Chapter Text
It felt like months since he’d been in their apartment, and the sight undid a knot of tension between his shoulder blades he didn’t know he was holding.
“I’m glad we’re home too, Papa,” Anya smiled, some of her old enthusiasm returning, her smile managing to distract from the mottled green of her healing bruises.
He smiled back, more reserved but no less genuine, even as he felt the odd pull of his new, still healing forehead scar from the expression.
“Thank you for helping us Franky,” Yor followed them into the apartment with Bond on a leash, moving stiffly from her own bullet wound and still healing ribs.
“No- hrrk -problem!” Franky grunted as he hauled the chest containing Yor’s weaponry behind him, dragging it into the living room before collapsing beside it.
“Do you," he took a gasping breath, "-Want this anywhere specific?” the man eked out, panting heavily, but Yor shook her head.
“That’ll be fine for tonight!”
“Thank you, Franky,” Loid added, and Franky gave them a thumbs up before pulling himself to his feet and brushing himself off.
“I’ll be off. If you need anything else, just call, and DON’T just come barging in, I'm gettin' tired of random drop ins,”
Loid nodded, “We will,”
“Have a good evening Franky,”
“Bye Uncle Scruffy!” Anya waved cheerily to the departing man.
The instant the door shut, Yor crossed the distance, pulling Loid into a hug and peppering Anya’s face with kisses. Loid returned the embrace, careful of his wife’s still tender ribs, reveling in the way Anya giggled at her mother’s affection before planting a kiss of his own in Yor’s hair.
Anya screeched in delight, and Yor’s face promptly turned a shade of red that matched her sweater.
“L-Loid!” she stammered as her hug briefly became a crushing grip.
“Mama, don’t crush Papa!”
“Sorry!”
“It’s ok,” Loid wheezed, ignoring his now aching ribs to pull Yor closer, “I just wanted to kiss you,”
“Mama and Papa are flirting!” Anya giggled, genuine wonder and elation replacing the usual mischief in her voice, and Loid basked in the sound, and he and Yor blushed, for once not denying the accusation.
“I suppose we are,” Loid murmured, shooting a furtive gaze to his blushing wife. His eyes met hers, and bashful but warm smiles crossed both their faces.
“But we sh-should talk,” Yor stammered.
And what things they have to talk about, Loid thought as Anya turned solemn. They have to talk about their family. They have to talk about being honest with each other. They have to talk about Yuri. They have to talk t o Yuri. They have to talk about Eden. They have to talk about their jobs, their bosses, and their apparent new partnership. They have to talk about the shape of Operation STRIX going forward.
They have to talk about them .
But Anya took priority.
“We should, but how about we clean ourselves up first?”
---
They shared Loid’s bed that night, pillows set up to accommodate their various injuries, Bond at his feet, Yor tucked into his side and Anya splayed across his chest in a matter that reminds him of pictures of parents with babies.
And they talked, Anya slowly, hesitantly, but steadfastly recounting Operation STRIX from her perspective, her little fist clenched around one of their fingers at all times as another cards through her hair or provides a warm presence on her back.
And as she spoke, Loid couldn’t help but find himself horrified by the lengths with which she got involved with both their professions. Befriending Damian Desmond, the bomb threat that netted them Bond, the mess of the Princess Lorelei, which was worse than he could even imagine.
Compared to the sheer familiarity she had with the gruesomeness of their lives of work, the tragedies and the traumas, the fact that Bond could apparently see the future seemed like a minor shock.
To be fair, Bond was also a Subject of Project: APPLE, so that made…a sort of sense.
But a bolt of sadness carved its way through him at the realization that she had not only been exposed to, but acclimated to such horrors at five years old, and hot shame trailed in its wake as it struck him just how badly he’d failed at keeping her safe.
A glance towards the trembling and teary-eyed Yor suggested she felt the same.
Fu-frick they’re terrible.
“No!” Anya protested, reminding them that yes, she can read minds. Experiencing it in person is a different matter altogether from just hearing about it.
It seemed like such a wonderful and terrible thing.
“You’re the best parents! A perfect 100 points!” tears were welling at the corners of her eyes and both of them moved to comfort her.
“Oh, Anya,” Yor sniffled, rubbing her back, “We just want to protect you, and it’s scary knowing we didn’t,”
Anya sniffled, “You don’t have to worry, Anya’s brave,”
“You shouldn’t have to be,” the words slipped from Loid’s slips before he even finished thinking them, his hand pinning Yor’s to Anya’s back, his thumb stroking the space between her shoulder blades, anchoring himself with the feel of his wife's hand and the body heat of his daughter. “Not like this.”
Not at her age. Loid was a cynic, and knew that exposure to the darker, crueler sides of life was more often a matter of when than if .
But not at Anya’s age. First graders shouldn’t have that bravery, shouldn’t know such cruelty, they should be safe under the protection of their parents.
But Anya had known such cruelties, developed such courage before she’d even injected herself into Twilight’s mission.
He couldn’t protect her back then, hell, he couldn’t even protect her a few days ago.
That needed to change.
“Anya, going forward, please tell us if you know something’s amiss,”
“I think that should apply to all of us,” Yor added, “No lies, no keeping secrets until someone gets hurt. We don’t want you in danger again,”
Anya’s lip wobbled, “I’m sorry,”
Yor smiled, “Don’t be, it’s done now, and I know you helped us in the past,”
“I might have died if you hadn’t written that warning,” Loid admitted, pulling Anya up his chest until she could bury her face in his shoulder and Yor could press kisses into her hair.
“We love you Anya,” Yor whispered, “Let us keep you safe like how you kept us safe,”
“And the mish-un?”
Another bolt of guilt, “Don’t worry about that Anya, just focus on having fun, making friends, being a kid. You deserve that,”
He felt Anya nod into his shoulder, and he carded his fingers through her hair.
“You’re not gonna leave Anya right?” the question was so quiet, and Anya's voice so tiny, that Loid nearly missed it, but it rang as loud as a gunshot in the silence of their bedroom, and Loid felt his heart break.
Yor made a wounded noise, “No baby, never,”
Loid wanted to echo that promise but it was then that the sheer precarious nature of their new dynamic struck him like a sledgehammer.
And so he made another, “I love you too much to leave. I’ll stay with you for as long as possible.”
He just hoped that meant the rest of a long, well spent life.
~ FIN ~