Okay, so I had this idea... and I hope I managed to get it all transferred to words. If not, I'm really sorry.
This one's inspired by Muse's "Apocalypse Please". Go and listen to it, will ya?

this is the end of the world

"Rus, you're gonna love this." Some blue prints were laid out in front of him, covering the gummi bear bag. "It's lucrative. It's subtle. It's great fun."

One quick glance, then his eyes wandered back to the screen. "And it's dangerous."

"It's low profile."

"We'll be robbing a plastic arts collection." Which definitely wasn't low profile.

"Exactly. Fun."

"Not my point, Danny."

"I know." He waited for the exasperated sigh, but it never came. "Humor me, Rus."

Words were building up in his throat, forming on his lips. Let's not do it, let's keep things low-key, you heard Basher, we definitely should… and you shouldn't risk wasting another four years, five years in some cell.

But he kept his eyes on the screen and didn't let Danny see, because Danny wanted to do this and probably needed to do this, had planned to do this ever since Tess had walked out of the door with nothing but reasonable arguments and correct conclusions on her lips.

"Alright." It was going to work out. It had to.

- -

Danny had first felt the rush of justified enthusiasm when the way in had proved to be exactly as easy as he'd hoped it would be. Sure, there was a fraction of 'It's too easy and we really should not be doing this' in every move they made, and although Rusty was behaving like Rusty again, the small argument they had had in the car about pushing their luck was still somewhere in his chest, but this was great. It wasn't Fabergé and it definitely wasn't Belize, but it was great.

They knew the night watchman would not be checking the basement storage until 2am. They had one hour left. Danny nodded, hands already stretching the gloves, gaze drifting over the endless shelves. Behind him, Rusty drew a deep breath, throwing him a small glance.

All right?

No worries.

Silence embraced them and with a small nod, Rusty disappeared into the lower basement to check their exit.

The twelfth row from the right. Danny's steps barely echoed within the high walls. Tenth. Eleventh. Twelfth. So close.

And something was wrong.

He turned around, just in time to see the door being closed, swiftly, quietly, and he was locked, trapped, pushing against the door and twisting the doorknob that wouldn't open and damn, Rusty was outside and he couldn't reach him and God, what the hell was going on?

There were people moving outside, muffled voices, and he jerked away from the door only to lean back in, slightly trembling, trying to make out what was happening. Ages passed and suddenly he heard a thud, short commands, and fear rose in his chest, spreading through his arms, paralyzing his fingers for a moment, and he couldn't think straight,

Rusty. Fuck.

The sounds were becoming more and more quiet. Danny suppressed a sudden anxiety attack that was about to numb his brain and pushed against the door once more. Something moved, something clicked and there he was, standing in the corridor, face to face with a man in a dark suit, broad shoulders, sunglasses, thin lips.

"Careful now, Mr. Ocean." He moved his arm ever so slightly and Danny caught sight of the handgun. "We don't want to call the watchman's attention, do we? Might get a bit uncomfortable for both of us. Oh, and for Mr. Ryan, of course."

Rusty. Danny's gaze jumped from the man to the small staircase.

Shit, Rusty.

"Listen. There will be conditions and there will be rules. We'll contact you. I wouldn't inform anyone if I were you. This is just between us. Private affairs. Oh, and you are going to wait here for another five minutes after I've left." Catching Danny's glance, he smiled and it intensified the bone-crushing pressure on Danny's chest. "If there's any misunderstanding – in any way imaginable – I promise you'll regret it. Both of you. It's very easy, Mr. Ocean, and you should better not think of making it difficult."

The man turned and Danny's senses screamed at him to lunge at this creature, to hurt, hurt, hurt, to scream, to cry, God, Rusty. Instead, he heard himself say: "Don't you dare touch him."

Vanishing into the darkness of the lower basement, the man laughed.