Epic by InSilva

Disclaimer: Do not own any Ocean's Eleven character.

Chapter Three: Dinner


The store cupboard was hardly the best place to dress to impress but it was all he had. Rusty ran his fingers over his chin and felt the stubble. He really needed to find a cabin. He'd planned to work on that today, he reminded himself, before Danny and the day had run away with him. It would be another night without a bed or a shower. Well, not his first and not his last. The sight of Danny's face, breathless and happy darted in front of his eyes and he smiled. It had been by no means a waste of a day.

Rusty pulled the clothes from the bag and then stared down at the soft silk shirts in turquoise and purple. A flash of pride sparked through him. Damn Danny! The last thing he was was a charity case. He could look after himself. There was no need for anyone to buy him anything- He stopped. Danny knew all these things about him. Knew them and had bought the shirts anyway because… because… because he thought Rusty would like them,

"I want to."

Rusty sighed. He reached out and stroked the bright blue silk. He did like. Damn Danny.

A short time later and he was dressed in the shirt and suit and looking down at his unpolished shoes and grimacing. He didn't even dare attempt the bow tie without a mirror. Well, it wasn't too late to change plans – he didn't have to turn up at dinner. Except that in other ways it was far too late, of course. Just the picture of Danny's face when he realised Rusty wasn't there was enough to guarantee he was going to be there.

He checked his watch. Time enough for him to find a men's room with a mirror and then find the state ballroom. Rusty glared at his shoes and then glanced hopefully around the store cupboard. There was nothing that looked even vaguely likely to raise a shine. Ah, well. Probably no one would be looking at his shoes anyway.


Cigar in hand and already dressed for dinner, he'd decided to head to the ballroom early to see who else was going to be on the table and who was sitting next to whom. Wasn't like a little rearranging couldn't go on if it was going to prove interesting or entertaining.

On the way there, he stopped dead in the corridor, intrigued by the sight of a fair-haired young man in black tie in earnest discussions with an officious official who was intent on denying him entry.

He sauntered over. "What's the problem, Timothy?"

The official looked a little relieved to see him. "This young gentleman, sir. Says he's got an invitation to sit with the captain but I can't see him on the list."

He puffed on the cigar and looked at the blond curiously. No more than a kid, really. And pretty enough to make you think he'd fold as easily as a ten high hand but there was something in those eyes…something of steel in there…

"Who invited you, son?"

There was a moment's hesitation as if he was weighing up the answer and then, "One of Terry Benedict's party."

Terry Benedict was going to be there. Interesting. He'd heard a lot about Terry Benedict in passing and the blond didn't look like anyone he could imagine Terry mixing with. Well, that qualified as entertaining. Blowing a small ring of cigar smoke, he fished in his pocket and produced a fifty.

"What's your name?"

Hesitation again, this time as if weighing him up and he resisted the urge to smile with difficulty.

"Rusty Ryan."

The fifty found its way into Timothy's hand.

"I'm sure Mr Ryan is on the list now, Timothy."

"Yes, sir." Timothy was beaming and ingratiating all at the same time. "I see his name now, sir. I'll just go and make sure Mr Ryan has a place laid."

Timothy disappeared and he and Rusty Ryan stared at one another.

"Thank you," Rusty said eventually.

He grinned. "Pleasure." He stretched out a hand. "Reuben Tishkoff."

Rusty's handshake was firm.

"So Terry Benedict invited you?"

"It wasn't Terry."

"I know Terry by reputation. He mixes with the rich and the unscrupulous. He is rich and unscrupulous. So whoever invited you-"

"-isn't Terry."

Fierce blue glared at him and he found himself nodding approval.

"Good to hear it. Come on, let's see where they've put you."


Terry was next to the captain, naturally enough. Reuben strolled around the table. Sitting on the other side of the captain was Willy Bank. Reuben's lips pursed.

"You know him?"

Startled, he looked up to see Rusty's eyes on his. Reuben cocked an eyebrow, impressed. He smiled.

"He's a ruthless son of a bitch casino owner. So am I if it comes to it. But I'm on the right side of all that."

Rusty picked up the name place next to Terry. "Danny's supposed to sit here."

Danny. Obviously the guy who'd invited him.

"You want to change that?"

It was only a small table, eight select seats - nine now that Rusty was included - but there was no reason a little judicious place-swapping couldn't take place.

"Danny shouldn't be next to Terry."

Reuben took the card from his fingers and sat Danny the other side of the table, Rusty next to him and himself next to Rusty.

"There you go."

"You make it so simple."

"Isn't it?"

Rusty shook his head. "Not by a long shot."

