This is an always-favorite trope, but with these two idiots?
I’m picturing like, idk, some kind of Shenanigans with Michael’s work, right?
Ryan as Harmless Civilian Boytoyfriend goes to pick Michael up from work one day. (Because it’s kind of his fault Michael’s car is somewhat exploded. there was a whole Thing and Ryan’s really very sorry, but he was in a rush - LSDP after him for being a notorious criminal and all - and he needed a car and didn’t realize where he was but oh, man, that car looked fast/stealeable and anyway, did he mention he’s very sorry?)
ANYWAY.
Michael’s coworkers/boss sees this happen and (before the whole worst kept secret about him having ties to the Fakes get around) and he’s like, “Oh, shit, I need an excuse/explanation?” because he’s tired and there are all these :DDDDDDDDDDD faces to deal with and just, he doesn’t even know.
And Ryan, because he’s an idiot and also right there and an idiot, blurts out something about them ~dating. (Which, technically true? But whatever.)
ANYWAYx2.
It turns into this Thing where people ask about “that totally hot nerd” Michael’s dating because Ryan was wearing his glasses that day and also is a nerd, but yes.
Michael is like “Oh, yeah, no. He’s doing good,” and it just builds and builds and builds because his coworkers/boss are like totally all about Michael and his nerd boyfriend.
It gets to the point he wants to tell them he and nerdboy broke up because wow, weird how invested they are? Realizes it would cause more drama/aggravation if he told them that than it would to just go along with things.
When Ryan finds out what’s going on (because he’s an asshole) he ups the ante until suddenly they’re engaged and then (when Michael gets kidnapped or some other similar shenanigans take place - maybe he has to go all Hero on everyone’s ass to save Ryan or what have you and misses work for a few days because reasons turns out they got surprise!married.)
Spur of the moment thing, or Ryan planned it all and forgot to tell Michael and in all the ~excitement it didn’t occur ot him to check in with work.
Anyhow.
They’re in too deep in this web of lies they’ve tangled themselves up with, so the fake married thing?
Ryan getting Michael a ring (and vice versa) and getting a bigger place together and all this stuff?
It’s not until Michael’s mom comes out to visit and meets Ryan.
Does the Disappointed Mom thing about not being invited to the wedding/ or whatever, but is like “I’m glad you’re happy, you little shit,” but in a loving way, not mom!guilt. (Because Michael gets it from somewhere.)
And that’s when it really hits the two of them that they might as well be married - fit all the criteria and all - and go to Lindsay or whoever got ordained online to make it “official”, and then, idk, I’m losing the thread here but yes.
One of many ways the fake married thing comes to be in Crinkle Dot AU.
(...and now i kind of want to do a 5 times fic with this premise, but yeah /o\)
I’m just. Crinkle Dot AU where Michael gets ~kidnapped by some idiots (not the crew) who are dumb rather than dangerous?
Maybe they needed him to fix up one of their buddies and it gets...not quite awkward but obvious they’ve never kidnapped someone before, you know?
Steal a car or two, somehow manage to rob a store, but nothing really major and they all know Michael’s never in any real danger? Especially as time goes by while Michael’s treating their buddy and it gets awkward enough for one of his kidnappers to start up some small talk?
Michael is just so very ??? with these idiots and a little amused and why not chitchat with them to pass the time?
Somehow they get on the topic of significant others and this happens before people find out Michael’s got a thing going with the Vagabond, right, so Michael’s not naming names.
Just complains about this asshole who messes up his place and leaves his shit everywhere (the guns and knives and other assorted weaponry Ryan was stashing around Michael’s place like the demented squirrel he is, claiming it’s all for Michael’s safety and such.
This asshole whose friends are the weirdest people Michael’s ever met - and goes off on a rant about them showing up unannounced and so on. Eating all his food, drinking his beer and all that.
This asshole who is just the worst - no, seriously, the abso-fucking-lute worst while his kidnappers commiserate with him and offer advice and such.
They bond, because of course they do, and when Ryan shows up to ~rescue Michael thinking he’s in Dire Trouble he’s greeted with them laughing like morons and Micahel looking Ryan dead in the eye,
“Maybe I just have bad taste in men,” and Ryan shuffling his feet awkwardly because clearly this is not a Dire Situation kind of deal.
Not with Michael sharing drinks with a bunch of idiots - one that MIchael must have been kidnapped to patch up, what with the bandages and whatnot - and he’s just.
“Uh?”
Because what even???
Michael shaking his head and thanking his kidnappers for the drink before he reminds the injured one to keep his stitches dry and so on and leaves with Ryan who is still utterly befuddled.
Michael humming a little to himself and leaning towards Ryan because it’s cold out and he’s not wearing a jacket and why the hell not, you know.
Ryan doesn’t say anything until they’re in his Zentorno a few streets away, and then he’s just.
“What the hell happened back there?”
Michael giving him that shit-eating grin of his and telling him it was nothing, just some idiot kids who don’t know what the fuck they’re doing and don’t give ‘em a hard time about it, okay? (He knows, okay, knows Ryan’s going to go back and “talk” with them later, or maybe he’ll get Gavin or Jeremy to do it for him, who knows.)
Ryan being all fidgety and fussy because what if Michael was serious about having bad taste in men???
And Michael, okay, he knows Ryan well enough by that point to snort and be like.
“You’re not a complete asshole,” which is more or less the truth, really.
“Flattering,” Ryan says, cutting a look at him. “But I’ll take it.”
Michael with this stupid fond look on his face because Ryan actually is pretty terrible? But so is Michael, so that probably cancels out. Or something,
Whatever.
(Also later the idiots who kidnapped Michael end up as members of B-Team so it really does work out. Even if Ryan will sometimes find Michael and them commiserating about their relationship ~woes and such and Michael being a little shit about it because he can.)
I’m just. This is amazing and also makes me think of Crinkle Dot AU, but with the Heist Shenanigans thrown in?
Michael’s life is just a complete disaster because everyone at his work and probably half the city (except the cops and feds because wow) by this point knows about him and the Fakes but are like ??? about what to do about it?
Because it’s not like Michael’s some evil mastermind figure or anything, and the Fakes leave them alone. (May or may not help fund the place and others like them that are in desperate need and like. It’s Los Santos, okay, so everyone’s morals and ethics are skewed. Anyway, they’re not the worst thing out there and such.)
Michael going to work and seeing this idiot and his idiot friends in Heist Mode and turning right the fuck around and shaking his head when his co-workers are like ??? at him because what?
“Don’t”, he says, when someone heads for the doors. “Just. You don’t want to know. Give it a few minutes, it should be over by then.”
(He doesn’t feel the need to add “one way or another” because the disaster squad that is the Fake AH Crew and past experience and God, if he has to patch any of those fuckers up after this he’s going to be so pissed? But yeah.)
Michael just drinking coffee or whatever and pretending they can’t all hear the screaming and yelling and alarms and sirens going off outside for a worryingly long time before they hear vehicles racing off.
Like.
There was some shooting in there too? But security’s watching through the cameras and - somehow - there were no injuries or whatnot for them to handle so everyone stayed inside.
When they get the all-clear Michael sighs and shoots off a text to Ryan - knows the idiot won’t dare check it until everything’s over and done with (or he fucking better not check it until then, keep his fucking head in the game and all that) telling him he’s an idiot and it better have been worth it. (Also, maybe fucking not wear the face paint next time seeing as it’s probably what tipped the authorities off he wasn’t an actual paramedic? Just a though, genius.)
He ignores the looks he’s getting from everyone because c’mon dude, what the hell is up with your idiot friends? And goes off to work like oh, hey, just any other day in his utterly bizarre and fucked up life.
(Later on Ryan’s like, “So, funny story...” and Michael is just “Oh? Do tell,” like he doesn’t know what happened. Also, that’s the second fucking ambulance the Fakes have completely managed to destroy after stealing them - you know there’s no way it survived - what the hell?)
