forum "Falling in love? It's an occupational hazard." | OxO CLOSED, STALKERS WELCOME

Started May 02, 2023 by @Vitae_

tune

Mikhail stiffened in the silence that followed Pike's final words, keeping his eyes trained downward. His body was coiled, ready for a fight at the slightest indication of danger, but to his surprise, only a simple question followed.

Wary eyes met Mr. Ortiz's, then flickered to the younger boy who had practically crawled into his lap. His hands hovered over Carlos, fluttering uselessly like he was afraid he'd be struck down for touching him, then cautiously lowered to rest lightly on his back. One hand reached up to card through his hair, and contrary to the guard–Savin–whom he had reacted violently with when he'd grabbed his ears, he had no inclination to stop Carlos from doing the same.

What seemed a simple question proved far harder for Mikhail to answer. It was several tense seconds before he managed a quiet, "Because he needed it."

He was aware it wasn't a satisfactory response, but it was the truth. And also an echo of the very same response he'd given to Carlos when he had asked.

"I have…no allegiance to the Venatici," he added, hesitant to speak so much in such a vulnerable state in front of so many people, and yet desperate to clear his name. "I used to, yes. But not for a few years, now." He opened his mouth to say more, but cut himself off with a grimace.

Speaking hurt, but a wary glance towards the medics told him it was unlikely he'd be offered any water. "I am no longer who I was," he settled on saying, letting his gaze fall to the ground again.

Immediately, Pike opened her mouth to protest, but seemed to think better of it. Savin, however, was not as tactful.

"So you admit to once belonging to these–these hunting dogs, but you have no allegiance to them? Explain why you were working at Astros, then," he demanded, forgetting himself and taking a step towards the bodyguard.

Mikhail repressed the urge to show him his teeth and managed to stay still, though he wrapped himself more protectively around Carlos. "I didn't know…about them."

"Bullshit," he snapped, and again, Pike laid a hand on his shoulder. "Calm," she advised in a soft voice, though it was barbed as she addressed Mikhail.

"You mean to say you immigrated here and unknowingly landed a job at the one place serving as a front for another branch of your organization?"

A bit of steel entered Mikhail's own voice in response. "Not. Mine." He inhaled slowly, trying to rationalize his scattered thoughts. "I did not know of their…association. But neither was the job random." He paused, his tone taking on a strange quality. Solemn. "It was…supposed to be a gift."

On that subject, he clamped up. He refused to say more in the presence of so many onlookers, and he hoped his level glance at Mr. Ortiz would be enough to communicate that.

Beyond that, he was tired. Letting his instincts consume him, no matter how unnatural some may view it, left him bone-tired in a way he couldn't have even comprehended before his change. Combined with the abysmal amount of sleep he'd gotten in the last few days, and the emotional intensity of the last hour, he wouldn't be surprised if his body decided to take things into its own hands and force him to pass out soon.

Whispering, now, he shifted his lips close to Carlos' ear and said, "I'm sorry you got hurt. You should sleep."

Ortiz listened closely to the conversation, then sighed heavily. “Everyone back inside. Clean up. Don’t let the children see anything. Mikhail…you stay here…I’ll interrogate you later after you’ve slept…” He looked at his son, who was sleepily petting Mikhail’s ears and mumbling something in Italian. Though no one could understand him at all.

Carlos’ father takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ll be capable of prying him off you even when asleep…so if you’re fine with it, he can stay with you. But I will also be staying here and keeping an eye on you both.” He then looks at everyone. “You all know I have cameras. They’re linked to my phone. Don’t try anything. Don’t say anything. Just clean and situate yourselves. Understood?”

Everyone in the room quietly nodded and slowly made their way out of the bunker. The stronger body guards going first, then so on. After the room was cleared, Ortiz took a seat by his son, his gaze softening as he watched his child trace Mikhail’s ears, then start braiding parts of his hair. Ortiz seemed to frown ever so slightly. He hadn’t seen Carlos act like this in a while…but it had happened before. Last time it did…it took the boy a whole month to go back to normal. It hurt him to see his son so vulnerable all the time…but as long as his boy was safe…then he was content. After a long while, Ortiz looked up at Mikhail. There was a…fatherly like sternness in his eyes. Almost like he was silently saying “I am very disappointed in you.”

