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vagrantblvrd · 6 years ago

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Brighter than the Sun (1/1)

Summary: Ryan’s been on murder breaks before, sure, but this one is a little different.For one thing, he’s two states over from Los Santos.

For another, Geoff insists on calling it a vacation, because Geoff.

Notes: Based on this, because reasons.

AO3

“Michael and Jeremy are assholes, and I regret ever laying eyes on the Terror Twins.”

They’re miles apart, and yet Ryan can still hear the exasperation and underlying fondness in Geoff’s sigh.

“I blame you, you know,” Geoff says, and that’s not really fair because he was the one who decided on keeping Michael and Jeremy.

Geoff also made the mistake of listening to Lindsay when she told him they needed people like Trevor on board with them – better than letting someone else snatch him up and have that terrifying mind of his turned against them, and Alfredo had just sort of happened to them.

Which isn’t to say Lindsay has bad judgment, no, it’s just. Ryan’s convinced Lindsay was some terrible trickster goddess in a past life. Embodiment of chaos and all that entails because her track record in this life is pretty solid evidence in Ryan’s book

So whatever happened shouldn’t count as being Ryan’s fault at all, really. The mere thought that Geoff seemed to think Ryan could have prevented whatever disaster they’ve brought upon themselves is amusing as all hell.

The corner of Ryan’s mouth ticks up the slightest bit, already knowing whatever is coming next has to be good.

“I don’t see what I had to do with anything that happened seeing as I’ve been out of town.”

Doing a job for Geoff that took him over three state lines and into a river at some point, and his shoulder still aches. Got things taken care of, though. One less asshole out there looking to cause trouble for the crew.

“What happened?”

There’s a pause, like Geoff’s struggling to come to terms himself, and then he sighs again.

“Does it matter?” he asks, and he sounds so very tired. “The cops and the FiB are riled up, and everyone’s laying low until it blows over. It might be better if you found yourself a safe place to wait it out instead of trying to get back into the city.”

If things are bad enough that Geoff feels the need to warn Ryan instead of letting him discover it on his own and cackling like an idiot about it -

Probably means things like roadblocks and check points. City-wide alerts and hotline numbers to call in sighting of the anyone in the crew.

There are ways around that, of course, and it wouldn’t even be hard. But there’s tempting fate, and there’s being unnecessarily stupid.

Ryan looks around. He’s stopped at a small gas station just outside a small lakeside tourist town. Nice and quiet.

Peaceful.

Not a bad place to hide out for a while, and it’s a good bet no one would ever think to look for him here.

Still.

“Do you need me there?” Ryan asks, glancing at the dashboard clock.

He can be back in Los Santos by tomorrow night if he pushes it. Sooner, if traffic’s on his side.

“Nah,” Geoff says, and there’s a thread of amusement in his voice now. “Lindsay and Trevor are taking care of things here, just. I don’t fucking know. Take a vacation or something. Find yourself a nice little beach town and work on your tan.”

“You realize I’m in a landlocked state right now, right?” he asks, doesn’t bother reminding Geoff about all the beaches in Los Santos. Long strips of sand and rocks and moderately-polluted ocean. “Not a lot of beaches out here.”

“Ryan.”

“Geoff.”

Geoff sighs again, and the exasperation is back in full force with just a side of annoyance to balance it out.

“You know what I mean, dickhead.”

Ryan does, actually.

It might be nice to take a little time off after the last few weeks. Sleep in an actual bed instead of sleeping the backseat of the car he’s using. Eat something that isn’t fast food or sitting under a heat lamp in a convenience store for God knows how long. Stop looking over his shoulder expecting a knife in it because his target was a wily little shit and the others weren’t there to watch his back.

“Call it a vacation or what the hell, one of your murder breaks if you want,” Geoff says, and he’s laughing at Ryan now.

“Vacation,” Ryan echoes, like that’s a thing people like them get.

Geoff mutters something Ryan doesn’t quite catch, and then he sighs again, and honestly, it’s a little bit worrying how often he’s done that since Ryan called to check in.

“Stay safe and don’t forget to check in, asshole,” Geoff reminds him, and hangs up because apparently he never learned proper phone etiquette.

========

The town is called Creedence Lake and it’s this perfect mix of small town America and a little tourist town off the beaten track.

There’s a row of shops down the main thoroughfare and sandwich boards advertising the special or the day or sales. Wooden sidewalks and what looks like a saloon out of a western next to a photo studio specializing in old timey portraits.

It’s just as quiet and peaceful as he was expecting, and something about it is undeniably charming.

The only motel around is ten miles down the road, but there happens to be a quaint little bed and breakfast run by a sweet gray-haired woman named Pauline. Her accent manages to draw Ryan’s out of him without him realizing it, and it earns a delighted smile from her and a nice little discount for Ryan.

She gives him a corner room on the second floor overlooking a decent sized vegetable garden used to provide fresh produce for the bed and breakfast.

“I hope it’s too your liking,” Pauline says as she hands him the keys. One for the door to his room, and the second to a footlocker for his valuables. “Let me know if you need anything, dear.”

She’s tiny, shorter than Jeremy by half a foot, and it should be comical the way she goes up on her tiptoes to pinch Ryan’s cheek, but somehow it’s not.

“It’s the off-season so there’s only one other guest staying here,” Pauline tells him. “Sweet young man, ran into a bit of car trouble, I believe he said. He’ll be staying here until Johnny at the garage can get the poor thing fixed.”

Ryan frowns, wondering just how much information Pauline manages to get her hands on with that sweet, grandmotherly air of hers, and sees her smiling at him.

Sweet. Kind. Completely disarming.

“Dinner’s at seven, maybe you’ll meet him then,” she says, and turns to leave. “There’s a menu on your dresser, but if it’s not to your liking there are cafes and diners around town you might enjoy.”

And then it’s just Ryan poking at the rustic farm décor that seems to be the theme of his room, and the town in general from the looks of things.

He feels out of place here, but it’s it’s this or the motel down the road, and honestly, Ryan’s tired of those. Cookie cutter rooms and paper-thin walls and too much of his life spent in places like that before he’d settled in Los Santos.

There’s character to this town, the people he’s seen walking around. People like Pauline who seems too good to be true, twinkle in her eye and little granny glasses on a chain.

“Vacation, huh?” he mutters, thinking back to Geoff’s words.

It has a better ring to it than “murder break”, and is bound to draw less attention if anyone asks him what he’s doing in a sleepy little town like this.

He goes over the window and looks out.

Past the garden he can make out the shops, see tourists exploring the town and what it has to offer, happy and carefree.

This is either going to be just what Ryan needs after the last few weeks or the worst idea he’s ever had, only time will tell.

========

There’s still a few hours before dinner, so Ryan decides to do a little exploring of his own.

He brought a few changes of clothes with him on this job. Work clothes and “civilian” clothes for the times he needed to blend into a crowd to avoid spooking his target.

Graphic t-shirts and an old pair of jeans he’s had for forever and never managed to get rid of, a pair of sneakers he’s had almost as long.

A backwards baseball cap and air of Aviators rounds out his ensemble, and he takes a moment to pose for selfies he texts to Geoff using obnoxious filters before putting his phone on silent and tucking it into a pocket.

He makes sure to grab the brochure off his dresser before he leaves. There’s a map of the town with various shops and places to see marked on it along with coupons. A helpful list of places offering freebies for first-time customers and all kinds of goodies.

And, look.

It’s not like Ryan charted out a route or anything to optimize his time here, but.

He kind of did.

The shop owners are bright and cheerful, friendly even, and it’s a little jarring at first.

He’s used to cynical, suspicious cashiers and employees in Los Santos, people who’ve been robbed at gunpoint at least once. Always expecting the worst when someone walks through their doors and offering the bare minimum (if that) to any customers, and it’s all the product of the kind of place Los Santos is.

Here -

The people are happy, cheerful and go out of their way to make sure their customers have a good experience. They’re chatty, anecdote at the ready for each on and anywhere else Ryan would expect it to be an act.

And maybe it is, because Ryan finds himself buying things he has no use for, horribly little kitschy things someone made to sell in their shop. Godawful ugly but an odd sort of charm to it, and all of the shop owners are just so nice, really.

It isn’t until he’s at the candy store with a paper bag half full of saltwater taffy that he stops to think how bizarre it is.

Some part of him wondering if there’s something in the water here, or if that’s just what happens in places like this. Some impulse that has people buying things they don’t need and will never use because it’s a souvenir, like that means anything.

“Jesus,” he mutters, and peers into the bag he’s holding because he can’t remember what flavors he’s picked out already, when someone bumps into him.

He hears a surprised yelp, and reaches out to steady the person behind him before he can fall on his face.

Lean figure, sunglasses pushed into his hair, and startled green eyes.

“Ah, shit,” he murmurs, hand going to the sunglasses that have started to slip from their perch. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

He’s somewhere in his late twenties maybe, and has an accent that Ryan can’t quite place. There’s a little bit of a Texan drawl in there mixed with something else and unlike anything he’s heard before.

“It’s fine. Are you okay?”

The guy shrugs, tucks his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and rocks back on his heels as he looks Ryan over as though he doesn’t trust his personal assessment.

“I’m lovely,” he says, and grins. “And so are you.”

Ryan -

Wait.

The guy’s still grinning up at him, although it starts to fade a little as Ryan just stares at him as he tries to process what he just heard.

“Uh.”

“I’m – I’m sorry,” the guy says. “Was that too forward?”

Yes?

No.

Maybe?

It’s not like Ryan’s used to people coming up to him and flirting so blatantly, but to be fair most people who see him tend to do so when he’s working. Not a lot of people out there brave enough to flirt with the goddamned Vagabond when he’s wearing the mask and face paint.

This isn’t new territory, exactly, because Ryan’s not that much of a human disaster, just.

Unexpected.

“I - “

“Oh my God,” the guy says, and buries his face ins his hands, tips of his ears turning bright red. “I’m sorry, that definitely was too forward.”

He peeks at Ryan through his hands.

“I’m just going to go now,” he says, and scurries away before Ryan can say anything, bell of the shops door jingling merrily as Ryan tries to figure out what the fuck just happened.

========

When Ryan goes down to the dining room later that night he finds that Pauline’s set the table for three and blanks for a moment before he remembers Pauline mentioning the other guest.

“Oh, there you are,” Pauline says, twinkle in her eye again for a brief moment Ryan thinks she’s talking to him, but then he hears the creak of the stairs behind him.

Turning, he freezes as he sees -

“Ah, hello again?”

It’s the guy from the candy shop.

“Uh - “

“Oh, so you two have met!”

Pauline sounds far too excited about that, but Ryan's a little busy trying to get his brain in working order again because the guy is still staring at him.

And maybe it’s the soft lighting in here, but Ryan’s having a hard time not staring back.

The guy isn’t not attractive, and Ryan is a human disaster who can’t stop thinking about their earlier run-in and his flirty smile.

But those thoughts are pushed aside at his well-tuned paranoia that is stuck on how very suspicious it is that the guy happens to be staying at the same bed and breakfast as Ryan.

Vacation, Ryan reminds himself because this isn’t Los Santos, and there probably isn’t some sinister reason for this kind of coincidence. (Probably.)

Besides, Ryan knows there are limited options regarding places to stay in Creedence Lake. If the guy’s car is at the mechanic’s for the rest of the week, it makes sense for him to stay in town rather than a motel miles away.

“In a manner of speaking,” the guy says, and makes a show of sniffing the air as the smell of the roast Pauline’s made drifts towards them

The guy looks past Ryan at Pauline, and his smile turns soft and sweet and Ryan is still staring.

“Dinner smells lovely,” he says, eyes cutting to Ryan and away again so quickly as he moves past him that at first Ryan’s not sure it actually happened. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

Pauline titters, swatting at the guy’s shoulder and blushing as he continues to effortlessly charm her.

