Trip by InSilva
Disclaimer They aren't mine. And seriously doubt they would ever want to be.
A/N: OK. First things first. 29 Jan and otherhawk's home internet died a couple of days ago and is being fixed. She has limited email access at work but can't post anything for the foreseeable future. I, like everyone else, have my fingers crossed that that isn't too long. On plus side, when she does get back online, she'll have lots of fic to post. In the meantime, she can still read reviews and PMs - oh, do PM her and tell her she's missed :) - but she may have difficulty replying. Please bear with her.
Secondly...well, secondly, there's this fic. Written a while ago (Nov 2008, if you're interested). otherhawk thinks I should post more of my unposted stuff and I'm never really sure if I should but anyway, am posting this one. And this one? It's not happy. Opening line will tell you that.
Summary: Bleak little one-shot. Dice fall. And sometimes even the best can do nothing to change how they land. Warnings for angst and mature content.
Rusty could tell you the exact day he killed Danny. The exact day that Danny died. Like he would ever forget it.
There had been jobs that had gone wrong before. Not often, admittedly. They were too good for that. Very careful and very precise and generally, marks never knew their names and never knew what hit them.
When they did screw up, there were always options. Sweet talk and charm or favours and deals and when they didn't work, then, and only then, there'd be pain and suffering and they'd take it. Take it for each other and cry inside when the other took it for them.
They'd never come up against anyone who wanted to get permanently serious with them. Violent, yes. Vicious, occasionally. But not to the point of end of days. Not to the point of no return. Because afterwards – and there was always an afterwards – they'd be there to pick each other up and to mend and to heal and even the afterwards was alright because they had each other.
Francesca and Johnny Fraser played hardball. Frankie was tall and leggy with long dark hair hanging loose and she wore leather as if she'd seen "The Matrix" one too many times. Her little brother, Johnny, was dark too and elegant with a liking for silk shirts and sharp suits. They could have been beautiful people. They looked like beautiful people. But the beauty, as so often, was skin deep.
Frankie and Johnny were drug dealers. Little empire of powders and pills. Little web of dirt and disease. The two pretty people in the middle of it. Controlling supply and creating demand and living high off the proceeds in a penthouse flat in NYC with a view over the city to die for.
People had died for it. ODs, naturally. And drug-induced errors of judgment and drug-yearning crime and nothing touched the Frasers. No one could touch the Frasers. They bought protection both legal and physical and they were safe from prosecution and retribution and they knew it.
They weren't safe from Rusty and Danny. Not when Charles Willis had broken down in his own home and wept in front of them at the death of his teenage daughter. Not when they'd seen Josie Willis, walking through the house as distracted as Ophelia, clutching her daughter's teddybear like it was her dead child. Not when they remembered Catherine Willis and the sparkle and the intelligence and the life and the promise.
Promise. They had promised then and there that they would do something. And it had taken time and patience and research and effort and months and months: but Colombian supplies were diverted and Jamaican couriers were rerouted and databases disappeared into dust and the Frasers were seriously inconvenienced.
All this would be fine and another notch on the side of the good guys but even detail men can let a detail slip that they shouldn't. The tattoo told. The tattoo told a tale that led Danny and Rusty to be standing in front of Frankie and Johnny in the middle of their penthouse suite with plenty of persuasion standing round the room to encourage them not to try anything stupid.
"We know it was you," said Frankie and her voice was honey and cream.
She ran her hand over Rusty's left sleeve and smiled. It was a nice smile and it didn't belong in her face. Her eyes were dark and daring Rusty to respond. Danny spoke instead.
"If you could just explain what-"
"We don't need to explain."
Lounging in his chair – his throne, Rusty privately termed it - Johnny cut Danny short.
"We do need you to listen," Frankie purred and her hand rubbed up and down Rusty's arm.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rusty could see Danny watching and he knew, he just knew what Danny was going to do next.
"It's difficult listening when you're thirsty," Danny said and there was the smile and there was the twinkle and Frankie was over to him in a heartbeat.
"Where are our manners, Johnny?" she asked. "Guests with no drinks."
