Archive of Our Own

Steve drives the truck while Danny sits in the back holding Charlie’s hand. He knew that Charlie getting his tonsils out wouldn’t be fun, but he hadn’t really been prepared to watch Charlie sob on Danny in post-op. Somehow his own memories of childhood operations seemed less stressful than watching someone else go through it.

Danny carefully carries Charlie into the house and lays him on the sofa. Steve leaves Danny to it, and goes to the kitchen to grab a water bottle with some apple juice.

“Here you go, buddy,” Steve says as he crouches by the sofa. “It’s apple juice. It’ll help settle your tummy better than water.”

Danny turns and raises an eyebrow at Steve.

“I’ve had surgery a few times,” Steve explains with a shrug. “I’ve picked up a couple tricks.”

Danny grabs his hand and squeezes.

“Danny, something is wrong,” Steve announces as he hurries into the kitchen.

Danny blinks up at Steve over his bowl of pilfered sherbert that Charlie had refused to eat earlier. “Like 5-0 wrong, globally wrong, you forgot to pay the water bill wrong? Help me out here.”

“Charlie’s breathing too fast. I counted his breathing five separate times. Each time he’s coming in at over sixty breaths a minute. The internet says the upper end of healthy for his age is thirty.”

“Steve, you can’t WebMD the kid to death. He just had surgery. They said he’d have a fever and fevers mean fast breathing. It’s a kid thing.”

Steve narrows his eyes in a way that Danny knows means that Steve has no intention of listening. “I’m calling the nurses’ line.”

“Okay, babe. I think that’s a good idea,” Danny says. Steve glares but doesn’t pause to address Danny’s obvious opening.

“Do you have the triage nurse on speedial?”

Steve holds his finger up to his lips and turns away. Danny listens as Steve rattles off vital signs and symptoms, and maybe hearing it laid out like that is more concerning that he had initially thought. Still, anything could be made to sound dire if phrased correctly.

The darkening look on Steve’s face, however, couldn’t be caused by just anything.
“I understand. We’ll go immediately. Thank you,” Steve says and cuts the call. “ER now,” he says in Danny’s direction.

Danny tosses the half-full bowl of sherbert in the sink and runs out of the kitchen behind Steve.

The speed at which they are ushered back to a room, ahead of the thirty-plus people in the waiting room, is something Steve has only ever experienced after being shot or tortured. Speed in the ER is reserved for life-threatening situations. But that can’t be the case here. Charlie only has a fever. Steve takes a deep breath and tells himself that they’re just being cautious because Charlie’s so young, nothing more.

Once in the room, Steve tries not to hover, sticking to the back wall out of the way while doctors and nurses look. All he wants is to sit on the other side of Charlie. But Danny’s already over there; he would only be in the way. It occurs to Steve that he probably wouldn’t even be welcome if Rachel weren’t in the UK with Grace. The thought of waiting at home with Grace instead of being there with Danny and Charlie makes him sick. He tries not to be unduly grateful for Rachel’s absence.

He finally gets his chance — once the respiratory therapist leaves, Charlie’s all taped up with a nasal cannula, and the nurse says they’re waiting on orders for an IV — and Steve sits on the foot of the bed and Charlie weakly kicks Steve in the thigh.

“Oh, he’s been fooling us,” Danny declares with a wave of his hand. “He’s clearly fine. Alright, get up. We’re leaving.”

Charlie giggles but it devolves into a gasp and Steve’s watches with horror as the monitor begins to beep as Charlie’s respiration breaks eighty breaths a minute. A second later, a nurse pops in, breezy and smiling like nothing is the matter.

“How’s our boy?” she chirps. Steve has seen SEALs with less nerve. He’s not sure how she’s so calm.

“He tried to laugh,” Danny explains.

She purses her lips and nods. “That’ll do it.”

Steve watches carefully as she turns the knob on the oxygen port on the wall. It goes from 40 to 60 percent, which is a whole helluva lot of oxygen. It’s also not the direction he wants to see her turn the knob, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Instead, Steve turns back to Charlie and bumps his foot, getting a half-hearted kick in response. Steve smiles but honestly he just feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Hi, guys,” the doctor says as he pokes his head in the door. “We got the x-ray results.”

“Can I see?” Steve asks, squeezing Danny’s thigh before hopping off the bed to stand behind the computer.

The doctor nods and sits down at the computer terminal. “Alright, dads. So the long and short of it is that his lungs are inflating fine and there’s no pneumonia. But he’s still breathing too fast which is probably due to a virus like RSV; we'll test for the exact cause later. Your nurse, Kalani, is gonna come back in a minute. We’re gonna get some fluids on board and see if that helps. In the meantime, we’re gonna wait for someone from the pediatric ICU to come do an eval. They have to decide to take him and then he’ll move up there.”

Steve catches Danny’s eye for a moment. The thought of this being serious enough to warrant a PICU stay shakes Steve to his core, and judging by the way Danny’s face loses its perpetual smirk, he feels similarly.

Steve keeps hovering behind the doctor, watching the screen as he loads the results from radiology and swallowing his concern. That’s when he catches the chart.

Acute respiratory failure.

He knows what those words mean separately. Together the definition can’t be too different. He stuffs down the panic that says his little boy is dying and tries to pay attention to the cloudy spots on the x-ray panel that the doctor is describing.

Danny hates needles. Hell, virtually everything in a hospital gives him the willies. Admittedly, it’s not the most convenient given how often a member of 5-0, himself included, is admitted. But in any case, he hates his immediate urge to chicken out when Kalani comes to place Charlie’s IV. He watches with mounting anxiety as they wrap him in a sheet, his right arm pinned inside the sheet.

“Dad, can you hold his arm for me?” Kalani asks.

Danny’s working up the nerve when Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezes, and then scoots up to the bed taking Danny’s spot.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve says encouragingly.

Danny watches how Steve wraps his large tanned and calloused hands around Charlie’s forearm. He wants to bundle Charlie up and get him out of there, take him home, and load him up on motrin until he’s better. This can’t be real.

“Daddy? What’s happening?” Charlie asks while the new nurse scrubs the back of his hand with a alcohol swab.

“They’re gonna give you some medicine, pal,” Steve says, clearly not committing to the truth just yet.

“Is it gonna hurt?”

Even from behind Danny can see enough of Steve’s cheek to see his jaw and neck tense. “Yeah, buddy, it’s gonna sting just a little. One quick poke and it’s over.”

Immediately, Charlie starts crying. “I don’t want a shot. Please, Daddy. Don’t let them!”

“Here we go,” the nurse says and instantly the crying turns to screaming.

Danny understands the horrible perverse need for the sheet now because no matter how hard Charlie struggles, he’s not making any progress.

“I’m sorry, pal. I know it hurts,” Steve is saying, “but this is gonna help you get better.”

“I don’t wanna get better!”

Charlie’s cries mix with gasps and the alarm goes off again. The numbers tick up — his pulse 150 and his respiration 95 — and with each number Danny feels a panic attack creeping in.

“We’re all done, sweetie,” Kalani coos.

The gray around the edges of Danny’s vision makes it hard to see, but Steve doesn’t appear to be holding Charlie down anymore, so much as just holding him.

“You want your Danno?” Steve asks, and somehow Danny manages to get back on the bed with Charlie. As soon as he sits, Charlie is crawling into his lap, crying and burying his face against Danny’s chest. His anxiety isn’t gone, but holding Charlie, feeling him close and whole, even if he’s feverish and breathing far too fast, it soothes the part of his brain that’s nothing but adrenaline and alarm bells.

Steve is honestly surprised Danny doesn’t have a full-blown panic attack when they move to the PICU. As soon as they hit the doors, five nurses and three doctors swarm the bed doing assessments and fiddling with oxygen levels and monitors. Of course, Charlie’s vitals spike accordingly, and Steve’s anxiety along with them.

As soon as the crowd thins, Danny crawls back into the bed where Charlie snuggles up against him so Steve takes the chance to go chat with a nurse.

“So, uh, how’s he doing?” Steve asks. He hates the uncertainty in his own voice.

The nurse smiles a little thinly. “He’s having to work really hard to breathe. You see the tracheal tugging and the belly breathing? He’s on high flow O₂ to help him, but he’s pretty sick.”

Steve stares at her. “Be honest with me.”

