Back with another long update! I've had this idea for some time but never had an idea of executing it until recently. It's set in North Yankton about 10 years before the start of the game and unsurprisingly involves Michael getting into some trouble. Enjoy!

"You better come home to me, Michael Townley," she whispered as she rested her hands on his chest. The kids were asleep, giving them some rare, much needed alone time

"Relax, babe," he muttered lazily, lips trailing along her neck. "It'll be an easy job and I'll only be gone for a day or two."

"You always say that…" Amanda said under her breath.

"And I mean it every time. I wouldn't have even done this job if I didn't wanna have some extra cash," his hand gently sifted through her hair, wedding ring cool against the nape of her neck.

"I know that. I just get worried whenever you go out with them." There was an underlying bitterness to her tone that seemed to imply that she didn't mean just "them".

"You and Trevor don't get along, I get that," Michael said. "But he's my best friend, he loves the kids in some weird way, and that crazy bastard can hold it together in a score."

She sighed in defeat. "Fine, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. It doesn't mean that I like him, though."

"Oh, I don't think you ever will. It's a start, at least." he chuckled while pressing a kiss to her lips. "Baby, you know that I'd love to go for round two but I have to leave early tomorrow," he said when she moved to straddle him.

"Worth a shot," she smirked, laying back down. "Good night, darling."

He pulled her closer, "Night, sweetheart."

"Gentlemen, the plan is simple, so simple that even you brawny idiots can't screw it up," Lester said smugly, superiority dripping from his voice. "Michael here has decided that he is bored of actually going into the bank so Trevor, Brad, and the gunman will grab the money while he goes up to the roof and puts some knockout gas in the vents. I'll shut off the lights so he can make it up there without being spotted. You," he said, looking at the driver, "will be outside the bank, waiting with the car."

"Any questions? Last minute regrets?" Michael asked the crew. Silence answered the question. "No? Let's go."

"Yeah, let's go, you damn softie," Trevor walked up beside him. "With every job we do, you get even more soft. What happened to leaving that kind of work to the other guys?"

"I didn't know that being careful was a bad thing," Michael laughed under his breath. "Besides, sometimes I get tired of using my famous way with people."

"Whatever helps your fragile mind sleep at night, Mike," Trevor brushed past him, a hint of anger marking his voice.

Michael just set his jaw angrily and pulled his bandana up over his face. "Let's just get this over with."

"Storm's coming," Trevor grunted in distaste at the low rumble of thunder in the distance.

Michael stared out of the tinted windows of the van, looking at the darkening sky. "Well, that makes my job easier," he said.

Still, he couldn't shake the ominous feeling of the changing weather. He glanced down to the silenced pistol in his hand, glad that he had suggested the stealthy approach. He would never admit it to Trevor, but with the more jobs he did, the more regret he felt with the people he had to kill. He holstered the gun, sighing. Maybe one day he could quit that line of work.

At first, everything had gone according to plan. Michael had thrown the knockout gas into the vents while the others cracked the safe, no one having to fire a single bullet. That was until one of the night guards had stumbled onto the scene and hit his panic button, causing half of the North Yankton police department to come rushing to the bank.

"M!" Trevor called over the radio. "How are things on your end?"

"Oh, just fabulous!" Michael had to yell over the deafening thunderstorm. He ran across the rooftops away from the officers that had seen him up there, pausing only to fire a few bullets behind him.

"Look, just get your ass down here! As soon as we finish off these cops in the front, we're leaving."

The ground was practically an oil slick with the amount of water covering it. Freezing rain poured over his head, soaking him. "Yeah, okay-" he started, teeth chattering from the cold, before a sharp bang cut him off. He staggered, nearly falling over at the sudden pain. Fiery pain ran through his side, his hands instinctively moving there to see the damage. "Oh, shit…" he whispered to himself when he saw the shiny red liquid covering his hands.

"You okay, M?" Trevor's voice sounded almost concerned through the radio.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Just a graze…" he said, trying to convince himself more than Trevor. He tried to push aside the unbearable pain and blood gushing from his side but he started to slow down, his pace faltering every few steps.

It was too dark and too rainy to see the edge of the roof until it was too late. Just as he had moved to back away from it, he slipped on the inclined part of the roof. Michael desperately tried to slow the fall, failing to find any handhold or ledge that wasn't slippery with rain. The incline eventually gave way, causing him to fall into a three-story high drop.

It was then, with him hovering between life and death, that the universe decided to remind him of all of his mistakes. It reminded him of all the people he killed, all of the potential that he had wasted. It reminded him of his wife and kids waiting for him at home.

Stupid way to die…

It was jarring when he finally hit the ground feet first, after what had seemed like a lifetime of falling. A loud crack sounding through his body was the only thing that his ears registered above the thunder and police sirens. Water rushed into his eyes and mouth as he fell face first into the mud. Adrenaline coursed through his veins for a few more moments with the realization that he hadn't died.

