Chapter Text
Everything hurt. Every muscle between his head and his toes felt like it had been stretched out and snapped back into place over and over until he was just one big ache. As he took a bottle of water out of Steve's refrigerator, Danny thought about his makeshift bed in the living room and winced. The way he felt, that couch wasn't going to be doing him any favors tonight.
Swallowing some aspirin and washing it down with the water, Danny wandered into the darkened living room, missing the distraction of the TV and yet having no desire to turn it on. It was nine p.m., and Steve was home, he was alive, and no TV in the world could distract Danny from the reality of the past forty-eight hours. And it wasn't that he wanted to sleep. No, he knew what that meant—a long night of tossing and turning and trying to forget images that he knew would linger in his memory forever.
He needed to do something, anything other than running upstairs every five minutes to check on Steve, who was sleeping the sleep of medicated exhaustion. That's how Danny got through the first part of the night, but as his body started to shut down, he either had to get a grip or just give up, grab a pillow, and curl up like a golden retriever guarding Steve's bedroom door.
As he waited for the latest round of aspirin to kick in, he kept moving, eventually finding himself in Steve's office. At any other time, he'd have made himself at home, maybe logged on to Steve's computer and goofed around for a while, but tonight it felt too invasive. Tonight it was his duty to stand watch, and that meant dealing with his own issues so that he'd be ready if and when Steve needed him.
His gaze crossed the computer's printer and moved on, then went back again. That sick feeling in the pit of his stomach reminded him that it was time—it was past time—that Danny took care of a responsibility that he'd put off for too long. He'd already done it once, when Grace was a baby, but so much had changed since then that his first version was now meaningless.
Setting aside his bottle, he turned on the desk lamp and sat down, then tugged out a sheet of paper from the printer. He found a pen in the desk's top drawer and pulled it out, doodling on a scratch pad to make sure it worked. Then, taking a deep breath, he started writing.
Dear Grace—
No, that sounded way too formal. He balled up the paper and tossed it in the trash can.
Gracie—
No, that wasn't right, either. He sat back in the old chair, the wood creaking as he shifted his weight. There was really only one way to start this letter. He discarded that sheet as well, then started over once more.
Hey, Monkey—
If you're reading this, then something bad happened to me and your mom thinks you're grown up enough to understand what I have to tell you.
Rubbing the edge of his hand across his brow, he paused to try and figure out exactly what he wanted to say. Gracie understood without a doubt that he loved her, he made sure to tell her so every day. But Danny also knew that as Grace got older, she was going to begin to question some of his choices. He needed to somehow explain to her how his life had changed since coming to Hawaii, and how those changes had led him into the jungles of North Korea with little hope of coming back alive.
"We come back with Steve—or we don't come back." How could Danny explain that he'd never been so terrified in his entire life? With those words, Joe had split Danny's world in two, ripping him apart and redefining him as something—someone—he never intended to be.
First off, you know I love you and I'd never leave you voluntarily. But you also know that I have a job, and part of that job is putting myself in situations that are scary and dangerous. If your mom gave you this letter, then one of those situations turned out badly.
You remember when we first moved to Hawaii and I became a police officer here? All I wanted was to do the work I loved and to spend time with you. And that was always true, except I found out that when I had to make a choice I never thought I'd have to make, I had to do the right thing, even if it meant that I'd never see you again. I know that probably doesn't make sense—I'm not sure it makes sense to me—but I always wanted to be a dad you could look up to, the way I looked up to my dad. I need you to know that every decision I've made, I've made because I love you and I want what's best for you.
I know this is a tough time for you, but I also know that your mom and Stan will always take good care of you and your little brother. And if you need anything, or if there's something you don't think you can take to them, remember you can always go to Steve. You can trust him with anything, any problem, and I know he'll—
The sound of a car door slamming caught his attention, and he rose to his feet. A quick glance at his watch told him it was only 9:30 but still, there shouldn't be anyone here this late. He crossed the living room and turned on a light, then opened the door before anyone could knock or ring the bell and disturb Steve. To his relief, he saw Chin and Malia walking toward him with grocery bags in their hands.
"Hey, guys," he said, his voice pitched low, "what's going on?"
Chin held up one of the plastic bags. "Brought in some supplies so you don't have to go out for a couple of days."
Danny pressed his hands together and bowed them into the house. "You are a life saver, Chin Ho Kelly. Come on through but be quiet, Steve's asleep upstairs."
He led them into the kitchen and had them set their bags on the counter. Malia pulled out a carton of milk and put it in the refrigerator, but before she could grab anything else, Danny stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"So, uh, I can't believe you're making an honest man out of Chin. What's up with that, anyway? He catch you in a weak moment?"
Malia grinned at Chin, who was stacking groceries on the kitchen table. "Well, when he's not being a stubborn idiot, he's actually pretty cute."
Danny rolled his eyes. "I'll take your word on that. C'mere." He pulled Malia into a hug and gave her a squeeze. "Welcome to the family, honey."
"Thanks, Danny." Malia kissed his cheek as he let her go, then returned to putting away the food. Danny stepped out and went to the base of the staircase, listening to hear if Steve was making any noise. When he didn't hear anything, he started back toward the kitchen but was intercepted when Chin walked out.
"Malia's going to put away the rest of the stuff. Can we talk a minute?"
Danny glanced upstairs, then nodded. "Yeah, let's step outside."
