Snapped out, pissed off and more than a little afraid, because Steve is looking -- Steve is looking grim, determined, and Danny has a sudden vision of a letter landing back on his desk, of Steve saying I had to do that as justification for some damn crusade that's only going to get him killed, because Steve has never cared about that. His own death. Just getting the mission done. Bringing the villain to justice. Doing the right thing. Doing his duty, like a good little tin soldier, even knowing he might get tossed into the fire at any second. "Thanks for clarifying that for me, I had no idea. I'm pretty sure that's not what I said before."
When he said those rules could screw themselves. When the reasons couldn't, didn't stop them, even for existing, swatted aside like so many aggravating mosquitos.
The reasons haven't changed, but something else has, because Steve didn't give a damn before, either. Not enough to stop. Not enough to do this, this...it isn't even pushing. It's like watching Steve methodically cut away his own lifeline, hanging from a sheer cliff face, and Danny wants to know, needs to know, because he can't let this happen. Not so soon. Can't let it slip away, sand between his fingers, not before it has to be. Not the way Steve smiles, or the warm puff of his breath against Danny's over-heated skin, or the tracks his fingers have traced over muscle and bone and limbs. Something's wrong. Something's off. It's not the reasons; it's Steve, and Danny wants to keep going, but Steve gets up and that's like loading a spring, pushing Danny out of his own seat.
Beer down on the tiny table, every muscle suddenly singing with readiness and temper, hands up, like a blocker, like Steve might be trying to make a break for it, and Danny can't let him, has the sudden frantic feeling that if he lets Steve walk away, this might actually be it. An end. One he'd had no idea he was walking into, and he's just so suddenly sick of that, of continually walking into a slamming door.
It winds him up, sends him across the grass to park himself in front of Steve, who isn't moving, but it's pre-emptive, okay, and so is the way one hand finds Steve's arm, the other his hip. "It's not worth it?"
Actual shock and hurt in his voice, in his eyes, wide and creasing his forehead with surprised lines. "Jesus Christ, your head is a piece of work."
Not worth it? Steve? In what fucked up world is Steve not worth the price that comes with him, huh? Where's it written, where's it been rung up? Does Steve think Danny somehow fell into this without a clue about what it might mean if things went south? Steve. This. Not worth it. It's an equation that strikes itself out, is so wrong Danny's not even sure how to argue against it, because it should be, is, obvious. "Do I get a say in any of this, or are you just gonna decide for me? Because, I have to tell you, I'm really getting pretty fucking tired of people telling me what to do or where to go, or what I think. Not worth it? Are you insane?"
His fingers tighten, and he gives Steve's arm a little shake, tiny compared to the one he wants to give, to rattle Steve's brain back into place. Voice gone intent and still sharp, eyes fixed on Steve's face, bewildered but determined.
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Snapped out, pissed off and more than a little afraid, because Steve is looking -- Steve is looking grim, determined, and Danny has a sudden vision of a letter landing back on his desk, of Steve saying I had to do that as justification for some damn crusade that's only going to get him killed, because Steve has never cared about that. His own death. Just getting the mission done. Bringing the villain to justice. Doing the right thing. Doing his duty, like a good little tin soldier, even knowing he might get tossed into the fire at any second. "Thanks for clarifying that for me, I had no idea. I'm pretty sure that's not what I said before."
When he said those rules could screw themselves. When the reasons couldn't, didn't stop them, even for existing, swatted aside like so many aggravating mosquitos.
The reasons haven't changed, but something else has, because Steve didn't give a damn before, either. Not enough to stop. Not enough to do this, this...it isn't even pushing. It's like watching Steve methodically cut away his own lifeline, hanging from a sheer cliff face, and Danny wants to know, needs to know, because he can't let this happen. Not so soon. Can't let it slip away, sand between his fingers, not before it has to be. Not the way Steve smiles, or the warm puff of his breath against Danny's over-heated skin, or the tracks his fingers have traced over muscle and bone and limbs. Something's wrong. Something's off. It's not the reasons; it's Steve, and Danny wants to keep going, but Steve gets up and that's like loading a spring, pushing Danny out of his own seat.
Beer down on the tiny table, every muscle suddenly singing with readiness and temper, hands up, like a blocker, like Steve might be trying to make a break for it, and Danny can't let him, has the sudden frantic feeling that if he lets Steve walk away, this might actually be it. An end. One he'd had no idea he was walking into, and he's just so suddenly sick of that, of continually walking into a slamming door.
It winds him up, sends him across the grass to park himself in front of Steve, who isn't moving, but it's pre-emptive, okay, and so is the way one hand finds Steve's arm, the other his hip. "It's not worth it?"
Actual shock and hurt in his voice, in his eyes, wide and creasing his forehead with surprised lines. "Jesus Christ, your head is a piece of work."
Not worth it? Steve? In what fucked up world is Steve not worth the price that comes with him, huh? Where's it written, where's it been rung up? Does Steve think Danny somehow fell into this without a clue about what it might mean if things went south? Steve. This. Not worth it. It's an equation that strikes itself out, is so wrong Danny's not even sure how to argue against it, because it should be, is, obvious. "Do I get a say in any of this, or are you just gonna decide for me? Because, I have to tell you, I'm really getting pretty fucking tired of people telling me what to do or where to go, or what I think. Not worth it? Are you insane?"
His fingers tighten, and he gives Steve's arm a little shake, tiny compared to the one he wants to give, to rattle Steve's brain back into place. Voice gone intent and still sharp, eyes fixed on Steve's face, bewildered but determined.
"It's worth it."