He loli ‘ole ke alo a'e, he paio koho - Steve/Danny/Chin - R
Author: [to be announced]
Recipient: heiligwasser
Title: He loli ‘ole ke alo a'e, he paio koho (Change is inevitable; struggle is optional)
Rating: R
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Danny/Steve/Chin
Summary: Danny would say he's not the kind of guy who gets a little, a tad if you will, overcome by a huge rush of feelings 24/7, but no one's that good at lying to himself.
Warnings: Cussin', introspection, domesticity and schmoop. Plus bottom!Danny and cranky!Danny. They go together surprisingly well IMO.
Word Count: ~5800
Disclaimer: All Hawaii Five-0 characters herein are the property of CBS. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Author's Notes: I <3 my OT3. Hope you enjoy, heiligwasser!
Danny would say he's not the kind of guy who gets a little, a tad if you will, overcome by a huge rush of feelings 24/7, but no one's that good at lying to himself.
On the other hand, he can still try.
What he does not do is hang back or worse, pine. He acts. Usually. There are exceptions to every rule; come on.
Some better than others.
________________________
It's an ordinary day, to start with. They happen. No one wakes earlier than Steve, but Danny wakes before Chin, though Chin isn't long following once the smell of Kona brewing fills the house on the beach. It's the progression which Danny likes best. He gets his chance to stand at the sink and fill his nose with the smell of coffee, idly watch Steve cutting through the waves outside, and wait for the soft sounds of Chin padding barefoot toward him.
Chin is both a sleepyhead and a morning cuddler. Who knew? But he usually walks with his eyes almost closed before his first cup of coffee, albeit in a straight line that really makes Danny wonder if he has Bengal tiger and not ninja in his family tree. Metaphorically speaking.
Doesn't so much matter when they get to this part of the casual pre-work routine, when Chin drapes himself - again, cat-like - against Danny's back, kisses Danny's neck with slow, sleepy presses of lips, and curls his arms around Danny like he's a Jersey teddy bear.
Not long after, Steve will come in and he'll want his share. The cold drops of water he flings everywhere when he shakes himself like a dog usually make Chin screw up his face, roll his eyes indulgently, and then the coffee's ready to be drunk quick before Steve gets in there and what is admittedly everyone's favorite part of the morning usually gets underway.
"Under" being an operative word here. Someone's on their knees. Someone's on their hands and knees - and by "someone" Danny means himself - either being taken slow and easy by Chin or hard and fast by Steve. Always the same approach.
But there's comfort in routine. Danny likes knowing what to expect, likes being easy in anticipating how he'll be loved - Jesus, not that he's ever going to take being honest-to-God loved, no strings, for granted; he's learned better by now, much better. And whichever one fucks him stupid, the other wakes him up or calms him down. He returns the favor, even if they tease him for being orgasm-stupid and bonelessly clumsy. Everyone gets off, and everyone goes to work in a good mood.
Only today Danny's not interested. It happens. He nudges Chin as inoffensively as he can away from his customary place and side-steps to turn bacon in the pan. He woke up hungry for something else, that's all.
Swear on his life. That's it. He tells McGarrett so when he comes up from the beach and to a standstill, so utterly puzzled by the change of plans he doesn't even bitch about saturated fats. Just looks at Chin like a puppy, or a lost child, or -
Definitely like a puppy, Danny thinks. He snaps off a bite of bacon and tosses the rest of the strip at Steve, who looks dubiously at the thing before handing it to Chin, who shrugs and eats without complaint.
Distraction successful. No one asks.
That's a good thing, because Danny doesn't know how he'd answer, or why the things he keeps tamped down rose up like a tsunami and swept him away today.
But they did, and until he figures it out, he's keeping quiet. End of story.
________________________
Ever notice when someone says "end of story" that really means they're only getting started?
________________________
Danny's at his desk - slow day so far, which translates to relatively sane, for a given value of sanity - with his paperwork done and his feet propped up on the nice, clean, empty space. Pristine. Not a speck of dust or a smear, well, except for the ones he's leaving behind.
Outside, two-thirds, or is it one-half of them team? - Danny's not so great with fractions when the dividing factors keep shifting on him - the two guys he sleeps with, and has sex with - he never was one for lumping the acts together with a euphemism - lounge in what might technically be called a bullpen.
If the guys in Hoboken could see what they call a bullpen, jeez.
Anyway, it's Steve and Chin, sprawled in chairs, Steve with those ridiculous legs stretched out as if he's riding the thing. Chin's turned his around and straddled it from behind, arms propped on the high back and ankles hooked casually around the casters. Shooting the shit, nowhere to go, no one to shoot or explode. Like Danny said. Slow day.
They're better at slow days than he is, which is another thing he'd like to protest because it flies in the face of all logic and common sense, but. But. Maybe it's a Hawai'i thing. Nothing to do? Chill out, brah. Pick your level and Zen and go with it.
No one's ever going to beat Chin at the Zen game, at least not when anyone is watching, but Steve's not half-bad.
Danny would like to be out there.
He's in here instead, feet on his clean, clean desk. Sliding the top left-hand drawer open half an inch, then back. Over and over again. Never fully open nor wide enough to give him a look inside. Just the sound, a low scrape of wood on wood, almost rhythmic.
If they should ask, he'll claim he's making his own Zen too. Everyone needs a hobby.
________________________
Nothing lasts forever, and around nine, ten the first call comes in. It's an emergency, of course, they all are, except in this case he agrees like a fucker and he's the first damn one out the door. When kids are in danger that's the worst, yes, but that's where he's learned to take all those feelings and make them work for him. Kick ass, take names, and secretly - very secretly, because the man has an ego the size of Newark and he doesn't need fluffing - thank St. Michael he's got a partner who does not now and never will understand the proper, proper procedure because in cases like these they slow him down, and no. Not when there's kids at risk.
So he's got an excuse, right, for when his cell goes off and he doesn't answer. Right? No one here knows the ring tone. He picked it out special, anti-symbolic and more than a little ironic to distract him from the magnitude of bad feelings that go hand-in-hand with a call from Step-Stan Estates. "Ode to Joy".
He does get an odd look, sure, because if anything the team figures it's Gracie calling, but she's got "Brown-Eyed Girl" these days. Danny does not correct them because of it's none of their damn business even if he is sleeping with two-thirds, one-half, whatever.
Gracie has her own cell with her own unique number (he got a little help from Toast there, but that is something no one needs to know, swear to God, no). He won't miss one from her.
Even if he did, now is the time it's excusable, so Danny lets the call go to voice mail and hauls ass, and no one questions him.
Well. No one questions him out loud, anyway.
________________________
The situation is a bad one. A teenage boy who got into deep waters one step at a time to try and help his family, and landed in a river of shit he couldn't struggle free of. By the time they get to him he's got meth eyes and two sisters with a deal to sell them gone bad. He's got a gun and a death wish and a marketplace full of potential targets for stray bullets.
And he's got a silent scream of a question in his eyes as the light disappears from them, pop, when the bullet breaks his heart open through-and-through. They had no choice. He'd have opened fire on them.
But. Danny saw that question. He did.
