Fic- Still The Rain (3/3)
***
There were chunks missing from the ridge and large pockets of muddy earth ripped away by the storm. Dozens of trees were crooked, the hill littered with torn palm leaves and broken branches. The air was heavy with the scent of brine and the steady wind scattered debris everywhere. Danny missed the sunshine.
Steve surveyed the area, his gaze weighty. "We're at the highest elevation of the island. If we follow the trail around the ridge, it should be a straight shot down toward the beach."
"Is this another guess?"
"I could find the leeward side of an island blindfolded, Danno."
"So, an educated guess?"
Steve's face looked like he swallowed a lemon and he grabbed both propeller blades from the cave and shoved one into Danny's hand. "Come on. I want to get down this hill before dark."
***
There were fewer insects trying to feast on them for once, so they didn't have to rub mud on their skin every half an hour. Danny would take the small niceties.
"What scale of pissed-off do you think Denning's going to be when we finally get home?" he asked, using the machete like a walking stick on the steep decline.
"For which part? The loss of ten million dollars' worth of state property, or the fact that we didn't make it to Australia to extradite Sang Ming?"
"When you put it like that, should I expect congruent amounts of time off?"
Steve turned around and pointed a finger at him. "He was the one who insisted we personally escort Sang Ming back to Hawaii."
"Well, we're also responsible for losing him the most times."
"Now you sound like Denning," Steve said gruffly, his foot almost skidding out from under him.
"I'm just saying he had a point, and he found a way to save thousands of dollars in fees by having us do the dirty work."
"No, it's because he didn't want the Los Angles Marshall Service to grab him first for the crap he pulled on the mainland before he hightailed it to Sydney."
"Yes, Steven, I remember, because that is the point at which your ego took over and you promised Denning you could outrun a storm system while the LA guys waited it out."
"The storm was heading west," Steve growled, clearly frustrated. "We were following it."
Danny waved his hand to signal he was done arguing, which earned him a McGarrett scowl of displeasure. But they'd been walking for over an hour and his feet hurt like hell and his headache had returned with a vengeance.
He dodged stepping on a rock and his leg sunk into a deep puddle. "Of course," Danny muttered. He grabbed a near-by tree for balance, yanking on his foot, and pulling it right out of his shoe. "Damn it."
"You lose something?" Steve hollered over his shoulder.
"Yeah, my sanity when I met you."
Danny bent over, fishing for his shoe when he felt the ground vibrate. He snapped his head up just as a giant sheet of mud and dirt rumbled toward him. "Steve!" he yelled in warning.
But there was no time to do anything else. Danny threw his hands over his head and curled into a defensive ball when the mass struck him full force. The debris scooped him up and swept him down the hill at an alarming speed.
Low-hanging branches smacked his arms, but it was his ass took the brunt of the punishment, his tailbone striking a sharp rock that made him gasp. He accidentally inhaled dirt, triggering a coughing fit, and blurring his vision.
But Danny kept calm, ensuring his head was above the mire, that he kept breathing. Kept alive. Then after three more giant bumps, he was roughly deposited in a heap at the bottom of the hill.
Danny sucked in the deepest breath, his heart going a million miles an hour. Holy shit.
His eyes were drifting close in relief when his pulse shot up in fear. "Steve?" he called out.
He rolled over onto his hands and knees, and fuck, that was stupid. Every inch of him hurt. But he crawled forward; if he'd broken any bones, he'd soon find out. "Steve!" he shouted again.
The ground was thick with mud and water, and he was a missing a shoe. His pack was still around his shoulders and torn in places, but Danny didn't give it a second thought.
"Where the hell are you, Steve?"
"Over here."
"Where's here?" When Steve didn't answer, Danny's eyes scanned the area, frantic. "Answer me!"
"Twenty meters...to your right."
Danny spotted the Steve-shaped lump and ran toward it. Between the mud and his shoeless foot, it took him twice as long to plod over as he avoided various rocks. He'd lost the machete in the slide.
Danny sank to his knees next to Steve, eyes darting over his mud-caked body. Steve lay on the ground propped up on one elbow and was breathing heavily.
"Hey, babe." Danny's heart thumped against his breastbone. "Want to tell me how you're doing?"
