So maybe it could be. Love. She doesn't know, because she has literally never seen this look on Steve's face before; this mix of happy and hopeful, of wary disbelief. And a sudden shine that comes over him like sunlight skating across water. When four words, it's actually really good, with no embellishments, no further explanation, come like a confession, and she's suddenly looking at the barest she's ever seen him. Even aside from Doris, where there had been a wall around everything he did, every motion and muffling every word.
But, just for a second, he shines.
It doesn't take away from the worry, or the resignation. Doesn't smooth the taut line of his shoulders or the thrum of tension between them. And it lands with a splash in her stomach, in her head, where that mean little voice is whispering that he'd never once looked at her the way he's looking right now about someone he can't even tell her about. Dragging up memories of when she'd wanted that, wanted Steve to be hers, exclusively, before she came to the realization that Steve belongs to no one exclusively, that he gives himself to the Navy and now Five-0 with the kind of dedication other people save for lovers. His scope is larger than that, and she'd learned to be fine with it, learned to appreciate it, love him for it, love what they have, because it keeps her from being forgotten like any other dalliance. Because there's something in their friendship that means more, that she now thinks she prefers.
And she doesn't even want him for herself like that, but she used to, and sometimes those memories are hard to dislodge.
Still, that voice is tiny, and it's nothing to the warm wash of affection and near wistfulness that floods her chest as she watches him, his face open and honest, four words ringing true. A good thing, in a week when nothing has been good.
She can't begrudge him that. And in the end, she's not here to sleep with him. She's here to just be with him, try to cheer him up, pull him out of his house and into the world, and she can do that without falling into bed with him, no matter how she might regret or miss those moments later.
Which makes her smile, because he's still tense and defensive, and he's still cagey as hell, but there's something about this that's good, and he needs that, more than anything else, more than her, even. Her whole reason to be here is to give him that, isn't it?
"Good." A funny little tug pulling at her smile, but it's warm and, you know, she gets it. Past the surprise, past the worry. That look on his face tells her what she needs to know, and exactly how she should take this information.
"Then I hope it works out longer than a few more weeks." As long as it makes him soften like that, as long as he gets that look in his eyes, like he doesn't even know what to hope for, but is hoping anyway.
Her lips press together, thoughtfully, and she nods, like she's agreeing, a tactical retreat, though this is not over, Steve. Still, it's an olive branch. "What were you saying about me getting first shower?"
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But, just for a second, he shines.
It doesn't take away from the worry, or the resignation. Doesn't smooth the taut line of his shoulders or the thrum of tension between them. And it lands with a splash in her stomach, in her head, where that mean little voice is whispering that he'd never once looked at her the way he's looking right now about someone he can't even tell her about. Dragging up memories of when she'd wanted that, wanted Steve to be hers, exclusively, before she came to the realization that Steve belongs to no one exclusively, that he gives himself to the Navy and now Five-0 with the kind of dedication other people save for lovers. His scope is larger than that, and she'd learned to be fine with it, learned to appreciate it, love him for it, love what they have, because it keeps her from being forgotten like any other dalliance. Because there's something in their friendship that means more, that she now thinks she prefers.
And she doesn't even want him for herself like that, but she used to, and sometimes those memories are hard to dislodge.
Still, that voice is tiny, and it's nothing to the warm wash of affection and near wistfulness that floods her chest as she watches him, his face open and honest, four words ringing true. A good thing, in a week when nothing has been good.
She can't begrudge him that. And in the end, she's not here to sleep with him. She's here to just be with him, try to cheer him up, pull him out of his house and into the world, and she can do that without falling into bed with him, no matter how she might regret or miss those moments later.
Which makes her smile, because he's still tense and defensive, and he's still cagey as hell, but there's something about this that's good, and he needs that, more than anything else, more than her, even. Her whole reason to be here is to give him that, isn't it?
"Good." A funny little tug pulling at her smile, but it's warm and, you know, she gets it. Past the surprise, past the worry. That look on his face tells her what she needs to know, and exactly how she should take this information.
"Then I hope it works out longer than a few more weeks." As long as it makes him soften like that, as long as he gets that look in his eyes, like he doesn't even know what to hope for, but is hoping anyway.
Her lips press together, thoughtfully, and she nods, like she's agreeing, a tactical retreat, though this is not over, Steve. Still, it's an olive branch. "What were you saying about me getting first shower?"