Archive of Our Own

He tenses when the train approaches the dismantled border check station. Though the invisible wall dividing Westalis and Ostania is gone, Agent Twilight has spent so much of his life in its transparent shadow that he can’t help but brace for impact when they hurtle across the former boundary. Old habits die hard.

The locomotive, on the other hand, doesn’t even slow down. It whizzes past abandoned chain link fences and concrete building remnants as though nothing else had ever existed there, though Twilight remembers a time not that long ago when a pair of imposing guard towers flanked the track and Ostanian border agents stopped every train that passed through to patrol the cars, checking passengers' documentation and dragging away anyone they deemed suspicious.

Within seconds, the station's skeleton is left behind.

Twilight takes out his new identification papers and looks them over once more. They are nearly identical to the false documentation he carried during his final mission in Ostania five years ago. Name: Loid Forger. Hair: BLN. Eyes: BLU. Occupation: Psychiatrist. Marital status: M.

The only notable difference is the birth date and the authenticity. Everything on this documentation is true. Or true enough. His name may not the one he was born with, but he was Loid Forger when he was a husband and father. That is the version of Twilight he wants to be.

Of course, he registered for his new documents weeks ago, well before he knew what would be printed in the newspaper this morning. Perhaps adopting Loid as his permanent identity had been too hasty.

He wonders, an not for the first time, if this trip is a bad idea. As soon as the new country's provisional government took power and granted blanket amnesty to all members of Westalian Intelligence Services and its Ostanian equivalent, he had applied for his new papers, put his scant belongings in storage, and bought his train ticket. These past five years his heart has been calling to his wife and daughter. He couldn't wait anymore. But maybe he should have. The new Republic of Toterria is in its infancy, and its infrastructure is still ravaged by war. Communication lines are spotty at best within the bounds of its two former nations and almost nonexistent across them. He was not able to get a call through to Yor before he set out. He has no idea if she wants him to come back to her, especially now.

Will he even still have a family by the end of the day?

He closes his eyes and conjures an image of them. He left all their photos behind when he ran, but it doesn't matter. His memory is sharp. He doesn't need to keep them captured on film to see them clearly.

He looks at Anya first—her round, baby cheeks dusted with peanut crumbs; her small, dimpled hands; her shining green eyes. She will have grown during these years he was away. He has no doubt Yor raised her well on her own, but five years is a long time for such a little girl. Will she recognize him when he comes home? Or has he become a ghost in her memory—a beloved but faceless apparition, like his own mother has become for him? What moments with him still haunt his daughter now that he is gone? It won't be lullabies, like the ones his mother used to sing when he was small and tucked into bed. Those have always been Yor’s domain.

Yor.

He turns now to her. His wife. She smiles at him in his mind's eye, soft-eyed and gentle and warm. He thinks this is why he fell in love with her, and also why it took him so long to realize it—because it happened so softly and gently and with such warmth. It reminds him of the apple trees dropping their blossoms in April. Every year, it begins unobtrusively: a petal here and there, wafting on the breeze. Lovely, but easy to overlook until the day they all begin to drift down and the air becomes thick with fluttering, delicate, white blooms and there is no longer any question that it is spring.

↞፨↠

Spring arrived for Twilight in a slightly more blood-soaked fashion.

He was embroiled in a side mission and was spending his evenings monitoring his target through a collection of bugs he had placed throughout his apartment. He had also rented a small, furnished office space in the building across the way so he could watch him through his windows and familarize himself enough with his habits, speech patterns, and mannerisms to convincingly impersonate him at an event his prestigious father would be hosting at his mansion. Once there, Twilight would break into the father's safe, where he was rumored to keep a very important set of confidential documents.

Twilight was sitting at his temporary office's antique desk with a pair of headphones on, listening to his target get ready for bed, when a knock sounded, a knob turned, and then the man said in surprise, "I didn't order a girl. Who the hell are you?"

There was a flurry of aggressive footsteps and then the door shut and locked.

"Wh-what do you want?" the man whimpered in a fear-drenched voice.

Trouble? Twilight had better intervene. They needed the target to survive until the party on Friday. Dead men didn't show up at private galas. Twilight leapt to his feet, then promptly plopped right back down in his seat when a sweet, gentle woman's voice growled, "I am here on behalf of Garden. May I have the honor of taking your life?"

He recognized the speaker immediately.

Yor?

On behalf of Garden?

Twilight fumbled for his binoculars, and, still attached to his headphones, staggered over to the window to get visual confirmation. It was hard to keep his footing because the sound of Yor's voice had made his knees buckle, as sometimes happened, but he made it.

"N-no!" said the target as Twilight focused in on the scene with his binoculars. "Of course I won't give you permission to kill me!"

"Then I apologize for not respecting your wishes," said Yor, reaching over to flip the light switch. "Now, if you'll please die quickly, I have to get home to my daughter right away. I left the dog in charge while she sleeps."

Her shadowy figure dove for the target and cut him down before he even had a chance to scream.

Twilight backed away from the window, running his hand through his hair. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. He just couldn't think of what it could be right now.

Not knowing what else to do, he sat down in front of his typewriter and started tapping out his coded update for WISE. They were going to have to pivot now that they couldn't use the son to access the safe, unless they could conceal the murder for another three days. He would have to be careful how he explained this dilemma to headquarters, though. Too much of Operation Strix depended on Yor staying in the role of mother and wife. Anya had bonded with her, and he…

He was well aware that the school and the other parents knew what she looked like. He couldn't show up with a new woman in a black wig and expect them to buy it. If he was forced to replace Yor, it would be worse than going back to square one. It would be devastating. For the mission. And for Anya. And for Bond. And for…

And for lots of other people. Like the neighbors, perhaps? They seemed fond of her.

He grabbed his twisting stomach.

No, he couldn't let it happen. He needed Yor to be his wife. For practical purposes.

He left her out of the report.

He swung by a covert drop off location to deliver it, then headed home. Something was nagging at him about his decision to keep WISE in the dark about Yor's involvement in their target's death, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He had used cold, emotionless logic to determine that it was better to protect Yor's secret from the agency than to risk all the progress he had made with Strix so far. There wasn't anything more to it than that.

He had told Yor he would be working late, so he came in through the front door instead of his window this time, slipping in as quietly as possible so he wouldn't disturb any sleepers.