They walked out the front door and circled back until they were on the grassy slope off of the lanai. Sitting side by side on a low bench, both men stretched out their legs with identical moans.
"Okay, what's up?" Danny asked. He was so damned tired, but judging from the look on Chin's face, this was going to be a serious conversation.
"You have a problem, my friend."
Danny's eyebrows rose as he pointed at himself. "I have a problem? You're the one who's getting married."
"Funny. Listen, Lori was asking about you two."
"You two what?"
"You and Steve."
"Me and Steve? What exactly was she asking?"
Chin glanced over his shoulder as he lowered his voice. "If you and Steve are together."
Danny reared back. "Together. You mean together like—"
"Shhh, yeah, like that. She didn't mean any harm, she's still not used to you guys like me and Kono."
"What is there—" Danny took a deep breath and began again. "What is there to get used to?"
"You know, the way you two are around each other. The bickering, the fact that you come to work together every morning, the fact that you were living together, and you wearing Steve's shirt the other—"
"Hold on, hold on, wait up. We were not living together, okay? Steve was letting me bunk on his couch until I found my own place. Hell, Lori knows that. And the shirt thing? Steve got grape jelly on mine that morning and I yanked something off the wrong pile in the laundry room because we were called out on that job in Waikiki."
"Dude, you do your laundry at Steve's?"
"Well, yeah, but that's because it's free. I do a load, he throws in his stuff, too."
Chin didn't say anything but raised an eyebrow, forcing Danny to reassess the situation.
"Yeah, okay, I know it what it looks like, but I also know what it isn't. Besides," he said with a shrug, "I'm not Steve's type. And he's not mine," he added quickly.
"I know, brah, but it was more than a couple of weeks and now you're living in a hotel, like you two had a fight. And with Steve laid up, you're taking care of everything. People could, you know, make assumptions."
Danny spoke slowly, circling his thumb and forefinger for emphasis. "Steve is my partner. This is what partners do. If Lori has a problem with that—"
"No, she doesn't, in fact, just the opposite. She thinks she has the two of you figured out, especially after this last little adventure of ours."
"I don't get it."
Chin placed his hand on Danny's shoulder. "It's not just circumstantial evidence anymore. Anyone who'd seen you the last couple of days would be wondering the same thing."
Danny nodded and looked away. There wasn't any point in denying that he'd allowed his emotions to show, emotions he'd been very careful to keep concealed until now. He knew he could handle Lori and her suspicions, but Chin was another matter.
"Yeah, okay," he muttered. "But it's still not like you think."
Chin squeezed Danny's shoulder and let go. "Danny, you don't owe me any explanations."
"I know, it's just—" Danny sighed and got to his feet. "Look, everything's screwed up, but like you said, it's my problem. I'll take care of it."
Chin stood up. "Sounds ominous. You're not planning on doing anything stupid, are you?"
"Not intentionally," Danny said with a shrug, "but hey, it's me, you never know. Listen, as far as anyone coming to see Steve, for the next couple a days, I'm the dragon at the door. I don't care if it's the governor himself, no one gets in until Steve decides he's ready for visitors."
"Got it. I'll pass it on."
They walked back into the kitchen to find Malia sitting at the table, nibbling on a cookie as she checked something on her phone. Slipping the phone into her pocket as she stood up, she greeted Chin with a kiss and then turned to Danny.
"We got you guys a little of everything, so you should be set through the weekend at least. Oh, and there's a smoked turkey breast in there, and some potatoes and gravy, too. All you need to do tomorrow is heat it all up."
"And pie," Chin added. "I made sure there was pie. Pumpkin, pecan, and apple, just to cover the bases."
"Thanks, you guys. This is going to be one weird Thanksgiving. No Grace and a busted up SEAL I gotta babysit."
They started walking toward the door and as grateful as Danny was for all they'd done, he wasn't sorry to see them go. He had a lot of thinking to do and it was past time that he made sure Steve was okay.
"Do you get to have time with Grace at all?" Chin asked.
Danny opened the front door. "Depends on how Steve's doing, but if he gives me the okay, I'll bring her over this weekend. Unfortunately, not even I can compete with a brand new baby brother, so she may not be interested. Oh, hey wait a sec." He looked around and spotted his wallet next to his keys and gun on a nearby table. "What do I owe you for all this?"
"This round's on us," Chin said. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call, all right?"
Malia put her hand on Danny's arm. "I almost forgot—do you want me to check on Steve before I go?"
Danny hesitated, glancing up the stairs. For his own peace of mind, he wanted Malia to check Steve over, but Steve needed rest more than he needed someone poking him, even if it was a friend doing the poking.
"Nah, last time I looked in on him, he was dead to the world."
"Okay." Malia gave Danny a hug. "Call if anything changes."
"Will do."
They said their goodbyes and Danny went back into the house, turning off the light in the living room and walking into the kitchen. He peered into the refrigerator with no real interest, then remembered that he wanted to look in on Steve before heading to his old friend, the couch.
He knew he was fussing too much, but he couldn't help it, it's what he did when things were out of his control. Steve was all about acting like everything was fine, as though he'd only suffered a few cuts and a couple of bumps on the head. And it wasn't like there was an official medical report anywhere that Danny could read and get the real story. Joe had arranged for Steve to see a doctor once they'd gotten back to the island, the kind of doctor who didn't ask a lot of questions. According to Joe—who Danny trusted only a little more than he trusted Steve when it came to telling the truth about this stuff—at the very least, Steve had been roughed up pretty good. He was also exhausted, severely dehydrated, and had some burns and contusions that could only mean one thing.
