End of the Stick by InSilva

Disclaimer: still not mine. I do keep checking.

Summary: People do. And that can be a problem.

"Are you sure?" Danny said again and this time Rusty just gave him a look. "OK then."

He pushed open the door and they stepped inside into a lively, buzzing crowd of people who one by one shut up and stared at them.

"Nice," Danny said sotto voce.

"Friendly," Rusty replied in an equally low voice.

As they walked up to the bar and leaned up against it side by side, the noise levels rose again around them but there was an edge of muttering to the conversation and they did not doubt they were the subject. There were old timers, undoubtedly regulars, nursing drinks around the fire. A few men were continuing to play pool in the corner. And over by the window, there was a group of denim-clad young men with very little hair who had resumed their game of darts. All of them kept flashing little looks in Danny and Rusty's direction.

"It's that pink shirt-"

"-frosted pink shirt-"

"-frosted pink shirt. You just had to wear it, didn't you?"

Rusty's face took on an obstinate look. "It goes with the suit."

"The suit is…" The suit was grey and shiny. Danny shook his head. "You just had to wear the suit, didn't you?"

"It goes with the shirt." The logic seemed obvious.

"Er, gentlemen?" The barman stood waiting and before either of them could say a thing, he blurted out, "We don't want no trouble."

He means any trouble.

Pedant.

"We don't want any trouble either," Danny ventured, not quite sure where this was going.

"I'm just saying," the barman cleared his throat nervously. "We don't want none."

Any.

What's the problem? All we want to do is-

"All we want to do," Danny went on, speaking carefully and using his voice to reassure, "is order a couple of drinks, if that's OK?"

The barman blinked at him hard a few times and then seemed to realise he worked in a place that served alcohol.

"Yeah, mate. 'Course you can. What would you like?"

Not beer.

Warm… Rusty shuddered.

"Two whiskies, please."

"Coming right up," the barman promised.

"Maybe I wanted a Martini."

"With an olive?" Amused.

"With a cherry."

"Oh, no. Not after the last time." Danny was full of the memory of watching that drink disappear.

"Or a cocktail..." Rusty's voice suggested he was already drinking it. "A Pina Colada or Sex on the Beach…or a Screaming-"

"You're having a whisky," Danny said firmly, visions of paper umbrellas and sparklers dancing past his eyes. Not to mention the residue. There would be residue. There always was.

The barman produced the drinks in time to see the pout begin to form. He blinked hard at them again and took the money and then turned his back resolutely and started polishing glasses.

"You sure we got the right place?" Danny said yet again and the pout disappeared to be replaced by a glare.

"Basher. Said. This. Pub." And Danny got the message that if he asked the question again, Rusty would be having a major sense of humour failure.

Sorry.

The glare continued.

Sorry.

You should be.

Danny sighed. He scanned the snacks behind the bar.

"Excuse me?" The barman turned. "Please can I have one of those and one of those?"

The purchases made, Danny handed the peace offering over to Rusty.

"Pork Scratchings and Scampi Fries," Rusty read, intrigued.

He opened up both packets and sampled one of each.

"Oh, these…these…" he pushed another of the Scampi Fries into his mouth and the little "mmm mmm" that escaped was a sign that Danny was forgiven.

Aren't they fish?

Not remotely.

"Here. Try one." And moving swiftly, Rusty popped one into Danny's mouth.

Too surprised to do otherwise, Danny ate it.

"Well, you were right," he said slowly.

"Yeah?" The faintest note of surprise.

"They're not remotely fish."

Funny.

Danny checked his watch and frowned. Bash was late. And his timing was usually better than that.

"Maybe he's held up," Rusty suggested and then the same thought occurred to both of them.

You don't think…

"If he has been experimenting…"

"It could happen…" Danny nodded.

"You know it could."

"Yeah…"

There was a pause and then Rusty said, "How long do we give him?"

And that was the question. Because if it had been either of them missing, the other would know exactly how long to give it.

"While longer," Danny said and Rusty nodded.

"You got a little…" Danny waved his hand in front of his own mouth and Rusty wiped his fingers across his lips. His lips were as shiny as his suit and Danny shook his head.

You just don't care, do you?

Rusty grinned and then there was a shove in his side and he fell into Danny.

"Sorry, mate," said the man in denim at his side, sounding anything but.

"S'alright…" Rusty nodded, straightening up. Because the shove had been deliberate but there was no need to react, not in a pub that Basher favoured.

There was movement the other side of Danny and Danny felt the presence leaning up against the bar next to him.

Peace play.

Yeah.

"You guys drinking?" Rusty asked.

"We're buying," Danny clarified.

"No, thanks," the man next to Rusty said. "We don't drink with ponces."

