H50 fic: The Win-Win Scenario (Steve/Danny, PG)
Yeah, it was really inevitable, I suppose. *g*
The Win-Win Scenario
H50, Steve/Danny, 4739 words, PG-ish
Notes: Thanks to dotfic for beta!
The Win-Win Scenario
by Destina
On the day Steve's badass, tire-squealing, hard-cornering driving-fu went to hell, there were two drug-running killers in the SUV ahead of them, and Danny could tell it was important to Steve that they catch them. Really important, because if he drove any faster, the car was going to catch air and take flight.
"Whoa, whoa, tires on the road and not grazing the edge, please!" Danny was never going to get used to it, the way Steve's face contorted into something out of an 80's action movie and his driving deteriorated to match.
"Hang on," Steve said grimly, and shoved his foot down on the gas. Dirt and debris flew up behind them, spattering the rear windshield, and they closed distance -- just before red lights came on in front of them and the SUV suddenly disappeared off the edge of the road.
"Oh shit," Danny said, staring not at the road but at Steve's arms as he wrestled the wheel, trying to save them from imminent disaster. Everything slipped sideways, and a glimpse of a fireball to their right made Danny gasp in a breath of air, just one, before the world turned upside down, nothing but the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering, grinding and scraping and the smell of burning rubber, and then silence.
When Danny opened his eyes, he knew two things right away: that he was hanging upside down from a partially ripped seatbelt; and that Steve was unconscious and smashed up against the windshield. That last part was a hell of a lot more important than the first, since he could wiggle everything and he was pretty sure his head hadn't been cut off. "Steve," he said, reaching out as far as he could. His fingertips grazed Steve's neck, and Steve's eyes fluttered open, like he'd been waiting for the signal.
Steve's gaze jumped rapidly around -- doors, windshield, broken glass -- until it settled on Danny, and his eyes focused. He gave a quick nod, and the deep relief that flooded Danny's body at that gesture left him weak.
"Jesus Christ," Danny said, and began punching at his seatbelt release with one thumb. It snapped open suddenly, and he fell forward with a stomach-turning thump onto the tilted ceiling.
"All right?" Steve said, words a little muffled, as he was untwisting himself from the impossible shape he'd landed in.
Danny blinked at the floor of the car for a second, because no, he was not fucking all right, but a wisp of smoke caught his full and alert attention. "Out," he said, throwing his torso toward the hole where the window used to be. He flopped out into the dirt, then levered himself up and looked back for Steve.
Steve popped up on the other side of the car, grimy and bleeding and looking basically like he did after 90% of their regular operations. Danny hopped a few steps toward the raised rear end of the car where Steve was headed. "You okay?" Danny asked, one hand braced on the car.
Steve nodded, turned his head to the side, and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Yeah. You?"
Danny took a long look at the blood running down Steve's face, the gashes and dirt on his face, and said, "Have you noticed what you did to my car?"
"Your..." Utter perplexity was not a good look on Steve, and Danny knew he'd have to find some name to call it, another time when his brain wasn't vibrating inside his skull and poking knives through his eyeballs from the inside out. "Oh, I'm sorry, next time I'll just drive it off the cliff with us in it instead, would that make you happy?"
It was right then, according to Steve's later account of things, that Danny's eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out. Of course, when Kono mentioned this to him later, Danny was forced to explain that he might, possibly, have closed his eyes for a second just so he wouldn't have to see the wreckage of his car any longer, and then he just misjudged the distance between his ass and the ground when he tried to sit down.
Maybe. He wasn't owning up to it or anything.
--
The first time Danny showed Steve his badge, it was upside down. Steve kindly never mentioned this fact to Danny, despite the fact that he couldn't have failed to notice, but Danny was glad he pretended not to have seen.
In hindsight, Danny realized maybe it was a sign he had failed to recognize. SOS. The flag flying upside down. A cry for help.
What he needed help for, he still wasn't sure, but the facts were undeniable, and it wasn't like he dwelled on it or anything, but it was not an auspicious beginning.
--
A strange series of surreal sequences marched through Danny's brain, some of them possibly induced by anesthesia or good drugs, he wasn't quite sure which. He remembered Steve shouting a lot, which really wasn't any different than Steve's usual behavior, except that for once he wasn't arguing with Danny. After that, it all became a bit fuzzy; there may have been a scantily-clad girl holding up a title card that said "ROUND 3" while she led the giraffe behind her.
Kono was riding the giraffe, of course, and looking at Danny reproachfully, as if to say oh, Danny, you forgot to pick up Gracie, didn't you? But he hadn't forgotten, it was work, important work, and then Kono was Rachel, and she was holding a slice of pineapple ham pizza, and Steve was towing the giraffe.
Eventually, Danny opened his eyes to a too-bright room, minus giraffes, and discovered Steve sitting beside a bed Danny was surprised to find himself in. Steve looked like he hadn't bathed in a week (or shaved, or changed his clothes), and when he raised his head and saw Danny staring at him, he looked so fucking glad that Danny thought this might be blackmail material for years to come.
He opened his mouth to say so, and instead what came out was, "You smell great," which wasn't at all what he'd been thinking, but it was true. Steve smelled warm, like sunshine and open ocean, both of which Danny had come to appreciate more than he was ever going to let on while trapped on this tiny floating piece of lava.
Steve ducked his head down and laughed quietly, and then he squeezed Danny's arm. "Good that you're finally awake. I thought maybe your hard head was overrated."
"Titanium plated," Danny said. "What else did I break when you tried to kill me? Which, by the way, there are easier ways to trade out partners, perhaps you weren't aware; there's a form you fill out."
