Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Franky Franklin was exhausted. This was nothing new. He was used to staying up late, working on projects, deciphering codes, making gadgets, or plotting his next date idea, but this was something different. He was running away.

He shivered, pulling his too-big coat tighter around his shoulders, sneaking a surreptitious look behind him. There were others on this same sidewalk, a couple with a child, umbrellas raised against the rain, a teenage girl across the street, and an older woman making her way slowly behind them all. Franky kept his gaze on the old lady for a moment longer, then made a turn, casual as he could make it, into the alleyway to his right. He ducked against the shadows of the wall, tipping his hat lower. This would have to do for tonight. 

Franky Franklin had been tired before. He’d been drained, paranoid, worn out, exasperated, and heartbroken. But this was the first time he’d ever been on the run. 

Franky checked his exits –the other end of the alley, the outlet into another, and as a last resort, breaking into an apartment complex– and shifted his bag off his back, sinking to the ground slowly. Tomorrow, if all was clear, he’d check out that abandoned auto shop on the edge of town, it would make for a great hidden workshop. 

Slowly, he forced himself to relax, angling so that he could see the alleyway entrance before him. The last invention he’d managed to cobble together before abandoning shop was in his hand under his coat, ready at a moment’s notice. And beneath that, in a holster hidden at his side, was a gun. He told himself he wasn’t afraid to use it. 

That day, he’d asked himself if he was overreacting. If none of this was necessary. Maybe he could have stayed, tried to figure things out. At the least, he thought he should have tried to comfort the poor kid and her mother. He took a deep breath, fighting back the shivering that threatened to dig into his bones. But no. Franky had seen who’d been poking around during the next week, at a safe distance. Staying hadn’t been possible. He’d made the right choice. Hadn’t he? 

There was no way he could’ve stuck around. He wouldn’t have stood a chance. They would have nabbed him and done who-knows-what to make him spill every secret he knew, endangering the only people who cared about him– 

His head sunk even further, and he hugged his knees. And just like he had every day since, Franky Franklin cursed himself for being a coward. 

“You’re a hard man to find, Mr. Franklin.” 

Franky’s hand flew from his coat out of reflex, and the twin forks of metal shot from their casing, arcs of electricity jabbing between them– and came to a stop as the wires providing their surging energy ran out of line. The figure standing at the entrance to the alley, silhouetted against the darkening gray sky, hadn’t flinched, and the mini-taser’s arcs fell to the ground uselessly. 

Franky swore and jumped to his feet. Make for the second path if they follow, the third if they don’t. The gun is a last resort. He heard the figure cry out, asking him to stop, but he was already on his feet, bag in hand, sprinting for his escape routes. The back of his mind registered the voice as feminine, young, but that made no difference to him. He knew what kind of people came searching for people like him, and he also knew what fate awaited him if he dared reason with them.

His feet striking the wet cobblestones, Franky darted around the corner. He couldn’t hear any footsteps following, so he went with his second plan, continuing forward. This route was counterintuitive, he’d scouted it out earlier in the day for that purpose. Once he was out of this alley, he’d have to make a break for the market and hope she wasn’t backed up by anybody with a vehicle. 

Franky turned the corner and slid to a stop, horror replacing the adrenaline in his blood. The same figure stood before him, slight, silhouetted, and directly in his path. She spoke again. “Ok, so, that one’s on me, I really shouldn’t have tried to be so dramatic.” 

The girl’s voice was higher than before and a bit… exasperated? Not threatening. Franky squinted, the rain on his glasses not helping anything. He reached into his coat, and his hand tightened on the grip of the pistol beneath his coat. Did he…?

“Let’s try this again.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been looking for you, Uncle Scruffy-head.” 

Only one person was allowed to use that name. Franky’s eyes widened, his grip on his weapon loosened, and he took an involuntary step forward. His voice broke, but he managed. “Anya? Is that you?”

She looked down, as if unsure what to say.

Now that his eyes had gotten used to the dimness a bit better, Franky saw that she’d hidden the distinctive outline of her hair ornaments with a poncho’s hood.  

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I should have… Anyway.” She rushed forward, and before Franky could react, she’d thrown her arms around him, burying her head in his chest.  

“Anya?” he’d raised his hands in shock.

 She took a deep breath, not letting go of him, her grip almost… desperate.

“You’re… so far from home, what are you doing here? How did you find me?” Anya didn’t reply at first, just hugged him tighter. He returned the embrace, and found a smile spreading on his face. “Hey, hey, it’s nice to see you, too.” She’d grown up so much in the past few years, and even in these past nine months, she’d still gotten even taller. 

She let go, and, taking a breath, stepped back. She met his eyes, her own narrowed. “Franky, I don’t care that you left. I understand, better than you think I do.” 

He blinked, taking a step back. What? “Anya, what– How do you…?”

“It was scary for all of us.” She reached out and took his hand in both of hers, and the warmth immediately eased the deep chill. “You did what you needed to do. So please, don’t beat yourself up anymore.” 

Any words he had been trying to say fled from his mind. They were instead replaced with an entire cocktail of emotions. Confusion, shock, but also that warmth. The kind that went deeper than just her human touch, the kind that eased the guilt. The guilt that had festered under the panic and fear of running for nine months. 

Tears began to prick at his eyes, and he shook his head, trying to stave them off, with little success. 

She smiled at him, and it was genuine. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

And then Franky remembered. He smiled back, shoving the tears away with his sleeve, putting on that same brave face that he used whenever his friends asked him about his love life. “Hey, kiddo, don’t worry about me. I’m more worried about you.” 

She squeezed his hand, and then let go. Anya drew herself up, trying her best to look older than her fifteen years, determination shining in her emerald eyes. “If you’re worried, then help me. Franky, I don’t have a lot of time, but I’m going to get you something to eat, and in exchange…” She drew in a breath, then released it, more serious than he’d ever seen her. “I want you to tell me everything you know about the day my papa disappeared.”

Chapter Text

Well, that had been more or less what she’d expected, Anya told herself glumly. The taxi made its way back through Berlint, twilight having given way before the darkness of dusk. The driver’s mind filled with thoughts of the end of his shift and the annoyance directed at her. (What kind of kid takes a taxi this late at night? She should be at home! Maybe she’s up to no good. I’ll keep an eye on her, to be safe. Don’t want to be caught up in any extremist stuff.) 

Anya sighed and looked out the window at the dreary lights and passing cars. She had her lie all ready to tell mom, so there was no worrying about that. It was really easy, lying to Yor. She sighed, her eyes narrowing. It had always been easy for Anya to lie. 

It was nice seeing Uncle Franky again. There we go, something useful to think about. As she’d promised, she’d forced him to go to a restaurant with her, and hopefully that would take some of the leanness out of his figure. His reluctance to be in public had been difficult, but not impossible, to deal with, and they’d managed to have a conversation. He’d been surprised when Anya revealed she knew his secret —that he’d been an informant– but had covered that piece of information with another lie; that she’d found the information in some of her father’s papers. 

The next secret, that Anya knew who her father was, had not been revealed. That had been a tad harder to keep hidden. But she’d managed, for now; she would have to tell him later if things went according to plan. And now she hopefully had an ally; she’d asked Franky to come home, to help her find Loid Forger, her papa. She’d need an informant in the coming days, and he was the best. Anya took a breath, leaning her head on the window. And she’d missed him. 

She smiled, remembering her comments about his scruffy new beard, just adding to his wild afro of hair to make almost a full mane. She’d missed him so much. Especially after papa had… had disappeared. Anya clenched her eyes shut and forced herself to think of the evening’s conversation again. 

Firstly, he hadn’t known anything about papa’s disappearance. That day, when Loid Forger hadn’t come home from work, nothing untoward had happened in any of Franky’s spheres. And then the next day, someone had tripped Franky’s hideout security, only giving him just enough time to bolt from his hideout before the entire basement under the tobacco shop had been filled with tear gas and the sounds of dangerous individuals moving in. And he’d been running ever since. 

Franky had told her about his fears, that he’d been followed, that he’d only put her and Yor in danger by returning to his old spot, but she’d talked him through it. Had he seen anybody in particular following him, recently? When was the last time he’d been attacked or stalked? He’d admitted neither had happened for a good while, and that’s when Anya had revealed her trump card, something she’d been working on for the past three months. 

A new spot for him to set up, relatively close to Eden College. He’d relented, to her joy. It would be nice having him back. 

Now she could proceed with her plans. 

She released her breath in a sigh, slumping against the door. How had father managed this? It was hard being so smart all the time. No wonder his mind had been so hard to read, she felt like her own was tangling itself in knots. And then, unbidden, her thoughts shifted. Back to that day, when she'd waited, waited in vain for the door to open...

“112 Park Avenue, West Berlint?” (Get out of my taxi. I just want to go home.) 

“Oh, yes, thank you!” She snatched up her bag and left the car hurriedly. Having already paid her fare, the taxi driver wasted no time leaving Anya in the rain. She pulled up her hood, hiding her distinctive hair, and started walking in the opposite direction of her apartment. It took her another dozen minutes, going in a convoluted route in which she determined that nobody was following her, before she arrived in front of the apartment building she’d spend most of her life in. 

Anya took a breath and walked through the front door. Moving up the stairs, she could hear the thoughts of their neighbors pushing into hers, but she kept them at bay as best she could. They held nothing useful to her, and besides, she’d learned many things she hadn’t needed to know before. 

At the top of the stairs, she felt the familiar thoughts of two individuals. She let those in. First, was Bond, who’d seen her coming and had forced himself upright to go meet her at the door. He was worried about her. 

And then there was Yor’s thoughts. ( Anya said she’d be away, but not for how long! I wonder if she’s ok, maybe I should call the Blackbells and check? But no, that would be so embarrassing if everything was ok, maybe I should just– oh, I’m just so worried! What if the same thing happened to her, what if I never see her again, that will have been my final, greatest failure as a mother–) 

Anya winced, and pushed the door open. “Anya is home!” 

“Borf!” As she expected, Bond was there to meet her, and she knelt to embrace him, unable to keep from smiling as he immediately got to licking at her face. 

“Yes, I’m home!” Anya was big enough now to keep from being knocked over, but that didn’t stop the old dog from trying. 

Yor had stood from the couch, still clutching the throw pillow in her arms, relief visible on her face. “Oh, Anya, I’m so glad you’re home safe.” Her glossy black hair was a bit ruffled, as it did when she toyed with it in anxiety, but her crimson eyes were free from redness in their whites. She hadn’t been crying at work today.

“Hello, mama!” She didn’t have to force the smile, what with the feeling of relief so present, and she hugged Yor, going on her tiptoes. She attempted to suppress a groan of pain as she was squeezed mercilessly, but she owed it to her mother’s training that she succeeded in holding it back. 

(Oh Anya, my dear beautiful daughter, I’m so, SO happy that you’re safe.) 

“Mom,” she squeaked, and Yor released her, sending Anya stumbling back a few paces, almost tripping over Bond, who hadn’t gotten enough loves. 

“Oh, sorry, Anya, I’m just…” 

Anya laughed, then dropped her bag and pulled her poncho over her head. “Anya’s glad to be home too. Becky’s place is nice, but it can feel pretty stuffy after a while.” She shook her long hair out, which always got tangled when she wore the poncho, but it had been something dad had gotten for her. So she treasured it. 

Yor smiled back, bringing a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I suppose that makes sense. How did your studying go?”

“Really well!” The lie came easily. “I really think I got the next midterms in the sack.” She reached out a hand, and clenched it into a fist, expression turning serious. “Those Stella will be mine!” 

Yor’s smile became real, reaching her eyes. “I’m so glad! If anyone deserves to be an Imperial Scholar, it’s you, my Starlight Anya.” (Oh, six Stella! And so close to her seventh! I’m so proud of her. Loid would have been, too…) Immediately, her face fell. 

Anya shrugged off her uniform coat, maintaining her smile. “How was work, mama? Did you have a good day?”

Yor looked away, taking her jacket from her to hang it up. “Oh, it was fine. Do you want something to eat? I tried the chowder again, if you want to try it.”

Judging by the smell in the apartment, it seemed safe, but Anya didn’t let the prospect of a potentially dangerous dinner distract her. She hadn’t eaten with Franky, for fear of taking too long, but this was one of the most important parts of her day. Listening to mom’s reaction to work questions. 

  Yor’s mind was spinning. (Another bad lead. Maybe I should just ask Shopkeeper if any more news has come through, but he’s been distant lately. When I’m gone next week, I’ll try extra hard to learn as much as I can. Loid’s got to be out there somewhere–) 

“Are you excited for the work trip, momma?” Anya scooped some soup, still warm, sniffing it tentatively. 

“Oh, yes!” (I’m so tired of going alone, but Anya has school and it’s dangerous.) “I wish you could come, but you’re so close to that final star! I’ll bring you back that chocolate you like so much, I know you deserve it.” (That cruise with Loid and Anya… that was so wonderful.) 

“How long is it again?” 

“Just a few days, I’ll be back by Thursday, hopefully.” (Unless I catch a good lead.)

Perfect. Just enough time to investigate the WISE safehouse. “Anya understands if it takes longer than you think, momma.” Yor looked to her in surprise, and Anya smiled at her innocently, taking a bite of chowder. She suppressed the gag reflex, but after a few rollings around the mouth, it got more manageable. She’d had better, and she’d had worse. “I’ll be fine here! I feel so safe, thanks to your help.” 

 Yor’s expression softened. (That’s right, she’s not so small anymore… I must have faith in her.) “How is it?” 

“It’s good! Better than last time, for sure!” A small half-lie, but an important one. Mother was getting better at cooking, slowly but surely, which was great, because Anya sometimes didn’t have time to cook because of homework or her… extracurricular activities. 

“Oh, I’m so glad!” 

She really was. Anya ate up, and they continued in some small talk, Anya trying just to concentrate on what her mother was saying. Yor needed someone to talk to, especially now, and trying to track her thoughts all the time often saddened Anya. She had to put on a brave face, to show momma that she was a strong girl, that Yor was doing a good job caring for Anya as a single mother.  

And it was true; she was. 

But despite trying her very best, something that Yor couldn’t help but do, there were still the rumors. That Loid had cheated on her, had run off with some other woman, or had just abandoned the family entirely. And there was something else that momma couldn’t help but do; think that he might have left because of her. Those thoughts hurt them both. 

For the mission. 

“Mom! I did all my homework at Becky’s, do you want to do some training?” 

Yor blinked in surprise, then lit up. “Oh! You’re not usually so enthusiastic, of course!” 

Anya washed her bowl and went to her room, bringing her bag with her. Bond followed her in, and she gave him some more pets before changing into her exercise equipment, doing some hasty thinking in the meantime. Momma was trying to use her assassin job as a way to find information connected to Loid’s disappearance, but it didn’t seem to be going too well. The Garden kept her on a tight lease, which worried her and Anya. They claimed not to know anything, but Anya didn’t believe that, and she suspected momma didn’t, either. 

“Anya?” (Not too long tonight, I still have work tomorrow.)

“Almost ready! Just a workout, tonight?” She finished getting in her shirt, and hopped around trying to get the small socks on. 

“Yes. When do you want to do martial exercises before I leave on Monday?” 

“Does Sunday work?” Anya left her room to see that Yor had already gotten dressed and was setting the mats out. Exactly how momma was so fast at doing regular things was still a mystery to Anya. 

Yor smiled at her, but Anya could see her fatigue building. “Yes, Sunday should do just fine.” She put on a stern face. “You’ll have to practice by yourself or after school while I’m gone, ok? Your tournament is coming up.” 

“I don’t forget everything , mom, and besides, we put it on the calendar together.” Anya gave a sharp glance at the large schedule board Yor had made herself to keep the both of them organized. Keeping track of events and things had been papa’s job. Anya shook the encroaching thoughts away.  “And yeah, of course I will. Ready?” 

They set to it, stretching before, then working with weights, then yoga to finish it off. In the midst of the physical exercise, Anya tried to exercise her mind as well, attempting to close it off from the thoughts always attempting to swallow her. When she’d been younger, it had been impossible for her to stop the inrush of thoughts immediately around her, but she’d gotten better and better at shaping the sphere of influence her mind could reach out to, until finally she’d managed a kind of small bubble around herself, leaving her alone with her own thoughts. 

It was a strange sensation, and took active concentration to uphold, but somehow Anya felt that being active with her powers like this would benefit her somehow in the long run. But for now, it could feel strangely lonely, just her in her own mind, even though her mother was right beside her. 

Was this how it was for everyone? Anya shivered. 

Then she fell out of her pose, tipping towards Yor, who stopped her fall effortlessly. “Come now, Anya, don’t forget your center. You’re still controlling your breathing?” 

“Trying, momma,” Anya pushed off of her unsteadily, then resumed the pose, trying to center herself. She was still unsure what exactly that meant, but mom really liked the concept. 

“You’ve gotten so much better with your balance, dear.” (With everything, she’s grown so much.) “I remember when you could barely stand on one leg.” 

“Well, they were much stubbier then.” 

“Oh? I guess you’re right.” (What an odd thing to say.)

They finished up, and after Anya had helped mom put everything away, gotten a shower, and brushed her teeth thoroughly, she finally worked up the courage to ask. “Momma?”

“Yes, darling?” 

“Can you sing me a lullaby tonight?”

Concern pinched at Yor’s eyed, even as she smiled. “Why, of course.” ( Everyone told me that the teenage years would be rebellious. I guess I must have gotten incredibly lucky.)

Anya didn’t meet her eyes as she got in bed, watched over soundly by her now-sizable collection of stuffed animals. Momma didn’t need to know Anya’s plans to find papa, she would only get concerned and try to do them herself. But she was already busy, already stressed out. And Yor wasn’t a spy, she was an assassin; these jobs Anya had in mind, nobody needed to die.  Besides, Anya wanted to help, wanted to do something , anything instead of just going to school and waiting to learn what had happened to Loid Forger. She somehow felt like that would just make everything worse. 

So, she would be as good a girl as she could be, here at home, with momma. Yor needed a place to relax, to feel needed in. And Anya did need her, so very much. But if Anya got her way, Yor would never know her secrets. 

Yor sat in the chair beside Anya’s bed, reaching out to stroke Anya’s hair, and began to sing. 

“Little angel, sleeping by the by, 

don’t you worry or ever even cry. 

You have someone watching over you, 

here to keep your sleepy dreams safe too.

And when the sun rises into view, 

we’ll walk together in the light of day anew.” 

Anya wanted to response to Yor’s sweet voice, to relax, sinking deeper into her mattress and covers. But in her mind, she felt the guilt move ever deeper. It was all for papa, and he had lied, too. She wasn’t lying because she wanted to. Anya forced herself to keep loose and relaxed, her face clear of conflict, as Yor’s hand stroked her head. 

Yor finished her song, and her hand came to a satisfied stop. “I love you,” she whispered, bending and kissing Anya’s head. 

“I love you too, momma. Thank you.” The words twisted in her, even though they weren’t lies. Why was this so hard? It was all for papa, getting him back was the most important thing! Any deception was justified because of that!

Yor stood to leave and turn the lamp off, but Anya couldn’t stop her next question. “Did you ever sing for papa?” 

Yor’s eyes went wide, and Anya immediately regretted what she’d said, but had no idea how to fix it. Then Yor looked down, the full smile that had been on her face falling slightly. “Yes. Sometimes it was all I could do to help him relax after a long day.” The smile shifted. (But that first time, when he entrusted you to me…) 

“Momma?”

Yor turned to look at her again. 

“We’ll find him.” 

