This chapter comes with an apology and a warning of distressing themes.

I'm sorry.

He'd left the kitchen door open, and as he cooked he kept an eye on the living room where Danny was sleeping on the sofa.

Two hours since Danny had nodded off while they'd been watching cartoons and Rusty had tucked the comforter around him. It was the longest bit of uninterrupted sleep Danny had got in the week since his dad had died, and Rusty could only hope that it would last at least a few more hours. Because tomorrow they were going back to school, whether he thought it was a good idea or not, and Rusty wasn't going to be able to spend all his time at Danny's side when that happened. From what Danny's mother had said, Attwood had arranged for Danny to get all the breaks he needed; but no more time.

He yawned, and flipped the sandwich over in the pan. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Not the most interesting food, and they'd be worse reheated, but coaxing Danny into eating was as difficult as coaxing him into resting. Having something prepared could only help. If he could only keep his eyes open long enough to avoid burning them.

There was a cough from behind him. He dropped the spatula and sprang away from the stove. Stupid. So stupid.

Danny's mother was standing there, watching him blankly. She'd been working late again and he hadn't really expected to see her.

He smiled easily. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Ocean. You startled me."

"I see." Her voice was expressionless, and he knew that she did see. He wasn't naïve enough not to know that Danny had told her long ago.

"Danny's asleep." he nodded towards the living room.

She looked through the door, but made no motion to go through. He watched her carefully, and wondered exactly what she wanted from him. "I'm glad he's eating." She glanced at the sink. Oh, god, he hadn't got rid of the cereal dish from that morning. He'd only been able to persuade Danny to eat a few spoonfuls of multi-coloured whatever before Danny had dumped the dish in the sink, and Rusty had just left it there.

"I'm sorry, I'll clean it up." he promised, and tried to dart past her to the sink. "I'm sorry." he repeated, but she was staring over his shoulder. He turned and saw the pillar of black smoke rising from the pan.

Swearing, he pulled the pan off the heat and flipped the blackened sandwich into the bin. Cautiously he examined the bottom of the pan and pulled a face. Ruined.

There was a noise behind him, and he jumped again and the pan clattered to the floor. Danny's mother. He'd forgotten. Great. Just great. "I'm sorry." he repeated, picking up the pan and putting it in the sink to cool down.

"It's fine." she said, and paused, frowning at him. He stepped back, surreptitiously. "Actually, I'm glad, in a way. Believe me, Robert, I'm happy that you're getting Danny to eat. But breakfast cereal and grilled cheese sandwiches don't exactly make a balanced diet."

It was Rusty's turn to frown, and he turned his head to the side, studying her carefully. "I'm sorry?"

""It's important to get a proper balance of the basic food groups. Every day should involve protein – that's meat and fish, Robert" she added, seeing his blank look, "Carbohydrates – that's bread, pasta and rice – as well as dairy products and plenty of fruit and vegetables and not too much salt or sugar."

"Oh." was about all he could manage to say. He just managed to stifle a yawn.

She frowned at him again. "Danny's still growing. It's important that he gets the proper nutrition. Proper cooked meals are essential, if you want what's best for Danny."

Ah. Well. He lived on spaghetti hoops and potato chips for a reason. "I don't know how to cook."

And there was a look that he was far too tired to try and identify. "I'll show you. And there are recipe books on that shelf there." She crossed to the fridge and started pulling out ingredients and laying them on the counter. "Risotto, I think."

"Uh, Danny doesn't like mushrooms." he said, nodding at the bag in her hand.

She stared at him blankly. "Oh." There was a pause and she stared at the pile of food. "He does like everything else there, though?"

He nodded and she seemed to relax a little. "Very good. The first thing to do is to . . . "

There was a muffled cry from the living room. Instantly Rusty turned away and went through to Danny, aware of Danny's mom watching him go.

By the time Danny had fallen asleep again, after a long and wordless conversation, she had vanished, presumably into her study. With a sigh he went back into the kitchen and pulled down a recipe book.

They were on the roof of the abandoned house again. He was spinning the unopened vodka bottle in the dust. Rusty was lying on his stomach, flicking pebbles off the edge.

For the third day in a row they had come straight here after school instead of heading home. School had been . . . actually Danny had no idea how school had been. He spent his time staring out the window, and he hadn't handed in any work. No-one had said anything.

