Danny's fingers gripping into his shoulder, like he might need to be stopped from leaving, and Danny's voice, small and quiet and uncertainly fast, against his skin, where Danny's face is now pressed. Where he'd held still, except for that breath Steve could count through inhale and exhale in the perfect sudden stillness of the room before those words spilled out suddenly. When he wasn't certain he'd just cracked the glass and pushed too hard. Again.
Like Danny might just get up and go, or say nothing at all, because Steve kept not letting it go. Even after he was asked. Repeatedly.
And then there were those words. He doesn't know if they are an answer, or the answer, but he does know they are a point. At least he's sure of that much through the sudden, unexpected tension in his chest, the feeling of Danny's hair in his fingers, even when he isn't moving his hand in the slightest. Because. Yeah. Okay. He knows that. Or at least he's relatively sure, and has spent some time trying not to know it.
Has spent a year trying not to know. The last two months, especially, clutching something, something he couldn't ever acknowledge. Still hasn't.
Steve wants to make the joke it did start with one. A cup of coffee. Or rather with Danny attacking a coffee cup, in the defense of all of this, even before Steve got it. When Steve thought he was just being a bitch about Kaila or something with Gabby, or, hell, even just for getting touchy and grouchy over nothing more than not having slept for nearly two days, and was ready to ream him for every phone lecture he'd never reached Steve to give over walking away without a face to face.
Except it wasn't nothing, which makes the joke rock-hard and three times too big for his throat.
It wasn't ever nothing. Not when Danny was banging on the edges of the cup, over and over, with his spoon.
Not when Steve was making flippant, low, heated comments about wanting to kiss him until he didn't taste the coffee.
Not when it's barely two weeks later, and he knows on the other side of his front door there's a blistering lecture waiting. The first of what might be many, the least of which could effect his record. But one that could effect the respect of his longest friendship. Or. His job. Eventually his job. He knows that, too. And he's still here. Fingers in Danny's hair, breathing out in the same space, nodding, staring at it, again, and still not letting go, not pulling away.
"I know." He does. He knows. It's insane. God, all of it. Wanting more than he can ask for, and he had earlier, did the once even. Which he knows. He knows it's like a damn landslide clobbering him for Danny in comparison to what he watched with Gabby. For what he still has no quite mapped time frame for when it started with Rachel. From when they were fighting, before she was suddenly in his arms, that night in hospital.
But the last year. The last year, it had taken gargantuan feats of annoyance and brow beating honesty to get Danny to even consider taking those small steps. A cup of coffee with Gabby. Like digging up boards with his bare hands to have Danny answer questions about how they were doing, or to mention her at all. And involving Grace? God, beyond himself, beyond that sharp, heavy, half drunk weight that covered that butterfly in his head, Danny had nearly had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to that.
And Danny was here. Now. Not being dragged. Not kicking and screaming. Not even two weeks. Hell. If they were being honest, not even one day. Not even half of one. Not five, ten, fifteen minutes after Danny'd said those words. Before it was like the world was on fire. Upside down. More insane than a nuclear bomb going off. Before clothing was being forgotten on his floor, and the day blurred. Into that file. Into that next night and his own furious desperation. Into that weekend. Into the days at the beginning of this week.
Into the blur that happened whenever they touched. Sometimes, even so little as a single look. Like the look Danny pinned him with before running. Into something so much bigger than every moment. Like the words that fell out of his mouth Friday night before Danny could leave, before Danny tumbled into him and never let go.
It feels too long ago, with the so much. So much has happened. So much keeps happening. Keeps throwing itself at them, at Five-0. Barely keeping them above water. Delano. Wo Fat. Doris. Malia. Kono. Chin. Both of them. But it's only been days. Only nearing two week since he got home, the first time. And the only other thing he's ever seen Danny agree to in hours, in days, was being requisitioned to Five-0, which wasn't this smooth, wasn't this necessary, wasn't hard to fight than giving up breathing. So, he knows, okay. He knows.
The same as he knows that as much as he knows those things, desperate and fierce and too piercingly blindingly clear right this second, against Danny's voice, he doesn't know why or how this happened, why Danny is here with him, now, has been, almost every step, but he doesn't want to slow down, doesn't want to stop this, getting this far, having Danny like this, doesn't know if those are going to be the next words, even when all of tonight still fits into all of that.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-01 06:31 am (UTC)Well, he asked for that, didn't he?
