A/N:
Ready for some family game night fluff and fun antics, all to have it go awash in some angst?
It will work out for Loid, let's say being a "cool liar" has caught up with him. Because Yor wants honesty, and it's best to be honest here.
Slight spoilers to the Winston Wheeler mole arc.
~Enjoy!
i go to this window
just as day dissolves
when it is twilight(and
looking up in fear
i see the new moon
thinner than a hair)
making me feel
how myself has been coarse and dull
compared with you,silently who are
and cling
to my mind always..."
-e.e. cummings, [i go to this window], "is 5"
(public domain)
. . . .
It was an ordinary day of work for Dr. Loid Forger at Berlint Hospital. One of the nurses said he seemed more day-dreamy. His co-worker, the friendly mustached social worker, said it was probably because Dr. Forger looked forward to his special weekend plans with his wife.
"That's right," Loid joined in. "Yor and I rarely get a weekend alone. We're excited."
"No wonder." The nurse beamed. "Your vow-renewal ceremony was lovely. Like you're newlyweds all over again."
"It sure feels that way," Dr. Forger said with a laugh.
It was closer to the truth than they all knew.
Fiona Frost accepted Yor's loan of the books with restrained thanks and utmost professionalism. After that, Fiona finished her work and went home early, complaining of a headache. When he asked, he was told yes, she left with a bag of books.
Later that afternoon Loid was at his desk, typing his patient reports. He found himself pondering Fiona. She likely left to do a mission. Or she told the truth about the headache. Maybe both. The truth was simplest—she didn't want to be around Twilight.
He pitied Fiona. All those years, holding in her true feelings for Twilight, only to have it dashed. He had absolutely no idea. Why didn't she confess?
That was his fault. When he trained Fiona and told her "Hide your true emotions," it was more rooted in his own fear of loss and lingering heartbreak, than spy-craft.
Loid pulled his last report out of the typewriter and stowed in its file folder. A lazy afternoon sunray streaming through the window reminded him the workday was drawing to an end. He watched the ray and allowed himself to let go and think.
What if she confessed? He still would've broken her heart. Twilight never had feelings for Fiona, they were far too alike. Fiona was an excellent colleague, somewhere between a comrade and a friend. She'd saved his life during the Winston Wheeler mission. She took the Ostanian mole down with her own broken limbs before Wheeler unmasked the unconscious Twilight.
After they bound him, she asked Twilight why he spared Yuri Briar's life. He hesitated and gave her the "official answer", that if anything happened to Yuri, Yor would lose interest in their fake marriage and lose her reason to stay. Fiona sensed the truth he tried to hide—that he cared for Yor, a thing then he was afraid to admit.
He gathered his things, put on his coat and hat. No one would mind if Dr. Forger left work earlier today. He had a good excuse.
Now Loid waited for his family in the park, a takeout bag full of Sunset Kebab sandwiches beside him. He savored its meaty aroma, mixing with the sweet freshness in the air.
"Sylvia, she send you? Good." Kebab Guy said when he handed Loid the bag. "I will give you some of my special kebabs, made with my own special spice mix. She tells me what a nice family you have." Along with the doner kebab sandwiches and the shish kebab for Yor, were three "special kebabs."
Loid traced the sun-rimmed clouds with his eyes. He huffed a laugh. To think he'd been here about twelve hours ago, with the sunrise. Sunset neared. Maybe they could catch it from the living room window. Anya liked sunsets, especially watching them with Papa.
The golden hour cast its gold on the late-afternoon park-goers. When it flashed mellow on Loid's wedding ring, the sight didn't startle him. He glanced at its wonder.
—The joys of family...Me?
Someone called Loid. He swept his eyes from the clouds to see Yor and Anya coming, pulled along by Bond. He rose to meet his family.
Yor waved."Loid, there you are."
Anya ran to him and hugged his leg. "Tag, Papa. You're it. Whatcha got, Papa?"
"Tag, Anya, you're it." He patted her head. "Kebabs, for dinner."
