Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roland keeps running.

He cannot see the path in front of him clearly because of the blood that covers his left eye. Maybe his sight is damaged permanently.

He doesn't care.

He just keeps running.

He doesn't have any particular destination for the time being. Simply lets adrenaline pump in his veins to push his legs to just run.

Away from the incoming danger.

Anger bubbles inside of him, and he curses, "That damned Ostanian shortie!! I really should’ve just -... AUGH!"

He trips.

Clutching his rifle for dear life, he tucks his arms close to his body as he tumbles down the rough, muddy slope.

Finally coming to a stop at the end of the incline, he pushes his arms to try and stand, but a sudden jolt of pain coming from his left leg stops him from doing so.

Biting down a hiss, Roland drags his body to the nearest bush, and curls to make himself small, while desperately controlling his breathing to be as silent as possible.

Soon after, he can hear activity and yells from above.

The boy curls even further and holds his breath.

For several minutes, all he can hear is the angry yelling and the frantic footsteps on wet grass. Next off the sound of multiple shots firing is soon accompanied by screaming and growling. And then suddenly everything goes quiet.

Releasing his breath, Roland tries to take a peek with his good eye towards the top of the slope to no avail. So he strains his ears, and to his relief, he doesn't hear anything aside from the sound of wind rustling, crickets chirping, and typical nocturnal life of the forest.

Grunting, he repositions himself and does a damage report on himself.

Left eye. Busted

Arms. Functional

Chest. Intact

Legs. The left fractured.

The blond boy heaves out a sigh, clamps his jaws and tries to stand using his rifle as a makeshift crutch. He stumbles but manages to stand straight.

He has no idea what his current position is, so he decides to find a clearing and guide himself back to the camp navigating by the constellations.

Hobbling for no further than a couple meters, he hears a low growl and rustling from his left. The sounds of the commotion prior had masked whatever was hiding behind the underbrush.

Making an intimidating stance as best he can, he aims his empty rifle at the source of the sound. He just hopes his posture is imposing enough to ward off whatever animal coming at him. Though to be quite honest, with a situation as pathetic as his, he convinces none.

Survival first.

He braces himself when the rustling moves closer.

Animals.

He can hear the growls as clear as day now.

Animal. Big animal.

He frowns when he sees a massive silhouette looming a short distance above him.

A bear.

Its front paws are off the ground and stand taller than him.

He grits his teeth. He knows that bears aren't aggressive animals by nature. So as long as he looks confident, he can convince the animal to leave him alone.

"Shoo!!" Roland yells and tries his best to scare the bear away.

Unfortunately, things don't go as he planned.

The bear drops to its feet, ready to pounce him, growling something fearsome.

BANG!!

Shooting his empty rifle in his attempt to scare the animal only makes things go horribly worse.

The bear charges and snaps its jaw at him, which Roland barely avoids by rolling out of its reach. Which has pain rolling through his broken limb, making him fall to one knee.

He sees the bear lift its paw and slash at him. It’s actively trying to maul him, and he desperately struggles to defend himself by using his rifle to block the incoming attack. But the sheer force pushes the rifle into his chest, hurling him away until his back slams into a tree, and he falls limply like a rag doll.

Coughing and gasping for air, Roland shakes his head to ward off the black dots swarming his vision. Trying to push himself up with shaky arms and failing, he can only suck in a breath and watch in horror as the bear charges at him, its jaws open and ready to rip him to pieces.

The animal only covers a few lunges when suddenly an unknown force slams into it, catapulting the creature sideways.

Roland blinks for several seconds in shock and heaves in relief when his brain catches up to the fact that his life is still intact. Before he could figure out the whys and hows, his mind starts to get foggy and he feels his whole body shuddering as adrenaline starts to wear off.

"Now that is not good, Mr. Bear…." He hears a feminine voice.

A girl.

WHAT?!

His confusion is disrupted by the awful racket he hears from somewhere in front of him but only manages to catch glimpses of moving shadows through his steadily diminishing visual.

"Whoah!!! That is not nice, Mr.Bear! What's gotten into you?"

Once again he hears the feminine voice speak in an attempt to reason with the beast. Ridiculous.

He tries his best to keep his eyelids open as he hears the bear roaring dangerously.

"Oh dear…. In that case, would you give me the honor of taking your life?"

The tranquility of the voice is the last thing Roland notes as his world swirls into darkness.

.

When he comes to his senses, Roland notices that he is now lying prone on his back on top of something soft but uneven; most likely makeshift bedding; his left eye is covered with something cool and sticky, thin sheets cover the rest of him.

