"Sorry, sorry, sorry, Anya's so sorry!"

Anya threw herself at Loid and buried her face in his chest, her breathing ragged and her tears quickly soaking into his shirt. He'd been so focused on the possibility of her trying to go out the window again that this sudden move shocked him, but he cradled her anyway, almost instinctively. His mind was a flurry of thoughts that he had difficulty grasping, an uncomfortable itch in his head that contrasted with the soft skin and hair of the girl in his arms.

This wasn't how he wanted to spend his evening – he was too tired and hadn't even had time to process what Peter had told him at dinner – but this was important. He needed to get some answers from Anya, for once, before he left this room and dealt with the rest of the world.

"Anya," Loid said in as calm a voice as he could muster, "I'm not mad. I just need to know what's going on…"

Anya furiously shook her head, refusing to look up, "You will be mad."

Her crying wasn't as loud as before, but it was still enough for him to reflexively glance at the bedroom door, hoping that Yor wouldn't come to investigate.

"Mama's not coming," Anya said softly.

Loid froze. His gaze dropped to confirm and…yes, Anya's face was still firmly pressed into his body.

'So how…?'

Anya sniffled, "Anya's sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

When Anya remained silent, Loid pulled her away from him to look at her face. It was red, the way it usually got when she cried hard, and mucus was dripping from her nose. As soon as he noticed, she rubbed her face with her sleeve and refused to make eye contact.

Loid sighed, "Let's start over, okay? How about I just say what I think is going on, and you tell me yes or no?"

Anya finally looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. She was examining his expression again and, despite his years of practice putting on whatever mask he wanted, he still felt like she could see right through him. He hoped, for the sake of this going well, she didn't hate what she saw.

Eventually, she blinked and nodded slowly. She looked so tired.

'You and me both, kid.'

"Okay," he let out a mental sigh of relief, "…You are six years old?"

Anya nodded.

"Were you six when I met you?"

Anya tensed for a long second, but eventually shook her head slowly.

'So far so good.'

"Did Mr. Roche know you were only five?"

Anya nodded.

"So you think I'm mad at you for…lying about your age?"

Anya nodded, then paused and shook her head.

Loid nodded once, firmly, "I figured it was more than that, because you wouldn't try to run away over something as simple as that. You wouldn't have been so desperate for me to not meet with Mr. Roche if it was as simple as that," he looked back up at the stars on her ceiling, "You wouldn't tell Yor that I was going to give you away if it was as simple as that."

Anya nodded again when he looked back at her to confirm.

"Anya…you just told me you can read thoughts…"

At that, Anya suddenly tried to twist out of his grasp. Loid held on as he quickly conducted a risk assessment. Does she need the space to talk? This is a delicate topic. Or is she trying to get out the window again? He held her with one arm as he got up and shut the window, making sure to latch it. She continued to fight after that, so he put her down, and she reached for Bond, who was still sleeping under the sill.

"Hey, don't wake up Bond," Loid snapped out of habit, "That's rude."

Anya flinched but didn't touch Bond. Instead, she stared desperately into the dog's face, as if it held all the answers in the universe, and then Loid saw fat tears roll down her cheeks once again. Enough was enough.

"Anya?"

The girl wiped her face and climbed over to her bed once again. She reached for Mr. Chimera and hugged the stuffed toy tightly as she stared at a spot on the wall to the left of Loid. Loid sighed, ready to put his foot down and demand answers if she was just going to try and avoid the conversation again…

But then he heard her speak.

"Anya's sorry she ruined your mission."

Alarms blared in his head.

Compromised. Compromised. Compromised.

"Anya," he sat at her side, fully alert now, "What -?"

But she's not done.

"You wanted a six-year-old, and Anya's not. You wanted someone smart, an-and Anya's dumb and doesn't like to study. Anya can't get Sy-on Boy to be nice to her…"

Compromised. Compromised. Compromised.

"And now old-Papa has told you how much of a freak Anya is and now you're mad and you're gonna send Anya back to that orphanage and get another, smarter kid and Anya will never see you or Mama again…"

Anya was squeezing the life out of Mr. Chimera and Loid could bet she was going to start hyperventilating at any moment, "Anya, stop! Stop!"

He reached for her hands. She flinched but stopped talking.

"How…why do you think I wanted…"

Anya looked at him again. Her eyes were so green.

"Anya can see thoughts," she finally admitted, shakily, "Anya knew Papa was a liar from the beginning."

The pit of dread that had started forming in his chest had expanded. His thoughts were all a-flurry again, running through all his contingencies for a situation like this, running through where he may have slipped up.

"Who told you?"

Anya shook her head, "Nobody. You did."

"Mind reading isn't real."

