A/N: Thanks to InSilva for knowing enough and caring enough to tell me when something is wrong. :)
A/N2: One more chapter in past after this one, then we're back to Benedict job, I swear it.
The fury was a constant living presence in Rusty's mind, howling ceaselessly through him, battering against his reserves, and there was no outlet for it. If this was Danny, he'd be able to admit to the rage and the murderous even as he was offering comfort, and Danny would understand, even if he wouldn't condone. But this was Tess, and she'd been driven right back into the early days of constant fear, and Rusty couldn't let the anger touch her.
He couldn't get the memory of that night out of his head. The blood on Tess' face. The tears in her eyes. The buttons missing from her blouse and the dark purple bruising underneath. The pain and the shame and the terror, and for a moment his heart had stopped beating. He'd held her tight, even while he'd been looking round frantically, afraid that John might have followed her, might be right here.
They hadn't slept a wink that night. Once she'd finished telling him everything, once the adrenaline had worn off, Tess had been left huddled in bed, shaking, pressed against the headboard and staring at the door with dull, frightened eyes, and even after he'd pulled the dresser in front of the door, barricading them in, she'd still been barely-coherent with fear and reaction.
Too many memories. Too many living nightmares.
John had hurt her. John had hit her and hurt her and threatened to do so much worse, and Rusty could hardly breathe through the anger in his chest.
He wanted...he wanted...Fuck, he wanted to run out into the night and...and...he didn't even know. He just knew he wouldn't hesitate.
Oh, Tess. Sorry. She was so much more important. He had to stay with her, had to look after her and protect her.
(He'd failed her. He'd been supposed to protect her and he'd let her down.)
They flew home to LA early the next morning. It didn't help.
They were right back where they started. Tess wouldn't leave the house, would barely talk, struggled not to flinch when Rusty moved too quickly. He tried his best to be what she needed, patient, loving and understanding, but seeing her like this again...it hurt so much.
The gallery in Philadelphia called after three days, offering her the job. She didn't even blink when she turned it down.
"It's my own fault," she said dully as she stared at the phone and he brought her a coffee. "I was the one who called him. And I went over there...I walked into that house of my own accord. So it was all my fault for being stupid."
"You're not stupid," he said fiercely. "Of course going there was a bad idea, but that doesn't make you stupid. And more than that - just because you went to see him doesn't mean he has the right to hit you. That was his choice. That was his fault."
"I thought he'd changed," she said, looking at him with anguish in her eyes. "I really did. He said all these things...I thought he could tell me why. I thought I could forgive him and move on."
"Oh, Tess," he murmured, leaning forwards and kissing her on the forehead. He understood she'd want answers, understood that she'd...want to forgive. Just that it made his blood run cold. Because could he really be sure this wouldn't happen again? John had still been looking for her...if he found her...if he said he was really sorry...if Tess couldn't get away this time... He couldn't let that happen.
"Do you think he had changed?" she asked in a small voice.
He forced himself to look at the bruises, still ugly and livid. "No. You know he hadn't."
"But maybe he really thought he had," she went on. "He said he'd been to anger management. He said he'd cut down his drinking. Maybe...maybe he really was doing better and I just...provoked him. I said some things to him...I shouted at him. Maybe I ruined him. Maybe it was - "
" - it's not your fault," he said loudly, his hands cupping her face, and startled but not scared, she looked at him. "It's never been your fault, Tess. You went there and you showed him you wouldn't let him control you anymore, and he couldn't stand that, and he hurt you for it. That doesn't make it your fault. That makes him..." He trailed off for a second, searching for any word strong enough. "He's a monster," he said at last. "He's a monster and he deserves to die."
She sighed and leaned in close to him, her head on his shoulder. Lately, she seemed to need to touch him all the time. And he knew he should find that awkward, in the circumstances, but really, he just kept thinking that John could have killed her. Sounded like he'd been angry enough. Out of control enough. Rusty could have lost her, and how would he have found out?
"I won't let him control me," she murmured, her voice filled with self loathing. "That's why I'm hiding here, afraid to leave the house in case...in case he's somehow there."
He reached out and stroked her hair. "That'll pass," he told her. "Like before. You're stronger than him, remember? We can get through this. I promise."
She smiled up at him. They would get through this together.
That was before the phone call.
It was almost midnight. They were drinking wine and playing blackjack, the TV on mute in the background, and when the phone rang it seemed to interrupt a comfortable silence.
They weren't expecting any calls. And most people would call his cell, not the house phone. Somehow, he didn't think this could be anything good. He stood up slowly and headed for the phone, and Tess was watching him, her eyes wide and fearful. She'd jumped when the phone rang.
"Hello?" he said evenly into the receiver.
For a moment there was just the sound of harsh, heavy breathing. Then "Bitch!" the voice shouted loudly and the line went dead.