Why did Anya's jokey way of playing tag and her hugs want to make him hold her tight, safe? Because of the way she said "I want to go home, our home," after he rescued her from Edgar's goons? There was no way Anya could've known it was him, for he was in disguise. Yet she told him she'd been playing tag with "some old guys," the story he spun her. Did it matter? The game was sweet, no matter how Anya came up with it.
He delighted in that carefree joy in Anya's green eyes. Thanks to him?
Anya took the bag. "Donna kebab, yummy."
"Doner kebab," Loid corrected.
"I know, Papa. Donna Kebab is more fun to say."
Yor took a peek in the bag. "Shish kebabs? Thank you, Loid." Yor pecked a kiss on his cheek. "It's so nice of you to plan this game night."
"You're welcome."
Why did a shy pinkness pop on their cheeks? They were used to this. They clasped hands and Loid found comfort in her gentle hold, with her softness and slight calluses. Yor handed him the leash and they chatted, yet her ruby-brown eyes were preoccupied, not taking in his words.
"Something on your mind, Yor?"
Yor averted her eyes. "Nothing, really...Loid, I want to ask you—"
He waited for her question.
Yor shook her head. "N-never mind. It can wait."
Loid gave her hand a little squeeze. Yor relaxed.
Anya chattered on about how Second Son, no, Damian refused to admit he let her win at Go Fish again. Then he got mad because Becky said he "liked her." Anya thought it was silly and gross.
"We're just friends," Anya insisted.
"Puppy love," Yor said in Loid's ear.
Loid's throat went dry, but he took a light tone. "Aren't they a little young?"
"Are you worrying?"
"I-I'm not. Maybe I'm feeling a little protective."
Yor laughed, and he joined her. Yet an over-spiced scent coming from the bag made his nose curl. Anya and Damian? What could that mean long-term if the boy's father supported Project Apple? The news would devastate Damian. It would threaten Yor and Anya, his family, his mission. How could he protect his daughter if indeed "puppy love" turned into real love as they grew? Then again, Damian's growing friendships with Anya and others could be grounding for the boy, and the Forgers could have a positive influence in his life...
He did worry. He sighed.
Yor was back in her own worries. Loid studied her. Yor sensed his look and flashed him a smile. Did Yor fret over what he'd shared about Claudia and his past? She didn't seem jealous.
Until yesterday, Yor only knew after his "first wife" died, he had a bunch of "fake relationships", and that he "didn't like to talk about it," for he felt "ashamed." It was the truth, veiled.
Yesterday he confessed to Yor his relationship with his "first wife" had been "nothing really genuine." Then he told her about Claudia and her death. How it wasn't his fault but undid him all the same. He admitted to being a user who "used and was used by others." Heartless, right?
Yor looked on Loid with compassion.
"You were afraid of getting your heart broken again, weren't you?" she said.
A crystal point of truth—it didn't matter if they were careless dates or faked relationships for intel's sake—he was scared of heartbreak.
Yesterday night in bed, Loid took courage to tell Yor he and Claudia had been engaged, and she died just before they were to marry. His voice broke on the the word "marry." Yor held him.
She'd taken all this week's revelations with such grace. What fretted her now?
"Papa."Anya tugged at his coat. "Didn't you hear me ask what game we're gonna play first?"
"Still worrying?" Yor stifled a giggle under her hand.
"Just a lot on my mind, like usual."
"Papa thinks way too much and way too hard," Anya said.
"Loid, Anya's right. How about we focus on our game night?" Yor accepted Bond's lead from him.
"Sure." He tried to soften the edge of irritation in his voice, thankful he could hide it by focusing on unlocking the door. Why did it rankle him to be called "Loid?" It never bothered him before.
Maybe it was too much thinking, or the over-spicy smell. He wanted to collapse on the couch once they got inside.
Then Anya put her warm little hand on his arm. "Papa? Can we watch the sunset?"
Something unclenched inside him. "I think that can be arranged."
Anya decided they should all play Papa's game choice first, Risk.
Loid smirked at the irony. He'd been playing that game all week.
. . .
