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Chapter Text

Twilight wasn’t expecting his next patient for a good while when a steady thrice-knock on his door made him lift his head from his latest mission report. Luckily he didn’t have to scramble to put away his notes with a WISE agent on the other side of the door, so he just leaned back in his chair and called for whoever it was to come in.

Nightfall shut the door behind her quietly and strode to his desk before he could stand to greet her. Her heels—decidedly ill-suited for spy work—clicked softly on the wooden floor, and she wore the usual nurse’s garments to blend in with the other hospital staff, but the look on her face didn’t communicate business. If anything, she looked… irritated.

“What is it, Fiona?” He asked carefully, keeping his voice light to avoid igniting a fire he couldn’t easily snuff out. Twilight hadn’t personally faced her wrath, not as her technical superior, but he’d heard from plenty of agents that weren’t so lucky. No reason to chance it.

“Eden College called, Dr. Forger,” she said. “The nurse requests that someone retrieves the Forger girl at the earliest convenience.”

Twilight straightened up in his chair. “Anya’s sick?” 

Nightfall shrugged. “They didn’t elaborate beyond reassuring me that it wasn’t serious.” After a brief moment, she continued, “They also said that they first tried to call Yor Briar, but were unable to get through—”

He was already standing up to get his coat from the hook. “Yor’s stuck in meetings all day today,” he replied simply. “Reschedule the rest of my appointments for the day, please. I’ll call if I’m unable to come in tomorrow, as well.”

He turned to secure his papers into his briefcase so he couldn’t see Nightfall’s expression, but she had a particular scoff one could hear from miles around.

“Dr. Forger, you have no less than five patients remaining—”

He bit back a snappish reply. “None of them are elites or otherwise in positions to provide valuable intel,” he said, in coded language. “It’s no hindrance to the Agency.”

He put on his hat and turned back to Nightfall in time to see her purse her lips.

“Still, sir, the child can surely withstand a mild illness long enough for you to—”

“I don’t want her to. Good day, Fiona.” 

Compared to the rest of the school, the nurse’s quarters were far less grandiose—finely-equipped, no doubt, but sparsely decorated and having a sterile odor not unlike the hospital.

“No fever, and both blood pressure and heart rate are in normal range,” the nurse explained primly as she led him down the hallway. “Her teacher overheard her complain of a headache this morning, but other than that she simply seemed tired before abruptly fainting in her second period class.”

Twilight hummed, trying to keep himself from hurrying ahead of the nurse. “Do you think she just got overwhelmed out of nowhere?” He asked, a bit baffled.

The age lines around her mouth crinkled a bit as she smiled at him, apparently amused. Despite her prim uniform and matter-of-fact tone, the nurse seemed like a kind woman, especially compared to the severe instructors who ran Eden like drill sergeants. He imagined that the students were quite fond of her.

“Oh, it’s common for these things to happen so near to exam week,” she was telling him. “She hasn’t complained about any symptoms at home, right?”

He automatically shook his head, though he then took a moment to consider it. He remembered feeling grateful that Anya hadn’t put up a fuss about bedtime the night before. Sure, she’d seemed tired at breakfast, too, but she never had been a morning person. Besides, even when Yor took note of the dark circles under Anya’s eyes, she insisted on going to school anyway, so he thought nothing of it.

He’d foolishly assumed she’d just been staying up late to read Spy Wars after he and Yor retreated to their own rooms. She hadn’t had a nosebleed in a while either, which Twilight had always taken as the signal that she was getting overwhelmed.

The nurse must’ve noticed the look on his face, because she patted his arm kindly as they came to a stop in front of a plain, wooden door.

“Don’t go blaming yourself, Doctor. Like I said, exams are coming up, and Eden is a tough school. I see this sort of thing in students of all ages,” she said. “Treat her like one of your own patients. Plenty of rest, fluids, and make sure she’s eating. Try a bit of extra attention from you and your wife these next few days, and some activity besides schoolwork, too.”

He nodded, and not all the earnestness on Loid Forger’s face was feigned.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” he said. “I know I must seem so foolish, being a doctor myself, but—it just feels so different when it comes to my own child. I appreciate your guidance.”

She waved him off with a smile. “That’s my job. I’ll call ahead to the office that you’ve arrived so you can take her straight home. And good luck,” she added before turning to head back to the desk at the entrance.

Twilight was careful to open the door quietly, in case Anya was still asleep, but she was sitting up in a small, white cot when he entered.

“Papa?” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

His chest tightened at the sight.

“I heard you weren’t feeling well,” he said in a low voice, crossing the room to crouch beside her. “Let’s ditch school today. How about we go home and watch Spy Wars, and play with Bond, and maybe even get you some ice cream?” He coaxed.

Anya snapped her head towards his, sleepy eyes suddenly wide with panic.

“No, Papa, you— you’re supposed to be at work! And I gotta be in class, or I won’t do good on my tests!”  She said anxiously, clenching her blanket in her fists.

Twilight frowned and reached out to set his hand over her smaller one.

“Don’t worry about that now,” he said, gentle but firm. “I was bored at work today, anyway, so you really saved me from a long day of doing nothing. And you’re allowed to take a night off from studying once in a while.”

Anya’s breath was now coming in shorter gasps, and her face was beginning to match the color of her blanket.

“No, I— no bolts— gotta— grades— Papa— Stella— peace—” She mumbled frantically, even as she tilted alarmingly to the side.

Twilight grabbed her shoulders before she could fall flat on her face, and shifted to sit on the floor himself so he could haul her into his lap.

“Anya, baby, you need to breathe with me, okay?” He said firmly. The term of endearment slipped out before he could stop it, but he was too busy trying to keep his voice calm to worry over it. “In and out, real slow. We’re not worried about grades right now. All that matters is you.”

His mind was going a million miles a minute as he tried to wrack his brain for reasons why Anya would become so stressed about this so suddenly, for solutions to calm her before she fainted again. He noticed a trail of blood start to creep from her nostril, and the guilt felt like a knife to his heart.

Was this really just about grades? About getting Stellas? For him?

This is bad, Twilight. You pushed her too hard. WISE put a six-year-old in charge of stopping an entire war, and this is where it got us.

Anya threw her arms around her neck and wailed.

“I’m sorry, Papa!” She cried into his shoulder. “I lied at the orphanage so you picked the wrong kid, and I’m too stupid to get Stellas, and I’m no good at being friends with Sy-on Boy, and now I’m the reason that— that the mission— the war—”

Twilight’s instincts kicked in. He was standing up before his brain told him to, going to lock the door and checking the windows, as well, still with Anya clutched tight to his chest.

She was still crying in his arms, but his abrupt movement seemed to have startled her into quieting her wails. If nothing else, she’d gone very, very stiff against his chest, even as she gripped his shirt hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Anya,” he whispered, just about a breath. “What do you mean by that? Anya, tell me now.”

He put too much threat in his tone, and he knew it the second the words left his mouth, but the fact that this was a child had become momentarily insignificant. For all he knew, she was an enemy plant. Forget the fact that he knew where Anya was at any given moment of the day. Accidental or otherwise, snitches could be a far greater threat than any weapon.

Anya pulled away from his hold, but only a bit. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks sticky with tear tracks, and Twilight realized that he’d never seen anyone— much less a child— look so defeated. So broken.

“I know, Papa,” she whispered, her voice steady but hollow.

That wasn’t good enough.

She couldn’t—

“Know what?” He pressed.

She lifted her gaze to meet his. Once bright and eager eyes may as well as have been burnt out lightbulbs.

“Everything.”

