Plain View by InSilva
Disclaimer: didn't create, don't own, just borrowing.
Summary: pre-movie. Pre-tattoo, if it comes to that. Danny doesn't do disguises. Except the sort that just don't count.
A/N: first of all, otherhawk asked for this. If you don't like it, you talk to her. If she doesn't like it...hmm. Well, that's a bit more tricky.
Secondly, it is possible I have spent far too much time sitting around airports this week. Not as a pastime of choice.
Rusty blamed Top Gun. That and the tequila slammers. Between them, they had to be the reason he was looking at what he was looking at over the hotel breakfast table.
Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Danny was walking through the morning rush of guests with his usual calm confidence. Only this morning it was enhanced by the crisp white shirt, the navy tie and uniform with the gold braid on the sleeves, the aviator sunglasses hanging from his top pocket and the hat held casually against his hip. Wearing the outfit as if he had done so a million times before. And he hadn't. To Rusty's almost certain knowledge, Danny didn't make a habit of dressing up like a pilot.
Danny slid into the seat opposite and there was a moment of amused silence between them.
Do I want to ask?
I don't know. Do you?
A waitress appeared with alacrity and Danny looked up and flashed her a full beam smile. Rusty saw her rock back on her heels momentarily.
"Black coffee and toast, please," he ordered and then glanced at the empty plates in front of Rusty. Rusty gave him a combined nod and shrug. He had room. "And do you have any almond croissants…" the briefest of pauses while Danny read her name badge, "…Mandy?"
Rusty watched the almost-swoon and the flush and heard the gabbled answer and then Mandy was gone and he was left studying a Danny who was looking immensely pleased with himself. Rusty debated for a moment and then decided what the hell.
"Alright. Why?"
"Stewardesses," Danny said nonchalantly.
Rusty's lips twitched. "They're the reason or they're the reason?"
"Klaudia and Kandi," Danny elaborated cryptically.
Rusty had a tequila-blurred memory of long legs and blonde manes.
"I told them what you said," Danny added even more cryptically and Rusty blinked.
"About me not being able to do disguises." Danny sat back in the chair as Mandy arrived with breakfast and he basked just a little in the accompanying adulation.
"This doesn't count," Rusty pointed out, biting into a croissant. "This is just…" He broke off and waved the croissant in Danny's general direction before trying again. "This is like an extension of you."
As Danny's face wavered between looking insulted and smug, Rusty went on.
"And please tell me you're not going to be flying a plane." He considered for a moment and corrected himself. "Actually, please do tell me. I want as much advance warning as possible."
"Barton Le Clay," Danny said, in between sips of coffee and the world suddenly made so much more sense.
Barton Le Clay was a prospective mark they'd looked at a few times and saved for later. Not impossible but tricky and Barton had sat at the back of their minds like a knotted rope they had yet to unravel.
"Klaudia and Kandi fly on his regular private charter. And he's flying later today."
"With the-"
"-briefcase-"
"-with the-"
"-plans."
The briefcase was usually chained to Barton's wrist. But on a flight…
"Klaudia says he feels secure enough to uncuff it. Seeing as how he is the only passenger."
"Right…" Rusty's eyes were growing distant as he ran through the scene in his head. "And they shared this with you because…?"
Danny shrugged. "Apparently having his hands free makes him quite a handful."
Rusty pulled a face.
"OK, so if you're on board…" he looked askance at Danny. "How do we…?"
"Oh, you're on board as well. The girls got you a uniform too," Danny said and Rusty brightened. "If you've finished that croissant, you can go and get changed." He handed over a room key.
Rusty stood up. "See you up there?"
"I'll meet you in the lobby." Careless. Casual.
Rusty spotted the looks of feminine adoration being thrown in Danny's direction and thought he understood the reason. He totally failed to notice the immense amount of concentration Danny was expending on stirring his coffee.
Up in the room, Rusty stared at the clothes hanging up against the wardrobe and came to the only conclusion possible.
Danny was so dead.
Danny was waiting in the hotel lobby, leaning against a pillar, hands in pockets, seemingly unaware of the glances he was attracting from passing women. Unamused, Rusty appeared in front of him.
