Big Bad World

Chapter 2
Better Man

He’s a better man now, didn’t you hear? That’s what they all assume. Word got around that he had a kid and suddenly everyone was underestimating him.

What a bunch of twats. Gullible fools, the lot of them.

It’s their own fault, really, if he retaliates to their ill-advised little power-plays with greater machinery and grander plots than they could ever aspire to contend with. He’s the top dog, the brains they so desperately need behind the operation, and they’d do well not to forget it.

A clumsy game of trial and error, Alec is sitting crossed-legged on the floor building blocks with the Munchkin, - merely humouring the little boy. He’s fed-up listening to his incessant blubbering and that’s the honest-to-God extent of it - who stacks them as high as he possibly can and eagerly awaits the devastating ecstasy of his masterpiece toppling over.

It’s not long before the sound of crashing ensues and Alec is stroking his fluffy hair and praising him in soft, baby-tones, secretly proud of his little pint-sized rascal, when he accepts an ’urgent’ call, only to be blackmailed by another imprudent traitor with outdated information. The third this week. Not as cocky as the others, that’s true, but just as annoying. More precious father and son bonding time interrupted by a thumping-on-his-chest, insolent buffoon.

His patience is understandably wearing thin.

"Listen to me, you little shit," Alec retorts after a shaky voice delivers his demands. This one is more like a sheep following the herd than his previous callers, but he’s not the tending shepherd - he’s the wolf they’re trying to force into sheep’s clothing, and Alec will sooner devour him than submit.

"You, kind sir, are nothing more than spineless scum," he croons, faint and chillingly impassive.

"Remember that. Remember what I can do. You think you’ve seen the worst of me, Bobby-dear?" He gives a gentle chuckle, effortlessly belittling. "If you fuck this up, I swear to God, I will personally pry off your fingernails one by one and use them to gouge out your goddamn eyeballs - and that’s just an amiable taster between friends." There’s a dry gulp, a ragged exhale. Oh, how he loves a good spook. "Now does that sound fair to you, honey, or are you still planning to back out of a more than charitable deal?"

Ding, ding, ding. Door number three, please.

It’s not the cash prize, nothing life-changing, but at least he’ll have a life. There’s no mystery. No mystery in death. Alec doesn’t take kindly to threats; he makes good on his word.

They shouldn’t expect anything less.

"Oh," the criminal grins a shark-like grin, tone almost sultry. "And piece of advice, next time you wish to spout off threats you can’t possibly follow through on, try to sound a little more menacing, will you, darling? It’s no fun if the person seems like they’re about to piss themselves. For a minute there, I didn’t know whether you were threatening me or inviting me for tea. Though, do try to avoid any clichés - no maniacal laughter, please. We’re not in a bloody cartoon." And with that, he rolls his eyes and hangs up.

By now, he hopes the meaning is clear: stay low, off his radar, and maybe, if you’re extremely fortunate, Alec Grayson might spare your worthless ass so long as one day you’re of some benefit to him.

If not, then the wicked criminal will be all-too happy to drill the message into anyone unwilling to conduct themselves appropriately. He’s dependable like that.

Alas, it seems as if people have lost all sense of self-preservation and they’ve already proven to be so dense as to act without perspicacity, gunning for the key player because conjecture rather than testimony pronounces him vulnerable. They are undisciplined, governed by concentrated desire for power, and that will be their downfall.

They will try to bully him and they will not succeed.

Let us pray, then, instead, that they are fast learners.

Glancing down at the wide-eyed child perched on his lap, Alec cuddles the warm body close

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And murmurs against his temple, "I’m sorry you had to hear that, Munchkin. Daddy was talking to a very bad man and he said some words which you must never, ever repeat to anyone, okay? He just lost his temper a little bit."

Noah hesitates, biting his lip, then nods slowly.

"Daddy, h-he mean to you?" he asks, ever the upright citizen wishing to rationalize his father’s less than honourable deeds, curiosity saturating his childish voice as he fiddles nervously with his fingers and wrinkles a thoughtful brow.

Beginning to absentmindedly massage the youngster’s scalp in a manner that could easily be constructed as comforting, the man deadpans, "He told me he hopes I step on Lego sometime in the foreseeable future. It wasn’t very nice."

Noah’s eyes pinch around the edges. "Did he reawy?" Or is this just you hinting that I need to tidy up my room again?

Alec shrugs. "May as well have for all of the unimaginable terror it caused me."

Noah recognises the dull sarcasm for what it is - thinly veiled annoyance, liable to detonate with the lightest of contact and programmed to obliterate everything within a ten foot radius - and it never ceases to amaze Alec that he can be an average two-year old one minute and a miniature agent complete with a built-in lie-detector the next. It often leaves him enormously conflicted.

