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In the hospital room, Nightfall has a lot of time to think. And in retrospect, she kind of wishes she died in the sewers.
She stares at her useless limbs, high on enough pain killers that they no longer feel broken. They no longer even feel like a part of her. Her mind decides to play on loop all the embarrassing things she said that day, feeding dozens of hypothetical realities contingent on where in the conversation Twilight woke up. Was it when she called Wheeler a coward? When she said she trusted him? When she threw the first punch? Or…
She shrinks into the blankets. He didn't wake up until she landed the final blow. She's nearly certain of it. But a ridiculous disappointment fills the space where there should be embarrassment. He never heard the important parts.
She feels jumpy. Without her watch and hair tie, her wrists feel numb and exposed. She can't play with the elastic like she usually did when she was thinking too much. Her attention stirs at every shuffle from the hall, every footfall, filled with the absurd hope that it's him behind the door, here to check in on her, maybe thank her for saving his life. Maybe, he'd walk in and tell her he's seen the light, that it's her who should be playing his wife in Operation Strix, not Yor. But…no, it was best if she didn't see him right now. Especially not in this state. A visit…wouldn't be unwelcome though. Even if it was improbable. Okay, impossible. But—
Stop. She wrangles her thoughts together into her favourite daydream: retirement. A neutral country. A house in the suburbs. The sea. Twilight.
The door opens and her heart nearly jumps out of her chest, wondering if her thoughts actually had the power to summon him. Unfortunately, it's just her boss.
“What are you doing here, Handler?” She asks coldly, internally shoving all her prurient thoughts under the proverbial rug.
“Is that any way to speak to your superior?" Handler asks, eyes scanning the room.
"I already checked for wires." Fiona tells her. "We're in the clear. Now if that's all you came here for, you can leave now."
She can practically see the steam coming out of Handler's ears as she raises a fist to her head, like a schoolyard bully about to give her a noogie. "I'm here to cover your asses because both you and Twilight literally can't move!" She hissed. "Do you have any idea how short-staffed we are right now? I could just—"
Fiona leans away. "Don't make me call a real nurse."
Handler sighs, before taking a step back and smoothing down her apron. "Well, perhaps I also wanted to try on the uniform."
"Don't infiltrate the hospital just to play dress-up!"
Handler tosses the clipboard onto the bed and makes herself comfortable in the chair beside it. "You're lucky. The breaks were all clean, and the muscle fiber damage wasn't as bad as we expected. You'll be back on your feet in three months, tops."
Nightfall stares at the test results. Huh. It felt like she'd been accomplishing physiological miracles ever since the training she did in the mountains for her rematch with Yor. Yor Briar. She wants to punch something for the irony of it all. Too bad both her arms are broken.
Handler continues watching her with an expression she can't quite read.
"What?" Nightfall asks, shifting uncomfortably.
"I put you in a dangerous situation, even if it was your mission."
This was new. Handler wasn't the apologetic type. "Every mission is dangerous. It's what we signed up for. Stop overreacting."
When Handler reaches out to put her hand on her head though, Nightfall is too caught off guard to even flinch. It takes her a second to even comprehend what's happening. Handler slowly starts patting her hair and Nightfall stares at her hand, dumbfounded, face reddening. It would probably have been a warm, comforting motion to somebody else. To Nightfall it just felt like emotional manipulation. Emotional manipulation that—goddammit—was starting to work on her.
"Don't go charging towards your own death, Nightfall. You're still one of our best agents. And a precious one at that."
It takes her a painfully long second to pull her head away; to shake off the sappiness. She scoffs, returning to her senses. "If by 'precious' you mean 'will obediently work to the bone for you'."
Handler gives her a sad smile. "I can't deny that. But…" She sighs. “Everyone is here for a reason. It's what fuels us. Makes us strong. But I wonder if…" She pauses, gives Nightfall a look that's somewhere east of pity and north of withering. "If yours won't one day become a liability."
Or perhaps – is he someone precious to you?
