Archive of Our Own

Danny stands at the edge of the beach, in front of his impending new house, on what he's quickly realizing is the worst day of his life. Worst day so far, at least. He's not sure if that thought helps or not. That worse things could happen. But that list of worse things is a short one. 

Or, more honestly, the only thing on that list is a vague "something permanently bad happens to Grace or Charlie". That's it.  

Yes, the islands could flood or get beset by gangs that would engage in turf warfare and it would be dangerous. But it wouldn't be worse than this. 

Yes, he could lose his home, his job, his reputation, and everything else he owns in one clean sweep to a ne'er-do-well, and it would be humiliating. But it wouldn't be worse than this.  

Yes, his parents or his sisters or Chin, Kono, or Lou could die, and it would be devastating. But it wouldn't be worse than this.  

Because, who is he closer to than Steve? 

Was. Was. Who was he closer to than Steve?  

It's was now. As of an hour ago, when Commander Steven J. McGarrett was discovered dead of radiation poisoning in his bed on the second floor of his house by one, Danny Williams.  

And right now, as Danny waits for the scene to get processed – for strangers to take photos before they remove his body and lab techs to take samples from different surfaces of the house and take his medicine away in a plastic baggie, just in case there was foul play - he watches the waves roll in from the ocean and realizes that he didn't just lose his best friend and partner.  

He's also lost the love of his life.  

After this heavy of a loss, a lot of things feel like they should be impossible.  

Like eating.  

How do you eat when, for the last few years, most of your meals have been a shared experience? Two men at a computer table, talking about exes or sports or college or the old neighborhood or the most recent case, picking apart take out with plastic cutlery or sucking the powder off malasadas, or splitting an order of loco moco, for years.  

This isn't New Jersey. Everything Danny ever liked about Hawaii was a product of Steve introducing it to him in that control freak manner, daring him to try it with that stupid, taunting grin on his face. He doesn't know how to eat here if Steve's not...if Steve's not. The first time he buys Rainbow after the funeral, he tosses it, figuring he's spilled so many tears into his order, it'd be inedible if he tried to choke it down. The second time he makes an order, he literally chokes on the first bite and has to spit it out in between sobs. There isn't a third time.  

And eating is the easy one. He loves food. Loves to cook. 

So how the fuck do you sleep, when for years you've had someone to call in the middle of the night to share a nightmare with and a couch to crash on after a terrible case? Danny's always had bouts of insomnia. Now? He's not sure he ever really sleeps for more than fifteen minutes at a time and only when he's so tired that sleep happens in the blink of an eye. One minute his eyes are wide and burning, the next they're wide and puffy from the tears that spring up at every nightmare. Because every nightmare is about Steve. And every dream is a nightmare, even if it's happy, because the net effect is also tears and not enough rest.  

The basic two things he needs in order to function and they feel impossible without Steve. Everything else? Is harder.  

Things that shouldn't feel impossible, do.  

Like seeing his kids. Or calling his parents. 

Fuck Steve for weaving himself into every corner of Danny's life. Because he can't look at Grace without remembering all that Steve did to make sure Rachel didn't take her away from him, back in the early days. All the things he'd done to make his little girl smile – from teaching her to surf, to volunteering with her Girl Scout troupe, to teaching her to drive. All the things he'd done for Charlie. Fuck. Danny, can't walk into Charlie's bedroom without falling apart. Because it was Steve that hung the racing banners and put the bed together. And, God, Danny loves his mother, but these days, when he calls her, all he hears is the pity in her voice, the tears she's swallowing for his sake. All he can hear is Steve teasing him about saving his parents' marriage or helping him with baking Mom's recipes.  

And fuck, he owns Steve's house now.  

His own house feels hollow and empty and too full at the same time. Everything is a reminder of Steve. For such a skinflint, Steve somehow managed to be the reason for most of Danny's home decor. Either through his controlling influence and opinions that had influenced Danny's furniture purchases or through him dragging Danny all over the islands where he had inevitably purchased tacky knickknacks that he'd then migrated into Danny's house. And, goddammit, but all of Charlie's pictures these days – the ones he draws for Danny to put on his fridge or to frame up onto his walls – seem to be recreations of memories where Steve had played an integral part.  

Danny can't go a step without being haunted by Steve. 

He can't breathe for all the memories.  

He's claustrophobic in his house. In Steve's house too.  

He can't drive his car without his hands shaking.  

He can't look in his closet without hearing that stupid lug's voice. "This shirt really brings out your eyes, Danno." Fuck, his tie rack is enough of a trigger that he throws up the toast he'd tried to settle his anxiously knotted stomach with at breakfast.  

It's just...everything.  

Forget work. He can't go into the office yet. By miracle of all the paperwork Steve had left incomplete and the power of laptops, Danny's been working from home since that day in Steve's house. Where he'd walked in, shouting up the stairs, completely oblivious to the fact that his The End, no happily ever after, was waiting at the top.  

He'd been so convinced he knew what grief felt like, after every The End he'd already experienced in his life.  

With the end of his marriage.  

With Grace, and Meka, and Matt.  

It had never felt like this.  

Just...fuck.  

But life goes on.  

People either keep pace, catch up, or get left by the wayside. Danny's trying his best to not fall by the wayside. So far, his efforts aren't enough. The only reason he still has a job is because of the cover his ohana freely provides with the governor. The only reason his kids don't hate him is because they're both wrapped up in their own grief and 90% of the time, they're with Rachel. He's not drowning himself in vices, like gambling or drink, but otherwise, he's pretty useless.  

The dark circles under his eyes and the ribs you can count along his sides and the paperwork that's piling up are the evidence.  

The inescapable rule of life is that time moves forward. Life goes on. And right now, Danny's not moving with it.  

But he figures he will someday.  

It's inescapable.  

Unless, apparently, you're talking about Steve McGarrett.  

The morning starts out pretty normal. In that the sun rises.  

Otherwise, nothing else is normal.  

