Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Like every other person who had to work for a living, Agent Twilight did not enjoy meeting with his boss. This wasn’t because his boss was a particularly awful person, though the ruthless way in which she assigned missions and dismissed subordinate complaints might have said otherwise. 

No, it was because she knew far too much.

“You’ve been distracted lately.” Sitting in front of Loid was none other than the fullmetal lady herself, presently tapping her pen on her office table as she peered suspiciously at him.

He paused for a millisecond. “Have I?”

Eyes narrowing, Handler stopped tapping her pen. “Don’t play dumb with me, Twilight.”

Loid sighed. “I apologize. It’s been…a stressful past few weeks.” 

“When is our work not stressful?” But her glare softened. “I suppose you have been taking on a substantial amount of extra work lately. HQ is grateful that you were able to track down those leads. No one was able to get any information for months. Your work has greatly assisted in maintaining the peace between the East and West.”

Unbeknownst to Handler were Twilight’s real motives in chasing down those leads. After submitting that horrific expense report following the date auction (an explosion would have been preferable to the catatonic state that Handler flew into), he had purposely sought out extra missions in order to appease her.

Hence, the dark(er) circles under his eyes.

“In any case, I hear that Operation Stryx is making progress,” Handler continued. “Young Anya and Damian are friends now, are they not?”

“Ah, are they?” That was news to him. Loid held back a wince as he recalled watching Damian snapping at Anya during the date auction. “That’s…one way to put it.”

Though the young boy’s behavior was ever so fickle and unpredictable, he did seem to be warming up to Anya in his own way. At the very least, he was willing to talk with her on a regular basis, even if their conversations inevitably devolved into squabbles. After their disastrous first meeting at school, Loid assumed the boy would have never wanted to look her in the eye again.

Handler’s mouth quirked. “From what I hear, they’re getting along quite nicely.”  There was a twinkle in her eyes.

If that was what she believed, he wouldn’t argue with her. 

“And I hear that because of Yor Briar’s budding friendship with Melinda Desmond, you’ve been able to acquire key intel about our target,” she went on.

Loid straightened up, nodding. “Yes, it’s because of Anya and Yor that I’m gaining a better understanding of the Desmond family.” They were nothing short of dysfunctional, which likely accounted for Melinda’s fantastical fears about her husband and Damian’s angry outbursts at school. “Yor says she will try to encourage Melinda to attend another therapy session with me soon,” he noted hopefully.

Handler looked pleased. “We’re at a crucial juncture in Operation Stryx, and it’s all thanks to you, Twilight,” she said, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied smile. “I must say, you did a fine job picking Yor Briar for this mission.”

He shifted in his seat. “Yes. Thank you.” His words came out stiff. Why did his skin feel so hot?

Handler’s eyes flickered to his for a second, but her face gave away nothing. “Tell me about the event at Eden this week.”

Loid described the details of the upcoming group date, where all the participants from last week’s date auction would be gathering. Though the Desmonds would not be present, several notable figures would be in attendance, including the Blackbells and other influential Ostanians. A few were rumored to have close ties to the Desmond family. The event would be another prime opportunity for him to glean intel and make connections, he and Handler agreed.

Marching orders received, Loid bid farewell to his boss and rose to his feet.

As he reached for the doorknob, Handler’s voice rang out again. “How’s your wife doing?” He froze.

“Things are fine,” he replied quickly. Too quickly. 

He risked a glance behind him. Though Handler said nothing, her gaze was piercing.

Her silence had always been more terrifying than her words.

“Everything OK at home?” she asked, tone deceptively light.

“Super.” He kept his voice level this time.

Handler smiled, eyes sharp as she stared him down. Was that a glimmer of humor in her eyes? 

Sometimes, he swore, his boss looked at him as if he were a little boy, like the naive teenager he was when he first became her apprentice.

“Good to hear,” she said, with the tone of someone who did not believe him at all.

Mercifully, she let him go. “Enjoy your date,” she called out as he left the room, trying not to look like he was fleeing her presence. “And I better not see another massive bill on my desk next Monday.”

Loid didn’t like withholding information from Handler, but there were some things that she didn’t really need to know.

Like how after the date auction, Yor went right back to avoiding him. Whenever it was just the two of them in the living room, before Loid could even suggest watching a TV show together, Yor would stammer out that she had extra work to do before scurrying back into her room.

Never mind that he knew for a fact that City Hall wasn’t allowed to assign their civil servants overtime work.

Clearly, he had said something utterly stupid back a few weeks ago, back when she had asked him about the prospect of continuing their arrangement. Why else would there be such a stark difference in her behavior before and after their conversation?

He wanted to apologize, but Yor didn’t seem to enjoy his “However I wronged you, let me make it up to you!” speeches anymore. In order to apologize properly, he needed to know what he did wrong. And that would require bringing up their previous conversation again—a thought that sent his stomach into knots.

In any case, Yor had already stated that she wanted to continue their arrangement, so there was no immediate threat to the well-being of Operation Stryx. No need to confront her directly. Yet.

That’s what he told himself as he sat down on the couch next to his wife, who promptly tensed up. 

“Would you like to watch something tonight?” he asked with a congenial smile, already anticipating her rejection.

“I…um…” she stammered, shooting a glance at the hallway. “Well…I need to…”

As she got to her feet, unmistakably to make her escape from him, Anya padded over to the couch.

“Mama and Papa haven’t been spending time together lately.”

The two of them slowly turned towards their daughter in horror. As she stared at them, the young girl wore a sagely, serious expression.

“Do Mama and Papa not like each other anymore?” she asked.

“No!” they exclaimed in unison, before turning to each other. Yor’s voice was shrill, as if she were shocked by the accusation.

Or maybe it was true, and she was just trying to pretend that it wasn’t the case. The knots returned to Loid’s stomach again.

Eyes darting between them, Anya nodded to herself, as if she understood something. Then she planted her hands on her hips. Vaguely, Loid was reminded of Handler during her lectures. 