Wheeler's words echo in her head again and suddenly she's back underground, her hands shaking as she holds her gun; his hands wrapped around Twilight's head, seconds from snapping his neck—
You shouldn’t let your feelings get involved in this job, little lady. You never know when either of you might die.
The way he had clocked her that day…she was angry about it. Of course she was. But it also couldn't hold a candle to the anger she felt when she saw his foot on Twilight's back. It didn't come close to the rage she felt that he dared to use anything about Twilight against her. She swore to herself when she first developed feelings for Twilight that no one would ever use them to bring him harm.
So they couldn't be a liability. Not to him. And if she had to follow him around for the rest of her life to make sure of it, then so be it. What else did nightfall do but follow the twilight?
How he had the gall to lecture her about the risks of the job with that patronizing tone. She knew better than anyone. She was capable of protecting Twilight because of the strength of her feelings. Wheeler was wrong. She proved that to him when she beat his ass. What right did he, or Handler, or anyone have to tell her how she should feel?
"A liability?" Her face is stony as she meets Handler's eyes. "I can assure you that such a thing won't happen."
Handler taps her fingernails against a glass on the bedside table before standing up.
"You misunderstand. I acknowledge that you've handled it remarkably well so far. But you've also been lucky so far."
"Luck has nothing to do with it."
Handler moves to the foot of the bed, her back facing her. "After your recovery, I'm proposing you return to Westalis."
Nightfall can't believe what she's hearing. "What?"
"They are about to conduct a high profile mission there, on par with Operation Strix," Handler says. "They need as many top agents as they can get. I recommended you as the lead."
"You can't just do that Handler!" This can't be happening. It isn't fair. She couldn't picture it—being apart from him? They were co-workers, teammates. She was the only one she trusted to have his back if something went wrong. Nightfall feels lightheaded.
"I am perfectly content to continue supporting Operation Strix. It is of utmost importance to me that Twilight's mission succeeds and—"
Handler stops her with a hand. "I know it is. That's exactly why I think you should go."
She tosses something to the foot of her bed that Nightfall can't quite make out before it disappears in the sheets. "Do you know what the hardest part is about working with people who are willing to risk their lives for something?”
Nightfall doesn’t know what else to do but glare at her.
“They never fully get back what they’ve gambled. You bet your life on the mission and you play it smart. You think about what you’re doing it all for and it feels like an equivalent exchange. You might even convince yourself that your life is a small price to pay.
“But there are very few things that are worth a human life. Your reason is what keeps you alive, Nightfall. You think you’ve found it, but I’m not convinced you really have. If you put all your chips on him, I have to ask—what's left of you?”
She pauses at the door, giving her a backwards glance. "Consider it. For your own sake."
Nightfall just watches as the door closes behind her. She looks back at what Handler left on her bed and her breath hitches.
It's her hair tie. God, she thought she had lost it.
Even with her broken arms, she tugs at the blanket to nudge it forward enough that she can reach it with her limp fingers, before gently transferring it to her bedside table.
…And winces. What a pitiful scene this was.
Switzerland. Suburbs. The sea. The plans she would repeat in her head like a mantra felt suddenly exposed, as if held under the examiner’s light in an interrogation room. Puny and helpless and condemned.
She swallows the lump in her throat. Why would Handler tell her this. What was she supposed to do now?
She groans, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall.
Really. She should have just died in the sewers.
Okay, then. There was a simple solution here: if she wanted to stay by his side, she just had to get over him.
Nightfall downs her sixth beer and slams the empty glass back down on the table.
"How could I not be in love with him though?" She's slurring her words and feels like she might throw up (for reasons unrelated to the alcohol). It hadn't even been a week since she was cleared to go back to work, and with the operation in Westalis still in the planning stages (when Nightfall had tried to outright refuse, Handler just said "We'll talk later"), her boss had her temporarily undercover in city hall as "Natalie Feint" after receiving a tip about a dangerous organization potentially having made it a base. So far, all Nightfall had managed to do was become unrecognizable to Yor Briar by putting on an act completely opposite to her actual personality. And accidentally befriending all the other city hall clerks in the process. Turns out, a poker face looks different when you're playing chess.
Needless to say, this was exhausting.
