Some days, the only thing Twilight does is sit in his fake psychiatrist 's office. Today is one of those days. The mug of coffee in his hand is piping hot. He takes a sip, only to wince. It 's nowhere near as palatable as what Yor makes 'and the cream is altogether too sweet 'but Twilight refuses to dwell on that. He sets the beverage down, nudging it aside to look at the list of available missions Nightfall has left atop the pages of fake patient intake forms.

Before he can so much as read the first mission statement, however, the rotary phone on his desk rings. Twilight blinks at it. It 's not often it goes off. After another ring or two, he picks up the receiver, holding it aloft.

'This is Dr. Loid Forger. To whom do I owe the pleasure of speaking? '

'Dr. Forger, ' a gruff voice opens. 'It is Mr. Henderson from Eden Academy. We have concerns regarding Anya 's recent grades. They are not particularly elegant, so we would like to discuss them with you and Mrs. Forger. When is your next availability? '

'I 'll be free the morning after tomorrow. ' His eyes flit to the mission list. There 's one that he suspects will take him all of tomorrow.

'And the Missus? '

Twilight hesitates. 'Yes, I 'll let her know. '

'Wonderful. Thank you. '

Twilight returns the receiver to its hutch. Then, like a house of cards toppling into itself, he folds his hands over his face and sighs.

'

'How many chapters did you read? '

With a smug grin, Anya slaps her book down. 'I know

half

the book! ' 'and only half, because Miss Sylvia was very rudely interrupted by Papa. Perhaps the only time in the past days where Anya had been disappointed to have him around.

'You read 30 chapters in a few days?! '

Like a fish, Anya 's mouth gapes open, then closed, open, then closed. '30 chapters? How many chapters does it have? '

Damian regards her with the kind of suspicion reserved for at-large criminals. '30. '

'Wow! I mean, yes! I finished it! '

'Liar! There are 60 chapters! ' Damian shoots to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at Anya.

'Shush! '

Both her and Damian 's heads jerk to the source of quieting, managing to look contrite while the librarian glares at them. Sinking into their seats, they glower at each other.

'How much did you really read? ' asks Damian, eyes narrow.

'Nothing, but ' but my tutor told me what happens until chapter 30! '

'You being told what happens doesn 't mean you actually understand anything! ' Damian hisses, equal parts indignation and arrogance. 'You may know what happens, but you don 't know how it happened or why it happened or what any of the characters were thinking to make what happened, happen! '

Anya is speechless. Emptiness rings in her head like a gong. Damian exhales in exasperation. 'You realize we have to turn in an entire report for this book, don 't you?! '

'It takes me forever to read only a little bit! '

'Get your mother to read it to you, then! ' Damian spits. 'Or your father! Isn 't he enamored with you?! '

Like a bomb to a forest, his question levels every ounce of fury inside her. The ensuing silence would make the librarian proud, but for Anya, the world is reduced to a pinpoint: her failures, her faults, and her future, which seems more and more inevitable with each passing day.

'Anya? '

Flickering back to the present, Anya glances at Damian. His ire also seems to have dissipated, but she hardly notices. She picks up her book, flipping to the first page.

'Let 's read, ' she mumbles, gluing her eyes to the words and beginning the slow process of sounding them out.

'

Twilight stops by the newsstand on his way home. Franky is propped up against the counter, looking miles away. When Twilight taps a finger against the boarding, the informant jolts to life. 'Oh, ' he grumbles. 'You. '

'Could you pick Anya up from school today? It 'll only be until dinner. '

'Good afternoon to you too. Do you think I have enough experience now to promote my 'babysitter ' title to 'nanny ' on my resume? '

'I 'm being serious. '

'I am too. Yes, I can pick her up. '

'Thank you. '

He 's just turned to leave when Franky blurts out, 'What is this, Loid? You 've been acting like an outdoor cat. Your colleagues have noticed. I thought you were enjoying the domestic life. '

Twilight grits his teeth, rubbing his forehead before facing back to Franky again. 'The only reason my colleagues have noticed is because you 're telling them. '

