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“Did you ever date anyone else? Besides me and your wife.”
There has never been a more loaded question. He tries to keep the terror off his face as he turns to look at Yor. “Where did this come from?” Stops his prep of their late-night snack while she pours their drinks.
Is that why she got out the wine?
It can’t be good. There is no good way to talk about your ex’s with your current wife. The tightrope is so fine. Is she trying to find out if he has a type? If he still talks about them kindly? Will she get jealous if he does?
“The Mommy’s group. They started talking about their terrible ex’s and the ones who ‘got away’ and well since I haven’t been with anyone I wasn’t sure what to say.”
Oh. He’s your first love? That is so sweet Yor.
He was. It made her ears hot even to think.
“So I was wondering if you had any. So if it ever came up again I could tell one of your stories instead.” She squeezed her hands together. “I’m not asking about your wife- I don’t want to overstep!”
At least his wife is fake. He could make up whatever story fit for her although no one liked a widower story in a light hearted conversation. Although Anya made discussing his ‘first’ wife a risk since she did remember her mother. He didn’t want to say anything about her that might become contradictory or upset her. Make her mad that he was misrepresenting her mother with his descriptions of ‘his wife’.
“I wouldn’t recommend lying if you’ve already told them I’m the only person you’ve seen.”
“No! No of course not. Just something like ‘Loid’s the only one I’ve been with but he had an ex-’ something like that? I felt like I killed the conversation.”
“… Do you want a good story or a bad one?”
Her head shot up. “I get to pick?”
His cheeks went red. “There were a few.” A lot. “Most relationships don’t last very long.” Very true. “It took a while before I found my wife.” Her face is so open and surprised his entire face heats. “It’s not that strange!”
“Is having been with only one person strange?”
His embarrassment washes away. “No. No, I think we’re just on two ends of the same normal.” He gathers their bedtime snack, Yor grabs their drinks and they take their seats in the living room.
Who to offer her? Who is best? He can’t offer some romance novel he’s read- if anyone recognizes it then it comes off as fake. Who does he offer that is a good story- but doesn’t make her jealous- but doesn’t open him up to further questions?
Maybe… He just lets her pick.
“Stories… There was the girl whose whole family got arrested for drug trafficking a little after we broke up.” Her family had been arrested. The SSS had not been so kind to her.
But what was a little collateral damage if they’d already decided they were all guilty?
He continues, “I dated a much older women during med school to try and avoid paying rent.” There was not enough emphasis he could put on Much to make it clear how large the gap had been. It wasn’t for the rent and he’d never been to med school but most broke orphaned college students had at least considered it.
“When I worked as a stage designer,” The circus was close enough to a theater production and he’s already told her he worked as that once, “One of the performers and I had a summer fling I suppose you’d call it.” Is that one too tender? He doesn’t want her to compare herself.
“And there was one of the chefs I worked for, we didn’t date. But when I handed in my resignation she kissed me. If I hadn’t been moving away maybe that would have been something. Although,” He shakes and dreads getting up for work more under her tutelage than he had even when the Handler was training him. “I was so scared of her I don’t think it have gotten very far.”
He flips through the codex of everyone Twilight has been. What stories Roger and Lynel and Louise can offer that doesn’t all end in ‘and then she was arrested’ or ‘and then her Family was arrested’ or ‘and then the powers that be killed her.’ Shame to be them but at least I’m still here!
One story like that was fine. These were dangerous times. Multiple were not.
A hint of disgust curls in his chest. To be so dismissive of their lives. But so many of them had been destructive to other people’s lives. Empathy was a hard thing for him to grasp when he’d seen what they’d done first hand. The wars they were willing to start or feed.
Under no circumstances can he offer her the story of the sullen boy- was it right to call him a boy? He had been the same age as Theo. Theo who stood in the corner of gatherings and glared at everyone. He’d been tasked to befriend him. Which had felt impossible at the time. Twilight was young and 'Lukas' barely knew what to do when it came to befriending standoffish boys.
