Archive of Our Own

Danny tries to breathe through a panic attack while the paramedics check Steve’s vitals and shoot Danny dirty looks, which he probably deserves given the way he bullied them to let him into the ambulance in the first place.  As if he’s going to let Steve out of his sight anytime in the near future. Maybe he should consider implanting one of those GPS microchips in Steve’s neck like people do to their dogs. Danny’s anxiety levels would be much lower if he could track Steve’s location on his phone.  While he’s at it he can get one for Grace, and then he can find out what it’s like not to worry all the time.

Steve’s eyes are unfocused but he clutches Danny’s hand tightly enough to bruise, and it’s oddly reassuring.  Even now, after everything that’s happened to Steve over the past twelve hours, Danny is still his lifeline and it almost soothes the absolute terror Danny had felt when he saw Steve lying on the ground, so still. 

No one in the ER will let him beyond the waiting room, and no amount of waving his badge in their faces makes a difference.  He sits in an uncomfortable vinyl-covered chair, folding and unfolding a piece of paper he’d found in his pocket just to give his hands something to do so he doesn’t start breaking things.  The rest of the team arrives about ten minutes after the ambulance, all of them looking worried and weary.

“You should take your vest off,” Kono suggests. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

Danny shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter.” His vest is just about the only thing he’s got holding him together right now.

Nobody says anything else.  Chin leans against the wall, Kono sits next to Danny and checks the time on her phone just about every forty-five seconds, and Grover paces the hallway. There’s something surreal about the way time drags in hospitals.  Nurses and doctors hurry past, ambulances come screaming up to the door and paramedics rush in with patients on gurneys, but the second hand on the clock above the reception desk seems to take hours to make a full rotation. As such, he’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there when his phone starts ringing in his pocket.

“Shit,” he says, digging it out to find Grace grinning up at him from the screen. “Hey, Monkey.”

His voice sounds garbled and wrong and it’s no surprise that Grace notices. “What’s going on, Danno?”

“Everything’s okay.  It’s fine.” God, he’s a terrible liar.

“Are you going to be here soon?”

It’s Thursday.  It’s six o’clock on Thursday and he forgot about Grace.  He’s never forgotten about Grace.  Kono touches his shoulder.

“I got her,” she says quietly.

“I’m a little hung up at work, kiddo.  Kono is going to be there soon, okay?  Tell Coach Lani.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call Mom so she knows you’ll be late.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.  Don’t worry about anything, I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay. I love you, Danno.”

“I love you too, Monkey.”  He hangs up with unsteady hands.  “Thank you,” he tells Kono. “Can you drop her off at Rachel’s?”

“Of course.  Do you want me to call Rachel for you?”

Danny shakes his head. “No, she’ll think I’m the one in the hospital if she sees somebody else’s number.”  He laughs, out of control.  Chin squeezes his shoulder and he inhales a shuddering breath, tamping down his hysteria.

“I’m gonna get some air,” he says.

“We’ll come find you if anything changes.”

Danny nods and follows Kono towards the door.  She jogs to her car, and he stops on the sidewalk, leaning against the pink wall of the hospital.  His hands are still shaking when he dials Rachel’s number. 

“Danny, please don’t tell me you’re canceling.  Charlie just fell asleep and I can’t put him in the car without waking him.”

“Kono’s getting Grace.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t...I can’t leave now.  Steve was gone, Rach, he was gone and that bastard did god knows what to him so I have to stay and make sure he’s okay.  I know that makes me a shitty dad and I’m sorry for forgetting about Grace but I thought he was dead and he’s not so I have to stay.”

“Danny,” Rachel says, “it’s fine. I understand.”

“It’s not.  How is this fine? He was kidnapped and I didn’t even know he was missing.  I didn’t know.”

“You found him, though.  Can you take some deep breaths?  You’re scaring me a little.”

Danny does, suddenly exhausted. “I can’t lose him.  Not after...I just can’t.”

“You haven’t.”

“Please don’t tell Grace.  I don’t want her to worry.”

“Of course.  Call if you need anything.”

“Yeah. Okay.  Thanks.” He hangs up, feeling a little steadier.

Everything about today was wrong.  He should have known, should have realized something was off when Steve never answered his phone.  Steve always answers. Steve takes calls in the middle of the night, in the middle of a shower, probably in the middle of a date, although he’d have to be dating someone on the same continent for that to actually happen. Danny’s a detective, god dammit, and all of his skills failed him today.

He’s working himself into a magnificent guilt spiral when the automatic doors open with a whoosh and Lou appears, hands on his hips.

“They said one of us can go in to see him.”

“Me?” He asks, stupidly, as if it’s going to be anyone else, as if Danny would let it be anyone else.

Lou levels him with an unimpressed look. “Chin and I should check in with HPD, unless you want us to stay.”

“No, you’re right, we left HPD dealing with that mess.   Thanks.”

Grover nods. “Tell Steve we’re here for him.”

Danny follows one of the nurses who wouldn’t let him beyond the waiting room earlier down the hallway to Steve’s room.  He hesitates in the open doorway.  Steve is pale under the fluorescent lighting and he looks almost small in the hospital bed.  He’s staring blankly at the ceiling, but when Danny raps his knuckles lightly on the doorframe, Steve startles and looks over.

“Danno,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Hey, babe.” He takes the chair next to Steve’s bed and he doesn’t care that it’s more uncomfortable than the one in the waiting room, because at least it’s in here and not out there.

“Moreau. Did you get him?” Danny lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, thanks all the higher powers he can think of that Steve didn’t lose the last four years to whatever methods Wo Fat chose to inflict his revenge.

“We got him.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Steve says.

“Hey, what are you talking about?  You have nothing to apologize for,” Danny says, maybe too fiercely from the way Steve’s eyebrows raise in surprise.  “Sorry.”

Danny’s nervous, hysterical laughter is threatening to burst forth again. He doesn’t know what to say or what to do with his hands and he should really take his vest off because Kono is right, he’s getting uncomfortable and too warm but Steve is alive, and it doesn’t seem like anything else matters.

“I had crazy dreams.  About you. About everybody, really.” Steve says, his eyes meeting Danny’s.

“Yeah?”

Steve nods. “You said Hawaii was a paradise and insisted I call you Danno. Chin was still with HPD. Kono wasn’t a cop. Kamekona was in jail, Jerry was homeless, and,” his breath hitches, “my dad was alive.  You saved him.  You got to his house in time, before Hesse...anyway, that’s why I was confused.”

“Hey,” Danny frowns. “You don’t have to justify anything to me. Or to anybody else.”

“I just...this is what I was trained for.  I’m okay.  I should be okay.”

Danny takes a peek at the bags of fluid going into Steve’s IV, because there’s no way he’s this forthcoming without the help of some heavy duty drugs.

“God, Steve, I hope you weren’t trained for this.  Nobody should be trained for this.” Danny regrets the words as soon as he says them, because now is not really the time for a debate about the SEALs or Steve’s stubborn determination to be fine, even when he so clearly isn’t.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.  It’s weird.”

Danny bites back another reflexive apology. “So, uh, what’s the verdict? How long do you have to stay?”

“Don’t know.  Overnight. Maybe two?”

Danny nods, like somehow that makes sense.  Like Steve could possibly be okay after just two days.

Steve’s lips quirk up in a weak attempt at a smile, “You gonna take your vest off and stay awhile, or are you just fitting me in between busts?”

“Nah, you can’t get rid of me that easy.  I’m all yours.”

"Good," Steve says, and his smile looks a little closer to normal.

Thanks to the morphine drip, Steve nods off soon after. Danny drags his chair closer to the bed, close enough to watch Steve’s chest rise and fall as he breathes. Nurses come in regularly to check on Steve, and Danny is sure from the pointed looks they send him that visiting hours have long since expired, but by some miracle nobody actually tells him he has to leave. 

