Work Text:
“Bond,” Anya crouched down to look into her dog’s eyes. Beady black eyes stared back at her, uncomprehending of what she was saying, “Bodnman, do you think it is time?” she poked his fluffy white fur, and he made a grunting sound, slowly coming up and stretching in his bed. “So you think it is?”
His eyes didn’t convey any way that he understood what she was saying, just nudging her a bit then walking over to his foodbowl. That was unfair!
I thought you would help me. She crossed her arms, staring down the dog. Maybe if she yelled it loud enough in her mind, that would work. It’s Christmas, it’s for family.
At least, that’s what she thought was supposed to happen. She hadn’t quite had a Christmas, just full of wheezing kids and drunk adults in the creaky chairs of the orphanage. Dusty snow settled onto the ruins of the wrecked structures around them. She had huddled up in the corner, trying to block out the thoughts of the slurry adults at the table, clasping her head to her hands.
But that wouldn’t happen this year! Her mama might get drunk, but her thoughts were full of her bad cooking, while her papa never did. Anya had helped her overcome these thoughts though! By staying there for her while her thoughts raced like lighting through
When I tell her how much I love her, she feels better. Anya thought with certainty. She sent a look towards the narrow wooden hallway, her feet kicking at the floor. Would she still love me if I woke her up for Christmas?
Christmas is for adults to drink, right? That’s all she had seen, too busy in the corner clutching her stuffed animal to join with the other kids’ careful murmurs. If she even made a noise, there would be a sharp yell at her for being a brat.
Should I get her a drink? She looked up at the kitchen, still cast in the dark lighting - slants of pale gray stretching from the blind that poked into the room. Anya couldn’t reach it, and she wasn’t about to wake up her parents by moving any further. “What kind of drinks would your mother like?” she wondered aloud.
I can figure this out like one of my cartoons. She thought determinedly, marching towards the kitchen. Her little legs couldn’t make her stand tall like the soldiers she had seen in her cartoons, it slightly muddled the effect she was going for. She makes me the best hot cocoa in the world! I can do that! I can make something good for Mama to wake up to!
Wait.
I don’t know how to make it.
It couldn’t be too hard right? Just heating up the kettle and then pouring it in But what was the extra thing that her Mama did to make it extra special? The little marshmallows - was that what they called it?
She made her way to the kitchen, giving Bond a small pat into thick white fur. The shadowed room cast pale gray streaks across his snowy white fur. The blinds were open a peak, and the gray dawn sky seeped into the room. The Christmas tree was balanced in the corner, the couch having been pushed aside and having to make an awkward circle around the table.
It hadn’t been like the tall pines she had seen around the squares and at school, or like the light-laden spectacles that dotted the huge courtyards at Eden College. It was wrapped around with store-bought ornaments and Anya’s colorful configurations of ribbon.
It was a bit haphazard, with Franky having brought it in a few days ago shouting at Loid on why they hadn’t gotten one yet. Loid had asked him in the secret spy language - which Anya thought was morse code. He had been flustered, caught in the act of that, claiming that he was getting one, but Anya hadn’t seen that at all in his thoughts.
Papa is a liar. Her mind had thought, crossing her arms. Loid had been furiously arguing with the slightly tipsy Franky, who’s main thoughts had been ( C’mon Loidy, just do it for Anya, don’t be such a stickler, splurge some of the money the Handler gave you!)
He had whispered that - maybe not quite as concisely though - but Loid had got the message. He had argued - again in their secret spy language that Anya couldn’t quite understand - that he had been too wrapped up with other missions. Apparently the holidays wasn't a time for politicians in the East and West to be relaxed, with the end of the year coming with a bunch of special ceremonies - perfect for the bad guys to kill the president.
Papa is a liar, but a cool one! He had been trying to save people in sake of her own! And she didn’t need any Christmas tree, it wasn’t that important to her. The caretakers at the orphanage didn’t have one.
They just drank and were happy with that. That’s why I need to make them drinks.
The kitchen was covered with darkness, only lumpy shadows that resembled the kitchen she had laid out by memory in her mind. Only vague places where the kitchen stood in the corner and the counter that faced into the family room where she had made brownies only a few days ago.
She could make those just fine, so she can make hot cocoa. Even if Mama isn’t here to give me all the food to make it and the rules to make it, I can do it. I've seen it a bunch of times. It can’t be too hard.
