A/N: I do not, nor do I claim to, own anything outside of the storyline.
"So many good uses for ill-begotten gains."
― Barbara Shapiro, The Art Forger
It starts with a phone call.
"How do you feel about Monte Carlo?" Linus asks, and it takes Rusty a full minute to realize that it is, in fact, Linus, and not Danny speaking. There's something unfamiliar in the kid's voice, any hesitance that Rusty remembers replaced with self-assured, rolling vowels and a steady cadence. There's nothing to imply that he's anything less than confident that Rusty will hop on the next flight heading to France.
Rusty thinks that Europe, as a whole, feels like a red handprint swelling across his cheek, the sharp snap of Isabel's heels on the floor, the slam of the door and the silence that followed. He draws a hand across his jaw, tracing the ghost of her slap. Even now, he isn't sure what he feels worse about: using her Interpol access to learn more about the whereabouts of a certain Vermeer, or being careless about covering his tracks and very nearly getting her fired.
It's after midnight, and Linus sounds like he's been awake for hours. There's a soft commotion behind him. It sounds like a restaurant, and Rusty wonders if Linus isn't in Europe already. He bites back a comment about transatlantic charges and says, "Nice enough, but I don't think it's anything to write home about."
"I don't know about that," Linus says, just this side of too smug.
"Oh?"
"Your flight leaves at seven tomorrow."
As he hangs up, Rusty hopes that Linus had the forethought to spring for first class.
Rusty finds Danny in a convince store in the Charles de Gaulle airport, looking torn between two interior design magazines.
"Tess is redoing the house," he says without looking up.
"And your contribution is French farmhouse?"
Danny says, "Connecticut is dreadfully boring," as if that is an excuse for falling into a cliché, but he buys both magazines.
"Retirement," Rusty says.
"Retirement," Danny agrees.
By the time they board their connection to Nice, they've dog-eared several pages.
"Didn't your father teach you that you can run jobs with people that aren't us?" Rusty yells over the whirring of the helicopter blades.
Linus grins.
"Ruben has his casino," Linus says. "So he's in no position to come out here. Did you know that Saul is - right, of course you did. He sends his regards. They both do, actually, and Yen wasn't exactly forthcoming with what was going on, but I think he said something about modeling. So, we're three down."
They're sitting in the hotel bar. Rusty fishes a packet of airplane almonds from his pocket and pops one in his mouth. It's a casual movement, something Danny's seen Rusty do countless times, but it doesn't take away from the sharpness of Rusty's gaze; the way parts of Linus's plan are slotting into place behind his eyes is almost tangible.
"You're going to need an acrobat," he says.
"You don't even know the -"
"Monte Carlo is built on cliffs," Danny says patiently.
"You're going to need an acrobat," Rusty repeats. "I know a few on the continent."
Rusty excuses himself to make some calls and Danny shakes the glass in his highball glass. "He's your point man, Linus," he says. The kid - but he isn't much of a kid anymore, is he? He certainly doesn't look it, in a perfectly tailored suit and Italian leather shoes. Europe might have gotten the best of Rusty, but it seems to suit Linus. But he'll always be the kid, the gamble from the Benedict job, and Danny sees a bit of that kid - feeling in-over-his-head and out-classed - now. "You've got a damn good idea here," Danny continues. "That's the first step. The hardest step. Now, just let Rusty do his job."
For the sake of Rusty's ego, he leaves the and Rusty is the best point man in the business unsaid.
He's beginning to feel more like council than a member of the crew, giving advice but doing little more - because he doesn't have to. Linus does have quite the job going, a collection of valuables dating back to World War I, tucked away in the recesses of Monte Carlo and being brought out for an exhibit later in the month.
It's an opportunity many wouldn't dare take on, and he tells Linus as much when Rusty finds another of his connections busy.
Linus waves for another round of drinks from the bartender. "Everyone else is flying in. They should be in by Friday."
It's a good plan, a good job - and yet, Danny can't pass up the opportunity. "Good to know you're so confident about this," he says, adjusting his watch to Monte Carlo time.
