He's breathing hard through his nose, lips dry when he presses them together, a muscle screaming in his jaw, so tight he can barely loosen it enough to get words out, tongue flicking to wet lips that feel thin and drawn into a line.
"I get," he says. Low and steady. The kind of warning tone he uses when he's just about had enough, when the only thing keeping him hanging on by a single thread is his own rapidly fraying willpower. "That you actually think that's true. That you think it's the right thing to do. I appreciate--"
The word sticks like knives in his throat, but he grimaces around it, gets it out, because Steve is doing this in some fucked up attempt to be helpful, and Danny can appreciate the sentiment, even if he wants to punch Steve in the head for going about it like he has, "-- that you want to...help. But this is not the way to do it."
Look. His chances are slim, sure. But they're slim for a million other reasons, not because of Steve, and, honestly, having someone he's involved with? It might even make things a little easier. They'd frown on it being his boss, but Danny's not a hundred percent sure that's worse than being a single workaholic dad with a crappy apartment.
Steve bats his hand away like it's an annoying fly, but all that does is make Danny grab his wrist, wanting to shake him, make him listen. "But if it's my case you're worried about, then I get to make that decision. Okay? My case. My call. And my call is that I'm not going anywhere, so you can just forget about it."
Blunt, bluff, annoyed to every cell. He;d had a pretty good weekend, all told, and he'd been looking forward to getting over here and seeing Steve, shooting the breeze, having a beer or two, giving up on the increasingly impossible practice of trying not to touch him.
This? This was nowhere near the plans, and it's freaking aggravating. Steve standing there like a martyr, trying to take a bullet that hasn't even been fired yet.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-02 11:35 pm (UTC)"I get," he says. Low and steady. The kind of warning tone he uses when he's just about had enough, when the only thing keeping him hanging on by a single thread is his own rapidly fraying willpower. "That you actually think that's true. That you think it's the right thing to do. I appreciate--"
The word sticks like knives in his throat, but he grimaces around it, gets it out, because Steve is doing this in some fucked up attempt to be helpful, and Danny can appreciate the sentiment, even if he wants to punch Steve in the head for going about it like he has, "-- that you want to...help. But this is not the way to do it."
Look. His chances are slim, sure. But they're slim for a million other reasons, not because of Steve, and, honestly, having someone he's involved with? It might even make things a little easier. They'd frown on it being his boss, but Danny's not a hundred percent sure that's worse than being a single workaholic dad with a crappy apartment.
Steve bats his hand away like it's an annoying fly, but all that does is make Danny grab his wrist, wanting to shake him, make him listen. "But if it's my case you're worried about, then I get to make that decision. Okay? My case. My call. And my call is that I'm not going anywhere, so you can just forget about it."
Blunt, bluff, annoyed to every cell. He;d had a pretty good weekend, all told, and he'd been looking forward to getting over here and seeing Steve, shooting the breeze, having a beer or two, giving up on the increasingly impossible practice of trying not to touch him.
This? This was nowhere near the plans, and it's freaking aggravating. Steve standing there like a martyr, trying to take a bullet that hasn't even been fired yet.