Very Bad Things by InSilva
Disclaimer: didn't create any Ocean's character. Title has nothing to do with the Christian Slater film either.
Summary: AU Body and Soul verse. A dark little fic set after O13. Warnings for character death, violence and profanity.
A/N: Door 4 of the 2011 Advent Calendar. Complete with black glitter.
A/N: mate, 11 November 2009. Now you can legitimately blame me. Everyone else? This is down to otherhawk.
A/N: referenced in here are Eddie Lavelle from "Wet Fire", Vincente from "Justice" and the man with the swordfish tattoo from "Self Possession".
Hands. Lots of them. Reaching and grabbing and holding and insisting and there was no arguing, even though he was trying his best to. And he was being dragged backwards out of the pastry shop and he was dimly aware of the circle of gawping onlookers for whom this might just be the event of the decade.
"Hey," one of the braver spectators began and there was the sound of a safety catch being disengaged and there was sudden silence.
No opportunity to speak, to ask, to fight and he was in the back of a van being driven away and he was looking at three men in balaclavas with guns pointed at him.
"You wanted to jump ahead in line, you only had to say," Danny smiled, friendly and not concerned anywhere they could see.
Tess. That was the thought he was trying not to dwell on. She'd been away visiting her sister and she was due back tonight and he'd absolutely planned a welcome home meal. The pastries were for the breakfast in bed the following morning. And now, she'd get back to an empty house and to no Danny and he knew that there was nothing wrong with Tess's imagination either. Not after Benedict.
There was a plan, of course. A plan and codewords. Not that Tess liked the fact but there was a definite plan. If she found him missing, if she found his phone being unanswered, then she went straight to her family in New England. She had a list of people to contact - Rusty and Saul and Reuben and Bobby and Molly. People who would know what to do. People who could help her. People who - hopefully, if it were at all possible - could help him.
But Tess wouldn't know he was missing yet. So no phone calls. No one riding to the rescue. Right at the moment, he was all he'd got.
He couldn't think of an immediate person who would want to discuss things privately with him but that didn't mean there weren't plenty previous who might take an interest. And the only trouble with that was that Danny didn't work alone. Not on anything that might require a private conversation. On the outside, he smiled pleasantly at his abductors and on the inside, he gritted his teeth at who else might be party to the talks.
After a couple of hours, they pulled up and the back door of the van was flung open by another man in a balaclava and Danny supposed he should be grateful that they all wanted to keep their identities secret. It gave him some hope that this was something less than permanent.
"Get him inside."
More manhandling, rough shoving and he started to argue about the treatment of his suit but then he looked up at the house they were propelling him towards and he fell silent. He knew this house. He knew the weaknesses in the alarm system that Livingston had identified. He knew the distraction that Linus and Frank had run. And he knew the Mission Impossible that he and Rusty had executed.
John Smith's house. And the only thing about its owner that wasn't intimidating, was his name.
They took a different route to the one that Rusty and he had followed three months ago. This time, they weren't headed into the gallery with its display cases. This time, they were going down the stone steps into the basement and Danny was struggling to think of anything good that started off that way. Wasn't like anyone ever said, "Meet me in the basement for a fantastic business opportunity". Huh. If he ever got out of this, he'd have to start rectifying the basement's reputation.
There were lights on in the basement and there was a large metal cage pushed against the back wall that looked shiny and new and a recent addition. Danny felt like having a word with John Smith's interior designer.
Inside the cage, there were two buckets and three men that he wasn't exactly surprised to see and one that he was. As the door was opened and Danny was pushed through, he smiled acknowledgement at Livingston, Frank and Linus and crooked an eyebrow at Yen.
"We was in discussions," Frank explained in a low voice as the heavies disappeared back up the steps. "Had an opportunity that could use Amazing's talents."
Yen interrupted with something fast and furious and Danny nodded. He'd experienced the balaclavas.
"Yeah, can see how it would be difficult to say no," he smiled. The smile took in all of them. "Well. I know we all thought about meeting up for Christmas, but..."
Linus's face was pale and Livingston's was a sickly shade and Frank...well, Frank looked anxious. Yen just looked thoroughly pissed off but then, he didn't even know John Smith. The atmosphere was edging towards the higher echelons of Tense City and Danny found himself wishing Rusty was there to help him take the edge off. Then he laughed darkly at himself because truly, he was grateful Rusty wasn't there. Rusty being on the right side of the cage in the basement meant Rusty was safe. Meant Rusty could maybe find out about the cage in the basement and work on those little details that would mean safety for all of them. In the meantime...
Danny took a deep breath.
"So, what have we got?"
"Nothing helpful," Livingston sighed. "Took all that on the journey."
Danny nodded. His pockets had been emptied in the van too.
"Danny-"
"What about the bars?" Danny wondered, cutting across Livingston and Frank shook his head.
"Solid. And the door's got a big fat lock with a big fat guard staring at it." Frank bared his teeth at the guard. "Danny-"
"Yen, what about the bars?" Danny asked a different question.
Yen gave him a look and then indicated with his fingers the narrowness of the gap while his expression indicated the likelihood of even him fitting through them.
"Linus, anything find its way into your pockets on the way down here?"
"No." Linus was in control but it was a close thing. "Danny..." And here it came and he couldn't duck it any longer, "...what are we going to do?"
He smiled. Reassuring. Radiating confidence and the four of them, even Yen, visibly relaxed.
"Linus, we do what we always do. We see what happens and we take the opportunities as they-"
There was a loud crashing and much swearing and he span round on his heel, recognising the voice. Rusty. His heart sank and he scolded himself for the simultaneous selfish surge of joy. Then Rusty appeared, being dragged - no, carried - down the steps towards them, his feet off the floor and kicking, his arms securely pinioned and the snarl on his face alive and vocal.
There was something wrong with the picture apart from the obvious and Danny frowned and unconsciously, automatically, moved closer to the door of the cage.