Mikhail's relaxed as the crowd began to file out, taking their distrustful glares with them. A few seemed to hesitate, Savin included, and the bodyguard saw a single flash of gunmetal before the offender rushed to join the front of the group. Only when the last person had vanished did he fully let his guard down, his entire body falling slack like a puppet with its strings cut. The back of his head bumped against the wall with a faint 'thud', exposing the long column of his blood-flecked throat. The motion dislodged Carlos' fingers from his hair, and Mikhail's ear twitched at the loss of contact.

The bodyguard's vision blurred, and he squinted at the ceiling in an effort to clear it. When that didn't succeed, he released a breath and finally turned his gaze, albeit reluctantly, to Mr. Ortiz. Even with the haziness in his sight, the crime lord's disappointed stare was impossible to miss. He seemed to shrink beneath it, no longer able to meet his eyes.

At a loss for words, Mikhail merely nodded and allowed his eyes to slip shut, giving Carlos' scalp a final, gentle scratch before relaxing his hand and letting it rest on the floor beside him.

---

When Mikhail awoke, there was no moment of blissful ignorance or confusion about where he was or the events of the night prior. The concrete was too firm against his spine, his legs far too numb from Carlos's weight, for his brain to weave any kind of comforting deception. Gratefully, he noted the absence of his more animalistic traits.

He shifted, raising his head from the younger boy's shoulder—where it'd apparently gravitated overnight—and stretched his neck, careful not to disturb the sleeping boy. He shifted his arm, wincing at the soreness in his limbs, and steading Carlos enough that he could check his wound.

Pike and the other medics had done well, considering the circumstances. The injury would need to be cleaned and bandaged again, and more pain medication would need to be administered, but he detected no scent of infection and his temperature was stable. Convinced the bullet wound was no longer life-threatening, Mikhail turned his attention to Mr. Ortiz, only pausing to glance at the hatch above to discern the time. Judging by the faint sunlight peeking through the gaps, he guessed it was around seven in the morning.

He held his breath, waiting to see if the crime lord—or heavens forbid, Carlos—would stir.

Ortiz seemed to be awake, holding his phone to his side. The only thing that proved the man was awake was the slight swipe and tap of his thumb to the screen. After a while, without even looking up at Mikhail, he murmurs, “So…if you’re awake enough to talk about it, tell me everything about last night. Explain yourself. Maybe I’ll give you a second chance…” he glances over to his sleeping son, his gaze soft. “You did save my son…several times over. You didn’t fail to protect him…” He sighs, not even sparing Mikhail a glance.

“If your excuse and explanation is good enough…you won’t get fired. If it’s not good…you’re gonna say goodbye to your life.” He threatens, his tone scolding. Just like a disappointed fathers. “So…start explaining.” He orders, turning off his phone and setting it face up. The crime lord finally looks up into Mikhail’s eyes, silently saying “I am very disappointed in you.”

Mikhail flinched at the directness of his words, heart already racing at the prospect of explaining himself. "To explain everything—" he broke off with a cough that he did his best to stifle, for fear of waking or hurting Carlos. He wiped a hand over his mouth and saw flakes of blood, though it was dry and he knew it was not his own.

He lifted his head, eyeing the various piles of supplies that hadn't yet been transported back to the mansion. Among them were a few bottles of water, the sight of which seemed to hurt his throat even worse. He couldn't very well ask Mr. Ortiz to grab one for him…but neither could he move Carlos without causing him unnecessary pain. Resigned to speaking through the discomfort, he again rasped, "To explain everything will take a while."

He let the sentence hang between them for a moment, trying to figure out the best place to start. "I… Years ago, I was a recruit for the Venatici," he admitted, suddenly finding a crack in the concrete incredibly interesting. His thumbnail caressed the groove of it, mindlessly. "I was twelve, I think, when they adopted me into their branch." He did not elaborate on the uncertainty over his age at the time. "The branch leader favored me because, though I was young and awkward, I had…experience, surviving fights."

Mikhail raised his gaze, sorrow gleaming in his amber eyes. "Your medic is well-informed, but she knows little of what it actually means to be a recruit of the Venatici. There were thirteen of us when we began. And, including myself," he paused, swallowing back a wave of emotion. "Including myself, there are just two left. We were the only ones to undergo the ritual and survive. The other three chosen weren't so lucky."

