Work Text:
After the third time, Linus is no longer surprised when he unlocks his apartment door to find one Rusty Ryan making himself at home.
Rusty sprawled on the couch thumbing through an old National Geographic. Rusty perched on the counter eating the last slice of pizza; thin crust – all of Chicago and, now, Rusty have called him a heathen. Rusty stripped down to boxer briefs (hot pink and carving a new neural pathway into Linus’s brain) doing laundry.
“Hey, Linus,” He greets, leaning on the wall next to the rumbling washer-dryer stack.
“Running a half load wastes water,” It’s the most sensible response Linus can string together when Rusty is there , abs and all.
Rusty smiles, “Your stuff’s in there too.”
“Oh.”
With that sorted out Linus locks the door behind him – the knob lock, the deadbolt, and the barrel bolt. Not much of a point since the only person who ever breaks in has already broken in, but it’s the principle of the thing.
Linus steps out of his shoes and drops his keys, phone and wallet into the black ceramic bowl he keeps by the door. It’s more than a little jarring to see they keys to Rusty’s mustang in there too.
“Do you, uh, want anything?” Linus asks, hoping there’s still beer left in the fridge. If not there’s an unopened bottle of bourbon sent from his father, somewhere in the way back of a cupboard. Linus got it two years ago. He doesn’t like bourbon.
“I’m good.”
“You bought groceries?” Linus’s voice gets tight as he studies the fridge; two steaks marinating, veggies chopped and ready to cook and a bottle of red wine. Is this what an adult’s fridge is supposed to look like? The shelf beneath that has half a gallon of milk, three eggs and the hot wings he had for takeout last night.
If anyone wanted a visual metaphor for the difference between Rusty and Linus, that was it.
“I did. Figured I owed you one.”
“For what?” Linus asks, moving the milk gallon around like if he does it just right a can of beer might appear behind it.
Rusty laughs, short and sweet. He taps on the washing machine, “What do you think?”
“Oh. Right. Of course,” Linus nods, wondering if he could rearrange some things and possibly hide away in the fridge forever, “Thanks.”
Linus closes the door and stuffs his hands in his pockets as he faces Rusty again. From this side of the kitchen, with the island separating them, Rusty could be wearing nothing at all and Linus would have no clue.
“I,” his brain short circuits, “I’m going to go shower.” He beelines for the bathroom.
Rusty calls out, “You’re out of conditioner, by the way!”
The water runs for five minutes, only hitting the white tile and tub because Linus is standing in front of the sink, willing his reflection in the mirror to not freak out.
The first visit six months ago had nearly resulted in a panic attack because god, Rusty, why are you here? Is everything fine? Because you don’t walk away from a multimillion dollar heist without a little paranoia. Relax, Linus. I’m passing through and thought I’d let you buy me a drink.
Then four months ago Rusty had broken in again. You look awful . Rusty had bags under his eyes and his voice was low and deep from exhaustion. Right back at ya’.Also, this is what fourteen hours of driving looks like so- and before he could finish Linus was grabbing pillows and blankets so Rusty could take the couch.
Yeah, the visits had been surprising but still in the realm of normal. Rusty is a transient, always driving here and there. Checking up on his hotel, looking in on friends, keeping his contacts. Constant motion, kinetic and lively.
That’s part of the business. Linus is Bobby Caldwell’s boy, he knows how these things work.
Laundry and cooking dinner and using his conditioner are not part of the business.
Linus feels painfully boring when he emerges from the bedroom; hair still damp (and less soft, thank you empty bottle of American Crew conditioner), green sweater and blue jeans. His eyes hurt when they land on Rusty in the kitchen, making some kind of pan sauce for the steaks, in a bright orange shirt and white pants.
He’s equally thankful and disappointed that Rusty is not cooking in his underwear.
“Do you want any-”
“Grab a corkscrew and open the bottle.”
“I, uh, I don’t have a corkscrew.”
Rusty turns but he still has on hand on the pan handle, cooking without even watching, “What?”
Linus flushes, “I don’t really drink wine and if I do it’s, um, it’s a screw top.”
“Wow,” Rusty smirks, “all that money from the Benedict job and you’re still the same.”
It doesn’t sound like a compliment but the way Rusty’s looking at him makes Linus think that there are worse things he could have said. “Should I run out and get one?” Linus asks, eyeing the bottle.
“Grab my keys.”
Rusty multitasks in a way that all conmen envy; eyes on the steaks, hands sautéing vegetables and mouth talking Linus through jabbing a key into the cork and twisting slowly. Linus manages to come across, continually, as someone who can’t tie their own shoes without a detailed manual.
Pickpocketing really is his saving grace. He tries to get into that mindset so he doesn’t trip over his own feet. His nimble fingers pull the cork out delicately. Then he’s stepping around Rusty in the kitchen to grab plates and glasses. There’s a moment where Linus knows he could bump against him and lift his watch. He’d have to sacrifice the pan sauce though, so it’s ultimately not worth it.
A few minutes later they’re sitting across from each other with full glasses and the best smelling meal that has ever existed in this apartment.
“You’re handling the Sam thing well.”
Linus chokes on his wine, some of it coming up through his nose, “Excuse me? What -- Who Is Sam? What thing?”
Rusty stares at him, blinks once like he can’t believe he’s across the table from someone who is as terrible as lying as he is magnificent at pickpocketing, “I know, Linus.”
“Know what?”
“Linus.”
There’s absolutely no point in doing this with Rusty, who obviously pities him enough to cook a sorry your not so secret boyfriend cheated on you dinner. Paired with a bottle of vintage I’ve known about you two from the beginning Merlot.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Linus starts shoveling steak – perfectly cooked, pink in the middle, tender as fuck , why isn’t Rusty a chef? – into his face.