Yor came out of her room when she heard him come in. She was fresh out of the shower and snuggled into clean pajamas. As soon as he saw her, his neck and shoulders began to unknot, like they always did.

"How was work?" she whispered. "Did you have dinner? Barbara made more chicken and dumplings than she and Siggy could finish by themselves, so she brought us the leftovers. They're in the fridge."

"I'm okay. Thanks, Yor," said Twilight. "All I want is to get to bed."

She smiled at him, bathing him in sunshine. "Sweet dreams," she said.

Loid did have sweet dreams. Too sweet. He woke up reaching across his empty bed, looking for his wife. And that was when he realized, with a clarity as sudden and final as Yor's stiletto plunging into the target's throat, that he had not excluded her from his report for the sake of continuing Operation Strix. He had done it for himself.

His loyalty had shifted from WISE to his wife.

This was a disaster.

He needed to reconcile the shift in his worldview.

He spent weeks mulling over the problem. In the end, though, he found nothing much had changed. His first interest was still securing peace and protecting children like his daughter from the horrors of war. He had devoted his life to that cause, and he would continue to do whatever it took to achieve it. He was simply less willing to risk being forced to separate from his family for anything as trivial as Yor having a second job.

As far as the loving his wife dilemma, he would ignore it. He was adept at self-denial and it wasn't like Yor returned his feelings. He had a small dent in his chin that didn't used to be there to prove it. He would keep his mouth shut and admire her from a distance.

Except, it turned out that was easier said than done. An ache erupted in his chest whenever he was near her and he didn't know how to make it go away. He was unaccustomed to wanting. It was hard not to look at Yor or find reasons to touch her or talk to her. All his thoughts circled around to her in the end. He craved her when she wasn't there.

Still, disregarding Anya's increased flirting accusations, he thought he was doing a pretty good job keeping his feelings under wraps.

He could do it. He could stay the course and pretend he hadn't fallen for his wife.

↞፨↠

The train pulls into the station and comes to a stop. They've reached their destination.

Twilight retrieves his suitcase and steps down onto the platform. It has been so long since he's been at this train station that the once familiar architecture has become coated with an off-putting sheen of newness. As he makes his way towards the exit, Twilight eyes a nearby newspaper stand. Pretending to look for something in his pockets, he stops to watch his fellow travelers select their reading material. To his dismay, they are all purchasing the same periodical: the very first issue of the Toterria Tribune, named for their brand new, recently unified nation.

Twilight flips up his overcoat collar and pulls his hat low on his forehead. He's already read the newspaper and knows all too well what's inside it.

When the intelligence agencies were granted amnesty, their files were also declassified. Every shameful thing Twilight has ever done has been entered into the public record for anyone to see. This in itself is not catastrophic. Most people don't make a habit of looking into things. However, the Toterria Tribune chose to use those public records to produce its first front page feature: a profile of the East and West's top agents, complete with mission highlights and notable aliases. Among those top spies? Agent Twilight. And, among his listed aliases? Loid.

It makes him feel conspicuous, a feeling all the more uncomfortable because it is the opposite of what he's strived for his whole adult life. He reminds himself that, despite the article, there's no way he can be recognized on the street because they didn't print his photo. All the same, imagined double takes and accusing glares dog him as he skulks away through the station, toting his suitcase.

His sense of anonymity returns once he is outside. Though there are no crowds to disappear into on the sparsely populated streets and he notices that his suit is out of style compared to how the other men are dressed, no one is reading the newspaper and that makes all the difference.

He supposes this Tribune debacle has ruined his chances of getting his old job back, but for the first time in about two decades he has the luxury of tackling one problem at a time, so he'll worry about employment another day. Today, he is going home.

The Berlint he walks through to get there is not the Berlint he left five years ago. He feels out of place in the city he once called home. The bakery that sold Anya's favorite cake is now a freshly defunct Ostanian military recruitment office. The tailor's shop that fitted Anya for her first Eden Academy uniform—where he and Yor first met—is boarded up and abandoned. Some buildings are gone entirely. Others remain in ruins. The city did not survive the war unscathed, but it's still here. People still bustle in and out of the shops. Dogs still sniff around the trees. Children still play beside the water's edge.

A merchant pushes a cart laden with snacks along the sidewalk. Bells attached to each corner of its painted wooden frame jingle merrily. Twilight, on a whim, stops him to buy a bag of salted peanuts for Anya. He puts it in his pocket and continues towards home.

He arrives to a condemned pile of wreckage.

Part of the building still stands, lopsided and cracked, with shattered windows and missing walls. Entire apartments are exposed. The rest of the building—including the section where the Forgers had lived—is nothing more than rubble.

He stands, frozen, in the empty space where the small set of steps up to their communal entryway used to be. He is, for a moment, transposed with his childhood self. He has seen this sight before.

He drops his head into his hand, teeth clenched. He pictures Anya cowering alone in her closet while the bombs drop, but that isn't right. Yor would have been with her, holding her cuddled in her lap and singing snatches of lullabies while she stroked her hair.

He takes some small comfort in that.

↞፨↠

The night Twilight told Yor he loved her was an ordinary one. They were at home. Anya was asleep, the dinner mess was cleaned up, and the house was tidy. Loid had just sat down on the couch and Yor was coming out of the kitchen with a mug of tea in each hand and a small frown on her face. The news was playing on the radio and it wasn't promising. The tensions between the East and West had been climbing for months. After the prime minister's incendiary, televised remarks earlier that evening, the threat of war now looked like an inevitability.

The mood was grim as Yor took a seat beside him on the couch and offered him his mug.

"Thank you," he said. Their fingers brushed during the hand-off, sending a jolt up his arm and down his spine.

While he took a bracing sip of his tea, Yor set hers down on the coffee table with an expression as bleak as the news. It was rare to see her like this. She tended towards optimism, always looking for the good and usually succeeding.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Twilight asked.

Yor attempted a smile. “I was thinking about Yuri," she said, "and what it was like for us growing up during… all that.”

Twilight nodded. She didn't need to explain any further. He had been a child of war, too.

She balled her hands into fists and pressed them down into her knees. Tears beaded in the corners of her eyes. “I hate this for Anya."

Because she needed comfort and for no other reason, Twilight put a tentative hand on her back, then, when she didn't flinch away, slid his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him. His heart started pounding.

"I do, too," he said.