The illusion that he was okay shattered when the adrenaline faded away, revealing the excruciating torture enveloping him. The hot pain ran all the way from his leg to the bullet wound in his side. He managed to peel himself away from the dirt to roll over onto his back. He barely had enough energy to raise his head and stare at his leg, bent at an unnatural angle. "Fuck…" he muttered, an involuntary whimper of pain coming from his lips.

The rumble of the thunder overhead drowned out his cry of agony and frustration when he stubbornly tried to stand up. He helplessly fell onto his back in the mud and stared up at the pouring rain. He couldn't do it, over ten years of experience robbing banks and the thing that would do him in would be a broken leg. Lightning shot through the sky above him, blinding him for a moment. The faint crackle of the radio at his belt brought him back from his tormenting world of pain.

"Mike fell!" he heard Trevor shout through it. "I'm gonna go get him!"

"Leave him! Idiot probably broke his goddamn neck!" Brad yelled.

Michael's shaky hands, slippery with his own blood, grabbed the radio. "Just my leg," he said, in too much pain to be annoyed at the other man.

"You only have a few minutes before the cops overrun you and the driver leaves without you," Lester's voice joined in on the radio.

"I-I'm in an alley next to the bank. N-no cops here…" he managed to breath out, words choked with pain.

"Alright, just stay put, Mikey," Trevor said.

"W-what else am I gonna do?" a small laugh escaped him.

It had seemed like an eternity before his friend finally found him. "Let's get you outta here," Trevor pulled him up. Michael tried to get his useless leg beneath him, nearly falling over a few times. "Oh, for fuck's sakes!" Trevor exclaimed before lifting him up and hefting him over his shoulder. Despite the added weight of the other man, he ran just as fast.

"T... if I don't…" Michael started, coughing in between words.

"Stop," Trevor cut him off angrily.

Michael ignored him, continuing to quietly babble underneath his breath, barely audible over the rain, "Tell Amanda that I-"

"Shut up!" Trevor yelled, annoyed. "You're not gonna die and if you do, I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

"T…" he said again, voice growing more urgent.

A low growl started in Trevor's throat. "Whatever you need to tell your little lady, tell her in person!"

"Behind...you," Michael finally got out, reaching into his holster and pulling out his gun, quickly shooting the cop that had almost pulled the trigger.

Trevor glanced over his shoulder at the dead cop. "Shit...thanks for the returning the favor, I guess."

Michael just nodded wearily. He pressed his hand against his side, trying to staunch the bleeding. Despite all of his efforts to stay awake, he could feel his eyes starting to shut.

His friend seemed to sense that. "Hey, keep talking, you stubborn bastard. We're almost there. Tell me about the Big One," Trevor said breathlessly.

"...'kay," Michael murmured. "Los Santos… the Union Depository…"

"And how much money does it have?"

"Four hundred million…"

"Yeah, enough to keep me on crystal and your kids in school!" Trevor exclaimed gleefully, earning a chuckle from the injured man slung over his shoulder. "And we're here! Don't worry, Lester already told your wife what happened!" he said as put him in the back of the van.

"God, she's gonna kill me…" was the last thing Michael said before he passed out. Just before he fell into unconsciousness, he wondered if he would wake up this time around.

"Where is he?" Amanda asked frantically as she burst through the door and nearly ran into Trevor.

"Nice to see you, too," Trevor grunted sarcastically, earning a glare from her. That glare quickly faded when she saw the amount of blood covering his jacket, no doubt from her husband. Trevor sighed in annoyance at her concern. "He's in here," he said, opening the door to another room.

Her jaw fell open when she saw him. "You idiot…" she muttered, rushing over to him. His clothes were wet and cold with blood and rainwater, his hand resting over the gunshot wound in his side. The upper part of his face that wasn't covered by his bandana looked pale and lifeless. His hair was slick with mud, water, and sweat. Tears filled her eyes when her gaze traveled to his leg. "Can you explain this?" she asked angrily, gesturing to his leg, which was bent at nearly a ninety-degree angle from the rest of him.

Trevor shrugged. "He took the easy job."

She stared at Michael's unconscious form in disbelief, wondering how this could have happened if it was the easy job. "What is that supposed to mean?!"

"He went up to the roof to pump some knockout gas into the vents. Cops saw him up there and shot him when everything went to shit. He fell off trying to get away from 'em," he explained.

"Oh…" she whispered, unable to form any other words.

"He, uh, lost a shit ton of blood, but we stopped it before you got here," Trevor scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Our doctor friend should be here soon to patch him up."

Amanda nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Okay…and, um, thank you, Trevor."

He smirked at her, obviously satisfied. "Been waitin' to hear that for a while."