Michael’s work gets another shiny new ambulance and other goodies thanks to the generosity of an anonymous benefactor, and he gets these Looks when their boss announces that like they don’t know who it is by now, and could they maybe just not do the thing instead?
Just once, for novelty’s sake or something.
(Michael of course, knows the answer to that is a resounding no, because they’re incapable of not doing the thing, but whatever.)
“I’m just. This is amazing and also makes me think of Crinkle Dot AU,...”
god this is so hilarious I love me some outsider pov thrown into the disaster shenanigans that is the Fakes
Imagine the gossip about Michael at his work before/after they all find out about his ties to the Fakes? All these rumors and stuff because the times he comes in looking a little rough after being kidnapped/abducted For Reasons by baddies.
They’ve seen that guy that picks him up from work sometimes, you know? With all that leather and fancy car/bike, and is it a Kinky relaationship or something else? (Michael seems fine, though, so maybe it’s a Kinky Relationship andoh, my, what do you suppose they get up to? *chinhands*
Michael totally hears the rumors at some point and tells Ryan who is like :O! because he’s a good southern boy, but also hmm and like. idk, anymore, just. yes. (Meanwhile, Michael’s just amused watching Ryan process his ~feelings because this fuckin’ asshole, okay.)
Summary: Michael knows Ryan doesn’t like his apartment building. Knows he doesn’t like the fact it’s a shitty little place with a shitty little landlord. Knows he really doesn’t like the security – or really the lack thereof – it has to offer its tenants beyond the deadbolt and chain on their front doors.
Notes: I was playing around with this prompt generator and got one that felt perfect for these two and this AU in particular and then shenanigans happened. :D?
Takes place in the Crinkle Dot AU.
(Read on AO3)
Michael knows Ryan doesn’t like his apartment building. Knows he doesn’t like the fact it’s a shitty little place with a shitty little landlord. Knows he really doesn’t like the security – or really the lack thereof – it has to offer its tenants beyond the deadbolt and chain on their front doors.
He knows all that, which is why after a steady campaign of harassment and innocent doe eyes proclaiming that’s not what it is, Michael, really, Michael agreed to get a new apartment.
He’s still waiting on the paperwork at his work to go through with the bump in pay to go with it because fuck if he’s going to let someone else pay his way even if Ryan and the others insist it wouldn’t be like that.
That they’d paid Phil for what he did for them, found a way to make it look all nice and legal and shit and just.
Look.
Michael’s not an idiot, okay? Could use the money they’re trying to give him to live a better life and all that, but it feels shady to him considering he’s got more invested in the crew and Ryan in particular than Phil ever did.
So, all that money they want to give him goes to the non-profit clinics around the city instead. Split evenly among the little places barely staying afloat who do more for the communities they serve than the cops that like to hassle them from time to time ever have. (Doesn’t amount to all that much in the end, but it’s better than nothing and that’s what matters.)
Jack and Gavin are looking for places he’d agree to move to, and he keeps reminding them he’s got a budget and no funny business. No leaning on some poor bastard to give him a discount or whatever else because he has ties to the crew.
Other bullshit that has to happen first like getting Ryan to stop being so fucking smug about winning the argument or whatever he thinks this was.
Until then, however, Michael’s got shit to do.
A wedding back home for starters. One of the million and one cousins he has getting hitched, and Michael expected back for it as a member of the wedding party.
========
It’s weird, being back.
Relatives and other assorted assholes he hasn’t seen from anywhere from a couple of years to when he was in diapers.
He spends the first day back on a nostalgia kick, wandering around the town he grew up in and realizing how small it seems now. All the shine it had in his head from his time there growing up worn off and that special warm glow in his heart about the place fucking right off now that he’s seeing it from a different perspective.
Sure, he’s still got all those fond memories from his childhood kicking about in his head, but looking around now he can see the shittier side of things. Stuff he wouldn’t have noticed as a kid or the teenager he grew up to be. Young twenty-something in his first crappy apartment thinking he had life figured out and no idea how dumb he was then. (Or how much dumber he’d get because look at him now.)
He stops by his old high school and walks the grounds after all the extracurricular activities ended hours before.
Goes to his old work and wonders how things could have gone differently if he hadn’t taken that job offer that fucked him over, if he’d stayed. (Doesn’t dwell on those thoughts too long because they’re depressing as fuck and miserable as hell to think about compared to his life now.)
Thinks about calling up his old friends but his heart’s not in it. Not when he’ll see most of them at the wedding anyway, and it’s. He doesn't know what he’d say if he did call, because two years is a long time for something like that and they’re all doing their own things now which is how it should be.
The second day back, though. Goddamned nightmare with his mom dragging him around for last-minute errands like picking up his rental tuxedo and other things she wants his input on.
And then there’s the day of the wedding.
Wedding ceremony that goes off without incident that leads to the worst part afterwords with the wedding party. Small-talk up the wazoo and cheap booze and overly expensive chicken dry as a bone he chokes down between the small-talk.
His mom flitting about poking at the assholes trying to one-up her regarding their families and success of their kids and all that bullshit Michael’s never understood. Cousins and people he doesn’t recognize sidling up to him because they’ve heard the horror stories about Los Santos and Jesus Christ, Michael, how can you stand to live there?
Michael shrugs, because really it’s no worse than being back here.
Less murder in the streets and panicked screaming, maybe, but yeah.
Overall the same.
Assholes of all kinds and most of them out to put you in your place one way or another. Pecking order that gets real huffy about things if you put a toe out of line and something he’d forgotten dealing the clusterfuck of moving to Los Santos and everything that came after.
Kind of funny, actually, how dealing with his family and neighbors and whatnot prepared him for Los Santos.
Real Karate Kid Mr. Miyagi wax on, wax off kind of bullshit.
“You’d be surprised,” he says, thinking about Ryan and that dumbass crew of his. The shit he’s been dragged into because of his own stupidity and terrible life choices. Smiles at the concerned looks it gets him. “It’s not that bad.”
Watches the worst of the lot go back to their cliques and gossip circles probably spreading rumors Michael’s fallen into bed with organized crime or something along those lines.
Which, ironic really, given the truth.
His mom shoots him a dirty look when one of his aunts says something to her that has to do with Michael being a horrible son. Piece of shit kid who’s probably doing drugs or murdering kittens in his free time, because you’ve heard about people in that city, haven’t you?
He has to look away when she gets that look on her face Michael remembers seeing as a kid. The one where she’s gearing up to tear someone a new one for talking bad about her kids. Doesn’t want to give the game away even though his aunt should know better by now.
Sure, they're awful little bastards, but they’re her awful little bastards and like hell will she let anyone talk shit about them in front of her.
Michael wanders away from the main party at some point. He’s been home for three days now, and it’s.
He’s starting to realize he can’t call it that anymore.
Feels wrong when he does.
Things have wound down enough it should be safe to head back to his hotel without causing some sort of social faux pas. Everyone outside his mom worth talking to is already gone, and she just tells him to drive safe when he says his goodbyes, look in her eyes like she understands.
He stops to get food on the way, little place he used to go to all the time they don’t have on the west coast and the worst kind of food for you. Greasy and artery-clogging goodness that tastes like heaven and if he ever brings Ryan to meet his family, he knows he has to bring the asshole here to show him what fast food is supposed to taste like.
Speaking of, Ryan picks up on the second ring when Michael calls him, concern in his voice like he thinks Michael’s run into trouble in small-town Jersey. Uncovered a criminal ring being run by the local soccer moms or some bullshit and needs to be rescued like a damsel in distress.
“Michael?”
Michael rolls his eyes, not really sure if it’s at the worry in Ryan’s voice or the way Michael gets this little warm fuzzy feeling at hearing it.