"There you are!"
Danny's face lit up with one part-welcome and three-parts laughter. He reached out and unnecessarily straightened the tie, brightly-coloured against the short-sleeved white shirt.
Rusty nodded down at the gleaming silver name badge attached to the right hand side of the black and silver striped waistcoat.
"You get to play Captain and I get to be Karl?"
Danny looked as if he was losing the battle to keep a straight face.
"If it helps, I turned down the option of Karla."
"Oh, thanks."
The amusement continued to try to push its way through and then Danny settled for explanation.
"One of us has to be cabin crew. And it's not like there's room in the cockpit for three pilots. Considering we do need someone who knows how to drive the thing."
"Hopefully, someone who realises it's not a damn car!" Rusty continued to glare at him. "And you couldn't play Karl because-"
"-apparently I don't do disguises," Danny finished smoothly and gave him a bright smile.
Andrew Hollison was the man who knew how to drive the thing. He nodded at Danny and then looked Rusty up and down and gave a low whistle.
"Suits you," Andrew remarked.
Danny cleared his throat hurriedly. "So Klaudia and Kandi-"
"They told me you're going to put Le Clay in his place," Andrew said. "About time. Those girls put up with a lot and they can't do much about it if they want to keep their jobs." He looked at his watch. "He'll be here soon enough, guys. Better get ready."
He turned his attention to the panels of instruments and started running through pre-flight checks.
Danny lounged in the leather co-pilot seat and jerked his head towards the main body of the plane.
"Suppose you ought to run along and welcome Barton."
"In these pants?" Rusty hissed at him. "I'm not going to be running anywhere." He looked suspiciously at Danny. "And I think you're enjoying this far too much."
"I am not," Danny assured him with absolute sincerity. "But if you have the chance, maybe some of those little packets of nuts…?"
Danny's face was pure innocence. Rusty's eyes narrowed.
No Klaudia. No Kandi. And for a moment, as Barton settled into his seat and unlocked the briefcase from his wrist and placed it beside him, there was disappointment. But then Karl appeared. Blond, good-looking, smiling, softly-spoken, attentive and immaculately dressed although those black pants were possibly a shade too tight…
Karl walked back down the aisle to pour a glass of champagne that had been chilling and Barton decided the pants fitted perfectly.
"Welcome on board, Mr Le Clay." The pilot's voice, new but deep and rich and reassuring came over the tannoy. "This is your pilot, Captain Pete Mitchell. I will be taking charge of your flight today together with my co-pilot, Captain Andrew Hollison. Your cabin crew today is Karl who will be anxious to ensure your every need is satisfied. Please summon him at any time."
Barton took the glass from Karl and blinked owlishly up at him through his glasses.
"That right what the Captain said? You gonna sort me out? Take good care of me?"
"Indeed, Mr Le Clay."
The tannoy flared into life again and Captain Mitchell announced that Karl would shortly be commencing a one-to-one safety instruction session and please would Mr Le Clay, even though he was a frequent flyer, give it his undivided attention.
Barton smiled up expectantly at Karl who smiled back, his expression that of a supreme professional.
The plastic smile stayed on Rusty's face all the way back to the galley and then it dropped away faster than a beginner's lucky streak.
The man was a serial groper. If he asked him one more time to check his seat belt or to get something down from the overhead locker or to bend down and pick up whatever he'd dropped… Rusty would swear Barton was trying to guess his inside leg measurement by feel alone.
For one furious moment, he thought about charging into the cockpit and telling Danny exactly what was going on and exactly what he thought of their current roles. Then he imagined Danny's face growing cold and hard with the sudden need to discuss with Barton how very inappropriately he was behaving.
Rusty gripped the edge of the work surface and gritted his teeth. The plans. Their plans to see the plans. He could handle Doc Ock.
Danny was still getting the indirect blame.
"Lunch," Rusty announced, walking into the cockpit with a tray of food and coffee. "Don't eat the fish."
Busy doing nothing, Danny grinned at him. "Surely, you don't mean that."
"The name's Karl and you'd better believe it."
"Barton behaving himself?"
"Are you? No big red buttons with "Do not push" anywhere in sight, are there?"
