By the Book by InSilva

Disclaimer: no, no, they still aren't mine. Just playing with them in the sunshine.

Summary: There's annoying and there's infuriating and then there's DannyandRusty.

A/N: oh, an equal act of atonement. :)

There were rules about this sort of thing. He was almost certain there were rules. And if there weren't rules, then there should be. A whole big book of them. Preferably written in large letters, in clear language, in bold and in triplicate. He would be happy to write them. In fact, he was going to volunteer.

The phone call had been…not exactly out of the blue, because that was how they were. Nothing, nothing, nothing and then there they were in your life as if they'd never been away, as if conversations could be carried on from the last time you were together. Which was probably true between them.

On the phone…

"Hey, how you doing?"

"Ask him how he's doing."

A beat.

"What, in Spanish?" Amused and cutting him out of the conversation straightaway and heck, he'd called him.

Or in person…

"Alright, kid."

Lounging in the corridor of his apartment block, outside his door, the pair of them propped up against opposite walls, chocolate wrappers strewn around them, legs stretched out and crossed in front of them, waiting for him to return.

He'd kept the astonishment off his face successfully and he'd preened himself on that. A few years back and he'd have swallowed his gum or said something stupid or done something stupider. Now he just said "Hey" and fished his key out of his pocket and opened the door.

As they followed him in, he said nonchalantly, "Surprised you waited outside."

The answering grin was immediate and shared and he sighed because he was still saying something stupid. They'd been inside. Obviously.

"How long are you here for?" he'd asked abruptly.

"Oh, that's not friendly," said Rusty, bouncing down on his couch as if he were testing the springs.

"We've only just got here-" Danny protested, taking over an easy chair.

"-and he wants to know-"

"-when we're leaving."

"It's not nice."

"Anyone would think he wasn't pleased to see us."

"Anyone would think he didn't want us here."

The headache was starting early. He rubbed his temples and leant up against the wall. Maybe if he kept standing, he'd have some sort of advantage. Some sort of-

"Can we stay over?"

Oh, God!

"Yes," he said helplessly. "Of course."

Their smiles were genuine and grateful and they thanked him and he sighed inside because the forlorn hope that he might be able to keep track of this day had just disappeared.

He believed he'd handled the dinner in the restaurant well. Even allowing for the eccentric mix of dishes that Rusty had ordered with Danny not even trying to hold back the smile. Because honestly. Thai fish cakes and risotto? Perfectly fine in their own right and delicious and everything. But side by side and eating a forkful of each in turn? And what was with the eyes closed and the little noises?

The noises…oh, God, the noises… They were…well, they weren't decent. They shouldn't be made in public. They were private noises that shouldn't be made outside of the bedroom, surely. And Danny's expression didn't help. Tolerant and amused and…what was that look in his eye?

He'd gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of his chair and prayed for strength.

Back at the apartment, he'd realised with a sinking heart that they were going to have to discuss sleeping arrangements. It was a two bed apartment and that meant-

"Where do you want us, kid?" Danny asked, pouring the whisky and passing the glasses over.

Not here, he wanted to scream, not here. A million miles away or at least in a hotel room, out of the reach of imagination and hopefully out of mind and at least, at the very least, out of sight.

They knew, he thought dully. He could see it written in their eyes and the curve of their mouths and the playfulness in the way they were sitting cross-legged on the couch, side by side, just a fraction closer than they should be and waiting, just waiting.

He drew in a deep breath and didn't care that they heard it. OK. He could play the game too.

"You can take my bed, Rusty. Danny, you're in the spare room. I'll have the couch."

Hard to tell what they thought (and when was it ever easy?) but he imagined he saw approval in both their eyes.

"Thank you," Rusty said.

"Very generous of you."

"We love visiting you."

"You're such a-"

"-oh, an excellent-"

"-we should take notes."

"We should."

Enough!

"So are we playing cards?" he asked.

Grins.

"What else?"

