A/N - The conclusion of Rusty's backstory. New chapters will have the boys together, as is meant to be. Sadly, I don't own them.

A/N - Disturbing themes involving children. Nothing graphic, but it's not nice.

A/N - Remember...in the previous chapter Rusty was getting more and more sleep deprived. He's still not himself, and not thinking all that clearly.

Chapter 3 - The Alley

The summer Rusty Ryan met Danny Ocean was unseasonably hot. Adults complained about the heat and the humidity. The kids headed the beach. Rusty's mom, who was working double shifts at the diner to make up for the loss of Rocky's (admittedly sporadic) wages, didn't pay much attention to his comings and goings, but did tell Rusty that if he was going to spend the day at the beach, he had to go with his cousin.

This cousin was in fact the hapless Marco, fresh out of rehab and reluctant to spend his summer days babysitting. This suited Rusty, who despite the fuzzy headed feeling he just couldn't shake, was Mortally Offended, and they came to an agreement. Marco would appear at Rusty's house in the morning. They'd head to the beach in each other's company, and as soon as they came to the end of the path through the sand dunes, they would go their separate ways. Family duty satisfied. Independence maintained.

This worked beautifully for about a week. When Rusty had left Marco, his cousin was heading under the pier with a red headed girl wearing a short yellow sundress. Marco was shipping out to boot camp in a week (his last escapade sealed his fate and his grandfather had delivered an ultimatum) and he wanted to make the most of his time. Rusty made his way to the boardwalk. He had a few dollars (the last of the eating contest winnings) and was craving onion rings and cream soda. Then he was going to head over to where Joey Flash had a shell game going. Easy to lift a wallet from the crowd that gathered to see the show.

He slipped easily between the men gathered around Joey. Some were locals, blue collar guys on their day off, buying their kids some lunch at the boardwalk, taking a few bets bs-ing with guys from back in the day. Rusty left them well enough alone. He knew these guys. He knew their kids. He knew they had to make too little go too far and that they'd give him the shirts off their backs if he asked. These were the guys who came around to the house to fix a broken air conditioner, or replace the broken rope starter on the push mower now that Rocky was...unable. He slipped by them with an easy grin. They saw him and then forgot about him.

The tourists, he studied before making his move. He looked for the men who demeaned their wives in public, or who were quick to cuff the faces of kids whose only crime was being too eager and too vocal about getting down to the beach to play. He listened for loud mouths making racist jokes, and focused on out of towers who refused to bus their own tables, leaving greasy wrappers and crushed soda cans to litter the ground and blow into the dunes. These men were fair game.

Keeping his head down, those memorable eyes lowered, he danced through the crowd. The mark he chose, was a giant, sweaty red faced guy with bad breath who'd just flashed a wallet full of $50s while grudgingly buying his wife a diet Coke. It was an easy pull and he was heading happily back to the food stands when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. For a heart stopping moment he thought the mark had caught him, and he spun around, ready to run. " I need to meet my dad at the skeeball booth. I'm already late and he's looking for me,"he lied smoothly.

"Whoa, easy there sonny. I'm not gonna rat on you. And I know you're not here with your father. With anyone. You need to come with me."

He wasn't a cop. Rusty knew them all, and this guy wasn't anything official. Rusty screwed up his face, immediately looking even younger than his nearly-but-not-quite 11 years. Usually this led to offers to help find his folks, but not this time. The guy just kept hold of his arm and pulled him into an alley between the fortune teller's tent and the wax museum. The alley wasn't dark, but shaded and dim.

Rusty was wary, but not too scared. There were plenty of people just a few yards away, and at this time of day it was a family crowd. Not the types to ignore a kid yelling for help. So he jerked his arm, trying to break free (not succeeding) and took in the details.

The guy was youngish. Older than Marco, but not as old as his Uncle Frank, who was 25, and in the Marines. So that put him somewhere in his early 20s. He was a lot taller than Rusty, but slightly built. Oily dishwater blond hair, wispy mustache, clammy hands that pinched meanly at Rusty's bare arm. He was wearing a truly horrific Hawaiian shirt and cut off dirty white sweat pants. They hung on his skinny hips and he kept tugging at them. Now that he had Rusty here, the guy didn't seem like he knew what do do next. He actually seemed more nervous than Rusty. Even though he didn't see track marks, Rusty thought the guy was probably a junkie who was going to beat him up for his money, knowing he'd never go to the cops. Rusty mentally berated himself for getting caught, but he still wasn't particularly afraid. He had taken his share of punches, on the playground, at home, and he didn't think this guy could do any real damage. Rusty was more upset at the thought of having to lift another wallet or going home hungry.

So he was quite shocked when the guy covered his mouth and then grabbed his hand, placed it on his crotch and started rubbing. Rusty, whose fight or flight instinct finally kicked in, bit down on the creep's thumb, and tried to twist out of his grasp. The guy panicked but didn't let go. He pulled him onto his back and Rusty felt the guys elbow crack him on the face. His head smacked against the hard ground and his vision blurred. He was just about ready to start screaming, when the guy was yanked off him. Amazingly, there was Marco, looking about 10 feet tall and really, really pissed off. Marco grabbed Rusty and hustled him out of the alley and down the boardwalk.