Steve scrunched up his face. "I think I hurt my right leg."
"Okay," Danny said, keeping his voice steady. "Let me take a look."
Steve lay back, squeezing his eyes shut. Danny frowned. This was going to be a challenge; Steve's cargoes were covered in grime. "Lower or upper leg?"
"Thigh," Steve said voice heavy. "Near my knee."
Danny started at Steve's hip, pressing gently, searching for breaks, flicking his eyes from Steve's leg to his face for signs of discomfort. Danny's fingers went down Steve's thigh, inching toward his knee when he brushed over something sticking out of the fabric. Steve yelped, his body jerking.
Danny yanked his hand away. What the hell was that? Please, please, don't let it be a compound fracture.
He quickly took off his battered pack and pulled out a water bottle. Before Steve could protest, he poured it over the area, washing away some of the mud, revealing a branch protruding out of the side of Steve's thigh. Danny felt the color drain from his face.
Steve pushed himself up onto his elbows. "How bad?"
Danny swallowed. "It's a branch about two inches in diameter, above the knee. Kind of sticking out at a diagonal angle."
He gently touched underneath the other side of Steve's leg, pushing slightly on the flesh of Steve's inner thigh to gauge how deep the stick went in. Steve screamed, slamming onto his back.
"I'm so sorry," Danny hissed, grabbing Steve's flailing legs to keep them still.
He kept a mantra of apologies and soft, muttered words until Steve calmed and stopped moving.
Steve finally opened his eyes. "It's...okay. I'm...okay."
"I'm sorry," Danny repeated, feeling nauseous. "I needed to see how far it was inside."
Steve took several long breaths, his gaze steadier. "And?"
"There's no exit wound, but it's really deep. It just missed being a through and through."
Steve stared at his leg then back up the hill with a scowl. "We need to evacuate from the slide area."
"Jesus, Steve. Yeah. I know that. Amazing observation skills, but let's take care of your leg first, okay?"
Steve nodded stiffly, and Danny ran a hand through his hair. He could do this - allow years of experience take to over. Removing the branch was out of the question; it could tear a major artery or blood vessel. Thank god, it hadn't gone through Steve's knee. If they were home, Danny would try to make Steve comfortable and go find help. But the risk of another mudslide was too great, and there was no way in hell he'd leave Steve alone.
"Okay. Let's see about slowing down the bleeding."
"In my pack."
Steve leaned forward with a grunt, and Danny quickly tugged the straps of the backpack down and off his arms. He rifled through the meager contents of the med-kit, finding several large sterile bandages and medical tape, but not much else. Hell, they didn't even have anything to disinfectant the wound. Biting his lip, he contemplated his next step.
Steve pulled out his knife as he breathed in rapid, shallow bursts. "Here."
Steve didn't say anything else, not one word of instruction, his confidence in Danny unyielding. It made Danny's chest hitch.
He cut off Steve's right pant leg at the upper thigh and a few inches above where the branch poked out. Blood leaked out from around the wound, but it wasn't that heavy; more than likely, the blood vessels had constricted. Danny used the rest of the water to clean the wound the best he could before he ripped open the packages of bandages.
"You ready?"
Steve leaned back, holding his body stiffly. "Go."
Danny applied the first field dressing below where the branch stuck out. Steve gasped in pain. "I'm sorry," Danny hissed, sweat mixing with the rain on his brow. He applied a second and third pad around the wound, careful to avoid touching the stick.
"Just one more minute," he told Steve, whose body had started trembling. Danny quickly wrapped a roller bandage twice around Steve's leg, ensuring all the dressings remained in place.
Danny bowed his head, swallowing against nausea. "There. All done." Steve hadn't said a word and Danny bent over him, brushing a hand down his sweat-slicked face. "Babe?"
Steve opened his eyes and blew out a shuddering breath, his face pasty white beneath the streaks of dirt. "I'm...I'm good."
"Yeah, you are." Danny sighed. He looked over at the hill, watching the rain slowly meander down. "Why don't you rest a minute and then we'll make our way over to the beach?"
"We should go now." Steve gritted his teeth and moved his leg slightly, the muscles in his neck bunching together. "The longer we wait, the harder it's going to be."
