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Danny held onto Steve for the entire duration of the helicopter flight. He had his arms around his shoulders and he refused to let go. For a minute there, he had thought they would be bringing back his corpse. He needed to feel him alive under his fingers, he needed to feel his warmth on his skin, he needed to feel his heart beating again and again and again. Losing Steve was not a possibility he wanted to reckon with.
No one tried to stop him when he squeezed himself in the middle seat of the beaten up car they used to reach the airfield. Steve kept glancing at him, but he didn’t push his hand away when Danny let it rest on his knee. It hadn’t fully sunk in yet. Steve wasn't dead. Steve was alive. Steve was going to be safe.
He repeated this mantra in his head during the entire flight home. It wasn’t a comfortable ride and he wasn’t a fan of how much the cargo plane jostled them at the slightest turbulence, but it gave him an excuse to cling to Steve and keep him close until they touched down.
As soon as they left the plane, Danny took leave from the others by flashing indulgent but strained smiles and he herded Steve into the Camaro. They could celebrate later. Right now, he intended to get Steve's ass to a hospital or a clinic at the very least. He had undergone a cursory medical examination back in South Korea, but Danny wanted the full work-up. Who knew what Wo Fat and his men had done to him? He would not rest until he had had Steve examined inside and out.
“Thanks, man. I'm glad they came and I'm glad to be back, but I think I just want to go home.” Steve said, once the car doors had closed.
Danny played it cool. Steve was like a cat. One of those formerly feral ones. If he let it transpire even just slightly that they were headed for the vet, he would end up with scratches and an evaporated Steve. He had to fool him. Let him relax, get his guard down, before jumping into action and swiftly and expertly throwing a blanket over him at the last possible minute when resistance would be futile and the fight already won.
“Believe me, I get it.”
He started the ignition, made sure the doors were locked and activated the child safety feature just to be sure. He had seen the guy escape through the trunk before.
Danny purposefully stayed on the itinerary that led to Steve's house until the last possible second when he made a quick exit.
Steve, who up until then had been dozing off with one eye open, immediately noticed.
“What are you doing?” He frowned.
“What does it look like I'm doing?”
“Well, certainly not driving me home. This isn’t the direction of my house.”
“Don't worry, I'll drive you home.” Danny grumbled. “But we're stopping by the hospital first.”
“The hospital? Come on, I don't need to go to the hospital. I'm fine.”
“Fine? Fine?! You were tortured! You're not fine! You just came back from North Korea where you were repeatedly beaten, tased, hung, and God knows what else, you're not fine, Steven, and I'm bringing you to a hospital. And don't even think about jumping out. The doors are locked.”
“This is kidnapping, you know that, right? I could charge you, have you arrested.”
“Great. You do that. In the meantime, we're still getting you properly examined.” He answered as he focused on making another left and merging onto the road which would lead them straight to the hospital.
“You're impossible.” Steve huffed.
“I'm impossible?! Me?! See, this only proves you're out of your mind. You most likely have a concussion, which is just another reason for you to get checked out by a real doctor at a real hospital and not merely having a light shone in your eyes before declaring you free to go.”
“They did a little more than that.”
“Barely. If they had done any less I might as well have let Grace examine you with the toy kit she got for her sixth birthday.”
Steve snorted. “And I'm sure she would have done a fine job. Really, Danno, I'm alright, I just need to shower and sleep it off.”
Danny shook his head. “Don't ‘Danno’ me, it's not going to work. We're going. You'll shower and sleep after getting properly assessed by a medical professional.”
Steve groaned, long-suffering. “You know, I'm starting to regret not dying from the torture.”
“Yeah? Well, think about how I feel, hm? My partner decided to go to fucking North Korea, on his own, no back-up, following someone who turned out to be a traitor, walking right into Wo Fat's trap, nearly getting himself killed, and now that he is back - despite abysmal odds - he won't even agree to see a doctor! So tell me, Steve, how do you think I feel?”
The silence following Danny's outburst was deafening, but he had made his point. Steve scowled without adding another word. He slumped on the passenger seat with the attitude of a six year-old and waited for the inevitable. Whether he wanted it or not, he would be setting foot in a hospital and seeing a doctor.
Once inside the ER, they didn't have to wait too long. Steve looked worse for wear, concerningly enough that they got bumped to the top of the waiting list of people.
Contrary to what could have been expected, it didn't lighten Steve's mood who had had hopes of convincing Danny of leaving to avoid an interminable wait. But no, Danny had filled in his paperwork, they had processed it, and now he had no choice but to follow along to a box and wait for a doctor to see him after a registered nurse had taken his vitals and given him a once over.
Fortunately for him, that didn’t take too long either. He was counting his blessings. He felt certain Danny was worried for nothing and a doctor would immediately see there was nothing much to do besides sending him home with some tylenol to sleep it off.
The curtain around the box opened to reveal a woman in her late thirties wearing scrubs and an identification badge clipped to her pocket.
“Aloha, I'm Dr. Kahale, how can we help you today?”
Danny didn’t even let Steve attempt to speak first. He knew he would be lying only to get home faster.
“My friend, here, got in a spot of trouble and needs to be examined. And by ‘a spot of trouble’ I mean that he has been punched, kicked, hung from the ceiling by his wrists, electrocuted and who knows what else.” Danny moved his hands for emphasis. “And now that he is back, we understandably need to make sure he is alright.”
But Steve hadn't said his last word. “Aloha, Commander Steve McGarrett,” he extended his hand, “don't listen to him, I'm fine. He's exaggerating. I only got roughed up a little, nothing to worry about.”
