Memory by InSilva

Disclaimer: *checks* No, still don't own. *pouts*

Summary: "Body and Soul" verse one-shot. Rusty's memory: asset or otherwise. Discuss.

"Fort Worth."

Rusty looked up from his tortilla chips and dip and raised a mildly interested eyebrow.

"Fort Worth," Danny repeated and the eyebrow remained raised. "Large city in Texas. One of the biggest behind Houston."

We have a problem?

Danny grinned and threw the newspaper with the article on the touring Degas exhibition down on the table. Rusty squinted at it.

"Paintings go on display on Monday," Danny said, sitting down opposite him. "They'll be on site over the weekend. And the museum shuts at four on Sunday."

"Uh huh."

"So today is Wednesday."

"True."

"We can go up tonight and scout Thursday."

"We could."

"Prepare Thursday night, research and resource on Friday, dress rehearsal Saturday, curtain up Sunday."

"Sounds like a plan."

Danny looked at him. "Why do I feel this is one-sided enthusiasm?"

Rusty picked up the Coke and took a drink and shrugged.

Work it out.

The frown on Danny's face was deep and then he shook his head and sighed.

"That was years ago."

The Coke was placed on the table and Rusty's mouth was tight. "Not in my head."

"Rus…"

"Danny…"

Danny tapped the newspaper.

"Degas, Rusty."

"The Barrowbys, Danny."

"We were kids. We were stupid. We were reckless. We were-"

"You were beaten to a pulp. I watched it happen. I couldn't stop it. And then I had to sit and watch while you lay hurting. And they warned us, Danny, what would happen if we went back. Just so's we're clear, Fort Worth is not happening."

Danny was silent for a moment then he tilted his head on one side.

"It didn't stop us going back to Tulsa."

Rusty sighed. "Tulsa was different."

"How exactly? I'm curious. Because from what I remember, there was a beating that couldn't be stopped and there was pain afterwards that nothing could be done about and I'm pretty certain that if we'd run into those guys again, they would have wanted to renew acquaintances."

Huh.

Yes, huh.

They stared at one another and then the conversation moved into a different realm.

"What about Eddie Lavelle? Do you have any idea-"

Rusty snorted. "What about time spent in a safe? What about that basement in New York?"

"What about Europe?"

"Exactly. What about Europe? And more importantly, Danny, what about the Barrowbys?"

And he'd won this one. Rusty was certain he'd won this one. Even though the above mentioned hadn't stopped them from revisiting Manhattan or another continent, he was drawing the line at Fort Worth. Something about the first time relentless, vicious brutality was offered to one of them and the other could do nothing about it. Something about the need to protect and keep safe and not endanger and the memory of utter horror and helplessness. Danny caught a sense of what he was feeling, Rusty could tell. And then Danny's eyes clouded.

"What about before we met?"

"Oh…oh, that's not…" Rusty bit his lip.

"It's valid," Danny said in a low voice. "You think that thinking about that time doesn't destroy me? You think that it doesn't…Rus…"

"It's over. It was years ago. It's in the past."

Danny smiled without humour. "And that makes it fine. Obviously."

Rusty sighed. "No, it doesn't make it fine. There is still nothing you can do about it. Still nothing I can do about it. It is over."

He could only hold Danny's gaze for so long because they both knew the truth. Rusty dropped his eyes down to the tortilla chips.

"There is no point in living in the past," Rusty tried again.

Danny just looked at him.

"Alright," Rusty said reluctantly. "Fort Worth." And he tried his best not to think about the last time they'd visited.

They'd ambled with purpose around the gallery and now they were back in a hotel room and Danny was ordering room service and Rusty was sitting with paper and pen and sketching.

"Burritos and beers, please."

Rusty didn't look up. "And a-"

"And a side order of fries, thanks."

Danny hung up and moved to peer over Rusty's shoulder. Rusty gave it a moment and then twisted his head to look up at him.

"You got anything to add?"

"Fire extinguishers?"

"Here." Rusty drew them in.

"Weren't they next to the other door?"

Rusty looked at him again.

"No," he said simply and Danny nodded, convinced and Rusty smiled, remembering.

"That shop."

"Which shop?"

"Next to the dry-cleaners."

"Wilson's."

"What?"

"The dry-cleaners is called Wilson's."

