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Gordon checked his watch, 2:58 AM. The job had gone clean, just like he'd planned. No alarms, no complications, no one hurt. That's how he ran things.
John was already backing the getaway car into the loading dock. Gordon watched him through the windshield—focused, calm, hands steady on the wheel despite the adrenaline that should be coursing through his system. Three years they'd been working together, and John never lost his cool.
"Nice work tonight," Gordon said as John climbed out of the driver's seat. "That turn on Fifth Street was incredible."
John shrugged, running a hand through his hair. For just a moment, his eyes met Gordon's before looking away quickly. "I did my part, the rest of you made it easy." He always deflected praise like that, never took credit even when he deserved it.
A.J. was practically bouncing on his feet, still high from the rush. "Did you see the look on that security guard's face when—"
"Keep it down," Jake muttered, though there was no one around for miles.
Jesse grinned, slapping his older brother on the back. "Come on, Jake. We pulled it off again. The plans never fail."
"Don't get too confident," Gordon said, but there was warmth in his voice. Jesse was young, barely twenty-four, but he had good instincts. Better than most guys Gordon had worked with over the years. "We celebrate when we're home safe."
They loaded the bags into the back of John's truck—a plain car that wouldn't draw attention.
"Tomorrow night we celebrate?" A.J. asked.
"Tomorrow night," Gordon confirmed.
They usually robbed banks in plain daylight, so the celebration could be done the same evening, but tonight had been special. And as thrilling as it had been, with the adrenaline coming down, 3:00 AM was feeling too late to celebrate anything.
The crew started to scatter. Jake and Jesse headed for Jesse's motorcycle—Jake would drive, because Jesse was still too wired to be safe on the road. A.J. disappeared into the shadows toward his car, whistling softly under his breath.
John climbed into the truck. "Let's go."
They drove through the empty streets of Los Angeles. Gordon had learned that John wasn't much for small talk, especially after a job. Some guys needed to talk through every detail, replay every moment until they'd processed it all. John kept it inside, worked through it in his own way.
The radio played softly—some late-night jazz station. There was something soothing about the saxophone. Gordon glanced over at John's profile. His jaw was set in that way it got when he was thinking hard about something, but Gordon had never been able to figure out what.
Gordon wondered if John had always been like that—calm, processing things internally—or if all these things he never talked about, the things he'd seen during army time that stayed with him, had forged him into someone reserved. It was part of what made him good at this work—he could compartmentalize, focus on the task at hand without getting rattled.
But it also made Gordon feel like a whole part of John was inaccessible. Sometimes he caught himself wondering what it would take to break through those walls, what it would be like if John ever let him in completely.
They pulled up outside Gordon's apartment building. John would drop him off first, then drive to his own place.
"Good job tonight," Gordon said again as he climbed out of the truck.
John nodded, his fingers drumming once against the steering wheel. "See you tomorrow."
Gordon watched the truck disappear around the corner before heading inside. In his apartment, he poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat in his armchair, thinking through the job one more time. Looking for anything he might have missed, any detail that could come back to bite them later.
It had been clean. They were getting better at this, more efficient. A.J. was learning to control his nerves. Jesse was developing real skill with the technical side. Jake kept them all grounded. And John... John was becoming someone Gordon could rely on eyes closed.
Maybe that was the problem. Gordon was starting to rely on John for more than just work, and that wasn't something he'd planned on.
Gordon had started this crew five years ago. He'd been careful about who he brought in, but John had been different from the start. Recommended by a mutual contact, ex-military, boosting cars, needed work and didn't ask too many questions. Or rather, didn't ask questions at all—only focused on the job.
The first time they'd met, John's hands were covered in grease. There was a resignation in his behavior, like he could continue boosting cars forever, like he'd gotten used to the idea of never being a model citizen anymore.
He still wasn't one—robbing banks and stealing money was in the same line as boosting cars. But where John had been alone, now he had a crew.
But even in his resignation, even in his indifferent attitude, Gordon knew there was still a fighting instinct in John, because he would always remember how, that day, John had said "I pick who I follow."
Gordon was glad John had considered him worthy of being followed.
That had been the beginning. John's first job with them had been a simple bank job in Pasadena. Nothing fancy, nothing too risky. Gordon had watched him the whole time, looking for tells, for signs that John might crack under pressure or try to be a hero.
Instead, John had been exactly what he'd claimed to be—steady, reliable, professional, adapting without hesitation.
After that job, Gordon had known he'd found his second in command.
Now, three years later, John was more than that. He was the one Gordon trusted to spot problems before they happened, to keep the younger guys focused, to handle the details that could make or break a job. He never challenged Gordon's authority, but he wasn't afraid to speak up when he thought something was wrong.
