H50 fic
Title: Semtex, séances and something else
Rating: PG
Pairing: Steve/Danno
Summary: Danny talks a lot. Doesn’t mean he actually enjoys talking to dead people. Psychic AU.
Author’s note: You’ve read right. I said Psychic AU. Yes, my imagination apparently went off the deep end… but let’s focus on the positive. At least it still provides Steve/Danno slash! Length-wise this got a little outa hand, so once again I felt hesitant to burden a beta with it. Sorry, feel free to nit-pick. Should I ever finish the next installments of this verse I promise to find someone to proof-read and whip it into some kind of shape. Ye have been warned.
Warnings/Spoilers: There are a number of lines and situations that will be familiar from the first couple of episodes, because originality is for losers this is an altered mashed-up AU-version of events.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit. A girl can dream, though…
The third time McGarrett appears to him Danny just says, “Fuck off.” It’s not how this works and he knows that well enough by now. He derives no small amount of satisfaction from the words nonetheless. McGarrett is one persistent fucker. He’s one of the more solid apparitions, and Danny can just tell this one is gonna be trouble.
“My son is a Navy SEAL. Give him my message.”
It’s the same spiel as last time. The words short and clipped.
“Yeah, we covered that already,” Danny says, waving his hands about to get the point across this time. “Your son is the head of the governor’s fucking task force. I’ve heard some stories. I’m not going up to that man saying those words. I’d get arrested or beheaded or whatever backwater method of corporal punishment is still enforced on this pineapple-infested hellhole.”
McGarrett doesn’t react to his rant. Ghosts rarely ever listen. Too self-obsessed that’s their problem. He just stares Danny down with his creepy dead eyes. Danny has had too many of these encounters to still be intimidated by a ghost giving him the old evil eye while he’s as good as naked. And that right there is half his problem. Sometimes he really, really hates his life.
“Fine,” he announces throwing his hands up in defeat. “I’ll go talk to him.”
He’s talking to thin air. Literally, since the apparition has simply vanished.
“No fucking manners,” Danny mutters and finishes getting dressed hurriedly. He gets to bring Gracie to school today and doesn’t want to be late for that. There’s no need to give his ex-wife another reason to lecture him or stick her lawyers on him again. Rachel never understood that ghosts don’t stick to a freaking schedule.
He calls one of his contacts at HPD on the way over to Rachel’s to find out how to get in contact with the governor’s task force. Apparently there’s a major hostage situation at one of the banks downtown and the whole team is on side. After dropping Gracie off and wallowing over the fact that he gets to spend all too little time with her, he decides to swing by the crime scene and see if he can get a hold of McGarrett’s son.
The place is swarming with cops and spectators. There is whole array of ghoulish onlookers assembled, crouching up for a better look, and a number of police officers trying to keep the masses behind the barrier. Sometimes he wonders if that would be him now. If this is what he would be doing if he weren’t communicating with ghosts all the freaking time.
Danny actually finished police academy back in Jersey and spent a few crazy months working as a cop, before he realized that being a psychic did not help on the job at all. Saying ‘the ghost of the murder victim told me he was the killer’ does not actually hold up in court and is also a sure way off getting people to think you are a complete nut case. Danny’s faced some serious mockery in his time, but boy, cops could be vicious. He decided to switch to the private sector when it became clear that things were not gonna work out for him on the force.
Danny spots a familiar face at the edge of the barrier. Detective Kaleo was the lead detective on a case he worked as a police consultant a couple of weeks back. A very unpleasant double murder that only got solved because of Danny’s insights. Not that he got any recognition for that. Cops are the same everywhere and being upstaged by a psychic police consultant never sits well with them. To his credit Kaleo didn’t give him much stick upfront, a few unimaginative jokes and the usual air of ‘your circus-act is so beneath me’ but nothing worse than that. Kaleo’s not the type to offend anyone who might eventually prove useful to him. He’s the kind of nasty fucker who runs with all your input for lack of any own leads and then takes all the credit for solving the case himself.
