Work Text:
“…some news regarding Anya’s field trip today…”
The phone had fallen from a slackened grip, yanked up short on its cord and clattering against the walls of the booth. He still regretted the minutes he wasted pacing back and forth aimlessly on the sidewalk trying to decide on the quickest route home.
“…under siege by a radicalist group…”
Damn it, why? Why today, of all days? The first mission he had taken in months that was beyond Berlint city limits. And to think he had just been considering how smoothly everything had been going. He was an idiot for letting himself get so far away. Who in the hell thought it would be a good idea to ship him all the way off to Bayan for the day?
“...she was used as a hostage…collar bombs…”
Trying to keep still on the train back had been the worst part. Sitting numbly in his seat, resisting the urge to jump up every five seconds and ask the conductor to quit driving the blasted thing at a snail’s pace.
“...six dead…SSS on the scene, of course…”
When they pulled into the outskirts of the city, he couldn’t hold himself steady long enough to make it back to his usual station near the apartment. Loid Forger’s character politeness was shed in a rush to get up to street level, shoving past people and whipping about frantically to wave down a cab.
“...sending in agents to get full details…”
He now faced the same issue he had on the train, desperately wanting the driver to speed up. Having already been told twice he couldn’t risk breaking speed limits and violating traffic laws, pestering the man over the same thing a third time probably wasn’t going to have a different result.
“...please try to keep personal interests out…”
Granted, hanging up on his Handler without allowing her to finish her report wasn’t a professional high point of his career, but he didn’t exactly care right now. The worst was all that was flashing through his mind. It was all he could do to try and tell himself that Sylvia’s tone didn’t seem to reflect breaking the news of a dead little girl. They may have been in a show-no-weakness industry, but he had to believe even she would show emotion at a time like this.
“...remember our primary objective here…”
An absurd stack of bills was left on the cab’s console as he slid out the door. The shakiness of his hand and the multiple attempts needed to push the key into the lock should have been alarming to him. Reflexes dulled, or perhap overstimulated, to the point of being unable to do something as simple as unlock a door were reflexes that killed you in the field. He couldn’t get himself to focus, though. Not until he saw.
He had to see for himself.
When the key did finally turn, he pocketed it slowly, steadying his grip on the doorknob and forcing at least three long breaths out before opening the door. He couldn’t face her in the state he was in. This wouldn’t do. She had just gone through something traumatic. She needed to be supported by a strong, unmovable father after an event like this. Pull yourself together.
He eased the door forward on its hinges as he usually would, purposeful strides carrying him into the apartment. Hat hung on the coatrack, briefcase placed against the wall in the entryway.
The trenchcoat, however, stayed on as he risked a look into the living room. Yor sitting on the couch facing the television, a hint of pink peeking out next to her. That didn’t promise anything. But he took a cautious step forward, and then another, and another.
More and more of the pink came into view until he had the full view: a little girl, curled comfortably into Yor’s left side as they watched cartoons, eyes focused on the screen, picking at a peanut shell from the bag guarded against her stomach. Hair mussed on one side where it rubbed against Yor’s sweater, combed down gently and neatly on the other where her mother had been running idle fingers through it.
The toe of one of her socks was slightly loose where it was slipping off of her foot.
They both looked up as he approached and walked around the armchair and coffee table to stand directly in front of her. He watched her in disbelief, how she sat right in front of him as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred in the last twenty-four hours.
He didn’t register the kooky sound effects from the cartoon program as he blinked at her, and she blinked back. He didn’t register Yor’s hesitant “Loid”. He didn’t register Bond pushing his nose into his thigh, asking for the pet he usually received when he got home.
He didn’t register anything, only finding himself falling to his knees in front of her, ignoring the uncomfortable thunk as his bones hit the hardwood. Silent, he pulled the bag of peanuts away from her to be set on the coffee table. Numb hands that hadn’t been able to hold still for the past three hours reached out to take her shoulders, as if uncertain this was real, this sight in front of him. They sat her up, looking her up and down for injuries and finding none, with the exception of some redness around her collar.
Finally, they slid her forward on the couch cushions; she didn’t resist. They brought her off the couch and into his chest, arms finally wrapping around and securing her against him. One hand gently cupped the back of her little head, fingers lost in the pink locks, digging her chin into his shoulder, as if wanting to assure this was all real and not some sick delusion. Thinking, perhaps, that if he were to let go at all, this would fade away into nothing, and hanging onto her was the only way to keep her in this world.
Relief overtook him when, after a few seconds, she reciprocated with bony arms latched around his neck, holding firm. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the hot, prickling feeling he didn’t experience often but was all too familiar with, tucking his face into her neck.
Anya was here. She was alive. She was safe. His shoulders were shaking again, and he clung tighter to her. The bricks creating the strong father image he had been building in the hall just moments ago crumbled to dust.
In the arms of his daughter, Twilight finally broke.