Dropping his head into his hands, Danny tried to focus on anything other than the thought of Steve being tortured. He'd never considered himself a violent man, but he knew if he ever got the chance, he'd repay that son of a bitch Wo Fat twice over for every mark on Steve's body.
Unfortunately, his tired mind chose to replace the fears of his imagination with the very real image of Jenna's lifeless body. She'd deceived them all, she'd put Steve's life on the line, yet Danny couldn't find it within himself to condemn her. She'd made bad choices in the name of love, and Danny knew how easy it was to fall into that trap.
He heard a floorboard creak and lifted his head to see Steve standing in the kitchen doorway, frowning at him.
"You okay?" Steve asked.
"I think that's my line." Danny gave Steve a not-so-subtle, head-to-toe once-over, deciding that he looked okay, not great, but at least he had some color in his cheeks instead of that scary, battleship gray tinge they'd had when Danny had found him in the back of that damn truck. "How are you doin'? Straight up, don't tell me you're fine if you're not, okay? And don't tell me you've had worse, I hate that."
Steve scrubbed his hands over his stubbled face, grimacing as he dropped his hands. Danny watched and waited, fully expecting Steve to be honest and not pull any macho, stoic bullshit with him. He understood why Steve acted that way around the rest of the team, but both he and Steve knew better when it was just the two of them.
"I"ll live," Steve muttered. He leaned his shoulder against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are you still here?"
Danny shrugged. "Back to the couch for me, buddy, at least until you're able to move around without creaking or scaring the neighbors again."
"Danny, I don't need a—" Steve paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, okay. Not sure it's a great idea, you on a couch instead of that high end mattress at the hotel. You already look like you're about to keel over."
Danny flapped his hand, brushing aside Steve's concern. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, I'm fine. What are you doing up? What do you need?"
"Just some water. Chin and Malia leave?"
"Yeah. Oh, jeez, were we too loud? They were just—"
"Danny, it's fine, I've been awake for a while, they didn't wake me up."
"Right, okay." Danny opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water, then handed it to Steve. "You, uh, you hungry? You want a sandwich or something?"
Steve looked like he was going to say no, but seemed to change his mind again and nodded instead. "I could eat."
"Right." Danny clapped his hands together. "Go. Sit. I've got this."
Cracking open the bottle, Steve straightened up from his slouch. "I'm not an invalid, Danny, okay? I can make a sandwich."
Danny wanted to argue with Steve's statement, but decided not to. Steve still looked exhausted, with deep purple smudges beneath his eyes that matched the bruises scattered across his skin. Like Danny, he was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, but unlike Danny, his body still bore witness to the ordeal he'd just been through. Yet as much as Danny wanted to take away Steve's pain, to make the past few days go away for both of them, getting back to normal was probably the best way to help Steve heal.
"Fine. Here." Danny gently lobbed a loaf of bread toward Steve, who caught it against his chest one-handed. "I'll get the pickles. And don't be so heavy-handed with the mayo this time."
After living together for several weeks, they had this routine down. It was comfortable, in fact way too comfortable for Danny, who had to keep reminding himself that any time like this with Steve was temporary and the domestic intimacy he longed for had only been an illusion. Living with Steve was simultaneously saving him and destroying him, so moving to the hotel had been his only choice.
They worked silently, passing food, utensils, and plates between them until they were seated at the table. Halfway through their makeshift meal, Steve spoke up.
"Are you okay about tomorrow?"
The fact that Steve hadn't looked Danny in the eye when he asked the question was puzzling. There was something beside the obvious behind that question, but Danny was too tired to try and figure it out.
He was also too tired to keep the bitterness out of his words as he answered.
"Which part?" Danny put down his half-eaten sandwich. "The part about another Thanksgiving that I don't get to spend with my kid? Or the part about Grace being a member of a family that no longer includes me?"
"Danny, c'mon, you'll always be Grace's dad, no matter what happens."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, don't mind me. If it's okay with you, I thought I'd bring her over here this weekend. Think you'll be up for it? I promise to keep her out of your hair."
"Yeah, no problem, any time you want." Steve popped a potato chip into his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. "Listen, I was thinking, since it's Thanksgiving, maybe while Grace is here we can barbecue, invite the team—"
"Whoa, whoa, hold on there, cowboy. You sure you're up for that much company?"
"I'm sure. More than ever, this is a time for family. I need you and—wait, do you hear that? Crap, that's Mary's ring tone. Where the hell is my phone?"
"Sounds like it's in your office." Danny stood up and reached for Steve's plate. "Go on, I'll clean up here."
It wasn't until Steve had gone back to bed and Danny was brushing his teeth in the downstairs bathroom that he remembered the half written letter he'd left on Steve's desk. After a quick swish and a spit, he hurried back into the office and turned on the desk lamp. The letter was right where he'd left it, so he grabbed it and folded it into thirds, stuffing it into the duffel bag he's shoved beneath an end table in the living room. He was betting that Steve hadn't seen it, having been too preoccupied with the latest drama that was Mary's life. Besides, Steve hadn't said anything when he'd finished with his call, and if there was a slump to his shoulders when he came out of the office, Danny attributed it to pain, exhaustion, Mary, or some combination of all three.
