Work Text:
"You're quiet today." Steve glances over at his partner. They're in his truck, heading out to the crime scene, and for the first time in the three months that he's known Danny, the other man has been almost silent all morning. Usually he's talking - about the case, about food, about his ex, about Grace. But this morning, apart from a mumbled "Good morning" and a quiet "thank you" when Steve had handed him a coffee, Danny hasn't said much of anything at all.
Danny glances over at him, and Steve thinks he looks tired, and maybe a little paler than usual.
"I didn't sleep good," he says after a moment, looking back out the front of the car, and Steve looks back and forth between him and the road about three times before realizing Danny isn't going to elaborate any further.
"And?"
Danny looks at him, his eyebrows raised. "And what?"
"And, what? No rant about how it's too hot here for you to sleep properly? Nothing?" Steve checks the GPS, flicks on his blinker. "I'm surprised."
"Well it is too hot here to sleep properly, smart ass," Danny replies. "I'm not wrong."
There's another few moments of silence, and Steve tries again. "So?"
"So what?" Danny shrugs dramatically, his eyebrows shooting up.
"So why did you not sleep well? Are you going to tell me, or am I just going to have to keep guessing?" Steve parks the truck on the grass and unbuckles his seat belt.
Danny stares at him across the truck, his brow furrowed. "You are so nosy, you know that? I don't know why. I just didn't. Okay? Is that alright with you?"
"That's fine with me." Steve smiles at him and opens the door, hears Danny sigh heavily behind him as he swings his legs out.
There's something about Danny, he thinks as his partner falls into step beside him, still frowning. Steve loves bugging him, but the thing that he loves best about him is that even after he annoys him, even after Danny gets frustrated and raises his voice sometimes, even after he tells Steve he's an idiot, Steve can still tell that there's nowhere else Danny would rather be than falling into step beside him.
Steve's had friendships kind of like this before, in the Navy, but for some reason this one feels different. They've only been working together for a few months, but there's already a bond between them that has grown so quickly, so naturally, so organically, that Steve feels like he's known Danny for way longer.
As they meet up with Chin and start checking out the crime scene, Steve forgets about his partner's mysterious silence, and it's only later once they're back in the truck again that he notices that Danny looks distinctly rumpled, like he's been running his hands through his hair and not fixing it after. Which of course is insane, really, for Danny Williams. You never mess with the hair. He eyes his partner sideways. Something is off with him. "Hey, what's the matter? You okay?"
Danny looks up at him quickly. His blue eyes look different, a little bit unfocused, and there's no immediate snippy comeback. Steve actually is starting to get worried. "Danny, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, okay? I think maybe I'm getting sick. Maybe." Danny pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "My throat hurts and I'm dizzy."
It's more than Steve expected to get from him, and he frowns over at his partner, resting his hand on the gear shift. "Why didn't you say something earlier? You could've stayed home today."
"Because I didn't know earlier, Steven," Danny replies, his tone carrying that ever so slight "you're an idiot" edge.
"Okay, well I'm going to drop you off at HQ before we go see that store owner. You need to go home and take a nap, or something." Steve checks both ways, pulls out onto the road.
"I'm a grown man, Steven, I do not need a nap, thank you very much. I can do my job." Danny rolls down the window a bit, runs his fingers through his hair again. "You don't need to drop me anywhere. It's just a little sore throat."
But a couple of hours later, it becomes painfully obvious it is not just a little sore throat. Over the past hour or so, Steve has observed Danny slowly but surely wilting - he's walking slower, barely speaking unless he absolutely has to, and there's pink spots blossoming on his cheeks. He's starting to trail behind Steve, his head down, and Steve finishes speaking to the store owner and turns to his partner. "You look awful."
Danny squints at him and rubs his forehead with the back of his hand, licks his lips. "I don't feel that great either, to be honest."
"No kidding. Okay, let's go, partner. Time to get you home."
Danny doesn't argue with him this time, following him back to the truck silently, and once he's inside, he leans his head against the window and closes his eyes, loosening his tie with one hand.
Steve studies him while he turns on the truck, concerned. It's so unlike Danny to be this quiet.
His phone rings, making them both jump. He answers it immediately, while Danny glares at the offending object.
"McGarrett."
"Hey, Steve." Chin's voice. "Just wanted to let you know, we're gonna have to wait to search that house. We won't be able to get a warrant until Monday. The only judge who'd be willing to do it is gone all weekend. So it looks like you have the weekend off."
Steve sighs heavily. "Okay. Thanks for letting me know. You make sure you have a good weekend, okay?"
"Sure thing, boss. How's Danny, by the way? He didn't look so good earlier."
Steve looks over at his partner, who looks noticeably flushed. "Much less spunky than usual. He's a little lump in the passenger seat."