"Right. The shop next to it."

"The café or the jewellers?"

A look.

"The jewellers."

"Audley's."

"Audley's?"

"Yeah. The café's called Sunny Side Up."

Danny stared at him. "Alright. How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"We both walked down the street and we both saw the same things."

Rusty shrugged. "I guess."

"Except somehow we didn't." Danny frowned. "What did you see?"

Rusty's eyes considered. There had been people they'd walked past and there had been…

Smells of hot dog and onions from a cart…

Bright bursts of colour from a florist's…

A little girl giggling and bubbles blown into the air…

He moved down the street with Danny and there was a conversation about the best Bond one liner – definitely "Shocking" – and laughter and they'd walked past a bakery and he'd thought about buying cakes and-

"Rus."

He came back again and Danny was looking at him with wonder and amazement and absolute belief in the unbelievable and he'd smiled and Danny had smiled too.

And now, there was still the wonder and the amazement and the belief. Because it was a gift.

Friday had been spent deep in preparation and Saturday had seen them running through everything they could without actually carrying out the job itself.

"We need to watch out for the cameras on the second landing," Rusty said, helping himself to more of Danny's food. "They're a couple of seconds behind the others. We need to get the timing right."

"You're all about the timing," Danny observed, watching further fries disappear.

"Oh, I'm renowned."

"You certainly are."

Rusty grinned and stole more fries.

"When this is over," Danny began and the lightness left Rusty's face at once.

"When this is over, we get the hell out of town."

Danny opened and closed his mouth and Rusty's expression had never been more serious on a point. Danny nodded.

"Agreed. What I was going to say was that when this was over, we might go look up Reuben. On the way back."

"Vegas is on the way back from Fort Worth?"

It can be.

Rusty thought about it for the briefest of seconds. Because really, it could be. And the only thing he wanted to make sure didn't happen was that they went for a drink in a bar and recklessly celebrated and Danny and he ended up…he wasn't going to think about it.

He was still not thinking about it when he lay in bed that night. Liam and Edgar and a tiny box with no room and Edgar's fists. Clear as day. All of it. He pushed it away. Not the first unpleasant memory and he knew what to do with unpleasant memories.

Marvin was in when he got back to the room they were sharing. He was stretched out on the mattress in the corner and he opened an eye as Rusty walked in.

"Hey, man," came the languid greeting and then Marvin shut his eyes and went back to whatever inner soundtrack he was listening to.

Not that Rusty minded. Right now, all he wanted to do was clean himself and his mouth twisted as he thought about how impossible that was going to be. He stood in the tiny bathroom and ran the lukewarm water and didn't look once in the cracked mirror as he set about himself with a flannel.

When he came back into the room that doubled as living and sleeping and eating space, Marvin had turned on his side, away from him. That was a good thing. He didn't want anyone looking at him. Not even Marvin who just looked at him without anything in his eyes: no judgment, no pity, no curiosity. Most times that worked absolutely fine. But at this moment, he didn't even want the vacant.

He hit the lights and climbed under the blanket and stared up at the ceiling. Not artexed. Thank God. The streetlights flickered in past the curtains that didn't meet and he closed his eyes as if that would help. MacAvoy. Rusty wiped a hand across his mouth. MacAvoy. He knew what sort of man MacAvoy was. He knew what sort of man MacAvoy dealt with. He knew what sort of man MacAvoy made him. How he felt. Before, afterwards and during.

Such a slippery little path and as determined as he was that this wasn't who he was, he couldn't fight the fear that it was who he was becoming.

This week alone. This one week and MacAvoy had made him...no...he had agreed to it...every night and he had agreed to it...he didn't dare not. He was never going to run drugs like Marvin did and stealing wallets was a dangerous pastime. He needed to have a source of income and somewhere along the way that had meant agreeing to work for MacAvoy. Agreeing to...

He screwed his eyes up. He could still see them. Every one of them. If he concentrated. He didn't want to concentrate. He didn't want to...

Fat and forty and desperate and clumsy...

Broad-shouldered and rough and careless...

Thick, matted hair covering chest and arms and back...

Unwashed with greasy hair and a twitchy smile...

Eyes that wouldn't stop blinking and a nervous little laugh...

Midtwenties and curious and cruel...

