It Could Happen to Anyone by InSilva
Summary: A post-O13 job goes awry for Danny and Rusty. Warnings. Distressful content. Oneshot.
Disclaimer: just borrowing.
It was a night to remember. To begin with, it was hot and humid with what seemed like the world's entire mosquito population centred on this particular quarter of the city. And for some reason, they were enjoying the taste of Danny exclusively.
"Don't look at me like that. Take it as a compliment."
"You know, a man could probably die from excess smugness."
"Not according to medical books."
"No, according to a partner who is-" Slap. "Damn it! - who is running out of patience with you wearing that particular expression."
"Maybe you should try it. Perhaps it's the perfect repellent."
"Oh, believe me, it is."
But that was earlier. That was during the stakeout of the building when they were hidden in the gardens, watching and waiting for people to leave the party and others to go to bed and still others to head towards what they'd called the guard room.
"Though that makes it sound like…like…"
"World War II movie?"
"Yeah. "Dirty Dozen"."
Pause.
"Who am I?"
"Either we've moved on to "Twenty Questions" or…" seeing the look, "Lee Marvin."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Man with the plan. And I'm Charles Bronson."
"Because…"
Shrug. "You can't do moustaches?"
That was still earlier. That was before with much silent and not-so-silent swearing at how they were not as young as they used to be, they'd broken in to the first-floor bedroom that they were certain was empty. It was their entrance and exit route so it had to be empty. And since Mrs Hubert Baker, known to her friends as FiFi, was in a different time zone, and since Mr and Mrs Baker had stopped sleeping together in the same bed over a year ago, it was not an unreasonable assumption to make. Except they were wrong.
Rusty was first inside and froze. Because lying on top of the bed was Mr Hubert Baker. Partied out. Wearing, as Rusty could see in the moonlight (and he could only pray for cloud cover), nothing but his wife's thong.
Climbing in over the balcony behind him, Danny stood at Rusty's shoulder and held his breath. They looked at each other.
Pull out?
They listened to the heavy breathing of a man sleeping soundly. Danny shook his head. They moved stealthily to the door and eased themselves out on to the dimly lit landing.
"That was worth the price of admission alone."
"You're being sarcastic, right?"
"Nothing ever goes wrong with your plans."
"You can stop the sarcasm now. And can I point out-"
"Oh, come on! That little titbit was hardly going to be common knowledge."
"This door?"
A quick count along the corridor to check. "Yeah."
That continued to be earlier. Then there was the wall safe to be cracked and the diamond necklace to be appropriated and the way out to be debated briefly.
Too risky. They were agreed.
"Fine. Back up route."
Dining-room.
The stairs did not creak. There was neither an enormous spider to startle nor was there a cat waiting to dive out in front of them. There was just bad luck.
At the first "Hey!", they started running. No time to waste looking back, no time to see who was shouting. Only time to run. They crashed into the courtyard garden and sprinted, even as the bullets started flying through the air around them.
They were turning the corner and running beneath the first floor balcony they'd used as a way in and they glimpsed the mostly naked figure stood in the moonlight looking down at them brandishing what could only be-
"A Derringer?" In disbelief.
"Probably pearl-handled."
"Who has a Derringer?"
"Mrs Hubert Baker no doubt. Damn it!" Slapping the back of his neck. Insects had no sense of timing. "It probably comes with the thong."
We are still talking earlier but only just. Because the wall was looming and the other side of the wall lay the city and escape and this side of the wall there were several men with guns which were not small and feminine in nature and which would not look neat tucked into a garter and which were in fact firing bullets that were getting closer and more accurate.
Rusty swung himself up on top of the wall and crouched low over it, leaning down to offer Danny a hand which was gratefully accepted, when it happened. Rusty didn't need to hear the bullet being fired, didn't need to hear it whizzing through the air, didn't need to feel the impact of it hitting flesh: he just needed to see Danny's eyes widen in surprise and know that at that instant, Lady Luck was looking the other way.
There was a moment of decision which Rusty used correctly and instinctively, without ever consciously realising he was doing it. He didn't let Danny register the pain, he didn't let Danny's body drag Danny back down to earth, instead, he used the scrap of momentum that already existed and pulled Danny up and over the wall with him, to collapse in a temporary heap the other side.
And this is no longer earlier, this is now.
"Where?" Rusty hisses as he jumps up and pulls Danny to his feet and wraps Danny's left arm around his shoulder and grabs Danny round the waist and runs as best he can, dragging a partner who is running as best he can to a side street where their car is parked.
"Side," Danny gasps. "Oh, fuck, side!"
Not the side Rusty is grasping. He's sure it would feel wetter.
"Hold on. Nearly there."
Except they aren't. Because the car is gone. Vanished into thin air.
"Fuck!"
