They were gasoline set too close to an open flame, complex chemical mechanisms and low relative flash points Trevor could list off by heart once upon a time, but now knew it was just asking for trouble. For all intents and purposes, Trevor should have been terrified--it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that two combustible substances and no safety equipment between them spelled imminent disaster. Nothing but heartache and pain and a rift that could never be repaired.
Trevor could admit that if his life had gone a different way, if he'd continued down the path his parents had so meticulously laid out for him before he was even born, then perhaps he would have been petrified. But, no. This Trevor craved chaos, this Trevor lit kerosene on fire in the middle of his organic chemistry lab, and set homemade fireworks out in the park so he could watch, enraptured, as the trees became engulfed in flames. This Trevor set his house on fire as a graduation gift to himself, a final fuck you to his parents, drove out to Los Santos and never looked back. Found like-minded individuals with the same thirst for bloodshed and the same fire in their veins. Fell in love with the boy who was entropy personified--whose words were dipped in poison and grins were like daggers and bled ichor like only the gods themselves could. The untouchable Golden Boy.
Not so untouchable now.
"Fuck, fuck, Michael cover me! Gavin! Gavin, you fuck, fucking answer me!"
Trevor could barely hear past the buzzing in his ears, couldn't feel his fingers digging painfully into the cushy leather chair as he stared at the screen in horror.
"Visual?" He snapped at Matt hoarsely.
"Fuck, I'm trying, I can't--"
"We're taking fire! Ryan and I can't hold them off much longer!"
"There's more cops pulling up!"
Trevor took a shuddering breath.
"Boss?" Andy whispered, giving him the same wide-eyed, distressed look everyone else in the room was sending his way.
The heist had gone from bad to worse, a tripped silent alarm from a too-brave bystander led to a swarm of cops straight to the Fakes' location far earlier than anticipated. Michael was hurt, Ryan and Jeremy pinned, Gavin--
Trevor clenched his eyes shut. He took another breath and steeled himself. They needed him.
"Jack," he rasped, letting the cool professionalism flow through him. "Get to Michael, now. Jeremy, Ryan, retreat. Use the back alley before they converge there."
"But--"
"Geoff," he steamrolled right over the sudden outcry. "Get Gavin and get to the safe house on the west side. There's a med bay all set up."
"I need to--fuck--stem the fucking bleeding."
"Do the best you can while Jack and Michael cover you. Stay alive, people."
He watched Ryan and Jeremy retreat into the alley and out of sight, saw Jack come to a screeching halt close to Michael's location to lay down some cover fire, enough for her to pop open the door and for Michael to limp over into safety, still firing.
"Got it," Matt said suddenly. Trevor whipped his head to the side, zeroing in on the tableau in front of him. He could feel his breath catch in his chest. God there was so much blood. Geoff was knelt down, blood staining the knees of his trousers, and his hands were already saturated grotesquely as he worked frantically to stifle the bleeding.
"Is he--"
"He's alive," he grunted brusquely, suit jacket stripped off to press roughly to the gut wound. "Sorry buddy." Geoff took a deep breath and then hauled Gavin into his arms, Gavin's head lolling limply against his shoulder.
The rest was a blur, a fugue like state Trevor would later try to remember but be wholly unable to. He called Caleb on autopilot, directing him to the safe house Geoff was trying to get them to. He called Burnie, sent Dan a text, ignored his team's worried looks and drawn faces as he resolutely tried to forget how peaceful Gavin had looked this morning and how...dead he looked now.
He was there when Jeremy and Ryan silently filtered through, roughed up but no worse for the wear. Jack half-carried Michael in nearly an hour later, blood staining his jeans. She set about cleaning his wound clinically, carefully avoiding the topic until she was done with the sutures.
"Anything?"
Trevor shook his head, not moving away from the computer as he tracked the police activity. Thanks to Burnie's contacts, the hunt seemed to be winding down a bit.
"He'll be alright."
