A/N - Thanks to Otherhawk and InSilva for all of their encouragement. If you haven't read their work, check it out now. Don't even read this first. Just go now. You won't regret it.

A/N - This chapter and the next one are mostly Rusty back story. I feel like I am cheating Danny out of an extra chapter, but both Rusty chapters demanded to be told, but it didn't feel right to keep them together. Don't worry, Danny will get fair treatment in the future.

A/N - Violence warning and people not being very nice to kids.

Ch 2.

He just couldn't get full. No matter how much he ate, no matter what he ate, an emptiness remained. A hollow feeling that no number of foot long hotdogs smothered in ketchup and mustard and onions and relish could erase. His mother just stared at him with a vague look of disgust on her face and went back to her manicure. But Rocky, her boyfriend, thought it was hysterical.

"Look at the kid, Margie. He can't weigh 75 pounds, couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag, but By God Can He Eat." And then Rocky would clap him on the back and laugh and the rest of the evening would pass pleasantly.

Sometimes Rocky (real name Richie Bower but he fancied himself as a boxer) would take young Rusty around with him, betting his drinking buddies that the kid could out eat the biggest man in the room. They did pretty well. Hot dogs were Rusty's favorite, but he was willing to try anything. Hard boiled eggs, oysters, pizza (that was a good day) ice cream (that was a better day) - he'd out eat everyone. One memorable occasion saw Fat Samsa bet Rocky $500 that the kid wouldn't finish a gigantic bowl of caesar salad (he thought Rusty would be put off by the anchovies).

And if it meant cash (Rocky let him keep $5 of their winnings every time) that was a good thing. Because being flush with cash meant Rocky was in a good mood. It was especially good if he hadn't been called out on a job in a while, or he when owed some money to some guys. 'Cause when Rocky was in a bad mood...well Rusty stayed out of reach.

And if after a while, Rocky started bringing Rusty along with him to card games and drinking sessions, no one thought much of it. He didn't cause trouble, didn't get in the way, knew when to keep his mouth shut and when to make himself scarce. Truth be told the guys got a kick out of this skinny kid and he became sort of a mascot. They taught him how to play dice, count cards, and bluff. He soaked it up like a sponge.

Another good thing about having the kid around was that the fellas didn't have to deal with Rocky when he drank too much (usually) and lost too much (frequently) and ran his mouth too much (always). The kid would easily avoid the drunken punches halfheartedly thrown his way, nimbly slip the keys out of Rocky's jacket and ask one of the guys to help him get Rocky to the car. No one cared that Rusty was years away from driving legally, or that he was still so small he could barely see over the steering wheel. They just loaded Rocky into the back seat of the Buick and went back inside. It wasn't Rocky's good luck that saw them home those nights. But there was hell to pay for that dented rear quarter panel and "the paint job is either coming out of you hide or your wallet."

It probably inevitable that a guy like Rocky, with his mouth and his temper and his phenomenal unlucky streak would get on the wrong side of certain people. Men with hard mouths and harder fists. Men whose tempers were cold and calculating.

And it was probably inevitable that when these cold men found Rocky, in the back room of some off- the- boardwalk bar, that Rusty was there, inconspicuous, small, keeping to the shadows (nimble hands reaching into the unguarded pockets of drunks for a prize he didn't have to share). Not like he hadn't seen his share of violence. Bar fights, accusations of cheating at cards, looking at the wrong woman in the wrong way. These were a way of life. This was different. These men were different.

He remembers 5 things about the night the cold men found Rocky. Well, Rusty remembers everything about that night, like Rusty does (and how surprised he felt when, years later, Danny tells him it's not like that for most people). But, about that night, these things stand out, each of his 5 senses providing details he doesn't have to make a conscious effort to call up in his minds eye. He remembers this:

1. They didn't break down the door. In the movies, they always break down the door. (A detached, part of his 10 year old self was vaguely disappointed about that; a different part was reluctantly impressed that they didn't need cliches to make an impression.) They just glided in. Silently. For a moment Rusty was sure he was the only one in the room to know they were even there.

