Burned

38

            "Can you believe it, Teddy? Aye? An MP."

Teddy was on the floor, pushing a wooden train around the rug. He was a fairly quiet little boy and could entertain himself longer than most toddlers. The soothing atmosphere of the office kept him at ease. His father constantly smudging the ink on the paper, mumbling incoherent curses, and Cyril watching from his bed in the corner.

The three-year-old giggled, oblivious to what Alfie was actually talking about. He beamed up at his father. "Daddy, look at my train."

Alfie smiled. "Yeah, that's your train. Where's it off to then?" He grunted as he heaved himself up out of the leather desk chair. He held the paper in his hand as he painstakingly lowered himself down to sit on the rug beside his sun.

"I dunno." Teddy lifted his shoulders dramatically.

"How 'bout..." He winced as he tried to adjust how he was sitting to alleviate the pain in his hip. "It's off to visit Cyril."

The little boy giggled and pushed the train over to Cyril who was watching Teddy from his well-worn bed. His chin rested on his paws, his sad eyes half-closed. Finally, Teddy gently tapped the engine against the mastiff's nose. Cyril hardly even flinched. Instead, his tail started to thump happily against the floor.

"Choo choo!" Teddy crowed happily.

"Alright, bring it back then, back to dad." Alfie leaned back on his elbow, scanning the rest of the article about Tommy Shelby becoming an MP. A landslide they called it. Clearly the popular choice for the labor party. "Crazy gypsy." He muttered under his breath. Politics was the absolute last thing Alfie would ever want to be involved in. Sure it brought a lot of power and weight in the game, but all the regulations and rules. Not to mention how much time it probably took up. No thank you. Alfie was quite content with spending time with his family.

Of course, Tommy Shelby wasn't dying. Or he wasn't dying as fast as Alfie was. Course the Blinder could be shot down any day, but he highly doubted it after everything he pulled with the Italians.

Teddy scampered back over to Alfie, running the train over his legs as if they were hills. Alfie chuckled. "Bumpy track, aye?"

"Bumpy." His son mimicked.

"Well, at least I'm not a fucking MP like Tommy Shelby." He sighed.

Teddy sat back, pressing the soles of his feet together. His blue eyes looked up at his father. "Fucking MP."

Alfie's eyes widened and he realized he'd really done it that time. He should've realized the day would come, Teddy echoed him day in and day out like a parrot. Louise was stern with him, saying he needed to cut back on the swearing while in Teddy's presence or he'd pick it up sooner or later. Apparently, it had come sooner.

"Fucking MP," Teddy said again.

"Hey, hey, can't say that." He was not the disciplinary of the household. It nearly broke his heart to scold the little boy or tell him no. Ollie often teased him for being such a pushover. Leave it to a three-foot toddler to make him go soft.

Teddy tilted his head to the side in confusion. "Why?" Since he was so curious, he always asked that. He was never content with just accepting things the way they were. He wanted to know where the sun went at night. He wanted to know why horses and dogs walked on four legs. He wanted to know how cars worked. Often times, Alfie was at a loss under his intensive questioning. Sometimes he had to make things up on the spot just to satisfy his inquiries. He prided himself on being pretty clever, but when Teddy asked where babies came from; he had to stammer his way through a bullshit excuse about storks.