Danny gets out of bed feeling completely disoriented. He doesn't know the date. Doesn't recognize the bed he's in. And can't even begin to fathom how he can feel so normal. His eyes aren't burning for the first time in what is definitely weeks. Maybe months. He hasn't been keeping track of time so he doesn't know how long Steve's been dead. The last time he looked at the calendar was the day of Steve's funeral, to make sure he'd be at Steve's house, right on the beach, at the correct time.  

He hadn't given the eulogy. Doris did. And Chin and Kono and Lou spoke a few words. Danny had known better than to open his mouth, well aware that his armor was shattered. He'd either start bawling or his voice would stutter and break, and no one needed to see that.  

His voice isn't rough this morning. He doesn't feel tired or hungry. In fact, it's the knee and his back that raise the most protest as he drags himself to the fridge to check the magnet calendar for clues. He needs at least a time and place.  

Grief is not a good enough reason to be waking up in an unknown location. He hasn't been kidnapped, at least. Not unless someone felt the best place to hide him was in an apartment with a cheap lock on the door and walls so thin, he can hear the morning sex moans of the neighboring couple.  

But the calendar is completely unhelpful. It's outdated, set to the wrong month, and empty of notes. Whoever owns this apartment uses the calendar about as much as Danny does. Begs the question why so many people still bother to go out and buy paper copies when everything important is up in The Cloud.  

A phone rings. The ring tone sounds familiar. Some song Danny used to know back when it was playing on the radio every day. It reminds him of Kono, for some reason. Which is why his voice pitches into a yelp as he recognizes "Kono?" on the other end of the call.  

"Hey Danny, you coming in today, brah?" She asks, convincingly chipper.  

"Do you think that's a good idea?" He asks, trying not to sound too broken.  

"Uh, yeah, Danny. Of course, it's a good idea?" She sounds confused. Maybe there's an expiration date on Danny's reprieve from the office. He honestly hasn't been paying much attention to work. Or maybe they want him to check in? They're still ohana. In the wake of their shared tragedy, it makes sense that they'd want to see him.  

How long has it even been?  

"Ok, I'll be there soon," he says, clearing his throat to keep the tears at bay. The only way he's going to make it in is if he doesn't think about it. He's already checking out, putting the Detective part of his brain into the back corner, as he grabs what he assumes are his clothes off a chair.  

So, he forgets to ask her how she got this number, or if she knows who it belongs to. Which, thankfully he didn't ask, because when he checks the settings, it's his phone number in there. And it's his contact list that comes up.  

Fuck, but he'd been sure that his phone was slimmer in his hand. 

Then again, everything's felt wrong since the funeral.  

So, operating under the assumption that he's in a stranger's home, he dresses quickly in his clothes and grabs his keys, with their familiar dongles, off the table. He considers scribbling a note to the stranger, but if he's had a one-night stand, he doesn't want to hear back from them. Also, he doesn't want to rifle through someone's drawers to find pen and paper.  

Flicking the lock and slamming the door behind him, he exits the apartment like there's hell hounds on his tail onto a familiar street. In fact, this might even be one of the trashy apartment complexes he'd cycled through once upon a time before he'd found a more stable place to live. An odd feeling rises in his gut as he makes his way down the sidewalk, looking for the familiar black silhouette of his car.  

Fuck, but it's not there.  

He could wander around pressing the panic button on his electronic key until he randomly finds his car, assuming no one's stolen it in this definitely reputable neighborhood. Or he could call one of the team, but the shame that rises up at the very thought keeps him from pressing the call button. So, instead, he calls a cab. His wallet is in his pants pocket, with just enough cash for a round trip. 

His head aches as he starts to wonder, on the ride over, if he needs to pick up the laptop from his house and whether or not he'll find his car there, too. The disorientation mounts as he tries to ply memories of last night out of his head. He remembers a harmlessly inoffensive Lifetime movie on the TV last night and cold Chinese food. Innocuous and easy. 

Definitely nothing to explain this morning.  

The cab stops in front of Five-0 and Danny still has no answers. The part of him that's a Pitbull with a puzzle, however, is still dormant. It's hard to care at the moment as he's left staring up at a place so full of memories. He can almost feel the shadow of his best friend as he climbs the steps to the Five-0 offices. He stares at the floor for most of the trip, trying not to take in the details that are as dangerous to him as a finger on the trigger of a gun. He's scared that he'll come apart at the first strong memory. Even though he hasn't looked in a mirror yet and can feel his hair standing up every which way, Danny can't muster up enough care to fix his physical appearance. And, he's pretty sure everyone will forgive him for looking less put together given...just, given.  

But, for all that he believes in being emotionally honest and mature, he's not a guy who cries in public. Mostly because it feels rude – selfish – to make people sad and uncomfortable with his grief, especially when they're mourning the same man.  

So, he ignores the world for a little while longer and walks into Five-0 with his eyes on the ground. It's only been a half hour since he woke up that morning.  

A half hour of either ignoring the world or making assumptions to explain away all the little details that have been pinging his inner detective as warning signs.  

He should've paid attention to the warning signs.  

Because it's early morning, but Five-0 was always run by an early bird. And so, when Danny walks in at eight thirty, hand rustling his bedhead, top buttons undone on the wrinkled dress shirt he'd apparently worn to a one-night stand the night before, without a tie around his neck, the rest of Five-0 is already there.  

Hearing Kono gasp in surprise, Danny sighs heavily at the tiled floor, shoulders drooping even more. He should've looked in a mirror. To think he looks slovenly enough to merit a gasp, Danny feels his cheeks start to heat in shame and embarrassment.  

Fuck, what had he been thinking? They're all grieving. They don't need him walking in like a sad sack into the office. At the very least, he should've spared more than half a thought to Five-0's reputation. How are they supposed to bolster public confidence in Five-0 if its members show up looking like bums after the...just, after. He should've taken a moment to -  

"Danno?" 

Danny's head whips up, all thoughts grinding to a halt.  

Because, what the fuck.  

What. The. Fuck.  

WHAT THE FUCK?!?! 

