Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

An assassin has been caught and is being held in custody in the SSS headquarters in East Berlint. It’s the kind of news that has made waves within their ranks, but will never be reported to the public. Though their having apprehended the criminal is a triumph, the ability of an individual to have operated in the dark for any length of time at all would send a bad message to the Ostanian public.

She hasn’t been forthcoming about the details of her employer. It’s evidence of her absolute loyalty to their cause, whatever their cause may be. The SSS, however, has extensive experiences with these cases. They will break her, or make her wish they did. It is only a matter of time. Special Agent Wells and Special Agent Cartwright have been assigned to her case - one an infamous interrogator, the other an excellent sweet talker. This shows that the SSS is committed to mining her for information.

First Lieutenant Yuri Briar hasn’t been assigned to it in any capacity. He is in the town of Dunkitt investigating an illegal mining operation, and may not hear about the case until it has concluded in one way or another. Regardless, he hardly ever shows up at the satellite office where the Private is assigned. He had no reason to be, but the Private had been wary of his appearing at some point in the past two weeks he’d been there. He was only sure that he really wouldn’t come when he noticed that no one that important ever visited the office, besides the odd general or two.

The relief of knowing this has been immense as he’s carried out his tasks. He had been put in an administrative position, which has also been greatly beneficial to him. Being a fringe, isolated post on the edge of the city, it’s not as though many truly important documents ever reached them. He’s still been able to see enough - some reports pertaining to the capture of a western accountant who had been caught trading government secrets from his post in the embassy.

The Private has memorised each piece of intel, created copies and dispersed them to his real agency. The objective has already been accomplished. There is no link tying the man to them. He will still remain in this identity for a while longer to prevent any suspicions about his upcoming disappearance. It is… tedious remaining here when his mission has been finished. Part of him wonders if it’s an intentional choice to leave him there for longer than necessary due to his past faults.

He is on leave at his ‘primary’ job, but the office is at least an hour and a half away from his apartment. He seldom gets home early enough to cook dinner or check homework, and often arrives late enough that at least one of the apartment’s occupants will be sleeping. The only other advantage has been following the case of this captured assassin.

It’s not her. He knows it’s not, but he scans the memorandum over and over for any mentions of ‘Garden’ or a ‘Shopkeeper’.

Anything else he knows comes from the idle gossip of his coworkers. With so little to do on a daily basis, it’s the only meaningful occupation of their time. He stays out of their conversations for the most part, only adding the odd comment or joke. The Private is meant to be a reserved young man, still finding his feet in an office he’s new to. As such, he’s been allowed to observe freely. The Captain leans back on a teetering old chair, his feet propped up onto his desk while he converses with the station’s lieutenant. It’s just the three of them in the office. It’s warm and stuffy from the humid weather, but no one has been sent to fix the broken A/C unit. It’s a slow day.

“From what I heard, she’s a real stunner,” the lieutenant says. He doesn’t need to mention who he is talking about. The new memo arrived about an hour ago.

It’s not her. The Private is absolutely positive it’s not her.

“Well they have to be in that line of work. It’s not much different from… you know,” the Captain says with a grin. It’s not her, but regardless the insinuation in the Captain's tone grates on him. “You can bet your ass they’re gonna take it easy on her at HQ.”

“What, just because she’s pretty? Have you seen some of the Western moles they’ve taken in?” the Lieutenant retorts. “In fact, they usually have it worse.”

“That’s just the thing, Lieutenant. Those were Western rats. These assassins are misguided, but they’re usually loyal to Ostania,” the Captain explains. “If she’s as good as they say she is, they’re not going to waste her talent if it can be diverted to a greater cause.”

“I don’t know. You know how crazy those types can be,” the Lieutenant says. He swivels in his chair to look at the Private over his shoulder. “What do you think, private? Would HQ have any use for a rogue element?”

The Private has otherwise been silent, diligently typing a copy of a transcript. He remains silent and adjusts his glasses. “I didn't know the SSS goes easy on any traitor. I thought we were supposed to be the strongest arm of the law.”

“There’s a difference between moles - the West-loving scum - and local criminals,” the Captain says. “Especially useful local criminals. They’re a resource like any other.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the Private ruminates. Only more so if said ‘useful criminal’ has a close contact within the SSS, perhaps even a relative. Such a person, despite their own anxieties about blending in with Ostanian society and avoiding discovery, may stand a chance at a normal life (albeit under the SSS’s thumb). Such a person may not, however, receive such grace if they were knowingly associated with the enemy. It's something else to consider in his increasingly volatile main operation.

Perhaps not considering this before is yet another piece of evidence for his complacency. There has been some relief in knowing the dually precarious nature of the situation they're in alongside a sense of trust built through familiarity. But what is trust or rapport in the face of such an offer of safety? Hasn't that always been what she's wanted, for her and her family? A family that now includes Anya?

The leverage he thought was mutual is actually teetering heavily out of his favour. He has been slacking. That much has been obvious already but this new angle has given him the need to re-evaluate everything. Until he can recover the integrity of the mission, he will need to adjust his conduct and wait for the opportunity to set things properly on course.

(A small voice speaks to him from a part of himself he tries to keep buried. Yor trusts you. She made that very clear. Shouldn’t you do the same? He stifles it quickly. His professionalism has taken the back seat for far too long already.)

