Chapter Text
For such a spacious car, Yor found that it felt spectacularly cramped. The Desmonds had sent a private limousine along with their personal butler, Jeeves, to escort the Forgers to their estate. The man was already familiar with Loid, but that meant he was also familiar with their supposedly intimate marriage.
Now she was stuck nestled under Loid’s arm, and she couldn’t even make use of the vehicle’s small cocktail bar. Before she even asked, Loid had whispered, “I think pregaming dinner with the Desmonds may come across as impolite.” He knew her so well that he could tell what she was thinking from her first glance at the bar. She hid her face as that thought stirred the heat pent up in her chest.
Things had been so hectic since the exhibition. The Director had put her on leave from assassin jobs while Garden worked out how to protect her now very well known identity. As a random City Hall clerk it hadn’t mattered if the occasional witness to her killings escaped, but now she had to be careful that it never happened again. Apparently there were already whispers in the underworld comparing the Thorn Princess to the New Ostanian Woman.
Reporters and fans followed her everywhere she went. Her commute had turned into a workout every day, as she leapt across rooftops to avoid being swarmed. But that only helped for the trip, not once she arrived. And there was always a new event she had to attend! Melinda or some government official or even the SSS would show up at odd hours and rush her to some interview or important meeting. She had no idea what they wanted from her half the time. She wished she could ask Loid.
But Loid had hardly been home. He would have known what to do. He always did. Only he wasn’t there. The hospital had called him away all week, and-and he was right to prioritize his patients. But… she missed him.
They hadn’t even had the chance to talk. She needed to so badly. About the hugs. About the way he had looked at her. About what that meant, and what they were.
He held her differently now. With restraint and distance. Polite, as he always had before. A friend holding a friend. She had never taken issue before the expo.
Was it a sin to daydream of more?
“Pardon my intrusion, but you seem a little tense, Madam Forger.” Jeeves paused his polite conversation with Loid to voice his concern. “Is there anything you need?”
“Oh, n-no! I’m fine!” Was she fine? Actually she was burning up. In just a few minutes they would be at the Desmonds’. Perhaps she could ask for an ice pack or a quick stop to cool off. “W-w-well…”
“Don’t worry, Sy-on Henchling,” Anya stated from her seat beside the butler. “Mama’s just thinkin about being smoochy with Papa, but she can’t ‘cause we’re goin to see the Evil Super-Boss. And Papa won’t let her have any juice to forget about it ‘cause she might axy-dent-lee murderize somebody.”
“A-Anya!” Yor squealed as Jeeves’ eyebrows quirked in surprise.
“Anya. Stop teasing your mother.” Loid’s stern reprimand achieved little more than an eye-roll from the girl, but all Yor could focus on was how his hold on her tightened ever so slightly.
“But it’s true,” Anya grumbled. Then, a wicked glint flashed in her eyes. Quickly adopting her most innocent expression, she leaned toward Jeeves and whispered, “Maybe Papa’s just grumpy ‘cause he wants to be smoochy too?”
Loid didn’t snap back this time. And his grip remained firm. For a moment Yor wondered if he may not have heard the comment, but quickly dismissed the thought. Their daughter was hardly an expert at subtlety even when she tried, and she clearly wasn’t trying. But the alternative… What was Loid thinking? He always had a response ready. To clam up was unthinkable. Had he just given up on entertaining Anya’s taunts? Or… was Anya right?
It was too much. Yor’s curiosity got the better of her, and she stole a glance.
It was a mistake.
He was blushing. Barely a hue off of his lightly tanned skin. But it was there. Contrasted by a sharp scowl and pointed glare locked in a vicious staring contest with their daughter (and by association an increasingly uncomfortable butler).
In the moment her heightened senses highlighted every damning detail. His elevated heart rate gently pulsing against her skin. His artificially steady breathing, attempting to rein it in. The quiet grinding of his teeth. Eyes wide, she realized that she was having a one-sided staring contest of her own.
Loid blinked first. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he relaxed into his seat, pulling Yor with him.
“Anya, it’s rude to gossip. Especially right in front of— Oh.” Loid paused as he realized what he had just done.
The repositioning had left her side pressed against his torso. Her rapt attention on his face was the only thing keeping her head from falling to rest on his shoulder. She wasn’t sure if she was still breathing. Slowly, with fear etched into his face, Loid turned to look her in the eyes.
