A/N: This is an AU of Falling Like Dominoes. It won't make any sense if you haven't read that first, I suspect. It also contains ideas from Term of Friendship. So there.
A/N2: This is for Peabodythecat who suggested it after reading Term of Friendship. And I thought...yes. Thank you. :)
It was strange being back in the game, Danny thought. Two years was a long time (This past two years had been an eternity) and it was somehow unnerving how many things hadn't changed...and how many things had. For the first time in an age, all the plans and ideas were his own and he took bitter pleasure in his triumphs. He didn't need him. Really. He didn't. If he just kept telling himself that, eventually, one day, he would reach the point where he didn't need to say it anymore.
Tess had left six weeks ago now. It hurt, and yet it hurt so much less than it had the first time. (In the dead of night, when he woke without the name on his lips, he thought that maybe that was because he was so much less.) Since then he had robbed a jewellery store and conned a used car salesman, and he felt more alive than he had since...since... And still it wasn't enough.
He'd met up with Reuben a few weeks ago. They'd shared a friendly drink and he'd carefully avoided the questions, and then a few days later he'd bumped into Saul not-so-accidentally and he'd tried his best not to notice the way Saul's eyes slid past him from time to time, seeking out someone who wasn't there.
Damnit. He hated this. Nothing was ever going to be the same; he knew that, he accepted that, but all he wanted was to feel a little less empty. Just a little less alone.
He gritted his teeth. No. No, he didn't need that. He didn't need him. From now on, he was building a life for himself. A real one, not the shallow parody he'd suffered the last few years in the insurance office. He had friends. He had the con. He could live and live well. Honestly.
And yet still all the plans he thought of were designed for two. He sighed. Sure, he'd spent most of his life working with another person, but it was more than that. Most of the really fun cons needed more people. And he'd always found it easier to make plans when he could share his thoughts. When there was someone there to focus on the details. He'd even put the word out, asking if anyone knew anyone who might be looking for a par...for an accomplice. He figured if he had someone to work with, someone professional who knew where the boundaries were, that would be better.
Nothing could ever be the same again. And maybe nothing could ever be good again. But better. That was something to hope for, right?
That was all there was to hope for.
"Um, are you okay?" Livingston asked hesitantly, his words lightly slurred.
Danny blinked. Oh. He'd almost forgotten that he wasn't alone right now. He'd done the jewellery store job with Livingston, Phil and George, and they'd been going to celebrate but Phil hadn't been feeling so hot so George had offered to drive him home, and that had left Danny, Livingston and a bottle of whisky. One thing he had learned in this job; Livingston had never been his friend. Friendly professionalism was the very most he'd got these last few days, and it didn't take any skill at all to read the anger underneath. Sure, Livingston liked him. But that wasn't enough.
(Nothing was.)
He smiled easily. "Just needing another drink," he said, holding up his glass meaningfully.
"Oh! Sure," Livingston agreed, splashing some into his glass and at least half of it spilled over the sides onto the balcony floor. Livingston didn't seem to notice.
Danny didn't seem to care. He drank and felt the burn and stared out across the city. He'd been in this hotel before. In this suite, even, years back. They'd drank whisky and talked all night, and they'd sat on this balcony and watched the sun come up and it had been...a long time ago. It had been a long time ago. It didn't matter anymore.
But back then it had felt like everyday magic. When he thought back – which he didn't, he never ever thought back – he remembered every day being summer. Endless days of joy and wonder and sunshine. In his mind he saw that smile that could set the word alight, and the hollow place in his chest ached.
He could feel Livingston looking at him. It burned some. He already knew the questions. What happened? What went wrong? Why are you angry with him? He'd heard it all so many times before so it was actually a surprise when Livingston softly said "Why didn't you save him, Danny?"
He took another drink and thought of nothing, staring blindly out into the night's sky. It wasn't his job to save him. "He didn't want to be saved."
"What did you say?" Livingston's voice was shocked.
Oh, hell. He froze. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. But it was true. He didn't want to be saved. Danny had tried. He remembered that morning, the desperate rush to the police station. He'd been ready to hand himself in, to plead guilty to everything under the sun if they would just let him go. But then had come the kidnapping and the careful explanation of the plan and he'd been left with nothing but anger and the agony of betrayal.
