Someone To Watch Over Me
Steve McGarrett was miserable.
It was a beautiful day in Hawaii, temperatures in the upper 70's, not a cloud in the sky. The breeze drifted off the ocean, across the lanai and in through the open patio doors, carrying with it the scent of the hibiscus that ringed the McGarrett home. People across the continental United States would have given essential and well-loved body parts to be there, escaping another frigid winter.
But, as Steve lay on his couch, left leg elevated by pillows to support the weight of a newly-added cast that ran from his knee to the middle of his foot, he decided he would rather be anywhere, anyone, but himself, here, now. He was still groggy from the pain meds he had taken (Steve being Steve, he took a reduced dose, yet they still knocked him out for awhile), but could remember every detail of what happened. The usual 5-0 fun had transpired: crime, chase, gunplay on a cliff. Unfortunately for Steve, he was too close to the edge when a soft spot gave way under his weight. He went ass over teakettle and landed in ED.
The good news: the break wasn't that bad, and the bone was easy to set. No screws, pins or surgery necessary. Six weeks from now, when the cast was off, Steve would be as good as new. Or, as good as Steve, banged-up, bruised, scarred and tattooed Steve, would ever get. The other good news was that today, Steve had decided to wear underwear. Most days, the commando went commando. So, when the crew in ED had to slit the left leg of his cargo pants - his favorite cargo pants - from ankle to just at his hip and cut around the circumference of his thigh to get at his leg, no one was embarrassed that the lieutenant commander might have accidentally been hanging brain, as Danny had so eloquently stated.
Ah, Danny. The bad news. Besides the loss of his best work gear (technically, he still had 19 pairs of cargoes upstairs in his closet), Steve's world had been commandeered by his partner Danny Williams, who was hell-bent on nursing the injured McGarrett back to health. Currently, this consisted of Danny cooking dinner in Steve's kitchen; Steve hated people in his kitchen.
"Well, look who's awake. Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," Danny said - or almost sang - as he entered the living room, carrying a tray with Steve's meal. As he walked towards the couch, Danny started whistling. Again. He had been whistling the entire time he was cooking and it had torn through Steve's unconsciousness. All Steve could remember: his dreams had to do with demented elves working.
"Why are you so happy?" Steve asked. But happy didn't seem to cover it. Danny was positively beaming, as he laid the tray on the coffee table.
"Well, Steven, I'm glad you asked. You see, it's about payback, my friend. Payback for every time I so much as get a hangnail, you feel the need to wrap me in swaddling clothes, bundle me up to your breast and rock me in your arms 'til I'm all better. In case you hadn't noticed, I made it 35 years without needing a mother hen. And, most of the time when I've been injured since meeting you, it's been your fault." Danny delivered all of this in a calm, even tone, never once raising his voice or the smile leaving his lips. "And now, love of my life, it's your turn to see what it feels like."
"So, you don't like the way I cared for you when you hurt your knee?" A look, akin to wounded, crossed Steve's face.
"Care? You, Steven, go light-years beyond care. The knee. The gunshot wound. The poisoning. Every scrape, bump and bruise. You overdo it the way you overdo the apprehension of suspects. Why use a bullet when a rocket launcher will do?" Danny leaned in and kissed his patient's forehead, as he tucked a napkin into the collar of Steve's shirt.
"A normal reaction," Danny continued, as he retrieved the wheeled chair from Steve's desk, "would be to ask me something like, Do you want me to throw your laundry in with mine? Can I make you something special for dinner? When my knee went, you moved me in here and wouldn't let me off your couch for two fucking weeks. You worked from home and carried me from the bed to the couch to the bathroom and back again. You wanted to brush my teeth. You wanted to bathe me."
Danny sat down next to Steve. "And, worst of all," he finished, leaning in closer and speaking low through gritted teeth, "you wouldn't let me hold the goddamned remote."
A smile tugged at the corners of Steve's mouth. "I was afraid you'd watch all of those Housewives of New Jersey marathons. Your obsession with that show is unhealthy. I think I have the number of a good shrink for you."
