Maybe If We Wait - (Danny/Rusty)
Title: Maybe If We Wait
Author: jjtaylor
Summary: Because one way or another, he's going to see Danny again. And it's easier, sometimes, to handle Danny's impact when Rusty's just standing still.
Rating: Hardly a PG.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Recipient: Nichole angelgazing, who wanted Rusty waiting.
Notes: Thanks to phineasjones for beta. Set just before Ocean's 11.
The date is marked on his calendar like a birthday or an anniversary. In three weeks, Danny Ocean will go before the parole board. Rusty has no doubt he'll be released.
It's after he's released that Rusty has doubts about. Is he supposed to be there at the jail, to pick Danny up? It's a bit of a drive, and maybe he has plans that day. It's not like they've discussed it. If he's not there, will Danny come to find him? Will Danny even care about parole, or will he make it just another challenge, another set of rules to dodge, and head for Florida? Or Florence. Somewhere Rusty isn't.
Rusty's apartment is a hole of a place, and he thinks about moving every day when he wakes up and the first thing he sees is the plaster crumbling from where the previous resident had lost a fist-fight with the wall. The blinds are bent at strange angles and let the sun in whether or not Rusty is trying to take a nap in the afternoon. Danny has never seen this place, and Rusty isn't sure he ever wants him to. He knows three weeks is more than enough time to get a better apartment.
But Danny knows his address. Rusty knows Danny doesn't need to know his address to find him, but it seems dishonest to move behind his back.
He's had one letter from Danny, asking him to take care of his fish. Danny doesn't have fish. Rusty waited for other letters, but they did not come.
He decides to wait the three weeks out by doing nothing at all. Because one way or another, he's going to see Danny again. And it's easier, sometimes, to handle Danny's impact when Rusty's just standing still.
Two weeks before Danny faces the parole board and Rusty is sitting outside a café, drinking a mojito and wondering why he didn't ask for a table inside, where there's air conditioning. This is Hollywood and there isn't any shortage of air conditioning, but he's the only person who's taken a table in the outdoor courtyard, his sunglasses are sweaty on the rim of his nose, and the ice in his mojito is melting fast.
The waiter brings his tacos, four of them, arranged on the plate in a diamond shape, and asks if there's anything else he can do for Rusty.
"I'm waiting for someone," Rusty says, pouring hot sauce on his tacos. "I don't think he'll show, though."
The waiter isn't sure what he's meant to do with this information and so Rusty asks him for another mojito. "Extra ice, please." He doesn't care if it gets watered down.
There's a big difference between waiting for Danny and waiting with Danny. Rusty remembers an Oldsmobile littered with empty McDonald's French fry containers; he remembers the penthouse at the Ritz and both of them watching ESPN while lying on the bed, their shoes off, trying not to wrinkle their suits. He remembers Danny's stillness most of all.
Rusty realizes he's checked his watch four times in five minutes. He eats his last taco and licks the sauce from his fingers.
One week from Danny's parole date and Rusty is leaning against the hood of his car, devouring a strawberry shortcake and trying to remember Saul's phone number. He isn't sure he's ever actually known Saul's phone number, but if he did, he wants to remember it now. At the very least, the number to the race track where he's sure Saul is spending his days.
He's not looking for a scam. He's not going to ask Saul to give him something. He's thought about it, but he's not. He's not going to ask anyone. Anyway, Saul got out of the game a year ago. It's just that he's wants to hear Saul's gruff voice, telling him to eat a more balanced diet or to wear sunscreen.
Saul's the one who said, halfway through a getaway drive down Route 40 in North Carolina, "Together, you two are too good." There was another part of a sentence there, but Saul never voiced it. Rusty thought he knew it, too. "Apart, you're hardly fit to be criminals."
The fact that he's reminiscing about Saul brings him up short. He's not sure what that means. He thinks he'll be able to ask Danny what it means in six days, but that doesn't make him feel any better.
He decides it's safer to reminisce about Tess, who never thought it prudent to dispense advice on how good or bad Danny and Rusty were together. He considers stopping by to see her in person, since it's a short drive to Vegas, but he decides call her; it's more direct, in a way.
He can almost hear her waving him away like he's a fly. "Are you bringing a message from Danny? I don't want to hear anything he has to say."
"I'm just calling to see how you are," Rusty says.
"For Danny."
"I am perfectly capable of checking in on you on my own, Tess."
"And that's why you're calling just a week before Danny is paroled?"
"You mean before he goes before the parole board."
"We both know he's getting out."
Rusty nods, and then realizes Tess isn't able to read body language over the phone.
"Listen," Tess says, just as Rusty's about to say goodbye, and he thinks he doesn't want to hear what she's going to say. "Do you know if Danny has fish?"
On the night Danny Ocean is released from prison, after he invades Rusty's celebrity card lessons, Danny bumps Rusty's shoulder with his own and says, "Did you take care of my fish?"
Rusty shakes his head and climbs into his car. "You don't have any fish."
"I know," Danny says, getting in on the passenger side.