It was hard to stay upright when she was near him like this, so, out of pragmatism and nothing else, he reclined backward and pulled her down with him, using the rear couch cushions for support. Face flushing, she curled up at his side and rested her cheek on his chest. Twilight struggled to breathe. She fit so perfectly under his arm.

"Do you think there’s any chance they’ll change their minds?” she whispered.

“Maybe,” he said.

“I hope so,” she sighed.

He dropped his cheek onto the top of her head, thinking. He wasn't privy to more than his own role in WISE's plans, but he knew they had been busy these past several weeks, preparing for this exact turn of events. He would be gone the next few days on a large-scale, coordinated mission with several other agents in an effort to turn the tide, although, after this news about the prime minister, he was worried they were already too late.

“Will you be okay here alone with Anya while I’m on my business trip?” he asked.

Yor looked up at him and nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

He studied her face. Until the news had come on the radio, he hadn't been concerned about his mission. Now, the outcome seemed much more precarious. Citing rumored Westalian hostility, the prime minister had declared a state of national emergency. He had heightened security measures across all government agencies and upped the protection for high ranking officials. Civilians were put on curfew until further notice. The monetary reward for turning in an enemy intelligence agent had been doubled. What had been a fairly run-of-the-mill team operation had just become the riskiest mission he’d undertaken in a long time. There was a strong chance he wouldn't come back from it. He might never get another opportunity to look at Yor again. He wanted to savor it.

His eyes roved over her, preserving each minute detail in his memory—the faint smattering of tiny freckles on the crest of her cheekbones, the chicken pox scar above her eyebrow, the sharp dip of her cupid's bow. She was the kindest, ditziest, deadliest woman he had ever known. He couldn't imagine a more ideal combination.

She flushed beneath his gaze.

“Loid?” she asked. A bigger question hid inside that one syllable.

Twilight swallowed and cupped her cheek. "Yor…" he murmured.

Almost everything she thought she knew about him was a lie, but did that matter? When he joined WISE, he had reworked himself into a blank hunk of clay, ready to form into whatever was needed for the mission. He could become whoever Yor wanted him to be. Wasn't that enough?

She began to tremble. He knew he should dial it back before she got overwhelmed and lashed out, but he suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without telling her at least one true thing about himself.

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he whispered, bracing himself for a strike that never came.

Instead, gazing at him with eyes like rubies, she put her shaking hand over her heart and confessed, “I’m in love with you, too.”

He didn't know what to do next. He had a catalog of well-rehearsed, syrupy-sweet scripts and painstakingly choreographed romantic gestures to accompany them, but the flowery speeches and shows of gallantry were mere simulacrums of genuine affection. They were fine for honey traps, but not for Yor. So… Should he hug her? Should he give her space? He was still cupping her cheek. Should he stop? Or should he double down and use both hands? Was it okay to kiss his wife, or should he take it slow? Was he getting too far ahead of himself? Maybe they should just date for a while before they made it official. But, on the other hand, they were already married, so what was left to formalize? When should they celebrate their annivesary? Every year on this date, or should they go by their marriage license? Would it be overkill to have two anniversaries?

With the serenity of a cherry-red angel, Yor closed her eyes and lifted her face towards his. The constant stream of noise inside Twilight's head went silent. All he could hear was his heartbeat chanting her name: Yor, Yor, Yor, Yor. He slid his hand down her cheek and hooked his index finger beneath her chin. Then he ducked his head, resting his forehead against hers. He could feel her breath on his lips.

"Is this okay?" he murmured.

"Yes," she whispered.

Slowly, carefully, he fit his mouth over hers. She responded tentatively at first, then with more assurance. Her fingers curled around the front of his sweater as his arms crept around her waist and hauled her even closer. He was dizzy when they pulled apart to look at each other, pink-cheeked and short of breath.

Their first kiss.

Followed shortly after by their second and third, until they all blended together and he lost count.

↞፨↠

Twilight lingers in front of the bombed out apartment building longer than he needs to. Unlike his mother, there's a chance Yor and Anya were out during the air raid that demolished their home. There's another chance they were fished from the rubble with only minor injuries. He should to go to the Vital Records Office to determine if his family survived the bombing, but he is terrified of seeing their names stamped onto the death record index in impersonal, black type. It is too harsh and too final. It's not how he wants to find out. And so, he is putting it off.

It doesn't help that the Vital Records Office is closed on weekends. He'll have to break in if he wants to do it today.

He's leaning against a lamp post with his hat pulled low, squeezing the bag of peanuts in his pocket and trying to work himself up to committing yet another felony, when a shrunken old man dodders up to the ruins. He wears a pince-nez and bears a vague resemblance to a West Highland White Terrier.

Twilight straightens and strides towards him. He knows this man. It's their old neighbor: a forgetful, retired professor who used to tutor Anya. "Mr. Authen?" he asks. "Sigmund?"

"Ohhh," the old man moans, glancing around at the rubble in alarm. "What happened here?"

"Hello, Mr. Authen," Twilight says, louder this time.

"Eh?" The old man turns laboriously to face him, aided by his cane. When he sees Twilight, he adjusts his glasses and squints at him. "Is that little Anya's father?"

Twilight's stomach twists and lurches. "Yes, it's me. Loid," he says.

"My home is gone, Loid," Sigmund says, peering with weak eyes at the place where it used to be.

Mine, too, Twilight thinks.

Sigmund begins hobbling towards the rubble. "Barbara!" he calls. "Barbara! Where are you? Barbara! Tell me where you are and I'll pull you out!"

Twilight grabs his suitcase and follows after him. "Sigmund! Sigmund! She's not here," he says, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Oh, oh! Where is my wife?" Sigmund laments.

"I wish I could tell you," says Twilight. "I'm looking for mine, too."

He tries to sound neutral, but his voice warbles on the last sentence.

Sigmund hangs his head, mumbling to himself. Twilight can't make out a word he's saying. He bends down to hear him better and notices that what he took for a patch on the back of Sigmund's jacket is, in fact, a note card pinned between the old man's shoulder blades. A message written in Barbara's shaky but elegant script reads, "Sigmund Authen. If lost, please return." An address follows.

A mission! And one that may give him a gentler insight into his family's fate. Barbara will know what happened to his girls. He would rather learn it from her than from a piece of paper at the records office.