Danny's heart is a goddamn medieval flail, beating spikes into his chest cavity on each pass. Something terrible is happening to his insides, because he feels both like he's freezing and on fire. Wide-eyed, he's staring at Steve like...well, like he's a ghost.  

He starts to open his mouth, but, instinctively, he knows better than to try and vocalize anything. Because he can't begin to predict what noise he'd make, other than it would definitely sound inhuman. But an animal sound, low and still somewhat controlled, fills the office anyway. Something between terror and panic. It's definitely coming from him. His damn chest's vibrating with sound as it tries to push past his choked throat. 

It doesn't help that Steve's looking at him with a potent mix of worry and fear. His arms are slowly rising, palms outward, like he's going to tame a spooked horse. 

The movement unfreezes Danny, though. And, like a spooked horse, he takes off running. Back out the door. He's already at the top of the staircase as the shock must wear off for ghost-Steve, because behind him he can hear pursuit.  

"Danny!" 

No way.  

"Danny, stop!" 

NO WAY! 

How? How is any of this... Danny gets across the lobby, out the double doors, and nearly to the street before superSEAL tackles him.  

It's no gentle thing. Steve barrels into him like he's a perp. Except, unlike a perp, he aims them for grass and cups Danny's head in one of his overgrown mammoth palms before they make landfall. Dirt goes flying. Danny tastes some of it as he instinctively struggles against the iron bands that are Steve's hold on him.  

"Relax, Danno, or you're gonna hurt yourself," Steve says between adrenaline fueled pants. "I'm not letting you go until you calm down." His voice is smooth and even and so very real. So fucking familiar, it hurts.  

"Let me up," Danny says, trying to twist in Steve's arms. He's not trying to escape. Doesn't ask to be let go. Because, what he needs – what he wants – is to look at Steve. He needs Steve's powerful grip to tighten. Needs to feel the warm, corporeal pressure against his ribs.  

"Not until you explain what just happened, Danno." 

"Just let me turn – " Danny continues to struggle. 

Steve's not getting it. His grip stays tight and unbreakable. 

Although, at the very least, he pulls up so that they're kneeling together, Steve pressed up behind Danny on the lawn in front of their very official looking place of work, which is only the slightest bit better than being sprawled across the lawn, but whatever. Baby steps. 

"Can we please move this inside?" Danny asks, embarrassment winning out over shock and disbelief, as people – with their stupid fucking camera phones – turn to gawk at them. 

"Yeah, sure, buddy," Steve says, tone still carefully calm even as his shoulders stiffen similarly at the unexpected attention. And, unfortunately for Danny, he still doesn't trust him not to sprint off for unexplained reasons since he frog-marches him back inside.  

He's probably right not to trust Danny. His nerves are buzzing, even after the tackle, with the desire to fight or flee. And there's no fucking way he's fighting Steve. His desperate feelings don’t get any better when Steve leads them up the stairs, past Five-0, and straight into a closet. 

It's a dirty trick, given Danny's claustrophobia and, despite everything else, his first instinct is still to chew Steve out for the SEAL tactics he's always oh-so-happy to employ. He wrenches out of Steve's hold on the back of his neck and spins to confront the man, who's already got his hands up in that stupid, horse-calming gesture.  

Except it's not a dirty trick. Now that Danny's getting a good look, the face he's confronted with is years younger than the one he knows. Half a decade too young to know about Danny's claustrophobia.  

What. The. Fuck.  

"S-steve?" He says, hoarsely. 

"Yeah, buddy," he answers, an eyebrow cocked. He obviously has questions. Not as many as Danny, but knowing superSEAL, he'll demand to be answered first. But, for once, he's being patient. Eyes roving over Danny, struggling to read him.  

Fuck. Danny had forgotten this from the early days. It's been so long since Steve looked at him like this. Like he wants to know everything about Danny, RIGHT NOW. Because there's still so much they don't know about each other. His eyes are laser focused. This baby Steve looks like he's operating on several levels. One level watching Danny's facial features and body language. Another level listening to his tones. And a final level mapping words to a motivation. Looking for sources and reasons and other pieces of context. 

It makes Danny want to ruffle his hair. 

The Steve Danny knows stopped looking at him with this much attention because he already knew all Danny's tells and what they meant.  

Danny's not Navy Intelligence, but he's always been good with reading people – Steve best of all. And, even with this younger, edgier version, he can read the things he might have missed back when he hadn't known Steve so well. Like the flare of attraction as his eyes keep dipping down to look at Danny's neck. The guy's resisting a smirk because Danny's not wearing a tie. And even though he looks worried, he doesn't know Danny well enough to identify just how unbelievably out of character it is for Danny to skip even the simple task of gelling back his hair.  

So, he's just guessing that something bad's happened when he steps forward in the tight space and gently palms Danny's shoulders. "Hey, you okay? Why did you run back there?" He asks, still so soft. Surprisingly, there's no suspicion in his tone. Just pure concern. 

"I, uh...woke up this morning..." And that's as far as Danny's explanation goes before he stalls out. What can he even say? Yesterday was normal. The miserably horrible new normal that Danny's life devolved into without Steve. Nothing else happened.  

He didn't wish upon a comet or get on his troubled knees to pray. No one sprinkled fairy dust over him. The most likely explanation is that he's either crazy or dreaming. But no dream has ever felt this real. And, if he'd had a choice, this isn't the version of Steve Danny would have chosen to spend his time with. If he's remembering right, this is the Steve he knew in the first year of Five-0. His hair is longer in the front, curling a bit on his forehead. There's still more Navy than civilian in his shoulders. This Steve hasn't hung with Danny and Grace on the weekends enough to be good with children yet.  

Danny nearly gets lost in looking Steve over, trying to pinpoint where exactly they are together in their history. It's an incredibly distracting position to be in. And, unfortunately, Steven doesn't understand that it's all his fault.  

"Hey," he snaps his fingers in front of Danny's face, patience growing thin as the fear in both of them ebbs away. "What's wrong with you? Are you on drugs?" He leans forward into Danny's personal space to take a sharp sniff. 