Chapter Text

Loid and Anya’s heads tilted slightly as they examined the contents of the dish. Anya seems to have mastered the blank expression her father often wears. The resemblance in that moment would have been endearing were Yor not so mortified. Some threads of the dishcloth she was wringing in her hand began to fray.

“I-it’s a chicken casserole,” she meekly announced. “I got the recipe from Sharon.” She knew it looked nothing like the picture on the recipe card. The very moment she’d lifted the lid of the cream-coloured serving dish she knew she’d done something wrong.

“Ah. Of course,” Loid said, sounding only half convinced. “I suppose those… protrusions are the bones.”

“I guess I was supposed to cut them out?” Her knife had glided so smoothly through the chicken bones that she’d thought it would be safe enough to leave them like that, but the jagged ones poking through the top of the brown crust had her considering otherwise.

“We can always eat around them,” Loid said. He stared at it with a fist resting in front of his mouth, clearly in deep thought. It's at this point the old Loid might have offered a reassuring, but artificial smile. He didn’t. “Thank you for cooking dinner, Yor. Have a seat and we’ll get started.”

Yor nodded and nervously sat in her seat opposite Loid. He picked up the spoon and held it for a moment, as if preparing himself while he stared at the dish. Then he took Anya’s plate and heaped a serving onto it before doing the same with his own. As he was reaching to take Yor’s, Anya scooped some casserole with a fork and paused.

“Uh, Mama, is it supposed to do that?”

She twisted the fork around to reveal a pink sliver of meat, so raw there was some blood leaking from a vein in the middle of it. Yor’s face was positively burning with embarrassment. She nervously waved her hands in front of her. “Y-you shouldn’t eat that Anya! Raw chicken can be really dangerous!” She at least knew that much, though of course it’s impractical to poison someone with Salmonella enterica.

“I have a feeling the whole thing is undercooked.” Loid moved the crust to reveal that pretty much his whole serving was pink, with only some patches being cooked at all. Somehow there were still ice crystals frozen solid. “How long did you leave it in the oven?”

“Half an hour, just like the recipe said,” Yor answered. She tried to control the tremor in her voice. She’d been sure she got that right at least. She’d checked several times.

“How long did you preheat it?”

She froze. “Preheat?”

Loid nodded. “Most ovens take some time to warm up. Ours is particularly finicky. You should turn it on at least fifteen minutes before putting in the food so it can get to the right temperature.”

A simple yet costly mistake. She could hardly believe herself. She groaned and buried her head in her hands. “Oh Loid, I am so sorry! I ruined everything!”

“Yor…”

“I could have made you two really sick! What if-”

“Yor.” It was the gentleness in Loid’s voice that enabled her to slowly look up. He still wasn’t quite smiling how he used to, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. His lips quirked up slightly in a familiar way, his posture relaxed and patient. “It was an easy mistake to make. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Yor blinked and her eyes burned, which made her realise she’d been close to tearing up. She closed her eyes and shook her head, willing herself to reign in her emotions. “I… I really am sorry,” she repeated. “I’ll try my hardest to do better next time.”

Anya, ever the angel, slid out of her chair to Yor’s side and pet her arm soothingly. “There, there Mama. You tried your best.” Well that certainly wasn’t helping Yor keep her tears at bay. She ran a hand through Anya’s hair gratefully. Anya gave her a determined nod then took her plate from the table. “Bond can eat it instead so it doesn’t go to waste!” she suggested.

“Wait, Anya-” Loid and Yor both leapt out of their chairs, but kids can be surprisingly wily when they want to. Bond was already on alert, knowing there’s always a chance of food being scraped into his bowl after dinner. Before they could stop her, Anya slid everything from her plate to an eagerly awaiting dog. His tail swung happily as he sniffed the food, but then he froze and toppled over.

“Bond!” Yor yelled distraught, her face fully aflame again.

The dog was thankfully still breathing, which they could see from his rising and falling chest, but somehow he seemed a little… green?

“He’ll be fine,” Loid said unsurely. He let out a sigh and began to lecture Anya about giving dogs human food, which they have told her countless times not to do. In the meantime, Yor collected all evidence of her shameful attempt at dinner and began scraping the food into the trash.

Sharon, Millie and Camilla stare at her aghast. Yor blushes furiously at their scrutiny. This is more the shame she’d expected to feel from Loid and Anya.

“Yor, I gave you that recipe because it’s impossible to mess up,” Sharon says with a sigh. “It has six ingredients. I thought you could handle it.”

“I told you her cooking’s a lost cause,” Camilla huffs. “Trust me, I taught her all she knows and it’s not much. She needs to practice any recipe a dozen times before it’s even edible.”

“But she has been getting halfway decent, right?” Sharon says in Yor’s defense. It’s a testament to her kindness that she’s willing to do so despite the disaster Yor admitted to. She knows Sharon’s recipe card had been a show of faith, and she feels bad about letting her down.

“Well Dr Forger probably already knew all about Yor’s terrible cooking when he married her,” Millie interrupts. She leans forward and looks at Yor with keen eyes. “What did Loid say afterwards?”

Yor fiddles with the cuff of her shirt. “Loid and I talked about what I did wrong and made a pasta bake together. It only took half an hour. He even let me watch it in the oven and it came out fine.”

“Of course he did,” Camilla says with a roll of the eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know how he still has the patience.”

“Neither do I,” Yor mumbles, though she supposes that’s not the whole truth. Loid does have a reason to withstand her shoddy homemaking skills. There’s a part of the story she’s leaving out, an aspect that’s given her a newfound understanding of marital complications, though she guesses it would be unwise to mention it.

