Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Ocean's 11. Nor does anyone want me to. Even me.

A/N: What could have happened if Danny's mom had done the right thing in 'Matilda and the Werewolf' and taken Rusty to the hospital.

Warning: Dark subject matter. Implications of extreme unpleasantness. Slash. I guess. Also arrgh.

He'd taken a taxi home from the station. Normally Mom would have met him, but she was in Monte Carlo with Harry. Having a nice time, by the sound of things, and she'd sent him a graduation card saying how proud she was of him. Which was thoughtful of her. Especially considering how upset she'd been at his results.

The driver hauled his suitcase out of the trunk and growled at the lack of tip. Daniel shrugged and watched the guy speed off. Unfortunately his allowance wasn't enough to cover things like tips.

As he started dragging his suitcase up the drive, he realised that there was a kid standing on the lawn, staring up at the house. Immediately he took in the dirty jeans, the torn shirt, the shaved blond hair and he pursed his lips. "You lost?" he called out, polite and patronising all at the same time.

The kid turned to look at him. His face was bruised and cut up and he was staring and Daniel thought about gangs and drugs and surreptitiously looked round, hoping to see one of the neighbours out in their yards hoping that there'd be someone he could appeal to for help, if he needed it.

"Seriously," he said nervously, when the kid did nothing but look at him. "You can't stay here. Where are you heading to?"

There was a sad smile and a half shrug, and the kid started to walk past him, started to walk away.

Daniel froze.

There was something. Something in the shrug. Or the smile. Or the silence. Some old, old memory. Back to when he was a kid. Back to things he hadn't thought about in an age. Back to days of endless summer and endless pain. Back to when he'd felt alive. Back to when he'd honestly thought he could win.

"Rusty?" he said quietly and his voice was uncertain.

The kid stopped. Turned round slowly. "Hey, Danny," he said in a voice that was little more than a hoarse whisper, in a voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in an age.

He swallowed hard. "It's Daniel now," he said ridiculously.

Rusty nodded and didn't say anything else.

The silence was awkward and strained. "So how have you been?" Daniel asked brightly and felt like kicking himself. Stupid thing to say after six years.

There was a hint of a sardonic smile and Rusty shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh," Daniel said inadequately. "Do you want to come in, maybe? Mom's not here at the moment." Which was just as well. But they couldn't stand out here. If one of the neighbours saw him talking to someone who looked like Rusty and told Mom, she'd be disappointed.

Rusty nodded again.

Daniel picked up his suitcase again and they headed in to the house. "Just back from school," Daniel explained as he dropped the suitcase in the hall. "I'm finished with it now, of course. I graduated today, actually. Private school; Uncle Harold got me in. St Sebastians."

"I can read," Rusty told him quietly, and Daniel looked down at the badge on his blazer and flushed.

"Of course," he agreed. He led Rusty into the kitchen. "You want some food, or something? A drink, maybe?"

"Vodka, thanks," Rusty said softly.

Daniel paused in the act of opening the fridge. "Uh, I was thinking soda?"

It was Rusty's turn to go red. "Sorry. Yes. Please. That's fine."

He peered into the fridge. "There's wine, if you'd rather?" he suggested. Mom wouldn't mind if he started on one of the bottles. Celebration of graduation. She'd understand that, as long as it was just one and as long as he promised to replace it.

"Sure," Rusty agreed. Daniel poured them each a glass, grabbed a couple of bags of chips out the cupboard and found some dips in the fridge.

Rusty didn't wait for the dips. He tore into the potato chips like he hadn't eaten for a week and didn't know when he'd next see food. Daniel tried not to watch and tried not to think about table manners and what they'd do if they saw Rusty eating like that at St Sebs.

"I could phone for take-out, if you like," he offered.

Rusty paused and dropped the handful of chips he was holding. "I don't have any money," he whispered apologetically.

Daniel nodded. "Mom will have left some for me to last until she gets home. She always leaves too much. It wouldn't be a problem."