His hearing registers someone humming an unknown melody accompanied by a crackling of something; likely a campfire; which he realizes is the heat source coming from his right.

Controlling his breathing so as to not alert the stranger to his waking, Roland tries to flex his fingers. He is quite astonished to realize not only can he flex his fingers but move his arms freely as well.

What? So whoever this person is, they didn't think to tie me up?

When he quietly moves his left arm a little, it touches cold metal.

His rifle.

What????

Baffled, Roland dares to peel his good eye open and take a peek around.

For the umpteenth time that day, the Westalian soldier finds himself baffled.

His savior, a girl with long black hair, is sitting to his right with her back to him, humming cheerfully while doing something in front of the fire.

Welp.

Not to be ungrateful to the person who has saved him, but Roland is still a soldier in enemy territory. So when the person is this careless, he; as any lucid soldier would; will use the opportunity bestowed upon him to plan his escape.

Thus, as silent as possible, Roland slowly sits up, grabbing his empty rifle. He shifts forward on his good knee and lifts it with both hands, holding it like a baseball bat, and takes aim to hit the back of her head.

Slowly, of course.

He only intends to knock her unconscious. He is not the same as those evil bastardly Ostanians after all.

He waits until the girl moves her head a little to the left, and he swings.

But the rifle never lands the hit.

CRACK!!!

And Roland widens his eyes when not only the girl catches his rifle but also snaps the barrel barehanded.

How the hell???!!!!

The silence while the weapon tumbles down in two and the girl turns to face him is complete.

A chill runs down his spine when he feels the murderous glare the girl is giving him. He gulps in fear when the blood-colored eyes zoom in on him and his lousy failure of a surprise attack.

But then she gasps and squeaks embarrassed, "Oh my gosh!!! I'm so sorry!!!"

Huh? He blinks.

"I'm so sorry! I thought you were another animal. Oh no! I broke your weapon. No no no no! What should we do now??" She wails.

What?? Is she for real??

Roland is at a loss for words. "Uh… No... no… it's okay. I'm… I'm sorry that I thought… I thought you were the bear…" Well, that isn’t any lousier than his attempt to knock her out.

He sees her blinking and can’t help giggling. And for some unknown reason, he felt his face heat up.

"Oh, you mean Mr. Bear here?" She moves to the side and gestures to the piles of meat in front of her. Several are already skewered and are being grilled on the fire, while others are already packed inside bags that seem to be made out of dried leaves, and the fur is already rolled into one compact cylinder.

"Uuhh… how???"

The girl cheerfully explains, "Mr. Bear here is usually not aggressive. Rather he was already harmed by somebody badly, and well…. I helped end his misery. And what other way to respect him other than make use of all his parts?"

That is actually not the answer he is expecting, but Roland just dumbly nods his head and returns to sit properly at his makeshift bedding.

"How are you feeling?" She studies him from head to toe.

"Good."

She nods. "I've placed a mixture of herbs on the wound in your eye. It should stop the bleeding. But it is still quite a terrible wound. I hope your sight isn't affected. As for your leg, I use Mr. Bear’s longest bone to immobilize it. I hope it is not broken. And…."

He tunes out her explanation as his head tries in vain to think of any logical reason for why a despicable Ostanian would do something so… so…

Illogical.

They are enemies.

She should’ve killed him while she had a chance.

But no.

She helped him.

There must be a reason.

Some kind of strategy to confuse him and have him questioning his loyalty to his country.

Yes.

That must be it.

Just like the curly-haired Ostanian soldier who managed to make him lower his guard with all of his nonsense logic. And look at where he is now.

This must be a common trait of Ostanian's despicable people.

Something called reverse psychology.

The more he thinks about how manipulative the technique is, the more uncontrolled anger starts to bubble inside his chest. And he blurts out, "Why did you do it?!"

The girl blinks and tilts her head in confusion. "Do what?"

"Don't play mind games with me, woman!" He bellowed. "Just spit it out already! What do you want from an enemy soldier like me?!"

He glares at those ruby orbs. Challenging her to cut the crap and get to the point.

But there is no point. And he does not in the least expect the look of despair on her face.

"I'm not... I'm not a soldier…" The girl mumbles. "I'm just a ... A normal person, trying to hunt for food, so my brother and I won't starve during the upcoming winter."

The girl then averts her eyes towards the fire and continues, voice just barely above a whisper, "We lost our parents to the war. I can never go back, but sometimes I think that maybe if my parents got help in time, then maybe they would still…" She takes a shuddering breath, "So when I saw you were hurt, I just... want to help..."

Roland clenches his jaw, while his chest is twisted with pain.