He knew he'd have to finish the letter soon. From the time he'd stood on the tarmac with the rest of the team to the moment he found Steve in the back of that truck, he'd lived in fear that he'd left too much undone, left too many words unsaid.
Now he had no excuses—and no more time. Grace deserved to know the truth about her father.
***
On the surface, the week started out on a good note. Chin and Malia got hitched without—well, a hitch—and they didn't take on a case until Tuesday, and by then, Steve was more or less back to full speed. He'd been reserved but relaxed when the team had joined them for a Sunday barbecue, and as usual, he'd been great with Grace, giving Danny hope that Steve's psychological wounds were healing as well as his body.
The case assigned to the task force on Tuesday turned out to be an easy one, almost making Danny believe that someone was looking out for wayward Navy knuckleheads who tried to save the world one hard luck story at a time. They resolved the situation with a minimum of gunfire and loud booms and everyone came out unscathed, including the bad guys and bad girls, which always made the paperwork easier.
That should have been enough to make Danny happy, but it wasn't. He'd told Chin that everything was screwed up and so far, nothing had changed, at least not for the better. He hadn't finished his letter to Grace—in fact, he'd restarted it three times and still hadn't found the right words to explain to her that his love for her would never change, even when his actions made it clear he was taking risks he'd never dreamed he'd ever take. He'd printed out his last attempt and stuck it in his desk drawer, hoping inspiration would eventually strike.
That was one problem in Danny's life; the other problem, the one that was driving him crazy, was Steve. Not their usual kind of crazy—this was uncharted territory. This was Steve, watching Danny when he thought Danny wouldn't notice, then looking away like nothing was going on. And in those brief moments when Danny saw Steve's unguarded expression, that's when Danny really got confused, because there was something familiar about that expression, yet he'd never imagined he'd see it on Steve's face. He probably wasn't seeing it now, only misinterpreting something he wanted so badly to believe in, even though of all the impossible things Danny didn't believe in, having Steve reciprocate his feelings was the most impossible of all. To be honest, things hadn't been right between them since Danny moved out and for the life of him, Danny couldn't figure out why. His first thought had been that Steve had finally gotten fed up with Danny sleeping on his couch, but Danny had fixed that by moving to the Hilton. He hadn't wanted to do it—Steve's house was the only place on the island that felt like home to him—but he knew he'd give anything to put things right between them.
Maybe they'd had a setback because Danny had stuck around until Steve was back on his feet after Korea. Danny had packed up and left with everyone else after the barbecue on Sunday, and Steve had acted weird about that, too.
Yeah, it was definitely time to clear the air.
Knowing that Steve was alone in his office, Danny put yet another version of Grace's letter in a desk drawer and decided it was now or never. Maybe since Steve didn't have to put up with Danny at home anymore, they could regain the ground they'd inexplicably lost.
Steve was sitting at his desk, one hand shaded over his eyes when Danny knocked on his door frame.
"You got a minute?"
Steve looked up. "Sure, c'mon in."
Danny shoved his hands into his pockets and paced in front of Steve's desk, unsure of how to start. It should've been simple—so, I bet you're glad to have your house to yourself again—but it was the last thing Danny wanted to say. But for Steve's sake, he could find the words that would reopen communications between them.
"So, listen, I've been thinking." He waited for a typical smartass reply from Steve but when none was forthcoming, he continued. "It's about time I moved—"
"You don't have to, you know." Steve's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Danny, I swear, we can work something out."
Of all the things Danny expected Steve to say, that wasn't even close.
"Well, no, but we can—wait, what? What are you talking about?"
Steve stood up and came around his desk, effectively blocking Danny from the office door.
"I don't know, you tell me what I need to do to make it work."
Danny squinted up at Steve, not sure where this train had gotten derailed. "I—I don't know, I hadn't thought about it. To be honest, I just figured it'd be the best thing for everyone concerned."
Steve folded his arms over his chest and raised his gaze toward the ceiling with a small laugh. "Hell, Danny, only you could come to the conclusion that this is anything close to what I would want you to do."
Danny held up his hands. "Wait a minute, hold on. Are you telling me you think I shouldn't do this?"
"Look, Danny, if I've done something or said something that's made you uncomfortable—"
"You? Make me uncomfortable? Listen, the only thing you do that makes me uncomfortable is when you do something stupid without back up, because somewhere along the line, I got appointed as your keeper, a responsibility I take very seriously, by the way. In fact," he took a deep breath and continued, "I'd kinda been thinkin' it was the other way around."
"I'm not following you."
Danny looked past Steve's shoulder at the door, wishing he was on the other side of it. "You know, I was thinkin' maybe you've had enough of me. The past couple of weeks, I thought I was getting a vibe from you."
"A vibe."
"Yeah, you know a vibe, a feeling, like you're tired of hearing me complain all the time. So, as of Saturday—"
"Wait—Saturday?" The blood seemed to drain from Steve's face as he stumbled back a step. "That's—that's not giving me a lot of notice."
"What the hell kind of notice do you need for something like this?"
"Two weeks would be nice," Steve snapped.