Chapter Text

Anya fell asleep on the way home, wrapped in Twilight’s suit jacket.

It was for the best, honestly, even if his brain itched for every single speck of information Anya had to reveal. The child was exhausted beyond belief, and there was no other secure environment to discuss this before they returned to the apartment.

A small voice ordered Twilight to march straight to the nearest WISE safe-house and call for the Handler to, well, handle this. Protocol was protocol, and to cross a superior was an unthinkable violation of an agent’s code of conduct; this was Spy 101. To even think of stooping under WISE’s line of sight like this was the most obvious violation Twilight could imagine—not to mention the only violation of his entire career.

A much louder voice in Twilight’s head knew he would not let a single person lay a hand on this child before he could figure out what exactly was happening.

As the train rumbled on the tracks beneath them, he hugged Anya a little closer to his chest and rested his chin on the crown of her head. An elderly couple sitting across the aisle smiled warmly at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to return it.

Whoever Anya turned out to be, for better or worse, she was still his daughter—not WISE’s. The only person he trusted more than Franky was the Handler; she had known him for a decade, had trained [REDACTED] the gangly child-soldier and crafted him to become Twilight, the cutthroat savant of espionage.

She was the smartest person he knew, but not the kindest, as was in accord with her line of work.

Diplomacy, foreign or domestic, wasn’t about kindness. The system was anarchy, and only those willing to claw their way to survive would make it out. The goal was peace, and they could not allow another option. WISE had a better track record than similar organizations for such matters, but Twilight knew that one child standing in the way of a world of peace was not a difficult dilemma for the Agency.

But they didn’t know this child, Twilight thought. They didn’t realize she was his.

So until he could figure out what risk, if any, Anya posed to peace, Twilight was keeping his mouth shut. 

He would get an earful from the Handler when she finally learned about it, but WISE would just have to wait this time.

He’d served them loyally for ten years now. Surely that entitled him to a bit of subterfuge. 

He thought about calling Franky, but fear crept in even there. Unlike WISE, there was no doubt in Twilight’s mind that Franky would keep Anya safe, even at his own risk. Still, he was about the furthest thing from level-headed, and Twilight felt panicked enough on his own. He was sure Franky would only push him over the edge into doing something rash.

He would call Franky later, Twilight decided. After he’d figured this out with Anya, but before WISE. After all, everything that existed of Anya—her birth certificate, her passport, her school records—existed because of Franky. If they needed anything else to keep her safe from the powers that be, Franky would be the one to make it happen.

It was a testament to how exhausted she truly was that Anya didn’t stir the whole way home, even as the afternoon traffic rushed by and civilian chatter surrounded them on the sidewalk.

Sometimes, during errands, Anya put a bit of an act on about it, whining that she was so tired and just can’t walk anymore until he scooped her up for the rest of the way. Other times, she dozed off in front of the TV after dinner until he carried her to bed, though he could tell by her breathing that she wasn’t all the way asleep.

This time was different.

She was completely limp in his arms, so much that it was difficult to keep her upright on his hip like he usually carried her and instead had to resort to something of a cradle—which, of course, made it twice as hard to carry his briefcase.

The inconvenience didn’t even register in Twilight’s mind, however– not when coupled with the frantic rampage of unanswered questions which had only multiplied since they left Eden.

Every part of Loid Forger wanted to beg to some higher power that Anya didn’t mean what she’d said, that she got it wrong, that she was just catching a bug and wrapped up in a spy game in her delirium.

But every part of Twilight, the best spy in all of Westalis, knew better. He’d seen the look in her eyes, the defeat, like any criminal finally breaking after hours of interrogation. In his line of work, it was a look that meant success, newfound intel, more pieces to play on the chessboard. Seeing it on Anya’s face, however, was something else entirely.

It made him feel sick.

But it also made him certain that she was serious.

As he trudged up the stairs to their apartment, the exhaustion creeping into his own bones grew more apparent. He ached to let Anya sleep, if only because then he could, as well. However, he knew this was the most pressing concern for Operation Strix since its conception, and rest needed to wait.

Regardless of how this conversation with Anya went—because he refused to call it an interrogation—Yor’s shift ended at six o’clock. He had no idea what he was about to learn, but he knew he would need to make numerous crucial decisions once he learned it, and that all had to happen before the mother of the Forger family came home, none the wiser.

Luckily, Twilight didn’t have to worry about waking Anya up himself. The girl began to stir just as he crossed the threshold of their apartment, and she was squirming to be let down as soon as he finished locking the door behind them.

He hesitated to do so—Should he worry about her making a break for it?—but she was persistent in her wriggling.

Bond must’ve been napping in her room like he usually did during school hours, and he came around the corner of the hallway when he heard the door. He might’ve been hoping for head scratches or even a prized treat, but he went rigid when he saw Anya fighting against his hold.

“Down!” Anya demanded, and Bond bared his teeth in a growl.

Twilight froze.

Never before had Bond made a move to threaten anyone, much less Twilight or Yor. It was easy to forget that the fluffy white behemoth who liked belly rubs and napping in the sun was once trained as a weapon, but this truth came rushing back to Twilight in an instant. Sure, he might’ve trained Bond in the basic etiquette of a housedog, but it would be foolish to assume he was Bond’s master.

That was Anya, and God help the fool who tried to take her away from her best friend.

Careful not to stare the dog in the eyes, Twilight very slowly lowered Anya to the ground, but kept his body squarely between her and the door.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in a low voice. “But I can’t let you run.”

Anya gave him an odd look. “Why would I?”

Twilight didn’t quite know how to answer that.

Before he could think of a response, Bond, now visibly calmed, lumbered over to Anya’s side, and she hugged her little arms around his neck. They didn’t even reach all the way around, and Twilight’s stomach churned.

“You said that you know…” He trailed off.

Whether it was Loid Forger or Twilight, words rarely failed him like this, and he hated it.

Anya took pity on him as she peeked up at him from between her bangs. They were getting long enough to hide her gaze behind, and some idiotic voice in Twilight’s head made a note to give her a haircut later.

“I want cocoa,” she decided.

“Wha—?”

“I’ll tell you everything, but only if I get cocoa,” she said firmly.

Bond barked and wagged his tail.

It was two against one, Twilight realized.

So Anya got cocoa.

Anya’s nap had clearly done her a lot of good, if the ability to sit up straight said anything, but Twilight saw that her eyes still lacked their usual brightness as he handed her the mug he carried over from the kitchen.

As he took a seat across from her, Anya took a tiny sip of cocoa, and some of the tension melted from her shoulders. She snuggled back into the couch and patted the cushion for Bond to hop up, a request which the fluffy behemoth eagerly obliged. He wasn’t allowed on the couch like that, and Anya knew so, but that was the least of Twilight’s worries.

Anya patted Bond’s head and looked him straight in the eyes for a long minute. Even more of the tension fell from her tiny frame, and finally, Anya set down her mug and turned to face Twilight head-on.

“You remember when we got Bond?” She asked quietly. “And how?”

Twilight’s mouth felt dry, but he couldn’t move his hand to take his own tea. “Yes…?”

But Anya was already shaking her head.

“The parts you didn’t tell me and Mama. At least, out loud,” she said. “The science people who tried to make him do stuff with his brain, to make him into a weapon.”

Her head went back to petting Bond, almost soothing him instead of herself.

Twilight stared at her. “How did you—?”

“Because they didn’t just do it to doggies,” she whispered. Her head turned back down to her lap. “Kids, too.”

His mouth wouldn’t open.

God, no. Not this. Not Anya. Anything but this, please…

Anya’s hands were wrapped tight around her mug, which she stared into like it held all the answers to the universe. She cleared her throat.

