Work Text:
“Hey Jer, headed home for the night?” Steve calls from his office after catching a glimpse of him in his periphery.
Jerry slings his satchel over his shoulder, pausing in the doorway. “Oh hey, Commander, I thought you’d gone home already.”
Steve holds up a manila folder. “Wrapping up now and then I’m heading home to watch the game with Danny.”
“Nice, uh, maybe go check on New Girl before you head home.”
Steve presses his lips together and levels his eyes on Jerry. “Jer, ya gotta stop calling her New Girl. It’s been six months, dude.”
Jerry waves him off, “Kinda an inside joke now, she’s cool with it!” He purses his lips together, brow furrowing.
Steve shifts in his seat and sets the folder down. “Jerry, what’s up, man? Is she okay?”
Jerry winces and inclines his head like he’s fighting an invisible urge to say something. Under the weight of McGarrett’s stare, he cracks. “Look Commander, she said she was fine. Said she didn’t want to make anybody worried and asked me not to. Only reason I said something now was because I thought someone should know since she’s still here.”
He takes a step back when Steve kicks back out of his chair and moves out from behind his desk. He’s stern when he speaks, “Is she sick? Is she hurt?”
Jerry shakes his head, “No, no nothing like that, at least I don’t think it is. I kept asking if she was okay!” He presses his lips together, a look of guilt shining in his eyes. “I should’ve said something earlier but she kept insisting she was fine! Whatever it is, it seems to have been bothering her all day, like she was in pain or something. She couldn’t sit still, she kept closing her eyes and folding over herself at her desk when she thought I wasn’t looking.”
Steve’s face falls and he looks at Jerry indignantly. “Next time something like this happens, please, get one of us.” He starts down the hall towards the elevators. “She still down in records?”
“Yeah!” Jerry calls after him. “But uh, don’t tell her I told you!”
The floor tiles are cool against your back, though they do very little to douse the flames currently licking at your joints. As soon as Jerry had said goodbye and disappeared from the Records Room, you’d slumped down off of your chair onto the floor, seeking solace in the chill of 10x10 neatly packed tiling.
Your watch beeps against your wrist, signalling a new hour and that it is well past time to go home. Everyone usually leaves right around 5pm, 5:30pm if they’re behind on paperwork. You make a point to leave around 6pm when no one else is around. It’s just easier to leave later than leave with everyone else; that way you don't have to keep up the facade that everything is alright and hide how much weight just going through the motions of a typical work day puts on your shoulders.
The pain today is bad, some of the worst you’ve dealt with in months, actually. It had started as an ache in both knees around 11am when you’d gone upstairs to review a file with Chin in his office. In the fifteen minutes you’d been with him, the tenderness had crawled up your legs and curved around both hips up onto the small of your back. These pain points often flared to some degree each day, something you’d grown accustomed to over the years and wrote off as ‘white noise’ in your warped sense of what normal even felt like anymore. Today is not a normal day though, even for you. By 1:00pm, you were sweating at your desk, trying not to disturb Jerry as you tried to hide the shaky intake of breath while it felt like someone was trying to pry your kneecaps out from underneath your skin with their bare hands.
You’d given Jerry some flimsy excuses and he went about gathering information on the most recent case for the rest of the team upstairs. You didn’t miss the concerned looks aimed in your direction when he thought you hadn’t noticed.
You always notice. It’s why you try so hard to hide it, especially at work.
Just suck it up!
They’ll look at you and think you’re making it up. Just fake it ‘til you make it.
It’s just stress.
I know someone with that and they’re doing just fine. Is it really that bad?
You close your eyes and press the heels of your hands into your eyes until you see stars. Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the comments you’d heard time and time again from your peers, your family, your previous colleagues, hell, even your doctors.
“I can’t fucking do this,” you whisper to yourself, grunting in frustration as another wave of pain assails your joints, pulsing and throbbing. The idea of driving home right now when your pain levels are so high is about as appealing as driving a railroad spike through your eye. Actually, getting up off the floor right now sounds that unappealing. Will it really be all that bad if you just curl in on yourself right here and go to sleep? You do keep all of your meds in your purse in the event you ever are stuck somewhere overnight…but then you think about your colleagues arriving at 9am wondering why you’re still in yesterday’s clothes and look like the undead. Yeah, that’s not going to work.
In a different life, the one where you’d spent your summers in college backpacking, rock climbing, and leading caving expeditions… maybe you’d have taken a different path that led you to be a part of the crew upstairs; living life dynamically out in the field, not saying no when Steve invites you on a hike with him and Danny out in Waimanu or when Lou and Chin invite you out deep sea fishing on a Saturday morning. You know Jerry still calls you New Girl, even if it is something more of an inside joke now it still feels easier to remind people you’re the most recent addition to the team; to keep people at arm’s length and stay on the outskirts of their tight knit group before you can disappoint them when they find out you can’t keep up with everyone else.
You exhale a long sigh and try not to entertain those thoughts for much longer lest you find yourself once more at a pity party for one. It’s rare when it happens, but it’s easy to fall down that rabbit hole when a flare is this bad. You don’t hate the life you live now. You love your job in analytics; the puzzling things out, the historical fact keeping, the organization. It all scratches the itch in your Type A brain and longstanding love for academics. All you’ve ever wanted to do since you can remember is help people, and in this role, you still are.