"Not trading, Danno," Steve said, and there was something serious and intent in his eyes. He squeezed Danny's arm again and let go, which made Danny strangely sad. "You hit your head hard; shook things up in there. Tore your knee up again, too. I'm sorry about that." The amazing thing was, Steve actually did look sorry, the stunt-driving bastard.
"How long?" Danny said.
"Not quite a day," Steve said quickly, "and Gracie's here; Rachel's with her in the waiting room."
"Can I..."
"I'll go get her now." Steve stood up, hesitating so slightly as he moved that normal people might mistake him for someone unhurt, but Danny knew better.
"Hey," he said, "hey. You okay?"
"Nothin' an icepack can't cure." Steve stopped, giving whatever look that was on Danny's face the respect it was due - for a second, Danny wondered if Steve McGarrett had a giant research catalog of Danny expressions that compared to the one he'd been compiling on Steve - and said, "Pinkie swear."
The laugh that snorted out of Danny was unexpected, as was the answering smile on Steve's face. "We will be talking about this more after I reassure my daughter," Danny said, making a shooing motion at the door.
Not even a minute later, Steve appeared in the doorway, a small hand in his own, and then Gracie was clambering up and peering at Danny from her perch at the bedside.
"Danno," she said anxiously, her eyes narrowing. "Stan said you had a swelled head!"
"Did he now," Danny said, reaching out an arm for Gracie to snuggle underneath. She curled against him, not so small anymore, but still warm and smelling of baby shampoo and cherry lip balm, her heartbeat slowing under his hand where it rested against her back. "Well, it's shrinking back, monkey. Danno's pretty indestructible now. He's had to get tough, lately."
He looked up at Steve, and for a long moment, Steve didn't look away.
**
The first time Danny went to the beach, the sky was overcast and grey, and raw slimy seaweed coated the sand. Waves crashed over the rocks below the pier, and he stood there watching them, thinking about what it might be like to be pulled under the surface, no control over what direction he goes, no way to swim out.
Hawaii's beaches weren't much different than Jersey's. Just more sun, and warmer water; fewer rocks, maybe, but sharks were lurking around down there, and there was an undertow. Danny could feel it, even standing on shore with the breeze in his face, strong and alluring. Better to never get in the water at all.
**
The throbbing headache faded after a couple days, and in the meantime, being laid up wasn't so bad. Chin and Kono came by to play cards with him and tease him about his brain damage, and Steve mysteriously disappeared, muttering vague things about 'cleaning up' on his way out.
"Crisp-fried drug dealers," Kono said, dealing out a hand of five-card stud. "Get the feeling the governor wasn't feeling the love."
"Why should she care?" Danny had barely won one hand of poker yet, which either showed that Kono was a secret shark, or he was indeed gravely injured.
"Because we had no other leads," Chin said, as Kono dealt out seconds. "And that means we're stalled. Steve's out hunting down new leads."
"In his own car, I hope," Danny muttered.
The car became more than a theme in Danny's days; it was an obsession. He could still see it, tires-up on the damp tropical ground, squashed like most things Steve McGarrett (aka The Destroyer) laid his hands on. So when the doctors finally signed his release papers and sprang him from jail, he met Steve at the door with a demand.
"Take me to my car," he said, pointing at Steve. "Now. And you, drive carefully."
"Danny," Steve said, clearly affronted, but he pulled out gently, and maintained the speed limit most of the way to the yard.
"You know there's not much to see," Steve said, after a long period of uncharacteristic silence.
"I understand, yes. You are taking me to see the stripped, defiled carcass of my car." Danny reached out and turned the radio on in Steve's big black truck - his truck, which was sleek and ninja-like, and which Danny couldn't really remember riding in before, come to think of it.
A Springsteen song came on the radio, and Danny could see Steve's hand twitching there on his thigh, as if it was pre-programmed to find the worst music possible. Danny smiled smugly. Being injured was as good as gold in the no-terrible-tunes department.
At the yard, Steve bailed out of the truck and stood with his back to Danny, but Danny knew he had those SEAL-senses tuned in to his every grunt of pain, so he engaged his manly stoicism and hopped out without making a sound. Steve didn't so much as glance over his shoulder; he only waited there until Danny caught up, and then shortened his stride to accommodate Danny. They'd done it before. It seemed like old habit.
Carl Truesdale came out to shake his hand. The guy was the best mechanic in the HPD fleet division, or so Chin always said, and Danny took Chin's word on such things. "Detective Williams, I am very glad to see you in one piece. After they brought that wreck in, I was shocked anyone walked away from it."
"I get that a lot," Danny said, smiling a very fake smile. Steve stared straight ahead, his best poker face on. "So. How bad is it?"
"Well," Carl said, "I'd call it totaled. We've been working on the frame a bit, just to see if there was anything worth salvaging; there isn't, really. Like I said before, when something's this damaged, it's better to call it a loss and start over. I've put the paperwork in to requisition a new vehicle, same model, same equipment."
It was about halfway through Carl's explanation that Danny realized Carl was speaking to Steve, not Danny. Steve, who was just the bystander here, who did not actually own the car. Steve, who had come out of this thing as bloody as Danny, and who had clearly been back since, asking about it. Something hot twisted in Danny, and his temper rose in him, connected directly to his tongue.
He moved in on Carl, one finger extended, and tapped him in the chest. "Why are you looking at him, you...when you are telling a man his car is damaged beyond repair, you look him in the eye, okay? Because this car that I paid for with my own very hard-earned money, with my blood sweat and tears, is important to me, it's...the least you could do is give it to me straight!"
"Danny," Steve said, stepping toward him, but Danny threw up a hand.