"I think I know where to find Barbara," Twilight says, taking Sigmund's arm. "Come with me."

Sigmund brightens. "Oh, thank you, Lyle!"

"Loid," Twilight corrects, even though he might as well be called Lyle. To be Loid, he needs Yor and Anya.

The going is slow. Sigmund was not spry to begin with, and has grown less so over the years. Several times, he almost wanders off. Twilight can see why Barbara started tagging him.

It is a relief when they finally arrive at the Authens' new apartment building. Barbara is waiting out front, watching for him. She is a tiny old woman with sagging cheeks and a poof of white hair pulled into a ponytail on top of her head.

"There you are, Siggy!" she calls as soon as she sees him.

Sigmund shuffles towards her at top speed. "Barbara! Thank goodness you're safe!"

"Oh, dear. Did you go to the old apartment again?" she asks with an affectionate sigh.

Sigmund scratches his whiskers. "Why, yes. I think I did."

Barbara shakes her head and turns to Twilight. "Thank you for bringing him home, young-" She breaks off and squints at him. "Why, is that little Anya's father?"

"It is. Hello," says Twilight, taking off his hat and nodding to her.

"Ah! In that case, welcome back! Yor and Anya must be so happy to have you home," she says with a warm smile.

Twilight takes a hopeful step forward. She spoke about them in the present tense. "Did they- Does that mean…? They survived the bombing at the apartment?" he asks.

Barbara looks at him, surprised. "Why, of course! They had already moved out by the time that happened," she says.

They had moved! Of course! Even with the assassin gig, Yor's take home pay couldn't have been anywhere close to the bottomless budget WISE had granted him to fund Operation Strix. There's no way she could have covered the rent at 128 Park Avenue on her own.

And if that's the case, then Anya must be attending a different school, as well. It seems unlikely that Eden Academy would eject an already enrolled child for losing a parent, but that doesn't account for the problem of Yor affording the exorbitant tuition on her meager salary.

"Ah, of course!" he says, tapping on his forehead with a light-hearted chuckle. "I knew about the move but it slipped my mind. You know how it is."

"Oh, dear," Barbara says. She sounds concerned. "You're so young to be dealing with memory loss! Siggy's didn't start until after he retired. You may want to see a doctor."

Twilight grimaces. "Yes, I suppose I'd better. But, Barbara… Unfortunately, due to my impaired faculties, I've lost Yor's new address. Do you know it?"

Barbara's craggy lips form a surprised O. "You mean you haven't even been home yet?"

Twilight's throat tightens. He shakes his head.

She tuts, ushering Sigmund and Twilight up the stairs and then down the hall to the Authens' apartment, muttering the whole time about husbands and mental deterioration.

"We just saw Yor and Anya the other day," Barbara says, depositing a plate of cookies on the table and putting the kettle on before she goes to her Rolodex. She flips through it until she finds the Forgers. Twilight watches her, nibbling on a shortbread biscuit and doing his best not to betray how eager he is to get the new address and leave.

Barbara takes great care in copying down the information for him, hunkering down over the table so low that her nose almost touches the paper scrap she's writing on.

"There we go!" she says when she finishes. Twilight's fingers twitch to snatch it from her, but she doesn't hand it over yet. She flaps it through the air to dry the pen strokes instead.

He prides himself on his composure, but he is struggling to maintain it at the moment. His long separation from Yor and Anya is almost at an end. The only thing standing in his way is Barbara and her aversion to smeared ink.

"Oh! Lyle!" says Sigmund. "Will you please let Anya know I have the Bondman movie tickets I promised her? We'll go together on Friday when she gets out of school."

Twilight suppresses a surge of envy. He wants to be the one to take his daughter to see her favorite TV character on the big screen. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he reaches for his wallet. "That's very kind of you. Let me reimburse you."

Sigmund holds up his hands, waving away the offer. "Oh, goodness, no! It's my treat! She's a wonderful little pupil. She did extraordinarily well on her exams."

Barbara nods. "Oh my, yes."

His discontent forgotten, Twilight leans forward, eager to hear more. "She did?"

"Indeed! In the top half of her class!" says Sigmund.

That doesn't sound particularly extraordinary to Twilight, but it is a feat for Anya, and he can't help the wave of pride that washes over him. She didn't fail anything!

"And of course she excelled at classical language, as always. But that's no surprise. She did win Eden's classical language scholarship after all," Barbara adds.

"A scholarship?" says Twilight. "So she's still at the same school?"

"Indeed!" says Sigmund, pleased as punch.

Now Twilight doubly wishes he was the one taking Anya to the movies as a reward for a job well done, but he tamps his jealousy down. What right does he have? He hasn't been here doing the work with her. Sigmund has.

"Thank you both very much for all your help with Anya," he says.

"It's our pleasure!" says Sigmund, while Barbara nods her agreement. "She's a lovely child."

"You must be excited to see her," Barbara says, holding out the slip with the Forgers' new address on it. "Shall I pin this to your jacket?"

"I think I can manage to hold onto it on my own," Twilight says, taking the paper scrap and memorizing the contents before he tucks it into his pocket with the peanuts.

For the first time in five years, he's going home.

↞፨↠

Twilight returned from his "business trip" to an agency in chaos. The operation had failed. War was imminent. All agents in the field, except the sleeper agents under deep cover, were being recalled home. They needed to wrap things up and go.

Twilight's head swam as he headed from headquarters straight to the hospital. He had evidence to destroy.

He combed through his office for every last trace of his undercover activities. He hadn't been Loid for very long, but he was unfailingly thorough when he built an identity: there was always a paper trail to verify he was who he claimed to be. He was confident his cover was solid enough to get through the hostilities. Once he made sure there was nothing left to incriminate him, he would request to stay dormant in Ostania with his family until the war ended and he was needed again.

He emptied out and closed off his office’s secret passage and did a sweep for errant gadgets. He ran anything even slightly flammable down to the incinerator. Then, he sat down at his desk to transmit his coded reassignment request to Handler before he destroyed his short wave radio.

That's where his brother-in-law found him. Yuri threw open Loid’s office door and barged in. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, but he carried himself with the same level of menace as a fully uniformed secret police officer. The front desk receptionist chased after him, wringing her hands.

"Sir, I can't let you see the doctor without an appointment," she pleaded.

"I don't need an appointment," Yuri snapped.

"Sir, please!"

