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Loid smiles. Waves at the neighbors in the hall and politely dismisses their concern. She keeps an arm under his. Muscles trembling. It took them far too long to walk up the stairs. Wished she’d found the courage to carry him up them.
Let him think her crass. The journey home from the hospital was too much for him. Add the stairs. The neighbors asking what happened.
Half expects him to collapse as soon as they’re through the door again.
She’s half right. As soon as they’re through the frame the trembles, that had started as shivers of exhaustion on the tram, transform into shaking. Wraps her arm around his waist. Ready to catch him this time. To carry him right back to the hospital.
“I’m sorry.” His apology lodges in her throat. Presses tears into the back of her eyes. “I need to lay down for a minute. Could you…?” The request catches in his. Like he’s asking her for something far worse than help to the couch.
“Of course.” Tucks herself under his arms so she can lift more of his weight. How much is too much? His feet are still on the ground. Not fully carrying him. But she’d much rather carry him than let him fall again.
Sets him on the couch. “Thank you.” Eases him down until he’s laying on his side. Eyes drifting closed as she hurries for a blanket to tuck around him. “I’ll start dinner… In a bit.”
No you won’t. She wants to snap. You just got out of hospital. All you’re going to do is rest.
But she’s still terrible in the kitchen. His stomach can’t handle anything right now and the stew she knows how to make is too heavy for the diet the doctor instructed him to start on. If she wasn’t so bad at this role maybe he wouldn’t be in this state at all. Because he’d trust her more. Let her carry more of the load.
Hides in the kitchen, although he’s already asleep. Presses her palms to her eyes. Inhales. Exhales.
She’ll pick something up. So he doesn’t have to worry about dinner at least.
“Loid?” Yor whispers. It’s dark outside. Vaguely recalls Anya’s voice loudly asking after him and Yor shushing her. Anya patting his head and him asking her how her day was before sleep reclaimed him. “Do you feel up to eating? I picked up some soup.” Spy wars plays now. Anya sits firmly in front of the TV. Volume lower than normal.
How ruined he is. To not only be hospitalized. But to sleep in the living room. While Yor and Anya move around him.
This mission will be the death of him.
“Sure.” Forces himself to sitting. The dinner table looks impossibly far. “Sorry. I said I’d cook.”
Her frown deepens. Of course it does. He’s forced all this on her. Everything he couldn’t do when he was in the hospital. Even now that he’s home. Turning her into a caretaker for him too. It’s more than she ever agreed to.
Closes his eyes for a moment. Dizzy. Steeling himself against the prospect of standing. Moving.
Against whatever’s in Yor’s eyes now.
“Don’t worry about that. Food first.”
Passes him a bowl. A spoon.
His body almost collapses into her with relief. Makes it halfway through the bowl before he can stomach no more. Can’t lift the spoon again even if he could.
“Done?” She asks. Its not enough. Just worrying her more.
“Yeah.” Sways with the herculean effort to stay sitting. Swallows the apology that will only make her frown deeper as she takes it away. “Thank you.”
Is certain he will fall over. But that he doesn’t have the strength to lay down slowly. That he’ll hit his head or fall off the couch or-
Yor takes him by the arm and helps him lay back down.
“Rest. I’ve got it Loid. Just rest.”
He only needs to be told twice.
Loid’s awake. Notices as she carries the laundry through the living room. To fold as she watched him.
His gaze is unfocused. Pointed at the hallway. Sets the basket aside. Wonders if brushing his hair out of his face would be overstepping. It looks soft. “Do you want to go to bed?” She suggests when he fails to acknowledge her.
Maybe he is still asleep. Or halfway there.
He’d said it was nothing serious. That the doctor said it was nothing serious. But it’s hard to believe him right now.
His gaze ticks over to her. A low airy note pushes out of his throat. Pushes himself to sitting with less of the herculean effort it took a few hours ago. “I should. Thank you for taking care of Anya.”
She nods. “Of course.” Sits on the chair next to him. On Loids chair. Working up the courage to speak as he measures the distance to his bedroom with concerning intensity.
“I know you’re tired. I’m not trying to start anything tonight. I just. You are so important to,” Me. To me. “To Anya. Our family. You need to stop down playing this or pushing it off. Your health is important. You’re important.” Can’t look at him. Hands clenched into fists on her lap. “However I can help, I want to. We can’t lose you.”
Doesn’t want to be a dramatic child he dismisses. Won’t cry. Make this about her. Even if her voice wobbles. What would it take for him to understand?
Forces herself to look at him. He’s watching her. Face open. If flat. Not understanding. He doesn’t understand. Feels it with terrible clarity.
