(no subject)

[haole_cop]

"All I'm saying is, if we'd stayed on land last week, the chances of us getting boat-jacked and left to die out in the middle of the ocean in a sinking boat -- I'm sorry, dinghy," his hand drops from where it had lifted, preemptively, to stop Steve from arguing, "dinghy, I know, I know -- would have been much more slim.  I'd say that there would easily have been a zero percent chance of that happening.  Mainly because one does not use boats -- or dinghies -- on land.  Don't get me wrong, I fully accept the possibility of something else horrible happening.  It always seems to, every time we leave civilization."

Which is why they are here.  At a bar.  Having a few drinks, while Danny eyes the pool table and the TV with equal amounts of casual interest, catching a few glimpses of the previous week's games and keeping an eye out for the Jets.

More to the point, as great as it is that Steve wants to show him his favorite hiking trails or mountainous drives or fishing spots from when he was a kid, the guy is already surrounded by memories of a life that, all of a sudden, turned out not have been necessary at all.  The thought of Doris McGarrett, hiding out somewhere on the island, unapologetic for doing what she'd called necessary and what Danny counters was cruelty, makes rage spark low in his stomach and burn up through his chest, so they're out of the house that she'd left so miserable and broken twenty years ago and planted solidly in the present.

There are worse ways to wrap up a week.  Actually being around other people, instead of opting for Steve's lanai or living room or kitchen.  When, somehow, miraculously, Danny is still wanted there.  Around.  And they've fallen into something almost like normality.

He hasn't thought about it too hard.  That's how you jinx a good thing, and this is good, a bright light shining somewhere in the cave of bullshit that collapsed around them the day Fryer was murdered and Shelburne turned out to be Steve's not-nearly-as-dead-as-she-had-previously-appeared-to-be mother.  Add it all to the firestorm of a custody battle from hell, and, look, all he wants is a decent night out at a bar before, hopefully, going back tipsy to Steve's house and enjoying the comfort of his couch or bed.  

Is that really so much to ask?

"Best to just resist the impulse to tempt fate, my friend."

Comments

[haole_cop]

"Is it?"

He kind of feels like he's just treading water, here, as waves wash over his head, one after another, and he's not sure whether he's more pissed off at Steve for dangling information in front of her like a carrot, or for leading her into further conversation, or just for allowing this to happen at all. "Imagine what that would be like, getting easier as it goes."

Oh, sure. Some parts do. There are some things that only come with time and experience: the ability to sniff out a lie, trust in your own instincts, interrogation techniques. It's a process, and you learn on the job as much or more than in the Academy.

But easier? No. It never gets easier. His ability to deal with it, maybe, improves, but there's still nothing that hits like having to inform the next of kin, nothing that prepares you for the shock of losing a friend or colleague to the vagaries of criminal violence. Years of working homicide in Jersey, two more in Five-0, and some things hit just as hard as they always have.

Not that he particularly wants to get into a discussion of their jobs with this girl, doing her best to keep Steve's attention on her. It's in the pose; the way she leans on her cue, props a hand on her hip, all long legs and dark eyes and flashing smile.

Not that any of that is what makes Steve miss his shot.

Right?

"Lawyers," he says, just to get back in the game, aware that he's scrambling, a little, jumping in where he's not wanted, but he can't. Not. Has this thing, shoving at the inside of his chest, pushing him in, dragging him around like the comically oversized canes used to tug vaudeville performers off a stage. "They're the worst. I can't imagine working for one. No wonder you're out here; they have the tendency to make me want to drink, too."

Especially right now, when he feels like he's bleeding both money and actual blood, both of which are attracting sharks of a less literal sort than the one they ran into out on the water, a thought which simultaneously does nothing to improve his mood and makes him want to check his phone, just in case someone -- Rachel, her lawyer, his lawyer -- called.

Because that would be just about the cherry on top of the sundae of misery that this evening is turning into.

[thebesteverseen]

Lani's giving Danny a wearing look, not quite reaching clear enough to a glare. Which Steve's catching, because he's looking over to as Danny's talking about lawyers with the still, sharp, edge creeping into his voice, and he gets it. Everything thing the single title drags up for him. As well as the fact she doesn't get Danny can complain about nearly anything that comes out of anyone's mouth, even when smiling. It's just him.

