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Winter was hitting Berlint full force. The roads were icy and snow was falling in heavy increments. The perfect weather for making snow people. Maybe one that looked like Bondman, one that looked like Agent Penguin and one that looked like Bond.
Anya, though, felt too tired to even consider playing in the snow. Her nose was runny and she couldn’t breathe through it. Her throat was spicy. She felt so, so tired.
“Anya time for breakfast,” her Papa called, knocking on the door.
“‘m not hungry,” Anya muttered under her blanket.
She heard her Papa open the door and shuffle in.
“Anya, you have to eat so you can go to school,” he said.
Anya just mumbled back. She tried really hard to get up, but she felt like she physically could not.
Her Papa frowned at her as he took in her appearance. He brushed back her bangs and put his large hand on her forehead which felt nice. Papa was always so warm, and his hand was big and comforting.
“I think you have a fever, you're burning up,” Papa muttered.
“But Anya’s so cold,” Anya replied weakly.
Papa left and returned with the thermometer. Mama right behind him.
“Oh poor Anya! I’m sorry you feel sick,” she whispered into the dark room. Papa took her temperature while Mama put an extra blanket over her and rubbed her feet. Even over the stack of covers, Anya felt her mama’s presence like a warm hug.
“Yup, you’ve got a fever,” Papa said once the thermometer was done. He looked unhappy. Anya remembered the last time she got sick. All the grown ups were super mad at her for throwing up.
“‘m sorry Papa,” she said. She hoped he wouldn’t get mad.
“Well, I’ll call the school and tell them you won’t be in,” he sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything?”
Anya shook her head.
“Would you like some hot cocoa?” Mama asked.
Anya brightened up a bit at that. Hot cocoa for breakfast? So cool!
Mama returned with the hot cocoa. Anya took a few sips before she realized she couldn’t taste it. She told her parents, and Papa asked about her other symptoms.The frown on his face returned before he patted her head and told her to get some rest.
Before she knew it, she was asleep again.
***
Twilight had never taken care of a sick kid before. This was all new territory. Luckily he had Yor.
He and Yor discussed the types of medicine and other essentials Anya needed to battle this cold, as well as food and drink that would soothe her throat and stomach. Yor offered to run to the store but he insisted on going instead. For one, he did not think it right to let his wife go out in the cold and snow when he was perfectly capable of doing so. Beyond that, he thought it better for Yor to be here if Anya needed comfort. Anya was sick. He had seen the heartbreaking expression on her face, he could tell she felt bad, lethargic, weak, and upset. It was hard to see upbeat, energetic Anya like that. She was a child in pain, so it made sense she would ask for some comfort from her parents in the form of a hug or snuggles.
Yor was infinitely better at that kind of thing. Yor was kind and nurturing. From the very start, Yor and Anya were connected in that way, and Yor had no issues hugging Anya tight and holding her hand and kissing her cheek. The pair even had a new routine every Sunday, now deemed Self-care Sundays, where mother and daughter would spend the evening after dinner brushing each other's hair, a sweet and gentle touch, polishing their nails, lathering on face masks, and putting on fruity or flowery smelling lotions. Two peas in a pod.
Every time Twilight tried to give Anya affection it came out stiff and awkward. He had settled into the comforting, distant head pat to show his daughter he cared or was proud of her. Anya preened and beamed underneath his hand each time. So if it worked, it worked. No need to push any other kind of physical affection, even if his daughter was sick.
Twilight lowered his head to the snowy wind, focused on his destination and ignoring the twisting in his gut.
***
Anya twisted in bed, her head swimming at the slight movement. She whimpered and put her hands on her head and squeezed. Everything hurt so bad.
Anya wanted to cry, she hated being sick. Her limbs felt as if they were weighed down, making it hard to move. Her head felt dull and heavy, like it was stuffed with cotton. She was breathing through her mouth because her nose was so stuffy, but it was so uncomfortable and made her throat more spicy. When she described her throat as spicy to her Mama, her head tilted in confusion.
“Spicy? Like… sandpaper?” Mama asked.
“Like spicy,” Anya repeated stubbornly. Her Papa would understand. “Where’s Papa?”
“Don’t worry Anya, Loid will be home soon I promise,” Mama said, smoothing down Anya’s hair. Her touch felt so nice. Like Papa’s, but Mama’s hand was smaller and a little cooler. “He went to get your medicine so you’ll feel better.”
