Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It hit him in the golden glory of an autumn evening, as he stood in his kitchen: an innocent thought, crashing into his mind with the mundane levity of a train in motion.

There’d been nothing truly exceptional about that day, really. The sky has been bare all day if not for the occasional clouds there and here, the breeze lukewarm and friendly, the streets singing to the rhythm of animated chatter and curious passersby. The whole Forger family had been on its day off, so he’d taken advantage of the weather to lead Yor, Anya and Bond to the park, hoping – in vain, to be fair – to tire out the over energetic child.

As expected, Loid (he wasn’t still quite used to the name, but it was coming along nicely) had been the one who ended up utterly exhausted – but that had come with a bone-deep satisfaction and a pleased mood, magnified with the swirls of golden leaves whirling around them, rustling and swishing in wordless whispers, and the echoing laughters of delight from Anya and Yor.

The surprise had taken place upon their return, under the form of a shy request from his wife.

“Would you teach me how to make a stew?” she’d asked him, her hands joined and voice laced with eagerness. “I’d like to improve my cooking – it’s not fair of me to expect you to take care of every meal without participating myself.”

He’d blinked, taking in her pleading expression, and the quiet blush of embarrassment on her cheeks.

“I don’t mind cooking, Yor,” he’d said honestly, and had tilted his head ever in dismay when her expression fell slightly. “You have nothing to feel bad about, especially when you’re already doing so much around the house–”

“I know,” she’d cut in, gently. “Just– please?”

He realized then the true nature of her query – being able to cook to please, and not out of obligation – and didn’t quite manage to stop himself from smiling. “Of course. Did you have a recipe in mind?”

She did, in fact, have a recipe in mind; a simple beef stew, with potatoes, carrots and onions. Something easy enough for a beginner, yet more than rewarding and rich on the tongue.

Which was how he found himself standing in his kitchen, cutting freshly washed carrots into thin slices while keeping an eye on the broth warming on the stove. Anya was busy watching yet another episode of her favorite cartoon, humming along to the tune Loid now knew by heart; Yor had been tasked with cutting the meat into small cubes (easier for a child to eat, he’d explained, slicing a few bits in an appropriate size for demonstration), and she was treating her own mission with the greatest importance.

Bond, amusingly, had left Anya’s side, instead remaining glued to the kitchen entrance, poorly feigning disinterest in the cooking session as he waited avidly for a piece of meat to miraculously escape Yor’s steady hands.

He watched them, something not unlike fondness flickering in his chest, when it hit him.

This acquired domesticity was for nothing but his own benefit.

He froze, hands stilling mid-movement, eyes blinking uselessly while the realization truly took place.

There, hidden behind the façade of their home, there would have been little need to keep this charade of theirs ; he could easily ensure the success of his mission by making sure Anya was doing her homework correctly and behaving in an appropriate manner at school, while keeping a friendly and strictly professional contact with Yor. He could have merely decided to forget about the nice weather or newly opened restaurants, to instead spend his days planning and cleaning his weapons like he had done so many times in his previous times undercover.

They would still have acted as one close-knitted family to outsiders, and no one would have been able to tell the difference. Instead, they’d gone to amusement parks and museums, tried out new restaurants and food stands every week.

Before this one mission, the only instances during which he had held a knife had been far more sinister – all of them leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, blood on his hands, and an unshakable weight on his soul.

Before this one mission, he had only ever really talked to people in order to obtain information relevant to his mission. His cooking experience, acquired during a past cover as a highly renowned chef, had been swept to the back of his mind for years, his meals forsaking taste for quick and efficient nutrition.

And there he stood now, making small talk with a woman he called his wife, glancing fondly at a little girl he called his kid, cutting carrots for dinner, and half-heartedly scolding an enormous dog whenever the animal ventured a little too close to the food.

All of this would disappear, eventually. That he knew. The mission would succeed, and he would leave, to become nothing more than a flickering memory and a whispered name. The prospect of returning into the shadows’ embrace should have been a comfort – a lesser exposure for a greater safety was one of the prime rules of espionage, was it not?

And yet the thought caused waves of uneasiness to roll in his stomach, with him being all too well aware of the twinge of reluctance slowly taking root in his chest.

The mission would end, and Loid Forger would disappear along with it.

The back of his neck tingled, and he was suddenly aware of the insistant yet familiar feeling of being watched. Loid raised his head, eyes leaving the half-cut carrot in order to flicker around the room, and his gaze landed on Anya.

Fictional spies and magnificent adventures long forgotten, the child was now staring at him with what would have been her usual stubbornness, if her lower lip hadn’t been wobbling and her eyes shining dangerously. A tinge of concern tugged painfully at his heart as he tried to decipher her expression, morphing into full, unexplained guilt when he realized he was probably the very cause of her sudden distress.

There were days where Loid found himself regretting not having spent more time studying child behaviors and family dynamics, and this was one of them. Not knowing why the pink-haired girl suddenly looked so pale was already upsetting in itself – but not knowing how to make it better, how to make her feel better, was absolutely heart-wrenching. Not for the first time, he wondered how real parents could even bear to see their child cry, when he had felt ready to burn whole cities to ashes the first time he’d witnessed Anya shedding tears.

“Do you want to help me with cutting the vegetables ?” he offered instead, throat tight yet voice carefully gentle. There was no faking the smile that pulled at his mouth when she agreed with a violent shake of her head, brightening immediately, before all but jumping off the couch to run to him and peek at the table. He helped her settle on a stool, and she glanced eagerly at him.

“Can we add peanuts?”

A chuckle escaped his mouth before he could help it. “Maybe another time. I think we should stick to the basics for today.”

Loid grabbed a potato peeler he considered child-friendly enough from a drawer, and offered it to Anya – he didn’t quite trust her with a real knife yet. “Your mission will be to peel those potatoes. I’ll show you how to do it first.”

Mesmerized by the tool and excited at the familiar wording, the child nodded wordlessly, gaze fixated on him if looking away for a split second would result in an instant failure of the mission. He reached for a potato and peeled it slowly, explaining how to hold the utensil, and made her promise not to put her fingers anywhere near the blade.

Just as he finally allowed her to take hold of the peeler, Loid risked a glance to the side, curious to know how Yor was faring – just in time to witness said woman glaring at the uncooked food before her. She was holding a kitchen knife like she meant to stab the meat with unprecedented rage, fingers curled around the handle in an almost white-knuckled grip. The chunks of meat she’d already tried to cut were in a pitiful shape, lacerated and uneven for some, mashed and almost minced for others. Her usually gentle expression was distorted into a frustrated frown, and she was biting viciously her lower lip.

“Mama is upset,” Anya whispered worriedly next to him.

The child’s murmurs immediately caught Yor’s attention, and her cheeks flared crimson when she noticed both of them watching her.

“I– I’m sorry,” she stammered with an apologetic wave of the hand – not the one holding the knife, he noted gratefully. Her voice was flooded with exasperation and frustration. “I’m really bad at this.”

“It’s alright,” Loid replied soothingly, making sure Anya was still holding the peeler correctly before moving next to his wife’s side, stopping just behind her. The kitchen wasn't that big, after all, and it would easily get crowded with the three of them – four, counting the ever-famished Bond – around the counter. “We all start somewhere. You just need practice.”

For her benefit, he added in a stage whisper: “When I started cooking on my own, it took me several attempts before I realized I needed to add water in order to cook pasta”.

He was rewarded with the tension in her shoulders easing and her frown melting into a warm, amused smile as she turned around briefly to glance at him – maybe in an attempt to determine whether he was telling the truth or simply attempting to comfort her, to which he answered with an easy shrug. “I told you. We all have to start somewhere.”

He then reached out slowly to correct her grip on the knife, arranging her fingers on the wooden mantle with deliberate gentleness, before moving his hand above hers to guide it back to the food. Her head whipped back to the cutting board in front of her, and her hand twitched at the first contact, but she relaxed and nodded in understanding before he could offer an apology or even step back.

The kitchen was quiet, the brush of their clothes almost loud amidst the soft bubbling sounds emanating from the broth – the silence, as comfortable as it was, tickled with a feather-touch at the back of his mind in a moderate warning. There was something unnatural with that prospect, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“It’s easier if you slice it like this,” he explained instead, guiding Yor’s movement while he let her apply the required pressure. “Nerves are hard to slice through, so you might have to remove them altogether.”

Yor gave another nod, focused gaze filled with renewed determination, mouth pinched in concentration. That was something he deeply respected about her : her iron will and her refusal to let embarrassment get in the way of progress and learning were certainly wonderful qualities.

He still didn’t miss the way she was eyeing the first chunks of meat, visibly torn between ignoring their existence of presenting them to him. He answered the wordless question easily, and reached around her with his free hand to bring the morsels closer to them. “It won’t be a problem if you cut uneven bits. It’s for a stew, so it won’t change the flavor. Just make sure the chunks aren’t too big, so they can all cook properly.”

He kept his hand on hers long enough to cut some more pieces – just enough to make sure she’d gotten the gist of it, he tried telling himself – before finally stepping away. Loid watched her working smoothly, a burst of pride aflame at the tip of his lungs at her newfound confidence, biting back a smile as her quiet hums echoed around the room.

That was the precise moment his brain finally managed to catch up with the oddness of the atmosphere. The kitchen was quiet.

Almost silent.

Silence was not a word known to be commonly associated with Anya.

His head whipped back in her direction so fast he almost gave himself whiplash– and he could do little but blink, once again at an absolute loss with how to interpret the child’s expression. Anya was once again staring at them, but this time with her tiny mouth agape, eyes so comically wide they were almost bulging out of her head. Her cheeks were dusted with pink, potato peeler dangling from her limp fingers.

She then noticed his stare, gaze shifting to him and seemingly staring straight into his soul without ever blinking, before catching herself and quite literally shaking her bemusement out of her expression. She gave him what could only be described as a proud smile, and offered him a raised thumb. "Good job."

She glanced at Yor, who was still focused on her task, and he was overwhelmed with the uncanny feeling that she was not talking about showing her surrogate mother how to slice meat into cubes. His throat, for some reason, felt tight.

He distracted himself by glancing down at the half-peeled potato sitting abandoned in front of his young charge. "You too," he offered back.

Anya positively preened under the compliment, puffing her chest out and beaming so radiantly it could have rivaled the sun, and turned back to her potato with buzzing energy.

There was a shift in the atmosphere, after this strange scene - the kitchen became loud and crowded, alive and animated in a way that was more comfortable than Loid could have ever imagined.

Onions sizzled in the pan, the broth bubbling softly on the next hotplate.

Anya sang loudly, regally ignoring how her off-tune voice completely butchered the lyrics of a song he faintly remembered hearing on the radio as she peeled potato after potato, sometimes removing whole chunks along with the skin.

Yor hummed along as she added the meat and carrots to the pot, and Loid intervened just in time to stop her from spilling cooking oil into the now boiling broth, or adding sugar instead of salt.

Bond saw his dream come true as he somehow managed to predict the exact moment a piece of beef fell off the counter, jumping to catch the much awaited treat mid-air before anyone could tell him to stay out of the kitchen.

It was a small, domestic mayhem, a warm chaos etching itself into Loid’s memory.

It held no purpose to the mission.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Eventually, the collective effort came to fruition, and Anya was offered the great responsibility of tasting their meal.

Yor shifted nervously as the little girl dipped a spoon into the stew – but then she held out said spoon to him, and Loid found himself staring at it blankly.

“You have to blow on it,” Anya informed him with all the seriousness and authority a five year-old girl could muster. “You’re stronger than me, Papa, so it’ll cool faster.”

His heart gave another warm tug – he dutifully obliged, pretending to ignore how Yor’s hands failed to muffle her soft giggles, and blew gently on the spoonful until Anya finally told him to stop.

The two adults held their breaths as she took the spoon to her mouth, before freezing on the spot.

Yor sent him a panicked glance – but before he could say anything, Anya squealed, spoon still in her mouth, and jumped excitedly in the air.

“This is so good!” She cried out in explosive joy, pointing at the stew. “Mission is a success! I want more!”

The relief that washed intensely over him was not unlike the one he would feel after defusing a bomb, and it took him the entirety of his willpower not to let out an appeased sigh.

“Let’s set the table,” he managed to say, still feeling a little light-headed, “and then we’ll have dinner.”

Anya took off immediately with a cheer, obviously determined to get her hands on more food as soon as possible.

A warm weight landed on his arm.

Loid turned his head to look at Yor, who had stepped closer to hold his forearm gently.

Her eyes were glowing with delight, rubies of warmth and affection focused so intently on him it almost hurt, and for a short lapse of time the only thing he could think about was how the fading daylight spilled specks of pure gold into her irises, how it caught the arch of her lips and oh – her smile was worse, actually, so much worse. It was quiet and shy and yet absolutely radiant, oozing a gratitude that reached to the very core of him, taking with it all the oxygen in the room, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away –

“Thank you, Loid. For everything.”

It took him a second to remember how to breathe, and yet another to realize he was supposed to answer. It was quite honestly a miracle that his voice sounded as steady and poised as ever when he answered. “Of course, Yor. You did good. You can be proud.”