Yor met her gaze, taken aback. But upon seeing Anya’s determined features, she nodded. “Yes. We will.” 

Anya nodded, then hid under the covers, unable to hide the confusion on her face any longer. “I love you, momma! Good night!” 

“Good night, my angel.” 

Even though she couldn’t see her mother’s expression, Anya could hear the confusion in her mind, centering on Anya’s question about Loid. 

How had dad done this so easily? She wrenched her eyes shut. Papa, I really need your help.

Starlight’s Persons of Interesting Board TOP SECRET DO NOT READ

Name- Anya Forger
Age- 15 14 That’s my real age, I think. Top Secret.
Known Aliases- Subject 007, Starlight! That’s also Top Secret
Clubs, (Ranks), and Interests- EAMAA– Eden Academy Martial Arts Association (Junior Captain) I’m the best in my weight class! Thanks, momma!
Eden Concert Band, (Oboe, 2nd Chair) I like my oboe. His name is Charlie.
Classical Language Club Soooo boring, but I’m good at it.
Current Career Interest- Spychiatry Undecided. Spy.
Awards and Demerits- Six Stella Stars, Six Four Tonitrus Bolts. Two Tonitrus Bolts have, since their issuing, been depreciated. That’s a long story.

Chapter Text

Anya leaned back in her chair, fighting back fatigue. The school day hadn’t even started, and she was already exhausted. The number of thoughts forcing themselves against her mind increased as more and more of her classmates arrived, each one of them familiar to her now. 

(I wonder what I should get for lunch today?)

(I finished that essay just in time! I really have to thank dad again for his help…)

(Wow, Becky looks incredible again today. I really wish I could–) Anya moved on as quickly as she could from that .

(Hah! Caught you looking at me, Niam. I know I’m looking good today, but it’s nice he noticed too. I wonder what he’s thinking? Oh, Anya’s early again!) 

Becky, you don’t want to know. Anya shook her head, eyes wide. 

“Good morning, Anya!” Becky Blackbell slid into the long-benched desk beside her, a broad smile on her face. Her dark hair was in two long pigtails today, and her light makeup accented her features in all the right ways. She’d tried to teach Anya how to use those strange tools as well, to varied success. 

Anya yawned and summoned a smile in return. “Hello, Becky.” 

“Hey, you’re not falling asleep already?” Her thin eyebrows drew together in concern. 

“I didn’t sleep good.” 

New thoughts arrived, loud ones. (Since I have recently came to this conclusion, I must therefore put it into practice in my life. That is the only true way to better oneself.) There was Sy-on boy, Anya noted, overthinking as usual. Damian sounded nervous for some reason. 

“Aw, nightmares again?” Becky reached out and put her hand on Anya’s arm, tilting her head in concern. (Aw, must be missing Loid again, poor girl… Ah! She told me not to pity her, but it’s so hard, I feel for her so much…)

Anya brought her attention back to her friend, and smiled, trying to sit herself up on the desk. “Yeah, but I’ll be ok, I promise. How was–?”

“Forger.” 

She looked up, startled. Damian Desmond, resplendent in his Imperial Scholar cape, the rim bedazzled with almost a dozen Stella Stars, stood next to her in the aisle. His amber eyes were fixed on her with a resolve that made her scoot away from him unconsciously. (One simply must accept the way they feel, and move on. Being honest with oneself is the only way forward.)

Why are his thoughts so loud? And why does he have to be so tall? Anya shook her head in a rapid, short motion. “Yes, Sy-on boy?” 

“Did you finish your part of the Great War project?” (Today, I have decided to see the world honestly, because that is what will be required of me one day. *deep breath* Right here, right now.) 

“You’re so rude,” Becky stated, eyes narrowed. “Anya and I were talking, you shouldn’t just butt in like that.”

(Honesty with oneself is paramount. Only then can someone make changes in the world around them. Focus, Damian.) 

Anya spoke past Becky’s indignation. “Yeah. I did.” That was true, Anya had completed it. “It might not be good enough, though, can you–?” 

“I’ll look over it during History, I just wanted to know what we were going to be working with.” (Finished? A pleasant surprise, to be sure. She looks– FOCUS.) 

“Is that all?” Becky said haughtily. “If you’re up when the bell rings, don’t blame us if you get in trouble.” 

“I appreciate the concern, Blackbell,” he replied, a slight edge to his words. He looked back to Anya, and Damian’s tone changed, more sincere. “Thanks for getting it done.” 

“Yeah?”

Without a movement wasted, cloak flaring behind him, Damian Desmond moved back behind them, where his friends sat. 

Anya’s head spun. She was already tired and then all this? Already?

(Calm down, Damian. Just because you’re admitting it to yourself, it doesn’t mean you have to do anything, ok? But didn’t I have that idea– that’s only if I feel up to it!)

Anya tried to ignore him, getting her math textbooks out. 

“That boy drives me crazy,” Becky was saying, looking to the back row, miffed. “You were going to ask me something, Anya?”

“It’s too late, the teacher’s almost here.” 

“What?”

The side door to the classroom’s lower lecture area opened, and their math teacher stepped out, his presence silencing the remaining conversation in the room. He began to set up, and Becky looked at Anya with wide eyes. “How did you know that?” she whispered. 

“I heard his footsteps,” Anya lied. 

“What?” 

“Quiet, everyone. Let’s get started today with a quick team exercise, who would like to be the transcriber today? Extra credit is available, but only if your handwriting is legible–” 

And then, in the muffled thoughts of students alternatively trying to hide from attention or gauging their chances of getting extra credit, one train of thought rammed straight through them and into Anya’s brain like a hurtling cannonball. 

(I, Damian Desmond, like Anya Forger.) 

She froze, her textbook half-open, eyes widening. What? What did he me–?

(Not honest enough. I, Damian Desmond, harbor romantic feelings for Anya Forger.)

Anya’s textbook thudded against the desk with a dull, echoing thoom . 

(Yes, that’s much closer. She is one of the cutest, brightest individuals I’ve ever encountered, she is a reason I look forward to going to school, and I’ve had a crush on her for far too long of a time. Ok. All right. There’s the truth, finally admitted. Apparently, that’s supposed to make me feel better.) 

“Forger, treat your textbooks with more care, or you’ll be charged for damaging school materials.” 

(I’m not sure it did. She’s such a derp.) 

She gulped, and somehow managed to reply. “Y–yes, Professor Margrave.” 

Becky’s concerned look was back, but Anya had no brainpower to spare. Damian Desmond… liked her? Like, LIKED HER!? Like the hug and kiss and ask to dances kind of like? The kind of like that might become love!? Anya put her head in her hands, internally spiraling out of control. What was she supposed to do with this !? 

“Anya?” 

She took a deep breath, and forced herself to start thinking again, shrinking her sphere of influence, shutting all other thoughts out. Plan B, the Friendship Scheme, had been going generally smoothly for quite a long time, because now the two of them, Damian and Anya, were at least on working, speaking terms. But ever since papa had dissappeared, the entire throughline, the entire foundation of the making of their family, Operation Strix, was put into question. Well, just to Anya, Yor hadn’t known, but still, papa had entrusted her , whether he knew it or not, to help him carry out his mission to get closer to Donovan Desmond. 

There! She caught on to that line of thought as though it would save her from a stormy ocean. What would papa, the master spy, do with this information? In a flash of dark inspiration, Anya understood. Her eyes narrowed, and a broad smile grew on her face. 

“Anya, you’ve got a scary look on your face again.” 

She would take advantage of this opportunity. With this, not only could she get closer to Damian, who could become a valuable source of intel, but closer to his father! And the things she could learn… Papa, as Loid Forger, had learned a little from his interactions with the Desmonds, but hadn’t finished his mission before he’d disappeared. But with an opportunity like this… She might even be able to complete papa’s own mission! 

She clenched a fist on her pencil. Plan B of Operation Strix was back on track. 

“Anya, are you ok?” Becky’s whisper was almost frantic, now. (I swear, sometimes this girl…)

How was she going to do this? Well… she could figure that out later. “Yes. I’m very ok.” 

Heh. 

Starlight’s Person of Interesting Board TOP SECRET DO NOT READ

Name- Becky Blackbell
Age- 15
Known Aliases- Rebecca, Milady, Madam. Ms. Quickstep. Homewrecker.
Clubs (Rank) and Interests- Ballroom and Performance Dancing Troupe, She’s magnificent on many stages.
Eden Concert Band, (Clarinet, 1st Chair.) She hardly tries and gets first chair! HOW?!
Foreign Language Club.
Current Career Interest- Fashion Design, Humanitarian Efforts, Acting, Just like the starlet from Berlint in Love. She’s good at all of them.
Awards and Demerits- Seven Stella Stars, One Tonitrus Bolt. My fault. :(

Chapter Text

Damian Desmond was still contemplating his new self-awareness when the bell rang.

“And for the final question of the period –the bell doesn’t release you; I do– what is the remaining figure of this capstone equation?”

Silence for a moment, the anxious kind. Then Anya stood up. Damian allowed himself a modicum of attention, but for her, not for the question being answered. The way her hair waved around the ornaments in her hair, the way she took a breath so confidently before her answer… Ah, he was distracting himself from uncomfortable truths again.

“X is equal to two-eights!” Her voice rang a bit with how certain her answer was. 

“Ah. That is quite incorrect. Don’t give me that look, Miss Forger. You are all dismissed, it seems we’ll need to tackle this again tomorrow.” 

Damian started packing like the rest of them, but his mind was elsewhere. In the past hour since he had been completely honest with himself, he’d learned a surprising number of other facts. Firstly, he didn’t really enjoy the steak and caviar at the cafeteria that much; he only got it because it was the most expensive thing on the menu, and therefore the most prestigious. He also found Imperial Scholar student meetings a tad dull, there was far too much stiffness and self-aggrandizing going on there for anything useful to really get traction. And, quite possibly the hardest thing for him to come to terms with, the idea that had kept him from paying attention to arithmetic most of the period, Damian realized he might not want to go into politics like his father, after all. 

He stood from his seat, deep in thought, unnoticing as Ewen and Emile began talking excitedly about the next installment of one of their favorite book series. There was still the first, and most groundbreaking revelation, that he still very much had to consider. And then the source of that inspiration was standing from her seat, and her beautiful emerald eyes locked on his for barely a moment before she began packing with speed. 

She was going quickly. He might miss his chance. 

Damian sorted his thoughts hurriedly. Anya Forger, the source of his great introspection, was a common girl. Her good father, wherever he was now, had been a psychological doctor, and her mother was a government worker. She and he would never truly be on the same level, in his father’s eyes, Damian knew. But there was still some hope of raising her position, to aid her on that ladder of achievement. But just becoming an Imperial Scholar wouldn’t be enough.  

Pleasing his father had always been a difficult and perplexing task, and Damian would never approach his father with issues of this kind. But his mother was another story. Distant as she also was, she’d expressed interest in Anya, and if Damian could get her support, then perhaps father would relent as well. 

If he decided to do this, it would all be years in the making, Damian acknowledged. Anya might not be up to the task, she might have other priorities, and she might not even appreciate his advances. He’d have to be content with her decisions. 

 Where had all this surety come from? Wait, was he even sure this was something he wanted!? What was he even talking about, advances ? It isn’t like I’m advancing to her a proposal! And that conjured a very quickly forming and nigh-inescapable vision of Anya Forger in a white dress and just like that, Damian’s carefully controlled fortress of plans and logic collapsed, the cause of it walking down the aisle towards him. 

“Forg– Anya,” he said, somehow out of breath, banishing the image from his mind. 

She stopped and looked at him, and there was a hint of a smirk in the corner of her mouth. “Y-yes, Sy-on boy?” Was that a trace of that insufferable heh she was so fond of? It was no matter; he’d forged through worse. Anya was almost as tall as he was, he’d only recently outpaced her growth, and her hair was down today, waves of curls spreading around her shoulders. 

And then Damian noticed that Blackbell stood just behind her, analyzing him with a haughty gaze. The longer he delayed, the more likely she was to interfere. 

“Boss-man?” Damian felt Ewen and Emile’s eyes on him from behind, and although they were loyal friends, they were just as likely to get in the way as Blackbell was. He gave them a discreet gesture behind his back, and they caught the message, hurrying off to next class. 

“I overheard you expressing interest in the essay contest coming up. I was thinking of entering as well.” He took a breath, and continued. “Also, your history grade could be improved. The tutoring session I’m hosting is scheduled for four o’clock, and you’d be welcome there.”

As he’d feared, Becky’s face split in a grin, and she leaned in and whispered something in Anya’s ear, looking between them conspiratorially. 

Anya looked confused. Then stiffly, as if rehearsed, she asked, “Is it a private session?” Then she turned back to Blackbell and half-whispered. “Why, is that a good thing?” 

Becky rolled her eyes, but Damian didn’t let her interrupt again. “No, it’s not. Ewen, Ada, and Georgie will be there too. I just think you could use the help, if you wanted it.” 

Anya blinked at him. Then she replied, matter-of-factly. “I have after-school martial arts practice today.” 

He blinked back, surprised. Wait, he’d known that. How had he forgotten–? “Oh. I should have– all right.” He felt his face beginning to heat up. This was embarrassing! Perhaps he should have done this self-actualization thing earlier to give him more time to plan! “See you in History, then.” He turned around, his cape making a satisfying twirl amidst the unsteady chaos, but stopped abruptly when Anya cleared her throat. 

“I can’t come today, but I’m free tomorrow. Are you free tomorrow?”

He turned back, hope bursting in his heart like a flare. “Saturday? I have the Unity Party meeting in the evening, and chess in the morning, but around one P.M…” Wait. That would mean that it would be a private session… What in the world was she–

“I can do one.” She smiled at him, and it took all his willpower to maintain his practical expression. 

“All right. Ah, I’ll meet you in the second library courtyard?” 

“Okay.” 

Was she a little breathless too? Why? They looked at each other for a moment, and Damian found that moment quite nice, until he suddenly remembered that they were still at school. “Oh, I need to get to class!”

“What a coincidence, we do too!” Becky stated, her grin even wider and more cunning than before, and she dragged Anya down the hall, already starting to talk to her excitedly. 

“Bye, Sy-on boyyyy!” And then she was around the corner, and Damian felt he could breathe normally again. He stood there a moment, thoughts swirling within him. 

And then he realized he really needed to get to class. Normally, Imperial Scholars were refined and elegant in their passage between classes, he thought to himself as he sprinted down the hallway, scattering smaller students in his wake like anxious leaves avoiding the path of a luxury vehicle. Not today. He couldn’t hold back a grin. Today changes everything. 

Starlight’s Person of Interesting Board TOP SECRET DO NOT READ

Name- Damian Desmond
Age- 16
Known Aliases- None. Sy-on Boy. Mr. Quickstep. Future Boyfriend?!? Target.
Clubs (Rank) and Interests- National Unity Party Student Branch (Vice President). I did the research, just like his father and older brother were. Ballroom and Performing Dance Troupe, He’s surprisingly good at dancing. EFL– Eden Fencing League, He’s surprisingly good at fencing. Chess Club, He’s surprisingly good at chess. Eden Philharmonic Symphony (Cello, 1st Chair.) His cello makes me cry. It reminds me of papa.
Current Career Interest- Politician, Businessman. Writer, I think. He has many interesting stories in his head.
Awards and Demerits- Imperial Scholar, Eleven Stella Stars, One Tonitrus Bolt. My fault. ._. 

Chapter Text

Anya hurried across campus, the morning sunlight peering between the grand shapes of the Eden College dorms. The chill nipped at her exposed knees and elbows, she hadn’t changed out of her gym clothes, and her long bag jostled against her back. She massaged her knuckles, red and sporting a few bandages, and held back a wince; perhaps she’d gone a little too far with the toughening training this morning. 

The workout had been overall a positive, however, giving her a chance to work her brain through some of the recent developments of the week. Such as the fact that she was going on a date today, her first . She tried to shake back her rising anxiety, but the bumblebees in her brain wouldn’t die down that easily. Taking a deep breath, Anya made her way past the front gate of Eden and then took a sharp left.

 It was a bit much to call it a date, Anya had told Becky, but her quite-very-much excited friend had insisted that was the only possible name for this kind of thing. Anya wasn’t quite sure if she agreed, but couldn’t argue with Becky’s vicarious years of experience, all of which she’d gotten from watching shows starring characters who obviously knew their way around love, so who was Anya to debate against all of that?

Anya tried to focus on the facts. Today she was going to meet a boy –Sy-on Boy, to be specific– and they were going to study together. Correction! She’d asked a boy to meet her , to study together. It had been her idea. She let out a hoo of air and shook her head, concentrating again. 

Given that it was around lunchtime when they would meet, Becky had insisted Anya be ready for him to take her somewhere to eat –apparently yet another reason why it was a date– so Anya had packed some day clothes just in case. And that was it, Anya hoped. Today was a scouting mission, she told herself, to try and figure out more about Damian, and maybe why he was so interested in her, but more importantly to try and figure out how to use this to her advantage. 

But it was about this part of the thought process when her thinking hit a snag. Her brows furrowed and she slowed her pace as she entered a block of buildings just adjacent to the College, looking significantly less polished and unkept. Even if she received the intel about Damian and his family’s plans, what was she going to do with it? Walk up to Sylvia Sherwood –who Anya was certain was still active in the area– and tell her what she’d learned? Somehow Anya suspected that wouldn’t be a good idea for many reasons, the least of which being the questioning of her methods. And without WISE, what could Anya even do if there were plans for war in Donovan Desmond’s head? She was just one person.

Another reason to find papa, Anya told herself. 

Anya pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing her breath out in a whoosh . Too much thinking, she’d already made the plan, now she just had to do it. As she approached an old two-story warehouse, its windows boarded, Anya wondered if she should have just tried to enjoy the beautiful morning, because here she was, ready to do even more planning. 

She sighed, and knocked on the door. There was no response. (I’VE BEEN CAUGHT I shouldn’t have agreed to this I’m so dead I’m so dead Franky, FRANKY, calm down, maybe it’s just Anya but I thought I would have had more time–) 

“Franky, it’s me,” she said, and tried the door. It refused to budge. She huffed, and folded her arms. “I told you it was safe. You don’t trust me?”

(Maybe it’s someone pretending to be her; however, it would be really hard faking it with a voice so squeaky as that–) “Did anyone follow you?” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. 

“No!” 

(Do I trust her? Of course you do, Franky, she’s just a kid, and a friend, why would she sell you out after going out of her way to find you–) Various unlatchings and sliding of bolts ensued, and then the door cracked open, and a paranoid eye peered out. Upon seeing her, the door opened a bit more. “Hurry, hurry.” 

She slipped in, her slight frame allowing Franky to close it with record speed behind her. After a flurry of latching bolts and twisting of keys, he finally seemed to gain a modicum of confidence, looking at her. “We should make a code phrase, or a secret knock, or something, you scared me half to death just walking up and knocking like that.” 

Anya perked up at that, slinging her bag on a dusty table and pointing at him. “That is an excellent idea! Maybe a bird call, or like a rhythmic sequence?”

Franky’s hand went to his recently shaved chin, still a bit stubbly “There could be problems with the first one, I can’t do any bird noises.” 

“I’m really good at them!” 

He eyed her skeptically.

“No, really, I’ve practiced a lot! Want to hear my Eastern Red Warbler?” 

He raised his eyebrows, and she took that as permission to demonstrate, the resulting noise rebounding in the enclosed space. She finished with a triumphant smile. “See? Perfect!” 

“Well, it’s definitely recognizable. But no.” ( Yeah, that’s not an option. It sounds more like a turkey dying after being fed Yor’s cooking.)  

