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He was an awful husband.
A horrible, good-for-nothing, garbage husband that deserved nothing of the good things he has at this very moment. How could he allow himself to get away with this? He was Twilight, Westalis’ number one spy, the target of both jealousy and affection by colleagues and civilians alike.
He sacrificed everything, endured so much pain and heartache just so he could achieve all that he could ever want. His track record was perfect. Not a negative mark to his reputation in his decade-long life as a spy. The rest of WISE practically worshipped him.
For over a decade he’s accomplished feats so massive that it tipped the balance of world peace for the better. He’s diffused bombs, saved hundreds if not thousands of civilian lives, and still managed to hand over his reports before his shift ended.
Twilight. Legendary spy. A young, dashing, debonair of a man. A man who gave his everything and never missed a single detail due to the rigorous training of both his mind and body.
So, how? How did he allow himself to fall from such heights, to fall from grace as if he were some mere mortal man that did not have the capability nor gall to challenge god to a fistfight should the mission call for it?
How did he let himself deteriorate like this? This was unacceptable. A grave mistake. He didn’t deserve to be the target of the affection of the most beautiful woman in the world. He didn’t deserve to be under the light of her glory. He didn’t deserve to be held in her arms with absolute tenderness with the knowledge that her strength could and would utterly break him.
Anya was right to give him that look. That look of utter disappointment when he told his girls that he would come home late once again. For a child to show that much contempt in her eyes was soul-crushing and Twilight knew, just knew, that he deserved it.
He would fix it. He would damn well fix it, even if he had to lose everything he’s ever earned. Reputation be damned. Prestige be damned. Respect be damned. They didn’t matter anymore. Even if he had to cross heaven and hell just to fix it, he would do so and more.
So here he was, in the middle of Handler’s office, cowering like the little bitch he was.
It’s been years since he’s been pinned with that look. That look that could force a veteran spy to their knees. That glare that could render a novice agent to cinders. That steely stare that has sent him into a spiral of fear many times in his days as a rookie agent.
“What did you say?”
She was furious. He knew it. He could see it. He could feel the heat emanating off of her in waves.
But she didn’t show it, no. Her auburn hair was still perfectly styled, not a hair out of place. Her suit was as impeccable as the day she bought it, and her perfectly manicured nails barely tapped her mahogany desk.
She was good at her job. It was impossible to climb up the ladder within their agency if she wasn’t the best of the best. There was a reason she was called the Fullmetal Lady, and being a slave to her emotions was out of the question.
But every single cell within his body just knew that he was in a lot of danger.
He stood his ground.
“Respectfully, ma’am.” His voice was clear, monotone, hiding the way it threatened to quaver. “I said I refuse.”
She sucked in a breath. Twilight braced for death.
He’s planned for this. Planned for the inevitability of his demise the day he gave that ring to Yor. He’s squirreled away a good eighty-percent of his life’s saving for his family for when the day comes that Handler decides that she’s done with him and thus ending his career and life via a broken neck.
“You do know, Agent Twilight.” Here it comes. “That rejecting a mission that came directly from me is a count of insubordination, correct?”
Twilight swallowed as the notion of his pristine track record getting a negative mark seared a hole into his pride. But it didn’t matter.
“I’m aware, Handler.”
“Are you also aware,” she pressed, her voice getting quieter. “That rejecting this mission will most likely cause a massive setback to WISE’s backlog and will cause thousands and thousands of dalc worth of damages?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She cocked a brow, unimpressed. “And still you refuse?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes deeper than the cleanest of sapphires flared. He flinched.
An aggravated sigh escaped from her lips before she leaned back against her chair, her thumb and forefinger digging into her face as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Fine,” she said at last. “Go.”
“Thank you, Handler.”
Without letting her get the chance to change her mind, Twilight promptly headed to the door and left—completely unaware of the grin that his Handler failed to suppress moments later.
The door to her office clicked shut and his pace was slow, methodical. Eyes forward, ignoring the spies that saw him and tried to grab his attention. He strode along the halls, long legs carrying him to his destination, until his legs moved into a jog before transitioning into a full blown sprint making agents and personnel hug the wall just to avoid him.
