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Chapter Text

A fire burned merrily in the hearth as Anya dozed on the plush carpet. She had set up a mini blanket fort on the hotel room floor with the help of her father. Twilight and Yor sat on the sofa nearby, sipping hot cocoa and resting after a long day skiing the Swiss Alps. The large windows of their room afforded them a breathtaking view of the snow-covered mountain range, where the most adventurous skiers were still braving the more difficult slopes as the sun sank halfway past the horizon. 

“Is your ankle alright?” Twilight asked as she lay her head on his shoulder.

“Just a little sore,” she admitted. This had been her first time trying to ski, and even though her husband was a good teacher, she had struggled to follow his instructions in real time. Failing to cross her skis the way he’d recommended, she had zoomed down the hill at breakneck speed and hit an unexpected jump. Anya had sworn her mother looked like a circus acrobat spinning through the air before she had landed hard on her feet. As usual, her assassin skills had saved her from serious injury, but now her left ankle was feeling the impact from that particularly jarring landing.

“Here, let me.” Her husband drew her foot into his lap and rotated it gently before beginning to massage the sole. She sighed in relaxation and lay back on the cushions, closing her eyes to savor the moment. 

They were halfway through their long meandering vacation around the world. In the past six months, Yor had seen more amazing sights, heard more foreign languages, and sampled more delicious cuisines than she had ever dreamed she would experience in her lifetime. She had never traveled outside of Ostania before meeting her husband. He was an excellent tour guide and planner, pouring all his effort into making this extended trip the most incredible, enlightening time of her and Anya’s lives. Privately she was glad that this gave him something to do to occupy his brilliant mind. Now that he had retired from espionage, she didn’t want him to regret his decision out of boredom, or fall into guilt over “wasting” his talents and training. 

She hadn’t thought it was possible for her to fall in love with him more than she already had, but over the past year and a half as he’d come out of the lowest point in his life with the help of therapy, medication, and the love of their family, she found herself more drawn to him than ever. The man underneath all his names and masks had fully emerged into the daylight and remained there, free, after he’d been caged for decades. Since childhood, in her estimation. This was the man she had glimpsed in small, fleeting moments of vulnerability when their fake marriage had teetered on the edge of becoming a real one, before all their lies had been revealed. The man who’d begged for her forgiveness, who’d vowed to love her as long as he lived, who’d gone into the torture chamber for her. The man who was startlingly funny with his biting quips and deadpan sarcasm, who teased Anya and constructed fun pretend games for them to play using his unparalleled mimicry skills, who anticipated her every need and looked into her eyes with such devotion that it took her breath away.

“Thank you,” Yor said when he finished massaging her foot. Her ankle was still tender, but the muscles around it felt a lot better. 

“We still have a bit of time before dinner. And before Anya wakes up. What would you like to do?”

She kissed him lightly, and her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Surprise me.”

His eyes glinted at the playful challenge, and he slid his arms under her thighs and back to lift her up off the couch. She muffled a squeal at the sudden movement as he carried her into the bedroom, his feet not making a sound on the carpet.

As he lay her down on the bed, he put a finger to his lips, even though the door was closed. This was how they handled intimacy on their globetrotting trip, since most hotels they stayed in had only one bedroom and Anya was always underfoot. They’d become experts at having brief, silent trysts while still satisfying each other. This time would be no different. At least they were confident Anya wouldn’t wake for a while, given how exhausted she was from skiing all day.

Since they’d left their shadow careers behind, they’d also gradually begun to shed the harrowing body memories and fight-or-flight triggers that came with them. When they’d first become intimate in their marriage, Yor had been completely inexperienced, and Twilight had carried the weight of too many experiences he hadn’t wanted. At times it had been a difficult journey to navigate each other’s desires and boundaries, especially her husband’s. She had quickly learned what tended to bring his guilt to the surface, and how complicated his mindset toward sex had become after years of using his body as a weapon against unsuspecting targets. He almost always shunted aside his own pleasure in favor of hers, eager to do anything to please her for as long as possible, as if believing he didn’t deserve to feel good.

Slowly, through both actions and honest conversations, they’d worked through some of his viscerally negative reactions and self-disgust. While there were still some boundaries he didn’t want her to cross, he’d loosened up a fair amount, and no longer protested when she focused on his pleasure. It helped when she did it in a position where she appeared dominant. Now, she commanded him to stay still as she stripped off his clothes and pushed him to lay back on the bed. He covered his eyes with the back of his hand as she took her time working him into a feverish state. Outside of a few breathy moans and a low hum in her throat, they both managed to remain quiet.

“Yor…” he whispered, his hand carding through her hair. “Come up here.”

She took off the rest of her clothes and climbed up the bed to kiss him deeply, lying on top of him as he drew the blanket over their bodies in the chill air. The warm slide of union was intimately familiar to them by now, yet still felt so new and enticing every time, like the renewal of a promise. Through the silence, they spoke with their eyes and hands and heated movements, growing faster and more frantic as they strove toward that invisible flashpoint together, half a competition, half a dance. 

Not long after, sated and flushed with pleasure, she lay against his chest and listened to the tattoo of his heartbeat as it slowed to its regular, comforting pace.

“Yor,” he whispered again. “How did I ever find someone like you?”

“I ask the same thing of myself all the time,” she said, nuzzling against his neck. They couldn’t stay like this for long in case Anya woke up, but they could afford a few more minutes before they had to clean themselves up. She treasured these moments in the afterglow, when they affirmed each other with soft words and slow caresses.

Today, though, Twilight fell silent, merely drawing circles around her abdomen as he appeared to be in deep thought.

“Back in Berlint,” he began after a while, “we talked about having more children one day.”

Her heart skipped a beat. The topic had been on her mind quite frequently as of late, but she hadn’t voiced her thoughts, waiting for a clear signal that he was ready to discuss it. 

“Yes,” she said simply, prompting him to continue.

“How do you feel about it now?”

She could always count on her husband to play his cards close to his chest while trying to elicit her needs and wants out of her first. 

“I still want to. I meant what I said back then, that I would love to have children with you. And I already know you’ll continue to be a wonderful father.”

He smiled gently and held her close. “And you’re already the best mother in the world. I’m relieved to hear you still want kids. I do too. But is there anything that makes you hesitate?”

She hadn’t expected that question, thinking they’d simply jump to figuring out timing. But it made sense. Her husband always considered every contingency and risk, especially when it came to her wellbeing.

“Well…” She thought for a moment. “The usual things. I raised Yuri and now I’m helping raise Anya, but they were both walking and talking when I started. Having a baby will be very different, and from all the things I’ve heard, we’ll be tired and sleepless for a long time. We’ll have to somehow keep giving Anya the attention she needs while taking care of the baby at the same time. And…before that…I guess…I wonder if I can even get pregnant.”

Her voice grew small near the end. Yor had never heard of a Garden assassin bearing children. With all the strenuous training she’d put her body through, especially for poison tolerance, and the stab wounds she’d sustained to the abdomen in her earlier years, she wasn’t sure she could carry a child to term. And since Garden operatives were discouraged from getting medical care, even routine care, from civilian doctors, she had never gotten a professional assessment to confirm or dispel her doubts. She’d avoided thinking about these questions too much, but now as she tried to face them head-on, her heart faltered.

“I think it would hurt a lot if I tried and…couldn’t do it. If I lost our baby,” she confessed. 

Twilight squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead. “It wouldn’t be your fault at all. I know it would hurt, as it hurts for all women. But I wouldn’t want you to blame yourself if it happened. Maybe when we get back to Westalis, we could go to a doctor and see if there is any real risk. It could be that you’re perfectly fine. In any case, miscarriages happen to many women regardless of how healthy they are. It’s never their fault.”

She kissed his jaw and burrowed her face against his neck. “Thank you, my love. It seems like we’re agreed on the timing. We should wait until we’re back home before we start trying. We have time. We’re both still young, even if you act like an old man with all your worrying and grumbling.”

“Hey,” he said with a mock frown. “I’ve loosened up a lot.”

“That you have,” she agreed with a teasing smile. “You only act like an old man sometimes.”

“I’ll show you old,” he warned, and began to tickle her mercilessly until she nearly fell off the bed.

“Anya!” she managed to gasp in a low whisper. “She could wake up!”

He relented and let her run off to the bathroom to clean herself up. Looking at her disheveled hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, she couldn’t help but smile at herself. At how happy and grateful she felt, and how it showed on her face and lightened her steps and boosted her confidence. She loved being Twilight’s wife and Anya’s mother. Now she allowed a new, tentative hope to take root in her heart, the hope that she could be a mother again, to a child born from her own body.

Chapter Text

As the weather grew warmer, they journeyed through southern Galia, enjoying the rich cuisine of the region and touring sprawling vineyards and the well-kept manors of former nobility. Some of these manors had been repurposed as bed and breakfasts, and they were staying in one now, with an entire two-bedroom suite to themselves. It was a rare luxury, as Twilight had been watching their budget carefully throughout the trip. There was only so much longer they could travel before digging too far into their joint savings and Twilight’s generous retirement package. 

As night fell and Anya slept in her own bedroom, the two of them sat outside on the balcony, sipping wine and gazing out at the manicured lawn and picturesque fountain. The Galians certainly loved romantic architecture. Everything around here looked ornate and flowery to her eyes. In the daytime, peacocks wandered the grounds, showing off their magnificent feathers to each other and sometimes to human onlookers.

“If we have a child,” Twilight began, “do you have a preference for whether it’s a girl or boy?”

“Not really. I raised Yuri, and now we’re raising Anya. A boy or a girl would both be wonderful. Not like we can control it anyway. Though…I guess a small part of me hopes that we’ll be able to have one of each.”

“Already thinking of more than one?” he said playfully.

She giggled. “I don’t know. I guess so. We’re still young. I think we could handle two little ones plus Anya.”

“Would you want twins?”

“Hmm. Not really. Not the first time I get pregnant. It seems like it’d be incredibly overwhelming. But if it happens, I’m sure we’ll figure out a way, too. What is with these questions, my love? You don’t usually ask hypothetical questions about things we have no control over.”

“I just want to know more about how you think and what you want. Even if we can’t control it. I want you to be happy.”

“I’ll be happy no matter what. Even if we have twins and are exhausted all the time. Or if I throw up a lot and feel completely miserable throughout the pregnancy. Or if I get ugly stretch marks that never go away,” she said wryly. She remembered Sharon complaining during office chit-chat about how she hadn’t enjoyed her pregnancy and its effects on her body at all. 

“You’re beautiful no matter what. I’ll treat your stretch marks like battle scars. A symbol of your strength and sacrifice,” he said, leaning over to kiss her. “I’ll be there for you every step of the way.”

“Oh, you sweet talker,” she said, kissing him back. “I’ll be there for you too, even if you let yourself go and get a ‘dad bod.’ Is that what they call it?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Never. Not me.”

“Right…you’re too vain for that.”

“It has nothing to do with vanity and everything to do with pleasing you. You’re so beautiful, you deserve a decent-looking husband who at least stays in shape.”

“Mm, yes, I’ve always found you decent-looking,” she said slyly, drawing a finger down his cheek. “Enough about aging and weight gain. What about you? What do you want? Boy or girl?”

“One of each, if we’re lucky, and if you’re okay with having more than one child. But if we have two girls, or two boys, I’ll be happy regardless. Though…” he hesitated. “Part of me is nervous about raising a boy.”

“Oh?” She sensed he was about to admit something deeply personal, a sliver of his heart he had never shown to anyone. She took his hand in encouragement.

“I’m afraid I could turn out like my father,” he said softly, his gentle smile growing sad. “Not on purpose, of course. But I’ve seen and heard too many cases of men subconsciously acting like their fathers, whether good or bad. Especially in times of stress and scarcity, when a person’s true colors are forced to the surface.”

“My love,” she said soothingly. “You are the most loving father Anya and I could ever ask for. The most self-sacrificing, thoughtful, kindhearted man I know. You are nothing like what you’ve told me about your own father. Do you…want to tell me more about what he was like? What it was like for you growing up?”

He blew out a breath and looked out across the lawn, into the cloudless night sky. “There isn’t much to say. I blocked out a lot of my early childhood after I lost my mother. But…the few memories I do have of him weren’t great. He was serious and rather harsh with his discipline. He rarely smiled. The only times I remember him being happy with me was when I did well at school. Otherwise…there was just this heavy feeling of disappointment.”

She knew him well enough to interpret the nature of the ensuing silence. Half of his mind was here with her in the present. The other half was somewhere far away, reliving parts of his life he had long buried. Debating whether or not to reveal them to her. 

“The last time I saw him…was when I told my first lie. I asked him for money to buy a textbook for school, but I planned to use it for toy soldier gear to impress my friends. I don’t know what got into me. How I was brave enough to lie to him, of all people. Not long before, he’d hit me pretty hard over the war games we were wrapped up in. He hated that I was excited about war, and said I should wish for peace. He was right, of course. I just…I was just too young and naive, swept up in propaganda and the idea of being a hero like all the boys my age. I remember sitting alone in my room with this heavy weight in my chest as he argued with my mother. This feeling of just…having to give up, because I’d never be able to have a real conversation with him. So…I must have decided that if I was going to hide my real thoughts, I might as well get something out of it.”

Twilight pressed his lips together and looked down at the floor of the balcony.

“And…my lie worked. He believed me. I’ll never forget how he smiled a real smile that day. He left the house in a good mood and said he’d take me to the fair when he got back from his work trip.

“I walked around with a pit in my stomach for the rest of the day and the next morning when I bought the gear and showed it off to my friends. I couldn’t even bring myself to play. The lie was eating me alive. So I decided to come clean when he came back. Even if he hit me again or worse. I realized that…even if I couldn’t trust him, I still wanted to be a good son.

“But then, that very afternoon, the first bombs of the war fell on my hometown. I survived thanks to the toy helmet I was wearing. My mother and I moved in with her uncle, and I never saw my father again. To this day I don’t know what happened to him.”

Another long pause. There were many questions she wanted to ask, but she had to consider which ones would actually help instead of hurt. She wondered how much of this he had shared with his psychiatrist, and what exactly he had worked through. 

“I should try to remember the good things about him,” he said at last. “He worked hard to give us a comfortable life. He held fast to his convictions, and at least on the topic of war, he was right. He was the first person in my life to tell me that Ostanians weren’t monsters, just normal people like us. He wanted to raise a son who used his brain instead of blindly buying into hateful propaganda. A son who wasn’t a coward.”

From his tone, Yor knew that his father must have drilled the insult deep into his psyche. Calling his young son a coward, and hitting him on top of that. Even though it was common for their parents’ generation to apply physical discipline, she still hated the thought of an adult raising their hand to a child. Despite all the times she had felt frustrated with Yuri growing up, she had never thought of hurting him on purpose. 

“I’m sorry. I’m rambling.” Twilight looked at her then, some of the fog of the past seeming to clear from his eyes.

“Not at all. I’m so grateful whenever you share your past with me. There’s so much I want to learn about you still.” She moved her chair closer to his and took hold of his arm, rubbing her thumb across his shoulder. “It seems you’re still carrying a lot of the guilt from back then. To the point where you’re still trying to justify how he treated you. My love, you were only a little boy. You didn’t know better. And even if you purposely told a lie, you changed your mind and planned to own up to it, knowing you’d be punished. It seems like…”

She put her hand on his face and gently looked into his eyes. “It seems like you’ve been blaming yourself for everything that’s gone wrong in your life from the very start. And your father is probably a big reason for that. He may have had good intentions, but he still treated you so harshly that you internalized all the things he said about you. Or even the fact that he didn’t smile much. You blamed yourself for that too, didn’t you?”

Twilight looked surprised at the inferences she had made, perhaps considering them for the first time. Or maybe he had discussed them already with his therapist, and was merely taken off guard by her astuteness. For once, she didn’t feel a sense of accomplishment at having read her husband correctly. 

“Your father was only human. He may have been right about some things, but it’s not enough to be right. It makes all the difference in the world how you actually communicate those things to a child. On that front, he failed. He told worse lies than your little lie about the textbook.

“You don’t have to be afraid that you’ll be like him, even under stress. The first year I knew you, you were under a huge amount of stress and still parented Anya so well. Sure, you made mistakes and sometimes you were impatient, but you apologized and changed. You took the time to listen to her and respected her thoughts and feelings. She loves you so much, Twilight. She’ll always be a daddy’s girl. Your little girl.”

He sighed and looked down again. “Thank you. You call me a sweet talker, but sometimes I think you’re even better at it than me.”

She puffed out her cheeks in mock offense. “It’s not sweet talk. It’s the truth.”

He smiled in silent contemplation for a while. “I hope our kids never feel that sense of hopelessness, that it’s pointless to talk to me, because I’ve already decided not to listen.”

“That won’t happen. If there’s anything I know about you, it’s that you never stop trying to understand what you don’t know. You can say it was part of your training, but I think it’s part of who you are. Even that night we talked about our true identities for the first time. I’ll never forget what you said. You couldn’t reconcile the fact that I was an assassin with what you’d seen of me. But you wanted to understand, and promised you wouldn’t stop trying.”

Their wine glasses were long empty, but they sat out on the balcony in comfortable silence for a while longer, ensconced in each other’s presence. Yor knew it wouldn’t be as easy as she made it all sound. They’d lose their patience and grow short with each other and perhaps even fear that they’d mistreated their kids. But the willingness to understand, to apologize, and to change, were there. And that, in her mind, was more than enough.

Chapter Text

It had been her husband’s idea to renew their vows in a small wedding ceremony with their close friends and family. He’d started planning it shortly after they’d returned to their home in Eingen, Westalis, treating it as his new big project. Yor found it endearing even though Chloe and even Sylvia joked about how Twilight had taken on the bride’s role in fussing over every detail. Yor had little opinion on most of the decisions—the location, the flower arrangements, the food at the reception, the style of the cake. She didn’t even really care that much about her own dress, the one thing that her husband insisted she take care of on her own, since according to tradition he wasn’t supposed to see it until the big day itself.

Chloe took the train in from the capital to go dress shopping with her. Since they were in the countryside, there weren’t that many wedding boutiques close by. Twilight had encouraged her to travel to a major city to explore her options, but Yor didn’t want to make such a big deal out of it. They were already married, and it seemed a giant waste to spend a boatload of money on something she would only use once, let alone spend even more to travel around looking for it. Part of her hoped that when Anya grew up, she’d want to wear the dress at her own wedding and assuage a bit of her guilt.

She tried on all sorts of styles at two wedding boutiques in the university town half an hour away from their home. Long trains, short trains, puffy voluminous skirts, formfitting mermaid skirts, sweetheart necklines, halter necklines, cowl necklines. Chloe threw up her hands in the middle of it, complaining that Yor looked good in everything so it was impossible for her to have an opinion, especially when Yor herself had no opinion.

“Maybe it’s not that you don’t care, per se,” the proprietress said politely as she changed out of another dress behind the curtain, “but that you just haven’t found one that you really like. In my experience, when you find the one, you’ll know it as soon as you look in the mirror.”

Yor still thought the woman was grossly exaggerating the importance of the matter, but a few minutes later when she stepped up to the mirror for the umpteenth time, she finally paused at what she saw. A modest illusion neckline above an a-line waist and a gauzy, flowing skirt that trailed behind her on the ground, but not so much that it would impede her movement significantly. It was simple and almost plain compared to the other ones on the rack, but when one looked closer, they would notice the delicate lace patterns on the neckline and skirt that warranted the high price tag. She knew her husband would notice even if no one else did. This was the dress she would wear.

—

The evening before their wedding day, before Twilight left for drinks with his best man, he pulled her into his study and closed the door, holding a neatly folded piece of paper in his hands.

“These are my vows,” he said, his blue eyes piercing and solemn. “I’ve been working on them for a while, and I’ve been talking with the minister as well about what he’ll say. It took me way too long to realize why I wasn’t satisfied with all of it. Why no matter how much we changed the script, it just didn’t feel right.”

“Twilight?” she questioned, looking at him in worry. “Do you want to cancel after all? I did think it might be too much, since we’re already–”

“No, no,” he hurried to say. “I would never back out of our wedding, come hell or high water. It’s not the wedding itself. It’s who I am, as the groom. As the husband you’ll be marrying again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My name,” he continued. “The script kept referring to me as Twilight. I know that’s what you’ve called me all this time as well, and I love that you’ve grown to accept everything that name entails. But…I don’t think it’s right anymore. I retired from that life. I’m not a spy. I’m just your husband, an ordinary man wanting to live an ordinary life.”

“Oh…” she said, an unexpected wave of emotion rising in her chest. “Oh, my love.”

“I don’t want to use my birth name, because it doesn’t fit anymore either. To be honest, there isn’t any name that fits completely naturally, but…I think the name I want to take on permanently is–”

“Loid,” she whispered. 

“Yes.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms around his neck. When they parted, she pressed her forehead against his.

“Loid, my wonderful husband. The man I fell in love with. It’s perfect. Loid.”

He smiled and tightened his hold around her waist. “I’m glad you think so.”

—

When the big day finally arrived, Yor felt like she floated through the entire thing. Everything was sharp and blurry at the same time, like walking through a crystalline dream. Loid had planned every detail to perfection, even training Bond to walk a straight line down the aisle with the rings tied around his collar. All Yor had had to do was wake up early for all the attendants to arrive—the hairstylist, the makeup artist, the florist, and her matron of honor Lady Acacia—and allow them to fuss over her until she was ready to step into the limousine. She’d laughed when she saw the driver was none other than Stratus. 

Yuri hugged her fiercely, almost knocking her veil askew, when she arrived at the open air grassy venue on the coast of the Bodensee. He teared up immediately as he studied her appearance, and used up quite a number of tissues as he tried to regain his composure in time for the procession. Anya ran up to her and hugged her skirt, crowing about how byoo-tee-ful her mother was, and how Papa’s heart would ba-dump out of his chest for sure. Her daughter was radiant in her flower girl dress, holding a handwoven basket that Shopkeeper had made himself and sent to her through Lady Acacia. The founder of Garden had chosen not to attend, but sent his best wishes along with a sizable cash gift.

Yor walked down the aisle, holding her brother’s arm, to traditional wedding music played by a live string quartet, the coastal breeze swirling the gauzy skirt of her dress around her legs as she glided past the few rows of chairs where their closest friends and family sat. Sylvia and Stratus were there, the only representatives from WISE, while Director McMahon had come on behalf of Garden. Her heart ached at the sight of her old mentor, who despite his stern demeanor had always supported her through every trial, the first member of Garden to approve of her marriage with Westalis’ top spy. Chloe gave her a small wave, holding Anya’s hand after the little girl had sat down, her flower girl duties complete. Bond sat beside Anya, wagging his tail and panting happily, having finished his own job as the ringbearer. Fleetingly she wondered if he’d had any visions about today.

But soon she only had eyes for her husband, standing at the front beside the minister and Franky, his best man. He was always stunningly handsome, but today he was even more so. He cut a dashing figure in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, not a strand of hair out of place as if they were about to attend the Eden Academy parent interview again. As she drew closer she noticed that where he had formerly worn his WISE pin, a small golden replica of a leaf was fixed to his lapel. It must have been a wedding gift from the Authens. She fought the urge to cover her mouth as her throat tightened with emotion. She was still carrying her bouquet, anyway, and couldn’t simply drop it on the ground.

The way he looked at her in return made her feel seen and known like no one else could. Like she was the only person in his field of vision, like he was ready to lay all the flowers in the world at her feet. She smiled as tears welled in her eyes. She had insisted many times that all of this was too much, but now that she had almost reached his side, she was beyond grateful to create this priceless set of memories with him. He had known that underneath all her half-hearted protests and modesty, she had dreamed of a day like this as a young girl. She thought she had shed those dreams long ago as she had taken on the burden of raising her brother and working a merciless job just to survive, but when he had first presented her with a ring back in Berlint, those dreams had bloomed back to life no matter how hard she tried to ignore them.

The short sermon passed like a blur, and then they were exchanging rings and reciting their vows, with his name—Loid—sounding old and new to her ears at the same time. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Franky’s grin. She imagined Sylvia had to be grinning too, or maybe shaking her head as if she had always known this would happen. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, it is with greatest joy that I present to you…Mr. and Mrs. Forger! Loid, you may now kiss the bride!”

The few inches of air between them seemed to hum with electric energy as he moved forward and lifted her veil with care. Time slowed as he studied her face and gave an almost audible sigh of adulation. Then he leaned down, his other hand drawing her toward him by the waist, and kissed her.

