Work Text:
Aside from a gas station robbery that Loid and Yor quickly manage to stop, the drive to the world-famous North Westalis Hot Springs Locale is uneventful.
“I gotta pee!” Anya hollers when they get there, stumbling out of the car. Her face is green, and she looks woozy—her carsickness had started half an hour into the trip. Loid doubts that peeing is the only thing she needs to do.
“I’ll take her to the bathroom and meet you inside,” Yor says, scooping Anya up in one arm and wincing sympathetically when she groans. Loid nods and goes to check in, taking in the scenery as he does. He makes a note of a few posters announcing the town’s annual summer festival, which begins tonight with a fireworks show.
When Anya had come home for spring break chattering about all the cross-country trips her classmates were going on, Loid had had a moment of panic—he hadn’t planned for appearances over the break at all, foolishly assuming their typical routine of fancy breakfasts and trips around the city would be enough. A quick consultation with Frankie told him that no, it would decidedly not be, and Anya would need her own stories to share when school reconvened.
The Handler has come through wonderfully with these reservations—Loid knows that the waitlist is years long, and he doesn’t want to imagine what she did to give the Forgers another family’s spot. Staggering mountains and grassy hills surround the little town, which consists of picturesque villas, a stunning ocean view, and—most importantly—
“Hot springs!” Anya screams as she dashes through the entrance for families.
“The stones are wet! Slow down!” Loid calls, exchanging a wry look with Yor. She’s dressed in a black bathing suit that appears to be made of sturdy fabric, exposing what seems like miles of tan, glowing skin. Embarrassingly, Loid has to drag his eyes away.
Don’t be ridiculous, he scolds himself.
Yor sinks into the water immediately when they reach a shallow sitting area near where Anya is splashing around. She groans. “Oh, that feels good. My back is so sore.”
“Slept poorly?” Loid asks. He strips off his tank top quickly and steps in, sighing as the warm water meets his skin.
Yor grimaces. “Something like that.”
Then, she does a double-take, and Loid watches her eyes flicker over him. She looks away, turning scarlet.
Loid chalks it up to embarrassment at being so unclothed. He’s well past the illusion that she might be attracted to him—that disastrous date had been enough to show him her true feelings. With a heavy heart that he ruthlessly ignores, he resolves to be as clinical about this experience as possible while still maintaining some show of being a couple in others’ eyes.
He closes his eyes and tries to relax. He had pulled a muscle in his shoulder during a fight a few days ago, and the heat soothes the residual ache. It’s a reminder that he’s getting older—and a reminder that he needs to wrap up this mission as soon as possible before he ages out of spy work. Which would include shedding his identity as Loid Forger and…disappearing.
Loid inhales deeply and dunks his head underwater, forcing himself to clear his thoughts . He shouldn’t be ruminating on this now. He needs to be present, and genial, and charming, and not think about the fact that he’s running out of time —
A hand touches his shoulder tentatively. “Loid?” Yor whispers. “Are you alright?”
Loid comes up for air, shaking water out of his eyes. “Sorry,” he says, awkward. “Just got distracted for a moment there.”
“Thinking about work?” Yor asks. At his surprised look, she grins and leans closer. “When you are, you get a little wrinkle in your forehead. Right here.” She reaches out and presses a finger just above his right eyebrow, smoothing the skin gently.
Loid’s face heats. He suddenly remembers her bathing suit is much clingier than it was before. Water drips along her muscular shoulders and arms, biceps flexing as she draws her hand away.
Yor’s eyes catch his. Even as a blush rises in her cheeks, her gaze stays locked to his, dark and unreadable, threatening to swallow him whole. Almost unconsciously, her other fingers join the one, tracing along his brow to wipe away the sweat and water beading his forehead.
The steam rises around them, an illusory curtain. Loid’s breath is trapped in his lungs—all he can do is gasp silently for air, shivering despite the heat. The moment stretches, everything drowned out but the murmur of the hot springs and the sound of Yor’s slight, shallow breaths.
Involuntarily, Loid’s eyes flick to her lips.
Yor inhales, sharp.
…Was he mistaken? Does Yor—could Yor truly…?
“Papa!”
The spell breaks. Loid jerks back, flounders, almost brains himself on a nearby rock formation. Yor shrinks back, and just like Loid had moments before, she submerges herself to the top of her head.
“Anya?” Loid calls, searching for her. His heart hammers in his throat, but he forces it to calm, burying the moment in the same pit he buries anything not useful to his work.
“Papa! Catch me!”
Loid has enough understanding by this point to immediately get into position. A second later, Anya topples into his arms from the rope swing attached to a nearby tree. “Yay!” she giggles, looping her arms around his neck.
“Be careful,” Loid chides gently, patting her on the back. He examines her—she’s pink all over, and her breathing is heavier than he’d like. “Alright, that’s enough for you. Let’s go back to the hotel for a nap.”
