(no subject)
Under the Blue Bowl of the Sky (~1250 words, Team gen, post-1x24, no season 2 spoilers) (also on AOOO)
They've settled into a new kind of normal, but Danny can feel, somewhere between his heart and his gut, that everything's not quite right yet. Steve and Kono are cleared; he and Rachel have sorted things out-for better or for worse, just like he promised a long time ago; all of them are back where they belong, doing the work they're meant to do.
But his team-and he has such a good team, knows it now more than ever-his team is made up of people who are stupidly stoic and strong, and they're all walking wounded, still bruised and gun-shy and trying not to show it. And what he figures is that they need something more than the next case to reconnect over. What can he say-he can be sentimental after all, on the odd occasion, and he also knows a little something about trying to mend a family, when to hold on and when to let go. He's not ready to let this one go.
So it's an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, as ordinary as their days ever get, anyway, when Danny leans against the tech table, cocks his hip, hooks one ankle around the other, finds his footing, grounds himself. And then he claps his hands together, says, loudly, "Okay!" and everyone pops their heads out of their offices gratifyingly quickly.
"I think we need a thing. A team thing." They all drift closer, and god bless Kono for being quick on the uptake, and for being the one to say it, because Danny isn't sure he could have articulated it without sounding like a first-class goof.
"You mean like team bonding?" she asks.
"Yes, that is exactly, one hundred percent what I mean, Officer Kalakaua," Danny says, and he's braced for a fight, expects Steve, at least, to argue with him, but Steve just looks at Danny, considering, looks at Danny like he trusts him, they all do, and that's good, that's great, maybe they aren't as broken as Danny was afraid to let himself think they might be.
Jenna's the only one who looks skeptical, wrinkling her nose. "Trust falls?" She waves a hand in the air, "The thing with the index card on your forehead? I hate that stuff." She's been nervous and squirrelly, the past few weeks, chewing gum like she's trying to set a record, and Danny's watched Steve retrace her steps around HQ at the end of more than one day, a wadded-up tissue in his hand.
"No, no, no," Danny says, "because we are not corporate drones. I mean-"
"The beach," Kono says, nodding her head decisively, and okay, so Danny doesn't love the beach, but he does like the symmetry of it-the memory of Kono's cool, wet palm, her firm grip-likes the idea of having his team together again where they started, surrounded by sand and water and sky. "Yeah," he says, pointing at Kono and watching her grin back at him. "What she said."
They convene at a secluded North Shore beach, Kono's suggestion; Danny pulls up last, parks in the shadow of Steve's big truck, appreciates that their four cars are the only ones here in the scrape of gravel that passes for a parking lot. Jenna must have caught a ride with one of the others, and he finds them all in a loose huddle in the soft sand.
Chin gets a hand on Danny's shoulder as soon as he's in range, reels him in and lets it rest there for a minute, warm and sure, and jeez, this guy, all of these guys. Danny has to swallow hard against a wave of fierce affection.
He and Jenna eye each other's t-shirts and cut-offs and share a nod of mutual approval, and she sticks by his side while he hunts for a shady spot to lay his towel, settles in next to him to watch the rest of their team head down closer to the water's edge.
Steve and Kono look like they're racing to see who can strip down fastest, and Danny watches Chin shake his head and say something about beating both of them to the break, and then just like that, three lithe bodies are in the water with their boards, paddling gracefully out.
Danny lets his awareness shift between Chin and Kono and Steve, bright spots against the blue, and Jenna, her faraway gaze, the way she's scrunching her toes-turquoise nail polish-down into the cool, damp sand under the surface. Danny doesn't know what she's thinking about, but he does know what he needs to say to her. "You, my friend, you are doing some good work here."
"Oh," she says, whipping around, gaping and blinking at him, and then her look turns sly, and she bumps Danny's shoulder and says, "Well, yeah, duh," and okay, all right, she can stay.
