A/N: So I'm trying this crazy "story actually has a plot" thing again. Hopefully y'all like this because I'm very excited to share it. Warning: the updates for this will be pretty slow as I plan to make each chapter especially long. Comments + Criticism make me write faster!
"Are you sure you want to go up there, boss?" Illya turned to face him from the driver's seat, mouth turned downwards. Ivan tilted his head to look out the tinted car window at the faded brown brick apartment building, smiling wolfishly. "Of course. It's always nice striking the fear of God into a cokehead like Faul every once in a while. Come." Vikashev, sitting in the passenger seat of the black SUV, laughed quietly. Ivan opened the door and stepped out into the chilly November air, rubbing his hands together before entering the building. The lobby of the building smelled of old newspapers with a lingering scent of tomatoes and cheese, as if a delivery man had passed through minutes before. The walls that had once been a bright white were now an aged yellow, speaking to the superintendent's neglect.
Hm. Maybe I should have a word with him once I'm done.
Ivan, Illya (his right hand) and Vikashev piled into the rickety elevator. Illya murmured "Pyat" and Vikashev pressed the button with a worn-down number five, shaking his head briefly when it refused to light up. "This place is a mess boss. Why not just knock the useless shithole down?" Ivan narrowed his eyes and considered it for a moment before showing his disinterest in the idea with a quick shake of his head. "No, no. There are tenants here who can't afford much else." The three men exit and stalk down the hallways of the fifth floor moving quickly and with purpose. "Shithole it may be, but it is not useless."
Illya knocked hard on the dark brown door once.
"Hang on a minute!" Faul yelled from the other side. There was a brief shuffling before the door swung open, revealing Robert Faul, eyes red and clothes dirty. "Ivan! Oh shit man! Hey! I-I didn't think I'd be seeing you."
"Well I like to make house calls every once in a while. Now, we must speak."
The three imposing Russians entered through the doorway.
"We won't be staying long."
----o----
"Almost done!" Angelica swiped her arm across her forehead before exhaling loudly. She stepped back to admire her work. Never in the six years she'd been living in apartment 501 had it looked so clean. She had spent the better part of a day scrubbing any and every surface she could find, all because she'd found a rat living behind her sofa. Well it
had
been living behind her sofa at one point but when Angelica discovered it had long since passed its expiration date.
"All that's left is the trash." She spoke aloud to herself before heaving the large bag up off her hardwood floors and carrying it to her doorway. She struggled to open the door for a moment and dropped the bag in the hallway once it was finally open. When she bent over to pick the bag up once more, a shadow loomed over her.
"Do you need some help with that, Miss?" A calm accented baritone asked from behind her.
She turned slowly to see an
extremely
tall man smiling down at her, flanked by two other imposing figures. All three men were dressed much too nice to actually be residence in the admittedly shoddy apartment building; tailored suits under thick expensive looking coats. The man who spoke to her raised his eyebrows waiting for his answer, and wow. Angelica must've been distracted by their designer outfits because Mr. Helpful was pretty damn handsome. Skin clear, save a small, pink scar on his upper lip and dark slicked back hair drew attention to his strong aquiline nose and clear blue eyes.
"Grey?" Angelica murmured to herself, not realizing she said it out loud. The stranger's face contorted in confusion.
"I'm sorry?"
Angelica shook her head as if to clear the fog invading her thoughts.
"I'm okay! No thank you."
"Nonsense, my mother would kill me if she knew I let a woman carry a load herself when I was readily available." With that he reached around Angelica and grabbed the garbage bag, pivoting on his heel to walk towards the garbage chute. Angelica trailed after him wringing her hands, she didn't necessarily like that he'd taken the trash anyway but it was really heavy. The two of them crammed into the small room where the garbage chute door was and it was only when the man had opened the tiny metal door that Angelica realized she didn't
have
to be in the room with him. Still, she watched him put the garbage bag into the chute and laughed a bit when it didn't immediately slide down.
"You can just push it through." He regarded her for a moment before nodding and laying both hands onto the back and giving it a quick shove.
"Blyad!" He yelled, right hand recoiling as the garbage disappeared down the chute. Angelica's confusion at his outburst lasted a few seconds before she saw the steadily bleeding cut on the stranger's hand.
"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I forgot there was glass in it. I'm so sorry, please come with me." She grabbed him by the cuff of his jacket and led him out of the garbage room and towards her apartment. He hesitated for a moment and when Angelica looked back she saw him wave off his two concerned looking companions. Without a word they turned towards the elevators.
----o----
Ivan followed the woman into her apartment, eyes tracking the sway of her hips and her nervous way of fidgeting. She was quite pretty, not his usual type with her hair done in long black braids that reached just below her shoulder blades and her skin a warm dark brown. Once inside she motioned for him to sit down in an office chair near her computer desk. When he took the offered seat she promptly disappeared searching for something in what Ivan assumed was her bathroom.
Ivan took that time to scan his surroundings. Peach painted walls and hardwood floor didn't exactly match her two small grey sofas and the small dark wood dining table but who was Ivan to judge? If it wasn't for his sisters insisting on the help of an interior designer, Ivan was sure his home would be a nightmare of mismatched colors and furnishings. Just then the woman returned clutching a bright red cloth box in her hand. She raised it and shook it a bit, "First aid." Her tone and smile was apologetic and Ivan felt himself smile in return.
"I am so sorry...uh...I don't know your name!" She exclaimed before dragging one of two dining chairs to sit across from Ivan. She took his hand and gingerly placed it in her lap so she could begin cleaning it.
"Ivan. Ivan Sakharov." She nodded deeply, focused on the task she'd given herself.
"That's Russian right?" She glanced up for confirmation, when she received it she continued on, "My name's Angelica Kane or Angie I suppose."
"Angelica." Ivan tested it out.
----o----
Angie shivered at the sound of him saying her name, his accent wrapping sweetly around the vowels and consonants.
"Yeah." She breathed. "This might hurt a bit." She felt Ivan huff a bit of laughter, as if the thought that Angie could do something to hurt him was amusing.
Tough guy huh?
Angie swabbed at the cut with cloth doused in hydrogen peroxide and watched his face for the telltale sign of discomfort.
Nothing.
His eyebrow hadn't even twitched. Ivan smiled down at her like he knew exactly what she had been thinking and took great pleasure in proving her wrong. Angie looked back down at the cut to inspect it a bit more, it wasn't too deep, just quite long, arcing across his palm in the subdued red-pink of a clean wound. She kissed her teeth, a little upset that he had hurt himself while doing her a favour (granted she hadn't asked but...).
"Oh, I'm so sorry about this, I should have told you. Should've remembered." Slowly she wrapped gauze around his palm before securing it with the tiny silver clip. Finishing her task, Angelica looked up to meet his eyes, guilt churning in her stomach.
