He can't peel out, even if he'd like to. Which is annoying even when he knew it before getting in.
Sure, they're in the parking lot and not directly in the pack of police cars, but the parking lot itself is blocked off to keep the escape of patrons, if and when any did slip by them inside, to a minimum. Which means Steve can't peel out directly into an HPD squad car and he has to wait to even get to leave the parking lot. The place Danny'd had to park to look like he was one of those patrons.
Which he did great. Better than great. Or good. Or good enough. Far enough into the red to be out in left field.
He wasn't a SEAL. He didn't get off on excelling at something he shouldn't have. On riding the rails, and playing it so close to the edge you walked away with cuts and scratches from your own knives and lies. Danny wasn't that kind of guy. Danny was the guy who did the right thing at the right time. Maybe not always. He wasn't perfect. But more often than anyone else Steve knew of.
Steve doesn't even know how long it's gone before he's realized it's quiet in the car. Miles since the police car moved. Maybe even an exaggeratedly long slew of minutes. The highway still has had sporadic early night traffic the whole time. Especially in this part of town, where it's a little racier and more club laden. Even if it was down one more. They'd do their best to clean that place out, find any other place they were attached to. But one closed, and somewhere else another would open. Or try to.
The road is black and the headlights only light so much. Leaving him staring at the middle line running, running, running by. Acceleration as a background noise, when he doesn't want music and there are no words anywhere that could be good enough.
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He can't peel out, even if he'd like to. Which is annoying even when he knew it before getting in.
Sure, they're in the parking lot and not directly in the pack of police cars, but the parking lot itself is blocked off to keep the escape of patrons, if and when any did slip by them inside, to a minimum. Which means Steve can't peel out directly into an HPD squad car and he has to wait to even get to leave the parking lot. The place Danny'd had to park to look like he was one of those patrons.
Which he did great. Better than great. Or good. Or good enough. Far enough into the red to be out in left field.
He wasn't a SEAL. He didn't get off on excelling at something he shouldn't have. On riding the rails, and playing it so close to the edge you walked away with cuts and scratches from your own knives and lies. Danny wasn't that kind of guy. Danny was the guy who did the right thing at the right time. Maybe not always. He wasn't perfect. But more often than anyone else Steve knew of.
Steve doesn't even know how long it's gone before he's realized it's quiet in the car. Miles since the police car moved. Maybe even an exaggeratedly long slew of minutes. The highway still has had sporadic early night traffic the whole time. Especially in this part of town, where it's a little racier and more club laden. Even if it was down one more. They'd do their best to clean that place out, find any other place they were attached to. But one closed, and somewhere else another would open. Or try to.
The road is black and the headlights only light so much. Leaving him staring at the middle line running, running, running by.
Acceleration as a background noise, when he doesn't want music and there are no words anywhere that could be good enough.