Rusty is. Danny isn't.
Said it as if Rusty would know what to do with a girl if he had one. If he wanted one. If he wasn't ....
But that would lead to questions and maybe some accusations, so neither said anything to correct her assumption. Correction could only lead to frustration, and Danny and Rusty had left behind frustration long ago.
Because Rusty was and Danny wasn't. End of story. Rusty may have wanted, but he never asked because, well, Danny wasn't. Even though ...
No. Not really. Danny wasn't.
Except, well, it was Rusty. And Danny. And that was different. Ever since the moment Danny conned some bullies out of beating up Rusty in the fourth grade, it's been different. Rules weren't quite rules around them. They didn't apply, and norms ...
But it didn't matter. Danny wasn't. He just ... wasn't, even though, at times, he wanted to be. For Rusty.
If Rusty asked, Danny might have said yes. To things. And, judging by the things he'd walked in on before, he might even like some things. And not have to pretend .... Hell, a mouth's a mouth, right?
But Rusty never asked, and Danny never said yes. Never offered. Because Rusty was but he knew Danny wasn't so ...
"We need to get Rusty a girl."
"There's a women's prison down the road," Rusty answered easily. Water off a duck and all that, because he was used to it. Because he was pretty in the way girls liked and even though he was, he seemed to slip underneath the radar.
They ditched the silver sedan easily. Stopped at a diner, and Tess had a car waiting for them, because Rusty's had been marked, but ...
"You going to be okay?" Danny asked.
Rusty slurped on his Tootsie Pop and nodded. Didn't have to say anything because Danny knew. He always knew, without Rusty having to explain.
One shoulder shrug as Rusty thought about how long and far vengeance would reach. Infinite, in Terry Benedict's case, and they had thirteen million each but Rusty was feeling itchy. His hands were restless, anxious to be doing something. Anything.
"Six months," he finally decided.
Danny nodded. "Monte Carlo."
"I'll wear white," Tess said. Because they had thirteen million dollars to remarry correctly.
"Don't get bored," he told Danny, but Danny wouldn't. He had what he wanted. Because he wasn't, and Tess was his was.
"You?" Danny asked. Rusty had, after all, proved he couldn't keep himself entertained without Danny. Three years and he'd wound up playing with the kiddies for pocket change, numbing his mind with cheap whiskey.
Rusty just smiled and pulled the candy from his mouth. "Think I'll hit Chicago," he said. "Look up old friends."
"Linus?" Danny was surprised, but he would be.
"See you around." He sucked on the lollypop again as he strode away, content--no, happy for the first time in three years.
Because he was and Danny wasn't, but Linus .... Well. Linus just might be.