fledgling relationship along at her pace.

He ignored the ever-lurking question of where their relationship was eventually headed, and the inevitable pain he would cause her the more entangled their lives became. Not all problems demanded an immediate solution. At the moment he didn’t have any mental energy to spare on brainstorming, anyway.

The apartment was blessedly empty save for Bond, who barely looked up from his spot in the living room when Twilight entered. Franky had picked up Anya earlier so that he and Yor could have a quiet dinner to themselves at home.

Taking advantage of the rare respite, he went straight to the armchair in the living room and collapsed into it without removing his jacket. Closing his eyes, he tipped his face up toward the ceiling and let out a long, weary breath.

All the pent-up exhaustion from the past two months suddenly caught up with him. Every meticulous route he’d planned so he could change into Gisela safely without getting caught, all the unwanted admirers he’d had to shake off after his dates with Franky before he could safely change back into himself, all the tight-fitting clothes and cloying perfume and layers upon layers of cosmetics, not to mention the arduous process of doing his nails…

He was beyond grateful that this deal was over. He would never sign himself up for this level of absurdity and hassle ever again. 

A glance at the clock told him he had fifteen minutes or so before Yor would arrive home. Enough time to tidy up his rather frazzled appearance and start making dinner. With a reluctant sigh, he dragged himself out of the armchair and made his way toward his room.

Then he paused mid-step at the sound of loud familiar footsteps pounding up the stairs outside. 

No. Hell no. Not now.

The irritatingly exuberant voice of Loid Forger’s brother-in-law rang through the air before Twilight could consider rushing over and barricading the door.

“SIS!!! It’s been too long!” 

The door burst open and hit the wall with a bang, revealing the last person Twilight wanted to see. As Yuri Briar’s crimson eyes darted around frantically for his sister only to land on him, Twilight at least had the satisfaction of knowing the feeling was mutual.

—

It had been way too long since he had seen his beloved sister.

Yuri wished he could have come sooner, but the higher-ups had kept his entire team extremely busy ever since they had lost Winston Wheeler to WISE. While at first the Director had taken a more forgiving view, some senior official in the current administration, perhaps the Prime Minister himself, had turned a critical eye on the failed operation, causing a cascade of budget-tightening, discipline-building and tactical training exercises throughout the organization.

Guilt dogged him every day he had been delayed in seeing Yor, especially since that night more than a week ago when Dominic had swung by with a pack of beers and takeout to check up on him. 

Exhausted and about to crash after an all-nighter the day before, Yuri hadn’t particularly wanted company. But Dominic was a thoughtful friend, and moreover had a second degree connection to his dear sister. His girlfriend Camilla was Yor’s coworker and got to see her for eight hours every weekday (an unparalleled privilege!), and Yuri was always eager for any details of his sister’s life outside of her marriage to that accursed Loidy. 

So after all the obligatory small talk was out of the way, Yuri asked if Dominic had heard anything about Yor. Even knowing what she had eaten for lunch the other day would be sufficient to grant him a peaceful night’s sleep. 

Instead he was treated to the most damning piece of gossip intel he had heard in his career.

As with any gossip intel, his friend had fed it to him reluctantly in drips, claiming he didn’t like spreading unfounded rumors. But as with anything related to his sister, Yuri latched on like a bulldog and nearly reverted to full interrogation mode to elicit every last bit of information out of Dominic.

It had started innocently enough.

“Well, you know. Camilla still isn’t the nicest friend to Yor, sorry about that…but she’s trying. She told me she let her borrow some magazine to help her out at home.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes at the several salient leads Dominic had just laid out. 

Not the nicest friend? How had Camilla acted like a bitch this time? 

Magazine? What was it called? Was it contraband? Which issue was it?

To help out with what at home? Yuri zeroed in on this most of all. Camilla must have misled his sister again into thinking she was lacking in some way as a wife or a mother, when the complete opposite was true! It was Loi-Loi and his spoiled brat who needed to shape up to be worthy of Yor!

“It was something called Modern Housewife? Modern Home?”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed further into dangerous slits. One of these days he would stage a proper campaign of coercion persuasion to get Dominic to see the light and break up with his insufferable girlfriend. How dare she insinuate that Yor needed any help with her homemaking skills? She should be grateful to spend every workday in Yor’s angelic presence and treat her with the reverence she deserved!

As soon as he was able, Yuri would head to the library and rifle through every issue of that offensive magazine from the past year to find the one Camilla could have given to Yor. But while he had Dominic here…

“I don’t know, Yuri. Maybe it was just about cooking? Since Camilla tried teaching her a while ago and all, you were there for that one lesson.”

His friend was being evasive. Unacceptable.

“Alright, alright!” Dominic put his hands up defensively. “She may have said something about Yor’s husband, uh, potentially losing interest. Potentially, alright? Camilla also said that Yor denied it! So clearly nothing’s wrong, because you trust your sister, right?”

Yuri ignored the second half of Dominic’s rushed admission. “What.”

Whatever Dominic might have said after that, Yuri couldn’t remember. He’d thrown on his coat and shoes in record time, ready to leave his apartment with his friend still in it so he could hunt down Loi-Loi and throttle the life out of him. Finally—finally!—he’d make good on his promise to execute the man for making his sister cry. And then it’d just be the two of them, brother and sister, relying on each other again like old times!

Unfortunately, his superior had called him back in for a work emergency before he could put his plan of righteous vengeance into action. He cursed his luck as his whole team had had to leave Berlint to track down the remnants of a terrorist cell gone to ground.

Now. Now, he was back in the city at last, with a rare free night. After work, he wasted no time rushing to 128 Park Avenue, giant bouquet of roses in hand. His heart skipped in time with his bounding steps up the stairs as he came closer and closer to beholding his dear sister’s beautiful face. 

“SIS!!! It’s been too long!” 

He skidded to a stop inside the small foyer of the apartment, all the exuberant joy evaporating from his body as he realized she wasn’t there.

Only Loidy was.

“Hello, Yuri,” came the standard, falsely polite greeting.

Yuri glared flaming daggers at the man, mentally thumbing off the safety from his verbal firearms. He’d held back on Dominic, but this deadbeat loser would get the full force of what his colleagues called “rabid Briar.” Being free to punch his brother-in-law’s face in was the one upside to Yor’s absence.

“You,” Yuri seethed, fists clenching so hard that he snapped the stems of a dozen or so roses. He quickly placed the bouquet on the shoe rack, not wanting to damage his sister’s gift any further.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Yuri. How have you been?” Loi-Loi went on, his fakeass smile taunting him like a criminal who’d avoided conviction on a technicality.

Yuri marched right up to Loid and jabbed his index finger hard into his chest. The man jerked back, eyes wide, but Yuri could tell he was still acting. Yuri was making no secret of his rage; a more authentic reaction would have been concern or fear as soon as he’d gone into “rabid Briar” mode. Loid even dared to break eye contact briefly to turn around and warn his growling white monstrosity of a pet to stay away from the two of them.

“I knew it,” Yuri hissed, and grabbed Loid by the lapels of his jacket. He’d always hated the fact that the man was taller than him, and relished making him stumble as he yanked him down to his face level. “I knew it! I knew from the start you were nothing but a sweet-talking, fake-as-shit, manipulative bastard out to take advantage of my sister!”

“What? Where is this coming from?” Loid said, shock giving way to confusion. An impressive piece of acting that might have convinced a lesser agent, but Yuri was onto him. He still wasn’t showing any signs of fear or nervousness at being manhandled and threatened. That was just not normal. Second Lieutenant Yuri Briar always left an interrogation room with results, with the perp in tears and sitting in a puddle of his own urine. 

Ah, Yuri understood belatedly. The son of a bitch believed that he had some immunity from being married to Yor. 

Yuri gave Loid’s jacket a violent shake, hiding his disgruntlement that the man was surprisingly solid and hard to move. “You thought I wouldn’t know? I promised you the first day I met your fake ass that you’d be a dead man if you ever made my sister cry. And now you’ve done worse. You’ve toyed with her feelings and made her think she’s yesterday’s news.”

Loid had begun to shake his head vehemently in the middle of his tirade. “No, Yuri, I have no idea where you’ve gotten these ideas but that is the farthest thing from the truth–”

“I pay attention, Loidy!” Yuri shoved him as hard as he could, hoping to knock him on his ass, but to his disappointment he only stumbled backward a few steps. “I pay attention to every major and minor detail in my sister’s life! It’s my sacred duty as her only real family! And if even those ignorant, petty coworkers of hers notice she’s unhappy, you can sure as hell bet that I’ll notice!”

Loid’s eyebrows drew together in a harder, infinitesimally less fake expression, and Yuri had to give him credit for having the balls to walk toward him again instead of backing off. 

“What are you talking about? Have you even seen Yor in the past week? She never mentioned meeting–”

In an instant, Yuri withdrew the brownie points he’d begrudgingly tossed to his enemy. Loid had made a fatal error in coming close to him again, because he’d just given Yuri an opening to inspect his appearance further. And he’d found all the evidence he needed to seal the bastard’s fate.

“What is that?” 