"Why" is a bitch of a question, especially when it covers so much and there are almost no answers. None for his bruised, terrified sisters, either.
Danny does not think about Grace right now. Whatever he can spare her, he will.
He never wants to see that "why" in her eyes. He'd rather gut himself first.
So he doesn't take her call when his pocket rings. Not the time. Not the place. His Monkey, she'll understand.
She already understands too much for a girl her age, and that makes Danny sick enough to his stomach he's quiet, real quiet, all the way back to HQ and a mountain of paperwork he can hide behind. At his desk.
Fuck.
________________________
Danny begs off a walk to clear his head - Chin - a breakneck drive around the island because nothing makes him feel better than a good shouting match - and an afternoon of surfing lessons - Kono. He does not want to leave, he does not want to do anything but paperwork, and after a few polite and then loud requests for them to leave him the fuck alone, they get the clue.
Of course, this does not last. He's neck deep in a form explaining the use of firearms in a public venue when here comes Steve, right on schedule.
Danny's expecting to be dragged by the collar out to his car and taken on that drive whether or not he wants to. Steve doesn't hesitate to use that freakish strength of his when he needs to, and though Danny's no weakling he does not have the fight in him he needs today.
He goes with Steve. Why the fuck not.
But see, here's the thing. Steve gets him on the road and drives like a bat out of Carlsbad, not hell. (No, seriously, there is a difference.) He hesitates over the radio, and it's killing him just enough when he chooses a station playing Billy Joel over one playing Gloria Gaynor, killing him just enough to make Danny chuckle. Enough to make him roll his eyes and flip Steve off over his giant-proud, stupidly dorky grin instead of unleashing the snarky side of his tongue.
Besides, by now he's curious. See, this slow and easy approach is so not Steve that if it weren't for certain tells Danny would think he's dealing with a pod-person. He's not 100% on that, actually, but Steve takes them straight from HQ to Pikoi Street and out on the lanai with a couple of beers and okay, yeah, this is the real Steve.
Sort of. It's hard to say in a way that Danny can't even figure out how to classify in his head.
Steve jumps in headfirst with a whoop of joy more than he sinks into occasional fits of emo, but that happens. Nowhere near as often as pulling out the crazy Kill All The Things face.
Here's what Steve doesn't do.
He doesn't push Danny. Not to talk, not to open his beer. He guides. Takes Danny by the hands, where he learned that trick to get a chronic gesturer to zip it Danny would love to know, and holds them tight until the urge to shout fades and Danny's got his elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped and head hanging down.
Then and only then, Steve kisses his quiet lips, and keeps on kissing them. He doesn't stop. Chaste kisses brushed across mouths, hot open-mouthed presses against the side of Danny's neck, nuzzling behind his ear and nibbles under his chin, and long, slow, slow, slow kisses where he strokes Danny's tongue with his own. He sucks at Danny's bottom lip and his hands are everywhere, but gently. Calming him down like a high-strung horse.
And that's all he does. Kisses Danny, kisses him some more, touches him slow and steady but above the belt and not under the shirt. Kisses him until a proper lunch hour is nearly over and they have just enough time to get back to HQ at a civilized speed.
Danny would be suspicious if he weren't more boneless than after some orgasms, and if he didn't feel the dangerous unraveling of the ropes he's recently tied tight around his heart. It's fucking hard to keep those secure. Not any easier now.
Keeps him occupied, and keeps him quiet, but neither is enough to wipe out the memory of being treated like he's something special, him, and by Steve of all fucking people.
Steve doesn't explain himself, and that at least is ironically enough a relief. That's Steve.
________________________
They're walking past the bullpen when Danny thinks, with a pang of guilt, Chin should have been there. He seems okay enough with the situation, and Danny's learned how to read between Chin's lines. He's fine, like he knew one-on-one was the way to go. Two would have been too much. One was just enough to keep it together even if it did pull him apart, too.
"You good?" Danny asks anyway.
Chin raises one shoulder, which means sure and don't worry, I know what I'm doing. "We're good, brah. He loli ‘ole ke alo a'e, he paio koho."
Danny would ask him what that means but he likes the sound of the words, and he likes not knowing. A little edge, he needs just a little edge to keep him tough right now.
Which Chin probably knew.
How Danny ended up with two such sneaky bastards he doesn't know. Which is not to say he isn't grateful, but…
Why, those kid's eyes ask in his memory. Why?
Be fucked if I know, Danny tells him, what he would have said if he'd had a chance. If I did, I'd tell you. I'd track you down a few weeks back and tell you.
That paperwork needs doing, and Danny's muscles are in tight knots again. He brushes Steve off, Chin off, along with the still-warm take-out someone left for him, and heads for his office. Steve can have his teriyaki beef. A small thank-you, but maybe - if Chin explains it to the big lunkhead - he'll understand.
Paperwork. Do it. Go. And fuck you for being a pansy-ass, Williams. Pull yourself the fuck together.
Anti-pep talks do not work as well as one might hope they would, but Danny finds he is good at pretending otherwise. Who knew.
________________________
Mid-afternoon, they're headed for a meeting with the governor. Danny leaves his phone behind, or tries to, and okay, that's probably a mistake. One compounded when Lori comes after him with carefully pretended innocence, telling him it must have slipped his mind. She's part-pissed because procedure demands he have the means to remain in contact, and part, he doesn't know what, disapproval. Maybe a tad of concern.
Steve doesn't look at him crossways. Meetings with Denning put him on edge, too. Chin's busy going over something to do with Kono's cover.
Hey, she talked to him. Against advice, and then against orders.
Could be that's a hint. If it is, it's one Danny's happy to ignore.
When he tucks his phone in his pocket, he turns it off, and if anyone finds out they can suck it.
________________________
On the way back, Steve opens his mouth. Of course he does. He had lunch with Joe yesterday, which never bodes well. Steve comes back a little lighter in his step, which is good, but more in touch with the art of communication which, right now, is bad, very bad. Combine that with the classic McGarrett non-comprehension of tact and boom.
"Been to see him yet?" is how Steve starts this conversation. There is no questioning which "him" he means. Steve is nowhere near as good at concealing what he's thinking as he'd like to believe, and the gingerly sideways glance he gives Danny now tells the whole story all on its own.
"I have not," Danny says, keeping his eyes on the road. He'd bet Chin's the one who moved the seats back where they're supposed to be. Just right.
"Danny."
Okay, maybe he's stalling. Steve's got that face on now, the one where he's rapidly losing patience and yet he's trying to access those strange things called "the feelings that you share when you care".
"What should I tell you, Steven? I have not yet visited this child. What right do I have to see him anyway, huh? He is the progeny of Rachel and Step-Stan, not me." Maybe he spits out that last a little too sharp, and maybe he slaps the steering wheel, hard. "If I ask-"
"You haven't?"
"What did I just say? You couldn't infer from - never mind. No. I have not asked. And," he says, jabbing a preemptive finger at Steve, "Rachel has not offered, so don't go there. Also, I think this is a surprisingly subtle hint that what's best left well enough alone should not be prodded, poked, jabbed, or punched with anything from a pin to a blunt object; do I need to make myself calmer, Steve?"