He’s called to check in a few times since he got to Jersey. Make sure the idiot’s looking after his busted ankle he earned himself for a botched parachute jump out of Jack’s Cargobob. Part of a heist or just some dumb stunt for the hell of it and Ryan being an asshole with frail old man bones. (He’s not, really, but goddamn is it fun to rile him up about it.)
“Hey, asshole.”
They don’t really go in for lovey-dovey pet names, the two of them. More of Michael calling Ryan an idiot or moron or an asshole, because that’s what works for them.
Ryan tends to stick to Michael’s name, but every once in a while he’ll be more of an asshole than usual and ‘yes, dear’ him which doesn’t seem like it should be as infuriating as it is? And yet somehow Ryan just has that special superpower.
There’s a pause, some shuffling noises on Ryan’s end before he says anything else. No gunshots or screaming or police sirens, which means he might actually be listening to sound medical advice and resting instead out having a rootin’ tootin’ good time with the rest of the crew.
“Is something wrong?” Ryan asks. Careful. Measured. Like he thinks Michael’s been kidnapped again, probably the soccer mom criminal ring and is making a phone call under dress, who knows. “Did something happen?”
Michael sighs because no, but also yes, and he’s just.
Getting old.
Appreciating the things he has, the life he’s lived to get where he is and how it all fits together when it has no right to. All kinds of insightful bullshit he didn’t expect to deal with when he booked his flight to Jersey weeks ago.
“You manage to burn the place down yet?”
See, Michael knows Ryan’s supposed to be taking it easy and letting his ankle heal? But he also knows Ryan.
The idiot’s got a key to his place and this restlessness to him. Those plants he pawned off on Michael when he first mentioned heading to Jersey for the wedding. Perfect excuses to out from under the watchful eyes of the others when they’re not being chaotic disasters because they know as well As Michael does how dumb Ryan is about his own well-being.
Valid reason to check in on things while Michael was gone because someone needed to water them even though Michael was only going to be gone for five days at the most, but sure, okay.
Make himself comfortable, cook something up while he’s there because the man’s predictable as hell.
Ryan huffs, because he’s really not enjoying the implication he doesn’t know his way around the kitchen. (That, and there’s a real possibility Ryan or one of the others will just. Do something and Michael's apartment will be in flames, because that just happens with them.)
“No Michael,” he says, sullen note to it that makes Michael grin. “I haven’t burned your apartment down. Yet.”
It's the ‘yet’ that gets Michael, but he lets it slide because he knows Ryan wants him to take the bait and he’s just asshole enough to leave him hanging.
“Good,” Michael says. “Try to keep it that way.”
Ryan sighs, like Michael’s being unreasonable about not wanting his shitty little apartment to be on fire and can’t believe the big, scary Vagabond is still being bullied like this.
Ryan asks how things are going, so of course Michael has to counter with his own inquiry into Ryan’s day and eventually one of them gives a real answer. Which leads to Michael telling Ryan about his new side-hobby of murdering kittens, or maybe it’s puppies, and Ryan’s quiet snort because no, that’s his shtick as the previously noted big scary Vagabond.
From there it’s just.
Nice, really, telling Ryan about all the bullshit he’s dealing with and listening to the bullshit Ryan’s had to content with because the Fakes are a goddamned handful and menaces all around.
Eventually the time difference catches up to Michael. Exhaustion not creeping up on him so much as sucker punching him when he yawns. It’s only a few hours difference, but the last few days have been busy as hell.
Ryan laughs at him because he’s an asshole, and Michael should remind him he’s the one who falls asleep during movies because he’s an old, old man, but.
Yeah.
“Shut up,” he says instead, which just gets another laugh out of Ryan and this comfortable silence Michael’s learning to appreciate. “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Try to keep from burning the pace down until then.”
Ryan’s still sputtering protests about not being that bad about things when Michael hangs up, dumb smile on his face and that warm fuzzy feeling that’s edged out the homesickness he’s been feeling.
========
“So,” Michel says, suitcase still in hand. “I’d like to say this is quite the surprise, but I’d be lying.”
His smoke detector’s going off, which makes sense given the way his entire apartment smells of smoke, decent cloud of it in the kitchen the fan over the stove and open windows can’t quite keep up with.
Ryan’s swearing and flapping a dish towel uselessly trying to help it dissipate and looking guilty as hell as he turns to face Michael.
“I can explain,” he starts to explain, and then just.
Doesn’t.
Caught red-handed, as the expression goes.
Not expecting Michael for a few hours, but Michael had the chance to catch an earlier flight home without any outrageous fees to deal with and jumped at the chance.
Came home to a screeching fire detector and apartment filled with smoke and Ryan at the center of it, because of course.
“Uh, hey,” Ryan says, shoving the dish towel behind his back like that’s going to do anything to hide what’s going on here, whatever it is. “Michael. Hi.”
Jesus Christ.
Michael sighs, because Ryan, and after a quick check to make sure his kitchen isn’t actually on fire goes to dump his suitcase in his bedroom and wash up a bit. Give Ryan some time to hide the body or whatever evidence he needs to because he’s too tired to deal with it right now.
By the time he comes back out the smoke clouding up his kitchen’s gone, but the smell’s going to linger for a while longer, so thanks for that.
Also, Ryan is staring sadly at a tray on the stove. Blackened bits of...something in it and this slump to his shoulders.
Looks all sad and pathetic.
“What is the one thing I told you not to do?”
Sad panda Ryan aside, Michael came home to a smoke-filled apartment with a dangerous criminal waiting for him instead of a regular apartment with a dangerous criminal waiting for him.
Ryan pokes whatever is in the tray with a spatula and frowns like he doesn’t know the answer. Really has to think about it for a bit before that memory resurfaces as though all the reminders he needs aren’t literally in front of him.
“...burn your apartment down?”
Oh that’s. That’s nice, the way Ryan turns it into a question. Like Michael made any other requests of him while he was out of town because he knows how Ryan feels about the place.
“And what did you do?” Michael asks, feeling like he’s talking to one of his baby cousins however many times removed or however that shit works.
Small words. Simple sentences. Not asking a lot because toddlers and their limited grasp of pretty much everything ever at that point in their lives. Like Ryan with not setting things on fire or exploding them or other highly dangerous (and doubtless illegal) things.
“I made you dinner?” Ryan says and gives Michael this dumb little smile.
All lopsided and stupid sweet and overall sad because from the evidence before them, he really kind of didn’t.
“And almost burned the place down,” Michael says, walking over to get a better look at the charred remains. Steak by the look of it, because Ryan. “But guess I should have warned you my oven’s broken before I left.”
Not that he expected Ryan to use it to surprise him by cooking dinner, but just an in general sort of thing. It’s been broken for a couple of weeks at this point, his landlord assuring him it’s on the list of things for him to see to he hasn’t gotten around to yet.
Doesn’t seem all that bothered about the way it veers from not working at all to burning hot like the surface of the sun or how that might constitute a hazard of some kind.
“I figured that part out on my own, yeah,” Ryan says, glancing at him.
Touch of wariness to it because Michael's not annoyed or mad at him for the whole possibly burning his apartment down thing, even if was unintentional.
Hard to be angry about it when he was trying to do a good thing, and yes, okay. Michael missed him and his dumb face while he was gone, so there’s that too.
Figures he ought to thank him for the effort he put into it, the sentiment, so he does. Hooks his fingers into the collar of Ryan’s shirt and pulls him down for a kiss, grinning when the idiot looks surprised about it like Michael's just that much of a bully to him.
“Thanks for making dinner,” he says, and gives him another kiss when Ryan huffs like he thinks Michael’s giving him shit for his failed attempt. “No, really, moron. Thanks.”
And now he’s embarrassed, blushing and having a hard time meeting Michael’s eyes. Awkward as anything because he’s shit at accepting compliments that don’t involve wholesale mayhem and destruction.
