A/N: Finally the last chapter of this little arc. Sorry it's taken so long.
A/N2: Once again, thanks to ParisAmy for being wonderful and providing me with the French translations. :)
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. 'Trick and Treat' (Chapter 34) Rusty is eight, Danny is ten.
4. 'Matilda and the Werewolf' (Chapter 23) Rusty is nine, Danny is eleven.
5. 'Something more than it should be' (Chapter 10) Rusty is ten, Danny is twelve
6. 'The humiliation of Norris Carrol' (Chapter 20) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
7. 'Four Day Interlude' (Chapter 5) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
8. 'Remember the first time' (Chapter 4) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
9. 'Sunshine, smiles and sweet, sweet words' (Chapter 17) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen.
10. 'Lie, Cheat, Steal, Play' (Chapter 24) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
11. 'View from the outside' (Chapter 12) Rusty is eleven, Danny is fourteen
12. 'When we were young' Part 1, 2, 3 and 4 (Chapter 25-28) Rusty is eleven, Danny is fourteen
13. 'And we won't get it back when we die' (Chapter 29) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fourteen
14. 'Walk before you can crawl' (Chapter 2) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
15. 'Other Nightmares Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 8 and 9) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
16. 'Unseasonal' (Chapter 36 37, 38, 39 40, 41, 42 & 43) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
17. 'The more things change' (Chapter 1) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is fifteen
18. 'Different Roads' Part 1-3 (Chapter 31-33)
19. 'Words and Silence' (Chapter 22) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is sixteen
20. 'Six months of roses' (Chapter 18) Rusty is thirteen/fourteen, Danny is sixteen
21. 'Two stories with some understanding' (Chapter 21) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is sixteen. Falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
22. 'Life Lessons' (Chapter 7) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen - falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
23. 'The lies we live' (Chapter 3) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen
24. 'If the fates allow' (Chapter 19) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
25. 'This is our decision (to live fast and die young)' (Chapter 6) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
26. '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
'Time to regret' - shortly before 'Learning Curve'
'Learning Curve' - eighteen months after they leave town, Rusty is 16, Danny is 19
'All in the family' - shortly after 'Learning Curve'
'Outward Ripples' - Rusty is 18, Danny is 20
'Eye for an Eye' - Rusty is 18, Danny is 20
'Chasing Echoes' - set after O11.
'Reconstruction' - set after movies.
27th December 1978
Danny woke early but made no move to get up. Somehow, he just didn't feel like it.
This was the last day in Nice. They'd be catching a flight this evening, getting in late. And tomorrow everything would be back to normal and he would meet Rusty first thing.
There was so much he wanted to tell Rusty. It had been an age since they'd last spoke and the separation was an almost physical ache. A week. He knew how bad things could get in a week. He'd never forget, after all, the week he'd spent away when Rusty had been living on the streets. He remembered what he'd come back to; Rusty bruised and frightened and lost, overwhelmed by the smallest act of kindness, even from Danny. Now things hadn't been anywhere near that bad for a long time, but it was difficult not to imagine... He needed to get back home to Rusty. Wasn't just the worry either. He missed hearing Rusty's voice, missed his smile, missed him being there to talk and listen and share and comfort.
At the same time though, he didn't want to leave Yvette. Oh, he'd always known that this was going to end and there was nothing he could do. All his daydreams were just that – dreams. But still, she was the first girl he'd ever felt this way about. And she was the first girl he'd ever...she was a whole lot of firsts.
The fact that he'd probably never see her again after today, well, that was all kinds of painful. He had to make sure he actually got to see her today. He had to give her the jewellery, after all. And he needed to say goodbye.
He closed his eyes tight. Somehow, he'd find a way to come back some day. At the very least, he could write her. And they'd have today.
The trouble with that was he didn't know exactly what plans Mom might have for him. After the scare he'd given her yesterday, he didn't know how she'd be feeling.
It wasn't just that he hadn't meant to scare her like that, he hadn't realised he could scare her like that. So often she didn't notice whether he was there or not. The idea that she might care if he turned up missing for not even a day...yes, of course there'd been the day of Dad's death, but that was different. Point was, after this week he'd more or less resigned himself to the fact that she didn't want to try and be closer. Now he wasn't so sure again.
Was all this his fault? He'd been caught up with Yvette...could he have tried harder with Mom? The guilt crept in and he couldn't be certain.
He lay in bed for a long time, going over every detail and wondering.
Eventually he got up, showered and dressed, trying out the hair gel and stuff that Mom had given him. Worked just fine. Smelled good too. He smiled and walked next door to Mom's room, knocking lightly on the door and continuing to smile as she answered. "Good Morning, Mom, I was wondering what the plans were for today?" There. Polite and inquisitive and undemanding. Nothing she could object to, surely.
