Fic- No Way Out But Through (4/4)

[kristen999]

***

After years in special operations where prescribed uppers and downers were a norm, Steve has learned how to use pain medication as a tool. He can move around now, think clearly. But he feels like a ship without a compass, hobbling a familiar path from the entrance of his house into the dining room. Over and over again.

His cell phone beeps and he pulls it out of the pocket of his cargo pants, clicking the text message. Heads up. Stopping by a few minutes. -Kono

By the time he processes the message, he hears a knock at the door. Grabbing his weapon and stuffing it into his waistband, he crutches toward the window, verifying it's Kono, and deactivates the alarm to let her in.

"Hey," she greets with a smile.

"Hey," he responds, suspicious.

Kono rolls her eyes. "Danny didn't send me, if that's what you think." Steve steps aside as she walks in carrying a large duffel. "I had a few minutes before going to work and thought maybe you could use this."

He cocks his head at the blue cooler Kono pulls out. "You brought me ice?"

"It's a cold kit for your knee." Kono unfolds a blue stretchy thing that looks kind of like an ace bandage with a tube attached to the cooler. "You wrap the cover around your knee, turn this on," she says, pressing a button to a small motor. "And it circulates a continuous amount of ice cold water. It worked miracles for me when I thrashed my ACL."

Steve isn't sure what to say, taken aback at the thought. "Thank you."

"I figured after yesterday, you might need it."

"Well, I'm not going after any more suspects, so..."

"Dude, you paced around headquarters yesterday before retreating to your office. You've got to use your crutches all the time or it's going to take you forever to regain full mobility."

He huffs out a grunt. "It's hard getting used to these damn things."

Kono crosses her arms in front of her chest, studying him. "Have you tried resting them against the meatiest part of your sides?"

"Yeah." He screws up his face. "It hurt like a bitch."

"They rest against your upper ribs, so it'll definitely aggravate the ones that are cracked." But Kono looks determined, her lips curving into a grin. "You could try using just one crutch. At least it'll only put pressure on one side of your ribcage."

Steve chooses the right crutch and rests the left one against the end table. "I should hold it on my right side so I'm not leaning on my bad knee?"

"Yep. Put all the weight on your good leg. Think of it as a tripod."

It's awkward, since his wrist is broken, but Steve presses the crutch against his right side, leaning heavily on right leg, while swinging out his left leg without putting any real pressure on his left foot. He grunts when the motion stretches at his lower ribs, but he manages to walk around the living room a little easier, with only his right side in pain.

Kono watches him hobble around. "When does your PT start?"

"Sometime next week."

"You know, when I had all the fluid drained in my knee it sped up the healing. Better blood flow means it'll feel better. I could drive you if you wanted." Kono's not shy when it comes to getting things done and she pulls out her phone and starts texting. "I know someone at the rehab center; I'll get him to prioritize you when you call."

Steve doesn't protest her presumptuousness; she knows the orthopedist overseeing his knee rehabilitation. "I'll call after lunch to set up an appointment."

Kono smiles, pleased, her eyes roaming the living room in curiosity. "So, what are you up to today?"

Most of his bolstered good mood dissipates at the question, since he can't really explain where his head has been the last couple of hours. "I was going to read up more on Quinn. See if I could get some insight into him."

"Did your contact send you anymore info?"

"No. But I haven't reviewed the whole file thoroughly yet." He'd been plagued by blurred vision after using his laptop yesterday.

"Is there enough there to get a profile of him?" Kono asks, surprised.

Steve hobbles back to his sofa, pulls out his weapon, and lays it back on the coffee table. "I don't know. I thought maybe..." He rubs a hand over his face. "I thought if I could figure him out. See how he..."

Kono sits down next him. "How he what?"

"See how easily he read me."

"Dude. It was an unfair fight."

Steve looks up in surprise. "Fights are never fair."

"No. But that asshole played dirty from the get-go," she says venomously. "He might have been a koa once but has no code now. He might as well have shot you in the back of the head when he came in here."

"I had ample opportunity to defend myself."

"Really?" Kono's eyebrows curve in disbelief. "And how many people who are suffering from shock can think straight, let alone fight?"

"You don't understand -"

"When you walked in, he took out your knee." Kono stands up and paces restlessly, sliding her hands down her thighs. "When I wiped out on my board and tore the ligaments in mine, I got swept under the water - I couldn't breathe. I couldn't figure out what was up from down. I almost drowned. Almost died."

She stops and crouches in front of Steve, her eyes filled with such fierceness. "You were in physical shock, brah. He kicked you so hard it almost dislocated the joint. How many times when we've sparred together have you taught me how essential the legs are when it comes to a fight?"

Steve doesn't say a word, too lost in snapshots of elbows and fists.

"Quinn taught hand to hand to special forces," Kono says, resting a hand on Steve's arm. "He knew exactly the best way to take you out."

And Steve thinks about what has been instinct for years. He'd always been taught to use the most effective way to subdue an enemy. His formal training had been a mix of Combat Jujitsu, Krav Maga, and Muay Thai. It was about abandoning flashy moves and relying on instincts, blending those moves into whatever the situation required. Moves Quinn would know the best way to counter.

Steve rubs absently around his knee brace. He bites his lip; it shouldn't matter - he still fought back. But then he remembers his palms striking something solid instead of flesh.

"He had on a vest," he says, taking a breath. "Quinn wore body armor."