This time it is Rusty's turn to swear. But he can't spend long bemoaning the reality of being a crime statistic, because they are not the only people who can jump walls and he can hear the footsteps behind them. Not on top of them, not yet, but close. Echoing.
He looks round wildly and sees a possible sanctuary in a derelict house with a busted door.
"Hold on," he says again, unnecessarily and necessarily because he's not just addressing Danny, and they are through the door and into darkness and dust and dirt.
They wait for the footsteps to find them but they run past and keep running and when there is silence outside, Rusty takes the opportunity to move Danny carefully further into the building, his eyes adjusting to the blackness and not risking even torchlight until they are deeper, deeper and further away from the street, until they are out of the hall and in to the kitchen half-lit by the moonlight through the window, and they can collapse, panting and hurting on to the floor.
Rusty takes a half-second to catch his breath and then his attention is focused on the only place it is ever going to be. He fishes out the penlight and shines it on Danny, sweating and pained.
"Lower it, will you?" Danny gasps and Rusty pulls the light back from Danny's face.
"Show me."
Danny shifts himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the corner of the cupboards, and pulls up the black turtleneck to let Rusty inspect. There is a hole above his left hip bone, below his rib cage. There is a hole and it is bloody and fleshy but Rusty's seen worse.
"I've seen worse. It's a clean exit."
"Oh, I'm so grateful."
Rusty is thinking quickly. No major organs. Just the blood. Not too much of it, thank God, but enough. He pulls his own turtleneck over his head.
Don't know where your mind is headed…
"Get back out of the gutter."
He turns it inside out and scrambles in his pocket for the useful tool they both carry and slices through the material.
"Here."
He makes a compact makeshift bandage to staunch the wound and pushes it against Danny's stomach, pressing Danny's hand over the top to hold it in place.
"Keep the pressure on that."
Rusty glances up at Danny's face.
"How are you doing?"
"OK."
Rusty reads his eyes. That's about the truth of it. Shock has numbed everything so far. The sharpness is only just around the-
"Oh, fuck…oh, fuck!"
Danny's teeth clench and he screws up his eyes and Rusty grabs his free hand and lets Danny's nails dig deep into his skin.
"Come on, Danny, come on…"
Rusty holds on tight as Danny rides the wave of pain. After a moment or two, Danny's shoulders sag and the tension leaves him and Rusty breathes again.
"Did Lee Marvin get shot?"
"Not in the version we saw."
"Yeah. I'd like to see him with sweat trickling down his back and a hundred mosquito bites and a bullet hole in his side sitting on his ass on a cracked tile kitchen floor." He looks at Rusty. "The company's the only thing that's working for me here."
Rusty flashes a smile he doesn't feel and apology is writ large that he knows Danny has no difficulty interpreting.
I'll be OK. Go do what you need to.
Rusty doesn't want to leave him. Doesn't want to let go of his hand. Doesn't want to abandon him.
"You have to, Rus," Danny says tiredly.
Rusty lets go. He presses the penlight into Danny's hand and runs his fingers lightly over Danny's cheek and then he moves. Back along the hall, back towards the front of the house. He listens and he looks and there is nothing. There is nothing and no one and he relaxes because he doesn't want to move Danny more than necessary. But even though the pursuers are not immediately pursuing, it doesn't mean they won't catch up. And if he were them, even if he thought Danny and he were long gone, he would still be organising a grid square by square search just to make sure.
They need help. He runs through names in his head and pulls his cell phone out, punching a number.
"Anderson? Rusty Ryan. Sorry. We're holed up and need an exit." With a wince, he adds, "And Danny can't move far."
The sleepy voice at the other end pulls itself together and becomes helpful. Rusty gives details and Anderson asks questions. Rusty goes back to the kitchen and throws a glance at Danny who smiles almost normally. Rusty looks through the torn curtain of the back door. There's a small path and a quiet back street and it is going to be perfect. Anderson thinks so too and he's on the case. Rusty pushes the phone back into his pocket and returns to Danny's side, crouching down, his hand on Danny's arm, reclaiming the penlight.
"You're keeping that pressure up."
Danny grins.
"What?"
"I love you when you're in caring mode. You're so stupid."
"Anderson's organising a car. Figure we're out of here in quarter of an hour or so."
"Good. I'd hate to mess this kitchen up."
"I think it's too far gone to be messed up." Rusty flicked the penlight around. "Formica and orange are never going to be back in."
"Said that about flares."
"With reason."
Danny grimaces and Rusty grimaces with him. Danny realises and shakes his head.
"It's not… It's the damn necklace. It's digging in…"
Rusty's hand delves into Danny's pocket and forages and Danny's grin gets wider.
"Other pocket."
You are unbelievable.
He fishes out the uncomfortable gems and stuffs them into his own pants. Then he reaches up and strokes Danny's cheek.
"We'll get you to Heston. He's closest. It'll be rough travelling but it's not far."