Michael lets him squirm out of it, watches him fuss half-heartedly with the ruined tray of steaks and all that until he settles.
“Take-out?” Michael asks, because he’s not in the mood to bother cooking anything or go out somewhere.
He’d rather sit on his couch and watch shitty movies with Ryan while they have the time for it with their schedules, and he’s sure Ryan’s not quite up for more cooking adventures at the moment.
“I...yeah,” Ryan sighs. “That sounds good.”
Great, because there is something Michael’s annoyed about, which is the fact Ryan shouldn’t be bumbling around anywhere with that ankle of his.
“Awesome,” Michael says, “now go sit the fuck down before you make your ankle worse than it is.”
And Ryan, because he’s Ryan, gets this look to him like he’s about to tell Michael he’s fine, really. Ankle miraculously healed since Michael saw him last like the idiot thinks he’ll fall for it.
Michael crosses his arms and waits, because Ryan’s stubborn as hell and real dumb sometimes. (Most of the time.)
“Alright, alright, alright,” he grumbles, and hobbles his way to the living room.
Michael would offer to help him, but he knows Ryan would just get all dumb about it again. Insist he can manage and no, no, really. Look at how strong and independent I am, Michael like that’s anywhere close to being the point. (Because idiot.)
Michael rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove clean up before he calls in their take-out order because this is his life now, and for whatever reason he likes it, which.
Yeah.
A sign he’s fucked in the head, but life’s just like that sometimes. Dumps you into some ridiculous situation and lets you fumble your way around until you make something of it, whatever that means you.
For Michael it’s this whole clusterfuck of a life he never could have predicted, because what person in their right mind would?
And that’s just fine with him because strange as it is, he’s never been happier, even with all the assholes he has to deal with now.
So, yeah.
Michael’s an idiot, but he’s a happy one, and that’s all that matters.
Summary: Its probably not a good sign that Michael’s gotten used to being approached by people in parking garages.
Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who asked for Crinkle Dot with Michael getting kidnapped (again) based on a line from Small Hours of the Night.:
Today it was Trevor, but they all know there will be a day when Michael’s on his own when someone decides they want to hurt the big bad Vagabond where it’ll do the most damage.
(Read on AO3)
Its probably not a good sign that Michael’s gotten used to being approached by people in parking garages.
Just.
An in general sort of thing, because he lives in Los Santos and all kinds of fuckery goes on in places like that. Especially this late at night, and okay, okay, okay, maybe Ryan’s right about Michael being a dumbass.
Because he hears the guy walking up to him, hears him stop a few feet away. Hard-soled shoes clip-clopping on the hard cement like that, of course he does.
But because he’s Michael and coming off working a double shift, he doesn’t pay all that much attention to it. (He does, just not the right kind. Preoccupied with this he needs to do because he has a date later, so you know.)
Hears the guy clear his throat, something aggressive to it that pings Michael's radar too late, but it’s really the part that follows after that makes him realize he should have been more alert.
The whole, “Hey, pal,” and “You Michael Jones?” and “Rudy sends his regards,” which.
First of all, Michael has no goddamn clue who the hell Rudy is, so there’s that.
Second of all, talk about being dramatic as hell, and also a great way to preface sucker punching someone when they turn around to ask you what the fuck you want.
No matter how many times Ryan or the others drag him down to the gym to teach him how to defend himself, he won’t be fast enough to react when someone blindsides him like that. A for effort on their parts and all that shit, but Michael's only human and there’s that whole dumbass thing too, so.
Yeah.
Michael sees a meaty fist coming straight at him before pain explodes in his face and he drops like a ragdoll.
========
He wakes up who knows how many hours later tied up like a damsel in distress in those movies his mom denies she watches. All melodrama and other movie clichés as far as the eye could see.
Big Vinewood hero, dashing and brave and his spunky sidekick. Gorgeous love interest who was all fired up with determination to stand toe-to-toe with every asshole she came across until it came time for the villain to get one over on the hero, and then everything fell apart.
“Guilty pleasures,”she’d tell him, embarrassed as hell and only half serious with her threats. “If I find out you’re telling people I watch them you’re grounded, you little shit.”
Mich looks around, tries to figure out where he’s been taken this time.
“Look at me now, ma,” he mutters, “just like your movies.”
He’s in a bland little room that’s gone neglected for who knows how long. Peeling paint and the smell of mildew and wood rot. Water stains in the ceiling and garbage and whatever else piled in the corners. Old furniture like you’d find in a typical office building that’s a few years out of date and seen some hard times.
Nothing new there, nothing to give away a particular area in Los Santos.
The train whistle he hears in the distance is a little more helpful, but doesn’t help him pin the place down.
So, yeah.
Not great.
His head hurts like hell and he can feel dried blood flaking away under his node, down his lips and chin. His nose doesn’t feel broken, which is always nice.
Aside from a few aches and pains nothing else does either.
Whoever sucker punched him in the garage isn’t around to ask questions, and there’s no sign of anyone else.
Either they’re went to the trouble of grabbing him just to let him rot here where no one’s supposed to find him, or they’re letting him stew.
“No one has any goddamned imagination with this shit,” Michael says, annoyance rising because fucking seriously.
He’s been grabbed a few times before this. Assholes who think he’ll roll over for them, hand them everything they want in exchange for letting him go like that’s what they have planned.
Like he’s just that stupid.
Sure, he’s not thrilled about the part that comes after being grabbed, the whole tough guy act these kind of assholes put on.
Smile at him like it’s just business kid, you know how it is, right? And then the ugly shit starts, a punch here, another one there. Things to soften him up and get him talking, babbling for them to stop, he’ll talk, he’ll talk, only Michael doesn’t play along.
Doesn’t follow the script like they expect him to.
So they bring out their shiny little knives and flashy guns. Get in his face and ask him if he’s sure he wants to keep the Fake AH Crew’s secrets. Doesn’t he know he’s just another tool to them? Convenient little asset and all that, but c’mon kid, you’re smarter than that, aren’t you?
All that fancy education to get where you are in life, and you’re gonna throw it away on scumbags like them?
He’s heard variations on that since the wrong people found out about him from an ally of the Fakes with loose lips and no goddamn common sense to speak of. Idiot kid who should have known better, but you know. Idiot kid.
Last Michael heard, he’s off somewhere the Roosters can keep an eye on him. Far away from Ryan and the others who hold grudges like nobody’s business. (Got this sideways look from Geoff and Burnie who was visiting at the time. Both of them probably thinking Michael’s a bigger idiot than expected, but whatever. The crew’s always telling him they owe him, and it was a small enough favor.)
Got a broken nose out of it before Michael managed to get everyone calmed down. Drew attention to the fact he was kind of bleeding a little, and oh, hey, anyone want to return the favor of stitching him back together for fuck’s sake, or did he have to do it himself?
(He kind of did, though. Ryan all wound up and freaked out as Michael told him what to do like the big doof hadn’t been - badly – stitching himself back together for years.)
Michael sighs because he hates this part. Boring as fuck and wasting his time.
“Goddammit,” Michael sighs, because Ryan’s going to be a goddamn pain about this.
(Michael’s got a thing about being punctual, and the fact he’s late for their date will be a source of grief for him.)
========
It takes a couple of hours before this Rudy asshole shows his face.
Beanpole of a guy with beady little eyes and something about him that makes Michael think about snakes. (Might be the way he puts emphasis on his sibilants, the way Jeremy does sometimes when he’s fucking around in a death match back at the penthouse.)
Ridiculously into his bad guy cliches from the way he circles around Michael to clasping his hands behind his back once he’s standing in front of Michael.
Pair of enforcers flanking the door because assholes like him can’t not with the intimidation tactics.
“So,” he says – hisses? - giving Michael a once-over. “You’re this Michael Jones I’ve heard so much about.”