Danny nodded unhappily, but Steve was always honest about his limits. He looked over at the thinning jungle. The beach was in sight, although it might as well be miles away. Danny gathered up the medical kit and stuffed it back inside Steve's backpack, Steve's eyes on him the whole time.
"What?" he demanded.
Steve pursued his lips and looked down at Danny's feet. "You still only have one shoe."
***
Danny balanced the best he could given the circumstances. He wrapped his right arm around Steve's waist, while Steve's arm was draped over Danny's shoulder. They slogged through inch thick mud and water in a sort of stumble-hobble. Steve held his own most of the way, even carrying his own pack.
"You know...I could make you...another shoe," Steve huffed in Danny's ear.
Danny sidestepped a tropical pinecone, his bare foot sinking into the ground. "I'm sure you could," he said, panting.
"It won't take much."
"Hmmm," Danny said distractedly.
He adjusted Steve's weight across his shoulder before he started to tip out of balance. Steve said something about bark and how to thread a vine into rope, but Danny was too busy trying not to fall flat on his face. When Steve started on a how-to-process for creating a beach shelter, Danny stopped dead in his tracks. His head hurt and his legs felt like rubber and Steve yammering on in his ear wasn't helping.
"Steven," Danny said exasperated. But when he saw the pain lines across Steve's eyes and felt the tremor wrack his muscles, he softened his voice. "Are we talking lean-tos again, or is the rest of my day fated to digging in the sand?"
Steve licked his lips, giving him a ghost of a smile. "I was actually thinking an A-frame."
***
The beach was far from the pristine Hawaiian postcard versions Danny was accustomed to; it was more like a tourist's nightmare, with rocky ledges, pools of ocean water, and scattered boulders. And it was still raining.
"Looks like some wicked surf," Steve said in admiration as he sagged against him.
The sea was rough, large waves breaking onto a small zone of gray sand, seaweed and broken branches littering everything. Danny searched the upper shore not affected by the tide. "I see a comfy little spot."
He helped Steve limp toward a large, battered tree, most of its branches split apart or bent toward the ground. Danny carefully lowered Steve onto a thin layer of dirt and damaged palm leaves. "Easy, easy."
Steve let go of Danny's shoulders and dropped the last few inches with a thud, lying flat on his back, bad leg stretched out in front of him. He draped an arm over his face against the rain. "That really sucked."
Danny sat heavily next to him and handed him a bottle. "You should drink something."
Steve sipped the water while Danny scanned the beach and plotted out his next steps. Shelter, food, water, and figure out how to help the rescue team locate them. A million priorities vied for the top spot while his body screamed at him to please, please just curl up and go to sleep.
"With the hurricane headed toward Hawaii, the closest part of the U.S. Fleet patrols the Marshall Islands," Steve said as he sat up. "If they waited until the storm hit then went to sea, it'll still take them at least ten hours to reach us."
"It's freaky when you can read my mind like that."
"What can I say? I could feel you over there thinking like me."
"The day I start thinking like you is the day I commit myself."
"We can wait on the signal fire," Steve suggested. He took a long pull of water then wiped his brow with his elbow. "If they received our Mayday, they already know where we are. And the trails we hacked through the jungle would be visible by air. In the morning, we'll switch on one of the cell phones. A SAR team should pick be able to pick up the GPS signal."
Despite a healthily skeptical outlook on life, Danny held onto to the positive. "We don't have to worry about water," he said, trying to keep upbeat.
"And the beach is filled with plenty of edible things."
"Yeah, well," Danny scrunched up his face. "I'll tackle that after I build us something to sleep in."
Danny watched a variety of emotions flicker across Steve's face. Anticipating the moment when Steve started to push up on his hands, Danny gently shoved him back down. "Stay put, will ya? You have a bum leg; you are not - I repeat not - going to do anything stupid like move around."
"Danny -"
"I will find you some stuff so you can make me a shoe. If I turn around at any point and find you doing anything other than shoe-making, I will tie you to that tree."
Steve visibly deflated, obviously annoyed and upset at his physical limitations; however, Danny couldn't let it affect him. "But before I do anything, I should check your leg."
