Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Ocean's 11
Words used - all of them! Yay!
Zxully anti-nostalgic: shovel, precarious, alarm-clock, sheet
webbswoman: constrict
InSilva: entrance – sprightly, spotlight, trifle
alocine: orangutan, oyster crackers, opera
Jusmine: bizarre, perfection
Alice: goddess
Shadow Nashira: fleeting, meld, poetry
Me: treacle, pirated, mirage
Mmm. Well. This story is about twenty minutes late. What with it now being tomorrow. On the other hand, it's also about, oh, maybe ten thousand words longer than I was originally expecting? Feel that this balances out somehow. Sigh. What can I say? There are some people - InSilva and NothingToulouse - who manage to produce masterpieces within deadlines. And some of us do not. Huh. Am jealous.
Also want it clearly noted that contrary to the opinion of some it is not all that.
The wedding invitation came as a surprise. Not even a particularly welcome one.
Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Bowman request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their aunt
Miss Harriet Bowman
to
Mr Albert Boyle
the seventh of October
at the Delaney Hotel, Wilmington
Danny eyed it suspiciously over the breakfast table and tried to calculate his chances of hiding it before . . .
"What's that?" Tess asked from behind him.
He groaned to himself. He hadn't heard the alarm-clock go off. He'd thought he had more time. "Just an invitation to my Great Aunt Harriet's wedding," he said dismissively and he turned round and greeted her with a wide and dazzling smile. "What do you have planned for today?" he asked with interest. "I was thinking we could - "
" - Aunt Harriet's getting married?" Tess cut in, eyes narrowed and not fooled for a second.
Danny sighed. "Yes," he agreed. "To someone named Albert Boyle. In Wilmington."
"That's sweet," Tess said happily. "To find love at her age."
"Love, or someone thinks she has money," Danny nodded.
Tess stared at him. "We're going to the wedding, Danny."
He really didn't want to. "I really don't want to," he explained, not a trace of whine in his voice.
"Doesn't matter," Tess was firm. "You're her favourite nephew. She's a sweet old lady and she came to our wedding. Both times."
"I could come up with a really good excuse," Danny pointed out. "No one would ever know. And I can't be her favourite nephew anyway," he added with a frown. "I've only met her a handful of times. My cousins can't be that bad." It wasn't that he had anything against Harriet. She was the kind of old lady who was normally described as sprightly. Spirited. Downright rude.
"When you're relentlessly charming? It's your own fault if people like you," Tess told him, smiling. "And it's a family obligation. Family is important."
Danny sighed, knowing he'd already lost. Tess had never had enough family to appreciate him taking his relatives for granted. He understood that. Thing was, Danny had always been very clear on exactly what made family. On exactly who his family was.
"I'll RSVP today," he told her resignedly, picking up the envelope. He suddenly realised that there was something else in there. Two somethings else. With a frown he pulled out a second invitation – one with Rusty's name on it – and a note.
He blinked and turned his attention to the note, hoping for some kind of explanation. Harriet had met Rusty almost as often as she'd met him, and unquestionably she had liked him, since Rusty had wanted her to, but inviting him to her wedding seemed to be taking an unexpected step.
The note was short and from his Aunt Julie.
Daniel,
Hope you don't mind passing this note on to your friend. Jacqui was very adamant that he be invited, and since Harriet agreed he was a pleasant young man, I see no harm.
We look forward to seeing all three of you next month.
Julie
Oh, he didn't understand this in the slightest. "Aunt Julie's invited Rusty," he said to Tess, uncomprehendingly. "Because Jacqui told her to."
Tess looked amused and unsurprised. "Your cousin Jacqui had a bit of a crush," she murmured.
Danny frowned, trying to remember the last time he'd visited Aunt Julie and her daughter. A vision of pigtails and an excited voice telling him all about her pony came to mind. "She's twelve," he said blankly.
Tess laughed. "I hope not; she was twenty-one at our first wedding."
"Oh." He considered this. "And she had a thing for Rusty?"
"Definitely," Tess nodded. "I caught her following him around, sucking Taramasalata off celery sticks."
Danny grinned. "Did he notice?"
She smiled. "No. At least I don't think so."
Oh. Oh, this sounded entertaining. "I think I'm going to need some serious moral support to get through this," he said slowly.
Tess sighed and rolled her eyes. "As long as you have fun," she said dryly.
"Oh, I intend to," he said with a smile.
One month later
Tess stared at herself in the mirror and frowned. She wasn't convinced. She hadn't been convinced in the shop and she wasn't convinced now, but by the time Julie had contacted them with the wonderful news of a family reunion/getting-to-know-you party the night before the wedding, and she'd realised that she'd need to get two dresses, she'd had to settle for whatever she could find. There were times she was almost inclined to agree with Danny about this whole thing being more effort than it was worth.
And she looked good, she wasn't going to argue with that. It was just that she wasn't completely convinced. Too many fiddly bits. Normally she preferred a simpler look. Straight lines. Elegance.
It was easy for men, she was sure. Suits were infinitely more straight-forward. Well. It was certainly easy for Danny. And Rusty. The pair of them looked effortlessly good in absolutely anything. She'd seen Rusty in a pair of faded, rumpled, paint-smattered overalls a couple of months back, for reasons that she absolutely wasn't asking about, and even in those he'd looked like Raphael had just got through painting him. It was very annoying.
Checking her hair one last time, and giving the dress another uncertain look, she walked out of the bathroom to see Danny already dressed – perfection in evening dress – lying on the bed and watching 'The Goonies'.
He turned it off when he saw her and stood up, and his smile and the way his eyes lit up . . . she couldn't help but fall in love all over again. "You look incredible," he murmured, walking over to her and kissing her thoroughly.
"You think?" she asked after the briefest of brief interludes. "The dress is okay?"
Danny looked at her for a long moment, his eyes dark and intense. "Yes," he said simply.
She pulled at the neckline uncertainly. "You don't think it makes me look too princess-y?"
"More like a goddess," Danny said immediately, capturing her hand in his and pressing it to his lips.
"Danny," she objected, laughing. "I've known you long enough - "
" - to know I mean every word?" he finished. "I love you more each time I see you," he said intently. "I love you more with every day that goes by. I love you more than anyone would believe."
"I believe you," she said softly and stepped closer.
There was a knock at the door.
Danny sighed and muttered something about timing.
She took a moment to put on her earrings as Danny let Rusty in. They didn't say anything, but the unspoken conversation of amusement, apology and sulky blame was – for once – easy enough to follow. Most times they were too subtle for her to know anything other than the fact there was something going on she'd never understand, never know about. Every now and again, they weren't.
She glanced round in time to catch a meaningful look and – correctly – translate it as Rusty offering to come back later.
"We're going to the party," she said firmly. "Now."
Danny sighed harder. "I'm sure no one would miss us," he complained.
Rusty smiled at Tess. "You look beautiful," he said with simple straightforwardness.
"So do you," she answered before she'd thought. They both looked at her. "Ah, handsome?" she suggested. It wasn't the adjective that suited.
"Thank you," Rusty said ironically. Danny grinned.
She bit her lip. "Can we go downstairs now?"
Almost immediately they'd been cornered by Danny's Aunt Julie who seemed to have had one too many and was going through a list of everything she'd had to go through in order to make Harriet's wedding everything she'd spent her seventy-five years dreaming of. They nodded sympathetically in all the right places, as they endured a recital of woes around the caterers, the hotel staff, the flowers, the second set of caterers, a guest list that was in permanent state of flux, the champagne, the champagne glasses, the opera singers, the seating charts, the vagaries of the groom's son who apparently spent much of his time out of the country, the third set of caterers, rearranging the date of the whole thing to suit the groom's son, and the subsequent need for a fourth set of caterers.
Rusty couldn't help but wonder if she was planning on taking a breath anytime soon. He never got a chance to find out; delicate fingers grabbed him by the arm. "Hi, Rusty," an amused voice breathed. "Remember me?"
He turned to see Jacqui Bowman, Danny's cousin. He'd met her at Danny and Tess' first wedding. She'd been wearing a peach dress. Finishing up college, majoring in American poetry with a minor in drama. Had apparently had a liking for health food that he'd never understand.
