Chapter Text
“So.”
The word is sharp, quick, a damning punctuation to its own statement. There’s no follow up from Julia, not right away — just a harrowing silence filled only by the quick, methodical strikes of a knife against a cutting board. Daniel, for his part, has done an admirable job of lounging on the sofa, flipping through channels on the tv, acting like this isn’t potentially the most awkward position he’s been in since… well, in a while — Dani’s still asleep in his bedroom, and Julia’s taken over the kitchen, and Daniel’s just trying not to suffocate under the weight of her care and concern for Dani.
Not that he minds. Quite the opposite, in fact, but it leaves him feeling a bit useless in his own home.
Still, he’d learned very quickly not to argue when Julia had shown up with an armful of groceries and declared she was cooking dinner for Dani. This is the third time this week alone, and he’s beginning to gather that sharing a meal like this means something more to Julia — or, at least, it does when it comes to Dani. She keeps telling him that they used to do this all the time, dinner at Ortega’s place, and she mentions Anathema a few times and Sentinel once, but the stories all revolve around Dani, all tinged with a warmth and familiarity and history that he knows he can’t match.
(She keeps saying it was easier to cook for them, before , but there’s an aftertaste of it was easier to love them, before , and Daniel pretends not to notice.)
“Sorry, did you say something, Julia?” He drags his focus from the screen, glancing back over one shoulder to where she’s still chopping vegetables in the kitchen; the question is meant as a mercy, a kindness, because he can tell there’s something heavy and uncomfortable meant to follow that one little ‘so,’ and this way she has an out if she decides she’s not ready to broach the topic.
“Yeah.” A pause as she scoops the diced onion into a pan, frowning down as it begins to sizzle. “Would you mind grabbing me a beer? I’ll restock you next time I drop by, promise.” She meets his eyes for what might be the first time all evening, flashing him an easy, charming grin before turning to wash her hands.
He’s happy to comply, and clicks the tv off before standing; it’s the least he can do, given that Julia won’t let him help out in his own kitchen — she doesn’t say it outright, but he can sense that it’s supposed to be Dani’s job, always has been — and it gives him a chance, too, to expend some of his anxious, nervous energy that’s been building, because even though Julia had chosen not to address whatever it is that’s hanging over her, Daniel doesn’t think that he’s quite safe from the topic. He hands one bottle over to Julia and takes a second for himself, taking a seat on one of the barstools.
He should’ve left the tv on; the only sound in the apartment is the sizzling of the pan and the audible beat of his own racing heart.
“So.”
And there’s that word again. Too quick. Too final. Too loud to pretend he hadn’t heard. “So…?”
Rather than answer, she takes a long, slow swig of her drink — steeling herself, maybe, and Daniel wishes he could tell what for — and sets it down a little too hard. Frowns. Stirs the onions. As the silence begins to drag on just long enough that it seems she might not actually say whatever she’s building up to, Julia plants both hands on the edge of the countertop and stares down at Daniel, curious and not unkind. Maybe a little sad. “So. You and Dani, that’s gotten pretty… serious?”
Ah .
This is a topic he’d known was bound to come up, eventually, given the history between Julia and Dani — the old history, from before , of rumors and stories pieced together from Julia and photos in the papers of Charge sweeping Sidestep off their feet as the dust settled after a battle, and the history that’s new and raw and a little bit broken, all sharp barbs and repeated arguments and shattered glances.
(The breakroom at HQ has seen Daniel walk in on one too many long lingering kisses between the two, and even with every hasty, flushed retreat, he can’t help but gather, slowly, that Julia holds them like she may never again get the chance, and Dani pulls away like her lips taste of regret. He ignores the way the kiss always lingers in his own mind, just a bit, but he can’t ignore the way it makes him a little sad for them both — the bonds between two people shouldn’t be laced with as much pain as they are love.)
