Fair enough. The feeling's mutual, and he's happy to get into a discussion of the blood-sucking, bottom-feeding, emotional vampires calling themselves lawyers that he's know. Hell, he can't even stand his.
He'd be fine with that, vent a little of the aggression that's leaking into the air between them, when it's clear she thinks he should clear out so there aren't any more interruptions, but Steve steps in, and she thinks better of it, ends up just shaking her head and tossing back her hair and hitting her first decent shot of the night. It's not enough to save her, and Steve makes short work of that last shot, leaving Danny buzzing and confused and exasperated with the ghost of the glance Steve shot at him, like...what? He thinks Danny's about to lose his head at some annoying paralegal, just for being a little snippy about her job?
Please. She hasn't backed off so far, and she doesn't look like she's about to, either, even when she pauses, and glances at Danny, midway through her offer of another game.
He is, he knows, supposed to wave her off and tell her to go for it. Right? Or, maybe, agree to take the game, but let her stick around so she can concentrate on Steve and compliment him on winning (probably) again.
While his eyes slide over her shoulder, and meet Steve's, with the faint question in them, and, just for now, just for this second, it's like none of tonight happened, and they're across from each other in the war room; counting down outside a suspect's house; out on the lanai and surrounded by silence. Times when they don't actually need to ask questions, or can't, because there's no time or ability for words.
...It doesn't change anything, but at least it's Steve asking, and not her. "You know, I, uh, actually think I'm pretty done for the night." His smile draws tight and wry, and he tips his half-done beer bottle from side to side, free thumb jerking over his shoulder towards the door, and tries not to let his shoulders crack from the strain as she smiles, unable to hide it even when she's half-assing some pasted-on disappointment.
"Too bad," she says, but she's already turning to Steve, smile turned up to eleven, wattage threatening the lighting in the place. "Guess it's just you and me, then."
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Fair enough. The feeling's mutual, and he's happy to get into a discussion of the blood-sucking, bottom-feeding, emotional vampires calling themselves lawyers that he's know. Hell, he can't even stand his.
He'd be fine with that, vent a little of the aggression that's leaking into the air between them, when it's clear she thinks he should clear out so there aren't any more interruptions, but Steve steps in, and she thinks better of it, ends up just shaking her head and tossing back her hair and hitting her first decent shot of the night. It's not enough to save her, and Steve makes short work of that last shot, leaving Danny buzzing and confused and exasperated with the ghost of the glance Steve shot at him, like...what? He thinks Danny's about to lose his head at some annoying paralegal, just for being a little snippy about her job?
Please. She hasn't backed off so far, and she doesn't look like she's about to, either, even when she pauses, and glances at Danny, midway through her offer of another game.
He is, he knows, supposed to wave her off and tell her to go for it. Right? Or, maybe, agree to take the game, but let her stick around so she can concentrate on Steve and compliment him on winning (probably) again.
While his eyes slide over her shoulder, and meet Steve's, with the faint question in them, and, just for now, just for this second, it's like none of tonight happened, and they're across from each other in the war room; counting down outside a suspect's house; out on the lanai and surrounded by silence. Times when they don't actually need to ask questions, or can't, because there's no time or ability for words.
...It doesn't change anything, but at least it's Steve asking, and not her. "You know, I, uh, actually think I'm pretty done for the night." His smile draws tight and wry, and he tips his half-done beer bottle from side to side, free thumb jerking over his shoulder towards the door, and tries not to let his shoulders crack from the strain as she smiles, unable to hide it even when she's half-assing some pasted-on disappointment.
"Too bad," she says, but she's already turning to Steve, smile turned up to eleven, wattage threatening the lighting in the place. "Guess it's just you and me, then."