Danny makes a face at him, his brow scrunching, and Chin laughs.
"Okay, make sure he gets some rest too this weekend. I'll see you guys on Monday."
Steve hangs up, and Danny immediately points at him. "Please do not ever call me that again."
"Call you what? Spunky? Or little?"
"Both. Either. It doesn't matter." Danny pinches between his eyebrows again, takes a deep breath.
"Okay, what should I call you then?"
Danny throws his hands in the air. "How about Danny? You know, my name?"
"I mean, how should I describe you?"
"You don't! You don't describe me. You don't have to call me anything. Please? 'Man', if you want. 'My partner'. How's that?" Danny's voice is getting louder, he's sitting up a little more. "'Handsome', if you want, if you absolutely need a descriptor. But not 'spunky'. And definitely not 'little'."
Steve grins at him, happy to see his friend with a little more energy, even if it's frustrated energy. It doesn't last long though, and after about twenty minutes, he looks over to see Danny curled against the window, his right arm cushioning his head. His left arm is limp in his lap, and his eyes are closed, long blond eyelashes brushing his cheekbones. Steve can hear from across the car that he's breathing with his mouth open, and guesses that congestion is setting in. He also doesn't like the flush on Danny's cheeks, or the thin sheen of sweat he can see on his forehead.
Oh, Danno.
He makes a snap decision, changing his course from going back to HQ, and instead heading in the direction of his own house. Danny doesn't have Grace this weekend, he already mentioned that, and Steve is not going to let him go home sick by himself. Ten minutes from his house, he pulls into the parking lot at the grocery store and puts the truck in park. When he opens the door, Danny stirs in the passenger seat, lifting his head a little.
"Steve?"
His voice is rough, Steve can practically hear how sore his throat is. He clears his own throat in sympathy.
"Its okay, Danny. I just have to go to the grocery store for a minute to pick up some stuff. Just stay here, okay?"
Danny squints at him, wincing as he swallows. "What? Why? Wait, I'll come -" He starts to unbuckle his seatbelt, but Steve leans into the car and puts his hand on Danny's arm.
"No, stay here Danno. It's not for work. Just go back to sleep, okay? I'll be back in two minutes."
Danny looks down at Steve's hand on his arm and blinks a couple of times. "Okay, be careful." He's already drifting, his eyes closing again.
Steve locks the car and heads across the parking lot. Inside, he goes directly to the canned soup aisle and stands there, surveying all of the options.
Why are there so many? How many kinds of canned soup do we realistically need?
His eyes track down the row of cans, searching for the label to jump out at him.
When was the last time I bought soup for someone?
He shakes his head at the thought, still amazed sometimes at how quickly Danny has become so important to him. Three months ago, Steve had just met him - and now, here he is, standing in the grocery store on a Friday afternoon trying to figure out what kind of soup he should buy so that Danny can have something comforting to eat while he's sick.
His eyes land on what he's looking for a split second later.
That has to be the one.
He picks up four cans, just in case, and wanders in the bakery section for a minute, before getting overwhelmed and deciding against it.
Too many bread options, too.
He ends up grabbing eggs too, and bacon, because if Danny ends up staying the weekend, there is absolutely nothing in his fridge. Lastly, he grabs Tylenol Cold & Sinus.
After paying for his groceries, he heads back to the car quickly. Danny is still leaning against the door, his eyes closed, but when Steve opens the driver's side he lifts his head a little.
"Steve?"
"Hey buddy, just me. How you feeling?" Steve carefully puts his groceries in the back seat, makes sure the eggs are safe.
"Terrible. My throat feels like it's got razor blades in it and my head's pounding." His eyes are barely open, just a sliver of blue sparkling at Steve, and his blond hair is decidedly messy, as if he's been pushing his head against the door.
Well, at least he's admitting it now.
"Okay, we're going home now and then you're going to sleep." Steve turns on the car, and Danny sniffs and shivers a little, leans a bit towards him.
"Dunno if I can drive, Steve."
"No driving for you, pal. You're coming home with me."
"What?" Danny squints at him, confused. "What d' you mean?"
"I mean, I'm taking you home with me. And please don't argue, because you're sick and you're not gonna win today." Steve pulls out of the parking lot. Danny is still staring at him, eyebrows raised.
"What about my car, Steven?"
"We'll get it tomorrow. Or Sunday. Whatever. It'll be fine."
"Okay." Danny drops his head, rubs his forehead with both hands. "Hey, what'd you get at the store?" His voice is getting rougher by the minute.
"Just stuff. Don't worry about it." Steve keeps his eyes on the road, but Danny reaches back over the seat and opens the bag, impatient as always. There's a short moment of silence, and then Danny straightens back up, and Steve can feel his eyes.
"Did you buy Italian Wedding soup for me?"
