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It was not until that moment, sitting next to a near stranger in a hotel room across the country and listening to the tap tap tap of the most terrifying transmission he had ever received, that Twilight realized there was a difference between being brave and being fearless.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Anya’s bus has been hijacked.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
They have weapons.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
There’s a bomb.
Twilight had always been well known for his courage. He was never afraid to dive headfirst into any mission, no matter how dangerous, no matter how stupid. Only now was he starting to realize that throwing himself headfirst into danger had never been hard because he simply never cared if he lived or died.
Of course, he had survival instincts. Incredible ones. Years of training. Years of experience. Those things all kept him alive, whether he particularly cared or not.
It had been a long time since he had a reason to return in one piece. In fact, if he really thought about it, he wasn’t sure that he ever did. As far as he was concerned, either outcome was acceptable.
He would complete the mission successfully and return alive to receive another, having taken one step closer to his ultimate goal of a world without war. A world where children didn’t have to cry.
Or, he would not return home. Maybe he would bleed out slowly in some dark, disgusting place. Perhaps he would struggle for a while before finally succumbing to some poison in his bloodstream. It might even be painless, over in an instant.
And he wouldn’t be tired anymore.
Once, during his training, one of his companions had complained that they were exhausted. Sylvia had sagely advised them that they could all sleep when they were dead.
He would be able to sleep.
A minister told him during a mission when he was young that there was a life after this one. There was some lovely place where he could go and everything would be beautiful and easy and everyone he loved would be there. Twilight thought he was a wretched man, especially after he uncovered the depths of his crimes.
Still, he would be able to sleep when he was dead.
Maybe he would dream of his friends.
Maybe he would dream of his mother.
He could hardly remember their faces anymore. Sometimes, when he was still young and sentimental, he wondered if they were dreaming of him too.
That is to say, the feeling that shot through his chest and into the pit of his stomach - the deep, sickening dread, the strange, gut-wrenching ache - was unfamiliar to him.
The man beside him had a strange look on his face, somewhere between worry and relief when Twilight’s body began moving on its own. There was a strange sense of pride in the near stranger’s voice when he announced, “There’s Twilight, fearless as always.”
Twilight was fearless. Loid Forger was not. And somewhere in the middle, [REDACTED] had just received word that his little girl was in danger.
No one involved in the mission said anything when he dashed through the front doors of the hotel. No one questioned him when he leapt into the car with one of the few WISE agents who knew him as anything more than WISE’s best and begged pathetically for his fellow agent to drive. No one questioned him when he stood watching, only meters away from the bus that held his daughter—unable to do anything to save her. No one questioned him when his breath hitched as he watched his wife run to his daughter’s side. No one questioned him when he watched for just a little too long as they held each other and cried. No one questioned him when he requested a car for the Forger family, suggesting that there was an urgent need.
No one questioned him when his hands shook as he prepared his daughter’s favorite dinner. No one questioned him when he stayed by her side well after she was asleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
And no one questioned him when Yor came into the room with puffy red eyes and for once climbed freely into his embrace. Her tears soaked the front of his shirt and she pretended not to notice that her own shoulder was far from dry. She didn’t question the way one hand rubbed soft circles along her spine and the other stayed rooted to the bed, one finger resting on Anya’s little hand.
And for once, he did not question himself when Yor slowly drifted to sleep in his arms and he listened to the quiet sound of his family’s breathing for just a little too long. He was justified, wasn’t he? Loid Forger should hold his family tight. Loid Forger should protect his wife and daughter. Surely it wouldn’t hurt if [REDACTED] did too.