He himself hadn't been injured. And there wasn't a mark on any of the others. They would have fought, of course they would have fought, just as he had but just as he had, they would have found that numbers were not on their side and they'd come quietly and trusted to finding the one opportunity that counted. Rusty would have done exactly the same. Pointless expending unnecessary energy.
Except that Rusty hadn't. Rusty's face was marked and bleeding and his clothes were ripped and it caused an even deeper frown on Danny's part when he realised that those who held him didn't look in terrific shape themselves. It looked like Rusty had taken on three of them. And nearly won.
He stood back as they opened the door and threw Rusty into the cage. Rusty stumbled a little, regained his balance and hurled himself against the bars, clawing through them, trying to reach the men on the other side. Incoherent insults and blasphemy fell from him as the balaclavas retired out of reach and out of the basement.
Danny could see without looking the open mouths and shock behind him. This wasn't Rusty. This was in no way Rusty. Rusty was the epitome of control and cool and the terror started to rise up in Danny. He didn't know the reason for this aRusty but on some level he recognised the beserker rage for what it was. And he dreaded asking the question.
Rusty pulled away from the bars and paced unseeing up and down the cage, not acknowledging anyone else, not even Danny. And then he stopped and punched the wall at the end, hard.
"Hey!"
Danny was there and taking his hand with the bleeding knuckles and turning him to face him.
"Hey..." Gentler, soothing. "What is it, Rus?"
Rusty's mouth was working overtime on trying to contain the emotion bubbling through him. His eyes were anywhere but on Danny's. Danny ran a thumb lightly over his fingers and with an expulsion of air and energy, Rusty's shoulders slumped. His mouth twisted.
"They killed Kirsty," he said tonelessly as he raised his gaze to Danny's.
Danny looked at the wild and the howling that was scouring Rusty from the inside out and he thought of Kirsty, bright and cheerful and loyal and just the right side of giggly and he let out a shuddery breath.
"Tell me," he said.
The hotel was busy and buzzing on the run up to Christmas and it was hard for Rusty to stop the smile from taking up permanent residence on his face. There was a kick to be had here. Not the sound of money running through the tills, though that was indeed pleasing. No, it wasn't about making money. He'd been doing that all his life one way or another. It was more about seeing his staff proud and confident and handling the peak traffic in exactly the way he wanted them to. Like nothing was too much trouble. Like anything was achievable.
Arthur nodded to him from reception as he walked back up the steps from seeing Isabel off.
"Everything alright, Mr Ryan?"
"Everything's fine, Arthur," he assured him.
Everything was fine. Isabel was going to pick her father up from the airport and the unusual idea of having a near father-in-law to stay for Christmas was balanced by the thrill of having a legend amongst thieves under the same roof.
He headed to his office and saw Kirsty about to knock. He gave her a lazy smile and she blushed. Naturally.
"Looking for me?"
"Yes. I had the guest lists..."
"Right. Thanks."
He took them from her and they both walked into the room. The Christmas presents that had appeared on his desk made him smile: he didn't deserve his staff. The radio was playing and he listened to Perry Como talking about magic moments as he studied the paperwork Kirsty had provided.
"They seem to be in order...we got enough cover?"
"Yes. I've asked for volunteers for overtime over the holidays and there's been a good response."
There was a note of something in her voice and he looked at her sharply.
"That include you, Kirsty? I thought you were planning a trip to Aspen with Colin."
She flushed and bit her lip and her eyes dropped down to the floor. He knew what she was going to say before she said it. Colin had made other plans. And he'd only seen Colin once and he hadn't liked the smugness and he hadn't liked the possessive arm around Kirsty but Kirsty had seemed happy and he liked to see her smile.
"Colin...he and me…we aren't..."
"Hey..." He dropped the paperwork on to the desk. "Hey..."
She looked up at him and he was full of understanding and still a part of him hoped she wasn't going to completely disintegrate in front of him and then three gunmen in balaclavas came through the door and rendered the point moot.
"Mr Ryan," said the lead gunman and Rusty knew this was personal. Just the way it was said. "Would you be good enough to accompany us?"
He would. Of course, he would. With Kirsty in the room and Arthur outside and who knew how many hotel guests, of course, he would and he started walking towards them, hands slightly raised, anxious to get out of there and away from Kirsty as quickly as he could. Except...
Rusty saw without seeing the look of absolute terror on Kirsty's face. And that was what the guns and the masks were all about, of course. To terrify. To shock. To scare people witless so that they didn't do anything stupid.
But Kirsty was brave enough to do the something stupid.
Horror on his face, he spun round and he was never going to get to her in time as she reached for the panic button, he was never going to be able to get the words out to warn her, he was never going to be able to stop them from acting.
He launched himself forward, knocking the Christmas presents off the desk and the silent sound of bullets travelling mixed with Bing wishing the world days that were merry and bright.
Kirsty fell backwards into his arms, eyes wide and staring and very, very dead. He looked up at the man with the gun.
"Ho, ho, ho," said Kirsty's killer. "Can we go now?"
There was a moment. A very clearly defined moment. A second hanging in time like a dewdrop from a leaf; perfect and clear and not moving. And he could see the man on the door, the man standing over him, even the man behind him. It was as if he had 360 degree vision.
He had time to glance down at Kirsty and the obscene mark of death on her forehead with the trickle of blood.
And then time fell and the world shattered.
Fists and fighting and there was swearing - expletives falling from Rusty's lips and from the lips of the others who weren't expecting anything like the fury that they were encountering. This wasn't anywhere close to the quick job it was supposed to be.
"Shut him the fuck up!" hissed the man on the door, looking nervously out to reception where notice was starting to be being taken.
For someone who looked like he'd snap easily enough, the blond guy was putting up one hell of a fight. Clancy had blood pouring from his nose and Parsons was spitting out a tooth.