"So most of his vital areas were protected?"

"From knifes and bullets," Steve reminds her.

"And your hands, boss."

He looks over at Kono, trying to listen to her words. But he still doesn't know, isn't sure what to think.

His cell phone buzzes and he looks down, seeing Danny's name. "Hey."

"We've got the bastard, Steven. The court is freezing all his assets."

"You got the injunction?" Steve asks his heart pounding.

"And while he's in the states, he can't even access his foreign accounts. Duke already called, he said the surveillance teams saw Moreno leave his house in a hurry. We have our best guys tailing him."

"That's great news," Steve breathes.

"It's only a matter of time. The walls are closing in on him."

Steve licks his lips, a million thoughts racing through his mind. It shouldn't matter this much, but there's a swell of satisfaction filling his chest and he takes a moment to relish it.

***

Danny comes home around nine at night since coordinating six surveillance teams and keeping the governor updated while Moreno and his people scramble around like chickens with their heads cut off is no small feat. He deactivates the alarm and unlocks the door, rolling his eyes when his cell beeps with another incoming text message.

He fumbles with a quick reply as he walks inside, lifting up his head in time to see Steve point his Sig at him from this place on the sofa. "God damn it, Steven! Would you please try not to shoot me?"

"Sorry," Steve mumbles, lowering his weapon.

"Sorry?" Danny jabs an angry finger at him. "You're responsible for a whole new set of gray hair, you asshole."

Tossing the keys on the little end table, Danny freezes in his tracks when he notices the contraption hooked up to Steve's knee. "Where the hell did you get a cold kit?"

"Kono dropped it by." Steve makes a soft grunt of contentment, resting his head against the mountain of pillows behind him. "Didn't she tell you?"

There is a soft ember of happiness inside Danny's chest at seeing Steve enjoy some type of relief. He owes Kono a box of masalas.

"No, we were too busy chasing down Moreno's crew, and before you ask, he went to the bank then home." Danny plops down in the recliner and closes his eyes. He has a low-grade headache. "But activity is up at two suspected warehouses and Narcotics said the word on the street is Moreno is about to accept a major shipment of ice tomorrow."

"He needs cash flow."

"Exactly."

"You guys have any idea how or where the shipment is arriving?"

"Under the radar by seaplane." Danny peels open his eyes, unsurprised at how fast Steve sits up, his eyes practically shining. "I know that must be like catnip to you."

A ghost of a smile spreads across Steve's face before he hunkers down into serious mode again. "Think Moreno will oversee it personally?"

And Steve has that look, like the one before he tries taking over everything. Danny can't help the deep sigh in his chest. "Not sure. He's always kept his hands clean, but we have some of his top guys, and he might want to supervise this one. But even if he doesn't go near it, we'll seize the shipment." It's a win-win in his book.

"Any word on Quinn?"

"Nothing yet." Danny catches Steve's eyes, layering his next words with heavy conviction. "But we're freezing his back accounts tomorrow. Hopefully, that will smoke him out."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to wrap up the case before the weekend."

"Would that be so bad?" Danny asks, feeling exhausted. He wants this whole nightmare to finally be over.

Steve drops his gaze into his lap like he's intensely studying his hands. He slowly nods. "No, it wouldn't."

***

The amount of paperwork needed to deal with detectives in major crimes and narcotics - not to mention surveillance teams - doesn't require a shovel but a freaking bulldozer. If Steve didn't have lingering issues from his concussion, Danny would make him help from home. He scrubs a hand over his face. In an hour, he has a check-in with everyone involved in tonight's possible bust. Denning even pulled some strings with the Navy to keep an eye on Waimea Bay for any planes trying to skate under the radar.

He hears a knock on his door and glances up when Chin walks in and dumps another file on Danny's pile. "This is the transcript from the first set of interrogations of Moreno's men from the bust the other night."

"Thanks, I'll read them sometime in the next decade," Danny mutters. He leans back in his chair, stretching out his arms, and looks through his window into the hall. "Kono back yet?"

"She just texted me a few minutes ago. Said Steve just went in for his procedure and he should be done in an hour."

Danny grimaces. Steve told him last night that Kono had gotten him an appointment to get his knee drained, something he is far too familiar with. "Now if he'll just use his damn crutches."

"Maybe if you handcuff McGarrett to them," Chin says with a chuckle. "But after she drops him off, she'll come here and help with the preparations for tonight."

Danny picks up a pen and opens the next folder. "Tell her to bring lunch if she's finding ways to dodge helping me with all this damn paperwork."

***

After a conference call between five different alpha dog detectives and a captain, Danny strides toward the coffee pot and pours himself a cup, his ears still ringing from people trying to yell over each other.

He looks up when he sees Chin striding over, waving his cell around excitedly. "Duke just called. He said someone at the marina identified Quinn trying to rent a yacht. They dialed HPD based on the BOLO from Homeland Security."

"What? Is he still there?"

"The call came in two minutes ago from the rental company," Chin fills him in. "Guy said that it'll take half an hour to fuel the ship and to walk Quinn through the usual inspection given to all renters."

Danny checks his watch. "That leaves only twenty minutes."

"Twenty?" Chin says eyes wide. "Maybe if Steve or Kono were driving."