"They should take their coats off, too," Johnny nodded. "If they're staying."
"And they should sit down. It's only polite."
Chairs were brought and drinks were poured and jackets were removed.
They managed a brief exchange.
Exits? No. The girl? Maybe.
"Time has been wasted." Johnny sounded sorrowful. "Money has not been made. We don't like that."
"We hate that." Frankie straddled Danny's legs. "We really, really hate that."
"We can make that right for you," Rusty offered. "We can rectify mistakes."
Except it hadn't been a mistake. It had been meant. But the way Frankie was pulling Danny's arms around her and burrowing her fingers into his hair was not healthy. And Rusty needed to say something. Because after sweet talk and charm came favours and deals and he didn't want this to go further.
Johnny's eyes lit up.
"We hoped you'd say that. We even drew up a little list of ways you could show us how sorry you are."
"You are sorry, aren't you?" Frankie breathed over Danny's face and he used the smile again.
"Sorrier than you'll ever know," he agreed.
"Good. Show them the list, Frankie."
Reluctantly, she climbed off Danny and retreated to a side table where she retrieved a folded piece of paper. She handed it to Rusty.
"One or two little things that took our fancy." And her fingers glided down his arm to the edges of the tattoo peeking out at the base of his sleeve.
Rusty read the list. Eight things. Eight targets. Specific and tricky and nothing they could buy. Nothing they could fake. The watch and the vase and the letter and the diamond and the fossil and the coin and the book and the pen. He passed it to Danny who read and agreed silently that that was indeed a list.
"How long do we have?" Rusty asked.
"You have all the time in the world," Johnny said and neither of them understood.
"There really isn't any rush," Frankie added and both of them were frowning.
"Because one of you gets to go and steal."
"And the other gets to stay and play." Frankie stepped back from Rusty and her eyes were slits.
And now there was fear because sweet talk and charm hadn't worked and this was more than favours and deals.
Then in turn Frankie took the drinks off them and carefully rolled up Rusty's shirt sleeve and pushed up the sleeve of Danny's turtleneck exposing flesh while Johnny got up out of his seat and visited the little side table.
He moved till he was in between them and Frankie wrapped herself round him and there was the glint of a needle in his hand and the feeling of sickness flooded through both of them.
"So who's it going to be?"
The "me" was simultaneous and Johnny smiled.
"Now then, now then, you can't both be our guests, there simply isn't the room."
"Perhaps you should tell them the rules," Frankie cooed in his ear.
"Mmm. Rules. Frankie likes rules." Johnny closed his eyes briefly then opened them and grinned. "Whoever leaves can come back here any time they like. To confer. To plan. To seek advice. From what we've learned about you, you work best together. It would be a shame to keep you apart."
Frankie whispered something to him and he nodded.
"Doesn't matter what order you bring the things. And I suppose it's in your interests to work quickly. Because as soon as you've finished the list, we let your partner go. Oh, and if you attempt a rescue? Your partner is the first to die. If you involve anyone else, we will find out and your partner will die."
Frankie bit his earlobe and he shivered.
"Alright," he said in answer to an unspoken question. "Frankie wants to choose."
"We could have a lot of fun together, Frankie," Rusty said immediately, ramping up the dazzle. "If you let me stay, I'd show you how very grateful I am."
She left her brother's side and stood in front of Rusty, placing her hands on his thighs and leaning in to his face.
"I like the sound of gratitude," she beamed.
"How does it sound?" Rusty asked, tilting his head and looking up at her under his lashes.
"It sounds like there might be pain involved," and she dipped her head and kissed him hard on the mouth.
"I like pain," Rusty assured her when she pulled away. "I'd be very thankful for the pain."
There was sudden movement and Danny had launched himself at Johnny, pulling the syringe from his hand.
"No!" Rusty and Frankie howled together and Rusty shoved her to the floor and hurtled towards Danny as his partner flexed his arm and plunged the needle into it.
Frankie and Johnny were forgotten.
"You cheating bastard!" Rusty yelled as the drug disappeared into Danny's system and Rusty was left clutching Danny's shoulders.
Not quick enough. Danny!
