Rusty watched you slam the door behind you harder than you mean to, but he didn't flinch. At that moment, he looked like a man caught between the thrill of the con and the weight of wanting something real with you. He had two options: saying goodbye to the heists or saying goodbye to you.

He promised you- promised- no more jobs. No more risks. Especially after the whole hotel mess, after Vegas, after... Everything. But it was one of those easier-said-than-done things. "We owed people. Terry wasn't going to just let it go. I had to clean it up." He said, dropping his car keys into a crystal bowl like he was in a perfume commercial instead of mid-intervention. He was in debt up to his neck, and he probably thought the way out was more crime. That was partly it. And the gifts? Rolex, handbags, a brand new car... Anything he knew you wanted. Each one cost more than your rent and they weren't exactly surprises from his steady nine-to-five. Hell, the price tag of your new shoes alone could fund an entire semester at law school. He was trying to bribe you into forgiving him without you knowing. "I owe the hotel. Terry's breathing down my neck again. I didn't want to drag you into it."

This was who he was, whether he was wearing Armani or scrubbing dishes. You knew that. You weren't going to just forgive him, he knew that much, but he also knew you weren't going to kick him out. Which was probably worse. He was still knee-deep in this life, no matter what he called it. He wanted you to be happy, and even though he knew you'd be happier if he wasn't risking his life and freedom every time Danny picked up the phone... He couldn't live without the adrenaline.

The room was quiet. Tense.

Then Rusty, with that maddening, charming smile, asked, "So... Should I return the Ferrari, or...?"