It’s just different than what you had originally envisioned for yourself and there’s a part of you that still grieves that, especially when days like today serve as such stark reminders of your limitations.
“Ok, that’s enough of that,” you say aloud to no one, mentally preparing yourself to peel yourself up off the ground and gather the strength to just get home.
You don’t hear the sound of footsteps until after the painful groan-whine combo escapes your lips as you push yourself up onto aching elbows. The movement alone causes your head to spin and you have to squeeze your eyes shut as all of your pain points flare back to life and a sheen of sweat breaks out across your forehead.
Someone is saying your name. A firm hand presses against your back. You open your eyes and Commander McGarrett is kneeling in front of you, his hand sliding up to hold your shoulder in place.
“What’s going on?” He asks, voice leveled and direct. “Did you fall? You’re pale.”
“Commander, hi,” you greet tightly, plastering a thin smile across your face. “Thought everyone had gone home for the day.”
Steve’s brow pinches, a crack in his controlled expression. “I ran into Jerry on the way out. He mentioned you were still working and that you weren’t feeling well. Said you kept saying you're fine, but finding you down here on the floor tells me the exact opposite.”
Your heart beat stutters in your chest, racing from the pain and getting caught in this state without an obvious reason for being on the floor. Immediately, your defenses snap into place. You take your chance with a lie anyway.
“I dropped my ring,” you offer, trying to keep your voice steady. You hold up your hand and the fluorescent lights overhead glint off the silver band on your middle finger. “I finished everything you and Detective Williams needed to close out the Reynolds file, by the way.” The words leave you in a rush, hoping it’ll be sufficient enough to send him on his way. “It’s all uploaded to the Drive.”
Steve scowls, “What are you talking about? I don’t care about that right now.” He reaches out a hand and touches your forehead. “You’re clammy. Something’s not right here, I’m gonna call Danny and tell him I’m gonna be home late. We need to get you checked out.”
Your stomach plummets. “No!” You press your lips together, searching your mind for a convincing enough reason. God, this is not an emergency. This happens all the time, but how do you explain that to someone that doesn’t know? Of course he’s going to respond this way. “I just need to go home. It’s been a long week.”
“You need to go home? You need to see a doctor. You can’t even get out a full sentence right now without wincing! Let’s go, I’ll take you myself.”
Your skin feels tight. You feel your resolve weakening the further Steve pushes. You bite down on the inside of your cheek as you stretch a trembling hand up and wrap your fingers around the lacquered edge of your desk. You do your best to haul yourself up and ignore the interrogation McGarrett continues leading behind you as his hands shift to support your weight as you rise to your feet. Your vision blurs at the edges as your joints protest and stiffen, the pain once more drilling into those tender spots.
Steve says your name, his voice growing impatient. When you don’t answer, he takes out his phone and starts dialing a number as he narrates his plan to get you help.
“Commander,” you hedge, voice tight.
“I’m calling Danny. I’m going to take you to King’s Medical.”
“Commander, would you please just STOP?”
Steve freezes, his eyes shifting to yours from his phone but you don’t hold his stare long before your vision blurs and you have to close your eyes and take a breath; exhaling and opening them before speaking in a controlled tone. “Commander, I’m just tired. I’ll be back on Monday able to do my job.”
Steve's eyes widen, a look of bewilderment passing over his face. “What are you talking about?”
Your upper lip twitches as you fight to keep it from curling and snapping at him again. The last thing you need is for him to label you as combative and doubt your ability ‘to be a team player.’
“I’ll be fine,” you supply, treading the ever thinning line between professionalism and agitation.
“You’re not though!” he exclaims, gesturing at you and you know how you look right now. It’s not convincing.
“Commander,” you start, and remind yourself to unclench your jaw. “You don’t have to worry about me. Go home. Enjoy your weekend. I’m heading out in just a few minutes.”
Steve scrubs a hand over his face and widens his stance. “This,” he says, seemingly disregarding your response, drawing a wide circle in front of him with his finger. “This whole thing, Five-0, doesn’t work if we’re not honest with one another. We can’t have each other’s backs in here or out there, if we start hiding things. We’re ohana. We’re family.”
The scoff that slips through your lips is involuntary and your filter crumbles. “Forgive me if I don’t buy into that, Commander. Family always has a funny way of leaving when things don’t fit nicely into a little picture perfect portrait.” You turn your back on him and start closing the folders on your desk. “Always there in the beginning, but then things don’t get better and what they thought they could tolerate, they can’t, and they leave.”
Thirty uncomfortably tense seconds pass where the only sounds are the shuffling of papers as you cram them into your work bag.
“What’re you talking about?” Steve asks, his voice more calm and controlled.
Unable to face answering him, you busy yourself unplugging your work laptop but as you turn to tuck it into your bag the pain in your joints flares at the same time that you’re hit with another dizzy spell. You can’t help but sway where you stand and Steve’s there in an instant, catching your knee with his as it buckles and placing a supportive arm around your waist as he helps you down into your chair. He removes his hands, but you feel them hovering nearby.