She sighs and turns to look at Danny and Charlie all curled up together. “If he hadn’t just had a TnA-” The nurse seems to notice Steve’s raised eyebrows and kindly translates. “Tonsils and adenoids. If he hadn’t just had that surgery, we’d probably intubate. The surgical site presents a high risk for a bleed.”

The thought of Charlie sedated and intubated makes him start to choke up. Steve swallows compulsively to keep his composure. “So what’s the plan?”

“Watch and see. The doctor wants to let it play out, see if he can make it out the other side of this virus without ventilation. We’ll intervene if he starts to desaturate or he fatigues.”

Steve stares intently at the nurse. “That’s the doctor’s plan. But you’re here more, nurses often know more than they let on. What do you think?”

The nurse looks assessingly at Steve. “I’ve seen a lot of kids like this. I think our plan is the best we can do for him right now.”

Steve nods and stands in the doorway staring at Danny and Charlie. It feels unreal, like it can’t be his kid and his family being dragged through this. It’s unreal in the way that Freddie dying was unreal. After so many missions, so many stupid and dangerous situations, it didn’t seem real that Freddie could actually not make it out. But the knowledge that he did die reminds Steve that he and his family are not immune to tragedy. It’s a thought that makes his chest ache.

Desperate to have Charlie’s continued existence reaffirmed, Steve strides back toward his little family and sits on the foot of the bed. Charlie blinks and looks at Steve, but there’s no more playful kicking. Steve forces a smile onto his face.

“I just talked to the nurse, bud. You’re gonna be fine.”

Charlie blinks and rolls his face into Danny’s chest. When Steve looks up, Danny’s staring at him, a look of panic and despair on his face. Steve knows he has to tell Danny at some point, but now is not the time. Maybe, with any luck, it won’t ever be that time.

It’s eleven at night and Danny can’t take it anymore. He knows he’s allowed a break, Steve is right there for Charlie, but he feels guilty as hell that he can’t handle it. Charlie’s breathing so hard and Danny can see him getting weaker. The fear that any minute, Charlie’s going to be too tired to keep trying makes Danny’s breath come quicker as he hurries out of the PICU and down the hall to the family area.

He’s got to get a grip on himself, he’s got to. Charlie needs him. Hell, Steve probably needs him, though he’ll never admit to it. But Danny can’t get his head to cooperate. There’s something Steve isn’t saying, something that’s been bothering since they were in the ER, and whatever it is that’s got Steve scared has to be bad enough that Danny isn’t sure he wants to know.

Danny sits down on a puke green chair in the family room and then promptly stands back up. His skin is crawling. He needs to be with Charlie, but he can’t help unless he can calm down. He runs his fingers through his hair, grabbing and pulling at the base of his skull. It does something to alleviate the sensation that he’s going to actually fall apart, but it’s not enough.

Willing to do whatever he has to, Danny turns and heads out to the Camaro for the bottle of klonopin he keeps in the glovebox. He hates the way he feels on it, hates that he needs it to function sometimes, but this isn’t about him. Shakily, he gets the cap off the bottle and shakes a tablet into his hand. He dry swallows, jams the pill bottle in his pocket, and makes his way back up to the PICU.

When Danny walks into Charlie’s room, Steve knows something’s up. Danny’s looser, his breathing slower, the faint tremor in his hands from earlier is gone. When Danny takes the pill bottle out of his pocket and tosses it into their overnight bag, Steve understands.

“How’s he doing?” Danny whispers.

Steve looks at Charlie’s sleeping form and then up at the monitors. “Pretty bad.”

Danny sags onto the fold out chair that pretends to be a bed. “How bad?”

“The nurse and I talked while you were out, she said he’s starting to fatigue, and they’re not sure he’s got the stamina to last out the virus without help. They’re talking about putting him out and intubating.”

“Fuck.” It’s a testament to how off-kilter their entire world is that Danny doesn’t elaborate further. It’s one more thing that makes Steve’s eyes water.

Charlie shifts in his sleep and his breathing spikes, jumping up to 115. The alarm on the monitor goes off again, which is blaring more often than not at this point, and the nurse comes over to check his breathing. It’s gotten to the point she’s staying in the room now. Steve’s glad she’s attentive, but hates Charlie being the focus of that.

By the time she’s done listening to his lungs and checking his temperature, his respiration is back down into the 80s. Watching Charlie is like holding his bare hands over a gunshot wound — nothing he does slows the inevitable and Steve is forced to sit there, watching and ultimately failing. The helplessness is overwhelming.

Danny reaches over and puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Go grab a bite to eat and take a shower. I got him for a while.”

Steve nods, not trusting himself to keep it together if he were to open his mouth, and then stands to gather his stuff from the overnight bag. When he turns to go, Danny is standing in his way.

“Come here, you big idiot,” Danny orders. His opens his arms, motioning Steve in for a hug, and Steve goes without even thinking. “I love you.”

Steve sniffles, determined not to outright cry in front of the nurse, even though she’s undoubtedly seen much worse.

“I love you, too, Danno,” he finally manages.

When the day shift finally comes on, Steve and Danny have netted a cumulative three and a half hours of sleep between them. Thankfully, PICU comes with endless caffeine for parents so they’re wired, which for two guys used to gunfights, is probably worse than just being tired because everything feels like a threat. Or at least it does to Danny, there’s no telling what in the hell is going through Steve’s SEAL brain.

After rounds — when the PICU doctors, ENT, and the respiratory therapist all bring up intubation again — Danny wishes he hadn’t had so much coffee because another klonopin would probably be in order. Instead, he lets Steve trade places with him on the bed with Charlie, and he moves over to the sofa-bed contraption. He puts on the noise-cancelling headphones Chin brought them, sits cross-legged, and closes his eyes.

Box breathing to calm a panic attack isn’t something he’s ever enjoyed and it had taken years of practice to really get anywhere with it, but it works. Danny’s winding down, getting a handle on his racing heart and too-tight chest, when the blare of the monitor cuts through the music on his headphones during a quiet moment. Suddenly, instead of calming himself, Danny feels like he’s counting breaths, like he’s hovering over Charlie and watching the skin between his little ribs suck in with each ineffectual gasp. His fear spikes and his breath comes fast and shallow, just like Charlie.

He’s gonna take this to the hall, but before he can even pull the headphones off, Steve is sitting next to him, gently sliding the headphones back on, and rubbing his shoulder.

“The alarm,” Danny manages to get out, again pulling the headphones so he can hear Steve speak.

“He’s still tachy. It’s nothing new and the nurse is right here. He’s sleeping, though. Look, I got this, Danny. I’ll let you know if something changes, but take a break.”

I got this. Like Steve could do a goddamn thing if this went south. South-er. More southerly. Whatever. But neither can Danny and freaking out won’t help a goddamn thing. He breathes out, closes his eyes, and tries to let the sensation of Steve rubbing his shoulders ground him enough to calm his racing heart. He tries not to think about how long it’s going to take to achieve that.

The red clock on the wall reads 0504 and the glass door to Charlie’s room slides open. Steve’s been hospitalized enough times to know what a nurse poking her head in at 0500 means — morning blood draw. Steve crawls off the sofa where he already wasn’t sleeping, and goes over to trade places with Danny.

“Hey, Danny. They’re gonna need to stick Charlie. Let’s swap.”

Danny blinks a few times and stares at the nurse before nodding blearily. “Yeah, okay.”

Charlie whimpers in his sleep as Danny moves away, but Steve slides up behind him and he settles again. Steve rubs Charlie’s back slowly, his skin hot under his palm, while the nurse ties the tourniquet and swabs the back of Charlie’s hand.

“Sometimes, when they’re this sick, they don’t really seem to care,” the nurse quietly informs him.

Steve nods and wraps his hands around Charlie’s forearm and wrist. It’s easy to forget just how small and vulnerable he is when usually Charlie is a personality that takes up the whole room, not unlike Danny.

“Here we go,” the nurse warns.

Steve watches, and the moment she punctures his skin, Charlie jerks. “Ow, Danno!” he whines

“Shh, it’s almost over,” Steve soothes. “Hang in there, buddy.”

Unsurprisingly, Steve’s words make no difference in the amount of screaming and crying that follows, and the alarm goes off while the nurse fishes around for a decent vein. By the time the nurse sticks the bandaid to the back of Charlie’s hand, the monitor is blinking four separate warnings, none of which can be addressed with anything that they aren’t already doing.

“Come here, buddy. I got you. I know that hurt. I’m sorry,” Steve says as he bundles Charlie against his chest. Charlie doesn’t respond, instead burying his face against Steve’s day-old t-shirt and sniffling.

