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Steve knows Danny pretty damn well. Obviously.
Living together officially still yields some surprises.
Like, Danny’s bad with his dishes. He’s bad at taking them to the sink, bad at getting them in the dishwasher, bad at putting them away. Until recently there must have been some vestiges of I’m a guest here preventing this. But now this kitchen is Danny’s actual kitchen; and sometimes the same plates sit in the sink for days at a time.
It bothers Steve. Obviously. It’s unnecessary, and a little bit gross, and often it just ends with him doing Danny’s dishes anyway.
But it bothers him less than it would have, once upon a time. Because the stacks of dishes represent meals cooked together, or meals cooked for one other, and anyway Danny’s always very respectful of Steve’s favorite bowl and mug. On the rare occasion he uses either, they’re clean that same day.
The dishes aren’t the only surprise. In those early days of really sharing a home, Steve also learns that Danny clips coupons; Danny uses fabric softener; Danny doesn’t sleep in nearly as late as he jokes that he does. Danny thinks ketchup goes in the pantry. Danny will, on occasion, take a bath instead of a shower.
And Danny, in his own house, in his own space, is actually kind of— quiet.
Some of it’s inevitable. Nobody can rant and ramble 24/7; the guy’s got to rest, once in a while. But that’s not the full extent of it. Danny’s just not-so-talkative in the early mornings, and late evenings, and sometimes even in that middle part there. Steve gets used to smiles that mean good morning. He gets used to nods that mean good night, and grunts that can mean any number of things.
And none of this bothers him. Obviously.
Until the day that Danny just— stops speaking altogether.
They’ve got no plans for the day. The sale of Danny’s old house closed the week before, and they’d agreed to take a few weeks off before putting Steve’s on the market. So Steve doesn’t think much of it, when Danny sleeps through breakfast. He doesn’t even think much of it when Danny’s still upstairs by noon. It’s not typical. But Danny’d mentioned a stomachache last night, and that could easily explain the staying-in-bed today.
So Steve doesn’t actually start fretting until the clock has gone past one.
And maybe Danny senses this somehow, because not too much later Steve hears footsteps descending the stairs. They pause in the living room, like maybe Danny’s petting Eddie or something. Then they pad their way into the kitchen, where Steve’s doing dishes, and he tries not to look too relieved as he turns around.
“Hey, man. Was ‘bout to come check on you, pretty soon.”
Danny grunts, low and wordless.
“I mean, I heard enough movement to know you were alive,” Steve assures him, in case Danny thought he’d been left for dead.
But that doesn’t warrant a response, either. In total silence now, Danny’s gotten a glass from the cupboard; he fills it, drains it, and fills it again. Then turns to the fruit bowl on the counter; and it occurs to Steve that Danny is moving intentionally so as not to bring them face-to-face.
Danny grabs an apple. Makes to head back the way he came; but with a casual step Steve blocks his path.
“Didn’t sleep so good last night?” When a direct question gets no verbal reply, Steve feels himself starting to frown. “Your stomach still hurts?”
Danny sighs, sounding more exhausted than Steve’s ever heard him. He shakes his head.
“You sure?”
Another shake. And Danny turns; makes his exit around the other side of the kitchen island, and disappears as quietly as he arrived.
Steve finishes the dishes, to calm himself down. His phone buzzes just as he’s drying his hands.
It’s a text; and it’s from Danny, of course. So, whatever’s going on, it isn’t that he’s forgotten the concept of human language. Steve swipes it open, not sure what other explanation would make more sense.
But the text has no explanation at all. At least, not a real one.
Nothings wrong, it reads. I get like this sometimes
What can I do to help? Steve sends back, immediately; but it’s half a minute before Danny even begins to type his reply.
Nothing, is all he sends, when it finally comes through. And then:
I guess you were gonna see it happen sooner or later
Are you in pain? Steve has to ask.
Another span of no reply; then another span of the wobbly ellipse telling him that Danny’s typing. It’s enough time for a paragraph. But all he sends back is:
Sometimes I just cant talk
And yeah. Okay. This was not something Steve knew about.
And it’s even more of a surprise than the coupon-clipping thing.
Though— should it be?
Danny’s never exactly been secretive, about his mental health stuff. There’s anxiety, and depression, both in ample supply; and there’s honest-to-God childhood trauma, the exact kind of shit that selective mutism is made of. But he’s been doing better, over the years. And even at his worst, he never just stopped fucking talking—
Well. At least not that Steve’s seen.
But, Danny’d always taken more sick days than the rest of the team combined. Rarely built up his bank into double digits. And sometimes, sure, he’d come back with new pictures and stories of an event at the kids’ school; but sometimes, he hadn’t.
