Author's Note:
I was curious to write about how Nightfall might react if she had to face Loid and Yor getting married. And I do like her, so I wanted to throw her a bone. This piece is a follow-up to an as yet incomplete story about Yor and Loid in the days around when they decide to finally make their "fake" marriage "real."
Naturally, Nightfall avoids the wedding (disguised as a vow-renewal ceremony) and spends her time in the mountains, yet after she returns to work she gives them a wedding gift—a check and a painting...hoping it will clue Loid into her true feelings and show Yor she has, alas, conceded defeat to Yor as the true Forger wife. Of course, Yor figures out the message first, and when Yor tells him, he has the shock of his life. How did he miss it? Well, he does overthink...
Yor, being the sweet soul that she is, decides to do something nice for Fiona. If you're curious, the painting was a nighttime city scene of a couple viewing a moonlit river called "Nightfall by the River Ost". In this story, Twilight has gotten over the shock.
And that's all ya need to know. Please enjoy!
"For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die."
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird
2 weeks after Loid and Yor making their "fake" marriage "real", one-and-a-half years into OP STRIX:
Fiona Frost thumbed the spines of the book stack upon her desk at Berlint General Hospital, with bookmarks jabbed neatly between the pages. Her break was about to begin in 57 seconds.
Her tea was ready.
Her bag of roasted nuts was ready.
Now which book to read?
The new Vicky Holton? A luscious tale of an ingenue living in a tropical isle only to be swept away into a whirlwind romance with a dark, tanned stranger to be his bride and live in an isolated estate? Or to dream and wander the lonely halls of Manderley again, as she had, twenty times and counting? No. The moors, the deep, wild, purple moors. Wuthering Heights would do nicely.
Counting the minutes spent each day with Agent Twilight had lost its luster. But in a serendipitous twist, she had found a new consolation this week. For fifteen minutes a day and thirty more at lunch, she could read a book, and return refreshed to tackle anything that work, or Twilight—oh, my pitiable, dearly-wedded, domestically dulled Twilight—could throw at her.
Nightfall opened her book and turned to her page. She crunched a nut and plunged into the tragedy, her eyes glued, peering through the windows at Thrushcross Grange with the ghost of Cathy, smelling the dank air of the moors.
She crunched another nut and turned the page.
How could two odious, toxic lovers such as Cathy and Heathcliff be so fascinating? This Lockwood would make a poor informant, getting his intel from an unreliable source like the servant, Nelly. And given the spongy, misty nature of the moors, how could one track an enemy there without falling victim to its treachery yourself? Fiona shrugged away her questions.
She crunched another nut and turned the page. She sipped her tea—
"Hello, Fiona."
"D-Dr. Forger?"
For a fraction, her eyes widened, and she almost spit out her tea at the sound of his voice. She regained her physical composure and sat up straight.
"Hello. Pardon me, I was reading."
"Sorry to interrupt. I see you're enjoying them."
"Yes. Please thank Yor Briar—Ms. Forger—for the loan."
"I'll be sure to. It was all Yor's idea." Loid, hands in his doctor's coat pockets, shifted on his feet and flashed her an easygoing smile. Whether it was a Twilight smile or a Loid Forger smile or a bit of both, it didn't matter.
That smile and its relief were genuine. It tickled Fiona.
She crooked the corners of her lips the tiniest bit upwards. Did Twilight's eyes go wide just now? But he kept smiling.
"If you'll pardon me, Dr. Forger, I'd like to return to my book."
"Oh, sorry." He scratched the back of his head. "Wait, Fiona. That reminds me. Yor said she'd be happy lend you more Vicky Holton."
"Really?" Fiona learned forward. "Ms. Forger is a fan?"
"Yeah. Yor's got all her books."
The smile on Fiona's face grew a fraction wider. "She has good taste. How'd she know Rebecca is my favorite book? And Daphinia Du Maurier, my favorite author? Did you tell her?"
"Uh..." Twilight lifted his brows. "Anyway, I suppose you can thank me for that. I suggested Rebecca, given how much she likes Vicky Holton. She wanted to try something new."
"How'd she like it?"
"Yor loves it. The whole atmosphere, the gardens, the roses. All of it. She asked we could read it aloud to each other."
Fiona clenched her book tightly. With a deep breath she released her hands, and adjusted her poker face into a glance she felt was sad, softened with benevolence. That was Twilight, always bringing out the best in people.
Twilight blinked, confused. Then he put on his friendly face. "What are you reading?"
"Wuthering Heights."
"Such an interesting story about a doomed couple."
"Indeed."
Ah, Twilight. Such a well read man. What good book discussions they'd had squeezed in during the quieter missions when action or intense focus wasn't required. He framed them as practical discussions meant to hone their spy-craft, all told, books gave valuable insight into human nature.
He couldn't kid Fiona. A good story never failed to engage his interest. Twilight had the endearing, annoying habit of wanting to make the discussions abstract, while Fiona wished to focus on the practicals.
Twilight nodded toward her. "Come to think it, you can have that. It's my old copy."
"Thank you."
Fiona shut Wuthering Heights., her finger still tucked in her page, and brought it to her chest. A book caressed by his own hands? A beautiful treasure and consolation. She opened it again.