The glass was heavy in his hand. He stared down at the amber liquid, the melting ice cubes. "I would have died for him."
Livingston stared at him. "And now you're seriously telling me you don't care?"
He didn't care. Every day was a struggle not to care. Because caring just brought the fury back, and he couldn't even say his name without the rage descending, the pain, the incoherence.
"He's in prison. He's alone. And you know how much he hates being trapped."
So much better than Livingston did. And he couldn't think of R...he couldn't think of him in prison, because that just drove him out of his mind. He hated. And when the one person to blame was the one person you could never hate, the anger just built up with no place to go. "He'll be fine," he said and he barely recognised his own voice. Exhausted. Defeated. Trembling. There was no one in the world who would believe that lie.
He swallowed the whisky down. His hand curled around the Hershey bar in his jacket pocket.
"You know," Livingston said hesitantly. "I could set something up. I mean, most records in prison are computerised now. I could probably...I mean, it might be possible...if you want me to, that is."
No. Nonononononono. No, that was the last thing he wanted. The last thing he needed. He had cut the cord, he shouldn't...he mustn't...
The night tasted of whisky. He could smell summer on the air.
"Yes," he whispered.
He woke up tired and hungover and he rolled over and reached out across the bed and just for a moment he didn't understand why he was alone. He screwed his eyes shut and whispered "Tess" and pretended the crushing loneliness hadn't been there before she'd left.
It was a week or so before he got round to checking his email. He didn't get a lot and most of that was junk, but that time there was something from Livingston. A username and password to get access to North Jersey State Prison records. An explanation that if any notices were issued regarding him, Danny would automatically be copied in.
Damnit. He remembered the conversation with a pang of frustration and misery. For a moment he considered calling Livingston up and demanding he undo whatever he'd done, but no. That would just aggravate the situation, and there wasn't any need for it. So much simpler to delete the email and any subsequent ones that came in. And...there. He stared at his empty inbox and ignored the gnaw of guilt.
Easy. Besides, if anything actually serious did happen, he would already be told about it. Whatever else, as far as the world was concerned, he was still his next of kin.
The first alert came in a few weeks later. Re: Ryan, RC 1311276. He deleted it without reading and spent the rest of the day concentrating on not giving it a second thought. It would be nothing, after all. Probably a note of...oh, a work placement, or a cell move or some shit like that. Something normal. Something harmless. But as the day went on, he couldn't help checking his email again. There was another alert. And even as he watched, hovering hesitantly over the delete key, another one appeared.
Three. Three updates in less than six hours. The feeling burning through him was at once familiar and awful. No... He couldn't stop himself from checking. (He didn't truly try.) The second email told him that he had been transferred from the infirmary to the hospital. The third email detailed what ward he'd been admitted to and assigned guards to escort duty. The first email Danny had deleted, and that was the one he needed because it would tell him what happened and it would give answers to the panic rolling around the pit of his stomach.
There were lots of reasons a prisoner might be taken to hospital. He might be sick, or he might have had an accident, or he might need some tests run. (He might be sick. He might be hurt. He might be...he might...)
He ground the heel of his hand viciously against his forehead. Fuck. The possibilities in his head were going to be so much worse than the truth. And anyway, he didn't...he'd cut the cord already. He should just go up to bed. Sleep on it. If it all still seemed so dark and desperate in the morning, then he could think about getting involved.
In a dream, he watched his fingers type a terse text message to Livingston. He got an answer almost immediately giving him the login details he'd oh-so-carelessly lost.
Okay. So this was kind of inevitable. He'd never been the sort to leave things hanging. So he'd just log in, read the notice he'd missed, and then he could go to bed, forget all about it and get on with his life.
It wasn't nothing. There were more than thirty notices filed under his number. Somehow, that felt wrong.
He clicked on the third most recent.
'Prisoner 1311276 found locked in closet at the base of stairwell 7. 1311276 was naked and unconscious and had sustained severe and multiple injuries. 1311276 had signs of serious sexual assault. Officer Davies provided first aid at the scene but was unable to stop the bleeding and 1311276 remained unresponsive. 1311276 transferred to infirmary. Prognosis unknown. Three prisoners detailed to clean closet. See work rota.'
The bland words were swimming in front of his eyes. No! Rusty. This had to be a mistake. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be.
