Work Text
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Cooking Together
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Later, Danny could never quite put his finger on when exactly he knew. Maybe it was the second time they ate lunch together, sitting side by side on a hospital bed.Danny's shoulders were cramping from the morning's PT; Steve was on day three of a nagging headache.Lunch didn't help.Steve took the lid off his plate, revealing a greasy lump of congealing pork, greenish-gray mush that might've once been peas, and a bowl full of a vaguely pink and vaguely gelatinous substance. He muttered something, and it took Danny a few seconds to work out what he'd said."Oh fuck."Danny tried. He tried not to laugh, but then Steve caught his eye, and they both began laughing at the sheer absurdity of being served such an inedible meal.Two weeks later, they both checked out of rehab. Danny had managed to convince the VA to let Steve with him—at least until Steve finished the last few months of the therapy program.Steve stowed his meager belongings in the pink and white dresser in Grace's room—or what had been Grace's room until Rachel and her new husband decided to abruptly move to Hawai'i. Six months later, Danny was still trying to process the fact that he only got to see his daughter in skype calls."You want lunch?" He edged his chair out of the room, trying not to hit his knuckles on the narrow door frame. "My sister said she stocked the fridge, so we should have enough soup to feed an army.""No s-s-s-""No soup, huh? OK, but you're missing out. My family's fagoili's the best soup you will ever eat—and I say that as someone who has had every chowder served on the Jersey shore. What about a sandwich? Or, knowing Bridget, there's probably a chicken casserole—""Pancakes." Steve enunciated each syllable carefully, but the word still came out slightly garbled.Not what Danny had been expecting, but he also knew all too well those weird cravings he'd had when he'd first got out of the hospital. "Pancakes it is. I even happen to have some real maple syrup in the pantry."Danny headed to the kitchen, pausing to wave a hand at the TV in the living room. "Make yourself comfortable.""I… help."The apartment kitchen was tiny, and he didn't really want Steve underfoot, but he waved his hand again. "Sure. You can mix."Having Steve underfoot actually turned out to be useful. His sister had stocked both the pantry and the fridge—but hadn't given a single thought to Danny's limited reach. So he directed, while Steve fetched and rearranged.It was definitely awkward; his wheelchair and a ginormous Navy SEAL crammed into a space that wasn't designed for either. Eventually, all the ingredients were found, and added to the mixing bowl. Steve did surprisingly well; only really struggling when it came to figuring out how to measure things.Danny watched him stir—and came to a decision. He dropped butter in the frying pan, turned on the gas. Set a spatula on the counter. "All right, you cook, and I'll supervise. Capisce?'Steve froze for a second, then set his mouth in a determined line that Danny was already beginning to secretly adore.He slowly poured the batter into the pan, hesitated—then picked up the spatula. Gave Danny a nervous sideways glance."You're doing good, babe." Danny touched Steve's arm, "Now we just wait until there's bubbles."Steve relaxed a little, nodded. He watched the cooking pancake like a hawk. As soon as it started bubbling, he slipped the spatula into the pan. Hesitated again, then flipped the pancake.It was a perfect flip, and the cooked side was golden brown.A small smile ghosted over Steve's lips, and he glanced over at Danny. He talked extra slow, over-enunciating each word. "You j-just… wan-t-t-t me ar-r-round… t-t-to c-c-cook… and… c-c-c-lean."It was the longest sentence Steve had ever managed, but what really caught Danny off guard was the look in Steve's eyes. Teasing affection mixed with something deeper."Yup." He grabbed a plate from the dish rack, his heart doing a somersault in his chest. "Guilty as charged."Another smile flitted across Steve's lips as he carefully slid the pancake onto the plate. Then he turned his head, holding Danny's gaze for a long, meaningful moment.And OK, maybe that was really the moment Danny knew he was hopelessly, helplessly, in love.
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Laundry
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After Steve moved in, they began going to the laundromat a couple of times a week. Truthfully, once a week would've been sufficient. They really didn't have that many clothes, especially since they both liked the easy comfort of t-shirts and shorts.No, the issue was the therapy program—or really, Steve. He was making steady progress, but he was also beginning to realize that he was never going to regain all that he'd lost.Danny knew just how hard that could be. The first year after he was shot, he'd spent a lot of time on his apartment's balcony. Mostly watching his neighbors come and go; envying them for enjoying the kind of freedom he would never have again.Steve preferred the laundromat. It was often empty at midday; a quiet place where he could sit and watch the hum of activity at the grocery store across the street.And because Danny understood, he found various excuses to do laundry—and always brought a book along, in case they were going to be there a while.Today was definitely one of those days. The dryer they were using had stopped almost an hour ago, but Steve was still looking out the front window, lost in thought. Danny saw no reason to disturb him. The only other customer was a scruffy college kid, who had stuffed a closetful of clothes into two machines.So Danny read and Steve continued to look out the window—at least until the kid left. She let the front door bang behind her and Steve jumped.“I’m right here, babe.” The reassurance was automatic at this point.Steve turned away from the window, bit his lower lip.Danny saw the question in his eyes. "What?""Do–do you–" Steve licked his lips nervously, pointed at the chair.
Oh.
Danny had never wanted to lie so badly in his life. He wanted to tell Steve that it would get better; that he would eventually be OK with the crappy hand fate had dealt him.Instead, he blew out a breath, dropped the paperback in his lap. "Yeah, I do buddy. I would give anything to walk again. It sucks—and to be honest, it never really stops sucking."Steve grabbed his hand before he even finished speaking, squeezed. “Y-y-you—”“Yeah, but this is also the job. I knew what I was signing up for. We both did.” Danny squeezed back, then leaned over. “Although, I gotta say, things are starting to suck a little less."The corner of Steve's mouth curled up. "J-j-just a l–l–little?"“Yup." Danny leaned even closer. "Just a teeny, tiny, itty bitty—"Steve huffed in amusement as he captured Danny’s mouth. The kiss deepened, became hungry and needy, and oh fuck, but Steve was a great kisser.Then a car pulled up outside, and they both reluctantly straightened.“Why don’t you grab our clothes,” Danny nodded at the dryer, “and—”Steve got to his feet, said something. It was garbled enough that Danny had to parse it out“You want to go to Diesel and Duke’s?” He was surprised at the suggestion. He’d been trying to talk Steve into going out to eat for the past month and a half. “You do remember we have leftover casserole, right?”Steve stopped, one hand on the dryer door, and tapped his head. “C-c-c-an’t.”He looked so pleased with himself at the joke that Danny found himself laughing. And sure, it would have been nice to go to someplace fancier for their first date but—Steve was actually asking him out. On a date. “Fine. Diesel and Duke’s it is.”And then Steve surprised him again by flashing him a small smile before he began scooping clothes out of the dryer.
~~finis~~