He could have sworn he knows every one of Steve's expressions, from delighted to smug to hurt to exasperated. He's seen axe-crazy determination, and glee, and cold-blooded anger.
But this is new. It looks like it slapped Steve in the face and stayed there, splashed over every corner of him. Like Steve's on a table and someone's cutting open his chest, his stomach, leaving him flayed and wide open and helpless.
Only there's nothing painful in it. It's just, like. Awe. Baffled and disbelieving, with an edge of such innocent hope that Danny swears he must be getting it wrong, right, because this is Steve, fearless, feckless Navy SEAL. Who dives headlong into gunfire, takes a ship all by himself. Blew into Danny's life with a vengeful storm ripping up everything in its path. He can be crass and idiotic, has the filthiest mouth Danny's ever heard, when he's had a few too many and started reliving days aboard ship with other foul-mouthed sailors. There is nothing about Steve that should make Danny think of vulnerability, or innocence.
Except that there is. Because of what happened to the kid Steve used to be. Because he was fifteen, and then he was in the Navy, and became this. Because he's never stopped in all that time to have anything for himself, or keep anything for himself. And half the time Danny's pretty sure Steve barely knows how to interact with regular people at all, when they aren't targets and they don't need saving.
But here he is, staring at Danny like he's, what. Like he's, Jesus. The world. Or something. Spread out in front of him. Eyes wide and almost startled.
It's insane, but the way Steve is looking at him, it's like Danny is every word in the dictionary and few more thrown in for good measure, and it's too much, right, definitely too much, and his hand has to lift from Steve's side to join the other in cradling his head. Fingers too big, too blunt, but gentle, because it's like Steve just shoved something huge and fragile into his hands and Danny has never been so afraid of dropping something in his life. It's like holding Grace for the very first time, petrified he'd drop her, terrified he'd be a terrible father. But his heart caught on a string, so in love with the tiny hand no larger than the tip of his too big, too blunt, too clumsy finger.
He can't breathe past it, this thing in his chest, so he leans forward, bypassing the joke, not hearing anything but the threadbare way it leaves Steve's throat. Stops any others from showing up with another kiss, that starts out careful but can't stay that way, has to deepen, electrify every inch of his skin and release a little of this, this thing, because it can't stay locked up in his chest without breaking everything within reach.
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He could have sworn he knows every one of Steve's expressions, from delighted to smug to hurt to exasperated. He's seen axe-crazy determination, and glee, and cold-blooded anger.
But this is new. It looks like it slapped Steve in the face and stayed there, splashed over every corner of him. Like Steve's on a table and someone's cutting open his chest, his stomach, leaving him flayed and wide open and helpless.
Only there's nothing painful in it. It's just, like. Awe. Baffled and disbelieving, with an edge of such innocent hope that Danny swears he must be getting it wrong, right, because this is Steve, fearless, feckless Navy SEAL. Who dives headlong into gunfire, takes a ship all by himself. Blew into Danny's life with a vengeful storm ripping up everything in its path. He can be crass and idiotic, has the filthiest mouth Danny's ever heard, when he's had a few too many and started reliving days aboard ship with other foul-mouthed sailors. There is nothing about Steve that should make Danny think of vulnerability, or innocence.
Except that there is. Because of what happened to the kid Steve used to be. Because he was fifteen, and then he was in the Navy, and became this. Because he's never stopped in all that time to have anything for himself, or keep anything for himself. And half the time Danny's pretty sure Steve barely knows how to interact with regular people at all, when they aren't targets and they don't need saving.
But here he is, staring at Danny like he's, what. Like he's, Jesus. The world. Or something. Spread out in front of him. Eyes wide and almost startled.
It's insane, but the way Steve is looking at him, it's like Danny is every word in the dictionary and few more thrown in for good measure, and it's too much, right, definitely too much, and his hand has to lift from Steve's side to join the other in cradling his head. Fingers too big, too blunt, but gentle, because it's like Steve just shoved something huge and fragile into his hands and Danny has never been so afraid of dropping something in his life. It's like holding Grace for the very first time, petrified he'd drop her, terrified he'd be a terrible father. But his heart caught on a string, so in love with the tiny hand no larger than the tip of his too big, too blunt, too clumsy finger.
He can't breathe past it, this thing in his chest, so he leans forward, bypassing the joke, not hearing anything but the threadbare way it leaves Steve's throat. Stops any others from showing up with another kiss, that starts out careful but can't stay that way, has to deepen, electrify every inch of his skin and release a little of this, this thing, because it can't stay locked up in his chest without breaking everything within reach.