Steve doesn't recognize the danger in his tone, how that quiet acquiescence is more furious than any of the shouting or swearing from before, because Steve doesn't think anyone that isn't just like him could possibly be a threat.
No one thinks Danny's a threat. They never do. And they're always wrong.
The pressure lets up, and he sinks to one knee, mouth and jaw tight enough to ache, lifts his freed hand to smooth back his hair. McGarrett's saying something, but it's just so much buzzing in his ears, a warning sign; he can't hear words, just an angry hum.
He can't do that to him. No one is allowed to do that to him, to shove him down, twist his arm, conquer, order, punish him. He's a cop, not a dog, and Steve McGarrett's about to get what's coming to him for assuming he's so much better than Danny Williams.
He's still talking when Danny turns around, already looking away, mind somewhere else, because he doesn't care, because Danny's not worth the thought, or the gratitude, or the effort; never has been, never will be, and it all. Just. Snaps.
Becomes one step forward, and a punch with all his weight behind it, straight to McGarrett's face. It's solid, and vicious, the kind of hit that would lay out anybody smaller, and fuck it. Just, fuck it.
Now he's the one turning his back, because he gives absolutely not one single damn about whatever Steve McGarrett might choose to do with that, okay? He's done. This game is over, and Danny's the one who's ending it.
"You're right. I don't like you."
Punctuation, before he's headed towards the Mustang, stretching the abused muscles of his arm.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2014-01-19 07:53 pm (UTC)Steve doesn't recognize the danger in his tone, how that quiet acquiescence is more furious than any of the shouting or swearing from before, because Steve doesn't think anyone that isn't just like him could possibly be a threat.
No one thinks Danny's a threat. They never do. And they're always wrong.
The pressure lets up, and he sinks to one knee, mouth and jaw tight enough to ache, lifts his freed hand to smooth back his hair. McGarrett's saying something, but it's just so much buzzing in his ears, a warning sign; he can't hear words, just an angry hum.
He can't do that to him. No one is allowed to do that to him, to shove him down, twist his arm, conquer, order, punish him. He's a cop, not a dog, and Steve McGarrett's about to get what's coming to him for assuming he's so much better than Danny Williams.
He's still talking when Danny turns around, already looking away, mind somewhere else, because he doesn't care, because Danny's not worth the thought, or the gratitude, or the effort; never has been, never will be, and it all. Just. Snaps.
Becomes one step forward, and a punch with all his weight behind it, straight to McGarrett's face. It's solid, and vicious, the kind of hit that would lay out anybody smaller, and fuck it. Just, fuck it.
Now he's the one turning his back, because he gives absolutely not one single damn about whatever Steve McGarrett might choose to do with that, okay? He's done. This game is over, and Danny's the one who's ending it.
"You're right. I don't like you."
Punctuation, before he's headed towards the Mustang, stretching the abused muscles of his arm.