She put her hand to her chin, like a detective. If I look like one of the spies from the cartoon, that will work. Mimicking what they looked like would give her the answers, surely. Because adults like to drink on Christmas, so this will make Mama and papa happy. That will make them happy this Christmas!
I need to turn on the kettle. That’s the tea shaped thing that Mama makes tea for guests out of. She remembered, grabbing the kettle and turning on the fire. She yanked her hand away from the fires that spiraled up from the oven. Hot!
They flickered, lapping around one of the burners. She stared at it, but only small purple flames settled around it, slowly dwindling as she stared. It was cool seeing it like this, the only brightness in the dark kitchen, illmating the lumpy shadows. Is this all I need to do to do it? Putting the tea kettle onto the flames.
She put it on the flames.
It didn’t do anything.
The sound that she would usually hear, the bubbling that her papa made sure she heard before she ran off. Bubbling of water that signified her successful attempt at helping him make his coffee in the morning.
Oh! I have to put water in it. She realized, climbing back onto the stool. She rubbed her eyes. How does Santa do this this early?
Santa somehow went to all of the houses in the world all in one night. Becky at school had told her about time zones - did he just slowly go back around the world so the spies wouldn't see him? Always staying in the darkness as the sun slowly wrapped around the world with its light. That would be tiring though, he has to go into every household! How does he do that?
What does he do during Christmas though? Would he drink like the orphanage caretakers did and complain to his elves on how much work they all were? Surely the elves could take care of themselves though, right? Did they have to stay in the corner and-
Oh! The kettle. I need to get water for it. She took off the kettle, but she felt heat on her skin. She took it off, shaking. It’s so hot! The fire is still on! We learnt something about this in science, right? That heat stays in the metal.
She stared at the array of buttons. She had moved one of them, right? The one that her papa had always moved when she was going to help him with the kettle.
What would a spy do? She put her hand to her chin, trying to make another face. If that helped before, why wouldn’t it work again? Fire continued to cackle and she took a nervous step back. It would continue to get hotter, and then her plan would be ruined!
She let out a little yell but clamped her hands over her mouth. That would ruin her plan! But the heat is too much! My mission is over!
“Anya?” there was a slurred yawn and she spun around. Loid was emerging from the dark hallway, holding a hand to his mouth. “Wha-why are you up?” his mind was still dizzy with his previous dreams.
“I’m making you drinks!” she burst out, before he could assume the worst.
“Drinks?” his mind automatically flickered on, like a light switch being turned on. He regained his posture and squinted at the stove, “Anya, did you try to use the stove?”
“I wanted to make you drinks,” maybe if she yelled loud enough, it would stop the confusing thoughts from his mind from seeping into her own. “I wanted you to be happy this Christmas!”
“Drinks?” ( What is she on about?) “Why are you making us drinks?”
“You and Mama like hot cocoa,” she ran to the kettle, pointing at it frantically“I want to make it so you and Mama will be happy! Adults drink on Christmas, so I made you some drinks!”
Why was his mind so doubtful? Why wasn’t his mind being grateful that she was trying to make a drink for them? That’s what adults do! They drink on Christmas!
“Thank you Anya,” ( That was weird. Why would she want to make us hot cocoa at six am in the morning? I do suppose it is her first Christmas, so maybe she doesn’t know the customs for it.) “But you didn’t need to.”
“Adults like to drink on Christmas though!” Why wasn’t he taking the drinks - or trying to make it? That's what he was supposed to do, from sunrise to sunset on Christmas, right?. That’s what they did at the orphanage. “That’s what you do!”
( We do? I think I’m a bit of an exception, with how many missions I get around Christmas time.) “Anya, where have you heard of this before?”
“At the orphanage! Adults would drink a lot, so I wanted to make something for you and Mama!” There was a long pause, where she could hear the usual constant gears in his head stutter to a halt. “What?”
“Do you happen to mean alcohol, Anya?”
“Yeah, that! They would drink that all day.”
( I shouldn’t be surprised, this is her first Christmas. But, seriously? Drinking and neglecting all those kids?) He didn’t let any of his anger seep into his voice as his voice fell into a softer tone. “Have you ever properly celebrated Christmas, Anya? What did they do at the orphanage?”