Gordon finished his bourbon and headed to bed. Next year, they would do it again.
He wasn't worried. Not with John watching his back.
The thought stayed with him longer than it should have.
:::
A.J. came in shivering, pulling his coat tight around his shoulders. "Man, it's cold out there. Winter's coming early this year."
Jesse and Jake arrived a few minutes later.
"So, what's everyone thinking?" Gordon asked, sitting on the couch on the second floor of the bar, a private spot where they could see the action below. "Now that we've got some breathing room."
Jesse grinned, already animated. "I'm getting that motorcycle I've been eyeing—the 848."
"You don't need a Ducati," Jake said flatly. "Your Honda runs fine."
"It's not about need; it's about want, freedom."
"It's about you wanting to go fast," Jake corrected.
"Same thing," Jesse said with a smirk. "I'm also thinking about some holidays in Paris. Maybe a week, maybe two months. I'm probably going to hit Italy too. Or Greece."
"You'll have fun. It's a different experience from here, but it's always interesting to see new cultures," Gordon said with approval.
John was quiet, turning his beer bottle in his hands.
"What about you, G.?" Jesse asked. "You finally going to get that suit you keep eyeing every time we walk past that shop?"
Gordon chuckled. "Maybe. Or maybe I'll just hold off for now. I'm not in a hurry."
"Boring," Jesse declared.
Jake shook his head at his brother. "Some of us think about the future, Jess. I'm probably going to put most of mine aside. Lily's been talking about wanting to go back to school, finish her nursing degree."
John looked up briefly when Jake mentioned Lily, something flickering across his expression that Gordon couldn't quite read. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"That's expensive," A.J. said.
"Yeah, but she's been putting it off because of money. This could change that."
A.J. fiddled with his beer bottle. "I've been thinking about getting a new place. I'm tired of the old one. I didn't know better back then; now I know what I'm looking for. I've been searching, but the good ones sell fast."
John looked up from his beer. "I could help you look. I know a guy in property management. Could get you priority as a buyer."
"Really?" A.J. asked.
John shrugged. "He owes me a favor."
"That'd be incredible, man. If it's not too much trouble."
"No trouble."
It was such a John thing to do—practical, thoughtful, no big deal about it, but the slight tension in his posture suggested he was more aware of the conversation than he let on.
The conversation continued, but John was quiet again, taking another sip of his beer like the exchange had never happened. He was nursing his second beer, watching the crowd with the quiet alertness that never fully left him.
Gordon listened with half his attention, the other half focused on John. He had learned to read his moods over the years, and something seemed off tonight. He was probably the most even-tempered person Gordon had ever worked with, but everyone had their off nights.
The problem was, whatever was causing John trouble seemed to matter. Gordon noticed that his usual two beers had turned into three, then four. His tolerance was high enough that it didn't show much, but Gordon had been watching him long enough to spot the subtle changes.
The way John's responses got slightly delayed. How his usual careful posture relaxed into something looser, less controlled. And the way he kept stealing glances at Gordon when he thought no one was looking—maybe to check if his behavior had been noticed or not; Gordon didn't know.
Gordon didn't say anything at first. Everyone dealt with stress differently, and their work created its own kind of pressure. If John needed to blow off steam with a few extra drinks, that was his business.
The thing was, Jake noticed too, and the look he gave Gordon said 'he's drowning something, but what?'
Gordon had been thinking the same thing, but noticing the worry from Jake made it real in a way that was hard to ignore.
"I'll talk to him," Gordon mouthed.
But he knew it would be difficult. John easily deflected every attempt at conversation about his personal life, changing the subject to the weather or the Lakers' playoff chances.
It was like trying to grab smoke.
But now Gordon had lost count of how many drinks John had put away. John's usual careful control was completely gone—he was laughing at things that weren't funny, talking to anyone who would listen, and flirting with every woman who made eye contact.
What bothered Gordon most wasn't the drinking, it was the desperate edge to John's behavior, like he was trying to prove something to himself. Or maybe trying to forget something.
"Something's wrong... I'm worried about him," Jake muttered to Gordon.
Even A.J. and Jesse were looking suspiciously in John's direction, not daring to say anything out loud, but looking just as concerned as Jake was.
Gordon nodded. He'd been watching John work his way through a group of women near the bar, his natural charm amplified by alcohol. The women seemed to enjoy the attention, but Gordon could see the mess this was heading toward.
He had to admit that watching John flirt with strangers was a common occurrence, but it often left him feeling uncomfortable for some reason.
"I'm going to get him out of here," Gordon said.