If he hadn't caught the briefest flicker of amusement from Danny he'd have walked right into it. As it was he shot Danny a quick look that promised retribution and smiled politely at Jacqui. Let puzzlement show in his eyes. "Ah, of course I do . . . Jenny?"
"Jacqui," she corrected, looking a little crestfallen. "We met at Danny's wedding? I'm his cousin."
"Of course," he nodded, apparently relieved.
"So you're here on your own?" she asked hopefully, her hand stroking further up his arm.
He affected not to notice. "Yes, unfortunately," he sighed. "My partner doesn't care much for weddings," he confided. "Getting him to leave the hotel room is quite difficult. There comes a time when I have to ask if he's worth it."
The disappointed look grew. "Oh."
"Jacqui!" Julie spotted her daughter. "Have the caterers rung you by any chance?"
"No, mother," Jacqui replied dutifully, dropping Rusty's arm.
Julie clucked her tongue. "What in the world are they playing at?" she demanded. "Come and help me get this sorted out." She turned back and smiled graciously at the three of them. "It was lovely seeing you again, Tess. And you, Daniel. You must make sure to give me your new phone number before you leave. I mean now you're retired, I'm sure you must have adopted a more sedentary lifestyle. So keeping in touch really shouldn't be completely out of the question, now should it?"
"Of course not," Danny lied beautifully.
"I'll speak to you later, no doubt. Enjoy the party. Come along, Jacqui."
"Bye, Rusty. I'll maybe see you later." She smiled and it was difficult to say whether she was trying to look shy or seductive.
"Oh, probably," Rusty agreed lightly. He watched them walk off and turned to face Danny's grin. "So, I guess I know why I was invited," he stated.
"You think she fell for it?" Danny asked innocently. "I think she's going to try again."
Tess was looking disapproving.
"I didn't lie to her once," Rusty pointed out. "She just made some assumptions. A lot of assumptions."
"Yes, I suppose," Tess sighed.
They drifted across the room gradually. "Aunt Julie complains a lot, doesn't she?" Danny said casually. "Anyone would think that planning a wedding was complicated."
Rusty and Tess fell half a step behind and exchanged a look behind Danny's back. Huh. Rusty certainly didn't remember Danny taking care of many of the details of his own wedding. Either time.
"I mean it's not exactly rocket science," Danny went on, oblivious to Tess' tightening lips and Rusty's widening smile.
"Danny!" A hearty voice rang out across the room and Julie's husband Lawrence stepped out and clapped Danny on the shoulder enthusiastically. "How have you been?" He didn't actually wait for an answer. "Come join us in the private bar, won't you? Group of us old boys are fighting the good fight, putting the world to rights. We could do with the opinion of a financial whiz kid."
"I'm sorry, Larry," Danny started with a polite and disarming smile. "I'd love to, but I'm afraid I couldn't possibly abandon Tess and Rusty - "
They didn't bother looking at each other. Tess smiled. " - Oh, no, go ahead, Danny. We'll be fine."
"You're always saying how you miss getting to talk shop," Rusty added sincerely.
They were fixed with a look of desperation, disbelief and mute appeal, before Lawrence dragged Danny off.
Tess sighed. "Weddings are not easy," she told Rusty firmly.
He nodded in agreement. "I've robbed banks that took less effort."
She blinked and looked at him suspiciously.
He shrugged. "Honestly, often they're easier than you'd think."
"You are not reassuring," she told him dryly. She paused. "He will be all right, won't he?" she asked. "I mean, they're not going to catch him out in anything, are they?"
"Impossible," Rusty said definitely. Never going to happen. "He can bluff that. Really, he'd probably have more trouble trying to pretend to be a retired high school basketball coach."
She giggled. "It wasn't the most obvious of cover stories."
"Obvious is never fun," Rusty mused.
"That's why you don't like Jacqui," Tess said thoughtfully, as if it were some strange revelation.
He looked at her and smiled. "Would you like something to drink?" he suggested. "Or some food?"
"Please," she agreed.
They looked round the room for a long moment. Nearly everyone had a drink. A great many people had little plates of food. It really wasn't obvious where either had come from.
Tess sighed. "Do you want to split up?" she suggested.
"Okay," he nodded. "I'll get the drinks, you find some food."
"Other way round," she decided, and he looked at her questioningly. "Might as well play to your natural talents."
Oh, that was . . . undeniable, really. "I'll meet you back here in five," he sighed.
For the first time in a decade he was standing on American soil under his own name. Lucas Boyle was standing in Hunter Eriskay's shoes, and if Hunter was any less of a man, he might have felt vulnerable. As it was, he simply felt bored, and he'd been looking round the room, desperate for any entertainment that could be extracted from these vapid sheep.
Scanning the crowd with a sigh, desperate to avoid any more pointless small talk with the latest family of simpletons his father had chosen to marry into, he suddenly froze, his eyes fixed on a slim blond in an electric-blue suit.
Wait.
Oh, wait just one fucking moment.
He recognised that man. He knew that man. Knew that man delightfully intimately.
Twelve years ago. An impossible job. A hit on American soil, where he hated to work – he hated to work anywhere the rule of law applied. But the money had been good and the job had been entertaining and he'd pulled his unit out of the jungle – away from watching as the other side pirated away all the weapons, supplies and local talent in the poxy, futile little war – and dragged them to an abandoned bunker in New Mexico to sit tight until they got a plan together.
The target hadn't left his secure ranch in over a decade. Every last entrance had been meticulously sealed off, buried under unbelievable layers of security. A different thirty digit security code for every door. It was clearly impossible and his instinct would have been to overwhelm the place, flatten it in an avalanche of fire-power, fuck, carpet-bombing would have fixed the problem nicely. But there was a three hundred percent bonus if he managed to make it look like an accident. Tempting. Still impossible.
It was clearly impossible and then he heard that a year ago two insignificant, petty thieves had managed to break into the ranch to steal some paltry, expensive trifle.
He'd been amused. He really had. And a couple of days of research had given him names, and two interesting facts.
One of them was rumoured to have perfect recall.
They absolutely doted on each other.
There were other ways he could have done it. Quicker ways. But he had to keep his team indoors, away from all sources entertainment. And they were tempting and fun and it wasn't like he didn't have the time.
He'd made his plans long before he'd had them kidnapped and he'd been fully prepared to carry them through to the bitter-sweet ending. And the fact that he hadn't been able to, the fact that they'd had the temerity, the arrogance to escape . . . well. Unfinished business. Didn't matter that the information was a decade and more out of date. Didn't matter that in the end he'd foregone the bonus and the target had burned to a crisp. Didn't matter. This wasn't about intelligence, or information. It wasn't even about revenge or proving a point. It was simply an itch he wanted to scratch.
He looked again at the man. Rusty Ryan. Standing right over there. And to think he thought that Dad's wedding was going to be boring.
After all, he'd only got to see one of them beg.
Rusty stared thoughtfully at the plates of food and wondered just what Julie's problem with the caterers was and whether it had led to some sort of punishment. Sighing, he grabbed two plates and started to shovel a motley collection of anything he was prepared to recognise as food. The little pastries with the blue filling he left well enough alone. Also the custard and pea combination. And the chicken wings that appeared to have been dipped in treacle. Wrong. Worryingly, worryingly wrong.
It had been about five minutes since Danny had been dragged off. Probably Rusty would let him stew for another couple before he offered a phone call and a rescue. Not like what he'd said to Tess wasn't true; Danny could bluff through the generalities easily enough. As long as the conversation didn't get too bogged down in technicalities. He still remembered the party during the Tanner job when they'd needed to pretend to be doctors. The old man who'd insisted on showing them his feet. It had almost been worth it for the look on Danny's face. Almost.
Shuddering at the memory, he reached out and grabbed a handful of Oyster Crackers. Nice garnish for salad, though he doubted Tess would agree. Really, he'd tried his best.
Out of nowhere a hand grabbed his arm and a thumb was stroking the inner crook of his elbow, and he pasted the polite smile firmly onto his face and turned round ready to find some new reason to give Jacqui as to why he wasn't interested, and he found himself looking up into the face of a man he'd never seen before. A man who was looking at him like he knew exactly who he was. A man who was looking at him like he was a six course buffet.
Frowning, he tried to step back and the fingers on his arm got a little more insistent, a little painful.
