Tallies
Recipient: @alphatwohaywood
Ships: ahot6
Warnings: general gang stuff, getting shot, kidnapping, awful communication skills
sorry this took so long!! i hope you have a super great birthday.
- - - - -
Ryan refuses to fall in love again.
The black lines mar down his arm, line after line after line, and sometimes he wonders whether he has more lines than scars. Maybe each line in itself is a scar, a part of him he will never get back, a person he will never again see, a laugh he will never again hear, a smell he will never again experience, skin he will never again touch - a love he has lost.
That’s been Ryan’s entire life. Love had and lost like the leaves and sticks children throw in rivers on a sunny day in the park. Maybe Ryan lost himself along the way. Maybe his years of theatre had a use, and he has become a caricature - what he needs to be.
And what he needs to be is a vagabond.
So that is who he becomes.
- - - - -
The city is louder at night. Sirens wail, people talk and streetlights flicker on busy streets. The nightlife of the city has always been a drawing point - for the right people, of course. Those looking for more adventure, for the thrill of being so close, and yet keeping a distance. For those who want to create the thrill themselves. For those who have nothing more to lose.
Ryan checks over his gun, carefully taking each piece apart and wiping it down. He’s had this gun since he arrived in the city, so far from the sweet country boy and the scent of peaches. With it grew his reputation, and it’s sentimental now. He doesn’t want to let it go even with better weapons emerging every week. He has an ammo dealer, so he’s satisfied. He’ll keep using it until he can’t anymore.
Among the crowds on the street, the gangs and civilians alike, he knows his name is a whispered threat. Perhaps, were he born in another time, parents would whisper to their kids ‘behave or the Vagabond’s gonna get you’. Perhaps they do anyway, Ryan doesn’t make it an incentive to ask. It’s not like he comes across many kids anyway, not whilst in the act. They avoid him like the bogeyman, and he is the bogeyman of these streets.
People don’t silence when he enters the bar, but a few people hush, and Ryan can immediately pick out those who are new to the scene by simply that.
Rule 1. Never show fear.
He sits in one of the empty booths, orders a diet coke, and steals a straw so he can sip it through his mask. There are downsides to wearing a creepy skull mask, and the drinking part is one of them. The club is full of humidity, and he feels like if he doesn’t drink something, he’ll just faint anyway. That would be far worse for appearances.
A man sits next to him.
He seems far too posh to be at this kind of establishment, dressed up in a tailored suit, with well-groomed facial hair that Ryan can just see out of the corner of his eye. He orders a drink, leans back on the stool, and Ryan waits for him to make a move. His actions, posture, his general presence all indicate a purpose. Ryan’s willing to wait it out, see what it is.
The waiting ends when the man receives his drink, takes a swig of it and turns towards Ryan, crossing his legs and saying, “Hey.” Ryan chooses to simply respond with a nod, no point wasting his voice yet. “You want a job?” Ryan nods again. “Great, ‘cause we’re hiring.” A file is handed to him, information about a person, a dealer, not one Ryan personally uses. He reads through it as the guy speaks once more. “We want him dead, however you see fit. I’ll pay you half now, the other half comes when the job’s complete.” A business card slides in amongst the file (and the money, Ryan now notices). By the time Ryan turns to look, the man’s gone.
Ryan never actually accepted the offer.
But damn, he’s gonna do it anyway.
- - - - -
The man is dead, no trace of the killer, or the killing. Ryan wants to place bets on how long it might take for his disappearance to be noticed. He’ll take himself out for a nice meal if it’s longer than two weeks, is his final deal. He sends a simple text to the number on the business card, and receives a text back, a location and a time. Part of him mourns at having to go out again tomorrow, but he knows the payment will be worth it. There’s been a few books he’s wanted to treat himself to, and he needs some more fertiliser for his plants. Oh, and groceries for Ms. Kilson next door. He always likes to throw something extra in there.
It’s not that Ryan has any lack of money - the opposite, in fact. He has an abundance of it. But most of it’s in savings, a quarter of every take still goes to charity. Appearances only matter as long as the mask is on, what he does with the money is his own business. In the end, he usually gets around 20% of a take to spend on pleasantries - which although a nice amount, still leaves him thinking. He doesn’t want to be one of those people who can throw money around like nothing. He doesn’t deserve that, in his opinion. And there’s a quaintness to still have to balance out his money each week.
After his usual after-mission tradition (disposing of leftover evidence, showering, washing clothes, balancing finances, watering plants), Ryan’s able to lie in bed, feeling the gun hidden under the pillow, knowing the other is hidden under the mattress. He shuts his eyes, and falls asleep as sirens scream once more.
The morning brings a gentle light through the windows. It can barely reach him, in the slightest gap between two buildings. Ryan wakes slowly, remembers the meeting, and realises he never set an alarm.
He throws himself out of bed, almost running to his wardrobe, falling onto his bed twice whilst trying to dress. He manages to complete the morning routine in less than ten minutes, and breaks the speed limit a few times to get to the location. It’s surprisingly another bar, Ryan is surprised they open this early in the morning. He knows he’s deep in gang territory when he enters but the mask is more of a protector than his gun could ever be.
It’s only when he sits in a booth, looks up at the clock, that he suddenly realises shit.
He’s an hour early.
He buys himself a drink - diet coke - and a small bite of food to eat - a bag of chips. Eating them is somewhat of a struggle but he manages. He just hopes that he hasn’t got dust on his mask, brushes it almost obsessively.
After he’s finished he still has awhile to wait for them to arrive. He debates trying to get a nap. It’s early and he still has a good chunk of time left to wait. But the idea of getting caught, asleep, waiting for payment deters him. Eventually, he settles for playing some of the games on a burner phone. It’s an older model, like the ones he used to have when he was younger. He’s good at most of the games on it, and with any luck looks like he’s furiously texting instead. You’d have to be close enough to realise he was only pressing the top buttons, and not the rest of the keyboard. That or paying too much attention.
