Two


40 Minutes of Driving Time

"You know, you probably shouldn't…"

"What? Oh, no, I can say that! One of my best friends and business partners is black!"


53 Minutes of Driving Time

"No, but seriously, don't you think it's a little weird that like ninety percent of the people in Sandy Shores speak with southern accents? This is fucking San Andreas."

"Look, rednecks can be found in any place where there's a gun shop, a liquor store, and a meth dealer all within a one mile radius. You should be happy! Your people are near!"

"Thanks, Trevor."


1 Hour, 38 Minutes of Driving Time

"Look, it's not like I'm asking for your sexual history in detail—though I wouldn't mind hearing about that, either. I just want to know what's the deal with your family. You an orphan? Child of abuse? Something had to happen to make you so closed-off about benign shit like this; I'm asking what it was."

"Nothing. I just don't see why I need to share information about my family with you."

"Uhh—maybe because I'm asking? Christ, Evy, I'm not gonna go hunt them down. I mean. Unless they give me a reason to."

"That's not what I meant. I just—talking history, discussing family and past? I don't know if we're there yet."

"…my real dad was a fuckin' deadbeat; he's as irrelevant as all the rest that followed him. Ma is a beautiful goddess who lives up north. I had a brother named Ryan; he's dead now. There, see? Is that so hard?"

"…okay, fine. Mom died a long time ago, car accident. Left behind you've got me, my two brothers in the army, and my dad, who I don't speak to."

"Ahhh, I knew I smelled somethin' rotten! Daddy issues, oh; this is good. First off, do I look like him, and secondly, what'd he do to you?"

"Okay, no, you guys look nothing alike, and are you sure you wanna go barking up the issues tree with what you just told me?"

"What?"

"I'm just saying, I don't know many forty-something year-old men—or any men at all, really—who describe their mothers as beautiful goddesses."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

"Shit, easy! I'm only saying that maybe we should back off of the topic of family and talk about something else, okay? It's clearly not fun for either of us."


2 Hours, 4 Minutes of Driving Time

"You're kidding me. You've met him?"

"Ohh, yeah. Major prick."

"Heh. No kidding. He's Lazlow Jones, of course he's a prick."

"Oh, you hate him too, huh?"

"I mean, I'd hate him on principle given the sort of media he shits out into the world, but five seconds of watching him onscreen just confirms it."

"Oh-ho-hooo. In that case, I've got a video you've got to see."


They arrived in Los Santos around nightfall. As the skyline loomed up large above them, casting an unnatural gray-blue lightness into the night sky, Evelyn found herself falling quiet, staring. It had been a while since she'd seen the city.

Trevor noticed and groaned. "You're not one of those people who goes all starry-eyed at the sight of a skyscraper, are you?"

"Hmm?" It took her a second before she was able to tear her eyes away, focus on him, and replay the question in her head. "Oh. No. I just—cities aren't exactly plentiful in the deep south; the sight of them kind of makes me feel…"

"Awe-struck?" Trevor ventured sarcastically when she trailed off.

She met his eyes. "Nervous."

He looked at her for a minute, then, returning his attention to the road, he said, "Yeah, well, nothin' to worry about in Los Santos, believe you me. Might as well be a fuckin' monument to glass structures and plastic people and flashy hunks of shit, but it ain't scary, all right? Besides. We should be in and out."

He must have spotted her staring at him out of the corner of his eye, because when she didn't immediately respond, he turned his head to glare at her and snapped, "You got somethin' to say to that, pumpkin?"

She decided against telling him that it just seemed oddly sweet of him, responding to her expressed nervousness with reassurance, and instead just asked, "Which part of Los Santos are we going to?"

That seemed to pacify him. He looked front again and said, "Where else? The shittiest part."

Of course, it wasn't until they were in the heart of the rich side of town, surrounded by mansions and tennis courts, that Evelyn remembered that Trevor's definition of 'shitty' wasn't most people's. Her suspicions were confirmed when they pulled up in an alleyway just behind one of the nice neighborhoods mid-argument about the Bean Machine.