God! They were so close! She could make out every detail in his irises. Each intricate whirl of blue and streak of teal. Or count his eyelashes or the near-invisible freckles across his nose. He had a faint scar peeking out his hairline over the left eye. His nearly perfect nose showed subtle signs of reconstruction, and she could envision tracing her finger along the uneven cartilage. A slight gape of his mouth displayed a tiny chip in his pearly white incisor, barely a corner removed. She doubted he even noticed.
“Yor!” His voice broke with panic. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t intend to manhandle you like that! Completely unacceptable…” Frantic words of apology faded into the background of Yor’s mind. The subtle blush on Loid’s face had bloomed to a vibrant red, and his gentle pulse now pounded loud enough for her trained hearing to pick up. Perhaps it was just embarrassment.
Or perhaps…
“...can switch seats.” He was still going when she tuned back in. Always so considerate. “I know you’re especially shy in front of other—”
In a moment of unprecedented bravery, Yor kissed her husband.
It was quick. Faster than most eyes would be able to detect. Yet somehow it didn’t escape the attention of any of those present. Loid’s mouth hung open, any further apology extinguished like one of her targets. His eyes were wide, unfocused in a way she had rarely seen before. Pointed in different directions?
“Anya was right!” the little girl squealed. “See! See! I told you Mister Henchling!” She frantically tugged at Jeeves’ sleeve, pointing at her dazed parents. Meanwhile he did a valiant job humoring her despite clear confusion.
As the adrenaline and momentary bravery subsided, mortification seeped in to take their place. Loid was still unresponsive, and she was going to explode. She was going to kill him. That much was certain. Every limb was fighting for the chance to rend him in half as she automatically evaluated the most efficient way to do it.
Oh god.
She was actually going to kill him this time!
If she didn’t find an escape, she was going to cave in the face she just kissed! His beautiful, not quite perfect face!
The sunroof! Jeeves had opened it to let them enjoy the fresh spring air. Without a thought she rocketed through, far above the surrounding traffic and even surrounding buildings. When Yor finally touched the ground, she was already five blocks away. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
Her sprint had taken her halfway across Berlint before she cooled down enough to think. With her returning thoughts came the realization that she had made a mistake. A rather large one at that. She hadn’t the slightest clue where Melinda lived. Thankfully, she had gained her bearings just as a familiar cigarette stand came into view.
“Franky!” Yor skidded to a halt, drawing concerned stares from a few nearby pedestrians. The scruffy teller startled, falling from his chair. Undeterred, she leaned over the counter to see him sprawled on the floor. “I need to know where the Desmonds live!”
A newspaper with a comedic sense of timing slid off the counter, landing squarely on Franky’s face.
“It’s good to see you too, Yor.”
“Yor! Oh goodness, hurry inside!” A frazzled Melinda Desmond all but carried Yor across the threshold of the Desmond manor. She hastily stripped Yor’s overcoat and thrust it upon one of the servants who had escorted her to the entrance, then quickly set about inspecting her appearance from head to toe. “We were worried that you had gotten lost! I nearly sent out a search party, but your husband insisted that you’d find your way here when you were finished ‘cooling off.’”
“Oh?” Yor considered the statement. Perhaps he had guessed she would find Franky or maybe Yuri for directions. “Y-Yes! It was no trouble at all! I-I ran into a family friend who was kind enough to give me directions. I got turned around a couple times, but there was always a kind stranger nearby to set me straight!”
Truthfully, a search party might have been the right call. The Desmonds lived much farther away than she had anticipated, nearly opposite the whole of Berlint from Franky’s shop. And that’s if you could even consider their neighborhood a part of the city. She had sprinted a good mile between each winding driveway of the rural suburb in order to check each address placard for the proper estate. If she hadn’t encountered the few pedestrians and well timed evening joggers who guided her along the way, she may never have made it.
Melinda straightened, finally satisfied with her touch-ups to Yor’s frizzled hair and rumpled dress.