Time still passes embarrassingly slowly. A few times he catches himself grow irritated at being forced to wait before remembering it’s his own fault. He’s not sure which is worse. It’s the first time he’s done this, and he hopes not to make a habit of it. That would be a real kicker, wouldn’t it?
Ryan sees someone approach the table out of the corner of his eye, and notes that there’s still ten minutes to go until their meeting time. He doesn’t recognise the woman with red hair, but he does recognise the man in the suit. He lets his guard simultaneously go up and down.
The woman’s hair is striking, curls frame her face and freckles decorate the pale skin. Arguably, the feature Ryan is most drawn to, is her arm, the red marks covering it almost as much as the freckles. Black marks are thrown in there, here and there, and Ryan doesn’t think a single person in this city won’t have at least one. He wonders how many the man has, to create those tired eyes, the bags beneath them, yet still keep that intensity within them. Part of him doesn’t want to know. Part of him wants to know if he looks the same.
“You passed with flying colours.” The woman smiles, and Ryan squints at her. “Job complete, no trace of the murder. We did place bets on whether it would be a messy or clean kill, sorry about that. I added half of my totals to the pay.” She smiles, warm and friendly, and Ryan isn’t used to that. Jobs aren’t a friendly business. It’s a constant fight, listening to words and reading the real meanings behind them. This catches him off guard, and that’s dangerous.
“The rest of your pay.” The man says, passing him an envelope. Ryan opens it, flicks through the notes and counts the amount he receives before the job, plus an extra thousand. It doesn’t seem like much, but who would spend two thousand just on a bet?
At the curious stare into the envelope, the woman adds, “You should’ve seen the amount Gav’ made, boy doesn’t know how to look after his money.” She shakes her head, in a way that looks more loving than annoyed and Ryan is constantly surprised by her, this isn’t fair. He’s supposed to be intimidating, not joked with.
“Now this job is complete, however.” The man in the suit says, leaning forward onto the table, “We’d like to offer you a part in a bigger job.”
“We can promise the pay will be larger, at least triple the pay for that job, plus a portion of the leftover takings.” The woman adds, clearly knowing the way to Ryan’s heart.
“What is it?” Ryan finally speaks, makes his voice gruff, as deep as he can manage. The two look surprised, if only for a moment, but Ryan’s glad to even manage that. They exchange a look, just between the two of them, and Ryan is becoming slowly convinced they may be a couple.
“A heist.” The woman states, nothing but that.
The man picks up, “We have a team, but we need one more person to pull this off. Another on the ground team.”
“Me, then?” Ryan asks.
“Hopefully.” The woman nods.
“When will I be needed?” He asks, then, because this sounds interesting. He’s not been involved in a heist before, usually only bodyguarding or killing. Heists are impressive, they’re the things you see on the news and what people in the city truly fear. Participating in one would change his reputation, definitely. He’s not sure how, exactly, but he could spend forever attempting to guess.
Vagabond is unpredictable.
“Overall, only the planning sessions and the final heist. We have no definite dates, but we’re hoping to do it within a month, at least.” She explains to him, before looking to the man, “Did you give him the number?”
“Of course.”
“Then any meetings will be sent to you a few days before they occur. You can take other jobs, but this must come as a priority.” She continues, voice entering a far more serious tone now, one that Ryan does know. “These are our terms, do you agree?” She finishes, looking at Ryan seriously.
He waits, runs over the facts in his head before nodding, “Count me on board.”
Her smile widens, “It’s good to have you.”
- - - - -
That was how he met Geoff and Jack of the Fake AH Crew. Now he’d seen them once, he recognised when they came up again on a news report. He did his bit of research into the gang, a concept mostly new to him. He knows some mercenaries research every gang they work for, but he never really bothered. He’d only research if he suspected they were involved in something even he morally didn’t agree with. There were very few jobs he’d turn down at face value, but he never did it politely.
The pride that comes with realising they chose him to work for them hits him hard. It’s not like he’s the worst person to employ, but they did still choose him. Him.
Then he proceeds to completely forget about the job (not forget, but definitely not think about as much), until a text lights up his burner phone, and he finds himself on google maps trying to work out the address they’ve sent him. This is probably not the lowest he’d stooped in this city, and he doubts it’ll be the lowest. It is still not a proud moment. He clears his history afterwards.
- - - - -
He gets to the location when he’s meant to, this time. Not an hour before. It’s a warehouse and he feels a little uncomfortable being in it. Warehouses don’t usually look like a refurbished apartment that a college student will move into, but this one certainly does. There’s a camera, and a voice that tells him to wait in the lobby. Which he does.
“Oi, you bloody came!” A voice calls, after what must be around five minutes of waiting. Ryan looks up, raises an eyebrow and then remembers he has the mask on. So, he stands up and walks over to the person, who instead of taking him inside, runs circles around him, as if trying to examine his very being. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least. “You’’re built!”
“Fuckass, stop harassing the guy we got a meeting to do!” Another voice yells, and finally the guy steps away, walking inside without a single gesture Ryan should follow him. He does anyway because what else does he do? The guy is blond, with sunglasses perched on top of his hair that looks so covered in gel Ryan might cut himself if he tried to touch it. He meets another guy leaning against the wall, and he has red hair that has the slightest curls starting to reach out of it. Freckles dust his face and he rolls his eyes when the other finally reaches him, “Finally, come the fuck on!”
“I am!” He whines as the two rush off ahead. Ryan follows, glancing around as he does. The only indication of it being a warehouse is the higher than average ceiling. Everything else looks normal. Furniture, pieces of art, it’s as any normal home would be. It’s slightly unnerving, considering where he actually is. Gangs usually aren’t this homey.
He enters the room they do, a large table in it and three other people stood around it. Jack and Geoff, and another shorter guy that Ryan doesn’t know the name of. Their real names aren’t recorded anywhere online, only personas and even those are difficult to place. He only knows Jack and Geoff’s because Jack had mentioned them as she walked out.
“Vagabond, good to see you.” Geoff nods at him, before motioning around the room, “Short one’s Jeremy, angry one’s Michael and the Brit is Gavin.” There’s a collective ‘hey’ from the three of them, which Geoff promptly ignores, “Lads, this is Vagabond.”