Anya nodded and shivered. She still felt so cold. She was drifting in and out of sleep, her dreams blending in with reality. In her dreams, her Papa yelled at her for being sick and running behind on her studies. She wanted real life Papa to come and reassure her, tell her everything was okay. She started to whimper again.
“Oh, poor Miss Anya,” Mama cooed. “Don’t worry, everything will be alright. I promise you’ll feel better soon. Can I lay down with you?”
“Yes please,” Anya replied eagerly. She scooted over as Mama laid down atop her covers. She wrapped her arms around Anya and snuggled her in close.
Mama felt warm, like a cozy blanket. Anya could hear her steady heartbeat through the ache in her ears and the soothing beat distracted her for a moment. Her arms created a safe cocoon, making her feel protected from the world outside. She was safe, here with Mama. She was always safe with Mama.
Before she knew it Anya was asleep again.
***
When Twilight made it home, he was greeted by a whimpering Bond at the door. It was quiet and dimly lit in the apartment, that twisting in his gut got tighter as Twilight lamented the absence of the brightness that usually greeted him. Anya’s happy shouting and mega-Wat smile as she ran towards him and Yor’s sweet, gentle voice welcoming him home.
Loid gave Bond a few pats, sympathizing with the poor dog. He had lost his playmate and the chance to go to the dog park today thanks to the winter storm rolling in. Bond looked appropriately devastated.
He put down the grocery bags and dug around for Anya’s medicine. He then went over to Anya’s room and peeked his head in. Yor and Anya were snuggled close together, just as he thought. He could see Anya’s pink head peeking out underneath Yor’s chin as she hummed Anya a song.
There was a painful lurch in his chest, his heart stopped and kicked back up at frightening speeds. He should get started on a soup for Anya, yet he couldn’t pull his eyes from the sight.
Soon, Yor lifted her head, noticing him. He smiled weakly and held up the medicine, then crept in quietly, setting it on Anya’s bedside table.
“Try to get her to take this. I’m going to work on the soup,” he whispered.
“Oh, I can prep the vegetables like always… if you want to take over here,” Yor whispered back, gesturing at Anya.
She was asking if Loid wanted to wrap his arms around his sick daughter, hold her close, will the fever to fade so his baby girl would feel happy and energetic again. So that he could have her back as she is, because without, he felt lost. To stroke her hair and rub her temples to relieve some of the pain. But Twilight was incapable of doing that. No matter how much he wanted to.
“No. You stay with her. I can handle the soup,” he replied, then quickly left the room, ignoring the empty ache.
***
Anya woke later to her Mama gently calling her name. Earlier she had swallowed down some gross purple medicine at her mothers request and then promptly went back to sleep. She was surprised to discover that her head felt a little better and her nose was clearer.
“Mama, Anya feels a little better,” she tried to say, but it came out hoarse and gravelly.
“That’s great sweetie,” Mama said. “You just need to keep resting so the medicine can do its job. Look, Loid made you some yummy soup.”
Mama placed a tray down with a bowl of brightly colored soup and another mug of cocoa. Anya excitedly reached for the cocoa.
“Where’s Papa, Mama?” she asked as she took a sip.
Her Mama paused as she stroked her hair. “Oh he’s busy with the dishes right now, but I’m sure he will come in to see you soon.”
Anya nodded as she dug into her meal. She couldn’t taste it well, but it felt warm and soothing down her spicy throat. Her Papa could make magical meals and her Mama’s touch radiated love and warmth. She would be better in no time.
***
As he was doing the dishes, Yor came out of Anya’s room with the tray.
“How’s she doing? Did she eat? Did her fever go down any?” he asked in rapid succession.
“She said she’s feeling a little better,” Yor replied and he let out a harsh breath. “She ate about half I think. And her fever went down but it’s still high,” she put the tray down with a sigh and he quickly reached for the dishes to clean.
He felt a weight lifted off his shoulders knowing Anya was feeling better. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed.
“Loid?,” he heard Yor’s gentle voice call for him. He stopped and took another deep breath, avoiding her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Um. Anya keeps saying her throat is spicy. Do you have any idea what that means?”
He blinked, then chuckled at Anya and her descriptive words.
“She means spicy,” he chuckled, looking up at last. Yor looked back at him completely puzzled.