It didn't seem as though there was, because she grabbed her purse and stepped out into the corridor. "I thought we'd start with breakfast and sort it out from there," she told him.
She found them an out of the way table in the restaurant and they sat down with coffee, croissants, fruit and pastries.
Mom sighed. "The coffee here is so much better than what you get back home."
"Stronger, certainly," he said, looking down at his cup.
She smiled across the table at him. "As you get older, you'll find that stronger is always better. At least when it comes to coffee."
"I'll bear that in mind," he said with a grin.
"So," she said, putting her coffee cup down and looking at him seriously. "Where did you go yesterday?"
His smile vanished. "Yvette took me into town," he explained. "She got a car for Christmas and she wanted to try it out."
She nodded a couple of times. "Did you have fun?" she asked after a moment.
"Yes," he answered honestly. "Yes, I did, but I'm sorry," he rushed on. "Honestly, Mom, I'd just assumed that you'd be busy again." He stopped short, seeing the look on her face. "I mean - "
" - I know what you mean," she interrupted quietly. She sighed. "I'm glad you had a good time at least."
He didn't say anything, twisting his hands together guiltily.
"If you want to say goodbye to your...friend...this morning," she suggested hesitantly. "There's some shops I wouldn't mind looking around. We don't need to be at the airport till this evening and I've checked at the front desk and we can leave our luggage here till then. So I'd thought we might do something together."
"That sounds good," he said hopefully. "What did you have in mind?"
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't think your French is good enough for a play or a movie, but I did see some posters..." she went on slowly. "If you're not interested, we'll think of something else, but apparently there's a circus set up in one of the parks. We could go this afternoon."
That hadn't been what he was expecting her to say and he blinked, considering. He could remember being a little kid, begging her and Dad to take him to the circus. That had been before he'd met Rusty, even. For once they'd listened, and he could remember the smell of popcorn and peanuts, the scary clowns, and deciding that he'd be happy to go up high if he got to ride on a trapeze. It had been one of the few family outings he could remember that hadn't ended in vitriol and recriminations.
"I think I'd like that," he said, sounding almost surprised.
Mom beamed at him. "Good. That's settled then. I'll buy the tickets while I'm out shopping." She went to stand up. "I'll meet you at my room at about midday, Daniel. Enjoy your morning."
He intended to.
Yvette was waiting outside his door. She smiled brightly when she saw him, and he felt his heart skip a beat.
"Did you get into much trouble with your mother?" she asked anxiously as he ushered her inside.
"Surprisingly, no," he told her. "I think she was too relieved.
"Ma mere said she was making a fuss all evening," Yvette said. "She should leave you alone. You were not doing anything bad."
He looked at her. "I was breaking into a shop," he pointed out.
She shrugged. "But your mother does not know that."
"Luckily for me," he said lightly. "Sit down. Let me fetch your jewellery."
Her eyes lit up. "You really got them?" she said eagerly.
"Of course," he said, like it was nothing. "I told you I would." He walked over to his case and grandly drew out the little paper bag he'd concealed the jewellery in. He tipped it out into her hand and she squealed with delight.
"Oh, Danny," she exclaimed, running her fingers through the gold in her hands ecstatically. "Oh, you are wonderful." She kissed him with passionate abandon, her arms snaking around his neck, dragging him down and onto the bed, the jewellery spilling onto the floor, temporarily forgotten.
Later – much later – and they were lying in bed together, Yvette still marvelling over the bracelet she was now wearing. "Thank you, Danny," she said softly. "I wish you did not have to leave."
"I wish I could take you with me," he said with a sigh.
"Perhaps you could smuggle me in your suitcase," she suggested.
He grinned. "Suppose you got mislaid at the airport?" he teased. "I might never find you again."
She giggled prettily. "That would be terrible," she agreed, sliding on top of him. "Perhaps I could spend the flight on your lap instead, like this. That way we would only be using one seat."
"Tempting as that is..." he said, reaching up and stroking a hand through her hair.
"I know," she said quietly, rolling off him and sitting up. "But I'm going to miss you, Danny. There are no boys like you here."
"There are no girls like you in America," he said seriously.
"Girls like me how?" she asked innocently.
He smiled and reached over to pick up the necklace from where it had fallen. "You know," he said, as he fastened it around her throat, lightly kissing her neck at the same time. "Beautiful. Charming. Sexy."
She leaned back against him, looking at herself in the mirror across from the bed. "It is so pretty," she said contentedly, her hand on the necklace. "I always wanted things like this."
He froze. That was...that didn't quite make sense. (Or maybe it suddenly made far too much sense.) "But it was yours before," he said slowly. "It's the necklace your father got for you."
Tensing up, she gave herself away in an instant. "Of course it is," she said, a fraction of a second too slow.
