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the-million-mile-mountain · 6 years

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It All Lies Here (chapter 2)

“The deed’s been done,” Lindsay crows, dropping a bundle of photos on Trevor’s desk. Trevor looks up from his phone, spreading the pictures out with a hand; the drug dealer Lindsay had been sent to rough up is in every one of them, in increasing stages of dismemberment. There’s one near the bottom of the stack with Lindsay and Meg both taking a selfie in front of the victim, blood pouring down his face while they flash peace signs.

“Good work,” Trevor says, collecting the photos and shoving them into a drawer. “Were the cat ears really necessary though?”

Lindsay just shrugs with a grin. “You know Meg.”

“Somehow I doubt it was Meg.”

Lindsay turns on her heels with a cackle, and Trevor watches her go, a smile on his face. It’s been a while since Lindsay has truly enjoyed herself, whether it be on or off jobs. It had been a month or so after the Fakes had all passed before Meg had managed to do anything more than glare. Lindsay hadn’t so much as laughed until after that. And now, almost seven months after the fact, things finally seemed to be returning to normal.

“Hey ‘Fredo,” Trevor says, not even looking up as his boyfriend enters the room; he can identify various international criminals by voice alone, so he is more than capable of knowing what his partner’s footsteps sound like. He yanks gently at Alfredo’s collar as he comes close, tugging him down into a quick kiss. “We still on for dinner?”

“Yep, got us a table down at that sushi place you love.” As Alfredo’s eyes crinkle around the corners and his lips split into a grin, Trevor can’t help but think about how much he’s missed this. The typically rambunctious and lively man has just returned to normal after months of grim nonchalance and crying in private. Trevor draws idle patterns on the back of Alfredo’s hand, breathing in his cologne.

Alfredo chuckles, pulling his hand away and smacking Trevor lightly upside the head. “You’re going soft,” he says, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

“What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.” Trevor blows a kiss in Alfredo’s direction, throwing in a dramatic wink for good measure.

Alfredo merely chuckles again before reaching into his pocket. “Oh, this came in for you.” Alfredo hands over an envelope, empty of return address and addressed to him only by the first name.

“Probably a death threat. Or worse, a bill.”

“One can only hope,” Alfredo says with a shrug, making his way to the door. He pauses at the entrance, turning back to Trevor for a moment. “You coming with us tomorrow?”

Trevor pauses for a moment, glancing down at the photo in the corner of the desk. Geoff and Jack smile back at him, their arms looped around each other as Jeremy and Michael wrestle in the foreground. He can just barely see Ryan and Gavin in the back, mere blurs as the Vagabond chases the Golden Boy around with a fairly large wrench. The photo looks to be near the beginning of the Fakes’ reign over Los Santos, their faces still beaming in the sunlight. The spot they had been standing then, a peaceful area near the top of Mount Chiliad, is where the former B Team had placed their empty graves. The only bodies they had been able to recover had been burnt beyond recognition, and Ryan’s corpse had been destroyed by the cops, so there had been nothing to put in the ground. Still, their resting place is relatively humble as compared to how the crew was in life.

“I think I’ll come along this time.” He owes it to them, after all; after spending weeks too buried in paperwork and crew politics to properly tag along, it’s probably time to visit their graves.

Alfredo beams, nodding quickly before zipping out of the office. Trevor leans back in his chair, grinning a bit in fondness and he twirls the envelope in his hands. It’s heartening to see the members of his crew in such good spirits. It’s taken a long while for everyone’s smiles to return, his own included. The original Fakes had been closer than family to everyone on the B Team, and Trevor had known them since he was a mere teenager. Sometimes he’ll still expect Geoff to text him or Jeremy to show up at his door, a half-formed plan for destruction on his lips. Trevor rips the envelope open, smiling fondly at the photo on his desk. Maybe one day he’ll be that kind of family for someone else.

The paper tumbles out of the envelope, and Trevor can’t help the sinking suspicion that rises in his stomach as he reads it. It’s just a time, date, and location. No name, no location of origin, nothing aside from the three sentences. There’s something about the letter that strikes him as familiar, though. Trevor holds it close, squinting at the handwriting, the paper, the ink, the wheels in his head turning.

“Alfredo!” Trevor squawks, and the other man’s face appears in the doorway after a moment. “Change of plans. Something just came up.”

..:..:..:..:..:..:..:..

When he pulls up to the park, Trevor isn’t really sure what to expect.

