His lips firm, and for a second, shifting his weight, free hand falling to the other hip, he considers tossing that question right back at Steve's head, because so far he hasn't answered it once, except to say it's not a joke.
Except that's not entirely true, because he remembers. Sitting on that couch, in the dark. Steve's arm around him and his fingers against Steve's neck, Steve;s fingers on his skin, so sensitive to every touch that still felt like a fever dream, and that face Steve made, uncertain and wary. When he said he didn't think they were crazy, that this was nuts.
Okay. So what would you have called it?
Impossible?
And the way Steve stared at him, like he didn't want to believe it. Like he thought maybe Danny would pull the rug out from under him. Vulnerable in a way Danny's never seen before -- not when they first met and Steve was mourning his dad, not when his old friend turned out to be a traitor and a crazy asshole to boot. In a different way than the fragile emptiness of the last few days, and the realization that Doris is alive.
And it makes him want to slap himself. Getting so caught up in everything that's always gone wrong with him, with Rachel, and forgetting that, that moment, when all of this seemed clear and simple, because he knew the answer to that. And Steve had kissed him, deep and longing and it aches even to remember. A year. If it's been a year, and he might not know how to believe words, but he's got no reason not to believe Steve. He trusts Steve with his daughter, with his life. He doesn't have a single reason to think he's suddenly started lying now.
And if it's been a year, then what could happen in one weekend to change that, huh? If the shoe were on the other foot, he'd feel sick at even the thought. If Steve thought he could change his mind so easily.
So, where does that leave them?
Right where they were before, and he breathes out, looks up, to find Steve's eyes, and hold them, because this needs to mean more than him running out the door, it needs to be unquestionable. And he'd said it before, but almost instinctively, without really knowing how impossible impossible really must have seemed.
"Still possible."
Steve may not even remember, but Danny does. Saying it's possible, definitely possible and meaning it with every cell in his body, all of them pulling him towards Steve like a wayward confused meteor getting pulled into a star. Feeling like he could live and breathe at the way Steve smiled at him then.
But it might not be enough. So he digs down. Past painful memories. Past the fear of rejection hanging like a street gang on a corner in the worst neighborhood in his brain. Because maybe Steve needs to know, and what's Danny got to lose? Still, it's careful. A little winded. "I want to be with you. So I don't know where that leaves us, only..."
One last, aborted hand gesture, as his eyes dart away and return, forcing them steady. "Only, I know those two things. Okay?"
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Except that's not entirely true, because he remembers. Sitting on that couch, in the dark. Steve's arm around him and his fingers against Steve's neck, Steve;s fingers on his skin, so sensitive to every touch that still felt like a fever dream, and that face Steve made, uncertain and wary. When he said he didn't think they were crazy, that this was nuts.
Okay. So what would you have called it?
Impossible?
And the way Steve stared at him, like he didn't want to believe it. Like he thought maybe Danny would pull the rug out from under him. Vulnerable in a way Danny's never seen before -- not when they first met and Steve was mourning his dad, not when his old friend turned out to be a traitor and a crazy asshole to boot. In a different way than the fragile emptiness of the last few days, and the realization that Doris is alive.
And it makes him want to slap himself. Getting so caught up in everything that's always gone wrong with him, with Rachel, and forgetting that, that moment, when all of this seemed clear and simple, because he knew the answer to that. And Steve had kissed him, deep and longing and it aches even to remember. A year. If it's been a year, and he might not know how to believe words, but he's got no reason not to believe Steve. He trusts Steve with his daughter, with his life. He doesn't have a single reason to think he's suddenly started lying now.
And if it's been a year, then what could happen in one weekend to change that, huh? If the shoe were on the other foot, he'd feel sick at even the thought. If Steve thought he could change his mind so easily.
So, where does that leave them?
Right where they were before, and he breathes out, looks up, to find Steve's eyes, and hold them, because this needs to mean more than him running out the door, it needs to be unquestionable. And he'd said it before, but almost instinctively, without really knowing how impossible impossible really must have seemed.
"Still possible."
Steve may not even remember, but Danny does. Saying it's possible, definitely possible and meaning it with every cell in his body, all of them pulling him towards Steve like a wayward confused meteor getting pulled into a star. Feeling like he could live and breathe at the way Steve smiled at him then.
But it might not be enough. So he digs down. Past painful memories. Past the fear of rejection hanging like a street gang on a corner in the worst neighborhood in his brain. Because maybe Steve needs to know, and what's Danny got to lose? Still, it's careful. A little winded. "I want to be with you. So I don't know where that leaves us, only..."
One last, aborted hand gesture, as his eyes dart away and return, forcing them steady. "Only, I know those two things. Okay?"