So, this was supposed to be a three part chapter...yeah. Four part chapter, anyone? Hopefully? And if anyone thinks that four chapters is a long time to be locked in an office, I'm inclined to agree. And the next part hopefully soonish. Especially as it's been sweetly pointed out to me that it's nearly six months since the last update...sigh.
Timeline
1. 'In the beginning' Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 13 and 14) Rusty is seven, Danny is nine.
2. 'Neverending Conversation' Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 15 and 16) Rusty is seven, Danny is nine.
3. 'Matilda and the Werewolf' (Chapter 23) Rusty is nine, Danny is eleven.
4. 'Something more than it should be' (Chapter 10) Rusty is ten, Danny is twelve
5. 'The humiliation of Norris Carrol' (Chapter 20) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
6. 'Four Day Interlude' (Chapter 5) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
7. 'Remember the first time' (Chapter 4) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
8. 'Sunshine, smiles and sweet, sweet words' (Chapter 17) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen.
9. 'Lie, Cheat, Steal, Play' (Chapter 24) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
10. 'View from the outside' (Chapter 12) Rusty is eleven, Danny is fourteen
11. 'When we were young' Parts 1, 2 and 3(Chapters 25, 26 and 27) Rusty is eleven, Danny is fourteen
12. 'Walk before you can crawl' (Chapter 2) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
13. 'Other Nightmares Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 8 and 9) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
14. 'The more things change' (Chapter 1) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is fifteen
15. 'Words and Silence' (Chapter 22) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is sixteen
16. 'Six months of roses' (Chapter 18) Rusty is thirteen/fourteen, Danny is sixteen
17. 'Two stories with some understanding' (Chapter 21) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is sixteen. Falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
18. 'Life Lessons' (Chapter 7) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen - falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
19. 'The lies we live' (Chapter 3) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen
20. 'If the fates allow' (Chapter 19) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
21. 'This is our decision (to live fast and die young)' (Chapter 6) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
22. 'Such a perfect day' (Chapter 11) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
And sequels after they move away!
'Adjusting' - two months after they leave town, Rusty is 15, Danny is 17
'Learning Curve' - eighteen months after they leave town, Rusty is 16, Danny is 19
'Outward Ripples' - three years after they leave town.
'Chasing Echoes' - after the events of the movie
There were rats in the walls.
Danny could hear them, scuttling and scratching, getting closer and closer, and they were going to tunnel through, any minute now they were going to get through and he held Rusty a little tighter and screwed his eyes shut, and they were beneath a solid wall of scratchingsnuffling, bitingclawing, wrigglingsquirming and...
His eyes snapped open and he lay absolutely still, breathing heavily. A dream. Nightmare, rather. Damned rats; he could still feel them, climbing all over him, and automatically he reached out for Rusty. Who wasn't there.
Absently brushing at his arms, Danny sat up and looked round. "Rusty?" he called, sleepily. Wasn't possible for him to have gone far, after all; they were still trapped. "Rusty?" he called again, and Rusty was sitting at the windowsill, his back to Danny. He hadn't looked round at Danny's voice, and Danny sat up a little straighter, concern creeping in. "Rus'? What you doing?"
"Trying to get the stupid window open," Rusty said, still not looking at Danny, and Danny shivered at the carefully controlled panic in his voice.
"It's nailed shut," he pointed out. "It's not going to open."
For a long moment there was no answer and Danny got to his feet and walked over just as Rusty spoke again. "If I can just get these nails out..."
Alarmed, Danny looked over Rusty's shoulder. Rusty had been pulling out at the first nail with his fingers. There was blood smeared over the window sill. "Stop that!" he said sharply, grabbing at Rusty's hands and holding them away.
Rusty twisted his head to look up at him. "I managed to move it a little."
Danny glanced down again and the nail had come up a little. A very little. A couple of millimetres. Maybe. "Rus', even if we were both working like that there's eight nails. We'd be here till Christmas," he pointed out gently and, when Rusty still looked stubborn, he sighed. "Let me see your fingers, huh?"
Rusty looked at his hands and grimaced. "Oh."
"Yeah," Danny agreed, inspecting Rusty's fingertips carefully. Wasn't quite as bad as he'd first thought. Couple of cuts. Nothing deep. Nothing at all, really. "Don't move," he told Rusty seriously, and he glanced round the office. There was a box of tissues on Mrs Boyd's desk. That should do. He grabbed one and pressed it against Rusty's fingers. "Here," he said, and he gently dabbed the blood away, his hands on Rusty's, a silent promise that they were both here, that they were both fine.