Even though there were only about a dozen people in attendance, including the musicians and photographer, the cheers and applause that erupted around them filled her ears and drowned out the pounding of her own heart as she held onto her husband. Her husband, the most amazing man she could ever dream of.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips as he drew back reluctantly. The string quartet had already begun to play the triumphant recessional march. She giggled and leaned up to kiss him quickly once more before taking his arm and walking past their friends and family at a breezy pace. Anya ran into the aisle and Loid scooped her up in his arms to a new round of cheers and laughter. Bond barked happily and followed them all the way back across the lawn toward the pavilion where they would take family photos to further memorialize the wonder of this day.

—

Having returned from their globetrotting tour so recently, Loid had arranged a brief three-day honeymoon for the two of them. It was only a short drive around the lake to a luxury hotel on the cliffs, affording them an unobstructed view of the natural scenery.

Her feet were pleasantly sore as she stepped out of her strappy high heels onto plush carpet and began to remove her jewelry.

“Let me,” he said, and painstakingly unclasped each item including the flowery hairpiece from her elaborate updo. He sighed again as his hands settled on her neck and shoulders, giving her a light massage over the delicate fabric of her wedding gown. “Thank you for going along with today.”

“I should be thanking you,” she said, turning around to place her hands on his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more enthusiastic about it before. I wouldn’t trade today for the world. It was perfect. You made it perfect for us, and I couldn’t be more grateful.”

He leaned in to kiss her, and they managed not to rush as he unzipped the back of her dress and helped her step out of it into his arms. She stopped him before they made it to the bed, giving him a mysterious smile.

“Loid,” she began, taking his hands in hers. “I want to start trying today. If you’re okay with it.”

It took him a moment to register what she was saying before his eyes widened and he took a deep breath. “Right. Yes. We…”

He shook his head with a light laugh at his own sudden loss of eloquence.

“I would love to start today,” he said, his eyes radiating heat and want and pure love. He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, and she had the sense he was committing this moment to memory, as he had done many times over the course of the day. “Then, you…?”

“I’ll stop taking my medicine,” she clarified. Voicing it aloud, knowing what they were about to embark on no matter what the end result might be, made the air between them all the weightier. Dizzying. Euphoric, and a bit frightening at the same time. But they were together in this, as in all things.

“We haven’t seen the doctor yet. The appointment’s—”

“That’s okay,” she said, cupping his cheek with her palm. “I don’t want to wait.”

That night, they took their time exploring and pleasing each other as they alone knew how to, falling lost into each other’s arms as they exchanged breathless highs and whispered promises of the future they would keep building together. Some moments, it felt as if they held entire conversations with their eyes alone, like she had found the other half of her soul. She could hardly believe that this was real and not a fairytale, and that she had been lucky enough to find and keep it.

Chapter Text

Yor tried not to think too hard about the circled dates on the calendar, telling herself that she should just enjoy the journey as she always had. Already there was an invisible layer of pressure hanging over her head that she wanted to ignore. It was all self-imposed pressure at this point. No one was demanding that they conceive anytime soon. It was all in her head, and in Loid’s.

The first month, when her period arrived as usual, she brushed it off and went on with her day. She wanted to savor this stretch of time, however long it lasted, in the tenderness of her husband’s gaze and the extra care with which he approached her at night. She could tell that he was also trying to enjoy every moment they had together, and leave behind his former obsessive need for control.

Neither of them had busy schedules anymore. He hadn’t yet decided what kind of new career he wanted to pursue, and spent most days taking care of mundane household chores, reading books from the local library, and exploring the outdoors with her or Bond. She had picked up a part-time job at the local florist in town, finding the quotidian tasks of trimming stems and arranging bouquets soothing and familiar. She had gotten the job easily with her vast knowledge of plant species and how to care for them from her many years visiting Shopkeeper and learning from him in between training sessions. Her work brought back the gentler memories of her time with Garden, without any of the weeds.

The second month, when she bled again, she couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. But again, she told herself it was normal. It indeed was normal. They weren’t doing anything wrong. To the contrary, their lovemaking on those circled dates lasted long into the night after romantic dinners and gifts of flowers and love letters. She’d thought it was silly for her husband to write her love letters when he was right beside her every day, but she treasured them like precious gold nonetheless.

The OB/GYN appointment finally arrived. Loid sat out in the waiting room as she met with the doctor alone. It had taken a while to get an appointment because she was only comfortable seeing a female doctor. The older woman spoke with her at length about her concerns and questions before doing an exam. On the surface it appeared everything was normal, she reported, to Yor’s relief. Though based on Yor’s self-disclosures about the stab wounds she had sustained in her youth, there was a significant chance she would need to deliver via C-section. Yor furrowed her brow at that, and the doctor clarified that they couldn’t know for sure without more invasive procedures. After she asked a few more questions and got a prescription for prenatal vitamins, she thanked the doctor and went home with Loid.

“Do you want to go through with more procedures?” he asked.

“No…I don’t think so. She said there doesn’t look to be anything obviously wrong that would prevent conception or implantation. If we get pregnant, we can take it from there. I’ve been through much worse than abdominal surgery. If surgery is what it takes to bring our baby into the world, then I’ll do it.”

“Yor…” Her husband hugged her close. “You don’t have to decide right away. You have time to think about it.”

She hummed, only half in agreement. “If I’m able to carry a baby to term…what other choice do we have at that point? I’m not going to risk his or her life, or my own life, if I can ensure we’re both safe with a common surgery.”

He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “I know. I just…wish I could do more for you. I wish you didn’t have to go through all these physical changes and risks on your own.”

“I’ll be fine. I was Garden’s top assassin, remember?” she said playfully.

In the third month, her hopes shot up as her period didn’t come on the expected day. But it was only two days late, and she fell back into a veiled disappointment that she feared would become familiar. She chastised herself silently for holding such high expectations of herself and her husband. Some couples took years to conceive. She needed to relax and stop thinking about the worst case scenarios. But it was harder than she thought. Now she had an inkling of what it must have felt like to be Twilight, back when her husband had been an overworked spy bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’d automatically gravitated toward the worst possibilities every time he encountered a new problem he didn’t have an immediate solution for. It had taken a long time and emotional support and a continuous environment of safety for him to move past that instinct. He still hadn’t moved past it completely. 

While Anya was respectful of her and Loid’s privacy and almost always wore her headband, she had intuited that something had changed about her parents’ dynamic since the wedding ceremony.

“Mama, why are you so worried?” she asked one day when Yor picked her up from school. 

Yor shook herself out of her own thoughts and realized she’d probably been frowning as she waited for her daughter to emerge from the crowd of kids, wrapped in a thick jacket as it was a particularly chilly fall day. She handed Anya her bike helmet and helped her climb onto the back of her bike. How often had she zoned out around Anya recently? Probably a lot more than she should have.

“Well…” She and Loid hadn’t talked about when and how they should tell Anya about their desire to expand their family. Anya had asked every so often if she would be a big sister one day, and they’d always given vague answers like “yes, one day,” or “when our family’s ready.”

“Are you and Papa fighting?” was the next logical question out of her daughter’s mouth.

Yor slowly started biking the familiar path back home with Anya sitting behind her, holding onto her waist. The path was strewn with autumn leaves, the wheels of the bike crunching over them continuously. “No, not at all. We’re both very happy and love each other very much.”

“Then what is it? Do you miss our old home?”

“I do miss it,” she said, hesitating. “But that’s not it either. Your father and I…we…want to have a baby. We want to give you a little brother or sister.”

Yor didn’t need to look behind her to know that Anya’s eyes had lit up. She felt it in the excited tightening of her little fingers around her waist. “Yes! A baby for me to play with! You and Papa should be happy about that, right?”

“Yes, but it’s complicated.” Yor didn’t know how much Anya knew about how babies came into being. She herself hadn’t found out about the exact process until embarrassingly late, when she was a teenager getting her first period. She wasn’t sure how most kids these days found out. Probably from classmates and TV shows like Berlint in Love. Then again, Anya was a mind-reader. She must have heard adults think about sex at some point in her young life, before she’d begun wearing her headband. Yor prayed she had been too young to understand what it meant.

“That’s why you and Papa are kissing a lot now. Even more than before,” Anya said sagely.

Yor reddened as she slowed to a stop at a somewhat busy intersection, fumbling for a reasonable response that wouldn’t give away too much to her eight year-old daughter.

“That’s how babies are made. It’s okay, Mama. I know. My new friend Sarah told me that when her parents kissed a lot, eventually her mama’s belly got big and she went to the hospital to have a baby.”

She breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief that Anya was still innocent in such matters. Otherwise she probably would have crashed the bike at some point as she tried to fend off her daughter’s inquiries out on a public road.

“So since you’re kissing more now, that means you’ll have a baby soon, right?”

“Not exactly. It takes a lot of luck, too,” Yor made up on the spot. “Kissing is a start, but sometimes it takes a long time for it to work.”

“If you kiss Papa every minute of the day, will it happen then?”

Yor laughed at the image of her glued to her husband’s side, watching the clock and dutifully kissing him on the lips whenever the second hand reached 12. “No, it’s not an exact science. It’s a mystery that not even your father fully understands. No human can predict if and when they’ll have a baby.”

“Bond can,” Anya supplied helpfully. “Maybe I should take my headband off and try to read his mind more these days.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” Yor said in a rush. “Please don’t do that, Anya. I don’t want to ruin the surprise for us.”

“Surprise? I thought you would know right away when a baby starts growing inside you.”

“No, that’s a mystery too.”

“Huh,” Anya said thoughtfully. “Babies sure sound complicated.”

“They indeed are,” Yor said, sensing that the conversation topic would soon run out of steam. She gratefully pedaled faster as their house came into view. “What do you want for a snack when we get home? Your father taught me a new sugared nuts recipe. Want some candied walnuts?”

“Yes!” Anya chirped. “But Mama, don’t forget. Stop worrying so much. It makes you look sad. And maybe a baby won’t come if you’re sad.”

“I’ll try, sweetie. Thank you,” she said, and glanced backward to give her daughter a genuine smile. Even though Anya continued to keep her and Loid on their toes, she remained the warmest ray of sunshine in their lives. As Yor parked the bike and Anya skipped into the house, she realized she felt lighter than she had in a while. Her daughter was right. Being stressed at this juncture was counterproductive. There was no need to feel rushed.

Chapter Text

The fourth month, her period was late again. Day after day she waited, trying to suppress her nervousness and excitement, for the bleeding to start and prove her hopes wrong. But a week into the delay, Loid encouraged her to see the doctor again. There was a two-hour test they could do in the physician’s office, and she didn’t have to disrobe or let anyone touch her. They were able to get an appointment quickly since she agreed to see a male doctor if necessary. 

Loid and Yor took a long walk outside as they waited for the results. Fall would soon give way to winter. Almost all the trees on the city street were stripped of leaves, their spindly branches exposed to the cold wind. Yor leaned close to her husband’s side, their gloved hands entwined. Something about their surroundings reminded her of their old street, Park Avenue, and the walks they’d taken as a family even before their marriage had become real. She remembered waiting eagerly for Loid’s car to pull around the corner and to hear his voice calling out to her, Anya, and Bond. She had already fallen for him back then, but hadn’t admitted it to herself.

“Do you miss it?” Loid murmured. He could read her almost as well as Anya could without her headband.

“Yes. I wish we could go back and visit the Authens,” she said. The elderly couple had continued to write them letters and send them little gifts, most recently the pin Loid had worn at their wedding. Despite the fact they hadn’t seen them for years, they had grown very close through their mail correspondence and occasional phone calls. For a while now the Authens had been addressing them as their son and daughter, and in turn they started their letters with “Dear Mom and Dad.”

“Soon.” Loid’s gaze grew distant. “I think something’s going to change soon. And then we’ll be able to go.”

She looked at him curiously. “Have you spoken with Sylvia recently?”

He nodded. “With Desmond and his associates gone, things are looking up. They just don’t want to move too fast. Partly out of national pride. Partly so that the public can get slowly acclimated and trust that things aren’t going to drop off a cliff.”

She squeezed his hand. “I can’t wait. I want to visit our old friends and relive some of our memories as a family before we can’t travel anymore with a baby.”

He smiled at her. “There’s still another half hour before the test results are out. But I agree. I have a feeling this is it.”

They slowed to a stop on the street corner and turned toward each other for a kiss. The few people out and about in the middle of the workday simply walked around them and paid them no mind. For a moment they were in their own little bubble, undisturbed by rumors of political change and the brisk wintry air and the difficulties of their past. Loid’s eyes were warm and the slightest bit wet when they parted.

“It’s getting cold. Why don’t we go get some apple cider?”

Steaming cups in hand, they walked back to the doctor’s office and waited until a physician’s assistant called them in. Yor held her breath at the sight of the doctor’s smile. 

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Forger. You are pregnant!”

She almost missed her husband’s grimace of pain as she clutched his hand too hard. But soon he grinned ear to ear, matching her joy, as they leaned against each other across the boxy arms of the chairs they were sitting in. 

She was pregnant. There was a little spark of life inside her. Their baby. And it had only taken a few months of trying. 

Her body suddenly felt different to her, even from a few minutes ago when they had been waiting eagerly for the probable good news. It was different, because now it was fact, not probability. Their baby was real. Real, tiny, growing, alive, a microscopic miracle with both her and Loid’s genes. If she weren’t in the doctor’s office, she would have wrapped her arms around herself and cradled her abdomen. Already she wanted to keep the baby safe above all else. To protect and love and treasure them.

The doctor was an older man, and after prescribing more vitamins and telling her the basics of what to expect in the coming weeks, he asked to talk to Loid alone. Some matters were better just for men’s ears, he explained politely. Yor took a seat in the waiting room until her husband came to join her a few minutes later. His demeanor was still relaxed, which put her at ease. 

He kissed her briefly in the waiting room, his face soft and doting. “How do you feel?”

“Happy,” she breathed. “I’m so happy.”

As they returned to the car, she asked what the doctor had wanted to discuss with him. He rolled his eyes with a wry smile, seemingly amused by the situation. “It seems they’re more traditional out here than doctors in the city. He thought it would be crass to talk about bedroom activities in front of ‘the missus.’”

“What?” she squeaked. Thankfully, they were alone in the parking lot. “Why would he–”

“No, it’s good that you weren’t there. It would have spared both of us the embarrassment. And I already felt a bit offended on your behalf. He gave me the old ‘wink wink nudge nudge’ and said that it’s safe for us to keep having sex…however we want. Apparently it’s a common question that husbands tend to ask, but don’t want to bring up in front of their wives so they don’t look selfish and crude.”

“Oh,” she said, still fighting the blush that had risen to her cheeks. As she settled into the front seat of the car, she looked down at her abdomen and wondered if in a few months the seatbelt would still be safe for her to wear around her bump.

He patted her hand as he began driving. “I wasn’t about to tell him that in our case, you’re more insatiable than I am. I just smiled and pretended to have a one-track mind like all those other patients he must have.”

She slapped his shoulder lightly with a giggle, but soon leaned in to kiss his cheek. “It’s not my fault I have such a handsome husband.”

“Mm…if we’re making this a contest, I would have to say it’s even less my fault that I have the most gorgeous wife in the world. I suppose I should strive to be a bit more like those single-minded husbands out there.” He raised an eyebrow and put on his best impression of his seductive mask from his spy days. She laughed out loud at his ability to make fun of himself. How far he’d come—how far they’d both come—since they’d both still been pretending.

“So…” She pictured the calendar on their bedroom wall with the circled dates. “Which time do you think was the one?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. We’ve been making love a lot.” 

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow coyly. “You haven’t memorized every single time and position?”

He reddened. Adorable. “Hey, I’ve been trying to loosen up and not obsess over details anymore.”

“I’m just teasing, my love,” she said, stroking his arm. “Though it would be special if we could pinpoint the exact time we conceived.”

“Well…” He gave her a slight smirk. “Maybe I have been keeping track after all.”

“Let me quiz you then,” she said playfully. “Was it…when I wore the new lingerie?”

His eyes darkened in a way that never failed to thrill her. “That was quite memorable. But I don’t think that was the night.”

“Hmm. The time with the mirror?”

“You really want to do this while I’m driving?”

“We still have an hour to ourselves before we have to pick up Anya.”

He blew out a breath and placed a hand on her leg, giving it a possessive squeeze. “I don’t think the mirror was it either. But again, memorable.”

“After the dessert wine?”

“Now that was fun. You found that magic medium where you were sort of drunk but not enough to lose control and break the bed.”

“Mm. That was fun,” she said, and shifted her leg so that his hand brushed her inner thigh. He flinched, but she held his wrist in place firmly. They both knew he couldn’t break her hold without taking drastic measures. “It’s a pity we haven’t sparred in a while. I’ve missed that. And now it won’t be safe anymore.”

“We’ll have the chance again one day,” he promised, running his fingers along her pantyhose and making her squirm in turn. “Do you want to know my hypothesis?”

“Yes. I give up. Tell me, so we can do it again when we get home.”

“I think it was the night when you drank too much water before bed and had to stop in the middle to use the bathroom. Or the morning after, when neither of us brushed our teeth.”

Yor laughed so hard she let go of his wrist. Hand newly freed, he patted her knee consolingly and managed not to dissolve into laughter himself. Sometimes she envied his training. The driver in the car next to them was giving them odd looks.

“Still memorable,” he shrugged, “but maybe not the best reenactment value.”

“Let’s pretend it was the night with the music,” she said when she had recovered enough to speak. “When we danced in the living room.”

“Your wish is my command.” He brought her hand up to his lips for a chaste kiss. “We’ll draw the curtains and put on that record.”

Chapter Text

They didn’t tell anyone, not even Anya, about the fact she was pregnant. After they’d gotten home from the doctor’s, Loid cooked a magnificent dinner in private celebration, but Anya was so used to seeing extravagant overtures from her father that she thought it was just another one of their “sappy dates.” 

Yor didn’t want to tell anyone because the quiet euphoria of their discovery was short-lived, at least for her. While washing the dishes after dinner, she accidentally smashed one against the side of the sink in a moment of distraction. For anyone else, the dish perhaps would have chipped at the worst. But with her abnormal strength, it shattered completely.

As they retired for the night, she quickly began to spiral with new worries. Worries that were both old and new. Old because she’d considered them since they’d first started talking about trying for a child. New because the child was no longer hypothetical. It was real. A living clump of cells rapidly growing inside her. Invisible to the eye, but all too visible to her when she shut her eyes and thought about it. She could not stop thinking about it.

“Yor,” her husband said as he stroked her hair. “How are you feeling now?”

He spoke in that invitingly neutral way he used when he wanted to coax an opinion from her without applying too much pressure. He didn’t give away his own thoughts, not even the impression that he already suspected what she was worried about. Usually she appreciated his expert gentleness, the non-judgmental distance he put between them for her comfort. But suddenly it felt odd. A bit like an interrogation, or an infiltration. 

She immediately felt guilty for thinking that way. It was unfair to him. He had the best of intentions. He had been nothing but wonderful and supportive of her throughout this whole journey so far. A journey that she realized was now on a definitive timeline, marching relentlessly forward.

Was she already a crazy pregnant lady on day one of finding out?

“I’m afraid,” she started.

Afraid on a visceral level. A cellular level. The baby was a clump of cells at this point, after all. Microscopically small. Smaller than an ant on the sidewalk. So easy to crush and destroy with the slightest misstep. Thorn Princess had crushed the ribcages of men thrice her size. Sliced their throats as easily as opening the seam of an envelope. She had killed hundreds of targets with pinpoint precision and brutal carelessness alike. She could strike a target across a vast ballroom with unerring accuracy. From that distance, any target was like a small clump of cells.

On multiple occasions she had hurt the people she loved by accident with her brute strength. Yuri had borne most of the unintended abuse when he had been a child. Loid next. Even Anya had been the victim of her mistakes, when she had pushed her too hard on a surfboard and sent her careening across the ocean. If Loid hadn’t been there and caught her in the nick of time, she could have drowned. 

What if she slipped again? What if something she did in her everyday life ended up harming the baby? Maybe she had to stop exercising. No sudden strenuous movements. No contact sports, the doctor had said. If only he knew her old profession had revolved around lethal contact. 

Maybe she should stop biking to and from Anya’s school. She could ask Loid to drive. Or she could finally try to get a license. No, now was the worst time to learn how to drive. A sudden image of the car swerving out of control, the seatbelt digging harshly into her waist like a garrote, had her feeling nauseous.

“It’s new and real. More concrete,” Loid supplied as she struggled to put her emotions into words. She nodded and curled against his side as if he could absorb some of her fears.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she confessed. “So many things could go wrong. Because of me. Because I’m so clumsy and I could hurt the baby without even knowing it.”

“Yor…”

“It’s so tiny. So weak. What if…what if I…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. The word that had defined her life since the age of 14. 

Kill. She was a killer. Suddenly, now, it didn’t matter that she’d retired from that life. Or that her targets had always been the worst criminals in Ostania. Or that she had once told Loid that she felt proud of her work, the fact that she was helping to keep ordinary families and innocent children safe from exploitation. Her body was a weapon. Now a dormant weapon, like a sheathed sword kept in storage. But she knew in her gut that her trigger instincts could reawaken in an instant, the moment she registered a threat. What if she somehow registered the baby as a threat one day?

“You won’t,” Loid said, soothing but firm. He wrapped his arms around her and turned fully toward her, so they were chest to chest, her face tucked over his shoulder. “You’re already a mother. You’ve been a mother since you joined me and Anya. Since you raised Yuri all on your own. It’s the brightest part of who you are. And the strongest. I meant what I said back then, that I admire you for your strength. The strength of your heart and how you’ve always used it to protect and care for others. You would never, ever hurt our baby. How can I help you believe in yourself?”

She stayed silent for a while, still unable to communicate in words the doubts and fears swirling inside. She clung to her husband and listened to his heartbeat and the slow filling and emptying of his lungs. He was strong, too, and there was no place she felt safer than in his arms.

“Just hold me,” she finally whispered. Somehow, with her husband so near, she felt a bit more at ease about the little bundle of cells in her womb. Like he could be a shield, a buffer, against her worst fears and unchecked instincts, at least until she could somehow trust herself again.

—

Despite how they’d joked about the doctor’s “wink wink nudge nudge” at Loid, the idea of sex soon became intimidating to her. Loid understood her unease and merely held her chastely each night, not even kissing her lips anymore so as not to stoke any unwanted embers. At the same time, the sudden break in their routine threw her off, and though he hid it well, she knew it had to be affecting him as well. Since their wedding, they’d made love every other night. At most they had gone two or three days without sex.

During the day, she pursued every stress-relieving activity she could. Yoga, listening to classical music, meandering walks in the park when it wasn’t too cold, plenty of naps, cutting all junk food and highly processed food out of her diet. Loid stocked the pantry and fridge with fresh, locally grown vegetables and fruits and healthy snacks. Any meat he bought was always from free-range animals on farms nearby. He cooked the healthiest, most nutritious meals for the three of them and managed to make it all taste wonderful. 

Anya was initially miffed by the change in their diet, but with her natural intuitiveness she saw that something was bothering her mother, perhaps triggering the health kick.

“Why aren’t you and Papa kissing anymore?” she asked one day. 

Yor fumbled for an answer as her daughter eyed her knowingly. Maybe she should just tell her the truth instead of hiding the news. It was good news. She had been treating it like it was dangerous.

“Do you not want a baby anymore?” Anya prodded.

“No, it’s not that. We’re just…” Yor’s mind raced. She wasn’t ready to share her fears with her daughter. A little girl shouldn’t have to think about all the bewildering doubts her mother was battling with. Yor definitely didn’t want to have to explain what losing a baby meant. “…taking a break. We got tired.”

Anya snorted with such derision that Yor wondered where she had picked it up from. A friend at school? 

“Okay, Mama. You and Papa got tired of kissing.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m getting tired of peanuts.”

Despite herself, Yor laughed. It was the first time she had laughed in days. 

“Really! Kissing takes a lot of energy,” Yor insisted between giggles.

“But you were Thorn Princess and Papa was Twilight. You’re super strong.”

“And now we’re both retired.”

“So being retired means you get old and tired like Grandpa Siggy?”

Yor giggled again. Only her daughter could lift her out of a dark mood like this. “Not quite there yet, but we aren’t at the top of our game like we used to be.”

Anya was still frowning. “But you and Papa still love each other, right?”

“Of course we do!”

“Okay,” she said, looking dubious but seemingly at the end of her questions. “I hope you rest a lot so you can kiss again and get a baby soon!”

“Thank you, Anya.” Yor smiled warmly at her daughter. She pulled her close for a hug. “But I want you to know, even if we aren’t able to have a baby, that you’re still more than enough for us. We love you so much.”

“Mama is so sappy,” Anya said with a grin. It was a line she routinely aimed at her father, but Yor supposed she had done enough to warrant some teasing as well.