"Sad Daddy?" Noah tentatively reasons, turning and snuggling close, practically face-planting against the man’s chest, who pats his back rhythmically. He mangles his Daddy’s shirt with one hand while he waits for the answer.

As is customary, the man falls back on nonsensical babble. It is not a method of consoling himself, he is adamant, nor is it an issue. Alec simply likes it, nothing more, nothing less. It is what it is.

"Daddy’s little Munchkin," Alec melodiously coos, planting a kiss on the top of his head with a scarily fond smile hovering his lips. "You’re so clever, aren’t you? My special guy, isn’t that right? Daddy wuvs you so much.”

The boy in his arms slides his thumb into his mouth and worms around to get comfortable, entirely at ease - he knows he’s not in any danger. His clinginess glares at Alec almost accusingly.

Maybe he has gone soft; maybe he has bitten off more than he can chew.

Maybe he’s a better man, even if he’s nowhere near a good one.

Does Alec care, though? That’s the million dollar question. The trick question, with only one right answer.

It’s not something that he lies awake at night pondering. He doesn’t have dreams, he’s only capable of nightmares - envious of the monsters that dwell in the dark and as equally disquieting as one. He’s morally bankrupt, a despicable man. He exploits others’ weaknesses and preys on their fears, voracious for entertainment.

He’s the devil’s reincarnation, robbing innocents of their souls without faltering, and never bothering to conceal the disdain he contains for the nobodies that he cheats on a daily basis. Alec basically wrecks havoc on peoples’ lives for a living and has no qualms about doing as such. Though, what’s even sadder is how equally unconcerned he is about the future of his own.

He is callous, egocentric, utterly abhorrent - a fiendish villain to spark a cutesy fairytale. And everybody knows villains are undeserving of a scenic ride off into the sunset; they don’t get tidy happily-ever-afters.

Are monsters sentiment beings? Does the devil need love to balance the hate? Is the villain more than a means to an end?

Alec doesn’t toss and turn thinking about it.

All he knows is that later when he’s scrolling through masses of emails on one phone while taking call after call on another subsequent to a big-bucks deal going south, knee-deep in damage control, and Noah gives a frustrated whine and reaches up on his tiptoes to grapple at his belt in a bid for his attention, Alec certainly feels a pang of something.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Morning, little star," Alec says, smiling warmly. His voice is sweet, cloyingly so. Hardly his own. "How’s Daddy’s special little guy today?"

Noah immediately beams, thrusting his arms upwards and bucking in excitement.

"Daddy!" he cries gleefully, grinning widely around his paci as he strains to touch his father’s face, craning and squirming and kicking away his restrictive blankie in a desperate bid to make contact. His fingers finally brush against the man’s chin and accidentally pokes his lip, but that only causes his grin to widen.

It’s a nice feeling - this ’You Are My Entire Universe’ worship stuff. Looks like that are addictive.

The blue of his eyes is bottomless, strikingly vivid, but they’ve lost that piercing quality that tells him that adult Noah might be hanging around in there somewhere.

"Better get you out of those icky clothes, huh, sweetheart?" Alec poses to himself, humming under his breath as he sets about the task.

Toes wriggle, legs swinging happily, as he leans down and presses a kiss to the toddler’s forehead, nuzzling his nose against his. Pulling away, he unbuttons the soft, footed sleeper and carefully frees the youngster’s lively, quivering limbs, flailing in all directions. In order to minimize the damage inflicted upon his poor torso, Alec supplies the little one with his favourite plush doggie to wield instead, which he happily waves around, jiggling excitedly and hitting him across the face despite his best efforts.

Alec rolls his eyes and gets on with it.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get the pair of baby blue socks he’s acquired slipped over Noah’s feet to protect them from the slight chill and remove his soiled diaper, but Alec perseveres. Then he wipes his privates clean and after sliding the crinkling, plastic garment adorned with sweet animal prints over his soft, meaty thighs, pins his little boy in an extra thick diaper. Securing the tabs tightly, Alec gives his crotch a gentle pat. Then it’s only a matter of snatching another fuzzy sleeper from the pile and zipping him up.

Alec can’t resist it; he’s too damn adorable. He ruffles his son’s fluffy bedhair and pinches his sleep-speckled rosy cheeks. "Good boy. Such a clever boy," he praises, as Noah smiles up at him, sucking earnestly on his yellow paci and lazily rolling the childish object in his mouth.

And if the squeak of the rubber and soft slurps warm his insides, Alec will never admit it.

Afterwards, he takes his spare, slime-covered hand, the other refusing to relinquish his grip on his doggie, and he toddles along beside the older man, trailing his worn blankie towards the living area, where Alec plops his little one down within the confines of his playpen and leaves him to his many toys, going to prepare his morning bottle.

On his return, Alec gathers the boy in his arms and envelopes him in his fleece blankie, settling down on the couch and making himself comfortable.

