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He’d never had to face this. Give him a drug ring to dismantle or a corrupt politician to expose any time and he would go straight ahead without any fear or doubts about how to proceed. But that? That particular case? He didn't know where to start.
Anya was sick. She’d been fine the night before, watching her favorite TV show and then playing with Bond. Nothing out of the ordinary. She’d gone to bed as late as usual, struggling to watch “one more episode, papa”. Of course, he had not yielded.
Things had started getting weird in the morning. Yes, Anya had always been reluctant to get out of bed, complaining about her lack of sleep or not wanting to go to school. This time had been different.
No complaining, no asking to watch another episode of Spy Wars. No nothing.
Loid had thought about asking Yor to watch over the little girl because she’d always talked about how she’d taken care of her brother when he was sick. When he’d gone to her room though, she’d already left for work. He’d felt kind of helpless, almost panicking right where he’d been, in the doorframe, one hand still on the doorknob.
Nonetheless, he’d always been on to accept a challenge when it presented itself. So he’d gone back to Anya’s room to find her in the state he’d left her: sweaty, grimacing in apparent pain, and mumbling nonsense because of the fever she was probably enduring.
He thought for a second before heading to the bathroom. He needed to get her temperature to go down and what better to do that than a wet cloth? He also took some medicine for head and stomach aches, just in case. Food, she’d need food too. But first, he had to get her out of her pajamas to change her into new ones. Because all this sweat couldn’t be healthy for her. Maybe he could carry her out of her room to air it. That sounded like a good idea.
He went back to Anya’s room with his arms full. From then on, he operated step by step: pajamas, living room, wet cloth, airing the room. He then walked to the kitchen and prepared the first thing he thought of. He grabbed the pastas (since when was it his go-to dish, he had no idea) for him and settled on a light broth for Anya. While waiting for the pasta to cook, he got her a glass of water.
He stilled when he heard a small whimper coming from the living room and he dashed to see how Anya was. She was coughing now, clutching the blanket to her chest. Bond had joined her, his muzzle resting near the little girl’s face. When he noticed Loid, he looked at him from the corner of his eyes.
“I know, Bond. I know.”
Loid pushed him away a little and sat down on the edge of the couch. With the back of his hand, he checked if the fever had gone down at all and frowned when the answer was an obvious no.
He was ready to go back to the kitchen when he caught it. He stopped in his tracks and listened carefully.
Anya was mumbling in her sleep. Probably a side effect of the fever.
“Papa… don’t… the bad guys…”
Loid chuckled. It was not uncommon for Anya to dream of him as a spy. He supposed it was due to the fact she was watching so many Spy Wars episodes all the time. After all, he’d played the part once, and had ended up sending an enormous bill to WISE because of it. She couldn’t actually know about his occupations. Impossible.
“You… badass killer… mama…”
That made him think for a few minutes. Once again, Anya had always heaped praises about Yor’s fighting abilities. Until now though, Loid had thought it was just an exaggeration from the little girl. Well he’d seen first hand that Yor was, indeed, kind of gifted with physical capacities. But to the extent of saying she was a killer? That was weird, even for a little girl with as wild an imagination as Anya.
His frown came back and he sat back down on the couch. He waited to see if Anya was going to say more but, after a few minutes of nothing more than soft snoring and noises of pain, he let out a sigh. She’d been fever dreaming, for sure. Another sign that she needed to be taken care of.
Delicately, Loid put a strand of her hair back behind her ear, a fond smile slowly stretching his lips. He put the blanket he’d covered her small body with up to her chin, checking it was protecting his shoulders too. He kept looking at her for any sign of more discomfort she could be feeling. The silence felt nice but alien to him.
Anya was such a lively little girl and he had to admit seeing her in that state was unsettling, to say the least. He could only hope what he had done so far would suffice to help her through it. Maybe when Yor would come back, she’d know what to do to get their daughter back on her feet.
He was getting lost in his thoughts again, his eyes fixed on the trembling little girl, only to be surprised by Bond’s barking. He jumped and turned around to see the dog was in the kitchen and —
“Fudge!”
The pastas. He’d forgotten the pastas.