dann_0 | PSL: Sentinel AU

Eliot has to ignore the way it makes his stomach clench at the sound the guy makes, or how much he wants to just curl into him when he leans into his touch. He's not going to be sympathetic, dammit, even if he doesn't have much of a choice about empathetic. Even if he can smell the worry and distress coming off Danny and has a deep, almost visceral need to fix it somehow.

"Your other one?" he growls. Because this is just getting better and better. He's probably just fucking outed himself to his team as well as a god damn Guide, who even if he's not actually on the military's payroll or prepared to run to them the second he gets out of here is... what? Fucking collecting Sentinels? The broader implications of that are what should be eating at Eliot, making his mind spin along all the tangents that could lead to disaster, but all he can really focus on is the fact he's already got a claim on him and how that knowledge aches.

"The only reason it even happened is 'cause of you," he snaps, backing farther away again, giving himself a physical distance he can't seem to find mentally or emotionally. "Haven't zoned like that in years, and I sure as hell haven't needed anyone to bring me back!" But jesus it had felt good to have it. Body heat and a soothing voice, the steady rhythm of a heart that feels almost more familiar than his own... and the kind of comfort and peace and illusion of safety that he'd learned was always a trap back in his military days. It hadn't mattered then, he'd needed it too much to be able to resist. He doesn't need it anymore, though, or at least that's what he's telling himself.

"My partner. I hate the sound of calling him my Sentinel because that sounds like I own him and I do not. He's had enough of that in his life." He is still pissed that Steve forbade him from chewing Cath out. He licks his lips and lets Eliot have the space he needs. He need to focus. Be calm and not push that anger on Eliot.

"I don't know how that happened. Or why. As I said I've only known him and until I found him zoned out one time I didn't even know what he was, or what I was either. I just... If it makes it any better I couldn't tell about you either until you spoke to me. And then it was less that I knew what you were and more that ... That it felt right. Like it does with him. Does it feel like that with all Sentinels?"

Edited 2017-04-10 19:08 (UTC)

It's almost as disturbing as everything else that Eliot can't control the urge to growl as the guy talks about his... partner. Dammit. Because it's pure frustration and jealousy and want so sharp he can hardly think past it, and before he's even realized he's moving he's looming over Danny, hand half-outstretched to reach for his shoulder. He barely manages to turn the movement into reaching for the bowl of stew on the table and shoving it closer to him.

"Eat," he growls, because if he tries to say anything else before he gets some kind of handle on himself he doesn't know what might come out. He stalks away, body singing with tension and probably looking like the poster child for the kind of feral animal the military tends to advertise them as when they're justifying the need for all Sentinels to be drafted into one branch or another. But, christ, does it feel that way with all Sentinels? He knows the tiny handful of Guides he'd ever known had been just as eager to work with him as the other way around... but it hadn't stopped them from being willing to blow their senses wide open or twist their emotions into knots if it would 'get the job done'.

"I sure as fuck hope not, because if it felt so god damn right an' good then fuck them for the shit they were willing t'do to us."

Danny looks oddly calm about that. Yeah he is watching Eliot, but he isn't acting like he is too afraid. "You know, he does that pacing too. Especially when he doesn't get his way." He smiles a little. Fond of his partner. He takes a bite of the food and the just blinks. "Damn this is good." It is an understatement. He is in love with this stew right now.

But after a few more bites he looks up again. "He never gave me any details. Just that you were viewed as tools." He makes a face. "You're not a tool. And nobody should try to make you into one."

Eliot stops short as he realizes the tell has been marked and identified, and wonders how close he might have come to outing himself over the years with something that simple.

"You make it sound like I'm a god damn toddler throwing a tantrum," he growls, spinning back around, trying to draw on the deep well of anger he always carries with him to somehow swamp the irrational flush of pleasure at the compliment (not just compliment, the way he can feel the guy's enjoyment and appreciation) to his food. Fuck.

"Tools." He snorts in disgust. "More like fuckin' trained attack dogs, but most people treat a damn dog better." He flexes his hands into fists--not to keep from reaching out, dammit, it can't be that hard--as he stalks back over, then leans on the edge of the table to stare intently into Danny's eyes. He's aiming for anger, but there's more loss and longing and, still, fear in the look than anything.

"You realize you didn't just out me, right? You outed him too. 'Cause tellin' me he's your partner just made him the easiest thing in the damn world t'find, even if I didn't have a hacker pulling every fuckin' record that exists anywhere on you right the hell now." Because he has no doubt that Hardison's already looking at twenty or more screens, detailing every ounce of publicly--and most of the privately--available information on one Danny Williams that exists. As well as going head first down the damn rabbit hole with what he now knows about Eliot himself.

"'Course, he's tryin' t'do the same damn thing with me too," and his voice fractures a little there, in a way that makes his stomach twist and his fists, still braced on the table, clench tighter. He'd never wanted Parker and Hardison to know this, and now they aren't just going to know, but this guy, and anyone he might tell, will too. And that's going to make him a target, and not the straight forward kind he's been for the more than fifteen years since the military decided it had likely burned him dry and he wasn't worth the potential international incident involved to claim him.