“Oh so we don’t get his real name?” Gavin says, in the whiny tone that seems to be a staple of his personality at this point. He looks like a whiny rich kid, sounds like one, and acts like one. Joy.
“He’s a mercenary, Gav’.” Jeremy points out, “It’s hardly like he’s part of the crew.” Gavin doesn’t look pleased with the answer, but settles for it anyway. Ryan takes a moment in the silence to look at everyone’s wrists. Everybody but Jack has their’s covered, by button ups or jackets, they’re all covered somehow. This truly must be a gang then.
“Well, here’s our current plan.” Geoff says, pressing a few buttons on the side of the table and it suddenly flickers to life, showing a map of Los Santos on it. Ryan’s personally impressed, even more so when the markings load in - places pinned, circled, arrows and lines in five different colours. “You guys know your colours, Vagabond, your’s is black.” He huffs out a small laugh. Fitting.
The plan would be fairly basic, if not for the absurdity of it. Ryan was just beginning to question if this actually was the notorious Fake AH Crew when Geoff says, “And Jack’ll be landing the jet in the street here,” Truthfully, it’s more concerning when nobody even reacts. Yeah, just land that jet in the street, that won’t be a problem. It’s a normal day.
Ryan is very glad to hear he will simply be escaping on his motorcycle, and rejoining them at a safehouse.
Parts of the plan are bizarre but it’s still plausible. It doesn’t seem like it would be an impossible feat, however miraculous that may be. It’s whacky, unexpected and looks like fun if they manage to pull it off. Ryan also spends too much time oogling over the table. He might start saving up for one, it would be useful. Each of them have pens tuned to their colour, and they make notes where they need to on their various jobs. Jeremy is a sniper, Gavin a hacker, Jack is the getaway well, pilot, and Michael and Geoff join him on the ground team. The entire thing seems like it shouldn’t work and yet like it will. Ryan feels like it fits him. Impossible and possible. Perfect.
He turns down the offer for drinks, instead goes to reside back at his own apartment and reviews the notes that Jack sent him. He feels like he has something to prove here, and reads the notes until he falls asleep, with them still in hand, the black marks hidden in the dimness of night
- - - - -
The heist goes off without a hitch. He turns down the offer for the after-party.
He does not turn down the offer for their next heist.
- - - - -
Or the next.
- - - - -
Or the next.
- - - - -
He knows, there’s rumours, about his relationship to Fake AH. Even if the media thinks differently, all he’s ever done is attended meetings and performed at heists. Nothing more, nothing less. In fact, the first time he does attend an after-party, it’s for very different reasons than to party.
“Vagabond, you made it!” Gavin greets, the moment Ryan stumbles through the door. He almost falls against the wall, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes. “Vagabond?” There’s gentle hands on him, he hears the zip of a jacket but it sounds too far away, or too close, echoing in his head. He blinks his eyes open, sees Gavin stare up at him worriedly.
The world jolts then, and he just manages to stop himself falling completely. Gavin’s holding him, helping stabilise him, and Ryan feels more afraid he’s going to crush him than he is about falling. He catches a glimpse of the wild fury of emotions in Gavin’s eyes before he looks away, and maybe it makes his heart beat faster, maybe it’s the blood loss. Would it be slower? He doesn’t know.
“Jack!” Gavin yells, it rings in Ryan’s ears, a necessary evil. “Jack, he got shot, the bugger got shot!” Ryan shuts his eyes and when he reopens them, Jack is in front of him and he’s not sure when, or how that happened but she’s looking at him with the same look Gavin is and Ryan realises their hands are bloody around the same time he realises he’s about to pass out. He gently pushes them away to fall probably against the wall, and slumps to the floor around the same time his eyes fall shut.
- - - - -
The room is dark when he wakes.
It isn’t somewhere he recognises and his thoughts immediately carry him to kidnappings, and torture, and he shoots upright before he thinks properly about it.
The sharp pain that fires through his chest is a reality check, leaves him falling back onto the bed with a pained whimper. He’s gotten shot before, just not in such an awkward place. He thinks it went into his rib-cage, shattered one of the bones. He wasn’t too sure, just knew that it hurt and it hurt badly. When he looks down, he sees that he’s wearing a top that isn’t his, and his wrist is clearly visible. He sighs, because his mask is still on. That was worth letting him keep.
“You’re awake.” Jack says, as she enters, glass with a straw held in her hand. She passes it to Ryan, one hand stays to steady his as he drinks. It’s only water, but feels incredible on his dry throat. She watches him as he drinks, her face soft, oddly unreadable. Ryan meets her eyes, and she smiles at him. “You got pretty fucked up.”
“No kidding.” Ryan sighs, lies back against the bed. He goes through his mental checklist, asks, “How long has it been?” as he does.
“Overnight.” She pulls up a chair, sits beside him. “Out like a light.” He shuts his eyes, doesn’t think about it as he takes off his mask, relaxing at the feeling of cooler air on his skin. He lets the mask drop onto his front, as far as he can get his arm through the pain. He doesn’t even consider moving the other one. “Be careful!” She hisses, leaning forward to check his side again.
“It’s fine. Probably.” He shrugs, he’s exhausted. The Vagabond persona is hard, too hard right now. “Can I water my plants?”
“What?”
“At my apartment. They need watering. And Ms. Kilson needs her groceries. She lives next door.” He tries to think of other things, but nothing’s coming right now. Those are the most important. He thinks. “The stray cats, too. They might need feeding. Have you checked the shelters?”
“Okay, slow down there, big guy.” Jack puts a hand on his shoulder, puffs out a small breath of air that Ryan thinks might resemble a laugh. “Give us an address and shopping list, we’ll get it done.”
Gavin ends up having to help him use the speech to text function on his phone, with minimal corrections. Ryan’s lost the use of his dominant hand, and his thoughts are too much of a scattered mess to guide someone through notes. He just speaks, and Gavin does the editing needed to make it legible. Ryan waits whilst he does, dozing absently and staring at his face. Gavin looks up at one point, furrows his brows as if Ryan is doing something bizarre, before smiling, shaking his head to go back to working. Ryan can’t work it out, just keeps staring.
