Hello friends!

Thank you all for your patience as I got to writing this chapter - it's been a really busy time for me, so I managed to write this in between all my chaos.

Thank you to SatisfiedImmoralist for beta reading, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

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Silence reigned in the Forger household when Anya awoke, slightly groggy, but feeling lighter than she had for a long time. One ear turned to the side, Anya tried to listen out for the telltale signs of activity, but as the silence stretched out even further, she only got more frustrated. Silence meant no people, and no people meant no minds to sense around her, which could be peaceful at times, but more often than not, Anya just found it uncomfortable.

Thoughts were a constant buzz for her, without which it felt like being cut off from one of her core senses, equivalent to her vision being blurred or her hearing being dampened. Although, if she expanded the range of her psyche beyond the walls of the apartment, it wouldn't be too hard to find others.

Anya straightened the duvet on the guest bed - knowing that Damian would hate it if she left it messy - and made her way to her own room, where she stripped off her pyjamas and dumped them on the floor, before jumping into the shower.

It was a shame she couldn't let the relaxing hot water run down her hair and back, otherwise her bandages would be soaked, but Anya tried her best to be careful to avoid them while still trying to get clean. As she took her time in the shower, her thoughts wandered to the night when she and Damian made up, and when he forgave her, and when she told him her secrets, and when they kissed… Her cheeks burned, but at the same time, a small smile crept onto her face, and she covered her face with both hands, unable to stop the excitement from fizzing out of her.

The water did nothing to cool her burning face either, because, well, it was a kiss like they had never had before, and thinking about it made Anya feel fizzy on the inside, and then thinking about that made her think of the other stuff, and then when Damian was so kind and gentle with her so early in the morning, even putting aside his own discomfort to help her…

It was enough to make any girl lightheaded, actually, and Anya found that she had to get out of the shower before the hot steam made her feel any more flushed.

Afterwards, it was only as Anya was layering her sling on top of her t-shirt, resting her non-dominant arm inside it, that she finally heard the click of a key turning in the apartment lock, accompanied with the familiar feel of a comforting mind.

"Mama!" Anya called out into the corridor just as Yor entered the flat.

"Oh, darling, you're up!" she beamed, and hurried over to give her daughter a hug - though her touch was much noticeably lighter than usual, as if extra conscious of Anya's injury.

She leaned away, a smile on her face. "Becky called this morning as well - she was so worried about you. She wants to visit as soon as possible."

"Becky called?" Anya immediately perked up. "Why didn't you wake me!"

"Because you just looked so cute!" Yor patted her on the head, and Anya pouted. "Your rest is more important, especially with an injury like yours."

Anya hmphed. She couldn't exactly argue with that, not when she also knew that Yor had endured gunshot wounds before. It was such a strange experience as a teenager to know that her parents frequently suffered significant physical injuries, and what Anya had been through still paled in comparison to all the scars that her parents carried.

"In any case, she was very excited about your birthday. I think she wants to plan a party for you."

Yor smiled as she turned her back on Anya briefly, shrugging off her coat to hang on one of the many hooks that decorated the corridor, not noticing the worry that had crossed Anya's own face.

She continued to talk as she put everything away, moving into the living room as she did so to unload the shopping: "It's such a shame that all this happened just before your birthday… I wasn't sure what you would want to do to celebrate, or how much energy you feel you can spare… The ideas that Becky had for your birthday were, well, a little bit out of our budget, but if there is a way that you want to celebrate, then of course we'll do whatever you -"

"No, it's okay Mama," Anya interrupted. "We don't have to do anything."

"Why not? You'll be eighteen! We can go out and celebrate-"

"Just legally," Anya reminded her mother, though she already knew. "Not in real life…"

Yor faltered, the smile on her face suddenly uncertain, but she forged ahead. "Still! It's a nice occasion, isn't it? You're on your way to growing up, and we could do something to-"

"Mama! Just leave it!" Anya snapped, and Yor stepped back, the smile on her face slipping.

Her gaze swept over her daughter, worried and uncertain.

"What's this about?"

"Nothing! I don't know!"

"Anya."

The sternness of it surprised Anya, and she jerked her head away, not making eye contact.