One part of conning is sheer determination. Willingness to see the job through no matter how bleak things may seem.
The other part of conning is actually being good and lying, holy shit. How has Linus ever gotten through anything?
Rusty watches, wordlessly, as Linus turns into a complete glutton. Somehow it’s polite of him and more embarrassing all at once. Linus looks down and half of his steak is gone. Rusty is still staring at him. Bewildered, Linus gives in and asks, “How’d you even-“
Rusty shrugs, “It’s the job, kid.”
“But I-“
“I know. You did good, really. The second phone thing was clever. And I’m guessing you’re well aware of the fact that none of the security cameras in the lobby work – so, y’know, this is a good place for someone like you to shack up.”
When you’re Bobby Caldwell’s boy and interested in having at least a semi-normal sex life you learn to take precautions. And if Linus has been able to keep the whole boyfriend/ex-boyfriend thing away from his parents then he damn sure should have been able to keep it away from Rusty.
“We never even went out on a real date, how could you possibly-“
Rusty points to the washer-dryer. “You switched from Tide to Gain to Tide.”
Linus gapes, “That? That’s how you knew?”
Rusty sighs, like he’s it’s such a burden to share the mundane details of how he knows everything . “Now, you’re the kind of guy who’s bought the same brand of detergent his whole life. No real reason other than it’s what you grew up with, right? So six months ago you had a Tide bottle over there, then four months ago you switched to Gain because Sam – stop me if I’m wrong – is allergic and you didn’t want the sheets to make him-“
“Oh my god,” Linus stares at Rusty, “Oh my god.”
“Yeah.”
They sit quietly for a few moments as Linus processes, horrifyingly, that literally everything he’s ever done has not gone unnoticed by Rusty Ryan.
“Am I a mark? Did Danny tell you to keep an eye on me? Did my Dad?”
They are veering closer and closer to panic attack territory. “No, Linus, no. This isn’t — I just,” Rusty stops, breathes and says, “I keep tabs on everyone.”
“Down to the brand of detergent they use?” Linus squeaks because, oh yeah, it’s panic time. This is the price of being a conman who is only friends with conmen. Grow up, Linus, of course everyone is watching you and all the ways you fail spectacularly. It’s always a test and it’s always rigged and-
“Tess uses Arm & Hammer. Danny uses what Tess uses.”
Linus laughs but it’s choked and likely just a nervous reaction if the way tears start collecting in his eyes means anything. “And you knew he cheated on me.”
Rusty’s jaw clenches, “Yeah.”
“And you didn’t,” Linus’s breath catches, “why didn’t you say anything?”
“Didn’t seem like my place.”
Linus shoots up from his seat, nudging the small table with his thigh, shaking the plates and glasses of wine. He runs a hand through his hair, “So, let me get this straight, it’s your place to spy on me and break in whenever you please but giving me a heads up that I’m literally being screwed over is too much?”
His face feels hot and his hands won’t stop shaking so he stuffs them in his pockets. But then he remembers that Rusty is watching . Observing. Noticing. So he takes his hands out again because maybe that’s his tell for when he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Rusty doesn’t say anything either way.
“Get out,” Linus says, voice cracking as the final, embarrassing cherry on top. His finger hangs in the air, pointing at the door.
The chair scrapes as Rusty scoots back. He dabs his mouth with a napkin and heads for the living room where his duffle bag is, now stuffed with fresh laundry. He slides on his sunglasses even though it’s past sunset, “See ya, Linus.”
After the door shuts behind him Linus secured each lock and cries in a way that anyone in their business would call overselling.
Linus flips on the news and lowers the volume down, down, down the next afternoon as he slumps to the kitchen. The pans are dirty and still out on the stovetop, serving as a cruel reminder that last night happened and Linus would have to still be an adult and do the dishes despite it all.
Hangover included.
For now he grabs a cereal bowl and helps himself to some cheerios because it’s the only thing he thinks he’ll be able to keep down. Linus starts eating it on the way to the couch, uncaring that a few escape the bowl and fall to the ground. He’ll get it later if feels like getting up.
“-with a written confession it’s almost certain that Sam Kerrigan will be held accountable to the highest court in the land, if and when authorities find him. However Kerrigan may have fled the country-”
Linus drops the spoon into the bowl, splashing milk and cereal over himself. That’s Sam’s photo on the television – blue eyes and blonde hair, smiling cluelessly. (Linus may or may not have a type, not that that matters).
Linus scrambles for his nokia in the other room and spends far too much time scrolling through his contacts before he finally gets the one he wants.
“Heya, Linus,” Rusty greets cheerfully.
“Rusty,” Linus doesn’t even know what to say as he reads more details sliding on the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Samuel H. Kerrigan, former Harvard grad, confesses to stealing and fencing several paintings, not limited to-
“Too much?” Rusty asks.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t have a heart attack, Linus, he didn’t do it.”
“No shit, Rusty. Sam couldn’t steal a free sample, let alone a Pollock, ” Linus says, watching shaky camera footage of Sam’s apartment, or what used to be his apartment. It looks stripped clean. “Are we...should we be worried? Y’know, about police connecting us?”
“Thanks to your foresight there’s not much for them to work on. Scrubbed his place good, but I’m guessing you're seeing that.”
Linus pushes his hair back, “Is he…”
“He’s just halfway to Mexico and never coming back.”
And Linus thought his father was overprotective. “Oh my god, Rusty.”
“Yeah. No, you’re right, it’s too much,” Rusty says, like it’s an expensive scarf they can return and not the complete and irreversible demise of his, shitty, ex-boyfriend.
“I...thanks, Rusty.”
Linus can hear the smile, “Hey, don’t mention it. See you in a month.”
Linus spends the rest of the day trying to melt into the couch.