So it's not his best, and he doesn't expect much from it, aside from a break in the silence, but whatever he might have hoped for -- some semblance of Steve relaxing, a joke or an insult, or even a poisonous barb about how Danny's work could have been better by being less good -- it doesn't happen. If anything, the tension increases until it feels like there's a rubber band being stretched between them, straining and about to snap, until Steve drags out three meaningless words.
Him, too. He did good work. Except how it stopped being work, and stopped being good, when it became clear he couldn't control himself and spilled unwanted attention, touches, kisses, for God's sake, all over Steve, who didn't ask for any of it. When it wasn't needed. When Danny should have been better, should have kept himself hauled back, should have done the fucking job, like Steve did. Just made it look good, and nothing else.
The memory of fisting his hand into Steve's shirt hits like fingers clutching his own intestines, and squeezing. How tight Steve's jaw had been. (Tight as it is now.) How much he must have hated it.
How Danny can never be sorry enough, or try hard enough to make it up to him, because some things can't be made up, and even if a vase gets glued together after it's dropped, the cracks never really go away.
But he can't just let it go. He never can. Couldn't with Rachel. Couldn't with Matt. Couldn't even when his gut told him things would never work out with Gabby or Melissa. He's not the guy who lets go, even when he should, even when it would be better for everyone involved, even when he's just promised himself he would, for Steve, if it's what Steve wants.
He can't. Can't lose this. Can't lose Steve, or Five-0, or everything he has on Hawaii that isn't Grace. Pushing him to find something else to say, to drop into the silence, to try and let Steve know it's okay, they can be back to normal, he's sorry, it won't happen again. It won't ever happen again. He'll cut off his own hand before it does. "Hey, anytime one of these things doesn't end with me getting concussed, I call it a win."
After the last time, which had involved being beaten in an alleyway and dumped in a trunk and cracked in the head with a tire iron, along with the ever popular being tied to a chair over which was subsequently held a shoot-out, and it was still better than this.
At least Steve was talking to him, then. More.
At least he hadn't ruined it all, without thinking.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-20 09:41 pm (UTC)So it's not his best, and he doesn't expect much from it, aside from a break in the silence, but whatever he might have hoped for -- some semblance of Steve relaxing, a joke or an insult, or even a poisonous barb about how Danny's work could have been better by being less good -- it doesn't happen. If anything, the tension increases until it feels like there's a rubber band being stretched between them, straining and about to snap, until Steve drags out three meaningless words.
Him, too. He did good work. Except how it stopped being work, and stopped being good, when it became clear he couldn't control himself and spilled unwanted attention, touches, kisses, for God's sake, all over Steve, who didn't ask for any of it. When it wasn't needed. When Danny should have been better, should have kept himself hauled back, should have done the fucking job, like Steve did. Just made it look good, and nothing else.
The memory of fisting his hand into Steve's shirt hits like fingers clutching his own intestines, and squeezing. How tight Steve's jaw had been. (Tight as it is now.) How much he must have hated it.
How Danny can never be sorry enough, or try hard enough to make it up to him, because some things can't be made up, and even if a vase gets glued together after it's dropped, the cracks never really go away.
But he can't just let it go. He never can. Couldn't with Rachel. Couldn't with Matt. Couldn't even when his gut told him things would never work out with Gabby or Melissa. He's not the guy who lets go, even when he should, even when it would be better for everyone involved, even when he's just promised himself he would, for Steve, if it's what Steve wants.
He can't. Can't lose this. Can't lose Steve, or Five-0, or everything he has on Hawaii that isn't Grace. Pushing him to find something else to say, to drop into the silence, to try and let Steve know it's okay, they can be back to normal, he's sorry, it won't happen again. It won't ever happen again. He'll cut off his own hand before it does. "Hey, anytime one of these things doesn't end with me getting concussed, I call it a win."
After the last time, which had involved being beaten in an alleyway and dumped in a trunk and cracked in the head with a tire iron, along with the ever popular being tied to a chair over which was subsequently held a shoot-out, and it was still better than this.
At least Steve was talking to him, then. More.
At least he hadn't ruined it all, without thinking.