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Though Steve didn't actually see it happen, too busy getting his own ass kicked while chasing a suspect through a seemingly endless expanse of construction yard, he was almost positive that Danny had a concussion. He wasn't sure what his first clue was- the blood staining Danny's off-white collar from a wound somewhere hidden by his wind-swept hair come loose from the firm confines of the gel he used, or that he was quiet, near silent, on the drive back to the Palace. In the entire time that Steve knew him, Danny was never quiet. He was always shouting and ranting and complaining, always gesticulating and talking with his hands and gesturing. Now, he was slumped in his seat with his head pressed against the window, almost curled up in a ball on the small space, arms around his midsection, staring blearily out the window at the rapidly passing scenery.
Steve chanced a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. He could see it now- at the back of his head was a dark patch of blond hair matted by dried and crusted blood. It dripped down Danny's neck and wormed its way down the back of his shirt, leaving dark lines through the white fabric. It stained the back of his ears, and the little white hairs at the back of his neck were almost black. Steve honestly felt pretty bad about it. He had emerged from their encounter relatively unscathed save for a few cuts and bruises and a protesting body that would probably ache in the morning, and here Danny was suffering from what was undoubtedly a concussion, about to face a pretty shitty few days to a week, and Steve didn't even know how it happened.
"You OK?" Steve asked, trying not to sound too concerned. "You look like crap."
"I feel like crap," Danny grumbled, curling further into himself, if that was even possible. He looked so small in the passenger seat, curled up like a kid against the window, face scrunched into an expression of discomfort. "Asshole got the jump on me, pretty sure I got a concussion."
"You want me to swing by the hospital?" Steve asked. He wasn't sure why he bothered. Danny shook his head before the words were fully out of his mouth, both of them already knowing each other well enough to know how the conversation was going to go. "You should probably get checked out, Danno."
"They're not gonna tell me anything that I don't already know," Danny said in a tone that Steve inferred to mean that the conversation was over, or else. "I really just want to go home."
Danny was silent the whole rest of the drive back to the Palace, valiantly trying to keep his eyes from fluttering shut as the car ride began to rock him slowly to sleep, exhaustion settling over his bones like a weighted blanket. Steve kept an eye on him just in case, but Danny thankfully never gave in to the siren's call of sleep. They arrived at the Palace around dusk, Chin and Kono already having clocked out and gone home, and Steve watched but knew better than to comment as Danny arduously exited the car like it was the hardest thing in the world, movements sluggish, body slow and aching.
He watched from the class cage of his own office, packing his bag and shrugging his jacket on, as Danny blearily stumbled around the Palace, collecting his own things, locking everything up, and getting ready to leave. Steve was endlessly thankful that his truck had broken down and he and Danny had carpooled into work today, just so he didn't have to worry about Danny trying to drive himself home, or even worse, spending the night alone on his crappy office couch.
It's not that Steve didn't trust Danny- he knew that Danny was one of the most competent and skilled people that he had ever met, but Steve still felt uneasy leaving him alone with a concussion, no matter how well he could take care of himself. He would feel much better if Danny was within eyesight, preferably somewhere warm with good booze and sports at the ready. For Steve, not necessarily for Danny, who would probably be throwing back painkillers and drifting off to sleep before Steve could even load up his most recent recording of one of his many missed football games.
He paused outside of Danny's office, watching him slowly pack his bag, fingers numb, checking too many times that he had his phone, keys and wallet in his back pocket. "Oi.'
"Huh?" Danny squinted and turned to face him. "What?"
"You got Grace this weekend?"
"No, thankfully. I don't think I'd be much fun with my head feeling like it's being torn in half."
That's what Steve suspected. He doubted that Danny would have admitted as much if his brain currently didn't resemble scrambled eggs. "Why don't you stay at my place for a couple of days? Just until you're no longer at risk of drowning in your own vomit in your sleep."
As expected, Danny glared at him. "You think you're funny. Who taught you how to tell jokes? A mortician?"
"I think Max is plenty funny," Steve replied easily, causing Danny to frown in confusion, struggling to keep up. "Come on, I'm not taking no for an answer. Let me take your bag, you've counted that paperwork five times already, it's not going anywhere."
Steve practically bullied Danny into leaving his office and shuffling out of the room on heavy, lazy feet until they exited the Palace and, finally, he managed to usher Danny back into the passenger seat of the Camaro. It was a testament to how crappy he really must have felt for him not to even pretend to put up a fuss about him not being able to drive his own car, even after the end of their shift. Steve tried to relax and focus on the road and not on Danny slumped beside him. The truth of the matter was that they had both endured more concussions than was probably healthy while on the job and that they had both emerged relatively unscathed, only to do it all over again. And though he had given Danny grief before, he was holding on pretty well. He hadn't thrown up despite the stopping-and-starting of traffic, he was doing a pretty good job at keeping himself awake and hadn't complained about dizziness or ringing ears. In fact, he hadn't said very much at all, just humming faintly in agreement when Steve had given him options for dinner, and grunted when Steve asked how he was doing. But that was alright. Talking would come later, tomorrow, in the form of complaining all about the case and the suspects they had to chase and the bastard who smashed his head in and gave him the headache of all headaches. Steve couldn't help but smile just thinking about it and was suddenly glad that Danny wasn't paying him any mind.
When Steve pulled into the driveway of his childhood home, Danny pitched forward, looking pale, and groaned. His elbows were on his knees and his hands were clenched into fists. Steve sat back and watched, waiting for Danny to finally spew his lunch all over the dash and his lap, or tell Steve what it was that he needed. Instead, Danny just breathed hard through his nose and shut his eyes. "You gonna chuck?" Steve wearily asked when the silence stretched too long.
