A/n: No copyright infringement intended.

A common question that came up during conversation was 'Where's Trevor?' A common answer was 'I don't know.' A more frequent answer than that was 'I don't want to know' which ten out of ten times came from Michael. More recently the answer was 'with his plaything'. Yes. Everyone, even Lamar, knew Trevor had a woman. They didn't know her name, or anything about her, but they knew she existed. How did they know? Well, they didn't. They just said they believed him when he mentioned it because Trevor tended to be sensitive about certain things.

He was commonly found at the executive rental suites that were near LSU. Who found him there? Michael. By mistake. One time. Then Michael could never hear the end of how 'sugar tits' stalked him all the way to his lady friend's apartment.

Oh well.

She stood in the kitchen flipping pancakes wearing nothing but his green 'Zancudo' t-shirt. He would lay in her bed and sleep until ten, sometimes eleven am. That was early for him. He usually sprawled out. A foot poked out from under the comforter. His clothes would be a trail to her bed. In the morning after serving the pancakes she'd pick up his things and smack him with a pillow to wake him up. One would think he'd respond in rage and kill her on the spot, but for reasons unexplained he found her smile attractive when he opened his heavy eye lids.

They'd sit across from each other and eat pancakes in silence. She'd be reading the paper. He'd text Ron or someone else. Occasionally Franklin for a good laugh. Conversations would appear as such from Trevor's phone:

'Me: wat up mah homie'

Franklin: Bro, it's Saturday and I'm sleep. Don't text me again.

Me: Y u so mad?

Franklin: DON'T TEXT ME AGAIN. Thanks.

Me: Is Lamar at ur hous? If he is, let him kno I said wat up.

Franklin: Jimmy taught me a word. It's called troll. STOP TROLLIN' ME, DAWG.

Me: DON'T CALL ME A TROLL. MICHAEL IS THE ONE YOU SHOULD BE CALLING A TROLL'

The conversation normally stopped for by this time Franklin would turn off his phone, or just not respond to anymore messages. By this time his pancakes would be lukewarm while he scrolled through seeking someone else to message.

Sometimes he text Patricia, hoping she'd answer him back.

"So what is this?" She asked that particular morning.

"What's what?" He responded.

"This." She pointed to herself and then to him with the fork she was eating her pancakes with.

"I don't know. If you're looking for a boyfriend –"

"Did I say I wanted one? You come here every other night. We have sex and I still don't know your name. Do I sound like I want a boyfriend?"

Hmm. Saucy. He wanted to flip the table over and rip her thighs a part forcing his way into her womanhood. Wait. Isn't that rape?

"Well you wouldn't get one even if you asked. I'm not looking for a relationship."

"I just want to know what this is. For my own…for lack of a better word, understanding." She told him. She moved her pancakes out the way and folded her hands, resting them on the table. He stared at her. Where was she going with this?

"I'm your nameless muse, and in return for getting your inspiration from me, we fuck." He said. "Simple as that." He proceeded to eat his pancakes and she nodded.

"You're right." She cleared her plate from the table and disposed of the remnants of her food. While washing her dish she kept silent, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Then she didn't care. Her female genital was payment enough for what she was going to ask him next. "Have you ever been in love?"

Trevor dropped his fork. His eyes widened and he looked at her. She slowly turned around, leaning against the counter.

"What the fuck did you just ask me?"

"Love? Have you ever been in love? Well – you're older than most guys I've been with…so it's most likely." The young woman walked over and returned to her seat across from Trevor, crossing her legs. "What was her name? Or his name? Their names?"

Trevor didn't want to respond. How dare she? He was her nameless muse and she, his no strings attached sexual release. She made him feel like a man in the bedroom, but that didn't give her the right to ask about his personal life. Or did it?

He did tell her about his 'entrepreneurship'.

"Four times." He answered flatly.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He had lost his appetite and moved the remainders of his pancakes away. He leaned back in the chair, rocking it. She leaned in across the table. Her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Well then? Their names?"

"Slow down. The first was a he. It wasn't a romantic love – pfft. Not even if I was desperate. He was my best friend. I loved him like a brother. More than any of my own flesh and blood. He's sort of the reason I am who I am today."

The young woman could see in his eyes the wondrous look he got when talking about Michael. She'd never meet Michael. She'd never know him, but she'd write about who he had been from what Trevor described. Maybe he'd be a character worth a screenplay. But she wasn't sure if she was to wait to hear more. Hear his other loves.

"The second?"

"His daughter."

"…" she knew Trevor was crazy, that she didn't mind. He had killed people, thrown away bodies, had his friend lick blood off his shirt and various other things, but that was okay. Those things would make for a screenplay. However, details she was aware of and Pedophile…? She wasn't sure how to feel about that. Well she was. She disgusted.

"I loved that little girl, like she was my own." The young woman sighed. He wasn't a pedophile, just extremely sentimental. She sighed. Thank God.

"Third." She said.

"Crystal."

"A stripper?"

"The drug."

