Act Two, Scene Three
Dylan slept deeply yet uneasily throughout the night and most of the next day.
About an hour after Lula had left, he had heard footsteps on the stairs, and then a pause outside the door to Danny's room. After a few seconds of hesitation, they passed on, as the team retired to their respective rooms for much-needed sleep.
Considering that it had been well into the AM-hours by the time everything had been wrapped up, he wasn't surprised that when he finally crashed for the day, there were pink clouds appearing over the horizon that he could see through the window next to him.
When Dylan finally woke up for definite, the sun was high in the sky and lunch-time traffic was bustling past outside. For a moment, he was confused, wondering where he was and why he was on the floor and what on earth had possessed him to sleep in his clothes, but then everything jumped back in a flash.
Octa.
Macau.
Tressler.
Danny.
He slowly straightened up, stiff from where he'd slept against the bedside table, and stretched his arms with a groan.
"I'm getting too damn old for this, kid… You self-sacrificing idiot".
"Pot, kettle".
Dylan froze for a split second before spinning around and-
Danny stared back at him with world weary eyes, exhaustion and pain seeping from every single pore in his body.
"You're awake" he said dumbly, before quickly clearing his throat and sitting up straighter, "Uh, how are you feeling?"
"I'm-"
"If you say 'fine' I'll shoot you myself'' he interrupted, "The show's over, Danny. There's no need to hide any more. So. How do you feel?"
"... Like shit".
"Better" he accepted, "I gave you a morphine shot just after we stitched you up. You should still be asleep".
He gave a wry grin, reopening half healed cuts on his lips.
"Freakishly high metabolism".
Well, at least that explained the piano bar ribs.
"I can't give you any more of the good stuff yet" Dylan said apologetically, "Ibuprofen?"
He shook his head.
"Got any water?"
"Of course".
He stood and reached for the glass that one of the others had left on the bedside table the night before. Thankfully, it was still cold. Danny awkwardly took it with his good hand and took long sips. His arm trembled as he did so, the bruises around his wrist standing out sharper in the daylight than they had last night, and when he lowered the glass afterwards, the water was tinted red.
Dylan carefully took it from him and put it in reach on the floor besides the bed.
"So… You gonna tell me what happened?"
He very obviously avoided his gaze.
"Danny… I know where the bruises are from. I know about the cuts on your ankle and wrists. I even know where you got shot because you sure as hell weren't bleeding before we left Macau. I just want to know how it happened".
He took a deep breath and then promptly winced as it no doubt put pressure on bruised ribs.
"Danny".
"... It was Tressler's guys. Just before he took us. We were, um, we were on the motorbikes".
"That long ago?!"
"Well, I didn't exactly see Mabry throwing any concern our way!" he protested, "'Hey there, Walt, any chance of a hospital detour for the guy who humiliated and betrayed you and won't stay dead?' I don't think so".
Dylan rubbed his eyes, exasperated and in disbelief.
"Why didn't you tell me? Or even one of the others?"
"What could you have done, Rhodes?" he shot back, "We were in the middle of a show. We were this close to finally being free… I couldn't let anything jeopardize that".
"Dammit Danny, your well-being isn't just anything!"
"It was just a scratch!"
"It was a bullet wound!"
"I removed the bullet! It didn't even hit any artery!"
"That's not the point!"
"Then what is?! The fact you didn't know about it? The fact that you don't know everything about your Horsemen?!"
Dylan forced himself to calm down and take a moment to breathe. When he next spoke, his voice remained level despite his shaking hands.
"I don't know everything about you, Danny, or the others, for that matter. The point is, I'm concerned that you would hide something so serious from me! And don't say it was because of the show" he quickly added, raising a hand as the boy tried to protest.
"We were right in the middle of it then and we couldn't stop even if I'd wanted to… You should have told me, Danny. I could have at least taken the brunt of Tressler's men for you".
"... I didn't want to ruin everything".
He sighed, "You wouldn't have ruined a thing and- and I'm sorry if I ever made you think otherwise… But you can't hide things like this, alright? Next time, it might not be a simple stitch job. Next time, it might hit an artery. Imagine how you'd feel if Jack bled out in your arms 'cause he was too stubborn to say anything!"
He clenched his jaw and looked away.
"I didn't think it was that much of a big deal" he muttered, "It was annoying, yeah, but it wasn't enough to prevent me from doing my job".
Dylan stared at him.