—

Her conversation with Anya lingered in her mind late into the night. She tossed and turned in bed, though she tried to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb her husband. With his psychiatrist’s approval, he had started reducing his dosage of drugs including insomnia medication, and was in a period of adjustment.

Somehow her daughter had calmed her fears a bit. Perhaps it was the solid knowledge that Anya loved her unconditionally. That she saw her as the only mother she had ever known and looked up to her as a role model. Yor remembered how Loid had often reassured her in the early days of their arrangement that she was a good mother and already worked hard enough. That she provided the stability and reassurance a young child needed to thrive. Even though his words had taken a while to settle into her heart as truth, she had thought about them constantly, clinging to them like a life raft in the midst of her insecurities.

She was a good mother. She loved her daughter and husband dearly. She did know how to be gentle and protective and control her strength. She had pushed Anya too hard on the surfboard, true, but on many other occasions she had kept Anya safe, sometimes holding her in her arms while literally fending off enemies. She had saved her from the charging bull at the Eden interview. The wannabe kidnappers outside the grocery store. The supposed kidnapper at the aquarium. The snarling dog and his handler in the alley. 

And her husband. She had lashed out at him only when drunk or extremely flustered by the idea of physical contact, which she no longer was. She couldn’t drink at all while pregnant. And she knew him like the other half of her soul. She hadn’t hurt him once since they’d truly fallen in love.

He must have heard her sigh as she mulled over all these placating thoughts in her restless state. “Yor? Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, my love. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s alright, I wasn’t asleep. Is something else the matter?” He turned to face her, the blue tint of his eyes just barely visible in the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

She beheld his tired, handsome face in the darkness, earnest and open as ever. She was struck with a wave of deja vu at his inquiring, honest expression. He had looked at her like that even back when he’d been playing pretend, the night they’d run from his “patients,” during Fiona’s visit when he’d reassured her of her place in the family, the time they’d sat on the park bench and he had told her she was strong. Now, as then, she felt irresistibly drawn to him as if by a magnetic pull.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, reaching for him. “I think…I think I feel better now. A bit more on solid ground.”

He smiled gently, brushing back loose strands of hair from her face. “I’ve missed you, too. What was it that made you feel better?”

She told him about Anya and her lucky misunderstanding about how babies were made, which had led to this afternoon’s rather humorous exchange. The low rumble of her husband’s laughter deep in his chest warmed her heart, and she leaned forward to kiss him.

“There. According to Anya, we’re trying to make a baby again,” she quipped.

“Even when she’s not intending to, she manages to bring us closer together,” Loid commented. “And I have her to thank for bringing you into our family to begin with. She picked you at the tailor shop.”

“She picked you too, at the orphanage,” Yor reminded him. “I love her with all my heart. Our special little troublemaker.”

“And this baby,” Loid said, wrapping an arm around her waist, “we’ve chosen ourselves. I hope they’ll bring our family even closer together.”

“I’m sure they will, even if it’ll be hard sometimes. Even if it’s already starting to be hard for me now,” Yor said. “Thank you for being patient with me. For waiting.”

“Always, Yor.” He kissed her softly, with a familiar promise of something more, if she would only reciprocate and signal her desire. “My strong, beautiful wife.”

She kissed him back, and for a while there was no need for more words between them.

Chapter Text

Even though her weekdays were nowhere near as busy as they had been in Berlint, Yor soon began to feel more tired, routinely waking up an hour later than usual in the morning. It was a good thing her job at the flower shop was part-time, and that Loid wasn’t working at all. He stepped up to fill in for many of her house chores, and drove Anya to and from school. Anya readily bought the excuse that it was too cold for Yor to keep biking, especially when it snowed.

Yor was again grateful for her husband’s patience and selflessness. He could not have learned to relax and put his career on hold at a better time. She couldn’t imagine doing this if they were both still working regular jobs along with their shadow professions.

On the other hand, Loid seemed to treat the prospect of fatherhood, or rather becoming a father to an infant for the first time, as a new career to prepare for. He borrowed a dozen library books about pregnancy and postpartum recovery and newborn care. He finished all the books on pregnancy in a couple of days while she had only gotten started on one. 

“Let me know if any of the smells in this house bother you,” he said. “Or if there are any particular foods you want to eat.”

She hadn’t experienced morning sickness yet, or any aversions to certain scents or foods. From how the media portrayed pregnancy, she had thought it happened to all pregnant women. Maybe she would be lucky and have a smooth first trimester. It would also make it easier to hide the news until she was ready to reveal it to people outside her family. She wanted to wait until the risk of miscarriage lessened in the second trimester.

Every morning in the bathroom, she inspected her body in the mirror, looking for any visible changes. Her abdomen was still flat and well-toned. Her breasts were a bit tender but hadn’t gotten any bigger. She often stood with her hands on her belly, imagining the tiny life growing inside, just a few inches away from her palms. One day months from now, she would be able to feel it move. She remembered touching her mother’s belly when she’d been pregnant with Yuri, and how miraculous the little kick had felt. The first time her brother had acknowledged her presence.

Yuri still lived nearby and was pursuing a master’s degree in the nascent field of computer science. Though the damage to his short-term memory made it more difficult for him to retain new knowledge, he compensated for it by studying extra hard. She was beyond proud of him. On nights when he came over for dinner, he sometimes asked Loid for advice on a particularly challenging problem. Loid was the one who had advised him to pursue this field of study to begin with, and had made sure to brush up on the basics so that he could help his brother-in-law. The sight of her brother and husband huddled together over the dinner table, puzzling over a textbook with reams of paper laid out around them, never failed to touch her heart. Such a sight would have been impossible a few years ago, when they’d been at odds with each other and had come to near-fatal blows in Shellbury.

After Anya, Yuri would be the next person Yor would tell about the baby. She knew he would be ecstatic. He and Anya already got along amazingly well. The latter no longer considered him the “weird uncle,” but more like an older sibling she could confide in. Yuri had become an attentive listener and sympathetic ear to the young girl’s travails in school, especially since she’d had to adjust to a completely new environment and group of friends upon moving to Westalis. Perhaps he was able to understand that part of Anya’s life even more than Yor and Loid could, since he too felt like he was starting over in his education. Where he’d once been impatient and condescending toward his niece’s academic struggles, now he was endlessly supportive, constantly thinking of ways to make homework exciting for her.

One evening, Yuri brought over a bottle of champagne to celebrate the end of his final exams. He’d passed with flying colors, as expected, though the dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever. She almost scolded him for coming over instead of resting, but held back as she saw how genuinely happy he was. She hugged him tightly, remembering to loosen her grip when she heard a telltale crack in his back. He hid his grimace behind a beaming smile, waving off her apologies.

“I wasn’t sure I could do it. I thought a lot about quitting,” he admitted over dinner. “But I feel more confident now, even though the program’s far from over.”

“Oh shush, you overachiever,” Yor teased. She glanced at her husband knowingly as he ladled generous servings of rich oxtail stew into each of their bowls. “Both of you. You just egg each other on.”

“Me?” Loid feigned surprise. “Where would you get that idea?”

“Papa is restarting Operation Strix with Unkie,” Anya deadpanned. 

All of them dissolved into laughter, and Anya smiled smugly at her father’s look of mock rebuke.

“What about you, Loid?” Yuri asked later on in the meal. “Planning to go back to school at any point?”

“Papa already knows everything,” Anya said matter-of-factly, and Yor smiled at how Loid’s face softened in slight embarrassment and pride. He secretly loved it when their daughter praised him.

Where the old Yuri might have bristled and challenged his brother-in-law to an absurd trivia game, now he just nodded sheepishly. “Oh, right. I guess you used to earn yourself the equivalent of a master’s degree with every new mission, memorizing all those facts.”

“No, that’s not the same,” Loid objected modestly. “Your current degree program is far from just memorizing facts. It’s synthesizing that information and using it to break new ground. There are no right answers or detailed instructions in your field, because everything’s so new. I’m a bit envious, to be honest.”

Yuri’s eyebrows shot up, as if he couldn’t believe the former spy was envious of him. How far he’d come in his newfound humility as well.

“I think it would be wonderful if you wanted to go back to school,” Yor said warmly, and took her husband’s hand. “Isn’t that what the Authens encouraged you to do, too?”

“Yes.” Loid looked contemplative. “I have been thinking about it, actually. All these study sessions with Yuri have made me curious.”

“You want to study computer science, too?” Yuri asked. There was no competitiveness in his tone, but he did sound slightly nervous. Anyone would be intimidated by someone of her husband’s intellectual caliber joining their class.

“No, probably not any of the sciences,” Loid clarified. He stared down at his steaming bowl of stew, swirling it absently with his spoon. “If I did pursue something, I think it’d be history. Or philosophy.”

He said it quietly, as if he expected someone to shoot the idea down. Yor frowned.

“It’s probably silly. I could just go to the library and read about it all. I don’t need to invest all that money and time in a degree.” The fact that he was trying to talk himself out of it signaled just how much he truly wanted it.

“Wait. You just said that it’s not about memorizing facts,” Yor cut in. “It would definitely be more than just reading books on your own.”

His answering gaze told her he knew that already, but was still hesitant. The realization came to her in an instant. He didn’t want to burden her by pursuing his own dreams when they were on the cusp of expanding their family. She held back her instinctive words of reassurance as she remembered Yuri didn’t know about their baby yet.

“I’m sure you could get a full ride anywhere, no matter the subject,” Yuri added his support. “Any university would bend over backwards to have you contributing to their research.”

“Yuri’s right. And personally, I would love to see you pursue whatever you’re interested in. For so long, you’ve lived for other people. For the wellbeing of entire countries. And for our family,” Yor said, squeezing his hand affectionately. “Maybe it’s time to do something for yourself. I’ll support you all the way.”

She could see the unspoken questions in his eyes, the prospect of a conversation they’d need to have alone later. After a beat, he merely nodded and sighed in mock defeat. 

“Alright, I can’t win an argument against two Briars. I’ll think about it,” he promised.

“Drink to it!” Yuri grinned and popped open the bottle of champagne, pouring his brother-in-law a glass. He was about to fill Yor’s glass as well when she automatically stopped him. 

“Oh,” she fumbled, realizing she had no ready excuse for abstaining. “I sort of have a headache today.”

Yuri’s exuberance quickly faded to concern. “Oh no, sis! Are you sick? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I’m fine! It’s just been extra cold recently. Maybe I caught something from Anya, with all the sick kids at school.”

Anya pouted as she was suddenly the culprit for her mother’s “headache.” Loid must have touched her hand under the table or otherwise given her a signal to stay quiet, because she refrained from protesting.

Thankfully, Yuri took her word for it as usual and didn’t pry further. Loid changed the conversation topic to something both Yuri and Anya were excited about, and by the end of the dinner the two men had finished off the bottle. Yuri hiccuped on the way toward the door, and Yor regretted letting him drink so much when he needed proper rest after his exams.

“Always fun—hic—having dinner with you,” he said with a lazy smile, and put on his shoes slowly. “Feel better soon, sis.”

She hugged her brother and made sure he was warmly bundled up before he headed outside with Loid into the frosty night. Usually he took the bus or a cab to his apartment, but with the biting wind, both she and Loid insisted that the latter drive him home. 

“Go right to bed when you get home, okay? No TV or reading, you’ll strain your eyes,” she couldn’t help but remind him.

“I will, don’t worry,” Yuri humored her, and she caught him exchanging a wry look with her husband. 

That was right. He was a grown man. He had been a grown man for a while now.

An unexpected wave of emotion hit her as she closed the front door after him with a soft click. Her brother had once been a tiny baby, wailing in their mother’s arms. Later, she’d grasped his chubby little hands as he wobbled on unsteady legs, trying to take his first steps. Where had all the years gone? 

One day, Anya would grow up and leave home, too. She was already growing up so fast, learning so many things in school and expanding her vocabulary and self-awareness and observations of the world at a bewildering pace. She had once been small enough to sit in the crook of Loid’s arm. Now she was too big for that. Loid seldom lifted her anymore to begin with.

And the new baby. If she carried the baby to term, she’d witness the miracle of a child’s life all over again. This time, as their birth mother. She wondered what it would be like to hear their cries for the first time. To hold their frail little form in her arms and feel their soft, fragile skin against hers. To see their eyes open for the first time, revealing either the brilliant azure of Loid’s irises or the deep crimson of her own.

“Mama? Are you okay?” Anya came over to her and tugged at her sweater.

“Oh, yes, nothing to worry about,” Yor said hurriedly as she wiped at her eyes and smiled down at her daughter.

Anya gave her a doubtful look. “Why are you sad?”

“I was just thinking about how much your uncle has grown up. And how proud I am of him. And of you, too,” she said, bending down to hug her.

“Mama is so sappy,” Anya drawled, her voice muffled by her sweater.

—

Later, lying beside her husband in bed, she brought up the topic they’d started to discuss at dinner. He was always least reserved about his thoughts right after making love. He had to know this from all his experience in espionage, but perhaps his career was far enough behind him that he could naturally let his guard down now, like a normal husband with his wife.

“I meant what I said. I’d support you if you want to pursue a degree. Or a new job as long as it’s not dangerous,” she murmured against his neck.

He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Thank you. Our lives are about to change in a big way, though. We don’t really know what to expect. It might not be a good idea for me to make any huge time commitments outside our family.”

“Most families have at least one spouse working, even when a new baby is born,” she countered gently. “Our lives don’t have to revolve completely around our baby. Or my pregnancy, right now. It would make me so happy to see you pursue something you enjoy. Something just for you. You deserve it more than anyone.”

“I already enjoy spending time with you and Anya. And I did pick up a hobby,” he said in half-hearted protest. She had to suppress a giggle. A hobby.

“You know what I mean,” she pressed, before her thoughts caught on a legitimate objection. “But, if you feel you need more rest at home, you should rest. I’m just saying that going for a career you genuinely enjoy won’t be a burden to me at all. Just the opposite. I would be so happy for you. So please don’t worry about that. Trust me, my love.”

“Alright. I’ll think about it,” he conceded. “And you should think about it, too. I’m glad you enjoy working at the flower shop. But if there’s anything else you decide you want to do, please tell me. You shouldn’t feel confined to the house just because you’re a mother.”

“Deal,” she said with a smile. 

Chapter Text

The next morning she dragged herself into the bathroom as usual, still half-asleep while she peed in the toilet. It took her a second to register what she was seeing when she turned around to flush.

There was a splotch of dark congealed blood in the toilet bowl. Her hand froze on the handle. Her entire body froze.

What…what was that? The blood clot was about the size of her thumb. Was that…could it be…

She faltered and backed away from the toilet, her heart lurching in alarm. She washed her hands shakily and forgot to dry them as she ran into the bedroom where Loid still slept. Her husband startled awake before she reached his side, sitting bolt upright as soon as he sensed the urgency in her movements. To his credit, he didn’t grab her wrist or act defensively as he would have a couple years ago.

“Yor?” His voice was hoarse, but he was almost completely alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Something…something came out. I don’t know what it is. I’m afraid it could be…” 

His eyes widened and he reached for her, grasping her arms firmly. “It’s okay. Here, let me go take a look. I’m sure it’s fine. You’re not in pain, right? And you’re not continuously bleeding?”

“N—no.”

“It’s okay, Yor,” he repeated. He put an arm around her and steered her back toward the bathroom. “It’ll be okay, no matter what.”

She stood at the door while he went in and peered into the toilet. His face held that familiar frown of concentration when he was approaching a complex problem. She didn’t dare to breathe until he finally turned back toward her.

“I think it’s just spotting. It’s normal. It happens to a lot of women in the first trimester,” he explained. “It could be that your cervix shed some tissue. It’s more sensitive when you’re pregnant, and sometimes after sex or exercise you could bleed a little. It’s not harmful. Especially since you’re not showing any other symptoms.”

“But…are you sure?” she said, still trembling. 

He drew her into his arms, and she pressed her face into his chest, trying to steady her breathing in time with his heartbeat. “Let’s call the doctor and make sure. But since you’re not bleeding a lot, and you don’t have any cramps, I think it’s nothing to worry about.”

Her mind raced as she thought back to the night prior. She and Loid had had sex, and she’d thought nothing of it. She’d thought it was safe. He was always so gentle with her these days. Would they need to stop after all? She should have been more careful.

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly. “Let me get breakfast ready and send Anya to school. I’ll let her know you’re still tired and sleeping in today. As soon as the doctor’s office opens, we’ll give them a call.”

She curled into his chest, wishing she could stay in his embrace longer. And that she could turn back the clock to last night and convince herself to simply go to sleep instead of indulging in pleasure. The baby was more important. She should have been more careful.

“Yor, you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” Loid held her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “You’re doing great. You’re doing everything you can. You’re the best mother already.”

He kissed her on the forehead and hugged her once more before changing out of his pajamas so he could go downstairs. She tentatively lay back down in bed and huddled under the covers. She wrapped her arms around her belly as if she could somehow ensure the baby was safe. Safe from her. From all the invisible things happening inside her own body that she couldn’t control.

—

The next two days as they waited for the test results, she felt like a wire stretched taut. She was careful with the way she walked. No sudden movements or turns. If she had to bend down, she did it slowly. She dreaded every time she had to go to the bathroom. Every time she pulled down her pants, she was afraid to look at her underwear in case there was more blood there. Loid told Anya she was sick. She told the florist the same thing and stayed home from work. Oftentimes she simply lay in bed, hoping that staying still and resting would help. She knew there was no scientific basis for her behavior, as Loid tried to remind her from the books he had borrowed, but her body had always defied science. She was not normal.

“Mrs. Forger, we’re pleased to report that everything is normal. Your hormone levels are as expected. Your baby is fine.”

Yor breathed a huge sigh of relief and leaned back into her husband’s arms at the doctor’s words over the phone.

“Th-thank you,” she managed to respond. Every nerve was still thrumming, ready to run, to defend. She hadn’t felt like this in a very long time. Her body was no longer used to that life. Like a machine that had been turned off for years but had suddenly been plugged back in and forced to work.

“Please don’t hesitate to call again if you have any other concerns or if something new happens. Have a good day.”

She put the phone back on the receiver and took several more deep breaths as her husband held her close.

“You’re doing great. Nothing’s wrong,” Loid reassured her. “How about we take a walk outside and get some fresh air? You haven’t been outside in a while.”

She nodded and pulled on her winter boots and overcoat. The neighborhood was quiet as usual. WISE really had done a great job selecting this location for them. Their house was on a one-way street, and situated on high ground. Hardly any traffic ever passed through other than their neighbors, and it was easy to see their surroundings from any window in the house. 

Gradually, she allowed herself to relax as her lungs filled with the crisp outdoor air and she took in the sounds of compacted snow crunching under her feet, the whistling of the wind through spindly branches, the slow drifting clouds high overhead. Her world slowly expanded beyond the few inches of invisible life growing within her. Her thoughts exited the treadmill of worry and doubt. Their baby was safe and sound.

She recalled when she and Loid had discussed the possibilities of miscarriage early on, when they had still been vacationing abroad. She had told him with such nonchalance that she wasn’t sure if she could get pregnant or carry a child to term. It had felt so theoretical then. As if it were about throwing darts at a board and accidentally missing. Something of no consequence. How could it be of no consequence? 

“You’re so brave, Yor,” Loid said, enfolding her fingers in his gloved hand. “I wish I could take some of this burden from you.”

“This is what all mothers do,” she mused. “I’m not brave. It’s just hard to believe that most women throughout history have gone through this. Do all of them feel this way? Or am I just being abnormal again?”

“No, of course you’re not abnormal,” he said in light chastisement. “I should have thought of this earlier, but it might help if you spoke to women who have done this before. If you had a support group outside of me. Is there anyone you might want to reach out to?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe…no, Sylvia must be too busy. And it might be painful for her to remember her daughter. Lady Acacia never had children. And Sharon…I wasn’t close enough to any of my City Hall coworkers to be comfortable talking about this with them. Miriam at the flower shop is a mother, but I’ve never talked to her about anything too personal.”

As if sensing she was about to blame herself, Loid spoke again. “It’s okay. You spent our first year here supporting me as I recovered. And we were laying low from the press, so it made sense for us not to get too close to anyone new. Then we traveled the world. We came back only recently. You’ve already done a lot to settle in. You proactively went out and found a job you enjoy. You got to know some of the other parents at Anya’s school. Even if they don’t know all that much about you or your real name. You’re doing your best. I’m sorry that I didn’t see it sooner, that you might be lonely. I’m sorry I took you for granted.”

“You’ve never taken me for granted,” she said adamantly. “Our family will always be my top priority. I don’t regret how we spent our time here so far. I don’t regret moving here. I did all those things because I wanted to. Because I love you and Anya. I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything socially.”

He kissed her hair and put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m relieved to hear that. But perhaps it would still help if you made some friends who are mothers. Or even reading books about motherhood. Not the “how-to” manuals I borrowed. More like actual stories from real women of what it was like to be pregnant and give birth. I’m sure the library has something like that.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll try that,” she said, and meant it. The thought that she wasn’t alone, that there were other women—many, many other women—out there who had experienced what she was going through, made her feel hopeful in a new way.

—

Between reading library books and going out more often just to be around people, Yor began to feel more at ease with herself. In the back of her mind she wondered when her mood would yo-yo back into anxiety and debilitating doubt, but for now she tried to enjoy all the new knowledge she had gained about pregnancy and motherhood. Facts she had always known took on new meaning and significance. Like remembering that women in her home village had often had upwards of five children running around. Her mother had been the exception, with only two children spaced seven years apart, her own health issues having impacted her fertility. 

Five children. Yor could not imagine spending close to five years of her life being pregnant. She had even heard stories of older generations where having upwards of ten children was common, even though a third of them died from disease at a young age. She marveled at the fact women’s bodies were capable of such a feat.

And then there was the question of raising those children. It had taken all she had to raise Yuri from four years old to adulthood. How did families manage with more than one child? Anya was not hard to raise, but still demanded a lot of attention. How did some couples maintain both their careers while having multiple children? 

She reined in her thoughts around those questions. She and Loid were starting with one. They hadn’t yet committed to having a second after this one. Who knew what it would be like taking care of a newborn, then teaching a toddler to walk and talk and use the toilet and eat on their own and so many other things she had taken for granted with Yuri and Anya?

That was all assuming that the baby didn’t have any developmental problems or disabilities. One of the books she had read was about a child with Down’s Syndrome. While the mother’s story was full of hope and joy, Yor couldn’t help but feel scared of the thought of bringing such a child into the world. She was already so stressed thinking about the basics of raising a typical child. The added heartache and bewilderment of raising a child with challenges would overwhelm her.

Again she had to rein her imagination in. There was no sign yet that her baby had any problems. The books said the doctors could only figure those things out when the baby was big enough to see on an ultrasound. And even then, sometimes they couldn’t catch it unless they drew amniotic fluid for a test.

Yor thought she was used to living with risks and lack of control. All sorts of dangers had defined her childhood and adolescence. The threat of starvation, the devastation of the war, not knowing how to care for Yuri when he got sick, constantly running low on money. Then, the ruthless training Garden had put her through. The visceral fear she had felt the first few years on the job, not allowing herself to hesitate as her blades cut through living flesh and she witnessed the dying breaths of countless targets. Even in adulthood, after she had met Loid and Anya, she had still felt deeply insecure, as if she could lose her place in their newfound family at any moment. 

She had settled so easily into the last two years of idyllic peace. Like a long-awaited sigh of relief after a lifetime of uncertainty. Now that the anxiety was back, it was as if she had suddenly been forced to shed her coat in the midst of a snowstorm. It made it worse having known what true warmth felt like. Warmth and security she had never experienced in any consistent fashion before Loid and Anya.

Miriam, the owner of the flower shop, seemed to know something was off, but remained professional and didn’t bring it up. She was an older woman in her late forties with a no-frills attitude and sharply efficient approach to work. She appreciated Yor’s hard work ethic and polite manners, and how she kept the store spotless.

One day, though, Yor’s discomfort made itself known unexpectedly. It was the lilies. The store had just gotten a new shipment of lilies, and their strong, unique smell suddenly overpowered Yor’s senses. She rushed to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the toilet, trying in vain to remain as quiet as possible.

“Yulia?” Miriam asked after a minute. She was standing right outside the bathroom door. “Is everything alright?”

Yor rinsed out her mouth and thought frantically about how she could keep working when lilies were a popular part of winter arrangements. 

“Just a second! I’ll be right out!” She patted her cheeks to get some color back into them. Looking at herself in the mirror, she thought that perhaps it was time to tell Miriam. Even though she would have preferred to tell her own family members first, she was used to the fact that life seldom went according to plan.