'Hey, I 'm just doing my job. If your pals need info on Ostania or you, I 'm the go-to guy. Can 't help what I 'm good at. '

'Did you plan that? '

'Plan what? '

'That ambush at my apartment. '

'Hell no! I was ambushed as much as you were! I woke up and there was a strange, beautiful woman sitting across from me! '

Strange, beautiful woman? Twilight looks at Franky in confusion. 'Yor? '

'What? ' Franky frowns. 'No. Somebody floss your brain? Of course I know who Yor is. And don 't get me wrong, she is beautiful. But unavailable. No, I 'm talking about that redhead. Long hair, about here, ' he gestures to his waist. 'Very beautiful. '

Twilight makes a face like he 's just been force fed raw pig intestines. 'Is she? I always found her rather ' severe. '

'Yes, well, you wouldn 't know beauty if it tried to stab you in the throat. '

'I 'd like to remind you that of the two of us, I 'm the married one. '

'Yeah, and what a great service that 's done for your personality. Anyway, quit distracting me! What 's her name? '

'Sylvia? '

Franky reels back. 'Your handler? ' Twilight nods. Franky gawks. 'I had no idea she looked like that. '

'You 've never met? '

'We 've only corresponded by letter. That woman has atrocious handwriting, ' says Franky dreamily. 'I 'm talking 'could be a doctor '-bad. I would never have known she was so beautiful. '

'That 's an odd correlation to draw. ' Then Twilight 's brows furrow. 'Why do you correspond by letter? '

'Lots of people need information, Twilight, ' sniffs Franky, shooting him a judgmental look. 'And I happen to be a great informant. She reached out via letter because she 's always too busy to stop by in person. Does she come around your place regularly? '

'Never. '

'Hm. Well, maybe I 'll hang around more often. I have a feeling she 'll be around more. '

'I sincerely hope not, ' mumbles Twilight.

'Look, you want a nanny or not? ' Twilight doesn 't answer, though his lips thin. Franky seems to take that as an answer in itself. 'Then keep the pretty lady around. '

'You 're lucky you 're irreplaceable. I 'm leaving now. '

'I 'll have Anya back at six. '

Twilight throws up a hand in goodbye, checking both ways before turning onto the main road. Cars zip by in long intervals, the streets being relatively slow at three in the afternoon. Yor usually begins making her way home at four, which leaves Twilight to his own devices for another hour.

The apartment door swings open soundlessly. There are no signs of life, everything as untouched as when they 'd all left in the morning. Twilight scans the living room, finding nothing immediately objectionable.

Not that that has ever stopped him. Beginning with the kitchen, he initiates a thorough examination of all their belongings. Rummaging through the cabinets, scouring the fridge, even twisting off pipes in the plumbing, he comes up empty. Moving into the living room, he repeats this inspection in varying degrees of specificity until there 's not a single thing that hasn 't been upended and placed back precisely where it 'd been.

No poison. No wires. Not even a stray hair. Yor is truly thorough when she cleans 'Twilight brushes the thought aside at the dawning realization of why that must be. He heads to the bathroom, which turns out much the same; his own bedroom, similar. When he arrives at Yor 's door, however, he hesitates. In four years of cohabitation, he 's never stepped foot in her room except when they'd needed to perform as a couple. There 's never been a need. Yor, likewise, has never entered his room 'though that may no longer be true.

That possibility, however, doesn't change how he can 't bring himself to twist the doorknob and let himself in. It 's patently ridiculous. She's a killer, a spy in her own right 'the occupation requires a certain degree of heartlessness, cold-bloodedness, that should only encourage Twilight to overturn her room. And yet, he drops his hand.

Pursing his lips, he steps away, turning around to face Anya 's bedroom. But at the sight of her name placard, his chest tightens. It feels impossible, like a barrier he can 't cross. Another day, perhaps. When he 's more sure that something insidious is going on when he 's away. For now, he 'll worry about dinner for himself.

