He does look back at the road, but it's just a glance, before he's turning that befuddled, disturbed glance back on Steve.
"There is something deeply wrong with everything you just said."
He's not even sure he would be able to go into detail about everything wrong with the words that just came out of Steve's mouth, or the distanced, disconnected expression on his face or the complete lack of emotion regarding the murder of his father, but Danny can say this for the guy: he can compartmentalize like a pro.
Which, Danny guesses, actually is part of his job.
He's taking a deep breath as he turns back to the road, one hand loose on the top of the wheel, the other arm on the door, wrist loose and every now and again catching him with the persistent red check of glowing numbers. Which keep calmly staying put, even as every attempt from him gets another dealbreaker from Steve: it's not resetting, not realizing its mistake, even as he keeps cautiously prodding the idea and getting only dead ends and definitely, definitely nots.
It's still there. Convinced that somehow, the psychopath in his passenger seat is his...soulmate? Is that even the right word? Some people think it means they've met the love of their lives, but Danny's not sure, that seems too simple, because Rachel, he loved Rachel, numbers or not. So maybe it's not about love. Or whatever, because he's pretty damn sure that's not happening, even if the numbers say it's inevitable.
He can't stand Steve and Steve can't stand him. It's a non-starter.
He was an idiot to think it could be anything else.
There's a liquor store up ahead in a small strip mall; he flicks the blinker on and pulls into the turning lane, shaking his head, and he almost asks what kind of beer goes best with the destruction of your childhood home? but manages to choke it down. "Anything else you need, while we're stopping?"
no subject
He does look back at the road, but it's just a glance, before he's turning that befuddled, disturbed glance back on Steve.
"There is something deeply wrong with everything you just said."
He's not even sure he would be able to go into detail about everything wrong with the words that just came out of Steve's mouth, or the distanced, disconnected expression on his face or the complete lack of emotion regarding the murder of his father, but Danny can say this for the guy: he can compartmentalize like a pro.
Which, Danny guesses, actually is part of his job.
He's taking a deep breath as he turns back to the road, one hand loose on the top of the wheel, the other arm on the door, wrist loose and every now and again catching him with the persistent red check of glowing numbers. Which keep calmly staying put, even as every attempt from him gets another dealbreaker from Steve: it's not resetting, not realizing its mistake, even as he keeps cautiously prodding the idea and getting only dead ends and definitely, definitely nots.
It's still there. Convinced that somehow, the psychopath in his passenger seat is his...soulmate? Is that even the right word? Some people think it means they've met the love of their lives, but Danny's not sure, that seems too simple, because Rachel, he loved Rachel, numbers or not. So maybe it's not about love. Or whatever, because he's pretty damn sure that's not happening, even if the numbers say it's inevitable.
He can't stand Steve and Steve can't stand him. It's a non-starter.
He was an idiot to think it could be anything else.
There's a liquor store up ahead in a small strip mall; he flicks the blinker on and pulls into the turning lane, shaking his head, and he almost asks what kind of beer goes best with the destruction of your childhood home? but manages to choke it down. "Anything else you need, while we're stopping?"