It had been two days since Harry Potter had been called into the Vegas heist.

The good news was the man had agreed to execute Danny's freakishly specific instructions for far less than they would find anywhere else. Most of the team thought he was a little loopy from the timezone change if he bargained that cheap, but none of them would look a gift Brit in the mouth. He kept his logic to himself, did his job and they were all content to leave it that way.

Bad news was that Rusty was loosing his mind.

Every time the shorter man opened his mouth to speak, Rusty's mind would fill in words that he had never said, disorienting the blonde and making his life into some twisted mad-lib. Sometimes when Harry was talking, Rusty would hear the words, husky and hurried, as if they were being given to his neck all in the rush of a breath. Mealtime was a jumble of deja vu. Strange things like the way Potter leaned toward a speaker or the rolling motion his fingers made when they picked up a glass triggered something, like a baby's hazy memories mixing with reality.

And, most concerning, even the brothers were beginning to notice the way Rusty zoned out like clockwork anytime he caught sight of the Brit's ass walking.

Anywhere.

Anytime.

Danny was rather piqued with his partner in crime's thoughts looking something like a cake baked without flour. Rusty was still Rusty, but the concentration that strung him all together had disappeared, leaving all the good stuff slopping around quite uselessly.

The worst part was that Rusty hadn't quite noticed yet.

Or he had, but couldn't be honest with himself about the root of the problem.

For that matter, Rusty had rather forgotten the root, or -in this case- night, of the problem.

Harry had noticed Rusty's distraction and realized its origins. Unsure whether to take it as a compliment to his chameleon abilities or a blow to his very-gay-but-still-very-manly pride, Harry had settled on a comfortable neutral position of delighting in his newfound teammate's confusion whilst basking in the mesmeric power his arse held over Rusty's eyes. And, of course, if he swayed his hips a little more than normal as he walked out of rooms nowadays, well... Who the hell was watching?

Rusty, of course, didn't count.

Rusty had seen his arse sway out of a room naked, one cheek smeared with the remains of a complimentary toothpaste bottle that had exploded under pressure. As far as Harry was concerned, he now held an all-season arse watching pass. Even if he didn't quite remember all of the good bits, the little wizard had seen him frowning at a small tube of mint paste for an unreasonable amount of time and for the short wizard that was enough to justify a renewed membership.

Now, as Rusty glazed over once more, Harry let the smirk crawl up his face when he caught Danny's long-suffering sigh. Leaning near the door, Basher was the only one to witness the victorious twist of his friend's lips.

"Enjoying yourself?" Basher murmured at the passing man.

Pausing for a step, Harry turned his head just enough to look Bash in the eye without exposing his flashing teeth to the rest of the crew. "As if you aren't."

With a quick glance at Rusty's vaguely vacant expression, the answering grin that blossomed across Basher's face said everything.

Later that evening found Harry on the couch with a new rubix cube he had gotten from an odds and ends shop. He jiggled and shifted, wiggled and begged.

Then he threw it at the wall, hitting a generic hotel painting that was no doubt supposed to look very eloquent and pricey, but quite failed the effect when the rubix cube lodged itself through the center of its generically abstract, emotionally touching shape.

Harry took a moment to stare incredulously at the deadly cube before he let out a delighted laugh and hopped up to retrieve his new favorite pastime.

The rest of the room, which amounted to Rusty and the two brothers, went silent at the shatter of glass. Since Rusty had already been quiet, that mostly meant that Turk and Vigil had stopped slapping each other and grunting.

The brothers let out a quiet, "Whoa..."

Rusty took his gaze from Harry's newly abandoned spot on the couch, flicking his eyes to the messily executed painting. They stayed there a bit longer, blinking rapidly as if he was waking up.

"So, they let those in airports, but I have to leave my toothpaste at home?"

Harry turned to the rest of the room, hand still on the imbedded toy. "Well, they are campaigning rather hard against fresh breath these days. You know... Clean teeth and the terrorists win."

"Well, fresh breath has done some terrible things over the years." Rusty replied.

The brunette glanced back at Rusty before yanking the cube out with a small burst of aiding magic. "Ah, see, that's where you're wrong. It's not the products themselves, but the dentists behind them."

"A conspiracy?"

"Keep your eyes open. Be alert. Don't take the happy gas."

And then while Rusty debated between humor or incredulity, Harry took away his choice with a nicely timed exit. Arse swing- full throttle.

The worst thing about the Hypnotic Ass Effect, as the rest of the team had dubbed it, was that Rusty really had nothing else to do but sit around the hotel, watching the team, the television, sidewalk people and, apparently, Harry's ass.

Though Danny had picked the job, Rusty had made it happen. Most of the work he did was before the team was assembled. He worked out logistics with Danny, planning and nitpicking. He spent hours looking for equipment. He gathered the crew, scouring the states to look for the best conman, explosives expert, greaseman, all of it. By the time all of the eleven were sitting together in Reuben's house, most of the schematics were ironed out. So other than the occasional task for setup, Rusty's job was largely over.

Which set him up for days of nothing but the Hypnotic Ass Effect. Which amused Harry (who also had nothing to do as he required no amount of preparation in order to send out a pulse of raw magic) to no end.

So Rusty would spend his empty hours dazed and Harry would chuckle maniacally to himself. Every now and then someone would shake him out of it for a question or two, but mostly they all left it alone.

After all, they had stuff to do.

The job went down without a hitch. Flawless, seamless, it was the kind of plan and execution that little thieves had wet dreams about on dark nights.

Yen's planting went smoothly, even with his broken hand. Bash's explosives were as efficient as ever, getting the team into the vault without any unnecessary flair. The pre-recorded footage covered them all as they packed all the money into large SWAT bags.

And, of course, Harry got them passed the security lasers of doom.

He really didn't do much else during the robbery. At the appropriate time, he released a carefully regulated burst of energy, spreading it out like a blanket a ways over the city, carefully lowering it down for just a quick brush along the power lines and electronics before lifting and absorbing the magic back into his core. Just a whisper, less than a second. It was enough to jolt the electricity, sending the system out of whack long enough for Rusty and Danny to drop down the elevator shaft, but not enough exposure to ruin the wiring for good.

Careful, controlled.

Harry was rather good at doing this after an unspeakable incident in Brazil. He learned that sometimes it was better to knock out muggles devices, like cameras and tazers and hot tubs before doing certain things.

So really, his part was rather mundane. Boring, even.

The rioting and looting was entertaining at first, but soon grew old.

Finally he decided to go to the meeting spot.

The other eleven found their way to the fountain much later to find the little wizard sleeping stretched out on the railing, looking for all the world like a contented tom cat.

He woke up shortly after to eleven faces looming over him. He was understandably startled and punched Turk square in the eye.

Harry stood hurriedly, leaning back against the stone. The others were silent (aside from the cursing Turk), watching the fountain in a peaceful silence, an unspoken 'we kicked ass' hanging between them.

Harry was rather bored again.

"Well, then, let's see my money, shall we?"

Danny reached into his pocket, pulling out a stack of bills and handed the roll over to the bouncing Englishman.

"Brilliant. Nice working with you," he turned to Linus, smiling, and handed him a card, "Give me a call, I got a job worked up for that Andy Warhol piece that I think you'd do wonderfully in."

Then he walked away.

Rueben spoke, puffing at his thick cigar, "I can't believe that guy. How much did you say he took?"

"Ten thousand," Danny replied.

"No business sense."

"Well," Danny said slowly, "He told me he just wanted enough to pay for his airfare and some coffee on the way."