Twilight waved the receptionist back with reassuring smile. “It's okay! He's my brother-in-law!” he said. "I can squeeze him in."

Yuri slammed the door shut on her doubtful face and began pacing, grumbling under his breath.

“How can I help you?” asked Twilight after Yuri completed several laps.

Yuri spun on his heel to face him. Reluctantly and with great loathing, he snarled, “For my sister’s sake, you should run.”

Twilight stood, taking great care to keep his expression and his tone pleasantly confused. “What do you mean, Yuri?”

Yuri strode towards him and leaned over Twilight's desk, so close they were almost nose to nose. He pulled his ID wallet out of his pocket and let it fall open to reveal his SSS credentials and badge.

Twilight's mouth went dry, but he kept up the bewildered act. "Yuri, are you… Are you in the State Security Service?" he asked.

"Cut the bullshit, Loi Loi." Yuri reached inside his jacket and removed a small rectangle of glossy paper. He held it up, dangling it between his thumb and forefinger. “You've been compromised,” he said.

It was a photograph of Twilight inside a car, ripping off one of his disguises. He remembered the mission. He had been posing as a well known politician—one who had a distinctive birthmark on his cheek. That same distinctive birthmark was as clear as day in the photo, placed prominently on the fragment of mask still adhered to Twilight’s exposed face.

Twilight's blood ran cold. “Is that the only print?” he rasped. “Do you have the negatives? Give them to me!”

“This is a copy,” said Yuri, tucking it away. “There's more in your dossier. They got almost a whole roll.”

His dossier. Twilight stood rigid at his desk as all of his plans for the future crumbled around him. Even if they hadn't linked him to his Loid Forger identity yet, they would. And that would lead them to his family.

"It's fine," he said, straightening his coat. "I'll infiltrate the SSS and destroy my file."

"Are you an idiot?" said Yuri. "They're doing mask checks. You're not getting out of there alive once they see your face."

Twilight took a moment to recalibrate. There was a time he would have thrown all caution to the wind to retrieve that dossier and disappear into a new identity to continue his work for WISE, but it seemed he was a different man now that he had something he wanted to keep.

Fine. He couldn't get the dossier so he couldn't stay here. He would bring Yor and Anya with him. He would call it an impromptu family trip. They would head for the nearest border, then circle to Westalis.

Except, Yor was an Ostanian assassin. She'd be about as safe there as Twilight was here if they found out her connection to Garden.

So, both Westalis and Ostania were out, then. Okay. That was fine. The Forgers would go to Nortica or Hugaria or another neighboring country and put down new roots there.

But what if they were caught before they made it out? Anya would be sent back to the orphanage, Twilight would be executed, and not even a brother in the secret police could save Yor if they thought she might be his accomplice. Was that a risk he was willing to take?

Twilight drew his hand across his face. This wasn't good. None of this was good.

"I'll turn myself in," he said. "I'll confess. I'll tell them Yor doesn't know anything. She and Anya can—

“No. What you do is leave while you still can,” Yuri snapped. “I'll wipe Loid from your file. I'm not letting your crap get traced to my sister."

Every cell in Twilight's body resisted the idea of relinquishing control to another person. The weight of the world on his shoulders was what kept him firmly anchored to the ground.

Yuri heaved a beleaguered sigh. "You'll never see Yor or the kid again if you're dead," he grumbled.

The magic words.

Twilight swallowed, hard, then nodded. "I'll go."

Yuri stepped aside, clearing the path to the office door.

“This makes us even for the sewers,” he said.

He looked so much like Yor.

↞፨↠

Yor and Anya live in a small cottage now, near the city but not inside it. It's practical. Far enough away to avoid the air strikes but close enough to commute in on the train. There's a fenced yard for Bond to run around in. He's waiting there when Twilight walks up, standing on his back legs with his front paws up on the wooden pickets like he was expecting him.

Twilight scratches him behind the ears. "Could you smell me coming?" he murmurs.

Bond wags his tail.

Twilight gives him a few more good rubs, then lets himself through the gate and makes his way toward the front door of the home his family has made without him.

Now that he's here, he is sure he shouldn't have come. Even if Yor hasn't read the newspaper yet, someone she knows will have, and they will tell her about her husband's secret life as soon as they get the chance.

For her own safety, he had planned never to tell her about his clandestine missions or his boyhood in the West. But now that there is nothing to protect her or Anya from, Twilight finds that he is the one endangered by his past. He has survived all this time by being able to compartmentalize and play the right role. He knows how to be Loid Forger, the mild-mannered psychiatrist and family man who was well respected within his community. He knows how to be Twain Foney, underground tennis tournament champion. And, he knows how to be Agent Twilight, the cold and detached secret agent who sacrificed all personal ties for the sake of his mission. It's these personas who committed his crimes, told his lies, and hurt the people close to him. He was a separate entity, hidden even from himself—a little boy crying in the rubble.

Now, all of these utilitarian fragments of self—these characters—that he had fashioned and used and discarded in the name of peace have been gathered together into one mosaic portrait of a deceitful, heartless man.

He pauses on the cottage doorstep, then turns to go. The phone lines should work inside Berlint. He'll get a hotel room and call Yor tomorrow.

Behind him, the door bangs open.

"Papa! Don't go yet!"

His heart lifts. Her voice isn't as squeaky as it used to be, but it's still unmistakable.

He turns around, almost breathless with anticipation. "Anya."

She's standing in the doorway, poised to chase after him if he tries to flee. Her cheeks are thinner and she's lanky in a preadolescent way, but he can still see traces of the small girl she used to be.

After all this time, he feels like a stranger.

"I have something for you," he says. He dips his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out the bag of peanuts. He hadn't considered before how drastically children change in such short spans of time. Maybe she's outgrown her favorite snack.

"Do you still like these?" he asks, uncertainly.

Anya snatches them out of his hand. "Mmm hmm! Thank you!" she says. She grins at the bag like it's full of diamonds and turns to go inside. "Come on in. Mama will be back soon. I'm making dinner for us."

"Oh," says Twilight, hesitating. "Um, I don't want to impose if…"

"Don't worry, there's enough for all of us," says Anya, addressing his concern before he can voice it. She's always had an uncanny ability to guess what he's thinking. She's a perceptive child.

He's not sure he should accept her invitation without clearance from Yor, but he sets his suitcase inside the door and follows her down the hallway into the kitchen anyway.

