Epic by InSilva
Disclaimer: didn't create any part of the Oceanworld. Which is rather like Discworld but more watery. Still contains magic and conmen, though. ;)
A/N: Am in mourning for England's abysmal performance at the World Cup. We were truly awful. It's something when one of your keepers is your joint top scorer.
Chapter Nine: On and on
Earlier…
Rusty's hands rested on the crate and he stared at Danny. Danny was safe. Danny was out of the water and Danny was safe.
With difficulty, Rusty turned his head to one side, leaning his numb face on his fingers, trying not to think about how hard it was to breathe. They were going to get through this. They had to. Tomorrow morning would come and Danny would wake up and scowl at him and he would laugh and tell Danny he'd do it again in a heartbeat.
And then, there would be a rescue ship, please. With hot chocolate and a warm bath and dry clothes and a bed. A nice soft bed…
He felt himself nodding again and shook himself back awake. His gaze travelled towards where the ship had gone down – where he thought the ship had gone down. Truly, it was difficult to be sure.
A movement caught his eye. A slow, deliberate movement and he forced his brain to focus. Well, it wasn't a shark. Someone was swimming with great determination and they were headed straight for the crate. His mouth was suddenly dry. He could be wrong but there was something in the unerring strokes of the swimmer that suggested purpose. They had seen the crate and they didn't care that it was occupied.
"I'll be back," he murmured to a Danny who wasn't listening.
Agonisingly, he prised himself off the crate and promptly took a mouthful of seawater. Coughing and spluttering, he concentrated on making his stiff limbs move, swimming awkwardly out to meet the stranger.
"Out of my way," said the man hoarsely and Rusty realised he knew him. It was the boor from the bar who'd bought them breakfast.
"No," he said simply.
"Out of my way!" snarled the man. "I'm getting on that bit of wood."
"That bit of wood's already taken."
"Not for long," the man promised grimly.
He didn't have the energy for this, really, he didn't but there was Danny and that meant he had to try. The man was wearing a lifejacket and that gave Rusty a slight advantage when it came to manoeuvrability. He moved round the man and grabbed him by the shoulders with strength that he didn't know he had. There was a startled cry and the man struggled but Rusty kicked hard and away, away from the crate, away from Danny.
"Get the fuck off me! I'll fucking kill you!" the man yelled and there were a couple of gurgling supplementary shouts that suggested he'd gotten a mouthful or two of salt water.
Rusty ignored him. Water…stroke…water…stroke…away from Danny…keep Danny safe… That was as far as the plan went and he was tiring now. He'd been tired before he'd started and now he was exhausted. The moon picked out a solution. A floating barrel of something and he dragged the man over to it.
"Here," he managed, guiding the man to it just as he'd guided Danny to salvation earlier.
"Here," the man spat and the punch was hard and heavy and smashed into his cheekbone.
So much for gratitude. Rusty drove the pain far down where it belonged and turned and kicked again, back the way he'd come. Danny... His arms were lead weights and his sense of direction was shot. He glanced up at the stars and thought he should be heading more to the right. Possibly. Fuck, it was hard to tell… He hadn't realised he'd gone this far. He hoped Danny was OK. He hoped Danny hadn't woken up and wondered. He hoped…
There. The packing crate gleamed white in the moonlight and with a sudden burst of energy, Rusty made for it, ignoring the truth that his brain was screaming at him until he was actually on top of it.
No. Nonononono.
The crate was empty.
Danny.
Danny.
Frantically, Rusty searched the waters around the crate. Not a sign.
Danny…
He must have slipped off. He must have drifted away. He must be floating somewhere. He could be face down in the water, right now, unconscious and drowning...right now, Danny could be dreaming about coming round and being rescued and he'd be dying…
Rusty hauled himself up on to the crate, on to his knees and scanned the waters and ignored the cold and the ache and the weariness and the pain in his face.
"Danny!" His voice sounded cracked and broken. "Danny!"
Danny wasn't there. And that could only mean one thing.
Exhaustion and emotion hit him like a sock with a brick in it and he collapsed down on to the crate, the tears too frozen to fall.
Danny was gone.
He needed to look for him. He needed to find him. He needed to say sorry for not keeping him safe after all.