"There's blood on the window," Rusty said, sounding guilty.
There was. And that was a problem. Because even if, somehow, and they didn't know how, but even if they managed to sneak out without anyone catching them, the blood would be a bit of a give-away that someone had been there. Not to mention...
" - fingerprints," Rusty nodded.
Yeah. As seen in all detective shows ever. Danny could see Rusty's thumbprint on the wood, clear as anything. And maybe it was ridiculous, but he could imagine the whole school being lined up, there fingers rolled in ink as Mrs Boyd stood by menacingly, until he and Rusty were singled out, pulled aside, accused.
"We'll have to clean up, that's all," he said determinedly, starting towards the window sill with a fresh tissue.
"Don'!" Rusty stopped him sharply. "Dry and you'll just smear it."
"Water's in short supply," he pointed out.
Rusty rubbed at his mouth. "There's a kettle next door. Remember?"
He didn't, actually. But he didn't doubt Rusty for a second, so he headed for the inner office, hoping that the kettle would have some water in it.
The inner office wasn't really used much. There was a desk, a few spindly chairs and a very large cupboard, plus a whole bunch of junk that the school could presumably find no other place for. They'd been in there a couple of times. For interrogations, mainly. Seemed to be used as a kind of spare office. The last time they'd been in there had been when Mr Cairney, the vice principal had been interested in knowing exactly who had started the food fight and who, for that matter, had taken the opportunity that the food fight offered to remove tomorrow's liver from the canteen. Danny remembered sitting in front of the desk, smiling attentively and keeping his gaze fixed on the break-glass fire-panel just behind Mr Cairney's left ear. Rusty had been too busy swinging his legs and staring at the junk on top of the wardrobe. The stuffed otter, in particular had caught his attention. And the collection of old trophies. And the giant globe. And that was deliberate, Danny knew, even as he'd always hate the calculation. Because as long as Mr Cairney was seeing Rusty as a bad influence, that's what he'd tell Danny's parents, if it came to it. And that would help a little. Nothing would ever help with Rusty's Dad. Thankfully, that time, it hadn't come to it. And Danny was damn well intent on making sure it went on like that.
He grabbed the kettle. There was a little water at the bottom. Probably not even enough for a cup of coffee, were he so inclined. Still, he poured every last drop into a chipped mug that frantically informed him that he didn't have to be insane to work here but it would help, and headed back through.
"First things first," he announced, dipping a tissue into the water and taking Rusty's hand back in his, cleaning the cuts gently.
"Not going to matter a whole lot if we get caught," Rusty commented, but he didn't actually object and he didn't pull his hand away.
Danny shrugged. Rusty being hurt – even just a little, even when, maybe, it shouldn't really matter – was always going to come first. And he knew that Rusty knew that. Knew that Rusty understood his need to check, to see, to do anything he could, no matter if it was only a stupid gesture. It mattered.
"Okay," he said presently. "All done."
Rusty smiled at him briefly and silently they both set to work, cleaning the blood from the window.
"I woke up," Rusty explained. "Couldn't get back to sleep. Wanted to get out."
"Yeah." Danny could see it. Could picture it. And he wished that he'd woken up when Rusty had. God, he wanted to get out of here. Wanted them to be safe, at home, in his room.
"Just figured if I could get the window open we could get out," Rusty went on.
"Still a long climb," Danny pointed out.
"Yeah." Rusty frowned down at the window sill. "You think we got it?"
"Uh huh." He couldn't see anything, anyway. Unless one of the secretaries had hidden powers – like his grandmother's apparent ability to spot a speck of dust at a hundred paces – they should be fine.
"How much water is left?" Rusty asked.
He glanced at the mug. "Half a mouthful, maybe."
"Drink half," Rusty ordered him firmly.
Danny frowned. "I'm not that thirsty," he pointed out.
Rusty looked at him and didn't actually need to say 'Drink it anyway.' Danny sighed and conceded and drank half the water, and passed it over for Rusty to drink the rest. He thought about Rusty's certainty that the future couldn't be relied on, that food, water, shelter and God knew what else could all vanish at any moment. Stupid not to take advantage when they could. And the thing that killed Danny was the knowledge that this was born of experience. By Rusty's life, he was right.
"I wish we'd always known each other," he said quietly, sliding back down to the floor beneath the window.
Silently, Rusty sat down beside him.