"Yeah," Steve replies, shrugging. "I heard you telling Chin about it before. I know it's not your mom's homemade recipe, but I thought it's better than nothing." He glances at Danny quickly.
The other man is staring at him with wide blue eyes, not a hint of sarcasm or humour in his gaze, and Steve realizes after a moment that he has in fact rendered Danny speechless.
"What?" he says, after the silence just keeps stretching on, and Danny blinks and looks back at the front of the car.
"Um, wow. Okay. Thank you. That's a very nice thing to do. Uh, I appreciate that."
Steve reaches over and pats his knee. "You're welcome."
Danny looks at him again for a couple of seconds, just blinking, and Steve throws him a quick smile. He knows he's not imagining the sudden extra shine to Danny's eyes.
I wonder how long it's been since someone did something like this for him, took care of him. It makes his chest hurt a bit. I'm here now, he's not alone anymore.
Feeling even more inspired to take care of his friend, to make life easier for him, he turns the Silverado towards home.
Danny doesn't say anything for the rest of the drive, his head leaning against the window again, and when they pull into the driveway Steve touches his friend's arm lightly. "Come on, Danno. Let's go in."
He gathers the groceries from the back seat, watching eagle-eyed as his friend fumbles with the door handle a bit before opening it. Danny follows him silently, his head down a little, but when his eyes flick up to Steve's for a brief moment, Steve can see there's a well of raw emotion there that Danny is struggling to keep in check.
Steve unlocks the door and pushes it open, gently puts his hand on Danny's back to push him in first. "Okay, go shower, alright? Then food, then bed. Go on."
Danny hesitates beside the couch, his hand running over the back of it almost nervously. "Uh, I don't have any other clothes." He seems almost shy all of a sudden, his blue eyes flickering between meeting Steve's gaze and pretty much anything else in the room.
Steve puts the eggs and bacon in the fridge, then sets the cans of soup on the counter. "You can have some of mine. Go ahead and start showering, I'll leave them on the bed for you."
Danny hesitates again, the pink flush on his cheeks darkening ever so slightly. "Uh, Steve?"
"Danny?" Steve drops down to one knee, rummages around under the sink. Somewhere under here there's a pot. God knows the last time I used it.
"Are you sure this is okay? I mean, this is very nice of you, don't get me wrong. But are you sure you want me to stay here? When I'm sick? I might be kind of, you know, sniffly." Danny scratches his forehead sheepishly.
"Uh, yeah. That's usually what happens when you're sick." Steve straightens up, pot in hand, and then walks over to Danny, who looks up at him almost apologetically. "Danny, it's fine. I brought you over, remember? Now come on, let's go. Please."
He touches Danny's back lightly, trying to usher him up the stairs, and Danny gives in.
Twenty minutes later, Steve is almost done heating the soup when Danny comes down the stairs behind him.
"That smells really good," he says sincerely, and Steve turns to look at him, spoon in hand.
"It does, doesn't it? Almost done." He stirs it again, checks the heat, then looks back at his friend again. Danny looks very small in his clothes, the flannel pants far too long and the tshirt several sizes too big. His blond hair is still damp from the shower but carefully combed back anyway, the back of it curling just a little as it dries. "You okay? Do you feel any better?"
"Uh, a little bit." Danny hovers by the couch, his grip tight on the headrest. "Thank you for letting me use your shower. And for letting me stay. And the soup." He gestures at the stove. "And for letting me wear your clothes. Thanks for everything, I guess. I appreciate you." A shy smile curls the corner of his mouth.
"You're welcome." Steve smiles at him over his shoulder. "Okay, come eat. You want to sit on the couch?"
He puts on Top Gun while they eat, and Danny curls up on the left side of the couch with the bowl in his lap. Steve sits at the other end, puts his legs up on the coffee table. "You good? You need anything else?" He's determined that Danny be as comfortable as possible.
"No, uh, I'm good. Thank you." Danny still looks shy, and he's silent while they both eat. Steve can feel his uncertainty, his surprise, but there's also something else there. Something fragile, delicate. Like a thin golden strand of warmth, stretching between them, connecting them. Steve thinks if he turns his head, he could almost see it.
When they're both done, Steve stands up and reaches his hand out for Danny's bowl, shaking his head when Danny starts to stand up too.
"No, just - stay put, I got it." He stacks the bowls together, turns toward the kitchen.
"Okay. Thank you. I could help, I'm not that sick." Danny looks relieved that he doesn't have to move though, and he curls up again, pulling his knees up against his chest as he sinks back into the couch.
Steve puts the bowls in the sink, calls back. "You want anything else, Danno?"
"No, thank you, Steven. I'm great. The soup was - perfect. Thank you very much." Danny sounds tired, his voice quieter than usual, and Steve pokes his head out of the kitchen, studies his friend for a second. Danny's head is resting on the back of the couch, and he's watching the TV through half open eyes.