“How fortunate,” she said, tidying her own skirt. Her neutral smile broke into a tight frown, and she glanced around before whispering, “I feared that the thought of speaking to my husband had frightened you off. I know, perhaps better than anyone, that his… status can make it an intimidating prospect.” Melinda took Yor’s hand and squeezed, possibly with all the strength she had. But Yor couldn’t tell which of them she was hoping to steady. Her lip quivered as she continued, “I-If you aren’t comfortable, I…”
A strange look took over Melinda’s face, distant. Yor had seen it a few times before, but it remained a mystery what was sealed behind her wobbly smile in those moments. She waited a minute for her friend to finish the sentence, but her proposal never came.
“Um, e-excuse me, Melinda,” Yor whispered, gaining back a modicum of the woman’s attention. “I promise that I am all right, and I truly wanted to spend time with you today. But uh… Is your husband someone important too?” Her question hung in the air for a silent moment.
Melinda burst out laughing.
“Yor, he—Hahaha!” Melinda, usually so composed, looked manic, doubled over desperately trying to rein in her cackling long enough to answer the question. “He was—hah! He was the Prime Minister!”
“Oh. Oh, right!” Yor gasped. Her hands shot up to hide her embarrassed blush. “I-I think Loid mentioned something about that. I had completely forgotten!” Yor searched her memory for some way to save face. She would hate to give the impression that she didn't care about her friend’s personal life. “Oh! At least I remember that you were the, umm… First Woman!” She bit her thumb and muttered, “Or was that First Lady?”
Melinda, who had just regained control of her diaphragm, fell victim to a new fit of giggling. Yor could have collapsed in on herself. Instead, she stood awkwardly, uncertain how to interpret her friend’s reaction. Melinda had been nothing but kind since they first met, but in her experience with others, most often laughter like this was at her expense.
A minute or so later, Melinda caught her breath and produced a handkerchief to dab tears from the corners of her eyes.
“My goodness, Yor. How did I ever get so lucky as to meet you?” She met Yor’s worried eyes, and her smile fell a touch. “I’m sorry for laughing so hard, dear. That was quite rude of me,” Melinda said softly, pulling Yor close to comfort her. “You are simply the most interesting person I have ever met. I can’t recall how I got on before you showed up to lighten my life.”
She pulled away before their embrace had the chance to undo her work fixing Yor’s appearance.
“If it is any consolation, my worries have been thoroughly relieved. I should know better by now than to project my concerns onto you. Even if you shared them, I have no doubt you would push through. You’re incredible, Yor,” Melinda trailed to a whisper. She turned her gaze down a nearby hallway that must have led to the dining room. “I’m envious. Sometimes I wish I could borrow your strength.”
Her strength? That could be difficult. Shopkeeper likely wouldn’t approve of Melinda using Garden’s training facilities. Perhaps she could join in on Becky’s weekly training sessions? At the rate she was gaining students, Shopkeeper might suspect her of trying to start her own Garden.
A faint murmur of Anya’s rambling drifted down the hall, interspersed by the deeper tone of Loid’s occasional interjection. Yor tensed at his voice, and her mind brought forward an odd memory. That peculiar club meeting Melinda had invited her to. The one where everyone wore funny hats. She felt that there was something important about it. But what could it be? Something about yogurt?
“Oh!” It clicked. “I—I still haven’t told Loid about licking the yogurt lids!” Yor burst out. Melinda blinked a few times in surprise, and a couple servants exchanged a surreptitious glance. “I don’t know if I ever will… It's scary, Melinda. I can’t bear the thought of disgusting him, and every day it gets worse. I just end up with more to lose.” Yor looked to her feet and placed a hand over her heart. “I don’t know what your, um… lid licking is, b-but I don’t think my strength would help you.”
After a beat, Melinda reached out. Her hand paused for a moment just inside Yor’s field of view before taking her chin, tilting it up with a cool caress. On her journey to meet Melinda’s warm, honey eyes, Yor noticed a dash of pink remaining in her cheeks. It must have been left over from her laughing fit.
“You’re wrong, Yor. Your strength helps me more than you could know. I’ll do my best to return the favor.” With that, Melinda smiled and seized Yor’s hand. She was shaking. Just a little. But her face was resolved. “Come now! We really shouldn’t keep the others waiting any longer.”
“R-right!”
Their host had yet to arrive.
Twilight scanned the occupants of the Desmonds’ opulent dining room. It had been arranged to accommodate a large, round dining table, now host to the dwindling remains of their third course, surrounding an ornate floral centerpiece.