Danny rubbed his hand over his mouth. Steve wasn't reacting the way Danny had expected and it was completely throwing him. In fact, Steve was acting like—
"Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute, I need to think. Stay there, don't move." Danny turned away, his heart starting to race. This wasn't just mixed signals Steve was giving off—this was scrambled messages from Pluto. Something else was going on here, and it went hand in hand with Steve's weird attitude the past couple of weeks. Now Danny was even more confused because Steve had actually been pretty cool about Danny staying with him at first, despite his rules and his inability to let Danny sleep past six and his constant nagging to get Danny into the ocean "just once, Danno, just once, you'll like it."
He was so lost in thought, trying to untangle both his emotions and this conversation, that he jumped when he felt Steve's hand on his shoulder. He shifted until he was facing Steve, but since Steve didn't move back, they were a lot closer than Danny expected, almost touching as Steve lowered his head.
"Look," Steve said, his voice hushed, "Danny, if I haven't made it clear, I don't want you to go, but I completely understand your reasons. You've been upfront about this from the beginning, so it's my fault for thinking that you were happy here."
It was that last sentence that convinced Danny that he and Steve were talking about two completely different things. Steve's comments about Danny giving him two weeks notice were beginning to make sense, but at the same time, it was also beginning to make Danny very uncomfortable. Steve was so close, his big, warm hand still on Danny's shoulder—it was almost painfully intimate, and Danny knew if Lori could see them now, all of her suspicions would be confirmed. And while he was okay with that, he wasn't so sure about Steve.
So what was Steve actually thinking, that Danny wanted to leave the team? Where the hell did that come from? Sure, Danny used to gripe—okay, still griped—about getting shot at, about Steve's sometimes less than appropriate solutions to certain situations, about the heat and the sand and the ukelele music, but it wasn't ever meant to be taken as a sign that Danny wanted out. On the contrary, it meant he cared, that he was committed, that he was making the best of a bad situation because he cared too damn much. After all this time, didn't Steve understand that?
Maybe it was time to find out. Maybe it was also time to find out if those odd looks and the panic in Steve's eyes at the possibility of Danny leaving added up to more than a partner's concern. Maybe it meant that there was something a hell of a lot more personal at stake for both of them.
Keeping his voice as soft as Steve's, Danny inclined his head so that Steve automatically leaned closer to hear him. "I think you and me need to continue this conversation somewhere else. Like home." Okay, that was interesting—in Danny's head, he'd said "your place." When did his head and his mouth decide to part company?
Steve jerked back, frowning at Danny. "Does that mean—I don't know what that means."
Danny chewed his lower lip. "Neither do I. But I do know that this is all going to get a hell of a lot more complicated in about two minutes."
Steve frowned at him, then his expression slowly cleared. He looked over his shoulder and out his window, then stepped closer to Danny, crowding him against the desk.
"Complicated? You mean—" Steve waved his hand, indicating both of them, his gaze never leaving Danny's face. "Is this—"
"Yes, Steven, yes. At least—I don't know, I think that's what I mean. Now can we—"
Steve was already on the move, grabbing his phone off his desk and shoving it in his pocket before heading out the door, apparently expecting Danny to follow him. Danny stared at his back for a few seconds, then started his own feet moving, wondering what the hell he'd just put in motion and if either of them were ready for this.
Instead of heading for the exit like Danny had hoped, Steve turned and strode into the command center where Kono stood watching something on one of the monitors.
"Uh, Kono, Danny and I are taking off for a while, maybe for the day." From Danny's viewpoint, Steve was trying to look calm and nonchalant but failing miserably as he rapidly thumped the back of his fist against his open palm. "Mind the store, okay?"
"Don't think so, boss." Kono indicated the monitor with the remote control she was holding. "Take a look."
Both Danny and Steve turned their attention to the large monitor, where it became instantly obvious that something big was happening, and that usually meant Five-O was going to get involved. The screen showed an aerial view of a building on fire, surrounded by fire trucks and personnel, one wing of the U-shaped, three story building already collapsing in on itself.
"What's going on?" Danny asked. He leaned his fists on the edge of the computer table and scowled at the monitor, his heart sinking. He and Steve, they'd been so close, and now this.
Kono pointed at the screen with the remote. "You're looking at what's left of the Kamamalu Conference Center. The press is calling it an explosion of unknown origin, but HPD has ordered in the bomb squad."
Steve stepped closer to the monitor. "Why would anyone want to bomb the Kamamalu center? I thought it was abandoned."
"It was." Kono turned to another monitor, where she'd already uploaded information on the center. "Up until last Tuesday, that is."
"What happened Tuesday?" Steve asked.
The image on the screen changed to a small newspaper article that claimed that the center, after having been neglected for years, had been recently purchased by an offshore investment group that hoped to turn it into an office building with retail on the first two floors.
Danny waved a hand at the monitor. "So, why does this have to include us? Seriously, does Five-O have to be involved in every bombing on this rock? Just for once, can't HPD handle this?"
Kono shrugged. "The investment company's name pinged one of our watch lists. It's being investigated as part of an international money laundering ring with ties to a terrorist group in the Philippines."
"And that answers that question," Danny muttered, hanging his head just as Steve's cell phone began to ring. Steve pulled it out of his pocket and read the caller ID but before answering, he gave Danny a small, tight smile.
"Sorry, partner."
Danny nodded, acknowledging their frustration. "That makes two of us."
***
"You. Out."
"Don't talk, Danny, just hold still. Concentrate on staying awake for me."
"You can't have it both ways, Steven." Danny licked his bottom lip, tasting blood and dust. "You need me to stay awake, then I'm gonna have to talk, that's just how it works, okay?"