It was the visible calculating in his eyes when he analyzed the casserole. It was the minimally re-assuring half smile. It was the way that Loid had joined her in the kitchen, pulled out the ingredients for a quick dinner and said he wanted to ‘debrief’ on what went wrong.

Debrief.

It’s been two months since she accidentally learned in a foreign city that her husband is a spy from the West. She also learned that she’s unwittingly part of some larger mission for peace that relies on Anya doing well at school. Something about Damian, Anya, and Melinda’s husband… He’d made it sound pretty convoluted but she thinks she gets the gist of it. He knows about her side job too. In fact, he’d figured her out first. Needless to say, it’s thrown a spanner in the works of their domestic arrangement.

It’s not that much has changed in their home life but this new Loid - she knows Loid is not his name, but still calls him that out of habit - is still taking some getting used to. He’s not quite as warm as he used to be. His offer to help Yor put together a new dinner wasn’t delivered with any emotion. It was pragmatic, a set of steps they needed to follow. He treats almost everything this way. He rarely expresses anything without necessity, his voice is more often even, bordering on monotone. He thinks through everything, and it's come to make sense why he’s always several steps ahead.

But many of his traits are just so familiar, just so specific to Loid. She already knew that Loid was intelligent, but an overthinker, that he was very practical, that he struggled to share his emotions. He may not be very affectionate, but he’s kind, he’s gentle. He still has his dry sense of humour. He clearly cares more than he lets on. Whatever he says about not wanting to get attached, he treats Anya like a princess. He’s not at all what she would have thought spies to be like from PSAs and the radio. It’s this lingering familiarity that makes her believe that Loid Forger isn’t all an act. And in a weird way, she prefers the imperfect version of him… maybe a little too much.

Sometimes the Director’s warnings ring in her mind. Sometimes she thinks Loid (or Twilight if she wants to be accurate) is using his ability against her. Her instincts tell her that, at his core, he's the same man. After a couple of years living together, she really feels like she knows him. That’s what makes it so jarring when the difference becomes apparent. In recalling her disastrous casserole a couple of weeks ago, she remembers that it had been the last time he acted like… himself.

Soon after that night he’d been put on a mission that had him travelling far and coming home late. As per their new habit of transparency, he’d told her about as much as he could knowing that she was set to have some late nights as well. It just so happened that she would often leave the apartment soon after his arrival so they didn’t get much of an opportunity to talk. But she noticed a few days ago, presumably towards the end of his mission, that he’d been deep in thought the moment he walked through the door. He’d stared at her with an analytical gaze for a moment before tearing his eyes away, and ever since he’s been pretty withdrawn. She doesn’t know what to make of it.

While she’s been ruminating on her thoughts, the conversation has turned to other recipes. It quietens down with the addition of a new voice. “Er, excuse me.” They all turn their attention to an assistant who stands at the door to the breakroom with a clipboard pressed to her chest. She awkwardly clears her throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but Mr McMahon requested to see you in his office, Yor.”

Yor is stunned into silence for a moment before she shoots out of her seat. “Of course. I’ll be right there. Thanks for telling me.”

She hurriedly picks up her tea cup and saucer to wash and put away.

“Let me guess, another luxurious trip to schmooze a client,” Millie says wryly. “You know, I used to think Director McMahon would stop playing favourites after you got married.”

“It’s nothing like that!” Yor says, horrified. “There’s some tasks he’s been assigning me for years so he knows I’m used to it and-”

“Relax Yor, she’s teasing you,” Sharon says. Yor notices how Millie and Camilla are giggling behind their hands and flushes. Sharon rolls her eyes. “Just go before he bites your head off for being late.”

At first, Yor wants to dispute that the Director would do such a thing even if he were capable of it. Human teeth are rarely ever able to dig into any subdermal layers even in a particularly aggressive bite, let alone severing sinew and bone - not to mention how tough the spinal cord is to saw through even with a knife - and the Director would be unlikely to execute her for such a small slight. She stops herself from making the correction, somehow figuring Sharon doesn’t need it. “Right,” she says with a tight nod. “I’ll see you all later.”

She nervously makes her way to Director McMahon’s office on the floor above and hesitates to enter once she gets there. Things have felt a little tense with him since he learned about Loid, and they’ve barely spoken about him since. On the other hand that’s probably a good thing - they haven’t talked about him since. That must mean Mr McMahon’s moved on from the whole debacle. Yor likes to think that, when Mr McMahon realises Loid really won't do anything, he'll be able to let go completely. Yor successfully serving clients will only help that process along.

She takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. Mr McMahon watches her enter over the top of his glasses behind a large wooden desk where he’s shuffling through some files. “Mrs Forger. Have a seat.” His greeting is as detached and calm as he usually is and puts her a little more at ease. She slides into the seat across from him. “It’s been some time since we last spoke. How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’ve been alright,” Yor says easily. “A little busy with some of the clients and home life. I’ve been managing pretty well though.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that the Shopkeeper has been heaping a lot more on your plate lately, but he has been impressed with the results. As am I. I haven’t needed to clean up after any particularly messy meetings.”

“Oh, uh, thank you!” Yor says. Compliments from Mr McMahon aren’t too rare, but they mean a lot to her.

“I do imagine that interferes with your domestic life.” Mr McMahon glances up at her from the page he’s been reading. “Is the child quite well? And Dr Forger?”

