Cath bites the bullet and leaves, trailing with her the kind of grace that exists even outside her blunt words and awkward silences. He guesses he's grateful for it, somewhere, distantly, but the truth is, she shouldn't have to leave at all. Steve should have let him go home, he shouldn't have come by, shouldn't have let shock drive him back out immediately. Shouldn't have -- well, maybe a lot of things.
But he did, and here he is, alone in Steve's kitchen, determined to not listen to whatever the quiet words being said in the other room are, staring at his bottle of beer and considering the wisdom of tossing it out and looking for something stronger.
He's really not sure when the last time was that he felt like such an unbelievable dick. Not sure when the last time was that he would honestly prefer being swallowed by the floor, when he's sort of hoping that his phone rings and he'll have to go work, or argue with Rachel, or discuss homework problems with Grace, because anything beats standing here, feeling like this.
When he has no right. Has no right to tell Steve what to do or not. They never discussed that. Never decided anything. Has no right to let jealousy and sick surprise override his sanity and drop him off a ledge.
But there's no good way to get out of this maze he's locked himself in, now. Still unsure what to believe, while determined that it shouldn't matter what he believes, Steve's a grown man, he can make his own decisions. And now Cath knows, because Danny let her in on it, and that's a whole other problem he doesn't know how to even glance at yet, because he's got no idea what Steve does or doesn't want to be telling anyone. He certainly didn't explain to Kono and Chin where those marks on Danny's neck came from, and he'd always kept whatever he had with Catherine below the radar. And that's. Fine. He knew that about Steve. Has always known that about Steve.
So he shouldn't be standing here, feeling sick. He shouldn't be feeling punched, or raw. Shouldn't be wondering about what's happening in the other room, because if it turned out that the two of them were going to put things back to normal, it might even be the better outcome of all the ones now available. When the whole idea makes him weary, and resigned, and it hurts, a dull throb in his temples and under his breastbone, but it would at least dump him off this ride in a place he recognized. Just get it done with. He should, possibly, tell Steve that's what he should do. When it's always going to end up with that feeling of closing the door and walking away, and there's no escaping it, no matter how many weeks they manage to make it through.
The Longboard tastes sour and he picks at the label without drinking it. Embarrassed and tired and he's really not looking forward to getting reamed out, even if it's deserved. Unsure why Steve told him to stay, when all it's done is made Catherine leave, in a flurry of weirdness and a door quietly closing in the other room, leaving the house quiet.
He should go. Right? He should sit down and take a long hard look at himself, at what this did to him, at exactly how screwed he is because one look was enough to crack open all those fractures that have been cautiously sealed back up since last year. Like Steve needs this, now, this week. When he needs his friends, and not Danny having a panic attack in his front yard and putting too much on him that Steve never asked for.
It actually doesn't feel unlike that first day. Steve in the living room. Danny here, feeling like he's about to face the firing squad. He's not sure he can head to it, this time, but it's not like waiting here is going to help anything. If the only thing he can do is take responsibility, he can do that, still.
Which leads him to prying off the counter and heading towards the living room, measured steps and caution, and the feeling that he can still look this in the eye, if he has to. No matter how reluctant he is to watch it strain or fall apart.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-07 06:11 pm (UTC)But he did, and here he is, alone in Steve's kitchen, determined to not listen to whatever the quiet words being said in the other room are, staring at his bottle of beer and considering the wisdom of tossing it out and looking for something stronger.
He's really not sure when the last time was that he felt like such an unbelievable dick. Not sure when the last time was that he would honestly prefer being swallowed by the floor, when he's sort of hoping that his phone rings and he'll have to go work, or argue with Rachel, or discuss homework problems with Grace, because anything beats standing here, feeling like this.
When he has no right. Has no right to tell Steve what to do or not. They never discussed that. Never decided anything. Has no right to let jealousy and sick surprise override his sanity and drop him off a ledge.
But there's no good way to get out of this maze he's locked himself in, now. Still unsure what to believe, while determined that it shouldn't matter what he believes, Steve's a grown man, he can make his own decisions. And now Cath knows, because Danny let her in on it, and that's a whole other problem he doesn't know how to even glance at yet, because he's got no idea what Steve does or doesn't want to be telling anyone. He certainly didn't explain to Kono and Chin where those marks on Danny's neck came from, and he'd always kept whatever he had with Catherine below the radar. And that's. Fine. He knew that about Steve. Has always known that about Steve.
So he shouldn't be standing here, feeling sick. He shouldn't be feeling punched, or raw. Shouldn't be wondering about what's happening in the other room, because if it turned out that the two of them were going to put things back to normal, it might even be the better outcome of all the ones now available. When the whole idea makes him weary, and resigned, and it hurts, a dull throb in his temples and under his breastbone, but it would at least dump him off this ride in a place he recognized. Just get it done with. He should, possibly, tell Steve that's what he should do. When it's always going to end up with that feeling of closing the door and walking away, and there's no escaping it, no matter how many weeks they manage to make it through.
The Longboard tastes sour and he picks at the label without drinking it. Embarrassed and tired and he's really not looking forward to getting reamed out, even if it's deserved. Unsure why Steve told him to stay, when all it's done is made Catherine leave, in a flurry of weirdness and a door quietly closing in the other room, leaving the house quiet.
He should go. Right? He should sit down and take a long hard look at himself, at what this did to him, at exactly how screwed he is because one look was enough to crack open all those fractures that have been cautiously sealed back up since last year. Like Steve needs this, now, this week. When he needs his friends, and not Danny having a panic attack in his front yard and putting too much on him that Steve never asked for.
It actually doesn't feel unlike that first day. Steve in the living room. Danny here, feeling like he's about to face the firing squad. He's not sure he can head to it, this time, but it's not like waiting here is going to help anything. If the only thing he can do is take responsibility, he can do that, still.
Which leads him to prying off the counter and heading towards the living room, measured steps and caution, and the feeling that he can still look this in the eye, if he has to. No matter how reluctant he is to watch it strain or fall apart.