"I just," Anya began, and sighed not even knowing where to start. "I don't know. What if it happens again? What if there are more out there? What if…"

She was almost afraid to say it. "What if next time, it's not just me? What if Damian gets hurt for real, or you, or Papa, or Becky or anyone else near us!" As the fears rushed out of her, Anya's vision became blurrier, and her throat tightened. "What if something worse happens? What if this attack was just the start, and they have something worse planned?"

Her voice got quieter and quieter. "What if next time, we don't make it out?"

The stillness coming from her mother's direction just made Anya feel even worse. She was the daughter of Twilight and the Thorn Princess - she was supposed to be fearless, she was supposed to be strong, she didn't have time to worry and think about the worst case scenarios because she was supposed to be out saving the world and saving Damian and saving her family and saving her friends, she couldn't afford to put all of that aside, she couldn't afford to be so weak -

"Oh, Anya," Yor breathed, her voice soft. "Come here."

Arms wrapped around Anya, and on instinct, she grabbed onto the back of her mother's jumper with one hand, resting her head on Yor's shoulder as her other arm rested in its sling. She felt like a child again, needing the comfort from her mother, and Anya hiccupped as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I didn't realise you were feeling so scared," her mother said, her voice thick with apology. "And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't tell me how you really feel. You know that your father and I would do whatever we could to make sure you were okay…"

"Mm," Anya nodded, her lips pressed tight together. "I wish I was strong like you."

"You are stronger than both of us," Yor kissed her on the top of her head, cradling her softly. "Why would you ever think you weren't strong?"

"Because I got shot," Anya said simply, her voice flat. "I got caught."

A pause, as Yor caught her breath.

"You know that I was-"

"Shot. I know. I remember," Anya sighed. "And you managed to hide it from Papa the whole time. You changed your own bandages, you looked after yourself…"

Yor's hand on her tensed. "Of course you knew. I didn't think about that."

"Mm."

Anya didn't even have the energy to wonder if she had said the wrong thing, but then her mother pulled back, holding Anya's face in her hands.

"I know that you saw me and Loid deal with everything alone - but you know we would never wish that for you, right?" Yor's eyes softened, imploring her. "You know that asking for help is allowed, right?"

Not for me, Anya wanted to say, but she knew that her mother wouldn't agree, so she didn't voice the thought out loud. But inside, the knowledge reigned: that asking for help wasn't ever an option for people like Anya. There was always too much at stake.

And it didn't matter that she was turning eighteen legally - which meant that, legally, she wasn't a child, she would have more options to help herself than she had ever had before. It didn't matter, because Anya always knew the truth of the world.

It was survival. It was always about survival.

Asking for help in a world that was geared towards your own destruction was a luxury that Anya hadn't ever been able to imagine for herself, and even with her parents' help, and Damian's, and Becky's, it was still something that Anya felt was beyond her. She had learned to do everything alone, to never ask for help, and it felt wrong when she did, even though she knew that it shouldn't be.

"But you and Papa can do everything yourselves," Anya said quietly. "So I should be able to as well, right?"

Yor's face fell, and the looks behind her eyes seemed to say: We taught you wrong.

"Dealing with things alone should only ever be a last resort," Yor said quietly. "We need to be able to rely on each other."

Anya opened her mouth, about to counteract, but she sensed her mother's belief in her own words, and she wisely closed it again.

She had just learned how to trust Damian, and Becky. Trusting her parents too should be a given. If only it didn't feel like she was fighting against everything she knew.

"Thanks, Mama," Anya said dryly, knowing that it was the correct response.

It was a while yet before Loid and Damian returned to the Forger residence, and Anya detected them instantly.

Yor stood by the stove, cooking dinner, while Anya sat watching Spy Wars - the box sets, not the live shows - and she held back from sprinting to the doorway to welcome Damian and her father, partly because she was supposed to not exercise any more, to avoid straining her shoulder, and partly because she was intrigued by the thoughts buzzing between them.

It was confirmed for her the moment that Damian opened the door, holding a large duffel bag, and Loid followed soon behind him.

Of course, Damian noticed her instantly, and his face immediately brightened as he walked over to her. Just seeing his smile made Anya feel bright, too -

And then she remembered how she acted in front of him while she was on painkillers, and she blushed, but her smile didn't falter.