"For fuck's sake," Max hissed again, "pick him up and let's get out of here!"
He'd lost himself. He didn't know where he was or what he was saying or whom he was saying it to. Blood roared through his head, liquid anger firing through his veins, and he was being hit, blows were connecting but he didn't feel any of them. Blood was running freely and he didn't notice. He was throwing punches too but he didn't know what effect they were having.
Hands were on him, pulling him, dragging him and he was vaguely aware that they were moving out of the back of the hotel and into a van and there was a man sitting on his back and his face was pushed against the floor of the vehicle and he couldn't swing his arms and he couldn't reach anyone with his kicks but it didn't stop him trying.
Dimly, he registered John Smith's house. Dimly, he registered the steps and the cage and - Danny! - then he was thrown into the cage and if he could only get at these men, these murderers...
His arms clawed through the bars and then he strode furiously up and down, wanting to get out, wanting to get free, wanting to-
He punched the wall hard and then a hand was on his and there was Danny.
"They killed Kirsty," he said, misery consuming him.
The others had all gathered round and listened as Rusty had told the tale. They all knew who Kirsty was and there was a respectful silence.
Danny stood and shared the pain, the absolute pain that was keening through Rusty. It would be bad enough if someone they worked with was killed on the job by accident or as a consequence. For someone who was effectively a bystander to suffer...and not just a bystander. Not a little old lady or a have a go hero whom they didn't know.
This was Kirsty.
Kirsty who had been a little in love with Rusty in the way that so many were. Kirsty who had been a little in love with the idea of them. Kirsty who had helped them when Rusty had gone after Vincente, who had been there when MacAvoy had come calling, who had…
Danny bit his lip and pushed the pain away.
"Rusty…" he said softly and Rusty focused on him.
Rus, we need you.
Rusty wiped a hand over his mouth and screwed up his eyes for a long moment. Then he opened them and nodded.
"What we got?" he asked.
"Precious little," came the succinct answer from Frank.
"John Smith made an appearance yet?"
Danny shook his head. "Doubt it'll be long now you're here."
Rusty glanced round at the others as if seeing them for the first time. Danny saw Rusty's gaze settle curiously on Yen.
"Came along for the ride," Danny said, answering the question
"You doin' OK?" Rusty asked Livingston gently.
Livingston gave a nervous smile. "I guess. Not been in too many tight spots."
Rusty squeezed his arm and Danny flashed him a look of reassurance.
"You're doing just fine, Livingston."
"Balaclavas are a good sign, right?" Linus broke in suddenly. "I mean if they don't want us to identify anyone…"
Danny's eyes met Rusty's.
Give him hope or…
…tell it like it is?
"Looks that way, Linus," Danny said eventually. "'Course there could be any number of reasons-"
"-maybe John's really bad at remembering names and "You, there…yes, you wearing the balaclava" is easier-"
"-or maybe the central heating's broken down-"
"-certainly feels like it-"
"-or perhaps he really likes those British ads for milk chocolates-"
A string of vehement Chinese suggested another reason.
"A thing about ski masks?" Rusty repeated.
"Boy, are you in trouble," Danny told him, grinning.
There was a noise and all six of them turned their heads to see John Smith and a retinue of men in masks making their way down the stone steps.
John Smith was just as Danny remembered. Six foot, blond and broad and dressed in black. He strode down the steps carrying a bag of walnuts and carrying on a conversation on his phone.
"Yeah. Yeah. No, exactly, exactly. What are you going to do? Banks are a law unto themselves. Yeah."
He reached the front of the cage and grinned through the bars at his prisoners.
"Yeah. Gotta go, Grant. Spot of pest control to take care of. Yeah. Season's greetings and all that. Speak soon."
He snapped the phone shut and pocketed it, then pulled two walnuts out of the bag and crushed them in his fist. He sorted through the bits of shell and popped pieces of kernel in his mouth.
"Well…?" John said expectantly.
The guard unlocked the door and men swept into the cage, brandishing weapons and suggesting in loud voices that if they didn't immediately line up against the wall of the cage with their hands on their heads, things might turn nasty.
"Gentlemen, welcome!" Smith stood in front of them and continued to crack walnuts, letting the detritus fall to the floor. "So nice to have you back under my roof. And now you're here, let's get the party started."
"Mr Smith-" Danny began and a forearm was pressed up against his throat.
"No, Mr Ocean, no." Smith was wagging his finger at him. "No bargaining, no offers, no nothing. There's nothing you can say at this point that I will want to hear."
He walked over and stared Danny in the eyes.
"I know you are the man who dreamt up this little scheme to steal my Qing vase." He flung an arm out to the right that took in the others. "Just as I know all the roles the rest of these usual suspects undertook. And this is where you all keep very, very quiet."
He walked down the line till he reached the end.
"But you…" Smith stopped curiously. "You, I don't know at all…"
"Picked him up with Catton, sir," one of the men in black supplied.
Yen let fly with the indignation and the insults and Smith took a few steps back, the smile growing on his face.
Apprehension started to build in Danny. Years and years of instincts were screaming at him and he'd never had cause to regret listening to them.
"Shut up, Yen," Rusty breathed at Danny's side and Danny knew he felt it too. A gun was pressed to Rusty's temple by way of encouraging silence.
The tirade continued and John Smith reached into the bag and pulled a face as he took out a solitary nut. He squeezed it in his fist and as Danny watched, it broke. Smith ate the last pieces and then gestured. Yen was dragged in front of him, heavy hands on his shoulders. Smith dropped the empty bag and reached out and patted the smaller man on the cheek.
"You finished?"
"Fuck you!" Yen said with feeling.
Smith smiled. "You're finished."
Then he reached out and with as much ease as he'd cracked the walnuts, he broke Yen's neck.
There were cries. There was struggling. Grief was outpoured and violence offered and finally, finally, Danny found himself, scream-hoarse, with blood dripping from his lip and with arms holding him, down on his knees, a gun at his head. He stared at Yen and the screaming started up inside him again.