He opened his mouth again to explain, but whatever words he had prepared crumbled away into a stifled noise of pain. His hand lifted to grip his hair, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment as he struggled with himself. At last, his muscles relaxed, a defeated light entering his eyes. "I can't…talk about the ritual. Even if I wanted to—" he cut himself off, taking a shaky breath in.

Without giving the crime lord a chance to question why, he forged onward. "In no uncertain terms, life as a recruit for the Venatici was… unpleasant. If ever I was allegiant to them, it was because I believed I owed a debt to them for saving my life. I did not understand until I was older that they had no true regard for me and by then… I had no choice in who I served."

The expression on his face was distant, now, glazed over with only a vague sense of hurt emanating from him. His eyes drifted towards the crime lord once again. "I used to be human. My hair was brown, my eyes were… I don't really know. Gray, maybe? But I wasn't this," he gestured to himself with a jerk of his hand, and though the most identifying traits of his other form were gone now, the words carried a particular weight to it.

"I became a creature, a tool for the Dogs to use how they wished. I killed many people under their direction, and many more to preserve my own life. Silver Reaper is nothing more than the name of a glorified defense mechanism—one I apparently have yet to unlearn." He glanced at his nails, noting the blood caked beneath them, and curled his hand into a fist to hide them from his own view.

"It may come as no surprise to you that I wanted out. The branch leader knew this and often dangled the hope of freedom in front of me, but it wasn't until about a year ago that an opportunity presented itself. My comrade, the other survivor of the ritual, she… She risked a lot for me, so that I might be able to escape the country. She directed me to this city, I think because of you." Mikhail paused, watching for a reaction before tentatively adding, "She believed I'd be safer here, in the territory of another lord of the underworld. I don't believe she knew about the true nature of Astros—only that it was a convenient place to put me on my feet that wouldn't ask questions."

"That…that is why I looked as if I'd seen a ghost that night, when you were the one who arrived to collect Carlos. Out of every person in this city, you were the last I'd expected to run into. And maybe it was stupid of me to agree to your offer, to associate myself with another group so dangerous and so soon after escaping the Venatici, but… I was curious. It was the first real choice given to me, and a chance to protect, rather than destroy. After discovering the truth behind Astros, however…" He let out a soft, disparaging laugh. "It seems I was never as truly free as I had hoped."

Acceptance entered his tone at that, and he met Mr. Ortiz's eyes. "Nor, do I believe, am I now. But, at least," he turned to face Carlos, his tone and eyes softening. "This is a much kinder cage.'

He lapsed into silence, giving the crime lord time to digest all he had said. "Well?" he asked softly, continuing to watch the top of Carlos' head. "What is your verdict?"

Ortiz stared at Mikhail, watching him…judging him. After a long…long silence, he took a soft breath in, and slowly let it out with a soft puff. The crime lord then straightened his back and stared Mikhail in his eyes. “One. More. Chance.” He says sternly. “One more chance to change. Work on yourself.” He rests his arm on his bent leg.

“I already see you care…and you’re still a person.” Ortiz keeps his Icy stare right through Mikhail’s soul. “Improve yourself. If something happens…you’re out of my protection. You’re on thin ice.” He looked over to his still peacefully sleeping son, then hands Mikhail a water bottle. “I want you to understand my seriousness here. At this moment, you are no more than a worker. A bodyguard. If I see that your loyalty doesn’t wane, that trust will be rebuilt.” He looks back to Mikhail. “No secrets will be kept. Am I understood?”

It was already obvious from the crime lords tone that he had no intention of letting Mikhail compliantly escape the microscope. He would be watched closely at any moment, people would question Carlos whenever possible…asked if Mikhail seems off. But at the very least…Mikhail would be protected from the rest of the staff. Even if Ortiz never mentioned it.

Mikhail accepted the water, silent as he mulled over the words. "I understand, Sir," he intoned, thumbing the plastic bottle cap quietly. After a moment, he ducked his head and cracked open the bottle with one hand, seeing as Carlos was still serving as a barrier between his two arms, and took a long draught of water. The relief was immediate, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing, and it restored in him a bit of energy.