"Saying doesn't make it true. That shit ain't coffee," Trevor said as he put the truck in park and got out.

Evelyn thought it wise to scramble out to join him, even as she argued, "It's espresso-based."

"Oooooh, espresso-based," he mocked, his voice going up an octave, and when she shot him a dirty look, he said in his normal argument-voice, "Look, splashing a shot of espresso in a milkshake doesn't make it not a fuckin' milkshake, okay?"

"Whatever, judgy. Personally, I live for that time every year when the Machine starts making their autumn spice latte again, but since you apparently hate joy, you can just stand there and look down on me for it, no skin off my nose."

"I only look down on people who act like that shit counts as morning coffee. Admit it's a fucking dessert and have done with it."

"Literally no one is arguing that it's not. That's what makes it awesome. You can get away with dessert in the morning—because it's espresso-based. Shit yeah, loopholes."

That made him snort, and he let it go, putting his hand on her side as they reached an intersection and steering her to the right, downhill. This put them squarely in a residential neighborhood, and Evelyn was starting to ponder the benefits versus the potential drawbacks of trying to get a more specific explanation of what they were doing from Trevor when he broke from her and moved across the street, brazenly ignoring the car that was speeding right towards him. Evelyn drew in a sharp breath of alarm, but luckily the car slammed on brakes, and when the irate driver leaned on his horn, Trevor paused, gave him the finger, and yelled, "Go fuck yourself!"

Evelyn figured this was a smart time to dart out into the street, grab Trevor by the arm, and yank him to the other side of the road, studiously avoiding eye contact with the driver. Trevor came along willingly enough, complaining: "Can you believe that asshole?"

Evelyn didn't think it would be wise to point out that he'd been blatantly jaywalking. Instead, she asked, "Trevor, where are we going?"

"Ah, right. Here."

"What?"

"Here, we're going right here."

She followed his pointing finger to the house they were standing in front of. It was big, beautiful, and—from what she could tell—securely gated. She studied the spiky fence blocking the driveway and asked, "Tell me you have gate access."

Trevor made a derisive sound. "Gate access. Come on, I'll show you gate access." He grabbed her hand, and she planted her feet, immediately sensing that she did not want any part of what Trevor planned to do at this house, but as soon as he met with the resistance, he snapped, "If you don't fuckin' move, I'm just gonna carry you again, Evelyn."

"Damn it," she grumbled, and went with him a few feet down the wall, where another, less intimidating gate intersected it.

He let go of her hand then and turned to her. "Okay," he said, his hands finding a place at her hips, "I'm gonna boost you up and over; you unlock the gate from the other side."

"What the—Trevor!" she said in sharp alarm as his hands tightened on her. "What is going on?"

"I just told you," he said, sounding exasperated. "Up you go!" Then he was boosting her into the air, and she thought it wisest to grab hold of the top of the gate before his support dropped out from under her.

"Damn it," she growled, swinging a leg over and taking a split second to be grateful that her date had been casual and she'd worn jeans. She got to the other side with no difficulty, checked to make sure she was alone in the courtyard, then turned and drew back the heavy deadbolt on the gate.

Trevor started forward immediately, but Evelyn stood blocking the path, holding onto the gate and glaring at him. He paused and, looking down at her face, demanded, "What?"

"What are we doing here, Trevor?"

"I told you. Business."

"Business for you could mean anything. Breaking into a private home is a bad sign; I'm not gonna help you murder people, you understand?"

"Christ, relax. I'm just dropping something off. No one's gonna get hurt. Er—probably."

Evelyn watched him mistrustfully, but the reassurance was enough to make her let him pull the gate out of her hand and turn her around. "Move," he said, swatting her ass, and without thinking, she elbowed him in the stomach in retaliation—fortunately, the only response was a slightly winded laugh as he strode past her and headed for the front door.

Which was locked.

"Fuckin' Townley," he growled, and keeled to the right, leading the way through a covered parking spot and then back out into the open air before stopping and looking up and around. He apparently found what he was looking for, because she saw the flash of a grin before he turned back to her and said, "Okay—much of the same. I get you up onto that roof, you go through that window—" he instructed, pointing to the window in question, "get to the front door and unlock it to let me in. Sound good?"

