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Danny knew that claiming charity events were dreadful and boring and dreadfully boring was a social faux par his image may never recover from, so he keeps that to himself every time he's invited. He rarely shows up anyways, and the few times he does he feels as if he's not alone in his less than pleasant feelings towards these kinds of events, but still everyone shows up and pretends otherwise to save face. It's something unspoken, a disdain shared by those rich and privileged enough to lose track of the number of charities they've attached their name to. Danny isn't quite there yet; his disdain lies with those above himself in the capitalistic hierarchy, the people who invite him like he's some kind of living decoration.
"At least they think you're pretty," his saving grace at this latest one - something for orphans? - is his charmingly gruff stunt coordinator Orson.
It had surprised Danny to learn he was a regular at these kinds of events, but then again, Danny tried to attend as few as possible. Orson was honestly the only reason he was here in the first place.
After Danny had received his invite via email while on set, and made a face while Orson was trying to step him through some fight choreography, Orson had asked him who shit in his coffee, and Danny had been cagey about the details. It didn't look great to be making faces at orphan-based charity invites.
Surprisingly, Orson had grinned broadly at the truth, and the resignation in Danny's voice. He'd clapped him on the shoulder and declared that 'this should make things interesting'.
At the edge of the boat the event was taking place on, Orson and Danny, both with drink in hand, were observing the other guests. No-one really cared about Orson's presence, but Danny was pointedly keeping a low profile.
"I could send them a life-sized cut-out, it'd serve the same purpose," Danny sighed into his cocktail, shoulder to shoulder with the stuntman, trying not to think about how well he cleaned up, "they don't need me to be here." Orson laughed sharply, smiling in that way that made him seem rather dangerous.
"Don't sell yourself short, I need you here," he says candidly. Danny goes very still, and does his best to not read too much into his companion's words.
"Oh?"
"The missus says I'm not allowed to stage a fight with our bodyguard anymore, just because I'm bored," Orson explains, which asks more questions than it answers. Danny takes another drink before casually shifting his weight from one foot to the other, gazing at Orson out of the corner of his eye.
"Your missus?" It suddenly feels like he's standing next to a stranger.
"The lovely lady who invited me," Orson's voice is so casual, it's like he doesn't know Danny's suddenly overwhelmed with questions. After a long moment of silence, Danny shrugs, shooting for casual.
"Didn't think a man like you would need a bodyguard."
"We like having him around," there's something fond tugging at the edge of Orson's smile, something beyond professional appreciation, and Danny just nods, and files all this new information in the back of his mind, taking it in stride. A waiter comes past with a tray half-full of champagne flutes, and Danny deposits his empty cocktail glass to pick up a new drink in each hand. Orson follows suit, though he only picks up one.
"So you want to stage a fight with me?" Danny finally asks, and Orson leans back against the railing, looking far more at ease than Danny felt.
"If we get bored," he shrugs, "I was thinking that dance-y, half-Krav Maga routine we worked out for you and Rami last week, if you still remember it," Orson looks at him, and Danny feels his heart rate pick up. Of course Orson Fortune could casually throw him around in an impeccably tailored suit on a boat in the middle of a charity event, of course Orson Fortune would want to.
"Is this a test?" Danny asks instead, letting himself smirk as he leaned back beside Orson.
"Depends," his stunt coordinator's smile grew wide.
"And what do I get if I pass?"
"The opportunity to feel like more than just this party's pretty, little, porcelain boy-toy."
"Won't your missus be mad?"
"You'd be surprised," the gleam in Orson's eyes is full of mischief and promise and all Danny can think of is all the times he'd been thrown around in training by the man in question. He wets his lips and looks back at the upper echelon of society, gathered for show and their meaningless, buzz-word driven babble. Greg Simmonds had been eyeing him up for the past few minutes, apparently having finally spotted him, and seemed about ready to make a move to come talk to him.
"Yeah, I think I remember how that fight went," Danny offers with half a smirk, turning his attention back to his colleague.
"Good boy," Orson practically cackles, and Danny attempts to ignore the embarrassing way the praise makes him flush, "you say the word and -"
"No time like the present," Danny can see Simmonds making a beeline for him, and needs no more encouragement to make a scene.
Orson lunges first.