Steve's hand shot up and grabbed Danny's wrist. "Don't," he said his voice steely. "You used up all the bandages from the medical kit, and all we have left are our clothes, and I'd rather wait before we have to resort to those." Danny didn't lower his arm and Steve stared at him, loosening his grip, his tone softer. "There is nothing more we can do for it right now, Danno. Trust me, I know from experience. You did an excellent job patching me up. The best thing we can do is leave it alone."
Danny hated being powerless but what choice did he have? "I'm deferring to your experience, babe. For right now. But I won't guarantee for how long."
***
"You should make the angle steeper," Steve said.
"It's already at forty-five degrees; if it gets any steeper it'll be vertical."
"If it's not steep enough, the rain won't shed down the side."
"Is there nothing you don't backseat drive?" Danny turned around and pointed accusingly at the pile of twigs by Steve's feet. "You're on fire duty; stick with that." Steve had already made him a shoe out of bark and vines, and it was getting harder to keep him occupied.
Steve grumbled under his breath as he arranged a bed of tiny twigs onto of the wet ground. Danny took the moment to survey his work. It wasn't fancy, but it would do the trick. A single limb between two palms served as the backbone, and dozens of branches were attached across it at a suitable angle, thank you very much. All he had to do was add more sticks and leaves to fill in the roof.
"It looks good, Danno."
"What? You don't want to measure it?"
But Steve didn't take the bait, so Danny wiped his hands over his soggy shirt and made his way to where Steve sat hunched over small pile of tinder. Several days of growth covered Steve's face; it was normally a sexy, rugged look, but now he looked haggard, exacerbated by his unhealthy, gray skin tone.
"You okay?" Steve asked.
Danny refused to laugh at the question. "I will be as soon as you're done slacking off here. Because I got to tell ya, organic is one thing, undercooked is another. And after the last few days we've had, I don't want to eat sushi."
"Sushi would require you to actually fish."
"And are you saying I can't fish?"
"I'm saying that shooting ahi doesn't count."
"Did I need you the last time I caught a tuna? No, I didn't. Despite your attempt to take over."
Steve smiled fondly. "That was some tuna, wasn't it?"
Danny watched as a tremble snaked through Steve's hands, causing him to knock over all his carefully arranged twigs, his grin completely gone.
"Do you really need all this for a simple fire?" Danny asked, sighing dramatically. "What's with the need to build a teepee out of sticks?"
"It's kindling," Steve growled. "And the pyramid is made of the driest material."
"Really?" Danny asked, still mocking, still poking at his hurt bear. "I got to tell you, based on what I've witnessed the past few days, I thought the Navy was more resourceful."
Steve grabbed the fallen twigs with much steadier fingers while Danny sat back and happily listened to instructions on the proper way to lay a bed of tinder.
***
Danny skirted the edge of the beach, watching the waves come to shore leaving white froth in their wake. He waited for the telltale trails in the sand as the ocean receded, snagging a crab before it burrowed into the beach.
"Gotcha," he yelled in triumph, dropping the little guy into his pack.
Danny preferred skyscrapers and hotdog stands, but as a kid, his summers had been spent on the shore. That was until Billy's drowning. He took a deep breath, forcing bad memories away. He could still hunt for crabs. There was no need to dig a deep hole, it was all about timing and grabbing every critter he could get his greedy little fingers on.
He glanced behind his shoulder at the shelter and fought the urge to go check on Steve, stamping out the fear clawing at his gut. This was more important - finding food and filling their stomachs. After that, he would gather water for the night, start a signal fire, and whatever else that needed to be done.
Because damn it to hell how lousy he felt - they'd made it to the beach. They'd survived five freaking days. This was supposed to be the easy part, the coast home, the part where they sat back and waited for rescue.
He could weep.
***
"I know how to cook crab, Steven, and even without garlic butter, these are damned tasty." Danny pulled off the shell and hungrily ate the chunks of meat underneath. He plunked his third one from the edge of the fire and twisted off the legs and claws. "Here, I even did all the hard work."
But Steve ignored his offering, long fingers curled around a knife while he shaved a twig. Steve was normally elegant with a blade, sexy even, but each slice was a little too focused, too forced. Danny resisted the overwhelming urge to grab the knife before Steve accidentally sliced a finger.
"Come on, you really need to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"And as I tell Grace - that's too bad."
