Work Text:
Anya Forger sighs as she places another file on the stack. Paperwork covered her desk, along with a small bag of peanuts on the corner that she occasionally snacked on. Though working at the embassy was nothing terrible, days like these where it was simply paperwork always felt sluggish. Occasionally she would help a lost soul who wandered into the administrative side of the building, but otherwise Anya battled the large stacks of files and official papers.
It was tiring, but at the very least her co-workers were nice. Plus, she’d get visits from Becky every so often during her lunch break. Damian too, whenever he was free from his busy schedule. Sometimes they’d all get together to have lunch or even dinner after work, free time allowing.
Today, however, is a little different compared to meeting with friends.
A familiar face appears a few steps in front of Anya. Though she isn’t wearing the hat she usually sees her wear, the round spectacles, high heels, and a certain pin that adorned her blazer is recognizable enough.
“Aunt Sylvia!”
Anya gets up from her desk to hug her aunt with a smile on her face. The older woman reciprocates, lightly chuckling while giving her a warm squeeze before letting go.
“I thought I’d drop by since you’ll be on break soon. How are you, Anya? Hard at work?”
Anya shrugs a little, tilting her head.
“Just paperwork today. It’s by no means the most exciting thing in the world, but I don’t mind it all that much. Though I admit I wish it was a bit more engaging at the moment,” she says, eyeing the organized mess behind her.
A light sigh leaves Sylvia as she speaks. “Paperwork is always dull; I can tell you that for sure.”
The young woman nods in agreement, thinking of the whirlwind of various files and papers in her aunt’s old WISE office. Dull indeed.
“In any case, is there anything I can do for you? Or maybe we can get lunch since I’m about to be on break!” Anya says, a bright smile appearing across her face. Her aunt nods as the corners of her lips perk up.
“I was just about to ask, actually,” she says, her eyes filled with amusement. “It’ll be my treat. Plus, I hear this one café nearby has a wonderful peanut flavored dessert.”
The smile on Anya’s face grows at that. With haste, she grabs her purse before walking out side by side with her aunt.
Lunch is simple, as any catch-up session between friends and family goes. Discussion bounces back and forth between niece and aunt, with smiles and laughter in-between. Sandwiches and salads are eaten, and a delicious peanut cake is easily devoured.
“So, how are things going at the office? Still the same old same old?” Anya asks.
The “office,” meaning WISE, of course. Sylvia hums, musing for a moment.
“Well, it’s certainly been quiet in recent years. Not much ah, ‘behind the scenes’ work being done like years before with your father. But still, there’s always something to keep an eye on. And speaking of Loid…. There’s something I need to give you.”
Sylvia opens her purse, taking out a slightly thick, white envelope to place on the table. She pushes it to Anya, who picks it up with a little confusion in her eyes. In her heart, cautious anticipation ignites.
“What is this?”
Her aunt’s eyes crease lightly. She hesitates for a moment, taking a breath. Then, she begins to speak.
“The other day I was going through my office. Cleaning out old files and whatnot, since it’s about time I did some spring cleaning. While I was looking through some things in my desk, however, I found something that I never put there.”
She crosses her arms as she looks toward the envelope.
“Your father has some photos that he took, apparently. It wasn’t labeled, so I had to open up that up to see what’s inside,” Sylvia says as she smiles a little, a touch of bittersweetness accenting it.
“I’ve only looked at a few of the photos. The rest, I believe, is for you and Yor to see first.”
Anya blinks, not entirely sure of what to think. There are only a handful of photos that she and her mother have of him. Most of them being photos he took for Operation Strix. There are a few official pictures of Twilight in WISE, but otherwise there aren’t much.
For there to be photos of him that nobody has seen… it felt like a dream.
“How…. how did this end up in your office?” Anya asks. She can’t help but stare at her aunt in a mixture of excitement and disbelief. Sylvia frowns a little before a small smile appears on her face.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. As far as I can tell, your father came into my office and stashed it in my drawer while I wasn’t there. He knew I was never the most… organized person, so maybe he thought that the drawer in my office desk was the safest place he could store it, compared to a safe. It’s a little funny, honestly.”
She chuckles a little before letting out a sigh.
“To trust me so much that he’d leave such a thing in my possession without telling me… Your father really was something.”
Anya can’t help but smile at that. Gingerly, she holds onto the envelope. There were clearly more than a couple of photos, judging by how it was a bit heavy.
