AN- An accident is the trigger for Rusty to finally talk about the Egyptian job.

Emotional hurt/ comfort, violence, flashbacks, slash

They were down by the water early one morning. Rusty liked the relative coolness of the water at this time of day and Danny, always a morning person, savored the quiet moments that came with the dawn.

The beach was littered with flotsam and jetsam. Shells and driftwood washed ashore with the tide. Rusty was like a crow, examining and collecting interesting pieces. He rarely kept anything, though, preferring to toss the sea stars and periwinkles back into the water. He did have an interesting collection of driftwood and some sea glass, but he never kept anything living.

Danny was strolling along the water's edge when he cut his foot on a piece of broken shell. It sliced the tender skin of his arch. He muttered a curse and sat down quickly to inspect the wound. It was small, well it wasn't huge, a couple inches long, but deep and blood was flowing freely. Probably for the best, he thought, it'll wash any debris out of there.

There goes that shirt, he thought as peeled off the tee to wipe the blood from his hands.

Danny looked up to call Rusty and tell him he was heading back to the house and to head up soon for breakfast. He'd picked up some blackberries at the farmers market and thought he could entice Rusty with crepes...a breakfast-dessert hybrid.

"Hey, Rus..."

Rusty was standing a few feet away. He was staring at the blood stained sand, face pale, hands shaking.

Danny was at his side in an instant. "Hey, hey Rusty, buddy. I'm ok. Just a little cut. You know how those things bleed like crazy." He gave Rusty a little shake. "Come on, Rus. Come back to me." Danny put his all into the command. Nothing. Then he tried another tactic.

"Rusty. I've got to get up to the house and take care of my foot. I'm gonna need your help. Can you help me?"

The appeal for help did it. Rusty, eyes still shockingly wide, broke off staring at the blood and looked at Danny. He shook himself and reached out to steady Danny, who was now balancing on one foot.

"God, yes. I'm sorry." He was all business now. And if the hand that grasped Danny was a little bit clammy and Danny could feel Rusty's pulse racing just a little bit faster than their three legged hobble back to the house could explain away, well Danny would get to the bottom of it soon enough.

And so 40 minutes later, after antiseptic and gauze and a serious, one sided conversation about a few sutures (a few years ago they'd made Stan show them how, and Rusty, with his clever, clever hands, took to it like he was a surgeon born) Danny was propped in a cushioned lounge chair by the pool munching blackberries and sipping a frothy iced cappuccino.

He watched Rusty flit manically around the house, putting away the first aid kit, fooling around with the espresso machine, arranging and rearranging their growing collections of driftwood and sea glass. Danny knew better than to push.

He knew the story wouldn't be told in the sunshine drenched daylight hours. The few hints Rusty had dropped over the past weeks were enough that Danny knew it would be a story suited to the nighttime, to the shadows. It would be a story that started with short brusque sentences and little detail, but that would build like a tsunami and crest with long breathless waves of emotion. The story would end abruptly and Rusty would be drained. And Danny would gather him in his arms and together they will start to put the pieces backs together.

But it was barely 10o'clock in the morning and there wasn't a cloud in sight. Danny wistfully thought of storm clouds and solar eclipses, but knew Rusty would spend the next ten hours working himself into a state of anxiety and tension.

By noon, Danny was ready to suggest Rusty take the motorcycle out for a drive, but Rusty refused to leave him alone.

"For gods sake Rus, it's a tiny cut, not a gunshot wound." But at the look of utter devastation on Rusty's face, Danny bit his lip and let it go.

Trying to keep up the pretense of normality, the pretense that the were holed up for the day because of his injury, Danny put Tangerine Dream on the stereo and spent the afternoon reading background material on Newman Industries shareholders. He pretended at patience, and it was only because Rusty was so distracted, reliving the events of the past year in his own mind, that he didn't tease Danny about it.

At three o'clock, Rusty was sitting at the bar by the pool, sipping whiskey and obsessively rubbing his lower lip. Danny kept his eye n the level in the bottle and the hunch of Rusty's shoulders. He wanted to go to him, but knew instinctively it wasn't the right time. Danny hated waiting. Hated it.

At 5, Danny put away his files and joined Rusty with the intention of getting him to eat something other than pretzels and cheese puffs. Rusty looked exhausted, like he'd spent the day in a hospital waiting room, instead of sitting poolside in Florida. Danny mentally kicked himself at the thought, because he knew Rusty well enough to know that Rus had been reliving the entire past year. The whole year, every detail preserved in his mind. He'd been living it like it happened yesterday.

Almost. Almost there.

Danny poured them both a drink. "I need to eat something. Should I fire up the grill, or you want to order in?"

Rusty was still a little bit lost in his own head, but not so much that he didn't see what Danny was doing now. Anybody else tried something like this, he'd be out the door, half way to the next city, state, country, continent. But it's Danny. He can't run from Danny ... Doesn't even want to run. And apparently as much as he's tried, he can't run from the past. And he knows Danny is here because he loves him and doesn't want him to shatter into a million sparkling pieces...pretty, but broken and dangerous.

He rubbed his glass against his temple and then gave Danny a rueful smile. "Let's just throw something together. I can't face anyone but you tonight, even a delivery guy."

And so they ate together, quietly, just taking comfort in each other's company. Not needing to fill the space with chatter or banter. Saving the words for what was coming.

And so, finally, as the sun was setting over the gulf, a balmy breeze wrapping around them, Danny and Rusty sat down, side by side, shoulders brushing, together. Danny wanted to hold Rusty's hand, but knew to wait.

Finally, finally, reluctantly voice gravelly and slow, but finally, Rusty started talking:

A year ago, I left New York for London and then Cairo. You know that much. You know that Bobby introduced me to William Emerson who is his counterpart at Interpol. He'd been tracking Sallah el Azir for a long time. Real bad guy. Guns, drugs, human trafficking, rumors of selling Russian weapons to terrorist organizations. But untouchable. Too close to the powers that be in the Egyptian military. His one weakness though was an obsession with Egyptian artifacts and antiquities.

Emerson got a tip that Azir had invested heavily in an unofficial archaeological dig. He'd promised his benefactors in the military that the return would be astronomical. Interpol had a chance to place someone inside, the opportunity of a lifetime…but they balked. Emerson didn't get authorization and was being watched too closely to use any of his unofficial network.

He'd been commiserating to Bobby at some international gathering of law enforcement, when my name came up name came up. Not my real name of course, but the name on my degree. On my degree in archaeology.

That, plus my ability with languages and well, my unparalleled skills at the con gave them the idea that I'd be the perfect inside man. He actually had the temerity to grin at Danny as he said this last bit. Danny had to stifle the urge to stick out his tongue. Of course Rusty knew it anyways.

It made perfect sense, Danny. Azir was a real bastard. He needed taken down. The opportunity was once in a lifetime. And I was the only guy who he could trust, that was available, who had the necessary skills. Plus, Bobby asked. You know…Bobby. He NEVER asks us for anything. We're always after him for favors and… well…I felt like he was owed.

So, the job was on and within a month, I was landing in Cairo, headed to the Valley of the Kings to join the dig.