Fuck. He recognised that voice. Tess had as well, and she was on her feet in an instant, backing away towards the wall, her hands pressed against her mouth, shaking her head frantically. "No," she moaned. "No, no, no, no, no."
"Tess," he started, trying to tell her that it would be alright, that he'd protect her, but even as he took a step towards her the window exploded inwards and a brick crashed onto the floor in front of him amid a shower of glass.
Tess screamed.
"Get down!" he snapped, leaping towards the window and pressing himself against the wall and risking a peek, half expecting to see John right outside, ready to attack. Instead, he heard a screech of brakes and saw a car racing away down the road.
His fists were clenched. That bastard had been here. That bastard had been right outside.
In an instant, he crossed to where Tess was huddled against the door. She wasn't crying, not quite. Not that he would blame her. "Hey," he said softly, pressing his hand against her cheek. "He's gone."
She looked up at him miserably. "He'll be back," she stated.
"Yeah," he agreed, wishing he didn't have to. "He'll be back. We need to leave here."
He would be back. And this time it had been a brick through the window. The next time it could be a bullet, or a petrol bomb. He'd chased Tess across the country; he wasn't going to just give up, and as long as that was the case, Rusty couldn't keep Tess safe. The anger raced through him and he could feel his heart pounding against his chest. God, he wished he could be alone in a room with John. Just five minutes. That's all he'd need.
"No," Tess said quietly.
Rusty blinked. "No?"
She stood up, looking determined. "I don't want to leave," she said. "If we leave...it's like running away, isn't it? He's won. I don't want to let him drive us out of our home."
"Tess..." It wasn't like he couldn't see her point. Running away never sat well with him. But sometimes it was the only option. He looked at her seriously. "He will be back. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow...I don't know. I don't think he's exactly stable and we can't predict what he's going to do. I swear, I'll...we'llcome up with some way of dealing with this for the long term but right now...tonight...we just need to get somewhere safe. Please, Tess."
"Okay," she said unhappily. "I suppose you're right."
He smiled tiredly. "I am. We should get out of town tonight. Go pack a bag. Just the essentials and anything you really don't want to leave behind. Okay?"
She nodded and ran upstairs. Rusty followed and went to his room and started packing efficiently. Not like he'd need much. For the first time, he realised that here, in this house, with Tess, he didn't have a bag packed and ready to leave at a moment's notice.
Some way of dealing with this in the long term. Like it was going to be simple. He sighed and clenched his fists, trying to think of options. Maybe he could scare John off somehow. That could work...right up until the next time John got drunk and forgot anyway. He could set him up. Getting someone sent to prison wasn't anything he hadn't done before. Except that would involve trials and lawyers, and John would know exactly who was responsible, and that would come right back on Tess. If John managed to persuade them he was being framed, it would be Tess who would be questioned and investigated and that was just unacceptable. Course, they could always just accuse John of the crimes they knew he was undoubtedly guilty of. Except Tess wanted to be questioned about that even less, and besides, he was well aware of exactly how often that ended in a conviction, let alone a custodial sentence. Particularly since the physical evidence had faded. Might be the right thing to do, but when he couldn't guarantee the outcome, he didn't want to put Tess through that. Maybe he could get Bobby involved somehow...fuck. He just didn't know.
Funny. Right from the start, there had always been this tiny little thought in his mind that one day Danny would be out of prison, and one day Danny would hear all about this somehow, and on that day the two of them would go after John and teach him how very wrong he was to ever contemplate laying a hand on Tess.
He imagined the look on Danny's face now, knowing Rusty couldn't protect her.
God, he wished Danny was here.
Ten minutes later they were walking out to the car. He was a step behind Tess, looking around constantly for any sign of threat, any sign of John. There was nothing though. Maybe John had shot his bolt for the night. He hoped so.
Still, he wasn't going to rely on it, and he drove a circuitous route through the streets. With a heavy heart, he stopped the car outside an out-of-the-way bar called the Cats Cradle.
Tess looked up, frowning. "What are we doing here?"
He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Tess. I need to go in here for a moment. Come with me, please."
The bar was almost empty, and Tess waited by the bar while he talked to Jacomo, and negotiated a price for the gun and few boxes of rounds.
She was staring at him, shocked.
"It's just for security," he told her quietly. "If John finds us - " - She gasped with misery - "If John finds us," he went on steadily. "I want to be able to try and scare him off, that's all."
"Rusty - " she said, clearly troubled.
" - I know, Tess," he said softly. "I know. I don't like it either. But I need to be able to defend us."
She nodded slowly, still unhappy.
They drove to the airport only to be met with an announcement that all flights were cancelled until further notice.
"Damnit." He swore bitterly and sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Alright. We'll get a hotel room for tonight and catch a flight first thing tomorrow. Is that okay?"