“Why don’t you boys sit down while I bring the food out,” Pauline says, and tuts when they open their mouths to offer to help her. “I won't have it, you two are guests. Now sit!”

Ryan glances at the guy who shrugs, and they do as Pauline says because it seems neither of them are brave enough to defy her.

Pauline hums in approval as they take their seats across from each other.

Ryan feels a little less off balance when he notices the way the guy keeps darting looks at him and fidgets with his silverware, the cloth napkin folded neatly in front of him. The little nervous smile he offers him when he comes to some sort of decision.

“I suppose I should introduce myself properly this time,” he says with a little laugh as he holds his hand out. “I’m...Mark. Mark Nutt.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at the hesitation. A result of lingering embarrassment or something else?

Mark is watching him, something sharp in his eyes as Ryan reaches out to shake his hand.

“Reggie King,” he says, falling back on one of the identities Matt made for him a while back.

It’s the one he tends to use when he goes on jobs that require a little more effort than simply putting a bullet in someone’s head. When he has to play nice with the local population and the Vagabond’s usual attire might draw unwanted attention.

By all accounts Reggie’s a nice guy and all around upstanding citizen. Has the kind of backstory Matt seems to have pieced together from a mix of comic books and other media he’d consumed as a child. It certainly went a long way in explaining the ridiculousness of the name that went along with it all.

Mark frowns as he leans back in his chair to study Ryan.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Mark says, and there’s that soft smile again. “You just don’t strike me as a Reggie is all.”

“Believe it or not,” Ryan says, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

For a moment he was actually tempted to give Mark his name, but then common sense reasserted itself and he’d tossed out the fake name he’d give to Pauline earlier to go along with the driver license and assortment of cards in his wallet.

Mark hmms, and just when Ryan thinks he’s going to say something about that, Pauline comes back into the room and his attention shifts. Whatever he had to say forgotten as Pauline regales them with a story about the town’s founding as she passes the tray of dinner rolls down to them and conversation turns to safer topics.

========

“Holy shit,” Michael wheezes, sounding like he’s dying. “Holy shit, Ryan. You’re not even on vacation for one day and suddenly your life is a fucking Hallmark movie, what the fuck.”

Michael must have put him on speaker phone judging by the way he can hear Jeremy laughing himself sick is any indication.

Ryan glares at the ceiling of his room and wonders why the hell he thought sharing his misadventures with Michael when he called to check in with the others was a good idea.

To be fair, he was expecting to get Geoff. Had hoped for that, actually, because Geoff tends towards wanting to know as little as possible about things like this unless he can find a way to torment them with it. Claims the headaches they cause him usually aren’t worth knowing about things like this.

But Geoff had been on a call with Burnie, going over crew business and discussing the transfer of one of Burnie’s people to Los Santos. Something they’ve been going back and forth about for weeks now, and Ryan’s been careful to keep out of it based on the shouting matches alone.

Nothing too serious, just a pair of idiots who’ve known each other for far too long and have the tendency to get overprotective about their people. (Which, admittedly, isn’t the worst thing in the world in this business.)

And so Ryan had gotten Michael and Jeremy and so many regrets the moment he told them about the...situation with Mark.

Pulling his ear away from his phone he glimpses the bags - bags - of horrible touristy shit he bought earlier and decides he’s going to gift them to the others. (God knows he has no idea what to do with any of it.)

And why not, really? It’s what people on vacation do, right? Buy hideous things to give to their friends and loved ones and the few assholes at work they don’t completely loathe?

“I got you guys souvenirs,” he says, and smirks at the way Michael and Jeremy’s laughter cuts off abruptly. “You’re going to love them.”

“That’s terrifying,” Jeremy finally says. “Ryan, you’re terrifying.”

Ryan huffs out a laugh because it’s not like he’s some kind of psychopath. He’s not bringing bodies home to them. (Technically.)

“Don’t worry about it.”

There’s a pause, and then Michael’s back.

“Stop trying to change the subject, asshole,” he says, there’s some little bit of fondness with the annoyance.

Ryan sighs because he’s not sure Michael’s wrong about Ryan’s life turning into some horrible romantic comedy when all the main plot points are there.

Well.

Kind of.

For all that he senses something ever so slightly off about Mark, there are very simple explanation for all of it.

Mark’s car breaking down is just bad luck that could have happened to anyone. Given the choice between a shady motel on the interstate or Pauline’s bed at the heart of Creedence Lake with its charming aura, he would have (did, actually) choose the one less likely to feature in a horror movie.

Running into him at the candy shop isn’t that surprising, given the size of the town. The odd hesitation when he introduced himself has several explanations, and even if he'd given Ryan a false name, it’s understandable given his situation, or maybe Ryan’s projecting.

“Mark Nutt, huh,” Michael says, managing to set Jeremy off again. “You want us to get Matt to look into him for you?”

It’s almost a joke, save for the serious note in Michael’s voice. He’s not quite as paranoid as Ryan tends to be, but of everyone in the crew he understands the reasons for it the best.

“Nah,” Ryan says, because as touching as it is that Michael’s offered to bring Matt in on this, that he’s actually taking it seriously, it’s not necessary.

If Mark Nutt turns out to be a problem, Ryan’s confident he can handle whatever comes up, if not -

Well.

Michael’s quiet on the other end.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m good,” Ryan says. “I doubt he’s a serial killer in disguise.”

“Yeah, well,” Michael says, and Ryan can hear the laughter in his voice. “That’s what people say about you, too. Only, you know, without the ‘in disguise’ part.”

Ryan rolls his eyes as Michael cackles like he’s just told the best joke in the world while Jeremy gasps for breath in the background.

“Hilarious,” Ryan deadpans.

“I thought so,” Michael wheezes as he gets himself more or less in control. A pause.“Be careful out there, idiot.”

Michael clearly went to the same school of terrible fucking phone etiquette that Geoff did because he hangs up on Ryan without warning.

“Animals” Ryan mutters, wondering what he’s done to deserve this kind of treatment.

========

The town of Creedence Lake is named after a bright, clear lake at the base of the mountains with a path that winds through around it marked in the brochure Pauline provided.

Something like curiosity that has Ryan wandering along it shortly after dawn when the shops are sill closed and he feels the need to stretch his legs.

The skies are a dark steel gray, clouds gathering over the town and surrounding area. It feels like rain on the way, but Ryan’s loathes to go back to the bed and breakfast just yet.

The forest around him is full of noise, birds calling to each other as they flit through the branches. A few hopping through the short grass near the edge of the path in search of insects and other delectables. He spots a few squirrels, hears what he thinks might be foxes late returning to their dens after a night of hunting.

It’s a welcome change from Los Santos with its glittering skyline and concrete canyons, artificial to its bones. Ryan’s not quite the country boys the others seem to think he is after learning where he’d grown up, but he’s no stranger to places like this.

He can see why people come out here, it’s a beautiful place to go camping and there are a few boats out on the water already.

Fishing or just enjoying the peace and quiet before the storm hits, perhaps.

“Ah, shit.”

Ryan -

What are the odds? he wonders, rounding a gentle bend to find Mark fussing with a camera.

An expensive looking DSLR from the looks of it and a small equipment bag resting on a flat boulder by the path.

Ryan scuffs his foot through the loose gravel lining the path when it becomes apparent Mark’s focus is on the camera in is hands and hasn’t noticed him yet.

It takes a moment for the noise to register, and then Mark’s head snaps up, one hand dropping towards his hip before he recognizes Ryan. (Catches himself, makes it look like he’s shaking out a hand cramp.)

“Fancy meeting you here,” Ryan says, and makes a what can you do? gesture because Creedence Lake is a small town and there are only so many things you can do here.

Mark blinks, and then he laughs. Shaky little thing at first like he’s forgotten how things like that work.

“Small world indeed,” he says, and scowls at his camera when it makes an angry noise. “Stupid thing.”

Ryan cocks his head and takes a slow step closer, not wanting to startle him again.

“Is it giving you trouble?” he asks, because that’s a thing people do. Ask the most painfully obvious questions, because of course.

Mark snorts, eyes flicking up to meet Ryan’s.

“That obvious, is it?” he asks. “It’s always been finicky, but it seems as though it’s determined to drive me mad today.”

Ryan’s not too terrible when it comes to small electronics and other things like that. He can probably find his way around it. (And definitely doesn’t think about why he wants to try, no.)

“I’m pretty decent with gadgets,” he says, which is true-ish, because explosive devices and other fun toys. “I could give it a look, if you want?”

Mark gives him a considering look, corner of his mouth pulling up into a smile. “If you don’t mind?”

There are far too many questions marks flying around, so Ryan holds his hand out and Mark gives him the camera with a sheepish smile.

Ryan turns the camera over in his hands. Digital DSLR covered in scuffs and scrapes. A faint nick on one corner and sections where the finish has been rubbed away, and what – oddly enough – looks like spatters of paint.

An older model and clearly well-used.

“I’ve had it for ages,” Mark says, when he catches Ryan running his thumbnail along a scratch. “Good workmanship, I suppose. Solid.”

He’s not wrong, really.

Ryan fiddles with the camera for a few minutes. Ends up pulling out the pocket knife he’s carrying for the screwdriver attachments to remove the camera’s casing. Nothing seems broken that he can see, which is a good sign.

Mark chatters on about past trips he’s taken with the camera, describing shots he’s taken with it in a way that catches Ryan's attention. Has him watching Mark and the sheer joy on his face as he talks, and when he can’t seem to look away, Ryan realizes he’s getting in a little too deep here, because Mark looks -

The camera buzzes in his hands.

Startled, Ryan looks down at it as the flash goes off in his face, followed by the sound of the shutter and Mark’s helpless laughter.

This high, squeak of a thing that is -

Well, ridiculous, and Ryan loves it.

“The fuck,” he mutters, trying to blink way colored dots filling his vision.

Mark pulls the camera from his hands, fingers brushing his, and Ryan catches the edge of his grin when he takes the pocket knife too.

“I told you it’s finicky,” Mark chides, although the way he breaks off into laughter a second later doesn’t lend it much credence.

Ryan sighs, watching Mark screwing the casing back into place. He glances up at Ryan, an oddly thoughtful expression on his face – and then brings the camera up to snap a picture before Ryan can do anything.

“Did you just - “

Mark lowers the camera to look at Ryan over it, slight trepidation on his face as though he’s just remembered some people aren’t fond of having their picture taken.

For whatever reason, not all of which are connected to illegal activities, or so Ryan’s heard.

“I can delete it, if you want me to.”

No hesitation there, which helps settle the flare of annoyance left behind by Ryan’s surprise.

“I – no,” Ryan says, doubting anyone who shouldn’t will stumble over it, or even know what it means. “It's fine, you just surprised me.”

Mark tips his head to the side, and Ryan resists the urge to fidget under his gaze. Sharp and intent and just the tiniest bit unnerving.

“You’re sure?”

“It’s fine,” Ryan says, and smiles at the skeptical look on Mark’s face. “Really.”

Mark nods, little smile on his face. “Alright then, thanks for fixing it,” he says.

Ryan shrugs. “Lucky I happened to be out here, I guess?”

It’s.

Awkward.

Really, unbearably, awkward because Ryan is just staring at Mark, and Mark is staring at Ryan and how two people can be this unbelievably socially inept is incredible.

“There’s some sort of game trail over there,” Mark says, just as painfully aware of how pathetic they are, and points towards the woods. “Care to explore it a bit?”

It’s either a serial killer’s favorite line used to lure the unsuspecting to their deaths, or a socially awkward man’s grab at something less awkward that what’s currently happening.

Or.

Something along those lines.

Mark must see some of Ryan’s thought process or maybe what he’s just said registers because he scratches the back of his head and laughs.

“I realize it sounds a bit shady, but it would be nice to have some company out here.”

Not that that’s any less shady, but Ryan’s more than capable of taking care of himself and honestly, it’s not that difficult of a decision.