"No. Do you realize what it's like to be your partner? Every second of every day, I'm wondering, is this the day? Is this the hour Steve's going to get a limb blown up, or get fatally shot, or god forbid, flip the damned car over and practically decapitate himself? Do you have any idea what that's like?"
"You don't need to worry about me," Steve said, giving him a strange little face that Danny was far too pissed to even bother with interpreting at that point in time.
"God damn it, this car is important to me, and that means you take care of it, all right? You do whatever is necessary to salvage it. You do not, under any circumstances, declare it DOA. That's not acceptable. And you stop treating it like it's nothing, like it's fucking expendable." Danny didn't look at Steve, couldn't look at him; a flash of Steve at the accident site went through his mind, Steve bloody and fucked up and oh, yeah, a hunk of metal beside them that they were both lucky to walk away from. He could still see Steve, mashed against the window, pale and bloody and possibly dead, and his stomach turned over at the memory.
He smoothed his hand over the crumpled piece of metal that had once been the hood. "So now here we are, with my car, my car in the shop, fatally injured, beyond repair, and this is not a good day. It is, in fact, a very bad fucking day."
Danny stopped and took a deep breath, and then he looked up. Steve had gone pale, washing out the tan that seemed to permeate his skin right down to the bone. Carl was staring at Danny with something between horror and fascination, like Danny was the car wreck in question.
"Fuck this," Danny said, and turned his back on both of them. He limped outside to the truck, threw open the driver's side door, and stood there staring into the truck because Steve had the keys. So that would probably be an argument, too.
A moment later, Steve slid quietly into the passenger's seat and placidly held out a hand, keys sitting in his palm. Danny hoisted himself in, grabbed the keys, said, "Thank you," and started the truck.
Both of them were silent all the way back to HQ, even though Steve was breathing very loud, and thinking almost as loud.
"I took something," Steve said suddenly, the sound of his voice strangely resonant after such a long period of quiet. "From the car, after the accident."
"Really? Was it your misplaced liver? Some other body part you're missing now? Was it rattling around under the floorboards, Mr. Poe?"
"I just thought..." Steve went quiet again. Then he leaned sideways and tucked something into the strap of the driver's side sun visor. His arm was briefly in Danny's line of vision, all its scrapes and bruises, and he smelled of coconut soap or sunscreen or too many daiquiris, Danny had no idea which.
When his arm was out of the way, Danny glanced up to see his precious picture of Gracie, a little rumpled but no worse for the wear.
There was some kind of rogue Hawaiian saltwater in Danny's eyes, but he kept them on the road, right the hell where they were supposed to be.
**
When Gracie was little, and still trying to learn to say Danny's name, she invented words, and seemed to have a special understanding of what they meant. It was part of her private kid-world, so when she finally invited him into it, gifting him with her own version of his name, he was honored. Relieved.
There was so much about the way adults used language that mystified Danny, so much about the ebb and flow of words and innuendo he just couldn't wrap his head around - it was so much easier to be direct and clear, why waste time with anything else? But all it would take was one word - Danno - and everything would snap clear. He wanted to be in Grace's world, wanted to be invited in.
It was one thing to understand her world, but being a part of it was much more important.
**
Steve kept shooting him worried looks during Chin's briefing, and Danny found it was best to ignore them, because he felt more or less like a boiling pot about to explode everywhere, messy and hot.
"The two remaining contacts on the island have gone underground, but Kamekona's got feelers out for us." Kono swept her hand across the interface, graceful and purposeful, and a new set of photos appeared, ships and cranes and blue water, and when had Steve started understanding him so well? Danny didn't want to be understood. He wanted to catch bad guys and throw them in deep holes and have the occasional beer with his teammates, and Steve McGarrett was like a giant wrench that kept tightening down on him until he wasn't able to breathe, much less toss criminals.
"You with us, Danny?" Chin said, and Danny sighed.
"Yes, right with you, continue."
Kono said, "There's a deal going down tonight. Two containers coming in, one going out - weapons in, drugs out. This is our best chance to disrupt that pipeline."
"Send it out with one hell of a bang," Steve added. "We cut this cord and the cartel will be set back for months, which gives us time to find their suppliers."
Danny's hand spasmed, the sensation of hot metal against tender skin acute and real. He closed his fist, frowned, and looked up at Steve.
Above Steve's eye, a cut was still fading, on top of another barely healed wound, overtop of at least two thin white scars. Steve kept regenerating like some kind of Terminator, but he wasn't made of anything special. Just blood and bone and fragile skin, same as Danny.
"Kono, you check with Kamekona, see if he's got anything. Chin, you network with HPD SWAT; we'll need their backup. Danny and I will check the perimeter at the dock."
It occurred to Danny that there were a few things he hadn't quite picked up on the way a sharp detective should have. For instance, the way Steve was always driving, even when Danny pointed out it was his car. Or the way Steve took the car home with him more than once, and picked Danny up. There was the issue of how often they went places together even when they didn't have to. And that ultimate insult, the hilarity of Steve demanding that Danny's décor in his own goddamned car should be run by him.
Danny sank down on the desk, one hand braced at the edge, and closed his eyes.
It wasn't his car; it was their car. Had been from the beginning, from the very moment Steve McGarrett called him partner. And Danny was a monumentally stupid ass.
"Danny?"
The sharp note of concern in Steve's voice put air back in Danny's lungs, and he rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm fine."
"You don't--"
"Really, I'm fine. I'm excellent. I'm peachy. It's just that we're married, you see, and we have a joint property issue, and no one explained it to me."
There was a moment of utter silence, the kind Danny had only ever experienced before in a cave about a mile underground, while his teammates stared at him, frozen in the moment.
