Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Ocean's 11

A/N: Thanks to InSilva, for everything in general, and helping me think of a list of Danny's idiosyncrasies in particular. Oh, and politely correcting spelling. Of course. ;)

Perfectionist

He was done. It had taken more than anyone would ever guess, and really, he'd finished at a quarter to midnight the night before the job, but he was done. Everything that could be prepared, was. No loose ends, nothing left to chance, and in a little less than sixteen hours, Paul Nichols was going to be somewhat surprised to find himself far, far poorer. In the meantime, he was done, and he was going to watch TV and relax. Of course, that little ambition wasn't exactly helped by the sound of Danny methodically and not-so-methodically emptying every wardrobe, drawer, cupboard and shoebox in the apartment. It was when it came to Danny upending the laundry hamper and sorting through the resultant chaos with his foot, that Rusty had to consider that it might just be time to step in.

"What are you doing?" he began carefully.

Danny looked up at him. "Have you seen my shirt?" he asked, a mix of frustration and anxiety in his voice.

Rusty blinked. "Unless it buttons up the back, I don't think that's what you're needing right now."

Scowling, Danny said nothing. But he said it emphatically.

"What shirt?" Rusty asked with a sigh, giving up all thought of relaxation. For the moment, anyway.

"The dark blue one?" Danny said hopefully. "With the twist on the cuffs?"

Okay. Rusty closed his eyes and tried to picture the last time he'd seen Danny in that shirt. An image of heat and humidity and an unfriendly, hairy-knuckled hand on Danny's shoulder rose in his mind. He sighed and his eyes snapped open. "It's in the bottom of a boat in the Everglades. Floyd Washbourne's probably wearing it right now." He considered. "Or an alligator."

"There's a difference?" Danny wondered absently, and frowned. "I need that shirt for tomorrow."

"Wear something else," Rusty advised, without a marked degree of sympathy.

The frown deepened. "But that's the shirt that Andrew Horn would wear," Danny objected.

Rusty's eyes narrowed. "Ever heard the expression 'clothes don't make the man'?" he demanded.

Danny ignored him."I need to make the right impression. That shirt says I'm confident without being pushy. Open, but not indiscreet. Hardworking, but not dull. Creative. Sociable. Employable."

"That's a lot to put on one shirt," Rusty commented at last, once he'd managed to stop staring. "You do remember that you're not actually trying to get the job, right?"

Danny shrugged. "I want to look like I want it though, right? So I need my shirt."

"Your shirt's gone," Rusty pointed out bluntly.

Danny sighed. "Yeah..." he said reluctantly and he looked anywhere but at Rusty.

The suggestion was loud and clear. Rusty shook his head. "Do I need to remind you that the shops aren't exactly open right now?" he tried.

"I know," Danny agreed affably, staring at the wall.

He gave in. "Do you at least know where you bought it?" he asked hopefully.

Danny grinned at him. "Think so. I've got a shortlist."

"Okay." He smiled at Danny. "We'll go get you a shirt."

Rich Mulgrew was, as always, overwhelmingly pleased to see them and Rusty's smile was fixed as the huge, bear-like man, slapped him on the back and threw an arm round his shoulders. "You get done early, maybe you come and see me, yeah? We'll talk about the old days. Play a little poker." He elbowed Rusty in the ribs. "Another drinking competition, yes? And maybe you'll even let me win this time?"

"Looking forward to it," Rusty agreed and after another round of bluff pleasantries and bone-crushing hugs, Rich vanished into the crowds.

Rusty turned to look at Danny and Danny's grin. "Kill me before that happens," he requested fervently.

Danny grinned some more and shook his head. "It's your own fault," he said, without sympathy.

Rusty sighed. "Last time the hangover lasted three weeks," he complained. "Three!"

"I know," Danny agreed and the grin was only slightly diminished.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you enjoy watching me suffer," Rusty complained.

Danny just looked at him.

After a moment, Rusty sighed. "If, I said, if I didn't know better."

"You could always let him win," Danny pointed out with unwarranted optimism.

Rusty stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

It was vitally important that George Carter believed that they were nothing more than students of American history, taking advantage of his society's philanthropic lecture series. Which explained why Rusty was taking a series of notes that would stand up to even the strictest of scrutiny. It didn't explain why Danny had been staring into space since the first series of anecdotes around the Great Brinks Robbery. Rusty looked sideways at thought and consideration and vision beyond all control, and he sighed and leaned forwards attentively, neatly obscuring Danny from the view of the world in general and George Carter in particular.

"I know where they went wrong," Danny said in the bar afterwards and Rusty smiled and passed him a napkin and a pen.

"Show me," he requested lightly, and Danny did.

Danny had been away for almost a week. He and Linus had been looking after the favour for Mahoney that got them the favour for Benny that got them the favour for Stoneybrooks that got them the counterfeits.

Success always put him in a good mood and he was happy, right up to the moment when Frank welcomed him back with a significant look and a slow shake of the head.

Ah. Not a good sign.