Steve whimpers in his sleep; soft, childlike noises, each one hitting Danny like a sucker punch.  Danny almost wishes Steve hadn’t killed Wo Fat, because Danny’s fingers itch to wrap around Wo Fat’s throat, to kill him slowly and painfully and personally for thinking he could take Steve, could touch Steve and break Steve. 

He’s wanted to kill too many people lately.  He’s not sure if that’s just an occupational hazard or a sign he’s been doing this too long.  He considers himself a rational person, but recently his life has been defying rationality.  All he knows is that nobody is allowed to hurt the people he loves and get away with it.

The next time Steve wakes, it’s the middle of the night, and Danny is half-asleep himself, uncomfortably hunched over the side of Steve’s bed, his head pillowed on his arms.  A sliver of light spills into the room from the hallway, just enough for Danny to see that Steve’s eyes are open.  He looks a little clearer and more focused.  At one point Danny remembers a nurse coming in and switching out a bag on his IV, so maybe they’re already weaning him off the heavy stuff.

“Danno,” Steve says softly.

“Yeah,” Danny groans as he sits up, his back and neck protesting the abuse.

Steve shifts over, slowly, wincing a little as he jostles the arm he just had a bullet dug out of.  “C’mere.”

“Huh?” Danny says.

“Come here.”

“Steve, no, c’mon, I’m fine.  Please just be selfish for once in your life.  After a day like today, you deserve it.  I’m okay.”

“I’m not.” Steve says, so quietly Danny can barely hear him.

“Oh.” Danny climbs onto the bed and crawls into the spot Steve made for him. He ends up plastered against Steve’s side, his face in Steve’s armpit. 

Steve snorts a laugh. “Graceful.”

“Shut up,” Danny mumbles. “It’s dark.”

It takes some adjusting, and Steve elbows Danny in the face twice, but eventually they find a way to fit in the narrow bed without crushing each other.

“I killed him.” Steve whispers.

“I know.  You had to, or he would’ve killed you.”

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “Yeah.”

Steve breathes in sharply and before Danny realizes what’s happening Steve is crying, the same awful, falling-apart crying from earlier today. Danny wraps his arms around Steve, who slides farther down the bed so he can bury his face in Danny’s neck.

Danny has wanted to do this, to hold Steve close and protect him, every time Steve’s been kidnapped or missing or hurt in the four years they’ve known each other, but Danny’s certain this is the first time Steve is the one who needs it more.  Or maybe this is just the first time Steve has been able to admit it to anyone. 

Regardless, Danny is content to hold Steve and rub his back and murmur soothing words until his breathing evens out. 

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles.

“No apologies necessary, remember?”

He expects Steve to pull away, to retreat back to his half of the bed, but he doesn’t.  He stays where he is, curled around Danny.

“Cath broke up with me.” Steve says after a few minutes, his voice thick from crying.

It’s not the smoothest segue, but Danny totally gets that Steve needs to talk about something, anything, else.

“When?”

“A few days ago.  She’s not coming back, told me I shouldn’t wait.”

“I’m sorry.” Danny says. “You guys were good together.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, except for terrible timing.  We got too used to the rain checks and rescheduling then when she was finally here, we just never really...fit.  Maybe we would’ve figured that out sooner if we ever spent more than a week at a time together.”

“Yeah, maybe.  Amber and I broke up,” Danny adds, because he’s been keeping that one pretty quiet. He’s still not really sure what happened there, except that when he got back from his crazy Afghanistan rescue mission, things were different.  Maybe she figured out Danny’s got no business being with anybody but the reckless idiot he dropped everything for and flew halfway around the globe to find. She was right, in any case.

“You never said anything.”

Danny shrugs. “It got overshadowed by...things.”

“Right. Things.”

“Matty.”

“Of course, Danno, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you have a head injury, you’re forgiven.” He winces. “God, now I’m sorry.”

“You’ve apologized to me more in the last two hours than you have in four years.”

“That’s obviously an exaggeration.  I have manners.  You, on the other hand...”

“That’s better,” Steve says, and Danny can hear the smile in his words.

“There’s something deeply wrong with you.”

“Hey, I can’t be all bad if you’re still here.”

“That’s true, I do have excellent taste.”

Steve laughs, softly, his breath ghosting across Danny’s neck. Danny can’t help the shiver that runs through him. 

“You should get some sleep,” Danny says. “Those nurses are already annoyed enough that I’m still here, they’ll definitely kick me out if I keep you up all night.”

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll be here.” Danny promises.    

*****

Danny feels stupidly betrayed by the bright sunshine and the cheerful flowers that line Steve’s driveway, like somehow Hawaii should know better than to be paradise on a day like today.  Steve is determinedly stoic in the passenger seat, but he’s clutching the door handle in a vice grip. 

While he waits, Danny studies Steve’s profile. The cuts on his forehead are probably going to scar.  (Danny’s pretty sure he could’ve done neater stitches than the hack in the emergency room yesterday.  Hell, Steve could’ve stitched himself up better.)  Steve has three or four days’ worth of beard coming in, which normally makes him look irritatingly good, in a rugged, outdoorsy way, but today he looks haggard and unkempt.

“Will you come in?” Steve asks.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Danny grins, maybe a little more cheerful than Steve needs him to be, and swings his door open. Steve follows, but he’s still glaring at the house as if its existence is a challenge, like scaling Everest or parachuting into a war zone.

“We don’t have to go in,” Danny suggests halfway up the front walk. “We can go to my place.”

Steve shakes his head. “I have to go in.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to anybody.”

“If I don’t go in now, it will just be harder later.”

Danny doesn’t have to ask what the problem is. Steve’s most recent memories of this house contain his father, alive and well, even if they were just hallucinations brought on by whatever Wo Fat was giving him.  Crossing the threshold will mean confronting the lie, acknowledging all over again that John McGarrett was killed four years ago.

The door swings open easily, and the house within is silent in that way only empty houses can be.  Steve clenches his jaw before stepping into the foyer, and Danny follows. 

“Are you hungry?”

Steve shrugs. “I guess.”

“You guess?  You’ve eaten nothing but hospital jello; of course you’re hungry. Go take a shower, I’ll make soup.”

“Soup?”

“Yes, soup.  Don’t get your stitches wet.”

“I’ve had stitches before, Danno.”

“Bully for you.  Go get cleaned up, you’ll feel better.”

Danny makes his mother’s minestrone (or as close an approximation he can thanks to Steve’s pathetic excuse for a pantry) because that’s what she always did for him when he was sick or came home with a black eye from one of the neighborhood bullies who picked on Danny for his height and his inability to back down from a fight.  Danny can make it in his sleep, almost.

The soup is simmering when Steve returns to the kitchen.  He shaved, but now the dark circles under his eyes just look deeper.  His t-shirt is so worn it’s almost falling apart; there’s a hole in one of the shoulder seams and whatever logo was on the front is long peeled away, leaving behind a shadow slightly darker than the rest of the shirt. Danny’s willing to bet it’s one of Steve’s old Naval Academy t-shirts, something to help Steve get back in his comfort zone.

“Smells good,” he says.

“Better be.  My great-grandmother brought this recipe with her from Sicily. My mom used to make it for us when we were sick.”

For a second, Steve’s eyes go soft and sad, but then he blinks and reaches into the cupboard for bowls and the moment passes. Danny eats his soup sitting on the kitchen counter and Steve leans against the island, eating mechanically. 

“The governor called me this morning.” Danny says, forcing nonchalance he doesn’t feel.

“Let me guess,” Steve sighs. “Mandatory leave, pending psych eval?”

“Pretty much.”

“How long?”

“Two weeks to start.  Longer if the shrink thinks you should.”