“What would we do without you?”
He inhales. Sharp. Like she’s cut him.
Hopes, that maybe, she did.
“I’ve been meaning to have that conversation with you.” Finds his feet with renewed energy. Purpose. Moves towards his bedroom. “It is late. But we can start it tonight.”
“Start it?” Trails after him. In case his legs give out again.
He opens the door to his room. She freezes at the door frame. They don’t go in each other’s rooms. Those are the rules. He hasn’t been in hers aside from to help her unpack and to set up the lovely dovey set as needed. She’s not been further in than the distance it takes to slide the laundry far enough in to close the door again.
Opens the storage closet on the wall. Notes where she has stopped and motions her in.
There’s a small safe. In black. Clothes and Anya toys that don’t fit in the laundry room and that half finished photo album he works on some evenings of their trips.
“The code’s your birthday. So you don’t forget it.”
“My birthday?”
He punches it in. Her birthday. It opens.
Pulls out the stack of papers within. “It’s fireproof. So if anything happens to me, and the house isn’t flattened,” She shivers. Causally. He says it so caually. She knows why. Because it used to be Tuesday. Tuesday and a neighborhood is gone. She’s glad that’s not Tuesday anymore. “Everything you need should be in here.”
“Everything…?”
Spreads them out on the bed. “Anya’s birth certificate. A copy of my will. My banking information.” Lifts one for her inspection. “This is the life insurance policy the hospital provides. It’s yours so don’t let them give you the run around. Franky should be able to help. Or Fiona if the issue is with the hospital for some reason.”
“Life insurance? Like they pay it out if you die?”
He nods. “It should keep you two comfortable for a while. Longer if Anya’s not at Eden.” Focuses in on the paperwork. Rereading the lines. Checking everything is still in order.
“Why wouldn’t she be at Eden anymore?”
The color, what little there was, drains from his face. She grabs his arm. “How many bolts does she have now?”
“Sit down.” Drags him to the chair in his room. He scoops up the papers and spreads them out again on the other end.
He shakes his head. “Losing a parent is hard. If she’s expelled or its too much. It won’t matter at that point. Just… Do whatever’s best for her.” Smiles a tiny weary thing at her. “You’re much better at that than me.”
She can’t speak around the mass in her throat.
Grabs another stack. “This one was her Mother’s life insurance. I only use it for Eden related expenses. It’s Anya’s. But there’s a fair bit in here. Just not enough for her to go dress shopping with Becky regularly. Oh and this is the car’s title. Feel free to sell it.”
Takes the paperwork. Her mother’s life insurance. It’s just numbers and words and she’s not even reading it.
Just remembering. Anya’s tear-streaked face during the interview.
He goes on. This wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have. About how he needed to let her know when he’s tired and maybe work a few less shifts. How she needs him to live a long happy life. At least until Anya graduates. She was promised at least until graduation- wasn’t she? That’s how long he needs her for at very least! Shouldn’t she at very least get that?
And here he is. Laying out paperwork and his will like he expects to die tomorrow.
… Does he?
“Loid?” Stares at the white sheets spread over his covers. Voice tiny and shaking and she can’t bare to ask. Has to. “Are you planning on dying?”
Had the doctor lied? Told Loid it was more serious? Had he already known- and this is just that haunting illness finally catching up to him. In ways she can finally see. That he can’t deny or downplay.
“What? Yor- No. No I don’t.” Brushes his hand against her. Bidding her to look at him. “Yor I…”
His face is pained. Staring up at her. Opens his mouth. Bites down on it. Drops his gaze to the papers in her hands. Swallows.
“It didn’t matter what my parents wanted. My parents. Their family. They all died during the bombings. There was no one left who cared about me or them.”
Dares not breathe. Turns slowly to face him. Crouching down so she can see his face, even with his head bowed.
Places her hand on his. In the pained silence where he gathers his words.
Inhales. Sharp. Like she’s stabbed him right between the ribs.
Grasps her fingers with his thumb. Urging her not to pull away.
She wouldn’t.
“I never even considered writing a will. And then she died.” The papers in her other hand feel infinitely heavier. “Without warning. I didn’t know what she wanted or what I was supposed to do. How to even start.” Tightens his fingers around hers. “I won’t have that for you. Figuring it alone. No. It’s all here. With instructions. Where you need to go, who to talk to, what you need to bring. Hours of operation- you’ll have to check those. They might change. But it will be as easy as I can make it.”
It will be.
Like there’s some certainty she’ll have to.