Before he even tried to move, his body told him flat out it was on strike. He had to rest. Just for a moment…
Dawn came early, this time of year.
The men in the first little rescue boat spotted the body of the man slumped across the packing crate.
"We got one!" cried Jonas, young and eager.
Tom, older and wiser, kept silent. He reached out and shook the man by the shoulder, gently at first and then harder, but there was no response. Tom checked the man's pulse. Nothing. Tom looked up and shook his head and Jonas's face fell.
Tom glanced past Jonas's shoulder at the handful of survivors they'd pulled from the water, grouped together and shocked and shivering and not taking much notice of anything outside the boat itself. No point in putting them through any more trauma. And at the same time, this dead man was someone's father, someone's brother, someone's son. He deserved to be rescued too.
Tom waved his hand and the second little boat swept up to collect the dead.
Reuben had been amongst the first to be helped on board, the crew running around sympathetically and eagerly, offering what help they could. He'd wanted to put some distance between himself and the cloying relief of the others he'd shared the lifeboat with so he'd made his way on to the main deck with a mug of very sweet tea and watched.
The rescue operation was improvised and not that well-co-ordinated but was reasonably effective. There were two little launch boats working in a haphazard but enthusiastic fashion, bringing back survivors one side of the ship and bringing back bodies the other side.
Terry and Willy and other elite clambered on board: Reuben ignored them. He sipped the tea and looked hard amongst each group of new arrivals for the faces of people he knew and wanted to see again.
Three years ago, Terry had been in the middle of negotiations that were going well but had reached the level of fait accompli where he switched off and let his lawyer take over. Instead, he'd sipped coffee and looked through the floor to ceiling glass wall at the couple by the photocopier. The woman was attractive and smartly dressed and she was laughing with the handsome man with the dark hair and the smile that was meant only for her.
"That's Danny," murmured the company's Vice-President – the one Terry'd bribed for information and cooperation and who thought he had a generous package lined up - following his gaze. "He's someone you want to hang on to."
"Because…?"
"He's a talented boy. We've started pulling him in on our planning meetings. He's really got something."
Terry looked thoughtfully at the dark eyes sparkling and the way the man held himself.
"And the girl?"
"Tess. New HR Manager. Also worth keeping around."
"Also talented?"
"Well…I was thinking more about the scenery," the VP leered.
Terry gave him a knowing smile and mentally made the note to get rid of the man sooner rather than later.
Tess went on her way and Terry watched Danny's eyes following her as she left. Danny's eyes, unguarded and obviously interested. Terry sipped the coffee and stored up the information.
Deal done, Terry had gone softly-softly, smiling and encouraging. Many of the executives had been falling over themselves, sycophantic and ingratiating and he'd ignored them all. Danny, on the other hand… Danny was indeed the little creative dynamo the ex-VP had suggested. Insightful, incisive and quiet little comments that had merit. Terry was impressed.
He followed Danny's instincts and suggestions and he wasn't disappointed. Danny delivered. Terry liked what he saw and he wanted to own.
The only thing that grated was the streak of morality running through the man. If Danny had been a venal, back-stabbing opportunist, things might have been so much easier. Terry lay in bed and plotted, precisely, carefully. He needed to wind Danny in, to embed him so deeply that Danny couldn't escape. Well. That could be done.
"I want you to work closely with me," he told Danny and promptly sent him off on a three month strategic research trip to Washington State.
Wooing Tess in his absence was…expedient. Terry went out of his way to charm and dazzle and it didn't hurt that she looked good and was good company. By the time Danny returned, Tess and Terry had reached a kind of understanding; the kind of understanding that put a wedge between Danny and Tess; the kind of understanding that made sure Danny wanted to hang around.
There was an unforeseen side-effect to it all: Terry became unexpectedly fond of Tess. Beauty and wit and he found himself enjoying buying her presents – art, clothes, jewellery - almost as much as he enjoyed seeing her unwrap the gifts in front of Danny. Possession and control and Danny had gradually understood exactly how things stood just as he gradually realised that morality had no place in Terry's deals. By the time Danny tried to break away, it was already too late. He was Terry's.
Yes, he liked owning Danny. Pulling the strings and watching Danny jump to, watching Danny hate himself for it. Rusty Ryan had managed to overturn three years of conditioning in a matter of hours. Terry couldn't believe that Danny had chosen shortened life-expectancy with that smart-mouthed, insolent piece of shit over him.
