Work Text:
Pushing the roller against the sturdy wooden walls was therapeutic to Steve. It had taken him an hour to choose the paint color. The same color as the swimsuit Kono had given her that she loved so much. A new bed and desk and chair were all in boxes downstairs in the living room, just waiting for Steve to finish painting the walls. The old furniture was all sitting out on the grass in the backyard. He’d hired a floor sander so he could refinish the floor as well.
As he finished the main part of one wall, he stood back to admire his handiwork. Running his finger over the window sill, he reminded himself that he would have to stop by the store on Monday morning and collect the curtains he was having custom made. Laying the roller in the paint tray, Steve moved the tray to the other side of the room so he could move the drop sheet into a better position under the next wall he needed to finish.
Lifting the roller, he started to spread the paint evenly across the wall, smiling as he watched the pink coverage increasing. Hearing the sounds downstairs of human movement, he realized that it must be later than he had thought and Danny was home from his weekly meeting with Rachel, Stan and Grace’s specialist.
“Hey.” Danny called up the stairs.
“Up here, D.” Steve called, reluctant to leave the wall in mid application and knowing full well that Danny would come looking for him.
“What’s with all the….Whoah…Babe that’s a whole lot of pink. It’s very….ostentatious.” Danny stopped abruptly in the doorway.
“It’s the color she liked so much.” Steve answered, not stopping his painting.
“Steve.” Danny jammed his hands in his pockets and walked into the middle of the room. “What’s going on?”
“Fixing Grace’s room for her.” Steve shrugged as he painted. “It’s high time she has her own place here.”
Danny walked across the room until he was standing at the edge of the drop sheet. “Have you forgotten something?”
Steve paused and glanced over his shoulder at Danny, a frown furrowing his brow as he concentrated.
“Don’t think so. Got new furniture and new linen downstairs. Picking up curtains on Monday. New posters of Beaver and No Direction.” He tallied them off.
“Beiber and One Direction.” Danny corrected.
“Whatever.” Steve shrugged turning back to his painting.
“What about that medieval torture device downstairs?” Danny gestured.
“It’s a floor sander, Danny. I thought the floors could use some work.”
“Steven will you stop that and look at me for a minute.” Danny asked gently.
“Can’t I need to do this and then bring the sander up and work on the floor.” Steve answered.
Danny stepped forward and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder.
“C’mon buddy, let me help.”
Steve shrugged Danny’s hand away, his body tensing as he did. “I need to finish the wall. I don’t want the paint to dry differently.”
Danny reached forward to close his hand around Steve’s on the handle of the roller, attempting to pull Steve back to face him, only to have Steve shrug him off.
“Don’t.” Steve growled at him.
“Okay.” Danny backed away a step at the obvious hostility in that one word.
“Just leave me; I know what I have to do.”
“Do you think this is a good idea?” Danny asked softly, taking a further step back as Steve stiffened.
“What does that mean?” Steve asked, the paint roller moving faster on the wall.
“Don’t you think it’s a little early to be doing this?” Danny murmured.
“I can’t believe you just said that.” Steve spoke, his voice sounding like his lips might be quivering, as he worked furiously at pushing the roller frantically up and down one small patch if the wall.
“Steven.” Danny stepped forward and put his hand on Steve’s on the paint roller, “You need to stop this.”
Steve snapped his hand downwards effectively flicking Danny’s hand off of his.
“Why?” Steve growled. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” Danny sighed. “I swear you know everything that we know. You know we wanted you to come with us to the specialist.”
“It’s not my place.” Steve answered, “Besides I have to get this done.”
“Dammit, McGarrett. You know she’s not coming home.”
“What. The. Fuck.” Steve spun on his heel, his eyes wide with fear and anger. “Have you given up on her?”
“I didn’t say that, but it’s been too long, she’s not even awake yet, babe.” Danny tried to sooth him. “Even when she wakes up no-one knows what that means, she might never come home. Not like we knew her.”
“You son of a bitch.” Steve growled before he drew back his arm and punched Danny in the jaw with all of his might.
Danny staggered backwards as he struggled to stay upright, his foot clipping the edge of the paint tray. Steve watched as the tray seemed to flip in slow motion, a steady pool of thick fuchsia ooze that eked its way across the floor. The fight left Steve in direct proportion to the size of the puddle. As he watched the paint spread along the seams of the floorboards, a spider web of thin pink lines his knees buckled and the strength he’d always thought he’d had left him. Toppling down to his knees, he let his weight fall forward, the side of his face pressed against the wall in front of him. Sticky wet paint adhered itself to his eyelashes as he blinked furiously, desperately trying not to break down.
Danny’s hand was all it took. His breath stuttered in his throat, his tears caught on the oxygen he struggled to draw in. Danny, his Danny, the man whose daughter Steve defended even against him, pressed his hand to Steve’s back and soothed him, even as he rubbed the jaw that Steve had unleashed his frustrations at. Steve just didn't have the strength anymore, the dam that had been straining inside him broke.
Danny knelt behind Steve, one knee between Steve’s legs and held him, one hand on his chest, the other caressing across Steve’s back. Danny rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and tightened his hold as their tears fell freely.