Grand Theft Auto 5 - Family Ties

Chapter Two - Eleven Years Later - Michael

"FUCK YOU JIMMY! FUCK YOU!"

SLAM! BANG!

There came a series of loud thuds and banging noises coming from the upstairs portion of the De Santa residence.

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU JIMMY!" Tracey screamed as she lobbed another shoe straight at her brother's closed door.

"What in the FUCK is going on here?!" Michael screamed as he peeked his head out of his bedroom door just in time to see a shoe fly across the hall and collide loudly with his son's door. "TRACEY! What in the hell-"

"I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" Tracey screamed, tears running down her cheeks, her face an angry red and her facial features contorted into a look of sheer rage.

"Whoa! No one is going to kill ANYONE! Calm down!" Michael urged and tried to step out into the hall, holding up his hands. "Trace! Sweet heart! Put the-"

BANG!

"PUT THE FUCKING SHOES DOWN!" he screamed and his bellowing voice caused Tracey to jump and turn her attention on him. "You're ALWAYS taking his side! What about MY side?!" her anger and venom was now turned solely on Michael. "Whoooa! Trace! I don't even know what the hell is going on! At least tell me what happened!"

"RIGHT! YOU DON'T KNOW! SO STAY OUT OF THIS DAD!" she cried dramatically. Michael ran a hand over his face in complete frustration. "For fuck's sake Tracey, I'm trying to understand- AMANDA! A little help here?"

From inside their bedroom, Amanda was currently pulling her long brown hair back into a simple pony tail, brushing it out in a rather aggravated manner. "No. NO. NO! I am not going to get in the middle of this Michael, you are NOT making ME into the bad guy here! Not this time!"

Michael's opened in protest. "Bad guy?! I'm not trying to make you into the bad guy! I'm just asking you to be a MOTHER and maybe stop your children from tearing out each other's throats!"

BANG!

"Or at least save the FUCKING DOORS IN THIS HOUSE!" Michael roared. Amanda stepped out from the bathroom and sat down on the bed, shaking her head as she reached over for her tennis shoes. "That's RICH Michael coming from you. How about you be a DAD and handle it? GOD FORBID you had to interact with your children in a disciplinary manner for once!"

"Amanda, baby… I'm-" he paused, struggling to gather his words and place them in the right order so as not to offend his wife. "I'm all for handling this so long as you can get OUR daughter to not embed a fucking high heel into my head in the process! That's all I'm asking here!"

Michael relented and drew in a deep, deep breath. He counted slowly, mentally, in his head, trying to calm the rising tide within him that was his temper.

"Patience…one, two, three…" he mentally chanted and then gave a long exhale, letting all the air flow out of his lungs in a calming and soothing way.

He slowly opened his eyes and approached his wife. "Amanda, look, we agreed to work on things, right? On us. That means all of us, right?" he said, speaking now in a much softer tone.

"If this doesn't work then fuck me, I don't know what will," he thought.

He kneeled down on one knee besides the bed and looked to his wife who was avoiding making eye contact as she laced up her shoes, seemingly ignoring him.

"I'm not trying to lay this all on you baby," he calmly explained and felt his irritation rise as he realized that she wasn't looking at him. "Amanda, look at me!" he said in a tone that was a bit more snappish than he would have liked.

"ONE, TWO, THREE…"

"Please…" he began very slowly. "Please look me in the eyes baby," he spoke much softer now, amending his tone. Amanda heaved an exaggerated sigh of irritation and finally paused and looked him dead-on in the eyes.

Michael slowly reached out and took her hands very gingerly as though they were both cobras that could lash out with one wrong move. "Baby? My…darling…wife…" he said, trying his best to be cute and butter her up.

"All I'm asking is that you help me. I'm…TRYING to…try here Amanda," he looked at her, being completely honest, as honest as he could. "I can't do it without you babe," he said, imploring her through eye contact.

BANG!

Michael flinched ever so slightly. "My god, how many fucking shoes does that girl own?" he briefly wondered.

At this, Amanda's features and annoyance finally seemed to give way and she too drew in a slow breath and looked towards the ceiling before closing her eyes. "All right, all right," she said in a much softer tone. She slowly exhaled and lowered her face so that it was now level. "Namaste'," she said softly and opened her eyes very slowly.