2. The smell of urine cutting sharply and suddenly through the smog of cigarette smoke and beer and too many men in too small a room.

3. The taste of blood in his mouth as he bit down on his own lip to keep from screaming as the cold men did something impossible to Rocky.

4. The sight of dead grey eyes looking at him. A flicker, briefly, so briefly he might have imagined it, of surprise and curiosity and something his child's mind didn't recognize, but that he instinctively recoiled from. He saw himself being assessed, being remembered. And he felt afraid.

5. And lastly, Rusty remembers a touch. He remembers vividly, as if it happened seconds ago - the brush of a cold, calloused thumb across his lip, wiping away the blood, but leaving some indelible wrongness behind.

And then the screaming started and the night erupted into chaos.

Later, he feels guilty that what keeps him awake at night isn't the memory of Rocky's mangled fingers (His hands are useless. He will never remove the transmission assembly from any vehicle ever again. Or light his own cigarette, or shuffle a deck of cards.) It's also not the sound of this man, who is the closest thing to a father he's ever known, gasping raggedly to keep from choking on his own blood that prevents him from sleeping.

Of course those things cause nightmares, and it's a long while before he is able to walk past Sal's Butcher Shop without feeling nauseous. But this he understands. He knows where this fear is coming from.

No, what keeps him awake is the memory of that ghosting touch across his mouth, those cold grey eyes. And he doesn't know why he's terrified and the not knowing is even worse. He doesn't understand. That's why Rusty finds himself awake at 2:30 in the morning, surrounded by Mountain Dew cans and too wired to sleep (a good thing) but too wired to shut off his brain (not so good).

Later in life, this quirk or gift, or curse (whatever you want to call it, he doesn't call it anything...it just IS)... later, this will serve Danny and Rusty well. It's what makes him the best details man of his generation. Rusty doesn't choose to chew on a problem, an angle, like he chooses to wear shimmery silk shirts rather than starched and pressed cotton. He doesn't consciously choose to forgo sleep and sanity until all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. He is as physically unable to shut down his mind as he is unable to stop breathing.

This is an asset when he is 30 and is oh-so-very-close to figuring out how the Acme X38 security system can be bypassed so that Danny can access the safe in the Forrestal mansion. He doesn't have the answer...yet...but he understands the problem, and trusts that eventually...soon... he will see the unseeable, and they'll have a way in. And of course when he's 30, Danny is there, understanding, accepting, and making sure he doesn't self destruct while his mind follows every angle.

But when you're ten, and you are alone, and you can't imagine why you fear the cold man( seeing you, touching you ) more than you fear the physical pain of what the enforcers did... well, not being able to turn off your brain is a problem.

And while the adults in Rusty's life weren't the smartest, or the most generous with affection, they weren't bad people. His mother was just a bit too immature, a bit too lazy and a bit too consumed with her own problems (missed car payment, the new cook at the diner with the grabby hands, how to tell pops that his favorite grandson, Debby's boy, Marco got mixed up with drugs and is back in rehab and, and...and) to really pay attention to him. No one noticed that the light didn't go off in his room. No one noticed the dark circles, the flinches, the fingernails chewed to the quick.

Sure, that night after hours in the emergency room, after the blaming and the crying, Rusty's mom had hugged him hard and promised that she'd get a better job and save enough for them to get their own place in a neighborhood with a good school. She swore that she was so very, very sorry (but perhaps she was just ever so slightly more sorry for herself than her child). And Rusty hugged her back and wiped the tears from her face and swore he was ok, that everything would be ok. But it was a long time before he fell asleep that night. And in his dreams he saw the cold grey eyes of a predator; those eyes full of something he didn't understand.

Weeks passed. School ended, summer began. The red soaked nightmares faded and he even slept through the night again. But he still fought sleep, dreaded being alone in the dark in the moments before sleep overtook him. And his mind worked overtime to figure out what that look meant.

A few weeks later, he realized ignorance was actually bliss.