A/N: Update, June 2024.

Hello, dear reader! Arrgh! (Takes deep breath and lets it out)

Has this story been the demanding one. Yet I think I've minded her whispers and given it what it needs. The original title, The "Swanky Swingers Guide" didn't feel right so I changed it so "Somewhere I Have Never Traveled". If you've read this before, the basic plot is the same, only certain details have been adapted to create a flow and structure to the story.

An unofficial 2024 Twiyor week post, for it contains all the prompts, implied or overt: "Listen; "Lipstick"; "Nightmares"; "Loid/Yor Day"; "Complicity"; "Gala Party"; "Happily Ever After".

Head-canon timeline: Spring 1969, the week in between Loid and Yor's wedding and upcoming honeymoon.

Summary: Yor and Loid are encountering a new destination, their honeymoon. Yor's head is spinning. Does she need a guidebook? Is it enough to trust herself? Trust her husband? And gulp, her scars...Honesty might help, but how?

Spoiler warning: Slight references to manga chapter 86.

Thanks and enjoy!

"My fifth mistake." Yor yanked out the report from her typewriter at City Hall. With shaky fingers, she uncapped the white-out. Her lip quivered, and Yor bit it. Her nervousness leaked out in all those white smears on the page.

Four days, only four days. Their honeymoon, this upcoming Saturday.

Loid was good to be patient with her. That would wear thin if she kept them waiting any longer. She wanted to please him. Good wives, even newlyweds, knew how to please their husbands, right? What if she messed up? No. She'd be a good wife.

Yor focused all her attention on correcting the mistake. Behind her, Millie and Sharon whispered.

"No way, you actually got it?"

"Hush, Millie. I'll show it to you in a moment."

"Oooh, I can't wait."

"Pipe down, you two," Camilla said in the next desk over. "The Section Chief's looking this way."

A rustling meant it was hidden away.

Office rumor went Sharon recently acquired a certain book of relational and dating advice, a genuine uncensored copy from the West, not the censored form it would be published in when it hit bookstores in Ostania. It was said to be rather saucy.

Camilla stopped at Yor's desk, her hands full of binders. "That report's full of white polka dots."

"I'll start over, sorry." Yor grabbed a fresh sheet of paper.

"Wait. Break's in seven minutes." Camilla tapped past.

Yor fished out a silver chain from her blouse. On her left ring finger glinted a gold band with a tiny rose—her "wedding" ring from Loid. She clasped the grenade pin ring, hung on the chain, in her fingertips. This grenade pin? The real ring, the one Loid proposed with a year and a half ago.

Yor nestled the pin ring in her fingers. Maybe she could ask the girls for advice? She trotted for the water cooler and gulped three cups of water.

Last Saturday, Yor and Loid said the solemn vows again, this time before select family, friends and co-workers in the marble side chapel of a Berlint cathedral. From the ceremony to the gourmet celebratory luncheon afterward, it was lovely. To their guests, it was a couple renewing their vows after two-and-a half-years of marriage, an elegant redo of their simple civil ceremony.

To Yor, it was her wedding day.

Anya and Becky Blackbell, in flower girl dresses of pink and green, floated in like fairies, scattering petals. Yuri linked a protective arm in Yor's and walked her down the aisle. Loid's blue eyes locked with Yor's as she came to him with a demure smile, holding a bouquet of pink and red roses, dressed in a knee-length silver party dress, a white tulle cloud of veil about her shoulders.

The guys were sharp in black tuxedo suits. Franky, as Best Man, shuffled on his feet. Loid stood cool with his slicked back blonde hair. Yor could tell by his set smile and the stiffness in his shoulders, he was anxious. Not even Yuri's burning scowl to Loid, nor Loid's covert threatening glare to Yuri could mar her joy. She flashed each man a crimson stare that said, "If you value your lives, get along."

After that Yuri was obedient as a puppy and Loid relaxed.

Becky Blackbell cried more than anyone. Camilla, Yor's Matron of Honor, gave a teeny sniff. Camilla and Malcolm were married that past winter. Camilla insisted it was her way of making up for embarrassing Yor at her party so long before.

As expected, Melinda Desmond did not show up. She contributed a gift of expensive pastries for dessert. After the ceremony, a mysterious old lady gave Loid and Yor a hearty handshakes of congratulations and left Loid blinking in surprise when she departed. Loid said she was a hospital volunteer who took a "motherly" interest in him. Only Fiona Frost was absent, away in the Belvarian Alps. Though according to Loid, Fiona did give them a wedding gift.