The same with the topics it unhelpfully pokes, making him tense-up more and fire off words like her profession offends.

"It's not that bad," Lani said, to Danny. The reproach slipping out more in her voice than the clarity of her face. Though Steve shifted, clearing his throat, drumming fingers on the side rail, maybe a little like he was bored or disinterested in watching where it might go, anything else she might say, "Your shot."

She's allowed to get on Danny's nerves. She's not allowed to start stirring up the water with Grace and the Edwards. There's only so much hell Danny needs to get shoved through, and someone else was not going to blunder into that even frowning at his reactions they had no idea what were based on.

He gives her a generic enough sort of smile, not missing the shift where she almost looks back to Danny, considers better of it, flips her hair instead and changes where she's standing while calling a shot that's rather well set up since the eight break. Which she does get, while Steve is not quite looking directly over at Danny. The second shot bombs though when she hits it too hard and sends it drunkenly seesawing the wrong way.

But she just shrugs with a raise of her hand, like it's silly and funny somehow.

Leaving it back in Steve's corner with a shot that actually isn't all that complicated for the eight. He calls for across the table almost entirely, in a straight line, not too far off the bumper. Just needing to knock one side of the ball and half it fall in, enough force but not too much, so it'll go without scratching behind it. Pull back, compensate for almost foot less stick than he licks, and let it roll.

Which, of course, sinks it in one, letting something between his shoulders shift and rearrange itself a little loser. Just the smallest notch. Even when Lani sounds self-satisfied pleased, like someone she won the game. "See. Terrifying. Another match? Or did you--?" This question does come with looking from Steve back to Danny.

Which is rather mirrored and even when Steve is looking at Danny from behind her, looking up from over the pool stick as he'd moved to hit the solids toward pockets. Something curious but still there, when the question is there even if his eyebrows don't raise. Because really whatever Danny wanted at this point, he'd probably be down for. Wherein probably was a very loose interpretation of a very obvious point.

He wouldn't beat off the option to be very far from this table. But, you know, if Danny wanted to stay and stake his side, he could.

[haole_cop]

She doesn't like him.

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."

[thebesteverseen]

He wonders what it is he's hoping will come out of Danny's mouth, when the man hold's his gaze for a few beats before drawing up that tight smile. When he knows some of what's going on up there, but not all of it, and the muscles in the top of his stomach tense, the way they do when he's waiting for an explosion to sound. Because he's giving Danny the free reign to shove this whole thing even higher.

Except he sidesteps, sighting a decision to get out, and Steve feels himself breathe out for the first time in at least an hour. Letting him holding the air in the center as he starts shooting the pieces left on the table in a rather rapid succession trying not to part and parcel that way he'd looked back. When the warmth in his center is more like hot burning embers and less like a fire threatening to burst free.

Especiall when Danny face looks a little pained, and that's a dual edged knife and flood of warmth in his center. Because it looks like Danny thinks he gets to bow out gracefully somehow. Like they didn't come in one car, and wouldn't be leaving that way. The same way. With Danny ranting at the windshield about the newest thing to slice his skin open and pour a gallon of salt in.

When Lani's turning back to him triumphant, and he's wondering if she realizes she really hasn't asked him if he's staying.

Either time. That the assumption there was that, of course Steve would. When he probably shouldn't find a little pressing amusement in the very plain way he says, after the crack of the three, clearing the last ball from the whole table. "Actually that it's for me, too."

"Really?" There's such a surprised, up tilted, flash to a pout to that, as Lani leaned on her cue looking shocked by crestfallen.

[haole_cop]

She doesn't give him the chance to say anything else, which is probably good, because he's really not sure he could manage grinding out you kids have fun with even a passable degree of believability, and he's already considering the bleak outlook of a night alone in his shithole apartment, with no Steve and no Grace. Driving his own car, alone, with the mental image of Lani sidling a little closer to Steve with every shot she takes eat away at the base of his skull, drops of acid burning a hole right through his chest.

Not the way he'd hoped for the evening to go, but, hey, Steve looks a hell of a lot more cheerful now, and that was the point, even if this is so far from -- anything. Everything. He'd just wanted to get some time out of the house. Away from memories, and the heavy weight of them Steve's been carrying around, dragging like Marley's chains. Out, to a bar, for once, where's the harm in that?

