Chapter XX

Tommy felt himself adrift in Sasha's bed that Franklin provided back in his mansion. Taking her back to his own safehouse wasn't exactly secure. Arrangements still had to be made. Complicated as it was on the surface, Sasha would be safe for the time being. It wasn't a great option. Just something Michael also insisted while keeping the family close.

With Sasha in his arms, it had been a lifetime since Tommy spared himself. She had worn herself out being ruled by her emotions. He had been slightly awoken by distant memories. Unpleasant as those memories were, there was Sasha curled upon the bed next to her dad. Sound asleep. He carefully tucked Sasha under the blankets, kissing her forehead.

"Good Night, Baby Girl." Tommy whispered in Sasha's right ear. Departing the bedroom and closing the door behind him. He rubbed his eyes, yawning before fully waking himself. An hour or two must have passed.

Climbing the stairs, Tommy was invited into Franklin's Living Room where the party gathered. They exchanged lingering looks, anticipating an update. Tensions had been high. Franklin sat furthermost from the group having only heard about the aftermath. Tommy permitted himself to settle at the edge of the couch before answering his companions.

Reaching inside the lunch jacket he was wearing, Tommy pulled out his cigarettes and trusted zippo lighter. "Will you guys relax? Sasha's fine. She resting." He answered them, lighting his cigarette.

"Fuck, man." Michael remarked, breaking the ice. "How are we supposed to know that with the flood gate earlier? The girl was fine just a day or two ago-"

"Was she acting out of character that you noticed? That's usually a sign she isn't well. Sarcasm. It's how she adapts." Tommy had been quick to comment. Making Michael think. "Sasha might give a small attitude, but that's what can indicate when she's being overwhelmed. You have to get tactical. If you're not prepared it can be a handful. I know."

"Oh. I see. Like every other human being on the god damn planet? Maybe if you showed more respect towards your daughter there wouldn't be so many human errors. Sasha may be responsible for her own actions, but did you ever think what drives her to accomplish missions if she doesn't have the proper support?"

"No, Michael. That's not on my mind at all. I'm actually somewhat impressed that Sasha didn't have a breakdown after months of experiencing traumatic experiences. I should have taken the hint when she disappeared off the grid after Lance's death. You helped us out with that one."

"If you knew she was to end up this way. Why did you wait until now to address her mental health? Because it was convenient?"

"You have a daughter. Don't you, Michael?"

"Yeah. Trace. I haven't seen her or my family in months thanks to all that's taken place."

"What if I could give you time to see your family before our mission with Aldrick? Would that help ease your thoughts? I can't have another breakdown on my hands."

"I... honestly don't know how to answer that, Tommy. What if I become a target? Which I believe I am. What about my wife? My kids? They could be in danger because of me. The less I involve them-"

"We're getting off point, Tommy." Marcello motioned to keep on track. "You may want to relate, but this is about Sasha. Putting an end to Aldrick. We need to take care of him before all of our loved ones are placed into direct danger."

"Maybe after all of this, you can spend time with your daughter. Alone. Medications can only do so much. Are you aware she's become an alcoholic?" Michael knew that Marcello had a few points that needed to be address. There was a time and place to discuss things. "Meds can only do so much if you don't have a pillar. That way if an episode like this happens again. You'll know how to control the situation. Not the emotions. Emotions are often temporary."

"I suppose you're right. I know Sasha is medicated. Nothing about the changed after Katherine passed away in her late teens. Not all of us took that death well."

Michael, though acknowledging he was an outsider looking in from his perspective had been thrown in the middle. From what he gathered. He was doing an okay job, but not the greatest seeing that he worked from his own experience. His abilities part well with the circumstance. "From my understanding maybe it would help if Sasha didn't isolate herself frequently. Good intentions or otherwise. It could cause more harm than good."

"That's just her personality, Michael. She likes to be alone because it's quiet for her. She can be overwhelmed a little easier than others, but she finds peace and solace in isolation." Marcello spoke up, giving his two cents. "I see your point, your valid. Too much of anything can rot another given the will."

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette before disagreeing with both their statements. "Sending Sasha here to Los Santos was a mistake all those years prior. I bet my left hand that Lance would still be kicking the son of a bitch." This certainly caught the attention of everyone in the room.

Marcello canceled out Tommy's statement. Defending what reputation Lance had left among the family. "Don't say shit like that, Tom. Without him you wouldn't be here. Sasha knew the risks. Maybe not losing Lance or the Penthouse, but she personally asked for this assignment. Staying in Vice City was making her anxious."

That was a redundant statement to Tommy. "All of this could have been avoided if she just stayed home in Vice City."

Franklin certainly wasn't having any of that mindset. "Hey, dog. Now that ain't right. You can't go making decisions for people. I'm sure your daughter had a reason why not to stick around Vice City. It could a change in scenery."

"-Or a death of a loved one." Marcello connected the irony of a few points. "How does one run away from pain only to be in this position?"

Tommy had observed the company he kept around him. Memories of his younger days echoed in the back of his head. The parties of misfits. If there was a way to adapt and survive. There was evidence to prove that. "Strange bedfellows of the weak. For it's the strong that instinctively protect those in need."