Silence. Seemed to be everywhere these days. The teachers didn't say anything when he didn't say anything to them. His mother hadn't said anything when she'd given him a hundred dollars yesterday, for no reason he could see. Tommy Owen hadn't said anything when they'd met him after school and handed over fifteen dollars for the alcohol his older brother had bought for them . . . for Danny. And Rusty hadn't said anything as they walked up the hill, though that still felt different.

And, yes, okay, so he'd not been talking either. But he wanted to now. He leant the bottle against the wall. "I didn't hate him, you know."

There was a pause and then Rusty rolled onto his back before sitting up and regarding Danny evenly. "Of course you didn't."

But there was no 'of course' about it, and they both knew that. "I said I did. The last time I spoke to him."

"Danny – "

" – Two days before . . . he phoned me to say that he wouldn't be able to see me over Thanksgiving. He and Emma were going out of the country."

"He knew you didn't hate him, Danny." Rusty said quietly, and Danny wondered how Rusty always knew what he needed to know.

"Really?" he asked and hated the desperation in his voice.

"Of course he did." Rusty moved closer to him, gaze perfectly steady. "You hear the kids talking in school. Everyone says that they hate their parents sometimes. If they believed it every time." he shrugged. "There'd be a lot of pretty fucked-up adults walking around. He knew you were just angry."

"It hurt." Danny said quietly after a moment.

"Yeah."

"He'd promised." he laughed bitterly. "But who keeps their promises anyway, right?"

He reached for the bottle and untwisted the cap.

"Danny . . . " Rusty sighed.

"What?" he snapped.

"Nothing." Rusty said quickly and Danny looked away from him and poured himself a drink.

Danny leaned on the restroom sink and studied his reflection in the mirror. No doubt about it, that was definitely a black eye forming. And there was a lot of blood around his mouth. He wiped at it with a paper towel and winced.

"Hurts less if you dab." Rusty's voice came from the doorway.

He turned round slowly. "You should see the other guy."

"I have. You look worse." Rusty answered, crossing over and taking the towel out of his hand.

"Still won though." Danny pointed out, smugly, as Rusty ran the towels under cold water and held them to his face.

"Uh huh."

"I did. I beat the crap out of him – "

" – once he'd finished beating the crap out of you. I know. I heard."

There'd been a certain tone to Rusty's voice, and Danny frowned. "Hey, it was Buzz Fairley. Not like he couldn't defend himself."

Rusty grabbed Danny's jaw gently and turned his head to the side, frowning at whatever he was seeing. "You need the nurse's office."

"I think they might guess I've been fighting." Danny pointed out.

"Hate to break it to you, but that one's all over school. Principal Miller's going to be calling you up to his office next period."

Oh well. His thumb traced a pattern over the bruises on his knuckles. "That's – "

" – Taken care of." Rusty interrupted. "I took care of it."

Danny stared at him. "How?" he demanded.

Rusty brushed past him towards the sink and splashed some cold water into his face. "Found some people willing to say that they'd seen Buzz throw the first punch."

"He didn't." Danny pointed out harshly.

"I know." Rusty leaned against the sink and rubbed at his eyes. "But with his record, and . . . everything, you probably won't even get detention."

Unaccountably furious, Danny pushed himself away from the wall suddenly, and glared down at Rusty. "Are you ever going to let me make my own mistakes?"

Rusty met his gaze steadily. "Probably not."

"I don't need you." Danny yelled, and he could hear the lie in his own voice as clear as daylight.

There was a long silence. Danny closed his eyes and tried not to cry. "I didn't mean it." he whispered, and Rusty said "I know." at the exact same moment, and Danny couldn't quite figure out which he was agreeing with. But when they turned to walk out of the restroom and head to the nurse's office, Rusty's arm brushed against his, and they were walking in step, and he told himself over and over that it was all going to be okay.

Personally, Rusty couldn't understand how it was any of their business where he spent his time, as long as he turned up to school and did a reasonable amount of work, but apparently no-one else saw it that way. Attwood had called Danny's mom, and she'd told them that she didn't want to see him round at their house that night. He had a sneaking suspicion that the magic word had been used. Social Services. Actually, that was two words.

Anyway, he had promised. She wouldn't see him. He and Danny had agreed that he'd come over when it got dark instead.

So now, for the first time in nearly two weeks he was sneaking back home. He swung the door open quietly and peered into the living room. It was deserted, so he tiptoed inside, shut the door gently, held his breath and listened. There were vodka bottles stacked around the couch, and the sound of snoring coming from behind his dad's closed door. Not particularly good, but it could be worse. If his luck held he'd be out again before his dad woke up. And in the meantime, he should have time to get something to eat and maybe even get in a few hours sleep.

