delicatale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
delicatale) wrote2011-08-06 12:50 pm
delicatale) wrote2011-08-06 12:50 pm
Entry tags:
Where the fears make us whole; ~1400 words; PG
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thegrrrl2002 won me at the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif){kind=small}
helpthesouth auction, and this fic is my offering! One of the prompts she offered for me to write was a sequel/coda of months and miles from dream, and this is what I did. Steve adjusting to being domestic. Steve clenches his jaw, looks over the kitchen island at Danny and his utensils and his cooking and his noise and his constant presence, wanting to break something, be alone for a while, maybe.
Fuck. He’s never meant to feel this way, doesn’t want to be angry at Danny like this, to feel like he’s suffocating. It’s this new sort of life they’re living together now, it’s taking time for Steve to adjust to it and he’s still looking for escapes sometimes, in the dead of night as he listens to Danny’s soft snores, or in the middle of the day when he’s pushing Grace on the slides. It’s San Diego’s sticky heat and it’s all the memories of a man Steve used to be and can’t really not be anymore.
He tries to balance it; the moments where he’s so angry he could punch Danny and yell at him, he runs away for a while, works out for a few hours, reasons with himself. And the moments where he can’t quite believe his luck, he holds Danny a little tighter and kisses him a little fiercer, tries to convey it without words, the it’s not you, it’s me sentiment that doesn’t come attached to a break-up in their case.
Danny’s oblivious, right now, happily cracking eggs open and mixing them with flour and sugar and vanilla extract, the mixing bowl in his arms and his nose buried in a cooking book. In any other circumstances, Steve would grin, smear flour on Danny’s cheek, lick it off, get himself swatted on the ass for it. But right now the noise is only ringing in his ears, slowly being covered by the thrum of his blood, the beat of his heart, the anger and helplessness taking over him bit by bit.
He turns on his heels and runs to their bedroom, gets changed in a flash, shorts and a loose Navy shirt, and slams the door on his way out, off for a jog. It’s the best way for him to clear his head when he can’t go swimming, when he can’t meditate. He’s pretty sure he can’t stay in place long enough to get into a good state for meditation right now, too rattled, his head too full of loud thoughts.
It’s not that he’s idle, it’s not that he feels useless. It’s just that he’s been moving constantly for almost 10 years, and now he’s not, he’s rooted to the spot and he doesn’t know where to go - he’s been following orders and going where he was needed. And now he’s got the reins on his life but he has no idea where to lead it; he just knows he’ll lead it alongside Danny’s.
It’s another one of these scary things, how much Danny matters and how little Steve envisions his life without him now. They’re not one of these couples that fuse into one another, spend all their time together and never do anything without each other, but they spend enough time together that Steve wonders sometimes if he should resent Danny for his own choices - which is when he knows he’s losing his mind a little, and runs off.
Steve stops running when he gets to a crossroad, knowing that if he turns left, he’ll go towards the Naval base he works at nowadays, and if he turns right, he’ll find the gym after a few miles. And that’s where it hits him, like a punch to the gut, taking his breath away from him for a moment. He looks around, squints at the sun, bright and burning the air so hot it shimmers in front of Steve, and then he breathes in slowly, remembering meditation and how good and clear it makes him feel.
Nothing has changed so much. In the end, in the grand scheme of things and his life, nothing has changed so much for Steve. As a training officer, he spends more time getting kids to run in the mud and to swim in cold water conditions than he does behind a desk filling paperwork; just like before. And Danny’s still going to work in a gym, every day, works out there, trains kids and gets Steve to help, from time to time.
The only thing that’s changed so much is that Steve has a home. The thing that’s changed is that Steve gets Danny every night, every morning, every weekend, instead of craving him while stuck on mountain tops and jungles; he gets the real touches and smiles and grumbles instead of memories stocked in a glass case inside his head. He gets the fights and the anger and the love and the words, instead of dreaming them every night, wondering when his next leave will allow him a visit to New Jersey.
The only thing that really, deep down changed is that now, Steve can look at Danny every day, and brush his thumb along Danny’s laughter lines, and kiss him stupid and pliant. And Danny’s not yet running away, not yet scared off by Steve’s intense moods and doubts and needs. He’s there and he’s solid, real.
It feels like Steve can suddenly see clearly again, the anger and resentment floating away from him like a runaway cloud, and Steve turns on his heels, jogs back to the house. He wonders if tonight he could try to get Danny to meditate with him for a while, maybe. He’s been trying for the past 6 months to no avail, but that doesn’t mean he’ll give up.
He gets back home quicker than he thought, and when he walks in, blissfully clear and happy to have worked out the tension in his shoulders and his head, he trots directly to the kitchen, seeing Danny still engrossed in his cooking book.
“If you sweat in my mixing bowl, I will make you pay, McGarrett.”
Steve barks out a laugh, steals a kiss and runs off for a shower, taking his time. When he’s done, he finds Danny on the balcony, two beers dripping down on the small table between their chairs. He grabs one as he sits next to Danny, looking out at the peaceful scenery in front of them. It’s wildly different from Hawai’i, but it makes sense to Steve in a way Hawai’i never did.
“So, what was it this time?”
Steve sighs, tips his head up and closes his eyes for a second. It’s almost infuriating, that Danny’s picked up on Steve’s breakdowns from the get-go, not letting Steve close off afterwards, either, forcing words out with his own. And yet it’s reassuring to know that Danny’s not giving up on him, either.
“Just. Needed to be alone for a while. Too much noise.”
“I’m not that loud, Steve.”
“You are. Not in a bad way, Danny - I’m just still getting used to it.”
Danny punches Steve’s shoulder lightly, just because he can, probably, just to show he’s not angry.
“Steve, look. I’m not trying to tame you, okay? I think I’ve realized about 4 years ago that I would never tame you. But there’s nothing wrong with a little domesticity, okay? You have to stop freaking out every time I offer we bake a cake together, because I like cakes, right, I will want to bake more of them, and sometimes I will want to do it with you, and I’d like it if you didn’t run off on me every time.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry. Hey, at least it’s not happening as often.”
“True. First month I thought you were going to take off again.”
“And yet I didn’t. And I won’t.”
Danny nods, reaches out and curls strong fingers around Steve’s wrist. Steve pulls, once, twice until Danny relents and moves, straddles Steve’s hips and settles himself there. He goes a little lax against Steve as the smell of vanilla and chocolate drifts from the open windows and double doors. With Danny’s forehead against his temple, Steve feels strangely safe, in a place where he makes sense, and his anger from a few hours earlier feels foreign, something he can barely touch now.
“Okay, then. Feeling better now?”
“Yeah. Could even bake a cake.”
Danny snorts, brushing his nose up Steve’s, along his forehead.
“No, but you could help with dinner.”
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