There was something strange and warm bubbling in his chest as Loid watched from the corner of his eyes the two girls setting the table, chatting excitedly about the incoming food - the feeling of it all was utterly foreign, almost dizzying and yet not quite unpleasant.

If only for moments like this, he found himself hoping he could keep being Loid Forger just for a bit longer.

The warmth of her hand lingered for hours afterwards.

Chapter Text

Loid was a light sleeper.

Not that it was a real surprise – it came with the job. His life was constantly on the line, the shadows in the corner of his room dancing with perpetual threats. It was a pure need for survival, to be able to rouse from sleep at the first suspicious noise, at the lightest brush of a foot touching the floor, and to manage to assess his situation no matter where he was.

Which was why he remained perfectly still despite startling awake in the middle of the night, eyes flinging open for a split second, before immediately closing as if they’d never been open to begin with (-don’t let them know you’re awake; let them think they still have the advantage over you-), chest heaving slowly as he forced his breathing to remain deep and regular.

His heart was pounding wildly in his ribcage, mind whirling with the remnants of an already fading nightmare – he forced both of them quiet, and instead kept a sharp ear out, listening for any foreign noise or suspicious shift of air. It took a few seconds, but he heard it.

Faint, muffled sniffing.

Oh, Anya, he thought achingly, fingers uncurling from the gun he’d grasped automatically under his pillow and clicking the safety back on, before he raised from his bed. Loid padded softly along the halls, keeping his step especially feather-clad as he passed Yor’s room, and knocked quietly on the child’s room.

A surprised hiccup rang from the other side of the door, followed by a litany of footsteps – boom boom boom boom, along with a skid of claws against wood – and then the door creaked open, revealing a disheveled Anya. Even in the ambient darkness, there was no difficulty in noticing her wobbling lips, trembling firsts and tears-ridden cheeks. Bond whined softly behind her.

“Can I come in?” he whispered, and he waited for her to nod and open the door entirely before stepping in her room and sitting on her bed. Her bedside lamp was turned on, projecting a soft golden glow across the room.

The pink-haired girl didn’t move from her spot – she closed the door and watched him settle down, wordlessly, as if waiting for a sign.

Wordlessly, he opened his arms, and offered her a smile.

Boom boom boom boom.

She crashed into his chest with a sob, and buried her face in his chest. His arms curled around her easily, cradling her even closer, one hand unconsciously coming to cup the back of her head while the other rubbed soothing circles on her back as she shook to the rhythm of hiccups and wails. Bond came to a stop at the foot of the bed and rested his head on Loid’s knee, looking as distressed as his little mistress.

He made sure to appear as relaxed as humanly possible, and consciously relaxed his already tense muscles. Having an idea of the cause of her distress didn’t make it easier to hear, but there was no use in making her even more anxious than she already was. “Was it the same nightmare?” he asked quietly. “With that doctor?”

She nodded against his shirt. “It hurt,” she whispered, brokenly, before crying anew.

Anya was a bright, joyous child : the very embodiment of childish innocence and enthusiasm. She possessed a heart bigger than the earth, and when she grew up she would move mountains with the sheer force of her generosity. Yet it was painfully obvious that whatever she’d already lived through this short, short life of hers had taken root into the back of her mind, to come and haunt her in the deepest hours of the night. Loid could catch glimpses of it sometimes – it showed in the way she grew uneasy around tall, towering people, in the way she’d grown pale and quiet that one time he’d shown himself too severe with her homework (he’d harshly promised himself to never, ever, make her feel that way again), but it was especially noticeable whenever doctors were mentioned.

While he could suppose most children were rationally scared around them, the memory of violent shakes rattling her whole body and tiny fists clutching his hand as if clinging for dear life – all of this, at the mere sight of a white coat and a stethoscope – had left a bad taste in his mouth.

That unpleasant feeling had morphed into blood-curdling horror when he’d first heard her crying out in the middle of the night, and he’d make the impulsive move of barreling into her room, gun raised and already assessing the potential danger – which, unfortunately, was one of the invisible kind. Strangely enough, instead of his rash mistake scaring Anya even further, she’d been utterly fascinated by his dramatic entrance, and tears had then melted into giggles.

That night, he’d been quite glad for her passionate love of spy-inspired fiction. Tonight, he was even more grateful for Bond, who’d stayed at her side the entire time, attempting to offer comfort with his soft fur and gentle nudges.

He wished he could just take her pain and fears away in a snap of his fingers, that he could promise her she’d sleep soundly every night – no one, especially not a child, deserved to be haunted this way.

He wished he knew how to help.

His attention was so entirely divided between his absent musings and the warm, small body in his arms that he barely reacted when the mattress dipped lightly on his left. He turned his head to watch Yor settle next to him, studying Anya worriedly, the soft glow of the bedside lamp causing her eyes to shine in unveiled concern; she reached out to pet the child’s hair softly, and her fingers brushed minutely against Loid’s hand with each motion. She was dressed in pale pink pajamas, her long dark hair flowing freely to the small of her back – a picture of quiet intimacy that made his throat feel dryer than the desert.

The small, paranoid and mission-oriented part of Loid reminded him weakly that the ease with which she’d reached his side unnoticed should have been alarming, and yet...

It wasn’t.

She glanced at him, then, and mouthed silently: “Is she okay?”

He shook her head no. His arms were still shaking from sobs that weren’t his, his shirt growing damp with tears he hadn’t shed. But he would stay until she felt better, and would make sure she felt safe enough in her own home.

Anya’s trembling eventually calmed down, her full-bodied crying fading to quiet, tired sniffling. She moved away from Loid’s chest and glanced up at him, eyes flickering between Yor and him with the unspoken guilt of having brought them to her room in the middle of the night.

One hand raising from her back, the other untangling from her ruffled hair, Loid gently cupped the child’s small face, using the pads of his thumbs to erase the glinting memories of tears on her cheeks. His heart lurched as Anya leant into his touch with a small hiccup.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” he asked her. His words were barely louder than a murmur, but it echoed strongly in the quiet room. “You shouldn’t stay on your own after a nightmare.”

“I wasn’t a-alone,” the child argued, voice wavering. “Bond was with m-me.”

The dog let out a small woof of agreement. Next to him, Yor smiled, reaching out to pet his head with radiant affection, hand sliding down to scratch his chin. The gentle giant closed its eyes in bliss.

“Good boy,” she cooed. Bond wagged his tail at the praise.

Loid felt himself smile. “He is.”

They stayed silent for a while, neither adult willing to push, until Anya finally added: “I didn’t want to wake Papa or Mama up again. You were tired.”

He had been. He still was. And he was willing to be for longer, if that meant she could have a peaceful night.

(It was all for the sake of the mission, of course.)

“Anya. I will never mind if you come and wake me up after a nightmare.”

“Neither will I,” Yor chirped kindly, shifting even closer. “So if that happens again, come and tell us, alright? We’ll chase the nightmares away together.”

Anya nodded, relief flooding her features, and she relaxed even further. “You too, Papa,” she mumbled against his chest, and his blood ran cold. “You don’t have to be scared of the bad dreams.”

He forced himself not to react.

Oh, this was bad. Really bad. Because if Anya somehow knew, then maybe Yor did too – and that meant he might have talked or screamed during his sleep, without even being aware of it. Most of his dreams held little to no logical trails of thought: most of them were filled with dust that invaded his lungs and irritated his throat and eyes, blood that stained his hands and spread unendingly on the ground – but if he’d talked, if he’d spilled secrets or revealed details about the mission –

But now was not the time to think about this; Anya, ever the frighteningly perceptive child, was looking at him worriedly, so he pushed the panic down, swallowed it with practiced ease, and offered her what he hoped to be a reassuring glance. She’d talked quietly, and the words had been muffled by his clothes – considering that Yor hadn’t shown any reaction to her words, there was a chance she hadn’t heard them, and he hoped dearly that was the case.

Loid Forger couldn’t afford to mess up.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” the small girl added, and he gratefully took advantage of the reprieve to steer the conversation into that much safer direction.

“You’ll be too tired tomorrow, if you don’t sleep more,” he reasoned, ignoring the wild pounding in his chest. After a pause, he added: “Besides, even Bondman would go back to bed.”

It hit the intended target. “You really think so?” she asked in a tiny voice, mind easily distracted by the mention of her favorite character.

Yor smiled. “He’s right. How would he be able to be so clever and strong without a good night of sleep?”

“Yes,” Anya hummed under her breath. “He needs sleep or…” Her eyes flickered to Loid. “that will compromise the mission.”

A shiver ran down his spine just as she yawned. This favorite show of her had made her adopt a vocabulary that sometimes hit just a little too close for his comfort.

“Can we…”

Pulled away from his musings, he blinked at her. The tell-tale biting of her lips betrayed her hesitation, as her eyes darted between Yor and him.

“Can we hug? All together?”

He found himself saying yes before his mind could catch up with the implications of her request – and next to him, Yor nodded with a smile, apparently not minding the prospect of more intimate contact.

He'd always been wary of physical touch – proximity meant danger, and yet as always Anya was the exception; when she would initiate contact with him, whether it was to take his hand, wrap herself around his leg, or fling herself at him for a hug when he was laying down, his defenses always seemed to fall instead of raising like they should have, years of training and honed survival instinct melting to nothingness in the bright face of a pink-haired five year-old.

This time again wasn’t any different, as she settled more comfortably against his chest while making sure his arm was still curled around her, reaching towards Yor and taking her hand to bring her even closer. Bond whined, refusing to feel left out, and pressed himself as close as he could to the edge of the bed, dropping his head heavily on both of Loid and Yor’s brushing knees.

Yor chuckled, using her free hand to brush against the dog’s white fur, before she rested her head comfortably against his shoulder.

His mind went blank.

So blank, in fact, that for the minutes that followed he was only able to remain aware of the friendly warmth of three bodies pressed against him, the weight of their touch undeniable yet unthreatening, and the symphony of soft and regular breathings that he found himself matching unconsciously.

It was only when Yor spoke to Anya that he managed to bring himself back into reality.

“Would you like a lullaby?” she offered. “It’s been a while, but… I used to sing one to my brother to help him fall asleep, when we were children.”

Anya, unsurprisingly, accepted with charming eagerness. The edges of fear had all but melted away from the emerald shine of her eyes, the weight of nightmares no longing haunting her expression – she finally was back to the enthusiastic, attaching child that rhythmed his days through chirps about peanuts, spies and annoying classmates, despite the yawns that now escaped her mouth every few minutes or so.

Without even a shift away from his shoulder, Yor began to sing. It was just a hum, at first, as if she was slowly easing back into the memory of her lullaby, and the echoes of her voice reverberated through his entire body in pleasant vibrations.

The song itself was something slow, simple but warm. It washed onto his soul, wrapped around him like swirls of sunlight. Anya sighed contentedly, eyes already closing and whispering something about a pretty voice, and he couldn’t have agreed more. The tune was foreign to his ears, but it lulled him in, and he found himself closing his eyes as well – and for a few minutes that seemed to stretch into infinity, he was pulled back into that strange reality where there was nothing but Yor’s melodious, comforting hum, a tiny fist grasping his thumb, and the prospect of belonging there growing more tangible with each passing heartbeat.

It took him a while to register that the singing had stopped, and he opened his eyes with what almost felt like reluctance. Anya was sound asleep, a slight smile on her lips, snoring softly in rhythm with Bond’s slow breathing.

Yor straightened, and moved away from him. Loid got the distinct feeling that the proximity they had shared during this night would remain obligingly unspoken about, and he had no idea whether to feel immensely relieved or disappointed at the prospect.

Just what was going on with him?

“You’re so good with her,” Yor whispered wistfully, watching Anya’s content expression with a nearly unbearable fondness.

He sent her a surprised glance, raising an eyebrow slightly. “You’re the one who sang her to sleep.” A short, considering pause lulled in the air. “Thank you for this. This was a beautiful lullaby.”

She shrugged, as if uncomfortable with his gratitude. “It’s nothing, really. I used to do this all the time, when my brother had trouble falling asleep. But I- I haven’t known Anya for that long, no matter how much I love her. I wish I knew how to help her, comfort her like you did. You’re a great father.”

The words all but punched the air out of his lungs, his chest tight and heavy at once. He felt like - no, he was an impostor, his entire self built on lies and deceptions. He had no right to call himself a father, despite his ever-surprising fondness for Anya, and he felt a surge of disgust towards himself – because, really, he had no rights to Yor’s admiration, not when she was clearly more deserving of the title of parent than he would ever be.

But he also happened to know better than anyone how Yor felt, and what she needed to hear.

So instead, he forced out: “And I think, Yor, that you make a wonderful mother. You should give yourself more credit. Anya’s lucky to have you.”

Her eyes widened, and he turned away from her, because he knew with a soul-deep certainty that whatever he would find in her gaze would break the last, miserable crumbles of his resolve to remain strictly professional.

“Let’s put Anya back to bed and go back to sleep,” he choked out, immensely grateful for the need to whisper; there was no doubt his voice would have cracked, had he talked at a normal volume.

They moved slowly, careful not to jostle the sleeping child too much while the dog obediently moved to settle at the foot of the bed frame, and they both heaved a small sigh of relief after she was once more tucked comfortably under the sheets.