Linus nods emphatically.
When Rusty returns to their table for the umpteenth time, turning his phone over in his hands as he tries to think of someone else to call, Danny rubs a hand over his chin.
"No," Rusty says.
Danny shrugs, finishes the last of his scotch.
Linus blinks, looks from one to the other, and wonders when, exactly, he lost control of this job.
He's still wondering as he trails Danny through rows of beach lounges two afternoon laters. Umbrellas with the hotel's monogram run up and down the sand in orderly lines, each umbrella-lounge-table unit as identical as the last, but Danny seems to know exactly what difference he's looking for.
"What are we looking for?" Linus asks.
"Miss Caravello," he says, but it's less of an answer and more of an introduction, because he's stopped in front of a chaise and a young woman is moving her sunglasses from the tip of her nose to the crown of her head.
She blinks up at them with wide, dark eyes. Linus suddenly feels silly in his sport jacket and tie, but he hadn't known Danny was taking him to the beach, of course he hadn't, and it's all he can do not to reach up and remove the necktie. But Miss Caravello is already saying, in heavily accented English, "I think I liked Rusty more."
Danny smiles indulgently and motions at Linus. "Linus Caldwell, this is -"
Caravello sits up, swinging her legs down from the chaise. "Caldwell like Bobby?"
"Exactly," Linus says, managing not to flinch when she turns her gaze on him.
"Yes, I definitely liked Rusty more." She turns to Danny. "Did he go to jail? Or - oh, did someone finally shoot him?"
"Linus, this is Cosima Caravello," Danny says, ignoring her question and the way her tone suggested that she thought it a shame that she wasn't the one to pull the trigger. "She's -"
Linus can't help it when he says, voice tipped with sarcasm, "Cosima like de'Medici?"
"Linus," Danny says quietly, warningly. If it was this confrontation he'd been wanting, he would not have suggested Rusty go await the rest of their team at the Nice airport.
"Consider it a family name," she says, folding her hands neatly in her lap as she continues, "Now then, what may I do for you gentlemen?"
Danny puts on his most charming smile and says, "Linus has a preposition for you."
"You didn't," Rusty says when he gets back that evening, the rest of the usual suspects in tow and milling around the suite's living space. Rusty took one look at them as they came through the door and, with a single flick of his head, corralled Danny and Linus out on the balcony.
Monte Carlo shines around them, lights falling down the cliff like a waterfall. It's as beautiful as it is opportunistic. Danny feels the familiar spark of being on the job as he says, "She's the best option we have."
Rusty runs his tattooed hand across the crown of his head. Turns to Linus and stares, hard, like by looking hard enough he could read the truth on Linus's face. "I told you. Not her," he says.
"No, you didn't."
"I did." He whirls back around to face Danny. "I told both of you."
"I know -" Danny begins, hands coming up placatingly.
"You didn't tell me!" Linus argues, irritation flaring. Rusty and Danny operate on a different wavelength - perhaps Rusty had told Danny, and it very well could have been directly in front of Linus. He would not have been the only one that would have missed it, and he refuses to take the blame for this.
There's a part of Linus, a very slight part, because he'll never stop being thankful for Danny and Rusty for giving him his start - because his father's name wasn't doing much at all for him; Danny hadn't even known that Bobby had a son - but that doesn't mean that he isn't annoyed. He came up with this plan - he looked at the angles, figured out the pros and the cons. He got damn far on his own, and for Rusty and Danny to waltz in and -
"She's more trouble than she's worth," Rusty says. "She's untrustworthy. She's reckless. She's -"
"She got the better of you once, and you've yet to get over it," Danny says. His voice is quieter, his hands tucked into his pockets. The picture of nonchalance, even in pseudo-confrontation.
Linus asks, "What? When?" Because perhaps that is what Rusty should have told him. Not whatever cryptic comment Rusty had made to attempt to keep them from talking to Caravello, but at that moment, Basher comes to the door.
"Secrets don't make friends, gents," he says. "Have we got a job going or not?"
For better or worse, they do.