Danny's over there throwing looks at him. He doesn't need to turn his head, to catch the way he keeps twisting. Tiny, murderous glances stolen here and there. Then leaning away and that time he doesn't look away. Making Steve's hand's tighten on the wheel, reflexively, taking a light shifting through yellow faster than he should have. When he's about to open his mouth and make a crass comparison.

But then Danny is spitting out that question. Quiet and hard. Darts aimed with precision, laced with poison.

When Steve honestly does a faint double take, on purpose, like he's looking for it in the dash or the wheel, for a flash second, before he's turning his head to look at Danny. Eyebrows raising, even when that twitch at the edge of his mouth is present even without the full smile, when he's surveying Danny with a rather close approximation of seriousness, even if it lacked any distance or severity. "What are you talking about?"

He's pretty damn sure he knows, but what the hell, why not make Danny spell it out. Again. A second, or is this third time? When Steve is probably just going to argue his term next. Because it's not funny. Well, it is but it's not. Funny is not one of the words he would give it. Crazy. Impossible. Amazing.

Like everything else about this crazy, impossible, amazing situation Danny kept staying here in.