Game night was a bust. The doner kebab was good yet the spiced "special kebabs" upset Loid's stomach. Loid finished half his sandwich, and contented himself with a few pieces of plain shish kebab and rice while Yor and Anya enjoyed theirs. Bond gulped Loid's leftovers. He was too tired to reprimand Anya about feeding Bond "people food".
Yor let him lie on the couch while Anya and she took care of the simple cleanup. She brought him antacids and a mug of hot, sweetened peppermint tea. He drank the tea while Anya and Yor played Candy Land with Mr. Penguin, Mr. Lion, and Mr. Chimera because that was official game of the P2 Spy Agency.
The Forgers watched the sunset from their west-facing balcony over Park street, Anya on his shoulders, Yor at his side. The sky turned rosy, then purple, then deep twilight. Vaguely, as he sipped the cooling tea, he found the evening twilight was not as beautiful as that morning's pre-dawn twilight.
They first played Risk. Loid explained how the game of "world domination" was a favorite with his coworkers (at WISE). He played against Yor and Anya. Bond didn't count as a teammate since he dozed under the coffee table. They each had a secret mission to complete. The player who ruled the board, won. It started well. An hour later Loid felt a victory thrill, with his mission complete and near-complete domination of the board. Then Anya burst into tears saying, "I don't want to play anymore."
Yor groaned. "This isn't fair to Anya. And my head's spinning."
"I'm sorry. I got carried away. Anya, what do you want to play?"
Anya sniffled and perked up. "Twister?"
Yor got Twister when she and Anya saw a Twister competition on TV. Anya opened the box, excited to play for the first time. This party game about turning yourself into a pretzel as you put your hands and feet on colored spots was pure fun, just the thing to cheer Anya and give Yor the advantage, with her amazing agility and flexibility. Loid didn't mind.
First Yor was the spinner/caller, then Loid, and finally Anya. She grinned smugly, knowing she would get to see Mama and Papa in funny positions on the mat. When they almost got into an embarrassing tangle, Yor maneuvered out with a deft twist or leap. They got caught up in the fun.
Anya called "Left hand, green." Loid was in a crab-walk with Yor arching over. He reached behind. Yor reached forward. Her loose hair tickled his nose. Loid sneezed. He tried to muffle it with his free arm yet his leg kicked out. It tripped Yor.
"Bless you—mmppffh!" She thudded into Loid. It knocked his breath out.
Loid lay there, Yor splayed atop him. Yor froze. Their eyes locked.
He swallowed. Yor chewed her lips, her eyes wide. Loid slowly moved his hands, meaning to push her off, yet laid one hand around Yor. She trembled, staring hard into his eyes. He fixated on her lips, her rosy eyes, her warm body pressing into him, aware he grew hot. And firm.
Yor bit her lips hard, stifling a cry. Loid stiffened, helpless to fend off the incoming blow...
"Family kebab sandwich!"
Anya jumped, landing on her parents with a wump. Then Bond sat on them.
Loid groaned with the impact. "Get off," he hollered.
Bond scurried off in time. Yor scrambled up like lightning, sending Anya flying. She yanked Loid up, muttering "Sorry, sorry." Loid flopped on the couch, grabbing the nearest pillow, shoving it atop his lap before Anya noticed anything. He let out an irritated groan.
Anya looked between him and Yor. "But I thought you were..."
"That's enough," Yor said. "Let's play a nice calm game. I know, Parcheesi." She withdrew it from the bookcase. "Yuri and I played this all the time."
Yor gave Loid a pressed smile. He sighed in relief. She wasn't upset. Just embarrassed.
The game was the tonic they needed. No tears, no compromising positions, only Anya whining when she thought she was going to lose to Loid's blockade keeping her green pieces from advancing, yet all her pieces made it home first, followed by Yor's red ones, and Loid's blue ones. Bond snored in the corner on his blanket, dozing away in some doggy dream.
Loid let Anya win, for he didn't want any more of her tears. Yor kept a smile on her face, though she was subdued. Anya cheered at her easy win. Without a word, Yor went to help Anya with her bath and he cleaned up the games.
