There was a choice here. Really, there was. All he had to do was walk out the door, leave town, maybe seek out this Bobby guy, start a new life for himself. Simplicity itself.

And the only thing that he had to do was turn his back on a man who would risk everything for him. Leave a man who would take a bullet for him. Abandon a man who might well be his best friend, leaving him alone and hurting and vulnerable. Simplicity.

The only thing he'd have to give up was himself.

He walked towards the bed and looked down at Rusty. Huh. The guy was well and truly out for the count. Grimacing, he looked at the bullet wound. It was a long, puckered line, slathered with dried blood and dried glue. Ugly and swollen and livid and red. And he worried, he really did. He wanted to do something. Trouble with that was that he had no idea what a superglued bullet wound was supposed to look like.

Sighing, he grabbed the silk scarf and – taking care to disturb Rusty as little as possible – carefully bandaged it round Rusty's side. Probably that was what it had been intended for. And it would be a slight cushion. Stop the injury from getting rubbed raw, torn open. He hoped.

He stared down at Rusty again and tried to come to terms with the wave of tenderness, protectiveness, affection, exasperation, he felt. He tried to tell himself that all it was was the natural result of being lost and vulnerable and spending so much time in Rusty's company. Just about clinging to anyone who showed him the slightest concern. That made perfect sense. And he didn't quite believe it. The simple truth was that he liked Rusty. A lot. Even on so short an acquaintance, he liked him. He liked the way he smiled. Liked the way he joked around, even when things were serious. Liked the way when they'd been being chased, when there'd been guns, Rusty had been as anxious as him to keep away from other people. He liked the confidence, the courage, the intelligence, the fire. He liked the way Rusty looked at him, liked the way Rusty talked, laughed, listened. Most of all, he liked the way he liked Rusty. It felt – simple. Obvious. Inevitable.

And of course, there was still the possibility that all of this was an extraordinarily complicated and cruel set-up. The possibility remained that he'd never met Rusty before yesterday. But with every moment he spent in Rusty's company, it was getting harder to convince himself of that, and harder to care.

"Let's get you comfortable," he said, gentle and out loud, and Rusty shifted slightly at the sound of his voice.

Carefully he bent down and half picked Rusty up, got him settled actually in the bed, and the movement pulled painfully at the burns on his chest, and really, he'd been trying to forget about them.

Wincing, he pulled the covers up and over Rusty. A hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist and he froze. But Rusty was still asleep or unconscious, and the grip wasn't painful, it was just insistent, and to his astonishment he was gently dragged down into the bed next to Rusty, and Rusty sighed and clung to his hand.

Well. This was okay. Not too strange. He could rationalise this. Rusty wasn't awake and had obviously mistaken him for someone else. Someone who he associated with comfort. Family member possibly, girlfriend more likely. He glanced sideways. Boyfriend maybe. And if he was lying here, going along with it, well, it was getting dark, he was getting tired, and there was only one bed. This would probably have happened anyway. Except the hand-holding. But he could do something about that. Gently, he tried to disengage his hand, and Rusty moaned and rolled over and buried his face into his shoulder.

"Danny," he murmured, contentment in his voice.

Oh.


He woke up to a hammering on the door, daylight streaming in through the window and Rusty's arm around his waist. Pulling a face, he shrugged it off. Since last night, he'd had to shove Rusty back to his side of the bed four or five times. Guy was a restless sleeper. He stumbled out of bed and pulled the door open. The woman from last night was standing there, her arms full of towels, a scowl on her face.

"Here," she said, thrusting a pile of towels into his arms. "And you were supposed to check out two hours ago. You owe me another day."

He sighed and awkwardly reached into his pocket and gave her the last of his money.

She smirked evilly at him, her eyes on his cuff, and he glanced down, frowning, and saw a small bloodstain on his shirt. Must've come from when he was bandaging Rusty. Before he could say anything, she looked past him and he turned and followed her gaze to the bed where Rusty was lying on his front, and the blankets had been pulled back enough to show a bare shoulder.

Moving quickly he blocked her view and he didn't like the expression on her face in the slightest. "Is that everything?" he asked, cold and smiling.

She grinned suggestively. "You have a good time, now," she told him, and he hastily closed the door almost in her face.

Huh. He glanced over to Rusty. Well.

Rubbing at his chest absently, he wandered through to the bathroom. Fuck, that hurt a little. A lot. He winced, shrugged off his shirt and carefully peeled back the dressings. Looked bad. But he was pretty sure it looked bad in the way that meant he was healing. Stan had given him some cream to put on it, he remembered, and according to the instructions, he really should've done that last night. Well, things had got a little complicated. Better late than never, and he rubbed it in carefully. He took a quick glance at his head before he left the bathroom. And that was looking better too. And it was feeling better. Just that he still couldn't remember anything.