Danny shoulders his way trough the crowd and gets vaguely distracted by the sight of the nice firm ass of one of Kaleo’s colleagues. The guy is bending down to fiddle with some surveillance equipment or something, and Danny decides it’s not such a bad day after all. Which, of course, means that everything is going to go downhill from here.
“Look, it’s the Ghostbuster,” Kaleo sneers when he spots him.
“Ha, ha! How very original, detective. I’ve never heard that one before. Just point me in the direction of Steve McGarrett, will you?”
The guy whose ass he’s just been checking out not so surreptitiously turns around and stares at him inquiringly. The front view ain’t half bad either.
“I’m Steve McGarrett. How can I help you?”
Great, Danny thinks sighing inwardly. Just his luck, he gets to tell Commander Hot Stuff that he’s just talked to his dead father. This is gonna be fun. You don’t need to be able to see auras to know that McGarrett carries a huge chip on his shoulder. Danny prefers to get to the unpleasant part of these situations right away. No need to beat around the bush.
“I’ve got a message from your father.”
“My father is dead,” Hotty McHot states frowning darkly.
“Believe me, I’m aware of that fact.”
“You saying you spoke to my dead father?”
“Wow, got it in one. Stunning detective skills, I might add,” Danny says, giving McGarrett the thumbs up. So far this is going really well. “Your dad said to tell you, ‘I love you, champ’.”
“My father never called me champ.”
McGarrett crosses his arms in front of his chest, flexing his impressive biceps, and frowns at him some more, distrust written all over his stony features. Wow, there’s a shocker. Just once Danny would like to talk to someone who’d simply accept the fact that Danny carries a message from a deceased loved one. A simple little ‘thanks for your trouble no questions asked’-sort of affair. Is that really too much to ask for?
“It’s his message, not mine. Figure it out yourself,” he says gruffly and turns to leave when something catches his eye.
“Oh, and you might wanna talk to that guy,” he adds pointing at a man sitting in the back of an ambulance. “He has guilty written all over him.”
With that he leaves, hoping against his better judgment that that will be the end of it.
….
The next morning Danny’s breakfast gets cut short by someone knocking on his door jackhammer-style. It’s way too early. The rain is sloshing down like crazy and somehow it’s still hot as hell. Danny really, really hates Hawaii. He’s already in a less than ideal mood when he opens the door.
“Commander McGarrett,” he says, only marginally surprised. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The guy just wordlessly shoulders his way past Danny.
“Please, do come in,” Danny mutters sarcastically and closes the door behind them.
Steve McGarrett whirls around to face him.
“How’d you know,” he asks in what sounds like an accusation. “How’d you know about the box?”
“What box?”
“My father’s tool box. The one that says ‘CHAMP’.”
“Do you suffer from dementia, or something,” Danny asks, pressing a finger to his temple. “I distinctly remember explaining that it was a message from your dad.”
“That you did. I just don’t believe you.”
“That’s hardly my problem now, is it?”
They seem to have reached a stalemate. McGarrett lets his gaze travel over Danny’s humble dwellings and wrinkles his brow. It’s not exactly glamorous but there is no need to look this disgusted by it.
“You actually live here,” he asks like the idea is just to horribly repulsive to be true.
“No, I just drop by from time to time to relax from all the hustle and bustle at my seaside resort villa,” Danny replies dryly. “Was there anything else you wanted, Commander?”
“Call me Steve,” Steve offers magnanimously like he’s bestowing some huge freaking honor on Danny. Just because he’s stupidly attractive and smiling winsomely doesn’t mean Danny is going to fall for it. He’s not that desperate. Somehow he finds himself saying, “The name’s Danny,” and shaking hands with Steve, nonetheless.
“Is this were we exchange friendship bracelets? Because not that this isn’t fun but I do have some things to get back to.”
Mainly finishing his breakfast but Steve doesn’t need to know that. It’s not like he’s actually listening to Danny either way.
“You’ve only been to Hawaii six month,” he states consulting the file in his hand. “And you’ve already helped solve eight HPD cases.”
“Wait, you run a background check on me?” Danny replies, taken aback.