Have you seen these Ostanian monsters? Have you seen their evil deeds?? His father's voice echoes in the back of his mind.

They tell us to hate each other. So we fight. And then we die. It's the most pointless thing in this world. I'm in the same boat! I lost all my friends too! He remembers the curly-haired Ostanian soldier's words.

The girl's small voice reaches his ears. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have….."

He feels like an utter jerk now.

Ungrateful and barbaric.

His mother would definitely be disappointed with him.

"No. I'm sorry….." Roland interrupts her.

When the girl turns her attention back to him, it is his turn to avert his eyes in embarrassment. "I'm… I just…"

"It's okay. I understand. You must've been through a lot too."

The immediate response makes him snap his head toward her. And upon seeing her smile her understanding, once again, Roland feels his face getting warm.

"Th-... thank you…" He stammers.

"No problem." He sees her smile get wider, and with that she returns to her previous activities.

They fall into mutual silence.

Deep down inside, Roland blamed his outburst earlier that most likely hurt the girl's feelings, thus she stopped initiating friendly conversation with him. And now it puts him in an awkward position.

To avoid fidgeting in his place, he then chooses to observe the girl in front of him.

Other than the black locks of hair and red eyes that he noticed earlier, the girl has a slender build. Nobody will suspect her to have enough strength to subdue a bear. She is using a knife to craft something, and from how nimble her hands work, she must be very skillful in using it.

She’s been hunting for quite some time then.

She also wears a simple light pink colored dress and minimal shoes that…

Wait a minute.

Why would someone go hunting in a dress? Moreover, are that blood splatters?!

His stomach churns. "Hey… Are you hurt??"

"Hmm?" The girl stops her crafting and follows his gaze toward herself. She then starts to laugh nervously, "Oh! No. This isn’t mine."

Roland tries to search her face, and he finds her smile strained and the corner of her lips twitching.

Goodness gracious, she's so bad at lying.

When she turns her body away in an obvious way of shielding the blood splatters from his view, he sees the tears at the side of her dress, just beneath her right shoulder blade.

Three parallel tears covered in red.

"You're hurt!" He points.

She gasps, turns back around, and covers the tears with her left hand. "I'm fine." She squeaks.

He raises one of his brows, and she fidgets. "It… it's just a scratch. Nothing of concern. I already took care of it."

Roland sighs. "It is quite obvious that you got hurt by the bear, because of me. And it is impossible for you to tend to that would well by yourself."

"I'm… I'm good…Really…"

By then he notices the blood seeping into the dress beneath her hand that she tries to cover desperately. He points his finger toward the area, "I can see the blood is seeping. At least let me properly redress the bandage to stop the bleeding."

When he sees her reluctance, Roland sighs again, "Look, I'll be honest with you. I hate being indebted. Just let me return the favor, so we are even. And then we can go our separate ways and carry on with our separate lives."

He lies of course. He really just wants to return the favor. But she doesn't need to know that.

Roland gives her time to contemplate his offer.

After a minute or so, she finally relents and scoots closer.

"Turn around so I can properly see it." He uses his best tone to voice a firm command, and she follows. She even pulls aside her black tresses so he can assess her injury more clearly.

All of a sudden, Roland realizes that he has to ask her to remove the dress covering that part of her back to help straighten the gauze. He is aware that to do that means her chest will be exposed. Even though he swears that he won't take advantage of her, he is also painfully aware of the fact that this is the very first time in his teenage years that he is being this close to a girl.

He clears his throat and with a very red face and stammers, "Y-... you have to-... to remove your clothes."

"Huh?!" The girl whirls back to him. Her face is as crimson as her eyes.

"Only the part that blocks access to your injured site!" He immediately clarifies.

"Oh… o-... okay."

"Cover your chest with this." He hands her the sheet that's been used to cover him.

The girl nods stiffly and does as told.

As soon as her upper clothes are removed, Roland notices the loose herb gauze poorly placed on top of deep gashes that will surely scar her. He frowns, then skilfully repositions the gauze, before reapplying the bandages around her torso tight enough to help stop the bleeding. Along the process, Roland curses inwardly at how warm his face feels, and how shaky his hands are.

Get it together, dang it!!!

Nevertheless, he finishes redressing the wound in record time.

"That should do it."

The girl immediately puts on her clothes, before scooting away. With a reddened face she then looks back at him and genuinely smiles. "Thank you."

His eye widens because for some unknown reason he feels his heart skip a beat. Maybe it is because this is the very first time in his teenage life that a girl has ever genuinely smiled and thanked him.

A very pretty one at that too.

Wait, what???!!

Goodness! What is wrong with him?!

Maybe he hit his head too hard.

