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He’s got the TV volume loud enough that if he stands at just the right spot, he can feel the thrum of the vibrations. Every radio he could find is turned to ‘scan’ so the sounds of intermittent static and incomprehensible words fill all the spaces the TV missed.
He walks through every room, picks something up, sets it back down. Flips the light switch on, then off. Tries to sit down, stands back up again after only seconds. He’s got a feeling in his body, almost like an itch, teasing at every nerve ending.
All the noise in the house isn’t quite enough to drown out the beep beep beep beep that’s echoing in his mind. Walking around his house and going through all those motions of up, down, on, off is just barely enough to keep him from…
To keep him from something. Just something. He can’t put his finger on what exactly, it’s at the edge of everything. Of his knowledge, of his control. His goddamn sanity.
He just knows that the pictures from the TV flashing through the dark room he’s standing in can almost keep him from remembering the image of that red dot holding steady against the light of Danny’s shirt. He tries to focus on the background noise in its entirety, tries to keep from centering on any one thing in particular because then all he can think of is the panic in Danny’s eyes, the shake in his voice, the color riding high on his cheeks and the paleness everywhere else.
If he sits down, all he can remember is that body at his feet with its ball bearings and nails and proximity sensor. If he stands, it takes all of him to not think of the fact that all he could do was just stand there as the beeping picked up its pace and the bomb tech was telling him to leave, and Danny was telling him to leave but no, just no. No way in hell.
If something happens…
No.
I need you to take care of Grace.
It was just wrong. Just so fucking wrong. The idea of it, of it being any man that wasn’t Danny picking her up from school, and taking her to get shaved ice, and being her date for dances.
Danny could’ve missed the most important dance he’d ever be able to give her. It’s that thought that makes his stomach roll and his hands shake. It makes this band wind its way around his chest and tighten until he’s gasping.
He doesn’t realize he’s got something in his hand until it’s flying through the air to smash against the wall. The sight of it shattering and little pieces flying in every direction has his vision graying out as his mind supplies him with the sound of those beeps speeding up, of the sight of the bomb going off—of Danny getting…
It’s a sudden rage. It’s gray exploding into red, it’s his heartbeat in his ears, a pounding that still isn’t enough to quiet the beepbeepbeepbeep. He’s hot and he’s cold, his mind blank except for smoke and fire and destruction and Danny. He’s desperate for it to stop; he’ll do anything for it to stop. Vaguely he can hear a roaring under the beeping, doesn’t even wonder what it is; the wall that’s somehow in front of him has a hole that’s getting bigger, sheet rock and plaster dust is in the air, he can smell it even as he can smell the acridity of burnt flesh.
And then just as soon as it comes, it’s gone and he’s exhausted. His knuckles are bloody, his throat feels shredded, and his eyes are burning from tears and fury and abject terror. He places his hands on either side of that hole, drops his head, then somehow he’s turned around and sliding down until he’s seated, back flush against the wall. He drapes his arms over his knees and drops his chin to his chest.
Then he just closes his eyes and breathes.
He’d been able to keep it at bay. He’d been able to keep Danny and bomb and all the things that came with those two words in the same sentence from really hitting while it was actually happening. He was able to stay calm—cold flashed through his mind before he cut it off—while Danny was trembling in front of him. He’d been able to kneel beside the body and know what type of bomb it was, and not react. He’d been able to stand there while Danny told his story, while his voice shook and broke, and not say anything.
He’d had to. He knew how to hold himself in. He knew if he didn’t, if he focused on that red beam that was directly over his partner’s heart—
He had to hold it in, if he did, then Danny wouldn’t move. Danny would follow his lead and they would both stay calm and Danny would stay alive just that much longer.
But then, it was September 11th, and then the beep’s steady pace sped up and the bomb tech didn’t know, and it was beepbeepbeepbeepbeep and Danny’s voice telling him to leave.
Control was a rapidly fleeting idea after that.
Then they were clear—Done? Can I move done?—and Danny’s hunched over, hands on his knees, and he can still hear the rapid in and out of his partner’s breathing.
