He hates the way it catches Danny. The way there is a pause. An honest, to fucking God, pause. From Danny. From Danny who always has the words to answer. Always has the words to coat someone in. Always has enough words to douse anyone within spitting distance in the length of a dictionary and breadth of a squall whether he's happy or angry. And he pauses. He pauses, staring at Steve. Silent.
In a way that makes every alarm in Steve itch to go off. Deafeningly. Going, rolling over, under his skin, like bits of glass and splinters of metal, because he's refusing to pay attention to the fact that isn't right. Because he's the one doing it. Because it means it hit. Because as far as tactical moves go, he'll always shoot center, whether it's with a gun or his mouth. And when he speaks first, it's still only a single word. A single word, with two letters. A farce of sound.
And Steve wants to take them back as much as he wants to build cement walls with them. Needs to hold firmly to the fact it's true. More true than anything else starting slimy and slick building in the bottom of his stomach. Needs to stare with a kind of blank, sympathy. Because he doesn't want to hurt Danny. He is. But shooting someone in the kneecaps, is still leaving them their heart. Their brain.
There's so much more Danny could lose than one month. It's not like they won't still have work.
It's not like it was much. A good dream. A dream too real to be true, with a price too high to keep forgetting.
"It doesn't matter what she thinks," Steve said, sitting back in his chair. Fortifying against the wood. Shoulders a flat board and spine straight as a line. Unblinking, like its facing down a gun. Because Danny deserves more. He deserves everything. And Steve can't take that from him. He held all of this for over a year, but can't even hold this idea. Not even for two hours. "You know it's true."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-05-02 01:19 am (UTC)In a way that makes every alarm in Steve itch to go off. Deafeningly. Going, rolling over, under his skin, like bits of glass and splinters of metal, because he's refusing to pay attention to the fact that isn't right. Because he's the one doing it. Because it means it hit. Because as far as tactical moves go, he'll always shoot center, whether it's with a gun or his mouth. And when he speaks first, it's still only a single word. A single word, with two letters. A farce of sound.
And Steve wants to take them back as much as he wants to build cement walls with them. Needs to hold firmly to the fact it's true. More true than anything else starting slimy and slick building in the bottom of his stomach. Needs to stare with a kind of blank, sympathy. Because he doesn't want to hurt Danny. He is. But shooting someone in the kneecaps, is still leaving them their heart. Their brain.
There's so much more Danny could lose than one month. It's not like they won't still have work.
It's not like it was much. A good dream. A dream too real to be true, with a price too high to keep forgetting.
"It doesn't matter what she thinks," Steve said, sitting back in his chair. Fortifying against the wood. Shoulders a flat board and spine straight as a line. Unblinking, like its facing down a gun. Because Danny deserves more. He deserves everything. And Steve can't take that from him. He held all of this for over a year, but can't even hold this idea. Not even for two hours. "You know it's true."