So, I'm uploading this at two in the morning but I got into a really inspired mood for writing, thus I finished this fic. Like last chapter, it's quite a bit longer. It's set a couple months after Ending C and that's all I'm going to say since I don't want to give anything away! As always, enjoy and review.
Michael had peacefully been sleeping until a pillow collided with his back. He jolted upright for a moment, alert, before collapsing back down on the bed, realizing that any of his remaining enemies would do much worse than hit him with a pillow. With a sigh, he rolled over, groaning as he grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The bright light burned into his weary eyes as he checked the time, throwing the phone to the side with a half-hearted growl once he saw how late it was. He buried his face into his own pillow, annoyed that his wife had woken him up in the middle of the goddamn night for...what exactly? A chat? "What the hell, Amanda? It's one in the fuckin' mornin'..." he mumbled sleepily into the fabric.
The pillow hit him again and he angrily sat up to face her. Before he could open his mouth to make a snarky comment, Amanda put a finger to his lips, silencing him. "Shh...did you hear that?" she asked softly, tilting her head.
He stared at her in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape. "Hear what? I was asleep-" Michael's sentence was cut short by the unmistakable sound of something breaking.
"See?" Amanda whispered. "Can you go check it out?"
Michael sighed in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but that now seemed impossible. "Honey, relax. It's probably just one of the kids…"
"Jesus, Michael, are you forgetting things already? They said they'd be out late tonight…what if it's a burglar or something? Or one of your many 'friends'?" she said sarcastically as she put exaggerated air quotes around the last word.
"I told you I was done with that life. But if you're really that worried, I'll take a look," he huffed, reluctantly getting up from the bed. For a brief moment, he considered taking the gun he kept under his pillow, but eventually decided against it, thinking that the most he would have to do was a lecture to one of his children.
Armed with nothing but the stubborn belief that he was right, he went to investigate the noises.
Amanda waited anxiously for Michael to return. Maybe he was right...it could be nothing, she could be freaking out for no reason. On the other hand, what if he wasn't? If there was one thing he was, it was a magnet for trouble, which had certainly proved itself already. She briefly thought back to the night where a mercenary held a gun to her head and felt a shiver run through her.
The situation eerily reminded her of many of the cliché movies her husband loved: strange noises in the middle of the night, the good guy going to check it out, him heroically fighting off the enemy only to get hurt in the process-
Bang.
The deafening sound of a gun cut through the air, all but confirming her theories. She barely registered the ringing of her ears, the fact that Michael's gun was still where he left it, or the sound of the front door slamming shut as she ran out of the bedroom.
Clumsily, she managed to find the light switch and turned it on. She blinked quickly, her eyes trying to adjust to the bright light. Finally, she saw him. No, she thought, standing there dumbly. God, no…
Reality finally set in as she raced towards him. "Michael!" she screamed in horror. He was slumped against the wall, a pool of blood rapidly expanding around him. Tears blurred her vision and no matter how hard she tried to blink them away, new ones replaced them. "Oh, God...what happened?" Amanda fell to her knees beside him, blood soaking through her clothes as she grabbed one of his hands.
"You...you...were right. Burglar..." Michael murmured, blood…so much blood...running through his fingers that were pressed against the gunshot wound on his upper chest in a feeble attempt to slow the bleeding. The smell of iron hung in the air as the dark red pool beneath him grew rapidly. Her eyes went from his wound to his face. His skin was porcelain white and a steady stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His blue eyes that were rapidly dimming with each second were cloudy with what she could only describe as pure agony.
She briefly covered her mouth with her free hand to hold back a tortured sob, nodding absentmindedly to his answer. She knew she was crying and needed to calm down but she couldn't help it. How could a man who had managed to survive through so much be bleeding out right in front of her?
It was then that she noticed that his eyes had started to close and she gave his shoulder a gentle shake to keep him conscious. "Michael, baby...you need to stay awake. I'm going to call for help. I'll be right back...I swear," she added the last part hesitantly because despite the tormenting pain he must have been in, he gripped her hand like a vice. She let go of his hand, her own coming away a glossy red, before reluctantly running to get her phone.
This was not how Michael thought he would die. A tiny, guilty part of him felt relieved, though. This was so much better than a death he deserved, besides the nearly unbearable pain and the blood that was gushing out of him like a river, of course. All the ways he had pictured either involved him bleeding out in the vault of some bank, rotting in a jail cell for the rest of his days, or maybe, just maybe if he was lucky, dying of old age. Being shot by a burglar, of all people, in his own home was surely something he hadn't considered. He would have laughed at the sheer irony if it weren't for the blood starting to fill his mouth. Maybe his karma had finally caught up to him…
It wasn't like it was his first time getting shot. In his line of work, it was pretty much a given you were going to take a bullet a few times. He'd always been relatively lucky in that regard, the worst that had happened was getting shot in his side once over twenty years ago. The pain he'd experienced then was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. Hopelessness sunk in as he could almost feel the life slipping away from him and became lightheaded at the amount of blood he was losing, hell, even his clothes clung to him with it. He wasn't even entirely sure if the bullet had exited his body, all he had to hope was that it hadn't broken apart inside of him. He resisted the urge to shut his eyes, even if he just wanted to try to blink away the blurry haze his vision had taken on. A mantra repeated in his mind over and over again, those five words stuck on an infinite loop: I don't want to die...I don't want to die.
