A/N: I had to make a minor edit to this chapter which somehow took me over a week to get around to. How does that even happen?

Rusty had fallen asleep on the drive home, his new toy cuddled close against his chest. After he turned off the engine, Saul watched him for a long moment. He looked...peaceful.

Being very, very careful, and very, very quiet, he got out the car and walked around to the passenger door. Then he picked Rusty up and gently cradling him in his arms, he carried him upstairs.

He didn't wake.

He slept peacefully in Saul's arms all the way up the stairs, and Saul found himself looking down at him as he walked. He was obviously dead to the world; Saul couldn't even begin to imagine how tired he must be.

The fact that Rusty was sleeping had to be a good sign, didn't it? The fact that Saul could pick him up and carry him like this...it had to mean something. Had to mean Rusty trusted him just a little.

Rusty felt so light. Far lighter than a child should be, and so helpless right now. God. How could anyone possibly want to hurt him? All Saul wanted was to protect him. To look after him.

At least Rusty had seemed to enjoy himself this afternoon. He'd seen the brightness in his eyes when he was watching the cats and feeding the deer. And he'd actually laughed. Saul had made him laugh, and the sound had warmed his heart.

As underweight as Rusty was, carrying a nine-year-old up two flights of stairs still wasn't exactly easy. And when he got to the door, he had to work very carefully to juggle the keys without waking Rusty. But somehow he managed it with Rusty still asleep, and he got in and hesitated for a second in the hallway.

Really, he should put Rusty to bed. More than anything else, Rusty needed sleep. Except, he realised with a sigh, it seemed more likely that Rusty would be able to sleep peacefully anywhere except the bed. The sofa in the living room, he decided, and he opened the door with his foot and gently laid Rusty down on the sofa, the little cat toy still cuddled in his arms.

There. He stood for a second, watching Rusty sleep, and then he carefully took off Rusty's shoes, hat, scarf and gloves, and picked the blanket up from the back of the sofa and draped it over him. In response, Rusty sighed in his sleep, and snuggled further back against the sofa, looking warm and looking comfortable.

Smiling, Saul picked up his book and settled himself down on the easy chair opposite.

It was about an hour later that there was a noise from outside, and Rusty sat up right away, looking round wildly, obviously completely confused as to how he'd got there.

Saul smiled at him, trying his best to be unaffected as Rusty gazed at him suspiciously and surreptitiously checked his clothes for signs they'd been tampered with.

"You fell asleep in the car," he explained simply. "You've only been asleep an hour or so."

Rusty nodded slowly, seeming satisfied for the moment.

"I'll get you something to eat," he said, making sure it was a statement, not an offer, but still offering a warm smile.

Another nod. Rusty's lips were pressed together tightly.

He had no real hope that Rusty would eat, but he made a cheese sandwich and a tall glass of water anyway. Hopefully at the very least, Rusty would be prepared to drink.

When he walked back into the room, Rusty was gently rubbing his hand over the head of the little cat. There was a look on his face – not quite a smile, but something peaceful at least. Saul took a deep breath. He'd done something right at least.

He laid the glass and plate down on the coffee table. Rusty pointedly ignored the food but gulped down the water greedily.

Saul waited until he was finished. "I wanted to talk to you about this morning," he said carefully.

Rusty froze; a hunted expression on his face. Yeah. Saul hadn't expected he'd want to talk. But he needed to work harder to make Rusty understand that everything that had happened – all the abuse – was wrong and it was over now.

"You knelt in front of Dr Lassiter when we first came in," he stated slowly, trying to figure out how best to word this. It was difficult to know exactly what terms Rusty would comprehend. He'd seemed to understand what Dr Lassiter had been saying, even if he didn't know what it all meant. "You thought you were expected to offer him something sexually, didn't you?"

The child's expression didn't exactly change. It just seemed to tighten, somehow. Harden, maybe.

"I told you," he said gently. "That everything Mayhew did to you was wrong, do you remember? You are a child. It is always wrong for an adult to commit any sexual act against a child – it's rape - and it is never ever the child's fault. I will never hurt you and I will never expect or want anything sexually from you. And I will protect you from anyone else who ever wants to hurt you. Do you understand?"

Rusty nodded quickly. But Saul could see the disbelief on his face.

"You are safe now," he said earnestly. "You deserve a chance at a normal childhood. You deserve to be safe and happy and looked after, just like any other child, and I'm going to make sure that happens. I promise."