A letter, a date, and a set of coordinates. That’s all that it took to drag him halfway across the world. A simple piece of paper, the whiff of a wild goose chase, and he suddenly finds himself at a small public park. It’s mostly abandoned, seeing as the sun is just about set, but it’s not cold enough out to warrant anything more than a light jacket. There’s a soft glow coming from the street lamps on the corners as Trevor climbs out of the car, stuffing his hands into his pockets to avoid the chill. His fingertips brush the edges of paper, crinkled and fraying with wear, and suddenly Trevor is much more unsure than ever. It’s more than the contents of the letter that have summoned him at a moment’s notice.

It’s the handwriting. Crooked, slanted, near-impossible to read if it hadn’t been for his years of experience.

Trevor stalks silently a bit further into the park, taking a seat on a bench close to the entrance. He pulls the note out of his pocket once more, squinting in the low light, as if his location will suddenly change the contents of the letter like in the movies. Trevor shakes his head, letting out a long sigh. This isn’t the movies, he knows this. It’s real life, and people don’t just up and come back from the dead, even if a mysterious letter shows up months later with their handwriting. Before now, Trevor would have been certain he could tell Geoff’s chicken scratch from anyone else’s. But here, halfway across the damn planet and freezing his ass off, Trevor knows it’s hopeless. Geoff’s dead. No letter will change that.

He stuffs the paper back in his pocket, shaking his head again. He is about to head for the car, already planning on blasting the heater, when a voice stops him in his tracks.

“Hey, Trev.”

Trevor freezes in place, his heart beating too fast, his mind suddenly blank. In any other life, he would recognize that voice in an instant; it’s gravelly from years of use but still warm, and you can practically hear the smirk. It’s a voice that used to comfort Trevor, the voice belonging to the first person who ever showed him any kindness.

Trevor turns, slowly, to face the source of the sound, and there he is. His hair is more salt than pepper at this point, and he’s bundled up in a couple different jackets, but it’s him. There’s no mistaking it. Geoff slouches against the bitter cold, his nose red, his eyes fixed on Trevor’s.

And suddenly Trevor isn’t Trevor anymore. His mind closes down, his back straightens up, and a plastic smile forces its way onto his face. It’s a transformation he’s more than familiar with; with cold eyes and a smooth voice, hair slicked back and fingers wrapped around the handle of a knife, he becomes the man who now runs Los Santos, the new Kingpin. A calm voice that knows which questions to ask, a cheerful façade to put his enemies at ease. It’s a persona that comes almost too easily for Trevor, but it’s automatic now, a way to hide his shattering heart behind a placid grin.

“Long time no see!” Trevor says brightly, and nothing feels real. Geoff looks too far away and too close at once, and his limbs no longer feel like his own.

Geoff’s mouth opens and then closes, his eyes crinkling in confusion. Trevor notices his hands slips out of his pockets, empty for now. “Yeah, I guess. How…how ya’ been?”

“Oh just fine,” Trevor says, and the lie is too sweet, too sing-song. But that plastic smile stays in place, and he has to fight the rising lump in his throat. “You’re looking pretty good yourself. For a dead man and all. How are the others doing? I’m just going to assume that they’re here too.” Trevor hopes they’re not, that this is some sort of trick played by one man, not a deception pulled by his entire family.

Geoff flinches back, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Yeah, they’re all okay,” and Trevor’s heart sinks even further, but Geoff continues. “I know it’s a lot to take in, sorry ‘bout that. There’s a good reason, I swear.”

“Oh, now that’s something I have to hear.” Trevor crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes. “Please, regale me with the ‘reason’ you decided to not only leave us without so much as a goodbye, but also fake your goddamn death on the way out. I’m sure that there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for that.” Venom drips from his lips, and Trevor can feel the shock wear off, feel the reality begin to sink in.

In front of him stands his mentor, his teacher, someone he considered a father. In front of him stands a dead man, a man who should be nothing more than the grave marker he helped erect. And for what? All that grieving, all those tears, just so Geoff can pull a 180 and shout ‘psyche’? So they can write this all off as one big prank and be done with it? Go back to the way things used to be? Lindsay cried for weeks on end. Meg refused to speak to anyone for two months. Alfredo literally worried himself sick over keeping his team safe in the field and was forcibly isolated himself while at home, and for what?

For nothing.

