disentangle

He's three blocks away from the penthouse before he even realises it, feet pounding against the concrete as he dodges past the pedestrians blocking his way. It's purely by instinct that he's managed to end up so close to the crew again, crossing back into their territory without even thinking about it. He'd missed getting a bullet to the shoulder by pure dumb luck, jumped a fence into some suburban families back yard and hoofed it across the city with pure panic burning through his veins- and this is where he ends up?

He'd laugh if he weren't currently running for his life.

He doesn't actually need to look over his shoulder to know he's still being chased, since it's not that hard to distinguish between the frightened yells of the innocents on the street and the furious grunts that keep slipping out of the man and lady hot on his heels. They haven't caught him yet, and that's all he really cares about, so Ray just keeps sprinting down the street, heading straight for an awkward reunion- something that's probably more trouble than it's worth.

He spins left, skidding to a complete stop for a moment before he's off again, ducking through alleys with uneven steps. It's hard to keep balance and he almost trips a few times, but luck seems to be on his side today so each time he pulls himself out of it with minimal damage. A swift, sharp turn to the right, a long sprint down the sidewalk and then an over dramatic jump over a trash can that he ties together with an out of breath, "parkour!" gets him a few seconds of respite a street away from the penthouse. He flops against a brick wall, half curled in on himself with his hands on his knees, breath coming out in uneven pants.

They haven't moved- the crew, that is- he'd know if they'd packed up their shit and switched bases. He might be out, but he's not out of the loop and thankfully Tina's pretty good at getting information out of people without needing the threat of knives at her disposal. They haven't moved, so he's got pretty good odds on the fact someone will bound to be there waiting for him when he climbs the stairs and spams the call button.

It's just the question of who- and Ray finds himself pleading with fate for it not to be Michael.

He straightens himself up, throws a hurried glance over his shoulder and then lets out a loud, unabashed groan at the thought of seeing the crew again after so long. He's fucked, he realises, because it's not going to be a one-time thing. He's going to see Geoff and the old man's going to pull him into a hug. Or he's going to see Gavin and get bullied into coming upstairs to play a few rounds of Halo together.

Or he's going to see Michael, and he's going to have a heart attack there on the spot and then he'll be dead. There's no perceivable outcome where things go smoothly, and as hard as the thought is to swallow, Ray knows he just has to fucking do it.

So attempt two comes in the form of Ray biting at his cheek hard enough to draw blood, the sound of his shoes scraping across the sidewalk as he drags his feet and the mutterings of the word, "fuck," again and again. He doesn't know if he's lost his tail permanently or if they're just waiting for the perfect moment to jump him, so he can't spend all day out on the street, but he wishes he could.

Taking the steps two at a time, he pauses by the intercom and then just jams his finger onto the penthouse button violently, repeatedly.

buzz, buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzzz, buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

"Gavin! Fucking asshole, stop! Holy fuck boi, did you fucking forget your key or somethin'?" Michael's voice cuts through the air and Ray lets his hand drop, hating the way his chest does its weird little flutter at the sound of the other man's yelling. The breath he sucks in is shaky for another reason, but he ignores it because that's all that he can really do. His finger pushes speaker button and when he answers he tries not to sound like he's a fourteen-year-old boy with a crush.