“Sure,” Ryan says, because he’s the one carrying a small armory on him at any given moment. “Sounds like fun.”

Mark gives him and odd look, and laughs as he turns to lead the way.

“It’s a bit of a hobby,” he says, patting his camera fondly. “Never had the chance to do anything professional about all this.”

All this being his camera and the camera bag he’s toting around Ryan assumes.

“Life’s funny that way I suppose,” Mark says, glancing back at Ryan, rueful smile on his face. “Takes you places you never expected and all that.”

Ryan chokes on a laugh because God, if only Mark knew.

“It does do that, yeah,” he agrees, because it isn’t as though he put down wanted criminal when his school guidance counselor asked him to write down career paths he was considering. “Big time.”

========

“Ryan,” Trevor hisses, “Ryan, help.”

Ryan glances over to where Mark is attempting to skip rocks across the lake. He’s not great at it, manages to get one or two if he’s lucky before the stone drops into the water.

“Trevor - “

“They’re going to kill us if you don’t do something, Ryan!”

Ryan sighs, because any other time he’d be concerned.

Really.

Now, though.

Now Trevor seems to be hiding in a stairwell with Alfredo muttering something Ryan can’t quite make out. Ryan’s received several texts from the others in less than a minute telling him to leave the Twins to them, no need to worry, and Mark is holding those stones all wrong if he wants to get one to the middle of the lake.

It had started as a throwaway comment, a mention of something he’s always wanted to do but never managed to get around to with school and work and life. And then Ryan's phone had gone off and Mark had started looking for rocks to skip to give Ryan some privacy.

Which, of course, turned out to be completely unnecessary because Trevor and Alfredo.

“I don’t want to know what you two idiots did,” he says, because he really, really doesn’t.

Wants nothing to do with the kind of shenanigans Trevor and Alfredo might get up to when they’re cooped up at the penthouse with the others. No real outlet for the kind of chaos they’re capable of and thank God he’s not there to fall victim to any of it.

Trevor gasps, and there’s an echo from Alfredo.

“Ryan,” Trevor says, and it comes out scandalized. “How could you?”

Ryan looks skyward, reluctant smile on his face because this. This is the man they’ve put so much of their faith in. That Lindsay’s put so much of her faith in, and when he thinks about it that way, it explains so much, really.

“Because I’ve known the two of you long enough to know you deserve whatever is coming your way?”

There’s a certain kind of silence after that.

Hurt. Betrayed, and then Trevor harrumphs.

“Well if you’re going to be like that, we didn’t want your help anyway.”

Ryan rolls his eyes at the faint ”Yeah!” from Alfredo in the background.

“Call me if something serious comes up,” Ryan says, and this time around he’s the one who hangs up on someone before they get the chance to do it to him.

It feels oddly satisfying, and Ryan can definitely see the appeal.

Mark smiles at him when Ryan walks over to him.

“Alright then,” he says, pressing a handful of rocks into Ryan’s hands. “You’ve got this look on your face. What am I doing wrong?”

It’s not that Mark’s been doing anything wrong per se, it’s just -

“Reggie.”

Ryan makes a face and turns his hand over to show Mark the rocks he’d picked up.

A little on the lumpy side and too small. Not the worst, maybe, but they’re not going to work for what Mark wants to do.

“Okay, so,” Ryan starts. “It helps to have the right kind of rocks.”

A quick look at Mark reveals he’s listening intently, no annoyance or irritation at being corrected, and Ryan relaxes as he shows Mark the kind of rocks to look for. Flat, round, and the right size and weight to get a lot of spin on them.

“That’s the key to it, then?”

“Part of it, yeah,” Ryan says. “You need to have the right technique too if you want to want them to go any kind of distance.”

Mark nods, and after a few minutes they have a sizable collection of rocks to choose from, and Mark looks at Ryan expectantly.

“You want to hold them like this,” Ryan says, and demonstrates the proper way to hold the rock in his hand and how to throw them by launching one of them.

It skips several time across the water and makes most of the way to the middle of the lake before it sinks.

“Your turn,” he says, turning back to Mark who gives him a dubious look before trying again.

He doesn’t quite do it right. Doesn’t get the angle right and he doesn’t snap his wrist forward when he throws it.

“Here,” Ryan says, when Mark sighs as his rock sinks after the third skip. “Like this.”

The rock goes a little further this time before losing momentum and sinking under the water.

“Ah, dammit,” Mark sighs, hand over his eyes as he stares at the spot where the rock sank. “I’m not going to be able to do it, am I?”

Ryan rubs his thumb over the rock in his hand, sandpaper rough and grounding.

“You’re giving up to easily,” Ryan says, and smiles when Mark looks back at him. “Try it again.”

Mark’s gaze drops to the rocks Ryan’s holding out to him, and laughs as he reaches for them.

“All this work for something so silly,” he says. “I feel like I should do something to thank you for teaching me the proper way to do this. And for helping me with my camera.”

“You don’t have to do anything, really,” Ryan says, not sure he should be rewarded for this – whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing.

“Breakfast?” Mark says suddenly. “Or, lunch, probably, considering how long we’ve been out here for.”

Ryan -

“Unless you have plans for the day, that is,” Mark says, lifting his head. “Sorry, I didn’t even think to ask.”

“No, uh,” Ryan says, stumbling over his words. “Brunch?”

Mark blinks at him. “What?”

“Brunch,” Ryan repeats, feeling like an idiot. “After breakfast and before lunch?”

Mark is still staring at him.

“Uh - “

“Is that a yes?” Mark asks, and he’s absolutely laughing at Ryan, which. Understandable, really, given the fact Ryan is an idiot.

“Yes,” Ryan says. “It’s a yes.”

========

There’s a diner at the center of town with a Bigfoot statue in front of it. This hideous thing that looks nothing like any of depictions of Bigfoot Ryan’s ever seen, and yet -

“It’s so ugly,” Mark murmurs, dismayed. “Why on earth would anyone make something like that?”

Ryan wishes he knew, because it’s kind of amazing in its own way. Ugly and misshapen and the kind of thing you can’t stop thinking about because it haunts your every waking moment and makes its way into your nightmares. Just will not leave you the fuck alone.

“I don’t know,” Ryan says, “but they have a brunch special.”

Mark eyes the Bigfoot statue warily and sighs. “I hope it makes up for that monstrosity.”

Ryan holds the door for Mark because he has manners, and has to bite back a laugh when he hears the horror in his voice.

“Oh my God, how is it worse inside?”

Ryan steps looks around a to see that Mark is in no way wrong because the place is an interior decorator’s nightmare.

Tacky as all hell with little bits of Bigfoot-themed “flair” and just generally awful in a completely amazing way.

“That one has a rocket-pack,” Mark hisses, discreetly gesturing to a plush toy Bigfoot hanging from the ceiling with what is indeed a tiny rocket-pack strapped to his back to make it seem like it’s flying. “Why?”

“The aesthetic?” Ryan offers, and laughs at the scowl he gets for it. “What? I think it’s got a unique sort of charm to it.”

“’Charm’” Mark repeats, a little like Ryan’s lost his damn mind.

Which, you know.

Not untrue.

There’s a waitress headed their way, bright smile and sunny disposition. Ryan watches in fascination as the disgruntled expression on Mark’s face is replaced with a smile to match hers.

His body language changes too.

Goes from broken and defeated to open and friendly in a matter of moments, and it’s disconcerting, if Ryan’s going to be honest. Has him watching Mark as he effortlessly charms the waitress, gets them a corner booth hidden away from the worst decorating offenses.

When Mark notices Ryan watching him, he grins.

“Trick of the trade,” he says and picks up his menu. “Comes in handy like this from time to time.”

It’s tempting to ask Mark what he does for a living for that to be something that goes along with it, but that would open things up to him asking Ryan what he does, and wow, that’s not a great idea.

So.

Ryan pulls his own menu close and laughs at the woodcut style drawings decorating the edges of it. A pair of eyes in shadowed woods looking out. Silhouette of Bigfoot on a mountain ridge. A forest trail and tracks that could only belong to Bigfoot.

“Good lord,” Mark murmurs as he turns it over in his hands. “They’re really committed to this, aren't they?”

As if the rocket-pack wearing Bigfoot wasn’t a sign. The huge statue out front. Everything about this diner that was made to draw tourists in with its sheer kitschiness.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

It’s not the artwork along the menu’s border, either. Half the dishes are Bigfoot themed, and the ones that aren’t are clear references to other local cryptids.

“Amazing,” Mark says, but he’s laughing a little too, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Ryan can’t seem to look away, heart doing this embarrassing little flip, and oh, God, he’s really in trouble here, isn't he.

========

Thunder rumbles overhead when step outside some time later, little flashes of lightning flickering at the corner of Ryan’s eye.

Brunch ran long, slid effortlessly into that comfortable space where they lingered over coffee and dessert and ended up trading stories.

“Think we’ll get back before the storm hits?” Mark asks watching the clouds warily. Hands running over the camera bag with easy confidence, smoothing down zipper pulls and buckles to make sure everything is secured safely. “It’s not that far.”

Pauline’s bed and breakfast is a couple of blocks away, just past the town park near the edge of the lake.

Ryan steps to the edge of the covered sidewalk, peering up at the sky and the rain-heavy clouds spread across it.

Another roll of thunder breaks from the sky, closer this time, followed by a crack of lightning that splits the sky.

“I don't think we’re going to be that lucky,” Ryan says, and it’s some bout of recklessness that takes hold of him Has him glancing sidelong at Mark. “We could go back inside and gets coffee while we wait out the storm.”

“Or?” Mark prompts, corner of his mouth twitching, picking up on the restless energy running through Ryan.

“Or, we could take our chances and risk making a run for it,”Ryan says, and there's that childish recklessness in the face of thunderstorm. It’s been too long since he’s felt like this. Young and carefree and stupid with it. “What do you want to do?”

Mark holds his hand out, palm up like he’s testing the air.

“Well,” he says, and pulls his arm back to adjust the star of his camera bag. “I’ve heard too much coffee is bad for you, so - “

Mark flashes Ryan a grin and bolts for it, laughter trailing behind him on the tail of his, “Race you!”

Ryan’s brain stalls out, and then very helpfully points out that Mark is a goddamned cheat as he gives chase and the skies pen up, soaking them to the bone in a matter of minutes.

Mark’s laughing, quick on his feet as he cuts through the town square, hopping over benches and short hedges, looking over his shoulder to check on Ryan every so often.

“Get back here!” Ryan yells, laughter stealing air out of his lungs as he lags behind just enough for Mark to keep his lead. “You cheat!”

Mark spins around and tosses off a little salute before dashing up the paved walkway to the bed and breakfast.

Ryan sees the edge of his grin as he ducks inside, screen door clattering shut behind him just as Ryan hits the stairs behind him.

He has to take a moment to let his eyes adjust when he steps inside, turns his head when he picks up voices. Sees Pauline watching her soaps in the front office, engrossed in whatever plot is playing out and oblivious her to her ridiculous guests.

Ryan shuts the door quietly behind him, gaze landing on the wet footprints headed upstairs, feels sooner lips stretch into a grin as he follows.

The footsteps move past the bathroom, pas the linen closets and Mark’s room where they seem to disappear. Ryan pauses, frowning down at them.

They look like they lead into the room, but something about them -

The soft squeak of a rubber sole on hardwood floor is what alerts him to the presence behind him, has Ryan stepping neatly out of the way as Mark pounces. Breathless laughter and a disappointed groan, and then a startled yelp as he trips over his own feet.

“Shit!”

Ryan can’t stop his bark of laughter as he reaches out to steady Mark and stumbles back a step. His back hits the door to his room as Mark latches onto him to keep from falling on his face. He’s still laughing breathlessly, that high squeaking thing that has Ryan smiling so damn wide at how happy it is.