Smith nudged the body with his toe.
"Get rid of that," he instructed. "And back up on your feet, gentlemen. Where were we?"
For the second time that day, he'd fought and sworn, fresh rage bursting through him but eventually, he'd been restrained and he'd glanced across at Danny, horrorstruck and furious and turned his head and seen Livingston, miserable and angry, kneeling next to him with blood running down his face.
Then they'd all been hauled upright and Smith was smiling that fucking smile like there was nothing wrong, like nothing had fucking happened, like Yen wasn't fucking dead.
"The kid," Smith ordered and Linus was pulled forward.
The fury died down in Rusty at once. He swallowed hard and saw without seeing the tension in Danny. Linus. And the cold fear washed over him.
"Mr Andrew Frost. Or should I say, the talented Mr Caldwell," Smith beamed. "You have anything you want to say to me?"
Linus was pale and brave and scared shitless. "I want to say everything to you that Yen did, you bastard."
Smith laughed delightedly. "And doubtless you could if you spoke Chinese."
"Get away from him," Danny said fiercely and Rusty winced as the punch to the gut connected.
Smith smiled over at the interruption and then went on as if nothing had happened. He ran his fingers down Linus's cheek and Linus flinched.
"Don't you like being touched?"
Smith's fingers continued to play over his face and Rusty saw Linus's jaw clench.
"Pretty boy like you…I'd have thought you'd be fighting them off."
His hand ran down over Linus's shoulder.
"Tell me, Linus. Does the thought of a man's cock in your mouth excite you?"
Any paler and Linus would turn albino. Enough was enough.
"Does me," Rusty said, seduction playing through his voice. "In fact, I'd love it."
Somewhere no one could hear, Danny was groaning but Rusty ignored him.
It did the trick. Smith left Linus and came over.
"Mr Ryan. Mr Rusty Ryan. Thank you for the offer. Now you look like a man who knows what he's doing in life. Who knows what he's doing right now by way of distraction."
He reached out and tipped Rusty's chin from side to side and Rusty gritted his teeth.
"Pretty, pretty, pretty. Well, not so pretty at the moment."
A man whispered in Smith's ear and he nodded.
"Oh, I understand." Condolent and insincere. "How unfortunate. Was she someone very special?"
He couldn't keep the ugliness from twisting his mouth. "Too special to be mentioned by you, you murdering bastard."
Smith's teeth were gleaming.
"Take the kid upstairs," he said over his shoulder. "Have a little fun with him."
Rusty started forward as they all did and as they all did, he found himself impeded by the masked goons. Linus was pulled out of the cage and up the steps and he didn't scream and he fought every step and Rusty saw the look on his face and he recognised it and he felt sick to the pit of his stomach.
Danny watched Linus being manhandled up and out and away and the unvoiced scream rattled through him. Linus…Linus…
"Mr Smith," he tried again and the fist into his windpipe had him choking.
Smith didn't seem to want to listen.
"Mr Catton, front and centre, please."
Danny's attention snapped back round as Smith moved back and Frank was presented, sandwiched in between two guards.
"Mr Catton! That little jive-talkin' turn you did as Leroy Whittaker was sublim'! And this is a good ol' boy tellin' yo' that."
Frank stood silent with his mouth shut tight.
"You gettin' a little scared here? You thinkin' it wasn't such a smart move to take me on, homeboy?"
Frank didn't say a word but his eyes said plenty.
"Yeah, that's what I thought, Mr Catton."
Smith dropped the patois and Danny tried not to think about what had happened to Yen and what was happening to Linus and what was about to happen to Frank.
"From what I hear, Mr Catton, Frank…you are a man who takes pride in his appearance. Your own nail bar and beauty parlour, no less. That right?"
He took hold of Frank's hand and ran a thumb over his well-polished nails.
"Enjoy a little manicure, I see. Probably a pedicure too, I don't doubt."
Something…something…Danny swallowed and told his imagination to shut the fuck up.
"Well, we can oblige." Smith jerked his head towards the cage door. "Upstairs. The pliers are in the kitchen."
"No!" and it was each of them and all of them. One voice, one long loud note of pain suffusing it. And Danny was fighting again as they all were and again, it was without any effect. There were just too many and Danny watched agonised as Frank was taken, a string of ripe expletives falling from his lips.
"Me next, right?"
Livingston's voice was high-pitched and just the right side of freaking out.
Smith smiled and clicked his fingers and Livingston was left standing alone, hands clasped in front of him and he wasn't shaking but it was a near thing. Rusty bit his lip hard.
Smith grinned. "Well, what a complete drink of water you are, Mr Dell. Look at you."
Silently, he circled Livingston, towering over him and Livingston's fingers were curled in on themselves and Rusty was tasting blood. When Smith reached the front once more, he darted forward.
"Boo!"
Livingston jumped backwards and Smith laughed out loud.
"Like I said, a complete-"
Livingston cut him off with a kick to the groin that left Smith gasping. His men swamped Livingston and had him down on the ground in an instant.
"Oh, that'll teach me," Smith said and vicious joy flooded through Rusty at the sound of the pain in his voice. "Get him up."
They pulled Livingston to his feet and Smith patted his cheek.
"Livingston Dell. Not just an electronics whizz, are you? Little bit of the devil in you. Well, let me show you just how that feels. Garage, I think, boys. Nice little electricity supply running through there."
The screaming and the struggling were as vehement as they had been the first time, the second time, the third time, the fourth - for Rusty, the fifth time - and nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Livingston was carried away and there was only Danny and him, their arms twisted up behind their backs and facing Smith.
Smith looked from one to the other of them. "And then there were two."
Danny told himself he could hold it together. He had to. Even while he could hear Yen's neck snap and see the look in Linus's eyes and the tension in Frank's shoulders and the sweat running down Livingston's face, he had to hold it together. He couldn't let his imagination loose for one second because if he did...