Roland just grunts his answer, as he coughs into his fist, and beats himself inwardly with a reminder that the girl IS still an Ostanian citizen.

They sit in awkward silence for a couple of seconds before he sees her beam, "By the way, this is for you."

He looks at the crooked wooden crutch given to him. And he realizes that this is what she’s been working on.

"I hope it suffices to help you walk back towards your camp," She continues, "You'll just have to follow the small river down there, and head North."

Something inside him goes cold, "You know our camp?!"

She flusters, "N-... no!! I'm just guessing. Because the widest plains are located there. And… Umm… sometimes I can see smoke coming from that direction."

Roland narrows his eyes, and the girl splutters, "A-... anyway... It's obvious that I can't take you there. So, I hope this crutch can help you."

The boy eyes the makeshift tool, and sighs, "Yeah. I can manage."

Once again she beams and starts to clean their makeshift camps. She puts out the fire and gathers all her hunting goods.

"Alright then. The sun starts to rise, I gotta hurry to the market and sell Mr. Bear's fur. So here…." She places several skewers of grilled meat on top of a wide leaf and pushes them together with half a slice of bread and a water canteen towards him, "I hope this is enough to-..."

He scowls.

He cannot, will not accept any more from her. He is a Westalian soldier. And he has his pride to uphold. "I'm not hungry."

But his stomach decides to betray him at the exact moment and growls.

For the umpteenth time that day, his face turns beet red, even more so when he hears the girl giggle.

"It's not poisonous," she adds shyly, "It’s sufficient to give you strength to return to your friend."

Roland can do nothing but nod at her logic.

She stands up and hauls all her goods. "Alright then, see you again-..." She gasps as she claps her hand at her mouth, "Oh dear, where are my manners? My name is-..."

"We don't need to know each other's names!" Roland intercepts her harshly.

He then adds while averting his eyes to the ground, "We-... we are enemies. It's better if we stay strangers. As a matter of fact, we better forget we've ever met."

The boy glances at her, "I hope we never meet again. Cause… Cause…"

Cause I don't want to have to hurt you…

Huh?

Since when is he seeing Ostanians as human?

Isn't he a prideful Westalian soldier?

Aren't all Ostanians monsters?

He clenches his fists, somehow feeling ashamed even though he is just doing what he has been believing all this time.

"I see." At the girl's gentle voice, he dares to look at her. And he is astonished to see her full of understanding, and not giving him a hateful look.

"Well then, I hope we meet again when the war is over. Just, please don't become a traitorous scum by then." She smiles and turns around, "Good luck!"

Roland's brows knit at the strange message as he stares at her retreating figure until she takes a turn and disappears from his view.

His grumbling stomach makes him glance at the food before him. Slowly he takes one meat skewer and takes a bite.

Immediately his palate is assaulted with warm chewy meat and smells of gamey, mixed with a burnt taste from its edges, a bit of sweetness, and saltiness.

Roland chews and gulps down the meat, gobbles down the bread, and takes a swig from the water canteen to help him swallow it through his dry throat.

As he takes bites faster and faster, he feels different kinds of emotions bursting through his chest.

All this time, he, as the front unit soldier, only survived through survival rations that tasted like sandpaper and lead, while surrounded by the smell of death.

This freshly cooked meat, made with utmost kindness from another living person, a human with flesh and blood that doesn't reek of malice and death, is such a luxury he thought he would never receive.

With tears flooding from his eyes, he sobs, "This is delicious!!"

Chapter Text

The food does give Roland the energy to walk back to camp. Before any of the scouts spot him, however, he makes sure to discard all evidence of him ever getting help from an Ostanian citizen.

Limping all the rest of the way, as calculated, the scout finds him and immediately takes him to the infirmary barrack.

There, he gets treated and interrogated for surviving an Ostanian army ambush all by himself.

Roland manages to make his supervisor and all of the other people surrounding him at the infirmary believe his story of an aggressive beast wreaking havoc during the ambush, thus making him able to run and hide, though not unscathed.

The only person who raises a brow upon hearing the story is the medical officer, who obviously found inconsistencies upon inspecting his wounds. Roland's heart thumps inside his chest as his mind already makes up hundreds of excuses when he sees the doctor's face which is clearly questioning him about how he managed to treat his wounds that are impossible to reach by himself.

But in the end, the medical officer does not inquire about any such questions.

After taking care of all the wounds, the doctor dismisses him from the infirmary, prohibiting him from going to the front lines, and assigns him to the kitchen. Which Roland accepts without hesitation.

.