He was clearly trying to play the big, tough and charming Navy SEAL card, but Danny didn’t intend to let him.
“Let the doctor be the judge of that, please and thank you.” He gave him a stern look before turning back to Dr. Kahale. “And ignore him, he didn’t get ‘roughed up’, he got actively tortured and, on top of that, he possesses about zero ounces of self-preservation, so if you could do what you do best and make sure that he isn't going to die on me, I would really appreciate it.”
Dr. Kahale was biting back a smile, but she nodded after shaking Steve's hand. “Of course, let's get you checked up, Commander McGarrett. We'll run a full blood panel, it can't hurt, and I'll have a nurse place an IV for a liter of saline. I'm guessing you didn’t get much hydration.”
Steve closed his eyes in defeat. “You could say that.” He grumbled.
Steve suffered the indignity of donning a gown that would show his naked buttcheeks at the first gust of wind and threw daggers at Danny with his eyes as he changed. But Danny didn’t care. He had crossed his arms across his chest and was watching him like a hawk.
The doctor noticed while she prodded Steve and nearly offered him an out as she addressed Danny. “You know, this is going to take a minute, we have a cafeteria or vending machines nearby if you'd like some respite.”
“Thank you, but I would rather stay. I know him. He's going to fly out your unopenable windows before you know it if I step out for even a second.”
Dr. Kahale silently checked in with her patient, Commander Steve McGarrett, who grumbled in answer, a little hot in the cheeks.
“It's fine, he can stay. He'll only get worse if he doesn't.”
“At long last you're exhibiting some semblance of reason. Alleluia.”
That got a chuckle out of the doctor. She had her stethoscope hooked to her ears with a focused expression as she listened intently to Steve's lung.
“I'm a little worried about how your breathing sounds and with those deep bruises you have on your chest, I think it would be best if we got you an x-ray. And while we're at it, we should also do a CT scan of your head, we don't want to miss a brain injury.”
Steve looked up to the ceiling in despair. With two sentences she had added at least another couple hours to his stay.
Eventually, they got the x-ray and the CT scan done, someone also came in to stick an IV in Steve's arm, draw blood for his full panel, redo his wound dressings, and he had been half-heartedly napping for some time when Dr. Kahale reappeared.
Danny jumped on the poor woman before she could even speak.
“So, how not fine is he? You can give it to me straight, I can take it.” He couldn’t, but he needed to know.
The doctor smiled before she answered. “All in all, he could be in a much worse state. You got very lucky, Commander McGarrett. You've suffered extensive bruising, but there were no broken ribs on the x-ray. Likewise, your wrist and hand are injured but not broken. I'll still prescribe you a brace you'll need to wear for two to three weeks. Your CT scan results also came back normal.
“Over the counter painkillers should do the trick for the first few days. As for the rest, it probably helped that, other than that, you were in excellent health. But you should definitely still take time off and take it easy for a few weeks. No over exerting, plenty of sleep, hydration and proper nutrition, and eventually you should be back to normal. We will also give you a tetanus booster shot to stay on the safe side, and you should watch out for signs of infection. Make sure to keep your wounds clean, and come back if you suddenly get worse or if you start showing signs of an altered mental status. Do you have anyone who can stay with you?”
“He does.” Danny nodded. “Don't worry, I'll be watching him, make sure he sticks to the recovery plan, I'll even fill his time-off request, do all the paperwork. He is not setting foot at work for at least a week, you have my word.”
“Come on,” Steve tried to reign him in, “she basically said I was fine.”
“Well, I didn’t quite say that.” Dr. Kahale piped in. “You could be in a worse state, but your body still underwent extreme amounts of stress and you should absolutely let it recover. Unless you want to end up here again.” She gave him a cheery smile that definitely encouraged Steve to not want to have to come back.
“Extreme amounts of stress.” Danny quoted back. “You hear that, Steve?”
“Just take me home.”
“Nuh-uh. Tetanus booster first, and they said you had to finish this IV.”
“If you feel confident removing it once the bag is empty, he can go home with it.” Dr. Kahale told him.
“Alright, I don't, but he probably does,” Danny aimed his chin towards Steve, “so I guess that's coming home with us.” He conceded.
There was no trick this time around. After Steve got discharged, Danny drove straight home. It had been a long journey and Steve felt relieved when the Camaro finally reached a stop in front of his house.
Danny helped him out of the car and picked up the bag of saline which was nearly empty, closely following him into the house.
Truth be told, Steve couldn't wait to be able to close the door behind him and lose the act of the big, tough guy. Even for just a minute. The length of a shower. But for that, he needed Danny to leave him alone for a moment, something that wouldn't be easy to achieve.
He usually had no issue carrying himself forward the way people expected of him. Confident. Competent. Resilient. Strong. How many times had he gotten beaten up or even shot on the job? He always shook it off. It had become second nature to simply smile, make a joke and keep moving.
So why was it different that day? Why was he craving a good fucking cry? It irritated him. He didn’t like not being in control of himself.
He huffed, took the IV bag from Danny and made his way to the kitchen where he tore a piece of paper towel off its stand, swiftly removed the needle and pressed the paper towel in the crook of his arm to stop the bleeding.
Danny stuttered, his arms open. “No, no, Steve, come on. You were supposed to keep that in.”
“Oh, stop worrying. It's fine. It was nearly empty, I'll just drink some water. Same thing.”