“Botched that one, didn’t I?” he mutters, breath puffing against Ryan’s neck as he drags himself upright, eyes gleaming in the dim light of the hallway.

Ryan hums, doesn’t want to crush Mark’s delicate feelings just yet.

“It was a good try?” he finally says.

Mark snorts, head tipped to the side to watch the rain through the window at the end of the hallway. The storm's calmed down, slow, gentle patter of rain that calms that restlessness running through them.

“Nice of you to say,” Mark mumbles, thumb moving in slow sweeps over Ryan’s collarbone. Light, absent, and he doesn't seem to be away he’s doing it. “But I appreciate it.

He gives Ryan a sweet smile. Seems to think something over for a long, long moment, and Ryan can see the moment he reaches his decision. Eyes narrowing just the tiniest bi, chin lifting as he untangles his fingers from Ryan’s shirt.

“Let me know if I’m overstepping,” Mark murmurs as he reaches for Ryan’s face, hands cool against his skin.

Ryan goes still, heart racing as he forgets to breathe – and then Mark’s kissing him and Ryan’s mind Ryan shivers as he lets him take the lead here. Feels Mark’s fingers slipping into his hair as he deepens the kiss. Makes a happy noise in his throat as he presses closer, weight pushing Ryan against the door, and -

The cold weight of Ryan’s gun against his spine jolts him out of the happy daze he’s fallen into with brutal sharpness. Has him gasping for air as he jerks back and looks down at Mark who frowns up at him.

“Reggie?”

He looks worried, concerned as he steps away, gives Ryan room. Hands hovering between them like he’s afraid to touch Ryan, and it’s an effort to think. Force his mind to work as that fucking gun digs into his back, grounding him.

Clear reminder that no matter what he called this – what it was he was doing here – it was just a brief respite from his life back in Los Santos.

That he wasn't actually some tourist who happened to stop off at this quaint little town. Just someone whose biggest worries were things that could be resolved with words instead of bullets or knives.

That Mark wasn’t privy to Ryan’s life, didn't even know his real name and what a terrible mistake he was making with Ryan. How unfair he was being to Mark and what kind of monster was he?

He doesn't – people like him don’t get this, that, and it -

“I - “

Ryan’s phone rings, loud and jarring and he’s pathetically grateful for the distraction as he reaches behind him and wrenches the door open.

“Phone call,” he says, breathless like he’s just run a marathon, head turned away so he doesn’t ave to see the pity or worse in Mark’s eyes. “I have to take this.”

“Reggie?”

Ryan slams the door between them, listens to Mark walk away as he lets the call go to voicemail.

========

“Jesus Christ, Ryan,” Geoff sighs, exasperated and fond and so very, very done. “Why are you like this?”

If he was smarter, Ryan would have left already. Packed his shit and headed back to Los Santos and do whatever he had to in order to get back to the penthouse, law enforcement be damned.

But he’s not, and he hadn’t, and then he’d made the mistake of calling Geoff back. (Eventually, once Ryan had calmed down. Started thinking again.)

Which, you know. He realizes now, because Geoff is an asshole who doesn’t seem to understand that Ryan’s doing the right thing here. Being a decent human being who -

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” Geoff demands. “Ryan, I can hear you freaking out from here and you’d better fucking stop it right now, asshole!”

Ryan winces away from his phone, freak-out aborted because Jesus Christ, Geoff’s voice when he gets like this.

“Ryan? Ryan!”

“Jesus, calm down, Geoff, you’re getting worked up over nothing.”

Well, that and Ryan tries not to let opportunities to fuck with Geoff slide by if he can.

There’s an ominous pause, and then Geoff’s yelling again. Something about pots and kettles and that Ryan had better fucking be grateful he was two states away or Geoff would murder the shit out of him.

Ryan sighs and sets his phone down to grab a can of diet soda from the mini-fridge, laughing quietly when he can still hear Geoff yelling all the way across the room.

When Geoff stops yelling, Ryan picks up his phone.

“Geoff?”

“I fucking hate you,” Geoff sighs, and now he sounds drained. “None of you assholes seem to understand the depth of the hatred I feel towards you at any given moment.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his soda because that’s a common complaint of Geoff’s. An old favorite, even. Something he likes to tell them when he feels they’re being particularly trying.

“Love you too, Geoff.”

Geoff mutters something that sounds uncannily like go fuck yourself, Haywood, and takes a deep breath.

“Ryan.”

“Geoff.”

“I’m not doing this again, dickhead, so fucking listen, okay? Just shut up and listen.”

Geoff sounds serious, so of course Ryan listens. (He listens even when Geoff is making no goddamned sense, but that’s his little secret.)

“This Mark guy,” Geoff starts. “You said he made the first move?”

Unless Ryan’s wildly off the mark regarding their first meeting, yes.

“Yes?”

“And he’s the one who’s been pushing this whole thing?”

Well, unless Ryan somehow misinterpreted Mark pinning Ryan to his door and kissing the ever-loving fuck out of him before Ryan reacted like a heroine out of a Victorian romance, then yes.

“Go for it,” Geoff says, so matter of fact it takes Ryan moment to realize what he said.

“What?”

And now Geoff’s laughing at him, the stupidly infectious laugh he has to him when he’s honestly amused by something.

Someone.

“Ryan, I know you like to think you’re some big, scary bogeyman and all that shit - “

He is.

“- but you’re a goddamned idiot. Also, you know. A dork. The biggest one I’ve ever met.”

That's -

Okay, that’s not completely wrong, but Geoff could be a little bit nicer about it. Take Ryan’s delicate sensibilities into account and all.

“If this guy is set on jumping your bones, fucking go for it."

Ryan groans, because Geoff’s laughing again. Chuckling over his shitty sense of humor.

“Geoff - “

“I’m serious,” Geoff says, still so damned amused. “I mean I get that it’s been a while for you, but that’s a thing adults do once in a while? Especially when they’re on vacation and run into someone they're attracted to. That whole ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ shit, you know?”

Ryan remembers that advertising campaign, yes. (May have been a little too amused considering the number of jobs he’d had that took place there, but that’s neither here nor there right now.)

“That’s not helpful,” Ryan points out, because it’s pretty much the opposite of that. “But hey, thanks I guess?”

Geoff sighs, like Ryan’s being particularly stupid today.

“What, are you planning on seeing him again after this?”

Realistically? Not really, no.

It wouldn't be safe for either of them, for one. And for another, he doubts Mark would react favorably to finding out what Ryan does for a living. Can’t really see the two of them settling down in a quaint little house with the white picket fence and the rest of that impossible dream.

“No?”

“Then I don't see the problem here,” Geoff says patiently. “You’re on vacation, Ryan. Have some fucking fun, you idiot.”

There is a pause, and then Geoff sighs, because it’s so damn easy to say things like that, isn’t it. Make it seem nice and simple and so clear-cut. Just do it, what’s the holdup?

“You deserve to have nice things, Ryan,” he says, and this is the reason Ryan called him, needed to talk to him. Geoff understands, looks after his crew of fucked up individuals even though he’s just as fucked up. Knows they all have their hangups and things like this can be the hardest shit in the world. “Try to remember that, okay?”

And that -

Look.

“That’s horrible advice, Geoff,” Ryan says, because it is.

It’s the kind that spells trouble for Ryan because that’s how his luck runs sometimes. Just a string of bad luck, timing, that ends in disaster and regret and (frequently), Ryan doing his damnedest to outrun the cops at one point or another.

“Yeah,” Geoff agrees. “But it’s not like you’re going to listen to me anyway, so I don’t really give a shit.”

========

Ryan stays in his room that night and well into the next day, and he’s not hiding, exactly, just.

No, okay.

He’s hiding.

He tells himself he’s just checking on things back in Los Santos. Making phone calls to a few of his contacts to make sure Geoff and the others are actually okay, aren’t hiding the truth from him thinking they were somehow protecting him.

Fortunately they are alright, which is a relief, but makes him think about Mark and that smile of his (that kiss) and the looks he’d give Ryan once in a while like he was a puzzle Mark was trying to figure out.

About Geoff’s shitty advice. (It isn’t, really, but it's so much easier to tell himself it is rather than admit there’s merit to it.)

Thinks about how careful he’s been, like he knows Ryan’s a fucked up mess and doesn’t want to spook him. About that kiss, and the feel of Mark’s fingers on his face, playing with his hair, his lips on Ryan’s. The warmth of his body against his.

Ryan thinks about a lot of things, and then – like a perfectly functional adult – plugs his phone in to let it charge and turns on the television to watch mindless daytime dramas to stop thinking. Let his brain coast along until it hits a wall or he gets his shit together, whichever comes first.

It works for a bit, although Ryan is confused about the convoluted plots that involve evil twins and half-siblings and conspiracy theories that spark more melodrama than is good for anyone.

Halfway through the third episode he hears movement in the hallway and makes a decision. (A horrible, terrible, awful decision.)

“Hey.”

Mark stops ins his tracks, camera bag over his shoulder and this cautious look on his face when he turns around.

“Reggie,” he says, eyes searching Ryan’s. “Is everything alright...back home?”

Ryan...may be a bit of an asshole. May have mentioned there was family drama going on in his life during brunch. Used it as an excuse as much of an explanation hoping Mark wouldn’t pry even thought Ryan knew he wouldn’t have, because Ryan had panicked.

Ryan’s good, great, even with a gun in hand and the intent to wreak havoc. Point him at someone you want dead and he’ll deliver every goddamned time.

He’s fantastic when it comes to his job, and has the kind of reputation that speaks for itself in that regard, but take that all away and he’s this awkward human disaster who fails at simple social interaction.

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan says, and he knows Mark knows what a flimsy excuse it was, but he’s too polite to call Ryan on his bullshit. “Everything’s fine, thanks for asking.”

Mark smiles awkwardly, and Ryan winces.

“Sorry about earlier,” he says. “Were you headed out?”

Again with the painfully obvious questions, but Mark doesn't seem to mind.

“I was. Did you want to join me?”

There’s a hopeful lilt to the question, and the hesitant way he asks it is on Ryan for being the kind of asshole who takes advantage of a decent human beings compassion.

The panic – fear – is still there, sharp and aching because Ryan wants this thing with Mark and knows he isn’t allowed to keep it.

He can’t keep this thing with Mark, can’t hold it close the way he wants to, but maybe Geoff’s not completely wrong, either. Maybe Ryan can let him have something here, whatever Mark will allow him.

“Let me grab my jacket,” Ryan says, and feels a flash of relief when Mark smiles.

========

“You’re an idiot,” Jeremy says, more than halfway to happily drunk and having the time of his life, even though Michael’s yelling at him to hand his phone back. “Like. Fuckin’ hell, Ryan.”

From what he can tell Michael and Jeremy were having some kind of drinking competition. He knows Geoff hasn’t told them about Ryan’s latest stupidity, so this is probably drunk Jeremy’s brain telling him he should really remind him in case Ryan’s forgotten.

Jeremy stealing Michael’s phone because he couldn’t find his, and Michael wasn’t using his and why, why why are you this dumb, Ryan?

Ryan snorts, watching Mark from the corner of his eye as he takes pictures of the wooden statues carved out of whole logs lining the sidewalk. There are at least three bears and two beavers. Others that are some form of modern art and things Ryan can’t even begin to guess at, and Mark thinks they’re all fascinating, hence the pictures.

Seeing how many of them he takes, the time and effort he puts into it Ryan wonders what kept him from pursuing a career in photography. What’s stopping him from doing it now since he seems to love it so much.

“Ryan?”

Jeremy’s going on and on about all of Ryan’s perceived failings and it’s a good bet he won’t remember any of this when he sobers up, so it’s a good thing Ryan’s recording it.

For posterity.

“Yeah, I know,” Ryan says, when Jeremy winds down. “It's a good thing I’ve got my Battle Buddy to straighten me out like this.”