“Goodnight, Yor,” he told her once they were back in the hall, stopping at her door. “I’m sorry that you were woken up. And – thank you.”

The smile she offered him was shy but genuine. It made his stomach twist pleasantly. “It’s no trouble. I’m glad I was here, actually. Goodnight, Loid.”

She moved to open her door but then paused, turned half-way back to him, expression more hesitant.

“And,” she added, almost too quietly to hear, “if you have nightmares, too, you’re welcome to talk about them with us. Don’t fight against them alone.”

She was gone before he was even able to process the words.

Anya’s words hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he’d hoped.

His mind whirled too violently for him to find sleep, after that. It refused to find peace in slumber, and instead decided to replay the night’s events, again and again – and as frustrating as this kind of spiraling could sometimes be, Loid found that this specific one wasn’t quite as unpleasant.

When sleep did find him, hours later, it was blissfully deep and dreamless.

Morning came too soon for his taste – and he was startled awake not by his alarm or a suspicious noise, but by an overexcited Anya jumping into his bed and flopping on his stomach heavily, whining that she was hungry.

It was only as he prepared her breakfast that he realized he hadn’t heard any of the things that would usually have woken him up immediately; not the door’s discreet creaking that would occur when it was opened even with the utmost care, nor the child’s energetic footsteps, nor the sound of Bond’s wagging tail hitting the walls repeatedly as he followed her. It wasn’t like Anya was known for being sneaky, either, which made it all the more unsettling.

An even stranger explanation started pushing at the back of his mind – something ridiculous about a growing, subconscious trust towards certain individuals taking over his deeply-rooted survival instinct – so he refused to think about it any longer and instead blamed it all on exhaustion.

As Anya devoured her meal with ferocious appetite, Yor pushed a freshly brewed mug of coffee into his hands. “It’s like last night never happened,” she chuckled easily. “She’s as energetic as ever. What about you? Did you sleep well?”

He smiled at the knowing edge of her voice, and took a sip of his coffee. It tasted evenly, and the warmth that spread through his fingers even more so.

“I did.”

Chapter Text

Spring was lovely.

Had he been asked to put personal feelings aside, Loid would probably have considered autumn to be his favorite season: although the crumbling of leaves made it hard to move safely while remaining undetected, it could prove to be an priceless ally in discovering enemy positions or hiding under the dizzying twirls of oranges and brown that carpeted the ground.

Autumn, he supposed, also represented best his namesake; the days would fall shorter, light dimming and colors fading with growing urgency at each sunset.

But spring – spring was hope, and it was this very same feeling (fluttering, tenacious, never quite fading) that had kept Twilight alive for so long. The harsh burn of ice and snow was starting to melt under the bloom of shy warmth, the burst of vibrant floral shades. Grass would grow once more verdant and shy, trees would shiver with new, shy leaves, and dew coated the whole with its humid glaze until the late morning. It was cold, still – the kind of cold that crawled under his clothes, but not deep enough to reach his bones in mere minutes. The kind of cold that could be soothed away with a warm drink, without having to spend hours shivering in front of a fireplace.

Spring, it seemed, was also a deeply loved season of Bond’s.

Although for a very, very different reason.

Loid had never been able to truly determine the dog’s breed – not a pure breed, most certainly, but something close to a Great Pyrenees or a Tibetan mastiff, if his size and thick, white fur were anything to judge by. His gentle, affectionate personality was typical of those dogs, too – much like his energy. Bond would grow restless and excited when he had yet to enjoy any of his two walks of the day – and his eyes would gain a longing desperation on weekends, knowing there was a great chance he would be taken to the park to run around freely like he would sometimes be allowed too, on days there was no one else around.

Now that the weather was getting warmer and sunnier with each passing day, the dog’s energy only seemed to amplify.

It was thus not a real surprise when Yor suggested a walk to the park, yet Anya’s and Bond’s excitement would always be something that made a smile pull at his mouth. It had rained, the night before – the air was crisp and humid, a last reminder of the fading winter, and muddied water puddles had formed all around.

And Bond, as it appeared, loved mud.

He’d stepped into the park, walking obediently alongside Loid, sniffing the air with great interest – but then his gaze had zeroed on a huge, brown puddle the size of a bus, and Loid had found himself propelled forward before he could even process the dog’s sudden behavior change. He’d let go of the leash in a pure survival instinct; dislocating his shoulder by trying to hold on to a hundred-pound beast had not seemed like a good idea, and he doubted he could have stopped Bond even if he’d been physically and mentally prepared to.

Which left Loid and Yor staring in mild horror and absolute despair as a giant, currently brown dog rolled around with overjoyed barks, as if Bond had just discovered the greatest wonder that life could ever offer, while Anya squealed in laughter, body shaking through uncontrolled gasps and hiccups.

The dog was more tornado than animal, jumping with relentless frenzy into the large pools of mud that had formed into the park overnight, rolling and squirming furiously within them like it was his truest purpose. And then would come the apotheosis of his joy: a jump back to his four, sludge-covered paws, a deep and long breath, and then a great shaking of his entire body – an explosion of mud, a firework of dirty splatters.

He would pause, then, basking in complete joy, before doing it all over again.

Of course, despite both of Yor’s and his attempts, the dog remained utterly deaf to their calls and pleas, running around the park, barking and jumping to his heart's content. He was usually extremely attentive, and well trained – but right there, right then? Loid suspected not even the smell of grilling meat would have stopped him.

In another lifetime, or if Bond had been anyone else’s dog, maybe he would have allowed himself to enjoy the spectacle. The dog’s joy was contagious, especially coupled to Anya’s relentless giggles – it was a truly gorgeous way to start the day. Birds had started to chirp hours ago, swallows and chickadees flying past them in a swift flutter of wings, and he’d pointed out to Yor on the way some early blooming flowers growing along the path. Had it been any other Saturday, they would probably have then gotten home, and settled on the couch to watch Anya’s beloved cartoons, treating themselves to some snacks and warm drinks.

Such plans were quickly forgotten – all Loid could now think about was how painful cleaning Bond’s unavoidable mess would be.

Yor slipped an arm under his, and pulled him up. He hadn’t noticed that he was still kneeling down, clothes ruined and ego bruised.

“I think we’re going to have to bath him,” she told him.

“And clean the house,” he murmured apologetically. “I doubt he’ll have dried off by the time we come home.”

She smiled. There was a twinkle of amusement shining in her irises, and Loid realized she didn’t seem the least bothered by their unexpected situation. “It’s fine. I needed to clean the floor anyway.”

She still hadn’t let go of his arm. He swallowed with difficulty, but made no move to shift out of her gentle grasp. “I guess it was time to give him a bath, anyway. I heard fleas were more common at this time of the year, so I bought some dog shampoo the other day.”

They glanced back over to Bond and Anya – the former had finally calmed down, and was hopping over to the later. The little girl was breathing loudly, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, cheeks bright red and smile broader than he’d ever seen.

And then Bond looked idly in his direction, tongue lolling and halting in content exhaustion, before promptly freezing as his gaze crossed Loid’s.

He grinned.

Looked like the rebellious dog had just guessed what was in store for him.

“You’re looking a bit scary,” Yor chuckled nervously next to him.

Not that he could blame her – Bond had every right to be terrified, mud-dripping fur, dirt-kissed snoot and smug panting aside.

Because he’d understood from the moment his suit-clad knees had touched the soil that the dog had declared war.

And Loid Forger might have been a devoted father, but Twilight would take no prisoners.

In the end, it wasn’t that much of a struggle to get Bond back onto his leash – mostly because Yor had kindly volunteered to carry the dog back to their house, who seemed all well too aware of the threat it represented, since he’d immediately sat down to Loid’s side with the most obedient and innocent expression a guilty animal could have ever mustered.

Loid didn’t miss the curious glances their neighbors offered them – quite the sight they made indeed, walking through the fanciest streets of the town in all of their muddied glory – but it was almost a relief when he finally opened the door of their apartment. He didn’t manage to bite back the sigh that heaved out of his lungs as the dog padded inside, immediately leaving dirty trails of drying soil behind him.

He mouthed another apology to Yor, and removed his shoes.

“Alright, Bond. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Bond gave him a dejected stare – his ears and tail drooped immediately, and the pleading gaze might have worked if the dog hadn’t looked like he’d just drowned in a pool of chocolate.

Loid felt his eyebrow twitch. “I can assure you – if you cooperate, it will be much more pleasant for the both of us. In the bathroom. Now.”

Bond didn’t end up having much of a choice – Yor had gotten the mop and vacuum cleaner out of the closet already, and the noise the latter caused was apparently something the dog loathed even more than baths.

Loid must have been exasperated at his clothes being ruined, but he wasn't a monster – he helped Bond climb into the tub, made sure that the water was perfectly lukewarm and the pressure not too strong, and then started to brush along the dog’s thick, growingly damp fur in an attempt to make the process more enjoyable.

It, sadly, didn’t work.

Over the first few days after having adopted the dog, considering his imposing size, as well as the gruff tone of his voice when he’d bark, Loid had supposed that Bond communicated in a deep, low voice. He hadn’t been entirely right.

Because Bond went rigid the moment the first rivulets of water splashed against his fur, and immediately started complaining.

It wasn’t anything gruff or low-pitched, though – but rather an insufferable shrill, a long-winded howling from deep within the dog’s chest, a cry resonating against the marble tiles in some kind of infernal lament.

The dog was certainly full of surprises, and Loid found himself wondering which of them was going to be the most painful.

He tried to show compassion, at first. He could understand that forced baths were a most unpleasant experience, especially for a thick-coated breed like Bond’s, whose heavy fur probably felt like cold lead once it started to get really damp.

But the dog was attempting to climb out of the tub with loud yowls, all while dripping wet and still more brown than white, and Loid hadn’t even been able to reach the bottle of soap yet. Mud was running down the coarse fur, and he didn’t dare imagine the state the bathroom would end up in if Bond decided to shake himself now.

He got his answer anyway, a mere seconds later.

“Is everything alright?” Yor asked, peering through the bathroom door, Anya standing close behind her. “We heard… oh dear.”

Loid smiled at the girls. He felt the last edges of his dignity slip between his fingers, along with the droplets of sludge running down his cheeks.

“I think,” he started, voice remarkably steady for a man that was now as covered in mud as his dog, “that Bond doesn’t like baths that much.”

Anya nodded empathically, obviously feeling worse for the dog than for him, while Yor poorly attempted to hide her smile behind her hand. It seemed like he lived in a house full of traitors.

“I’ll help you, Papa,” the pink-haired girl offered, clearly excited at the prospect of splashing Bond with water. “I’ll go get changed!”

She ran off before he could say anything. Ignoring Bond’s loud whines, Loid found himself sending Yor a guilty smile.

“I’m terribly sorry about the mess. I’ll make sure to clean everything.”

“It’s alright,” his dark-haired companion replied easily, stepping into the bathroom. She’d already changed clothes, he noticed then, and had tied her long hair into a high ponytail. “It was bound to happen someday. Here, let me help you too. It’ll be easier with the three of us.”

“You don’t have to-” he started, even as she kneeled down next to him, reaching to pat the dog’s wet snoot in a comforting gesture. “You’ve already done a lot.”

“Nonsense. I’m here because I want to. Besides,” she leaned towards him, smiling conspiratorially, “As unusual as it might be, I think this can be quite an amusing bonding activity.”

He grinned back. “Can’t say I ever pictured myself spending family time this way.”

Her giggles were interrupted by Anya slamming the door open.

“I know what we’re missing! We need bubbles!”

The smell of damp fur was decidedly a strange one, as Loid and the rest of the Forger family discovered soon enough.

“Papaaaaaaaa,” Anya whined out longly like it was his fault, although the complaint’s effect wasn’t quite so strong with the little girl pinching her nose. She was looking at him accusingly, a deep frown etched onto her face. “Bond stinks! I thought baths were supposed to make him smell good!”

Bond whined back, although noticeably softer. Yor and Anya had made an excellent job of calming him down.

“It’s because we haven’t dried him yet,” Loid explained tiredly, resisting the urge to pinch his nose with foam-covered fingers. His arms were aching.

They’d finally gotten rid of most of the mud, and Bond finally looked like a snow-colored dog once again, covered in now pristine bubbles and white foam. The rest of the bathroom had encountered a similar fate, especially after Anya had spilled much more shampoo than what would have been advised under the running faucet – which had led to an expected mountain of froth, much to the child’s delight.

What did they even use in their dog shampoo?

“Or maybe we should use more shampoo,” Anya suggested helpfully.

Loid winced. “I really think we should not.”

“But look,” she pointed out to the bathtub in a dejected wave of the hand. “The bubbles are gone.”

“Not all of them. Here.” He reached out in the tub, scooped some foam with the palm of his hand, and positioned it towards the ceiling to blow into it gently. Irised bubbles flew out from his fingers, and Anya squealed.

A spark of nearly-childish joy burst within his heart, a long-forgotten memory rising back to the surface of his mind; a late summer day, the long, wavy golden hair of his mother, and soap floating around their tiny bathroom.

“Again!” Anya pleaded.

He indulged her once, twice, and then Yor joined in – it became a dance of froth and sun-lit rainbows, a symphony of chuckles and laughter.