"Yes." She caught his hand and squeezed it briefly. "I'll call Kat when we get where ever we're going."
"This won't be forever, Tess," he promised. "We can come back when it's safe. If that's what you want."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I'm sorry," he said.
For a moment they just gazed at each other and then, somehow, without even knowing who started it, they were kissing, a desperate expression of love and fear and misery.
They spent that night lying awake and silent in each other's arms.
Somewhere, John was out looking for them.
Morning came, and he called down to the desk to make absolutely certain that no one had been looking for them. Nothing. Maybe their luck was in. But when he turned back, Tess was frantically searching through her bag, her purse emptied out over the bed.
"What?" he asked with quiet dread.
She looked up. "My passport...it isn't here."
"Are you sure?" he asked, and the look he got was answer enough. She was sure. He sighed. "Alright. It'll be in the house. I'll run back and get it."
"I'll come too," she said immediately.
He shook his head quickly. "No. He knows what you look like. He doesn't know me. If he's waiting...I'll be able to slip on by without him noticing. If we both go, we won't have that option."
She nodded slowly, accepting the logic even if she obviously didn't like it.
"Stay here, keep the door locked, don't answer it for anyone, and if you have even the slightest feeling that something's wrong, call the cops and call the front desk," he instructed. "Don't hesitate. Okay?"
"Be careful," she said in answer.
He smiled. "I'll be back before you know it," he promised.
He parked the car on the far side of the street and studied the house carefully. It looked quiet enough. No sign that anyone had broken in or anything...though the broken window kinda made that a little difficult to judge.
Not like he really had a choice. Yes, he could get fake ID, but if John did end up breaking into the house at any point, and he found Tess' real passport, he could use it to make trouble for her. Bearing in mind the way he'd cancelled her credit cards and bank accounts before...that sort of thing obviously wasn't beneath him. Though by this point, Rusty was certain that absolutely nothing was beneath that bastard.
He thought again of the look on Tess' face last night. The abject terror. The shame. Darkly he wondered how many times she'd worn that expression when she'd been with John. It had probably been exactly what he looked for. He swallowed hard. Fuck, he wanted...He clenched his fists tightly and took a couple of deep breaths. He needed to calm down.
Alright. No one was watching. Casually he walked up the driveway and opened the door. Nothing unusual here. This was his home; he shouldn't have to be sneaking around. Tess was right. They shouldn't let John drive them away. Just that the alternatives could be so much worse...
He gritted his teeth. Right now he just had to get the passport and get back to Tess. He knew she'd be sick with worry. Once he got back they'd head straight back to the airport and get out of the country. Only then would...
Something was wrong. He froze. He'd seen something, he knew he had. He just wasn't sure what. Quickly he looked round, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
The kitchen door was ajar.
When they'd left last night, it had been closed.
The gun was a comforting weight in his coat pocket as he pushed the door open slowly.
There was a knife at his throat before he'd stepped through the door. It was one of the ones with the blue handle, he noticed absently. From the knife block by the fridge. They'd bought the set from the late night shopping channel, just because neither of them had ever bought anything from TV before. They didn't keep an edge worth a damn, but he'd sharpened them just the day before yesterday, and he could already feel a bead of blood trickling down his neck.
He followed the knife to the man who was holding it, and he was looking straight at John, looking far wilder than he had in the photos Rusty had seen in Philly. He was unshaven and sweating, breathing hard, and even from here, Rusty could smell the whisky coming off him. His eyes flickered sideways quickly, and there was a bottle of whisky lying on its side on the table. His whisky. This was turning into a murderous version of Goldilocks.
"Where is she?" John demanded, his voice slurred.
Rusty kept his expression blank. "Who?"
John's face darkened and he swung his fist hard, catching Rusty on the jaw. His head snapped back, knocking against the door frame and the knife dug into his throat a little deeper.
He couldn't reach the gun. Not without John noticing and slitting his throat, and eventually if he didn't come back, Tess would come looking and she'd find John.
He imagined Tess standing where he was. Feeling the knife against her throat. Feeling the pain where John had hit her. Feeling the awful breath on her face.
"Fuck, you're shaking," John said with disgust. "This really what she left me for? A cowardly faggot. Fucking stupid bitch."
He bit his tongue. He could work with that. No matter what, he had to make sure that this bastard didn't get anywhere near Tess. "Look, man, I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice trembling and ingratiating. "This is...this is my home. I live alone, there's no girl here. Oh, God, what do you want? Money? I got - "
"Bullshit!" John shouted furiously, reversing his grip on the knife in one impossibly swift movement and smashing the hilt into Rusty's face. Everything went blurry for a moment, and he was left blinking the blood out of his eyes. "I saw you together yesterday," John hissed, leaning in close, little flecks of spittle landing on Rusty's face. The point of the knife was back twisting against his throat.