Marco found an empty table with an umbrella to provide some shade, shoved Rusty into a seat, and growled, "If you move from this place, I will kill you."

Rusty just nodded, still shaking from adrenaline and shock of it all. Marco disappeared for a few moments, and just as Rusty was ready to risk it and make a break for home, he returned with a gigantic chocolate bar and what looked like a gallon sized cup of cherry coke.

"Eat this. Drink. Will help with the shakes." Marco spoke like he knew what he was talking about, and Rusty decided it was easier to just do what he said. And Rusty would have to be in really bad shape before he turned down chocolate.

After a couple minutes, Rusty stopped shaking. With the resilience of the young, with the resilience of Rusty, he was slurping the soda and happily nibbling the chocolate. Marco, muttering about how he'd never be able to explain this to his mother, chain-smoked 2 unfiltered cigarettes, drew a deep breath and turned to look at his cousin. The serious expression on his face made him look older than his 18 years. Rusty broke a square from the candy bar and pushed it toward him. Marco smiled wryly, and accepted the gesture.

"Rus. Rusty. I know it's weird, but you have to tell me what happened in there before I came," Marco reached out and lifted Rusty's chin. "Did he hurt you?"

Uncomfortable with this concerned incarnation of Marco, Rusty fell back on the smart ass quips that were second nature to him - good at distracting and deflecting. Marco, though, had known Rusty Ryan since the day he was born, and though he had screwed up royally in the not so recent past, he wasn't stupid and he genuinely cared about this scrappy kid. He'd seen a lot in juvie and heard some really heartbreaking tales in the mandatory group therapy sessions while in rehab. He also knew the kid hadn't had the easiest time of late (or ever.) He knew deflection, he knew that beautiful boys like Rusty were targets, and he knew what he saw in that alley. He just didn't know if he saw the worst of it. He knew Rus had been too worked up for it to have been a just a shake down, but after what the kid had gone through because of that idiot Rocky last month, Marco just wanted to make sure he was ok.

He wasn't expecting Rusty to be totally ignorant of the concept of pedophiles.

Marco listened to Rusty tell him about the pull, about getting spotted and dragged into the alley. He listened to his cousin describe this sicko with pretty amazing detail (he'd make sure the guys knew to keep an eye out for him) and sighed with relief when there was no mention of exposure. But he had to be sure. And in any other circumstances the look of utter confusion and disbelief on the kid's face would have been hilarious. Jesus,what was Margie teaching this kid ? Marco had known to stay away from the pervs from a much earlier age. Here was Rusty, not even 11, face like an angel, running around in a bathing suit...Jesus. Marco felt sick and angry and like breaking something. It was hard to forget that just because the kid was street smart in every other way, clever and fast, that he was very, very young. And apparently, against all odds, was still innocent of the knowledge of what could happen to him.

And there was Rusty sitting across from him, with chocolate smudged on his lip, blue eyes as round as dinner plates (ugh that bruise was gonna be real ugly by morning) looking at him very solemnly. So he drew a deep breath, and began to explain.

After Marco finished speaking, Rusty nodded and gathered up the candy wrapper and paper soda cup. He carried the garbage over to the trash can, carefully threw away the debris, took a deep breath and vomited into the bin. Marco stood there rubbing his back and somehow procured a bottle of water. Rusty rinsed out his mouth, handed the bottle back to Marco and let his cousin lead him home.

And as Rusty lay wide awake that night, his eye throbbing and his head aching he didn't take any comfort in the fact that he finally understood why the memories of the cold man frightened him.

The next day dawned hot and bright and Rusty was determined not to let memories haunt him. There had been absolutely no indication that the cold man was after him. Rocky had paid his debt( in blood and money) and all the uncles said the matter was closed. Time to stop acting like a baby and enjoy the summer. Like his mother said (although perhaps with regret, not optimism) "You're only young once."

He deliberately dressed in the brightest clothes he had (orange shorts, green shirt), grabbed a piece of fruit for breakfast, and went outside. It was like an oven, even at this time of day, but Rusty soaked up the heat like a cat. No cold men, no grey eyes...just a perfect summer day.

A strange car moved through the street and for a moment he froze. No. It couldn't be. Not here... It was sleek and silver and German...nothing like the Buicks and Camaroes that the neighborhood people drove. But Rusty looked again, and saw that the passenger wasn't a cold man. It was a kid. A kid who was staring right at Rusty. And in an act of joy and relief and life and hopefulness, Rusty bit into the plum, letting the sweetness fill his mouth. He looked back at the kid in the car and let the joy show on his face. And he spit the plum pit into his hand and clenched it like a talisman. Soon the car was almost down the block. He tracked it to the Ocean bungalow and watched as a tall, dark haired boy got out. Rusty faded into the shadows cast by a huge oak tree in the front yard. He saw the less than warm welcome the boy received and saw the driver leave. A few minutes later he saw Ms. Ocean stalking out of the house. He crept closer to the house and peeked in the window. He watched the boy until he stood up, a determined expression on his handsome face, and disappeared down the hallway.

Smile firmly in place, Rusty turned back towards home. His brain was once again working a mile a minute. But now, he was consumed with the memory of warm brown eyes, that shone with humor, confidence and determination. Rusty's mind whirled with thoughts that this was going to be an interesting summer after all.