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He returns home later than usual.
His girls Yor and Anya are likely asleep by now.
Good.
Twilight removes his hat and rakes a hand through his disheveled straw-colored hair, its golden sheen dulled by sweat and dust. He was completely exhausted; WISE seemed to have no qualms about sending him on all these demanding extra missions. This last one in particular had been especially difficult- he’d sustained a gash just deep enough to warrant stitches stretching from his right collarbone halfway down to his left hip as well as several smaller cuts and bruises. It was likely that he had a concussion, too; his head throbbed-
The walls seemed to be moving, spinning-
If he could just make it to his room- Get a grip, Twilight-
He couldn’t make it. He knew that.
He settled for collapsing onto the couch, sitting there for a moment to gather his wits. It was so plush, though, so warm, and it smelled like her shampoo roses-
Before he could realize what was happening, he was asleep.
—
Yor hadn’t really been able to sleep. Loid hadn’t said anything about being home late that morning. She wasn’t upset at all that she’d had to make dinner in his stead (it was just stew! She wouldn’t dare feed Anya an experimental dish while Loid was away!)- he did enough for her- but she was worried. Some of his patients were so dangerous, after all, and he often came home looking worse for wear. She hoped he hadn’t been hurt that night. Maybe he’d just made impromptu plans with his coworkers; he did mention a man who’d been bringing up golf, and he had played tennis with everyone in his department that one time.
She shouldn’t worry too much. Yor snuggled deeper into her blankets and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to wash over her.
She heard the door click open moments later, and her eyes flew open. Good, good- she’d just wait to hear him enter his room, and then she’d sleep.
But his footsteps were uncharacteristically heavy.
Was he limping?
Should she check?
He still hadn’t entered his room, and he seemed to be traveling farther away from it, and she was growing more and more worried-
No, Yor. It’s not your place. You should be asleep.
..but does he need help?
She argued with herself for a moment, gritting her teeth in frustration.
When she heard him fall onto the couch with a swallowed grunt, she made up her mind.
Yor tossed off her covers and padded lightly toward the door, ink-black hair spilling over her shoulders as she twisted the handle.
—
Gunpowder, and smoke, and so much blood- his lungs ached, chest heaving as he gasped for air-
The air was burning-
His leg throbbed, his left eye swollen shut, eyelashes crusted with blood; he sat at the base of a thick tree, flames licking what was left of any greenery. He gulped in air through his mouth, nose bleeding and broken too badly for him to breathe through it, as he searched for some way, any way, out of this place-
“Loid?”
Oh. They were looking for him.
“Loid,” said the voice again.
The voice was… female? But there were no women fighting in his squad…
“Loid.”
Wasn’t his name Roland?
“Loid!”
He woke with a shallow gasp.
There was a slim hand on his shoulder; his wife Yor was crouching down in front of him, staring up into his face.
“Yor,” he said, eyes widening in shock for a small moment. “You should be asleep. It’s late.”
“What happened, Loid?” she murmured softly. “Why are you home at this hour? Is everything alright?”
Please stop asking. I’m this close to telling you everything.
“Don’t worry about me, Yor, I’m fine,” he gently spoke, his hand coming up to pat hers reassuringly. She still hadn’t removed it from his shoulder. “I had to stay for an emergency meeting, and then my boss wanted to speak for a while about my research, but I’m back now. I’m just a bit tired.”
“Of course,” Yor said. “Can I get you anything? Tea, maybe? You just- I don’t know, I heard the door open, but I didn’t hear you go into your room, and your footsteps were heavy, and you were shifting around in your sleep when I came to check on you…” She dragged her hand back, sliding it over his collarbone briefly before placing it in her lap, but- he winced slightly, trying to hide the hitch in his breath-
She noticed.
Of course she noticed.
“Loid, what happened?” she asked again, wine-red eyes wide and sad as she stared at her fingers. “I mean, there’s- look, my fingers came away bloody.” She turned her hand around to show him. “Where are you hurt?”
Crap.
“S’nothing, Yor,” he slurred, fighting to keep his eyes open as his vision dulled again, nausea causing his stomach to turn. “I told you, I’m fine.”
“You’re losing consciousness. Show me. Please, I’m worried.”
He swallowed thickly.
“Collarbone,” he mumbled before he could stop himself. “S’not too bad, don’t worry too much. I’ll fix it later, ‘kay?”
“Loid, if you’re this faint, I doubt it’s just exhaustion. I’m going to take a look, alright?”
“No,” he stated, clarity flashing through his eyes for a moment. He moved his hands to guard the buttons of his shirt. “I’m fine, Yor, really. I’ve patched up worse wounds.”
He should’ve known it was futile. She was so kindhearted, and when she set her mind to something, nothing would stop her from getting it done. She batted his hands away with a startling amount of strength and swiftly undid the buttons on his waistcoat, sliding it along with his black suit jacket over his shoulders.
“Loid,” she gasped, staring in shock at the red smear spread across the front of his white dress shirt. “What do you mean, ‘not bad?’ We need to treat this.”
“Really, Yor, it’s fine. I’ll do it,” he said, desperation threading into his voice. “I can… fix it.”
“Look at you!” she hissed, keeping her voice low to avoid waking Anya. “You’re white as a sheet, and you can’t even keep your eyes open! Just- please. Let me help you, okay? Can I do this one thing for you?”
