The look that question gets is more exasperated tension going the wrong way, veering way from any sort of softness and very heavily almost toward a seriousness that vying toward a blankness. Less than welcome, the questions, these things bouncing hard and sharp inside his head, and overly ready to defend it. With absolutely no idea what to say. Because she does.
She's met Danny, along with every other Five-0 member. If he says no, it's a lie. If he says yes, it's a dangerously small pool.
He doesn't lie. He might hedge. He might deflect. He's incredibly good at telling Danny, and Kono, the only line he can about files and missions and facts from his past. He's good at can neither confirm or deny, or smirking, lopsided, and telling them if he said anything he'd have to kill them. But he doesn't lie.
Honesty. Integrity. Loyalty. Service. They mean something to him. In every single part of his life, of who he's sworn to be.
It says too much the he just presses his mouth, and goes with, "Cath." Lets a breath leave his nose on the second passing the last syllables. It's not apology or a request or a warning, he knows her too well for those, and maybe it's still is, all of them, because they know each other so well.
"You should get your shower. I'll get mine after." It can wait. He's pretty sure he just signed up for a hell of a lot more of this.
But what else was he supposed to do. He's pretty sure if he hadn't stopped it, he'd feel as sharp and sour-sick as he does now, too.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-03 09:59 pm (UTC)She's met Danny, along with every other Five-0 member. If he says no, it's a lie. If he says yes, it's a dangerously small pool.
He doesn't lie. He might hedge. He might deflect. He's incredibly good at telling Danny, and Kono, the only line he can about files and missions and facts from his past. He's good at can neither confirm or deny, or smirking, lopsided, and telling them if he said anything he'd have to kill them. But he doesn't lie.
Honesty. Integrity. Loyalty. Service. They mean something to him. In every single part of his life, of who he's sworn to be.
It says too much the he just presses his mouth, and goes with, "Cath." Lets a breath leave his nose on the second passing the last syllables. It's not apology or a request or a warning, he knows her too well for those, and maybe it's still is, all of them, because they know each other so well.
"You should get your shower. I'll get mine after." It can wait. He's pretty sure he just signed up for a hell of a lot more of this.
But what else was he supposed to do. He's pretty sure if he hadn't stopped it, he'd feel as sharp and sour-sick as he does now, too.