"What the hell, you animal!" Danny tries to push away Steve's massive bulk only to have the guy sway forward. Closer. Danny has to remind himself that Steve's not purposely trying to trigger his claustrophobia.  

"I need an explanation Danny. Now would be good," he prompts, rude and bull-headed as always.  

"Well, you're not getting one," Danny decides. "I'm having an off morning and that's all you really need to know about it." He tries to reach around Steve to open the door.  

This closet door opens inward. There's no way to open it with the way Steve rests his entire weight on the door. "Not good enough, Danno. You didn't see the way you looked at me. It's like you couldn't believe I was standing there. But then, why would I be at work on a Tuesday morning? And why'd you run?" He asks, voice getting sharper, a bit of a growl putting edges on the questions. 

Uh-oh.  

Danny knows that tone. Has heard him level that tone at Joe and Doris. Steve hates secrets. He hates lies. And, his military head is probably busy forming military conspiracy theories about Danny. 

If this is a second chance, even if just a temporary one, no way is Danny willing to waste it by having Steve think he's plotting his demise.  

With a heavy sigh, Danny scuffs his shoe against the tile of the janitor's closet. "It's really fucking stupid. You're gonna laugh. And then give me shit," he predicts.  

Steve blinks once, then does a scan of Danny's posture, as if categorizing the genuineness of Danny's slumped shoulders. "Come on, Danno. You've gotta know I wouldn't tease you about something that scared you into running from me. You can tell me the truth."  

Danny resists a snort. He doesn't know what the truth is. For all he knows, this is what happens to dead people. They just relive their lives in parallel universes until they manage to "get it right". Maybe Danny died last night of heartbreak and somewhere on a parallel world, his team is burying him too. So, what he tells Steve is, "I had a very long dream last night. It felt so real that, when I woke up this morning, I didn't recognize my apartment and couldn't find me car. I took a taxi to work. It's stupid to be so shook up after a dream but, there you go." 

"A dream?" Steve scoffs, crossing powerful arms across his chest. 

His disbelief makes Danny wince. It's imperative that Steve believe him. Not because the fate of Hawaii rests on it, or anything. It's purely selfish on Danny's part. He needs his best friend back, for however long he can have him. And he won't if Steve doesn't trust him. Trust is the one thing they've always had, even when they'd been fighting.  

"You said you wouldn't give me shit over this, McGarrett," he says, sharp but serious. The tone immediately catches Steve's attention for how rarely Danny uses it.  

SuperSEAL nods slowly. "Ok, a dream," he repeats, like he's offering the first assumption in a math proof. "What was the dream about?" 

"About our lives. I dreamt about dozens of cases and what felt like every moment in between. I watched my daughter grow up, turn into a teenager. I watched our team expand, people come and go. A lot of bad things happened, but so did a lot of good things. And if the dream had ended a little sooner, I would've been fine, I think. I'd have woken up and been okay with the state of my life. A little house and an ohana of friends that you and your control freak tendencies had put together –"  

"You dreamed about me?" Steve asks, grinning for the first time, part teasing, part flirtation. 

Danny looks up at him with a tremulous smile. "Yeah, you were there for most of it." He can't help the way he swallows hard, or the way his eyes start to glisten beneath the dim closet light. 

"Most of it," Steve repeats sobering. "You said your dream went on too long. Something bad happened in it," Steve guesses, tone expectant. "How did it end?" He prompts when Danny's still too busy swallowing sobs. "Did something happen to Grace?" He asks, eyes getting wide as saucers as he watches Danny slowly start to unravel. 

And Danny can't stop it from happening. He'd been a few dozen therapy sessions, a couple prescriptions of anti-depressants and a midlife crisis away from accepting Steve's death. Even with the man standing in front of him, Danny's still flailing in an ocean of grief, except this time he actually can't swim. Doesn't know how. It's so different than the grief he knew when it was his other partners, or even his baby brother.  

Once one sob escapes past his tight throat and his clenched teeth, the rest gush out like water from a cracked pipe.  

Steve freezes for a moment, before leaping into action. The stupid lug throws his arms around Danny and hauls him into the cradle of his chest. "Shhh," he murmurs into Danny's ear, bouncing a little on his feet like he's trying to sway a baby from crying. "Shhh, it's okay, Danno. It was just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. Just a bunch of synapses firing.  Everything's fine, Danno. Your little girl's okay, and your ohana's okay, and I'm okay," Steve says, having heard not just the things Danny said, but also the things he hadn't said.  

Danny hadn't known this version of Steve had the capacity to help someone in an emotional crisis. The Steve he remembers from early on had been quick to tell Danny to suck it up and stop whining. He distinctly remembers superSEAL offering to hand him a tissue when Danny had gotten misty-eyed over Enemy Mine. So, it's a surprise when superSEAL just holds him tight for a long time, petting at any part of Danny he can reach without jostling their embrace.  

Danny feels the smooth circles against his back and the gentle strokes against his hair and finally begins to relax. "I'm sorry," he says, hoarsely. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I know it was just a dream. But, honestly, it felt like I'd lived a lifetime. And this morning, when I woke up, I really thought..." 

"That I was dead?" Steve guesses, finally putting the pieces together. 

Danny nods into his shoulder. 

"Sorry, buddy. It's gonna take another thirty years of your nagging to put me in an early grave."  

"Don't joke," Danny said, slapping a muscle-packed shoulder before carefully extracting himself from Steve's arms. As much as it hurts to break the embrace, they can't just stay in this closet forever.  

Steve, though, doesn't seem so keen to end their contact. Keeping an arm hooked over Danny's shoulders, he slowly opens the door and leads them out of the dim closet. He walks him all the way to the other end of hall before telling him to "Go wash up," and with a final squeeze, pushes Danny gently in the direction of the rest rooms. 

 Danny doesn't rush. He doesn't want to offer Kono an explanation. Maybe if he takes long enough, Steve will provide one in his stead. He cleans the grit of salt and smudges of dirt from his face and pushes water through his stupid, floofy hair. Unfortunately, he doesn't have hair gell in the office. Briefly, he considers stepping out to go get some at the nearest corner store. And while he's at it, maybe he can pick up his car, which must still be standing outside his rattrap of an apartment.  