"Enough!" Danny snapped, raising a fork, laden with food, to Steve's mouth. "Now, open wide. It's time for Maverick to land. Vroooooooom!!!"
"No, you're not feeding me." Steve turned his head away from Danny like a petulant child. "And, I fucking hate Top Gun," he added, speaking to the wall. "So unrealistic."
"Fine. It can be a choo-choo. Whatever you'd like."
Steve waited a second, then looked back at Danny with a grin and a gleam in his eye. "I'd like you, Danno. C'mere," he said, losing his bib as he reached for his partner. The drugs were wearing off, the leg pain wasn't unbearable and Danny's attempts at alpha-male dominance were turning Steve on.
"Oh, no you don't." Danny dropped the plate on the coffee table and rolled away from Steve in one, deft movement. "I know the tricks the Navy taught you. One Vulcan nerve pinch, I'm out cold and you and your gimpy leg are joyriding in the Camaro. And, you suck at driving on your best days."
"Danny, I studied at Annapolis, not Starfleet Academy. Now, get over here." Steve started rocking his prone self, trying to get his horizontal body vertical. If Danny was reluctant to come to Steve, Steve could solve that.
"Lie back down, Earthquake. Or, I'll use special means to get you to capitulate."
Steve stopped, his leg still elevated. "You forgot the part where you'll rub your hands together and cackle like an evil scientist."
"Mwah, hah, hah," Danny laughed, as hammy as he could. He grabbed a decorative peacock feather that was tucked into a floor vase. "I know Superman's kryptonite."
"Don't you dare, Daniel."
"Daniel? Really? Now, you're forcing me to." Danny took the feather end and lightly brushed it over the exposed sole of Steve's immobilized foot. "Stay still."
"So help me God, Danny," Steve huffed, trying to look serious, stifle a giggle and breathe, all at the same time. "When I get my hands on you..."
"You'll do what? Idle threats, McGarrett." Danny looked quite satisfied with himself. He increased the pressure and swiftness of motion against Steve's foot, ever so slightly. "Down, boy."
"Danny..." was all Steve said, pure tone and intent. He found the momentum to get himself partially off of the couch but, it wasn't enough. Steve tumbled backwards with a force that Danny later swore should have shattered all four couch legs. And, the noise Steve made, a combination of a strangled cry, searing pain and the wind being knocked out of him, stopped Danny's heart on the spot. It was like watching Steve disappear down the face of the cliff all over again.
"Babe?!" Danny dropped the feather and closed the distance to Steve's side in no time flat. Once again, Danny had gone too far and had, most likely, killed Steve.
Steve lunged forward, grabbed Danny and wrapped him in an octopus clench. "Gotcha, Danno."
Danny felt Steve's erection as they fell back against the couch and Steve planted a big, wet kiss on Danny's cheek. "And, the award for Best Performance by the Guy Who's Going to Fuck Danny Williams Senseless goes to...me." Now, Steve was all smiles.
"I'd like to thank the Academy for this," Steve continued, addressing thin air, then gesturing with his head towards Danny, who (kind of) squirmed and (somewhat) wriggled in a pathetic attempt to get free. "It'll fit perfectly on my mantel."
"What did I say about short jokes, McGarrett? And, I'm not an it."
"No, you are most definitely a he." Steve released Danny from the bear hug, kissed him on the lips and palmed his partner's crotch. "Nice rail."
"Shut up, you," Danny hissed, his face growing three shades redder. A couple of heartbeats later, Danny sighed and relaxed. He leaned down and met Steve in another kiss, soft, sweet and gentle. He laid his head on Steve's shoulder, his nose barely nudging Steve's jaw stubble. "How badly does it hurt?"
"Not the worst broken bone I've had. I'll probably regret falling backwards like that, but it was worth it. The look on your face, the sound in your voice. You're just too damn easy, Danno."
"I am not easy, you big oaf," Danny declared, lightly head-butting Steve's shoulder.
"Well, that way, too." Steve grinned his cheesiest, goofiest, grin of grins down at Danny. "Put up any front you want. But, you wear your heart on your sleeve. You love me, you care about me. And deep down, you like that I care for you."