“Mama and Papa both want to spend time with each other,” Anya declared. Loid blinked, as Yor flushed scarlet. “But they’re both acting weird.”

Weird? He was acting perfectly normal! Loid Forger was the portrait of a loving, attentive, and very much normal father and husband!

Anya leveled an exasperated gaze at him, one that definitely reminded him of Handler. 

Then she brightened up, clapping her hands. “I know! Mama and Papa will watch Anya’s favorite TV show with her!”

Clambering onto the couch, she plopped down in the space in between Loid and Yor. “Papa, put on Bondman,” she ordered, eyes glued to the TV screen.

As the familiar scenes of Bondman fighting crime across the city and forming his personal harem of women (Really, was this show for kids?) lit up the screen, Anya watched in awe. “Pistol with a silencer!” she cheered, marital conflict now long forgotten.

Yor giggled, and Loid’s gaze slid to her. With a soft smile, she looked at their daughter.

Yor and Anya loved each other. They acted just as a real parent and daughter duo would, far more than Loid and Anya. Sure, Anya liked him enough. When he was making her hamburg steak, and not forcing her to study for her exams. But she clung to Yor in a way that made Loid doubt his own parental capabilities—would have, if he were her actual parent, of course.

A swooping, twisting feeling took root in his chest as he watched his wife and daughter out of the corner of his eye. Anya tugging on Yor’s arm, Yor smiling fondly at her, as the two gabbed on about the show.

Anya shot him a glance, and her eyes narrowed. Oh no, what was it now?

“Papa should sit next to Mama,” she declared, clambering over to Loid’s side of the couch. Imploringly, she looked up at the two of them.

Next to him, Yor was stiff as a board. Clearing his throat, Loid scooted a centimeter closer to Yor. Anya nodded in approval.

“Is this OK?” he whispered to his wife, once Anya was distracted anew by Bondman and pistols with silencers. “I can sit somewhere else, if you like.”

“Oh, no!” she quickly replied. “No, I li—I mean, I’m comfortable.” Her shoulders were rigid, Loid noted wryly.

“Mama likes spending time with Papa,” Anya said off-handedly, eyes still trained on the TV screen. Loid and Yor jolted in their seats. When Loid turned to Yor in question, her eyes shifted downward, cheeks tinged with pink.

So Anya was telling the truth.

Loid frowned. If that were the case…why had Yor been avoiding him so much lately? And why was she so uncomfortable around him?

Casually, he slipped an arm onto the back of the sofa, several inches away from Yor’s back. Case in point, she stiffened immediately.

Retracting his arm, he sighed quietly.

“Papa is overthinking things,” Anya said.

Loid’s eyes widened. “Am I?”

His daughter didn’t deign to respond, too distracted while pointing finger-guns at the TV. “Pew pew!”

He sighed, but a smile tugged at his lips.

Glancing at both her parents, Anya grabbed their arms. “You do it too. Pew pew!”

Without question, the two of them put up matching finger-guns. “Pew pew,” Loid muttered. “Pew pew!” Yor cheered, eyes warm as she looked at their daughter.

As the three of them watched the show together, Loid thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, they looked like a real family tonight.

On the night of the group date, Anya was excited to work as a server again. 

“Mr. Henderson told us that we need to be on our best behavior tonight.” She bounced in the center seat of the taxi, in between Loid and Yor. “We need to call everyone Mister or Missus, and bow and curtsy to the guests,” she said, ticking off each finger as she spoke. “And he said we need to ‘bus’ the dirty plates and cups, but I can’t drive yet.”

“Not ‘bus’ as in drive, Anya, ‘bus’ as in to move the dishes away,” Loid said. 

“Ohhh.”

Loid was already imagining Anya dropping a stack of dishes in front of all the esteemed guests. He winced. Why Eden had decided that students—and the youngest ones, for that matter—needed to work at these formal events, he didn’t know. It sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Anya shook her head. “I won’t mess up, Papa,” she said, face serious. “Otherwise I’ll interrupt everyone’s kissy-kissy time.”

“Don’t say that.” 

“Ugh.” Anya screwed her face together. “Anya just remembered. Sy-on boy is going to be there too.”

“Oh?” Loid perked up. An opportunity to deepen their friendship and make progress on Operation Stryx. “That’s good.”

Huffing out a breath, his daughter crossed her arms. “I don’t get him. Sometimes he’s really nice to me, and sometimes he’s super mean. Why is he so weird?”

Loid’s brain whirred through all the notes currently in the Desmonds’ family file at HQ. Emotionally unavailable parents, unbearable social pressures, and a likely wide array of other traumas to which WISE wasn’t privy yet. All things considered, the boy had turned out fairly normal.

Of course, he didn’t say any of this, instead opting for a neutral, “Maybe he’s going through a hard time right now.”

Anya stared at him intently for a few moments, then nodded. 

“Anya will be nice to Sy-on boy.”

“Good job, Anya.”

“Even if he is an uggo.”

“...as long as you don’t say that to him.”

Loid’s gaze shifted to his left. Next to Anya, Yor stared out the window. She had been completely silent during the exchange. 

“Mama? What do you think?”

“Oh?” Eyes faraway, Yor turned around to face Anya. “Sorry, did you ask me something?”

“Do you think Sy-on boy is an uggo?”

“What?” Yor gasped. “No, of course not, Anya! Desmond is a very nice boy.”

“Only sometimes,” muttered Anya, staring down at her lap.

Loid took in the sight of his wife. She was wearing the new dress he purchased at the shop the other day, a dark blue cocktail dress dappled with gold and silver star-shaped sparkles. It looked lovely on her, and he had told her as such back at home—to which his wife squeaked out a thank-you before scurrying out the door.

Yor’s eyes drifted over to Loid’s, and her cheeks immediately flushed pink. Quickly, she whipped her face back in the direction of the window.

Loid sighed quietly. Staring at the driver’s seat in front of him, he went over his mental list of conversation prompts that he had prepared in order to ensure that they looked like a normal, happy couple in front of everyone.

