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It's over. Wo Fat is in prison.
We did it.
Steve stands outside Halawa in the humid night air and forces himself to breathe, to take deep inhales of the sticky air. It feels as if his heart has been going 200 beats a minute for the past 24 hours - there's been barely a moment where he could stop, relax, think about anything other than getting Wo Fat to Hawaii and into a prison cell.
But he's there now, and Steve can hardly believe it. It's over, at least for now. There's still more to do - still more to figure out, still a lot more questions that he needs answers to. But for now - it's over.
His heart is still pounding somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, and unexpectedly tears press against the backs of his eyes. Now that the worst part is over, the stress of the past few days is catching up to him all at once, his adrenaline crashing. He blinks, glancing quickly around himself. The guards have stepped away from him, talking quietly back at the gate. There's an HPD cruiser waiting for him at the curb, to drive him home, but the driver isn't watching him.
Steve gives in a little, lets the tears come in for a moment, flood his eyes, and it's almost a relief - the heat of them, the burn. A small release of the pressure that has been crushing him for the past 24 hours. He tips his head back, looks up at the glittering night sky, swallowing hard.
I got him, Dad.
The thought comes unexpectedly, sharp and painful, and more tears follow the first, finally overflowing. Steve lets exactly two tears fall before he wipes them away roughly with the back of his hand. The salt stings the various cuts on his face, his hand coming away red. He'd almost forgotten he's still bloody from the fight with Wo Fat.
I want to go home. God, I need to sleep. And I want a shower so bad.
He blinks away the last of the tears, swallowing the hot swell of emotion, and abruptly thinks of Danny.
When they'd parted at the helicopter, Steve had told them all to go home.
"Go home. Get some rest. We'll talk soon, guys."
He'd hugged them all again, his hand lingering on Danny's back after, noticing the way his best friend is trembling despite the humid air. Danny had argued with him, because of course he had.
"I'm not going home, Steven, I'm coming with you to bring him in, okay? You don't have to do everything alone, you know."
There was something in his voice, definitely frustration, but something more that Steve couldn't quite read. "I'm not gonna be alone, Danny, HPD is gonna come with me, okay? Come on, it's been a long day. Don't you have Grace this weekend?"
Something had changed in Danny's wide blue eyes, his face falling a little. "No, I don't, Steven. You've been gone so long you don't even remember what day it is?"
Steve's eyes had darted between Wo Fat and Danny, his brain struggling to keep up with what Danny was saying and what he still had to do. "I'm sorry, Danny. We'll talk later, okay? I just have to get this done."
Danny had taken a step back from him then, hands on his hips, dropping his head, and something in Steve's chest had sunk too. He'd wanted to reach out to Danny, bring him back in close, hug him until he smiled again, until his blue eyes lit up and he looked at Steve with that familiar fondness. But there just hadn't been time.
When his best friend had finally looked at him, there'd been something downtrodden in his gaze, something small and sad and resigned.
"Okay, I'll see you later. Be careful, please?"
"I'll be in touch soon," Steve had promised, squeezing Danny's shoulder one more time, but the smaller man's head was down again, one hand squeezing the bridge of his nose.
"Okay," he said, and it was quiet, disappointed.
When Steve had got in the car with Wo Fat, Danny had still been standing on the tarmac, his arms crossed, looking down at the pavement.
Thinking about him now, Steve is struck by how small and dejected his friend had looked. It's not often he notices how small Danny is, usually his personality is so big it kind of eclipses everything else. But Danny had looked small then, small and lonely.
He's been through a lot, too. I don't even know everything that went on today, or for the past few weeks. We didn't have a chance to catch up.
Steve sighs, rubs his hand over his face, aggravates the cuts again. He swears under his breath, hissing in pain.
I need to go home. I'll call Danny first thing tomorrow.
He heads down to the HPD cruiser.
x
The Camaro is outside his house.
Steve sees the glint of silver as soon as the HPD officer pulls into his driveway. He finds he's not surprised. He thanks the driver and climbs out of the cruiser, torn between relief that he can talk to Danny now, and frustration that it doesn't seem like he's going to get that shower any time soon.
He heads up the driveway, looking sideways at the Camaro as he passes it, half expecting Danny to still be inside. But the car is empty.
Steve unlocks the front door, opens it slowly. Danny's right there on the couch, and he lifts his head immediately when Steve comes in.
"Hey, pal," Steve closes the door carefully behind him, hesitates with his hand still on the handle. "What are you doing here?"
"Hey." Danny's voice is quiet, and he's not quite looking at Steve, he's sort of looking past him. He looks very small tucked into the corner of the couch, almost curled into himself. He meets Steve's gaze quickly, then looks back down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap. Steve doesn't miss the guarded flash in Danny's blue eyes. "How did it go with Wo Fat? Is he finally, uh, stashed away in prison?" He smiles, but there's no humour in it.
"Yes he is." Steve leans down to untie his boots, feels his back twinge in protest.
I am so tired.