He dumped his stuff in his room and headed into the kitchen. There was a note and five dollars taped to the fridge, both wrinkled enough that he'd guess they'd been there for a while. 'Get some shopping, shithead.' Nice. He shook his head with a kind of exhausted, bewildered amusement and opened the fridge.

There wasn't much there. He pulled out a packet of processed ham and cautiously pulled back the wrapper before immediately recoiling in disgust. Well. That was going straight in the garbage. He should have stopped by Mabel's on the way home. Didn't really know why he hadn't, except that when they'd been in there earlier that week, Danny had yelled at her when she'd offered her sympathy, and though he knew – knew – that as soon as he walked in there she'd be giving him free food and refusing to listen to his apologies, but he also knew the way she'd look at him, and he just couldn't handle it. And he hadn't had the chance to pick up any cash, meaning that anything else was out. So. Stale bread and cheese that looked all right it was.

It took him a while to find a knife, and a little longer to clean it and maybe he was a little too tired, or a little too preoccupied, because he didn't hear the snoring stop, didn't hear his dad's bedroom door open, didn't know until it was far too late.

"So you're back, you little bastard." The voice, hoarse and slurred came from the doorway. He froze. Didn't turn round.

"Yes, sir." Why was he so stupid? He'd known his dad was home, why had he gone into the kitchen where there were no windows and only the one door? He'd let himself be trapped; he really was asking for it.

His dad lumbered further into the room, closer to him, and Rusty could smell the alcohol. The knife was heavy in his hand and he squeezed the handle tightly for a long moment before carefully laying it down and turning round.

His dad was stood there staring at him, wearing a stained shirt and jeans, vodka bottle held loosely in his hand, and Rusty forced himself to stand perfectly still and silent, waiting for him to speak. "There's no clean laundry." his dad said at last.

Yeah. No kidding there was no clean laundry. He hadn't been here for a fortnight, and oddly enough clothes didn't tend to make the trip to the laundrette by themselves. "I'm sorry." he said, quietly, respectfully and sincerely. Sometimes an apology helped. As long as he didn't sound scared.

His dad nodded understandingly and suddenly threw the bottle at the wall and the shattered glass fell like rain.

Rusty flinched and hated himself.

"You think that's good enough? Fuck, boy, why do you never learn?" His dad reached out, and even if he was going down in the face of the inevitable there were still things he could try and fix.

He stepped backwards quickly and held his hands up. "Wait." he said, in his best reasonable tone.

Surprisingly his dad did as he asked, and stood there, head to one side, watching him.

"Listen," Rusty went on in the same tone. The one he used to impress adults with his maturity. "I've got too much going on right now. The last thing I need to be doing is playing games with social services." He swallowed hard and raised his head defiantly. "Keep it off the face, okay? Keep it where I can hide it."

His dad stepped back from him suddenly and in anyone else Rusty would have classed that expression as horror, or even self-loathing.

Whatever was going on, he wasn't one to miss any opportunity, and as soon as his dad moved, he dived past him, heading for the door at full speed.

He'd almost reached it when he felt a hand grasp the collar of his shirt.

Danny ran into his room and slammed the door shut. Not that he thought she'd notice for a second. With trembling hands he reached under the bed and pulled out the bottle. Then he swore; there was less than a quarter left. If he was going to be dealing with his mom this weekend he was going to need considerably more.

She'd called him selfish. They'd been watching a movie (Singing in the Rain, and he'd never admit to anyone other than Rusty how much he liked that film.) and she'd started in on how people were beginning to talk. How Juliet Darcey had said she'd seen him smoking with That Boy yesterday. And not for the first time his mom had carefully explained how everything he did reflected on her. She'd told him he should be getting over everything now, that he was just indulging himself, dragging his problems out. That he was selfish. Like his father.

And then the phone had rang, and she'd gone to the study to answer it, and Danny had run upstairs and headed for the bottle and wished that Rusty was there.