...Linus, stripped and penetrated again and again and again, defenceless and vulnerable and irrevocably violated...
...Frank, blood running from his hands and feet, his face twisted with the insane pain of nails wrenched from him...
...Livingston, hooked up to the mains and screaming because it was impossible to keep quiet...
Danny.
He heard his name being spoken soundlessly and he came back to the present. To Rusty, looking at him and keeping him there. To John Smith, who was looking at him with amusement. Danny pushed the unthinkable images away and raised his chin fractionally.
"Well, well. Rumours weren't wrong. You really do care about your men, don't you? Isn't it supposed to be every thief for himself?"
Smith's eyes were daring him to answer, to say something and he wanted to scream at him, to tell him every single thing that he'd done that was so very wrong, to let him know that he was a dead man, that he was personally going to-
Danny.
He heard his name again and the moment passed. He managed the anger and even though his eyes were still on Smith, he knew that Rusty knew and he could see without seeing Rusty relax just a little. He wasn't going to lose himself.
"Well, you don't care much for yours," he suggested. "You could turn the heating up and they wouldn't have to wear the balaclavas."
Smith smiled. "You know, the only thing that inhibits us is ourselves."
"Deep. You been reading Reader's Digest?"
"Man is conditioned to behave by society," Smith went on and he started walking all the way round them. "Conditioned to conform and to eschew extremes. Moderation in all things."
Danny didn't know where he was going with this but fuck, Smith liked the sound of his own voice.
"You're up there with the Bond villains," he told him.
"Goldfinger," Rusty said musingly, "Dr No..."
"...Blofeld..."
"...all four of 'em-"
There was a small soft noise and Danny turned his head to see Smith's hand wound into Rusty's hair, pulling Rusty's head back.
"As I was saying..." Smith's eyes were on Danny and Danny shut up fast. "For man to lose his inhibitions, he must lose his identity. Mob rule works that way. Everyone and no one accountable."
He let go of Rusty's hair.
"The masks are in place, Mr Ocean, to let my men go to extremes. They find it...liberating."
Smith was in front of them again, all smiles and Rusty wished he was able to get a punch in and wipe that smile right off his-
"You were unlucky, you know. Your fence was turned over. I was called up out of the blue by someone who knew I had an interest in Qing porcelain. Imagine my surprise when I found myself looking at the very piece I knew to be resting on display in my house! Except that when I checked, it was in fact a very excellent copy." Smith smiled. "And when I had had the introduction to your fence, I found your name mentioned. After that, a quick check of your known associates gave me the two men you used as distraction and a very good guess at your technical man. As for you," he waved a hand at Rusty, "you pretty much go without saying."
Smith stared at Rusty for a moment and then reached out and his hand was on Rusty's chin again and his thumb forced its way over his bottom lip, running round his bottom teeth and over his tongue and with immense difficulty, Rusty resisted the temptation to bite down hard.
"You're tougher than you look," Smith told him and really, that was hardly news and Rusty's eyes told him. Smith's grip grew tighter until he was clenching Rusty's lower jaw. "It's going to take something extraordinary to break you."
He could feel Danny's misery and anger, radiating outwards and it was impossible that Smith didn't feel it too.
"Special to you, isn't he?" Smith said softly, his eyes still on Rusty. "Partners. That's what I was told. Been together a long, long time."
His thumb dug down suddenly into the soft part of Rusty's mouth and Rusty couldn't stop the sharp cry.
"I asked you a question, Mr Ocean."
Rusty's mouth filled with blood as he heard Danny say with soft reluctance, "Yes. Yes, he is."
Smith withdrew his thumb at once and he beamed at Danny. "Thank you, Mr Ocean. That's what I thought." He stepped back towards the door of the cage. "Just a couple of things I need to pick up. Be sure not to miss me when I'm gone."
And then masked men and murderer disappeared and they were left alone.
"I called it wrong."
Soft and barely spoken and Rusty saw the utter wretchedness on Danny's face. And this could have been about Smith demanding answers he already knew but it wasn't. It was about the job itself. He laid a hand on Danny's arm.
"You called it right," he corrected. "That vase was supposed to be out of the country faster than any dog that Saul hasn't bet on. It was just bad luck."
A mirthless smile flickered on to Danny's face.
"Try telling that to Linus. Or Frank or Livingston or Yen. Try telling that to Kirsty," he added with bitterness.
"Danny..." Rusty's grip tightened and he pulled Danny round to face him. "Everyone who works with you- with us - wants to work with us. Because there's always the chance that this can happen and 99 times out of a hundred, it never does. You heard Smith. We look after people."
"It's happening now," Danny whispered. "Oh, God, Rus..."
Rusty pressed his hand to Danny's cheek and Danny closed his eyes and leaned into it.
"It's all gotta end sometime," he said softly and Danny opened his eyes and stared at him.
"Tess..." Danny said eventually and Rusty nodded.
"Isabel," he replied and Danny smiled an of course.
Danny reached up and pulled Rusty's hand away from his face, holding on to it tightly.
"I don't know if I'm going to be strong enough to-" Danny swallowed. "Rus, if this is permanent-"
"-we don't need to say goodbyes, do we?"
You know-
-I know everything. And so do you.
Danny took a deep breath. "The others."
"Yeah."
The others were priority.
All too soon the door opened and Smith returned, men in tow. He beamed through the bars at them and glared at the guard who darted forward and opened the door to the cage.
"Take him," Smith said offhandedly.
Snarling and scuffling and struggling and swearing and the inevitable and Danny managed one last look of love and forever before Rusty disappeared up the steps and the cage door shut again leaving him on his own. Smith grinned at him. Danny stared back unblinking.
"Anything," he promised simply. "Anything you want. Everything you want."
For the first time since the nightmare had begun, Smith's smile slipped a little.
