I think the story will be reaching it's close soon. few more chapters so go. I kind of wish someone would adopt it when it's done and help rewrite it.

HINT HINT

It wasn't done.

Trevor could go days and seem to be fine, but then he'd wake up and be angry or shaking. The shaking was the worst. Michael would hold him, either in comfort or restraint, often in complete silence. He had no idea what to say. It had been so long since his words comforted anyone. His kids always told him he was making things worse. Amanda had been bitter for years.

He kept his arms clasped around Trevor until he was still. Sometimes he cried and Michael hated it. Sometimes Michael cried. He would hold Trevor still through a rant about "that child raping piece of shit, how dare he use me, how dare he-"

Trevor turned pale.

"I… I killed a man… protecting his kid from him."

That night was the worst by far. Lester, caught up with the situation one night, would figure out a way to anonymously send the mother a large sum of money. He actually took it out of his own savings.

"Just take care of T." He made Michael promise.

Every so often, he'd get out some drugs Franklin got for them. Michael was at wits end, or he wouldn't have asked. They stopped though, deciding he didn't need to be hooked again and withdrawl would make everything worse. They found out the hard way that Trevor can't feel valium. It was usually easier to have him take benadryl and sleep through the night. Ron was handling what was left of their meth business, but Michael stopped responding to him. He couldn't give less of a shit. Sometimes Franklin would take the dogs he was supposed to train or watch that day and bring them to the house instead. If Trevor was doing well that day, it was fun, and he fed them whatever he could. On bad days, they could sometimes lift his spirits, if only for a while. The gloves really helped.

Goodman would come to talk when Trevor couldn't be taken out. He wasn't told everything. Trevor's dad had been found, he was aware of the pedophilia. However strange his methods and his fanatic interest in Trevor, Michael decided Goodman was a good therapist. Maybe not a real one, but good enough for Trevor.

Trevor revealed that his dad left him sooner than Michael had thought. He says his teeth were more crooked and his nose hadn't been broken. He was clean shaven usually and it had been so long that Trevor simply couldn't remember he had red hair if he tried. He wasn't ever so thin.

Trevor would sometimes mutter "I'm sorry" in passing, or when they sat together to act like they were watching tv. Michael, his eyes giving away how tired he was, reached out and touched gloved fingers.

"There's nothing to apologize for."

It was hard seeing Trevor fight so hard against himself. It wasn't a case of an unstoppable force clashing with an immovable object. Michael was immovable, he swore to be. Trevor was an unstoppable force fighting an unstoppable force. Michael remembered Trevor as a child.

Then things seemed to improve again. Trevor was worn out. Michael worried that the instability would take a worse hold now but it didn't. Trevor, one morning, sat at the table across from him, and his head hung. He blinked slowly.

"You look like absolute shit, sugar tits."

Michael threw his head back, and close his eyes. Relief seemed to rise up like water around his body, and he breathed it in.

"Go shave your caveman beard, asshole."

Trevor called Franklin. It was too early for him to be awake, and his girlfriend for that week must've not appreciated the noise, but he spoke all the same.

"Man, never thought it could be so good to hear you on the phone." Franklin stretched out. "So what happened, T-pain? You sound way better. I mean, like shit still, but you're talking."

"Well, that, I don't know." Trevor said, inspecting his face for and cuts from shaving. "I'm dying for speed and I'm probably going to hump the next living thing I see-"

"Don't."

"Relax, no more of that dads and son crap for a while, ok? But, we're still family right?"

Franklin remembered when he said that. "Yeah T, to the grave. Or asylum."

"Good, good! Fucking Christ… I don't know. I woke up and I just… I ran out of juice. I know what happened and I'm not proud of it but… Right now I don't feel it. Nothing. Can that happen without drugs?"

"Yeah." Franklin remembered his friends from years ago. "It comes. and it goes. But it always comes back. And if it's happening now, shit, you can last till it comes back. If the drugs didn't kill you yet, I don't think this will either."

"They did, once. Heroin. But I came right back."

"O-oh. Wait, What? You died and you still peddling that shit?"

"No! Not heroin-"

"Anyway, I'm sure it won't happen again. Don't let me find out you do anything stupid like that while Michael's busting his ass for you."