Making conversation would be difficult, though, with Yor barely willing to look him in the eyes now. But he would find a way to prevail. He had to. Agent Twilight had faced far more harrowing challenges in the past before.

A faint pain twinged in his palm, and he looked down to see that his right hand was gripping his left wrist tightly. 

Forcing his hands to his sides, he exhaled. His chest was tight. I must be more nervous than I thought, he noted.

He ignored the hollowness curling in his gut as Yor continued to look out the window.

After waving goodbye to Anya, who skipped off to join Mr. Henderson and the other students, Loid and Yor walked into the auditorium. The large room had been completely reconfigured since the date auction. Several small tables were spread out across the space, allowing sufficient privacy for each couple. Each table was decorated with a small tea candle, a sign with the couple’s name, and a smattering of white flowers. Soft string music played in the background. The setting was simple, but romantic.

A few of the tables were already occupied by the couples, many of whom Loid recognized from the date auction. At the far end of the room were the Blackbells, who were staring so dreamily into each other’s eyes that they didn’t notice the Forgers enter. Loid took note of a few familiar faces—a wealthy socialite, a former government official, a local businessman whose large wealth was a current subject of investigation by the SSS. Perhaps he would slip by their tables later and try to listen in on their conversations.

Finally, Loid spotted their name amongst the tables. As the two of them walked over, Loid leaned in to whisper in Yor’s ear. His mouth brushed her earlobe, and she flinched.

“Sorry, Yor,” he murmured, to which she stammered out that it was fine. She didn’t seem to enjoy being touched by him, he supposed. 

“I just wanted to mention that we may need to work a little harder to look like a real couple tonight. We don’t want people to suspect anything.”

“Oh!” Yor’s eyes widened. She nodded, mouth setting with determination. “Yes. You can count on me, Loid!”

Her enthusiasm was surprising, but Loid was relieved to see it.

As he pulled out her chair, Loid looked to his left and saw a familiar curly head of hair sitting alone at a table. 

He coughed three times, and the man swiveled around. “Hey!” Franky crowed, waving eagerly.

“Franky! What are you doing here?” Yor exclaimed, a wide smile on her face. “I didn’t see you at the date auction last week.”

“Ah, well one of the dates cancelled last minute, so I volunteered to take his place!” Franky puffed out his chest with glee. 

Suppressing an eye roll, Loid thought back to all the strings he pulled earlier this week in order to set Franky up as that replacement. His efforts had included forging a letter from a PTA member, naming Franky as an upstanding gentleman who would be a fantastic candidate for the group date, and then sneaking into the PTA president’s office in order to conveniently place the letter on top of all of her paperwork. 

Loid, of course, had not done this out of the kindness of his heart, but in lieu of payment for some tech that Franky had loaned to him. Good ol’ WISE and their budget cuts. Though he was able to get Franky to promise him another favor, at least.

Loid’s eyes shifted in between Yor and Franky, who were now chatting about some TV show the two were watching. Franky was donning a snazzy purple suit with a metallic striped tie, far more flashy than Loid’s sleek but modest dark blue set (which he had specifically ordered to match with Yor’s dress, of course).

Yor’s dress glinted under the candlelight. She nodded and smiled while listening to Franky. Her posture was relaxed.

Loid frowned. Was Yor more comfortable speaking with Franky than she was with him?

If the other couples saw that Yor looked visibly nervous while interacting with her own husband, but completely calm with a man to whom she was not married, rumors would undoubtedly spread. The Forgers would be accused of infidelity, and neither would be respected in the Eden circles anymore. 

Yes, this would not do. Chest prickling, Loid cleared his throat and stepped closer to Yor. “Franky,” he said, plastering the brightest smile he could muster, “shouldn’t you be meeting with your date now?”

Franky stared at him for a few seconds, before something like recognition dawned in his eyes. What? Loid tapped his question in morse code on the table. Had Franky realized something while standing in the auditorium—a key piece of intel that WISE would like?

Ignoring Loid’s message, Franky looked away. “Oh yeah, definitely. I don’t think she’s here yet, though.” Case in point, the chair across from his own was still empty.

“Maybe she forgot,” Loid mused drily, trying and failing to sound sympathetic. He tapped the message again. Is something the matter? 

“No, the PTA lady confirmed that she would attend,” Franky responded, still resolutely ignoring Loid’s question.

Just as Loid was tapping out an expletive-laced version of his query, Yor peered at him with concern. “Loid, why are you knocking on the table?”

Loid froze, realizing that he had been rapping on the table with quite a bit of force, so much so that the other couples were now eyeing him strangely. “Yes, I’m fine,” he managed, hiding a grimace. So much for looking normal. “My knuckles are sore so I’m doing a…therapeutic exercise to warm them up! I learned it from a physical therapist at work.” He forced an embarrassed laugh.

“Oh!” Yor brightened. “Maybe you could teach me it sometime. My uh, hands hurt sometimes too. From work!” Her voice went shrill at the end, though Loid wasn’t sure why.

In front of them, Franky barely held back a snicker. Loid shot a glare at him. 

“Oh, is that her?” As Yor pointed at the door, Franky whipped around.

A woman walked through the entrance to the auditorium. Hm, that was strange…the closer she walked to them, the more her face looked like that of a certain Donna Schlag…

Narrowed eyes, a severely downturned mouth, and a bob so sharp it looked like it could slice through someone…it was Donna Schlag! Loid’s jaw dropped. The infamous “Tonitrus Lady,” as Anya had somberly referred to her before. Loid had seen photos of the intimidating woman in WISE dossiers, but never in person. What on earth was she doing at an event like this?

Well, no matter. Perhaps getting in this terrifying woman’s good graces would reduce Anya’s chances of receiving more tonitrus bolts.

“Good evening, Ms. Schlag,” Loid dipped his head in greeting, having fully recovered from his shock at seeing her. “How are you tonight?” He flashed an award-winning smile at the formidable woman.

“Fine, thank you,” she intoned flatly, evidently immune to his charms.