Chin and Steve look good out there, but it's no surprise that Kono smokes them both, sure of herself. Here, she's not the rookie. Her smile is bright and open when they finally haul themselves back to shore, salt and sun working their alchemy.
"What, you guys can't keep up with Ms. world champion, here?" Danny calls out, but he trails off when he sees the way all three of them are advancing on him, the way there's some kind of silent communication going on between Steve and Jenna, until they're grabbing for him, slick, wet hands, and Jenna's pushing him from behind.
"Hey, shit, hey, watch it! I thought we had a bond, Jenna Kaye!" Danny yelps, laughing hard enough in spite of himself that he can't get out any more protests until they have him dragged into the shallows, and then it's a free-for-all, splashing and yelling, and Danny has saltwater burning its way up his nose, but it's worth it for the way he's able to knock Steve's legs out from under him and topple him into the water, startling a spluttering, coughing bark of a laugh out of him.
Something shifts, after that-Danny's not anything like a psychologist, though he'd bet a lot of money that he's the only one of them who's ever actually been in therapy before-but everyone's moving in tandem, and the invisible walls keeping each other out of their carefully-protected personal spaces seem to have vanished. Chin passes around beers, good man, and they clink bottles, and Danny remembers sitting in their new headquarters surrounded by boxes waiting to be unpacked, wondering what on earth he'd gotten himself into.
"Kono wanted to call us Strike Force, you know," he says to Jenna, like he's spilling state secrets, and the conversation devolves into one-upping each other with horrifyingly embarrassing stories until Jenna's laughing so hard she's crying, leaning into Kono and threatening to overbalance them both. Danny's cheeks hurt, and Steve's head is thrown back, loose and easy, while Chin shoves at him and digs deep for what must have been a very, very old high school football grudge, "You may have had the stats, brah, but you never had the Kelly style!"
Danny runs his fingers through his hair, feels how wild and thick with salt it is, feels the skin pulling tight on his face with sunburn, feels the hot prickle behind his eyes that he recognizes as happiness, as relief and gratitude. They're all here, all alive, all whole and laughing and breathing, hearts beating steady and strong, and he's so damned proud they're his.
They've settled into a new kind of normal, but Danny can feel, somewhere between his heart and his gut, that everything's not quite right yet. Steve and Kono are cleared; he and Rachel have sorted things out-for better or for worse, just like he promised a long time ago; all of them are back where they belong, doing the work they're meant to do.
But his team-and he has such a good team, knows it now more than ever-his team is made up of people who are stupidly stoic and strong, and they're all walking wounded, still bruised and gun-shy and trying not to show it. And what he figures is that they need something more than the next case to reconnect over. What can he say-he can be sentimental after all, on the odd occasion, and he also knows a little something about trying to mend a family, when to hold on and when to let go. He's not ready to let this one go.
So it's an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, as ordinary as their days ever get, anyway, when Danny leans against the tech table, cocks his hip, hooks one ankle around the other, finds his footing, grounds himself. And then he claps his hands together, says, loudly, "Okay!" and everyone pops their heads out of their offices gratifyingly quickly.
"I think we need a thing. A team thing." They all drift closer, and god bless Kono for being quick on the uptake, and for being the one to say it, because Danny isn't sure he could have articulated it without sounding like a first-class goof.
"You mean like team bonding?" she asks.
"Yes, that is exactly, one hundred percent what I mean, Officer Kalakaua," Danny says, and he's braced for a fight, expects Steve, at least, to argue with him, but Steve just looks at Danny, considering, looks at Danny like he trusts him, they all do, and that's good, that's great, maybe they aren't as broken as Danny was afraid to let himself think they might be.
Jenna's the only one who looks skeptical, wrinkling her nose. "Trust falls?" She waves a hand in the air, "The thing with the index card on your forehead? I hate that stuff." She's been nervous and squirrelly, the past few weeks, chewing gum like she's trying to set a record, and Danny's watched Steve retrace her steps around HQ at the end of more than one day, a wadded-up tissue in his hand.