He found himself having to catch his breath, and wondered when he’d managed to get so deeply lost in the moment. More strangely enough, he felt no guilt at having enjoyed it.

No, he mused, it was a lie.

There was nothing strange about it. He’d enjoyed himself. He’d been enjoying a lot of things lately, if he had to be honest with himself. He was becoming more Loid Forger than Twilight with each day, each hour, each minute he spent under that name.

And he couldn’t bring himself to feel regret or apprehension over it – not when he looked at them.

Bubbles had formed petals of foam in Yor’s and Anya’s hair – and they were wearing their iridescent crowns with the most absolute grace, smiling at him and Bond with joyous fondness. Loid caught sight of a rebellious lock of black hair, and of a lone pearl of soap that had attached itself to it – he unconsciously leaned towards her to reach it, and brushed his fingers against the silky strand.

Scarlet bloomed at the nape of her neck, and only then he realized what he’d just done.

Anya, her bright perception worthy of being a curse and a blessing at once, intervened once again before he had the chance to say anything.

“Are you going to kiss?” She sounded equally excited and disgusted at the idea.

They jerked away from each other as if burnt, and resolutely went to look at the inside of the bathtub like there was nowhere else they’d rather watch.

Bond gave him a long, annoyed look, and huffed loudly. Froth glided down his back.

“Sorry, boy,” Loid apologized. His voice was a bit strangled.

He tried, and failed, to attribute the burning in his cheeks to exertion.

It took time, but Bond was finally washed and dried – he was offered a treat for his reluctant cooperation, which considerably brightened his mood. They then settled on the couch, television tuned to the much awaited cartoon although its most impatient spectator was out cold, snoring softly with her mouth gaping open.

Not that Loid was feeling much better himself – it was barely eleven in the morning, and he was thoroughly exhausted. He’d just realized he’d been reading the same line over and over again when Yor called his name quietly, mindful of the sleeping girl.

He turned his head in her direction with a questioning glance. She showed him Bond’s slumped form, at the feet of the sofa, his enormous body raising and falling rhythmically. He looked at him in confusion for a moment, before he realized what she was actually pointing at : a patch of fur, on the floor.

“We might have a problem.”

Dogs, as it turned out, would shed a lot after being bathed. It seemed reasonable, all things considered; they’d been thorough with their brushing, and had probably removed a lot of dead hair from Bond’s thick mane, which would now fall at the slightest brush of air.

What Loid had never considered was just how much the dog would be able to shed.

They’d started finding fur everywhere: floating in the air, clinging to furniture and clothes (a pure logistical nightmare, when it came to Anya’s black uniform or the wool of Yor’s cardigan), even getting in the fridge out of all places. They would pet him, only to find their hand covered in white, their shirts sporting another whole layer of material.

He really felt like he was losing the last threads of his sanity; it probably wouldn’t take much longer before fur started invading his dreams too.

He tried brushing Bond several times; the dog was thankfully compliant this time, maybe even grateful as he enjoyed Loid’s ministrations. He lost count of the handfuls of fur he removed; there was probably enough of it falling off to knit sweaters for the entire family.

On the fifth day of finding white hair in his coffee, he glanced at Bond consideringly. “Maybe we should shave him.”

He didn’t, of course – even if the dog’s loud, horrified howling hadn’t been enough of a deterrent, Anya’s aghast expression certainly would have been. Nevertheless, he considered it many, many times over the next weeks, until finally came the blessed first day of a hairless coffee.

Bond, indeed, was a dog full of surprises.

And shedding, as it appeared, was going to be the most painful of them.

… He supposed there were worse fates than his.

Chapter Text

To say Yor had been acting strangely today would have been an understatement.

To be fair, Loid only started noticing her off behavior after she’d come home late; that, in itself, wasn’t unusual – employees at the City Hall office could have it pretty rough, sometimes – but the expression she’d been wearing had certainly been foreign on her face.

She had smiled warmly at him, like she often did when their eyes met, something that never failed to make his cheeks heat up no matter how much self-control he tried to muster. But this little smile of hers had been off, the strangeness of it too small to really be able to pinpoint, yet important enough to leave him unsettled; it felt like she’d been consciously trying to look relaxed, to make herself appear more natural than she really felt.

Her movements were stiff, too – and while she hadn’t lost any of her natural grace, there was something irregular in the rhythm of her gait, an oddity in the way she held herself more rigidly than she usually did.

He’d wanted to ask her, then. Was she alright? Had she encountered any problems at work?

How could he help?

But he’d taken one look at her face again, had taken into notice the edge of exhaustion in her eyes, and the questions melted away from his tongue to be replaced with another.

“Would you rather stay home tonight? I can go to Eden alone.”

Her smile turned more genuine. “I’m fine. If we have the time, just let me take a shower and change. I can’t let you go there alone – we need to make the best impression for Anya.”

Her voice was the same soft melody as always, the pace of her words unperturbed. Somehow, it failed to soothe his uneasiness, and instead amplified it tenfold. Pretending to busy himself with the mail of the day, he checked the time and then watched from the corner of his eyes the dark-haired woman remove her heels from the tip of her feet, and walk to her bedroom.

Three weeks ago, Eden Academy had invited all parents to the prestigious yearly gala that would occur within the school’s very halls – along with an opera and a charity auction, the event was mandatory to those who hoped to mingle along with the highest members of the society and put in a few good words for their precious child. Donovan Desmond would be there, too; this would be the first time in months the man would make an appearance, and the first time in that same time span that Operation Strix had a chance to progress.

The apartment was disturbingly quiet, without Anya – she had gone along with Bond at Franky’s place to spend the night there, since children weren’t allowed at the gala. The man had requested the usual, absurdly high amount of money in exchange for his services, and despite his numerous warnings about not getting attached, Loid was no fool – Franky had fell for Anya’s charms like they all had, and had quickly taken to becoming the fun, weird uncle that tried to make her laugh with silly inventions and lame jokes.

He was pulled out from his musings by the door of the bathroom opening, and Yor emerging from the room in a cloud of steam.

She looked beautiful, as she always did; she’d applied lipstick matching the color of her eyes, an enthralling swirl of ruby and crimson that seemed impossible to look away from. Her dress was lovely, too: long drapes of mull were wrapped around her slender frame, stopping just above her ankles, accompanied with narrow sleeves that dropped slightly as it reached her wrists, and a high, round neckline.

Loid blinked. The clothes were… gorgeous, truly. It fitted her perfectly. But it wasn’t the ones she’d planned to wear for the gala. He knew, because they'd ordered it together, specifically tailored to Yor’s liking. She had opted for a long, backless dark silk chiffon gown that fell to her feet. It had a slit along the left side that rose until mid thigh, was adorned with roses-shaped embroidery around a deep V neckline, and offered winged sleeves that gave her the allure of a nocturnal angel.

“I thought there was another dress you wanted to wear tonight?” he asked with practiced casualness, holding out her coat for her to take and wrap herself in – the air was viciously cold, tonight.

She chuckled, a fake, tense little sound that held no chance to be compared to genuine, amused embarrassment. “Ah, it must have slipped my mind. I was afraid we’d be late, so I forgot about it and took the first dress I was able to get.”

This, too, was a lie – when they’d gotten her dress, he’d watched her put the gown on a hanger, and display it on the door of her closet, her hands hovering admiratively over the material and his mouth pulled into a fond smile. He gave an understanding nod, partly because time was of an essence tonight, and mostly he didn’t wish to force her to answer to him and make her uncomfortable for the rest of the night.

But Yor was acting strange, and Loid was more than determined to find out what was wrong with his wife.

The car ride was silent, rhythmed by the motor’s purr and the passing of other cars. Again, that was nothing really out of the ordinary for them; Loid and Yor were both quiet people, after all, and neither of them felt the need to fill in the void with awkward conversation starters or jokes about the weather. And yet this silence felt different – more tense, like both of them were waiting for the other to say something about this strange atmosphere shifting between them, but with neither willing to take the first step.

They were nearing the Eden Academy’s ground, and Loid clenched his jaw – there was no way he was about to willingly ignore her discomfort for the next few hours.

The mission was crucial, yes. But he wouldn’t do it at the expense of her well-being.

“Are you alright, Yor?” he asked softly, keeping his eyes on the road – he didn’t want her to feel pressured into hiding her expression, but it also made it easier to school his own into a mask of neutral patience.

She’d been lost in her thoughts, and his voice seemed to bring her back from a faraway reality. “Oh, I- yes, I am. I’m sorry. This was a long day.”

That, at least, was what he guessed to be the truth. Guilt pulled at his stomach. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“Of course you should have,” she replied with her characteristic gentleness, turning her head to look him in the eye. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”

He was saved from an answer by the sight of Eden’s majestic gates, and swallowed back the words that were awaiting behind his lips.

Neither do you, Yor.

The buzzing chatter that reached his ears upon entering the hall was a painful reminder of just how big the school was. Scanning the crowd in a futile attempt to take note of Desmond’s location, Loid was easily able to count at least several hundreds of people walking around and shaking hands, all wearing the distinctive sneer of wealthy people who loved to pretend they were better than everyone else while showering the people with power in simpering admiration.

They were welcomed with a speech – honeyed words to thank them for participating in one of the school’s most importants events of the year, wishes of success for their families and children, respectful requests to participate in the auction to help with the academy’s foundings and thus encourage a better environment for their star pupils. Loid listened to it all half-heartedly, preferring to study the people he could see while trying not to look too distracted.

It felt like a breath of fresh air when the headmaster finally stopped talking, nodding respectfully under a bow of applause and exiting the stage. Yor had not moved for the entire speech, he’d noticed; she’d kept her eyes on the man the whole time, and anyone who would have looked in her direction would have thought she was merely paying the utmost attention to the oration, but Loid knew better – there was a distinctive wanness to her skin, and her eyes held the feverish shine of glass.

Unease morphed into fully fleshed concern.

“Are you alright?” he repeated, hand reaching up to the small of her back in what was intended to be a gesture of comfort.

But Yor tensed as soon as his skin came in contact with the dress, and he froze, too, both at her reaction and at the strange feeling under the pads of his fingers. The fabric of her dress felt almost damp, as if it’d been in contact with Yor’s hair after she’d washed it and forgotten to dry it properly.

The problem was that Yor had not washed her hair before leaving.

A couple went to them before he could remove his hand or wait for her answer, and Loid bit back his question, offering an absent-minded smile at the strangers who’d taken to bragging about their children’s results. He kept his hand at her back, but not touching, just barely hovering over her dress. It felt like an eternity passed by before the two of them were finally left alone again, and only then Loid dared to pull his hand away.

His heart dropped as his fingertips came back stained with faint red.

“Yor?” It was his voice who’d uttered the word, but he hadn’t felt himself pronounce it, still numbly trying to make sense of the sickening shade coating his skin.

She turned back, and glanced at him in genuine curiosity before she followed his gaze. He saw the exact moment the realization set in. Her eyes snapped back to his, wide and frantic for barely a fraction of a second, and he knew she could read the hundred questions his own gaze harbored.

“A-ah, I’m very sorry, Loid” she said before he could even think of what to say. She was back to her overly-polite self, cheeks red in embarrassment yet face pale with panic. “I think I’ll have to excuse myself to the bathroom for a few moments. I'll be back soon.”

“Yor,” he tried again, stomach rolling unpleasantly when she moved out of his way instead. “What’s going on-”

He blinked, and she was gone.

He cursed under his breath. It did nothing to make him feel better.

Fate seemed to be in the mood to laugh at him, it appeared, since Desmond appeared at this precise moment, already followed by ambitious and greed-driven couples, moving across the crowd who parted at the very sight of him like the Red Sea.

It was his first opportunity in weeks. In months. The very appearance of his target was a taunting sight, a painful reminder of just how important his mission was, how crucial its success remained. Loid looked back, then, in the direction Yor had disappeared to, hoping to find a familiar mop of hair or an elegant silhouette moving around.

It was never really much of a choice, was it?

There was no one in the women’s bathroom. Loid was almost glad for it, in fact, because it would have been terribly awkward to meet a lady other than Yor inside. But it still meant that his companion was missing, and he doubted very strongled she would have simply gone back to their car.

It was pure instinct that drove him to check the men’s bathroom as well, just in case, and he was immediately rewarded by the sight of a closed stall amidst absolute silence. There wasn’t even the whisper of a breath in the room, despite Loid’s measured panting.

He called out her name, quietly, and was answered with a short intake of breath.

Heart aching, tidal waves of unbridled worry rolling through his bones, he walked to the stall, and knocked softly against the door.

“It’s just me. Can you open the door?”

“I’m fine, Loid. I just need a moment.”

Frustration welled up at the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it back. He had no idea why she was acting like this, what was the cause of it, and he hated it – he was supposed to be observant, to see the details and draw the most efficient conclusions. But when it came to her, he was at loss; his brain stuttered, his heart fluttered, and years of training would melt away at the mere sight of her. It would have been almost cute, any other day – but right now, it only contributed to her obvious discomfort, because he didn’t know what to think, didn’t know how to help.

