Light and shade by InSilva
A/N: A oneshot inspired by Otherhawk's "And home". If you haven't read, go read!
Disclaimer: Danny and Rusty, mine? To quote Madonna and Ali G: "You wish." "I do, actually."
If he'd ever stopped and asked himself the question, Danny would have considered it a strong possibility that if it all went wrong, he might end up here. Not that he ever really thought about anything going this wrong.
Before this, there had been a bar and an ambush and a hood on his head and a van. Now, he was sat, tied to a chair, sightless, breathing through coarse material with difficulty. Some sort of sack, he decided, that smelt earthy as if it had been buried in the ground. Nice choice of words, Danny, he told himself, pushing the thought away.
The knots biting into his wrists were professionally tied. He tested each in turn – a little pressure here, a little pressure there - and found no weakness. The ropes around his ankles were equally secure.
Behind him, he heard wisps of movement and he turned his head sharply, trying to focus on any sound, any clue. Those who had grabbed him had been unstoppable and faceless. They'd known what they were doing which meant that whoever was behind this was serious. Benedict? The Mob? Someone he hadn't even realised he'd gotten on the wrong side of?
With no warning, the hood was pulled off and he tried to cough and gulp air at the same time. Blinking as if he had just emerged from a Saturday matinee, he took in his surroundings.
A basement, for the guess of it. Strong light from above illuminated him, lit up the wooden table in front of him, harsh and hot like a spotlight. A pool of darkness flooded elsewhere in the room; blackness that, however much he twisted in the chair, hid everything and everyone.
From nowhere, someone spoke.
"Mr Ocean, I've wanted to meet you for some time."
Danny racked his memory: the voice meant absolutely nothing. As such, it at once became a character in its own right.
"Look, if I-" he began.
"No words. Just listen."
If they wouldn't let him speak, there would be no chance to talk his way out…no chance to employ the famous Ocean charm.… His throat tightened.
"All sown seeds bear fruit, Mr Ocean, something you must surely understand. Actions…consequences…you don't need me to spell it out for you."
What actions? He felt like screaming it aloud but bit his tongue. Easy, he told himself. For now, focus on the consequences. There's going to be pain. Ready yourself.
He forced himself to keep his breathing even, to start to find his happy place, a memory where no one was going to be able to reach him. Drinks and food – of course, there was food – and a hand of cards going…OK, there's margaritas and tortilla chips and you're holding a full house, sevens over Aces -
"I thought you might like a little company," the Voice broke in.
And suddenly, a chair on the other side of the table loomed into view like a forward tracking zoom out shot from Jaws and Danny's heart crumpled.
"Someone near and dear…"
Smoke and mirrors, he thought quickly.
"Good luck with that," he shouted with bravado he didn't feel. "Even I don't know where she went this time."
He felt rather than heard the laugh.
"Smoke and mirrors, Mr Ocean." His own thought echoed round the room.
Somewhere - (behind him? In front of him?) - a door opened and then arms that didn't seem to belong to faces dragged him in, pushed him into the chair opposite and left him sitting there.
Danny looked at Rusty and Rusty looked back at him. They'd never needed words, not for the important stuff. And right now, there was so much to say.
You OK?
Yeah, you?
Know why we're here?
Not a Scooby.
Rusty, I-
Don't say it. Don't give them the satisfaction. Ever.
"I think personal pain takes on a whole new meaning when two people are as close as Mr Ryan and yourself."
Danny swallowed hard. He couldn't help himself.
"What do you think, Mr Ocean? Acid in the face? A disadvantage in your line of business, I'd say. Do you think charm alone can overcome people's pity and disgust?"
He drove his nails into the palms of his hands so fiercely he could imagine the marks left behind, deep and angry. Rusty just stared back, his gaze even, giving nothing away.
"Maybe, crush a hand or two," the Voice mused. "Difficult to work the long con then, let alone play a game of poker."
A tattooed hand lay broken and useless on the table in front of him…Danny's heart started twisting in on itself and something started to trickle down the side of his face: with shock, he realised it was sweat.
Rus, I-
Danny, don't-
"I think we'll just start with something basic."
Fingers were snapped and a hand buried itself in Rusty's hair, yanking his head back and to the side. Danny couldn't see Rusty's eyes now, couldn't see his eyes – damn it! – couldn't see his damn eyes…but he could see the knife.
Brightly, it gleamed, cleanly and brightly and- and- down, it sliced into Rusty's cheek. Danny felt the blade bite, red-hot and vicious. Rusty wasn't crying out – wouldn't cry out - but Danny could feel the moan building in his own throat and he fought to stifle it.
Rusty's head snapped forward and back again as the hand let go of his hair. Danny watched the blood snaking its way down Rusty's face and images of pain and punishment rushed through him, each stronger than the last. His eyes locked on to Rusty's and he could no longer fight the soul-searing agony.
"No…" the single word escaped.
Rusty shook his head at him exasperatedly and he dropped his eyes to the table, for he too knew it was a mistake.
"Thank you," the Voice said simply. "And so it begins."
He thought he must have passed out. Hands were on his shoulders shaking him and he sat bolt upright in darkness and fearful anticipation.
"Danny? Danny? It's OK."
Like hell it was…
"Rusty," he choked. "You didn't…where…how you…"
Words fell out clumsily.
There was a sigh, and then the sound of a click and a light went on. Rusty sat on the side of the bed, looking quizzically at him. It took Danny a second to realise his face was fine.
"Do you mind?" Rusty said with a hint of reproach in his voice. "I left a perfectly good dream about Angelina Jolie's lingerie to come in here to you."
Dream…? Danny let out a groan. Dream...nightmare…his worst nightmare. He flopped back on his pillows.
"Were you wearing the underwear or was she?" he managed, wishing his throat wasn't quite so hoarse.
"Actually, I was busy finding out when you started-"
"I was not screaming," he denied.
"OK," Rusty shrugged. "Then you were saying my name and other incoherent words at a loud volume."
He looked at Danny searchingly. "Want to tell me?"
Danny bought time by reaching over for the glass of water on the nightstand and taking a long drink.
"Just a bad dream," he muttered, keeping his eyes on the water and letting Rusty read into that what he would.
When he met Rusty's gaze again, he was staring at him with a look Danny found difficult to interpret.
"Well, I know what my nightmare would be," Rusty said lightly and then the fears swirling around his eyes became crystal.
"Yeah, world shortage of chocolate," Danny said to cover the moment.
"Nah, Linus being wise to the wind-ups. You think I can leave you to it?"
He made to stand up but Danny laid a hand on his arm, keeping him there.
"Rus, I-"
You don't have to say it, came the answer. Ever.
Danny gave an imperceptible nod.
"Rus," he started again, "no cheese for me before bedtime ever again."
"It's a deal. Now, do you mind? Angelina's waiting."
Danny watched him leave and smiled.
A/N: Oops, didn't save this A/N which shows you how late I posted. I know there's some "Bobby Ewing in the shower" law I've transgressed as a writer: unsignposted dreams are just hackneyed. It just wanted to be written and I hope getting it out of the system will help with future work. Maybe, maybe not... Hope it wasn't too horrible. :-)