He wonders how immeasurably deep the hole he'd be tossed into if he tried speaking that abruptly to a superior would be, and how long he would be left there to rot, because he doesn't exactly mince his words with his Captain, and look where that's gotten him. Even if the guy hated him already, for absolutely no good reason at all, aside from his mistrust of haoles.
But that's just another difference between them, right? Steve gets the same treatment, but he still gets results, runs roughshod over the bigotry that Danny's drowning in, like sinking in the slow pull of mud. People might side-eye him, or toss out that word, haole, like they're sticking a tag on his forehead, but they do what he says, anyway.
Danny's been out here with a megaphone and billboard for six months, and he couldn't say he's gotten even one single person to listen to a damn thing he's said or wanted since he started. "Is that satisfying?"
It's curious. He's curious, lifts one hand off the wheel to let it turn in the air, a shrug of a gesture. "Me, I would find that satisfying."
Ordering around a high-ranking government official, with no fear of repercussion, but then, maybe Steve is just fearless. SEALs are supposed to be, right? And it's not like the guy has so much as batted an eye at anything they've seen or done today, not even when he was hanging around the scene of his own father's murder. Danny guesses little things like asking for equipment, or going through the proper channels don't even ping his radar.
no subject
He wonders how immeasurably deep the hole he'd be tossed into if he tried speaking that abruptly to a superior would be, and how long he would be left there to rot, because he doesn't exactly mince his words with his Captain, and look where that's gotten him. Even if the guy hated him already, for absolutely no good reason at all, aside from his mistrust of haoles.
But that's just another difference between them, right? Steve gets the same treatment, but he still gets results, runs roughshod over the bigotry that Danny's drowning in, like sinking in the slow pull of mud. People might side-eye him, or toss out that word, haole, like they're sticking a tag on his forehead, but they do what he says, anyway.
Danny's been out here with a megaphone and billboard for six months, and he couldn't say he's gotten even one single person to listen to a damn thing he's said or wanted since he started. "Is that satisfying?"
It's curious. He's curious, lifts one hand off the wheel to let it turn in the air, a shrug of a gesture. "Me, I would find that satisfying."
Ordering around a high-ranking government official, with no fear of repercussion, but then, maybe Steve is just fearless. SEALs are supposed to be, right? And it's not like the guy has so much as batted an eye at anything they've seen or done today, not even when he was hanging around the scene of his own father's murder. Danny guesses little things like asking for equipment, or going through the proper channels don't even ping his radar.