Next to him, Franky had gone completely silent. An expression somewhere between horror and resignation had settled on the man’s face.

Loid elbowed his coworker in the side, who jolted to attention. “Hi! Yeah, hi…Ms. Swag.”

“Schalg,” Ms. Schlag corrected him, lip curling. She was wearing a drapey black dress that fell to her feet, giving her a particularly ominous appearance.

“So you’re my date tonight?” Ms. Schlag looked Franky up and down. Loid blinked as he realized that this meant Ms. Schlag must have participated in the date auction last week. 

“Franky’s been looking forward to this date all week,” Loid chimed in, as Franky shot him a scowl.

The older woman huffed out a breath and nodded at Franky. “I guess you’ll suffice.”

“Excuse me?” Franky sputtered. “I’m a total catc—”

“We’ll leave you two to it!” Loid said with cheer, as he led Yor back to their table.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Yor asked as they sat back down, peeking behind her shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” Loid replied, not sparing his coworker a glance. His brow furrowed. Was she worried about Franky? 

Focus. The stakes were high tonight, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted. Scanning his surroundings, Loid observed how the couples around them were beginning to make small talk. Some were even holding hands, cheeks flushed as they gazed at one another.

Surely each person was keeping tabs on the other couples around them. If the Forgers looked anything less than a happily married couple, everyone would all notice.

Yor also appeared to be studying the neighboring couples. Her lips were pursed in concentration as she squinted at them—as if she were attempting to figure out a difficult math problem. Cute.

Loid blinked, scattering his strange line of thoughts. He must have not gotten enough sleep last night.

A morose-looking child whose name took Loid several moments to remember (Harold? Giorgio?) before he placed the boy as George Glooman, came over and served them each a pink glass. Out of habit, Loid took a quick sniff, confirming that there was no poison present. And that it was strawberry lemonade.

“Sorry there isn’t wine,” Loid said to Yor, though he was secretly relieved. He could never quite expect how she would act under the influence of alcohol. “I know how much you enjoy cocktails, especially from that restaurant we like.”

“Oh!” Yor coughed, eyes shifting to the side again. “Y-yes, I do like cocktails.” Her voice was high-pitched.

He frowned. Was his information wrong? He recalled how much she loved the red wine cocktails at that restaurant, so much that she was devastated about the lack of her favorite drink the last time they went. Or, did she find his attempts to make conversation boring? Clearing his throat, he leaned in again with a dazzling smile.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said with all the charm he could muster. “That dress really suits you. I’m glad I get to be sitting here with you.”

“Oh, t-thank you!” her voice caught. Something like guilt flashed across her eyes, and she looked away.

Yor picked up her glass with a trembling hand, and took a sip. Her eyes darted around the room, before she squared her shoulders and locked eyes with Loid.

“Isn’t, um, the weather nice?” Yor asked, with a forced smile, obviously trying to make small talk.

Loid blinked. It had been gray and gloomy all week. “I’m…sure the weather is quite nice,” he managed after a beat of silence.

When the two went quiet again, Yor slumped down in her chair, looking defeated.

Loid had prepared extensively for this date and imagined all the possible outcomes. Still, he had not anticipated that it would go this disastrously, and all within the first few minutes.

All the couples around them were now laughing and chatting easily, eyes glued to one another. No one was paying attention to him and Yor.

Yor was probably anxious from the pressure of performing in front of everyone. Pressure that he had placed upon her.

“Yor?” When Loid leaned in close, she looked up. “Forget what I said earlier. We don’t have to pretend to be a real couple.” Her cheeks turned red. “No one is watching us. You can relax.”

Her brow creased. “But…”

“Just relax. Pretend no one else is here. We’re just at a normal dinner, you and me.”

Yor chewed on her lip, looking conflicted. She peered into his eyes for a few moments, then nodded. “Okay.”

Sensing her hesitation, Loid offered a genuine smile. “You know, I always enjoy it when we go out to dinner together.”

Yor’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Definitely.” He was sincere. “You’re good company, Yor.”

“But I’m sure you go to nice dinners with your colleagues all the time,” she mumbled, looking down at her glass.

“Ah, yes.” He laughed awkwardly, thinking about how most of his “colleague dinners” were usually cover-ups for last-minute missions for WISE. Courtesy of HQ.

“Eating with my colleagues is different though,” he reflected, choosing his words carefully. “When we spend time together, it still feels like we’re working—even if it is after hours.” 

It was true. He cared for his teammates at WISE, but never truly felt he could relax around them.

He didn’t relax in general, but that was a problem for another day. Even so…

He looked into her eyes, crimson with trust, and swallowed. His throat suddenly felt dry. “It’s relaxing being with you.”

Yor’s eyes glowed when he said that, a radiant smile blooming across her face. “That…means a lot to me, Loid. Thank you.”

Sitting back, Loid exhaled a sigh of relief. Finally, he hadn’t said the wrong thing. He wasn’t sure how much more of that twisting sensation he could take, the strange discomfort that showed up every time Yor was disappointed.

“Incoming!” A pink blur rushed towards their table. “Here are your dinners, sir and ma’am,” announced Anya, placing their dishes in front of them. Her bow-tie was already crooked, even though Loid had re-tied it just before they arrived.

“Oh Anya!” Yor beamed at her daughter. “You look so adorable.” 

“You’re doing a good job, Anya,” Loid offered, just relieved that his daughter hadn’t dropped any dishes yet.

Anya puffed out her cheeks, looking offended for a second (Why? Loid wondered), but nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Papa!” She curtsied, stumbling slightly as she did so.

Nearby at Franky and Ms. Schlag’s table—which was dead silent save for the sound of silverware scraping plates—the young boy serving them whipped around. A flash of amber eyes and a familiar scowl came into view as he stepped closer to Anya. 

“You don’t have to call your own father Mister, you idiot!” Damian Desmond hissed through his teeth.

Loid watched as his daughter’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze slid over to the mashed potatoes on Loid’s plate for a millisecond, then Damian’s face, before shooting up to meet Loid’s eyes.

