Steve's steps are swift and direct toward the car. Where Danny has folded himself into the driver's seat and he's staring at the steering wheel and his hands. Like everything is draining out of his skin, even without losing the hypertension of the way he's holding himself. Making Steve's eyes narrow and him nearly pause. But only nearly. They still have so much to do. And hey.

If getting a shot in will have made it better, maybe Steve would have even opted for it an hour ago.

It's out of step with assumptions for 'real people.' It's more like His Boys. But he might have. Not that he wanted another now.

He pulled the door open, letting it go wide, like it's a warning that he's coming. Letting Danny pull himself the hell back together, if that's what he wants to do, or start yelling. But he hadn't said anything about quitting when he punched Steve. Not yet. Just about not liking him. And that was fine. That was pretty mutual at this second. He slid into his seat, pulling the door closed with him, one fluid movement, and started working on his seat belt, only casting Danny a Well? sort of look, like they should just get going now if he was done.

Punching people, and wanting to do more of it or feeling sorry for himself about it. It was over and done, already.

You couldn't put it back in the box. It didn't belong in the job. And the job still needed doing. Hesse was still out there.