This time Loid was prepared, and blocked Yuri’s arm when he made a grab for his jacket lapels. Yuri’s eyes narrowed. Where had a harmless psychiatrist learned to move that fast?

“Yor will be home any minute,” Loid said, his impatience clearly beginning to show. “Please don’t let her walk into a scene like this.”

He completely ignored the attempt at evasion. “Your face, Loidy.” 

Yuri pointed to the corner of his own lip, and finally saw that mask of tense confusion drop and shatter as his rival walked straight into his own unwitting trap. A split-second later, the mask hastily slid back into place, but it was too late. The son of a bitch knew that Yuri had spotted the faint remnants of lipstick on his mouth.

“You’ve not only lost interest in my sister,” Yuri said as his vision began to turn blood red. His knuckles cracked, and one hand moved toward the gun concealed inside his jacket. “You’ve tossed her aside and moved on to some other woman! And you’re heartless enough to flaunt the evidence in front of her! How could–”

“Yuri!” Yor’s voice rang out from behind them. “What on earth is going on here?”

—

The rest of Yor’s workday was uneventful. She delivered the cake to Chief Barnes. She finished the rest of the survey records on her desk (it was remarkable how fast she could work in the absence of her colleagues’ chattering), and clocked out right at five.

As she made her way home, she finally allowed herself to remember what she’d seen at Maison Isabelle.  

She should have been ecstatic for Franky. When he’d first told her he’d met a woman who liked him, she had been ecstatic. He was such a good friend to their family, fun to be around, superbly patient and creative with Anya, that he deserved to meet someone who appreciated all those things about him. 

She just hadn’t expected the woman to be so…

So…

Breathtakingly beautiful. Uncannily so.

Yor inwardly chastised herself for the indirect insult to Franky. Was she shocked that he’d been able to attract a woman as gorgeous as Gisela? Yes. But she shouldn’t have been! What kind of friend was she, to look down on Franky like that?

“You should have kept your mouth shut, Yor,” she muttered to herself amidst the crowded train. 

She had dumbly ignored obvious social cues as usual, barging in on what had been, in hindsight, a very important moment between Franky and his date. An intimate moment, from how they had been leaning so close to each other, and how they’d jumped apart as soon as they’d heard her voice. How Franky’s eyes had widened in fright and panic at the sight of her. His frantic stuttering afterward had confirmed it. She had all but ruined his date.

Yor put her face in her hands as the bustling chaos of rush hour unfolded around her. She owed Franky a huge apology. She hoped she hadn’t scared Gisela off or caused her to have second thoughts about him. What if the woman had been so embarrassed that she never wanted to see Franky again? Did normal women think like that?

Was Gisela a normal woman? A woman that beautiful might be a step above normal, in a class of her own. Yor had had trouble even meeting her eyes for some reason. They were the same piercing blue as Loid’s, and she’d had difficulty meeting his gaze at the beginning, too. There’d just been something about Gisela that sent Yor’s social anxiety meter into the red zone, though admittedly it didn’t take a lot to make her anxious. She didn’t know how to describe it.

She’d felt inexplicably drawn to Gisela, as if she already knew her, even though that was impossible. But at the same time, the keen instincts she’d honed over the years with Garden had tingled in her brain. She had trained ruthlessly to be able to pinpoint clients in hiding, in near pitch black darkness, or in disguise. It was what made Garden assassins so instinctively quick in their judgment calls, to make a kill with absolute certainty that the person they’d aimed their weapon at was indeed the client.

But that was ridiculous. Gisela was not a client. She was Franky’s girlfriend—a prospective one, at least. And it was completely, utterly wrong and inappropriate of Yor to feel so threatened by and oddly attracted (!!!) to her at the same time.

“You have a husband, Yor,” she whispered fiercely to herself. “A husband! And you love him! Stop thinking about Franky’s girlfriend!!”

Despite her state of intense distraction, she luckily made it home without walking headfirst into a telephone pole or tripping on the curb. But soon something more troubling caught her attention. As she entered the stairwell, she heard the muffled shouts of a familiar voice upstairs. 

Yuri was here! And from the obvious aggression in his tone, he had to be yelling at Loid.  

She zipped up the rest of the stairs, her countenance darkening as she prepared to set her brother straight. All these weeks she hadn’t seen him, and the first thing he had done after dropping by was to push her husband around!

“Yuri! What on earth is going on here?” she demanded as she stormed into the apartment. 

She caught a glimpse of Yuri and Loid in a tense standoff near the dining table, the former with a hand in his jacket as if about to pull a gun out. Did Yuri actually carry a gun?!

At the sound of her voice he immediately dropped his hand and whipped around with widened eyes. “Sis!! You’re finally home!” 

In a whoosh of air he was right in front of her, clasping her hands in his and inspecting her face as if worried she was hurt. Why would she be hurt? 

“I’m so sorry I left you with this evil depraved man for so long! If only I’d known earlier, I would have dropped everything and whisked you away somewhere safe, and gotten my–I mean, called the police to throw his ass in jail!” Yuri babbled, his eyes welling with tears. “Oh, I’m so sorry I’ve let you down, sis!”

“What are you talking about, Yuri?” she said, extricating her hands from his strong grip. She stepped back and put her hands on her hips, looking him up and down with a frown. “I won’t have you speaking about my husband in such a mean way ever again. You owe him an apology!”

Ignoring his sputtering protests, she brushed past him to go to Loid. Her husband’s brows were drawn together in a look of mild worry, but his shoulders were incredibly tense. One of his hands was balled in a fist as if clutching a small object. 

“Loid, are you alright? I’m sorry Yuri treated you that way,” she fussed over him, smoothing out his rumpled collar and disheveled hair. Behind them, Yuri let out a gasp of outrage, which she also ignored.

“No harm done,” Loid said, giving her a strained smile. “How was your day, Yor?”

“Hey, hey!” Yuri said, seized by fury once again as he marched over. “Get away from him, Yor! He’s been deceiving you this whole time!”

Yor whirled around and blocked her brother’s path with both arms outstretched. “For the last time, Yuri, stop insulting Loid! Apologize to him!”

For a moment Yuri looked like a chastened young boy in the face of her anger, but shook it off and stood to his full height in determination. “No, sis, you don’t understand. I caught a glimpse of this scumbag’s true nature right before you walked in. It’s just like I suspected before—he’s been cheating on you!”

She narrowed her eyes even as her heart lurched. “Don’t be ridiculous, Yuri–”

“Take a look for yourself, Yor! Look at him!” he cut in, jabbing a finger at Loid’s face. “Loi-Loi had the audacity to waltz into your home with another woman’s lipstick smeared on his mouth!”

Yor’s eyes widened, but she didn’t turn immediately. Her mind raced in a thousand haphazard directions even as she found herself saying, “I’m sure you’re just seeing things, Yuri. Loid would never do that, he’s an amazing husband and he l-loves me.”

Of course Yuri didn’t miss her slight stutter. “I promise you, sis, just take one look! You can see the evidence right—wait. What did you do?”

He stood on his tiptoes and leaned over her shoulder to peer at Loid. Yor helplessly followed his laser sharp gaze, praying that she wouldn’t come face to face with the fears she’d so recently laid to rest.

To her husband’s credit, he didn’t shrink away, merely taking the scrutiny in stride. “You’re mistaken, Yuri,” he said calmly. “You just–”

“You wiped it off!” Yuri accused. “Double cheater!”

Yor realized then that if Yuri was telling the truth, the thing Loid was concealing in his hand was probably a balled up napkin. If Yuri was telling the truth.

But aside from Yuri’s blatant bias against Loid, Yor had indeed seen the evidence firsthand a couple of times before. A pink tint at the corner of Loid’s pale lips, and a lingering scent on his neck too floral to be men’s cologne. Maybe she hadn’t been imagining it after all. Maybe…

Maybe Loid had lied to her. Maybe there was another woman, someone who had truly captured his heart, while he simply humored Yor and strung her along with reassurances for the sake of their cover. For the sake of keeping the peace in their home, and for Anya. 

Yor bit the inside of her mouth before tears of betrayal could well in her eyes. She would not have this conversation in front of her brother. She would not have her brother threaten Loid with arrest or whatever ridiculous punishment he had dreamed up. If nothing else, Anya deserved to come home to her father safe and sound. 

“Yuri, you’re mistaken,” Loid said again. “As I said at the start, I love your sister just as much as you do and would take a bullet for her. You don’t—”

“Liar! I know a liar when I see one! Open your hand, what are you holding?!” 

Yor reacted instinctively when Yuri tried to reach around her to grab Loid’s arm. In an instant, Yuri doubled over, yelping in pain as she twisted his wrist at an unnatural angle.

“Yuri, cut it out right now,” she warned, low and final, before letting him go. Her brother paled and drew back. 

“But sis! I saw it with my own eyes!”

She was acutely aware of Loid’s careful gaze on the back of her head as she advanced on her brother. She hoped neither of them could hear how loudly her heart was pounding in her ears.

“Did it never occur to you that it could be my lipstick?” 

Both men fell utterly still in equal amounts of shock. She ignored how her stomach flipped queasily at the outright lie. She had never been good at lying, but she was in such distress that the fierce blush on her face could probably be mistaken for anger.