Well, here it is, and he should have known better, but he didn't, and now he's going to leave alone, and Steve is going to finish up this game and then go too.










Wait, what?



Lani's surprise has nothing on Danny's. He feels like the floor's disintegrated beneath his shoes, and Steve, that asshole, is just shrugging it all off: her bemusement, Danny's confusion. Like it was a foregone conclusion. "Good timing," is all he says, blank and feeling it, wondering just what the hell is happening, here.

[thebesteverseen]

The stupefaction of that gut wrenching expression trying not to escape Danny's control (that on he somehow hasn't realized is soaked all through him, from his jaw to his shoulders, posture and bottle hold) is worth the price of the whole few words. Of the pout focused on him like he stole someone's promised toy. When he might be failing at keeping his cheeks from tugging up, brightening.

When he's grinning, even if he probably should be and giving a loose shrug of his shoulders. "Criminals don't sleep in."

Though Danny has gotten him to do so on very rare occasion. Not that he has designs on sleeping anytime soon yet. Not that he couldn't. But he has no design on staying here, entertaining someone else with small talk about the last things he'd wanted to talk about.

"But this was great," Steve tacked on, like he couldn't hear the go get em' team casualness. "Thanks for the game."

He might even mean the pool game, though he's not giving much for her baffled face. The one where she was breathing out a confused Yeah, like somehow she missed a step and was trying to figure out where it was an how to regain the foreground. Except he was already turning and moving to put his pool stick back up where Danny got it from.

[haole_cop]

He's got his eyes narrowed, the kind of bewildered frown creasing his forehead and tightening his mouth that he used to get a lot, back in the early days, when Steve was always doing things like, oh, randomly swearing in over the phone with the Governor, or dangling suspects off of rooftops.

And Steve is smiling. Like this is the greatest way the night could end, practically glowing under the dim bar light, and it's -- you know what, Danny wrenches his mind away from that particular line of thought, because it is anything but helpful, at the moment, to contemplate exactly how heart-achingly beautiful that smile really is.

Much easier to wonder what the hell is going through Steve's head, which seems to be the same question Lani's asking herself, as she stares at his back and Danny lifts his eyebrows, takes a last drink of his beer before setting the bottle down on a nearby table and lifting a hand to her, because he's got no idea what's happening, here, but she has arguably even less.

"Uh, nice to meet you."

Even if it's a dirty lie, even if he's wishing he never saw her, even as he's waiting for Steve to come around the table and join him, because he has got a couple of things to say, none of which should be anywhere near within earshot for her.

[thebesteverseen]

They're both still staring, Lani saying something to Danny, though she looks confused more than focused, when Steve turns back to join them after setting the pool stick into the holders. When he considers his pint glass and honestly he's got beer at home if he decided he needs more of it. He's already had the two, so really he could be good, too.

She does seem to collect herself for something at least by the time he gets back to them. Fingers a little tight on her own pool cue this time. The way her voice is a little tight, and more uncertain at the same time, all at once. "So, maybe I'll see you two around?"

Steve shrugged, eyes hands raising in the air as he said, "You never know," before crossing his arms.

Looking at Danny. With a glance toward the door and back to him. That answer about as potentially alluding and noncommittal as they came, not a yes, not a no, leaving him able to consider this all over and done with, when he's giving a nod. Like this standing part is impatient making already. They had other places they could be at the point right.

[haole_cop]

Okay. That, he gets, and it makes as much sense now as ever, he supposes, so he shrugs back, sliding one hand into a pocket while the other makes a loose gesture somewhere by his shoulder. "Alright, train's leaving," he says, and turns to head to the door, with a last, exasperated, wave of his hand. "Goodnight."

Taking quick steps, feeling like at least he can still own these few feet of bamboo flooring, almost jaunty, knowing when Steve catches up to him, because he can't not be aware of where Steve is at all times, any more than he can not be aware of his own limbs.

Cutting a sidelong glance at him, feeling pricklier and more defensive than ever, even though things are starting to go his way again, even with Steve there, looking all light-hearted and delighted with himself. It might be wrong, but Danny feels like that's just a warning sign of worse to come, and it makes him want to snap, to toss enough words and annoyance at Steve's head that something might actually break through.

