As much as Steve jokes about it, insults it, tears it down, and rolls his eyes, like he's plagued with a child on his hip, Danny is good at his job. He came good at his job. He stepped up to the plate of what The Governor, and Steve, needed the task force to be capable of and he hasn't backed down since. Danny has done whatever he needed Danny to do for years now. Which isn't the same as everything he's ever wanted Danny to do.
But it's better. He can admit that to himself. Even when he can't ever find the words to admit that to Danny.
Which is usually when he's beat to all fuck in a hospital bed, opening his eyes to find Danny there. Still there. Always there. No matter where there is. In the back of a truck. In other countries. Under the rubble of a whole building. On the floor of that warehouse. Every time it should have been the last time. Every time no one else, not even his men from his SEAL team might have been able to make it, he opens his eyes and Danny is there.
Danny. Jersey-turned-Hawaiian cop. With no more training than general police. But more will and more loyalty than Steve would even be able to believe in if it weren't for him. Steve knows Danny is good at his job. It's the reason he can depend on Danny. Does. Even when he hates it.
When Danny is screaming at him about his motivations or the depravity of his plans, lack of plans, or decisions about how to handle the person they're after. When they butt heads, even half a decade later about the differences between they way they would each take a case at that point. But he's never bad at his job. He never lets Steve steamroller him. Knows Steve values his work. Knows Steve knows he's good at his job, the way Danny needs that to be known and seen.
The way he is now. Pulling Steve in by that small tug on his belt loop that Steve shouldn't slide a half step toward him over, but his body has listened to Danny pulling him directions without fighting it for years. Because Danny moves him around like he isn't half a foot taller, several pounds heavier and capable of taking him in a no bars, no mercy, fight if he had to. The way he does now. Doing the job right. Dragging Steve into him. Making their legs bump together.
Making Steve need to remember that when Danny is looking at him like this. Danny's good at his job.
He doesn't mean in it in the slightest. Danny doesn't go in for this kind of thing. He's never needed to. With his train of dark haired, and bright eyed, petite, classy, beautiful, younger women. (Women.) The only reasons he has his hands on any part of Steve like this is because the case calls for it. Because he's good at his job. Which Steve intones in his head like a mantra he needs to keep him grounded. As thought that isn't Danny's unspoken job, too, for as much as his hands and eyes aren't helping.
Because he's doing it too well right now. Steve can feel it in his skin. He's going to go home and fall on his bed and remember this face. Try and fail not picturing what it would feel like if Danny's fingers had chosen hooking into his pants and somehow brushing his skin instead of the length of shirt tail. But it won't. Danny won't. He's good at his job, and it's what Steve needs more than anything else. Because the last thing he actually needs is any of this from Danny. He hasn't in years. He never did, if he's honest.
Danny is already more than Steve could ask for. Or deserve. And he doesn't leave.
Steve doesn't need more than that from Danny. It's more than anyone's ever given him already. (He shouldn't need that. But he knows he does. Knows he drinks it down like an obliterating black hole.)
Which is all he can think, a little sour and more true than he likes to face in the light of day -- even the low lights and the faint thumping music that is low and not agressive -- when Campbell's voice is cold and further away. While Danny just says goodbye to the man without looking at him. Eyes never leaving Steve. These blue blue eyes Steve knows better than his own in the mirror. Just like the ocean and just as readable, if you know how to read it.
Danny's good at his job. Keeping this up without blinking, without freezing, and Steve can do it, too. He's a SEAL. He's done worse for both less and more. Actively broken piece of his body without paying attention to them broken and bleeding. He can ignore this, too. Ignore the rush of warmth when he leans in, the steady thunder of his pulse in his ears, pressure points. Make it flippant, even if his voice is low, and he's leaned in toward Danny, leaned in to make it look like he's whispering something in Danny's ear, dirty and tawdry and letting this second guy win, the one who bought and paid for him, the way he should be.
"Feeling the need to intimidate your competition?" There's a laugh in it. Sticking to mocking. Teasing. Bullshit.