He set the bottle back on the floor with a nod of thanks, then wiped his mouth against his shoulder. "With all due respect, Sir," he trailed off, battling his sense of frustration in an effort to keep it out of his voice. He was aware the crime lord was granting him a huge mercy by allowing him to return to the manor as his employee, and yet—there was a flash of upset in his eyes that he could not smother. "How would you have me change?"

His free hand fisted in the material of his slacks, and he asked, "Would you have me forsake the inhuman part of myself? Because I must warn you now that I cannot. Will not." A breath, and then, "Would you have me divulge every secret of mine? Because I cannot promise that, either." There was pain in his eyes at the admission and his frustration swelled, then made way for stubbornness. "I do not wish to challenge you. I owe you a debt for your very presence in this city, which has acted as a shield from all the eyes of those who did this to me for close to a year. Moreover, I respect you for the devotion you give to your son." He swallowed. "But I have no desire to change who I am currently. I… I am the only one who has always had my best interests at heart. I have already given both you and your son my loyalty. Please do not ask me to change myself."

He bristled for a moment longer, then averted his gaze as a sign that he was calm once again. "I will continue to serve as Carlos' bodyguard if you see fit." Thinking of the various moments the two had shared over the last few days, his tone softened and he added quietly, "I would be happy to, even."

There was a moment of silence, and he quietly added, "I may be a monster to some, but I am not a bloodthirsty one. I don't seek out violence, and I don't lie unless the circumstances are dire. I have never lied to you, Mr. Ortiz." He glanced up then, so that the father may see the truth in his eyes. "And I am not lying to you now."

"Having said this," he continued, "Do you still intend to give me a second chance?"

Ortiz seemed to take everything Mikhail had said into deep consideration. His gaze was distant for a while as he calculated his next action. Finally, the crime lord nods. “Yes. I will.” He says finally. He seemed to regain a soft, fatherly look in his eyes. “I appreciate you being truthful. I really do.” He nods slightly trying to show he was genuine.

The crime lord seemed slightly stressed as he looks over to his son. Carlos was still fast asleep, snuggled into Mikhail’s arms. He honestly looked adorable while sleeping. He seemed so cozy…so happy. It was a major change from when he is awake. The boy honestly looked to be having the best sleep of his life while in Mikhail’s arms. It would make sense too. Anyone would feel happy and safe when sleeping in a big strong mans (or woman’s) arms.

“I understand completely about your own terms.” Ortiz finally spoke up. “Just know that I don’t want any surprises anymore. Am I clear?”

Mikhail's shoulders drooped with relief, and he cracked the barest hint of a smile in return. "Crystal, sir." The mirth in his expression faded, then, and he sighed. "On that note, there are a few things I should inform you of." He glanced sideways at the man, gauging his receptiveness to what he was about to say.

"The knowledge I possess—it's enough to bring the Venatici to its knees." The words hung in the air, dripping temptation and a chance at vengeance. "…And without them, the entire organization is vulnerable." 'The very same people who hurt Carlos, who begin to threaten your territory in the States.' "I want nothing more than for that to happen, but…" Again, he trailed off, biting his lip. Discomfort clear on his face, he reluctantly continued, "The Venatici, they took certain precautions against us 'Walkers' divulging their secrets." After a moment's hesitation, he tilted his head back and parted his mouth, exposing his tongue. In the center was a foreign, blackened sigil. In an abstract way, it resembled an eye with a constricted pupil facing away from a dual-pointed stake.

When Mikhail was certain Mr. Ortiz had seen enough he closed his mouth and rubbed his jaw self-consciously. "'Treachery returns to the betrayer.' That is the curse I bear, and it responds to any intent of mine to discuss certain secrets belonging to the Venatici. It causes me great physical pain to try and ignore it."

He released a long breath, eyes following the dust motes dancing in and out of the rays of sunlight streaming in through the hatch. "I would share these secrets of mine in a heartbeat if it meant I could ensure the downfall of those who placed this curse, but I cannot. This may make me a liability to you in the future," he warned, but there was a tinge of cautious hope to his tone, now. "If I could find a Cursebreaker, though…" 'I would tell you everything.' He left his sentence unfinished, waiting for Mr. Ortiz to make the connection.

"I don't mean for you to take responsibility for this curse of mine. I only intend to inform you as best I can, given the circumstances." Cursebreakers were, after all, incredibly rare and difficult to find. Not only that, but their prices were told to be exorbitant—hence his past year of enduring shitty living conditions in the hopes of saving enough to free himself.

