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

Started May 02, 2023 by @Vitae_

tune

Mikhail stirred at the movement beneath his fingers, waiting with bated breath to see if the boy would fully waken. Again, relief washed over him as he returned to full consciousness, although his disorientation was concerning.

"You're outside of Astros. It's a nightclub on the edge of the city," he answered, a bit hesitant to address the other question. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to panic once he remembered he'd been attacked, but hiding the matter didn't seem like a great option, either. He carefully patted the socks against the wound, lifting the blood-soaked fabric enough to check on the wound, and he was pleased to see the bleeding had slowed. With any luck, the kid would recover quickly.

"You were attacked by a man with a knife. I don't see any cuts on you, but it looks like he rattled your skull a little too hard against that wall because it triggered a seizure of some kind. You might have a concussion, so don't try to move around until the ambulance gets here," he warned, wary of the boy's reaction to all that information. "Can you tell me your name?"

It took Carlos a full 3 minutes to react to the strangers statement. First it was realization, then panic. “What?! NO!” He scrambles up, only to almost collapse back onto the pavement. The sudden movement hurt…a lot. His head started pounding and his vision blurred. “N-no- no ambulance…I-I’m- I’m fine…” He almost fainted again, but he managed to keep himself awake.

Mikhail cursed again and scrambled to steady the boy, holding him firmly by the shoulders. "Don't move! What did I just say?" he hissed. "You have a head injury! You can't just…" he trailed off, forcing himself to calm down. Getting loud would decidedly not help the situation, especially given the kid probably had a pounding headache right now.

He dropped his voice back into a softer register before speaking again. "You need medical attention for that injury. You just had a seizure, for god's sake. Why wouldn't you want an ambulance?"

Unbidden, his thoughts flickered back to the attacker, what he had said when the boy first collapsed. You have no idea what you're protecting, do you? That there is the son of a man who has made many lives a living hell.

Mikhail knew that the attack was driven by some kind of grudge against the boy's father, but now he wondered about the origins of that grudge. If the kid was this afraid of the thought of an ambulance… Well, the logical train of thought was that his fear must extend to the police. Authority. Just who was this kid?

Carlos whimpers, “No! I don’t need a-“ He stumbles slightly, leaning heavily on the man. His vision went to black and he went completely limp. This lasted a solid minute before he snapped back to reality.

The poor man was still disoriented, his head basically killing him with every movement. His whole body hurt, even his eyes from the street lights. The sounds around them hurt him even more. It seemed like his senses were on overdrive. Carlos whines, “It hurts…” he murmurs.

At the, "It hurts," Mikhail made his decision. If the kid was truly afraid of the police, he hoped it was for a good reason because he was about to do something pretty stupid. It was better than arguing with the probably concussed boy.

"Alright, fine. No ambulance," he caved, putting an awkward hand on Carlos' upper back and patting it to get his attention. "But you still need medical attention. Is there somewhere else I can take you?"

Carlos takes a moment, “I- I need…to go home…” He murmurs. He started feeling sick. Really sick. Carlos whines, “I- I can go by myself…” He stumbles again, starting to lose consciousness once again. He pulled himself back to reality, then pulls out his phone and unlocks it.

He struggled to find his fathers number, his vision way too blurry to see properly. He almost dropped his phone several times over, his balance failing him. Carlos leaned heavily on the stranger, his consciousness starting to slip away.

"I can see that," Mikhail deadpanned, his composure slipping some in the wake of sarcasm. Damn coping mechanisms.

He'd expected to hear the telltale sirens of an approaching ambulance by now, but he supposed it was a good thing it hadn't arrived yet. Good for the kid's panic, at least, though it was odd. They were nearing the ten-minute mark, and it'd taken less time for them to arrive during previous incidents where customers had consumed a bit more alcohol than they should've.

Distracted from his thoughts by the kid fumbling with his phone, Mikhail managed to catch the device when it was inevitably dropped. "Kid? You still with me?" His own panic was beginning to rise again, and he checked the head wound one more time. The bleeding seemed to have nearly stopped, but obviously the kid was in a lot of pain. If he passed out, Mikhail wasn't sure if he could wake him again.

