He's nothing like a SEAL, or any other kind of special forces officer, Williams. Oddly enough, there are half flash moments, where he's not exactly everything his files have made Steve about him either. Danny Williams. Over there. Babbling to himself, with the excuse of it being to Steve, offering a beer.
Which is ... not something Steve thought about either.
Beer, or Danny trying to stick around in any capacity past the first offer.
It's a queer little stab of a pair of thoughts. Whether he even wants the man under his feet after hours, too, when it had taken everything but forklift to get him out of his rat trap match box, slashing itself into the thought that the offer itself is not something he expects either. Danny Williams. Who isn't someone his coworkers or superior supposedly like even. Who punched him, even if he stayed. Offering. Time. A beer.
Sure. The lunch was a badgered event, Steve hadn't asked for, but had no choice but to tag along to. Belatedly grateful when it was gone. The food. Inhaled like he hadn't really eaten in days. Which was true enough. But not a reason he saw to slow down either. Not seeing to that before other things.
Back in the house he could check the rest of the house over, too. See if he'd missed anything else Hesse and his cohort left behind as an accidental calling card, before Steve'd stumbled on the Champ box and Danny in his garage.
"I don't have time for to go out. I have other things I need to do tonight still." It's not near to apologetic. It's nothing like his several, over the top, sarcastic and serious, sorry's in the car. The bullet he couldn't grudgingly get a cop having a problem with the way a SEAL wouldn't.
But he had other things to do. No matter what way he looked at it this wasn't leave. It wasn't a strange moonlighting world between missions that was more toy and trivial than real. He didn't have the time to just forget for a few hours and let it all go. But there's almost an edge of considered, or confused, something to it. The straight forward expression and answer. To the way he looks at Danny.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2014-08-18 06:45 pm (UTC)Which is ... not something Steve thought about either.
Beer, or Danny trying to stick around in any capacity past the first offer.
It's a queer little stab of a pair of thoughts. Whether he even wants the man under his feet after hours, too, when it had taken everything but forklift to get him out of his rat trap match box, slashing itself into the thought that the offer itself is not something he expects either. Danny Williams. Who isn't someone his coworkers or superior supposedly like even. Who punched him, even if he stayed. Offering. Time. A beer.
Sure. The lunch was a badgered event, Steve hadn't asked for, but had no choice but to tag along to. Belatedly grateful when it was gone. The food. Inhaled like he hadn't really eaten in days. Which was true enough. But not a reason he saw to slow down either. Not seeing to that before other things.
Back in the house he could check the rest of the house over, too. See if he'd missed anything else Hesse and his cohort left behind as an accidental calling card, before Steve'd stumbled on the Champ box and Danny in his garage.
"I don't have time for to go out. I have other things I need to do tonight still." It's not near to apologetic. It's nothing like his several, over the top, sarcastic and serious, sorry's in the car. The bullet he couldn't grudgingly get a cop having a problem with the way a SEAL wouldn't.
But he had other things to do. No matter what way he looked at it this wasn't leave. It wasn't a strange moonlighting world between missions that was more toy and trivial than real. He didn't have the time to just forget for a few hours and let it all go. But there's almost an edge of considered, or confused, something to it. The straight forward expression and answer. To the way he looks at Danny.