Steve keeps on ignoring him and continues, “Divorced. Single. One kid. You actually did very well in Jersey, managed to make quite a name for yourself. I take it you came here for your daughter. Your ex has custody; you’ve got visitation. That leaves you with a lot of spare time. You setting up shop in Hawaii permanently?”
“I don’t see how this is any of your business,” Danny spits out and can actually feel the anger rising. This guy is unbelievable. Governor’s task force or not there is no way that he’s going to stand for this. “And whatever seminar on interrogation techniques you took, I’d ask for my money back.”
Steve stares at him like he’s trying to make his head explode with the sheer force of his military-killing-machine-laser-glare, and Danny’s having none of it.
“Look, I know where you got that stare from and believe you me it’s much more terrifying from the eyes of a dead man. So you can fuck right off,” he says getting up in McGarrett’s personal space. “And since you somehow didn’t quite get the hint the first two times, this? Is me asking you to leave.”
McGarrett actually grins at him. Apparently he’s the kind of guy who likes people that don’t take his crap and show a bit of backbone. Just fucking figures.
“I’m actually here to offer you a job.”
“Not interested,” Danny shoots back immediately.
“It pays well,” Steve says casually and gives Danny’s apartment another cursory glance. “I’m thinking you could use the money.”
He may have a point, but Danny’s got no problem telling him to stick it where the sun don’t shine even so. He has pride in spades. It’s always been his problem. And then he thinks of Step-Stan, the businessman with the multi-million-dollar projects all around the world and his freaking mansion who gets to shower Danny’s daughter with expensive gifts whenever he feels like it.
“Ghosts,” he tells Steve with an easy shrug of the shoulders, “Just don’t care about me paying the rent. Buggers rarely turn up with something useful. Investment tips that’s what I’d like, but no, it’s all ‘deliver this message to so and so’.”
He’s effectively given in and Steve is wearing a self-satisfied smile that means he knows it, too.
“Don’t you do séances or something,” he asks, and Danny can’t tell whether he is being serious or if he’s yanking Danny’s chain.
“What? Incense, crystal balls and Ouija boards? Do I look like that kind of guy to you?”
Steve looks him up and down with the sort of intense focus they probably teach you at the Special Forces. Presumably you get some sort of medal if you manage to turn some unsuspecting victim into an actual puddle. Danny’s inordinately proud at himself for not squirming.
“You don’t look very ethereal,” Steve concedes with a big ol’ smirk.
“Well, excuse me for not living up to your pre-conceived notions of what a psychic should look like,” Danny replies, and is about to give Steve a piece of his mind when he notices that Steve hasn’t stopped mustering him. In fact, he is on the receiving end of a look.
“What is it now,” he asks, dangerously close to exasperation.
“Your tie. Nobody wears a tie in Hawaii.”
“I like to look professional.”
“You’re a psychic PI,” Steve says with the sort of inflection that seems to imply that professionalism is not something he associates with that particular occupation.
“We prefer the term ‘extraordinarily gifted’,” Danny replies just to irk Commander Holier Than Thou.
Something in Steve’s eyes lights up like there is a pun he’s dying to make on the tip of his tongue, but then he catches himself, straightens up and becomes instantly more rigid. His whole posture screams military bearing. Danny watches Steve visibly reminding himself that he’s not here for idle chitchat and can’t quite decide whether this should piss him off or amuse him. He goes for a raised eyebrow on the basis that you can never go wrong with that.
“I need you to come talk to a few people with me,” Steve states with that sharp, confident note of someone used to giving orders.
“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special,” Danny can’t help but quip.
He doesn’t know why he’s grabbing his keys and following Steve out of the door, but he makes a point of telling himself that it’s got nothing to do with long lashes, eyes that stare right into your soul or a v-neck that leaves very little to the imagination. That way madness lies.
“So, you mind telling me what’s going on? This about your father’s toolbox,” he asks once they hit the road.
Steve shakes his head and Danny’s gaze lingers a little to long on his profile. The man, he determines, is almost stunningly beautiful. It throws Danny for a bit of a loop. How the hell can a simple jaw line look this perfect? Danny never considered himself to be a superficial kind of guy and, yet, here he is practically drooling over the other man like he’s the last piece of chocolate cake at the all-you-can-eat buffet. It must be all this unnatural heat getting to him at long last.