He limped over to the side of the road and carefully lowered himself to sit on the edge of the sidewalk. His dad had done what he'd asked – well, almost. He had one small bump on his forehead, courtesy of the doorframe, but if he brushed his hair down in just the right way, he was pretty sure it was covered. Which meant that, all things considered, things were looking good. He wondered how Danny was faring. There'd been the slight implication that Danny's mom had been planning to try for some quality time. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that was what Danny needed, because Rusty wasn't convinced he was helping in the slightest. Maybe he'd go over tonight and Danny would be sleeping peacefully after a pleasant evening. And maybe he'd be dive-bombed by a flying side of ham.

Sighing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. Three left. He'd need to pick up a new packet, but he wasn't up to picking pockets right now. And he didn't have any cash. And he couldn't get cash because he wasn't up to picking pockets right now. And normally Danny could get him some. Except that would involve Danny knowing why he couldn't get his own. And he wasn't going to lay his problems on Danny now. But if he was going to hide things from Danny for the whole weekend, he was going to need more cigarettes. But he couldn't get cigarettes because . . .

He shook his head, trying to fall out of the circle he seemed to be thinking in. After all, he'd figure something out, like always. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, patted his pockets and groaned. Terrific. No lighter. He glanced at the building behind him; he wasn't going back for it.

"Hey! Rusty." At the sound of the voice he turned his head. Buzz Fairley stood there, looking at him. And whoever had actually won, Buzz's bruises really didn't look as bad as Danny's.

"Buzz. Got a light?" he held up his cigarette.

"Ah. Sure." Buzz sat beside him and passed him a matchbook. "Look, I don't know what you heard, but I really didn't want to fight Ocean."

"Uh huh." That actually matched what he heard.

"I mean, I got no problem with him and I heard about his old man, and I don't care what they say about me, I'm not like that. He just wouldn't quit, you know? I mean, if you'd heard what he was saying." Buzz shook his head, "Stuff about my sister and all. But I still walked away, you got that? I walked away and then he swung for me."

"Uh huh." Rusty lit the cigarette and breathed in. That hit the spot. "You got a problem with me?"

"Because you set me up? Nah. I've got a brother. I get it. Figure that makes us even for Ocean. And 'sides, you're, what, twelve? I'm not like that either"

Rusty turned to look at him. "So?"

"So we're even, got it? Don't come after me."

Right. He sighed. "Buzz, you're four years older than me and about twice my size." he pointed out. "What exactly do you think I'm going to do?"

"Jeez, I don't know. But I've heard the rumours and I don't want to know."

He laughed and grasped his side with a grimace. The rumours. Right. Because they could do anything.

"Hey, Rusty, man, are you all right?"

"Peachy." he said, straightening up with a grin.

Buzz hesitated. "Was it Ocean? Because I was totally holding back. You want, I'll kick his ass."

"No!" He turned and glared at Buzz. "It wasn't him and don't you go near him. Understand?"

"Cool." Buzz held up his hands. "It's cool." He stood up and paused before walking away. "By the way, you got blood on your face."

Perfect. Just perfect.

There were no lights in the house except for Danny's window. That was good. It was cold out and if he'd had to wait until Danny's mom went to bed he'd probably have got cranky. He scoured the ground until he found a handful of suitable pebbles. They rattled satisfyingly against the window and after a couple of seconds it opened.

Now he just had to climb the tree. He eyed it doubtfully and corrected himself. He had to climb the tree and not give any vocal indication of how difficult it was going to be. Schooling his face into blankness, he searched his pockets for a moment, found a piece of fluff covered toffee and popped it into his mouth. Disgusting, but better than biting into his lip.

Climbing the tree took longer than it normally would. Usually if he was this beat up he'd get Danny to give him a hand. And until he reached the window and saw Danny slumped against the wall, until he saw the empty bottle, he was surprised that Danny hadn't come to check on him.

He clambered through the window, and managed to avoid wincing when he had to put his full weight on his bad leg for a moment. "How many have you had?" he asked, cautiously, considering the merits of a trip to the Emergency Room. His mom had taught him all about alcohol poisoning at an early age.

Danny looked up at him. Well, that was a good start. He couldn't be that far gone. "A few. Couple of glasses maybe. Wasn't that much left."

"I see." Relieved he sat down on the floor and leaned back against the bed.

"My mom was being . . . my mom was being my mom. And I couldn't take it. You weren't here." There was an accusation in Danny's voice, and Rusty closed his eyes.

"Wish I had been." he said, after a moment.

"Yeah." Danny agreed.

There was a pause, and Rusty realised that he was in danger of nodding off. He stood up, went over to the window and breathed in the cold air. If Danny was drunk he needed to stay awake, make sure he was all right . . . or as all right as he could be.