It was with a certain feeling of trepidation that he headed upstairs towards Rusty's room. He'd talked to Rusty a few times while he'd been away, of course, and Rusty had sounded distracted but determined. The last time had been a couple of days ago and Rusty had promised to get some sleep. Somehow, he figured, that promise had fallen by the wayside.

There was a 'Do not disturb' sign hanging on Rusty's door. The 'not' had been underlined a few dozen times. Danny bit his lip, pushed the door open, stepped inside and was immediately smothered in a gigantic sheet of paper that had been stuck over the door. Wrestling himself free, he recognised the plans to the sixth floor of the depository, blown up to ridiculous size.

"Careful," Rusty voice came softly and out of nowhere.

He stared into the room. Huh. It was gloomy. The drapes were shut. The mattress had been dragged from the bed and looked like every chair in the room was missing its cushions. He'd probably have been inclined to make slightly more of the fact, if he wasn't quite so busy being distracted by the way that every single inch of wall had apparently been papered with copies of plans. Brightly coloured arrows moved from sheet to sheet, marking a strange trail from wall to wall. Scribbled notes and strange diagrams leapt out at him from every corner. At this stage he wouldn't have been so surprised to discover a new helicopter design.

Sighing, he stepped around the side of the bed and stood over Rusty, lying on the floor on a pile of mattress and cushions and blankets, staring up at the ceiling.

"Good morning," he said levelly.

Rusty gazed past his head abstractly. "Is it? You mind taking a step to the left?"

Automatically, Danny obliged, and then on a hunch, he looked up. Yep. The ceiling was equally covered with papers and plans and photographs.

"Having fun?" he asked lightly.

That at least got a reaction. Rusty glared at him. "I've almost got it."

"Uh huh." Danny nodded patiently. He glanced around the room and wondered whether anyone sane would trust to any plan that Rusty might devise right now. Well. He would. But sometimes he wasn't sure how much that helped his case.

"This would be a lot easier if I had a really, really long pencil," Rusty added, squinting up at the distant ceiling.

Danny sighed. "Come on," he said firmly, reaching down a hand and pulling Rusty to his feet.

"Where are we going?" Rusty blinked.

"We're going next door and you're going to have a bath, a shave and some dinner."

Rusty frowned. "Thought you said it was morning?"

Danny raised an eyebrow. "At this stage it matters?" he asked, and taking advantage of distraction and momentum, he pushed Rusty out of the room. Undoubtedly he'd hear all about the depository during dinner. And probably during Rusty's bath. With any luck the recitation would be enough to inspire one or both of them. If not...he might just need to think of something drastic.

Insouciant

Rusty waited until Fraulein Muller was completely out of sight before letting the exasperated amusement show. "Dock worker. Manual labour. Not standing out. Does any of this ring a bell?" he hissed.

Danny looked supremely unrepentant, sitting on top of a pile of crates, hard hat perched jauntily on his head, clipboard in one hand and megaphone in the other. "Well, I had a discussion with my fellow workers - "

" - in what language?" Rusty demanded.

"Turns out some things are universal," Danny shrugged. "Anyway, after much discussion, it was agreed that I should take on a more supervisory role."

Rusty grinned fondly. "Suppose there was a very real risk that the world would come to an end if you actually did a real day's work."

"Exactly." Danny nodded, unembarrassed. "That's what I thought. And the apocalypse would have been much more noticeable than me being a foreman."

"You done for the day?" Rusty wondered. "Only there's a bar down the road."

"Going to buy me a drink?" Danny asked brightly. "Since I've been working hard while you've been flirting?"

Rusty grinned some more. "Don't push it," he advised.

Craving

Twenty minutes and Linus hadn't stopped asking him questions about exactly who Derek Taggart was, exactly how they were going to cheat him, and exactly where the giant frog came into it all. Getting him out the door was proving difficult.

"Bring me back something," Rusty called from the sofa, effectively ending the flow of anxiety and enquiry.

Danny smiled briefly at the back of the sofa and the corner of duvet, which was as close to Rusty as he could currently see. It had been almost a week, and Rusty was healing nicely, but Carmichael's men hadn't exactly been gentle and, all things being equal, Danny would prefer not to have to leave him at all.

Linus blinked. "Uh, Rusty? You know we're not going to be back for a couple of days, right?"

"What do you want?" Danny asked with interest, effectively ignoring Linus.

A flurry of movement and Rusty's head popped up over the back of the sofa. "Surprise me," he said seriously.

Danny grinned. "That a challenge?" he asked, and he was looking at the bruises and he was already thinking about egg foo yung from that place Rusty liked, and chocolates from that little shop next to the bridge, and fresh cream cakes from that strange bakery on Ninth.

"You can try, anyway," Rusty said cheerfully, and Danny reflected on Linus' likely reaction at being dragged all over the country in search of the perfect treat.

His eyes met Rusty's. How could he resist? Why would he even try?

Untechnical

The date had gone well. Amie was bright and amusing and vivacious, and she liked him well enough that she'd invited herself back to his place, and he'd been more than happy to go along with her, as she took his hand and, giggling, pulled him up the stairs. In fact, everything was in place for a surprising and exciting evening, right up to the point where they reached the top of the stairs and he saw Danny, sitting in the hallway outside their apartment, holding a staring contest with their front door.