Frantically he clicked back through the previous notices, searching for some sign that this was some massive misunderstanding, or a practical joke – anything! But again and again and again he found himself reading accounts of Rusty being hurt. Raped. This wasn't the first time he'd been sent to the hospital. And there were more than a dozen other times he'd been taken to the infirmary, and Danny read injury report after injury report, and he felt sick to the stomach.
This wasn't right. This wasn't right.
He shut the computer down and stumbled away. He...he'd sworn he and Rusty were through. That's what he'd said. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't listen if Rusty asked him for help. Except Rusty hadn't asked him for help. Rusty had been half killed, tortured and violated in the worst ways imaginable, and he hadn't asked for help.
This wasn't right.
Five hours later and he was at the hospital, talking his way past the guard on the door dressed as a priest clutching a letter from some prison outreach program. The silent screaming hadn't stopped in all that time.
On some level he tried to tell himself that he would want to help any contact of his that had been so badly hurt. Rusty needed help and he could do that and still remain detached. It didn't mean he forgave him. It didn't mean anything at all.
But beneath that, beneath even the screaming, there was the need. Physical and visceral and real.
It had been two years, but if anyone had suggested to Danny that he might have difficulty recognising Rusty he would have laughed. Just not possible. But when he walked into the hospital room, he found himself hesitating. Because the man in the bed was only just recognisable as a human being. Whoever had hurt Rusty had done his best to reduce him to so much meat.
(Danny would always know him anyway.)
Mouth dry, he shuffled into the room and sat by the bed. Rusty's wrists and ankles were shackled to the bed rails. Danny closed his eyes against the wave of helpless fury. Instinctively he wanted to get rid of them, to set Rusty free. But he knew that if he did that, the guards would realise and throw him out. And he wasn't ready to leave. Not yet.
He couldn't speak. He didn't know what to say. But he reached out and took Rusty's hand. He was here. And he wasn't going anywhere.
Hours passed. There was a guard change but no one seemed particularly interested in asking Danny what he was doing. No one seemed particularly interested at all, in fact. Not even the doctors and nurses.
Sometime after ten, Rusty's breathing grew faster and more ragged and even in his sleep Danny could see the pain twisting through him. Worse was the way Rusty bit down on his lip as if to stifle a cry and the blood trailed down over his chin.
"You're alright," he said soothingly, even as he was frantically pressing the buzzer to summon a nurse. "You're alright." The first words he had spoken to Rusty in two years, and they were a lie. He pressed the buzzer again. And again.
Eventually a nurse flung the door open with a scowl. "What's all this racket?" she demanded crossly. "Oh, sorry Father," she added, as she noticed the costume.
"He's in pain," he explained tersely.
She barely even glanced at Rusty. "He's fine. Don't listen to him. His type are always looking for drugs. You can't pay too much attention to their complaints. I'll be back in to check on him in a while, and I'll see if he's due anything. I've got plenty of real patients out here who need my - "
She stopped suddenly, staring at Danny's face. His smile was cold and terrible. "He's a human being," he said softly. "He's in pain. That's all you need to know."
Her face was pale and she nodded shakily. He watched as she checked Rusty's charts and readings and carefully injected him with something. Rusty's face relaxed almost at once, pain retreating. Danny was sure it would be so much worse when he was awake.
If he wasn't here Rusty would be left alone and in agony. That was never what he'd wanted.
None of this was ever what he'd wanted, he reminded himself fiercely. Rusty was the one who'd chosen this, not him. He bit his tongue hard and tasted blood. No! Not this. Rusty had never asked for this, and he felt sick with himself for coming close to thinking it.
Yes, Rusty had betrayed him. Yes, the anger was still there, bright and righteous and wrong. But he wanted – needed – Rusty safe. Turned out nothing was more important than that.
He leaned forwards and brushed his hand through Rusty's hair, and he was shocked when Rusty's eyes snapped open. Rusty looked around frantically with unseeing, terrifying eyes, and he tried to sit up and when that didn't work he pulled desperately against the cuffs as if trying to free himself. His mouth was clamped shut.
"It's going to be okay," Danny murmured, catching his hand and pressing a soft, desperate kiss to it. "You're safe now. I'm here, and I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. Not ever again."
