AN: It's a . . .

They weren't in love, they were in friendship. And that made it all okay.

It meant that they could have unexpected and lazy sex in a stuffy hotel room in the middle of the afternoon and then afterwards lie together, talking about ways to fool infrared sensors, and about the best movie ever made and about the perfect way to spend Thanksgiving and about ways to torment Linus and it all meant the same thing in the end.

But it meant that Rusty wasn't allowed to sulk when Danny had to (wanted to?) go back home to Tess. And it meant that Danny couldn't possibly resent Isabel, or Debbie or Michael, or going backwards to Josie or Steve or Basher or Carolina. Though Tracey, maybe a little. And it meant that Rusty would smile and fill in the details and provide the distraction when Danny wanted to organise the perfect surprise for his wedding anniversary, and it meant that Danny would freely offer sympathy and sarcasm as Rusty recounted in some smoky bar just exactly what he'd done to screw-up his love life this time.

And sometimes that was all just a little bit difficult.

It had just become something that happened. Somewhere in between the first time Danny had watched as Rusty, smiling beneath the ski mask, stretched his fingers and pulled a hundred thousand dollars out of an uncrackable safe, and the first time that Danny had smiled that smile and suggested that they risk everything on one roll of a dice, and they had walked away with the contents of an entire room in the Philadelphia Museum of Art and a brusque warning to leave town and never come back; somewhere in amongst that they had become more to each other than anyone could ever understand.

And in a rapidly flooding basement beneath a small-town bank, knowing that they'd be dead in less than ten minutes, Danny had reached out and kissed Rusty as though his life depended on it. Hands tangled through hair, mouths desperately coming together, and the water was knee deep then waist deep and it wasn't until it was up to their shoulders and Danny was fumbling with his zipper, that Rusty remembered himself long enough to offer the structural weakness and the sledgehammer as an alternative.

After that it all just fell into place.

The first time they'd actually discussed it had been some time after the first time that Saul walked in on them and a little time after the most embarrassed discussion on safe sex in the history of the human race. Well, Danny was embarrassed. Saul was very embarrassed. Rusty had no shame. But despite the awkwardness they were young, and in some way that they'd never fully understand no matter how they tried, they were Saul's responsibility and it was the Eighties and he was afraid for them.

But it was after that, leaning against a wall, staring out at the Las Vegas skyline (and being careful, always careful, because they were illegal in Nevada in every way that mattered) that they'd first raised the question of just what they thought they were doing, and whether they could stop it if they wanted to.

"Saul was surprised."

"Yeah."

"But not that surprised."

"Uh huh."

"Which was surprising, really."

"Yep."

"What do you – "

" – Does it matter?"

"No. Well. Maybe a little."

Rusty turned and smiled at Danny.

The lights were brighter than anyone else ever seemed to see.

They never used the word love. But it was in every look and smile. It was at the end of every sentence that they never bothered finishing, and every exciting plan and complex detail that they put together to entertain each other. And over time they let other people see it, and sometimes they understood and sometimes they didn't.

Valerie, the woman that Danny had thought was the one, before he met Tess, had seen. And she hadn't understood. After nearly a year of talking to both of them, skipping round the question, watching them with narrowed eyes, trying to understand the hidden messages and silent laughter, she had leaned over during 'Jeopardy' and kissed Rusty, eying Danny all the while. It had taken a surprising amount of effort to convince her that, no, it didn't work like that and was never ever going to, no matter what she said or did. What was most annoying, from Danny's point of view at least, was that for the last several months, ever since he'd got the feeling that Valerie could be important, they'd been avoiding sleeping with Rusty. Which wasn't nearly as difficult as he might have expected, given that if he was honest, he'd still spent far more time in Rusty's company than Valerie's. (And enjoyed it more.) Still, when the door shut behind her for the last time, they made up for all the missed chances, on the sofa, Alex Trebek long forgotten.

And if Rusty ever felt the need to remind Danny of that whole story, then Danny tended to suddenly feel the need to start a discussion about just how Steve found out and about how they got deported from Canada. It was a good thing that they'd spent the duration of that relationship under false names.

Their friends had their own ideas of course. Saul knew, naturally. Knew a lot more than he'd ever wanted to, as a matter of fact. Reuben as well, though just how he'd found out they never knew. But the three years that he spent thinking up every possible innuendo laden comment had them convinced; it was only their complete lack of embarrassment that finally persuaded him to stop. Basher and Livingston both knew, and in their own ways had made it clear that they thought it was romantic. Which it wasn't. It was fun and it was easy and it was a habit that they had no wish to break. But it wasn't the most important thing in their lives. (They were.)

The twins made knowing comments and argued with each other. Yen glared at them and offered obscene advice in public that left Livingston blushing and had Danny demanding translations from Rusty later and in private. Frank had a habit of looking at them and shaking his head. He probably knew as much of the real truth as anyone. And he didn't care. Linus had organisational charts, designed to try and answer the question once and for all. He had a mildly concerning habit, when drunk, of showing them to anyone who didn't run away fast enough. One night they'd replaced the charts with a detailed plan to rob a bank in Portland, and Linus had taken both the hint and five million dollars.

Bobby suspected, having been exposed to a little more than he was expecting, in Orlando one glorious summer's evening. He and Danny had been sipping cocktails in Danny's suite when there'd been a knock at the door. Danny had stood up lazily and opened it to reveal Rusty standing in the hallway, completely naked and remarkably composed. They'd stood regarding each other for a few long moments, Danny's raised eyebrow asking the question, Rusty's smirk refusing to answer. Finally Danny had stepped aside, and Bobby had watched as Rusty entered the room to rummage through Danny's luggage in search of something acceptable to wear before vanishing into the bathroom to change as Danny poured him a drink.

"We're going to need to change the exit plan." Rusty had yelled through the door.

"I told you." Danny had answered, with a look at Bobby that was two parts amused and one tiny part apologetic.

"And you were right." Rusty agreed, reappearing wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and accepting the cocktail happily.

Bobby had never asked, but they knew he wondered.

(They never ever discussed what Tess thought of them.)

And when Danny caught the flu and spent a miserable two weeks shut up in a hotel room, it wasn't Tess that he finally called. And Rusty came by and there was sympathy and laughter and TV and ginger ale and soda crackers, and chicken soup made from chicken that Rusty cooked in the hotel kitchen. Rusty even called Linus, just so that the plan that Danny had spent a month putting together wouldn't go to waste.

And when Rusty was arrested for something that he honestly hadn't done; tax evasion involving the hotel and Danny knew he'd been paying, despite the fact that as far as he could see the hotel made no money; Danny had been there and had calmed him down and held him close and found a lawyer and later, after they'd figured out what was going on, had found Toulour and patiently explained the difference between acceptable and unacceptable in the matter of practical jokes. Toulour avoided the entire continent for the next two years and Rusty showed his appreciation in interesting ways, until Tess called and Danny went home.

They would take a bullet for each other. Had done, in fact, and though they'd promised that it would never happen again they'd both been lying. Because there was nothing that was more important.

Love and sex and friendship. They had all three and sometimes the boundaries were impossible to see. But that was all okay. Because they weren't in love.

So, what do you reckon? By the way, own nothing to do with anything ever.