Miriam handed her a glass of water as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom. From the look in the woman’s eyes, it was obvious she already suspected what was up. 

“I’m sorry, Miriam. It’s just that…” Yor steeled herself with a smile. “I’m expecting, for the first time. I hadn’t felt nauseous around anything until now, with those lilies.”

The older woman’s eyes lit up with rare warmth, and she quickly switched the sign on the front door to Closed. At the small snack table at the back of the store, she urged Yor to sit down with her and chat.

“I’ve had several employees who’ve been pregnant while working here. Don’t worry, your job isn’t in danger,” she was quick to reassure Yor. The thought of losing her job hadn’t even crossed her mind, but it was comforting to know that Miriam wasn’t the type of employer to see pregnancy as a dealbreaker. “We’ll figure out something that works well for you. The nausea should go away in a few weeks. In the meantime, we can keep those flowers in a separate area, and I’ll handle them.”

Miriam didn’t ask too much about Yor’s emotions or the less tangible aspects of pregnancy. She was quick to focus on the practical. She asked about any accommodations Yor would need in her schedule. If she wanted any secondhand baby clothing from when her own three children had been young. Whether she knew of the due date and how long she would want to take off from work afterward. Finally, she asked if she had gone shopping for maternity clothes yet.

Yor hadn’t thought about half of these questions. She felt guilty that the woman didn’t even know her real name as she offered her all of this help and advice.

Miriam gave a short laugh as she saw the bewilderment on Yor’s face. “Right, I remember now. The first time, everything feels new. How about this? We’ll close early today and go downtown to look for nice clothes for you.”

Miriam waved off her halfhearted protests and insisted that this would be fun for her, too. Her two older children were already adults, while her youngest was a teenager. It had been a long time since she had had any friends who were expecting, and she wanted to relive that exciting time vicariously through Yor.

Loid rushed to help her with the armload of shopping bags she brought home that afternoon. It might have been premature to buy all those clothes when she hadn’t even had her first ultrasound yet, and there was still a heightened chance of miscarriage until the end of the first trimester. But she felt lighter than she had in a while. Loid had been right. Being able to confide in another woman who knew what she was doing made a big difference.

“I can’t wait to see you wear all this,” Loid said as he helped her put away the outfits in the closet. He pulled out a long formfitting black dress. “This one, especially.”

She took the dress from him and draped it against her body, pretending to model it for him with a coy smile. He pulled her close for a kiss, and for a short time they swayed around the room as if slow-dancing, the dress pressed snugly between them. 

Chapter Text

Other than lilies, Yor developed an aversion to cooking herbs like basil and sage. It was a pity, because she loved her husband’s cooking and how inventive and dedicated he was to the art. Every few days he would whip up a fresh hearty stew to make sure Yor and the baby growing inside her got plenty of nutrition. The prolonged use of the stove also served to warm up the house in the midst of a frosty winter, and suffused the air with a rich, homey feel.

“Can we please have pizza and fries for dinner?” Anya pleaded one afternoon. As much as she appreciated her father’s gourmet cooking, she had grown tired of all the healthy food. Yor supposed most kids her age craved junk food. And strangely, now that Anya had brought it up, so did she.

“Maybe you can take a break for tonight and we can call for pizza,” Yor suggested when Loid was about to object. Anya smiled in grateful triumph to have her mother on her side. Yor knew by now that her husband could not turn down something both his girls wanted.

“Hmm…alright. I think there are two stores in town. One a major chain, the other locally owned,” he mused, already flipping through the phone book to find their numbers. Behind his back, Yor and Anya gave each other a surreptitious high-five.

Yor could only describe the smell of melted mozzarella and baked dough as heavenly. She was suddenly more eager than Anya to dig in once the boxes arrived. Thankfully, Anya was so hungry she didn’t question her mother’s odd behavior. Loid stood in the kitchen, bemused, as his wife and daughter grabbed slices for themselves and started to eat without him. He brought over cans of soda for both of them with glasses full of ice.

“Just for tonight, I’ll let you drink some Coke,” he said to Anya, and poured a small amount for her.

Yor surprised herself when she devoured three slices straight without stopping, then reached for the chicken wings Loid had ordered on the side. Anya had slowed down after eating one slice, and began to look at her mother quizzically.

“Did you forget to eat lunch, Mama?”

“Oh, no, I just–” Yor swallowed and took a sip of soda to wash down the food she’d been inhaling. “Uh, I just remembered how much I love pizza!”

“Really? We ate pizza a lot in Berlint when Papa was out late and you never said that.”

“Oh, uh…” She glanced at her husband for support. “I changed my mind, I guess!”

Anya folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, looking back and forth between her parents. “What’s going on? It’s not just pizza. You guys have been acting weird. With all the kissing, then the no kissing, then the kissing again, and Mama acting like a fairy, and–”

“What? I am not a fairy,” Yor protested. “What does that even mean?”

“You float around like you’re afraid to touch anything. You lie in bed a lot and you look tired.”

Loid put an arm around his wife, careful not to get any sauce on her sweater, and smiled at her in wry self-defeat. She knew it was time to tell their daughter. Anya scrutinized the silent conversation they were holding with their eyes until Yor nodded and turned back to her.

“Well, Anya…” she began. “You’re right, I have been acting differently. And that’s because…we’re going to have a baby!”

“Really? All the kissing finally worked?” Anya’s eyes widened comically. She put down her pizza and nearly knocked over her glass as she stood up on her seat, trying to get a better angle to peer at Yor’s stomach. “But you don’t look different! I thought you would get fat!”

“Anya,” Loid scolded gently. “That’s impolite to say to a pregnant woman. Babies do not make their mothers ‘fat.’”

“Okay, Papa,” Anya brushed it off quickly and moved on. “But where is it?”

“Your little brother or sister is in here,” Yor tried to explain, putting a hand on her lower abdomen. “Babies start off very tiny. So tiny you can’t see them. Right now I think they’re the size of a strawberry. He or she is growing very fast, though, and a few months from now my belly will have a big round bump.”

“So…the more you eat, the faster it’ll grow?”

“No,” Yor giggled. “But it helps if I eat nutritious food and get plenty of vitamins. Then both the baby and I will be healthy and strong.”

“You’re always strong, Mama,” Anya said, and Yor beamed. “But I had no idea that’s how babies worked. I thought all of a sudden you would get fa—I mean, you would have a big belly, and then the baby would come out. How does it come out, anyway?”

She and Loid should have figured out how to have this talk earlier. Loid stepped in as smoothly as possible.

“Your mother will go to the hospital when it’s time for the baby to arrive. And then the doctors will conduct a standard medical procedure to bring the baby out.” 

Oftentimes wrapping up a topic in dry “grown-up” terms would make Anya lose interest, especially if Loid was the one talking. This time, however, it didn’t.

“You mean a surgery? Mama needs a surgery?” she gasped.

“Yes!” Yor rushed to say before Loid could deny it. She did not want to describe the process of vaginal birth to their eight year-old. “Yes, but it won’t hurt. Doctors do this for so many women, it’s very easy.”

Anya looked green, and pushed away her plate of half-eaten chicken wings. “I never want to have a baby when I grow up.”

“Oh, Anya, it’s not as scary as you think,” Yor reassured her, though she herself had felt plenty scared already. “And you’re too young to worry about these things, anyway. Just trust your father and me and the doctors. We’ll be fine! In a few months, you’ll have a little brother or sister to play with!”

Anya still looked dubious, but the prospect of having a younger sibling brightened her spirits. “Can it be a girl? Please?”

“Your mother and I can’t control if the baby is a boy or a girl,” Loid replied. “We’ll be happy either way. And I hope you will be, too.”

“Okay, but boys are annoying and loud,” Anya grumbled. She was probably having some trouble at school with rambunctious boy classmates. Yor wondered if there was another Damian-like boy who secretly had a crush on her but communicated it by being mean.

“You can teach him not to be!” Yor said encouragingly. “You’ll be an amazing older sister, Anya!”

“So you don’t know if it’s a boy or girl?” she asked.

“No, but we will find out in a few weeks!”

Anya’s eyes lit up. “I can’t wait! What about names? I guess we can’t name the baby until we know if it’s a boy or a girl…”

“We can think of ideas, though,” Yor said, caught up in her daughter’s excitement. “Why don’t you come up with your favorite names, and your father and I will consider them alongside ours?”

“And no, we will not name them Bondman, Princess Honey, or any of the other characters from that show,” Loid said preemptively. 

Anya pouted. “I’m not six years old anymore, Papa!”

After a few more questions about pregnancy and what their lives would look like for the next few months, Anya suddenly asked, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, Mama? If you knew about the baby for a while, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well…” Yor hesitated. Loid squeezed her hand under the table in reassurance. Anya was growing up fast. She had already seen so much in her young life, and braved so many obstacles and tragedies that children should never have to experience. Maybe she could trust that she was mature enough to handle the real answer. “Sometimes…when babies are still in that tiny stage like it is now…it can disappear…and not come out.”

Anya looked confused as she digested the words. “So…babies can change their minds and leave? Why would they leave?”

Of course Anya would have thought about it in terms of abandonment. Yor’s heart broke at how her precious daughter’s mind had been irreparably shaped by the horrors of her early childhood.

“They don’t change their minds, sweetie. It’s just…random. Kind of like how we can’t control when we get sick. We can’t control a lot of things about life. Things just happen. The best we can do is to stay healthy, love each other and this baby, and hope for the best,” Yor said. Even as she said it for Anya’s sake, she willed herself to believe it.

Loid squeezed her hand again and smiled warmly at her and their daughter. His expression was so full of pride and love that she leaned against him and smiled back.

“Okay. So now that the baby is coming, you don’t need to be all lovey-dovey and kissy-kissy anymore, right?” Anya said, distracted from the heavy topic by her parents’ display of affection. Then she gasped. “If you kiss more, will you get another baby? Twins?”

Loid and Yor both laughed. Anya had a way of taking them off guard with her childlike curiosity and devious humor. The rest of the dinner, they cleared up more misconceptions from the girl’s wild imagination, and occupied her energy with making a list of other types of food both she and Yor wanted to try. Half of it was junk food, but Yor knew Loid would go along with it with a little convincing.

Both Yor and Loid went to Anya’s room for her bedtime routine that night. After reading her a story, Yor grasped Anya’s hands and gave her a look of mock seriousness.

“Anya, there’s one more thing you need to help us with. Can you please keep the baby a secret until it’s a little bigger and has less of a chance of disappearing? Next week, we will go to the doctor and they will take pictures of the baby with a special machine. After that, I might be more comfortable telling Uncle Yuri and some close friends. Okay?”

Anya seemed to understand the logic, and nodded firmly. “Yes, Mama, my lips are sealed. This is now top-secret classified intel. Uncle Yuri’ll never get it out of me!”

At her other side, Loid chuckled and ruffled her hair. They’d all moved past their old careers enough that he didn’t scold her for making jokes like that anymore.

They both kissed her on the forehead before leaving the room. Yor glanced back at Anya’s diminutive form in the bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows and stuffed animals. Their little girl. 

One day, they would tuck in two children at night. She wondered if Anya would want to share a room with her sibling. No, she would probably be too old. Then, she and Loid would have to split bedtime duty between the two kids. Or maybe they would have different bedtimes for a while given the age gap. There were so many nuances about raising a new child that Yor had only begun to consider. 

“Goodnight, sweetie.”

“Goodnight, Anya.”

“Goodnight, Mama and Papa!”

This, she would never grow tired of.

Chapter Text

Since the slight scare with the spotting, their sex life had changed again. Instead of abstaining altogether, they got creative. Yor had been the one to initiate, since she knew Loid would never want to come off as pushy or demanding when she was in such a vulnerable state of mind. 

As always, he had shown a bit of hesitation when she had first told him what she wanted. 

“Are you sure, Yor? You don’t have to.” It was the standard response he had always given when it came to his own pleasure.

“I’m sure. I still want you, my love.” It was true. Pregnancy hadn’t decreased her libido at all. And with how sweet and supportive her husband was through the whole thing, she desired him all the more. She wanted to make him feel good.

Tonight, she wanted him again. As she brushed her teeth, she stood in front of the mirror inspecting her profile, trying to see if her abdomen was rounding out from the fact she wasn’t exercising as much anymore. It was certainly softer, even if still flat. 

Fleetingly she wondered what it would be like to have sex when her belly was huge. Would she be too heavy to be on top? Just the image of her husband staring up at the unwieldy shape of her body felt embarrassing. Would he still find her attractive? Or would he have to pretend? She had always been in peak shape, and had never thought about what it might be like to be overweight. Her City Hall coworkers had fretted about their weight all the time, especially Camilla. So many lunch hours had been spent listening to the three of them lament about their diets and how Camilla hated the flab on her midsection and wished she could make it go away. She made it sound like it was an utter turn-off for men.

Yor had never lacked confidence in her physicality before, or in her husband’s attraction to her since they’d become intimate, except in the first few months after they had escaped Ostania and he had been recovering from his ordeal. In the past two years, she had grown into their relationship and the contours of what a couple could do in the bedroom, to the point where it all felt very normal to her. 

But now, looking at her naked body in the mirror, she felt the beginnings of doubt. Future doubt, a vague sense that everything was fine now, but sometime soon it might not be. Her perception of herself and her relationship with her husband might be shaken up once more. Her body would change and begin to look odd and cumbersome, her graceful silhouette erased by a ballooning belly, while he remained as handsome and fit as ever.

It was silly. She shook herself out of it and spit her toothpaste into the sink. It was silly of her to worry like this. Vain and petty. She had much more important things to worry about, things of actual value, like how to be a good mother to a newborn.

“Yor? Everything alright in there?” Loid said softly on the other side of the door.

“Yes, I’ll just be a minute,” she answered, and quickly washed her face. Then, on a whim, she put her bra and panties back on. They weren’t the raciest pair she owned, but they were black, and he liked her in black. Sometimes it was more exciting to start off clothed and let him remove her undergarments in the heat of the moment.

The flicker in his eyes when she emerged from the bathroom told her she was right. She walked into his arms and simply hugged him for a while, inhaling the comforting scent of his sleep shirt and relishing the solidity of his strength. He kissed the top of her head and began to draw lazy circles on her back, beneath the clasp of her bra. His other hand wandered to her waist, his thumb stroking her skin with a hint of possessiveness.

“Get on the bed, my love,” she said in the low voice she knew secretly made him weak. 

He complied, pulling her with him until she stood between his legs as he sat on the edge, looking up into her eyes. She took one of his hands and brought it to her breast, and he splayed his fingers over the fabric of her bra, his thumb teasing the underwire.

This was one type of foreplay her husband particularly liked. Her giving orders, and him obeying to perfection. Touch me. Use your mouth. Take it off. She always gave him enough liberty to interpret her words as he wished, thrilled by how he could surprise her and surpass her expectations every time. 

She didn’t ask him to take off her bra this time, so it stayed on, but barely. He pulled the straps off her shoulders and eased her breasts out of the soft cups, and took his time teasing her with his mouth and hands. She leaned into him and combed her fingers through his hair, grasping the back of his head whenever he did something that made her gasp. Praise, too, made him weak. She let him know with words and wordless moans just how good he was, how good he made her feel. His touch grew hungrier, more possessive, the more sounds she made. 

That was usually when she started to touch him in return. To ease him into the idea that she wanted to please him, that she needed to, that it was all wrapped up in her own pleasure as well. She palmed him through his briefs until he hissed against her skin, his teeth grazing the underside of her breast. She pulled back slowly and smiled at him with heat in her eyes. He knew her well enough to know what she meant. Let me.

She slowly slid down his torso until she was crouching in between his legs. She ran her fingers across his abdomen, under the thin fabric of his shirt, caressing his obliques. He shuddered as she used her fingernails to separate the waistband of his briefs from his skin and pulled the fabric down his legs with unhurried care. His hands were clenched on the sides of the mattress, the veins and muscle in his forearms standing out prettily. She paused to plant kisses along one arm, then shifted her lips to his thigh, and felt his breath hitch above her. She looked up into his piercing blue eyes, watching how he was taking all of her in, the fall of her hair over one bare shoulder, her breasts spilling out of her bra, the way her lips parted around his cock as she took her first taste of him.

One hand shot out to weave into her long hair, cupping the back of her head as she slid most of his length into her mouth. She couldn’t take all of him, but her hands did the rest as she set a steady, sultry pace between her tongue and the suction at the back of her throat. 

His breathing grew erratic and a curse escaped his lips in a near-whisper, followed by helpless praise, almost nonsensical amid his groans of pleasure. You’re too good to me. Oh, Yor…

His other hand snaked down to play with her breasts as she worked him faster, never breaking eye contact as his hips began to tense and press forward involuntarily. I’m close…Yor, I’m…

She took him in deep and hummed in pleasure at the sight of him on the brink of unraveling, of losing all the fine-tuned control he still possessed from years of ruthless training and practice. His eyes fell closed and his hand tightened into a fist in her hair as he thrust into her mouth, coming in long spurts down her throat. 

She loved seeing him like this. To know she alone could be this close to him and bring him such bliss. She loved seeing him come down from his high, when he opened his eyes and looked at her with such love and awe. 

There was still guilt, some days, a sign of conflict over receiving pleasure first. But it would quickly turn into a promise, a sense of competition, as he drew her up onto the bed and reciprocated her devotion.

It was as if he needed to prove there was no competition. That whatever she gave him, he would return twofold at the least. Lying down on her back, she gazed up at the ceiling and then allowed her eyelids to flutter shut, reveling in the sensations he elicited with his warm hands and lips and tongue. His grip on her hips tightened when she arched her back and encouraged him with her moans and sighs. He held her down as she writhed and bucked against his mouth. He enjoyed pitting his strength against hers, even if they both knew she could overpower him in an instant. It thrilled her to have a husband so skilled and focused and powerful in his own right, single-minded in his pursuit of her, determined to map and understand every inch of her like the myriad layers of a peony flower.

On the brink of the third time, breathless and nearly spent, she gazed down at him, their eyes meeting in an unspoken dance and a tug of wills until finally, she caved in, crying his name as he wrapped his arms around her legs and absorbed her throes of passion between his hands and mouth, riding out her high with her until she fell still.

“My love,” she whispered, and he crawled up the bed to lie beside her, holding her close. Her voice took on a tone of chastisement. “You still have your shirt on.”

He looked down at himself and laughed. “Guess I forgot.”

“Mm…don’t forget next time,” she murmured, and reached under the hem of his shirt to caress the firm planes of his torso. “I like looking at you.”

“Same.” He belatedly removed his shirt, then unhooked the clasp of her bra and tossed the article aside even though they were both done for the night. 

He held her skin to skin, her back against his chest, for quite some time as they talked about everything and nothing. Eventually, her thoughts came full circle when his hands came to rest on her lower abdomen in an almost protective gesture.

“Loid…in a few months, when I have a real belly, are you…” Suddenly her question felt juvenile and silly. Maybe even petty, like her old coworkers had been. Was it disrespectful to even ask? To make her husband think she doubted him, after all he had done to prove his love for her?

“Am I what?” he prodded gently.

“Never mind, it’s silly.”

“Nothing about your pregnancy is silly to me.” He turned her in his arms to face him, and looked straight into her eyes. “You can tell me.”

“I guess…I just wonder…if you’ll still want to do this then. If you’ll still…want me.” Her voice grew small and ashamed.

“Yor, I will always want you,” he asserted. He cupped her cheek with one hand while tightening his hold on her waist with the other. “Always. I’ll find you even more beautiful than you are now. The thought of seeing you change as the baby grows…it only makes me admire you more for how strong you are. How graceful you are. I can’t wait to hold you here,” he pressed his palm to her belly, “and to feel how real this is. That our baby, who I already love so much, is really coming. And that they couldn’t have a better mother than you. How could I not want you, when all of that is true?”

She blushed even as she kissed him, if only to stop the flow of dramatic compliments. “My sweet talking husband. Thank you.”

“It’s the truth, not just sweet talk,” he insisted with a slight air of offense.

“I believe you, my love. You just…always know what to say. Even when I’m being silly. I know we talked about this before, about how I’ll get stretch marks and all that. But it just seemed theoretical back then. Now…it’s so real. My body is going to change so much, and things won’t be able to go back to the way they were before. Not that that’s bad. But you know what I mean.”

He shrugged. “Both of us will age. Slowly, but it’ll happen. We’ll gain weight in weird places and our hair will turn gray and our skin will get wrinkly. I’ll still be in love with you to the end. Think about Mom and Dad.”

He was referring to the Authens. Their surrogate parents were in their eighties and still deeply enamored with each other. Yor smiled fondly.

“I have every intention of being just as devoted to you as he is to her. Without the wandering off and mumbling, hopefully,” he tried to joke.

“Me too. I’ll continue to admire your brilliance and eventual flabby stomach,” she giggled, poking the solid muscle of his abdomen.

He got back at her by reenacting the exaggerated sloppy kiss the Authens had put on full display the first day they had moved in at Park Avenue. Yor swatted at him as she laughed, and soon every worry she had had about losing her husband’s interest faded to absurdity. She knew he was with her, without a doubt, through all the change that was to come.

Chapter Text

Yor clasped her husband’s hand excitedly as they waited for the ultrasound technician. The milestone appointment had finally arrived, marking her tenth week of pregnancy. It was hard to believe she had made it ten weeks so far. Thirty more to go, if she was able to carry the baby to full term. There would be many more ultrasounds after this, little glimpses into the sleepy, growing seed of life inside her.

The technician was a middle-aged woman with her hair tied back in a tight ponytail. She smiled warmly at the two of them but was professional and quick in explaining what she would do. It was obvious she had done this many times for many new mothers, and Yor found comfort in her confidence. 

“This might feel a bit cold, sorry,” the woman said as she squeezed a tube of clear gel onto Yor’s stomach. Then she held the ultrasound wand to her skin and spread the gel around. Yor suppressed a laugh as it reminded her of the gluestick Anya used for school art projects.

Loid’s eyes were already riveted on the black screen full of white numbers and lines. As soon as the wand had touched her skin, a blur of patchy white appeared at the center of the screen. It shifted constantly like a meteorological display of rainclouds on the weather channel as the technician moved the wand around and applied a bit of pressure to Yor’s lower abdomen. The machine also emitted a strange echoing noise, the kind of sound Yor only heard when her ears were submerged underwater.

“Ah, there they are,” she said, her hand falling still. The image settled and became clear, with an oblong pocket of black in the midst of blurry white. And in that pocket of black, there was a white peapod shape. A little round head, and an oval body, with tiny stubs for arms and legs. 

Yor gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh…”

Loid didn’t say anything, but he was entranced, his eyes glued to the screen as the technician used her other hand to take notes on a sheet of paper. 

“Hear that?” the woman asked. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

Sure enough, the vague underwater sound had sharpened to a predictable rhythm, a heartbeat that was much faster than an adult’s. The technician was quick to assure them that the heartbeat was normal and healthy.

“Wow,” Yor breathed. “Normal and healthy? The baby’s okay?”

“Yes, your little one’s doing well. Good size, around three centimeters long right now. Steady heartbeat. If we watch a little longer, we might be able to see them move. Let’s try to get a better view.”

The image blurred once more as the technician moved the wand around until they saw a profile view of the baby. They looked more alien-like from the new angle, their forehead jutting out and body curled forward. After a few seconds, the funny little form wiggled. 

Yor laughed and turned to her husband. Finally, his eyes left the screen and he looked at her, an elated smile on his face. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“We’ll get you some prints in a second. Congratulations again. Do you have any questions?”

Of course Loid had prepared a handful of questions from the books he had read. Yor listened attentively as the technician patiently answered each one. Half of her answers were simply “it depends.” Pregnancy and the developing fetus were still a mystery in many ways. Every woman’s body was different and it was hard to predict what might cause a miscarriage when Yor appeared to be in excellent health, old scarring aside. It was also impossible to tell at this point whether the baby had any genetic abnormalities.

“Every parent goes through this. It’s normal to wonder these things. Just don’t get hung up on all the what-ifs before you have any evidence that there’s anything to worry about,” the woman advised. “Enjoy this magical time! And get all the rest you can. Maybe take a special holiday together, a babymoon as some people call it. It’ll be a long time before you can travel again when the baby’s here.”

Loid looked contemplative. It was something neither of them had considered, given they had just come back from traveling the world. Yor didn’t really think they needed another holiday, but maybe it would be worth it to get away with her husband for a few days alone, without having to worry about Anya at the same time. Then she immediately felt guilty at wanting to leave Anya behind.

They had some time to think about it. According to the books, it was best to travel during the second trimester, anyway.