Don’t. He hoped she could tell what he was thinking, just from his expression. Trying to hide his concern, he sipped his lemonade while watching his daughter from the corner of his eye.

Anya seemed to have received the message, as she promptly plastered on a fake smile that even WISE would be proud of.

“Thanks for telling me, Damian,” she said sweetly, leaning in closer to the boy. “I’m glad I have you to help me out.”

The young boy’s face flushed beet red. “What? You—” he sputtered as he backed away from Anya. 

“My Papa said you’re going through a hard time so I have to be nice to you.” Loid choked on his drink.

“He what?” Damian’s countenance was turning purple now. He shot a glare in Loid’s direction as Loid held back a wince. The young boy swiveled back around to jab a finger in Anya’s face. “I don’t need your pity, you…you commoner!”

“Mr. Desmond, language,” Mr. Henderson warned from the side of the auditorium, a steely frown on the older gentleman’s face. He had been standing there since Loid and Yor had entered, likely in anticipation of exchanges like this.

Red-faced, Damian shrunk into himself. He shot one last scowl at Anya before stomping away.

“Can’t believe her! I don’t know what she’s pulling!” he muttered as he left.

Anya stared after Desmond with a dumbfounded, exhausted expression, looking just like how Loid felt after coming back from a long mission.

“Mission failed,” she mumbled. 

Loid reached out and patted his daughter on the head.

“It’s not your fault, Anya.”

She hung her head low. “Thanks, Papa.”

Yor rubbed Anya’s back with a sympathetic smile. “You handled that well, Anya.”

Anya looked up. “Really?”

When Loid nodded in agreement, a grin slowly stretched across her tiny face. 

“Will Anya get a stella for being nice to Sy-on boy?”

“Um…” Loid managed. “Maybe?” 

Determined, Anya tipped her chin high. “Anya will keep putting up with Sy-on boy.”

“Damian,” Loid corrected her.

Ignoring her father, Anya curtsied one last time and scampered back to Mr. Henderson. Loid shook his head, both exasperated and amused.

As they ate their food, Yor giggled. “Anya is more patient now, isn’t she?”

Loid exhaled a laugh. “I guess you’re right.” There was a time when Anya wouldn’t have hesitated to land a right hook squarely in the young boy’s jaw. 

“She’s grown so much.” Yor paused, eyes thoughtful. “We all have, haven’t we?” 

She seemed to want to say more, so Loid stayed quiet. “Meeting you two made me realize that there’s more to life than just work.” Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink as she held Loid’s gaze. “My coworkers say I used to be so closed off,” she admitted with a self-conscious chuckle. 

“I get that,” Loid said. “You know, my colleagues always tell me I’m too serious.”

Yor laughed. “You are super serious!” He flushed, opening his mouth to respond, but stopped when he saw the warmth in Yor’s gaze. “When I first met you, you were so tense all the time."

Immediately, questions about his inadequacy as a husband and father swirled in his brain. Had the stress and anxiety from his missions been negatively impacting Yor and Anya at home? 

He straightened up. “That’s good to hear. I’ve been trying to separate my work from my personal life,” he rambled. “I’ll do my best to…try to be less tense?” The sentence made no sense as soon as it left his mouth.

Yor covered her laugh with her mouth. “I don’t think you need to try more, Loid.” Her eyes crinkled as she looked at him. “You already work so hard. It just makes me glad when you sit back on the couch and watch TV with Anya, that’s all.”

Loid didn’t know what to say. All of his relationship training in WISE had taught him all the perfect things to say and do when it came to romance, with the understanding that endless striving would inevitably endear him to his targets. The idea that sitting back and doing nothing was somehow just as effective was both shocking and discomfiting.

And yet, as he took in the sight of Yor, smile more radiant than the lit candle on their table, his spiraling thoughts stuttered to a halt.

This was the happiest she had looked in weeks. Loid was determined to do what he could to ensure she stayed this way.

“I’ll…be sure to sit back on the couch and watch more TV with Anya then,” he finally managed. His chest felt light as he watched Yor laugh.

For the sake of Operation Stryx, of course. Appearances and whatnot.

Unsurprisingly, Franky and Ms. Schlag did not hit it off.

“Scruffy got dumped by Tonitrus Lady,” Anya said. As the four of them stood outside the auditorium, she patted Franky’s arm sympathetically.

“Hey, I didn’t get dumped!” Franky scowled, crossing his arms. “I didn’t like her anyways.”

“I’m sure the feeling was mutual,” mumbled Loid. Ms. Schlag had been the first out the door when the group date ended.

“I heard that!”

Loid cleared his throat. “So…you’re still good to babysit Anya, right?”

Part of their agreement, in return for letting Franky attend the group date, was that he would babysit Anya afterwards. Loid had planned specifically for this, with the assumption that he would need far more time and privacy than the group date allotted to smooth things over with Yor.

Franky stamped his feet. “Hey, stop rubbing your relationship in my face!”

“Remember our deal,” Loid muttered into Franky’s ear, as the man continued to flail his arms in the air and wax poetic about his rotten luck with love.

“What deal did you make?” Yor asked him curiously, after a grumbling Franky had finally taken Anya home. Loid and Yor were now walking to the next destination he had planned for the night.

Loid’s steps stuttered. She had overheard them? “Uh, I told him that I’d…help him out if he looked after Anya tonight,” he finally managed. 

Yor opened her mouth, probably to ask another question about the “deal,” when her eyes widened. “Look!” she exclaimed, pointing in front of them.

Around the bend of the road was a bustling hub of colorful stalls, chattering people, and bright lights. The Berlint Night Market looked just as lively as the WISE dossiers had described, but looked even bigger in person. The expanse of merchant booths stretched far into the distance, silhouetted by a brightly lit ferris wheel. 

Yor’s gaze was filled with wonder. “It looks incredible.” Her eyes kept slipping back to the ferris wheel, Loid observed.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said with a smile, relieved that she was pleased with his choice of location. “Want to go explore?”