Rusty looked away and his hand curled tightly around the cat's head, his knuckles almost white.

"This morning was about helping you," he tried. "Dr Mayhew is in prison for what he did to you, and he's going to stay there. But for that to happen, the police needed information from you, which is what Dr Lassiter was doing. And he wanted to help you, just like I do. He wanted to help you understand how you've been hurt so you can start to heal."

Still, Rusty wouldn't look at him.

The door bell rang and he sighed. "That'll be Danny," he said.

Disappointingly, after the progress he'd thought they'd made today, the evening was strained and awkward. Bad enough that Rusty refused to eat and wouldn't look at him, but when Rusty was reacting the same way to Danny...it was far, far worse.

All through the evening Rusty refused to respond to Danny with anything more than a nod or a shake of the head. Enough for politeness, perhaps, even enough for understanding but the secret world they shared, that Saul had caught so many glimpses of – that was missing, and plainly Danny felt its absence keenly.

Time and again as Rusty refused to meet his eyes, refused to answer him with anything more than a look of stubborn incomprehension, Saul saw the pain on Danny's face. Exhausted, hurting, bewildered – the look he'd seen on Danny's face at the social service's office. Just because Rusty's pain was so overwhelming didn't mean he was blind to Danny's. There were two children he was sworn to help here, he'd just never thought that one of them would be hurting the other.

Eventually, after Rusty actually turned his back on Danny's clumsy attempt to ask him what was wrong, Danny stood up hastily.

"I'll just take these dishes through," he muttered thickly, and vanished towards the kitchen.

Saul stood up to follow him, fixing Rusty with a long even look, which he tried to keep as non-judgemental as possible.

Danny was standing in the middle of the kitchen, his hands pressed heavily down on the kitchen table, his shoulders shaking.

"Here," Saul said softly, passing him a tissue.

"I'm not crying," Danny said automatically.

Saul sighed and pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, sitting down and regarding Danny compassionately. "Seems to me you might have a good reason to be upset," he said mildly.

Danny smiled, very brief and very tired and the echo obviously wasn't lost on him. "You can't fix this," he said, sitting down, and scrubbing at his eyes with the tissue. "He just wants me safe. He thinks..." He choked slightly, on the words. "He thinks I'd be better off without him. He thinks he drags me down, like Mom and Dad...like everyone always says."

Silently, Saul reached out and gripped his shoulder lightly. "You know that's not true, Danny," he reminded him. "Give him time and he'll see that too."

But Danny didn't look convinced. "I just want to make everything better," he said quietly.

"Me too," Saul agreed.

Whatever Danny said, he wanted to fix everything.

It was later and Danny had left. His parents had come to take him away, and Rusty had struggled to harden his heart against the look of quiet desperation that Danny shot him. He knew Danny was miserable and frightened for him, and he'd seen the hurt on Danny's face as Rusty rejected him. This was the best thing for Danny, though, and that was what mattered.

He tried to ignore the way Saul looked at him. When Danny had been upset, Saul had looked at him and he'd seen the disappointment and for some reason it had hurt.

It still hurt now.

"Danny is worried about you," Saul said softly.

Rusty gazed down at his hands. He didn't want Danny unhappy. Apparently Saul didn't either.

"I found these today," Saul said, carefully laying a bundle of letters down on the coffee table in front of him. "They're yours, I believe. I didn't read them," he added hastily.

He looked down slowly, recognising Danny's handwriting. Letters. Letters Danny had written, addressed to him.

"He left them with the social workers," Saul told him. "Apparently they didn't feel the need to pass them on."

Letters were a privilege. Maybe if he'd been a bit better behaved, if he hadn't struggled and bit, he would have got to read these before.

Only Saul was giving them to him now. (Like everything else Saul had given him that he didn't deserve.)

He reached out and traced a finger down the paper, wondering. There was a lot of them. Even for five months. Danny hadn't given up. Even when he hadn't been getting any kind of response, Danny hadn't given up.

(Why did he think it would be any different now ?)

"I'll let you have some privacy," Saul murmured, and Rusty hardly heard.

He picked out a letter at random.

25th December 1975

Dear Rusty,

It's raining today. Mom and Dad have been arguing since last night. I don't know what it's about. I guess it doesn't much matter. I've been staying upstairs, out of the way, and watching the raindrops run down the window.