Maybe that moment with Twister jarred her? In the kitchen he slugged the remains of the cold mint tea. From the pass-through window, Yor softy alerted him.
"Anya wants a good night kiss from Papa."
"I'm coming."
From her tone he guessed it would be best to smooth things with her afterward. Anya wanted two bedtime stories along with her kiss.
"Time to sleep. I hope you have lots of fun tomorrow at the aquarium with Becky and Franky."
"We will, Papa. Becky wants to give Uncle Scruffy romance tips."
Loid tried not to roll his eyes. "Of course. Good night, Lil Peanut." He pecked her head.
Anya hugged him. "Night, Papa. I liked the games. And, Papa?"
There was mischief in those bright, curious eyes. Loid cocked his head at her.
"...Have fun shacking up with Mama tomorrow." She dove under the covers in a laughing heap.
"Anya—" That darn kid. What did she imagine? That they'd kiss and roll around in bed all day?
Under the covers, Anya giggled harder, the pink tip of her hair quivering with her giggles.
Loid smirked. "Good night, now get some sleep."
"Mamas and Papas too," came Anya's muffled reply.
Loid shut her door. Maybe Yor would be game to tell him her worries. He stopped short in the hallway. The silence of the living room was disturbed by the tink of a wineglass set onto a table.
. . .
Yor sat in the armchair, staring into a wineglass. Loid didn't breathe a word. Yor took a tiny sip, her eyes fierce, glittering hard, like amethyst. In the dim room her cherry red tunic looked crimson and the wine was like blood.
Loid's eyes narrowed. He smelled trouble.
Yor shot up. "I don't need it this time."
She chucked the wine into the sink and set the glass with a hard "clink." Back at the couch, she clutched a pillow and hid her face into it. Then Yor glanced up, with a look as fearful as she'd been fierce—like a girl holding back tears. The threat was gone, the air filled with her woe.
Loid's heart went out to her. Yor, trapped in her fears of insecurity. He wanted to crush her in his arms and kiss it away. Loid waited in the hallway.
Yor gazed into the dark. Then she glanced to the hall.
"Loid? How long have you been there?"
"I just put Anya to bed." He took one step toward her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine." Yor hugged the pillow tighter.
Loid moved slowly to not alarm Yor. A warning twinge made the hairs on the back of his neck prick. Like when entered the realm of the enemy. Yor was no enemy. Tension walled her.
The scent of the threat lingered. What was it?
He eased himself beside her. Yor stared at her hands on the pillow. Did Yor want water, something to eat, or to be left alone? No. He could stay.
"Yor." Loid couldn't keep it in any longer. "I know something's wrong. Tell me. You don't need to, but I'll listen, honest." He took her hand.
"Loid..." Yor gripped his hand.
He grit his teeth to not scream in pain. Yor released him, leaving his right hand and his heart aching.
"I-I'm so sorry." Yor's tears flowed. "I want to ask you something."
"I'm listening."
"Tell me..." Yor took his hand and clumsily wiped her tears. "...How many partners have you had?" She whispered it more to the pillow.
Loid tensed. Calm down, Twilight. She doesn't mean your fake ones.
He tried to keep his tone even. "Partners?"
Yor nodded, her face hidden by her hair. "R-romantic ones."
"I..." Loid trailed off. He took a breath to still his pounding heart.
"Not that. Intimate ones." Yor stole a look.
Loid met her. Suddenly it was hard to meet her eyes. "Are you sure?"
"It's best if you're honest."
He swallowed, slightly loosening his hold on her. It would be easy to fudge a number, to confess to his "fake" first wife, and to Claudia, his actual almost first wife.
Loid studied the white nubbles of the pillow, the weave of his trouser fabric, their laced fingers. Without meaning to, he looked up. At Yor.
He was disarmed by the searching appeal in her eyes, staring into his very core. Yor deserved honesty. He had not accounted for its fearsome nakedness.
"Five," he said with gritted teeth. "You'd be five."
"Who else?"
Loid took a deep breath. And he told her.
