#Imagine Nicholae Schiller as a father who has to take care of a toddler

[michellesmusing]

Schiller's day off

*Not Written by me, but by AI. It helps me reading more and learning new words since English isn't my first language... I only use AI for ideas sometimes, or short funny stories...*

Schiller thought he had the situation under control—until Aleksandra, his 2 year old daughter discovered the dog.

Not Schiller's dog, of course. He didn’t do pets. The tiny French bulldog belonged to one of his neighbors, but it had somehow wandered into his apartment when his security detail cracked open the door for a delivery.

“Puppy!” Aleksandra squealed with delight, toddling toward the squirmy ball of fur before Schiller could intervene.

“Aleksandra, no—”

It was too late. The dog, equally thrilled, darted toward her with all the force of a torpedo, knocking her flat on her diapered bottom. Instead of crying, Aleksandra erupted into giggles, wrapping her arms around the dog’s neck in a sloppy hug.

“Puppy likes me!” she declared.

The dog, meanwhile, seemed to have developed an affinity for Schiller’s imported leather loafers, which it began gnawing on with gusto.

Schiller stared at the scene in horror. "This... is unacceptable."

He reached for his phone, intent on summoning the building’s security team to remove the intruder. Before he could make the call, the dog barked and scampered away—directly toward his desk.

“Stop it! Nyet!” Schiller barked, but the dog was already up on the chair, sniffing around the documents he’d been reviewing earlier. With a triumphant yip, it grabbed one in its teeth and bolted across the room.

Schiller lunged after it, narrowly missing the corner of the coffee table. “That is classified information, you flea-ridden menace!”

Behind him, Aleksandra clapped her hands and cheered, clearly thinking this was all part of the fun.

The Bathtub Incident

After finally coaxing the dog out of the apartment (and rescuing the now slightly chewed document), Schiller decided it was time for Aleksandra’s nap. Unfortunately, Aleksandra had other plans.

“No nap!” she shouted, squirming out of his grasp like a particularly slippery spy.

“You need to rest,” Schiller said, trying to sound calm. “Even operatives must sleep.”

But she was already halfway to the bathroom, her tiny hands fumbling with the faucet on the oversized tub. Within seconds, water was gushing out, splashing everywhere.

“Aleksandra, stop!” Schiller snapped, rushing to turn off the water. But not before Aleksandra had tossed in an entire roll of toilet paper, which promptly disintegrated into a soggy mess.

“Bath!” She declared, clapping her hands.

Schiller closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to summon the patience he usually reserved for dealing with inept subordinates. “Fine. Bath it is. But no more destruction.”

What followed was twenty minutes of chaos: bubbles overflowing onto the marble floor, a rubber duck flung with surprising accuracy at Schiller’s forehead, and a toddler who seemed to think splashing him was the height of comedy.

By the time he finally got her out, dried off, and into pajamas, Schiller looked like he’d just escaped a firefight.

The Toy Debacle

With Aleksandra finally in her playpen, Schiller allowed himself a moment of respite. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, letting the amber liquid calm his frayed nerves.

But the peace was short-lived.

“Daaaaddy!” Aleksandra called, her voice sweet and sing-song.

Schiller froze. That tone usually meant trouble. He turned to find her holding one of his prized possessions—a Fabergé egg he’d acquired during a particularly daring operation.

“Aleksandra, put that down,” he said carefully, setting his glass aside and moving toward her with the precision of a bomb disposal expert.

“Pretty egg!” she cooed, shaking it like a rattle.

Schiller’s heart nearly stopped. “Do not—”

Too late. The egg slipped from her tiny hands, tumbling toward the hardwood floor. In a flash, Schiller dove forward, catching it inches from disaster.

He sat on the floor, cradling the priceless artifact like it was an injured comrade. Aleksandra, oblivious to the near-catastrophe, plopped into his lap and kissed his cheek.

“Love you, Daddy,” she said, beaming up at him.

Schiller sighed, his frustration melting away. “You are lucky I love you too, malyshka.”