“I don’t want it. I don’t care if its easy.” Pulls out of his grip and makes for the door. Can’t stand it. That air of certainty in him. “I don’t want it! I want you!” Snaps. Trying not to yell. Spins back on him. Hurtles it at him. “Alive and well!”
“What? That’s not- I’m sorry.” Tries to stand. Falls. Catches himself on the bed. Lowers himself to the floor. “That’s not what this is. I misunderstood. I’m tired. Please come back.”
He does not have the strength to chase her. Doesn’t have the strength to stand.
She walks back. Lifts him into bed.
“Yor.”
She gathers the papers. Put them back in the safe. Locks it.
He set it as her birthday. So she wouldn’t forget.
“Then what is it about.” She asks the closet. States it. Voice flat and distant.
“Making sure you’re taken care of. Just in case. You said it. People can die. Just like that.” Just like that. Her chest throbs. “Please. I’m sorry.”
He is reaching out. Arm shaking, exhausted from just holding it aloft.
It’s too much. She can’t. This is not permission for her greedy heart.
Crawls into bed with him. Hugs his chest.
“Please don’t die.”
His arm drops. Brushes against her back before collapsing into the mattress. “I don’t want to. I don’t plan to. But I’m not going to risk you two suffering because I wouldn’t consider the possibility.”
His heartbeat is strong in her ear. Pressed as it is to his chest.
“Okay.”
“We’re married. So there should be no issues. You’ll retain custody of Anya. Not that there’s anyone who’d fight you for it.”
“What if I die?”
He is ready. Answers instantly. “She goes to Franky. Just don’t tell him. He’ll think we’re friends.”
“Aren’t you?”
He makes a face. “There’s enough money in there for a lot of babysitting. He’ll figure it out.”
“Would Yuri be better?”
He doesn’t answer for a few moments. “Do you think Yuri would be better?”
“… No. Franky’s a better choice. But Yuri should help.”
“I’ll leave that conversation for you.”
“Should I have had a will for Yuri?”
Loid is quiet. Considers. Shrugs a shoulder. “He’s an adult now. There was no one you could have left him in care of, and you both survived. So it doesn’t matter anymore.” Sinks back into the bedframe. She releases him slightly. Helps him lay flatter on the bed. “Although. You’re married now. If you don’t have one, technically all your assets become mine.” Shakes his head a fraction. “They’re Yuri’s. I’d make sure it all went to him. But that’d be why you’d want one. I’ll make an appointment for you to have one drafted so there is no question.”
She bolts up. “But. I want to take care of you too! In that case-“
“I don’t need it. You worked hard for his sake. You’re here because of Yuri. Whatever you leave behind should go to him.”
“But!” He has never asked her for money. Can’t tell what’s in those accounts from the paperwork he’d showed her. Doesn’t need it. But this is her family. Just as much as Yuri. It feels wrong to leave them nothing.
“You could set up a trust or something for Anya. 5% goes to Anya in a trust. Just decide what you want. The solicitor can help you sort out how to implement it.”
“Five percent?”
“It can be less.”
Frowns. Settles down onto his chest again. “It doesn’t seem like enough.” Listening to the steady beat of it.
He wants so little from her.
“It was just a number Yor. Leave her whatever you want. Just make sure she never finds out how much it was.”
“Why not?”
“I’m saying: Don’t die, Yor.”
“Oh.” Tightens her grip around his ribcage for a moment. “I’ll try not to.”
“And its worth considering what you’d like done after. With…” He doesn’t say it. What you’d like done with your body. “I’d defer to whatever Yuri wanted. But if its important to you, you should let one of us know. If you’d like to be buried or cremated. If you want to be sent back to Neilsberg with your parents or here, closer to Yuri. It might be easier to write it down.”
If she dies, the Garden will handle it. More than likely there will be no body. Just a story that everyone can live with. So no one ever finds out what she really did for work. So that Yuri doesn’t have to know what she did. Who she was. Really.
“What do you want done?”
“There’s a crematorium I’ve already paid for. It’s in the pile. Closed casket. Don’t let them upsell you into preservation. I don’t want to be filled with formaldehyde like I’m going to an anatomy lab. If you want a funeral that’s fine. There should be plenty to cover it.”
A crematorium. “You don’t want to be buried?” He shakes his head. “What… should we do with your ashes?”
“You can throw them out with the trash that week for all I care.”
Sits up. “Loid!” He can’t be serious.
His eyes are closed. Sunk heavy into the pillow. Cracks them open when she moves. But only barely.
“I don’t. I will be past caring by then. Do whatever would make it easiest for Anya and you.”
“We shouldn’t be talking about this. Not when you’re this tired.”