(She would be lying if she said it wasn't a little cathartic though.)
"What is it that you like about him so much?" Sharon asks, slurping loudly from her martini. "From what you described, he seems pretty vanilla to me."
Nightfall almost strangles her. But she is Nightfall, the second best spy in Westalis. She can restrain herself.
She thumbs the hair tie around her wrist instead. "Everything."
Sharon pretends to gag and Camilla rolls her eyes while Millie gives her an embarrassing "awww!"
"Oh to be young and in love!" Millie says dreamily. "The anxious pining, the will-they, won't-they, the wondering if they feel the same way—"
"It's ridiculous." Sharon interjects. "Just be straightforward about it. It's the only way to get results."
"I can't," Nightfall mutters under her breath.
"Why the hell not?" Camilla asks, raising her chin.
She sighs. It wouldn't hurt to admit it. It was a complicated situation on the surface as much as it was under it. "He's married."
A cacophony of voices erupt.
"NATALIE!"
"Girl, you need to forget about him and move on!"
"Don't be a homewrecker!"
"I know! I know!" She cries, loudly blowing her nose into a napkin. "It happened so suddenly! Life is so unfair!" Her fake tears are starting to feel a little bit real now. But that's fine. It sold the whole act way better if there was real emotion behind it.
Camilla shushes everyone and leans across the counter, forcing Nightfall to look her in the eye. Her expression is suddenly serious.
"How long have you liked him?"
It was this fact that she always felt the worst thinking about. Because it wasn't an exaggeration to say that Twilight was, from the moment she first laid eyes on him, the reason for her continued existence. On the day she lost everything, she found him. Anything she had today, she owed him. In this screwed up world, he had taught her how to fight for a better one. What did it matter the time in between, if she had spent it in his presence?
But then again…how much of her life had she wasted, stuck in a fantasy of reciprocation? A part of her had always believed a love story wouldn't just be possible—it would be inevitable. Wasn't it? To be by each other's side for that long. To walk this path that few dare tread. Wasn't this love? In a world of lies, being the only ones who knew the truth? Being the only ones who really understood?
"Ten years," she whispers.
Millie and Sharon exchange a look.
"And nothing to show for it?"
"Shut up, Sharon!" Millie whispers, kicking her under the counter.
Camilla lets out a low whistle. "Girl, have some self-respect. He strung you along for that long?" A flare of defensiveness leaps up inside of Nightfall, despite knowing she’s right. Even from a made up threat, she feels the need to protect him.
It hurts.
Camilla sighs, leaning back in her chair, and takes a swig of her beer. "You have to tell him. It's…a sure rejection. But it's the only way you'll get over it."
It hurts.
"Either that or quit your job," Sharon adds.
It hurts.
"She might still have to quit if she drops a bomb that big…" Millie says, eyebrows knit with worry. "But maybe you could move over to city hall permanently!"
It hurts.
"That's…not really a possibility for me…" Nightfall croaks, feeling a little like she's been punched in the gut now that the story is hitting a little too close to the truth.
"You've got to protect your own peace!" Camilla interjects. "You're young and attractive! Capable, with a stable career! So many people would be head over heels for you! Forget about him," She sits up. "Let me introduce you to someone! He's a friend of my partner, works at a bank, great personality, and—"
It hurts.
Nightfall stops listening, head swimming with her own truths masquerading as lies. She genuinely could not even think about another person the way she thought about Twilight. And she found herself despising the fact that she couldn't explain herself to them even if she wanted to: that loving someone—really loving someone—outside of her life as a spy would be impossible. She couldn't afford to spend energy on something so trivial as a love life with national security on the line. And she wasn't the type of person who could just have a fling, or date around for fun. She didn't want the attention of just any guy that would have her.
She wanted it to be him.
And she wanted it to be with her that the music in his head turned bittersweet and romantic. She wanted it to be her that he walked home with at the end of the day, the sunset behind them, hand-in-hand, even if it was just for appearances. She wanted it to be her sitting close enough to see his true feelings slip through, and she wanted it to be her who he trusted enough to hold them. She wanted it to be her prepping dinner and ironing clothes and getting to live a normal life. Even if it was just pretend.