“Is that why you’re hiding in the men’s bathroom?” he asked instead, trying for a light-hearted tone and only half-succeeding, only to be met with silence.

He placed his palm on the door, despite knowing it was futile. In another place, he would have found the act disgusting, as well, but he doubted that any of the academy’s rooms were anything less than completely pristine. “Please, Yor, talk to me.”

Finally, the door creaked open. Her face was pale, under the luxurious neons, her hand gripping the handle in a white-knukled hold. He was surprised she hadn’t pulverized the wood already.

“Tell me what happened,” he pleaded in a whisper, even as she shook her head.

Yor almost looked apologetic. “I can’t.”

Can’t, or won’t?

“Then tell me this, at least – you’re unwell, aren't you? Are you injured?”

Her silence seemed to stretch into infinity – he could almost see her think, watch her ponder whether to deliver another half-hearted lie he would either point out immediately or accept with burning reluctance, whether to simply deliver the truth as it was and take the risk of revealing what she’d been so intent on protecting. But then, finally, she gave a small nod, barely noticeable and yet the meaning of it so heavy it made him dizzy with relief – she was willing to trust him, at least with a fragment of truth, and that would be more than enough if it allowed him to help her.

“I’m alright,” she said, almost immediately after, like an afterthought that was utterly unconvincing. “There was a small… incident, at work.”

He hummed, knowing he sounded entirely disbelieving, but too preoccupied with trying to assess her state to really care about his tone.

“This school has an infirmary, on the second floor,” he informed her. “Let’s go there and see if there’s anything there that could help you.”

Her eyes widened. “But the gala –”

“The gala will wait,” he interrupted kindly. “There’s no point in staying there if you’re feeling unwell. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Loid took her hand, slowly, gauging for a reaction, awaiting a refusal. She stared at their intertwined fingers with astonishment, as her cheeks retrieved some of their original color, but made no move to retract her hand.

He ignored the flutter in his chest when she gave a light squeeze back.

He navigated them through the halls, melting within the shadows to evade the occasional wanderers chatting around the corridors, and led them to the infirmary. Yor didn’t ask how he knew the path to the room so easily, despite supposedly being unfamiliar with the school’s layout – or maybe she simply did not care, and he was certainly glad for not having to come up with yet another lie in order to cover his tracks.

He was being a hypocrite, was he not? He seeked the truth from her while hiding his own.

The room was locked when they finally reached it. Loid paused for a moment, wondering if he should pick the lock in front of his companion, when Yor moved forwards and reached out to the door with her free hand. She closed her fist around the metal lock, and squeezed. Iron turned to dust under her fingers within mere seconds, and it took him everything not to break in a cold sweat at the reminder that his own hand could very well meet the same fate, should she desire to.

Not that it really worried him; had she wanted to actually hurt him, she would have been able to do so a very long time ago.

The infirmary was bathed in moonlight when they stepped inside – Loid closed the door, and suddenly it was like they had walked into another realm, cut off from the rest of the world. They could still hear the orchestra being played from the main room, distant and muffled behind the walls of their figurative bubble.

The beds were child-sized, and rested much too low for him to get a proper look at Yor; he asked her to sit on the desk instead, her back facing the huge, pale window.

“I would like to look at your back, if you’ll allow me.”

She hesitated. “And if I don't want to?”

His throat tightened. He recognized her question for what it was – a test, an attempt to determine just how much he would accept from her, how much he would push before accepting to stop.

“Then I won’t,” he promised.

It was the truth, and she seemed to accept it as such.

“Would you help me with the zipper, please? she requested quietly, staring straight in front of her, and he obliged.

He almost stopped at the sight of a bandage on her skin. By the time he’d pulled the zipper down entirely, the morbid realization as to why she’d been so off had settled in . The gauze was loose, and bloodied.

He knew she’d heard the small hitch in his breath – she could be as attentive to details as he was, and while he’d always had an excellent control of his reactions and emotions, it simply never seemed to apply to her.

“I wasn’t able to wrap it well,” she explained simply, like she was talking about the weather. “I was mostly concerned about not getting blood onto the dress.”

She paused, and let out a small sigh. “I think I’ll have to look out for stains anyway.”

His voice felt thick. “We’ll take it to the dry cleaner tomorrow morning.”

Whatever she had been looking for, his words seemed to be the correct answer; she relaxed minutely under his gaze, and turned her head to the side, watching him from the corner of her eyes as he inspected the bandages on her back further.

“I might have to remove the dress,” Yor commented, sounding somewhat conflicted at the idea.

“If we want to rewrap this correctly, I think it would be best,” Loid nodded apologetically. His head was spinning, and his mind was still reeling from the sigh of her wound, attempting in vain to find explanations for its presence. “I’m sorry, I know this must be uncomfortable–”

She stood up before he could say anything more, and peeled her dress off her shoulders, allowing the gown to slide to the ground and remaining only in black, sportive underwear. To be fully honest, Loid didn’t even consider the idea of blushing at the action, too preoccupied with the prospect of her injury to really think about the more intimate connotations of their situation.

He did, however, feel the blood quite literally drain from his face as he took in the sight before him.

Yor’s body was a canvas of colors – the expanse of her skin was nothing but blooms of bruises and angry marks; there were bursts of blue and purple sharp against her pale skin, a crimson-stained yet firmly wrapped bandage around her left leg, as well as the loose gauze he’d already seen clumsily arranged around her midback.

The last-minute dress change made more sense, now; her injuries would have been glaringly obvious with her original gown. A wave of white-hot fury and nausea washed over him as he recognized the marks of a shoeprint across her ribs.

He wanted to ask her a hundred questions, to get from her lips a thousand answers; yet the words remained stubbornly stuck in his throat, and only one made its way through the dam of his mouth.

“Yor-”

“Please, don’t ask.” There was a hard edge to her voice, a foreign desperation to her tone. Even as she stood before his eyes, she was resolutely avoiding his eyes, looking intently to the side. Her mouth was set into a tight line – her shoulders, hunched with tension.

Asking was his job; discovering, his mission. Even as Loid Forger, he had to look out for suspicious individuals, potential threats; and Yor, with her obvious lies, her brother’s well-concealed job and her newfound injuries, was now a person of interest.

But for now the only thing that really mattered was the vision of Yor, basked in blood and moonlight – a brave, selfless woman that was nothing like him, and who yet appeared to keep secrets as deep as the ones he hid himself. At this precise moment, with blood on his fingers and darkening shapes littering her skin, she looked nothing like the gentle woman he’d married for the sake of his mission – and yet there was no mistaking her. It was Yor, for all intents and purposes, who had crushed metal with bare fingers moments ago despite keeping the most gentle hold on his hands, who had just shown him more courage and honesty than he had ever offered her.

“Because you won’t tell me, no matter what?” he asked pointlessly, a beat later. He understood that, no matter how frustrating it could be. He’d been in her situation, many times – and he still was. He busied himself with getting a roll of fresh gauze and disinfectant, thankful for the temporary excuse to look away from her wounds, a sight that did nothing to soothe away the boiling rage within him – not directed at her, of course, never at her, but rather at the people who had dared hurt her this way.

“No.”

Loid glanced up at that. Yor had turned her gaze back to him, and was staring with such raw vulnerability and open honesty that his heart ached all over again with the need to touch her and ease her pain.

“Because if you asked,” she started, her soft voice cracking mid-sentence, “I think I’d want to tell you everything.”

He thought about the countless hours he’d wasted in the middle of the night, wondering about the reaction she would have if he told her about his real job, and remembered himself dreaming about the sound of his real name on her lips. There was no word truly strong enough to describe the utter yearning that inhabited his chest, that fickle, stubborn feeling that made him long for affection – not one directed at the mask of Loid Forger, nor at the shell of Twilight, but him, the simple man behind it all, the man who’d forsaken his own name because he’d craved for peace more than anything in the world.

Yor and Anya had given him all of that. They’d made him feel human, competent in a way he’d never felt before; after so long of feeling cut off from the world, they’d pulled him into their bubble, and had turned their cover into a genuine relationship.

They’d made him feel safe.

And he would be damned if he did anything that caused either girl not to feel at least as safe with him.

“Okay,” he finally said, as he gestured for her to sit on the desk once more. He took a cotton ball, sprayed it with a generous dose of disinfectant, and waited for her to obey before stepping behind her once more.

“Okay?” Yor parroted numbly, voice weak with confusion. She didn’t flinch when the cotton came into contact with her wound.

“I won’t ask.”

“Why?”

“Because you told me not to,” he told her, simply.

Asking was his job ; discovering, his mission. That was his mantra. But Operation Strix was a mission as equally important, if not more. For this, he needed the perfect cover – and for such a cover, he needed Yor to feel safe and happy around him. So, really, if he agreed to turn a blind eye to her suspicious activities…

It was only Twilight doing his job, and Loid Forger tending to his wife’s needs.

Yor didn’t answer him, but let out a shaky breath.

“What about Anya?”

“She doesn’t need to know anything about this,” he promised gently, as he reached around her to wrap gauze against her cleaned wound – it looked like the slash of a knife. “We’ll make sure you hold off any strenuous activity for the few next days–” or rather weeks, if he had any say in it, but he doubted Yor would accept to remain idle for so long – “and if she starts to sounds too suspicious, we can always say you sprained your ankle.”

“I don’t know if she’ll buy it,” she chuckled, the sound of it infinitely pleasing to his ears. “She is extremely bright.”

A distinct memory flashed into his mind: Anya, running around with a cardboard box stuck on her head, slamming head first into the couch and falling to her back without being able to get up.

The reason? She’d been chasing after a spy and had needed a disguise.

“She has… her moments.”

Once he was satisfied with the bandage around her back, he moved around to the front of the desk, kneeling in front of her to get a look at her injured leg. That one had been wrapped tightly, and the firm lines of gauze spoke of experience. It clearly wasn’t her first time tending to her own wounds.

“You must have a lot of questions,” she murmured, and he glanced up at her.

She made quite the sight, midnight-tinted hair crowned in moonlight, her eyes almost glinting in the obscurity of the room.

“I do, but… whatever you’ve been doing,” he said softly, “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

She tilted her head, ever so slightly, like she was trying to understand the very core of him – and for some reason, it sent a burst of urgent courage through him, as he added carefully: “Besides, we all have our secrets. I have a few on my own, and I’m not entitled to knowing yours.”

It was more than he’d ever revealed to anyone since he’d left his own identity behind. But then again, Yor wasn’t just anyone.

Something both dark and vulnerable flashed in her eyes. With a hand that held a small tremor, she reached out to him, and cupped his cheek in the utmost tenderness.

“I can’t help but wonder how I was able to meet someone as incredible as you.”

He rose, his own hands trailing up her body in the ghost touch, brushing against her thighs and her arms to come and rest on her shoulders. A hand went to the junction between her neck and shoulder, his thumb delicately sweeping against her collarbone; the other joined the hand on his cheek, trapping it under his fingers.

“You know,” he murmured back, “I wonder the very same thing about you every day.”

Her skin was boiling.

They stayed like this for a while that could have either lasted a minute or an hour, staring at each other in an attempt to decipher the strange soul they were looking at – but a loud bang made them jump apart, followed by applause and polite cheering; fireworks had just started outside.

“We should go,” she whispered regrettably, even as he mourned her touch already. She was already slipping back into her dress, and he offered to help her with the zipper. She held hair up while he pulled it up, her cheeks dusted with pink, and he had to bite back a small smile at the idea that this, of all the things that had happened tonight, was making her blush.

Loid nodded. “We should go back to the car. It’s already late, so it shouldn’t be a problem to leave now.”

“We can stay longer,” she argued with a shake of her head. “You said you wanted to see that boy’s father, didn’t you? Anya’s classmate?”

“I might have changed your bandages, but that won’t be enough. You’ll need antibiotics and –”

“I’m fine. I feel better, now – and this night is one of a kind. We can’t leave too soon.”

She caught his dubious expression, and smiled reassuringly. There was none of its previous tightness, no fake lines in the arch of her lips – only genuine affection.

If only for this, he was willing to make a compromise with her. “What about this: if we see Desm- I mean, Damian’s father, then we’ll try to talk with him. If we don’t, we’ll go home.”

“All right.”

He opened the door for her, and she went past him before pausing at the door frame, and glancing at him. She looked lighter, now, almost relaxed if not for the pain he imagined she was still in – she was less coiled springs ready to bolt at the first show of additional pressure, and more Yor.

“Thank you,” she said, the gratitude almost burning.

Words failed him, so he offered her a smile as an answer, and placed a hand on her back – this time, mindful of her injury.

The darkened halls of the academy offered them a convenient excuse for proximity, and they walked close enough for their shoulders to brush together with each movement.

It turned out Desmond had already left by the time they returned, which appeared as both a disappointment and a relief. He could almost feel the guilt rolling off Yor’s frame in waves, and reassured her that they’d get plenty more opportunities to meet the man.

The car ride back home was, once again, silent – but the comfortable kind, this time, not the heavy quiet that had made the hair at the back of his neck raise as if a bomb had been about to explode.

A thought crossed his mind, and he called out her name gently. He knew she wouldn’t be comfortable with him bringing up the subject again, but he needed to know.

“What about the people who did this to you?”

A dark look crossed her face.

