Danny does finally take those steps. Not toward him, but flinging himself into the movement he was bound to be broken free by eventually. Even misery and rage didn't stop Danny from moving. Nothing ever did for long. It's Steve who stands still. Even today, while Danny is beginning to pace and weave in this box of space he's inventing for himself. With occasional, confusing long look over at Steve, when he goes still for a moment, stricken, and then goes back to it.
Pacing. Weaving. Hands in the air, right along with the sound of Danny's voice now rising and filling this whole room. Words spilling from Danny's mouth that make even less sense the more he says them. The more words come out. About. Steve can't be sure with the rambling -- but, about him being certain he'd done too well of a job at the place? That somehow he'd pissed off Steve? Or?
Whose near confessional moment took a vast step back. Sour and cold with both relief (for the possibility of reprieve) and dread (for the possibility of reprieve), none of which he could focus on through the mounting confusion that did not stop heaping itself upon itself the more words were coming out of Danny's mouth. Becoming shorter, and faster. Panic and heavy need laced in nearly every word. That makes no sense. Because there's not a way in the world he thinks he could ever hate Danny. Not trust him. It's like the world turned sideways.
Like he missed an important step somewhere. Danny was supposed to be yelling at him. Not. Not doing this. Not saying these words. Not making him wonder if he got hit on the head, or barrelled into a dumpster with that spring jump at the perp and this is all a delusion. It's a more possibility this year than it's been in a while. He hates that. Which is only punctuated by Danny quickly stepping toward him and stepping back again. It hitting Steve like a fist to his jaw. Hands too fast. Danny's face too desperate.
Steve not only missed something. He missed something big. How lost had he been inside himself all night?
"You aren't making any sense." The words come free themselves as if from mellinnias old stone. He knows what Danny doesn't want to be feeling, right? Why he's not coming closer, no matter what his words say. "You couldn't control what?"
He's baffled and it's making things scattershot, sharp, confused. "You were fine earlier." Because it wasn't Danny who did anything wrong. Chose wrong. Let this happen. "Everything was fine." He repeats the word, the whole second sentence, and he can hear his own voice. How wrong it sounds. Too tight, too empty, like a rope straining to pop. Wrong. Too fast. Nowhere near honest. Just out loud.
no subject
Danny does finally take those steps. Not toward him, but flinging himself into the movement he was bound to be broken free by eventually. Even misery and rage didn't stop Danny from moving. Nothing ever did for long. It's Steve who stands still. Even today, while Danny is beginning to pace and weave in this box of space he's inventing for himself. With occasional, confusing long look over at Steve, when he goes still for a moment, stricken, and then goes back to it.
Pacing. Weaving. Hands in the air, right along with the sound of Danny's voice now rising and filling this whole room. Words spilling from Danny's mouth that make even less sense the more he says them. The more words come out. About. Steve can't be sure with the rambling -- but, about him being certain he'd done too well of a job at the place? That somehow he'd pissed off Steve? Or?
Whose near confessional moment took a vast step back. Sour and cold with both relief (for the possibility of reprieve) and dread (for the possibility of reprieve), none of which he could focus on through the mounting confusion that did not stop heaping itself upon itself the more words were coming out of Danny's mouth. Becoming shorter, and faster. Panic and heavy need laced in nearly every word. That makes no sense. Because there's not a way in the world he thinks he could ever hate Danny. Not trust him. It's like the world turned sideways.
Like he missed an important step somewhere. Danny was supposed to be yelling at him. Not. Not doing this. Not saying these words. Not making him wonder if he got hit on the head, or barrelled into a dumpster with that spring jump at the perp and this is all a delusion. It's a more possibility this year than it's been in a while. He hates that. Which is only punctuated by Danny quickly stepping toward him and stepping back again. It hitting Steve like a fist to his jaw. Hands too fast. Danny's face too desperate.
Steve not only missed something. He missed something big. How lost had he been inside himself all night?
"You aren't making any sense." The words come free themselves as if from mellinnias old stone. He knows what Danny doesn't want to be feeling, right? Why he's not coming closer, no matter what his words say. "You couldn't control what?"
He's baffled and it's making things scattershot, sharp, confused. "You were fine earlier." Because it wasn't Danny who did anything wrong. Chose wrong. Let this happen. "Everything was fine." He repeats the word, the whole second sentence, and he can hear his own voice. How wrong it sounds. Too tight, too empty, like a rope straining to pop. Wrong. Too fast. Nowhere near honest. Just out loud.