Ponces?

It's not a term of endearment.

"In fact," the deep voice next to Danny went on, "we don't even like ponces in our pub."

"In fact, we just don't like ponces."

"Yank ponces at that."

Two of them?

More.

A small semi-circle had formed round them. Rusty's shoulders dipped slightly and Danny's weight shifted.

"Gentlemen," Danny began, "we don't want any trouble."

"Don't worry. You aren't going to give us any trouble, mate. You or your boyfriend."

There was the sound of glass being smashed with deliberation behind Danny. A hand rested with familiarity on Rusty's shoulder and Rusty's mouth set in a straight line.

Oh, crap.

What?

"I really like this suit." Plaintive.

"You're in a minority," Danny suggested mildly.

"You're just saying that."

"I guess that the present company would agree with me."

The hand on Rusty's shoulder tightened.

"Let's step outside, mate. Me and me friends want to show you what we think of pretty boys flashing their eyes at each other in our pub."

Do we do that?

I think we're doing it now.

Oh…

"Can I finish these first?" Rusty asked hopefully, holding up the Scampi Fries.

The man with the hand on him grinned and showed fewer teeth than Nature had originally granted him.

"Bring 'em with you. I'll shove the packet right up your-"

"What is it with you two?"

Basher's voice echoed from behind them and the men surrounding them broke like the Red Sea in front of Moses.

"Can't even bleedin' get you to meet me in a pub without you causing a scene."

Oh, that needed addressing.

"We weren't making a scene," Danny pointed out.

"And you're late," Rusty added.

Basher frowned and checked his watch then nodded to himself.

"British Summertime, boys, started this morning bright and early. Sorry 'bout that."

The hand was still on Rusty's shoulder and its owner cleared his throat as if upset by the interruption to the threats and the potential beatings to be administered.

"That's a nasty tickle," Basher sympathised.

"You should get it seen to," a voice added, stepping through the doors behind him. "Do you know parking's a sodding nightmare round here now?"

It had been a couple of years but there was no mistaking her and both Danny and Rusty's faces lit up with genuine warmth.

"Sal!"

Lady Cholmondley aka Sal Swan nodded across at them. "Alright, golden boy. Bash said you were meeting up. Invited me along to say hello. See you and Mr Debonair are having a little difficulty with the natives."

Danny looked round at their would-be attackers who were hanging back now.

"Just a little misunderstanding."

"They're a pair of raving poofters!" snarled the ringleader.

"Oh, that misunderstanding," Sal nodded sagely. "They snogged yet?" she asked with interest while Basher looked at places other than Danny and Rusty.

Rusty's eyes gleamed. "Like this?" he asked and leant forward and kissed Danny resoundingly on the mouth.

Like that is going to help matters.

Rusty ignored him and grinned at a wide-eyed Sal.

"Right," she said and took a deep breath. "Right."

"You think you're funny, pretty boy?" The man with few teeth sounded like he hadn't got the joke at all.

Danny sighed.

"You might want to wait outside, Sal," he suggested.

Sal snorted and Basher rolled his eyes.

"Just because she's a lady don't mean she's a lady," Basher said.

"Too right." And Sal proved the point by walking up to the biggest and the meanest looking and delivering a hard kick where it would hurt most.

As the man doubled over, she looked round at the others.

"Let's get this party started."

Rusty looked over at Sal with affection and admiration.

"You were-"

"-magnificent," Danny finished and she smiled at both of them

"Here," Rusty pressed the ice up to Danny's lip.

"Sorry about the suit, mate," Basher consoled, looking at the ripped seams and the spatters of blood.

"Aren't we all?" Danny muttered and was on the receiving end of a glare.

"This place has really gone downmarket," Basher said critically, surveying the broken chairs and glasses in the emptied pub. The barman looked at him sourly.

Sal caught hold of Basher's hand and inspected the bleeding knuckles. "Shouldn't you be better at this by now?"

"I'm a lover not a fighter," Basher protested.

"Come on," Sal said decisively. "There's a curry house round the corner. My treat."

Rusty gave a happy sigh.

"Where did you learn to fight like that, Sal?" Danny wondered aloud.

Sal grinned. "You really don't want to know."

"You two planning on behaving yourselves through the meal, right?" Basher sounded like he was only half-joking.

"Bash…" Rusty sounded affronted.

"What do you take us for?" Danny added in an injured tone.

Basher looked from one to the other and then over at Sal who was smiling almost as widely as Rusty.

"What's the problem?" she asked. "Nothing we can't handle."

Basher pulled a face. It was going to be a long evening.

A/N: little cameo from Sal. If you don't know her, she can be found in "Diamond and Pearl".