Chapter Text
Yor can't wipe the smile off of her face. He leads her so naturally, so effortlessly.
She leans back, like she'd seen ladies do while dancing with their supposed husbands in those antidepressant commercials that play between Anya's cartoons. And of course, ever prepared, he gracefully sweeps his arm behind her and braces her back.
There's a brief beat. Their breaths graze each other's faces.
There's something... Palpably different about the atmosphere tonight. Well, honestly since Anya left for summer camp a few days ago. They both miss the kid, no doubt, but something about having the whole apartment to themselves (and Bond) has certainly loosened them both up a bit.
"Hah," he sighs, "not bad for a first attempt. You're a natural!"
She smiles. She knows she could've done better. Or probably not. She can fight, but dancing is another story.
And yet, he still compliments her.
He's... Just so sweet.
...
She doesn't even really notice herself do it. It's almost like her lips are magnetically pulled towards his cheek.
That lack of awareness is short lived, unfortunately, and she immediately starts sputtering. "AU-UH AH- UHM- S-S-SORRY LOID THAT WAS-"
She takes a break from panicking long enough to get a good look at his face. He's clearly somewhat stunlocked, but it also seems as though something has...
Awoken.
"... Loid? Is everything o- HMMPH-"
The elevator mechanism clicks and clanks, slowly carrying Twilight down into the familiar bowels of WISE's outpost, like it has countless times before.
There's something different about this descent, though.
Namely, the fact that he is losing his shit.
This is the first check-in he's had since That Night, and the topic of family morale is DEFINITELY going to come up, and there's NO way he can keep Handler from putting the pieces together. She’s far too sharp for that.
And if (when) she DOES put it together, the next point of discussion would without a doubt be the potential ramifications.
Now of course he'd CONSIDERED them in the momen- okay well actually no not really IN the moment, more like a few minutes AFTER the moment, it all kinda happened at once.
Well... Okay not once, SEVERAL times.
In the same night.
And he... Uh...
BUT TO BE FAIR, that woman has legs of steel and she was NOT keen on letting go.
Not that he... Uh...
...
Yeah he's got nothing SHIT how is he going to justify this to Handler SHIT he's COMPLETELY screwed-
Wait wait wait let's not be hasty, justifications. Justifications. DAMMIT why didn't he try to think of anything before now?! The whole week after That Night felt like he was in a daze of Marital Bliss™️, he's been far too mentally undisciplined...
Okay okay, here's something.
First, Yor's insecurities about the marriage are now essentially null and void! A great win for Operation Strix's longevity.
GOOD! That's a VERY good one! NO arguing that point.
Second, even IF there's any... Uhm... Let's say "long-term byproducts" from That Night, it'd actually potentially open another avenue for connecting with the Desmonds! Anya is struggling all on her own, so perhaps a sibling would... Uh...
Yeah maybe he should only brush over that one.
ANYWAY regardless, they don't even know IF there's going to BE a byproduct to begin with.
For all they know, this could all just... Blow over.
...
...
It's odd. That thought DOES calm him, but deep down, he feels a twinge of... disappointment?
SMACK
Owie his forehead ow
Oh. He's at Handler's door. The entire elevator ride and subsequent walk is a blur in his memory. He must've looked like a ghoul slinking through the outpost’s hallways.
He gulps hard and takes a deep breath. Okay. He's centered. He can do this.
He cracks open the door. "Good day, or perhaps good eve-"
"What the HELL took you so long???" Handler snaps. Ah, she's already mad. At least he doesn't have to worry about MAKING her mad anymore.
"Uh- Apologies," he stammers, "I've- uh- you see-"
"Rhetorical", she interjects, throwing a folder marked "CLASSIFIED" in his general direction. "Sit down, we've got an urgent lead for you to follow."
The scared puppy of a man obeys. "Don't you want my update for the week?" He meekly queries.
"That can wait."
He feels proper relief for the first time since depositing himself into the photo booth. "I see," he hums, opening the dossier on the table, "who is the lead on?"
"Supposedly," she answers, "a prominent member of Garden."
He peeks up from the pages and raises an incredulous eyebrow. "... Really? What, are we chasing ghosts nex-"
A photo clipped to the inside of the folder catches his eye. It's quite grainy, the only prominent subject in it being an unusual, hilt-less stiletto with a ring at the end of the handle.
"... You gonna finish that quip?" Handler sneers.
He squints. It's strange. The stilleto's color, its shape, something about it all feels... Familiar…
Aren't Yor's earrings...? Doesn't match up exactly, but…
... No... No, no that's...
...
"... Twilight?"
"Hm? Oh sorry, just... It's nothing. Probably coincidence.”