He's gonna fall asleep any second now.
He grabs a couple of water bottles out of the fridge, then goes back to the living room, touches Danny's shoulder. "Danny? You should go to bed."
Danny jumps a little, as though he didn't notice Steve come in, and Steve sits down next to him on the couch, close enough that he can feel heat coming off the other man. "Danny?"
"Hmm?" Danny is quickly tiring, now that he's warm and fed and comfortable, and Steve is struggling to keep his attention. He pats Danny's knee, and the smaller man turns his head toward Steve without opening his eyes. "Huh?"
"Why don't you go up to the guest room? You should sleep in an actual bed."
"'M good here, Steve." There's a moment of silence, where Steve just watches Danny's blond eyelashes fluttering, and then Danny opens his eyes just a crack. "Steve?"
"Danny?"
"Is it ok if I just stay here with you? Is that - is it okay?" His voice is quiet and slightly slurred, and the tiny bit of blue showing between his long eyelashes is openly vulnerable.
Steve tilts his head at Danny, squints at him.
He is still such an enigma, but I'm figuring him out. Slowly.
"Of course it's okay, pal. Why don't you lay down, though? I'll get you a pillow."
"S'okay. Thanks Steve. Just stay here, huh?" Danny slides down and curls on his left side, lets his head rest on the arm of the couch, and just like that, he's out.
Steve studies him for a few seconds, taking in how small his partner looks, curled up there on his couch. Danny's cheeks are flushed with what Steve assumes is fever, and he can't resist touching the back of his knuckles to the other man's forehead, like he vaguely remembers his mother doing with him when he was sick. Danny is definitely feverish, but not dangerously so. His breathing is deep and even, congestion not setting in too much yet, and Steve is grateful that his friend can get some rest. He sits back, lets his eyes travel back to the TV screen.
Maverick is walking with Viper, the older man telling him about how his father died, shot down in his jet somewhere in Vietnam. Something tightens in his chest, his mind swinging inevitably to his own father, and the screen blurs in front of his eyes.
“You’re a lot like he was. Only better... and worse.”
Steve blinks and swallows hard.
It’s been three months. Everything’s changed.
He looks back at Danny, next to him on the couch, his face relaxed in sleep. Fondness pools in his chest, warm and steadying. There’s been so many changes, good and bad. But Danny is pretty awesome. He’s kind of the best.
Danny shifts next to him, rubs his nose in his sleep, then settles with his arm curled under his head.
Steve leans his head back on the couch and watches him, feels that now familiar surge of protectiveness. Three months he's known Danny, and he already knows with one hundred percent certainty that he'd do pretty much anything for him.
There's a lot of people who I've known for a lot longer that I wouldn't do that much for.
It's a testament to the bond that has grown between them so quickly, both steadying and surprising.
Noticing goosebumps on Danny's forearms, he tugs the blanket down from the back of the couch and drapes it carefully over his friend, unable to resist tucking it around him just a little.
Danny stirs, turns his head toward him, and opens his eyes just a little. "Hmm, Steve?" His voice is sleepy, barely a mumble. "Did you just tuck me in?"
Steve glances at him, looks back at the TV screen. "No, you've got a fever and you're hallucinating. Just go to sleep, okay?"
Danny sniffs, tucks his chin under the blanket. There's a beat of silence before he speaks again. "You know what I think?"
"What is it, Danno?" Steve watches Iceman, surrounded by enemy jets, and Maverick sweating in the cockpit of his jet, waiting to go rescue him.
"I think you're just a big softie," Danny's voice is laced with fondness, and something else too - maybe it's surprise.
Steve puts his feet up on the coffee table, looks sideways at his friend. Danny's chin is still tucked under the blanket, his blond hair ruffled in a way Danny would never let it be if he wasn't sick. His eyes are soft, unguarded. In the dim light, he looks ten years younger.
Steve raises his eyebrows. "There's no proof of that. And you know what I think? I think you're talking way too much for a guy who's supposed to be sick. Now go to sleep."
He looks away again at the TV, hears Danny's huff of amusement. His partner shifts down a bit, stretches out a little until his foot is braced on Steve's leg. After only a moment, his breathing evens out into sleep.
Steve looks down at him, tips his head against the back of the couch. He can feel that gold strand again, warm and comforting, thin but growing stronger every day.
He watches Iceman pointing at Maverick, grinning in the crowd of pilots and aircrew.
"You... you're still dangerous. But you can be my wingman anytime."
He sighs, closes his eyes. Tomorrow, I'll make eggs for Danny, whatever way he wants. He opens his eyes, stares at the credits rolling by. Maybe I am just a big softie. Shit.