Michael doesn’t know what the fuck is going on here, but sure.
Why not.
“I mean,” Michael says, because he’s an idiot and hanging around the Fakes has just brought that out in him even more. “It’s a pretty common name when you think about it.”
Might as well cal himself John Smith, the amount of people who go around with the same name.
Rudy’s one of those people who doesn’t seem to find that amusing, and Michael knows it’s going to be a long night because he goes straight into douchebag mode.
Raises his hand like an asshole and snaps his fingers, eyes on Michael the whole time as one of the bruisers leaves his station by the door and steps forward. (Cracks his knuckles like you see in the movies, all intimidation factor and unbelievably assholish.)
Rudy smiles, mean edge to it.
“I get it now,” he says, turning to leave. “You’re just like them.”
Michael rolls his eyes because no, he’s really not.
Well.
He didn’t used to be anyway. Had common sense they didn’t, but the fuckers have been chipping away at that until he ends up in situations like this and making all the wrong choices.
He looks to the bruiser who’s looking at Michael with his head cocked like he can see all his weak points.
“Can we just get this over with?” Michael asks. “Places to be and all that.”
The bruiser smirks like a man who loves his job and yeah, yeah.
Long goddamned night ahead of him.
========
When the bruiser’s done with their first session, Michael’s nose is broken and he’s has a loose tooth. Maybe more than one, it’s hard to keep track.
He hurts like fuck and there’s this leaky pipe at the back of the room that’s driving him nuts.
Rudy’s staring him down, this bland little smile on his face.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” he says. Just a businessman looking out for his own interests, nothing personal to any of this. “Tell me what I want to know, and we’ll send you on your way.”
Michael stares at him because it’s the usual load of horseshit guys like him peddle. Empty promises with threats of violence behind them and honestly?
Michael’s tired of it.
“Alright,” he says, licks blood off his lips, cracks his neck because he has to look up at the asshole ad his bruisers and it’s putting a crick in his neck. “You want me to talk? I’ll talk.”
He has a lot of grievances against the Fake AH Crew with all the shit they put him through on a regular basis. Just one thing after another with those assholes.
Michael starts out with something that’s been bugging him for a long goddamn time.
“Who the fuck decides to call themselves Rimmy Tim? Like fucking really. Did the asshole just have a bunch of kids write-in suggestions he picked out of a hat or something?”
Speaking of.
“What the fuck is up with the cowboy hat?”
The color scheme, okay, yeah. Michael gets that because Jeremy’s a disaster, so why not pick the worst color combination he could, but the cowboy hat?
Michael bites back a laugh at the way Rudy’s expression goes from smug satisfaction to something approaching apoplectic rage. Tiny bit of disbelief, like most people in Michael’s situation aren’t this stupid.
Asshole uncoils, sneer on his face like this isn’t something he usually does himself but he’ll make an exception for Michael.
Backhands him, heavy rings on his fingers leaving a cut behind, blood spilling down Michael’s cheek as his head snaps to the side.
“You might want to rethink your position, Jones,” he says, sharp and clear, no extra emphasis on the sibilants this time.
Michael shakes his head, and looks back at good old Rudy. Sees the anger in his eyes, blood he’s shaking off his hand.
“Yeah?” Michael asks. Cocks his head as he hears noise outside the room they’ve got him in. Sounds a little like unexpected trouble coming Rudy’s way, what with the yelling. Sees Rudy straighten up, head turning towards the noise as it draws closer. “I could say the same for you, asshole.”
Rudy snarls, mouth opening to snap out orders to his bruisers but it’s too little too late as someone kicks the door open.
Smoke rushing in and sight of fire behind the figure in the doorway.
Dramatic bastard in his leather jacket and ridiculous mask.
Also, you know.
Mini-gun.
Rudy takes a step back, closer to Michael, and the Vagabond aims the mini-gun at him.
Just that.
Aims that monster of a gun at Rudy and lets him think things over. No rush, the Vagabond’s got plenty of time now that he’s here. Wouldn’t want to pressure Rudy or anything like that.
There’s this moment where Rudy glances over at Michael like he’s weighing the odds of him getting close enough to use Michael as a bargaining chip – but he’s one of the smarter ones. Gives up that line of thinking as he raises his hands and turns back to face the Vagabond.
The bruisers follow his lead, hands in the air as a familiar figure ducks around the Vagabond and plucks the guns out of the bruiser’s shoulder holsters. Ejects the magazines and tosses them in a corner of the room. Goes on to pat them down for any hidden weapons that end up in in the same corner, but he pockets their wallets with a little smirk.
Moves over to Rudy who is visibly seething, and flashes him this bright little grin. Pats his cheek before giving him the same treatment. (Shoots Michael a look, eyes narrowing as he spots the cut on Michael’s cheek and slips Rudy’s rings off his fingers.)
Rudy and his bruisers are glaring at Gavin, but Michael’s attention is on the Vagabond standing so very, very still, mini-gun humming away.
“Well, don’t you look a sight,” Gavin murmurs, hand on Michael’s shoulder as he slips around behind him to cut through the ropes tying him to the chair.
Rough stuff, Michael’s wrists rubbed raw from trying to get out of them earlier with no luck.
Michael snorts, lets Gavin help him to his feet. Hand on his elbow as he leads him towards the door. Michael digs his heels in when they draw even with the Vagabond. (Asshole doesn’t acknowledge them, focus on Rudy and his bruisers.)
“I’m okay,” Michael says, just loud enough for the idiot. “I’m fine.”
Little bit battered, bruised, but nothing he won’t heal from.
“Michael,” Gavin says, tugging on his elbow.
Michael sighs and lets Gavin escort him out of the building.
They pass by Jeremy and members of B-Team along the way having what looks like a pointed discussion with the handful of Rudy’s people still standing. (Offering them a choice.)
Michael pulls back against Gavin’s hold when he hears the first gunshots, scowls when the assholes tightens it for a moment before his hand drops away.
Gavin sighs.
“It’s not just about you,” he says quietly. “If bastards like him think they can get away with something like this, it’ll mean trouble for the crew.”
Michael knows that.
Knew that when he considered the risks involved in pursuing a relationship with Ryan. Sat down and thought about it, news on in the background and all the shit he saw on the job. Thought about everything he’d heard about the Fake AH Crew after moving to Los Santos, the shit they got up to. (Enemies they’d made and the ones they’ll make because they’re all idiots.)
Some days all that knowing hits harder than others, has a more direct impact.
“Come on,” Gavin says, walking ahead. “Let’s get you back to the penthouse where we can get you taken care of.”
========
The Vagabond shows up at the penthouse about an hour later.
Knocks on the door to Ryan’s suite and doesn’t let himself in afterwards, so Michael has to open it for him.
He’s still wearing the mask, but something about the way he’s standing makes it seem less like an intimidation tactic and more like something to hide behind. (Or maybe Michael’s full of bullshit.)
“Hey,” Michael says, stepping back to let him in.
He gets a grunt by way of greeting and a whiff of smoke as the Vagabond walks past. (Burning building with a touch of cigarette smoke tossed in.)
Watches the asshole look around like he’s expecting trouble, and sighs. (Long night for everyone.)
“I could use some help,” he says, brushes his fingers under the cut on his face. “Can’t get the fucking things on right.”
Always easier to for him when he’s treating someone else than himself and all that.
Michael had help resetting his nose because that’s always a bitch to do yourself, but insisted he could handle the rest. Minor stuff, just needed to clean up and slap a few band-aids on and call it a day.
No going back to his own place until the Fakes decide it’s safe, and this is as good as anywhere they’d let him go off after tonight. (Ryan’s place would have been a nice second-best, but he knows they want to keep him close until they shake off the what could have beens.)