"You look happy," she noted as he approached her. "Something good happen?"

Damian ruffled her hair, gazing down at her with affection. "I got to see you, of course."

"Damian!" She pretended to gasp, and he laughed.

"Lots of good things. I'll catch you up in a second," he said, as he lifted the duffel bag in her eye line, before moving to the guest room. Presumably to dump it, or unpack whatever was in there.

Loid fell onto the sofa, sinking into it. He allowed himself to relax slightly as he waved towards Anya, a clear sign to get her attention. "Damian's been working hard all day to get everything sorted."

"Everything?" Anya blinked. What did that mean?

Just then, Damian returned once again to the living room, and he joined Anya on the sofa, automatically resting his arm on the top of the cushion behind her. Not quite touching her shoulders, but enough that Anya could lean her head back, and land on bicep instead of cushion.

"Uh, let's see…" Damian tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as he counted things off on his fingers. "We got cease-and-desist letters sent out, the NDAs have been distributed to all the students I can remember, and I think the PR team are working on something else to bring to the press. Your Pops managed to help me find another flat in the city, we collected my things from Eden, and Mr Handel is sending over the Group documents for me to keep working on from here."

Anya was stunned. She couldn't imagine accomplishing even half of that in just a day, but apparently her boyfriend and her father made an unstoppable team when it came to their organisation skills.

"Wait - already?" She glanced between him and her father, noting the elements of exhaustion on both of their faces, and pride. "In one day?"

"Yup," Damian yawned, and rested his head on the back of the sofa, his entire body sagging from exhaustion. "Had to get it all done… Thanks, Pops…"

Loid smiled from his seat, his eyes softening. "It was really no trouble, Damian. I'm glad I could help."

Yor's voice called from the kitchen: "Dinner's almost finished! Can somebody set the table for me?"

"I'll do it," Damian called back, and pushed himself off the sofa with a grunt.

Was Damian not letting himself rest? Anya watched him as he turned into the kitchen, speaking with Yor quietly, before she turned back to her father.

"You said you found a flat?" Anya wondered. "How'd it go?"

Loid shrugged, a move that could have been described as casual, if Anya didn't already know that her father never could act casual naturally. "I was on 'security', if you understand my meaning."

Anya imagined her father checking the entire place for bugs, noting the emergency exits, and poring over blueprints and schematics for any sign of structural weaknesses.

She couldn't help but chuckle. Who would have ever imagined that Damian and her father would work together so easily - after he had learned all the secrets that there was to know. It almost made her laugh out loud to think that Damian found out that her father was Twilight, the legendary Westalian spy, and not only did he actually keep the secret but he actually used Twilight's spy skills for his own gain! What a strange thought.

Still, it gave her a funny feeling, and she glanced quickly over at Damian. It warmed her heart to see that he was collecting plates and bowls from Yor, speaking quietly together.

"He was going to ask you if you wanted to do anything for your birthday," Loid added, and Anya looked up at him in confusion.

"But he knows that it isn't my real birthday…"

Loid raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you think that matters to him?"

"Well…"

What was he expecting her to say to that? Thankfully, Loid didn't leave the silence too long, before he shared his thoughts with her.

"Seems like an excuse to me."

"An excuse for what?" Anya wondered, but Loid only shrugged, with a small smile on his face.

"Who knows?"

"Thanks for your help, Damian!" Yor greeted him warmly as he approached her, and handed him the bundle of cutlery to set out. "You must be exhausted from your day, so after this, don't worry about helping with the clean-up…"

Damian took the bundle from her, and glancing quickly at Loid and Anya talking, he lowered his voice as he spoke to Yor.

"I was wondering, is it okay if I practice martial arts with you in the mornings again? While I stay here?"

"Of course," Yor responded without pause, looking momentarily confused that he had asked. "You need to keep up your training! Otherwise it makes it harder to pick up the skills again."

"I remember you saying," he nodded, and started to set out the knives and forks, putting them carefully in their places.

Until he was left with only a knife in his hand, and he stared at it, his mind puzzling with another question.