"All right, all right." And there go Steve's hands, upright with the palms toward Danny in surrender. "Calm down before your head explodes. You have this vein in your forehead that starts throbbing. It's gross."
"You consider something gross? I've seen you eat black pudding and ask for seconds, and a vein is gross? And I do not have a - do I?" Danny tries to peer at himself in the rearview mirror, only to be met with the low rolling of Steve's chuckle so rarely spotted in the wild.
Danny settles, grumbling but feeling like someone's scraped off a layer of bristles, and he's calmer for it. "You are a tremendous asshole. Just so long as you know that."
"So you tell me. Often, I might add."
Danny waves acknowledgment of this fact.
But Steve being Steve, can he let this go? Oh no.
"Maybe she hasn't offered because she thinks you'll say no."
"Steven -"
"I'm just saying. She put you through a hell of a lot, thinking you were going to be a father again, and then when it turns out Lenny is Step-Stan's, Rachel's tough but come on, I'd be scared to get within a dozen yards of you."
As if anything scares Steve, this conversation being a case in point. "You have five seconds to drop this," Danny warns him.
Figures that reverse psychology does not work on Steve. Then again, the only personally applicable countdowns Steve cares about are the ones attached to things that go boom.
What the hell kind of name is Lenny, anyway?
"Sifting through all that for the single relevancy, he Is not my child." And dear God, it hurts just about as much as Danny had thought it would to say those words out loud. Fuck McGarrett anyway.
McGarrett, who just keeps on digging that hole. "He's Grace's half-brother," Steve says. "He might not be your biological son but he's still blood, sort of."
Sometimes Danny could punch him. Most of the time, but sometimes he'd go for "with undue force". Police brutality.
"Stop," he says instead, very quietly. "Just stop."
Danny doesn't know what his face looks like then, but Steve shuts right up, so whatever, it works for him. Mostly.
It's as good as it's gonna get, anyway.
Days like this are what Mulligans are made for. He'd bet he could call one back in Jersey.
He doesn't say that to Steve, though, and he tells himself he doesn't know why, but see above re: lying to himself.
________________________
"Chin?"
Chin glances up over the smart table, quick hands still flowing from one touch sensor to another, figures and pictures flying about like really macabre confetti, and it says a lot about their lives that neither of them is in the least bit fazed by this. "Can I help you?"
That's nice - which adjective Danny means straight-up, no sarcasm - and it's professional, and yes, okay, it's soothing. "That thing you said earlier."
Chin brings out the eyebrow. "I say a lot of things."
Which, actually, he does. People who automatically assign Chin in the "strong but silent" category don't really take the time to listen.
"This is true," Danny admits even if he does suspect Chin to be capable of reading minds and knows exactly what he's talking about. "I meant that long string of Hawai'ian I'm not dumb enough to try to replicate accurately, much less attempt the pronunciation of. Haole in the house, remember?"
"Ah." Chin finishes his rapid-fire CSI pinball wizardry and rests on the edge of the table, at ease. "He loli ‘ole ke alo a'e, he paio koho?"
"Those would be the words in question, yes." Danny fidgets. "Translation, please?"
Chin chuckles quietly. "It means ‘change is inevitable; struggle is optional."
"Huh." Danny lets that sink in. "And you thought this worth declaiming like some kind of oracle, why?"
Eyebrow Intensification, commence. "Brah. You're smarter than to need to ask. Besides," Chin says. "Like it or not, you're edging your way toward kama'aina. I think we can drop the haole part."
And be damned if that doesn't make Danny feel good, so like he wants to smile that that is exactly what he does. "Yeah. Um. Thanks." Okay, fine. "Mahalo."
"Mahalo," Chin returns.
And for whatever reason, that makes Danny feel a little better still.
Or a lot.
________________________
He talks to Gracie not long after that. She's just out of school for the day and this is their time. No way Danny's denying himself that; no way he's denying her that.
She says nothing about Rachel, nothing about Step-Stan, and she barely mentions - Lenny - the baby that isn't his, the brother that's only half her blood and none of his. He hates that. Hates that it hurts, okay, fine, it hurts like a knife to his chest every damn time he thinks about it.
But he hates more, maybe most of all, that when Grace skips right past stories he can tell she's dying to chatter about. First steps, first words, first smiles. Hates it with a fiery passion because she's his daughter and when she censors herself at nine years old for God's sake, he can hear the "why?" in a different form. No little girl of his should know even the start of things that boy did.
If he knew how to fix it, he would, but that's kind of the whole problem, isn't it?
________________________
And then the day's over, almost before Danny knows it. Long past over, full dark fallen in that wham-bam way Hawai'i has. Light, wham, dark. Danny's calmed down some. Paperwork is soothing, in its way, and maybe he grins a little every now and then thinking about some of Steve's more classic blunders. Like the time he checked the wrong box and was asked, far too politely, why he thought it advisable to blow up an active volcano.
Still, Danny's glad to shut down his computer, this part of his day good work well done, to stand and stretch. His car keys are nowhere to be found, but that's par for the course. Maybe he'll walk. Nice night for it, for once. Not too warm, with a good wind blowing from the sea. The waves will be spectacular enough to put everyone in a fine mood tomorrow, and that'll help too even if Danny pretends it doesn't.
Small blessings, and things that are Other to think about.
Walking, yeah. That's the plan.
But when he gets outside, Chin's waiting for him. Mid-action, shrugging on the leather jacket Danny bitched him into wearing, and the accompanying helmet balanced on the seat. So help him, now Danny's acknowledged his gay side he's not too proud to read Chin Ho the riot act on how he's far too good-looking to smear half his face across the pavement when he crashes. Not if. Crashes happen to every-fucking-one.
Chin Ho gave in with a token fight. Steve claimed he was staying out of it, but Danny found a jacket and helmet in Steve's closet not long after, searching for his own leathers. Could just be that Steve likes leather - and he does, he really, really does.
But whatever, Danny's distracting himself again, and Chin's done gearing up for a ride on the bike. He picks up Danny's own protective clothing - huh, must have sneaked home to get it - and raises an eyebrow.
Danny turns the helmet over in his hands, the bulkiness of it making for clumsy handling. Something that saves your life, but it's uncomfortable as hell until you get it broken in, and which is not incidentally about as unsexy as a nudist beach. (Trust him, he's seen a few by now. They are not what they're cracked up to be.)
He does not have to be cracked quite so hard over the head with an extended metaphor before he gets the point, either.
"I have absolutely no choice about riding home with you, do I?" he asks.
"Not really." Chin waits. He's a good wait-er.
Danny gives. Mostly. "Don't think I don't know the both of you are up to something," he says. "Any chance you want to share?"
Chin's rare grin is wise and shrewd at the same time. "Not really."
"What, you've been taking lessons from McGarrett now?" Danny grumbles, throwing one leg over the bike when Chin obligingly scoots forward to make room. Steve keeps making noises about the equivalent of a tri-seat bike so they can all ride at the same time, three ducklings all in a row.
It'll probably happen if Steve gets serious about the idea some day. Things tend to work out that way. Behold riding to a home that belongs now to the three of them instead of the memory of John McGarrett and walls painted white over spackled bullet holes and scrubbed-off bloodstains.