“No, this is about the guy at the crime scene yesterday. How’d you know he was in on the job? A ghost tell you?”
Danny decides he doesn’t like Steve’s tone, which helps actually. If he were warm and approachable on top of everything else, Danny would be in a world of trouble. Trouble he’s pretty sure he’s not ready for.
“Uh, sarcasm. How refreshing,” he exclaims with a sigh. “I know people on this island persist on raping the English language, but I thought you were at least capable of understanding it. As I told you yesterday, it was written all over him.”
“And what does that mean exactly?”
“It means exactly what I said. His whole aura read ‘guilty’.”
Steve turns to stare at him in disbelief.
“You telling me you read auras? Seriously?”
Danny hates this part. The part where people expect him to explain stuff he doesn’t even understand himself. He’s been over it a hundred times and is still no closer to the truth. He wishes people would ask him to explain how and why he breathes. Not that he could explain that any better, but it would make for a nice change.
“Look, I don’t know. This whole psychic-gig did not exactly come with a manual. Sometimes I see people’s auras. Sometimes I don’t. My best bet is that some people broadcast a lot more than others. Mostly it’s just personality traits. Things you pick up on after a few seconds in the person’s company anyway. If something is an integrate part of someone’s personality it shows in that person’s aura. Particularly when they tend to project. And really strong emotions? They always show. So I can tell you if someone feels strong guilt or anger or lust or whatever, but I can’t necessarily tell you why.”
“Can you read my aura,” Steve asks skeptically.
Danny doesn’t mean to laugh out loud, but he can’t help it either.
“You, my friend, are not the projecting type,” he says, shaking his head still chuckling lightly. “All I can read is what everyone else sees as well, ‘back off’ in big red letters.”
For some reason Steve seems pleased with that answer.
“Two sisters were abducted on their way home from a party, yesterday,” he tells Danny after a moment. “This morning one of them turned up dead and the other one is still missing. We need to find her fast. I don’t believe in that psychic crap but we’ve got no good leads at the moment and the situation is urgent.”
By all means necessary. Danny gets that. Desperation is the reason he gets hired for most of his consultant cases. Detectives who’ve got nothing to lose turn to him because they want to be able to say they’ve tried everything they could, and Danny can appreciate that.
“So where are we going?”
“That abduction went off without a hitch, way too smoothly. We suspect an inside job. Someone who knew the girls’ routine must’ve been involved, so I need to talk to everyone they know again and see if something sticks out. And maybe you could get a read on them, too.”
Steve’s voice falters slightly on those last words as if the suggestion that he might need the help of a psychic actually physically hurts him.
“Don’t choke on it, big guy,” Danny mutters, and curses his stupid mouth as soon as the words come out.
Steve’s head whips around and he smirks at Danny with an amused twinkle in his eyes. The smile that spreads slowly across his lips is sly and suggestive. Danny finds that his mouth is suddenly dry. And even worse, he can’t stop staring at Steve’s lips. His stupid, stupid thought process chooses this moment to zoom in on the fact that there is barely any space between him and Steve. That he could bridge the gap by pushing himself forward just an inch or two. Could just wipe that silly self-satisfied smirk right off of Steve’s lips. Danny clears his throat and tries to put a lid on the sudden sweltering heat that threatens to overpower him. Arrogant, he tells himself over and over again, arrogant, arrogant, arrogant. As far as mantras go this one actually has a nice ring to it. Hot, whispers a tiny voice in the back of his mind, hot, hot, hot. Danny shuts it up resolutely. He hasn’t felt this foolishly attracted to some perfect stranger since he was fourteen and bend over an issue of Sports Illustrated.