"... Danny, your pain tolerance scares me" he said honestly, voice hoarse as his hands continued to tremble, though whether from anger or fear he wasn't sure, "I don't know what you went through to get here, and I don't expect you to tell me right now. But you need to understand that we're a team… You can trust us".
"I know. I know I can, really, I just…"
He trailed off, fingers pulling at a loose thread in the quilt cover.
"I just, uh… I just forget, sometimes".
Dylan's heart ached. He wasn't lying when he said that he didn't know about Danny's past. He'd been given that option, of course, back when he was tracking him, but it had always felt like an invasion of privacy so he'd refused to read the file. Now, however, for the boy's default setting to be that of distrust…
Dylan needed to find out what he went through, so he could go back and kill the bastards who did it.
Danny tried to unsuccessfully stifle a yawn, and he smiled.
That story could wait for another day.
"Get some rest" he said, straightening up, and it was a testament to how tired the boy really was when he didn't even try to protest.
He was almost at the door before Danny spoke again.
"Hey, Rhodes?"
"Yeah?"
Danny was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought. Dylan paused, hand on the door, wondering if the younger man had forgotten what he was going to say.
"Did you see me naked?" he asked suddenly and Dylan choked.
"Yes. Uh, no! I mean, it was- it was, um, briefly" he stammered, feeling himself flush at the blunt remark.
"And… the others?"
"Just Lula".
He was expecting at least a grimace or an angry remark, because it was as clear as day that the pair didn't exactly get along and if anyone had to see Dylan naked, then he'd prefer it to be a trusted friend over a sort-of-stranger that he could barely tolerate.
But, to his surprise, Danny almost looked relieved.
"Alright".
Another yawn.
"Go back to sleep" he said again, "We'll all still be here when you wake up".
Dylan paused outside the shut door and let out a heavy, shuddering breath, momentarily closing his eyes to help steady himself.
He didn't know when, and he didn't know how, but that boy was going to be the death of him.
Returning to the bathroom, he was grateful to find that Lula must have already washed down the bathtub. Stepping into the shower, he turned on the water as hot as it would go, and spent the next ten minutes scrubbing dried blood out from underneath his fingernails.
When he swiped a hand across the fogged mirror half an hour later, he looked rough.
Rougher than three nights on a stakeout rough.
There were bags under his eyes, a bruise on his cheek that didn't remember getting, and his stubble was now more scruffy than neat.
Dylan splashed some cold water on his face and decided that he could deal with it all later.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he tossed his clothes in the bathroom hamper and silently padded across the hallway to the only bedroom door that remained open.
Remembering what Lula had said about finding clothes in her wardrobe, he pulled open an antique chest of drawers, and thanked Li and Li's grandmother and whatever the hell else that was out there, that there were clean pants inside. Pulling on a pair of jeans that were slightly too small, and a sweater that was slightly too big, he ran a hand through damp hair and then headed downstairs.
The rest of the team were in the kitchen, hunched over the breakfast bar with cups of long-cold coffee in their hands. The pizza boxes from last night were all stacked on a corner counter, while the empty wine bottle and a broken glass sat harmlessly in the sink.
They all tensed and sharply looked up as he entered, as if expecting the worst, so he stopped at the doorway and raised a placating hand.
"Danny's fine".
There was a collective sigh of relief.
"Or, well, you know, as fine as he can be, given the circumstances".
"He's awake?" Jack asked, hair sleep-mussed and eyes still dazed.
"He was. Coherent, too. Apparently drugs don't last long in his system".
Heading for the coffee machine, Dylan pulled open three cupboards before he found a mug, and then another two before he located a bag of sugar.
"Did he explain what happened?" Merritt questioned, uncharacteristically sombre.
Dylan poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, added a half dozen teaspoons of sugar, and then took a much-needed sip.
"It was Tressler's men who shot him" he said, turning back to them, "Back when we were on the bikes, just before they threw us in the van".
"He's been injured for that long?" Lula exclaimed, "How the hell did he keep something like that hidden? How the hell did he even function?!"
"I don't know".
"But you have an idea" Merritt said, clearly reading the considering look on his face.
He slowly nodded and took another sip of truly deplorable coffee.
"… How much do you guys know about Danny's past?"
Jack opened his mouth to reply, then paused, and frowned, and stared back down at the table again.
The mentalist wasn't as succinct.
"Nothing" he realised, "Three years and that son of a bitch has told us nothing".