Their honeymoon? Loid shared twenty-three ideas and counting, A vacation in Bayan? A weekend in Münk? A trip to that resort island they all loved? Or home?

Yor insisted on home. Where they fell in love.

Their faces shone with relief. How delicious, to have a honeymoon date at home. How fine to be free of the hassles of planning, securing time off, and allaying the suspicions of others. Their schedules were all clear for this Saturday. Franky, in an unusually generous mood, as his wedding gift, offered to take Anya and Becky on an all-day Saturday "ooting".

The morning of their wedding, Loid took Yor's hand and assured her. No worries, she set the pace. I won't keep us waiting too long, she said.

When did Yor start feeling more comfortable touching Loid? Maybe it started when Yor comforted Loid from his nightmare, spring last year. Their relationship grew through touches.

Taking hands. Side hugs. Ruffling each other's hair. Locking eyes. Dancing. Welcome-home kisses, growing to deeper touches and kisses.

Comfortable enough, after they came home from their "vow-renewal" wedding, to let Loid carry her bride-style over the apartment threshold. Yor carried Loid the same way into the living room to everyone's laughter. Comfortable enough, after Franky left, the family dance party done, to slow dance with her husband. Anya slept on the couch, tuckered out from the day.

Comfortable enough, after Anya went into bed, to come to Loid a in silky long black nightgown, to his arms and his delighted eyes, not to only see her in the nightie, but her. It came to a low v-point in the back, the v-neckline high enough to hide her chest-scar.

A slow smile spread on Loid's face. She returned it with a shy one. Yor caressed his back and shoulders. Loid smoothed his hands on Yor's waist, her hips, climbing up her spine and down the small of her back, drifting upon her bottom...too near.

Yor shimmied away with a nervous giggle.

Loid drew back, his face in question. "Am I going too fast?"

"I'm okay." Yor brushed noses and lips with Loid. She whispered her fingers onto his forearms, under the rolled sleeves of his long-sleeved t-shirt, to his biceps.

Loid squirmed. "That tickles."

"I'm sorry."

They separated with awkward glances, grateful for the soft nighttime hiding their embarrassment. They spooned. Loid threw his arm over her waist, his right arm tucked beside him. Yor snuggled into Loid.

She traced his left forearm. "What if I'm not ready until next Saturday?"

"Hush." Loid kissed her left shoulder. "You set the pace, it's okay. Let's get some sleep."

Loid took her closer and Yor settled into his hold. She fingered the top of her threadlike scar, peeking out of her neckline, concealed in the darkness. She' d felt the fine scar on his other forearm, like an old dog-bite.

They never asked questions about their scars.

She never breathed a word about that bullet hole in her left buttock. In the daylight, her body on display, there would be no hiding it. He came so close to touching it. Loid's arms weren't ticklish there.

Yor stared into the dark. They needed to talk.

Now it was the middle of the week.

Yor took a deep breath and clutched her grenade pin ring. She entered the break room.

. . .

Millie and Camilla huddled around Sharon, who held a book. "Get a load of this."

"Oh my word." Millie stifled a yelp. "Is that even possible?"

Camilla huffed. "No way. That looks uncomfortable."

"Here's some more."

Millie squealed. "Look at that."

Camilla leaned in closer. "Now that one looks interesting."

Yor poured some coffee. "Hello, what are you all looking at?"

The three peered at Yor. They put their eyes to the book and sniggered.

"Never mind. Sorry if I interrupted anything."

"It's fine." Sharon puffed her cigarette.

Millie beckoned Yor. "Guess what? Sharon actually got a genuine copy of The Swanky Swingers' Guide: For Saucy Singles and Marrieds. Smuggled direct from the West. Can you believe it?"

"The Swanky Swingers Guide?" Yor came closer.

"Take a look." Sharon held the book out.

"I shouldn't..."

"Sharon. It's Yor."

Sharon waved off Camilla. Yor the took the book.

She scrutinized it with large eyes. Should she? She gave a light shrug. You are a married woman...Yor squeezed her eyes shut. At the count of three, she cracked the book open and beheld the page the gals had stared at. Bodies?—A full pink blush seeped on Yor's cheeks.

"EEEP!" She hurled the book. "Do I need to do that?"

Sharon caught it with a leap. "Yor, you really are a schoolgirl."

Camilla smacked her forehead. "Ugh. That's the only scandalous part."