More than that, the weight of the memories that lay in her hands feels even greater. It creates a strange mixture of fear and excitement in her heart as her mind quickly imagines what photos there are in her hands. Though she has the feeling most of them are of herself and her mother, the possibility of there being images of her father creates a fragile sense of hope.
After being without him for so long, she latches onto whatever is left.
Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she wipes them away with the side of her hand before looking back at her aunt.
“Thank you. I… I don’t know what else to say.”
Sylvia gives her a soft smile. “Of course. Give your mother my regards when you see her later.”
She nods, appreciation filling her.
Later on in the day, long after Anya had finished work, she travels on the train to see her mother. Having already called ahead to let her know she was coming, she now waits for the train to stop at her station.
As she sits, Anya’s hands rest on top of her purse, lightly pressing against it to feel the slightly thick envelope inside. It brings a feeling of comfort, yet it also causes a strained, nervous ache in her chest. She goes back and forth between the two, and it stays with her throughout her entire journey back home. It makes her restless, causing her to take half of the usual time to walk to the door of her family’s apartment from the train station.
Taking a deep breath to calm her body, she then knocks thrice in quick succession. She hears her mother’s thoughts first, then her footsteps as she comes up to the door. It opens, and the Forger mother’s smile shines upon seeing her daughter.
“Anya! Welcome home, dear,” Yor exclaims, bringing her into a soft bear hug. Her daughter gladly reciprocates, smiles all around. Then, a familiar smell is caught by her nose.
“That’s your stew, isn’t it?” she asks, looking toward the dinner table. Sure enough, Anya could see a large bowl in the middle along with a salad and glasses of water. Yor hums in response.
“It’s been a while since I’ve made it, and since you’re visiting today, I thought why not make something? I also have some peanuts in the pantry too if you want them,” her mother say, giving her a wink as walk to the table to sit down.
Anya laughs lightly. “I did have some today, actually,” she says. Yor tilts her head a little in surprise.
“Really? Tell me all about it, then.”
Like with her aunt, discussion flows. The two catch up, talking about work and what interesting stories they haven’t told each other yet. Throughout this, the stew slowly cools down while the salad is nearly finished.
Anya wants to outright tell her about the photos. To say that they could see Papa. But she waits for the right moment, not wanting to disrupt the flow. Eventually, just before the time to clean up came, she pulls those words she wanted to say earlier out of her throat.
“Um, Mama? While I was talking with Aunt Sylvia today, she gave me something.”
Yor blinks. “What is it?”
Her daughter shifts in her seat, hesitating ever so slightly. “Photographs. Ones that Papa took.”
For a few seconds, Yor stares in a mixture of confusion and surprise. Slowly, it morphs into hope. A steady, yet cautious hope. Then, her mouth finally opens.
“Really?” she says, still in disbelief. Anya nods, lightly smiling. “Apparently, Papa hid it in her office. It wasn’t until just recently while she was cleaning her drawers that she discovered it.”
The Forger daughter reaches for her bag in the chair next to her, taking it out as if it were a precious jewel. She holds it in her hands, showing her mother.
“I haven’t looked at them yet,” Anya says. She leaves the obvious question in the air, watching as her mother’s eyes lightly mist.
They sit down at the coffee table in front of the television after cleaning up. Hope, anxiety, and curisosity all blend together for both mother and daughter. They aren't sure of what they'll see, though they each have similar ideas. In the end, however, they sit close, wanting to support the other.
As if she were handling a fragile piece of glass, Anya opens the envelope and picks out the stack of photos by the sides, lest she let her fingerprints damage anything. Then, she slowly spreads some of them onto the table.
At first glance, most of the photos appeared to have herself, Yor, or mother and daughter together. Only a few out of the ones that aren't still in the stack appear to have Loid, not counting ones of the whole family.
It doesn't help that it isn’t easy to tell if the photos were meant to be used for the mission either. Twilight was a man who wanted to have the perfect cover, after all. Some seem like they would, and others not. Regardless, neither mother nor daughter dwell for too long on the reason behind why the photos were taken. The fact that they exist and that he considered them important enough to keep hidden is enough.
And maybe, just maybe, he felt that these photos were too precious for him to simply use as a façade for outsiders.
They go through the photos carefully, taking the time to look at each one. Despite the somber air that surrounded them, the memories that resurface brought some comfort.
The first photo that Anya picks up is of herself and Yor. Her younger self is seated at the coffee table, doodling away on some paper while her mother sits next to her. Yor is smiling as she looks at her daughter’s drawing, a comforting hand placed on the child’s back. It makes Anya smile. It had been a long time since she had looked at photos like these, and to see a moment in years past fills her heart with warmth. She takes a few moments to reminisce, then turns her wrist to see if there is anything written on the back. The writing is slightly slanted, with cursive letters incorporated into print.