You rest your elbow on the arm of your chair, holding your nose between your thumb and forefinger as your resolve weakens and dissipates altogether.
“I have a fibromyalgia,” you say softly. “At least,” you blow out a shaky breath. “That’s what the doctors say I have.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Steve says. “Something like a nerve condition, right?”
You nod, “Something like that.” You finish tucking your laptop securely into your backpack and zip it shut. “The nervous system doesn’t process pain correctly, misfiring pain signals at will all the time. It’s like a faulty alarm system that’s constantly tripping, thinking there’s a direct pain source the body needs to respond to when there isn’t. It’s manageable,” You pause and then add. “Most of the time.”
“And the rest of the time?”
You suck your lower lip between your teeth, popping your lips before answering plainly. “I have days like today.”
“Can you take something for it?” he juts a thumb over his shoulder. “You know Danny keeps a mini pharmacy in his desk, right? Tylenol, Advil, you name it, he’s got it.”
The corners of your lips twitch in response to his well intended comment. “I’ve got plenty of prescriptions. I just try not to take them while I’m on the clock because most of them cause drowsiness and I kinda like driving home at the end of the day.”
“Well shit,” Steve says as if this was an obvious solution, “Any one of us can give you a ride home if it means you’re not down here suffering all day. I mean, c’mon. No one would mind. Your meds, where are they? I’m driving you home.”
“No,” you say, raising a hand in polite refusal. You’re glad the Commander is easing off, but you can’t allow this to continue any longer than it already has. “No, Commander, you don’t—”
“And stop with the Commander, okay? It’s Steve. Or McGarrett if Danny is mad at me, which is pretty much all the time, but what are you gonna do?” He starts rifling through your drawers in search of the bottles.
“They’re not-you’re gonna mess up my system. Okay, Steve, they’re in my purse in my locker but—”
Steve smiles satisfactorily and shuts the drawer with his hip, successfully having exfiltrated the information he’d desired. He crosses the small office space and tugs your purse off its hook in your locker. As he goes to shut it, his eyes catch on something else and you release a heavy sigh.
“You might as well bring that too.”
Steve reaches into your locker and withdraws a simple black cane. He crosses the room and quietly leans it against your desk and places your purse in front of you.
You reach into your bag and ignore the fact that Steve’s eyes are following your movements as you look through a series of six different prescriptions. When you find your muscle relaxers, you screw off the cap, count out three of the small round tablets, and swallow them dry.
“Okay,” Steve says, though you recognize it as one of his ‘okays’ that is going to lead to another question. “I guess what I don’t understand is why you’ve never said anything? I mean, you’ve been here six months. You’ve seen every one of us walk in here black and blue, in slings, bandaged up, God, even Danny walked around with a cane for two months. Did you think we wouldn’t understand?”
“Force of habit,” you answer bluntly. “Everything that happens to the team comes from heroics out in the field. People look at you with a black eye and busted lip, see the badge on your hip, and go, ‘That’s Five 0!’ They see Danny with a cane with a gun and badge on his belt and think, ‘Wonder what bad guy he was chasing when he got hurt?’ People see me sitting on the bus while an older gentleman stands and whispers, ‘bitch,’ as they step off.” You make a point of making direct eye contact with him. “People always understand until they don’t. I’ve found it’s easier to just not say anything at all and not get my hopes up that this time it’ll be any different.”
Steve’s brow pinches as he works to understand everything you’ve just laid out in front of him. The lines around his eyes deepen as he scrubs a hand over his chin. “I can’t take back anything anyone has ever said to you or how they’ve made you feel because of something you can’t control.” He puts a hand on his hip and gesticulates with his free hand, something you notice Detective Williams also does. “I promise you though, no one, and I mean no one on this team would ever do anything to intentionally put you down, especially over something like this. When I tell you this is a family, that we’d go to hell and back for one another, I mean it.”
There’s a truth in his eyes that you can’t deny and a part of you wonders what the hell has happened in the time before you joined the team that wrought such surety.
“The day that happens is the day I turn in my badge and give up leading this team.” He unclips the aforementioned badge and tosses it down on your desk, jabbing it with his pointer finger. “I wouldn’t deserve it, anyway.”
Despite everything that goes against your better judgement, you not only accept the ride home from Steve but the dinner invitation that follows as well. The thought of it is equal parts heartwarming as it is anxiety inducing. You’re so used to dealing with the fallout of a flare in private, never with an audience. You stare out the windshield wondering about the layout of Steve’s house; how many stairs it might have, if the couch will be too soft, the ability to even follow polite conversation over dinner…the cognitive overload you experience after a flare is so severe that sometimes you can’t even remember something you say two minutes prior.
“Danny’s making his mom’s lasagna. Family recipe.” A wide smile stretches across his face as he turns the steering wheel easily with one hand. “I’ll never tell him, but it’s the best damn thing he makes.” He pauses, “Hey, you alright? Need me to stop?”