Nightfall had arrived, appointing Marcello to return to the Vercetti Safehouse while Tommy made the decision to take the last spare bedroom in Franklin's Mansion which landed Michael on the Living Room couch. This must have been the first time Tommy listened to Michael's advice. While Michael bunked himself, his eyes scanning the bare ceiling. The place was nice and quiet in return. Too quiet as a matter of fact.

Michael could feel his breathing make his chest rise and fall, rise- then his eyes started playing strange tricks on him. He couldn't help, but to feel as if though heart strings were being pulled. Thoughts of Tracey, then Jimmy and Amanda. It had been months and the best they probably presumed was that he was dead.

Trace was still Michael's daughter. His thoughts stalled on her because there was too much of an echo through Sasha and Tommy. Later years may have tore Tracey and him apart. Just as parents with their children, but it didn't change the fact he loved his children. "You're telling me that you practically paid some random to fuck your wife? And you're telling me you're still with the bimbo?"

Michael shook his head of Sasha's lingering voice in the back of his mind. Amanda was... "Ah. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing here? What the absolute fuck is wrong with me? I should be the one going back home, forgetting about all of this and moving on with my life." He caught himself talking to himself. "What am I going to do about you, Sasha?"

The hours passed until Michael could find a comfortable spot where he was capable of resting. It was shortly after being snapped out of his meditative state that he noticed it was Tommy waking him up. Tommy had towered over Michael. Motioning him to stay quiet while asking him to follow onto the outside porch.

Michael sat up, collecting his thoughts and stretching a bit before joining Tommy outside, overlooking Los Santos. Tommy leaned against the closed porch railing, showing signs of anxiety. How would he have guessed Michael wasn't getting rest either? Tommy offered a cigarette to Michael knowing automatically he would take one. Lighting it with his zippo before focusing on his own.

There was a slight nip in the air as they both enjoyed their cigarettes before speaking. Tommy already had a thought to process. His eyes scoping the skyline of Los Santos before turning to half face Michael. "I need to know something."

Michael gave a look. Knowing well it was late. "I can already see where this is going. You're overthinking things. We're all anxious about taking down a powerful man like Crawford."

"You're hitting that ball as a foul, Michael. Do you love her?"

Michael felt himself choke on his cigarette, he knew who Tommy's thoughts were set and the where the conversation would migrate. "Excuse the fuck out of me?"

"Don't play coy with me, Michael. That won't get you anywhere with me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Tommy." He waved his hands to try and signal he needed to catch his breath.

"Don't lie to me, Mikey. This is about Sasha. About her future. Because she isn't one to be mental capable of taking care of herself alone after all this has passed." Tommy gave a heavy sigh, redressing the question. "Now. Do you love her or not?"

"There's a fine line between love and care, Tommy. Do I care for Sasha? Then the answer your looking for is yes. I work as her bodyguard. Feelings are going to be involved one way or-"

Tommy gave a bone chilling, sharp laugh. This wasn't the answer he sought. Michael's eyes widened as Tommy was now face to face with him. "Then tell me, Mr. DeSanta. If it's your job to be a bodyguard. What the hell were you thinking fucking my daughter?"

"Shit happens, Tom. You of all people should know that." Michael showed fear. Something he wasn't proud of expressing, but with someone like Tommy Vercetti in his face...

"It wasn't just drunk sex you imbecile. You and her had more than one occasion. I know you have. You can't go around lying to me like that, Michael. It could strain out partnership."

"W-When... how did you find this information out?"

Tommy seemed more satisfied with that question, going back to observing the skyline over Los Santos. "It was awhile back when I first me you. When Sasha were discussing details then. Before the dinner party I mean." His arms leaned into the railing. "Fuck, Michael. There's no doubt in my head that the both of you continued to have unprotected sex. That's what concerns me the most."

"You're acting like none of us have been effected!" Michael tried his best to defend his reasoning. "When you get close to people. When they're knocking on death's door? I don't know what to say, man. You develop a bond to those who experienced the same events. It was a way to cope. Sasha also agreed! You can't go pointing fingers."

"Jesus fucking CHRIST, Michael!" Tommy was gradually getting upset. "Are you not hearing yourself?! Sure. I'll permit the both of you having sex no matter how many times. My concern is I know it's been unprotected. If Sasha ends up pregnant because of your stupid ass you better be prepared for the consequences because there is no way in hell I'm having Sasha become a single mother because responsible adults were irresponsible bastards!"

"What the hell do you want out of me then, Tommy? What do you want me to say? That you're right? That there's a part of me that fell in love with your daughter? That I'm being unreasonably scolded because it takes two to tango? You're a Vercetti, aren't you? Maybe you should speak for yourself!"

Tommy finished off his cigarette, tossing his bud off the porch and into the darkness surrounding. "You're the one who had sex with her Michael. Sasha has been vulnerable. That's another matter entirely. My concern is if you got her pregnant. If you bail and she becomes a single mother. There's going to be hell to pay. This includes all parties involved."

Tommy permitted Michael to be alone with his thoughts as he too finished his cigarette, tossing it into the void. Michael knew well that he had himself to blame. "Fuck." Michael sore to himself bracing for responsibility knowing that the situation was about to become evermore complicating.