“Think something. Anything.”

Twilight wondered if he might be about to die, and his mind instinctively went to the same place it always did on a mission when he was on the brink of death: to a little house in Luwen, to lemon-drop cookies, to lullabies that muffled the screams of air raid sirens, to strong arms and blonde hair that he could burrow into and pretend that war was just a game for making-believe.

“Leah.”

Twilight’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them.

“What did you say?” He asked in a strangled voice.

Anya smiled, something too sad and too knowing for a face so young.

“Your mama. You thought about her. You think about her a lot. She was pretty and nice and strong, and her name was Leah.”

Twilight stared at her.

“So you can… when I think, when anyone thinks, you can hear…?”

Her nod was solemn—again, an odd, foreign thing to see from a child so small. She leaned forward to set her mug carefully on the coffee table, then folded her hands in her lap.

“You were so worried about peace, and I just wanted to help,” she said in a small voice, even as his mind continued to spin. “You needed a smart kid to pass the tests. The doctors taught me how to read and write, so I just had to convince you that I was smart enough and old enough for school, too.”

For some reason, it was only the last piece of Anya’s quiet confession stuck out to Twilight.

“Old enough?” He asked blankly. “But the orphanage said you were six years old.”

She shook her head. “They didn’t know. They just wanted to get rid of me. They would make up lots of stuff about kids so people would wanna take them home, but it never stuck for me. All the mamas and papas returned me once I got to be ‘too much’,” she whispered.

Her thumb drifted towards her mouth, and Twilight just barely stopped himself from reaching out to pull her hand away. He’d done it before, when she was napping on the couch or as he tucked her in for bed. He’d worried, back then, that letting her suck her thumb would hurt her teeth—and knew, of course, that such behavior wouldn’t be tolerated among the upper-crust at Eden.

He wondered now, though, if she needed comfort, who was he to deny her that much? After all this?

What else had he unknowingly been depriving her of, not realizing she was young enough to still need it? Sure, children developed at different rates, but there were things about Anya that had given Twilight pause before.

Her small stature, for one thing. Her clumsiness, like she was still growing into her little arms and legs and struggling to make them cooperate with her brain.

She thrived off praise for tiny things, he’d noticed, but were they actually so miniscule? Dressing herself in the morning, tidying her room, finishing her plate at dinner—she managed to do it all, but not without consistent practice and encouragement. He’d thought it odd once, why she needed these basic milestones to be reiterated so much. Now he wondered if she was learning to do it all on her own, far earlier than she should have been expected to.

She was so energetic, too, like any child, but he’d noticed how abruptly she could begin to tire. Sometimes it was during one of her games, at the supermarket, even in the middle of dinner; one minute she was bouncing off the walls, and the next, her eyes were fluttering and her chin was drooping towards her chest, even as she valiantly fought to stay awake.

Eden didn’t have any sort of rest or nap time built into its schedule, given that the youngest children were six. Twilight couldn’t remember exactly, but he thought that was around the age when his own mother stopped putting him down for a midday nap. But if Anya was much younger, of course she would still need that as part of her schedule, if only to maintain her energy levels throughout the day. A tired student didn’t learn.

“Papa,” Anya piped up, breaking him out of his thoughts. She was rubbing her forehead with a grimace. “You’re thinking too loud again.”

Immediately, he forced his mind to go blank.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly. “Do you… do you know how old you really are?”

She shrugged. “They never told us. Four, maybe?” She guessed, her eyebrows furrowing.

Twilight felt another knife of guilt in his chest and exhaled shakily. “Oh, Anya,” he exhaled shakily. “I’m so sorry.”

Anya stared at him for a moment, puzzled. Then, she shimmied off the couch and crossed to his side, where she held up her hands until he hefted her onto his lap automatically. He wasn't sure when that had become second nature. 

“What are you sorry for, Papa?” She asked once she was settled comfortably on his knee.

He managed a weak smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. “All this time, I’ve been pushing you so much to focus on your studies. Too much. I got so frustrated with you, and… and it was never your fault at all. It’s no wonder you’re struggling in class— you’re too young to be there in the first place,” he said gently.

Anya’s green eyes snapped up, wide with alarm. “But I gotta—I gotta do good in school! So I can get close to Sy-on Boy, and you can get close to his Papa, and then you can make the fighting go away! So there’s peace!” She said desperately, eyes brimming with panicked tears.

Twilight tucked her back into the crook of his neck and rubbed circles between her shoulder blades.

“That shouldn’t be your responsibility. Your only job is to be a kid,” he told her in a low voice. “And I took that away from you.”

Anya sighed against his lapel, sounding far too thoughtful for her years. “You didn’t know,” she said finally. “And we can’t change anything now.”

He sighed, too, and hugged her close–whether for her comfort or his, it was anyone’s guess. “Maybe not much,” he agreed. “But we can try.”

Chapter Text

On the first Thursday of October, just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, the street lights flickered to life, and children were called inside for supper, Agent Twilight learned the truth about Anya.

The next morning, on a dreary, overcast Friday, Loid Forger lied to his wife.

“Is Anya almost ready? I don’t want her to miss the bus and have to walk in this weather!” Yor said as she peered out the window.

Loid rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, actually— I’m afraid she’s feeling quite ill,” he told her. “I’ve already told her she can stay home today.”

As gently as he’d tried to say it, Yor still looked stricken.

“She’s sick? She hasn’t been sick before! I mean, she probably has, but— since I— I mean, since we— oh, how awful. The poor dear must be miserable! I’ll call my boss straight away and let him know I can’t come in today.”

Loid caught Yor lightly by the elbows before she could dash for the phone, chuckling in spite of the guilt squirming in his gut for his dishonesty. How odd. He lied to the whole world, including— especially —Yor every day, yet this lie sat heavy on his tongue. For all the parts of himself that he couldn’t reveal to her, he never lied to her about Anya. He found he didn’t enjoy it.

He had also discovered the previous night that he disliked making Anya lie to her mother. Yet it was undeniably necessary at this moment, and Anya had acted her part wonderfully, just like they’d practiced.

As Twilight had instructed her, the most convincing lies are rooted in truth. Therefore, when Yor came home from work, she was informed that Anya had come home early from school after feeling under the weather, and Loid had allowed her to sleep most of the afternoon in hopes of preventing a real illness from developing–an illness which would handily come in the morning, giving Anya and Loid another excuse to miss school and work.

(In fact, Anya had spent most of the afternoon perched on the counter, kicking her feet as she answered question after question and watched Twilight make peanut cookies as her reward. He found himself wishing most questionings went so easily in his line of work; how much simpler his job would be if he could pry out nuclear codes with promises of sweets or an extra story before bed.)

Yor was none the wiser, then and now, though it pained Twilight to ensure.

“Yor, please relax,” he urged. “Anya will be fine, I promise. These kinds of bugs always go around the schools this time of year. Go ahead to work, and I’ll take care of her today.”

She looked unconvinced. “Are you sure? I have some overtime saved up—”

Loid waved her off. “And you should use that to enjoy yourself. Go to work, and I’ll call you at lunchtime to let you know how she’s doing okay? I’m positive she just needs some rest and a bit of coddling,” he said confidently.

“If you’re sure,” Yor said reluctantly. “Let me tell her good-bye before I leave, then.”

Loid stepped aside to let her head for Anya’s bedroom. As soon as he was certain Yor couldn’t see him, he thought very clearly, Pretend to be sick so she’s not suspicious.

That may have been excessive, he realized when he heard quite dramatic coughing and groaning from down the hallway. Good enough, he figured.