“Look, Trevor,” Geoff starts, but Trevor cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“Whatever you’re about to say, you don’t have to. You’ve already done enough.” The words cut deeper than Trevor intends, but he doesn’t care.

“Look, Trev, I’m sor—”

“Sorry!” Trevor barks out a laugh, sharp in the evening air. “Like ‘sorry’ is going to fix anything. Sorry won’t fix jack shit, Geoff, you know this better than anyone. You’re always the one who told me that saying sorry means nothing if you don’t prove it. And this is how you prove it? By sending me a cryptic letter, by asking me to meet in a dog park halfway across the planet? Yeah, seems real sorry to me.”

Geoff’s face hardens. “We didn’t have a choice. There were—”

“Like shit you didn’t have a choice!” And the façade is cracking now. His voice breaks, his vision wavers, his hands ball into fists, and he’s past the point of caring anymore. “You could have chosen to stay! You could have chosen to let us help! You could have chosen not to let us all think you died! To let us mourn! What I don’t get,” he says, taking one, two, three steps closer until he’s face-to-face with Geoff, “is why you chose to leave.”

Geoff’s mouth opens and closes, the words caught in his throat, and a hysteric sort of giggle bubbles out of Trevor’s mouth. “No answer now, huh? Cat got your silver tongue, or have you finally run out of excuses?”

“Hey, listen, I was just trying to protect y—”

“Protect us!?” Trevor’s hands fist in Geoff’s jacket, and he hates the way his voice warbles. “You died, Geoff! You died seven months ago! You left us all behind, you abandoned me and the others, and you expect it to be fine!?”

The tears start to spill in earnest now, rolling down his cheeks until he can taste the salt. His arms don’t feel like his, his vision is foggy, and he’s tired. So tired. Months of mourning, of grieving, of missing his family have left him numb to anything but the sadness, the anger, and now it’s all spent. Trevor can do nothing but stand there, hands balled in Geoff’s coat, tears running down his face.

It’s hesitant, it’s slow, but Geoff’s hands reach up to Trevor’s shoulders, and soon Trevor is sobbing openly into Geoff’s shoulder, the older man holding the younger one tightly as they both cry. Geoff mumbles little “I’m sorry”s into Trevor’s ear, and Trevor almost lets himself believe it. He wants to so badly, wants to go back to the way things were, wants his father back.

“Why?” Trevor finally croaks out, his voice sore from screaming. He pulls away from the embrace, wiping his tears away. “I just wanna know why.” His energy is drained, his anger is gone, and Trevor feels mask façade of the Shadow slip away until he’s just Trevor again. Scared, alone, desperate Trevor standing in front of the man he considers a father.

“It’s a long story,” Geoff says, wiping away his own tears.

Trevor gestures weakly back to where his car is waiting in the parking lot. “Well I’ve got some time and a heater,” he offers. Geoff simply nods, following Trevor back to the safety of the rental car.

..:..:..:..:..:..:..

It’s a story that many people in Los Santos are familiar with: decades-long rivalries, petty turf wars turned into blood feuds, conspiracy and espionage that threaten to topple empires. And Geoff had been a part of the city’s criminal underground for most of his life, having made quite the number of enemies along the way.

Two years ago, Geoff had caught wind of a certain old rival who had it out for him and his crew. But not just anyone in his crew would satisfy this enemy; they were after him and his partners, all six members of the inner circle. To anyone else it would look like a power move, trying to cut off all six heads of the snake to render the Fakes powerless. But Geoff had known better: it was a personal vendetta, one that would only be resolved with blood. And, if this rival was going to have their way, there would be a lot of it.

Had it been ten years ago and had Geoff been ten years younger, it would have been no problem. But he’d gotten older, gotten complacent, and the two years since the challenge was issued had been hard-fought and barely-won. The letter about Ray had been the tipping point; if the infamous Brownman could be brought down, it was only a matter of time before the other followed suit. And with the rival hot on their heels, that moment was more likely to come sooner rather than later.

He’d wanted to tell Trevor and the others, wanted to loop them in on the plan. But this rival was cunning and knew about all of their tricks seemingly before they’d even pulled them off. Secrecy was of the utmost importance if everyone, including the B Team, was to make it out alive. They could be looped in later, but “killing” the Fakes was the top priority.

It had been hell, watching Trevor and his crew mourn for those long months. It had been torture watching them think they were burying a friend, a member of the family. But it had been a necessary sacrifice, an evil they couldn’t do without.

And now the time has come to correct that mistake.