Blood pooled underneath him and he grew more tired with each painful breath that were becoming increasingly harder to gather. By the time that Amanda returned, he was practically gasping for air. She couldn't have been gone for more than a minute or two even though it had seemed like a lifetime to him. He could vaguely hear her calling 911 on her phone but he wasn't listening, not really. His focus was on her face, which he stared at as if he was seeing her for the first, or last, time. He was suddenly struck by her beauty, even though her normally beautiful eyes were red from crying and her hands were stained with his blood. Maybe if he was dying, at least the last thing he ever saw would be her. For a brief moment, snippets of memories surged through his mind, his thoughts reduced to nothing more than a whirlwind filled with images of his wife.
Amanda knelt in front of him, interrupting his daze, one of her trembling hands pressed down on his bullet wound. He couldn't help but note the way his blood cascaded through both of their hands. Michael was only slightly aware of her tears dripping onto him. "T-the ambulance will be here soon," she stuttered and sure enough, he could hear the deafening sounds of sirens growing louder as they neared their house.
The weight of his eyelids was starting to be too much for him to fight and he could feel them starting to drop despite the bright light searing into his retinas. The only things that stopped him from falling into unconsciousness were Amanda's hand gently stroking his cheek and her soothing voice. "Don't you dare fall asleep...fuck...j-just keep your eyes open for a couple more minutes, okay? You're gonna be fine...you're gonna be just fine…" she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself more than him. "I love you, Michael. I love you so much. Please...stay with me," her voice quavered and fresh tears ran down her face.
Determination washed over him as he stared deep into his wife's teary blue eyes. He wanted to tell her how he felt the same and how sorry he was for everything. That his biggest regret in life was cheating on her, that he should have been a better husband and father, that he felt so guilty he hadn't cared enough to repair their relationship at first, that he didn't tell her he loved her enough. It scared him so much to know he might not have another opportunity to say it, but damn it if he needed to...just one last time.
"A... Am-" a weak cough tore through him before he got a chance to finish. God damn it...
"Shh...I'm right here, Michael. Just breathe for me, darling," she murmured, holding his head up with her hand, her fingers still absentmindedly caressing his face.
The pleading and desperation in her voice only made him more intent. So he sat up a little straighter, opened his eyes a little wider and managed to find a couple deep breaths. "A…'Manda…" he finally managed to wheeze. He let out another cough before he turned his neck slightly to spit out the red, metallic tasting liquid in his mouth. "I... I love...you."
Michael smirked triumphantly but he knew he couldn't fight it anymore. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted blue and red lights and the sirens were louder than ever. "I'm sorry…" he whispered, his eyelids fluttering. Despite Amanda begging him not to leave her, he finally shut his eyes, letting the memories and darkness consume him.
My father beating me and leaving.
I can't stop my anger.
Learning to shoot my first gun.
Going to prison twice in the same year.
Robbing my first bank.
Meeting Trevor.
Drunken flirting with the hottest girl I've ever seen.
She says her name is Amanda.
We start dating.
She tells me she loves me.
I love her too.
She's pregnant.
I propose.
We have two kids.
I can't die or go to prison.
Making a deal.
Los Santos.
Happiness.
Depression.
Cheating on her.
My life is falling apart.
Returning to my old life.
She leaves me.
Exiled to the desert.
Getting tortured.
I don't want to die alone.
Convincing my family to come back.
The big one.
Finally retiring.
Getting shot, the burglar hauling ass out of there.
She tries to keep me awake.
I can't.
I know I'm dying.
It had to have been hours since she had sat in the waiting room of the hospital, even though it seemed like only moments ago when her husband was carried out of their house on a stretcher. It had been hours since he'd been taken in for emergency surgery to remove the fragments of the bullet still stuck in his chest. Every time she blinked, she heard that gunshot again, heard his labored breaths as the blood poured from him, saw him shut his eyes and never open them again.
Amanda would have started crying again if she hadn't run out of tears already. Instead, she just sat there, numbly staring at the wall like she had been doing for a couple of hours. The buzzing of her phone from in her pocket jolted her from the moment.
It was almost four in the morning, she noted, not even very shocked. She sighed as she saw more missed text messages from her kids.
"Where are you?"
"Why are there cop cars outside of the house?"
It was selfish of her when she hadn't immediately told them what had happened, she knew that, but she'd wanted them to live in blissful ignorance for just a little bit longer. She bit her lip as she lifted her phone up to type out a response before seeing the blood still stuck underneath her fingernails. Sighing in frustration, she set the phone down and put her face in her hands. Even after she had changed into clean clothes, there was still blood on her. No matter how much she had washed her hands, the blood - Michael's blood - still lingered there.
What was she even supposed to say? Your father's been shot and I don't even know if he's still alive? She shook her head, trying to get those dark thoughts out of her mind. With shaking hands, Amanda picked up her phone.