Millie piped up. "The rest is great advice. "Like drink recipes, how to land a date, how to communicate, and how to be a smokin' partner. If you ask me, it's groovy."

Yor straightened herself. "A smoking partner?"

Loid quit smoking. She never smoked. Unless Millie meant something more spicy?

Camilla crossed her arms. "Not worth the hype. Why'd you get it anyway, Sharon?"

Sharon blew out a long puff. "Just because I'm not lovey-dovey doesn't mean I'm not interested in spicing up my marriage."

Yor brightened. That's what Millie meant."I need some advice too. Like how to spice things up?"

"Please, Yor, a lovebird like you? Don't tell me you've gone frigid on that hot husband of yours."

"No, Camilla. It's nothing like that."

Millie patted Yor's arm. "I get it. It's totally normal to be nervous when you're trying something new. I was so nervous when my boyfriend and I—"

"Privacy, remember?" Sharon covered the book with a plain dust-jacket . "What do you want, Yor?"

"Loid says I'm a good wife..." Yor fidgeted, her eyes on the tiled floor. "But I want to be a better wife. Ph-physically. We want...something different."

Millie lit up. "I like it when my boyfriend talks dirty to me."

Camilla tapped her chin. "Sweet nothings are nice."

Sharon glared straight ahead. "They say a woman likes to be dominated by a man."

Everyone stared at her, silenced.

Yor reddened. An image of Loid bending over her, holding a knife-point held to her chest, asking, may he pierce her heart? Yor shook it away with a tingly shiver.

"Thanks anyway."

"Don't overthink it." Camilla said. "You probably both know what you already like. Try a variation, but talk about it first. Dominic and I find it goes so much better when we're honest."

"That's amazing advice, Camilla. Thanks a bunch."

"What did I say?"

Sharon turned to leave. "If you want to see more, meet me at our usual lunch spot."

"I'll be there with bells on," Millie said.

Yor whisked out the break-room. Camilla caught up with Yor at her desk.

"You know, I have this advice booklet you might be interested in. My mom got it when she married, and she gave it to me. Kind of quaint, maybe old-fashioned. On how to be a good wife or husband."

A manual on how to be a good wife? "I'm interested. When could you bring it?"

"Tomorrow morning. In fact, you can keep it."

Yor grinned. She couldn't wait to read it.

. . .

The next morning Camilla plunked something yellow on Yor's desk. She sneaked a peek at the booklet: Dear Auntie Olga: Advice and Wisdom for Joy in Marriage.

Auntie Olga? The famous newspaper advice columnist? Yor adored and devoured everything Auntie Olga said, only Yor remembered the parenting advice, and none of the marriage advice. People used to send away to Auntie Olga for booklets of her collected advice. Yor sent away years ago for the parenting one, long since lost.

At lunch, Yor settled in a quiet corner at her favorite city overlook park. Berlint was covered in a calm sky, and her only other companions were an old man and the pigeons.

Oh, Auntie Olga. Her advice was the things Mom might've told her, as she took her nervous girl's hand. Honesty. Auntie Olga stressed its importance. Many a pickle a couple encountered could be solved with listening, kindness, and honesty.

Yor had applied the first two, and they were getting better at honesty. She asked Loid more nerve-wracking things sober. He gave her less weird excuses. They understood one another, even if they left certain things vague.

Perhaps Auntie Olga meant, "As honest as possible."

There was a gentle section on intimacy. Auntie Olga said intimacy began with a couple's daily moments, influencing their relationship in the bedroom.

"The best lovers are partners and friends, for love is an all-day affair," Yor read.

Did Auntie Olga mean when Loid snuck up on her the kitchen and spun her to pop a sudden kiss on her lips? Quite pleasurable. Or sharing about their day, side-by-side as they tidied things together?. That made snuggling by Loid and Anya so much nicer.

Yor pressed the booklet to her chest. "This is exactly what I need."

She fingered her grenade pin ring and gazed at the sunny sky. Franky was coming over for dinner tonight. Loid planned to make Beef Bourguignon, his favorite. Maybe Franky would agree to take Anya and Bond out for a longer park playtime before dinner. Then she and Loid could talk.

A cloud passed over the sun a moment. Earlier that week, Yor came upon Loid in the living room, as he read a slim green book, unawares. At her greeting, he suddenly slid the book behind him and grabbed another. Was it a book of... "positions?" Like the Guide? Was Loid once a "swinger"?

Back at the office, Yor thanked Camilla profusely. Camilla gave her a befuddled look.

Yor left work beaming, the calmest she'd been in days.