"I'll behave, I'm behaving, I'm fucking bored! You just keep worrying about your dogs and your girlfriends. Tell Lamar I said hi- and remember!- You wrap it up. No pregnant strippers."

"Believe me, I don't want that. You be cool, man, I'll holla at you two when I can."

"Ten four, Frankie. Later."

Trevor looked in the mirror and gave a small sigh. It was weird not feeling anything. He didn't think he could get it up now if he tried. He didn't need to shoot up, or snort anything. He didn't feel like shaving, but it was something to do. Maybe he'd finally broken something and years of meth and explosive anger finally fried the part of him that kept him so actively boisterous. He wished he cared. His body felt heavy and numb all at once and he just felt like…. like some normal asshole off the street.

His face almost gave a small disgusted look. This isn't better after all. He'd rather feel like shit than feel nothing.

Or at least his mind told him that. The thought was rendered useless by a thick shield of apathy.

Michael felt like an idiot. On the way over to a diner for breakfast, he kept looking over at Trevor. He'd turn, wait, look away. Drive. Glance. Red light. Look again, open mouth, close it. Shift in his seat. Drive.

He felt like Trevor was just eating for show, but he did have most of his food. He even got a second coffee.

Ok. He's hungry. Sad people don't eat much. This is… a step.

No. No it's not.

Trevor didn't say anything about the group of goth girl teens and one guy making noise 3 tables down. A hipster in ridiculous clothes carrying a typewriter barely was worth a glance. He didn't care that the server was popping his gum.

He'd damaged Trevor, he was sure of it. Maybe it was all the benadryl or maybe restraining him had fucked something up in his brain or- Well he didn't know, he's not the therapist. Trevor never gave half a shit about killing people, why'd this have to happen now? Trevor was far too intimidating to be this… whatever this is. Trevor… He was just unnerving in his silence.

"Michael?"

They looked up. Amanda was here. Amanda and some guy. Normal guy.

"Michael, Trevor… you two look like hell." She looked genuinely concerned, if not a little disgusted. She sent her date to find a table, she'd be with him soon.

"Hey, Amanda." Michael tried to smile. "Popular as ever."

She blushed but was surprised by the way he said it. It worried her more.

"What… whats… wrong with you two? Trevor…" She bit her lip and whispered. "Please don't tell me you two tried to pull something off that backfired. Shouldn't you be… I don't know, kidnapping the mayor's daughter, stealing the hope diamond or-"

"We're o-kie dokie." Trevor said slowly. Michael looked numbly up at him.

"We've been sorting a few things out. Actually, I'd like you to settle something for us."

Amanda did not want to. "… I don't… Can't you two… F-F-fine, okay, if it will alleviate this gray cloud over you two, sure, whatever."

"My buddy here has been overworking himself. What with that new job and all…" He sipped his coffee. "I think he needs to relax on the overtime. He should be dating again, don't you think?"

She turned a little more red. "You're not?"

"Uh…" Michael blinked stupidly.

"No, no, he's just swamped himself in his new little venture. He should get himself out there, right? Look at him."

Michael hated the look Amanda gave him. Worry and discomfort when he knew they'd rather not be near each other right now.

"Yes. Yes, Michael. You always bury yourself in whatever new thing you have going on." She looked at her waiting table and then back at the men in front of her. "Go. Go out and talk- go have a good time. Christ, you're 'retired' now, right? For good?… One date. With anybody. Just… just don't let the kids see you looking like that."

She looked over at Trevor. "And you. Maybe… I don't know. Maybe you should think about it too."

They waited for a shot at Trevor's lifestyle or how he shouldn't expect to get much of a woman, but it didn't come. Amanda stood there for a while, then just walked off to her table.

Michael put the tip money down the table and they went to the car. He didn't turn it on for a while. Trevor finally looked over.

"T…what?"

"What 'what'?"

"What did you say that for? You just trying to get her to leave?"

"Did you want her to stay?"

"No, god no."

"Well, its true. You're a rich, pompous ass with dark hair and light eyes and thats going to go away some day. Well, no, but you'll get old. You'll be a rich, pompous, dark hair and light eyed old guy."