Danny's always been enamoured by how graceful and powerful Orson was, considering the man looked like he was built for something like Fast & Furious, and now, of course, was no exception. He'd been right to call the fight choreography 'dance-y', as he and Danny weaved around each other in a way so coordinated the actor would have almost called it beautiful if it didn't end with his hand twisted up behind his back and Orson kneeling on his spine -
"And scene!" An irrate voice broke through the shocked babble of the crowd, and Danny can taste his own blood, sticky-hot and iron-rich in the back of his throat; his timing hadn't been perfect, and Orson hadn't pulled all his punches, but he hadn't felt this alive in a very long time. His heartbeat is thundering in his ears, adrenaline white-hot in his veins.
"'s all in good spirit, just a bit of horseplay," he can hear Orson say, knowing he's wearing that wide, dangerously enticing grin. Though the stunt coordinator let's go of his arm, he's still kneeling on Danny's back. There's an awkward smattering of applause from around them, and from this angle he can start to see the crowd dispersing. There's an unexpected power that comes with making himself a deliberate spectacle - I've given them something to look at, he thinks ruefully, grinning despite his bloody nose and split lip.
"Sweetheart, are you okay?" There's that voice again, the irrate, feminine alto that had called scene, closer now, and Danny can see the hem of a red, velvet dress coming closer. Danny knows that voice, but he can't quite place it, "JJ, can you -? The first aid kit, please," the woman says, and Orson finally gets up, hauling Danny to his feet as he does so, and immediately someone takes his face in hand to examine him.
"Fortune, this better not be Danny Francesco's nose you've just broken," the woman in red has dark hair and dark eyes, expression severe the moment she looks away from Danny to Orson beside him. Sarah Fidel, security-tech whiz-kid and entrepreneurial icon, holds Danny's face so gently as she reprimands his stunt coordinator, despite how Danny's beaming as he looks around, surveys the situation.
"'s not broken," Orson offers, hands stuffed into his pockets, seemingly just as blasé about this interaction as he is with any others. He looks to Danny and his grin grow just a touch wider, the look in his eyes like they're sharing an in-joke.
"Fucking Christ, I can't take you anywhere," Sarah sighs deeply, already apologising to Danny when she turns back to him. Danny tries to tell her it's alright, but her gentle hands have already taken his, pulling him towards the interior of the boat.
"My word, is that our lovely Danny Francesco?" Greg Simmonds finally finds his opportunity to step in, but Sarah, pulling Danny and followed by Orson, doesn't slow down.
"Danny and I simply thought we'd liven up the night," Orson offers, chipper, and Danny gives a bright, bloody smile, and a thumbs up over his shoulder.
"Is he -?"
"He'll be fine, Mister Simmonds, JJ and the Lady Fidel will take good care of him," Orson assures, before he closes the door to the mega-yatch's interior in Simmonds' face.
"Thank God," Sarah sighs the minute they're alone, "with this much fucking money you think he could hire a band," she groaned, pushing open a side door to a secluded cabin, "seriously, Danny, honey, how are you doing?" The jump in tone almost gives the star whiplash, and he looks between Orson and Sarah, confused. The adrenaline is dying down now, and he's starting to feel the aches.
"I'm fine," he says awkwardly, "I'm Danny Francesco -"
"I know," she says with a half smile, still holding one of his hands.
"You're Sarah Fidel."
"Told 'ya he's a smart one," Orson teases, just as the door opens and a beautiful, stern gentleman in a dark suit joins them, first aid kit in hand. JJ, Danny presumes, judging by the way the other two smile at him.
JJ directs Danny to sit in the plush armchair in the corner of the room, and kneels down next to him. He speaks with a quiet kind of warmth as Orson and Sarah go back and forth with a sharp but ultimately familiar kind of banter. Danny feels dizzy from it all, sick and confused and elated in a way that has nothing to do with blood loss; Sarah wears a grin like Orson's, beautiful and dangerous all at once, and she keeps glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
"You're bolder than I gave you credit for, Danny Francesco," JJ tells him as he's checking for a concussion, and Danny looks at him with surprise, "not many would want to go toe-to-toe with Fortune, even if it was all for show." He smiles, something approving in his tone that Danny can't quite figure out.
"Told 'ya he'd be into it," Orson chimes in, sounding rather smug.
"Is this why you were actually looking forward to this one?" Sarah asks, eyes on Orson as she joins Danny and JJ, sitting on the arm of the chair and half draping herself across the back.