"You told me..." He pulled away from her, shaking his head, his brow furrowed. "You told me your mother sold your jewellery. You said...it wasn't right. You lied? You lied to me." He stood up, standing away from the bed, staring at her like he'd never known her. "You lied to me."
She sprang across the bed, holding a hand out beseechingly. "Non! Danny, s'il vous plaît. Ce n'était pas comme ça, honnêtement. Ce n'était pas vraiment un mensonge, ce n'était pas vrai. Je viens toujours voulu ce genre de choses. Et Maman ne serait jamais me laisser faire. Tu comprenez, n'est-ce pas?"
He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the bitter taste in his throat. "You always wanted...?" he repeated, and he shook his head. "I would have bought them for you, if you'd asked. I thought you were...I would have got you whatever you wanted."
"It is just a game," she pleaded, the tears rolling down her face. "It is a story, that is all. My mother is cruel – I tell people to show them that. No one has ever tried to do anything about it before. I did not expect you to."
"So it's my fault?" She'd lied to him. She'd used him, and he'd let himself get played like a fool, and it hurt. He could hardly breathe.
He turned away from her, picking up her clothes from the floor and laying them gently on the bed. "I think maybe you'd better go. Keep the jewellery hidden. Don't wear it in public for at least a couple of years."
"Danny..." She reached out as though to lay a hand on his arm and he flinched away. He wasn't gonna cry. Not in front of her. Not at all.
He stared resolutely at the wall, and listened to the sound of her dressing.
"Goodbye, Danny," she said quietly at last.
He couldn't just let her walk away and not say anything. "Goodbye," he said stiffly, turning around to face her, even if he couldn't look her in the eye.
"I am sorry," she said in a small voice.
"You're sorry you did it? Or you're sorry I found out you'd lied?" he asked.
"You lie," she answered swiftly.
He nodded. "Not like that. Not about that. And not to you. I told you more truths than I've told to anyone in a very long time."
She didn't have an answer to that. She just stood there, looking at him helplessly, and in spite of himself, he found himself feeling a little sorry for her. He felt so much older than her.
He crossed the floor towards her, and kissed her on the cheek. "Goodbye, Yvette," he said gently.
"Goodbye, Danny," she said, pressing her hand against his face for the briefest of moments.
He still felt that touch long after she'd left.
He took a long hot shower that did little to wash away the feeling of shame and disappointment that clung to him.
Really, he was a fool. He should have known better. The signs had all been there. He'd always prided himself on his ability to read people, but she'd been able to lie to him completely.
God, he longed to go home to Rusty right about now. He dropped his head against the tiles for a long moment and let the water cascade over him. It hurt. She'd hurt him. He'd thought...he'd thought they had something. He'd thought she cared for him. She'd talked to him like he mattered. He'd told her things...about Dad, and about Mom and about Rusty...things that he'd never told anyone else but Rusty. She'd listened to him. She'd said time and again that she'd never met anyone like him. Was it really all just a line?
She'd told stories to earn his sympathy. A game, she'd said. Making things up to impress him, and she'd said she hadn't expected him to act on it, but he couldn't just hear that sort of injustice and sit by and do nothing, and she hadn't even tried to stop him. She hadn't even told the truth when they'd gone to case out the pawnshop. Even if she didn't want to admit to lying, she could have said the jewellery wasn't there. Instead she'd chosen what she wanted to have him steal.
It made him feel sick to the stomach.
And she'd said that no one else had ever tried to act on her stories, which meant that she'd done this to other people. Lied to them. He wasn't special, and he felt so stupid.
He rubbed his eyes fiercely with the heels of his hands. Right now, all he wanted was to be back home, lying in bed with Rusty. There, he could cry, if he wanted to. Here and now, he had to put on a brave face.
Mom was waiting for him downstairs, wearing the scarf he'd got her for Christmas. He dropped his case off behind the desk, thankful that at least Yvette wasn't there.
"I found a nice little restaurant around the corner," Mom announced. "I made a reservation for lunch. We should have time to eat before the show."
He made himself smile. "Sounds good," he said.
Eating was difficult. He still felt lousy inside and he picked at his croque monsieur barely able to stomach it.
"You're not hungry, Daniel?" Mom asked, frowning.
He shrugged lightly. "I don't know why. Sorry."
"Are you upset about something?" she pressed. "Leaving that girl...?"
She was looking at him intently, all her attention focused on him, like she really wanted to know, like she was concerned.
He swallowed hard and glanced down at the table. He couldn't tell her the truth.
"Daniel..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm your mother. I want to help you, but I can't if you're not willing to even talk to me."
She wanted to help him? He could hear the sincerity in her voice and he sighed. Once upon a time, all he'd wanted was for Mom to notice when he was upset and make it all better. Now he didn't want to tell her, and that made him feel guilty and ashamed. He really shouldn't assume she was going to let him down. She'd tried to comfort him with Dad, after all, no matter had happened after. Maybe he couldn't tell her the truth, but he could share a little of his life with her at least.