Now, he was safe on board the ship that had picked them up and was busy scowling at the crew and his fellow rescuees.
"Would you like a hot drink, sir?" Striker held out an earthenware mug.
An atypical show of fury burst out of him.
"No, I wouldn't!" He smashed the mug to the deck. "I want off of here. I want to be back in New York. And if Danny's survived, I want him with me. Go and find out if either of them are on board."
"Understood, sir," Striker bowed his head and left.
The boat whisked him away, wrapped up in a thin grey blanket and sitting next to other survivors. Dully, he'd watched as the packing crate receded into the distance and they skipped across the top of the waves and back to the large... tanker?...cargo ship?...battleship? a silent voice mocked.
"Someone saw your flares!" shouted the young man who'd pulled him on to the launch. "They radioed in! Call went out and we were closest! Only we can't travel that fast!"
The man's words washed over him and Danny registered the excitement and the thrill in his voice. Being part of a rescue mission was obviously an enjoyable diversion to everyday life.
Danny suddenly hated him. Vividly, passionately. Sometime soon, this would all be an anecdote. Something to tell his pals about when he got back home. Some tale told in a bar, late at night when warstories were exchanged. The ship would be the focus. Not the passengers. Not the individual stories and the individual lives. Not the extinguishing of life, of magic, of…
He couldn't think of it. Couldn't begin to think about it. He felt colder than he had done in the water. Soulnumbness ate at him.
The boat pulled up alongside the ship and Danny climbed woodenly aboard, allowing himself to be shepherded on deck with the others.
Warmth. Wrapping round him and numbing in its own right. Maybe this was what the temperature was like in heaven or hell.
He'd already given himself over to the cold of death. The afterlife was a nicer place to be.
Reuben spotted Danny stepping on board and he couldn't stop the smile. They'd survived. They'd- Reuben looked again at Danny's face, at the empty, at the joybereft and the smile faded. Danny had survived.
Reuben closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for Rusty's soul. Then he started to make his way towards Danny.
Warm. Warm. Maybe this was what a turkey felt like at Christmas when it was defrosting.
He could hear voices. He couldn't open his eyes and he couldn't move a muscle but he could hear voices. Huh. Did angels really swear?
"M-Mr Tishkoff?"
Reuben stopped in his tracks. It was a shivering Timothy, his hands clasped round a hot drink.
"Good to see you again, Timothy," he said and meant it.
"G-glad to see you m-made it too, sir," Timothy stuttered in reply.
Reuben's attention was suddenly caught by Terry's hired help walking methodically and systematically across the deck, studying faces, looking…searching…
"Danny and Rusty…" Reuben whispered half to himself.
"Mr Ryan?" Timothy asked.
"Yeah…" Reuben was staring over his shoulder at the hunter looking for prey.
"Mr Ryan's…" Timothy broke off and Reuben's attention was suddenly focused on him.
"Mr Ryan's what?"
He was being moved. Hands were lifting him up with careless care, roughly depositing him somewhere hard. There was a rustling…plastic? Plastic sheeting maybe. Or a bodybag. He laughed silently at his own dark joke.
His legs were being lifted and wrapped together tightly. Like an Egyptian mummy, he thought idly. Better hope they didn't want to take his brains out.
"We found Mr Ryan, sir," Timothy had said. "He was on a bit of floating wood." "He was alive?" Hope leapt in Reuben and died in the next instant. Timothy shook his head. "The men left him for the other boat." The other boat. The one that brought back the dead.
Reuben had hesitated for a long moment but Striker was too close for comfort for him to approach Danny without drawing attention to him. Besides. He could check this out. He headed below deck.
Somewhere, there was someone patiently suggesting that it would be a plan if he tried to open his eyes or cough or something right about now.
Plastic. It was definitely plastic and it was being pulled over and round his body, higher and higher.
"Poor sods," said a voice, not for the first time. "Doubt they bargained on this when they set off on 'oliday."
"We need to get 'em wrapped," said the other voice. "Otherwise they'll stink this place out soon enough."
Yes. He needed to do something. Something soon.