"You know, I'm pretty sure you could have caught a different ride home."

[thebesteverseen]

Danny looks beleaguered, but he's still following direction. Saying goodbye's and turning on his heel for the door without a word, which makes Steve roll his eyes at the ceiling, grin still tucked tight and wide, into both corners. There's a nod that's as close as he get to a goodbye for Lani, and he's taking wide, fast steps after Danny to catch back up to his side.

He doesn't miss the way Danny's head tips, glancing toward him, but he doesn't do much more than tilt a look over and down at him. He totally looks, if anything, about ready to go off. Like an alarm. When Steve is narrowly missing the spreading warmth getting broader again, when he's choosing to remember again the first words Danny'd chose last time, thrown at his head like he wished they were cement blocks in stead.

What? Shut up and rack, huh? Barked out sharp and defensive and angry, and so wire bare. Before it had smoothed off.

When Steve's going a bit of a way out of his way to wait for Danny to choose the first words this time. When he can't help that he snorts, or maybe it's a scoff. It's somewhere in the middle of the both of them. Danny making it sound like it was an option at all, even if, yeah, he's sure, it was a card on the table, not yet actually played.

Throwing back easily as though it'd been waiting all along, even though it really just rises in his throat easy and affordable on the subject, when he's pushing the door open and stepping out in the later night dim. His amusement flecked into every word, "And give up driving the camaro? It's finally getting to be like old times with her, again."

Okay. He supposed there was an option somewhere for someone else to see him as optional to their night.

But there hadn't been a second when anyone in that room had been a second option to his.

[haole_cop]

Jesus, it's like the last half hour never even happened, like Steve hasn't been preening under the attention of extremely attractive, extremely available girls for the better part of the evening, and Danny, just. He can feel the heels digging in, in his head, stubborn now for the sake of it, for the sake of fighting about it, because Steve cannot be this oblivious, can he? When they've been a, sort of, a thing, and.

Yeah, okay, so they haven't defined it. There are no ground rules, although Danny thinks this should have been covered by the umbrella statement of how very not casual he has the actual ability to be, and how casual is Steve's M.O.

Like tonight. Which, fine. He doesn't know what sort of arrangement Steve and Cath had, only that Steve had been bewildered at the insinuation that the two of them were together in any sort of mutually exclusive sense, but he remembers seeing girls around, before. Now and again.

True, he doesn't know how many of them actually made it out of the bar with Steve, but he'd assumed at least a few had. Right?

So how wrong could he be to assume that tonight might have been the one where Steve finally blew him off? Never mind lingering glances at the spot where his collar folds against his throat, or the stupid jumpy lurch his heart makes every time they catch eyes without warning. Never mind all that.

And here is Steve, completely bypassing the point, while having just left behind one very confused, almost annoyed, girl, to leave with Danny, for...what, the Camaro? Making Danny's other hand slip out of his pocket, because this, okay, this calls for at least two. Waving in front of him, fingers pinching together as they move in tight little circles in the air. Plucking words, one at a time, and leveling them at Steve, measured, exasperated.

"Why are you smiling? Are you amused by something? Am I amusing you, Steven?"

[thebesteverseen]

It's rolling around in his chest as Danny's words come as a demand for some kind of understanding. Confused annoyance coating the edges, when he's actually talking to Steve about Steve now. It all spreads down along the inside of his skin. Warm and caustic. Warmer and more caustic that the late evening air that's clinging to his shirt, the back of his neck and forearms, as the Hawaii finds him again, outside. More than that.

But he's not stopping for that, or this, yet. Making for the camaro in very quick, efficient strides as he digs in his pocket for the keys, that come out with a quiet jangle in the all but empty parking lot. Listening to the voices from the swinging door go from a quite rabble, with certain close by one still clear, to a hum that's getting more and more distantly just a group of people.

When he can feel the parts of him tensing in some insane mounting excitement for getting away, for being away. The way it does when adrenaline is spiking through him, about to do something ludicrous, dangerous, amazing. Like jump out of a plane forty thousand feet and watch the world rush at him as he slices straight through the air. Thrums inside his veins, skipping up his heart.

But not quite yet. Which is why he doesn't favor Danny with anything more than a truly amused. "Get in the car, Danny."