“They won’t be a problem anymore,” she replied vaguely, and Loid tampered down the urge to press for further information and nodded instead.

He knew what it meant ; and while he was glad that she risked no direct retaliation, it also felt utterly infuriating to think he wouldn’t be able to get a hold on the fools who had dared doing this to her.

“If you get injured again,” he requested, feeling oddly self-conscious, “will you please tell me? I... won’t ask questions.”

She did not answer immediately ; but when she did, her voice was a little choked up. “I will.”

He wasn’t sure what to say but opened his mouth anyway, only for her to speak again.

“Will you?” she asked back, shy yet determined. “Will you tell me if you’re hurt, too?”

There was no need to even think about the answer.

“I promise.”

It was risky.

But her smile was worth it all.

Chapter Text

It started with a series of sneezes, early in the morning.

Loid had been barely awake; he had to make the conscious effort of keeping his eyes open, after spending the night gathering intel. He’d received various coded messages, and the ciphers had only gotten more complex since he’d shared that Yor’s brother was part of the secret police – one was never safe enough, after all – and with a child to take care of, night ended up the only time he was sure to be left unperturbed.

The aroma of coffee was heavenly on his tongue, and it was quick to dissipate the remnants of sleep from his limbs. He allowed himself to close his eyes for just a moment to savor the beverage properly – and then Anya, who didn’t seem particularly refreshed either, made a high-pitched achoo, followed by many others.

He cracked an eye open, just in time to witness Anya’s body recoiling from the repetitive actions, her entire frame shaking. When the sneezing did calm down, eventually, the child sniffled with an expression of utter misery and shining eyes that stared straight at him expectantly.

“Baba”, she calls out, nose so blocked she could as well have been calling for Yor, “I donb feel good.”

He took a proper look at her – it was much easier, now that he actually felt awake – and frowned slightly, taking in the reddish blush to her cheeks. “I see that,” he said carefully, stepping to the counter to put the back of his hand to her forehead.

It felt warm – maybe a little more than usual, yet thankfully nowhere close to alarming.

She sneezed again, the noise this time a bit different; he removed his hand from her head, only to see her wiping snot with the back of her hand before reaching for her spoon again. Loid repressed a shudder as he imagined the germs sick children like Anya could spread.

“Let’s go wash your hands, alright?” he ordered gently, ushering the child out of her seat. She obliged without much complaining, although she did sneeze a couple more times along the way.

Yor was in the bathroom, so it wasn’t exactly the best moment for him to enter the bathroom and check the medical cabinet – he wasn’t even sure he had any medicine that was child-friendly, and his secret stash of first aid resources certainly didn’t either. Instead, he warmed milk to make Anya another mug of cocoa – the hot beverage would at least help her feel a little better.

He waited for her to be seated properly before asking: “How do you feel?”

“My head hurts,” Anya complained almost flatly, nose still buried in the mug. Her voice distorted as it echoed off the porcelaine. It was as if she didn’t have the stamina to produce any of the cheerful attitude that always seemed to inhabit her. “I can’t read your – stuff.”

Her stumbling on her words, as if catching herself to say something else than the words she originally intended, wasn’t unusual – but her looking so tired and dejected, though? It was an absolute novelty.

And not one Loid liked, either.

Anya stared up at him. “Can you make it better, since you’re a feelings doctor?”

He sent her a small smile, and reached out to pat her head. If only that was that easy. “I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, I’ll call your school to tell them you’re sick. I doubt you’ll be able to accomplish much today if you’re not resting.”

She nodded, not even the least excited at the prospect of missing school, and Loid felt himself slightly put off by the stark contrast to her usually bright personality.

“Is everything alright?” Yor called out just as he hung the phone, emerging from the bathroom. She noticed Anya, and tilted her head slightly. “You don’t look so good, dear.”

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the young girl pull a grimace, shaking her head no; but his mind got side-tracked by the sight of her. Her hair was damp from her shower, and he caught sight of a rivulet of water sliding down her bang, catching the end of her jaw and running down her neck.

He realized, then, that he was supposed to answer.

“I think she caught a cold.”

“Oh, no,” Yor frowned immediately, reaching out to Anya to feel for her forehead as well.

Loid shook his head; now was not the moment to get lost with distractions, no matter how tempting they were.

He looked back to his young charge and found her staring at him, now, eyes comically wide, and cheeks ever redder – and he wasn’t so sure it was entirely due to her sickness.

He coughed. “Anyway- I’ll be taking a day off today to stay with Anya at home. You don’t have to worry about missing work, Yor.”

“Are you sure it’s alright for you to miss your appointments?” Yor asked him, ever so kindly concerned about his work.

Considering his office didn’t even actually exist, Loid sincerely doubted he’d ever have any trouble – but for her peace of mind, he shook his head reassuringly, and offered her a smile. “I don’t have any today, so it should be fine. I’ll let my colleagues take surprise visits, but I doubt it’ll happen.”

Yor nodded in agreement, although reluctantly; she didn’t seem too happy to leave a sick Anya behind, murmuring words of affection and encouragement to the child. It was only then that Loid realized she must have had experience with sick children – she’d been taking care of her brother when they were younger, after all. She would never truly cease to impress him; she’d remained kind and gentle throughout the numerous hardships she had probably encountered during her entire life, and that itself was more of a strength than anything else.

She would probably have been much better than he was to nurse back Anya to health, too; but that had hardly seemed fair to expect her to work even more than she already did for their cover, especially when she was the one who still had to tend to a real job. Still, he asked her for advice with a sheepness that did not even have to be faked, and she all but beamed in gratitude at his request before listing several meals favored by sick people and different ways to cool down a fever, in case Anya’s temperature was to get higher than it already was.

Once again, Loid couldn’t help but smile, although he hid it under the pretense of having to go back into the kitchen to prepare another mug of milk. Yor might have had little trust in her own abilities, but she really did make an amazing mother. He only wished she could see it as clearly as he did.

Once Yor was gone, he glanced at Anya once more, who now seemed to be fighting sleep as her head kept diving down before jerking up, eyelids fluttering in a desperate attempt to remain open.

It wasn’t like he could ask her to study or do homework while she was at home either – she certainly needed the rest, especially after she’s worked so hard those last weeks to improve her grades.

“You’ll have to rest today,” Loid finally announced quietly, stepping from behind the kitchen counter with the freshly prepared mug of milk. He held it out to her expectantly, and she reached with tiny arms and a quiet ‘thank you’ to sip at it distractedly. “Do you want to watch Spy Wars?”

The mention of her favorite carton was enough to bring her usual smile onto her face, and she nodded with relieved enthusiasm.

“We can watch all the cartoons,” she whispered, eyes widening at the realization. “I’m going to watch all of them.”

She was snoring five minutes later.

Sprawled across Loid’s lap and clutching his jeans tightly, Anya was out cold, and blissfully ignorant of the cartoons still playing on the television, the sound dialed down to a near murmur. He tried not to chuckle at the sight and reached instead for a blanket wrapped over the sofa, covering her with the soft material before diving into his book.

An hour passed, and she showed no signs of waking up, only shifting or mumbling occasionally against the fabric of his clothes. Loid figured it would be better to carry her to bed – she would rest better there, on a firm mattress rather than his bony knees. Once the door to her room was closed, he took the opportunity to call a doctor, only to be told that he wouldn’t be able to get an appointment before the next morning. He requested it anyway, knowing Anya’s illness was unlikely to disappear in a fingersnap, and thanked them.

Lunch came soon enough, and he pulled the young girl out of bed to eat some soup and bread he’d prepared after following of the recipes Yor had recommended to him – and Anya complied groggily, although she was clearly feeling even worse after sleeping.

She then attempted to watch television once more, claiming his soup was helping her feel better already – but he barely had to wait barely ten minutes into the first episode of Spy Wars she was nodding off again, Loid took her back to bed, making her drink a glass of water before tucking her beneath her blanket. She slept the entire afternoon off like this, only emerging from her bed when she needed to go to the toilets or when Loid would come to check on her, giving her water or warm milk while he’d take her temperature. Bond hovered even more than usual, laying down near Anya’s bed as if to guard her from invisible enemies and whining softly when the child would sneeze or cough for too long. Even Yor coming back home wasn’t enough to pull the small girl out of her bed.

Loid went to work once more as dinner approached, chopping vegetables and chicken with Yor’s help as they prepared a rich, deep-coloured broth; the regular cooking sessions she’d requested had significantly improved her skills, and he made sure to compliment her on her progress once again when he offered her to taste what they’d just prepared.

They poured the broth into a bowl and took it to Anya’s room, figuring she’d likely still not feel like coming out of bed. Loid knocked softly against the door, his knuckles rasping against the wood, before opening the door slightly.

“Anya?” he called out, quietly. Bond perked up at the noise, tail wagging slightly, but the bundle under the blanket did not move the least.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled from the covers, a slight groan escaping her mouth as Loid opened the door further and basked the room in light. Headache, then.

“I made some more soup for you,” he insisted, unable to help the twinge of concern that twisted at his gut with despicable tenacity. He felt Yor hovering behind him, and moved aside so she’d be able to peek into the room as well. “And exceptionally, you’ll be able to get some peanuts for dinner.”

Anya whined. It was weak, tired, and nothing like her usual volume of voice. “I don’t want peanuts.”

Loid almost dropped the bowl in shock – and from the corner of his eyes, he saw Yor grow visibly concerned, her hands stilling on the doorframe.

They really needed to get to the doctor.

Yor and him decided to take turns to keep watch in Anya’s room during the night, in case her fever reached worrying levels – neither of them actually had any experience with the way Anya reacted when she was sick, and Loid refused to take any risk when it came to her health by simply assuming she’d be fine throughout the night.

As they stood in the kitchen, sharing a warm drink before preparing for the night, he tried to convince Yor that he would do it on his own, and that she could simply go to bed. She certainly needed to rest after her day at work, especially since it was still the middle of the week.

“I don’t want you to feel burdened with this,” he explained gently, watching as a small frown grew onto her face. “I’ll take care of her – you can rest, alright?”

“I know I’m not as close to Anya as you are, and I don’t wish to overstep” she answered quietly, a glint of self-doubt dancing in her crimson irises, and it took him a surprising amount of willpower to tell her she most probably was. “But she still matters a lot to me. You both do. And I want to take care of her as much as you do – it’s not a burden.”

“It’s not about our bonds to Anya,” he forced out, with more difficulty than he would have liked to admit – her words had winded him out, for some reason. There was a raging war within his chest, a mission-oriented stoicity fighting against a fiery feeling that was not exactly unknown anymore, but that he wasn’t quite ready to officially name yet.

Still, his heart ached at the idea that she was still considering herself as an impostor. At this exact instant, no mission stood between them – it was only Loid and Yor Forger, a dog, and a child. And for the sake of no operation but them, he (not as Twilight but as Loid) had to make her understand.

“We might have met only a few months ago, Yor, but you’re as much part of the family as everyone else under this roof,” Loid explained. “You matter, too, to both Anya and I. I’m sorry if I happened to say something that made you feel anything less than what you really are to this family: a dedicated, loving mother. I was merely concerned that you would be terribly tired tomorrow if you were to stay up for Anya before going to work.”

Yor blinked at him, once, twice, as if processing his words slowly. And then she blushed, hard.

“Oh, I- I’m terribly sorry,” she stammered, sounding absolutely mortified. “I’m afraid I misunderstood your reason for asking me to let you take care of Anya on your own.”

“Oh,” he let out, before letting a chuckle that danced between relief and embarrassment escape his mouth. “It’s alright. I apologize for getting as intense as I did.”

Yor looked down. Even the arch of her nose was painted red from her blushing. “If anything, I should be the one to apologize for misunderstanding the situation in the first place. And it’s– it’s alright, I promise. Your words mean a lot, actually. Thank you.”

They finished their drinks in comfortable silence, before she hummed softly.

“I wanted to take a day off,” Yor started. “Tomorrow, I mean. I’d like to join you for Anya's appointment, if you think that’d be alright.”

“Of course it’s alright. If anything, I think Anya will greatly appreciate you being here too. Won’t you get in trouble at work, though?”

She smiled. “My colleagues were the one to suggest it, actually. I told them I felt terrible about leaving you and Anya behind to come to the office, and they went to pester our superior until he told me I would be excused if I didn’t come tomorrow.” Yor paused with a light giggle. “At least, I seemed to have erased the suspicions they could have had about our family.”

Loid shuddered, remembering the strange women he’d met upon pretending to be Yor’s husband. “Your colleagues are certainly a force to be reckoned with. You did an excellent job, Yor. Thank you.”

They washed the mugs, and went to change into clothes more appropriate for the night – he ended up accepting her help to watch over Anya, since she now seemed twice as determined to take care of the young girl as well.

“I’ll take the first turn,” he still insisted, firm about her getting some rest first. “I’ll come wake you up in a few hours.”

Yor smiled at him, then, all simple innocence and affectionate warmth. “It’s alright. I’ll come to you in three hours.”

He couldn’t help to wonder whether she’d offered this out of sheer, genuine will to help, or if in spite of her characteristic naivety she’d still seen straight through him and guessed he had intended to let her sleep as long as possible.