"What's your point?"

"Don't you want to have someone to fuck? Isn't a house built for a family supposed to have more people in it than just you? Maybe a cat or something? You haven't had any contact with anyone but me and Franklin since we pulled that heist-"

"Are you trying to kick yourself out? Are you booting me out of your life?"

"No, I-"

Michael shook his head. The laughter than came from him was very loud in their car and he slumped over the steering wheel, gasping for breath and turning red. A familiar ghost of something close to annoyance came over Trevor.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" He landed a punch on Michael but he just kept laughing. When he surfaced again, he wiped his eyes a lot and still couldn't speak for a while.

"I dont- ha ha - I don't *snort* I don't want to go out on fucking dates, Trevor!" He wiped his eyes and folding his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing. "Man, oh my god. Her face was terrific. Trevor," He tried to talk but laughter took over again, quite this time. "Man… I can't, I can't even speak, let's go…" He laughed quietly again. "I don't know. Lets go get some groceries or something."

"Why is this funny to you?" Trevor sounded more like himself. "What kind of asshole are you?"

"I'm your favorite asshole and I really can't talk about this right now, please, my ribs are killing me-"

"What the hell is so funny?" He practically yelled.

"Oh God, Oh God," Michael laughed out, trying desperately to watch the road. "I missed you, you fucking idiot. Welcome back."

"I hate you, Michael."

They put away the new food. Trevor found the staple gun and stapled a sheet over the busted door without permission. He breathed in deep. There was still an absence in him, but Michael was an annoying fuck, and he was looking for any reason to be bothered. Kept things interesting. He missed himself too.

He glanced at his belongings for what to wear around the the house, put on his gloves, and made his way downstairs.

"You still have the dresses." Michael stated, still in a polo and shorts.

"Yes," Trevor said. "Not your business."

"Not at all."

Trevor found the garbage bags, and started getting rid of the accumulated junk that was cluttering the house. Michael fumbled with his phone, and more old music filled the house. Michael took care of the kitchen.

The call from Goodman was ignored. Michael had his first cigarette in weeks. Trevor pretended his pumps didn't hurt his feet. An oven-mitt caught on fire.

"I think I can stay in my room for now." Trevor said during some commercial.

"Why?"

Trevor turned to him, but Michael didn't look.

"Just stay in my room."

Trevor looked back at the TV.

"I really, really, don't want to date." Michael said quietly.

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't want some girl Tracey's age trying to seduce her inheritance away from me." He smiled. "I'll meet some sweet old prune someday, and we'll get matching colostomy bags, and we'll die together when our nurse screws up our medicines." He was laughing again. "If I make it that far. I always figured we'd kill each other first."

"We almost did." Trevor opened a can of beer.

All Michael could remember was himself yelling.

Take the fucking shot!

Trevor didn't. He threw his gun and ran.

Michael shot.

He shook when Trevor then asked him why. He couldn't speak for a moment. Trevor didn't look at him.

"You want the truth?"

"I wouldn't get it. Maybe you thought I was too much trouble. Maybe you chose your family again. Forget I asked-"

"You were trying to escape. I couldn't watch you go with you still hating me again."

"...What the fuck?"

Michael reached over and took Trevor's beer. "I was going to take you home with me full of holes if I had to. And I wasn't going to let you go until I knew your forgave me. If you couldn't walk again, I'd carry you with me my whole life, but I wasn't going to allow you to hate me again."

Michael took a drink. He was staring Trevor down. "Is that selfish enough for you?"

Trevor should be terrified, he knew that, but he wasn't. He was impressed. Michael finally looked away and as Trevor stared he suddenly remembered that, yes, Michael Townley - De Santa was a killer of men. He was a snake and a bastard and a mastermind who was forgiven by everyone but Trevor because of his classic style charm.

Trevor was fucking honored.

As an unfamiliar heat rose into his face and ears he looked away, and for the first time became very uncomfortable in his dress.

"You're telling me I should let you get away with that because you would have crippled me out of love?" He tried to sound gruff and intimidating.

"Love huh?" Michael said with a smile, still slipping channels. "Yeah, something like that."