But she couldn't even get pretend.
She surprises herself when the real tears start to fall. He told her, a long time ago, to bury her emotions. When Millie puts an arm around her, it's almost enough to shock her back to her senses. But instead she cries harder, Natalie Feint's reputation the buffer between herself and whatever shame she might feel tomorrow. They all give her pitiful looks and pat her hands and she should be embarrassed but part of it feels…nice? Here was a group of girls who barely knew her, that she would never be allowed to see again with this face, who for some reason wanted to listen to her stupid, stupid unrequited love story. In another life, could they have actually been friends?
It was a useless thought. Nevertheless, she thinks it.
The Forgers visit Berlint General to drop off Loid's lunch on Monday.
Nightfall ducks around the corner when she sees Yor Briar enter the building, Anya in tow. Her time in city hall had been short but it had been a pain to get Yor off her trail in the week she was there. That woman was…highly perceptive. But then again, it was a good excuse to not talk to someone when the first thing they say to you on your first meeting is "You smell familiar."
Regardless, Nightfall hurries down the hall to get away. If she could just make it to her office—
A sputtering voice catches her. "F-Fiona! Good afternoon!"
A comically childish gasp. "It's scary lady!"
She can't exactly ignore them now. She turns around and sees the pair at the end of the hall. Yor is waving wildly, and Anya is hugging her mom's leg, making Yor stagger a bit as she steps forward. Nightfall gives them a nod. "Miss Forger. Miss Anya."
"I'm glad we ran into you, Fiona! Can you tell us where Loid's office is? It's a maze in here, I can never remember the right floor, or the right turns—"
"Certainly. Follow me." Loid's office. So she dropped the "Dr. Forger" formalities. Even so, this was a hospital. It would serve well to use the appropriate titles here. And on top of that, she's been married to him for how long and she can't even remember where his office is? Pathetic.
"Um, Momma! Why is Papa's office so hard to find?" The kid asks, bug-eyed and speaking in that mechanical way, like she's doing a poor job of reading from a script. When Fiona glances backwards, Anya is glaring at her.
Yor hums. "Well, the previous times I've come, Loid always insisted on meeting me in the foyer." She turns to Fiona. "He was a bit tied up with stuff today though, so I wanted to come and surprise him!"
Oh. Nightfall continues staring straight ahead.
"Oh! By the way, I heard you had an accident at the hospital a while back! You fell from the fourth floor and broke all your limbs?! Are you alright now?"
Despite the phrasing, Fiona's heart stutters traitorously at the implication Twilight talked about her when she wasn't around. "Yes. The fractures were clean and healed well, thankfully."
"Still, that must have been awful!"
"Yes, well," She's too drained to be having this conversation. "It wasn't a bullet in the butt."
Yor closes her eyes and nods emphatically. "That would be truly terrible."
Fiona studies Yor out of the side of her eye. Her hair is impeccably assembled today as always: two long strands framing her face, a pale pink hair band in place like a crown, the rest done up in a bun behind her head. Her red eyes are sparkly as she continues to chatter with Anya, who is complaining about something or another. Nightfall tugs at a strand of her own pale hair and frowns.
She had read the reports. Even with his direct, no-nonsense writing style, it was clear from his descriptions that Loid found Yor beautiful. Anyone would. She could charm any man in a five mile radius. Twilight was no exception, even if he was unaware of it.
Nightfall forces herself to snap out of it. She couldn't let herself get psyched out like this.
"Is that a new hair band?" Fiona asks suddenly. Because on second glance, it's different from the last time she saw her.
"You noticed!" Yor exclaims, surprised. "Loid got it for me over the weekend while we were in town."
Fiona tugs at the elastic around her wrist. "I see."
As they reach Loid's office, Fiona raises a hand to knock when Anya rushes forward and throws open the door.
"Anya—wait—!" Yor charges in after her.
Fiona hears Twilight from inside. "Hey, I told you not to—Anya! Yor!"
