"Alright," Danny says sharply once the guy's put away most of the pot. "I am calling you a cab and we're going to forget this ever happened."
"I just wanted to talk to you," the Jackass complains, gesturing wide with his coffee cup and sloshing the dregs all over Danny's carpet.
Danny briefly closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, you're a fuckup."
The words are harsh but there’s an exasperated fondness in Danny’s voice that Steve doesn’t like one bit. He snatches the paper towels off the coffee table and goes over to scrub viciously at the fresh stain.
“You don’t have to do that, babe,” Danny says as he dials the cab company, offhand, like that’s something he’s said a hundred times. Steve’s caught between being irrationally pissed that he rates a generic pet name and inwardly gleeful that Danny used it in front of his… buddy.
Five minutes later Steve's thinking he should've stuck with "pissed." They're all outside, waiting for the cab, and Danny wants a moment alone with the Jackass. "Nope. Not happening."
"Steve, come on. For once in your life, don't be a dick. All I'm asking for is a minute. We don't even have to be out of your eyesight; just give me this. Please."
Damnit, that's playing dirty. Steve clenches his fists, fighting the urge to grab Danny by the T-shirt and haul him in for an obnoxious, possessive kiss. Danny would probably knock him on his ass and send him home. While Steve's not exactly crazy about Danny's shithole apartment it has one good thing going for it, namely Danny himself, and Steve can't get that any place else. Not when Danny has Grace coming over tomorrow and they’d spent a couple hours getting the shithole in something resembling good order.
Steve takes a deep breath and reminds himself that compromise makes Danny happy, and when Danny's happy he tends to be invested in making Steve happy. "Fine," he grits out, and heads up the path toward the road.
Danny starts ranting before Steve's gone more than a couple of feet, and Steve figures that means the plea for privacy was more of gesture than a literal request so he stops. Listens. Doesn't feel any guilt whatsoever.
"OK, first of all: never do this again or next time I'm calling HPD. I'm serious. What if I'd had Gracie with me? You would've scared the hell out of her."
"I'm sorry. I just..."
"I'm not done," Danny snaps. "Did I say I was done? No, I did not. Second: whatever you thought was gonna go down between us isn't happening. Ever again. Not just because I don't want your wife to give me another black eye. Not just because, frankly, you're a lunatic and I haven't missed your drama. But that guy over there who very kindly did not snap you in half is someone I care about, OK? And I would like very much for you not to fuck that up.”
There's a resounding silence after that. Steve's thinking about turning around to see what the Jackass is up to, but then the guy shoulders past him, knocking him off-balance. Steve grabs the Jackass’s arm, partly to bring him to a halt and partly because it’s either that or lash out and trip him. “Hey! Where’s the fire? The cab’s not here yet.”
The Jackass jerks out of Steve’s grip, knocking himself off-balance in the process so that he ends up falling on his ass. “Don’t touch me,” he says belatedly, and makes a pathetic attempt to push himself back up. Evidently he’s still more than half-cut.
“This is what I’m talking about. You act like you belong on a freaking soap opera,” Danny says, coming up behind Steve. He leans down, grabs the Jackass’s wrist and hauls him up, but then promptly lets go and puts a good three feet of space between them.
It’s just coincidence that that’s when the knot of tension in Steve’s right shoulder that’s been threatening to give him a headache eases up.
The Jackass 2/?
"I just wanted to talk to you," the Jackass complains, gesturing wide with his coffee cup and sloshing the dregs all over Danny's carpet.
Danny briefly closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, you're a fuckup."
The words are harsh but there’s an exasperated fondness in Danny’s voice that Steve doesn’t like one bit. He snatches the paper towels off the coffee table and goes over to scrub viciously at the fresh stain.
“You don’t have to do that, babe,” Danny says as he dials the cab company, offhand, like that’s something he’s said a hundred times. Steve’s caught between being irrationally pissed that he rates a generic pet name and inwardly gleeful that Danny used it in front of his… buddy.
Five minutes later Steve's thinking he should've stuck with "pissed." They're all outside, waiting for the cab, and Danny wants a moment alone with the Jackass. "Nope. Not happening."
"Steve, come on. For once in your life, don't be a dick. All I'm asking for is a minute. We don't even have to be out of your eyesight; just give me this. Please."
Damnit, that's playing dirty. Steve clenches his fists, fighting the urge to grab Danny by the T-shirt and haul him in for an obnoxious, possessive kiss. Danny would probably knock him on his ass and send him home. While Steve's not exactly crazy about Danny's shithole apartment it has one good thing going for it, namely Danny himself, and Steve can't get that any place else. Not when Danny has Grace coming over tomorrow and they’d spent a couple hours getting the shithole in something resembling good order.
Steve takes a deep breath and reminds himself that compromise makes Danny happy, and when Danny's happy he tends to be invested in making Steve happy. "Fine," he grits out, and heads up the path toward the road.
Danny starts ranting before Steve's gone more than a couple of feet, and Steve figures that means the plea for privacy was more of gesture than a literal request so he stops. Listens. Doesn't feel any guilt whatsoever.
"OK, first of all: never do this again or next time I'm calling HPD. I'm serious. What if I'd had Gracie with me? You would've scared the hell out of her."
"I'm sorry. I just..."
"I'm not done," Danny snaps. "Did I say I was done? No, I did not. Second: whatever you thought was gonna go down between us isn't happening. Ever again. Not just because I don't want your wife to give me another black eye. Not just because, frankly, you're a lunatic and I haven't missed your drama. But that guy over there who very kindly did not snap you in half is someone I care about, OK? And I would like very much for you not to fuck that up.”
There's a resounding silence after that. Steve's thinking about turning around to see what the Jackass is up to, but then the guy shoulders past him, knocking him off-balance. Steve grabs the Jackass’s arm, partly to bring him to a halt and partly because it’s either that or lash out and trip him. “Hey! Where’s the fire? The cab’s not here yet.”
The Jackass jerks out of Steve’s grip, knocking himself off-balance in the process so that he ends up falling on his ass. “Don’t touch me,” he says belatedly, and makes a pathetic attempt to push himself back up. Evidently he’s still more than half-cut.
“This is what I’m talking about. You act like you belong on a freaking soap opera,” Danny says, coming up behind Steve. He leans down, grabs the Jackass’s wrist and hauls him up, but then promptly lets go and puts a good three feet of space between them.
It’s just coincidence that that’s when the knot of tension in Steve’s right shoulder that’s been threatening to give him a headache eases up.