But — serious ? Between him and Dani? He doesn’t quite avoid Julia’s gaze as he considers all the things Dani’s shared with him, trusted with him, and considers, too, the careful, fragile way they’ve taken things one day at a time.
“I don’t know if that’s the right word,” he admits, honest, fingers tapping along the glass of his beer. Julia’s gone back to tending to the food, so he’s at least spared the weight of her gaze on him. “You know about… them, now—“ and he can’t bring himself to say Re-Gene, not now, not with the way Julia claims she’s okay with it even though hesitance and confusion still bleed so freely into her expression around Dani, “—and how it makes things a little complicated, with everything they’ve been through.”
To his surprise, the words are met with a short, sharp laugh, and Julia looks up from the food just long enough to flash him a wry, fond smile. “You too, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Complicated.” She draws the word out, making exaggerated air quotes as she does. “Dani’s favorite word. It was complicated ten years ago, complicated last year…” She trails off, glancing towards the bedroom as she breathes out a few words in Spanish. “Sure is fucking complicated now.
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what to say, and the apology is so reflexive, thoughtless; Julia’s words are soft and tired, not angry, but Daniel can’t tell if the “complication” in question refers to himself, or Dani’s past, or their injuries. He knows Julia’s smart, knows she’s long since put two and two together — he’d told her, outright, about the dinner date, and she’d been quick to pick up on the fact that he already knew about their tattoos, and that they’d had a spare change of clothes stashed away in his apartment — but they’ve both been so focused on taking care of Dani that he hasn’t been able to even guess at how Julia feels about it all.
He knows how he feels about it; in Dani’s place, he wouldn’t have hesitated to choose Julia over himself — and not in that quiet rage of self-deprecation that he sees so often in Dani, but out of an honest appreciation for Julia.
Julia , the woman currently standing in his kitchen, in a crisp white tank top that shows off her toned arms and wide shoulders. The woman giving him an amused, thoughtful look, lips pressed into a familiar grin, drawing out faint laugh lines as the smile grows.
(Had they been serious when they’d said they cared for both him and Ortega? When they’d said Ortega’s never been the jealous sort? When they’d said this was an option…?)
Daniel clears his throat. He knows he’s gone pink right up to the tips of his ears, and he also knows that Julia’s noticed.
“For what it’s worth,” she says, still looking far too pleased with herself, “I’m happy for you. Both of you.” The words are a little too soft, a little too warm, like she’s holding back regret and frustration and bitterness. “I’m just glad they’re alive,” she adds after a moment, and her voice is so genuine that something deep within Daniel aches; he can’t imagine losing Dani, not now, but to get them back from the dead after seven years and lose them to someone else’s arms? That’s—
That’s not a conversation he’s going to have without Dani.
“I think—“ and he’s not flustered, not expending a considerable amount of focus on keeping his ass on the barstool so he doesn’t hover, “—that we should talk. All three of us.”
Julia’s staring at him again, eyes narrowing in his direction even as the pan sizzles and pops on the stove in front of her. She’s clearly thinking, working through his words before she comes to some conclusion and gives him a slow nod. “Okay. After dinner,” she says, brandishing a spoon towards Daniel. “I’m not letting Dani weasel out of another meal. They need to eat.”
He smiles up at Julia, warm and bright and open — the kind of earnest expression that would merit an eye roll and a fond half-grin from Dani — because, complicated feelings aside, she still cares for Dani in a way that’s impossible to miss. Maybe she has the unfortunate habit of treating them like one of her crusades, sometimes, but in this, she’s always been easy to read — she loves them. That alone isn’t enough to fix things, to fix them , he knows that. But it’s still a good place to start.
“Thank you, Julia.”
“You’re welcome.” One eyebrow quirks upward, and she gives him an odd, curious look. “I know you’re doing your best, here, but I also know how Dani is. This—“ a pause as she gestures to the food, “—is for you as much as it is them.”
…oh.
“I… Thank you.” He fidgets, fingers tapping along his still-untouched drink. “I meant… they’re lucky to have you. To have had you for all that time.”