“Standard procedure, right?” Steve shrugs. “I’ll cooperate.”

“You sure?  We could probably talk him down to a week.”

“I can handle two weeks if it keeps Five-0 on the governor’s good side.”

Danny is sure Steve will be bored out of his mind after two days, but he keeps that to himself.  He’d tried to convince the governor to throw procedure out the window, because not working is going to make Steve feel worse, not better, but unfortunately Danny had been forced to agree that it probably isn’t the best idea to give Steve a gun and a badge again until he’s steadier.

“I should call Mary.” Steve says, putting his empty bowl in the sink. “She’s freaking out.”

Thanks to a bureaucratic fuckup, someone at Steve’s insurance company called Mary about the hospital bill. Danny’s sure Steve had no intention of telling his sister anything about his hospital stay.

“Try having three sisters, then talk to me about freaking out. I can’t get a bruise without one of them finding out, telling the other two, and then having them all call me within ten minutes of each other. Nikki’s got me on Google alert, and Angie has some crazy satellite TV package so she can watch the local news here and Becky still talks to Rachel.”

“I think I’ll stick with my one sister, thanks.”

“Wise man,” Danny grins. “Go call her. Talk her down from spending five hundred bucks on flights to come sit vigil at your sickbed. Tell her I’ve got it covered.”

“Has that ever worked on any of your sisters?”

“Your lack of faith in me is insulting. Trust me, I’m the sister expert.”

Not that being an expert really makes the bad news any easier.  Danny can’t really believe it was only two weeks ago he was home, breaking the news about Matt to his family.  His mother had been heartbroken and his dad stayed very quiet for the rest of Danny’s visit. Of the girls, though, Nikki had taken it the worst.  She’s only twenty-four, still just a kid, and for her the world is (was) still the kind of place where bad things only happened to other people.  Angela hadn’t been particularly shocked; she’s always been the most pragmatic of his sisters, she probably realized the sort of deep shit Matty would’ve been in to flee the country in the first place.  Becky blamed Danny (not that she said as much, it was more what she didn’t say), and he wasn’t all that surprised since he and Becky are always on the same page. 

Danny doesn’t think he’ll ever escape the guilt, because he could’ve stopped Matt getting on that plane.  And sure, he’d be in prison, but at least he’d be alive. The service had been awful and felt strangely pointless without a body to bury.  His parents insisted on a headstone anyway, for closure.  Danny got all the closure he needed putting a bullet in Reyes’ brain. (Admittedly, he didn’t tell his family that.)

He thinks about Wo Fat and wonders if Steve got his closure too.  There’s a haunted look in Steve’s eyes that suggests otherwise, and Danny wants to ask but he knows better. Steve will tell him sooner or later.

Danny cleans up the kitchen while Steve paces on the lanai, his phone pressed to his ear.  Occasionally his voice climbs loud enough that Danny can hear him through the half-open door.  I’m fine, he keeps saying. 

Fine is just a stopgap, intended to keep Mary (and anyone else) at arm’s length.  It doesn’t mean anything, not really.  It’s the word people use when they don’t want anyone to ask questions. Danny knows.  He’s been fine, just fine, for three weeks.

Okay, it’s been far longer than that. He’s been fine since his divorce, fine since moving to Hawaii, and totally, completely fine since Steve McGarrett pushed his way into Danny’s heart.  The feelings have been there for probably a few years, just below the surface, easy enough to ignore until he and Steve nearly died together under tons of concrete. After that day, there was no ignoring it anymore.  Hiding it, sure. Never mentioning it to anybody, definitely.  But he can’t lie to himself any longer, not about this.

Steve comes back into the house, holding the phone towards Danny. “She wants to talk to you.”

“I told you, I’m the expert.”

“Smug is not a good look on you,” Steve says, handing Danny the phone.

“Hey, Mary.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Steve is okay, I promise.”

“Okay doesn’t end up in the hospital.”

“It was a rough case, Steve got a little banged up but he’s good.  I swear. They kept him overnight because they thought he might have a concussion but turns out his skull is pretty thick, which surprises exactly nobody.”

Steve throws a balled-up paper towel at Danny’s head.

“Very mature,” Danny hisses.

“You’re sure he’s fine?”

“Yes.  He’s home, he ate soup, he’s talking about going surfing tomorrow.”

Steve’s face lights up and Danny shakes his head. No way he’s going to let Steve surf. As long as it’s up to Danny, Steve is doing nothing more strenuous than lifting silverware.

“Fine.” Mary sighs. “Tell him next time he’s in the hospital to call me and we can avoid this whole mess.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Danny.  Take care of him for me.”

“Always,” Danny says, before hanging up.

“I’m not sure I like that you and my sister are in cahoots.”

“Cahoots?” Danny snorts. “All I did was convince her there’s nothing to worry about.”

“And promised her I’d call.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a hard promise to keep.”

“I don’t want her to worry.”

“She’s going to worry anyway, Steve. That’s what people who love you do.”

Steve frowns a little, like the concept isn’t one he’s familiar with, and Danny wonders if Doris McGarrett has any idea how deep the damage she did to her children runs. 

“Okay.” Steve sighs. “I’ll call her next time.”

“Good.”

“Listen, I have to go pick up Grace at school. Do you want to tag along?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’ll stay here. Save you the trip back.”

“Don’t be an idiot, I’m coming back anyway. I’m stopping at the grocery store, too, to do something about that empty box you call a refrigerator. Man cannot live on protein bars alone, McGarrett.”

“Danno—

“Don’t Danno me.  Are you coming or staying?”

“I’ll stay.”      

“Okay.  Call me if you want anything from the store.”

“You look tired, Danno.” Grace tells him as soon as she climbs into the passenger seat.

“That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Sorry, but you do.  Your eyes are all red and your hair is kind of flat.”

Danny hasn’t actually looked in a mirror, so all of this is probably true.  Kono brought him a change of clothes to the hospital, but he hasn’t showered or really slept in two days.

“I’ve been at the hospital.” Danny says, “Uncle Steve got a little banged up on our last case.”

“Is he okay?” Grace’s eyes widen, worried.

“Yes, he is.  He’s home now.”

“Are you sure he’s okay?  You look sad.”

“I promise he’s fine.  It takes more than a couple bad guys to knock our Steve down, right?”

“Right.” Grace nods. “Can I see him?”

“Not right now, kiddo.  Maybe this weekend.”

“But you said he’s okay.”

“He is.  He’s tired, though, and not really feeling ready for visitors. I promise you can see him as soon as he is.”

“Fine,” Grace sighs. “Will you give him a hug for me?”

“Of course.  How was school?”

Grace shrugs. “Boring.  And everybody was talking about what they’re doing for Thanksgiving.”

“Well, it is that time of year.”

“We’re not having Thanksgiving this year.”

“What?”

“Stan’s going to be away, and Mom says it’s not her holiday.”

“Well, what does she know about Thanksgiving, anyway? We’ll still have Thanksgiving, Monkey. You and me and Steve and anybody else you want to invite.”

“Do you think Grandma and Grandpa can come?”

“Probably not, they need a little more notice. Maybe they can come for Christmas instead.”

“Or we could go see them.  And I could see Robbie and Peter and Jenna! And baby Lizzie!”

“Maybe.  That would be fun, huh?”

“So much fun.  There might even be snow!  I haven’t seen snow on Christmas since we moved here.”

“I know,” Danny agrees. “What’s Christmas without snow?”

Grace hugs him twice when he drops her off (one hug for him and one for Steve), and whispers in his ear, “Christmas in New Jersey is a secret, okay?”

“Okay.” Danny says, already regretting getting her hopes up.  He should know better, but she hasn’t been back in so long, and he can’t deny that he misses Christmas with his family as much as Grace does.