"No, it doesn't sound good," said Evelyn, who could not believe what she was hearing or that this was an argument they apparently needed to have. "Trevor, do you even know these people?"

"Of course I fuckin' know them."

"Then why don't you just knock on the damn door?"

"Because that way is fucking boring."

"You want to make me sneak through a stranger's house and risk getting shot and killed just because it's more interesting that way?"

"Yep," he said, grabbing her by the waist again. "You ain't gonna get shot, though. Shoot first, ask questions later is more my style. Ready?"

She put her hands on his shoulders, tightening her grip so that hopefully he couldn't move her unless she wanted to move. "No. Trevor, I'm not doing this."

"Sorry, darlin', you don't get a choice," he said genially. "I'm lifting you up then letting go; if you don't get hold of that roof you're gonna fall and I won't catch you." Entirely true to his word, he shrugged her hands off hard and immediately boosted her up to the roof, and for lack of other options, she grabbed the edge and pulled herself up.

Once she was steady, she turned her head, glared down at him, and said, "I am five foot seven and one-forty, Trevor Philips."

"Point being?"

"Point being that you aren't supposed to be able to throw me around like some weightless rag doll!"

"Speed helps."

"This is bullshit," she groused.

"Blaaaah, blahblahblah, get in the fuckin' house," he ordered. She gave him the finger; he crowed with laughter and said, "Anytime, sweetheart."

"Fuck off," she growled, but for lack of anything better to do (now that she was on the roof, there was no way down but jumping or through the house and the drop was a little past the point she was comfortable with), she obeyed him.

She wriggled through the open window, landing lightly in the small bathroom it led into. From down below, Trevor said, "All right, now get to the door."

She paused, turned, ducked her head out of the window again, and hissed, "I'm going! Shut up!"

Then, as she pulled her head back inside, she heard the sound of a gun being cocked. A calm voice said "Turn around. Slow."

Great. Just fucking great.

Evelyn obeyed, carefully rotating in the small bathroom until she was oriented facing the guy who had a gun on her. He was taller than she was by a few inches, middle-aged, with a full head of well-coiffed, dark hair and very blue eyes, clean-shaven, a bit jowly, built wide and solid. He held the gun steady, pointed directly at her face, and he narrowed his eyes at her. "Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?"

"Umm." Evelyn took a split second to curse Trevor and all his progeny, past, present, and future, and then thought, fuck it, I'm not taking the fall just because he was bored; he said he knew these people, hopefully that means they're not enemies, and, taking the chance, she said, "I'm with… Trevor Philips."

If anything, the expression on his face got harsher, meaner. He didn't lower the gun. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

She tilted her head towards the window. "He's down there. Ask him, cause I sure as hell don't know what the fuck is going on."

"Shit," he muttered, then glanced over his shoulder and took a few steps back. "Come on. Out here."

Warily, keeping her hands where he could see them, she eased her way out of the bathroom. He circled her, backed into the room and up to the window, and keeping the gun on her, he glanced outside. When he saw Trevor, his shoulders slumped and his scowl deepened, though some of the scariness left his face, Evelyn thought, in favor of exasperation. "T, what the fuck?"

"Heeeey, Michael!" Evelyn heard Trevor roar distantly. "Good to see you aren't slackin' when it comes to home security!"

"What the fuck are you doing breaking into my house?"

"Hey, I'm not breaking into your house. Evelyn broke into your house. I'm just along for the ride."

Evelyn wished this Michael person didn't still have a gun drawn on her, if only so she could go to the window and tell Trevor to go fuck himself. Fortunately, the guy didn't seem to be buying Trevor's bullshit. "Yeah, I believe that. Answer me for real, you dick. What the hell is going on?"

"If you haul your fat, lazy ass to the front door and let me in, I'll tell you."