"I found out she lied to me," he told her shortly. "She was making up stories, trying to impress me."
"Oh, Daniel," she sighed. "Everyone lies. When it comes to romance, everyone has their own agenda. You need to learn to recognise that."
He nodded and didn't say anything, and he didn't think she was right, but maybe he was just being naïve.
"In a few years, you'll find you barely remember the relationships you have now," she went on. "Once you're at college, you'll make new friends, meet new girls – women – who will be able to help you with your career and your life."
Danny wondered where love fit into Mom's world. It was the sort of question he would never, ever ask.
"The point is," she finished. "I know it hurts now, and I'm sorry. But it will all go away soon."
That didn't exactly help now. Nonetheless, he smiled. "Thanks, Mom."
He managed to change the subject, and they talked about her job for the rest of dinner, and he walked with her round to the park where the circus tent was waiting.
The afternoon passed quickly and with an effort of concentration, he lost himself in the show. Clowns and jugglers and knife throwers and acrobats danced before him and he watched with the appropriate appreciation, and Mom spent more time watching him than watching the performers.
She'd done this for him. She was trying to make him happy, and that made him feel warm inside in a way her words never would, and it even took some of the sting away.
Later, in the airport, waiting for the plane, Mom unexpectedly laid her hand over his. "This vacation...it has been okay, hasn't it, Daniel?" she asked anxiously.
He looked at her, considering.
It had been long, and desperately lonely at times, and he missed Rusty, and he missed Dad. And Mom had hurt him. She'd left him alone again and again, she'd called him selfish and ungrateful, and she'd told him that she didn't want him...and he was supposed to just get over that in a second. And today, Yvette had left him feeling foolish and betrayed...but she had changed his life. She'd made him a man and she'd made him feel things he'd never felt before and no matter what, he cared for her and he always would. And in the end, Mom had made an effort, and he thought now that she did...that she did love him, at least a little.
He smiled. "It's been okay, Mom. Thank you."
Sleep didn't solve anything. Not that he was able to do more than doze for a few minutes at a time, pain and cold keeping him awake, shivering against the wall and fighting not to let the tears fall.
But when the sky finally grew light enough for him to see by...his arm was still fucked. Swollen and purple and unnaturally crooked. He bit his lips hard. Time to face facts; it was broken. God, what a mess.
He took a deep breath. Okay. There was a free clinic down near the river. They'd be able to fix him up if he went there. Except...he screwed his eyes shut. Except they'd want a parent there to sign stuff and shit. Everyone always wanted to talk to his parents and that was unthinkable at the best of times, and right now it was completely impossible. Not to mention there'd be questions. He hated that sort of question.
Right. So. If he didn't go get it looked at, what would happen? Yes, he wanted the pain to stop, but it wasn't like the clinic would be able to do anything about that. He could get Tylenol whether he went or not, and even if they gave him something stronger and even if he didn't have to pay for it, he still wasn't gonna actually take it if he could help it. So no matter what he did, the pain was still going to be a factor. As for the arm itself, these things did heal on their own eventually. He could splint it, wrap it up, keep it from getting jostled...
He leaned his head back against the wall and considered. It sounded like it could work. Only problem was, he could imagine the look on Danny's face when he explained this plan. He grinned to himself, picturing the complete lack of amusement. Yeah. Yeah. Sorry, Danny.
Besides, making sure his arm wasn't jostled? That wasn't in his control. Dad grabbed him by the arm all the time, and the way he was hurting right now, if that happened he might just pass out. And quite apart from his own feelings, he did something as sissyish as faint when he was getting beat, Dad might just kill him out of sheer disgust.
That left him back where he'd started, considering the clinic. He sighed and rubbed his hand across his mouth. Seemed likely that they'd treat him even without a parent – they just wouldn't let him leave until his parents had come for him. And when no one showed up, that's when they'd call social work. Like he didn't have enough to deal with.
Still, if he played it right, he should be able to sneak out again. He hoped, anyway.
It was the best plan he had.
Except even then it wouldn't work. Maybe he'd come by the broken arm honestly, but there were other, older bruises on his arms and chest. He wasn't stupid. Pattern of bruises obviously from a number of different occasions – it painted a picture.
He had to cover them up. Make sure there was nothing old there that couldn't be explained by the fall.
Slowly he stood up and headed through to the kitchen. Wasn't the cold that was making him shake as he reached into the cupboard and pulled out an old cast iron frying pan. Right. Chest first. Pulling of his jumper, he glanced at himself critically, lining up the pan and the bruises. Then he swung, hard, catching himself in the ribs with the edge of the pan and wincing hard. Not quite. He swung again, even harder, and the pain left him gasping for breath.