Steve runs his fingers through Charlie’s hair and breathes through his nose. His heart is racing like he’s just run a 5.5-minute mile and his body twitches with the need to do something, anything. Instead, he watches the digital clock above the bed and counts Charlie’s breaths.

Mark, the respiratory therapist, comes by again after rounds and listens to Charlie. He and Steve both encourage Charlie to cough, but nothing comes of it. Mark eyes the oxygen concentration and flow rate, but doesn’t adjust anything.

“I’m gonna listen again, but I think suctioning him would be the best way to open up his airway,” he explains. Danny can tell by the guy’s tone that it’s not something any of them are going to enjoy. “Don’t worry. I’ll lube up the catheter real well.”

Danny’s now entirely sure that he doesn’t like where this is going, and that feeling is verified when Mark pokes his head out of Charlie’s bay to call for a nurse to assist. The nurse who comes brings an extra sheet that she lays over Charlie’s arms; it’s obvious, after their go round in the ER, that this is going to suck. No pun intended.

“Dad, you got his feet?” Mark asks.

Danny swallows. “Yeah, I got him.”

Steve, from his place on the sofa, raises his eyebrows like he’s asking if Danny needs an out. But that wouldn’t be fair. Steve’s done the hard stuff so far, he ought to get a break.

“Alright, pal, this isn’t gonna feel so good,” Mark warns.

The nurse lies over Charlie, her elbows on the outside of his arms, pinning him to the bed with the sheet. Her hands hold either side of Charlie’s head. The little tube, which is longer than Danny is sure is entirely necessary, slides into Charlie’s nostril. He screeches like a raccoon in a cat fight and thrashes against the bed. Danny is both pleasantly surprised to see how much fight Charlie can put up, and also horrified that he’s willing to expend this much energy when earlier he couldn’t even sit up unassisted.

The tube goes in and out, in and out, at one point curling and coming out of Charlie’s mouth in a particularly rough cough. Danny recoils when the tube starts sucking bloody mucous. There’s no way that it isn’t coming from his surgery sites and it has to be agonizing.

Finally, after another minute of parent-assisted torture, Mark stops, withdraws the tube, and the nurse eases off, taking the sheet as she goes.

“All done, little guy. Let’s listen to those lungs again,” Mark says, obviously nonplussed by Charlie’s continued wailing.

The monitor angrily reminds them that Charlie’s tachycardic, his blood pressure is too high, his oxygen saturation is too low, and he’s breathing too fast. Danny wants to shoot the goddamn thing because absolutely everyone on the ward has to know that by now and he just wants the beeping to shut up.

“Yeah, he sounds significantly better,” Mark informs them. “Hopefully, we won’t have to do that again. I’ll be back again in four hours to check on him.”

Danny can’t bring himself to say anything polite, instead snuggling into the bed and pulling Charlie, sobbing and tear-streaked tight against him. Thankfully Steve — much to the surprise of the inhabitants of the State of Hawaii — manages to remember how civility works.

“Thanks for your help, Mark,” Steve says as Mark leaves.

“No problem. I hope he gets to feeling better”

Even regularly working around the clock, Danny hasn’t been this drained by a 24 hour shift in a long time. Still, he’s not holding out any hope for rest just yet.

That morning, the code alarm blares nearly every hour, sending hordes of nurses hustling down the corridor; not to mention making Steve’s blood pressure sky high. Steve doesn’t ask and the nurses don’t tell, but he knows it’s the same kid — always the room three doors down.

On his way out for lunch and a shower, Steve catches a glimpse of the room in question. The patient turns out to be a tiny little baby, not more than a few weeks old, and her parents are huddled worriedly around her bed. The decorations on the glass door tell Steve that her name is Michaela and they indicate that she’s been there for longer than just a few days.

He heads to the shower first, getting Charlie’s fevered sweat off and putting on new clothes. It’s refreshing but he still can’t help think of her — smaller than Charlie by a mile, adrift in the adult size bed in a sea of wires and tubes, leaving little space for a parent to snuggle her like he does for Charlie. He thinks about her through lunch, barely tasting the weird spam-pasta concoction that the hospital is passing off as food.

As he walks to Charlie’s room, he dares a peek at her room, as though her continued existence somehow assures Charlie’s. But the lights are out, all the decorations are gone, and her family is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey Lexi,” Steve asks one of the nurses, “did they move Michaela?”

Lexi’s face falls and she shakes her head. “She passed about a half hour ago.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can manage and he stands there a bit dumbfounded. Lexi looks at him pityingly, and gently takes her leave. For a moment, Steve stands there in the middle of the corridor like a rabbit staring into oncoming traffic. Then, all at once, he gets himself together enough to turn and walk back out.

Steve found the chapel by mistake when he overshot the cafeteria on his first hunt for food, and it’s the only place he can think of off the top of his head that will be semi-private and very likely uninhabited. By the time he sits in a pew, there are already tears dripping off his chin. Charlie isn’t as small or delicate as Michaela, but in that adult sized hospital bed with wires and tubes coming off of him in bundles, Steve feels then like maybe six isn’t anymore bulletproof than three weeks.

The urgency Steve feels is more than just Charlie suffering. Charlie could die. In fact, the entire reason there’s a nurse posted in his room 24 hours a day is because they’re worried he’s going to take a turn for the worse at any moment. It could be Charlie’s empty room with the lights off next, and Steve knows that the only thing separating them from that fate is luck.

Fear and despair wash over Steve and he wants nothing more than to rush back to Charlie’s room and gather them both into his arms. But Charlie can’t see him losing it like this, and neither can Danny. Steve puts his face in his hands and cries until he’s too exhausted to continue. It’s not a solution to the problem; it’s hot-fix, and Steve has spent years running on caffeine, adrenaline, and hot-fixes to shitty situations. He wipes his eyes, pilfers some tissue for his nose, and heads back. The fight might hinge almost entirely on luck, but that doesn’t mean Steve’s going to sit this one out. He couldn’t even if he wanted.

It doesn’t take any of Danny’s detective skills to know that Steve has been crying and pretty hard from the looks of it. Danny, for all the merciless shit he gives Steve, has no intention of pointing it out; instead he scoots off the bed and offers Steve his place. Steve smiles sadly and toes off his running sneakers as he slides into bed. Charlie shifts and then lays his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Danny doesn’t miss the way that Steve’s breath hitches or how he bites his lips to muffle the sob that tries to escape. It’s something that Danny loves about Steve — how deeply he feels for the people that he’s chosen to love. Danny feels some level of expectation about his love for Charlie because he’s biologically his (of course, Charlie isn’t hard to love — he’s an amazing kid). But Steve has never owed them that and yet he’s always been all in, both for Danny as well as Grace and Charlie. Sometimes the force of Steve’s love is a little overwhelming, and it is especially so right now when Steve’s love is also the source of his obvious fear.

It’s three days before Steve really realizes that Charlie’s improving. For what felt like an eternity, a respiration rate of 85 was their normal, hell even their good. Then, it was 70. Then, 60. Finally, it’s 50 and Steve realizes that Charlie’s heart rate has dropped to 110. It’s still too high but he’s not tachycardic. He’s not sure when that happened.

The nurse, who had been present 90% of the time, now only checks in every hour. The shift in constant companionship is strange. Not because he misses their presence — he has Danny — but because he had gotten used to them being there as if something were imminently going to happen. Steve hasn’t figured out how to come off high alert, but it seems like he’s the only one.

But then there’s Charlie who’s with it enough now that he can talk a bit without choking or gasping. He’s even enjoying TV and wrangling the remote from Danny when he’s not paying attention.

It’s takes him half the day to piece all those things together — enough moving parts for it to sink in that he’s on the road to recovery — and when he does, the exhaustion hits like a ton of bricks. He’s slept six or seven hours since they brought Charlie to the ER. Most of his nights have been spent watching monitors or listening to Charlie breathe. He’s only taken the time to sleep when he knew Danny would be awake, and even then he didn’t allow himself more than an hour or so at a time in case Danny or Charlie needed him. But now, the emergency is over.

Charlie’s still not well, but the urgency just bleeds off of him. Even though it’s just after the morning shift change and the whole ward is lit up like a runway, Steve can’t help but sleep.