November 19xx
Anya & Yor
Drawing
It’s her father’s handwriting. Anya purses her lips lightly before she lets out a small, unnoticeable sigh. Her fingers brush over the ink, feeling the smallest of indents in the paper. They linger there, taking in this small trace before she wills herself to move on. Later, she would allow herself more time. Not now, lest she begin to cry without stopping.
Another picture, chosen by Yor, is of herself and Loid. In it, one hand is placed around her waist while the other holds her hand, leading her in a dance around the living room. Yor holds a nervous, excited smile as her partner looks at her with content, kind eyes. When Yor looks at it, she can't help but tear up.
“Gosh, I remember this. There was going to be a formal at City Hall, and I was so worried about going since there was going to be a dance. Your father, of course, offered to go with me. Even helped me practice before we went so I wouldn’t feel so nervous.”
Yor sniffles a little, the wrinkles near her eyes creasing as she tenderly caresses the figure of her husband in the photo.
“I haven’t danced with anyone else like that since.”
Anya leans her head against her mother’s shoulder, squeezing her arm a little in support as she lets out a sigh.
“Well, it’s Papa, after all. I can’t imagine you doing this with anyone else.”
A chuckle escapes Yor as she wipes some of her tears away with a tissue. “You’re right. I can’t either,” she says.
They talk, reminisce, and allow what tears they are unable to stop come through. Fondly, carefully, they take their time.
Pictures of extra family portraits, mundane days, and simple outings. It's all there.
Whenever Anya turns over a photo to read the back, her fingers brush over the handwriting. Anya can feel the small, nearly unnoticeable indentations from the pen and ink.
She wonders what her father thought when writing on the backs of these memories.
What did he think of, when writing her name?
What was his expression like, when writing his wife’s name?
Years ago, sat alone at home, meticulously writing down the date and the names of each person in every picture.
Anya wonders, knowing how he truly felt. And now, after years, these memories take root once again to remind her of those halcyon days.
When they're nearing the end, Yor nudges her daughter's arm to get her attention.
“Anya, I think you should look at this one.”
Yor gives her the photo, holding it by the corner.
Loid is holding a young Anya in his arms, eyes looking toward her as she smiles happily. There’s a smile adorning his face as well, soft and warm.
Anya has always remembered her father’s smile. But to see it now, even through a photo, felt so much clearer than she expected. She had nearly forgotten how his eyes changed whenever he genuinely smiled. How his entire demeanor would change whenever he was no longer acting.
She can feel tears well behind her eyes as her throat tightens. Just before more could gather, she feels her mother place a hand on her back. “You should look at the back, dear,” Yor says gently.
Anya blinks a few times rapidly, trying in vain to lessen her crying as she reads those simple words.
March 19xx
My beloved daughter Anya
They hit her without warning. Silent, yet heavy enough to squeeze her heart like a grape. It aches bad enough to feel as if she were being suffocated. Tears begin to stream down and Anya instinctively curls into herself as her head leans downward, her hair covering the sides of her face as she holds the photo to her chest. Laughter twinged with pain escapes her, trying to process those seemingly simple words.
She cries, hiccuping all the while. Her mother comforts her, wrapping an arm around her while Anya tries to speak through breaths.
“You know I- I almost forgot what he looked like. Smiling like this. I mean, I remember but- Seeing him again like this, I-"
Anya sniffles heavily, hating how messy her tears have become. Her mother, already crying as well, brings her into a hug. Gently, she pats her back as she softly speaks despite the strain in her voice.
“Oh Anya… He loved you. So much more than you realize. He always did, and will. That photo, all of these photos, are just more evidence of that. Remember that, alright?"
She nods into her shoulder, giving her mother a tighter hug.
“He loved you, too. I always caught him staring at you, not to mention I could hear his thoughts," Anya says, laughing a little. Yor smiles at that, leeting out a deep, wistful sigh as she hugs her daughter. "How about we visit him sometime this week when you have the time, then? It's been a while since we've both gone."
Anya leans into her mother’s arms, tears flowing steadily as she says yes.
They follow his traces. The ink from his pen, having dried ages ago yet leaning evidence of his presence. How his words are drawn out on paper, having a weight felt only within their hearts.
She holds onto the photo of her younger self and her father close to her chest, taking a deep breath once again.
Silently, she engraves the memory into her heart.