While stationed in front of the kitchen with his crutch, diligently peeling potatoes, Roland hears several of the soldiers sneer, "So, getting injured is your ticket to escape the front line, huh Roland?"

"Must be very nice, huh? You're lucky!"

They laugh mockingly.

He frowns when words from not long ago echo in his mind.

War is the most pointless thing.

They said the bombing of Luwen was part of a false operation.

Isn't it stupid if this war was the result of a diplomatic fiasco?

"Well, obviously he missed the chance to slaughter those Ostanian bastards, eh?"

"Missing the chance to carve his name as one of the heroes too. I mean, whoever remembers the name of the person who peels potatoes, eh?"

Have you seen the Ostanian evil deeds all by yourself?

I lost my parents to the war.

Roland just glares at the soldiers that are still jeering while departing for their spots at the front lines. At the same time, his mind starts to question his belief in truth or false, good or bad, heroes or villains.

"Aaahh… Don't listen to those young snobs." He turns his head to the right to see an older soldier whose leg has been replaced by a peg. The condition that makes him the appointed head chef of the barrack.

"After relying on survival rations for months, they'll be crying over a hot potato soup. Even simple ingredients like onions taste a whole lot better than those lead canned food, don't you think??" The older man grins at him, and Roland's memories fly back to the grilled bear and the overwhelming feelings he felt.

He clenches his jaw and nods.

The older man guffaws. "Enough with that gloomy face. Take pride in making these food with love, that carve the same smiles from those ungrateful bastards as well as the enemy troops. Their mouths wouldn't admit it, but their bodies understand the universal language anyway."

The younger boy blinks.

A universal language, huh?

Then his memories return to his encounter with the girl.

It's not poisonous. You'll need all your strength to return to your camp.

Apparently, he’s already experienced exactly what the chef told him just a moment before.

Roland frowns as he peels the potatoes faster.

.

Later that week, Roland finds out that the bombing of his hometown hadn’t killed his friends. As a matter of fact, the reckless plans of his own country are the ones that end up killing them.

In his grief, Roland peels and cuts the onions for the day's menu. The curly haired Ostanian's words keep echoing in his mind, forcing him to see events from different perspectives.

In the east, they say the west started the war. In the west, they say the east started the war.

In the experiment, they didn't know whether they were told the truth. But once the idea is in their head, they'll do what was told.

They tell us to hate each other. So we fight. So we die. Isn't it pointless?

Roland continues to peel and dice the onions.

All these years, he has directed his anger towards the Ostanians. He’d thought he had done the right thing.

But what if he is the one doing the wrong things? Isn’t that what it looks like from the other side?

What am I actually doing?

I don't know anything. I never did. I never know why the war started.

I hate the enemy, so I pick up a gun, and kill without knowing why.

As he peels and dices more onions, Roland comes to a conclusion.

This is ignorance.

Ignorance isn't bliss. This is a sin.

The blond boy grits his teeth in frustration as he puts the diced onions into the stockpot.

.

The chance to gain power, that is knowledge, comes in the form of an invitation to enter military intelligence. And he, who has lost everything; including his life purpose; decides to take a chance and see whether he still can do something.

Anything that makes him able to still feel something.

And so, he endures all the harsh training thrown at him. His Handler drills into his mind a very important lesson: "Remember, lives may hinge on any little scrap of information. Don't view everything in black and white. Don't try to make everything fit into your preconceived notions. And don't rationalize!!"

The training helps to shape him into Westalia's best agent.

Throughout his journey, [Redacted] or now known as Twilight, has seen the world from different points of view.

Little by little he starts to see the bigger picture.

He knows by then that the most important matter is peace.

The peace that will protect the smiles of children so that they can grow up and not need to endure the same unfortunate situation as him.

.

A decade later, Twilight accepts the most complicated mission of his entire career: Establishing a fake family that involves two innocent civilians to accomplish the mission.

What he never expects to discover is how by being involved with his family on a daily basis, he finds the missing piece he didn't know he needed to become a whole human.

And throughout the process, a saying from before rings true in his mind.

Food is a universal language. More specifically: Food is a love language.

And he finds it makes him happy to be able to crave the smiles of the two individuals that have inevitably snagged his heart and become the most important people in his life.

They make him have a new purpose in his life.

That is why, after the unexpected reveal that the two innocent civilians aren't actually 'innocent', Twilight chooses to keep his family intact; now hiding secrets from his own agency instead while working on his latest mission.

.

Days go by, and Operation Strix is still moving at a snail's pace. The amount of Stella stars that Anya has to achieve and the Tornitrus bolts she has to avoid is somehow neck to neck. It's as if they were competing against each other, making him always be on the edge of his seat.