But Theo had so many books on ancient Greece and their myths. ‘Tell me about Odysseus. Tell me about Medusa. Heracles.’ That quiet boy- the Gala’s were too loud for Theo. Too full of people that he didn’t understand. Who didn’t want to understand him. Never even tried, just told him he was the problem. For how he stood and spoke and didn't know when a conversation was over. He’d opened up like a flower. Talked to Lukas for hours. And Lukas had laid on Theo’s bed and listened. Lukas had loved to listen.
‘Tell me about Achillies.’
Theo had told him. Then kissed him.
Please Theo. Please tell me you will never do that again. Theo they will kill you for loving like that. You don’t know people well enough- you will kiss the wrong person and they will kill you. They will do something worse than kill you.
No I won’t. I’ll only ever kiss you Luka. So I won’t ever kiss the wrong person.
You already have.
He wonders where Lukas- Luka- found those tears. They had streamed down his face. Why Twilight had allowed it. He had taken half the information he’d been sent to find and fled. If it had been enough or not enough- The Handler knew not to send him back. Not that he’d ever told her why. He was a young agent and had been allowed one moment of unreliability.
“She must have been something if you were scared of her.” Yor smiled. Eyes crinkled at the edges. He let his whole body shudder at the memory of Clare. The mountains of produce he’d peeled and sliced and diced for that mountain of a woman. The endless pile of dishes he'd scrubbed until his hands cracked and bled. Laine had put on gloves and kept going. That determination was one of the reasons Clare had let him stay.
“Quite a few of the recipes I make are ones she taught me. I wouldn’t be half as fast in the kitchen if not for her.” Learned a fair bit of cursing that he was certain only chefs and sailor had access too. “But I think back to those days and my current workload feels easy by comparison.”
It wasn’t easy. But everything had been harder back then. Hadn’t been as good at anything.
The war had still leaked out of the boxes he’d put them in back then. It made everything harder. But he hadn’t had to think when he was cutting or chopping. Back when cooking was still hard enough to help him forget. So that part had almost been nice.
Sometimes when he couldn’t get it done fast enough to go home- there was only an hour or two to opening and it was a thirty minute walk- he slept on the potatoes in the pantry.
Laine. Get up. Use the damn couch in the office next time. Don’t risk drooling on the produce. Or do you want the health inspector to murder us?
Then she actually started teaching him. Brought him along as an extra hand to the private event he’d needed to infiltrate.
“If I may…” Yor asked sheepishly. Munching on their snack. “How much older?” He takes a bite of his own.
“However old you’re imagining, older than that. She mostly wanted company and I needed to not pay rent. So I kept her company. Managed the house for her.”
“O-oh. So you two didn’t…?” She moves her hands like she wants to indicate what she’s implying. But she’s too embarrassed to make a lewd gesture either.
“No. We uh… We did. A lot.” There were a lot of surfaces in that house. And the only positions they hadn’t used were ones that were hard on Margret’s joints. “Some women get more… active once pregnancy is off the table. I learned a lot.” Yor’s eyes are so big. Staring at him. His face is on fire. It crawls down his neck. “Actually maybe we don’t tell that story. It was fine and it worked but I’m not-“
“Okay.” Yor agrees.
A ballon of pressure deflates from his chest.
What was he going to say? Not into older women? Sure, since Yor was close to his age that would be good to indicate. Wasn’t a gold digger? Of course not- he’d never asked Yor for money no one would assume that of a doctor. A boy toy? Yor probably didn’t know that phrase. And when he’d listened though the wall of Margret’s apartment for the nefarious dealings of her neighbor, he had been. He’d been her little sweet thing that helped her down the stairs and got her groceries. Cooked her meals and helped her to and from the bathroom at night. Amongst other things.
Anya liked her snickerdoodle recipe.
You can keep the house sweet thing. She always refused to use his name. My boys don’t call enough to deserve it. Just get me another bottle of chardonnay.
Her body was so light when he dressed her the last time for her wake.
Twilight buries her ‘sweet thing’ with her.
“Is the girl who was selling drugs an interesting story?”
