There used to be a time when he could tell Steve to drop it, and Steve actually would. Sort of. Kind of. It usually showed back up later, but by that time, Danny was normally a little more prepared to deal with whatever it was, like Steve wanting to know who "Danno" was or why hanging a guy off a roof is not considered standard police procedure.
That time is long gone. He's pretty sure if he said those two words right now, Steve's expression would go from bemused and determined to outright mulish, and things would go downhill from there in record time.
See? He's starting to get back into the swing of these things already.
So he can't do that. He could try, but it would only ring those alarm bells that he knows are going off in Steve's head even more, would end with Steve pushing him hard enough that at least some of this insanity will get spilled out into the air, and he doesn't want that either, okay, he knows it's stupid, knows he's overreacting, knows Steve never meant any of it, not like that, he knows.
Just like he knows that it's not going to stop everything from swelling, adding to itself, snowballing into an avalanche that's threatening to take everywhere they got to since that tense standoff in the doorway with it. Because Steve said. And he said. But five or six words are only five or six words, and words can be forgotten or changed, even words written down and notarized, signed by multiple witnesses. It doesn't change how desperate he is for this to not disappear on him, or how terrified the thought of it continuing makes him. When it turns out the long straight corridor he'd thought he was walking down is actually lined with mirrors and tricky as a funhouse.
And he can't not notice the way Steve tips, to look at him more closely, catch his eyes. Because Steve cares. Okay? So many of Danny's problems can be boiled down to that one truth. Steve cares. He won't let Danny get away with it, but he wouldn't get it, either, because Steve has never offered someone a drawer or a spot on a shelf and woken up one day to realize they'd taken everything else, too, and left with it. And Steve wouldn't get why those jokes should be off-limits. Wedding rings, and closet space. Because they shouldn't. Because Danny should be able to handle them, not freak out like a war-zone survivor with the kind of PTSD that kicks in when a car backfires or sirens wail.
Jesus, is he really that much of a hair-trigger?
"What deal? Who's got a deal? There is no deal."
He's said deal too many times.
Crap.
Look, it's too much to put on Steve, to ask him to deal with every trip-up and sudden panic attack. Steve's mother just turned up alive. This shouldn't be about Danny. Neither of them should have to deal with this bullshit, especially when it exists nowhere but inside Danny's head.
But Steve can only joke about it because he hasn't lived through it. Can say stupid things about wedding bands without getting a vice of terror clamping everything in his chest. It's all funny to him. But Danny remembers staring at that plain gold band as it sat in his palm, more completely shattered by it than any bullet he'd ever taken, any bone he'd ever broken. One innocuous thing. He remembers the cleared-out look of drawers that used to hold his clothes. The sudden space in a closet half-emptied. How the space in his chest was entirely vacated. Not halfway. Not shared, and suddenly split. Hollowed out entirely. And Rachel unable to talk to him without anger or freezing disdain.
Steve can't. He can't let that happen. No matter how certain it is, now that this ball has started rolling. "I just think it's a moot point, considering how often we work on weekends anyway, so they're unlikely to find themselves in rotation for a while."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-02-27 05:57 pm (UTC)That time is long gone. He's pretty sure if he said those two words right now, Steve's expression would go from bemused and determined to outright mulish, and things would go downhill from there in record time.
See? He's starting to get back into the swing of these things already.
So he can't do that. He could try, but it would only ring those alarm bells that he knows are going off in Steve's head even more, would end with Steve pushing him hard enough that at least some of this insanity will get spilled out into the air, and he doesn't want that either, okay, he knows it's stupid, knows he's overreacting, knows Steve never meant any of it, not like that, he knows.
Just like he knows that it's not going to stop everything from swelling, adding to itself, snowballing into an avalanche that's threatening to take everywhere they got to since that tense standoff in the doorway with it. Because Steve said. And he said. But five or six words are only five or six words, and words can be forgotten or changed, even words written down and notarized, signed by multiple witnesses. It doesn't change how desperate he is for this to not disappear on him, or how terrified the thought of it continuing makes him. When it turns out the long straight corridor he'd thought he was walking down is actually lined with mirrors and tricky as a funhouse.
And he can't not notice the way Steve tips, to look at him more closely, catch his eyes. Because Steve cares. Okay? So many of Danny's problems can be boiled down to that one truth. Steve cares. He won't let Danny get away with it, but he wouldn't get it, either, because Steve has never offered someone a drawer or a spot on a shelf and woken up one day to realize they'd taken everything else, too, and left with it. And Steve wouldn't get why those jokes should be off-limits. Wedding rings, and closet space. Because they shouldn't. Because Danny should be able to handle them, not freak out like a war-zone survivor with the kind of PTSD that kicks in when a car backfires or sirens wail.
Jesus, is he really that much of a hair-trigger?
"What deal? Who's got a deal? There is no deal."
He's said deal too many times.
Crap.
Look, it's too much to put on Steve, to ask him to deal with every trip-up and sudden panic attack. Steve's mother just turned up alive. This shouldn't be about Danny. Neither of them should have to deal with this bullshit, especially when it exists nowhere but inside Danny's head.
But Steve can only joke about it because he hasn't lived through it. Can say stupid things about wedding bands without getting a vice of terror clamping everything in his chest. It's all funny to him. But Danny remembers staring at that plain gold band as it sat in his palm, more completely shattered by it than any bullet he'd ever taken, any bone he'd ever broken. One innocuous thing. He remembers the cleared-out look of drawers that used to hold his clothes. The sudden space in a closet half-emptied. How the space in his chest was entirely vacated. Not halfway. Not shared, and suddenly split. Hollowed out entirely. And Rachel unable to talk to him without anger or freezing disdain.
Steve can't. He can't let that happen. No matter how certain it is, now that this ball has started rolling. "I just think it's a moot point, considering how often we work on weekends anyway, so they're unlikely to find themselves in rotation for a while."