And of course, there are also side missions that get thrown his way relentlessly. Many times, these side missions hinder him from coming home on time, and it makes him unable to cook for his family. An activity that he has found to be relaxing.

During times like these, he is grateful that he doesn't have to lie to his family any longer, and that they understand. Yor will always take care of the things around the house. And it feels nice to know that he can rely on her in tackling the most difficult mission in the world. Raising a family.

Loid is delighted that Yor’s been trying to learn how to cook, and as of late, has become his Boucher, sort of. Her skills with knives is not to be questioned. But, she still failed when it came to many other different aspects of cooking such as making a decent, edible, dish.

Nevertheless, Twilight greatly appreciates her efforts, and never forgets to always compliment every one of her victories, however small.

.

Tonight, the side missions have been especially harsh. Handler really threw 3 side missions at him in one go, huh?

Twilight is tired to the bone as he drags his feet home, and feels really glad when the apartment's door is finally within arm's reach.

Opening and closing the door silently, he doesn't expect to find his nostrils being attacked with a familiar ominous smell. It is the smell of Yor's special herbs mixture. The one she usually makes if she needs its effect of relaxation and, to a certain level, effects of pain killing as well.

Suddenly Loid remembers that he isn’t the only person who’s been through a mission today. But apparently, Yor has finished earlier than him.

Speaking of her, he sees Yor peek from their kitchen "Welcome home, Loid!"

He smiles as he hangs his coat and hat, "Rough mission at your end too?"

She chuckles breathily, "Oh well, the client hired warriors from the far east as their bodyguards. I needed time to understand how they moved. Anyway, Anya told me that you’ll come home late and sore. So, I already prepared two servings of this."

Loid tries to keep his face neutral, despite shuddering when recalling that even though the remedy always works wonders, the taste is; to put it politely; horrible; because the aftertaste tends to stick till the end of the next day.

But of course, Yor is able to recognize the micro changes on his face as she chuckles and rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh come on! As long as it's effective, taste doesn’t matter! You’re a grownup, Loid!”

Loid laughs at that, and mockingly salutes her, "Yes, Ma’am."

The man then walks closer and observes his wife from head to toe.

One of the perks of them already knowing each other's identities is that Loid now has the right to worry about his wife's well being. And vice versa.

And of course, in turn, they can always ask the other for help as well. Be it during the job, or after. Even so, both of them are still adapting to these new circumstances, and more often than not, one of them has to confront the other because they are so used to working alone.

This time he notices that she is wearing a fluffy sweater that fully covers her body.

Loid's brows furrow.

Yor will only use that type of sweater during particularly cold days, or when she wants to cover her injuries that will be exposed should she wear the usual backless sweater she loves so much.

And today is nowhere near cold.

"Are you okay?"

He sees Yor wring her hand to dismiss his worries, "Nothing I can't handle." And then she continues to pour the remedy into their respective cups.

It is during the process that Loid, with his impeccable observational skills, notices a blotch of slightly damp red color on her sweater, below her right shoulder blade.

"You're hurt!"

Yor snaps her head at him, and tries to deny it. "I'm fi-..."

But Loid interferes by pointing at the blotch, "The blood is seeping."

Yor's eyes widen as her left hand immediately covers the place that is pointed.

Her facial journey makes Loid chuckle. It changes from wide-eyed astonishment to brows furrowing in recognition and finally eyes averting with a sigh of defeat.

Loid is always thankful that his wife is such a bad liar.

"Come, let me help. You cannot treat an injury properly by yourself." The man gently takes her hand and leads her to their living room.

Once they take a seat on the sofa, he asks gently, "Turn around, and remove the clothes over the wound."

Yor nods, and does as she’s told.

Once the clothes are removed, Loid immediately assesses the wounds: several bruises and shallow cuts litter her back. He is satisfied with the fact that none of them need gauze and have already been treated with her special zalf. Except for that one particular cut on her right shoulder blade. Loid can see that Yor has tried her best to dress the wound, but the gauze is slightly out of place, resulting in the blood to seep out.

"The hired bodyguards were using projectile weapons shaped like stars. One of the weapons bounced off the steel pillars of the warehouse, so I couldn't dodge it intime." Yor shyly explains.

Loid nods as he undoes the bandages, "Things like that sometimes happen. It’s not poisonous I hope?”

Yor tilts her head and puts one finger on her chin as if in deep thought. “I don’t feel anything is out of place, so I don’t think so?”

Loid chuckles, “That’s not convincing at all! I’ll have to observe your vital signs for the next 24 hours.”

“Preposterous!” Yor slightly turns her body so she can playfully slap his hand, “I’m totally fine!”