..:..:..:..:..:..:..

It takes the better part of two hours before the story is told. It’s mostly thanks to Trevor interrupting here and there, as well as Geoff getting side-tracked in the retelling, but at the end of it, Geoff breathes a sigh of relief. There are deep circles still under his eyes and his cheeks are still a bit gaunt, but the tension from his shoulders seems to slip away as he fixed Trevor with a look that can only be read as hopeful. A wordless question, begging Trevor to understand, to forgive.

Trevor leans back for a moment, huffing out a sigh of his own. Before this, everything had been straight forward, simple. Not good by any stretch, but uncomplicated at least. And now, the situation was neither of those things. A small part of him, an angry, bitter part, wants to hold onto the hate welling up in his chest. The feeling of heartbreak, of grief still unresolved, of absolute betrayal. He wants to take all of that, everything he’s had to go through, hell, everything his team has had to go through, and throw it all back in Geoff’s face.

But then he looks at the man. The same man who took Trevor off the streets when no one else would give him the time of day. The same man who taught him how to hold a gun, how to throw a punch, how to take a hit. The same man who shaped Trevor into the person he is now, the one who gave him not only a family to come home to but a home to begin with.

This man, Geoff, who, despite making what Trevor may consider to be the most selfish decision he’s ever heard, made it on their behalf.

And yeah, Trevor’s mad. He’s upset, furious at the idea that this family could lie to his face and think it’s okay. But, on the other hand, he understands why they had to do it. Protecting the ones he loves has always been Trevor’s main goal, and risking everything for the people who love you…it’s something he can understand.

Trevor sighs again, rubbing a hand down his face, and damn that jetlag is kicking his butt right now. “It won’t be easy telling the others.”

Geoff relaxes, a nervous sort of smile working its way onto his face. “Yeah, I can’t imagine it being simple. We’re planning on telling everyone back in the states eventually, but it’ll take some time.”

“Why me?” Trevor asks, and Geoff cocks his head a bit in confusion. “Why’d you tell me first? Not that I’m not glad, but…you know…why? Why not Matt, or Barbara?”

“Wasn’t even a choice,” Geoff says, and the answer is so instant that Trevor is a bit taken aback. “You’re the head of the Fakes now, if I told you and you thought it would be a bad idea to tell everyone else, we wouldn’t have. Besides, we trust you a lot more than you know. You’ve been through a lot, Trev, you’re a damn good leader. I trust your judgement.”

Trevor isn’t sure if it’s pride or not swelling in his chest, but he lets the smile slide onto his face all the same. “You know Meg’s probably going to kill you,” he says after a moment.

Geoff rubs the back of his neck, a nervous laugh falling form his lips. “Yeah, I kinda figured.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it,” Trevor says, clapping Geoff on the shoulder.

“Sounds good to me,” Geoff replies, putting a hand on Trevor’s arm, grinning more widely than Trevor’s seen a very long time.

..:..:..:..:..:..:..

Trevor’s known Lindsay, Meg, and Alfredo for years. They’ve gone on countless jobs, shared countless secrets, each been there for the other when the world stood against them. Trevor know that given a thousand opportunities, a thousand lifetimes, he would never trade any member of this team. He trusts them with his very life, and knows for a fact that they feel the same.

But still, in this moment, he’s terrified of them.

Alfredo sits beside Trevor, both hands shoved up against the car’s dashboard heater as he shivers. Coming from the more heated areas of the west coast, Alfredo isn’t exactly used to Alp-like climates, and though Trevor thinks two jackets and a scarf is a little overboard, he couldn’t talk Alfredo out of the ridiculous getup if he tried. Meg lounges in the back seat, idly flipping through her phone as she cards her fingers through Lindsay’s hair, the blond woman snoring loudly as she lays splayed against the brunette.

He knows them all almost better than he knows himself, knows that they trust him implicitly. Still, he can’t fight off the ball of anxiety in his stomach, the notion that maybe this is a bad idea.

“So you wanna tell us why we’re here?” Alfredo asks, eyeing Trevor out of the corner of his eye, and there’s no avoiding the subject anymore.

“Yeah, you didn’t really give us a lot of warning,” Meg accuses, not looking up from her phone.