By the end of the day, Schiller was utterly defeated. As he finally tucked Aleksandra into her crib, her little hand clutching his finger, he whispered, “You are the most dangerous mission I’ve ever taken.”

She yawned and smiled in her sleep, and for the first time in years, Nicholae Schiller let himself laugh.

The Unexpected Visit

Schiller had just managed to settle Aleksandra in front of the TV with her favorite cartoon, giving himself a precious moment to collapse into the armchair and sip what was left of his whiskey. His shirt was damp from the earlier bathtub debacle, and there was a faint smear of mashed peas on his collar, but he didn't care anymore.

The knock at the door was the last thing he wanted to hear.

“Boss?” came a familiar voice from the other side. It was Ivan, one of Schiller’s most loyal (and least perceptive) lieutenants. “It’s urgent.”

Schiller groaned, downed the rest of his drink, and went to open the door, fully prepared to chew Ivan out for interrupting him. But before he could say a word, Aleksandra toddled over, clutching her stuffed rabbit and grinning up at the visitor.

“Hi!” she chirped.

Ivan froze in the doorway, his eyes darting between the toddler and his disheveled boss. “Uh... Boss? Who... is this?”

Schiller ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “This is Aleksandra. My daughter.”

Ivan’s jaw dropped. “Your what?”

Aleksandra, clearly delighted by the newcomer, held up her rabbit. “Bunny!”

“I... I see that,” Ivan stammered, still trying to process the scene. His fearsome boss, the man who struck terror into the hearts of rival operatives, was currently being climbed like a jungle gym by a two-year-old.

“Is this the urgent matter?” Schiller asked, his tone icy.

Ivan blinked, snapping out of his daze. “Oh! No, sir. There’s a... complication with the shipment. The buyers are getting impatient.”

Schiller pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course they are. Handle it.”

“I would, but they’re asking for you specifically,” Ivan said, glancing nervously at Aleksandra, who was now tugging on Schiller’s pant leg. “Uh... should I come back later?”

“No,” Schiller growled, scooping Aleksandra up and handing her the TV remote to distract her. “We’ll deal with this now. What do they want?”

Before Ivan could answer, Aleksandra accidentally pressed a button on the remote, changing the channel to an infomercial featuring blenders.

“Look, Daddy! Spinnies!” she squealed, pointing at the screen.

Ivan coughed into his hand, clearly trying not to laugh. “Boss, maybe I should—”

“Say one word,” Schiller cut in, fixing him with a glare that could freeze water, “and I will personally assign you to babysitting duty.”

Ivan wisely fell silent.

The Conference Call Fiasco

Moments later, Schiller was on a secure video call with the impatient buyers, Ivan standing awkwardly in the corner. Aleksandra sat on Schiller’s lap, happily munching on animal crackers and occasionally trying to press buttons on his keyboard.

“This is unacceptable, Schiller,” one of the buyers snapped. “You promised delivery by tonight!”

“You’ll have your shipment,” Schiller replied coolly, effortlessly shifting into his trademark calm, menacing tone. “There have been minor delays. Nothing more.”

Aleksandra, meanwhile, had grown bored of crackers and decided to grab Schiller’s pen, drawing wobbly circles on his arm.

“Is... is that a child?” another buyer asked, squinting at the screen.

“No,” Schiller said flatly, placing his hand over the webcam before anyone could get a clearer view. “Let’s focus on the matter at hand.”

But Aleksandra had other plans. She reached for the keyboard and hit the spacebar, unmuting the call just as she declared, “Daddy! Look! I draw!”

The buyers stared, visibly stunned. Ivan, on the verge of losing his composure, turned away to hide his laughter.

Schiller closed his eyes, muttering something in Russian under his breath before addressing the buyers again. “The situation is under control. You’ll receive your shipment by morning.”

He ended the call before they could respond, slumping back in his chair as Aleksandra beamed up at him.

“Draw more?” she asked innocently.

Schiller handed her a piece of paper and the pen. “Draw here. Not on me. Or the walls.”