Danny nods.
"Shame we didn't pack a medical kit."
"I'm not actually a doctor. You do know that."
"That's not what you said when you examined me."
"That was a dream."
"That was a nightmare."
Not in my head.
"I worry about you, I really do."
"Somebody has to."
Rusty reads the pain Danny's pushing away but he's reassured because Danny's on top of it, Danny's managing, the banter's solid and if it was worse, that wouldn't be happening. There would be more clenched teeth and more silence and more hiding.
"Aren't you cold?" Danny asks.
"Little," Rusty admits.
"Thought so. Your chest is a giveaway."
"That might not be about the cold."
And this gets a laugh. Short and there is pain in it but a laugh nonetheless. Rusty rejoices inwardly that he's got a conscious Danny who doesn't need keeping awake. Other times he's not been so lucky. And sometimes Danny's been the one out of luck. Some of the stories have so nearly not had happy endings.
He pulls Danny's hand away, still clutching the impromptu dressing, and checks the wound, shining the penlight down.
"Blood's stopped."
"Well, that's a relief."
"Ever one for understatement."
Rusty presses Danny's hand back in place.
"You know what I'm thinking about?" Danny says.
"For once I'm not certain."
"Hubert in that thong."
"Well, I'm not telling Tess." Pause. "But they are comfortable."
"How did I know you'd know?" There is a pause. "Oh, fuck. That's a mental image I really don't want to hold on to."
Rusty grins and checks his watch. He runs his hand over Danny's face again.
"I'm going to look for Anderson. You keep talking to me."
"Yeah." Danny pushes Rusty's hand further into his cheek and buries his lips briefly into Rusty's palm.
You're welcome.
Rusty crosses to the window and watches. It's getting light and that's dangerous but useful and he's already thinking of the short journey to the car and he hopes Anderson has sent a good driver or maybe has come himself because he doesn't want to leave Danny's side. He's going to be holding him as tightly as he can and that's not going to stop until Heston has seen Danny and dressed the wound and given him pain-killers.
"It's morning," he says, eyes on the street.
"Guess that's to be expected."
"Journey to Heston will be about twenty minutes."
It's actually closer to forty-five but twenty sounds so much better.
"When did we last see Heston?"
There's silence. And then unwillingly, "Murphy job."
"Yeah. You got shot in the-"
"Yeah. Let's not talk about it."
A weary laugh.
"Had to keep you talking then."
"As I remember, I was too busy swearing. And trying not to sit down."
"It's only luck though, isn't it? Most of the time, we've been-"
"-walking on sunshine. Yeah. We've been lucky, too. Better to be lucky than rich."
Better to be both, Rusty hears without turning his head.
"Definitely. Though luck is more useful because you can run out of money. And sometimes there are times when whatever the haul, you need the luck."
Tonight.
"Yes, tonight." He squints at a car driving past but it doesn't stop. "Don't want to be without luck on a night like tonight."
A car pulls up and waits and Rusty stares and smiles with relief.
"It's Anderson."
Just the journey to Heston to manage and it would be bad but they'd manage and then Heston and that wouldn't be good but they'd manage and then things would return to normal. He turns back to Danny.
"Come on then, Lee. Let's get you on your feet." Rusty puts his hands under Danny's shoulders. "Lean in to me. Let me take your weight."
He pulls but Danny's surprisingly heavy and he's not co-operating.
"Come on, Danny, cavalry's here. Put your back into it." He tries again but Danny's dead weight. "Use your legs."
Nothing. He stares at Danny's face.
Da- "-nny?"
Nothing.
"Danny?" Urgent and frightened. "Danny, talk to me!"
Nothing.
Danny's eyes are staring straight ahead at him, like he's in a trance and frantically, Rusty tears the dressing from Danny's side to check the wound but there's nothing fresh. Scared now, Rusty pulls out a blade and slices the turtleneck off Danny's front but there are no other marks on his body.
"Danny…"
And it's desperate now and agony and he can't find what's wrong, he can't find what's wrong and so he can't put it right and he has to, he needs to, he must, he must…
Roughly, he heaves Danny forward on to his front. He'll apologise later. And he uses the blade on the back of the turtleneck and exposes bare skin. No gaping holes apart from the one he knows about and Rusty breathes again.
But there is a line of blood that's trickled down between Danny's shoulder-blades and Rusty's fingers follow it wonderingly up, up to the back of Danny's neck, up to the tiny, tiny hole, just buried in Danny's hairline. A tiny, tiny hole that shouldn't be there. Bigger than a mosquito bite. About the same size as a bullet from a Derringer would make.
And Rusty rolls Danny on to his back and looks down into Danny's eyes and knows that tonight their luck just slipped away.
A/N: Oh, acknowledging Heller, obviously. And "Mojo". And this was written the morning of 19 October 2008.