He doesn’t object.
She should leave. Remove herself from his side and go to bed. He invited her into the room. Not his bed.
She will have a close casket. Just like him. More than likely. Is there some benefit to being burned?
Is that what his wife wanted? Or… Had they not discussed and he still wasn’t sure if he’d made the right choice for her to this day.
But to tell her she can throw him out with the trash if she wants…
Sits up. Squeezes her eyes closed.
“Don’t you want to be buried with your wife?”
His hand brushes through her hair. “If you still want them when all is said and done, I wouldn’t mind that. But I’m sure you’d find someone better than me. Whatever you want. Just don’t feel guilty about it. It’s all fine.”
You’re wrong.
How is she supposed to find someone better than Him?
The only person who might be able to understand her.
Wishes she could say it. Push it into his skin until he believed her. There’s no one else for me. You were exactly what I needed when I needed it and I won’t get that twice. Don’t die. Don’t speak of it so causally.
“I meant your first wife.”
“Not an option.” He states. Offers no further explanation.
“I’m sorry.”
He shifts. Turns onto his side and pulls her into his chest. Her head pillowed on his arm. Nose tucked into her hair. She squeaks. Face burning and heart thudding faster and faster.
Deep breath! This is training! Tolerance training!
“Don’t be. You’re Anya’s mother. That’s more than I ever hoped to find.”
His words slur at the end. Drop off with the demand of sleep.
He is still wrapped around her. An arm draped over her back. Tucked as close to her as he can be. But asleep. Can hear it in the measure of his breaths.
Her heart slows.
This is just a contract for him. A deal they made. That black fire proof safe with her birthday as the code is just one more thing he’s asking her to do.
In the same way she’s asking him to stay with her, after graduation. Maybe forever. It’s just an extension of the original agreement.
If I die, would you take Anya? I’ll make it worth your while. Even in death. I’ll make it so easy. Just please, say yes.
She does not get up. Extract herself from his arms or bed.
He asked her to be his wife. But what he wanted most was a Mother for Anya. That at least she knows how to be. Anya is so easy to love. Fully and completely.
Allows herself to be greedy. Pretend that he wants her to be his wife just as much as he wants her to be Anya’s mother.
Because she wants this family. Anya. Bond. And him. All of them.
For a long long time.
There are things in that black box he must not examine too closely.
That it exists at all, for one.
He’s never cared about the clean up. The aftermath. Tosses his papers and the evidence. Wipes the trail clean and disappears. ‘Dies.’
But Loid Forger- a man who lost his wife young. Who has a daughter. Is well enough off to think about Wills and lawyers and have colleagues old enough to bring it up, and suggest them to him. To see death and family argues and tear themselves apart over what is and isn’t in the will. Who gets what. Loid Forger would have one. He’d have thought that through.
Loid Forger sits up at night and thinks about it.
What happens after him.
Anya’s ‘Mother’s’ live insurance. It’s a Wise account. One they put in money for tuition. The reoccurring things they’ve set up to pay without extra invoices or argument.
If he puts money in there, every paycheck, that’s just what Forger would do. Make sure his first wife’s wish for Anya to go to Eden is never in doubt. That it remains secure.
His life insurance is very real. It’s a benefit of his office. The hospital offers it and he signed off to pay for the largest one that he didn’t think would send the SSS sniffing after it.
Because that’s the real thing. There are really only three ways this all ends.
‘Loid Forger’ dies and he’s extracted. They cry and get whatever money the perfect husband and father squirreled away for them. Whatever he has left to make it easier. He has not asked what Wise will do to keep them safe after. He’s never before and to ask now is to damn himself to knowing.
Ignorance is a sin.
But they will ask why he cares, what’s different this time? And he will have to answer. So he doesn’t.
Some things shouldn’t be examined too closely.
Another is that he actually dies.
If he is lucky, Wise will get to his body first. Burn him to ash before anyone can pull secrets from his corpse. A closed casket will alleviate any guilt. No preservatives or chemicals makes it easier to fake his death if need be. Burning removes any evidence they could one day dig up.
If he is not, he hopes Yuri is enough to convince them it was just “Loid Forger” who was fake. That Yor and Anya are cleared of suspicion. That the secret police do not tear them apart for the mistake of being caught in his web.
When they toss his ashes in the garbage then, it would be with good reason. But if there is a tangle in them that still doesn’t believe it, they can do it without guilt.
The third option, he is careful not to examine any closer than is necessary.
If ‘Loid Forger’ is dead and Yor follows suit.