With some thought, he decides to step out for food. He can 't be sure anything in the fridge

isn 't

poisoned, exacting as he 'd been with his analysis. Down the street is a friendly schnitzel vender, which sounds promising right now. Twilight throws his coat and hat back on.

On his way to the first floor, he passes by two of his elderly neighbors gossiping in the hallway. Tipping his head, he smiles at them, and they greet him joyously in return. Their happy affirmations of his handsomeness between themselves tail him down the stairs.

At the building entrance, he grabs hold of the door handle, tripping back when it swings open far too easily. Somebody yelps, crashing into him and sending him 'and this other body 'sprawling to the floor.

'S 'sorry! '

Disoriented, Twilight blinks the canaries out of his vision. Yor blinks back down at him. After a beat, she scrambles off all fours, extending a hand once she 's on her feet. 'Loid! I 'm so sorry! '

'It 's fine, ' he replies, still a little dazed. He takes her hand, stumbling again when she tugs him up like he 's just a bag of wind.

'Oh gosh, oh no, I 'm sorry, I forget my own strength ' '

'Really, Yor, it 's fine. '

His reassurance doesn 't seem to assuage her fears any. 'Th 'thank you. ' She glances at him quickly, then finds the floor again. 'Were you heading out? '

'Yes, ' answers Twilight. Then, for no good reason, he adds, 'For dinner. '

Yor 's gaze snaps up. 'I can make dinner! I was just about to. '

Twilight notices then the paper bags that have spilled out over the parquet flooring. He stoops to gather the colorful scattering of groceries, Yor following after him. 'There 's actually something I need to discuss with you. '

'O 'oh. ' Her features tie themselves into a worried knot.

'But we should return to the apartment first. ' He takes a bag from her, then starts the trek up.

The older ladies from earlier are still hovering by the banister overlooking the stairs. When they spot the pair, they smile giddily, waving. Yor returns the greeting as Twlight ducks his head again. From the corner of his eye, Twilight notices both ladies ' smiles waning, and they give each other a look.

Turning his key in the lock, Twilight hears them murmuring to each other. 'Looked a bit stiff, didn 't they? '

'Well, even the happiest of couples have the occasional spat. '

'Hmm. ' The first woman 's tone is disapproving. 'You know what Tolstoy said. '

'Of course I don 't, Lilian. ' There 's a note of irritation in the second woman 's voice.

' 'Happy families are all alike, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.' '

'Oh, don 't be like that. '

'It 's just what I think! '

'Loid? '

'What? ' he snaps.

Yor only looks slightly taken aback. 'You 're staring at the lock. '

The two women's voices have gone quiet. Twilight swallows, shaking his head to smooth out the frustration pinching between his eyes. Door clicking open, he lets Yor in first.

'

Once he 's assured of their privacy, he sets his bag down and says, 'The Academy called me this morning. They 'd like to meet with us. ' Yor feels the blood drain from her face. 'It 's about Anya 's grades. I said I 'd be available Friday morning, but I thought I 'd check with you. '

'I can ask for Friday morning off. '

Loid gives her a long, indecipherable look. 'Do you work with a colleague in your organization? '

Startled by the forwardness of his question, Yor struggles a second to grasp her answer. 'I 'I do, yes. '

He nods, but says nothing else, so Yor withdraws a knife from the block and gets to slicing the vegetables. A minute in, Loid still hasn 't left her side. Does he not trust her?

Of course not.

Under his scrutiny, she feels the back of her neck begin to dampen with sweat.

'Have you been practising? '

'Oh, no. My knife skills have never been the problem. Just my cooking. '

There 's an extended pause. 'I 'm going to step out to the baker 's for a minute. '

Oh.

More of that disappointment. 'I ' I don 't poison anything, you know. ' Loid stops in the middle of tying his shoe. 'Not on purpose, at least, ' Yor corrects quickly. Softly.

'I understand. Thank you. '

But it doesn 't stop him from leaving, and it doesn 't seem to put him any more at ease, either.