"Yeah, yeah that's right baby, Namast-what-ever-the-fuck-it-is," Michael said, rubbing her hands encouragingly. She turned her face downwards and shot him a very brief look of irritation before she stood slowly. "You would be lost without me Michael De Santa," she said matter-of-factly and a slight smile danced across her lips. "Yes, yes I would baby," Michael said as he rose from the floor, humoring her and letting her have her moment so as to get her cooperation.

BANG!

"And I've told you, quit mocking me and my beliefs Michael," she said sternly. "Yoga WORKS Michael and so does meditation. It would do you well to really try it and take it in and be serious about it," she lectured and Michael fought the urge to roll his eyes as he tried to politely usher her from the room.

"Babe, you KNOW it just doesn't do for me what it does for you. I DO try it with you every now and then, don't I? Isn't that at least worth some kind of credit on my behalf?"

"Yes, yes you do but you don't REALLY absorb it Michael, you don't let it in!"

BANG!

"Baby, just PLEASE help me stop Tracey from killing her brother and I promise that I will become a buddah or monk or whatever the fuck it is you want," Michael said pleadingly and Amanda just shook her head, leaving the room with Michael immediately behind her.

It had been a year since shit had hit the fan in more ways than one. A year since Michael, Trevor and Franklin had their dealings with the likes of Devon Weston, Steve Haines, Harold "Stretch" Joseph and Wei Cheng. The year had passed relatively peacefully and much to Michael's dismay and relief, it had been quiet. Michael had seen both Franklin and Trevor on rare, brief occasions but not too often as the three had agreed to lay low and not be seen too often in the company of each other. They had agreed that it was for the best that way.

The quiet scene was good because quiet meant that at present, no one was out for their blood or looking to kill them. On the off-chance that someone did want them dead, they certainly were taking their sweet time in going about it.

However, much as he had in the past, Michael acknowledged and struggled still with the fact that he very much missed the criminal life. The rush, the power, the money, the thrill. Apart of him missed it all and knew he would be lying if he tried to say otherwise.

But one thing he had vowed to himself long ago was to try harder for his family. He had almost lost them once and it had gutted him in a way that nothing else had ever managed to. He still remembered that horrible day that Amanda had gathered up the kids and left. In no way shape or form did he miss the empty house or the sound of silence echoing through it's wall. Granted, he didn't much care for Tracey's at present loud attempts to murder her brother via shoe heel but it at least meant that they were home, with him. He wasn't alone. He had not lost them and nor would he again if he could help it.

Since that year, he had tried much harder to work on his patience with his family. Sometimes he managed and sometimes he failed. He considered it a work in progress but progress all the same. At least now it seemed that he and Amanda were somewhat on the same page and just getting to that point had been half the battle. She would never admit it out loud and if he called her on it, she'd probably deny it vehemently but she too had been a little kinder with him lately. She still had no problem pointing out his faults when he let them slip out but as of late, she had done it a lot less.

He had tried his damnedest to counter act any urges he had for illegal activity with spending time with her and the kids. Not exactly easy to do when you have two grown kids raised in Los Santos who think family time is "lame sauce" but the point was that for the first time, in a long time, they were all trying. He was trying and that made him feel pretty damn good on his end.

BANG!

The sound of yet ANOTHER shoe hitting Jimmy's door snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Honey STOP THROWING THINGS is all I'm asking. What happened? Just…tell me what happened! Come here sweet heart," Amanda said softly and held her arms out and Michael marveled as just like that Tracey burst into tears and dropped the shoe in her hand to the floor, running into her mother's arms. His jaw practically hit the floor. He would never understand it. He'd NEVER get it.

"I swear that I will never fucking understand women and their emotions," he mentally decided and just shook his head in utter disbelief.

"Tell us what happened honey," Amanda said soothingly, smoothing the hair on her daughter's head as Tracey bawled ridiculously loud while clinging to her.

"You got this babe? I'll … just … go talk to Jimmy. See if I can get his side of the story. You know, man to man kind of … stuff," Michael said, all too eager to escape Tracey's sob fest. "Yeah, you do that," Amanda said, not paying him much attention as she lead Tracey into her bedroom, softly closing the door. Michael sighed and knocked on Jimmy's door, side stepping the pile of shoes that had accumulated outside it.

"Jimmy? It's your dad, can we talk?"

No response.

Michael tried jiggling the door handle only to find that it was locked. Not much surprise there.

He knocked again firmly. "C'mon Jim, open the door," Michael said firmly, putting on his "no bullshit" tone of voice. A moment later the door opened and Jimmy peeked out. "Is the wicked bitch of the west back in her cage?" he asked and Michael pushed open the door. "Don't talk that way about your sister," Michael reprimanded him as he stepped inside. The smell immediately assaulted his senses and he flinched slightly.