“Th-they’re alright.” Yor fiddles with the hem of her skirt as her nerves come back full force at the shifting topic.

He puts the page down. “Dr Forger hasn’t been giving you any… issues?”

Yor gulps and shakes her head. The recent lack of warmth may bother her a little, and there may be the added pressure of being a good wife and mother for his mission, but those are her personal problems. Loid hasn’t done or said anything untoward and hasn’t given any indication of being willing to report her.

Mr McMahon’s distrust is a force to reckon with. He raises a dubious brow but says nothing while he cleans his glasses and places them back on his nose. “Let’s get into things. I’ve been asked to tell you about our next client and brief you on the services we will be offering.”

Yor’s back straightens.

“The client is William Barton. He’s forty-two years old and works as the head of a department of some hotel chains.”

He stops speaking, leaving Yor puzzled as she waits for more. “Um, anything else?” she asks tentatively.

Mr McMahon somberly shakes his head. “We are aware of his connections to criminal networks, and we have it on good authority that his retirement would lead to several crumbling, but he has otherwise eluded all our attempts to gather more information. His schedule changes constantly. We are unable to settle on a time and place for you to provide your services.”

“Huh.” Yor knows it's a weak response to such a revelation but it feels odd to learn that Garden isn’t an all-knowing entity. They’ve always given her an assignment, the reason why the customer’s death would be for the best, and an explanation for the best opportunity for her to carry out the execution. She’s never had to do much investigating herself. “Am I supposed to put together a plan?”

“Usually we wouldn’t ask that of any employees. The Shopkeeper was all but willing to put the case aside despite the ultimate good of closing it,” Mr McMahon says, once again adjusting his glasses. The light flashes across them to obscure his eyes for a moment or two. “I did tell him that you may be capable of ascertaining the necessary information. That you have extenuating factors that make you better equipped than you might have once been.”

It takes her a moment to realise what he’s referring to. “You mean… Loid?”

“Yes, I mean Loid.” Yor doesn’t miss how he repeats the name with disdain. It reminds her a little of Yuri’s petty nicknames for him, though of course the Director’s ill feelings are a little more justified. Goodness, if Yuri found out the truth about Loid… she pulls her mind from the thought.

“I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she says weakly.

Mr McMahon’s face is stony as he adjusts his glasses. “It would benefit both of you to have him do something useful for once, considering his position.” Yor’s instinct is to defend him but she bites her cheek. “And that aside, you do have some investigative chops from what I’ve heard. Didn’t you mention that you helped him gather intelligence on Raymond?”

“Yeah, but I…” She feels at a loss. This all sounds way out of her wheelhouse. “I’ve never been involved in that part of my assignments, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to ask Loid to do so much by himself. Isn’t there another way?”

“Whether you help him or not in his research, you do need to ask him. He should consider it a condition for our mutual discretion.” Seeing her remaining hesitation, he softens slightly.

“For as long as you’ve been in this line of work, I’m sure you understand the importance of what you do. I wouldn’t suggest using that man’s… capabilities if I didn’t think it would be vital to have this customer taken care of expediently. Our agency is still on the case but it would be remiss to ignore the fact that he may be able to find something we can’t, despite our resources.”

When he puts it that way, she begins to understand a little more. It’s important, so she knows she has to do it, but she still feels uneasy about asking Loid. Their work lives haven’t intersected since a few months ago, and while he’s said he’s okay with her being an assassin he’s… different now. If she approaches him to ask for his help to murder someone, how will he respond?

But that’s nothing in the face of her job. Garden has given her so much. They helped her raise Yuri into a respectable man. The way they function allows her to carry out her assignments with relative ease. Given a location, target and time, all she’s ever had to think about is execution. If a little discomfort on her part is how she can help them in turn in some way, then she will just have to bear it. She nods tightly, her lips tensed.

“Leave it to me, Director.”

Chapter Text

Yor’s determination wanes throughout the day while she completes her work. By the time she has to leave the office, the intimidating nature of her request begins to weigh on her. She thinks about how to word it the entire way home and is a bundle of nerves when she reaches their door. She opens it and is startled to see Loid is already home seated on the sofa, but both he and Anya barely notice her since they’re already deep into a heated discussion.

“You can’t - welcome back, Yor - you will not be doing a project on that. Pick another topic.”

“Why not?!” Anya yells, indignant. “There’s so much science-y stuff about it, like hi-draw-licks and speed and-”

“Ballistics are not an appropriate topic for a third grade science project,” he cuts in. Anya falls silent and her brows furrows in confusion for a second then her eyes widen in clarity.

“But the topic I want is ‘how guns work’ not ‘how to shoot people’!”

“Let me put down my bag,” Yor pitches in awkwardly. She’s vaguely aware of Loid nodding in acknowledgement but clearly both are pre-occupied by their argument. In a way, Yor’s grateful for the distraction as she considers how to broach the topic of her client with Loid.

(She doesn’t want to add to the discussion of Anya’s schoolwork. The fact that she doesn’t see anything wrong with Anya researching guns probably means she has the wrong idea about these things and wouldn’t be much help anyway.)

The thing is, after she’s changed clothes and joins them in the living room, while she helps Loid chop vegetables for dinner, while they eat and even while they have their hot drinks a while after, Loid and Anya keep at it. They exchange ideas for topics back and forth with Loid’s suggestions being too boring for Anya and Anya’s being too ridiculous or impractical for Loid. As they sit with warm cups in hand they’re still at a stalemate.