The man grinned. "Hello Rusty. It's been a while, hasn't it?" The voice was conversational. Light. Terrifying. He knew the voice. Remembered it. Perfectly. The voice had rung through so many of his, Danny's, their nightmares over the years.
Suppressing the noise of fear and surprise that crept up inside him, he wrenched his arm away and stumbled backwards, desperate to escape. Hunter Eriskay followed him.
Tess stood in the middle of the room holding two glasses of wine and feeling a little stupid. Evidently the bar had been easier to find than the food. Or else the food had been too much to resist. She was conscious of a couple of curious looks and she gritted her teeth. Enough was enough. She was going to go and find him.
Weaving through the crowd she caught sight of the table of food. Seemed a good place to start.
For a moment she couldn't see him and she felt a brief flicker of concern followed by a great deal of annoyance. Then she spotted him, standing in a corner between the wall and the door, talking to a man. Well. She said talking. The man was leaning on the wall, his hand just above Rusty's head, and he appeared to be whispering in Rusty's ear and her irritation quickly gave way to fleeting amusement.
She stole another glance at the man. Tall, broad, probably in his early fifties and looking good for it. Handsome, in a vaguely military-looking sort of way. Not someone she'd have picked out as likely to attract Rusty's attention, but she'd given up on trying to understand Rusty's love life within months of meeting him. Once, she'd exasperatedly asked Danny whether Rusty even had a type Danny had smiled and said yes and absolutely refused to elaborate.
She glanced back at the couple in the corner and prepared to leave them to it. She'd go rescue Danny instead. Tell him she needed some company.
(Except . . . )
Except it wasn't like Rusty to leave her alone for that kind of distraction. Not at all like Rusty, actually. And even if he had met someone he wanted to get to know a little better, she really couldn't imagine that he wouldn't have come and told her first.
With a frown she looked at Rusty. Really looked. And suddenly things didn't look so amusing. Suddenly things didn't look like innocent flirting. The man's hand was now caressing Rusty's cheek, and the man was towering over him, and Rusty was pressed back against the wall, trapped by the man's bulk.
She was being ridiculous. Of course she was. She was letting her imagination run away with her. All the same, she crept closer.
Close enough to see the blankness in Rusty's eyes. Close enough to see that he was shaking.
Power, that was what he wanted. There was something . . . fulfilling . . . about seeing grown men cowering before him. Or even fighting not to cower.
He'd watched Rusty Ryan's eyes when he'd spoken. Recognition, fear, panic, shame, anger. Absolutely fucking delicious.
And, as Rusty stepped back, trying to escape him again, he'd simply followed, taken the plates from his hands and laid them aside, then he'd just continued walking forwards, always that little bit too close, until Rusty had pinned himself against the wall. Smiling, he'd stepped just that bit closer, planting his feet on either side of Rusty's and leaning in close.
"It's nice to see those eyes of yours at long last," his face inches away from Rusty's, and his expression was so fun to watch. "I missed you when you left, you know. You and Danny. Is he here?"
"No," Rusty said in a terrified whisper.
He nodded slowly. "Left you alone again, has he? Pity."
"He never left me!"
He smiled. Rusty's voice had been savage and desperate and out of control. He could build on this. He really could. "Oh? Really? You think so? So he was there for you, was he? You weren't alone? You weren't hurt and alone, lying on that floor for hours on end, begging him to come save you?"
"I don't beg," Rusty snarled. Not denying the rest.
"No," he nodded. "You didn't. We didn't get quite that far, did we?" He leaned in and his mouth was hovering over Rusty's ear, and Rusty's hair trembled at his breath. "Danny begged. Did he tell you that? Did he? I didn't even need to touch him to get him prostate at my feet, crying and trembling and begging me. Did he tell you?"
"Shut up," Rusty whispered hoarsely.
Oh, this was fun. This was such fun, and as long as he was careful to keep the appearance of more normal social interactions, there was nothing to stop him from pushing the game as far as he could. He smiled tenderly. "He was the one comforting you through the pain?" he asked, and he reached out and brushed a hand over Rusty's cheek, a calculated, familiar caress.
It was one thing to break a man's body – it wasn't like whips and cattle prods and fire-hoses didn't have their place. But breaking his mind, soul – now that's entertainment.
He almost laughed to see the struggle as Rusty desperately fought his instincts. Fought the need to lean in to the touch.
It wasn't possible. Wasn't possible for him to be standing here, letting Hunter Eriskay paw at him. He needed to get out of here; but more than that, far, far more importantly he needed to make sure that Hunter and Danny came nowhere near each other.
He had to get away and he couldn't. He couldn't stop staring into Hunter's eyes, he couldn't stop listening to Hunter's voice, couldn't stop Hunter touching him.
It was insane. He'd never seen the man's face before. Had hardly heard his voice. All he had were memories.
Pain and time and nothing else. They'd been caught stepping out of the bank, and that had been the last time he'd seen Danny. That had been the last time he saw anything. Handcuffed and blindfolded and he was always struggling to listen, always struggling to understand what was going on.
Sometimes, in the timeafterpain, he'd be lying on the concrete floor of the little room, straining to hear footsteps, desperate to know when they'd come back for him, when it would all start all over again. Sometimes, as he lay there, shaking, hurting, alone, sometimes he'd hear breathing. Sometimes there'd be someone already there, waiting for him, and he'd have to wait until they made a move, had to wait to find out if there was going to be pain or comfort-that-wasn't.
Sometimes, during the pain, he'd be listening for footsteps, trying to figure out how many of them there were this time. Never less than two. Never more than eight. And there were no faces and no voices, and he didn't know where the pain was going to come from next. Didn't know what the pain was going to be next. So many different ways they had to hurt him. So many, many different ways.
He screamed. Of course he screamed. They didn't react. He screamed and yelled at them, insults and defiance, bravado and vitriol, and they didn't punish him and they didn't react in any way. Certainly they never talked to him. They never talked to him. Never talked at all.
It was the fifthsixth time, and it had been hours, maybe, probably, and the chains had been tight round his arms, and the metal wire, twisting its way round his legs, up his body, had been cold and sharp and he hadn't known what was going to happen, but the promise of pain had been very real and very frightening. He could hear them footsteps, a little behind him, off to the side, somewhere, everywhere. He'd talked. Done his best. Sarcastic and insulting and stupid, and there'd been a long monologue about Hunter Eriskay's likely relation to an orang utan, when he'd heard the quiver in his own voice. The desperation. The fear, the need. He'd heard what he wasn't saying.
"Please talk to me. Please, please, please acknowledge me. Please tell me there's something more than this."
He heard it. He heard it and he knew he was losing.
From that point on he kept his mouth shut.
There was pain and there was time and there was nothing else. He never heard another human voice.
Timeafterpain they dragged him back to the little room and sometimes it was hot and unbearable, and sometimes it was like being in a walk in freezer, and he lay and waited for them to come for him. He never knew how long it was. Would be. Sometimes it seemed like they'd hardly dropped him on the floor before the door was opening and they were taking him away. Other times he was sure he was lying there waiting for hours. Waiting for them to hurt him. Waiting. His body overwhelmed with what had just happened, his mind screaming for what might happen next, his soul drowning in it all.
He hated the waiting. After an age, he almost welcomed the pain.
Danny wasn't there. He didn't know where Danny was.
There'd been an interrogation, of sorts. In the beginning, and he'd been dragged away from Danny and of course there'd only been one thought in his mind.
The man who called himself Hunter Eriskay had talked to him. Had told them that he was going to kill Anthony Barr and they were going to help. Immediately the plans to the estate flashed into his head, the codes, the layout. He had laughed openly at Hunter. They wouldn't do that. They'd never do that.
Hunter had known about him and Danny. Had known something about Them. And he knew that one of them had his memory. Knew that one of them could reproduce everything he'd needed to know.
He'd made Hunter think it was Danny. He'd made Hunter think it was Danny, knowing that Danny couldn't, and he'd set himself up as leverage.
They'd dragged him away. Stripped him. Started hurting him. Hurting him in so many different ways. Whipped, beaten, cut, burned, electrocuted. Sometimes he didn't even know. Sometimes it was just pain and he couldn't see how they were hurting him. They did whatever they wanted with him. None of it was permanent. He was almost certain that they were keeping it just beyond the bounds of permanent disability or disfigurement. More incentive to talk, of course. For him. Or for Danny.