"Great detective work; you should join 5-0," Danny snarked. "I called you 'love of my life' not five minutes ago. And, of course I care. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, on top of you, right now."
"And?" Steve inquired.
"And, I like that you care for me," Danny admitted, begrudgingly, "you idiot. Not how you do it, mind you. Which, again, needs to be so dialed back from 100 just to come close to how normal people in polite society behave."
Steve was content with the answer, smiled and kissed the top of Danny's head. The room was actually quiet for a minute as Steve closed his eyes.
"Should I be laying on you like this?"
"Just don't put your full weight on me. Otherwise, I might end up in traction," Steve chuckled.
"Steve McGarrett totally immobilized," Danny said, not realizing the thought was escaping his lips. He propped himself up and rested his forehead against Steve's, his baby blues twinkling with mischief. "I could put funny hats on you. Dress you up like a French maid. Invite Chin and Kono over. The possibilities are endless. And, you wouldn't be able to do a thing."
"Okay, one," Steve began, his head still connected to Danny's, their eyes locked in an unblinking gaze. "Unless you kill me, I will recover. And, you'll pray for the days when I bundled you to my breast."
"And two?" Danny taunted, his smile as wide as Kamekona's waist and not believing one word of Steve's threats.
"And two. You're sick, Danno. You know that, don't you?"
"I do, indeed, Steven. I do, indeed." Danny laughed and planted kisses along Steve's neck and shoulder, his hand slipping down until it rested in his partner's lap. Something hot and hard and aching to break free was waiting. Danny squeezed the fabric surrounding it and gave it a few slow, loving strokes. Steve moaned.
Danny swung his legs off the couch and sat upright. "Let's get you upstairs."
"But, what about dinner?"
"Now you want food?" Danny asked, his face radiating his dumbfounded exasperation. "Honestly, McGarrett, you'll drive me to drink. I offer you a meal; you wanna grope me. I offer you a sloppy, wet blow job in the comfort of your own bed and you wanna eat."
"Oh, there's a blow job?" Steve smirked. "You didn't say anything about a blow job."
Danny shot him a mock-angry glare as he got off the couch. "It was implied."
Steve laughed as Danny retrieved the crutches the ED had provided. He did his best to support Steve's weight and avoid reinjuring his bad knee, as Steve carefully got himself up and off the couch.
"We really should get you a cane, like the one I had," Danny suggested. "Then, when you're clomping around the office, bitching and moaning in a piss-poor mood, I can call you House.
"I love you, too, Danno," Steve said, his voice echoing into the hallway as they headed for the stairs.
-----
Steve awoke with a start. How long had he been out? He took a deep breath and stretched and tried to gauge the time that had passed by noting how much of the daylight had faded. Steve concentrated hard (the sleep he had just come back from was a deep and sound sleep) and focused on the last things he could remember to reconnect him to reality: Danny getting him off with a particularly hot, patented Williams blow job and watching one of his favorite movies, Varsity Blues, as Danny left to run some errands. Steve heard footsteps tromping up the stairs.
"How's my favorite patient?" Danny asked, banging into the bedroom, lugging two large suitcases and what Steve assumed was Danny's laptop, in an overstuffed messenger bag, hanging at his side. He looked like a tourist who had just disembarked from his cruise ship. The only things missing were a lei and an umbrella drink.
"Better, until I saw all this," Steve replied. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Danny dropped the suitcases in the corner and untangled himself from the messenger bag. "Moving in."
"I don't remember inviting you to move in," Steve deadpanned, sitting up and crossing his arms. But, the smile spreading across his face gave away what was actually running through his mind: 24/7 Danno. Hot-and-cold-running Danno. My Danno.
"You didn't ask me when I was injured," Danny offered, "and you kept me here as your prisoner." Steve sighed, bracing himself for another of Danny's rants. "Again, payback. And, don't worry. It's not gonna be permanent. I like my man-cave."
"Your hovel."
"Fuck you," Danny said with a grin. "But, you gotta clear me some drawer space for socks, underwear and other unmentionables."
"The French maid outfit?" Steve asked.