Either way, he had no doubt she would be true to her words.

And she was.

The mere mention of the word “doctor” was enough to make Anya shiver from something entirely other than fever. She looked even worse than the day before – her skin was unhealthily pale, bearing the distinctive glow of sickness and exhaustion, and her temperature had raised even higher during the night, to the point where Loid and Yor had attempted to cool her off with cold, damp clothes on her forehead.

He hated to see her like this – there was something feral and violent uncurling within him at the sight of her feeling so terrible, something desperate for her to be smiling and babbling again.

“Blease,” she wailed, nose blocked and voice breaking mid-word, her forehead glistening with sweat and her eyes with tears. “I donb wanna go.”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her as he sat at the edge of the child’s bed, already dressed and ready to leave. His voice was no louder than a murmur as he tentatively reached around her to bring him closer to him – she took in the cue easily despite her distress, and all but melted against him.

His heart might have melted a little as well.

“I’ll stay with you the entire time, alright? I’ll hold your hand.”

Still buried against him, Anya didn’t give him an answer – but her sobs had significantly lessened, a sign that she was listening to him.

“They won’t hurt you,” he continued, rubbing circles around her back with his hand – she’s so tiny he barely even moves his wrist. “I won’t let them.’

This seemed like the right thing to say; the child looked up at him, watching him expectantly, visibly torn up between her trust in him and irredeemable fears of anyone wearing a lab coat. He figured a bribe was in order, if he wanted to reach his goal.

“And then we can get whatever food you’ll like.”

That seemed to be the tipping point of the balance. She spoke up timidly. “Even ice cream? With peanuts?”

Loid was tempted to make a face – ice cream for a morning snack hardly seemed ideal. But then again, if it was something she managed to eat without too much trouble, he’d gladly take it; food was still food, and the happier it made her, the better it would be. Especially if her spirits were back enough for her to crave peanuts again.

He had no choice but to nod. “Even ice cream. With peanuts.”

The visit itself went rather well; although Anya had been shaking in the waiting room, clinging desperately to him and Yor for comfort, she had partly relaxed when the doctor – a middle-aged woman with laugh lines around her eyes and mouth – had led them into her room.

She’d been infinitely patient with the child, letting her hold Loid’s and Yor’s hands for entire auscultation, even going as far as getting more chairs around the medical bed for them to sit on while she made Anya cough and inspects her throat.

“It’s just a nasty cold,” the doctor told them reassuringly once she was done. “It’s quite common at this time of the year. Keep her out of school for the rest of the week, make sure she drinks plenty of water, and she should be back on her feet in no time. I’ll prescribe you some medicine to help with her fever.“

They thanked her profusely, the perfect picture of a couple worried for their child.

Loid sincerely doubted any part of it was faked.

“Do you want to get that ice cream now, Anya?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “But I’m tired.”

“What about we get it once you’re feeling better?” Yor suggested, patting the young girl’s head. “That way, you’ll be able to better enjoy it.”

She accepted the counter-offer easily, already half asleep in Loid’s arms as he carried her back to the car. “Mhm-mhm. Okay.”

“You were very brave today, Anya,” he told her quietly as he settled her in the backseat, and the child hummed again at the mention of her name.

Yor brushed against his shoulder and he stepped aside, giving her room, as he watched her bend to give a kiss to Anya’s forehead.

It felt strangely intimate, and the way she placed a hand on her hair to keep it tucked behind her ear was terribly endearing.

“Careful not to get sick,” he reminded her as quietly as he could afford, mindful of the child in the car. He was aware it was maybe slightly hypocritical of him, to tell her to be careful after he’d carried a sick Anya around, but he also knew that his job had at least given him an exceptional immune system.

“Don’t worry,” Yor offered kindly in return with the utmost confidence, “I never fall sick.”

Loid found himself brushing stray hair away from her damp forehead two days later, as she murmured unintelligible words under her feverish state. He placed the cool cloth back onto her skin, then stood up and closed her door quietly.

Bond whined softly at him when he came back into the living room, sitting at the very end of the corridor.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to get sick too,” Loid pleaded with only the hint of the joke, taking in the dog’s weary attitude.

Bond merely huffed, as if insulted by the mere idea, and turned his snoot in the direction of the fridge.

He let out a sigh, more amused than genuinely exasperated. “Glad to know you’ve still got your priorities in order.”

It was quiet, with only Bond and him moving around in the usually crowded kitchen ; at this hour, Yor and Anya would be setting the table, both of them attempting to steal whatever food he was cooking while they thought he wasn’t looking. It had become some kind of game; he could have easily kept his eyes fixated on the ongoing preparation instead of conjuring excuses to look away, like he always did.

Some spices were missing from the meal? How inconvenient – it was probably for the best if he rummaged through all the cupboards to look for them.

Forgetting the main in the fridge? What a shame, really.

Unsurprisingly, one of them was much better at this little game than the other – he actually had yet to catch Yor red-handed, while Anya always ended up being too noisy or giggling too much to actually be efficient. He heavily suspected she was getting exterior help, because she always ended up with a morsel of food anyway.

Anya had actually regained some of her energy during the past two days, enough for her to join Loid for a meal. She still coughed from time to time, and her nose was red from repeatedly blowing her nose, but it was a definite improvement. She even babbled about her cartoons – or, at least, attempted to with all her might, considering that her voice kept cracking at odd moments.

“Go brush your teeth,” he told her once they were done eating, gathering more food onto another plate. “I’ll bring this to your mother.”

It was only when he reached the corridor that he realized his slip. Loid froze, not quite sure with how to proceed; it’s not like he could casually turn around and take back what he’d just said, when it was exactly what he was supposed to say in public.

He couldn’t take it back. Not when it’d felt that natural.

Get a grip, Twilight, he repeated to himself with a frown. He knocked against Yor’s door.

Predictably, it was plunged into darkness, with only the last of the daylight peeking through the curtains. It highlighted Yor’s silhouette, tracing her with gold even as she shifted upon hearing the discreet creak of the door.

“It’s me,” he announced, waiting for her to turn around and look at him before he entered her room. “I brought you food. You haven’t eaten all day.”

“Loid,” she breathed out, voice broken yet exuding such warmth that it seemed to heat his very core. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

She still sounded tired, but much like Anya, it was a significant improvement; and he was more than pleased that Yor seemed to be fighting off the illness faster, too. The house had really gotten too quiet and empty, lately, and he was actually looking forward to seeing it become as lively as it used to be.

He let her drink down the better part of the soup, and waited for her to put her bowl down before he could ask the very question that had haunted his mind for the better part of the week.

“How’s your back?”

If she was surprised at the question, he didn’t see it in the ambient penumbra.

“It’s healed, now,” she answered easily, knowing he was referring to the wound he’d discovered back at Eden’s gala. She sounded hesitant, as if not entirely at ease with him on the subject yet, but there had barely been a pause before she’d told him. “Thanks to you.”

“You heal fast,” he nodded, “which is good. The healing might have made you more prone to getting sick, though. Your immune system was still weakened.”

He reached out to her, slowly enough as not to startle her, and placed the back of his hand against her forehead. The skin felt warm against his, but it wasn’t outright burning, and he could find a clarity in his eyes that had not been present a few hours ago. Good.

“Loid,” she called out in a murmur, “You…”

The door slammed open, cutting off anything Yor had been about to say, and Anya jumped in, somehow much more energetic than she had been mere moments before.

“Mama’s feeling better! Anya’s feeling better! Can we go get ice cream now? You promised!” Anya asked with overbearing excitement despite having her voice crack every few words, bouncing around him. It was a wonder she wasn’t getting dizzy from her own antics.

Loid reached towards the curtains, and pushed them aside to glance outside. It was pouring, dark clouds swirling past the buildings and bringing a rainfall so violent the water drops form a curtain of mist above ground-level. Hopefully, the closest place to sell ice cream wouldn’t be located too far away.

He bit back a sigh. “Sure.”

He had promised, after all.

But first, Yor.

“You were saying something, I believe,” he asked, turning back to her. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch it.”

She blinked at him, before chuckling awkwardly. “Oh, that was nothing important. I believe the ice cream is more urgent.”

It felt like a missed opportunity, somehow, but he pushed the feeling aside.

“Any flavor you'd like?”

She hummed quietly. “I’ll take whatever you chose.”

Anya’s own request was nothing unexpected : peanut-flavored, peanut butter topping, all sprinkled with even more peanuts. She seemed to want to make up for the missed peanut opportunities she’d let slip between her fingers when she’d been sicker.

Which was a much more comforting attitude than her exhausted self, he decided.

The hunt for the three portions of desired goods, under the pouring rain, earned him a running nose by the next day – no fever or coughing followed, thankfully, although the repetitive sneezing had given him a migraine that seemed to be piercing his temples.

It was alright, though – Anya and Yor were both feeling better, Bond equally back to his usual self since his pink-haired friend had started playing around with him again.

It wasn’t like he could complain either, Loid mused as he accepted a mug of cocoa Anya had prepared him with Yor’s help – it was way too sweet, the beverage more sugared cocoa than milk, but he swallowed it all down.

He was definitely in good hands.

Chapter Text

His head hurt.

His observations, granted, were usually more acute than this one – but, pounding migraine aside, the edges of his mind felt fuzzy and his limbs terribly heavy, so Loid wasn’t that surprised about his lack of coherent thoughts.

What he was surprised about, though, was waking up tied to what he guessed to be a chair, blindfolded, with no recollection of how he’d gotten there in the first place. He ignored the dryness in his mouth and tried shifting in his seat, testing his bonds and the chair, and noticed three things.

The first was that his arms were tied together by a single length of rope encircling his wrists behind the back of his chair; the knots were too tight to be undone on his own, but at least his hands were bound together and not tied separately – which would have made his escape much more difficult. His legs, miraculously, were still apparently free, since he felt no pressure on his clothes.

The second element he noticed was that his attempt at moving worsened the pain – it changed into a hundred white-hot needles prickling at his brain, the pain insistant and high at one specific point at the back of his head, then spreading into a general ache into the rest of his skull. His temples pulsed with each heartbeat. He’d been knocked out from behind, then – the thought caused a wave of shame to wash over his already battered body. He was supposed to be one of Wise’s greatest spies, after all, and yet here he was, allowing someone to hit him from behind like an amateur. It certainly didn’t help that he still couldn’t remember what had happened before his capture.

The third thing that came to his mind, although a bit belatedly, was that the room he was held in was quiet. Very quiet. There wasn’t even the sound of a breath, the distant chirp of a bird – he was utterly alone, basked in darkness and silence. It was both unnerving and a blessing in disguise; he had little ways to assess his environment since his ears, had yet to pick up something useful and his nose was clogged with the metallic smell of blood – but at the same time it was easier to gather his thoughts, to try and gain his bearings back.

With his thoughts spinning as much as his head did, it was difficult to focus efficiently enough to think about an escape plan. Hell, even breathing felt difficult.

In.

And out.

In.

And out.

He had to get out. Yor and Anya might have been in danger.

That thought alone was enough to push the nausea aside momentarily, and make him assess his situation yet another time.

The chair was solid and cold, made out of some kind of metal, but it had rattled against the ground when he’d tried to move – it wasn't bolted down in any way. He heaved out a sigh of relief – whoever had gotten the best of him, as humiliating as it was, was clearly an amateur. With his legs unbound and him left alone, he might as well have been half free already. This meant better chances to get out of here with minimal damage.

Just as he’d realized this, another question came to his mind – which, really, was starting to get painful, since he still felt like he was being rocked in a boat sailing against a raging storm. Concussion, probably.

Focus, he tried telling himself again. He couldn’t afford to lose more than than he already had. Think, Twilight.

Which of his identities had been the target? Loid Forger, a mere psychologist and parent of a child who went to the prestigious Eden Academy, or Twilight, a cryptic shadow whose name was only pronounced by the most daring? Considering that he was still alive, he dared to consider it was the former – it didn’t make it a certainty, though, and he couldn’t afford to make any hasty guess. He’d have to pull the information he needed out of his own captors’ mouth.

A door slammed open, somewhere to his right - the sound was loud and resonated weirdly against the walls, a distorted echo that was characteristic of metal. As Loid heard someone shuffle inside before closing the door with the same violence, he was hit with the smell of fish and salt.

Somewhere in the port, then.

The blindfold was pulled away in an abrupt gesture, and Loid was momentarily blinded as light flooded his vision violently. He blinked it away, pushing the light-induced pain aside, and was finally able to fully assess his surroundings. He seemed to be held in the very center of an empty warehouse, his only other companion being a bare-faced man waving a gun in his face with an almost animalistic growl.

Typical.

This wasn’t good, though. Despite not being at the best of his abilities, Loid had only needed a mere second to print the lines of the stranger’s face into memory – which meant either the man had been stupid enough not to think of covering his face in order to remain anonymous…

Or whoever he was supposed to be at the moment was not supposed to get out of here alive.

He pushed the thought aside – whatever the reason for his presence here was, the opportunity to escape and go back home would present itself soon enough. He just had to be patient.

“What’s your name?”

Loid blinked, needing a second to realize the words were directed at him – which, in retrospect, should have been a bit obvious, since he was the only other one in the room, along with the newcomer. He was indeed not at the top of his abilities right now.