"Mama doesn't like it when I spoil my dinner," she says, tearing the top off the bag of peanuts. She glances at Loid and puts a finger to her lips before she shoves a handful in her mouth and stows the rest away in a cupboard. A fragrant pot of stew bubbles on the stove. Anya stirs it, turns down the heat to a simmer, then beckons for Loid to follow her again. She leads him into the sitting area near the kitchen and plops down on the couch. He sits down next to her. He notices there is an open copy of the Toterria Tribune on the coffee table. His shirt collar begins to feel too tight and a sharp pain knifes through his stomach.

Anya smiles at him. "Wanna watch TV?" she offers.

He wants to ply her with questions. Who are your friends? What are your grades? What's your favorite class? When did you learn how to cook? Did my leaving give you irreversible childhood trauma that will follow you through your entire adult life?

"In a minute. I heard you got a scholarship to stay at Eden. How's school going?" he asks.

She begins to explain the circumstances behind each of her six tonitrus bolts and why none of them were really her fault.

He's not exactly happy she has so many demerits, but what's to be done about it?

"I'm a really good student now. Guess how many stella I have!" she says.

Loid pretends to think about it, rubbing his chin and smiling at her. She sounds so excited that he guesses higher than he would have otherwise. "Hmmm. Eight?"

Anya's shoulders slump. All of the light in her brilliant, green eyes extinguishes. "Only five," she mutters. "I'm not an Imperial Scholar yet, Papa. Sorry. I promise I've been trying. I know it's important."

She looks so dejected.

He realizes with a sting of guilt that this is the first time he's ever spoken with her simply as his child and not also as an asset.

Did he do this to her?

He should have gotten a hotel. He should have known his family would be better off without him. Coming back was a mistake.

Anya sits up straight. "Wait! I can prove I get good grades now, Papa. I can show you my report card. You don't have to go away again."

A lump forms in Loid's throat. He wants to comfort her but he isn't sure how. Yor was always so natural with Anya while he was always at a loss.

He'll just have to do his best.

"You're not the reason I left," he says, putting a tentative hand on her head and stroking her hair. "In fact, I wanted to bring you and Mama with me."

Without any warning, Anya tilts over and crash lands on his chest. He puts his arms around her. She's gotten so big. He's missed so much of her short life.

He should have found a way to contact his family to let them know he was safe and thinking of them, but he was afraid any message he sent would get intercepted and used against Yor. Yuri's influence could only reach so far if she was found exchanging secret communications with a known Westalian spy, even if they were no more than coded love letters.

His heart throbs and he hugs Anya tighter. She deserved a better father. Yor deserved a better husband. They were sold Loid Forger but they got him instead.

"I love you, Anya," he murmurs, rocking her back and forth. "I missed you so much."

She squeezes him around the middle. "Can we watch TV now?"

Twilight chuckles wryly. She's as capricious as ever. "Sure."

Anya gets up to turn on the television set, then curls up against Loid's side. It's the end of the cartoon that plays before Bondman, if the lineup hasn't changed.

At least Anya would probably be excited to find out her father was a spy. He wonders if Yor told her. His eyes dart to the newspaper. It's too far away for him to make out the words, but he's accustomed to overanalyzing everything he reads, so he'd memorized the layouts. It's open to the lifestyle section, not The Article.

Maybe Yor hasn't read it.

In an instant, he starts plotting how he can keep her from reading or even hearing about it for the next 50-60 years. He'll have to outlive her to make sure the truth doesn't come out at his funeral, but he's pretty healthy, even if he is older than her, so he can probably do it. On the other hand, living without her again for any length of time sounds miserable.

He grits his teeth. What is wrong with him?

Part of him feels like the teenager he never had the chance to be. This is the first and only time he's been in love. It's terrifying. He ping pongs back and forth between feeling like someone completely new and being so solidly himself that is seems impossible he could have ever pulled off so many hundreds, or even thousands, of disguises.

It's when he feels like himself that he's most afraid. He loves Yor in her entirety, kill count and all. There is no greater comfort in the world than being in her presence. Somewhere along the way, his sense of well-being has become intrinsically linked to her opinion of him. If she is happy, then all is well. If she is angry, his whole world is in tatters. If she wants nothing to do with him, then he becomes nothing as well.

He doesn't want her to look at him and see a stranger. He doesn't want her to think his feelings were an act.

He should leave before she gets home. He needs more time to prepare himself. He needs to concoct a comprehensive flow chart of possibilities and then plan for every outcome. He'll spend the evening doing that, and then come back tomorrow to face his fate.

On screen, Bondman canoodles with a woman mid-car chase. A bullet whizzes through the rear window. Bondman puts both hands back on the steering wheel and says something witty and daring.

"I think I'd better leave after this episode," says Twilight.

Anya turns to him, aghast. "But Mama will be happy to see you! And I made enough dinner for all of us."

Twilight falters. Is she resilient enough to bounce back if he goes home this evening but comes back tomorrow? Or has he done irreperable damage to her psyche? How devastating must it have been for her—a small, orphaned child—to finally be adopted only for her father to disappear without a trace less than a year later?

His stomach gurgles.

No, he's done far more harm than good by coming here before he could talk to Yor. He can see that now. It would have been more merciful to wait to see Anya until he was sure he was back to stay.

Anya is watching him, lips pinched. "If you don't have dinner with us and tuck me in tonight, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to form healthy, secure relationships with men."

It's like an arrow through the heart, so sharp that he lets out a strangled grunt. "I- I guess I'll stay until Mama gets home," he chokes out. "The rest is up to her."

"Okay!" Anya chirps, snuggling back against his side.

Even if Anya hadn't succeeded at changing his plans, fate would have intervened on her behalf. Yor arrives before the episode finishes, opening the front door and calling, "Anya, I'm home!" at the exact moment that Bondman punches the supervillain in the chin and wins the day.

"Mama!" Anya cheers.

"Dinner smells so good, sweetie!" Yor enthuses, coming into the living room.

All the breath goes out of Loid. She looks exactly how he remembered her—long, black hair; deep mahogany brown eyes; and soft, pink lips tucked into a small smile.

"Papa is home!" Anya announces right as Yor notices the uninvited guest sitting on her couch, snuggling their daughter.

She looks like she's seen a ghost.

