The guy just laughs, and Danny snaps, a little. The thing under his skin crackling, every breath aching. "What did any of them do to you, huh? What did they hurt? Did they spill coffee on you, or make you lose money? Huh?"
He's shaking the guy, and pushing his face into the side of the car, harder than he should. As hard as he was pulling Steve towards him. As hard as he should have pushed Steve away. "What did we do that pissed you off so fucking much that you decided I needed to die? Who gave you the right?"
There's no response, which is just as well, because a squad car is coming streaking down the alley, slowing to a crawl about twenty feet away and parking, just in time for Danny to lever the guy off the Camaro and start pushing him towards the uniform that gets out. "Here," he says, "take him. Get him away from me, if I see his face again, he's not going to look much like himself in his mugshot."
His anger has never been cold -- even with Reyes, it was scalding hot and immediate, full of the promise of violence, begging to be set loose. Everything the rules tell him not to do. Every reason he depends on them, listens to them, needs them.
Like tonight.
He needed them tonight. Needed to remember them, instead of set them on fire and watch them burn. Needed to obey them first, and his instincts second. Should never have thought he could bend them. That never works out, and it's never a good idea, and it always screws him over worse than actually playing by them would have, to begin with.
All of which is crystallizing itself into perfect clarity, when he's watching Steve talk to Duke. Hand him an evidence bag. Turn away.
Away. Not towards Danny, like usual. Not to slap his shoulder and enjoy the success of a job well done. Not to suggest they celebrate, or unwind, or shoot the shit for a while to calm down, cool off.
Not tonight. And Danny can't blame him, for walking away, for avoiding him, but he can't let it happen, either. Everything that went down tonight -- what he did, what he demonstrably didn't do -- it needs to be atoned for. If he can. He needs Steve to know he's not another one. One more person to take advantage of him, use him, and never talk about it again.
And then Steve can walk away, if he needs to. But not before. "Hey."
Walking, quick steps towards Steve's side, like usual, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging by his hip, with a tilt of his head towards the now swarming collection of blue lights and uniforms. "Looks like they got it under control."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-20 12:59 am (UTC)The guy just laughs, and Danny snaps, a little. The thing under his skin crackling, every breath aching. "What did any of them do to you, huh? What did they hurt? Did they spill coffee on you, or make you lose money? Huh?"
He's shaking the guy, and pushing his face into the side of the car, harder than he should. As hard as he was pulling Steve towards him. As hard as he should have pushed Steve away. "What did we do that pissed you off so fucking much that you decided I needed to die? Who gave you the right?"
There's no response, which is just as well, because a squad car is coming streaking down the alley, slowing to a crawl about twenty feet away and parking, just in time for Danny to lever the guy off the Camaro and start pushing him towards the uniform that gets out. "Here," he says, "take him. Get him away from me, if I see his face again, he's not going to look much like himself in his mugshot."
His anger has never been cold -- even with Reyes, it was scalding hot and immediate, full of the promise of violence, begging to be set loose. Everything the rules tell him not to do. Every reason he depends on them, listens to them, needs them.
Like tonight.
He needed them tonight. Needed to remember them, instead of set them on fire and watch them burn. Needed to obey them first, and his instincts second. Should never have thought he could bend them. That never works out, and it's never a good idea, and it always screws him over worse than actually playing by them would have, to begin with.
All of which is crystallizing itself into perfect clarity, when he's watching Steve talk to Duke. Hand him an evidence bag. Turn away.
Away. Not towards Danny, like usual. Not to slap his shoulder and enjoy the success of a job well done. Not to suggest they celebrate, or unwind, or shoot the shit for a while to calm down, cool off.
Not tonight. And Danny can't blame him, for walking away, for avoiding him, but he can't let it happen, either. Everything that went down tonight -- what he did, what he demonstrably didn't do -- it needs to be atoned for. If he can. He needs Steve to know he's not another one. One more person to take advantage of him, use him, and never talk about it again.
And then Steve can walk away, if he needs to. But not before. "Hey."
Walking, quick steps towards Steve's side, like usual, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging by his hip, with a tilt of his head towards the now swarming collection of blue lights and uniforms. "Looks like they got it under control."