Work Text:
Loid stood in front of the sink, scrubbing the dishes from that night’s dinner. He hadn’t eaten much of it– couldn’t, really. His stomach had decided that it was the perfect time to act up again, considering he was currently balancing (what felt like) a million tasks at once. It wasn’t going to change anything, though; none of his tasks could be pushed back, not without creating even more work.
‘Patient 402 shows signs of suppressed trauma regarding Ostania’s economic shift… No, too specific, revise it,’ Twilight’s internal voice echoed, a relentless, rapid-fire staccato. ‘Operation Strix is currently at a 14.2% stall. If Lord Desmond’s inner circle shifts toward the National Unity Party by next Thursday, the secondary contact at the ministry will become useless. I need to draft three contingency plans by dawn. I also need to restock the pantry—Yor mentioned we are out of her preferred tea—and Anya’s history quiz is on Friday. If she fails, her current standing drops, which risks her receiving yet another bolt, which invalidates Plan A, forcing me to rely on Plan B, which relies on Yor attending the municipal dinner, which requires her to not accidentally break the mayor’s hand during a greeting, but that’s likely a challenge considering her surprising level of strength, especially when startled—’
“Papa’s worrying.”
Loid stopped what he was doing, setting down the soap-covered dish he had been washing. He turned to Anya, swallowing thickly, before forcing a bright smile.
“What do you mean, Anya?”
He was anxious to know what her answer was. He had yet to figure out the cause, but Anya always seemed to know things that she had no way of knowing. Even when Loid believed he was keeping something under wraps, she was somehow aware.
Anya responded by crossing her arms and giving him a look that could only be described as pure exasperation, which was a look that Agent Twilight never thought he would see on a child of Anya’s age; but, as he had quickly learned after becoming the parent to a six year old, there were many things that children did that he wouldn’t have expected prior.
“Papa’s getting all stressy-ed!” She replied, letting out a little huff.
“The word is pronounced ‘stressed,’ Anya an–” Loid paused, realizing that he had just unintentionally trapped himself. “Er– and I am not stressed. What gives you the idea that I am?”
It was Anya’s turn to feel trapped. What was she supposed to say? ‘You’re thinking about all your spy stuff and mama needing you to fix the bathroom door and gross paperwork at your spy-con-ology job.’ Explaining that would mean that she would have to tell him that she could read minds, and then he would send her back to the orphanage.
“Uhh..” She froze, eyes wide as he looked at her expectantly. “Be..Because your tummy is loud!”
Loid blinked.
“My.. what?”
“Papa’s tummy is soooooo loud and Anya can hear it from all the way over here and papa’s tummy is noisy when he’s worrying,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms out for extra effect.
Loid cleared his throat, looking away as he felt his cheeks burn. How embarrassing.
It was true his stomach was being a bit of a pain. Every time he seemed to get the slightest bit stressed, he’d experience pain.
“Well.. Erm,” He stammered, “Adults have a lot to think about, and it is true that it can occasionally be stressful. However, I assure you that I’m quite alright. I apologize for my, ahem, noisy stomach.”
Anya looked unimpressed.
“Papa needs a break.”
Loid fought back the urge to laugh. Him? Take a break? Like that would ever happen. His schedule was so jam-packed, something catastrophic would have to happen in order for him to get a bit of free time. Come to think of it, he didn’t actually remember the last time he wasn’t working. It was to be expected though, considering he was one of the world’s greatest spies.
“I’m quite alright, Anya. Thank you for your concern, though. Did you finish your homework?”
“Papa,” Anya’s tone went serious, “Anya’s homework can wait. Papa is going to watch spy wars with Anya on the couch.”
She hopped down from where she was seated at the kitchen table, marching over and grabbing Loid’s sleeve. She tugged on his sweater, attempting to drag him into the living room.
“Anya, I have work to do–”
“IF PAPA DOESN’T TAKE A BREAK, ANYA’S GONNA TELL MAMA!”
Well, that was a threat. Even though she wasn’t really his wife, she cared about his wellbeing (which still perplexed him), and wouldn’t take very well to Anya saying he was stressed.
Loid sighed, “Alright, but we’re circling back to your homework.”
An hour of sitting with Anya would likely remedy her frustration. Plus, he was starting to feel genuinely uncomfortable. And, he didn’t necessarily have to pay attention to her show. In fact, it might be the perfect opportunity to plan out how he was going to complete all of his copious tasks by the end of the week.
Anya climbed up onto the couch before patting the cushion next to her with the authority only a stubborn child could possess.
“Sit, papa.”
Loid sat, and Anya let out a squeal of pure excitement. She scrambled over to sit in his lap, and, unsurprisingly, Loid stiffened at the sudden contact.
“Er.. Anya?”
“Anya needs to reach the remote, and make sure papa stays on the couch!” She announced, chest puffing up with pride over her self-appointed roll.
“I see..”
He shifted back in his seat, the sound of “Spy Wars” (and the sound of his aching stomach) fading into what it was– background noise to his planning.
‘0715 hours: Prepare a balanced breakfast. Ensure Anya ingests adequate protein. Check the morning paper for encoded micro-dots from Handler. 0745 hours: Escort Anya to the school bus stop. 0815 hours: Arrive at Berlint General Hospital for morning rounds. 1000 hours: Intercept the classified courier in the east wing...’
Suddenly, Anya whirled around, eyes narrowing.
“Papa, Anya said no worrying.”
“I’m not–”
“Shh,” She pressed a small finger to his lips. “Papa needs to watch Spy Wars with Anya.”
“Anya.”
“Spy Wars, Papa.”
Loid sighed.
“Alright.”