Danny has never once in his damn life been good at waiting and he will be the first to admit that. He hated waiting for Grace to be born, not that he wanted her to come early; he just wanted her here now. He hates, with a fiery passion, waiting during stakeouts. He hates waiting to see if Steve survives his latest hairbrained scheme to get them all blown to smithereens.

But goddamn he has never hated waiting in his entire life like he hates waiting on Charlie to be okay. Every fiber of his being rebels against sitting and waiting. Danny knows Steve is only good at it because he’s been trained by the Army to hate life and anything that makes it worth living, because god in heaven Steve has no patience whatsoever when it’s not required for a mission of some sort.

So it hits Danny with sudden clarity when he sees Steve sleeping on the sofa in their room. Steve has turned down not one, but two cases from the governor — hell, he even violated a direct order to report in — because he couldn’t be convinced to leave Charlie. Danny knows the look Steve’s been wearing — not the fear, but the determination. Steve was treating this like an op.

And now he’s asleep.

Danny takes a moment to assess and it hits him that he hasn’t updated Rachel or Grace since they first came to the ER. It had been the sanitized version — he’s got a fever, he’s breathing a little fast, they want to watch him and get some fluids in him — but he hadn’t bothered to go into detail. Rachel had taken Grace to the UK for a couple weeks since school was out for the summer. There was nothing they could do from there and Danny hadn’t wanted to worry them into coming home prematurely. Now he knows he needs to call and he has no idea what in the hell to say.

“Hi, Rachel. It’s Danny. Charlie is still in the PICU, by the way they put him in the PICU three days ago. He’s still in bad shape but he’s not going to die. I mean, it looked like he was, but he’s not now so no worries.”

That’ll go over like a lead balloon. But Rachel deserves to know and Grace has to be worried about her little brother.

“Hey, buddy. Uncle Steve is on the sofa right over there alright? I just need to step out and make a call, okay?”

“Okay,” Charlie says in between breaths.

Danny isn’t sure what he’s feeling as he slides out of bed, taking his phone and his ID badge with him. Numb is probably the best description there is.

Once Danny gets Rachel on the phone, however, she is not numb. She is sobbing hysterically and screaming at Danny between sobs for not letting her know the severity of everything sooner. Eventually, she winds down and Danny sags into the puke green chair in the family room.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. I’ve been so focused on Charlie. I haven’t left since we got here, and I haven’t really slept either. I didn’t do it to spite you Rachel. I’m not like that. He’s your son, too.”

Rachel sniffles. “I know, Daniel. I do know that. I’m just extremely worried. Are you sure he’s going to be okay?”

“The doctor said he’s over the worst of it. They think fluids and oxygen until he’s better is all it’ll take. They’re thinking a few more days before he can go home.”

Danny can imagine Rachel nodding the way she does when she’s — rarely — at a loss for words. “Okay, Danny. Okay. Should we come home?”

Danny runs his fingers through his frizzed up hair and sinks further into the chair. “No, I don’t think there’s anything it would change. By the time you get here he may even be out of PICU. They’ve been making noises about that; not now but in the next couple days.”

“Alright, I trust you, Daniel. But will you please update me more often than this? I’m halfway around the world from my son and I’m relying on you to keep me in the loop.”

“No, I know, Rachel. I do. I will.”

There’s a pause and Danny readies himself for whatever tirade she’s decided to embark on now that they’ve cleared that up. Instead she says, “You sound tired. When did you last sleep?”

“Uh,” Danny stammers, a little blindsided by the direction the conversation has taken. “A couple hours last night. About like that every day.”

“Where’s Steve? Can’t he relieve you long enough to sleep? Surely, the State of Hawaii won’t be reduced to roving gangs and cartels overnight,” Rachel asserts.

“He’s been here the whole time. He only just fell asleep. I don’t think he’s slept at all since we came.”

“Danny.” This time her voice is soft, and Danny remembers what it was like a decade ago when they still loved one another. This is the wrong time to dredge up those hurts because his first reaction is to tear up. God, he needs a break. “Both of you need to rest. Please take care of yourselves. Charlie needs you but you can’t do anything for him unless you take care of yourselves first. You’re both good fathers for him, but neither of you can do everything all the time. Don’t be dense about this, Daniel. One of you has got to get some sleep eventually.” Her voice is patronizing, reminding Danny of the many times she explained something simple in painstaking detail, as though Danny were incompetent or unable to carry out basic tasks.

Angrily, Danny brushes the tears out his eyes. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, but Steve is sleeping. Currently. So in a few hours, when lunch happens and he gets up to eat, I’ll take the chance to sleep. Interestingly, and you might remember this, my job does involve long hours and periodic sleep deprivation. I know how to handle the situation.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful, Daniel. You don’t have to act so affronted by a reasonable suggestion.”

Danny threads his fingers into his hair and grips tightly. She’s angry. But then so is he. If he were feeling slightly bigger, he’d admit that maybe she’s projecting. As it is, all he can muster up is to mentally call her a bitch.

“You know, you’re right. I definitely shouldn’t be so riled up by you explaining to me how sleep works. That’s a totally reasonable thing to be explaining to a forty-one year old man, especially when said man is your ex-husband. But yeah, no, you’re totally right, Rachel. I don’t know how I’ve continued to function without daily doses of your wisdom in my life. I will go sleep immediately. Thank you, Rachel, for your help.”

“I was trying to be nice, Daniel, but if you can’t handle civility then you can piss off!” Rachel shouts.

“I think I will, thanks!” Danny shoots back and cuts the call.

Danny lets himself sink back in the hellishly uncomfortable chair for a moment while the inevitable rage of talking to Rachel wears off. He hates the way she never assumes that he’s competent, focusing on his failings in this situation rather than how hard both he and Steve have been working to keep Charlie feeling comfortable and well loved. He doesn’t deserve her bullshit, he knows, but he’s too tired to really think past that. He allows himself another minute and then drags himself out of the chair and staggers back to the ward.

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

Steve peers down at Charlie who’s been awake but quiet all morning. “Yeah?”

“My stomach hurts.” The plaintive tone in Charlie’s voice is jarring. Charlie is too playful, too strong-willed to ever whine.

Steve squeezes tight on Charlie’s shoulder. “Let me go talk to the nurse, buddy.”

Charlie nods and turns up the volume on SpongeBob. Steve ignores the ridiculous show because terrible cartoons don’t count when you’re sick, and hopes desperately that another program comes on by the time Danny finally wakes up.

Out in the hall, Charlie’s nurse, Anna, is pecking away at her computer.

“Hey, Anna. Charlie is saying he’s hungry. Can he get something to eat?”

Anna clicks over to another tab and Charlie’s vitals pop up on the screen. She looks for a moment at his current vitals and then at the 24-hour trend. “I don’t think the doctor would approve that right now. His breathing is still elevated which presents a risk on its own as it increases the risk of aspiration while eating or drinking. But that aside his oxygen is still on high flow; he’s getting 8 liters a minute. That volume of oxygen puffs up his stomach. Putting food in there can cause reflux and lots of burping, and again that increases the chances of aspiration. I know the poor guy probably has a tummy ache, but it’s just not safe for him to eat or drink right now.”

Anna looks sympathetic and Steve’s seen her with Charlie, he knows she’s gentle and kind. But in the moment he’s angry. He takes a deep breath and then nods.

“Okay, I’m glad you’re looking out for that risk. Thanks, Anna.”

She smiles gently, like she knows he’s pissed but doesn’t hold it against him.

Steve slides back into the bed with Charlie and sighs. “No food right now, buddy. We’ll talk to the doctor later, though, and see.”

Charlie pulls a face and wriggles under Steve’s arm. He doesn’t complain and Steve doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. One thing Charlie doesn’t do is give up without a fight, so he’s got to be exhausted if he’s not willing to press the issue. Steve doesn’t know if he can be any more worried than he already was. Instead, he just manages to feel awful.

Steve stands squared up to the doctors that have come by for morning rounds and Danny’s worried that maybe Steve is going to make an unnecessary scene.

“He’s been NPO for nearly five days,” Steve argues back, already having picked up the term for not eating or drinking. “Three days here and then about six hundred calories total from the time he got out home from surgery until admission. He can’t survive on dextrose and electrolytes forever.”

Danny had listened to Charlie whine and ask for food and water earlier. Maybe Steve’s not making an unnecessary scene.

“I understand your concern, but his breathing is still too fast and his O₂ is still at six liters. His risk of aspiration is too high. If he had a central line-”

“Like a PICC?” Steve interjects. “That seems a little invasive for a few more days NPO.”

