There's a fierce repetition of his name taking up residence pounding the edges of Steve's head, and the rush of his blood. When he isn't breathing hard, but it feels like his pulse is running away with itself on that question alone. Because it's every answer in his mouth, under his tongue, on his lips, clogging up his throat.
He feels like it should be stitched on his skin, as obvious as ever line of a tattoo. Still fading bruises, and that cracked rib.
But they didn't tell the other two, or if there was something to. Steve's pretty sure Grace won't be told. Still has to be told about Gabby.
He doesn't even know if Danny wants anyone aware of it, swagger and bruise on his collarbone last weekend not withstanding. It's one thing to be shameless about having a mark, from someone no one knows, making it like this great, endless secret you have. It'd be another to realize it's from the guy are the other end, the person ninety-percent of them look up to as their boss.
The guy who gives the orders. The person who sign off on their decisions, their files, their court date testimonies, their pay checks, everything. His partner for over two years, fond of bending the rules and seeing them more as equal, equal footing, this match between The Navy, The Police, and the Government of Hawaii. But that's not how it would look on paper. Not to anyone else.
A litany of reasons he knows.That are stamped on his head, but can't wash Danny out of his skin. Can't even touch that last firm kiss before he vanished. Like he was placing a mark on Steve, that Steve couldn't brush away or wash off, no matter the number of times he considered rubbing his mouth with the side of his hand.
Like chasing a phantom that wasn't actually solidly there, but never left.
When his hand stays where it is, and he wonders how he and the room both aren't screaming the same answer. The one that isn't the too unhelpful words that come, slow and specifically chosen, and not a lie, but not any help to her question, "A friend."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-03 09:13 pm (UTC)There's a fierce repetition of his name taking up residence pounding the edges of Steve's head, and the rush of his blood. When he isn't breathing hard, but it feels like his pulse is running away with itself on that question alone. Because it's every answer in his mouth, under his tongue, on his lips, clogging up his throat.
He feels like it should be stitched on his skin, as obvious as ever line of a tattoo. Still fading bruises, and that cracked rib.
But they didn't tell the other two, or if there was something to. Steve's pretty sure Grace won't be told. Still has to be told about Gabby.
He doesn't even know if Danny wants anyone aware of it, swagger and bruise on his collarbone last weekend not withstanding. It's one thing to be shameless about having a mark, from someone no one knows, making it like this great, endless secret you have. It'd be another to realize it's from the guy are the other end, the person ninety-percent of them look up to as their boss.
The guy who gives the orders. The person who sign off on their decisions, their files, their court date testimonies, their pay checks, everything. His partner for over two years, fond of bending the rules and seeing them more as equal, equal footing, this match between The Navy, The Police, and the Government of Hawaii. But that's not how it would look on paper. Not to anyone else.
A litany of reasons he knows.That are stamped on his head, but can't wash Danny out of his skin. Can't even touch that last firm kiss before he vanished. Like he was placing a mark on Steve, that Steve couldn't brush away or wash off, no matter the number of times he considered rubbing his mouth with the side of his hand.
Like chasing a phantom that wasn't actually solidly there, but never left.
When his hand stays where it is, and he wonders how he and the room both aren't screaming the same answer. The one that isn't the too unhelpful words that come, slow and specifically chosen, and not a lie, but not any help to her question, "A friend."