"The second thing…" Mikhail clasped his hands together at Carlos' back, resisting the urge to rest his chin on his shoulder in favor of staring at the ground. "It's not…impossible that the attack last night was related to me. I never explained how I found out that Astros was related to gang activity, did I?"

He swallowed, shifting his weight as much as he could without waking the boy in his lap. "The night Carlos was attacked, well after you brought him home, I was confronted by one of the managers. When he realized what I'd done—rescuing the son of a rival group and attacking one of his own men, he and a few of the staff tried to subdue and interrogate me. I managed to slip away, but not before I saw the brand on his shoulder. That was when I first realized they were connected to the main branch and had been monitoring me since I first arrived in this country."

The bodyguard's voice was low with hatred for the man he spoke of, but he managed to suppress it enough to add in a more neutral tone, "I think they believe I was onto them far earlier than I actually was, and that I already had ties to you at that point in time. They thought I was working for you, that I had somehow disarmed the curse placed on me… and by that point, I had nowhere else to flee than the very job offer you gave to me. To put it more simply…"

Amber eyes flicked up to meet Mr. Ortiz's, gravely serious. "They attacked me then because they believed I intended to work with you to bring down the entire organization. To them, I am a loose end they cannot afford to keep. Now that the circumstances align more accurately with their earlier assumption… It's safe to assume the attack last night could have been a surveillance expedition meant to confirm my whereabouts. Normally, that would be enough grounds for me to run. I have no desire to threaten the things you've built, nor the people important to you… But if they suspect I am involved with you, as they have from the moment I saved Carlos and made first contact with you, then…"

"Your family is a loose end, as well."

He was quiet for a long moment, unable to meet Mr. Ortiz's eyes. "I'm sorry that my presence here has caused so much trouble. I should have warned you from the beginning that I suspected you two were a target, but I thought if I just stuck around, I could protect more than just Carlos. Even regarding that, I have done a poor job."

With how power-hungry the organization was, it was only a matter of time before Mr. Ortiz's empire was threatened. They'd been casing Carlos long before Mikhail had become aware of him—and yet, he felt guilty.

Ortiz sighs. “Mikhail…” he says softly, “My family has been at risk for generations. This is no new news for me. If anything…you’re another person to protect. I am the most feared crime lord here. And I will claim everything the light touches here.” He lifts his chin slightly, showing his determination. “Now…what I’m wondering is…what cost does the curse breaker have? And can you still write about it? At the very least vaguely. I’m good at reading between the lines…while Carlos isn’t. You could use me.”

At this, Carlos began to stir slightly. The boy whimpered as a pan of pain struck him like lightning. “Nooo…” he whines, gripping onto Mikhail’s shirt. It seemed clear the poor boy was still not in the right mind. This seemed to concern Ortiz.

Carlos’ father frowns deeply, reaching over and gently running his fingers through his sons hair. “Shhh…it’s ok. You’re safe. Just take deep breaths for me…” Ortiz cooed softly.

Carlos whined in protest at this. “It hurttttssssss…” He whimpers, his hands gripping even harder to the bodyguards shirt. The poor thing seemed so pitiful. And from the look in Ortiz’s eyes, there seemed to be way more to the boys sickness than what was said. There were probably more reasons why the boy wasn’t really allowed to be alone anymore. Why he needed constant protection. It appeared that only ones closest to Carlos knew as well. This boy was more sick than he let on. But not just physically.

After a moment, Carlos began to slowly relax as he took in the warmth of Mikhail. A soft, almost drunken smile slowly sprinkled onto the boys lips. “Mmm…” He hummed softly, his breathing and heartbeat seeming to calm as well.

Amber eyes widened at the statement and Mikhail snapped his head to the side to look at the man. He was so stunned it took him a few seconds to remember to close his mouth, and then his gaze dropped to the water bottle as he began to fiddle with the cap again.

Eventually, he managed an amused breath, ducking his head. "Maybe I was wrong," he mumbled to himself. Then he shook his head softly, clearing his thoughts, and answered, "I tried documenting what I know, but… As I mentioned, the curse responds to intent. As long as I plan to expose their secrets, it will activate regardless of the method. Usually, the curse can't even be seen. It only manifested like this because I tried to speak about—" He cut himself off as Carlos began to stir, falling incredibly still so as not to disturb him.