"Hey." Danny holds out a finger. "Do not mock my driving skills; I'll get us there in time." He takes a large gulp of coffee and tosses away the cup. "Call Duke, tell him to have a SWAT team standing by. I'll get our gear from the locker room."

***

He debates calling Steve, but what if it's a false lead? And if Quinn is trying to get the Hell out of Dodge, wouldn't it be torture to let Steve know and then have to hang up on him?

Once again, Danny feels split between two focal points and he knows that could get him or someone else killed. So, he mentally shoves all thoughts about Steve into the back of his mind and pulls into another lane to pass the BMW in front of him.

"Okay, I was wrong earlier: you are Speed Racer," Chin says with a half-smile. Danny glares at him, but Chin's cell rings and he quickly answers it. "Hey, Kono, how far away are you? We'll probably get there at the same time." He laughs. "Okay. I'll have in on that."

"What was that about?" Danny asks.

"Kono's about two miles behind us and she wagered me dinner that she'd pass us along the way."

Normally, Danny would say this isn't a race, except it is, and he presses his foot harder on the accelerator.

***

As soon as they exit the off ramp toward the harbor, traffic slows to a crawl. "Come on," Danny yells.

Chin quirks an eyebrow at him, but remains Zen-calm. "What's our play when we arrive?"

"Verify Quinn is at the marina, wait for back-up to arrive, and go in."

"Are we actually going to wait on SWAT?" Chin asks, skeptical.

"Yes. Unless the situation dictates otherwise."

"Sounds awfully like a McGarrett plan."

Danny ignores Chin's jab while shooting daggers at the roadwork ahead. A construction worker in a hard hat motions the Ford pickup and BMW ahead of them but holds up his hand to stop Danny before waving at a dump truck parked by the side of the road to move. The dump truck backs up from the shoulder, blocking both lanes.

"He's never going to get the angle right to pull close enough to the edge," Danny grumbles, glancing at the rear-view mirror.

A dark SUV pulls up behind them and all the hair along Danny's arms stand on end. He looks between the SUV and the dump truck. "Chin?"

Chin pulls out his Sig. "I don't like it."

Danny watches the construction guy signal the dump truck and he sees the moment when four men pour out from the cab of the truck with automatic rifles. The tip on the marina is a set-up.

"Hold on!" Danny slams on the gas.

The construction worker pulls out a Glock and dives out of the way of the Camaro. But Danny keeps driving forward toward the men in front of the dump truck, aiming his car like a missile at the two closest thugs, yanking on the steering wheel and clipping both bastards with the front of his car.

"Get down!" Chin yells.

Danny ducks his head as bullets rip through the windshield from the two other gunmen. Even without seeing the SUV, he knows those guys are hopping out of that vehicle as well. So, he keeps his head down, puts the Camaro in reverse, and hits the accelerator again, yanking on the steering wheel in the opposite direction to straighten out while bullets burst through the rear windshield.

"There's a key tucked into the passenger sun visor. Use it to pull the grenade out of the glove box!" Danny yells at Chin.

Danny continues driving in reverse until his car rear-ends the SUV. He flinches when glass rains down over his head from more bullets.

"We need to get out of this crossfire," Chin yells. He holds out his weapon for Danny to take. "Cover me so I can take out the guys at our twelve o'clock."

"Hold on." Danny bends down, smashing the lever to the driver's seat until it lays all the way flat. "Okay."

Danny grabs Chin's Sig with his right hand and pulls his out with his left. Lying on his side over the flattened driver's seat, he stretches each arm in the opposite direction and fires out both shattered windshields.

Using the distraction, Chin opens the passenger door for cover, pulls the pin from the grenade, and lobs it at the goons in front of the dump truck, the explosion rocking the Camaro.

Danny shoves himself further onto the car floor as rear of the Camaro is hammered again by another barrage of bullets.

After tossing the grenade, Chin wedges himself under the glove box, breathing hard. "Got anymore?"

"No!" Danny yells, wasting a second on the irony of the question.

He stays smashed under the steering column, trying to decide between using the Camaro as a weapon again or diving out of it before it becomes Swiss Cheese.

A loud pop, pop, pop echoes above the rat-a-tat-tat of the M4s and suddenly they're not under heavy fire.

"Is that one of ours?" Danny yells over the noise.

"Not sure," Chin huffs listening. "Must be. They're drawing the heat away from us."

Danny shoves Chin's weapon back into his hand. "On three, we'll make a break for the side of the road for cover." Chin nods and Danny awkwardly turns around, fingers grabbing the door handle. "One, two, and go!"

Danny shoves open the door and begins sprinting. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a guy by the SUV with his back to him. Danny aims low so he doesn't accidentally shoot their back-up, one of his rounds hitting the goon in the leg.

Danny dives into the ditch and does a scramble up to the edge until he's flat on his belly, weapon drawn. He counts the remains of three bodies in front of the dump truck, the smell of burnt flesh making him gag. That leaves one more gunman and the construction guy. He scans the area, noticing a fourth body off to the side with two unnaturally bent legs and a pool of blood underneath it. Taking a precious second, he checks his clip and counts two bullets left. Great.

Glancing over at the SUV, he listens to the firefight. It's down to three shooters. One M4 and two Sigs. Those are good odds.

Danny notices movement between the big tires of the dump truck and he aims his weapon at the construction worker limping around, using the hood to lean against.

"Five-O!" Danny shouts. "Get down on the ground!"