Because he is. Amusing. Hilarious. He's going to start waving his hands and loudly defend acting like an ass for an hour. But if Steve has any say at this point, Danny's going to do it outside of this parking lot and away from these people. Where he can shove it all into a heavy, fast, roiling boil. Where Steve can have all of it finally.

All of it. Not just the parts the escapes Danny's mouth and all of his ability to hold his tongue. All of it.

[haole_cop]

"That's all you've got, right now? 'Get in the car'?"

Sounding more amused than ever, sending a spiked wrecking ball of aggravation straight into his temple and tightening his frown. The girls aren't around anymore, he can knock it off, right?

Except it's Steve, and Steve has no concept of boundaries or limitations except to sometimes note when he slams right past them. Danny can't fault the guy for enjoying the attention, but it smarts, deep in his chest, to see him still so happy about it, in a way that he knows is going to spiral further, shield itself with old hurts that have nothing to do with Steve, but don't help the prospect of someone else edging in and...

What, taking him away? The way Steve didn't stay to flirt with Lani, or the nameless girl at the bar, or Megan the overly hospitable bartender?

But he might have. He could have. In so many ways, it's almost more like he should have. Right? A month is so much longer than he expected any of this to last, and it was always only going to be a matter of time before other people started looking at Steve, and Steve started looking back.

It's rolling around and around in his head, confused and unhappy and pissed off because of it, because, what the hell, what say does he have? Nothing, right? It's not like with Rachel or Gabby, when he could step in and make himself obvious -- but then, it's not like Rachel or Gabby ever seemed to really crave the attention from anyone else, either. And what could he say, anyway? That Steve is, what. His?

A sudden flash of possessive, fiercely selfish agreement shakes him right down to his center, but -- no. It doesn't matter if he's fallen asleep with a hand on Steve's arm or hip, doesn't matter if he's woken up the same way. They're partners. Best friends. And -- this. Whatever it is. Nobody else spends as much time with Steve as he does: mornings, work, evenings, night. Weekends without Grace. Weekdays, everywhere else. But that doesn't mean he can stake a claim.

"Fine, let's get out of here."

None of which has any effect on his temper, unless it's a deleterious one, dragging a thick, heavily sparking storm cloud along with him into the passenger seat of the Camaro, disgruntled and knowing he's got no right to it and that lack of right making it worse.

[thebesteverseen]

Yep. That's it for this second. That and Danny jumping on the simplicity, and obliviousness, of it, like he's looking for anything to dig his claws into and tear apart. The car unlocks, and he drops into the driver's seat. Adjusts the seats from not stealing Danny's car from him after work. Move the mirrors and take the seat back. Well worn ease of how ingrained it is to move those things now, know when to stop, where.

Turn on the car, listening to the engine turn over as Danny gets in and shuts his door behind him. Both movements with more emphasis than not. When Steve's making an effort to keep his mouth from curving away from him all uncontrollably. Even though he's sure it's going to be a pretty losing battle. Instead he focuses elsewhere for a second, the lesser pinch of his nerves and muscles between his shoulder blades.

When the only sounds nearby, finally, are Danny and the car. Steve considers that he could add the wind, and even better the waves, to that, but he doesn't have a reason to further antagonize Danny. Yet. Not that the breeze and a fast dash home wouldn't go amazingly well in hand the way he's feeling right now.

Throwing the car into reverse and sending them with a sharp curve back from their space, slide up the gear and punch it for the exit.

[haole_cop]

Car, fine. Door, slammed shut. Securely, thanks, not because he's pitching a fit, remembering the way the girl at the bar had traced the pad of her finger along Steve's tattoo.

The one he can see, blurry in the darkness, just edging its way out of the edge of his shirt sleeve, and Danny's got to run his hand over his mouth just to push back the bite that wants to come, words choking themselves to silence in his throat.

And Steve is still smiling.

More than that, he looks actually gleeful, which is not a word Danny would generally use as a descriptor for Steve, okay, Steve is rarely filled with glee, unless he's gotten a brand new gun or managed to bring down a building. Occasionally it comes from ruining Danny's day, but, hey, that's a little vain, right?

He just leans away enough to get a good look at Steve's profile, disbelieving, and, you know what? Enough.

