He asks that question, like Steve has any idea how to answer it. Any way to put the last four years into his hands sensibly. From the moment he realizing, while Danny was with Rachel. Even though Steve hadn't known at the time. Through Gabby. Amber. The fall apart and put together and fall apart, again, of everyone and everything. How he was never going to, so he never had to come up with any eventualities. Lies. A good number of them. But not the truth.
Not the truth, hanging on Danny's mouth, while Danny looks at him like this. A face Steve wants to say he doesn't recognize, but he does. Because he knows all the faces Danny makes. He knows what Danny means, and how there are dozens of different tones, that mean different things, when the rest of the world is sure Danny is just screaming or ranting. It different. Even if no one on the planet, except him, seems to have figured that out.
How wrong everything about that idea is. How there is any way on this earth, even with a gun to his chest, Steve could deny that. Not not. But it's not a word. There are none. There's a struggling pressure in his chest, still fighting to get free, of his shoulders and throat and mouth. Wild and rampant. Trying to drag him back under, when he can't keep his eyes from Danny's face and there's a shock through his skin like fear when Danny's hand loosens. That he might let go.
He can't let go. Not yet. Not now. When Danny is the one for words, and Steve isn't.
Because all he's saying is "Completely wrong," into Danny's mouth, before he's kissing him again.
Shoving out the thoughts that are coming too fast. The rule book that denies. Him. Two of them. One that weighs so much more than the other. But that's not true, is it? Dennings would lose his head, too. The numbers of trainings he'd had to go to for Cath would seem like a picnic in comparison. His career military promotion path, alone. Which was only superseded by the worst one. Cath's voice. On the phone.
That reminder that stabs into his chest. That he's going to fuck this up. That it's all too probable he doesn't have it in him. Whatever they're looking for. Whatever Cath was, before she found where she needed to be. Danny. Danny who. God. It's fierce. Almost angry, and hungry. This kiss, pulling Danny off the wall and toward him, suddenly. Because he knows exactly what Danny wants and needs. Danny with his flowers at the airport and his love of that stupid city. Danny with his beautiful, petite women who were classy in a way people only asked Steve to pretend to be. In tux's like this one.
He can't be any of the things Danny needs either. He couldn't box himself into a small peg for Doris, and just being himself, here, wasn't enough for Cath, and the idea of adding Danny to this house of ghosts he disappointed or didn't stand up tall enough, high enough, go far enough for guts into it. Because Danny is everything. He always has been. How wrong. Wrong in every cell. Danny is the one person he'd do nearly anything for. If he asked.
Maybe even anything.
The anything he's not supposed to give anyone but the US Government.
Danny deserves better than to have that offered, too. When he wouldn't understand it and it would just lead to screaming, while Steve couldn't explain what a million black lines and redacted files, and more than a dozen contracts still swore him to abject, absolute secrecy on. He should pull back. He should stop now. Even now. With this in his hands. With pulling Danny into him and up to him, unable to not kiss him. To not try and show him. How wrong.
But he can't. Because his fingers somehow slid up into Danny's hair, and he doesn't know what he's looking for in Danny's mouth, but the need for it is deeper than any of the words that are falling out his hands like puzzle pieces and pieces of paper he can't remember why he was holding. Because nothing makes sense except kissing Danny. The way all of his skin is flushing hot under this too fitted suit. The way his hands, that he's known all his life and knows nearly to the fingerprint due to his work, move fast and then hesitate, like they aren't connected.
Against the side of Danny's head. His neck, thumb stretching out to run against and hold along the back of his jaw. Because he needs Danny to be here with him, even if he has no fucking clue where here is, no matter wether here has a foundation or gravity or even any air. He needs to know Danny is with him. At his back. At this spot, too. Because that's who they are. Were. Have to stay. Somehow. Even when every single action Steve is taking forgets all of that entirely. Sanity. Logic. Anything but the necessity overpowering every part of him and shutting it down like a black out.
no subject
He asks that question, like Steve has any idea how to answer it. Any way to put the last four years into his hands sensibly. From the moment he realizing, while Danny was with Rachel. Even though Steve hadn't known at the time. Through Gabby. Amber. The fall apart and put together and fall apart, again, of everyone and everything. How he was never going to, so he never had to come up with any eventualities. Lies. A good number of them. But not the truth.