"It's better when we're together. Always." If he'd known Rusty back then, Rusty would have had an alternative to sleeping on the street.
"Yeah..." Rusty pulled his legs up to his chest.
"And I'd have...it would've been easier." So many times it would've been easier. So many times he would have been better for having Rusty in his life. The comfort, the company, the advice, the knowledge. It would've been better.
Danny was nine and all he could think about at the start of the summer holidays was his parents' Fourth of July Fancy Dress Garden Party. He wasn't totally clear on what fancy dress had to do with independence or gardens, but that didn't matter because he was absolutely convinced that the party was going to be the best thing ever.
Morning of the party and he'd rarely been this excited. He'd dressed up in the pirate costume, stared at himself in the mirror, admiring the bandana, the skull and crossbones medallion, the false moustache and he thought he looked wonderful. No question, he was going to be the best pirate at the party. He only wished that the sword wasn't wooden.
Dad had taken him to the costume hire shop last week. And normally Danny hated shopping, especially clothes shopping. But this had been different. A shop with racks and racks of impossible outfits and unlikely clothes. He'd been entranced. He'd wanted everything and he'd ran up and down the rows, looking at silks and furs and he'd wanted to be Superman and he'd wanted to be Scooby Doo and he'd wanted to be a fireman and Dad had been smiling and laughing, and he'd let Danny try on each and every costume that caught his eye until he'd finally settled on the pirate costume. Though Dad hadn't let him have the earring.
Rusty was smiling. "You were dressed as a pirate."
"Yes," Danny said, with simple dignity.
"A nine year old pirate," Rusty persisted.
"Yes," Danny agreed.
"With a false moustache," Rusty added.
"And an eye patch," Danny told him.
The smile became a grin. "Dashing."
"Naturally."
But he'd been so excited and Dad had taken him out to lunch and they'd eaten pizza and Dad had let him talk on and on about being a pirate, and he'd had visions of being the best pirate ever and imagining all the other kids being so impressed and he'd imagined a party with hordes of other kids, running around, and he'd been sure it would be wonderful.
It wasn't.
He had been told that he could invite a friend to the party, and he'd asked Josh before school broke up, but then there'd been the mackerel in Miss Coulter's handbag, and after the parent-teacher discussion, Danny suddenly wasn't going to that school anymore, and his mom and Josh's mom had a blazing row all about bad influences and degenerate delinquents, and even more suddenly Josh wasn't talking to him anymore and he certainly wasn't going to the party.
Still, Danny had heard Mom and Dad talking, and he knew that some of the other guests were bringing their kids, and he'd still had visions of being a pirate-king, leading his army against evil, injustice and petty-minded tyranny.
Except when the day came round and all the guests had arrived, there were no kids Danny's age. And he might not have minded hanging out with the older kids, the group of teenagers who took over the furthermost corner of the garden, but they made it perfectly clear that he wasn't in the least bit welcome. They didn't want some little kid following them around. And that was just fine. He didn't want to go where he wasn't wanted. Well, actually he did. That was sort of the point.
The rest of the kids were all years younger than he was, and were being kept together, under constantly changing close supervision. He didn't want to play with them, and besides, when he'd wandered closer, just out of curiosity, the current supervisor-mom had given him a warning glare. Apparently he wasn't welcome there either. Probably they thought his terrible influence would turn all their precious, darling children, into inconsiderate violent little hoodlums.
Fine by him. He didn't want to play with the babies anyway. The oldest of them would probably only be about six or seven.
Rusty was looking at him. "I would've been six or seven at the time."
Danny shrugged. "'s different." He didn't bother thinking about how. It just was.
Pretty clear what everyone there was thinking when they looked at him. The whole rude, inconsiderate hoodlum bit. He could see their looks, hear their comments. Was no secret that he was being taken out of another school. Was no secret that he'd been suspended for fighting. Way he was going, he wouldn't be surprised if he was being held up as an example of everything parents didn't want their children to be. 'If you don't behave, you'll turn out like Danny Ocean.' He didn't care.
He didn't care when Uncle Harold and Grandmother both grabbed him in passing and hissed that he'd better be planning on being on his best behaviour, or else there would be Consequences, and why did he never stop to think of his poor mother?
Danny thought about his poor mother, the last time he'd seen her, planning on making a formal complaint to the catering company because one of the waitresses supplied had a hairlip. And he thought about life over the last few days, when Mom and Dad had been existing in frosty silence, and the only time his poor mother had even spoken to him had been to rhyme off all of Dad's inadequacies. He thought about the smile she'd been wearing at breakfast, when she'd looked Dad straight in the eye and told him that any other man would have made her happier. He thought about all that and he wanted to set fire to the damn buffet and smash all the champagne bottles and scream at the guests until they all just went away.