Trevor takes a breath; he’d been expecting this. He hadn’t taken the time to explain the letter to the crew before taking off in a rush to Switzerland just a few short days ago. Of course, it had been equally as confusing when he’d insisted Meg, Lindsay, and Alfredo accompany him on a spontaneous voyage across the world at a moment’s notice, but they’d still trusted him. Steffi had only been slightly irritated when he’d asked her to keep an eye on everything for a few days, agreeing only when Trevor had promised her a brand new car. It’ll probably buy them a week or two before she insists they come back; Trevor just hopes that’s enough time.

He runs a hand down his face, sighing heavily as the road takes a sharp turn right. “Meg, you might wanna wake Lindsay up. You all need to hear this.”

Meg eyes Trevor suspiciously, but still reaches over to shake Lindsay gently. The other woman snorts in surprise, rubbing at her eyes and yawning. “What’s going on? We there yet?” Lindsay mutters, huddling further into Meg’s side for warmth.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you guys about.” Trevor pauses for a moment, checking the GPS before turning onto a side-road, the car lurching from side to side on the uneven dirt path. “I’m sure you’re all curious about why we’re in the Swiss Alps.”

“You could say that,” Alfredo mutter, shoving his hands closer to the heater.

“Well, you all know that I got a letter the other week.”

“And that was reason enough to haul our asses halfway across the planet?” Meg gripes, rubbing Lindsay’s arms soothingly.

“Seeing as Geoff wrote the letter, yes.”

The stunned silence in the car is deafening, and he can feel three pairs of eyes boring holes into his skull in shock. Meg’s mouth is hanging open, Alfredo’s eyes are wide as saucers, and Lindsay is sitting straight up, her back stiff and her mouth set grimly.

“That’s…not possible,” Meg says, and Trevor has to avoid looking at her directly in the rear-view mirror.

“Trev, are you…okay?” Alfredo asks, putting a hand gently on Trevor’s shoulder, his gaze laden with concern. “There’s no way Geoff could have written that. He died seven months ago, remember?”

“Look, I was just as confused when I read it. But it’s his handwriting, no doubt.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, tossing the letter to Alfredo. The younger man scans the page, his eyes flicking between the page and Trevor’s face. Lindsay snatches the paper from Alfredo’s hands after a moment, and Meg scans the words desperately over her shoulder.

“It’s just…coordinates. It’s not exactly the map to El Dorado,” Lindsay said, a bit of skepticism leaking into her tone.

“Wait, is that why you disappeared for a few days? You were following this—this wild goose chase?” Meg snaps, waving the paper in the air in irritation, her voice sharp and accusing, but Trevor can notices her bite her lip, her eyes darting back and forth. Meg is more of a realist than anything, and even now Trevor can see her trying to quash the rising hope.

“Actually, yes,” and Trevor’s almost impressed that his voice is so calm. The road ahead of him evens out, the dot on the GPS gets ever closer, and there’s three more miles. Just three more miles, and the trust Trevor’s team has in him will be tested. After all, Trevor’s the leader of sorts, and his decision to trust the former Fakes, to actually forgive them after everything, will probably have some mixed reactions at best. But it’s too late to turn back now. As the cottage looms into view, the only thing he can do now is just cross his fingers and hope for the best.

The GPS beeps in triumph, announcing their arrival, and honestly Trevor doesn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe a parade, a tearful reunion, something to that effect knowing the former Fakes’ penchant for the dramatic.

Instead, it’s just Geoff sitting on the porch, a mug of coffee in his hands, the steam swirling around his moustache and stubble too long to be called stubble anymore. He’s bundled up in a coat, but a pair of bunny slippers peek out from underneath his pajama pants. He seems unperturbed by the arrival of his new guests, merely raising the mug in greetings before turning and shouting something towards the interior of the house.

“What’s going on?” The voice is small, soft, scared. Lindsay puts a hand on Trevor’s shoulder, and he can see the tears in her eyes. He glances back at Meg, something hopeful and at the same time furious in her eyes. Alfredo’s mouth is open in shock, the words almost stuck in his throat. And, honestly, this is probably the best reaction that Trevor could have hoped for.

“There’s something you need to know,” is all Trevor says, opening the car door and stepping out into the snow.

..:..:..:..:..:..:..

