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He can’t say he doesn’t understand his own emotions.
He knows exactly how to react, he knows exactly what it means to feel certain things, to be drowned with the heart-pounding shake of indescribable emotion each time.
But he can’t remember the last time he’d felt such an array of emotions.
Operation Strix was certainly giving him a run for his money, and he was certainly experiencing more than he thought.
And he doesn’t think he’s ever felt it this way.
Because when he bounded into the pool, following the patter of Anya’s words, after the initial shock wore off, and he heard the instructor he clocked minutes earlier shouting for the young boy she’d been accompanying, his blood began to cool.
The chill set in the second he realized that Anya was nowhere he could see.
He looked towards the pool, bubbles in one spot before his jacket was off and he was diving in.
Anya’s body was sinking—
—sinking deep into the pool and as he reached an arm out, her body kept drifting away from him—
—for a moment it seemed she stopped struggling (stopped trying) and he pushed himself, yanking forward, grasping her.
(for the ugliest moment—the ugliest horrid moment he almost pushed up—yanking his daughter—yanking anya up—and away to safety, away from this danger—leaving the poor boy behind, letting his body fall further and further)
He couldn’t do that of course (though his body almost betrayed this thought), and he yanked the boy in tandem.
He swam, pushing himself up and out, breaking the surface, and immediately pulling the two forward.
He huffed, pulling the kid to edge, setting Anya down in return.
The crowd of people spoke up, one person rushing to the side to grab towels for the kids. Questions poured in about the boy, and drowning and he responded with all the factual information he could.
He patted Anya on the head, his body still half paralyzed with something, part of his chest burning rich with pride, but most of his attention on… he actually didn’t know.
For once he was confused as to what it was he was feeling.
An older lady walked towards the two of them, offering a towel to the two of them, but he took it, wrapping it tightly around Anya, swamping her with the fabric, mouth twisting down with knowledge that she was even smaller than he thought she was.
He stopped for a second, body frozen for a moment as he stared down at her. To his side, the gaggle of people was still as they crowded the boy, but he kept his eyes firmly on Anya. “Papa?” She spoke, voice small and quiet, as she stared up at him with her big bright eyes. “Are you okay?”
He opened his mouth for a moment, voice coming out clipped, for a moment, uncharacteristically so. “Anya,” He sounded foreign to his own ears, and he noticed the people around them look towards them for a moment. “I… I am pr…” He stopped, chest rising, the fabric of his shirt sticking to his body, raising the heckles on his arms even further. “…you did a wonderful thing today Anya. You saved someone and that’s… amazing, but young lady, that was,” He paused again, words not quite coming to fruition the way he needed them too.
He tried to open his mouth again, running a hand over his face as he furrowed his brow.
He tensed, a hand lying on his back as an older woman, bent down. “It seems you scared your father quite a bit young lady. While what you did was very brave, it seems you gave him a big fright.” His body bowed up as she spoke.
(because was it fear, was that this feeling?—and when was the last time he felt fear of all things)
She patted him again, standing up, “It’s alright dear, our children put the fear of God himself into us.”
Fear.
He guessed that was a good sum of what he felt.
Hard boiled, shaking to the bone, shrewd coil to his gut, chill inducing fear.
(his mind drifts back, to torn houses, blown to shreds, a lifeless body across the way, fingers raw with blood and dirt, the echo of war turning the area around him to absolute desolation)
((yes, it seems that’s the emotion he was feeling at the moment then))
He nodded, jerking his head swiftly. “Yes… I, they do.” His body was curling in on itself. “Apologies, I must call my wife.” He gestured. “Might I use the phone?”
“Of course young man, follow me.” One of the nurses from earlier blinked with wide eyes.
He leaned down, lifting Anya and walking forward to follow.
As he followed her, his mind drifted again and his mouth snapped shut.
(because he was fearful—and the fear in his gut—it seemed wasn’t going away)
((and it appeared it was as loid forger for his daughter anya))
(((and not as agent twilight for operation strix)))