Michael abruptly clicked the hammer of the gun back in place, tucked it into his back waistband, and moved towards Evelyn, grabbing her by the upper arm. "All right, move," he said, sounding both irritated and resigned, and she thought it wise not to put up any resistance. He guided her down a flight of stairs that led right to the front foyer, muttering as he went, "Thank God Amanda's out."

The house was gorgeous, probably seriously expensive given its location, and that struck Evelyn as odd. Trevor, as messy and anarchy-inclined as he was, didn't seem the type to hold with people who were rich and lived like it. Then again, he robbed banks for a living and so did his colleagues, so maybe she was totally wrong. Michael walked her briskly to the front door, his grip on her arm firm but not bruising, unlocked it, and dragged it open. Trevor was waiting there for them, and Michael stood blocking the doorway, glaring at him and lifting his spare hand to point at Evelyn even as he maintained his grip on her. "Who's this?"

Trevor strode inside like he'd been invited despite Michael's distinctly unwelcoming body language, brushing past them and glancing around the room as he responded, his voice a little higher-pitched than usual, heavily mocking: "Ahhh, Mikey, you don't remember Evelyn? Man, I'm starting to get a little worried about you. Memory loss at fifty isn't normal, bro; maybe you should get that checked out."

"Ah, God," Michael growled, turning instead to Evelyn and looking over her. "You do look kind of familiar," he said slowly, warily. "Where do I know you from, again?"

Evelyn had already put it together. When she'd first heard his name, she'd of course connected it to the tattoo on Trevor's arm, but it was more than that—she, personally, recognized that voice, that strong Midwestern accent. The fact that he seemed totally comfortable with a gun in his hand added to her suspicions, and him calling Trevor "T" just confirmed them. He was one of the thieves that hit her bank that day.

Which was actually a pretty dangerous piece of knowledge to have, and she really hoped Trevor knew what he was doing, bringing her here. (She tried not to think about the possibility that he had brought her along in the deliberate effort to get her killed without having to do it himself.) In the meantime, she didn't think it was wise to let the dangerous and very-probably-homicidal bank robber know that she knew exactly who he was in relation to past crimes that he could definitely go to prison for, at the very least, so she just shrugged.

Unfortunately, Michael had caught on by this point as well, and his eyes narrowed. "Wait a second. Evelyn?" He didn't wait for her to confirm before whirling on Trevor and bellowing, "Trevor—what the FUCK?!"

"Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, big guy!" Trevor said in a placating tone, widening his eyes in an affectation of innocence that Evelyn would have found almost credible if she didn't know him and know that "Trevor" and "innocent" were not words that belonged in the same paragraph together, let alone the same sentence. "What's the problem, huh?"

Seeing the look on Michael's face, Evelyn was worried that he might actually explode. He advanced two steps towards Trevor, seemed to think twice, and doubled back to draw close to her again, jabbing a finger in her face, though he maintained furious eye contact with his partner. "This the fuckin' hostage from the Chumash job?" he demanded, his tone clipped.

Since he clearly already knew exactly who she was and was just asking to confirm, Evelyn, true to form, made an ill-advised quip in response to the stress: "Hey, I wasn't going to say anything." She regretted saying that when he turned the force of his glare on her, and she took a step back, wishing that Trevor was closer, because she felt the sudden urge to hide behind him. Of course, Trevor wasn't exactly an angel, but still. Better the devil I know, right?

Instead of being near her where he could actually be useful, he'd come to a stop all the way across the room, and he was glancing between her and Michael with a twisted half-smile, not doing a thing to pitch in and explain, just watching. This didn't really inspire a sense of security in Evelyn—what if this is a fetish thing for him, bringing girls to his homicidal friend's house and watching them get murdered—and she folded her arms protectively over herself in response to Michael's anger. He didn't look at her long, though, turning the force of his glare back onto Trevor soon enough.

"Unbelievable, man. Un. Fucking. Believable. You bring her to my house? My fuckin' house?! What the fuck is wrong with you, Trevor? What, didjya just… fuckin' kidnap her?"

"Hey—hey!" Trevor barked, though judging from the immediate return of his mocking tone he wasn't interrupting Michael to ease his mind: "What the fuck are you thinking, huh, Mikey? What's with all the panic?"