"Danny!"
"Mmm. Mmm." There was the inarticulate as the fire and the foreign raced round Danny.
"You stupid…" Rusty bit back on the words because what words were there.
Danny's fingers clutched Rusty.
"Go and get the list. It'll be OK. Go and get the list. Oh…fuck…" he tailed off and his fingers dug further into Rusty.
"I don't know if that counts," Frankie pouted.
Danny came back to himself and grinned and his eyes flicked to Frankie.
"I can be just as appreciative, Frankie."
"Mistress," she giggled.
"Mistress," he laughed and the laugh was giddy and false and Rusty hated the sound of it.
"Danny, I can't leave…I can't…Danny…"
Dark eyes were closing now because the trip was hitting. Danny forced them open.
List. Get the list. Trust you.
And he was gone.
Rusty laid him down gently on the floor and stood up.
"Alright," and his voice was ice. "I'll get your list."
He'd raged and plotted and tried to think of ways to charge back in there and spring Danny. All of them involved guns which he didn't mind and bloodshed which he didn't care about but they also involved Frankie or Johnny putting a knife across Danny's throat or blowing his brains out or pushing him off the balcony of the penthouse. They'd do it. They were psycho enough to do it.
The list. They weren't lying about the list. He just needed to work fast. Fast and alone because others might screw it up and in any case, if Frankie and Johnny found out he wasn't, he'd risk Danny.
The pen was the closest. Travel time ate at him and was going to eat at him but he forced himself to focus and he was there and back in three days.
"Here you are."
Rusty handed Johnny the pen and there was an appreciative nod in return. He could not have given a fuck.
"Where is he?"
Johnny smiled and Frankie led the way.
The room was lavishly furnished. Single bed with silk sheets. Toilet and sink. Carpet and television. Danny was watching the Disney Channel when Rusty was allowed in. He turned round and Rusty ran forward.
The embrace was fierce and needed on both sides and Rusty saw the smile, reassuring as ever and Danny's eyes were bright and encouraging and he choked back on the words because there were no words.
"What did you get?" Danny asked.
"Pen."
"Nearest."
"Yeah."
"Fossil next?"
"Easiest. Need to think about the diamond."
"Diamond and the coin."
"Yeah."
A beat.
"They feed me. Plenty. They don't hurt me. Except for the obvious."
"How often?" Low and pained.
"Once a day."
Rusty almost lost it then. He pushed his hand to his mouth and screwed his eyes shut.
"Get the fossil, Rus." Danny's voice was resolute and Rusty nodded.
The museum was poorly guarded and the security systems were a joke. The fossil was easily retrieved and the only downside was that the museum was the other side of the country.
He didn't bother with sleep and he made it back to the penthouse in two days.
"Here."
Frankie and Johnny and two of their men accompanied Rusty this time and this time, they came into the room with him. Danny's stubble was showing and his hair was a little wild but he was Danny and Rusty relaxed a tiny amount.
"How'd you do?"
"OK. Fossil."
"Right. Letter next?"
"Yeah."
"Time for your hit, Danny," Frankie purred and Rusty's face creased.
Danny acknowledged both of them with a two-level smile and Rusty bit his lip.
"Please," he said and Frankie stopped. "Please, don't."
She glanced back at Johnny and there was unspoken and then, "Alright".
Rusty blinked at her.
"Roll up your sleeve," she instructed and Danny gave a shout as agonised as Rusty had five days ago and he moved but the men behind Johnny were quicker and blocked him before he could reach either Rusty or Frankie.
His arm was exposed in a trice and she gripped it, searching and searching and then the needle was jammed in and the drug was forced in and then Frankie pulled away and the poison was burying itself in his blood. It was moving around his body and he could feel the absolute terror and the absolute pain and his mouth dried and the heat flushed through him and then Danny was holding him, holding him while the drug pushed its way into his consciousness and took it over and he dropped like a stone.
He woke in Danny's arms and they were lying on the bed.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"How d'you feel?"
His mouth was elastic and his vision was slightly starry and his head hurt.
"Different."
"Is that another way of spelling stupid?" And there was affection and annoyance and just a little bit of anger.