Anya doesn’t complain, which makes Loid more certain this is the right call. He turns and finds Yor still submerged. Something tells him that though it’s been close to five minutes, she hasn’t come up for air yet.
“Yor,” he calls. “I’m taking Anya back for a nap.”
“Alright,” Yor says, rising and pushing her hair out of her eyes. Her eyes skip over Loid’s face; he blinks at her calmly, and she appears to relax. “I think I’ll get some sleep, too.”
Loid considers this. He rarely sleeps well, either, and…well, he’s supposed to be playing the part of a happy family on vacation. Getting some guilt-free sounds fantastic, actually.
“We can sleep until the festival tonight,” he says.
“Can we nap together?” Anya mumbles into Loid’s shoulder, drowsy.
Loid and Yor exchange smiles. “Of course,” Yor says, smoothing a hand over Anya’s hair.
And they do.
Loid wakes to the fading glow of sunset, the breeze washing over his face. To his left, Yor is still asleep, so still that Loid catches himself checking for her breaths. He gazes at Anya next, lying flat on her back, hands loosely curled around both his shirt sleeve and Yor’s.
He brushes her hair back from Anya’s face, and then, unthinking, does the same for Yor, her tresses sliding through his fingers like silk, deep, lustrous brown in the light. He breathes, in and out, letting himself linger.
Then, he slowly shakes them awake. “The fireworks are starting soon,” he says, smiling as they rouse. “Let’s head out.”
Twenty minutes later, they wade between dozens of families, trying to find a spot that isn’t too crowded and eventually claiming one near the town sign.
“Make sure to tell me if the crowd is too overwhelming, alright?” Loid says.
Anya swings forward and nods. She peers intently into Loid’s face. Her hair tickles his nose, and he resists the urge to sneeze. “What?” he asks, squeezing her knees slightly.
“This isn’t right,” Anya says decisively. She leans over and pulls on Yor’s sleeve. Yor follows, bewildered, until she’s standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Loid. “I wanna sit on both of your shoulders!”
Loid sighs, resisting the urge to smile. “We’re different heights, Anya. That won’t work.”
“Yes, it will.” Anya squirms out of Loid’s grip and swings onto Yor’s back. Yor squeaks and grabs for her; Anya bats her hands away. “It’s okay, Mama!”
Eventually, after much maneuvering on all their parts, Anya sits mostly on Yor’s shoulder, leaning into Loid’s for support. Loid eyes her—he doubts that’s comfortable. But she seems happy, a beaming smile stretching her cheeks.
And when faced with Yor’s soft, awestruck eyes as she gazes at Anya, Loid can’t find it in himself to protest.
A crowd gathers around them, a murmured hush falling as everyone waits for the fireworks to begin.
“Have you ever seen fireworks before?” Yor asks, turning to Loid.
Loid thinks back to a time and place far away. He imagines the phantom warmth of being passed back and forth between two sets of arms, brilliant bursts of colour filling his vision as he stared at the sky and believed, for a few glorious moments, that the world was nothing but magic.
“A long, long time ago,” he says, quiet.
Yor tilts her head, then nods. Her eyes go dream-like. “I think my parents took us once,” she whispers. “I don’t remember much of them, but I do remember the sounds and the colours. Yuri was just a baby.” She pauses, contemplative. “I think it was only a few months before they died.”
“I’m sorry.”
Yor shrugs a shoulder. “It was a long, long time ago,” she echoes. “And I’m happy to know that we’re making memories together now. You, me, and Anya.”
Memories. Memories are all Loid has, even the ones he keeps locked away to remember and mourn when his work is done. In no time at all, Yor and Anya, too, will become memories—a faint impression of a sleeping weight in his arms; a slight heat in his cheeks from tawny eyes and a sweet smile; a distant echo of his family’s laughter somewhere on the wind.
Loid tries to speak past the heavy grief in his throat. Before he can respond, something fizzles and pops in the air above them. Anya gasps.
“Look!” she shrieks. “Look!”
Yor’s mouth parts, her face tilting upwards. Loid follows her gaze to see the sky burst into light, a multitude of golden, silver, blue, and red fireworks sparking and shimmering in the air. The crowd around them cheers.
Anya screams and claps above them, her expression of pure, unadulterated glee just visible in Loid’s view. Yor’s eyes are enraptured and slightly wet. As the fireworks reflect in her eyes, she looks transported—perhaps to the timeless magic of the moment, perhaps to the past.
Memories. Memories are all Loid will have of any of this.
Slowly, Loid takes Yor’s hand, sliding his fingers through hers and squeezing tight. He memorizes the play of lights on her glowing cheeks, the curve of her surprised smile.
Then, he presses a kiss to Anya’s hair and brings his other hand up to steady her, focusing on her excitement.
For just this once, he allows himself to be Loid Forger, a man with a wife and daughter he loves more than anything in the whole, wide world.
He holds onto Yor, onto Anya, and pretends with every fiber of his being that this moment will never end.