That's almost funny, too. Lining up neatly against his it's not a joke from last week. A week ago. Christ, a lot has happened this week, they should all get some kind of overtime or a month off, or something.
But Steve's hands are hard enough to hurt on his shoulders, which at least manages to choke any beginnings that might be the kind of laugh that would make him want to slap himself in the face, just to snap out of it. But he can't. What's the point? Should he be getting angry? He will later, he knows. He did before. Or will this just devolve into begging Steve to give him another chance, like he begged Rachel?
He hopes not. That really would put a crimp in their working days.
Steve tugs at him, makes him take an abrupt half step forward, closer, eyes forced to his face, and he looks pissed off. Frown digging deep, eyes wide and desperate, but it's like he's speaking Latin and it's just not translating, no matter how hard he's trying to communicate, and something tiny and frustrated and stinging pain blinks awake in Danny's chest. How is he supposed to believe it, okay? Already he wants to, and he knows he can't, is trying to pull back on himself, to keep from clambering back onto the cracking ice that just dumped him into this bottomless nothingness, but he's stupid, has always been stupid, it's his own damn fault if he falls off the cliff this time.
But because he's stupid, and because Steve is dragging him in close and his voice is so ragged and because some idiotic, treacherous part of himself wants, wants to believe it, he can feel the scattered pieces trying to press back into some kind of fractured whole. Fingertips clinging to the cliffside. Edging. Carefully. Like a trapdoor might spring any second and drop him again.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-02-06 06:28 pm (UTC)But Steve's hands are hard enough to hurt on his shoulders, which at least manages to choke any beginnings that might be the kind of laugh that would make him want to slap himself in the face, just to snap out of it. But he can't. What's the point? Should he be getting angry? He will later, he knows. He did before. Or will this just devolve into begging Steve to give him another chance, like he begged Rachel?
He hopes not. That really would put a crimp in their working days.
Steve tugs at him, makes him take an abrupt half step forward, closer, eyes forced to his face, and he looks pissed off. Frown digging deep, eyes wide and desperate, but it's like he's speaking Latin and it's just not translating, no matter how hard he's trying to communicate, and something tiny and frustrated and stinging pain blinks awake in Danny's chest. How is he supposed to believe it, okay? Already he wants to, and he knows he can't, is trying to pull back on himself, to keep from clambering back onto the cracking ice that just dumped him into this bottomless nothingness, but he's stupid, has always been stupid, it's his own damn fault if he falls off the cliff this time.
But because he's stupid, and because Steve is dragging him in close and his voice is so ragged and because some idiotic, treacherous part of himself wants, wants to believe it, he can feel the scattered pieces trying to press back into some kind of fractured whole. Fingertips clinging to the cliffside. Edging. Carefully. Like a trapdoor might spring any second and drop him again.
"What are you talking about?"