That dear daft Twilight still hung in her doorway, hands in his pockets. The minutes were ticking away. She scanned the paperbacks on her desk.
"Yes?"
"How do you like Vicky Holton? She's quite popular."
"I like them." Fiona straightened herself. "Simple, but enjoyable."
Indeed these Gothic romances had similar elements...an innocent heroine married to a mysterious stranger, dark places, forebodings, the miraculous escape...things Nightfall had experienced in spy missions, minus the marriage...And alas, now her hero would only be her comrade.
"I tried reading some. But they're all same."
Nightfall eyed Twilight and huffed. "You don't get it. Don't you have any guilty pleasures?"
"Spy Wars. But that's different."
"Is it?" Infuriating man.
He shrugged. "I guess not. I thought you liked Hemingway."
"Ugh. He's depressing. And you barely finished A Farewell to Arms."
He looked down. "That was...a hard book to read."
She'd only read Hemingway because Twilight seemed enamored by it. Seeing him struggle through the pages of that book with a light sweat was on his brow, perhaps reliving some war memory of his own, had only won him more of her respect. She'd go easy on him.
"Dr. Forger? Thank you for helping me discover other good books. Like the Brontë sisters."
"You're welcome. And oh, ah, Fiona..." Twilight looked flustered. The way he's plastering on a dumb grin and blinking like there's an eyelash stuck in his eye?
"Yes?"
"Thank you for your thoughtful gift. The, uh, painting."
"Think nothing of it. In fact you never need mention it again. Ever."
"N—Fiona?"
Fiona spoke in code talk. "Dr. Forger. These books you and Yor have shared with me are wonderful. {Twilight. I wish you all happiness with your wife, Yor.}"
Twilight forgot to respond in code talk entirely. "Someone will hear us. Did you check?"
"Relax. I'm just telling you how much I enjoy them. {Of course, you dolt. Tell Yor Forger they are a balm of comfort to me.}" Fiona switched out of code-talk. "I'd be happy to borrow more Vicky Holton from her. Or she might like this Edith Eden?"
Fiona fished out the copy from a desk drawer and held it out to Twilight. A dumbfounded Twilight reached for the book and stuck it in his doctor's coat pocket.
"Thank you. But, Fiona, please take care not to push yourself to read them all at once.{Thank you. But Nightfall, are you fine? Please don't push yourself over the edge.}"
"It's fine. I'll take care to not let them be a distraction to my work. {I'm fine. I'll work hard and get the job done. That won't change.}"
Twilight scratched his head. "This isn't anything to do with your tennis match match with Yor?"
"What? I'll be ready to inform you of your patient load {and an extra mission} in exactly four minutes and twenty three seconds.." She glanced at her watch. "The time I have left to read. Excuse me."
She glared, and gave him the flash of a grin, then stone-faced and nose in her book in an instant. Dr. Forger nodded and backed out the office, and softly shut the door.
She crunched a nut, and finished a page. She drank her tea.
She heard him mutter outside her door, "What? Fiona smiled? I don't understand women."
Fiona sighed. She would make up for lost time at lunch, 1:30 PM. And she would talk to Twilight again in precisely three minutes, sixteen seconds.
A film of tears misted her long lashes, making it impossible to read. She squeezed the book to her chest and spun in her chair.
This was hers to keep. This was hers to keep. This was hers...Oh, Twilight, I—
Nightfall stopped spinning in her chair, slightly dizzy.
—I used to. You have found yourself a wife somewhat more worthy than me...with unexpected generosity and good taste in books. How bittersweet.
Yor could support Twilight in all the moments, she, Nightfall, could not. And she, Nightfall could support Twilight in all the moments Yor could not. Capable as he was, the man needed gentle and firm support. That would not change.
How silly of Cathy to say, "Nelly, I am Heathcliff."
Twilight would always be Twilight. Fiona would always be Nightfall. And if he was no longer content to be Westalis' greatest spy, that would be a role she would be content to fill.
Fiona Frost, Westalis' up-and-coming greatest spy...
She had his respect. What better way to repay him than to keep working and fighting for Twilight, her inspiration? Besides, the Forgers were willing to lend—and let her keep—more books.
All was well. She buried her nose into the story, lost in the Anglian moors.
For precisely one minute, three seconds, and counting.
Reader, Fiona did not marry him. But they all found solace between the covers of a good book.
. . .
Author's Note:
Maybe this was rather silly! Maybe you enjoyed it. I was curious to post this and "test the waters."
There's nothing symbolic about the choice of Gothic romance or Rebecca except that it seemed to me the type of genre that Yor and Fiona might enjoy since they're romantics at heart—not to mention these are great reads. Loid, is probably is a voracious reader, considering he claimed to have read EVERYTHING in the Princess Lorelai's library. I imagine he loves literature best...something he can think and stew on.
The genre includes modern romances, the popular 20th century authors Victoria Holt (adapted as Vicky Holton) and Dorothy Eden (here as Edith Eden) and classics like Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, which inspired Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca.
I've tried to read Hemingway...really, I have.
But that's the beauty of books...so many great choices! So read the best you can and enjoy.
-Peace!