Reuben looked thoughtful. "Those shoes of yours could do with a polish."

Rusty looked startled at the non-sequitur.

"My cabin's close by. Let's go get those shoes sorted and you can tell me whatever you want to tell me about it all."


Reuben had sent someone scurrying away with Rusty's shoes and instructions that they were to be returned as soon as was humanly possible. Rusty sat on a chair in Reuben's suite and wished his left sock didn't have a hole in it. He screwed up his toes and hoped that Reuben hadn 't noticed though to be honest, given how sharp-eyed the man was, that seemed a vain hope.

"So. Danny."

Reuben was currently rooting through a suitcase. Rusty hoped it wasn't for socks.

"Yeah. He's…he's kind of…" Special? Brilliant? Fantastic?

"Like that, is it, son?" Reuben looked amused.

"No," Rusty said definitely. It absolutely wasn't. (Was it?) No. There was an understanding there, an understanding that had been immediate and wonderful and unspoken but it wasn't like that. "He's just someone who makes an impression."

"And he works for Terry Benedict."

"Not for much longer," Rusty muttered. Not if he had anything to do with it. He looked up sharply, wondering if that had actually come out aloud.

Reuben didn't appear to have heard him.

"Here." He tossed a little metal something at Rusty who caught it with ease.

"Dapper Dan Pomade?"

Reuben grinned. "My niece's husband swears by it."

Rusty took the top off and ran a tentative finger across the waxy surface. It was greasy, slippery stuff...it reminded him of Vaseline… His face changed suddenly and he shot to his feet.

"Look, mister, you got the wrong idea about me."

"Wrong idea...?"

"I'm guessing you want me to be grateful for all your help. Well, that's not happening."

"Grateful...?" Reuben stared at him and there was genuine confusion there, Rusty could tell. He wavered slightly in his conviction that he knew what was going on here.

Reuben suddenly choked, trying to laugh and breathe at the same time.

"For your hair," Reuben eventually wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.

"My hair?" he repeated, uncertainly.

Reuben grinned. "I promise I am not trying to seduce you."


Absentmindedly, Danny checked his reflection, his fingers tightening his bow tie. He was thinking about the day spent with Rusty. Time had truly lost meaning. It had been amazing and he'd felt so alive… His phone rang and a flicker of annoyance crossed his face as he answered it.

"You ready?"

Terry. Of course, Terry. Underlining the point.

"Yeah. You?" Passive aggression. It had to have a place somewhere.

There was a slight pause. "I was born ready."

Unseen, Danny rolled his eyes in the mirror.

They walked into the state ballroom and found they were not the first there. The captain was obvious by his uniform. There were a handful of other men and Danny scanned them, looking anxiously for Rusty. He glanced back at the door. Damn it, he should have thought about Rusty getting into the ballroom in the first place. Just that Rusty seemed to be able to get anywhere.

He was still shooting anxious glances doorward when he heard Rusty's voice.

"Rusty Ryan."

Danny's head snapped round. Rusty was there, standing tall in evening dress, his hair slicked back, suddenly looking about five years older than he was, shaking hands with Terry.

"Terry Benedict. So what's your line?"

Danny caught the half-twitch of Rusty's lips. "Who's on first?"

"What?" Terry frowned.

"No." Danny shook his head, his eyes dancing. "What's on second."


Dinner was a million times better for Rusty being there. Danny felt relaxed like he never had before.

"You and Terry carry evening dress around with you just waiting to be invited to dos like this?"

Danny grinned. "We had a formal meal at the Dorchester while we were over in London."

"What was it like?"

Danny shrugged. "Chandeliers, candelabra, silverware…"

"The food," Rusty clarified.

"Oh…" He shrugged again. "Duck, pumpkin soup, fillet of beef, passionfruit chocolate mousse thing…" He caught the slight glazing of Rusty's eyes at the mention of the dessert and smiled. "We can find it again sometime."

His eyes travelled up to Rusty's hair. "What happened there?"

"Reuben happened."

Danny looked past Rusty to where the man with the unfashionable frilled shirt and the even more unfashionable glasses was in deep conversation with a bald-headed bespectacled guy.

"Fairy godmother?"

"Something like that." Rusty nodded over towards Terry, busy expounding on some point or other to the dark-haired man the other side of the captain. "How's Terry?"

"In his element."

"Not what I meant." Rusty's eyes were refusing to let him avoid the question.

Danny sighed and reluctantly shared. "Well, he found my phone."

"Shit," Rusty said with feeling. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Danny said softly. "I'd forgotten what it was like to forget about Terry."

There was silence and then Rusty said, "I found the shirts."