He didn't, though. He just nodded meekly and struggled free of first Uncle Harold and then Grandmother's warning hands, and he grabbed a glass of lemonade and wandered round, being a bold and brave explorer, investigating a new and unknown people who might attack at any moment.
Bold and brave explorers didn't care when Mrs Arthur nudged Mrs Ferrell as he walked past and loudly commented what a pity it was that children these day were so out of control, and such a trial to their parents, and really, didn't Mrs Ferrell think that the only thing to do was to ship them off to military school at the first hint of trouble, for a good dose of old-fashioned discipline.
Brave explorers didn't care when Miss Gormley, who was about nine hundred years old and looked like a spider, fixed him with a gimlet stare of reproach and sighed and told him that some people were just born to come to a bad end, and there was no hope for little boys who were rotten to the core.
Brave explorers didn't care when they heard people talking about Miss Coulter and the mackerel, or Colin Brennan, or him answering back to Reverend White. Brave explorers didn't care about any of that. They didn't even care about being called wicked and thoughtless and heedless. They didn't even care that they were all alone and no one ever took their side. Brave explorers liked being alone. Because no one else was brave enough to stand up to the pressure, and to walk through the disapproving crowds of hostile, tittering natives with head held high and hand on sword. He didn't care.
But he thought that maybe even brave explorers would care about Juliet Darcey, if they ever came face to face with her.
She called Danny over while she was standing in a group of her and Mom's friends. "Daniel," she said, with a glint of a smile, reaching out her hand and pinching his cheek hard. "Aren't you looking well?"
"Yes, thank you, Mrs Darcey," he agreed politely.
"And a pirate too!" she added, looking at his costume. "How...plebian."
Danny didn't know that word. But he didn't think it was a compliment. She was dressed as a Pilgrim. "You look very nice too," he said, looking up at her with wide eyes. "Is that what they wore when you were my age?"
"Daniel!" Mom snapped as the mutters of disapproval started.
"That's perfectly alright, Barbara," Juliet said delicately. "We're all used to Daniel's little peccadilloes by now."
"I hear you're no longer attending Longwood Academy," she said, and her teeth were pearly-white and in Danny's mind they were sharp as needles. "Such a shame. You must be so disappointed, Barbara. What was it this time? Bullying? Fighting? Oh, no, it was something about terrorising a teacher, wasn't it?"
Danny's mom was standing at the edge of the group, her lips pursed unhappily. "We agreed with the school that another environment would be more suited to Daniel's well-being and academic development," Mom said stiffly.
"Oh, of course," Juliet said, smiling with sickly sincerity. "I do feel sorry for you, Barbara. It must be so difficult trying to manage a child like Daniel."
Danny stood with his head bowed and his fists clenched behind his back, and said nothing as the women around Juliet tutted disapprovingly and sighed sympathetically.
"I manage fine," Mom said shortly, and Danny felt his face grow hot, and he wished he wasn't such a chore.
"Of course you do," Juliet agreed doubtfully. "And I'm sure that Daniel's behaviour doesn't reflect on you in the slightest. After all, you did the best you could. Don't you think, Daniel?"
There was no way for Danny to answer that. Other than I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.
"He's at an awkward age," Mom said after a second. "Children can be difficult, you know that Juliet. I remember when Annette was having all that trouble with her flute teacher."
Juliet's smile darkened noticeably. "Oh, yes. That was a terrible strain. I really can't imagine how you cope with all that, day in and day out. I'm so lucky with my Annette. But then, I think that it's the amount of time spent with children that really makes a difference to them. Such a pity you have to work for a living, Barbara."
"Is that why you spend so much time with your pool boy?" Mom asked with an interested little smile. "Are you trying to make a difference to him?"
There was a shocked little gasp and a fresh outbreak of tittering and Danny looked away, feeling embarrassed and wondered if anyone would notice if he sneaked away.
"Of course there are a lot of ways to enrich your child's life," Juliet went on, tossing her hair and ignoring Mom pointedly. "Annette enjoys her music lessons, and her tennis and ballet clubs. Of course, that kind of cultural experience isn't something that everyone is capable of. How many piano lessons did you manage again, Daniel?"
