Danny doesn't follow, and she didn't think he would. He looks uncomfortable enough already, and she's willing to bet Steve was the one who dragged him back in the house to begin with. Standing there, looking like the counter he's leaning on is giving him an allergic reaction that he's trying not to show.
It's fine. She doesn't know what to say to him right now, anyway, thought there's a tiny part of her that wants to pat him on the shoulder and commiserate, because Steve is a handful and the people who care about him can get put through the wringer. Something she could say, as someone who's cared about him for years, even past the point of worrying when he disappears for extended periods of time. He's always made it back in one piece, after all. Is trained to do the sorts of things even plenty of the military never sees.
Still. She certainly sympathizes.
None of it plays across her face when she takes that invite and heads into the living room to grab her tote, though. Slinging it over her shoulder, finding flip flops and sliding her toes into them, before looking back up at Steve and tucking her hair back behind her ear. "I'd say be careful, but I know better than to think you might actually be," she says, without preamble. Straightforward, looking at him dead on with that same mix of concern and exasperation and faint disapproval that she just can't get rid of. She's got nothing against Danny. It's not him, personally, she disapproves of. He seems like a great guy, cares about his kid, a good cop and partner.
It doesn't matter how much she likes him or would approve under any other circumstances. These are the ones Steve's blundered into, and these are the ones he'll have to deal with.
Still, she softens, slightly, and stops at the door to reach up and give him a brief hug, arm looping around his neck, taking a second without giving in to the weak impulse to close her eyes, tuck her face into the crook of his neck, breathe him in. Unwilling to give that knot in her stomach that's already missing him any further ammunition.
It's fine. With them, at least. It always is.
It's him she's worried about.
She settles back on her feet, eyes finding his face again, dark and sober and a little sharp, still, the softness a momentary lapse, now almost stern. "We are not done talking about this." A reminder, in case he might try to get out of it, like she knows he will, before she reaches for the door. "See you later."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-07 03:38 pm (UTC)It's fine. She doesn't know what to say to him right now, anyway, thought there's a tiny part of her that wants to pat him on the shoulder and commiserate, because Steve is a handful and the people who care about him can get put through the wringer. Something she could say, as someone who's cared about him for years, even past the point of worrying when he disappears for extended periods of time. He's always made it back in one piece, after all. Is trained to do the sorts of things even plenty of the military never sees.
Still. She certainly sympathizes.
None of it plays across her face when she takes that invite and heads into the living room to grab her tote, though. Slinging it over her shoulder, finding flip flops and sliding her toes into them, before looking back up at Steve and tucking her hair back behind her ear. "I'd say be careful, but I know better than to think you might actually be," she says, without preamble. Straightforward, looking at him dead on with that same mix of concern and exasperation and faint disapproval that she just can't get rid of. She's got nothing against Danny. It's not him, personally, she disapproves of. He seems like a great guy, cares about his kid, a good cop and partner.
It doesn't matter how much she likes him or would approve under any other circumstances. These are the ones Steve's blundered into, and these are the ones he'll have to deal with.
Still, she softens, slightly, and stops at the door to reach up and give him a brief hug, arm looping around his neck, taking a second without giving in to the weak impulse to close her eyes, tuck her face into the crook of his neck, breathe him in. Unwilling to give that knot in her stomach that's already missing him any further ammunition.
It's fine. With them, at least. It always is.
It's him she's worried about.
She settles back on her feet, eyes finding his face again, dark and sober and a little sharp, still, the softness a momentary lapse, now almost stern. "We are not done talking about this." A reminder, in case he might try to get out of it, like she knows he will, before she reaches for the door. "See you later."