Sense by InSilva
Disclaimer: didn't create anything Oceany.
Danny came to with a start. He must have dozed off in the comfortable easy chair. He yawned and stretched and looked across the apartment where Rusty had his back to him, wrapped in deadly concentration as he sat at the table. Danny knew better than to interrupt. He could see the look of exasperated affection - or possibly affectionate exasperation - and the demand that this had really better be worth it.
Instead, Danny got to his feet and strolled over to the wall which was covered in scribbled notes dotted round photos of four men like a crime board in a police investigation. A dark-haired man wearing Ray-bans and dressed like a successful Wall Street banker. Marcus Chapman. The name crystallised in Danny's head. Marcus Chapman, the mark. Marcus, who had sharp dealings and made ruthless profit and invested it in sapphires, rubies and diamonds.
The other men… Danny didn't know their names but they had the thuggish look of men employed to protect Marcus and his wealth with eagerness and expertise. Danny closed his eyes. A blur of fists and vicious and kicks and razor blades and blood and pain. He could imagine. He knew how it went.
Rusty's phone rang, breaking into his thoughts. He turned his head to see Rusty answer it.
"Yeah. Yeah. 3 o'clock? Thanks, Nielsen."
Nielsen. Supplier of information and a hundred different things of borderline legality that could be useful to conmen although the man himself was sly and mercenary as hell. He was never their first port of call, always their last resort and that was only because he'd never yet failed to deliver. And it sounded like Rusty had secured them an appointment. Good.
"Afternoon, Nielsen," Danny greeted him as they walked into Nielsen's parlour.
Nielsen ignored him and grinned at Rusty instead. Danny didn't like the grin. It meant Nielsen felt he had the upper hand when it came to negotiation: it meant it was going to cost them.
"Nielsen," Rusty acknowledged. "We doing business?"
By way of answer, Nielsen produced an envelope and held it out. Rusty's fingers closed round it but Nielsen didn't release it.
"We doing business, Mr Ryan?"
Rusty dug into his jacket and fetched out a bundle of money. Danny smiled to himself as Nielsen grasped it and Rusty held on tight. Impasse. And his money was on Rusty.
"Want a little something extra, Nielsen," Rusty said. "Hope you're going to oblige."
In the street outside, Rusty tore the envelope open as soon as he possibly could. Danny read its contents over his shoulder and let out a low whistle. Marcus's movements over the next few days, clients and private appointments and restaurant bookings. Like they'd reached into Marcus's electronic calendar. He still wasn't any easier to like but Nielsen had come through.
"Gotcha," Rusty said softly, looking at the paper in his hand.
"We've got our way in," Danny agreed.
They'd know exactly when Marcus was and wasn't home.
Back at the apartment and Rusty was back at the table while Danny was staring at the wall again. All the details. All the details that fell out of his plan. The plan was simple enough, daring enough. It would take one of them to work round the security at Marcus's home while the other would charm and dazzle Marcus, weaving distraction round him till he was dizzy.
"We could arm wrestle to decide who goes," he suggested lightly over his shoulder and the last time around he'd mentioned "Rock-Paper-Scissors" and Rusty hadn't dignified the suggestion with an answer that time, either.
Really, either of them could do either role but going on the inside was that tiny bit more dangerous. That tiny bit more risky. No escape and certain punishment if caught. A blur of fists and vicious and kicks….
Danny shivered. If he could choose, he'd put himself in the firing line. And he knew Rusty would do exactly the same.
Life was never fair in the ways that you wanted it to be. Danny sat in the easy chair and watched resignedly as Rusty dressed in loose-fitting workmen's overalls and pulled on his shoes.
Rusty glanced over at the faces of the four men as if he was committing them to his perfect memory.
"You see any of Marcus's men heading your way," Danny warned, "you abort. Because trust me, they look violent-"
"Bastards," Rusty said, investing the word with enough venom that Danny nodded, satisfied that Rusty was taking him seriously.
"Right. You set? Because I got a date with Marcus."
Ready to divert with cool and charm, Danny walked into the restaurant where Marcus was sat. But Marcus was on the phone and Marcus was getting to his feet and Marcus was looking straight at him with fury on his face.
Things had gone wrong.