But he's too slow to decide.  

Steve shows up a few minutes later to grab him. Apparently, Danny has is supposed to be on the phone with the FBI. He hears pirates, kidnapping, and East coast students before his brain short-circuits because he knows this case. His memory's not crystal on every fact, but he has the distinct recollection of McGarrett using a grenade to open a reinforced door inside a pawn shop. He also remembers Susan, the bus at the warehouse, near the docks.  

And, more critically to Danny, there's a date a few weeks out seared into Danny's memory. The timing can't be an accident. Matt's coming to visit.  

His stomach is a hissing snake pit as he walks out of his office. Everyone looks to him for the update from the FBI. He relays it, much as he did once before. And he listens to Steve give them their marching orders. The same marching orders.  

Danny considers testing it. Or, maybe just keeping his mouth shut. But there was a death in this case. One of the college kids gets killed. And, thinking about the future, he knows this situation is going to come up again and again. He can't force Steve to believe him, but one thing he knows for sure is that he can't keep the information to himself.  

"Uh, Steve...can I talk to you for a minute?" Danny asks, gesturing at Steve's office. 

"Can't this wait, Danny? We've got a case to solve. A bit of a time-sensitive one," he reminds. 

"Yes, thank you, I am aware. Which is why I need to talk to you." 

"I can't give you time off," Steve preempts. 

"Not what I was going to ask you," Danny says, slicing the air with his hands. "It's about these kids." 

Steve squints at him. "If it's about the case, why didn't you bring it up?" He means in front of Chin and Kono.  

"Look, this is quick. I tell you something, you decide whether or not to ignore it, and we move on. Okay?" 

Steve sighs, but nods at his office. "Okay, but you've only got a minute."  

Danny hums, pretty sure that a minute isn't long enough to persuade McGarrett that his mystic "dream" was prophetic and can lead them to the bad guys. Or at least inform them where the bad guys will be, since there's no guarantee the bus is at the warehouse. Or that Danny even remembers where and at which dock said warehouse is.  

So, instead of explaining how he knows, Danny tells Steve what he knows. "Susan is in on it."  

"Susan, the victim Susan? The one we found on the boat?" Steve's disbelief is palpable. "And you know this how?" 

Danny shrugs. "I'll tell you if it turns out I'm right. I'm just saying, keep it in mind. And, we need to make sure the parents don't pay the ransom." 

"Uh, okay, Danny. I know how to run a ransom case, but thank you, as always, for your input. As for Susan, do you have real intel, or are you going off a hunch?"  

It's funny how grief works. Danny had nearly forgotten this feeling. As much as he loves McGarrett, sometimes the guy is so...irritating. "It's not a hunch, Steven. Nor is it intel. Like I said, I'll let you know if it turns out she really is in on the kidnapping. I have a...source...that says she's guilty. But I don't know if this source is valid or not." 

And, dammit, but Danny should have left this can of worms unopened.  

Steve is getting agitated. "A source?" He repeats. "What source? Like a C.I.? Is it Toast?"  

Danny doesn't want to say it, but he knows Steve won't stop and they've got kids to rescue. 

"No, not Toast. It's my dream. My dream is the source. The source is my dream. Okay? Which is why we need to get back to work because I am well aware that a dream is hardly a reliable source." 

Dammit. 

Steve is staring at Danny like he's one of those mental patients standing on a soapbox, screaming about the second coming and holding up a sign saying "THE END IS NIGH".  

"Shut up," Danny stalls Steve's comments with a hand. "I know how it sounds."  

There's an awkward silence before Steve coughs, rolls his shoulders, and says, "Sure, Danny. Still can't give you the day off though." He looks like he really wants to believe that Danny is angling for a personal day, because the alternative is that his partner is a mental patient.  

Thankfully, Danny doesn't have to wait long to find out whether Steve is right.  

The case ends with no kids dead, one set of rich parents properly chastised, and Susan in prison with the rest of her cronies.  

All in a day's work.  

Except Steve is not pleased. He dismisses the rest of the team, manhandles Danny behind closed doors, closes the blinds in his office, and says, command in his voice, "It was intuition."  

"Huh?" 

"Intuition. You intuited that Susan was a perp." 

"You want me to tell you the dream didn't happen," Danny guesses, but Steve is quick to shake his head. 

"No, I believe you had a dream. I'm just saying, after we got Susan off the boat, you went home with a bad feeling about her, went to sleep, had a long dream that felt like real life where Susan turned out to be the bad guy," Steve says, leaning back against his desk, almost proud of himself. Like he's figured out a puzzle. 

"Um, are you asking me or telling me?" Danny asks. "Because, I gotta say, babe, I had to check the calendar today to figure out what year we're in. And I barely remember this case. If you hadn't pulled the grenade stunt in the pawn shop, I'm pretty sure I'd have remembered even less of this case." 

Steve, understandably, doesn't know what to say to that. "Danny..." He trails off, but his face says it all. Danny can hear all the things the guy wants to say. A lot of it reiterates the fact that prophetic dreams are both crazy and impossible.  

Danny nods. "I agree." 

"What, can you read minds too? I haven't said anything."  

"You're making a face. Or a couple faces, but they all pretty much mean the same thing. And, I agree. It is crazy. And, Steve, just so you know, I don't expect you to believe me. I'm not sure I believe me. It's not like I have proof. I tried to write down the broad strokes of my dream – dates, times, difficult cases, difficult perps. Some of it might happen. Other stuff, hopefully, won't happen. In any case, I'll try not to let it happen. But, I don't know Steve. I'm a detective. If all that stuff about butterflies causing tsunamis is true, then maybe any change I make will cause a chain reaction where none of those memories stay true. And I'm planning to make my first change in a week. When my brother comes to visit." Danny has half a mind to just keep talking and slowly edge towards the door. 

Something tips off Steve, though, because his hand shoots forward like a cobra strike, fingers catching around Danny's belt. Around his belt! 