“What about…” Anya pauses to yawn, her eyes tellingly drooping. “...What about… the invisibility potion from Super Kids.”

“It’s not scientifically sound,” Loid fires back, “and it's past your bedtime.”

“But-”

“But we can keep talking about it tomorrow. We have some time, since you brought this up early.” Anya rolls her eyes at the reference to a previous chaotic last-minute project, but jumps off her seat and makes her way to the bathroom.

Loid lets out a long held sigh, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I apologise for that, Yor. After the last fiasco, it feels important to get this right.”

“It’s alright,” she says quickly. “I understand. It’s a good thing that Anya’s taking this so seriously, isn’t it?”

He lets out another breath, though not as heavy, and the dip between his brow softens slightly. “That is true. I suppose we’ll come to an agreement eventually.” His hand falls to his lap and he looks at Yor. “We haven’t spoken in some time. How was your day?”

They really haven’t talked in a while, not like they used to. Before everything happened, they would sit together after Anya had been put to bed and talk about their days. Yor was only able to talk about her civilian job and Yuri of course, but sometimes she figured out a way to vent about the stresses of being an assassin. It had been nice having him reassure her in his capacity as a psychiatrist.

But that’s not all it was. It was him gathering information as a spy to make their cover more convincing. It’s the same reason he’d used at the beginning, but she had started to think there had to be something more genuine, that he really cared to hear her speak about herself. It's only stopped recently, and she isn’t sure what’s changed. There’s so much she’s no longer sure of. She has no idea how he’ll receive her request.

“Yor?” His brow furrows in concern at her extended silence. Is that part of the act or is he genuinely worried? She hates how she second guesses everything now.

“I need your help with a customer,” she blurts out quickly. It’s easier to force it out in one breath.

His face smooths out while he processes what she said. “You mean, your other job?” She nods sheepishly. “I see.” He doesn't say anything after that. Rather than wait around so she can scrutinize his non-reaction, she takes the opportunity to fetch the thin file Mr McMahon gave her.

Throughout her explanation he maintains a familiarly neutral expression. He leans on his knees with a finger curled over his mouth as he scans the pages. The speed with which his pupils flick back and forth tells her he actually reads the whole document multiple times. They sit in silence for a few minutes after she's done speaking. It's impossible to parse what he's thinking.

“William Barton has been on WISE's radar for quite some time now,” he admits eventually. “He is very elusive. We don’t know much about him either, but we know he has connections in border patrol that let him in and out fairly easily. He’s been seen in Westalis so often that we have reason to think he may be a dual citizen.”

“Dual citizen?” Yor repeats. When she thinks about it, she doesn’t think she’s ever met a dual citizen of the East and West. Relations between citizens diminished almost completely after the war, and any Westalians who remained in Ostania quickly left after the barricade went up. Well, present company not included.

“WISE won’t want Barton to be terminated without a proper investigation first,” he says.

Yor slumps. That’s an answer she should have expected. “I-it’s alright. I’ll let Mr McMahon and the Shopkeeper know.”

“But I am in a compromising position,” he quickly adds. He looks her in the eyes. He doesn’t seem as solemn as his words sound. “You hold some leverage over me and it puts me at an impasse.”

Yor is shocked for a moment to hear him say it so casually. It’s not like she would ever… “You really don’t have to! There’s no pressure at all!” she says, waving her hands in front of her. “I mean, it’s not like I was threatening to... We can always-”

“I’m forced to help since I’m under duress,” he says decidedly, in the same tone he uses when he announces a location for their next family trip. “I will simply have to keep this a secret from WISE and conduct the investigation in my own capacity. You and McMahon would otherwise report me to the government, yes?”

She’s not quite sure she understands what’s happening, but she thinks he wants her to agree. “...Yes?” she says uneasily.

“Yes,” he repeats firmly. He rips up the paper before her, startling Yor enough for her to jolt. “Leave it to me, Yor. With such a slippery target reconnaissance may take much longer than it usually would, but I do have my methods. I’ll collate the information on his habits and connections so you and Garden can come up with a plan of action.”

This is all far too easy. Loid gets up to throw away the pieces of paper while Yor remains frozen until she smells smoke. She turns slightly to watch him burn the paper in the sink. His movements are methodical. His expression is carefully neutral. “I meant it when I said there’s no pressure. You don’t have to do anything,” she blurts out. She doesn’t want him to have that impression of her, that she would blackmail him. Besides, Loid has said it himself before - it would be against both of their interests to expose him.

There’s a flicker in his expression as he glances at her, a moment of softness, before it falls away. “You may feel that way but it’s for the best that I agree. McMahon is clearly testing my utility, and proposing this as a condition for our mutual discretion.” Yor has noticed the similarities between the two before, but it’s almost creepy how he’s saying the exact same thing. They’d probably get along under different circumstances.

“It really doesn’t have to be,” Yor says resolutely.

He clears his throat. “I… understand, but I’m sure you do want to appease your superiors. Besides, I’ve done this kind of thing before.”

Somehow this does put her a little more at ease. It’s not quite the way he usually reassures her, but it has the same effect. She knows Loid to be completely capable, and from what she knows of ‘Twilight’s’ reputation (all being from Mr McMahon) he’s probably better suited for the job than anyone she knows. She still trusts him, after all. And if he ever needs her help with this, she’ll do so immediately.