"Begging for your life, Mr Ocean? Unseemly."
Danny's eyes told him it wasn't his life he was bargaining for. Smith hesitated and looked like he was considering the offer. Danny could only hope.
"I'll think about it, Mr Ocean," he said eventually and turned and walked away.
Danny's gaze followed him up the stairs and only when the door closed behind Smith did Danny realise he'd been holding his breath. Rusty... Insanity washed over him and with difficulty he pushed it away. It wasn't just about Rusty. He had to think of the others.
As intimidation went, it was effective enough. A room (dining room? Ground floor anyway) with a tiled floor and a padded dentist's chair with straps and buckles and he'd been stripped and secured and they'd stood back, away, out of his sight and left him with the anticipation and the adrenaline.
He'd seen no sign of Linus or Frank or Livingston. For a moment, the impotent fury swept over him and then he made himself concentrate and focus because he couldn't help any of them and right at that moment, there were other considerations.
The last time he'd been strapped down...Vincente. Vincente in the villa with the water and the jug. The kind of game that just wasn't made for parties. And Vincente in the warehouse with the chain and the rope and the switchy little cane. He'd survived all that. And he'd survived Eddie Lavelle with the cherubic face and the sick little giggle and the electricity and the hose... Even further back and there was the longest night with the man with the swordfish tattoo who had subjugated and degraded and... Yeah. He could survive this. As long as it was survivable.
John Smith walked into view and looked him over with a considered eye.
"Not bad at all for a man of your age, Mr Ryan. You're a little marked and bruised and bloody in places but on the whole, you look good. You watch what you eat?"
Rusty grinned in spite of himself. "Only to make sure I don't miss my mouth."
Smith stretched out a casual hand and ran it over Rusty's right shoulder and then across his chest and down over his stomach.
"You've got a body to die for," he complimented and then ran his hand down Rusty's left arm, caressing the tattoo.
His touch was firm but light and Rusty gritted his teeth at the absolute possession being expressed.
"Nice bit of body art," Smith commented, his fingers tracing the black ink. "I've always wanted a tattoo like this. Bold. Striking."
"Could recommend an artist."
"Mmm." The fingers were lingering. "Thing is, I bet there's a waiting list. If someone's really talented like that, there always is."
"Maybe you need to cultivate patience."
Smith smiled and went on. "And I am just no good with pain. My pain threshold is woefully low."
"Maybe you just need someone to help build up your tolerance. I'd be happy to volunteer."
Teeth appeared. "Well, I don't want to wait and I don't want the agony. And I would want to be sure it was exactly like this."
Something...there was something...Rusty stared at him trying to work it out because...because...
"No..." he breathed just as Smith whispered, "Guess I'll take this one."
"Did you mean it?"
The question cut through the maelstrom of helpless fury and misery. Blinking, Danny looked round. The guard was standing in front of the door, curious eyes beneath the balaclava.
"Did you mean it?" The question came again, softly and slowly as if Danny was stupid.
Did he…?
"Anything…Anything you want. Everything you want."
Yes. Oh, God, yes.
"Give me a pen and paper," Danny instructed. "I'll give you the details of a bank account with over a million dollars in it. It's all yours."
He'd never been more serious.
"Give you a…huh."
The guard dug around in his pockets and Danny watched him. It was all in agonising slow motion. Smith could be back at any time. When the man finally came up with a biro and an envelope, Danny all but snatched them from him.
He scribbled down sets of figures, a password and a telephone number.
"Call this number. It's a private bank and it's open 24/7. Ask to speak to the manager, Mrs Lorraine Morley and tell her your name is Connor Regan. The details are all there. Check the balance and move the money over to whatever account you want."
The man was staring at the numbers like they were hieroglyphics and Danny had to bite back on the scream of frustration.
"Please. Make the call."
The guard looked up into dark, unblinking eyes that were willing him to comply and miracle of miracles, he was pulling out a cellphone and carrying out the instructions.
Danny's shoulders sagged with the sheer mental effort then he saw the man snap the phone shut and stare at him with the look of one who was newly rich.
"There's more," Danny said quickly, seizing the moment. "Let me out of here and I'll give it to you. You can have it all."
Now. Please. Now. He silently pleaded like he never had before.
There was a nervous glance towards the stairs and an even more nervous lick of the lips.
"I don't know, man. It doesn't do to cross Mr Smith."
No shit. Danny summoned up every last ounce of persuasion.
"You are going to be so rich, you can buy all the protection you need. Men, guns, security so fierce that no one is going to get within spitting distance of you. A house built like a fortress filled with all the women you never thought you could afford."
He painted the picture and watched the other man's eyes glaze over with greed. Danny delivered the two words that tipped the balance.
"All yours."
"Alright." The man was fumbling for keys. "C'mon. I get you out and we both get the hell out of here."
Close. So close. So close.
The door to the cage swung open and Danny was moving through the space before it had completed its arc. Both fists. On target. The man was out cold before he hit the ground.
Everything in Danny was urging him to fly up the stairs to find the others but he forced himself to focus. Details. They mattered. He pulled off the black jumper and balaclava and shrugged them on.
Found a disguise you can wear at last?
The voice echoed through him and he blinked it away. Concentration. The man's pockets yielded the phone, a knife and a loaded gun. Danny took them all. He dragged the unconscious man back into the cage and locked the door then threw the keys to the other side of the basement.
He was dialling as he ran up the stairs. Bobby picked up on the third ring. Danny didn't waste any time.
"John Smith's house." There was only one John Smith. "Yen's dead. Smith's hurting the others. He's got…" He wavered for an instant. He wanted to say sorry, to apologise till there were no more words left in the universe but he couldn't. If he started down that route he'd fold in on himself and he didn't have the luxury of doing that right now. He forced himself to continue. "He's got Linus."
Muted cursewords at the other end of the phone.