"What are you doing? Let go of me." Danny tries to unhook McGarrett's hand but that just prompts the beast to tug him in close, until Danny's standing in the V of Steve's legs. 

"You're not going anywhere until we get this sorted." 

"I thought it was sorted? We both agree it's crazy. I figured we'd just add it to the other elephant in the room and, every once in a while, I can mention the things I remember, if there are any, during our cases and we can see if any of it pans out."  

"Other elephant?"  

Danny sighs. He should really learn to limit his rants to singular ideas. Otherwise, Steve always seems to bump on the irrelevant or less important parts of his speeches. "Forget the other elephant for a moment babe and tell me, are we sorted?" 

Steve, unfortunately, is shaking his head. "You know, Danno, in Hawaiian, the word for dream – moe uhane – means soul sleep. Hawaiians believe you can communicate with aumakua while you're sleeping and they can give you guidance." 

"But you don't actually believe in all that," Danny says, because really? How can anyone believe in all that spiritual mumbo jumbo. It's ridiculous. It's the twenty-first century! The human species should be past believing in magic. 

Apparently, Steve is a lot more spiritual than Danny gave him credit for. It's Danny's fault for expecting the man to be rational. For all that Steve has an interest in the sciences, Danny still remembers the conversations he's had with him about religions and faith. Typically, those conversations had been brief, both of them well aware of the dangers of discussing religion.  

Today is no different. Steve bypasses all the faith stuff and asks instead for details. "How long was this dream?" 

"Well, I didn't know that I was dreaming. It definitely hadn't felt any less real than this moment does. Who knows, maybe I'm a time-traveler sent back from the future."  

"Okay, what's the last day you remember?" 

"I don't know. I hadn't been looking at the calendar much before I woke up here." 

In frustration, Steve's hand reflexively tugs on Danny's belt, as if in admonishment for being difficult. "Okay, then what year was it?" 

"2023."  

His jaw drops. "Twelve years?!" He swallows hard. "That's a lot of cases." 

"There's so much more than cases in here, my friend," Danny taps a finger against his temple.  

"Do you know what made you wake up?" Steve asks. 

"For the last time, I didn't know I was asleep! I still don't know if I was asleep!" 

"Dream, back to the future, foresight," Steve waves, as if all those things are equivalent. "Doesn't matter what you call it. Just, what's the last thing you remember?" 

Danny knows what Steve's doing. "I know what you're doing. You're looking for a rational explanation. A triggering event. Well, I'm sorry, but nothing special happened on my last day. It was several weeks after you...died. I was wallowing. Hadn't even made it to the bargaining stage. Didn't ask for anyone to turn back the clock. But, here we are. And, twelve years, Steve? That's not a long time. You died young, just like I always said you would. And those twelve years were still a hell of a lot longer than you'd have lasted on your own. It was a minor miracle that you didn't die sooner." 

When Steve rolls his eyes, Danny pinches him hard enough to leave a mark.  

"Ow!"  

"Listen up, you shmuck. I'm not going to let that happen again. Not if I can help it. So, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make plans on how to change our futures." Danny again tries to unhook Steve's fingers from his belt. 

Instead of letting him go, Steve gathers both Danny's wrists into the circle of his ginormous hand. It's not fair that the man's such a goliath. "No, Danny, we will go make plans. If there's any chance your dreams can happen in the real world, we'll work on it together. As a team." 

"Wha – no!" 

Steve is already standing up, like he plans to go round up Chin and Kono. 

"We can't tell anyone about this! Especially when all of this could be the product of a fever dream, like you first said."  

"Relax, Danno, we'll keep it between us until we get a feel for how accurate your dreams are." 

"Dream, singular. As in, likely won't happen again." 

"Like I said, it doesn't matter. We're working on it together. As partners. And we'll see what comes of it."  

Danny's hackles are up, but he's not sure why. This is better news than he'd hoped. He'd thought he'd have to lie to Steve about his...well, memories. Maybe, it's because, once again, Steve's control issues are showing. And, since they'd always been so close, there's plenty of memories in Danny's head that can hurt Steve or take him far away, on preemptive missions to dangerous places.  

And what if he's wrong about things? 

Like Doris being alive.  

It's a road he selfishly doesn't want to travel. Even though he knows he's going to do it. Honesty and trust had built him the greatest partnership of his life. There had pretty much just been one thing that he'd neglected to share throughout all their years together.  

As if he's on the same wavelength, Steve suddenly says, "You said there were two elephants." 

"What?" 

"Two elephants. One was the prophetic dream. So, what's the other elephant?" 

Danny stares up at Steve and, for the second time, he wants to run away. 

Reflexively, both of Steve's grips tighten. The Neanderthal's still holding both his wrists and his belt. "Danno," he prompts, a thumb rubbing a soothing pattern right over Danny's raised pulse.  

"Do we really have to talk about that elephant?" 

"Did we ever talk about that elephant? Or was it still in the room when I died?" 

"In the room," Danny admits.  

"Then yes, we have to talk about it." 

Danny's lips stay glued shut. He feels like he's done enough talking. This elephant is mutual. If Steve wants to talk about it, he can start. 

And, again, Steve surprises him for wanting to discuss that elephant. Since they'd never talked about it, Danny had always figured Steve had hang ups about any feelings he'd had for Danny. Or, is this a different Steve? Maybe his parallel worlds theory is less crazy than Danny originally thought? 

"Thirteen years is a long time to be friends," Steve starts off. "What was it like?"  

Danny shrugs, mostly because he doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't want to choke on the words. Fuck, even the briefest reminder that Steve is gone is enough to wet his eyes. The past few days have been hell as Danny had struggled to sleep. Most days, he'd worked late and been in the office early. Some days, he didn't even leave the office. Partly because his rattrap was disgusting. Too many years in a house have spoiled him. And mostly because, every morning, he's terrified that he'll wake up to find Steve dead again.  

He offers, at Steve's belt shake of a prompt, "There were better and worse years. Bad things happened to both of us, but we got through it in the end. Together." 

"Together...as friends? Or as more than friends?" 