. . .

"Mmm, Yor, that's nice. You've got the magic touch."

Yor combed her fingers through Loid's hair as he sat cross-legged on living room floor before her, his eyes shut in relaxation. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows. The faint scent of roses on the table mixed with the savory aroma of Beef Bourguignon bubbling in the oven.

"Do I? You've done magic with that stew. It smells heavenly."

"Thanks." Loid opened his eyes and smiled at Yor, perched on the couch. The blue in his v-neck sweater brought out the blue in his eyes. "Franky says I make the best. He insisted it'd be enough for taking Anya and Bond to the park."

Yor moved some blonde strands out of his eyes. Tiredness lined Loid's face, the faint worry of fretting over work and Anya's antics, yet also his relaxed smile and the ease in Loid's limbs—rest from making their marriage finally real? Yor felt it her bones.

"Want to switch?"

"Sure."

Loid arose, Yor slid over. As he gathered some of her loose black hair in his hand, his fingertips brushed a bit of bare skin on her back, and Yor shivered. Her favored dress was his favorite, too. His hands moved through her hair.

"Can I ask you something? Camilla lent me a book—"

"Don't tell me, the Swanky Swingers Guide?"

"What?" Yor froze a second.

Loid chuckled. "You've seen it too? Franky tried to show me. You know Franky."

"He would, wouldn't he? One of the girls at work has it."

"He thinks it'll help him land a date."

"The girls were looking at this one page..." Yor grew as red as her dress. "Loid, I'm so nervous."

Loid raked from her roots to the tips. "I'm a little nervous, too."

"But—" Yor turned to Loid. His fingers snagged in her hair. "You're so experienced."

"Not in the way you'd think." Loid unlaced his fingers.

"What do you mean?" Yor tried to meet his eyes. "Were you a swinger?"

"No..." Loid fumbled with her hair. "More like I used, and was used. Nothing really genuine."

"Like you only wanted what you could get?"

"Pretty heartless of me." He gave a rueful smile.

Yor pressed her lips. "What about your first wife?"

"We...didn't have much of a relationship."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Yor."

Loid's strokes grew absent. He adjusted his hands and began again. Yor shut her eyes, enjoying his comforting motions, letting her thoughts meander. That unease in her gut again, with the pinch of things unsaid. Truths and half-truths.

Did Loid cross his stories? He told her he was a widower of two years. One of her coworkers thought he was a divorcee with a child. Which story? That they were divorced and then she died? Or—Yor's stomach gave a leap—he'd never been married at all?

If Loid made up the whole thing, there were reasons why, and his own private reasons for adopting Anya. Yor never asked Anya about her mother, for fear of making her cry. Loid likely invented the story of a wife, afraid Yor wouldn't have agreed to pose as Anya's mother for the Eden Academy interview.

Not that she faulted him. She'd lied, too.

What did it matter now? She was Anya's legal mother and their marriage was real.

"Loid. I'm not upset. About your past."

"That's a relief."

Yor swallowed down her fear. "Was there anyone you were fond of?"

Loid's hands stilled. There was a smile in his whisper. "Claudia."

Yor clasped her hands. "Would you mind telling me about her? Only if it's okay."

"I don't mind. Only if it's okay with you."

"Please. What was she like?"

"Claudia..." Loid took his time finger-combing her hair. "She was a colleague from my early days. We did a lot together. Strong and hopeful, like you, Yor. Petite, and lots of pretty brown hair, and these intense amber-green eyes that saw right into you."

"I bet she was lovely."

"She was. But Claudia died."

"I'm so sorry. What happened?

"An unfortunate accident, but I blamed myself. Maybe there's something I could've done, I don't know. It happened so quick. It nearly undid me."

Yor turned and wrapped her arm over Loid. This time he met her eyes, and they flickered his thanks. The silence between them was gone.

Yor turned back, and gingerly, Loid smoothed her hair.

"It makes sense," Yor whispered.

"What does?

"Why you used. You were afraid, weren't you? Of getting your heart broken again?"

"I...Hold on." Loid cleared his throat and adjusted like he pulled off his sweater, and she heard the soft fwiff of it dropping on the floor. Now he was in his t-shirt.

Yor squirmed. "I can't possibly compare to her."

"Stop. You're wonderful as you are." Loid embraced Yor and nuzzled his face upon the nape of her neck. His cheek grazed her pin ring necklace chain.

Yor opened her mouth to protest. Instead, she touched his hands. He cradled her closer.

