Isabel chopped the red peppers into neat, thin slices, pausing only to splash some more red wine in with the stir-frying chicken along with a handful of herbs. She continued with the peppers, feeling a disproportionate rush of satisfaction as the ingredients in her kitchen obeyed her, releasing tantalizing aromas. Yes, she had pride in her other abilities – such as being a senior agent in Europol and being able to match the greatest criminal minds in the world – but even Rusty's hands were not so quick and sure in the domestic domain. Pulling together a meal made her feel strangely smug. Now the peppers were finished and dumped alongside the chicken. The rush subsided and she found herself with idle hands, waiting for the heat to cook her chicken thoroughly before she began the flurry of finishing touches. For a few minutes her mind wandered beyond her domestic domain to the romantic dinner tonight. Rusty would be home soon. She knew the way he'd walk in the door, and look her in the eyes. She knew that he would immediately see in her face that she had plans for them that evening and she could even guess which exact expression of surprise he'd have on. They'd have dinner, and then they would have – she bit the inside of her cheek to stop from smiling like that – they would have the whole night together. Alone.
She frowned, struck by an unexpectedly adverse thought. They wouldn't be alone. No matter how close her and Rusty got, it would never just be the two of them.
Well sure, if you put it that way, she never really expected that she'd have him all to herself. Even on their wedding day, when he swore to protect her and love her above all others, of course she realized that there would still be others he loved to some degree. She was not the only one in his life, and she completely understood that. Was completely okay with that. Rusty was entitled to have some other guy to talk to. Still, was it really necessary that Danny live with her and Rusty? Like, in the house? He took places in Rusty's life that were rightfully her's: constant companion, comforter, friend.
Of course, she'd never voice her opinions to Rusty. He would assume that she was merely joking – she couldn't be jealous, he'd say, maybe of that other thing and the other girl back that one time, but not this. Actually, he would probably would just chuckle slightly and go tell Danny what she said. Maybe she could bring up that promise…
She should've brought the promise up before, on that romantic trip they had taken on their third anniversary. Technically it was a combination of several trips: Madrid, up to Paris, down to the Venice oceanfront, dinner in New York, America [Rusty was really craving Rao's pasta, and he conveniently had enough contacts to get them a table, even on almost no notice] and then back to Europe a few hours later to see Limerick, Ireland for no other reason than that the name had interested him; the pace at which they had hit all of those cities had reminded Isabel of machinegun rapid-fire: rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat… that didn't sound like a gun at all. She frowned, trying to think of an onomatopoetic word that would, and then gave up. It wasn't important.
She was just content to remember how he had raced from one place to another, eyes bright and alive, and how she had followed, basking in his glory. It had been wonderful – not that she could picture herself planning such a trip now, or more accurately, going on a trip with such a lack of planning. Still, it was pleasant to recall. The whole ninety-three hours had been, paradoxically, a wonderful relapse into the Rusty she had fallen love with. It would have been perfect, but Danny had tagged along.
During the whole drive to the airport while Danny lazed around in the backseat, Isabel was sure that Rusty was just going to say goodbye to him right before boarding and then leave Danny behind to stay at a friend's for a day or two. Rusty had a plan though, and as they approached customs he slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and produced in his hand a few important-looking papers. When the Customs agent had sarcastically asked if Danny had a passport, Rusty wordlessly handed over the documents. The agent scanned them, then while looking very embarrassed, she let Rusty and Danny through to board the plane.
It took Isabel a few minutes to realize what was happening: Rusty was pretending to be blind so he could bring Danny along as a guide. She was shocked, no, she was livid. He was pulling a confidence scheme on their anniversary? She wasn't just pissed because she was expecting to have Rusty all to herself for the next ninety-three hours. That wasn't it at all. She was on the verge of marching up to that woman and telling her exactly what was going on, but was appeased somewhat as she watched Danny work. She always thought of him as a dumb lug, but here he was, melding perfectly into his new role. He guided Rusty around low-hanging obstacles, stepped past the garbage lying on the ground here and there, and utterly ignored all of the coddling several other passengers put him through. Though they ruffled his hair affectionately, traced the line from behind the ear to the jaw line with caressing fingers, and rubbed his chest, he focused on his duty. And every time they stepped out of an airport on that trip after pulling that con, Rusty would remove his glasses and tuck them in a pocket. He and Danny would share a grin as they strode ahead, Isabel gamely trying to keep up.