Steve sinks against the counter as he runs it through again and again. His phone is still in his hand, and eventually he pulls the messages back up and starts trying to reply.
If you’re upstairs because you want to be, okay—
Hey Danno, just wanted to say if—
Hey, if you’re not up for—
Steve stops. Takes a few good, measured breathes; types his full response and sends it with no more second-guessing.
If being alone is better right now, I completely understand. But if you want company you can come down and I promise you do not have to talk. Either way I’m here if you need anything.
And he goes into the living room and settles on the couch, and waits.
It’s maybe twenty minutes later that he hears the footsteps again.
Danny offers a tiny smile as their eyes meet. His motions are still tentative, almost skittish; but at least he’s not avoiding Steve himself anymore. He gets to the bottom of the stairs. Eyes Steve silently, thoroughly— like he’s seeking out the catch, bracing for the conversation—
Steve just smiles. Pats the couch beside him; and Danny shuffles over, grabs the afghan, and wraps himself up in it like a caterpillar in its cocoon. The only sound he makes is the tiny sigh as he settles on the farther cushion.
And, okay. Whatever this is seems much more manageable with both of them in the same room. So Danny can’t talk sometimes; they can work around that. At the moment there’s nothing that needs saying, anyway.
Steve gets the TV on, begins to scroll the channels. Stops clicking when he finds a Law and Order marathon. Danny likes this show. Frankly Steve doesn’t get it— for him, it often hits too close to home— but maybe Danny likes that it’s set back east, or maybe he’s just got a thing for Mariska Hargitay or something. Whatever the reason, he likes it, so Steve leaves it. And for a while there’s just the noise of the TV, and the occasional snuffle from the chair where Eddie’s napping.
A few episodes pass this way. Even Danny’s breathing seems softer than usual (though that, admittedly, could be Steve’s imagination). He’s just quiet. Everything about him is quiet right now, right down to the sound of re-crossing his legs while seated on a leather couch.
In fact the next real noise Steve hears from him is a growling stomach.
Right; because Steve interrupted him in the kitchen, spooked him back upstairs. All the poor guy had time to grab was an apple. And yeah, he could’ve gotten something since. But Steve has the distinct feeling that speech isn’t the only thing requiring extra effort today.
So instead he just takes his phone out. Pulls up the app for one of their usual places, adds his order, and passes over the phone. There’s not so much as a grunt. But a minute later the phone is back in his hand, the price of the cart well over double what it was, and it’s such a relief that Steve wants to cry.
He places the order. Another episode or so passes while they wait for it to arrive; when it does, Steve fetches it, and sets it all up on the coffee table.
Danny doesn’t so much as smile in thanks. But he eats his sandwich, and drinks his iced tea, and when Steve stands up to go into the kitchen he hands him his cheesecake, intentions clear. Steve puts it in the fridge and returns with a couple of Longboards.
Danny has a few sips; then he sets it aside and cinches the afghan tighter around his shoulders. Makes himself small against the arm of the couch.
The silence is almost familiar by now, but that doesn’t mean Steve likes it. Danny looks exhausted, and fragile, and just— lost. Out of phase with the rest of the world. Badly in need of a hand on his knee or an arm around his shoulders, but Steve honestly doesn’t know if either would be welcome now. The cushion between them seems to suggest not. So instead of moving himself Steve starts telepathically willing Danny to do so: relocate to the center cushion, maybe even rest his head on Steve’s shoulder.
None of this happens. But what does happen, eventually, is that Danny lies down; and stretches until his feet press the outside of Steve’s thigh.
He’s on his side, facing inward. Forehead smushed against the back cushion, nose and mouth afforded just an inch of breathing room. Swaddled waist to chin in the afghan.
Steve rests a hand on Danny’s ankle, and drinks his beer to the sound of television.
He thinks Danny sleeps a little. Steve himself might sleep a bit, too, to be honest; or maybe he just zones out. Either way, it’s twilight by the next time he bothers noticing. And all else aside, he needs to pee.
Steve pats Danny’s ankle as he stands; Danny pulls his feet up with the tiniest of sighs. Steve heads across the room.
Then a louder sound, a grunt, makes him turn.
Danny’s half-upright, twisting to meet Steve’s eyes over his shoulder. He takes one slow, deep breath; then croaks, “’nother blanket?”
“Sure,” Steve huffs. Tries not to make a thing of it though, to be honest, it kind of feels like it is.
And a minute later? When he sits back down, and Danny plops his feet right into Steve’s lap?
That kind of feels like a thing, too.
He spreads the second blanket over both their legs, and settles into the quiet of the evening.