“Hey now, stay still, so I can properly-...” He abruptly stops when he sees scars on her back. Three consecutive parallel white lines that are so faint he’s never noticed before. “Oh? What happened here?” He asks in soft tones as he carefully caresses the scars.

“Hm?” Yor peers and then chuckles, “Oh! Courtesy of a bear, actually”

“A bear?!” His brows furrow when all of a sudden, a nostalgic moment from his teenage life resurfaces. As a matter of fact, they unfold in front of him right now: Yor's black hair and red eyes, him noticing the blood seeping through her clothes, her reactions, their sitting arrangements, him fixing her bandages.

He gulps while his hands continue their movement, while he listens to Yor's story that somehow he has a feeling that he already knows.

“Yeah. About 12 or 13 years ago, I fought a bear in the forest near my hometown that nearly mauled a poor injured soldier. Turns out the bear was attacking in rage due to its own injury. Thankfully I managed to step in on time and help the soldier. Oh! I also managed to secure bear meat for me and Yuri to eat during the winter.”

Loid’s heart beats faster as he secures the knot of his wife’s bandages. Because apparently, the world IS that small. And the universe has its own unique way of mocking him, that out of all odds, he meets again with the beautiful girl of his past.

And he isn't complaining.

Far from that.

He is actually thankful.

Deep down inside he suddenly realizes that maybe that's part of the reason why he blurts out how pretty she is during their first encounter at the tailor. How easy he took her hands in their fake marriage. How strong his will is to always put a smile on her face. And how reluctant he is to let her go when their dark secrets were revealed.

Loid returns from his daydreaming when he feels her nod her thanks and put on her clothes while continuing her story, “Too bad the soldier seemed to be in a very bad mood, that he didn’t even want to tell me his name, even after I took care and took the trouble to feed him.” Yor chuckles as she slides on her seat to face him. She shrugs, “But that was to be expected I guess. We were still at war during that time.” She then tilts her head, “I wonder whether he managed to return to his friends.”

“He did.” Loid blurts out. “And he owed you a long overdue apology for acting like a total jerk.”

When Yor looks at him questioningly and asks, “Oh? Is he one of your acquaintances?” Loid smiles and uses his left hand to move his hair to reveal a scar on top of his left eye, then angles his head so that his wife can see it clearly in their dimly lit living room.

The blond man hears his wife gasp in recognition. Soon after he feels her trembling fingers trace the scar and hears her whisper in awe, “That was you……”

Taking her hand that’s been tracing his scar, he kisses it lightly and answers her tenderly, “Yes. At that time my name was Roland. And I’m sorry for acting like an ungrateful barbarian.”

She smiles, “I’m just glad that you managed to return to your camp safely.”

“Your food helped.”

Suddenly she flusters, “Oh! Oh dear! I hope you didn’t get food poisoning!”

Loid laughs, “No!! As a matter of fact. That is the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.”

“You’re lying!”

“No! I was in tears because of how delicious it was. I unashamedly finished it all within seconds.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm….”

Suddenly something clicks in his mind and his eyes widen. All this time, Yor wasn’t being a terrible cook. She’s only been used to survival cooking and she's yet to grasp the concept of having the luxury of buying ingredients and preparing them accordingly. Loid has a hunch that she has never been exposed to the way of using and combining spices and flavors either.

Well, that is about to change now.

He is more than willing to share his knowledge with her.

“I think now I know how to teach you to cook!” he grips her hands in both of his, “I’m confident you’ll be able to create endless marvelous food in no time!” He catches himself and stops before drowning in the euphoria, “But of course, only if you want to.”

He sees his wife's smile brighten, “Of course, I’d love to!”

“Well then. Let’s start our cooking lesson tomorrow morning then, Mrs. Forger!”

“Yeah!” She pumps her fist in the air. “Now let’s drink our remedies, and get ready for bed!”

Loid fails to stop himself from groaning at the mention of the remedy, and that gets him a playful slap to the chest. “Come on! Be a man and gulp it down for your own good!”

Once again, Loid mockingly salutes his wife, “Yes, Ma’am!”

.

Starting that day and lasting for several months, the kitchen of the Forger household continues to produce goods. Loid soon finds that experimenting and creating so many different meals with his wife, or sometimes together with his daughter, be they edible or disastrous is very enjoyable.

And to his (and both Anya and Bond's) delight, giving instructions to Yor with the 'language' that she understands does help a lot.

She is improving.

Fast.

Nowadays, they’re starting to take turns in preparing dinner. And Southern Ostanian dishes become part of their vast menu that immediately becomes Yor's specialty. And of course, to be able to taste his wife's hometown meals means a lot to Loid.