"Good luck with that."
Gordon made his way through the crowd, keeping John in sight. John had zeroed in on a brunette in a red dress who looked particularly proud to have gotten his full attention. She was laughing, touching his arm, leaning in close when he spoke.
Gordon tried to catch John's eye, but John was completely focused on the woman—or perhaps in the conversation, as he was unusually chatty. When Gordon moved closer, he could hear fragments of their conversation—John was spinning some story about cars.
The woman excused herself to go buy another round of drinks, probably an attempt to get John a bit more drunk and make her move.
John swayed slightly, and Gordon realized he was even more drunk than he'd thought. It made Gordon want to smash something.
The second she was gone, he grabbed two glasses nearby and approached John, who looked up with unfocused eyes and a loose smile. Gordon glanced quickly toward the bar, where the brunette was waiting for the drinks.
"I came back," he said.
John looked at him with confusion. "What?"
"You were talking about cars, and I just went to buy us drinks. You forgot already?" Gordon put a gentle hand on John's arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the shirt. "Where do you want to go now?"
The lie was so obvious—but John blinked, clearly trying to piece together his evening. "Right. Yeah, of course. Where do... I don't know? I'm a bit tired..."
Gordon glanced toward the brunette, who was now carrying two drinks and heading back in their direction. He put his arm around John's waist, supporting some of his weight, trying to ignore how right and perfect it felt to have him in his arms.
"Then it's time to call it a night. Come on," Gordon said, guiding John away from the bar and toward the stairs that led to the second-floor. The brunette wouldn't follow them up there—it was a semi-private section.
John leaned against him as they climbed the stairs, his coordination off but his legs still working. Gordon could smell the alcohol on his breath, mingling with his usual aftershave.
They found A.J., Jake and Jesse in an animated conversation near the pool tables, all of them showing the effects of their own drinking but still functional. They looked up as Gordon approached with John.
"He looks like he's ready to pass out," Jake observed.
"And I prefer he passes out here rather than with that unknown girl," Gordon said, steering John toward a couch in the corner. The area was dimly lit and relatively quiet, separated from the main bar.
Gordon helped John settle first, then sat down beside him. John's eyes were barely staying open, his body finally surrendering to the amount of alcohol he'd consumed.
"Just gonna rest for a minute," John mumbled.
"Take as long as you need," Gordon said softly.
John's eyes closed, and within seconds his breathing deepened into the rhythm of sleep. His head tilted sideways, coming to rest against Gordon's shoulder, then sliding down until his face was resting on Gordon's lap.
Gordon looked down at him—short blond hair disheveled, face relaxed in a way it rarely was when he was awake, one hand curled loosely against himself. It reminded Gordon that despite John's competence and reliability, he was still carrying whatever weights had brought him to this life in the first place, and it made something twist in his chest.
A.J. and Jesse had moved their conversation closer, lowering their voices.
"How much did he drink tonight?" A.J. asked.
"Too much," Gordon said simply.
"Is he okay? Do you know what's wrong?" Jesse asked.
Gordon didn't have a good answer for that and just shook his head. John was clearly not okay, but Gordon didn't know why or how to help. John's problems were locked away behind the same walls that made him such a reliable partner—he didn't let people in easily, didn't share his struggles, didn't ask for help even when he needed it.
"He'll be fine," Gordon said, though he wasn't sure he believed it. He wondered what was driving him to drink like this.
The sounds of the bar drifting up from below. Eventually A.J. and Jesse decided to call it a night, heading downstairs. Jake would stay longer, waiting for Lily's shift to be over. Gordon stayed with John, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the other in his hair, slowly making circles with his fingers.
Something was wrong, and Gordon didn't know how to fix it. He knew he had to try, but tonight, all he could do was worry about someone who meant more to him than he'd ever put into words. Someone who had become essential to his life in ways that went far beyond their professional partnership.
The bar was beginning to empty, the crowd thinning as people headed home or ventured to other venues. Gordon knew they would have to leave soon, but he was reluctant to wake John. Sleep appeared to be the first real peace John had found all evening.
When Lily finally came up to announce last call, Gordon gently shook John's shoulder.
"Hey. Time to go."
John stirred, blinking slowly as he tried to orient himself. For a moment, his eyes focused on Gordon's face with an expression that was completely unguarded, almost tender. Then awareness returned and the walls went back up. "Where are we?"
"Upstairs at the bar. You fell asleep."
John sat up carefully, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"It's fine. You needed the rest."
Gordon helped John to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. The alcohol was still in his system, but the sleep had helped clear some of the fog from his eyes. John's hand gripped Gordon's arm for balance, and Gordon found himself reluctant to let go.