If Danny was watching. If Danny was there.
Sometimes, he knew Danny was there, somewhere close by. Knew it. He couldn't see, and he never heard Danny's voice, never felt Danny's presence exactly . . . but he was sure. He thought he was sure. He thought Danny might be there. Sometimes. Sometimes he knew he was imagining it.
And if Danny wasn't there, was never there, where was he? Was he being hurt too? Was he trapped in another room, with another group of tormentors? Had he somehow managed to escape? Was he safe?
(Was he dead?)
After the sixthseventhtwelfth time; after hours, years, seconds, of pain and torment and loneliness; he woke up to find gentle fingers stroking his hair, comforting, reassuring, calming, and the pain wasn't quite so overwhelming. "Danny?" he whispered hopefully, leaning into the touch. The hand convulsed suddenly in his hair, pulling, twisting, and it hurt and he was dragged upright, hauled to his feet, and he stumbled after the hand, walking towards pain.
They didn't laugh. They didn't mock. They just hurt him again, and when they were done, every time they were done, every time before they began, there were reassuring touches, comforting caresses, a hand stroking his cheek, someone kissing his forehead, his hair, someone hugging him. Treating him like all they wanted to do was make it all better.
All there was was the pain and the time and the loneliness. He resented the touches. Hated them. Craved them.
Hunter Eriskay's hand was still on his cheek. "There, there," he murmured, and Rusty bit his lip and closed his eyes and wished and remembered and the hand stroked down his face, trailed down his neck, and then the thumb dug viciously under his collar bone and he sunk his teeth into his lip a little harder.
Danny listened to Lawrence drone on about the value of hard work and the importance of tax breaks for, well, Lawrence, really, and considered that this was the worst way he'd spent an evening in some considerable time.
He could only hope that Tess and Rusty had got trapped by someone equally disagreeable.
Tess had seen more than enough. She had to do something, and her instinct was to run and find Danny. Except if she left, if she walked away now . . . suppose they weren't there when she came back? Suppose she had to look Danny in the eyes and tell him what she'd seen, and that she'd left? She couldn't do that. Couldn't abandon Rusty.
He obviously didn't see her as she marched up. She had a feeling that he was somewhere else altogether. The other man did though, and he stepped back a little hastily, obviously anxious for her not to see anything suspicious.
She affected a look of wide-eyed innocence. Concentrated on looking like she might giggle at any moment. "I found the wine!" she told Rusty enthusiastically, holding out a glass to him. And, unless the man wanted to make a scene, he'd need to step back to let Rusty take it. Which would mean that Rusty would be able to move away from him.
There was a long moment where he just stared vacantly at the glass. A long moment when she wasn't so sure that he knew who she was. Then, as the man stepped back and Rusty held out a hesitant hand, she was able to press the glass into his hand, able to brush her fingers against his. Then, as soon as the wine was in his hand, the man stepped between them, keeping Rusty back.
Somehow she didn't think this was just some guy who didn't know how to take no for an answer.
"Hi there," the man smiled at her. "My name's Lucas Boyle. Albert's son. I'm an old friend of Rusty's, not seen him for a long time. We're just getting caught up. You don't mind, do you?"
Yes. Yes, she thought that she did mind. She thought that she minded terribly. "Ah, well, Rusty's escorting me this evening," she began blindly. "I'm sure you could get caught up some other time, right Rusty?" She deliberately looked past Lucas, focussing on Rusty.
Lucas turned round and stared at Rusty too. "Well, I was just about to suggest that Rusty come with me for the evening. So we could get some privacy." The mask Rusty was wearing was impressive. But she knew Danny so very well, and looking at Rusty she could see the faintest, slightest edge of absolute terror. And she had the horrible feeling that Lucas could see it too. "Or," he went on deliberately, his eyes never moving from Rusty's face. "I suppose we could wait. Might be a better idea to get caught up with Danny at the same time, don't you think? All three of us? After all, I never got to know Danny nearly as well as I got to know you."
She was lucky that he wasn't looking at her. Fear and horror came close to overwhelming her. Not Danny. Oh, not Danny.
Rusty swallowed hard and the same thoughts and feelings were visible on his face. He looked at her apologetically for a second. "I'm sorry. I really . . . really would like to go with Hun . .. with him."
Not that either.
Marching forwards, she grabbed his arm. "Oh, no you don't, Rusty Ryan," she began. "You said you'd escort me to this wedding, and I'm going to hold you to that. If you think I'm going to let you go gallivanting off to have fun -" She winced a little at the fleeting look of dark amusement on Rusty's face. " - Then you've got another think coming. Not a chance, buster." Her voice was loud, and both men looked round, obviously frightened that they were going to attract attention. She didn't care so much.
"You're married," Lucas said suddenly, staring at the hand on Rusty's arm. "Rusty, really." He actually sounded disapproving. Actually sounded as if he had a moral objection, as if he had the right, and still she felt a stab of anger and hurt and shame at the very idea that she and Rusty could have an affair.
"Yes," she agreed stiffly. "My husband couldn't attend so I asked Rusty to escort me instead. We're - "
" - I used to patronise the gallery Tess works in," Rusty cut in quickly and she realised that Lucas must know enough to know they couldn't be work colleagues. And Rusty obviously didn't want him to think they were close friends or relatives.
"I see," Lucas nodded. "Well, Tess, I'm sure you don't really mind me stealing Rusty here away, now do you? After all, it's a big party. No one will miss him." He slung an arm over Rusty shoulders, pulled him close, and the gesture was too affectionate, too intimate, and she felt repulsed.
"We're staying in the hotel!" she blurted out. "We're going to be here for a few days. The wedding's tomorrow. Why don't the two of you get caught up after the party? After all, I'm sure your father would want you here."
The man looked thoughtful and irritated. "Good point," he acknowledged. In an instant he seemed to forget about her. He wheeled round. Stood in front of Rusty. "What room are you staying in?" he demanded quietly.
Rusty didn't even hesitate. "513," he answered, truthfully.
Lucas nodded and then in an instant he leaned in and planted a lingering kiss on Rusty's cheek. "I'll be seeing you," he promised and he took a moment to smirk at Tess' wide-eyed look, and he was gone.
All her attention was on Rusty. He hadn't moved. His head was bowed, his hands were trembling. She was afraid. "Rusty?" she said gently. "Rusty?"
After a long moment he looked up at her and smiled. "Thanks, Tess," he said quietly. "That was kind of awkward."
She nodded slowly. "What was that?"
"Oh, you know." He smiled easily and shrugged. "Just an ex I didn't really want to see."
The fact that he was lying was upsetting. The fact that he was lying so badly was, frankly, terrifying.
She stared at him. "We need to get out of here, don't we?" she asked bluntly.
He nodded quickly. "Yeah."
Rusty found himself blindly stumbling after Tess, not really knowing where they were going, not really caring.
It was so stupid. It all made him feel so hopeless. Such a long time ago. And it had been a week. They'd found out later, they'd spent barely a week in Hunter's company. A week, and all this time later he was shaking and helpless and useless. (A week of painfearalone. A week without sleep, sight, food, rest, mercy. A week of hurting and screaming and horror and violence and violation. A week without Danny.)
The memories screamed through him.
Standing on cold tile, naked and alone, blinded and handcuffed, twisting round, trying to guess where the pain was going to come from, and then the impossibly powerful jet of water, throwing him bodily against the wall, again and again, freezing him, scalding him, bruising him, breaking him, and in the end he didn't bother trying to get to his feet any more and it hurt so much, and a man – Hunter Eriskay, he knew it, thought it, was almost sure of it – was straddling his hips, and the kiss was planted in his hair, soft and chaste and reassuring, and he was laughing and he didn't even know why.
"Rusty!"
The voice sounded urgent. Tess. Tess, and she sounded frightened. He took a deep breath and realised that he was standing in the corridor, just behind reception. His head was resting against the wall. Must've stopped walking. He turned round slowly, and saw her standing there, looking upset. Rather amusingly, there was an amorous couple standing in a curtain-covered alcove just behind her, looking at them, apparently rather annoyed at the intrusion. Annoyed enough that they sighed, disgruntledly and left.
"Sorry, Tess," he said evenly, when they were out of earshot, once he'd managed to scrape together his precarious hold on normalcy.
