Handler

                                    

                                          
As they walked the light grew until it was at a comfortable level. The walk down the stairs was short, but Anya was already tired from the long day and her legs shook on each step.
Papa would be able to do this. Papa was staring and amazing! That's why I have to do this too!
"Handler." 
A tall, familiar looking woman with long red hair and a giant hat appeared as they entered the fully metal room, staring at Anya. 
"You're the lady I saw!" Anya cried. "I did it! Scruffy and I did it!"
"Informant, are you positively insane!?" The handler slammed her hands down on the metal desk in the middle of the room, shaking the pencils and post-it notes on it. "Why would you bring Loid's daughter here!?"
"I actually have a good reason!" Franky cried, terrified. "She knows about the spies."
"What?" 
"She knows everything! Loid told her! I dunno why, but he told her."
The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing irritatedly. "That's still not a good reason to bring her here!"
"There's another reason—"
"Papa is...he's—" Anya couldn't finish. She couldn't be strong like her father would be!
Franky gently put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. Don't push yourself, kid. In fact," he motioned for the man who had let them in earlier to come over, and directed Anya towards him. "Can you take her to another room? And where's that hot cocoa?"
The man nodded, looking a little lost and  reached out to take Anya's hand. She looked up towards Franky and he nodded kindly. His smile reminded her so much of her fathers that she finally relented and let the man lead her to another room. This one was an interrogation room, with a giant mirror making up one wall and a metal table and chairs in the center of the room.
Through the walls Anya could still hear the thoughts of Scruffy and the Handler and so understand the conversation, although she didn't want to listen anymore.
Twilight is dead.
What!? Impossible! He was my best agent. What if he's lying? No, he looks as shaken as anyone would be if one of their friends died. How?
From what I know, he was crushed. Poor Anya, that must have been so traumatizing for her! I can't imagine that. An image flashed through his head of his own father who had left when he was young and he felt a pull of guilt that he hadn't done more for Anya.
And the wife?
That's what I'm here for. She's been arrested. 
Why?
She attacked two police officers.
What!? This is a disaster. Well, now that twilight's gone, we don't need them anymore. The plan was a failure. I feel bad, but—
We can't! What about Anya? She needs a mother to—
We take her to a shelter. 
She's not a dog we can just throw away when we're done with her!
"I brought you some hot apple cider." 
Anya jumped, being pulled back into the present by the man coming back into the room with a steaming cup of apple cider in his hand. He set it down next to her and sat across from her, trying to smile kindly.
Why am I the babysitter? I have no idea what to do with kids!
"Sowry, but Anya wants to sit in silence..."
"Oh, sure." He awkwardly turned away. 
Fine. I'll help. 
Thank you. Really. I'll go tell Anya.
Just then the door clicked open and Franky's grinning face popped in. "Anya! The handler agreed to help us! We're getting your mother out of prison!"
"Really?" Anya jumped up, almost knocking over her apple cider. "We're gonna save mama?" 
"That's right..." he thought for a moment, then shook his head. There's no we in this, Anya. You're staying here.
"Let me come with you!" she begged, already knowing the answer. 
"I can't." He sighed. "Listen, Anya, this is way too much for a kid. Besides, you look exhausted. Go to bed. Get some sleep. I'll be back with your mother soon."
"Scruffy..." How am I supposed to say no to that? "Fine! Anya'll stay here." She huffed. "But you better come back quickly."
"I will."
And with that he left and she heard the handler's thoughts, as well as Franky's, receding.
"I'll get your bed ready," the man murmured awkwardly and then left the room. In a few minutes he came back and led her to a warm room with a single, red covered bed. The blankets were warm and soft as Anya climbed in, and the man nodded to her, closing the door and sealing her in the darkness. 
The dark wasn't scary this time. It was warm and comforting, like her fathers arms when she'd curled up in them on their first day together. Anya smiled, then the smile twisted into a shaking lip. 
And, slowly, she cried herself to sleep.