No. He's not trying to be funny, this is not a bit, this is the very real danger of his blood pressure blowing the top of his head clean off if she does not stop touching Steve. But there it is, she grins, like she's got no idea what's going on, like she's just deciding to take his words at face value, like he's actually helping her along instead of debating the best ways to get her to leave, immediately.
"Oh, no," she's saying, waving off Steve's apology, which, that's another thing, why is Steve apologizing for him? He meets that questioning look with a faint raise of his eyebrows, like he's got no idea what Steve might possibly mean, as she goes on. "There's nothing to interrupt, you're fine. Besides, everybody needs to unwind after a long day, right?"
That's not what he'd meant, but he's hamstrung by the way she's playing along, and caught in a net of possible rejoinders when she turns back to Steve, shrugging slim shoulders elegantly. "Not a connoisseur, but...do you mind?"
He minds. Danny minds. Danny minds very much the way she lightly pushes at the sleeve of Steve's shirt, to expose a little more of that tattoo, while he is suddenly flooded with a crystal-clear memory of that ink under his fingers, traced, gripped, covered and curved around while he drifted off to sleep, and it's like an explosion hits, soundless, against his skull. It's impossible to look away, like she's yanking on a cord attached to his ribs, tugging on it with every half-second she doesn't move her goddam hand.
Seething anger whites out his head for a second, but it's no better once the fog clears, because, what, really, are his options? He can't actually snatch her hand away. He can't tell her to leave. He might be able to fake a call from Chin, but that seems desperate, even for him.
He sort of wishes someone in here would open fire.
But he's caught, like a fish on a hook, by the way her finger traces lines of green, aqua, blue. Stomach hoisted somewhere out of his body. Her finger, where his had been, not so long ago. Like she's got any right. Like Steve might, he doesn't know, want it? The touch. The attention?
She fits the bill. Right? Not Cath (which is still complicated in the extreme to think about, so he bypasses it for the moment), but pretty, flirtatious, looking for a night of fun and not much else. He's seen it before, he'd be stupid not to recognize it now, or forget how many times and how this has all played out for Steve in the past.
He doesn't want to look at Steve's face and see any evidence that might be true, so he drags his eyes away from that finger, to look at her, feeling like his jaw might shatter from tension, a spiking pain starting in the small of his back, shoving a hand in his pocket so he doesn't do anything impolite, like strangle her.
"I don't know," he says, just to keep himself in the game, knowing he's being abrasive and not giving a single shit about it, "you want crazy tattoos, this place is pretty good, but not as bizarre as L.A. I saw a guy there with a tattoo of a face on his face, very odd, possibly some sort of metaphor for multiple selves? Anyway, like he said, it's been a long day. You know how it is, you want a couple quiet drinks, unwind."
Which is the opposite of what's happening inside his chest right now, sharp coils cutting into every breath. "This place is getting pretty busy, though."
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No. He's not trying to be funny, this is not a bit, this is the very real danger of his blood pressure blowing the top of his head clean off if she does not stop touching Steve. But there it is, she grins, like she's got no idea what's going on, like she's just deciding to take his words at face value, like he's actually helping her along instead of debating the best ways to get her to leave, immediately.
"Oh, no," she's saying, waving off Steve's apology, which, that's another thing, why is Steve apologizing for him? He meets that questioning look with a faint raise of his eyebrows, like he's got no idea what Steve might possibly mean, as she goes on. "There's nothing to interrupt, you're fine. Besides, everybody needs to unwind after a long day, right?"
That's not what he'd meant, but he's hamstrung by the way she's playing along, and caught in a net of possible rejoinders when she turns back to Steve, shrugging slim shoulders elegantly. "Not a connoisseur, but...do you mind?"
He minds. Danny minds. Danny minds very much the way she lightly pushes at the sleeve of Steve's shirt, to expose a little more of that tattoo, while he is suddenly flooded with a crystal-clear memory of that ink under his fingers, traced, gripped, covered and curved around while he drifted off to sleep, and it's like an explosion hits, soundless, against his skull. It's impossible to look away, like she's yanking on a cord attached to his ribs, tugging on it with every half-second she doesn't move her goddam hand.
Seething anger whites out his head for a second, but it's no better once the fog clears, because, what, really, are his options? He can't actually snatch her hand away. He can't tell her to leave. He might be able to fake a call from Chin, but that seems desperate, even for him.
He sort of wishes someone in here would open fire.
But he's caught, like a fish on a hook, by the way her finger traces lines of green, aqua, blue. Stomach hoisted somewhere out of his body. Her finger, where his had been, not so long ago. Like she's got any right. Like Steve might, he doesn't know, want it? The touch. The attention?
She fits the bill. Right? Not Cath (which is still complicated in the extreme to think about, so he bypasses it for the moment), but pretty, flirtatious, looking for a night of fun and not much else. He's seen it before, he'd be stupid not to recognize it now, or forget how many times and how this has all played out for Steve in the past.
He doesn't want to look at Steve's face and see any evidence that might be true, so he drags his eyes away from that finger, to look at her, feeling like his jaw might shatter from tension, a spiking pain starting in the small of his back, shoving a hand in his pocket so he doesn't do anything impolite, like strangle her.
"I don't know," he says, just to keep himself in the game, knowing he's being abrasive and not giving a single shit about it, "you want crazy tattoos, this place is pretty good, but not as bizarre as L.A. I saw a guy there with a tattoo of a face on his face, very odd, possibly some sort of metaphor for multiple selves? Anyway, like he said, it's been a long day. You know how it is, you want a couple quiet drinks, unwind."
Which is the opposite of what's happening inside his chest right now, sharp coils cutting into every breath. "This place is getting pretty busy, though."