Talking was actually the last thing Danny wanted to do. What he really wanted to do was forget the past twenty minutes and simultaneously unmake the decision he'd made that had gotten him here in the first place.
The team had arrived on scene at the burning Kamamalu center within ten minutes of Steve receiving the governor's call, but there wasn't a lot for them to do until the fire was contained and the bomb squad cleared what was left of the building. The fire had only taken out one wing, but the entire structure had to be swept for bombs before anyone would be allowed entrance.
With time on their hands, Five-O settled in to wait for a briefing, so when Grace called Danny's cell phone, he moved away from the scene so that he could talk to her without having to yell above the noise. He was always happy to talk to his Grace, but lately all she wanted to do was talk about the baby. These conversations were getting more and more difficult, but he would pop himself in the kneecap before he'd ever let Grace know that. No way did she need to know that it ripped him up inside to try and sound enthusiastic about a child that for a brief, glorious period of time had been his—his to dream about and plan for, maybe a son or another beautiful daughter, he didn't care—or that it wasn't so easy to just turn off all those paternal feelings in the wake of one tearful phone call from Rachel.
So with Grace, Danny made sure he was always interested, always enthusiastic, always ready to talk. The only one who knew how bad it hurt, the only one Danny could trust in the wake of the whole mess, was Steve.
It was eventually Steve's persistence that had Danny thinking about Steve in a new and admittedly terrifying way. Danny had blown off Steve's initial concern when he'd told him that he wasn't the baby's father and hadn't intended to ever bring it up again. Damn Steve and his intuition anyway, but Steve had just busted himself out of jail and they'd had bigger problems to deal with than Danny's domestic disaster. But as time passed, Steve hadn't left it alone. Oh, he'd been sneaky about it, always chewing around the edges of the issue while they shared a beer on the beach or drove to work in the morning. Whatever wounds Danny had sustained, Steve wasn't about to let them fester, no matter how many times Danny told Steve he was okay or to mind his own business.
A week before Steve left for Korea, Danny finally let it all out. It'd been a bad day, really bad, and neither of them had been in anything close to a good mood when Danny drove Steve home late that night. Maybe if the case they'd worked hadn't involved kids that had been abandoned by parents who'd gone off to make a drug deal, Danny wouldn't have been so raw. But one minute he was ranting about derelict parents who didn't deserve to have children and the next thing he knew, he was telling Steve everything. It all came out, from his misguided belief that he and Rachel could throw one last Hail Mary to rewrite their history to the moment Danny knew he couldn't join Rachel and Grace on the flight back to Jersey. From that confession it wasn't too hard for Steve to get Danny inside the house and put a beer in his hand, letting him talk about how great it'd felt to believe he was going to be a father again, only to be gutted by the devastating truth that this kid—this child he'd already opened his heart to—wasn't his.
And Steve had listened, knowing that Danny needed to get it out of his system. He didn't offer any opinions, he didn't offer any sympathy, he didn't even interrupt. He'd grunted at the appropriate moments, letting Danny be silent, angry, and reflective in turn until he'd finally hit a wall of emotional exhaustion. No one had listened to Danny like that since Matt, and when they'd finally called it a night, the noise muffling headphones sitting on Danny's nightstand at the hotel made him wonder if Steve hadn't been telling him something important, without ever saying a word, for a very long time.
Danny had doubted that he'd ever have the balls to say anything to Steve. For one, if he was wrong about what might be happening between them, that would mean the end of a relationship with someone who meant more to Danny than anyone except Grace. Second, he'd be out of a job, since they'd never be able to work together again. And third, well, being close friends was great and all, but that wasn't the kind of closeness that Danny had in mind when he thought about the next step with Steve. And to point out the painfully obvious, Danny had only known Steve to sleep with Catherine, who was most decidedly a woman, a very beautiful woman. In fact, she was Danny's exact opposite in every way that mattered, which didn't exactly fill him with confidence.
Still, back at HQ, Steve had seemed like he was ready for something, even if Danny hadn't been able to articulate exactly what that something could be. But—so typical for them—work intervened, so one of two things was going to happen. Either Steve would have forgotten their earlier conversation—or pretend he had, to spare Danny's feelings—or he'd make Danny put up or shut up.
Shifting his phone to his other ear, Danny wandered to the part of the building that was still intact, keeping one eye on Steve as he waited for the sign that they were finally clear to begin their investigation. He was in the middle of commiserating with Grace on the realities of diaper duty when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He told Grace he'd call her back and trotted across the trampled lawn to a broken window, where he thought he'd seen a face peering through a cracked pane. He tried to see inside but the glass was filthy, so he took out his gun and used the grip to knock out the shards until he'd made an opening large enough to see through.
He only had filtered sunlight to help him but from what he could see, the interior of the building definitely looked bad—he could barely make out the walls, but they all looked to be covered in graffiti. The floor, now nothing more than stripped wooden boards, was covered in trash and debris and in one corner was a pile of rags that was probably someone's bed. It was obvious that squatters had taken up residence, but what really concerned Danny was the face that he thought he'd seen in the window had looked like a kid, not an adult.
"Yo, anybody in there?"
