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“He’s still breathing.”
“Just leave him. We got the money, we got the watch, so he’s not our problem anymore.”
They slammed the dumpster lid closed, their heavy footsteps fading away. Twilight could barely register it, for the searing pain in his body was far, far worse. He was used to pain, but pain like this..?
Twilight calculated his injuries. He had a stab wound on his side, multiple bruises on his stomach and back, a slashed forehead, a possible wound on his right thigh, broken ribs, and some form of … head trauma? He thinks. It was… rough, but he could do it. First plan of action, he had to move his arm and stop the bleeding on his side.
Excruciatingly, Twilight rolled onto his side. However, this did nothing to aid him. It only amplified the pain, and he couldn’t move his arm because of it. God, it hurts. He couldn’t move. His breath was growing more laboured by the second.
He needed to recalculate. Clearly, moving wasn't going to work. Twilight tried to approximate how much time he had left, but time seemed to scramble itself in his head. For now… Stay still, regulate your breathing, and stabilize yourself, Twilight.
He couldn’t do anything but that. He was alone on this mission, and nobody at WISE would notice he was missing until the next day, when he was meant to report back to his Handler. Twilight wasn’t sure if he would come out of this mission alive. At least he still had the files he had stolen. The men who’d beaten him were common thugs who took advantage of his weakened state, and thankfully weren’t hired to retrieve the stolen documents. Hopefully, WISE would find his body and it wouldn’t be a complete waste.
Twilight knew he would die in this way eventually. Young, tragic, violent. But it felt pathetic, lying in a dumpster full of rot, awaiting his fate. Dead at the hands of common thugs.
Oh… He was going to be home late. I’m sorry, Anya. I know I promised to make you hamburg steak tomorrow morning.
What was he talking about?
He was delirious. He probably wasn’t going to be able to go home at all. Focus, Twilight. Operation Strix needed to be put aside for now. If he was somehow going to survive this, he needed to stay alert.
I’m sorry, Anya, Yor.
Stop apologizing. They’re just assets of your mission. Get a hold of yourself.
But Twilight didn’t listen to himself. For some reason, far beyond him, he began to cry.
He didn’t cry very much. Only a few stray tears escaped his eyes. He’d long run out of the tears needed to sob. In fact, Twilight thought he’d lost the ability to cry. It seems he was wrong. It was pathetic. He couldn’t even move to wipe away the tears because of the pain he was in. God.
He hadn’t cried in a long time. Not since he was Roland. More than 10 years ago.
Why am I acting like this? Are the injuries messing with me? I’ve dealt with worse before so why..?
Flashes of pink hair, white fur, and red wool entered his mind, answering his question. His… family?
You’ve grown soft, Twilight. Really? Your fake family is worrying you? This… weakness is why you’re lying nearly dead in a dumpster. Now look. You’ll die soon enough.
So much for world peace.
But I promised Anya I would be there. She’d wake up the next morning and the one after that, not knowing what happened to me. Eventually, she’d know what happened.
Leave it alone, Twilight.
I’m not Twilight. My name is Loid.
That’s just your cover. You’re clearly not thinking straight!
I want to go home.
Give it up. You’re going to die.
I need to be there for them.
You’d have left them either way.
I can’t leave Anya. She’s lost so much already. “A world where children don’t have to cry.” Isn’t that why he did it? To prevent children from experiencing the same thing he did?
In his dreams, he still heard the low, descending whistle that would alert the nearby sirens. The alarms were so loud. They were a rising scream that would muffle the sound of the missiles meeting rooftops, the wailing of those unlucky enough to have survived. Though, it was not always the sound of bombs that kept him awake. Some nights he would be taken back to the sound of rapid gunfire whizzing past him, like an array of discordant staccato chords. Other nights he’d be haunted by impressions of long-forgotten faces. Against his will, he’d remember. He’d remember.
Yet, with his new family—this new mission: Operation Strix, the dreams seemed to… dwindle. Less and less he’d wake up during the night in a cold sweat. More and more he’d feel his scars wash away with one glance at kindling green eyes, with one touch from a pair of familiar calloused hands, or one faint smile at the feeling of a dog’s tongue lapping at his face. It was stupid. A sign of weakness. But rather than putting a stop to those emotions like he was supposed to, he would lean into them. He’d long been disregarding the mission. On particularly defiant nights, he’d let his mind wander and dream of a world where they were a real family. Where he wouldn’t have to leave them.
Amidst the pile of garbage, a familiar sense of hollowness reached out at him from the dry corners of a memory. He felt the hopes of a normal life slip away like rotting plums. Because of his job, he’d have to leave them eventually. He just wished it wasn’t so soon.
He just wished he could’ve said goodbye.
Yet, he could do nothing about it. And so he laid there. Steeping in his own pond of sorrow and blood. In his head, he apologized again and again, and hoped that somehow it’d reach Yor and Anya, and they’d know he didn’t mean to leave.