“I had a lunch date with Loid today,” she barreled onward. Her lip trembled in half-trepidation, half-grief. “Are you going to report me too for shirking work to see my husband?”

Yuri stared at her slack-jawed, his own eyes filling up with tears. “...What? No…my dear sister…” He sank to his knees on the floor dramatically. “Loi-Loi! How could you defile my sister in public?!”

“Now Yuri,” Loid began, taking a step forward as if to mediate. Yor blocked him with one arm, and he wisely shut his mouth.

“It’s about time you accepted the fact that I’m married,” Yor said softly but firmly. “I don’t want to hear another word from you about Loid unless you can say something kind.”

“But…” Yuri pleaded, his eyes darting between her and Loid. “Why…why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

She pressed her lips together as she reached the limits of her patience and ability to conceal her inner turmoil. “Because I knew this is how you would react! And I don’t owe you any explanations of how I choose to spend time with my husband!”

“O–okay, sis,” Yuri sniffed, wiping at his eyes with his sleeves. He bowed his head and slowly got up from the floor. “I’m sorry for causing trouble. It’s just that…” He flinched at her raised eyebrow but hurried on anyway. “Dominic told me that you were unhappy at work! Because Loi-Loi wasn’t treating you right! What was I supposed to think?”

Of course. Yor’s fears about her coworkers’ petty gossip spreading beyond the office had come true. She should have known better than to trust Camilla would have kept the rumors to herself. 

“You’re supposed to come to me and have a civil conversation. I raised you better than to trust in secondhand gossip. You know that my coworkers have never liked me. Why would you believe them instead of just talking to me?”

Yuri shrank in on himself like the rare times she’d had to reprimand him as a little boy. “...You’re right, sis. I’m sorry.”

Part of her recoiled from what she had to say next, but she forged ahead nonetheless. “Apologize to Loid, too.”

Yuri grimaced and cast a sullen glance at her husband. “...Sorry, Loidy.”

By the time Yor ushered her brother out of the apartment and shut the door with a resolute bang, all the frenetic energy had drained out of her body. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the door with slumped shoulders, all the while quite aware of how Loid was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the dining area. 

“Yor…” he said hesitantly, “thank you for defending me, even though…that wasn’t…I…please give me a chance to explain.”

She opened her eyes wearily and took note of the fact his hands were now slack at his sides. Empty.

“You don’t need to explain,” she said quietly. She pushed off of the door and made her way toward her bedroom, keeping a fair distance from him.

“No, wait,” he said more insistently, and took several long strides to catch up with her. 

His hand hovered near her shoulder, and it took all her effort to check her violent impulses to lash out or flee. When he didn’t touch her, she went right up to her bedroom door and waited with her back turned. She had no idea how he planned to lie to her now.

“This is a misunderstanding,” he said in that calm, patient voice he always used with mundane topics like what they were going to have for dinner. “Please believe me, Yor. I meant it when I said there’s no one else. The reason for…for the lipstick…is rather embarrassing. But I swear it’s not what you think.”

She braced herself and finally turned around to look him in the eyes. Despite his infuriatingly calm voice, his eyes held a genuine panic that convinced her to hear him out. 

“It’s…due to patient confidentiality, I can’t tell you all the details,” he said, speaking faster now. “But…I have a male patient who…secretly likes to dress in women’s clothes. He’s very ashamed of it, but part of my work is to…to help him accept that part of himself. So, in a show of support, I sometimes put on lipstick as well, during our sessions.”

Yor stared at her husband, at his pleading expression. His fingers trembled at his sides as if itching to embrace her and keep her from running away.

She wanted to believe him, as strange as his reasoning sounded. She wanted to believe him so badly, just as she had with his explanations of concussive therapy, and getting injured by a burly pro-wrestler, and swapping shoes with his large-footed female coworker, and so many other things, but for the first time, she hesitated. 

You’re one to talk, Yor, a small, accusing voice within her pointed out. What’s a little affair against your bloody hands and kill count?

She shoved the voice away quickly, unable to deal with all of it at once.

“Why did you wipe it off when I came in, then?” she asked, trying to control the trembling in her lip. “If you had nothing to hide, why were you so afraid?”

His mouth opened silently for a heart-lurching moment, and she glimpsed the flash of guilt in his eyes. 

“I simply panicked,” he replied a half-second too late. “Your brother had just threatened to call the police on me, and I didn’t want to cause you more alarm. I certainly didn’t want to explain such an embarrassing story to your brother, as he’d hardly believe me.”

“I see. Is that also why you had lipstick on at Royal 35? Or the perfume, on the very first of these dates?”

It would have been better if he hadn’t attempted to dampen his shock by playing at confusion. How had she never noticed before how good he was at acting? Acting—a close cousin to lying.

“Yes, actually. I was careless and didn’t clean up properly after the appointments. I know all this sounds unbelievable and I understand now why you seemed so uncertain. I wish I had gotten the chance to explain everything earlier. Yor, wait. Please, can we talk about this?”

She had opened the door to her room and retreated inside, ignoring how he reached for her one last time.

“Yor, please,” he tried.

“Maybe later,” she managed, her throat constricting around each word. “Later.”

She shut the door to her husband’s forlorn pleas. Her hand hovered over the lock, but ultimately let it be. At the least, she could trust him not to come into her room, her private sanctuary in their shared home. A respectful boundary that she should have found comfort in, but now was just yet another reminder that their marriage had always been a cover.

Chapter Text

“Anya’s home!” Anya declared as she skipped into the apartment. 

Scruffy had taken her to a carnival and they’d had tons of fun going on spinning rides and shooting plastic guns at targets and throwing balls at cups. But since Scruffy wasn’t good at those things like Papa or Mama, they only managed to win a small teddy bear, not the big dinosaur Anya had wanted.

Meanwhile Mama and Papa had had another one of their lovey dovey dates, at home this time. They had probably done some icky hugging and kissing since they weren’t in public. But this was her Mama and Papa, they were super slow—

Anya paused when she saw that Papa was sitting at the dining table all alone. His shoulders were hunched over and he was reading a big stack of papers with a half-finished dinner plate next to him. Mama’s cup and plate were not on the table. Mama was not there at all.

Gasp! Anya had to see what had gone wrong.

“Hey, Loid,” Uncle Franky said with a wave. Hmm. Doesn’t look good. Did she suspect Gisela after all?

Anya remembered then that Scruffy had laughed to himself a lot when he thought she wasn’t looking. He had thought about his last date with Girl Papa earlier today, and how Mama had walked into the cafe and said hi to them both! Mama didn’t know who Girl Papa really was, but Scruffy and Papa were both very nervous and mor-tee-fied about getting caught.

Papa gave a halfhearted wave in return, then turned to smile at Anya. She could tell his smile was fake. “Welcome back, you two.”

“Papa, where’s Mama?” she blurted out. She could not read anything from his mind. It was strangely gray and fuzzy.

Papa’s smile stretched thin. “She’s not feeling well, so she went to bed early. Speaking of which, it’s past your bedtime. So let’s brush your teeth and get you changed.”

Anya tried to catch any stray images of Mama in Papa’s mind, like those warm halos of light around her smiling face, but there were none. She frowned and ran up to her Papa, hugging his knees.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he reassured her. “You’ll see your mother in the morning.”

Then, he had the first solid thought about Mama that Anya could read.

Though I don’t know how much longer she’ll be willing to stay.

Anya’s eyes widened, but she quickly looked down before Papa could find her behavior weird. Behind her, she could hear Scruffy frown in his mind.

Yep, definitely not good. Looks like we have some work to do once the kid goes to bed.

Anya bit her lip, not wanting to go to sleep when her Papa was so upset. But at the same time she didn’t want to be in the way if Scruffy was going to help him. Scruffy always tried to help Papa even when Papa didn’t appree-she-ate it.

“Okay,” she said with a determined nod, and hurried to her room to get her PJs. Papa followed her, but not before Scruffy grabbed his sleeve and gave him a meaningful look. They did that silent talking thing with their mouths. Scruffy was going to wait for Papa there at the dining table.

“Night, Anya!” Scruffy called after her.

“Night, Scruffy!”

As Anya climbed into bed, she tried to listen for Mama’s thoughts through the wall, but they were very soft and wispy. She was either asleep or doing medi-tay-shun, like she did sometimes before she had to go out and murderize evil people.

Anya turned her attention back to Papa and clutched his arms when he tried to leave. “Papa, are you and Mama fighting?”

“No, Anya. She really is just not feeling well,” he said, but he was obviously lying. Stubborn Papa! 

“Papa has to help Mama feel better!” Anya ordered. “This is your new mi-shun of utmost im-port-tence!”

A small smile broke through the seriousness on Papa’s face. “I understand, Agent Anya. I’ll try my best.”

One look at Twilight, and Franky knew things were bad. The informant sucked in a breath and headed to the pantry where the spy kept his hard liquor well-hidden. Trying to get him to talk about his repressed feelings was hard enough on a regular day; he’d need all the help he could get.