Yor couldn’t stop looking at the ultrasound prints as Loid drove them home. Even though it was too blurry to make out any facial features or even the shape of hands or feet, she still stared at it as if studying a priceless painting from ages ago, trying to unearth any small detail they had missed in the doctor’s office.

“Ten dalc Anya will say it looks like a peanut,” Loid joked.

That drew her out of her intense focus. “No way I’ll bet against that. That’s definitely what she’ll say!”

—

There were many things the pregnancy books said that she had brushed aside, because they hadn’t seemed relevant. One such thing was the fact many women reported having strange, vivid dreams more often than usual. 

Now that her family was at peace, and their daily lives had been tranquil and unrushed for two years, Yor no longer had the kinds of nightmares she had had growing up and in her early adult life. As a child she had often dreamed of losing her parents, of losing Yuri to starvation or food poisoning or disease, of strangers barging into their house and taking Yuri away because she was unfit to take care of him. When she had started working for Garden, she’d had nightmares of her training, of not being able to dodge in time and sustaining a mortal wound, even though she logically knew that her trainers would never actually kill her. Then when she’d started taking clients, she would dream of making a fatal mistake, of losing her courage at the last second and failing Shopkeeper and thus dooming Yuri and herself to starvation and homelessness. Or, she would dream of her successes, which were even more haunting as dead men’s eyes followed her in the hushed silence after a kill. She felt their hollow, vengeful gazes on her back as she tried to clear the room of evidence, and sometimes caught glimpses of their mangled faces over her shoulder when she looked at herself in the mirror, scrubbing the blood from her arms.

It had been such a long time since she’d had a nightmare that one night, she was taken completely off guard by the cloying darkness she suddenly found herself in.

She was in a limousine, dressed in a formal gown that hugged her figure. She kept her purse on her lap, covering her abdomen as if such a flimsy piece of leather could shield her baby from a bullet or a blade. Her husband sat facing away from her, his blank eyes studying the rolling green hills around them.

They were heading to the Desmond estate.

Deep dread filled her stomach and cemented her body to the plush leather seats of the limousine. She screamed at herself to get up, to wrench open the door and leave, to escape with her husband before they reached the gates. Before it would be too late.

But she could not move. She could not even speak. She remained still as a statue, as if frozen by some arcane magic, while the limousine drove through the gates, all the way up to the front of the mansion where it stopped beside the stone fountain of the Argonauts and the mythical monster and raging whirlpool that threatened to swallow the ship whole.

Suddenly she was in the cavernous dining room with her husband sitting beside her, his posture stiff and straight and his face still blank and unquestioning. 

No! she wanted to shout at him. Run! Get away from here! She’s going to–

“Thinking of expanding your family?” the refined lilt of the hostess’ voice sounded from across the table.

No. Not her. Not her. Not her.

Yor’s stomach heaved even as she remained stock still in her seat, her eyes helplessly drawn to the deceptively calm, almost lazy expression of the woman sitting in front of her. Melinda’s heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on Yor’s stomach.

Every instinct was screaming at her to flee, to fight, to throw a fast, two-fingered jab at the enemy and end her life before she could capture her husband again, or worse—to do something to her baby. 

The roiling storm of utter wrongness grew and grew inside her as she fought to move, to do anything but sit and wait for the inevitable to happen all over again, until suddenly, like a rubber band stretched so tight it finally snapped, Yor lurched forward and vomited on the table. Once she began, she could not stop. It felt as if an invasive hand had reached down her throat and pulled at her organs, wrenching them upward until they poured out of her mouth in an endless torrent of blood. And in the pool of blood was her baby. Three centimeters of a wriggling peapod shape, without a face, without fingers or toes.

She opened her eyes and screamed. The sound of her own voice was jarring. The fact that her surroundings were dark and muted, not suffused with yellow light and the stark crimson of death, threw her off balance with the sudden sense she was falling. She jerked to the side and nearly fell off the bed when her husband’s arms caught her and pulled her against him, solid and warm.

“Yor,” he had been repeating for quite some time. “It’s okay.”

Did I wake Anya? was her next coherent thought. 

She realized she had spoken the question aloud when Loid shook his head. “Haven’t heard a peep from her room. It’s alright. You’re safe here. I'm here for you. Do you…want to tell me what it was about?”

She closed her eyes and leaned into her husband’s strong, steady embrace. She waited for her racing heart to slow to a normal speed. Her throat was parched. She willed her hands to stop shaking.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it,” he said soothingly. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

The words caught in her throat. She had been about to tell him, but now she was unsure. As much as that night haunted her, she hadn’t been the one to suffer imprisonment and torture after Melinda had revealed her hand. Her husband had. And only in the past year or so had he been able to move on from those harrowing memories. She didn’t know half of what he had gone through in that cell, only the few details he had chosen to share with her much later. Details that had made her absolutely sick and horrified, in utter disbelief that there were human beings out there who had the capacity and the soullessness to carry out such vile deeds against other humans.

She didn’t want to bring him back into that dark place. Not even the outer edge of it.

“I dreamed I lost the baby,” she whispered. That was all she would say. 

He made a sympathetic noise and hugged her more closely, pressing his cheek to hers. “I’m sorry. That must have been so frightening. I can only imagine how scary that must have felt in the moment.”

“Powerless,” she quietly corrected. “I felt powerless.”

He breathed out a sigh. “Oh, Yor.”

He knew enough about her psyche, how her view of herself and the world had been shaped by the deprivations of her childhood, that he understood what she meant without having to ask further questions. He simply held her and allowed her to feel the solidity of his presence. That he wasn’t going anywhere. That he would do his best to be there for her and the baby, no matter what happened. She was glad he didn’t make any promises he couldn’t keep. Both of them were powerless when it came to controlling the course of nature and random chance. 

Eventually she fell asleep and woke in the morning without remembering if she had dreamed of anything else. She tried to shake off the remnants of the nightmare as she went through the day, but the sense of unease and wrongness clung like a film to her consciousness. It had been a long time since she had thought about that fateful night in Berlint. About the woman she had once considered a friend. She hadn’t had any contact with that woman since that night. She had adamantly turned a blind eye to the political news pouring out of Ostania in the aftermath of Project Apple’s exposure, relying on her husband to distill it for her. Her job fighting to secure the peace was done. She had left the memory of that night, that person, behind, and never wanted to revisit it again.

But her unconscious mind had not forgotten. The visceral, unresolved fear had laid dormant until last night, and suddenly reared its head in the worst way possible. 

Loid was supposed to visit a neighboring university today to learn more about its graduate degree programs. But seeing her obvious distress, he canceled his appointment and stayed home with her despite her protests. His gentle insistence to be there for her only fueled her guilt. She hadn’t been able to save him that night. She’d been too slow and stupid to know what to do, to think several steps ahead as the situation required. Now, she was holding him back from fully enjoying the new life they’d established in Westalis. To explore a new career of his own choice for the first time, and to pour his vast intellect into something he found personally worthwhile.

“Let’s go out for an early lunch,” he suggested. “We can walk and enjoy the nice weather. The chores can wait.”

She reluctantly agreed, and they walked hand in hand down the lazy country roads toward downtown. A spate of warmer days had melted the recent snowfall, dampening the earth around them and causing little rivulets to run around their shoes in hilly areas. It was truly beautiful here. Her husband could not have chosen a better place for them to settle and raise a family, even if she was starting to feel lonely, spending most of her time with Loid, Anya, and Yuri as they were still undercover to protect their identities from the media. She should have been used to living a double life, but somehow it made her uncomfortable to try to get close to anyone using her new alias, Yulia. She wondered when, if ever, they could give up the deception and live like normal citizens again. Part of her suspected that it wasn’t possible. Their celebrity status would likely last their entire lives, and they could only choose how to manage it—in the shadows, with an extremely small circle of true friends, or in the open, with unwanted media attention albeit more freedom to expand their friendships. 

The brisk winter air did help clear her mind a bit. It was ironic that back in Berlint, Yor had been the one to point out her husband’s anxious, overthinking moods and try to redirect him toward calming activities. She supposed that this was what marriage was like. A constant give-and-take, shifting to accommodate the needs of the other, to support each other in their parallel but unique journeys. Loid was already so different from before, now that the burdens of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He was free to be himself, to embrace that person he had buried deep inside under all his masks and guilt, and to trust that his wife would love him all the same. 

She briefly pondered how she had changed over the course of their marriage thus far. Without a doubt, she would not have grown into such confidence and self-assurance without her husband’s unwavering love. Where she had once questioned her self-worth and measured herself constantly against the elusive standard of ‘normal,’ now she barely thought about it. It no longer mattered to her what was normal in the eyes of society, because she no longer needed to hide from the people who mattered most. She had all she needed for her heart to be full. 

“Want to go ice skating?” he asked after a simple lunch at a cafe. 

“Oh, I don’t think so. I’m so clumsy, and now’s hardly the time to risk falling,” she demurred.

“I won’t let you fall,” he said with a gentle smile. 

“Still…” She couldn’t help but blush at how handsome he looked in the noonday light coming through the wide window, the cut of his shoulders under his dark blazer, framed against the faded beige walls of the quaint restaurant.

“If it reassures you any, I used to take Franky along with me as backup when WISE couldn’t spare any agents. I never let him get hurt, even when we were being chased by upwards of thirty enemies.”

Yor fixed her husband with a playfully indignant stare. 

“You can’t be serious. Comparing me to…” She trailed off, not wanting to be uncharitable to their dear friend. Then, lowering her voice so as not to attract attention, she added with a grin, “If we were really being chased by thirty men, I guarantee I would take out at least twenty of them.”

Loid put up his hands placatingly. “I have no doubt. I’m just saying that if I could protect someone like Franky, I could definitely keep you from harm. And there was that one time I caught you when you fainted. The excursion day on the Lorelei.”

“Oh…” Belatedly she realized they had never talked about that day, with all its magic and exhaustion. She had woken up in Loid and Anya’s cramped economy class room, lying in the bottom bunk. Thankfully she’d managed to control her embarrassment and avoid lashing out at close quarters, as Loid had whispered to her that Anya was asleep in the bunk above her head. “I must have been so heavy to carry all that way.”

“Nonsense,” he said, reaching for her hand on the coffee table. “It was nothing.”

She gave him a knowing look. “You secretly liked it, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm. Or maybe you would have enjoyed it more if I were awake to see how strong and manly you were,” she teased. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice all the times you stared at me while I lifted things around the house. Especially that one time we helped the Authens move in,” he shot back with a smirk, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She loved discovering these things about him, taking little peeks into their shared past in a whole new light now that they had shed all their secrets.

“So should I swoon once or twice in the skating rink? Just so you can catch me in your arms?”

“You can just hold onto me the entire time,” he said, his eyes lighting up at her acquiescence to his suggestion. “So you want to try it?”

“Sure.” His earnestness was infectious. She couldn’t resist taking this small risk, knowing her husband would indeed be there to catch her if she faltered.

At this time of day, almost no one was at the rink, just a few tourists and elderly couples. Loid insisted on helping her put on the skates and lace them up correctly, sneaking in a few subtle caresses along her calf as he did so. Heat bloomed in her cheeks at the sight of him kneeling before her, purposely making bedroom eyes as he pulled the laces taut. 

“Careful,” she warned softly. “You’ve just armed me.”

That broke the tension as they both dissolved into laughter. She hadn’t thought about how interesting it would be to literally walk and glide on top of blades she might otherwise use as a weapon. Then she wondered if Loid had ever had to embark on a mission involving ice skating. Otherwise how would he have learned? Absurd images of Loid fighting hand-to-hand with terrorists or secret police in the middle of an ice skating rink flitted across her mind. As crazy as it might be, she wouldn’t put it past WISE to throw their best agent into such silly circumstances. Half of the missions he had told her about were almost too farcical to be true.

“We can just go a few laps around the rink until you get used to balancing on these,” he said as they stepped onto the ice. 

Her feet wobbled with every other step she took. The best she could manage was a slight shuffle. Loid remained a solid wall at her side, holding her arm in his. He kept pace with her effortlessly, never dragging her along or falling behind. Every time she stumbled, he steadied her immediately, like a harness on a perilous ascent up a rock face.

“Do I want to know where you learned? Another pill hidden inside a penguin, but in the wild?” she joked their second time around the rink. If only her Garden colleagues could see her now, inching along on blunt blades like a toddler trying to walk for the first time.

“It’s actually something I picked up as a kid.” His voice was soft, and she immediately felt bad for bringing up potentially painful memories. “My mother would take me and my friends to a pond near our house. I fell a lot. But I was determined to do better than my friends. We thought it was something we could incorporate into our war games.”

She stopped shuffling and turned toward him, giving him a sad smile. “I hope those were happy times for you to remember.”

“They are.” He smoothed her bangs back from her forehead and let his hand linger on her face. “I’m glad I never quite forgot. So I can share this with you.”

Other skaters skirted around them as they hugged in the middle of the ice. For once, Yor didn’t worry about inconveniencing other people. She just wanted to bask in this moment with her husband. She did feel safe with him at her side. She knew he wouldn’t let her fall. 

He slowly drew back, taking hold of both her hands. He began to skate backward, pulling her gently with him. They were able to glide faster this way, a little more naturally. She giggled as she almost stumbled, but he caught her quickly. Soon it felt similar to a dance. A slow dance, or maybe a slow spar, like if she were to teach Anya how to pursue a target. She followed Loid, her right foot moving forward when he stepped back with his left. They fell into an easy rhythm and skated around the rink a few times.

“You’re a fast learner,” he complimented her. “Soon you’ll be skating circles around me.”

“Mm. I think I still prefer sparring with you. Too bad we can’t do that for a while.”

“We’ll pick it up again next year. I’ll keep up my skills in the meantime. Maybe with you out of practice, I’ll finally be able to give you a run for your money.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said, a small spark of competitiveness behind her words. She loved it when he challenged her in physical contests, even if she was confident she’d still come out on top. Something about his relentless pursuit of her, done with admiration and not jealousy, lit a fire in her.

They soon had to leave so Loid could get to Anya’s school on time. Her feet were sore from balancing on thin blades for so long, and when they were a few blocks away from their home, Loid stopped and tugged her toward him. 

“Come on, I’ll carry you the rest of the way.” He crouched low and gestured to his back.

“Oh, no, that’s just embarrassing,” she said, waving him off. “And I’m not an invalid! I can still walk! I could even run and finish a job if I had to!”

“I know, I know. Humor me,” he said with a playful glint in his eye. His fingers waggled behind him.

She laughed and looked around. Seeing no one on the streets, she obliged and climbed onto her husband’s back. A different kind of rush shot through her senses as he stood to his full height and resumed walking, his forearms secure around her thighs. Her father had given her rides like this when she was little. On the rare days he was off from work and had free time, he’d marched her around the backyard, playing pretend games, while she plucked flowers off of trees and placed them in his hair. And then her brother had been born, and there hadn’t been much time after that. And then her father had gone off to war, never to return. Her eyes unexpectedly grew damp as she rested her chin on her husband’s shoulder. 

Loid was strong. He was safe. Nothing and no one would take him away from her again. She would never let harm befall him, come war or political upheaval or public shame. She told herself this again and again like a silent mantra. Loid seemed to pick up on her contemplative mood and turned his face to rub his nose against her cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his smile achingly gentle and real. “We’ve got this.”

Chapter Text

The second time she had a nightmare, she screamed loudly enough to wake Anya. The little girl rushed into her parents’ room as Loid held Yor tightly, murmuring reassurances in her ear. 

“Mama’s crying,” Anya said in distress. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

To Yor’s alarm, Anya wasn’t wearing her headband. Of course she wasn’t. She’d just woken up in the middle of the night, terrified by her mother’s screams.

Yor’s heart fell the moment Anya read her mind and saw the remnants of the nightmare. Her precious daughter gasped, eyes wide with shock and fear.

“No!” Loid said, and reached for their daughter as if he could physically ward off whatever she had seen. “No, Anya, don’t look.”

All Loid knew was that she had dreamed of miscarrying the baby. She still hadn’t told him about Melinda.

Anya’s face was ashen as she crawled into the bed with them and buried her face in her mother’s lap. “Mama…”

Loid looked at his daughter, then at his wife in concern and helplessness. Ever a man of action, he quickly scooped Anya up in his arms and rubbed her back soothingly as he got out of bed and took her to her room. Yor sat alone, her hands trembling with emptiness, as she listened to father and daughter converse in low, hushed tones down the hall.

By the time he returned, she had washed her face and brushed the tangles out of her hair. She’d changed into a clean nightgown, the old one damp with sweat.

“Oh, Yor,” he sighed, and gathered her into his arms. 

“Did…did Anya tell you anything?” she ventured with trepidation.

He shook his head. “I’ll lock our door from now on. She needs to respect our privacy and trust us.”

“She needed comfort,” Yor tried to argue. “Won’t that be cruel?”

“It’s even crueler that she saw your nightmare, even if it was by accident.” 

He was right. She couldn’t refute that. 

She hadn’t told Anya anything about what had happened at the Desmond manor. How Anya had actually been right to call Melinda “bad” in her childlike way. Melinda had been evil. Downright evil, callous, inhuman. Sending a spy and enemy of the state into the torture chamber was one thing. Wanting to send an innocent little girl back to the lab as nothing more than an animal to be experimented on was an entirely different matter. Yor could not understand how someone could be so cold and uncaring. Like wearing the skin of a human mother over a reptilian heart.

“Yor…can you tell me what you dreamed?”

She didn’t answer for a long time. She stared down at their intertwined fingers. At their wedding bands, gleaming dully in the moonlight filtering through the curtains. At the supposed strength she possessed in her hands, with which she had vowed to protect him for the rest of their lives. 

“Please. At least so I can help Anya,” he spoke again, pained. “She didn’t tell me anything. But she was really scared for you.”

“But who will help you? I couldn’t,” she whispered without thinking. 

He fell still behind her. His hands slackened in her grip. His heartbeat remained deep and steady at her back, but his breathing grew shallow. Her husband’s intelligence and deduction skills were second to none. She knew he knew.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, biting back tears. “I don’t want you to remember that.”

She turned around in his arms and clung to his neck, pressing his head against her shoulder. It suddenly felt as if he could slip away any moment, just like he had that night. One second they’d been having a normal conversation over dinner, and the next she’d picked up on the invisible tension in his frame, the unspoken signal that something had gone wrong. Thorn Princess had answered the silent call to arms in an instant, ready to fight and kill and run, no matter how many enemies they might face.

Thorn Princess had then stood down at her husband’s command, and for the first time in her life, she had fled the scene of battle alone like a helpless coward, leaving behind the person she had charged herself with protecting. What good was she if she broke her vows? If she held the title of deadliest assassin among all of Garden, but lacked the intelligence and quick thinking to make use of her strength when it was most needed?

“It’s alright,” Loid assured her, coming back to the present much faster than she had. His arms encircled her tightly, his warm breath at her ear as he pressed his lips to her face. “It’s alright. I’m not going anywhere. That’s in the past. We’re both safe.”

The dam broke and she could not stop the tears from flowing down her face, soaking his shirt and her new nightgown. He held her as she shook uncontrollably with grief and the effort of trying to keep it all in, to shove the nightmare back into a containable form and suffocate it without exposing her husband to the devastating memories any further. He was on his last week of medication, having reduced it to almost nothing. Her heart lurched at the thought all his valiant efforts to recover could be for naught because of her. If she would trigger a relapse in his depression and send him back to that dark place he had worked so hard to leave behind. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said over and over. Her own mind was a chaotic mess. A wave of deja vu hit her and knocked the breath from her lungs. She was holding him just as tightly as she had when he’d come home drunk and in despair, begging her to end his life. The fact he had believed she would be willing to do such an unspeakable thing dredged up the depths of self-hatred in her soul that she rarely ever visited. The visceral memories of their darkest moments together, that terrible sick feeling at the bottom of her stomach that rendered every honed battle instinct useless, threatened to swallow her whole. 

“I’m okay, Yor. I’m not going anywhere. You didn’t do anything wrong. I wouldn’t be here if not for you. You saved me so many times. You gave me a life and a family. You forgave me and helped me believe I could be something better.”

“You were always good,” she blurted out between sobs. “I just didn’t see it. I was so cruel to you.”

“Yor, you…” He seemed about to argue, but cut himself off. “This is all far in the past. I love you with everything I am. And I know you love me too. I’m not going to leave or get hurt or disappear. But I’m only just realizing now that I could have done more for you, when we first moved here. You needed help, and a listening ear, too. You were just always so strong that I took you for granted again. But I see that it’s coming to the surface now. All those fears that you had to deal with on your own, like you’ve always done. I’m sorry I didn’t notice it earlier. I should have been a more attentive husband.”

“Don’t apologize, Loid. I didn’t know it either. It’s not your fault,” she sniffed, finally getting a hold of her emotions. Her voice grew small. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We can get you help. The same kind of help I had. A different doctor, but just as experienced.”

The thought of telling a stranger all her darkest secrets and fears, of having to explain the blood-soaked history of her underground career since the age of fourteen, made her throat clamp up instinctively. She had kept her secrets hidden from the civilian world until only three years ago. Now it was public knowledge, but she still hadn’t had a real conversation with anyone outside her family about it. She wasn’t ashamed of her work. But it was so alien to the vast majority of people, something that could so easily elicit disgust or condemnation, that just imagining the process of explaining it to someone from scratch was exhausting.

She knew better than to think she could simply limit her therapy to the single traumatic event that had appeared in her nightmares. Loid’s psychiatrist had gone far beyond the week of torture that had been the initial reason he’d agreed to seek help. Doctor Mansfield had systematically taken apart every piece of his career as a spy, and even his wartime service and traumatic childhood before that.

If she agreed to this, she would have to expose everything about her past that she tried not to think about, that she had grown comfortable keeping undisturbed like a slumbering dragon. Now that her husband was the one challenging her to do this, she felt a new empathy and respect for the courage he’d displayed in his own path to recovery.

“Let me take a guess at what you’re thinking,” he said quietly. “‘Who could possibly understand me?’ ‘Who could look at my past and not see a monster?’ ‘Why should I have to do this now, of all times?’ ‘I’ve dealt with this just fine for years. Why change?’”

She nodded against his shoulder, and felt a sigh ripple through his body. He rubbed her lower back with his warm, comforting hands.

“The Westalian military keeps an extensive roster of professionals to help retired soldiers and spies. And people who went through situations like I did. That’s how Sylvia found Doctor Mansfield. The government took rehabilitation of soldiers very seriously after the war. Whoever I would find for you would have a lot of experience counseling patients with trauma from the battlefield. Patients who might have similar sentiments to yours, thinking no one could possibly understand. Who might carry a complicated mix of both pride and shame. And fear.”

It was the closest Loid had ever come to psychoanalyzing her out loud. Sometimes she forgot he had been a psychiatrist himself for the better part of a year, counseling real patients and internalizing reams of research to shore up his cover.

“I’ll think about it.” She tried to swallow her doubts, many of which he’d voiced accurately. This was for the sake of their baby. And Anya. Their whole family. She was going to be a mother to an infant. An innocent baby who needed their mother not to be broken and paralyzed by fear. “But…I don’t want to talk to a man.”

“I understand. I wish the world were more supportive of women in the medical profession. I imagine it may be just as hard to find a female psychiatrist as it was getting an appointment with a female OB/GYN. But I’m confident we’ll be able to find someone. I’ve heard of retired nurses who served in the war and acted as de facto counselors to many soldiers and field medics. Some of them later went on to study psychiatry or social work. You might not need medication like I did. It might be sufficient to find a psychologist or a licensed counselor, just to start somewhere.”

“Okay.” Even though she wasn’t sure what the differences were between the various professions within mental health, she trusted her husband. He never did anything halfway, especially when it came to her and Anya. In the morning he would undoubtedly make dozens of calls to find the right professional as soon as possible, and she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Usually this would make her feel guilty, but tonight, she allowed herself to sink into the comfort of his arms and his determination to take care of her. For so much of her life, she hadn’t had anyone to fall back on. Now it was as if the universe had gifted her the most hyper-intelligent, competent, kindhearted husband to make up for all her years surviving on her own.

“Thank you, Yor. You’re so courageous. Now, let’s try to go back to sleep, hm?”

“What about you? Are you going to be okay?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’m fine.” Then, as if sensing the protest on the tip of her mind, he added, “I’ll make sure to tell you if something upsets me. But we have each other. I feel at peace with you. You make me feel safe.”

The remnants of the nightmare and the paralyzing fear it instilled in her faded with his soothing words. As always, her husband knew exactly what to say, and she wrapped herself in the truth of his assurances like a blanket. It took a while, but between the sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

As Loid searched for the right professional to help her, Yor set some ground rules with Anya so that she wouldn’t expose her to any more harrowing nightmares. She was not to enter her parents’ room without knocking. If she suspected one of them was having nightmares, she would put on her headband before coming in. Yor refused to lock her out of the room altogether as Loid had suggested, finding it unsettlingly cruel for a young girl who had suffered through so much trauma of her own.

