He watches as Danny seems to get the first burst of clear air, in the way his shoulders drop, ever so marginally, and he looks back, glomming on to Steve's exit strategy like he needs it to be able to keep going. When Steve is actually trying not to let the birth of the sun going on in his chest massacre the control of not smiling. He's probably failing it even.
How can he not? How is he supposed to ignore this?
Steve turned back to -- he never did get her name, did he? Oh, we'll. That's probably for the best, since he doesn't actually care and doesn't have a reason to know it in any moment beyond this one -- raising his eyebrows and tipping his head. A clip, short movement, that goes with his words, "Remember to be more careful next time."
About as simple, regimentally, flat and direct as though he were dismissing any civilian witness, HPD officer on a scene or in his office, or one of any number lower ranking officers or team members he's had over the years. Not even waiting for her words or the expression on her face when she'll realize he's been sidestepped in the middle of thinking she had something. Which she didn't.
Prompting Danny with another push of his knuckles, to turn and go, before he takes a drink from the pint glass, again, finally, stepping through and headed with him for the as of yet unclaimed table. They hadn't actually discussed playing, but at least Danny hadn't argued. No. Not at all. A strategic retreat that he'd grafted to without resistance. The whole thing. That reaction, every sharp word flooding through Steve head, bubbling up through the cavity of his chest, flooding into his head.
The smirk that was taking his mouth as he pulled the glass down was uncontrollable. Slipping through his fingers, even as he barely cast a look at edge of his peripheral vision toward Danny at his side. Coloring distant disbelief, easy exasperation and such warm arrogant smugness, when all he asks, can say here, as they're approaching the table is, "Really?"
no subject
How can he not? How is he supposed to ignore this?
Steve turned back to -- he never did get her name, did he? Oh, we'll. That's probably for the best, since he doesn't actually care and doesn't have a reason to know it in any moment beyond this one -- raising his eyebrows and tipping his head. A clip, short movement, that goes with his words, "Remember to be more careful next time."
About as simple, regimentally, flat and direct as though he were dismissing any civilian witness, HPD officer on a scene or in his office, or one of any number lower ranking officers or team members he's had over the years. Not even waiting for her words or the expression on her face when she'll realize he's been sidestepped in the middle of thinking she had something. Which she didn't.
Prompting Danny with another push of his knuckles, to turn and go, before he takes a drink from the pint glass, again, finally, stepping through and headed with him for the as of yet unclaimed table. They hadn't actually discussed playing, but at least Danny hadn't argued. No. Not at all. A strategic retreat that he'd grafted to without resistance. The whole thing. That reaction, every sharp word flooding through Steve head, bubbling up through the cavity of his chest, flooding into his head.
The smirk that was taking his mouth as he pulled the glass down was uncontrollable. Slipping through his fingers, even as he barely cast a look at edge of his peripheral vision toward Danny at his side. Coloring distant disbelief, easy exasperation and such warm arrogant smugness, when all he asks, can say here, as they're approaching the table is, "Really?"