The tone change is immediate. Fiona watches through the open door as Twilight stands from his desk and gives Anya a hug. He smiles as Yor hands him a lunch box. His eyes soften when she touches his arm.
Nightfall knows it's all fake. Twilight is a professional, and the mission is the priority over whatever attachments he was making to these civilians. It was all part of his cover to put his work on pause with their arrival. Part of his cover to laugh at Yor's flustered look as he compliments her hair band. Part of his cover to tell them he'll make onion soup for dinner, and could Yor pick up some ingredients on the way back? Part of his cover when he tells them "see you at home".
Nightfall grips her pen so hard in snaps.
The Forgers turn. And there it is: a perfect family portrait. It's just like the fake photo on display at 128 Park Avenue, mother and father each with a gentle hand resting on one of Anya's shoulders. But here there's no camera, no audience, no onlookers. Why, then, did he look at her like that?
Why did he get to go and play at falling in love?
"Excuse me." Nightfall closes the door and steps into the hall.
The thought surprises her. She had never felt that her anger was directed towards Twilight before. For his sake, yes. For thinking he deserved better, always. But because of him?
She holds her wrist and pulls up the elastic until it's hidden under her sleeve. It didn’t mean anything to him, did it? She didn’t matter to him at all, did she? How was it fair that he affected her with every little thing, yet she felt just like a fly in his presence?
She hears the door open and straightens as Yor exits, holding the kid’s hand. Anya gives her a sparkly-eyed look that feels strangely empathetic.
Oh, God. She did not need a six-year-old’s sympathy.
“Mrs. Forger,” Nightfall starts. Yor stops in her tracks and turns her head back. “Are you free this evening?"
"Oh! Um, may I ask what for?"
"Our rematch."
"Rematch?" Yor's knits her eyebrows before something clicks. She snaps her fingers. "Oh! For tennis!" She hesitates. "T-tonight is a little sudden, I—"
Nightfall swallows. "Please. I don't think I will have another opportunity for a while."
The sincere way in which Yor searches her face makes her shift her gaze to the floor. She doesn't know what Yor finds, but when Fiona glances up again, Yor's nodding.
"Okay. I'll meet you in the park, then?"
"Yes. At 7:30."
"I'll be there."
The kid raises her hand. "Anya wants to come!"
"No!" Fiona says, surprising herself with how she raises her voice. She clears her throat. "I mean, surely Dr. Forger can afford one evening watching the kid by himself. Right?"
Yor just gives her a smile. "Don't worry. It'll be just you and me."
Yor waves as she takes Anya by the arm and ushers them back into the main foyer.
They don't ask for her help on the way out.
Nightfall watches Yor practice her swing from across the street, half the time missing the tennis ball, half the time shredding it like cheese. She's still wearing her pink hairband. And that absurd backless red sweater dress.
She enters the park and is surprised by how fast Yor senses her approach. She waves enthusiastically, to which Nightfall can only respond with a curt nod.
"Thanks for inviting me out, Fiona. It's a lovely evening."
Fiona reaches back to gather her hair into a pony tail.
"I do want to check though…a-are you sure you should be playing sports so soon after your recovery?"
"I've cleared it with my doctor. I'm fine."
Yor exhales. "That's a relief! Still…"
"Spare your pity. I'm not going to hold back, Yor Briar, so you better not either."
Yor nods, but goes quiet. Starts to fiddle with the tennis ball in her hand.
"What?" She spits through her teeth.
"I-it's Forger. Yor Forger. Briar is…my maiden name…"
She curses under her breath. A careless error, on her part. But Nightfall can't help but want to wring the girl's neck for being able to say that.
"My apologies."
Fiona reaches for the elastic on her wrist and pulls her hair through, counting the twists of the band. One.
Yor toes the dirt and taps her racket against her shoe. "Fiona, before we start, there's something I wanted to ask you."
"Yes?" Two.
"Do you…why are you..." She sighs and falls into a squat, using the racket for support. Her voice sounds small when they finally escape her mouth:
"Do you have feelings for Loid?"
Three. With an audible snap the cheap black band shoots out from between her fingers. Lands silently by her feet. Broken. She stares down at it, hands still poised behind her head, frozen.