A week later, everything is normal. In a way, it’s too normal. Loid acts as though Yor had never said anything to him at all, and it’s hard for her to tell when his late nights are really spent in the hospital or doing something else. Mr McMahon hasn’t brought it up with Yor either. While it seems there’s no real rush to take care of the customer, Yor doesn’t like having a job waiting for her without it being nipped in the bud.

She once again finds herself seated nervously on the sofa with Bond at her feet this time, considering how to broach the topic while Anya and Twilight argue about her project again.

“I feel you’re intentionally choosing outlandish topics,” he says while he washes the dishes.

Anya, standing in the doorway outside the kitchen, puts her hands on her hips indignantly. It’s not oot… out-land-ish, it’s real! Anya saw Phil Bye do it on TV.”

“Ah yes, Phil Bye. The final bastion of physics and academia.” Despite his dry tone, he looks like he’s considering it while he dries his hands on a frayed dish towel. “If you truly saw him do that then I suppose he would have used magnets. Although maglev technology is far from widespread implementation, it’s a suitable enough experiment on a small scale. It’s… doable.”

Anya raises her arms in triumph. “Yay! Flying trains!”

“Floating trains. And that wasn’t a yes,” he tells her, but that hardly seems to register to her in her elation.

“Anya’s gonna look for one in her toys! Come on Bond!”

Bond lifts his head, resting it on Yor’s knee as he figures out why he’s being called. When he sees Anya skipping to her room, he gets up and trots after her. For a moment, Yor is distracted from her thoughts as her heart warms with affection.

When Loid settles down in his seat again, his mind still seems to linger on what they’d been discussing. He slumps in his seat, his head settled in his hands. For the first time Yor notices the slight dark circles under eyes. He doesn’t have the best sleep schedule, but is it possible he’s getting even less sleep because of her?

“She needs to have a topic by tomorrow,” he says as though he’s thinking aloud. “I don’t know how amenable her teacher will be to what she chooses. A ‘floating train’. Isn’t that a little eccentric?”

“I… It might be,” Yor says, knowing she’s not really an expert in what’s considered ‘eccentric’. “But it can’t be so bad if you’re considering it. Besides, Anya usually works these things out, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She sees some of the conflict leave his eyes, but he still looks tense. She comes to realize there may not be a good time to ask him how things are going with the investigation. She braces herself with a deep breath and turns to face him directly. He speaks before she can get a word out. “By the way, I have something you will probably be interested in.”

He gets up, leaving Yor's mouth hanging open with her surprise. She wonders if it’s really about Barton, when he returns from his room with a sizeable folder. He leaves it on the table in front of her and sits down again.

He acts very casual, as if his mind is partly elsewhere. “The first few pages are encrypted as an invoice from the grocery store. I don’t like having intel lying around so easily readable, but I did decode for you. We’ll have to get rid of it once you’ve had a look.”

“This much already?!” Yor exclaims. She can’t quite contain her eagerness as she opens the folder. The first three pages really don’t look like anything more than an order from the local greengrocer. She passes her eye over it for any hints of what it may mean, but she can’t decipher a word. She wonders how Loid made any sense of it.

The pages that follow are a typed out report beginning with everything she already knew and delving much deeper than she expected. Included are the names and ages of his wife and daughter, the school she attends, a few extended family members and friends who have been cleared as non-accomplices. Then, to her interest, is a list of the ninety-four locations Barton has been seen more than once in the greater Berlint area, as well as fifty-two contacts associated with the darker parts of his business.

“Wow,” Yor marvels breathlessly. To think she’d been worried he hasn’t been able to find anything yet.

“It’s not quite as comprehensive as I would like,” Loid says, which has her looking up at him in confusion.

“What do you mean? There’s so much information here!”

“But not enough in the right areas. For example, I don’t have the exact nature of his relationships with each of the contacts.” Yor hadn’t noticed it earlier, but the descriptions of some were sparser than others. “I also need to narrow down the locations of his more frequent haunts. It will take a lot more research, and I can’t have any other operatives on the job.”

His dissatisfaction is evident from his tight brow. He frowns at the folder as if that would change its contents. This clearly took a lot of effort already, but he doesn’t seem ready to give himself any credit. He still has to work at the hospital after all, and he mentioned before that he sometimes gets ‘side missions’ from his agency.

“I think this is a really good start, Loid,” she says, trying to be encouraging. “No offense but I can tell you’re pretty tired. I’m sure this adds a lot of pressure, especially with… you know…”

Without her needing to elaborate, he somehow picks up who she’s vaguely alluding to. “You don’t have to worry about what Ms Sherwood thinks,” he tells her. “I let her know of a sudden investigation that requires a little more of my attention. There haven’t been any additional missions for a while.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “That’s a relief.”

“I still wouldn’t like to have anyone at WISE know what we’re trying to do,” he adds. “They wouldn’t ask too many questions, but the fewer parties involved here the better.”

It makes sense to Yor. It’s impressive that he’s managed to do this much alone already. That’s just how Loid is, and has always been. Somehow this dedication to perfection is incredibly familiar in what often feels like a completely different person. It’s how she knows he’s likely stressing himself to death about this among a million other things. It doesn’t feel fair for him to shoulder it alone for her sake.

“You know, if you need help I could always-”

“No. Absolutely not.” Her mouth shuts quickly at his outright objection. For a moment he’s gone back to being completely closed off until he notices her reaction and softens his tone slightly. “I am fully up to the task.”