Even if Yor still looked anxious when she returned for her coat and purse, she left the house right on time, and Anya hopped down the hall with Bond the second the door clicked shut behind her.

“What now?” She asked, grabbing onto his hand to give it a little tug.

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as his stomach turned with stress.

“ Now you eat your breakfast,” he said simply.

She gave him an unimpressed look, one that he couldn’t help but laugh at.

He crouched down to her level and ruffled her hair, still mussed from sleep.

“I need to make a few phone calls. I’ll need your help afterwards, but you’ll be too tired to help if you don’t eat first. Don’t you think Bondman has to eat breakfast?”

She thought for a moment. “Do you have to eat breakfast, Papa?”

He cracked a grin. “I do. I already had mine, though. Now it’s your turn.”

She gave a sharp, assured nod and scurried over to the kitchen table to attack her waffles with vigor.

He watched her for a moment, made sure she managed to get in her chair without too much trouble. She was still too tiny to be able to sit down normally, and she stubbornly refused his or Yor’s offers to help her; usually she used Bond as a step-stool, but if the dog was feeling less amicable that day, she’d clamber up the side of the chair and kick her legs like wild until she had enough momentum to swing herself onto the seat.

Luckily, Bond was ready and willing this morning, already crouched beside her seat to act as her booster seat and catch any crumbs she dropped.

He took a deep breath and went over to the phone.

It took a few rings before Franky picked up, but once he did, his words rushed out like a river.

“Hey, man! You never call this early. Weren’t you supposed to come by today to pick up a package? Or do you need a babysitting favor? Calling out sick again?”

He was far too energetic considering it was seven in the morning, but it was a familiar energy that put Twilight at ease, put a warm feeling in his chest. (Certainly, at least, in comparison to the phone call he’d have to make after this.)

“Nothing so dramatic,” Twilight responded patiently. “I won’t be able to stop by this morning. Something came up. But I do need to tell you about it. Can you come by later? In the afternoon, while Yor’s working.”

Franky was quiet for a moment. “Did something happen?” He asked, in a more serious tone. “You’re alright, yeah?”

Twilight nodded, despite the fact they were on the phone.

“Everything is fine, I promise. But it is sensitive. Just come, okay?”

Franky blew out a breath. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just… take care of yourself, okay? And the girls.”

“Will do.”

With that call, by far the simpler of the two, out of the way, Twilight glanced behind him to check on Anya.

She was still eating, getting waffle crumbs all over her pajamas.

For the umpteenth time in the last twenty-four hours, Twilight was struck by how small this child was, not only in stature, but her face, as well. Her cheeks still had the roundness of youth, and the light in her vibrant green eyes had steadily returned since her panic the day before. She was none-too-discreetly slipping Bond a few cornflakes, and there was a smear of syrup on her chin that Twilight had the urge to wipe off.

He’d indulged her the night before, perhaps foolishly for a parent, but what were cookies and coloring and anime if it meant he could see her eyes brighten again?

Now that that brightness had returned, though, he had to return to his job. And his muscle memory was dialing the phone number before his better judgment stopped him.

The Handler picked up within a single ring, as always.

“Good morning, Mr. Forger,” she said smoothly. “You don’t normally call from your home number.”

He ignored the implicit question. “I need to speak with you,” he said instead.

The Handler huffed. It was never a good idea to skate past her questions. “Pardon me, but I thought that’s what we’re doing right now,” she said. “Are you going to continue?”

“This is something which must be discussed in person,” he said firmly. “Immediately.”

“Do you realize how busy I am?” Twilight winced and pulled the phone away from his ear before he went deaf. “You agents are all the same! All the time, demanding this and that, like I’ve got all the time and resources in the world—”

Twilight took a deep breath. “Sylvia, please.” She stopped short. “It’s… extremely significant. And unbelievably sensitive.”

The Handler was quiet for a moment, and Twilight dreaded whether he was about to lose his job, or perhaps his life.

Finally, her voice returned, lower albeit not much gentler.

“Meet at my office in one hour.”

The line went dead.

Heads turned.

Of course they did.

None of the WISE safehouses in the East were exactly buzzing workplaces, especially after the recent spy purges across the capital city, so even one unfamiliar face led in through the heavy steel doors raised eyebrows—doubly so if that face belonged to a child.

Twilight knew this. He knew he had a bit of a reputation himself, particularly among the newer recruits, so he’d gotten used to a few stares.

But when agents saw him striding down the corridor with a little girl clutched to his chest, they knew automatically that this was the child at the heart of Operation Strix, the one upon whom the burden of world peace rested.

That was a reasonable excuse to stare, Twilight told himself, even if it made him hold Anya that much tighter and glare daggers at anyone in their path.

They couldn’t know about Anya’s—

No.

No one knew but him; she’d promised, she had sworn on Mr. Chimera’s life.

And logically Twilight knew this must be true, but his heart still quickened with each head turned their way the closer they got to the Handler’s office.

“’s okay, Papa,” Anya whispered. “Still our secret. Promise.”

Twilight cracked a smile as a tiny bit of the tension melted from his shoulders. If this week was teaching him anything, it was that he really needed to give Anya more credit. 

The hallway felt longer than usual as he strode to the Handler’s door. No one was around, thankfully, neither seasoned agents coming in for mission reports nor the anxious interns rushing files to and fro. It meant Twilight didn’t have to kick anyone out–though he was more than ready to do so, for this–but it also meant he didn’t have anything keeping him from going straight in as he mentally debated this entire thing for the millionth time.

The Handler lazily rolled her chair around to face him, but the moment her eyes fell on Anya, she shot to her feet.

“M-Mr. Forger,” she said tightly, glaring daggers at Twilight. “I imagine this is not a suitable environment for your daughter. Perhaps we have one of your colleagues look after her somewhere—”

“She knows,” Twilight cut her off. “All of it.”

The Handler’s eyes flashed. “Elaborate,” she hissed in a tone like ice, leaning forward with her palms splayed on her desk.

Twilight glanced over his shoulder to be sure the door was shut behind them before he turned back to her. “Remember the dogs from the summit? All those experiments?”

She inclined her head stiffly.

He stooped to set Anya on her feet, but allowed her to burrow into his side and hide behind his leg. “They weren’t just experimenting on dogs. There were humans in Project Apple, too, and they—”

“Agent, you had better hold your tongue!” His Handler snapped, her eyes wild with a  white-hot fury Twilight had never seen in them— furious, yes, but terrified, too.

“I look like Sara?”

Both adults had nearly forgotten Anya was in the room with them until she piped up, and both heads swiveled to look at her.

“Anya, what—?”

The Handler held up a hand to silence him, and his question died in his throat. Her hands clenched into tight, trembling fists at her sides, but her steps were slow and deliberate as she came around the desk and approached the child at Twilight’s side.

“What did you say?” She whispered, crouching carefully in front of the child.

Anya glanced up at Twilight, bit her lip, then looked back to the Handler.

“When we walked in. You saw me and said— you thought that I looked like Sara,” she said. “Is Sara your baby?” 

The Handler smiled, a sad, weak thing, as she brushed Anya’s hair behind her ear and gave a small nod.

“Yes, dear. She was.”

Anya’s eyes flickered with understanding and she let out a little sigh. “I’m sorry.”

The Handler paused for a moment, pensive and grave.

“Can you tell me what Sara’s birthday was?” She asked in a low voice.

Anya’s face brightened a bit. “January 11th! One-one-one,” she said with a little giggle.

The Handler straightened up and met Twilight’s gaze, her crimson red lips pressed together.

“You understand, then, that this changes everything.”