Construction Guy whirls around, pointing his Glock, and Danny squeezes the trigger, dropping the guy. Danny gasps for breath, scanning the area by his car and the SUV, trying to figure out where to focus his attention next when he hears Chin's voice.

"Danny? What's your status?"

"I think I'm clear. What about you?"

"We're clear."

"We?" Danny yells.

"Who else do you know saves your ass?

Danny smiles at the sound of Kono's voice. "Can you guys cover me?"

"On it," both Chin and Kono answer.

Danny rises to a crouch and goes to first fallen suspect, securing his weapon and taking it as his own to use. Then he checks the rest, kicking their rifles out of reach, Chin and Kono hot on his heels.

By the fourth body, Danny growls in frustration when he doesn't find a pulse. He hears a low groan and runs toward the construction worker, grabbing the Glock off the ground and tossing it to Chin.

"Hey." Danny kneels next to the guy who has a hole in his belly, leaking massive amounts of blood. "I know Moreno sent you. What were you supposed to do when the job was done?" But the guy is fading rapidly and Danny grabs him by the jaw, forcing the asshole to look up at him. "What was your next move? Tell me!"

Construction Guy coughs up a stream of crimson from his mouth. "Wait...to..."

"Wait to what?" Danny demands his mind is going a million miles per hour.

"To...hear...other team..."

It feels like someone stabbed Danny in the chest. No, no, no. Fuck. Because he knows in absolute dread what that means. "What other team?"

The guy gurgles up more blood and his eyes go vacant.

"There's another hit squad," Danny shouts panicked at Chin and Kono. "They must be after Steve." He fumbles for his cell, but he must have lost it in the middle of the chaos and his chest becomes unbearably tight. "I can't find my phone."

"I've got mine," Chin says, pulling out his and quickly handing it to Danny.

"I'm calling HPD to send more units to Steve's," Kono says, looking frazzled.

Frenzied, Danny punches in Steve's number, turning to run toward his car and freezes, gut-punched. The Camaro is toast.

The phone rings in Danny's ear while his heart feels like it is about to rip out of his chest. "Kono, when you're done with HPD, see if you can reach the unit watching the house."

Kono gives a quick nod and gestures past the SUV. "Come on, we'll take my car."

Danny runs after her, Chin close behind him as he waits for to Steve pick up - the call going to voice mail.

***

Steve stirs the pot of pasta when he hears his cell phone ring. He curses, because he really doesn't want it overcooked, but it's his fault for leaving his phone on the coffee table. Grabbing his crutch, he hurries through the dining room, his knee still pretty numb from the anesthetic used for the needle drain. The ringing stops before he reaches it and he slows down since he really doesn't want to overdo things, not after the swelling has gone down so much.

His cell begins ringing again.

"McGarrett."

"Steve! Thank god. You've need to get out of the house."

"Danny? What's wrong?"

"Moreno set us up and sent a hit squad after Chin and me. Kono's with us, she's fine, but there's a team heading to your house."

Steve plasters himself to the wall, checking through the living room window without moving the curtains. He doesn't see anyone in the uni outside. "The patrol car outside is empty. I have to let you go, Danny."

"Steve! Don't -"

He clicks off the cell. If he goes outside into the open, he's probably dead. Making a stand is his only option. Steve tosses his crutch onto the sofa and takes a deep breath to brace himself for the upcoming abuse. He shoves the sofa away from the window with a grunt and adjusts it until it bisects the room diagonally so he'll have the vantage of both entry points. Then he pushes the recliner in front of the door.

The lights blink off along with the air conditioner. They've cut the power to the alarm. Hobbling over, he leans on the back of the leather sofa to watch the living room door and the ones leading to the lanai.

He doesn't wait long.

Bullets rip through the glass doors by the dining room and two goons dressed in black kick in the remains, storming inside. Steve aims and squeezes the trigger. The first guy collapses from shot to the forehead, the second guy takes a round in the shoulder, then two more in the torso.

Steve spins around as the front door is kicked open. Two men aim assault rifles in his direction and Steve throws himself onto the floor, a hail of bullets slicing the air where his head had been. The recliner keeps both men from rushing in and one of them has to stop to shove it away.

Lying on his stomach, Steve takes the opportunity to shoot them above the knees. Both men scream and writhe on the floor, but the closest guy hasn't let go of his weapon and he fires erratically in Steve's direction. Steve rolls away while squeezing the trigger until the M4 goes silent, his own weapon clicking empty.

But he doesn't have time to react or even breathe when he hears the sound of boots crunching over the broken glass scattered across the floor. He uses a chair to force himself to his feet, ignoring the flare of vertigo, and fast limps toward the hutch. Grabbing a ballpoint pen out of a mug, Steve flattens himself against the wall. He listens to the sounds of the approaching target, timing the number of steps it takes to round the corner. At the flash of a body, Steve locates the man's throat and jabs the pen into his jugular.

The guy grabs at his thick neck, gasping and gurgling, and drops to his knees as blood gushes over his fingers.

His buddy comes up from behind him and freezes in shock, then notices Steve, his acne scarred face wrinkling in fury. But split seconds win fights. Before Furious Guy can raise his M4, Steve strikes him in the nose with his elbow, followed by a jab in the chest with his left palm.

The rifle clatters to the ground and Steve bends over to retrieve it. But Furious Guy grabs Steve around the shoulders in a half stumble and bodily spins him into the wall, Steve's back connecting hard against the plaster.

