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Date: 2015-10-01 09:59 pm (UTC)


Steve is looking between Campbell and Danny with the kid. The kid who is glued to Danny the way people get all the time. When he's teasing them over buying coffee, or joking about things in the grocery store line, getting fast food, the cops downstairs on his way up, running Grace's groups. The way bugs go toward light and filings towards magnets, and Danny doesn't even look like he's registered it. But then Danny never does, not even when he's gone goofy, tripping over his tongue, because someone's caught his attention. He still never notices he has theirs.

Steve jokes that he's dense when he points it out and Danny denies him. But that's just Danny, too. Like Danny walking away and passing him, and Campbell, the almost ignored, while the kid stands there like an unmoored buoy looking at the retreating form of Danny with this deer in headlights look of confusion, utterly uncertain what he did wrong.

Steve almost feels sorry for the sap. Kid. Almost.

But Danny doesn't notice. He's on the job. He's walked off.

Steve has a grim satisfaction in it, that he tells himself is the job. That he can always rely on Danny to stay on top of it, on focus, eyes on the prize. Even if there's a warmth under the current of Campbell talking that tells him its not about the job. He knows that one like old hat, too. He's not supposed to feel it. But he feels it still, carried it like a photograph in his pocket, the ache in an old battle wound. Done and over, even if never started, never was real, but there all the same. Ignorable.

Feel it, then cut it off. Push it down. Burn it off. Barely two seconds all told.

Campbell's still in the middle of talking about The Aloha Spirit, voice getting thicker and lower as it's beginning to imply just how he'd love to welcome the establishments new arrival on the behalf of Hawaii. Like it's his pleasure, and not a service. Like he wouldn't be purchasing Steve to do whatever he wanted, to have Steve do whatever Campbell wanted, regardless of his own opinion of it or any promises made this side of the VIP area.

But Danny gets loud right by his side. Voice cutting in suddenly like a siren in Steve's ears, making Steve aware of every single inch of where Campbell is presently touching him, and causing Steve's back to stiffen more out of surprise (it's totally surprise, only surprise, it's not the other thing, Danny doesn't know, there's nothing to know) than anything else. Like he hadn't noticed until that second that Danny had gotten to right behind him.

Which annoys him. He hates having his back to a room. Anyone.

(But he lets it sit. Danny has his back. Danny always has his back.)

Steve's still smiling, when giving an, also, disparaging look at the guy to his side. Danny. Noisy and complaining. He could just walk up and brush Campbell off. Steve's already officially his for the night. Set to the schedule. Because it was more convenient that way. The cover making it so neither of them had to worry about other people if they were pushed to that problem, while Steve rolled his eyes and made potshots about being Danny's date. One breath, and a different profession, and too much respect for both of them, and a little wariness toward the concept, away from actually letting himself get to joking that he was Danny's whore for the night.

Steve head-tipped to Campbell who was all but grumbling. His posture had grown inconvenienced, Steve could tell without looking. "Supposedly they've got the ritz on tap if you have the right connections."
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Detective Danny Williams

September 2015

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