The rest of the drive passes in silence. Mostly because Danny is trying to regain some sort of composure and, therefore, doesn’t run his mouth as much as he usually would. It should really feel a whole lot more awkward than it actually does. In fact, it’s oddly comfortable. Danny reclines in his seat and watches Steve drive. His sleeve barely covers the ink on his arm and Danny’s intrigued. It looks faded like Steve’s been carrying it around with him for a while. There is something hypnotic about the pale blue, green and red swirls stretching over taunt muscles, and Danny finds himself speculating about what it stands for, teenage rebellion or a relic of Steve’s military career?
He takes a deep breath and deliberately turns his attention to the interior of the car, before he can spend any completely inappropriate thoughts on say tracing the faded outlines of the tat with his tongue. It’s a nice car. The kind of car Danny’s always dreamed of having. Somehow he didn’t picture Steve as a Camaro sort of guy. Steve, he thinks, would look a lot more at home behind the wheels of something big and forceful. A SUV maybe, or a jeep… or a freaking tank.
…
They talk to the missing girls’ mother first. She’s sitting on a lawn-chair in her front yard watching a little girl play. It’s abundantly clear that she’s not doing so good. A worried frown mars her beautiful features and she keeps picking at her fingers unconsciously. She gets up as soon as she spots them and the hope in her eyes wrenches Danny’s heart.
“Commander McGarrett, are there any news?”
“I’m sorry, there are no new developments. Actually we have a few more questions about Lauren and Kelly,” Steve tells her, somehow managing to sound both sympathetic and sternly professional at the same time.
He looks down at the little girl with what he probably thinks of as a reassuring smile, but comes off as intimidating instead. She flinches and tries her very best to disappear behind her mother’s legs. Danny rolls his eyes at Steve’s back. So it’s not just him; Commander Steve McGarrett does not possess any people skills in general.
“Hey,” he says, sinking to his knees and smiling at the little girl, “You have to excuse my friend, he was raised by a family of bears. So he doesn’t know how to behave in civilized society.”
That earns him a giggle so he presses on, “I’m Danny. Who are you?”
“I’m Amber,” she offers shyly.
“You like bears, Amber?”
A shake of the head.
“No? My daughter doesn’t care for them much either. She likes rabbits and dolphins. How about you?”
“I like dolphins, too.”
“Of course you do. Everyone loves dolphins.”
“I got a stuffed dolphin. His name is Rodney,” she tells him in an excited half-whisper like she’s sharing a secret with him.
“Really? I’d like to meet him. You think you can introduce us?”
She smiles at him with the intensity of a light bulb, nods her curly head happily and rushes off into the house, all knobbly knees and too much energy. Danny remembers Grace at that age and feels oddly off-balance for a moment. He never quite anticipates that weird mix off tingly warmth and nostalgia that comes with thinking about Grace when she was younger. Man, she is just growing up too fast.
“Thanks,” Amber’s mom says with a fragile smile, “I haven’t told her yet, but she knows something’s wrong and she… didn’t have it easy lately.”
Danny knows that look. The one that says I’ve failed to shelter my child from life.
“Ugly divorce,” he asks gently. He doesn’t need to see the slow nod or the way she discreetly wipes at her eyes to know he’s hit the nail on the head; it’s all there in the thick grey fog floating around her sluggishly.
“Trust me, I can relate,” he tells her with the compassionate half-grin of 'been there, done that, bought the T'. With a reassuring pat on her shoulder he heads over to Amber, who just reappeared with a big squishy dolphin in her tiny arms. Steve can deal with this. There is nothing whatsoever that Danny can read in the woman’s aura other than ‘distressed mother’.
He’s still kneeling in front of Amber, admiring Rodney and telling her stories about his hilarious adventures at the zoo, when Steve’s hands land on his shoulders heavily. Danny, who was just contemplating whether he should get a stuffed dolphin for Gracie, nearly jumps out of his own skin.
“Jeez, Steve. Give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you. What are you, a freaking ninja?”
Amber giggles delightedly. Apparently the sight of Steve grinning down at Danny unabashedly makes him seem a whole lot less scary. And wouldn’t you know it, Steve is sporting his smile of extreme self-satisfaction again. Danny thinks he should probably get used to that one.
“Sorry to startle you,” Steve says, sounding amused and anything but sorry. “I’m done here.”