“No, not the same thing, but it's not like I'm going to stick that back into your arm.” He grumbled, turning around to fetch a glass, fill it and hand it to Steve.
Steve begrudgingly accepted it and drank it in one go. “There, happy?”
“I'm not sure that's the word I would use, but thank you. Ok,” he clapped his hands, in an attempt to move on, “are you hungry? I know you think I'm a horrendous cook, but I can handle a frozen pizza like nobody's business, or we could order something, your pick, I'll even pay for it.”
“I'm fine, Danny.” Steve glanced towards the hallway. His bathroom was so close and yet so far. “You don't have to babysit me, you can go home.”
“What if I don't want to go home, hm? What if I want to make sure you stay alive and well? Ever thought about that?”
Steve had. And in other circumstances, he would have been glad for it. Sure, he would have resisted it, for form, but he would have been grateful. In this instant, however? Not so much.
Everything was grating him. The itchiness of the bandages, the pulsing of his wounds and head, the lump climbing in his throat, the pressure building behind his eyeballs… He needed to be alone. He refused to collapse in front of a witness. Even if it was only Danny.
“You can stay here, but I'm going to take a shower.” He was trying a different approach. He might not succeed in sending Danny away, but perhaps he could still buy himself some privacy.
Danny didn’t take the hint. He followed Steve to the bottom of the stairs. And when Steve almost tripped on the second step, Danny instinctively reached for him.
“Here, let me help you.”
But instead of accepting his hand, Steve shoved him away, with more force than he had intended. Danny stumbled backward, a little in shock over Steve's outburst. He hadn’t expected it.
Steve's head throbbed with the sudden movement. He reached for his left temple with his hand and winced. He so very rarely got migraines that he wasn’t used to dealing with that kind of pain. It only added to his annoyance and frustration. His body had no right to betray him like that, not with how much care he put into it. As if relentlessly pestering him with the need to cry wasn’t enough. He grunted.
Danny noticed Steve's pain. He overcame his surprise and climbed the two steps back up, a hand on the banister, eyeing Steve up and down, scanning him to figure out what was wrong.
“Is it your head? Maybe you should take something and rest before you go upstairs. If you really need to freshen up I can help you with it. I'll get a washcloth. Come on, let's get you to the couch. It's a comfortable one, you can stay there for a bit. I'll keep watch, make sure you're ok while you sleep.”
Steve felt himself lose control. Danny's solicitude was sending him over the edge. If Danny kept at it, he would never be able to keep it in. Steve would burst into tears the second Danny would gently lay a hand over him. He couldn’t let it happen.
He didn’t think. Instead, he reached for the nuclear option and exploded.
“Could you please stop acting like a fucking pansy for a second?!”
His booming, echoing voice resonated in the house. For a second, time had slipped backwards and Steve had heard his father again. Except those words had just come out of his mouth.
He felt like retching. Danny wasn't talking anymore. Steve's mounting anguish had deflated like a lead balloon, but it was too late. Harm had been done.
His tears were closer to the surface than ever, yet he didn’t care about it anymore. So what if Danny saw him cry? Who cared? Why the fuck had he cared?
Danny opened his mouth as if to say something but thought better of it and didn't. He shook his head silently and backed off, walking towards the entrance.
Steve felt his heart seize. He took two steps down and immediately regretted it, closing his eyes. He carefully inhaled through his nose and stilled. If he didn’t move, the pulsating pain in his head receded enough for him to focus. It enraged him not to be able to run after Danny, not to be able to jump into action and do something.
“Danno! Wait! I'm sorry! Don't leave. Please.” He begged from where he stood, holding onto the wall.
Danny faltered for a second, he was already halfway to the door. He sighed heavily and stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t turn around to face Steve. His back stood between them as solidly as the Iron Curtain.
“Can we talk, please?” Steve asked.
“You want to talk? Go ahead, nobody's stopping you.”
Steve waited for him to turn around, but he didn't. He looked at his feet and wondered where to start. They had never had to have that sort of conversation before. He tried to think about what Danny would most want from him. Sincerity, probably.
“I was a jerk.” He admitted. “I'm sorry. I'm just… I'm not used to this. I'm not like you. I'm not saying I'm better, just… I was raised to tough it out, ok? Anything else was deemed a moral and physical failure. I suppose I still have some hang-ups around that.”
“You suppose?” Danny turned around at last.
Steve kept his gaze down. There was a tense silence that neither of them broke. Usually, Danny could never stay silent for long, but this time, he was refusing to say a word more. It was one thing to be teased, to be ribbed… he did it too, but he had never insulted Steve. He had never been mean.
“I'll understand if you leave, but I don't want you to.” It was Steve's voice, except subdued, as if ashamed.
But Danny still felt angry. “You want tough? I'll give you tough. Say something like that again and I'll punch you. Is that tough enough for you?”
“I don't want tough.” Steve pleaded, his throat closing. “It was stupid. I like you because you're you, Danny. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Well you said it.” The statement sounded final. Danny's hurt could be heard in his voice and Steve felt like a giant asshole. “I need a walk.” Danny added as he swiftly wiped at his eyes, trying to put on a front. “Do you have ringing in your ears? Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Is your vision blurry?”
“What?” Steve was confused and he frowned. “No, none of that. My head hurts but I'm fairly certain that's to be expected. I don't have a concussion, they ruled it out at the hospital.”
“Good. Then take some ibuprofen and call 911 if you start getting symptoms.” Danny said at last and he walked out without even slamming the door shut behind him.