All eyes were on him. He stared at the floor. "Five," he answered honestly. He hadn't wanted to learn but he really had tried because he'd thought it would please Mom. Make her proud. But then he hadn't been able to practice because Mom kept saying the noise disturbed her, and his teacher, Mrs Kirkcaldy, had always been cross, saying that he was lazy and simple-minded, and before his fifth lesson he'd been desperate, just wanting to prove that he wasn't completely useless, and he'd snuck downstairs in the middle of the night to practice. Bad idea. Very bad idea. He'd woken Mom and Dad up and they'd been united in their anger and there'd been no more piano lessons and no allowance and Mom had yelled and Dad had frowned and Danny had felt about two inches tall.
"Oh, dear," Juliet said, with a high, unsympathetic laugh. "I do believe that Mrs Kirkcaldy said that was a record. Of course," she went on, ostensibly addressing Danny's mom. "I also send Annette to a special program for gifted children. They supply tutoring and enrichment experiences. You could enrol Daniel...oh!" She covered her mouth suddenly. "Oh, actually, I'm afraid that they're looking for a certain academic standard. And I suspect that Daniel's just not what they're looking for."
Danny's mom was glaring at him like she wished he was a thousand miles away and never born. "My grades are okay," he protested weakly, hopefully. "I do okay."
"Of course you do," Juliet agreed, smiling at him pityingly. "There's nothing wrong with being average, Daniel. It's not the end of the world."
"Daniel's talents lie elsewhere," Mom said stiffly.
"Of course they do," Juliet smiled daintily. "If you ever find out where, be sure to let me know, won't you, Barbara?"
The laughter hurt. It hurt a lot and Mom was still glaring at him, agreeing with them, and Danny felt himself flushing red. "Least I'm not a spiteful bitch!" he shouted, and he was already running even as he heard the shock and the unsurprised, and Mom taking a deep breath, ready to start yelling, heading for the house, desperate to escape before anyone saw the tears.
Rusty was staring at him and Danny smiled tiredly at the layers of love and hatred in his eyes.
"It doesn't change," he said simply. "And it wasn't personal. Mom was having some argument with Juliet Darcey. I'm just a convenient weapon." Like he always had been between Mom and Dad. Just something to use.
"They're all..." Rusty waved a hand, hollow, useless rage in the gesture. "They shouldn't treat you like that."
Danny shrugged. "Still shouldn't've said what I did. Was stupid." And that was where he'd needed Rusty. Because it wouldn't have hurt as much if he'd had Rusty in his life. Wouldn't have mattered if, somewhere in the world, he'd known there was Rusty, absolutely and unalterably convinced of what the truth of Danny really was. And even though, with Rusty beside him, the anger would still be there, and be shared, Rusty wouldn't have let him make a fool of himself. Rusty was better than him at seeing the consequences coming. Anger would have cooled and hardened. He wouldn't have been a child, screaming bad words he hardly understood and that would never even touch their target, and running and hiding and crying. With Rusty there, it would have been better.
Memories and thoughts fell out of him and he spoke without thinking.
Danny was nine and he was sure his parents weren't going to let him down this time. They'd promised.
It was the school prize-giving and Danny had actually won something. His story for English had been the best Miss Calloway had seen all year. Maybe it was even the best she'd ever seen. He had tried really hard with it. Miss Calloway was nice and pretty and she listened to him and she liked stories. She liked Danny's stories. She said he had a wonderful, vivid imagination.
And he'd taken the essay home and the letter about the prize-giving Mom had read the letter and asked if everyone in the class got a prize and Dad had smiled and said 'Well done' and had promised to read the story, and they'd promised they'd come to see him given his prize. Danny had even written it on the calendar in permanent marker, just to make sure they remembered, and the night before he talked about it often and loudly, just to remind them, just in case, until Dad told him to be quiet and Mom sent him to his room.
When he came home from school the day of the prize-giving, there was no one in the house. And that wasn't unusual, not since Mom fired Elsa and that was more than a year ago now. Normally they'd be back sometime after six, but the prize-giving wasn't until half seven. That was plenty time. He'd get something to eat and he'd get all dressed up smart and wait for them to get home.
He ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the TV, watching 'Bonanza' and wondered why no one had ever considered that the Cartwright's made a habit of secretly killing everyone they met. Especially wives. Really, though, he was barely paying attention. Listening for the door. They had to get in soon, surely. Else they wouldn't get to the school in time.