She bit her lip. "I'm going to get Danny," she told him gently and with obvious faith that Danny could fix everything.
"No!" he snapped quickly. She stared at him and he didn't want to explain. "Danny cannot know about this, Tess," he emphasised. "We don't want Danny to know about this."
"You want me to lie to Danny?" She was incredulous.
"Yes," he said quietly. "It's, Tess he'd . . . Hunter would . . . Danny mustn't know."
She paused. "Hunter?" she asked quietly.
Right. Right. "Hunter Eriskay," he explained. "Name he went by before."
"He was looking for Danny," Tess said slowly. "He said he wanted to get caught up with both of you. And if Danny's in danger, shouldn't he know?"
He stared at his hands. That wasn't the only danger he was thinking about. That wasn't the only danger he was frightened of bringing down on Danny's head. "Danny can't know," he repeated helplessly.
She watched him with narrowed eyes. "What did he do?" she asked.
"He didn't hurt Danny," Rusty insisted, and it was true. Later, Danny had promised him that it was true.
"That wasn't what I asked," she said quietly.
He looked into her eyes for a long moment. After a time she looked away and didn't ask again.
"We need to get out of here," he began presently. "You, me, and Danny. And we can't . . . " He trailed off. She wasn't looking at him. He turned round to follow her gaze and froze. Hunter Eriskay was coming down the corridor towards them. And he hadn't seen them yet, but it was only a matter of time, and the fact that he'd been able to get away the first time had been down to Tess' good luck, and he couldn't rely on that, and in order to stop Hunter from getting interested in Tess, from finding Danny, he'd need to go with him, need to do whatever he wanted, and he was so, so frightened.
Hands grabbed him, and he was roughly pushed back against the wall, and a warm body was covering his, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
His eyes were open, staring into Tess' and she pulled his head down and kissed him fiercely.
She was betraying Danny. She was cheating on the man she loved more than life itself. She was kissing the man who she thought of as her brother-in-law.
It was wrong. It was wrong, and it was bizarre, and it was unforgivable.
Except that it wasn't. Of course it wasn't.
She had to protect, shield, hide. Any means necessary. Like she could do anything less. She loved Danny and that meant so much more than anyone could believe.
She covered his body with hers, she held him close and felt him trembling, and she hated the very sound of the footsteps that swept past. Rusty shouldn't be afraid. Not ever.
The footsteps didn't pause and the noise faded, and still she didn't quite dare let go. Wasn't like she wasn't terrified herself, caught in a situation she didn't understand, couldn't imagine.
There was the sound of running feet and the curtain was ripped away. "Jim, I . . . "
Silence, and they sprang apart. She turned and saw a group of women, Danny's cousin Jacqui at the forefront, staring at them with a mixture of shock and disapproval and delight.
"It's . . . it's not what it looks like," Tess began to protest,feeble and true.
Jacqui wasn't looking at her. "I knew you weren't gay!" she told Rusty triumphantly. Then she looked at each of them in turn. "Poor Danny," she said mournfully, her eyes shining.
"Jacqui, don't," Tess started, and then Jacqui was gone and, laughing, gossiping, the others followed.
She felt like swearing.
Rusty was staring at her. "That was . . ." He shook his head and suddenly grinned and it warmed her heart a little. "You watch too many movies, Tess. You know that?"
Rolling her eyes, she played along. "And what movies has that been in?"
He looked thoughtful. "'Notorious', 'The 39 Steps', 'Die Another Day', but that was awful. 'Fight Club', but that was dancing."
She nodded, smiling. "And I watch too many movies?"
They smiled at each other and almost, almost managed to suppress the awkward and the ashamed and the guilt. One more thing not to tell Danny.
"We need to get out of here," Rusty said abruptly, and the fear hadn't faded from his voice.
Danny finally managed to extract himself from the conversation, with great difficulty and a promise to come visit and talk Lawrence through his latest round of stocks and shares. He might have to. Though he'd need to talk to Reuben first.
He was feeling a little hurt and a lot annoyed. Normally, as far as there ever was a normally, Rusty would have got him out long before this. Playing was one thing, but they never went that far. Oh, he was going to have words.
As soon as he stepped back into the main room he noticed. There were a lot of people staring at him. A lot of people looking sympathetically at him. A lot of people giggling.
He pursed his lips, concentrated on looking casual and unconcerned, and started to try and find Tess and Rusty.
Harriet suddenly stepped in front of him, resplendent in a red dress.
"Aunt Harriet!" he said, injecting warmth into his tone. "I haven't had a chance to - "
" - bad business," she interrupted him gravely, shaking her head. "You can't be so trusting, Danny. You'll learn, when you get to my age, that it's always about sex."
He blinked slowly, not understanding what she was saying, or why she was saying it, but really kind of wishing she wasn't. "I'm sorry? I don't quite follow."
She looked grim. "Your wife and that pretty-boy friend of yours. Going at it behind your back."
"What?" This conversation had suddenly leapt from the inexplicable to the absolutely impossible. "Ah, Aunt Harriet, I don't know what you're thinking of, but that's completely - "
" - true," Jacqui interrupted. He hadn't even noticed her walking up, and now he suddenly realised that the three of them were standing in the middle of a crowd, all eager and intent on his apparent humiliation. "It's true, Danny. I saw them out in the corridor with my own eyes. Kissing. Really, really kissing, if you know what I mean." She was enjoying this. She was also telling the truth.
She was telling the truth. She had seen Tess and Rusty kissing. She had . . .
She was still talking, fast and eager, her face reddening. "She had him up against the wall, and they'd obviously been there for some time, and his hands were on her ass, and I could see his fly was open, and if they hadn't been interrupted, who knows where it would have ended up? I knew I had to tell you."
The sound of sniggering came from all sides and he found himself wishing for a convenient fire alarm.
His phone rang. By some miracle, his phone rang. He barely had to nod an acknowledgement before he swept off as if to answer the call.
He stared down at the display. Rusty. Oh . . .
Rusty peered round the door into the reception. No sign of Hunter. Thankfully. Carefully, all senses on high alert, he made his way over to the front desk. "Excuse me, I was wondering if you'd seen a man go through here? In his fifties, tall, dark hair? Lucas Boyle?"
"Oh, Mr Boyle." The concierge nodded happily. "Yes, yes, he just got in a lift to go upstairs. I could phone up to his room, if you'd like?"
"No!" he said, a little too hastily. "No, that's all right, thanks."
He headed back to where he'd left Tess. "He's gone upstairs," he told her quietly. "Probably to his room." Probably to Rusty's room, but he didn't want to worry Tess with that. "We need to get Danny and get out of here before Hunter comes back." He fished his phone out of his pocket and passed it over to her. "Call him."
She stared from the phone to him. "What do I say?"
"Pretend to be ill," he shrugged. "Say you just want to go home. Anything."
"You should - "
" - I can't," he interrupted harshly. If Danny heard his voice he was lost. Danny focused on Tess and he might have a chance. Might be able to stop Danny from going after the man who'd . . . might be able to stop Danny from going after Hunter. Tess was looking at him, fear in her eyes. He softened his voice. "He hears my voice – now – and he'll think something's wrong."
"He should know," she argued softly.
"No. He shouldn't," Rusty answered simply.
She frowned. "He - "
" - he'll go after Hunter," Rusty told her and he hadn't exactly meant to. "If Danny knows that he's here. He'll try to . . .he'll try to. We can't let that happen, Tess. Understand?"
There was silence and eventually she nodded, shakily. "I'll call him."
"Thank you."
She listened to the phone ringing and waited for Danny to answer, going over and over exactly what she was going to say in her head.
Finally, Danny answered. "Hello?" His voice was strained and neutral and more than that, far more than that, because this was Rusty's phone, and he'd be assuming Rusty was calling, and they didn't say 'hello' to each other, they just didn't.
"Danny?" she began cautiously. "It's me. Is . . . is everything all right?" Suppose Rusty was wrong about where Hunter Eriskay was? Suppose he was with Danny right now.
"Everything's fine with me, Tess," he said calmly. "How about with you?"
"Uh, not great." She glanced over at Rusty but he was staring at the wall, abstracted and far away and she was so afraid for him, and that gave her the strength to lie to her husband. "I'm not feeling that well, Danny. Really, I just want to go home. Can we do that?"