'

Windowless, concrete shoeboxes don 't make for the most enjoyable working environment, so Sylvia foregoes working in her office as much as she can 'but the sad fact remains that highly classified paperwork must get finished, and privacy and undetectability are of the utmost importance when completing said paperwork. As a result, there are days even she, one of the top agents of WISE, cannot circumvent the inexorable.

Fortunately, the WISE offices aren 't bugged or tapped or surveyed on principle, which means Sylvia can yank open the bottommost drawer of her file cabinet and pull out a handle of whiskey and a glass. The liquor bottle is on its final dredges. She 'll have to pick some more up on the way home.

She 's just finished pouring two fingers when there 's a knock on her door. Her brow twitches. 'One second, ' she calls out, stowing the bottle and taking a minute to collect herself.

Had she known becoming Twilight 's handler would set her on a path straight to management, she might have given the decision more thought. Sometimes 'most of the time 'she 'd rather be squaring up on the field, not answering silly questions or filling out forms behind a desk. But she also remembers her first meeting with Twilight, the instinctual awareness that he was like her: that he could 'and would 'carry WISE 's goals to the very end on his own back if he had to. Training him up hadn 't been a question, and if the result of that choice is that she now fields the more banal aspects of spywork, then so be it.

She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes and takes a deep breath, then sits up straight, clasping her hands together. 'Come in. '

One of the assistants from across the floor comes in like a worm trying to evade a hawk 's eye. 'I have a message for you. ' Sylvia nods, gesturing for him to continue. 'Roman asked to meet at 1900 hours on the west bench. '

'Received. Thank you. '

The assistant shuffles out of the room as quickly as he can, looking as meek as possible while doing it. Beside her whiskey glass, the clock ticks to 1830 hours. With another long winded sigh, she packs her suitcase for the day, throws her drink back, then heads out of the office.

At the garden, she pockets the ticket for reimbursement, arriving at the agreed upon bench with ten minutes to spare. The weather is still warm enough to herald a few visitors, but for the most part, there 's nobody to admire the newly potted winter shrubbery. Sylvia crosses her arms and waits.

'You 're early! ' A glib voice says from just over her shoulder. Roman slides up beside her, stretching long like a cat. He rests an arm along the back of the bench behind her, crossing an ankle over his knee. Then he beams in his navy pinstripe suit. 'How 's the husband and kid? '

'Still six feet under. '

'I don 't know why I ask! ' He tsks, letting out a boisterous laugh. When she doesn 't humor him, he sighs. 'You really should leave the dying to the dead, my dear. '

'I 've given it some thought. Why did you need to meet? '

'Always straight to business, with you. Here. ' He hands her a document, front-side down. Sylvia takes it, flipping it and frowning. Clipped to the document is a thumbnail photo of a woman she recognizes. 'This has been Olafsen 's bodyguard for the past three years and a half. We 've only just been able to get that lead, and only with my assistance. Astounding, isn 't it? Perhaps I shouldn 't be so surprised at how well a top tier assassin from Garden can maintain her secrets. Where is Twilight on Olafsen, by the way? '

'Working on it. '

'Good to hear. Tell him to work a little faster. And to keep an eye out for this one. We want her dead. ' He smiles. It reaches his eyes.

'I 'll pass it on. '

Roman rises. 'Then I 'll be off now! Always a pleasure, Sylvia. '

'Of course. '

His footsteps are there, and then they aren 't. Once she 's sure he 's out of the vicinity, Sylvia slumps forward, the pressure of maintaining her composure popping. Her hands begin to shake as she stares down at the unsmiling, unfeeling portrait of Yor.

'

Twilight lingers at the bakery for far longer than necessary, perusing the display cases of pastries and baked goods. He 's standing in line with a baguette tucked under his arm when he catches sight of a familiar shock of red hair through the window.

At the front of the line, Twilight sets down a bill and smiles at the cashier, who blushes. 'Keep the change. ' Then he slips out the door and continues without pausing. The redhead falls into step beside him.