"Come on, Steve. We've always been ohana. Almost from the start. How can you call us just friends?" He asks, but with a lot of injected lightness. 

"You know what I mean," Steve says, dead serious. It's a clear sign that he's not going to let anything derail their conversation. His eyes are laser focused, already trying to read the end of the story in Danny's expression before Danny's had a chance to explain. "You never got together," he guesses, watching for Danny's expression to either confirm or deny. 

But this time around, Danny's too tired to be a coward. "We didn't," he says with naked regret.  

"Why not?" 

"Well, at first, it was probably my fault more than yours. At this time in my life, with Rachel threatening to take away my custody, most of my heart still in Jersey, and a year of being called haole by the cops at HPD under my belt, I was bitter. Angry. Lonely. You were also throwing out some mixed signals. I wasn't sure back then if you were just a natural flirt or if you were actually interested in pursuing something. I wasn't willing to risk what was shaping up to be the best partnership of my life on sex and all the mess that comes with it."  

"When you say, back then, you mean now? As in, right now, I'm throwing out mixed signals?" Steve looks pointedly down at the way they're standing. Intimately sharing space. Touching in ways Danny's never touched guys who were just his friends.  

"Okay, except you didn’t do this the first time around because we never had that episode in the janitor's closet and this conversation obviously never happened. Mostly, I remember a lot of smiles, eye twinkling, suggestive looks, a small personal space bubble, and some back slaps. Maybe an occasional hug." 

"And?" 

"And what?" 

Steve glares at him. "We had personal conversations. I shared things about my family with you. Things I didn't share with other people."  

"What things, babe?" Danny asks, frustrated. "The things you shared with me about your family were personal, yes. But it's normal to share those kinds of stories with friends." 

"Normal, sure. But was it normal for me to share those things with friends? Did Kono know all those things?" 

 "Eventually. And you shared personal things with Lou." 

"Really, Danny? Two people. And, let me guess. By that point, I wasn't like this anymore." 

"What, prickly? All hard edges and convinced you shouldn't express emotions like other human beings? Sure, you were a little bit better later on. But, at this stage, Chin knew them, too," Danny points out. 

"Of course he knew! He was there for most of it, Danny. He worked with my dad. He knew my mom. He went to my high school," Steve says, exasperated. "And still, after all that, you know me better than Chin." 

"Well, we're partners." 

Steve's glare is a little bit frightening. "Danno, you can't tell me that you didn't realize what it meant – me sharing all those memories with you." 

Fuck, Steve's right. Thinking about it now with a clearer head and over a decade of experience with McGarrett, Danny winces. "Actually, I might have. Not gonna lie, it never occurred to me to read it as a romantic overture. I mean, in my family and with most of my Jersey friends, we were all a bit loud-mouthed. Had a tendency to overshare. To gossip. And once I labeled it as a platonic intimacy, I never reexamined it to see if I'd been wrong." 

Steve shakes his head, disappointed. "Well, then it's a good thing we're having this conversation. Wouldn't want to go another ten years of giving you mixed signals." 

"Hey! I still stand by that! Not to the same degree, but still, you were with Catherine. You're still with Catherine. Half the time, I was convincing myself you were staring at me because you thought my tie looked stupid or my hair was messed up. Because what kind of a guy stares like that when he's got a dame?" 

"A dame, Danny? Since when are you a fifties gangster? And for the last time, Catherine and I aren't a thing! We are not together! We will never be toge-" 

"You almost married her!" Danny shouts.  

The silence following his interruption is deafening. Steve's silent disbelief is loudest of all. But Danny's wince at the insensitivity in that proclamation is a close second. 

"Okay, I can't speak for an older version of me, but I'd hazard a guess that you read that one wrong, too." 

"Did not." And another wince. Danny really wants to go back to not sounding like a five-year-old at a playground. It honestly feels sometimes like he's devolving in Steve's presence. He is both his best and worst self around Steve.  

"Let me be the judge of that." He finally lets go of Danny's hands.  

Danny's not sure what prompts the escalation, but he's suddenly closer to Steve again, tugged forward a few more centimeters by the belt loops. Enough that he now has to tilt his head up a bit to meet Steve's gaze. The suspicious part of his brain wonders if this is another SEAL trick of some kind. He definitely feels more vulnerable with his neck curved up. Exposed.  

"Why didn't I marry her, Danno?" 

"She was, I guess, very career-oriented. And I guess the Navy and the CIA were better careers than anything she'd found on the island." 

"I didn't offer her a badge?" 

"You did. But it was your thing. She wanted something of her own. In the end, you never got around to asking." Danny doesn't really want to talk about this and he's tired after the case they just finished solving. Too tired to be craning his neck. He lets his head droop down so he's staring at Steve's collarbone.  

Except Steve is a Neanderthal control freak and he immediately tips Danny's head back up. Sure, it's with a gentle, guiding hand cupped beneath Danny's chin, but still. "It's late," he points out.  

"We're almost done," he says.  

It's such a short sentence, and his Commander tone is a familiar one. Steve uses it all the time when they're at work. Especially during interrogations. It never stops Danny from arguing if he thinks Steve is wrong and they can spare the time. But something about that decisive tone in this setting – maybe because it's Danny being interrogated while Steve keeps his head tipped up, neck bared – makes a shiver roll over his spine.  

"So, I didn't marry her. Was there someone else?" 

"Well, you started dating again, later on." 

"Was it serious?" 

Danny sighs. "I don't think so? You didn't talk about her much. And the few times we went on double dates, they went about as well as the ones we had with Gabby and Cath." 

"Gabby?" 

"Ah, someone I dated for a while. We split when she got a job offer on the mainland." 

"Ok, so our double dates – they were bad?" 

"For us? They were pretty good. For our dates? Not so much. Or at least, if the point was to spend time with us, I don't think the dates met their prime objective." 

Steve sighs. "How is it that we never ended up together?" 

"I guess, the timing was never right. And for all your assurances about Cath, you guys were pretty good together." 