Shock! Anya drew herself up, offended. “Well, then, how about you try and do better?” 

He raised a hand and leaned on a nearby counter. “Look, girlie, I admit my deficiencies.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that why you’ve never tried anything different with that bird’s nest on your head?” 

“That’s not a deficiency,” he said defensively. Franky patted his head, as if to make sure his afro hadn’t gone anywhere. “It’s a feature.” 

“Yeah, sure, Mr. Gets-the-Girls.” 

“Don’t you smirk at me like that, you little cretin. Somebody’s gotten a little more savage since–” (the last time I saw you. When was that, oh, just before that day.) His expression sobered, and he took a breath, looking away from her. (I can’t imagine what she’s been through, losing her dad like that.) “Well, I’m sure you still get plenty of practice sparring with that sharp tongue at school, is what I’m trying to say.”

Anya stilled as well, Franky’s thoughts of regret and his trying not to accidentally upset her overwhelming her response for a moment. This was nothing new, during the first month after he’d disappeared Anya had been surrounded by those kinds of thoughts, of people watching their words around her, but their thoughts shoving all their pity and sympathy into her mind. So she did what she’d learned to do, and shook her head and put a smile on her face. “It’s true, Becky and Damian certainly keep me on my toes. So? What do you think of the place?” 

“How did you find it?”

“You don’t already know? I thought this was your city.” Anya cocked her head, genuinely curious and relieved that the tension had passed. 

“Of course, I know!” That was a lie, Anya sensed it immediately. “I just wanted to see if you knew.” He’d been too desperate, and too out of touch with his contacts to get any info on the place, Anya learned, and had just come, trusting her more than he’d wanted to. 

Oh, Franky’s still scared. “All right, then!” She ran over to the center of the space and did a little presentation spin, smiling all the while. “Before the war, Eden College was a bit larger, and used these facilities for storage and extra space, but after the next block over was stomped in a bombing, the college cut its losses and just abandoned the bunch of them.” She swept her arm to illustrate. “And it’s too far away from trade and commerce centers for any other company to really use them. So now it’s your workshop!” And Starlight’s base of operations. 

“Hmph.” (That’s… comprehensive. And surprising, coming from her.) 

“I’m a student, it’s like, my job to do research and stuff.” 

He looked at her askance. (I didn’t ask…?) “Well, it’s too open.” 

Anya had her answer ready. “The lower windows are boarded, and the only place that can look directly into the upper windows is the roof of the Tower of Wisdom on campus and the next warehouse over.” 

Franky nodded in acquiescence. “But, then again, maybe I just took my underground hideout too much for granted.” He took a moment to analyze the space, and Anya joined him. The warehouse rose above them, the majority of the space empty, save for some piles of unmarked crates here and there. The far end of the wall had a set of stairs to an upstairs office area with roof access, and those windows at the top of the building hadn’t been boarded, letting in a soft ambiance of golden dawn light to offset the deeper shadows on the bare concrete floor. 

“I found your hidden path to the basement,” he said, eyeing her. “Very clever.” 

She closed her eyes and nodded, accepting the compliment with the requisite grace like Becky had taught her. “My own design.” That was a lie, the spring-loaded trapdoor hidden under an empty crate had been inspired from an early episode of Spy Wars . 

“Lots of good space down there, but only one entrance, bad for emergencies.” 

“We could make a second one. The concrete isn’t very thick, and the back room has a space that could hide a boltway.” She hopped up onto the counter, swinging her legs freely. 

Franky raised a finger, then lowered it. (I suppose there could be a way, cutting a new entrance would make a lot of noise… wait. When did Anya Forger learn to build trapdoor systems and design hideout routes?) His eyes narrowed slightly. “There’s just enough room and infrastructure to stick a radio system down there. Good thing there’s still power.” He was looking at her again. (She’s always loved those spy shows, but this is on another level. I hate to admit it aloud, but this place is really thought through. I don’t think they study this in that fancy school of hers… Maybe it’s time to revisit that old theory of mine.)

 Uh oh. He was starting to catch on. Anya took a deep breath, clenching her eyes shut. This was the perfect time, just get it out of the way. Tell one of her secrets, so that they could  work together easier. But what if her knowledge of papa’s identity scared him? He was so very cautious, after all, maybe it might just be better not to–

(I… I know I can trust her. I need to ask her directly.) “Where did you learn all of this, Anya?” He faced her, expression set. 

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Maybe she could keep it up? Maybe there wasn’t a need for him to know? Nobody knew she knew who dad was, except Bond, and if she lost that secret… She clenched her hands into fists, and she felt one of the splits in her knuckles open again. 

“I knew who papa was, Franky. He was Twilight, a spy for the West.” She raised her head and met his gaze, trying to keep her heart rate from rising, or from turning away from him. “An incredible one.”

Franky looked shocked for a moment, but then he nodded. “That… actually makes a lot of sense.” He let out a wry chuckle and scratched the back of his head, avoiding her gaze. “ONe of the first things I knew about you was that you loved spy stuff, and you always were a bright kid, despite those test scores. And even though Twilight was the best… well.” (Even he admitted he wasn’t always at his best around his family.) He looked at her. “So, how did you know?” 

She smiled, blinking away the gathering moisture in her eyes. “I’m his daughter.”

“Wait, he told you!?” (There’s NO WAY, he was so adamantly against letting his family know who he was, he told me he’d take his secret to the grave rather than tell them–) 

“I– I knew. Mom didn’t. The details. You don’t need to know them, ok?” She swiped at her face once, her hand coming away wet, and somehow managed to maintain her smile, cracked as it was. 

“Oh, Anya, I’m sorry, I–” (What the hell am I supposed to say, she’s crying, if she knew that he was a spy, she knows fully what might have happened to him.) He walked over and lifted himself up on the counter next to her. “Hey, hey, at least you got me, now, right? I’m the best informant in Berlint, in all of Ostania. If anyone can… find information about what happened, it’s me. Yeah?” (Oh God forbid, what will I tell her if he’s dead?)

What if papa’s dead? Anya blinked, but it wasn’t enough; the tears were flowing now. “Yeah, yeah…” Her voice broke. “I’m glad you’re here, Franky.” Almost without thinking about it, she moved closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder, the rough fabric of his coat reassuring to the touch. 

“Oh, little lady, you don’t want to do that, you don’t know where this coat’s been,” Franky said, hesitation in his tone, but he reached out and put an arm around her, squeezing her gently. 

Anya closed her eyes against the tears, the comfort of the touch reaching into her, reminding her of papa and the way he used to hold her. I need to get to work. I can’t stay here… She forced herself to take a deep breath, moving her head against Franky’s shoulder. Just a little longer… 

Franky’s thoughts were all over the place. (I didn’t have anyone when I was her age. It feels good to be trusted. Aw, damn it, she’s gonna make me cry too if this keeps up. Man, this is a lot of responsibility. She’s so determined, but still just a kid, I can’t forget that.) 

Anya forced herself to lean away, sniffing once, wiping her tears away. “Thanks, Franky. I just…” She took another breath, calming herself. “Needed a second.” 

“No worries, kid. I get it.” 

She slid off the counter, then, ignoring the stinging in her eyes, struck a determined pose, hands on her hips. “All right! Time to plan! Now that we have secrets out of the way, we have a lot to talk about, Mister Informant.” Anya swiped up her bag, then moved over to the trapdoor, flipping a hidden switch and then kicking the crate to open it up, exposing a staircase leading down. “Would you kindly step into my office?”

Franky followed her. “Wait, I thought this was my place.”

She descended, turning on the lights when reaching the bottom. “You’re living in it, but it’s mine!”  Walking over to the wide table in the center of the room, illuminated by the trio of bare bulbs. “Consider it a place of employment and residence, to keep you safe while you’re helping me.” And to keep you close. She looked back at him. “I hope that’s not a problem.” 

(Why is she looking at me like that?) Franky shrugged. “As long as I don’t have to pay rent, I’ll take it.” (Employment? What does she mean by that?) “What’s the plan then, princess?”

  “We’re going to find my dad, and we need to visit three places to learn about what happened to him.” Anya zipped open her gym bag and pulled out a poster, unrolling it carefully on the table. 

“Three places? None of those better be–” He stopped. (There’s no way she’s serious.)

Anya smacked tacks into the corners of the board, pinning it to the wooden table. “That’s right!” The last tack made little resistance, and she spun, pointing at Franky. “We’re going to investigate the biggest sources of information in the country!” She turned and pointed to her poster. “First, we’re going to infiltrate WISE!”

Chapter Text

The poster was decorated with red pencil lines and messy maps, with blurry pictures of agents Anya had run across, several of whom had been a disguised Sylvia Sherwood herself.  “The Westalian Intelligence Service, Eastern Division.” 

Franky’s jaw dropped, and he looked at her. (Is she serious? Try to break into the most secure facilities in the world, guarded by a small army of the most skilled agents of any intelligence organization in the Northern Hemisphere, if not the whole world?) “Anya… that’s… really–” 

Anya just smiled back at him. “Smart, I know!! They’ve got to know something about what happened to papa. It’s impossible that they don’t. They’ve just decided we didn’t need to know for some reason.” It’s not because he’s dead. It’s definitely not because he’s dead. 

(Ok, that’s some pretty solid evidence that Twilight’s dead. Why else would WISE scrap the whole operation?) 

“He’s not dead!” Her fingernails bit into her palms, and the stomp of her foot echoed off the bare concrete walls. 

Franky looked at her, and Anya immediately realized what she’d done. “Well, uh, I have… reason to suppose… that he’s not dead, just missing! And if he is, they’ve got to have records about what happened, and even if they don’t know where he is, at least I can know about that day.”

(She’s insane. That’s it. Why did I even come here?) But Franky was walking forward anyway, looking down at her poster. (Wait, these maps correspond with my old theories… Are those… notes on pickup and dropoff routes?) His eyes widened further. “Woah… This stuff looks, well, actually pretty good.” (She knows all three entrances to the Embassy HQ. How?) He looked at her. “How did you figure this out?”

Anya’s face brightened. “I’m a spy, obviously. I followed, watched, noticed patterns, and found people who did what Papa used to.” Who thought the same way Papa did.  

“You tailed WISE agents?”  

“Not at first. I got some practice before that!” She counted off her practice missions on her fingers. “First, I trailed my teachers when they walked home, then, second, people working in the black market! That’s how I figured out how to find you.” That wasn’t entirely true, but he didn’t need to know that. “And then, I moved up to following undercover SSS agents.” She narrowed her eyes in thought, then grinned. “Yeah, that’s basically it.” 

 “How are you still alive!?” Franky asked, flabbergasted. “Two of those would have killed you or worse if they knew what you were doing!” 

“Please, Franky, have some faith.” Anya sat in one of the two chairs around the table, crossing her legs. “I obviously didn’t get caught, that has to count for something, right?” She gestured to the chair beside her, and he sat reluctantly. 

“How did you even know who they were?” Franky asked, eyes scanning her board. 

Another question that dealt directly with her mind reading. She had a ready explanation, however. “You don’t think you’re the only informant I’ve reached out to, do you?” 

He looked at her, wariness crossing his features. (She deals with other informants? Why did she find me, then, if she already had the connections she needed? What does she want from me?) 

Oh, that was a good question. Anya didn’t need to think long for an answer, however. “Oh, don’t look so put out, you’re the most trustworthy one I know! And besides, I was worried about you. I thought maybe you needed help.” Anya gave him a smile, and that put him off his guard, as she’d intended.

(Oh. Well, I suppose she’s right about that, I did.)  

Anya couldn’t hold back a small internal squeee of excitement and pleasure, and her smile sharpened slightly. She was doing it! She sounded just like papa! “Does that all answer your question about how I got my intelligence?”

Franky nodded half-heartedly. “Somewhat. But I haven’t agreed to help you storm WISE, yet. Let’s hear your plan, first.” 

“Yes! The plan. Ok, so I need to infiltrate the WISE HQ beneath the Westalian Embassy, specifically, their archives. I was only able to get fragments of what it’s like in there, but I know all three secret entrances.” She pointed to locations on her map, under a picture of the large marble building hiding the underground complex. “First, the front entrance, hidden in the photo booth. It’s monitored by an agent who screens all people who use the booth, so that’s not the best idea. The second, as far as I can tell, is an entrance that leads directly into HQ from the embassy, which has multiple layers of security, so that one’s a no-go. But the third–” Anya’s finger jabbed the rear of the building, right over the center of the underground complex. “It’s a garage entrance, used for VIP and prisoner transport. As far as security goes, there’s only two layers here. An intercom, and a keycard slot.” 

“That’s directly above the HQ’s heart.” Franky leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands folded under his chin. “You’re going to run into far more foot traffic that way.” 

“Yes. But!” Anya drew a slightly-crumbled folder from her bag. “I have a cover.”

(Covering what?) 

Anya opened the file and slid it over to him. “When I said I was tailing WISE agents, it wasn’t at random.”

His eyes scanned the sheet, lingering on the picture Anya had taken. (She’s pretty.) Franky read the file aloud. “Nataly Ostrien, aged twenty-four, positioned in data collection, translation, and interpretation. Stationed in the Berlint Royal Library, as a deep cover agent in the… Darkened Archives…” He looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. “Is this real?” 

Anya looked back, affronted. “Miss Ostrien’s completely real! I’ve followed her every week for three months, and even talked with her a few times!”

(That’s not what I was asking about.) He still looked skeptical but continued. “Currently documenting the search histories of notable VIPS and analyzing for seditious, extremist, or otherwise alarming patterns. Codename… Stillspring.” He was quiet a moment. “So, why is she important?”

“She’s my cover, obviously! We’re about the same height and eye color, and it shouldn’t be too hard to find a brown wig. I can do her voice fairly well, too.”

“Oh, a disguise!” Franky nodded, then shook his head in realization. “Wait, you want to impersonate a WISE agent? One that’s almost ten years older than you?” 

“Papa had crazier disguises, it’s possible. And how else am I going to get in? I’m not stupid enough to think I can stealth in there like an assassin during the night, much less the day. I’m good at sneaking, but not that good. No, my plan is to disguise myself like her, approach the back door with a huge load of books –which is why I’m not using the photo booth entrance– and get in the completely legitimate way.”

Franky put his hands up. “All right, let’s pretend that works. Then what?”

Anya looked at him narrowly, but continued, raising her nose at him in annoyance. “ Then , I’ll make my way to the archives, where I’ll do some searching, under the perfectly believable cover of Stillspring checking her research. Then, I’ll find out what happened to dad, and when I’m done, I’ll leave the same way I came in! It’s a perfect plan!” A pause, and she looked at Franky. “What do you think?” 

Franky steepled his fingers and let out a long breath. “Anya, you want me to be your informant and advisor in this, uh, quest, to find your dad, yeah?”

“It’s a mission. And yes?” 

“Listen to me for a second then, will you?”

Anya blinked, confused. 

“I’ve had plenty of employers who thought that they had all the information, complete confidence in their plans and their ability to pull them off, and then didn’t listen to advice.” He shrugged. “And some of them, like your dad, could actually back their talk up. But far more often, those clients went in and got themselves captured or killed.” He met her eyes. “I don’t want that to happen to you, Anya.”

She met his gaze, put off-balance by his sincerity. 

“You might think of WISE as the ‘good guys’ in all of this ‘world peace’ nonsense they peddle, but at the end of the day, they’re an intelligence agency that is willing to kill people to preserve their secrets. So, I’ll ask you again. Do you really trust me as your informant?”

Anya nodded, unable to think of anything to say. She’d never seen Franky like this, his thoughts were exactly aligned with what he was saying.

“Then you have to be willing to listen to me and my information. And to be able to listen to feedback on your plans. Does that make sense?”

She swallowed, not needing to read his mind to know where this was going. “Well… yeah. Yes.” 

He nodded. “Good. Because your plan won’t work.” 

Shock! Anya felt like someone had punched her in the gut, and her mind started going into a tailspin. “But… I’ve been planning it for months! I made weekly contact with my target, I staked out the Embassy when mom was away–” I exhausted myself trying to hear the thoughts of people underground for hours! She stopped talking, her words failing her. She’d tried everything she could think of, everything she could think that papa would do.

He reached out and took her arm. “Hey, hey! It won’t work, as it is right now . It’s not the worst plan I’ve heard, not by a long shot, and honestly, I’m impressed.” Anya heard Franky search his brain for a second, then came back with, “Your study of the entrances was very thorough, I didn’t even know about the photo booth.”

Anya gulped a breath, blinking. “Really?” 

“Really!” 

Uncle Frankly is a liar.

“And your info about this Stillspring lady has almost everything you need, some impersonators don’t even talk to their targets before they replace them. (Well, Twilight was the best in the business, maybe I should cut her some slack.) But there’s a few problems here, and that’s the thing about plans, you have to make sure they’re as airtight as possible. For example, how are you going to get Stillspring’s ID card from her? What if she catches you, and then alerts WISE to your activities?”

Anya nodded. She’d thought of that, and didn’t have a good reply.

“What about the code for the intercom? That’s not only essential but Espionage 101.” 

Read her mind… Anya drooped. It was important, if she was anyone else she would have needed to think about that. 

“What if you’re called in for a debrief when you arrive? Do you think that your skill at lying and acting will be enough when you’re in front of the Handler?”

“I… I was thinking about making or causing some kind of distraction, so that attention is away from me.” She looked away. “But I don’t know what it actually would be.”  

“See? And then again, what if the archives have another, separate layer of security? It might be their secret underground base, cut away from the rest of the world, but that doesn’t mean you’re home free once you get inside.” 

Anya nodded and avoided his gaze, shoulders lowering. Franky was right. Of course he was right, he’d done this longer than she’d been alive. It was one of the reasons she’d looked for him; she couldn’t do this by herself. It still hurt a bit to be reminded of that. 

(Annnnnd she’s down again. Maybe I went too far… Man, this is hard.) 

No good would come from feeling sorry for herself. Taking a deep breath, she looked up again. “So, don’t scrap the plan, is what you’re saying?”

“No! It has a good start, and it would be a waste not to use the resources you’ve already gathered. We need a distraction, some more preparation or intel for the inside of HQ, and then a more solid escape route.” He smiled at her. “Give me two weeks. I’ll do my thing, and then we’ll see where we’re at. That sound good?” 

But she’d been planning on doing this over the weekend… She shook herself, lips tightening. She hadn’t known for nine months. Two more weeks were nothing compared to that. “Ok. Thanks for the feedback.” 

“Not sure how far I’ll get though, I don’t have a lot of cash on me,” Franky muttered, pulling over a sheet of paper and looking it over. (Blew the last of it on chains and door locks.)  

Anya remembered something. “Oh, yeah, I think I can help with that.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a textbook-thick wad of dalcs. “Here. Start-up costs and such. A cool gadget or two would be pretty nice, too.”

Franky gaped at her. 

She shook the stack at him, and it flopped a bit. “C’mon. Take it.” 

(THAT’S AT LEAST FIVE THOUSAND DALCS.) “Where… where did a kid like you get all that!?” 

“My allowance.”

“Bullsh– Uh, I don’t believe you.” (*shock* Am I working with a fifteen-year-old criminal? Is that what this is? Or does Yor actually spoil her that rotten? There’s no way, they must have lost Twilight’s income when he disappeared.)

She set it on the table. “A pair of mini-radios would be ideal to start with, and then maybe we can think about picking out a few silenced pistols. A Fennec P54 with a Eugin-8 attachment seems like a good place to start. Oh, buy food for yourself first, of course.” Man, with these expressions Franky was giving her, the glove was definitely on the other hand at this point. Besides, she’d told enough truth today. Franky didn’t need to know about her hobby of “retrieving” from black market drop points before the intended recipients arrived.