That was when he checked the open contact on the phone. He glanced from the contact to Carlos' paling face and made another decision. "This is your dad? I'll call him, but you have to stay awake," he ordered, wasting no time in pressing the call button.

He tried to keep his thoughts in order, speaking clearly and concisely. "Hello? This is Mikhail Novikov." Should he be giving his full name to someone who supposedly made many lives a living hell? Well, too late to go back now. "The owner of this phone—your son, I believe—was injured in an attack about ten minutes ago. He's conscious, but he has a head wound and suffered a seizure less than five minutes ago. He needs medical attention. And yet, he seems scared to be anywhere near an ambulance," the last part came across a bit more accusing than he intended, but he collected himself with a breath. "He says he needs to go home."

Carlos’ father gasps, “I’ll be right there! Where is he?! Is he awake right now? If so keep him awake and help him lay or sit down. He shouldn’t be standing. If there’s an ambulance there then don’t let them take him. I’ll be over there in about 5 minutes.” He stayed on the phone as he gets in the car.

Carlos heard his father’s voice and whines, “Dad…” He mutters, slowly closing his eyes.

Mikhail found himself relaxing at the genuine worry in the father's voice. At least that was something he could trust. "Outside of the nightclub Astros. To the right of the building, in the alleyway about twenty feet away from the main street," he described, hoping the details might calm some of the panic in the man's tone.

He wanted to ask why he shouldn't let the ambulance take the boy, but he elected to save that question for later. There were more pressing matters, like the boy's closing eyes. Mikhail jostled him slightly, something hard creeping into his tone at the lack of response. "Just a moment. I'm going to put you on speaker," he explained, doing as he said and gently lowering the boy to the ground in a seated position. He set the phone in the boy's lap, ensuring he could hear anything his father said, and remained crouching in front of him.

"He's awake, but only barely. It might help if you talk to him," he suggested, tapping the boy's face until he saw a glimmer of his eyes behind heavy lids. He considered flicking more water at him, but after the disaster that had occurred last time, he decided to hold out. "What is your son's name? He didn't tell me, and he might react more to it."

Carlos’ father hums, “Carlos.” He sighs, “Kiddo…stay awake for me ok? I’ll get you to Antonio soon. Just hang in there…”

Carlos didn’t seem pleased with this, “Noooo…” He whines. It was clear that he was somewhat out of it. His dad reacted as though Carlos was only 6. “I know buddy…but you need to go see him.” Carlos of course, talked back as though he was 6. “Nooooo! He keeps asking me questionsssss!”

Carlos’ father chuckles, “Those questions help make you healthy, kiddo…” Soon, his father pulls up and rushes out of the car to the boy, hanging up the phone. “Hey bud…” He runs his fingers through his sons hair. He then looks at Mikhail. He was Joseph Ortiz, a famous crime lord. “Thank you…you did me a huge favor.” His accent was thicker in person, a clear Latin American accent coming through.

There was something strangely endearing about the back-and-forth between Carlos and his father. It tugged a smile from Mikhail's lips, one that widened when he heard tires slow to a stop outside of the alleyway.

He stepped back from Carlos, allowing room for his father to reach him, before glancing up at the man in question. Immediately, Mikhail paled. Almost like he'd seen a ghost. He quickly dipped his head, though it wasn't clear whether that was in acknowledgment of Joseph Ortiz's thanks or because he recognized him. After a few seconds, Mikhail found his voice.

"It was nothing. I work here and happened to notice something was wrong. I'm no bouncer or security guard, but we all have a little experience in defending ourselves," he said, risking a peek at Joseph and giving him a tight-lipped smile. His heart raced, and inwardly, he wondered how he'd missed the signs. He probably could have guessed this kid was the son of someone important in the world of crime, given his fear of the police and the fact someone had targeted him in the first place.

'The son of a crime lord just spent several minutes clinging to me,' he realized in abject horror. 'Because he was injured,' the other part of him reminded.

Mikhail's eyes naturally found Carlos again, and he managed to calm down some. "I hope your son recovers well. I should—I should go inside." 'Great, now you've stuttered in front of a crime lord. Want to add any other embarrassing things to the list for tonight?'

