The shirt and jeans get left, hanging off the end of the bed. A towel tossed over one shoulder, still tugging his shirt, loose workout shirt with the SEAL's emblem at the left chest side, up over a second shoulder, and down across his side, when he's making it back down. Fast efficient movements. It helps that there were no shoes to get rid off that weren't house shoes, having gone nowhere or set to anything that wasn't on the beach or in the main rooms since Danny left.
And there is a momentary thought in that direction. Whether they've made it to the aquarium, and mental post it note, that at some point he still needs to send Danny the all clear for Kono, too, making it back to him as three for three on people checked in with and posted him on. But it's not right now. No.
It really isn't, when Cath is doing this little hopping dance with jamming her heel into a shoe, and throwing him that smile.
It can wait. All of it can wait. Because all of his people are okay -- or as near to okay as medically or legally possible for this morning, for -- right now, and that means he can switch hats. Just let the irrepressible smile saunter across his lips at her teasing, the challenge and words spilling something warm wide across his chest like it got splashed there suddenly by an unexpected wave, while he throws a hand out.
"You don't think there's water in the car already?" Headed for the door, rather than any of the back rooms, holding the towel, along with the bundle of his sidearm and one the wallet-badge sets, lingering only long enough to scoop up keys and toss open the door. Letting in more sunshine than this room has seen except in the seconds of Danny leaving and Cath arriving.
But until this second he can't really remember having seen it either of those times, and now it's buttery-gold. Like this morning, tossing at him the remembrance of Danny's skin. His hair. The fingers tangled with his, not letting go. Pouring into the lingering shadows of the room, even with it's wide open windows lighting the place. Catching on things he hadn't really thought about looking at either.
He can feel the warmth already trying at his shoulders and the back of his neck, when he's smiling at her.
"Don't tell me they've let you forget being ready at all times already." Steve tipped his head, smirk tugging at the corners, all shine and ribbing. "They do still call it 'a job,' when they have you sitting in a chair all day, sinking ships and catering to fly boys, right?"
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And there is a momentary thought in that direction. Whether they've made it to the aquarium, and mental post it note, that at some point he still needs to send Danny the all clear for Kono, too, making it back to him as three for three on people checked in with and posted him on. But it's not right now. No.
It really isn't, when Cath is doing this little hopping dance with jamming her heel into a shoe, and throwing him that smile.
It can wait. All of it can wait. Because all of his people are okay -- or as near to okay as medically or legally possible for this morning, for -- right now, and that means he can switch hats. Just let the irrepressible smile saunter across his lips at her teasing, the challenge and words spilling something warm wide across his chest like it got splashed there suddenly by an unexpected wave, while he throws a hand out.
"You don't think there's water in the car already?" Headed for the door, rather than any of the back rooms, holding the towel, along with the bundle of his sidearm and one the wallet-badge sets, lingering only long enough to scoop up keys and toss open the door. Letting in more sunshine than this room has seen except in the seconds of Danny leaving and Cath arriving.
But until this second he can't really remember having seen it either of those times, and now it's buttery-gold. Like this morning, tossing at him the remembrance of Danny's skin. His hair. The fingers tangled with his, not letting go. Pouring into the lingering shadows of the room, even with it's wide open windows lighting the place. Catching on things he hadn't really thought about looking at either.
He can feel the warmth already trying at his shoulders and the back of his neck, when he's smiling at her.
"Don't tell me they've let you forget being ready at all times already." Steve tipped his head, smirk tugging at the corners, all shine and ribbing. "They do still call it 'a job,' when they have you sitting in a chair all day, sinking ships and catering to fly boys, right?"