And wasn’t that the question of the century, really?

“If you’ve got me there,” he drawled out, although more out of sluggishness than actual sarcasm, “surely, you should know my name already.”

Ironically enough, the pain that came after the blow was of a precious help – it cleared his head, as if dragging him from the slumbers of his own mind, and reminded him of one precious detail. As he remained impassive, the other man hissed in pain, shaking his hand and blowing on his knuckles.

Loid Forger was inconspicuous enough, almost defenseless; but Twilight had several aces up his sleeves.

Or rather, within his sleeves.

He’d been searched thoroughly, probably – and yet not thoroughly enough for his assailant to find the tiny blade sewn in at the edge of his sleeve. Taking it out was a hard task, with the numbness in his fingers and the burning ache in his arms, but Loid was practiced, and it would be out in a mere minute. The cold edge was almost comforting against his skin, like an old friend that had found its way back to his hand. He missed his gun.

“Don’t think you’re so special.”

Ah, right. He wasn’t alone.

“You assholes think you’re so much better because your damn kids go to that stupid school, don’t you?” the man continued, seemingly unaware of Loid’s quite obvious lack of focus on their one-sided conversation. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re all the same; fucking loaded, and so cowardly you’ll be begging for your life in a few minutes.”

That, at least, answered his question. It was relieving to know his cover hadn’t been compromised – the last thing he wished was for Operation Strix to be at risk, and for Yor and Anya to be in danger.

“You want money?” he rasped out. The blade was working slowly against the ropes around his wrists – it small size might have been extremely convenient to be hidden, but it made sawing through the tightly knotted fabric more difficult. He needed more time.

“You bet I do.”

Loid couldn’t help it. “How am I supposed to pay the ransom if I’m there?”

The other man’s fist twitched, and for a second he thought he was going to be hit again. “Don’t play smart. You might have played the hero earlier, but my guys are still out there looking for the other two. You won’t act that smug very long, trust me.”

He bit back a frown, trying to keep the sudden anger and concern from etching upon his face. He trusted Yor. Trusted that she’ d be able to protect Anya, like she had always done. But his memory was still being unhelpful, and he was as unable as ever to remember what had happened. What if, like him, they’d gotten captured by now? What if any of them was hurt?

Something flashed into his mind – just a blur of colors, at first, along with the echo of distorted voices. He’d been scared, he remembered. Not for himself, but for Yor and Anya, as they were backed into a corner and facing guns.

Anya had been terrified when he’d ordered Yor to go to safety with the child, and she’d begged him to stay with them.

A sharp sting brought him back to reality, and he exhaled sharply, mentally cursing himself for getting distracted while handling a blade he could not see.

Worry was an enemy, in his current predicament. It’d get in the way, make him sluggish and uncoordinated.

But anger? Anger would be a fuel.

The newfound feeling must have translated on his face in some way, because his captor quickly took notice of it.

“Don’t worry,” the guy sneered, turning once more to Loid, waving the gun in his face once – a futile threat, since the security was on. “It’s only a matter of time before we catch your pretty wife and the brat. I’m sure you’ll be much more conciliant if we start getting a little rough with–”

The rope binding his wrists snapped, and Loid’s murderous expression faded – even if, to be more precise, it was Loid himself who faded away altogether.

In his stead, Twilight bolted.

It was more of an execution than an actual fight; the man, who’d been foolish enough to stand alone in the same room as his hostage, might have been strong enough to stop Loid Forger, but he was no match for Twilight.

He put in his own blows just a little more force than necessary – something he’d blame on his concussion and stress rather than for the fury coursing through his veins, of course – and soon enough, his former captor was little more than a groaning heap of battered flesh and limbs, sprawled on the dirty ground of the warehouse.

Twilight – or Loid, he didn’t know who he was anymore – panted hard, staring unblinkingly at the unmoving body by his feet in case he’d see a suspicious movement. His ears were ringing, now, and the migraine spreading through his skull burnt like ice and fire at once.

A fireshot rang outside, barely muffling the sheet-metal that served as walls, followed by insistent barking. Twilight tensed up all over again, realizing the accomplices might have decided to come back. He had to act fast.

He kneeled next to the unconscious man, ignoring the nausea that rolled in his stomach at the movement, and took a grip of the gun he’d been eyeing since his former captor’s arrival.

Something slammed against the thin walls, and someone screamed, before the shout morphed into a cacophony of garbled noises.

He stood back up, admittedly with more difficulty than he would have liked, and faced the door, arms raised and coiled with tension, gun pointing at head-level on the door.

It was sheer survival instinct that made him step aside just as the door was literally propelled forwards in a deafening clang, flying past him with the velocity of a newly-kicked football. Light flooded the room and he winced, eyes squinting in an attempt to make out the silhouette at the entrance. His heart skipped a beat at the very familiar shape of that shadow.

Twilight didn’t lower his gun. It could have been a hallucination, or a disguise - and his head injury might have compromised him, yes, but he wouldn’t allow carelessness to get the better of him.

Not when he had people to go back to.

But the Yor lookalike just seemed so real – now that his sight had adjusted to the sudden light, he could see her wearing a long pale, pink coat, her leg still raised in perfect equilibrium after she’d just kicked down an entire plate of reinforced metal, her eyes harboring a cold edge that was entirely foreign to him.

Strangely enough, it was this last part that convinced him she was very much real.

Her gaze softened upon the sight of him, though, the hard lines of her jaw melting into a smile, her eyes widening with recognition.

“Loid,” Yor breathed out. It sounded like pure relief and warmth, and it made his head spin all over again.

He tried to move, tried to say her name, but black spots danced around him. Before he could attempt anything stupid, like falling over, his arm was passed around solid shoulders, and a hand snaked around his waist for a steadying hold. His gun was still in his hand, and he realized she’d taken the side that wouldn’t interfere with his aim.

He tried moving again, if only to look at her, and felt his legs shake in effort.

“Ah, Yor,” he murmured apologetically, even as she adjusted her firm grip on his body, peeking out from under his arm to look at him. There was a speck of blood on her nose, although it was probably not hers. “Sorry. I think I’m going to pass out now.”

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to panic at the announcement; instead, she nodded, saying something he wasn’t able to catch – but her voice was strong and comforting at once, and that alone was enough of a reassurance. If Yor was there, then Anya was safe too.

He closed his eyes, black spots morphing into a blanketing darkness, and felt himself grow heavy.

They were safe.

It was all that mattered.

He was floating.

He ignored how long it’d been since this realization, but he didn’t have the motivation to go further than this single thought. He was unaware of many things, actually, including where he was, what day he was, or why he was like this to begin with. There was a faint pounding at the back of his head; not enough to be truly painful, but present enough to be an annoying disturbance, and his mouth was dry.

There was a light snore, in the distance – maybe his own, although he couldn’t say for sure.

Warmth brushed against his forehead gently, and he leant into the touch with a sigh. This felt nice.

And then there was a slight, insistent pressure on both of his cheeks, suspiciously hand-shaped and child-sized, and Loid’s eyes snapped open. He found himself staring at Anya in her full glory, her face very close to him, indeed holding his head between her tiny palms and watching him with a resolution of steel.

Someone was speaking on the side, hushed, frantic whispers that were attempting to chide the young girl, and he followed the sound of the voice until he found Yor on his left.

The child squealed, a sound way too high and loud for his liking. “Papa’s awake!”

“Anya!” Yor exclaimed softly, horrified. “What are you doing?”

She turned to him, her expression turning guilty and apologetic. “I’m sorry we woke you up. I don’t know why she suddenly climbed on the bed like this.”

“He liked when you touched his face!” Anya argued. She had yet to remove her hands from Loid’s face. “I was doing the same.”

Yor blushed, a pretty crimson that spread across her entire face – Loid was pretty sure he would have, too, hadn’t he been so out of it.

“I appreciate the intention, Anya,” he croaked out. His voice was rough from disuse. “But this might be a bit too much.”

“Oh.” She seemed to consider something, and peeled one hand off his face with great reluctance. “Like this?”

A chuckle forced its way out of his chest. “Yeah. Better.”

There was a shift by his feet, a massive blur of white he belatedly recognized as Bond. The dog, half hidden behind Anya, had the decency to at least appear a little guilty – he was very well aware he was not allowed on the bed – but it still didn’t deter him from wagging his tail with such enthusiasm that his entire body rocked with it, along with the bed.

“Bond was the one who found you,” Yor explained, gratitude flooding her voice. “I came home to leave Anya with Franky before trying to go looking for you, and he refused to let me go outside without him. I don’t know how, but he just knew where to go.”

Loid hummed, remembering faintly the barks he’d heard outside the warehouse. He moved his arm, the limb feeling ridiculously heavy, and reached out to the dog with an extended palm; Bond met him halfway with a whine, licking him before nudging at his hand with insistence in a request for pets.

He could only oblige. “Good boy. Thank you.”

Yor smiled, only for it to fade slightly as she took in his apparent exhaustion.

“How are you feeling? You must still be in pain.”

“I’m fine,” he said honestly. His entire body was aching and his head was still throbbing, indeed, but he felt at peace at the mere sight of their strange, not-so-fake little family. “I’m afraid my memory still retains some blanks, though.”

“Ah,” she let out, shaking her head in understanding. “You shouldn’t worry too much about it. Your friend Franky had one of your friends come and examine you. The doctor said you were concussed, and that it was possible you wouldn’t remember everything that had happened shortly before and after the blow you received. I’ll make some tea and tell you everything I know, alright?”

This sounded like an acceptable plan, so he nodded in acknowledgement and gave her a grateful smile.

The afternoon went by slowly, and Anya was soon asleep against him, curled against his side, her face hidden in his clothes, and her tiny fists clutching his sleeve. She was snoring softly. Loid was tired himself, too but found it impossible to even want to sleep – he felt oddly content, immobilized as he was by the child under his arm and the heavy dog sleeping on his legs, a warm mug in his free hand.

Yor chatted quietly with him, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed and recounting the events; they’d stumbled out of pure misfortune on a group of thugs that had been targeting families whose children went to Eden. They’d been vastly outnumbered, especially since the men had been holding guns – not wanting to risk Yor’s and Anya’s safety, Loid had made them run away to a secure location, shielding them from potential gunshots and pretending to be an easy target.

There was tension in her voice when she told him about when she’d realized he was missing, and guilt washed over him; he placed his mug on his nightstand, and rested his hand on her knee, pressing it softly in apology.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” she finished with a whisper, the corner of her mouth trembling in emotion. “I imagined the worst.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” he told her, earnestly. But he wasn’t sorry for protecting her and Anya.

“Just…” she started before trailing off, and took the hand on her knee between his palms, intertwining her fingers with his. “Don’t do this again. Please.”

Whatever answer he would have formulated was changed into a heavy yawn that pulled at his mouth, making her chuckle quietly.

“You need to rest,” she told him gently, but with a firmness that dared him to argue. She brushed a strand of hair off his forehead, then adjusted the blanket around him, before her hand came to rest on his again. “We’ll take care of you.”

He knew they would – and yet the words caused his heart to soar in yearning.

“Yor.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, looking at him questioningly. He opened his mouth, ready to thank her, but stopped himself midway.

A simple ‘thank you’ just didn’t seem appropriate.

A mere ‘I love you’ would have been an understatement.

Instead, possibly emboldened by the physical contact they’d share and the bliss-inducing knowledge of being home and safe, he brought her hand to his mouth, and pressed his lips against her skin softly. It was a quick gesture, light and purely instinctive, and her hand was back down again before he could even chide himself for what he’d just done.

“I heard they have a new exhibition at the museum,” he started before Yor could say anything. “It’s about medieval weapons. Would you like to go there with me, tomorrow?”

He finally dared to look at her – her lips were parted into an o-shape, cheeks colored into a deep red, eyes wide and surprised – but then the smile she gave him could have powered entire cities for the next decade.

“I would love that,” she replied, with a fondness that went straight to his chest. “But only if you’re feeling better by then.”

He had a feeling he would, somehow; if only to make her smile again, to buy Anya the most bizarre souvenir from the gift shop, to get Bond the most impressive dog-fitted medieval disguise.

He could see it, now; he’d spent years hiding, hurting, killing for the better good. He’d been used as a pawn, as a weapon, ready to be discarded upon his death, something that would maybe never get to discover what a normal life tasted like – and he’d accepted it, a long time ago.

But there was no pretending when he prepared breakfast at the break of dawn or gave Yor impromptu cooking lessons; no hiding when he helped Anya after a difficult night or bathed Bond. In the course of the past few months, he’d discovered within himself a softness whose existence had been entirely ignored until then.

He’d learnt he could genuinely enjoy their presence, the comfort they brought, without having to use it as an excuse for the sake of his mission.

Had learnt to care, and to be cared for.

As atypical as it was, there was no falsehood about their family; if anything, he felt a bit ashamed it’d taken him so long for him to realize it. But now that he’d come to fully realize and accept it, nothing would stop him from guarding this soft, fragile thing they’d built together.

Loid might have been only a cover; Twilight, a codename.

But he was a Forger at heart.

And he would give everything for the ones that shared his name.