Unsurprised to hear nothing, Danny glanced over his shoulder at Steve, who was leaning against the hood of the Camaro, hands on his hips and his long, khaki-clad legs crossed at the ankle as he glared at the activity in front of him as if annoyed he wasn't personally fighting the fire or sweeping for explosives. Danny shook his head and smiled, acknowledging to himself for the first time how truly and irretrievably lost he was when it came to the big goofball. No matter how Steve felt, no matter what they finally got around to saying to each other, this was it for Danny. He felt it in his bones, a rock solid certainty that had settled in his spine and spread through his nerves over the past few months. It was a good feeling, an honest to God coming home kind of feeling, which amused the hell out of him because home meant being with Steve—in goddamn Hawaii.
A noise to his left caught his attention and when he turned, he saw what he'd hoped he wouldn't see—not one but two kids scurrying out of a corner and disappearing through a doorway.
"Aw, crap," he muttered. He trotted backward, looking for the nearest door, finding one to his right. He ran to it and looked it over, deciding that a swift kick would take it off its rusted and broken hinges.
"Hey, Steve!" When Steve didn't appear to hear him, he let out a piercing whistle. That got Steve's attention and as soon as he looked Danny's way, Danny waved at him.
"We got civilians in here!" he yelled "C'mon!"
It never occurred to him not to go after those kids. Not when he kicked the door down, not even when he heard Steve in the background, screaming at him that the building hadn't been cleared. He knew that but was prepared to take a calculated risk that even if the building wasn't clear, it hadn't blown up yet, so that had to be a good sign. In and out, find the kids, in and out—that's what he kept repeating in his head as he started a swift room-to-room search, certain that Steve and the team were right behind him.
He never got the chance to find out.
The concussion from the first blast knocked him sideways. The second blast came from above, collapsing the ceiling and causing one of the support beams to split apart and crash into the room below. Part of the beam caught Danny across the shoulders, driving him to his knees. He tried to roll out of the way but the beam shifted with him, wedging one of his legs against the floor as a shaft of wood from the building's frame broke free and plummeted downward, piercing Danny low on his hip.
He didn't remember much after that, not until he heard Steve yelling at him again. Reacting to the panic he could hear in Steve's voice even through the ringing in his ears, Danny quickly got the gist of what had happened and that Steve was telling him not to move. He'd squinted his eyes open just enough to see Steve on his belly, maneuvering to take off his outer shirt beneath a large piece of collapsed wall that had about two feet of space between it and the floor.
It took a few minutes to process everything Steve was telling him, that several bombs had been detonated and Danny had been caught in the explosion. That much Danny could figure out, that and his leg was trapped in the rubble. But the excruciating pain in his side needed an explanation from Steve, who kept his voice level as he described the extent of Danny's injury, but backed out and lowered his voice when he relayed the same information to someone on his phone.
That's when Danny knew he was in trouble. After Steve made his phone call, he'd crawled back to Danny's side, and the race between the collapsing building, the rescue team, and Danny bleeding out had begun.
Closing his eyes, Danny involuntarily shifted his hips, trying to relieve the pressure on his leg while they waited for the rescue team. He instantly regretted it when the shaft of wood pinning him to the concrete floor shifted with him, pressing deeper against his abdomen. The pain nearly made him pass out, only the distant sound of Steve's pleading voice giving him a link to hold on to as he clung to consciousness.
"Damn it, Danny," he heard Steve's low growl, "what part about staying still do you not understand?"
Eyes still closed, Danny grunted. "The part where I had an itch and there's a building sitting on top of me." He turned his head slowly to the right and blinked open his eyes, feeling dust settle on his cheeks. "You sure those kids got out okay?"
"I told you, Kono found them hiding in the bushes, they told her that they ran when they heard you yelling. The rest of the building, no one knows if it was empty or not."
"Got it. Why are you still here?"
"I'm not leaving."
"Okay, pardon me for pointing this out, but that's just stupid. If this thing is gonna go, no use in both of us getting flattened like pancakes."
Steve scooted closer, dragging himself by the elbows. "No one's getting flattened, Danny. Rescue's going to be here any minute."
"Then why don't you—aah, damn it." Another wave of pain washed over Danny, accompanied by the unmistakable sensation of warm blood surging from the wound in his side where Steve's shirt was wrapped around the wooden shaft puncturing his skin. He reached for something to hold on to, his fingers scrabbling at the concrete floor until his hand was gathered in Steve's hard grip.
"I've got you," Steve said, his fingers tightening. "Ride it out, Danny, I've got you."
"Okay," Danny panted after a few tense moments, "okay, I'm good, I'm good. You know, of all the things I've wondered about in my life, what it felt like to be a shish kebab isn't one of them."
"We're going to get you out of here, I promise."
An ominous creaking above them was followed by a loud crack as something shifted, raining down more debris. Danny closed his eyes as shattered wood and drywall pelted down on his head, plaster dust coating his throat when he tried to breathe. Steve kept his grip on Danny's hand, using his other hand to shield Danny's eyes instead of covering his own head like a normal person, a detail that did not go unnoticed by Danny.
"That's it," Danny said when the room settled again, "that's it, you're out of here."
Steve removed his hand. "Chin's waiting outside, he'll guide the rescue team. You just have to hold on a little longer."
"Look, you stubborn son of a bitch, I got enough to deal with right now, so worrying about you getting squashed is not helping my current level of anxiety, which, as you might imagine, is a little on the high side right now."
"Well, I don't see that you can do much about it, so why don't you shut up and concentrate on not bleeding on my shirt anymore than you already have."