Steve slumped where he stood at the bottom of the stairs. He gripped his hair and exhaled shakily. Fighting with Danny was not something he enjoyed in the slightest. It felt a lot, lot worse than any of the fights he might have had with Catherine.
He wanted to cry but didn't allow himself to. He didn’t deserve the release. Instead he banged his injured fist against the wall behind him and focused on the pain.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, unable to move, wishing nothing more than to go back in time and fix it.
He tried calling Danny but he went to voicemail. He didn't leave a message.
Instead, he peeled himself off from the wall and went in search of something for his migraine.
He found some pills in a drawer of his kitchen, ate a couple protein bars, and swallowed a dose with the same glass Danny had handed him. He put it down and took a minute, his hands pressed on top of his kitchen counters. Why? Why couldn't he have acted the way he usually did with Danny? Without worrying about what it all meant, about what other people would think or say.
He groaned and made his way to the couch where he planned to wait his migraine out. He didn't have it in him to climb the stairs and he was still holding out hope that Danny might come back.
He didn't want to miss him if he did.
He closed his eyes, sat down and let his head fall back on the cushion behind him, letting out a frustrated noise. He felt stupid. But more than that, he felt angry at himself.
He didn’t know what had pushed him to act out like that. Or rather, he knew, but had been trying to pretend otherwise. It was easier to think those habits had long gone away. Except they hadn’t. Not quite.
He was Commander Steven ‘Steve’ McGarrett, son of John McGarrett, former navy SEAL, head of the Five-O taskforce… Not the kind of guy who went out with guys. Not the kind of guy who cozied up to another man on his couch. Not the kind of guy who felt pulled to share the night with his partner after nearly meeting his maker.
But the more time he spent with Danny, the closer he felt to that guy he wasn’t supposed to be - something he had understood very early on.
Steve was coming home from his elementary school. He was excited because his father had said he would be home for once. He loved and admired his father, despite how busy he often was.
He burst through the front door and ran upstairs to his father’s office, stopping just shy of the doorway and taking a big, deep breath before knocking and stepping forward.
“McGarrett, reporting for duty, sir!” He exclaimed in his young boy's voice as he saluted just like his father had taught him.
John McGarrett smiled affectionately before he seemed to notice something and his face turned into a scowl. Steve bit his lip. Had he done it wrong?
“What's this?” John jutted out his chin in disgust towards his son's bonny legs.
Steve looked down, confused, and then he remembered.
“I fell down from the bars during recess.”
“And what? You couldn't tough it out? You needed a bandaid? For a scrapped knee? And who gave you that? Your little girlfriend?” He shook his head in disbelief. “A pink-hearted bandaid. Now we've seen it all.”
Steve winced. He had come to learn that his father was being sarcastic when he mentioned his ‘girlfriend’. In fact, he was pretty sure that if he had had an actual girlfriend, his father might have found it endearing enough to give him a pass with the promise to refrain from letting her plaster him with cutesy bandaids.
“It’s nothing, dad.” Steve pleaded. “Jake only wanted to be nice.”
His father didn’t like Jake. And that was a euphemism. Another word Steve had learned recently. But he had known Jake since kindergarten. They were friends. And Steve was loyal.
His father sneered. “How many times have I told you that I didn't want to see you with that boy? He is a bad influence, Steve. I expected better of you.”
“I'm sorry, dad.” Steve looked down at his shoes. A familiar lump was building in his throat.
His father took several determined steps forward and Steve tightened his fists at his sides as hard as he could to prevent himself from flinching. He was expecting a slap.
But his father's hand didn't connect with his cheek. It lowered to roughly and abruptly remove the bandaid from his injured knee. It stung badly enough that tears welled up in Steve's eyes. He bit his tongue so that he wouldn't whimper and make it worse.
“I don't want you hanging out with that pansy of a boy anymore, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now go to your room, and do your homework.” His father ordered.
Steve obeyed with a heavy heart. He almost wished his father had been at work like usual. But he knew he wasn't supposed to think that. Because it would have meant thinking his father was wrong. And his father was never wrong.
More than twenty-five years had passed but Steve still had the same lump in his throat. Even before Don't Ask, Don't Tell ever came into effect, he had had a lot of practice with it. There were things a McGarrett boy simply wasn't. A pansy, to quote his father, was one of those.
Steve had adapted. He had learned to be the perfect son his father wanted. On the surface, at least. He had thrown himself into his studies, into safe activities - physical ones, male ones. He had excelled in the navy, he had made it all the way to the SEALs, with a perfect record. He had almost managed to impress his father. The presence of Catherine in his life had added the perfect finishing touches to this forgery he had built around himself. She had been perfect for that. Never asking for more than he could give, always willing to keep it casual, on-and-off, whenever the opportunity presented itself, and all of it under the guise of putting their respective careers in the navy first.
And then his father had abruptly died. And he had met Danno.
When he had set foot in Hawaii again, after decades of absence, he had never expected to stay for more than a few days. He had been there to avenge his father's death, nothing more.
And yet, there he was, two years later. Still there. Living in his father's house, which was now his house. A house he had even shared with Danny on several occasions. And despite their bickering and some incompatibilities, he had no regrets over it. In fact, he found himself wishing for more time with him there.
It was so easy to be around Danny. Steve never wanted to be around anyone else. Not really. Not like that. Sure, he enjoyed the company of his friends, of the team, but Danny felt different. Danny's presence in his life made sense in the same way pineapple and ham on pizza made sense. It was the flavor of home.