“You’re so strong and tough, Mama. You’re the best. You always protected me and never let any bad guys hurt me. You’ll protect the baby too!” Anya encouraged her. She clung to Yor more often these days, asking her to sit nearby during homework and to do her bedtime routine instead of Loid. 

Anya’s behavior made Yor wonder if children naturally gravitated toward whichever parent appeared more vulnerable or prone to withdraw. Anya had long been a daddy’s girl, seeking Loid’s attention more than hers. When their true professions had come to light, Yor had cynically thought that Anya had sided with her father because she felt insecure around him, given the fact that he had initially intended to abandon her. Even though she was only a young child and couldn’t control the nuances of her emotions, her continued closeness to Loid had made Yor feel more alone and even unappreciated. 

Now, though, she realized that the parenting journey was full of change. When she had raised Yuri, he had never fluctuated in his childlike devotion and attachment to her. But maybe that was partly due to the fact Yor had been his only parent figure. When there were two parents in the picture, maybe a child swung between the two throughout the course of growing up. She wondered what Anya would be like as a teenager in a few years, if she would give one or both of them attitude. And would their new child favor one of them from the start? Very young children usually clung to their mothers, but Loid was such a good father, she could imagine him supplanting her as the baby’s favorite.

She shook her head and tried to focus on the flower arrangement at hand. She was in the middle of a shift at the flower shop, putting together a bouquet to celebrate a couple’s twenty year anniversary. When the man had called in a few days ago, Yor could hear the fondness in his voice as he spoke of the kinds of flowers his wife liked. It was a pity it wasn’t yet spring, because she particularly loved tulips. But in the meantime, hyacinths and roses would do.

In the short time she had been working at the flower shop, she found customers ordered flowers for all sorts of reasons. A gesture of thanks, a congratulatory bouquet, a celebration of an anniversary, a get-well present, a token of apology, a centerpiece for a baby shower, flowers for an entire wedding, and funeral wreaths. Flowers marked almost every milestone in one’s life. It naturally made her think more often of the life she had ahead of her with her family. How their dynamic would change with their first baby, and any others who might follow. What she and Loid would be like at the twenty year mark in their marriage. How it would feel when all their children grew up and made them empty nesters. If they would live as long as the Authens, their love standing the test of time as they professed it would.

I’ll love you until the day I die, Loid had vowed many times. 

Over time, that vow had accumulated layers of meaning like a rich tapestry. And now, in the uncertainty and hope of her first pregnancy and the fears that haunted her at night, she felt both comforted and terrified by it.

At first, she’d heard it as a fiery declaration born of passion and awe at the fact she had forgiven him. It had melted her heart and drawn her even closer to him in the early days of their turn toward truth. Then, after he’d survived the torture chamber and come back to her as a broken whole, she had seen it as a dread omen, and wished he had never gone to such lengths to prove his love to her. As if she hadn’t reassured him enough of his worth and place in her heart. As if he thought she still believed him a liar. 

Now, it was a plain reminder of their mortality. Of the fleeting, time-bound nature of life, even for so-called legends like them. Like all humans, they had five, perhaps six decades of life left to live, if they were lucky. There was no guarantee both of them would live that long, avoiding fatal accidents and terminal illnesses in middle age or even sooner.

When business was slow, or she found herself alone at home, her mind wandered to unanswerable questions. Which one of them would go first? At what age? What would she do if he died suddenly and left her alone with Anya and their baby? What would he do if she died? He had only just recently come out of such a dark period in his life. Would he have another breakdown? Would he be able to take care of the children without her? She knew that Yuri would step in and help, and so would their other friends like Franky and Chloe. Maybe even Sylvia. Perhaps with time, Loid would move on and find happiness again with someone else. He deserved to, more than anyone.

Yor was not superstitious, but she began to feel uneasy as she couldn’t stop herself from pondering all these tragic scenarios. As if thinking about them would make them more likely to happen. 

It used to be so easy to avoid asking questions. To cut off doubt before it could take root. But it had been more than two years since she had worked for Garden and grown out of her mindset of purposeful ignorance. She didn’t regret it, but part of her missed the comforting cocoon of blind trust and following orders. 

Sometimes, at night, she considered telling her husband about her fears and uncontrolled overthinking. But she didn’t want to worry him, or worse—cause his thoughts to spiral as well. Luckily he didn’t ask, probably assuming she was still having the same nightmares.

“Hang in there,” he would murmur in her ear in the nameless hours of the night. “Just another week or so.”

She was almost at the second trimester, where she would mostly be out of the danger zone. Then she would tell Yuri and their close friends about her pregnancy. She would have more support, then. And hopefully, she would have a professional counselor she could trust.

—

The next time Loid toured a local university, Yor insisted on going with him. He’d already visited the school where Yuri was studying, but found it too focused on the sciences. This one was forty minutes in the other direction, closer to the southern border with Ostania. It had miraculously survived both wars intact, perhaps because so many well-known Ostanian scholars, philosophers, and artists had studied abroad there.

As soon as they stepped on campus, Yor knew this would be the place her husband would choose. At the center of its sprawling grounds was a tall statue of an ancient goddess of war, her sword halfway in its sheath at her side. To the undiscerning eye, it might appear that she was drawing the weapon for battle. But Yor knew better, catching the hints the sculptor had embedded in her posture and the way she held the hilt. She was in the act of sheathing it. At the base was an inscription, which her husband translated for her: The hardest victory is over self.

They stood there studying the sculpture for quite some time before moving on. Loid seemed to have a new urgency in his step as they made their way to the history building. It thrilled her to see him excited about something outside of their family, something he could pursue for the joy of it and not out of external pressure or necessity. 

In the department chair’s office, they received a warm, unhurried welcome, as most students were still away for a break. As they shook hands with the elderly professor, Yor wondered if Loid would keep up his current alias, Roy Fischer, during his studies. They hadn’t discussed when to drop their covers, if ever, but she hoped that they could sooner rather than later. It was isolating having to live a double life again, even a quiet one.

“So, Mr. Fischer, what drives you to pursue a degree with us? My secretary mentioned you were in the civil service. Looking for a career change?”

Her husband smiled in his rare enigmatic way, and she knew he had made his decision.

Chapter Text

“What did you think?” Loid asked as they drove back from her first session.

Bettina was a former wartime nurse who had counseled many traumatized soldiers and support personnel, including other women who had served in similar positions. Yor had liked her immediately, sensing an unspoken kinship that she had rarely found outside of Garden. Beyond appreciating the woman’s vast experience and unassuming manner, Yor was relieved to drop the facade she’d had to put on since moving to Westalis. After the first few minutes of conversation, she realized she had nothing to fear about Bettina misunderstanding or judging her for her past as an assassin. It almost felt like talking to Lady Acacia again.

As she should have expected, Loid had prepared a small surprise for her at home, the fragrance of a freshly baked apple pie suffusing the kitchen as he plated a piece for her. They were about to sit down and enjoy it together when the phone rang. 

The way Loid suddenly froze when he answered it made her tense up, her hand flying to her side as if her stilettos were still within reach. They were hidden throughout the house in case they ever faced intruders, but she no longer carried them on her person.

Then she relaxed as she caught snippets of the voice on the other end. Franky was speaking too fast for her to make out any words, but she hoped that he had good news. 

Loid left the phone on the counter, the cord too short to reach the living room where he had headed to turn on the TV. Yor followed, glancing at her husband’s face as he flipped the channels impatiently. His jaw was clenched and blue eyes focused in that familiar sharp manner she had last seen back in Berlint. 

“—largest civil protest in Ostania’s history, with the latest estimates numbering one hundred thousand marchers. From its initial gathering in Republic Square, the crowd has steadily moved east toward State Security Service headquarters.”

“We’ve never seen anything like this, Laurent.”

“No, never, not in my lifetime. Again, thus far there has been no violence, though certainly the tension is incredibly thick as it’s obvious to everyone here on the ground what the intended purpose of this march is.”

“What are the estimates for the police presence? Or military?”

“Well, given that the shuttering of the SSS is the main stated demand, we see the SSS out in force on the streets. Perhaps seven or eight thousand riot control officers, supplemented by the city police and the Army.”

Yor gripped her husband’s arm as they stood transfixed by the live scenes from the city they had called home. Somehow she remembered that Franky might still be on the phone, and ran back to the kitchen to check.

“Franky?” she said shakily, craning her head to keep the television in her line of sight.

“Yor! Can you believe it? It’s finally happening,” her friend said in a mix of awe and elation. “Look at what they’re holding.”

The perspective shifted from an aerial view of the massive crowds to a close-up of the main thoroughfare. Every other demonstrator was carrying flowers. Professionally arranged bouquets, hand-picked wildflowers, potted plants that would normally decorate a windowsill, large elaborate funeral wreaths displaying photos of the deceased, and sometimes just a single flower, pinned to a jacket or clutched in one’s hand. She let out a choked sob at the sight of a young child around Anya’s age holding a daffodil, looking both frightened and determined as she marched alongside her parents. 

“It’s you guys,” Franky said. “Garden. You inspired this, Yor.”

Yor could not speak. Franky laughed merrily and told her to go watch with Loid, and that he’d call back later. She absently put the phone back on the hook and held her husband’s arm as if she’d stumble and fall otherwise. She could not believe her eyes.

“We should call Yuri,” Loid said, but neither of them moved for a minute, too engrossed in the scenes unfolding on the television.

Her brother arrived at their house, wide-eyed and winded, just as the marchers reached SSS headquarters. Yor drew him close and the three of them huddled together in the living room, holding their collective breath at what would happen. A phalanx of SSS riot police stood behind metal barriers in front of the wide stone steps leading up to the imposing building, facing down the protestors with face masks and shields. And weapons. Yor bit her lip and prayed fervently that they would not shoot. All it would take was one nervous rookie acting out of turn, and all hell might break loose. From Loid and Yuri’s expressions, she knew they were thinking the same thing.

It was only a matter of time before the crowd would press up against the barriers and come face to face with the wall of agents. The marchers vastly outnumbered the SSS, and they showed no signs of stopping their forward momentum. And even if the citizens at the forefront stopped, the endless waves of fellow protestors behind them might keep pushing forward without any visible leaders standing up to temper their movement. There was a very real risk of a stampede, which at this scale and crowd density could kill hundreds.

Even the TV reporter fell silent with bated breath as the first row of protestors came up right to the barriers, within a meter of the stone-faced riot police. One by one they extended their hands full of flowers over the top of the barrier, like an offering.

Yor could not tell where it started, but somewhere in the crowd, a spattering of voices began to sing. It was the former national anthem of Ostania, written long before the great wars that had ravaged their country. Before the founding of the National Unity Party and the SSS. A song that spoke of peace and flowering fields and the bonds between brothers, not of the grit of battle and bloody sacrifice.

Beside her, Yuri straightened to attention almost reflexively. His left arm tightened around her shoulders while he placed his right hand over his heart. On her other side, Loid let go of her so that he could do the same. Her hand trembled as she too pressed her palm to her chest. The song spread among the crowd and grew in volume through the television speakers, filling their living room. They were an entire country away from their former home city, but at that moment, Yor felt like she was standing shoulder to shoulder with the brave demonstrators on that packed Berlint street. 

Tears flowed down her face as her husband and brother joined their voices to the anthem, Loid’s a rich baritone while Yuri’s bullet scar added a faint rasp to his tone. She could not sing even if she wanted to, her throat too tight to make a sound. She could only stand and watch in pride and anticipatory joy at the sight of her fellow countrymen raising their voices and flowers high, beseeching their oppressors to accept a better way forward for their nation. Unconsciously, she moved her left hand to her belly, where the tiny life inside of her grew day by day. One day, sooner rather than later, she hoped she and Loid could bring their child to visit her homeland. Perhaps even to resettle there and begin life anew, without fear of persecution and violence. If only today’s events did not take a turn for the worse. 

The camera focused on an older man, a grandfather, hoisting his granddaughter up onto the barricade. The girl couldn’t be any older than five. She stood with her little boots on the edge of the barrier, her cloche hat knocked askew on her short chestnut locks, and looked straight into the eyes of the stoic, unmoving SSS officer in front of her. A tentative, shy smile touched her angelic face, and she held out her flowers. A small bouquet of white daisies tied with a string. 

As the anthem swelled all around them, the girl stood still, arm extended in peace, her mouth moving around half-remembered lyrics. The SSS officer shifted. He blinked his dark, expressionless eyes. And slowly, deliberately, he took his gloved hand off his shield and reached up to accept the flowers. 

Yor gasped as he bowed his helmeted head to the little girl, and the latter leaned forward and looped her slender arms around the man’s broad, padded shoulders for a hug. Yuri and Loid stopped singing, struck speechless.

The anthem was now interspersed with triumphant cheers and shouts. They spread as a wave of sound through the crowd, flowers tossed in the air in celebration, as more protestors stepped forward and followed the girl’s example. Yor was watching a miracle unfold on television. One by one, the wall of SSS agents stood down and accepted the peace offerings from countless smiling, weeping civilians, then turned aside and allowed the demonstrators to cross the barrier and surge onto the steps. 

In only a few minutes, the wide stone stairs of SSS headquarters transformed into a garden spanning an entire city block as teary-eyed, shouting, singing citizens laid their flowers at the feet of their long-time oppressors. The camera angle changed back to an aerial view, revealing a breathtaking display of iridescent color and life blooming at the stronghold of death and torture. 

Loid made a sound in his throat that she rarely heard. The sound of a man trying to hold in his emotions. She reached up and gently caressed his face, wiping away the trickle of tears that had escaped his eyes.

Yuri had noticed as well, but respectfully kept silent. He merely squeezed her arm and let her go so she could embrace her husband.

Franky had said Garden had inspired this. But this massive of a change, the boldness and hope on display at a national scale, had not sprung merely from Garden. Her husband and countless clandestine Westalian agents, many of whom had died for the cause without anyone ever knowing, as well as courageous Ostanians like Franky and Chloe, had all played a role in leading the country to this tipping point. A tipping point that had landed solidly on the side of peace and reconciliation, not revenge and violence and bloodshed.

For most of his life, her husband had never expected his sacrifices to see the light of day. Perhaps not even to pay off in his lifetime. She could only imagine a hint of how overwhelming this had to be for him.

She leaned up and kissed his tear-streaked face. His handsome smile wavered as he wept quietly in her arms, and she drew him down to kneel on the floor with her so she could hold him more easily. Yuri stayed standing but placed a hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder. That was how the three of them watched the rest of the newscast until they had to pick up Anya.

—

The streets of their quiet town were noisier than they had ever been as neighbors came out to talk about the extraordinary events happening in Ostania, to share homecooked food and baked goods, and simply to hug each other and celebrate. Picking up Anya took twice as long with the amount of foot traffic out and about, blocking some of the roads near the school.

Loid wanted to cook something special for the occasion, but Yor urged him to take it easy. They didn’t need an extravagant meal at the last minute to memorialize the day. Yuri stayed and helped set the table as they heated up leftovers and tried to answer all of Anya’s excited questions about what would happen next.

In the middle of dinner, Sylvia called. Loid spent close to an hour talking to her in his study. Yor and Yuri and Anya continued to watch the news, and were brought to tears more than once by the interviews with ordinary citizens on the streets, young and old, some of whom had suffered immensely under the hand of the SSS. 

“How do you feel, Yuri?” Yor asked after she put Anya to bed. Loid was still in his study wrapped up in phone calls with other former colleagues and friends.

Yuri looked down at his folded hands on the dining table. “The same as everyone on TV has been saying. It’s surreal.”

Yor studied the scars on her brother’s forehead and neck. Though they had faded quite a bit, they would always be there as a reminder of his brush with death. Of how deeply he had committed himself to the mission of the SSS, and the terrible price he had paid for that devotion.

“When I saw that little girl, I thought…I thought, how could anyone turn her away, or even think of hurting her? Would I have? The old me, back then? Or any of my colleagues?” he mused. 

Yuri had worked through quite a lot of his scattered memories and complicated emotions over the past couple of years, with the help of a therapist and a lot of journaling. He’d talked with her, too, and sometimes Loid, about his heavy remorse over decisions he barely remembered. Like regretting the actions of a stranger he was still somehow responsible for.

“They didn’t hurt her, though,” Yor said, grasping his hand. “They took the flowers, and let them sing.”

He nodded, and looked like he wanted to say more, but every time he opened his mouth he ended up closing it again. His chin began to tremble just like when he’d been a boy, running to her with a scraped knee or a less than perfect grade on a test. She rose from her chair and enveloped him in her arms right as the first tears escaped his eyes. She held him just as she had back then, with all the warmth and unconditional love of the only family he had left in the world.

Loid found them like that, clinging tightly to each other without words, when he emerged from his study. He made to retreat and give them privacy, but Yuri let go of her and wiped his face. “Loid. It’s alright. Join us.”

“Do you want to stay over? The guest bedroom is set up,” Loid offered as he sat down across from them. His own eyes were slightly puffy, his expression tired but content and at peace. It was the peace not of a victor, but of a survivor who had found healing.

Yuri hesitated. “If you don’t mind. I don’t want you to deal with the hassle of driving out this late with all the people out on the streets.”

Loid reached across the table and gripped his shoulder before getting to his feet. “You’re always welcome here. I’ll go up and make sure you have everything you need.”

“Wait, Loid. What did Sylvia say? How fast are things going to change?” Yor asked.

He smiled. “Fast. Obviously this stays between us. But Schneider’s administration is already planning to dismantle the SSS. Hartmann and Pelletier know they’ve lost. With how the rank and file and even many senior officers stood down publicly today, their power’s been diluted.”

“And then?” She held her breath. When can we go back?

“No one can predict the future exactly,” he said with an almost mischievous twinkle in his eye. Of course, their dog could. But Bond and Anya wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of the highly complex world of politics. “I think it’ll be soon, though. A couple months at the earliest. Almost certainly within the next year. We’ll be able to see the Authens. And everyone in Garden.”

He opened his arms as Yor stood to embrace him again. Her heart overflowed with too many emotions to name. With Loid’s arm around her waist, she turned to her brother, and knew it was time.

“Yuri, I know today’s been full of big news. But we have our own personal news to tell you, too,” she began, and grinned as his eyes widened.

No matter how much Yuri had changed, the fibers of his personality forcibly cut and rewoven into new patterns, the overwhelming purity of his joy remained the same. He hugged her with all the protectiveness and devotion he’d always harbored toward her. But soon he reached for Loid, too. Where once he had guarded his joy with a fierce jealousy, reserving it only for his sister, now that possessiveness had vanished. He loved openly and freely, and Yor cried again in thankfulness and pride for her little family. Once frayed to its limits and nearly broken, but now stronger than ever, without secrets or enmity between them.

Chapter Text

Yor’s excitement over the prospect of returning to Berlint soon faded into anxiety and deep dread.

Melinda was in Berlint, now in self-enforced seclusion after her husband’s evil deeds had come to light. Donovan was in exile and their sons were in the care of relatives in Britania. Yor did not know exactly where in the city the woman lived. She only knew it wasn’t the sprawling manor where she had sprung her trap that night. The manor was abandoned now, reclaimed by the state in the aftermath of the Lausenne Deal.

Yor was terrified at the mere thought of stepping foot in Berlint, even though the chances of running into Melinda were slim to none. The population was over two million. And of course, Loid would take precautions. They still needed to stay under the radar and wear light disguises so as not to attract media attention. If she told him about her fears, he would pull out all the stops in ensuring their family was safe and guarded around the clock by Westalian agents. Or even by her Garden associates.

She didn’t tell him.

He had already gone through the trouble of finding her a seasoned therapist. And he had just started his degree program in history and political science. There was a new spark in his eyes when he came home, still deep in thought about all he had read and discussed with his professors and classmates in the few hours he’d been on campus. Yor didn’t have the heart to burden him any further when he had just taken that elusive step toward pursuing his own interests for once. 

Yor had professional help now. She would grit her teeth and endure whatever was ahead, just as Loid had. She had muscled through all sorts of impossible trials since she’d been a defenseless child. She would face down these irrational fears and slay them. And somehow she would have to do it without the aid of weapons. She would have to use her mind, which was infinitely weaker than her body.

—

Loid had briefed Bettina ahead of time on the general contours of the incident and why Yor was seeking therapy. Bettina knew who Melinda was. But she hadn’t asked about her at all during the first few sessions. Similar to what Loid’s psychiatrist had done for him, Bettina was easing Yor into the eventual confrontation of her fears. Baby steps. A long period of warmup exercises. 

Such delicate treatment was almost completely foreign to Yor. Since her parents had died, she had been thrust headlong into one dire situation after another, forced to fend for herself and Yuri without time to adjust or catch her breath or even to identify the sheer terror that seized her at a visceral level. She had always channeled that terror into the relentless drive to survive and overcome each threat as it came, whether it was a blizzard burying their village or Garden’s harsh training or the semi-automatic gunfire of her clients’ bodyguards.

Only when she had married Loid had she begun to understand what it meant to be loved and cared for, without the stress of striving and combat and deprivation or the innate obligation she felt toward her brother. Her husband’s love was thoughtful, soft, slow. It had unnerved her at first. She must have done something wrong to warrant such self-sacrificial attention, as if she hadn’t proven that she could take care of herself. It had taken her a long time to stop slipping apologies into all her expressions of thanks.

Yor wasn’t sure what she had expected therapy to be like, but it wasn’t this series of gentle conversations, almost like unwinding with a friend or mentor. Like receiving her family’s effortless kindness. She had thought that it would demand all she had. Another grueling task to test her and push her to her limits. How else could she slay a dragon as dark and sinister as the one that haunted her dreams and made her hands shake in the middle of the day?

Yet the first thing that Bettina did every session was to ensure Yor was relaxed and aware at least intellectually that she was safe. There was no dragon, no lurking danger, in the room with them. After the second session, she’d even encouraged Yor to bring along her stilettos. She kept them in their sheaths and left them under her chair throughout the conversation, their proximity an automatic comfort.

They spoke of Yor’s family and friends. The bonds that she had defended with her life. That gave her life in turn. Time ran away from them when Yor talked about Anya and Loid and Yuri, how each of them was precious to her in different ways. 

“If you asked any of your family members what your love feels like to them, what do you think they would say?” Bettina asked one time.

Yor shrank in on herself a bit, embarrassed at the thought of voicing such a bold, self-absorbed question aloud.

“That’s your homework until next time. Ask them.”

At Yor’s obvious unease, Bettina elaborated.

“One of our goals is to work through your fears. To do that, we need to anchor ourselves in truth and reality. The here and now, not the ‘what if’ or ‘why didn’t I.’ And, it’ll help to take these little steps that are just a bit scary to build up your courage. You know your family loves you. I think they’ll be delighted to answer the question.”

—

“Mama’s love is like peanut butter cookies made just right, all soft in the middle but crunchy and spiky on the outside! And when they’re fresh out of the oven it’s the best. Just one cookie makes my whole day better.” Anya seemed to lose her train of thought for a second as her stomach grumbled. “Uh…also there was that time you ran faster than a car to come get me after the terrorists took over the buses! Everyone said I was brave, but I learned to be brave from you. Whenever I was in danger, I never got too scared because I knew you would protect me no matter what. Even from sharks!”

“Oh, Anya,” Yor said as she quickly retrieved some snacks from the kitchen for her daughter. “I wish I had gotten there faster. I would have stopped those terrorists from threatening you in the first place.”

Anya frowned and held off on accepting the plate of crackers. “That wasn’t your fault, though. How could you have known they would hijack the buses?”

Yor fell silent at that, and realized she’d fallen into the same self-doubt and desire for control that Loid had struggled with for so long. But she was so much slower and less observant than her husband. She had valid reasons to doubt.

“Mama, you’re the best. Period. End of story. Forever. Okay?”

Yor had never heard Anya use those turns of phrase before, but she picked up new vocabulary at school every week. Thankfully so far it was all fun and creative, nothing profane.

“Okay, Anya. Thank you.” She tried to smile reassuringly at her daughter.

—

“Sis, is something wrong?” Yuri asked in concern. 

She had dropped by her brother’s apartment on a day he didn’t have classes. His place was no longer as neat as the single bedroom apartment he had kept in Berlint, but where the latter had been sparse and utilitarian, his new home truly felt lived in. It carried marks of forgetfulness, with many hand-written reminders stuck to the fridge and to the side of the front door and over the shoe rack. Jackets and gloves and scarves lay strewn about the living room, and the floor looked like it hadn’t been swept in some time. A stack of books and research papers covered one side of the dining table, a sign that he continued his studies throughout every meal.