Danny cleared his throat. "Did I say that out loud? Because there's this issue." He gestured toward his head. "Brain damage. Not fully recovered."
The look on Steve's face, that aneurism-terrified-amused-worried look, would have been hilarious any other time, and then he sort of uncoiled, and the look mutated, turned into something so focused and hot that Danny thought his bones might start to come undone on the molecular level.
Chin was the first to get his feet back under him, and he made a little hmph sound. "Technically," he said, studying the ever so fascinating screen in front of him, "it's a domestic partnership, brah."
"You know, " Danny said, "I left my vest in my office. And the filter that goes in that big space between my brain and my tongue. So I'll just go get those now."
He twisted sideways, aiming his body in a straight line toward the door, and made as graceful an exit as could be expected with a cane in his hand.
"Awkward," Kono said under her breath, because apparently she thought his hearing was damaged, too.
Even as he rounded the corner, he could feel Steve's stare between his shoulder blades, like a laser latched on to its target.
**
Danny's first car was a muscle car, a 1968 Mustang, cherry, dark blue with a worn black leather interior. He loved that car, would have given up a limb for it, polished it and cherished it for as long as it was his.
He only gave it up because he was persuaded that someday, somewhere, he was going to have something better, something even more perfect for him.
**
The bust and apprehensions went off without a hitch, which was a miracle, considering that Danny was at half-capacity and not up to running around, and also that he'd said something kind of irretrievable in front of witnesses. Steve hadn't said a word about it, hadn't even kidded him about his big revelation, which by the way was a completely authentic and valid and very real revelation, even if Danny didn't believe much in sudden epiphanies.
What mattered was that he'd spent two hours crouched behind a pile of steel piping with Steve at his back, warm and familiar, and it took Steve an hour to say, "I've never been married."
A thousand retorts went through Danny's head, but what he ended up with was, "You get better with practice, trust me."
Then there was some shooting, but no one that mattered to Danny died or spurted blood, and the paperwork was light, so it was a good night all the way around.
Five hours after the most embarrassing moment of his life - which was saying a lot - Danny pushed open the doors at HQ and emerged to find Steve waiting for him in the parking lot. Of course he was waiting, and clearly he intended to drive Danny home in the ninja truck; it wasn't as if Danny could walk it. (But he'd thought about it, just to avoid whatever inevitable scene they were about to have.) Steve stood in front of the passenger door, his arms crossed, looking a lot like someone Danny sure as hell could not do without in his life, and said, "Married? Really?"
"All right, okay, I was not really thinking when I said that. What I meant was-"
At that moment, Steve grabbed hold of Danny's tie and pulled, and then there was some sort of sneaky black ops maneuver, and Danny's back was against the door, his head cradled in Steve's palm because of course he wasn't going to let Danny's beleaguered skull go banging against metal.
The thing that happened in Danny's chest then tilted the world sideways in the best and most confusing way possible, and he gave up fighting it. Immoveable force, whatever; Steve McGarrett, his own insurmountable obstacle.
Steve pressed up against him, six foot of lean muscle, and Danny pulled in a deep breath, forced himself to relax. Sharp arousal raised goose bumps on his arms.
"Married people make certain compromises," Steve said.
Danny swallowed hard. "Like?"
"Like when I say I really want you to lose the tie, you lose the tie, because my well-being and happiness is important to you." Steve slid two fingers under the collar of Danny's shirt and let them rest there longer than strictly necessary. Then he pulled gently on Danny's tie, loosening the knot. Three or four tugs had the tie sliding off around Danny's shoulders, and he saw Steve throw the thing off to the side, maybe, or at his feet, whatever, it didn't matter, because Steve's hands were sliding down his arms, lethal hands that were not really trained to be gentle, which turned Danny on way more than it should.
"You, my friend, have a strange and completely unacceptable definition of compromise," Danny said, his eyes meeting Steve's. So much heat in Steve's eyes, Danny might have stumbled if Steve wasn't holding him right there, no escape. "Compromise does not mean you get everything you want and I get nothing, no it does not."
"Care to enlighten me, then?" Steve raised an eyebrow, and all the while, he stared at Danny's face, while he unbuttoned the top two buttons of Danny's shirt and smoothed his collar open, his fingers brushing Danny's chest.
"Absolutely. Compromise means--"
"Because," Steve said, interrupting him, "I thought the definition of compromise was a win-win scenario, right?"
And then, oh, the bastard, he leaned down, and nosed down Danny's neck, down to that spot where his throat was bare, and then he was kissing Danny, hot and delicious, thirty-one flavors of dangerous SEAL on Danny's lips.
Danny lost most higher brain function just then, and when Steve pulled back, he bit his lip. "That's what you think this is?" he said, but his voice seemed to have lost an entire register.
"You tell me," Steve said, his voice also low, which sent Danny's brain to some nasty, amazing places. "You're the one who likes to say everything he's thinking."
"I'm thinking," Danny said, wrapping his hand around Steve's neck, "that you better get in the fucking car right now, because PDA is so inappropriate, don't even get me started."
Steve grinned at him, a shark-like grin that told Danny he had every intention of getting him started. Then he was off Danny and rounding the truck, and Danny sighed. His life was not getting less complicated anytime soon.
The minute Steve turned out of the parking lot and hit the road, Danny eyed the speedometer. Not bad. Just a sedate ten miles over the speed limit. He'd have been offended if Steve didn't think getting Danny in bed as soon as possible was worth at least that much.
"Hey," Steve said, noticing where Danny's attention was. "There's a ten mile an hour bubble, all right? I'm in the bubble."