Do you remember when we spent all afternoon watching that on the big windows at school? You found some ink and said we could make the raindrops coloured to make it more interesting, and then we let the other boys play and started taking bets. Of course, when the teacher in the classroom downstairs finally noticed the ink streaks down her window, it stopped being quite so fun. For a while, anyway, until you told her it was birds making a nest with felt tips, and she believed you. I never told you how much I love the way you lie. When it's ridiculous, and you get that look in your eyes, like life is just one brilliant joke, and we're going to come out on top, somehow, always.

I miss you.

Somehow, I thought I'd hear from you at Christmas. I don't mean like some sappy Christmas movie miracle – I guess I just thought that maybe they'd let you phone, or write, or something. I even wondered if maybe you get home for Christmas. I went round to your place yesterday. I know, I know. God, I can just picture the look you're giving me right now. Wish you were actually here to give it. Nothing happened. Your Dad was in. He answered. As usual, I didn't see your Mom. I asked him if you were in or if he knew where you were. He just swore at me. Guess he's getting pretty tired of being asked that. Yeah, I know. Believe me, I was ready run, and I made sure it wasn't too late so he wouldn't be too drunk. I just thought that if there was the smallest chance you might be there – I couldn't let it go.

I hate him. I hate him so much. When I think of the last time I saw you, I want to kill him. Wherever you are, it has to be better than that, right?

I hope it is. I want to imagine you somewhere right now with a big Christmas tree, and decorations, and presents, and a Christmas ham. Somewhere with people laughing and smiling and having fun. That's what I want. But if that was it, you'd have called, wouldn't you? You'd have called or written or something. That's why I'm still looking. I'm never going to give up, Rusty. I want you to know that. Sooner or later they have to tell me where you are, right? They'll tell me, and I'll find you, and we'll be together and -

Sorry. Mom came up the stairs. She's angry cos I wouldn't go to Mrs Darcey's Christmas party. Like there's anything there that matters.

She called me a spoilt ungrateful little brat. All I could think of was the first time she let loose like that when you were there. The look on your face made it all worthwhile, somehow. No one ever looks at me like that anymore. All the teachers at school are angry with me, and none of the other kids are really talking to me. I don't know how to explain it. It's like it's getting harder not to hear the stuff Mom says. Even when she's not there.

I don't know how long I can still be myself without you here.

I hope you get this letter. I hope you've got all my letters, even if you can't respond, for whatever reason. I'll be right here, waiting for you. Most of all, I hope you're safe and well and happy.

I miss you, Rus'.

Danny

The letter felt fragile in his hands but he couldn't let go of it. Oh, Danny. For a moment he thought he might cry.

He could read the loneliness and misery in every word. Danny had missed him. Danny hadn't just moved on with his life, hell, Danny didn't seem to have any idea how to move on with his life. He'd just kept right on looking for Rusty. He'd even gone to see Dad, and he knew how dangerous that was – even now, Rusty wanted to rush over and make sure he was okay, scold him for it.

The blood was pounding through his head. He felt...he felt. And he hated it, and he couldn't let it go.

The person in this letter, the person Danny had missed...that person deserved more than being locked up and forgotten about, being beaten and used. Danny saw a person who was bright and fun and alive, and maybe Rusty wasn't that person but he wanted to be. The person Danny saw mattered. He wanted to give Danny that back, but he didn't know how. He didn't deserve Danny. He didn't deserve to be the person Danny cared about. That person was disappeared.

His finger brushed over the letter. He could imagine Danny writing it. Could picture Danny sitting in his room, trying to ignore the sound of his parents fighting downstairs, tired and lonely and unsure of himself and just wanting...just wanting his friend back.

And Rusty had shoved him away like all that didn't matter. He felt like he was condemning Danny to a life with no surprises, with no life.

He closed his eyes. This was another mistake he'd made. Another thing he was guilty of. No more. He didn't deserve what Danny was offering, for so many reasons, but he wanted to deserve it. He wanted to be worthy. He wanted Danny not to be alone.

He had to learn to live again. For Danny.

With trembling hands he quickly gathered up the letters, pulled Ragnarok the bobcat out from under the cushion in the sofa where he'd hidden him when the doorbell rang, and rushed out of the room. He headed to the room he'd been sleeping in, quickly concealing the letters under the bed. He'd read them later, slowly, when there was a chance they wouldn't completely overwhelm him. In the meantime he wanted them safe and hidden.