Danny's fingers gripping into his shoulder, like he might need to be stopped from leaving, and Danny's voice, small and quiet and uncertainly fast, against his skin, where Danny's face is now pressed. Where he'd held still, except for that breath Steve could count through inhale and exhale in the perfect sudden stillness of the room before those words spilled out suddenly. When he wasn't certain he'd just cracked the glass and pushed too hard. Again.
Like Danny might just get up and go, or say nothing at all, because Steve kept not letting it go. Even after he was asked. Repeatedly.
And then there were those words. He doesn't know if they are an answer, or the answer, but he does know they are a point. At least he's sure of that much through the sudden, unexpected tension in his chest, the feeling of Danny's hair in his fingers, even when he isn't moving his hand in the slightest. Because. Yeah. Okay. He knows that. Or at least he's relatively sure, and has spent some time trying not to know it.
Has spent a year trying not to know. The last two months, especially, clutching something, something he couldn't ever acknowledge. Still hasn't.
Steve wants to make the joke it did start with one. A cup of coffee. Or rather with Danny attacking a coffee cup, in the defense of all of this, even before Steve got it. When Steve thought he was just being a bitch about Kaila or something with Gabby, or, hell, even just for getting touchy and grouchy over nothing more than not having slept for nearly two days, and was ready to ream him for every phone lecture he'd never reached Steve to give over walking away without a face to face.
Except it wasn't nothing, which makes the joke rock-hard and three times too big for his throat.
It wasn't ever nothing. Not when Danny was banging on the edges of the cup, over and over, with his spoon.
Not when Steve was making flippant, low, heated comments about wanting to kiss him until he didn't taste the coffee.
Not when it's barely two weeks later, and he knows on the other side of his front door there's a blistering lecture waiting. The first of what might be many, the least of which could effect his record. But one that could effect the respect of his longest friendship. Or. His job. Eventually his job. He knows that, too. And he's still here. Fingers in Danny's hair, breathing out in the same space, nodding, staring at it, again, and still not letting go, not pulling away.
"I know." He does. He knows. It's insane. God, all of it. Wanting more than he can ask for, and he had earlier, did the once even. Which he knows. He knows it's like a damn landslide clobbering him for Danny in comparison to what he watched with Gabby. For what he still has no quite mapped time frame for when it started with Rachel. From when they were fighting, before she was suddenly in his arms, that night in hospital.
But the last year. The last year, it had taken gargantuan feats of annoyance and brow beating honesty to get Danny to even consider taking those small steps. A cup of coffee with Gabby. Like digging up boards with his bare hands to have Danny answer questions about how they were doing, or to mention her at all. And involving Grace? God, beyond himself, beyond that sharp, heavy, half drunk weight that covered that butterfly in his head, Danny had nearly had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to that.
And Danny was here. Now. Not being dragged. Not kicking and screaming. Not even two weeks. Hell. If they were being honest, not even one day. Not even half of one. Not five, ten, fifteen minutes after Danny'd said those words. Before it was like the world was on fire. Upside down. More insane than a nuclear bomb going off. Before clothing was being forgotten on his floor, and the day blurred. Into that file. Into that next night and his own furious desperation. Into that weekend. Into the days at the beginning of this week.
Into the blur that happened whenever they touched. Sometimes, even so little as a single look. Like the look Danny pinned him with before running. Into something so much bigger than every moment. Like the words that fell out of his mouth Friday night before Danny could leave, before Danny tumbled into him and never let go.
It feels too long ago, with the so much. So much has happened. So much keeps happening. Keeps throwing itself at them, at Five-0. Barely keeping them above water. Delano. Wo Fat. Doris. Malia. Kono. Chin. Both of them. But it's only been days. Only nearing two week since he got home, the first time. And the only other thing he's ever seen Danny agree to in hours, in days, was being requisitioned to Five-0, which wasn't this smooth, wasn't this necessary, wasn't hard to fight than giving up breathing. So, he knows, okay. He knows.
The same as he knows that as much as he knows those things, desperate and fierce and too piercingly blindingly clear right this second, against Danny's voice, he doesn't know why or how this happened, why Danny is here with him, now, has been, almost every step, but he doesn't want to slow down, doesn't want to stop this, getting this far, having Danny like this, doesn't know if those are going to be the next words, even when all of tonight still fits into all of that.