There was silence. "Is Rusty with you?" Danny asked eventually, and that wasn't the question she'd expect him to be asking.
"Yes," she said quickly. (Physically, anyway. In a manner of speaking.) "We're out at the reception. Danny, please." She was frightened now. Begging.
"I'll be there in a minute," Danny promised.
"Thank you, oh, Danny." Her voice was trembling now, and she needed Danny. They needed Danny. "I love you."
"Love you too," Danny said and his voice was choked and remote.
The phone went dead.
He stared down at the phone in his hand. Tess had been nervous. Frightened. And the lie had been obvious; not just in her voice but in the facts. If she'd been ill, Rusty would have called him himself, not given his phone to Tess.
Something else was going on. Something else was going on and he didn't know what.
Could it be true? Could it be exactly what it sounded like? He forced himself to discount – for the moment – the twisted amusement, the absolute incredulity, the burning outrage and tried to look at it from a stranger's perspective. Tess and Rusty. His wife and his best friend, to reduce those ties of absolute and perfection and unconditional and impossible to the barest of facts. Not like that was an unusual story. Tess and Rusty who were charm and charisma, grace and beauty. Tess and Rusty who liked each other, who spent a lot of time with each other, who joked together, teased, conspired. Tess and Rusty who were everything he saw in them, everything that other people saw in them, and was it really ridiculous to imagine that they might see it in each other?
Yes.
Yes, it was.
It was completely and utterly impossible and his instinct was to bring absolute retribution on anyone who even dared to suggest it. They wouldn't do that. They'd never do that. Tess loved him, Rusty loved him, they loved him every bit as fiercely, as overwhelmingly, as completely as he loved them and they would not do that.
But something had happened. That much was obvious from the way Tess had spoken. Something had happened. Something was wrong.
He started running.
Rusty watched Danny run into the reception and look round for them wildly, disturbed just a little beyond what he'd expect.
Tess darted forwards and flung her arms tightly round Danny. "Oh, Danny, thank God," she whispered. Not remarkably subtle.
Danny took a step back. Held her arms. Looked at her. "Tess, what happened? Are you all right?"
She nodded. "I just don't feel well," she repeated, sticking to the story. "I've got a headache. Can't we just go home?"
He knew Danny wasn't falling for it and he concentrated on being as quiet and still as possible, living in the absolutely ridiculous hope that Danny might not think of him.
And of course Danny was looking at him now. Eyes examining every inch of him. He couldn't meet Danny's gaze. Couldn't begin to think of it. He stared at the floor and thought of nothing.
(Hunter Eriskay spoke to him just once. Just three words. He'd been thrown over some kind of table, his head hanging down towards the floor, his hands still cuffed behind his back, his legs tied to the table legs. There'd been pain and it had been going on for years at that point, and there was nothing left in his mind but dull musings on whether the trickle he could feel running down his legs was sweat or blood. It had been the thirtiethfortieth time. Or the first time. Or the thousandth time. It didn't matter. The pain had stopped for a while, and he hadn't been able to stop shaking, so cold, so frightened, and he'd leaned in desperately to the hands that soothed him, that stroked his hair, that promised, somehow promised, that everything was going to be all right and then his head was gently lifted, and he could sense someone looking at him, and suddenly there was someone's breath on his ear.
"Danny isn't here," Hunter Eriskay whispered to him sadly.
The words stayed with him.
Danny wasn't there.
Hunter Eriskay kissed him, tender and chaste, and then he was gone and the pain began again.
Danny wasn't there.)
A hand touched him on the shoulder and he flinched back automatically, rejecting the comfort, repelled by the contact.
Danny was there. Danny was there, standing in front of him, his hand outstretched, frowning at him, fear in his eyes, hurt, anger.
"Rus'?" Danny's voice was soft and the edge was unbearable. "What happened?"
"We need to leave," he said quietly. "Right now."
Danny stared at him and nodded sharply. Wasn't like this was the first time that leaving somewhere had become the most urgent thing in the world. "Bags?" he asked practically.
Hunter Eriskay was upstairs. In his room. "No!"
"Right," Danny agreed and he turned and took Tess by the arm.
They were almost to the door. Almost away. Almost.
"Danny Ocean. What a pleasant surprise."
Hunter Eriskay had found them.
Danny was stepping forwards before he'd even really registered the voice, standing in front of Tess and Rusty, trying to shield them from the impossible. Dimly, he was aware of Rusty pulling Tess from his arm and shoving her towards the ballroom door. Trying to keep her safe. Trying to keep her from being noticed, to keep her from the spotlight. Trying.
He turned to confront the obscene mirage. Hunter Eriskay. Hunter Eriskay here and looking at him, them, looking at Rusty. It was impossible. It was wrong. It was so very, very wrong.
They'd gagged him tightly and taken the blindfold from him and escorted him to a balcony overlooking a brightly-lit room. Hunter Eriskay had stood beside him, his eyes impossibly bright and Danny had been afraid.
He watched as Rusty, blindfolded and handcuffed and naked and brave and defiant, was knocked to the floor and three of Hunter's men had circled round him, holding bamboo canes, and there'd been pain, there'd been so much pain, and Rusty had struggled hopelessly, uselessly, frantically to get away and he'd been mocking his torturers all the time, and Danny wanted to scream at him to keep his mouth shut, but it didn't seem to be having any effect at all anyway, and that was even more frightening, somehow. There had been pain and it hadn't stopped. It hadn't stopped, and he'd looked at Hunter in mute appeal, trying to show that he'd do his best to tell him every single detail about the Barr estate. Hunter had smiled at him distantly and looked back to Rusty. "I have to admit," he said. "It seems to be a little tougher than it looks. Oh, this is going to be fun. For me."
Danny watched and Rusty hurt. In so many different ways. Suddenly, torture was their whole world, and Danny was kept so far away, not able to talk to Rusty, not able to touch, comfort, reassure, and Rusty couldn't even see him. Rusty didn't even know he was there and it was agony.
Sometimes he wasn't even allowed to be in the same room. Sometimes, oftentimes, more and more they kept him in his own little cell. There was a bed. There was a TV. They showed him Rusty on it. Showed him Rusty being tortured. Showed him the brief moments when they left Rusty alone. Rusty lying, alone and vulnerable and Danny could see the fear and the lingering pain and the desperate need for him, and he'd been watching the first time that Hunter Eriskay had touched Rusty, and he'd heard Rusty say his name, love and hope and fear and misery, and he'd been screaming behind his gag.
There was a time when they left Rusty alone for maybe as long as three hours. He watched Rusty on the TV, naked and shivering and far away, and told himself over and over that as long as he could see him, as long as he could see that Rusty was just lying there, it was okay, it wasn't bad, even if he couldn't talk, touch, know, love; it was okay because he could see that Rusty wasn't being hurt right then, and that was the very best he could hope for. As long as he was watching, everything was okay.
Then right before his eyes, new cuts appeared. New wounds. More pain. Just appeared on Rusty's body without anyone else even being in the room. And Rusty was curled a little tighter, and the shaking was a little less; as if even that was too much effort now.
The wounds had just appeared.
They were lying to him.
That was the first time Danny Ocean begged.
He couldn't talk. He needed to be more obvious.
The next time Hunter Eriskay and his men came into Danny's cell, Danny was on his knees, his head bowed. Appealing. Pleading. Begging.
Hunter had smiled. "Not yet, Danny," he said gently. "But since you ask so nicely, I suppose I could take you to see it. If you'd like. We have some interesting plans for it today. Tell me. Have you ever heard of a Parrilla? It's very simple. All you need is an iron bedframe and an electricity supply. You can watch. Or you can stay here and not have to know. It's up to you."
He'd begged again. Gone with Hunter. Heard Rusty screaming. Watched Rusty, thrashing and frightened and helpless. Been absolutely useless.
He watched, again and again, for decades, and all he could do was watch, and listen and plead and wait for an opportunity while Rusty lost himself, surrendered to Hunter's cruelty and comfort, and with every torment, with every touch, Danny felt his soul constrict and wither away.
And now Hunter Eriskay was standing in front of him, smiling at him, back in their lives.
And he must have seen, talked – just talked? - to Rusty and to Tess. Must have made his presence known, must have said enough to hurt and to frighten. And they hadn't told him. They hadn't wanted him to know.