Steve rested the back of his head against the tree behind him, the thump shaking the frame of leaves and sticks above them. He swallowed thickly. "I don't think I could keep it down."
"Just try a couple, babe." Danny nudged Steve's hand. "If you insist on acting like Grace, then I could pretend you're her when she was two and make little airplane noises while spoon feeding you."
"I'll eat if it'll get you to shut up."
Danny sat watching Steve nibble a little while the heat from the nearby fire slowly lulled Danny to sleep.
"We should get some shut eye," Steve said, his voice startling Danny awake.
He shook his head, rubbing a weary hand over his bearded face. His skin felt itchy, all his muscles overused. And ow, his hip and lower back were especially tender from the beating he'd taken in the mudslide. Sleep sounded fantastic.
But when he looked over at the beach, it was difficult to find the shoreline, sending a spike of anxiety through him. "It's getting dark. I need to make a signal fire."
He was surprised when Steve put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. "We'd need to build a pyre big enough for flames that could be seen from a distance." Steve took a breath, shaking his head. "And there aren't enough dry materials for that."
"But we have to build something."
"Wet wood makes a lot of smoke."
"Yeah, I've noticed." But Danny didn't know where Steve was going with his train of thought.
"Smoke can't be seen at night." Steve carefully curled himself on his left side. "We'll build a tree torch in the morning. It's big, but simple."
"I like simple."
Danny watched Steve huddle in on himself, looking miserable. "Come on, I washed our clothes in the ocean and set them by the fire. You'll feel better if you changed shirts."
And Danny tried not to think about the hundreds of miles and unknown weather conditions that separated them from rescue. Or how easy it was to pull Steve's shirt off and force his arms into a dry one. How Steve all but flopped back to the ground because he was so tired after changing.
All Danny cared about was lying next to him, letting Steve's head rest on his chest while Danny wrapped an arm around him.
"It's...actually gets cooler on the beach at night," Steve mumbled, snuggling closer.
"Then I guess it's a good thing I have you to keep me warm," Danny whispered, holding him tight.
***
Danny's arm itched, and he absently scratched at a patch of skin at elbow, but the itch wouldn't let up and he scratched harder, waking himself up in the process. He stretched his arms, careful not to hit the fragile roof, and smacking his lips to get rid of a foul taste lingering in his mouth. Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he blinked down at the ground and saw hundreds of ants scurrying over his pants.
He cursed, shaking his legs and knocking them off. Then he looked over at Steve and his blood boiled, the bastards were crawling all over his cargo-pants. He frantically started slapping them away, his eyes growing large when he saw them creeping over Steve's bare leg, across his dressings.
"Damn it," Danny growled. He quickly grabbed a bottle of water, dumping it over Steve's leg, handpicking the remaining ones off one by one. "Get off, you fuckers."
"What the hell?" Steve growled. He sounded awful.
"Some friends thought your leg made a good picnic."
Danny didn't mention that Steve, the lightest sleeper he'd ever met, hadn't even noticed. He looked up at Steve, lowering his voice. "I really think we should change your bandage."
Steve popped himself up on his elbows and looked at this leg, his mouth a thin line. He nodded reluctantly.
Danny touched Steve's sweaty face, his heart sinking at the heat emanating from Steve's skin. It'd only been a matter of time.
"All right, water then breakfast. But first." Danny grabbed Steve's pack and started pilfering through it until he found the Ziploc baggie with their phones. "It's time to let people know where we are. And if you try to argue with me, I'm going to smack you in the head."
Steve sighed, laying back down, rubbing both hands down his face. "Then we need to build a tree torch."
***
It didn't take long to find a tree that was far enough away from any others. The palm was young, only eight feet tall with enough leaves that hadn't been torn off by the hurricane. Many of the higher limbs were broken, but the lower ones were still intact. Danny pulled out the sticks Steve had stripped bare from his pack and loaded all the branches he could reach with the tinder.
Taking out a roll of medical tape, he cut small strips with his teeth, wrapping the pieces around the three biggest pieces of kindling. He lit the ends of the medical tape, watching it gradually ignite the tinder. Slowly, the ring of kindling started to burn, the living tree creating the fuel for a massive plume of smoke that would be visible for miles.