"You were meant to."

"You-"

"-had to," Danny finished and there was another silence.

"They're beautiful shirts."

"You're very welcome."

And Rusty's smile was possibly brighter than the shirts themselves.


Terry was willing to concede that the evening was more intriguing than he thought it would be. He'd quickly interrogated the captain and found out that there was nothing more to the man than his position on the ship. The man on his left-hand side was some cattle baron with his money tied up in cows. Nothing doing there. Willy Bank, on the other hand, was a man after his own heart. Definitely an acquaintance worth cultivating.

As for the others…the other casino owner had cracked a few jokes that Terry hadn't found funny in the slightest. And the two men in between Willy and Danny had been non-entities. Some kind of classical musician and some kind of ballet-dancer. Terry dismissed them too.

But the man the other side of Danny, this Rusty Ryan…good-looking in a pretty way, his eyes on Danny, sharing a joke with Danny… He was too far away for Terry to have a proper conversation with him. He'd tried to find out what the man did but the answers coming back from either side of him were not helpful.

The cattle baron said in a low voice that Rusty had invented some sort of glue. Well, actually, he'd hesitantly and reluctantly said that Rusty had invented blue. Terry guessed that maybe too much steak could affect your hearing.

From the other side, Terry heard that Rusty owned a factory in Paris. Well, actually, the story had been that Rusty owned Paris. Chinese whispers.

Still…Rusty must be something special to be here at the captain's table. Rich, Terry was betting. Rich and young, a man of mystery… Maybe Danny could explain the mystery. They looked like they were getting on well. Terry looked again at the way Rusty was looking at Danny. Huh. They were getting on very well indeed.


The starter had been forgettable, the intermediate course had been some sort of sorbet that Rusty had frowned at because it wasn't ice-cream and the main course had turned out to be a rather nice piece of lamb. Danny excused himself before dessert and stepped away to the bathroom, idly debating whether Rusty had inside knowledge regarding their bet on the dessert containing chocolate.

He was stood at the urinal, having almost convinced himself that Rusty had visited the kitchens before the meal had started, when Terry appeared at his side.

"Enjoying yourself?" Terry asked.

"Right now?" Danny's eyebrows were raised.

Terry ignored him. "Who is he? What is he?"

"Rusty?" Special? Brilliant? Fantastic? "He's a hotshot money-maker." It wasn't a lie and he knew what would impress Terry.

"Really…"

"Yeah. He's very successful."

Danny moved over to wash his hands and Terry followed him.

"He seems quite…interested in your company."

There was something in the way he said it, something in his tone…Danny turned his head slowly. Terry was scrupulously cleaning his hands.

"Can't hurt to find out a little more about him."

Danny couldn't be hearing correctly. "You're asking me to-"

"A little flirtation never did anyone any harm." Terry dried his hands on a handtowel and looked Danny in the eyes. "No one's asking you to sleep with him."

Yeah, but Terry wasn't not asking him to sleep with Rusty either.

Danny's mouth tightened. "Where do you get off asking me to-"

"Oh, get over yourself." Terry told him. "It's dinner. That's all."

He turned and walked out and Danny stared after him disbelievingly.


"What is it?" Rusty asked softly as Danny took his seat again.

Danny said nothing. He looked across the table at Terry, deep in conversation with Willy Bank. Terry caught his eye and there was a twitch of his lips, acknowledging the conversation they had just had, suggesting that Danny do something about it.

"What is it?" Rusty asked again, his voice serious and this time, Danny looked at unblinking blue eyes that demanded answers and promised consequences.

"Terry," he said, stabbing the filigree chocolate basket with a fork and too unhappy to sigh over the fact that Rusty had called dessert right.

"What did he say?"

Danny said nothing.

"Danny."

"Said he could see we were getting on well together. Wanted me to explore that further." Miserable and full of disgust.

Rusty swore softly. "He really is an unimaginable bastard."

"Yeah."

Danny's fingers tightened on his wineglass and Rusty's hand brushed his.

"It's not what this is about, is it?"

"No," Danny gave him a half-smile. It wasn't. (Was it?) "No."

"So…did Terry just give you the OK to spend unlimited time with me?"

The half-smile became a grin. "I guess so."


There were drinks and cigars on offer after dinner. Danny and Rusty were the only two who turned down the Havanas.

"For me," the man whose name had turned out to be Willy Bank, "a fine cigar is like a fine woman. Something to be treasured. Something to be caressed between your fingers. Something that offers itself up for a moment of undeniable bliss…"

Rusty looked round the table. Terry was nodding as if this was the wisest thing he'd heard. Reuben wore an expression of vague distaste and muttered "Schmuck" under his breath. Rusty bent his head towards Danny.