Rusty blinked and half raised his head and seemed to catch sight of Danny for the first time, and he smiled. His face lit up and his eyes shone as though they were the only two people in the world. Dazzling. Impossible.
Danny smiled back. "Yeah," he promised hoarsely in answer. "Not going anywhere. You rest now, okay?"
Obediently, Rusty's eyes fluttered shut.
Danny sat and held Rusty's hand between his and breathed deep. He couldn't stand to think of how Rusty had been hurt. It was monstrous. Unthinkable. And part of him was very clear that he should be finding who and bringing matters to a swift conclusion. But Rusty needed him and he wasn't going anywhere.
Living without Rusty had only been a half life at best.
The pain was everywhere and his head was heavy and full of fog. He lay absolutely still when he woke, straining every sense, trying to work out where he was, and more importantly if Felding was nearby.
"You're in hospital," the voice told him. "You're safe now, I promise."
He relaxed slightly, instinctively trusting the voice. It was over. (For now.) And now, dimly, he remembered talking to the doctor and being drugged and handcuffed – and he was still cuffed, he realised, he was trapped and helpless - and now he remembered the pain-before and he screwed his face up, tried to hide away, and he had to bite into his lip to keep from making a sound.
"Stop that," the voice said quickly. "You're safe. I'm here."
With an effort he managed to open his eyes, and he looked blurrily to the side trying to see who was talking.
He saw Danny. Danny, sitting by his bedside, his eyes soft with love and concern.
For a moment, his heart leapt. For a moment, he had hope. And then reality came knocking and he realised the truth and he was so fucking angry with himself. "Oh," he said flatly. "It's you."
He should know better. Why did he never learn? Danny was gone, and he wasn't coming back. There was no way Danny could even know to be here, but his drugged-up, traumatised little mind had decided to show him everything he wanted.
"Yeah," imaginary Danny agreed. "Rus' - "
" - dog collar's a nice touch," he interrupted flippantly with a glance over Danny's costume. "Probably means something really deep, if I only knew what."
Danny sighed. "Rus' - "
" - don't," he said, and he knew he shouldn't be talking to his hallucinations, but surely the only thing worse than talking to them would be listening to them. "Just...get out of here, okay? Disappear, or whatever it is that you do. I don't need you."
He felt the hand drop hesitantly onto his shoulder and he tensed. No. No comfort. Not for him. Not now. "I'm not asking you to talk about what happened," Danny murmured. "But I'm not going to leave you, Rus'. Not now. Not again."
Rusty laughed shortly. "You left quickly enough the last time," he said, and fuck, was he really complaining that a figment of his imagination had abandoned him? "Soon as you could see what I..." He took a deep breath. "Something you have in common with him, I guess," he said, and that was unfair, he knew that was unfair, but it hurt and he hurt and he was so fucking lonely.
Trouble with knowing Danny so well was his mind could perfectly capture that tiny perplexed frown, the way his eyebrows dipped, the confusion in his eyes. The little things somehow made it all so much worse. "What?"
He didn't want to look at Danny anymore. Eyes closed, he tried to turn to the side, as much as the cuffs would allow, and he found himself gasping as the movement pulled on the cuts on his navel. Damnit. "That was the potato peeler," he told imaginary Danny dizzily. "I didn't know skin curled like that." He gritted his teeth at the soft choking sound. If your hallucinations felt sorry for you, that was basically self pity, right? "I don't remember," he said, making sure his voice was level and business-like. "Whether that was before the chain or after. It's patchy. He fucked me first, after he grabbed me, I know that. But that was..."(Hard and fast and bloody, just a quick tumble to take the edge off.) He nodded to himself. "The potato peeler must have been next," he figured out. "I remember trying to break free. I remember kicking him. Couldn't do that after he'd finished with the chain." He smiled humourlessly at the soft noise of distress. It didn't affect him. He wasn't weak. No pity. "Felding doesn't like his meat to feel like people. Think he fucked me another twice after that. And he used his..." He shuddered as the memory washed through him along with the pain and the terrible effort of not screaming until he'd been sure he would never open his mouth again.
He felt the hand stroking through his hair and Danny was murmuring soft words of impossible comfort and to his shame he felt his eyes prickling.