Joseph smiles, “Hey kid, wait. How would you like to get a better paying job, eh? You did my son a huge favor…and I’d pay you even better than the job you have now if you worked for me. Nothing too wild…just as a bodyguard. Carlos refuses one but he needs it. Mainly because of his condition.”

Carlos seemed very out of it, leaning on his father and staring at a wall through half lidded eyes. He didn’t even seem to hear the current conversation. He stayed in his own little world, completely unaware of his surroundings.

Mikhail's mouth dropped open. He was sure he was hearing things. Joseph Ortiz, the crime lord reigning over the entire city, was offering him a job? And not just any job. Mr. Ortiz wanted him to protect his own son. He hardly felt qualified, but…

Hell, was Mikhail allowed to say no?

If he even wanted to say no. His mouth clamped shut with an audible click as his teeth met. More than what Astros was paying him… The offer was tempting.

A nightclub was not where Mikhail wanted to spend the rest of his life. Especially with the poor wages, the shitty customers, and the even shittier tip compensation he was offered. The lone thirty dollars in his pocket, product of a stingy set of customers and a short shift, wouldn't go very far while he waited for his biweekly paycheck.

On the other hand, undertaking a job as a crime lord's son's bodyguard sounded like he was gearing up for an entirely different kind of lifelong career–if the life part was cut short due to any unfortunate accidents.

Not to mention all the tax and legal headaches it would bring.

And what would happen if he failed to protect Carlos? Mikhail could protect himself just fine, he knew, but the origins of that confidence was just another reason to hesitate.

Finally, he spoke up. "Can… Will you give me time to think about it? Maybe a phone number I can contact, or a location to meet when I have an answer?"

Joesph nods, handing him a paper. “Meet me here in two weeks. Is that enough time? And don’t worry. Even if you fail the job…I won’t kill you. Just as long as my sons not dead…you’re safe.”

Carlos seemed to come to a bit, “Wait…what? What no! Fathe-“

Joesph cut him off before he could speak more. “No. After this incident…you need it. Don’t argue.”

Carlos huffs in protest, but doesn’t say anything else. He knew how stubborn his father was. And he knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to change his mind. Carlos grumbles and leaned into his father, his head pounding. It felt as though his head was about to explode. He whines and closes his eyes. “Ow…” He whimpers.

Joesph sighs, holding his child closer. “Shhh…it’s ok…I’ll get Marcie to get you into the car, ok?” He looks back at Mikhali. “By the way…where’s the attacker? I’m sure you already know what I wanna do with him.”

Oh, good. So as long as Carlos stayed alive, Mikhail would, too. That wasn't concerning in the slightest…

"That's more than enough time, thank you," he said instead. Gingerly, he accepted the slip of paper and folded it in half, tucking it into his pants pocket so he wouldn't lose it. He eyed Carlos, glad the kid was finding it easier to stay awake now that his father was around. The man had said things were dangerous for him "mainly because of his condition". Mikhail could only assume he was talking about the seizure, and he was grateful at least to know that it probably wasn't severe brain trauma that had caused it. In all likelihood, the slamming against the wall only triggered an already existing problem.

He hoped that meant Carlos would recover faster.

At the crime lord's question, Mikhail shivered. He phrased it innocently enough, but he could feel the vengeful aura radiating from the man. Yes, he could imagine very well why he wanted the attacker.

"Ah, one of Astros' security guards took him inside to wait for the police," he answered, shifting a little uncomfortably. He seemed to remember something, though, as he crouched to retrieve his bag. "This is the weapon he threatened your son with."

In the front of his backpack, lodged all the way up to the hilt, was the knife the attacker had wielded. Mikhail grabbed the handle and pulled, then flipped the knife around so the blade part was in his palm and held it out for Joseph to see.

In the polished wooden handle was the carving of some kind of insignia. Mikhail wasn't quite certain who it belonged to, but it struck him as familiar. Some kind of gang, perhaps? If anyone knew, it would be Mr. Ortiz.