He really wished he hadn’t given up smoking.

Chapter Text

It took ages holed up in the conference room, hours of tense discussion, careful planning, and, yes, a few heated arguments exchanged through tight mutters between Twilight and the Handler— until they remembered Anya could read their minds, anyway, so it wasn’t really that helpful to stay quiet.

But after a few hours, they had something resembling a plan.

Twilight made a point to leave Anya out of it as much as possible. He’d been in hundreds of mission-planning discussions throughout his career, maybe more, and they were almost uniformly identical: long, intense, tiring, and dull.

Beyond the fact that Anya as a six— no, four-year-old had the attention span of a goldfish, Twilight also worried that the subject matter at hand could be… distressing.

Internally, he was still grappling with the amount of disturbing, often violent things that had passed through his mind over the last months, all the thoughts she’d been able to hear the whole time. Even just a glance through one of his simplest mission files would startle the average adult civilian.

She wasn’t just a little girl, either; she’d been purposefully raised like a common lab rat, a top-secret scientific guinea pig, an experiment to toy with. Twilight knew they’d barely scratched the surface of what Project Apple entailed, especially for its subjects, and he hated the idea of dragging her into a discussion that could reignite those memories for her.

(And that wasn’t even mentioning his own trauma, his brain unhelpfully supplied. How often was she listening when he was letting his mind wander? Did Anya know about the war? Did she know about his childhood, about his mother? The bombs, the air raids, the structures turned to rubble and the bodies turned to pieces in their wake? He wondered if she could see into his nightmares when he was asleep.)

No, he decided. He and the Handler would do the bulk of organizing this new development into an actionable asset to Operation Strix’s ends.

He tucked her into a chair in the corner with her little backpack, made sure she had Mr. Chimera to keep her company and enough crayons and paper to keep her occupied. To her credit, she behaved well. He’d been worried the temptation of an entire spy agency headquarters would be too much for her to resist sneaking out for a little adventure. Yet Anya just sat in the too-tall chair and colored away, little feet dangling high above the floor. 

Twilight didn’t have to tell the Handler that this needed to remain completely confidential— from regular agents to the very highest on WISE’s pecking order. It was a direct violation of protocol, and they both know it, but the two of them had a silent, shared understanding of Anya’s precarious situation.

On the one hand, their superiors would be furious that a child had been exposed to highly-classified intelligence for months directly under their best agent’s nose. Likewise, they could have seen her telepathy as an incredible asset that they could not afford to lose, and essentially hold onto Anya for their own devices— to lock her up, just like Project Apple did.

Even in the best case scenario, in which they allowed Anya to retain any degree of agency, she would still be required to immediately begin WISE recruitment training. Age be damned.

As far as Twilight knew, the youngest recruit in their history was seventeen— another soldier like himself, who’d “lost” their records in the raids but were eager and ready to enlist, before they were plucked out of combat by undercover recruiters. Teenagers were too unpredictable, too moody. The vast majority of rookies were twenty or so: still young, healthy and strong, but with the slightest bit of added brain development in place of raging hormones.

But Anya was— well, she was special. Twilight had known that yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Hell, he’d known so since the very beginning, when she solved a crossword puzzle in twenty seconds, and asked for a pistol with a silencer, and hugged his legs and told him she would cry if he didn’t take her home.

He never let himself think about why she was special. He just knew she was.

But the higher-ups at WISE would think she was special for a very different reason. She’d be special for the same reason they thought Twilight was special: because she’d be useful. And sure, he knew his worth to the agency, knew his abilities, and he allowed himself to be used, but only because he knew he could help maintain peace— he wanted to help maintain peace.

But Anya was just four. She knew more about the darker nature of mankind than Twilight would ever wish, but she was still over a decade too young to be used in the way WISE would want. She was, at the very least, far too young to make that decision for herself.

No, Twilight and the Handler both knew better. For better or worse, they would make this work: protect peace, and protect Anya.

Silently.

Twilight still remembered what his Handler taught him on his very first day of training a decade ago: the only way to keep a secret was to not tell anybody.

So only a handful of people would know: Twilight and the Handler, of course, and then Moonlight and Nightfall.

Moonlight was an obvious choice. He was one of the oldest agents at WISE, having refused cushier, safer promotions for years so he could “keep an eye on the young'uns.” He’d also been one of the first agents Twilight met, and one he often accompanied on missions. Though he’d slowed some with age, no one else in the building was more trustworthy.

Nightfall was… less obvious. It was the Handler, of course, who suggested her; after all, she’d been trained by Twilight personally, and had also been a co-agent on numerous missions.

Yet, as Twilight tried to gently explain, Nightfall was… intense. He was never quite able to understand where her abrupt bouts of passion came from on their various missions, and though it had never prevented them from achieving their objectives, it still unnerved Twilight for an operation of this severity. In short, unpredictability was the last thing they needed.

“Nightfall already has an established role in Operation Strix as your nurse at the hospital,” the Handler insisted, her lips pressed tight. “In case of emergency, she could easily be dispatched to assist without threatening to raise suspicions or blow a cover.”

Twilight opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly Anya appeared under his arm, making both he and the Handler start. They hadn’t heard the slightest creak or shuffle when she’d crossed the room.

“Did you teach her how to sneak around like that?” The Handler asked him with a raised brow.

“How on earth would that have worked in my favor?” He sputtered. “Anya, who—”

“Scruffy!” She chirped.

Twilight groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was pointedly avoiding his Handler’s gaze, but he knew very well the unimpressed look she was almost certainly wearing.

“Let me guess. Your special ‘private informant’?” She asked dryly. “Who you’ll doubtlessly insist on including in this plan?”

He stayed quiet.

She huffed.

“Fine. Mr. Franklin will provide his assistance with this mission, and in exchange, WISE will continue to pretend Mr. Franklin is his real name. Honestly, Twilight—”

“Appreciated, as always,” he said smoothly.

He turned down to look at Anya, who was perching her chin on his chair’s arm-rest, blinking up at him with those big green eyes.

She was shorter than the conference table, he realized, and something about that made his chest tighten. He didn’t think before he was slipping his hands under her arms to heft her into in his lap, and a small voice in his head wondered when doing that had begun to feel like second nature— hoisting her onto his shoulders to see over a crowd; making dinner one-handed with her perched on his hip; scooping her up from her blanket nest in front of the television to carry her to bed.

Anya was looking at the Handler, but she leaned back slightly to rest against Twilight’s torso. He wondered if she intended it for her comfort or his own.

“Anya,” he said gently. “Have you been paying attention to what we’ve been talking about? What our plan is?”

The little girl gave a tiny, sheepish nod.

“I’m s’posed to listen to what people are thinkin’ at school. Especially Sy-on Boy,” she said carefully. “And then I tell you at home, and then on the weekends I come here to tell— uh, someone…”

“I’ll be here,” the Handler said, both face and tone softening for Anya. “And so will two of our workers, Moonlight and Nightfall. Together we’ll think about what new information you’ve gotten us and see if it might give us ways to make Operation Strix more successful. They’re work friends of ours, so you can trust them. Both are very—”

“No frosty lady!” Anya cut in, shaking her head hard.

Twilight chewed on his lip.

“Come, Anya, you know Miss Fiona. Isn’t she very polite?” He hedged, but she only glowered more.

“No! She doesn’t like Mama! She’s always thinkin’ so.”

The Handler steepled her fingers under her chin with a thoughtful hum.

“She doesn’t like Yor Forger,” she said. “But she doesn’t mind any of the spies at WISE? She’s not trying to find secrets for other people or another country, right?”

Anya shook her head earnestly.