Thanks to a holiday-busy grocery store and the slowest cashier in existence, it takes him a full hour longer to get back to Steve’s than he’d planned.  The house is quiet when he lets himself in, but he doesn’t call out in case Steve is asleep.

The doors out to the backyard are open, and Danny spots Steve sitting on the sand, staring out at the ocean. He unpacks the groceries quickly, and grabs two beers from the fridge before walking down the gentle slope of the yard to the water.  He hates sand, hates it, and he’s going to be digging it out of his pockets for several weeks but he sucks it up and drops onto the beach next to Steve, handing him a beer.

“Got a little stir crazy after you left.” Steve says, twisting the cap off his bottle easily.

“Don’t blame you,” Danny shrugs, and clinks the neck of his bottle against Steve’s.

“How’s Grace?”

“I’m the asshole that’s going to have to break her heart in a few weeks, but for now she’s good.”

“Did you promise her a pony?  Because extravagant, unnecessary gifts are more Stan’s department than yours.”

“I didn’t immediately shoot down a trip to New Jersey at Christmas, which is as good as saying yes.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.  Even if I could swing it, Rachel would never go for it.”

“Sorry, buddy.”

Danny shrugs, “Eh, what’s another strike in the disappointing dad column?”

“Hey,” Steve frowns. “You’re a great dad, Danno.”

“I just hate not being able to come through on stuff like this.”

“Grace will understand.  Maybe you can compromise, Easter in New Jersey, or next summer. I can put in a good word with your boss, get you the time off.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Since when are you the boss? We’re partners, last I checked.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Steve grins and takes a pull on his beer. “Aunt Deb called while you were gone.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s good.  Just finished chemo.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  Doctors are optimistic.  She’s on a cruise with her boyfriend right now.”

“Aunt Deb has a boyfriend?”

“Apparently.  The cruise docks here, so I’ll get to meet him.”

“That’ll be something.”

“Yeah.” Steve picks at the corner of the label on his beer. “I asked her if she knows how to get in touch with Doris.”

“And?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nope. Not that I’m surprised, Doris is never around when you need her.”

“Why do you need her?  You don’t need her.” Danny snaps, and Steve shoots him a look. “Sorry.  I just...your mother makes me angry.”

“I know.  Me too.” Steve sighs. “But I need to tell her Wo Fat is dead.”

“No you don’t.  You don’t owe her, or him, anything.”

“Maybe not, but she raised him.”

Danny is certain he heard wrong. “Uh, what?”

“After she killed his mother, she took him in and raised him as her own, until the CIA found out.  That’s why he kept hinting we were brothers.”

“You’re not brothers.”

“No.” Steve agrees. “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t care about him.”

“Is that why he did this?” Danny scowls. “Some twisted Mommy-loves-me-more thing?”

Steve shakes his head. “No.  He wanted to know where his father is.”

“That’s it?  He did all this for information you don’t even have,” Danny scowls. “Are you sure he’s dead, because I’d like to kill him myself.”

“Danno.”

“Sorry.” Danny says, automatically, before reconsidering a moment later. “Actually, no, I’m not sorry.  None of this is okay with me, and the fact that it was all pointless is even worse.  Do you know what I thought, when I walked into that room and saw you lying on the floor? I thought you were dead. I thought I was going to have to bury you, that I was going to have to tell my daughter you weren’t coming home, that I was going to have to live on this crappy island without you.”

And there they are, all of Danny’s cards on the table, his entire fucking heart laid bare.  If this were a shitty romantic movie, the orchestra would swell and Steve would make him promises and the sun would set behind them as they kissed on that perfect sliver of beach, but this isn’t a shitty movie, it’s Danny’s shitty life and Steve doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

“Danno,” Steve says again.  He gets it, he must, Danny’s said just about everything but the actual words now.  The setting sun throws shadows over Steve’s face, making it harder to read, and Danny hopes for Chin or Grover or Kono to call with a Five-0 emergency so he can escape with whatever is left of his dignity intact.

“I don’t need you to say anything.” Danny says quickly, wishing he knew how to backtrack his way out of this entirely, but he doesn’t.  The words are out there, hanging between them, and he can only hope Steve will just let the matter lie, and they can go back to quietly maintaining the status quo.

“Okay,” Steve says, his forehead creased in the middle, and Danny decides against trying to interpret that frown.

They finish their beers in silence, watching the sun sink lower on the horizon.

“You hungry?” Steve asks after a few minutes.

“Yeah.  I brought steaks.  Thought you could use some protein.”

“Sounds good.” Steve nods.  “Let’s go.”

Steve gets to his feet, and offers Danny a hand up. He takes it, letting Steve pull him out of the sand. 

“Thank you,” Steve says as they walk back up to the house. “For being here.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Danny says honestly.

*****

Steve is a doer, not a dweller, and after two weeks of nothing but talking to the HPD shrink about his trauma and his experiences and how he feels about everything, Steve is bored out of his mind and Danny is running out of patience.  There are only so many times he can play Battleship with a Navy man (and unfortunately that’s not a euphemism; Steve cleaned out the attic and discovered a box of his old board games) before he goes insane.

Luckily the shrink clears Steve to come back to work (provided he maintains biweekly appointments for the foreseeable future, and Danny tries not to sound too relieved when he breaks the news to Steve, because Steve’s needed therapy for years but he was never really going to seek it out himself). The case isn’t one Danny would’ve chosen for Steve’s first one back, considering the truckload of dead parent issues Steve is still working through, but any case that gives Steve something better to do than tinker in the garage and putter around his empty house is probably all right by Steve.

Plus he’s got Aunt Deb’s wedding and Leonard’s too-soft hands to obsess about when the case isn’t enough.

“I just don’t see why they’re in such a rush,” Steve says, for the hundredth time probably, in the car on the way to the wedding.

Danny sighs. “You know exactly why they’re in a rush.  Stop griping.  They’re happy, so be happy for them.”

“I am happy for them.  Basically. It just seems like an unnecessary thing.”

“What, the wedding?”

“Yes.”

“Weddings are important to people who aren’t maladjusted and commitment-phobic.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“This from the man who dated the same woman for eight years and never actually took her on a date.”

Steve snorts, “Didn’t you and Rachel break up on your anniversary?”

“Touché.”

Despite his complaining, Steve looks genuinely happy walking Aunt Deb up the aisle towards Leonard.  He’s smiling when he sits next to Danny, comfortably slouched in his seat, and Danny likes him best like this, almost like he’s gone softer around the edges.

The reception is on the hotel patio facing the beach, and the band plays lots of big, brassy classics which, coupled with the drinks flowing copiously from the open bar, keep everybody on the dance floor.  Well, everybody except Danny. 

Danny forgot how soul-crushing it is, going to weddings alone. He figured Steve would sit with him, complaining and checking his watch.  But Steve has done a total one-eighty and embraced the whole wedding concept. He’s currently spinning Kono around the dance floor, both of them laughing like kids.

“Well, we can’t have this,” Aunt Deb says, taking the seat next to Danny. “Nobody should be alone at a wedding.  My wedding, especially.”

“Oh,” Danny says, “I’m fine on my own. You should be out there dancing.”

“To tell you the truth, I need a break. My feet are killing me, and you looked like you could use the company.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Oh, probably not to everyone. But I’ve gone solo to a lot of weddings. It’s not anybody’s idea of a good time.”

“It’s a great wedding. Even Steve is enjoying himself.”

“About time, too.” Aunt Deb frowns. “I’m worried about him.”

“Yeah?” Danny asks, warily. 

“Well, I always worry about him.  But lately he seems...a little distant.  Not his usual self.”

“He and Catherine broke up.”

“He mentioned that.” Deb looks at Danny with knowing eyes. “You’re worried, too.”

Danny shakes his head. “No more than usual.”

