There's something about going back again that stings worse than anything else ever could. Something that pulled every mistake into the sunshine, threw them on a map just to highlight all the wrong roads that'd been taken. Steve had spent a long time thinking that the Navy was the first choice he ever made for himself, only to realize it was never a choice at all. He followed footsteps, and every pattern, every road took him through there.
Only a fraction of them ended up in a place like home.
The third was stupidly, carefully planned. It wasn't that he grew out of rash behavior, just that he let it take over, push out on all sides until action came before thought. Thought was harder, let too many doubts in, got too many people hurt.
He was tired of people getting hurt. He was tired of the weight on his shoulders and not looking around because he was too busy looking ahead. He had the other two, a little more dull, the edges pulled away from sharpness by wear and time, and he was done. He was done having to carry everything with him.
Danny turned a little green when the needles came out of the package, his fingers wrapped around a mostly empty coffee cup, wearing a t-shirt with a collar that'd been stretched down. Steve wanted to laugh, wanted to offer to hold his hand, but the table was cold and Danny was looking at him like he could have half an idea what this even was.
He had epics hanging off his shoulders. He had memories and meanings and lessons learned. And Danny curled warm fingers around his wrist when the buzzing started, as lines were drawn over a scattering of scars at his hip. There wasn't a lot of flourish, not too much style, nothing but black building, and building, and making something real. Giving him something indelible, a reminder he would always have, just in case.
"Aw, babe," Danny said, soft, like he was witnessing something completely unexpected, like he was awed.
Steve smiled, letting go, breathing out. "Yeah," he said. The air conditioner hummed in agreement, blew over his wrist behind Danny's thumb. Steve set down an anchor in every way he knew how.
Re: I've got conversation and a bottle to keep us warm 2/2
Only a fraction of them ended up in a place like home.
The third was stupidly, carefully planned. It wasn't that he grew out of rash behavior, just that he let it take over, push out on all sides until action came before thought. Thought was harder, let too many doubts in, got too many people hurt.
He was tired of people getting hurt. He was tired of the weight on his shoulders and not looking around because he was too busy looking ahead. He had the other two, a little more dull, the edges pulled away from sharpness by wear and time, and he was done. He was done having to carry everything with him.
Danny turned a little green when the needles came out of the package, his fingers wrapped around a mostly empty coffee cup, wearing a t-shirt with a collar that'd been stretched down. Steve wanted to laugh, wanted to offer to hold his hand, but the table was cold and Danny was looking at him like he could have half an idea what this even was.
He had epics hanging off his shoulders. He had memories and meanings and lessons learned. And Danny curled warm fingers around his wrist when the buzzing started, as lines were drawn over a scattering of scars at his hip. There wasn't a lot of flourish, not too much style, nothing but black building, and building, and making something real. Giving him something indelible, a reminder he would always have, just in case.
"Aw, babe," Danny said, soft, like he was witnessing something completely unexpected, like he was awed.
Steve smiled, letting go, breathing out. "Yeah," he said. The air conditioner hummed in agreement, blew over his wrist behind Danny's thumb. Steve set down an anchor in every way he knew how.