"You're a menace," Danny said, buckling his seat belt. "Try to get us home in one piece, would you? I've got a little win-win scenario I want to try out on you."
end
The Win-Win Scenario
H50, Steve/Danny, 4739 words, PG-ish
Notes: Thanks to dotfic for beta!
The Win-Win Scenario
by Destina
On the day Steve's badass, tire-squealing, hard-cornering driving-fu went to hell, there were two drug-running killers in the SUV ahead of them, and Danny could tell it was important to Steve that they catch them. Really important, because if he drove any faster, the car was going to catch air and take flight.
"Whoa, whoa, tires on the road and not grazing the edge, please!" Danny was never going to get used to it, the way Steve's face contorted into something out of an 80's action movie and his driving deteriorated to match.
"Hang on," Steve said grimly, and shoved his foot down on the gas. Dirt and debris flew up behind them, spattering the rear windshield, and they closed distance -- just before red lights came on in front of them and the SUV suddenly disappeared off the edge of the road.
"Oh shit," Danny said, staring not at the road but at Steve's arms as he wrestled the wheel, trying to save them from imminent disaster. Everything slipped sideways, and a glimpse of a fireball to their right made Danny gasp in a breath of air, just one, before the world turned upside down, nothing but the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering, grinding and scraping and the smell of burning rubber, and then silence.
When Danny opened his eyes, he knew two things right away: that he was hanging upside down from a partially ripped seatbelt; and that Steve was unconscious and smashed up against the windshield. That last part was a hell of a lot more important than the first, since he could wiggle everything and he was pretty sure his head hadn't been cut off. "Steve," he said, reaching out as far as he could. His fingertips grazed Steve's neck, and Steve's eyes fluttered open, like he'd been waiting for the signal.
Steve's gaze jumped rapidly around -- doors, windshield, broken glass -- until it settled on Danny, and his eyes focused. He gave a quick nod, and the deep relief that flooded Danny's body at that gesture left him weak.
"Jesus Christ," Danny said, and began punching at his seatbelt release with one thumb. It snapped open suddenly, and he fell forward with a stomach-turning thump onto the tilted ceiling.
"All right?" Steve said, words a little muffled, as he was untwisting himself from the impossible shape he'd landed in.
Danny blinked at the floor of the car for a second, because no, he was not fucking all right, but a wisp of smoke caught his full and alert attention. "Out," he said, throwing his torso toward the hole where the window used to be. He flopped out into the dirt, then levered himself up and looked back for Steve.
Steve popped up on the other side of the car, grimy and bleeding and looking basically like he did after 90% of their regular operations. Danny hopped a few steps toward the raised rear end of the car where Steve was headed. "You okay?" Danny asked, one hand braced on the car.
Steve nodded, turned his head to the side, and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Yeah. You?"
Danny took a long look at the blood running down Steve's face, the gashes and dirt on his face, and said, "Have you noticed what you did to my car?"
"Your..." Utter perplexity was not a good look on Steve, and Danny knew he'd have to find some name to call it, another time when his brain wasn't vibrating inside his skull and poking knives through his eyeballs from the inside out. "Oh, I'm sorry, next time I'll just drive it off the cliff with us in it instead, would that make you happy?"
It was right then, according to Steve's later account of things, that Danny's eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out. Of course, when Kono mentioned this to him later, Danny was forced to explain that he might, possibly, have closed his eyes for a second just so he wouldn't have to see the wreckage of his car any longer, and then he just misjudged the distance between his ass and the ground when he tried to sit down.
Maybe. He wasn't owning up to it or anything.
--
The first time Danny showed Steve his badge, it was upside down. Steve kindly never mentioned this fact to Danny, despite the fact that he couldn't have failed to notice, but Danny was glad he pretended not to have seen.
In hindsight, Danny realized maybe it was a sign he had failed to recognize. SOS. The flag flying upside down. A cry for help.
What he needed help for, he still wasn't sure, but the facts were undeniable, and it wasn't like he dwelled on it or anything, but it was not an auspicious beginning.
--
A strange series of surreal sequences marched through Danny's brain, some of them possibly induced by anesthesia or good drugs, he wasn't quite sure which. He remembered Steve shouting a lot, which really wasn't any different than Steve's usual behavior, except that for once he wasn't arguing with Danny. After that, it all became a bit fuzzy; there may have been a scantily-clad girl holding up a title card that said "ROUND 3" while she led the giraffe behind her.
Kono was riding the giraffe, of course, and looking at Danny reproachfully, as if to say oh, Danny, you forgot to pick up Gracie, didn't you? But he hadn't forgotten, it was work, important work, and then Kono was Rachel, and she was holding a slice of pineapple ham pizza, and Steve was towing the giraffe.
Eventually, Danny opened his eyes to a too-bright room, minus giraffes, and discovered Steve sitting beside a bed Danny was surprised to find himself in. Steve looked like he hadn't bathed in a week (or shaved, or changed his clothes), and when he raised his head and saw Danny staring at him, he looked so fucking glad that Danny thought this might be blackmail material for years to come.
He opened his mouth to say so, and instead what came out was, "You smell great," which wasn't at all what he'd been thinking, but it was true. Steve smelled warm, like sunshine and open ocean, both of which Danny had come to appreciate more than he was ever going to let on while trapped on this tiny floating piece of lava.
Steve ducked his head down and laughed quietly, and then he squeezed Danny's arm. "Good that you're finally awake. I thought maybe your hard head was overrated."
"Titanium plated," Danny said. "What else did I break when you tried to kill me? Which, by the way, there are easier ways to trade out partners, perhaps you weren't aware; there's a form you fill out."