He didn’t know how long he laid in the darkness. But it felt like an eternity spent in the throes of life and death. In search of stimulation, his eyes traced the blurry shapes dancing in the darkness. Silence.
When he saw the dumpster lid open, he initially thought that the men had returned to finish him off.
Instead, an angel stared back at him.
“Loid?! What are you—“ she said.
“Yor,” he managed to say. She looked so beautiful. Too pristine to really be here with him. She was supposed to be at city hall working late. He must’ve been hallucinating.
“Oh dear, oh my goodness!” Yor gasped, her eyes swept over his limp form. Her hand lightly brushed his side, earning a pained hiss from him. “I—I’m sorry! I just… I just… What happened?! We need to get you home, no, to the hospital! Y—you’re nearly dead!”
Loid didn’t respond. Hallucinations can’t bring him home. They’re not real.
But Yor gently lifted his body out of the garbage. He felt her strong, tangible hands clutching his back.
Oh… She was real.
He probably should’ve wondered what she was doing out here in her black evening dress instead of at work, but he could barely think straight. Instead, he fretted over the fact she was carrying him. Her dress was very nice. He was getting it all dirty with his blood and grime.
“That doesn’t matter right now, Loid!” she said. He lifted his gaze to her face. Yor’s face was crumpled, and her eyes were brimming with tears. Her rosy cheeks were marred by light streaks.
Oh, God. Why was Yor crying? He wanted to raise his hand to her cheek and wipe away her tears, but he was still immobile. I’m sorry, Yor. I’m sorry.
“No, Loid… No, it’s okay,” she said between sobs. “Please, just hang on. You’ll be okay… Please.”
Now look at him, making an angel cry. He really is awful. Soon enough, he’d die and leave her and Anya on all their own. He was disgusted with himself.
“Stop saying those things, Loid! Please!” Yor cried. Was he talking out loud..? He must’ve been losing a lot of blood… In fact, Yor’s face got blurrier by the second. He didn’t like that. He liked seeing her face…
He wanted to stay focused, but in the dark haze of the night, he felt his body sink into the concrete, and his consciousness whittle away into the mist.
-
Beep… Beep…
He slowly opened his eyes. Where… was he?
His eyes refuse to cooperate at first. As if he were emerging from a thick haze of mist, he only gathered a blurry impression of the surroundings. Bright, sterile white. Monitors beside him produced an irritating, steady flow of beeps.
Hospital. The word lands clumsily. It stumbles into his mind, in fact. His head hurt a lot. It was a persistent, throbbing pain.
He… He was… What was his name?
■■■■, that’s right. Wait, no. He went by another name now, didn’t he?
His head hurt. ■■■■ didn’t want to think about it. He was too confused. Where was he? And…
He trailed off. Who was that sitting at his bedside? A woman was slumped in a chair, fast asleep. She was pretty, but very disheveled. Her long black hair was a mess, and dark bags clung to her lower lash line. When he looked at her, he felt a familiar tug in his chest. How could a stranger feel so familiar?
No… not a stranger, he corrected himself. He knew her. But his mind was behind itself, and he couldn’t remember her name. His body slowly began to ache a lot. And he felt so goddamn dizzy. He wanted to nod off again, and go back to sleep. But his head hurt too much for that.
The woman began to stir. Her head lifted slightly, and slowly, she blinked awake. As if armed with a sixth sense, the woman jolted to face him.
“Loid! You’re awake!” she cried, the remnants of sleep completely gone from her face. Loid, he thought. So… not ■■■■, then.
Returning his attention to the woman, Loid nearly fell over. She looked so happy. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes twinkled with tears of relief.
Oh… Now he remembered. Yor. Her name was Yor.
“Yor,” he muttered, his voice raspy with neglect. It was difficult to speak. The labor of opening his mouth to speak hurt his jaw and his head.
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, it’s me! You’re okay! I can’t believe it, you’re okay! The doctor said you might not remember me immediately, but I’m so glad you do!” Yor was nearly sobbing at this point. What had happened? Why was Loid here?
“Goodness, I was so worried,” she whimpered. “I thought you were gonna die, Loid! I—I tried to be strong. For Anya, but, it was just so hard. She could see right through me, and I’m sorry—“
“Yor,” Loid said again, cutting her off. Her panic exacerbated the pounding of his head. And besides that… Why would Yor worry about him dying? Simultaneously, his mind conjured images of a small, spunky girl with pink hair upon the mention of the name ‘Anya.’ His daughter. How was she doing?
“A—Anya..?” he asked.
“I—I’m sorry for freaking out,” Yor muttered apologetically. “Anya’s okay,” Yor said. Loid felt himself relax. “She’s been at home with Franky. She’s visited, but the nurses won’t let her stay long. I let them. I couldn’t bear to see her cry so much.” Yor’s eyes dimmed. Loid wanted to reach out and comfort her, but a strange instinct stopped him.
…Loid?
Loid?