"Fuck that! Have you heard how she talks to me? Always calling me 'blubber ass' and saying that my tits are bigger than hers," Jimmy said, plopping back down on his bed and grabbing his bong, proceeding to take a long hit.

"Jesus, can you at least open a window? This whole room smells like a fucking weed cave that a hermit took a shit in," Michael observed, trying in vain to wave the stench away from his nose.

"Did you just come in here just to harp at me about my room and my cleaning habits or what yo?"

"Nah, you know why I'm here Jim," Michael said and faced his son, arms crossed, face stern.

"What? Tracey? I told you. She started it!"

"I don't give a shit who started what. What the hell happened?"

"Well, I got sick of her baggin' on me about my weight and talkin' shit on my LI page. So, I-"

"LI page? What the hell is that? Some new gangsta' lingo? Speak english Jim," Michael said.

"Life Invader? HELLO, uh, you have one?" Jimmy said, giving Michael a stupid look that he didn't much appreciate.

"Right, right, that website bullshit. Okay, go on," Michael urged, trying to hide the growing irritation. "I'm getting too fucking old for this shit," he thought, a thought that he found himself thinking more and more recently.

"Well, I may have…I mean I…hacked into her page and just posted what I already knew," Jimmy said, trying his best to act nonchalant as he lay back on his bed, arms behind his head.

"Which was?"

"That she fucked half of Los Santos U's football team and that she'll take it up the ass by anyone with a jersey and a number."

"Jesus JIMMY!" Michael said, wincing and raising both hands in alarm, immediately regretting that he had asked. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Michael cried, more disgusted at the mental images that were invading his thoughts more than anything else. The last thing he wanted to do was picture was his little girl taking it in all ends.

"Wrong with me!? Fuck that yo! She gets to post shit about me all the time! All I said was the truth-"

"AAH! AH! AH! AH! AH!" Michael said, cutting him off, raising a hand to silence him. "I am going to pretend that I DIDN'T hear this…for my health," Michael said and held up a finger to silence Jimmy. "Look, just…don't antagonize your sister, all right? Knock it the fuck off, both of you. You're too old to be having me and your mom tell you two to hug and make up, all right?"

"But she gets to…ant-antoe-go-nize…me? Or whatever the fuck it is, how's that shit fair, yo?!"

"Your mom is talking to her right now! I mean it! No more of this shit Jimmy, from either of you. College is important to your sister-"

"Yeah so she can meet guys and eat her fill of co-"

"JIMMY!" Michael roared, leaning in on his son.

"ALL RIGHT! All right! Don't pop a vein! I won't do it again, aight? Are we done now?" Jimmy said, setting his bong down and reaching for his game controller.

Michael just shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach. "Fuck this pro-parenting shit, fuck it all to hell," he mentally cursed as his brain still tried to scrub itself of the mental imagery.

"Just, don't…do it again, got it?" Michael warned and stepped over to Jimmy's window. "And let some fucking light and fresh air in here could you please?" Michael snapped, whipping back the curtain so that the sun's ray's flooded the room.

"Anything else you want to gripe at me for?! Maybe you want me to start wearin' polo shirts and take up golf?" Jimmy shot back, rolling his eyes.

"At least it'd be-" Michael began but stopped abruptly upon looking out the window. Sitting in park near the De Santa family residence gate was a single black sedan. Normally, he'd have thought little, next to nothing about it except for the fact that at the moment it was right in his very own driveway, blocking the exit. Michael strained his old eyes to see better and from what he could make out the figure inside at the wheel seemed to be looking in the direction of his house.

"I don't like this."

Michael turned away from the window and headed out of Jimmy's room and down the stairs hurriedly, grabbing the door and yanking it open. He stepped out onto the front stoop of their home and his eyes searched for the black sedan but found no long found any trace of it.

"What the hell," he muttered very softly under his breath. Had he imagined it? "No, no I saw it. I'm getting old but I'm not going senile, not yet anyway," his mind spoke, reenforcing what he had seen. Michael slowly drew in a shaky breath as his hand dug around in his pocket anxiously for his cell phone.

He quickly found Franklin's number and called it. It only took about three rings before Franklin answered. "Yo, what up Mike?"

"Franklin! Listen…ah…we need to talk," Michael said with dead seriousness and to his surprise, Franklin responded with, "Yeah, yeah we do. I heard that."