They say goodbye to Amber and walk back to the car side by side. Steve’s abnormally long legs cover ground fast, but he regulates his speed just enough to walk level with Danny, who isn’t much of a slow pacer either. It’s the same easy fit as in the car. Way too much familiarity for how little they actually know each other. Danny has a moment of ‘stop reading too much into this’ and finds himself hoping feverishly that moving to Hawaii didn’t turn him into the sort of creepy loner who snatches onto any form of human companionship with undue eagerness.
“You are a good father,” Steve tells him out of nowhere, his voice oddly soft.
“How would you know?” he replies caught off guard. Steve hasn’t even met Gracie.
“I can tell,” Steve states with conviction. And Danny remembers the vision of McGarrett senior - stern guy, hard as nails and clearly unaccustomed to the word ‘love’ coming from his own mouth. Maybe Steve can.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Danny confides in him. “My thing has never been easy on her. She used to get a lot of stick for it at school.”
“You followed her all the way to Hawaii,” Steve points out like he’s mounting a defense of Danny’s parenting skills. It’s really quite sweet.
“I know. It just feels a little selfish sometimes. This thing,” he whirls his hands around in a way he hopes symbolizes ‘ghosts and stuff’ and not ‘crazy pothead person’, “is not going to go away. I take it with me wherever I go.”
“Kids need their dad around,” Steve says, quiet and serious.
There is a story there and Danny’s half-inclined to press for more. Something about McGarrett letting his guard down claws at his heart with an intensity that’s pretty damn unsettling. After all, he only just met the guy a day ago.
“I really hope so,” he says instead. “Gracie’s everything to me.”
Steve smiles at him, eyes warm and mellow and oddly wistful. The sun hits him at an angle that makes it look like he’s actually glowing, and suddenly Danny feels stupid and tingly all over.
…
They talk to a couple of more people, but Danny doesn’t pick up on anything much. There is a girl among Kelly and Lauren’s circle of friends that seems dodgy to him. Her aura reads fear. Not that surprising, really, after all one of her friends just turned up dead and another one is still missing. Fear is an understandable reaction, but there is something off about it. It looks musty dark and that never bodes well in Danny’s experience. He tells Steve on the way home and he promises to look into it.
The atmosphere in the car is fraught with tension. As is his wont Danny talks too much. He’s never quite mastered the art of keeping his mouth shut, even though he can tell that the other man is barely listening to a word he’s saying. Steve’s wound tighter than a two dollar watch. He’s grown increasingly more strained as the day went on. The lines around his eyes became more pronounced with each passing hour and it’s hard not to notice the way he stiffened as if every dead end they encountered was an affront to him personally. Danny takes in the tight set of the jaw, the furrowed brow and the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and keeps rambling on, worrying his lips.
“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” he says as he gets out of the car. To his surprise Steve gets out, too. He leans against the door of the Camaro and meets Danny’s eyes squarely.
“No,” the protest comes out soft but heartfelt. “That’s not it. Look, it was worth a shot. I’m just … it’s been hours now and we are still no closer.”
Danny has a sudden ridiculous urge to draw him into a tight hug and tell him that he can’t safe the whole world all on his freaking lonesome. And the hell if he knows how the man turned him into bad support character from a horrible soap opera.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. You will find her,” he assures Steve, a little surprised by how much he actually believes that.
He reaches out instinctively and places one hand on Steve’s arm in a silent gesture of support, squeezing it reassuringly. Steve’s skin is warm and his muscular arm feels surprisingly soft under Danny’s fingers. Steve looks at the hand and then he looks at Danny in confusion like he’s not quite sure what to do with the gesture. Danny’s about to draw his hand away when Steve sends the most brilliant smile his way. Clearly Danny needs to develop an antidote to Steve’s smiles fast because at this rate he is going to lose it before the day is over. This one is the worst one yet - genuine, unguarded and too intimate by half. It makes Danny think of pressing Steve up against that car of his and showing him how to unwind all at once.
Danny’s hand rests on Steve’s forearm a bit longer than the situation truly merits. When he pulls it back he feels the loss of contact too sharply, and he really has to break eye contact before he does something stupid.