“Right. That would be the easy solution if he had one. But he doesn’t and we’re not going to place one. If he’s not able to eat by morning we’ll place an NG tube.”

Steve nods and his offensive posture eases into something less threatening. “Alright. As long as there’s a plan to get some nutrition in him soon. I really think some more calories would benefit his recovery.”

The doctor nods. “I agree completely. I just don’t want to put him through the trauma of an NG tube if he doesn’t need it. They’re uncomfortable enough as it is but with the recent TnA he’d be in a fair amount of pain.”

Danny tends to agree. When they did the bone marrow transplant a couple years ago, Charlie had been really nauseated. There’d been a PICC for a while, but when it was time to transition back to food Charlie hadn’t been able to keep it down. The solution had been an NG tube that reached down below his stomach. Danny understands Steve’s concern but emotionally he just can’t bring himself to side with Steve, not after that hell.

There’s a little more talk about Charlie’s oxygen saturation and pain management — his throat is still hurting enough to keep him on a schedule — but no one brings up intubation again. When they finally move on Danny leans against the door jam outside the room.

“You alright, Danno?” Steve asks hesitantly.

Danny nods before the question actually catches up to him. Then, he shakes his head. “It’s not that you asked about an NG tube. I know you’re more interested in what gets Charlie feeling better and home, and I know you’re willing to do what that takes, even if it’s awful. But you didn’t see him before, when he had one. He was miserable, kept pulling out. I mean he was four so granted he didn’t have any sense and he’d probably behave a lot better now. I just, I don’t want to have him go through that again. I know in the long term it’s not the worst thing, especially if it gets him better- Fuck. I don’t-

“God, this whole thing; it just reminds me of when I first really met him, when he was in isolation for the bone marrow transplant. He was so sick and so miserable with all the drugs they had to put into him to get him ready. And I remember being there with him when all he wanted was Stan and Rachel. I had to help hold him down for blood draws and the NG tubes. I swear he hated me for the next two months. I was suddenly this guy who’s supplanting Stan and also hurting him, and now I just-”

Steve moves into Danny’s space, puts his hands firmly on Danny’s upper arms, and dips his head until he’s at the right height to look into Danny’s eyes. “Hey, hey. Calm down, Danny. It’s not going to be like that, okay? I know this sucks. All of it sucks, but the docs and nurses have all said he’s on the upswing. We’ll probably be here another week, tops. And they’re going to see if he can eat tomorrow first. The NG tube doesn’t have to be a thing. And even if it does, Charlie’s tough. Yeah, he’ll be miserable but if he’s hurting too much we’ll ask for stronger pain meds. He’s not going to suffer in uncontrolled pain for days, Danny. I wouldn’t let that happen and neither would you.”

Trust Steve to make an NG tube seem like a minor stepping stone in this whole fucking disaster. The thing is, Danny knows he’s right. The NG tube would suck, but it wouldn’t the worst thing to happen. Charlie hates getting his shots and insists it’s child abuse, but like a lot of things in childhood, it’s not really the end of the world no matter how much he dislikes it. Danny leans into Steve, getting a very committed Steve hug for his efforts. He breathes and tries to let his trust in his partner override the memories of Charlie’s past illness, but it’s a hard sell.

The IV pump begins beeping shortly after 0600. Half-asleep, Steve stumbles over to unkink the line. It only takes a second for him to realize that the problem is not what he expected. Charlie’s rolled a complete 360 in the bed, the IV line wrapped entirely around him. When he shifted, he pulled the IV completely out despite the splint and the copious tape.

Steve presses his thumb to the seeping puncture on the back of Charlie’s hand and hits the nurse call button. A moment later Logan pops his head in.

“What’s up?” Logan asks quietly.

“Charlie rolled over and DC’d his IV.”

Logan frowns and throws on a smock and mask. Steve had already clamped the IV line to stop it from pouring out onto the bed; now the pump is blaring bloody murder about a “downstream occlusion.” Logan taps a button to silence it and quickly moves to tape up Charlie’s hand. Of course, Charlie sleeps through the whole thing and Steve doesn’t bother to wake Danny who’s finally asleep on the couch-bed.

Once everything is cleaned up, Steve moves into the hall to talk with Logan. “He’s still NPO. What’s the plan?”

Logan shrugs. “He’s very well hydrated. Rounds will be in another couple of hours. I’ll let the doctor make the call. Besides, I’d need to get orders for it anyway and I doubt they’d sign off on anything before that. Might as well wait.”

That’s not exactly what Steve wants to hear. Charlie’s still in the PICU and with good reason. The idea of him being without an IV — his sole source of hydration, nutrients, and medication — doesn’t sit well with Steve. It must show on his face because Logan shuffles his feet a little.

“Look, his respiration was in the upper 30s most of the night and he only desatted twice. He also spontaneously recovered in under two minutes both times. If the respiratory therapist okays them to turn down his oxygen to about four liters, he should be good to eat and drink. If we can manage that, we get to bypass both a second IV and an NG tube. He’s not in any danger at the moment and I think waiting is our best bet.”

It occurs to Steve that waiting without forcing some kind of intervention is not one of his strengths. Danny is always berating him for rushing into dangerous situations instead of waiting for backup. Steve takes a deep breath and rubs his hands over his face.

“Thanks, Logan,” Steve finally manages.

“No problem. Just try to get some sleep before you drop,” Logan says.

Steve hasn’t slept more than six hours in the last three days. He can’t imagine how awful he looks.

“Yeah, will do,” he agrees. Danny will give him a break after rounds later. He can make it until then.

When the doctors round the next morning, they decide that Charlie, who is bouncing off the goddamn walls, is ready to move to IMU. Danny would be ecstatic if he’d another three or four cups of coffee, but Steve looks like he’s just won the lottery. While Danny, gets himself vaguely presentable in their closet sized half-bathroom, Steve dutifully packs all of their many accumulated belongings in preparation for the move.

Most of their stuff ends up riding down to IMU on the foot of Charlie’s bed along with his portable oxygen tank. Steve and Danny follow along, while Charlie practically bounces with glee at all the hubbub. Danny gets it, he really does. The PICU is well-staffed and the nice ladies from social work have been kind enough to load up Charlie with legos and books and coloring pages and approximately sixteen thousand hotwheels cars, but nothing beats the thrill of being in a new environment after being stuck in the same room in the same bed for five straight days.

The thrill is, of course, short lived. They arrive in their new room in relatively short order and once the new nurse gets them settled in the excitement again turns to boredom.

“What do you think about some lunch?” Danny says.

Charlie shakes his head and goes back to looking at the How to Train Your Dragon Manual that he got in PICU.

“Come buddy. We can get milkshakes. There’s vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. Which one do you want?”

“‘M not hungry,” Charlie insists.

Danny has spent the last two and half days listening to Charlie complain that he’s hungry. He even ate half a PB&J yesterday. Danny knows the kid has to be starving after nearly nothing for a week.

“How about another one of those chocolate milks from yesterday?”

Charlie shakes his head. “Those were nasty.”

“Okay,” Danny says, dragging his hand over his face. Yesterday the shakes were “delicious” and “great.” “So what do you want?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you thirsty?”

“No.”

Danny can see Steve intently listening to the convo from his place on the abysmal fold out bed-chair thing in the corner of the room. Clearly he’s not the only one who’s concerned.

“Buddy, you’ve barely had anything to drink all day,” Danny points out.

“I’m not thirsty,” Charlie counters.

And how the hell does Danny argue with that?

“Charlie, look, pal. We want you to get better, but part of that is drinking and eating. You were alright in the PICU when you had an IV, but without that you’ve got to drink,” Steve hedges.

Charlie finally looks up and stares over at Steve. “Are they going to give me another IV?”

Danny hates the fear in Charlie’s voice, even if it is only a needlestick.

“Yeah, pal. If you don’t drink more than you are now they probably will,” Steve answers.

Danny doesn’t always appreciate Steve’s brutal honesty with the kids. A few months ago Steve bought Grace a box of condoms and dental dams without talking to Danny first. In retrospect, some open and honest sex ed is a smart idea, but then, like now, Danny isn’t sure that Steve’s approach to parenting is best.

Charlie looks a little scared which Danny absolutely hates. But then Charlie asks for the fruit flavored protein drink that he didn’t quite finish at breakfast, and maybe Danny can live with that look if it gets them out of more needlesticks.