It was a question that he had never wanted to admit that he was thinking about, and so he had never asked it. But ever since Anya had saved him, had literally taken a bullet from him and protected him from the attack on the school, it was a question that kept insisting on bubbling up to the surface, demanding to be asked.

"Yor," he started gently, speaking in a quiet voice.

Of course, an assassin's hearing was second-to-none, and Yor heard him even though she had returned to her position of stirring the pot. She lifted her head slightly, to show him that she was listening.

Damian inhaled a deep breath, and his chest tightened as the words left his mouth:

"How do you finish a fight?"

Yor had done so much to teach him how to protect himself and Anya in a fight, how to use an opponent's strength against them, how to use his energy to enhance his own strength, outrun an enemy and notice when he was being watched. But their fights always ended on the mats, and though Yor did point out areas for lethal strikes, the question had niggled at the back of his mind, to the point where he wondered how she expected him to walk away from a fight after dealing the final blow.

"Well, you know," she responded, stirring the stew slowly as she spoke. "There's making a direct strike to the abdomen, the throat-"

Damian blanched. "That wasn't quite what I meant."

He set the knife down in its place, and wandered closer to where she was. He wanted to be able to speak out of earshot of his girlfriend and her father.

"How do you finish it?"

Yor looked up in thought. "Well there's poison, but I didn't plan on training you to-"

"No! No!" Damian waved his hands in front of him, hoping to stop this horrifying conversation before it got any worse. "I'm not asking about poisons! Or killing people! But, how do you make sure that the fight is over? That they aren't going to come and hurt you again?"

Looking up at Yor, he didn't expect to see her brows knitted in confusion at his question.

"Without killing…?"

"Yes!" Damian hissed exasperatedly, before he glanced over his shoulder. Thankfully, it seemed that neither Loid nor Anya could hear their conversation.

All the while, Yor continued to stir the stew, looking as though she was deep in thought. "I was taught that there was only ever one way to finish a fight."

Damian swallowed. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

It was a question that had been haunting him for longer than he wanted to admit, because every training session with Yor ended the same way: with his back on the floor, and Yor pulling him up, before beaming at him and congratulating him for his hard work.

Perhaps Damian didn't ask, because he didn't truly want to know the answer - but he couldn't avoid the question any longer. If it meant that Anya might get hurt again, or worse, he needed to know, even if the implications sickened him.

"What if I can't?" he whispered, barely able to hide his own guilt.

Yor's lips tightened into a line. "You might not have a choice."

Damian faltered at that. He didn't know much about Yor's assassin background - and if he was being more honest with himself, he actually had always been too scared to ask any more about it - but her words gave him the profound feeling that Yor had always struggled with this very issue. That perhaps, she had less choice in the matter than she wanted to believe.

"What if there is another way?" he said desperately. "What if there is another choice?"

She sighed, and slotted the lid onto the stew, before turning the gas off, and turned to face Damian directly.

"We often have no idea what we're truly capable of, until the time comes for us to make a tough choice."

It wasn't an answer. Or, it wasn't an answer that Damian wanted to think about. He swallowed, trying to moisten his suddenly dry mouth to be able to ask Yor the next question on his mind.

"Like what?"

His voice was starting to get croakier, he feared.

"The choice to protect yourself, or the people you love," Yor said quietly. "No matter what it is, our choices always come with a cost, and we have to be prepared to pay it."

He didn't want to imagine how that must have been for her. Yor was a woman who possessed so much strength, but physically and mentally, that he could not ever imagine a scenario where she felt unsure or guilty about having to make a tough choice. Damian had even seen Yor with weapons in her hands, attacking indiscriminately without hesitation, but perhaps she had faced more trials and hardships than he could ever put to words.

"Is that what it's like for you?" he said, and Yor nodded.

"In my," she hesitated, "line of work, we aren't given much choice. The Garden decides the target, and it's my job to eliminate them. If there are witnesses, then they become my job, too."

"You mean…?" Damian gave her a meaningful look.

Yor nodded, her expression severe. "Leaving witnesses is against the rules."

It was the way she said it that made him wonder: "Do you have other rules too?"

It wasn't something he had ever wondered and he didn't quite mean to say it out loud, and instantly Damian wondered if he had crossed a line and made a terrible mistake.