"I know," he responded shortly. He zoned out again for an indeterminate amount of time, alternating between watching Matt attempt to erase any trace of them from the security footage, tracking the updates Weazel News had, and remembering how sickeningly domestic that morning was--with Gavin continuing his pre-heist tradition of a full English breakfast for two, and the lingering kisses the two shared, Trevor using his height advantage to hold up Gavin's Crunchie bar over his head, only conceding when he threw his arms around his neck and dragged him in for a heated kiss.
"Trevor."
He startled horribly, nearly toppling from the chair, saved only by Jeremy's quick reflexes.
"Jesus Christ, scared the shit outta me."
"You alright?" Matt asked quietly, taking off his headphones.
If it were anyone else, he would've snapped at them. Would've bristled and gotten up in arms and very well might have just stormed out. Because what a fucking question. The heist was a complete failure, Michael was injured, their fucking boss hadn't checked in yet, and Gavin could very well be dead. Dead, just like that. No more tea brewing at all hours of the day, no more camera flashes in his face when Gavin got the sudden urge to photograph Trevor in various stages of unawareness, no more squeaky laughs and bright eyes that reminded him of the things he loved when he was back in school--glowing nebulae and vast galaxies and the feeling of being so small and yet so comforted by this force you couldn't ever hope to control.
He didn't realize he was shaking until Jeremy grasped his shoulders tightly.
"He's going to be okay."
"You don't know--"
"I do. He's a stubborn bastard that loves you too much to leave you. And too much of a dramatic fuck to let something like a gutshot be the thing to kill him."
Trevor let out a watery scoff. Jeremy grinned at him. "Atta boy. Now c'mon. Caleb hates visitors but he's gonna make an exception this time."
--
They took the long way to the safe house, still too worried about the patrolling cops to just gun it like Trevor wanted to. It probably would've been smarter to take any car other than the Armored Tim, but Trevor couldn't fault Jeremy the comfort it brought.
The ride was thirty minutes of near silence before Jeremy abruptly said, "I know it's going to be hard."
"What?"
"I mean, yeah the PT's gonna be a bitch, but the sex ban? How will you two survive?"
"Fuck off, ass!" But he laughed, a small huff that already had Jeremy beaming at him. He punched him lightly in the shoulder, feeling his body lose some of the tension. "We'll manage perfectly fine. In fact--"
"Ugh, gross."
"Jeremy, let me regale you with a story of two handsome lads, a broom closet, three glitter bombs, and--"
"God, you're such a slut," he laughed, rolling his eyes when Trevor gave him a quick eyebrow flash and winked. The mood remained relatively light for the remainder of the ride, and Trevor couldn't help but be immensely grateful to his friend. The atmosphere dropped considerably when they reached the safe house.
Jeremy punched in the gate code swiftly, and Trevor was out before the car even stopped. He pressed his keycard to the scanner and waited impatiently as it ran through whatever complicated mechanism Matt and Gavin had set up. It clicked and Trevor threw open the door.
He saw Geoff first, sitting on the small couch in the living room, elbows resting heavily on his thighs, dashes of dried blood still clinging to his hands. He looked up when Trevor barged in, looking so defeated, Trevor's mind immediately went to the worst case scenario.
Geoff read his mind before the panic could settle in, "Caleb's still sewing him up. Lost a lot of blood but the bullet's out. There's worry about infection but," he shrugged tiredly. "We'll deal with it."
"You--" he cleared his threat when his voice cracked, walking over to sit across from him. "You should get some rest."
"Nah," he sighed deeply, rubbing his face. "Wanna talk to Caleb first." There was a beat. "Everyone alright?"
"Yeah. Jeremy's parking the car now. Everyone's okay, Michael's leg's fine--just a graze. Jack patched it up and sent him to bed."
"Good." His body loosened up; Trevor was relieved to note he looked less beleaguered with that news. He looked up at Trevor then, maintaining eye contact. "You did good, Trevor. Kept everyone calm, kept your cool while you delegated."
"Well..." he averted his eyes, focusing on a bit of paint splattered on the hardwood floor. "I didn't exactly--"
"You did. It couldn't have been easy to see that, but you still lead the crew. Kept them safe. I'm proud of you, buddy."