Steve isn’t necessarily proud that he scared 240 mL of protein enhanced juice into Charlie, but he doesn’t regret it either. The problem is that Charlie doesn’t keep up with the drinking after that, and no amount of reminding him about the potential for a replacement IV seems to change that.

Charlie is clearly feeling better — wriggling around and bouncing in his bed — but he’s also distressingly thin now that all the IV fluids have come off. While his improved energy and demeanor are good, it also makes it harder to contain him, especially when he’s clearly not feeling the need for what he’s being offered.

Danny is very obviously frustrated, and Steve isn’t too far off himself. Now that the worst of the crisis is over, he’s six days without adequate sleep and there’s no adrenaline left to keep him upright; he’s not above admitting that he’s exhausted and cranky. It doesn’t help that the nurse looks sternly at both Steve and Danny when she calculates Charlie’s urine output, as though they were somehow supposed to get Charlie to change his mind.

“He needs to have an output of about 1mL/kg/hr and he’s at half that,” the nurse informs them.

“How much does he need to drink and by when to avoid the IV?” Steve asks. He needs goals. Quantifiable goals are how he’s made it through everything that’s happened since Doris “died,” even if those goals were just “make it to the end of the day.”

The nurse scowls like he’s asking a ridiculous question. “Another carton of the Boost by four.”

Steve looks at the clock. They have an hour and a half. It took six hours to get him to drink the first carton. Steve rarely likes to admit that something is hopeless, but damned if this doesn’t feel like it.

So beer pong isn’t one of the things that Danny actually studied carefully in college in preparation for either his job or his personal life, and yet here they are playing protein-shake pong in a hospital room. Danny is forced to admit, at least to himself, that life has rarely played out in the expected manner. He’s not sure why it still catches him by surprise.

Except for how bad Steve is at the game they’re playing. Danny’s not surprised by that at all. Steve missed quite a few of the formative experiences that normal people have — namely high school and college drinking parties. Danny’s sure that there were some real wild nights in the SEALs, but from the look of Steve’s arrest record, nothing so tame as beer pong was ever played. So Danny watches with unguarded amusement as Charlie scores again and Steve is forced to pump out another ten pushups.

“You know, this game was to get Charlie to drink and here you are, losing and getting God-knows-what on your hands. You’re gonna get MRSA and C-dif from the floor. Go wash your hands. And you-” Danny turns to Charlie. “You’re gonna see how this game is played. Your dad is terrible. Don’t ever take pointers from him. Now watch and learn.”

Steve pumps the hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall and snorts. “You’re good at beer pong? Please.”

“Boost pong, Steven. And yes, I am good at something you are not. I know it’s highly surprising given your government trained superiority at everything else, but-” Danny tosses the ball into a cup on the lap tray. “There are some things that you were never trained for. Drink up, kiddo,” Danny admonishes to Charlie.

Danny tosses another ball into another cup and Charlie drinks again.

“Okay, so what training didn’t I get that prepared you for this game?” Steve asks.

“It’s called ‘socialization’ and it allows you to interact with other humans like you weren’t raised by bears.”

Charlie snickers, choking slightly on his mouthful of chocolate-flavored protein water.

“Danno’s being mean. You’re not allowed to laugh, Charlie,” Steve says.

Charlie cackles at the barest hint of whining in Steve’s voice, but it’s immediately followed by a cough.

“No laughter is allowed either. We’re in a hospital. There’s nothing funny here,” Danny says with false seriousness.

“That’s right,” Steve agrees, and Charlie bursts into another fit of giggles and this time it doesn’t devolve into a coughing fit. That, combined with how another carton of the vile shake is nearly gone, makes Danny feel less like stepping out into the hall and screaming.

The first attempt at pulling Charlie off oxygen comes on the evening of day seven. Steve, after getting a couple nights of only minorly interrupted sleep, has no problem staying wide awake the entire night in order to watch Charlie’s work of breathing.

Charlie only gets to 0200 before Steve steps out and requests the respiratory therapist come by as Charlie’s tracheal tugging has returned with a vengeance. The doctor follows Steve back to the room and takes one look at Charlie, who’s satting 93, before putting the nasal cannula back on him.

It’s no longer high-flow, and the infuriating little sticky pads are gone from his cheeks, but Charlie still slaps at the tubing in his sleep. Steve only has to hold Charlie’s hand for a second, before he drifts back to sleep leaving the cannula alone for the rest of the night.

Steve finally reported in to work, though he promised he’d only be gone a few hours. Danny is alone with Charlie and he’s ready to rip out his hair. They’re trying to wean him off the oxygen again, which is great news and, in theory, a precursor to going home. In practice, though, Charlie still isn’t drinking enough.

It’s three days now since Charlie’s had IV fluids and besides being staggerly gaunt — his eyes sunken in and dark and his boney little wrists and ankles reminding Danny of a UNICEF ad — he’s still falling short of the 1mL/kg/hr mark. Danny has played drinking games and he has bribed with TV time and the Legos from social services and even let Charlie download a couple of games to his phone. Just about the only thing he hasn’t done is offer Charlie of actual money.

Danny’s tired and wearing out. Thankfully, the grumpy bitch nurse from a couple days ago is out for the rest of the week, and Charlie’s new nurse is a hell of a lot nicer. She uses her seemingly endless well of chipper energy to convince Charlie to drink an entire apple juice cup. It’s enough to get the medical staff off his back for another four hours.

And besides tired, Danny is stressed. There’s so much about this situation that he’s just stuffing down in order to keep going. It’s not ideal and what he really wants is Grace. He wants to see his daughter whole and healthy and hold her in his arms because this entire time he hasn’t been able to really believe that she’s okay since he can’t see her. It’s late afternoon where she is, and Danny takes the chance to call her.

“Hello? Daniel?” It’s Rachel. “Is everything alright?”

“Hi, Rachel. Yes, everything is fine. Mind if I talk to Grace?”

“How’s Charlie?”

Danny sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. This is gonna be a terrible habit to break once he actually starts trying to style his hair again. “He’s fine. They weaned him off oxygen this morning. If his oxygen levels stay up, we’ll be going home.” He pointedly doesn’t mention how Charlie is being a stubborn little cuss that won’t eat or drink without significant prompting.

“That’s good news!” Rachel exclaims.

“Yes, like I said, everything is fine. I really just called because I miss Grace and would like to talk to her. Is she around?” Danny tries his best to keep his voice neutral because he’s not up for a fight at the moment, but it must not be enough.

“Give me a moment,” Rachel snaps, and Danny sighs.

“Danno!” Grace chirps.

“Hey, monkey, how’s the trip?” Danny asks.

Grace doesn’t reply immediately but he hears footsteps and then the click of a door shutting. “It’s alright. The ketchup here is really gross, but mom says I can’t bring that up in ‘polite company.’”

Danny can hear the air-quotes and snickers. “That bad, huh?”

“Well, I mean, it’s not that bad. I just- Gran is always correcting my accent and one of my cousins, Elizabeth, was making fun of me for asking how much something was with tax. How was I supposed to know tax was already added in?”

Danny remembers asking Rachel that very question when he first went with her to meet her mother. “That’s not nice of her.”

“Mmm,” Grace says noncommittally, and then changes the subject. “So how’s Charlie? Are you guys home yet?”

“No, but he’s doing a lot better. We’ll probably be home in another day or two.”

“That’s great!!” Grace squeals, permanently shaving off few hertz from the upper registers of Danny’s hearing. “I can’t wait to see you guys when I get back. We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon!!”

Somewhere in his head, Danny knew that, but the days have run together and Grace’s declaration comes as a bit of a surprise. Tomorrow. Danny will have his not-so-little girl back in less than forty-eight hours. He can’t name the emotion he’s feeling — it’s been days since he’s had enough working brain cells for that — but he suspects that it’s happiness, or at least relief, by the way his eyes begin to water.

After a very eventful afternoon, Steve finds himself back at the hospital faster than expected. It takes longer than he would like — it always does — to get the six staples he needs, but once he’s released, he hightails up to IMU. On his way, he texts Danny to meet him just outside the ward with his overnight bag. There’s no way he’s going in to see Charlie with covered in his own blood from what was ultimately a very minor head wound.

But when Steve gets there, Danny isn’t waiting for him. He peeks through the window in the ward doors to and sees Danny standing in the hall talking to Charlie’s doctor. The amount of handwaving is a sure sign that something has gone wrong.