"You know," he whispered, "Loving you and Anya has changed me. Love is risky, but it's worth it. Even if the price is high, even if you could lose it all, it's worth it."

"You're so serious, like it's a mission."

"Isn't it?"

Yor smoothed his bare arms. Her finger brushed an unmistakable indentation in his right bicep. Her eyes flew open.

"Loid. Your arm."

"What?"

"Who shot you? Tell me." Yor faced him, her hands in fists, her ruby-brown eyes afire.

For a fraction of a moment, panic flashed in Loid's eyes. His composure returned.

"Remember, Yor? That pro-wrestler client of mine, who didn't want his shots? Well, he went berserk and pulled a gun—" He tried to smile.

Pain twinged in her chest. Yor gripped Loid's arms.

"Why didn't you say anything? You could have died."

"Yor. My arms, please." He gritted his teeth in pain.

Yor released him. "We could've lost you." Her tears fell free.

"I know." Loid dropped his eyes, avoiding her searching gaze. "I have no excuse."

"Don't you trust me?"

"I'm trying." He didn't smile now. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how to tell you, and I didn't want to frighten you and Anya. I was pretty shaken."

Now they sat side by side. Yor loosed her hands in her lap.

"I saw how you were. I don't blame you."

"You were a lifesaver that day."

"Thank you." Yor wiped her tears with her sleeve. "I forgive you. I wish you hadn't hid it from me."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness."

"You're all right, that's what matters." Yor took his hand. "How'd you hide it?"

"With artificial skin patches. I helped a dermatologist and a cosmetic surgeon at Berlint Hospital concoct it." Loid held her hand, but he avoided her eyes again? "I've been wearing them for some months now. I'm helping them test it out."

"All this time?"

"To protect you both, I suppose." He gave a slight laugh.

"You finally showed me. You must trust, me, a little."

"I do. I am sorry, Yor."

They hugged.

He asked her to not tell Yuri about this. Ever. Yor swore to it. If Yuri ever found out, his panic was a thing neither of them wanted to think of, or imagine.

"By the way, the cosmetic surgeon at Berlint Hospital says he can arrange a skin-graft surgery to hide the scar. It's a new technique, and I can get it done as soon as two weeks."

"That's great." Yor's voice squeaked "Tell me how it goes, because I might—".

Loid's eyes narrowed. "Might what?"

"Want to try the surgery?" Yor fiddled with her fingers. "I got shot, too."

"You what?" Loid leapt back.

"Shot." Yor's voice was tiny. "In the butt."

"You got shot in the ass?!"

Yor waved her hands. "It was before our date, long ago, the one where I refused to sit? I wasn't mad at you, I promise. I was in pain."

Loid gave her a dumbfounded stare. "Y-you weren't mad?"

"No. My butt killed."

"But how?"

"I was about to go to the store when a guy assaulted me, in the dark. He shot at me and the bullet hit my butt. I knocked him down good and hard. Later I took the bullet out, myself."

"You. Did. What?"

"I removed the bullet. It's healed and everything. I learned how in a wartime first aid course."

"Yor. I can't even." Loid slumped back on the couch, a hand over his eyes.

Yor crimped her dress hem. "I did all kinds of things to support us."

Loid shook his finger in her face. "Yor, please. Don't go down strange alleys, or do anything dangerous, unless, unless—you're protecting someone or are absolutely sure you can defend yourself."

Yor considered him. "You're one to talk, Loid Forger."

"I am?" He stopped, finger held mid-air.

Yor tee-heed behind her palm. "You know."

Realization flashed over Loid's face. He withdrew his hand. "Oh."

Giggles rose in Yor, like bubbles. First bumping in the belly, one popped free, and another. Yor erupted. "My goodness, Loid. You. Me. Us."

Loid stared at Yor. Then he smirked and broke. Loid clutched his sides, laughing, both carried away in the same sea of silliness. The fit subsided, and they fell back shoulder to shoulder on the couch, with happy sighs.

Loid took a big breath of air. "My arm, and your bottom."

"It sure explains last Saturday."

"If someone marched into my office and told me this, I'd think they were nuts. But us?"

"We're nuts." Yor said. "Two mixed-up nuts who get one other."

"You're a nice mystery." Loid scooted closer to Yor. He slipped his hand into the back gap of her sweater dress, curving his hand upon her, caressing her bare skin, stroking her waist.

Yor trembled under the soft touch of his slightly callused fingers. So warm. Her heart thumped. Loid leaned closer, his eyes intent. Yor leaned in for the kiss.