Not the truth, hanging on Danny's mouth, while Danny looks at him like this. A face Steve wants to say he doesn't recognize, but he does. Because he knows all the faces Danny makes. He knows what Danny means, and how there are dozens of different tones, that mean different things, when the rest of the world is sure Danny is just screaming or ranting. It different. Even if no one on the planet, except him, seems to have figured that out.
How wrong everything about that idea is. How there is any way on this earth, even with a gun to his chest, Steve could deny that. Not not. But it's not a word. There are none. There's a struggling pressure in his chest, still fighting to get free, of his shoulders and throat and mouth. Wild and rampant. Trying to drag him back under, when he can't keep his eyes from Danny's face and there's a shock through his skin like fear when Danny's hand loosens. That he might let go.
He can't let go. Not yet. Not now. When Danny is the one for words, and Steve isn't.
Because all he's saying is "Completely wrong," into Danny's mouth, before he's kissing him again.
Shoving out the thoughts that are coming too fast. The rule book that denies. Him. Two of them. One that weighs so much more than the other. But that's not true, is it? Dennings would lose his head, too. The numbers of trainings he'd had to go to for Cath would seem like a picnic in comparison. His career military promotion path, alone. Which was only superseded by the worst one. Cath's voice. On the phone.
That reminder that stabs into his chest. That he's going to fuck this up. That it's all too probable he doesn't have it in him. Whatever they're looking for. Whatever Cath was, before she found where she needed to be. Danny. Danny who. God. It's fierce. Almost angry, and hungry. This kiss, pulling Danny off the wall and toward him, suddenly. Because he knows exactly what Danny wants and needs. Danny with his flowers at the airport and his love of that stupid city. Danny with his beautiful, petite women who were classy in a way people only asked Steve to pretend to be. In tux's like this one.
He can't be any of the things Danny needs either. He couldn't box himself into a small peg for Doris, and just being himself, here, wasn't enough for Cath, and the idea of adding Danny to this house of ghosts he disappointed or didn't stand up tall enough, high enough, go far enough for guts into it. Because Danny is everything. He always has been. How wrong. Wrong in every cell. Danny is the one person he'd do nearly anything for. If he asked.
Maybe even anything.
The anything he's not supposed to give anyone but the US Government.
Danny deserves better than to have that offered, too. When he wouldn't understand it and it would just lead to screaming, while Steve couldn't explain what a million black lines and redacted files, and more than a dozen contracts still swore him to abject, absolute secrecy on. He should pull back. He should stop now. Even now. With this in his hands. With pulling Danny into him and up to him, unable to not kiss him. To not try and show him. How wrong.
But he can't. Because his fingers somehow slid up into Danny's hair, and he doesn't know what he's looking for in Danny's mouth, but the need for it is deeper than any of the words that are falling out his hands like puzzle pieces and pieces of paper he can't remember why he was holding. Because nothing makes sense except kissing Danny. The way all of his skin is flushing hot under this too fitted suit. The way his hands, that he's known all his life and knows nearly to the fingerprint due to his work, move fast and then hesitate, like they aren't connected.
Against the side of Danny's head. His neck, thumb stretching out to run against and hold along the back of his jaw. Because he needs Danny to be here with him, even if he has no fucking clue where here is, no matter wether here has a foundation or gravity or even any air. He needs to know Danny is with him. At his back. At this spot, too. Because that's who they are. Were. Have to stay. Somehow. Even when every single action Steve is taking forgets all of that entirely. Sanity. Logic. Anything but the necessity overpowering every part of him and shutting it down like a black out.
How wrong. As wrong as wrong could be.