The espionage maybe. What it had taken to bring down her family’s cartel. “Not really. She wasn’t using or dealing herself. I’d have noticed that. But there were always strange people going in and out of her home. It made me nervous so I didn’t stick around.” Twilight had escaped before they sent the information into the authorities. “I was glad I got out when I did, it sounded like a mess.”
It had been.
May was a painter. Caught up in her family’s mess. In too deep to extract even if he’d wanted to.
Come here Rowan. You wanted to see how I made the perspective pop right? I’ll show you.
She’d taken his hand and guided him through the motion. One stroke at a time.
The light source is here. So is this in shadow or light right here? Good. Mix the green with the yellow not white to get the right color. See? Isn’t that nice?
At one point they broke her wrist. He’d set it. Bandaged it. Asked her if she would. If she’d let him help her escape. She’d curled into his chest and asked instead:
Rowan? Will you help me paint?
When she is killed during the raid, Rowan thinks it might have been a mercy. What the SSS and prison would have done to her-
Maybe that part shows somewhere on his face. In the tension of his frame. Because Yor reaches over. Places a hand on his knee. “Was she okay?”
“I never saw her again.” Yor knows enough of what that implies. That she was killed or secreted away. Rots in the ground or a prison cell.
It would have been painted. The prison carved into something. She’d have found a way to make her terrible little world a little more beautiful. She always had.
“I’m sorry.”
We weren’t that close. He almost says. They weren’t. She’d just been another target. Another casualty.
Rowan burns that shade of green into the back of Twilights eyes with his last moments. Rowans dead and so is she. The part of him who might have cared for her is gone.
But he will always know that shade of green.
“These aren’t very good stories, are they? Inherently the fact we’re not still together means that it ended. Often poorly.”
Yor shakes her head. “No, thank you for sharing. This was my idea after all.” Bites her lip. Glances at him. “Did the ‘summer fling’ with the actor end badly?”
Azura smiles at him with too many teeth, all crooked. Glitter still all over her skin and hair. Mischief always ready at her fingertips. She teaches how to climb a curtain to the sky. Tie himself up tight. Lean forward and fall until the knots catch him just before he hits the ground.
That’s it Ray! Now if you ever need to rescue Rapunzel you can. You might even be able to braid her hair while you climb.
She shows him how to move gracefully fast. To bend and stretch in ways the military never cared to teach.
Let me check the rigging again. Just to make sure its secure.
It is Ray. She holds his hand. Heels on the edge of the platform for the trapeze. You can’t learn this if you’re afraid to fall.
Just let me-
Watch.
She’d fallen back into it.
It caught her. She laid in the rigging and crowed up at him. The nettings just fine Ray. Moved her arms like she was swimming. Just let yourself fall already.
He swallowed his tongue and did.
The rigging always caught him on the way down.
“No. We just were moving in different directions. Between shows we sit up on the catwalk and talk with our legs dangling over the edge.” A memory bubbles up. “She was strong. One day we play a game called jousting. One person rides the others shoulders and the person on top tries to knock everyone else of their partners shoulders. She carried me.” Azura was too competitive to sacrifice the benefit of his longer arms to let him play the horse. “We won.”
“I can lift you!” Yor stands.
“I’m sure you can!” He hastily agrees.
It’s too late. She’s picked him up. In a princess carry.
“See?” Her face is so close. Happy and full of pride. “Easy.”
“Yes I- I think you have her beat Yor.”
For a moment she basks in that.
Realizes she is holding him. Still.
Carefully but rapidly deposits him back on the couch. “Sorry!” Grabs their plates and rushes them to the kitchen sink.
He wills his heart to slow.
It did end well. They’d thought the circus was smuggling in weapons. And they had been. But not Azura or her father the ringmaster. It was the animal trainer, bringing them in under the floorboards of the animal’s cages. They’d gotten him and his supplier on the hottest day of that summer.
You sure you don’t want to stay? We got a position open with the lions. I bet they won’t even eat you.