Obviously seeing his play, Furious Guy twists away to scramble after the rifle. With a yell of pain, Steve stumbles toward the sofa, grabs his crutch, and with both hands, brings it down onto the top of the guy's skull. Then he lifts it up again and slams it against the back of the neck, the man crumpling in a heap.

Breathing hard, his heart racing inside his chest, Steve grabs the rifle and trains it across the living room. But everyone is dead or unmoving. He needs to find a place to hole up, wait for reinforcements to arrive. Slowly, he makes his way toward the kitchen, eyes darting from body to body, checking for movement.

The door to the kitchen is half-ajar and he cranes his neck, scanning it quickly before walking backward inside. He can't take his eyes off the living room, his breathing ragged, sweat pooled under his armpits, down his back. He just needs a few minutes, because he knows his team is on their way and probably half the HPD.

He thinks maybe he should have gone outside but quickly dismisses the thought since outside means exposure and he still has no idea if he's eliminated all the threats. The side of his hip brushes against the kitchen island and Steve licks his lips, peering down at the M4, checking the clip, and tightening his grip around it.

Steve hears the door to the garage open, and before he can turn around, he feels an arm slide around his throat and neck while a hand wraps around his head, pressing it forward into a vice. All his air is cut off and his brain goes into a controlled kind of panic. He drops the rifle and elbows his assailant several times, but it hits solid resistance. Body armor. It's Quinn. Steve knows it in his gut.

He turns his chin and bears down against the choking arm while raising his shoulders to relieve some of the pressure. But the force builds around both his carotid arteries and soon he'll pass out from lack of oxygen - except Quinn won't let go until Steve is dead.

He reaches backward to peel the fingers off the arm behind his head, but it's useless, and Quinn only cinches his arm tighter around Steve's throat.

Dizzy, Steve drops his arm and grabs at his belt and slowly manages to undo the buckle. With black dots smearing his vision, Steve pulls his belt free, folding the anchor down until his fingers wrap around the prong. With one last surge of adrenaline, he stabs the metal prong into the center of Quinn's forearm and rakes it across.

Screaming, Quinn releases his grip and Steve twists away from his grasp, trying to suck in air into his starving lungs. He stumbles against the island to regain his balance, then hobbles toward the stove, grabbing the pot of pasta and splashes the boiling water into Quinn's face as he lunges at him.

Quinn shrieks in pain, staggering back in shock.

Steve takes advantages of the distraction by yanking out a large steak knife out of the nearest drawer. But Quinn launches himself forward, striking Steve in the cast with his left forearm, knocking the knife out of his hand. Then he punches Steve hard in the solar plexus, causing him to stumble backward into the refrigerator, stunning him. But instinct takes over, and when Steve sees how bad the wound is in Quinn's arm, he punches him in the shoulder joint, striking the nerve.

Quinn staggers back, clearly in pain. He shakes his head like he can't track correctly, his face blistered, and a steady stream of bright crimson running down his right forearm. They're both injured, both desperate.

Quinn pulls out a K-bar and Steve curses the fact his knife is in the bedroom. But Quinn's grip is weak, the small pool of blood growing by his feet.

"Based on the color of that blood... we both know I nicked an artery," Steve says breathless. "Probably... the ulnar. If we don't apply pressure to it soon... you'll bleed out."

"Then it'll be a challenge."

Quinn comes at him, and the only thing Steve can do is meet his rush. He grabs Quinn's forearm, digging his thumb into nerve, then steps behind him. Using Quinn's own momentum, Steve yanks Quinn's wrist down, and sends the knife into the unprotected part of Quinn's thigh, hitting the femoral artery.

Steve sinks to his knees with Quinn to the floor, completely exhausted. Quinn stares at the knife sticking out of his leg before rolling onto his side. Steve crawls toward the fallen rifle, dragging his bum leg behind him until he wraps his fingers around the weapon. Unable to keep himself up anymore, he uses the last of his energy to scoot back until his shoulders hit the stove, his body sagging against it, the rifle secured to his chest.

He watches Quinn bleed out, unable to help the bastard, and finding no real sense of satisfaction in his death. Steve is kind of numb, which is odd, since he should be in a fair amount of pain. He thinks maybe everything will hit him once the adrenaline rush fades.

***

Danny sits stuffed in the backseat of Kono's car, the ride a blur of roads and street signs at ninety miles per hour. But for once, he doesn't give a shit about driving since they reach Steve's in record time.

The front door is wide open, and he takes point, his heart beating so fast it's bound to cause permanent damage. He walks over the two bodies slumped in the entrance; with so much blood, Danny doesn't bother checking for a pulse.

"Steve?" he calls out, frantic.

Nothing.

Chin moves in front of Danny, Kono on his heels. Training his shotgun across the room, Chin inches over and kneels next to a body by the sofa, pressing a finger to the guy's neck. "This one is alive."

Danny spots three more bodies scattered between the office, living, and dining rooms. Even from here, he can tell they're dead. It's like a damned war zone. "Steve!" he shouts again.

Kono avoids walking in large pool of blood on the floor, her eyes wide in shock when she peers down at the body by her feet. Danny looks down at the pen sticking out of the man's neck, but he's numb to the gruesome discovery. Numb when Chin tells him everyone else is dead, numb when he finally hears the sirens of back-up and EMS arriving.