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As much as Steve jokes about it, insults it, tears it down, and rolls his eyes, like he's plagued with a child on his hip, Danny is good at his job. He came good at his job. He stepped up to the plate of what The Governor, and Steve, needed the task force to be capable of and he hasn't backed down since. Danny has done whatever he needed Danny to do for years now. Which isn't the same as everything he's ever wanted Danny to do.
But it's better. He can admit that to himself. Even when he can't ever find the words to admit that to Danny.
Which is usually when he's beat to all fuck in a hospital bed, opening his eyes to find Danny there. Still there. Always there. No matter where there is. In the back of a truck. In other countries. Under the rubble of a whole building. On the floor of that warehouse. Every time it should have been the last time. Every time no one else, not even his men from his SEAL team might have been able to make it, he opens his eyes and Danny is there.
Danny. Jersey-turned-Hawaiian cop. With no more training than general police.
But more will and more loyalty than Steve would even be able to believe in if it weren't for him.
Steve knows Danny is good at his job. It's the reason he can depend on Danny. Does. Even when he hates it.
When Danny is screaming at him about his motivations or the depravity of his plans, lack of plans, or decisions about how to handle the person they're after. When they butt heads, even half a decade later about the differences between they way they would each take a case at that point. But he's never bad at his job. He never lets Steve steamroller him. Knows Steve values his work. Knows Steve knows he's good at his job, the way Danny needs that to be known and seen.
The way he is now. Pulling Steve in by that small tug on his belt loop that Steve shouldn't slide a half step toward him over, but his body has listened to Danny pulling him directions without fighting it for years. Because Danny moves him around like he isn't half a foot taller, several pounds heavier and capable of taking him in a no bars, no mercy, fight if he had to. The way he does now. Doing the job right. Dragging Steve into him. Making their legs bump together.
Making Steve need to remember that when Danny is looking at him like this. Danny's good at his job.
He doesn't mean in it in the slightest. Danny doesn't go in for this kind of thing. He's never needed to. With his train of dark haired, and bright eyed, petite, classy, beautiful, younger women. (Women.) The only reasons he has his hands on any part of Steve like this is because the case calls for it. Because he's good at his job. Which Steve intones in his head like a mantra he needs to keep him grounded. As thought that isn't Danny's unspoken job, too, for as much as his hands and eyes aren't helping.
Because he's doing it too well right now. Steve can feel it in his skin. He's going to go home and fall on his bed and remember this face. Try and fail not picturing what it would feel like if Danny's fingers had chosen hooking into his pants and somehow brushing his skin instead of the length of shirt tail. But it won't. Danny won't. He's good at his job, and it's what Steve needs more than anything else. Because the last thing he actually needs is any of this from Danny. He hasn't in years. He never did, if he's honest.
Danny is already more than Steve could ask for. Or deserve. And he doesn't leave.
Steve doesn't need more than that from Danny. It's more than anyone's ever given him already.
(He shouldn't need that. But he knows he does. Knows he drinks it down like an obliterating black hole.)
Which is all he can think, a little sour and more true than he likes to face in the light of day -- even the low lights and the faint thumping music that is low and not agressive -- when Campbell's voice is cold and further away. While Danny just says goodbye to the man without looking at him. Eyes never leaving Steve. These blue blue eyes Steve knows better than his own in the mirror. Just like the ocean and just as readable, if you know how to read it.
Danny's good at his job. Keeping this up without blinking, without freezing, and Steve can do it, too. He's a SEAL. He's done worse for both less and more. Actively broken piece of his body without paying attention to them broken and bleeding. He can ignore this, too. Ignore the rush of warmth when he leans in, the steady thunder of his pulse in his ears, pressure points. Make it flippant, even if his voice is low, and he's leaned in toward Danny, leaned in to make it look like he's whispering something in Danny's ear, dirty and tawdry and letting this second guy win, the one who bought and paid for him, the way he should be.
"Feeling the need to intimidate your competition?" There's a laugh in it. Sticking to mocking. Teasing. Bullshit.