Oh, The Places You'll Go

Armed Dan Dangerous - aka Danny Get Your Gun

Notes: Phoebesmum asked for Danny, cake and vodka. This is what she got. Total AU.


He smashed backwards through the glass door, bending his knees to fall and roll as he had been taught. Of course, he hadn't been taught to roll over broken glass, he thought, disgusted, picking shards out of his expensive leather jacket. Crouching he moved to the window to check out the situation. The shots had come from the left, behind the black Caddy. There were two men, maybe three. He held his gun in both hands, tight against his chest as he pushed himself up, inch by inch to peer out of the darkened glass. What was that? There was something?

He ducked down out of sight, heart pounding. Shit, shit, shit! In the shoe shop opposite he had caught the reflection of his pursuers. There were two men, masked, and reloading. Dan looked wildly about him, searching for cover. Calm down, he told himself. If you get scared, you'll make mistakes. The counter stretched along the back wall of the shop. If he could get behind it without being seen, it should give him enough time to work out how the hell he was going to get out of this one. He checked his watch. Ten o'clock. Fuck! Dana was going to be livid.

Danny flattened his body against the floor, gun clutched in his right hand. He scrambled commando style through the glass and dust cursing the day he had ever joined the organisation. Not that joined was the right word. Press-ganged was definitely more apposite. It seemed that he fit the profile and that was all that mattered. He had never managed to find out what that profile was, but he was sure his had changed in the ten years since they had approached him. Every time he tried to get out it was "just one more job, Danny," "do it for democracy, Danny." He had wanted to tell them all to get fucked for years but these were not people who would take that kindly. Since he and Casey had finally managed to get together he had begged and pleaded to be released from duty. "Sure," they said. "You got someone important, we understand how it is." And when he had started to breathe a sigh of relief - "just one more job, Danny."

So here he was crawling across the floor of a shop and praying that today was not the day that his luck ran out. He reached his destination and sat up, panting and brushing dust off his ruined jacket. There was a steel door about six feet to his right. To get to it he would be in clear view of his pursuers. There were no vents or other routes out. He was going to have to make a stand. Ten oh five. Christ, he was dead either way - these guys or Dana it made no difference. And Casey? He hadn't told Casey about this part of his life. Couldn't. Couldn't risk putting him in danger.

When he had finally found the courage to tell Casey that he loved him, he had honestly expected no better response than "I'm sorry. I can't." The kiss that he had received instead still gave him shivers when he thought about it. "I'm sorry," Casey had begun and Dan's heart had sunk. The kiss off. That's what this is. But then Casey had continued, "I'm sorry I never took the chance. I'm sorry I let everything else get in the way. I'm sorry I haven't loved you as well as I should have. I'm sorry that I wasted so many years with Lisa when I could have been with you. I'm sorry that you had to be hurt because I was a coward." And after that there had been no more talking.

Dan swallowed hard. This was a dire situation that he was facing. The idea that he might not be around to see Casey every day, the thought of Casey's pain caused his insides to entwine in an agonizing knot. Dan doubled over and breathed deeply. Concentrate! Casey needs you to stay alive. Just then the noise of shattering glass distracted Dan from anything other than his immediate danger. Twisting around to peer through the counter Dan saw the men standing behind the Caddy, blasting their guns through the shop window. The place was a mess, thought Dan inconsequentially. The owners were not going to be pleased when they turned up for work. He shoved a clip into his gun, released the safety, leapt up and returned fire.

The hours of training at the firing range had been well spent. Dan hit the first man right between the eyes, a neat hole in his forehead and half his brain blown out behind. He fell to the ground, silent. The second man barely turned his head, shooting bullet after bullet into the shop. Dan ducked down behind the counter. It shattered under the barrage of fire and Dan felt a sticky, moist sensation on his face. Casey, he thought. I've got to get back to Casey. He stood once more, face grim and fired off the rest of his clip. His bullets found their target, the man jerking with each hit, like a puppet on a string.

Dan holstered his gun. He wiped his face and looked at the substance on his hand. He sniffed it, then put it in his mouth. He swallowed and nodded, a little smirk curving his lips. That was good, he thought. Vodka-laced Victoria sponge. He checked his watch. Ten fifteen. Fifteen minutes back to work. Arrive thirty minutes before the show. Get showered, changed, calm down Dana, reassure Casey, he might just make it. Although he wasn't prepared to bet on the state of his testicles after the show was over. Looking around the devastated cake shop he noticed one cake that had miraculously remained untouched. A strawberry gateau. Dan had an idea.


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