"But what has that got to do with now?" Lula asked confused, "Do you think he was shot before?"
"No. Not shot" Dylan replied, "Or, at least, I don't think so… But for someone to be that used to working through pain… I don't know. I'm just speculating, I guess".
"Abusive parents?"
As usual, Merritt cut straight to the point.
"It's possible" he allowed, "Or at least someone who wasn't afraid to rough him up".
"Jesus".
"Can we see him?"
He gave a wry smirk, "It's not a hospital guys, and I am far from being his doctor. Though I would wait awhile, so he can get a few more hours sleep, at least".
They all reluctantly nodded.
Downing the rest of the sugar-bean-water, he leant against the island.
"So? What about the rest of you? Any injuries I should know about, life threatening or otherwise?"
Merritt shook his head, Jack still looked to be in shock, but Lula raised a hand to show a beige plaster wrapped around the top of her pinkie.
"I broke a nail".
Dylan blinked and then raised his gaze to meet hers once more.
"… Do you expect me to kiss it better?"
"Oh no, Jack's got that covered pretty well. And it's not really your area, anyway".
"Oh really?" Merritt asked, a coquettish grin slowly spreading across his face.
Dylan gave him a look, "Save your flirting for someone else, McKinney. You are so not my type".
"Oh, now things are starting to get interesting" he replied, straightening up, "So tell me, leader, what is your type? Taller? Tall? Tall but- Short? Shorter? Shorter, okay. Blonde? Redhead? Brunet- Brunet? Fascinating-"
"No, not fascinating" Dylan interrupted sternly, but the mentalist ignored him.
"Shy? Outgoing? Smart? Smart? Alright. What kind of smart? Clever? Sly? Sharp? Sha- Oh, this just keeps getting better and better!"
"Merritt, I'm warning you".
"Someone who's tall but shorter than you, preferably with brown hair, and definitely with a smart mouth… You know, that sounds almost… familiar".
Dylan levelled him with a deadly glare.
"You say one more word and I'm getting Chase released".
Merritt immediately gasped theatrically and placed a hand on his chest.
"Mon chéri, how you wound me!"
"You'll get over it" he said dryly, "Right now, we need to focus on getting better and not on anything else. Don't think I didn't see that fall you had".
"Off the motorbike?" he confirmed, "Yeah, that one stung. But thankfully, no broken bones!"
"You sure?"
"I think I'd have realised by now, Rhodes, if something was fractured".
Jack grumbled into his cup of coffee.
"Yeah, and I thought I'd have realised by now that Danny had gotten shot, too".
The playful mood quickly dissipated.
Lula wrapped a reassuring arm around his shoulders, but he still looked worried as he turned to face Dylan.
"He will be alright, though, won't he?"
"He should be" he allowed, "Thankfully the bullet didn't hit anything major. In fact, I'm rather shocked that it didn't hit anything major. I mean, between the artery, rotator cuff tendons, even the scapula itself… the chances of a bullet not hitting any of those is… astronomical".
"So, no hospital then?"
"No. Thank god. That would have caused more than a few problems given our current level of infamy. But I think I remember enough of my FBI training to keep on top of things".
Jack slowly nodded, looking more and more relieved by the second, and Lula smiled at him in thanks. Dylan poured himself another cup of coffee before finally pulling out a bar stool and actually sitting down at the island counter.
"Have you guys eaten yet?"
They shook their heads, but Merritt gestured at the stack of boxes on the other side of the kitchen.
"There's some cold pizza if you want it. We weren't exactly… in a celebratory mood, after what happened last night, so there's a good bit left".
"Understandable" he agreed, "I'll go out later, pick up a few things. My face should be the least recognizable out of all of us, but I want to make sure that Danny wakes up okay first".
Lula eyed him suspiciously.
"You didn't already yell at him, did you?"
"We… talked" he allowed, "But I'm not so cruel as to attack him straight out. I'll wait until he can walk again, at least".
She snorted and even Jack gave a small smile of amusement. He took another sip from his cup in the ensuing silence and made a mental note to put 'good coffee' at the top of the grocery list.
"So" Merritt finally said, "What now?"
Dylan sighed.
"We… recover, I guess. We all have our fair share of bumps and bruises, some of us more than others, but aside from that… We just wait until Li contacts us".
Lula grinned, "We can have some family bonding time!"
The three men immediately groaned but she remained unyielding.
"And the first thing we need to address is our treatment of Danny".