Isabel stared at the food on the stove, looking at it but not seeing it. Rusty, the most intuitive man she had ever known, couldn't see how much she envied Danny. The many ways that Danny shared a more intimate connection with Rusty than Isabel. After some of Isabel and Rusty's more heated, though fortunately rare arguments, Rusty would stalk off without warning and go talk to Danny to unburden himself. Rusty would spend hours with him, telling him some of the deepest secrets that Isabel was never close enough to share, while Danny accepted the lengthy one-sided conversations with total patience.
Danny was always the first to sense Rusty's moods. When Rusty came home from whatever job had current hold over his fancy Isabel always asked him how his day went. He almost always answered with the usual, "Fine." Isabel actually took this to mean that it was fine. Silly girl! Some days, while she turned back to whatever she was working on, she suddenly became acutely aware that Danny was there. Rusty would sit on the couch and Danny would lie down next to him, Danny's head resting on Rusty's lap. Danny stayed, unmoving and radiating compassion while Rusty stroked his hair absentmindedly, the expression on his face troubled. By this time Isabel would pick up on it and comfort him like any good spouse. But she was uncomfortable with the fact that she was never the first to notice. She was his wife, for cryin' out loud!
Oh, fuck. The chicken was definitely charred now. She scraped the pan and tossed it so it could cook on the other sides too. She had about ten minutes left before Rusty was supposed to be back [legitimate jobs made it so much easier to predict his actions], meaning it was time to put that garlic bread in the oven to broil and leave the stir-fry to simmer on low heat, with another splash of alcohol.
She had a little alcohol for herself too, but that was irrelevant. After all, she knew the relationship between Danny and Rusty was purely a close friendship, without a hint of romance. Rusty just wasn't into Danny. Not like that, anyway. She really shouldn't feel too jealous, and she knew it. Her place in Rusty's life was secure. Danny couldn't replace her roles in Rusty's life, not as a spouse, not as a lover, not as an Intellectual Equal, not as a … well, that pretty much summed it up. After all, Danny couldn't carry a conversation to save his life. For some inexplicable reason, Rusty still found the need to brag about Danny unfathomable genius. Riiiiiigghhtt. What was it, just last week that Rusty was unabashedly proud that Danny had figured out how to open up the baby-proof locks on the cupboards? And when Isabel had pointed out [admittedly, with a little more disparagement in her voice than needed] that he never got so excited when she opened the cupboards, Rusty had just given her this, this exasperated look – and that, especially that tirade right there, showed her how ridiculous she was being. She shouldn't compare herself too literally to Danny – that just wasn't fair. She still did.
Basil. The stir-fry could definitely use some basil. She plucked a few sprigs from the plant growing on her windowsill and started mincing the leaves a little more vehemently than strictly necessary. Oh wait, there was something else: she could cook, and Danny, well, she was pretty sure that Danny couldn't.
Both Dannys had always held a part of Rusty just beyond her grasp, she thought with exasperation. The first time she had met Tess and Danny number one, a few weeks after her and Rusty started dating, she just thought that they were a nice, charming couple. Tess used to tell Isabel about how she and Daniel met: at an art gallery. She was there to admire the Monet. He was there to scout out the exit strategies. He struck up a conversation and held it going long enough to get her to accept a lunch date with him. At this part of the story Tess would insist that she knew all along that Danny was bluffing his way past Vincent Van Gogh's adapted pointillism technique, and only accepted his date because she thought Danny was charming, but Isabel was never sure. Danny often had vast knowledge of unpredictable subjects. He might've actually known more than his wife gave him credit for.
Tess had disapproved of Daniel's stealing just as much as she, Isabel, had disapproved of Rusty's. Oh sure, when they had been younger the idea of being romantically involved with a slick criminal had been exciting. Flirting on either side of the law had been a balancing act, desperate and yet it was as if they couldn't lose. Over the years, Tess and Isabel lost their taste for that kind of adventure, but the boys never seemed to grow up with them. They were dreamers, and couldn't understand when their wives wished that they would learn to live with less intensity. The girls struggled to be enough for their men, and the boys got so restless they sought solace in each other. It had been hard on all of them; each marriage had one woman and two men… one person too many.
