There are fingers digging into his sides, as he stares at Danny and wills him to believe, to understand even the smallest bit of what he's said every other way tonight already. There couldn't have been anything else. Because even if he was here alone, or whether he was alone with Cath, this was still here, Danny was still here, even gone across the city, with him, too.
Filling up all the spaces, just as much his family. Newer, and sharper, and in every room of his house as much as it's always been every space in his head. Because Cath might have been willing, but she wasn't Danny, and he wants Danny. More than breathing, or logic. And he gets to watch it, turn over and over, in Danny's eyes.
The first flutter of confusion, like he must have heard it wrong. Before his hands tighten and you can almost see the struggle. Between the part that still believes it, and the part, without those hands tightening, that won't let go, that is suddenly, so clearly listening to the words, rusty and cobbled and not even well thought out first, or made to look nice by any means.
With a joke, for God's sake, about a rocket launcher. Which just goes to show he's always known his odds here, too. With Danny.
They were absolutely nothing. Not slim. Not minute. Not one in a six billion. They were absolutely non-existant. This was never supposed to happen, and Danny's fingers are digging into his sides, like if he let go, he might fall out of the Earth's gravity, and it's the first time in days Steve's felt like someone might be feeling anything near to what he was. How far off, how far out.
How the ground is gone. But in this one case, unlike the team, unlike his- Doris, he wants this one.
Enough to push out the rest. Enough that his mouth curves in an odd smile at the sound of Danny's voice, like someone ran him over, or it's being scraped up from beneath his shoes, sounding even momentarily apologetic about what Steve is sure would not be apologetic if Danny knew he were referencing one-man portable rocket launcher with fire-it-and-forget it anti-tank missiles.
But that really isn't the point. The point is the words that come after it, even when he's dragging Danny in closer to him, letting mouth and his hands get the best of him. Pull him in until there's blonde hair brushing his chin, and his fingers fall down the back of this plain cotton t-shirt, with normal sleeves, and -- "In blue jeans, no less. I think I might owe Kono for bet on that."
Though he really doesn't seem to care, when he's stretching for a moment to test tucking his first three fingers in one of his back pockets.
no subject
Filling up all the spaces, just as much his family. Newer, and sharper, and in every room of his house as much as it's always been every space in his head. Because Cath might have been willing, but she wasn't Danny, and he wants Danny. More than breathing, or logic. And he gets to watch it, turn over and over, in Danny's eyes.
The first flutter of confusion, like he must have heard it wrong. Before his hands tighten and you can almost see the struggle. Between the part that still believes it, and the part, without those hands tightening, that won't let go, that is suddenly, so clearly listening to the words, rusty and cobbled and not even well thought out first, or made to look nice by any means.
With a joke, for God's sake, about a rocket launcher. Which just goes to show he's always known his odds here, too. With Danny.
They were absolutely nothing. Not slim. Not minute. Not one in a six billion. They were absolutely non-existant. This was never supposed to happen, and Danny's fingers are digging into his sides, like if he let go, he might fall out of the Earth's gravity, and it's the first time in days Steve's felt like someone might be feeling anything near to what he was. How far off, how far out.
How the ground is gone. But in this one case, unlike the team, unlike his- Doris, he wants this one.
Enough to push out the rest. Enough that his mouth curves in an odd smile at the sound of Danny's voice, like someone ran him over, or it's being scraped up from beneath his shoes, sounding even momentarily apologetic about what Steve is sure would not be apologetic if Danny knew he were referencing one-man portable rocket launcher with fire-it-and-forget it anti-tank missiles.
But that really isn't the point. The point is the words that come after it, even when he's dragging Danny in closer to him, letting mouth and his hands get the best of him. Pull him in until there's blonde hair brushing his chin, and his fingers fall down the back of this plain cotton t-shirt, with normal sleeves, and -- "In blue jeans, no less. I think I might owe Kono for bet on that."
Though he really doesn't seem to care, when he's stretching for a moment to test tucking his first three fingers in one of his back pockets.