Steve scoffs. "And you'd know that how, exactly? By your own estimation our double dates were subpar. Did you tagalong to my one-on-one dates, then? Run surveillance on us while we were out?" 

"No, of course not." 

"Then what was it about us that was so great?" 

"Um...the missions?" Although Danny's struggling to spin a way Afghanistan was a good thing. His wince, at the angle Steve is still holding his head, is obvious in its negativity. 

"Missions, Danny? Really?" 

"Well, you obviously cared about her. Enough to date her and want to marry her. There was probably a bunch of things I didn't know about you two." 

"Yeah, the classified missions and maybe how we had sex. Did I ever talk to you about sex?" 

Danny can't help his flush. Had Steve always been this blunt? There's something unfettered about Steve right now that seems new. It strikes him as odd that maybe he'd had an effect on Steve back then. That he'd helped shape the Steve that had been twelve years older than this one. That maybe this unfamiliar aspect of Steve had always lurked beneath the surface, an extension of Steve's controlling tendencies. 

For the first time, he can believe Steve had earned his smooth dog moniker.  

Maybe it's having kids. It changes people. Smooths edges or serrates them, depending on what kind of person you are. And Steve had basically been co-parenting Charlie with him. Charlie – the son he doesn't have yet. And, now, if he does this with Steve, will he ever have Charlie again? The pregnancy, back then, had been a mistake. One he'd been free to make. One he'd been eager to make, despite knowing somewhere deep down that he and Rachel were truly over and that a reunion with her was a pipe dream. 

Danny's been quiet too long.  

"What's wrong, Danno?" He asks, finally releasing his hold on Danny's belt. It's not an offer. Danny's still not allowed to walk away. But apparently Steve's tired of having Danny at a distance, little of it though that there is, because he wraps a long arm around Danny's back and hugs him tight. 

It's the perfect remedy for Danny's suddenly somber mood.  

He has to remind himself that he didn't ask for this. But, right now, it feels like he traded his son's existence for this chance. And that's definitely something he never would have done willingly. But, fuck, did he cause this? How is it that he's here? Nothing's free in this world. So, has he unwittingly paid with Charlie?  

He's starting to panic a little at the thought.  

This close, there's no chance of hiding it from Steve. "Hey," he says, straight into Danny's ear. "Tell me what's wrong." It's not a question anymore.  

Danny doesn't resist telling him though. "Remember, I said bad things happened, but there were also good things?" 

"So, am I reminding you of something bad?" Steve asks, all of him suddenly stiff.  

They work in law enforcement. It's a dangerous field that sometimes exacts a high price. And, in a different time in Danny's life, maybe Steve would have been right to worry about triggering Danny. Columbia's prison system had been no cake walk. No one had done much more than beat him and throw disparaging remarks at him inside the prison, but the processing before they'd put him in a cell had been an experience full of gruff voices telling him...yeah, he didn't want to think about it.  

Especially since Steve was wrong on this count.  

Danny nuzzles into a shoulder and explains about Charlie.  

Steve, the rotten bastard, spends all of a second thinking about it, before he nods decisively. "You remember how you two get together." 

Danny frowns. "Yeah?" 

"Then we can break up when the time comes." There's a beat before he notices Danny's stare. "What?" He asks. 

"And you're okay with that? Because, see, I'm not okay with that. In fact, if you did that to me with Cath, I'd be pissed." 

"You're not doing anything to me, Danno. I'm saying, we get together now, just in case - "  

"Just in case what?"  

"In case we don't have twelve years. In case one of those miracles doesn't pull through or one of your butterflies starts causing natural disasters. And then, when the time comes, we break up. You give it an honest try with Rachel, and if it works out, great. We stay friends. All I want from you is one promise." 

Making promises, especially explicit deal-like promises, makes Danny wary. Just the phrasing sounds like he's making a deal with the devil. "What kind of promise?" 

"That you'll stay. In Hawaii. In Five-0. Even if you end up married to Rachel again, don't go back to Jersey." 

Geezus, Steven's abandonment issues are lethal.  

And Danny isn't sure he wants to make this promise. There has to be another way. Maybe if he told Rachel about the dream? Maybe he could make her fall in love with the reality of a tow-headed little boy named Charlie who comes out sick and ends up so strong? They could do invitro. Except why would either Rachel or Stan want that? It's a terrible idea. 

He lets himself breathe a little at the reminder that this whole situation is impossible without some higher power. Some bit of magic that likely goes by the name of fate. 

And if there is such a thing as fate, then one way or another, Charlie must one day spring into being. Or maybe, this second chance doesn't just belong to him. Maybe it's Stan's chance at happiness? Rachel's chance? Danny cuckolding Stan had probably played a part in the end of their marriage. And maybe Charlie had been so sick because of Danny's faulty genes?  

How could he want anything but the best for his son? Even if it meant Charlie wasn't related to him by blood, he'd still be Grace's brother. He'd still love the little boy.  

Again, Danny's been quiet too long. Steve looks absolutely sick, although he's making a valiant effort to hide his hurt. 

"You're an idiot, all your plans are stupid, and I can't believe you worked in Navy Intelligence," Danny says finally.  

Steve's jaw drops.  

Probably because Danny's tone is a lot lighter this time as he explains what he's starting to think might be best for Charlie. "But yeah, provided Grace stays in Hawaii – don't have a heart attack; I'm aware she's going to go to college and possibly move to another state – I won't leave. As for Five-0, sorry babe. I don't plan to die on the job and I'm not going to let you do it either. Someday, we're both going to retire from Five-0 and find nice, safe hobbies to fill our days with." 

Steve's grin is blinding. The goof. He leans in, excited, and gives Danny a big, wet kiss right on the forehead. And then aims another one at Danny's cheek. Then another along Danny's jawline, pausing to rub the scruff on their faces together.  

From Commander to puppy in 3.5. 

It's adorable.  

How had Danny survived without Steve's smile in his life? But he's so tired of crying that he just squeezes Steve tight and gives away some of his own kisses. Until, inevitably Steve turns it into a competition. 

It's with the happiest sigh that he gives up and lets Steve win.