Danny almost smiled, since the weight of Steve's demand was nullified by the tremor in his voice. "Funny, Steven, very funny. Listen, I need you to do something for me."
"If you're telling me to leave again, you can just—"
"No, no, I'm giving up on that for the moment. I need you to do something for Grace—"
"Danny, don't even go there, anything you want me to do for Grace, you can do it yourself."
Danny concentrated on increasing the pressure of his grip on Steve's hand. This was way too important to let Steve slide just because it made him uncomfortable.
"Listen to me, you gotta do this for me. See, there's this letter—"
"Danny—"
"Shut up and listen, okay? In my top desk drawer, there's a letter, I need you to—"
"Danny, c'mon, you have to stop talking. Forget about the letter."
"Promise me—"
"Yeah, yeah, I promise I'll give it her, just rest, okay?"
"No," Danny sighed, wishing he didn't feel as though he was close to losing consciousness—at least he hoped that's all he was about to lose. The edges of his sight were getting dark and blurry, and that's never a good sign. "Don't give it to her, I want you to throw it away before anyone gets any bright ideas about rifling through my desk."
"Throw it away?"
"Yeah, burn it, shred it, I don't care, I just don't want Gracie getting it."
"Then why did you—never mind, it doesn't matter, you can toss it yourself, right?"
"Yeah, sure." Danny closed his eyes, since the shattered room had decided to start swaying around him. He had no problem admitting he was scared, really truly scared, both for himself and for Steve. This was a situation neither of them could fix or control and they'd have to rely on luck and speed and someone else's training to survive. Danny knew—or he hoped, anyway—that once he was freed from the beam trapping his leg and out of the building, he'd be fine. He'd see his daughter again and he'd finish what he and Steve had started and he'd chase criminals and do all the things he loved—if they just got him out in time.
He felt Steve shift beside him but was too tired to lecture him on putting himself further at risk. When Steve spoke, his voice sounded hollow and far away. "Danny, listen, when this is over, you can walk away, okay?"
"What," he paused to swallow, tasting blood at the back of his throat, "what are you talking about?"
"I read that letter."
"What letter?"
"The letter you wrote to Grace, the one you left in my office that night. I'm sorry, I know it was private—"
"Forget about it." Danny squeezed Steve's hand again. "Shouldn't have left it there."
"Whatever, but Danny, that's why I understand that you need to quit the team. You need to do it for your family. Plus, okay, I overheard you talking to Chin, and you said everything was screwed up. So if you have to leave the team, I get it, just don't—" Steve paused, and Danny rolled his head toward him, opening his eyes once more.
"Don't what?"
Steve bowed his head, resting his forehead on their clasped hands, his shoulder muscles visibly bunching beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
"C'mon, Steve, you—"
"Promise me Danny." Raising his head, Steve looked Danny straight in the eye. "Promise me right now that you won't walk away from whatever it is that's between us."
"Jesus, McGarrett—"
"I know, I know, my timing sucks—"
"No, that's not it, although, yes, it does. Now listen to me, I got maybe thirty seconds before I'm pretty sure I'm going to pass out. I'm not planning on leaving the team, not planning on leaving you, just planning on moving in to my own place so I can stop living like a guy who sells cheap suits out of his suitcase."
"Thank God—wait, you're not quitting the team? Then why didn't you just say so?"
Danny had enough energy left to tug at Steve's hand. "Don't change the subject. Told you I'd felt a vibe, I thought you wanted me out of your space."
Steve rubbed his hand over his face, smearing the dirt and dust coating his cheeks. "You're an idiot," he said. "But apparently, so am I."
"S'why we were a good team," Danny mumbled.
Steve's grip on his hand tightened to a painful level. "Damn it, Danny, you're not a quitter, so knock it off."
"Yeah, that came out wrong." Everything was starting to fade, including the sensation of Steve's hand wrapped around his. He knew that Steve needed to believe that Danny was going to be okay, and Danny wanted to give that belief to him—and that meant no goodbyes. "Gonna have to learn to live without me for a while, that's all."
"Listen to me." Somehow, Steve managed to get close enough in that tight space so that Danny felt his warm breath on his cheek. "I don't want to learn to live without you, I don't even want to know what it's like to wake up in the morning without you, okay? You hear me, Danny? You hear me?"
Danny smiled and closed eyelids that were too heavy to keep open. Even though pain was beginning to penetrate every inch of his body and cloud his thinking, he could feel the warmth—and the promise—behind Steve's words. "I'm punctured, not deaf, you dope."
"And when you're feeling up to it—"
Steve stopped when his phone rang. He'd left it on the floor near his elbow, and now he swept it closer and pressed the speaker button.
''Chin, where the fuck are you? We have to get Danny out of here now!"
"Language, Steven," Danny murmured.
"We've almost made it through the hall, Steve. As soon as they stabilize the door, you're going to have to come out and guide them the rest of the way in."
"Got it. On my way." Steve stuffed his phone in his back pocket. Danny knew what was coming next, so as much as he didn't want to break their connection, he gave Steve's hand a weak shake and released him.
"Go," he said, his voice faint in his own ears. He hadn't been joking when he'd told Steve he was close to passing out, but he had a feeling he wouldn't mind missing the next few minutes. "See you on the outside."
Steve was already scrabbling backward, but he paused to grab Danny's hand once more, squeezing it before letting it go. "Remember what I said, Danno. Remember everything I said."