Which is repeating himself, but it's different, now. It's not shutting that comment down, or arguing against it: it's possible, definitely possible, and this yeah, maybe is almost an agreement. After all, he felt the same way about his own dad.
It's just a response, after a swig of his beer, while finally taking a seat in the empty chair and immediately leaning to rest his elbows on his thighs, squinting against the glare as he looks up, out, toward the water, towards the sky, towards Steve, and away again. "Either that or she might just think I'm a selfish son of a bitch."
Without really looking at any of those, because he's stuck on an internal loop, this hard truth he can't hide from, that Rachel wields like a weapon, that Steve guessed within ten seconds of entering his apartment. His dirty, pitiful little secret. Why he stays, even when he hates this place, and he hates the people he's forced to work with, and he hates himself for always making it that much harder, always swinging first. "Because the truth is -- this is all I got."
Confessed to the sand packed under his shoe soles, but he glances up toward Steve for this, because this, this is his honesty, this is the only thing he's got on offer. Follows it up before it can stop. "I need this."
As close as a confession as he'll ever get, bare, raw honesty. If Steve wants to be partners, if the numbers on his wrist can even hope to have a chance, if he's going to be here without going insane -- this is what he's got. The truth. "I wanna do what I'm good at, I want to be reminded I'm good at what I do."
He is. Has a great record. Glowing references from Newark, and good ones here, even if they're reluctant. Which they are, because he hasn't given this place the chance a lit match would have a in a rainstorm, has punched back as often as he gets kicked down, or before.
But. If Steve's serious about this task force thing, if Steve really wants his help, if Steve's going to let him invite himself in and drink a beer on the beach, instead of telling him to fuck off and keep it cold and professional --
Then maybe this is a chance.
Not has a chance. Is. To prove he's still good. To prove he can do this, solve the case, be the guy Steve needed in order to catch a killer.
This, though. This, he's not great at, which is why he takes a second, a breath, looking up at the sky and gathering himself. "If that means having to put up with your twisted belief that you are never wrong -- "
Which he just can't help, because the guy is a lunatic, all right, and this day has been insane, even without the line of zeroes stamped on the inside of his wrist, but it's not actually sharp or angry or exasperated. It's almost -- along with finally turning back to Steve and a faint touch of amusement at the corners of his mouth -- teasing. The kind of familiar ribbing partners do. Already theatrical weariness, like Steve hasn't actually, at times throughout the day, surprised Danny by being. What. Human. And kind of...
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2014-09-12 10:11 pm (UTC)"Yeah, maybe."
Which is repeating himself, but it's different, now. It's not shutting that comment down, or arguing against it: it's possible, definitely possible, and this yeah, maybe is almost an agreement. After all, he felt the same way about his own dad.
It's just a response, after a swig of his beer, while finally taking a seat in the empty chair and immediately leaning to rest his elbows on his thighs, squinting against the glare as he looks up, out, toward the water, towards the sky, towards Steve, and away again. "Either that or she might just think I'm a selfish son of a bitch."
Without really looking at any of those, because he's stuck on an internal loop, this hard truth he can't hide from, that Rachel wields like a weapon, that Steve guessed within ten seconds of entering his apartment. His dirty, pitiful little secret. Why he stays, even when he hates this place, and he hates the people he's forced to work with, and he hates himself for always making it that much harder, always swinging first. "Because the truth is -- this is all I got."
Confessed to the sand packed under his shoe soles, but he glances up toward Steve for this, because this, this is his honesty, this is the only thing he's got on offer. Follows it up before it can stop. "I need this."
As close as a confession as he'll ever get, bare, raw honesty. If Steve wants to be partners, if the numbers on his wrist can even hope to have a chance, if he's going to be here without going insane -- this is what he's got. The truth. "I wanna do what I'm good at, I want to be reminded I'm good at what I do."
He is. Has a great record. Glowing references from Newark, and good ones here, even if they're reluctant. Which they are, because he hasn't given this place the chance a lit match would have a in a rainstorm, has punched back as often as he gets kicked down, or before.
But. If Steve's serious about this task force thing, if Steve really wants his help, if Steve's going to let him invite himself in and drink a beer on the beach, instead of telling him to fuck off and keep it cold and professional --
Then maybe this is a chance.
Not has a chance. Is. To prove he's still good. To prove he can do this, solve the case, be the guy Steve needed in order to catch a killer.
This, though. This, he's not great at, which is why he takes a second, a breath, looking up at the sky and gathering himself. "If that means having to put up with your twisted belief that you are never wrong -- "
Which he just can't help, because the guy is a lunatic, all right, and this day has been insane, even without the line of zeroes stamped on the inside of his wrist, but it's not actually sharp or angry or exasperated. It's almost -- along with finally turning back to Steve and a faint touch of amusement at the corners of his mouth -- teasing. The kind of familiar ribbing partners do. Already theatrical weariness, like Steve hasn't actually, at times throughout the day, surprised Danny by being. What. Human. And kind of...
Compelling? Appealing?
Likeable?
" -- then so be it."