“How long have you been in love with him?” She says it so casually, like it’s obvious.

(Who is he kidding?  Of course it’s obvious.  It could only be more obvious if he hired a skywriter.)

Briefly, he considers lying.  Aunt Deb will see right through him, though, of that he’s certain. “A long time. I didn’t really see it coming.”

Aunt Deb smiles, “People rarely do.  Do you think I expected to meet the love of my life while we both were going through chemo?  You can’t help when it happens.”

“I guess not.”

“Does he know?”

“Maybe. Everybody else seems to.”

“I think you know as well as I do that Steve isn’t in the habit of assuming people care about him.”

Yes, he does know that.  It’s the thing that sends Steve running into collapsing buildings and hostage situations and war-torn countries like he’s bulletproof, because there’s a kind of security in thinking no one cares, that no one will miss or mourn you. Danny’s been there, in the worst months of the divorce, before the custody issues were sorted and before he met Steve and he was living for nothing but his job. 

“Do me a favor,” Aunt Deb pats his hand, “Don’t wait too long. We’re all just here on borrowed time anyway.”

Before Danny can say anything, Steve and Kono appear, both flushed and still laughing. Steve drops into the chair next to Danny and drapes his arm comfortably across the back of it.

“Having fun?” Aunt Deb asks, with a wink at Danny.

“A little too much,” Kono grins.

“At your age, honey, there’s no such thing.”

“Well, I hope my wedding is at least half as fun as this one.”

“Your wedding?  Is Adam finally going to make an honest woman out of you?” Danny teases.

“Nah,” Kono smirks, “I’m making an honest man of him.”

“Well, this calls for a toast,” Steve says, raising his drink, “to Kono and her honest man.”

Danny catches Steve’s eye as they clink glasses, and Steve smiles, his eyes bright like they’re both in on a joke, and Danny smiles back even though he’s not sure he knows the punch line.   

“All right, Danny, your turn,” Kono says, getting to her feet. “I remember hearing something about what a great dancer you are.”

“And I remember somebody shamelessly mocking my dancing skills. Before I was going to a dance with my daughter, no less.”

“Oh, please,” Kono rolls her eyes. “You can’t be worse than Steve.”

“Hey,” Steve protests, “You had no complaints when we were out there.”

“My bruised toes beg to differ.” Kono grins, and grabs Danny’s hand, tugging him to his feet.  “I’ll go easy on you,” she promises.

“Why isn’t Adam here?  Isn’t it his job to dance with you at weddings?” Danny grumbles, but he follows her onto the dance floor anyway.

“He had to work.”

“Well, congratulations.  He’s a great guy.” Danny decides against bringing up the whole Yakuza thing. He trusts Kono’s judgment, and if she believes Adam’s business is clean now, that’s good enough for Danny.

“I haven’t actually said I’d marry him,” she admits. “He asked. I’m still thinking about it.”

“What’s the hold up?  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for making sure you’re marrying the right person, otherwise you end up in a bitter divorce that sends everyone involved to therapy for several years, but you and Adam seem like a good fit.”

“How do you do it?” Kono asks, frowning. “How do you come to work every day knowing it could be the last, that you might not come home at the end of it? It was okay when it was just me, but how can I bring another person into that?  Or kids?”

Danny sighs. “It’s not easy.  I mean, obviously it’s not; you already know that.  I almost died the day I found out Rachel was pregnant, and again two days before Grace was born, and probably at least fifty times since, maybe even more since I started riding with McGarrett, and every day I think about quitting. But I know that I’m doing good work, I’m making this world safer for my daughter, and I’m not sure that I’ll always feel that the risk is worth it, but for now I do.  And we have a good team, Kono, the kind of team that always has your back, that’s committed to getting everyone home safely every day.”

He can’t help it, he glances over at where Steve is still sitting with Aunt Deb and Chin and Grover, laughing at some story Aunt Deb is telling, and if he didn’t know what to look for he’d probably miss the healing cuts on his forehead and the way his range of motion is still a little limited in his left arm, but Danny does know what to look for, and the worry tugs at him, comfortable in its familiarity.  Worrying about Steve comes as naturally as breathing.

Kono’s expression is soft when he turns back, and her lips curve into a wry smile. “Yeah, our team is really great.”

“We are,” Danny says defensively. “We don’t leave anybody behind.”

“I’m just teasing, Danny.  I know you’d work just as hard to bring any of us home as you do for Steve. It’s just a little more personal for you when it’s him.”

“Kono, it’s not—

“Like that,” she finishes for him. “Yeah, I know. Why can’t it be, though?”

“Can we go back to talking about your problems?  I liked that better.”

Kono laughs, “I’m sure you did.”

“For the record, I’ve got your back, whatever you decide.”

“Thanks, Danny,” she smiles. “I appreciate that.  And same to you.”

He spins her, just to prove that his dancing is up to snuff and also derail her from any further questions about Steve and all the impossibilities of their relationship, and when the song ends she lets him retreat back to his seat at the table.  Leonard has joined them, too, and Steve is making an effort to be friendly, not bringing up buried evidence or any other questionable law practices.

Unsurprisingly, considering the average age of the guests, the reception breaks up early, and it’s only just nine when Danny pulls up in front of Steve’s house.

“Want to come in?” Steve asks. “There’s probably a decent movie on.”

“Sure,” Danny says, because the alternative is going home and sitting on his couch spinning through channels, so he may as well have company. Plus, Steve’s couch is more comfortable.

Steve shucks off his jacket and kicks off his shoes almost as soon as they’re in the door, and Danny does the same.  Steve grabs the remote.

“James Bond or Batman?” Steve asks.

“Bond. Unless it’s Roger Moore.”

“No, it’s the new guy.”

“That’s all right.” He joins Steve on the couch just in time to see Daniel Craig blow something up.  

“That was a poor tactical decision,” Steve complains. It’s his worst habit (aside from driving Danny’s car like he owns it and generally behaving like he’s got nine lives to burn through): critiquing action movies as if they’re SEAL ops. 

“Shut up and watch the movie,” Danny says, and pretends it doesn’t sound fond.

“You and Aunt Deb looked pretty friendly earlier.” Steve says as Bond flirts aggressively with a girl way too young for him.

“We were gossiping about you.” Danny says.

Steve rolls his eyes, “Very funny.”

“We were,” Danny grins. “She wanted the dirt on your love life.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“That you’re living like a monk, again, and I’m planning to set you up with one of my young lady friends.”

“You did not tell my seventy-three-year-old aunt you were arranging a booty call for me.”

“Hey, who said anything about a booty call? I just meant a date, get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I don’t need you setting me up on dates either.” Steve says, shooting Danny a suspicious glance.

“I’m kidding, babe.  I know you don’t need my help in that department.”

“You seeing anybody?” Steve asks, and Danny knows it’s just curiosity, but something about the way Steve is suddenly staring very determinedly at the TV screen and not looking at Danny makes his stupid heart do a complicated, hopeful sort of backflip.

“Nah.” Danny shakes his head. “I’m taking a break.”

“Amber did a number on you, huh?”

Danny wants to correct him, because he’s feeling just reckless enough, but before he can say anything, Steve’s phone starts ringing.

“McGarrett,” he answers, and Danny can tell from the way he sits up straighter and his expression becomes serious that they have a case. “Okay. Thanks, we’re on our way.” Steve sighs. “You have a change of clothes in the car?”

“Yeah.”

“We good?” Steve asks. “You looked like you had something you wanted to say.”

“It’ll keep.” Danny shrugs. Something like disappointment flickers across Steve’s face, but it’s gone so quickly Danny is sure he imagined it.

Still, once they’re in the car, Steve driving his usual ten miles over the speed limit, Danny can’t help saying, “It’s not about Amber.”

Steve looks over at Danny while they sit waiting at a red light, his face unreadable.  “I know,” he says, finally. 

