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Danny never fell asleep that night, twisting and turning and berating his mind for asking questions that he had no business asking. Or, maybe he did, only they were too personal, too big and intrusive. And Steve was nothing if not a proud man, a self-reliant military man who’d rather bleed to death than ask for help tightening a torniquet.
He had lived Steve’s night too many times, back in Jersey, the weeks after Rachel broke his life and moved out. At the time, his baby brother had stepped up and acted lifeguard, but not before he drowned himself in too many bottles, erased too many evenings from his mind. There were days that had no end, mornings that came on the tail-end of leaving the office. He had scared himself enough to purge the house of alcohol, but less than a week later he was back, pouring a drink because he wasn’t an animal, he didn’t drink straight from the bottle like some down and out drunk.
Had he stumbled on Steve’s first lost night, or was yesterday just one in a long line of trips into oblivion? Danny tried to think back, to look for clues. Had there been any? Had Steve been screaming at him, at the team, begging to be rescued?
That question made him roll out of bed and lurch towards the en suite, saliva flooding his mouth. He had kept his stomach under control the night before, only to lose its meager content now. Was that what folks meant when they talked about irony?
He rummaged around, found a new toothbrush. Trembling as if on the verge of hypothermia, he brushed his teeth. “Get a grip, Williams,” he demanded, frowning at how pathetically weak his voice sounded. He tried again. Yeah, getting closer.
“Coffee,” he told his reflection, watching drops of water run down his face. “Coffee is good.” He dried off and headed downstairs.
Steve was still alive, still asleep. The bottles of water were where he left them, as were the pills. The bucket was beautifully empty.
“Coffee,” he said again, headed for the kitchen. If he was louder than strictly necessary, who’d complain? He brewed it strong enough that his dad would joke about it being able to dissolve a spoon. It tasted like crap, even with milk, but it provided him a springboard into what would surely be one of the worst days spent on the island.
After puttering around the kitchen, trying to out-pace his fears, he poured Steve a cup. He did not add butter. “Hey, buddy, rise and shine!” he called, proud that he sounded like himself.
Steve didn’t react.
Alarms blared in Danny’s head, and he stumbled forward to check his pulse, his color. He looked rumpled but other than that, perfectly normal. “Wakey-wakey,” he sang, giving Steve’s shoulder a solid shake.
This time Steve did react, swatting pathetically at his hand. He grumbled, twitched his nose, coughed slightly.
“That’s right, buddy, wake up. I got you some coffee.”
One eye opened, roaming unsteadily, confusion wrinkling his forehead. “What are you doing here?” he asked, rough and dirty. He rolled over, sat up slowly, growling with every movement.
“I’m just here to provide you with coffee. Looks like you could use some,” he said sweetly, handing over the still hot cup. “It’s kind of strong.”
Steve took a sip, his eyes flying open and his eyebrows crawling halfway up his forehead. “Yeah, kind of strong, that about sums it up. Did you use all my coffee?”
With a smirk, he sat down on the sofa next to Steve. The cushion was warm, slightly sweaty. “I left like a teaspoon or something,” he answered, leaning back, obnoxiously close to Steve. He made sure to elbow him.
“Hey, ouch.” He moved away. Then froze, face paling, shifting green.
“You want this?” Danny asked smoothly, grabbing the bucket and offering it to Steve like a beautiful gift.
Immobile, Steve said, “No.” He took it anyway, hugged it to his chest, eyes screwed shut.
“I can see that,” Danny said, tone soft and low. He rubbed Steve’s back carefully, gently.
After a while, Steve relaxed, put the bucket on the floor. “What happened?”
“You tell me,” Danny replied, offering a sad smile and a shrug. He rubbed his palms on his legs, the sensation grounding him. He needed to know what was going on, but at the same time, once he knew, things would never be the same. He dreaded it, needed it.
Steve drank more of his coffee, face not showing disgust. “All I remember is you bleeding out, but that’s got to be wrong. I messed up and you died. But you don’t look dead to me.”
Danny chuckled, playing a version of himself that was not freaking out. “Not dead, I promise.”
Steve smiled at him, his breath a lethal weapon.
“But if you don’t go brush your teeth, I may be very soon.”
“Sorry.” He pushed off, getting to his feet, and as soon as he was standing, he sat back down. “Oh shit,” he breathed, grabbing the bucket again. He heaved until his face was red, until the bucket had a couple of inches of vile liquid sloshing around in it. It was dark, foamy, and smelled of coffee and stomach acid and halfway digested rum and whiskey.
Danny tried his hardest not to gag as he relieved Steve on the bucket. “All good?” he asked, going for casual. He went to the bathroom and ridded the world of the horrible mess Steve had just produced.