He couldn’t fathom having maybe fucked it all.
After a while, as the ibuprofen was starting to take effect and as the pounding in his head decreased, he dragged himself upstairs. He hadn’t lied in saying he needed a shower. More than ever, he felt the need to wash away everything that had been sticking to his skin since he had left for North Korea.
He slowly shed his clothes and discarded his bandages, fending off protests from his battered muscles but persevering until he stood naked on the tile of his bathroom floor. He stepped inside the shower and turned the tap to the highest temperature he could handle.
He hissed as the hot water hit his skin and pressed his forehead into the corner opposite the glass panel, where it was slightly darker, where he could pretend to be nowhere in particular when he closed his eyes.
He let the sweat, the disinfectant, the dried blood and the foreign odors slide from his body down the drain. This time, he made no effort to keep his shower under three minutes.
He waited until the humid hot air was so saturated it almost made him choke. Then, he forced his hand to abruptly switch the tap to cold and muffled a gasp as the temperature difference punishingly shocked his body. It hurt. But he didn’t move. He stayed right under the shower head until he got used to the feeling, until the world turned back into sharp focus around him.
He shut the water off and stepped out, dripping on the bathmat beneath him. He was too tired to think about digging for his first aid kit and redoing his wound dressings. It was hardly vital anyway. The bleeding had long stopped and he doubted it would start again beyond an insignificant trickle.
He absently toweled off, cleaned up behind him in the bathroom and fetched a change of clothing in his bedroom. He put on boxer briefs, a pair of shorts and a standard t-shirt he didn’t mind getting a little blood on.
Once dressed, he made his way back downstairs where he resumed his post, waiting for Danny.
Steve didn't know how much time had passed when he heard his front door open - he had nodded off at some point - but he was immediately alert. His head perked up, looking in the direction of his entrance, hoping - against all odds - that it would be Danny. He vaguely considered that it could be someone with ill intentions, and tried to figure out what his closest weapon was, but such thoughts poofed out of existence when he saw Danny's unmistakable combed-back hair poking through the doorframe.
Their gazes met and Steve was the first to look away.
“I'm only back because I don't want to have your death on my conscience.” Danny warned him.
“My death? I'm fine, I just need some rest.” Steve swallowed down the easy quip which sat at the tip of his tongue in favor of the sentence he had turned in his head over and over again since coming back downstairs. “I wish I could blame my behavior on my state, but I know it's no excuse. I'm sorry, Danny.”
Danny ignored his apology, but he didn’t look like he was about to storm off. Steve counted his blessings.
“I went to fill your prescription. I gave them your glove size so that they could try and figure out which size of brace you would need. They said to come back and exchange it if it didn't fit.” He held a paper bag in front of him.
Steve nodded. “Thank you.”
“Do you need help with it?”
Steve hated the wariness in his voice, hated he was the cause of it.
“Please.”
Danny stepped forward and gingerly sat on the couch, at the edge of the cushion, close enough to help him put the brace on, but far enough to prevent their body from accidentally touching. It made Steve want to cry again, but he didn't allow himself to even think about it. It was his fault, his doing.
Danny got the brace out of its packaging, glancing at the instructions for a second before discarding everything they didn't need on the coffee table. Steve didn't even feel the urge to tidy it, to clean it up. Instead, he simply extended his injured wrist so that Danny could put the brace on.
The velcro made a loud noise in the mostly silent atmosphere. Danny's thumb brushed over his skin as he slipped the brace over his hand and wrist. It made Steve shiver.
“How's your head?” Danny asked as he tightened the straps, checking it was appropriately fastened by trying to sneak a finger under the rigid fabric.
“Better, I took something for it.”
“Good. No other symptoms?”
“No, it's all normal stuff.”
Danny nodded in acknowledgement. “There. Done.”
He was all business like… So unlike himself that it unsettled Steve. He watched as Danny gathered the instructions back into the brace's box, cleared the plastic packaging and put everything back into the bag before he got up, putting distance between them.
“Where are you going?” Steve asked in a small voice.
Danny shrugged without looking at him. “Giving you space. You made your point clear earlier.”
“Danny…”
“No.” Danny raised his hand in front of him. “I'm not going to let you act like I'm overreacting, like I'm the one being unreasonable.”
“It's not my intention.”
“Then what's your intention?”
“I don't know, fix it?” Steve wanted to believe that some part of Danny thought they could work it out, otherwise he wouldn't have come back.
“Ok, then answer this: what is it with you that makes you want to hurl homophobic slurs at your… partner?” Danny had marked a long pause, hesitating at length on which word to use to end his sentence.
“I didn’t want to do it.” Steve countered.
“Semantics.” Danny waved him off. “Answer my question.”
Steve wasn't sure how to. He knew where it had stemmed from, but he didn’t fancy giving Danny a history of the education he had been on the receiving end of. Although, in the end, he could all pinpoint it to the earliest lesson he had been taught on the subject.
“Ultimately? The belief that someone like me isn't supposed to get with someone like you.”
“Someone like you?!” Danny erupted, telling Steve it was, evidently, not the best way he could have phrased it. “What's the matter with you?! This is some nerve you have! I suck it up, I decide to give you the benefit of the doubt, and so I come back, even when by all accounts I shouldn’t, but I still do and you, you-”
Steve cut him off before they could get caught up in another fight. “Someone kind. Someone loyal. Someone who isn't afraid to love, who isn't afraid to show his feelings, who isn't afraid to let his tears out. Someone who loves with their entire heart without thinking twice about it and who doesn't pull away when things get hard, when things get serious.”