A couple shots in, Franky managed to get the basics out of him. He drew on his own limited acting experience to mask his disbelief, not wanting his friend to feel any worse than he already did.

“Rookie mistakes,” Twilight groaned, his knuckles white against the thick glass. “Not even that. Trainees would get an automatic fail if they slipped up like I did. I can’t believe I got so careless.”

“Hey, makeup doesn’t exactly peel off like prosthetics, right?” Franky tried to console him. “And you had to do all the changes out in some public bathroom, that couldn’t have been the best place to be thorough.”

They both kept their voices low since Yor was still in her room down the hall, refusing to come out. Franky felt truly sorry for Twilight. He’d cooked her dinner and left a tray outside her door, but she hadn’t accepted it. The food had long grown cold.

Twilight merely shook his head. “Not an excuse. If this were a different mission, I could be dead.”

It was unnerving to see Twilight so withdrawn and defeated. Usually when the spy faced a difficult problem in a mission, he’d throw the full force of his mind at it and come up with a textbook-length list of possible ten-step plans. He might still be doing that beneath the blank-faced look, but somehow Franky doubted it. Twilight had never faced a problem quite like this before.

“So…what now?” Franky asked. “What are you going to say to her tomorrow?”

Twilight didn’t respond for a while, merely swirling the liquid around his glass as if it might hold answers.

“There’s a saying in the trade,” he said instead. “Once a spy allows a seed of doubt to take root, he’s as good as dead. I could see it in her face when I gave her my alibi. She didn’t believe it. She doesn’t trust me anymore. In her eyes, I’ve been hiding an affair all along and wouldn’t own up to it when she gave me the chance. And it won’t end there. She’s probably questioning everything else I’ve ever told her.”

Despite the fact he was solidly in Twilight’s corner, Franky couldn’t help but feel sorry for Yor as well. She’d always seemed so innocent and naive, blind to most social cues and conversational subtext, that maybe he and Twilight had taken her trusting nature for granted. She didn’t deserve to be yanked around on a chain like this, even though that hadn’t been Twilight’s intention.

“Well, if anyone can come back from a situation like this, it’s you,” Franky said. “You’ve been on countless life-or-death missions where you kept up the act with a gun to your head. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Twilight didn’t react to that, only staring down at the table without really seeing it. He’d looked like that once before, when he’d shown up at the bar to commiserate with Franky after Monica McBride had turned him down. 

People like you and I can’t afford to have feelings for others. Even if we could pursue relationships, they’d only end badly.

A spark of indignation lit within Franky’s chest. Both of them were closer than ever to finding happiness in real relationships. It felt wrong to see Twilight already giving up when he’d barely gotten a taste of that happiness.

At the same time, he could understand why Twilight had given up. This was the first time Twilight had developed real feelings for someone, not just pretending at attraction for the sake of a mission. By nature, a genuine relationship demanded honesty and transparency. Things that Twilight yearned for, but couldn’t commit to because he still thought he’d live and die as a nameless ghost for WISE. The problem was, he couldn’t commit to lying to Yor anymore, either. And even Franky knew that half-assed lies seldom convinced anyone.

“Have you…considered telling her the truth?” Franky ventured. Maybe, just maybe, that one date with Gisela where Franky had come clean with some of his own secrets had seeded the idea of honesty in the spy’s brain.

Twilight shook his head. “Off the table. Never was an option and never will be.”

“Why? I could back you up. If you don’t want to tell her the full truth, just tell her that I asked you to help me learn how to date, and to make it realistic you disguised yourself as a woman. You can even show her the Gisela getup to prove it.”

“No. That is just—no. I can’t believe I’m even discussing this absurd idea with you, but just so you’ll see why it would never work—how could I explain where I learned how to disguise myself so well? That’s not just something the average person does. Unless I want her to believe that I’m just like that fake patient I told her about.”

Franky managed not to laugh at the image of Twilight secretly wearing women’s clothes and makeup while writing up mission reports in his room. “Yeah, you don’t want her to get the wrong idea. But then…why not just go for the full truth? I get that your boss will be mad, WISE protocol, blah blah blah. But put that aside for a moment and think about your own happiness for once! And your wife’s happiness!”

Twilight sighed in exasperation, as if he were trying to tutor Anya in math. “If she took this misunderstanding about an affair this badly, imagine how much worse it’ll be if she finds out I’m a spy and Anya isn’t my real daughter. It’ll confirm every doubt she has about me right now, that I can’t be trusted. That I’ve not only been manipulating her, but a six year-old child as well.”

“Well…you could apologize, and tell her you’ve changed your ways and you’ll stay with her and Anya after the mission?”

“I can’t do that.”

“But other spies have done it. Got married to civilians and eventually came clean and retired or whatever.”

“I’m not them.”

“And why can’t you be?”

Twilight’s exasperation briefly sharpened into anger, signaling that he had thought about this and was still deeply conflicted over it. 

“There’s too much at stake between our countries. The agency is drastically understaffed. There are too many roles only I can play.”

“There’s always going to be stakes. Doesn’t mean you have to shoulder it all. Give yourself a break, you can’t do this job forever.”

“I’m not going to get into this with you. Just drop it,” Twilight said curtly.

Franky frowned. Not for the first time, he wished he had a quicker mind like Twilight’s so he could come up with more convincing arguments on the fly. It didn’t help that his alcohol tolerance was nowhere near Twilight’s, either. He’d probably be able to think faster if he hadn’t downed four shots in the last half hour.

“Alright, so then…what are you going to do?” Franky asked, just to buy himself some more time. 

Once again, Twilight didn’t give a straight answer. “Best case, Yor will decide to stay for Anya’s sake, but she and I will go back to being polite strangers. Which was what I had originally intended at the start of this mission anyway. Worst case…she asks for a divorce, and I won’t stop her. Technically I don’t need a wife at this point since Anya’s already at Eden. My social standing will take a hit once the rumors get out, and Anya will be devastated. But that’s the cost of my asinine mistakes.”

Twilight really had given up. He hadn’t said anything about what he himself planned to do. Maybe he didn’t actually know.

Seeing his friend so lost, Franky couldn’t help but feel guilty for his part in all this. If he hadn’t been so insistent about dating practice, they wouldn’t be sitting here contemplating the possibility of the Forgers splitting up. Yeah, he had finally gotten past his fear of talking to women and was actually dateable now. But the cost Twilight had had to pay to help him wasn’t worth it.

“I’m sorry for talking you into this mess,” Franky said quietly. “None of this would be happening if I’d just figured out a more normal way to learn how to talk to women.”

Twilight waved him off. “I accepted the deal willingly. And you’re not responsible for how I chose to approach the mission. Or how I slipped up.”

Franky was mildly amused that Twilight had taken to thinking of their deal as a mission, but didn’t call him out. “Well…I feel bad, anyway. It doesn’t feel right that I got what I wanted out of the deal while your marriage is on the rocks.”

“That doesn’t make sense. It’s better that one of us gets a win than if both of us lost out.”

“True, I guess.”

Both men sat in silence for a while, with only the clock ticking on the wall and the low hum of the refrigerator as background noise.

“Well, while we’re here,” Franky spoke up with some hesitation, “I guess I should tell you that to me, Gisela was real.”

Twilight gave him a weird look, but didn’t interrupt.

“I can see how you earned your reputation at the top of your trade. Even though I wasn’t a target, and I knew full well you were behind the mask, I still somehow fell into thinking that Gisela was real in the moment. And…this is probably something you do on all your missions, but the way Gisela was magically tailored to me made it even more believable. I know there aren’t any women out there who would be so accommodating right off the bat toward a guy like me. But I still somehow believed it. That’s crazy skill, man.”

Franky wasn’t sure anymore why he was telling Twilight all this. Some of it had to be the alcohol. Some, out of gratitude, or to boost the spy’s battered confidence. Or, perhaps, simply because he needed to get it off his chest. Their hastily curtailed date earlier today hadn’t exactly granted him the full closure he had wished for.

“So I guess I wanted to thank you for going through all that trouble, and putting all that effort into Gisela. It wasn’t just that I learned how to date. I enjoyed the process too. I really enjoyed spending time with Gisela. And I have to admit, it’s been pretty hard trying to say goodbye.”

Twilight stared at him for a bit longer before he poured himself a generous shot and threw it back. Then he put his head in his hands with a resigned sigh. 

“Okay. Great. I went into this to help you build some practical skills, and ended up honey trapping you by accident,” he muttered, his ears turning light pink. “Just like I did to Yor.”

Franky grinned and shook his head. “You’ve got to stop obfuscating everything in spy terms. It was just a crush. A secret I’ll take to my grave, mind you. And as for your wife, you’ve been pursuing her this whole time because you genuinely like her.” 

Franky held up a hand to cut Twilight off. 

“No! Do not say ‘compromise.’ No more spy terms. Anyway, I don’t have any more ideas about what you should do. But I will tell you this. What I had with Gisela wasn’t real, but what you have with Yor is. And that makes it worth fighting for. Don’t just give up—that’ll only make it worse for her, to think you wouldn’t even try to save things.”

Twilight’s embarrassment faded to a look of contemplation as he polished off what had to be his eighth or ninth shot. Franky was impressed that the spy could still think straight and speak without slurring his words.