Joesph growls softly once he saw the marking. “Oh he’s gettin’ it now…” he mutters. Joesph kisses his son’s forehead, then motions for someone to come over to him. Two tall and muscular men walk up to him. Joesph huffs, “Marcie…get Carlos in the car…Evan, go get him out and bring ‘em here.”

The men nod, and Marcie carefully helps Carlos up and guides the disoriented boy into the car. Carlos stumbles and trips, almost falling several times over. But in the end, he manages to get into the back seat and lie down.

The other man, Evan, walks inside and comes back with the attacker. Joesph did not seem happy. “You lost your chance, man…” He takes the knife, staring down the man. “Why’d you go after my son? I told you if I ever saw your face again, I’d rip it off.”

Mikhail did his best not to look too terrified as the burly man known as Evan pushed his way through the doors. Inwardly, he prayed to a god he didn't believe in that his poor coworkers wouldn't ask too many questions.

Surprisingly, it seemed to work. There was no commotion from inside even as Evan returned with the thug from before, the man hissing and spitting like some kind of feral cat. Mikhail cracked a slight grin at his internal comparison but quickly sobered at Mr. Ortiz's tone.

Oh, god… Oh. Right—God. Blinking, Mikhail once again sent his thoughts upward in silent prayer, hoping against hope he wouldn't have to see Mr. Ortiz rip this thug's face off. If it worked with his coworkers, perhaps it would work now.

Alas, the thug seemed determined to seal his fate. He wiggled and squirmed in Evan's hold, but the man hardly budged. At the sudden glint of the knife in the low lamplight of the alleyway, the thug froze. He seemed to be having trouble swallowing and his lips trembled when he eventually gathered the courage to speak.

"Mr. Ortiz," he greeted shakily. Everything about him was shaky, down to his knees. Though he was very much held in place by Evan, the attacker managed to press the palms of his hands together in a pleading gesture.

"You—you must know, Mr. Ortiz, that I-I never intended to hurt your son," he declared nervously.

At that, Mikhail scoffed. "Yeah right," he muttered to himself, earning a sharp glare from the thug that Mikhail met with an even fiercer one. The thug's gaze darted fearfully back to Mr. Ortiz and then sank to the crime lord's feet.

"I'm sorry," the attacker pleaded, for his part sounding very sincere. Mikhail doubted the man was sorry for anything other than being caught, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Joesph did not seem fazed by the mans pleas. He had no remorse…no pity. No one messed with his son.

The crime lord grins as the man fell onto his knees and grabbed the man by the chin, holding the knife to his neck. “Which eye should I gouge out first…eh? Left…or right?” He looks to Mikhail. “What do you think? Or should I cut out his tongue first?” He snarls, hatred filling his eyes. He wasn’t joking. This man was dead serious.

In the long run, the thug would be killed anyways. No matter how much torture and pleading took place. In the end…he’d meet a horrible end. And Joesph showed no sign of changing his mind.

Evan stayed quiet, holding the thug still so he couldn’t move anywhere. He definitely wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of this giants grip.

The thug's eyes went even wider, if possible, as the blade touched against his exposed neck. His eyes darted fearfully to Mikhail as the crime lord turned to address him, and even from a distance away, the potential future bodyguard could see the way his neck pulsed with the force of his blood rushing through his veins.

He wrinkled his nose slightly in disgust at the observation. If he were prepared to do something so reckless and stupid as knowingly attacking a crime lord's son, then he should've been brave enough to face the consequences. Mikhail then blinked, remembering Mr. Ortiz's prompt, and shifted uncomfortably once more.

Slowly, the words came to him. "Fighting is one thing, sir, but I'm afraid I don't have much of a stomach for torture. I'm certain you'll punish him fittingly, but if I may, I'd like to take my leave now," he explained, hardly a trace of his nervousness in his respectful tone. He wasn't sure what he'd do if the crime lord told him 'no', but given the apparent debt he had to Mikhail for saving his son, he hoped he'd be treated fairly.

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Time Skip
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Rusty metal creaked quietly under the sudden weight of Mikhail as he leaped otherwise silently between buildings. His fingertips wrapped around the cool, flaky metal of the ladder opposite of where he'd jumped while the soles of his sneakers touched lightly down on a rung below him.