"He promised to tuck me in tonight," says Anya. "So he has to stay for dinner. It's okay because I made a lot."

Yor blinks as she tries to take it all in, then nods. "Of course," she says. She beams and pats her palms together in a muted clap. "Welcome home, Loid!"

Loid swallows, but his voice still comes out husky. "It's good to see you, Yor."

She gives him a nervous smile. Her hands flutter around her like busy elves—straightening her sweater, smoothing her hair, tapping on her hips. "I wondered why there was a suitcase in the hallway," she says with a tentative chuckle. "Does that mean-?"

"I'm going to get a hotel," Loid hurries to reassure her.

"Oh," she says. Her hands fall to her sides. "Okay."

He winces. Did he say the wrong thing? Would she have let him sleep here if he hadn't mentioned getting a room? Maybe that's only because she hasn't yet read the article, though.

"Anya, did you do all your weekend homework?" Yor says, going into the kitchen and taking down three dishes from the cupboard.

"Almost," says Anya.

"You'll have to finish it after we eat," Yor says. She takes the lid off of the pot and inhales the steam. "Mmmm! I can't wait to taste it!"

Anya gets up to turn off the TV and clear off the coffee table. A doll, a snack wrapper, an empty glass sticky with juice residue, and the damning first issue of the Toterria Tribune are shuttled away.

Loid goes to stand at the passthrough into the kitchen. Yor is busy ladling stew into the dishes and setting them on a tray. He can't tell if she's engrossed in her task or if she's purposely ignoring him.

"Can I help with anything?" he offers.

"Eep!" she squeaks, splattering stew on the counter top.

She looks at Loid, wide-eyed, then averts her gaze.

"I'm so clumsy," she mutters, grabbing a cloth and wiping up her spill. Anya zips in and out of the kitchen fetching the flatware.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says. "I was wondering if you needed any help."

She shakes her head and returns to dishing up the stew without meeting his eyes.

That's it. She is furious at him. His world is in tatters.

It stitches back together a moment later when she gives him a mild smile and asks him to carry the tray in for her. Maybe he still has a chance at redemption! He accepts the assignment and completes it with the same care and dedication he would give to any other mission. He sets it down on the coffee table and hopes that, in some small measure, he has proven himself to Yor.

Dinner passes uneventfully. Bond comes in through his doggy door to eat with them. Loid is impressed by Anya's stew and says so. Anya beams and Yor, shamefaced, confesses that she's let her take over in the kitchen because her own cooking endeavors continue to be inedible. Anya gives Yor a play-by-play of the Bondman episode she and Loid just watched. Yor talks about how she ran into one of their old acquaintances in Berlint while she was out doing her errands. Then, they both turn to Loid with expectant expressions, waiting for him to share about his day. The comfortable domesticity of it all makes Loid ache with an exquisite, lonesome pain.

"I rode on the train," he says. Once upon a time, that would have been an extreme half truth, obscuring a violent traintop altercation or a tactical act of covert sabotage. Now it is a mundane and honest fact. He's happy not to lie for once, but he wishes he had something more interesting to tell them.

"I saw some cows," he adds. "And some of them had calves."

The reaction he gets is unexpected but welcome.

"Awwww!" says Yor.

"I want to see cows!" says Anya. "I want to milk one! Do they eat apples?"

The conversation turns to animal husbandry and stays there for the rest of the meal.

Anya's still talking about the cows when Loid tucks her into bed a few hours later.

"Papa, will you take me on the train so I can see them, too?" she asks as he pulls her blankets up to her chin.

"If Mama's okay with it," he says. Yor was nothing but pleasant to him during dinner, but she also looked away whenever he tried to catch her eyes. He has no idea whether he should allow himself to hope.

"Maybe we can bring home a baby one," Anya says. "I wonder what its powers will be."

"Powers?" Loid laughs.

Anya frowns at him and his chuckle turns into a cough.

"What powers would you want it to have?" he asks.

"Flying," says Anya without a moment's hesitation. "So I could ride it places."

"Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle. The cow jumped over the moon," Loid recites, recalling an old nursery rhyme from his distant past. "Who knows. Maybe a cow would be able to fly."

"I thought so," Anya says, closing her eyes and snuggling into her pillow. "I think I'm going to name her Auðumla."

Loid sits by her bedside for several minutes, studying her face and putting together a mental flow chart to prepare for when he must face Yor. He has completed only 63 of 589 possible branches when Anya cracks an eye open and says, "Papa, can you please go somewhere else? You're making it hard to sleep."

Loid jumps to his feet. "Of course," he says, scuttling out the door.

Yor is straightening up when he comes into the living room. The newspaper is back on the coffee table, but so are two steaming mugs of tea.

Loid's heart pounds.

Yor has her back to him, so he clears his throat to alert her to his presence. She spins around. "How did bedtime go?" she asks.

"Good," says Loid, putting his hands in his pockets, then nodding towards his wife. "Can I help with anything?"

"I'm just about done," says Yor. She fluffs the pillow she's holding, then turns and rests it against the arm of the couch. "There!"

She puts her fists on her hips and stands there, staring at the pillow for several beats too long before she finally turns back to Loid. She's smiling, but it looks hesitant.

"I made tea," she says.

"Thank you," says Loid. He sits down and reaches for the mug he always used when they still lived together in their apartment in Berlint. He wonders if she put it out for him on purpose, or if it is her only spare mug and every visitor drinks from it.

She picks up her own mug and wraps her hands around it, threading her fingers through the handle. She's wearing a baggy sweater with long sleeves that hang down almost to her fingertips. When she lifts the cup to her lips, those long sleeves slip down to her wrists and Twilight notices with dismay that her hands are bare of any jewelry. He curls his left fist on his lap with his thumb tucked behind his fingers to fiddle with the gold wedding band he's never stopped wearing. He had spent every day he was away at WISE's home headquarters, doing everything he could to help bring an end to the war so he could return to his family. He had pictured Yor and Anya waiting for him and welcoming him home with open arms. He should have known it couldn't be that simple.

He picks up the newspaper and holds it toward her, showing her the spy feature. "You read this?"

Yor nods.

Twilight grimaces.

Yor slips the newspaper out of his hands and rests her palm on top of the article. "I read it to Anya because she loves spies so much. I didn't realize you would be in it, but I should have known you would be at the top of your field."

