#ciac ocs

"Yes. You did." Fox took a deep, steadying breath. He'd chosen one of his less-valued vehicles, a car from his 'low-class' fleet, a beat-up old junker that wouldn't be missed when Coyotl inevitably destroyed it. "I've heard your mouth when you think no one is listening, Coyotl," he said, and he smiled, faintly. It had been amusing to listen to his young protege’s rants about Jackson and the other guards. "I am quite aware of your capacity for swearing."

"I don't fucking swear that much, you goddamned prick!" The boy was glaring at him. "You try learning this shit in three days and not crashing!"

"Language. And I have. I've driven since before you were born," Fox snapped. The car jerked again. Fox resisted the urge to slam his head against the dashboard. Barely. "You have the gears. You've mastered them, at least. Just release the clutch slowly."

Coyotl's hands gripped the wheel and his foot lifted on the pedal, slowly. "Like that?"

"Slower. Try not to jerk," Fox murmured. His tone had dropped, and Coyotl's eyes flicked to him for a split second. "Just relax."

Fox had gathered, so far, that very few people had ever bother to instruct Coyotl with anything less than physical violence and terror. And Coyotl responded very poorly to both of them, reacting with fear and anger in a self-perpetuating loop. A typical negative feedback situation. Praise, however… Praise was something he wasn't accustomed to. He didn't know how to deal with praise and approval, with someone being proud of him.

But sometimes praise was a bit hard to muster. Such as when he was being strangled by a seat-belt and an incompetent, stupid, annoying--Fox's mental tirade was interrupted by a lurch of the vehicle as Coyotl shifted too suddenly. The older man bit back an oath of his own, and closed his eyes.

For fuck's sake, Felix. He's nineteen years old and he was never taught to drive. Don't murder the poor kid, he told himself. "Stop the car." He took another deep, steadying breath. "Coyotl. Pull over." His eyes snapped open. His young protégée nodded, slowly, and did as told, pulling over onto a small side road, where a stand of desert shrubbery surrounded the path, making a nice little concealed place to rest.

The engine sputtered and stopped. Coyotl leaned back and looked over at Fox. "…Did I do okay?" He sounded like he knew what the response would be.

He should have taken a centering breath. He should have closed his eyes and counted to ten. But Fox's response was immediate and harsh. "You drove like a blind cripple, Coyotl. I've seen five year olds with cerebral palsy who can drive better! Are you incompetent? Did you learn to drive in an amusement park with geriatric spastics?"

The boy recoiled, his eyes widening, then his expression blanked and his shoulders shook. Fox froze. He's… he's going to…

Coyotl fumbled his seat-belt off, kicked the door open, and bolted. Straight into the uneven Mojave Desert scrub-lands. Fox cursed under his breath, undid his own seat-belt, and scrambled out of the vehicle. "Coyotl, wait."

The desert was dark. Fox couldn't see shit without the aid of headlights. He could barely even see Coyotl. All he saw was the boy's back as he ran. And then he lost track of him, and his curses went from muttered to a shouted litany.

It takes so little to die out here. The nights were colder than many would assume, the uneven terrain made it easy to twist an ankle, and there were wild creatures out there that might kill someone as small and vulnerable as a human. A teenage human, at that. Losing sight of the road could easily be fatal.

Fox walked a few feet out, and then looked around. "Coyotl." No response. He was alone in the darkness, with only a small penlight to aid his search. For a moment, Fox considered. Considered cutting his loss, getting back into the car and leaving the young man to his fate. No one would miss a homeless, nineteen-year-old orphan with a criminal record.

Then he started forward. He wasn't about to lose his investment to a tantrum.

Fox spent a solid half hour trudging through the desert. He'd discarded his jacket in the car and now was starting to regret not putting it on, even as he kept careful track of his course relative to the vehicle, marking landmarks as he walked. He was no fool, but even he knew that getting lost was far too easy, and he was not going to be the latest corpse discovered by a hiker out in the middle of nowhere. Coyotl was a city dweller, a street-rat. Fox was sure he wouldn't be too far from the vehicle.

