Work Text:
Safe & Sound (feat. Taylor Swift)
The Civil Wars
I remember tears streaming down your face
When I said: I'll never let you go
When all those shadows almost killed your light
I remember you said: Don't leave me here alone
But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight
Just close your eyes
The Sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound
Don't you dare look out your window
Darling, everything's on fire
The war outside our door keeps raging on
Hold on to this lullaby
Even when the music's gone, gone
Just close your eyes
The Sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Just close your eyes
You'll be alright
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
The scream got stuck in her throat, a knot of panic that rose like acid while the shadows on the walls of the new room stretched, turning into white hands and needles that shone under the icy moonlight of Berlint. Anya sank her tiny fingers into the sheet that still smelled of new fabric and disinfectant, her green eyes wide in the gloom, seeking an anchor point in a world that insisted on dissolving into static noise and voices that called her by numbers, not by a name. Cold sweat glued the pink strands to her forehead, and the silence of the apartment seemed too heavy, an unbearable pressure that made her ears ring with the echoes of others' thoughts that she could no longer turn off.
In the next room, Loid’s body reacted even before his mind processed the sound. He jumped from the bed in a fluid movement, his hand instinctively groping the space under the pillow where the weapon should be, but his fingers found only the emptiness of a life he was trying to simulate. He stopped, his breath short and controlled, his trained ears catching the muffled sob and the rhythmic trembling coming through the thin wall. The spy hesitated; protocol said to maintain distance, not to get emotionally involved with the mission's tool, but the man felt an unknown tightness in his chest.
He pushed her bedroom door with the caution of someone entering a minefield. The light from the hallway projected his long and thin silhouette onto the carpet, and he saw her: a tiny figure, huddled like a wounded animal in the center of the oversized bed.
"Anya?" his voice came out low, a note of uncertainty he would never use in the field.
Anya jumped, the terror on her face being replaced by a painful confusion as she read the whirlwind in his mind. She saw the gears of Twilight turning — efficiency calculations, irritation over the lost sleep, the cold analysis of a "problem" that needed a solution — but, underneath all that, there was a mist of genuine concern that he himself did not know how to name.
"The man in white... he was going to take Anya again," she whispered, her voice trembling, her hands gripping the hem of her pajamas tightly enough to tear the cloth.
Loid sat on the edge of the mattress. He looked like a stranger trying to operate a delicate machine without the instruction manual. He reached out, but hesitated a few centimeters from her shoulder. Physical contact was a weakness, a risk of emotional contagion he had avoided all his life.
"It was just a dream. There is no one here but us. The apartment is safe. The locks are industrial grade," he tried to rationalize, his mind dumping technical facts as if that could cure the fear of a six-year-old child.
Anya shook her head, tears overflowing and tracing warm paths on her pale cheeks.
"The world makes noise, Daddy. A lot of noise."
Loid felt the impact of that word: "Daddy." It was a functional label, a piece of the disguise, but in the silence of that dawn, it sounded like an accusation. He sighed, the rigidity of his shoulders giving way for a moment. Against all his survival instincts, he pulled her into an awkward hug. Anya buried her face in his chest, breathing in the scent of coffee, soap, and the light aroma of old paper that always followed him.
"Can Anya... sleep there?" she asked, timidly pointing to the door.
"Security protocol suggests that each maintain their perimeter..." he began, but stopped as he felt her trembling increase. "All right. Just for tonight."
Loid’s room was sparse, almost sterile, but for Anya, it was the center of the universe. She snuggled between the large sheets, feeling protected by the shadows that her father seemed to command. Loid lay down beside her, maintaining a safe distance, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, guarding the darkness while exhaustion fought against his constant paranoia.
A few minutes later, the door opened again with a soft creak. Yor was there, her black hair disheveled and her eyes red from sleep, wearing a simple nightgown that made her look far less dangerous than the assassin who brought men down with a single blow.
"Loid-san? I heard a noise and... oh," she whispered, seeing the small intruder between the covers.
"She had a nightmare, Yor. I thought it would be more efficient for everyone's rest if she stayed here under surveillance," Loid justified, the mask of logic quickly returning.
Yor smiled, an expression of sweetness that made Loid’s heart skip a beat. She went around the bed and lay down on Anya’s other side.
"Poor thing. You must have been very scared, haven't you?" Yor ran her hand gently through the girl’s pink hair. "Don't worry. I'm very good at keeping monsters away. If any of them try to come in here, I'll... well, I'll deal with them."
Anya felt Yor’s mind: a chaotic mix of fierce protective instincts and a deep insecurity about how to be a "mother." But the warmth emanating from her was real. For the first time in her life, the noise in Anya’s head began to diminish. She no longer heard the screams of the scientists or the sound of metal clashing. She heard only the steady rhythm of two adult hearts that, for different reasons, had decided to be her shield.
The little one stretched her arms, holding Loid’s hand on one side and Yor’s on the other.
"Family is warm," she murmured, her voice already slurred by the sleep that was finally overcoming her.
Loid looked at the small hand closed over his. Her fingers were so fragile, so absurdly vulnerable. He thought of the mission, the fate of the East and the West, and the monumental lie that was that moment. But when he looked over Anya’s head and met Yor’s gaze, he saw a silent complicity that was not in the script of Operation Strix.
"Sleep, Anya," Loid said, his voice losing its professional coldness and assuming a tone he didn't even know he possessed. "We are here."
The silence of Berlint continued outside, dangerous and uncertain, but inside that room, between the spy, the assassin, and the telepathic child, the peace was absolute. Loid closed his eyes, allowing himself, for the first time in years, not to be a ghost, but just a man protecting what he still refused to admit he loved.
That night, Anya did not dream of numbers. She dreamed of peanuts, cloth castles, and a future where the hands that held her would never let go. It was a beautiful lie, and she was willing to fight the whole world so that it would never end.