Something made Danny's grin fade slightly. Something about Rusty being too unruffled… "You OK?"
In answer to the question, he got both barrels of brilliant blue focused on him. "Never better."
Then Rusty was gone. The feeling of inexplicable unease washed over Danny and then vanished. Rusty was probably still sulking about not getting the scenic seat up front. Nothing to worry about.
Barton ate his food with almost as much relish on his face as when he'd asked for a neck pillow.
Karl smiled back prettily at him, watching every last mouthful disappear.
Some fifteen minutes later, Barton was locked in the toilet while Rusty cracked open the locks on the briefcase and pulled out the plans.
"We got what we want?"
Danny was at his shoulder.
Rusty studied the paperwork and nodded with satisfaction then looked up as the noises from within the toilet grew louder.
"Yeah," he smiled. "I'd say so."
A white-faced Barton Le Clay had practically galloped from the plane into a waiting car, clutching his briefcase to him and not bothering to say farewell or thank you to any of the crew.
"There goes a man in a hurry," Danny commented. He looked at Rusty. "Come on, Karl, let's find a hotel and get changed."
The hotel was modern and stylish, striking silver abstract decoration with several tall glass containers filled with hundreds of tiny ball-bearings. They'd got room keys and made it as far as the elevator with their suit carriers and holdalls before Danny was surrounded by a quartet of wide-eyed stewardesses.
Rusty noted with interest that he himself was ignored. Danny's eyebrows were raised in slight alarm that grew as Rusty pulled his luggage from his arms and stepped backwards out of the elevator on their floor.
Catch you later.
Later found Rusty changed and sitting on the couch, channel-hopping, slurping a milkshake of vibrant pinkness. He didn't stop with the milkshake but he did turn his head to acknowledge a slightly dishevelled Danny's entrance.
Have fun?
Red lipstick tracked down Danny's cheek. He loosened his tie and pulled the jacket off, dropping it on to the back of the couch.
"You left me," Danny said evenly. "You left me with four of them."
Rusty took the straw out of his mouth and answered his own question. "Looks like you had fun."
"They seemed to think they had some sort of right…"
"That would be the uniform," Rusty nodded sagely. "Karl didn't have that problem. Definitely some sort of pecking order."
"Definitely some sort of pecking," Danny muttered, unbuttoning his shirt and heading for the shower.
Their flight out was to Madrid where Barton's factory was housed. International departures demanded high levels of security. Rusty guided them towards a relatively short queue and stepped untroubled through the barriers.
Danny made to follow him. Alarms blared and a stern-faced security man named Curt pulled him to one side.
"Raise your arms, sir," Curt instructed in a tone that suggested arguing would be unwise. Danny obeyed and only as he was being thoroughly patted down, did he see the serene look on Rusty's face.
Rusty was investigating the contents of duty free by the time Danny found him. Danny's nose wrinkled.
"You smell…interesting."
Rusty studied the bottle of cologne in his hand and then shrugged and found a hitherto and possibly solitary unadulterated patch of skin on his hand to apply it. Danny reached out and took the bottle off him before he could.
"I got bored waiting," Rusty explained plaintively.
"So I see," Danny said with no sympathy whatsoever. He took Rusty's elbow and steered him towards the departure gates.
"You do know," Danny said, his mouth by Rusty's ear, "that a way to guarantee being searched by a humourless, efficient security guard is to have tiny ball-bearings lining the turn-ups of your pants."
Rusty didn't bother trying to look innocent.
"What did you tell him?" he asked, interested.
"Said I was a micro-marble fanatic and they must have found their way in there by accident." Danny shuddered. "He had a firm hand,"
"So did Barton," Rusty retorted and Danny's eyes widened in understanding and then narrowed and he wasn't looking at Rusty: somewhere Barton Le Clay was being skewered by a basilisk stare.
"Hey." Rusty's voice was soft and there was forgiveness and apology and he squeezed Danny's arm. "We're going to-"
"-we are." Danny's voice was ice and determination. "Completely."
He smiled warmly at Rusty and there was contrition and pardon and then they wandered on in silent, joint contemplation of Barton Le Clay's assured downfall.