Chin covers the kitchen door and nods. With Kono behind him, Danny kicks the door the rest of the way open, training his gun from right to left, his eyes landing on Quinn, on a blood puddle, then on Steve slumped against the stove, clutching a rifle.

"Steve!" Danny runs over and quickly kneels in front of him. "Steve, look at me. Are you hurt?"

Steve squints up at him slightly dazed. "No... I'm good."

Danny is almost drunk in relief, his head fuzzy. "Please forgive me if I don't believe you, because there are like a half a dozen bodies strewn all over the place."

"I didn't hear you," Steve says, sounding confused. It isn't a good answer, and Danny starts thinking shock when Steve continues talking. "I don't think I'm injured. Maybe... a little sore."

"Think maybe you could hand over the weapon?"

Steve gives Danny a tired smile, relinquishing the rifle with slightly shaky hands.

Danny takes it and sets it down, then runs his fingers over Steve's chest, his sides. Thanking god that there are no gunshot or stab wounds, his relief fades to anger. "What's the matter with you, huh? Hanging up on me like that? You inconsiderate asshole."

"I'm sorry, Danny."

"Sorry doesn't give me back years of my life, Steven. Years." Danny stops ranting for a second and looks at Steve in disbelief. "Did you just apologize? You have another concussion, don't you?"

Danny slides his hands across Steve's head, gently touching his scalp, his eyes wide and assessing, Steve not saying a word in protest.

It feels like his heart might give out any moment when Steve lifts up a finger and slowly smoothes it over the fluttering pulse point in Danny's neck. "It's okay, Danny. I'm okay."

Something inside him breaks a little at the care in Steve's touch, at the soft, kind reassurance of his voice. Danny leans over and rests his head on Steve's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his neck, relishing the warmth of his skin.

And Steve lets him without objection, his voice barely audible over the blood rushing in Danny's ears. "Are you good? Did you -"

"I'm fine. And Kono and Chin are fine," Danny breathes, then lets out a frantic laugh. "We were worried about you, you knucklehead." He glances behind him at Quinn's body. "But it looks like you handled things in your usual over the top, spectacular way."

"What about the uni out front?"

"Holden and James were locked in the trunk," Chin speaks up from the doorway. "Duke just found them."

Danny feels like an asshole for not thinking about them.

"Are there any other survivors?" Steve asks.

"Five dead," Chin tells him. "But one guy is still alive. He's about to get transported to King's."

Steve nods. Danny knows he doesn't take pleasure in killing others; it's a necessary skill, one that Steve deftly excels at.

Steve takes a deep breath and grimaces, his arm automatically bracing his side. Danny bets whatever adrenaline rush that got Steve through the last few minutes is over now. "Are you revising your previous statement about just being sore?"

"Probably," Steve admits.

"I'll tell Kono to grab one of the paramedics," Chin says, going out into the living room.

Steve slowly turns his gaze to stare at Quinn's body, and Danny wonders what could be going through his crazy mind.

"He got the drop on me again," Steve tells Danny, his voice rough. "I hadn't cleared the garage and Quinn came through the door leading into the kitchen."

"Don't start second guessing yourself again. Just don't. He's dead and you're not."

"I don't understand guys like him."

"And you never will. Money. Power. It's not about any of that shit." Danny jerks his hand toward Quinn's dead body. "For whatever reason, he lost his purpose and never found a way to fill whatever dark void was inside."

Steve swallows, nodding.

Kono pokes her head in, smiling when she sees them. "I've got the paramedics here to check you out, boss."

Steve leans his head back against the counter obviously spent. "Send them over."

"Hey," Danny says quietly. "I'll go with you to the ER, but I might have to make a hasty exit."

He waits for Steve to protest or try talking his way into coming with him, but instead, Steve looks Danny directly in the eyes. "Slap the handcuffs on Moreno extra tight for me."

Danny know this a big step or Steve - accepting the fact Danny can and will take risks on his behalf. "It'll be my pleasure."

***

It only takes two hours before they get a tip Moreno is trying to flee the country. Apparently, when word spreads you tried to take out the Governor's task force and failed, seaplanes filled with drugs don't arrive.

Danny drives like the world is on fire, six other HPD vehicles close behind him, sirens blaring. Kono doesn't bat an eyelash.

"You hear from, Chin?" he asks.

"Not in the last two minutes," Kono says with wry smile. "You were there when Steve came out of X-ray. He's bruised, but nothing's broken."

"I know, it's just -"

"Chin's taking him to your place and he's staying with him until we're done. Not that he needs to," she says with a non-subtle cough.

"Did you forget about the two hit squads from earlier?"

"No. And I didn't forget the six dead guys all over the boss's house, either. One of them skewered with a ball point pen," she says in awe.

"What? So, I'm wrong if I want to look after him? If I don't, he sure as hell won't."

"No, I think you forget that Steve isn't made of glass. He might have a few cracks, but he knows how much pressure he can handle. I think maybe if you talk to him instead of making assumptions..."

Danny grips the steering wheel. "Maybe you should look into printing an advice column."

Kono laughs. "Not with you and Steve keeping me busy."

***

The private airstrip has more squad cars than the total number of people and planes in the hanger. Moreno's limo is in the tiny parking lot surrounded by a dozen HPD officers waiting on Danny's cue.