He could only push the heels of his hands into his eyes, into the wetness that just all of the sudden burned them. He had Danny’s nervous laughter—let’s hope there’s not a next time—in front of him. He had his heart pounding in his ears, his own giddy relief whispering at the edges of his mind.
It’s a tight grip he’d had on himself, or so he thought anyway. But then Danny was thanking him for sticking around and he knew what was coming before Danny even finished and he could just barely cut his partner off because just No. There was never any other option. Then Danny was in his arms, holding tight, and he wasn’t quite sure who was holding who up. When Danny laughed again—more hysteria than anything else—his own laughter sobbed out of him, and he could only bury his face in Danny’s shoulder and close his eyes. It was solid and desperate and full of oh God and so damn fucking close but it was so, so much better than ashes and seared flesh and blown apart bodies.
It’s all of that running on repeat on his head as he pushes himself up and out to the lanai. He walks until he’s got water lapping at his toes and just continues until it’s at his waist, then he leans back until he’s floating. The waves rock him, warm and steady; the ocean’s in his ears and the beeps are muffled. His clothes and boots weigh him down but he just spreads his arms and lets the sea surround him.
He’s not sure how long he’s there for, but the house is a flickering light and he has to swim back. He’s looser than when he’d first walked in, that incessant buzzing is now just a distant hum in his body. His boots squelch with every step and his clothes stick to his skin; the night’s breeze brings goose bumps to the skin that’s exposed and he can’t help the shiver that runs over him.
“Have a good swim?”
Danny’s voice has him startling and reaching reflexively towards his hip before it registers that it’s Danny’s voice. He lifts his head from where he’d been staring at the sand as he walked towards Danny sitting on the wooden recliner nearest the door into the house.
“Hey. Hi.” He’s surprised when his voice comes out hoarse; sees the frown cross his partner’s face as Danny hears it too. “How was the dance? How’s Grace? Did you have a good time?” He grabs the towel that Danny throws his way.
“The dance was great, Grace is great, we had a great time.” From the sound of Danny’s voice, it’s the truth. “How has your night been? I’m guessing your wall committed some kind of horrible crime?”
He feels himself flush. “Yeah.” It’s all he can say.
Danny gives a quiet laugh and shakes his head. “Come on,” he wags his head toward the house, “it would be just our luck that we survive today and you die in a week from pneumonia.”
“Three years, Danno, and you still doubt my hardiness.” But he follows him anyway.
They don’t speak as they walk into the house. He ignores the water puddles he leaves on the floor as he walks, it’s the not first time the wood has been touched by it, and water’s not nearly the worst thing that’s fallen on the planks. He sees Danny grab a broom and dustpan and starts at the mess he left, muttering something or other.
Steve has to stop. He can’t keep walking, there’s some kind of force holding him in place; all he can do is stare at his partner. At the way Danny hunches over to the sweep all the debris into the pan, the way his hair falls forward like whatever Danny put into it has worn off.
He can see muscles bunch under Danny’s white shirt as he moves, sees them in Danny’s arms as he brushes at the plaster dust that had blown onto his dark dress slacks. He tries not to remember the way those arms had trembled as they had stayed raised in the air.
He meets Danny’s eyes when Danny looks up. He doesn’t know why Danny’s eyes darken the way they do, or why his lips twist like that. He wonders if what he’s thinking shows on his face.
“Babe—” Danny thrusts a hand through his hair, and there it is. He wonders if he has that same look of helplessness that his partner does. “God, it’s been such a long fucking day.” He laughs that laugh from when he’d been talking about Hank’s Haute Dog when—
The lump that’s suddenly in his throat keeps him from talking.
Another look passes over Danny’s face. “Steve, your face. Just—stop.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” It pops out of him before he has a chance to rethink it.
Danny gives another laugh. “Nothing’s wrong with your face, babe. Nothing at all. Not even a little bit.”
“Oh.”
And then they just stand there before Danny scrubs a hand over his face and opens his mouth.