Rusty looked at him.
"How can you stand it?" he whispered. "Every day?"
Danny's eyes clouded.
"It's not just every day," he whispered back. "It's every time I ask."
Oh…oh… Horror suffused him.
"Rusty…" and Danny's voice shook. "I'm scared…"
Rusty held his face in his hands. "I'll get you out of here. I swear I'll get you out of here."
Danny looked at him for a long time and then swallowed and nodded.
"Don't try this again," Danny warned.
I can take it.
"It's delay. It's not solution."
And it was. All Rusty had done was keep Danny detained another day. It wasn't the answer.
The letter wasn't straightforward at all. There was complications and unfortunate circumstances and Rusty was ready to pull a gun and snarl but eventually things went his way and after five days he hurried back to NYC, letter in hand.
"Take me," he said curtly handing the letter over and Frankie smiled and obliged.
The first thing he noticed was that the television was gone. And the bed appeared to be stripped of its sheets. Danny was curled up under the duvet and Rusty couldn't raise him however hard he shook him.
"Danny's just tripped," Frankie said and Rusty locked down on the anger and the need to scream.
Gently, he pulled the tourniquet off Danny's arm and held it out to Frankie.
"That's OK," she said. "Danny ties his own now."
And the chill ran all the way through Rusty and out the other side.
There was nothing to say that he had to take things one at a time. And the watch and the book were close enough that he could tackle them in one go. It meant not seeing Danny for a week and it was anguish and it was sleepless and it was hell. He rubbed his arm where the needle had gone into his own skin and he felt the pain and the alone for both of them.
When he had handed the watch and the book over, Johnny insisted on taking him personally to see Danny.
"Some changes," Johnny warned.
There were lots of changes. The room was now a bed and sink and toilet. And Danny was awake and twitchy and anxious and gave him a quick smile but was looking past him at Johnny.
"Hello, Johnny, Mr Fraser, sir. Good to see you, sir, good to see you."
"Hello, Danny. I brought your friend to see you."
"Yes. Yes."
"And I brought this."
Johnny held out a packet of white powder and Rusty's heart shrivelled at the gleam in Danny's eyes.
"I'm going to give it to your friend," Johnny said. "You can ask him nicely for it."
He pushed it into Rusty's fingers and Danny turned to Rusty with a sickly smile that made Rusty whimper inside.
"Rus. Rus. Hey. Rus. You can give it to me."
"Ask nicely!" Johnny snapped.
"Sorry, sir, sorry." And Danny's smile was plastered on further and his voice was pleading and Rusty wanted to scream. "Please, Rus. Please. Give it to me."
"I can't," he whispered.
"Don't fuck with me, Rus." Danny moved closer till he was right in front of Rusty. "Don't fuck with me. You wouldn't fuck with me, Rus, we're friends. Give it to me, Rus, please."
"No."
"Please, Rus-"
The begging was awful. Danny's eyes were worse. Rusty shook his head and then Danny was on him, launching himself at him like an animal pouncing, grabbing his wrist and systematically stripping his fingers off the packet. Rusty didn't – couldn't – fight back.
"I got the watch and the book," he said helplessly as Danny turned his attention to the leather strap and the needle and the spoon and the flame.
Danny ignored him and Rusty fought back the tears. He held on to them till he was outside the building and then they ran down his cheeks like they would never stop.
The diamond was difficult. Make that impossible. And pressure made his thinking awry. Three days later and he still had no plan. He needed Danny. Oh, God, he needed Danny.
"Can I see him?"
"Sure," Johnny agreed.
Danny was naked. That was the first and most obvious and most frightening fact and Rusty stared in powerless pain.
"Rus!" Danny's face lit up.
"What-why-" Rusty couldn't even begin to ask.
"Oh, it's nothing," Danny said but he didn't meet Rusty's eyes.
Rusty searched Danny's body for signs of…for signs. But all there was was the horrible, awful trail of needlemarks in his arms and in his thighs and Rusty couldn't look too long because he was failing him, he was failing Danny.
"The diamond, right?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. Thought of a plan."