“I wasn’t trying to imply you aren’t,” Yor says. “I’m just saying… There are a lot of locations for you to rule out. I could-”

“You really don’t have to, Yor.” His tone leaves no room for argument. He’s not usually so cut-and-dry. She’s not sure she appreciates it all that much. He can clearly tell because he offers a tight smile that’s meant to be reassuring. “This is my field. I have my ways, my connections. You can leave everything to me.”

She shrugs off the disappointment and nods slowly. “Alright then,” she says.

They settle into an awkward silence that’s been uncommon between them for quite a while now. She considers the stack in paper in her lap with a newfound scrutiny. It still feels as though there’s something she’s missing about this, the way he’s acting. Could it be that he doesn’t want her involved because she would be a burden? Maybe it was bold to even suggest she could help. She tries not to feel dejected at the thought.

The sudden ringing of the phone is a relief, a distraction that cuts right through her racing mind. She leaps up to answer before Loid can, and sounds slightly winded when she speaks.

“Hello, Forger residence!”

“Good evening. Pick up on an a bouquet of petunias at the Pinnacle Hotel, room 714, tonight at 11:30 PM.”

“Tonight? That’s great!” Yor says, perhaps a little too eagerly. Honestly though, a job like this is exactly what she needs to clear her head. Something substantive, something she knows she’s good at. There are few things she finds more cathartic than getting lost in her work.

Shopkeeper doesn’t remark on the oddness of her energetic response, but his wariness makes its way into his voice as he continues. “We were also hoping you could come in to look at a fresh batch of perennials coming in at the store tomorrow during your lunch break.”

He wants to see her. She should worry about that considering she doesn’t have much to report, but she supposes he wants to know a little more about how she’s going about this. She thinks she can somehow come up with something for him. “Excited to see them. Have a good evening, sir.”

“You too, Mrs Forger.”

She hangs up and is aware of Loid’s eyes on her. Her sudden good mood must seem bizarre to him too, especially if he correctly suspects it has something to do with Garden. Though she can’t hide her eagerness completely, she manages to restrain it slightly when she turns to him. “Sorry Loid, but I’m going to need to head out soon to serve a customer.”

“So that is what that call was about.” Once again, there is something about his tone that's… off. Almost disapproving. But that wouldn’t make any sense at all since he’s seen her leave at night to work before.

“You really shouldn’t wait up for me this time,” she says. Maybe he’s thinking about staying up late until she comes back, seated on the couch with a first aid kit. It’s a habit he’s taken to whenever he knows she’ll be out, and though it’s sweet of him to do that, she does find it a little exasperating.

He freezes for a second, but seems otherwise lost in his thoughts, as if that isn’t quite what had been on his mind. “That’s… Well, you know where my door is open if you need any help. Just… Keep safe. Stay hidden.”

“I always do,” Yor says chipperly. “I need to go get ready. Good night!”

She rushes down the hall, missing his concerned stare, into her room where her second skin awaits her.

Chapter Text

Before Yor left for her lunch break, she stopped by Mr McMahon’s office. It’s bad practice for her to go to him without being called but she needed something to reassure herself. “I understand your concern,” Mr McMahon told her, hardly looking up from the real government documents he was working on, “but I doubt it’s anything to worry about. I’ve had several discussions with him and we’re in the clear.”

That did help put her at ease, even if he made a comment about how she could always tell the truth about Loid whenever she wants to. She’s grateful, because she’s sure arriving to her meeting so nervous would have made Shopkeeper more suspicious than he probably already is. She feels a lot more confident as she walks to the flower shop. The bell above the door and the gentle smile of the shop assistant helps calm her down even more. The assistant nods at her, and she wordlessly makes her way to the door in the back.

Upon opening it, Yor has three poison darts launched at her face. She only has to tilt her head slightly to the side to dodge them. They lodge deeply in the wood of the door frame with quick consecutive thumps. She plucks one out to examine it. The syringe is opaque and white, the needle a sharp, thin, gold point. It’s the type that wouldn’t be felt by the victim as more than a small prick.

“Care to hazard a guess as to what’s in those?” If Shopkeeper is the one who shot them at her, it’s not apparent in the way he remains snipping at his duck-shaped topiary sculpture as though he’s been doing that for hours. He doesn’t look over his shoulder at her entrance.

She takes on the challenge, sniffing the needle, letting a drop from the end linger on the back of her hand then licking it off. It has a rich, floral smell. Very few toxins have any effect on her anymore, but the tingling of her skin and lips and the slight numbness of her tongue are recognisable.

“Sky flower extract, sir?”

Shopkeeper smiles to himself. “Very good. Glad to see your senses haven’t dulled in the slightest.”

“I… I try my best,” Yor says, feeling pleased by the acknowledgement.

“It’s a new formulation we’ve been trying for our new recruit Oleander. Very highly concentrated. What do you think?”

Yor doesn’t know much about most of her co-workers. It’s not often she interacts with them, let alone works with them. She had a few joint assignments when she first joined, up until Shopkeeper decided she was competent enough not to need them. She knows about Oleander, a poniard wielder who is a clerk somewhere in the government treasury. He seems nice, from the friendly nods he’s offered her in the office. He’s lithe, and she assumes he would rely more on skill rather than brute strength. Darts would be a good addition to his repertoire.

He pauses his clipping and nods thoughtfully as he listens to her explain that. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. A shame we still need you in the field. I would have liked to take you on to train some of our recruits.”