When they eventually leave to go and do his task list, Ryan ends up with Jeremy. He seems adverse to talking to Ryan, instead sits buried in his phone. Ryan watches, for a little bit. He’s in a tank top, and Ryan idly counts the black and red marks on his arm. There’s not that many black, but lots of red. He must love easily, Ryan concludes. He keeps staring until Jeremy looks up, startles back. The guy looks like a startled deer, for a few moments, before finally standing and leaving the room. Ryan would’ve passed it off, fallen back asleep, until he comes back.
This time, in his hands, he holds a laptop and walks directly to Ryan’s bed, sits on his uninjured side. The mattress tilts dangerously, but he stays balanced all the same. He puts the laptop onto Ryan’s lap, and turns to stare directly at him.
“Um, yeah?” He blinks at Jeremy, and Jeremy blinks back. Doesn’t say anything, just motions to the laptop. When Ryan loads it up, he realises there’s a game of minesweeper on there. A glance back at Jeremy reveals that he’s watching the screen now, so Ryan settles in, finds a position where he doesn’t need to move his arm as much, and plays minesweeper.
Jeremy still doesn’t say anything, and Ryan doesn’t have the energy to consider if he’s playing at something. He really wouldn’t know, just plays and fails and occasionally wins. It’s been a long time since he actually played minesweeper. There’s something peaceful about the whole experience, too. A strange serenity to clicking, Sometimes, he’s able to forget Jeremy’s there at all.
Until, that is, he speaks, “Why are you here?”
Ryan halts, stops his playing completely, “Because I got shot? I want to leave too-”
“No, why do you keep, like, coming back? You’re a mercenary, you don’t belong to us, why do you keep working with us?”
Ryan lies back into the pillows to the point where he feels like he might go through them, “I’m, too unawake for this conversation.” Jeremy continues staring at him and Ryan feels obligated to continue. He doesn’t.
Eventually, Jeremy gives up.
- - - - -
“Vagabond, why do you have so many bloody plants?!” Gavin’s voice wakes Ryan from his doze. He’s just in time to notice Jeremy snap awake too, his head smushed onto the bed frame as he napped. Gavin appears around the door seconds later, with a noticeable stain of soil on his shirt. If Ryan could gather the energy, he’d be worried about that.
“Ryan.”
“Wha- that doesn’t answer the question!” Gavin splutters, walking over so he can lean on the end bed-frame.
“Call me Ryan.”
“Stop avoiding the question!”
“I like plants.” Gavin fixes Ryan with a dead stare, and Ryan ignores it in favour of Geoff entering the room. There’s some kind of shift, and Gavin tugs Jeremy, leads them both out. Ryan tries to sit up properly again, but gives up quickly. Whatever painkillers Jack must’ve given him are wearing off. He can barely keep track of the suddenly tense mood, besides the fact something is different. Sinister? Serious? He’s not sure.
Geoff takes the chair Jack had been using. Ryan notices Jeremy took the laptop, and is surprised he didn’t notice that. Geoff has to speak to get his attention.
“Vagabond-”
“I said Ryan.” He mutters, blinking up at Geoff. He seems briefly taken aback before nodding, regaining his composure.
“Ryan.” He tries again, satisfied at how it seems, “I have a proposition for you.” Ryan doesn’t say anything, copies what Jack usually does during planning sessions. Tilts his head a little, just to show he’s paying attention. It seems polite. “You can have time to think about it, if you need, we aren’t forcing this on you. There’ll be benefits, of course, but ultimately not much will change whether you accept or deny-”
Ryan takes the opportunity to interrupt, ask Geoff, “What’s the proposition?”
“We’d like you to become part of the crew. An official part, not just, us and the Vagabond. You’d have access to all our resources, our teams, and you’d be under our protection - not that you weren’t already, just that it’ll be official. We want you to become a Fake.” Geoff bumbles over his words, and Ryan’s never seen Geoff nervous before. He’s always been level-headed in meetings - with Ryan or others - and definitely never stumbled over words. Ryan is left suspicious over it. Or he would be, if the actual meaning of what Geoff was asking of him hadn’t just kicked in.
“Will I still be able to run my own jobs?” Ryan asks, firstly.
“You’ll have to take them through us at first, as it’ll be associated with us and we need to be aware of allies, and enemies, but yes, you will. It’s a case of us just not wanting to piss off the wrong people.” Geoff shrugs, and Ryan takes his moment to digest that.
“What else will happen?” He then asks.
“You’ll get keys to the penthouse and access to any of our warehouses and supplies. I’d still ask before you take stuff though. And tell the B-Team before you storm into their penthouse, they get territorial.” Ryan nods as he takes all of this in. It doesn’t take much to make the decision, even if he’s ill and should ask for more time. No, the decision is the easiest part.
“I’ll do it.” He says, doesn’t let Geoff say anything before adding, “Now can I go back to sleep?” Geoff looks startled, but relaxes, reaches over and brushes Ryan’s hair back from his face.
“Sure you can.” He tells him, and Ryan shuts his eyes. He’s safe here.
- - - - -
What Geoff did not include in that, was how they would change.
It was small at first. Light shoulder touches, eye contact, hair ruffles. Just little things that Ryan himself wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t so unfamiliar to it. He didn’t think anything of it - he had opened up to them more than he had- Most people, really. So it was fair that they opened up back to him. He lived in his apartment, fulfilled his tasks, arrived when summoned and occasionally Jack or Michael would join him on his jobs, hell, even when he volunteered at the animal shelters someone would often join him. But it was small, insignificant things.
Gavin holding his hand to show him something, Geoff patting his shoulder, Jeremy bumping his side. Small things.