"That goes in the closet. Which I need space in, too. For dress shirts, slacks and ties. I think I brought about a hundred ties with me."
Steve covered his face with both hands and moaned. "One of these days, Danny, I'm gonna strap you to the bed with those things."
"Take your best shot, babe. I also need room in the medicine chest, a shelf or two in the fridge." Danny paused and looked at Steve, blue eyes sparkling. "Claustrophobic, yet?"
"Not at all." Steve patted the mattress next to him.
"One minute," Danny said, raising his index finger for emphasis, as he turned from Steve and began fishing in the suitcases.
As he took in the view of Danny's ass, all muscled and sweet and wiggling at him, Steve realized how lucky he was to see Danny away from the office and out of his button-down existence. His partner had traded his usual dress shirt and tie for a faded Springsteen tee, shorts and sandals. Yes, sandals. And, if Steve was really, truly lucky, Danno was going commando, too.
"Close your eyes and stick out your hand," Danny said, as he plopped down beside Steve.
"Danny, if you want a hand job, just ask," Steve teased, eyes wide and grinning like a fool.
"I'm keeping a list, McGarrett. That's one upside the head I owe you when you feel better. Now, gimme your hand." Steve did as he was ordered, but kept his eyes open. "I've had this for awhile and was thinking of the best time to give it to you." Danny placed a small box in Steve's palm, from one of the better jewelry stores on the island.
Steve was on a roll. "But, it's too soon. And, I'm not really a diamond-ring-kind-of-boy." Steve leaned over and kissed Danny, open-mouthed and with plenty of tongue.
"Behave, you," Danny barked. "Open it." Inside the box was a sterling silver St. Michael medal on a chain. "Since Kono got mine when she graduated from the academy, I've needed a new one. And, with you as my partner, I figured sooner, rather than later, was better." Danny tilted his head and gestured at Steve's broken leg.
"Yes, I get it. Subtle."
"Don't interrupt; I'm having a moment here." Danny took the chain from the box and the medal spun back and forth in front of Steve. "Now, St. Michael is the protector of police officers and soldiers. And, when I went online, I found there were different designs besides the one I'd always had." Danny flipped over the medal and held it out for Steve to see. A bald eagle, grasping a large anchor in its talons, took up most of the reverse and the words 'UNITED STATES NAVY' circled the edge. Danny laid the medal on Steve's chest and snaked the chain behind his neck, clasping it shut. "I just want you to be safe," he said and kissed Steve on the cheek.
Steve turned his head to return Danny's kiss, but a glint of metal caught his eye, right at the neckline of Danny's t-shirt. He tugged at the fabric and exposed a silver chain, identical to the one he was now wearing. He traced the line of metal and found something newly familiar at Danny's throat. Steve flipped it over and smiled.
"I would never use the words 'perfect' or 'destiny' to describe...this ," Danny said, his hands flailing in their usual manner, trying to encompass every aspect of their relationship in one, neat entity, "because A, that's really cheesy, and B, that's not us. But, when I saw these, it just felt right."
"And," he continued, "since there's absolutely no fucking way I'm getting your name tattooed on me, I figured this is the best way to show our connection."
Steve laughed and ran his fingers through Danny's hair, pulling Danny to him and brushing their lips together. Their kiss became longer and hotter and more intense, and it's a good thing he was lying down, because Steve was getting lightheaded. And aroused. Again.
But, it was Danny who broke the kiss. "Whoa. Let a guy breathe, McGarrett," he said, just this side of panting.
Steve only smiled, his eyelids heavy and looking as content as he did after marathon sex. He pulled the medal away from his chest and admired both sides of it. "This may be the greatest gift I've ever gotten. Thank you, Daniel."
"Again, with the Daniel?"
"You don't like it?"
Danny paused for a moment, rolling the sound of his own name around in his ear, like a sommelier savoring the finest of wines. "Actually, Steven," he whispered, "I love it when you say my name." Danny gave Steve a soft kiss, then repositioned himself, and rested Steve's head on his shoulder.
And, Steve decided his situation wasn't so bad after all.