He didn’t have the energy to argue. It would’ve been useless, anyway. He dipped his head in assent. She did have a point; threading his own stitches in his current state would likely end up doing more harm than good.
He said no to her less and less these days.
“I’ll be right back,” she murmured, then dashed off to her room. She reemerged with a first aid kit in hand, rubbing alcohol and a rag in the other. “Let’s check this wound out, okay?”
Twilight nodded again.
Yor quickly undid the buttons on his shirt, fingers moving methodically. “Come on, Loid,” she urged. “Stay awake just a bit longer. Just a little and then you can sleep, alright?”
“Mm,” he hummed.
“Okay. I’m going to take this shirt off, but it may get stuck on your wound. I need you to inhale, then exhale on the count of three. Okay, one- inhale- two, three-”
Twilight let out a pained groan as she peeled the shirt off of him, breaths coming quick and shallow once she’d tossed it onto the ground. The walls were spinning again-
“Alright,” Yor said. “Come on, let’s get you laid down. I’d move you to your bed, but I don’t want you losing any more blood. I’m going to help you now.”
Carefully, Yor scooped an arm behind him, her hand on the small of his back and her other arm sliding beneath his knees. She gently scooted him forward before sliding her hand up between his shoulder blades to lay him back onto the couch. Another wave of nausea hit him at the movement.
“You’re rather tall,” she mused. “You take up the entire couch, and then some.” Her hand lingered on his back for a few moments longer than necessary.
Not that he was complaining.
He turned his head to meet her eyes, laughter dancing in his own.
“I- s-sorry, Loid! Um, I’ll treat your wound now,” she spluttered, quickly removing her hand. A sense of calm, of precision, seemed to wash over her as she soaked a rag in a bowl of water- when had she gotten that? I must really be out of it- and dabbed it on his wound, cleaning up any of the dried blood spilling from it.
“There,” she said, nodding triumphantly. “I’ll clean it now- this is going to hurt, so just hold on, Loid.” Yor took a second rag, poured the rubbing alcohol on it, and thoroughly washed the wound with it. He screwed his eyes shut tight, fists balled, as he hissed in pain. Thankfully, though, she was rather efficient; it was over soon, and his breathing evened out shortly after.
“Yor,” he groaned as he opened his eyes, head pounding. “Do you… lights? It’s rather bright in here, don’t you think?”
“Oh, no, Loid,” she cried. “Don’t tell me you have a concussion, too.” She quickly moved to switch off the overhead light, placing a lamp onto the coffee table to better see his wound. “Seriously, who are these patients? No wonder you’re looking so awful.”
“Ouch. Most people tell me I’m handsome,” Loid quipped.
Yor’s face turned bright red. “Don’t distract me,” she squeaked. “I’m trying to make you f-feel better. This shouldn’t be a laughing matter!”
“You’re right,” he grinned. “My bad. Do your thing.”
“I’m going to stitch you up now,” she said. “Don’t worry, I won’t make a mess of it. I know how Anya’s penguin looked-” they both winced at the thought- “but I’ve stitched real wounds closed before.”
Loid smiled softly.
“I know,” he murmured. “I trust you.”
And he realized with a startling certainty that he meant it.
Yor cleared her throat, pink dusting her cheeks again. “I, um, have the needle ready,” she murmured. “This might pinch a little, so just- be ready, okay?”
“I’ve had stitches before, Yor, don’t worry,” he said. “Be my guest.”
Yor began, quickly and methodically working the needle to sew shut the gash. With every prick, the nausea resurfaced, but Yor was somehow rather skilled with a suture needle and expertly threaded it through each time. “Are you okay?” she asked about halfway through, staring down at the injury.
“‘M’fine, Yor,” he slurred, waving in and out of consciousness once again. He was so tired, and his stomach was twisting, head pounding, not to mention that his chest had been on fire for… however long it’d been.
“Don’t go to sleep just yet,” she pleaded. “We’re almost there. I know you’re tired, but hang on until I’m done, alright?”
He didn’t know why he was acting so weak. Normally, he could’ve done it himself, so why did she have to come patch him up?
Why did this place- why did Yor’s gentle hands, Anya’s endless enthusiasm- break down all his walls?
He couldn’t keep finding relief from them. The mission just couldn’t afford it.
But oh, how he wanted. He wanted to stay, to watch Anya grow up, see her become the strong-willed young woman he could already see blooming. He wanted to hold Yor close, sway gently with her in the kitchen to the tune in their heads, talk with her into the late hours of the night about anything and everything, kiss her senseless.
He gazed at her from where he lay; he must look absolutely wrecked, he knew- and he knew he could never have her, despite everything.
He turned his head away from her, tore his gaze from those deep, dark cherry eyes.
This is the path you chose, Twilight. You made your bed, so lie in it.
“All done,” said Yor, wiping the needle clean with a sigh. “Be careful, alright? I don’t want you pulling those. I don’t- seeing you hurt, um- it scares me, Loid.”
“I’ll be careful,” he reassured her, meeting her gaze with half-lidded eyes.
Finally, he could sleep.
—
He woke again hours later, head steadily pounding once again. His mouth tasted like cotton. He wasn’t on the couch anymore, though- no, this was a bed. His bed. He looked around the room for a moment-
And there was Yor, dozing in his armchair.
His heart tugged inside his chest. She was so kind, so gentle, but so fierce when she needed to be; she was everything he wanted.
If only he was free to love her.