There was mild amazement at the realisation that neither of them was cheating. There had been a moment of the unspoken before they'd begun and he'd wondered as he always did about the how. He'd given up long ago on hoping to successfully decode the what in full.

No, they hadn't been cheating. No dealing from the bottom of the deck. No stacking. Just the cards as they fell. It was refreshing.

Rusty was dealing. He was mesmerised as he always was by the elegance and the preciseness and the confidence and the way the cards were simply an extension of Rusty's fingers. And he caught sight of Danny watching as well and he suddenly knew that it was always fresh for Danny too. Though maybe although they were seeing the same, they weren't thinking the same. Because he wasn't completely certain that Danny was actually breathing. Oh, here came the headache again.

He picked up the glass of whisky and rubbed it against the side of his forehead and then realised and sighed and put it down and stared with a heavy heart at the table, not needing to look up to see both of their faces.

"Hey," and it was gentle and it was Danny.

"Kid," and it was soft and it was Rusty.

"Was there a point to the visit?" he wondered aloud. Apart from the obvious. Apart from the torment.

His eyes were still fixed on the table but he could tell they were looking at each other and were saying…something…

"Bobby told us about what you did on the Rocastle job."

"He's very proud."

"And we are too," Danny added quietly.

"Nice work."

"We wanted to tell you."

"In person."

He looked up and Danny had affection on his face and there was warmth in Rusty's eyes and he blinked. Suddenly he was so, so happy that they'd come and he wanted to bottle up the feeling inside him and live it again and again.

The cards were over. The whisky was drunk. Rusty had investigated his meagre supply of snacks and shaken his head sorrowfully and decided on some crackers that he couldn't even remember buying.

Now, it was time for bed and he found blankets and picked up a pillow and made himself comfortable on the couch and deliberately chose to lie down so that he couldn't see the bedroom doors.

"Night, kid," they said in unison and by the sound of their footsteps, they had at least gone to the rooms he'd suggested. He'd laid there and stared at the ceiling and pushed away distraction until sleep claimed him.

He woke up and padded over to the kitchen, filling the kettle and lining up three cups of coffee. Sugar was something he didn't regularly keep but he was sure there were some little packets he'd picked up from the restaurant last night. He found them in his jacket pocket. Damn. Sweet'n'low. He used them and kept his fingers crossed. Coffee cup in each hand, he went to wake them up. Only Rusty wasn't in his bed.

The cold panic washed over him again. He sighed wearily and pushed open the door to the spare room. Rusty was lying in bed, bare-chested, hands behind his head. Danny was out of bed and dressed and looking in the mirror and fixing his tie.

OK. This needed commenting on. And with joy, he suddenly realised he could legitimately challenge without sounding clumsy or stupid or anything other than a slightly bewildered host.

"What are you doing in here, Rusty?" he asked, handing the cups of coffee over.

There was a glance and there was an indecipherable smile and then Danny focused on his reflection and Rusty gave an easy shrug.

"Sometimes I sleepwalk."

Sleepwalk. Right. And he exhaled slowly because this was the closest he'd got and possibly the closest he was ever going to get and still he would never get to the truth. He should give up. He really should. He should listen to Basher and to Frank and to Livingston and say to himself "Did it really matter?" and ignore the answer that came screaming back that even if it didn't, it mattered to him.

Danny and Rusty were both looking at him now and there was sympathy and maybe a little compassion and most definitely no clear answer.

"This was good," Danny said.

"We should do it again," Rusty agreed.

"Any time," he sighed and meant it. He always meant it. He would always mean it. It was worth putting up with the insanity.

"Next time," he went on, unthinking and thinking of the expensive restaurant bill that they had insisted on picking up, "we could go three ways."

There was a snorting choke from Danny and a splutter from Rusty as he spat coffee. Startled, he looked from one to the other.

"Coffee went down the wrong way," Danny said.

Rusty was staring at the coffee and then fixed him with an accusing eye.

"Sweet'n'low?"

But just for a moment, he was in seventh heaven.