"I'm at the hospital. There was an accident and your father is in surgery. Get here as soon as you can."
She stared at the message for a long moment before pressing send. With a sad sigh, she leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and shut her eyes. This is gonna be a long night…
It had been over three days and he still hadn't woken up. The doctors told her how lucky he was after his surgery was done, how if the bullet had gone just a centimeter to the left it would have pierced his heart. They told her that it was only a matter of time before he woke up.
Her days had devolved into a routine: wake up, go see Michael, go home, try to sleep, and repeat. Amanda could only hope that it didn't last much longer.
The kids had been there almost as much as she had, Franklin had visited a few times, even Trevor had stopped by. "Eh, he's a tough old bastard, he'll be fine," Trevor had said to her the day before.
She gazed over at him, body still except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. His skin was still ashen and the stubble on his face was a bit thicker than usual but he was alive.
Her eyes tore away from him for a second only to check the time. "It's getting late," she said, causing the kids to look up from their phones. "You two should get going."
"It's not even that late! We can totally stay a while longer," Tracey pouted.
"Yeah, I can stay, too," Jimmy agreed.
Amanda smiled weakly at them. "Go. You're young, you have lives. I'll just text you if anything changes."
They left and despite their protests, she could tell that they were relieved to escape the misery of the hospital. She turned back to Michael, interlacing her fingers with his stiff ones. "They really are worried about you…" she said quietly, thumb running across his wedding ring. "They love you so much, Michael. I love you so much…" Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "God, you better wake up soon…" she murmured tiredly.
The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was the overwhelming bright light practically blinding him. He looked down at himself, expecting to see red clothes and a pool of blood underneath him, only to see the needles in his arm and the hospital gown he was in. Michael instinctively tried to sit up before feeling a searing pain in his chest.
"Oh, fuck…" he growled as he clutched at the wound, eyes widening when the memories of what had happened surged back to him. The burglar, that gunshot, Amanda…
He noticed a weight on his hand and looked to his left, smiling when he saw a familiar head of dark brown hair resting on the edge of the bed, saw her finger resting on his wedding ring.
With his shaking free hand, he reached over and gently brushed the hair away from her face, needing the reassurance that this was real. Amanda began to stir, a small sigh escaping her as her eyes fluttered open. "Hey…" he said softly, gently squeezing her hand.
She shot awake instantly, tears of joy already falling from her eyes. "Oh my God, you're awake…" she sobbed, getting up to hug him.
"Ah...easy on my chest, babe," Michael said when she held him tightly, voice strained with pain.
"Sorry," she laughed, brushing away her tears. "I'm just so glad that you're okay."
He pulled her closer, burying his head into her shoulder. "How bad was it?" he whispered.
Her face fell, eyes darkening as if recalling some horrible memory. "While you were in surgery, your...you…" she had started crying too much to finish the sentence.
"Hey, baby, it's okay, I'm okay," he said soothingly, calmly stroking her hair. "Just tell me what happened."
"Your heart stopped…" she managed to get out. He sat there, too shocked to say anything, as she cried.
"Amanda, it's fine," he gently grabbed her hand and placed it over his thumping heart. "It's working now. See?"
She nodded, wiping away the streaks of makeup on her face. "Babe, you look like shit," he said when he saw the dark circles under her eyes.
"You're not looking too good yourself," she began in a defensive tone.
"I didn't mean it like that. Have you slept at all since what happened?" he asked, concerned.
"I tried to...believe me, I tried," she muttered. "I mean, the first night was your surgery and then I had to tell the kids what happened...I just couldn't, okay?"
"Okay…how long was I out?" he asked, finally managing to pull himself up into a sitting position.
"Three days," she admitted quietly.
He nodded thoughtfully. "When I said that I wanted to get more sleep, this is not what I meant," he said with a chuckle, earning a small laugh from her.
A contemplative look crossed her face. "I did a lot of thinking while you were asleep."
"That sounds ominous…." Michael said nervously.
"No, not at all. I was thinking about us."
"And?" he prompted
"I just thought about how far we've come," she started. "I know it's only been a couple of months but when you were in that ambulance, I realized how happy we've been and how much I didn't wanna lose it."
"That's nice, sweetheart," he smiled down at her.
"And how much you've changed…" she continued.
"Ah, maybe a bit."
"Well, you're a good man."
He chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far."
"Well, you're mine. My man. Good, bad, or indifferent, you're mine," Amanda said teasingly.
His fingers moved to gently intertwine with hers. "Indifferent and all yours, baby."
"Perfect."
"Y'know, I thought about some things, too…" he said.
"Oh, really?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, I did…" a small shiver ran through him at the memory of thinking that he was as good as dead. "I just...I knew that I'd been a terrible father...and husband. I thought that I wouldn't have a chance to finish fixing that."
She leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. "You did get a chance, though. We're not perfect, Michael. But at least we're both trying. It'll take some time, but we'll be okay."
"There's something else that I need to work on…" he trailed off, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"And what's that?"
"This," he said as he pulled her in for another kiss. "I love you, Amanda."
"I could get used to more of that," she smirked at him lovingly. "I love you, too, darling."