Doors often opened for Reuben that shouldn't. Which was how he found himself in the makeshift morgue, looking at corpses, desperate for a cigar.
"You see your friend?" the crewman asked solicitously.
No. No, he didn't. And Timothy had been very sure and that didn't make any sense.
The door to a sideroom opened and another crewman emerged.
"You alright now, Stan?"
"Yeah, Kelly." Stan gave a watery smile. "Fair gave me a turn."
"Gave me a turn, too," Kelly grinned.
"What?" Reuben was curious.
"Dead coming back to life," Stan confided. "Look…"
He pushed the door open and Reuben stared through to the chair and its occupant. Blond-haired and blue-eyed and a beautiful sight for sore eyes.
Danny sat on the deck the blanket wrapped round his head, mechanically sipping the tea. He stared out across the water, his eyes blank.
"You look like you've been in the wars, mate," said a cheerful voice.
Another crewman. Another crewman he wanted to punch as hard as Rusty had hit him.
"What's your name?"
He turned his head. The crewman had a clipboard. Collecting details…
"Danny..." he began dutifully and then he caught sight of Striker, prowling through the crowd with method. Terry. Terry was looking for them, for him…
"Daniel," he corrected.
"Uh huh. And your surname?"
He couldn't give his own name. "Ryan" burned on his lips. Rusty's name and it sang in his heart. No good. Striker would recognise it. Terry would recognise it.
"Your surname, sir? Sir? Are you OK, sir?"
The crewman was puzzled and anxious and any second now, Striker might hear, might see… The necklace suddenly weighed heavy in his pocket. The Heart of the Ocean. He'd shown it to Rusty and he'd told him the ridiculous name and all that had happened only a day ago. And here he was now with his own heart aching.
"Sir?"
"Ocean," he said and smiled. "My name is Daniel Ocean."
The man moved away to continue his census and Danny resumed his contemplation of the vast waters that held a life cut short. He rested on his elbows against the railing, wondering what he was going to do next with his life.
"Be all you can be."
He owed it to himself. He owed it to Rusty. He-
"Daniel Ocean?"
Danny kept very, very still.
"You think that's a plausible name?"
He turned his head slowly and Rusty was there, leaning up against the railing, head wrapped in a blanket. Looking very much unlike a ghost.
"What name did you give?"
"Herbert Herbertson."
"And that's plausible?"
Rusty shrugged. "He's on the passenger list."
Danny digested the thought and then pushed it aside in favour of the more pressing question.
"What the hell-" Low and fierce.
"I'm sorry," Rusty cut in and it was apology for the punch and apology for abandoning him. "I'm sorry."
Should think so.
"Some guy wanted to evict you," Rusty explained.
Danny's gaze fell on the angry mark on Rusty's cheek and a flash of pain ran over his face.
It's nothing.
Danny's eyes told him how wrong he was.
"I got kind of turned around in the water," Rusty went on. "Couldn't find my way back to you. Found what I thought was the packing crate and you weren't on it."
The last words were quiet and strained. Rusty's eyes closed briefly and when he opened them again, Danny saw the strands of hell inside. Danny's hand closed over Rusty's in an instant and they looked at each other, acknowledging what the separation and the shadow of death had done to both of them.
"You're freezing," Danny muttered eventually, pushing the drink into Rusty's fingers.
"Don't feel it," Rusty grinned.
Danny squinted at him. "What are you wearing?"
It was a day for miracles.
A light moan and he recognised his own voice making it.
"Jesus fucking Christ! Did you hear that, Kelly?"
He'd been pulled up and unwrapped and sworn at some more by two hardened sailors who told him they had seen everything in their lives but they had never seen anything like him. Somewhere, Rusty could hear Danny agreeing and he started to smile. Then, he remembered and the tears that he hadn't been able to shed flowed down his cheeks, hot and plentiful.
"There, there," said Kelly, patting him on the arm. "It's shock. Stan, find him a nip of something, will you?"
Stan had produced a shot of whisky and Rusty had drunk it down automatically, the heat sinking low into his stomach and starting to ripple through him. Stan looked as white as...as an empty packing crate gleaming in the moonlight...
"'Ave one yourself, Stan," Kelly advised.
"Don't mind if I do."
"Think I'll have one too."