'Heading home? ' asks Sylvia, expression pleasant like a Spring day. 'I 'll join you. '

'I have to warn you about her cooking, then. '

Sylvia looks at him in surprise, though Twilight isn 't sure what warrants the reaction. When she looks away, there 's a faint smile across her lips. 'That 's fine. '

Except it isn 't 'far from it, in fact 'if her horror at the dinner table is anything to go off of. 'What is it? ' she whispers.

'Potatoes, ' says Anya, with all the candidness only somebody who is well acquainted with this could manage.

'It 's a good thing I brought this, then! '

Franky 'who had been halfway out the door before Twilight and Sylvia had come trudging up 'unveils a wax-covered block of cheese from his pocket. Yor thanks him profusely, taking the cheese to the kitchen to prepare with Twilight 's bread. Anya stares from Sylvia to Franky, an interest in her countenance that suggests there 's something only she is privy to.

There likely is, Twilight remembers with a start. He lays a hand on Anya 's shoulder, shaking his head only enough that she would see it. Looking properly chastised, Anya pries her gaze from Franky and Sylvia, face screwing up in sudden determination.

'Do you make a habit of carrying cheese in your pocket? ' Sylvia asks from over her wine glass.

'Only when necessary! ' Franky beams as Sylvia gives him an odd look.

Yor returns in record time with plates of variously sliced meats and cheeses, breads and crackers, as well as fruits and jams. She lays it across the table and then nudges her potatoes aside. 'Thank you all for waiting! '

'Oh, this looks wonderful. You must be handy with a knife. '

Twilight looks sharply at Sylvia, whose smile is entirely too unassuming. Yor flushes. 'Yes. A little. '

'Well, thank you. I 'll help myself now. '

'

The night dwindles soon after dinner. Sylvia helps Yor bring the dishes to the kitchen, where Twilight goes about cleaning them. Franky entertains Anya and Bond in the living room. After every dish has been dried and put away, Sylvia puts on her coat and hat, then retrieves something from one of her pockets. She pulls out a book and crouches, handing it to Anya.

'An easy reader 's edition. If at any point you don 't understand the book, this will help. ' Then she ruffles her hair and comes to a stand once more. 'Loid, if you 'll accompany me. '

Franky lifts a hand. 'If you need somebody to walk you home, I can ' '

'Maybe another day, Floyd, thank you. Right now, there 's something I need to ask Loid. '

Going down the stairs, they exchange no words. It 's not until they 're out that Twilight speaks up. 'You know. '

'Were you ever going to tell me? '

'My intention is to finish the job like any other. '

'So you 've already decided. '

'Peace is of the utmost importance. '

Sylvia stops in her tracks. She frowns. A line forms between her brows, and she turns her eyes on him. Even after all these years, Twilight finds her undivided attention unnerving. Finally, after an eternity, she looks away, walking on. 'I trust you. '

'Thank you. '

'I 'd hope you could trust me too. '

It 's Twilight 's turn to frown. 'Of course I do. '

'I 'll continue to stop by every so often. '

Twilight sighs. 'Is that really necessary? I never took you for one who liked to play with their food. '

'Don 't be crass. You 're not living up to the part, so I 'm just making sure somebody keeps you in line. '

'This close to the end, does it even matter if I play the part? '

Sylvia freezes again, features stony. 'It matters now more than ever, Twilight. I hear you have a parent-teacher conference coming up? Keep in mind the kind of digging the Academy would do if there were any sudden changes to Anya 's home life. ' Twilight 's mouth thins. His Handler drives the knife deeper. 'If you 're going to do it this way, do it right. Don 't leave any loose ends. I 'll be taking my leave now. '

She disappears into the dark with just a few quick steps, leaving Twilight alone at the opening of the narrow alleyway. There 's a tightness between his eyes, the tell tale sign of an oncoming headache. He presses at it with his thumb.

'If you 're going to do it this way '?

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Twilight squeezes his eyes shut in frustration and growls under his breath. If there were any other way to do it, he would have ensured it was done long ago.