"It's been a while," he said evenly.
Hunter smiled. "Yes, it has, hasn't it? You're looking well, Danny, I must say. The last time I saw you, you were on your hands and knees, kissing my shoes. Do you remember?" He did. Of course he did. He'd been so, so desperate to make Hunter understand that he'd do anything. Anything to make him stop hurting Rusty. Anything to make them hurt him instead. "Did you ever tell Rusty that, I wonder?"
He hadn't. Of course he hadn't. And he didn't have to look at Rusty to see the anger and misery and the complete lack of surprise. He didn't look at Rusty. He certainly didn't look at Tess. Tess, hearing what he'd never want her to know. "What do you want?" he asked quietly.
"I just want to spend a little time with two old friends. Is that so wrong? Two old friends and their new friend. Or maybe just the two of you. Or maybe just one of you. Would you come with me if I asked? If I promised it would just be you?"
"Yes," he said immediately and heard Rusty give the same, instant, obvious answer.
Oh, they were such fun. He grinned at the pair of them. Self-sacrificing. Adoring. Stupid. A disgrace to their profession and humanity generally. "You'd agree to come with me, to keep me entertained for the rest of your life? To save them?"
"Yes," they said, in unison again, and Danny was angry and determined and Rusty was pale and blank and they meant it completely.
He smiled and wondered. Nothing long term was an option, of course. But he'd be flying out of this boring country the day after tomorrow. And it wasn't like the police would be involved. And the rest of their life, well. That didn't need to be more than a single night, after all. He wondered which would be more fun. He'd seen Danny on his knees, of course, had seen defeat in his eyes, and that had been fun, that had been delightful. But he'd never heard him scream. He'd never heard a noise of sheer physical agony ripped from Danny's throat. And with the air of aloofness he wore like a cloak, the obvious, arrogant belief that he was untouchable – oh, seeing him crawling in his own blood and filth would be wonderful. But there was Rusty, of course. Rusty who had responded so delightfully to the slightest little pressure earlier. Rusty who even after all this time was still responsive to him, still a mess of moulded instinct and terror. Rusty who was such fun to play with.
But then, whichever he didn't choose would get to find the body. And Hunter would get to see his face. He could picture the devastation, the anger, the guilt. Oh, it was almost too good to bear.
Tess listened to the words, the conversation, the amusement and the anticipation and she'd never been so terrified in her life.
The thought of Danny begging. The thought of Danny on his knees in front of this monster. She choked back her anger.
He wasn't looking at her. Wasn't interested in her. Rusty had pushed her into the entrance to the ballroom, and none of the three of them had looked at her since then.
She heard the proposal, the offer, and she didn't wait around to hear the inevitable response. She knew what he'd say. What Rusty would say. What they'd both say. Knew what they'd do.
The moment she stepped into the ballroom, she was aware of people looking at her, aware of the sniggering. Hardly important right now, and she found herself hating every single one of these narrow minded imbeciles, who didn't even know. Finding Julie took less than a second. And she was with Harriet which was even better.
They eyed her disapprovingly and she knew why and she didn't care. "Really, Tess - " Julie began with a scowl.
Tess stared at her as earnestly as she could. " - Listen, I just thought you should know that Albert's son Lucas is in the reception and he's talking about cancelling the whole thing and throwing his father a 'proper' wedding."
"What?" Julie screeched, outraged beyond reason.
She nodded intently. "He said that this kind of backwater bash had been so poorly organised that . . . " Luckily she didn't need to go any further. Julie marched off in the direction of the reception, followed by an equally angry-looking Harriet and a small hoarde of nearby partygoers.
Shaking, frightened, desperate, she ran after them, desperately pushing herself through the crowd suddenly storming reception.
They were still there. Thank god, they were still there. Hunter Eriskay was looking bemused, surrounded by an angry mob.
Tess searched frantically, and found them almost immediately – they were obviously looking for her. She grabbed Danny with one hand and Rusty with the other and tried to ignore the way that Rusty flinched. "Come on," she demanded and they ran out of the doors and fled the hotel.
"Did you do that?" Danny demanded, as they headed for the parking lot.
She nodded. "I told Julie he was making noises about her wedding planning skills. It got her stirred up a little."
Danny was staring. "He's a professional killer, Tess. He hurts people for a living. He's . . . and you set my Aunt Julie on him?"
"He was so careful to keep everything looking discreet," she explained. "I knew he wouldn't hurt her." She was almost certain of that. And she was never going to tell him that even if she hadn't been, she'd have done the exact same thing. She thought that maybe even if she'd known for a fact that Hunter Eriskay would . . . .she thought maybe she'd have acted the same. Family was important. They were more important. She wanted them safe.
Danny nodded and his hand was tight in hers. "Quick thinking," he said quietly.
Rusty hadn't said anything. Was still silent and distant and frightening. They reached their car, and she nodded to Danny to go with Rusty and scrambled into the drivers seat herself.
"We need to get away from this hotel," she said firmly.
"We need to get out of town," Danny corrected.
"Out of the country," Rusty said, almost dreamily. "Please."
Tess met Danny's eyes in the rear view mirror and he nodded his head jerkily.
She drove to the airport.
Tess was alone. It was hours later and she was lying alone in a hotel room in Turin,
They'd caught a flight to JFK airport. She had a fake passport in a locker there. They all did. It had come as something of a shock to her, and in other circumstances, any other circumstances, she might have argued, complained. As it was, she just followed them.
Danny was lost in thought. Rusty was just lost. She couldn't help them. Couldn't do anything but squeeze Danny's hand and silently promise reassurance and understanding.
And Danny was frightened, and she could see that in so many ways. They'd had three seats booked on the plane, all in a row. Window, middle and aisle, and Danny had looked at them and looked from her to Rusty, and she could see the need to be beside both of them conflicted with the need to shelter and protect. In the end she'd insisted on taking the window seat, and giving Danny the aisle.
She'd spent the flight wondering what Hunter Eriskay had done. Her mind drifting into countless scenarios. She wondered how much worse the truth was.
Danny had spent the flight watching her and watching Rusty and the fear and the anxiety had been plain to see.
Rusty had kept his head down, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. She knew he hadn't been. He was far too still.
They landed, and almost immediately Danny had them ensconced in the best suite of the best hotel in the city. No reservation, no luggage . . . in other circumstances, she would be amused. Or annoyed.
She'd headed to her and Danny's room immediately, saying that she needed to sleep. Probably she did, she'd been up for more than twenty four hours now. Didn't mean it was going to happen. She lay still and concentrated on the coolness of the sheet and tried not to listen to the sounds coming from the main room. Anger and argument and absolute anguish. The sound of something breaking. Pain and fear. Love and need that she didn't quite understand.
She listened to their voices meld together and waited.
He sat on the sofa and stared at his hands and tried to keep his mind as empty as possible. Danny was watching him. Danny didn't come near him. He knew why. Of course he did. Last time they'd met Hunter Eriskay they'd hidden from the world for three months afterwards. Last time, after Danny had done the impossible and got them out, they'd hidden in a hotel just like this one and it had been nearly a day before he'd been able to look at Danny, a week before he'd been able to look Danny in the eye. And he'd needed Danny to touch him. Needed it. Craved it. Depended on it desperately. So he'd made sure it didn't happen. Eleven days and he'd rejected all physical contact, wouldn't even let Danny treat his injuries, had reacted – badly – any time Danny even came near him. Normal had taken a long time.
Three months. And the first had been caught up in the physical and healing Them. Healing individually had taken so much more. And they'd been so hurt.
"Hunter Eriskay," Danny said at last, staring at him. There was anger in his voice. Anger he was trying to control. "You didn't tell me."
"No," he agreed.
"He was there," Danny went on, his voice raised and shaking. "With you. With Tess. He was there and you didn't tell me. You weren't going to tell me."
"No," he said again.
Danny was staring at him, rage and terror and adrenaline. "What did he do?"
"He didn't touch Tess," he told Danny, knowing damn well he was answering a question Danny hadn't asked. Danny would know if Hunter had come anywhere close to Tess. He would have acted differently.
"What did he do?" Danny demanded again.
"Nothing," he said truthfully and Danny strode across the room, reached out as if to force his head up, and he jerked away with a cry that cut through both of them.
"I'm sorry," Danny whispered. "Rus', I'm sorry."