Then again…

On a whim, Franky snapped his fingers in front of Twilight’s face, fully expecting the man to grab his arm in some kind of disabling move. 

Instead the grab turned out more like a lazy swipe. And it completely missed.

“Okay, buddy, that’s enough for now.” Franky moved the bottle to the other side of the table. He stifled a laugh at Twilight’s glare, which upon closer inspection was rather glazed over. “Why don’t you sleep on it? Everything’s always clearer in the morning.”

Long after Franky had left, Twilight sat nursing the last of the bottle at the dining table. He tried not to think about how pathetic he was, drowning himself in alcohol when his wife was just down the hall. But given the fact she hadn’t accepted his dinner offering, she probably wouldn’t leave her room at all tonight.

His head throbbed from thinking in circles. He replayed every possible route and its consequences in his mind, though in his drunken state the exercise manifested mostly as a continuation of his debate with Franky. At some point it all distilled down to his informant’s simple, needling questions.

Why not?

So what?

What about your own happiness?

Your wife’s happiness?

He shook his head, trying to clear the annoying voice from his mind. He really shouldn’t have indulged so much. If WISE called him in for a last-minute mission tonight, he’d have to turn it down and somehow make up a believable excuse for his handler.

Unbidden, his daughter’s voice replaced Franky’s.

Papa has to help Mama feel better! This is your new mi-shun of utmost im-port-tence!

“Right,” he mumbled to himself, mustering his resolve. “Fine. I’ll do it. For the mission.”

Chapter Text

The wastebasket in Yor’s room was full of crumpled tissues. She was dehydrated from crying, and her stomach rumbled from hunger. She also needed to use the bathroom. But she couldn’t leave her room yet. Even at this late hour, Loid was still moving about the apartment and hadn’t yet gone to bed. 

Coward, she thought to herself as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Is it really so bad if you cross paths for a split-second?

Yes. Yes it would be. She couldn’t bear the thought of running into him and dealing with the awkwardness of looking him in the face, of having to interrupt him once again when he inevitably tried to apologize and offer more excuses. Not to mention having to see his reaction to her puffy, bloodshot eyes. 

So she stayed where she was, and waited. 

Over the past few hours, between bouts of tears and attempts at meditation, Yor had managed to think things through and gain clarity on what she would do.

First and foremost was Anya’s wellbeing. Yor loved her daughter dearly and could not imagine leaving her, especially after she had suffered the loss of her birth mother at such a young age. No matter how much it hurt to be around Loid, Yor would suffer through it and stay for Anya’s sake.

Second was accepting that extramarital affairs were indeed as commonplace as TV dramas and office gossip indicated. Statistically it was not surprising that Loid would fall into that category, given how handsome and intelligent and successful he was. 

Third, she shouldn’t have expected much better given her own drastic shortcomings. Loid had already been very patient with her, overlooking all her flaws and clumsiness with a good-natured smile, which was more than what most people would have done. Yor should have felt lucky he hadn’t scorned her to her face.

Fourth…she was an assassin. That was a much bigger dealbreaker than having a discreet affair. So who was she to talk?

Although, very recently, before Yuri’s fateful visit had upended everything, she had begun to consider the traitorous option of coming clean to Loid. The thought of defying Garden’s ironclad rules was frightening beyond measure. Yor had never heard of a Garden assassin breaking the rules. Either no one ever had, or anyone who dared to was always permanently silenced.

But, she had tried to argue with herself, Shopkeeper had always shown her an extra measure of leniency, perhaps out of favoritism or compassion given the struggles of her childhood. Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception for her. If she submitted her resignation first, then surely it would be more forgivable to confess her secret to Loid.

Not that any of that mattered now. She would continue to keep her secret, and Loid could keep his. They would revert back to the early days of their arrangement, polite and aloof, united only in their care for Anya.

With a despondent sigh, she turned onto her side and glanced at her window. Maybe she could escape outside and find a public bathroom somewhere just so she didn’t have to face Loid. 

But before she could get up, a knock came at her door.

She froze and held her breath, eyes darting to the crack of light under the door where the shadows of Loid’s feet were faintly visible. 

A wave of sorrow rose up suddenly in her throat. She clamped her hand over her mouth as she waited for his familiar voice to call out for her softly, just like he had done so many times to announce dinner was ready. She yearned to see him, against all common sense, to let him soothe away her worries and explain that everything had been a misunderstanding in his calm, comforting manner, even though she didn’t know how he could possibly justify himself.

Loid stayed silent, merely knocking again. 

Yor debated whether to turn him away. But when he showed no sign of leaving, she reluctantly got up and shuffled to the door, roughly combing out some of the tangles in her hair with her fingers. She was an adult. She could face her husband like an adult.

Slowly, she opened the door, shielding her eyes against the bright light from the hallway. And promptly jumped back with a scream.

Her hands flew to her mouth so that she wouldn’t startle Anya awake, even as she stared in shock at the tall, gorgeous blonde woman in front of her. It was Gisela, Franky’s girlfriend, clad in the same emerald dress and gold jewelry she’d worn earlier in the afternoon.

“H–hello? Can…can I help you?” Yor managed to rasp, her voice hoarse from crying. She felt terribly embarrassed with her disheveled hair and puffy face, while Gisela looked just as immaculate as she had in the cafe. 

Why was Gisela here? Why had Loid let her into the apartment? Where was Loid?

Gisela’s piercing blue eyes riveted her in place. While the first time they’d met, Gisela had been mildly flustered from Yor’s rude interruption of her date, now her gaze was keenly focused in a way that made Yor shiver. It reminded her of how Loid looked when concentrating on a difficult problem. Loid had certainly never turned such an intense look directly on her, though now she had an inkling of what it might feel like if he did.

Then, she yelped again as Gisela spoke.

“Yor, it’s me,” Gisela said in a perfect imitation of Loid’s voice.

Yor backed up several steps to her bed and braced herself as if facing down an enemy, unable to make sense of what she was seeing. 

Gisela…Gisela was pretending to be Loid? But…why?

Where was Loid? Yor couldn’t see or hear a trace of him out in the hall. Surely he would have come running if he heard this woman trying to impersonate his voice.

A masculine chuckle rumbled from Gisela’s throat. A throat that, when she looked more closely, bore the distinct shape of an Adam’s apple. 

What…who was she looking at? Was Gisela…a man?

“L-Loid?” Yor gasped, her fingers still splayed around her mouth. 

Gisela (Loid?) gave a very familiar half-smile and shrugged, sending a light ripple through the voluminous sleeves of her dress. Sleeves that were meant to conceal the musculature of her shoulders and arms. 

“Oh my God…” Yor whispered, and sat down unceremoniously on her bed. “It is you. Then…you’re…”

“Shh,” Loid said, and stepped inside hesitantly. “May I?”

“Yes, come in,” she said hurriedly, not wanting Anya to wake up and overhear this incredibly bizarre conversation. Or to see her father dressed as a woman!

Loid shut the door behind him quietly and stayed a respectful distance away from her. “Mind if I turn on the light?”

“G-go ahead,” she stuttered, her mind racing through the implications until the odd, mind-bending truth dawned on her.

The lipstick. The perfume. The alibi about the male patient.

Was the patient actually just…Loid himself? Was Loid the kind of man who…who secretly wished he were a woman? Or merely enjoyed dressing up as one? 

Such inclinations were highly taboo in Ostania, and the SSS was quick to arrest and make an example of anyone caught acting on such desires. Loid had always been so polished and careful about his public image and standing in society. Yor hadn’t had a clue that he had harbored such a secret all along. 

Maybe that was why he’d been content with zero physical intimacy for all these months. He actually didn’t have any interest in her, or other women at all. In fact, he’d been on a date with Franky this afternoon. He’d been about to kiss Franky when she’d walked in on them. Now she could understand why he and Franky were so close when they seemed to have so little in common. They were lovers.

But then…Anya’s mother…had his previous marriage been out of pure obligation? Had she known this particular truth about her husband? 

“Yor, I swear it’s not what you think,” Loid said, as if he could tell her head was imploding. “Please, just give me a minute to explain. I just didn’t think there was any other way you could trust me enough to hear me out, unless I did this.”

“O–okay,” she said unsteadily, unable to keep herself from staring. She studied the way his throat bobbed nervously above the delicate gold necklace. The defined cut of his jaw, softened by the luscious golden hair cascading down his shoulders. And, with great embarrassment, the voluptuous curves on his chest and hips, which quickly caused her to cover her eyes with her hands.

“First, um, do you mind if I take some of this costume off?” he asked sheepishly. “It’s achieved its purpose, and I don’t want to make things any more awkward than they already are.”

“S-sure.”

As if the night couldn’t get any weirder, she was then subjected to the sight of her husband gradually emerging piece by piece from the supermodel-like ensemble of Gisela, like one of Anya’s build-a-dolls. First he removed the long-haired wig, under which his real hair was flattened against his head by a tight cap. He tugged that off too, so that from the neck up he looked like her husband again, albeit covered in makeup.

