Claws, sharp and long, scuttle up the back of his neck, not digging in, but dragging, hard and heavy up the nerve and muscles along his spine, when Danny announces he's going back to the bar. When that was never part of it. Danny walking away. Danny being anywhere away from him. Not even after or with his continued line of normal enough, annoyed snappy notes.
When he's casting a glance up as Danny is walking by. The words an announcement not a request, and he's really ending up catch a glance of his back when he'd wanted to see his face. When he has to hold it still, that confusing complaining jolt in his chest, just let his eyebrows rise and fall with a shrug of his shoulders, glancing toward the woman he's been left with, before be starts hitting Danny's balls.
Clear the table. Clean up the excess. Steady the nerves jangling like before any black mission's go mark.
"So, Steve," it comes after the clack of one, while he's already moving to get into the next sot for lining up another. Two left. "What do you do?"
He's sizing up the last one, to cast off bumpers. When he should just sink it and get on. When he wants these minutes to be over, even when his movement are clean. Tight coil of his arm. Wants to look over at Danny. Snap release of his shoulder, elbow wrist. Voice even and pretty lacking in arrogance. Straight forward, ho. "Head up the governor's HPD Task Force."
Not that Denning's got much say in how he ran his ship. Even now.
He doesn't need to look up to catch the surprise. To count the moment before there's a whistle like the one that announced her. When she's re-categorizing him in her head most likely. "Impressive."
Steve is almost tempted to give her a more stern blank look, for the word. It is. Not in the way her voice makes it sound. Like it's something flashy and amazing. It's back breaking hard important and it costs his team a lot in a lot of different ways, especially lately. But Danny appearing at his side completely derails that thought or any words to it. As does the pint that gets dropped not too far away, while Danny's voice runs over everything else. Needles and expression that begs him to complain about that drink or any of his insults.
When Steve is digging in his pocket, looking for the rack, sniping right back with a smirk breaking out, like it never left, like he couldn't for the life of him find any of those words to be holding the insults thrown at him. Not when he can nearly feel the electric charge in the few inches between them. "Don't be a sore loser, Danny. It's not pretty. If you're nicer I might even wipe the table with you, again, next."
He does. Actually. Have five quarters. Even if he's checked three pockets by the time he's gotten to three. Smug toward Danny, when he's plopping them in and starting to rack up. Looking up when he's raising it, saying "Ladies first," before stepping toward the side. Where his newly beading pint glass is. And Danny.
no subject
When he's casting a glance up as Danny is walking by. The words an announcement not a request, and he's really ending up catch a glance of his back when he'd wanted to see his face. When he has to hold it still, that confusing complaining jolt in his chest, just let his eyebrows rise and fall with a shrug of his shoulders, glancing toward the woman he's been left with, before be starts hitting Danny's balls.
Clear the table. Clean up the excess. Steady the nerves jangling like before any black mission's go mark.
"So, Steve," it comes after the clack of one, while he's already moving to get into the next sot for lining up another. Two left. "What do you do?"
He's sizing up the last one, to cast off bumpers. When he should just sink it and get on. When he wants these minutes to be over, even when his movement are clean. Tight coil of his arm. Wants to look over at Danny. Snap release of his shoulder, elbow wrist. Voice even and pretty lacking in arrogance. Straight forward, ho. "Head up the governor's HPD Task Force."
Not that Denning's got much say in how he ran his ship. Even now.
He doesn't need to look up to catch the surprise. To count the moment before there's a whistle like the one that announced her. When she's re-categorizing him in her head most likely. "Impressive."
Steve is almost tempted to give her a more stern blank look, for the word. It is. Not in the way her voice makes it sound. Like it's something flashy and amazing. It's back breaking hard important and it costs his team a lot in a lot of different ways, especially lately. But Danny appearing at his side completely derails that thought or any words to it. As does the pint that gets dropped not too far away, while Danny's voice runs over everything else. Needles and expression that begs him to complain about that drink or any of his insults.
When Steve is digging in his pocket, looking for the rack, sniping right back with a smirk breaking out, like it never left, like he couldn't for the life of him find any of those words to be holding the insults thrown at him. Not when he can nearly feel the electric charge in the few inches between them. "Don't be a sore loser, Danny. It's not pretty. If you're nicer I might even wipe the table with you, again, next."
He does. Actually. Have five quarters. Even if he's checked three pockets by the time he's gotten to three. Smug toward Danny, when he's plopping them in and starting to rack up. Looking up when he's raising it, saying "Ladies first," before stepping toward the side. Where his newly beading pint glass is. And Danny.