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“It’s not that bad,” Rusty says as Danny gingerly holds Rusty’s right hand between his own two. Rusty’s pointer and index fingers have already become swollen, and every digit from his pinky to his thumb are purple. His pointer finger is crooked opposite from the way that it used to be.
“It looks pretty bad.”
“I prefer moderate.”
“If this is your moderate, I don’t want to see bad,” Danny replies. He turns Rusty’s hand palm up and traces his fingers over Rusty’s. The action makes Rusty hiss, and Danny pulls back his hand before he can make things worse. “Think you need a doctor?”
“Maybe some Advil?” Rusty asks.
“Tape?”
Rusty nods. He tries to bend his fingers and winces. This teaches him, Danny guesses, teaches both of them not to underestimate a security guard with access to a door and in possession of significant grip strength. Even just seeing the damage makes the joints in Danny’s hands ache sympathetically. He has the feeling––he knows Rusty is playing it down for his benefit, that Rusty doesn’t want to worry him, but he seems to forget that Danny could guess what he was thinking through a hundred yards of fog. It hadn’t worked when Danny had tried the same thing on him a few months back, so there’s no reason for it to work now.
“Think you can move them?”
Rusty shrugs; his shoulder brushes Danny’s from the way they’re sitting side-by-side. “If I needed to.” He glances over at Danny with his eyebrows pinched in. “Do you need me to?”
What Danny really needs is for Rusty to go to a doctor. They’re both usually pretty good at taking care of themselves and each other, but Danny worries when it comes to hands. He’s no doctor, and all the little bones in them make him nervous when it comes to his own ability to sort them back to where they should be. One of the most important things a thief can have––one of the most important things that anyone can have––is their hands. For all manner of reasons, both selfish and selfless, Danny doesn’t want Rusty to even risk losing the dexterity in his hands.
“I know,” Rusty mumbles. He uses his good hand to feel a couple of the swollen joints. Now, rather than looking pained, he just looks mostly irritated at himself. “I should get it looked at.”
Will you?
“If you drive,” Rusty says. The tone he uses makes it sound like a surrender, like that hurts more than the actual damage that’s been done to his body.
“Deal,” Danny replies.
He holds Rusty’s good hand the whole way there.