Anya wasn’t sure on what he meant. The orphanage where she was sent every time, the one with the nasty man’s breath and grumpy thoughts, what did they do? Set in a partly collapsed building with rickety wood. The other kids had been younger and she had tried to help, but with the sheer number and the tempestuous man with the drinks, that had been a staple rule she had to learn:
To learn how to fend for herself. After she had escaped from the place she had raised - she still didn’t know what to call it, the laboratory? - that had been the number one objective to stop anyone from discovering her powers.
Learning how to fend for herself was the most important thing. And that meant making Mama and Papa a drink so they can be happy this Christmas.
“What do you mean?” The words seemed to confuse Loid as much as her own self. What did he mean? They didn’t really do anything, but what kind of answer was that? The teachers at the school had told her to be proper and to not be vague in her answer. “I’ve never had a present before.”
( She hasn’t?) “Did they do anything special for Christmas? At any of your earlier houses?”
She shook her head, she hadn’t been at any house besides the orphanage during Christmas. All she had had was sitting in the corner playing with her stuffed animal and trying not to wonder why adults and kids cherished Christmas. Adults had drank all the time and yelled out joyful stuff to each other. Drunk thoughts felt sticky, every poisonous thought sticking more when their drunken selves spat out those words out loud as well. Whispers of thoughts that only leaked through when they were angry came out in full force, the man who hated himself yelling it to all the kids around him, furious at them for existing for once overtaking his own self-hatred.
It hadn’t exactly been fun for any of the kids besides seeing the snow waft through the thick dusted window, let alone Anya’s mind. All she could do was sit there while poisonous thoughts stabbed at her brain.
“No, the adults just drank a lot.” she explained. Papa can be dumb sometimes. “That’s what I wanted to make for you and Mama.”
He blinked at her slowly, “...you wanted to make us alcohol?”
“Or some kind of drink.” She clarified. Why are you confused Papa? “Adults do that on Christmas, so I wanted to make you happy!”
“Oh, Anya,” Loid crouched, patting her head, threading fingers through her messy pink hair. He headed to the stove, easily turning it down, “First off, never try to take a kettle off of the burner without turning the heat off. Can you catch the lights for me?”
She turned it on to see her papa, eyes fatigued with sleep, and his hair messy. His mind had been wired up by the flames that Anya had turned on, but it slowly melted as he cracked his neck. ( Why did my Christmas start with Anya nearly setting a fire?)
“Never try to use the stove without me or Yor supervising you, okay?” he glared at her, and Anya ducked her head sheepishly. “I don’t need a fire on Christmas.”
( Why would she think using the burner by herself was any good? She barely knows how to use the electric mixer with superion from me or Yor, how was she going to think that?) he rubbed his eyes, ( Maybe The Handler was right and-)
“Please don’t send me away!” she wailed, realizing a second too late she had answered to the thoughts in his head. She knew ‘The Handler’ was the lady who had talked to her about the dog, the one that had given them Bond. She had said she would take care of the bad guy’s dogs for her after she had allowed them to take Bond. She was in the spy organization that Papa was in, and she knew that she was part of the plan that she was put into.“I promise - I promise I won’t do it again!”
She wanted to grab Bond and squeeze him as her eyes bubbled up with tears, “Don’t send me away, please!”
“Anya, I’m not going to send you away.” Loid looked supremely confused at this, and Anya heard the fragment of the end of his thoughts, ( - and I need to kid-proof the house a little more. Or buy more books on parenting. Specifically ones that help talk about kids from orphanages and how they feel attached to you.) “What made you think that?”
“You-” oh! That was his mind. “You - that-”
Thankfully, that’s when her mama came in, leaning most of her weight against the wall as she yawned. Her loose pajamas hung like her hair, framing bleary eyes. “I heard Anya crying, is she alright?”
Anya didn’t see Loid roll his eyes behind her but she held her fists in front of her and told her Mama, “Papa wants to send me away for-”
Wait! That’s not what I meant to say. I wanted to say ‘I thought’ that he was going to send me away.
“Woah, woah-” Loid came up, blocking Anya’s train of thought, “That is not what I said. What I meant is that Anya tried to use the stove without permission this morning. She misheard me or something.”
Bond came wandering up, curious about what was happening. Anya could feel his eyes on her, and vaguely read his mind by the murmur of, I told you not to. Anya glared back, trying to muster up, You didn’t tell me to do anything! Prompting Loid to tap her on the shoulder to get her to pay attention. “Anya, don’t blame it on the dog.”