The smile she gives him is as warm and fond as anything he’s ever seen from Julia. “They’ll always have me. Even if…” She looks away, not quite frowning. The stove clicks off, and Daniel thinks the conversation is over until she turns the full force of her attention on him again. “What do you want here, Daniel? With—“ She gives a vague wave of her hand between the two of them.
That’s easy. “I want Dani to be happy.”
“Not what I asked.” She shakes her head, eyes turning hard like she’s trying to drive home some point. “Forget Dani, for a minute. What do you want?”
He frowns; his wants are secondary, here, but he knows that isn’t the answer Julia’s looking for. “What they said, about—“ he does the same as Julia had, making a brief gesture between himself and her, and he isn’t sure whose embarrassment it is that he’s sparing by not actually saying it aloud. “It’s… I’m not against it.”
That’s out in the open, now.
Julia’s quiet just long enough for the silence to grow awkward. “Me neither.” She looks up, and the smile she gives Daniel is more genuine, carries more weight than he’s used to. “Dani, they’re… they’ve never been what I’d call cheerful , but they never used to be so angry.” A shaky breath. Shaky laugh. Shaking hand that she runs through her hair. “Guess I know why, now. But that goes away when they’re with you. They’re more like they used to be.” She takes a slow sip of her beer, and it seems to ground her somewhat and her voice is steady again when she speaks. “I can’t seem to stop fighting with them.”
Daniel thinks back to all the arguments he’d had with Dani; all the times they’d yelled and snapped and tried to throw his words and kindness back in his face. And he’d let them. How do you convince someone they don’t need to be angry at the whole world? When they have enough built up anger that they could lash out at the whole world?
He doesn’t think he’s quite figured it out yet, so he settles for a neutral, “They’re going through a lot.”
“Yeah.” Silence again — heavier, but less awkward — until Julia seems to collect herself with a deep breath and turns back to Daniel with a more familiar grin. “Hey, there’s the media angle to think of, too, you know.”
“The what?”
“The media,” she repeats with an exaggerated shrug, as if it should be obvious. “They’ll love it. I look good on camera, you look good on camera, we’re both very popular with the fans… Let’s face it, with the way things have been going lately, we’re a match made in PR heaven.”
True. But he’s not sure if she means to say it would be only for the cameras. Not sure if it bothers him. He knows how this works, after all, knows that the “relationship” he was supposed to have had with Angie was more about keeping the gossip columns sated and filled with easy, innocent things. It’s just a misdirect — play the happy couple and smile for the camera, and pay no attention to anything going on behind the scenes.
Especially now, as Julia had said; Shrike has been a looming threat to the Rangers for… what, close to a year now? Toying with them, tearing at the Rangers’ reputation, making a mockery of the government, and doing it all while preening and strutting for the cameras. It makes his job that much more important, adds a weight to his role as the picture perfect face of the Rangers — because while he and the rest of the team can train and plan and work to take down Shrike, it’s Daniel’s job alone to make sure the public perception of the team doesn’t suffer too much.
He can’t deny that it would be a much easier beast to wrangle with Julia at his side, in whatever capacity that ends up being. And…
“It would be safer for Dani, too,” he adds, the words slow and thoughtful. A misdirect of his own. No reason for the press to start searching for answers on Herald’s all-too-public love life when he has Charge on his arm. He knows Dani’s careful, but they’ve already spent years hiding from the cameras when they were Sidestep — he doesn’t want them to have to go through that again.
“As safe as things can get for them.” There’s something dark and heavy about the way Julia speaks, a cold determination and furious concern bleeding into the words.
If Daniel had any concerns that Julia’s reservations about the Special Directive would get in the way of things, they’re gone — it goes unspoken that she won’t let anything happen to Dani, not if she can help it.
That’s good. Common ground. One steady, unshakable truth that they can share between them.
It’s a start.
(And that does it — he’s hovering.)