"I have another secret, dearest." Yor whispered.

"What is it?" Loid said between kisses.

"Did you know I was a female wrestler once?"

"What?" Loid jerked back, his fingers still on her waist.

Yor laughed. "It's true, absolutely true. When I was a teenager, Yuri and I had this neighbor who looked in on us, Mrs. Rhonda. She made great cakes, and was a professional female wrestler, 'Rhonda the Rock.' She even helped train me."

Loid stared at Yor as if she might lock him into a half-nelson.

"Once, Mrs. Rhonda got injured and asked me to stand in for her for a week. Yuri was worried sick. I said I'd be fine. I beat all my opponents, in seconds flat. Some of the ladies were a little scared, I guess I should've held back my strength. I quit after Mrs. Rhonda got better. Yuri positively begged me to, Mrs. Rhonda too. People got jealous since I never lost."

"You, a wrestler? That I can believe."

"I won't wrestle you. Unless couples do that in bed?"

"Not quite." Loid gave a relieved laugh. "Wrestlers are scary."

They glanced at the clock. Franky, Anya and Bond would be home in fifteen minutes.

"Better check the stew."

"Need any help?"

"You could set the table." Loid pulled on his sweater.

In the kitchen, Yor set out the plates and silverware. Loid took the Beef Bourguignon from the oven. He lifted the lid. Yor wanted to tell him how delicious it smelled, but was checked by the tiny line etched in his forehead, between his eyes.

"Something wrong?"

"Just thinking." He dumped mushrooms on cutting board.

Yor laid the plates. "It's not the wresting thing, is it? I've made you uncomfortable."

"Not at all." Loid chopped. "Fiona gave us a strange gift, I have an odd gut feeling about it."

"The Guide?"

"Come on, Yor. A painting."

"I'm joking. Where is it?"

Yor retrieved it from the hallway closet, along with Fiona's very proper card and check. She examined the medium-size oil, a romantic nighttime cityscape, full of blueness. Not weird. Pretty.

"What's the big deal, Loid?"

"It's not just a painting, I sense it contains a bombshell." Loid scooted the chopped mushrooms into a heated skillet, sizzling with butter. "I don't understand why."

"Bombshell?" Yor cocked her head. "I don't see it." The obvious title was no help.

"Why did Fiona get us this instead of a view the Belvarian Alps?"

"Maybe she thought we'd like it?"

Loid sauteed the mushrooms."Fiona knows this isn't my taste. It's peculiar."

"You're the artist, Loid. You taught me how to read paintings at the museum."

"Maybe you'll see something I don't."

Yor shrugged and studied it closer. It was a night scene by the Ost River, in a city like Berlint. By the riverfront, a couple sat on a bench, their backs to the viewer. Soft white moonlight touched them and rippled in the water. There were gathering clouds in the indigo sky, about to mist rain, perhaps. The mistiness lent a wistful melancholy.

Who was that couple? Who watched them?

Yor put her hand to her mouth. "I get it."

"What are you talking about?" Loid paused, his spoon held aloft.

Yor gave a happy cry. "Fiona finally conceded defeat."

"Defeat? This isn't about your tennis match, is it?"

"No. Yes. I beat her, I really beat her." Yor made a victory fist.

"I fail to see how." Loid stirred the buttery mushrooms into the stew.

Yor held up the painting. "It's all here, the art code."

Loid put the lid on the stew. "I checked it, and there's no cipher."

"The how-you-read-art code, Loid."

"Explain."

Yor tried. Blue was sadness, like feeling blue. Or quiet. This was both, and since the moon was out, bittersweet. The river meant things will go on. Perhaps something tough happened to the couple, yet it's over, and now they're happy. Their backs were to the viewer.

Yor tapped her chin. "Maybe it's about who's watching them." She blushed. My, oh my."

"What are you saying, Yor?"

"I'm saying—Fiona likes you, Loid."

"Nghht—not her." His eyes were blue pinpricks. "This changes everything. This changes everything."

"Here, drink some water." Yor held out a glass.

Loid paled. "But I study people. How did I not see?"

"A lady can hide a thing if she wants to. Is it that bad?"

"I'm a married man now. What if people say things? It'll be all over."

"Everybody thought we were married before. Fiona won't blab."

"Too many bombshells." A key in the clicked in the front door lock. "I need to lay down."

Loid bolted.

"Wait." The water sloshed as Yor chased him.

Loid's door slam mixed with a chorus of happy barks and Franky and Anya's "We're home."