Fuck, that hurt.
Dropping the pan, he glanced at the bruises on his good arm, clenched his fist tightly, and slammed his arm into the kitchen counter. There. He'd been hurt often enough to know when something was going to bruise. An hour or so and he'd be nicely purple.
He was throbbing all over now, the fresh shock providing an almost pleasant distraction from his arm. That was about to change.
The actual site of the injury was fine, of course, that had bruised all by itself, but his upper arm was sporting a yellowing hand shaped bruise and there was no way that didn't look suspicious.
This was going to be pretty excruciating.
With a loud cry, he swung the pan as viciously as he could, and the pain dropped him like a stone, sending him to his knees in a mess of tears and incoherence.
Numbly – shaking – he crawled into the pile of blankets still in the corner of the kitchen and curled up tightly, his eyes shut tight, his arm nursed against his chest and even breathing sent jolts of pain tearing through him.
That was it. There should be nothing to give him away.
He lay still for a long time, fiercely fighting for control. It was just pain. He had to keep on top of it, that was all. He'd hurt worse than this before, hadn't he? Gradually the shaking lessened and the pain faded back to manageable levels.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Okay. There was something he wanted to avoid doing again if humanly possible.
With a groan he stood up and went and fetched the lockbox. Time to see what last night had got him. God, if it wasn't enough after all this...he didn't know what he'd do. Picking the lock one handed was tricky, and in the end he wound up sitting with it gripped tight between his feet and bending right over to open it. Eventually, after a frustrating half hour, the money spilled all over the ground. He scooped it up and counted it quickly. Two fifties, four twenties, three tens and a bunch of change. He felt the smile spread over his face. That should do nicely.
Alright. He dressed quickly in a t-shirt, pulling a bright orange sweater over the top, and he was set for the day. He stuffed the money into a paper bag and dropped it to the bottom of his schoolbag, shoving his coat and a couple of other things in there afterwards. Slinging it onto his good shoulder, he headed out.
The walk was long and cold and hard, and every step he took jarred his arm painfully, but he ended up at the clinic before it opened. He wasn't the only one waiting, unfortunately, and he stood shivering in the midst of a small knot of people until the door opened, and then he was swept inside to wait in a queue behind the front desk.
Inside, the clinic was stuffy and poorly lit. There was a faint smell of disinfectant, almost overpowered by the smell of sweat and vomit. The rows of spindly chairs slowly started to fill up as people in front of him were booked in and sent to wait. Had to admit, the idea of getting to sit down right now was tempting. The adrenaline from earlier had faded and now pain and exhaustion were making sleep seem a tempting prospect.
Finally though, he reached the front of the queue. The tired-looking nurse didn't even glance up. "Name?" she said abruptly, her pen hovering over a form.
"Jamie Kerr," he said.
She looked up quickly, frowning at him. "Are you on your own?"
"Mom had to work," he explained, blinking innocently. "She dropped me off and said you could call her when I was done."
"Uh huh." She pursed her lips and he got the impression he was seriously inconvenient.
"It's my arm," he added quickly. "I think it's broken." Hopefully that would be persuasive.
She eyed the lump in his sweater where his arm was cradled against his chest. "Can I see?"
Grimacing, he managed to pull the jumper up far enough so his arm was visible.
It only took a second before she nodded. "Yes, alright. Fill out the first page of this form, drop it off in the box and we'll see about getting you sorted and calling your mother."
As long as they did it in that order. He took a seat and started on the form. Was all just basic details. Name, address, date of birth, phone number. He had most of them all ready, and he made himself a year older than he really was. For his imaginary mother's work number, he entered the number of the public library. They were closed through New Year, so it would ring but no one would answer. Perfect for his purpose in other words.
Done, he dropped the form in the box and returned to the hard chair, curling up and trying to get as comfortable as he could. The pain was wearing on him and he tried to stay as still as possible as the waiting room gradually filled up until there was no room left and the noise was unbearable. He did his best not to meet anyone's eyes, to be unremarkable and beneath notice. He was close enough to home that it wasn't entirely implausible that someone might recognise him and then there'd be trouble.
He waited and watched other people being taken before him, and when they finally called for Jamie Kerr he'd almost managed to doze off.
Stumbling slightly as he stood, he headed through to the room he was pointed to. It was a long room with eight curtained off cubicles, most of which appeared to be occupied. He hung back, looking around uncertainly for a long moment.
"Jamie Kerr?" a nurse asked, walking up to him.
He nodded quickly, wondering if they'd somehow found him out.
"And your birthdate," she added.
"12/14/1965," he answered promptly and he didn't see even a hint of suspicion in her face. He relaxed; seemed this was just routine.