***** 

“Hey Danny,” Chin calls from where he’s standing at the computer table, frowning at one of the screens. “You need to see this.”

Danny disagrees, probably he’ll sleep better if he never sees whatever the hell Steve has gotten himself into now, but he follows Chin’s voice and watches grainy traffic cam footage of a wrecking ball absolutely destroying an SUV.

“Jesus Christ,” Danny grips the edge of the table, his knees suddenly feeling too weak to support him.  “Which hospital?”

“Tripler.”

“Wasn’t I just there?” Danny grumbles.  Because he was.  He was there last month after Wo Fat, and the month before that when he brought Steve home from Afghanistan, and the month before that after he and Steve nearly died in that parking garage collapse.

Danny fumes the entire twenty-minute drive to the hospital, because today was supposed to be easy.  Straightforward military transport, base to hospital, nothing complicated, but Danny should know better than to expect anything but the worst case scenario with Steve. He doesn’t really know where to direct his anger, who it should land on, but he doesn’t care because anger is easier than fear, easier than worrying.

The nurses in the ER edge away from him as he storms down the hall, so he figures he looks as angry as he feels, and he feels like a live wire, crackling with energy.  He keeps seeing the SUV flip and skid on its roof, and even though the traffic cam feed had no audio, he can imagine the crunch of breaking glass and the screech of bending steel.

“Hey,” he says, as soon as he spots Steve, “why don’t you get an apartment next door, because you’re here so often?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Steve snaps at him, and that’s the worst fucking part.  He is fine. This was just another day at work for him, no big deal that he could’ve died.  Danny’s anger burns off like a flash in the pan, leaving him with the fear, and it hits him like a ton of bricks, like that fucking wrecking ball, and he has to turn away because there are tears burning at his eyes and he will not cry here, in front of Steve and Joe and the doctors who probably know him by name after the number of times he’s been here with Steve. 

He can feel Steve watching him, and when he turns back Steve’s eyes are soft, almost apologetic, but Danny can’t think about that now because they have a DHS and CDC crisis on their hands. 

“You know, once and a while, I just wanna bust a good old-fashioned drug dealer, maybe book a couple drunk and disorderlies.” Danny complains as they walk towards the parking lot. “Why is it always terrorists and kidnappings and serial killers with you, huh?”

“After we find this guy you can bust all the drug dealers you want, promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, McGarrett.”

Behind them, Joe snorts. “You two bicker like my parents did.”

Danny can’t really pinpoint why the comment makes his stomach twist and gets his hackles up.  It’s not like he hasn’t heard it before, but he trusts Joe as far as he can throw him (which is not very, considering he’s not an overachieving Navy SEAL, not like the idiot currently trying to steal his keys as if Danny’s going to let him drive with a possible concussion), and Danny doesn’t like feeling that Joe has gotten the upper hand.  Plus he’s pretty pissed at Joe in general for getting Steve involved in this mess today.

They’ve had worse days, but by the time they get back to HQ after squaring away everything with the CDC, Danny feels wrung out, exhausted, and not ready to go ten rounds with Steve.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks him before Danny can get out of the car.

“You’re the one who nearly died today.  I should be asking you.”  He means it to come out sharp, but instead he just sounds weary.

“I’m fine, Danno.”

“Fine does not spend its morning upside-down in an SUV.”

“What are you so worried about?”

“That you’re going to get your stubborn ass killed.”

“Danny, this is what we do.”

“Don’t.” Danny snaps. “Don’t try to tell me what we do, because one of us knows where the line is.  I don’t spend every minute on the job taking unnecessary risks.”

“Unnecessary?” Steve explodes. “Protecting this island from a killer strain of avian flu isn’t necessary to you?”

“Steve, instead of waiting for EMS, you left the scene of an accident to chase down a stupid van Chin was tracking anyway.  You could’ve been bleeding internally; you could’ve driven right into a trap and gotten kidnapped again; you could’ve had a head injury and gotten disoriented and driven into traffic.  Those are unnecessary risks.”

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy thinking about the things that could’ve happened eight hours ago.” He sounds so cool, so rational that Danny wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him. He crosses his arms over his chest instead.

“What happens when you find out the hard way you’re not bulletproof, huh?” Danny scowls.

“Worrying about all the things that could happen to me won’t change what happened to Matt,” Steve says quietly, and Danny inhales a sharp, involuntary breath. Steve’s face blanches as he realizes too late what he said.

“Get out of my car.”

“Danny—

“Out. Get out.”

Deep down, Steve must still have a few self-preservation instincts intact because he listens and gets out of the car, and Danny waits, feeling stupid in the passenger seat but unwilling to get out until he can’t see Steve in the side mirror anymore. 

When he’s sure Steve is gone, he switches back to the driver’s seat and peels out of the parking lot faster than he probably should.  Late afternoon traffic makes the drive back to his house particularly brutal.  His phone rings in his pocket for about the twelfth time since he left HQ, and even though he’s sure it’s Steve, he pulls it out of his pocket anyway, if only for the satisfaction of aggressively punching the ignore button. 

It’s not Steve.

“Hi, Monkey,” Danny says, and sometimes he marvels at the way Grace can change his entire mood purely by existing.

“Danno,” Grace sounds serious, “Can you come pick me up?”

“At Mom’s?  Is everything okay?”

“Not really.  Mom and Stan are fighting.”

“Fighting? What kind of fighting?”

“Yelling. I mean, they aren’t right now but they have been for like three days and I asked Mom if I could stay with you this weekend and she said it was okay.”

“Is she there now?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me just talk to her, make sure it’s okay for me to come right now.”

“Okay.” He hears rustling, then a door opening.

“Hi Daniel.” Rachel sounds falsely cheery.

“What’s going on?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Stan’s parents offered to take Charlie for the weekend, and if Grace stays with you it will give Stan and me some time to talk.  With him traveling so much, we just...things aren’t easy.”

“You’d tell me if it was more than that, right?  He’s not getting mixed up in anything dangerous again?”

“No, Danny, I think you did a good job of scaring him straight.” Rachel snorts. “I promise, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Grace is worried.”

“I know.” Rachel sighs. “I didn’t realize she’d heard us last night.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Danny glances at his watch. “Is it okay if I come get her now?”

“Of course.  Thank you, Danny, I appreciate it.”

He has a voicemail from Steve when he hangs up.  There’s something resigned about it; normally Steve would just keep calling until he annoyed Danny into picking up.  He doesn’t listen to it because he knows it’s an apology and he’s not ready for that yet. 

Grace is waiting on the swing out front when he pulls into the driveway, still in her school uniform, her backpack and her bag for the weekend on the grass next to her.

“Go say goodbye to your mom, okay,” Danny says, putting the bags in the backseat.  Grace sighs and comes thisclose to rolling her eyes – the teenage years are most definitely looming – but she walks back up to the house and disappears inside for a few minutes.

She seems somewhat less grumpy when she returns to the car, and Danny waits until she’s buckled in and they’re on the road before he says, “What’s going on, huh?”

“I told you,” Grace scowls. “Mom and Stan are fighting.”

“I know that, I meant what’s going on with you?  You’re making Uncle Steve’s aneurysm face, which, I gotta say, is very disconcerting for me.”

That, at least, earns him the smallest of smiles. “I just don’t like it when they fight.”

“Married people fight, Monkey.  Unfortunately, it’s part of the deal with the for better or for worse thing.”

“You and Mom didn’t fight until you got divorced.” Grace says, suddenly sounding much younger than twelve, or maybe it’s that Danny forgets how young twelve really is because it seems like she’s growing up so fast.

“Is that what you’re worried about?  Mom and Stan getting divorced?”

“A little.” Grace stares down at her knees.