"Not trading, Danno," Steve said, and there was something serious and intent in his eyes. He squeezed Danny's arm again and let go, which made Danny strangely sad. "You hit your head hard; shook things up in there. Tore your knee up again, too. I'm sorry about that." The amazing thing was, Steve actually did look sorry, the stunt-driving bastard.
"How long?" Danny said.
"Not quite a day," Steve said quickly, "and Gracie's here; Rachel's with her in the waiting room."
"Can I..."
"I'll go get her now." Steve stood up, hesitating so slightly as he moved that normal people might mistake him for someone unhurt, but Danny knew better.
"Hey," he said, "hey. You okay?"
"Nothin' an icepack can't cure." Steve stopped, giving whatever look that was on Danny's face the respect it was due - for a second, Danny wondered if Steve McGarrett had a giant research catalog of Danny expressions that compared to the one he'd been compiling on Steve - and said, "Pinkie swear."
The laugh that snorted out of Danny was unexpected, as was the answering smile on Steve's face. "We will be talking about this more after I reassure my daughter," Danny said, making a shooing motion at the door.
Not even a minute later, Steve appeared in the doorway, a small hand in his own, and then Gracie was clambering up and peering at Danny from her perch at the bedside.
"Danno," she said anxiously, her eyes narrowing. "Stan said you had a swelled head!"
"Did he now," Danny said, reaching out an arm for Gracie to snuggle underneath. She curled against him, not so small anymore, but still warm and smelling of baby shampoo and cherry lip balm, her heartbeat slowing under his hand where it rested against her back. "Well, it's shrinking back, monkey. Danno's pretty indestructible now. He's had to get tough, lately."
He looked up at Steve, and for a long moment, Steve didn't look away.
**
The first time Danny went to the beach, the sky was overcast and grey, and raw slimy seaweed coated the sand. Waves crashed over the rocks below the pier, and he stood there watching them, thinking about what it might be like to be pulled under the surface, no control over what direction he goes, no way to swim out.
Hawaii's beaches weren't much different than Jersey's. Just more sun, and warmer water; fewer rocks, maybe, but sharks were lurking around down there, and there was an undertow. Danny could feel it, even standing on shore with the breeze in his face, strong and alluring. Better to never get in the water at all.
**
The throbbing headache faded after a couple days, and in the meantime, being laid up wasn't so bad. Chin and Kono came by to play cards with him and tease him about his brain damage, and Steve mysteriously disappeared, muttering vague things about 'cleaning up' on his way out.
"Crisp-fried drug dealers," Kono said, dealing out a hand of five-card stud. "Get the feeling the governor wasn't feeling the love."
"Why should she care?" Danny had barely won one hand of poker yet, which either showed that Kono was a secret shark, or he was indeed gravely injured.
"Because we had no other leads," Chin said, as Kono dealt out seconds. "And that means we're stalled. Steve's out hunting down new leads."
"In his own car, I hope," Danny muttered.
The car became more than a theme in Danny's days; it was an obsession. He could still see it, tires-up on the damp tropical ground, squashed like most things Steve McGarrett (aka The Destroyer) laid his hands on. So when the doctors finally signed his release papers and sprang him from jail, he met Steve at the door with a demand.
"Take me to my car," he said, pointing at Steve. "Now. And you, drive carefully."
"Danny," Steve said, clearly affronted, but he pulled out gently, and maintained the speed limit most of the way to the yard.
"You know there's not much to see," Steve said, after a long period of uncharacteristic silence.
"I understand, yes. You are taking me to see the stripped, defiled carcass of my car." Danny reached out and turned the radio on in Steve's big black truck - his truck, which was sleek and ninja-like, and which Danny couldn't really remember riding in before, come to think of it.
A Springsteen song came on the radio, and Danny could see Steve's hand twitching there on his thigh, as if it was pre-programmed to find the worst music possible. Danny smiled smugly. Being injured was as good as gold in the no-terrible-tunes department.
At the yard, Steve bailed out of the truck and stood with his back to Danny, but Danny knew he had those SEAL-senses tuned in to his every grunt of pain, so he engaged his manly stoicism and hopped out without making a sound. Steve didn't so much as glance over his shoulder; he only waited there until Danny caught up, and then shortened his stride to accommodate Danny. They'd done it before. It seemed like old habit.
Carl Truesdale came out to shake his hand. The guy was the best mechanic in the HPD fleet division, or so Chin always said, and Danny took Chin's word on such things. "Detective Williams, I am very glad to see you in one piece. After they brought that wreck in, I was shocked anyone walked away from it."
"I get that a lot," Danny said, smiling a very fake smile. Steve stared straight ahead, his best poker face on. "So. How bad is it?"
"Well," Carl said, "I'd call it totaled. We've been working on the frame a bit, just to see if there was anything worth salvaging; there isn't, really. Like I said before, when something's this damaged, it's better to call it a loss and start over. I've put the paperwork in to requisition a new vehicle, same model, same equipment."
It was about halfway through Carl's explanation that Danny realized Carl was speaking to Steve, not Danny. Steve, who was just the bystander here, who did not actually own the car. Steve, who had come out of this thing as bloody as Danny, and who had clearly been back since, asking about it. Something hot twisted in Danny, and his temper rose in him, connected directly to his tongue.
He moved in on Carl, one finger extended, and tapped him in the chest. "Why are you looking at him, you...when you are telling a man his car is damaged beyond repair, you look him in the eye, okay? Because this car that I paid for with my own very hard-earned money, with my blood sweat and tears, is important to me, it's...the least you could do is give it to me straight!"
"Danny," Steve said, stepping toward him, but Danny threw up a hand.