“No. She likes her job. She wants… peace. Like me and you and Papa. But she likes Papa, like, a lot more,” she whispered loudly to the Handler.

Twilight opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to even sputter some kind of reply or— more fitting— a follow-up question, but the Handler threw her head back to laugh in a way he’d never seen.

“Very well, Anya,” she said, folding her hands primly on the table. “You won’t have to speak with Miss Frost. And I’ll make certain to keep an eye on how she speaks with Twilight, hm?”

Anya clumsily folded her hands to mimic the Handler and gave a very dignified nod and a “hm” of her own.

As Anya was ushered back to the corner to gather her things in her little backpack, the spies gathered up the numerous documents and notes they’d written up to be put in a classified file. The Handler checked that Anya was distracted with her toy chimera before she leaned in to whisper to Twilight.

“We still have basically no information about Project Apple,” she said in a low voice. “Try to find out what you can. This could seriously impact more than Strix. Consider the entire future of WISE operations.”

Twilight gave her a stern look.

“I’m not interrogating my daughter about being experimented on like a lab rat for the first three years of her life.”

The Handler lifted an eyebrow.

“Remember your place, agent. And remember hers,” she said firmly. “That girl could single-handedly save the world. And what’s more, she just consented to trying.”

“‘Consented’ to—? She’s four years old,” he snapped back.

He glanced over at Anya, who was dutifully packing up her crayons. Her pigtails were coming loose; he made a mental note to re-do them on the train home.

He blew out a breath and turned back to the Handler.

“This is a trial-run, okay? Maybe Damian Desmond knows nothing about his father. Maybe he’s no use to us, and Anya doesn’t change Strix in the slightest,” he said in a low voice.

She pursed her lips and looked at Anya herself.

“Even if not, there’s other missions—”

“Don’t.”

Even Twilight was surprised by the ice in his tone. The Handler’s gaze snapped back to meet his. He swallowed down the panic which had surged in his chest and tried to speak as coolly as possible.

“Anya might be able to help with Strix, or she might not. Either way, that’s the end of her work with WISE. We just got done talking about what the superiors would do if they found out about her abilities. This is a sub-operation, remember?” He said urgently. “Success of Operation Strix means that the youth of both Ostania and Westalis have the privilege of a childhood none of us got thanks to the war. Anya’s already been deprived of that for most of her life. A child isn’t obligated to sacrifice herself, but she’s doing us a favor here— the biggest favor. And if she helps obtain peace, then she gets to enjoy it permanently.”

The Handler blinked.

“Enjoy it? What, in an orphanage? Or are you planning on leaving her to ‘enjoy peace’ whilst raised by the widowed Yor Forger?” She asked, incredulous.

Twilight shook his head before he could think better of it.

“Loid Forger isn’t going to die.”

The Handler stared at him for a long moment, eyes flashing. Any agent— no, any human with eyes and basic survival instincts, they would be cowering on the floor for mercy. And for a second, Twilight considered it; his Handler’s gaze was a scary place to find yourself, even after ten years of unwavering service and success.

But then he heard Anya humming the Spy Wars theme song in the corner while she zipped up her bag, and he stared straight back at the Handler.

A silent challenge.

It seemed to last for eons, and Twilight wondered which of them would break first, but it turned out they didn’t need to.

“I’m going with Papa,” Anya piped up.

They both startled, and spun to look at her. She was pulling her bag over her shoulders as casually as a student fresh out of class. Her eyes were as bright and cheerful as ever, but something in her smile wasn’t as warm as before.

“Of course,” the Handler said smoothly, smiling kindly. “You go on home and then we’ll see you back on—”

Anya shook her head.

“A trade. Not a favor,” she said. Her girlish, high voice didn’t match the severity of her tone, Twilight thought, and he was faintly glad to not be the recipient of her gaze. “I’ll do everything I can for peace. For the— opurr-ay-shun.  But in return, I want Papa to stay. And Mama, too.”

Twilight’s mouth felt dry.

“Anya, dear, I would love to stay in Berlint with you, but I work for WISE,” he tried to explain gently. “It’s not a normal job, it’s… well, it’s an entire-life kind of job.”

Anya didn’t look impressed.

“So do it,” she said simply. “Mama is a— I mean, Mama works for the mayor. She leaves in the morning and comes home at night. Do your spy missions and make the world peaceful, like we talked about. Just come home afterwards.”

Both Twilight and the Handler were stunned into silence. He glanced at her, waiting for her reaction.

After a painfully long moment, the Handler pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest.

“I’ll try to figure something out,” she said tightly, a frown set heavily on her face. “But I can’t make any promises. Work with us on this sub-mission, and I’ll work on that. And, Twilight—”

He swiveled to face her, broken out of his trance.

“Speak with Mr. Franklin about these new… revelations. See what he can find out about Apple’s human trials. WISE will compensate him for any research that comes of it so it doesn’t have to come out of your paycheck this time.”

Twilight cracked a small smile and scooped Anya up to stop her tugging on his hand.

“Operation Barn Owl is already doing something.”

The Handler rolled her eyes, but the dangerous glint in her eyes had been replaced by the previous fondness as she looked at Anya fiddling with the pin on his lapel.

“Sub-Operation Barn Owl, agent.”

Chapter Text

Franky stared at Twilight.

Twilight waited silently in the chair across from him.

Franky stared some more.

Then, finally, he took a deep breath and pushed his chair back with a screech against the floor.

“I can’t do this sober,” he decided as he walked around the table to the kitchen.

Twilight, for his part, remained seated.

Franky took his time pouring himself a charitable amount of wine and took a hearty swig. He came back to the table with his glass in hand and a bit less tension in his shoulders, but he didn’t sit down. He turned to glance down the hallway, but all the doors were shut, so he swiveled back to Twilight.

“You’re telling me,” he said in a low voice, “that the kid you randomly picked to be a piece in your cold war chess game, one orphan in a city with at least a thousand others which would’ve done just as well— you’re telling me that girl just happens to be a goddamn psychic? ”

Twilight blew out a breath and rested his elbows on the table.

“Well, technically, she’s telepa—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Franky warned. He took another large gulp of his wine and jabbed a finger at Twilight. “Don’t you go all technically on me.”

He sighed.

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, cringing a bit at the desperation in his voice. The best spy in Western intelligence wasn’t used to being desperate. “I only found out yesterday. You know I couldn’t just not tell you—”

“Why do I always have to get dragged into your stupid spy business?” Franky said, moving to collapse onto the couch. (Bond, who was dozing in the corner, snuffled a bit but did not stir.) “You happen across a dude during a damn war and then you’re stuck playing sidekick for the next ten years—”

“You chose to be an informant,” Twilight shot back, somewhat irritated. “That’s what they’re called, by the way. Not ‘sidekicks.’ Did you know?”

Franky lifted his head from the couch cushions to shoot Twilight a moody glare, and received one in return.

Back to silence.

After a long beat, though, Franky cracked a grin, huffing a laugh against his glass; his breath fogged against the rim. He was again the first to break the silence, though an air of tension hung in the room.

“I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking me,” he said frankly (no pun intended). “We’ve been through a lot together, man, and you know I’ve always tried to help in whatever way I could with your missions because I believe in the cause. Because I believe in you .

“But this—” He waved his hands vaguely in the air, nearly spilling his wine. “Human experiments, mind-reading orphans, and all: I think this is above my pay grade, don’t you? You already told WISE. Isn’t that enough? They must be chomping at the bit to use this.”

Twilight blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair.