When he straightens up, Danny is still looking at his hands, his shoulders slumped. "That's good," he says quietly. Steve isn't sure he's ever seen him look so dejected.
"Danny? You okay, buddy?" He moves closer to the couch, crossing his arms. He had expected frustration, anger even. Thought Danny might want to yell at him. He hadn't been prepared for Danny to be quiet. There's just too much wrong with that. Danny shifts on the couch almost nervously, still looking down at his hands, and Steve can tell he's gearing up to say something. He waits, unsure which way things are about to go.
Finally Danny looks straight at him, like he's pushed through whatever barrier was keeping him from speaking his mind, and Steve feels his stomach drop at the raw emotions in the other man's eyes. The worst part is, the emotion that seems to be overpowering all the rest - confusion, frustration, anger - is hurt. Danny is hurt, and Steve realizes suddenly and sharply, like a knife in his ribs, that he is the one who hurt Danny, and he knows what his friend is going to say before it comes out of his mouth.
"No, Steven, I'm not okay," Danny says anyway, even though Steve already knows he isn't. "I am not okay, and you know why? Because my partner, my best friend, he took off for a month to go after his nemesis and he just left me hanging. And don't tell me you left me a note, I know that you did, but that's not good enough, Steve." Danny gets up abruptly, breathing hard. He paces for a second, holding up his hand when Steve starts to speak. "No, please just let me finish, okay? Please. I know this was important and I know that it was time sensitive and I get that. But why - "
He pauses, his voice catching, and Steve looks at him quickly. Danny is physically shaking, Steve can see it in his body, hear it in the shiver in his voice.
"Why didn't you take me with you? Or let me help in some way? You just - you just left me here with a note and, and I'm your partner, Steve. I thought we already went over this, your problems are my problems, remember that whole thing?" Danny lifts his hands dramatically, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. "But you still don't seem to get it, I don't know. I didn't know if you were okay, I didn't know where you were, I didn't know anything. You could've been dead, you could've died over there and I wouldn't even have known. And then today -"
"Don't you know why?" Steve's sharp interruption startles them both, and Danny actually takes a step back. Steve can see his hands shaking, see that there are tears pooling in his wide blue eyes. He's rarely seen Danny so upset, so on the verge of crying. Maybe twice, in the two years he's known him, usually when it's something to do with Grace. Never like this, directed at him.
Steve's own hands are shaking now, and he clenches them furiously. The adrenaline of the day is coming back, but now he's fueled by something else entirely. Emotion chokes his throat, and he swallow hard, angrily, fighting it back. "Are you seriously telling me you don't understand why I didn't take you with me, Danny?"
"Yes, I am telling you that, that is what I'm saying," Danny snaps, finding his voice. "I don't know why you always have to be this lone wolf, or something, you have a team, you have me." He stabs a finger into his own chest, his breath coming sharp and fast. "Doesn't it mean anything, Steve?"
"Doesn't it mean anything?" Steve repeats incredulously, raising his voice even further. "Doesn't it mean anything? Do you know why I didn't want to take you with me to catch Wo Fat? Because he has taken so much from me already, Danny!" The last part comes out choked and odd sounding, through a vice around his throat, and the tears from earlier are back, flooding into his eyes like they never left.
Danny flinches at his tone, trembling, his eyes huge and shiny in the dim light of the living room. He looks very young suddenly, young and afraid. They've never been here before, they've never shouted at each other like this, never let their emotions get the best of them. Things like this have always been kept just under the surface, understood but unspoken.
In some strange way, Steve is glad they are doing this now. In some strange way, it feels good to be here. There are things he hasn't said to Danny, things he should have said after almost two years of knowing him, of being his friend. His voice drops to a pained almost whisper.
"He killed my parents, Danny. He ripped apart my family. I can't -" He swallows, his throat aching, makes sure he has Danny's gaze.
His friend's eyes are fixed on him, and as Steve looks at him he sees a tear escape Danny's gold eyelashes and make its way down his pale cheek, splashing onto the carpet. Steve's chest aches at the sight of it.
"I can't lose you too. Do you understand, Danny? I can't take that chance. Because if something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself."
For a moment, they just stand there, staring at each other, breathing hard. The air between them is so charged with emotion it feels tangible.
And then it's just over. Steve's adrenaline is gone again, he's used up any last stores of energy he had. Exhaustion floods his body, his knees almost buckling.
"I have to sit down, Danny."
He walks past his friend, who is still motionless by the couch, and collapses onto it heavily, not caring that he's filthy with blood and dirt. I'll clean it later. He sinks into the cushions, drops his head against the headrest.
Danny doesn't move, still standing there in silence, his head down. Watching his profile, Steve sees another tear follow the first. Danny brushes at his face quickly, takes a shaky breath, looks up at the ceiling.
Steve leans forward an inch, reaches out, touches his arm feather-light.
"Come here, Danno." He's so tired, so done. But Danny is hurting, and Steve hates that.