"You locked out?" he asked, with a smile in his voice that was just for Danny.

Danny looked up and smiled broadly. "No. But I guess you're wondering - "

" - just a little bit," Rusty nodded.

Danny's gaze flickered briefly past him to Amie. "We might need to move," he said casually. "It's possible that I've broken our apartment."

Rusty blinked and turned to Amie. "I'm sorry," he began, with a charming smile. "I rather think we're going to have to call it a night." She looked disappointed and he leaned in close. "Another night?" he murmured suggestively.

She smiled. "Tomorrow night?" she asked hopefully.

He glanced back towards Danny and the front door. "Mmmm. I'll call you," he promised, and he kissed her lightly and watched her walk back to the stairs.

When he turned back, Danny was still regarding the door with suspicion.

"You broke our apartment?" Rusty tried cautiously.

Danny glanced up with a twinkle in his eyes. "I wanted a shower," he explained cheerfully. "But there was something wrong with the water pressure."

"Uh huh," Rusty nodded, and waited.

"So I went to get a spanner," Danny went on. "And a hammer."

Rusty blinked and turned to stare at the door. A slow trickle of water was just visible, pooling around the threshhold.

Danny shrugged. "I really wanted a shower."

"Did you know what you were planning on doing with the spanner?" he asked, largely involuntarily.

Danny grimaced. "How hard could it be?"

"How hard was it?" Rusty asked with interest.

There was a pause, and they both stared at the stream of water, now meandering into the hall. "Harder than I thought," Danny admitted.

"So you decided to just sit here and wait until you'd flooded out the building?" Rusty checked.

"Or until you got home," Danny nodded. "Whichever came first."

Rusty smiled and shook his head. "Did you at least try the stopcock?"

Danny fixed him with a deep look of suspicion. "Did I what?"

"Never mind." He sighed deeply. "I'll turn the water off. Then - "

" - hotel," Danny nodded. "Definitely a hotel."

Rusty fixed the front door with a look of deep foreboding. "Oh, I'm glad we don't own this place."

Inspiration

The five of them had been sitting around the hotel room for a couple of hours, drinking beer and waiting for the all clear. Turk, Virgil, and Linus were embroiled in a particularly impossible game of twenty questions. Danny had dropped out of the game in favour of watching Rusty stare at the wall and rub his mouth.

"What?" he had to ask, some ten minutes later.

"Whitten's place," Rusty answered, without even looking at him.

Danny raised an eyebrow. "You've got it?"

"Yeah..." Rusty frowned and started patting his suit absently. "I need to see it..." He produced a pen triumphantly and leaned forwards.

Quickly, Danny grabbed his wrist. "Not on the table this time," he requested. "Stealing towels is one thing. When furniture goes missing, people sit up and take notice."

Rusty blinked at him. "You got paper?"

"No," he admitted with a sigh. He turned to the others. "Have you got paper?"

"Yes! Twelve questions!" Linus said triumphantly.

"Not part of the game, Linus," Danny explained patiently. "Do you have any paper?"

"Oh. Right." Linus looked abashed. "No."

Danny frowned. "And are you..." He turned to Rusty. "Who am I thinking of?"

"Gail Wynand," Rusty answered promptly, still staring at the pen.

"Right," Danny nodded. "Are you Gail Wynand?" He asked Linus.

Linus looked decidedly sulky. "Yes," he muttered. "And I'm not going to play if you're going to cheat."

Danny opened his mouth, intent on finding out in exactly what way Linus thought he'd been cheating, but was stopped by Rusty grabbing his arm, holding it still, and bringing the pen towards him. "No," Danny told him firmly. "Not on the shirt."

"What you get for wearing white after Labour Day," Rusty explained.

"Is it after Labour Day?" Turk wondered.

Rusty shrugged. "There was one last year," he pointed out.

Danny sighed and rolled his sleeve up. "Here," he said, proffering his bare arm. "And draw small this time. I don't want to have to get naked again."

Linus, Turk and Virgil stared at them, unblinking.

Rusty smiled happily and began to draw the Whitten plans on Danny. "Says you," he murmured.

Irrepressible

There had been pain. There had been a lot of pain, but it was over now and they were far away.

"We shouldn't go back."

"Right."

"Lanzecki told us not to come back. Even said what would happen."

"Exactly. Going back would be a really stupid thing to do."

"And it's not like - "

" - Mel would never expect - "

" - would never want - "

" - he'd want us to stay away. And after all - "

" - it can't help him now."

"True."

"So going back - "

" - oh, really stupid."

"Bobby said it was a trap."

"Yeah."

"He'll be pissed if we go back for more."

"Saul too."

"Yeah. We die doing something this stupid, Saul will kill us himself."

"So it's stupid. We can't win. And even if we do win, it won't change anything for Mel."

"We can't take on the world."

"Exactly."

A long silence. A long look. Two identical smiles.

"You want to try?"

"Always."

They went back.