He needed to get home, needed to get to her as soon as possible. He needed to have her close, to have her in his arms and just hold her.
And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to do it.
--
The door opened and the scent of cooking meat punched him in the face.
His forward momentum halted as he was stunned momentarily, his body refusing to react at the sudden barrage to his senses. It was late. She shouldn’t be awake. Why was she awake? Oh god, did he forget something? Did he forget an important date? What the fuck Twilight, you good for nothing—
“Loid?”
His mind quieted immediately. The simple lilt of her voice was enough to stop him in his tracks, was enough to stop him from having another mental breakdown. Like she always did without complaint.
There she was, her full weight leaning against the entryway of the kitchen, giving him that loving look that he could never get enough of.
He’d willingly go through the horrors of his Handler a hundred—no, thousand times over so long as he could get this look from Yor for all of eternity.
She smiled. “Hello, Mr. Forger.”
Every muscle in his body relaxed as the weight and adrenaline he was carrying all day slowly evaporated. He pressed his right hand to the wall for support as he tilted his head, the mess that was his hair tipping where gravity pulled it. “Hello, Mrs. Forger.” He bit his lip as the corners of his mouth tilted upwards into abject giddiness.
He got to her in two strides, the suitcase he was carrying landed on the floor with a soft thud, his strong hands circling around her waist as he pulled her flush against his body.
“Yor.” He whispered her name like a prayer, a never ending wish that would utter until his very last breath.
Hands, desperate hands, held on to her as much as they could. Deft fingers roving all over the swell of her hips, his nose and lips nuzzling, reaching, loving at the dip between her neck and shoulder. The scent of citrus and her natural musk sending him close to delirium.
“Loid.” He could feel the soft vibrations of her voice as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her delicate throat. A low, pleased, hum rumbled throughout his body as she chuckled. “Loid, you’re still wearing your work clothes.”
A muffled whine escaped him when she gently pried herself from his grasp, eliciting a delicious laugh from her. With one hand still on her hip, he simply stepped over and maneuvered himself so he was pressed against her back, arms once again encircled around her. His long arm reached over to turn the fire of the burner off.
“Just let me hold you for a moment.” His voice was low, gravelly, desperate. “Please.”
And she did. She always did.
With his face buried between the crook of her neck and shoulder, he rocked her, swayed both of their bodies to the rhythm of nonexistent music. His senses were locked in on her, just her. His cologne mixed with her natural scent and her shampoo, pulling him deeper and deeper into intoxication. The pads of his fingers rubbed gentle circles along her hip, mindful enough to not press too deeply into the bruises she got a few nights prior.
There was a cut on her shoulder, he could see it now. The bandaging was competently done but it flared another bout of worry.
“You’re hurt.”
Her hand immediately covered her shoulder. She flushed. “Just a flesh wound.”
He frowned, knowing just how many “flesh wounds” his wife attained during her assassinations. “Let me see?”
She smiled, nuzzled before swaying them again.
“Later.”
In the quiet of the night, it was just them. Only them. No nosy neighbors, no aggravating missions, no disdainful and jealous bosses.
“Anya?”
“Asleep.” Her left arm reached back, cupping the back of his head as she pressed the crown of her head to his nose, tilting her head up, up, to press butterfly kisses to the curve of his jaw. “She wanted to wait for her papa but fell asleep while watching Bondman.”
He smiled, though a dull ache spread within his chest, travelling at mach speed throughout his whole body. He couldn’t keep doing this.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
It was a conversation they often had and he hated it. Hated that he had to keep saying it, hated that he constantly broke his promises. Hated that he always kept them waiting.
Feeling her move, Twilight loosened his grip on her but kept her within his arms. With slow yet efficient movements, she faced him, her smile as radiant as the sun. Warm hands cupped his face, making him lean against her palm.
“Loid, it’s okay.”
“It’s not.” Emotion flooded his eyes. Emotions that he once suppressed but is now unable to. “It’s really not.” His right hand reached up and grasped her left, his thumb lightly grazing over her wedding ring.