There was a moment of tension and consideration and then Rusty nodded slowly. "Okay."

They moved through to the living room while they were waiting for the food to arrive. "So what are you doing here," Daniel asked presently. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but it's been six years."

Rusty nodded slightly, his eyes fixed on a point on the sofa, and Daniel remembered the bloodstains and turning the cushions over and eventually Mom had found out. She'd been quite cross.

"I was just in the neighbourhood," Rusty said finally, softly. "Thought maybe I'd look in on you."

"Oh." He tried to think of something else to say. Tried not to look at the bruises on Rusty's face. Tried not to notice that Rusty had finished three glasses of wine now. "I looked for you," he blurted out. "After Mom drove you to the hospital. I went every day, and I tried to get in, and I could never find you, and I went to your place and your dad said you didn't live there anymore and I went to see the social workers – lots of times – and they'd never tell me where you were and you never came back to school." He had tried. He'd tried so hard. It had all seemed so important back then. Like the end of the world. Stupid now, of course. Just one of those things. He'd been a kid, thinking that the silliest little things mattered. "I wrote you letters," he added. "For a couple of years. The social workers said they'd pass them on."

"I wasn't allowed letters," Rusty explained after a moment. "Wasn't allowed . . . lots of things."

"Right," Daniel nodded uncertainly and at that moment the doorbell rang and he carefully managed the exchange of money for pizza. Rusty stared at both like he could barely remember what they were.

"So where are you staying now?" Daniel asked when they were settled down again.

"Nowhere," Rusty said with a shrug. "I'm leaving town. At least. Going to start somewhere new. Get a job, or something. Get my own place. Someplace far away."

"Oh?" he asked politely. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks," Rusty said and he almost smiled. "What are you doing now you've graduated? Congratulations on that, by the way."

"Thanks. I'm going to Duquesne in the fall. Didn't quite get the grades they normally want but," he shrugged. "Uncle Harold knows someone on the board. And my best friend's father is the dean." Uncle Harold had encouraged him to make friends with Tarquin, and certainly it had proved to be a valuable connection.

"What are you planning on studying?" Rusty asked with a flat kind of interest.

"International Business Studies," he answered promptly. "It's what Uncle Harold suggested, and Mom agreed." He felt the look, rather than saw it. "I owe them a lot," he said defensively, angry for no real reason. "You wouldn't understand. After my father died - "

" - Your dad died?" Rusty interrupted unexpectedly, his voice full of compassion. "Danny . . . Daniel, I'm sorry."

He paused, wrongfooted somehow. "Yeah, well. It was a couple of years ago now. But I fell apart. In the end they had to put me in a medical centre for a few weeks. Couple of months, I guess. They had me on all sorts of drugs."

"What ones?" Rusty asked casually, as if the story was nothing unusual.

"Zoloft and Tofranil, I think," he frowned.

"Oh," Rusty nodded. "They're good. Especially if you're on Lithium too. After a while you don't feel anything. Don't remember anything."

He stared. Couldn't help it. "Rusty - "

" - you're okay now, though? You're doing okay?" Rusty interrupted desperately.

"Yes," he said. "Yes. No more drugs. No more counselling. And like I said, I owe Mom and Uncle Harold a lot. It's only right that I should do what they think is best for me."

"And you don't want them to lock you up again," Rusty said quietly.

He froze. The simple statement cut through him like a knife. "You might want to remember whose house you're in," he snarled. "You might want to remember who paid for the food you're eating."

Rusty hung his head, backing down immediately. "Sorry, sir . . . Daniel."

"Yeah," he said, calming down and some long-dead part of him was hurt and screaming. "Yeah, it's okay. Don't worry about it. But I owe them."

"Right," Rusty nodded eagerly. "I understand."

He looked at Rusty sideways. "So I guess you ran away?" Rusty must only be fifteen now. No. No, not quite. As far as he remembered, Rusty's birthday had been in the summer holidays. Fourteen then. At any rate, he probably wasn't supposed to be on his own.