Isabel sighed inwardly. She had really liked Tess, but she felt like she could never speak to her again. Not that Tess meant to drive a wedge in their relationship, of course. But Tess had spent too many years with her man playing as though he had nothing to lose, especially her, so she gave Daniel an ultimatum: her or Rusty. Either their marriage was done, right then and there – she even had divorce papers drawn up, just in case he didn't believe her – or Daniel stopped talking to Rusty. Ever. It wasn't like Daniel could make a choice like that on his own. He loved Tess. He loved Rusty. Tess wanted him all to herself. So Rusty told him to go after Tess.
Whenever Daniel and Rusty got together they became DannyandRusty, shameless thieves; the change between Daniel and Danny had always been distinct to Isabel. It was hard to believe that the two characters inhabited the same person: the laughing, ever-young Danny, half the equation for DannyandRusty; and Daniel, the man Tess wanted. But DannyandRusty was dead now. There were only two things in the world that the boys had ever had to fight to keep.
A few weeks after the incident she had delicately trod on sacred ground: she asked Rusty how he could just turn his back on his best friend, though not in so many words. She was expecting him to stare aimlessly past her and morosely delve into a memory of DannyandRusty, only half-explaining the important parts and contemplating at length the details that seemed to have no relevance whatsoever. That was what she expected from him. To her surprise, he looked her in the eyes and told her that he hadn't done it to make Daniel's choice any easier. He had done it for her and Tess. He wanted to give a chance for both marriages to work, and they wouldn't if he and Danny only had half a heart to give. She didn't need to feel guilty, he gently assured her, [she didn't], because he and Daniel had already agreed on it – likely in nothing more than an emotion-filled glance, thought Isabel off-handedly.
He then solemnly swore to her that he would give her his whole heart if she would give him hers. He gave the promise with such a lack of hesitation that she wondered if he hadn't been expecting her to ask and prepared his response. It wouldn't surprise her; Rusty knew her better in some ways than she knew herself.
Isabel sprinkled the herb onto the chicken absentmindedly. She had felt sorry for the boys, both of them, but that was only because Tess had a few years head start, and if Isabel was given enough time for her feelings fester, she could see herself reaching the same point. That didn't matter, though. After all, it turned out well in the end. That's when the boys changed the quirky mannerisms, the conversations without finished sentences, the thinking in parallels, and the whole DannyandRusty thing. They grew up into men, and as Rusty proved, damned gallant men at that. Isabel was secretly relieved, for a while, because maybe if Rusty just stopped seeing Danny, Rusty would stop stealing things, too. And, she optimistically reasoned, once Rusty stopped being such a kleptomaniac about 90% of the difficulties in their relationship would disappear. Was there really a time when she believed the root of the problem was petty theft?
Rusty had moped around for a bit after Daniel stopped scheming with him, watching Opera with him, talking to him. Finally, one day Isabel come home to Rusty, blue eyes just as bright as ever, and to those now-familiar dark brown eyes and black fur. She had smiled then too, even cracking a few jokes about 'puppy love'.
Then Rusty decided to call the pup Danny – not Daniel, not ever Daniel. The dog's name was Danny. Then he proceeded to pour his life into the mutt. Then Isabel began to feel snubbed.
Of course, Rusty loved her. Of course, it was just a dog. Of course, of course, of course. She knew it, but she still hated that she had to accept it.
Suddenly she was aware of the thick black smoke forcing it's way out of the oven where the garlic bread sat broiling for more then just a little too long [shit, the bread] and she stood flustered and unsure for the longest moment in eternity. Suddenly the oven was turned off, the kitchen windows were flung open to air out the room, and the now-unneeded fire extinguisher was absently put off to the side. Rusty was there, embracing her, stroking her cheeks with those quick, sure fingers while laughing good-naturedly at the mess of her domestic domain.
She had tucked Danny into his kennel downstairs already with a rawhide bone to keep him company. Rusty was in her arms and no one was closer to him right now than she was. It was a poor, temporary victory and she knew it; but it was enough for her.
Until the next time her mind wandered beyond her domestic domain.
I feel like I'm trying to shovel too much emotion and complexity into such a short story. Please review! I will return the favour to the best of my ability!
Oooh, and just out of curiosity, do you think Rusty knows how Isabel feels [completely, including the paradoxes in her beliefs]? And what does her domestic domain symbolize? I was thinking about those things while writing and realized that I didn't know for sure, so I'm interested to hear how you understand them.