Hell, they did the same kind of stuff to each other. Ryan often caught the stares across the room, Gavin watching Jeremy as he focuses on a game, Jack watching Geoff as he focuses on finances. He’d seen Michael give them all that look. Often, in fact. Ryan could easily place the look. Didn’t stop him denying what it really was though. Didn’t stop him at all.
That was, until, he accidentally walked in on Michael and Gavin kissing in the penthouse kitchen.
It had been late, he’d gotten distracted playing games with them, so they insisted he stay the night. Wasn’t safe on the streets, and Ryan shook his head and relented. He’d gone to get a glass of water, dressed in Geoff’s ill-fitting tracksuit bottoms and his own t-shirt. The lights were still on, which wasn’t a surprise. The Lads were a nightmare to get to sleep. Even Ryan knew that, despite how little he was at the penthouse. It was a fight on the best of days, he had the phone conversations to prove it.
He turns the corner out of the corridor. They don’t see him, not at first. Gavin is leaned over Michael, the latter arched back over a kitchen counter. His eyes are shut, hands on Gavin’s hips and Ryan honestly cannot believe he’s seeing this. The two look perfectly moulded together, and Ryan isn’t sure why he stays, stays stood there instead of turning- leaving- going. But he does, and they break apart, and Michael sees him and freezes.
Gavin turns as Michael says, “Ryan.” as if he can’t really believe Ryan’s there. Which makes two of them, actually. Probably three if the look on Michael’s face is anything to go by.
“Okay, fuck, um-” Ryan stutters, backing back up towards the corridor.
“No- no! Stay there!” Michael yells, before flinching. Letting go of Gavin, he rushes over to where Ryan’s stood, opens his mouth to say something, and completely fails.
Gavin walks up beside him, “Okay, um, Rye, sit down for this, ‘kay?”
And that was how Ryan learnt all five of them were in a relationship.
And he did need to be sat down.
- - - - -
Ryan spent the next week at his own apartment. It wasn’t that he was upset about the information, no. It was just, unexpected? He doesn’t know how to take it in. How can you, after so long spent avoiding love, avoiding relationships? To find out that you’re friends with an entire, five way relationship? That they all know love more intimately than you want.
Well, you don’t.
Ryan would water plants, clean guns, clean knives, wash clothes, eat, sleep. It just followed that for a little while. A constant cycle that at least kept him slightly sane as he took some time, time to himself for once. It was weird, to say the least. Partially there, partially not. None of them tried to get in contact with him, and that was okay. He needed time, and they understood that. It was all good.
Jeremy being in his apartment was a surprise.
He’d just gone out to get some groceries, for himself and to leave outside next door. When he’d come back to find Jeremy on his sofa, he had thrown a knife that narrowly missed his head. Jeremy looked up from his phone, glaring slightly at him.
“That’s mean.” He commented, going straight back to whatever he was doing on there. Ryan stood there, slightly in shock as Jeremy continued to completely ignore him.
“You’re in my apartment.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re being dumb.” Jeremy didn’t say anything, looked up again at Ryan’s confused face and rolled his eyes, “You are. Like I get the whole ‘wanting to be dramatic and scary and hating love’ thing, but we don’t. So, what’s the big deal?”
Ryan didn’t have an answer, and Jeremy smiled.
- - - - -
Things became normal again. Normal and yet not normal. It was like something had switched, changed, and Ryan didn’t know exactly what it was. The touches were still there, but more? More of them, more often and Ryan found himself missing their company when he went home and it was- Worrying to him. He found himself reciprocating, and enjoying it. He didn’t want to stop.
Meanwhile, the heists were getting bigger, more dangerous and for more reward and all of them were on a constant high. They were a known name now, known throughout households and even in neighbouring cities. People were out more often for meetings, and sometimes Ryan would attend and sometimes he wouldn’t. He spent more time at the penthouse, at the warehouses, they dragged him to parties and casual video game nights alike. They’d kiss in front of him now - flirt and tease and it was a nice balance. Sometimes Ryan would be involved in it and sometimes he wasn’t and he didn’t mind either way (or maybe he did, but he minded more when he wasn’t involved, so he ignored it completely)
Gavin and Jack are sat entangled on the sofa as they play through Portal, Ryan offering the occasional words of advice. From both his experience and the walkthrough he has open on his phone. Gavin makes another annoyed noise as Jack grabs the controls off him, going through the level without the five deaths Gavin had already managed. Ryan’s still surprised he made it through the tutorial on his own.
“Jack, you’re doing it wrong!” Gavin whines, and she rolls her eyes, focused.
“She’s not dead yet.” Ryan points out.
Gavin waves his hands in Ryan’s direction, “Yeah but she’s doing it wrong, Rye! It’s not fair!” Ryan shuffles up on the sofa, pats his head.
“I’m sure she is.” Gavin huffs, but says no more, and Ryan shakes his head, sits back in his own seat. Jack is focused precisely, the same focus she holds when she’s firing in fight, driving a car, managing a deal.
Hell, Ryan’s in the middle of wondering whether he should conduct a study into whether being a criminal helps your skills at playing video games, when the penthouse door bursts open. All three of them are on the floor, crouched behind the sofas within seconds, a haunting silence in the air and guns in their hands. In the end, though, it’s Michael who stumbles in, with Jeremy in his arms and a plea on his face.
“Jack, Jack, fuck-” He falls dangerously forward, just managing to catch himself. Jack is first to react, of course, standing and rushing over, supporting Michael with Jeremy, and Ryan follows, gets given Jeremy. He’s so pale, hands on his side, blood staining his clothes, blood staining Michael’s. Ryan can’t tell if it’s Michael or Jeremy’s - both’s - and numbly follows Jack’s orders to get them in one of the bedrooms. She’s berating them, why they didn’t call, and Michael’s explaining it, but Ryan isn’t listening.
He only starts listening when Michael says, “They took Geoff.” And that’s also when he starts planning.
- - - - -
Ryan knows how to go solo. It’s easy to him, hair tied back, mask on, the new patch on his jacket with the Fake symbol. It’s the first mission he’s not authorised in a while. Mostly because he doubts he’d be allowed to do it, but that’s besides the point, isn’t it? He’s doing it, gun at his side, moving slowly through the underground building. It’s all very cliched, grey walls and floors, almost a sterile feeling to the place. At least Ryan can place bets on them being cliched villains. Hopefully that makes his job easier.