It takes nearly three hours to get the whole story out, this time due to Meg’s impatient interruptions and Lindsay’s frantic questions. Geoff takes his time addressing both, seemingly just relieved that they’re even sitting at the dining table having this conversation. And, if Trevor is being honest, he’s surprised at how well his team is handling the news. It had taken nearly fifteen straight minutes to get Meg to stop screaming and kicking, and he’s pretty sure Gavin is going to be nursing a bruised jaw for at least a week. Lindsay had merely stood there wordlessly for a good long while, eventually breaking down into both crying and berating the former Fakes in turn. And Alfredo had merely flung his hands in the air, proclaimed “Fuck this shit!” and tried to trek his way back to the main road on his own. Trevor had needed to collect him halfway down the driveway. Even now, listening to the story, he’s largely quiet, glancing at the others around the room as if they will disappear any moment. Trevor’s just glad that they’ve stayed this long; it had taken a lot of restraint to let Geoff explain himself the first time, and their tempers are tend to be much more volatile than his.

“So…yeah,” Geoff says at the end, shrugging with all the nonchalance in the world. “That’s how it all shook out. Sorry for not telling you guys sooner; it was really shitty, but it was the best way to keep everyone safe.” Meg snorts derisively, folding her arms and leaning back, but no one seems to pay her any mind. They probably all expected her to either cuss them all out or simply walk away; the fact that she’s even here is a miracle. Lindsay puts a comforting hand on Meg’s arm, although Trevor doesn’t miss her gnawing at her lip.

When Meg stands up suddenly, stalking towards the front door with her hands balled at her sides, Trevor’s not really surprised. Hell, he’s impressed she’s managed to stay sitting for so long. Lindsay follows soon after, glancing between her girlfriend’s retreating form and the former Fakes before following Meg outside. Alfredo merely sits next to Trevor, but his back is too rigid, his eyes too wide.

“If you’ll excuse us, I think we all need some air,” Trevor says, his voice much calmer than he feels as he grasps Alfredo’s hand, leading him away from the table. He sees Gavin start to reach out, whether to comfort or stop them Trevor can’t tell, but Ryan puts a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

When Trevor and Alfredo step onto the porch, Lindsay and Meg don’t even look up. Meg is curled into herself, arms wrapped around her torso as Lindsay rubs soothing circles into her back. Lindsay looks so much wearier in the afternoon light, the bags underneath her eyes so much heavier than they had been that morning. Even Alfredo is unsettlingly still, his eyes fixed on the mountains in the distance, the life gone from his face.

Trevor leads Alfredo to the bench where the others sit, taking a seat next to Lindsay. The afternoon is starting to fade from the sky, but the air isn’t so cold as to be unpleasant. The hills are starting to lose their green colour, and Trevor can begin to see why they chose this place to escape to. It’s beautiful, secluded, and there’s enough room for them to do pretty much anything they want without being disturbed. It’s quite the place to escape to.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” Alfredo asks, and his large brown eyes are still fixed to a point in the distance. His hands are shaking in Trevor’s, and Trevor gives them a little squeeze.

“Not quite,” Trevor responds.

“Seven months.” Meg’s voice is quiet but filled with poison. “They left us for seven months. We thought they were dead seven fucking months, and now everything is supposed to be fucking dandy.”

“You heard them, Meg,” Trevor interrupts, and three heads whip around to stare at him. “They were just trying to do the best they could. It sucks, yeah. But they’re fixing it now.”

“How can you be so calm?” Lindsay asks, her words tinged with hysteria. “They lied to you, to all of us, and you’re just okay with it all?”

“I’m not okay with it. Not by a long shot. But I get where they’re coming from.”

“That sounds an awful lot like you’re taking they’re side,” Meg snaps, shooting upright and whirling around to face Trevor. “How could possibly think that what they did was the right thing!?”

“Because I’d do the same thing for all of you.”

Meg’s mouth open as if to respond, but she merely tips her head in confusion. “Think about it. They were in the middle of a fight they couldn’t win, at least not with them all surviving at the end. And if it were me, and I had to choose between winning a fight and keeping all of you alive, you bet your ass I’d do what I had to to make sure you survived.” He squeezes Alfredo’s hand harder, and Alfredo puts his other hand on Trevor’s shoulder.

Lindsay sputters for a moment, shaking herself. “But they—”

“What they did was shitty,” Trevor interrupts, putting his spare hand on Lindsay’s arm. “And if you don’t want to forgive them for it, I won’t blame you. But you all heard the same story I did, and I can’t fault them for trying to protect the ones they love. I mean, that would just be hypocritical of me.” He smiles wryly at the three of them, holding in a sigh of relief when Lindsay’s eyes lose a bit of the steeliness in them, when Meg relaxes her shoulders just a touch.