Loid followed Yor as she went from stall to stall, admiring the various artisan goods and local treats on display. When she eagerly showed him a small hand-carved wooden figurine of a white dog that looked remarkably like Bond, he didn’t hesitate to buy it. The warm smile on her face as she walked away with the figurine, wrapped up and ready to be presented to Anya, was well worth the price.

“This is even bigger than the market in Frigis,” marvelled Yor, after they had polished off some fresh bratwurst with sauerkraut.

“That was a…nice trip,” Loid said, eye twitching as he gingerly recalled steering the hijacked aircraft onto the river, after rescuing Anya from the hands of the military. He paused, thoughtful. “We should take another vacation together, sometime.”

“That would be lovely!” Yor clasped her hands together. “Sharon said there’s a nice resort on the outskirts of Ostania. She said they even have a couple’s special—” her eyes widened. “I mean, um, it would be a great experience for Anya!”

Guilt flashed in her eyes again. Loid’s brow knit together. “That sounds wonderful. I’d be happy to plan another trip for us soon,” he offered, watching for her reaction. “I would enjoy travelling with you and Anya again.”

At the mention of Anya, Yor perked up. “Yes, that’s a good idea!”

As the two of them meandered through another row of stalls, Loid studied Yor. Was it the idea of travelling with him specifically that made her uneasy? Perhaps, but she seemed fairly happy tonight, especially as the date had continued. Evidently, his company wasn’t unpleasant to her. At least not always. 

He rubbed his temples, exhausted. He didn’t understand her behavior around him, one moment high-strung, the next downcast, then warm and fond like she had never closed off. None of his prior partners from missions had ever been this unpredictable and perplexing before. At this point, the only person he felt that he understood even less than Yor was Anya.

Weren’t you supposed to understand people more the longer you got to know them? His head throbbed as he wracked his brain for some thread of logic that would help him to comprehend his wife.

A tug on his arm brought him back to the present, where a concerned Yor was peering at him. “Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m okay,” he lied. “Just a bit tired.”

“We can sit down and take a break,” she offered, looking around them.

Just up ahead, Loid spotted an artist scribbling in a sketchbook. Next to him was a sign that read “Caricatures: 10 Dalcs for Couples.” There were two empty seats in front of the artist. 

Perfect.

And that was how Loid and Yor ended up posing for an caricature session. The artist, an older gentleman with a thick mustache and even bushier eyebrows, had gushed over how beautiful they were as a couple. He assured the two of them that he would “capture the essence of their love” in his drawing.

To his right, Yor squirmed in her seat. They had been sitting there for nearly ten minutes without a word from the gentleman, who was totally focused on his drawing. Even Loid was starting to feel a bit antsy.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it would take this long,” Loid whispered, making sure not to brush Yor’s ear this time.

Yor shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m just curious to see what it’ll look like, that’s all.” A strand of hair fell in front of her face. “I hope it looks good.”

“I’m sure it’ll look great.” Without thinking, Loid reached out and brushed the fallen strand of hair behind her ear. When Yor’s eyes widened, he froze.

So much for avoiding physical contact. He yanked his hand back. “Sorry.”

Yor’s cheeks were rosy. “I-it’s OK. Thank you.” Her voice was high-pitched, and she looked away. His own hand felt hot, as if it had been burnt.

The two of them were silent for the rest of the session. When the artist cheerfully announced that he was finished, Loid nearly leapt out of his seat.

“You will love it, my friends,” the artist exclaimed, as the two of them gathered around his easel, covered in a fabric. “Voila!” 

Yor and Loid’s mouths fell open. 

“Well? What do you think?”

Loid squinted at the drawing. Had the artist used them as a reference at all?

Sitting in the portrait were a man and woman who most definitely were not him and Yor. The only similarity that the man bore to Loid was the hair. The eyes were cartoonishly large, and the nose stuck out far too much, like a projectile extending from his face. He looked like a blonde Pinocchio.

Yor’s drawing wasn’t much better. Though her face was less horrifying than Loid’s, her hair looked like a black rectangular block, as if a child had drawn it. Her ears stuck out on either side of the blocky hair, giving her a particular elven quality. 

“My ears aren’t that big in real life, are they?” Yor whispered, surreptitiously running her hands over her ears.

“Of course not,” he whispered back. “You look wonderful.” She turned pink at his words. “That drawing does not look like you at all.”

“What was that?” The artist asked him with a wide smile, totally oblivious to their turmoil. “You like the drawing, yes?”

“Oh absolutely!” Yor immediately replied. “Yes, it’s…so unique!” Loid echoed her. “Your sense of detail is impeccable,” he forced out, gesturing awkwardly at the long protrusion that was supposed to be his nose.

As the artist delved into an outlandish explanation of noses and physiognomy, Yor’s mouth twitched. Loid forced himself not to look at her, knowing that the two of them would burst into laughter if they made eye contact. 

After paying and insisting that no, they did not want to sit for a second portrait session, Yor finally broke the silence once they were out of the artist’s earshot.

“So…what do we do with the drawing?” She held the portrait, rolled up and tied with a ribbon (courtesy of the artist), gingerly away from her body.

“We could throw it away?” Loid eyed a garbage can on the side of the street.

Yor covered her laugh with her hand, shaking her head. “But he worked so hard on it!”

“Maybe we can return the drawing to him, since he liked it so much,” Loid said, recalling how the man only let them go after he had gone over, in detail, his favorite aspects of each of their portraits. “He can hang it on his wall at home and think fondly of us.”

Yor’s tinkling laughter rang out like a bell. Loid couldn’t help the smile stretching across his cheeks as they walked along the street. 

Today had gone far better than he expected. Loid was reassured that Yor did not in fact dislike him, and did seem to enjoy being in his presence. 

This was good. A happy Yor meant that the Forger family remained secure, and that Operation Stryx would progress unhindered. If they were a real couple, he would say that he didn’t want the day to end.

A few of the merchants were beginning to pack up their things. It looked like the night market was winding down. Loid blinked, realizing they must have been here for hours already. The time had flown by.