First there was Genevieve, his friend from the high school theater club, who became a sort of girlfriend. They were sixteen and lonely, and after the act, they had the strange sense they didn't belong to each other. She wanted to be an actress, yet her first love was farming. Later, when he enlisted to fight, Genevieve sent him a surprise care package from the farm where she worked.
Loid shut his eyes. He could see Genevieve's heavy-lidded grey eyes, hear her melodious laugh...
"Did you ever see her again?" Yor asked.
He licked his lips. "No."
Not as himself. Early in his spy years he went to see her, disguised as a mutual high school friend, who "just happened" to be in the area. Genevieve offered him homemade bread and jam, holding her little baby as they talked, the spitting image of the farmer's son she married. Talk turned to school days. Did she miss being an actress? Genevieve nuzzled her child. "I am content," she said. Had she heard about her old friend from the theater club? No, they lost touch after the war. Was he an actor? He was so good with everything in theater.
"No," Twilight in disguise said. That friend had found a career fitting for his skills. "Tell him I say hello and I hope he's well," Genevieve said. He'd pass the word. He left with her homemade jam. She never knew her visitor was him. He made the jam last a long time.
Yor, silent, waited for Loid to continue.
Then there was Claudia. "The only other one who matters, besides you."
After that, three and four, women from his days of using and being used, who used him as much as he used them. Their names didn't matter. It was only lust, nothing truly genuine.
Loid paused. He hated those years shortly after Claudia's death. If he could help it, Yor would never know any more than this. Shame flushed in his face. He looked away.
"After that, I threw myself into work. Then I met you." He dared to look into her eyes, and took both her hands. "You know how much you mean to me."
"Thank you." Her tears ran.
"Yor. I'm sorry I didn't tell you until—"
"Excuse me." Yor let go of his hands. "I just can't compare."
She ran from him, her face in her hands. She shut her door. Loid looked her way. Then he sunk into the couch and cursed. He banged the coffee table with a fist.
Why did you not tell her sooner? Craft a careful response to curb the damage?
He knew why. He didn't want to hurt Yor. But he did.
Even better? He forgot any mention of the "fake" first wife. Yor was not so gullible these days. Would she think his wife was partner three or four? Poor Dr. Forger, the victim of a bad first marriage.
She might see right through him. So what? He was sick of the lies.
It wouldn't affect STRIX. He'd lost all chances to employ his backup plan to play off Claudia as his "fake" first wife. Truth won its winsome way.
Now he was free to show Yor his precious few pictures. He'd wanted to tell her. He wanted someone to know. Yor didn't mind learning he had a first love.
Now she wept out her insecurities. All the fault of his own fear, on the eve of their honeymoon. Outside her door, he heard her soft weeping. He put a hand on the knob. Don't disturb her.
He flopped back onto his own bed with a groan, yanking his blonde hair till it hurt. His stomach throbbed with anxiety. Twilight had no honed plan. Dr. Forger had no psychiatric wisdom.
Nope. He was an aching husband without any good answers.
He shut his eyes and put a hand to his chest. Love? Its risks were better than clinging the corpse of loss, superior to the false promises of lust. Even if it left him feeling hopeless, helpless, naked, and alone?
There had to be a way to fix this. Loid could do no more than stare at the black night with its needle moon and pinprick stars framed in his window.
A/N: Isn't Anya a stinker? Loid, oh my...I do feel sorry for you. I get why Yor is hurt, too. Don't worry, you've got this.
I never expected Kebab Guy to show up in a story, but yes, doner kebab sandwiches are a thing in Germany. Kebabs are delicious. The games I mention are real ones that were popular in the 60s. No idea if they played Candy Land in Germany in the 1960s. I did play Parcheesi as a kid...wasn't a fave, but it wasn't bad.
If you are curious to read the actual conversation Yor and Loid had re his romantic past, please check out "Somewhere I Have Never Travelled."
To read about the nightmare Twilight had, check out "Because It's Real"...where their love started!
Up next: A journey down the scraps of memory lane, and how Loid wins back Yor.
~Peace, K.