He’d borrowed the plans for the tunnel system off the B-Team, and hopefully he’ll get back before they realise. It’s supposed to be a quick job, and he’ll make it one. He taps the code into one of the doors, placing his hand over the speaker as it beeps out. He slips in almost silently, and a precise whack of his pistol takes out the person stood in the room. Poor guy barely got a chance to turn around. He moves them to the side of the room and starts peeking through all of the cameras. The plans unfortunately do not list where people are kept, so he looks through each until he spots somewhere he thinks is suspicious. And well, seeing Geoff unconscious in a cell, he decides it can’t get much more suspicious than that.
Him being unconscious might even make Ryan’s job easier, in the end.
With his map marked he starts moving again. His mind is constantly alert, constantly listening out for anything that could be a person. He moves around corners pressed to the wall and attacks with knives rather than weapons. This is the Vagabond. Silent, deadly, efficient.
The Vagabond is not vengeful, not worried, not scared.
Ryan is.
“We’ve had an intruder-” A voice buzzes around a corner, and Ryan sticks to the grey, throws his knife and doesn’t look at what’s left behind. He does pick up the radio, though, and take back his knife. No finders keepers here. He isn’t losing his knives to rescue missions.
He follows the small instructions he’d written, poking out of his sleeve. He’s close now, the amount of guards is getting higher. It’s a rather big inconvenience, having to put them all somewhere hidden. Usually he manages with a side room but at this rate he may as well leave them in the corridors. Balancing wanting to be stealthy but wanting to be known afterwards is a difficult job. He should take a page out of the Lads’ book and try spray paint. Michael always grins as he sprays it, Gavin behind him and Jeremy pretending to be a hype man. He knows the three of them take great pleasure in marking their territory.
He jumps as a guard lunges at him, just manages to catch him with his knife, digs it into his stomach. With one hand he muffles the pained noises, before letting him drop to the floor, dragging the knife out and slitting his throat.
When he looks up, another person stands there, two, in fact, and it’s all Ryan can manage to throw two knives at them before they shoot him. They do anyway, thankfully into his thigh. He clenches his teeth, moves through the pain. He’s so close now, he has to think of Geoff. The others will be upset if Geoff isn’t bad. He will be upset if Geoff isn’t back.
The wound burns and he ignores it, focuses on everything else he can, anything else he can. The noise of his footsteps, other footsteps, where he is, his breathing- he almost misses the door he needs when he gets to it. Pauses as he checks the lock, takes out the keys he’d taken from some guard along the way and checks each one. He finds it on the third out of five, whilst pondering why people still even have key locked doors. There’s far better ways to lock places nowadays, surely that’s inefficient? A simple code locked door is better nowadays.
Ryan enters the room, and finds it very hard not to be distracted. Geoff is lying on the floor, right side of his face covered in blood and arms bound awkwardly beneath him. He’s still out, not even the gunfire could wake him and Ryan isn’t sure if that’s a relief or not. He ends up reaching for him, hauling him up and ignoring the quiet, pained noise, to carry him on his shoulder. Now he just needs to get out with him. Which is easier said than done.
Throwing knives whilst balancing an unconscious body is an incredibly difficult task. Coupled with walking on a wounded leg and it’s all around a bad time for all parties involved. Ryan’s just glad that it wasn’t his ribcage this time - because that’s a lot harder to ignore. He knows from experience.
In total, on the way out, he kills three more people, has to climb a fucking ladder (he marks it as another low point of his career) and has bled thoroughly through the black trousers he wears. He’s glad that he brought a car, this time, and not a bike. That could only serve to make the situation worse.
Geoff doesn’t wake up. Ryan spends a bit of time in the car doing first aid. He has a heartbeat, doesn’t appear to be bleeding out. He takes care cleaning some of the worse wounds, bandaging them up as best he can. The blood is wiped off Geoff’s face, and surprisingly little attention is spent on Ryan himself. First Aid, after all. Always focus on the unconscious victims first.
The car ride back is slow. He takes a longer route, just in case he’s being followed, but takes it all as slow as he possibly can. For both himself and Geoff, asleep with both the seat belts on it the back. The penthouse garage opens for him now, just with a simple press of a button, and he’s able to drive in unassisted.
He is not unassisted when he gets into it.
“Where the bloody hell have you been?” Ryan flinches at the sound of Gavin. He’s stood at the door leading into the building, panting as if he ran there. Ryan gets out without answering, and receives an irritated huff in response. He can see the accompanying eye roll without even looking. “Rye, I understand you’re not used to being in a crew, but usually we don’t vanish when there’s an-” He stops as he gets closer to Ryan, both in words and movement. “Oh.”
“He hasn’t woken up, but he’s alive.” Ryan picks him up, holding Geoff close to his chest. He’s fucking heavy, but there isn’t a better way to carry him.
“You- Ryan.” Gavin sounds stern but quickly drops it, instead walks ahead to the door. “Get him upstairs, we need Jack, shit.” He holds the door open for Ryan, and the two rush upstairs together.
Jack spent a whole two seconds staring at Ryan before grabbing his shoulder, almost pulling him into one of the spare bedrooms. Ryan’s surprised to see Jeremy, though the lad is asleep. He doesn’t look like he’s waking up anytime soon. He looks innocent, in sleep. Eyes shut, one hand underneath the pillow. His mouth is open slightly, and Ryan catches himself smiling at the sight. Jack directs him to put Geoff on the bed across from him, before immediately rushing out to collect what Ryan imagines is her first aid kit. Ryan takes that moment to think. He takes his jacket off, puts it on the back of one the chairs. It’s pretty wrecked, Ryan thinks he can patch it up though. With a stretch, he sighs, winces at the twinge of pain in his muscles. He glances at Jeremy, spends a bit just looking, smiling at him. Carefully, he reaches over to brush at his hair, the dye in it fading. He’d planned to let it grow out for a bit now. It’s almost odd now, seeing it slowly transform back to normal. A Jeremy Ryan personally, doesn’t know. He’d like to know, still.