“I can’t promise you that won’t happen,” Danny says, because twelve may be young but she’s too old now for fairy tales about mommies and daddies who always stay married. “But I can promise you everything will be okay if it does.”

“I used to wish for it,” Grace says, and her eyes are wide and guilty when she looks at him. “I used to wish Mom and Stan would get divorced so you and Mom would get back together. It was stupid.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid.  I’m a grown up and what did I do when Grandma and Grandpa were separated, huh? I wished they’d get back together.”

“Did you ever wish you and Mom would?”

He did more than wish, but Grace is definitely not old enough for that story. “I did.  For a little while.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I kept wishing we could be a family again, but I stopped when I realized we were always going to be a family.  We’re just a bigger one now.  You and me and Mom and Stan and Charlie.”

“Don’t forget Uncle Steve.”

It hits Danny like a sucker punch, because if Grace gets it, why can’t Steve figure it out?  He forces a smile, “How could I forget Uncle Steve when you’re sitting there with his aneurysm face?”

“Not anymore,” Grace protests, giggling. “Will you make lasagna tonight? The good way, with the sauce.”

“With the sauce? It’s like you’re reading my mind.”

He’s making dinner when he hears the rumble of Steve’s piece of shit car pull up outside.  Steve knocks on the screen door a minute later.  Danny’s not used to it, he and Steve have been letting themselves into each other’s houses for years now, but today’s argument has put enough distance between them that Steve waits on the front steps until Danny waves him in.

“Something smells good,” Steve says, standing awkwardly in Danny’s kitchen like he’s never been here before.

“Lasagna. Grace’s favorite. She had a rough day…which makes two of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, I didn’t mean it. Not the way it sounded.”

“I know.” Danny stirs the tomato sauce simmering on the stove. “Even if you didn’t mean it, though, you’re right.  I do worry.  I probably worry too much, but you can’t deny you give me cause to worry. Working with you has taken years off my life from anxiety alone.”

“Danny, c’mon, this is who we are.  Our job is dangerous, it’s always been dangerous.”

“I can’t keep talking in circles with you.” Danny frowns. “I don’t expect that you’re going to wake up tomorrow, or ever, and decide not to be the guy who drops everything to fly to Afghanistan to help a kid he’s never met, or who chases down a bunch of kidnappers to protect this island, because that’s who you are.  It’s one of the things I love most about you, how much you care about this job, how personally you take it. 

“But you don’t exist in a bubble on your own.  When you end up in the hospital or held hostage in North Korea, I’m the guy who gets the phone call.  And after days like today, when you act like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t matter that you could’ve died, what am I supposed to do with that, huh?” Danny feels a lump rising in his throat, tears stinging his eyes like they did this morning in the hospital, and he turns to stir the sauce again, just to give his hands something to do for a second.  He needs the distraction. “I know you’re not used to having a family,” Danny says, “but you are my family, okay?”

“Danno,” Steve says, and Danny turns to look at him.  Steve stands up straighter, his shoulders squaring. He moves, just a step closer, and there’s something about the determined gleam in his eyes that makes Danny’s heart start to race inside his chest, and he can hear it pounding in his ears. Danny takes a step too, and then Steve is close enough to touch if he wants to, close enough Danny can smell the lingering hints of his aftershave.  Steve licks his lips and Danny caves, grabbing Steve by the front of his t-shirt and—

“Hey, Uncle Steve,” Grace says, and Steve and Danny startle like teenagers caught sneaking in after curfew.  Grace doesn’t seem to notice, just crosses to the refrigerator and pulls out a bag of baby carrots.  “Are you staying for dinner?  Danno’s making lasagna.”

She crunches on a carrot and offers the bag to Steve, who takes one and chews it mechanically while his stupid tactical brain comes up with his best escape strategy, probably. “Yeah,” Steve smirks when he finishes the carrot and grabs another from the bag, “if that’s cool with Danno.

“It’s cool,” Danny says, his voice sounding strangled, and resists the urge to throw carrots at Steve’s dumb, smug face.

Danny’s hands shake while he layers the cheese and the sauce and the pasta in the pan, and part of him is grateful Grace walked in when she did – there would’ve been no going back from kissing Steve, and there’s so much at stake, so much he’s not willing to throw away for a few confused minutes of attraction and desperation.

(Just thinking it leaves the bitter taste of a lie in his mouth, because there’s very little he wouldn’t give up for the sake of whatever is going on between him and Steve.)

“Danno, can I go surfing with Uncle Steve tomorrow?” Grace asks after Danny slides the lasagna into the oven.  She looks so hopeful, but Danny’s first instinct, as always, is to say no because he still doesn’t know how to love the ocean the way Grace and Steve do, doesn’t know how to look at it and feel anything but fear.

But if he’s looking for a way to make it safer, sending Steve with her is probably the answer.

“One condition,” Danny says, and Grace deflates. “You promise to do exactly as Uncle Steve says.  It’s his job to decide if something is too dangerous, okay?”

“Okay.” Grace nods. “I promise.”

“That good with you, Uncle Steve?”

Steve nods, and locks eyes with Danny.  His expression is solemn, like he understands how much it takes for Danny to trust him with this. 

“You should come too, Danno.” Grace suggests, but Danny can tell she doesn’t really mean it.  It’s not as fun for her, surfing with him, when she could surf with Steve who can actually teach her something.  It used to bother him, that surfing was yet another thing he couldn’t really share with his daughter, but he has to admit he likes that it gives Steve something in common with Grace.

“Danno don’t surf,” Steve grins, and Danny nods, taking the easy out.

“Tell you what, you go surfing with Steve, and then after you and I can go out for breakfast.  How does that sound? Everybody gets to play to their strengths.”

“Can we get malasadas?”

“Yes, just don’t tell your mother all I fed you was carbs and sugar, huh?”

Grace brandishes the bag of carrots. “Look, I’m eating a vegetable right now.”

“Oh, what a relief.  And here I was thinking I’d have to track down some fruit to feed you, but those carrots are my fatherly duty done for the weekend.”

Grace laughs and throws a carrot at him. 

“Now that was behavior I’d expect from Uncle Steve, but not you, Monkey.” Because he’s a mature adult, Steve pelts Danny with two more carrots. “Thank you for proving my point, you doof.”

Steve just crunches loudly on another carrot, grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Because he does, the jerk.  He loves winding Danny up, has been making an art of it for four years. 

“I nominate the two people throwing carrots around my kitchen—who, I might add, have done none of the cooking tonight—to set the table.”

Later, after half the lasagna is gone and Grace has retreated into the living room to watch crappy television, Danny stands at the sink up to his elbows in dishwater while Steve leans against the counter decidedly not making himself useful.

“What’s the matter with you?” Danny nods towards the dishtowel on the counter, “If you’re going to stand there, at least start drying.”

Steve must be preoccupied, because he picks up the towel and the pasta pot without complaint.

“About earlier,” he says after a few long minutes of silence.

“Let’s not talk about it.” Danny suggests quickly, glancing over his shoulder to see if Grace’s truly impeccable timing has sent her back into the kitchen for a glass of water and another interruption.

“Seriously, Danno?” Steve looks so affronted that Danny laughs.

“I mean not right now.  Obviously we have to talk.  Just maybe not when my daughter is in the next room and could walk in at any minute. How about Sunday night?”

“Okay,” Steve nods. “Sunday night.” 

***** 

On Sunday morning, they catch a case involving a scumbag drug dealer, four dead teenagers, and enough kilos of tainted MDMA to do a lot more damage.  On Sunday afternoon, Danny gets stabbed by the aforementioned scumbag drug dealer.

“Son of a bitch,” Steve says, hitting the ground next to Danny while Chin and Kono chase after the perp and Grover radios for an ambulance.