Took the time to grab a quick shower, change out of his uniform and into a spare set of clothes he keeps here. Was just trying to decide where to start when he heard the knock at the door.
The Vagabond stares at him like he’s having trouble understanding him, so Michael walks over. Gives him this look, and cocks his head.
“You going to take that thing off?” he asks, and waits to see if the Vagabond’s done for the night or if he’s going to be sticking around for a while yet.
Hard to tell with him sometimes, you know? Guy’s got a lot of shit packed away in that head of his and this thing with Michael just adds to it some days. (Ones like this.)
The Vagabond keeps staring at him and Michael shrugs. Goes back to the bathroom to path himself up and breathes easier when he hears a tired sigh behind him. (Squeak of leather and this quiet noise of something landing on the coffee table.)
He’s sorting through Ryan’s first-aide kit when he hears shuffling footsteps, looks up to see another reflection in the mirror over his shoulder.
No face paint tonight, like he couldn’t be bothered with it. (Intricate design like that? Takes time to get it right.)
“You’re running low on a few things,” Michael says, which is ridiculous.
The Fakes have all that shit tucked away on one of the lower floors and Trevor making sure they stay stocked up because God knows they need it, the trouble they get into all the damn time.
There’s a little stare down until the idiot standing behind him sighs again, shaky little thing.
“I’m alright,” Michael says, because he is.
Going to hurt for a while maybe, but it could have been worse. (Might be, someday with his luck, but he’s going to think about that right now with the way the idiot’s looking at him.)
“You look like shit,” and it’s not so much the Vagabond telling Michael that as it’s someone closer to being Ryan.
Not quite there yet, but he’s losing that hard look in his eyes. The tension(guilt) he’s carrying around on his shoulders like it’s something that’s gonna bring him low one of these days.
“Yeah, well,” Michael says, and shrugs. “Shitty genetics.”
Another sigh with all this exasperation to it, and there Ryan is. Buried under a shitload of issues and misplaced guilt, regret, who even knows anymore.
“Michael - “
Michael's real stupid these days. Somehow got into a relationship with an idiot in the weirdest fucking way, got all tangled up with the group of misfits he calls a crew. (Sounds more like family when he says it though, has all those complicated feelings behind it.)
Forgets to be smart about things sometimes, and it gets him in trouble all over the place.
“Doesn’t look like it’ll leave a scar,” Michael says, studying his reflection. “Kind of sucks, guy at work keeps telling me chicks dig ‘em.”
The cut’s not that deep, more of a scratch. Looked worse than it is, all that blood and the general situation. All it needs is a butterfly band-aid or two and it’ll heal just fine.
Looking up at the idiot’s reflection, he can’t help but smile a little at the way his eyes narrow just the tiniest bit. (Knows Michael’s fucking with him and trying not to take the bait.)
Michael’s also more of an asshole these days. Must be the company he’s keeping.
“Is that so,” Michael hears, bit of strain to it.
Too soon, maybe, to be making light of things, but what else is he supposed to do with an idiot who insists on blaming himself for every shitty thing to happen to Michael like he’s got sole rights to it.
Michael’s the one who fucked up, let his guard down. Ryan’s just...fuck, who knows.
Maybe it is his fault people are looking at Michael like he’s an easy target, way to get at the Fakes. Maybe it would have happened anyway after Michael landed himself in Phil’s old spot looking after these assholes. Maybe things could have gone another way and Michael would have gotten suckered into helping some other bastard bleeding all over his stuff who’d leave Michael to fend for himself when trouble came calling.
Ryan’s going to want to talk about it, like he think he’s making a logical point about Michael being safer if he had nothing to do with the crew. (With him.)
Worried about the shit he puts Michael through. Shit he’s forced to deal with, know about, because it’s not like Ryan and the others hold down normal jobs. No ignoring what they do. Things they’ve done and things they’ll do. (Forgets no one has clean hands here in Los Santos, though.)
And then, because Michael's not a moron, he’ll to tell Ryan to go fuck himself if he thinks that’s the right answer to things in any world. Cat’s out of the bag on that one anyway, and even if he agreed with Ryan, went along with that stupidity, it wouldn’t magically fix things.
Assholes like Rudy would still target Michael because they’d know he’s still a link to the crew. Someone to be used against them still and making Ryan and Michael miserable for no goddamned reason. (They’ve been over this before, and yet.)
It’s late though, and they’ve had a long, shitty day. Michael would rather save the arguing for later, when he has the energy to tell Ryan all the ways he’s wrong and hopefully – maybe – have some of it stick in that thick skull of his.
So.
Michael shrugs and picks up one of the butterfly bandages, waves it at the idiot behind him who sighs again before taking it.
Small steps with this one, but worth it.
========
“What are we doing right now?”
Kind of a dumb question because there’s a really terrible movie playing on the television. Awful special effects with some poor bastard in a rubber monster suit terrorizing college co-eds.
Empty takeout containers on the coffee table and a bowl of popcorn and drinks for the two of them.
Comfortable couch and Ryan a decent stand-in for a pillow. (Ryan’s still a little shaky, mindset taking time to tick over, but Michael’s working on it.)
“Well,” Michael says, feeling comfortably fuzzy. “I kind of had a date tonight.”
Not quite dinner and a movie level thing because they’re boring as fuck when it comes to this shit, but he was promised enchiladas and that’s got to mean something.
“But then a thing came up,” Michael says, still running his mouth. “And I missed it.”
Ryan makes this little noise in the back of his throat, hums to himself. (Knows better than to bring up his stupid argument tonight because Michael’s not having it.)
“And then,” Michael goes on, rambling like an idiot. “I remembered you love to bitch about the science in these movies, so I figured it would be better than an IOU or something.”
Michael may be more than a little comfortably fuzzy, but what the hell right?
Ryan’s making this other noise now, body shaking with it. Michael’s no expert, be he’s thinking the asshole’s laughing at him.
Quiet little wheezing thing, with IOU mixed in, along with what the hell does that even mean? and Jesus Christ.
It. Yeah. Fuck if Michael knows.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses as the scene on the television switches to what’s supposed to be a high-tech lab for a corrupt corporation hoping to sell their abomination to the military for a shit-ton of money. All shiny and white and cliché as hell. “We’re getting to the first exposition dump.”
Ryan wheezes one last time before he quiets down, and Michael grins to himself as he feels the idiot getting more and more indignant about the blatant science bullshit the actors are spewing.
“Oh my God,” Ryan bursts out, sounding more himself than he has all night. “I don’t - No. That’s not how that works!”
Michael shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth and smiles to himself because yes, okay. Terrible movies and bad science isn’t quite the way to Ryan’s heart, but damn if it doesn’t piss him off enough to forget to be an idiot for a bit.
“I don’t know,” Michael says. “Makes sense to me.”
Why not splice animal DNA together in ways that wouldn’t work in the real world to create the perfect killing machine? What could possibly go wrong?
Ryan’s glaring at him, has to be, because Michael loves to do this to him. Make him watch the worst movies and go along with the terrible science just to annoy the fuck out of him.
It’s not the way he thought their night would go, but given the kind of city Los Santos is and their luck in general it’s a hell of a lot better than he expected and far more entertaining to boot.
Summary: Some days running a crew like the Fakes is worth everything it took to get where they are now. Other days it feels like some kind of cosmic karma coming back around on Geoff for all the shit he’s done in his life.
Notes: More Crinkle Dot AU???
(Read on AO3)
Some days running a crew like the Fakes is worth everything it took to get where they are now. Other days it feels like some kind of cosmic karma coming back around on Geoff for all the shit he’s done in his life.
These idiots he’s responsible for and all the ways shit can go wrong on them and there are times it keeps him awake long after everyone else has gone to sleep.
Slow nights like this, Los Santos quiet for a change. Lone siren in the distance and everyone going about their business like they’ve forgotten what the city can be like when someone stirs up trouble.