"What the hell is so funny, exactly?"

Bitten off words, and they're quiet, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous, like landmines set down one by one along a path.

[thebesteverseen]

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.

[haole_cop]

"Oh, well..."

His hands spread, and he shrugs, slicing the right one up in a diagonal line and back down again, parsing out his words. "I am just saying, you seem very pleased with yourself over there, like something is amusing you, and me, I have found very little to be amused by, tonight, but then, I am not the one with beautiful women attempting to drape themselves all over me."

He's not totally sure if he'd meant to say that last part, but there it is, anyhow, falling out of his mouth with the rest of his words, like he can never manage to stop, and it's a goddam mercy he's able to haul himself back and stop there, honestly, because the last hour is playing itself out in his head and the subsequent mix of jealous anger and aggravation is making his head spin into a miserable, sickening fog.

While Steve continues to look at him like there has been absolutely nothing weird about this night at all, which Danny guesses there hasn't been, aside from the fact that his blood pressure is hitting the roof and he'd had the distinct and unpleasant desire to break some girl's hand off her arm just for touching Steve, and, Christ, Danny really needs to get a grip.

It's not going to be now, though. Not with Steve watching him, blandly curious. Like Danny doesn't already know this is insane. Like he doesn't already know he's messed up, and bad at all this, and out of line.

Like it matters.

[thebesteverseen]

"No one attempted to drape themselves on me," it's the first retort that falls out of his mouth, brow furrowing like Danny needed to check his facts or his head. Someone had attempted to fall into the ground next to him.

Which, yeah, he'd even had to catch that one, but even she hadn't actually draped herself on him. Or even attempted to, fingers on his skin for a minute or two too long not withstanding. He'd dealt with far worse things touching him, covering him for days and weeks. Making it annoying, but insignificant.

He'd probably had these words picked out when he said the said the last ones, dragging it out, giving it directions, different paths. "You got something against me actually enjoying my night? Wasn't that your point going there?"

Tossing Danny a look of challenge even in the dark, as he flying down blissfully empty streets. Especially after how peopled the bar had been. Which wasn't terrible, given what he'd gotten from it, but it was less and less the kind of thing he looked for lately. But then he hadn't expected what he found tonight, and he was going to keep that. Savor it like steak after being in the field for so many months every clutched memory was obliterated before the reality of real flavor again.

Steve took a corner, heading them through the city area. Watching Danny between glances where he was actually nearly facing the man, at the edge of his vision as he was paying attention to the road. Not that there was anything between him and a long slice of forever in front. The head lights illuminating the city at not far from midnight, when he only passed a handful of people here and there.

[haole_cop]

"Are you arguing semantics with me, now? Are you seriously doing that? I'm sorry, would that have made it better, or worse?"

And there is so much more he could say to that, but he's derailed, words catching, struggling against each other, as Steve goes on, and his jaw goes tight, enough that he feels like something might actually crack, if he doesn't let it go soon.

Leading to a pause, while his jaw works, mouth tightens, and he looks away, out the windshield, gripping the few threads of restraint left with iron fingers.

"I hadn't realized it was such a drag beforehand."

It's possible Steve doesn't actually mean to make that smart like it does, but it does. Lands right where he's sore and aching, like a punch against a healing scar.

Of course. Of course that's the point, however, he feels like he's sort of earned the right to be -- well, yeah. Enjoy the night. But enjoying it with him. Not because some random barflies decided to pinpoint him as the best and most attractive target in the room. And things hadn't been so bad, just the two of them. Right? Sure, it was just normal, just beers and bitching, but comfortable. Good, even, so he'd thought.

And then all this happened.

"Okay, how about this, how about, next time, I leave you there," hands lifting, parallel, like he's placing a box down in the air, shifting it over a space, "and you can go on enjoying your night as long as you want, problem solved."

[thebesteverseen]

He's totally going to argue semantics, and roll his eyes at the volley of words that come from doing that. Because if he had --- let someone, anyone there, drape themselves around him -- he's rather certain the pool cue or beer bottle might have met with a harder than meant end. No one draped themselves over him. No one was going to get the chance to.

Current company excluded. Even Cath wasn't about to do that anywhere in the vicinity of Danny.