Through the fog hanging over your maze of thoughts, you realize that he’s talking to you. “Sorry, yeah. I mean-” You close your eyes and shake your head, hoping to clear your mind. “Keep driving, please.”
Steve says nothing for a minute or so. Classic rock plays softly on the radio. “This really takes a toll on you.” It’s not a question, just an observation.
You suck on your bottom lip and nod. “All the time.”
“And you still work full time.”
“It’s just me out here. Someone’s gotta pay the bills.”
“And your doctors, there’s nothing more they—”
The bitter laughter that slips from your mouth is involuntary. “Doctors don’t give a fuck about this,” you explain. “No one treats it; it's hard to find relief in getting a diagnosis when they don’t even seem to know or even care to know the first thing about how to treat it.” Hot, angry tears well in your eyes and you have to look up at the cab’s roof to keep them from spilling over.
“That sounds exhausting, I’m sorry.”
There’s no pity in his apology, just acknowledgement; and it’s surprisingly refreshing.
You breathe in deeply and reel in your tears; letting the quiet rage you always feel over this slip back beneath your skin.
“Thank you,” it comes out just above a whisper.
“I’m also sorry for earlier, by the way,” Steve says as he spins the wheel with one hand, the orangey yellows of the sunset glinting off of the gold band adorning his left ring finger.
You don’t say anything and a few measures of Cold As Ice by Foreigner plays through the speakers before he speaks again.
“I was being a hard ass back at the office. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I was just worried. I’ve never seen you like that. Scared me a little, if I’m being completely honest.”
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t listen either, did I?”
You shake your head and laugh softly. “It’s not like I was very convincing, being fine, that is. Really, don’t worry about it, Commander. It’s okay.”
The right side of his mouth quirks into a half smile. “What’d I say about calling me, Commander?” He turns the wheel again; this time onto a short gravel driveway where he puts the truck in park. He unbuckles his seatbelt and stops shy of opening the driver’s side door when he catches you looking at the cane resting between your legs.
“Hey,” he says, voice even. “It’s going to be fine, promise.” With that, he alights from the vehicle and jogs around to the passenger side door. After swinging it open, he offers to take your work bag and purse. You let him and fold your right hand over the grip of your cane, dropping your arm outside of the truck and digging the tip into the gravel below. You reach up and hold on to the grip handle of the truck and even though your meds have started to kick in, the edge is only just starting to wear off. Your joints are stiff from the twenty five minute drive and they crack as you dismount from the vehicle, causing you to lean heavily on your cane.
The front door opens and Danny steps out onto the porch, the sleeves of his button down rolled up over his elbows and dish towel slung over his shoulder. “I was starting to think you were standing me up!”
Steve looks at you, arching a brow and smiling. “Thought about it!” he calls back. “Hope it’s alright I brought company.”
Steve sets the table out on the lanai while Danny finishes sprinkling freshly ground parmesan over the lasagna and adding servings of salad to everyone’s plates.
“There’s beer in the fridge if you want any. Once the game gets going, there’s a good chance that Steve and I will polish ‘em off so better grab it while you can.”
You chuckle, “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t drink after I take these meds. Risk of complications and all that.”
Danny inclines his head in understanding and doesn’t press any further. “There’s water bottles and iced tea in there too. Take whatever you want. Our house is your house.”
Danny says it so casually, so easily. Our house is your house. That nagging voice in the back of your mind starts to kick up, but the warm feeling blossoming inside your chest chases it away before it has a chance to speak.
Steve comes back inside, clapping his hands together as he surveys the island figuring out what he can take out to the table. Danny scoops up both of your plates, allowing your hands to remain free as you navigate your way through the kitchen; one hand on your cane, the other utilizing the furniture and wall to help further support yourself. Without words, he pauses on the stairs leading down onto the lanai. He doesn’t say anything, but his arm sticks out just enough, a silent offer in case you’d like to take it.
You pause, again, only for a moment, before choosing to slide your fingers around his forearm and letting him assist you down the few steps onto the lanai.
“Thank you.”
Danny smiles at you and it warms you through to your aching bones. “Don’t mention it.”
Danny mutes the television as the game wraps up and the post game sports commentating begins. As Steve’s rather animated conversation with you continues, he leans back into the sofa, his body half melting into Steve’s as he does so.
He loops an arm around Danny’s shoulders. “Come on, am I really that unapproachable? I’d have let her go home for the day if she’d’a just come to me!” His cheeks are pink, flushed from the four beers he’d drank over the course of dinner and the first two quarters. He wasn’t drunk by any means, not even close, but you’d never seen the Commander this at home anywhere…you didn’t even think he knew how to relax if you really thought about it.
Maybe you would’ve if you’d accepted any invitation to do anything outside of work.
Danny reaches up and squeezes his hand. “Honey, you pulled a gun on me the first time we met. And asking someone if you’re unapproachable, makes you seem unapproachable.”
You ignore your internal voice. You’re here now and that’s what matters. A smile takes shape on your lips as your brow furrows in response to Steve’s earlier comment. “Commander, you’d be sending me home at least once or twice a week, maybe even more depending on how long a flare lasts.”