"Pretty cool," Danny said, admiring the simple ingenious of it all.
Stepping back, he looked up to the sky to relish the ocean breeze on his face, when he realized it had stopped raining.
***
"It's really amazing the coffee pot didn't shatter in your pack," Danny said, heating up more water.
"I bounced around mostly on my right side. That's when I must've caught my leg."
"Speaking of." Danny set the pot of water aside, tapping a finger on the handle. "Is the shirt ready?"
"Yeah, I cut it up and sterilized it the best I could with boiling water while you were gone."
Thank goodness, Steve still had some strips from Danny's tee that hadn't been used on the pig.
Danny dipped his pocketknife into the coffee pot, even though the metal wasn't going to touch Steve's flesh. "Are you sure there's no plant I can grind up to help with the pain?"
"Nothing...that's indigenous to this area."
"I could give you the last couple Tylenol?" Danny had given Steve a pill every few hours to help with the fever, although it hadn't kept it from steadily climbing.
"They won't help much. Better to save them for later."
Danny nodded. The infection was the biggest threat.
Steve took a deep breath and signaled that he was ready. Danny exhaled heavily, cutting away the wet, bloodstained bandages, careful not to jar the branch poking out. The skin around the wound was a puffy, angry red. Danny bit down on his bottom lip, forcing a calm exterior. Swallowing against his queasiness, he poured the water over the wound. Steve clawed at the ground, making the worst keening sounds.
Danny choked back his own painful sob, applying Steve's wet T-shirt in a ring around the wound and quickly wrapping the last of the thin roller bandage across the top and bottom of the knee, taping it in place. Feeling shaky, Danny tossed the dirty bandages outside the shelter with plans to burn them later. He sank down beside Steve, who hadn't reopened his eyes.
Danny swatted at a fly that buzzed around Steve's head, then rested his hand on his shoulder. "After this whole thing is over, I'm going somewhere where it's cold and covered with snow. No more tropical weather. Or sand, or anything that reminds me of an island."
Steve looked up, slightly dazed. "Don't think...it's snowing anywhere during the summer."
"You have a point. But I swear we don't have this kind of shit back home. We have Liberty State Park, where, by the way, you can see the Manhattan skyline."
"Can you now?"
"Yes, and Atlantic City. With twenty-four hour action. Casinos, theater -"
"And a big beach."
"Where I never went, thank you very much." Danny snapped his fingers. "Ohhh. Carlo's Bakeshop. Best bakery in Hoboken. I can still taste their chocolate covered cannolis. And man - Freddie's. I'd kill for their brick-oven pizza."
"You know of any places in Jersey that aren't connected to food?"
Danny stared at Steve, aghast. "Where would you like me to begin?"
***
"What's so great about the Yankees?" Steve asked.
"What's so great about...are you out of your mind?" Danny rolled his eyes for asking such a question, given his present company. "First off," he held up a finger in front of Steve's face. "They’re one of the oldest teams in the country. With a ton of history - you as a Navy guy should eat that up."
Steve smirked. "The New York Yankees."
"Hey, we don't have a major team back home. I spent many a family trip attending a Yankees game.”
"Nice view of the game?"
"Only the best." He smiled to himself at the memories, his heart aching at the thought of his family. "There's nothing better to do on a nice summer night - sip a beer, watch the game at the park."
"Sounds nice."
Danny looked down at Steve's flushed face and ran his fingers through Steve's sweat-slick hair. Danny didn't like the weakness in Steve's voice or how his body trembled. "Hey. You're not allowed to fall asleep while I talk about our national past time."
"Our national past time?" Steve's eyes fluttered closed as he took a labored breath. "Still prefer football."
"Hey, the Yankees are legendary." Danny stared at Steve's leg, willing the infection that was wreaking havoc to end. "Unlike the prowess of certain naval special forces."
Steve opened a fevered eye, glowering.
Danny continued stirring the pot. "Because for the whole, toughest, most elite badasses in the world, you're not exactly all that fierce. I mean, don't get me wrong. Hand you a weapon and you could take out a small army. But I'm surprised that a twig, a freaking piece of a tree, has slowed you down this much."
"It's a... temporary setback," Steve said.