"It would have to be an enormous ashtray," he whispered.

Danny gave a chuckle that sounded extraordinarily loud in the silence and heads turned in their direction.

"You have something you want to say?" Terry asked with a face that was polite on the surface and angry underneath.

Rusty felt Danny tense a little at his side and he hated Terry for producing that reaction. He spoke before Danny could.

"Sorry," he smiled and looked directly at Terry, leant on his elbow, pulling at his bottom lip with his thumb. "I was distracting Danny."

Terry didn't blink, didn't comment, didn't change his expression in the slightest. But his eyes sharpened just that fraction and Rusty reminded himself that unimaginable bastards probably didn't need baiting. Still, that had never stopped him.

Reuben broke the staring match. "Who's for a game of cards?"


The game of cards turned out to be poker. Not everyone stayed but the cattle baron who turned out to be called Les was up for it and Willy and Terry were there.

"Just because I don't run a smart casino, don't think I don't know a thing or two about cards," Terry smiled at Willy.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Willy smiled back.

"Come on, fellas," Les grinned. "They don't call it Texas Hold 'Em for nothing. Lone Star State breeds the best poker players in the world."

Danny raised an eyebrow. The testosterone levels were getting dangerously high. He glanced sideways at Rusty. Rusty was laughing: just not out loud.

Reuben shuffled the cards. "What stakes?"

Danny felt the moment of uncertainty in Rusty. Cash. It had to be the cash. He tried to think how much was left from what they'd stolen. Probably not enough, not nearly enough if Terry or Willy or Les got enthusiastic.

"Let's just keep it friendly, gentlemen," Danny suggested with a broad smile. "Ten dollars to open?"


An hour or so later and Danny could not believe his luck. Oh, the opening hand or so had been average but then he'd held four nines and an ace and Willy had had a full house, Jacks over eights, and they'd ever so politely raised each other until the pot was worth definitely winning. And he'd won it.

Since then, the cards had fallen in his favour on more than one occasion. Indeed, he reflected, as he sat back in his chair and sipped his whisky, he was now up a considerable amount. Reuben was winning too. Les was breaking even. Willy and Terry were definitely the losers, Terry with a real streak of bad luck. And Rusty had made enough of the initial few hands to keep up with… Rusty had…

Revelation washed over him like a cold shower. Rusty. Oh, how could he have been so blind? Every time he won big, Rusty was dealing. He glanced sideways again and this time, he focused on the elegant fingers and the skilful dexterity of the man working the deck. Cards moved in his hands like river water, natural and fluid with a relentless rhythm. Rusty owned the deck.

"Your bid, Danny," Terry prompted.

Danny looked down at the straight he was holding. His fingers tightened on the cards and then he folded, aware of Rusty's carefully guarded surprise.

"I got nothing."

Terry took the hand unchallenged and Danny risked another glance at Rusty. There was a quirk of a smile on his lips.

"I feel like some fresh air," Rusty announced, gathering his cash together. "It's been a pleasure, gentlemen."

"You get over to Vegas much, Rusty?" Reuben murmured between puffs of cigar as Rusty stood up.

"Occasionally," Rusty nodded.

"You be sure to look me up at the Xanadu next time. I'd like to know you're in town."

Reuben knew. Danny could see it in the twinkle in his eye and hardly daring to look, his gaze travelled across the other three. Les didn't have a clue. Neither did Terry. And it might have been paranoia but Willy was looking at him with a shade of suspicion.

Silently, Danny thanked the powers that be that working with Terry had given him such a great poker face. He kept his expression cool and even.

"You coming with me, Danny?" Rusty asked.

"Sure," he agreed and tried not to see the approbation in Terry's face.


Outside and on their own, Danny could hold it in no longer.

"You were cheating!" he hissed.

Rusty gave an unrepentant grin. "Never let it be said that you're not observant."

"But you…" Danny stared at him. "You…" He gave up and told the truth. "You were amazing."

There was a mock-bow.

"Where did you learn to do that? How did you learn to do that?"

"Back rooms of bars. And let's just say I've been to Carnegie Hall."

The next question burned at the back of Danny's throat and Rusty answered it before he could ask it.

"Yes, you can. But not overnight."

Danny nodded slowly. The second question stuck in his mouth too. It sounded ridiculous.

Rusty frowned. "Just ask."

"Can I see you do that again?"

"Now?" Rusty sounded amused.

Yes, now. He hadn't understood and he hadn't appreciated until far too late and he wanted to watch the skill and the style.

Rusty sighed. "Come on then."