Danny wraps his arms around Chin like a good bike passenger. Weirdly enough it feels as if Chin's enfolded him instead, and you know what, he's tired enough to let it go with no questions. It feels so good to have someone have his back in this softer way that he's just - riding with it.
________________________
Only Chin has, apparently, been taking lessons from the This Is Thunderdome School of Defensive Driving, or he's kept this wild oh my God you're going to kill us both, slow down you crazy bastard, fuuuuuuck, this is not a road skill tucked close to the vest before now. Danny's white-knuckled and hoarse from screaming in Chin's ear by the time they roar to a stop in the Pikoi drive, spraying red dirt and sand in a wide arc.
Danny's off that bike before you can say thank you I'm alive.
Which Steve must have been anticipating. He's there, somehow, moving on those silent cat feet the way he does, wrapping his arms around Danny from behind while Chin slinks to the front of him. They've got his six and his twelve and they're not moving. Steve's warm against his back, and Chin's wind-cooled against his front, but he can feel both their hearts beating and he can taste the salt and the fresh mint on their breaths.
"What," Danny says, because he has to get out at least a couple words about that ride here, "the hell. Was that?"
Steve cuddles him. There is no other word for it. Nor for what Chin does, though c'mon, Danny's not going there. He'll find a thesaurus later. For right now, "guards" almost seems to fit, which after that drive -
And wait, after that lunch hour with McGarrett -
Danny pushes them both, neither hard enough to do more than make his point. "Reverse psychology," he says. "Cute. But where the point might be, it's not in my line of sight."
Steve jostles Danny when he chuckles, his lips pressed to Danny's nape. "Told you he'd figure it out."
"Later than I said he would," Chin points out, sounding perfectly calm and reasonable, but his hands tell a different story. They stroke Danny's stomach and his chest, and he's not shy about going under the shirt. Lean, wiry hands that are oh so clever and graceful, nimble; he never makes Danny not feel short and stocky and tough, but he never makes it seem to matter, either.
"Explanations. I'm waiting for them." Seriously, he's not pissed now. Danny just wants to know before this heads where he knows it's heading, so he can be there with them and not have questions mixed up with these feelings slopping over and fucking with his head.
Chin raises one shoulder and grins. He has a good smile. "To get your attention," he said. "And to prove a point."
"Also, when you're confused, you're easier to crack," Steve murmurs first, and then adds that phrase in Danny's ear. His pronunciation is almost as good as Chin's, the wording just as fluent and his delivery smooth. Warming. Sparking the tips of Danny's nerve endings as surely as the sweep and caress of Chin's hands, even when they slip around him to pin him in and rest on McGarrett's hips.
"I repeat," Danny grumbles for the sake of appearances. "Asshole."
"It worked, didn't it?" Steven asks, forestalling Danny's protest. Though he wasn't actually going to make one. Which surprises even him, but what the hell.
Danny shakes his head at Chin, leans back against Steve, and lets them suffocate him. "Just promise me that one day, when you rule the world, you won't forget the little people."
Chin's laugh is even better than his smile, and hey, Steve's hands are on the move now. "I'll do my best," one of them promises, maybe both, and that feels better than their hands on him.
Well. Almost better.
"You are both insane. You know that, right?"
"Mostly," Steve says, seeming pretty okay with that. "But you're here with us, so what's that make you?"
Lucky is what Danny thinks. What he knows McGarrett and Chin are thinking about is change, it can happen.
What Danny says, working down the knot in his throat, is: "Don't let it go to your head." He puts his hands on Chin's hips, and McGarrett does the same for him, knotting them into a neat pretzel that'll keep them trapped. In a good way. "But yeah. Here I am."
That's when Chin kisses him quiet, and that, that is nice enough to kiss back.
At some point they move inside, though Danny couldn't tell you when.
________________________
No one says anything about anything but work the next day. There's not even a sense of watchful waiting. Chin Ho is good at what he does, and when the man casts the spell of a mood, there is no breaking his force-field. Even Steve's quiet. Playing Call of Duty with the sound turned down, but it's the thought that counts.
The thought.
Questions, thoughts, answers, more questions, and in the end there's nothing left for it but action, whether right or wrong, because thinking gets you fuck-all anywhere and enough, okay. Enough.
There's right and there's wrong.
Danny slides the desk drawer open all the way and takes out the small gift-wrapped box, very sporty-little-boy paper without a girly bow but with a from-and-to tag. He scribbles his name, and writes "Lenny" very, very carefully. Shakes the box, which doesn't make much noise, the toddler-sized baseball glove inside well-padded with tissue paper.
This, he brought all the way from Jersey; this is the first thing he bought - from an airport kiosk no less - before. Before he knew, when he was still trying to figure out "what now" and what he was leaving behind but thinking it'd all be worth it because he would have this new child, this amazing new child, and what was a may-be and could-happen weighed against that?
Steve and Chin might be watching, might not be, from their place in the bullpen, but for once they have the sense to leave him alone. Danny takes this as the unexpected blessing that it is, tucks the box under his arm, and makes for the back door. Nice clean getaway.
Except.
Except when he gets to the surface of the Palace parking lot, blinking in the strong sunlight that never stops assaulting his eyes, those two crazy-ass ninjas are waiting for him by his car, leaned up against the side.
And then. They ask. Steve in sheepish silence, a shrug and a nod of his head and a little bit of that wistful hopefulness that does Danny in every time and only works because Steve honest-to-God does not know he does this. Chin's the one who uses his words, or one of them, but it's the one that matters.
"Ohana."
"At least you left the ‘brah' off," Danny says, sighing so he doesn't smile. Chin's ego deceives well now he's recovering himself from the years of silence and isolation from his family and okay, maybe the metaphor does have to be applied with extreme force every once in a while.
"It's implied," is all Chin says, though.
"Of course it is," Steve adds, because that is what Get-The-Last-Word-In McGarrett does. "Playing 'dumbass' isn't a good look for you. I mean, I know it comes natural and all, but --"
Chin's laugh is as soft as Steve's is not, but they mean well. But that's kind of what the whole thing is about, isn't it? Meaning well. Doing the best you can with what you've got. Not questioning being a lucky son of a bitch or what is and what should never be when it is.
Danny rubs his face, scraping the stubble. Maybe he should shave. They'll swing by his place so he can shower, shave, change, and they'll be waiting for him when he comes back outside. No need even to ask.
And he has this sense they'll wait in the car at Rachel and Stan's if he asks them to, even.
But he won't.
Danny thumbs the loose end of the wrapping paper, thinking about all the things that could be, shouldn't be, and that are. "Get in the car already, you're going to throw the alignment with all that weight on one side, you know this."
Chin's grin is bright, almost as bright as Steve's, neither bright as the sun and Danny's not into that poetry crap, or he'd think about making comparisons.
Steve tosses him the keys. "Here," he says. "You drive."
He deserves to be smacked for the cheesiness contained within the sentiment, and while Chin laughs at both of them, Danny takes care of that straightaway.
But he doesn't hit hard.