His sandwich finished, and with no sign of Mom or Dad, he slowly walked upstairs and took a smart pair of slacks and a white shirt out of his wardrobe. He spun out the act of getting dressed about as long as humanly possible, certain that they'd walk in, any moment now.
But they didn't.
Finally he was dressed and alone, staring at himself in the mirror, his tie hanging loose round his collar. They weren't here. They weren't coming.
(Why was he so surprised?)
His fingers were numb and he did his best to tie the knot, trying to remember exactly what Mom did, but it wouldn't work for him and he told himself that the tears that sprang to his eyes were just for his failure. He dashed them away with the back of his hand.
Alright. Mom and Dad were busy. He knew that. They'd told him so often enough. So...maybe they'd got caught up in something else and let the details fall to the wayside. Probably they thought that he was staying in school until the prize-giving started. Probably they thought he was meeting them there. And that was easy enough. He could get himself to the school. He knew which bus it was. And he still had some money in his piggy bank. There was no problem.
The bus was crowded and Danny found himself sitting next to a man smoking a large pipe and he watched, fascinated at the whole confusing and seemingly never-ending process of lighting it. Couple of stops along, he stood up and gave his seat to a woman holding a baby who smiled and called him a gentleman and he swelled with pride.
Miss Calloway caught his arm when he walked into the hall. "Danny? Where are your parents?"
She looked worried and he smiled at her reassuringly. "They're running a little late. They'll be here," he said with confidence.
"Alright then, go take your seat," she told him, patting him on the shoulder.
He spotted his friend Harry across the room and went and sat with him and his parents. Harry was wearing a tie and his Mom was straightening it for him and Danny felt a brief stab of resentment. But then Harry's parents were smiling at him and making him welcome and asking after his parents and he told them they'd be here soon and they promised to save them seats.
He stared at the door anxiously as the hall filled up and as the principal's speech started, convinced that any moment now Mom and Dad would walk in. They didn't. But that was alright. He must have just missed them in the crowd. As soon as he got up on stage, he'd see them, standing there and applauding for him, like all the other kids' parents were doing for them.
He wanted to make them proud of him. So he sat still through the speeches and as the names were called and other kids went up and got their prizes and their handshakes. Didn't fidget. Didn't even whisper to Harry. And then it was his turn. (Daniel Ocean, Miss Calloway's class, English composition) and he walked up on stage, walking past where Miss Calloway was leading Tina Weir out of the hall, scanning the crown anxiously, trying to find his parents.
They weren't there. He couldn't see them. They weren't there.
But they had to be there. This wasn't just...this was a big deal. This mattered. He'd told them that it mattered. And it was exactly the kind of thing that he thought that they cared about.
But they weren't there...
"Daniel? Daniel!" The principal was laughing, and he looked up numbly and let his hand be shook and took the book he was handed. "Little bit of stage fright there, I think," the principal said into the microphone, and the hall laughed indulgently and Mom and Dad weren't there and they'd promised...
Silently he walked back to his seat, hugging the book to his chest.
"What did you get?" Harry asked, leaning over to him. Danny looked down at the book. "The Little Princess?" Harry laughed. "Sounds like a girls book to me. I got 'Treasure Island'."
"That's good," Danny said mechanically. He gripped the book tightly and put his head down, not looking up at the stage for the rest of the evening. All he'd wanted was for them to show up. Why was that too much to ask?
Harry's parents gave him a lift home. And, after a lot of fast talking, Danny managed to persuade Harry's mom not to come in with him.
Mom and Dad were sitting in the living room when he walked in. They looked up. And they didn't look happy. "Daniel!" Mom snapped. "Where have you been all evening?"
They didn't know. They didn't remember. They didn't care. He smiled. "Nowhere," he said quietly. "I've been nowhere."
He glanced sideways at Rusty and he knew – knew beyond all reason, beyond a shadow of doubt – that Rusty would have remembered and would have cared and would have shown up. And with a glance, Rusty silently challenged Danny to try and stop him.
He never had to work to make Rusty proud of him.
Danny was eight and it was winter and the snow was falling so heavily that they'd all been sent home early from school. And that was exciting and different and it was snowing and Danny was just running home to get changed and get on a pair of gloves and then he was going round to Jack and Sam's and they were going to make a real snowman. And Jack and Sam had a sledge and knew where there was a good hill. It was going to be fantastic. The best day he'd ever had. And he wished he had a sledge too. Then they could have races. Maybe, if he asked, Daddy would buy him a sledge of his very own. He'd ask tonight.