He should have killed the guy. Dragged him back here and done it quick and quiet, he could have come up with a justification, and then it would have just been a body to hide. Even if he hasn't done that for years now... he hasn't run across another Sentinel or Guide who was a potential threat to his freedom in years either, though. And he's not thinking about how the idea of so much as hurting this fucking stranger makes him feel sick and twisted up inside with horror, because he can't let his conditioning come back, not after all this time. And that's all this feeling is, right?

Edited 2017-04-10 20:17 (UTC)

Danny's been sitting there while Eliot talks. He doesn't like what he is hearing but he keeps that to himself. At least for now. The loon on his face says that he has opinions though. God he has so many of them at this. Steve and this guy, attack dogs. No fucking way. He hates that description just as much as he hated it when Steve said Sentinels were just tools. And what bothers him just as much is how many people actually view the as that.

He looks up when Eliot comes closer, meeting his eyes. But the moment Eliot mentions that he put Steve in danger, that they are figuring out who he is, Danny is gripped by panic. He feels like he can't breathe and his eyes are wide, color draining from his face. His mouth is dry so it takes a few tries but finally he manages. "Please don't. Let him be. Please." It is barely a whisper but he is pleading. He glances towards the end of the table. Not towards the gun but the phone. No he would not have time to call Steve and make sure he knew to get out. Fuck. Fuck he messed up hard.

He looks back at Eliot, swallowing. This is the first time since he saw the other Sentinel that he's been terrified, utterly terrified. "Listen, I'll do whatever the fuck you want, just leave him be. Don't tell anyone about him."

Eliot can feel Danny's anxiety and fear increasing as he speaks, even if he couldn't smell it on the air and hear it in the sound of his voice, he can sense it in that strangely compelling way that he's only ever experienced with Guides, and even with them only rarely. The strange part here is how immediate and intimate it is, how completely and utterly incapable he is of blocking it the hell out, despite how hard (and effectively) he's worked at being able to do just that for over fifteen years now.

It's overwhelming enough he has to fight to be able to finish talking, to keep the fine tremors in his hands from being obvious... to keep from fucking whimpering in reaction. He knows Guides are capable of mimicking and projecting emotions they don't actually feel, he's seen it happen, and he knows that his own reaction makes him an unreliable judge, but... there's nothing left in him that can fight the need to trust this man's reactions, especially now, when it's so fucking overwhelming.

His knees nearly buckle as he drops his chin to his chest, sucking in deep breaths through his mouth to try and block out the scent of fear and panic. But it doesn't do anything to block out the staccato beating of Danny's heart, the way his breath has caught in panic, and Eliot can't answer. He can't think. It's too much and he's spiraling into it and for the second time in less than an hour, rushing towards zoning with a speed and inexorability that just increases his own panic. Because this shouldn't be happening. He has better control than this.

Edited 2017-04-11 05:53 (UTC)

When Eliot starts to show the signs of panic as much as Danny does he is drawn back. Fuck. He closes his eyes, trying to remember what anyone ever told him whenever he had to go into a small space had said. Breathe, count the breaths, focus on that sensation. Once he has enough control to speak without letting the panic run away on him again he slides his hand over the table.

"Hi. Sorry. Didn't mean to do that. You're safe. You're just feeling my panic. Easy now. Breathe for me. Deep beaths, count them." He places his hand over Eliot's fist, hoping it will make it a bit easier for him to hear him.

Eliot can't focus on anything beyond the sound of the other man's rabbiting heart, the bellows pump of his lungs, the acrid reek of fear rolling off him in waves, and it's only tightly clenched teeth and a lifetime of hard won habit that keeps him silent. It helps a little, when Danny starts to get his own emotional responses in check, let's Eliot's own breathing and heart rate start to even out, even though he's intentionally controlling neither.

That's not enough to bring him back on its own, though, not even the sound of his voice is this time. Eliot doesn't so much as glance up when he hears it, and his only movement is a almost imperceptible full-body tremor of muscles held too rigidly tight, locked between fight and flight... until Danny's hand settles over his and he explodes into motion. It's so fast it's almost impossible to follow the sequence of movements as he grabs Danny's wrist in an almost (not quite, even this way he can't bring himself to hurt him) bruising grip, side-stepping away from the table and yanking Danny out of his chair and towards him at the same time. Somewhere in there he manages to maneuver the smaller man until he's pressed face-first into the nearest wall, Eliot braced against his back, pinning him in place with still trembling hands as he breathes in great, panicked gasps.

Danny yelps in surprise when he is pinned up against the wall and for a moment his instincts are screaming at him. But there isn't much he manages to do under Eliot's grip rather than squirm rather unhelpfully. It only takes him a second to get them under control now though and he focuses on breathing calmly.