Michael, pacing back and forth from the door to the stairs and back again, was just worked-up enough that he either didn't realize or didn't care that he was clearly being baited. "Oh, excuse me for panicking. I'm just havin' a little trouble with the fact that after a clean getaway, a hostage situation gone miraculously right, for once… months later, my psychopath of a best friend tracks down the hostage and kidnaps her, then brings her to MY FUCKIN' HOUSE! Why the fuck wouldn't I be a little fuckin' panicked, Trevor?"

"Whoa, whoa—kidnapped? Who said anything about kidnapping?" Trevor demanded, sounding offended.

Michael stopped dead, glared at Trevor for a second, then switched his gaze to Evelyn. She took a step back, hitting the door with her back as he came charging towards her, but he stopped short just in front of her, still not touching her. Breathing heavily, angrily through his nose, he held up a fist, extended the finger in Trevor's direction, and demanded, "He kidnap you?"

"Umm…" Evelyn somehow pulled her eyes away from his fury-twisted face and looked past him to Trevor. The fucked-up grin he'd been wearing as he taunted Michael had disappeared—he was frowning slightly instead, brows knit, waiting for her answer with apparently as much anticipation as his friend.

She hadn't been planning to throw him under the bus either way (if Michael thought she had been kidnapped and therefore had the motive to ID both of them, there was no way he'd be okay with letting her leave his home alive, so she didn't want to give him any reason to think she was a threat), but the total lack of cocksure certainty decided it for her. She met Michael's gaze again and admitted, "Not… exactly?"

His nostrils flared angrily. "Not exactly?" he repeated, shaking his head a little to signal that she'd better clarify, and fast.

"From a certain… slightly skewed perspective, I think you could maybe say it'd be fair to call it more of a really fucked up kind of a… date."

"A-ha!" Trevor roared from across the room.

"A date?" Michael repeated, clearly incredulous.

"I fuckin' knew it!"

"Hey, don't get cocky," Evelyn said, leaning past Michael to shoot Trevor a warning look. The shit-eating grin was back as he prowled back and forth in front of the kitchen; her warning clearly went in one ear and out the other, but Michael spoke up again before she could start properly threatening him.

"Hold the fucking phone," Michael said loudly, bringing both of them to a stop as they turned their attention to him. He was standing totally still in the center of the room, one hand on his hip, other pinching the bridge of his nose, and after a few seconds of processing, he lowered his hand from his face, glanced from Trevor towards Evelyn, and said, "You two are dating now?"

"Yep," Trevor said as Evelyn simultaneously and firmly said, "No." Trevor gave her a wounded look, which she ignored, addressing Michael instead: "This is kind of a weird date-type situation. We're not dating."

"Not officially," Trevor said.

Evelyn met his gaze again, widened her eyes emphatically, and said, "Not at all."

"Evy—come on, you're really killin' my buzz over here. Anyway, you said it first, not me."

"Trevor!" Michael barked, bringing their attention back to him. Glaring hard at his friend, he demanded, "Dating, not dating—whatever. Why the fuck did you bring our old hostage to my fucking house?"

"Droppin' off the cash from the Grapeseed score," Trevor said as if it should be obvious, punctuating the statement by flipping a saran-wrapped brick of money through the air towards Michael. "It's a three hour drive; you think I was gonna make it alone?"

"I kinda hoped you would," Michael said with false brightness, belied by the scary expression back on his face. "Especially since the alternative is apparently bringin' a witness to a bloody bank robbery in which I participated to my fucking house. Classic Trevor, everybody!"

"Hey, hey, easy," Trevor said, switching gears into a soothing tone. "You think I'm gonna endanger you?"

"You want me to answer that question honestly?" Michael asked bluntly.

"Evelyn's not gonna say shit, bro. Are you, Evy?"

