Audrey and Rex by InSilva
Disclaimer: in no way mine.
He'd leapt up on the train and he'd turned around to reach down and grab Rusty's arm and haul him on board. As he did so, there was a silent whistling through the air and Rusty's eyes widened in surprise and shock and he fell forward and down on the platform and his hand slipped out of Danny's desperate grasp.
Danny scrabbled for him and then the bullet caught him in the shoulder and sent him sprawling to the back of the goods van. By the time he made it to the door again, there was a bridge and water rushing underneath and no Rusty anywhere in sight.
The bullet wound had healed and gone and disappeared and he'd gone back. There had been no sign of Rusty. No sign at all. He'd knelt down on the platform, on the exact spot and he'd imagined he could see the blood and his fingers had traced the outline of where Rusty's body had fallen.
There was nothing.
Danny had gone underground and asked and pleaded and begged.
There was nothing.
He'd looked at the records of hospitals and police stations and undertakers.
There was nothing.
Something had made him stay. Even months later, he'd stayed. Not like Courtenay could have got a good look at him. Not like he'd notice if Danny walked up and punched him. Well, he might have noticed that. As it was, Courtenay was notable by his absence. Out of the country. On the Riviera. Expected back soon.
Danny didn't know why he was still there. But he couldn't leave.
It was a Thursday when his life began again. A Thursday when he'd been sitting in a Mexican restaurant and the door had opened and there had been soft laughter and Rusty had walked in. Rusty. Alive. His hair, short and blond apart from the streak of grey at the temple. His eyes alight with amusement.
Danny'd half risen out of his seat, joy unbounded and then Henry Courtenay had followed Rusty in to the restaurant. Courtenay, tall, muscular, dark, intense. Smiling at Rusty like…like… Danny had sunk back down into his chair, his fingers tightening on the tablecloth in front of him.
They took a table in Danny's line of view. And he sat with uneaten food and untouched drink in front of him and watched the unwatchable, the unbearable, the unimaginable.
Rusty was staring at Courtenay like… There were soft words and looks up under his lashes and fun and half-grins and Danny felt his insides spasm. He studied Courtenay's face. Courtenay's teeth were showing. Courtenay's eyes were smiling. And Danny kept thinking of the big, bad wolf.
What the hell had happened? What the hell…?
Rusty stood up to excuse himself and Danny followed him to the bathroom. He stood at the urinal and waited till the other two men had gone and then as Rusty washed his hands, he crossed and stood behind Rusty and looked at Rusty's face in the mirror. Rusty's eyes met his. Unfriendly. Hostile in the extreme. No recognition in the slightest.
"You better not be thinking about doing what I think you're thinking about doing," Rusty murmured and Danny could see the weight shifting, could see without seeing his hands clench into fists.
"Rus…"
"Who?" Rusty span round to face him. "My name's Aubrey. Aubrey Stevenson."
Danny stared at him. Hard. Deep. Searching and searching…
Rus…?
There was nothing.
He'd left Rusty imagining that it was a case of mistaken identity and walked away from the bathroom and away from the restaurant and picked up a bottle of whisky and waited. He'd found Rusty. He'd found Rusty and he wasn't going to lose him again.
They'd fallen out of the door, Courtenay's arm round Rusty's shoulders, possessively, and it had taken all Danny's self-restraint not to run across the street and grab Rusty and start punching Courtenay till there was no reason to keep hitting him.
He trailed them back to Courtenay's house. Courtenay's mansion. He stood at the iron gates and looked up the drive, at lights downstairs that went out. At lights upstairs that went on. And then out. And Danny sank down on to the sidewalk and wept.
The truth had come out. He'd scoured the streets for informants and information about Aubrey Stevenson and people had spoken.
Aubrey had appeared from nowhere about four months ago. He'd been whisked away by Courtenay on a whistle-stop tour of Europe. Aubrey had been wined and dined and he'd come back, golden and gorgeous and glancing at Courtenay as if… Danny had swallowed hard when he'd heard.
Wild imaginings ran through his brain. Rusty had been injured, shot, head wound most likely. The streak of grey. And Courtenay had…what, exactly? Had stood over Rusty's body and looked down at unconscious beauty and thought to trap it? Pictures of Rusty recovering flashed through him. Rusty, operated on? Lying in bed, coming to, and Courtenay at his bedside.
Oh, how Courtenay must have smiled when Rusty hadn't recognised him. What glee there must have been in stringing along the man who had come to rob him. Danny gritted his teeth. Courtenay, playing the concerned friend…more than that, the anxious lover… And Rusty, not knowing, trusting what he was told…
Danny lived in misery.
He followed them as best he could, as surreptitiously as he was able. Their days seemed to centre around sports and food and sex. And he couldn't forgive Courtenay for making Rusty play tennis or eat sushi anymore than he could forgive him for fucking him. And to make Rusty think he liked all three…
Now, he was stood under a streetlight, watching them leave the theatre. Courtenay's hand was in the small of Rusty's back and he'd whispered something and he was smiling and Rusty was laughing and Rusty's face was open and happy and Courtenay's expression hid the predatory beneath and Danny wanted to scream.
He lit a cigarette to steady his shaking hands as they passed by on the opposite side and he couldn't think of a damn thing to do. The cigarette burned his fingers and he realised with a start that he'd been stood there for a while. He dropped the cigarette to the ground and stamped it out under his heel and walked off to the nearest bar.
"Tell me."
Danny looked up from his malt and Saul was there. Looking ever so slightly like Morgan Freeman. Danny glanced down at the glass. Maybe he'd been hitting the whisky a little too recklessly.
"He's here," Danny said to Saul/Morgan. "He's here and he's alive and he doesn't know who he is and he doesn't know who I am and this bastard is making him into someone he isn't and I haven't a clue what to do."
Saul/Morgan nodded sagely.
"Isn't this the point where you give me some pointers?"
Saul/Morgan shrugged. "Sometimes it's just about the listening."
It was the next day. Possibly. And Danny couldn't take it any longer. He'd followed them to the tennis club and he'd watched as Rusty easily beat Courtenay and somehow, he wasn't sure how, he'd ended up in the changing rooms. Rusty had emerged from the showers, towel wrapped round him and Courtenay nowhere in sight. Danny seized the moment.
He grabbed Rusty by the shoulders and his mouth sought Rusty's and the kiss had everything in it. Every last moment of memory and love and them. Everything he could offer. Everything he could ever give. Everything he-
With a start, he woke up, his throat dry and his heart racing. His hand flailed out to find Rusty at his side and the movement woke Rusty.
"Y'alright?" he muttered, squinting at Danny and then Danny's arms were round him and Danny was kissing him long and hard and there was anxiety and fear and Rusty didn't make a move.
Finally, finally, Danny's mouth left his and his eyes were demanding truths that he knew Rusty would never understand the reason for.
"Easy," Rusty said softly. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
His breathing slowed and he swallowed.
"I…I…" he started to explain and then Rusty shut him up with a fierce kiss that went on until Danny thought the dream had almost been worth it.
Almost.
A/N: So. Inspired by a dream. Not my dream. My dreams are about shopping or making my son late for school by insisting on cooking him chips for breakfast. Not my husband's dream either. He dreams about Armageddon on a grand scale in one form or another.
If you are interested enough to find out the full details, please PM otherhawk. She can explain so much more eloquently than I.
(PS I don't ever feed my son chips for breakfast)(Just in case you wondered)(Or you work for social services).