"Okay, I've got a note here that you came in on your own," she went on. "And unfortunately we've not been able to get in touch with your mother just yet, but I'm sure we'll reach her soon. In the meantime if you come with me, we'll get your arm fixed up." She led him towards a cubicle near the back of the room. There was a chair and a trolley bed with a suspicious stain and not much else. "Okay, you jump up on there and take your jumper off," she told him.
He did as he was told, even though removing his sweater one handed was difficult and painful.
"T-shirt too," she told him absently.
That was even more tough, and he bit his lip hard as he pulled his arm through his t-shirt sleeve. Now naked to the waist, he sat shivering as she examined his arm, thankfully not really touching it.
"Take this please," she said, passing over a cup with a couple of pills at the bottom and a glass of water. "The doctor will be in to see you soon."
She left and he stared at the pills in the bottom of the cup doubtfully. He didn't want to take them. He was exposed, right in the middle of a room full of people he didn't know and couldn't trust. Taking something that might make him slow to react to danger...it just didn't strike him as the best idea. He could deal with pain. Better to be safe.
Mind made up, he hid the pills in his schoolbag and swallowed the water quickly. He wanted, he could take them when he was safe at home.
Hopefully the doctor wouldn't be able to tell that he hadn't taken them. He wasn't sure; he'd never seen a doctor before. Just luck; anytime he'd been ill it had gone away on its own. He'd been sent to the school nurse a time or six, and certainly he'd encountered doctors when Danny had been in the hospital that time. But a doctor actually treating him? That was new and it made him nervous. Way Dad always told it, doctors were the enemy. Part of the authorities that he had to hide from for fear of being taken away and punished worse. And alright, he knew that wasn't exactly right...but it wasn't exactly wrong either. He sighed. Wasn't like he was trying to protect Dad or anything. What happened to him was his business, and he didn't see why anyone else had to get involved, that was all.
Elsewhere in the room people were arguing and yelling. Made his head hurt. And as someone ran past the cubicle, making the curtains shake, he drew his knees up to his chest, glad that he hadn't taken the pills.
He wished Danny was here.
Was maybe an hour before the doctor appeared, surprisingly young, dressed in a white coat and looking about as exhausted as Rusty felt. He quickly looked across Rusty's bare chest and arms, and the scratches on his face, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Dear me, we have been in the wars, haven't we?"
There really wasn't much he could say to that so he simply nodded.
The doctor picked up the notes and started leafing through them. "How did this happen then," he asked, sounding like he was barely paying attention, but there was just a hint of an edge of suspicion to his voice. He really couldn't afford any slip ups here.
"Got hit in the arm by a swan," he said with a grin.
There was a second's pause and the doctor looked up at him, blinking. "Really?"
"Nah," he said cheerily. "Fell out of a tree. I was trying to reach some icicles and it was slippier than I thought," he added with the right amount of ruefulness.
"I see," the doctor said, nodding and looking more relaxed. Seemed his lie was well and truly swallowed. Good.
The exam was mercifully brief but unbelievably painful, as his arm was moved this way and that, and he longed to scream that just because he apparently could bend that way didn't mean he should. Worse than that was having someone in his personal space while he was hurting and vulnerable, looming over him, holding him down and hurting him, and having to hold absolutely still, knowing if he flinched or jumped or trembled or let any of the fear running through him out, even for a second, it would be disastrous. The object here was to be normal and he carefully kept his face expressionless and concentrated on the smell of coffee and stale cigarette smoke.
"You've been very brave," the doctor commented approvingly. "Alright. I'm just going to get that set."
Great. He nodded shortly and the doctor vanished briefly, returning with a nurse and a tray.
He sat still and stared blankly at the floor. This had not been a good week and he was exhausted. He had to think that if he'd actually taken that pill he'd have been unconscious right now.
Still, he did sort of wish he'd taken the pills when the doctor started to set his arm.
"This shouldn't hurt too much," he said.
It was a lie.
It hurt every bit as much as the fall had, and he bit down hard on his lip to keep from screaming as the bone scraped into position, leaving a thousand nerve endings catching fire in its wake. Oh, he wanted Danny here right now. Fuck, he thought he was good with pain. Right now, as the doctor stood back and he gasped for breath, hearing the whisper of the ragged sob in his own voice, right now he felt every inch the sissy and the coward Dad always claimed him to be.
"There you go," the doctor said as he finished off the splint. "Now you just need to get an x-ray to confirm that the bone is sitting in the right place, and we'll get you plastered up and your parents will take you home."
He nodded, ignoring the dull throbbing in his head and the trembling in his arms and legs. He did want to go home. Very much.