Well, no, she wasn't, but she didn't think Michael would take her word for it, and the scoff he gave immediately in response to Trevor's assertion proved her right. "Okay, so look," he said, voice dripping with scorn, "You two are kind of… sort of getting along right now, I can see that. So maybe you think everything's kosher. But guess what, T? You have a tendency to piss people the fuck off. Did you think for two seconds, did you realize that the moment you fuck up and make this girl despise you, that you have just handed her everything she needs to send us both to hell?"

"Whoa," Evelyn breathed at Michael's infuriated conclusion. She was starting to get a sense of why Trevor had been so annoyed in response to being asked about Michael; the contempt just emanating from him at this point was palpable, putting a weight of tension on everyone in the room.

And Trevor and tension didn't mix well. He was glaring, hands balled into fists at his sides, and when he spoke, it was through furiously gritted teeth: "If you would listen for one second, Michael—it doesn't matter how Evelyn feels about me. Even if she was gonna rat us out—and I do not think she would—then I got three words for you: mutually assured destruction."

That gave Michael pause. His eyes flicked to Evelyn for a split second before returning thoughtfully to Trevor, and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. "What're you saying?"

Trevor sensed he'd gained the upper hand, so he took his time answering, releasing a long, exaggerated sigh of annoyance. Finally, just when Michael was starting to look like he might explode again, Trevor said sneeringly, "She's an accomplice, Mikey. She tries to take us down, she goes down, too."

Ah, shit. Evelyn had known of course that technically, her failure to report Trevor's presence in her home those months ago made her an active participant in the eyes of the law. She just had been avoiding thinking about it too much, and hearing it put so bluntly by the guy who could get her sent to jail was a little overwhelming. Fortunately, it seemed clear that he wasn't going to rat her out if she didn't rat him out, and she really had no plan to do that, so she resolved to push it back, deciding that she wasn't going to let herself worry about it—least of all right now.

Michael seemed wary, as though he wanted to feel reassured but couldn't quite bring himself to it. "She's your accomplice," he repeated, testing the sound of it.

"Yeah. I just said that. You hearing everything okay, Mike? Cause I feel like you're having trouble understanding simple concepts."

Evelyn rolled her eyes and chipped in: "In his defense, it really doesn't help that you're doing the Trevor thing."

"What's the Trevor thing?" Trevor asked, sounding vaguely offended.

"That thing where you give people the scantest amount of information you can get away with and then act all superior when they're justifiably extremely confused about what's going on."

"Thank you," Michael said emphatically.

"What, are you two ganging up on me now?" Trevor objected.

"No, just saying that it's a terrible habit of yours." Now that they had gotten some distance from the blowup, Evelyn found it in herself to address Michael directly. "He's right, though. I doubt you want to hear details, but unless I just suddenly ditch my self-preservation instincts and decide I want to go to prison—and that's a best-case scenario, if the two of you don't kill me first—you're in absolutely no danger from me."

Michael stared at her for a few seconds before looking at Trevor and demanding, sounding slightly baffled, "Where did you find this girl?"

"Uh, at her house. Well—not today. Today I picked her up while she was in the middle of a date."

"And he's being shockingly literal when he says that," Evelyn sighed.

Michael closed his eyes and shook his head rapidly, like he was trying the shed the remnants of a bad dream. When he opened his eyes again, he still seemed angry, but also calmer. He looked at each of them through narrowed eyes and said, "All right. I guess with both of you tellin' me this ain't gonna backfire, I've got no choice but to believe you—if only for the sake of my own sanity."

"Hah! Good one, Mikey. You and sanity, that's a laugh," Trevor jeered.

"Yeah, you're one to talk," Michael muttered.

"Well, now that that's taken care of, we'd better get going," Trevor said, striding towards the door and abruptly checking himself halfway across the room. "Or, wait—Tracey and Jimmy home?"

"Ehhh, they should be in their rooms," answered Michael, who still didn't sound exactly happy.

Trevor was already headed towards the stairs. "I should pop my head in, say hi to the fucking brats. Evy, wait here, it'll just be a minute." Evelyn had moved to follow, and at his instruction she shot him a slightly concerned look. Trevor saw it and scoffed. "What, you worried about Mikey? Don't be. He likes painting himself as the good guy; it's harder to do that when he's maiming and killing women, so he'll probably try to avoid doing anything to you."