“Then we set you up with a VPN! All of our files are digital anyway. Jerry just likes to work with the physical documents. Likes to say Big Brother can’t get to them if he can keep his eyes on them.”
You sit up in the recliner, the ice packs Danny had given you earlier shifting off your aching joints, stunned by this revelation. “You’re telling me…this whole time…”
“Yes.” “Yes.” Danny and Steve answer at the same time.
You shake your head, unsure why you never thought to ask about a digital library. Even with that, you can’t help but grimace at the thought of working from home while the rest of the team put in time at the office. “I don’t know. I don’t want anybody giving me special treatment.”
Steve’s brow arches toward his hairline as he looks at Danny. “Who said anything about special treatment? Did I say anything about special treatment?”
Danny purses his lips and shakes his head. “I did not hear anything about special treatment, no. Just something the Americans with Disabilities Act would describe as an, ‘accommodation.’”
Your lips quirk at the corners, watching the bit unravel. Still, you incline your chin in their general direction. “I just don’t want anyone to think I can’t pull my weight at work.”
“What are you talking ab—” Danny looks between you and Steve. “Did someone say something to you?” He whacks Steve in the chest with the back of his hand. “Did you say something?!”
A confused smile splits Steve’s face, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners as he rubs at the spot Danny hit him. “I didn’t say anything! I just learned about this today, same as you!”
Danny relents and backs off, turning his attention back to you. He folds his hands together in front of him and points the tips of his fingers in your direction. “I believe I can speak confidently on behalf of Five-0, that you’ve been an incredible addition to the team. No one, especially me, has any concerns about your ability to complete your work. And—” he exclaims, gesturing at himself and Steve. “If there is something that we can do to help make you more comfortable or make doing the work easier, then we are happy to make that happen for you. That’s what family does.”
“And also the Americans with Disabilities Act,” Steve adds, pointing his longneck in your direction.
Danny turns to him, “The Americans with—well, yes, obviously, Steven.”
Steve shrugs, “You didn’t say it.”
“I didn’t—ok, yes. Yes, fine, because we are a family and the Americans with Disabilities Act. There, Steve, happy?”
Steve smiles smugly. “Yes.”
“Point being,” Danny states resolutely. “We want to help you, if you’re okay with it and if it’ll make work easier for you.”
You release a breath you didn’t quite realize you’ve been holding in. “I think I would really really like that.”
Danny claps his hands together. “It’s settled. We can talk accommodations over breakfast and put in the requisitions.” He stands, pulling Steve up with him. “It’s late. Gracie’s at a sleepover. Her bed is softer. Guest room is ehh, medium-firm. Choose whichever works better for ya and I’ll grab you something to sleep in.”
“Oh no,” you protest, rising to your feet. “This has all been so nice, but you don’t have to—”
Steve snakes an arm around Danny’s as he threads his fingers with his. “This is what family does for one another.” He leans in towards you, “Plus, I make fantastic macadamia nut pancakes.”
“He does, he really does.”
You open your mouth to protest further, but the look of sincerity on their faces relaxes something in you, quieting that nagging voice that continues to try and rear its head and tell you that you’re inconveniencing them. You allow the smile to fully take shape on your lips, “I guess I’ll have to be the judge of that then. Show me the guest room.”
You sleep fitfully in Steve and Danny’s guest room; any room that isn’t yours really. The sheets are crisp and neatly tucked around the bed, smelling of detergent. The firmness of the mattress gently cradles your tender joints. The worst of the flare is over, but you’ll be feeling the residual aches throughout the weekend. You turn on your side, resting your head in the crook of your elbow, and catch the very first lavender streaks of dawn relieving the deep blue of night. You tap your phone and the screen illuminates, 4:33AM blinking back at you.
Accepting that sleep will continue to evade you, you push back the covers and stand on bare feet. The extra fabric of Steve’s borrowed pajama pants pools around your ankles and the well worn t-shirt with half faded NAVY lettering is soft against your skin. You leave your cane resting against the nightstand and slip outside into the hall, padding quietly to the neighboring bathroom on the balls of your feet, careful not to wake anyone. Danny had left an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter for you (leave it to him to keep extra toiletries on hand for unexpected guests). After brushing your teeth, you maneuver your way through the kitchen and crack open the door to the lanai where you pause and inhale deeply, breathing in the warm morning and the heavy scent of salt and sea spray. Closing the door, you twist the handle so the sound doesn’t wake Steve and Danny and make your way to one of the two adirondack chairs facing the ocean.
Once seated, you pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, tucking your chin atop your knees and watching the tide roll in as the events of yesterday replay in your mind. The workday itself is a blur, but the interaction with Commander McGarrett is clear. At first, you thought he’d seemed so angry and you’d been convinced an admonishment regarding your ability to work was coming. Instead, like any normal person, he’d just been worried and concerned why you hadn’t felt like you could share that with him or the others. Even after everything: telling him the truth of your situation, him understanding and apologizing, and the invitation from him and Danny to stay for the night, it still feels hard to believe that there could be no fallout from this.
