The wait isn't all that long, and it's not even all that far away from the kitchen and Danny. Somehow in the mix of this, in less than minutes, it already feels odd to have left both of them behind to talk to the other somewhere else. Which is just strange, like a disjointed little alarm, that leaves him unable to actually focus one place and one person at one time. Not helped by the fact each of them is talking about the other.
About the whole of this situation, escalating to a mini-implosion instead of anyway he would have chosen.
He can't even be annoyed at her first words. They don't them words when it actually matters, and he's not surprised she waited until this moment. Not in front of Danny, who she knows, but not well, and who already looks like someone kicked him five times too many and too hard, like being swallowed by the floor is even more grace than he'd be allowed to have at this point now.
But even more so, Danny isn't her problem. He'd say friend. But he's sure the term actually is problem.
Given the pointed looks and the way she's still holding herself. Which he knows has more to do with holding herself back, against a nearly overwhelming opinion and reaction, both still going on. Something managed in everything but that first second after the door slammed, when it was white-washed straight across all of her. Impossible but happening right in front of her. Falling out of her mouth loud and sharp and begging a denial no word could stop.
There is no real defense for first ones, because she's right. He knew what he was he was doing. He knew what he wasn't doing for the last year. He still made the choice to say those words and pull Danny in and kiss him, instead of sending him away and saying all the official words that never even came waltzing into his brain during that second. He knows, and mostly just trailed after her, toward the door, without a defense. Because there wasn't a point in pretending one.
What he isn't expecting is the almost reluctant softness that fills her face before she's reaching up to hug him -- and that she is, at all -- even though his hands fill in. Cross over her back and her waist, with a heavy huff, he didn't mean to let out, going through her hair. Because she's still right here. For a moment, even. Softness pressed all across him, hands and arm tight enough around his neck he can't even begin to guess what all is going on in there.
Just holds on, and tries not to feel very suddenly, above and beyond, selfish that he's glad she does know, and, all pointed looks and cool demeanor aside, is still here. In his arms. Smelling a mixture of his shampoo and her suntan lotion and something softer, that is only her. Even when she's stepping back, disapproval trying to run rough shod over everything else that had been there for a second as she pulled back.
Maybe that's all part of it, too. Knowing they're going to be fine. Even if she doesn't approve. That she's allowed to have her opinion, and at some point he's going to have to -- which is, of course, when she says that. Which shouldn't make one side of his mouth and cheek almost twitch. He's pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate the amusement at the irony or at being right. Since he's most certainly choosing wrong according to every book and each of her frustrated looks.
"Yeah." He knows. Not enough according to the way she's looking at him. But he does. So, he nods. Barely. A clipped, short thing, when he's reaching out to get the door, but not leaning toward or away from it at all. Stationary. "Call whenever you know what your next few weeks look like."
If he isn't busy -- or avoiding it, which it's only like half a chance, right? It's not like he ever puts her off forever. Just cases, and planes, and unexpected things, make it a few days more often than not after the call or message, like it was last week -- he'll get right on that. Setting up a time when she can warn him, as loud and annoyed and close to yelling as she ever really gets, to her hearts' content.
When Danny isn't waiting, alone, in his kitchen. Thinking God know's what at this point. Tonight. Already.
It's still like a zip cord pulling him back and forth. Danny thinking he would, when Steve hadn't even considered until now how much that was true. Not when they were so different, when neither of them could really fill the shoes of the other. They were too different. Too completely different. They meant different things. Did different things. And even if she was mad, or whatever she would call this?
Steve leaned on the door, letting her get maybe five or six feet, before he's dragging it out. Words he might not any other time. Maybe because this is, today, this weekend, isn't like any other time. As much as he and she and they keep pretending it is, too. Like it has comparisons, like it's the same as anything else, especially now that it's all out. "Hey, Cath?"
He only waits for the half-beat, vaguely started turn to look back, before he plunges on. "I'm still glad you came. It was a good weekend." Even if she didn't know and does now. Because she isn't the stand-in for Danny, anymore than he could be for her, and even if it was a crappy, shit-weekend in comparison to more than a couple dozen others they had, it was better than anything he'd ever have gotten up to on his own. Especially after last week.
