Twilight sees the weapon whirl past him before he hears her voice. Though he narrowly avoided the explosion moments prior, he couldn’t say as much for his hearing. It’d recover in time, he knew that much from years on the job. For now all he could hear was a high pitched ringing.
He swore under his breath as he tried to avoid her next movements. Thorn Princess is trained and calm, even in the dark and smoky room. Twilight would have been able to properly admire her skills if they weren’t being used against him at that moment.
She threw the first few punches, basic jabs aimed for his jaw that are just slow and predictable enough for Twilight to block with ease. He wondered only briefly if she was growing tired, this kind of fighting would be expected of someone far less skilled. But then he feels his back slam against the concrete warehouse floor and he realizes the trap he had fallen into. Thorn Princess had made him comfortable enough with the punches that he failed to notice when her leg had cut beneath him.
Shit. That was a rookie mistake, Twilight. He blames it on the fact this hearing is still shot. But he can’t afford to make mistakes any longer.
The golden glint of danger shines just quick enough for Twilight to roll away, a free hand padding the ground for the gun he knew he dropped somewhere nearby. Once he feels the metal pressed into his palm, his breath settles. He’ll be safe now.
At least he thought. Through the smoke, Thorn Princess’ figure becomes harder to follow until she’s right in front of him, arms ready to grab onto him, blades in each hand and desperate for the taste of his blood.
It’s the clearest vision of her that Twilight has seen all night. It might be the closest anyone has been to her and survived—and he intended to survive. Instinctually, he tries to memorize her face, but realizes in barely a half of a second he doesn’t need to.
After all, it’s the same face he sees every morning. The same one that tucks their daughter into bed with a story and a kiss to the forehead. The same one that he looks at while her attention is somewhere else. It’s the same face of the wife to a family he never thought he deserved, but somehow found.
Before either of her blades can connect, Twilight scoops his arm beneath one of hers and finds the shoulder blade. He presses down until her arm is twisted upwards and unable to move. It will hurt if she tries to move, but it shouldn’t break anything—not yet.
The blades are still in her hand, though, and Thorn Princess—no, Yor—is clearly capable enough to try and send something digging into Twilight’s flesh. With a press of his free hand against the palm closest to his face, her blade clatters to the ground. She tries throwing the other back, but with how she’s bent down it was a messy shot to begin with and the spy easily steps aside.
“Don’t,” Twilight warns, his voice still masquerading as someone else, “If you move you’ll only break something.” For emphasis he presses down on her shoulder blade again, watching as her back muscles tense in contortion and pain.
He still can barely hear her, only an incoherent mumble. Not knowing what else to do, he continues talking, “That explosion trick knocked my hearing out for a bit so don’t waste your breath.”
For the next few minutes, Twilight struggles against the pure muscle of his wife trying to fight back. Eventually he has to go farther down and kneel, making her entire upper body press against the floor, that one arm still pointed up to the ceiling. It’s a demeaning position, but if it were anyone else they would be dead or maimed by now. All Twilight wants is to get her to talk, tell him who sent her and for what purpose. And perhaps in the middle of it all, they can figure out what this means for their family and future.
The ringing is replaced with the thrum of the fans in the warehouse, and Twilight breathes out a sigh of relief, “Finally.”
“Finally? Finally what?” If he had any questions on whether it was really Yor, those were gone. Her voice only confirmed what he had seen with his eyes.
“I can hear you now,” Twilight knows what he needs to do, what will give him the answers he needs, but it doesn’t make saying it any easier, “So talk to me Yor.”
She stops moving beneath him, and Twilight can hear his heartbeat loud in his ears before she finally says, “Who’s Yor?”
“Yor Briar. Your real name. I can share more if you want, but let’s say I have a reliable source that knows that’s who you are,” Twilight can’t bring it in himself to share who he is. He hopes that he can get away with it still remaining a secret, and wake up tomorrow morning to share coffee and breakfast with Yor with this night all a dream.
He feels her hand start to claw at his face. Shit, he had left her palm too close to his cheek. Just as he goes to press the hand between his shoulder and cheek and immobilize it, he feels her nails slip under the edge of his mask along his jawline. It’s imperceptible in any situation, but it still exists. And it exists just enough for Yor to use what mobility and strength she has in her hand to tear it off.
Twilight watches as Yor twists her face against the floor to look at him, and watches as the color drains from her face. Her mouth drops open and he can barely hear her breathe out a, “Loid?”
He nods, “I said it was a reliable source.”
“Let me go,” she tries again to break free from his grasp, writhing against the concrete.
“Wait, Yor,” he only applies enough pressure to stop her from moving around too much, “I’ll let you go if you promise not to kill me.”
Silence settles between them again, this time one that Loid can hear clearly. He waits until he feels her back move, breathing in to speak, “I don’t even have my weapons.”
“And you think I don’t know the Thorn Princess could kill without those?” he meets her fiery eyes, “I’m a professional, too, Yor.”
She pauses, considering for just a moment before responding, “I promise I won’t kill you.”
“Good,” Loid lets go just like that. It surprises even him how much he was able to trust Yor’s promise, even though he still is grappling with reconciling his wife to the famed assassin.
He notices she must be doing the same as she sits up and looks at him, bruised and battered with wide eyes, “Anya isn’t your daughter is she?”
“No more than you’re my wife,” Loid confirms and sits back on his heels. If they were to talk like equals, even if just for a moment, he couldn’t be looming above her.
“Why?” Yor’s expression is fierce with confusion, “Why would you lie to her?”
“For the sake of the mission.” It’s a meaningless catch-all phrase, but it really is all that Loid can say.
“Was I a part of the mission too?” she asks, the directness of the question only just barely hiding the crack in her voice.
“Yes. But not you as Thorn Princess, I…” Why was it embarrassing to admit his ignorance? Perhaps it was because he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Yor and Thorn Princess were one and the same. “I didn’t know that was you until less than five minutes ago.”
“What?”
“Yes,” Twilight can barely meet her eyes, his throat feeling dry and raw. Each word felt harder as he spoke, a step further into a conversation that could never be taken back.
“So you didn’t ask me to marry you to…” she leaves the rest unsaid, but he finishes it for her anyway.
“To take you by surprise one night and kill you? No. Not at all,” Loid pauses for a moment, looking at her and seeing so clearly now his wife. For once he could look at Yor and see the gentle mother, the deadly assassin, the kind wife, the strong woman.
Yor simply nods, idly brushing at her dark dress, shaking the dirt off, “So what now, Twilight?”
Hearing his codename in her voice is a sting Loid hadn’t anticipated, but he made certain his face didn’t betray that odd feeling of hurt. He laughs dryly, and admits, “I wish I could say I knew.”
“Me too,” she spoke softly and let the silence stretch between them. After a few moments, Yor stands, and Loid can only watch as clear resolve solidifies on her face before she confesses, “I can’t kill you. This will be my first failure on the job, but I’ll accept it.”
As much as he knows what failure means in this line of work, Loid knows the second she speaks that he will take that burden as well. Standing up beside her, his hand tentatively squeezes her shoulder, “I can’t kill you either, Yor. It’ll be my first failure too.”
Her eyes glint with something unreadable as her hand comes to meet his, her palm soft against the back of his hand, “Loid…” He watches as she takes in a deep breath and shakes her head, “I can’t think straight about this right now.”
It’s a life line that she throws out, one that Loid needs just as desperately, “Let’s go home and talk about it tomorrow.”
Her hand slips easily into his as they walk away, neither knowing what else to say at the moment, leaving the harder conversations for the future.
But at least they would both have a future by each other’s side.