"That's What All Children Think..."

Tili Tili Bom

2003

“Did you think the blankets would protect you from me?” He slowly stepped into the room, watching the mound on the bed shake. “That is what all children think, ja?”

He crossed the room until he stood at the foot of the bed, until he was standing over the curled form – until all he had to do was reach out a hand to touch it.

“Go 'way!”

“Not alone...”

“Don't want you!”

The mound curled smaller and he smiled. “You love me, darling.”

“Nyet!”

“Darling...” He leaned against the board at the foot of the bed, slowly tugging the coverlet down.

“Nein, nein, nein, nein-” The covers fell back from the girl's hands and she scrambled to stand up on the bed, crossing her arms; pouting at him.

He chuckled, dropping the duvet and straightening. “There you are, Stasya.”

“Go 'way.”

“Nein – I can't go alone.”

“But I don't want to go with you, Uncle Villain! I want to stay here!”

“But this is my bed, Stenka – I sleep here.”

“You can have my bed, papa.” She offered generously.

“I could not take your bed.” He shook his head seriously, amusement filling his eyes. “Then it would not be 'just right' for you, ja?”

“It will be!” She bounced on the bed slightly as she assured him. “Bitte, Papa?”

He sighed. “I would not fit...”

She gasped. “How? Everyone fits in beds! You're not that big!” She giggled.

“Thank you so much....” He crossed to the side of the bed, patting the space beside him.

She dropped into a seat beside him, twisting away and pushing her hair back over her shoulders so he could reach it. “Dolly says you're being 'arcastis when you say that.”

“Does he?” He ran his fingers through her hair, separating the tangles gently.

“He says you say things you don't mean – why do you do that?”

“Then you do not believe I am always honest, ja?”

She shook her head with a grin. “You're a bad guy, Uncle Villain – you can't always not tell lies.”

“I am wounded, liebchen.” He separated her hair into two parts and began plaiting it into two long braids. “I try to say what I mean – but it is easy to say the truth so others do not hear what you mean.”

“Truth doesn't work that way.”

“Really?”

She nodded emphatically, nearly pulling the strands of hair from his hands. “Papa said that saying anything other than what is true is wrong and is a lie and you mustn't do it.”

“Your father was a good man.”

“...ja.” She leaned back against him, smiling again. “But you are too, Uncle Villain!”

He lightly tugged one braid as he finished and tied it off. “Then I am not a bad guy?”

“You are. But you're good too.”

“Really?”

She nodded again. And then smiled sweetly. “May I sleep here?”

“You have your own bed, Styushenka.”

“...I don't want to.”

“Is life fair?”

She pouted, crossing her arms. “....nyet.”

“Then that is it, ja?”

She sighed, nodding slowly.

He finished the second braid quickly and tied it off. “Finished-”

She spun around and flung her arms around his neck. “Bitte, bitte, bitte, polusta, let me sleep here. Bitte, Uncle Villain. I want to sleep with you. I don't want to sleep alone.” She brightened. “And you can sing to me, Papa! Bitte? Bitte? Bitte? Polusta?”

He chuckled at her massacred pronunciation of the Russian word for 'please'. “'Pozhalyustya'.” He tried to loosen her hold on him, but she clasped her arms together. “One night?”

She nodded. “Danke schonn, papa!” Releasing him, she scrambled up to the top of the bed. “Sing, bitte?”

He smiled slightly, standing. “Tili Tili bom, Zakroy glaza skoree,” He pulled the coverlet up and straightened it out over the bed.

“Kto-to hodit za oknom I stuchitsya v dveri.” He knocked on the headboard softly, and she shivered.

“Tili Tili bom, krichit nochnaya ptitsa,” He tucked the blanket in tightly around her, tucking it beneath the mattress so it wouldn't pull out overnight. “On ezhe probralsya v dom k tem, komu ne spitsya.”

Her eyes were squeezed tightly closed, but she was grinning while he softly sang.

“On idet,” He brushed the hair back from her face. “On uzhe,” He softly kissed her forehead. “Blisko.”

He poked her in the side and she jumped.

“Tili Tili bom, Ty slyishish, kto-to ryadom?” He stood, crossing around the end of the bed. “Pritailsya za uglom I pronzaet vzglyadom.” He slipped off his house-shoes, sliding them beneath the bed as he sat on the empty side of the bed.

“Tili Tili bom, vse skroet noch nemaya,” He stood and tucked in the blankets on his own side of the bed. “Za toboy kradetsya on I vot-vot poymaet.” He slid beneath the covers himself now, pulling them tight around him while the little girl slid back to his arms.

“On idet,” He brushed her hair back from her face. “On uzhe,” He softly kissed her forehead. “Blisko.”

He turned off the light.

Made by Angelique

Alright. So. Explanation......

This is set in the Mafia Universe.

Originally, I was going to write this other story for it that actually was creepy but.....  A lot of things happened and basically every single idea I had was scrapped so....  I turned back to my old comfort and wrote a story in the Universe that was created literally as a dumping ground for any and all of my emotions. And also as a place for me to live emotions that I want....

So, in reading this, you have just about zero idea what's going on here......  The whole universe is set up in one!shots and short stories and tends to be written in a wibbly wobbly, timey-wimey sort of way..... Literally.

So here. It was a halfway happy story for once. Of sorts.

Willem - the man - is the man the universe centers on.

Stasya is his adopted....daughter. It's complicated and....