Danny couldn't put his finger on the how but things had gone very wrong indeed. He and Rusty were stood in the study of Marcus's penthouse in front of Marcus and two of his men and they weren't looking at each other, they were focusing on Marcus.
"You're into what precisely?" Marcus wanted to know, pacing up and down in front of them. "Stealing? Or stupidity?"
Danny bit his lip. It hadn't been a stupid plan. It should have worked. He glanced at the two hired heavies. …kicks and razor blades and blood and pain... His eyes dropped to the wooden flooring of the study. There was a dark stain that might or might not have been blood.
Marcus was still talking and not expecting an answer. He was right in Rusty's face and the snarl was livid.
"You think my place isn't wired so that a mouse farts in the wrong room, I don't get to know about it? You cut the wrong wire and get caught and my men know to get me back here. You are a clumsy amateur."
Rusty was neither of those things. Danny's hands curled into fists.
"Well?" Marcus demanded. "You got anything to say?"
Silence hung. Neither of them said a word. Then a door opened and the third heavy entered.
"All clear, Mr Chapman. Looks like it's just…"
The man waved a hand in his and Rusty's direction.
"Mr Chapman," Danny began because a greedy man could always be tempted and if it saved them from a hiding, then it was worth trying. "You've got to know-"
Brusquely, Marcus cut across his words. "No famous last remarks before my boys eviscerate you?"
"Mr Chapman," Danny began again and then Rusty interrupted.
"Is that what you said?" All soft steel.
Danny's head whipped round and he frowned at Rusty. Marcus was frowning at him too.
"What?"
Rusty's eyes were blue and unblinking. "Something wrong with your hearing?"
"Rus!" Low and barely breathed.
"You cheeky fucker!" Marcus exclaimed, staring at Rusty as if unable to believe his ears. "I'm going to enjoy watching you be taken apart."
Rusty smiled brightly, recklessly. "You say that too?"
"Rusty, shut the fuck up," Danny hissed. Antagonising the bad guy was never a smart move and Danny just knew it was about drawing attention away from him himself.
Marcus's mouth was tight. "You're the second little thieving fucker I've found in here recently. If I hadn't had to turn the car round that night and come back… Well, he wasn't clumsy, he was just unlucky but I'm going to deal with you the same way I dealt with him."
Danny's eyes dropped involuntarily to the dark stain on the floor. Not Rusty. God, not Rusty.
"Just the four of you, right?" Rusty checked.
Marcus was back off-stride. He gave an abrupt nod.
"Just the four of you," Rusty repeated with quiet intensity. "Ripping him apart."
A blur of fists and vicious and kicks and razor blades and blood and pain…
"Hitting and hurting and cutting and killing," Rusty went on relentlessly, passion and fury and grief building in his voice. "And you don't even know what you've done. You have no clue what you've done."
"What have I done?" Marcus sneered.
"Brought me here," Rusty told him with just a hint of triumph and there was that damn smile again and Danny wanted to scream at him to shut up; he wanted to wrap his arms round him and never let go; he wanted…he wanted...
Marcus frowned at Rusty and then his eyes sharpened and he turned urgently to his men.
"Did you search him?"
"Yeah, boss. No guns, no knives."
Marcus visibly relaxed and his attention was back on Rusty and Marcus was speaking but Danny didn't hear a word. Tears were running down his face as he looked at Rusty. At serenity. At determination. At love everlasting.
Oh, Rus…
Missing scenes trickled through his consciousness like raindrops on a window-pane.
… Rusty, sitting at the table, preparing the sides of the shoes…
…"Want a little something extra, Nielsen…"
…Nielsen producing latent, powerful explosive and only a tiny amount of it needed to be struck together hard for devastating results…
…Rusty sitting at the table, painstakingly moulding the explosive to the scraped back leather…
"Rusty…" He said it out loud without hope of being heard. He said it with every ounce of all they'd ever meant to one another and never truly voiced, offering it all up to the here, the now and the forever. "Rus…"
For a brief moment, Rusty turned his head in his direction and Danny wondered if he'd heard him. There was a deep, rich smile of absolute, unreserved devotion.
And then Rusty clicked his heels together.
A/N: expect the title gives away the inspiration. But also for those readers who interpreted "Yours" a little differently.