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The heist had gone almost flawlessly. And that “almost” was the reason Rusty’s heart was still racing, despite the calm expression he wore as he leaned against the wall of the team’s safe house, watching Danny Ocean pace across the room.
"Everything okay?" Danny asked without looking up, hands in his pockets as he walked a tight line, thinking.
Rusty took a deep breath, thinking back over the last couple of hours. Everything had gone as planned, up until the security detail they hadn’t accounted for. Three guards cutting through the casino’s lower levels just as Rusty was slipping out with Linus.
"We got it," Rusty answered, flicking a glance at Linus, who was slumped on the couch. "Little detour, but nothing we couldn’t handle."
Danny stopped pacing, turning to face Rusty with that sharp, calculating look he always wore when something didn’t sit right. "You good?"
Rusty gave a small shrug, pushing off the wall.
Danny’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, like he was trying to read something Rusty wasn’t saying. But before either of them could say more, Saul and Reuben walked in, followed by the rest of the team.
Conversations broke out instantly.
Basher talking about how easy it had been to disable the power grid, Livingston muttering about a security feed that almost caught them, and Linus chiming in every now and then, still trying to catch his breath. Rusty stayed quiet, leaning back against the table, arms crossed as he let the others work out the post-job nerves.
It was only when the conversation died down and everyone began to relax that Rusty noticed it—a strange, dull ache radiating through his side. He shifted, wincing slightly as he pushed his hand against his ribs. His shirt was sticking to him, uncomfortably tight against his skin. Weird.
He glanced down, casually lifting the hem of his jacket. That’s when he saw it. His shirt, dark with sweat (or at least what he thought was sweat) was actually soaked through with blood.
Rusty blinked, surprised more than anything else. He hadn’t even felt it happen. Somewhere between slipping past those guards and making the final sprint out of the casino, he must have taken a hit.
He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Just kept running, focusing on the job.
But now, seeing the blood Rusty realized he might’ve underestimated the whole “getting whacked” thing.
"Hey," he said, voice calm despite the growing sense of unease spreading through his limbs. "Uh, Danny?"
Danny, in the middle of another conversation, turned at the sound of Rusty’s voice. One look at him, and Danny’s eyes narrowed. "What’s up?"
Rusty peeled his jacket back a little more, revealing the blood-soaked shirt beneath. "Think I got a little banged up."
The room went silent. All eyes turned to him.
"A little banged up?" Livingston muttered, his face pale as he stared at the blood.
Rusty gave a nonchalant shrug, though now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain was starting to sharpen, jabbing at his side with each breath. "Yeah, well. It’s not great, but I didn’t want to make a scene."
"You didn’t want to make a scene?" Danny repeated, moving across the room with a speed that didn’t match his calm demeanor. "Jesus, Rusty, sit down."
"I’m fine," Rusty said, though his legs were starting to feel unsteady, and the room tilted slightly when he tried to move. Danny grabbed his arm and eased him into a chair before he could protest.
"Let me see," Danny said, already pulling Rusty’s shirt up to get a better look. His expression darkened when he saw the deep gash running along Rusty’s side, just below his ribs. The blood had soaked through, staining his entire side, and now that Rusty was sitting still, he could feel the warm stickiness against his skin.
"You should’ve said something sooner," Danny muttered, grabbing a first-aid kit off the table and kneeling next to him.
"I didn’t realize," Rusty admitted. "Didn’t feel it until just now."
"Yeah, well, you’re feeling it now," Danny muttered as he grabbed a clean cloth, pressing it firmly against the wound. Rusty winced, gritting his teeth against the fresh wave of pain that surged up from his side.
"Hold still," Danny ordered, his voice softer now but still tense. "We’ll patch you up here, but you might need stitches."
"I’ll live," Rusty replied, though his voice sounded less certain than before. The adrenaline was well and truly gone now, and all that was left was the steady, growing ache in his side and the dizzying lightheadedness that made it hard to focus.
"You look like you got run over by a truck," Saul added, stepping closer to get a better look.
"Yeah, well," Rusty mumbled, eyes falling shut again as he fought to keep his head from spinning.
For once, Rusty let himself believe it. He was in good hands. The team had his back, just like always.