Anya fidgeted, "Think about something that Anya doesn't know."

'Once partially stripped and separated into its three main components, the pistol is ready for cleaning. It is advisable to remove the recoil spring from the barrel. A few drops of acid-free, non-resinous oil should be applied to the various ports…'

The cleaning and repair manual for his pistol was his go-to train of thought for whenever he needed to distract himself. Had been for years. It only occurred to him three sentences in that it probably wasn't very appropriate for a six-year-old to hear. If she even can hear –

Anya's face pinched in concentration, "Stripped and separated…cleaning…remove the recoil…resin…" she shakes her head, "You're thinking too fast."

'Well, I'll be damned…'

"Now you just thought a bad word."

Loid let out a laugh. He could hear the edge of panic in it.

Mind reading wasn't real. It couldn't be.

Mind reading was real.

He was sitting beside an honest-to-god telepath.

"How?"

"I don't know," Anya says, wringing Mr. Chimera's neck again, "I just can. Not just for you, it's for everybody. But that's why Anya knows about the mission."

"Who else knows?" he asked. If a six-year-old knew about the details of Operation STRIX, then who else knew?

Compromised. Compromised…

"Nobody," Anya shook her head again, "Papa's mission is a big secret, so Anya keeps it secret."

Loid looked at her, hard. He was a trained professional, with years of training and experience in the art of espionage. There was no way that a child could keep so tight-lipped, if she understood the scope of it, without letting something slip. Not a child as impulsive as Anya.

Anya narrowed her eyes at him, as if she could tell what he was thinking and was offended that he didn't trust her. Loid reminded himself, with a start, that she could tell what he was thinking, "Anya doesn't want Papa to get in trouble, so Anya doesn't tell. Anya won't tell," she insisted, "And Anya would have to explain how she knows and then everyone would know Anya was a freak too."

"You're not a freak," Loid blurted, but then felt the intensity of her gaze on him and felt exposed. He wasn't lying. He wasn't, "You're…unique. That's all it is," he cleared his throat, "Who else knows about…this?"

"Old-Papa and his family. That's why they left Anya at that stinky orphanage," Tears roll down her cheeks again, "That's why…that's why you'll leave Anya too. Papa, please don't leave…"

Loid's heart stopped beating, the dread in his chest squeezing tight. He was back in Luwen, losing his father and friends. He was back in Kielberg, losing his mother.

"I just want to create a world where children don't have to cry."

This was a child. An orphan he pulled out of dire circumstances, who only wanted a family. Who only wanted love. Who he had been using for the two-thirds of a year for his own selfish gains, for 'the mission'.

It had been a fact in his mind, casually, before now, but it hadn't really hit him before. It sure was hitting him now. God, he was going to be sick.

"I'm…I'm not," Loid said through his closing throat, "I won't…"

But you will, the cold, professional tone of 'Twilight' whispered in the back of his mind, someday.

"I won't," he repeated firmly, resolutely.

WISE cannot know about this. They would pull him from STRIX, from this family he had built, from this girl he had saved. Or they would insist he try to use her to hasten the mission's progress. They would question her powers and her motives. They would call for tests, experiments. Treat her like a tool at best, and an enemy at worst. He might go to sleep tonight and wake up in the morning kicking himself for not doing what was best for the mission, for world peace but, dammit, right now, he couldn't. He would not put this on her.

"Does Yor know about me?"

Anya shook her head.

"Does Yor know about you?"

Anya shook her head again, "Anya didn't want Mama to be scared of her," she whispered.

Loid's chest clenched again, and he felt, again, like cursing Mrs. Roche, "Do you want her to know?"

Anya looked down, "Not right now."

"Of course, of course," Loid sighed. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was feeling exhausted again. He definitely had a lot to think about.

"Anya won't try to run away again, so you can go to bed."

An honest-to-god telepath. Under his roof. How did that happen?

Loid got up and headed for the door, but stopped, "I won't tell anyone about your powers. But we need to talk about this more, another time, okay?"

Anya nodded, but she looked unsure.

"They called me a freak," she had said...

"And I don't think you're a freak," he added, "Mr. Roche didn't think that way, either. He was upset that he couldn't take care of you, and he thanked you for saving his family's life. He also gave me a present for your birthday, and I think you'll like it. He doesn't hate you."

The Bondman comic and pistol flashed in his mind and Anya's facial expression brightened considerably. Loid fought back the knee-jerk discomfort at being read so easily. He was going to have to get used to keeping his mind clear around her.

XXX

Loid didn't let himself think about anything until he was out in the hall and Anya's bedroom door was closed. But a twinge of paranoia still hit him.

'How wide is her range?'

"Everything alright?"