"I'm free and I'm going for the others. I'll go for Linus first."
It was all he could offer. All he could promise.
Pain. Overwhelming, all-encompassing pain. He'd passed out with the shock of it all and woken up to see John Smith with a bloody scalpel and wearing his tattoo. His brain couldn't make sense of what he was seeing and he fought against the surreality of it all.
"You think it suits me?"
His mouth was struggling to form an intelligible retort and failing.
"I learnt my skills from a cosmetic surgeon in South America who moonlighted as a torturer for hire. Or possibly it was vice versa. The trick is to be very precise and very patient when you're working the blade."
Smith was bending over him and smiling.
"I do like to keep my hand in." Smith's voice was growing fainter. "You want to know what else I've always wanted?"
Smith's mouth was next to his ear and he heard the whispered words and for a long moment, he didn't understand. His mind refused to understand. And then the scalpel danced in front of his eyes and the scream curdled in his throat.
Linus first. Not just because he was Bobby's kid. Not just because he'd been taken first and had suffered longest. He was the youngest and the most vulnerable and as much as there was a code to these things, that gave him precedence.
Smith had said upstairs. Danny was going to take that literally. He walked coolly, calmly out of the basement and headed up the main staircase. The landing was dark but light and laughter were spilling out from one of the doors to the right.
Danny's fingers tightened on the gun with the silencer and he pushed himself back against the wall, edging forward until he was level with the door that was ajar. He glanced in.
One bed …(Linus)…four men …(Linus)… Four men. That was OK. He had six bullets.
He made the first two count before reaction could set in and then as the third man reached for his clothes and presumably his gun, Danny buried the bullet squarely between his shoulder-blades. The fourth was a quivering wreck on the floor, looking more than slightly absurd in just a balaclava. Danny had not the slightest desire to laugh.
"Don't hurt me, man, don't hur-"
Danny stared at the neat hole in the man's chest for a long second (he'd killed a man...he'd killed four men…he'd…he'd…) then he turned towards the stifled sobs coming from the bed.
Linus's knees were pulled up to his chest, his eyes wide with confusion and fear and Danny didn't understand until he did. He pulled off the balaclava and saw the fear and confusion melt away.
"Danny- oh, Danny-"
There was no time. No time for sympathy or rage or tears.
"Linus." The same voice he'd use for outlining a job. "I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?"
He kept his eyes on Linus's, watching Linus bite back on the breakdown, swallowing hard, until the only signs of reaction were little shudders rippling through him.
"Good. Get yourself dressed."
Danny turned his back as he did so and searched the clothes on the floor, stepping over the bodies to make sure he had collected all the ammo.
"Can you handle a gun?" he asked, turning back to Linus.
"Yes," Linus said and his breathing was ragged but almost back to normal. "Dad taught me."
Of course he had. Bobby had probably had him down the firing range as soon as he possibly could. Danny pushed away the thoughts of Mulligan and the reasons why he and Rusty had returned from Europe and made sure they could shoot to kill.
Danny tossed Linus a black jumper and a balaclava. "Put these on quickly."
He retrieved a gun and held it out together with a spare clip and then realised Linus was still holding the jumper, staring at it.
"What-?" Danny broke off as the shake started.
"Shit," he muttered, hauling his own jumper off and swapping it out for the one with the smell of the man. "Here."
Linus didn't need to be told again. He pulled on the disguise and picked up the gun, checking the clip, and then he looked at Danny and nodded readiness.
"One thing, Linus-"
"No prisoners," Linus finished and Danny told himself that the emptiness in his eyes was all about the need for the clinical.
Downstairs. Many doors and different choices but Frank was in the kitchen, Livingston was in the garage and Rusty was fuck knew where.
Kitchen first.
Three men standing over Frank tied to a chair and again there was blood and pain and suffering and not that there'd ever be a good time but Danny couldn't afford to deal with that right now. He took out the one with the pliers and then put down first one then the other of the onlookers before they could draw their weapons.
They were down and dead but Linus stood over the top of them, emptying his clip into them, continuing to pull the trigger long after there were no more bullets.
Danny reached over and put his hand over Linus's. "It's OK, Linus. Breathe."
A sigh shuddered out of Linus and he lost the glassy-eyed stare. He gave an impatient flick of his head and then reloaded the gun.
"Danny?" Frank almost choked with relief. "Oh, man, oh, man…"
Danny pulled the knife from his pocket and sliced through Frank's bonds.
He glanced down at swollen, bleeding hands. No point in asking whether Frank could use a weapon. No point in Frank wearing a disguise.
"Can you walk?" he asked gently.
"Can hobble," Frank offered, the sweat running down his face.
A flash of light on his peripheral vision caught Danny's eye. He turned and stared out of the window.
The garage.
Darkness had fallen. Danny helped Linus half-carry Frank out of the back of the house, supporting the older man as he winced his way across the short distance to where Livingston was. They didn't need another flash of light. They just had to follow the screams.
They left Frank in the shadows and the bushes and crept up to the outbuilding and peered in.
A long, long time ago, there had been Eddie Lavelle and his fondness for water and electricity. This set-up was amateur by comparison but none the less painful for that.
"There's only one door," Linus said.
Danny didn't answer. He'd already figured that one out. He pushed the gun into the back of his waistband.
"Keep your gun drawn and down by your side and follow me in."
Oil lanterns were dotted round the garage and they lit up the three torturers' masked faces like ghouls. The one with the wet sponge looked up when Danny walked in.
"Hi. You coming to join the party? For a little guy, he's got one hell of a squeal on him."
Danny kept on walking towards them and now Linus was in the room too.
"You want to throw the switch?" another of them asked. "He dances so-"
Aim and fire. Aim and fire. Aim and fire. He was the bringer of death and death was too good for them, too good for all of them. For any of them. And he'd found Linus, Frank and Livingston. He'd found all three of them and that meant he was so close, so very close.
