He hates this feeling. This desperate tension somewhere in his center that he has to choose right or left, up or down, yes or no, right or wrong. Like everything that matters at all is hanging on it. Even after Danny already said that he was right. Even after Danny followed it up with saying he was wrong. In this quiet, not defeated, but maybe deflated, sort of fashion.
When Danny's hands are still moving, and the only thought in his head, while those hand are moving, is the most defeated one of all. When has it ever mattered if he didn't want someone to go? What did that have to do with making the right decision in this?
It didn't matter with his mother, when she died, and he had no idea how to even quantify whether anything, or what, matter now that she was alive, but even the two days she was here were full of pits and unanswered case questions. It didn't matter with his father, when he was young enough it changed everything, being shut out, being shipped away, and hardly ever spoken to again. Made him who he was, before he even learned why it happened, or that his father had been a silent spectator to his life at times.
It didn't matter with his sister, who was shipped off away from him, and who he, in turn, shipped off away from himself. Who he never heard from enough, nor remember to reach out to enough, himself, who still didn't know about Doris, and that tangled up everything even more. It hadn't mattered with Bullfrog, or Jameson, or Jenna, or Lori. Why would it play any part, have any point, here?
Things that all happend because they had to. Dominoes in a line. Easier as a case. Harder as a house. Too, too many thoughts, when he's staring at Danny's face, trying to picture any world, any world, ever, that didn't include someone putting a gun to one of their heads, when he actually wanted Danny to leave. He didn't even want Danny to leave when every second living together was torture and sleep deprivation.
How even if he said yes, pushed him away, finally, in the way he has no idea how to do at the this second watching that dark, worried, something that looks like an attempt to be brave in front of gun, they'd still have work. Still have the camaro and cases. He'd still be there. He'd still be incapable of not asking, wanting, every detail. Of holding back if Danny were danger, if Grace or Rachel or anything that hurt him, pissed him off.
Do you want me to go? Whispering in the silence as Steve stared at the only man he seriously trusted.
To have his back. To pull him back from going berserk. To do his job, if he couldn't be there to do it. To always choose the right, best, good thing in ninety percent of his choices. To be the only person who's gotten so far in, rubbing his edges, yelling at him until he's more himself than a SEAL. Like it's all straight down another gun barrel. Maybe even worse for the silence.
Worse because maybe he doesn't see anyway where he'll ever recover from this no matter how it ends. Or when.
When there are so many chances it could be about this, or about the case. But it would leave him blank and barren. When all he can do in the end is reaching up and rub at his own neck, and shake his head, his vision, shifting to he doesn't know, Danny's cheek or shoulder, or anything else, when he says, "No," so quietly it might get lost in the wind even in this little space between them.
Because it shouldn't matter, might not in the longer run, but it was true.
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When Danny's hands are still moving, and the only thought in his head, while those hand are moving, is the most defeated one of all. When has it ever mattered if he didn't want someone to go? What did that have to do with making the right decision in this?
It didn't matter with his mother, when she died, and he had no idea how to even quantify whether anything, or what, matter now that she was alive, but even the two days she was here were full of pits and unanswered case questions. It didn't matter with his father, when he was young enough it changed everything, being shut out, being shipped away, and hardly ever spoken to again. Made him who he was, before he even learned why it happened, or that his father had been a silent spectator to his life at times.
It didn't matter with his sister, who was shipped off away from him, and who he, in turn, shipped off away from himself. Who he never heard from enough, nor remember to reach out to enough, himself, who still didn't know about Doris, and that tangled up everything even more. It hadn't mattered with Bullfrog, or Jameson, or Jenna, or Lori. Why would it play any part, have any point, here?
Things that all happend because they had to. Dominoes in a line. Easier as a case. Harder as a house. Too, too many thoughts, when he's staring at Danny's face, trying to picture any world, any world, ever, that didn't include someone putting a gun to one of their heads, when he actually wanted Danny to leave. He didn't even want Danny to leave when every second living together was torture and sleep deprivation.
How even if he said yes, pushed him away, finally, in the way he has no idea how to do at the this second watching that dark, worried, something that looks like an attempt to be brave in front of gun, they'd still have work. Still have the camaro and cases. He'd still be there. He'd still be incapable of not asking, wanting, every detail. Of holding back if Danny were danger, if Grace or Rachel or anything that hurt him, pissed him off.
Do you want me to go? Whispering in the silence as Steve stared at the only man he seriously trusted.
To have his back. To pull him back from going berserk. To do his job, if he couldn't be there to do it. To always choose the right, best, good thing in ninety percent of his choices. To be the only person who's gotten so far in, rubbing his edges, yelling at him until he's more himself than a SEAL. Like it's all straight down another gun barrel. Maybe even worse for the silence.
Worse because maybe he doesn't see anyway where he'll ever recover from this no matter how it ends. Or when.
When there are so many chances it could be about this, or about the case. But it would leave him blank and barren. When all he can do in the end is reaching up and rub at his own neck, and shake his head, his vision, shifting to he doesn't know, Danny's cheek or shoulder, or anything else, when he says, "No," so quietly it might get lost in the wind even in this little space between them.
Because it shouldn't matter, might not in the longer run, but it was true.