“Yeah, but they were still idiots to hide this from us,” Lindsay mumbles.

“No one’s debating that,” Trevor replies with a grin.

“And I’m still angry,” Meg snaps.

“That’s to be expected. And I’m not saying that anyone has to forgive them right this instant. But maybe you can all think about it?”

A silence hangs over the group, and for a moment Trevor isn’t sure whether this was a good idea or not. Perhaps it would have been easier for all of them to have stayed ignorant of the truth, for them all to believe that their family had all died so they could just move on. Heaven knows it would have been the simpler solution; staying in Los Santos, safe in their penthouse and only worrying about the day’s business like normal, suddenly seems a lot more appealing than sitting tense on a porch in the mountains.

But suddenly, Meg stalks back towards the door, throwing it open and stomping inside. Her heavy footfalls can be heard retreating back into the house for a tense moment before voices filter out, hers sharp and the others subdued. Lindsay’s eyes dart from the door to Trevor and back, and she gnaws once more at her lip before following Meg inside. Trevor can actually hear her hug someone, and judging by the resounding ‘oof’ that comes out of them, she isn’t letting go any time soon.

Trevor peers back at Alfredo, the younger man still firmly on the bench, one hands still clasped in Trevor’s and the other picking splinters out of the wood. And, for a moment, Trevor wonders if he misplaced his worry. He’s been most concerned about Meg, what with her propensity to resort to anger. He had been certain that either she or Lindsay, kind-hearted Lindsay who got attached so quick and got hurt just as easily, would be the one to keep an eye one during this whole ordeal.

But now, looking at Alfredo, Trevor isn’t so sure. Yes, Meg and Lindsay had taken the Fakes’ deaths hard. Meg had refused to do anything besides scowl and kill for weeks, and Lindsay hadn’t dared to smile or laugh until after Meg had calmed down. But Alfredo’s grief had broken Trevor heart, mostly because he hadn’t seen it. The light had been sucked from Alfredo’s eyes, and the time he hadn’t spent locked in his room, grieving in private, had been tense to say the least. Alfredo had run himself ragged in the field, desperate to make sure that none of his team got hurt. He’d gotten into more scrapes in that time than he had during the rest of his criminal career, and the entire time he had insisted on patching himself up, never coming to the other for help, never letting them see his hurt. As hard as Trevor had taken the news of the Fakes’ deaths, Alfredo’s withdrawal had hurt him the most. It had taken a couple solid months to get Alfredo to open back up, and suddenly the idea that Alfredo may disappear again sends a spike of panic into his gut.

“Are you okay?” Trevor asks, bringing one hand up to cup Alfredo’s cheek.

Alfredo doesn’t react for a moment, still as stone, and Trevor is about to pull back when Alfredo turns his head, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You sure?”

A beat of silence, a deep breath. “I mean, I’m as okay as I can be right now. But I’ll get there.”

Something heavy slides off of Trevor’s shoulders, and he grabs Alfredo by the shoulders, pressing their lips firmly together. The kiss lasts just a second before Trevor pulls away, his grin mirroring his partner’s.

“Yeah, we will,” Trevor responds, grasping Alfredo’s hand and tugging him back towards the door and stepping inside.

Inside the cabin, Trevor can see Meg, her arms gesturing wildly as she lectures Geoff and Jack, Geoff silent in the face of her ire and Jack with a bit of a bemused grin on her face. Lindsay has one arm around Ryan and the other around Michael, and Trevor can’t tell from this distance if she’s crying to trying to talk their ears off, but they don’t seem to mind either way. Alfredo lets go of Trevor’s hand, making his way towards Gavin and Jeremy, and both men’s faces light up when they see him approach.

Trevor simply leans against the wall, appreciating the view. He isn’t sure if this will last; if Meg’s goodwill will extend past this one meeting, or if Alfredo’s hesitance towards people he once called family will ever dissipate, or if Lindsay will be able to fully trust any of the original six. He’s not entirely sure if anything will be okay again after this. But, as he listens to the idle chatter, watches both of his family reunite, Trevor is certain of one thing.

Everything is okay right now.

And that’s all that really matters.

..:..:..:..:..:..:..

And here’s chapter 2! I hope you enjoyed it, and I’ll be putting chapter 3 up here in a minute. As always, my inbox is always open, and my AO3 is MillionMileMountain if you wanna stop by. I hope you enjoyed this!

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