The rational part of your brain reminds you that is a normal thing that normal people do; that humans are biologically inclined to recognize when another human is in pain and instinctually want to care for them. The bitter pragmatist that also resides inside your head still fights to remind you, though, at least in your experience, people don’t have time to see the human being. They see excuses. They see laziness. They see someone who ‘isn’t a team player.’ So when Steve said he didn’t care about the work and when Danny reiterated your value to the team, you didn’t know how to accept it. You’ve heard the opposite for so long that trusting people and allowing yourself to be vulnerable no longer comes naturally. For the last ten years, it seems the only person you could rely on is yourself and even then, it isn’t always a judgement free space. Giving yourself time and energy to recover or even just grieve a bad day is not your strong suit. It’s always how fast you can get over it and prove your value, your worth; to let your coworkers, your friends, hell, even your family know: I’m still here! Do you see me? This is me, keeping up! This is me showing up!
But that only works until it doesn’t; until the people who say they understand slowly no longer seem to once the chronic condition remains chronic. People stop asking how you’re feeling or how an appointment went and you realize it’s because they never really wanted the real answers to those questions in the first place, it’s just what you say. You say no to enough outings and eventually the invitations just stop coming. You don’t say anything lest they become uncomfortable so instead you pull back and reel it in. You try not to make plans anyway because you don’t know if you can commit to them. You stop telling people about your care plan because nothing’s really changed and you’re disappointed too.
It’s easier alone.
At least that’s the lie you keep telling yourself.
“It’s far too early to be that deep inside your head.”
Two steaming mugs are placed on the small table between the two chairs with a quiet clink. You shift, dropping your feet into the cool sand, and look up to meet Danny’s tired gaze. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants and a worn Newark Police t-shirt and you can’t help but wonder if these guys own a shirt from this decade. Danny points lazily towards the mugs as he drops into the chair next to you.
“Assumed you’re not a butter-in-your coffee loving psychopath like my dear, sweet husband and added milk and sugar. Hope that’s alright.”
With a smirk and a quiet huff of laughter through your nose, you gratefully pick up the coffee and bring it to your lips, savoring the smell, before taking a long sip.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Danny waves you off as he picks up his own mug. “Nah, couldn’t sleep. Steve’s like a furnace at night and after all this time I’m still trying to figure out how to sleep safely in his atmosphere. How ‘bout you, huh? How ‘ya feeling after yesterday?”
“Better,” you default, the answer always locked and loaded on your tongue.
“Uh huh,” Danny hedges. “And how’d you sleep?”
You take another sip of coffee and actually pause to contemplate your answer. For some reason, the truth right now feels safer than a lie.
“I never sleep well outside of my own bed, my own home, really.”
Danny presses his lips together and nods. “I get that.”
“It’s not anything about the room or you and Steve or anything, it’s just…you guys didn’t do anything…it’s just…” Words continue to ramble off your tongue. Nothing sounds right. It sounds stupid. You clamp your mouth shut and stare out at the waves crashing quietly against the sand. Danny says nothing and you try again after a deep breath. “Sleeping is hard for me in general. My muscles will often lock up over night resulting in nightmareish muscle stiffness. I’ve got heating pads and assistive pillows and all these other things and even then I’m not guaranteed a good night’s sleep or a pain free morning. Trying to sleep and then be normal in the morning somewhere else is…” you dig your toes into the sand, burying your feet.
“I imagine it’s very hard.” Danny says evenly.
You look up from your coffee cup and his eyes are soft like the set of his mouth as he regards you. It’s not pity in his voice, like Steve, it’s acknowledging your experience.
“It is,” you confirm, looking down into your half empty coffee cup.
“Ya know,” Danny says, sitting up in his chair. “You and Steve have got a lot in common.”
You respond with a wry chuckle. “How do you figure?”
Danny smiles and holds up a placating hand before taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m not talking about the bone-headed life-and-death maneuvers he pulls on a daily basis. Trust me, I don’t think my heart could take two of that.” He glances out at the sea and then back to you. “He doesn’t want anyone to see him hurting, though, and I’m not just talking about the outside hurt. I mean, by now he oughta have a punch card at the hospital but that’s not the point here.” He takes another sip. “I don’t know how much you know or have figured out in your time here so far, but everyone on this team has been through some, well let’s put it this way, not your average cases.”
You nod, listening keenly as you finish the last of your coffee.
“You know about Wo Fat.”
Again, you nod. They’d closed the case before you joined the team, but the stories you’d heard had been harrowing and certainly unlike any you’d ever heard before.
“Wo Fat took a particular interest in Steve and it brought up a lot of painful stuff, which is putting it lightly by the way. These were things he wasn’t ready to face, even now he’s not. Between his dad’s death and his ma going on the run, abandoning him again.” He gestures with the hand holding the mug. “It opened a lot of wounds he’d thought were long scarred over. Then of course there was the physical and psychological torture.” Danny looks down into the remnants of coffee, his eyes briefly haunted by images you couldn’t see but know salt a wound that’s still fresh for him. He looks at you then and his voice cracks, just barely. “He wouldn’t talk about it, couldn’t talk about it. Not even with me. I watched that hurt sit inside him, rotting away at the core of what made him him. I felt helpless. I was watching the man I love suffer and there wasn’t a thing I could do to help.”
