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The Handler takes a sip of coffee and asks, "How is your daughter? (You're aware that Operation Strix will fail if she's not enough.)"
Twilight chuckles, trying to think of the right words.
It's a rare Saturday morning, with Yor being called away overnight because of work. Anya and Bond are laying on the couch; Bond sleeping and Anya watching cartoons with a distracted look. It's the same expression Anya has when she thinks no one's looking.
The expression reminds him of Handler, during the lulls between missions. Even when everyone's supposed to be resting, she's still thinking about the game of war. Loid's not sure why it bothers him to see it on Anya. When Loid was her age, he was thinking about who else would die in war and where his next meal came from. The war ended before Anya would have learned how to read, and she's never missed a meal since he brought her home from the orphanage.
Loid takes an apple from the basket of fruit, a plate from the cabinet, and a knife from the drawer. He cuts the apple into perfectly equal slices. Then he's careful to remove the inedible bits like the core, seeds, and stem. (It's not actually inedible; the seeds don't have enough cyanide to kill and he'd never let her die from something like choking. It's what the fathers in Ostania do.) He takes the plate to the living room, setting it on the coffee table.
"Scoot over," he says.
Anya's shoulders slump forward, head tilting back, mouth wide open as she groans. It's reminiscent of one of those puppets from a children's show. She closes her mouth abruptly, straightens her back, and gives him a stink eye as he sits next to her.
"I'm not even hungry. We just finished having breakfast." She claims, but takes a slice of apple anyway. "What'd you want?"
"She's... strange. Even moody sometimes. Yor says it's just how girls are at that age. (I have full trust in her.)" He decides to say.
"Maybe I want to watch Bondman." Loid smiles.
"Ugh. Hear that Bond? Papa's lying again." Bond lifts his head when she says his name, and she feeds him the apple slice. Loid can feel Bond's tail thump against the couch.
He's not sure what to say in response. It's different talking to Anya. She knows they're both lying to Yor, to everyone really, and doesn't seem to have a problem with it. She's the chain link keeping the mission afloat; she could ruin everything if she decided to make a report about it. The government wouldn't even punish her for her involvement, because she’s a child.
"Don't feed Bond. He'll start begging." Is what Loid lands on as a response.
"Look at him. He's so sad and hungry." She leans down, making kissy noises right next to Bond's ear.
"He- He's a dog. That's just how his face looks. What's Bondman doing so far?"
Anya shrugs, "I dunno. Spy stuff."
"Oh yeah?" At the barest minimum of interest getting expressed, Anya turns to Loid and takes a deep breath.
"He's gotta save a school bus full of kindergartners. They go to a rich kid's school, and they're getting kidnapped for ransom. One of the kids is really stupid and tried talking back to the kidnappers, and so she got a bomb collar put on her. So Bondman has to be extra careful, or the kid's gonna die. Oh! And none of the parents can know, because they'll all freak. But all the parents are politicians and stuff, so he has to be extra sneaky."
Loid looks at the TV to see Bondman fighting a generic bad guy on the top of a moving school bus. "This isn't very realistic."
"Wow, really?" She gives him the stink eye again.
"Bondman should be chasing the bus in a car, and working with other people to block off the road, so the bus can only go down the path he wants it to. It's less dangerous than whatever is happening."
"She's in middle school. It's to be expected. (Has she gotten another Bolt?)" Handler asks
"What about the bomb collar? To blow the kid's head off?" Anya looks at him with raised eyebrows.
"It's fine, but most people would just tape it to the chest. A child sized bomb collar is a waste of resources." On the screen, Bondman picks the lock of the collar and throws it off the girl in the nick of time. The collar explodes, consuming the entire background as Bondman drives the bus to safety. Upbeat music plays, cheering on Bondman for another successful mission.
"Yeah? How'd'ya know that?" She tilts her head as she asks.
"I've heard some of the old soldiers talk about it. It was a tactic used during the war." Loid has as few patients as possible, but it's impossible to study treatment of the mind and avoid learning the effects of the war. It wasn't Loid's first experience with it though.
She grimaces, like she's eaten a particularly sour piece of fruit, "Gross. I don't wanna talk about that."
There's a commercial for a new Bondman toy as the credits roll. The concept of more official merchandise makes Loid feels sick. People are making a living off of this awful show, making a mockery of what WISE does. Anya even has a Bondman doll in her room. She refuses to take it out of the box because that's how her classmates at Eden play with toys. Loid tries to imagine what he was doing at her age, if the child he was would have ever done something like that. He can't imagine passing up the chance for the simple joy of opening a new toy, between the horrors of war.
Twilight sighs. "Is that true? Even compared to her friends, she's the odd one out. (She's been doing average. Nothing worthy of merit or punishment.)"
"Papa?" She looks him dead in the eyes. Loid nods at her, and she takes a deep breath before continuing, "Are you going to leave?"
She speaks like the words are going to break her.
"What does your wife think? (Average isn't good enough.)" Handler says, eyes full of concern.
Loid hates lying to Anya. He stares at the girl he calls his daughter, knowing damn well what he needs to say for the sake of the mission.
"Yor was raising her brother at that point. Neither one of us had much of a childhood. I suppose that's why I feel so lost. We don't have a frame of reference. (She is doing fine. Stella Stars aren't the only way in.)" He takes a drink of his coffee.
"Oh." Is all Anya says and Loid knows he's fucked up. Wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close to his chest, it's an impulse.
Handler nods. "New school, trying to make new friends, and going through puberty? That's a lot for any child. (You have my fully trust but I would sleep easier if you ever decide to give me good news.)"
He can feel her go stiff with shock. It dawns on him that this is the first time he's ever hugged her without anyone else to see it. There's a moment where he wonders if she even likes being hugged, but then he feels her slump into him. Her hands fists in his sweater vest.
"I suppose children will find issues with their lives, even in times of peace. (Thank you for understanding. I'll see what I can do."
"Please don't leave me," Anya mumbles with her face pressed into his clothes, "I'm good at a lot of stuff. You could take me with you."
She laughs mid drink, "Don't let her hear you say that. She's just started middle school; she's more of a teenager than a child. (Of course. Anything else to report?)"
Loid settles on a truth he can tell Anya.
"I refuse to believe that. (Nothing else needs to be brought to your attention.)" Twilight can't help but smile at the idea of Anya hearing him call her a child.
"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe." He holds her as tight as he can.
"Spoken like a true father," Handler checks her watch, "Oh, look at the time. Terribly sorry, but I need to get going. (Dismissed.)"
Anya stays in his arms until she pulls away. She's grinning as she hurries off the couch. "Come on Bond, Mama's home! Let's go meet her at the stairs!"
Bond yawns before jumping off the couch. He gives Loid a glance while walking to the front door, like the dog is inviting him along. Anya's only smiles and laughter, like she was never even upset. He looks down at his sweater vest and doesn't see any wet spots as evidence. As disconcerting as it is, it's easy to push out of his mind.
If Anya doesn't want to talk about it, it's all the better for him.
Loid walks to the lobby with his family to welcome his wife home.