Yuri’s eyes automatically dropped to her abdomen, as he must have assumed the pregnancy was the cause of her unease. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Yuri. The baby is fine,” she said, trying to sound encouraging. 

Yuri still looked worried. She took a deep breath and decided to tell him the truth, or part of it, at least. For many years, they had only had each other. And while she’d often concealed ugly truths in order to protect him, he was a grown man now. Now more than ever, he was desperate to support her in some meaningful way. To prove to her that she could depend on him.

“I started seeing a therapist recently,” she began to explain. 

Yuri’s eyes widened. He had seen a therapist for a while after his injury, and was aware that Loid had seen a psychiatrist as part of his recovery from torture. But it clearly had never crossed his mind that his sister would seek out therapy as well. His look of surprise was quickly replaced by guilt.

“I’m sorry, sis. You’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders. I should have helped you earlier,” he tried to apologize. 

“No, Yuri, it isn’t your fault. I was fine until recently. They say pregnancy can cause weird nightmares sometimes, and that’s happened to me. I guess the nightmares triggered some deeper fears to come to the surface, and for once I don’t know how to avoid them.”

As she gave him a vague outline of what had happened, Yuri pulled his chair closer and hugged her. She paused at the sudden emotion choking her voice. While she and her brother had embraced many times since they were young, it was almost always in a context of her providing reassurance and comfort to him. Countless memories of holding him tight in her arms, a wailing baby, a cuddly toddler, a scrawny malnourished boy, a lanky teenager, a young man going off into the world, flashed through her mind and brought tears to her eyes. And now, older and wiser and humbler, he wanted to lend her his strength in return.

“My therapist told me to ask my family members a question,” she managed to say when her tears abated. “It sounded silly to me, but…well…I know you always take me seriously and won’t laugh.”

“Of course I won’t laugh!” Yuri asserted. “I’ll answer it to the best of my ability!”

Yor had a feeling Yuri would wax eloquent for an hour if given the chance. She would stop him before it got out of hand.

“What does my love feel like to you?” she said, trying not to cringe at the words.

Before his injury, Yuri might have responded by jumping out of his seat with an effusive grin and rattling off a laundry list with barely a breath in between sentences. But now, he remained seated, and his smile was slow and wistful, as poignant as a hundred speeches.

“Sis, you’re the reason I even know what love is,” he said softly. 

Tears blurred her vision again as he continued. 

“I was so young when Mom died that I don’t really remember what she was like anymore. When I try to remember her, all I can imagine is an older version of you. And Dad…I can’t picture him much either. I watched the few men who stayed behind in our village do hard labor like chopping wood and fixing up their houses for the winter, and I saw you doing the same things. You did everything for us, like you were my mother and father and sister at the same time. And somehow you did it without making me feel like a burden. I can only remember you smiling through it all and comforting me, when you were the one doing all the hard work.”

Yuri had always had a rose-colored view of her. It wasn’t true that she had looked happy the whole time. There were plenty of days where she could barely drag herself out of bed, let alone summon a smile to her face. But now, as in the past, she didn’t bother to correct him. She supposed it was a good thing that he had such sunny memories of their difficult childhood.

“Back in Shellbury, I don’t know exactly what went through my mind as I chased Twilight and fought him. I don’t know what went through my brain when I was in a coma for months afterward. But I’d like to think that I clung onto life because of you. That I couldn’t bear to die and leave you behind, to make it so that all your sacrifices were for nothing. I still owed you so much. I hadn’t begun to pay you back for everything you gave up for me. Back in university I had these dreams of saving up enough to buy you a house and covering all your living expenses so you never had to work again. I wanted to carry through on that promise no matter what.

“When you told me about Garden, I realized you’d sacrificed much more for me than I could ever know. I could hardly believe it. I know we’ve been over this already and I don’t mean to rehash it. I understand why you did it. So I’ll just try to answer your question. To me, your love feels like…knowing I’ll never be alone, and never truly in danger, because you’re there with me. It feels like when I was a kid and hiding inside during a blizzard, and asking you if it would ever stop and if we’d be trapped there forever, but once you told me it’d all be alright, you’d get us out of there, I believed it fully. It feels like when you cook our mother’s stew nowadays in that really tall pot over your stove, where no matter how much we eat there’s always more. You have such a big heart, enough to love everyone you come across. And the way you love each of us in our family, me, Anya, Loid, makes us feel like we’re the only person in your world at the time. Your love never runs out.”

“Okay.” Yor placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “Thank you, Yuri.”

“I could go on and write a whole book about it and not be done,” he emphasized.

“I believe you, but don’t actually do it,” she tried to joke.

They reminisced on happier times in their shared youth for the rest of the afternoon before she had to go home to watch Anya. Yuri hugged her for a long time as they stood in the doorway.

“I’m here for you sis, anytime you want to talk, about anything.”

“Thank you, Yuri. I love you.”

She tilted her head up and kissed him on the forehead, near his scar. Her hands trembled minutely as she patted him on the shoulders and looked into his earnest eyes. He was both so different and much the same as he’d been before Shellbury. 

On the way home, her heart grew heavy as she thought about Yuri’s close brush with death. The path of her thoughts was familiar, but today it funneled her into a dark corner she hadn’t visited in a long time. Yuri was only alive and well today because Melinda had stepped in. Without the expert care of Fredrik Authen, not to mention the exorbitant cost that Melinda must have covered personally, Yuri would likely be dead or in a permanent vegetative state.

Up until the confrontation at the manor, Melinda had been nothing but kind and generous toward Yor and her family. Even on that night, she had continued to protect Yor in blind ignorance as the OMI operatives had sought to arrest her along with Twilight.

Guilt twisted itself into her grief and fear, a stomach-turning concoction that robbed her of all the peace she had gained from her time at Yuri’s. Loid noticed right away as she walked in the door, and ushered her into their room while Anya did her homework at the dining table.

Instead of asking what was wrong, he merely sat next to her on their bed and hugged her to his side. One broad palm rested on her belly, where a bump was just starting to show. She breathed deeply and tried to clear away the horrible feeling coiled in her chest. She wished in vain that she could train the way she used to, and let all the poison out by expending her energy in targetless violence. That was how she had dealt with her grief and rage over Yuri in the initial period after his injury.

“Anya told me about the question you asked her,” Loid said.

“Oh…” Light embarrassment dusted her cheeks. “It’s supposed to be part of my therapy. I would never ask something like that on my own.”

“I understand. I’d still be delighted to tell you my answer. And then, maybe we can talk about what’s bothering you.”

She nodded against his shoulder. 

“There are many memories from my childhood that I made myself forget. Part of it was a natural reaction to trauma. Part of it was my training as a spy. But after I met you and Anya, they started to come back in little bits and pieces. Sensory triggers like when Anya cried. Or when I heard you sing the same lullaby my mother sang to me.

“As part of my own therapy, I had to confront more memories I hadn’t looked back on in ages. It was incredibly painful. It still is, sometimes. But now, I’m able to remember some of the good times that I spent with my family or friends and see them as just that. Good. Pure. Safe. Without that heavy sense of dread that I didn’t deserve it, or that it was my fault it was all torn away from me.

“And one of the main reasons I can feel that way now is because of you. Your love is an anchor. I know the strength of it, because it’s been tested by the worst circumstances and still held. You forgave me when you had every right to hate me and leave. You let me into your heart so easily and freely when I was at my lowest point. And you never looked back. Never held it over my head or made me feel like I owed you anything.

“The last time I felt such a sense of safety was with my mother. She held me so many nights when the war raged right outside our window, and I believed that as long as I stayed in that little pocket of space with her, nothing could harm me. It was the simple faith of a child, a faith I lost for many years because I couldn’t allow myself to trust anyone. But in you, I found that faith again.

“This isn’t to put more of a burden on you, Yor. I’m not saying I see you as some perfect pillar of strength that stands on its own and never needs support in return. We’re equal partners. As much as you lend your strength to our family, I’m right here beside you doing the same. It’s okay to have fears and unresolved trauma you have to work through. It doesn’t make you any less strong. Just the opposite. It takes so much courage to enter an entirely new type of battle and allow yourself to feel vulnerable. To depend on someone else. I’m so grateful to be here for you and help you through this however I can.”

Loid ended his speech with a kiss to the top of her head as he squeezed her hip gently. Despite the tears in her eyes, she felt calmer now, reassured by his steadfast presence. It never failed to astonish her how powerful a weapon his words could be, even more so now that he only dealt in truth. She believed him with all her being. 

“Thank you, Loid,” she whispered. “You’re my anchor, too.”

He stroked her arm and smiled softly, an open invitation for her to share what else was on her mind. If they didn’t have Anya to worry about, she would have wanted to stay here with him and try to untangle the complicated knot of guilt she’d felt earlier. But she reluctantly got to her feet and took his hand. 

“I feel better now. I’ll talk to Bettina about it next time,” she said.

Still seated, he pulled her in for a kiss and looked up into her eyes. A sparkle of mischief flickered across his handsome features. “So was my answer better than Yuri’s?”

“Loid!” She giggled and slapped his shoulder lightly.

“Hey, I had to ask,” he said defensively, and kissed her one more time. “You’re definitely worth a little friendly competition.”

Chapter Text

Now that Yor was further along in her pregnancy, she felt safer to exercise as she pleased. Nothing too strenuous, but her doctor encouraged her to go swimming and running (at an average human speed). So, she began to join Loid on his outdoor jogs when there wasn’t too much snow or ice on the roads, and a couple of times a week she went with him to the university where she could swim in the Olympic-size pool. At times he joined her, and she enjoyed watching him continue his laps when she took breaks at the shallow end. 

Yor didn’t miss how the other women at the pool openly admired Loid’s physique and the effortless grace with which he moved through the water. While in the past she might have felt insecure and entertained fleeting thoughts of murdering the competition, she now found it cute that her husband had become so popular at the university. He was still going by the alias Roy Fischer to his fellow students, and only the department head knew of his true identity. Every time someone called out to him by his fake name, she hid a smile as if it were all an inside joke.

She also drew her fair share of attention from the male students and faculty at the pool, even though her swimsuit was modest and the curve of her belly had grown more prominent. To her secret delight, Loid did not countenance her admirers nearly as easily as she did his. Every time they visited the pool together, he would interrupt his regimen to swim up to her in the shallow end and conduct a bit of public flirting as if to stake his claim. 

Sometimes it felt like they were newly dating, that their relationship in all its familiarity and intimacy was still as fresh and thrilling as it had been when she’d first recognized her attraction to him. She treasured it as the rarest of gifts, knowing that most marriages weren’t like this. 

The frequent exercise did help to lift her mood and draw her out of the darkest corners of her thoughts. She went to therapy with more focus and calm, and had a better idea of what to expect by now. In a way, therapy was like starting a new exercise routine or learning a new fighting style. Bettina had eased her into it with lightweight conversation and always diverted the topic when Yor grew too anxious, like a trainer might let up on a trainee when they had met their limit. They hadn’t even referred to Melinda by name yet, instead merely calling her “the woman.” They’d worked on establishing a base of safety that Yor could always return to. Truths that she no longer questioned.

She was safe here in Westalis. So were her husband and daughter.

She was strong, not needy or weak. All of her family members regarded her as a pillar of strength and loved her unconditionally.

She had a soft heart, and she saw the best in people. Over the course of her life, it had proven to be a great blessing. It had enabled her to find and keep her family. To forgive and love Loid. 

“Let’s talk about how you met the woman. Can we start there?” Bettina said when she judged she was ready.

Yor drew on her old training to focus on one thing at a time, not allowing her thoughts to wander. She only had to remember the early days of their so-called friendship.

“We met by coincidence at a department store. We crossed paths on the stairs where she almost tripped from all the boxes was carrying, and I caught her. I had no idea who she was, but she was very grateful for my help, and invited me to volleyball with her friends. I thought it would be rude to say no, so I went.”

As Yor spoke, she remembered how that day had felt. She had left home determined to find the cakes Anya had wanted, without any idea where to look for them. As usual, the heavy shadow of insecurity had hung over her, making the simple task seem like the toughest of assignments. As soon as she entered the department store with all its upscale trappings and polished salespeople, she felt like she’d been transported to a foreign country. And then she’d felt obligated to go with the woman to her social gathering, anxiety spiking as she fumbled through the game of volleyball, expecting at every turn for someone to call her out as an uncouth brute or an alien. Certainly not a normal mother and wife like everyone else there.

“And how did you feel at that time?” Bettina asked when Yor fell silent in contemplation.

“I guess…I’ve always felt uncomfortable in situations like that, like I was a step away from being found out. Not just that I was an assassin. But that I…wasn’t normal. I was always afraid I might do something so out of line that someone would report me to the SSS.”

Bettina nodded in sympathy. “When did those feelings start?”

Shame began to worm its way through her senses, and she lowered her eyes to the floor. Now she remembered fully how it had felt. She’d only let go of those fears in the past two years, a blip in the timeline of her life.

“I think I’d always felt that way,” she said softly. “I stopped going to school after my parents died and didn’t know many other kids my age. And once I joined Garden…I kept to myself even more. I just kept my head down and listened to my superiors. I was always good at following the rules, because I…I guess they were one of the only things that let me know if I was being normal or not. And that worked for a while, at least. I didn’t get caught by the SSS, I was able to send my brother to university, and I got a decent desk job as a civilian cover. But then…when…when my brother was injured, I realized that I had taken Garden’s rules too far. I barely ever asked questions about anything, and I was so naive I hadn’t noticed all the red flags about my brother’s job.”

Yor’s voice grew quiet at the end, the sense of shame doubling in intensity. It had taken Yuri’s sudden disappearance for her to begin wondering whether he was truly an ordinary civil servant or in a much more sinister line of work. An entire world of dark, bewildering possibilities had opened to her in an instant, and she had had no choice but to navigate it alone, with a mind that was nowhere near as sharp as her blades. 

For the rest of the session they did not speak of the woman again, instead focusing on Yor’s descent into that murky world where she had uncovered new alarming truths one after the other, each more crushing than the last. Every step had been laced with utter dread and the fervent wish to remain blind and ignorant, to turn back and shield herself from any more pain.

Yuri’s true profession, and how he had been injured in Shellbury. The gradual cracks in her husband’s perfect facade as he buckled under the immense pressure of keeping his own secrets and guilt from her. The damning confirmation of his identity in the aftermath of the highway ambush as she pieced together the evidence all alone in a Garden safehouse. The moment her heart had splintered into innumerable pieces over the realization that her husband was Twilight—the infamous spy her brother had nearly died trying to capture. And finally, her daughter’s shocking admission that she had been a test subject in a lab, imprisoned and experimented on like an animal. 

“And all of that happened to you within the span of two months?” Bettina asked. While the older woman always maintained a tone of professionalism and neutrality, Yor could hear the incredulity in her voice now.

“Yes.”

“Oh, Yor. I am amazed that you only sought counseling now. Not that you did anything wrong, or ‘abnormal!’ I am simply in awe of how strong and resilient you were to hold up under all of that. Not only to keep yourself together, but to continue supporting your brother and protecting your daughter. And to forgive your husband and rebuild your relationship with him. You truly are an amazing person.”

Yor’s lip trembled as she looked down at the floor again. 

“Everyone tells me that,” she said quietly. “But…I don’t feel amazing at all. I feel…”

Her voice cracked on the word.

“Stupid. I feel so…so…stupid…” 

Bettina came around the desk and knelt beside her with a box of tissues, simply patting her arm in a slow repetitive rhythm as her shoulders shook.

“It’s alright,” Bettina said when Yor regained control of herself. “This often happens during therapy, when you come face to face with difficult parts of your past that you couldn’t process fully at the time. I won’t say it’s ‘normal,’ because that is a bad word in this room. It is not a word that helps you. I will just say that you are on the right path, confronting these feelings and beliefs you’ve held for many years about yourself. You’re very brave for doing this. And I understand why you might feel the way you do when you look back on that time in your life. So many intensely disturbing things happened to you within such a short period, and you were forced to react. Ignoring them or running away was not an option. And you had to deal with almost all of it alone. May I give you a hug, Yor?”

Yor nodded, and Bettina stood up to put her arms around her. She was thin and wiry, but her embrace was warm and comforting nonetheless. Slowly, Yor relaxed, and her tears receded.

Bettina went back behind her desk and regarded her with a sad smile. “We’re at the end of our time today, but I want to leave you with this encouragement. I can see that you have an incredibly forgiving heart. The vibrant life you have built here with your family and the deep love they hold for you are only possible because you are forgiving and generous to everyone around you. Except to one person. Yourself.”

Something in Yor’s chest tightened again at Bettina’s words. They struck true like a hidden arrow. 

“I want you to think about that until next time we meet. If you don’t agree with me, think about why you disagree. If you do agree, think about why you might be withholding forgiveness and grace from yourself. Those same gifts you give so freely to others—why haven’t you been a recipient as well?”

Yor used the last of the tissues in the box as Bettina continued.

“This is good. You are doing good work right now, even though it’s starting to feel scary. When it feels like too much, fall back on what your husband and brother and daughter told you about your love. Lean on them and allow them to be generous to you, because they’re eager to be there for you as you’ve always been there for them. Be well, Yor. I’ll see you next time.”

—

Though the baby was still months away from arriving, Loid had already cleared out the spare room near the master bedroom to serve as the nursery. He stood with Yor in the middle of the empty room, presenting her with three different expertly drawn sketches of how they could arrange the space. Of course he would have overplanned for this.

“Do you care much about the color?” Loid gestured to the walls, which were an unassuming light gray at the moment. “I could hold off on painting until we know if it’s a boy or girl.”

Yor shook her head, merely smiling at her husband with fondness. She held the sketches in her hand but had barely studied them, instead preferring to observe Loid in his unerring focus on the task at hand. It was adorable how serious he was about everything. 

The easy mundanity of preparing their home for the baby helped to lift some of the burdens off her mind. She had been thinking hard about Bettina’s question from their last session, but hadn’t yet mentioned it to Loid or Yuri.

Yor had always lived with shame. But it hadn’t crossed her mind that she might need to forgive herself. The thought was strange, and she was glad Bettina had left it open-ended, giving her room to disagree. 

The feeling of stupidity and shame was so thick that she couldn’t cut through it toward any logical conclusion. She instinctively wanted to bury it again, hoping it would die on its own if she left it alone long enough. But she knew that wouldn’t work. It hadn’t worked for Loid, and he had been an expert in compartmentalization.

What did it mean to forgive herself? She had told her husband to forgive himself many times when he had been mired in guilt and despair. It had seemed so natural and right, unlike how she viewed her own mistakes and oversights. But what exactly was the difference?

Strangely, as she stood in the empty nursery looking over the detailed sketches he had made, the realization came to her. Loid was the most intelligent, talented person she knew. And he worked extremely hard at everything he put his brilliant mind to. If he failed at something, it wasn’t due to lack of effort or ability. 

That night at the Desmond manor, he could have engineered a way for both of them to escape safely. The one thing holding him back had been her. She hadn’t been quick-witted enough to recognize the way out, instead signaling that she would fight and incriminate herself no matter the cost.

Loid deserved forgiveness because he’d done everything logically possible to succeed, and only failed due to circumstances outside of his control. Whereas Yor hadn’t done enough. She could have worked harder to be perceptive and wise to the world, to know how to read people, to exercise her mind at a strategic level and not only in the realm of combat tactics. Other assassins in Garden had honed such skills so that they could conduct infiltrations before making the kill. She had just never bothered, instead relying on her brute strength and battle instinct across all her jobs. 

She could rationalize it as specialization. Garden did encourage all its members to specialize in certain skills and types of assignments. However, the truth was that she was afraid. She had found comfort in her ignorance and the simplicity it brought. She didn’t want to navigate the gray world of politics and the human psyche, with the pressure of split-second decisions based on multi-layered context and subtle messages and body language. 

She’d had years, her entire career with Garden, to face up to her fears and address this weakness. But she hadn’t done it. She was stupid. She deserved judgment and ridicule for her complacency. Not forgiveness.

“Yor?” Loid’s voice brought her back to the present. She had been standing there for some time, staring blankly at the designs in her hands. “Is everything alright?”

“All of these options are good. Thank you for drawing them out. But I think I need to lie down for a bit. I’m sorry, could I look at them again later?” she said quietly.

Loid’s arms encircled her in familiar warmth and understanding. “Of course. We’ve got months to decide, anyway. Sorry if I got overexcited.”

“No, I love that about you,” she insisted as she hugged him back. She hoped he couldn’t feel her fingers trembling. “You’re doing so much for us, and I’m barely doing anything.”

“No, Yor. This of all things is not something you should feel guilty about,” he said, tilting her chin up to look at him. “Nothing makes me happier than to take care of you.”

She tried to smile, but the lingering shame made it hard to meet his eyes. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and they simply stood for a while surrounded by blank gray walls, anchored in each other’s presence. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he murmured.

She shook her head. “Just…stay with me?”

He obliged and held her close in their bed so she could feel his heartbeat against her back, something that always comforted her in the midst of uncertainty. Again she wished she could block out the shame and lock all her doubts back in their vault. But it was time to leave her cowardice behind. She would grit her teeth and stare her fears in the face. And she would put in the long-delayed work that everyone else seemed to have already done.

Chapter Text

“So you think you should have tried harder and sought out opportunities to gain worldly wisdom,” Bettina summarized. “Hmm. Let’s try a little exercise. Think back to when you first married your husband, those months before you discovered his identity. Take a moment and settle into those memories. Remember how you felt talking to him and learning more about him until he wasn’t quite a stranger anymore. Same thing with your daughter. Remember what it felt like to move into the same home, to inhabit the same space, to establish new daily rituals. Remember when you began to give generously of your time and emotions to them, to care for them.”

Yor took a moment to orient herself to that idyllic time. Her heart softened and some of the tension in her shoulders dissipated. Joining Loid and Anya’s family had been one of the best decisions of her life. For the first time in ages, she had something to look forward to every time she walked in the door of her home. A new home full of life and excitement only a young carefree child could generate. 

The privilege of being Anya’s mother had taken a while to sink in fully before she no longer felt she was overstepping. Though she hadn’t been looking for it, she had gotten a second chance to raise a child, this time without the urgency and privations of war and poverty. Between her and Loid, they had plenty of income and savings to ensure Anya never wanted for anything and could simply enjoy her childhood. Granted, Loid had pushed the girl to study harder than Yor had ever needed to push Yuri, but Anya was so resilient and joyful that the pressure hadn’t seemed to bother her too much.

And Loid. Knowing what she did now about her husband, she recognized that the core of his front as Doctor Loid Forger had already contained much of his true self. He went out of his way to learn her likes and preferences, to pamper her with fine gifts and dinner dates, to stand up for her in public and lend a listening ear in private. The few times she had been bold enough to challenge his decisions, mostly regarding Anya, he had considered her opinion with humility and an open mind. It had been all too easy to fall for him.

“Now, in what ways did you grow and change during that period? What did you learn?”

She had learned so much. Though their marriage had been fake at the start, she had learned what it meant to be a wife and equal partner. She studied Loid and considered him the gold standard for a husband and family man, especially when she heard her colleagues complain about their own partners. She learned what it meant to be cared for, to gradually allow gratitude to overtake guilt.

And she had given her best to Loid and Anya in return. Her most obvious failure was her inability to cook. She took lessons from Camilla and practiced until her hands bled. Her other repeated failure was her lack of social skills. She read books and magazine articles, asked Loid and her coworkers for advice, put on a brave face and followed Loid’s lead into fancy department stores and restaurants and Eden Academy events. 

She had also seamlessly stepped into domestic duties she excelled at. Cleaning, organizing, and doing laundry. And, as Loid often reminded her, being a mother to Anya.

Caring for Anya hadn’t felt like a duty so much as a privilege and a delight. She had stepped in naturally to help the girl with her homework whenever it fell within her limited knowledge. She took her on outings and taught her how to play sports and tucked her into bed at night. She held her when she needed comfort and defended her from kidnappers and criminals.

“It sounds like that period in your life was a truly restorative and encouraging time for you,” Bettina noted. “And it sounds like you gave it your best.”

Yor nodded tentatively. While part of her instinctively wanted to deflect and downplay her efforts, she knew it was the truth. She had poured her best effort into her new family. She’d made plenty of mistakes, but that hadn’t stopped her from getting up and trying even harder.

“Let’s go back further in time. What was your life like in the few years before you met your husband and daughter?”