The weak bravado was less than convincing. Danny bent over Steve, his voice challenging. "I thought you were supposed to jump over obstacles? Sidestep them, or wait - run over them."
That earned him a wan smile, but Steve didn't say anything else. And that was simply unacceptable. Danny brushed the back of his hand against Steve's forehead, cursing inwardly.
Danny grabbed a bottle of water, dribbling some over Steve's chest for the second time that hour. "I've seen your medals; are they just shiny pieces of tin -?"
"Danno."
"Yeah."
"Shut up."
Danny leaned over and kissed Steve's cheek. "Make me."
Steve lifted a shaky hand and stroked the side of Danny's neck with too-warm fingers. "I will."
Danny wrapped his hand around Steve's, squeezing it tight. He looked down at his empty water bottle, at the three discarded on the ground, and back up at the beach. They needed more water, Steve needed to cool down before - there was something coming toward them in the sky. Danny blinked.
He gently shook Steve's shoulder. "Steve. Steven. I think I see a helicopter approaching."
Steve's eyes flew opened, wide and unfocused. "Where? What model?"
"What kind of question is that? It's a damn helicopter! It's coming for us." Danny smacked his head on the roof in excitement. "Don't move," he said, pointing at Steve. "I'm going to meet it."
Steve tried pathetically to push up into a sitting position and Danny placed both hands on his shoulders. "Stand down, babe. I'll direct them here." He gave him a worn-out smile. "We're going home."
***
Danny hated helicopters. They were loud, menacing machines he associated with lunatic pilots. He could barely stand it when Steve was behind the controls, let alone some hotshot rescue guy, who happened to be a gal, but that didn't matter, because she was still cut from the same military cloth.
The flight was bumpy as hell, filled with people trying to prod and poke him. He got stuck with an IV needle and forced to lie down on a stretcher while he tried not to puke his guts out.
"Don't worry, sir. The wind's still rough, but we're almost to the carrier," a corpsman told him.
"Carrier?" Danny demanded.
A gloved hand gently pushed him back down and he craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse of Steve over the two guys in fatigues blocking his view. "How's Steve?" When no one answered him, he yelled louder over the rotor blades. "Hey! How's my friend?"
"Commander McGarrett is going to be fine, sir," the corpsman told him. "Now please remain still; we're about to begin our approach."
Danny was summarily strapped down even tighter to his gurney before the helicopter started to shake like crazy.
***
His bed was soft, the sheets scratchy, and his skin stank of topical ointment. Danny sat up, his brain fuzzy as he stared at the IV and pulse thing clipped to his finger.
"Hey," he yelled at a guy in blue fatigues and a lab coat walking passed his cubicle. "Excuse me?"
The guy - a physician, he thought, based on the stethoscope and demeanor - crossed his hands in front of him. "How are you feeling, Mr. Williams?"
"How am I feeling?" Danny waved a hand down his body. "I'm in a hospital gown, which I don't even remember changing into," and he sniffed at the pink coating all over his skin. "I smell like a medicine cabinet, not to mention my brain feels like it's tied to a helium balloon."
"We're treating you for dehydration and giving you something to re-balance your electrolytes." The guy studied him. "You have a number of deep bruises and might feel a little light-headed from the analgesic and antihistamine injection. It's understandable that you were unable to stay awake when we applied the topical cream to all your insect bites."
Danny was appalled. "Are you saying I passed out?"
"You just went through a major ordeal; you were physically exhausted."
"How long have I've been asleep?"
"Several hours."
"And what about Steve?" Danny couldn't believe he hadn't been there when Steve received treatment. "Where is he? Is he okay?"
The doc stepped closer; the guy was in his early forties with shorn blonde hair. Danny hadn't even realized he'd started to sit up straighter in bed. "Commander McGarrett is resting comfortably after surgery."
Even though it was inevitable, hearing the word surgery unsettled him. "And he's going to be okay?"
Danny waited for the doc to fill him, but he was met with silence and an uncomfortable expression. If this guy was going to pull out the patient-confidentiality clause, he had another thing coming.
"Listen here," Danny checked the bars on the man's collar. "Lieutenant. Commander McGarrett and I are partners and members of Five-O, the Governor of Hawaii's Special Task Force. We just survived a plane crash and over five days in the jungle during a freaking hurricane. You can damned well tell me how he's doing, or I'll find someone who can."