He almost stumbled over the young man in a dry wash. Coyotl had curled up in the lee of a boulder and a stunted tree, huddled against the rock and shaking. The characteristic panting of a panic-attack was a dead give-away. "Oh for the love of…"

"Get away from me," the boy snarled, and scrambled away, backing against the rock. His eyes were wide and his teeth were grit. He lifted one hand, clutching a fair-sized rock as a weapon. "Get the fuck away from me. I'll kill you."

Fox's eyes narrowed, slowly, as he stared at the young man, and then he chuckled. A low, cold laugh. It was the first death-threat the boy had dared utter to his face. He was going to remember it. "No, you won't."

The boy paled, then bared his teeth. "Try me." He lunged, swinging the rock.

It was an inept attack, wild and without real strength behind it, but still dangerous. Fox stepped in and caught his wrist, twisting the rock from his fingers and tossing it aside. His other hand closed on his protegé's neck and slammed him to the dirt, pinning him. His fingers dug into his throat and his knee pressed on his belly. "Stop it."

Coyotl snarled, and Fox slammed him to the sand again. The boy's eyes squeezed closed, and Fox felt him take a deep, gasping breath, shaking. "…I…I hate you."

"No, you don't." Fox snorted, softly. "You're angry and scared and you're feeling ashamed. That's not hatred." He was calm, now. "But if you ever threaten to kill me again, I will end your existence so quickly you will have no time to regret it."

Moonlight rendered Coyotl's gold eyes into silver as he stared up at him. "…Yeah, sure." He sounded resigned.

Fox's thumb dug into his neck, pressing on the artery, making the boy gasp. "Do not try me, boy." He had mere seconds to make his point before the lack of blood-flow sent Coyotl into unconsciousness. "Or you will learn just how bad I can be." His thumb moved, releasing the artery and allowing blood to flow. "And I have been kind, compared to my alternatives. Do you know how many of my people would have killed you for threatening me?" Fox leaned down, and his eyes met Coyotl's. "Every one of them."

Coyotl was shaking, now. Fox sighed. He released the boy's neck, slowly, and shifted back. "…Come back with me."

"…Why should I?" Coyotl muttered. His eyes were averted. "I'm fuckin' useless. I can't do anything right. I can't kill anyone, I can't drive, I c--"

Fox slapped him across the mouth. The sound was sharp in the night. Coyotl's eyes snapped open. Fox could see the rage and pain in those eyes, and the hurt of a child who didn't know why they were being beaten.

You're losing him, Felix. Stop. Stop the cycle. Stop it now. "…Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Coyotl," he said. He softened his tone. He had to be careful. So very careful. "I expect mistakes, from a teenager who has had no one in their life who cared enough to teach them. You are far from useless." He slid his fingers along his cheek and held the young man's head, tilting it up. Coyotl tried to jerk away, and he tightened his grip. "…I was needlessly cruel. A poor way to teach anything."

"…You're a mobster or some fucking thing, I can't complain if you're mean." Coyotl muttered the words. "…I mean… that's what you do." He was trying to pull his head out of Fox's grip, trying to break eye-contact. "I'm stupid, okay?"

"Not needlessly so. Cruelty for no purpose is destructive to the end goal." Fox's hand stroked Coyotl's neck, then his side, and the young man gasped and twisted. Tender, from the training? Or sensitive? Fox wasn't sure. "Pragmatism and cruelty do not need to coincide."

"You're not a good man, Fox," Coyotl said. His voice shook.

"No, but I am an efficient man, and an effectual one." He rufled Coyotl's hair, drawing out another of those lost, confused expressions from his protegé. "I have no desire to be a good man. Good men rarely prosper."

"…So I can be a bad guy." Coyotl's eyes flicked up to his face. "I wanna be a bad guy. I don't wanna be a good guy." Fox could hear the desire, the hunger for acceptance in Coyotl's tone. "I wanna thrive Fox. I never want to—starve, or be someone's—someone's fu…"

Fox nodded. "Exactly. You'll never have to live as you did before, again." His voice was a whisper, soft, and gentle, as his hand stroked along the young man's belly again, making him squirm. "Come along. Back to Las Vegas, with you. The desert nights are far too cold."

For a second he thought Coyotl might say something unfortunate, and he'd have to reject some ill-conceived and awkward seduction, but the boy just nodded, slowly. "Yeah. It's cold as shit. We… should go home." He took Fox's hand as the older man pushed himself up. "Th…sor…thanks."