A/N: Another short chapter, I'm afraid. Think next week will be longer. Also darker.
A/N: InSilva enjoys seeing me sulk. Little does she know, I am withholding photies.
The moment he opened the front door of the safe house, he was aware of the raised voices and his blood froze. Had Patrick somehow found them, found Danny?
He was running towards the noise, but Bobby was faster, pushing past him, gun in hand, and Saul knew he wouldn't hesitate.
The bedroom door flew open, and Danny stumbled forwards, dressed in sweatpants and an unbuttoned shirt, his hand gripping the doorframe, knuckles white like it was all that was keeping him on his feet.
Walt was a half step behind looking deeply unhappy. "Danny, you need to get back to bed right now."
"Saul!" Danny breathed, and the hope in his voice was almost unbearable, and he was looking past Saul, past Bobby, looking for someone who wasn't there.
"Danny, what are you doing up?" he said with a soft sigh, and he already knew the answer.
"Have you found him?" Danny demanded, his eyes now fixed on Saul's face, and even as Saul watched, Danny read the answer in a heartbeat, and the agony was immediate.
"Not yet," he said out loud. "But we will." It was a promise that he'd made far too often now, and with every passing moment he wondered why Danny still trusted him.
"Then let's go find him," Danny said, his voice clear and determined.
"You need to rest, Danny," Bobby cut in firmly. "You need to let yourself heal."
Danny's eyes were hard. "I need to find Rusty," he corrected sharply. "And I'm going to."
He took another step forwards, stifling a gasp of pain, and Saul glanced down and winced at the sight of the fresh blood showing through the bandages on Danny's feet.
Walt swore softly and laid a gentle hand on Danny's shoulder. "See, now you're undoing all my hard work," he chided. "If I have to do the same thing over again, I get bored. Let's get you back to bed, okay?"
Obvious that Walt was counting on common sense to prevail here.
Equally obvious that it wasn't going to.
"No!" Danny shrugged off the hand irritably and took another step forwards.
Saul managed to grab him before he hit the floor.
"Daniel, you need to think," he said sharply, looking him straight in the eyes as he helped him back to his feet. "You are not going to help Rusty by running out into the streets and getting yourself killed. You go back to bed and do what Walt says and I'll tell you what's happening and then you tell me everything you know, and we figure out a plan together."
For a moment, Danny hesitated, and Saul kept calm and crossed his fingers that it would be enough.
"Okay," Danny said at last. Seemed like the offer of information won through. And the promise of action. He hadn't been kidding; he trusted Danny's instincts more than plenty of men twice Danny's age. Hoping that Danny might come up with a plan wasn't just a way of keeping him quiet.
"You have got to teach me how to do that," Bobby whispered in his ear as they followed Danny and Walt through to the bedroom.
Saul smiled in spite of himself. "I imagine by the time you've got through Linus' teenage years you'll have got it down just fine," he murmured back.
Walt got Danny lying down and Saul pulled a chair over and sat beside the bed. It was still so difficult to look in Danny's eyes. Still so difficult not to be overwhelmed with guilt. Still so difficult not to remember that there'd been a moment and he hadn't chosen Danny.
"Okay," he said, his voice calm with an effort. "Here's what's going on."
He ran through the story as quickly as possible. Explaining how they'd narrowed down the area Rusty was being kept in, explaining that the cops and the mob were looking too, explaining that Patrick had been one step ahead all along, explaining that he'd failed and still trying to keep it as comforting as possible. He'd promised Danny the truth, but Danny needed as much hope as possible.
Danny nodded at the end, his eyes dark and closed off. "Saul?" he asked at last. "Patrick said he was..." Danny swallowed hard and the pillow was in his hands, held across his chest, shielding him. "...doing this...to hurt you."
He didn't want to talk to Danny about this. He really, truly didn't want to talk to Danny about this, but Danny had a right to know. "Yes," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry, Danny."
"He said it was because his son died," Danny went on, not looking at him. "He said he blamed you because he was in prison and his son got fucked up."
Fucked up. That was one way of putting it. "Yes," he agreed hollowly, and he was thinking about Benny dying in a warehouse, and he was thinking about the syringe in Dirk's hand and the terror in Rusty's eyes.
"That's bullshit," Danny said fiercely, sitting up suddenly.
Saul stared at him.
"Stay still, Danny," Walt warned, still redressing Danny's feet.
"Kids aren't their parents," Danny said, anger in his eyes. "That kid made his own choices and it wasn't all about Patrick and it sure as fuck wasn't anything about you. Just because someone grows up with a bad guy for a father doesn't mean they're going to..." His fists were clenched and there were a thousand endings to that sentence and very few of them were about Benny and Patrick.
Saul laid his hand on Danny's gently. "It's alright," he said softly.
Danny squeezed his hand tightly and Saul didn't think that had ever happened before. Not the way he and Danny worked. Didn't mean he was in a hurry to let go. Didn't mean he didn't want Danny to get every last scrap of comfort he could.
"It's not your fault, Saul," Danny said, and his voice was choked. "It's all him."
"We need to know everything that happened, Danny," Bobby said quietly. "So that we can figure out what to do next."
For a second Danny tried to pull his hand away and Saul held it just a little tighter, promising silently that there was nothing that Danny could say that would ever make a difference to the way he felt.
Danny looked up at him for a long moment.
Then he started to talk and Saul felt like screaming.