Living like normal people in any other city and it gets this itch going in the back of Geoff’s mind, this restless, antsy little thing.
Has him roaming the penthouse like one of those restless spirits in all the old classics. Sins weighing him down and everything so damned atmospheric.
Fog rolling in off the hills and a hush over the city.
View like no other out the window and this -
It’s not insomnia that has Geoff up in the middle of the night, no.
Just an old man and too many idiots under his watch and what feels like more every damn day.
The kind of life that only gives you one guarantee, so of course it’s not the one you want. (Turns out to be the one that ends with nothing but regret and another chunk of your heart ripped out of you.)
He’s not surprised when Michael shuffles into the kitchen. Nice big shiner and moving like an old man because he makes for a tempting target now that people know he has connections with them. (With Ryan.)
Juicy target the worst of the worst can’t ignore, go after with this cruel sort of glee aiming to hurt.
“Hey,” Michael says, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.
They haven’t talked much, the two of them, since that terrifying day when Ryan almost bled out in the rain and no one the wiser.
Until Ryan’s EMT called Gavin demanding to know where Ryan was. This calm to his voice bleeding over into fear that had caught Geoff and Jack’s attention halfway across the room.
This kid who kept his shit together to help Caleb and the others stabilize Ryan. Insisted on being kept in the loop about Ryan's condition with red-rimmed eyes and Ryan's blood on his clothes, and fucking hell this kid.
Good for them in the oddest ways, and completely unaware of it.
Geoff wordlessly pushes out a chair for him, corner of his mouth ticking up in a small smile at the mumbled thanks he gets.
Michael looks lost, young, so Geoff gets up to make tea of all things.
Gavin and his prattling on about how much good it does his nerves when he’s keyed up about something.
Geoff supposes it’s the routine of it, familiarity and nostalgia and fond memories faded by time.
At the very least it gives his hands something to do while he waits for Michael to decide if he wants to talk about whatever is kicking around in his head. See if he wants to talk his troubles out or drown them in tea, let his brain pick and sort through things on its own until he finds the answers he’s looking for.
When the kettle whistles, Geoff pours the water into a pair of mugs and plops tea bags into them to steep. Goes over to where Michael’s been staring at his hands for a long goddamned time. Sets the mug down in front of him and Michael mumbles another thank you, hands wrapping around the mug.
None of the bullshit Gavin gives him the rare time Geoff makes tea for him, little comments about how you Americans haven’t slightest idea when it comes to tea. (Uncouth, giving Michael his tea with the tea bag still in it. Not bothering to let it steep properly and where, Geoffrey, where is the milk?)
Because this – the tea – it’s something to do. Something else to focus on instead of the merry-go-round of thoughts running through Michael’s head right now.
Not a way of life, the way it is for Gavin, although it might be better if it was. Work more in favor of helping Michael get a grip on his thoughts if he had a personal stake in the goddamned tea etiquette debate.
“...is Trevor okay?”
Geoff glances at Michael, sees the way he’s toying with the tea bag, poking it with his fingers when it doesn’t settle right in the mug.
Should have known he wouldn’t bother beating around the bush, would just get to the matter at hand.
Geoff sighs, taking a moment to doctor his tea before answering. Touch of sugar, nothing more, and takes a sip.
It’s not bad, but Gavin’s right in that Geoff never gets the temperature right, doesn’t let the tea steep long enough. Doesn’t know Gavin’s little tricks to get it to taste right, or his brain is dumb enough to fall into thinking it’s just better when someone else makes it, who the hell knows.
It’s...it’s been a hell of a day for everyone.
Trevor has this little game he plays with Michael.
Not quite on the same level as Gavin and Jeremy when they disappear for a few hours and Geoff finds Ryan sitting at Gavin’s rig in the penthouse expecting the worst. (To be fair, they’ve given him plenty of reason in the past.)
Not quite to that level, but alarming enough because Trevor is a born troublemaker.
Angel-sweet face and charming as hell, but one of the most twisted bastards Geoff’s ever had the pleasure of running into.
Has this running joke with Michael revolving around “kidnappings” that drives Ryan nuts trying to figure it out since no one in on it has seen fit to explain things.
Which leads to an exasperated Vagabond up against Trevor and the B-Team, and Michael off to the side like it has nothing to do with him.
Today, though.
Today things went to shit on them, because this is Los Santos and that happens.
A lot.
Just an old, familiar story for people like them.
Trevor and that too-smart mouth of his, and Michael just as bad in his own way against a group of assholes with a grudge against the Vagabond.
Creepy assholes who’d been watching Michael for weeks now, waiting for the just the right moment, and felt Trevor had dropped it right into their laps.
“Well,” Geoff says, thinks over his words more carefully than he with anyone else. “He won’t be up to dancing a jig anytime soon, but he’s not knocking on death’s door either.”
Not this time, anyway.
Trevor’s sporting new stitches and has something of a concussion, but he’s tougher than he looks and one stubborn son of a bitch to boot.
He’ll be just fine.
Problem is, that’s not what Michael’s asking, not with the way he can’t seem to meet Geoff’s eyes for long.
“He’s fine, Michael.”
Michael makes a noncommittal noise, fusses with the tea bag again.
Looks so goddamned tired, and Geoff gets it, he does.
Michael’s been grabbed one time too many, and everyone’s luck runs out sooner or later.
The first time he was lucky enough to have Jeremy and Gavin with him, and Ryan was there the next time someone thought to get that kind of clever, and hadn’t that been a mess? (Put assholes off trying for Michael again, but there are a lot of idiots out there with short memories.)
Today it was Trevor, but they all know there will be a day when Michael’s on his own when someone decides they want to hurt the big bad Vagabond where it’ll do the most damage.
Geoff takes a deep breath and sets his mug down on the table.
Thinks about his idiot crew, misfit family he’s built up out here over the years. All kinds of broken, jagged edges to them.
About how it might have been better for Michael, for Ryan (everyone), if Michael had gone back to Jersey before Ryan happened to him.
If Phil had stayed on instead of fucking off the way he had.
If Michael wasn’t so Michael.
Because Geoff can see it in Michael, can see the uncertainty and self-recrimination in his eyes. The guilt bowing his shoulders, thoughts running through his head loud enough to wake him up or keep him from finding respite in sleep.
Trevor got hurt protecting Michael, and Michael -
“Michael, you know this wasn’t your fault don’t you?”
If it wasn’t Michael, those assholes would have found something – someone – else to use against Ryan.
One of the others, or one of Ryan’s neighbors. The little old lady who runs the corner grocery store Ryan likes to go to. Guy down at the used bookstore Ryan spends quiet afternoons in sometimes looking for something to catch his eye.
Michael just makes for a convenient target.
Michael makes a face, hunches down over himself like that’s not something he’s going to let go of anytime soon, that kind of guilt.
Knows better, because he’s not that stupid, but there’s knowing and then there’s knowing.
Right now all Michael knows is that Trevor’s hurt because of him, and logic and rational thought have fuck all to do with his thoughts about that.
No.
That’s an argument for another day, and knowing Trevor, he’s already preparing his part of it to ambush Michael with.
So.
On to the other bit of idiocy.
“Ryan’s probably thinking about scaring you off again,” Geoff says.
Idiot that he is, Ryan does things like that.
Thinks like that.
Blames himself for dragging Michael into things when Michael gets hurt even though Michael’s far more of a functioning adult than anyone else in the crew.
Knew what he was getting himself into when it came to Ryan. Considered the inherent risks and decided Ryan was more than worth them even though the odds of anyone getting a happily ever after out of it were slim to none.
Most of the time Ryan’s good with that, accepts Michael’s choice even though he still has problems understanding it.
(Did Geoff mention the man’s an idiot? Because he is. Biggest damned idiot Geoff’s ever met, to be honest.)