"Stop it," he demanded wildly, his voice cracking slightly. "Just leave already." He twisted around and stared his weakness straight in the face. "You're not real and I don't need you."
The shock was written all over imaginary Danny's face, but it faded almost immediately to be replaced by gentle understanding and grief. "Oh, Rus," he said helplessly. "It's me. I'm here. I'm real."
His teeth sank into his lip and he shook his head rapidly. No...no, that wasn't right. That wasn't possible. Fuck, it was so difficult to think. "No," he insisted. "No, you're just something I made up. Like last time. You were the only thing I had to keep me fighting or else I'd have died in that...I needed you, that's all." But he didn't need him now, right? He was already saved, so why...
"I'm sorry," Danny whispered, gently interlocking his fingers with Rusty's, one by one. "I should have never left you, no matter how angry I was. I should have found a way to save you."
He froze. No. No, he would never imagine Danny saying that. He'd always understood Danny's anger and he'd never expected...but if this wasn't imaginary Danny then...then... "Danny?" The name broke out of him in a strangled whisper.
Danny smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, Rus'. It's me."
No. No, no, no, no, no, no no. He thought back over everything he'd said – everything he'd confessed – and he could feel the high colour in his cheeks. "What are you doing here?" he demanded harshly.
Danny carefully took his hand, his thumb brushing over Rusty's knuckles and he should pull away, he knew, but he just didn't have the strength. "You really think I could hear about this and stay away?" he asked.
"Come to gloat, then?" he asked, savage and unfair. "Want to see just how right you were? Because I can tell you; I'm still not sorry. And I don't regret it." The thought that maybe, if things had been different, it could be Danny lying here in this bed, Danny who Felding had...it was enough to drive him out of his mind, and he couldn't think it, not least because if he admitted how much that would hurt, he had to face up to how much he had hurt Danny.
"I know," Danny said with a tired smile. "And I'm not here to gloat. You know that. You're hurt. Let me take care of you. Please."
There was a hollowness pressing against the inside of his chest. More than anything he wanted to just nod and let Danny take care of anything. But Danny wasn't here because he wanted to be. Danny was here because he'd heard Rusty was hurt and Danny didn't know how to let that go. Pity from Danny was somehow even worse than self pity. He had to be strong. No matter what, he was going to have to go back, to prison and to Felding, and if he let himself be weak, even for a moment, it would destroy him.
(And when he saw that look in Danny's eyes, he wanted to hide away and never come out.)
"Get out, Danny," he said harshly. "I want you gone."
Danny's jaw were set and his eyes were full of grief. "That's not gonna happen, Rusty."
Alright. He smiled humourlessly and looked directly at Danny. "Funny. Lately no one seems to listen when I say no."
He watched Danny's flinch with painful satisfaction. And while Danny was still reeling from that, he turned his head to the side, sank his teeth into one of the lines sticking out of his arm and pulled.
Blood sprayed lightly across his face. One of the machines started screaming frantically. Danny shouted "Rus'!" and flung himself across the bed, his hand clamping automatically over the bleeding, and now it was Rusty's turn to flinch away, the feeling of being grabbed too recent and too raw.
But there was the sound of footsteps running towards the door. He'd already known he couldn't raise his voice to call for anyone, but this...
The guard – Milligan – who burst in was looking at him angrily, and the nurses who followed weren't looking much happier. Alright. This was all about living down to expectations and he could do this. "Get this stupid fucker out of here!" he demanded. "I know his type. Can't see something broken without needing to fix it. Well, guess what? Sometimes when you throw something away you don't get to just claim it back whenever you feel like it."
He didn't look at Danny's face. He didn't want to see the pain he was inflicting.
"Right, that's quite enough from you," Milligan said briskly, contempt dripping from every word. "The good father doesn't need to listen to shit from asshole faggots like you. Sorry, father, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
He didn't say anything as Danny was firmly ushered out of the room, desperately protesting all the while. He kept his mouth shut as the nurses fixed the line back into his arm, scolding him harshly the whole time. And then he was alone, and he lay still in the silence, staring at the ceiling and he could feel Felding's hands moving roughly over his body, ghost-bruises left in their wake. Anger had cooled, leaving only misery and loneliness behind.
He missed Danny. He missed Danny so much.
He couldn't help but think that maybe he'd made a mistake.