"No. Do you realize what it's like to be your partner? Every second of every day, I'm wondering, is this the day? Is this the hour Steve's going to get a limb blown up, or get fatally shot, or god forbid, flip the damned car over and practically decapitate himself? Do you have any idea what that's like?"
"You don't need to worry about me," Steve said, giving him a strange little face that Danny was far too pissed to even bother with interpreting at that point in time.
"God damn it, this car is important to me, and that means you take care of it, all right? You do whatever is necessary to salvage it. You do not, under any circumstances, declare it DOA. That's not acceptable. And you stop treating it like it's nothing, like it's fucking expendable." Danny didn't look at Steve, couldn't look at him; a flash of Steve at the accident site went through his mind, Steve bloody and fucked up and oh, yeah, a hunk of metal beside them that they were both lucky to walk away from. He could still see Steve, mashed against the window, pale and bloody and possibly dead, and his stomach turned over at the memory.
He smoothed his hand over the crumpled piece of metal that had once been the hood. "So now here we are, with my car, my car in the shop, fatally injured, beyond repair, and this is not a good day. It is, in fact, a very bad fucking day."
Danny stopped and took a deep breath, and then he looked up. Steve had gone pale, washing out the tan that seemed to permeate his skin right down to the bone. Carl was staring at Danny with something between horror and fascination, like Danny was the car wreck in question.
"Fuck this," Danny said, and turned his back on both of them. He limped outside to the truck, threw open the driver's side door, and stood there staring into the truck because Steve had the keys. So that would probably be an argument, too.
A moment later, Steve slid quietly into the passenger's seat and placidly held out a hand, keys sitting in his palm. Danny hoisted himself in, grabbed the keys, said, "Thank you," and started the truck.
Both of them were silent all the way back to HQ, even though Steve was breathing very loud, and thinking almost as loud.
"I took something," Steve said suddenly, the sound of his voice strangely resonant after such a long period of quiet. "From the car, after the accident."
"Really? Was it your misplaced liver? Some other body part you're missing now? Was it rattling around under the floorboards, Mr. Poe?"
"I just thought..." Steve went quiet again. Then he leaned sideways and tucked something into the strap of the driver's side sun visor. His arm was briefly in Danny's line of vision, all its scrapes and bruises, and he smelled of coconut soap or sunscreen or too many daiquiris, Danny had no idea which.
When his arm was out of the way, Danny glanced up to see his precious picture of Gracie, a little rumpled but no worse for the wear.
There was some kind of rogue Hawaiian saltwater in Danny's eyes, but he kept them on the road, right the hell where they were supposed to be.
**
When Gracie was little, and still trying to learn to say Danny's name, she invented words, and seemed to have a special understanding of what they meant. It was part of her private kid-world, so when she finally invited him into it, gifting him with her own version of his name, he was honored. Relieved.
There was so much about the way adults used language that mystified Danny, so much about the ebb and flow of words and innuendo he just couldn't wrap his head around - it was so much easier to be direct and clear, why waste time with anything else? But all it would take was one word - Danno - and everything would snap clear. He wanted to be in Grace's world, wanted to be invited in.
It was one thing to understand her world, but being a part of it was much more important.
**
Steve kept shooting him worried looks during Chin's briefing, and Danny found it was best to ignore them, because he felt more or less like a boiling pot about to explode everywhere, messy and hot.
"The two remaining contacts on the island have gone underground, but Kamekona's got feelers out for us." Kono swept her hand across the interface, graceful and purposeful, and a new set of photos appeared, ships and cranes and blue water, and when had Steve started understanding him so well? Danny didn't want to be understood. He wanted to catch bad guys and throw them in deep holes and have the occasional beer with his teammates, and Steve McGarrett was like a giant wrench that kept tightening down on him until he wasn't able to breathe, much less toss criminals.
"You with us, Danny?" Chin said, and Danny sighed.
"Yes, right with you, continue."
Kono said, "There's a deal going down tonight. Two containers coming in, one going out - weapons in, drugs out. This is our best chance to disrupt that pipeline."
"Send it out with one hell of a bang," Steve added. "We cut this cord and the cartel will be set back for months, which gives us time to find their suppliers."
Danny's hand spasmed, the sensation of hot metal against tender skin acute and real. He closed his fist, frowned, and looked up at Steve.
Above Steve's eye, a cut was still fading, on top of another barely healed wound, overtop of at least two thin white scars. Steve kept regenerating like some kind of Terminator, but he wasn't made of anything special. Just blood and bone and fragile skin, same as Danny.
"Kono, you check with Kamekona, see if he's got anything. Chin, you network with HPD SWAT; we'll need their backup. Danny and I will check the perimeter at the dock."
It occurred to Danny that there were a few things he hadn't quite picked up on the way a sharp detective should have. For instance, the way Steve was always driving, even when Danny pointed out it was his car. Or the way Steve took the car home with him more than once, and picked Danny up. There was the issue of how often they went places together even when they didn't have to. And that ultimate insult, the hilarity of Steve demanding that Danny's décor in his own goddamned car should be run by him.
Danny sank down on the desk, one hand braced at the edge, and closed his eyes.
It wasn't his car; it was their car. Had been from the beginning, from the very moment Steve McGarrett called him partner. And Danny was a monumentally stupid ass.
"Danny?"
The sharp note of concern in Steve's voice put air back in Danny's lungs, and he rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm fine."
"You don't--"
"Really, I'm fine. I'm excellent. I'm peachy. It's just that we're married, you see, and we have a joint property issue, and no one explained it to me."
There was a moment of utter silence, the kind Danny had only ever experienced before in a cave about a mile underground, while his teammates stared at him, frozen in the moment.
Danny cleared his throat. "Did I say that out loud? Because there's this issue." He gestured toward his head. "Brain damage. Not fully recovered."
