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Rusty called Isabel from McCarran International after delivering the Susan B. Anthony. Got her voice mail, left a message. He settled into his first-class seat for a long, boring overnight flight. Rusty finished all of the trashy novels he'd picked up at a Hudson's kiosk halfway through the second leg of his trip, so he closed his eyes and tried not to think too much.
"Honey, I'm home," Rusty said when he opened the door to their apartment. Strike that. His.
The apartment was bare of anything Isabel's, which included the couch, most of the art, half the bookshelves, books, DVDs, and an ugly Tiffany lamp that Rusty had grown to love. Rusty peeked in the kitchen. There was a stack of pancakes on the kitchen table with a steak knife driven through the center, the pancakes bloated with mold.
Rusty had to admit that he'd probably deserved that.
He dropped his bags in the vestibule and went to the nearest pub. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and Rusty needed beer.
Rusty drank three pints, one after another, and then called Danny.
"Miss me already?" Danny asked.
"Isabel left me," Rusty said.
Danny was quiet for a moment. "I'll be there in an hour."
"What?" Rusty said, because either Danny was in Italy already or Roman had invented a teleporter and they were holding out on him.
"An hour," Danny repeated.
Rusty drank three more pints before Danny sat next to him at the bar.
"Drunk?" Danny asked.
"Only a little. Did you bring them?"
Danny patted his suitcase. "Let's go, Romeo."
There was a little-known fact about Rusty Ryan which only three people were privy to: Rusty's mother, Danny Ocean, and Mrs. Caldwell, the latter mostly because her banana nut bread was so good that Rusty would humiliate himself for it.
The fact was that Rusty had a break-up ritual. It involved cuddling and classic romances. It was much better blackmail material than Oprah, if only for the duration and the amount of scotch Rusty tended to consume.
Danny whistled when Rusty opened the door. "She left you, all right. We'll start with It Happened One Night and go from there."
Rusty sat down and watched Danny remove a stack of DVDs from his suitcase. He owned the entertainment center, the loveseat, the scotch, and two highball glasses, so Rusty figured they were good for a couple of days. Danny tossed him the remote and Rusty turned on the movie, resting his head on Danny's shoulder when he sat down.
Rusty let it go for at least twenty minutes before saying, "Funny, didn't see you on my flight."
"I flew into Naples, got an earlier connection and took the train up."
"Yes, but why?" Rusty wrapped his arm around Danny's waist when he felt him twitch.
"I had some free time."
"Not an answer."
"Tess and I..." Danny cleared his throat.
"You and Tess." Danny twitched again and Rusty shoved his thigh over Danny's.
Danny bumped his cheek against Rusty's head. "Let me up. I need to use the bathroom."
"Why do you even try to lie to me?" Rusty asked.
"Okay," Danny said. He stopped trying to stand and leaned into Rusty, draping his arm over Rusty's shoulders. "I didn't bring Tess with us to help Reuben because we were getting a divorce."
"A divorce? Again? What happened?"
Danny sighed. "Nothing happened."
"Something happened," Rusty said.
"We still love each other," Danny said. "We just aren't very good at being married to one another."
After a moment, Rusty said, "Scotch?"
"Please."
Rusty filled their glasses with four fingers of scotch. Several times. They put in An Affair to Remember and then The Shop Around the Corner. Rusty fell asleep on Danny's shoulder an hour into Casablanca.
Three days later, after they finished watching Love Story, Rusty tossed a box of tissues at Danny and said, "Let's go out. I'm hungry."
Danny blew his nose. "Take a shower first. You smell like sweat, peat, and misery."
Rusty cleaned up and put on a shiny shirt, and took Danny to a tiny bistro two blocks down that had the best cheese ravioli Rusty had ever tasted.
"I've been thinking about retiring," Danny said. He was wearing a rumpled, white button-down and he still looked like a million bucks.
"Feeling your age?"
Danny rubbed his face. "Yeah."
Rusty stuffed ravioli in his mouth and poured Danny a glass of the house red. "We can't retire until I start feeling my age."
Danny smiled and reached across the table to wipe sauce off Rusty's mouth with his thumb. "Talk to me when you hit 40, kiddo."
The next day, Rusty got another section of his forearm piece done. Danny grimaced the whole time.
"You didn't say there'd be blood," Danny said.
"Needles going into my skin," Rusty said. "Of course there's going to be blood."
About a week after Danny first arrived, Rusty backed him against the kitchen counter and kissed him, cupping Danny's face and saying a comfortable, unhurried hello with his tongue.
"The eggs are burning," Danny muttered.
Rusty switched off the burner and kissed him again. The eggs turned out a little crispy, just the way Rusty liked them.
He put on Breakfast at Tiffany's and made out with Danny. Or tried to, anyway.
"Loveseat is a misnomer," Danny said, his hair mussed. "My back hurts."
Rusty's mouth tingled. "You need to shave."
"You need a couch," Danny said.
"We need a couch."
Danny froze. "If you'll recall, we --"
"-- tried that fifteen years ago and it didn't work, yeah."
"So why --"
"-- now?" Rusty asked. "We just spent six months living together."
"Huh," Danny said, his brow furrowed. "You're right, we did."
"Move in with me," Rusty said.
"No dishes in the sink this time," Danny said, and amended, "within reason."
"Agreed, so long as you don't destroy the bathroom."
Danny kissed him, and said, "Ow, okay, we need a couch."
"I do have a bed," Rusty suggested.