delicatale

He can't not, is what it comes down to, because Steve runs his fingers down Danny's back and they're trembling, and there's this closed-off look on his face that Danny can't figure until he can. It's the face that says that Steve's taking hat he can this time, that he's storing up every little touch and moment and breath, because he knows that Danny's leaving him, that he's going back to his family and his home, and Steve's going to be left alone again.

"We're not married," he says softly, tracing his fingers over Steve's collarbone, feeling the indentation above his heart where he'd been stabbed and the bone never quite healed right. "Me and Rach. We're living together, it's easier, y'know, with the baby. But we talked about it, and - it's just, we're so bad for each other, really, so bad, and we didn't want to put the kids through it-"

"Okay," Steve says simply, and he's using the dead man's voice, the eerily blank nothingness giving nothing away, which gives everything away.

Danny's helpless, for once without the words he needs to make this right, mostly because he wouldn't be able to find right with a compass and a map at this point.