"No, no, no," Danny says, "because we are not corporate drones. I mean-"
"The beach," Kono says, nodding her head decisively, and okay, so Danny doesn't love the beach, but he does like the symmetry of it-the memory of Kono's cool, wet palm, her firm grip-likes the idea of having his team together again where they started, surrounded by sand and water and sky. "Yeah," he says, pointing at Kono and watching her grin back at him. "What she said."
They convene at a secluded North Shore beach, Kono's suggestion; Danny pulls up last, parks in the shadow of Steve's big truck, appreciates that their four cars are the only ones here in the scrape of gravel that passes for a parking lot. Jenna must have caught a ride with one of the others, and he finds them all in a loose huddle in the soft sand.
Chin gets a hand on Danny's shoulder as soon as he's in range, reels him in and lets it rest there for a minute, warm and sure, and jeez, this guy, all of these guys. Danny has to swallow hard against a wave of fierce affection.
He and Jenna eye each other's t-shirts and cut-offs and share a nod of mutual approval, and she sticks by his side while he hunts for a shady spot to lay his towel, settles in next to him to watch the rest of their team head down closer to the water's edge.
Steve and Kono look like they're racing to see who can strip down fastest, and Danny watches Chin shake his head and say something about beating both of them to the break, and then just like that, three lithe bodies are in the water with their boards, paddling gracefully out.
Danny lets his awareness shift between Chin and Kono and Steve, bright spots against the blue, and Jenna, her faraway gaze, the way she's scrunching her toes-turquoise nail polish-down into the cool, damp sand under the surface. Danny doesn't know what she's thinking about, but he does know what he needs to say to her. "You, my friend, you are doing some good work here."
"Oh," she says, whipping around, gaping and blinking at him, and then her look turns sly, and she bumps Danny's shoulder and says, "Well, yeah, duh," and okay, all right, she can stay.
Chin and Steve look good out there, but it's no surprise that Kono smokes them both, sure of herself. Here, she's not the rookie. Her smile is bright and open when they finally haul themselves back to shore, salt and sun working their alchemy.
"What, you guys can't keep up with Ms. world champion, here?" Danny calls out, but he trails off when he sees the way all three of them are advancing on him, the way there's some kind of silent communication going on between Steve and Jenna, until they're grabbing for him, slick, wet hands, and Jenna's pushing him from behind.
"Hey, shit, hey, watch it! I thought we had a bond, Jenna Kaye!" Danny yelps, laughing hard enough in spite of himself that he can't get out any more protests until they have him dragged into the shallows, and then it's a free-for-all, splashing and yelling, and Danny has saltwater burning its way up his nose, but it's worth it for the way he's able to knock Steve's legs out from under him and topple him into the water, startling a spluttering, coughing bark of a laugh out of him.
Something shifts, after that-Danny's not anything like a psychologist, though he'd bet a lot of money that he's the only one of them who's ever actually been in therapy before-but everyone's moving in tandem, and the invisible walls keeping each other out of their carefully-protected personal spaces seem to have vanished. Chin passes around beers, good man, and they clink bottles, and Danny remembers sitting in their new headquarters surrounded by boxes waiting to be unpacked, wondering what on earth he'd gotten himself into.
"Kono wanted to call us Strike Force, you know," he says to Jenna, like he's spilling state secrets, and the conversation devolves into one-upping each other with horrifyingly embarrassing stories until Jenna's laughing so hard she's crying, leaning into Kono and threatening to overbalance them both. Danny's cheeks hurt, and Steve's head is thrown back, loose and easy, while Chin shoves at him and digs deep for what must have been a very, very old high school football grudge, "You may have had the stats, brah, but you never had the Kelly style!"
Danny runs his fingers through his hair, feels how wild and thick with salt it is, feels the skin pulling tight on his face with sunburn, feels the hot prickle behind his eyes that he recognizes as happiness, as relief and gratitude. They're all here, all alive, all whole and laughing and breathing, hearts beating steady and strong, and he's so damned proud they're his.