There was a slight quirk of lips. A shadowed, bitter amusement. "Guess you could say that. I can't go back."

Daniel eyed the bruises. "I wasn't going to suggest it. You want to get cleaned up before you leave? Might have some old clothes that would fit you."

Rusty hesitated. "Are you sure? I really can't stay for long. And if they catch me here, you might get in trouble."

He snorted. "I shouldn't think they're looking for you that urgently. It'll be fine."

"Oh, they're looking," Rusty said with dark amusement. "Trust me. They're looking."

Not particularly wanting to get involved in the kid's paranoid fantasies, he shrugged and led him upstairs. Dug out a towel and some clothes that would probably only be a little too big.

"Thank you," Rusty said with pathetic sincerity, and disappeared into the bathroom. There was a startled cry a couple of moments later.

"You all right?" he called through the door.

"Yeah," the answer came back, and Rusty sounded bemused and embarrassed. "Just . . . the water's warm."

He blinked. "Oh." He turned the TV on to watch while he was waiting. Late birthday present from Mom last year. She'd been busy with an important project at work and she'd forgotten. Which would've been fine if he hadn't had to go and remind her. Not that she'd said anything, beyond sorry, and she'd even gone and bought him the TV . . . but he'd felt so ungrateful. Like he was expecting far too much.

There was the ending of a movie he didn't recognise and he watched it with deliberate disinterest. The local news was on next. He was supposed to watch that. A good knowledge of current affairs was vital in business life and social situations. First item looked interesting, anyway. A large, imposing grey building, bars on the windows, thick metal doors. Didn't look like a nice place. And it was surrounded by police cars and fire crews, even an ambulance or two. He squinted; looked like there'd been a fire or something? And then there was a covered stretcher and paramedics, and police were carrying something out of the building, and a reporter was saying something about hidden rooms, and Rusty was suddenly behind him, grabbing the remote control out of his hand and turning the TV firmly off.

Daniel stared for a long moment.

Rusty shifted uncomfortably and pulled at the collar of the shirt he'd been given. "I should be going."

"Yeah," Daniel agreed.

"Yeah . . . " Rusty repeated.

Daniel stood up and walked him to the front door. "Good luck," he said again. Somehow he thought Rusty was going to need it.

To his bewilderment, Rusty darted forwards and kissed him clumsily on the mouth. "Thank you," he whispered. And then; "You don't need to do everything they want."

"I do," he said and felt a regret he didn't understand. For a long moment he looked at Rusty and he thought about how he'd felt back when he was a child. When this friendship had felt different and magical and he'd actually thought that they had something that other people didn't. Just children playing pretend and it was hard to believe now that it had all felt worth changing his life for. But he remembered how it had felt to defy his parents, he remembered how it had felt to care, he remembered how it had felt to be everything he shouldn't be, and he wanted that feeling back. Just for a little while. Just for one night. He stared at the boy who represented those times, those feelings, and he leaned forwards and he captured the boy's mouth in his, and it was nothing like kissing a girl, nothing like anything he'd ever felt before, and with a quiet moan, he deepened the kiss. Faster, rougher, more urgent.

Finally Rusty stepped back and studied him carefully. He gave a distant smile that Daniel had no hope of understanding. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

Daniel grinned and practically ran up the stairs, Rusty a step or two behind him.

As soon as the bedroom door was closed, he turned round. "So how do we do this?" he asked. "I mean, I've - "

Rusty kissed him again and then clothes were being removed. Rusty looked up at him. "This is all right, right? This is what you wanted?"

He swallowed and looked at Rusty's body and there were scars there, far more than he remembered, far more than . . . it wasn't his business. Wasn't any of his concern. "This is fine," he said hoarsely.

With a gesture, Rusty got him to sit down on the bed, and then Rusty's mouth was on him, warm and gentle and busy, and he couldn't help but cry out, couldn't help but thrust upwards, again and again, and it was obvious that Rusty had done this before, knew what he was doing, and he'd meant to give some kind of warning, but it was all over so quickly, and his eyes were glazed over and Rusty was standing up, carefully rubbing his fingers round his mouth.