Danny was desperate. The guard was blocking his way back into the room, and Rusty was still in there. Oh, god, Rusty had torn the line out of his arm with his teeth. How had that seemed like the only option? How could he? He was frightened by how damaged Rusty was, and he couldn't keep his voice steady as he pleaded with the guard. "I'm sure I was finally starting to reach him," he said, earnestly, and really he was sure of nothing of the sort. "Please. I'm more than happy to sit with him longer. You can let me back in."
The guard frowned. "How long have you been here?" he asked. "You were there when I came on shift."
Damn. He affected an expression of innocence. "A few hours," he said. "I like to do what I can."
"I see." The guard didn't look convinced. "Where did you say you were from?"
"The St Leonard Prisoner Outreach Program," he said and he already knew this wasn't going to work. No matter what he said here, he wasn't getting back to Rusty. Not that Rusty wanted him anyway.
Walking away was still the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. With each step, his heart grew heavier.
Alright. If he couldn't be with Rusty at least he could work to make sure Rusty was safe. It didn't seem enough. But then, he wasn't sure anything could ever be enough. Somehow, he had to prove to Rusty that he was going to be there, no matter what.
He was transferred back to the prison infirmary after a few days and spent another two weeks there before being thrown back into the general population. He didn't feel ready. Not just because his soul was still twisted up and screaming. His legs still struggled to support his weight and breathing was still a painful effort. Just staying awake for more than an hour at a time was tricky. He had a feeling that being tossed out on his ass like this was by way of being a punishment for the way he'd spoken to Danny, and the shrink they'd called in because he'd torn the line out of his arm.
Fuck, he just hoped he had a little time to heal up before Felding took him again. Right now he didn't have a hope of fighting or running – he'd be helpless. He tried not to admit that meant he was hoping Felding raped some other guy.
He hadn't heard from Danny again, and he told himself the disappointment was just him being selfish. Probably Danny had gone home to Tess. Probably Danny was happy, like he was supposed to be. He had to focus on that thought, because sometimes it was all that was keeping him going.
The day after he was back, it was raining and he was sitting in the exercise yard by himself, gazing vacantly at the barred gate, ignoring the cold water pouring down the back of his neck. It took took him some time to register the disturbance moving through the yard. It wasn't until they were moving past him that he looked up... and immediately froze in shock.
There were six men in FBI vests marching through the yard led by Bobby Caldwell. And Danny was bringing up the rear. Oh, fuck, he'd given Danny Felding's name. He'd never intended to. If he'd known...
"Hugh Felding? On the ground," Bobby demanded, and when Felding stood and turned towards him, Bobby tased him and then when he didn't fall immediately, he tased him again, right in the neck, and then a second later Felding was on the ground and Bobby was yanking his arms behind his back to handcuff him, his knee oh-so-casually pressing into Felding's kidney.
Danny must have told Bobby, he identified dully. And he was angry about that and was sure he should be angrier and at the same time...Felding wasn't going to hurt him again. Danny cared enough to keep him safe.
And just for a moment, just as they were dragging Felding out of the yard on whatever-trumped-up charges they'd concocted, Danny glanced to the side, looked straight at Rusty, and his eyes were soft and determined and full of always and forever.
Rusty looked away.
The next day, while he was picking up laundry, Maxwell slipped him a package in a pillowslip. He blinked but didn't react. Maxwell often brought in contraband, he knew, but he hadn't asked for anything and he definitely hadn't paid for anything. So someone else must have. Biting his lip, he hurried back to his cell, nearly bumping into one of the hospital orderlies in his haste.
When he was sure he was alone, he opened the package slowly to reveal twenty four chocolate chip cookies. Each one had a yellow ribbon tied around it.
Oh...
Danny waited at the small table anxiously. He still wasn't absolutely certain that Rusty was going to agree to see him. All he had was hope.
If Rusty didn't come and see him today, he'd be back next week. And the week after that. And the week after that and forever until he saw him. He'd made up his mind now; nothing mattered except Rusty. Somehow, they were going to get through this. Together.
The door at the end of the hallway opened and he looked up sharply to see Rusty being escorted in by two guards. He was still pale and bruised and tired, but he met Danny's eyes across the room and at long last...
They smiled.
A/N: Thanks for reading, please review.