And the plan was as brilliant and fabulous and out there as ever and it would work and Rusty wanted to cry again but with joy and relief because he could feel the diamond already in his hands and he left and tried not to notice the unnatural light in Danny's eyes: eyes that were shining just a little too hard and a little too brightly.
Frankie wanted the diamond and Rusty nearly threw it at her.
"He's doing very well," she said, fondling the gem as she led him to Danny.
Rusty was certain they did not share the same definition of "very well".
Danny was waiting, surprisingly cleanshaven and his face shone at the sight of Frankie.
"Your friend brought me a pretty, pretty thing," Frankie sang. "I am in a very good mood. Tell you what, Danny, you can lick my boots if you like. That's all."
He couldn't believe he'd heard right. He couldn't believe that Danny at once dropped to the floor and started to clean Frankie's boots with his tongue. He couldn't hold back the little cry and he hauled Danny to his feet.
"Leave him alone," Rusty said hoarsely. "Leave him alone."
"Oh, Danny ran out of things to trade for his fix," Frankie explained. "So now we trade in kind."
She sat down on the bed and spread her legs, moving her skirt aside to expose herself.
"You run along now," she said to Rusty. "I think I want Danny's tongue to get to work somewhere else."
Rusty's arms were still wrapped around Danny.
"Please," he whispered into Danny's ear. "Please fight it."
And Danny glanced at him and grunted and then pulled free.
Rusty couldn't bear to watch. He left before he could see Danny fall to the floor in front of Frankie.
The coin was out of the country. And the coin was tricky. But he pushed emotion to one side and he concentrated on the job because he was nearly at the end of the damn list.
He flew back with the coin burning a hole in his pocket and he shoved it into Johnny's palm in the vain hope it would burn a hole through Johnny's palm and out the other side.
Both Frankie and Johnny went with Rusty and Danny was waiting and twitching.
"Hey, Rus," he said, his eyes on the brother and sister.
"I got the coin," Rusty said and there was nothing in Danny's face that showed he even remembered the list.
"I got your fix," Frankie smiled and Danny smiled back.
"But I think you ought to show your friend a little gratitude," Johnny said sternly. "He's worked really hard on your behalf."
"Mmm," Frankie nodded. "A little kiss at least."
A kiss…?
Danny nodded at her and then he grabbed Rusty and his mouth was on Rusty's and it was hard and fierce and unloving.
"Nice," Johnny approved as Danny broke and looked at Frankie in expectation. "But you know I doubt your friend has stopped for a moment. You ought to give him a little…"
"…yes," Frankie giggled. "Just a little. Help him unwind."
Rusty didn't hear the conversation for what it was. All he could think of was the emptiness of the kiss. The emptiness of Danny. It hurt so very much.
The hands on his arms were therefore unexpected and confusing and only when the clothing was pulled away from his lower body did he start to shake.
"Go get him, Danny," Frankie suggested.
Danny moved forward and Rusty pleaded with him, pleaded with his eyes and every fibre of him and every bit of them. Danny held his gaze and there was a flash of Danny and a flash of regret and then he fell down in front of Rusty.
The tears were running openly down his cheeks and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Erection was impossible. Ejaculation was unthinkable. But still Danny's hands and mouth were going and Frankie whispered in his ear, "He won't stop until you come".
"Please. Please. Please." Over and over. He turned his head to Johnny. "Please."
Johnny pursed his lips. "Well, you did bring me a nice, shiny coin." He nodded. "Tell you what. Frankie and I know all about Danny's skills. Maybe you can show us how clever your mouth is."
"Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes-"
His arms free, he carefully pulled Danny off him and smiled at him. And then he pulled up his clothes and knelt down in front of Frankie and buried himself in her hairless flesh.
Frankie came quickly, flooding over his tongue and scraping her nails over his shoulder. Johnny was fast and thrusting and plentiful. Then they sat Danny down in front of him and the shaking started again.
"Oh, yes," Frankie insisted, eyes bright and Rusty couldn't keep the pain from his face.