"Sorry," he said, a little ashamed.

Rusty blinked. "What for?" he asked, and Daniel supposed that if Rusty didn't see a problem here, neither should he.

He hesitated, and he never had done this before, but he knew how things were supposed to work. "Let me," he said, and he reached out a hand and Rusty wasn't hard in the slightest.

"No," Rusty said firmly and, when Daniel stared at him, he offered a crooked grin. "Wouldn't do anything anyway."

"Wouldn't - " Daniel frowned in confusion.

"Lots of medications have side effects," Rusty explained. "And I've been on lots of them, since I stopped talking."

"Oh," Daniel said, hopelessly and with sympathy.

Rusty shrugged. "Can't miss what you've never had," he pointed out.

There was something there that Daniel should be thinking about. Something about experience versus desire, but then Rusty's mouth was back on him again, and he was getting hard again and thinking became impossible.

He gave a moan of protest when Rusty stopped abruptly. "You got anything?" Rusty asked.

He blinked, not understanding the question in the slightest.

Rusty sighed. "Never mind," he grimaced and he spat twice onto his hands and started rubbing it inside himself, stretching himself with his fingers, and Daniel watched, wide-eyed and with an expression of distaste.

Rusty caught him looking. "Anything helps," he said defensively and moved to position himself over Daniel.

Daniel caught his arm. "Are you sure?"

Another slight smile that he didn't understand. "You gave me food," Rusty murmured, and even as he was frowning at the non sequitur, Rusty was lowering himself onto him and the world narrowed until all there was nothing but heat and rhythm and frantic movement and the sound of his own ragged, desperate breathing and the sound of his own moans.

He came with a cry and Rusty awkwardly clambered off him and lay face-down on the bed next to him, his head on his arms, his face turned away.

"That was amazing, Rusty," he said when he had his breath back.

"No one calls me that anymore," Rusty remarked absently. "Such a long time. I'd almost forgotten."

"What do they call you then?" he asked. "Robert?"

Rusty hesitated. "Guess so," he said at last.

"You hated that name," he pointed out. "You said it made you think of your dad."

"Not seen him in six years," Rusty said quietly. "Don't know if it would bother me so much now. People change."

"Yes," Daniel agreed. "We were kids back then."

"Yeah," Rusty said softly. "Sometimes I really thought that the world was going to be different, you know? That I could live my own life.""

"We've all got to grow up sometime," Daniel answered with a shrug. "Can't spend the rest of our lives dreaming the impossible."

"I know," Rusty sighed. "But we were kids then."

"We're not kids now," Daniel answered, trailing a hand down Rusty's back.

In response, Rusty wriggled a little into a better position, his hips thrust back and up, his legs spread wide.

Daniel stared. "That's not what I . . . "

"Sorry, sir," Rusty mumbled, and as he made to drop back down, Daniel reached out and stopped him.

He was still staring. "Okay," he said at last. "Okay." He moved in between Rusty's legs. Just for tonight, he would take what he wanted.

*

When he woke up in the morning, Rusty was gone. No note. Nothing. There was a part of him that felt hurt at that. There was a rather larger part of him that felt it was rude. But mostly he felt relieved, and he looked round the house quickly, making sure that nothing was missing. Not something he'd want to have to explain to Mom. But nothing had been taken. Not even the clothes he'd looked out. He'd meant Rusty to take them. Oh, well. Didn't matter.

He supposed he'd been foolish. Left himself open to blackmail or whatever. Oh well. He'd deal with that if it happened. Least the sex had been good.

Ignoring the tiny, long-dead voice inside himself that was screaming, ignoring the chorus of howls, ignoring the last dying stirrings of might-have-beens, Daniel Ocean got on with the rest of his life.

Thanks for reading. Or sorry. Whichever applies.