Ryan’s not sure what he’s doing right now when it comes to Mark. Just knows he didn’t want to leave it the way he almost had.

A tangled mess of intentions and regrets and Ryan’s own stupidity because Mark didn't deserve any of that, and Ryan -

Well.

He’s stupid, because he knows there’s no way he gets out of this without a broken heart and yet here he is anyway.

“Ryan,” Jeremy says, the way he does sometimes when he’s not completely certain Ryan isn’t an idiot. “Don’t be stupid, okay? Like. Stop that.”

Mark’s laughing at something, and when Ryan looks over it’s to see him watching this tiny scrap of a kitten attacking one his shoelaces that's come untied.

Fierce little thing that acts like it’s battling something ten times its size, a horrible threat to the safety of its kingdom and Mark looks -

He’s smiling so wide, and laughing so hard it’s just that squeaky laugh of his again.

Happy.

He looks happy and it suits him, something warm in Ryan’s chest at the sight of it and God, he’s so fucked because he knows if things were different -

“I’ll do my best, Jeremy,” he says, and knows he’s lying, but Jeremy won’t remember this in the morning anyway, right?

The only one who’ll know is Ryan, and that’s fine.

It’s fine.

There’s a startled yelp from Jeremy, a yell from Michael and the line goes dead. A step up from the way his phone calls to the others have been going, though, so that’s nice.

“Everything alright?”

Mark's watching him carefully, and Ryan tucks his phone away.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, everything's great.”

========

It goes on like that for the next couple of days. Mark wandering around Creedence Lake and Ryan tagging along because he’s the kind of idiot who does shit like that.

He realizes that Mark has this odd way of looking at the world, will have this look on his face for the longest time like he’s pondering the universe’s greatest mysteries. And then he’ll turn to Ryan with this serious expression on his face and ask something like ”How does a dog know when it should stop growing?” because someone’s out walking their dog.

It usually takes Ryan a few seconds to parse the real meaning to Mark’s questions because why wouldn’t he, really? On the surface they’re ridiculous, nonsensical, but if he takes the time to think about it they’re really kind of brilliant.

Most of the time, anyway.

Sometimes it's just Mark being a troll, little spark of mischief in his eyes because he’s twigged to the fact that Ryan gives honest thought to his hypotheticals and other so-called nonsense and is not so secretly a bit of an asshole.

Pauline’s the one to tell them about the fireworks display planned that weekend to celebrate Creedence Lake’s founding.

Weather reports predict clear skies for the day of the celebration with storm clouds rolling in early the next morning, creating a perfect window for the fireworks.

“Everyone turns out for it,” she says, swatting Ryan’s hand away from the dishes he’s helping clear from the table. “None of that, young man. I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times. You are a guest here.”

Ryan hold his hands up in surrender and laughs as he backs away from her. Tiny and fierce and he has no trouble at all believing she could take him down if she wanted to.

Pauline’s expression softens as she looks to where Mark is coming down the stairs after taking a personal phone call, eyes sliding over to Ryan.

There’s a sympathetic smile on her face, voice lowered so that only Ryan hears what she says.

“I know it’s none of my business,” she says. “But when you find someone who makes you as happy as he does, you hold onto them with both hands and don’t let go for anything. Life’s too short to make those kinds of mistakes.”

Ryan blinks.

He hadn’t thought she’d noticed the way Ryan was all but mooning over Mark all week, but apparently he was wrong about that.

“What?”

Pauline snorts, and reaches up to pat Ryan’s cheek..

“Honey,” she says kindly, “you’re not subtle.”

Ryan can only stare at her as she smiles pleasantly up at him, this look in her eyes that’s a little bit terrifying.

“You are a scary, scary lady,” he tells her, and she winks as she goes back to clearing the table.

There’s a quiet laugh behind him, and Ryan sighs when he turns to see Mark grinning at him.

“What did she do now?”

Ryan stares at him, not sure what to say because seriously - mind scrambling for something to say that doesn’t come from the stupid Hallmark movie his life has become.

“Uh – She mentioned the fireworks display tomorrow night?” he says, and winces at the way Mark’s eyebrows hit his hairline at what has to be the shittiest evasion in history.

“And that’s cause for concern, how?”

Ryan shrugs and makes an explosion gesture with his hands. “You think giving her access to fireworks is a good idea?”

And the thing is, Mark actually thinks about it for a moment. Watches Pauline puttering about, humming a little under her breath.

She still looks like a harmless little old lady, but Ryan’s learned she’s surprisingly sharp, doesn’t seem to miss a damn thing. Terrifying in all the ways that matter.

“Now that you mention it,” he says, “I don’t.”

Ryan looks at Mark, Pauline’s words in the back of his head tangled together with everything the others have told him.

It feels like their time here is running out, or rather it’s coming to an end.

Mark’s car will be fixed soon, and Jack had called to let him know things were back to normal in Los Santos. That he could come back when he was ready, and -

“Should be something to see, though,” Ryan suggests. “The fireworks, I mean. Ones she’s had nothing to do with.”

Mark tips his head to the side as he pretends to think about it, this little smile playing at the corners of his mouth as Ryan babbles like an idiot.

“It’ll be a good sendoff,” Mark says, oddly wistful smile on his face as he looks at Ryan. “Nice way to end things here.”

Ryan -

“Yeah,” Ryan says, and coughs to mask the way his voice went all funny on hims for a moment there. “It will, wont it.”

========

Pauline sets them up with a picnic basket the night of the fireworks celebration, loads it down with food and drink and a gingham blanket for the fireworks display.

“There’s a spot on the south side of the lake,” she says, twinkle in her eye as Mark walks past checking his camera’s in working order. “Gorgeous view of the fireworks and plenty of privacy too. No one goes up there during the fireworks, say it’s too much work when they can see the fireworks just fine from the north shore.”

Ryan can feel his cheeks heating up at the wink she gives him. It’s like being a teenager all over again with his first crush and his family knowing.

“Pauline - “

“Make sure to bring jackets,” she says, and shoves the picnic basket in Ryan’s hands. “It gets cold out there at night.”

And then she’s pushing the two of them out the door of the bed and breakfast and they go because neither of them are brave enough to tell her no, even now.

It takes them just over an hour to reach the spot Pauline mentioned overlooking the lake. Soft grass underfoot and tall trees and underbrush screening them from view of anyone on the hiking path below.

“Wow,” Mark says, odd smile on his face as he looks around. “Nice and secluded, isn’t it.”

Ryan nods, looking for the best spot to lay the blanket out. “That’s what Pauline said.”

Mark helps him clear rocks and twigs and other detritus before laying the blanket out and setting the picnic basket down.

There’s still time before it gets dark enough for the fireworks display, and Ryan casts about for something to say as he sits next to Mark. Wonders why he didn't suggest they watch the fireworks with the others on the other shore. Why he -

“How did you end up here of all places?” Mark asks, taking a beer out of the picnic basket. “This town’s a bit out of the way.”

Ryan shrugs as he accepts a can of diet soda.

When in doubt, lie.

When lying, sprinkle a little bit of truth in there to really sell it.

Remember not to mention the part about killing a man, though. (Or the fact there have been too many to keep an accurate count, each one another tick against him when it comes time to face whatever judgment lies in store for him.)

Too much truth there, and people don’t like that. (The part about too much truth, yes, but also the killing thing.)

“Business trip.” Ryan settles on. “My boss sent me out of the office for a couple of weeks and I finished up early. Decided to see what the place was about since I had the time.”

Ryan takes a sip of his drink as he looks at the lake, decides to be a little brave.

“I hadn’t planned on staying this long, didn’t see a reason to when I got here, but - “

Ryan shrugs because that went and changed on him, didn’t it.

He can feel his cheeks heating up when Mark gives him a long look.

“Is that so,” he says, and Ryan can hear the smile in his voice.

Ryan shrugs again, slides a look at Mark who is staring at the beer he’s holding, fingers tracing over the raised logo on the neck of the bottle.

“I was on my way to a new job. Opportunity of a lifetime and all that,” Mark says with a funny little laugh. “There was a mix-up with the airline and I missed my connecting flight and customer service was a nightmare, so I figured why not drive the rest of the way since it wasn’t that far?”

Mark laughs and takes a hefty swig of his beer before he looks at Ryan.

“I think you can guess the rest,” he says, waving a hand around him meant to encompass the little town they've found themselves in.

Car trouble, Pauline had said. Serious enough that Mark had spent the better part of a week stranded in a little tourist town.

Not an auspicious start to the next chapter in his life, or whatever it was meant to be.

“Worked out, in the end, though” Gavin says. “Some kind of infestation at the office. Closed the whole thing down until it’s been dealt with.”

That.

“Sounds like a classy place,” Ryan says, and wishes he hadn’t – until Mark laughs.

Some weird, dorky thing that has his shoulder bumping into Ryan’s as he shakes with it.

“You’re not too far wrong,”Mark says, crooked smile on his face. “But I’ve been trying to get out there for a while now. Friends I haven’t seen in ages and all.”

He shrugs when Ryan raises an eyebrow at him, because surely there’s more to the story than that?

“It’s complicated,” Mark says after a moment, setting his beer aside. “Things kept popping up, and my old boss needed me there...so I stayed.”

He says it like it’s just that simple, and Ryan hopes that whatever kind of asshole his old boss is that he appreciated that about him. (That Mark’s new boss realizes what he has in him, too.)

“Admirable,” Ryan says, not sure what else he can say to that.

Mark snorts.

“Not as much as you’d think, really, but I’ll take it.”

Ryan -

“Ooh, look. It’s starting,” Mark says, pointing towards the lake.

There’s a floating dock near the north shore of the lake where the fireworks are set, small figures moving around on it as they prepare to start the display. If he listens, he can make out a distorted voice over a loudspeaker, some classic rock song blaring out of the speakers anchored in the sand along the shore.

“I’m a bit glad we’re not close enough to hear it,” Mark confides, leaning into Ryan. “Always kind of dull, what they have to say.”

In Ryan’s experience, Mark’s not wrong.

Out here, at least, they won’t have to sit through whatever prepared speech is taking place. Just sit and enjoy the fireworks without people pressing in on them.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, just as the first fireworks go off.

A ripple of movement as they shoot upward, and then brilliant points of light bursting across the sky.

“Oh, wow,” Mark says, laughing in delight because the display is a little more complicated than fireworks from a roadside stand. More along the lines of something you’d see in Los Santos on the Fourth or New Year’s, organized by the city. “It’s amazing!”

Ryan watches the play of light and color over Mark’s face, and the delighted smile on his face and eyes tracking the arcs of light blooming across the night sky and wants.

“Reggie?”

Mark’s eyes are wide and he’s holding himself carefully still because Ryan’s in his space, hands coming up to frame his face.

Something nice, Ryan thinks, like that’s not a fucked up thing to think, but it fits, because Mark -

Christ.

“Let me know if I’m overstepping,” Ryan says, an echo of Mark’s words, words feeling fragile on his tongue because this isn’t something he gets to keep, but God does he want to.

Hold on tight with both hands the way Pauline had told him to, but if this is all he’s allowed he’ll take what he can get, what Mark will give him.

Mark’s eyes soften, mouth curving into a gentle smile as he reaches for Ryan.

“Okay,” he says, laughter tripping out of him like it’s just that simple, lips meeting Ryan's as the fireworks light up the sky.

========

“Ryan, we’ve got trouble.”

Jack, and he sounds worried.

As close to being afraid as he allows himself, and Ryan looks over at the quiet mumble beside him. Sees a tuft of hair poking up from the tangle of blankets and his chest aches at the sight.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, clears his throat when it catches on the way out. “Just. Give me a moment, Jack.”

He can hear Jack’s suspicion on the other end, but the bed is shifting, and -

“Reggie?”

Ryan closes his eyes at the soft,”Oh,”, from Jack, only to open them again when he feels fingers brush his arm.

