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Danny tongued the cut on the inside of his lip, tasting blood, and turned on his heel to keep a wary eye on Monroe. The General, President and Founding Father of the Monroe republic was stripped down to his trousers and boots, a slim sword held almost negligently in one hand. He stood in the centre of a huge, tiled hall, multi-coloured sunlight streaking him with shades of bright.
'You need to learn to fight,' he'd said that morning, regarding Danny with a measuring look in his eye.
'Come at me,' he said, beckoning with the sword.
Danny grimaced. 'I don't want to.'
A cold, wild grin stretched Monroe's lips tight over white teeth. 'Tom said you were timid, like your father. Ben never did much like getting his hands dirty.'
Anger flushed Danny's face, a betraying wash of red heat crawling up from under his shirt. 'You don't know my Dad.'
Monroe stamped forwards, making Danny jump back – ceding a foot to an advance of a few inches.
'But I did,' Monroe pointed out, composed despite the situation. 'For more years than you have, kid. Ben Matheson, well, he was the sort of guy who thought plausible deniability was compliant with morality.'
'I don't know what you mean.'
'I mean, Ben wouldn't stab you in the back,' Monroe said. 'But he'd give someone else the knife and tell them where to find you.'
Danny felt his temper snap like an overstretched elastic band, an almost tactile pop that echoed through his brain. He wrapped his sweaty hand tighter around the hilt, knuckles pressing against the brass loops, and lunged at Monroe. It wasn't a feint or 'showing willing' just to get the man off his back.
He wanted to kill him and, just for a second, as the blade sliced towards his throat he thought he'd done it. It felt good, hot and smug and coiling heavily in his balls. Like when he'd strangled Richards and it had felt...so...fucking good...not to be the victim.
Monroe shifted his weight to the side, the blade skinning along his throat, and grabbed Danny's elbow. He yanked, pulling the younger man in, and punched him hard, twice, in the side. The breath wheezed out of Danny and he couldn't drag it back again, his chest clamping shut like that would help.
Hooking an arm around Danny's waist, Monroe dragged him over to a chair and shoved the inhaler into his hand. It felt cold and light. Lighter than before, he wondered tired as he fumbled it into his mouth. The sharp, chemical taste of it hit the back of his throat and he hunched over waiting for his lungs to uncramp.
Shame scraped at his insides – for wanting to kill, even Monroe, and being so useless he failed – but Monroe seemed...pleased. Once Danny's breathing steadied he hauled him to his feet and slapped him on the back.
'Tomorrow,' he said. 'We'll work on your marksmanship.'
******
Danny felt an unwelcome rush of pride the day Monroe switched from live blades to wooden ones. It was a tacit admission he was a danger, not a joke. But he shouldn't care what Monroe thought, so he scowled and pushed the feeling down deep, locking the door on it.
'Why do you care whether I can fight or not?' Danny asked, wiping his face on his sleeve. 'If you decide you want me dead, it's not like you're going to give me a chance to defend myself. You'll just have me shot.'
Monroe tucked the sword under his arm and walked over to pour himself a glass of water. He'd kept his shirt on today, sweat plastering it to his hard shoulders, and Danny felt another unwelcome rush. The heavy tug of awareness at his cock made him flinch, wondering what was wrong with him. How could he find this killer – the man responsible for his Dad's death – attractive
'Have I been cruel to you?' Monroe asked, voice affable and convincing. He poured a glass of water for Danny and held it out. Tugging the dangling tail of his shirt down over his groin, Danny shuffled over to take it. 'Have I locked you up? Beaten you? Starved you?'
'I'm not allowed to leave.'
Monroe shrugged and looked regretful. 'Unfortunate, but necessary,' he said. 'And for your own safety as much as anything. If people found out your family turned off the power-'
No. Danny turned and walked away, fingers closed so tight around the glass his knuckles squeaked. He didn't care what Monroe said about his Dad knowing before-hand, no matter what his dick might think he didn't trust a word the man said about anything.
'Your mother's admitted it.'
'What did you do?' Danny demanded, turning round sharply. 'If you hurt her-'
The genial mask on Monroe's face cracked, revealing the stone underneath. 'You'll do what?' he asked, tilting his head slightly and waiting expectantly. When Danny bit his lips on the angry promises he wanted to make, Monroe twitched a dry smile. His eyes were measuring. 'Don't overstep my tolerance, Danny. You're family – Miles' family – I don't want to hurt you, but I will.'
Danny bent his stiff neck in a nod and kept his eyes on the floor. He didn't want to see the shift of the scales that Monroe was judging him by. It had just occurred to him why Monroe was being – by his standards – nice, why it was important that Danny learn to fight. Miles, it was all about Uncle Miles and whatever relationship he'd had with Monroe.