“That’s exactly why I need you in on this,” he said earnestly. “You’ve helped me out on so many missions with WISE, you know what they’re like. They’d do absolutely anything , use any resource at their disposal if it meant preventing the war.”

Franky looked at him, his brows raised.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Twilight sighed and looked down the hallway, where Anya’s door remained shut. He hoped she was still asleep; she’d been so exhausted after the meeting at WISE that she hadn’t protested even a little bit when he put her down for a nap. He hoped she was getting the rest she dearly needed, and deserved.

He turned back to Franky, who was watching him with a small smirk.

“You’ve been corrupted, Agent,” he said in a sing-song voice, swirling his wine. “Incapacitated, really, by a little girl. Are you finally ready to admit it?”

Twilight nearly huffed and shot back a quick denial, but he found the words faltering at the tip of his tongue. Instead, he just looked back at his oldest friend with his lips pressed tight.

“I won’t let them use a child as a weapon,” he said firmly. “She’s agreed to help provide intel, but that’s where her involvement in Strix will end. I refuse to let anyone steal her away to weaponize, not for the East or the West. I’m not asking you to do anything for me more than you already are. Just stay tuned into the grapevine. I only need your word that if you hear anything even remotely related to this in your network— Project Apple, human experiments, child soldiers, anything like that— you’ll tell me right away.”

Franky took a more respectable sip from his glass, glancing out the window at the city skyline.

“All these years I’ve been listening, I’ve never heard of anything like this,” he said.

Twilight hummed.

“Until today, you mean.”

Finally, Franky set down his glass on the table, and leaned forward to fold his hands in his lap.

“Until today,” he solemnly agreed. “Did your Handler give you permission to tell me? Or is that another secret?”

Twilight gave him a small smile.

“She knows. But only because it’s my oldest friend.”

Franky snorted.

“More like your only friend.”

“True enough.”

Silence once again draped over them like a curtain, but not uncomfortably so. Such are those between friends like this. Franky got up to wash his glass. Twilight listened to him put the kettle on for tea, as well. He heard him puttering around the kitchen, the teacups tinkling against each other, the water hissing as it began to steam.

“You can say it’s for a kid’s sake,” Franky said, dropping his voice a bit. “But we both know it’s for this kid. The sooner you admit that, the less unbearable you’ll be to hang out with.”

Twilight smiled and rested his chin in his palm.

“Does this mean you’ll help?” He said as Franky returned to the table with a steaming mug in each hand.

Franky’s expression made him look not unlike a tired, long-suffering housewife.

“Yes, you dumbass, of course I’ll help,” he snapped.

“Bad word!” Anya chirped just behind him.

Twilight chuckled as Franky jumped a foot in the air and slapped a hand over his heaving chest. Anya, too, giggled behind her hands and scampered over to the kitchen table, making grabby hands until he hoisted her onto the chair beside his. He had, of course, noticed when the door behind Franky had opened a crack and Anya’s mischievous green eyes peeked out, but had elected not to warn him as she padded quietly into the living room with her sock-clad feet. It was never a bad time for Franky to practice alertness considering his line of work— and, moreover, after the last twenty-four hours, Twilight decided he could really do with a quiet laugh.

“You told Scruffy, right?” Anya asked, kneeling on her chair. “He’s thinkin’ too hard now, like you always do.”

Twilight nodded with a small smile.

“I did, like we discussed with the Handler,” he said. After a moment, he paused and eyed Franky curiously. “Anya, what does Franky normally think about?”

Franky scoffed and sputtered indignantly, but Anya simply gave Twilight a weary look.

“Ladies. Lots of ‘em.”

Twilight turned to smirk at Franky.

“I told you she's the real deal,” he said simply.

Franky glowered and muttered a few more “bad words” under his breath, but at least had the sense to not try to lie. He did, however, maintain a slightly sour expression as he joined them at the table.

“How are we going to explain this plan to your mom, eh?” He asked Anya.

She kicked her feet with a bright smile.

“We’re callin’ it my homework!” She said eagerly. “I’m going to the hospital with Papa like I did for my job report.”

Franky glanced at Twilight, who ruffled Anya’s hair; comprehension of spoken explanation deserved positive reinforcement, per the parenting guides. She beamed.

“It won’t be complicated,” he told Franky. “On the days Anya comes with me to HQ, Yor will think she’s at the hospital with me. We’ll just tell her that Eden assigned a more in-depth research project. Hands-on learning and whatnot.”

Franky glanced at Anya; she was resting her elbows on the table like Twilight, though she was barely tall enough to reach.

“It’s certainly ‘hands-on,’” he agreed faintly. “You’re sure about this?”

Twilight sighed.

“It’s… unexpected, obviously,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t have to be an obstacle. The Handler says that Operation Strix is the most important mission WISE has carried out since the war. And like any mission, all resources available must be utilized.”

Franky looked hard at Twilight.

“Resources,” he repeated, eyebrows raised. “So now that I’ve heard the WISE answer, how about you tell me yours?”

Twilight pursed his lips.

“The faster we can finish this mission, the better. If we can complete Strix sooner with Anya’s help, then it’s sooner that she can have a normal childhood. This is how we make that happen.”

Anya perked up and batted at his sleeve, her head swiveling towards the door.

“Mama’s coming!”

He rested a hand on her head.

“You know what to do,” he said calmly.

She turned to give him a swift, confident nod, like a soldier. He forced himself to ignore that thought as well as the tight feeling in his chest as Twilight morphed into Loid Forger.

Chapter Text

Autumn had swept into Berlint practically overnight. One Friday the sun was shining a cheerful, pleasant warmth over the city, and the next day it had disappeared behind gray clouds accompanied by wind strong enough to rattle the windows at City Hall in the panes.

Yor tucked her wool cardigan tighter around herself as another chilly gust sent her hair billowing behind her like some kind of action movie star. Her work uniform did not lend her much warmth, even wearing her fleece-lined tights, and Yor chided herself for not bringing a thicker coat. When the wind had finally passed, she straightened up again and continued her walk home from work.

Most of City Hall, including her department, was closed on weekends. This was beneficial for plenty of reasons; Camilla and the other girls used the free days to go shopping or get lunch together, while the Gardener seized the opportunity to send Yor out on more intense assignments. However, she hadn’t received a particularly difficult one in several weeks.

Yor usually didn’t mind this at all. During the day, she often enjoyed outings with Loid and Anya— visiting museums, eating at nice restaurants, taking Bond to the dog park, and all sorts of fun things.

Granted, as a doctor Loid was often forced to work weekends at the hospital. (“Illness doesn’t take holidays,” he’d said with an apologetic laugh the last time he was called out for a late-night housecall.) 

That was alright, though. Yor was proud to know such a selfless man as Loid, and even prouder— albeit a bit bashful— to call him her husband. And even when Loid was at work, she could spend her time playing with Anya, watching her Spy Wars show, or even trying to help her with her homework, although that was usually Loid’s department.

Lately, though, things had… well, changed.

It wasn’t like anything bad had happened. Anya just got assigned a school project which was taking up her and Loid’s weekends now.

“It’s a bit like when she had to interview one of us about our occupation,” Loid had explained to Yor. Anya had stood by his side, mute, clutching her notebook. “But Eden is trying to prepare the first-years for the long-term, research type of projects they’ll have to do more regularly as they progress through school. Anya decided to do hers on psychiatry. It just means she’ll spend Saturdays with me at the hospital.”

And so suddenly the weekends saw Yor walking listlessly through the silent apartment on Park Avenue, looking for something to occupy her time. She used some of the time to deep-clean their home, but she already cleaned during the week— and really, even with a dog and a child running about, a place could only be cleaned so many times before it became excessive, and the lemon-scent disinfectant spray began to give her headaches.