Steve’s taking that first step before he actively decides to take it. It’s the longest damn one he’s ever taken to get him to Danny, and it’s the shortest three steps he’s ever made.
Danny blinks in surprise before it melts into something that looks almost…angry? “You stayed.”
Steve blinks. “Yes.”
“You stayed.”
He’s confused and he’s sure his face shows it. “Yes?”
“I asked you to leave. For Grace. But you didn’t.” The color from earlier is starting to show again on Danny’s cheeks, and there’s a tightness around his eyes. And Steve just can’t deal with that.
So he wraps a hand around the back of Danny’s neck and hauls him in. It’s violent the way their lips crash together. There’s nothing sweet about it, it’s the furthest thing from gentle. It’s as if all that energy they’d held so tightly onto has exploded and the only thing they could do is let it burn.
Just that thought has Steve delving even deeper, lips and teeth rub together rough enough that Steve can taste blood, but damned if he knows whose.
When they part, they’re both gasping. Danny still looks pissed and Steve can feel the same starting to simmer deep in his chest.
“I couldn’t leave you, Danny.” His voice is rough when he speaks. His hands are gripping the sides of Danny’s face and he forces himself to drop his hands. He doesn’t step back though. He doesn’t have that kind of strength in him, that control is so far out of his grasp now. “I can’t lose you. I needed to be there for you.” To be with you.
“My baby, Steve. I won’t have my little girl be alone. I need you to be there for her. I need you to make sure she’ll be ok. I need you to make sure she knows I never wanted to leave her. You’re the only person who can make sure she never forgets how much I love her. You’re the only person I trust with my baby—” Danny’s voice breaks then and his breath cuts off with a sob.
When Steve reaches up and wraps his arms around Danny’s shoulders, Danny answers it with his own sure grip. They’re both shaking and Steve can feel the wet of his clothes soaking into Danny’s. He only wants to get closer, to bury himself in the feel of his partner, to assure himself that the warmth is real, that Danny’s really solid against him and that those beeps were only just a close call.
He feels Danny’s fingers twist in his shirt and the knowledge that maybe it’s mutual, calms that hot, hot ball in the pit of his stomach.
“Both of us?” He whispers against Danny’s shoulder. “The both of us have to be there for her. Will you let me be there for her with you?” He didn’t really realize exactly how much he needed it until he’d said it. Or maybe he did. But god knows he’s always been stubborn.
What Danny lets out is half-sob, half-chuckle. “You bastard. Do you know what it took to walk away from you? Do you have any goddamn idea that I had to focus on Gracie, on seeing my daughter? I couldn’t look back. I had to keep it together to give my daughter her dance—”
“Danno’s 100% Guarantee is a holy thing, Danno.” They’re still holding each other, Steve has no problem if they never let go.
“You’re damn straight. I couldn’t look at you. I would’ve lost it. But I promised my daughter, Steve. And I was going to hold it together until I could get here, and then I’d bust your fucking ass for staying, and thank you to hell and back for staying. And then I get here, and your damn house is dark. I can hear your radios and your TV and I see the hole in your wall and I really want to beat your damn SEAL-head in now because you have to do everything on your own. You could’ve drowned yourself, you damned idiot, what the hell were you thinking?”
“I love you.” It’s honest and it’s simple and it’s the most important thing he’s ever said, and he needs to Danny to know it. “I love you. ”
Danny’s silent for a second, “You bastard,” then he raises his head and looks him right in the eyes. “Don’t you know I love you, you stubborn clueless ass?” And it’s perfect; it’s so perfect because it’s Danny.
When he lays his lips on Danny’s again, it’s whisper light and both their eyes are just a bare bit open—just to keep making sure they’re both still there.
The conversation’s not over, not nearly. There’s still a hell of lot more words that are simmering, waiting for their perfect moment. There’s still god knows how many nights of nightmares ahead of them, lurking with its beams and high-pitched tones.
But for right now, he’s got blue eyes displacing that red dot and Danny’s words are finally, finally drowning out the beepbeepbeepbeep.