“Something’s wrong,” Mark says, doesn’t bother with obvious questions. Too smart for those, sharp eyes and clever tongue and this edge to him that peeks out when he’s not paying attention.

“Reggie.”

Slender finders curling around his wrist, squeezing gently.

“Do you need me to go?”

Ryan shakes his head as he dredges up a smile for Mark. That would be rude, even for Ryan considering this is Mark’s room.

“I need to take this,” he says, and gets up, breath hitching when Mark’s hold tightens before he lets go.

He can feel his eyes on his back as he leaves, Jack so very quiet.

“Jack” he says, shutting the door to his room behind him, and Jack, bless his twisted heart, understands.

“DeMarco’s boys are stirring up trouble for us,” he says, voice grim. “We have things under control for now, but Trevor's contacts say they’re ramping up for something. I’m sorry, but we need you back in Loss Santos.”

The hell of it is, he does sound sorry. Knows the basics about Ryan’s little adventure out here, if not the details. Knows -

“I can be there by tomorrow night,” Ryan says, glancing at the wall clock ticking away. “Sooner if traffic’s on my side.”

He can hear Jack struggling for something to say to that, and laughs, because this was always how it was going to go.

“Tomorrow night,” Ryan repeats, and hangs up so he can start packing.

========

The sky’s an angry gray, clouds silent and still and ominous, and Ryan can’t help but feel it’s a sign of some sort. A portent, perhaps.

Pauline hands him Tupperware containers packed full of food and raises up on her toes to peck him on the cheek, eyes sad as she wishes him a safe trip, and heads back inside.

Mark -

He looks small, huddled up in an old army surplus jacket, hair disobedient as ever.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he says, flicker of a smile touching his lips.

Ryan snorts, because pot, meet kettle.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Ryan says, tugging lightly on a wayward lock of hair.

There’s this odd little smile on Mark’s face as he wraps his arms around him, burying his face against Ryan’s chest.

“Be careful,” Mark says, so many things packed into those two little words, and Ryan would laugh if he didn’t understand.

“You too,” he says, smiling a little when Mark does laugh, a pair of idiots who can’t seem to use their words the way they should, but somehow manage to get their, meaning across anyway.

========

The drive back is a blur.

Lush forest giving way to rolling hills and dry scrubland. Cities whose names he doesn't other to learn and then the lights of Los Santos spread out like a glittering strand of jewels.

Bright and shining and as much as Ryan knows it's going to kill him one day, he loves it.

“Home sweet home,” he mutters as he crosses the city line, feels something settle in him when he’s driving down familiar streets breathing stale, dirty air again, breathing in Los Santos. “No place like it.”

Nowhere else in the world like this shitty city, corruption and greed. People doing their damnedest to claw out a living for themselves best they can.

Geoff’s waiting for him when he pulls into the penthouse’s garage looking like he hasn’t slept in years. Hands shoved in his pockets as he watches Ryan pull his bags from the backseat of his car.

“Christ, Geoff,” Ryan says, “you look like shit.”

Geoff grins as he looks him over because Ryan’s hardly a fresh daisy himself after the drive back. Could use a shower and a nap, but doubts he’s going to get either of those anytime soon.

“Back at you, buddy,” Geoff says, little bounce in his step as he leads the way to the elevators. “Nice to have you back.”

Ryan grunts, doesn't tell Geoff it’s nice to be back because that would just make him puff up his chest. Think he’s part of the reason, and they've all realized keeping Geoff's ego in check is a good idea. (Entertaining as hell, too, which is a bonus.)

“DeMarco?” Ryan asks, watching the floors fall away.

Geoff slides a look at Ryan.

“He’s got Wilcox’s crew with him on this.”

DeMarco and Wilcox and have plagued the Fake AH Crew for years. Sneaky bastards who bow and scrape to anyone bigger than they are, play meek and obedient until they don’t.

There have been incidents with them before, the Fakes sending them scurrying back into their nests down by the docks easily enough. They must have seen the Fakes laying low recently as a sign of weakness, thought they might stand a chance if they worked together.

“You up for a little good old fashioned destruction?” Geoff asks, like he doesn’t know the answer.

========

The DeMarco problem keeps them busy for the next week. Has Ryan running seek and destroy missions with Michael and Jeremy. Planning raids on money laundering fronts with Geoff and Jack, Trevor laying out intel B-Team dug up.

Has Ryan out there doing what he excels in. Weapon in his hands and clear targets and this singing in his blood because he’s a little fucked up. Too long spent in Los Santos where the normal rules don’t apply and people like him thrive.

Reminds him who he is, and keeps him too busy to regret the things he isn’t.

The others give him looks from time to time in the lull between jobs, missions, but -

Vacation, right? Break from the normal, everyday grind, and it had been nice while it lasted, but this is where he belongs.

And as time goes by, it gets easier to remember that. Think of that little tourist town and everything it give him for that brief moment in time as something good he got to have for even a little while.

Which is good, because this fight DeMarco ad Wilcox have brought to them is more annoying than anything else

The Fakes going up against people who don’t have a firm grasp on the concept of teamwork, who gladly offer up the guy next to them for a chance to save their skins.

It’s insulting, really, to know they thought they ever had a chance of taking the the Fake AH Crew down.

“Christ, Ryan,” Michael’s laughing, assault rifle slung over his back as he climbs over the cement barricade he used for cover. “That was a hell of a shot, dude.”

DeMarco got his hands on an APC, beauty of a thing knocked over on its side and so much scrap after Ryan’s rocket hit it dead on.

“Idiot didn’t upgrade the armor,” Ryan says, and it’s a damn waste of a fine vehicle.

Michael rolls his eyes as he punches Ryan’s shoulder, just hard enough to sting because Michael.

“Yeah, well,” he says. “Sorry if I’m glad he didn’t since those assholes were so intent on fucking killing us.”

And.

“Point,” Ryan admits. “But it’s still a waste.”

Michael shakes his head and turns toward a building across the way and flashes Alfredo a thumb’s up to let him know he can leave his sniping position.

“Maybe if you ask real nice Geoff will buy you one for your birthday,” he says, like Ryan wouldn’t actually ask for one.

========

“Where are we getting this intel anyway?” Ryan asks at one point studying the blueprints to a warehouse laid out on the heist room table.

There’s been a steady stream of it, valuable information that’s lead to success for the crew time and again, allowed them to cut DeMarco and Wilcox’s crews down. Destroy their operations one by one and forced them to go to ground.

B-Team’s fantastic, Matt and the others getting their grubby little hands on all kind inf useful information for them over the years, but this -

A cut above the usual.

Trevor looks up from the conversation he’s having with Geoff and Lindsay, eyebrow going up.

“New transfer,” he says, and shrugs at Ryan’s blank look. “Burrnie’s guy? He’s been working with B-Team since he got into town to help us pin DeMarco and these other rats down.”

It takes a moment before it clicks in Ryan’s head. Remembers the arguments between Geoff and Burnie over this guy. Shouting matches really, that had driving Ryan and the others out of the penthouse after a while because it was a little too much like listening to their parents fighting.

“I thought he was going to be with us?”

That was Ryan’s understanding, at any rate. Maybe that changed while he was out of the city and no one thought to tell him?

Trevor cocks his head.

“Well, Ryan,” he says, drawing his words out the way he does when he’s trying not to call someone an idiot to their face for whatever reason. “Matt needs the help. You may not have noticed, but there’s a bit of a crisis going on here.”

Geoff chokes on a laugh because he’s the worst, and Trevor’s beaming at him like he isn’t an asshole of the highest grade.

“Is that what’s been going on?” Ryan asks, because he, too, is an asshole of the highest grade. “I thought it was Thursday.”

========

Jeremy’s toying with the pin of a grenade like that’s not a bad idea, sniper rifle resting against his shoulder as they wait for the others to kick things off.

Raid one of the warehouses DeMarco and Wilcox have been using as a staging are for their push into Fake territory.

Geoff and the others are on the ground, preparing to go after DeMarco and Wilcox themselves while Jeremy and Ryan pick off anyone trying to escape. Finish these bastards off for good, remind anyone looking to try something like this why it’s a bad idea.

“Think you could flip the Patriot with that thing?” Ryan asks, pointing at a shiny black Patriot parked in front of the warehouse.

DeMarco’s, if Ryan remembers correctly. Stupid expensive and a beautiful target, nice way to get a little of theirs back even if DeMarco won’t be alive to appreciate it.

“Dunno,” Jeremy muses, amused glint in his eyes when they hear a crackle over the comms.

“I swear to God,” Geoff says, low and angry. “If you two fuckers mess this up, you’re fired.”

And, see.

That would just open things up for the two of them. Allow them to go freelancer, be their own bosses and all of that. Offer the services of the Battle Buddies to potential clients, afford them the chance to travel a bit. (See more of the world before they inevitably set it on fire, because that tends to happen more often than not.)

Not exactly a downside when you look at it like that.

“Do not,” Geoff hisses, because he’s the poor bastard who hired both of them. Figured out how they work over the years.

Faintly, he hears a gunshot. Then another, and knows Geoff and the others have set things in motion inside. That Geoff will be too busy coordinating things from the ground level to pay attention to something like a grenade going off when bullets are flying.

Ryan grins, mouths, “Do it”, to Jeremy, as he settles into position with his sniper rifle.

From the corner of his eye he sees Jeremy shrug as he pulls the pin and tosses the grenade with a lazy underhand throw.

========

As it turns out, the resulting explosion manages to lift the Patriot off its suspension, but not enough to completely flip it over.

The second grenade, though, does the job beautifully.

========

With DeMarco and Wilcox taken care of, the only thing left to to worry about is cleanup, which leaves Ryan and the others at loose ends while B-Team sees to that.

Has Ryan remembering he never bothered to fully unpack after getting back to Los Santos, and that -

“What the actual fuck is that thing?” Geoff demands, staring at the abomination sitting innocently on his desk.

“It’s a souvenir,” Ryan says, like Geoff’s a little bit of an idiot. “Do you like it?”

He can hear the yells of outrage and terror from the others elsewhere in the penthouse, which means they must have found the gifts he left for them to discover.

Nice little things the citizens of Creedence Lake made with their own hands out of local materials for tourists to buy.

“It has eyes,” Geoff hisses, which is true.

Little glass eyes the kind you’d find at a craft store.

“And teeth,” Geoff adds, like Ryan somehow hasn’t noticed.

More like fangs, really.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “It’s pretty great.”

========

A week or so after the mess with DeMarco and Wilcox and Geoff calls a crew meeting. Well. Most of a crew meeting, because Lindsay took Trevor and Alfredo out on a job.

“I know you assholes have better things to do,” he starts, looking a little like he’s dying as they take seats around the heist room table. “But I didn’t just fucking sell my soul to Burnie for nothing.”

Ryan was under the impression he’d done that years ago.

“Uh,” Michael says, shooting Ryan a confused look. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says. “Didn’t that happen a long time ago? Like. A long, long time ago?”

Jack has a suspiciously blank expression on his face. The most neutral of neutral parties in whatever is going on right now because he is an asshole.

Geoff stares at them like they’re killing him with how stupid they all are, and turns his head towards the door.

“Get in here, jackass!”

Because Geoff couldn't just push the intercom button like a normal person. Why not yell at the top of his lungs in an enclosed space? That’s always fun for everyone.

There’s this little pause, and then the door opens.

“God’s sake, Geoff. Was that really necessary?”

Ryan doesn’t freeze at the sound of that voice, no.

He just.

“Fuck off, dickhead,” Geoff says, but there’s this smile on his face as he greets the person who walks in.

Lean figure, and even though he’s still wearing his sunglasses, Ryan knows exactly what color his eyes are.

Somewhere in his late twenties maybe, and hearing that soft, British accent finally makes sense. Explains why the fuck Ryan couldn’t place that bizarre mishmash he first heard in that little candy shop in Creedence Lake.

Ryan’s staring.