They pulled him into a little room away from...bodies, lots of bodies, his peripheral vision told him. Maybe Danny was there. He'd have to check when he had his strength back. When he felt he could face looking at Danny, lifeless and... He shook the thought from his head. Later. He'd check later.
Kelly dug around and found an old sweatshirt and sweatpants. Rusty nodded his thanks and forced his fingers to work on the buttons of his shirt, pushing them through the turquoise silk.
"Can cut that off if you like," Kelly said helpfully, producing a sharp knife.
"No!" Rusty backed away from him. "No."
The shirt was Danny. He trembled as he changed and it was nothing to do with the physical remnants of the experience.
He'd survived. Danny hadn't.
"Have another whisky," Stan suggested.
"'Ave a sit down," Kelly offered.
He did both as if in a dream.
There was a noise outside and Kelly sighed.
"I'll go and see what that is. You stay 'ere, Stan, and drink some more whisky. You look as green as my Aunt Flo's pea soup."
Kelly excused himself and Rusty sat and didn't listen to Stan's words of cheery comfort. Then, the door opened and there was Reuben. Rusty flicked him a smile and he was pleased Reuben had survived. It was just...
As Reuben bubbled over with words of delight and joy, the pain was sharp in Rusty's chest and maybe he was being a little ridiculous here. He was grieving over a man he had only met a couple of days ago. A man who... He swallowed. A man who thought he mattered. A man whom he connected with in a way he never had with anyone. A man who cared enough about him to come back for him. A man who... Danny...
"Danny's alive."
His head shot up at Reuben's words. "What?"
Reuben was studying him anxiously and he reached out and grabbed Reuben by the arms.
"Danny-"
"Danny's alive," Reuben said again. "He's up on the main deck by the railing."
Rusty was on his feet and almost immediately his legs went from under him. Reuben kept him upright.
"Steady."
"I've got to go. I've got to-"
"First of all, take it steady. Also, you need to know that Terry's looking for you. For both of you." Reuben pulled the blanket from around his own shoulders and draped it over Rusty's head. "Keep your head down."
"Reuben..."
"Danny thinks you're dead," Reuben added quietly. "So-"
"-go steady." Rusty exhaled. "Yeah. Thanks."
He headed out of the door.
"And come and see me at the Xanadu!" Reuben called after him. "I'll put you up in the best suite!"
A day of miracles. He'd seen the unmistakable shape of Danny and he hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath until he let out a gasp of relief and belief.
And now, he was with Danny and Danny's arms went round his shoulders, pulling him close, holding him safe and Rusty knew it was only partly about keeping him warm. He knew Danny knew too.
After an indeterminate while…
"So." Danny moved out of the embrace and leaned up against the railing again, facing the sea.
"So." Rusty leaned up against Danny.
"Where are we gonna hit first?"
Rusty considered. "We've got an open invite to stay with Reuben in Vegas."
"Reuben's alive?" Danny exclaimed.
"Yeah. Kind of helps, don't you think?"
Danny grinned. "Little creepy otherwise, I'll grant you." His face grew serious. "You know, Striker's looking for us. And he won't stop until he's sure we're not on board this ship."
"What is he - the Terminator?"
"Terminator's brother at least."
"Well, I'm not jumping back overboard."
The grin was back in place. "No. But we need somewhere-"
"Stan and Kelly. They'll hide us."
"Stan and Kelly it is."
"This way." Rusty started to lead him back below deck.
"You do know the plus side of all this?" Danny said as they walked carefully, unobtrusively through the crowd.
Rusty stared at him. Yes, he knew the plus side.
"Not that. Idiot." Danny looked amused. "Terry doesn't fly. Willing to bet that now he won't travel by boat either."
"Oh, that's an upside. Like to know Terry's contained in a continent."
Danny grew pensive. "I told Terry how to get inside his next corporate target."
"Then we'd better make sure he doesn't," Rusty said firmly. "Plus we'd better work out a way to get you the girl."
"Tess…" Danny swallowed. "She's going to-"
"-think you're dead," Rusty nodded. "She might be a little pissed when she finds out you're not. I mean…" He waved a hand.
"Yeah." Danny understood the point.
"Still. We'll find a way," Rusty promised.
"Yeah."
They would.
A/N: The end. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!
