He wishes, not for the first time, and probably not for the last tonight, that this were Chin, or Kono. He wouldn't notice how much heat Chin or Kono was throwing off, or the scent of their cologne, or the glint of gray hair at their temple. He wouldn't feel like just putting his hand on the small of their back and leaning in is like standing in a room slowly filling with loose electrical current, tingling in his skin and lifting the tiny hairs on his arms, under this suit and shirt.
He would find it a little awkward and strange, maybe, if they turned toward him, the way Steve is, but awkward would be by far better than this terrible, traitorous want, that he shouldn't feel, that he should have trained out of himself years ago, that he has never going to be able to, because Danny's a fool when it comes to this. If he couldn't rage and argue and fight his way out of loving Rachel, he never had a chance, here.
Which is why he'll never understand Doris McGarrett. Or, to a lesser extent, Catherine, who had a chance, finally, a real one, and left anyway, becoming another in the long line of people Danny simply can't parse, because they keep choosing to leave Steve. Or Bull Frog, who betrayed him. John, who distanced himself so much Steve still has no idea what his own father thought or felt about him with any degree of certainty.
Danny doesn't get it, and he doesn't want to, even on the worst nights, when he's sitting in another cold hospital room, with his hands white at the knuckles, waiting for Steve to wake up, again. Or the ones worse than that, when Steve's nowhere to be found.
He cans barely remember a time when he wouldn't drop everything, to be there, to chase Steve down and find him, to be the one sitting there when he wakes up.
And he wouldn't choose to be anywhere but here, either, if there was a gun to his head. It's their job, and they're partners, and he'll have Steve's back, no matter how much it feels like someone's hooked into his gut and is slowly tugging it out of him with a winch and a rusty chain. "Well, it's early."
A slight motion at his elbow leaves two glasses of wine on the bar, and the tender nodding, graciously, which at least gives Danny an excuse to shift away, and take his hand off Steve's back to fish for his wallet, opening it to slide out a few bills and put them on the bar. "Thanks."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-09 03:00 am (UTC)He wishes, not for the first time, and probably not for the last tonight, that this were Chin, or Kono. He wouldn't notice how much heat Chin or Kono was throwing off, or the scent of their cologne, or the glint of gray hair at their temple. He wouldn't feel like just putting his hand on the small of their back and leaning in is like standing in a room slowly filling with loose electrical current, tingling in his skin and lifting the tiny hairs on his arms, under this suit and shirt.
He would find it a little awkward and strange, maybe, if they turned toward him, the way Steve is, but awkward would be by far better than this terrible, traitorous want, that he shouldn't feel, that he should have trained out of himself years ago, that he has never going to be able to, because Danny's a fool when it comes to this. If he couldn't rage and argue and fight his way out of loving Rachel, he never had a chance, here.
Which is why he'll never understand Doris McGarrett. Or, to a lesser extent, Catherine, who had a chance, finally, a real one, and left anyway, becoming another in the long line of people Danny simply can't parse, because they keep choosing to leave Steve. Or Bull Frog, who betrayed him. John, who distanced himself so much Steve still has no idea what his own father thought or felt about him with any degree of certainty.
Danny doesn't get it, and he doesn't want to, even on the worst nights, when he's sitting in another cold hospital room, with his hands white at the knuckles, waiting for Steve to wake up, again. Or the ones worse than that, when Steve's nowhere to be found.
He cans barely remember a time when he wouldn't drop everything, to be there, to chase Steve down and find him, to be the one sitting there when he wakes up.
And he wouldn't choose to be anywhere but here, either, if there was a gun to his head. It's their job, and they're partners, and he'll have Steve's back, no matter how much it feels like someone's hooked into his gut and is slowly tugging it out of him with a winch and a rusty chain. "Well, it's early."
A slight motion at his elbow leaves two glasses of wine on the bar, and the tender nodding, graciously, which at least gives Danny an excuse to shift away, and take his hand off Steve's back to fish for his wallet, opening it to slide out a few bills and put them on the bar. "Thanks."