However, it’s in reaching out, that Ryan spots something that he hadn’t before. Something on his arm a glaring red. That he doesn’t want to see.
Ryan didn’t wait for Jack to get back before he quickly left the penthouse.
- - - - -
He should feel bad. Actually, scratch that. He feels awful. Just, he should feel bad for leaving- no, he does as well. Part of him is still surprised nobody saw him leave. He keeps checking over his shoulder. The choice to hole up in a safehouse would, hopefully, be a smart one, but he’s still unsure. He’s never been unsure of things until this fucking gang.
He’s an idiot.
What tops it all off, is he knew it was happening. He knew, and still didn’t do anything about it! He let it distract him on missions, let himself get hurt because he was too busy thinking about pretty smiles! That’s pathetic! He is a professional and should have conducted himself as such.
In honesty, he’s angry at himself. He’s angry at himself for doing the one thing he said he wouldn’t do. He doesn’t have any excuses. So being in the safehouse and beating himself up about it seems like a reasonable punishment.
He wears long sleeves now. He doesn’t want to see them, doesn’t want to acknowledge it. His evenings are spent bundled up with book after book and he throws away the ones about love and soulmates because he is so, so tired. What’s the point of them, anyway.
Well, he could answer that himself. They’re everything he’s not, a balance instead of instability. A place to run to instead of run away from. Something he has wanted, and had, and lost, so many times that there doesn’t seem to be a point in trying anymore. He lets himself fall back on the sofa, stick his feet over the end. A song is playing and he’s briefly reminded of his theatre days. He always considers that - going back to performance - but there’s a fear in it. Not the performing but the constant threat his presence brings to people.
He falls asleep to the slow melody.
The next day he safely buys enough supplies to last him a month. He works out his finances, takes some out of his savings. He’ll have to try and get jobs. It’s like working solo again, only this time avoiding the most powerful gang in the city. He’s not sure why the idea is so foreign to him, suddenly. He arranges for external deliveries to his neighbour, mourns for his lost plants. It’s too risky for him to actually go and collect them. He can buy more yet, it’s just not the same.
For the next few days it’s like he lives in a strange in between. He’s unsure if he should still be hiding, if he should ever stop - if he’s living or just existing. He eases back into jobs cautiously, contacting only his most trusted employers. He feels weird not contacting Geoff to get the go ahead on jobs now. Feels weird having to keep to the shadows as he does. His jobs aren’t big, or flashy anymore and there’s something he’s missing. Maybe it’s the adrenalin a heist brings, a feeling like no other, being in control, the careful execution, the success, the celebration after. The laughter and the smiling and the shouting and the looks and he actually fell for them?
After a week he gets more confident.
He leaves the house for things other than jobs. If they wanted to find him, they would have by now. That’s his justification. He doesn’t think about how he’s never been this careless whilst hiding before.
- - - - -
He knows he wants to be caught when he decides to go back to the apartment.
Some of his plants will have perished, but he knows that some might be left. If he’s thinking of moving then it would be worth getting them. He goes during the day, bundled in an uncharacteristic hoodie. Going at night would still pose more risk than he’s bothered to deal with. The sun is unbearably hot. Maybe it’s a combination of the hoodie or the time he’s spent in the dark safehouse or the dark night-time but he’s sweltering. He ends up taking the bus to the apartment, because it’s too hot to walk, his car is too easy to track and the bus has air conditioning. Actually, just getting inside the apartment building is a relief.
His footsteps echo up the stairwell, following him up to his floor. The building is old, and he can feel the humidity with the barely working air-con desperately working away. His natural speed kicks in on the stairs, and when he reaches his floor his apartment keys are already in his hand. He looks briefly at his neighbour’s door, but it’s still too risky to talk to her, so he enters his apartment instead.
Upon entering the apartment, he imagines it wouldn’t take someone with his years of expertise to figure out something’s wrong.
It’s messier than when he left it, bowls stacks up by the sink he can just see, a bin that’s mostly full of something he can’t quite work out. The lights are on, the blinds are shut, and he is entirely suspicious. The lights shouldn’t be on, and he usually keeps the blinds open for his plants whilst he’s out. Also, Jeremy’s asleep on the sofa.
He looks shockingly innocent. His shirt has ridden up slightly, and he catches a glimpse of bandages beneath the shirt. One of his arms is on his stomach, the other falling down towards a watering can on the floor. Ryan looks around now, prompted, and takes in the flowers, still perfectly living and thriving. There’s no signs of wilting, even. It’s probably owed to the sleeping lad on his sofa. Ryan stands there, sighs, and walks into the bedroom to grab a pillow. He tries to slide it under Jeremy’s head, and almost falls over when he springs up with a punch.
“Shit!” His legs bangs hard against the edge of the coffee table and he flinches, hand wiping his cheek and feeling incredibly happy there’s no blood drawn there. Jeremy is awkwardly lowering his fists, staring with wide eyes at Ryan. Then his face sours into a glare, and Ryan feels that harder than any bullet.
“Oh, so now you fucking appear?” Jeremy bites, and Ryan flinches in response. “You fucking run and leave us but oh, you come back here?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be affiliated any more.” Ryan replies.
“You weren’t affliated, you were part of the crew!” Jeremy’s stood up now, leaning into Ryan’s space, and he’s short but he’s terrifying, and there’s almost no way to escape him.
“And I don’t want to be!”
“Fuck you!” And Jeremy pounces, sends Ryan falling back over the table, banging his head on the floor beneath him as Jeremy sends short jabs into whatever parts of him he can reach. Ryan reluctantly has to try and grab him, throw him off, and when that fails roll and try to get him trapped instead. “Go fuck yourself, Ryan!”
“Jeremy, stop!”