John had been watching them. He'd been watching them in their own home. Tess was supposed to be safe here. He'd promised. He took a deep breath, trying to resist the urge to throw himself forwards and wrap his hands round John's neck.
"I don't know where she is," he said, and he didn't flinch where John pressed the knife harder against his throat.
"Wrong answer, fuckface," John told him. "You have to know. I'm gonna find her. Goin' teach her a lesson. Teach that bitch her place once and for all."
The world seemed to freeze. Like everything was in slow motion. "You're never going near her again," he promised softly.
John didn't seem to hear the danger, didn't seem able to even imagine the danger. "Look what she did to me," he complained, tilting his head back and jabbing his finger into a fading bruise on his throat. "Bitch."
Rusty grinned with savage fondness. "That's my girl," he said, and John punched him hard in the gut.
"I just wanted her back," he moaned. "I just wanted things to be back the way they were. Only better. Maybe I'd even get around to buying her a ring."
Rusty couldn't completely suppress the shudder at the thought.
John noticed and laughed, and stabbed the knife lightly into Rusty's shoulder, dragging the point downwards, leaving a thin line of fire in its wake, the blood staining his shirt. "You don't like that, do you?" he taunted Rusty. "She was mine first. Mine. I had her. I screwed her every way you can imagine and she looooved it. Couldn't get enough of me." He laughed again. "Maybe I'll give her a poke for old time's sake when I find her, whatchasay?"
It wasn't madness. Maybe it would be easier to deal with if it was madness. But he was in the grip of stone cold sanity, and still there was a voice whispering in his head. This man deserved to die. This man needed to die.
"I never wanted to hit her," John went on morosely. "I tried. God knows, I tried. But I'm a man, you see? Got needs. I work hard. When I come home I want my house clean, my dinner on the table and my woman dressed pretty and smiling for me. That really so wrong? That really so bad? It's just basic respect. Tess never got that. But I didn't want to hit her." For a moment it seemed as though he might start crying. "She wouldn't do what I said. Why wouldn't she just do what I said? Like turning me down cos it's the 'wrong time of the month'. Like that's the only hole. But she learned that time at least."
"I can take you to her," Rusty heard himself say.
"Does she smile for you?" John asked, then he blinked blearily. "Wha'?"
"I can take you to her," Rusty repeated. "Just don't hurt me anymore, okay?" He was too angry to sound properly scared. Fortunately John was too drunk to notice.
The knife moved fractionally away from him. "Where is she?" John demanded.
"A warehouse on the docks," he said quickly. "When the brick came through the window we were so scared. I didn't know what to do. So we ran and hid."
"Like rats," John snorted contemptuously. "Alright. We're going to take a little drive, you and me. And the knife's going to stay right here so you don't get any funny ideas."
He nodded. He only had one idea. And it started with going somewhere quiet and out of the way.
They took his car. He drove. John slumped in the passneger seat, and true to his word, the knife hovered somewhere around Rusty's side. It would be easy enough to try and overpower him, but right now that wasn't what he was going for. The gun in his pocket had an inevitable weight.
Took about twenty minutes to reach the warehouse. Thankfully, John kept his mouth shut, or else Rusty might have shot him there and then.
He kept his mind blank. Didn't think of anything except the road and the warehouse. Taylor Lock had been running a fake handbag business out of it, but rumour had it he'd had to skip town six weeks ago. Rusty was pretty sure no one else would have moved in yet.
Certainly the place looked deserted. Falling down, too.
"This the best you have to offer her, huh?" John grinned, gesturing expansively with the knife.
He kept silent, walking straight to the door and opening the padlock with ease, only then risking a look around the dock. No one in sight. Good.
John shoved him aside and stumbled inside. "Honey, I'm home," he bellowed, and a group of bats took startled flight. "Come out, come out wherever you are. Your boyfriend brought me right here, Tess. And I'm gonna teach you a lesson you'll never - "
" - John," Rusty said with quiet authority, and when John turned round to squint at him, the gun was already in his hands, ready and waiting. " I told you what would happen if you came near her again. You should never have touched her."
For a second John just stood, staring at him, his mouth hanging open stupidly. "No, wait, don't - "
The gun was a cold weight in his hand.
He fired.
John didn't fall down right away. Slowly, he reached up and touched the blood on his chest. "I don't understand," he said thickly.
He fired again. And again. And again.
John fell first to his knees and then slumped backwards to the ground, and the blood slowly spread out beneath him, staining the wooden floor.
With unhurried, measured steps, Rusty walked towards him and emptied the rest of the gun into his head.
For a long moment he just stood there, breathing in the smell of blood and gunpowder and looking down at the man he'd killed.
Then he calmly reloaded the gun and shot one more time.
"Yes," he told John quietly. "She does smile for me."