Loid startled at Yor's voice. How had she caught him off guard again?

Today really wasn't his day.

"Yes," he said, composing himself quickly, "She just needed to cry herself out. I just sat with her and reassured her I wasn't going anywhere, until she fell asleep."

The tension in Yor's shoulders eased a bit, "That's good to hear. I was worried."

A pang of sympathy hit Loid and he gave her a soft smile, "So was I."

"Do you think she'll tell us why she was so upset?"

'I already know.'

"I don't know. But we shouldn't push her until she's ready."

Yor fidgeted, "I hope we didn't ruin your good mood. From seeing your friend, I mean."

"Don't worry, it was just a quick catch-up. You two are more important."

Yor bit her lip as her gaze drifted to Anya's closed bedroom door, and Loid was hit with the urge to reach out and hug her. He couldn't do that, though; they had been getting used to small, fleeting touches, but that would be crossing a line.

"I'm sorry I couldn't enjoy the dinner you prepared," he said instead, letting out a short laugh, "I'm sure you two put a lot of effort into it."

"Oh," Yor said, gaze snapping back to him, "It's no problem. I put your dish in the fridge for you to have tomorrow, maybe for lunch. It might not taste as good reheated though…"

"I don't mind. Thank you."

Yor finally cracked a small smile. He wished he could make her smile more often.

'Mission accomplished.'

XXX

The waiter drummed his fingers impatiently on the glass of the payphone, cigarette between his lips, as he heard the dial tone drone on and on. It was late, but everyone knew the boss had an untapped line by his bedside, a radio on his person, and at least one trusted guard to pass on any messages he couldn't take himself– he should respond. If he didn't pick up now, he'd have to head to headquarters to give this information in person. This was an emergency, though.

He hated that he was the one to bear such news, but it wasn't his fault! How was he supposed to expect them to be in his section tonight?!

"Come on, come on…"

The phone clicked and a gruff voice suddenly rang through the line, "Hello?"

"Ah, this is Weiland, just got off my shift. I'm sorry to call you at such an hour, sir, but…" he paused and took a deep breath, "I've just received word that Package 007 hasn't been dispatched."

Silence on the other end of the line, before, "Package 007? Wasn't it supposed to be dispatched last year? We got confirmation of its delivery."

"Yes, sir, I remember. But there must have been an error or miscommunication."

"…Are you sure you heard correctly? That package was very important."

"Yes, sir. I ran into the supplier a few hours ago and he was speaking with a client. I happened to overhear the client mention that the package was lost."

Another silence. The waiter tried to calm his nerves by taking another drag of his cigarette. His fingers were shaking. He knew what this news meant and could only hope that his boss wouldn't shoot the messenger. Literally.

"Well, we can't have that," the boss said, finally, "Were you able to confirm where the supplier sent the package?"

"No, sir, sorry. I was pulled away from the conversation before I could get that information."

Another pause, "We'll need to get a few team members to track it down and retrieve it, then. That package is very important. Come in tomorrow and tell me everything so that we can get to work."

"Of course, sir. Sorry again for calling so late."

"No problem. Thank you for catching the error."

The call was over. The waiter hung up the phone and rested his head against the side of the phone booth, exhausted.

He didn't know who had been responsible for killing the girl, but he knew they would be in a world of trouble now. The boss was right, she was important. A creepy little science project that was important enough for some weasel-y government officials to contact their organization and put out a hit on her when she'd gone out of control. They said one of their own had helped her escape, and that they'd taken care of the traitor, but the girl had fallen off their radar. She had popped up in Berlint, with a family in tow, so they weren't going to lose her again; she needed to be dispatched. The family she had attached herself to had to go as well too, in case the girl had told them anything, and so that there'd be no witnesses. He'd turned down the job because he didn't want to kill a kid, but there were plenty of others who he knew would do it without remorse. It was simply business.

He'd read about the housefire in the paper, the team was assured that the target had been neutralized, and that was that. The family survived, but surveillance showed that the girl wasn't with them. Another job done, another trade made.

But if the job actually wasn't done…

The last thing they needed was the Ostanian government breathing down their necks again.

I'm exhausted, Anya's exhausted, Loid's exhausted, our sneaky waiter is exhausted...And the Forgers, as a whole, are in danger. Man this chapter was hard to write. I thought the reveal would be difficult to get right, but keeping the immediate aftermath reasonable and in character was harder than I thought, haha.

Did you guys know there's a wiki that keeps track of all the weapons one can find in fiction? According to it, Loid's pistol looks like a Luger P08/Walther PP hybrid. From there, finding a manual to copy info from was easy.

The conversation with Anya isn't over. Loid just needs time to think about the implications of everything. Oh, god, the implications...