"Thinking of going out?" Danny asked, coming over to join him.

He shook his head. "Nah. I'm good."

"Could get another bottle. Was thinking, actually, that maybe we should get fake ID."

"Don't think we'd pass for twenty one, Danny." he said lightly.

There was a loud bang as Danny slammed his hand down on the desk. He didn't jump. Didn't. It was Danny. It was Danny.

"I can pass for eighteen. Eighteen year olds drink." Danny said belligerently.

Rusty swallowed. "Eighteen year olds drink because they pass for twenty one." he said. Something of a simplification, but hopefully Danny would go along with it.

"You think I'm drinking too much, don't you?" Danny asked quietly.

Yes. But he didn't say anything. And when Danny stepped closer, he didn't back away.

"I can handle it." Danny told him.

"Maybe you should cut back." he said.

With a sudden movement Danny stepped away from him and paced up and down the room, swearing loudly.

"Danny, shush. Keep it down, your mom will hear." Rusty begged frantically.

"Like she cares." Danny spat at him. "I'm fed up of people telling me what I should do."

"You never listen anyway." Rusty pointed out, hoping against hope that Danny would pick up what he wasn't saying. What he always wasn't saying. 'I'm on your side. I'm still here, with you.'

Without warning, Danny swung round and lashed out and the crash of his fist against the wall, inches from Rusty's face was a sound that was going to linger.

It was Danny though. He had to remember that. It was Danny.

He woke up with the worst headache of his life and no real idea of what had happened the previous night. He remembered going upstairs after his mom had . . . well, he remembered going upstairs. And he thought that at some point Rusty had arrived. Which was good; at least he wouldn't have done anything too stupid. Wouldn't have had the opportunity; Rusty had been in complete protective-mode lately, and Danny would never say just how grateful he was, how much he needed it, how much it meant to him that Rusty was there; but he would have to make sure that Rusty knew, just the same.

Shifting slightly to try and ease the pounding in his head, he decided to stay under the covers for a few more blissful moments. In the future he wouldn't let his mom get to him so much. And he certainly needed to cut back on the vodka. This wasn't worth it.

Eventually he got up. It took time and had to happen in stages, but it did happen. Rusty was sitting at the desk, apparently doing homework, and hadn't seemed to notice Danny. Which was surprising to say the least.

He frowned at his alarm clock and then frowned at the back of Rusty's head. "You do realise it's Saturday morning?"

Rusty turned round sharply. "When did – "

" – Few minutes ago." He wasn't going to be turned aside that easily. "What's with the homework."

Rusty shrugged, but it was a little too awkward and a little too controlled. "Couldn't sleep." Danny's frown deepened; Rusty did look exhausted. And more than that.

"You all right?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light. "You look about as good as I feel."

Rusty smiled at him. "Hung-over? My dad swears by . . . " he trailed off awkwardly before adding "Coffee's supposed to help."

Yeah. Not the sort of territory they normally ventured into this early in the morning. "Sounds good. Think I'm swearing off vodka for life, by the way."

Huh. He saw the expression of sheer relief that flickered across Rusty's face. He couldn't have been that bad last night, surely? Then he saw something else. He saw the darkness of a bruise and the hint of dried blood and he sighed and leaned forwards to gently brush the hair off Rusty's forehead so he could get a better look at the damage.

Rusty flinched away from his hand.

They both froze.

Danny stared down in horror at Rusty, who was looking equally panicked. Because Rusty was never afraid of him. Never Ever. Oh, Danny knew how much it took for Rusty to stand still and let an adult get within touching distance, and he knew that in the bad times that extended even to other kids . . . but not Danny. Never Danny. Never Ever. It was a little part of what made them, and it couldn't have changed without him noticing. The world couldn't have changed just like that. Not again.

"Danny – " Rusty began, but Danny couldn't hear the rest because the blood was pounding in his ears.

He remembered. He remembered yelling, remembered Rusty trying to calm him down. He remembered drinking too much, and he remembered yelling. At Rusty. And he remembered hitting the desk, and he remembered his fist slamming into the wall, and oh god, he remembered the look on Rusty's face, but he didn't remember anything else. He didn't remember anything else, but he'd woken up and Rusty had a bruise that he hadn't had yesterday and Rusty was afraid of him.

"No." he whispered, shaking his head and backing away. "No, no, no, no, no."