Dirty fingernails and poor personal hygiene and very bad breath...

Hands that forced and demanded positions and held on to him like they owned his body and it was theirs to do with as they pleased, fingers that dug deep into his flesh and didn't care what marks they left behind...

"You love this, don't you? You absolutely love this."

"You are a filthy whore, aren't you? I can't believe I let you make me do this. I'm happily married, you know."

"You're such a dirty tease. You fucking whore. You love it."

Hands and fingers and mouths and bodies and tongues and words and smells and the taste of them...he let out a whimper and didn't realise he'd done so.

He was back at MacAvoy's with the lamp and the roses and the ceiling and the misery and the disgust and he was beneath, on top, on his knees, every which way…he let out a moan and didn't realise he'd done so.

There was pain and agony and there was keeping it off his face and finding somewhere else to be and he could do that, he could do that and it shouldn't be overwhelming him now, it shouldn't be making him shake and cry out and he shouldn't be feeling it all again and reliving and losing himself and-

"You OK, man?"

Marvin was shaking his shoulder and he unclenched his fingers from his palms, sat up and grabbed Marvin's arm. As his breathing and his heart rate slowed, he licked his lips and let Marvin pull free.

"Jeez, Rusty. Trying to get some sleep here."

Marvin padded back to his side of the room and Rusty laid down again. Alright. He needed to deal with these memories. Just as he dealt with the actual. Lock them down and push them away into a part of him that he could wall off. He could do it. He had to do it. Because otherwise he was going to go insane.

Rusty stared up at a ceiling in Fort Worth and listened to Danny's even breathing from the other bed and busied himself not thinking about blood and bruises. He'd never understood how his memory worked. When he was younger he'd never questioned it, simply accepted it and it was with surprise that he'd realised not everyone could remember in the same way, with the same level of detail.

Usually, it was alright. Usually, it was fine. Sometimes, it was a curse.

*

The job went smoothly and that set a little alarm bell ringing somewhere in Rusty's head because there was nearly always something that got thrown into the mix, something that demanded attention, that needed to be fixed. But no. They had been in and out and they had lifted two of the most valuable canvases which were now sitting rolled up neatly in hand luggage as they waited to check in for the flight to Vegas. There had been no hold up. Until now.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," the airline girl behind the desk smiled, not looking in the least bit sorry. "We are experiencing an engine failure and the flight has been delayed by twelve hours."

"Wow," Danny said. "That's some delay."

"It's some reason," Rusty pointed out.

"It's an excellent reason."

They looked at each other.

"Car?" Rusty suggested.

"Why not?"

The stolen paintings meant they were going to need to hire a car rather than borrow one. They couldn't run the risk of fate biting them when they weren't looking. Unfortunately, others had had the same idea.

"I'm sorry, sirs, we won't have a car free for another hour."

An hour wasn't too bad. Wasn't too long to wait. Not much could happen in an hour.

They were sat in a diner and they'd ordered coffees and pastries and the conversation had turned to the last time they'd seen Reuben and they were smiling at how proud he had been with his picture on the cover of Time and then it happened.

Danny saw the smile freeze on Rusty's face and bleed away. Rusty's eyes were focused on a table behind them and frowning, Danny shifted a little in his seat so that he could see. There was no one he recognised. There were other customers eating and drinking but no one that was anyone that they needed to worry about. He turned back to Rusty with a relaxed smile and a quip on his lips and one look at Rusty and the words and the humour died.

Rusty was staring, unblinking, fixed and his eyes were trained on a very definite place and Rusty just wasn't there.

Danny twisted round again and tried to work out the angle of the stare and the who. He thought he had it. Man with his back to them sitting at a table alone. Dressed in denim. Raising a cup to his lips and back and every time he did, a tattoo could be seen on his forearm.

He glanced back at Rusty and the stillness frightened him.

He was falling. He could feel it and he couldn't stop it and he was falling…

There were fingers wrapped in his hair, tightening, making him cry out. And then there was the bed and he was on his back and the man was forcing entry and he wouldn't cry out but he couldn't stop the hiss of pain and his eyes widened when he saw the grin.