Most of the time, and especially around the kids, Steve and Danny both do their best to hide the reminders of their work. It’s a dangerous job and given how often they’re injured, it can worry the kids. But now, seeing Danny clearly in argument, Steve is glad he’s still covered in dirt and blood, and sporting his badge and service pistol.

He clomps down the hall in his combat boots, coming to rest besides Danny who gives him a once over and sighing.

“How many staples?”

“Six.”

“Concussion protocol?”

Steve shakes his head. “Broken beer bottle. No hard impacts. I’m fine.”

Danny licks his lips and nods. “Well, I was just trying to explain to the lovely doctor here, why pulling Charlie off his pain med rotation was a stupid plan.”

“Oh, were you?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows in a clearly patronizing way towards the young doctor who looks at Steve like he’s The Terminator here to kill anyone and everyone in his path.

“She thinks that Charlie should be fine by now.”

“Hmm,” Steve says. “Do you, by chance, have any children Dr. Lewis?”

The young woman does what Steve assumes is her best at not looking intimidated. “I do not.”

“Right, okay. So I trust that you understand medicine better than we do. However, I’m going to tell you something about kids. You’re not going to trick a child into doing something that hurts more than once. He knows eating hurts. He’s barely hungry anyway. Why are we having this discussion?”

“He’s ten days post-op. He should be tapering down.”

“Okay. First off, they told us to expect consistent pain for the first two weeks. Two, he was NPO for nearly five days which allowed the surgical site to dry and crack, something which undoubtedly raised his pain levels. Three, he was suctioned with reopened the surgical sites, again adding more pain. Four, seven to ten days is when the scabs are supposed to fall off, increasing his pain to where it was on day one. Five, he has been coughing violently for over a week which adds to the pain he’s in. And six, why are we arguing over tylenol and motrin? I’d get it if this was an opiate, but he’s not going to become addicted to the effects of ibuprofen for Christ’s sake. Can we all just agree that this was a poor decision and move on?”

Dr. Lewis shifts and then sighs. “I’d prefer to see how he does without it.”

Danny looks like he’s been slapped in the face and Steve has to admit he did not see her persistence coming.

“How he’s doing, is that he hasn’t eaten a single thing since dinner because he’s in pain. He’s also no longer playing and will barely drink. The nurse said she was going to have to ask for an IV if he didn’t start doing better, but all that can be avoided with pain meds which is what we were doing before. Why is this so hard for you to understand?”

Steve didn’t realize that the situation with Charlie was so bad. He’d left before breakfast, hoping to have a short day, though he would have preferred it to be short without the trip to ED. In any case, he’s here now and clearly at the right time, because Danny is going from simmering anger to outright yelling in well-populated hospital corridor.

“Danny, can you get my overnight bag? I need to go clean up before Charlie sees me. I’m gonna continue our talk with Dr. Lewis.”

Danny drags his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Alright, fine.”

Once Danny is gone, Steve turns back to Dr. Lewis.

“You can’t intimidate me into what you want,” she says.

“Uh, okay. I wasn’t actually trying to do that.”

“Yes, you were. Coming in here dressed like this, with your gun.”

“Ma’am, I just came through ED because a low-level drug-runner slashed my head open with a broken beer bottle. I’m taking the rest of the day off to be with my partner and our son. I had actually expected him to meet me outside IMU so I didn’t have to come in here like this at all; I hate it when the kids see either of us looking like this. And as for the intimidation,-” Danny chooses that moment to open the door to Charlie’s room and hand Steve his bag. Steve waits until he’s gone to keep talking. “-I promise you, neither of us has tried to intimidate you. I would, however, like to talk about Charlie’s pain management because I think my partner has a great point, if not giving Charlie the meds he needs to be able to eat and drink, then you’re essentially going to force him into more interventions and longer hospital stay.”

Dr. Lewis manages to look both taken aback and insulted. “I’ll talk with my colleagues.”

Steve smiles, probably a little wider than is necessary but this week has his emotions all out of whack. “Great. I’m gonna go shower in the family house and grab a bite to eat. I’ll check in with you when I get back. Say, half an hour?”

The good doctor opens her mouth and Steve can see that it isn’t to agree, so he smiles again, claps her once on the arm, and says, “Great!” before charging off down the hall.

A shower, and presumably a meal, did a lot for Steve’s “recently run over by a tank” aesthetic. But for some unknown reason, his aneurysm face is still plastered on.

“What’s wrong?” Danny asks.

“I can’t find the doctor. I told her I’d check back in with her after showering, see what she decided, but she’s nowhere to be found.”

“Don’t worry about it, babe. Nurse already came by and gave Charlie his meds. They put him back on a three hour rotation.”

Steve sighs and leans back in the torture chair that is periodically also a torture bed. “Good, good.”

“Daddy, what happened to your head?” Charlie pipes up.

“Oh, this?” Steve says pointing to the fresh gauze pad. “I fought a bear.”

Charlie giggles. “There aren’t any bears in Hawaii.”

“You are absolutely right, Charlie. There aren’t. What Steve means to say is that he fell getting out of his truck and hit his head on the door but he wants to sound more tough than that so he brought up bears, which, I think we can all agree, is kinda goofy. Maybe Daddy hit his head harder than he thought.”

Danny gets up, walks over to Steve, and lightly raps his knuckles against Steve’s head. “Huh, that’s funny.” Danny puts his ear to the top of Steve’s head and repeats the light rapping. “Nope, empty. Completely vacant. Nothing in there. Sorry, nobody’s home.”

Charlie’s outright cackling and Steve follows suit a few seconds after.

Steve throws up his hands. “Alright, alright. I wasn’t fighting a bear. You got me.”

Danny bends down, kissing Steve on the top of the head, clear of the Steve’s newest injury. Danny’s not a sap — that’s Steve’s job — but the number of near misses they get in this line of work is astounding, enough that sometimes Danny ends up being a little mushier than normal. Sue him.

“Alright, well Danno says the nurse gave you some meds for your throat. How about we order a milkshake from food services? I bet you’ll feel good enough to try it by the time it gets here,” Steve suggests, signalling the end of the previous topic’s discussion.

“Yeah, okay,” Charlie concedes.

“Good boy,” Steve praises, and picks up the phone.

Steve is uneasy when the respiratory therapist takes Charlie off oxygen again at evening rounds. But they have to try it eventually. So Steve stocks up on coffee stays awake through the night even though Danny periodically reminds Steve that normal humans sleep. He knows it’s probably overkill, but the pulse-ox and EKG were disconnected days ago, and Steve isn’t going to settle if anything might happen.

When the nurse comes in at 0500, Charlie’s work of breathing is fine and he’s satting 94. It’s not Steve’s favorite, but it’s enough. With any luck today will be the day. He takes the opportunity to shower and pack up a few things before rounds, but doesn’t bother with sleep. They can plant Charlie in front of the TV at home and Steve can grab a couple of hours in the afternoon.

Danny appreciates Steve’s commitment to detail, but by the time they get their discharge papers Steve has had ENT doctor on-call come back for one last consult, gotten printouts of every post-anything instruction, and actually interrogated the respiratory therapist coming up just shy of actually arresting the guy. Danny thinks Steve might be able to pass the MCAT after the morning’s conversations.

But if Steve’s somewhat embarrassing behavior at the hospital was stressful, dealing with Charlie at home is somehow harder. On one hand, there’s no need to keep him calm and in the hospital bed. On the other, he’s bouncing off the goddamn walls and drinking is still a fight. Eating isn’t even on the agenda. Danny wants to be home, he wants everything to be okay, but instead they’ve just moved the fight from one location to another.

Even with Steve’s reams of paperwork and steno pad of notes, Danny feels utterly out of his depth. Charlie’s sunken eyes and frighteningly thin wrists don’t inspire much hope and neither do the six ounces of fluid they get into him between leaving the hospital at lunch and bedtime.

Steve’s clearly dragging ass since he didn’t sleep the night before, but that aside he looks more stressed than just missing one night of sleep should merit. Somehow, this is more stressful than Charlie being in the PICU. Danny feels stupid because Charlie is clearly on the mend, but he feels like he just can’t get a toehold on any of this.

When Charlie is finally asleep, Danny collapses into bed in a pile of aching and exhausted limbs right next to Steve who also looks like shit. He flops a hand in the general direction of Steve, who in turn flops his hand at Danny. It’s not cuddling but they’re touching. It’ll do. Besides, tomorrow’s gotta be better.