Mikhail's focus narrowed as he examined the boy, one of his hands gravitating to his back and rubbing comforting circles.

Only when he seemed to slip back into sleep did he risk speaking again, although his voice was far lower than before. "He needs more painkillers. The previous dose should be wearing off by now." He lifted his head and gazed at Mr. Ortiz. "I can fill you in on the rest later, but we should move him back to the mansion while he's stable. There are better places to rest than here."

Waiting for Mr. Ortiz's approval first, he ever so gently shifted the boy's weight. He took extra care not to jostle his wound or move his hands from his borrowed shirt, only wrapping his arms around him and, using the wall as leverage, smoothly lifting him up.

Taking a moment to adjust so Carlos was comfortably cradled against his chest, he motioned with a nod and downturned eyes for the crime lord to lead the way. It would be better, he hoped, than walking Carlos into a den of people still hostile over the revelations from the previous night. The last thing they needed was any assumptions that Mikhail was hurting him.

When they'd reentered the greenhouse, Mikhail checked that the sun wasn't in the boy's eyes and that he still seemed to be asleep, then quietly said, "If I may ask… What is the full story behind Carlos' condition? I don't mean to pry, but it seems important, given I'm to spend a lot of time around him. And I've noticed…" he hesitated, trying to determine what details he should include. "I've noticed he exhibits some symptoms of PTSD… And this attack… He responded to it with a familiarity that was concerning."

Ortiz was in the middle of opening the warm greenhouses door when he stiffened at the question. Ortiz was silent for a long time…too long…as if revisiting the nightmares of his past. After a moment, he took a sharp breath in and turned to face Mikhail. His look had only a fatherly love…concern…guilt. It took another moment before Ortiz spoke.

“Well…I think I know where half of the PTSD came from…” He murmurs. Ortiz then gave a heavy sigh as he continued,

“Of course…he remembers parts of losing his mother…he was young…and he still thinks those memories were just nightmares. But he was there to witness her gruesome death.” His voice wavered with true sorrow. “He had just turned 4. Just shy from a toddler…barely learning how to speak. And yet…he witnessed her get shot.” He shudders at the thought, looking down at the ground as if that was the day he failed as a father.

“Then there was all those times we got attacked…though he’s always seemed to numb to those. But when he was little…he was always terrified.” Ortiz grips the greenhouse door handle. “And…” he took a deep breath as he quietly spoke, “He was…assaulted…several times.” He clears his throat, wiping his eyes to attempt to rid himself from his tears. “That’s one of the reasons why I never let him go out alone anymore…he’s been…” Ortiz chokes up slightly, shuddering. “Raped…”

There was a long pause…the silence almost becoming violent. Luckily, it was broken by a very tiny squeak from Carlos as he nuzzled into Mikhail’s warmth. Ortiz looked up at his boy and relaxed ever so slightly at the sight that he was okay.

After a while, Ortiz spoke again, “He’s also just…sickly. As you can tell.” He sighs. “He was born with his umbilical cord wrapped tightly around his neck…he was almost a still born…and he was premature.” Ortiz wraps his arms around himself, “It was a miracle he survived.” He looked directly to Carlos as he spoke, trying to comfort himself.

“Then came his illnesses…” He sighs. “He wasn’t born fully developed. And we soon learned he will never be fully developed. The doctors tried everything…but his mind and body will always be a few steps behind everyone else. He’s a smart kid…very smart…even genius I’d say…but he still has his problems.” he looks at Mikhail this time. “This contributed to his seizures. His weak immune system…he can barely fight off the flu. He’s been hospitalized for a cold before because of how badly it hits him. It’s probably why I always wanna keep him inside…”

Ortiz went back to watching his son, his eyes immediately softening. “We’re still fighting for him. He’s gotten better…but the main thing is…he’s able to pretend he’s ok now. He’s able to grin and bear it.” He shakes his head, closing his eyes. Ortiz then opens the door.

“Let’s hurry now…” He murmurs.

Horror, fury, sorrow, and a million other emotions seemed to flash through Mikhail's eyes all at once. The information was overwhelming–or perhaps a part of him simply refused to process it.