He hadn't planned on saying all that, on letting the silent part escape. His heart was beating fast, as if he had been running suicides instead of simply speaking. He watched as Danny processed his words and hoped it wasn't going to majorly fuck their relationship beyond repair. He didn’t have a lot of practice in that domain. He had repressed any such feelings for so long that he had no idea how that part went. And there was still the possibility he had majorly misread the situation.
Danny sat back down on the couch, next to Steve. It was a start. Maybe a good one.
He smoothed the fabric of his trousers with his palm. “Serious, eh?” He tried to deflect.
“I've always been serious about you.” Steve was quick to answer - although, truly, intense might have been a better qualifier where he was concerned. It was as if an invisible obstacle had been blown up. Words long held close to his heart were seeping out of him like water. “It's just… I've been my father's son for so long, Danny, that sometimes I forget I'm my own person. But when I'm with you, I'm not that kid running after his father's approval, following a path set in stone, obeying instructions written in red with all kinds of expectations attached to it. I'm someone I never got to know.”
“You're so much more than your father's son, Steve. Or at least that's not all you have to be.”
“Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes I still act as if I hadn’t learned better. Please, Danno, forgive me.”
“Alright. Ok. But for the record, I'm not gay, I'm bisexual.” He stressed. “So at least get that right the next time around.”
It was just like Danny to try and sweep all of it under witty banter.
However, and maybe against his better judgment, Steve didn't let him. “There won't be a next time.” He shook his head. “I'll do better. If you give me a chance, I promise to do better.”
Danny sighed with a certain resignation. “Why did you even say that? I mean, I see you almost everyday, I spend significant amounts of time with you, and I've never heard you spewing homophobic bullshit before - dated at that. So what gives?”
Steve understood Danny wasn't going to let go of it. Just like he understood that maybe he didn’t want not to tell him. Maybe he just didn’t believe he should. But some beliefs were made to be challenged.
He bit the inside of his cheek. This was perhaps worse than getting tortured. He knew how to take hits. He knew how to handle pain. Emotional vulnerability on the other hand… Yeah, that was hardly part of his vocabulary.
Still, he took a deep breath and forced himself to answer sincerely.
“It was the first time since being around you that I wanted to cry but couldn't be alone for it. I got… frustrated. And I was tired. And… I don't know. I went too far. Said something I didn't even think.”
“Boys cry, you do know that, right? They're built just the same. Last time I checked, tear ducts were not optional. Hell, I cried just last week watching Free Willy with Grace.”
“And that's great. That's a good thing. I know that. Theoretically. Except that's not what I grew up hearing.” Steve paused before he changed his voice to imitate other voices from the past, talking fast, as if trying to brush over it, to keep it light, refusing to make a big deal out of it despite knowing Danny would. “‘You’re not a girl, so why are you crying?’, ‘Boys do not cry, you hear me, son?’, ‘How many times do I have to tell you I don't want to see you with that pansy? Do I need to use my belt or will you learn to listen?’, ‘Tough it out, soldier’, ‘Either man up, or go home, McGarrett’, ‘Here, we pick ourselves up by the bootstraps or we drown, understood?’, ‘What is it you're looking at, faggot?’, ‘What are you? A man, or a fucking queer?’...” He trailed off, looking away, almost ashamed of parroting those old tunes he had heard ad nauseum for years. So much so that he had almost forgotten how much it used to weigh him down.
Danny didn’t answer right away. He had gotten the feeling that Steve could have gone on for much, much longer and he was starting to understand that the Steve he knew was very much the result of very conscious decisions. Who he had in front of him was a man who had spent most of his life being taught to become the next generation of douchebags and who had instead very carefully decided to become something else.
“All things considered, you turned out pretty alright. One old-fashioned, unfortunate slur aside, I mean.”
Steve looked down, staying silent. Danny was starting to second-guess his quip.
“Too soon?” He added, apologetic.
But Steve wasn't thinking about that. He was elsewhere, thinking about Jake. He had long since realized that the only difference between him and Jake was that he had never looked the part, unlike Jake. So he had been able to stay concealed, to shield himself to some extent. But he was tired of carrying this, tired of being afraid, tired of feeling ashamed, tired of skirting around that puzzle piece which had just as good a right to belong to him as any of the other pieces.
“I'm all those things, Danny.” He let out in a low voice, still not looking at him. He couldn’t.
“What?” Danny wasn't sure he followed.
“A pansy, a queer, a faggot.” Steve listed off, with the same tone the people around him had used. “And I always knew. But you're the first person I'm telling.”
Danny seemed to ponder his words for a minute akin to eternity. Steve was holding his breath as if he had just dove to retrieve a very big rock at the bottom of an Olympic pool.
“Are you going to tear my head off if I get you in a hug?” There were no traces of humor or mockery in Danny’s voice, only his words were shielding them behind a curtain of normalcy, but the moment was charged in a way their habitual arguments and teasing weren't.
Steve made it to the surface and shook his head.
“Only if you try to strangle me.” He answered in kind, thinking he was deserving of some respite.
“Funny, very funny.” Danny said as he nudged him into leaning into his side, getting an arm around him and reaching for the remote with the other. He fiddled with it until the sound of a PBS documentary filled the room.
It made it easier for Steve to slowly transfer his weight on Danny, sinking into his side, escaping scrutiny.