"Yeah, go fuck yourself," Michael told him.

"That's not a denial," Trevor replied, and disappeared upstairs, yelling, "JIMMY! Where are you, you fat piece of shit?"

"Jesus," muttered Michael. There was a brief, awkward pause while they listened to Trevor's footsteps thumping away above them, and then he turned to Evelyn and said, "Well, come on, then."

She raised a mistrustful eyebrow, and he sighed. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. I just need a smoke and I'm not thrilled by the idea of you wandering around my house alone, so you're coming out back with me."

"Hey, you had me at smoke, provided you'll let me bum one."

"Yeah, no problem," he mumbled, leading the way out to a back patio looking over a pool. Once she closed the door behind them, he handed her a cigarette and was courteous enough to light it for her before getting his own. They were Redwoods, which Evelyn hated, but she was hardly going to turn up her nose at or complain about a free cigarette, especially not after the scene inside. They smoked for a minute in silence, then Michael said, "You know, I gotta ask—"

"He lifted my address off my license and invaded my home a couple of months ago. Without getting too much into it, after he left, I decided that it would be unwise to call the cops, so now I've technically knowingly harbored a fugitive and he can take me down if I try to rat either of you out. Scarier than that—I think at this point, if I gave him to the cops, he'd take it personally. Fortunately, I don't want to rat out you or Trevor, so basically, don't worry, you're fine."

"That's reassuring," he said dryly, "but I was more wondering why you don't seem to want to get the closest, most heavily-armed authorities involved. You've spent time with the guy; I assume you've dipped a toe into the insanity that is Trevor Philips. What the fuck is going on there?"

"What," she replied, deadpan, "you don't think he's got a little bit of that sharky, terrifying Nicholson attractiveness going on?"

Michael snorted. "Hey, the physical aspect is confusing enough to me, but I'm a little more preoccupied with the fact that he's a murdering, demented psychopath, and you know that, yet you seem to be okay with it. Why?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"Not at all."

Evelyn smirked, blew out a cloud of smoke, and said, "I don't know, man. Blame it on Stockholm syndrome if you really want to, but it doesn't quite fit—lack of exposure to the threatening party and reintegration into regular society results in gradual fading of those false feelings of appreciation, and it's been… ahh, four months since I saw him, and nothing's really changed. I just think I'm more fucked-up than I realized, and believe it or not, Trevor is… he's interesting to me. And interesting is important."

"Oh, yeah, he's interesting, all right," scoffed Michael. After another pull, he went on: "It just doesn't make sense. I mean—and don't take this the wrong way—you are not his usual type."

Evelyn released a startled laugh. "What does that mean?"

"It means you're younger than he is. And you're pretty, and kinda classy, and—aside from apparently liking Trevor—you seem smart. And sane."

"Keep going and I'm gonna start blushing," Evelyn said dryly, pointing her cigarette warningly at him.

"I'm just saying. None of those are traits that line up with Trevor. What, is it 'cause he's loaded?"

Evelyn frowned, shook her head. "What?"

"Cause you're probably not gonna see any of it."

"Wait, two seconds, back up—what do you mean, loaded?"

Michael stared at her for a second, looking like he wasn't quite sure whether or not she was just fucking with him, and finally he told her, "Trevor's got millions."

Reflexively, she replied, "Fuck you, no he doesn't."

"Swear to God. More money than he could possibly spend in his remaining years, though knowing Trevor, he'll find a way."

Evelyn took a moment to process this. Finally, slowly, she said, "Wow. I'm… actually kind of impressed; he really puts his money where his mouth is. Or, you know, doesn't."

"What's that mean?"

"It means that clearly, his contempt for your average Los Santos citizen isn't borne of jealousy. I mean, he apparently has the means to live just like they do and he's made the decision not to. Now, his expression of that contempt is still obnoxious as fuck, but at least he's not being a hypocrite."

Michael studied her for a second, then asked, "So you really didn't know about the money?"