“It’s because it's inflamed and red. It probably burns or stings to swallow. That’s what she means by spicy. Once she tripped and scraped her knee and when I cleaned it to put a bandaid on, she complained that the alcohol wipe felt ‘spicy’ when it stung.”
Yor dissolved into a fit of giggles. “She’s so silly, sweet Anya.”
He nodded. He couldn’t agree more.
***
For the remainder of the day, Yor and Twilight took turns checking in on Anya in her room. She remained subdued and quiet, sleeping in bursts. They medicated her every few hours as the bottle instructed and gave her a cool washcloth for her head, water, and cocoa. Whenever she was asleep, he stood by her bedside for a long, long time, counting her breaths, feeling her forehead even if he just had 20 seconds before. As he hovered over her, he willed for a miracle even though he knew few existed. He tried with his mind to absorb the illness and discomfort she felt, to make it all disappear for her. He felt constantly on edge, pacing the house with Bond at his heels, whining. If Anya was awake when he checked on her, she would look up at him pitifully and apologize for being sick. He didn’t understand why she felt the need to apologize, but he tried his best to reassure her that she had no need to and soon she would feel better. He tried to comfort her by speaking in soothing tones and patting her sweaty head. He clinically explained to her that her symptoms meant she had a bad head cold, but the medicine would help. He ignored the twist in his gut when she would whimper and squirm, adjust her blankets, when she would cry, “I’m so cold, Papa” or “I’m sorry, Papa.”
***
By nighttime, despite her Papa’s assurances that the medicine would make her feel better, Anya felt a million times worse. Her nose was red and sore from all the wiping and blowing. Her throat ached, it hurt to swallow, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to move. Her brain felt foggy, her limbs felt heavy. Anya cried into her Mama’s chest, shivering from her fever.
“Mama. I’m so cold, Mama,” she whimpered.
Mama hugged her close and rubbed her temples, placed a kiss on the center of her forehead. “I know sweetie, I know. Everything’s okay. I’m here.”
Anya was so glad Mama had agreed to sleep here with her. She used to be sick alone, shivering on an empty cot in the orphanage, but now she was in Mama’s strong arms and it was a bazillion times better. Still, she wanted both her Mama and her Papa. Things were always better with both of them. But Papa was mad at her for being sick or something, because he wasn’t here.
“Anya wants Papa to hold her too,” she whimpered.
Mama was quiet as she rubbed Anya’s temples like she asked. She had told Anya earlier that Papa went to bed.
“I know sweetie. I’m sorry.”
Anya shivered again and felt a wave of anguish. How could she be brave and get better without her Papa?
“I want Papa. I want Papa,” tears began to gather in her eyes, which made her head ache more, which made her cry harder.
Why didn’t Papa want to hold her?
***
He was pacing his room when he heard quick knocks on his door and panicked. Anya. He jumped and tore the door open.
Yor stood there in a red hoodie and a determined expression.
“Loid. Anya wants you,” she said quickly.
He sighed. He swallowed down the panic and tried to breathe normally. His daughter wanted him. But how could he…
“Your daughter wants you. She’s calling for you.”
At that, his awkward discomfort and his fear of inadequacy flew away. What did any of that matter if his daughter was calling for him? Every fiber of his being yearned to answer.
Loid flew down the hall and into Anya’s room. She was sitting up with tears rolling down her cheeks, covered in sweat. His heart absolutely shattered and his eyes welled up.
“Papa,” Anya sniffed, reaching for him.
In an instant, she was in his arms, her tiny little body latching onto his. He felt pathetic for avoiding this all day. It was just what they both needed. He was helpless, he knew this sickness was beyond his control. But he was her father, and he could comfort her, he knew how, just like Yor knew how. It was in his bones, in his blood, in his aching heart. From the moment he saw her at that orphanage, Anya was his. They were soul-bonded. He held his daughter close and it felt right, like something he was made to do.
***
Anya felt relief like she had never felt before as her Papa slid into the covers with her and pulled her close, rubbing circles on her back with a warm, big palm. The bed dipped as Mama slid into the other side, and now she was completely cocooned and smothered with affection. Instantly, she stopped shivering now that she had her parents' warmth. She felt their hearts fall into rhythm together and the comforting love from her Papa and Mama radiated through her. All her worries and discomforts faded away at last. Her Papa began to hum a lullaby, and she drifted to sleep, her dreams as pleasant as her reality, with her Papa and Mama protecting her on both sides.