And when they move away from the others, that's not an answer, either. It's Steve, striding ahead, working on his own thought processes without pausing to consider whether anyone else may need to be brought up to speed, and, you know what? Danny's getting pretty damn sick of it.
He's sick of it all. He's sick of Steve's total disregard for anyone but himself, or for his own safety. He's sick of Steve's obsession with Victor Hesse, that must have started years ago, well before a gunshot echoed in the McGarrett family home and wiped John out of existence. He's sick of this pain in his arm, and how it matches the pain in his neck that is Steve McGarrett, Navy SEAL extraordinaire and all around cold-blooded jackass. He's sick of the HPD officers, and the way none of them have bothered to come check up on a wounded colleague, but he almost expects it from them.
From Steve, though? Steve, who went in without backup and got himself into a situation where he could've gotten himself and a bunch of innocent bystanders killed, who is why Danny's here without a tac vest. He's goddamn lucky nothing worse than a bullet to the bicep happened. It would've been all too easy for a bullet to fly just wrong, and for Grace to be getting a very different kind of phone call later today.
He's not asking for much. One question, that's all it would take. How's the arm? would be just ducky. Sorry about the arm, even better.
Or some acknowledgement that Danny kept a crazed gun-wielding maniac from blowing off his head, that would be good, too.
No backup. Fuck that.
But, no. Steve doesn't do any of those things. Steve leaps straight into theorizing, and Danny's had just about enough of his talking for one day. "Okay, excuse me, I'm sorry. This is typically where you would say 'thank you' for saving your life."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2014-01-19 05:32 am (UTC)And when they move away from the others, that's not an answer, either. It's Steve, striding ahead, working on his own thought processes without pausing to consider whether anyone else may need to be brought up to speed, and, you know what? Danny's getting pretty damn sick of it.
He's sick of it all. He's sick of Steve's total disregard for anyone but himself, or for his own safety. He's sick of Steve's obsession with Victor Hesse, that must have started years ago, well before a gunshot echoed in the McGarrett family home and wiped John out of existence. He's sick of this pain in his arm, and how it matches the pain in his neck that is Steve McGarrett, Navy SEAL extraordinaire and all around cold-blooded jackass. He's sick of the HPD officers, and the way none of them have bothered to come check up on a wounded colleague, but he almost expects it from them.
From Steve, though? Steve, who went in without backup and got himself into a situation where he could've gotten himself and a bunch of innocent bystanders killed, who is why Danny's here without a tac vest. He's goddamn lucky nothing worse than a bullet to the bicep happened. It would've been all too easy for a bullet to fly just wrong, and for Grace to be getting a very different kind of phone call later today.
He's not asking for much. One question, that's all it would take. How's the arm? would be just ducky. Sorry about the arm, even better.
Or some acknowledgement that Danny kept a crazed gun-wielding maniac from blowing off his head, that would be good, too.
No backup. Fuck that.
But, no. Steve doesn't do any of those things. Steve leaps straight into theorizing, and Danny's had just about enough of his talking for one day. "Okay, excuse me, I'm sorry. This is typically where you would say 'thank you' for saving your life."