And that was just a little bit ridiculous. Saul had given him the letters. If he wanted to read them, he could have already. But he said he hadn't and somehow, for some reason, Rusty believed him.

He scrubbed his hand across his face, absently noting that he needed another shower. This was getting difficult to deal with.

It was easy to dismiss the things Saul gave him. The basics. Food, medicine, a bed, apparently unrestricted access to the bathroom and hot water – even the new clothes. Wasn't that he wasn't grateful, but all of that had been used to control him in the past and there was no rational reason to assume this was any different.

But Saul hadn't hit him or used him, and while he still figured it was only a matter of time – hell, even if Saul somehow meant every word he said, eventually Rusty would wear on him enough he'd have no choice – that still didn't change the way he felt about it. Saul hadn't hurt him. Not even when even he'd have to admit he deserved it.

And that still wasn't the problem. It wasn't even the things Saul had given him that he really didn't have to. The trip to the zoo...Ragnarok...even the scarf and gloves, like he hadn't been so much colder, so many times. He remembered Mom noticing he was cold and bundling him up with newspaper, the rough touch a contrast to the gentleness with which Saul had fixed his scarf. That was stuff that no adult had done for him before, and there was just no need for it.

The gentleness. That was the problem. It was the way Saul looked at him, the way Saul talked to him – like he was a regular person, like he mattered. It hurt, but somehow it almost hurt in a good way. (Like living.) He couldn't help liking Saul.

Maybe that was Saul's ulterior motive. Maybe he wanted to make it so Rusty wanted to please him. Which he did. Yes. That made sense. Saul just wanted him to be eager and compliant and he was choosing to win him over with kindness instead of the threat of punishment. After all, Dr Mayhew was often kind. Like when he'd brought Rusty water to wash with, or found him a little extra food, or rubbed ointment inside him where it hurt.

That was kindness, after all. This was just more of the same.

Except...

Except even when Dr Mayhew was being kind he still had that look in his eyes that Rusty hated. Possessive, curious and contemptuous, all at once. There was nothing of the way Saul looked at him there.

He hugged Ragnarok tightly. That didn't mean it was real. It wasn't real. And it didn't matter anyway, sooner or later he would screw up and Saul would run out of kindness.

But it did make him think. Maybe it wouldn't be so very bad, when it happened. He couldn't imagine Saul hurting him for the sake of hurting him. Maybe it really would be better to just get it over with. Maybe he could learn to...not like it, but at least accept it. Everything Saul was giving him...wasn't like he could complain it wasn't fair.

He could feel something slipping away and he closed his eyes and tried to focus on life the way Danny saw it. Tried to tell himself that he didn't owe this, because Danny cared about him and he deserved better. But he couldn't believe it, no matter how he tried.

Maybe if he was a better kid, he'd believe it. Maybe that was the problem. Because whatever the reasons, Saul had been good to him and he hadn't done anything to earn it. Every step of the way he'd been rude and ungrateful. He'd made Saul unhappy, he knew, even without meaning to. He remembered the look on Saul's face when he'd seen the picture Rusty had drawn. The blankness.

(That wasn't what Danny would want for him either...)

Guilt ate away at him and he forced himself to calm down. Okay. He wasn't going to rush off and beg Saul to use him, but still he wanted to do something. Something that showed Saul he wasn't completely oblivious to all the care and attention.

Biting his lip, he wondered... It sounded stupid, but it was about the only idea he had and, mind made up, he retrieved the paper and pencil he'd stolen from Dr Lassiter and sat down and began to draw. Dr Lassiter had asked him to draw something happy, and Saul hadn't liked his answer, so here was a different answer. He just hoped Saul understood.

When he was finished he headed through to the living room, hesitating in the doorway, not sure if he should knock. Then he caught sight of Saul, asleep in the chair, his book, slipping from his hand.

For some reason, he smiled. Ah, well. The picture could wait. Not like he was really expecting Saul to be interested, anyway. And this was surely a good time to go and steal something out of the fridge – he'd noticed Saul putting the leftovers from dinner there this evening and he was getting hungry.

The slices of pizza looked delicious and inviting, and behind that he could see cheese, and cooked chicken, and a carton of chocolate milk – lots of things he could steal just a little of and no one would be any the wiser. Mouth watering, he reached out ready to eat his fill.