After a few weeks, Yor finally went to her boss to ask about completing some over-time work in the office on Saturdays. He seemed surprised at the request, even gently asked her if things were alright at home, but once she assured him she wasn’t destitute or anything like that, he agreed readily. He even began leaving a pile of forms and other such documents on the end of his desk just for her weekend shift.

This day’s pile hadn’t been especially large, mostly dull typing work that she finished in just two hours. Faced with the thought of returning to an empty apartment yet again, however, she’d grimaced and picked up the phone at her desk.

“Sis!” Yuri exclaimed loudly, his eager waves breaking Yor out of her dazed thoughts. She’d only called twenty minutes or so ago, but here he was, already waiting on the steps to the apartment complex.

“Yuri! I’m so sorry if I made you wait,” Yor apologized, rushing up the stairs to embrace her little brother. “And in this weather, no less!”

As if on cue, thunder rumbled overhead in the gray sky, and both siblings automatically stepped closer to the door.

“Oh, it’s no problem, Sis,” Yuri said cheerfully as he opened the door for her. “I don’t live that far, you know. And besides, I just bought this new coat with the raise I got last week!”

Yor gasped, stepping into the foyer of the building.

“You didn’t tell me about that!” She said, a grin spreading across her face. (She hadn’t smiled today since Anya gave her a fleeting squeeze around the waist before running out the door for Loid to chase her.) “Come upstairs. We’ll have tea, and you can tell me all about it.”

Yuri beamed back.

As it turned out, he didn’t actually have much to say about the raise. It wasn’t a promotion or anything, he told her with a vague wave of his hand. Just sort of a “good job” from his boss.

Yor was still very excited for him, but Yuri for his part seemed far more focused on where Loid had gone.

“He leaves you here alone on the weekends now, too? So irresponsible. What if something happened, Sis?” He grumbled, shoving another hastily-baked tea cake in his mouth.

(Bond, who was laying at Yor’s feet, took a hesitant sniff of the crumbs that fell to the floor, but quickly rolled onto his other side.)

Yor sighed.

“Yuri, I told you, doctors have to work very stressful hours— and he’s helping Anya with her school project! Besides, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” she added firmly.

Her little brother looked none too pleased to hear her rebuttal.

“It doesn’t matter. A real husband would manage his time so he could provide for his family and be home to care for them!”

Yor flushed, halfway angry and the other half anxious. On one hand, Yuri truly had no idea how capable she was of protecting herself, and it always irritated her when he treated her like she was made of glass. On the other hand, she couldn’t very well explain how she had become so capable without exposing her real job with the Garden, or defend her not-so-real husband’s actions without perhaps exposing the truth behind their not-so-real marriage.

She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, but that didn’t mean she was going to be quiet when Loid’s honor was questioned.

“Yuri!” She snapped, effectively silencing his ongoing tirade.

He stared at her, agape, and Bond, too, lifted his head from the floor to see where this was going.

“I understand why it’s hard to see my family get bigger, especially when it’s my fault you were left in the dark about it for so long. I really do apologize for that. And I’m not asking you to suddenly act like Loid hung the moon and stars,” she said firmly. (Yuri glowered a bit, even as he sat wilted under her glare..) “But I’ve been patient, Yuri. Very patient. And the truth is that regardless of your opinion, I love Loid and he loves me, and we’re very happy just the way things are.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, not only in exasperation, but also in hopes that her hand would hide the blush rising to her cheeks. Even when Loid wasn’t around to hear it, she still felt so bashful defending their marriage to others.

Yuri was silent for a long moment, long enough that Yor felt the warmth dissipate somewhat from her face and put her hand back down to take a sip of tea.

She carefully set the porcelain cup back on the table and blew out a breath. Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet Yuri’s.

Her little brother had the good sense to look sheepish.

“I’m sorry to be stern,” she said, but he shook his head.

“No, I understand. I’m sorry for overstepping,” he said, even if the apology sounded somewhat pained. “Now don’t mistake me, I still don’t like him— ow!”

He yelped and shoved his chair back to grab his ankle and glare at the fluffy white behemoth who, for his part, looked very pleased with himself.

Yor tried to hide her smile behind her hand, but she couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from her chest.

“You tell him, Bond,” she said pleasantly while Yuri rubbed at the bite mark and moved his feet out of biting distance.

“I was going to say,” he continued, irritated, “that if Loid and the kid are gonna be gone on weekends like this, you could try to focus on work so you have something to do.”

Well, Yor already was doing that, and she told Yuri so, but he shook his head.

“Sis, you’re way too smart to spend your life as just a clerk,” he said. “I heard there’s some promotions available if you moved upstairs to the state media relations office. Why not try for the bigger fish, you know? Find what you’re really good at, or where you feel most fulfilled.”

He took another tea cake, which gave Yor time to consider his words.

She didn’t mind the work at City Hall, really. It could be tedious, and perhaps dull at times, but she did feel like she was contributing to the people of the city. Besides, it had proved to be an exceptionally good cover for her real work, which—

Oh.

What I’m really good at , Yor mused, resting her chin in her palm. Where I’m most fulfilled.

Now there was an idea.

Above anything else, Yor was good at cleaning. And what was more fulfilling than cleaning up the country from crime and corruption?

Loid had told Yor to expect them back in the afternoon, but he and Anya didn’t return until well into the evening. An hour earlier, Yor had decided to make her mother’s stew in favor of take-out, and left it simmering on the stove to keep until the little makeshift family could eat together.

Yor noticed that the little girl looked drained as Loid carried her on his hip, her head leaning against his shoulder. However, as she always did, she perked up when she saw Bond, and wriggled to be let down.

While the best of friends eagerly reunited, Yor made her way to Loid’s side as he hung up his and Anya’s coats on the hooks by the door.

“You were gone for quite a while. I was beginning to worry,” she confessed.

Loid gave her an apologetic smile before turning to hang up his hat, as well.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve called. Anya and I were so focused on her project that we completely forgot to look at the clock. It wasn’t until I glanced out the window and saw the sun starting to set that I realized how late it had gotten,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Yor smiled back. Smiles always came so easily when talking to Loid, she thought— and, of course, she always found it charming to see Loid get as excited about things as Anya did.

“It’s quite alright,” she replied. “I made supper. Southern stew again, so don't worry about— well, you know. We should probably make sure Anya eats soon so she doesn’t fall asleep still hungry.”

“Probably a good idea.”

Playing with Bond seemed to have perked Anya up quite a bit, however, and she seemed perfectly cheerful through dinner, allowing Loid to recount their day of exploring the hospital. She had done such a good job, Loid said, that she could stay up an extra half hour for the Spy Wars marathon airing that night. Anya just beamed and kicked her legs, her feet still high above the floor.

Yor smiled back at her, but not for quite the same reason. In truth, a distraction for Anya was just what she needed.

After they’d washed the dishes, Yor waited until Loid went to take his shower and Anya was preoccupied with her cartoon in the living room; she even allowed the little girl to turn the volume up two clicks. Then she quietly slipped into her bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.

She walked over to the rarely-used desk in the corner and picked up the red phone, her finger automatically moving to dial the number she’d memorized over a decade ago.

The Gardener picked up in the middle of the second ring.

“Thorn Princess,” he greeted smoothly. “I don’t believe you’re on assignment tonight. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

His cool smile was audible through the phone.

She wound her finger around the cord and looked out the window at the calm city skyline of West Berlint, lit up so beautifully, like stars shining in the dark night sky.

“I’m looking to expand my work schedule, Sir.”