As he walked back into the room, rebuttoning his shirt, he happened to glance out the window and froze as he saw Steven, Willy, Bill and Harry inspecting their car. Their stolen car. Fuck.

He flew across the room. "Rusty! Rusty, wake up!" he hissed.

"I don't wanna, Danny," Rusty mumbled reasonably. "Five more - "

" - Rus', we're in trouble," he interrupted tightly.

Instantly Rusty was awake, sitting bolt upright. "What?" he demanded.

"Mackenzie's men out front," he explained.

Rusty sighed. "Fuck," he said shortly, hastily getting out of bed. He looked up at Danny intently, as though he'd just realised something. "Wait, what did you call me there?"

He blinked. "Rusty?" he said, suddenly uncertain. He couldn't have forgotten again. He hadn't forgotten again.

"Oh," Rusty shook his head and there was something in his eyes – disappointment? "Must've misheard." He frowned suddenly. "Why are you still here?"

Danny stared at him. "Where else would I be?"

"You were supposed to be gone," Rusty said tightly. "Bathroom?" he suggested, grabbing his shirt off the floor and wriggling into it.

"Bathroom," he agreed, leading the way into the room and forcing the window open as far as it could go. Still going to be a squeeze. But this window opened onto the side, not the front, and with any luck they could be through it and out past the reception desk before they were seen. He gestured for Rusty to go first. "I decided not to," he continued, maybe a little angry. "You think that I should've left you behind?"

Rusty squirmed his way through the window with only the slightest gasp of pain as the metal frame rasped over his side. "They aren't looking for me," Rusty pointed out with exaggerated patience as he turned round to help him through. "I would've been fine."

His shoulders were going to be bruised to hell in a few hours. Still, he managed to force his way through and stumble down beside Rusty. He could see the stooges, inside the motel now, talking to the woman at reception but luckily none of them happened to be looking their way, and they quickly ducked down behind some trash cans.

He turned to look at Rusty. "Really," he snapped in a whisper. "They saw you with me. You said yourself that if they know my name they know you. You can honestly tell me that you think that if they'd found you . . . If they'd burst into that room and found you, alone and hurt and . . . " He swallowed. "You can honestly tell me that you think they'd have just shrugged and let you be?" He didn't think so. He didn't think that was likely at all. From everything he'd seen so far, he thought that there would have been pain and he thought there might have been death.

Rusty was stubborn. "You should've gone."

He wasn't going to stand for that. "Look at me," he ordered and Rusty did. "If I'd left you like that, would I still be the same person you know? Would I still be your . . ." He hesitated. "Your friend?"

Somehow, Rusty couldn't meet his gaze, and Danny had to restrain himself from reaching out, offering comfort.

They both froze as the reception door opened and Steven, Willy, Bill and Harry came out, heading straight for room 4. Ducking down, he held his breath as he heard them walk past, but they didn't even seem to glance in their direction. At the sound of the door opening, he and Rusty were on their feet, running towards the reception and the exit and freedom.

Unfortunately it apparently didn't take very long to search an empty motel room and he heard the frustrated yelling, and exchange a quick glance with Rusty, and they only just had time to thrown themselves into a janitors closet before the door slammed open.

The closet door didn't shut over right and Rusty immediately crouched down to look through the gap, leaving him room to look through from above. Huh. He wondered if that sort of thing really was just instinctual for them.

He watched as Mackenzie's men walked past, Bill and Harry talking loudly.

"He can't have gone far."

"The bitch out front never said he'd gone anywhere at all."

"There was blood on the floor, maybe Dawson got to him."

"Fuck, I hope not. Mr Mackenzie will have our balls."

And then he stopped listening, because Willy and Steven walked past, in sullen silence, a step behind, and they were there, right in front of him, close enough to touch, close enough that they should be able to hear his heart beating, and the memories of pain and betrayal came close to overwhelming him, and his hand unconsciously went to his chest, and he was trembling, and he mustn't make a sound, mustn't let them suspect anything, and then Rusty's hand was on his, and they stood, still and together, until they could hear the sound of raised voices coming from reception.

"You know them," Rusty said quietly. It wasn't a question.

He nodded, and shivered suddenly. "Steven. And Willy."

Rusty's face was blank. Completely blank. But somewhere, somewhere he shouldn't be able to see, shouldn't be able to know, somewhere an unthinkable fury was burning. With strange instinct he stepped in front of Rusty, standing between Rusty and the door.

They stared at each other. Gradually the moment passed. Gradually the fire was buried a little deeper.

"They hurt you," Rusty said, low and intense.

"Actually, only Willy," he corrected. "He - "

" - they hurt you," Rusty said again.

"Yeah," he agreed after a moment and looking at Rusty was difficult, and desperately he tried to change the subject. "You like movies?"

Rusty blinked. "And Chinese food and long walks in the rain," he nodded. "What are you - "

" - are we sleeping together?" he demanded.