“His name is Bond,” she corrected. She heard him groaning in his head, on allowing The Handler to bring the dog back to his place. “Mama, i wanted to help make drinks for you for Christmas, it makes adults happy.”
“What?” Yor looked mildly awake at this. Silly mama, I wasn’t about to make you alcohol.
Loid was about to answer ‘at the orphanage’, but he stopped himself. ( Right, she thinks I’m Anya’s biological father. How can I-)
“It’s in a movie!” Anya blurted. Which movie had adults drinking a bunch of beer around Christmas - Anya didn’t know. But this was her fault, she had to cover it up quickly! “I saw it in a movie! I wanted to give you drinks in the morning.”
“It was a tradition we had with her mother.” Loid covered, apparently sensing her willingness to help. (Thankfully she remembered to do that. Good job Anya.) She straightened at her dad’s praise in his mind. “Usually we would wait until we would all wake up though, and since she…” He struggled for words, for once not sure.
( Did I tell her that Anya’s mother had died during birth or only a year ago? Anya’s little accident messed up my brain. Think Loid, think!)
Anya looked between both adults and then blurted out: “We did it when she was alive!” That would help right? It would have been when she was alive, and not dead.
There was a pause, then an internal facepalm from Loid, ( I get your willingness to help Anya, but that wasn’t the way to help.)
Oops. Guess that wasn’t the right thing to say.
“I’ve never asked about her before, haven’t i?” Yor crouched, holding a hand to Anya’s cheek. Dark wondering eyes met her own, and she managed to widen her smile. It bordered on a bit manic, but Yor’s thoughts took it the wrong way and murmured, ( She’s trying to put on a brave face for the both of us. I do guess that they haven’t spent Christmas with her in a while, whether this year or a few years ago.)
I helped! Now she doesn’t know that I don’t have a Mama! Anya thought, satisfied. Yor’s face fell into sympathy and she said, “Mama was amazing! I got my hair from her, it was so pink! And, and, she would get me the best Christmas presents and we would all drink hot cocoa together and-”
“Let’s not bring her up, a bit of a bad memory.” Loid placed a hand on Anya’s shoulder and squeezed it. A small warning, Anya should've realized.
That didn’t stop Anya from barreling on though. This is what the spies in her cartoon did, they acted! They made up backstories, so she could be like one today and make up a convincing story. “She would make the best hot cocoa! And she would put all the marshmallows in it and she would blow on it for me!”
Loid’s mind was screaming, his posture wired up. Anya shut up as she heard his panicking thoughts, having to hide it beneath a gentle amused expression. ( I’m going to have to build off of that, heh? Why does that just sound like what Yor does?)
Because it is what she does. Anya realized it a second too late. She had just described what Yor did all the time. That was what a Mama did, right? Feed her steaming hot cocoa and help her with her homework?
I just described what she did, and with a nervous realization, she realized that Yor’s eyes were bubbling up, “Why are you crying, mama?”
“I-I’m not your real Mama,” she whispered, “She probably did all that better than me, didn’t she?”
It’s making hot cocoa. I could do it. Anya thought, but she tugged at one of her arms, trying to get the arm protecting her Mama’s face away.
“You are like my real mama,” I based all of that off of what you do! Just because you aren’t my science one, or what papa just said, doesn’t mean you aren’t like my real one. Anya was sure there was a different word from just ‘science’, but it was too long and hard, she helps me sound out those long words from my math and science class!
Isn’t that what family is though? They just help out with what was needed, no matter if she was born from them or not. She didn’t have a grasp on when she was born, or how she was for that matter. She remembered darkness from a young age, and the yells to do her work and the oppressive minds of everyone.
She patted Yor’s back awkwardly. Why was she making such a big deal out of this? It’s not like Anya had had any other mother before, and she had just described when she did to Anya! Why did that make her so sad, wasn’t she the one who wanted to be a good housewife?
“Merry Christmas, Yor.” Anya was very grateful when Loid came up and put a shoulder on her Mama. Or the woman who thought couldn’t be her Mama, or who couldn’t be a good enough Mama, as her thoughts kept spinning. They were confusing, wrapped up in constant doubt and worry in her mind. “We’re grateful to have you in this family, regardless of what traditions we’ve had in the past with…”
“...with Fi-” Loid slapped a hand over Anya’s mouth. Yor’s mind had been tracking Fiona's name in her mind, before she remembered that Loid had said that the mother wasn’t in her life at all. Oh yeah! Mama doesn’t like Fiona!