Loid skimmed his memories, well, the ones he could recall, and tried to remember. It hurt his brain, especially since he felt so damn dizzy. But he persevered. And he managed to remember that… Loid… was not real.
And ■■■■… was a name he had left behind a long time ago. He had abandoned it beside his mother’s unmarked grave.
What was the name he went by now?
Twilight, his mind supplied. It felt right, and yet so wrong at the same time. Twi-light. The syllables stuck to his gums uncomfortably. It was strange. But he knew it was right. It was his… codename. Yes… He was the spy: Twilight.
“But, I have to ask you,” Yor said, interrupting his thoughts, “How are you feeling? When I found you in that dumpster, you’d been beaten to death!”
“Me?” Loid—Twilight asked. “Um… I’m fine… I feel a bit numb. No need to worry, Yor.”
Yor’s face fell. Did he say something wrong? Eventually, she spoke. “I will worry, Loid. Just let me care for you, for once. Please.” Her voice was soft, steady. When he looked into her eyes, he nearly choked at the pleading look in them.
“…Oh,” he breathed,” I… I’m sorry, Yor.”
“Don’t be. Just relax. I’m here for you.” She emphasized her point by gently taking his hand. His hands were much larger compared to hers, but she wrapped her fingers around his.
He still felt disoriented, but no longer as nervous as he had felt when he first woke up. Yor was beside him now. A steady anchor in a vast ocean. Twilight cursed at him for letting his guard down. But in the saltwater, he felt the many layers of masks slip off.
“Thank you, Yor.”
-
“Are you ready to see Anya again, Loid?” Yor said as she held his arm. He was still limping up the stairs, and Yor had offered to carry him, but he insisted upon walking. Yor still ended up assisting him, albeit by allowing him to lean on her as they went home. A compromise, of sorts.
“I am. It’s been a while,” Twilight replied. He had spent another day in the hospital after he had first woken up. Objectively, he’d been away from Anya for longer “business trips,” but this time was different, for it felt like an eternity he was away. He was excited to see her, his daughter.
Twilight should’ve chastised himself for that thought. In fact, the spy in him did chastise him for that thought. He was simply ignored.
“Papa!” A shrill, silvery voice called out to him as he entered their apartment. Twilight grinned when he heard the heavy pitter-pat of small footsteps thundering to the front door. He looked down and was greeted by a bright, beaming smile.
“Anya,” he said softly. “…I’m home.”
She tackled him in an embrace, and he leant down and returned it, even though it worsened his pain. Twilight cradled Anya gently in his arms. She was here. He made it home. He was a little late and wasn’t able to make breakfast but he made it home.
“I… Papa, I…” she said, her voice wobbling. He felt her quiver in his arms. “I missed you. I… I was scared. Please don’t go again, Papa.”
He nearly fell over at that. “I—I’m sorry, Anya. I won’t leave you again, I promise.” And he meant it. Not just for the mission. “I love you, Anya. I’m here.”
Anya stiffened, and leant backwards. “Y—you mean it? Papa… loves me?”
Twilight pulled her back in and hugged her tighter. “Yes, I do.”
Maybe WISE would punish him later on for this. For being compromised. It wasn’t part of a spy's job description to love his fake cover family.
Then Yor knelt down beside them, and joined into the embrace. His daughter nuzzled closer to her mother, and Loid relaxed in his wife’s arms.
Well, in reality, what can WISE really do about it? The eternity in the dumpster had emboldened him. He had a taste of the feeling of never seeing his family again, and decided he’d never want to eat of that fruit again.
“I’m so glad we’re all here together again,” Yor said in a soft voice.
“Yeah,” Loid replied.
-
It was late in the evening now. The couple had managed to convince Anya to go to bed, that her father wasn’t going anywhere. Truly, it was only exhaustion that managed to induce Anya to sleep. They still sat beside one another, next to Anya’s bed. Bond was curled up at Loid’s side, refusing to let go.
Yor chuckled, though with little energy. “Everyone has been so worried that we’re scared to leave you on your own.”
“I’m okay now, Yor. Don’t worry so much.”
“I know but…” she grabbed hold of his hand. “I’ve just been so scared. I know that when you eventually return to work, I’ll worry all day. I’ll be scared that you won’t come home again.” Her voice broke as she progressed.
Oh.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Loid, please. It’s not your fault. I just… You’re very important to me, and I care about you.” She looked him in the eye. “You’re my friend, Loid.”
“I’m glad I met you that day in the tailor’s,” Loid said. It slipped out, honestly. He didn’t mean to say it. But it was the truth.
She flushed slightly. “Me too.”
After that, sleep began to come to Loid. Years and years of training and instincts seemed to disappear in the dark of Anya’s bedroom. He learned never to fall asleep in front of anyone. And yet, the warmth of Yor beside him, the light snores of his daughter, and the steady weight of Bond on his lap lulled him to sleep.
He did not dream of bombs, gunshots, or of death.
Tonight, he could forget about tomorrow, and dream of forever.