She stood up, collecting her bag. “Well, I have a da– study meeting soon, so I gotta go! Thanks for the help, Franky.”

He nodded dumbly, the pile of dalcs now in his hand. (Maybe I should just stop asking questions. This is Anya Forger we’re dealing with, after all.) 

“Oh! One last thing.” 

“Yeah?” (Focus, Franky. You can ogle the cash later.) 

“You should make a codename! It’s standard practice for spies in this establishment.” 

 “We’re an establishment now?” (Sometimes I forget that Franky Franklin’s not my real name. It feels more real now, though. Has it been ever since I met the Forgers? Anyway, I’ll humor her.) “Any kind of theme you were thinking?”

“Space!” 

“Oh, yeah? I’ll think about one. What’s yours, then?” 

Anya grinned. “Starlight.” 

Then she spun and ran up the stairs, two at a time, leaving the trapdoor open behind her; she wasn’t sure how to open it from the inside yet. Maybe she should have mentioned that. Her brain moved ahead to her date, and an idea came to her, one that could help her mission. Filled with a new energy, she had to skid to a stop at the door, exasperation filling her at the sight of the multiplicity of locks. “FRANKY.”

“What!?” 

“Open the front door, please! ” 

Chapter Text

Damian wasn’t late. He’d determined that he wouldn’t be the instant he’d left school the day before, and all necessary obstacles had been resolved or removed without much ado. He had everything he needed, including an excuse of where he’d be for the afternoon; the other board members of the Student National Unity Party had hoped to do some planning before the meeting tonight. As far as they knew, Damian was doing some extracurricular research with a struggling student, and as far as he knew, that was basically the truth, even if Anya’s grades were better now than they had ever been. 

So, if it was the truth, why did he feel so nervous ? 

He took a deep breath, re-centering himself. The sun was shining overhead, bathing Eden College in the warmth of early autumn, and a breeze blew through the courtyard of the second library, stirring the few leaves which had already fallen. Damian felt himself relaxing, leaning forward on his bench. Rubbing his temples, he reminded himself not to be too tense.  He already had the topics they’d study in mind, knew the section in the library they’d go to –not too private, that might give her the wrong impression, but not so open that anybody could see them and start spreading rumors– and what he’d say when they were done. So there really was no need to worry. At least, that was what logic was telling him. 

So why, again,  was he nervous? 

There was the obvious reason, of course. He’d be alone with Anya Forger for an extended period of time. He shook himself, guiding his thoughts back to the proper track. 

Even though it had been her idea to meet –it had been HER IDEA, what did that mean!? – Damian couldn’t help but feel like he was in charge, that the responsibility was on him for this to be a good experience. Maybe that was the natural leader coming out, or just his anxiety about being near her alone for so long, he wasn’t sure. But there was something, a likely reason for his anxiety, that came to him during this inspection of his own emotions. 

He, and everyone at Eden College, for that matter, knew that plans and logic, those immovable pillars of order, were prone to failure by Anya Forger’s very presence, not unlike the legendary heroes of classical history, brought down by their pride and the most unlikely of circumstances. 

He huffed a sardonic chuckle. Was he comparing himself to those legends? That would be an interesting analogy to consider... The stoic hero of the house of the griffin, laid low by a servant of chaos… Damian smirked to himself, the narrative cogs in his mind beginning to turn. He steepled his fingers and leaned forward, eyes narrowing in thought. No, no, servant was too low a term for Anya Forger, if anything she was the embodiment, or better, the shifting face of unpredictability itself. Indeed, would that not make for a better tale if the reluctant hero, setting out on a journey of portentous uncertainty, was vexed, humbled, and ultimately saved by the goddess of chaos herself? He smirked to himself. That would make a good story, wouldn’t it?

“Sy-on boy!” 

Damian almost fell off the bench. 

The goddess of chaos herself was skipping across the courtyard, her hair, tied back in two braids, bouncing on her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing the school uniform, to his surprise, but a modest red dress over a button-up white shirt with puffy long sleeves. Her skipping slowed to a walk as she approached, a wide smile on her face. “Sorry I’m late!” 

He straightened. “Oh, you’re not–” Damian paused, looking at his watch. “Well, it’s not a problem.” Standing, he hefted his bag, eying her. “Why aren’t you in uniform?” Not that he was complaining, she looked so light and happy he felt like her presence was lifting him ever so slightly. 

She stopped, a light blush of minor exertion on her cheeks. “I had an idea! The school library is nice, but it’s where you probably always study, right?” 

“Right.” Where was this going? He felt his plans teetering. 

“Well, we have all afternoon, don’t we? Why don’t we head over to the old city library?”

“The Berlint Royal Collection?” He raised an eyebrow at her, but despite being taken off-guard, he considered the possibility. It wasn’t far from the college, there was a direct tram route that led between the two centers of learning. 

“Yeah! It’s a really awesome place for learning and stuff, and definitely beats being back at school on the weekend.” A pause, and her eyes widened slightly. “No offense to you dorm kids, though.” 

He huffed. “None taken. I’d rather be here than home, that’s for sure. As far as leaving campus, however…” Unfortunately, another “perk” of being the son of the former prime minister was that any trip was more than a question of convenience or distance. Damian wasn’t not allowed to leave campus, but he’d always been encouraged to stay within the heightened security of Eden. 

“Oh, if that doesn’t work, we can totally still just study here.” She smiled, but looked away from him slightly. “It’s not a problem.” 

He regarded her again, how she’d gotten all dressed up for the occasion, how he could see the remnants of moisture in her hair –she must have just showered, a fact that he tried not to consider for long– and how her demeanor had shifted ever so delicately. She was disappointed at the prospect of not going, that much was obvious. 

She met his gaze again and blinked those green eyes at him. Damian, in the moment before his decision, took a moment to admire his plans collapsing in magnificent fashion, a regal structure of strategic insight tumbling to ruins around him in the classically tragic form, and answered. “I see no problem with it. We should just stick to the tram stations and the library, however.” 

She grimaced slightly, chagrined. “Well, actually, I may have forgotten the books I needed to return back at home…” At his expression, she raised a hand to forestall objection. “It’s not that out of the way! I live right next to a station, it won’t be more than twenty minutes, promise!” 

Damian stood, covered in the metaphorical dust, and sighed, giving her a small smile. “I suppose I can survive an extra twenty minutes of your company.” I’ve never actually gotten a chance to visit her home, this shall be interesting. One thing’s certain, however; father and mother absolutely can’t find out about this. 

A smile bloomed on her face, and she bounced on her toes once. “Thanks, Sy-on boy! Besides, I know you’ll be fine.” 

She looked up at him for a moment, and Damian became suddenly aware of how much distance there was between them. It wasn’t as much as he was used to. He cleared his throat. “Shall we depart?”

“Yeah, let’s go!” She led the way, skipping a bit before walking backwards, looking at him. “C’mon! We don’t have all day!” 

Damian felt his grin grow, and he picked up his pace to follow her, bag slung over his shoulder. After all these years of knowing Anya Forger, there was one thing he’d learned. Sometimes, it was better to let yourself be caught up in the chaos. 

………

Yor wasn’t expecting Anya to get home so quickly, but she recognized the pair of footsteps before the “Momma, I’m home, but not for very long!” rang through the apartment. 

“Hello, dear!” she called back, finishing the fold on one of Anya’s shirts. But she’d heard the sounds of another person, one that she didn’t know by sound; they had similar weight and footstep-length to Anya, a classmate perhaps? But wasn’t she supposed to be studying with–? She leaned around the corner of the hall and blinked in surprise. Standing behind Anya in the entryway, looking out of place on the entry mat in his school uniform, was Damian Desmond. He spotted her and raised his hand in greeting. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Forger.” 

She smiled at him, stepping into the living room. “Damian! What a pleasant surprise! What–”  

“We won’t be long, momma, I just needed to grab my books from the library!” Anya rushed past her, so focused that she didn’t even take her shoes off. 

“Oh, all right,” she said to Anya’s retreating back. “Be a bit quieter, though, Bond’s trying to sleep.”

“Oh yeah.” Anya stealthily darted into her room and closed the door with a soft click . Yor looked back to where the old dog was resting, and to her relief, Bond hadn’t stirred. He was having a harder time getting his energy back recently. 

Yor could have sworn that Anya had taken her books with her this morning, but perhaps she’d been mistaken. “Such a hurry today…” Then she looked back at her impromptu guest and her smile returned. He’d grown so much in the past few years; he was looking like a proper young man, especially with the Scholar’s cape. “It’s been a while, Damian, how are you?” She gestured to the living room. “I know Anya wants to be quick, but please sit down if you’d like.”

“Thank you, but I, uh, fear that I shall be dragged away forthwith.” He returned the smile, but seemed distracted, looking around. Yor had a moment of panic at the state of the place, then calmed herself, she’d just cleaned the apartment herself hours ago. He replied further, “I’m fine, school’s going well.”  

“I’m glad to hear it!” There was a moment of relative silence, save for assorted sounds of frantic movement coming from Anya’s room down the hall. “How is your cello playing coming along? You were quite good, last I was able to hear.”

“Oh, quite well, actually.” He looked at her then, amber eyes leaving the Forger family portrait on the wall. “I’m in a concert this weekend, performing for the National Assembly.” 

“Oh, what an honor, your family must be so proud!” 

He gave an odd little smile at that, averting his gaze. “Yeah. They are.” Then he looked up again. “Forgive me if this is too much of a sensitive topic, but I remember Anya mentioning that Mr. Forger played the cello as well?” 

Unease spread through Yor at the mention of Loid, but she tried to keep her smile up. She’d be all right; she could talk about this. “Yes, actually, he’d started only a few years ago. It was to help Anya learn to read music, I think.” 

“Only a few years…” he nodded. “Do you recall the brand, by any chance?” 

Yor blinked, taken by surprise. “Uh, no. I’m sorry, I was never very good at knowing those kinds of things… Why do you ask?” 

He shrugged. “Well, years back, I remember being impressed by the quality of Anya’s oboe, and she’d said that her father had picked it for her.” Damian smiled, but there was a gingerness to it. “I was just curious, I suppose.” 

Yor, still off-guard by the topic, took a second longer to respond. “If you want to see it for yourself, it’s just in his room.” Her voice caught slightly. “I could bring it out…” 

Damian raised a hand and chuckled ruefully. “Oh, don’t worry about it.” His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I don’t think we really have time anyway… Thanks for offering, though.”

Yor tilted her head. “It’s a shame you’re leaving so quickly, have you had lunch? It’s not smart to study on an empty stomach. I’m sure I could come up with something…”  

His eyes widened slightly, and Yor had a moment of trepidation; maybe Anya had told him about how bad her cooking was? 

Then an audible growl emerged from Damian’s stomach, and he winced. “Maybe I am a bit hungry.” He raised a hand. “I don’t want to intrude, however…” 

Oh, his reaction hadn’t been what she’d thought! Yor smiled, her anxiety leaving her. “Well, I have just the thing for that. There are some leftovers from the other day, a casserole that Anya made.”

Damian smiled, incredulousness showing on his face. “Wait, Anya cooks?” 

Yor laughed, her cheer returning. “Why, yes, she does! She’s gotten very good, too.” She moved to the kitchen. “Should I get it out?” 

His expression, which had been fairly reserved before, was open and curious, and he stepped forward, as if to follow her. “Well, Anya’s not back yet, maybe I could–” 

“Okay I have returned and am ready to go c’mon let’s go–” Anya skidded back into the living room, a heavy backpack on her back, drawing both their gazes. Yor’s smile deepened, looking at her. She let her hair out of the braids, oh, my daughter’s so beautiful, I love her so much… Then Yor caught Damian looking at Anya, and he seemed at a loss for words.

Anya’s eyes flicked between Yor and Damian. “What’s going on here, we were–”

Yor interrupted her gently. “Oh, Anya, I was just thinking that maybe I could get you both some food before you left, unless you already had plans when in town?”

Anya’s mouth opened and closed, then she slowed down. “Well, I guess I hadn’t really thought about it…” She looked at Damian. “Are you hungry, Sy-on Boy?”

“Uh, well. Yes.”  

Yor smiled and opened the fridge. “Anya, when you spend time with friends, you have to keep their well-being in mind.” She drew out the container and straightened, looking her daughter in the eye. “Besides, it’s nice to have Damian here with us, isn’t it?” 

Anya blinked. “Uh, yes, yes, it is.” She deflated slightly, looking back at Damian, who was watching the exchange with evident interest. “Is that ok?” 

“Oh, it’s not a problem,” he said quickly, then smiled at Anya, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m excited to try your creation, anyway.” 

She gave him a narrow look back, and Yor turned away to close the fridge, smiling all the while. It was always a joy to have Anya’s friends over. “Damian, you can hang your cape up there if you like.”

And then the impromptu lunch was in progress, and Yor contented herself to mostly watch the teens interact as they ate. She observed how Damian continued to lower his guard the longer he was here, until he was freely smiling and poking fun at Anya, asking questions without care. Yor saw how he looked at her daughter, especially when she wasn’t looking back, and Yor began to realize something. 

Despite all the antagonism between them as they’d grown up, the relationship between these two had become something entirely different. That same thing had once existed between herself and Loid, Yor realized with a small stab of pain. Damian trusted Anya, to a degree that Yor found surprising. It wasn’t that Anya wasn’t worthy of trust, but mostly that Yor hadn’t really seen this kind of trust between children of this age. Well, perhaps she had, like the wonderful friendship that Anya had with Becky, but this felt different. She puzzled over it as they finished eating. What exactly did it mean?

And then they were standing, both clearing their own places, and she was smiling and taking their dishes from them. “Don’t worry about the dishes! Was it good?”

“Of course it was, I made it!” Anya stated, looking at Damian as she said it.

“It was surprisingly good,” he said, smirking at her, but then he looked to Yor. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Forger,” Damian said, and his smile said so much more. 

Suddenly Yor had to resist the urge to pull the young man into an embrace. “You’re very welcome, Damian, it was so nice to have you.” She knew it wouldn’t be proper, but something in her was urging her forward. Stop it, Yor, he already has a mother. That brought something to her mind. “Oh! Damian, when you see Melinda, tell her I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to make it to her meetings recently, I’ve been busier than I expected.” It had been almost nine months, she realized, but then again, she’d been quite busy. “I do miss her and the other ladies, I promise I do.” 

A change came over his expression, and Yor couldn’t quite puzzle what it meant. 

“Yeah, I’ll tell her.” 

Yor then caught a strange expression on Anya’s face as she looked at Damian, but then her daughter met her gaze and her face was normal again. “All right, let’s go! We need some time for studying!”

“All right, all right, I’m coming!” He gave Yor a wave, and then they were off down the hall, walking side-by-side, Anya already talking again. 

“Be safe!” Yor called after them.

“Thanks, mom, we will!” Yor watched them until they turned the corner. She smiled to herself, closing the door after a moment. They really do fit together so well… Then the exact nature of that mysterious something from earlier hit her like a well-trained punch to the jaw. Yor rubbed her chin and blinked, and walked back to the living room, sinking down into the couch as realizations began crashing together in her brain. Damian and Anya had the same kind of trust that she and Loid had once had… Trust?

Yor took a pillow in hand and clutched it to her chest. This would give her a lot to think about.

Chapter Text

The trip to the library itself was uneventful, it was actually not that far away, and that was a small relief to Damian now that they were out in public again. He had to puzzle over that for a moment, was it really a relief? He’d felt so much more at peace at Anya’s small apartment, the feeling of being watched had finally left him. So what was it that he was feeling now? He figured it out quickly; it was a returning to the normal, to the way he was used to feeling. And that, in turn, made him think ever deeper about why he’d felt so content. 

He and Anya talked during parts of the journey, about things at school, about events coming up. She mentioned her martial arts tournament, and the training she was doing, and he brought up his concert at the National Assembly. She had seemed genuinely disappointed that she couldn’t go, but then invited him to come to Becky’s choir concert, which he made literal note of. Could that be another date she was subtely inviting him on? He discounted that thought. Anya Forger, subtle? But then there were other times when they just sat on the train, silent, while Damian wondered if there had been a silence so fraught since the inception of the human race. 

Of course, there was the possibility that the tension was only felt on his end, though at times he noticed Anya looking around the traincar and its passengers as if looking for a specific person. He tried asking her what was wrong, but she just brushed it off, saying it was nothing. The buildings rose, tall and old around them as they entered Berlint City proper, and the hill that Eden was built on rising even above those off to the west. It wasn’t long before they’d arrived at the station nearest the Royal Collection, and they disembarked. 

There was an old, cobbled square in front of the library, which had once been a lord’s manor, and as they approached, Damian noticed activity. It looked as though people were setting up for something later in the evening, an event with some kind of harvest festival theme. A bit early in the season for that, Damian noted, but then saw a banner being erected between two of the tallest lampposts. Traditional Ostanian Association of Dance, Community Practice Night Tonight! 

“I didn’t know that TOAD had community practice,” Damian commented. 

Hs comment seemed to take Anya by surprise, startling her out of her silence. “Toad-what?” 

“TOAD, it’s an acronym.”

“Oh.” She looked around, finally seeming to notice what was going on as they walked through the expansive square. “Mom and dad used to go to these. I remember being really bored,” she continued, then laughed. She looked at him. “Traditional dancing. Is that different than normal dancing?”

She’s best friends with one of the most skilled dancers in the school, you’d think she’d know a bit more about it. Damian sighed. “Yes, mostly. There are a number of traditional Ostanian dances that have evolved into more widespread modern styles.”

“Ah. Is that the kind of dancing you do with Becky?”

“Yes, it was one of the first types we learned in the program.” A line of thinking made its way into his brain, and he considered it for a moment as they traversed the expanse of cobblestones. Calm down, it’s just a question. “Anya, do you like dancing?”

“Oh, Dad tried to teach me, but I wasn’t very good.” Anya looked around at the people setting up as they passed them. “That was a while ago, though…” 

“I wasn’t asking if you were good at it.” 

Anya looked at him, eyes wide, and he met her gaze. 

“Do you like dancing?” he repeated. 

She slowed to a stop, blinking once. “Uh, I guess… I’m not sure.”

Ah, maybe I was too forward there… “All right. I was just wondering.” He gave her a smile, turning to face her while walking backward. “Come on, who’s slowing us down now?”  

She smiled and rejoined him,  and then they were walking up the steps to the ancient building. Damian looked up at the oaken archway as they passed between the heavy doors. Inside, the world was significantly darkened, most of the illumination coming from the tall, narrow windows restrained by elegant black curtains, the expansive interior mostly lit by yellowing electric lights. The lobby of the manor had been mostly kept intact, a central staircase leading to the second floor dominating the space, but the ceiling had been opened up to give a clear view of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the second floor. 

“Hello, Ms. Inez, Mr. Hawkins!” Anya waved to the librarians at the checkout desk. The woman smiled and waved back, and the older man visibly sighed. He was aging, sporting a trimmed white beard and a monocle.

“Ms. Forger, welcome back, but please keep your voice down.”

Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Oh, sorry.” 

“Who’s this?” The woman, Inez, inquired, looking between them. She was young, with bright red hair and thin glasses. 

Before Anya could speak, Damian stepped forward. “A friend, here to help her get her grades up.” When he was a child, he’d used his position as Donovan’s son to receive special treatment, but he wasn’t here for himself, but for Anya. He’d matured considerably since that time, and it wouldn’t hurt if keeping his name to himself kept his privacy intact.