"Since you forbade me and JJ from getting into it again, yeah, I was glad to find a like-minded individual," Orson says carefully, and Danny thinks there might be something like pride in his eyes. He can feel himself flush again, and he wants to avert his gaze, but JJ has a cotton pad on his cheek, his chin held still between two fingers. This doesn't not go unnoticed by the bodyguard playing nurse, however.
"Can you not make passes at my patient for like five minutes, Fortune?" JJ smirked, despite how he remained focused on his task at hand. It did little to keep Danny's blush down, however, as he could feel his face grow redder still.
"You're such a menace, JJ," Sarah crowed with delight as Orson snorted a laugh, "he saved our night, let the poor man breathe," then, moving from thea arm of the chair, she hiked up her dress so she could sink down to her knees, taking the medical equipment from JJ, "let me."
JJ rolled his eyes, but still regarded her fondly as he stood, making his way back to Orson, the two standing almost identically, side by side, arms crossed. Danny watches them for just a moment, sees the way they're almost evaluating him with a strangely fond scrutiny, and starts to get that dizzy-sick-elated feeling again.
"You really are my hero," Sarah says rather off-handedly, surprisingly diligent as she cleaned him up and started carefully dressing his split lip, "there's only so many times I can excuse Fortune and JJ throwing each other around at things like these before people start to ask questions."
"Y- you're okay with this?" Though clearly she was, Danny still found himself confused by the situation at hand. Sarah sighed, sitting back on her heels; surely she didn't have to do this herself, surely she had people for this, or those people had people.
"You're lucky you're at a point where you don't have to show your face at these things, even if you're invited," she mused, rolling her eyes as her tone took on a self deprecating air, "which I know, probably sounds like some entitled, privileged bullshit, but there's something gross about feeling like it doesn't matter how much I give to charity if I'm not seen at every single one of these stupid, self-congratulatory, socialite, suck-fests."
Danny blinks, surprised by the honesty and exhaustion in her voice. As much as he disliked these events, and the frivolous-seeming individuals who attended them, he'd honestly never considered how much the idea of philanthropy weighed with these contradictory performances of selflessness and wealth.
Behind her, however, Orson and JJ were stifling their laughter.
"That's a good one, add that to the list," Orson barks, while JJ is already pulling out his phone. Sarah glares over her shoulder at them. Orson tries to waive her off, "sorry, don't let me spoil your moment," while JJ is typing, muttering to himself 'stupid, self-congratulatory, socialite suck-fest' with a barely concealed grin.
"Are you, Miss Sarah Fidel," Danny's tone turns teasing as he attempts to lighten the mood, and Sarah turns back to him with raised eyebrows, "using me as an excuse to get out of the rest of this boring, charity event?" It's Sarah's turn to flush, half embarrassed by how it ultimately sounds, half flustered by the warm way Danny was regarding her, a newfound respect in his eyes.
"When you say it like that I sound like an asshole," she murmurs, gaze averted as she makes a point of looking through the medical supplies, "my first time meeting movie star Danny Francesco and he really doesn't pull his punches," she mutters, clearly half-joking.
"I could have told you that," Orson grins, to which JJ rolls his eyes, elbowing Orson in the sternum.
"Shut up, you're not even bruised."
"Yeah but I could be," Orson clutches his chest, grinning again, looking from JJ to Danny, catching the star's gaze, proud, "you can't tell me he wasn't a good choice; you see the way he smiled at fuckin' Greg, with that bloody nose of his? He gets it."
"You just had to make him bleed," but Sarah spoke with fond exasperation, finally looking up once more to examine Danny's face. There, in her eyes, is apology, is soft adoration and respect and a glimmer of nervousness -
"A little blood's worth it," Danny shrugs, smiling at each of them in turn, "it almost feels like you all wanted to get me alone;" he allows himself to be cocky, to be flirty, to accept their words and their shared grins at face value, "should I be flattered?"
"Oh, he is a smart one," Sarah's praise had a teasing edge, her free hand coming to hold his jaw, her thumb gentle against his cheekbone.
"Good boy, connecting the dots like that," Orson matched his partner's tone, approval in his eyes. A pleasant little shover runs down Danny's spine at that, and finally, he looks to JJ, who's regarding him with a positive, but otherwise unreadable expression.
"What- what was it you said? Bolder than you gave me credit for?" Danny tried, and JJ's grin grows wide and fond.
"Something like that, Danny Francesco."