Ivan, still trying to suppress his laughter, finally spoke. “Boss... you’re, uh, surprisingly good at this.”

Schiller shot him a withering glare. “Say that again, and you’ll be negotiating with the buyers instead of me.”

Bedtime Chaos

By the time night rolled around, Schiller was confident that nothing could faze him anymore. Aleksandra had already upended his meticulously ordered world, and somehow, he’d survived. All that remained was to get her to sleep.

“Okay, Aleksandra,” he said, carrying her to her small bed, which had been hastily set up in his guest room that morning. “Time to sleep.”

“No!” Aleksandra declared, clutching her stuffed bunny tightly.

Schiller sighed. “You’re tired. Even you cannot deny this.”

“No!” she repeated, bouncing on the mattress with the energy of someone who hadn’t just spent all day wreaking havoc.

“Fine,” Schiller muttered. “What do you want? A story? Music? Bribery?”

Aleksandra considered this, then pointed at him with a mischievous grin. “Song!”

Schiller blinked. “A... song?”

“Yes, Daddy! Sing!”

Schiller, who had successfully brokered deals with warlords and assassins, was suddenly at a loss. “I don’t sing.”

Aleksandra pouted, her big green eyes filling with crocodile tears. “Pleeease?”

He stared at her, weighing his options. Giving in was a hit to his dignity, but the alternative was a tantrum loud enough to wake the entire building—and possibly alert rival operatives.

“Fine,” he grumbled. After a moment’s thought, he began humming a lullaby he vaguely remembered from his childhood. His deep, steady voice filled the room, and to his surprise, Aleksandra’s eyelids began to droop.

“Night, night,” she mumbled, snuggling into her pillow.

Schiller exhaled in relief, quietly backing out of the room.

A Threat Revealed

Schiller was barely two steps into his study when his phone buzzed. The number on the screen sent a jolt of tension through him. It was Andrei, a rival with a penchant for overstepping boundaries.

“What?” Schiller answered sharply, keeping his voice low.

“You’ve been busy,” Andrei drawled, his tone laced with smugness. “I hear you’ve taken up... parenting.”

Schiller froze, his blood turning to ice. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, Schiller. Word travels fast, especially when someone as secretive as you is seen buying animal crackers at the corner store.”

Schiller clenched his jaw, mentally cursing his earlier trip to appease Aleksandra’s snack demands. “If you’ve touched her—”

“Relax,” Andrei interrupted. “I haven’t done anything. Yet. But it’s interesting, don’t you think? How vulnerable you’ve become.”

Schiller’s grip on the phone tightened. “If you so much as breathe near her, I will destroy everything you’ve ever built. Do you understand me?”

Andrei laughed. “Such a doting father. We’ll talk soon.”

The call ended, leaving Schiller staring at the phone, fury and fear battling in his chest.

The Resolve

Steeling himself, Schiller went to check on Aleksandra. She was still fast asleep, clutching her bunny, her peaceful face illuminated by the soft glow of her nightlight.

Schiller stood in the doorway, his jaw set. For years, he’d been untouchable, a ghost who operated in shadows. Aleksandra had changed that—she was his one weakness, and now his enemies knew it.

But as he looked at her, so small and innocent, he felt a fierce protectiveness that eclipsed his fear. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if it meant taking more extreme measures to ensure no one dared threaten her again.

Quietly, he pulled out his phone and dialed Ivan.

“Double the security around the building,” he ordered. “And find out who leaked Aleksandra’s existence to Andrei. I want them found. Now.”

“Yes, boss,” Ivan replied, his voice unusually serious.

As he ended the call, Schiller leaned against the doorway, watching Aleksandra sleep. She had no idea how dangerous the world around her was, and he intended to keep it that way.

“You are more trouble than anyone I’ve ever known,” he whispered. “But you’re worth it, malyshka.”

Aleksandra stirred slightly, murmuring something in her sleep, and Schiller allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

The world would come for him, as it always did. But now, it would have to go through him to get to her.