She’s too creepy and obsessed with papa too much. She’s so serious as well, and doesn’t like papa’s plan for their spy group! Aren’t spies supposed to stick together? They don’t seem to even like each other.
“We’re grateful for however you are in our life.” Loid said. Anya took this chance to slip out from both of their grips and head towards the Christmas tree. “We thank you for replacing her-”
“Papa!” Anya pointed at the tree, interrupting Yor’s steadily redding face. We don’t have time for them to be flirting right now! I want my presents.
The drink plan apparently discarded immediately, she started shaking the gift-wrapped boxes and dragging them out into haphazard piles. Loid was still murmuring something to Yor, her face redding and stuttering out a “Th-thank you Loid. I-”
“Are Mama and Papa flirting again?” That worked this time again, where they jerked away from each other. Anya let out a grin, stifling her laughter. That makes them pay attention to me every time!
She couldn't quite disentangle the threads that clumped together in Yor’s minds, the ball of nerves and insecurity that tossed into her own life. She saw flashes of her earlier christmases, and as she turned and made eye contact with her Mama, they sped up.
I remind her of her brother?
There were flashes of her younger brother, the same grin as he crouched and dug out the presents from under the tree. Getting on his stomach and snatching at the lower pine branches, scattering needles everywhere over the christmas rug. Fishing for any extra presents as he relished in the delight of Christmas. They often only had a few, wrapped up in their previous gift wraps that were worn down in age, flimsy paper fraying with each year. His wide black eyes, child like as he stared up at her with wide excitement and pure childlike glee at the gifts she would get for him.
Only a small pang of regret stood in the dried, permanent bloodstain that was dug into the dark blue dress she wore. The only one she had, after the assassinations she had kept up over the years - their only steady income over the years, swelling from small stolen pine trees to faux plastic trees covering half of their house.
I am NOT like Uncle Yuri. Anya thought crossly, folding her arms.
“Presents.” she stated again, trying to center the attention to herself. It worked fortunately, and they both started to move to help pass around the presents.
She hated hearing about Uncle Yuri, both in her parent’s thoughts and him trying to teach her. He brought everything around to Yor, and the constant thought process of him in his head. It was like a constant reflection of a mirror of all of them, each of their thoughts deflecting off of each other. When Yor said something, by the time Anya could register it in her own mind, it had echoed in Yuri’s thoughts, echoing in the vast cavern that was held in his mind, only Yor’s voice filling up that space.
“What order do we go through?” Yor’s voice cut through her maddening thoughts, and she bottled up. Loid was passing around the gifts while she silently fumed. That was unfair! She wanted to open the presents first! “Youngest first, right?”
Good. She had wanted to open presents first, and she had been the one to wake up this early to do it. If she hadn’t been the one who got to open them first - well, she wasn’t about to refuse to pull the same trick she had pulled last time. It had been kind of funny to see them do that, and the thoughts were too cluttered from the both of them to effectively sort out to get any kind of reasonable answer on what they were actually feeling.
“Me.” Anya grabbed for a strangely shaped present that had a tag with her name. Loid made a move to grab her, but Yor just giggled. “Anya wants to go first.”
“You are the youngest after all.” Loid sighed, “But how about we get a picture together first, we can commemorate this first Christmas together.” ( It’ll be another picture to add to our collection, Operation Strix can run more smoothly with more photos that frame us like a family. It can help because-)
Anya deftly punched her father in the arm. ( What was that for?)
“Stop worrying,” she stared into his dark eyes, “Stop it.”
“I’m not worrying over anything,” He responded gruffly, giving her the same stare. Meanwhile, Yor’s thoughts were completely misinterpreting the situation, as she did. It was hard being a spy in a household with a spy and assassin sometimes.
( He’s worried about keeping enough photos so that Anya will remember things. I don’t see any pictures of her mother here, so he must try to commemorate these bigger holidays.) A pang hit through her mind, and Anya winced at the force behind it. ( He’s relying on me to help raise Anya with these new memories - along with any pictures that I happen to be in. I will help Loid in forging new memories with-)
This time, Anya looked over at her Mama, “You stop worrying.”
