There's not an off section of his day, his week, his head really. Not, especially, this week. When the impulse for the door unlatching to their side is still for Steve's hand to slip toward the piece at his hip. Knowing the safety is off, at the same time as the knowledge that there is only one person on the island of the peace of the mind that his front door is revolving door that doesn't require knocking, as the knowledge it must be late, have gotten late, if Grace is back with Rachel.
So many thoughts and absolutely not a single one is sticking, because Danny is walking through his front door, which he can see straight over Cath's head. Blonde hair and -- yeah. Yeah. Steve can't even help the bewildered, amazed smile that smacks his face suddenly -- and blue jeans. T-shirt, too. But blue jeans. Looking like he came straight from whatever it was he got up to with his daughter.
Which is good, right? They had fun. Steve will just stop considering those pants and drag his eyes back up to Danny's face.
Where all the puddle of warmth that suddenly splattered everywhere like somehow water had started bubbling up, air started coming in, again, freezes on Danny's face. Pale, like he's going to faint, more like he suddenly wants to lose his dinner on the floor of Steve's landing. Mouth twitching like there are words that keep almost, but never finding his voice.
Eyes so wide and so bright it's kicking up Steve's chest, aimed for the dead center, like a sharpened icepick.
As Danny's eyes were focused on Cath, hardly evening moving at all. Any second the gaze moves back in his direction it goes back to her. Cringing just enough Steve thinks it's ratchets off like the bullets that slammed his back this week, when Cath's words hardly seem to touch him, before he's backing away. Panic and desperation, sickened confirmation, denial and something else, something Steve can't even name, but he hates it so much already, skittering wildly on that face.
When Danny's retreating faster than the few steps he came in, scatter-shot words in a tone so sharp and unfocused it could be its own weapon. Before the door was slamming. Only it seemed to keep slamming, the door and his his heart, somewhere up in his throat and his ears, even at the same time as he'd pushed up from the couch, with "Danny--" all at the same time as the door went.
Maybe only just then catching himself, between surging up and the fact Cath was between him and the door.
Making his gaze drop to her, even as he knew he had to go, shoulders suddenly frozen for a half dozen other, newer, reasons.
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So many thoughts and absolutely not a single one is sticking, because Danny is walking through his front door, which he can see straight over Cath's head. Blonde hair and -- yeah. Yeah. Steve can't even help the bewildered, amazed smile that smacks his face suddenly -- and blue jeans. T-shirt, too. But blue jeans. Looking like he came straight from whatever it was he got up to with his daughter.
Which is good, right? They had fun. Steve will just stop considering those pants and drag his eyes back up to Danny's face.
Where all the puddle of warmth that suddenly splattered everywhere like somehow water had started bubbling up, air started coming in, again, freezes on Danny's face. Pale, like he's going to faint, more like he suddenly wants to lose his dinner on the floor of Steve's landing. Mouth twitching like there are words that keep almost, but never finding his voice.
Eyes so wide and so bright it's kicking up Steve's chest, aimed for the dead center, like a sharpened icepick.
As Danny's eyes were focused on Cath, hardly evening moving at all. Any second the gaze moves back in his direction it goes back to her. Cringing just enough Steve thinks it's ratchets off like the bullets that slammed his back this week, when Cath's words hardly seem to touch him, before he's backing away. Panic and desperation, sickened confirmation, denial and something else, something Steve can't even name, but he hates it so much already, skittering wildly on that face.
When Danny's retreating faster than the few steps he came in, scatter-shot words in a tone so sharp and unfocused it could be its own weapon. Before the door was slamming. Only it seemed to keep slamming, the door and his his heart, somewhere up in his throat and his ears, even at the same time as he'd pushed up from the couch, with "Danny--" all at the same time as the door went.
Maybe only just then catching himself, between surging up and the fact Cath was between him and the door.
Making his gaze drop to her, even as he knew he had to go, shoulders suddenly frozen for a half dozen other, newer, reasons.