. . .

Yor did her best to look busy making a salad. "Hi, did you have fun?"

"Lots and lots," Anya skipped to Yor. "I want to try Papa's Beef Boar-jig-non."

"I'm famished, is it ready?" Franky rubbed his hands in anticipation. "Where's Loid?"

"He's resting." Yor julienned vegetables into tiny matchsticks.

Anya glanced toward the hallway, as if listening. "Is Papa really okay?"

Yor plopped the vegetables into the salad bowl. "Yes, sweetie. He just needs to rest."

Franky winked. "Don't tell me, Yor, what did you do to that man?"

Yor blanched. "It's not like that, He's had a shock."

Franky raised a brow. "What shook Loid up?"

"That painting. A wedding gift from Fiona."

"Let me see, let me see." Anya picked it up. She made a face. "Too mushy. Becky would like this. Mama, will you check on Papa soon?"

"I'll be sure to."

Satisfied, Anya ran to the living room to play with Bond.

Franky swiped the painting from the kitchen table. He flipped it over and read the title:

"Nightfall by the Ost River."

Franky's eyes bugged out. "You're kidding me. So smart, and didn't see that?" Franky burst into laughter, slapping his knee.

"Wow Franky, you got that fast."

"Hoo-boy, it's so obvious." Franky caught his breath and moved his glasses to wipe his eyes.

Yor smirked while she chopped an onion."It is a little funny. Will Loid and Fiona will be okay?"

"I wouldn't worry. They're professionals." Franky scratched his chin. "Fiona? Looking back, it kinda makes sense."

"I had an inkling."

Franky snapped his fingers. "Tell me, Yor. After Fiona's gotten over her heartbreak, do you think she'll give me a chance? I've got the perfect book to help me out."

Yor nearly dropped the tossed salad. "Oh no, Franky."

Franky looked as if the onion fumes were getting to his eyes. "Am I that hopeless?"

"I'm sorry, didn't mean it that way. You're a good guy, Franky, a great friend, and talented with gadgets. Why not? I have a booklet I could lend you."

"Nah. But thanks for believing in your old pal, Franky."

"No problem. Oh—I've got it."

"Got what?"

"A way to help Fiona. Thanks a lot. Would you mind cutting the bread?" She tossed Franky the loaf. "I'll let Loid know dinner's almost ready."

"Hurry up. My mouth's a-watering and my belly's a-rumbling." Franky cut the bread.

"Try not to mention Fiona?"

"Yes ma'am." Franky put the slices into the basket.

Yor bounded over Bond and Anya playing tug-o-war and grabbed a few paperbacks from the living bookshelf, and two more from her room. In the bathroom, Yor passed a brush through her hair and adjusted her headband. She gave her reflection a tentative smile.

Did she please Loid? Didn't he tell her not to compare herself? Even if her honest confession startled Loid, it didn't make him run like Fiona's. She must please him. Her smile widened.

Books in hand, Yor knocked. A "mpphh" came in reply. Yor opened his door.

Loid lay splayed face-down on the bed, like the ridiculous way Bondman collapsed in surprise in the last Spy Wars. Yor giggled. A thought pierced her.

Yor put a hand to her mouth. Scars. They both had bullet wound scars. What if Loid had a secret job, like her? It explained his scars, his expertise with fighting better than "concussive therapy".

Yor studied Loid. A spy? Like Bondman?

No. Maybe a resistance worker, of those secret groups who strove for peace between East and West. It explained his preoccupation with peace. Shopkeeper knew of Loid's desire to create a world where kids didn't have to cry.

He healed the rifts in people's minds. Did Loid try to help heal the rifts between East and West?

If they could accept each other's scars...if only she could tell him her secret.

"Yor. You're staring."

"Oh—just thinking you look cute. And about world peace."

"You sound like Anya." He stretched and sat up. "What's that?"

Yor sat beside him on the bed. "Books for Fiona."

"Fiona? Do Franky and Anya know?"

"I'm afraid they do."

"I'm skipping dinner."

"Oh, no you don't." Yor thumped the books down for emphasis. "Not after all your hard work, and Anya and Franky waiting for us. If he says anything, he'll have me to deal with."

Loid shot her a wink. "You're cute when you're mad."

Yor delicately rolled her eyes.

"You are." A flirty gleam shone in his eyes.

Yor moved to rise. "We should go back."

"Hold on." Loid caught her arm.

"What is it?" Yor sat down.