"O-oh, geez," Yor rushes over. She sorts through a fanny pack on her waist and produces a new elastic. "Here, I have an extra.” When Nightfall doesn’t move, Yor maneuvers behind her and reaches for her hair. "It was a dumb question, forget about it, sorry, let me—"
Fiona smacks her hand away. Her eyes sting. Her chest hurts. It doesn't matter that it could be a coincidence, that they sell them at every drug store. Because it's the exact same one. It's the exact same one that Twilight gave her three years ago and it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.
The dam breaks.
"I do."
"Huh?"
"I like him. I like Loid."
She ignores the look that appears on Yor's face, taking a step backwards and pointing her racket at her opponent. "If I win this match, I'm going to tell him."
Yor's face twists into a mix of disbelief and disgust. It's an expression she's never seen on Yor’s face, one she doubts anyone has seen before and lived to tell the tale.
"Excuse me'?"
"I know about your little marriage of convenience." I’m putting the mission in danger. “You’re not the picture-perfect family everyone thinks you are.” I am a liability. "And it should have been me."
She abhors how much it sounds like whining.
"Tell me, Yor: what’s really in it for you? You’re allowed to live a normal life, have a normal family, be a normal person! Anyone would have loved to be with you. Why did it have to be him?"
Yor blinks rapidly as she looks away. “Normal?” She asks. “You think I’m allowed to be normal?”
Nightfall clenches her jaw. What was that supposed to mean?
“That confirms it, then. What, are you really a spy?” Keep it together, Nightfall. “Give me a reason not to report you to the secret police this instant.”
Yor remains silent.
“Are you really going to just play pretend housewife like this? Why? You can’t even convince yourself, can you? What are you hiding, Yor?” Her fingers are cold. She feels dizzy. She is putting Twilight in danger. She is putting everyone in danger. Stop. Just stop. Why can’t I stop?
“After I win, I'm going to tell him how I feel. And I'm going to get you out of the picture.”
Yor falls into a ready stance. Her shadow lengthens behind her with the setting sun, as though she has melded into it, one looming, haunting figure. Her grip tightens on the racket.
"Then I'm afraid I can't let that happen."
It's not even a contest.
Maybe if compared to their first match (was it even a match if it was only one serve?) there was some improvement. Nightfall actually manages to hold a rally this time. Even so, Yor has her running back and forth across the court, while she herself barely breaks a sweat. Nightfall's arms pulse with adrenaline but she honestly wouldn't be surprised if she found them broken again tomorrow.
She throws the racket down so hard it splints and collapses to the ground, breathing hard. She bores a hole into the evening sky before throwing an arm numbly over her eyes because it's twilight and it's beautiful and she never stood a chance.
She hears Yor’s approach.
"He gave me that hair tie." It's the only thing she can think to say. It leaves her lips like a plea.
There is a thud to her left as Yor lays down beside her. Even though she won, she sounds defeated. "He did?"
"He doesn't even remember."
Yor is quiet for a while. Then: “What does it feel like? To be in love with him?”
Nightfall scoffs. “Are you seriously asking me that?”
“Humour me.”
Nightfall sighs into her arm. “It’s like…he’s at the center of everything I do. I’m always thinking about him. Everything he’s ever said to me plays on loop in my head. Everything is a sign that he might feel the same way. And then everything is a sign that it’s the opposite. It’s my greatest strength until it’s my greatest weakness. I feel sick. I reach for him like he’s the cure, but…”
She tapers off. The only indication that Yor is even still there is the quiet sigh of her breathing. “Say something, please. I’ve said something very embarrassing just now and the silence is deafening.”
She hears Yor exhale beside her. “Nobody believed me when I said I’d bring a date to my coworkers party. I’m a klutz and a fool who can’t handle the most basic tasks. That I met him at all…that he was so desperate for Anya’s sake that he roped himself up with me—it was all just a series of crazy coincidences. He’s always trying so hard to make this marriage work, but…it’s not love that motivates it, you know? For either of us. I’m not even sure if that kind of love is…something I’ve ever felt before.