And most of the time Michael's good with countering whatever bullshit Ryan comes up with. Some stupid point he thinks will get Michael to realize the very clear mistake he’s made, that he’d be better off leaving Los Santos and Ryan behind to find a better life somewhere else.
But every once in a while there are nights like this one. The kind where the universe at large decides it hasn't given you a kick in the teeth for too damned long and sets about correcting that little oversight.
Leaves you with a black eye and aching ribs and other smaller hurts that remind you where you stand in the greater scheme of things.
The way others can get pulled into trouble after you because you forget there are consequences to every decision you make in life from the seemingly insignificant to the world-shattering.
“...yeah,” Michael says, quiet and subdued, something to it Geoff doesn’t like the sound of.
Not with these two idiots.
Ryan’s thinking of scaring Michael off for his own good, and something in Michael is thinking that it would be a good idea to let him think he’s finally succeeded.
That Michael’s opened his eyes to the kind of vicious motherfucker Ryan can be when properly motivated. Truly sees him for the the kind of man he is like everything up to this point has been some kind of act.
And maybe it would be smarter for them.
Might keep Michael alive longer than if he stuck with them. Give Ryan one less weakness to the assholes out there looking to take him down, but.
There will be other nights like this where all Ryan will be able to think is that he managed to scare Michael enough to make him leave when nothing else has.
Ryan will think that Michael’s afraid of him. Afraid of what Ryan’s capable of, that he might lose control and hurt him, and Ryan will believe it.
Will go back to thinking he’s nothing more than a monster, no redeeming qualities to him, and that, Geoff knows, that is when they’ll lose him for good.
And Michael -
He’s going to think Ryan and the rest of them are better off without him there. That he’s just a helpless civilian best used as bait to get at the crew when that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
He’ll convince himself he’s going to be the reason one of them ends up dead one day, like everything else he’s done for them, given them, hasn’t meant a goddamned thing.
Like he is isn’t one of them.
If Geoff still had a heart, dealing with these two idiots would be enough to break it.
“Are you going to let him?” he asks, because it doesn’t pay to be subtle with this kind of nonsense. Doesn’t pay to be subtle with Michael who doesn’t care for it.
Michael winces, looks away.
Thinks about it, muscle flexing along his jaw as he stares out the windows over the city.
Big sprawling thing, Los Santos.
Messy as hell as it eats up smaller communities, leaves behind broken things and greedy for more.
Doesn’t care about the people who call it home, all their hopes and dreams. The people they love and the lives they’re trying to lead best they can, how they can.
“I don’t know,” Michael admits, this sad little laugh. Twist to his lips that no one would mistake for a smile. “It would be smarter if I did, wouldn’t it?”
Geoff doesn’t answer right away, just takes a sip of his tea.
Going cold, bitter.
“Maybe,” he says after a long moment, Michael still staring out at the city. Gaze caught on the glittering lights that Geoff knows from experience are too damn enticing for the young and stupid, or just the unwary. “Maybe not.”
Not exactly helpful advice, and from the scowl Michael sends his way he’s thinking the same damn thing.
Jack would be better for this. Has all the right words for this kind of problem. All Geoff has is a lifetime of hard-earned lessons and regrets he’s learned to carry with him without weighing him down too much.
Nothing like wisdom to any of it, at least not the sort Michael needs right now.
Everyone has their regrets, things they carry with them.
Most manage to live with them, learn from them in some small way. The rest? They never learn, just end up carrying a heavier load through life.
Geoff’s learned, through trial and error and the kind of lessons that leave their marks in indelible ways, there’s always one thing you need to ask yourself. One simple little thing to think about before you end up with a new set of consequences and a whole lot of heartache.
“Could you live with it if you did?”
Michael blinks, turns his head to look at Geoff.
Geoff sips his cold tea and lets Michael chew that one over for a while, long after his own tea goes old and forgotten between his hands.
Until the sky begins to lighten and Los Santos shakes off the fog that’s been lingering around the city for days like a shroud.
He can’t give Michael the answer to this one. Right or wrong, or somewhere in between, because that’s not what he’s really asking for.
Michael's smart, knows his own heart better than he thinks he does. (Has to, if he hasn’t let Ryan convince him loving him is a bad idea before now.)
He’ll figure it out in his own time, his own way.
Until then Geoff’s more than happy to share shitty tea with him waiting for the sun to rise.
========
Somewhere in there Michael makes his choice.
Throws back the last of his tea and heads off to the rooms set aside for him and Ryan at the penthouse and Geoff breathes this little sigh watching him go.
Wonders what the fallout will be from this, and why the hell Michael was stuck with such a piss-poor asshole like him for advice.
Cleans up and goes to his own rooms, crawls into bed beside Jack who shifts to make space for him, pulls him close.
“Geoff?”
Sleepy, soft. Not entirely awake just yet and Geoff wants to keep it like that just a little longer, let Jack get the rest he’s more than earned dealing with their sorry asses all the time.
But.
Trevor got hurt, Ryan and Michael are idiots, and is just Geoff is an older, stupider idiot.
“I’m too old for this shit, Jack,” he says. “When did I get too old for this shit?”
There’s a quiet rumble, Jack’s laughter and an arm tightening around him.
“I don’t have my notes on me,” he says, “but I’m going to guess the answer is the first time you asked me when you got too old for this shit.”
Years ago, then.
Back when the crew got big enough they might as well have targets painted on their backs. When assholes started coming after his goddamned family.
“Fantastic,” Geoff sighs, because really. Fucking fantastic. “Thanks for that, Jack. Makes me feel better.”
It doesn’t, but Jack laughing at him about it does, just a little.
(Enough.)
========
Waking up to yelling isn’t a new phenomenon with the crew.
Waking up to Michael yelling is...Geoff wouldn’t quite say it’s a novelty these days.
Not with the amount of times he and Ryan have stayed over, but it’s certainly not as commonplace as waking up to the others yelling.
Geoff looks over to see Jack staring at the ceiling, this dopey little smile on his face.
“What did I miss?”
Jack chuckles, laugh lines and this certain kind of joy.
“From what I can tell, Michael's telling Ryan off for being a stubborn asshole?”
That’s not a novelty either, but it could be a good sign.
Maybe.
“Really.”
Jack looks at Geoff, warm smile on his face.
“Well, I mean. We already knew that, but seems like Michael’s planning on making sure it sinks in. Wants to make sure Ryan takes that shit to heart.”
Geoff mulls that one over, because Ryan’s thick skull and stubborn everything.
“Might take some time,” he says. “A really long time.”
Jack hums, like they both don’t know the truth of that.
“Most likely, yes,” he agrees, and something settles in Geoff’s chest at it, weight on his shoulders a little lighter if Jack thinks it’s a possibility. “A long, long time.”
It’s not insomnia that has Geoff up in the middle of the night, no. Just an old man and too many idiots under his watch and what feels like more every damn day. The kind of life that only gives you one guarantee, so of course it’s not the one you want. (The one that ends with nothing but regret and another chunk of your heart ripped out of you.)
He’s not surprised when Michael shuffles into the kitchen. Nice big shiner and moving like an old man because he makes for a tempting target now that people know he has connections with them. (With Ryan.)
“Hey,” Michael says, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.
They haven’t talked much, the two of them, past that terrifying day when Michel called Gavin demanding to know where Ryan was. Past seeing him helping Caleb and the others stabilize that fucker, covered in Ryan’s blood and dried tear tracks and goddamn this kid.
Geoff wordlessly pushes out a chair for him, corner of his mouth ticking up in a small smile at the mumbled thanks.
Michael looks lost, young, so Geoff gets up to make tea of all things.
Fucking Gavin and his prattling on about how much good it does his nerves when he’s keyed up about something.
Geoff supposes its’ the routine of it, familiarity and nostalgia and fond memories faded by time.