Danny moves toward him immediately, like he's been waiting for Steve to ask him, sinking down on the couch so close that his arm is pressed up against Steve's. Steve can feel him trembling, feel the emotion still coursing through his friend's body, and Steve wraps his hand around Danny's bicep and squeezes his arm gently.
"It's okay, Danno," he says, not even sure in what way he means it, but it feels right to say. Maybe he means it in every way.
Danny presses closer to him, pulling his feet up onto the couch, turning into a little ball next to Steve. "Are you mad at me?" he asks after a moment, and Steve can hear the vulnerability in his voice. He squeezes Danny's arm again, uses every ounce of his remaining energy to turn his head and look into his friend's sorrowful blue eyes.
"No," he says truthfully, "I'm not mad, Danny."
Danny looks at him through his eyelashes, his chin lowered. "I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't mean -"
"It's okay, Danny." Steve cuts him off. "I'm sorry, too." In truth, the fact that Danny cares so damn much about him, to be here yelling at him even after the day they've had - to be curled up on the couch with him instead of at home with a beer - it makes warmth settle in Steve's chest, like he just drank a shot of whiskey.
Danny's arm is warm against his, still trembling a little, and his head is tilting more and more toward Steve's shoulder.
"You know," Danny says after a few moments, his voice careful, "Not to step on your point, or anything, which I respect and appreciate very much. But I'm not completely useless, Steven. I can take care of myself. It's not like you would have had to watch me every step of the way, if I came with you. I could've helped. I'm - I'm just saying. That's all."
He cocks his head at Steve, and Steve turns his head just a little, until he's looking at Danny out of the corner of his eye. He takes a deep breath. "I know that. You don't think I know that? I never said you were useless. You're the most capable person I know. But - I'd worry about you, about something happening to you. Not because of anything you'd do or not do, but because Wo Fat is so dangerous, Danny. I know what's he capable of. And I had to be really, really focused, you know? I had to not think about anything else. And I'd worry about you. Do you understand, Danny?"
He watches Danny's blond eyelashes flutter as he blinks several times, not looking at Steve anymore, his gaze fixed on his own hands. "Yeah. I understand."
"Okay." Steve wiggles his arm out from between them, wrapping it instead around his friend's shoulders, pulling him in closer until Danny's forehead lands on his shoulder. Danny sighs shakily against his collarbone, his right arm curling around Steve's back, and Steve wraps both arms around the smaller man and holds him tight, resting his head on top of Danny's.
They sit like that for several minutes, neither of them willing to be the first to move. Danny is warm in his arms, warm and heavy and familiar, and he's so relaxed there, so content to just be held against Steve's shoulder.
Exhausted and comfortable and finally safe, Steve drifts off for a split second. His consciousness fades, a comforting dark blanket pulling him under, and then he snaps awake again, not quite ready to give in to sleep yet.
"Danny." He blinks hard, rubs Danny's back. "Danny, I'm sorry bud, I've gotta move. I need a shower so bad."
"O-okay." Danny smothers a yawn, pulling away from him reluctantly, shivering at the sudden lack of warmth. He leans back on the couch, rubbing his eyes as Steve stumbles to his feet. "I should get going." He glances out the window at the Camaro, his eyes red-rimmed, and Steve shakes his head immediately.
"No, you're not going anywhere tonight. You're staying here. Let me just go shower, okay? Then I'll get you some blankets."
"Um, okay. Yeah, go take your shower. Sorry I made you wait so long. Sorry." Danny's cheeks flush, and he rubs his forehead sheepishly.
"It's okay, Danno. I'm glad you're here." He means it, he means it so much. Sure, he's exhausted. And sure, he would've liked to have had a shower about an hour ago. But this conversation, if it can be called that, this moment with Danny feels vastly important. Steve can feel it, feel that something has shifted between them, like maybe there's some new understanding and appreciation of each other. Like maybe their bond has deepened in ways they aren't even aware of yet.
He smiles at Danny as he moves away from the couch, that warmth in his chest still lingering.
Danny smiles too, ducking his head almost shyly, and Steve suddenly remembers that day on the beach, two years ago. It was out back of this very house, not long after they'd first met. Danny had smiled almost just like that, ducking his head down, tentatively smiling at the new understanding between them. Steve had barely known him then, could never have known what Danny would come to mean to him over the next two years.
Steve swallows around yet another lump in his throat, stopping at the sink to fill up a glass of water.
Ugh, I'm an emotional wreck today.
He looks back one more time before he leaves the room, and Danny is curled up in the corner of the couch that Steve just vacated, worn out and too tired to keep his eyes open any longer. His head is leaning on the armrest, and he has one hand curled under his chin. The worry lines on his face have smoothed out, and he looks relaxed, content. This moment with Steve has comforted Danny, too, taken away some of the sting of being left alone for the past month.
Fondness swells in Steve's chest, pushing out the anxiety and stress that has taken up residence there so often lately.
I'm so lucky. Dad, I wish you could've met Danny. He's one hell of a good friend.
He puts his glass in the sink, smiles one last time in Danny's direction, and finally heads to the shower.