“Ah! As expected from an Imperial Scholar.” Inez chuckled. “Well, I hope you find everything you’re looking for.” 

“Thank you!” Anya’s volume had risen again, but she seemed to realize it immediately. “Is Ms. Ostrien working today?”

“Yes, should I let her know you want her assistance?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine for now, thanks for offering.” Then she turned to Damian, smiling. “Follow me!” 

They made their way into the library proper, and Damian was quickly lost among the walls of shelves and narrow doors to other rooms, still even more filled with books. Unlike the Eden libraries, which had been designed for accessibility and, well, to be used by children, this place was the opposite, built to store the accumulated knowledge of the past four centuries at any cost, human comfort and comprehension be damned. 

The skill with which Anya navigated the labyrinth astounded him, and after another steep staircase and more twists and turns, they reached a rounded nook in the corner of the building, with a single narrow window curtained above a booth-style table. 

“Oh, good, nobody else got there first!” Anya ran the last few feet, flinging her bag on the table and sliding right into the booth, opening the curtain on the window, allowing a ray of warmth to pierce the dimness, blinding Damian. “This is my favorite spot!” 

Damian shrugged off his shoulder bag and sat beside her. “I can see why.” It was an oasis of clarity in the maze of ideas, and Damian felt his anxiety at the tight space relent. And then he felt a slight brush on his knee –hers– and then she looked at him, smile on her face, and a different kind of anxiety resurfaced. 

“Well! Where should we start, Sy-on boy?” Anya made no move to cease the under-table contact, or even that she noticed. 

“Ah, yes, well,” He scooted just a little farther from her, entirely for the practical reason of giving him room to lay out his textbooks. “Let’s first touch up our Great War project. You had an excellent collection of facts, very useful for the greater work, but don’t forget we all need to have our own analysis sections–” 

And it continued in this way for a while, the two of them first doing some work on the project, and then on some of their individual coursework. Anya asked him for some help on her arithmetic, and he actually found her helping him on his Latim; it was still a mystery to him how exactly she was so good at classical languages, it was almost like she was a native speaker. 

“And inferni is the root here, so if you just remember that it means fire, whenever you see it in the classical language family, you’ll know it has something to do with fire.” 

Damian nodded, following along. 

“But! When you see it in this context, especially in these old mythological texts, it usually refers to the Romanai vision of hell.” 

“I thought that hell was a conjugation of ‘hidden’ and ‘moon’?” 

“Yes, to the people of the time, but these were legends to them, going even farther back than the times of moon worship.” 

He pointed at the worksheet. “So this phrase evolved into that later term?”

She nodded intently, then smiled at him. “Yes, you’re getting it.” 

Damian took a moment to admire her as she looked back to her own sheet, smile disappearing and eyes narrowing as she wrote something. He didn’t see her often like this, so dedicated and serious. “You really like this stuff, don’t you?”

She chuckled ruefully. “Well, it isn’t on the big exams, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Well, it does, because you enjoy it.” He leaned down and caught her eye. “That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Anya shrugged, smile fading. “It’s the only school thing I’m really good at.” 

He didn’t object to that, mostly because he knew trying to convince her wouldn’t go anywhere. “Well, you’re better than me at it, which is probably for my own good. I can’t be the best at everything .” 

That got a smile on her face, and his heart throbbed at the sight of it. “I suppose you’re right.” She reached out and poked him in the ribs, mischief in her eyes. “And you’re definitely not the best at everything , Becky’s a better dancer than you, too.” 

He let out an AH at the jab, which turned into a laugh. “And that makes two pins primed in case my ego gets too big– hey, quit that! We’re in a library!” 

She laughed with him, then smirked, pointing her fingers menacingly. “Ha! You have no defense against my silenced finger pistols!” She jabbed once to demonstrate, and Damian couldn’t even follow the movement as another finger hit him in the ribs, and he cried out again, only just able to maintain the pitch so that it wasn’t a yelp. How was she so fast!? Anya brought her forefinger to her lips and blew at the tip of it like it was an actual pistol. “See? Silent like the grave.”  

He scooted closer to the opposite side of the booth, welcoming the burst of playful energy despite his protests; they’d been studying uninterrupted for a while, and besides, nobody was around, right? “You might be able to silence those fearsome guns, but you can’t silence your victim, assassin!” 

She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “Willing to bet on that, are we?” Then she lunged forward, and he did the same, allowing her to get a hit in so that he could grab her hand. 

“Hey!” 

Then Damian jabbed back at her, his fencing instincts reflexively angling himself sideways to dodge her simultaneous strike. Anya batted it away with her other hand, again moving so remarkably fast, but there! An opening! He let go of her hand and lunged again with his finger outstretched. She squeaked as his finger found her belly, and he cried out in victory. “Ha!” 

Anya put a mock hurt look on her face. “Hey, no fair!”

He laughed. “If it were fencing, you’d have still won by point value.” He leaned forward, a grin on his face. “It seems there’s yet another thing you best me at.” She looked up into his eyes, her own wide and green as summer grass, her mouth slightly open.

Then Damian realized in a rush the situation he was in. He’d not only held her hand for a brief moment and touched her stomach, but now he was leaning over her as if he intended to kis– STOP . Frantically, he backed away, analyzing her face and defensive posture for signs of actual offense. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He faltered as she looked back at him. Damian , you can’t be so forward with physical contact, yes, she started it, but you always have to be aware of her comfort level, you never want to overstep anything– 

Anya blinked, then grabbed his hand. 

He looked at her, agape, heat already rising to his cheeks. She wasn’t just holding his hand, their fingers were interlocked, and he could feel her warmth sinking into him. A pause, which felt far longer than it should, before Damian asked, “Uh, Anya?” 

Then, with her other hand, she poked him again. “Ha!” 

“Hey!” It was about to devolve into another poke fight, but then a voice stopped them both in their tracks. 

“I must ask you both to quiet down, you might wake up the books.” A serious young woman, professionally dressed, had appeared from somewhere in the shelves, intelligent green eyes watching them through round glasses. “And believe me; you don’t want that.” 

“Wake up the–?” Damian then realized that he was still holding Anya’s hand, and untangled his fingers hurriedly, embarrassment flooding through him. He’d been seen, not only poking at a fellow student like a child, but fraternizing ! 

“Oh, hello, Ms. Ostrien!” Anya said happily, not appearing disappointed or the least bit discomfited.

Her neutral expression, making the librarian look like some mysterious acolyte of the endless shelves, melted into a small smile. “Ms. Forger, it’s always a rather loud pleasure.” 

“Oh, sorry.”

“But today, you are joined in your commotion.” Her gaze moved to Damian, shifting her hold on a large tome that made the already small woman look even smaller by comparison. “Who’s this? A… friend of yours?”

“He’s not my—“ Anya began in a rush, then stumbled. “Wait, yes, he’s my friend, helping me study today.” 

Ms. Ostrien’s unreadable gaze, following Anya’s stumbling words, returned to him. Damian was used to people analyzing him, but usually only after they knew who he was… Did she recognize him?

“How kind of you, and I’m once again reminded why the Imperial Scholars are our country’s hope for the future.” Damian felt something in her tone, but couldn’t quite place what it meant. She looked back to Anya. “Did you need any assistance today, Ms. Forger?” 

“Yes actually, I was reading in the Annuad the other day and I had a few questions.” Anya looked at Damian. “If you don’t mind, I need to talk to her for a bit. About some, uh… independent reading.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied, still a little off-guard. Even though Ms. Ostrien wasn’t watching him anymore, he still felt like she was. She hadn’t even asked his name, and if that wasn’t proof that she already knew who he was, he didn’t know what was.

Anya stood and walked over and began asking the librarian questions, seemingly about mythology or ancient history, but Damian’s attention returned to his own work. Or at least, that’s what he wanted it to look like. Internally, he was going over his and Anya’s last interaction in exquisitely excruciating detail. 

She took my hand. Perhaps it was just to get my guard down, because it definitely did that, but I had thought the battle was over! Maybe it was her way of getting back at me, but the look in her eyes when she held my hand… He moved his fingers gingerly, and he knew scientifically that all excess warmth had dissipated long ago, but he still felt something there.

A thought wormed its way into his brain. You could have kissed her back there. He shook his head vehemently against it. No, you could not have! It’s far too early to even be considering things like that, this isn’t even a date, for heaven’s sake. AND you might have been seen by that librarian, and something tells me that would have been very bad. But the thought remained, and Damian redirected it towards the future. We’re only just second-years in the secondary level, so I have almost three school years to build a relationship with her. For now, take things slowly, she needs to trust you, to see you as a close friend; there’s no use building a romance on anything else. 

Then the question from the other day returned to him. Was he really planning this far ahead? Did he really want to take his life in her direction, just based on the way he felt right now? What things, relationships, opportunities, might he gain if he looked beyond her? Damian leaned back in the booth, resting his head on the high-backed wooden seat. All of this really stemmed from one question, he knew. Was he too fearful to fully face it? Too scared that maybe his desire wasn’t really substantive, and expose that he really was just making a decision based on a series of emotions? 

Damian clenched his fists. He’d resolved to be truer to himself, and this was one such time. So, alone in a sunlit booth of the Royal Collection, the sound of a bright girl’s laughter carrying through the shelves, Damian faced the core of it all; why did he want so badly to form a  connection with Anya Forger? And was the nature of the desired connection, truly, to fall in love with her?

“Back!” Anya slid back into the booth, displacing him with a full-body shove. 

Damian retreated before her advance with a sigh, putting those thoughts off for later. She was here, now, and he should be too. 

“Hey, you ok? You seem a little somber. Or, more than usual, anyway.” She grinned and leaned forward, trying to meet his eyes. 

He looked back at her. “Yeah, just some thoughts about my essay. And I’m not somber , I just take things seriously on occasion.” His mind switched gears seamlessly, with a smaller thought making its way around the back corners. If I do want to pursue this, it would be good to know where she stands on important issues. “First, how did it go, did you get your questions answered?” 

“Oh yes, Ms. Ostrien is so helpful.” 

“The Annuad, that’s a classic Romanai text. Is that for an assignment?” 

“Nope, just curious. What’s with that look? You don’t believe that I read ancient epics for fun?”

“Let’s just say I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

She sniffed. “You’re not the only one capable of being ‘serious on occasion’, Sy-on boy.”

“Like I said– believe when I see it.”  

After more verbal pokes, the mental sparring ceased, and they both returned to work, Damian considering the framing for the next conversation while finishing up his language assignment. He took a glance at the clock on the wall of the alcove; he needed to be back at Eden by seven. Better get to the important topics, then.

“Anya?”

“Hmm?” 

“I wanted to know your opinion on a quote, and maybe have a little thought experiment.” 

She looked up from her work, being crafted meticulously letter-by-letter; she’d taken real efforts to improve her handwriting over the last few years. “A quote? Is this for your essay?”

“Yes.”

“Sure!” 

He took a deep breath. Discussing politics with somebody was always a bit stressful, but even more with someone you wanted a closer relationship with. “It’s in Gallican, so let’s see how your foreign language is today.” 

“Oh, so it’s a pop quiz, then!” She grinned and leaned forward, attentive. 

He began, reciting from memory. “C’est; a force et le droit qui reglent toutes choses dans le monde; la force en attendant le driot.”

“Force and right… are the governors of this world…” Anya began, eyes closed in concentration. “Force, until right is ready.” She opened them. “How was that?”

Damian smiled. “Perfect, somehow. So? What do you think?”

“Uh, repeat it again, please. My brain was too busy on the Gallican.” 

“Force and right are the governors of this world; force, until right is ready.”

“Hmm.” Her expression darkened slightly. “With zero context, you want my thoughts?”

“Zero context, go.” 

She leaned back, put a hand on her chin, thinking for a short pause. “I don’t like it.” She leaned forward, meeting his eyes. “What if two people don’t agree on what right is?”

Damian nodded, a relief relaxing his shoulders. Nuance, that was good. “Let’s present, hypothetically, a national leader, a president, minister, or king. They make the laws of the nation, correct? Don’t they get to decide the way things will work?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t always mean their laws are right.” She was invested, he could see it in the way she sat straight up, facing him fully.

“Perhaps, but what if they were made with the intention of paving a way for better laws one day?”

“Well, intention doesn’t mean a lot at that level, anyway, and besides, if you really wanted things to be better, then just make the good laws now.” 

Hmm, a touch of cynicism, there, he hadn’t really expected that. Damian held a finger and wagged it. “That would be ideal, wouldn’t it? But real progress takes time, does it not?”

“Well, yes, of course.” 

“Are you willing to follow this hypothetical for a bit longer?” He was leaning forward now, looking at her from under lowered brows. He was going to dig a bit; take a risk. He had to know how deeply her convictions went.

She paused, then nodded. 

“What if another nation or group was perpetrating wrongs against their own people, and nothing was being done to stop it?”

“We should help them.” Her reply was instant, impassioned. 

He nodded. “This other nation won’t listen to negotiations, and won’t accept help from your country. The right thing to do cannot be done, because it isn’t being accepted or allowed.” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “What then?”

She looked around, thinking furiously. “I… I think something should happen, just to stop the bad things from happening.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Going to war shouldn’t be the first option.”

Damian spread his hands. “War isn’t the right thing, I agree. But it would stop those grievances from being committed, it would save those people. Do you think so?”

Anya nodded slowly, looking almost desperate. Then she caught herself, and faced him again. “It doesn’t have to be!” 

“But if it was a last resort, would you take it?”

“I… I suppose I would. Sometimes, people have to fight to make peace. I do believe that.” 

Damian could hear that belief, clear as day. “So you say that war would be the right choice, in this scenario?”

“It… it isn’t, but maybe…” She shook her head, and her pink curls swung from side to side with the vehemence of the motion. “It shouldn’t be!”  

Damian continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Force takes precedence, then what is right can come after.” His voice had dropped to a low tone, and he was looking down again. “That was the philosophy thought up by the Gallican essayist and philosopher Gosef Goebert, that greatly influenced my father’s decision to go to war against Westalis.” 

Damian looked up. Anya’s expression changed, to something resembling horror. It took her a moment to speak, voice pitching higher with emotion. “That… that war was the farthest thing from necessary! Westalis wasn’t doing anything wrong, and so many innocent people were killed, so many atrocities committed!” She seemed to run out of words, just looking at him with a hurt, desperate expression that tore at his heart. Then Anya stood, and her voice raised, anger lighting in her eyes. “That war wasn’t right!” 

Damian steeled himself against her words, which were so full of anguish, and perhaps some betrayal as well. She could think of him what she wanted; all of this was absolutely necessary. 

   He spoke again, voice low and deliberate, not looking directly back to her. “I’ve studied all my father’s writings, trying to find the reasons for what he had orchestrated, and that one –force, then right– always stood out the most to me. As a child, I deceived myself that it was because he’d really tried to do what was right, to aid Westalis by reuniting it with Ostania. We’d all heard the stories, fabricated or not, about how bad life was in the West, and they were easy to believe, what with the ideological distance.” He waved a hand. “I thought that for years. But then, this past year, as I studied my father’s journals to become a politician myself, it was then that I saw what he’d really meant.” 

Damian clenched his jaw. This went far beyond the idea for his essay; he shouldn’t be telling her this. These were state secrets, she could go to jail if it came out that she knew them. But Damian needed to tell someone, he needed to get this weight off his chest, the weight that he hadn’t even known he’d borne until something, someone , had caused him to examine himself, his path, and his entire future in the first place. 

Damian raised his head, and met her eyes. “Prime Minister Desmond never considered himself in the right, in his choice to go to war.”

“What? He knew…” Her reply was a whisper; Anya had sunk back down into her seat, enthralled. “ Then… why?”

“He considered himself the force.” Damian’s words were leaden, and his eyes had stopped seeing. “He knew the war was wrong. He knew it was unjustified. But it was all just a step on the path to his better world, and he didn’t care what he needed to do, to take the steps that he could.” 

“So, the East did start the war. That’s… horrible.” Anya said, still somewhat on guard, but he could see that she was sensing Damian’s own anguish at the revelation. 

“That’s why your answer was so… good, Anya.” He blinked to clear the haze, interlinking his fingers and leaning against the table. “What is considered right by one person, does not have to be the same for another. But there are some people who think they are so right, that they will impose force on the world to bring it to pass, regardless of the cost.”

Anya didn’t reply immediately, just sliding around the booth until she sat beside him. “Like two and a half million lives?” 

Damian nodded. “That’s the statistic, but we both know it was far more than that.” He brought together his courage to look sidelong at her, hoping so vehemently that her expression of hurt betrayal was gone. 

It was. Anya was watching him, something like pity touching her eyebrows and mouth. Then she reached out and touched his shoulder, the contact hesitant. “Damian… why are you telling me this?”

He couldn’t tell her the real reason, not yet, and not like this. Even if he’d decided to be brave enough to be honest with himself, he was still uncertain around her. “I wanted to know your thoughts. Gauge your reaction.” He met her gaze. “If there are more good people like you, hopefully my essay will help people understand the real reasons for the war. Maybe, it can bring some of us away from wanting more conflict just for the sake of it.” 

She blinked, but didn’t say anything. Maybe she was still trying to understand, which was fine. He’d been raised to be a politician, to twist words in knots. She was keeping up really well, and he would never tell her this, but it was a relief to see her keen intelligence and critical thinking every once in a while. 

Damian leaned back, trying to relax with a deep breath, letting his eyes shut in the glare of sunlight coming in the narrow window. “I’m not so prideful as to assume a second-year student’s essay will change the minds of the entire nation.” Then he opened his eyes again, narrowed against the light. “But it will definitely rock the boat of the Student National Unity Party here at Eden.”

“Wait, most of them believe the war was necessary because the West started it, so you’re going to speak against… your own party?” She was putting the pieces together. “Wouldn’t that… I don’t know, risk your position, or something?” Anya asked, uncertain. 

He shrugged, and gave her a tired grin. “Not if I play my cards right. Despite what a lot of people think, there’s still room for moderate views in the NUP; your father was a great example of that.” 

That gave her pause, and she took her hand off his shoulder. “Oh right… yeah, he is.” Then she looked back at him. “But this is a bit more than just a moderate position, I think. What about your dad? Won’t he be unhappy if you go around opposing him, and telling everyone about his private views?” Her brows drew together, and suddenly she looked worried.

Damian scoffed a laugh. “He didn’t care when I supported and followed him, so I doubt my opposition will mean anything, either. Not to him, anyway.” He grinned, leaning forward. “The symbolic repercussions will be a lot of fun, however. The ‘son rebelling against the father’, is an archetype as old as time.” He regarded Anya from the corner of his eye. “And don’t worry. I’ll frame it as a hypothetical, not claiming that it’s fact. It’s well known that Minister Desmond had been influenced by the works of Gallican philosophers.”

“Oh, good.” She had averted her gaze, examining the table. 

“Why? Are you worried about me?” He smirked, but paused when she looked back at him immediately. 

“Yes.” Another pause, then she looked away again. “But you’re being very brave, I think. And I’m glad you know the war was wrong. I’d wondered what you believed for a while...” She took a small breath. “It’s nice to be sure.”

Had she meant that? She thought he was brave ? Something pulsed inside him, a warmth, and any doubts he’d had about completing this project vanished. For years he’d pushed that warmth away, damned it up, but now, he was a different man. He decided to embrace it, allowing it to fill him, pushing the feeling into his entire being. Damian watched Anya Forger, the source of that warmth, and admired the way the late afternoon light played on her features, the filtered sunlight through her hair giving everything a pink glow. She caught him looking, and just met his gaze wordlessly. A moment, where that peaceful warmth persisted, and they were looking into each other’s eyes. 