Ryan’s perfectly aware he’s staring and can’t seem to stop, but that’s fine, really. Goddamned perfect because the others are watching Geoff and Mark.

“This asshole,” Geoff ways, waving a hand at Mark. “Is why we’re going to owe Burnie and Roosters favors for the rest of our miserable lives.”

Mark snorts, reaching up to push his sunglasses in his hair as he looks around the room at them. Gives Jack a smile like they know each other, polite little nods to the others.

Then he sees Ryan. (And of course Ryan doesn’t have his mask or his face paint. Hasn’t done that around the penthouse when there wasn’t a need to for a long, long time, because it’s safe here.)

He sees Ryan and he doesn’t freeze either, just goes this certain kind of still. Polite little smile faltering in the moment before he looks back at Geoff.

Smooth about it too, or maybe the others are just that oblivious because they don’t seem to have noticed anything odd.

“This is Gavin, try not to break him,” Geoff says, clapping a hand on Mark’s - Gavin’s - shoulder . “It was a nightmare getting him out of Burnie’s clutches, but I promise you it was worth it.”

A pause.

“Probably, anyway,” Geoff says, like he’s having second thoughts. “He’s done alright for us so far.”

Gavin laughs, and it’s just the way Ryan remembers, which.

You know, makes for a perfectly valid excuse when the atmosphere in the room shifts and the others get up to introduce themselves like it’s some kind of party. Mingling and making small-talk and Ryan just needs a little time to get his thoughts in order.

========

“I’m going to assume your name isn’t actually ‘Reggie’.”

Ryan looks over his shoulder to see Gavin walking towards him.

“It’s not,” he says, watching Gavin as he picks up one of the paper targets Ryan used earlier.

He hadn’t expected Gavin to track him down to the shooting range. Thought Geoff would have him doing something or other, or he’d be familiarizing himself with the penthouse and other facilities on the lower floors since he’s been staying with B-Team in their little lair.

Ryan’s head is still a mess, but he thinks a few hours of murdering the fuck out of paper targets helped a little. Enough that he was jut about to pack things in, head home and call it a night.

He certainly doesn’t freeze up when Gavin looks at him, sharp and intent.

“Is this...” Gavin stops to clear his throat, and gestures between the two of them. “Is this going to be a problem?”

Ryan can’t read him the way he could read Mark, and that’s.

Worrisome?

Confusing.

Things were easier, simpler in Creedence Lake.

Just two strangers blindly fumbling their way into...Ryan doesn’t want to call it a relationship because he’s not sure that’s what it was.

Just.

Something.

And now, because that’s just how his luck seem to work, its spilled into his life here. Taken those memories and twisted, just so, that he can’t look at Gavin and see Mark in him even though they have the same face.

Can’t, because there's something sharper to Gavin’s than there was with Mark.

Where Mark was awkward, nervous, Gavin is easy confidence. Smooth smile and charming about it, like he could talk you into doing just about anything and you’d be glad for it, thank him for the opportunity.

Other small things that don’t quite line up with the man he thought he’d known and it’s confusion, disorienting, and yet -

There’s something in the way he’s watching Ryan that he recognizes. (Thinks he recognizes.)

“I don’t see why it would be,” Ryan says, because they’re adults and being reasonable about this shouldn't be an impossible task.

Gavin isn’t Mark, but Ryan isn’t Reggie, either. The two of them have to find a way to reconcile that if they’re going to be working together from now on. Especially if Geoff wrangled him away from Burnie, wanted him with the crew badly enough to owe him favors.

Gavin cocks his head like he’s not quite buying it, but doesn’t quite want to call Ryan on his bullshit just yet.

“Right,” he says, and Ryan’s surprised to see the pinched look on his face eases, flicker of a nervous smile . “Geoff said you come down here a lot.”

“Some people meditate to clear their heads,” Ryan says, aware that this confession makes him sound like a madman. “I shoot things.”

It’s not as bad as it has to sound, because Ryan’s not an actual psychopath. But coming down here to practice his marksmanship is easy, familiar. Something he can do without much thought. Just point, aim , and shoot. Reload and do it all over again and it’s soothing, calms his nerves and lets him think clearly instead of just reacting.

Gavin nods like that’s a normal thing to admit to as he sets the paper target back down and turns to Ryan like he has something he wants to say. (And honestly, the list of topics is a a short one, so Ryan has a guess or two as to what it could be.)

“I just - “

The door to the shooting range bangs open, spilling Michael and Jeremy inside, and from the sound of it they’re at least a little drunk.

“Ryan!” Jeremy calls out brightly, stumbling over to them. “Ryan, we need you to referee!”

Ryan looks a Jeremy, drunk as hell and hanging on to Michael for dear life.

“Referee what?” Ryan asks, understandably wary because Michael is smirking at him.

“This moron,” Michael says, nothing but fondness in it as he looks down at Jeremy. “Bet me he can shoot better than I can, drunk off his ass.”

“Please, Ryan?” Jeremy asks, giving Ryan a hopeful look

Ryan sighs because it’s hard enough to say no to a sober Jeremy when he hits Ryan with the puppy dog eyes. Saying no to a drunk Jeremy when he does it is all but impossible.

“Sure, buddy,” he says, ignoring the look Michael gives him because Ryan’s a soft touch when it comes to his crew and he knows it full well.

Michael snorts as he helps Jeremy get set up, and when he looks up, Gavin’s watching with an odd smile on his face.

“You want to co-referee?” Ryan asks, because these are some of the idiots Gavin’s going to be working with, and he needs to know.

“Something tells me I don’t want to miss this,” Gavin says, and settles in to watch the disaster unfold.

========

Like normal, functional adults, Gavin and Ryan absolutely do not talk about Creedence Lake and what happened there.

They just.

Don’t.

There’s no awkwardness about it past that initial shock when Gavin walked into the heist room or their talk in the shooting range.

It’s just two people learning to work together and Ryan being Ryan painfully grateful the others have no idea how on point Michael was about Ryan’s life turning into a shitty romcom.

Things get easier, after a while.

Ryan learns not to look for signs of Mark in Gavin, realizes it’s a mistake because he’s been doing it the wrong way around.

Gavin is sharp and clever and funny, and Mark -

Mark wasn’t quite an act, just. Another aspect of himself,the way Reggie had been for Ryan. A pale imitation of the person he actually is, in more ways than one.

Ryan had thought Mark was a troll, but as time goes he comes to realize that was nothing compared to Gavin.

This horrible little menace who has the ability to convince normally reasonable people to do the most ridiculous things, and do them gladly.

“Yeah,” Geoff sighs, as they watch Michael and Jeremy shoveling God only knows what in their mouths while Gavin films it. “This kind of stuff just happens when he’s around.”

Ryan doesn’t know what that means – doesn’t want to know, so he slowly backs out of the room before the others notice his presence.

If Geoff or the others are surprised at how well Gavin and Ryan work together they don’t mention it. Just assume it’s some kind of happy coincidence the way the rest of them somehow manage to work despite their very different personalities.

Or maybe it’s just that Gavin seems to get along with everyone. Geoff and Jack have apparently known him for years, met him when Geoff was still with the Roosters. Putting together his plans to start his own crew and brought Jack with him to negotiate terms with Burnie.

Michael’s wary around him at first, but it doesn’t take long for Gavin to win him over. Jeremy’s easier. And to everyone’s regret, Gavin gets along particularly well with Trevor and Alfredo. With Lindsay, and apparently it’s no real surprise to Geoff or Jack that things just happen with Gavin around.

“Look at it this way,” Jack says. “Everything those three have done do far was just preparing all of you for Gavin.”

They’re watching the Dusk Boys discussing plans for a heist using salt and pepper shakers and various dishes and silverware as props. Ryan has no idea what’s going on there, going on the laughter and demented smiles from Trevor and Alfredo, the smirk on Gavin’s face, he hopes like hell it never gets the okay from Geoff.

That is nowhere near as reassuring as Jack surely meant it to be, because Ryan’s had actual to God nightmares featuring Lindsay,Trevor, and Alfredo and their brilliant ideas.

When someone’s causing them problems and Geoff doesn’t necessary want them dead, he’ll send Lindsay out with Trevor and Alfredo and sits back to enjoy the fallout.

“That’s terrifying, Jack.”

And Jack, good old Jack, just smiles.

“Good,” he says, and claps Ryan on the shoulder. “It means you’re paying attention.”

========

Geoff starts sending Gavin out on jobs. Trusts him to handle meets their allies, broker new arrangements with crews and gangs in the city.

“It’s why I wanted him here,” Geoff admits. “He’s good at getting people to do what he wants.”

Which should be cause for concern, really, because they’re both well aware of how such a thing could be used against them, but -

It’s Gavin.

This strange assortment of skills and abilities and random bits of knowledge packed into one person. This odd little idiot who happens to have all of them wrapped around his little finger in a matter of weeks, and doesn’t seem to understand what that actually means.

“Yeah,” Lindsay says, fond little smile on her face as Michael tries to smother Gavin with a throw pillow. “He’s kind of dumb like that.”

That.

He is.

He really, really is, because as much as Gavin loves the chaos of the crew, the thrill of a heist that’s going well, even just tormenting Geoff along with the others, he doesn’t seem to realize he’s crew now too. That he still hasn’t earned his place with them for whatever reason.

Will sneak off while the others are celebrating a successful heist and watch the city from the balcony, odd little smile on his face.

“The party’s inside,” Ryan says, leaning on the railing beside him.

Gavin hums, watching the traffic below.

And Ryan, alright. Not much of a party animal himself, but he’s pretty sure what the others are doing wouldn’t be considered a party by most peoples’ standards. Not the sort they'd expect from a crew of notorious criminals, at any rate.

“Didn’t want to intrude,”Gavin says, like an idiot.

The thing is, Ryan’s something of a hypocrite about this. It took him far too long to realize he was part of the crew too. That he wasn’t just a useful asset, a weapon Geoff could point at the crew's enemies.

And even though Gavin doesn’t seem to question where it stands when it comes to Geoff or Jack, he’s far more hesitant with the others. Ready to play his part when there are shenanigans involved, less certain when it comes to things like this.

No work to do be done, business to be seen to. Just this group of assholes grateful for the opportunity to know each other and enjoy their company without having to touch on things like feelings, because God knows criminals like them don’t do emotions.

“You wouldn't be,” Ryan points out, just a simple observation. “But it’s probably safer out here anyway. Things get cutthroat when someone breaks out the board games.”

Monopoly was banned early on, although Geoff delights in threatening them with it when they get on his nerves. Candyland is still in the running for now, but it’s only a matter of time until there’s another Monopoly-level incident.

Gavin laughs, because he doesn’t understand, but that’s okay.

He’s smart. He’ll figure it out.

========

Shit goes wrong sometimes here in Los Santos. (Often. Frequently.)

Shit goes wrong, and when that happens guns tend to be involved. Knives are also commonly used, and if things go really, really wrong, there are explosives. Things on fire, that sort of thing.

“Christ alive,” Gavin mutters. “That went well, didn’t it?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Ryan says, nudging Gavin deeper into the shadows in case they're still being chased. “I thought it went swimmingly.”

Their car is several blocks back and currently on fire, which will be fun to explain to Geoff, and they’re hiding in an alley from weapons dealers and cops, because of course they are.

Gavin snorts out a laugh, and Ryan gives him a smile.

It’s not the first time a meet went south, and it won’t be the last. The important part is that they’re still alive, and Ryan plans on things staying that way.

“Shame, though,” Gavin says. “We could have used those weapons.”

Lots of shiny toys they could use for a future heist, or just to round out their armory.

“Well,” Ryan says, because he’d had his eye on the mini-gun. “The good news is that this is Los Santos. Plenty of other fish in the sea and all that.”

Or, you know. People willing to sell illegal weapons, anyway. Some of them won’t even try to kill them, so that’s something to look forward to.