To his right, Yor carried on a polite (if a little odd) conversation with Melinda Desmond. Luckily WISE agents had managed to discretely guide her to the Desmond estate without too much issue. From what he had picked up, they seemed to be workshopping the logistics of starting a ballet/self-defense class. In any other setting Yor’s unique manner of small talk may have required more active oversight on his part. The former First Lady, however, seemed well accustomed, even drawn, to Yor's eccentricities.
All the better really, after what happened in the car.
Twilight pushed back the thought. Ridiculous. He was a spy. He was Twilight for Christ’s sake. If his cover were in danger, he would step in without hesitation. A little awkwardness was nothing to him. He had forgotten the meaning of words like shame and embarrassment long before joining WISE. Even before joining the army. What was one kiss?
Yor hadn’t looked him in the eyes since she entered the room.
Even if it were an issue, which it wasn’t, Twilight didn’t need to think in order to bluff. He had spent the past week with WISE, planning every last detail of the dinner. The perfect response to every possible incident, no matter how small, had been planned in advance and reviewed to the point they were automatic. Even if there were a mind reader in the room, he could execute the mission without a single conscious thought to tip them off. He would spend the night on autopilot, exclusively thinking up treatment plans for Loid Forger’s patients, if he had to. Distraction was simply impossible.
His tie had five crescent-shaped holes in it. The kiss happened so quickly, but he still felt how the fabric had tightened around his neck in that split-second. He had worn Yor’s favorite. A simple blue one with a discrete floral pattern stitched in.
He had never even considered bringing a backup.
Damn it! This was not the time. He was too experienced, too prepared, too close to his target to get tripped up by some… tension with his cover wife. He had to get a grip. He needed to refocus.
To his left, Anya was pouting next to a red-faced Damian Desmond. Moments ago he had put an end to her tormenting the poor boy with a strip of green pepper. Although it was far from her first offense. The two had spent practically the entire meal squabbling. Damian’s futile attempts at teaching Anya proper table etiquette had devolved into name calling more times than he could count. Better than a brawl he supposed.
Three months ago, the sight would have given him an ulcer. Now it only induced a pang of sympathy and a smidge of reassurance that Anya’s uncanny ability to get under his skin was not exclusive to him.
He still hoped they would grow closer. If only for her sake. Becky was a blessing in many ways but a terrible influence at times. She would benefit from a more well-rounded social circle to expose her to a wider range of personalities and interests. Not to mention the perks that being friends with the nation’s up-and-coming elites could bring her in adulthood. Although he’d have to bolster her work ethic if he wanted her to have a chance at taking advantage of those connections. Perhaps he could enroll her in a few extracurriculars to—
What on Earth was he thinking?
By now it was clear that no hiccup in Plan B or roadblock to Plan A could offset the progress made by Plan C. The invitation to dinner was evidence enough of that. With Donovan’s interest in Yor’s one-of-a-kind strength, and her close friendship with his wife, it was only a matter of fostering their relationship as he gradually pulled back the veil over Donovan’s plans.
And then…
And then, Operation Strix would end.
One month at least. If he pulled out all the stops to schmooze the Desmonds and performed a risky infiltration or two. More like three, if he was cautious. And he would be cautious. There was too much at stake. Really, three months was overzealous. Even for a spy of his caliber it could easily take six for him to achieve the required degree of trust and familiarity. Maybe even more for a paranoid recluse like Donovan. Hell, he had lived with Yor longer than that, and—Yeah… Twilight crushed the thought. He wouldn’t need to get quite that close to Donovan. However you sliced it, Strix was far from over. It had merely entered a new stage.
There was plenty of time left.
Something happened to his plate. Porcelain shards scattered in front of him. He must have pressed too hard with his fork.
To his left, Anya stared up. Unreadable. Wide eyes like she could see straight through him. To his right, Yor’s gentle voice trailed off, and he knew she was looking too.
But it would end.
To his front, two chairs sat empty. Without a thought, he assured Yor that he was fine. Just tired and a bit distracted. Another difficult patient on his mind. He seemed to get so many of those.
Servants rushed to clean up his mess and check for any injuries. Every smile and thank you was perfect and automatic. Still his attention was forward.
Anya had turned away, prodding listlessly at her scraps. The staff took the opportunity to clear the table for dessert, and Loid caught a glimpse of her plate. She had fashioned a lopsided frowny face from shredded carrots.