“I’m not worrying about anything.” Even as an assassin, she was a terrible actor. Perhaps she was just a bad liar like her papa, but when it was just the few of them, she was a terrible liar. Her face flushed and Anya gave her a blank look, “H-Hey! What’s that stare for?!”
( What would she be worrying about?) Loid thought, and Anya whipped her head back around to him. ( Does she feel left out because she thinks that because me and Anya are supposedly biologically related, she feels out of place?)
That’s exactly what’s going on. Anya thought crossly, crossing her arms in anger. While Yor’s mind went, ( Does Loid feel that I shouldn’t be taking Anya’s biological mother’s place? This is the first time I’ve ever done Christmas in this kind of domestic setting besides with Yuri. Usually I would-)
(- How can I reassure Yor that her place her is wanted? I’ve reassured her a ton of times, but does that really mean anything when it’s this kind of holiday? With her being all new to this. What is the most effective way that I can-)
“Stop!” Anya put her hands to her head. Their thoughts were both like trains, picking up speed as they ran down the train tracks in their mind. They tangled with the other concurrent thoughts in their mind, running with the wary satures that they put up constantly, the slightest thing tipping alert their senses. Their minds ran like parallel train tracks inches away from each other, their thoughts tripping over the tricks and lighting sparks off in Anya’s mind. Sparks that never escaped their sealed face but bounced off of each other so quickly and fierce that it gave Anya a splitting headache.
This reaction made people stare at her like she was deranged. Holding her hands to her ears and trembling. It had always stabbed like this back at the…laboratory in which she was made. or born in - she wasn’t quite sure. She wasn’t sure she wanted to remember as well, just the constant pressure that came from snapping tongues and suspicious, non-nonsense minds. The constant pressure to do well, to expand her mind to the limit and testing its limits and capabilities.
Except now it was flipped, the constant pressure from the both in this household collided into her mind, but not for her mind. Just for being her this time, two dotting minds that wanted the most from her. On whatever she had to offer in Operation Strix, and how she can prove herself in her academics.
But this time, wanting the most for her.
Firm hands gently pried her hands off of her ears. She trembled as small voices murmured into her ear, whispering sweet nothings. It was a real voice, not just the ones that ran crashing in her mind, sending trains speeding through her mind, sparking off of each other. The one she wanted in her mind, steadily pushing on and on. They came again and again, striking-
“Anya, come back.” Hands dug into small shoulders, nails digging into her skin. A trembling mind brought her back to the present, an earthquake that shook her body, startling her back into the present, wired eyes meeting her own. It wasn’t the steady exasperation that she was getting used to, laced with a bit of affection, but pure panic.
( Is she worried that we’re going to start fighting?) Anya tilted her head, for once casting her mind to swallow his own. Casting her entire consciousness into his, she shivered at the pure panic that was radiating in his mind. It only conveyed a bit through his actions, a gripped shoulder and an unsteady body. His voice was the only thing that trembled, but the ground crumbled in his mind. ( Is it because I told her off for playing with the stove earlier, or is it because-)
“Anya is fine,” she said, shaking her head. She clung back into the present, where she was gripping the present in her hands. The gift crinkled as she gripped it tighter, small nails tearing into the cheaply wrapped present. “I’m fine.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the mental sounds that came into her mind. It wasn’t as bad as the drunk people, but the panicking thoughts slowly started to unwind her from her own panic. It was an odd thing to do, but being brought back into that reality by the same thing, it was strange.
That panic was for her. Because, on this Christmas day, they were worried about her, worried about what she wanted. Their thoughts showed that, the murmurs of worry that came from both.
She never really needed to try to make them a good Christmas, did she? They still love me, whether or not I’m a brat. They still like me even when I mess up. They won’t send me back.
Even if Loid’s mind still lingered on the doubt that the plan of Operation Strix would go through, there was a small kernel of love that beat fiercely for the both of them. She could read it in the thoughts that came and flowed with every thought.
“I love you both,” she collapsed forward and hugged the both of them. Their thoughts faded into murmured blurbs as she kneaded her head and chin into her father’s pointy collarbones. Yor’s soft hands threaded through her pink hair and she let out a hiccuping sob. “Thank you!”
“Thank you for what?” Loid asked.
Thank you for wanting me. Her mind whispered, a child's blubbering turned into fragmented thoughts floating away in pure relief. Thank you, thank you.