"Hey, listen. It's me, Danny. You're safe, you're in your resturant, we were just talking. Easy now. Calm. Focus on me, on my voice. Breathe for me. They are not going to get you, I got you." He continues talking like that, and focuses on following his own advise and breathe more slowly. The grip makes it so he can't exactly relax, his body all tense under Eliot but he does what he can. "Easy easy easy. It was my fault. You're safe. Nobody is coming after you"

Eliot's actually growling when he first shoves Danny into the wall, a low rumble that vibrates through his chest and sounds disturbingly animalistic--disturbingly feral. But once he gets the smaller man pinned, body pressed tight against him and face slotted in next to his, the scent of him--what's under the lingering stink of panic and fear that's just him--penetrates the fog clouding Eliot's brain and the growl dies away into a confused, questioning sound pressed into the skin behind Danny's ear.

He's still trembling, so faintly it's only perceptible by touch, every muscle in his body literally vibrating with tension, but his grip on Danny eases minutely and he drops his head a little, enough to just barely rest it on the smaller man's shoulder. There's no immediate threat, and Danny's breathing and heart rate stay steady, his scent shifting away from fear, and even through the blank haze muffling almost everything else Eliot can feel his calm concern. It's warm and grounding, and even though he can't make out the words at first the sound of his voice is soothing.

Slowly his grip relaxes, until he's less pinning Danny to the wall and more leaning against his back as his panicked gasps slowly ease into a more normal rhythm, and even more slowly sync up with Danny's again. It's not until long after that that the words start to make sense as anything other than soothing white noise, and a few minutes longer, even, before Eliot's settled enough to register where he is or in what position, and then he pushes unsteadily away, staggering a little as he backs off.

"Maybe-" His voice comes out a hoarse croak and he has to stop and swallow hard, licking his lips before trying again. "Maybe you should go," he manages this time. It's still rough, but it's a lot closer to normal... and one of the hardest damn things he's ever said. "I ain't gonna turn you or yours in, no one deserves that shit. But you breathe a word about me t'anyone an' I swear t'god I'll-" He stops, words cutting off abruptly, because he can't even make the threat and it's terrifying. "Just don't. I'll know the second you breathe a word, so don't."

Edited 2017-04-11 08:19 (UTC)

"You'll be alright if I go?" Danny sounds unsure. He turns and looks at Eliot, nothing but concern on his face now. He takes a deep breath. "I'll tell him. But nobody else. I promise." He glances over at the table. He doesn't want to leave, not at all. Not just because he is worried about what Eliot might do. But part of him wants to stay. He might not get the same high that Steve describes but it just feels so damn good to be close to them.

"I am going to go pick up my gun and phone. Alright?" Because considering how Eliot's acted until now. It is best to warn him about something like that. He checks that the gun is alright, before he slides it back into his holster and picks up the badge and phone, stashing them in his pockets. "If you need to talk, I am staying at the hotel half a mile up the road." Not that he is there much. It is a shitty place, but at least it is a bed.

"I've been alright for twenty damn years," he answers, when what he wants to say is no, and beg him to stay. To just let him breathe in the peace of his presence... the peace Eliot hasn't been letting himself experience at all, other than those few minutes when he'd been coming out of zoning out, still too disoriented to move away but coherent enough to simply bask in it.

"Don't put it back together 'til you're well aware from here," Eliot snaps, watching warily--hungrily--as Danny picks it up, along with his badge and phone. He takes another step back and scrubs his hands over his face, then back up into his hair, setting it up in spiky disarray before dropping them. His chest feels like it's being split open, and he has to work not to rub anxiously at his breastbone, at the phantom pain blooming under it. This pain is better than getting fucked over by another Guide, though, or at least that's what he tells himself.

"I don't need anything," he answers, and it's almost mechanical now, his voice inflectionless and his gaze blank as he methodically focuses on his breathing heart rate and forces them into a rhythm that doesn't sync with Danny's. He's been fine on his own all this time, he's not about to let that change now.

"Alright, alright." Danny takes a deep breath. He doesn't want to go either. But he is worried that if he pushes Eliot might snap again or worse zone. He breathes a few times before he moves towards the door. "It was nice meeting you, stay safe." And he means it, utterly and fully. Then he slips from the room. He leaves some money on the bar paying for his food and then leaves. He doesn't feel hungry anymore. He just feels like walking and clearing his head. Hopefully sort out the questions and worry before he calls Steve and asks him.

Eliot meets the last admonition with a derisive snort... that he has to work to keep from turning into something plaintive and broken as Danny makes good on his promise to leave by slipping out of the room. It leaves Eliot standing there, trembling and feeling more lost than he has in over fifteen years, but he can't afford the self-indulgence of falling apart here and now. He has to put Hardison off, both him and Williams and whatever Sentinel he's protecting, and then- Christ, and then he thinks maybe he needs to get really damn far away until he can get his head back on straight, because the way things stand now he just might be a danger. To himself and others. So he waits just until he hears Danny exit the pub itself--and he doesn't twitch involuntarily to follow him, he doesn't--then turns to the back exit from the private dining room, up the stairs to the apartments above and what he knows is going to be a very... uncomfortable conversation with his partners.

PSL: Sentinel AU

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