"He didn't do anything, Danny. Nothing like last time. Just . . . just that he touched me." He didn't elaborate. Danny knew what he meant. Knew what he meant in unbearable detail. "And it was like everything just fell away."
He was aware of Danny's desperate need to touch him, desperate need to reach out and take him into his arms. And he needed it too. He just wasn't sure how much he needed it. Wasn't sure if he needed Danny or the other. He pulled his legs up onto the sofa and turned his head away.
"You think that he's going to come looking for us?" Danny asked after a moment.
It was a good question. He'd been wondering it all the while. "I don't think so," he said quietly. "Honestly? I think he was just bored. Think we were just an amusing diversion."
Danny paced across the floor. "If he'd taken you - "
" - if he'd taken you," Rusty nodded, and it was the same fear, the same anger, the same helpless, hopeless love.
"Not exactly my idea of amusement," Danny said, with light agony.
"Not mine," he said, dark laughter bubbling through his voice. They both knew that little conversation, that little proposition had been about the pain and the permanent and the forever. It could have. So easily, he could have been, or worse, so much worse, Danny could have been. Alone. Hurt. Taken apart piece by piece, thought by thought, until there was nothing left.
He bit his lip and the tears were threatening to fall and Danny was so close and he couldn't bear it. "I kissed Tess," he confessed, looking up at Danny for the first time.
Danny didn't look surprised. "Yeah. Jacqui said."
"Oh," he said quietly. "It wasn't her fault. Wasn't Tess' fault."
"Uh huh," Danny's smile was slight and sad. But there was no shadow of betrayal on his face. No sign of blame. No anger at them. "Gonna tell me what happened? I've got some guesses, but I'd like to hear it."
He shrugged. "She'd just got me away from Hunter the first time. She saved me."
"She saved us both," Danny pointed out.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah. Anyway, we were standing in a corridor. And he was coming towards us. Hadn't seen us yet, but he was about to, and I was figuring on . . . " He trailed off. Wasn't like he needed to spell that bit out. He would always protect Tess. Except she'd protected him. "And she pushed me into the wall. Kissed me. Hid me." He looked down at his hands and waited.
"Rus'," Danny sighed. "You think I'd think that means anything? Remember Atlantic City, few years back? You did the same thing for Frank. You think anyone thought - "
He smiled. " - as I remember you - "
" - teasing," Danny argued. "Not the same thing at all."
"I kissed your wife," he said. He had to say in that way. The facts in black and white.
"You give me a choice between you and Tess kissing and one of you...having even the possibility of one of you getting hurt, which do you think I'm going to choose? Every time." There was anger in Danny's voice. Love and anger and frustration and fear and he started crying and he didn't know why.
The first ragged whimper and Danny's arms were around him, instinct and need that couldn't be denied, and blindly, desperately, he pushed Danny away and Danny stumbled backwards with a sob of his own.
He curled up tightly and fought for control and silently begged Danny not to look at him.
Danny turned his head. Looked away as Rusty wanted him to and tried not to think of how it had felt twelve years ago. Tried not to remember.
The more he begged and grovelled and cowered at Hunter Eriskay's feet the more careless they got, and he'd been escorted to the toilet by only one of them and the man's gun had been in his holster, and Danny's mind had been full of the last time he'd seen the man, standing over Rusty, knife in his hand, a look of unadulterated, obscene ecstasy on his face, and the little noises that Rusty had been making might never stop echoing through Danny's head. It had been simple. He'd waited until they were turning the corner, just outside his cell, and he'd shoved into the man as hard as he could, knocking him into the wall, tripping him, and then he'd kicked him in the head over and over and over, until his shoes were covered in blood.
Getting the handcuff keys had been difficult. Unlocking the handcuffs had been close to impossible. That hadn't stopped him. Nothing was going to stop him.
He dragged the man into his cell and left him there. He hadn't bothered to check for a pulse. He didn't want to know.
Rusty was in alone in his cell. Curled on the floor, and Danny was in the same room as him for the first time in so long, and the useless tears were falling. Not just for the injuries. The physical was awful and frightening and the way that Rusty was huddled and shaking and terrified was worse. Rusty looked small and diminished and hurt.
He dropped to his knees beside Rusty, unable to speak for a moment, his hand stroking helplessly through Rusty's hair, and Rusty whimpered and leaned in to the touch, and he didn't know who Danny was and Danny felt like screaming.
"Rus'," he whispered, starting to unfasten the blindfold.
"Danny? You came back?" Rusty whispered disbelievingly. "You came back for me?"
Horror rose up inside him all over again. "I never left," he promised wildly, and the blindfold came off in his hands and he caressed Rusty's cheek, and Rusty screwed his eyes shut and flinched away and Danny told himself it was the light.
He was staring blankly at the TV. Staring at the screen. And then, suddenly, the screen had a large crack in it, a hole even, and his hand was bleeding.
"Danny!" Rusty's voice from behind him. Rusty's hands on his shoulders, turning him round. Rusty looking at him, eyes wide and fearful. "Danny!"
He couldn't say anything. He stared at Rusty helplessly and the world hung in a long moment of indescribable and unstoppable, of love and agony, understanding and absolute, undeniable need. A moment, and then Rusty was in his arms, he was in Rusty's arms and emotion was reflected and amplified and soothed and calmed.
Eventually there was silence. Eventually there was healing.
Tess opened the door quietly and peered out. Everything was quiet. She could just see Rusty stretched out on the sofa, asleep. Just see Danny sitting opposite him, watching him sleep. She tried to decide what she should do.
"Hey, Tess," Danny said softly, not looking round, and relieved she went and sat next to him and was completely unsurprised when he pulled her tightly into his arms.
"Is everything okay?" she asked tentatively.
"It will be," he promised and it wasn't a lie because he didn't lie to her anymore.
She relaxed a little. Kissed him. Because she needed to. "I was so scared."
"You were fantastic," he told her. "And I'm so sorry." He didn't need to say what he was sorry for. He didn't need to. She knew he never wanted her to see the darker parts of the life he'd chosen. But she loved all of him. All his soul.
"Is there . . . " She hesitated, not quite knowing how to ask what she needed to. "Is there a lot of people like that?"
"He's the worst we've ever known," Danny said, after a long pause. "The absolute worst."
"Rusty said he didn't hurt you," she said, and it wasn't quite a statement and it wasn't quite a question.
Danny laughed shortly. "Not physically," he agreed.
"What did he do?" She needed to ask.
Danny's eyes were on Rusty and his mind was far away, in some other place and time. "Made me watch. Kept us apart and prevented us from being together in any way, and made me watch."
She bit her lip. "What did he do to Rusty?"
The look that was turned on her was haunted and agony. "Everything."
She held him for a long moment, her arms wrapped around him, and gradually the shaking subsided. "Oh, Danny," she whispered.
"I love you," he told her insistently. "I love you so much."
Presently the moment faded and there was something she needed to tell him. Something she needed to confess. And it wasn't the right time, but she couldn't let it go. "Danny?" she began in a small voice. "I . . . I kissed Rusty."
He smiled slightly. "I know."
"You know?" she demanded, her eyes wide.
"Jacqui told me. Rusty too. And he told me why." He looked at her then, open and unguarded and complete. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice trembling with meaning and emotion and a thousand things he'd never say.
She glanced over at Rusty and squeezed Danny's hand tight. "Idiot," she told him, and she understood.
"That's what I said," Rusty mumbled, sitting up and blinking sleepily. He smiled at her. "Hey, Tess."
"How long have you been awake?" she asked.
"Just there," Danny told her.
"Just heard you call Danny an idiot, and thought I could agree and tell you I was awake at the same time." He stood up, and Danny almost immediately pulled him back down, onto the sofa beside them. "Huh."
She glanced over. Danny hadn't let go of Rusty's hand. Or hers. She didn't think that any of them minded.
Danny glanced at his watch. "Wedding will be done now." He took a shaky breath. "I'm now related to a man who - "
She put a finger on his lips. "That's not what makes family, Danny."
Rusty was squeezing his hand. "That's not what matters," he said, and Tess smiled at him and Danny nodded at them both.
They sat in silence, clinging together, absolute understanding, complete trust, perfect love, and everything was okay.
You know, we should try this again sometime. Lots of fun.