Of course, “gotta” is not really a binding agreement with the universe and so things are not actually better in the morning. Steve makes Charlie is favorite oatmeal which Charlie turns down after one bite citing that his throat still hurts. Ice cream, jello, pudding — he won’t eat any of it. Getting Charlie to drink is the same as the day before and Danny ends up bartering TV time for drinking, while Steve calls the nurses’ line.

In the end, Steve comes to nothing more than they had, except that maybe they shouldn’t be panicking just yet. It’s something, but only barely more than nothing. Danny finds himself frustrated that things are still so unstable. He wants their life back, which feels a tad dramatic given that Charlie is going to be fine eventually, but goddamnit, the moment things seem better, they’re not and Danny is just tired of this shit.

Steve’s reached the point where he’s operating on orders alone. Granted, the orders are his this time — get Charlie to eat and drink — but all the same, he’s just run out of emotions. It feels like every time he rounds one corner, hoping to find the exit to this stupid maze course, there’s another obstacle.

They’re watching The Wild Kratts and one of the brothers is on about cheetahs. Steve is nominally paying attention to the program when the door opens and Grace runs in. In an instant the numbness bleeds off. Grace dives in to scoop up Charlie who only tolerates her hugging for a few seconds. Steve has to wait his turn while she hugs Danny, but it doesn’t matter. She’s home and he can see her whole and hale in the living room. A part of him settles, the worry he carried for her travelling halfway across the world while Charlie lay potentially dying in a hospital bed begins to ebb.

“Daddy,” Grace murmurs as she throws her arms around Steve’s neck.

He pulls her close and realizes too little, too late that he’s crying into her hair. Thankfully, Grace seems to understand, holding Steve tighter and just letting him make an emotional fool out of himself.

“It’s okay, Dad. I know you were scared for Charlie, and me too, even though you won’t admit it,” she says softly.

And how did Steve get so lucky to have a kid like her in his life?

Quickly, he gets himself under control, but by then Rachel is sobbing. Steve looks up from where he and Grace have finally parted to see Danny holding her and rubbing her back while she has her arms around Charlie.

“He’s fine, Rachel. I know, but he’s fine,” Danny reassures her.

“I’m fine, mommy,” Charlie agrees. Hearing that is almost enough to make Steve start tearing up again and he swallows compulsively to stop it.

Rachel, in typical stoic fashion, collects herself in relatively short order. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I didn’t expect to be so overwhelmed. And yes, you are quite fine, aren’t you, Charlie?”

Charlie nods vigorously and hugs Rachel again. She kisses him on the head and turns to Danny. “Thank you.” Danny nods and pats her on the arm. “And thank you, Steve.”

Steve opens his mouth to tell her something, but instead Rachel hugs him and plants a very proper kiss on his cheek.

“You’re both excellent fathers,” she says. “Thank you both for taking such good care of Charlie.”

“Of course, Rachel,” Danny says without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Steve can see her bite back the retort for what was clearly not the appropriate response in Rachel’s opinion, and he’s pleased that they can at least get along for this one moment.

“Alright, well I’m going to head home. If there’s anything I can get you all or do, please don’t hesitate to ask. I think Grace wanted to stay, if that’s alright.”

Danny and Steve both say “yes” in unison, and after a little resituating they all find themselves smooshed onto the sofa. Grace ends up sandwiched between Steve and Danny, and Charlie takes the end where he can perch on the arm of the sofa like a falcon and flap his arms.

Charlie still needs to drink more, but somehow having Grace at home makes everything seem less dire. He lets himself relax and he dozes on the sofa while they watch TV. Everything is going to be fine, Steve can feel it.

It’s Danny’s weekend with the kids which explains the unnecessary amount of sound emanating from the first floor of the house. Danny is exhausted from the case that they just wrapped and he’d really love to lie in bed just a bit longer but a) his time with the kids isn’t unlimited and b) he can smell bacon. With more groaning than Danny would ever let Steve hear him make about climbing out of bed, Danny extracts himself from the warmth and comfort of their memory foam mattress.

On the stairs, Danny’s nose luxuriates in more than just the aroma of bacon — there’s eggs, coffee, and hashbrowns. He ambles through the living room, which already has a thin coating of toys and other young-people paraphernalia, and locates Steve in the dining room.

“Hey, Danno. Your plate’s on the counter,” Steve says.

Charlie and Grace beam up at him and Danny feels profoundly pleased with life, ruffling Charlie’s hair as he walks into the kitchen.

The covered plate is sitting by the stove. Danny lifts the lid and stares quizzically at the empty place on his plate where, he assumes, bacon belongs.

“Hey, uh, Steve?” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“Did you run out of bacon?”

There’s a brief pause. “No? I put some on your plate.”

Danny grabs the plate and goes back to the dining room. “Where?”

Steve scowls at the plate and opens his mouth to reply, but before he can voice his obvious confusion Charlie begins giggling. And then laughing. And then outright cackling. Before long, he’s doubled over holding his belly and laughing so hard he’s crying.

“I’m just gonna go ahead and guess that he ate it,” Danny says flatly.

Steve tries desperately to cover his amusement and fails. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he did, too.”

Danny sets his plate on the table and waves his hands at Charlie who hasn’t managed to stop laughing. “You know, that’s grand theft breakfast, which is a felony in the state of Hawaii. You have two dads who are cops. Two. Steve, arrest him. I can’t arrest my own son.”

Steve stands, a giant smile plastered on his face, and Charlie bolts for the lanai door before Steve gets around the table. Danny’s gotta give it to the kid, he’s fast on his feet, but not as fast two grown men who chase criminals on foot for a living. Danny watches Charlie leap off the lanai onto the lawn. He makes it about fifteen feet, before Steve overtakes him and carefully tackles him to the lawn. There’s a bout of tussling — Charlie trying his best to escape and Steve pretending to have to fight — before Steve throws Charlie over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and totes him back to the house.

“I’ve apprehended the suspect,” Steve says, plunking Charlie down in a dining chair. “What’s the sentence?”

Danny bobbles his head back and forth, like he has to think about the “punishment” he’s about to dole out. “The garden hose.”

Steve grins maniacally and Grace snorts, choking on her orange juice. Danny follows Steve onto the lanai this time. Charlie’s wriggling in Steve’s arms like an eel but Steve just holds him while Danny starts talking. “We the jury, find the defendant Charlie Williams, guilty of one count of grand theft breakfast, a bacon class felony. The defendant is hereby sentenced to be entirely soaked with the garden hose,” Danny pronounces while he gets the hose and takes his time taking the sprayer off the end.

Danny knows Steve won’t mind getting wet — he’s wearing his board shorts which means he was planning on a swim anyway — so he sprays them both down while Charlie laughs and screams and then laughs some more.

“Hey, Danno, can I have a turn?” Grace asks.

“By all means,” Danny says handing her the hose.

Danny laughs as Grace takes her time, enjoying spraying Steve just as much as Charlie. Once she stops and Danny turns off the hose, it’s only a matter of seconds before Steve has the hose and has soaked both Grace and Danny. Charlie delights in every bit of the fight and produces a gigantic water gun from the storage bin which he uses to attack from the other side, effectively flanking them.

“Traitor! You taught our son tactical maneuvers and he’s using them against me!!” Danny accuses.

“You shouldn’t be such an easy mark, Danny!” Steve shoots back.

In the end, the battle is pitched but short. Everyone tries to shuck what clothing they possibly can without becoming indecent on the lanai, and then drying off with a couple salt-crusted towels that had dried outside since Steve’s last swim. It’s only once he’s making his way back downstairs that Danny realizes that what started all of this was bacon. Not that the bacon itself really mattered, just that Charlie finally felt good enough to want something so tough and unforgiving on this throat. That Charlie felt good enough to steal a second helping of it and never once complained of his throat hurting after.

The whole debacle has been wearing. In the last month, Charlie still hasn’t gained back all the weight that he lost in the hospital and Danny’s perpetually felt like there would never be closure. It’s been the disaster that never ends. But lying on the living room floor after Charlie has launched himself off the landing to try and take Danny down — props for actually taking him down, too — Danny feels like it’s over.

He breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes which is all the opening Charlie needs to crank Danny’s wrist in some convoluted armbar that Steve must have taught him. Danny’s arm is screaming and he’s going to make Steve pay for this later, but it’s the best Danny’s felt in weeks.