The last thing Steve wants to do, especially when Danny's voice is suddenly everywhere and his hand comes out only to abort in the air, like Danny couldn't help reaching out or not wanting to, both, is to talk. Which is insane. Because the silence is just as bad as the sound. Because Danny is saying words he shouldn't have to and arguing for time and space he's never had to. Strong-arming his way into Steve's house for the latter part of the first week.
Showing up uninvited and lying about knocking. Doing it only really with guests or Grace in tow.
Knowing Steve didn't mind. Knowing before he got that far, if Steve was in a place he couldn't do people.
Danny's hand floats there in the air too many seconds, Steve's eyes glued to it, while too many words are pouring out, Steve hating this tone of Danny's voice. This tone that edges manic desperation by steps, after starting with that please, and moving into, even more baffling and damning, apologies. Like Danny had anything to apologize for. Like somehow he hadn't kept up. Hadn't been enough, because couldn't. Didn't. Because Steve couldn't keep it together for him, too.
Please, he says. Please. Like the word doesn't flay at his skin in at least the same way as torture starts. Please, just let him come inside. Please, just let him explain. Please, just let him kick the bedrock stone out from under them completely, when Steve either has to lie his ass off entirely, over something he's managed to avoid outright lying about for almost half a decade now, or it all just explodes the wrong way, making him lose even more than he has already. All of it so caustic in his skin.
But Danny won't stop talking, and Steve wasn't trained to look away from a gun cocked at his head. Danny wants to talk, because Danny isn't blind and an idiot. Or at least he isn't anymore about this now.
"Inside." Is terse, with a jerk more of his chin than any part of his head being used to nod or tip that way.
Because if he has to have this conversation. If that's what this case, and this year, wants to drag out from under his nails and between his vertebrae now, take from the only parts of him he's ever known how to hold onto, when he's always known nothing stayed, he isn't doing it here. On his lawn. For all of god and country to see, or hear. This wasn't up for display for anyone else, especially if no one knew and the idea of telling Danny was tantamount to swallowing dynamite.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-21 10:20 pm (UTC)The last thing Steve wants to do, especially when Danny's voice is suddenly everywhere and his hand comes out only to abort in the air, like Danny couldn't help reaching out or not wanting to, both, is to talk. Which is insane. Because the silence is just as bad as the sound. Because Danny is saying words he shouldn't have to and arguing for time and space he's never had to. Strong-arming his way into Steve's house for the latter part of the first week.
Showing up uninvited and lying about knocking. Doing it only really with guests or Grace in tow.
Knowing Steve didn't mind. Knowing before he got that far, if Steve was in a place he couldn't do people.
Danny's hand floats there in the air too many seconds, Steve's eyes glued to it, while too many words are pouring out, Steve hating this tone of Danny's voice. This tone that edges manic desperation by steps, after starting with that please, and moving into, even more baffling and damning, apologies. Like Danny had anything to apologize for. Like somehow he hadn't kept up. Hadn't been enough, because couldn't. Didn't. Because Steve couldn't keep it together for him, too.
Please, he says. Please. Like the word doesn't flay at his skin in at least the same way as torture starts. Please, just let him come inside. Please, just let him explain. Please, just let him kick the bedrock stone out from under them completely, when Steve either has to lie his ass off entirely, over something he's managed to avoid outright lying about for almost half a decade now, or it all just explodes the wrong way, making him lose even more than he has already. All of it so caustic in his skin.
But Danny won't stop talking, and Steve wasn't trained to look away from a gun cocked at his head.
Danny wants to talk, because Danny isn't blind and an idiot. Or at least he isn't anymore about this now.
"Inside." Is terse, with a jerk more of his chin than any part of his head being used to nod or tip that way.
Because if he has to have this conversation. If that's what this case, and this year, wants to drag out from under his nails and between his vertebrae now, take from the only parts of him he's ever known how to hold onto, when he's always known nothing stayed, he isn't doing it here. On his lawn. For all of god and country to see, or hear. This wasn't up for display for anyone else, especially if no one knew and the idea of telling Danny was tantamount to swallowing dynamite.