“I still remember when he came in to tell me you’d incorporated that gesture as something of a coded message into your field work.” Yor blinked at her, and Sylvia smiled — smiling regularly and openly was still new for her, and Yor always warmed to see it. It was very clear that retirement was treating her well, even if she had banned any congratulations under threat of unleashing her worst (although Yor had heard rumour that Nightfall had taken Sylvia on a beach holiday). But she knew Twilight had been worried about what she might do with herself: Yor would have to tell him later on how well she looked. Sylvia indicated Twilight across the room with a tip of her glass. “That was when I knew.”

“Knew? What did you know?”

What Sylvia hadn't lost was a tendency for speaking in riddles. At least that's what it sometimes felt like to Yor: as though she were missing half the context and had to piece everything together through obscure clues. She supposed that's what happened if one spent most of their life in espionage. Her eyes flicked to Twilight again: Anya was looking conspiratorial beside him and something she said made him laugh. Involuntarily, Yor smiled, swayed a little towards them.

Or, she corrected, losing one's smile was what happened if one spent most of their life in espionage, without the benefit of a confidante outside of that life. Although, she supposed she was really more beside that life, than outside of it. But still!

“In his earliest honeypot missions,” Sylvia answered (hopefully), “I’d have to coach him through doing the romantic things. Wine, flowers,” Sylvia waved a hand, “The cliches that are usually good enough early on in a courtship. Later, longer assignments might require he have more nuance, gifts more specifically tailored to his targets,”Sylvia slid a sly glance to Yor at this, and despite herself, Yor felt herself blush. Twilight treating Yor as he would a target had never really worked as planned. “But for the work he was doing at that point in his career, barely more than a rookie, the cliches would typically have been fine. Except he was terrible at them. At almost everything else, he was exemplary, almost annoyingly so, honestly. But he struggled with the…” Sylvia swirled the wine in her glass as she considered. “The softer? Squishier? Things.”

“Lovey-dovey,” Yor suggested softly, remembering.

Sylvia cut her another glance. Her smile was a little knowing. “Sure. Lovey-dovey. He would under-do it to the point it would risk the mission and I’d have to step in to force the issue.” She shook her head, took a sip of her drink. “He got better at it obviously. Though he still tended to rely on charm and other tactics where possible... Then he appeared one day, shortly after you two began joint field work. Reported to me about a new coded message: you'd started blowing kisses to one another.” That surprised Yor a little, though it shouldn’t have. Sylvia says shortly after we started working together but… I wonder when exactly it actually was… Knowing Twilight, it could easily have been after the first time, in anticipation. But it may also not have been until after they’d shared their feelings with one another. Or that first time Yor had been aware that Twilight had come close to death. Or the first time Twilight had been aware of Yor coming close to death… A dozen other possibilities came to mind. She would ask him. Sylvia went on, “I didn't need details, I didn't need to pry; he was our best. He knew that and so did I. But I asked him to clarify. What did it mean? When and why and under what contexts could blowing kisses work in the field?” Sylvia laughed. “When I tell you he gave me the stormiest look — insofar as he emoted outwardly at all. I hadn't seen even the shadow of an expression like that since the earliest days of his training.”

Yor smiled a little. “He couldn't say what it meant?”

“What he managed to describe was nearly nonsense. He essentially told me that it meant: This or that, depending on context, depending on mission. You two just understood. That was enough, leave it alone.” Sylvia shook her head. “And that's why I knew. Because he was a master of communication, verbal, non-verbal, subtle gestures, doublespeak, whatever a mission called for or an ally needed. But he also valued precision. A specific gesture that meant different things nearly every time it was used? That's sloppy. That's risky.” Sylvia's amusement deepened, her eyebrow raised pointedly. “Unless, of course, there's an intimacy there, which all but mitigated the risk.”

“Hmm…” Yor raised a hand to her chin, looked across the room to where Twilight was listening intently to Becky. Becky had long shed her crush on Twilight, but she still liked to ask his opinion on things. In much the same way she still met with Yor to brush up on her self-defence skills whenever she was back in Berlint from university. It was sweet. Yor smiled slightly.

He felt her gaze; of course he did. It was only a flicker, his eyes darting to meet Yor's. It was enough.

Sylvia had it wrong. Yor understood exactly what Twilight hadn't said — there really was only one meaning. She would ask him, later, why he wasn't more specific with Sylvia. Had he not known then? Or had he not anticipated her probe? Had he wanted to keep it personal, even back then, when he had thought he couldn't have anything personal? Something else? Yor had her suspicions.

Standing beside Sylvia, remembering Twilight at that time, she could see the logic of his deflection. She supposed one could say that the meaning differed a little, after all, the context resulted in courses of action specific to the where and the when and the why. But at the end of the day, through the dozens (or hundreds? She would ask Twilight later; he would remember) of times they blew kisses to one another, in missions and in life, the meaning really was always just the same.

Don't worry. I have this. I have you. Trust me.

Or, she supposed there was one progression… It really hadn't been too long before it had really meant

Trust us.

All at once, she felt too far away. Yor turned her attention back to Sylvia, smiled brightly. She had learned something of deflection, too, over the years. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” she said sincerely. “And I suppose… I suppose it was something that just... worked. We didn’t really explain it to ourselves, either.”

Sylvia gave her a long, searching look. “Heh,” she murmured, looking into her glass before downing the last sip. “So he's taught you a few tricks then.” Yor felt her eyes widen and Sylvia laughed. “Go on, I can see you want to go to him.”

Once upon a time, Yor might have felt embarrassed, for her feelings, for being so obvious, for being a little rude in being so obvious. But what was the point? Sylvia was a good friend; they were surrounded by good friends or people they trusted well enough. Well, except for Doctor Gorey and the target of WISE's operation. But both of them were presently and thoroughly engaged, and no worry of hers.

She let her affection for Sylvia shine through on her face. Just as Sylvia's eyebrows rose a fraction in surprise — hehe! Success! — Yor winked.

Then she crossed the room, stepped lightly into place beside Twilight. His arm came around her before he even turned to her. Yor took the moment to smile in greeting to Anya and Becky, then slid her arm around his waist in turn. When he looked down at her, she beamed up at him.

“Hi, love,” Twilight murmured, handsome as ever with some grey at the temples and a few lines at the corners of his eyes. His beloved eyes, warm and smiling with welcome. There was a question there, about Sylvia, about Gorey, but she would tell him about that later.

“Hi!” Yor chirped. And — ignoring how Anya said Eugh! Mama! — she rose to her toes, gave a quick peck to the edge of his mouth.

At his raised eyebrows when she dropped back down to her heels, Yor winked, and blew him a kiss.

I'm not getting anything done again ahaha. And again I'm late everywhere

Scene from "Pride and Prejudice"