Donovan and Demetrius Desmond. Shortly after Yor arrived, Melinda had received a call instructing her to begin dinner without them. The boy had shadowed his father, and their flight home had been delayed. They would arrive in time for dessert. As the memory crossed his mind, Twilight detected a subtle shift in the staff’s behavior, a sudden nervousness, accompanied by an uptick in speed, as all but Jeeves vacated the dining room.
One servant emerged from the kitchen with a dish in each hand. He could tell that Melinda had arranged for each member of the table to receive a personalized dessert. Damian’s treat was a simple cookie stella star, no doubt decorated with real gold. Meanwhile, peanuts poured off an ice cream replica of Anya’s chimera plushie. Yor must have mentioned its importance to their little girl. Except, something looked off. On closer inspection, it seemed to have stitches drawn onto its head. Did Yor confuse it with the Penguin from the aquarium?
A second servant appeared just behind the first, carrying two more plates. Melinda was presented with a fruit salad, served under a sugar glass cover molded to resemble a flying saucer. For a moment Loid Forger took over, considering whether this was his patient attempting to overcome her fear by making light of it. One look at her terrified face quashed that idea. Twilight’s stomach began to churn. Something quietly sounded the alarm, as if afraid to be heard.
Yor was handed a slice of warm apple pie. Almost undecorated compared to the previous desserts. Save for a red rose head garnishing the slice where a scoop of vanilla ice cream might go. The real oddity came with the utensils she was given. Or rather, utensil. A thirty centimeter golden spike, clearly not intended for any culinary use. Yor was visibly shaking from the sight of it, fists clenched hard enough to draw blood from her palms. Otherwise, as with so many times, Twilight couldn’t read her. Bangs obscured her eyes, and her mouth remained frozen in a tight line. She could be terrified, crying, even furious.
It didn’t matter, he realized. Whatever was happening, this was a setup. He needed to get up and get Yor and Anya out of whatever Donovan Desmond had planned. He needed to—
The third servant stepped into the room, and Twilight felt the world fall out from under him. A small, circular cake landed on the table, clearly baked to serve one person. White fondant coated the exterior with simple black decal airbrushed on its top face. A single, half-lidded eye looking to the east.
Anya could cry.
Somehow the evil lab guys found her. Mama and Papa had their secrets found out. The police officers were prolly gonna come in any minute now and take her family away. Then, she was gonna get taken back and have to do scary tests again! And it wasn’t even Anya’s fault!
Papa always knew what to do, but now his thoughts were spooky quiet. She could only see a little bit of Mama and herself every once in a while. And Mama’s thoughts were way too loud! Anya couldn’t understand a word, but they felt scary and hurt her head. She whimpered and clamped her little hands over her ears as best she could.
‘Open your eyes 007.’
Anya jumped in her seat. She didn’t know how long it had been, but now there were two new people in the room. Super-Syon Boy and the Evil Super-Boss. Another change. Everyone was staring at her.
Papa’s thoughts had returned, and Mama’s were quieter. Both of them wanted to check on her, but they were nervous about how the Evil Super-Boss was staring at her and didn’t want to let their guard down. Syon Boy sounded confused and his Mama sounded confusing. But that was it. No matter how hard she tried, Anya could only hear four minds.
‘Look at me.’
Anya jumped again and frantically looked around. She was trembling. Who was that? It didn’t sound like one of the lab guys she remembered. But they knew about her number and her power.
‘Straight ahead.’
Anya obeyed. Slowly she turned and realized who was talking to her. The Super-Boss met her with squinted eyes. ‘If you would remain calm, I have something to share with the others, but I believe it will be received better coming from you. Do you understand?’
Anya didn’t really. She gave a small nod anyway. The Super-Boss sighed.
‘I suppose that will have to do.’
A flood of images and words crashed into Anya’s brain. But unlike in a big crowd, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It was more like Papa or Mama reading her a story… just in a language that she didn’t understand. She did understand pictures though, and the ones she was seeing quickly turned her fear to confusion. By the time it had ended, Anya’s eyebrows had scrunched further than they had for even the hardest homework. Despite that, she was pretty sure she got the gist.
“Subject 007, if you would.”
This time he spoke out loud, briefly drawing the room’s attention before it returned to Anya to hear her response.
“Mr. Evil Super-Boss… is a alien?”