He followed the nurse round to the x-ray department. More waiting. The teenage girl sitting opposite screamed in pain, clutching her broken arm, and her father yelled at the nurses every bit as loudly, while her mother sat with her arm across her shoulder, and Rusty felt a strange sort of envy. When he was finally called in, the x-ray itself was over in less than five minutes and they sent him back round to the clinic to wait in another cubicle, staring at the stains on the curtain and trying not to throw up.
Eventually the doctor came back with a nurse and they set about plastering his arm and Rusty looked down at the scuff marks on his shoes and concentrated on keeping his face blank and pain free.
"There you go," the doctor said at last. "All done."
He nodded tersely, not quite trusting himself to speak just yet. The pain was wearing him down.
The doctor turned to the nurse. "Here's a prescription for analgesia – give it to the parents, and make sure they schedule an appointment in six weeks to see about getting that cast taken off."
Six weeks? He glanced down at the cast, scowling. It was bulky and hot and already uncomfortable. He had a feeling it could cause a lot of problems. Busy considering the difficulties of picking pockets and escaping from Dad, he almost missed the nurse grumpily telling him to follow her.
She led him back to the waiting room. "We haven't been able to get hold of your mother yet and you can't be discharged without an adult there to take care of you," she told him bluntly. "Is there anyone else we can call? Grandparents, an aunt or uncle...?"
He shook his head. "Sorry," he said, and she looked as if his lack of family was designed to annoy her.
"Well we'll keep trying," she said with a sigh. "In the meantime, you wait here." She indicated a seat right in front of the desk. "And Greta will keep an eye on you."
Greta behind the desk seemed somewhat busy and harassed already when he glanced over. Good.
He nodded and sat down, and affecting tiredness wasn't exactly difficult right now.
He gave it ten minutes after she'd left, then he walked up to the desk and smiled innocently. "Excuse me, is there a restroom...?" he asked politely.
"Just down the corridor," she told him pointing.
Right. He found it and quickly locked himself in the stall, pulling his coat and a trucker cap from his bag. She'd be looking for a blond kid in a bright blue jumper with an obvious cast. If he covered up, kept his head down and snuck past...she never even glanced at him. And he was outside. He breathed a sigh of relief. There. They had no name, no number – nothing. They'd never be able to come after him. And now he just needed to get everything sorted with the power company and he could go home and sleep.
First things first. He headed to the nearest bank and stood in line to get the money changed into neat ten dollar bills. Now he could give them bills they'd never seen before. Sounded like a million to one chance, but he was giving them back the money he'd stole from them. He didn't want to risk them recognising a bill with a mark or a distinctive crease or something ridiculous like that.
There was a crowd gathered in the power company when he arrived, apparently watching two cops interview a grave man in a suit.
Didn't look like they were quite open for business. He supposed that made sense after a break in, but it didn't exactly suit his purposes. He spotted Mr Lewis standing stiffly off to one side.
He wandered over innocently. "'scuse me, Mr Lewis," he said loudly. "I've got the money here to pay our bill. Will you get the heat switched back on please?"
"This isn't the time," Mr Lewis hissed. "We've got more important things going on right now, you little brat."
"But I've got the money," Rusty objected with a masterful whine. Everyone nearby was turning to stare. "Look," he said, lifting up the bills ostentatiously.
"I don't care," Mr Lewis retorted.
"But...but you have to put the heat back on," he said, his voice loud and trembling. "I don't want to sleep in the cold anymore. And I've got the money. Dad sold my Christmas presents, just like you suggested."
There was a sharp intake of breath from all around them. An audible note of disapproval. Mr Lewis was oblivious. "Oh fuck off, Tiny Tim," he snarled.
Rusty just managed to suppress the snort of laughter. Okay. He had to admit, he'd found that pretty funny.
The crowd around them didn't agree and there was a clear mutter of shock and disgust.
"Really, Mr Lewis," the grave man in the suit said, walking hurriedly over. This must be the big boss, Rusty guessed. "I do apologise," he said to Rusty. "I'm afraid we're under a lot of strain."
"I just want to be warm again," he said, trying to sound younger than he really was.
A man stepped forwards from the crowd, clutching a reporter's notebook. "Cutting off heat at Christmas and taking children's presents...is this official policy? Do you have any comments?"
"Well, no, this is obviously a misunderstanding," the boss said, glaring at Mr Lewis. "I assure you, we're not Ebeneezer Scrooge." He turned ostentatiously to Mr Lewis. "Why don't you take this young man over and take his payment and make sure his power goes back on today. And I think a hundred dollar credit on his account might be suitable."
Rusty grinned inside at the look on Mr Lewis' face. Checkmate.
That night he lay on his bed, listening to music, luxuriating in the heat that had finally worked its way through the apartment. He'd taken the pills he'd hidden earlier and the pain had faded to an unremarkable ache. He'd even managed to make himself some bacon sandwiches and a hot chocolate. Warm food, a warm room and tomorrow Danny would be home.