This was fun. Ray agreed. Staring up at the top of the tent. Azura on his chest. Her small breasts pressed against him. His hands on the small of her back. But I’m not built for it. I want to know where my bed is every night. I need to.
Booooo. Your bed’s wherever mine is. Wherever I am.
There is something wrong with the rigging. He is falling even though the ropes are firm under his back. Something in Rays chest wants to strangle him.
You’ve been eying Terrell for the last two weeks.
Only because you’ve been eyeing the exit.
Ray doesn’t answer. Twilights hands are already around his throat. If Ray won’t say the right thing then he won’t say anything at all.
It’s whatever. Leverages herself on his chest to kiss him. Then to sit up so her hips are on top of his. I will miss that mouth of yours though.
Not half as much as I’ll miss yours. Besides the lions would definitely eat me.
She has him once more on the rigging.
He gathers their drinks. Sets them next to the sink where Yor is scrubbing the dishes furiously. Looks out at the living room but does not leave the space next to her.
“How about this one? I met a woman at the tailors and she asks me to go on a date with her. My daughter loves her and immediately starts calling her Mama. She can literally sweep me off my feet. And before I have a chance to propose, she asks me.”
Yor’s hands go still. The water rolling over them the only noise to fill the space.
“How does that one end? You tell me Yor.”
Her lips stay parted for a moment. Pushes the answer out of her throat, quiet but not uncertain.
“It doesn’t.”
He turns off the water. Holds out a hand.
She stares at it. Dries her own quickly and takes it.
He pulls her over, chest to chest and hand in hand. “Then it doesn’t.” He’s still not sure what answer she wants from him. By the rapid reddening of her face, he’s got it wrong again. Will suffer for it shortly. But Loid insists on saying, “Til death do us part.”
She watches him. Not attacking him. For a moment he thinks he’s finally got it right.
But her face is sad when she lets go of his hands. Wraps her arms around his chest and gives him a too tight of a squeeze.
“Thank you Loid.”
He is left in the kitchen. Alone. Wondering what it is he’s still doing wrong.
There’s an answer he doesn’t want to see. That one of those old boxes is leaking again. The way it tries to rip open when Theo kisses him. That seeps into the floor drains of Clare’s kitchen. That thing that made Margert’s sweet thing lay next to her until her body went cold. It is a box full of a specific shade of green that refuses to dry or wash away.
It is falling even though he never trusts the rigging.
Lukas. Laine. Sweet thing. Rowan and Ray. They are all dead. Buried.
But something in him still clings to them. Something even more dead. Buried.
She wants what’s in that box. You know that.
Loid does.
Twilight knows how it ends, if the thing in that box is allowed to escape.
What he has to do every time it tries.
It is Twilight running for his life. As Lukas begs him to stay. They’d figure it out somehow. Luka and Theo together.
It is Laine staring up at Clare and wanting to tear up his resignation. To stay in her kitchen and get drunk at bars after work and not think about anything besides the next table and what they had left in inventory. The price of fish and what specials to make.
It’s sweet thing sitting on the floor of Marget’s home with a bottle of chardonnay until his handler comes to find him. She said the house was mine. Her smacking him on the head. You know that’s not how this works. Dragging him back after they finish the bottle.
It’s Rowan needing to throw her over his shoulder and run away. I’ll get you new paint. Just let me take you away. Please. We'll go somewhere with an even better view. I promise. To not let her stay in a house on fire even though she’s already decided to burn.
It’s Ray. Almost saying, “Then I’ll stay.”
He slides down the cabinet onto the floor.
Loid knows not to open that box. Twilight holds it closed. The versions of him who do- who let the nameless thing inside it grasp anything - die excruciating deaths.
When their loved ones are ripped away.
Don’t want anything. Do the job. Finish the mission.
What that nameless boy wants will never be more important than peace.
There will be a scarred penguin sowed back together and a dog collar with a bowtie and the scent of Yor’s perfume in that box forever. No matter how thoroughly Loid Forger dies.
Just like that shade of green.
But how much more room is left in that box? If it spills open-
It won’t be Loid Forger who dies.
This time it will be Twilight.