It was a simple design. A gold band carved with small floral filigree. She didn’t want a stone, he knew, but wanted a simplicity that amplified what they are, what they’ve built, what they’ll continue to build.
He never took his ring off. It was discouraged during missions but he didn’t care. He would rather chop his hand off rather than willingly take it off for someone else, even if it was just for a mission.
And he knew she’ll do the same. Does the same. No matter how much blood she shed, how much it clattered against her beloved stilettos during assassinations, she still wore it. Will wear it.
It was a promise that they made in a night similar to this. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do them part.
He wasn’t honoring that vow, wasn’t honoring his share of the burden and it burns. It burns so much he could feel his insides being torn asunder every second he’s away from her. And he knows how much it’s hurting Anya. She understood as much as a child can understand, but it doesn’t always take the pain away.
Not able to bear the weight of it anymore, he pressed his back against the counter for support, making sure to keep his wife comfortable in his hold. Their eyes never broke apart.
“Be angry at me.” His voice broke, softly, quietly, but loud enough in his wife’s ears. “Why aren’t you angry at me?”
“I can’t.”
Two words. Two simple words and it shattered every cells of his very being. The burn reached his throat, his nose, his eyes as a wetness trailed down his face.
Strong arms wound around his torso as she cradled him, comforted him, whispered sweet nothings to him. The grief came off of him in waves.
“Yor.”
“Shh.” Soft, soft lips enveloped his mouth. The sweetness of her coating his lips, his core. The heat of his tears kept flowing as she rubbed them away with her thumb. “I’ve got you, love.”
“I’ve been neglecting you.”
She stopped, blinked, met his eyes. The deep depths of her eyes that resembled clear garnets captured his own orbs hostage.
Her shoulders sagged, brows furrowed. She pursed her lip.
“You think that?”
“I do.”
The look she was giving him was incredulous, almost hurt. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest.
“Loid.” She pulled him towards her, their bodies a perfect fit. “Why must you hurt yourself like this? Please, stop doing this to yourself.”
He was taken aback, surprise flooding his face as he searched for any sort of double meaning. There was none.
“What do you mean?”
“You make me happy.” The smile returned, thank god it returned. “You gave me something that I thought I could never have again. You and Anya and Bond—you showed me that I could come into the light. To be happy and carefree. You’re wonderful. Amazing. Loving. Caring. But it hurts.” Her eyes clouded as her fingers carded through his hair, soothing, always soothing.
“It hurts to see you like this. It hurts so goddamned much to see you hurt yourself like this. Loid, look at me. Please. Loid, I’m happy. So please, don’t fret over me.”
He sucked in a breath, his heart still carrying a weight he’d never carried before. “I should’ve been there for you.”
“And you are.” Another kiss. Another caress. “You’re always here for me, for Anya. For our family. You’re doing what you’re doing so you could give us a chance at life, a chance to live. I see it. Anya sees it. So please.”
Carefully, she tugged him down, once again meeting his lips with hers. She smiled. “Please, see yourself the way I see you.”
He broke.
His body shuddered, collapsing against her as all of the pent up emotions he’s repressed over the years came crashing down in one violent torrent. She held him without a problem, without complaint. He’ll be forever grateful for all that she is.
“I love you so much.” His hands were all over her, lips capturing every inch of her. “So much.”
Light laughter once again erupted from her as she enthusiastically reciprocated. “I love you, too. So, so much.”
Silence once again descended them, the comfort of their love blanketing them. For the first time in the past few months, his heart was slowly mending.
Giving her another kiss, he reached over and turned the stove on.
Here was another proof of their progress. For the months that they’ve been cooking together, he found her slowly grow into the cook that she always wanted herself to be.
Gone was the woman who was constantly afraid of hurting people with her food. Gone was the woman who feared that she failed her brother with her lack of culinary skills. Gone was the woman who didn’t believe that she would be able to provide the family that she loved with the comfort of her food.
Gone was the fear and emerged the confident woman he knew and loved.
They were unconventional, untraditional. The topic of many conversations. They were the oddballs in people’s eyes. And honestly, what of it?
He wouldn’t have it any other way.