'I'm sorry, sir,' he said, flinching from the thought of how disappointed his Dad would look if he could hear him. 'I just...my mother was a teacher, not some-'
'Mad scientist?' Monroe asked. He crossed the room and cupped a warm hand over the nape of Danny's neck, giving him a rough, but genial, shake. 'I know it's hard, Danny, but I haven't lied to you. Ask your mother.'
He squeezed and let go, tossing the battered old sword onto a chair.
'That's enough for today, Danny,' he said. 'Go back to your room.'
Danny hesitated for a second, staring at the sword. It was wood, not edged, but a cudgel was as much of a weapon as a sword. But he knew he wasn't good enough, and trying to kill Monroe wasn't something he'd get a second chance at. He needed to wait for the right time.
************
Hard fingers dug into Danny's throat, squeezing hard enough to make him choke, as Monroe pressed him back against the wall. There was blood on his knuckles and on Monroe's face, a swipe of bright red across his tight cheekbones. Not all of it was Danny's, some of it was.
'Your mother tried to kill me,' Monroe said, leaning in so close Danny could taste the liquor and rage on his breath. The scary thing was he still didn't sound angry – not even when he'd had Danny on the ground kicking him – just annoyed. 'Tried to blow me up, after everything I've done for your family. For you.'
It was scary, because Monroe was not sane. Danny realised that with a distant sort of clarity as he tried to squint through swollen eyes. He'd spent the last weeks playing beneficent tyrant and tough mentor, making every, apparently genuine, effort to befriend Danny, and the last hour trying to beat him to death.
Danny scrabbled at Monroe's arm, tugging at his fingers. Fear trickled chill down his back.
'I didn't know,' he wheezed. 'I swear I didn't.'
The steady blue eyes didn't flicker, the fingers didn't loosen. Danny closed his eyes. Hard, cracked pain throbbed in his face, spreading up into his skull and into his ears. It hurt and he was tired of it. He licked blood off his lips and tried to think. Monroe had been trying to make him into a Miles-lite, only he'd picked up enough to know that Miles had left under a cloud. He'd betrayed him, so Danny betraying him was just...playing out the role.
Just like Dad, making him the one Charlie needed to take care off. Usually the thought would make him feel guilty – he was sick, Charlie would have left – but he might die. He thought it was fair to be bitter.
'I wouldn't do that,' he said, curling aching fingers around the back of Monroe's neck. Fine, short curls tickled his palm. The truth wouldn't work – maybe he didn't know, but he would have agreed – but Monroe was good at telling lies. So, a bit of both. 'I love you.'
It was what Monroe wanted, just not the way he'd wanted it. It was what Danny wanted, even if not who he should want it with.
Surprise loosened Monroe's fingers. Danny took advantage to lean forwards and kiss him, smearing more of his blood over the other man's lips. He didn't enjoy it, everything hurt and he was scared spit-less, but there was a vague satisfaction in it.
Monroe made an odd sound and shoved him away. He stared at Danny, expression unusually off-balance, as he wiped his hand over his mouth. Sliding down the wall – keeping just ahead of falling down the wall – Danny hoped he'd sown enough doubt. Just enough for him to-
'If your mother fails me again,' Monroe said coldly, dragging control back. 'I will kill you.'
He stalked out, slamming and locking the door behind him. Danny wheezed a relieved sigh and crawled over to lean against the bed. At some point, he'd actually climb onto it. That was just beyond him for the moment.
*******
He hated Miles.
It wasn't really fair Everyone treated him like a burden or a victim, not just Miles, but he couldn't hate his mother or Charlie could he? He didn't know Nora well enough and Aaron, he was the only one more genially tolerated than Danny.
'Stay back,' Charlie had yelled at him, shoving him back while she raced into the fight.
Rachel fussed over him, talked for him like he was still the toddler she'd left behind. 'Danny is tired, he has to rest or he'll get sick again.'
It was Miles, though, who'd told Danny not to 'get in my goddamn way' and Miles who'd been overheard telling Nora they couldn't 'afford dead weight like Aaron and the boy'. Boy, like he couldn't even be bothered to know his name. Well, fuck Uncle Miles.
Except it seemed like Danny was the only one who thought that. Charlie looked at him like he could do anything, all eyes and trust. She never looked at anyone like that, his tough, scrappy sister. Aaron made snide comments, but puffed up like a bird when Miles gave him a nod and Nora, well, she was here for Miles.
Everyone thought Miles was better than Danny (and a little voice in the bottom of his mind whispered, 'even Monroe only wanted you – as much as he wanted you at all – to play Miles). Maybe the not-sane was catching, because sometimes when he was keeping watch he fingered the sword Monroe had taught him to use and thought how much it would serve them all right...