When that roll of his eyes, lands over toward Danny, again. His dashboard, glass plate, and his hands. Those hands that keept moving at the edge of this vision, in the shadows and casting their own shadows. But mostly catching his attention, more than the street. Maybe as much as Danny's voice.

When Danny's talking about anything being a drag and Steve would be loath to admit it. You don't. Not really. The last easy day was yesterday. You keep pushing forward. You don't admit the weight or the duration or any thought that is not overcoming, pushing through, succeeding where others would fail. But this was better. Better than all the things he didn't list or name or let himself consider like that.

Except when Danny's rattling into some form of insanity, hand still flying, about the fact -- what? Was he implying that he thought Steve's enjoyment about this whole night had ended? Somewhere back there? Seriously?

"Are you-" There's the smallest pause, like Steve isn't quite sure. Either that the words are going to make sense, or that Danny just made him have to clarify this. This insane thing. But the words are pointed, almost exacting, like they always are. "-yelling at me because I didn't stay? You were the one that wanted to leave."

Not that Steve didn't, also, in some amount. But the honest truth was. End of too long day, he didn't much care where here was so long as somewhere inside of it was still Danny Williams, with his too many words and too much movement. Even in the middle of a smokey bar, drinking beers, unable to reach out and touch him expect for all the ways that had gotten so ingrained over these years.

Casually. Flippantly. Congratulatory. Sympathetic. Nothing like the kind that lingered, burning under his skin most of the day now. Where the world might catch its breath and let the touch linger, against a shoulder or wirst, glide along skin he was sure he could not memorize the feel of under his fingertips enough given months or years. Might never know how to put back into the box of those first simple touches that Danny got him so used to over so long.

[haole_cop]

He's staring, hands paused in the air, while the only thing moving are his eyebrows as they arch up against his forehead, and he's asking, impatient.

"What does any of that have to do with me?"

Like he'd forced Steve out of there? Like him leaving had any effect on whether Steve did or not?

Sure. He would like to think so. They spend all day on the end of each others' tether, action and reaction. Drive to cases together. Investigate together. And, lately, find each other again after work, in the quieter hours, when the larger world of problems threatens to come crashing down on them both. They're a matched set, and, okay, sure, twist his arm, he'd admit that he would hope Steve would leave with him, rather than stay.

But that doesn't mean he has to. Danny saying he's done for the night doesn't need to mean Steve is, too. He could have gotten a ride from any one of those girls, or anyone else deciding to try their luck with him later on. There are such things as cabs that, astoundingly, will drive you places, in exchange for money.

It's like Steve just doesn't get it. The way he'd shined up, under the attention, and how crazy it made Danny just to see the way those girls looked at him, like he's a new pair of party shoes or a day at the beach. Like he's nothing more than a good time, when he is so much more than that, for himself. To Danny.

A thought he chokes down, cuffs to the ground, and tries to ignore, because the fact is that what Steve is to Danny is too much for him to look at, straight on, without panic striking deep and treacherous. A little like seeing a solar eclipse out of the corner of his eye.

[thebesteverseen]

Danny goes still, or stays still. One or the other, but they both might as well be the same thing, too. Because it's far too noticeable after all the movement over there. When that looks on his face for a moment is stupefied by way of suddenly quite defensive. Like Steve suddenly attacked him, instead of pointing out what was the clear point of fact. Right?

When Steve has to raise a hand off the steering wheel, fingers almost too sharp, pointing downward. Conveniently at a stop, where he pop the words back at Danny, tight and like they are the most obvious, rhetorical thing in the world. So obvious, deaf-blind people couldn't miss them. "Who else do you think it involves?"

It's not like he seriously thinks Steve was going to listen to anyone else that happened to cross their path in the less than an hour and half they could have spent in that place. He didn't listen to the man who paid his paychecks even when it came to where to go and when. Danny had be kidding, right? He got that he'd gotten all sensitive about everything else, snappy and sharp and jealous over everything, but he couldn't be serious.

[haole_cop]

Who else?

Anyone. Everyone. Because the world doesn't stay out of their lives, and there is always someone else willing to step in. He knows. Has seen it. Lived through it. And a month of...this, whatever it is, miraculously still happening, giving him a little something extra to look forward to, to hold onto during the worst days, when he and Rachel are at each others' throats and the whole island seems like it's about to go up in flames, is not enough to convince him that it could all end just as suddenly as it started.