There was a long silence. Rusty stared at him. "What?"

He bit his lip. "Take it that's a no."

"Yes, that's a no," Rusty shook his head. "Sorry. Sorry. Just that it's quite a strange thing to be asked." He paused. "Sometimes people think . . . but we're not. We don't. We're just close. Very close."

Nodding, he didn't exactly understand.

"You feeling some overwhelming sexual attraction?" Rusty grinned, but the mockery was light, was reassuring.

He looked Rusty up and down, straight-faced and still letting the smile shine through. "Well you are - "

" - thanks," Rusty rolled his eyes. His expression turned serious. "Why did you ask?"

"In the alley." He hesitated. "There's this movie - " he tried.

" - the Princess Bride," Rusty nodded and closed his eyes. "Fuck."

"Right," he agreed, and quoted. "'She was amazed to discover that when he said 'As you wish, he was really saying' - "

" - yes," Rusty cut in, not letting him finish.

"Oh." He honestly couldn't think of anything else to say. You love me. He licked his lips. "Good movie."

"Yeah," Rusty smiled painfully.

The sound of angry voices got nearer and as one they stepped back to look out the door again. The stooges were walking past.

"Going room to room," Rusty whispered, leaning up next to his ear. "Soon as they - "

" - we run," he nodded. He was ready.

There was the sound of a door opening to their left. Room next to theirs, he'd guess, and they opened the door and quietly ran into the reception, and his fingers were to his lips, and Rusty was already holding up a fifty dollar bill, and the woman behind the desk's eyes lit up as she grabbed the bribe, and then they were through the door and away and safe.


Later, and he was lying flat out on a comfortable bed in a luxury hotel in the smarter part of town, channel hopping and listening to Rusty make phone calls. Rusty had seemed certain that they'd be able to stay here for a while before they were found. Although, he thought, glancing at the collection of empty plates spread over the table, the possibility remained that he'd just wanted someplace with room service.

They were holed up and trying to make serious plans about what to do next. Skipping town wasn't going to cut it. Apparently Dawson worked for a larger organisations with contacts all over. He wanted them found, it would happen eventually. Which wasn't acceptable. They needed to end this, somehow. But first of all, they needed to understand this. And that meant finding out what it was all about. So Rusty was making phone calls.

"Okay," Rusty said at last, hanging up and flopping down onto the other bed. "I got it."

"The list?" he said, sitting up.

"Yeah." Rusty sighed. "Time for a quick history lesson. Up until recently, most of the more . . . distasteful . . . business around here was ultimately controlled by a man named Patrick Morgan. He was a vicious, paranoid, secretive bastard, right up until the point where he died last year. And since then, Mackenzie and Dawson have been scrapping over who gets to take over."

"Turf war," he nodded.

"Exactly. Now, according to rumour, Morgan used to hide a whole lot of shit for a rainy day. Drugs mostly. Money. Jewels. Whatever. Like I said, paranoid bastard. And no one knew where any of it was."

He could see this coming. He could . . . "Fuck," he groaned.

"Yeah," Rusty smiled tightly. "They think you've got the map to Blackbeard's treasure."

"How bad - "

" - couple of million worth of crack, at least. Trish wasn't certain about the rest." He paused. She says hi, by the way, but - "

" - no idea," he confirmed. "What are we going to do?"

Rusty sat up and looked straight at him. "We need to convince them that you don't have the list. That you never had the list."

"But we can't give either of them the list," he nodded.

"And even if we could, we wouldn't," Rusty added.

Yeah. They weren't going to be responsible for putting drugs on the street. Somehow, he was certain of that. "So we need - "

" - third party - " Rusty said thoughtfully.

" - neutral." he agreed.

They looked at each other. "The police?" he suggested hesitantly.

Rusty grimaced. "Has to be, doesn't it?" and he could actually understand the hesitation. Probably, in this life, getting law enforcement involved went against the grain.

He thought. "So we need to have it found at some sort of crime scene?"

"Something that we can pin on someone else," Rusty agreed. "Couple of Morgan's lieutenants are far enough underground that no one would go looking." He hesitated. "Or there's Steven."

Danny looked at him. "No," he said evenly. They weren't going to do that. He went back to the subject in hand. "What are you thinking?"

Rusty shrugged. "Bank vault. Safety deposit box."

"Explosion?" he asked intently.

"Small one," Rusty said with a grin.

"You know how to do that?" he wondered.

Rusty hesitated. "I know some," he admitted. "Not enough. I'd rather get someone else to put together the stuff. That'll cost."

He nodded. "More cons?" he asked, voice light and not quite accepting.

Rusty smiled unexpectedly. "Actually, I got a better idea."


For those of you who don't know 'The Princess Bride' you should go watch it, or read it, because it's an excellent film and book. Ah, that wasn't actually what I meant to say. But the line that Danny quotes in its entirety would read "That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish", what he meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back."