He found his feet slowing their pace as he walked.

When he opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t sure what, Yor spun around and pointed in the air. Looking up, he saw the ferris wheel.

“Shall we?” she asked, eyes shining.

“It’s been a while since we’ve gone on a ferris wheel, hasn’t it?” Yor asked as she gazed out the window of their compartment.

“Yes, it has.” When he was sure she wasn’t looking, Loid glanced down to gauge the distance between their cart and the ground.

Right before they had entered their car, Yor recalled with a gasp their first disastrous attempt at riding a ferris wheel—where Loid’s unwise attempt at a “honey trap” resulted in Yor landing a panicked slap to his face that sent him flying out of their compartment. After Yor had apologized profusely for her previous actions, and Loid had told her repeatedly that all was forgiven, the two of them finally boarded, to the relief of the disgruntled ferris wheel attendant. 

If anything, the incident had been Loid’s mistake, attempting to be openly affectionate with her so early on in their relationship. Especially when she already had a history of clamming up during physical displays of affections. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t a little wary of ferris wheels now. But he hadn’t wanted to show any indication of this to Yor, lest he make her feel guilty, so into the ferris wheel they went. 

His slight discomfort was a small price to pay for the wonder in Yor’s eyes. The colorful lights from the night market were reflected on her face as she peered out the window, the vast city far below them.

His brow creased. They never had ended up addressing that conversation from weeks prior. Loid still felt its shadow even amidst the bliss of today.

After the glow of tonight faded, would Yor retreat into herself again? His eyes lingered on her, starry blue dress twinkling in their dim compartment. 

He realized that he was worried, too, about what she might say. What if the reason she had been avoiding him lately was that she had changed her mind? Perhaps she no longer wanted their arrangement to continue, and that was why she couldn’t stand to be near him while at home.

Loid squeezed his eyes shut. Enough! He wasn’t a lovesick teenager, vulnerable to ridiculous imaginings that had no basis in reality. He was Agent Twilight, a seasoned spy who knew all there was to know about the machinations of romance. What was one of the first lessons that WISE had ever taught him about relationships? Communication is key.

It was dishonest, exaggerated communication that marked most of his previous (fake) relationships as a spy. But it was communication nonetheless. Problems couldn’t be ignored; they had to be addressed.

With that, Loid quashed the fluttering sensation in his gut—he really was getting soft—and cleared his throat.

“Yor?”

She spun around to face him. “Yes?”

His mouth felt dry, but he forced himself to speak. This was for the sake of their relationship, and therefore, the mission. 

“Do you remember that conversation we had a few weeks ago? When you asked me what would happen after Anya graduated?” Her eyes widened. “If our arrangement would continue or not?”

Yor’s gaze flickered down to her lap, then back up. There it was again—that guilty expression. “Yes, I remember.” Her voice wavered.

“I noticed that you’ve been avoiding me at home, ever since we had that conversation.” As he spoke, Yor couldn’t meet his eyes. 

So he was right. He tried to keep his face still, though his insides felt like they were turning. “Did I say something that upset you?”

“No!” she blurted out. He jolted in his seat. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong, Loid.”

“But you…”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked you about staying together. Our relationship isn’t even real, after all.”

So she did want to get out of their arrangement. That explained her strange behavior these past few weeks. Chest feeling leaden, Loid nodded numbly.

“Of course, I understand Yor. I should have realized it earlier.” His voice was wooden. “If you no longer wish to be attached to me, I can start the process of ending our marriage.”

“What?” Yor stared at him in disbelief. “What are you talking about?” Her voice was shrill.

He blinked, taken aback by her reaction. “Ending our relationship agreement? That’s what you want, right?”

Her eyes narrowed, and now he was really taken aback. “No, that isn’t what I want, Loid!” she cried, a fresh round of tears spilling down her cheeks again.

Loid had absolutely no idea what was going on, and no words to remediate the situation. All he could offer to Yor, as she sobbed into her hands, were some tissues he shakily pulled out of his breast pocket, which she accepted with a small “thank you.”

After a minute, Yor took a deep breath. Her eyes were rimmed with red. “I was being selfish, Loid,” she croaked.

“Selfish?” He didn’t understand.

She nodded. “I love being with…” Her breath hitched as she locked eyes with him, and Loid’s breath stilled as well. She looked conflicted. 

“...our family,” she finished, not meeting his eyes. 

“Yes,” Yor nodded again, as if to herself. “I love being part of the Forger family.” 

She looked into his eyes again, this time resolute.

“Back then, I asked you about continuing our arrangement because I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to leave Anya, and Bond, and—” her cheeks flushed, “—you. I wanted this life to last forever.”

She looked down. “I know, it was selfish of me.”

“But Yor,” his voice came out desperate, “I don’t think that’s selfish at all.”

“No, it is.” Her eyes, bright and beautiful, were filled with sorrow. “Anya’s mother—your wife—did you love her?”

Loid froze. “I…” his voice trailed off as he took in the sight of Yor, tear-stricken, wholly unaware of the fact that he was desperately trying to conjure up a believable line, befitting of the widow that Loid Forger was. His stomach churned at the thought of deceiving her while she was already in this state.

“Yes. I did love her,” his voice cracked, trying to choke out the lie. To anyone else, he would have looked like a grieving man moved by memories of his late wife.

Yor nodded, pain flashing across her face. “So you know what it’s like, to actually be in love with someone,” she whispered. Guilt lanced through his side.

“I don’t want to take that away from you.” Her lips quivered as she spoke. “The chance of being in love again. If you stay in this arrangement with me, you won’t be able to be with someone that you love.”

Loid felt as if he had turned into a statue, unable to think or speak. All he could do was stare at Yor as he tried to process what he was hearing.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” she said, curling in on herself. She covered her face with her hands.

Before he could register what he was doing, his hands reached out and grabbed hers. Yor froze.

