"Danny." There's a sigh. Almost like it can't stop fighting to get out of him. It's so big, so massive in his head. The want to hurt someone, something. The hurt, almost embarrassment, full-ownership of those words that feels like lands more solidly like a slam to Steve chest than any bullet, any weapon that's torn up his skin.
"Sure, you can-" No. No, no, no. That's not what he wants to even have in "--and this month has--" but that. No, not that either. He doesn't. It's been hell. Danny knows that. Danny. Danny who's been there with him for all of the fall out. All the rolling, exploding fall out.
When this, them, Danny, is the only reason he feels like he can breathe on any of these day. At his side, joking, walking their cases. Danny is the only reason he has any moments, stolen in the middle of the night, flooding him with reasons other than that he should curl up, numb and solid and run hard through all of this. When he doesn't know how to put that into words, how to make any of it come up out of his throat.
The hand at Danny's ribs coming up, find the other side of his face. Not like a frame, like he has to demand it. He needs all of Danny's attention. Every bit of it. For no other world, ghosts, idiot people he can't hurt to be there between them. "Maybe you aren't--" No. No. No. He just leans forward, trying to, god, ripping up the center of him, all that he is certain of.
"You are--" Okay, yes. Maybe. Who cares. There's no one here, but Danny. Danny, whose face, is everything, that he's dragging less than two inches from him. Who actually believes. That he isn't "--the best thing to happen to me this month." When his voice might crack, even this thick. "The only good one." When everything else. Their whole team. Their enemies. Their families. Everything. Everything else was falling apart.
Everything except them. Coming together. Even when it makes everything complicated, sure, and harder. But better.
no subject
"Sure, you can-" No. No, no, no. That's not what he wants to even have in "--and this month has--" but that. No, not that either. He doesn't. It's been hell. Danny knows that. Danny. Danny who's been there with him for all of the fall out. All the rolling, exploding fall out.
When this, them, Danny, is the only reason he feels like he can breathe on any of these day. At his side, joking, walking their cases. Danny is the only reason he has any moments, stolen in the middle of the night, flooding him with reasons other than that he should curl up, numb and solid and run hard through all of this. When he doesn't know how to put that into words, how to make any of it come up out of his throat.
The hand at Danny's ribs coming up, find the other side of his face. Not like a frame, like he has to demand it. He needs all of Danny's attention. Every bit of it. For no other world, ghosts, idiot people he can't hurt to be there between them. "Maybe you aren't--" No. No. No. He just leans forward, trying to, god, ripping up the center of him, all that he is certain of.
"You are--" Okay, yes. Maybe. Who cares. There's no one here, but Danny. Danny, whose face, is everything, that he's dragging less than two inches from him. Who actually believes. That he isn't "--the best thing to happen to me this month." When his voice might crack, even this thick. "The only good one." When everything else. Their whole team. Their enemies. Their families. Everything. Everything else was falling apart.
Everything except them. Coming together. Even when it makes everything complicated, sure, and harder. But better.