A cold sweat covered Michael's body as he shot awake in a panic. Panting, he sat up while trying to calm himself down after another recurring nightmare, barely noticing the chafing in his leg or the burning pain in his side. He glanced down at himself, seeing the bandages around his torso and the cast wrapped around his leg for the first time.

The memories of what had happened came rushing back to him. He groaned and put his head in his hands. He swore that he could feel the icy rain pouring down on him, could feel the blood pouring through his fingers and the agony of what felt like broken glass being shoved into his leg.

Finally, he registered the muffled arguing coming from outside of the room he was in, quickly followed by Amanda storming into the room, face red with anger, Trevor close behind her.

"Welcome back to the world of the living. You sure do like them feisty, Mikey," Trevor snapped with a pointed glare at Amanda, who just glared right back.

"I always have, T," Michael chuckled. "Thanks for getting me outta there, by the way."

"I swear, you're like a damsel in distress!" Trevor said dramatically. "I'm always saving your ass!"

"I can think of a few times where I had to save yours-" Michael started in a defensive tone.

Amanda interrupted him before he went into some long story about all of their misadventures. "Trevor, him and I need to talk. Can you give us a minute?"

Trevor looked them up and down in disgust. "Oh, God, already? Try to keep it down, will you?" he asked as he slowly walked out of the room.

Michael rolled his eyes before he looked back at his wife. "Hey…" he said nervously. To his surprise, she didn't start yelling at him and instead immediately hugged him.

"You're so stupid…" she whispered, tears running down her face. Her shaky hand reached over to smooth the damp hair away from his forehead. "The doctor told me you could have broken your neck!"

"Sorry…" he muttered regretfully.

She blinked back her tears. "Don't be. I've just been worried."

"How long was I out…?"

"Just overnight. The kids are with my mother," she said when she noticed him start to look around. "I didn't want them to see you like this…"

"Neither do I…" he nodded. "What were you and Trevor arguing about?"

"I told him that you can't be doing this forever. Then he went on about how I'm giving you 'an illusion of a picket fence life' and how you're going soft and all of that shit."

Michael sighed sadly. "He doesn't get it, Amanda. He doesn't have ties of his own."

"I know...but please don't tell me that you agree with him." Desperation creeped into her voice. "Yeah, you've had some close calls and gotten into a few fights, but this was different, Michael! Even if you hadn't fallen, you could have bled out!"

"Believe me, I wanna get out of this shit just as much as you want me to. I just...I don't know how." He ran his hands down his face, trying to think of any way to get himself out of this mess. "I mean, it's not like I can get a real job and we can't just pack up and move."

Her blue eyes, shiny with tears, stared up into his pleadingly. "We can't do this much longer, Michael…"

He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I know, baby…"

Michael shifted uncomfortably on the couch. It had been two weeks but the cast still chafed against his leg. He was vaguely aware of his kids drawing on the cast. A small smile crossed his face at the moment that he knew wouldn't last.

"Daddy?" Tracey asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, sweetie?" he asked.

She looked down, a frown on her face. "What happened?"

The smile faded from his face. "I fell down some stairs," the lie came effortlessly out of his mouth.

"You're clumsy…" she muttered unsurely, earning a laugh from Amanda.

"Yeah, your mother likes to remind me about that," he said with a smirk. He could tell that his daughter didn't completely believe him, though. She was almost a teenager and was starting to grasp of what he did for a living. "Anyway, I need to go out and do some things. I'll be back soon," he said, getting his crutches beneath him and standing up.

"Where are you going?" Amanda asked softly, pulling him aside.

"I'm going nuts being cooped in here, babe. It's already been a couple of weeks, I should be fine," he whispered. "I'm just gonna go and grab a couple of drinks, it'll be only a few hours."

"Fine…" she sighed and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek. "Just be careful, okay?"

He grinned at her. "Relax, I always am. I'll see you later."

Michael sat at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey. It felt nice to have something to take the edge off, he had to admit. He glanced over at the man next to him, who seemed to be well on his way to getting drunk.

"God, I hate my job…" the man said with a sigh.

"Me too…that's how I got this," Michael said with a chuckle, gesturing to his leg. "What do you do?"

"Government work."

"So, paperwork and shit?" Michael asked.

"I wish," the other man replied bitterly. "FIB. I shouldn't be telling you that but I'm probably gonna get fired anyways."

Michael immediately became alert. "What are the FIB doing in this shit hole of a town?"

"I'm looking for the robbers who got that bank two weeks ago. Haven't found a thing yet. Name's Dave, by the way."

"Michael. I heard about that bank," the thief said casually. "So, why are you gonna get fired?"

"My boss thinks that I'm not worth the effort if I can't find some 'small town, low-life thieves'," he said, putting air quotes around the last part.

"FIB, huh?" Michael said thoughtfully. A smirk crossed his face as an idea formed in his mind. "I think I've got a deal for you, Dave…"