And that? That was true of every single time he saw her, no matter the year or month or events going on.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-07 05:00 pm (UTC)About the whole of this situation, escalating to a mini-implosion instead of anyway he would have chosen.
He can't even be annoyed at her first words. They don't them words when it actually matters, and he's not surprised she waited until this moment. Not in front of Danny, who she knows, but not well, and who already looks like someone kicked him five times too many and too hard, like being swallowed by the floor is even more grace than he'd be allowed to have at this point now.
But even more so, Danny isn't her problem. He'd say friend. But he's sure the term actually is problem.
Given the pointed looks and the way she's still holding herself. Which he knows has more to do with holding herself back, against a nearly overwhelming opinion and reaction, both still going on. Something managed in everything but that first second after the door slammed, when it was white-washed straight across all of her. Impossible but happening right in front of her. Falling out of her mouth loud and sharp and begging a denial no word could stop.
There is no real defense for first ones, because she's right. He knew what he was he was doing. He knew what he wasn't doing for the last year. He still made the choice to say those words and pull Danny in and kiss him, instead of sending him away and saying all the official words that never even came waltzing into his brain during that second. He knows, and mostly just trailed after her, toward the door, without a defense. Because there wasn't a point in pretending one.
What he isn't expecting is the almost reluctant softness that fills her face before she's reaching up to hug him -- and that she is, at all -- even though his hands fill in. Cross over her back and her waist, with a heavy huff, he didn't mean to let out, going through her hair. Because she's still right here. For a moment, even. Softness pressed all across him, hands and arm tight enough around his neck he can't even begin to guess what all is going on in there.
Just holds on, and tries not to feel very suddenly, above and beyond, selfish that he's glad she does know, and, all pointed looks and cool demeanor aside, is still here. In his arms. Smelling a mixture of his shampoo and her suntan lotion and something softer, that is only her. Even when she's stepping back, disapproval trying to run rough shod over everything else that had been there for a second as she pulled back.
Maybe that's all part of it, too. Knowing they're going to be fine. Even if she doesn't approve. That she's allowed to have her opinion, and at some point he's going to have to -- which is, of course, when she says that. Which shouldn't make one side of his mouth and cheek almost twitch. He's pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate the amusement at the irony or at being right. Since he's most certainly choosing wrong according to every book and each of her frustrated looks.
"Yeah." He knows. Not enough according to the way she's looking at him. But he does. So, he nods. Barely. A clipped, short thing, when he's reaching out to get the door, but not leaning toward or away from it at all. Stationary. "Call whenever you know what your next few weeks look like."
If he isn't busy -- or avoiding it, which it's only like half a chance, right? It's not like he ever puts her off forever. Just cases, and planes, and unexpected things, make it a few days more often than not after the call or message, like it was last week -- he'll get right on that. Setting up a time when she can warn him, as loud and annoyed and close to yelling as she ever really gets, to her hearts' content.
When Danny isn't waiting, alone, in his kitchen. Thinking God know's what at this point. Tonight. Already.
It's still like a zip cord pulling him back and forth. Danny thinking he would, when Steve hadn't even considered until now how much that was true. Not when they were so different, when neither of them could really fill the shoes of the other. They were too different. Too completely different. They meant different things. Did different things. And even if she was mad, or whatever she would call this?
Steve leaned on the door, letting her get maybe five or six feet, before he's dragging it out. Words he might not any other time. Maybe because this is, today, this weekend, isn't like any other time. As much as he and she and they keep pretending it is, too. Like it has comparisons, like it's the same as anything else, especially now that it's all out. "Hey, Cath?"
He only waits for the half-beat, vaguely started turn to look back, before he plunges on. "I'm still glad you came. It was a good weekend." Even if she didn't know and does now. Because she isn't the stand-in for Danny, anymore than he could be for her, and even if it was a crappy, shit-weekend in comparison to more than a couple dozen others they had, it was better than anything he'd ever have gotten up to on his own. Especially after last week.
And that? That was true of every single time he saw her, no matter the year or month or events going on.