"No, Steven, I'm not," Danny retorted sharply. He mustn't be feeling too bad at the moment, that was the most Danny Williams response he'd gotten all night. "You know that I don't throw up and haven't since I was a kid. But you had better have some strong painkillers in this fortress of yours because I feel like my brain is about to start leaking out of my ears."
Chuckling fondly, Steve hastily put the car in park and exited before helping Danny inside. Danny was too stubborn to lean on Steve for support, but he swayed pretty precariously as he moved under his own steam, so Steve kept a cautious hand extended anyway, inches away from Danny's lower back in case he faltered. Once they were past the threshold, Steve locked the door behind him and deposited his keys and his wallet on the table by the door, and Danny kicked off his shoes, leaning heavily against the wall, and padded on miss-matched cartoony socks to the couch.
Before he could sit, however, Steve called. "Don't get comfortable."
"Wha-?" Danny squinted at Steve, offended, and straightened back up. "Why the hell not?"
Though Steve felt sorry for the guy, confused and disgruntled Danny was kind of adorable, like an old dog annoyed at being told what to do after years of servitude, always huffing and flicking its ears in irritation. "Because you're covered in dirt and you've got blood all dried in your hair," Steve explained as simply as he could. "Go take a shower, and dinner will be here by the time you're done. Just shout if you slip or something."
"Hardy-ha," Danny griped as he took Steve's advice and made his way slowly towards the shower. Neither of them mentioned that Danny didn't bring a change of clothes with him. They've stayed over at each other's houses unannounced, unexpected, so often that they've each got a small stockpile of clothing tucked away to use when the opportunity called for it. "If I get a second concussion while in your care, I'm going to recover and kick your ass."
When the water started to run, Steve went through the motions. He found Danny's pyjamas, a ratty pair of shorts and a faded printed top and rested them over the sink, averting his eyes to avoid a glance at his partner in the nude, the rushing water loud enough to mask the soft click of the bathroom door opening and closing. He called their regular pizza shop and ordered two pizzas that he knew Danny would complain about and compare to New Jersey but devour thankfully all the same. He mourned the football recording that he was going to watch tonight and put on a nature documentary instead, something about winter animals and climate change that Danny was sure to love. He set out a beer for himself, cool condensation dripping onto the coffee table, a glass of citrus-flavoured sparking water and two of the strongest painkillers he had on hand for Danny.
By the time Danny emerged from the bathroom wearing the clothes Steve had set out, he was depositing the pizzas on the kitchen bench, and Danny looked marginally better. The dirt had been scrubbed from his skin, and his cheeks were flushed pink from the warm water. His hair rested in slightly wet but mostly fluffy golden strands of silk across his forehead, which he pushed back impatiently just for it to fall back down over his eyes. The dried blood was gone, and though there was still a bruise darkening on his jaw and he looked like hell frozen over, there was a spark in his eyes that had been missing just minutes before. "Feeling better?" Steve asked as he handed Danny his pizza.
"A little," Danny admitted as he took his proffered pizza and finally sank down onto the couch. He groaned in relief as his aching muscles were finally able to relax and settle, but only gave himself a moment before he cracked an eye open and glared daggers at Steve's beer. "What the hell's the matter with you, you animal? You don't own a coaster? You're gonna stain a ring into the table and then what are you going to tell people? 'My name is Steve McGarrett, I'm in the Navy and I'm a child who doesn't know how to use a coaster'. Get a napkin or something, you'll ruin the varnish."
Steve couldn't help but grin. If Danny was teasing him like that, it meant that he was already starting to recover. "Glad to see you're feeling better, Danno."
They settled down on the couch with their pizzas topped with melty, gooey cheese and crispy, spicy pepperoni, and Steve pressed play on the nature documentary just as a baby seal with watery brown eyes peered at the screen. It didn't take long for Danny to end up horizontal, his pizza box balanced precariously as he leaned against the armrest, his toes pressing against Steve's hip. Steve thought it best not to say anything about it because, despite his loss of watching the football game, he would much rather watch the baby seal and its parents outswim a shark than listen to Danny insult his masculinity.
Though he knew it was pointless, he still glanced at Danny now and then, making sure he was quiet because he was involved in the documentary and not because he was dying silently. It was in his nature to worry about somebody Steve had come to think of as his second half, his missing piece, his platonic soulmate in the most literal kind of way. If he lost Danny, especially to something as measly as a concussion while under his watch, Steve didn't know what he would do with himself.
Eventually, when all the pizza had been consumed, Danny's glass of citrus-flavoured sparking water had been ingested and his extra-strong painkillers had been knocked back, Steve felt Danny relax against him, loose-limbed and asleep, lulled into a peaceful and hopefully painless slumber by the medication and apparently soothing pairing of the soft sounds and the shifting lights from the television. Fondly, Steve carefully extracted himself from the tangle of Danny's limbs, having made their way over to rest securely in his lap. He deposited the empty grease-stained pizza boxes in the bin, switched off all the lights, double-checked to make sure the doors were locked, and collected some of the fluffiest, softest, warmest blankets from the hall closet where the rest of the typically useless stuff resided.
Carefully, Steve ensured that Danny was tucked in under the covers, a warm blue blanket pulled up under his chin, and couldn't help but smile at the sight of Danny with his soft blond hair falling into his eyes as he drooled onto his hand, lips slightly parted and face lax with sleep. Steve settled in for the night, putting Danny's feet back across his lap and laying his own blanket over himself, and he kept the nature documentary on the lowest volume, both so Danny was comforted, even in sleep, by the familiar sounds, and so Steve had some way to occupy himself as he attempted to stay up and watch over Danny for the rest of the night.
Danny always had his back, so it was easy enough for Steve to put anything and everything aside to do this for him. It was the least he could do.