You feel your hand squeeze hard around the ceramic in your palm, wondering if there’s a silver lining coming. “So, what did?”
Danny sighs out, long and heavy. “Time.” He inclines his head. “And this team.” He sets his coffee cup down and shifts his weight so that he’s facing you directly. “I hated this place, in fact, I still hate quite a few things about this place.”
You place a hand over your heart in mock offense, “You? Oh, Danny, say it ain’t so?”
“Ha ha,” he remarks sarcastically and you turn a smirk in response. “I came to Hawaii from Jersey. Lived my whole life there. Thought I was gonna die there, ‘kay? Then my ex wife brings Gracie here. I’m not leaving my kid, so I’m there. Boom, meet Steve, and I wanna kill him. Hate him too. Was overjoyed when he first rejected the task force.” He snaps his fingers and shakes his head. “But this team, this thing we’ve built.” He breathes out, like he can’t believe what he’s saying either. “There’s a magic in it. I don’t know what it is. I’ve never known family like this and trust me, I’ve got a big family. Anyone of these guys would take a bullet for me and I’d do the same for them. It’s given me the best relationship with my daughter, my husband, my career. Five 0 gave me my life back. It’s taken some time, but it’s brought something back to life in Steve too all things considered. There’s still some things he can’t talk about, but when he’s out surfing with Kono or golfing with Lou, I see that spark back in his eyes. He might not get vulnerable with them and he’d kill me if he knew I was telling you this, but he’s talking to me. He’s learning that keeping all that stuff inside, all that pain and fear and grief, only makes it work. There's layers to that too, ya know? His time with Five 0, with the Navy…for most of that time he’d also been denying who he was to the world.” Danny absently fidgets with his wedding band. “Ignoring parts of your identity, no matter how big or how small, it chips away at ‘ya and makes that hurt you’re holding inside that much worse.” He extends a hand and places it gently on your shoulder. “And I know there’s nothing we can do to take your pain away, but whatever’s heavy and weighing you down on top of that, we’ll help you carry it.”
Tears well in your eyes and this time you don't try to swallow the growing lump in your throat. You blink heavily and feel the warm droplets fall onto your cheek. “I don’t think I know how to do that anymore, Danny.”
A quiet sob catches in your throat and he’s on his feet, gently taking hold of your wrists and pulls you up into the security of an embrace. You cry quietly into his chest and he rests his chin atop of your head as he cradles the back of your head with one hand while the other rubs small circles on the square of your back. He whispers quiet words of support, shushing you the way any dad does when their child is in pain or upset and you wonder how many times he’s held Gracie like this.
After some time, your tears stop flowing, replaced by soft sniffling, and Danny pulls away. He rests his hands on your shoulders and gives you a once over, shifting his palms to clasp your face in his hands where he uses his thumbs to swipe away the tear stains beneath your eyes.
“Feels good to get some of that out, I bet.”
The corners of your mouth twitch in response as you reluctantly agree. “Thank you, Danny. I-you didn’t have to—”
Danny waves a hand in your direction. “Nah, don’t worry about it. That’s what family does.” He points a finger directly at you. “Don’t go forgetting that now, though. You can always talk to me, to Chin and Kono, to Steve, hell, please talk to Steve. I think you two could help each other a lot more than either of you might think.”
Your smile takes shape a little bit more as you nod your agreement. “Okay.”
Danny grins. “Okay! How ‘bout that? Now, how about we go wake up Steve and get some breakfast outta him, huh? How’s that sound?”
“Sounds great.”
He escorts you back up to the house, holding the door open and insisting you go first when you get there. The kitchen is warm and smells like baked vanilla. Steve stands at the stove, apron on over a tank top and gym shorts. He flips a golden brown pancake off of the sizzling pan onto a growing pile resting on a nearby plate.
“Jesus, Steve, are we feeding the entire Navy?”
Steve smiles and gestures with the spatula in his hand. “I believe the phrase you’re looking for is, ‘good morning, and no, smart ass. I got three for her, three for you, and uhh the last seven or eight are for me. Figured I’d carbo-load first, hit the beach after, and run a few miles, you in?”
Danny smiles as he approaches Steve and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I love you, but I absolutely do not want in on that. It’s Saturday, Steven. You’re supposed to rest and relax on Saturday. I know they don’t teach you that at SEAL school, but it is allowed.”
Steve frowns and shrugs, turning the stove off. “Alright, suit yourself.”
Danny claps his hands together, “Oh, I will, babe. I’m gonna run back out. Forgot the mugs outside and I don’t know about you, but I want a second cup.” He darts out through the back door and you start helping bring things to the kitchen table.
“How are you feeling today?” Steve asks, placing the steaming stack of pancakes in the middle of the table.
“Fucking exhausted,” you answer, setting out the forks with quiet clinks.
“I imagine it takes a lot out of you when it gets like that.”
Your wrist aches as you pick up the French press even though it’s not very heavy. You rub at it absentmindedly after setting it down. “It does. The days after are usually better though.”
“Good, that’s good.” Steve’s brow crinkles like he wants to say more. He pulls a chair out for you and then drops into the one beside it, his lips pressed together.