Then he looked up in misery at Danny blinking and bewildered and he went to work. Danny was the worst. Danny was the longest. Danny was bitter and acrid and the only good thing was that there wasn't much from Danny.
As he swallowed and got to his feet, the Frasers nodded approval.
"That was hot," Frankie whispered.
"Yeah," Johnny agreed.
Frankie threw the packet at Danny and hauled Johnny off in the direction of the bedroom.
"See yourself out, will you?" Johnny threw over his shoulder.
Rusty lay in bed that night and thought of friendship and love and the absolute and how he was failing Danny and felt the lashes bite deep on his soul.
The vase. All that was left. Everywhere he would have walked, he ran. Everywhere he would have run, he sprinted.
"Here." No anger, just whispered resignation.
Johnny took it off him and gave him a smile. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"
He said nothing. He was numb.
"He's had a hit a little while ago. He should be fine for a few hours," Frankie said and pushed three packets into Rusty's pocket. "Now that's pure. That's what he's used to. You need any more, you come and see me any time."
He was numb. He said nothing.
They pushed clothes into his hands and he dressed Danny trying not to notice how much weight he'd dropped in a handful of weeks.
"Come on," he said gently and he led Danny out and away and to the car and dropped the packets down a drain.
"Rusty…?" Danny said when they'd reached the flat and he'd sat him down on the couch and Rusty stroked his cheek.
"It's me, Danny. It's me. You're safe, now. You're safe."
Rusty's arms wrapped round him and he held him tightly, rocking him.
"Rusty," Danny sighed contentedly. And then, "Do you have any stuff?"
And Rusty sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.
Cold turkey they called it. A locked door. A bed and bowls and he stayed with him. Stayed with him through the violence that marked him and the begging that scarred him. Stayed with him through the times when Danny was Danny and he was back and loved Rusty and felt the pain and the shame and remembered and cried: they both cried. Stayed with him through the times when Danny wasn't Danny at all but some monstrous lookalike that looked and moved like Danny but who had nothing of Danny inside.
Eventually, eventually, he came back to him. Back to them. And Rusty couldn't stop holding him and kissing his face and keeping him there with him.
"It's OK, Rus," Danny said for possibly the hundredth time.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Rusty cried on his shoulder. "I should have done better, I should have worked faster, I should have got you out of there sooner…"
"It's OK," Danny said firmly and he kissed Rusty. Not hard. Not fierce. And full of love.
And Rusty remembered what happiness was.
The trouble with Danny was that he was a conman. He was a skilled liar and a competent deceiver and Rusty felt he should have remembered these facts.
The trouble with DannyandRusty was that the con and the lies and the deceit were never practised on each other and that was the reason Rusty forgot.
He found Danny in the kitchen, high and suffering. A bad trip. When he came back down there were tears and self-blame on both sides and Danny was sorry, so, so sorry for letting Rusty down, for letting them down and there were promises on both sides.
The next time, Danny just went missing and Rusty ran around the streets to find him, sitting on a kerb, leaning against the wall and wasted. He took him home and put him to bed and climbed in alongside and held him tightly.
When Danny was himself once more, there was silence and apology unspoken and despair and they looked at each other with the mutual knowledge that Danny would do it again.
There was no guarantee on purity and no guarantee on content and dealers cut the pure with the poor and occasionally with the perilous. Danny screaming was bad enough but the collapse was worse and the blue light to hospital was terrifying.
He couldn't risk it again. He couldn't risk Danny again. He went back to Frankie and Johnny and he asked. Nicely.
"How much, please?" he asked. Nicely.
"Not cash," Frankie said.
"In kind," Johnny elucidated.
And Rusty felt there was no place he could go to that would be far enough away.
Danny is Danny most of the time, some of the time, never.
He is broken and splintered and will never knit but he is there. Most of the somenevertime.
Rusty is Rusty all of the time and wishes he wasn't. Wishes he could be other.
His soul aches and there is no laughter in his face ever.
DannyandRusty are Danny and Rusty now. There is space. There are gaps. And the occasional flashes of them are fewer and fewer. Some point in the not too distant future, even they will be gone. Some point in the future Danny and Rusty won't even be words in the same sentence.