Rusty waits for the rest of that sentence, but it doesn't come.
Author: jjtaylor
Summary: Because one way or another, he's going to see Danny again. And it's easier, sometimes, to handle Danny's impact when Rusty's just standing still.
Rating: Hardly a PG.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Recipient: Nichole angelgazing, who wanted Rusty waiting.
Notes: Thanks to phineasjones for beta. Set just before Ocean's 11.
The date is marked on his calendar like a birthday or an anniversary. In three weeks, Danny Ocean will go before the parole board. Rusty has no doubt he'll be released.
It's after he's released that Rusty has doubts about. Is he supposed to be there at the jail, to pick Danny up? It's a bit of a drive, and maybe he has plans that day. It's not like they've discussed it. If he's not there, will Danny come to find him? Will Danny even care about parole, or will he make it just another challenge, another set of rules to dodge, and head for Florida? Or Florence. Somewhere Rusty isn't.
Rusty's apartment is a hole of a place, and he thinks about moving every day when he wakes up and the first thing he sees is the plaster crumbling from where the previous resident had lost a fist-fight with the wall. The blinds are bent at strange angles and let the sun in whether or not Rusty is trying to take a nap in the afternoon. Danny has never seen this place, and Rusty isn't sure he ever wants him to. He knows three weeks is more than enough time to get a better apartment.
But Danny knows his address. Rusty knows Danny doesn't need to know his address to find him, but it seems dishonest to move behind his back.
He's had one letter from Danny, asking him to take care of his fish. Danny doesn't have fish. Rusty waited for other letters, but they did not come.
He decides to wait the three weeks out by doing nothing at all. Because one way or another, he's going to see Danny again. And it's easier, sometimes, to handle Danny's impact when Rusty's just standing still.
Two weeks before Danny faces the parole board and Rusty is sitting outside a café, drinking a mojito and wondering why he didn't ask for a table inside, where there's air conditioning. This is Hollywood and there isn't any shortage of air conditioning, but he's the only person who's taken a table in the outdoor courtyard, his sunglasses are sweaty on the rim of his nose, and the ice in his mojito is melting fast.
The waiter brings his tacos, four of them, arranged on the plate in a diamond shape, and asks if there's anything else he can do for Rusty.
"I'm waiting for someone," Rusty says, pouring hot sauce on his tacos. "I don't think he'll show, though."
The waiter isn't sure what he's meant to do with this information and so Rusty asks him for another mojito. "Extra ice, please." He doesn't care if it gets watered down.
There's a big difference between waiting for Danny and waiting with Danny. Rusty remembers an Oldsmobile littered with empty McDonald's French fry containers; he remembers the penthouse at the Ritz and both of them watching ESPN while lying on the bed, their shoes off, trying not to wrinkle their suits. He remembers Danny's stillness most of all.
Rusty realizes he's checked his watch four times in five minutes. He eats his last taco and licks the sauce from his fingers.
One week from Danny's parole date and Rusty is leaning against the hood of his car, devouring a strawberry shortcake and trying to remember Saul's phone number. He isn't sure he's ever actually known Saul's phone number, but if he did, he wants to remember it now. At the very least, the number to the race track where he's sure Saul is spending his days.
He's not looking for a scam. He's not going to ask Saul to give him something. He's thought about it, but he's not. He's not going to ask anyone. Anyway, Saul got out of the game a year ago. It's just that he's wants to hear Saul's gruff voice, telling him to eat a more balanced diet or to wear sunscreen.
Saul's the one who said, halfway through a getaway drive down Route 40 in North Carolina, "Together, you two are too good." There was another part of a sentence there, but Saul never voiced it. Rusty thought he knew it, too. "Apart, you're hardly fit to be criminals."
The fact that he's reminiscing about Saul brings him up short. He's not sure what that means. He thinks he'll be able to ask Danny what it means in six days, but that doesn't make him feel any better.
He decides it's safer to reminisce about Tess, who never thought it prudent to dispense advice on how good or bad Danny and Rusty were together. He considers stopping by to see her in person, since it's a short drive to Vegas, but he decides call her; it's more direct, in a way.
He can almost hear her waving him away like he's a fly. "Are you bringing a message from Danny? I don't want to hear anything he has to say."
"I'm just calling to see how you are," Rusty says.
"For Danny."
"I am perfectly capable of checking in on you on my own, Tess."
"And that's why you're calling just a week before Danny is paroled?"
"You mean before he goes before the parole board."
"We both know he's getting out."
Rusty nods, and then realizes Tess isn't able to read body language over the phone.
"Listen," Tess says, just as Rusty's about to say goodbye, and he thinks he doesn't want to hear what she's going to say. "Do you know if Danny has fish?"
On the night Danny Ocean is released from prison, after he invades Rusty's celebrity card lessons, Danny bumps Rusty's shoulder with his own and says, "Did you take care of my fish?"
Rusty shakes his head and climbs into his car. "You don't have any fish."
"I know," Danny says, getting in on the passenger side.
Rusty waits for the rest of that sentence, but it doesn't come.