"Well," he says, and now his hands are back in motion again, palms and fingers flat, forming a loose V in front of his chest, that expands, contracts. "I know you may have lost count, but I definitely spotted at least three people back there who would have been more than happy to get involved, but of course what it comes down to is you, right, I mean, I appreciate that you find my opinion so informative, especially considering it's not like you usually listen to me, but it is not like you can't make your own choices about staying or going."

After all, supposedly, Steve is a grown-up, though Danny has yet to see comprehensive evidence of that theory.

[thebesteverseen]

There are words happening. Steve is sure of that. About as sure of that as he is that the flicker of color and movement to the left of his vision is the light actually turning green. That same shade that's been painted all over Danny, he thought. Except this is. And he isn't looking at it. The light. Because it doesn't seem to exist anymore.

He's narrowing his eyes, just enough during Danny's barrage of words, when his hands suddenly start moving again, pulling a cord of barbwire tight around his chest. Tightening with emphasis at words like definitely and appreciate and usually and your own. When there is nothing behind him, and nothing in front of the camaro, that isn't right here.

Where he's looking right now, when Danny's voice is goading him to try and consider anything else. Like he should have.

But he rejects it, with the closest thing to a frown he's probably found in over an hour. Reject every edge of Danny's words that cannot be missed. That he was supposed to be considering other people. Other ways for this evening and tonight to be ending. Somewhere else. Somewhere that was not here. With someone else. Who was not Danny. When the whole feeling is so desperately sharp it's dangerous painful.

When he's shrugging, shoving if off, like it's not burning down the ground. "Nope. No idea who you could be talking about."

When he thinks he knows where that could go, what that might make Danny recite for him. When he's shoving out exasperated words, like an brittle edged order, when his hand is out, shoving into Danny's space, up to the place where his hair and his neck meet, dragging him forward to meet them, "Shut up, before I forget this is the only thing I've wanted to do all night."

When the camaro wasn't exactly where he'd planned for. In the middle of a city street. With traffic cams and possible other cars. But everything else is minute whine of noise beside the need to kiss Danny. To take each of those words back, like he could rip them out of wherever they came from.

Because it's not true, and there was never a chance, and his stomach edges over ice, with whether Danny didn't want this now, somehow, after making it clear for over an hour that every other person who looked at him should be burned alive for the assumption of right.

[haole_cop]

He's got one hand extended towards the windshield, words to tell Steve to hurry up and drive, already, did he miss the light, hello, Steven, is he now just waiting for the red to appear so he can blow through it? Except it all get s shipwrecked with the sudden electric weight of Steve's hand at the back of his neck and the way he gets dragged into the center of the car only to come up short against Steve's mouth. Against those words. Rough and almost annoyed and something he should respond to, only he's busy, his mouth is busy, opening against Steve's.

And it's just like all the shit that's been floating around his head just up and leaves. His hand comes up like it's instinct, curls at Steve's neck, thumb brushing along the line of his hair as it angles down, where sunlight picks out bits of silver in the mornings, on the few occasions Steve has stayed in bed long enough for the sun to come up at all.

Just this. Just him, and Steve, who is -- and the car, that they should definitely not be doing this in, at a green light, not late enough at night that no one could come by, but he can't pull away, finds himself pushing closer. As jealous of the space between them that he hates, that can burn away any time now, as he was of the eyes on Steve before, the smiles, the tossing hair and flirtation. Fingers tightening, and this is dangerous, he needs to let go, now, before everything catches back up with him and he can't. Before he remembers that he'd thought maybe, somehow, all this would slip through his fingers without him even getting a say in it.

It's like tearing out seams, though, to pull away, and he can't let go, is too selfish, fine, beyond selfish, because he wants this, Steve, for himself, and that's wrong but that doesn't make it any less true. Still gripping the back of his neck, licking at his bottom lip, and feeling like the night's just run over him like a train.

"There is something wrong with you," he points out, for the thousandth time, but with that edgy, sharp hollow in his chest smoothing itself over, "and this is driving me up the wall, so can you please, just, seriously, Steve, the light is green, so go already, Christ."