Part of him wishes Moreno would try to shoot his way out and save them all the trouble. But as soon as Danny and Kono exit the unmarked cruiser, Moreno steps out of his limo.

Oozing the same smugness from the art opening, Moreno walks toward Danny with barely suppressed contempt. It only makes Danny rage at the idea the bastard really thought he could get away with trying to kill his team. Murder Danny's family.

Pulling out a cigar, Moreno bites off the end, spitting it an inch from Danny's shoes before lighting it. "You again. Don't you have better things to do, Detective?"

Danny kicks at the ground to cover up the mess by his shoes, making sure to get brown dust on the front of Moreno's white dress slacks. "I do. Like serving the warrant for your arrest."

Moreno uselessly smacks at his slacks to rid the dirt. "For what?" he scoffs. "That whole conspiracy to an assault a police officer thing? I heard the man responsible for that is dead."

"No, see that warrant still stands," Danny says, stepping into Moreno's personal space. "As does the four attempted murder charges issued tonight. And given scope of the crime, and the fact it targeted all four members of the Governor's Task Force, the State of Hawaii made an exception and allowed an emergency hearing with Judge Senna."

"Mierda!" Moreno snarls, getting in Danny's face. "You have no proof."

"Oh, you mean besides the pile of evidence collected since we froze your assets? By the way, I see additional federal charges soon. But the current ones, the ones concerning the orchestration of four murders?" Danny actually smiles, slow and deliberate, enjoying how the sweat beads across Moreno's brow. "Maybe the next time you order a hit or two, you might want to check if the mercenary asshole you hired recorded your conversations. Because you know these ex-military types, they're always paranoid."

"It's amazing the clarity cell phones have these days," Kono adds with a deadly smile of her own.

"Quinn had it on him," Danny says, turning the screws, loving the shock reflected in Moreno's eyes. "Probably as an insurance policy in case things went wrong. Don't worry. I'm sure American prison is better than Colombian."

"Do you really think you'll be safe?" Moreno sneers, his face beet red. "You and your family are dead!"

Moreno tries to snub the cigar on Danny's shoulder, but Danny knocks it out of his hand and jabs his fist into Moreno's fat belly. Moreno doubles over while Danny twists his arm behind his back. Danny slaps the first cuff on tight, almost cutting off the circulation, then pulls back Moreno's other arm, snapping on the other cuff.

Breathing hard, he stomps on the cigar, and turns to Kono in satisfaction. "Book this asshole."

Kono smiles in delight, the two of them sharing a contented grin, knowing the week from hell is finally over, before she shoves Moreno toward her car.

***

The little green sofa in Danny's apartment is more like giant loveseat, but it's long enough to allow Steve to stretch out, his head comfortable atop a large pillow. He misses the sound of ocean waves; the quiet is loud in its emptiness.

He rarely stays at Danny's. With all of Grace's pink and glitter taking up half the living room, it never felt right. Like he'd be intruding. But while the quiet takes getting used to, Steve thinks he could enjoy seeing brightly colored walls on a more regular basis, walls that haven't sheltered the violence inside his home.

Closing his eyes, he pushes away the last traces of today, his mind drifting above his unfolding exhaustion. It's not long before he hears a familiar foot tread outside the hall, and he listens to Danny walk quietly inside and put his keys in the little bowl on his end table as he stands around, undoubtedly trying to decide what to do next.

"How did the booking go?" Steve asks.

"For the love of…. Would it kill you for just once to actually be, I don't know, convalescing like a normal person and not trying to give me a heart attack?"

Steve opens his eyes. Danny looks rumpled; his hair is messy and his shirt is wrinkled. "I heard you unlock the door."

Danny just looks at Steve as if he has no idea what to do with him, his expression exasperated. But when he speaks, it's in vindication. "Moreno is currently a resident of Halawa and should be there for a long time pending trial. No judge is going to grant him bail."

Danny watches him, but Steve just looks straight ahead, a knot of tension inside him loosening. It's a good feeling, but he knows better than to ever fully relax.

"If we didn't have Quinn's cell phone, there was a good chance Moreno might have actually gotten away and fled the country," Danny says, filling in the silence. "What made you think of checking Quinn's body for evidence?"

"Quinn's life was about conflict and strategy." Steve thinks back to his years of training, years of hard forged instincts. "Never underestimate your opponent and expect the unexpected." He looks over at the entryway of the living room. "I think that's why he didn't hide behind the door during the first attack. Instinctively, it's the first place I'd look." And maybe Steve would need to start thinking outside the box more. "It just didn't make sense he'd work for someone like Moreno without keeping a tactical advantage."

Danny doesn't say anything for a long moment before clearing his throat. "When did Chin leave?"

"Right after you called and told me you arrested Moreno." Steve looks over. "He didn't need to stay."

It's obvious Danny isn't totally convinced, but he switches subjects. "How are you feeling?"

"A little more battered than before." It's the truth. His knee isn't happy and Steve took a few good licks that set back the healing process. Tomorrow morning is going to be hell.

Danny stands there, his gaze lingering on the newest marks on Steve's throat. And before Steve can utter a word, Danny leans a knee on the cushion with one hand braced on the back of the sofa, hesitating.

A familiar pang of disappointment burrows through Steve's chest. "I'm not fragile, Danno."