Then he stopped, wondering what the hell he was doing?

He liked Saul. He'd just got through accepting that he liked Saul. And now he was planning on stealing from him? That was just wrong. Disgusted with himself, he carefully closed the fridge door. He didn't steal from people he liked. No matter how bad things got, he wasn't a mindless animal. There was right and wrong. Danny had taught him that. That was part of being alive.

Only...only he liked Saul enough not to steal from him, but he didn't trust him enough to accept what he was offering. So where did that leave him?

Saul woke up with a start and blinked wildly around the room. He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

Rusty was sitting on the floor beside the sofa, the newspaper spread out over his feet, the toy cat sitting at his side, his hand resting on it, his thumb stroking repetitively over its fur. He was intent on whatever he was reading and he looked...contented.

Saul smiled to himself; just the fact that Rusty had chosen to sit in the same room as him was encouraging.

He cleared his throat softly and Rusty jumped, looking up at him immediately, a certain amount of panic in his eyes, obviously trying to figure out if Saul was a threat.

He smiled patiently. "It's getting late," he commented, glancing at the clock. "I think it's time you went to bed, don't you?"

Rusty tilted his head to one side uncertainly then, as if he'd made his mind up about something, he pulled a piece of paper out from under the sofa and carried it over. He hovered by the side of Saul's chair, holding out the paper with a sort of uncharacteristic shyness.

"What's this?" he asked with a smile. He took the paper out of Rusty's hand. "Oh!"

He found himself staring down at a pencil drawing of a group cats standing on a rock. The bobcats from the zoo, he guessed. Rusty carefully wasn't looking at him, but he could sense the anxiety coming off the child. This meant something, and he remembered Dr Lassiter's last instruction. Draw something happy, and at the time Rusty had drawn nothing. And here...here was something else. Something else that had made Rusty happy? There was a lump in his throat.

"Thank you," he said softly, hardly able to tear his eyes away from the picture. Rusty had drawn this for him. It was the best present he'd ever received. "It's wonderful. I'll treasure it."

He was smiling like he was never going to stop, but Rusty's brow was furrowed and he was looking at Saul self-consciously, like this wasn't the reaction he'd expected. There was something else there as well, and Rusty looked from the picture and back to him quickly, like he was trying to tell him something.

Oh. "You're very welcome," he said gently, looking Rusty straight in the eye. "I want you happy as well as safe, Rusty. I want you to have a good life."

For a second Rusty stared at him. Then he carefully held up his hand, showing five fingers.

Five. Saul frowned, not understanding. Five what? "I'm sorry," he said helplessly. "I don't..."

Rusty ducked his head, his cheeks reddening, and he quickly made an obscene gesture with his hands, and then held up five fingers again.

Five. The last question he'd asked Rusty at the assessment. The one Rusty had refused to answer. Five men at the institute had abused Rusty. Five men had taken this child and...He took a deep breath and buried the anger for the moment. "Thank you," he said carefully. "For telling me. That was very brave."

Rusty shifted uncomfortably.

"It was," Saul said intently. "They hurt you, Rusty. I can't even imagine..." He swallowed hard. "None of them are ever getting near you again, Rusty, I swear it. You're safe from now on." He would make sure of it. No matter what it took.

Looking away from him, Rusty shrugged.

He reached out and touched Rusty's shoulder, just for a second. "You're safe," he repeated. "Come on. It's time for bed."

Once again, he waited while Rusty got cleaned up and he watched while Rusty got into bed before he came over and tucked the blankets around him. Tonight though, he hesitated. He didn't want Rusty going to bed thinking about the five – he wanted Rusty to sleep peacefully, after all. Instead, he pulled the chair over next to the bed.

Rusty's eyes were wide and worried. He smiled reassuringly, remembering stories he'd read and heard when he was a kid.

"You ever hear," he began. "The story of how the camel got his hump?"

He didn't remember the story precisely, but that didn't exactly matter. It wasn't about the words so much, after all. It was about what was interesting, and what was unexpected, and Rusty smiled sleepily as Saul performed the "Humphs" with all the indignant energy he remembered from when he'd been young, and by the time he got to the part with the genie, Rusty's eyes had fluttered shut and he was asleep.

Silently, Saul crept out of the room. There. Hopefully Rusty would sleep till morning.

Before he went to bed himself, he carefully taped the picture Rusty had drawn him to the fridge.