“No,” Steve croaked in reply, eyes watery, hands wrapped tightly around his head.
Quickly, he thrust the bucket at Steve. When he didn’t make a grab for it, Danny lodged it between his feet and took a step back. “Okay, that was the wrong question to ask, I realize that now. What I meant was, you done throwing up for now?”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“Good, that’s good.” He reclaimed his seat, hand finding its way to the back of Steve’s head. “Headache?” He stroked his hair, ignoring the sweat that was making the edges of it curl and stick to his skin.
Steve hummed in reply, fingers white where they pressed against his skull.
“You’re parched, buddy, you need water. Small sips, okay, and long pauses, that’s the secret. Want to give it a try?” He reached for a bottle, singlehandedly, bit the top to unscrew it. “Careful.” He held it out, but Steve didn’t reach for it. “You know what? Let me give you a hand, looks like yours are all busy.”
As it turned out, bottle-feeding a fully grown man is messier than bottle-feeding an infant. But Danny estimated he got at least half the water into Steve before he refused to play along, something he took as a win. As petty revenge, he refused to get Steve a dry shirt.
He left him on the sofa to go look for something with electrolytes. “Are you seriously telling me he’s bought a twelve-pack of Coke but not a single Gatorade?” he asked the disappointing fridge. Something clicked into place, and Danny’s knees buckled with gratitude. He leaned heavily against the kitchen isle. Gatorade had been a staple of Danny’s disastrous weeks of vanishing evenings. Of course, that didn’t have to mean jack; knowing Steve, he probably had a stash of some secret Navy-grade, high-clearance hangover-antidote.
“I’m going to grab a sandwich. Want me to make you one, too?” he called, grinning to himself at Steve’s deep groan of a reply. “That’s yes, in Neanderthalian, right?”
Something thumped softly against the wall. Danny chuckled to himself. He prepared a couple of sandwiches, found Steve’s only gaudy plate and piled them on. His stomach rumbled, and he changed his mind, scoffing one on his way back to the sofa. He made sure not to trip over the decorative pillow that rested right outside the kitchen door. “Want a bite?” he asked, holding out a second sandwich in front of Steve’s face, giving it a slight wiggle. “If you’re a big boy and finish half of it, you can have a couple of pills.”
Steve sneered at him, looking dangerous in a very pitiful way. He grabbed the piece of bread and sank his teeth into it. It took him a while to take a bite and chew, but when he discovered that he could do so without throwing up, he visibly relaxed and munched away.
“Not bad, huh?” Danny returned to his seat, leaned back, rested his feet on the table. He downed a second sandwich just as Steve finished his first. “You feel ready to try and drink on your own, now?” he half-joked, studying his profile. When he received a nod in reply, he grabbed the fresh bottle of water and handed it over. He palmed the pills too, just in case.
Steve took a hesitant sip, looking cautious. Satisfied that his stomach would tolerate it, he took a couple of deep pulls.
Without a word, Danny offered him pills.
Steve took them, not meeting his eyes. He knocked them back, washed them down. He replaced the lid on the bottle. “Thank you,” he said softly.
“My pleasure,” he smiled, nudging him with his shoulder. “You want to get some more sleep?”
Steve pressed back, offered a slight grin. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Here, or upstairs? I left the blinds drawn, so it’s all nice and dark in your room. Also, what I said about your breath? Still holds strong. Maybe brush your teeth, splash some water on your face, get changed?”
Steve’s eyes became bright and he nodded, sniffing back tears. “Upstairs sounds good,” he admitted when he found his voice again.
He resembled nothing more than a little kid with skinned knees who’d just been offered Spiderman-bandaids, and Danny’s heart ached for him. He had to fight the urge to kiss the top of his head, to envelop him in his arms. “Let me help you up the stairs, okay?” Without waiting for a reply, he got Steve to his feet, arm around his waist, and they slowly crossed the room, climbed the stairs.
When Steve was finally ready for bed, pale and slow-blinking, Danny grabbed his elbow. “This? We need to talk about this. You’re not sweeping this under the carpet, I hope you realize that.”
With a deep sigh, Steve said, “It’s nothing. I mean, not nothing, but it doesn’t mean anything.” His words were slow, careful, lacking conviction, but he was trying his best.
Danny squeezed his arm. “Maybe not, but still, you know me, all for talking through problems, therapy-style.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Steve grinned, headbutting him ever so lightly.
“Ouch,” Danny grinned back, giving Steve a slight push. “Get some sleep, let that superhuman body of yours kill the toxins, and when you wake up, I’ll be right here, right in your hair, until you tell me everything.”
Curled up on his side, Steve peeked up at Danny. “Yes, mommy.”
Danny did not miss the look that passed over his face, not even in the relative gloom of the blacked-out room.
-- The End --