He smiled. Things were looking up.
There was the sound of the front door slamming and his smile faded in an instant. Dad was home. He turned off the music and hid the recorder quickly and lay, still and tense, waiting to see if Dad came in to find him. If he'd thought Dad might come back, he'd never have left the heating on.
He heard things crashing around the living room, heard bottles smashing together, and he dug his fingernails into his palm hard, closed his eyes and wished. He really wasn't in a fit state to take a beating right now. And honestly, he didn't think he had a hope in hell of running.
"Boy, get out here," Dad bellowed
Would be worse if Dad had to come find him, he reminded himself, and he slowly stood up and opened the door, walking out into the living room. Dad was sitting on the sofa, a bag tossed across the floor in front of him, clothes and empty bottles spilling out of it wildly.
"Yes, sir?" he said quietly.
Dad stared at him blearily, and he seemed drunker than usual, and generally that meant that either he wouldn't hit Rusty at all or he wouldn't stop. "Wha' happened to your arm?" he demanded.
"I fell," Rusty said shortly. "Sir," he added quickly, because if he could just stay respectful, just stay on Dad's good side, then he should be okay. And he had to be okay, because he was seeing Danny tomorrow, and if Danny thought he'd got beaten up while he was away...it would hurt Danny so much more than it could ever hurt him.
Dad stared at him again, a strange uncertain look in his eyes.
Rusty sighed. "You didn't do it," he assured Dad. "I really fell."
"Course I didn't do it," Dad said, snorting. "Weak little faggot like you could probably break his arm shaving. Now go and make me some dinner, you little bastard."
He nodded, trying not to seem too eager and relieved, and he quickly headed through to the kitchen, picking up a matchbook for the stove as he went. Huh. The Xanadu Casino Hotel, Las Vegas. Sounded liked Dad had a good Christmas. So much for working out of town.
Dad was back. Danny would be back tomorrow. Everything was heading back to normal and he wasn't alone anymore.
Seemed Christmas was finally over.
28th December 1978
They stared at each other for a long moment.
"Well," Danny said, shaking his head.
"Yeah," Rusty agreed tiredly.
One hell of a week.
"You're going to have to go back and get that taken off," Danny pointed out, nodding at the cast. "And this time they're gonna be suspicious."
A slight pause and Rusty shrugged uncomfortably.
He thought for a second and sighed. "Dad's old toolbox is in the hall cupboard," he said resignedly. "We can check it for anything that might cut through it."
Rusty looked at him. "Thought you'd tell me no."
"I don't want you doing it yourself," he explained simply.
"Mmm." Rusty grinned. "You don't think I should be more worried about letting you loose on me with a tool of any kind?"
Oh, that was..."I'm not that bad," he protested.
"Uh huh. Remember when I tried to show you how to change a fuse?" Rusty asked, eyebrow raised.
He winced. "That was different." It hadn't been a saw for a start. And more importantly, it hadn't been Rusty's arm at stake. "You think I wouldn't be careful?"
"I know you'll be careful," Rusty said, and the tease had gone from his voice and Danny smiled. "Think you'll write to her?" Rusty asked after a moment.
He sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "Probably not." He didn't even know what he'd say. "She wasn't who I thought she was." The grief was alive in his voice, and Rusty reached across the table and touched his hand lightly. He closed his eyes for a long second and the gesture seemed to ease a tension that he hadn't even known existed. This was what he needed. This right here, with none of the doubt and complication that seemed to exist around everyone else. Rusty made him whole.
"But it was - " Rusty began quietly.
" - yeah," he nodded. "I don't regret it, exactly."
There was a question in Rusty's eyes, a curiosity, and he smiled. "It's amazing," he said sincerely. "Feels like you're closer than you can imagine in that moment, sharing everything, losing control..." He stopped, seeing the look on Rusty's face. "I'm not exactly selling this to you, am I?"
Rusty grinned and shook his head. "Think I'll stick to cards," he said lightly. "Less complicated."
"Right." Danny's lips twitched. He figured in a couple of years, he'd remind Rusty he'd said that. "Mom said she didn't mind if you came over for today," he announced.
"You - " Rusty blinked.
He shook his head. "Didn't even need to ask," he said, with a certain degree of pride. Maybe things would be different from now on. Maybe things were changing for the better.
"Huh." Rusty looked at him thoughtfully and he could see the unvoiced worry in his eyes. Rusty didn't want him hurt again.
"Figured we could order pizza and watch TV," he went on. "Don't know about you, but I could do with a quiet day or so."
Rusty nodded. "Sounds good. But first..." he went on, his eyes lighting up as he pulled a handful of brightly coloured markers out of his pocket. "Want to sign my cast?"
He grinned. This could be fun.
A/N: And that is finally the end of the Christmas chapter. Hope you enjoyed, please review.