He's got to remember how to be gentle again, after all, if he's going to ask to hold a baby for the first time in nine years.
Recipient: heiligwasser
Title: He loli ‘ole ke alo a'e, he paio koho (Change is inevitable; struggle is optional)
Rating: R
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Danny/Steve/Chin
Summary: Danny would say he's not the kind of guy who gets a little, a tad if you will, overcome by a huge rush of feelings 24/7, but no one's that good at lying to himself.
Warnings: Cussin', introspection, domesticity and schmoop. Plus bottom!Danny and cranky!Danny. They go together surprisingly well IMO.
Word Count: ~5800
Disclaimer: All Hawaii Five-0 characters herein are the property of CBS. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Author's Notes: I <3 my OT3. Hope you enjoy, heiligwasser!
Danny would say he's not the kind of guy who gets a little, a tad if you will, overcome by a huge rush of feelings 24/7, but no one's that good at lying to himself.
On the other hand, he can still try.
What he does not do is hang back or worse, pine. He acts. Usually. There are exceptions to every rule; come on.
Some better than others.
________________________
It's an ordinary day, to start with. They happen. No one wakes earlier than Steve, but Danny wakes before Chin, though Chin isn't long following once the smell of Kona brewing fills the house on the beach. It's the progression which Danny likes best. He gets his chance to stand at the sink and fill his nose with the smell of coffee, idly watch Steve cutting through the waves outside, and wait for the soft sounds of Chin padding barefoot toward him.
Chin is both a sleepyhead and a morning cuddler. Who knew? But he usually walks with his eyes almost closed before his first cup of coffee, albeit in a straight line that really makes Danny wonder if he has Bengal tiger and not ninja in his family tree. Metaphorically speaking.
Doesn't so much matter when they get to this part of the casual pre-work routine, when Chin drapes himself - again, cat-like - against Danny's back, kisses Danny's neck with slow, sleepy presses of lips, and curls his arms around Danny like he's a Jersey teddy bear.
Not long after, Steve will come in and he'll want his share. The cold drops of water he flings everywhere when he shakes himself like a dog usually make Chin screw up his face, roll his eyes indulgently, and then the coffee's ready to be drunk quick before Steve gets in there and what is admittedly everyone's favorite part of the morning usually gets underway.
"Under" being an operative word here. Someone's on their knees. Someone's on their hands and knees - and by "someone" Danny means himself - either being taken slow and easy by Chin or hard and fast by Steve. Always the same approach.
But there's comfort in routine. Danny likes knowing what to expect, likes being easy in anticipating how he'll be loved - Jesus, not that he's ever going to take being honest-to-God loved, no strings, for granted; he's learned better by now, much better. And whichever one fucks him stupid, the other wakes him up or calms him down. He returns the favor, even if they tease him for being orgasm-stupid and bonelessly clumsy. Everyone gets off, and everyone goes to work in a good mood.
Only today Danny's not interested. It happens. He nudges Chin as inoffensively as he can away from his customary place and side-steps to turn bacon in the pan. He woke up hungry for something else, that's all.
Swear on his life. That's it. He tells McGarrett so when he comes up from the beach and to a standstill, so utterly puzzled by the change of plans he doesn't even bitch about saturated fats. Just looks at Chin like a puppy, or a lost child, or -
Definitely like a puppy, Danny thinks. He snaps off a bite of bacon and tosses the rest of the strip at Steve, who looks dubiously at the thing before handing it to Chin, who shrugs and eats without complaint.
Distraction successful. No one asks.
That's a good thing, because Danny doesn't know how he'd answer, or why the things he keeps tamped down rose up like a tsunami and swept him away today.
But they did, and until he figures it out, he's keeping quiet. End of story.
________________________
Ever notice when someone says "end of story" that really means they're only getting started?
________________________
Danny's at his desk - slow day so far, which translates to relatively sane, for a given value of sanity - with his paperwork done and his feet propped up on the nice, clean, empty space. Pristine. Not a speck of dust or a smear, well, except for the ones he's leaving behind.
Outside, two-thirds, or is it one-half of them team? - Danny's not so great with fractions when the dividing factors keep shifting on him - the two guys he sleeps with, and has sex with - he never was one for lumping the acts together with a euphemism - lounge in what might technically be called a bullpen.
If the guys in Hoboken could see what they call a bullpen, jeez.
Anyway, it's Steve and Chin, sprawled in chairs, Steve with those ridiculous legs stretched out as if he's riding the thing. Chin's turned his around and straddled it from behind, arms propped on the high back and ankles hooked casually around the casters. Shooting the shit, nowhere to go, no one to shoot or explode. Like Danny said. Slow day.
They're better at slow days than he is, which is another thing he'd like to protest because it flies in the face of all logic and common sense, but. But. Maybe it's a Hawai'i thing. Nothing to do? Chill out, brah. Pick your level and Zen and go with it.
No one's ever going to beat Chin at the Zen game, at least not when anyone is watching, but Steve's not half-bad.
Danny would like to be out there.
He's in here instead, feet on his clean, clean desk. Sliding the top left-hand drawer open half an inch, then back. Over and over again. Never fully open nor wide enough to give him a look inside. Just the sound, a low scrape of wood on wood, almost rhythmic.
If they should ask, he'll claim he's making his own Zen too. Everyone needs a hobby.
________________________
Nothing lasts forever, and around nine, ten the first call comes in. It's an emergency, of course, they all are, except in this case he agrees like a fucker and he's the first damn one out the door. When kids are in danger that's the worst, yes, but that's where he's learned to take all those feelings and make them work for him. Kick ass, take names, and secretly - very secretly, because the man has an ego the size of Newark and he doesn't need fluffing - thank St. Michael he's got a partner who does not now and never will understand the proper, proper procedure because in cases like these they slow him down, and no. Not when there's kids at risk.
So he's got an excuse, right, for when his cell goes off and he doesn't answer. Right? No one here knows the ring tone. He picked it out special, anti-symbolic and more than a little ironic to distract him from the magnitude of bad feelings that go hand-in-hand with a call from Step-Stan Estates. "Ode to Joy".
He does get an odd look, sure, because if anything the team figures it's Gracie calling, but she's got "Brown-Eyed Girl" these days. Danny does not correct them because of it's none of their damn business even if he is sleeping with two-thirds, one-half, whatever.
Gracie has her own cell with her own unique number (he got a little help from Toast there, but that is something no one needs to know, swear to God, no). He won't miss one from her.
Even if he did, now is the time it's excusable, so Danny lets the call go to voice mail and hauls ass, and no one questions him.
Well. No one questions him out loud, anyway.
________________________
The situation is a bad one. A teenage boy who got into deep waters one step at a time to try and help his family, and landed in a river of shit he couldn't struggle free of. By the time they get to him he's got meth eyes and two sisters with a deal to sell them gone bad. He's got a gun and a death wish and a marketplace full of potential targets for stray bullets.
And he's got a silent scream of a question in his eyes as the light disappears from them, pop, when the bullet breaks his heart open through-and-through. They had no choice. He'd have opened fire on them.
But. Danny saw that question. He did.
"Why" is a bitch of a question, especially when it covers so much and there are almost no answers. None for his bruised, terrified sisters, either.