The lieutenant's mouth twitched. "The branch in the commander's thigh was completely removed and the muscle and tendon damage repaired. He has an infection we're treating aggressively with broad-spectrum antibiotics, and he's still running a low-grade fever, which we're monitoring. But we're very confident he'll make a full recovery. "
"Yeah?" Danny threw his sheet aside. "We'll see about that."
"Sir, you can't -"
"I can't what? Walk a few steps? Roll my IV pole? I watch NCIS; I know infirmaries are the size of a shoebox."
The lieutenant didn't stand a chance against Danny's resoluteness.
***
Sickbay was warren of brightly lit rooms; everything was white and stuffed with medical equipment. Danny wore a robe over his gown with slippers that did little for his achy feet. He rolled his IV pole, maneuvering between people in fatigues as he made his way to the post-op area.
His doc followed him until they reached the darkened cubical area where Steve was tucked away. "I'll come back in a little while to escort you back to your bed," he said before leaving.
There wasn't a chair to pull out, so Danny stood by the curtain. A sheet covered Steve except for his right leg, which was propped up on a pillow, his thigh swathed in heavy bandages. Someone had shaved him and his face looked relaxed, the tips of his cheek slightly pink from the fever. He also stank like a medicine cabinet from topical ointment.
"Should you be out of bed?"
Danny shook his head at Steve's question. Of course, he was awake. "No, I shouldn't, seeing as the last several days have been hell on earth, and I actually prefer the idea of lounging in bed, even if they're the cheapest low-bid mattresses ever built."
Steve wiped at his eyes, grimacing when he tugged on his IV. "They're actually more comfortable than a bunk."
"Good to know, considering we're probably stuck on this boat until we return to Hawaii."
"Doubt a carrier patrolling this part of the Pacific would return to Pearl." Steve took a breath. "We'll probably get flown out with the next supply run."
Danny shifted his weight from one sore foot to the other. "Oh, goody, I'm sure they'll find room for us between the mail and boxes of tinned meat."
"MREs haven't had tinned meat in over a decade."
Steve shifted sideways in bed, grimacing with the movement.
Danny threw up his hands and moved closer. "Hey, what do you think you're doing? It doesn't matter if you're drugged to the gills, does it? You'll still find a way to fidget."
"I was...making room...for you to sit."
Danny huffed, shaking his head. He unlocked the railing and pushed it down, carefully resting a hip until he sat perched on the left side of the bed. "You're an idiot."
"Yeah, yeah," Steve said in a singsong voice. "And what does that make you?"
"Smarter."
"Hmm." Steve smiled sloppily.
Danny glanced down at Steve's bum leg then up at his face. "Do you know how long you'll be out of commission?"
"Six weeks. But I wouldn't exactly call it out of commission."
"You wouldn't?"
"No, more like winged."
"So, you're a winged SEAL." Steve glowered at him, and it was ridiculously adorable. "You're winged, and we're both probably going to have some time off on our hands when we get back to Oahu."
Steve regarded him with a little more focus, arching an eyebrow. "And I gather you have plans on how we're going to spend it?"
"Somewhere as far as possible from anything resembling an island, a tree fort, or a damned cave."
Danny swallowed, working up his nerve, Steve watching him with a renewed sense of alertness. It wasn't a surprise that the man fought against the drugs. It was pure McGarrett.
"When Denning suspends us, I want to go to Jersey with Grace, and I want..." Danny cleared his throat, glancing around to ensure their privacy. "And I want you to come with me, so I can take you to all the places I told you about. Maybe even meet my parents... That is. If you want to?"
He waited, unable to tear his gaze from Steve's face as his eyes went wide. Danny's chest tightened.
Steve opened his mouth and wet his bottom lip, his voice thick. "Yeah, Danno. I'd love that."
Danny burst into a huge grin and bent over to envelope Steve in a hug, Steve crushing him back with his octopus arms.
Danny finally pulled away and kissed him, saying against Steve's lips, "And if you behave, maybe we'll grab a beer at the Flying Fish brewery, maybe even take in a Yankees game."
"Then I'll take you to your spa treatment," Steve whispered back with a laugh.
***
fini-