Anya's tiny deerstalker cap wobbled on her head as she kicked the underside of her office chair. She kicked Nightfall's desk, spinning herself slowly around with an indifferent expression. Apparently it had worn off its novelty after the first twenty times.
"So you can give people shots, right Mama?" she said, looking up.
"No. Routine procedures like that are usually done by nurses," Nightfall said, not looking up from her typewriter.
"Then you can send guys to get their heads chopped off, right?"
"Surgery is usually prescribed by doctors." Nightfall reflexively took a sip from her coffee mug, and frowned at its disappointing emptiness.
Anya spun herself again. "What do you even do, then?" she asked gyroscopically.
"I'm an administrative assistant," Nightfall said. She spread her hands around the office supply-coated desk that was her cover's domain in the hospital. "I maintain records, coordinate schedules, and perform light research duties. For instance, right now I'm writing a note to your father regarding pending changes to the DSM."
There was a brief pause as Anya declined to write any of this down in her notebook.
"So if a guy comes in here with a snake coming out of his mouth-"
"I redirect him to the emergency room and possibly animal control, Anya. As I explained the last three times."
"But what do you do for fun?"
"This is fun for me."
Anya just stared back in open disbelief. Nightfall shrugged. "What were you expecting, Anya?"
Anya opened her mouth indignantly, but then closed it and just stared at the floor with a glum expression. Nightfall just knew that she was preparing to say something along the lines of "cool spy stuff", but luckily she had sat her down this morning and made her repeat the phrase "I will not mention anything about Mama being a spy today" a couple dozen times. She figured that particular strip of behavioral duct tape would hold for another few hours.
Nightfall rubbed her eyes. She had tried to explain to Anya that most of the day-to-day work of any spy just boiled down to mundane paperwork, but Anya's brain just hurled that idea straight back onto the street rather than try and accommodate it. Somehow she knew that Anya would still be bored even if she explained that half the things she filed here were actually coded communications for WISE. Paperwork was paperwork.
"Anya," she said, deciding to make one last valiant attempt. "What I do here is important. The skeleton of a large organization- any organization, Anya- is the people who do the dry unimpressive things that need to be done. Nothing would get done around here, and sick people wouldn't get help, without everybody in this office."
Nightfall spread out her hands plaintively. Anya looked around at the office around her. It was a cramped, busy space crammed full of cramped, busy people. Chirping phones, murmured conversations, and the mechanical roar of dozens of typewriters working at once all filled the air with the sounds of white-collar productivity.
"'Mama's workplace is hell'," Anya said, writing in her notebook.
Nightfall dropped her arms. "Fine then," she said. "You can shadow your father instead after lunch."
She went back to her work. Anya spun her chair around glumly.
"Sorry, Mama," she said, staring at her legs.
Nightfall paused, and sighed. She wished Anya could have learned something from this, or at least find some way to enjoy herself. She had to admit, there weren't a lot of distractions in an office for a six-year-old obsessed with spy cartoons.
Nightfall's gaze drifted down to her empty coffee mug.
"Anya," she said, leaning over in her seat and whispering conspiratorially. Anya looked up, suddenly intrigued. "How would you like to go on a special mission for Mama?"
Gertrude Hoss, administrative assistant at Berlint General Hospital, took the carafe out of the coffee maker in the employee break room and poured herself her second mug of the day. She was up to her arms in filing; it was unbelievable how so little work got done in an office with so many people. Honestly, it was like half of them didn't even work for the hospital.
She put the empty carafe back in the coffee maker, and stepped away.
"Yaaaa!"
Gertrude jumped as a small pink-haired girl leapt out from behind a potted plant. She blocked her exit from the break room, brandishing a paperclip in a stretched rubber band.
"Hah!" the little girl declared. "I finally caught you, Not-Refilling-Coffee-Pot Bandit!"
"What?" Gertrude asked, frozen, staring down the barrel of the rubber band. She tried to step around the little girl, but found her path impeded again. Apparently someone else had noticed the sudden commotion.
"Oh, hello, Gertrude," Mrs. Forger said from the doorway. "I hope my daughter hasn't been bothering you."
"What's going on, Fiona?" Gertrude asked, putting down her mug.
"Oh, nothing. She just escaped my attention for a few minutes, that's all," Fiona said lightly. She picked up the little girl, who lowered her rubber band but kept it at the ready. "I'll find something else for her to do. And Gertrude? Refill the coffee maker once it's empty. It's just common courtesy."
Gertrude watched the two walk off, wondering if anyone else would believe what had just happened. She caught a few snippets of conversation as the two rounded the corner.
"I told you there were ways to have fun around here."
"Aw. We didn't even chase her back to her evil lair."
"We can do that after we catch the Phantom Lunch Thief."
