Original Author's Note

this isn't really... shippy, for lack of a better word, but I'm firmly of the belief that the Danny-Rusty relationship is at its best when you honestly can't tell if they're romantic or not, so. make of this what you will.

(Originally posted on tumblr, for the prompt "scars".)

They’re looking at blueprints. Danny knows a guy who knows a guy who works security in the city planning office, so what should be a monumental feat of research is instead a casual Thursday night. It’s good to be working with Danny again.

Rusty switches the lightboard on. Danny unfurls the first in his stack of blueprints and arranges it overtop of the board. He traces the lines with one hand. The edge of his sleeve rises with the motion. It’s black fabric on pale skin—paler for the white scar on his wrist. 

“That’s new,” Rusty says. 

Danny frowns at him. “These are from 1996,” he says. “The Bellagio is—” He glances down, following Rusty’s gaze, and blinks. “Oh.” He tugs his sleeve up. “Yeah.”

He leans against the lightboard, fisting his left hand against the surface, off-kilter. Rusty moves closer, and Danny shifts to accommodate him. If there’s one skill on Rusty’s resume that he’s never lied about, it’s reading people. And they’ve known each other for a long time. 

“Did you need stitches?” He takes Danny’s hand. Danny lets him. Rusty brushes his thumb across the skin. The scar is raised and a little firmer than everything around it, but smooth. 

“Mm. Twenty-four.” It stretches from the outside of Danny’s left hand, around to the inside of his wrist, and disappears past the end of his sleeve. The shape is jagged. 

“Did it hurt?”

“Like hell.”

“But not like that other time?”

“No, nothing like that.” Danny pulls his hand away. Rusty lets him. Danny straightens over the board. They’re looking at blueprints. 

“The vault at the Bellagio,” Danny says. Rusty looks at it—really looks, this time, and tries to concentrate. He leans over the board. He’s close enough to rub elbows with Danny, to take his hand again; but he needs to figure out if this three-casino job of Danny’s holds any water at all. The blueprints are not encouraging.

“Well,” Rusty says, considering. “If I’m reading this right—and I like to think that I am—this is probably the least accessible vault ever designed.” 

“Yep.”

The Bellagio is a nightmare. Robbing it is impossible. Rusty already knows he’s going to do it anyway. He’s bored, Danny’s ambitious, and neither of them has ever worked with anyone better. He looks down, at the white scar just visible in the light from the board. It’s Danny’s story to tell, and maybe he’ll hear it, someday; but tonight it’s more abstract. The only reminder, maybe, that Danny has been gone the last five years. The only reminder that he bleeds too. Rusty looks at the blueprints again, and commits. 

“You said three casinos?”