Rusty stood up and stepped towards him. "Danny. Danny listen to me. I'm sorry. It was my fault, you didn't – "

(Seven year old Rusty looking up at his new friend, with a black eye and a cheerful grin. "I was bad."

Rusty at ten, the two of them sitting on the pavement in the darkness. Danny trying not to stare at the latest collection of bruises. "It was my fault. Should have known better.")

He shook his head. Couldn't listen to this. Not when he'd failed so badly. "No!"

Danny ran.

Despite the fact that he'd headed away from everything familiar and deliberately tried to find some place he'd never been before, Danny wasn't altogether surprised when Rusty found him within an hour.

He was sitting on a pile of crates and when Rusty limped down the alley towards him he was just too far gone to try and run anymore.

Rusty stopped a little way away from him. "Can I lie to you?" he demanded.

Danny blinked slowly. "What?"

"Have I ever successfully lied to you?" Rusty asked, staring at him like it was the most important question he'd ever asked.

And Danny knew the answer immediately. They'd never been able to lie to each other. They always knew. "No." he admitted.

Rusty nodded. "You didn't hit me." he said emphatically. "It didn't happen, Danny."

He nodded but still wasn't quite convinced.

Rusty sighed. "Do you know who you are?"

What sort of question was that? "Yes?" he offered.

Maintaining eye contact, Rusty pulled his t-shirt over his head and Danny forced himself not to turn away at the sight. Rusty's stomach and chest were mottled with dark bruises and Danny thought about what he'd learned in biology class. Every single one of those was a place where a heavy impact – where a fist - had burst capillaries, letting blood leak out beneath Rusty's skin. "Could you have done this?" Rusty demanded.

Danny closed his eyes and imagined himself, standing over Rusty, his fist slamming into Rusty's body over and over and over. His eyes slammed open and he leaned over the side of the crate and threw up everything that he'd ever eaten. He didn't do that. He couldn't have done that. He knew who he was.

He felt Rusty's hand rubbing his shoulders, and heard Rusty's voice whispering in his ear. "It's going to be all right, Danny. It is. I'm going to make it all right. I promise."

Odd that he believed it, but he did.

Finally he sat back up and wiped his mouth. Rusty had put his shirt back on and Danny looked at him for a long moment. "It was your cooking." he declared.

Rusty smiled slightly. "I'll get better at it."

"Unless we both die of food poisoning first." Danny paused. "You were . . . " Afraid of me. He didn't say it, but they both heard it.

Rusty didn't deny it. "It wasn't your fault." he said instead. "I'm still here."

And Danny knew that he'd been forgiven, by Rusty if not by himself. That would take a lot more.

"I don't know what to do anymore." he said quietly, looking at the ground. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, what I'm supposed to be feeling."

With a slight grunt of pain, Rusty hopped up onto the crate next to him and leaned against him. "Since when did you ever do what you're supposed to do?" he asked quizzically.

Danny smiled, very briefly. "I don't know – "

" – Here's what's going to happen." Rusty interrupted. "We're going to spend today like it was any other Saturday. We're going to wander around and try not to get into any trouble and not think more than five minutes ahead, okay?" That sounded like a good idea. Though personally Danny thought the last two points were probably mutually exclusive. "And then we'll go back to yours, and get a good night's sleep, and we'll find out what happens tomorrow."

He nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Good." Rusty struggled up off the crate. "Which only leaves one question"

Danny raised his eyebrows and waited.

"Where exactly are we?"

He shrugged. "We're in the last place I thought you'd look for me."

Rusty looked at him strangely. "Well, of course it was the last place I looked for you. Why would I keep on looking for you after I found you?"

He shook his head and decided that he didn't want to get involved in that one. "Do we need to go to the hospital?" he asked instead.

"Nah, we need to go to Mabel's." Rusty said grinning. "You need to apologise, and I need to eat."

Laughing, he sprang off the crate and joined Rusty. Then he paused. Because there was still something. "If I – "

" – You didn't." Rusty interrupted him immediately, fiercely.

He knew that. But still. "If I did – "

" – You wouldn't." Rusty said, tight-lipped.

He persisted. "But if I did – "

" - You couldn't!"

He sighed. "Rusty." he begged.

Rusty stared at him for a very long time, and then sighed and seemed to relax. "If you ever hit me, I'll hit you right back." he promised.

"Thank you." Danny said quietly, and he was satisfied.

Because Rusty was still there. And so was he.

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