Hands were holding his wrists and he couldn't dig his fingers into his palms. He hid the wince as best he could as the man bore down on him. He closed his eyes and kept his expression carefully blank. Let the man think he liked this even though they both knew it wasn't true. Let the man think he had been the first to make this enjoyable. Maybe that was what this was all about. Maybe he could fake- A hand left his wrist and slapped him hard about the face. He opened his eyes in shock.

"You stay right here, Rob."

And he had to…he had to…

Pain and degradation and never-ending and he lived every minute of it, every second. He couldn't escape and it was a bad dream, the worst dream, the living nightmare…

"Rusty!"

He could hear his name and he-

"Rus!"

Danny. Danny. Rusty looked at him and let out a shaky breath and for a moment, for the briefest of moments, he couldn't hide the hell. And then he saw the snarl forming in Danny's face and he didn't understand and then he understood completely and he was shaking his head, even as Danny was leaning across the table and speaking in a low voice filled with fury.

"Is he…? Did he?"

"No!" Rusty could see the tension in Danny's shoulders, the readiness to leap up and to punch and to keep on punching.

"No," he said again quickly. "It isn't. He didn't." It wasn't. The tattoo wasn't right. Dolphin, by the looks of things. And now the man had swivelled round to call the waitress over for a refill and he really, really wasn't anything like.

Danny's eyes were fierce and searching his, demanding the truth and as that was exactly what he was telling, it was easy to find and alongside the truth, Rusty offered reassurance and reason and gradually, the flame died down in Danny.

Danny gave him a curt nod and Rusty acknowledged it. He knew the anger that was buried in Danny and he knew the why and he knew it was never going away and still the pragmatist in him wanted to explain to Danny it was a pointless way to expend emotion even while another part of him was busy pointing out that he felt very similarly about Danny's past. Conflict. But manageable.

He looked at Rusty and he stopped himself from turning round and looking at the man behind them again. He pushed the rage away and he exhaled slowly and made himself stop seeing. Like that was possible. Like he couldn't imagine the men and the pain and rawness and agony and Rusty, Rusty-

Rusty's eyes held him in place in the present and he mastered himself and gave another nod. He could handle this. God knew Rusty had to. And then he thought again of the hell he had glimpsed and he gave a little moan of misery that Rusty's eyes suddenly wanted explanation for.

"It's still all there," Danny said tightly. "Isn't it? Even now. It's still all there, fresh and live."

Rusty looked down at Danny's knuckles, white and hard, and then up and away and out of the window.

"Told someone once I couldn't remember how many. Couldn't even begin to put a best guess together."

"But you could."

Rusty looked back at him and smiled slightly and Danny sighed.

"You can," he corrected.

"I...look. It is there. It's there if I want to go in there." Like he ever wanted to. "And it's not like I see everyone."

He didn't. He saw roses on bed linen and swirls of artex and he wasn't there to memorise faces. He was away and separate and only his body was being used, only his body was registering the sounds (words and grunts and pants), the smells (sweat and soap and sex), the touches (gripped and grabbed and licked) and the tastes...the tastes...and the feeling of them moving inside him, thrusting and careless and intent on self-gratification...

"Rus!"

Danny's voice brought him back again and he unclenched his fingers from his palms and he drove down the memories and the shudders and he regained the control that he needed to have if he wasn't going to be engulfed.

"I don't see everyone," he continued.

Not every one. MacAvoy and the flat were always in bright spotlighted detail. The whoever was a shadowy, exchangeable man. Apart from the one man who had made him look at him. Had imprinted himself and the experience on Rusty in a way he was never going to forget.

"You see enough," Danny said quietly. And really, Rusty couldn't argue with that.

"Come on," he said and they stood up to leave and they walked out shoulder to shoulder and not for the first time Rusty felt the closeness and the support behind him, beside him, around him. He looked across at Danny and he crooked a smile.

Because?

Because alongside the horrors - MacAvoy's flat and Eddie Lavelle's giggle and Danny, hurt and hurting - there were other things. Annie, smiling and warm, flour on her apron and cakes baking; Saul, wise and wonderful, pouring drinks and dealing cards; and Danny: Danny and the thrill of the con, the buzz of success, the kick of being alongside Danny.

"Because," he explained and Danny frowned slightly and then got it and smiled back at him.

Because some things were everything a good memory was made for.

A/N: This was described to me as a "mixture of them and aargh". And now wondering if ffnet would consider a new category. :)