“Here you go, baby. Drink up.” He gently pushes the rubber teat against Noah’s mouth and smirks as his lips wrap around the bottle and, as per usual, begins kicking his legs absentmindedly. Alec lovingly pats his back while he sucks obediently, before cuddling him closer and burying his face in his hair, blocking out everything bar their matched breaths and the steady suckling.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

There is something about other people touching his stuff that Alec could never stand.

He’s in a conference room in Dubai seated at a long glass table, - one of his more professional settings in some time - and dressed in one of his finest suits, surrounded by other well-to-do specialists and a handful of lackeys (decorated muscle, really), having flown in that morning on his private jet at a moment’s notice.

They’re discussing how best to market the drug that Alec previously pitched to them, which is why no-one argues with the presence of his sweet Munchkin who he brought along because he didn’t feel like being parted from him, and the possibility of overtly targeting a small number of politicians to ignite a greater public interest and raise the drug’s profile. Hence, a greater profit.

As well as that, it’s something juicy to divert the papers for a couple of weeks and keep some relentlessly nosy FBI agents (who haven’t quit hounding him ever since Noah’s disappearance) and journalists off their scent, so that some other premeditated assassinations go down without a hitch. And if he delights in the creation of legendary scandals, then no harm done, right?

It’s a risky endeavour that could easily backfire. In which case, Alec will wipe his hands clean of the whole thing - he already has several prospects lined up to take the fall if need be.

Noah is swiftly becoming bored in the enclosed space, dashing from one end of the room to the other and squishing his face against the expansive windows, fogging up the glass with puffs of breath quickened from overexertion and staring down over forty-eight floors, watching the commotion of dots on the streets.

He’s been told off more than once, but the toddler is insatiable. It’s rather cute.

In any case, it is only a matter of time before the tell-tale thump of the overexcited youngster tripping over his own feet. He pauses in shock for a second, then begins blinking rapidly, before the first sob tears from his throat, arms thrusting upwards for his Daddy instinctively.

Alec has a rule about settling him down, though. He always - and will always - wait a full five minutes. Even if Noah is yanking on his hand or screaming croaky, anguish-laden screams of Daddy, he will make him wait if only to demonstrate that he will not come running at his every beck and call, and undoubtedly not on an attention-seeking whim.

Confined to these unfamiliar surroundings, the only person he trusts having seemingly vanished into thin air, Noah is swamped by his feelings of hurt and anxiety. He kicks out his stout legs in aggravation and bawls, face crumpled in distress.

The other occupants of the conference room trade looks of discomfort, though none are so daring as to actually speak up against him.

After two solid minutes of howling, a business man develops a backbone, wincing as Noah prods his skinned, blood-strewn knees and flinches, and cautiously piping up in a thick, French accent, "Sir, shouldn’t we, ah, do something…? He’s bleeding." When he receives no reaction other than a nearly imperceptible straightening from Alec, he shifts to grasp the child on impulse, making the boss-man’s features immediately harden. He’s obviously got kids of his own, that much is clear, but that doesn’t mean that Alec will excuse him for his interference.

Before the French man can lay a single finger on his son, he declares, "Pick him up and I will tie a bow around your neck and string you up with your own intestines," with the deadliest of sinister tones, brown eyes undeniably cold - glittering with a stark, sealed promise.

The man freezes, then hastily retreats.

"Sorry, boys," he drawls completely devoid of regret. "Nobody moves a muscle, kapesh? Even should your ears start to bleed, you will stay right where you are and disregard his wounded squeals."

"But-"

"I mean it," he snarls. "No-one touches him but me." The hoarse cries grow louder. "Oh, did this little titbit fail to qualify for the rumour-mill? I’m a really lousy parent," he tells them, smirking at their identical pained expressions, "So sue me."

With each passing second, the air thickens with tension. It’s pathetic - they’re all crooks; they should be able to withstand the sight of a child’s snotty tears. Bloody idiots.

Keeping an eye on his Rolex, Alec stands at the five-minute mark. When a hum of relieved exhales sound, he glowers, to which they quickly back-pedal and offer up weak, strained smiles.

Alec scoops the youngster up and bounces him gently to appease his cries, uttering indulgent words of reassurance, "Shh.. It’s alright, it’s alright. Daddy’s here now," while his Munchkin sniffles and hiccups, burrowing his wet face in his neck.

He’s proving a point, forcing him to wait and reinforcing his position of authority. Alec’s taking the upper-hand, he’s being a dick for no reason.

He doesn’t do it to make him need him more.

"Daddy," Noah burbles amongst other slurred rambling, clutching tightly at his expensive tie and shaking his head distraughtly. "No go, Daddy."

Alec kisses his charming, little button-nose and allows his lips to curve liberally.

Bingo.

 

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