They made their way downstairs and outside, where the December air was sharp enough to cut through the warmth of the bar. John shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders.
"I can drive," John said, but his words were still slightly slurred.
"No, you can't. I'll take you home."
John started to protest, then seemed to realize it was pointless. He handed over his keys without further argument. During the exchange, John's eyes met his for just a moment before looking away. He climbed into the passenger seat.
Gordon drove carefully through the late-night streets, keeping one eye on John and one on the road. John was quiet, staring out the window at the passing lights, lost in whatever thoughts had been driving him to drink.
"You want to talk about it?" Gordon asked when they were stopped at a red light.
John was quiet for so long that Gordon thought he might have fallen asleep again. Then he spoke, his voice barely audible over the truck's engine.
"Some things don't need talking about."
"Maybe not. But some things get worse if you keep them locked up inside."
John looked at him then, and Gordon saw something raw and unguarded in his expression. Again. Something that looked almost like longing before it transformed into something closer to dread. For a moment it seemed like John might actually open up, might share whatever was eating at him.
Then the light turned green, and the moment passed.
"I'm fine, Gordon. Just had too much to drink tonight."
Gordon didn't believe him, but he didn't push. He drove the rest of the way to John's apartment in silence, pulling into the private parking.
"Thanks for the ride," John said as he climbed out of the car.
"John."
John turned back, waiting.
"Whatever's going on with you... you don't have to handle it alone."
John stood there for a moment, something struggling behind his eyes.
"It's you..."
"Me?"
Gordon waited, thinking he might say something else, but then John began walking away.
Not like this. Gordon got out of the car, caught up to him, and grabbed his arm. When John stumbled from the sudden pull, almost losing his balance, Gordon cursed under his breath.
"Sorry," he said, steadying him. "But what do you mean by 'it's you'?"
John's eyes were so big and honest. "I—I feel... I... I'm sorry..."
"What are you apologizing for?"
"It's... I thought I could erase them, forget about it. I thought it would go away..."
"What? What would go away? Memories?"
"My feelings."
"Your feelings," Gordon repeated, confused. Was he referring to the hurt and pain from the memories? But John said he was talking about him specifically. His heart raced fast. "Your feelings... for me?" he asked cautiously, feeling like he might be overstepping and making a fool of himself.
John's eyes filled with fear, an expression that should never have been associated with him—never had been before today, actually. He looked away, ready to run again, but Gordon tightened his grip on his arm.
"Wait, am I getting this right? Or am I misunderstanding? Because if what you're saying is what I think you're saying—" Gordon paused, his voice becoming frantic and incoherent. Some things were still hard to say out loud when they mattered so much, even with age.
He took a deep breath, unprepared for that kind of discussion but certainly not letting it go, when John suddenly blurted out, "I love you."
Such simple words, beautiful in their meaning, but even more so because they affirmed that this wasn't about memories Gordon couldn't heal, couldn't change, couldn't erase. It wasn't about a haunting past John couldn't forget.
No. It was about him.
He gently cupped John's face with his hand and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against John's. John’s breath hitched, but he didn't pull away.
"You love me," Gordon said, a soft chuckle escaping him as he struggled to believe it. He savored the words, wishing to hear and say them every day of his life. John wrapped his arms around Gordon's shoulders, and Gordon kissed his forehead before pulling him into a warm embrace. It felt surreal, yet Gordon was feeling so alive.
They lingered in that moment for a full minute before he reluctantly leaned back. As he looked into John's eyes, he realized that John was still too intoxicated to fully understand what was happening.
"Come on, you should get some sleep. We'll talk about it in the morning. But building a future together... I wouldn't mind that at all," he said, running his fingers through John's hair, brushing it from his forehead.
John wore a sleepy smile. "You're okay with this...?"
"I would actually love that," Gordon replied. "But first, you need some rest. Tomorrow morning's going to be hard on you."
John nodded. Gordon guided him toward the apartment and, once inside, made him drink water and coaxed him to take something to help prevent a hangover. He helped him out of his clothes—and John nearly stumbled several times, making Gordon even more relieved to be there—and onto his bed, then settled beside him, John's back against his chest.
John was usually so composed, but it was actually Gordon who had unintentionally pushed him to lose that control, driving him to drown his feelings in alcohol.
John was already fast asleep, the effects of the alcohol and exhaustion weighing him down.
Gordon shifted slightly to nuzzle into John's neck and tightened his grip. "I love you too," he said in a breathe.
Maybe now, John would let him into his life—his past, his insecurities, his future. And Gordon would always be there for him.
:::
THE END