She truly is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. 

And then Anya was scooting hurriedly out of the booth and standing, stretching with sudden enthusiasm. “Well! I for one, think we got a lot of good work done! What is the time now, I wonder?” She looked at the clock on the wall with exaggerated deliberation. “Oh! You said you have to get back to Eden soon, right?” 

“Right,” he replied, puzzled. Why was she avoiding looking at him? 

“All right, then! Should we get going?” 

“Oh. I guess we should.”

She started packing and he followed suit, but her sudden business couldn’t hide her entirely from his searching gaze. Was that red on her cheeks? It was definitely on her ears, Damian realized with a start, and immediately went into analysis mode, trying to figure out what he’d said, and how whatever it was had affected her. And then Damian realized that he had something to ask. 

He struggled internally for a bit, going back and forth about how he should approach it, as books and pencils and notebooks were gathered and put in their correct places, all library books used placed in a corner of the table. Just ask! It’s not a big deal! Well, maybe it is, I’m not quite sure yet…

“Anya?”

“Yes-what-is-it-Sy-on-boy?” she answered, almost too fast to understand, still avoiding him.

“I was wondering if I could count on you to be my draft reviewer for this essay?” He grinned ruefully. “For obvious reasons, I can’t use anybody from the Party, and Ewen and Emile aren’t the best at political review.” 

“And you think I am?” Anya replied with disbelief in her voice. 

“Well, you have two strong points in your favor.” 

She finally turned to face him, and there were still traces of redness in her cheeks. “Yes?”

Damian counted it off on his pointer finger. “You know the essential context, firstly. You know that Donovan actually followed that philosophy, and started the war, so you can advise and point out when I’m leaning too far into certainty. And secondly, you represent the audience I’m trying to reach outside of the bounds of the National  Unity Party.” 

She tilted her head, shouldering her bag. “I guess that makes sense…” 

He smiled. “Ah, a third reason makes itself known. You are entirely capable of being serious when the situation calls for it.” 

She just blinked at him. Then understanding spread on her face. “Oh! Well, of course I am, you were foolish for doubting me in the first place!” 

He hiked up his own bag, grinning. “So does that mean you’re willing to work with me?”

She smiled back, and it was true. “Yes, I’ll review your destabilizing-ly intensive and possibly seditious work. You know, that would be a fun title to have, ‘Anya Forger, Sedition Abetter’. Dad would be so proud.” 

Damian gave a nervous laugh. “Well, I hope the response isn’t that strong…” 

“If you’re not willing to go to jail for a belief, then it’s not worth fighting for!” She flashed him a toothy grin. “If we’re going to be revolutionaries, we might as well go all the way, right?”

“No!” But he was laughing, and followed Anya into the darkened stacks of the Royal Collection. She was right about one thing, however; this was definitely going to be interesting.

Well, that was a whopper of a chapter :p Thanks for the continued support! Finals are coming up, but I have a blank semester next, so more to come

Chapter Text

After turning Anya’s books back in –she’d almost forgotten, something that apparently happened often– they left the Collection. The sun was right alongside the horizon at this point, and the deep shadows of the buildings were beginning to be offset by streetlamps.

“But really, if we get caught with the knowledge, could we go to jail for it?” Anya seemed a bit too excited at the prospect. 

“No!” Damian denied, smiling wide. “They have no proof, all my father’s journals are right back where they belong, I’m sure he never knew they were gone!” 

“But the SSS arrests anybody messing with the peace,” Anya pointed out. “They’ve been known to arrest for random things like essay writing, right?”

“Not secondary students, and definitely not someone like me.” They descended the steps together. “As much as I’m trying to distance myself from Donovan’s beliefs, he is still my father.”

“But what about me, though.” Anya’s eyes narrowed, and she made a show of looking around suspiciously. “I’m just a no-good commoner, a known disturber of the peace! They’d put me away for life, probably.”

“No, they wouldn’t put away a fifteen-year-old, and besides, even if they did.” He looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. “You have friends in high places.”

She made a show of gasping dramatically. “You’d set me free? You’d be a real Bondman, saving the Princess in the evil government’s lair?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “More like a benevolent Mr. S, I’d like to think. Bondman’s far too loose with his attachments.”

Anya’s mock surprise became real surprise. “Wait, you actually know Spy Wars?”

“Cultural osmosis, as it were, I’ve never actually seen the show myself.”

“You’ve never seen it!?”  

“Well, it’s not like it was required watching for any of my classes…”

She folded her arms and looked forward determinedly. “Well, this is something we HAVE to fix–”

“Hey hey, it’s like what, 16 seasons now? And only gets good at like, what, season eight?”

It was almost like he’d slapped her. “It’s good all the way through !” 

Damian put his hands up. “Well, in my defense, I’m just going based on what I’ve heard, mostly that the direction really drops off around the…” He trailed off– Anya had stopped paying attention suddenly, her attention cast somewhere else, expression as if she was listening intently to something. “Anya?”

She started. “Yes! Yes? Sorry, I got distracted, you were saying something mean about my favorite show.” 

He didn’t fall for the obvious lead back into the conversation. “Everything ok?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” She smiled, but there was something off about it. Was she anxious? Why?

They’d made their way down to the square in front of the library, where they both noticed that the dance practice was going on. They started to make their way around the edge of the square, Damian noticing how Anya watched the couples. 

“Looks like they just started,” Damian noted. “They’re still receiving instructions.” 

“Oh. Ok.” 

He followed her gaze to a specific couple, a tall man with blonde hair dancing with a dark-haired woman. They looked like her parents, he immediately understood. For a moment, Damian tried to imagine his father and mother dancing. He shook his head; the image didn’t fit. 

He looked back at Anya; her energy had noticeably dropped off. She hadn’t ever really talked to him about the loss of her father, not ever since that day so soon after his disappearance. Recently, she seemed to be handling it well, generally, but then again, Damian didn’t know much about what had happened. He did know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Loid Forger had loved his daughter, which made the mystery all the odder. It was none of his business, of course, but occasionally there would be reminders, like that couple on the dance floor, or earlier, when she’d spoken like Loid Forger was still present in her life. 

There were reminders that Anya’s family was broken in a way that Damian could never truly understand, because he’d never been loved like she had. 

They were about halfway around the square, and Anya was looking forward now, eyes downcast. Something had gone out of her, and Damian needed to get it back. 

An idea occurred to him. He wrestled with it, debated it, and realized that this was a one-time opportunity. If he let it pass, he would undoubtedly regret this moment for the rest of his life. Damian also recognized that was a bit extreme, but he had a limited frame of reference, and an intolerance for regret. So, just as they were passing the far corner of the square, Damian stopped walking. 

Anya didn’t notice immediately, and looked back at him. “What’s wrong?”

He reached out a hand to her. “Anya, would you like to dance with me?” 

She raised a hand to her mouth, and laughed once, looking at his hand like it held something she couldn’t comprehend. “Oh– what…” Then she met his eyes. “Sy-on boy, you’ve got your meeting soon, right?”

“A meeting? What does a meeting matter to revolutionaries like us?” He cocked an eyebrow roguishly, and left his hand outstretched. 

She curled a little into herself, smiling, blinking furiously. “Oh, really, I’m not very good, I’ll step on your feet, I’ll make a whole mess–”

Damian interrupted her gently. “I didn’t ask if you were good at dancing.” He stepped closer to her, so that she had to look up a little to meet his eyes. “I asked if you wanted to dance.” 

Her nervous movement stopped, and she just looked at him for a moment. Damian smiled at her, and she, after a moment, smiled back, and the warmth of it spread through him. Then Anya took his hand, and he led her out to the courtyard. 

And they danced. Or, more accurately, learned to dance, as both Damian and the TOAD dance instructors taught Anya to the best of their abilities. And she wasn’t as bad as she thought she would be, of course, making beginner’s mistakes with a beginner’s stride, but Damian’s sharp eyes picked out her strengths rather quickly; she was graceful, probably from her years of martial arts training. She was also remarkably adept at following –when she knew what to do, that was– always seeming to be ready for the next moveset before it came. 

It was mostly couple dances, but there were several folk dances that required multiple sets of couples, and Anya proved to be less good at those, being more easily mixed up the more people were involved, which Damian did not blame her for in the least.  The dancers themselves were from all across the spectrum, older couples to children younger than Anya and Damian, singles, and entire families dancing together. They came from many backgrounds as well, most from the middle class, but Damian thought that he recognized a few of the upper class dancing here, including a dark-haired girl his age that he thought he recognized from his father’s get-togethers. She seemed to notice his investigation, and noted him in return with hardly a change of expression, simply nodding, her gray eyes sharp in the crowd. Before he got a chance to really search his mind for her name or ask her anything, she was swept away in the whirl of dancers until Anya was returned to him, upon which he set aside his curiosity all together, concern for Anya’s dazed expression distracting him. 

She had to take several breaks, but when he would ask her if she was doing all right or if she was ready to leave, she would only nod or shake her head, and return to the dance floor when she was ready. Anya was, remarkably, quiet, but he could sense her concentration, her enjoyment, in the dedicated reflection of her eyes and the seemingly-permanent expression of transfixed contentedness that accompanied her movements, with the occasional glance to meet his eyes shyly before looking away again. 

As for Damian, the low anxiety of being in close contact with her never truly left him, but it was more than made up for by his pride, in her, and at how fast she was improving. The dances were all traditional and old-fashioned, which didn’t make them any less fun, but did limit the amount of intensely close contact they had, which Damian was honestly fine with. After all, he was supposed to be the one good at this, and it simply wouldn’t do to be stumbling around just because her body was alongside his. 

And they danced, in a state of perpetually-improving and supporting bliss, until the practice was over. And then they were on the train, heading back to Anya’s place to drop her off. She was exhausted, and almost immediately fell asleep. 

The sun was long gone, and the dull electric lights cast a yellow glow on the interior of the train, the lights of Berlint passing as they moved along. Damian took this time to realize more truth about himself. That feeling that he had isolated earlier, being in Anya’s home, feeling like a part of that family, that had been the cause of his division with his father. The feeling had been much more primitive back then, at least three years ago, now, and he hadn’t recognized it. He had seen joy in a family, the joy that should exist within a family, and then saw the lack of it in his own. Next, Damian had compared ideologies, those that this loving family possessed, and those of his father. 

And the day came that Damian was forced to admit to himself that his father was not a good man. It hadn’t been a specific incident, although his reading of the journals was obviously a kind of catalyst. This revelation had changed everything. His entire purpose that he had given himself, his area of study, his future, all of it had rested on trying to come as close as he could to his father’s achievements; and now all of that was gone, shattered before the realization that Damian did not want to be like his father. 

But instead of feeling like he’d lost something, instead, Damian had felt more free than he had ever been. Donovan and his expectations had been a burden, sore to carry, for over a decade of his life. 

And in that wreckage, in the raw shedding of those burdens, he’d been surprised to see that several things had remained, and more, had remained untouched by the earthquake of revelation and realization. He’d seen his stalwart friends, the honorable instructors of Eden College, but the last and most prominent of those was a girl, and the family who loved her. 

And then the girl’s head came to rest on his shoulder, jostled by the movement of the train, and Damian looked sidelong at her sleeping features. And, perhaps similarly jostled by today’s events, perhaps at the revelations received, Damian reconsidered the question he’d thought to himself earlier, and it came to him much simpler, now. 

What did he want? The answer was immediate, sure, and true. 

I want to be with her forever.

He leant his head to rest against hers, gently, her hair soft on his cheek. For a moment, Damian allowed himself the luxury of waking dreams, those of the future they could have, the one he could build together with her. But dreams were dreams, after all. The night pressed against the dull warmth of the train as they entered a tunnel, and Damian knew that the dark world beyond would not be kind to any relationship he would have with her. Especially if he let her help him in this plan to publish this divisive paper.

Damian looked at her face again, his eyes tracing every feature, basking in the opportunity to look upon her beauty without needing a reason. Of course, any future they had would depend on Anya’s choices as well. He could not plan for her, and he would not make her choose to love him. No, he would not be like Donovan. But Damian could make plans; he could fight for what he wanted with his weapons of choice, the written and spoken word. 

The train left the tunnel, and the lights of the city without and the stars above illuminated the world outside again. He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. Now that he knew what he wanted, Damian Desmond did what he did best; he applied his sharp mind to the future, and set to creating one in which he loved, and was loved.

Chapter Text

On Monday, Anya sat at her desk, mind spinning. This was not a new thing, in fact, it had been spinning all day yesterday, and at this point, she was getting rather dizzy. She’d tried to stop the frantic rotations several times over the course of the day before, thinking that perhaps training with her mom or working on her spy plans or literally anything else would save her, but nothing had worked! She’d considered talking to Yor about what was going on, but Anya didn’t know where to start, first off, and second, did mom really need to know about this yet? It’s not like much had even happened… had it? 

 There was one thing she could easily identify that had thrown her off; yesterday, after she and Damian had left her house, they’d been followed by someone. Whoever they were, they’d kept their distance well, and Anya hadn’t been able to pinpoint the source. Their thoughts also hadn’t given any indication of motive or purpose, especially since the following thoughts had disappeared when they’d gone into the library, only to resume the first thing they left. One of the several reasons she’d fallen asleep on the train was because the trailing thoughts had finally stopped, and all that day she’d tried hard not to show Damian any indication of the worry that had brought her. 

But even all of that, that actual spy activity, somehow paled in comparison to the main reason, the memory, that caused her brain to spin like a flightless duck in a whirlpool. It was the memory of Damian’s thoughts, the ones that had gone on for nearly two hours, the ones that had gone something like; Wow, she’s so beautiful I’m so glad she’s here it’s so fun teaching her to dance she’s so soft and wonderful and BEAUTIFUL ow my foot I wish we could dance like this forever– 

And so on. 

Anya shivered, but it wasn’t the normal kind of shivers that came when you were scared or cold. She’d heard plenty of thoughts in her years, and a great many of them had been directed towards being attracted to other people. A fair portion of those were things that had made her uncomfortable, and sometimes those discomfiting things were even directed towards herself. When that kind of thing happened, she tried to avoid the people who thought of her that way, or just shut them out as best she could, but this time…

She looked back towards where Damian normally sat, but she’d arrived early today, and was met with an empty desk.

Well, this time was different. 

The memory resurged, stronger than before; of his hand on her waist, his words encouraging her as she struggled, her trying to remember the correct dance steps through the blinding effect of Damian’s thoughts, a wave of the most pure joy and willing patience shining from him like the sun at noonday. Of her meeting his eyes, and smiling in return, unable to keep herself from feeling exactly the same way.  He’d shown Anya so much more of him than she’d ever expected to see, and she… And she… 

Anya grimaced and put her head in her hands, leaning forward. This was not the way it was supposed to go! She was supposed to be using his affection, turning it into something she could use, to get information from! Anya fought back her rising confusion, and remembered earlier that day, at the anguish on Damian’s face and the raw disappointment in his mind as he told her the truth about his father. Technically, she had learned something, that there was concrete evidence that the East had started the war, but what was she supposed to do with that? 

She flopped backwards, staring up at the ceiling, uncaring at the looks from some of her other early classmates. Apparently, she was going to help Damian write an essay about it! She was supposed to be a spy, not a political advisor!!! But the way he had asked, first challenging her so completely with his hypothetical that she didn’t even pick up his real intention from his mind, and then with his sincere inquiry that basically shouted at her that he trusted her completely… Well, what was she supposed to say? No ? 

Anya sat up, taking a deep breath. She’d said yes, and that was the end of it. Besides, she wanted to do it anyway; it would be good for the mission to spend more time with him, she told herself, ignoring the tinge of desperation in her mind. That would open up more opportunities to learn more about the Desmonds, and who knows, maybe she’d learn things she didn’t even expect to! Yes, she’d help him with this, and undoubtedly subject herself to more of those unbearably bright thoughts he was so fond of having around her… 

She paused, the thought that had been turning her around so frantically making its way to the surface. Was he really in love with her? And what was she going to do if he was?

( Annnd there she is. It’s so nice to see her, should I say something? How does she feel about Saturday? She looked like she was having fun, but… Half the class will see if I go to her, but I could just ask her a question as well to make it seem less partial. Ah, what if I say something stupid, no get yourself together, Damian, just be calm about this.)

She took a breath, and turned around. 

There Damian was, looking directly at her, still putting his bag down. 

They just looked at each other for a moment. Anya gave him a little wave, then turned forward again before the heat rising in her cheeks could become visible. 

(Well, she acknowledged me, that’s a start. I’ll try and talk to her later.) A pause, but Anya didn’t stop listening, waiting for his next thoughts. ( She looks cute again today.)

Anya started pulling her books out, frantically keeping her face out of view. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to read his thoughts. If he kept this up, how was she supposed to concentrate on school? Or anything, for that matter?

(There’s Anya ohmigawd I NEED to ask her how it went–) A patter of shoes as Becky descended the stairs with haste and slid into her seat beside Anya in record time. “Good morning!” Her hair was loose today, and fell in a curtain as she leaned forward to meet Anya’s gaze, her eyes wide and excited. 

“Hello, Becky…” 

“Aw, what’s with that look?” She looked back at Damian, then back at Anya, brows creased. “Don’t tell me it didn’t work out?”

“Well, it did, but…” Anya lowered her voice, “look, keep it down a little, will you? Don’t need the whole class knowing–” 

Becky’s face brightened, but she leaned in. “If you want to keep it a secret, that means a lot!” ( But just how well did it go? Did he kiss her? He did say he wanted to meet at the library, after all…)

“Becky! It’s not a secret, I just…” Anya took a breath, rolling her eyes. “We just had a study session, that’s all!” 

( Yeah, right.) “You’re terrible at lying, Anya.” 

“I’m great at lying!” she hissed. 

Becky’s face fell into one of neutral doubt. (She says that like it’s a good thing…) “You two were alone in the library for hours, and nothing happened? I don’t believe that.” 

“Well, first of all, we weren’t in the school library, we went to the Royal Collection–” 

“Wait, he left campus with you!?” 

( Wait, what are Anya and Becky talking about? Who left campus with who?)

(She went out with Damian, I heard her say?) 

(They left campus!?)

“I said, keep it down!” Anya took Becky’s arm. “We went to the library after having lunch at my place, and that’s it.” 

Becky’s mouth fell open, and she leaned even closer, whispering furiously. “He got to meet your mom ?” (Things are that far along!?) 

“He’s already met my mom! He’s met your dad, too! I forgot my books, and we had to stop by, and that . Is. All!” 

Becky narrowed her eyes and grinned. “That’s all?” 

“Yeah!” Anya looked away, pushing back the memories of taking his hand, of waking up on the train with her head on his shoulder, the earnestness in his eyes as he asked for her help. “That’s all.” 

Becky folded her arms and rested her head on them, smug smile fading. “All right, Anya, I’ll believe you.” (She’s so bad at lying, there’s something in those eyes of hers. I ]hope she tells me, but I’ll give her some space if it actually makes her uncomfortable. She knows she can trust me, doesn’t she?)

Anya looked at Becky, whose eyes had drifted to the front of the class. It wasn’t that Anya didn’t trust her… something about saying the truth out loud just made her feel a certain way, as if actually verbalizing it made the events somehow more real and less avoidable. It forced her response to be something more certain. 

Anya took a deep breath, leaning forward, hugging her stomach, letting her hair fall to obstruct Becky’s gaze. “Well… maybe… there might have been a dance practice at the square that night.”