The look on Steve's face, that aneurism-terrified-amused-worried look, would have been hilarious any other time, and then he sort of uncoiled, and the look mutated, turned into something so focused and hot that Danny thought his bones might start to come undone on the molecular level.
Chin was the first to get his feet back under him, and he made a little hmph sound. "Technically," he said, studying the ever so fascinating screen in front of him, "it's a domestic partnership, brah."
"You know, " Danny said, "I left my vest in my office. And the filter that goes in that big space between my brain and my tongue. So I'll just go get those now."
He twisted sideways, aiming his body in a straight line toward the door, and made as graceful an exit as could be expected with a cane in his hand.
"Awkward," Kono said under her breath, because apparently she thought his hearing was damaged, too.
Even as he rounded the corner, he could feel Steve's stare between his shoulder blades, like a laser latched on to its target.
**
Danny's first car was a muscle car, a 1968 Mustang, cherry, dark blue with a worn black leather interior. He loved that car, would have given up a limb for it, polished it and cherished it for as long as it was his.
He only gave it up because he was persuaded that someday, somewhere, he was going to have something better, something even more perfect for him.
**
The bust and apprehensions went off without a hitch, which was a miracle, considering that Danny was at half-capacity and not up to running around, and also that he'd said something kind of irretrievable in front of witnesses. Steve hadn't said a word about it, hadn't even kidded him about his big revelation, which by the way was a completely authentic and valid and very real revelation, even if Danny didn't believe much in sudden epiphanies.
What mattered was that he'd spent two hours crouched behind a pile of steel piping with Steve at his back, warm and familiar, and it took Steve an hour to say, "I've never been married."
A thousand retorts went through Danny's head, but what he ended up with was, "You get better with practice, trust me."
Then there was some shooting, but no one that mattered to Danny died or spurted blood, and the paperwork was light, so it was a good night all the way around.
Five hours after the most embarrassing moment of his life - which was saying a lot - Danny pushed open the doors at HQ and emerged to find Steve waiting for him in the parking lot. Of course he was waiting, and clearly he intended to drive Danny home in the ninja truck; it wasn't as if Danny could walk it. (But he'd thought about it, just to avoid whatever inevitable scene they were about to have.) Steve stood in front of the passenger door, his arms crossed, looking a lot like someone Danny sure as hell could not do without in his life, and said, "Married? Really?"
"All right, okay, I was not really thinking when I said that. What I meant was-"
At that moment, Steve grabbed hold of Danny's tie and pulled, and then there was some sort of sneaky black ops maneuver, and Danny's back was against the door, his head cradled in Steve's palm because of course he wasn't going to let Danny's beleaguered skull go banging against metal.
The thing that happened in Danny's chest then tilted the world sideways in the best and most confusing way possible, and he gave up fighting it. Immoveable force, whatever; Steve McGarrett, his own insurmountable obstacle.
Steve pressed up against him, six foot of lean muscle, and Danny pulled in a deep breath, forced himself to relax. Sharp arousal raised goose bumps on his arms.
"Married people make certain compromises," Steve said.
Danny swallowed hard. "Like?"
"Like when I say I really want you to lose the tie, you lose the tie, because my well-being and happiness is important to you." Steve slid two fingers under the collar of Danny's shirt and let them rest there longer than strictly necessary. Then he pulled gently on Danny's tie, loosening the knot. Three or four tugs had the tie sliding off around Danny's shoulders, and he saw Steve throw the thing off to the side, maybe, or at his feet, whatever, it didn't matter, because Steve's hands were sliding down his arms, lethal hands that were not really trained to be gentle, which turned Danny on way more than it should.
"You, my friend, have a strange and completely unacceptable definition of compromise," Danny said, his eyes meeting Steve's. So much heat in Steve's eyes, Danny might have stumbled if Steve wasn't holding him right there, no escape. "Compromise does not mean you get everything you want and I get nothing, no it does not."
"Care to enlighten me, then?" Steve raised an eyebrow, and all the while, he stared at Danny's face, while he unbuttoned the top two buttons of Danny's shirt and smoothed his collar open, his fingers brushing Danny's chest.
"Absolutely. Compromise means--"
"Because," Steve said, interrupting him, "I thought the definition of compromise was a win-win scenario, right?"
And then, oh, the bastard, he leaned down, and nosed down Danny's neck, down to that spot where his throat was bare, and then he was kissing Danny, hot and delicious, thirty-one flavors of dangerous SEAL on Danny's lips.
Danny lost most higher brain function just then, and when Steve pulled back, he bit his lip. "That's what you think this is?" he said, but his voice seemed to have lost an entire register.
"You tell me," Steve said, his voice also low, which sent Danny's brain to some nasty, amazing places. "You're the one who likes to say everything he's thinking."
"I'm thinking," Danny said, wrapping his hand around Steve's neck, "that you better get in the fucking car right now, because PDA is so inappropriate, don't even get me started."
Steve grinned at him, a shark-like grin that told Danny he had every intention of getting him started. Then he was off Danny and rounding the truck, and Danny sighed. His life was not getting less complicated anytime soon.
The minute Steve turned out of the parking lot and hit the road, Danny eyed the speedometer. Not bad. Just a sedate ten miles over the speed limit. He'd have been offended if Steve didn't think getting Danny in bed as soon as possible was worth at least that much.
"Hey," Steve said, noticing where Danny's attention was. "There's a ten mile an hour bubble, all right? I'm in the bubble."
"You're a menace," Danny said, buckling his seat belt. "Try to get us home in one piece, would you? I've got a little win-win scenario I want to try out on you."
end