Yor stilled, less like a statue of ice and more like a serpent who was deciding whether to strike. Her intake of breath was sharp and instant, like his words had had a physical effect on her, and her unreadable stare burned into him.

Damian couldn't move under her catlike gaze. Did he do something wrong? Did he tread somewhere that was forbidden?

And with a jolt he realised: it was forbidden. All of it was. But she had been so open and accommodating with him, that he had forgotten.

Then Yor exhaled, a long sigh that contained multitudes of meanings that Damian could not hope to parse. When she spoke, her eyes and voice had lowered, and Damian had the intense feeling that he was being privy to information that had only been passed down from master to student, assassin to assassin.

"There are three rules," she said, her voice imbued with a mix of weight and solemnity. "Only slay the target, unless there are witnesses. If there are witnesses, leave none behind. The target is decided by the Garden."

For every rule, Yor raised another finger. She looked at her three raised fingers in mute curiosity, curling them back into a fist, and to Damian's surprise, she kept going:

"Those are the Garden's rules, but I have found myself in enough situations where I was forced to make more choices for myself: do I let the enemy live? What would be the price of that? If they know who I am, will they come after my family too?

"I would only need to make one mistake, and then it would all be over for us. To protect my family, I cannot afford to make any mistakes. I have to come home alive, I have to make sure that my husband is safe, and that no-one is going to abduct my daughter or torture her or hurt her ever again."

Suddenly, Damian's memory flashed back to Yor's raw rage in the lab, when she broke through tables like they were cardboard, when she prised metal doors open with her bare fists, and shattered the tank of water with one punch.

The hairs raised on the back of his neck, and he gulped.

Tuned out to Damian's reaction, Yor continued:

"So, I developed my own rules."

His voice was quiet with some mix of awe and fear: "Is that even allowed?"

"No," and this time Yor allowed herself to smile at Damian, though her smile was tight, and didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm not supposed to follow my own rules, but there are times when the rules that already exist aren't enough to rely on, and so I have to do more to rely on myself."

Yor ducked her head down towards him, as if she was about to share a deadly secret with Damian, and he couldn't help himself as he leaned in closer, head tilted towards her.

"I believe that there are three other situations where force is necessary," Yor whispered, and it distantly occurred to Damian that perhaps, she really was sharing a secret with him. One that she had never shared with anyone else before.

She held up a finger. "One: when taking a life equals saving a life."

A second. "Two: when there is no other means of escape."

Holding three fingers up to him, Damian held his breath as he listened for her final rule, another piece of insight into Yor's secret life and the way that she saw the world.

"Three: when all other means of justice fails, or will likely fail."

Yor held up her hand for a second longer, before letting it fall, and she turned back towards the pot of stew once again, giving it a final stir before setting the lid and the wooden spoon aside.

She spoke as she rummaged through the cupboards, taking bowls and giving them to Damian to hold.

"Only one of these conditions needs to be met for me to make a free choice, and only then do I do what is necessary."

"You mean…?" Damian swallowed, and dragged one finger across his throat, while his other hand supported the bowls.

"Yes." Yor nodded solemnly. "Whatever it takes."

Whatever it takes, huh…

Damian felt heavy. A dense weight had settled on his shoulders, forcing his head down so that his gaze landed on the floor. More questions came to him, all probably forbidden, but he lowered his voice to give voice to the one question that he felt she would be allowed to answer.

"How do you live with it?"

Yor shrugged, closing the cupboard, and reaching to a high shelf to retrieve the drinks glasses. They clinked together in her hands, undeniably fragile and yet, in her grip, Damian would have never doubted their safety.

"Ultimately, I know that the targets picked by the Garden are a danger to people and to society, and it's my job to make sure that they don't harm anyone else. After all…"

And then she looked directly at Damian, her gaze watchful and wondering.

"If it cost one life to save a hundred others, wouldn't you take it?"

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This was an interesting one to write. It's still 'quiet' - kind of - but I liked getting to give Yor some more spotlight this time. I don't often write Yor and Anya together, and it's nice to show moments of Yor and Damian when I can.

Next chapter: Saturday 29th March 2025

(I'm excited for this one)