Yor squealed and jerked her face to the side as he pulled the dress over his head. A pair of fake breasts thumped lightly against the floor. Another amused laugh from Loid. She dared to peek between her fingers, and breathed a sigh of relief at the fact he had a thin undershirt and shorts on underneath. Still more of his skin than she had ever seen, but at least he wasn’t naked.

“Unfortunately I can’t do anything about these nails for now,” he remarked, holding out his pink-tipped fingers. “Unless you don’t mind if I borrow your nail polish remover as we talk.”

“Um, whatever you like,” she said, and pointed to the side drawer on her vanity. She slapped her cheeks lightly, wondering if this was all a fever dream she would wake up from soon.

He nodded and sat down by the vanity, still a safe distance away from her. The smell of acetone drifted through the air as he cleaned off his nails. 

“There isn’t really an ideal order in which to explain everything…so I’ll start with the immediate worries that must be on your mind,” he said. “You’re still the only woman for me. I am not attracted to Franky or any other women or men. And I’ve only been dressing as Gisela to help Franky practice talking to women.”

To help…Franky…practice talking to women?

So then, was Loid an escort? Or some kind of highly specialized dating coach? But…why would a client hire a man to pose as a woman instead of just hiring a woman to begin with? It seemed like so much hassle.

At her continued look of bafflement, Loid pressed his lips together to hide his amusement. His face was flushed red, and only now did Yor realize it wasn’t only from the blush he’d applied. He was extremely embarrassed, too. 

“There are a lot of other secrets I’ve been keeping from you. I hadn’t planned to disclose them, ever, but then…our date last weekend happened,” he said, and she caught a note of regret in his voice. “And then tonight, when I found myself backed into a corner, I realized I couldn’t go on without telling you. It wouldn’t be fair to you, if you were to enter a real relationship with me. And…”

He paused, at a rare loss for words, and drew his hand through his messy hair. He looked up at the ceiling, then to the side at the mirror on her vanity, as if gathering himself. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’ve never done anything quite like this before,” he admitted.

Yor peered more closely at him, and pieced together another small part of the puzzle. Loid wasn’t only embarrassed. He seemed to be drunk, too. The way he was rambling and slightly slurring some of his words indicated that he’d gotten intoxicated before approaching her as Gisela. 

He finally looked at her again, his sorrowful blue eyes pinning her place beneath the fake eyelashes still attached to his eyelids.

“You’re probably wondering how I learned to disguise myself as a woman so convincingly. The truth is, I know how to disguise myself as practically anyone. An elderly man, a teenager, a soldier, a politician, a mafia boss.”

Yor’s eyes widened. She had known Loid was multitalented, but to have such a versatile skill up his sleeve would make him very valuable to many specialized organizations. Like the movie industry. Or the circus. Or…the SSS. Or Garden. 

“You can probably take a guess as to what I am,” he said quietly. He sat with his shoulders hunched, his hands clasped loosely together over his knees, as if waiting for a pronouncement of a jail sentence.

“Um…” she stammered. He was giving her way too much credit. If he worked for the SSS, why would he spend so much of his free time helping Franky date? “Sorry, I still have no idea.”

Loid gave a self-deprecating laugh, covering his face with one hand as his shoulders shook. Then, as if remembering how much makeup he had on, he peeled off his fake eyelashes with a faint look of disgust and tossed them in the trash can.

“I’m a spy,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Her mouth opened in a silent circle, taking in the explosive confession like someone with severely impaired vision putting on corrective lenses for the first time. 

Loid…Loid was a spy. 

A spy who had mastered the art of disguise. And the art of reading people and gaining their trust. And combat, apparently—which might have been where all his concussive therapy injuries had actually come from.

And…cooking five-star meals? And interior decor? And fashion? And memorizing hundreds of penguin names? And skiing and surfing? And repairing phone lines and building wireless radios from scratch?

“Whoa, Yor!” 

Loid was at her side in an instant as she wobbled and slid off the bed under the weight of all these revelations. She sat down hard on the floor with her back against the bed, and he knelt next to her with a steadying hand on her shoulder. Then he immediately withdrew, unsure whether she’d welcome him so close. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, and she could definitely smell the liquor on his breath now.

“Yes…it’s just…a lot,” she breathed. “Give me a minute.”

He nodded, and took a seat on the floor a couple of paces away. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Slowly, the chaos of her mind fell into a semblance of order.

“So…you’re not Ostanian,” she ventured.

“No.”

“You’re from Westalis?”

“Yes.”

She tried to keep her breathing even. A spy from an enemy nation. Someone who could easily land in Garden’s crosshairs.

“What…what are you plotting?” she dared to ask.

“Plotting?” he said, puzzled. Then an uncertain grin broke out on his rouge-covered lips. “You make it sound like I’m a Bondman villain.”

“Oh, well, you know what I mean,” she said defensively, cheeks reddening.

“Yes, I understand.” He sobered up and seemed to consider his words carefully. “I am employed by the Westalian government. But our goal isn’t to harm Ostania. It’s to maintain the peace, and eliminate any threats that might tip the scales toward war.”

Yor digested this with a measure of relief. There was still a lot he wasn’t saying, but at least on the surface it sounded similar to Garden’s aims.

“What about Anya?” she moved on.

It was very slight, but Loid tensed up even while holding her gaze. Yor tried not to sink into dread prematurely at what that might signal.

“…I adopted her for my mission. I know it sounds terrible. It is terrible. But…I do want to make this permanent. Our family. I just…before today, I hadn’t allowed myself to confront that possibility.”

Yor took in the jarring news and felt the snap of indignation within her heart on Anya’s behalf. Adopted for a mission. She had always seemed so happy with Loid, though, like they had always been a family. How long ago had he adopted her? Did she have any memories of her life before Loid?

“I’m sorry, Yor,” Loid said more desperately. “I went into tonight expecting that you’d be just as likely to leave as to stay after hearing all this. I know this is extremely difficult to process all at once. It’s such a deep betrayal of your trust–”

“Why do you need Anya?” Yor asked. And underneath, an unspoken question: why do you need me?

“My mission requires gaining access to an extremely reclusive politician who only shows his face at Eden Academy events. So the thought was to adopt a child and enroll them at Eden as the way in.” 

Loid spoke each word slowly, as if it was painful to eke out these secrets in another person’s presence. From what little she understood of spies, he was probably breaking all the basic mandates of his trade just to have this conversation with her. To have a chance at salvaging their new relationship.

The thought warmed her heart just enough to bring a small, encouraging smile to her face, despite the troubling revelation about their daughter. She reached over and rested her hand on top of his. His tense, pained countenance softened at the conciliatory gesture.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, “I tried to find a different way. Soon after I found Anya, I realized the pressures of living with a spy and being part of a mission would be too great for such a young child. I tried to send her to a better orphanage than the one I found her in. But she clung to me and asked me to keep her. I know it’s hardly any kind of justification for what I’ve done. She’s so young and couldn’t possibly understand what she was getting into. But…something inside me just caved at that point, and I became her father.”

Yor stared down at their entwined hands, imagining that pivotal moment between father and daughter. Anya’s tiny hands gripping Loid’s legs, her face buried against his knees, refusing to let him go. And Loid looking down at her with that puzzled, slightly overwhelmed expression he had sometimes when the girl did something he couldn’t comprehend.

“When were you originally planning to leave us?”

The shame in his expression deepened. “My latest estimate was that it would take around two more years to accomplish my objective. I would have made sure you both were financially taken care of upon my death, so that you could keep custody of Anya comfortably.”

“You were planning to die?!” Yor gasped, sitting straight up in shock. “This is a suicide mission?!”

“No, no!” Loid said quickly, then doubled over in laughter. The sight looked even stranger with his eyes accented in eyeliner and eyeshadow. “Sorry, I meant I’d fake my death. That’s what spies usually do to exit long-term missions like this.”

Yor relaxed, but still gave him a heavy frown. “So you would have walked out on us and had us believe you’d died? Anya would be so heartbroken!” And so would I— again left unspoken.

“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t plan to do that anymore.” A shaky sigh. “After tonight, all my plans are sort of up in the air.”

Suddenly she wondered what kind of consequences Loid would face for blowing his cover. For Garden, the consequences were grim. Shopkeeper never had to make the punishment explicitly clear because the fear of the unknown was part of the deterrence factor. But perhaps a Westalian spy agency operated differently?

“Are they going to take you away from us anyway?” she asked. “Whoever you work for, I mean.”

“Once they find out I told you?” he shrugged. “They can try. That’s for me to worry about in the morning.”

“And me,” she said rather stubbornly. “They don’t have to know that I know, do they?”

Somehow the thought seemingly hadn’t occurred to him. His brows drew together slightly as he paused. “...They don’t…but…you’ve never been the best at keeping secrets, Yor.”

She narrowed her eyes and felt even more offended when he laughed. If only he knew! “I can keep a secret! Especially about something as important as this! Come on, if you trust Franky with who you are, can’t you trust me?”

An odd look replaced the humor in his eyes. “...Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

“Why did you do all this for Franky, anyway?” She gestured vaguely to his face as she came back to the original source of all her confusion. “It seems like an awfully big risk if you’re trying to hide your identity all the time. What if you got caught by the SSS?”