Danny does not think about Grace right now. Whatever he can spare her, he will.
He never wants to see that "why" in her eyes. He'd rather gut himself first.
So he doesn't take her call when his pocket rings. Not the time. Not the place. His Monkey, she'll understand.
She already understands too much for a girl her age, and that makes Danny sick enough to his stomach he's quiet, real quiet, all the way back to HQ and a mountain of paperwork he can hide behind. At his desk.
Fuck.
________________________
Danny begs off a walk to clear his head - Chin - a breakneck drive around the island because nothing makes him feel better than a good shouting match - and an afternoon of surfing lessons - Kono. He does not want to leave, he does not want to do anything but paperwork, and after a few polite and then loud requests for them to leave him the fuck alone, they get the clue.
Of course, this does not last. He's neck deep in a form explaining the use of firearms in a public venue when here comes Steve, right on schedule.
Danny's expecting to be dragged by the collar out to his car and taken on that drive whether or not he wants to. Steve doesn't hesitate to use that freakish strength of his when he needs to, and though Danny's no weakling he does not have the fight in him he needs today.
He goes with Steve. Why the fuck not.
But see, here's the thing. Steve gets him on the road and drives like a bat out of Carlsbad, not hell. (No, seriously, there is a difference.) He hesitates over the radio, and it's killing him just enough when he chooses a station playing Billy Joel over one playing Gloria Gaynor, killing him just enough to make Danny chuckle. Enough to make him roll his eyes and flip Steve off over his giant-proud, stupidly dorky grin instead of unleashing the snarky side of his tongue.
Besides, by now he's curious. See, this slow and easy approach is so not Steve that if it weren't for certain tells Danny would think he's dealing with a pod-person. He's not 100% on that, actually, but Steve takes them straight from HQ to Pikoi Street and out on the lanai with a couple of beers and okay, yeah, this is the real Steve.
Sort of. It's hard to say in a way that Danny can't even figure out how to classify in his head.
Steve jumps in headfirst with a whoop of joy more than he sinks into occasional fits of emo, but that happens. Nowhere near as often as pulling out the crazy Kill All The Things face.
Here's what Steve doesn't do.
He doesn't push Danny. Not to talk, not to open his beer. He guides. Takes Danny by the hands, where he learned that trick to get a chronic gesturer to zip it Danny would love to know, and holds them tight until the urge to shout fades and Danny's got his elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped and head hanging down.
Then and only then, Steve kisses his quiet lips, and keeps on kissing them. He doesn't stop. Chaste kisses brushed across mouths, hot open-mouthed presses against the side of Danny's neck, nuzzling behind his ear and nibbles under his chin, and long, slow, slow, slow kisses where he strokes Danny's tongue with his own. He sucks at Danny's bottom lip and his hands are everywhere, but gently. Calming him down like a high-strung horse.
And that's all he does. Kisses Danny, kisses him some more, touches him slow and steady but above the belt and not under the shirt. Kisses him until a proper lunch hour is nearly over and they have just enough time to get back to HQ at a civilized speed.
Danny would be suspicious if he weren't more boneless than after some orgasms, and if he didn't feel the dangerous unraveling of the ropes he's recently tied tight around his heart. It's fucking hard to keep those secure. Not any easier now.
Keeps him occupied, and keeps him quiet, but neither is enough to wipe out the memory of being treated like he's something special, him, and by Steve of all fucking people.
Steve doesn't explain himself, and that at least is ironically enough a relief. That's Steve.
________________________
They're walking past the bullpen when Danny thinks, with a pang of guilt, Chin should have been there. He seems okay enough with the situation, and Danny's learned how to read between Chin's lines. He's fine, like he knew one-on-one was the way to go. Two would have been too much. One was just enough to keep it together even if it did pull him apart, too.
"You good?" Danny asks anyway.
Chin raises one shoulder, which means sure and don't worry, I know what I'm doing. "We're good, brah. He loli ‘ole ke alo a'e, he paio koho."
Danny would ask him what that means but he likes the sound of the words, and he likes not knowing. A little edge, he needs just a little edge to keep him tough right now.
Which Chin probably knew.
How Danny ended up with two such sneaky bastards he doesn't know. Which is not to say he isn't grateful, but…
Why, those kid's eyes ask in his memory. Why?
Be fucked if I know, Danny tells him, what he would have said if he'd had a chance. If I did, I'd tell you. I'd track you down a few weeks back and tell you.
That paperwork needs doing, and Danny's muscles are in tight knots again. He brushes Steve off, Chin off, along with the still-warm take-out someone left for him, and heads for his office. Steve can have his teriyaki beef. A small thank-you, but maybe - if Chin explains it to the big lunkhead - he'll understand.
Paperwork. Do it. Go. And fuck you for being a pansy-ass, Williams. Pull yourself the fuck together.
Anti-pep talks do not work as well as one might hope they would, but Danny finds he is good at pretending otherwise. Who knew.
________________________
Mid-afternoon, they're headed for a meeting with the governor. Danny leaves his phone behind, or tries to, and okay, that's probably a mistake. One compounded when Lori comes after him with carefully pretended innocence, telling him it must have slipped his mind. She's part-pissed because procedure demands he have the means to remain in contact, and part, he doesn't know what, disapproval. Maybe a tad of concern.
Steve doesn't look at him crossways. Meetings with Denning put him on edge, too. Chin's busy going over something to do with Kono's cover.
Hey, she talked to him. Against advice, and then against orders.
Could be that's a hint. If it is, it's one Danny's happy to ignore.
When he tucks his phone in his pocket, he turns it off, and if anyone finds out they can suck it.
________________________
On the way back, Steve opens his mouth. Of course he does. He had lunch with Joe yesterday, which never bodes well. Steve comes back a little lighter in his step, which is good, but more in touch with the art of communication which, right now, is bad, very bad. Combine that with the classic McGarrett non-comprehension of tact and boom.
"Been to see him yet?" is how Steve starts this conversation. There is no questioning which "him" he means. Steve is nowhere near as good at concealing what he's thinking as he'd like to believe, and the gingerly sideways glance he gives Danny now tells the whole story all on its own.
"I have not," Danny says, keeping his eyes on the road. He'd bet Chin's the one who moved the seats back where they're supposed to be. Just right.
"Danny."
Okay, maybe he's stalling. Steve's got that face on now, the one where he's rapidly losing patience and yet he's trying to access those strange things called "the feelings that you share when you care".
"What should I tell you, Steven? I have not yet visited this child. What right do I have to see him anyway, huh? He is the progeny of Rachel and Step-Stan, not me." Maybe he spits out that last a little too sharp, and maybe he slaps the steering wheel, hard. "If I ask-"
"You haven't?"
"What did I just say? You couldn't infer from - never mind. No. I have not asked. And," he says, jabbing a preemptive finger at Steve, "Rachel has not offered, so don't go there. Also, I think this is a surprisingly subtle hint that what's best left well enough alone should not be prodded, poked, jabbed, or punched with anything from a pin to a blunt object; do I need to make myself calmer, Steve?"