Trevor couldn't help the bashful smile that spread across his face, nor the embarrassing blush he was positive was coloring his complexion. "Thanks boss."
"Yeah, don't get used to it. You're still a piece of shit."
"Always feel the love from you, Geoff."
They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Trevor scooted over once Jeremy entered the house, making space for him and drifting off while they talked about what went wrong in the heist. He probably should've been paying attention, analyzing what goes wrong was a part of his job, but if he thought about it, he'd remember Gavin's pale face and horribly limp body and all the blood and...no. He wasn't going there.
He was the first one up when he heard Caleb walk down the steps, looking absolutely exhausted, but calm, which settled something in Trevor. Caleb didn't even look surprised to see him.
"He's going to be fine," he started before anyone could ask. "Nothing vital was hit. On transfusions now, gonna keep an eye out for infection, and his pain's gonna be off the charts, but we're stocked up on morphine. You can stay with him, just don't wake him up and don't fuck around with any of the IVs."
Trevor didn't waste a moment, gave Caleb a distracted salute and a small but sincere smile, and bolted up the steps. He entered the room as quietly as he could, breath catching when he saw his partner attached to the plethora of indistinguishable leads and IVs, looking so small and so incredibly fragile. Trevor crept forward, standing next to the bed and looking him over. God he looked so pale, closer to Trevor's own complexion than his normal tanned glow. Face lax, the tiniest splatter of blood on his neck. The once untouchable Golden Boy. Trevor could feel emotions start to bubble up, threatening to overflow no matter how hard he tried to stifle it, and he took a shuddering breath that ended in a sob. He grasped Gavin's hand as tightly as he dared.
"You bastard," he whispered, barely able to choke it out through the vice in his throat. "I told you to be careful. I wouldn't call this careful, Gav."
He leant down, brought Gavin's knuckles to his lips and just pressed against them, eyes squeezed shut. He scooted into bed beside him, thankful that they'd insisted on king sized beds for every safe house, and gently rested his arm across Gavin's chest. He kissed his temple and then his cheek before he cuddled in flush against his side and nuzzled his neck.
"Wake up soon so I can yell at you, you ass." He pressed another kiss to Gavin's neck and cuddled in as close as he could.
In a few hours, Gavin's going to wake up, groggy and in pain, but with still enough lucidity to give Trevor a wide, sappy smile and rasp out "lo luv." In a few days, he's going to be aching and restless, eager to get back to work, much to the chagrin of everyone, and Trevor will allow him to zip tie his neck to his fucking ankle in order to get Gavin to remain in bed. And in a few weeks, he'll be right back with the crew and right back to Trevor, the way it was before.
Trevor thought he should probably take this as a sign, that everything--them, their relationship, their job--is just too volatile to survive, but pressed up against Gavin, his heart beating steadily under Trevor's hand and his head unconsciously nuzzling against Trevor's, he can't help but think that nature has a way. Entropy in an isolated system is always increasing, nothing can stop that. But he sure as fuck can go along for the ride.
Trevor cupped Gavin's face in both of his hands. The moonlight poured through the window and shone upon the few freckles that Gavin had. Trevor swore that he could see galaxies in his tired eyes.
They both wore smiles that had been plastered there all day long for the videos they had been in. It had been a busy day for the both of them.
Trevor couldn't tell what made him love Gavin more, the way he looked at him so fondly, or the way that he spoke to him when they were alone. Trevor leaned in and kissed the sleepy smile off of his fiance's face. He pulled away a moment later to admire his face once more. He knew so much about Gavin, but at the same time, he felt as though he could never know enough about the other man.
"Gavin Free, you are an enigma." Trevor announced quietly, whispering to his love. Gavin hummed tiredly, smiling once again. He turned his head to the side, looking at Trevor from a new, better angle.
"I love you so much, yet I don't think I will ever be able to understand you." Trevor leaned in and rested his forehead against Gavin's, closing his eyes.
"You will, Treyco, as long as you stick around." Gavin assured. Trevor laid himself down slowly along with him.
"That's good, because I'll be sticking around forever."
Gavin smiled and rolled his eyes. “You’re too sweet, stop it.”