His cheeks reddened and he could only answer in a mumble. “This is going to sound really stupid.” 

He fell silent as if waiting for her to change the topic, but when she didn’t, he reluctantly continued. 

“You know how desperate he is to get a girlfriend. He didn’t know how to talk to women without stuttering and tripping all over himself. So…he offered me free babysitting twice a week and…some other stuff for my real job, in exchange for my coaching. But he was very adamant that it be as realistic as possible, which meant…all this.” He gestured to his face in the same way she had.

She tilted her head as she absorbed all the facts. Franky was an accomplice of some kind to Loid’s spy work, which explained why the two men of such different backgrounds were close friends. 

“You really are a good friend to him, Loid,” she said with a smile. “Franky’s lucky to have you.”

For some reason this made Loid embarrassed. “We’ve known each other a long time. I know I can rely on him too.”

She realized that other than Franky, he had never allowed anyone else into their home to babysit Anya. Now she understood why, even though she had initially found it strange that Franky had spent two nights a week helping them out for the past couple of months. And also…

Her breath fluttered in her throat.

“Oh…so…you chose to use all his babysitting…to…to take me out on dates?” she said, her own cheeks growing warm.

“Yes,” he said sincerely. They were still holding hands, though their palms were growing uncomfortably sweaty. He squeezed her fingers affectionately. “Like I said, at first I told myself it was for the cover. But spending that much time with you, it quickly became more than that. I’ve made it through so many missions without getting entangled with anyone. But…with you, I couldn’t help it.”

“Oh…” she said shyly. She looked down at their joined hands again and realized how right everything felt, like the world had slowly tilted back onto its correct axis. “I couldn’t help it either.”

His eyes flickered to her lips, and suddenly she was very aware of the distance between them, just how awkward it’d be to cross it after sitting so far apart for the duration of their conversation. But it would be by far the least awkward thing that had happened to her today.

So, she crawled over to him until they sat hip to hip. They’d only done this a couple of times in the last few days, cuddling up on the couch together to watch TV. He looked pleasantly surprised and devastatingly hopeful, after such a heavy air of resignation had hung over him all night.

“I know we still have a lot to talk about,” she said, looking up into his eyes, “but I think this is more than enough for me for now. To trust you. Thank you, Loid, for trusting me with this.”

His smile turned ironic, as if he wasn’t sure whether admitting to espionage or showing up as Gisela at her door was the more dangerous secret in her safekeeping.

“Of course, Yor.”

Up close, she could see just how tired he was beneath the layers of makeup. The lines creasing the corners of his eyes and mouth. Her gaze lingered there, at the pretty pink painting his lips. Now knowing the truth of how it had gotten there, she found the look rather cute.

“Can…can I kiss you?” she asked.

In answer, he smiled, achingly soft, and cupped her face in one hand. 

Her first kiss was nothing like she imagined it would be, sitting on the floor of her room at an ungodly hour, with her husband who was actually a spy and also wearing the remnants of a supermodel disguise, with the stench of whiskey on his breath. And she still really needed to use the bathroom. 

But it was still perfect, and at least she knew she would never forget it for the rest of her life.

When they finally pulled apart, Loid regarded her with unguarded affection and wonder, as if scarcely believing the night could have ended like this. And then he laughed, and brought his thumb to the side of her mouth. 

“You’ve got a little smudge there,” he joked.

She laughed and swatted him on the arm, but soon pulled him in for another kiss. This time when they broke apart, she had enough courage to go through with it.

“Loid,” she said with determination, “I have a secret to tell you, too.”

He stroked her cheek tenderly, completely unfazed. “Oh? I’m all ears.”

Chapter Text

Weeks after the Lipstick Incident, Yuri still clung to the unwavering conviction that he was right. 

Even though his sister had firmly denied it and kicked him out of her apartment in defense of pathetic Loidy. 

Even though, days later, unable to bear her continued silence and disappointment, he had crawled back to her in tears begging for forgiveness. 

It’s alright, Yuri. I know you were just looking out for me.

Those simple reassuring words had buoyed his spirits back to 100% in an instant. His sister trusted him! She knew that he would always be there for her, protecting her from any possible danger! Better than lying, cheating Loi-Loi, for sure–

But you have to stop antagonizing Loid! He loves me, without a doubt. I never want to hear you question him again, okay?

And just as quickly, Yuri’s spirits had plummeted back into a dark pit of tar. Never question Loid Forger again? But his very job was to question everything and everyone! Everyone in today’s society was potentially hiding dangerous, subversive secrets that could bring harm upon his sister in one way or another! He couldn’t just simply write off–

Okay, Yuri?

Okay, so he had agreed to stop questioning his brother-in-law to his face. But he’d be damned if he didn’t keep hunting for the seedy truth behind that fakeass smile—discreetly.

It was in pursuit of that personal mission that he was now observing his sister and Loi-Loi on a coffee date with their dubious-looking friends, Franky Franklin and a petite blonde woman with a cheerful smile plastered to her face at all times. She had to be an escort or something. No way would any respectable woman go out with a short unkempt loser who ran a cigarette stand for a living. How could Yor not see how sketchy her husband’s friends were, and how that implicated him in turn!

Yuri had chosen a well-hidden vantage point across the street, a bench obscured by trees and parked cars, where he pretended to scatter feed to pigeons and read the newspaper. His cap was pulled low over his forehead, and a set of tinted glasses concealed the direction of his gaze. 

The weather was warmer today, so the two couples had seated themselves outside the cafe. To his disappointment, the two men sat facing Yuri, while his sister and the other woman sat with their backs to him. What he would give to see his sister’s angelic smile instead of Loi-Loi’s smug grin!

Though from a mission standpoint, it was advantageous to have a clear view of the prime suspect, Yuri reminded himself. He could read every word that passed through the man’s lying lips. Lips that were, for now, free of incriminating lipstick.

Over lattes and fruit pastries, the conversation drifted through several mind-numbing topics mostly revolving around Franklin’s ‘date.’ The young woman’s name was Priscilla, Yuri was soon able to glean. It was apparently the first time Franklin had trotted her out to meet his friends, showing her off like some sort of big game trophy. 

Priscilla claimed to be a waitress at The Bellhouse, a centuries-old pub on Second Street. Yuri scoffed inwardly as she admitted she’d squandered her chance to go to university in order to pursue her dreams of becoming an actress, and had obviously failed. A far cry from his humble, hardworking, practical-minded sister! To make things worse, Priscilla’s favorite movie was that trashy romance Kiss Distance, which unfortunately still hadn’t ended its run in Berlint cinemas. Yuri was sick and tired of hearing his female colleagues gush about it in the office.

Enough about her! What about Yor? Why wasn’t his stupid brother-in-law shifting the topic to his sister’s unmatched beauty and talent and self-sacrificing nature and–

“Unkie, I’m bored. Can we go to the arcade now?”

Without moving his head too much, Yuri glared at the diminutive child sitting next to him on the bench, her pink hair mostly concealed by a wide sun hat. He’d been stuck babysitting Loi-Loi’s little gremlin while he and Yor went out on this double date. 

“Shh! I told you to stay quiet!” he hissed.

“But this is soooo boring. If you wanna see Mama and Papa flirt you could just stay for dinner. At least at home Anya has toys to play with.”

The thought of that smarmy bastard daring to flirt with his sister in front of him painted his vision red for a moment. “No! I’m not finished collecting evidence yet! Didn’t you want to play detective or something? Well this is how you do it!”

“Evee-dense of how much Mama and Papa love each other?” the brat said way too smugly. She was a carbon copy of her good-for-nothing father in a lot of ways. 

“No,” he bit out, and managed to hold back from calling Loidy a cheater in front of his daughter. As a member of the State Security Service he still had a duty to protect the welfare of children, even if he wished his sister weren’t saddled with someone else’s kid. 

“Evee-dense of whether Mama visits Papa to kissy-kissy at work?”

“What?! No!” he cried in horror, barely remembering to control his volume before he could attract attention. “How does a kid your age even–”

“Then what are you looking for, Unkie?” She blinked her large green eyes up at him from under the sun hat. The child was far too devious not to be gloating at him behind that innocent stare.

“Just—just leave me alone for five more minutes!” he whispered harshly. “Then I swear I’ll take you to that stupid arcade, okay!”

“...Okay. Five minutes,” she agreed reluctantly, settling back on the bench. “But Unkie has to give Anya one whole hour at the arcade then.”

“Fine!” he growled, eager to get back to his surveillance.

While he’d been arguing with the girl, Yor and Priscilla had gone inside to visit the restroom. Yuri had never understood why women tended to make bathroom calls a kind of miniature social event. But now was his chance! Loi-Loi and his sketchy friend were alone. If he was going to admit to any kind of illicit activity, or even grumble about Yor behind her back, now was the most likely time.

“Come on…” Yuri goaded under his breath. “Show your true colors, Cheaty McCheaterface.”

Instead, the two men were still stuck on the topic of Priscilla. That airheaded woman was not even remotely interesting! Move on already!