"Right." Okay – she did know he was an addict. However, he was a well performing addict. So well performing she wondered if he'd ever been sober anytime in his late adult life. If so…good for him? "The last one. Tell me about the last one."

"Patricia Madrazo."

When hearing himself say her name a sad expression painted his face. The young woman could tell she hit a nerve. "Hey, you okay?" She asked.

"Yeah." He answered and sniffled. Was he crying?

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She told him. The young woman got up from her seat and approached Trevor, hugging him. She felt guilt. A strange sort of guilt, but guilt none the less.

"No I'll tell you." Trevor said. "I'll tell you. She's a beautiful woman."

It was a dreamy day in Sandy Shores. Dreamy because the woman of his dreams had asked to go for a walk and wanted him to join her. They left early, tiptoeing out as not to wake Michael. The man had come back the previous evening with a temper so they figured avoiding him was best.

Patricia squeezed Trevor's hand tightly as they walked the dusty road of Zancudo Avenue. Trevor could not remember the last time he blushed. His face, to his ears, red with bashfulness.

"This is nice." She said. Her strawberry blonde hair showed a healthy gloss while under the early rays of the sun. He found himself in awe of her beauty. She was older than him, certainly, but she had a celestial sort of air about her. She always looked so amazing. Her stunning image was immortal.

"Yeah. Nice. Nice." He said and immediately looked away. He hoped she didn't notice his gaze. She smiled. She had noticed. Now he was embarrassed. He wanted to change the subject but they had not start a particular conversation as of yet. "Do you like it out here?" He asked.

"Oh yes. It's different. Los Santos is a busy place. Very busy. Too much goes on there."

"Yeah."

"Out here it is peaceful. Quiet."

"I'm glad you like it."

"I don't like it. I don't dislike it. It doesn't really matter honestly."

"Oh…" He looked at his feet. For some reason he could not explain why that saddened him. Maybe he hoped she would have enjoyed it way out there because…it was where he was from. It was his home. His home that he brought her into. Sure it was by force, but she was welcomed there.

"But I do like the time I'm spending with you."

"You do?"

"Yes. You're very gentle. Sweet."

"No one has ever called me that before." He admitted. He rubbed the back of his neck feeling self-conscious. Patricia touched his cheek and could only smile.

"You are wonderful. You don't need anyone to tell you that."

He could feel his heart swelling with a joy he did not know he could feel. A joy murder, meth, nor money could give him. Was this love? Was this true love? Only something like love could make one blind to the flaws of others. Something like love could make her believe he was something he wasn't. Wonderful.

Or, maybe give him the confidence to believe.

He grabbed her by the arms and stared into her eyes. His lips quivered as he leaned in, fighting the urge to kiss her.

"I'm married." She said sadly.

"...I…I know." He whispered. He released his hold on her and sighed deeply. "I know."

Patricia hugged him tightly to his surprise. He was shocked and slowly circled her with his own arms. The two held each other. He sniffled. He found himself fighting tears. Was this sadness? Was this joy? The feelings that went through him, he could not identify.

"Patricia – I. I lo –"

"Shh. Don't talk. Let us just stay here. Let us just hold one another."

"Okay." Their walk had not carried them further than Algonquin. However, it was early enough and there was no one around to see Trevor Phillips shed tears as he held the only woman to ever truly care about him. Though their time together was short, the moment would last them for a lifetime.

"He's not good enough for you." He muttered.

"Shh." She patted him on the back. She hummed an unfamiliar tune.

"You don't have to go back there. I'll never give you back."

"Shhh my sweet. It's okay."

They separated and Trevor turned away to hide his reddened face and the tear stains that painted his cheeks. Patricia rubbed his shoulder. She took his hand and motioned that they walk some more. She asked him about his childhood. His parents. Where he grew up. He told her without fear and without shame. She wasn't judgmental. She did not misunderstand him. When he choked up she rubbed his back. When he was speechless she told him it was okay not to have anything to say. This woman was all he needed. Could he ever be without her?

"I loved her more than I've ever loved anyone." Trevor found himself laying in the lap of bronze Broker babe. She fought her own tears when hearing his story. He arose and looked at the girl. "The fuck are you crying for?" He asked.

"You are beautiful. So tormented. So magnificent."

"These are things I already knew." He stated matter of factly.

"Please. Tell me your name."

"Why?" He asked. He was alarmed by her sudden desperation.

"Because I think I love you." She told him.

"…yeah. Don't say that again."

"I can't help it. You're everything I've wanted. You're the perfect muse."

"Yeah?" He asked. He leant back in his chair and unzipped his jeans. "Show me how much you love me." The girl stood before Trevor, pulling the t-shirt over her head. Her curvaceous chocolate skin revealed. She kissed him gently on the side of his mouth and got on her knees.

As Trevor threw his head back in utmost pleasure he thought of Patricia once more. Her image slowly faded in his mind as his lids fell heavy and he enjoyed how his lady friend showed him her love. Even if he didn't love her back –he loved what her mouth could do.