“Oh?” Becky’s eyes flicked back to her, and she raised an eyebrow.

Anya lowered her voice. “And we might have danced a bit after studying.” 

“Oh?” Her smile widened. ( THEY DANCED!? I’ve never seen Anya dance willingly with a guy outside of class!) 

“And… I might have liked it a lot,” she murmured.

Becky sat up, excitement shining in her eyes. “OH!?” 

Anya looked away, tone dropping to a whisper. “And that’s all.”  

Becky opened her mouth to unleash her enthusiasm, but just then Master Henderson emerged from the door to the lecture hall, drawing attention merely by his elegant presence. 

“I’ll… I’ll tell you more later,” Anya whispered, drawing back her hair from her face and meeting Becky’s eyes. She smiled ruefully. “I think I need some help figuring all this out.”

Becky closed her mouth but smiled back, giving her a big nod. (AHHHH I’M SO EXCITED SHE FINALLY ADMITS IT well kind of BUT STILL)

Henderson took his place at the front of the room, standing as ramrod-straight as ever. “Attention, class! Before we begin homeroom business today, I have an important announcement. This is quite the unique circumstance, but it is not altogether unheard of. Therefore, I expect you all to be welcoming and respectful to Henderson Hall’s newest transfer student. Please enter and introduce yourself, Ms. Gravstein.” 

Someone else entered through the same door, a young woman, tall, with long dark hair. She stood beside Master Henderson and bowed to the class. “Hello. My name is Shaylen Gravstein, transferring from Munitch University. I’m excited to join you all this year.” She looked up, and her eyes, as sharp and gray as a bared knife, passed over the class, and lingered on Anya.

Anya had to keep from gasping, willing her face to retain its curious expression. She recognized this girl, but not by face or voice.

Shaylen’s gaze moved on from Anya, to the back rows. (Contact with target confirmed. Insertion successful.)

Anya recognized that efficient mind, those efficient thoughts. They were the same ones that had been following her and Damian all over Berlint on Saturday. 

………

Before science class began, Anya had received a great deal of information on the new arrival. But to get any nuggets of real value, first she had to pan through a great deal of lesser thoughts, firstly from the boys in the room: just about all of them were intrigued by the mysterious new beauty in their midst. Even Anya had to admit it, yes, Shaylen Gravstein was very pretty, in an icy kind of way, with her fine features and delicate nose, a straight black curtain of hair dropping halfway down her back. Anya found many similarly reluctant –and some extremely curious– reactions from several of the girls in the room, sometimes conjoined with a fear of their various relationships –real, planned, or imagined– being threatened by this new girl. 

Of course, none of this was of any importance to Anya, save for a single exception. From one specific mind, she learned several interesting things. Damian Desmond knew this girl. Or at least, had been acquainted with her in the past, judging by his pleasant surprise at her appearance. Apparently, he’d seen her at the dance on Saturday, but hadn’t made the connection then. Anya spent perhaps a bit too much effort ascertaining his current feelings for her, but found nothing more than a genial curiosity, and just a touch of trepidation. One thought of his stood out in particular. ( She looks less like her old man now than ever. I hope she’s managed to keep herself from his ideals as well.) 

But of course, the bulk of Anya’s attention was on the girl herself; Ms. Gravstein had the mind of a spy. Anya immediately considered this judgment to be completely accurate; after all, Anya Forger was the only expert in this particular field of study. On the surface, Shaylen interacted well enough, expressing just enough emotion to appear normal, if reserved. But on the inside…

( Now, to get closer to the target. Remember the outline, Shaylen.)

(Chuckle, just so. Smile, just so. There we are. We must appear normal.)

(I wonder if Master Desmond remembers me.) 

Master, is it?  Anya narrowed her eyes as they entered the biology lab as a class, the smells of formaldehyde and sanitizer stinging at her nose. Back then, they weren’t in the same class level, or on a first-name basis. 

There was one large problem, she pondered, frustration pricking at her as she sat around one of the square tables. No matter how closely Anya listened, Ms. Gravstein never explicitly thought about her exact purpose or mission, at least not the end goals or reasonings. And it also became clear to Anya that she couldn’t keep up this mental focus for long, she was already getting exhausted trying to pick out Shaylen’s thoughts from the midst of all her classmates. It would be easier if she were closer… 

“All right, students, as we’re starting a new unit, we have new groups! Check the lab tables for the assignments, but according to this…” The biology teacher, Dr. Vollstang, squinted through her thick glasses at the roll sheet. “Avery isn’t here again? That boy…” She shook her head. “Damian, Anya, you’re down a group member again.” 

Anya rolled her eyes as Damian joined her table; in the past few years, there had been a suspicious increase in the number of group projects they shared. Anya had learned quickly that a majority of the staff, for one reason or another, enjoyed watching them interact. 

Dr. Vollstang flipped a paper over, then looked up. “So, why don’t you join them, Ms. Gravstein?”

“Yes, ma’am.” (The ploy worked. Removing that boy was child’s play.)

Anya forced her face to stop from showing her initial reaction of horror. What did she do to Avery?! Anya maintained a cordial expression as the dark-haired girl approached, Shaylen directing a light smile at them. 

“Hello. I’m excited to work with you both.” (I double-checked the amount of solution. If his immune system is strong, I only have two school days to consolidate my position in this group. That should be more than enough time.)

“Ah… same.” Anya’s voice caught with this revelation, but remembered what normal non-mind-reading people would say in a position like this. “I’m Anya, Anya Forger, it’s nice to meet you.” She reached out her hand, trying to banish mental images of palm needles and skin-contact tranquilizers. 

Shaylen blinked, then took it. “A pleasure.” Ms. Gravstein’s grip was firm, and Anya didn’t immediately feel any pricks or suspicious numbness, which was a good start. 

(She has a strong grip. Confident, and indicative of her position in the martial arts program. That matches the reports.)

She has reports on me? Why?

Shaylen turned to Damian, who reached out his hand in turn. “It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Gravstein. You do remember me, don’t you? ”

She looked at him, and then her mouth opened, expression morphing to one of surprise. “Oh, Master Dami– Lord Desmond, of course I remember.” (Just the right amount of surprise. I did actually forget his current title; I’ll need to work on that.) “Your presence was the best part of those get-togethers, back when we were younger.” 

He smiled at that. “They were incredibly boring, weren’t they? What brings you to Eden?” 

That was a good question. Anya’s eyes flicked between them. 

(My mission.) “The quality of education, of course.” Her answer was delivered perfectly. “Eden offers the finest law programs on this side of the continent.” 

Damian nodded at that. “Yes, that is something that Eden has over Vunivagh; that is where you previously attended, correct?” ( Following in her father’s hypothetical footsteps; of course. )

“Yes. It was a worthy school, but I set my sights on something higher.”

 Anya paid attention to the mental additions, trying to look engaged in the real world. So, studying law was her cover, Anya herself had considered studying psychology like dad– In the midst of her own thoughts, she almost missed Damians’ addendum.  (Well, I know that old Gravestone was actually a mercenary, but that isn’t the kind of info you should just dump on people. She might not even know that.) 

“All right, everybody, simmer down, the cart with the frogs will be making the rounds. In your groups, select who will fill which roles amongst yourselves during the dissection process.”

“Oh, we’re doing dissections today?” Shaylen asked, gray eyes regarding the two of them. “What are the roles?”

Damian replied while they all put on their protective equipment, and Anya tried to concentrate on the present conversation while finagling goggles to work with her long hair and the pointy ornaments on her head. “First, there’s the actual dissector, and then the diagrammer, then the director, who manages the process and takes notes.” 

Anya interrupted. “Do you have a preference?” Was she an assassin as well as a spy? Anya was frantically assigning possible meanings to every answer she received, mental or otherwise. 

“Whichever remains after you two choose,” Shaylen replied, looking down shyly. Her affected hesitation was slightly put off by the aura of confidence generated by the way she let the rubber gloves snap against her uniform sleeves. “I am the new girl, after all.” ( The bladework would suit me best, but perhaps I shouldn’t appear too eager.) 

SHE’S TOTALLY AN ASSASSIN. Anya struggled to smile at her. “Ok, well, I was the director last time, so I can do diagramming this time.” That’s totally something mom would think. Why is there an assassin in my school!?

The cart bearing frogs arrived, and the lab assistant placed a jar of frogs floating in formaldehyde on their table. Damian nodded to him, then set to work opening the jar. “We’ll all get our turns either way, there’s three frogs in here. I can be the director first, then.” 

“That suits you, Lord Desmond.” (Just like his father, a natural leader.) 

Anya narrowed her eyes at Shaylen, who was busy inspecting the tray of surgical implements next passed to the group. She can’t suck up any more originally than that? Go on, tell her off, Damian. 

( Ah, her too? Well, it has been a long time.) “Oh, you don’t have to call me that, Damian will do just fine.” He gave her a smile, then started flipping through his notebook for a clear page. “We might be classmates now, but we’re old friends, too.”

What!? First name basis, already? Anya stared at Damian as a new type of fear began to grow in her chest. 

“Are you sure, my Lord?” (That’s a surprise. Maybe he’s changed since then.) Then Shaylen looked at Anya. ( Maybe it’s her doing. Ah, this one will do just fine for starting incisions.) She selected a curve-edged scalpel. ( A bit smaller than I’m used to, but should do the trick.)   

“Of course, Shaylen. Don’t worry yourself over it.” He selected a sheet of paper and, after a few quick folds, delicately removed it from his notebook. 

Anya gaped at him for a moment before shutting her mouth furiously. Many girls in their grade, and several below and above them, had tried to get close to Damian for his position and power, and as Anya knew very well over the years, he never enjoyed dealing with girls like that, and it would often take him even longer to get to know or trust someone if they tried that. Yes, Anya was included in there, but she was different! They were actually friends now, but instantly this girl shows up and… she… Anya shook herself and took a breath, trying to clear her aching head. Well, what did Damian himself think about it?

(Hmm. The textbook says that we should start with the primary incision… Why is Anya watching me? She hasn’t even gotten her books out yet.) Then he immediately began directing Shaylen’s first cuts, and Anya blinked, realizing that she, indeed, hadn’t gotten her books out yet. She hurriedly dug the necessary materials out of her bag and got ready to start the process. Well, he wasn’t really thinking about her beyond what he’d said, instead focusing on their project. 

Anya decided to follow suit; her brain needed a break from the mind-reading for a bit. In this intermission of actually doing what she was supposed to be doing, Anya still managed to pick up a few things. She didn’t need to read minds to see how competent Shaylen was with the various bladed tools at her disposal, as well as how skilled she was at following Damian’s instructions, which rapidly gained her some respect in Damian’s mind. This caused him to make a few comments about her possibly considering the medical field instead, which she laughed and shrugged off, making several definitely-an-assassin thoughts towards being better at harming than fixing harm. 

But that only led Anya to her biggest question. Why was there an assassin attending their school, and then interested in getting closer to Damian? Despite her initial feelings of concern for his safety, Anya realized that didn’t quite make sense; the Desmonds had many enemies, and if someone wanted to harm their youngest son, they would do it directly, not by sending a girl his age to the school he attended and gaining his trust. Much like Operation Strix, whatever Shaylen’s mission was, it required far more than brute force, and despite her obvious skillset, Shaylen was definitely acting more like a spy than an assassin, which only gave Anya more questions. 

This went on until they had all finished their frogs, diagrams, and directorial debuts; they completed their tasks well before the majority of their classmates. Anya had long ago learned that most exercises at Eden Academy were not merely for educational purposes, but also to teach cooperation and leadership skills. Therefore, it was almost annoying how easily and competently Shaylen had worked in their group; it was just her first day! 

(Now to move in. The end of the class period is approaching.) Shaylen spoke up. “As I’m rather new, I’m curious what there is to do in terms of extracurricular activity,” Shaylen began, sitting across from them. “I know that one artistic and one physical endeavor each are required, but I’m not sure where to start. What do you both do here?”

She definitely already knows the answer to that question. Anya narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. “You transferred here; didn’t you do some research before you came?”

Shaylen laughed lightly. “Well, of course, but personal experience counts for more than a brochure, surely?”

“Exactly right,” Damian replied, leaning back in his chair with a huff. “Well, I’ve personally enjoyed the Philharmonic Symphony, but then again, that is the advanced group.” He looked to Anya, smiling. “But the Concert Symphony is a worthy experience as well, right?”

Anya, who was busy predicting why Shaylen was asking if she already knew, realized she was being talked to and responded absently, “Oh yeah, it’s great.”

Damian’s smile faded. (Anya’s been very distracted today. Did I say something wrong? I wonder if everything’s ok.)

“If you play an instrument, that is,” Anya added, mind starting to spin again. “Do you play an instrument, Shaylen?”

A light chuckle. “Oh, no, I never had the opportunity.” (True enough. Training demanded all of my time. I wonder what it’s like– Focus.) “I think I’ll take an art class, I never had much musical talent. What about other areas?”

“Well, there are also political and philosophical clubs; I’m a member of the student branch of the NUP here on campus.”

(That much was known. But what more?) “That does make perfect sense, but, forgive me if this is going too far; which faction do you take after?”

Anya’s gaze flicked between them and noted Damian’s hesitancy, which would have been barely a pause to anyone else.  

“Why do you ask?”

Yeah, that’s RIGHT, Damian, be suspicious! 

“Well, the Universities in Munitch don’t allow any factional representation.” She blinked innocently, and Anya internally rolled her eyes. “I heard that things were different here.” ( There is only so much I can determine from records and third-hand accounts. I want to hear him say it.) 

“Well, yes. Factional opposition is allowed at Eden.” He sighed. “I’ve long subscribed to the views of the Moderates, for the most part.” ( Should I be more straightforward? If she were affiliated with the Traditionalists, there might be a problem; they’re not sure where exactly I stand, because I refuse to make it clear during meetings. Ah, there’s no harm in it; she’s just got here, after all.) “But recently, I’ve begun to take a progressive point of view. I find the need for further conflict between the East and West quite unnecessary the longer I interact with the philosophies of the party.” 

“Oh, really?” Shaylen’s voice was just the same as before, calm with polite interest, but Anya caught the sparks that flicked beneath the surface. ( He differs greatly from Minister Desmond’s path. That is not what was expected. Does he even believe in Ostanian supremacy anymore?) “That’s… well… It’s just, that you were quite attached to your father back when I knew you.” (What brought all of this about?)

“It’s quite a change, I know.” Damian grinned ruefully, looking down. “Then again, it has been almost ten years, Shaylen.” He caught Anya’s eye. “One would hope something would change in such a long time, wouldn’t they?”  

Despite her intense attention to minds and faces, Anya couldn’t help but grin back at him. He had changed, so much, and she was still only just beginning to understand the scope of it. 

But she wasn’t the only one. Shaylen, for the first time, seemed taken aback. “Why, yes, that is true.” (Ten years. That is just about when he started school here.) Shaylen’s eyes flicked to Anya. (Is she the cause?)

Anya met her gaze. “Well, I for one think that if someone wants to be a part of a political organization, they’d better be ready to have their beliefs challenged; what’s the point of it otherwise? Anything less than that runs the risk of just being an echo chamber, and that doesn’t do anyone good.” 

“Exactly!’ Damian sat up, grin widening. “For a while I feared that the NUP student branch was tending that direction, but recent developments have kept them on their toes.” (And I intend to make them dance.) “But enough of that, back to your question, Shaylen. Are you interested in martial practices, or sports? I can’t recommend the fencing team highly enough; not only do we have the finest instructor–” 

Anya tuned out Damian’s reply, mostly because Shaylen had as well, all the while looking at him attentively. 

(An echo chamber? Right. He’s referring to when a group all share the same ideology and commit to practicing it? That’s what a political party is supposed to be. The corruption runs deeper than I thought. It seems these two are collaborating; this complicates things. Investigating this connection closer might run outside the strict purview of my mission, but I have more room to operate here than on previous expeditions. Remember finesse, Shaylen.)

She’s investigating him, is she? Anya clenched her fist under the table. Well, Miss Gravstein was going to have a harder time of it than she thought; Damian wasn’t alone, he had a mind-reading spy on his side!  

“What about you, Anya? What extracurricular activities do you attend?” Shaylen was looking directly at her now, her gray eyes not entirely able to hide her true intensity. 

“I’m in the martial arts program,” Anya replied with a smile, slightly sharper than perhaps it should have been. “I’m a captain, best in my weight class. I’ve very much enjoyed it, the program here is very good.” 

“Oh? I dabble in martial arts myself.” (I bet she thinks she’s capable. It would be a fun diversion to prove her otherwise.) “What disciplines have you trained in?” 

Anya laughed lightly. “I’ve received training in many forms, but my favorite are the Rominai bare-fist arts. What about you?” 

“Interesting.” (An elegant mix of boxing styles, employed by that minority… Is she a Rominai descendant? It would explain the odd hair color.) “I prefer Southern sword styles, but for unarmed combat, Szaciline kick-boxing and hibuso no geijutsu are my preferred combat techniques.” 

Anya put aside Shaylen’s thoughts; she’d explore them later, but for now she had to stay focused. “Ah, I’ve tried armed combat, and it’s not for me. But hey! Maybe you’d enjoy the program here. I could introduce you to Bill Watkins, he’s the leader of our grade’s group.” 

“Oh, I’d love that! It’s held after school, right?” 

“Right! Meet me in the second gymnasium after last hour?” Pretending to be her friend will allow me to keep an eye on her; I can keep Damian safe, and learn more about her purpose. I can handle another mission, right?  

“Of course, thank you so much, Miss Forger.” Shaylen smiled at her, but it didn’t even approach those eyes of hers. (If acting like a friend is beneficial, I’ll do it. For the mission.)

Anya smiled back. “Oh, just call me Anya, please.” Also, who knows? Maybe this will give me a chance to beat her at her own game. And by beat, I mean literally. 

“All right…” Shaylen kept her smile up. ( It would be useful to prove myself in this way. Not that it will be much of a challenge.) “Anya.”

There was a pause as the two girls just looked at each other, each one gauging and analyzing the other. Damian leaned back in his chair with a content smile on his face. 

(It’s so nice to see them getting along.)

Chapter Text

Anya was bored.  Well, more accurately, it was that odd mix of stillness that came from perfect preparedness with the strange sense of anticipation of being very not-bored very soon. So, while she waited for the boredom to end, Anya was trying to do her homework, which was not helping much. 

She narrowed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the trigonometry in front of her. She didn’t mind trig, at least compared to algebra, at least she could see the shapes being referenced. But today… She flopped back against the couch with a groan. It was useless! Math simply wasn’t working right now. Levering herself up, she started pacing while her brain did the same. 

She’d been over the plan several times, but it wouldn’t hurt to do it again, right? 

It had started from a simple place; things weren’t going anywhere! On the spy side, Franky had told her it would take time to gather intel on the WISE hideout, but it felt like so much longer. On the school side, Damian was still working on his first draft, and Shaylen hadn’t made any suspicious moves for the rest of the week, just joined the martial arts program and kept an eye on Damian. So, unless she wanted to try and poke around Shaylen’s things to find evidence of her mission,  there was nothing Anya could do on that side but wait. 

But the other…. Anya knew that the time taken by Franky had to do with reestablishing connections, acquiring equipment, and turning the warehouse a more permanent residence, all without raising suspicions, which were all perfectly fair points! But she also suspected it was partly because Franky didn’t have enough confidence in her abilities. 

She stopped and huffed. Well. There was only one thing to do about that. 