“Is that so,” Gavin says, and something about the way he says it pulls Ryan’s attention back to him.

Makes him so very aware of how closely they’re pressed together.

Gavin’s watching him, this strange little smile on his face.

“We never talked about it, did we,” he says thoughtfully.

Ryan’s traitor heart does this little sideways lurching thing because no, they hadn’t.

Maybe it makes Ryan a coward, but he’d kept his silence on the matter. Some part of him had expected Gavin to be the one to bring it up one day, just to clear the air. Explain to Ryan that while it had been nice, fun, it was just something that had happened. A fling, like Geoff had said. Something adults did sometimes, but they were coworkers now, members of the same crew and that was all,no hard feelings, yeah?

But because they’re perfectly normal, functional adults they never talked about it, and Ryan had assumed it was all implied when Gavin acted as though nothing had happened between them.

Took that messy tangle of emotions and feelings and want and shoved it all down because he didn’t want to ruin the good working relationship they’d formed. Didn’t want to make things awkward because he couldn’t quite forget.

And it had worked for a while there, because he liked Gavin. They got along better than Ryan had expected they would, worked well together when Geoff sent them off on jobs.

“I thought - “ Ryan’s voice is clearly in league with his traitor heart because it breaks on him a little there. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Gavin’s staring at him like Ryan’s the idiot here, which.

True, because -

“Did you check the alley?”

Ryan startles at the sound of the voice, takes a step towards the mouth of the alley, silently berating himself because they’re still being chased.

The weapons dealers gave up when the cops joined in on the fun. No idea who they’re chasing but determined to catch them anyway once they realized what was going on.

Hands close on his arm, surprising strength to it as Gavin pulls him off balance and Ryan throws his hands out to keep from crushing Gavin against the wall of the alley

“I’m sorry, Ryan,” Gavin says, fingers tangling in the front of Ryan’s shirt to hold him there when Ryan tires to put room between them, deal with the threat of the cops coming closer. “Sorry.”

“Gavin, what - “

“I’m sorry,” Gavin says again, something small and scared to it, and then his hands are on Ryan’s face, and a moment a moment after that he’s kissing Ryan.

Ryan’s mind goes blank because he remembers this. Gavin’s lips on his, the heat of his body, cool fingers sliding into his hair and for one perfect he forgets.

Forgets that what happened in Creedence Lake stayed there, that he didn’t get to keep it because Los Santos would have ruined it. Taken it from him and shattered it beyond repair because that’s how it goes in this city. (Some part of him is still waiting for that to happen with the others, this crew that’s become a second family to him.)

“Hey!”

It’s like having a cold bucket of water thrown on them, Ryan jerked back to reality at the harsh yell.

They’re far back enough in the alley that they shadows help mask distinguishing features, and Gavin’s careful to keep Ryan from turning to look at them. Reveal the face paint he’s wearing, catch their interest and have them looking closer.

“Sorry officers!” Gavin calls out to them, breathless giggle and note of embarrassment at having been caught out like this.

Ryan’s fingers dig into the crumbling wall behind Gavin because right, of course. That’s what this is, and he’s stupid for thinking otherwise.

He doesn’t hear whatever the cops have to say to that, focused on getting his breathing under control and taking his cues from Gavin in case things don’t go their way.

Eventually they leave, laughter bouncing off the alley walls and Gavin pulls his hands away.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin whispers, eyes darting away from Ryan’s. “It was the only thing I could think of.”

It’s brilliant, in its own way.

What other reason would to people have for hiding away in an alley like this? (That doesn’t involve blatantly illegal activities?)

Ryan’s used the same trick before. Endured the friendly teasing from the others, Jeremy fanning himself and telling Ryan he’d ruined him for other men because Jeremy is an asshole.

“It’s fine,” Ryan says, and it is.

Will be.

Something.

He just needs time to sort himself out again, and things can go back to the way they’ve been.

Really.

“Ryan.”

It would be easier if Gavin didn’t say his name like that, though.

“We should get back,” he says. “Let Geoff know what happened.”

“Ryan.”

“Look - “

Gavin’s stronger than he looks.

Ryan knows, has seen him play-wrestling with Michael and win once or twice. Seen him help Michael drag Jeremy to his room at the penthouse the three of them went out for bevs. Watched Michael let him try out his mini-gun at the old airfield north of the city.

Today, wth the way Gavin’s manhandling him. Earlier with the cops and now as he pushes Ryan up against the wall of the alley. (The way Ryan lets him, because it’s Gavin and Ryan's a goddamned mess when it comes to him.)

“You’re impossible, you know that, don’t you?” Gavin says. “I’m. I didn’t want things to be this way between us.”

Yeah.

Ryan got that loud and clear, and he thought he’d been doing a good job up until now.

“I tried to talk to you about it that first day,” Gavin says, the annoyed note in his voice traded for something tired, faintly amused. “But then - “

“Michael and Jeremy,” Ryan says, and finally, finally looks at Gavin. Figures he can do that much if he’s intent on having this conversation now. “And that stupid bet.”

“I didn’t want to leave things like that,” Gavin says. “Didn’t want you to think what happened was just some kind of, some kind of fluke. But every time I tried, something would happen and I didn’t know how to go about it.”

It has been a busy few months.

Dealing with the fallout of the DeMarco problem. Crews and gangs seeing it as an opening they could exploit, forcing the Fakes to take action or be seen as weak. Gavin integrating into the crew. The small heist they pulled not too long ago.

This.

“You don’t have to - “

“I don’t regret it,” Gavin says in a rush, like it was that or choke on the words, and he looks.

Ryan can’t remember ever seeing Gavin look scared, but he imagines it must look a lot like this.

“Us, I mean,” Gavin says, and smiles, small and uncertain. Scared and still standing his ground because he has something to say and means to do it. “I didn’t go about it the right way, I know, when I tried to talk to you before. Didn’t have the right words and there’s clearly been some kind of misunderstanding between us, but I didn’t regret any of it.”

That’s -

The smart thing to do here is for Ryan to keep his mouth shut. Not tell Gavin he feels the same way too, repress, repress, repress, and muddle on, because this is Los Santos and no one gets a happily ever after here.

But Ryan’s a mess when it comes to Gavin.

“I don’t regret it either,” he says, and there’s his heart right there for Gavin to do with what he wants, because it’s the simplest of truths, isn’t it?

The kind that lays you bare. Lets people see things you’d rather they not because the things they could do with it if they wanted.

Gavin’s laughing, and that’s usually not a good sign, but he’s also moving closer, forehead pressed against Ryan’s chest, shoulders shaking with his laughter.

“Michael’s right about us, isn’t he. “We are idiots.”

Well, he’s not wrong ab -

Wait.

“What?”

Ryan cranes his neck to look down at Gavin.

“What did Michael say?”

Gavin lifts his head, big, dopey smile on his face.

“Called us idiots, didn’t he,” Gavin says, like Ryan knows all this already, honestly Ryan.

“What do you mean - “

“I thought he was imagining things,” Gavin interrupts. “Told me to stop faffing about and - “

Gavin clams up suddenly, blush hitting him hard as he bites his lip and looks away.

Going on context clues, Ryan can guess what Michael told him. Not hard, when Michael’s not the kind of guy to beat around the bush. Blunt and to the point and now Ryan’s blushing.

“Huh.”

Gavin clears his throat, sneaks a glance up at Ryan.

“You should have told him we did that already,” Ryan says, because he can’t not. “More than once.”

Gavin snorts, little grin lighting his face up.

“God, can you imagine his face if I had?” he asks, looking like he’s thinking of doing just that the next time Michael brings the subject up,

Which.

Gavin said he didn’t regret them, which isn’t the same as saying he’d be interested in picking up where they left off. See where things lead, now that they’re not pretending to be people they aren’t, pale imitations of the real thing, but.

“I wouldn’t mind a do-over,” Ryan says, because apparently he’s a child.

Gavin stares at him for a long, long moment, expression unreadable.

Ryan desperately wishes for the ground to swallow him whole, because you know. Idiot.

“A ‘do-over’ Gavin says, like he’s testing how the word feels in his mouth. “A ’do-over’.”

The good thing is that he doesn’t sound horrified or disgusted at the suggestion, like he’s going to go to Geoff and tell him Ryan propositioned him in a dirty alley. The bad thing is that he sounds like he’s dying, that’s how hard he’s laughing, that breathless squeaking thing again.

“A do-over!”

It’s hard to be terrified of rejection when you have someone hanging on to you to keep from falling on their face when they’re laughing as hard as Gavin is.

“I mean,” Ryan says, looking skyward, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You could just say no. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

Gavin’s laughter cuts off abruptly, and his hands are on Ryan’s face again, tugging him down so their eyes meet.

“I wouldn’t,” he says, deadly serious as he searches Ryan’s face. “Ryan, I wouldn’t.”

Ryan’s chest hurts at the honesty in Gavin’s voice, the look in his eyes.

“Okay,” Ryan says, covering Gavin's hands with his own. “Okay.”

This time when Gavin kisses him, there’s no audience to fool. No little box in Ryan’s head to shove the memory of it into later to try to forget.

Just Gavin’s lips on his, laughter in his ears, and something like happiness held tight in his hands.

========

“Ryan,” Gavin says, something to his voice that has Ryan instantly suspicious of him and everything he chooses to be. “Matt gave me the proofs for our papers. Wants us to look them over before he has them made.”

Okay, see. That’s even more reason for suspicion because when Matt and Gavin collude they turn into horrible little goblins.

And this job Geoff wants Gavin and Ryan on is terrible enough as it is.

“I don’t want to know, do I?” Ryan says, eyeing Gavin warily as he drops a thick manila envelop on the table in front of him, smirk on his fae that speaks of terrible things in Ryan’s future.

“Just look them over, would you?”

Ryan sighs heavily, and reaches for the envelope.

Driver license for both of them, a handful of cards – credit, debit, and various memberships to stores and services. Passports and everything they’d need to start a new life somewhere because Matt’s an overachiever, goes above and beyond every damned time no matter what they ask of him.

Everything looks in order at first glance, but by the way Gavin’s practically vibrating with restrained glee, Ryan knows there’s more to it.

So.

“What - “

Oh.

Ryan gives Gavin a look, and the asshole grins at him, all sunshine and light.

It shouldn’t be a shock given the job they have lined up, but the marriage certificate still gives Ryan pause.

The crew knows about the two of them now, if not the details of how they met. (They have their suspicions, of course because Ryan’s life is the worst kind of romcom.)

“No,” Ryan says, as he lays the two marriage certificates beside each other. Slight differences, granted, but still.

“But Ryan,” Gavin says, striving for a serious expression. “We need to make sure we have our cover straight. Otherwise we might fail.”

Ryan sighs, eyes on the names Gavin gave Matt to use for their cover identities.

Mark Nutt and Reggie King, and Michael is never going to let him live it down when he finds out about this. Geoff is never going to let him live it down.

“I couldn’t decide how we should hyphenate our names,” Gavin says, laughter bubbling out of him. “Didn’t know if we should go with Nutt-King or King-Nutt.”

Ryan groans because it sounds even worse when Gavin says those names out loud.

“If I had known,” Ryan says, trying to seem unaffected by Gavin’s breathless laughter, the sheer joy in it it. “That Geoff would make us play the happily married couple for a job one day, I would have gone with a different fake name.”

Okay, no.

It’s more that if he known what a terrible human being Gavin is, but the sentiment’s the same.

When Ryan opens his eyes Gavin’s still laughing, gone from squeaking to the occasional chuckle, eyes filled with amusement and smile so wide it looks like it hurts.

This idiot that Ryan has given his heart over to, so goddamned pleased with himself over something so dumb and God help him, he still doesn’t regret any of it.

#freewood #ragehappy #fahc fic #it is finally done!!1!#\o/#also #you know what you did miss-ingno #>:((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((#vagrant fic

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