“No!” Ryan bites through the pain, kicks Jeremy back and Jeremy grabs his wrist, drags Ryan up to his feet and stops. They’re both panting, shoulders bobbing up and down and the world stills for a long moment as Jeremy yanks Ryan down to get a better look at his arm. He pushes the sleeve up, eventually gives in and manhandles the hoodie off him. Ryan tries to fight but his heart isn’t in it. Never was. The hoodie is dropped to the floor and Ryan can’t look at Jeremy anymore. “I fucking knew it.”
Ryan looks back, confused to see the wide smirk on Jeremy’s face, Jeremy looks right back at him, “What?”
“You’re coming back to the penthouse.”
“What? No I’m not.” Ryan protests, but he’s already being dragged out the door, and it clicks locked behind him and Ryan’s pretty sure he left his keys in there. It doesn’t matter - Jeremy got in there somehow, but those are his keys.
“You are, ‘cause we’ve got to do something we never do.”
“And what is that?”
“Sit down and talk like adults.”
- - - - -
Describing the atmosphere as tense would be a lie and Ryan has never felt this awkward in his adult life. Or his child life. Or ever, in fact. In fact, it’s so tense, he feels slightly sick. Very sick. However, it doesn’t seem like a valid enough excuse to get out of this.
They’re sat in the heist room, with all six of their chairs all around the table. Ryan is sat at one of the heads, Geoff at the other, and it’s oddly exposing, being sat here. All five pairs of eyes watch him and he feels afraid to move. There’s still tiredness evident in all of them, Ryan knows he caused it. Someone’s tapping, and Ryan suspects it’s Gavin.
Jack speaks first, with a gentle voice, gentle words, “We understand why you did it.”
“Still a dick fucking move-”
“Michael!” Jack scolds, and he rolls his eyes, slumps back in his seat. She takes a breath. “We, we’re in a relationship, you know this.” Another pause, another breath. “Fuck, I-”
Geoff takes over in a heartbeat, “We make it work. We’ve made it work for a long time. And, if you’re willing, we’d like to make it work with you, too.” The question takes Ryan’s breath away.
“We’d really like to!” Gavin adds, “You’re cute and funny and a nerd, sometimes, and we all have the marks and so do you, so there’s no hiding it.”
“If you say no, we can return to normal.” Geoff says, “You can stay, or go, we won’t mind.”
“I will.” Michael shrugs. “What’s the fucking point in hiding, Ryan? You risk dying everyday, we risk dying everyday. Fucking live a little.” Ryan doesn’t remember ever seeing Michael this tired before, and he wonders how many pieces he’s actually left to pick up.
“You don’t have to choose now-” Jack tries to say, but Ryan interrupts her.
“I’d like to-” And this time Jeremy interrupts.
“But if you dare try and pull away from us, I’m not letting you just ‘have space’ this time.” And that confirms Ryan’s suspicions that they did know, they always knew. He shuts his eyes, sits back in the chair and taps his fingers on his knee.
“I’d like to.” He says, and there’s a pause before triumphant cheers, shouts, and Gavin leans over from his chair to hug Ryan awkwardly in the way only Gavin can be.
“Who are you going to kiss first?” Jeremy demands, stood up now and leaning forward on the table. Ryan opens his mouth but is immediately beaten to it.
“Me!” Gavin cries, holding his arms up and almost falling out the chair.
“I’m the boss so technically-”
“Fuck you, Geoff! Kiss me!” Michael’s stood up now too.
“Okay, boys, settle down.” Jack holds her hand up, and everyone returns to their seats with a bursting tension. He can see Gavin bouncing in his seat. “Ryan?”
“Um,” He pauses, raises his hand, “Eenie, meanie-”
“Oh fuck off!”
- - - - -
It’s less surprising now, when Ryan gets home - delivers his groceries to Ms. Kilson - only to find Jeremy lying on the sofa. He sticks his hand up when Ryan comes in, jumps to his feet. He’s already dressed in motorcycle gear, and Ryan guesses he won’t be getting that peaceful evening in, after all.
“We’re going to Chiliad.” Jeremy tells him, as he grabs his arm, spins Ryan around and leads him back to the outside world.
“Another celebration?” Ryan asks and Jeremy grins so wide Ryan’s slightly worried.
“Jack owes me money now.” He declares, clapping his hands, “It’s our anniversary of you joining the relationship.”
“It is?” Ryan asks. They keep track of things like that? Ryan always gets surprised by his own birthday.
“Yup! So we’re setting some fireworks off.”
“It’s noon, Jeremy.”
“Picnic first.”
Jack made the picnic, Gavin having helped and it’s delicious and there’s enough food in there to feed a family of four for days. There’s also enough fireworks to flatten a small house. And a few things that are just straight up bombs that Michael managed to sneak in anyway. The sun sets almost unnoticed, except for when Ryan can tear his eyes from his lovers to look at it. The wonders of nature hardly compare to the five people around him. They’d probably laugh if they heard him say that.
Gavin calls to him, sat on the edge of the cliff whilst Geoff and Michael go to set up the fireworks (which is a Bad Idea but oh well.) The duo are joined by Jack and Jeremy, and the four lean on each other, arms wrapped around backs and breathing in sync with the world.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Ryan asks, and there’s just a hum in response and those are the only words shared between them. The first firework surprises all four of them, accompanied by Geoff and Michael’s shouts and a barely distinct, ‘we didn’t mean to set that one off!’ He laughs, they all do, shake their heads. Next time, a ‘whoo’ marks the firework. It sparkles in the air above them, Ryan drops his head on Gavin’s shoulders.
It could be a metaphor, fireworks. How they burst so brightly, a shot of light against a black sky that fizzles and glitters but fades. And maybe it was before - before all this. Maybe an LED would more suitable, and Ryan almost catches himself laughing at the thought. Jeremy uses his finger to follow one of them on their path, bursting out with it. A heart, Ryan realises, and he smiles.
“That’s corny.” Gavin comments, and Jeremy hums in agreement. Jack’s just smiling. There are sparkles in their eyes, coloured lights highlighting their bodies, and yeah. Maybe it is all a bit corny.
And now, he’s okay with that