"All right, all right." And there go Steve's hands, upright with the palms toward Danny in surrender. "Calm down before your head explodes. You have this vein in your forehead that starts throbbing. It's gross."
"You consider something gross? I've seen you eat black pudding and ask for seconds, and a vein is gross? And I do not have a - do I?" Danny tries to peer at himself in the rearview mirror, only to be met with the low rolling of Steve's chuckle so rarely spotted in the wild.
Danny settles, grumbling but feeling like someone's scraped off a layer of bristles, and he's calmer for it. "You are a tremendous asshole. Just so long as you know that."
"So you tell me. Often, I might add."
Danny waves acknowledgment of this fact.
But Steve being Steve, can he let this go? Oh no.
"Maybe she hasn't offered because she thinks you'll say no."
"Steven -"
"I'm just saying. She put you through a hell of a lot, thinking you were going to be a father again, and then when it turns out Lenny is Step-Stan's, Rachel's tough but come on, I'd be scared to get within a dozen yards of you."
As if anything scares Steve, this conversation being a case in point. "You have five seconds to drop this," Danny warns him.
Figures that reverse psychology does not work on Steve. Then again, the only personally applicable countdowns Steve cares about are the ones attached to things that go boom.
What the hell kind of name is Lenny, anyway?
"Sifting through all that for the single relevancy, he Is not my child." And dear God, it hurts just about as much as Danny had thought it would to say those words out loud. Fuck McGarrett anyway.
McGarrett, who just keeps on digging that hole. "He's Grace's half-brother," Steve says. "He might not be your biological son but he's still blood, sort of."
Sometimes Danny could punch him. Most of the time, but sometimes he'd go for "with undue force". Police brutality.
"Stop," he says instead, very quietly. "Just stop."
Danny doesn't know what his face looks like then, but Steve shuts right up, so whatever, it works for him. Mostly.
It's as good as it's gonna get, anyway.
Days like this are what Mulligans are made for. He'd bet he could call one back in Jersey.
He doesn't say that to Steve, though, and he tells himself he doesn't know why, but see above re: lying to himself.
________________________
"Chin?"
Chin glances up over the smart table, quick hands still flowing from one touch sensor to another, figures and pictures flying about like really macabre confetti, and it says a lot about their lives that neither of them is in the least bit fazed by this. "Can I help you?"
That's nice - which adjective Danny means straight-up, no sarcasm - and it's professional, and yes, okay, it's soothing. "That thing you said earlier."
Chin brings out the eyebrow. "I say a lot of things."
Which, actually, he does. People who automatically assign Chin in the "strong but silent" category don't really take the time to listen.
"This is true," Danny admits even if he does suspect Chin to be capable of reading minds and knows exactly what he's talking about. "I meant that long string of Hawai'ian I'm not dumb enough to try to replicate accurately, much less attempt the pronunciation of. Haole in the house, remember?"
"Ah." Chin finishes his rapid-fire CSI pinball wizardry and rests on the edge of the table, at ease. "He loli ‘ole ke alo a'e, he paio koho?"
"Those would be the words in question, yes." Danny fidgets. "Translation, please?"
Chin chuckles quietly. "It means ‘change is inevitable; struggle is optional."
"Huh." Danny lets that sink in. "And you thought this worth declaiming like some kind of oracle, why?"
Eyebrow Intensification, commence. "Brah. You're smarter than to need to ask. Besides," Chin says. "Like it or not, you're edging your way toward kama'aina. I think we can drop the haole part."
And be damned if that doesn't make Danny feel good, so like he wants to smile that that is exactly what he does. "Yeah. Um. Thanks." Okay, fine. "Mahalo."
"Mahalo," Chin returns.
And for whatever reason, that makes Danny feel a little better still.
Or a lot.
________________________
He talks to Gracie not long after that. She's just out of school for the day and this is their time. No way Danny's denying himself that; no way he's denying her that.
She says nothing about Rachel, nothing about Step-Stan, and she barely mentions - Lenny - the baby that isn't his, the brother that's only half her blood and none of his. He hates that. Hates that it hurts, okay, fine, it hurts like a knife to his chest every damn time he thinks about it.
But he hates more, maybe most of all, that when Grace skips right past stories he can tell she's dying to chatter about. First steps, first words, first smiles. Hates it with a fiery passion because she's his daughter and when she censors herself at nine years old for God's sake, he can hear the "why?" in a different form. No little girl of his should know even the start of things that boy did.
If he knew how to fix it, he would, but that's kind of the whole problem, isn't it?
________________________
And then the day's over, almost before Danny knows it. Long past over, full dark fallen in that wham-bam way Hawai'i has. Light, wham, dark. Danny's calmed down some. Paperwork is soothing, in its way, and maybe he grins a little every now and then thinking about some of Steve's more classic blunders. Like the time he checked the wrong box and was asked, far too politely, why he thought it advisable to blow up an active volcano.
Still, Danny's glad to shut down his computer, this part of his day good work well done, to stand and stretch. His car keys are nowhere to be found, but that's par for the course. Maybe he'll walk. Nice night for it, for once. Not too warm, with a good wind blowing from the sea. The waves will be spectacular enough to put everyone in a fine mood tomorrow, and that'll help too even if Danny pretends it doesn't.
Small blessings, and things that are Other to think about.
Walking, yeah. That's the plan.
But when he gets outside, Chin's waiting for him. Mid-action, shrugging on the leather jacket Danny bitched him into wearing, and the accompanying helmet balanced on the seat. So help him, now Danny's acknowledged his gay side he's not too proud to read Chin Ho the riot act on how he's far too good-looking to smear half his face across the pavement when he crashes. Not if. Crashes happen to every-fucking-one.
Chin Ho gave in with a token fight. Steve claimed he was staying out of it, but Danny found a jacket and helmet in Steve's closet not long after, searching for his own leathers. Could just be that Steve likes leather - and he does, he really, really does.
But whatever, Danny's distracting himself again, and Chin's done gearing up for a ride on the bike. He picks up Danny's own protective clothing - huh, must have sneaked home to get it - and raises an eyebrow.
Danny turns the helmet over in his hands, the bulkiness of it making for clumsy handling. Something that saves your life, but it's uncomfortable as hell until you get it broken in, and which is not incidentally about as unsexy as a nudist beach. (Trust him, he's seen a few by now. They are not what they're cracked up to be.)
He does not have to be cracked quite so hard over the head with an extended metaphor before he gets the point, either.
"I have absolutely no choice about riding home with you, do I?" he asks.
"Not really." Chin waits. He's a good wait-er.
Danny gives. Mostly. "Don't think I don't know the both of you are up to something," he says. "Any chance you want to share?"
Chin's rare grin is wise and shrewd at the same time. "Not really."
"What, you've been taking lessons from McGarrett now?" Danny grumbles, throwing one leg over the bike when Chin obligingly scoots forward to make room. Steve keeps making noises about the equivalent of a tri-seat bike so they can all ride at the same time, three ducklings all in a row.
It'll probably happen if Steve gets serious about the idea some day. Things tend to work out that way. Behold riding to a home that belongs now to the three of them instead of the memory of John McGarrett and walls painted white over spackled bullet holes and scrubbed-off bloodstains.