'No sign of followers,' he noted with relief. A droplet of sweat slipped down his jaw, and he swiped it away with the back of his hand irritably. There was no time to sit around and wait.

He pulled himself up onto the next platform and retreated further into the shadows as he retrieved a crumbled-up piece of paper from his pocket. The ink was smudged and normally would've been impossible to read in the darkness of the night, but Mikhail's sharp eyes had no trouble deciphering the writing he'd already read a hundred times before.

'Two weeks… Who could've guessed so much would change?' he asked himself bitterly.

He stuffed the paper back into his pocket and continued moving, refusing to leave the safety of height until he ran out of fire escapes. When he was completely certain that no one was around to witness, he dropped silently to the ground in a crouch and began to run. His destination was only four blocks away—the wharf on the east side of the city.

It took him less than five minutes to arrive. He stepped out of the shadows cast by abandoned shipping containers, his gray hair turning silver as the full moon bathed him in its light. He felt his blood rush temptingly at its presence, but he ignored it. After all, he had more pressing matters at hand.

Stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket, he ventured further into the empty space of the wharf and scanned the area for Mr. Ortiz or his followers. All he could smell was the salty tang of the sea and the gentle lapping of the waves drowned out any sounds of people, but Mikhail knew instinctively that he was being watched. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, but that, too, he ignored.

"Come on," he whispered to himself, the words accompanied by a puff of breath that drifted away on the cold wind.

After only a minute or two, Ortiz walks out of the shadows. His eyes seemed to glow in the dim light. “Hello…pleasure to see you again, Mikhail.” His voice echoed through the seemingly open space. “Have you made your decision? I would be very pleased if you considered my offer.”

A few men walk out from the shadows. Ortiz’s bodyguards. Of course, he would definitely need extra protection if he was out in the open like this.

(Sorry it’s short)

(I understand; I really do. I'm struggling a lot with something personal, too, and it's got me in this weird dynamic of seeking out writing as an escape, while also feeling really demotivated in general. I'm in no hurry, so really, take whatever time you need, and don't feel pressured to respond quickly!)

(Thanks fam. I appreciate it. I hope everything goes well for you. Feel free to pm me and rant or just talk.)

Mikhail's eyes narrowed at the movement, but he relaxed at the expected presence. Dipping his head in greeting, he stepped forward to meet the crime lord at a respectable distance.

"Likewise, Mr. Ortiz," he replied, paying no mind to the man's accompaniment. He appreciated the straightforward manner in which he approached the topic, uncertain he'd have the patience for exchanging pleasantries this particular night. "I've made my choice." His tone was calm, but his muscles rippled slightly with the nervous energy coursing through him.

"I'd like to take your offer," he continued, but he hesitated after the words. "Although, there's something you should know, first. About that night two weeks ago." He sucked in a breath, uncertainty making the words hard to find. He couldn't back out now, though, so with trepidation, he pushed forward.

"Astros is not safe for you or your son. I should've known something was off when it took the police so long to arrive…" he trailed off, huffing in frustration at his past self. "They never called because they never intended for your son to be cared for. They knew exactly who he is. The management there—they have something to do with the insignia on that knife. It was branded on the shoulder of one of my managers. I… I saw it while I was looking for my coworker—the one who helped me with that thug," he spat, anger bleeding into his voice at that, "—in the locker room, but instead I found Antonio." He didn't mention what Antonio had tried to do when he saw him staring at the brand.

Another breath. "I think the attacker from that night was acting on his own. It's why no one came to his defense—it wasn't worth outing themselves to save a grunt who doesn't listen to orders. Especially when he was risking them all by attacking your son."

His eyes flitted up to meet the crime lord's again. "It wasn't the first time Carlos has been to Astros. They've been keeping an eye on him, which is why he can't return," he added urgently. "I don't know how many of the staff are a part of this, but the centerpiece of the club—the ceiling, I mean, depicts a constellation that acts as the skeleton for this insignia."

Now that the words were out, he seemed to calm some. "I can protect your son, but I need somewhere to stay in the meantime. As my previous employers, Astros has records of my address, and they aren't too pleased with me after realizing I know about them."