Not even asked by Steve. Asked by Catherine, accompanied by the kind of bright, easy smile that can only be found in the bliss of total ignorance, right before he bolted and that ignorance was shattered. Because not even Catherine, who knows Steve better than anyone, would think the person he was suddenly involved with was Danny. Why would she?
But it's not Cath asking now, it's Steve. Who pushed him out the door on Saturday morning and didn't even let him waffle about whether he should go or not, because Steve knows. Steve knows he always has to, not just because of this new mess, but because there is no time, not even after this hell of a week, that Danny can't go to her like a moth to a light. Not when he gets so few chances, and when just seeing her smile is like all the crap he pushes through every day gets airlifted away in a hot air balloon. "It was good."
He shifts a little, without really thinking about it. Hand lifting away from Steve's face, elbow sneaking between Steve and the couch back so he can rest his head on his palm and prop himself up. Other hand lifting from Steve's chest to gesture idly, before returning again. Lifting again. Returning. Forearm resting on the slope of muscle dipping from Steve's chest to his stomach. Settling more on his side, like Steve's not even on the couch, or is part of the couch, and Danny is getting comfortable to watch a game, or have a normal sort of talk. Thoughtless fingers toying with the fabric of Steve's shirt, watching them idly, without paying any real attention to them.
"We had fun. You know, aquarium. She loves the uh, the fishes. The more colorful, the better." Fingers flicking through the air, as he's remembering, like fins flicking through water. "I think she's about this far away from trying to feed them peanut butter sandwiches. You know, like in that movie. She was all..." Fingers spreading wide, smile spreading wide, just to think about it. "Plastered against the glass. I think, uh. I think Stanley is going to have to shell out for one of those fancy home aquariums."
It's barely even a jar, but it's there. Stan. Stan and his money. Stan and Vegas.
Stan who wasn't there all weekend, so screw Stan.
"We went out, had a nice dinner. God." His eyes focusing on something that isn't his hand on Steve's chest, isn't the room, this moment. Remembering Gracie sitting prim and proper at that table. Little purse hanging over her shoulder. The only concession to being a little girl still the shade of pink she picked to wear. "She's getting so big."
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Not even asked by Steve. Asked by Catherine, accompanied by the kind of bright, easy smile that can only be found in the bliss of total ignorance, right before he bolted and that ignorance was shattered. Because not even Catherine, who knows Steve better than anyone, would think the person he was suddenly involved with was Danny. Why would she?
But it's not Cath asking now, it's Steve. Who pushed him out the door on Saturday morning and didn't even let him waffle about whether he should go or not, because Steve knows. Steve knows he always has to, not just because of this new mess, but because there is no time, not even after this hell of a week, that Danny can't go to her like a moth to a light. Not when he gets so few chances, and when just seeing her smile is like all the crap he pushes through every day gets airlifted away in a hot air balloon. "It was good."
He shifts a little, without really thinking about it. Hand lifting away from Steve's face, elbow sneaking between Steve and the couch back so he can rest his head on his palm and prop himself up. Other hand lifting from Steve's chest to gesture idly, before returning again. Lifting again. Returning. Forearm resting on the slope of muscle dipping from Steve's chest to his stomach. Settling more on his side, like Steve's not even on the couch, or is part of the couch, and Danny is getting comfortable to watch a game, or have a normal sort of talk. Thoughtless fingers toying with the fabric of Steve's shirt, watching them idly, without paying any real attention to them.
"We had fun. You know, aquarium. She loves the uh, the fishes. The more colorful, the better." Fingers flicking through the air, as he's remembering, like fins flicking through water. "I think she's about this far away from trying to feed them peanut butter sandwiches. You know, like in that movie. She was all..." Fingers spreading wide, smile spreading wide, just to think about it. "Plastered against the glass. I think, uh. I think Stanley is going to have to shell out for one of those fancy home aquariums."
It's barely even a jar, but it's there. Stan. Stan and his money. Stan and Vegas.
Stan who wasn't there all weekend, so screw Stan.
"We went out, had a nice dinner. God." His eyes focusing on something that isn't his hand on Steve's chest, isn't the room, this moment. Remembering Gracie sitting prim and proper at that table. Little purse hanging over her shoulder. The only concession to being a little girl still the shade of pink she picked to wear. "She's getting so big."