Carlos, who he was only starting to get to know. Carlos and his fascination with the stars in the sky. Carlos and his quick-witted tongue, his patience in less-than-ideal situations. Carlos and his undeniable bravery.

At the younger boy's chirp, a surge of protectiveness washed over him, and his hold tightened. The flurry of emotion in his eyes settled on one: Rage.

No matter how calm of a front he wore, his slitted amber eyes and the trembling of his fingers betrayed him. Slowly trying to control his breathing, he ducked his head and followed Mr. Ortiz through the doors.

He was quiet for several long moments as they traversed the hallways. Through some means or another, most of the bloodstains had vanished, with just a few faded spots left in carpets here or there. The only dead giveaway of the attack last night was the occasional spattering of bullet holes.

Mikhail focused on them, letting his thoughts drift briefly into a more peaceful place. How would they fix those holes? Most of the mansion's walls were wooden. If it were drywall, it would be an easy fix, but given as it was…

When Mikhail switched focus back to the present, they were standing just outside the infirmary.

Within moments, the door opened to reveal Pike and one other medic; a young man with sandy blonde hair styled similarly to his own, but far shorter in length.

Pike's face was so neutral when she laid eyes on him that it almost felt cold. But then, his blood was still cold after Mr. Ortiz's revelation, so it was hard to tell.

She moved aside graciously for the three to enter, and as she did so, the young man beamed at them. It was so off-putting that Mikhail had to resist the urge to recoil.

Luckily, Pike took that moment to speak. "Welcome, Sir. You're here for Carlos' next dose, correct? Let's take a look at him over here. We'll need to redress the wound, as well."

She did not look at Mikhail, but she motioned for him to set Carlos down on one of the cots towards the middle of the room. Rather than obey, Mikhail shifted his weight and glanced at Mr. Ortiz for direction.

Logically, he knew Pike would not hurt Carlos. And yet, his instincts were a little haywire after the night prior, in addition to having kicked into protective mode for the time being.

As such, he jumped slightly at the loud voice that followed.

"Ah, Boss!" The sandy-haired one called, and another doctor in the distance muttered something that sounded distinctly like, "Volume, Lincoln." Lincoln seemed to hear, too, because he shot a pout at the senior doctor and said, "How many times have I asked you to call me Link?" With a huff, he turned back to the crime lord with the same overenthusiastic smile from before. "Anyways, do you have any injuries that need to be looked over?"

Ortiz smiles warmly at Link. “I’m fine. Just a tiny scratch. It’ll heal. Just focus on Carlos. Yeah?” He ruffles the boys hair, then looked over at his son, who was now starting to whine from his growing pain. Ortiz then looked at Mikhail. “You can set him down. Or sit with him. Either or is fine. I’m sure he wont be letting go of you soon. Trust me…I know how strong that boys grip is.” He smiles ever so slightly as he gently reaches over and gently strokes the boys hair.

As Ortiz did this, Carlos nestled further into Mikhail while also leaning into his fathers touch. Despite the look of pain on the boys face, he stayed out cold. This seemed to worry Ortiz and another nurse who had waddled over. The nurse had a fairly large baby bump. Around 7 months pregnant, yet still working hard. Ortiz smiled at the nurse and gently took her hair. “Alicia.” He murmurs. “I told you it’s alright to take off.”

The girl smiles, her voice soft like a wise therapist. “It’s alright. I’m not due for another 3 months. I’ll be fine. And so will the little one.” He giggles softly, then looks over to Carlos. “Oh…poor baby…” She murmurs softly, gently placing her hand where the wound was. She then smiled at Mikhail with a loving, motherly look. “Set him over to the cot. I’ll look him over. Everyone here is still a little tense from last night…and I think they need a breather.” She emphasized the last parts a little louder so Pike and the others could hear her.

Link seemed a little put off by the dismissal, but brightened when he saw Alicia approaching. It seemed to be the popular opinion that everyone liked the woman. Even Pike's carefully constructed mask of neutrality slipped some, betraying the warmth in her eyes for the pregnant lady.

Mikhail understood why the moment his eyes met hers. They were so unreservedly kind it almost made him uncomfortable. Almost.