Daddy's car was in the drive when he got home. And that was good. That meant that he could ask Daddy now.
There was a pair of woman's shoes in the hall too. Lying in the middle of the floor on their sides like they'd just been kicked off. Danny pursed his lips; Mom always complained when he didn't put his shoes away neatly and here she was doing the exact same thing. Not exactly fair. And he didn't recognise the shoes so they must be new, even.
Still if Mom was home then he'd have to ask Daddy really quickly before Mom had a chance to say no.
He burst into the living room. "Daddy, can I have a sledge? It's - "
He stopped dead as Daddy said a bad word and the strange woman giggled and blushed and buried her face against Daddy's shoulder.
"You never said you had a kid, Luke," she said, and her clothes were scattered all over the floor.
"Go up to your room and stay there, Danny," Daddy said shortly. "I'll be up to talk to you in a while."
Silently Danny nodded and ran out of the room and upstairs. He lay face down on his bed, Sammo hugged tight to his chest.
It was an hour or so before he heard the front door open, heard Daddy's voice in the downstairs hall, saying goodbye. It was another ten minute after that before his bedroom door opened and Daddy walked in.
He stood against the far wall awkwardly, staring at Danny like he had no idea what to say.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, Danny," he said at last.
Danny sat up and shrugged and didn't let go of Sammo.
Daddy sighed. "Daddy has needs and your mother..." He trailed off and pulled at his collar and started again. "Sometimes grown-ups like to have special friends. But your mother doesn't like Daddy having friends. She wouldn't understand. So maybe we shouldn't tell her. Huh? Kiddo? What do you say? It can just be our little secret."
Danny didn't say anything. He didn't have anything to say.
"It would just make your mother upset and angry," Daddy pleaded. "I know you don't like it when your mother is angry. So it's best for both of us if we just keep quiet."
He didn't like it when Mom was angry. But he didn't like this either.
"Listen, Danny, if you're a good boy and don't tell your mother I'll...I'll buy you that sledge. You said you wanted one, right? I'll buy you a sledge and...and we'll go see a movie this weekend, you and me. How's that sound? I'll take you to a game. Whatever you like. If you don't tell your mother." Daddy sounded desperate and Danny hated it.
"No thanks, Dad," he said at last. "I don't want anything."
He didn't tell Mom.
Dad bought him the sledge anyway.
Danny never used it.
Rusty's hand was on his. Anything he needed. Anything he wanted.
Most of all, absolutely unconditional.
Danny was nine and he absolutely hated Colin Brennan. Colin was his age, in his class, and on Danny's first day at his latest school he'd been sat next to Colin and they'd got on fine. He'd found Colin easy enough to talk to and they could have been friends. Danny couldn't even say why they weren't. Except when they were walking across the playground at the end of the day, Colin had looked across at the school gate and his smile had been surprised and delighted. "Mom!" he'd shouted and he'd sprinted across the playground and into the arms of a woman wearing the exact same smile. A woman who was happy to see her son.
The next day Danny had mocked Colin mercilessly, called him a mommy's boy all day, no matter how much Colin asked him to stop, no matter how often Colin protested that his Mom had been out of town for a week and anyone would hug their Mom if they hadn't seen her for a week.
Didn't make a difference to Danny. He was still angry with Colin. Still hated him. "Your Mommy kiss you goodnight?" he jeered. "She tuck you up in bed and read you a bedtime story?"
After that, Colin didn't talk to him anymore. Didn't stop Danny. He found new things to harass Colin about. New ways to torment him. He'd trip him up in the corridor, steal his pencils, tear up his homework. And pretty soon Danny attracted new friends. Lewis and Tom and Paul who laughed when he hurt Colin and cheered him on and thought he was absolutely cool enough to be in their gang.
Danny knew it was wrong. Of course he did. But it made him feel better and he didn't stop. Not until the day that Colin turned on him.
"My Dad says that bullies are jealous cowards," he said loudly to Danny, in the middle of the corridor, in front of everyone. "He says that your Mom probably doesn't care about you at all."
Danny punched him. It was an automatic reflex. And then Colin was staring at him, tears springing to his eyes, and Danny threw himself forwards and hit him again, desperate to block out the sight and the feeling, and this time Colin hit back and soon they were rolling around the floor, hitting each other as hard as they could, surround by a chanting crowd, and Danny was winning, and then the teachers came and he was dragged away.
"Mom and Dad had me out of that school pretty quick," he said, not looking at Rusty. "Think the school was talking about expelling me."