Ignoring the alarm bells, the SOS-breaking-WISE-protocol stream of thoughts surging through his mind, Loid covered her cold hands in his, pulling them close to him.

“Yor,” his said, voice raw and desperate. “Please don’t say that. You are not a burden.”

“But…you could be with anyone else,” she whispered.

He shook his head. This time, the words came to him, without delay or hesitation.

“There’s no one else.”

No one else that Anya adored and trusted, who she could always count on to protect her after being abandoned by so many people in her short life. No one else who could thaw the icy hearts of her gossiping colleagues at city hall and haughty moms at Eden Academy, including the most powerful woman in Ostania. No one else who would readily accept him, widow and psychiatrist Loid Forger, without asking any prying questions about his past and line of work, with all of his insincerity and oddness and brokenness.

No one else for the mission.

“There’s no one else but you, Yor.” His voice was hoarse. As he spoke, his heart thudded painfully in his chest, the soundtrack of a man walking towards the gallows. 

His thumbs rubbed the back of her hands, to soothe her or to soothe him, he was no longer sure.

Yor’s eyes were so wide and trusting (doe-like, his barely-working brain offered), sending a tumult of guilt surging through him. He swallowed hard. 

All of this was his fault. All his previous fake relationships had ended before anyone could be seriously hurt. He, Agent Twilight, had ensnared this wonderful, kind woman in this fraudulent long-term arrangement, and done it so successfully that she had grown deeply attached to their fake family. 

She deserved better. She deserved someone who would love her without any deceptions or stipulations. Someone who wasn’t chained by his duty to a shadowy profession that controlled every aspect of his life. Someone who could openly accept the love that she so readily gave to every single person in her life, and cherish it for the gift that it was.

He wondered if she could read the truth off of his face. He felt like he was getting worse and worse at lying, the more time he spent as Loid Forger. 

Somehow, the thought of her knowing didn’t frighten him.

Her eyes searched his face for a few moments, until she seemed to find what she was looking for. 

“Okay,” she whispered, squeezing his hands.

“Hey, look on the bright side,” he said, cracking a smile as he squeezed her hands back. “We held hands and you didn’t send me flying out of the ferris wheel again.”

As Yor let out a watery laugh, Loid ignored the bitter taste in his mouth.

Yor was wrong. It was him who was the selfish one.

As Loid and Yor walked home, their hands kept brushing.

The night breeze was gentle, slightly rustling the oak trees above them as they passed by rows of homes. Save for a few lit windows, the street was quiet and dark.

Loid fidgeted with the cuffs of his blazer. He felt strangely exposed, like an animal lying belly up. His conversation with Yor on the ferris wheel reverberated in his head, and he had the strong urge to hide in his room for the next few days.

At the same time, though, he felt the lightest he had in a while. It was odd.

He glanced over at Yor. Though her eyes were puffy, she looked content.

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, a question in her eyes.

“When is your birthday, Loid?”

Loid’s steps stuttered. Of all the questions she could have asked, he did not anticipate that one. Quickly, he rattled off the date of Loid Forger’s birthday, the one he and WISE had decided back when they first compiled his fake identity.

Yor looked up at the sky, gaze thoughtful.

“What do you want for your birthday?”

Loid’s brows shot up. “For my birthday?”

When it came to Anya and Yor, he had itemized lists of all the things and activities that each of them enjoyed. Apple-flavored treats, gold earrings, roasted peanuts, Bondman merchandise—for any occasion, be it a birthday or Christmas day, Loid Forger knew exactly what to get his family.

He had no idea, however, what he liked.

Yor slipped a hand into the crook of his elbow. His breath stilled, the back of his neck suddenly feeling warm.

“Yes, like a book? Or a fountain pen? Or your favorite dessert?” Yor inquired, leaning in closer. The swish of her black hair brushed his shoulder, and Loid smelled something flowery. Her shampoo. He exhaled, stomach fluttering. “Do you have anything you like?” 

It was hard to focus when all he could think about was the feeling of Yor’s hand on his arm. “I…don’t know,” he finally confessed, running his free hand through his hair. 

“I understand.” Yor nodded. “You’re always taking care of other people. Me and Anya, and all your patients at the hospital.” He flinched. There it was again, that stab of guilt, at her ready belief that Loid Forger was a bonafide psychiatrist.

“I guess you’re right,” he admitted, scratching his neck. “I’ve been so focused on my work, that I’ve never really thought about what I want as a gift.” 

“Maybe you can take some time to think about what you want,” Yor offered.

They had arrived at their building, and were now standing in front of each other. Yor unlooped her hand from his arm, which now felt much colder in her absence.

“What I want?” he echoed.

There was no more than a foot of distance between them. Her lipstick, slightly faded now, was a rosy shade that matched the flush on her cheeks. In the back of his mind, he wondered if it was the same lipstick he had purchased her in Frigis months ago. 

Against the darkness of the night, her irises almost looked black. As she craned her chin up to look at Loid, he could have sworn that the stars were reflected in her eyes.

“Loid?”

With a start, Loid realized that he had been standing there and staring at Yor without a word.

He backed away a few inches. “Yes, I’ll…be sure to think about what I want for my birthday and let you know,” he said in a rush. His ears were hot.

Yor smiled brightly. Was that a dimple? How had he not noticed it before? “That sounds good, Loid.” Her voice was sweet, and Loid swallowed hard.

She glanced at the door to the home—their home.

“Shall we go inside?” she asked. “Anya must be waiting for us.”

Climbing up the steps, Yor paused at the top and turned to look at him. Illuminated by the lamp above the door, she looked as if she were ensconced in a cocoon of light. Glowing. A lovely flame for an unsuspecting moth.

His eyes traced her figure slowly.

He followed her up, steps thudding heavily as his heartbeat thrummed in his ears.

In the light, her eyes were red again, a fiery shade of crimson. Drinking them in, he felt as if he were burning up from the inside. 

Her smile was beautiful. So beautiful.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” he replied, following her into their home—helpless to do anything but follow her, for as long as the mission allowed him. For as long as she still wanted him here.