“Well, guess I’ll see you around,” he says lamely.
Steve just nods and gets back in the car. As he watches the Camaro pull out off his driveway Danny has the oddest sense of regret.
….
Danny’s phone rings at ass-a-clock the next morning. He fumbles for it eyes still closed.
“What,” he mumbles, barely making it past the yawn.
“We’ve got a lead. Get dressed. I’ll be there in five.”
Steve sounds chipper and wide-awake. Danny wants to hurt him. Badly.
“Steve? How’d you get my number? No wait forget I asked. If you used your special status with the governor to blatantly violate my constitutional right to privacy I’d rather not know about it. What I wanna know is, why the hell would you be calling me in the middle of the freaking night?
“You’re not a morning person, Danny,” Steve asks, and Danny can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Color me surprised.”
Danny envisions himself bashing Steve’s head in with a blunt instrument.
“This,” he grits out slowly while sitting up, “is not the morning. Anything before the sound of my alarm clock does not technically qualify as morning. It qualifies as a time you do not fucking call people.”
The only reply he gets is a chuckle, before Steve gleefully barks, “See you in a few,” into the phone and hangs up on Danny.
As Danny gets out of bed he takes a moment to curse Steve McGarrett’s entire existence. Then he gets dressed in a hurry and calls Rachel to tell her that he can’t take Gracie to school today, and ask her if he could talk to his daughter for a moment. He is still on the phone with Gracie when Steve pounds on his door like he’s trying to bust through it with his bare knuckles.
“Hey monkey, I’ve gotta go. Have a great day at school today and remember Danno loves you,” he says, while simultaneously opening the door and glaring daggers at Steve.
“Danno,” Steve asks instead of a proper greeting, as soon as Danny hangs up the phone.
“Don’t,” Danny grumbles, shaking his finger at Steve, “Just don’t.”
“Danno,” Steve repeats to himself, rolling the name around his mouth like he’s trying it out for fit.
“It’s way too early for this,” Danny sighs and steps out into the Hawaiian morning. The glare of the sun is almost blinding. Danny flinches and curses.
“I hate this place and it’s abysmal fucking weather conditions,” he complains, making his way to the Camaro, “This much freaking sun at the break of dawn. It’s just not natural, I’m telling you. Why people choose to live on this tropical version of the seventh circle of hell is beyond me.”
“You don’t like the beach,” Steve asks, brow furrowed in obvious confusion. “Who doesn’t like the beach?”
“I like concrete jungles, skyscrapers, cities, that sort of thing. Sharks, jellyfishes and skin cancer? Not so much.”
Steve’s smile is almost as bright as the freaking sun. It does Danny’s head in.
“You don’t know how to swim, do you?”
“I know how to swim,” Danny asserts immediately, “I just happen to think it’s an activity that should be solely restricted to survival purposes.”
He squints in the offensive sunlight grumpily and fights down the yawn that threatens to overpower him.
“Remind me again, why am I up in the wee hours of the morning, without breakfast I might add, on the chase for the criminal element?”
“Your lead panned out,” Steve says as if they are playing a game of ‘give the most cryptic answer possible’.
“Look at that, the man of the army speaks in riddles,” Danny announces to the world in general.
“It’s the navy, actually. And I’m talking about Lauren’s friend Tasha. The one you felt suspicious about. Turns out her boyfriend Sean is having money troubles and has been arrested for assault last year. So we gonna go have a word with him.”
“Right,” Danny replies slowly. “Any particular reason for doing that at a time where decent folks are still soundly asleep?”
“Sean hangs with the local surfer crowd. With any luck we should catch him at the pipeline this time of day.”
Danny has some thoughts on people stupid enough to take brightly colored boards with silly designs out into the ocean to get crushed by waves and eaten by sharks, and he has no reservations whatsoever to sharing these thoughts with Steve. Not that Steve seems bothered by it at all. On the contrary, he actually looks quite content, an indulgent smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth and his eyes crinkling in silent amusement. If it weren’t so absurd, Danny would say Steve was enjoying himself. Although, how anyone could be in a good mood at this time of the day is a complete mystery to him. He’s feeling irritable and Steve’s sunny disposition is just adding fuel to the fire.