"No, he hasn't said anything and it never occurred to me to ask. Knowing now doesn't… really change anything, either. I'm financially stable; I don't need anything from him."

Michael pulled on his cigarette, blew out a puff of smoke, and said, "Now I'm really baffled. I don't know what you see in him."

"No? I mean, you're his friend—what do you see in him?"

"Sure, I'm his friend. Seems like that's always gonna be the case, no matter what I do. Doesn't mean I don't sometimes wake up in cold sweats, thinkin' I'm gonna see him in the corner getting ready to fire up a chainsaw."

"Oh, that's right. The whole you-faking-your-death-to-get-away-from-him thing."

"He told you about that?" Michael demanded, sounding annoyed, and after a second and another puff from his cigarette, he chuckled humorlessly. "Don't know why I'm surprised. He tells everyone."

"Yeah, in the heat of the whole don't-kill-me-I'm-not-a-rat drama in there I kind of forgot about that, but you guys aren't on the greatest of terms, are you?" Upon really remembering the story behind the two of them, the frankly surprising amount of antipathy she'd seen Michael direct towards Trevor made a bit more sense.

Michael irritably ground out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and turned back to her. "Listen to me, kid. You clearly at least know the basics, you know I've got experience here, so let me just say this: I hope you know what the fuck you're doing. You enter Trevor's life, cultivate any kind of relationship with him, then you don't leave till you're dead. You seem to be fine with it now, but that'll change. You're gonna want out, and you'll make a bid for it, and yeah, you might think you've escaped. You might be fucking certain. But he'll find you eventually. Once he's got his claws in you, Trevor does not let go."

Evelyn decided that she wasn't a fan of the way Michael talked about Trevor, like he was more parasite than human being. Given that he didn't bother to deny Trevor's version of events and in fact seemed to consider himself the wronged party, she didn't think he had the strongest grasp on the concept of loyalty, so that was two strikes against him. She didn't think it would be wise to call him out on it, though, not when she was in his home and still wasn't sure she was fully safe from him, so instead, stubbing out her own cigarette, she just said, "Duly noted."

Michael narrowed his eyes and looked like he was about to say something else, but something distracted him—the sound of a car, a gate opening. "Fuck," he spat, and bolted into the house, running into the foyer. "Trevor!" he shouted upstairs. "Amanda's home! Get the fuck out now!"

"Pull your panties out of your asscrack, Pork Chop, I was on my way out, anyway," Trevor said, appearing at the top of the stairs and ambling down in no particular hurry.

"I do not need a fight right now, Trevor," Michael bellowed. "Get out! Go through the back!"

Evelyn had lingered in the kitchen, not wanting to follow Michael too closely, and she witnessed Trevor stroll cockily past his friend, pausing to say sarcastically, "Great to see you, too, man. Really. We should do this more often."

"Goodbye, Trevor," Michael said pointedly. Trevor scoffed and moved past him, catching Evelyn by the arm as he passed into the kitchen. She was ready for it when he grabbed her in passing, moving with him past the pool, cutting sideways into the tennis courts and approaching the fence there. Like a gentleman, Trevor gave her a boost up even though she was perfectly capable of scaling the fence on her own, then followed suit. In seconds, they landed on the sidewalk on the opposite side, avoiding the potential blowup and getting out free and clear.


A/N - Can anyone tell I have a love/hate relationship with Michael? I care about the dude, I really do, but every time he starts talking about Trevor like he's human waste I want to just take a tazer to him for a couple of seconds until he learns. Less with the judginess, dude, please, you're the one who teamed up with him to begin with. But I do like him. Really. Now all we have to do is get Franklin involved, because that kid is an angel. Well. A murdering angel, but nonetheless.

Trevor and Evelyn have been a little preoccupied with, you know, kidnapping/being kidnapped and the casual b&e, but next chapter brings them a certain amount of downtime in which they get to reassess exactly what they're doing and where this is going. Things could get messy. Or not. Until then- thanks to all of you for the reviews and encouragement, I thoroughly appreciate it!