"I know you're not. Jesus, Steven." Danny scoots his way on the edge of the sofa, his eyes intense. "I know exactly what you're capable of. I've seen you work through cases on no sleep for days and still be able to fly a chopper and land on a dime, then run through a jungle to take out the bad guys. I know you have this never-say-die, never-quit attitude."

"It's what's kept me alive for a long time."

"Yeah, I bet it has. But maybe I was just too scared to admit it. I mean, North Korea and jungle plane crashes are one thing, but I found you on your own dining room floor." Danny sucks in a heavy breath, his voice cracking. "I took the damn pictures."

"Danny," Steve whispers.

"I wasn't sharing your bed before, Steve. Not until the last six months, not until after... after all that other stuff. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to protect you, damn it." Danny holds up a hand before Steve can interrupt. "I am fully aware of this insane attitude of yours. It's what helped you survive today. The SEAL you, well, it's been hard to accept at times, but I know it's what kept you going, even when you might have doubted yourself. It prevailed."

No one's ever bothered to work hard enough to breach Steve's defenses and to pick them apart. And he's so damn grateful for such determination, such care, because they've been able create a bridge between each other's needs. So, Steve listens, allowing Danny to make the bridge even stronger.

"While I may not be a SEAL, I am still a cop," Danny says, breathless. "Still your partner in every sense of the word. And as your partner, I am allowed to take care of you. Not coddle. But care for."

"I don't." Steve swallows, his mouth horribly dry. "You know that's difficult for me."

"I know it is," Danny whispers. "But let me do this."

"Do what?"

Danny smiles. "First off, all six foot one of you is squished on my tiny love seat. And second, you're in the same clothes after killing an army and going to the ER. So, let's get you up and settled in a large bed."

Stretching out sounds like heaven.

"I don't have my crutches."

"No, they're evidence, you numbskull." But Danny has this sweet, fond grin. "Come on, tough guy. I have it on good authority that I have dependable, strong shoulders." He wordlessly helps Steve get to his feet, slow and easy, wrapping one arm around Steve's waist, while Steve slings an arm around Danny's neck. "There we go."

Danny takes one slow step after another into the bedroom, Steve leaning heavily on him. Because, yeah, he's sore, the meds he took at the hospital slowly fading away.

Danny helps him take off his T-shirt, careful that the tee doesn't snag on his cast. Steve doesn't protest when Danny helps him step out of his cargo pants using Danny's shoulder for support. And he doesn't say a word when Danny unfolds the covers while Steve settles on his back, his eyes on Danny's hands, on the contented smile curving his lips.

Danny kicks off his shoes and sits beside Steve, his eyes looking over Steve's knee brace. "Tomorrow, we'll see about getting the cold kit back from your house," he says. "But I have an icepack if you want one."

"All I want is right here," Steve tells him.

"Oh, yeah?" Danny takes off his own shirt, quickly shucks out of his pants, and crawls onto the bed and closer to Steve.

Steve slides a hand into Danny's hair and gazes at his mouth, his blue eyes, wanting, asking. And Steve leans in and kisses him, savoring Danny's tongue, his soft lips, tasting coffee and the edges of adrenaline.

Danny moves closer, gently draping his side along Steve. It's a shock to feel the full length of Danny's body warm against his.

"Is this too much weight?" Danny asks.

"No," Steve says, loving the feeling of Danny's chest brushing against his.

Danny looks over at Steve with such reverence. "When these bruises fade away, I only want you to remember my mouth," he says. "Promise me."

"I promise," Steve says softly.

Danny slides his hand over the curve of Steve's jaw, pulling him into another kiss. Then slowly, he moves his mouth down the side of Steve's throat, pressing his lips gently over the bruises from earlier today, Steve shivering from the feeling of Danny's scattershot breath against his skin.

Steve runs his fingers through Danny's hair, but he doesn't try to pull him away, or take over, letting Danny control things.

And Danny bends his head, kissing a path along Steve's collarbone then down his sides, and over Steve's tender ribs, wet kisses to his belly, Steve's muscles tensing and relaxing with every gentle press of Danny's lips.

Steve takes a shuddery breath at the sensations running through his whole body, knowing from his experience that physically, he can't respond like he wants right now. "Danny...I..."

"Shhhh. No expectations, no pressure." Danny says voice soft, affectionate. "I told you that before."

"But -"

"This isn't about sex, babe. We have plenty time for that when you're up for it. This is about me taking care of you, remember?"

Steve can't remember the last time someone wanted to love him like this. "Come here," Steve says, his voice rough with emotion.

"Is that an order?" Danny smiles.

Steve wraps his arms around Danny's broad back, pulling his closer until Danny is a warm blanket draped over his right side, his weight mostly on the bed with an arm around Steve's middle. He loves this, basking in the comfort of Danny next to him, of sharing the same heat, the same skin.

Danny rests his head in the crook of Steve's shoulder and collarbone, sighing deeply. Steve grins lazily as he runs a hand through Danny's hair again. "I thought maybe, if it's all right with you...that we could spend more nights here? Maybe alternate?"

"You wouldn't be able to take your five mile swim."

"I'd trade that for breakfast in the morning."

"Oh, so now I'm cooking you breakfast?"

Steve closes his eyes, his breathing slow, his body heavy and relaxed. "Mmm-hmm."

Danny finds Steve's hand. "I'll make pancakes tomorrow. You can cook me eggs when we sleep at your place."

Steve smiles, his and Danny's fingers intertwined as they fall asleep.

***
fini-