Danny wraps his arms around Chin like a good bike passenger. Weirdly enough it feels as if Chin's enfolded him instead, and you know what, he's tired enough to let it go with no questions. It feels so good to have someone have his back in this softer way that he's just - riding with it.
________________________
Only Chin has, apparently, been taking lessons from the This Is Thunderdome School of Defensive Driving, or he's kept this wild oh my God you're going to kill us both, slow down you crazy bastard, fuuuuuuck, this is not a road skill tucked close to the vest before now. Danny's white-knuckled and hoarse from screaming in Chin's ear by the time they roar to a stop in the Pikoi drive, spraying red dirt and sand in a wide arc.
Danny's off that bike before you can say thank you I'm alive.
Which Steve must have been anticipating. He's there, somehow, moving on those silent cat feet the way he does, wrapping his arms around Danny from behind while Chin slinks to the front of him. They've got his six and his twelve and they're not moving. Steve's warm against his back, and Chin's wind-cooled against his front, but he can feel both their hearts beating and he can taste the salt and the fresh mint on their breaths.
"What," Danny says, because he has to get out at least a couple words about that ride here, "the hell. Was that?"
Steve cuddles him. There is no other word for it. Nor for what Chin does, though c'mon, Danny's not going there. He'll find a thesaurus later. For right now, "guards" almost seems to fit, which after that drive -
And wait, after that lunch hour with McGarrett -
Danny pushes them both, neither hard enough to do more than make his point. "Reverse psychology," he says. "Cute. But where the point might be, it's not in my line of sight."
Steve jostles Danny when he chuckles, his lips pressed to Danny's nape. "Told you he'd figure it out."
"Later than I said he would," Chin points out, sounding perfectly calm and reasonable, but his hands tell a different story. They stroke Danny's stomach and his chest, and he's not shy about going under the shirt. Lean, wiry hands that are oh so clever and graceful, nimble; he never makes Danny not feel short and stocky and tough, but he never makes it seem to matter, either.
"Explanations. I'm waiting for them." Seriously, he's not pissed now. Danny just wants to know before this heads where he knows it's heading, so he can be there with them and not have questions mixed up with these feelings slopping over and fucking with his head.
Chin raises one shoulder and grins. He has a good smile. "To get your attention," he said. "And to prove a point."
"Also, when you're confused, you're easier to crack," Steve murmurs first, and then adds that phrase in Danny's ear. His pronunciation is almost as good as Chin's, the wording just as fluent and his delivery smooth. Warming. Sparking the tips of Danny's nerve endings as surely as the sweep and caress of Chin's hands, even when they slip around him to pin him in and rest on McGarrett's hips.
"I repeat," Danny grumbles for the sake of appearances. "Asshole."
"It worked, didn't it?" Steven asks, forestalling Danny's protest. Though he wasn't actually going to make one. Which surprises even him, but what the hell.
Danny shakes his head at Chin, leans back against Steve, and lets them suffocate him. "Just promise me that one day, when you rule the world, you won't forget the little people."
Chin's laugh is even better than his smile, and hey, Steve's hands are on the move now. "I'll do my best," one of them promises, maybe both, and that feels better than their hands on him.
Well. Almost better.
"You are both insane. You know that, right?"
"Mostly," Steve says, seeming pretty okay with that. "But you're here with us, so what's that make you?"
Lucky is what Danny thinks. What he knows McGarrett and Chin are thinking about is change, it can happen.
What Danny says, working down the knot in his throat, is: "Don't let it go to your head." He puts his hands on Chin's hips, and McGarrett does the same for him, knotting them into a neat pretzel that'll keep them trapped. In a good way. "But yeah. Here I am."
That's when Chin kisses him quiet, and that, that is nice enough to kiss back.
At some point they move inside, though Danny couldn't tell you when.
________________________
No one says anything about anything but work the next day. There's not even a sense of watchful waiting. Chin Ho is good at what he does, and when the man casts the spell of a mood, there is no breaking his force-field. Even Steve's quiet. Playing Call of Duty with the sound turned down, but it's the thought that counts.
The thought.
Questions, thoughts, answers, more questions, and in the end there's nothing left for it but action, whether right or wrong, because thinking gets you fuck-all anywhere and enough, okay. Enough.
There's right and there's wrong.
Danny slides the desk drawer open all the way and takes out the small gift-wrapped box, very sporty-little-boy paper without a girly bow but with a from-and-to tag. He scribbles his name, and writes "Lenny" very, very carefully. Shakes the box, which doesn't make much noise, the toddler-sized baseball glove inside well-padded with tissue paper.
This, he brought all the way from Jersey; this is the first thing he bought - from an airport kiosk no less - before. Before he knew, when he was still trying to figure out "what now" and what he was leaving behind but thinking it'd all be worth it because he would have this new child, this amazing new child, and what was a may-be and could-happen weighed against that?
Steve and Chin might be watching, might not be, from their place in the bullpen, but for once they have the sense to leave him alone. Danny takes this as the unexpected blessing that it is, tucks the box under his arm, and makes for the back door. Nice clean getaway.
Except.
Except when he gets to the surface of the Palace parking lot, blinking in the strong sunlight that never stops assaulting his eyes, those two crazy-ass ninjas are waiting for him by his car, leaned up against the side.
And then. They ask. Steve in sheepish silence, a shrug and a nod of his head and a little bit of that wistful hopefulness that does Danny in every time and only works because Steve honest-to-God does not know he does this. Chin's the one who uses his words, or one of them, but it's the one that matters.
"Ohana."
"At least you left the ‘brah' off," Danny says, sighing so he doesn't smile. Chin's ego deceives well now he's recovering himself from the years of silence and isolation from his family and okay, maybe the metaphor does have to be applied with extreme force every once in a while.
"It's implied," is all Chin says, though.
"Of course it is," Steve adds, because that is what Get-The-Last-Word-In McGarrett does. "Playing 'dumbass' isn't a good look for you. I mean, I know it comes natural and all, but --"
Chin's laugh is as soft as Steve's is not, but they mean well. But that's kind of what the whole thing is about, isn't it? Meaning well. Doing the best you can with what you've got. Not questioning being a lucky son of a bitch or what is and what should never be when it is.
Danny rubs his face, scraping the stubble. Maybe he should shave. They'll swing by his place so he can shower, shave, change, and they'll be waiting for him when he comes back outside. No need even to ask.
And he has this sense they'll wait in the car at Rachel and Stan's if he asks them to, even.
But he won't.
Danny thumbs the loose end of the wrapping paper, thinking about all the things that could be, shouldn't be, and that are. "Get in the car already, you're going to throw the alignment with all that weight on one side, you know this."
Chin's grin is bright, almost as bright as Steve's, neither bright as the sun and Danny's not into that poetry crap, or he'd think about making comparisons.
Steve tosses him the keys. "Here," he says. "You drive."
He deserves to be smacked for the cheesiness contained within the sentiment, and while Chin laughs at both of them, Danny takes care of that straightaway.
But he doesn't hit hard.
He's got to remember how to be gentle again, after all, if he's going to ask to hold a baby for the first time in nine years.