“Everything ok, Commander?”
Steve presses his elbows onto the table, one arm bent to rub his chin. “When I came downstairs, I looked out and saw you and Danno talking outside, when he pulled you up and gave you a hug. I saw your shoulders shaking and knew you were crying.”
A crimson heat immediately spreads across your cheeks. “Steve, I—”
“Danny’s got a way of holding onto a person that makes it feel like you can finally stop holding your breath.” He shrugs and leans back in his chair. “Maybe it’s ’cause he’s a father, maybe it’s just him, but when he's holding you,” he pauses and smiles, “man, it’s like nothing can touch you.”
You feel your shoulders relax. Commander McGarrett isn’t reprimanding you for being emotional. He’s validating your feelings…again. You mentally file this exchange, envisioning tucking it away inside a manilla envelope in your brain labeled: Affirmations.
“I’ve been there,” Steve continues. “It’s easy at first, holding it all in. Then it’s like getting a hole in a life raft, right? You slap your hand over it and try to stop the air from coming out when another tear opens, and then another, and another, and you realize that if you don’t let someone help, well,” his voice quiets, and for a brief second, something sad flickers in his gray eyes, “You’re gonna drown.” He lifts his gaze from the table and meets your eyes. “For me, I was drowning. I thought I could do everything on my own, it’s all I’ve ever known. It’s all I’ve ever done, but for the first time in my life I had someone, multiple someones, actually, that were willing to put out their hands and pull my head back up above water. For me especially, Danny is my anchor, my lifeline, my everything. He sees when I’m at my worst and I’m as stubborn as they come, but he refuses to let go. He refuses to let me sink. That’s love. That’s caring.”
Pressure builds behind your eyes as tears glisten along your lash line.
He reaches his hand across the table and takes yours into his calloused palm. “I know it’s hard to ask for help. I know it feels unnatural when you’ve been fighting your battles all alone. I’ll tell ya what I do know though and that’s that I looked outside this morning and saw you finally letting go of some of that hurt, that was you grabbing onto that lifeline.” He squeezes your hand. “That’s the hardest part. Now all you gotta do is hold on and trust the people pulling you to shore.”
Your lips, though trembling, manage to form a small smile as you say in a shaky voice, “Thank you, Steve.”
He smiles, the lines around his eyes crinkling, and pulls you into a hug. “C’mere, can’t let Danno be the only one offering sage advice, huh?”
“Sage advice?” Danny remarks as he closes the door to the lanai shut with his hip. He saunters over to the kitchen table and puts the two mugs down before gesturing to himself with both hands. “See, I only caught the end of that, but personally, I was one nautical metaphor away from shooting myself, ya?”
Steve arches an eyebrow at Danny and then looks at you. “On second thought, if he offers a lifeline, cut it. I wouldn’t trust him.”
Danny smiles and shakes his head. “No, no, no Steven McGarrett, you’ve already shown your hand!” He positions himself behind Steve and claps both hands down on his shoulders as he bends down. “You called me an anchor. I’m as sturdy and reliable as they come. I’m rock solid, babe.”
Steve rolls his eyes as Danny steals a playful kiss before sitting and pouring everyone a fresh cup of coffee.
“Your head is rock solid,” Steve mutters as he picks up his knife and cuts a tab of butter from the dish on the table and scrapes it off into his coffee.
“Oh my God, you were serious!” you exclaim, grimacing at Steve’s choice of coffee additives.
Danny grins smugly, shoulders rattling with satisfied laughter. “I told you! He’s an animal.”
“It’s good for your brain!” Steve contests, dropping a spoon into his cup and whisking the mixture. He tosses the spoon onto the table and takes a long sip, releasing a contented sigh. “See that,” he says, tapping a finger against his temple. “That’s my brain getting stronger.”
Breakfast continues over a battle of wits. You chime in on both the offense and defense to support their supremely inconsequential arguments. The pancakes disappear and Danny puts on another pot of coffee. You finish your third cup, feeling caffeine buzz around your brain instead of thoughts that you’re an inconvenience. Danny takes out a legal pad and jots down ideas on how to make work more accommodating. Steve reports that he’ll submit the necessary requisitions on Monday.
Eventually, they drive you to the office so you can take your car home. Steve transfers your bags from the trunk of Danny’s car to your passenger seat. You’re not leaning as heavily on your cane this morning as you were last night though the ever present ache presses into your joints; a reminder that it’s never really gone, just subdued.
But when Danny and Steve give you one more hug for the short road home, the weight of it all seems a little easier to bear. It’ll come again, the pain. It’ll come loud and angry, it always does. Except this time, you’ll remember the hands that have been extended…the lifelines in the water. It’ll take time to stop flailing; to fight the crushing feeling of drowning. But this time, you’ll reach out and trust that there’s somebody there already reaching out to you.
You’ll take that hand, that lifeline.
You won’t let go.
As you drop into the driver’s seat and start the car, your phone pings. You open your messaging app and there’s a text from Kono.
Drinks tonight? Chin’s paying!
Your thumbs hover over the keyboard only for a second before you type out, Yes!, and hit send.