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Handler can't hide her disappointment this time. She removes her glasses to run both hands over her face. Handler's keenly aware of the eyes watching her every movement, but she can't bring herself to care, not when her heart and mind are at war in her chest.
"Handler-" Twilight starts, hesitant, but Handler quickly cuts him off.
"Don't," she snaps, dragging her hands away from her face and taking a deep breath before opening her eyes once more. Her glasses are pushed back into place, vision clearing as she glares at her best agent. Or her previously best agent. "You've said more than enough."
Twilight's mouth snaps shut with an audible click.
Handler sighs heavily, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her desk. Her hands come up to steeple in front of her mouth. Instinctively, her eyes flicker to the top locked cabinet of her desk. Inside is a framed photo she would never dare take out in the presence of mixed company, and yet, it's still fifty-percent of her current emotional turmoil.
"I can't believe this is happening again," she whispers, shaking her head and briefly closing her eyes once more.
"What?" Twilight raises an eyebrow.
"Not you," Handler snarls. "You're still speaking after what you just said to me?"
Twilight narrows his eyes. "I think you're severely overreacting, Handler. After all, this helps solidify my cover-"
"Except it's not a cover anymore, now is it, Twilight?!" Handler jumps to her feet, slamming her hands on the desk.
It actually makes Twilight startle.
Handler continues, mouth twisting in a severe scowl. "This is real. I gave you this mission because I thought you could handle it!"
"I am handling it!" Twilight argues back, crossing his arms defiantly. "Anya is one Stella away from becoming an Imperial Scholar. She's made leaps and bounds in her friendship with Damian Desmond. Donovan Desmond is set to show at the next Imperial Scholar ceremony. Everything is going well!"
"Then how can you so easily fuck it up?!"
Twilight takes a good look at his superior, at her wild eyes and whitened knuckles when she tightly curls her fists. He can't recall the last time he saw her so angry, much less raging at him.
"It's not fucked up," Twilight growls, patience steadily dwindling. "And even if it was, we're too far in it now."
"You're going to get them killed."
Twilight's eyes flash dangerously. "I would never let any harm come to my family."
And that was the crux of the issue, wasn't it? My family. Not "the Forgers." Not "Operation Strix."
My family.
Handler shakes her head again, fiercer this time. "They are not your family. They are your cover. They are expendable, Twilight."
"They're innocent people," Twilight stresses, appalled, incredulous at Handler's cold words.
"You think the SSS will see it that way?" Handler's glare hardens. "If you really cared about any of that, you wouldn't have dragged them into this to begin with." Her eyes turn a bit distant, lost. "You wouldn't have dared to love them."
Twilight's fists clench tightly. "You gave me this mission. You made me do this to them."
Handler sneers at him. "Saying no to the mission was always an option. You were supposed to use them and leave. Twilight has many enemies. Do you really think you can protect your precious family from them all?"
Twilight juts out his chin, defiant, his cold blue eyes almost degrading her. "I'm not you, Handler."
Something ugly, twisted, and painful snaps inside of her soul.
"Get the fuck out," she barks, straightening her back and forcing every ounce of authority into her voice. "You'll be reporting to Tamer from now on."
Twilight's face blanches at the mention of Handler's equal. He's colder than Handler. Brutal and infamous for straightening out rogue agents. She can see his resolve faltering.
"Wa-"
"Out." Handler repeats shortly, turning her back to him and cutting off any further conversation. "Don't fail. Tamer isn't forgiving."
"Handler, reconsider. Sylvia-"
Handler reaches slightly behind her and presses a button on the underside of her desk. Agent Red and the Rookie are there in a flash. There's a brief moment of hesitation as they take in the sight, but in the end, Handler gives them an order, and they follow it.
Twilight is gone in seconds.
Once the office is clear, Handler finally lets out the shuddering breath she's been holding in. She plops back into her chair, and Sylvia unlocks the top drawer of her desk.
She pulls out the framed photograph with trembling hands. Even with her glasses on, her vision is blurry as she gazes at it. Three smiling faces. Sylvia barely recognizes the smile on her past self's face. She doesn't think her mouth is capable of stretching like that anymore.
Shaky fingers caress the man's face, tracing his stubbled jawline and thumb brushing under honey-brown eyes. If she loses her mind enough, Sylvia can almost feel her fingers snagging in the little girl's unruly, flaming red hair. She hears the distant giggle of a joyful baby daughter, the loving shout of "Mama!"
But when Sylvia comes back to herself, Handler is alone. No child clinging to her. No husband to kiss her cheek. No family to chase away the loneliness.
This is what happens when you fail the mission, Twilight, she thinks to herself. This is the consequence of a cover becoming too real. I should have warned you more.
With a heavy sigh, Handler sets the photo back into the drawer and locks it tight.
I hope you are better than me.
Leaning back in her chair, Handler feels the loneliness creep back in.
I wish you never told me you love them.