Only it comes out faster, rolled together, shuddup, thick Jersey aggravation wrapping around two words merging into one. His hand leaves the general area of Steve's hip, points at Steve's chest instead, and, you know, part of him really does just want to slug the guy again and be done with it. "It's not the point? Did you smack your head, getting out of the truck earlier? Guess what. You do not get to throw yourself on this grenade."
He can't even be relieved. He's too strung out on sudden adrenaline, cool and sick in his stomach, vibrating with fury, which is fine, because at least fury isn't desperation, he can cling to anger and not think about the fact that he'd probably beg, if he had to.
Except he doesn't. Because Steve didn't say so.
He had the opening. Danny told him, twice, to say it. Just say it. Hit him in the gut and let him bleed out. Get it done with.
And Steve just stood there with that face, like he was trying to swallow a stone, and it's just pissing him off even more, the kind of anger that springs from fear and helplessness, knowing something's wrong and being powerless to fix it, because Steve actually thinks this. Steve legitimately thinks that the things he wants, feels, don't matter. Those were the words Danny cut off. It doesn't matter.
"Like hell it doesn't matter, it matters, okay, you matter. You think I want to lose any of those things? Well, I don't. But I'm not going to stand here and let you be the thing I lose, either, just because you've decided it's easier that way. "
It's not. It couldn't be. It wouldn't be. He's already so far beyond compromised that this is like slapping a band-aid on a dam that's already blown and leaked away the whole damn lake.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-02 10:34 pm (UTC)Only it comes out faster, rolled together, shuddup, thick Jersey aggravation wrapping around two words merging into one. His hand leaves the general area of Steve's hip, points at Steve's chest instead, and, you know, part of him really does just want to slug the guy again and be done with it. "It's not the point? Did you smack your head, getting out of the truck earlier? Guess what. You do not get to throw yourself on this grenade."
He can't even be relieved. He's too strung out on sudden adrenaline, cool and sick in his stomach, vibrating with fury, which is fine, because at least fury isn't desperation, he can cling to anger and not think about the fact that he'd probably beg, if he had to.
Except he doesn't. Because Steve didn't say so.
He had the opening. Danny told him, twice, to say it. Just say it. Hit him in the gut and let him bleed out. Get it done with.
And Steve just stood there with that face, like he was trying to swallow a stone, and it's just pissing him off even more, the kind of anger that springs from fear and helplessness, knowing something's wrong and being powerless to fix it, because Steve actually thinks this. Steve legitimately thinks that the things he wants, feels, don't matter. Those were the words Danny cut off. It doesn't matter.
"Like hell it doesn't matter, it matters, okay, you matter. You think I want to lose any of those things? Well, I don't. But I'm not going to stand here and let you be the thing I lose, either, just because you've decided it's easier that way. "
It's not. It couldn't be. It wouldn't be. He's already so far beyond compromised that this is like slapping a band-aid on a dam that's already blown and leaked away the whole damn lake.