Chapter Text
Anya was unremarkably scared of most things. After all, having an assassin and spy for parents meant she wasn’t scared of copious amounts of blood (thanks to Yor), or being in life-and-death situations. (Thanks to both of them.) Reading minds also meant she could predict any danger (somewhat) before it happened to her.
But being sick? Anya was terrified of that. It was something that she didn’t have control over. And being sick meant doctors, with hospitals and that sterile, white environment she hated. It reminded her of her time in captivity- being experimented on, being poked and prodded. When she accompanied Loid to his clinic as a “psychologist”, the girl wasn’t afraid- after all, she wasn’t sick, and she was just accompanying her father.
She woke up one morning, coughing and sniffling. Her skin was burning hot, but she also felt cold. It was a foreign sensation she had never felt before. Was she dying?! Anya opened her mouth to speak, but to her horror, what came out was a strangled, hoarse sound. “Pa…pa…” The girl tried to stumble to her feet, to call for her parents, but her body felt heavy. Like rocks were weighing on her.
Soon enough, Loid came in to wake Anya up for school- and he could tell from the way she was groaning, her flushed cheeks- that the girl was most definitely sick. And it looked too realistic to be acting. (Anya wasn’t much of an actor, anyway.) His eyes widened slightly- Anya had never gotten sick before- he realised, and his spy mind whizzed through the different literature he had read on the topic. “Anya,” Loid moved nearer to her, placing a hand to her forehead- and grimacing inwardly. “You’re burning up. I’m going to take your temperature, okay?” He scrambled back to his room, calling out to Yor, who was emerging from her room, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Yor.” He said, hoping his panic didn’t show in his voice or face. “Anya- she’s sick. I’m taking the day off.”
Yor immediately woke up. “Anya? Sick?” Her eyes widened. “Have you taken her temperature? What are her symptoms?” Loid shook his head. “Not just yet. I just walked into her room and saw- well, it was quite obvious.”
Loid raced to his room, grabbing a thermometer and washing it. His movements were lightning, asking Anya to open her mouth. Anya lay in her bed, her mouth opening sluggishly. The thermometer beeped. Shit. “39.8 °C.” Loid muttered, pulling the device out of Anya’s mouth. Yor stood to the side worriedly, watching the scene. “Anya,” she said, moving nearer to the girl. “Does it hurt? Anywhere?”
Anya nodded drowsily. “My…head. And my throat…” The words cracked out. “Oh honey, it seems like you’ve got a bad virus.” Yor mumbled sympathetically. Loid, for his part, was grabbing a cold patch, sticking it to Anya’s forehead. “Lozenges…lozenges…” The man murmured, his mind seemingly short-circuiting. “I should take Anya to the doctor…What were the remedies for a sore throat again…?” Anya read Loid’s thoughts, immediately sitting up at the word ‘doctor’. “Nooo…” Anya croaked. “I don’t want the…doctor…”
Loid looked at Anya as though she had grown a second head. “Anya,” he said seriously. “You’re sick. We’re heading to the doctor.”
The two of them- Loid and Yor- then cancelled their work for the day, both too worried about their daughter to head out. “Anya,” Yor said gently, sitting the girl up, “We need to go to the doctor, okay? You need to go there to get better.” “Noooo…” Anya whined, but the sore throat made the sound come out hoarse. Bond had entered the room, his tail swishing nervously as he cuddled up to Anya.
“I’ll carry you.” Loid mumbled gruffly. “Do you think you can eat breakfast?”
“...Not really.” Anya replied. Yor and Loid cast a worried glance at each other. Anya not feeling like eating was like a pig growing wings- it was near-impossible.
After a hurried breakfast, with none of them eating too much, Loid feeding Anya some medication, the Forgers scrambled out the door, driving to the hospital. As they got out of the car, Anya began to protest, struggling around in Loid’s arms. “No…no…no…! Anya doesn’t want to go!” “Anya,” Loid said tersely, his patience beginning to thin, “Don’t you want to get better?” “But…Papa…” Anya mumbled. However, if there was anything she hated to see, it was her parents getting angry. So she stayed quiet, burying her face into Loid’s chest.
The wait in the hospital waiting bay was tense, Yor stroking Anya’s hair tenderly as the wait continued. It was agonising- the uncomfortable aura of patients being treated- the sounds of sniffling and coughing that surrounded them. Anya sat in Loid’s lap, miserable. It was the most unhappy Yor had ever seen the little girl. “It won’t take long, okay?” She whispered. “It’s just a check-up, and we can go home.” After some time, they were allowed into the examination room. Anya stayed quiet, her face buried in Loid’s chest. The doctor attending to them was a tall brunette woman- Dr. Shirley, her nametag indicated. “Morning,” she greeted the Forgers politely.”What seems to be the problem?”
“Anya, our daughter.” Yor said worriedly.”She’s sick.” “Okay,” Dr. Shirley said calmly. “Sir, could I have her sit on this chair so I can examine her?” The doctor’s kind eyes landed on Anya, whose face was still buried tightly into Loid’s torso, refusing to look out. “She’s er…being a bit clingy.” Loid sighed, trying to pull the girl away.
“Hmm…” The doctor said thoughtfully. She had seen many clingy children in her time- this was hardly new. “Then… turn her around. She can sit on your lap.” “Anya,” Dr. Shirley said, bending down to the girl’s eye level. “It’ll be quick, okay? And it’s just a check- I want to find out what’s making you sick.” Loid adjusted the girl,so Anya was facing the doctor, albeit reluctantly. She wasn’t what Anya expected- her tone was warm, gentle, unlike the cold and clinical tone she had heard for so long when she was in that research facility. After some tests, Dr. Shirley looked back at the Forgers. “Well,” she said seriously. “It seems to be a standard throat infection. How long has she been like this?”
“Well, er,” Yor said anxiously, “This morning. She woke up like this.” “Hmm…” Dr. Shirley said thoughtfully. “I’ll prescribe some medication. If her fever still persists by Day 3- today is Day 1… then go to the A&E.” She began to scribble into her notepad. “And if her other symptoms persist after a week…then come back.” She handed the notepaper to Yor. “Head over to the pharmacy- it’s on this same floor. It’s big, you can’t miss it. Get well soon, okay?
And for being so patient…” Dr. Shirley pulled out something from her desk, handing it to Anya. “Have a sticker sheet.” Anya’s eyes brightened up, staring at the different stickers. They were a variety of patterns, eye-catching and themed after several weather elements- she noted the stars and thunderbolts with glee.
Maybe being sick wasn’t so bad after all.