Once again he is reminded that food is indeed a universal language meant to be understood by anyone.

.

For the past few weeks, Berlint General Hospital has been undergoing a healthcare standardization held by the Ostanian Ministry of Health. It is a new system developed by several countries in their region to ensure the patients receive the best of their healthcare providers. Being one of the best hospitals in Ostania, obviously, Berlint General becomes the very first to run a trial of the new system. And being one of their best doctors, Loid Forger is involved in all parts of the process.

For Twilight those weeks are hellish and even more tiring than obliterating a terrorist lair or stopping a nuke attack. And yet this has nothing to do with spy missions, but more of the administrative side of Loid Forger.

Scratch that.

As of late, Twilight sometimes forgets that maintaining the Loid Forger persona IS part of his spy mission.

He shakes his head in disbelief, as he flops into the chair of the hospital refreshment room in exhaustion that night. In all honesty, he is not regretting Twilight and (Redacted) being merged into a one and only Loid Forger.

"Glad it's finally done, huh?" Dr. Lehmann, one of his colleagues and a pediatrician, wearily opens the cold refreshment from the fridge.

"I never thought the assessment would be that detailed!! They ruthlessly monitored everything! How dare they say my department needs a lot of improvement?!" The short brown-haired doctor, Dr. Klein, a surgeon, angrily chomps down his complimentary cold sandwich.

"Because you really need to pay attention to the medical records Dr. Klein! I can barely understand what you are doing with the patients there! You really need to learn to be more like Dr. Forger and his filing system." The other one who's sitting silently at the corner, Dr. Richter, an anesthesiologist, calmly starts to eat his own sandwich.

"Oh, that's unfair! Forger here is still so young and has the stamina to do all that sorting!" Dr. Klein only humps angrily as he chews faster, "And goodness! Can at least director Gorey appreciate us more??? A cold grocery sandwich for dinner?? For real??"

Loid only chuckles tiredly as he eyes his share of sandwiches. Truth be told, Dr. Klein isn’t wrong. The sandwich hardly looks appetizing. He would rather gather his belongings, go home, and cook a meal in their kitchen. Or if by any chance Yor's been cooking something, any leftovers of her meals will be way more appetizing than the soggy bread sitting in front of him.

But he is still too tired to move. So he takes a deep breath and is about to bite down the sandwich when a call from the nurse stops him. "Ah!! Dr. Forger!! Your wife stopped by a few moments ago, and asked the front office to bring you this package."

From Yor?

"Thank you!" He nods his gratitude as a surge of giddy happiness swells in his chest upon receiving a thermos and a bundle that most likely are lunch boxes. And they are still warm too!

"Oh my!! Look at these young people still acting like newlyweds all the time!" Dr. Lehmann chuckles breathily as he teases Loid while the blond man hastily unpacks the package.

A small card with a familiar neat cursive greets him:

Thank you for the hard work!

Hope you enjoy the meal <3.

PS: It's not poisonous ;)

It makes a smile bloom on his face. The postscript though makes the man quirk his brow, trying to sort out any hidden meaning behind the message.

He first opens the thermos, pouring himself a cup of Yor's special herb remedy, that’s become delicious in recent times. Gone is the ominous smell, to be replaced with the relaxing scent of cinnamon and mint. Sipping its contents, his palette savors the sweetness and warm taste of ginger, sweet fennel, cloves, and honey. Sighing in satisfaction as the warm liquid enters his throat and relaxes his tense muscle, he then starts opening the lunch boxes.

As soon as the lid is opened, a mouth-watering aroma fills the refreshment room, gaining the attention of the other doctors.

"Holey smokes!! What is that wonderful smell, Forger?" Dr. Richter whistles his compliment.

"Aren't you a lucky bastard?" Dr. Klein grumpily gulps down the last bite of his sandwich.

"Woah, wish my wife could cook like that!" Dr. Lehmann laughs.

"Ah, these are…" Loid's head tilts at seeing the unusual arrangement of food in the box.

A cup of hot onion soup with garlic bread, skewered grilled veals on top of leaves, fresh balsamic salad at the corner, and mashed potatoes arranged to look like-...

Loid guffaws when he recognizes the meaning behind his special dinner of the day. He then addresses his colleagues as he takes big bites of the skewered meat. "This is my wife's grilled bear."

"Bear??!"

"What?! How does she even get the meat?!"

"What does bear meat taste like??"

Loid continues to gulp down his meal as he glances towards the curious (some envious) stares of his colleagues. And he answers happily, "It tastes absolutely amazing!"