Yor thought about it for a moment. If she had to segment out her life into phases, the time before the Forgers was when Yuri had found a job and become fully independent. For her, it had been two years of drifting, going through the motions, life whittled down to the bare minimum. Wake up, go to City Hall, wait for a call from Shopkeeper, finish a job, clean up, go to sleep. Even the food she had eaten was bland. She hadn’t cared what it tasted like as long as it provided enough nutrition to keep her strong and fit for assignments. She had had no friends or social life, and no reason to pursue them, too afraid that she’d give herself away as abnormal and draw suspicion from the authorities. Yuri had called and visited occasionally, but his work kept him so busy that they didn’t cross paths nearly as much as before.

“Do you remember how those two years felt?”

Empty. But more than that, there was something else. Another feeling she couldn’t quite put into words. Alone, but not realizing just how alone she was. Moving forward mechanically and going through the motions of life, but feeling like she was standing still, or that she was walking through sludge, meeting resistance with every step. Merely getting through each day had somehow been both easy and drearily difficult.

“It sounds like you were tired,” Bettina suggested after hearing Yor’s attempts to describe it. “Does that sound accurate?”

Yor frowned. Tired? As far as she could recall, she’d been better rested in those two years than when she and Yuri had lived under the same roof. Back then she’d had to wake up early to help him get ready for school, and spent most of the day working odd jobs and running errands to keep their little household of two afloat. She’d gone to bed each night physically and mentally exhausted, all her energy spent on clearing away every obstacle to her brother’s success.

“Sometimes we only feel tired after the work is over,” Bettina clarified. “And sometimes that tiredness can persist for a long time.”

Yor was still confused, but Bettina smiled gently.

“Let’s come back to this later, if you’re alright with sharing more about your earlier life. What was it like when your brother was in school? In university, or before that.”

This time it took longer to recall the older memories and the mindset she had inhabited at the time, like trying to fit into clothing that she had outgrown. Above any specific events in her day-to-day life, she remembered the pervasive feeling of worry and dread, punctuated by bursts of relief and pride.

Her hands clenched involuntarily in her lap and she found herself reaching for her stiletto, which she had placed underneath her chair on purpose. The act of reaching for it jarred her back to the present, to confront the root cause of that defensive reaction. Why did she feel like she was in danger?

“It’s alright. You are safe here. Those years are long past,” Bettina said. “Take your time. You don’t have to speak until you’re ready.”

The silence in the room lasted for a long time. Within her mind, she sorted through old memories as if looking through an old filing cabinet crammed with old dusty papers. She could not cleanly remove a file without pulling up the ones around it. 

Five year-old Yuri cried in her lap, asking for their mother. Begging for food they didn’t have. Frightened by nightmares. Burning up with fever. Shaking with chills, his breath smelling of vomit. He was so scrawny and frail, his eyes sunken, lips cracked and pale. Yor wished she could carve out her own flesh and feed it to him. She wished she were stronger. Smarter. More capable. She prayed to an unknown god and to no one and to herself, for a miracle. That an answer to whatever dire problem was at hand would suddenly appear in her brain, and she would instantly spring into action to save Yuri and make him healthy again. To see him smile and laugh again, to lift him up and feel that he had gained weight, to hug him and know that he was warm and full of energy, not just a shivering skeleton. 

Seven year-old Yuri raised his head from the kitchen table where he had been waiting for her to return from her first job for Garden. It took all she had not to collapse in relief at the sight of him safe and sound in their home, after she had nearly lost her own life in a gritty fight against her target, a burly man armed with a gun, spitting curses and then blood when she had stabbed him again and again, messily, all her training and discipline having flown out the window in the chaos and terror of the moment. The man’s blood still stained her skin and clothes as she stumbled into the kitchen and beheld her brother’s shocked face. Sis! What happened?!

Nine year-old Yuri had grown used to her odd work schedule and no longer stayed up late to wait for her most nights. If he did stay up late, it was to study overtime for an upcoming test at school. As far as she knew, he believed all her excuses and didn’t lose sleep over the sight of her bloodied clothes and bruised skin anymore. Let me help you, sis! I’m strong! I can work!

No, Yuri, you’re too young! You just need to stay in school and do your best. One day you’ll graduate from university and find an amazing job and become someone important. That will make me the happiest sister in the world! Can you do that for me?

Twelve year-old Yuri was at the top of his class in high school. He had already skipped several grades and was due to graduate at the end of next year. Yor informed Garden that she needed to take a brief hiatus from jobs so she could take Yuri around to visit the universities he wanted to apply to. She had seldom ever left their home province, only traveling outside their quaint hometown for assassinations. She had certainly never visited a city as large and metropolitan as Berlint. The journey by train and bus had been bewildering and stressful as she constantly watched their surroundings for threats. She had heard about pickpockets and robbers and kidnappers running rampant in the cities. Surely these urban criminals would find two adolescents easy prey. 

Then there were the unspoken social rules. What should she say when they arrived on campus and greeted their tour guide? How was one supposed to speak to a distinguished professor? What if she couldn’t read the maps and got both of them lost on the way to their hotel? 

Her heart swelled with pride as Yuri confidently navigated their surroundings and reassured her with his maturity and worldly knowledge. He pointed out the inscriptions on the walls and gates of the campus, able to translate ancient languages on the fly. He shook hands with every university staff member and professor they came across and introduced himself with enthusiasm. He also made sure to pull her to the forefront and tell everyone that his dear sister was the one making his education possible. Only in hindsight had she realized why the adults around them had reacted to Yuri’s boasts with awkward smiles and averted gazes. There were very few ways a young woman, barely an adult, could earn enough to pay for her brother’s university tuition.

Fourteen year-old Yuri rushed about their new empty apartment in Berlint, as close to the university as they could afford. The two of them put together new furniture and unboxed all their kitchenware and clothes and Yuri’s books. Yor watched as Yuri set up the TV, the first TV they had ever owned, in the small living room. She had initially thought it was an unnecessary luxury, but then realized Yuri would benefit from watching the news and other educational programming. And maybe, in her free time, she could sneak in some shows as well, to learn about how normal people lived and held conversations.

Tuition was expensive. From fourteen to eighteen, Yuri threw himself into his undergraduate studies with utmost zeal. Yor’s job was to ensure he could continue attending. Luckily Garden paid better for assignments in Berlint. The targets were more numerous, more dangerous, with larger bounties. She amassed enough savings not to worry about missing rent on their shared apartment or skimping on basic necessities like groceries and hygiene products anymore. But habits were hard to break. She saved and saved and saved. She lost sleep whenever she had to make a big purchase, like a new suit and leather shoes for Yuri to wear to job interviews. She monitored her bank account week to week and felt more secure when the figure climbed steadily the more she saved. Conversely, her stomach dropped when large bills came due and the number shrank. 

Garden offered to find her a day job at City Hall to begin building a proper life in Berlint. A proper cover befitting of a respectable young woman. She hesitated for a long time, not only because she worried about spending too much time away from Yuri; she wanted to be there at home waiting for him whenever he returned from class. She was afraid to take a job among the educated populace, to rub shoulders with normal civilians eight hours a day. How could she withstand their scrutiny all day long and avoid suspicion when she didn’t know the first thing about being normal?

Her only comfort was that a senior Garden assassin, Matthew McMahon, would oversee her work. She had trained with Director McMahon, known as Raven Eye, and supported him on a few jobs. He was stoic and sometimes harsh, but fair and trustworthy. If he looked out for her, she supposed a City Hall clerkship wouldn’t be too risky.

Eighteen year-old Yuri walked across the stage to accept his university diploma, wearing a special robe denoting high honors. Tears filled her eyes as he shook the dean’s hand, a wave of applause spreading across the audience as he was the youngest student in the school’s history to graduate with so many accolades. He was tall now, taller than her, having hit a growth spurt in the past two years. He was strong and confident and determined. He worked so incredibly hard, and she had faith that he could accomplish anything he put his mind to. 

Yuri was going off into the world as an independent adult. He moved into his own apartment not long after graduation. Moving day had been hard for both of them. They both stopped multiple times to cry in each other’s arms. Yuri promised to call every day and have dinner with her twice a week. He vowed to spend weekends catching up with her and to help with grocery shopping and cooking. And for a while, he did. 

Seeing Yuri so frequently helped ease the ache of a quiet apartment. Without all his books and belongings, Yor’s apartment looked and felt empty. She didn’t know what else to fill it with. And she still refused to spend money on herself. She had to continue saving.

One day, Yuri might need her again. And she had to be ready to step in and help. With that vague goal in mind, she carried on with a significantly more monotonous daily routine. Wake up, go to City Hall, wait for a call from Shopkeeper, finish a job, clean up, go to sleep.

Eventually Yuri stopped calling and visiting so often. He apologized profusely for his neglect, but his job kept him extremely busy. She waved it off and encouraged him to keep working hard and to reach his full potential. The fact his career had taken off so quickly filled her with pride and admiration. Her brother was so capable and smart. Against all odds, he’d survived a childhood of deprivation, constant sickness and injury due to her clumsiness. She had no doubt he would rise in the ranks of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs faster than any of his peers.

Only much later did she realize that the true reason he’d begun drowning in work was that he had transferred to the SSS. 

She had made that discovery alone, when Yuri had stopped answering her calls without explanation and was no longer at his apartment. The old anxiety and dread that had hung over her childhood and adolescence, the fear that her little brother would die on her watch, returned full force. 

An undercover SSS officer visited her home and told her that Yuri had been shot by criminals, and was in critical condition in the hospital. She went to Shellbury with Loid in a haze of vengeance and grief. She beheld her brother’s pale, bruised, comatose form in a hospital bed. She saw the bullet wounds in his head and neck. He clung to life by a thread. A thread that the hammer of the state could choose to snip at any time. And even if he survived, the chances he could ever live a normal life again were dismal.

She had failed her brother. The person she had fought her entire life to keep alive. She had failed him when he needed her most, and there was nothing she could do to bring him back.

“Yor,” Bettina said softly, and held out a box of tissues. “Your brother is safe. He is alive and well. He loves you. Let’s breathe. That’s it.”

When Yor had regained her composure, Bettina spoke again in that same gentle manner, grounding her in the reality of the present.

“Can you see, a bit, why you might have been tired?”

Yor shut her eyes and wiped at her cheeks. “Y-yes.”

“I noticed that as you were talking, you spoke about Yuri’s feelings almost as much as your own. Maybe even more than your own. But the question was about your life. Your feelings.”

Yor didn’t know quite what to do with that observation, so she said nothing. She kept her eyes closed and tried to breathe evenly.

“Why do you think that is?” Bettina prompted.

“B-because…he was important…to me. He was all I had. For a long time.”

“Mm. And you were all he had, it seems. You had no choice but to be his mother as well as his sister. The way you talk about him carries all the hallmarks of a parent talking about their beloved child.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t know how to be one, though. I had no idea what I was doing. Even after years of trying.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes as a thick coil of shame twisted in her gut. “I was so…” Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. 

She didn’t finish the sentence, but Bettina knew. 

“Oh, Yor. Can you see the trap you’ve laid for yourself?”

Yor was familiar with traps. Ambushes. Setups. Garden had trained her ruthlessly to identify and circumvent them. It meant the difference between life and death or serious injury. A successful hit or an utter failure. But here, she was blind. She shook her head.

“Where, in all the sleepless nights and hard labor and stress you took upon yourself, could you have tried any harder?”

Yor stifled a sob, the question striking true like an arrow out of the darkness. Her mind warred with itself. She wanted to accept the woman’s words as a balm, as a release from the lifelong prison of worry and regret, to lay to rest that whisper inside: you’re not good enough. 

But another, darker part of her heart rallied protectively around that prison like an undying warden guarding its gates. She remembered Shopkeeper’s words. The words of her trainers as they attacked her again and again, spurring her to get up to face their blades and fists until she could no longer raise her head from the ground. The mantra that Garden drilled into every initiate.

Fail, and you die.

You die.

Die.

If she died, Yuri would be all alone with no one to take care of him. He would starve or succumb to disease or stumble into the clutches of criminals. Yor could not die. She had to stay alive at all costs, even if the odds were stacked against her, even if she had no earthly clue how to defeat an opponent stronger and more skilled than she could hope to be. In the end, it didn’t matter how hard she thought she tried. A Garden assassin won no accolades for effort. She either survived and won, or failed and condemned her brother to death.

“You survived,” Bettina said, and came around the desk again to kneel before her, as she had during the previous session. She tentatively placed her hands on Yor’s shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. “You are alive. Your brother is alive and well. And it absolutely matters how hard you tried. Please hear me. It absolutely matters how hard you tried.”

Even though all they’d done the past hour was sit and talk, the strength sagged out of her body as Bettina hugged her. She lay her head on the older woman’s shoulder and closed her eyes, her heart thumping loudly in her ears as she willed herself to hear the words and accept them as truth. To tell the guard at the prison gates to stand down and retire from his duty.

“And there’s something else even more important, which I want to discuss next time.” Bettina pulled back to look into her teary face, her smile warm and sad. “You matter. Not just your effort, or your strength or hard-earned skills, or the fact you supported your brother all these years. Even without all those things, you matter. You are worthy.”

Her heart seized as the guard raised his weapon once more and blocked the door. No, that inner voice whispered. That’s not true.

“Sit with this for a while,” Bettina advised. “Allow yourself to feel uncomfortable. And to ask yourself why. Why are you reacting the way you are? If you don’t believe what I just said, why don’t you? You can do this, Yor. You are so, so strong. You’ve done amazing work today. I am so grateful to have heard so much of your story, and I can’t wait to hear more of it.”

Chapter Text

While Loid had long stopped pushing Anya in her academic studies, he occasionally still went above and beyond the efforts of the average parent to enrich their daughter’s learning. Instead of for a mission, he did it out of love, to inspire a joy of learning, which he was newly discovering in himself as a graduate student. 

Tonight he drove their family, Yuri and Bond included, out to the mountains, up a steep winding road to a stargazing spot recommended by the astronomy department at Yuri’s university. Comet Dahlberg would be at its most visible point tonight. Anya had been learning about planets and the solar system in school, and was beyond excited to see the once in a lifetime phenomenon with her own eyes.

For most people, it was a once in a lifetime phenomenon. But for the Authens, this was the second time they would see it, over in the skies of Berlint where the comet would still glow brightly enough to be visible over the urban light pollution. In their most recent letter, Barbara had written wistfully of a romantic date she and her husband had enjoyed as a young couple sixty years ago, out in the country where the night sky was a breathtaking canvas of starlight, the Milky Way flowing like an ethereal river far overhead. They had made a wish on that same comet, vowing to love each other all their days and hoping that they would see the comet again before they died. 

Their wish had been granted, but not without the ever-present sorrow of Sigmund’s mental and physical decline. Barbara would go outside alone to observe the comet, as Sigmund was confined to bed most hours of the day. She asked Loid and Yor to make every effort to go see the comet on their behalf and to describe it to her in their next letter. And to make a wish of their own.

Yor had the Authens’ letter, which included an old diary entry of Sigmund’s, tucked into her handbag in her lap as she studied their dark surroundings from the passenger seat. Yuri and Anya sat in the back with Bond sticking his head out the window, tongue flapping loose in the chill night breeze. Every once in a while Loid would take his hand off the gear shift and touch Yor’s arm, small reassuring reminders of his presence beside her. He knew of the insecurities and untruths she was now battling in her heart. 

Whereas in the past Loid might have tried with all his might to convince her of her self-worth through passionate promises and affirming praise, he had changed in his own quiet way. He gave her space.

You know how much I love you. How you’re worth more than the world in my eyes. But sometimes the truth takes time to sink in. You have time. And I’ll always be here for you.

For now, she let go of those unsettling thoughts. They eventually arrived near the top of the mountain and got out of the car to brisk winds whipping their hair and clothes. Yuri took care to wrap Anya’s scarf snugly around her neck and shoulders before guiding her toward the flat stretch of land where they’d set up their telescope. Yor and Loid trailed behind uncle and niece, Bond unhurriedly trotting at their heels. 

For a moment, the sight of Yuri and Anya walking side by side, the little girl’s hand secure in her brother’s gloved grip, filled her with such emotion that she leaned into Loid’s side and slowed her steps. Pride and gratitude and wonder all at once. A feeling of rightness. This was her family. A family she had fought her whole life for, had bled for, would die for. A family that against all odds remained together, that loved each other. Scarred, but healed and whole.

Above them, the cloudless night sky stretched from horizon to horizon, filled with pinpricks of white light. Living in the Westalian countryside, she had grown used to the breathtaking sight of the celestial symphony uninhibited by manmade noise. But tonight was especially brilliant. Here at a higher elevation, it felt as if every step she took brought her infinitesimally closer to the stars. 

And there, to the northwest, hanging low like a rising moon, was the comet. They had seen glimpses of it on previous days over the trees in their neighborhood. But now it shone brighter and unclouded, a white flame frozen in a dark sea.

Yuri hoisted Anya onto his shoulders as she stretched her little hands up toward the faraway comet, impatient to see and grasp at it while Loid set up the telescope beside them. Bond sat back on his haunches, tail thumping contentedly against the ground, and surveyed the open field around them, more interested in this new patch of earth and its foreign scents than anything overhead.

A once in a lifetime event. The orbit of this comet would likely only intersect with her and Loid’s lives once. Even if they lived into their late eighties or early nineties, they probably wouldn’t have the eyesight or strength to go stargazing then. But Anya would be able to see it again. If she had children and grandchildren of her own, she might be able to stargaze together with them, and tell them about tonight, how she had sat on her uncle’s shoulders and marveled with childlike wonder at the vastness of the universe.

Yor’s heart opened tenderly, fearfully, to the truth of their mortality. It was both frightening and freeing, like a climber braving a precipitous rock face without a harness, briefly allowing her focus to shift off of the next handhold as she turned around and beheld the sprawling landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. The sheer drop beneath her feet was an ever-present reality, one she knew intimately from all her years dancing on the fatal edge of combat and dealing in death.

Death was always there, waiting, but so was life. And her life had never been fuller. 

She clutched her handbag more tightly as the wind buffeted it against her side. She remembered the journal entry from Sigmund, written more than forty years ago.

Today, Christoph asked me to chair the new collaboration with the Americians. Double my current pay. Spend half the year overseas. We could enroll Freddy in Henault Academy, all expenses paid. The impact would be far-reaching. I’d have the funding and the audience to push for more integrated methods of treatment. 

Before I came home, I knew I would say no. I did not give him my answer only because I had to tell Barb first. The creak of our front door, the smell of something heavenly fresh out of the oven, her beautiful smile as she came to greet me. Our home. My heart. Pictures lining the walls, along the staircase, Mom and Dad’s wedding, our wedding, Freddy and his cousins at the reunion. Grandpa’s ship. His compass in my office. A life so far well-lived. So much more to live, God willing. 

Is all this reflection good for the soul? Can one ask too many questions of oneself? Am I an animal chasing its own tail? A man looking at his reflection in the mirror and instantly forgetting what he looks like as soon as he turns away, having to look back again and again only to learn nothing new?

Where is that perfect path between self-examination and self-forgetfulness? I have already decided to reject the university’s offer. Why then this doubt?

Pride, there it is. Why should I diminish myself in the world? I see where the gifts of my mind may lead me and the many esteemed colleagues who would eagerly follow. I can see the fields ripe for harvest before me. So much ground to be broken. So many new discoveries! And all of them meaningful, good. Is it not a waste if I shut the door to my full potential?

Waste. Do not use that word, Sigmund. Margin. It is margin.

A life cannot be well-lived without margin. It is in the margin, the fallow edges of the field, where the mundane becomes magical. 

To come home and forget the toils and conundrums of academia, to forget ‘Professor,’ ‘Doctor,’ and now the proposed ‘Director,’ to simply be Siggy, Dad. To let go of my burdens, all temporal, and remember who I am. I was born, I will die, with nothing, except the love I have given and received in between. To look into my wife’s eyes and know that she knows me without the need to speak and explain. To set aside all the pressing questions of my research and listen to my son tell me excitedly of what he has learned at school—never mind that I learned it all decades ago. This is where I forget myself, my titles, my lofty ambitions, and embrace the quiet fullness of life.

Thankful. So thankful, to have this gift. Help me to guard it again and again, to forget myself so that I may find myself.

They took turns at the telescope after Loid had centered the comet within the lens. Anya looked the longest, oohing and aahing while Loid held her up. When the wind whipped the little girl’s hair into her face and obscured her vision, Yor gathered it into a tight bun and bound it securely at the crown of her head. Anya babbled a series of questions at her father, all of which he answered patiently with his formidable knowledge of astronomy. Yor didn’t know where he’d learned it; she couldn’t imagine what kind of mission WISE might have assigned him that would require such expertise. Or perhaps he’d merely read up on it all a few days ago to prepare for this occasion.

Yuri took his turn silently and efficiently, staying utterly still with one eye pressed to the eyepiece. With his serious expression, it almost looked like he was peering into the scope of a sniper rifle. She wondered if he still remembered his training at the SSS. If he’d ever pointed a gun at anyone. If he’d ever fired it.

She knew he had. He’d hit his brother-in-law in the arm, drawing first blood in their battle in Shellbury.

Yuri eventually stepped away from the telescope, careful not to trip on the legs of the tripod and disturb its positioning. He blinked rapidly and swept his bangs out of his eyes, revealing the puckered scar on his forehead, faint in the darkness. The mark of death he would always carry with him. 

But while death had marked him, it had not claimed him. He was alive, with her and their family at the fallow edges of the field. Magic. His eyes, full of wonder, still trained on the night sky and the comet. Loid’s hand on his shoulder in wordless camaraderie. Anya tugging at his arm, eager to hear what he had observed as the wind whistled in their ears.

“Your turn, Yor,” Loid called, and extended a hand to her in invitation.

At first glance through the telescope, the comet was unassuming. If the night sky were an artist’s canvas, it appeared like a smudge, a careless dollop of white paint fallen from the oversaturated bristles of the paintbrush. But in reality, the sky was not a flat canvas. It was a glimpse into eternal timescales barely comprehensible by the human mind.

75 million kilometers. That was what she’d heard Loid say when Anya had asked how far the comet was from Earth. Only the sun and the other planets were closer. Every other celestial body visible to the naked eye was astronomically farther away. Trillions of kilometers. 

For a moment, Yor stepped outside the comfortable, well-demarcated walls of her everyday thoughts. She paused on her mental ascent up the cliff and turned around, taking in the open air of the canyon all around her, the sheer drop far below. 

She imagined the five of them here on the mountaintop, a speck on the Earth’s surface. The Earth itself, a speck beside the brilliant sun at the center of the solar system. The solar system, a speck within the sprawling Milky Way galaxy. The Milky Way, a speck in the vastness of the universe, unremarkable among billions or even trillions of galaxies.

She breathed in and out, balancing herself on the cliff face so she wouldn’t lose her grip and fall. She perceived herself in the scale of the universe and eternity. What were the mysteries of her own soul in comparison to the trillions of unreachable stars and nearly infinite distances of the void between every body of light? What did it mean to question herself and the measure of her life— it absolutely matters how hard you tried. Even without all those things, you matter. You are worthy— when the span of her years was a mere flicker of a flame, a particle burned off the tail of a comet, in the grand scheme of things?

Loid’s arms encircled her waist from behind, tentatively, gently, so as not to jostle her against the telescope. His gloved hands came to rest on her abdomen, over the slight curve where a tiny life slumbered within a warm cocoon knit by her own body. Magic.

An aching warmth bloomed in her chest, and tears sprang to her eyes, damp trails swept quickly across the sides of her face by the brisk wind. She had no explanation. No sudden answer, no incisive epiphany to set her inner world back on its proper axis. But perhaps she had been thinking about it the wrong way. Understanding herself, grappling with the pain and terror that had seized her as of late, was not a battle to be fought by brute strength. Not a grueling journey to merely grit her teeth and slog through.

It was to be still. To lie in the fallow edges of the field and feel the earth under her body, solid and immutable. To look up into the night sky and behold both the most masterful painting ever created, and an infinite timeline and map of the stars that mankind’s most brilliant scientists might never truly understand. To reach out and take her husband’s hand beside her in that same field. To know her family was with her, and they were all in this wondrous, perplexing journey together. 

The comet blurred in her vision as she blinked away her tears. She stepped back from the telescope and turned around in her husband’s arms, returning his embrace with gratitude and trembling. Even through their thick coats she could sense his heartbeat. They stood there, flickers of flame on the mountaintop, as something in her heart shifted, tension loosening, an old wound healing. 

You are worthy. An instinctive sting of aversion, quickly fading to a tentative trial of acceptance. Loid tightened his arms around her, anchoring her to the cliff face so that she could look without falling. She thought of the closing words of their surrogate father’s journal entry, and wished for that same self-forgetfulness to guide her in finding the truth.