I'm coming, Rusty. Hold on.
Livingston was shivering in a metal chair, angry burns all over his naked body. He looked up at Danny, teeth chattering and Danny was back in a small room with Eddie Lavelle's handiwork in front of him.
"It's OK, Livingston, it's us."
He cut Livingston free and carefully disconnected the electrodes. Linus scooped up Livingston's clothes and pressed them against him. Livingston looked down at the clothes like he didn't know what to do about them. Shock. Aftermath. It might be a while before Livingston started talking.
"Linus, go and keep watch at the door."
Danny picked up the polo shirt and gently pulled it down over Livingston's head. Livingston stirred himself enough to struggle first into it and then into the rest of his clothes.
Outside and back to Frank and they were still undetected and he'd found them all, he'd found them and they were rescued and they weren't away from danger but they so nearly were and the cavalry was on its way and surely, surely, now…
"Linus." He took the kid slightly to one side. "I need to go and find Rusty."
Linus nodded. "We can try-"
"No. I need to go and find him. I need you to make sure that Frank and Livingston get out of here and get looked after." He put a hand up to Linus's cheek as he might have done to Rusty's. "You too, kid."
"I can help," Linus protested. "Two of us stand more chance-"
"I'm going alone," Danny overrode him. He dug out the cellphone and handed it to Linus. "Your dad's sending reinforcements."
"Dad?" Linus sounded hopeful and ashamed and so damn young. "Dad's coming?"
Danny shook his head. "Maybe not in person. But when you're clear, call him. Let him know you're out of here. Tell him…let him know I'm sorry."
Linus grabbed his arm.
"Rusty is my friend too," he insisted stubbornly
"Linus, I don't have time for this. Rusty doesn't have time for this. Look at Frank. Look at Livingston. They need someone to look out for them. If Rusty were standing there and you were the one inside, I'd be telling him to take the others and run and let me go back in and deal."
"Bet he'd argue," Linus muttered.
"Probably." Undoubtedly. "But he'd know I was right. In this life, Linus, it's all about doing what matters. Now we clear?"
Linus gave a reluctant nod.
"Good. Take them up to the main road and head east. And, Linus, for what it's worth? Rusty and I always thought you'd make the grade."
He glanced at Livingston, still too out of it to communicate with, and Frank who stared at him dully and then gave him a sad nod.
And that was all the time he could spare on goodbyes.
He'd killed men this night. He'd taken lives and he was ready to take more. And later he might stop and think about what that meant and what that made him. Later, he might have to deal with all of that. Later, he might have to deal with Yen's death and all that had happened to the others. Right now…
Right now, the bodies had still not been discovered. There was no outcry, no shouting. That meant that John Smith was still occupied. That meant that Rusty was still being tortured. That meant that Rusty was still alive. Whatever Smith was inflicting… Whatever. Rusty was alive.
Back inside the kitchen, picking his way carefully over the bodies, working his way out into the hall, looking for signs of activity, listening for sounds of pain.
It took him a lifetime to find the room with the soundproofing.
…soundlessly easing the door open…
…soft humming in the low-light…
…the chair with the blood around its base and Rusty was in that chair…Rusty was strapped in that chair and all he could see was Rusty's feet because John Smith was bending over him, John Smith was humming a happy tune and Danny couldn't see...
Careful, careful steps towards them and Danny had the gun drawn and down by his side but he couldn't risk firing because he didn't know what Smith was doing. A sudden death reflex and Rusty could die too. He edged closer and then he saw. He saw and didn't believe and his mouth fluttered uselessly open.
Maybe he made a noise. Maybe he made a noise and he didn't realise. Interrupted in his obscene handiwork, John Smith stopped humming and span round, the scalpel still in his hand.
"Everything OK?" Smith frowned. "I sent everyone away. I said I didn't want to be disturbed."
No. Everything was very not OK. Danny's eyes dropped to Rusty's mutilated arm and then back up to…to…
Smith smiled wolfishly. "I'm getting myself a facelift."
Danny raised the gun and fired blindly, clumsily, sending Smith down to the floor, sending the scalpel spinning out of his hand. Danny dropped the gun and yanked the balaclava off and he was there with Rusty, holding his hand, not able to take his eyes off the flaps of flesh peeled back from the skull like skin off a grape.
"Rusty, it's me. I'm here. I got you, I got you…"
Words fell out of him and it wasn't enough, it was nowhere near enough and Rusty wasn't with him, Rusty was lying slicked in his own blood and half of his face, half of his face…
"Rus…Rus…hold on, please, hold on."
They could sort this. There was nothing they couldn't sort. Nothing they couldn't do. And help was on its way. Bobby was sending help. Danny's fingers worked the buckles on the leather straps, freeing Rusty's arms, freeing Rusty's ankles. Rusty lay motionless in the chair. Rusty wasn't moving. Rusty wasn't…
"He died a while back."
John Smith's voice, bubbling up wetly through his throat. It sounded like the bullets had caught somewhere vital. Danny couldn't tear his gaze away from Rusty to check.
Smith had to be lying. He couldn't know for sure. Frantically, Danny felt for a pulse. Nothing. There was nothing.
Rusty.
Then he saw the thin red line drawn with fatal skill across Rusty's throat.
Rusty.
"He just wouldn't hold still," Smith rasped, "and I really wanted to surprise you with a whole new look."
There was a clicking noise and this time Danny did look at him. There was an untidy trail of blood on the tiled floor where Smith had dragged himself to the gun. And the gun was pointing at him.
"Time to say goodbye," Smith whispered.
Goodbye.
The word they never need to say.
Somewhere there is Tess and there is Isabel and everywhere there is regret. A lifetime of knowing and being truly known rolls through him and over him.
He doesn't even hear the sirens. He wraps his arms around Rusty and pulls him to him, holding him tightly, his cheek pressed up against Rusty's hair and waits.
A/N: sorry.