There’s a lot of blood, too much blood, and Steve yanks off his button-down, balling it up and pressing it to Danny’s gut.  Somehow, there’s already blood on Steve’s white undershirt too.

“Fuck,” Danny spits.  His mouth tastes coppery.

“Ambulance is three minutes out,” Grover says and Steve presses harder on Danny’s stomach.

“You got your wish,” Steve says.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Danny blinks, trying to make Steve’s face stop spinning.

“Two days ago you said you wanted to bust a drug dealer.”

“I don’t remember asking to get stabbed.” Danny groans. “And if this is your idea of distracting me, it’s not working.”

His vision is starting to tunnel out, and Steve says something but he’s too far away, everything is garbled and...

Danny knows he’s in the hospital before he opens his eyes. He can tell from the beeping heart monitor and the scratchy sheets and the bleachy disinfectant smell, and it takes him a second to remember why he’s here, but that comes back after a second, too, when he breathes in and feels the bandage tight on his waist.

The room is dark when he opens his eyes, but not so dark that he can’t see Steve sleeping in the chair, his head resting against the wall behind him and his feet propped up on the end of the bed.  It must be a SEAL thing to be able to sleep that easily anywhere.

Danny’s mouth is dry and still tastes bloody.  He tries to reach the plastic cup and pitcher of water on the bedside table, and only succeeds in sitting up a little, which sends pain shooting through him.  He groans, and Steve snaps awake so quickly Danny would laugh if he didn’t think it would hurt too much.

“What are you doing?” Steve demands. “Lie back down.”

Danny does, because he doesn’t have the energy to do much else. “I’m thirsty.”

“You should’ve just woken me up.”

“But you looked so peaceful, babe, snoring and drooling over there.” Danny giggles, loopy on whatever painkillers they’re giving him.

“I don’t snore.  Or drool.” Steve protests, but he pours Danny some water and holds it for him when it becomes clear that Danny’s arms aren’t going to cooperate with the whole holding and tilting a cup thing.

“What time is it?”

Steve looks at his watch, “Almost three.  You’ve been out since they brought you down from the OR.”

“What’s the damage?”

“Not too bad.  Didn’t hit anything vital.” Steve might be trying to sound casual, but Danny’s almost sure he remembers coming to in the ambulance for a minute or two, Steve clutching his hand and begging him not to go anywhere.

“That’s a relief.” Danny’s brain feels fuzzy, unfocused, and he knows there’s something else he should ask but he can’t remember what it is.

“Get some rest,” Steve says. “I’ll be here.”

It’s too bright when Danny wakes again, and he squints at Steve who looks pale and tired next to him.

“Hey, babe,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Hey,” Steve smiles. “How you feeling?”

“Like I got stabbed.”

“Imagine that.”

“Do you think maybe we switched places and now it’s going to be me over here from now on? Should have a contest? See who can end up in the hospital more by the time we retire?”

Steve is supposed to say something obnoxious about their jobs being dangerous or smirk and crack a dumb joke, but because he’s Steve and he never follows the rules he looks down at his hands instead and says, so quietly Danny almost can’t hear him, “You’re not allowed to be the one in the hospital again.”

“Maybe next time tell that to the perp before he stabs me.”

“Danno,” Steve says, sounding exasperated and wrecked and Danny wants to say now you know how I feel all the fucking time but he doesn’t really have the energy to be petty right now.

“I know, babe.” He says, because he does, because if he knows anything it’s what it’s like to be the one sitting in the uncomfortable chair, worrying. “Let’s not do this again anytime soon, okay?”

“I’ll take the hospital visit every time if it means I don’t have to watch you bleeding out in the street ever again.”

“Jesus, Steve.”

“It’s true.”

“I know it is, you maniac.” Something catches in Danny’s throat, a lump the size of four years of unspoken feelings and pent up...everything he’s been feeling towards Steve since the idiot barged onto Danny’s crime scene and pulled a gun on him in his father’s garage. Steve holds his gaze, and at first his eyes are stubborn and defiant but the longer Danny looks the more his expression softens. He shrugs a little, uncertain in a way Steve rarely is. And Danny, because he always has being an asshole to fall back on when things get too close, too real, says, “For the record, this is not how I envisioned us spending our Monday morning.”

Steve’s ears flush pink. It’s adorable. He clears his throat. “Me either. I wanted to make you breakfast.”

With Danny’s plan to ruffle the unshakeable Navy SEAL a (predictable) failure, blushing ears notwithstanding, he’s left just blinking at Steve like a doofus. Steve grins.

“What’s wrong, Danno, you think it was all you?”

Danny huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, pretty much. And if you try to tell me you’ve known all along and have just been keeping your mouth shut, I swear I’m going to take a page out of the McGarrett handbook and go dump you in a shark cage for a while so you can think about what you’ve done.”

“Not all along.” Steve says quietly. “It’s sort of...recent. At least for me.”

It’s definitely not recent for Danny.  Not that it gives him any idea how to say what he wants to say. In the shitty romance movie version of this moment, he’d have the right words and would deliver them with the perfect combination of gravitas and dry wit, but this is still Danny’s shitty life, so what comes out of his mouth is decidedly lacking on all fronts.

“So...”

“So,” Steve echoes, or maybe it’s a question. What now, Danno?

“This is a disaster,” Danny groans. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go, you know?  Nobody was supposed to end up in the hospital, and okay, yeah, that’s almost always a possibility with you—

“Danno,” Steve interrupts, “do you actually want to talk or do you just want to talk about what a train wreck this is?”

“I’m in love with you,” Danny blurts, and he definitely was not planning on leading with that, but Steve doesn’t even have the decency to look surprised.  He doesn’t even feign surprise; he just blinks and after a second he’s smiling the stupid smile that always makes Danny feel a little wobbly, the one that makes Steve look younger and carefree.

“Yeah, I know.”

Danny sighs heavily, “Everybody knows.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Oh, I’m not.  There is not one person in my life who doesn’t know.  Even my sisters, who have never even met you, know.  Your aunt asked me at her wedding when I was going to tell you.  Your sister hasn’t actually mentioned it, which is surprising since she doesn’t usually pull any punches, but I’m sure she knows too. That is the state of things, in case you were concerned about how serious this thing is.”

“Danny.”

“I’m just saying, now’s the time to call it.  This thing isn’t going to be casual.”

“Who says I want anything casual?” Steve scowls. “If I wanted easy and casual, believe me, Danno, you wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“Well that’s rude, because I’m delightful—

“You’re high-maintenance, is what you are,” Steve grumbles. “And you’re my partner, you’re my best friend...there’s a lot that gets ruined and a lot of people who get hurt if this busts up a few weeks from now when we realize we made a mistake.”

“Right, okay.  So that’s it, then? We’re just going to write it off as a near miss, go back to life as usual.” It kills him to say it, but god, Steve is right.  If this goes south, Danny’s entire life is totally fucked.

“Hey, I didn’t say that.” Steve shakes his head. “I was agreeing with you. You and me...it’s going to be serious. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it.”

“Are you sure?” Danny can’t quite keep the disbelief out of his voice. He didn’t realize until now how hard he’d been trying not to get his hopes up, because Danny never gets the things he really, truly wants.

Steve sighs, and he crosses to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. “Yes, I’m sure.”

This still isn’t a shitty romance movie, but that doesn’t stop him grabbing Steve by the front of his t-shirt and pulling him closer. Steve kisses like he drives – confident, a little reckless, like everything of Danny’s belongs to him (because yeah, it pretty much does) – and Danny figures if Steve keeps kissing him like this his life will be decidedly less shitty.

Danny’s heart monitor starts beeping fast enough that some nurse is probably going to come rushing in any second, and Steve pulls away.

“Hey,” Danny protests.

“It’s fine,” Steve grins. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” Danny tugs Steve towards him again. “Me either.”