As it was, a knot in his chest loosened some, and he felt more able to breathe. He gently set Carlos on the cot as instructed, managing to free himself from his hold long enough to sacrifice his arm in its stead. With his height, he ended up hunched over awkwardly before securing a tentative spot on the edge of the cot, out of the way so that Carlos could be attended to but close enough that he could still comfort the younger boy.

While Alicia and Mr. Ortiz focused on Carlos, a tap on Mikhail's shoulder demanded his attention. He lifted his gaze to see Link standing there sheepishly. "So, you're the leopard guy, right?"

Mikhail stared, unsure of where this was going.

"Er, anyways, while you're here, mind getting checked out by me? It's mandatory for all staff to be given a physical after an attack like this," he explained, gesturing to the mound of paperwork Mikhail was only just now noticing. He assumed those were the records of all the patients prior.

Awkwardly, he shrugged. "That's not necessary. I'm not hurt, and besides…" he glanced back at Carlos. "I don't want to disturb him right now."

It was Link's turn to stare, and Mikhail shifted uncomfortably at the realization he was probably staring at the remnants of blood in his hair. "It's not mine," he mumbled, turning away from Link and allowing the young man to retreat with a look of caution.

It freed Mikhail to tune back into the conversation at hand.

Ortiz looked over to Link with a soft smile to attempt to tell the boy it was ok. “Why don’t you get Alicia some new bandages?” He then put his attention back to his son, getting onto the ground next to the boy and gently running his fingers through his hair.

As Carlos was being tended to, he whined and muttered for them to stop while still out cold. Alicia sighed softly, and with her gentle, soothing voice, murmured, “Shhh…it’s alright…you’re ok. It will be over soon.” Every now and then, she’d smile up at Mikhail to show her appreciation, and also praise his good work as Carlos clung to him like a scared kitten. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m sure this means a lot to Carlos and Ortiz.” She hums softly and finishes tending to the boy after she was passed fresh bandages.

“Alright. That should be good. Now about this not waking up…” Alicia hums and lightly presses the back of her hand to Carlos’s forehead. “Hmm…slight fever. Not too bad…but I’ll give him some medicine just in case. Mikhail, sweetheart…can you lift his head up a tad, please?” The woman rummages around in a little medicine bag, then pulls out a bottle of liquid. She then pours the clear liquid into a small cup and ever so gently opens Carlos’s mouth, pours the liquid into his mouth, then closes it and gently runs her fingers along the boys throat to make him swallow. The sweet little woman did this as if she had to do so many…many times before.

As Carlos took the medicine, he made a face of disgust before nuzzling into Mikhail with a whimper. Ortiz sighs and murmurs, “Can we get him some pain killers?”

Alicia nodded at this and dug some more in her bag before pulling out a small needle and a bottle. “If someone could just talk to him while I do this…I’d appreciate it.” She murmurs, extracting the liquid from the bottle into the syringe. Ortiz took initiative and started murmuring softly to his son as he played with the boys hair. Though even with these attempts, as soon as the needle went into Carlos’s skin, he shrieked and started thrashing in attempt to get away from the injection. Though somehow, before anyone had time to react, Alicia was already pressing a cotton swab to the injection cite. “There…we’re ok. We’re ok…” She whispers, kissing the boy’s forehead.

Mikhail listened to Alicia's instruction without complaint, sliding his fingers beneath Carlos' head and carefully lifting it so the nurse could feed him the medicine. He held his tongue, though he burned with questions the longer he watched her work.

Mr. Ortiz had mentioned Carlos was sickly. Mikhail had even witnessed the aftermath of one of his episodes himself, and yet… The familiarity of Alicia's touch made it real.

Carlos' sudden shriek jolted him out of his thoughts and he stiffened. The sound made his hair stand on end and his eyes dilate, the instinct to protect warring with his rational thought. Only through sheer self-control did he manage to remain still, though his heart still jackhammered uncomfortably.

The bodyguard swallowed, averting his eyes from Alicia and releasing his breath. 'I need more sleep. Hasn't been this bad in a while,' he thought, his free hand clutching the sheets of the cot. 'If this keeps up, I'm bound to make a mistake. Which is the last thing this family needs while Carlos is healing…'

Link chose that moment to wander back over with fresh bandages, presenting them on palms held flat in front of him. "For you, Boss. What else can I help with?" He seemed to direct that last part at Alicia, fidgeting like he couldn't stand to stay still for long.