"Fiona. How'd I miss it? "

"Like I said, a woman can keep a secret, if she needs to. You'll be fine."

"Maybe you're right." Loid took her hand and his eyes wandered around the room. "Fiona's saved my hide before."

"She must trust you, and respect you. I do."

"Thanks, Yor." He squeezed her hand. His eyes fell on Yor's books. "Gothic Romances?"

"I thought Fiona might enjoy these." Yor shrugged. "There's no consolation like a good book. Could you share them with her? Please?"

Loid accepted the books. "Since you ask so nicely, yes."

He turned to Yor, his face so close they were almost nose-to-nose. Yor's rose-eyes caught Loid's sky-eyes, the expectant silence there, like clouds passing over shy sunshine.

Yet the sun shone through the clouds.

"Loid?"

"Pardon me, there's something I want to share with you." He set aside her books and grabbed a green one from the nightstand. He pressed it into Yor's hands, that boyish smile on his face, that light in his eyes. Yor blinked and answered with the curious quiet of her own eyes.

"This is the one you hid from me the other day."

She swallowed. Keep calm, don't lash out—if it's anything like that Guide, shut it and walk away. Under no circumstances would she hurt Loid.

Yor examined the cover. "Poetry?"

"E.E. Cummings."

Yor flipped through it. The author's name and the poems were in lower-case and so were the poems, the words bumped up beside each other in childlike ways. It looked like the "smart-person stuff", Loid liked to read, yet Yor understood it. Neatly torn strips bookmarked certain poems.

Love poems. Loid marked the love poems. Yor grew suddenly warm.

"You don't have to read them in front of me, if you don't want to."

"I want to."

Yor liked Loid's smile, like emerging sunshine. She felt herself opening, rose-petal by rose-petal, Loid too uncovering a thing in his hand, opening it finger-by-finger to show Yor.

Just for her.

She whispered the title of one: "somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond."

Yor started to read, falling into its cadences, its rhythm as close as breath, and hands that touch or fail to touch because they come too close to things to not yet be touched, and springtime, opening fingers and flowers, throwing petals, roses unfurling, how fragile and how strong, the nuances of their touch, honesty adding its texture, and mysteriously they stay half-open-closed, then they open, their honesty carefully, skillfully, uncovering, as they understand...and Loid's eyes are sky-color, the color of rain, not winter rain, like when he's angry, but spring rain, when the sun shines through...

Yor whispered the poem, and though she did not turn to see, she knew Loid mouthed along, his silent words enclosing her, reading along with her.

He said aloud: "The voice of your eyes...is deeper than all roses."

Yor turned. Loid took her face into his hands—how long, how strong and gentle his fingers, not small hands, just the right size hands—he kissed her forehead. Then, her lips.

Yor didn't finish the poem. It ended in the kiss, Yor holding Loid's face with her strong, elegant hands, answering his kiss, opening as a rose, the spring breeze blowing into the bedroom, sunshine...

They understood one another in deepening ways. The consummation, closing, and opening.

Saturday? They would be ready.

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed that. The key thing was getting the details right of how books were used as a device in the story to propel character action...in Yor and Loid's case, to finally be honest as possible about those scars they carry, as honest as possible, and yet that honesty is able to draw them into a deeper and more real relationship.

The next story planned is a more dramatic story set around the same time, from Loid' POV, with him at the crux realising his "roles" of husband and father are becoming more than roleplay. I'll take my time with that one, as I want to focus on a personal writing project and get the arc and structure of each story right.

Fun facts:

I have an older friend whose mom was a female wrestler in the 1950s. For real! She showed me the pictures. Yor was not lying when she said that!

"The Swanky Swingers Guide" is based off the "Single Girl's Guide to Sex" by Helen Gurley Brown, the original 1960s editor of Cosmo Magazine.

It's my head-canon that Loid is an artist. It (for me) explains how he is a genius with traps, disguises, and that faux Spy Wars cartoon he made for Anya. You can't tell me that guy can't draw! Of course, he's too busy to make art these days, so he applies his artistic skills to cooking and mask-making.

E.E. cummings is a great poet, one whose poem inspired the new title of this story. He's most famous for "i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart). The poem "Somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond" isn't public domain, yet I tried to convey its feel in the last paragraph.

Finally, the nightmare referred to in this story and the ending kiss is a tie to my other Loi x Yor story, "Because It's Real." All my stories for Spy x Family take place in the same universe.

Read on for the bonus chapter, a revised post of "Can't a Lady Read."

Peace,

~Katsumi