“And yet…there’s something about this that I can’t give up. I don't even love him, but he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I feel like I've robbed you of someone important, but he's also important to me. I need him, and I think maybe he needs me. He's my family.”
Family. The word felt strange in Fiona’s mouth. It wasn’t one that usually appeared anywhere close to “spy”. Had there ever been a time when it had been a regular part of her vocabulary?
"It’s funny," Yor laughs, but even without looking at her, Fiona can tell she's crying. "I was so, so scared about being found out but…it's actually really, really nice being able to talk to someone about it."
Crying…in relief?
"I'm not your friend, Yor," Fiona sighs. "You shouldn't be telling me this."
“You see it too, though, don’t you? I want to protect this family. I want to protect Loid. I want to protect that light he shines so brightly.”
Nightfall's arm feels like lead but she removes it from her face and turns toward Yor. She's still looking up. Eyes, watery with tears, reflect the starlight above and it’s like Nightfall is looking at a magazine cover. But she’s too tired to be angry anymore.
“I do.”
Because that's what it was all really about, wasn't it? Here she was, feeling sorry for herself, while everyone was out there looking for a sliver of light. And of course when you find it, you will do everything you can to never let it go.
Some lights were just not hers to grasp.
When Yor starts to laugh, Fiona can't help but laugh too. A real one. Maybe the first real one since before the war. Partly because of how ridiculous the situation was, partly because she was still high on adrenaline. Partly because…she could finally see beyond the twilight. This decade-long affliction.
It was over.
If she tried to think about what made her fall in love with Twilight, this is what came to mind:
When they were younger, occasionally there would be a rare moment when he let his guard down around her. They did a lot of surveillance missions during that time, which they both knew were clearly Handler's excuse to get them out of her hair for a few hours. She remembered how her heart thumped in her chest as her mind logged, without even realizing it, every little idiosyncracy, every flutter of his lashes, every word—and committed it to memory.
And one time, she was even brave enough to ask him a question: "Why did you choose Twilight?"
Most codenames were simply assigned to agents, but it had been a rumor circulating around WISE that Twilight had picked his out himself.
"They call me 'Nightfall' because I'm always following you around. You started this whole meteorological theme. Why Twilight?"
He sighed. "You must know the 'who-is-it' hour explanation." He continued to look out through his binoculars at the supposed meeting spot. "You don't buy it?"
"When you put it like that, of course not."
"Hey! I work hard on making my disguises."
There was a lightness in his tone that she'd never heard before.
"Well…" He started, scanning the horizon. "Did you know that a night has two twilights? One when the sun sets and—
"—One before it rises."
He nodded. "When—when I was a kid, I afraid of the dark." His words were careful but felt so foreign coming out of his mouth that Nightfall had to hold her breath to make sure she caught everything. "After my dad died, it was especially bad. I couldn't sleep. The sound of planes overhead made me freeze up. That's when my mother told me about twilights. She told me that when the night felt too long, I should just keep my eye on the horizon. Dawn was always closer than I thought, and I just had to bear it until twilight—until light returned to the world. She told me…light would always return to the world. Dawn would always come. You just had to…hold on."
Oh.
Oh no.
She felt the rise of affection fill her chest and she couldn't stop it anymore. She loved him. Of course she loved him, how could she not?
"Too sappy for your tastes, right?" Twilight said with an awkward laugh.
He deserved it. He deserved every fond feeling she could name and then some.
"The world doesn't deserve you," she whispered before her filter could kick back in. But of course he didn't hear it. He never heard the important parts.
They were different people now. Nightfall knew that. But she knew this part would never change. This part that looked to the future and saw how it could be better—that actively made it better, with every choice he made today.
And now, as she looks back, Nightfall feels something shift. She closes her eyes and sees Yor that night in the park, eyes sparkling: I want to protect that light he shines so brightly. Did she know? That she shone too?
Maybe the light was more than any one person. Maybe it was in all of them. Maybe it was even in her too.
What she could be if she wasn't just the night that follows twilight…
She breathes in. Exhales.
It was time to find out.