You made me her godfather?! I’m an informant not a goddamn babysitter! Take your damn kid back!
He can hear Franky now.
Feel her in his arms. Her wailing. Trading one dead parent for another but in the end what she gets is him. Someone she’d know is a liar and a fraud. Who died and left her and didn’t even have the decency to actually be dead. What a false comfort it would be.
Makes those other four families look good by comparison probably.
Or he is actually dead. Franky is handed her and the money and-
Franky will figure it out. Doesn’t think much further past that. She’ll get a much nicer orphanage if nothing else.
Yor is next to him in the bed. His hand holding her waist. Draped over her stomach. He’s surprised she let him get away with that. That she didn’t punch him through the ceiling for holding her close like he did.
There is the fourth option. The one Yor seemed to be mad at him about last night. Now that he’s awake enough to put together what she was saying. At least in part.
The fourth option. The one everyone prefers.
That no one dies at all.
That’s not the one you consider when writing a will. What if everything goes well? What if no one dies? What if we make it to be old and grey and surrounded by grandchildren who love you fiercely in those final moments and we have to rewrite the whole thing because that one we wrote when we were thirty and still thought the world was going to end doesn’t make any sense at all now.
What if he- like Yor did with Yuri- makes it until she turns 18. Thirty. Until Anya herself is old. He and Yor, older still.
That black box is easy. It is everything he’s come to expect in life. The early departure of parents and loved ones. Being left alone to fend for yourself. That hope and connection is just how your break your own heart. Until its numb enough not to feel.
But what if the world doesn’t end?
If the wall comes down. If peace wins. Day after day and so certain that its not even a question for them anymore.
What if Loid Forger never dies?
If he has to take care of himself. Get checked regularly for stomach cancer thanks to the damn ulcer and bake Anya cookies for graduation and take Yor out on dates Wise no longer agrees to pay for.
What if someday Anya calls him ‘Papa’ not just because he told her to. Or Yor lets him propose again without knocking him from the Ferris wheel and he’ll actually have a ring that time. One that won’t slip through a hole in his suit.
What if he gets to wake up with Yor in his arms. Kiss her on the forehead and drag himself to he kitchen to make them breakfast. Every morning. For the rest of his life?
Carefully extracts himself from her hold. Tucks the blanket around her shoulders. Goes to start breakfast.
Considers. A day he can hardly imagine. Of taking them to Westalia. Showing them around Luwen.
Telling Yor. I don’t want to be cremated. Everyone else got a closed casket, if they didn’t just get a mass grave. I don’t want more than them. But I want to be buried in Luwen. Wanted to be. Not that it was allowed. But that’s too far. I don’t want to be buried so far from the two of you.
But you don’t plan for that future. Lights the stove. Pulls out the eggs. You don’t plan for a perfect happy life where nothing ever goes wrong.
You plan for the worst. Try to soften it into something survivable.
If you never need them…
“Papa.” Anya rubs sleep from her eyes. “Morning.” She grumbles. Flops down on Bond.
“Morning. Breakfast will be ready soon. Brush your teeth.”
“Mmmgh…” She objects.
Imagines it. What Yor wants him to. A long and happy life. Anya grumbling just the same about getting up as a teenager. Long gangly teenage limbs petting Bond with his grey muzzle.
You still have to build that life. Insulate it from the hardship that will come. If that will never gets used-
That’s fine with him.
“Papa?” She blinks over at him. Frowns like she’s got something to say.
“What is it?”
“…” She thinks. Turns to the hallway. “Mama’s going to be mad you’re not resting like the doctor man said to.”
A moment later his bedroom door slams open. Yor’s near silent steps pad down the hall. Glares at him something fierce. “You!”
“Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Sit down.” She orders. Hurries to the kitchen. “I’ll finish it!”
Anya grabs her before she can. “Uh uh. It’s almost done Mama. It’s okay.”
“Set the table?” He asks of her instead. She furrows her brow and glances between the two of them. “I promise to go back to bed right after you two head out.”
She relents. Grabs the plates from the cabinet. Anya sighs in relief and flops down in the middle of the floor. Yor whispers to him. “Please don’t overdo it. If there’s anything I can do to help-”
“I’ll let you know. I promise.”
It is not a promise he is good at keeping. It’s against his nature.
But for so long his nature was war. If he wants to live in the world he builds after. If there is still some path where that black box stays closed forever. Contents: Unused. He will have to become someone who’s nature is something different.
“I just like cooking for you two.”
“… Alright.” She agrees. Taking in that seed of truth that makes all lies good. “Thank you.”
It’s not much of a seed anymore.
It might just be ‘the truth’.