Rusty squeezed his hand.
"It's not something I'm proud of," he added. Far from it. He was ashamed and he didn't like to think about it, and for the first time he was afraid to see himself through Rusty's eyes.
A gentle hand on his chin and his head was turned round and he was facing Rusty, looking into Rusty's eyes, and there was no sign of disgust, no sign of horror or disappointment, just understanding and forgiveness. Even if he didn't know it, Rusty loved all of him. Even the ugly parts.
"That was about six months before I met you," he commented. And if he hadn't met Rusty...if he hadn't found something that mattered, if he hadn't found someone who knew he mattered, then he would have carried on like that, he was sure of it. Anger and jealousy and hurt that he couldn't deal with. Rusty made him a better person.
He couldn't miss the flash of guilt that crossed Rusty's face at the thought.
"What?" he asked, frowning.
Rusty shuffled further away from him, staring down at his hands. "'s nothing."
"Right," Danny agreed, lightly sarcastic. "Of course it's nothing." He looked hard at Rusty, trying to figure it out. Something that Rusty had done or thought he had done. Something that Rusty felt guilty about.
"It's nothing, Danny," Rusty told him fiercely, standing up and walking towards the office door, walking away from Danny. "Leave it."
He couldn't. Something...something Rusty was keeping from him. And he'd never be able to forget now. "Rus'?"
Rusty turned his head and stared at Danny for a long time. "I lied to you," he whispered at last.
That didn't...that wasn't even... "You can't," he pointed out blankly.
Rusty shrugged, restlessly. "I didn't tell you the truth then. Back last year. When I told you..." As Danny watched, he swallowed hard and squared his shoulders, like he was preparing himself to be brave in the face of the worst. "I told you I was on the streets for a week. It was ten days."
Danny frowned. He remembered. 'A week. It wasn't that bad,' Rusty had said, and he'd heard the lie, but he'd assumed it was all about the 'It wasn't that bad', and he'd known it was that bad and for weeks afterwards he'd been imagining all the ways in which it was that bad, and why did the time make it worse?
The answer hit him suddenly and with all the force of a sledgehammer. "I was only away for a week," he whispered. "Rus', I was only gone for a week." And Rusty hadn't slept over at his either immediately before or immediately after. He stared at Rusty with uncomprehending horror. "You never said. You didn't say anything and you were...you were..."
"I couldn't tell you, Danny," Rusty said desperately. "I swear, I couldn't."
He fought the urge to throw up. "You couldn't tell me?" he echoed and the anger was roaring in his ears. "Fuck, Rusty."
"I'm sorry," Rusty said softly, his voice cracking a little.
Danny shook his head. "I could have done something. I would have done something. How could...how could you not ask me for help?"
"I'm sorry," Rusty said again and Danny couldn't cope with the sound of his voice.
"We saw each other," he pointed out, and he was shouting now, his voice echoing in the empty school. "You sat on the sofa next to me and told me that you were fine."
"You knew I was lying," Rusty said with a slight shrug.
Danny glared. "There are lies and there are lies. How could you...how could you?"
"I had to," Rusty said helplessly.
Danny shook his head and he couldn't understand. "Did...did you not trust me?"
"No! I mean, yes! I mean..." Rusty sighed. "I trust you, Danny. Of course I trust you."
And Rusty sounded sincere. But Danny couldn't help but wonder how he was supposed to trust Rusty now? If he couldn't rely on Rusty coming to him when he needed help, what were they even about? And he couldn't come up with a single reason for Rusty not to have told him that didn't mean that Rusty hadn't trusted him.
A soft noise caught his attention. He looked up sharply and Rusty was facing away from him, leaning against the door, and as Danny watched he saw Rusty's shoulders shake just a little.
Anger died down and guilt took its place. Right. This really wasn't the time or the place to be pissed with Rusty. Not when Rusty was feeling trapped and vulnerable. He had made Rusty cry, and that just wasn't acceptable.
Softly he walked up behind Rusty and put a hand on his shoulder, silent apology, and Rusty didn't look round, but he was wiping at his eyes and Danny was aware of the embarrassment. And if either of them should be ashamed right now...
"It's okay," he told Rusty quietly.
Rusty laughed wildly. "It's not."
"Will you tell me?" he asked. "Please?"
Rusty stared at him for a long moment. Then he started talking.
Like I said, I'll try and get the next chapter done soon. Especially as I have been informed that it's a 'cruel and unusual' place to leave it. In the meantime, what did you think of this chapter?