He absently watched the images flash on the screen of the TV, but he wasn’t truly paying attention. Danny felt solid against him. He hadn’t fled. He had stayed right there, quite literally embracing Steve in his entirety. To be fair to Danny, it wasn't a change from his previous behavior, but it felt different to Steve. Danny knew and it hadn’t driven him away.
“Danny?”
“Yes?” Danny turned to look at him, his face open, without his usual frown.
Steve almost walked back on what he wanted to say, but he pushed through. “Thank you for coming back.”
“And where else was I supposed to go?” Danny shook his head, as if the implication that he could ever leave Steve behind was ludicrous, and maybe, to him, it was. “Now hush, I'm trying to watch this captivating program made available to us via the wonders of the public service and you're making me miss all the good bits.”
Steve huffed a laugh and resettled, slouching and sinking into the cushions so that he could rest his head on Danny's shoulder.
Slowly, very slowly, he gradually let his defenses wash away. He felt the aches in his muscles and bones, the weight of the past few days on his shoulders, their recent fight and subsequent confessions and he exhaled as if no one was there to watch him.
The lump in his throat and the pressure behind his eyes were back. He fought against his instincts which were telling him to stop the tears from coming up at all costs. He exhaled another time and turned his head to press his face into the fabric of Danny's shirt.
A brave, single tear pierced through his defenses, pearling at the corner of his eye and losing itself amongst the stripes of Danny's shirt. He shuddered, letting a shaky breath out as more tears followed. The wave of relief it triggered made it worth it.
Danny didn’t say a word. He let Steve disappear into his shoulder, the back of his head to the TV. He placed a broad hand on Steve's shoulder blades and kept it there without commenting. In the background, a voice boasted about the merits of Roman roads and their extensive network. Archival documents and animated diagrams flashed on the screen. In time, Danny's shirt became wet enough for him to notice it. He didn’t even try to complain.
Steve was crying in the presence of someone else for perhaps the first time in two decades.
Eventually, he ran out. He felt exhausted. His breathing had deepened and his body felt heavy and light at the same time. He never wanted to have to move again.
Danny was zapping mindlessly between channels in a disorienting cacophony of voices. He turned the TV off when he felt more than saw that Steve had reemerged.
It didn’t take long for a frown to form on Danny's face. “You're bleeding.” He pointed out in a whisper, concerned.
Surprised, Steve looked down to where Danny was pointing. Here and there, spots of red had bloomed on the light gray fabric of his t-shirt over his abdomen.
“Only slightly.” He brushed him off. “I gave up on doing the dressings again after I showered. The water must have loosened the clots.”
Danny groaned. “You're really impossible. I leave you for only two hours and you still manage to start bleeding again, after having removed all your bandages, and decided against using your common sense.” He grumbled. “Come on, give me your t-shirt, it's gonna need to have a chat with some hydrogen peroxide.”
This time, Steve didn't protest. He removed his t-shirt and handed it to Danny who took it and went away.
When Danny came back, he had his arms loaded with supplies.
“Come on, let's take care of it. I'm not watching you bleed out on me.”
Steve sighed. He was tired, his arms were made of lead and he knew he would survive without bandages. What was he going to do anyway? Run in his sleep? Do somersaults from where he sat on the couch?
“That's really not necessary. It will sort itself on its own. I don't intend on moving anytime soon anyway.”
Danny scoffed, as if amused. “Oh because you thought I was leaving you a choice? Then let me inform you that you are deeply mistaken. Deeply, deeply mistaken. That was an order. Arms to your sides.” He jutted his chin.
“Danny…” Steve whined. “There was a reason I didn't do it when I had the opportunity.”
“Yeah, the reason being your unreasonable stubbornness with a certain desire for death and a total lack of care towards your own personal safety. Now don't make me repeat myself. Arms to your sides, so that I can see what I'm working with.”
“You're bossy.” Steve grumbled as he uncrossed his arms and let Danny get a view of his battered torso.
“So I've been told.”
“I like it.” He couldn’t help himself. His inhibitions had deserted him and he had always found Danny attractive when he was being bossy.
Danny blushed, and Steve allowed himself to smirk, which earned him a swat.
“Hey! I'm injured!” Steve protested.
“Glad to see you finally admit it. Now, let me work.”
Danny promptly unloaded his stock of first aid equipment next to him on the couch and kneeled in front of Steve. His fingers briefly brushed the bruised skin as he examined the extent of the damage and Steve stopped breathing for a second. It was an oddly intimate gesture, gentle and yet made rough by the calluses on Danny's fingertips.
Danny let his hand linger an instant more before shaking himself out of it. He seized the disinfectant and applied a generous amount of it on any open wounds he could see, patting the remnants of blood with some pads. He deemed a few spots worthy of being covered by large bandaids and encircled his lower abdomen with a wide bandage roll.
“Hey, breathe.” Danny instructed.
Steve jerked alive, having not realized he had been holding his breath again. “Sorry.” He mumbled.
Danny appreciated his work, checking the tightness of the bandage. He nodded, satisfied. “There. You’re set.”
“No.” Steve blurted, still looking for any semblance of inhibition but failing to find it. “Draw a heart.”
“What?”
“Draw a heart.” He repeated. “It looks sad. It’s all white and sterile.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “You've been hanging out with Grace recently, haven't you?”
Steve shrugged. “You know I have. Come on, show me your talents.”
Danny grumbled some more, muttering under his breath. “Talk about bossy. You know the entire reason I buy her decorated bandaids is so that I don't have to draw?” He complained, although he was rummaging in the small drawer of Steve's coffee table to find a pen.