“Really?” Yor squeaks, feeling herself flush. When she compares herself to her own mentor, she can’t imagine being in the same realm. Shopkeeper trusts Mr McMahon so deeply. It’s such an honour to even be considered to take his position at some point.

“Of course, Thorn Princess.“ He sits at the white patio table where a steaming pot awaits alongside some tea cups and gestures for Yor to join him. He elegantly pours some tea for the both of them - a ceylon-lemon blend with mint leaves, from what she can smell - before he speaks again. “You’ve proved your worth over the years, yet continue to surprise me. I hear whisperings of a penchant for intelligence?”

She almost chokes on her first sip. It’s way too noticeable a reaction. She cringes at herself and tries to play it off. “I-I wouldn’t say that. I mean, um, some things did happen while I was taking care of that customer in Genova a-and…”

“It wasn’t an accusation,” Shopkeeper says, in that calm way of his that tells her it kind of is. “I’ve simply been curious. I know it’s not in your nature to delay your services. You understand the danger in leaving a weed to spread, no matter how innocuous it may seem.”

“Even the smallest patch of rot can kill a tree overnight,” she says automatically, unable to meet his eyes.

“Yes. I was quite disappointed to hear you didn’t take care of him the first night. In the end, you wrapped it up quite neatly. A burning yacht isn’t very subtle, but it was the right choice for that particular case.”

That makes her feel a little more secure in lifting her head. Sure, the yacht may have been more Loid’s idea, but at least Shopkeeper’s not questioning her loyalty. It seems Mr McMahon was right about that. “It was… improvised,” she admits.

“Nonetheless, it was an impressive presentation,” he says with a benign grin.

She lets out a breath and takes a sip of her tea, if only to stop herself from talking for a few seconds. “Th-thank you, Shopkeeper,” is what she eventually settles on.

“That is why I trust you with this new undertaking, unorthodox as this all is” he continues. “We’ve unfortunately been getting nowhere with him, and if there are resources you have to draw from that we don't, why, it would be irresponsible of us not to use them.”

This is all going much better than Yor had been expecting. She thought he was going to ask more questions, difficult questions, that she would have to struggle more with coming up with a good story. She probably owes a lot to Mr McMahon and whatever he’s been telling Shopkeeper this whole time.

They sit in contemplative silence while they drink their tea, listening to blackbirds singing and the rustling leaves of the trees. It’s in this calming environment that Yor’s often found herself speaking to Shopkeeper about more than work. Early on when she and Yuri were still struggling, she’d worked herself up to ask for advances and he’d always kindly obliged. It had opened the door for her to vent about her worries at the time about raising a kid while being young herself, her stresses about fitting in at the office, and more recently about being a good enough stepmother.

Shopkeeper has never been one to pry, neither has he ever crossed any personal boundaries, but he’s never seemed uninterested in what’s going on in her life. She wonders if he’s expecting her to offer up more about what happened in Genova on her own. It could be some sort of test. She’s honestly not as good at mind games as Mr McMahon (and Loid) are. She feels like she’s treading on dangerous ground, but she’ll feel better after she fully addresses it.

“Uh, Shopkeeper?”

“Hm?”

“You’re not…” She fiddles with her now empty cup, twisting it around on the saucer. “Aren’t you… curious about it? About my ‘resources’?”

“You’re wondering why I’m not grilling you about whatever it is you and Matthew are hiding from me.”

Oh, it was a terrible idea to ask! She should have poured herself more tea instead. “I-I-I wouldn’t- We wouldn’t- I mean we-”

“‘l’ll admit, I was surprised to learn that you of all people would keep something from me.” A terrible, terrible idea. What if she gets Mr McMahon in trouble too? “However,” he continues, before Yor can spiral further, “it’s par for the course in our type of industry. You’re among the most forthcoming of our small number. I’ve always been appreciative of that, but you are also entitled to your secrets.”

Shopkeeper’s composed smile calms her down considerably. It’s a relief to know with certainty that he’s not going to hold this against her. At the very least it’s one less thing to worry about. “Th-thank you, Shopkeeper,” she says.

“Besides, you couldn’t really hide anything from me. If I really wanted to know, I would ensure I found out.”

That sounds a lot more like him. She doesn’t doubt the truth of the statement, though considering Loid’s abilities she doesn’t know how successful he would be. All she can do is try her best to make sure it doesn’t come to that. “You won’t look into it unless it affects my work, right?”

He gives her a nod. “I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding.”

That works out well enough for her. Successful jobs will earn her more grace, and she’s been feeling like throwing herself more into her work lately. She nods resolutely, straightening her back. “Well, my… resources are going to take some time to pan out, so don’t hesitate to send any other customers my way.”

She wonders if the joy she feels when she sees Shopkeeper’s eyes light up in interest is a normal way to feel with her boss. She’d been so scared to finally have this conversation, but she navigated it smoothly. She’s grateful to have a boss who’s so understanding, even if it means dodging an attempt on her life once in a while when she meets him. At least she knows he’ll always listen to her worries with open ears and a good cup of tea.

“Is this your own blend, Shopkeeper?” she asks.

His expression eases. He nods to one of his assistants in the shadows who quickly returns with a fresh pot and a small paper bag. “A gift for you,” he says as he pours her more. “Although I would advise against sharing with your family.”

“Of course,” she agrees. She blows on her cup before taking a sip. Whatever toxin he’s used is great at clearing the airways but it would probably be deadly to anyone else.