After all, WISE wasn’t the only place she could uncover information. And with mom gone…

And then, seemingly in response, came a very identifiable set of thoughts. ( I really have no idea why I agreed to this. NO don’t think like that, you know exactly why you’re doing it, it’s because she asked you, me , to check on Anya to make sure she’s safe. She entrusted ME with this, and just like every thing she’s ever needed, I’m glad to–) A pause, then a knock on the door. ( Maybe I should actually take that break the Colonel offered, I’m exhausted.) 

Anya rushed over to the door, smile on her face. Finally! Her prey was here. “Uncle Yuri!” 

She opened the door and there he stood, tall and dark, his sleek black hair tied back into a loose bun, a crisply-trimmed beard coloring the pale skin of his cheeks and chin. His fatigue-lined crimson eyes noted her, and she almost laughed at how his odd-looking intensity was so out-of-place in the normal apartment hallway. “Hello, Anya…” ( Well, there she is, that’s my job done, right? Ha, no, I’ve– Oh, she’s going in for a hug of course she is OWWW) 

“It’s so nice to see you!” Anya squeezed him, the physical show of affection not entirely faked. He didn’t come around much anymore, and she still didn’t like what he thought about papa, but Yuri was family, after all. She released him and hopped back, lacing her fingers behind herself, concern touching her features. “Oh, you don’t look so good, is everything ok?”

He sighed, rubbing his side with a gloved hand, “Yes, perfectly fine, just a little tired is all.” ( I didn’t know metal bats could be swung so hard, we had every reason to think that a group of insurgents in an old baseball diamond wouldn’t be much trouble…)

Anya blinked, then resumed her smile. “Well, come in! I’ll take your coat, do you want coffee, tea, cocoa? I made some cookies recently!”

“Why are you being so nice? Do you want something from me?” Even though his words were suspicious, his voice was level, and he stepped inside anyway and let her take his coat. 

She closed the door behind him and set his coat on a hook, hiding the sharpness of her smile. Ha, he was right and didn’t even know it! There was no escaping now. “Oh, don’t be like that, it’s been a while! And I need to get practice being a good host, that’s what mom said.” 

(Well, that is a pretty good reason. It has been a while since I’ve seen her… or Yor for that matter. Was I… avoiding them?) He sighed. “All right, coffee sounds good.”

“Ok, sit down then if you want!” She skipped to the kitchen and pulled the container of cookies from the top of the fridge. “How’s work going? Overworking yourself again?”

He snorted, collapsing on the couch. “If you must ask, yes. Tensions between East and West… well.” ( Eh, why not tell her, it's common knowledge.) “ The terror attacks in the outlying cities are stirring up more trouble than we thought.” (Even though no organization has taken credit for the attacks, and who or what exactly was attacked is still classified knowledge. I’m a Captain now, surely I should be allowed to know this! But ever since Twilight disappeared, I feel like the brass have lost faith in me.) 

Anya set a kettle on the stove and lit it, then got down the coffee. “Same mix as before?”

“You still remember?” ( One shot of cream, one sugar cube.)

“One shot of cream, one sugar cube! And the best beans we got!”

( She did remember… Well, she is a sharp kid.) “Oh, you don’t have to go that far–” 

“You’re a guest, so, yes I have to!” 

The small amount of water heated quickly, and Yuri was silent while Anya prepared the drinks. But his tired mind was everywhere, darting from one topic to the next, most of which Anya already knew about. His work with the SS, his personal mission to track down Twilight, who had been dismissed as no longer a priority by his superiors, and trying to balance all of that with the things he had allowed into his life. 

Speaking of… “How’s Ariel doing?” Anya asked, rounding the kitchen and leaning against the small stretch of wall between it and the dining room. 

“Oh, she’s well. We’ve both been pretty busy recently, but…” ( She brought up marriage again the other day. Yes, indirectly, but I’ve really got to address it sometime.)

Anya had to keep herself from exclaiming in delight. Marriage!? It was about time! “But…?” she prompted. 

A weary smile crossed Yuri’s face. “I need to spend more time with her, but with work the way it is, things have been tough recently.”

“Well, you should keep at it! I think you guys are so cute, I miss seeing her.” 

He huffed a laugh. “Maybe I should bring her around next time.”

“You know mom and I would enjoy that!” 

The pot began to bubble, and Anya hurried herself back to the kitchen, trying to get back on task for the mission, but she was a little giddy and couldn’t help it! 

It had been almost five years ago now when Yuri had presented to the Forgers his girlfriend Ariel, initially as a total farce to simultaneously make Yor stop worrying about him and to somehow square himself with Loid. But as time went on, Yuri had actually started falling for the woman pretending to be his significant other, with not a few pokes from Anya along the way, who’d known since day one that Ariel Kinereh had sheltered a reluctant crush on her strange coworker, and their relationship had mellowed out Anya’s uncle in a surprising and welcome way. 

The fact that Ariel bore a, well, resemblance to mom may have influenced Yuri’s decision-making slightly…

( The last time we had dinner together was before Loid left.)

Anya froze, sugar tongs in hand. The cube fell from its grip perfectly onto the plate adjoining the steaming cup, breaking in half. Uh oh, Yuri was thinking about dad again…

( That cad. Leaving my sister behind for who-knows where and what.) 

Anya’s ears caught the creaking of leather as Yuri clenched his fists. 

( I know Yor thinks that somehow he’ll come back. That somehow that he’ll return and make everything right again. But not me. I won’t fall for his lies again. I’ll never forget how that devastated her, my beautiful, wonderful sister. I’ll never forgive him.) 

Anya took a calming breath. She could still get this together, keep it under control. Yuri storming out was the last thing she wanted right now. 

“Coffee’s ready!” She stirred the cup and placed it on a plate, then grabbed the box of cookies, foregoing the cup of cocoa she’d made for herself; there was no time, she had to intervene now . Making her way back into the living room with a smile fixed on her face, Anya offered the cup to Yuri, whose expression had darkened significantly. 

“Uncle Yuri?”

Then he looked up at her, a much-less-convincing smile curving its way on his face. “Oh. Thank you, Anya.”

“Yeah, of course.” She set the cookies down between them, then took one nervously before sitting on the chair opposite. 

Yuri took a sip of the coffee, then sighed a long breath. Then he looked at her from across the table, expression falling once again. ( I already know what his disappearance did to Yor. But have I really thought about what it did to Anya? Leaving his own daughter… Why would he do that?)

 Anya shuddered and shook her head, wishing she could just shut those thoughts out, but no, she needed her power right now. “Uncle Yuri…” she began, but her words caught in her throat. C’mon, just say it, for the mission, you have to keep going! 

“Yes?”

There’s no time for weakness now! “I– I was wondering about your offer. The internship at the Diplomacy Corp.” 

“Oh?” His thinking thankfully left the previous topic behind, changing to curiosity. ( That was ages ago, she’s interested now?)

Anya swallowed some more cookie, her heart rate lowering again. “My class is having a bring-your-child-to-work day, and since mom’s job is, like, super boring, I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me with that?”

He cocked his head at her. “You’d want to visit my job?” ( Well, not my ACTUAL job, there’s no way they’d let a kid shadow an SSS agent… But maybe I could play my cover for a day.”

“Yes, please!” She bounced a little on the couch, hoping she was projecting the very image of an enthusiastic kid who absolutely doesn’t know that their uncle is a tortuous agent of the dangerous shadow government. “I think your line of work is really noble, helping to maintain peace and all that!” 

(Well, that’s technically what I actually do…) “I’m not a blood relative, does that still work with your school?” ( I extended that offer originally because I thought she’d make a great intelligence agent one day, and starting in the actual line of diplomacy is an excellent place to select spies from.) 

“Yep! I can check, but I’m pretty sure it works.” The reason he thought she’d make a good spy was from one time she’d slipped up pretty badly conniving to get Yuri and Ariel together while she filched classified information from his briefcase, but she’d managed to lie her way enough out of that one that he only thought she’d been doing the first half of the scheme, which had been pretty genius if Anya said so herself. Which she did. She made good schemes. 

He looked at her, almost appraisingly. ( Well, she’s only gotten smarter since that time. And what would it hurt?) “You know what? I’ll ask around.”

“Yay, thanks so much! Does sometime this week work?”

 “Like I said, I’ll ask around. I’ll call when I find out.”

It was good enough! All she needed was an in of some kind to the Department of International Relations, and the State Security Service archives located below it. “No, that’s fine! Just be sure to call after school, mom isn’t here to pick up.” 

( Oh, right, I keep forgetting that most people don’t have answering machines. Especially now that they’re tighter on money now that he’s gone…) “All right.”

Anya took another bite of her cookie, bouncing slightly. It had worked! Now all she needed was intel on the inside of the SSS HQ and she could dart in and get any info they had on Twilight! And then she could use that info to cross-reference whatever she got from WISE, and then she could really start looking for dad in earnest! Even though Uncle Yuri was still looking for Twilight in his own time, the SSS had stopped their own investigation a while ago, and it would be really easy for her to learn if they’d caught him or not. 

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts, it took her a moment to realize that she’d stopped listening to Yuri’s. Maybe it would be useful? 

She finished her cookie and looked over at him, but he didn’t notice her attention. Her uncle was leaning forward, eyes downcast and distant, chin resting on his folded hands. 

And then Anya blinked and shuddered as his thoughts washed over her like a wave, the sheer confusion of the thoughts overwhelming her; Yuri was deep in something she’d called a spiral, where somebody would think so hard about emotionally complicated things that it would all begin to spiral together like a hurricane, making it harder for her to read concrete strings from the midst of it. She’d lost attention for what, only a minute or two at most? But this… it was a serious spiral he was in.

(Regret. I hadn’t helped– Shame. I should have done more– Anger. How could he do this to my family– Pity. I know exactly how it feels–)

As she tried to untangle the perplexing mass, Anya tilted her head and asked. “Uncle Yuri? Is everything ok?” 

He didn’t reply immediately, and the swirling only became worse. His brows lowered, and his mouth became a hard line. 

Anya blinked, apprehension spreading through her. He isn’t even hiding anything anymore… “Is the coffee bad?” she tried weakly. “I can make another cup if…” she trailed off; he’d lifted his head. 

Yuri sighed, sitting back, looking up at the ceiling. (You didn’t take the chance before, but now you can. Every time I came, I was too focused on Yor. But what do I even say? Sorry isn’t enough.) “Look, Anya…” he began, then ran a hand through his hair, looking away. ( Just speak, damn it! You’re supposed to be a smooth-talking spy catcher, why is talking to your niece so hard?) 

  Anya was still, eyes wide as she witnessed the mental battle this man was going through on multiple fronts. “Um, yeah, Uncle Yuri?” 

“I… I’m sorry,” he said, finally meeting her gaze briefly before faltering again. He wrung his hands, the leather of his gloves creaking. “You’ve been going through a lot, and I wasn’t really there to help you, or your mother. I was so–” ( Just say it! Even if she doesn’t like it, you have to tell her the reason.) “I was… angry at your father–” ( for leaving you both behind.) “–when he disappeared, and I didn’t know how to deal with those emotions back then.” He gulped a breath. “It was selfish of me to avoid you for that, however.” Yuri looked up at her. “I should have been there for you in those early days, but I wasn’t. If you have any hard feelings, which I deserve every ounce of, I hope you can forgive me. ” 

Anya looked back at him, eyes wide. What… what was she supposed to say to that !? She’d never seen Yuri like this. Yuri, who’d rather die than tell someone what he really felt about them, was being so honest and earnest with her right now that Anya had no idea what to do or say. Her mouth closed and opened like a fish, and emotions that she’d tried to keep at bay started to resurface, her recent victory paling in comparison. 

And Anya realized that, in the end, he was right. In those days immediately after dad had disappeared, her annoyance and humor at Yuri’s antagonism towards her father and his work had turned to genuine resentment. Yuri just didn’t get it, and Anya did.

Loid Forger was NOT a bad person. He hadn’t left them because he’d wanted to. Her father was still out there somewhere, and needed help. 

He was not dead. 

And those things were true. They had to be. 

“And…” Yuri went on, looking like he wanted to run but was forcing himself to stay. (What did Yor do to help me feel better when I was her age? Oh man, I hope I don’t make anything worse…)  He reached across the table and took Anya’s hand. “ I know I can’t make up the time I lost, but even if you don’t –forgive me, that is– I’m here for you, now.” 

Emotions were tumbling around her brain now, and while she didn’t pull away, she didn’t return the gesture. It was her turn to clench her fists, and he pulled away, openly showing his contrition and the fear that she would turn on him. And, as a burning started in her eyes that she tried to violently suppress,  a part of Anya wanted to. She would never be able to forget the way some of his initial thoughts had first shot into her young mind, that she was a stupid, strange girl who was most likely only trouble in the long run, and at worst, somehow a threat to her own mother, offspring as she was to an even greater threat that Yuri had to expose somehow. 

She lowered her head, and her bangs covered her view of him. “For a long time,” she began, voice rough at the edges. “I wasn’t sure if you even cared about me.” 

( Ok . Calm down. At least she’s talking, and not condemning you. I need to talk to– with her.) “Anya. For too long a time, I–” He gave a short, desperate laugh. “I wasn’t sure I did, either.” (It started… was it when I faced the terrorists on the bus? I can’t tell her that. I wish I could. That’s the kind of thing she’d enjoy hearing about, I think.) “I wasn’t sure about a lot of things back then. But, knowing you, knowing your–” ( your father) “–family, it all made me reconsider what I thought. You’re my sister’s daughter, my niece, and I want to do better now.” He shuffled on the couch, but couldn’t find comfort, so he leaned forward instead, trying to meet her eyes again. “As I said; you have a right to your feelings; I understand how hard–”

“Why are you saying this? Why now?” Something flipped inside her, and suddenly Anya’s nails were biting into her palms. Her head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “What do you think I’m going to say?” Anya pitched her voice higher.  “‘Oh, it’s ok, Uncle Yuri, I forgive you for hating my father and avoiding me.’ Is that it?” In a rush of energy, she stood, trying to isolate her mind from Yuri’s panicked rush of shame. 

(No no, please don’t leave, I– I just wanted to– God damn it all!) “I– don’t know, I just wanted to help you, if I could.” 

She’d forced herself not to run to her room, instead pacing behind the couch, avoiding his gaze.  “Help? You want to help ?” She barked a laugh, teeth baring in a grin before settling into a snarl. A part of her wanted to stop this, to calm down, for the mission , she needed Yuri so that she could find the intel! But the rest of her was filled with a vicious energy, something she hadn’t let out truthfully for years now. “I saw the way you looked at him when he wasn’t looking. The words you muttered under your breath when you thought nobody could hear you.” The thoughts that exposed your stupid jealousy and futile resistance to his brilliance.  

Yuri tried to speak, but she overrode him viciously, hands moving as she spoke. “And don’t get me started on how quickly you condemned him!” She stopped her pacing and faced him again, tossing her head. “It was almost like you were waiting for him to hurt us, to prove yourself right! You never had faith in him!” 

Yuri had stopped resisting, and was sitting on the couch silently, hands folded and head down before her assault, his thoughts a dark storm that she didn’t even try to understand.

Anya shuddered as hot tears worked their way into her eyes, and she swiped at them furiously. “You want to help? Then leave me alone! ” 

Yuri visibly recoiled from her, and the words echoed in the small apartment. 

The ensuing silence cut at her, and Anya hugged herself, tears fully falling down her face. She’d never yelled at Yuri like that. It’s about time, she told herself fiercely, but she felt so bad right now that any satisfaction in the release was long lost. 

A soft padding came from the hallway and Bond plodded his way around the corner. His small dark eyes, filled with concern, lifted to find hers, and his thoughts, even groggy, were a welcome relief. Without a second thought, Anya collapsed to her knees and hugged the large dog to her, his comforting bulk immediately giving her something to hold to, literally and otherwise. He radiated his love for her, and she tried to absorb it, tried to let it wash the anger and pain in her heart away. 

And then Bond, using mental energy that came harder and harder for him nowadays, showed her what was to come. 

Yuri, leaving without another word.
His face, wet with tears, the streetlights not finding his eyes.
Cursing himself until the morning found him, awash in shame. 

Anya’s fingers clenched in the mass of her friend’s fur, and something clicked in her mind; a reason for why she was reacting so strongly. Every doubt Yuri had ever had towards Loid Forger was only a sharper mirror of the exact same fears that she’d tried to silence her entire life. 

 And then Yuri was standing, his breathing strained. 

“Yuri,” Anya let go of Bond, who stepped back expectantly, and raised herself up, unsteady. 

He didn’t look at her. “I’ll be going, then.” His voice was soft, tattered. ( If that’s what she wants, I’ll do it.) 

She faced him, taking deep breaths, eyes stinging. Shoving her sleeve across her eyes, she spoke again, before the hurt in her could stop it. “Wait.”

“No, you’re right. It was foolish of me to think that you could rely on me now.” ( I don’t deserve it anyway.) He turned. “I’m sorry, for everything.” And then, from a mind swamped with despair and shame, a single thought made itself known as he glanced at the papers on the table. ( I forgot to tell her earlier that her math looks so much better than it used to. Too late, now.) A small pause. (Question thirteen is wrong, though.)  

And then Yuri stopped, because she’d rushed across the room in an instant and blocked his path. He blinked, partially from surprise, and also because he held a similar wetness in his dark-framed eyes. “A– Anya?”

She straightened herself to her full height and looked him right in the eyes, blinking furiously. “Uncle Yuri, if you leave right now–” She swallowed a deep breath. “Then I won’t be able to do my homework, or get to sleep easily, and it will be all your fault.” She tried to banish both of their confusions spiking in her mind with a furious shake of her head.  “Because! I’m too upset.” 

“Oh.” ( That’s counterintuitive, isn’t it?) “But, you said–” 

“No buts!” Her rejoiner was swift. “There’s only one way to fix this!” She wasn’t quite sure where this was going, but she couldn’t stop now. Besides, improv was a valuable skill for any spy. “Finish the coffee I made for you, and–” She choked, then had to shove back the sobs that still threatened to overwhelm her. “And help me with my homework!” 

Yuri was fully flummoxed at this point, but something had started to grow within the storm of his thoughts. “Are you sure?” 

Then she fully shoved him back down on the couch with both hands, and he collapsed like a badly-crafted paper doll with a grunt of pain. “Shut up! Do you know how much that coffee costs? Finish it!” She made her way around the table, scooping up her books and moving them to the other side where he sat, shoving down all the frantic resistance in her brain. 

She couldn’t let him go, not like that. 

Bond followed her, and when she set herself down next to Yuri, the large dog invited himself up on the couch as well, forcing them to sit closer than they might have planned.

Anya looked up and met his eyes tentatively, and he looked back, relief finally beginning to overcome surprise in his mind.

  (Always so stubborn…) He smiled, a small and tired thing, then took the coffee cup from off the saucer and took another sip, and then began, his hesitation pushed away. “All right, where are we starting today? It’s been a while, are you still in Algebra?” 

Anya’s eyes settled on the cup in his hand, a simple white ceramic with a blue stripe that also adorned the saucer. Dad had gotten Uncle Yuri that teacup for when he stopped by, adding it to the family’s matching set. Her heart was anything but peaceful, and the anger wasn’t gone. This was far from over, Anya knew. 

But Yuri was family, too. 

“It’s been ages since I was in Algebra,” she began haughtily, “I’m far beyond that now, keep up.” 

He nodded, eyes already tracing diagrams on her book. (Maybe… maybe I can fix things, after all.) 

And Anya realized that she shared that same hope. That was why she –why papa– were spies in the first place. But now was no time for spywork. Now, she needed her uncle to help with her homework.