“It's a heart, Danno. Everyone knows how to draw a heart. In fact, I quite distinctly remember you drawing a beautiful heart in the air as I was being evacuated by a helicopter after breaking my wrist.”
“Fine, fine. There, don't move.”
Steve didn't, he even carefully slowed his breathing to make it easier for Danny who was only applying light pressure on the tip of the pen to avoid causing pain. He looked so focused, it was endearing.
“Satisfied?” Danny inquired, putting the cap back onto the pen one-handed and clearing the couch while he was at it.
Steve looked down. It was a little wonky, but it was definitely a heart. He smiled, pleased with himself. “Yeah.”
Danny shook his head and got back up to slump on the couch next to Steve. “You’ll be the death of me.” He grumbled almost too low for Steve to be able to catch it, but not quite.
“So you keep saying, but you’re still here.”
“So far.” Danny reluctantly agreed. “Which was not a given if I may add. Seeing as you keep putting me in dangerous situations, death always around the corner.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh well.” Danny shrugged. “Looks like I’m stuck with you anyway.” Not that he truly wanted not to be. “I’ll just have to make the most of it.” He added, showing uncharacteristic optimism.
“Hm.” Steve hummed, letting his head rest on Danny’s shoulder again. His eyelids were heavy and he closed his eyes.
Rain had started to fall, plunging them in a cocoon shielded from the outside world by a curtain of water rhythmically pattering on the house. He felt peaceful.
He was aware it was late and it was high time for them to sleep, but, not unlike a child bemoaning their bedtime, he wanted to delay that moment as long as he could. Danny was warm and comfortable against him, his limbs were heavy, and, after what he had been through, he longed for nothing else than feeling safe and perhaps loved.
Yet, he knew it couldn’t last forever. “You should go to bed.” He regretfully mumbled, half-asleep.
“I am in bed.” Danny argued.
“No, you're not.” Steve frowned, confused.
“Yes, I am. I'm on the couch. Which, as we know, is my bed. So technically, you should go to bed.”
Steve was this close to whining. “Too far. Stairs. Don’t make me get up, please.”
Danny groaned. “My back is going to kill me, and it will be your fault.” But, to Steve’s surprise, he maneuvered them until he was laying on the couch cushions with Steve slotted between his legs, his head resting on his chest.
“Thank you.” Steve whispered, melting Danny's grumpiness away.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it.” He answered, reaching for the blanket on the back of the couch and draping it over them.
Steve nuzzled into Danny’s chest, making himself comfortable and sighing in contentment. Danny felt like he had suddenly acquired an oversized cat. It was surprising but not unpleasant. He moved the pillow behind his head and settled to sleep.
For a while, there was only the sound of their breathing and the rain above them. But Danny’s mind was busy with swirling thoughts. He had not expected Steve’s ‘confession’, that much was certain. If he clearly had never thought Steve to be the kind of man to freely talk about his feelings, he had never imagined that he could have never told anyone he was gay before that day. In fact, it had also almost sounded as if he had never admitted it to himself before. Which, in turn, was making Danny question a lot of things. Namely, had he hugely been mistaken in thinking there was more between him and Steve than just good old-fashioned friendship? He didn’t like this newfound uncertainty.
“You asleep?” He whispered in the dark.
“I think so…”
Danny decided to take it as an invitation to keep talking. “You like me, right?” He asked, almost anxiously.
“Do I…? What?” Steve’s brain was too tired for that kind of ambiguous question.
“It’s just… It never occurred to me to wonder about it. I just thought you weren’t the kinda guy to make big declarations, but it seemed clear enough to me, so I didn’t care. But after today… Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe I didn’t read this right.”
“Danno…” Steve groaned. “Please show me some mercy and stop speaking in riddles if you want an answer.”
Danny stopped talking and attempted to find a way to phrase it. Steve was fighting with all his might to stay awake and right when he thought he was about to lose that battle, Danny spoke again.
“I know we’re partners at work, but… what about outside of work?”
Steve scrunched up his nose. “I thought we were. I think. You’re my first one.” He sighed, almost resigned. “I don’t know how it works.”
Danny paused. He had never realized he might truly be Steve’s first serious relationship. “No, you’re right. We are. I don’t know what I was thinking. Go to sleep.”
“Hm.”
Silence settled over them again. Danny shifted. He had one arm resting above Steve’s and his broad hand was gently covering Steve’s stomach above his bandage. Steve’s weight on top of him was soothing. He was doing his best to allow it to anchor him instead of nervously going back to questioning what they had. It wouldn’t do them any good anyway, not when Steve was barely conscious.
But right when Danny thought Steve had finally fully gone to sleep, he opened his lips with his eyes still closed and whispered something that reverberated through his chest.
“Th’ answer’s yes, I like you.”
Danny huffed a laugh, jostling Steve in the process. He hiked up his hand to Steve’s head and tenderly brushed his short hair with his fingers. “Good. I like you too.” He rasped. He knew he was used to saying the opposite, but he never truly meant it. It was never said without affection.
For better or for worse, he loved this stubborn idiot of a man, this man who wore his heart on his sleeve, who had welcomed him and his daughter into his life from the very first day, who had shown him nothing but unparalleled loyalty, who had certainly not had it easy but who was nonetheless doing his best, persevering despite it all. This man who wasn’t perfect but who tried so very hard to be good, to love. And Danny wanted no one else. Steve was who he had, and he was it.
“Sleep well.” He murmured. “I’ve got you.”