But....yeah. I love this Universe but have problems with its origins at the moment.....

 

Bayuski Bayu

c. 2003

She was clinging to him by morning – her arms wrapped around his neck and curled into the hollow of his chest. Even in her sleep, she held tightly; and dislodging her would have woken her up.

Willem was content to lay there, his arms wrapped protectively – comfortingly – around her.

She was a treasure – a gift he did not deserve but could not give up. She was a light that never failed to cheer him – a joy that always reached him. The loss of one man was his gain – and this was one thing that he felt was worth so much worth than the price paid.

He knew that was the reason he had her now. He adored her and protected her and taught her and provided for her. He would die for her.

He would have left her with Ezekiel – but he could not honestly say he would bring her birth father back if he had the opportunity. He wondered if she would agree with that....

She didn't always insist on sleeping with him. Often she had tired herself out so much by evening that she fell asleep in the arms of whomever she had conned into carrying her, and could simply be lain in bed. Other nights, she was so thrilled at getting tucked in that she didn't mind sleeping in her own room.

But she slept with 'Uncle Villain' on special occassions, and always the nights before he left; and the nights he came home. She smiled and waved to him when he left – but she clung to him in the night as if terrified he wouldn't come back this time.

He wondered if perhaps it was a mistake to have raised her knowing what he was – what he did. He had always been 'Uncle Villain' – always been the relative that came and visited but that couldn't be seen coming and going and that couldn't be talked about. He was the one her father pulled into her life against his wishes – the one that Ezekiel risked being companionable in return for....what? Savigin his life?

One didn't make a criminal a member of the family for that.

He never pretended his job was anything else. He did not give her all of the details, he tried to keep her separate from his business – but if she asked he answered. She knew there were bad guys and good guys in the world. Her father was a 'good guy', and he hunted 'bad guys' like Willem.

But somehow, living and knowing 'bad guys' never bothered her.

He appreciated that she would never have a black and white view of the world at least.

Willem sighed as a clock further in the house chimed the hour. He shifted to begin leaving the bed, but Stasya woke up almost instantly; tightening her hold on him.

“Nyet....”

“Darling....” He tugged gently on her arms.

She shook her head against his chest, subdued. “Nyet.”

He sighed again, and then shifted her so she was sitting in his lap while he leaned against the headboard. “I have to leave today, Stenka.”

“Don't wanna.”

“You don't have to-”

“Don't wanna.”

He closed his eyes, resting his chin atop her head, recognising the tears in the tone of her voice even if he couldn't ear any evidence of it. “Don't cry, darling...”

“Stay here, papa...”

“I will come back.”

“...what if you don't. I don't want to be alone.”

“Alone? Then your aunts and uncles are nothing, ja?”

“...I don't want to be without you.”

“Darling....They love you. They would take care of you – you would be safe.”

“They're not you. They're them. You're the best.”

He blinked, holding her a little tighter. “I am sorry – I have to.”

“...promise you'll come back?”

“I will try, liebchen.”

“...I'll wait for you.”

He smiled. “Of course, darling. You always do.”

She snuggled against him, releasing his neck as she curled in his arms. “Sing to me, papa?”

He opened his mouth to start, but she interrupted him.

“Your song this time.”

“My song?”

“Ja. The one Liya sings to you.”

“That is my song?”

She nodded slowly, still quiet; and he could feel tears soaking through his nightshirt. “My lullaby is creepy – yours is nice. You have monsters in your life already, you need a nice song.”

He knew she hadn't completely mastered Russian yet, but that she had learned enough that she wanted the words to the song rather than the melody.

“Spi, mladenets moy prekrasnyy, bayushki-bayu.” He rocked her gently, feeling her press impossibly closer. “Tikho smotrit mesyats yasnyy v kolybel' tvoyu.” He wished he could tell her he would be safe – wished he could promise to return. “Stanu skazyvat' ya skazki, pesenku spoyu.” But that would be a lie – there was too much that could go wrong. “Ty zh dremli, zakryvshi glazki,” He would not promise her something he could not guaruntee. He would not break his word to her. “Bayushki-bayu.”

“Bogatyr' ty budesh' s vidu i kazak dushoy.” She would grow up one day, stop needing protection – she would see the world as it was. That was the gift he could give her. “Provozhat' tebya ya vyydu — ty makhnesh' rukoy.” He was German by birth, Russian by choice. She was American by birth, and Russian by family. She would have all he could give her – but she would never work for or with him. “Skol'ko gor'kikh slez ukradkoy ya v tu noch' prol'yu!” Her father was a good man, and while he was not he would raise her the best he could. She worried for him, feared for him – he had spent a lifetime hiding his fears and worries, and he would do all he could to hide the worst of the danger from her. “Spi, moy angel, tikho, sladko.” Sleep, my angel, undisturbed..... The day would come and Isobel would distract her and she would be waiting for him as chipper as ever when he finished business – the fears of the night gone for a little while. “Bayushki-bayu.”

“Spi zh, poka zabot ne znaesh',” He looked down at the girl, asleep again in his arms. She was peaceful like this – sorrowless, still. He stood carefully, laying her down on the bed and covering her. “Bayushki-bayu.”

Made by Angelique  (Willem)

 That story is ALSO set in the mafia universe, and is a direct sequel to the first story. The morning after.

yep. Alright.

Not that anyone is reading these.....

I'll let better writers take over now.