He can barely look at her. "I didn't want you to find out like this."

She opens her mouth to speak but he cuts her off to confess, "I didn't want you to find out at all."

Yor shuts her mouth again.

Twilight hangs his head. He needs to get it all out before he loses his nerve. "I'm… I'm a bad man, Yor. I'm a liar. I'm a thief. I manipulated people, and hurt them, and used them. I did it to you, and to Anya. I put your lives in danger for the sake of my assignment, and I didn't care because the ends justified the means and you were both expendable. But then I started to-" His voice catches. "To love you. And I didn't want to tell you who I really was because I knew it was Loid you loved, and not me."

His eyes sting and his throat is tight. He has faced down gangs of SSS agents and gone one-on-one with hired killers, but this is the most scared he's ever been in his life. He's never put so much of himself on the line.

He leans forward and takes both of Yor's hands in his. For the first time all evening, she meets his eyes. She has never looked more beautiful or more terrifying.

"But I can be him, Yor. If you still love him at all, I promise I can be Loid for the rest of my life."

She doesn't answer for what feels like a millenium. The offer hangs between them, as fragile as crystal.

"But… I know Loid isn't real," Yor finally says with a slow shake of her head.

The rejection hits like a punch. Twilight curls around the sudden, psychosomatic pain in his stomach, gripping Yor's hands tighter and clenching his teeth.

"Then… Let me… Give me another chance," he says. "I missed you so much. I don't think I can stand it if- Please, let me try again. Please, let me take you on a date and see- see if you think- see if you think you can love me again."

"No," she says.

His heart plummets into despair and shatters.

"I meant, I already knew you were a spy for a long time before you left," she continues.

Stunned, Twilight blinks and glues himself back together. "Wh-What?"

Yor sighs, shame-faced, and admits, "You forgot to lock your room one day and Bond got in and started looting around. While I was putting everything back, I found… You know."

His various spy gadgets and his short wave radio. Possibly a disguise or two, if he had been prepping for a mission. Definitely his disguise kit. He sits back without releasing Yor's hands, trying to wrap his mind around this information.

"You… already knew? This whole time?"

Yor chews on her lip and nods. "I thought you might get in trouble that I found out, so I didn't tell you."

Twilight drops his chin to his chest and presses Yor's knuckles against his forehead. "Were you mad at me?"

She hesitates. It's no more than a second but Twilight ages two lifetimes during the pause.

"Well…" she says. "I was a little upset at first, but then I started paying attention and I noticed… I can tell when you're lying. And once I worked that out, I didn't have to wonder how you felt or what really mattered to you anymore. It was obvious."

Twilight's heart swells. He brings her hands to his lips and kisses her fingers.

"Wait," she says. "There's something I have to tell you."

Her voice is serious. Twilight's stomach churns. A possibility he prefers not to think about has been nagging at him since he saw Yor's bare ring finger. Now it sashays into the forefront of his consciousness and waggles itself in his face.

Yor met another man during their separationg. She took off her ring because she wants to be with him. She is going to let Twilight down easy.

It is going to take Twilight a lot of effort and planning to get the new boyfriend out of the picture without making it obvious he's behind it. Luckily, he is unemployed at the moment. He has nothing but time.

"Go ahead Yor. What do you need to say?" he asks.

"I'm so sorry," she says, hanging her head. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you all night."

He steels himself for the worst.

"I haven't been completely honest with you, either. The truth is, I'm not just a city hall worker. I have a second job, too. I'm…"

"An assassin," says Twilight, relieved that it's not another man.

"An assassin," Yor finishes at the exact same time.

It takes her a second to process their accidental duet. She cocks her head with a furrowed brow and a slight pout. "Shoot. I really thought I did a good job hiding it," she mutters.

"I only found out by accident," Twilight reassures her, although, once he figured out what she was getting up to when she disappeared at night, he was bewildered that he didn't pick up on the clues sooner. She was not exactly subtle. There were several times she tracked blood down the hallway on her way to the shower and she chopped vegetables like she was trying to murder them. He has never found an explanation for how the truth slipped past him for so long.

He circles his thumb around the spot on her finger where her wedding ring used to be. "I'm sorry for disappearing," he says in a low voice. "I'm sorry for being away for so long."

"I knew you would come back," she says with a smile like a caress. "I've been waiting for you."

His breath catches. "Yor," he whispers. "I missed you so much."

She slips her hands from his and holds out her arms. All of the tension goes out of Twilight's body. He collapses into her embrace, circling his arms around her waist and clutching the back of her sweater like its an anchor. She cradles his head against her chest, tousling his hair and humming under her breath. She's warm and soft and she smells like a cinnamon-spiced apple pie.

"I love you," she murmurs in his ear.

"Then why did you get rid of your ring?" he grumbles.

Yor doesn't answer right away. There is a long chain around her neck that dips down inside her collar. She pulls on it. Something hard and circular slides past Twilight's cheek, beneath the wool knit sweater.

"I'm sorry. I had to sell the wedding set you gave me during the war," she says. "I've been wearing this in its place."

He lifts his head to see Yor slip off her necklace and hold it up. The charm is a familiar steel wire loop with an eye pin dangling from the bottom. As if in a trance, Twilight strokes the curved edge and sends the charm swinging.

"I didn't know you kept that," he murmurs.

Yor smiles. The grenade pin spins back and forth in lazy half circles.

"Do you remember the night you gave this to me?" she asks.

Loid lifts his hand up beneath the makeshift engagement ring until it nests inside his palm. "I do," he says.

"That was when my life changed," she says.

Loid closes his fist around the wire grenade pin and slides the thin chain out of Yor's grasp. Then, he uncurls his fingers and looks down at his prize—this little piece of metal that represents the only difference between wholeness and obliteration.

He holds the ring up between them for a moment, suspended between his thumb and forefinger. It frames Yor's face in a silvery halo. She is so lovely it makes his chest ache. He wants to hold her. He wants to kiss her. He wants to see her under the apple trees every April until there are no Aprils left for them, her hair dusted with petals and the cloud-dappled sky reflected in her mahogany eyes.

Heart pounding, he takes her left hand and slides the grenade pin onto her ring finger.

"Yor Briar," he whispers, resting his forehead against hers. "Will you marry me again?"

Yor lifts her chin until their lips meet in a kiss that feels like rebirth.

"Yes."