Yuri groaned and slouched in his seat as Franklin boasted about several utterly mundane dates as if he’d pulled off some grand heist. His unflattering opinion of the man diminished further by the second. 

But then, Franklin said something that piqued Yuri’s suspicion. 

Thanks again, man. Couldn’t have done it without you.

Yuri narrowed his eyes and paid extra attention over the top of the newspaper he was holding. What kind of shady favors had Loidy done for his pathetic friend? A single hint of infidelity—a visit to a seedy club or a gentleman’s lounge, perhaps—and Yuri would have him in cuffs so fast he wouldn’t have time to blink.

Franklin rooted around in his pocket, and Yuri wished he had brought his binoculars with him so he could see better. Was he about to hand over a large sum of cash under the table? Another reason to detain his brother-in-law for further investigation.

To Yuri’s disappointment, the scruffy-haired man placed two innocuous slips of paper in Loidy’s hand. Movie tickets, from the looks of it. The taller man peered at them with a bit of skepticism, then mouthed the words, Kiss Distance?

It’s the last weekend it’ll be playing in cinemas! Who knows, maybe it’ll inspire some ideas at home, Franklin elbowed his friend while waggling his bushy eyebrows.

Yuri’s face flamed in angry mortification, though he remembered to keep his eyes on his brother-in-law for any last signs of indecency as the two women came back out of the cafe. But the man only rolled his eyes good-naturedly and tucked the tickets into his pocket. 

“Unkie, is five minutes up yet?” Anya complained.

“Not yet,” he gritted out, even though it probably was.

“You’re lying! Unkie, you gotta hold up your end of the bar-ginn, or Anya’s gonna run over there right now and tell Mama you’re spying on her!”

“What! No!” Where did a six year-old even learn how to blackmail people like that? Probably from her shady professional manipulator psychiatrist of a father.

“Excuse me,” a new voice interrupted coolly from behind them. 

With one hand grasping his niece’s arm, Yuri whipped around to see a stony-faced woman with short lavender hair covering half her face looking down at the two of them.

“Yes?” he said curtly, in no mood to give a stranger directions in the midst of such an important assignment.

“Hi, Miss Fiona!” Anya chirped happily, turning around to kneel on the bench so she could wave. 

“Hello, Anya,” the woman—Fiona, apparently—greeted the girl in the same emotionless tone. She glanced at Yuri as if he were a fly stuck to the bottom of her shoe, then back at Anya. “Do you know this man?”

“Yes, he’s my unkie. But he’s really, really boring.”

“I see. I was concerned that a stranger had kidnapped you.”

“Excuse me, who are you?” Yuri questioned acerbically. How dare this random woman accuse him of kidnapping a child!

She cast her icy gaze back on him in such an unaffected manner that he was begrudgingly impressed by her boldness. There were very few people outside his trade who could pull off a poker face like that.

“My apologies.” Her deadpan tone was anything but apologetic. “My name is Fiona Frost. I am a colleague of Doctor Forger’s at the hospital.”

Aha! ‘A colleague!’ A likely story. This woman had to be the one! Loi-Loi’s mistress! Why else would she be wandering the streets so close to where the man was having a date with his sister?

“Colleague? How long have you worked together? In what capacity? How often do you socialize outside of work? How did you come to be on such familiar terms with his daughter?”

“Unkie!” Anya whined, planting her hands on her hips. “Stop flirting with Miss Fiona and take me to the arcade nowwww.”

“What! I am not flirting,” he spat.

Anya rolled her eyes and flopped down on the bench with her arms crossed. “Right now I’d rather have Miss Fiona babysit me than you! Then you can go ahead and keep stalking Mama and Papa–”

“I am not stalking anyone!”

“–and I can go have fun!”

“Oh, are your parents nearby?” Fiona asked the girl, now ignoring Yuri completely.

“Yes, they’re right–”

“No! No, we’re out for a walk, that’s all. My niece needed some fresh air after being cooped up indoors all day. But we’ve been here long enough. We’re leaving now.”

“I see. Well, it was nice to run into you, Anya. And your uncle,” Fiona said.

She did not move, almost as if she was waiting for them to actually leave. Yuri bristled at her continued audacity. He was the designated guardian of his niece, not this so-called ‘colleague’ of her father’s. 

“Perhaps I’ll see you at the next dinner party my dear sister might so graciously decide to host,” Yuri said as he folded up his newspaper and stood from the bench. He kept his assessing gaze trained on this new person of interest, and from her answering stare, he had the odd sense they were locked in a contest of who would blink first. 

“Perhaps. I am a psychiatric nurse steadily building my own practice at Berlint General. If you happen to be in need of such services, please feel free to come see me,” she said rather abruptly. 

Yuri opened his mouth to rebuff the wildly inappropriate offer immediately. The nerve of this woman, suggesting he was in need of–!

On second thought, what better way to spy on his brother-in-law and catch him in flagrante than by establishing direct contact with his likely mistress?

“Miss Fiona Frost, is it? Thank you, I will keep you in mind,” he said stiffly, and resolutely ignored how his niece giggled at his side.

Across the street, the four adults at the cafe had stood up as well, the women gathering up their personal effects and rounding the table to stand beside their dates. Yuri’s sixth sense, that quintessential bond he had shared with his sister since birth, began to tingle all of a sudden, and he whipped his face away just in time to avoid his sister’s direct gaze. In the same second he moved to shield Anya from view. 

“We really have to get going, this kid has been whining about the arcade for the entire afternoon,” he said tightly, his heart hammering in his chest at the near miss. He wasn’t in the clear yet; he could sense more than one curious pair of eyes on him now. Better get out of here fast.

“Have a good afternoon,” the lavender-haired woman said, and finally went on her way, heels clicking crisply against the pavement. He watched her go out of the corner of his eye, already cataloging all the ways she was inferior to Yor. For Loidy to fall for a frigid woman like that when he was blessed with all the radiance of the sun itself in his wonderful sister!

“Unkie, Mama’s looking at us,” Anya warned.

“Let’s go,” he urged, and half-carried, half-ushered her in front of him into a brisk walk. He ground his teeth all the while, reviewing this afternoon’s findings and feeling frustrated as always with the lack of clear cut evidence.  

Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Forger. I’ve met your secret ice queen girlfriend. And after I make an appointment with her I’ll expose your cesspool of vice soon enough!

“Good to see Fiona hit it off nicely with your brother-in-law,” Franky commented as he watched the SSS agent scurry off with Anya. How had that man attained an officer rank in the secret police? He had somehow managed to be even more conspicuous than Franky had been when he’d taken the girl to shadow her parents ages ago.

Twilight shrugged and deliberately turned his back to the street now that their stalker was gone. “It helps her career to clear out obstacles to Strix, since he’s been following me practically everywhere the past month.”

“...If you say so.”

Part of Franky really, really wanted to break the blatantly obvious news to Twilight, but his personal honor code held him back. He and Fiona (whose codename was Nightfall, he had recently learned) were on decent terms now, maybe even friends. She no longer shoved him around or insulted him nearly as often. And though she hadn’t yet moved on from her crush on Twilight, he could tell that she was contemplating how to get started, like an addict finally admitting they had a problem. 

He’d keep Nightfall’s secret, just like he’d kept Twilight’s all these years. And at some point, he suspected Yor might trust him with her own secrets as well. He knew there had to be more to his friend’s reconciliation with his wife than a simple one-sided confession of the spy’s identity. It wasn’t enough to explain how the couple’s dynamic had transformed overnight from awkward teenagers who could barely hold hands without blushing to a true partnership on every level—friends, confidants, and lovers. To the seasoned eye, they even appeared to be partners in crime, though Franky didn’t know yet what flavor of ‘crime’ Yor partook in.

For his part, he’d been strategically disclosing the hidden pieces of his life to Priscilla, and to his delight, it hadn’t scared her off yet. Quite the opposite—she found the snippets of his underground career fascinating. Never in a million years had he imagined a woman would view him as a ‘bad boy’ in the positive sense of the term, but he would wear the badge with utmost pride.

Yor and Priscilla had quickly hit it off as friends, too, now walking side by side away from the cafe as if they’d forgotten their respective dates were behind them. Twilight and Franky were left to follow at an easy distance, and the latter couldn’t help but think about how far he’d come since that fateful first date with Gisela, when he could hardly say hello to a woman without stuttering.

And going even further back…

His inability to speak to women had been the reason Twilight had spared his life in the first place, all those years ago when they had met on that forested hillside in the war. To think, he owed his survival to his ineptitude in dating. And even more ironically, the very man who had nearly shot him in the head that day had willingly become his dating coach more than a decade later. 

And on top of that, one of his best friends.

“What’s so funny?” the spy asked warily as Franky chuckled to himself.

“Nothing,” he answered. “Just that…I was wrong, back when I told you that people like us can’t trust anyone. Look at us now. Would anyone ever believe how this all started?”

“No. And no one will ever have to, because if you tell a single soul, you’re a dead man.”

Franky shook his head with a knowing smile. While Twilight had changed a great deal from the hotheaded young soldier he had once been, his penchant for empty threats had stayed the same.

“Relax. All your secrets are safe with me. What else are friends good for?”