All things considered the beach doesn’t improve matters much. There is sand in his shoes, dimwit surfers everywhere and no trace of the suspect whatsoever. No amount of scantily clad women can make up for these glaring deficiencies.
“Brilliant plan,” he tells Steve with every ounce of sarcasm he can muster. “No really, I’m so glad you dragged me out of bed for this.”
Steve just nudges his shoulder playfully. The beach has a curious affect on him. Everything about Steve is a little less hard-wired; he’s all easy smiles and unusually relaxed energy. Demeanor, posture and aura seem to feed off of the familiarity of the place. Danny watches Steve talk to people in that weird surfer speak, a mix of English and pidgin and phrases that make no freaking sense to Danny, whatsoever, and realizes that Steve’s right at home here. It’s odd, because as far as Danny’s heard Steve hasn’t lived in Hawaii in ages and only moved back here after his father died. Maybe Surfer Steve is a remnant from way back. For all that Danny despises the beach he actually sort of enjoys this laid-back version of McGarrett.
Danny hangs back and leaves the interacting with people to Steve. It’s not his scene at all. He sort of enjoys the show, though. Steve looks like he’s a heartbeat away from discarding his shirt and cargos to go brave the waves himself. The image of Steve coming out of the sea, all wet and glistering in nothing but a pair of shorts does something for Danny. He takes a moment to indulge in that particular fantasy and, because the gods are clearly not in favor of him having a half-way decent start to the day, some guy promptly interrupts his fantasizing session by patting his shoulder and muttering something unintelligible.
“I’m sorry, what,” Danny asks uncomprehending. “Excuse me?”
Oh goodie, more syllables that don’t translate into anything coherent.
“Are you speaking English?”
Steve appears by his side out of nowhere. Danny didn’t even see him move.
“Danno don’t surf,” Steve tells the guy with just that hint of a smirk.
He drapes one arm lightly over Danny’s shoulder in a carefree companionable manner.
“What have I told you about that,” Danny asks, and so what if his chest feels a little tight at the way Steve acts like he’s known Danny forever. Using Gracie’s nickname for him like he’s owned the right to it. Like the inherent intimacy doesn’t bother him at all.
Danny turns to look at Steve, which given the arm across his shoulder means that he is basically snuggling into the touch, and finds Steve staring straight at that surfer dude. The relaxed smile from earlier is gone and replaced by a blank but incredibly focused stare. It’s not exactly threatening, but it’s clearly meant to convey something. Danny’s just not sure what exactly.
“Shoots,” the guy mumbles and walks off. He looks dejected.
“Okay, what the hell was that all about,” Danny asks Steve. “I dare you to tell me what he just said.”
“Nothing,” Steve replies, looking unnecessarily pleased with himself. “He was just flirting with you.”
It doesn’t sound like a joke. Danny runs the whole incident past his inner eye and, yeah, the guy could have been flirting, which would mean that Steve’s buddy routine read as something else entirely. It must’ve looked like they were an item. And there is no way Steve wasn’t aware of that. Danny doesn’t do flustered. He isn’t the type. Which is why the thought of Steve playing pretend boyfriend shouldn’t do this to him. Shouldn’t turn his palms sweaty and make him feel all fidgety and hot. Regardless of what people seem to think, he is not an impulsive man, and falling for someone in just two days? Definitely not his M.O.! Once bitten and all that. So he decides to let it go.
Fortunately Steve is on the same page. He’s already moved on, talking about the insights he gleaned from Sean’s friends. He’s back to being all ultra-focused energy, getting right down to business and striding back towards the Camaro. Danny pads after him belatedly. Lack of sleep aside, he honestly doesn’t know when anyone last managed to make him feel as off balance as Steve does. Dealing with ghosts is a picnic compared to dealing with this guy.
…
They end up rushing all over the island - again. It’s ridiculous. At some point Danny has to forcefully make Steve stop to get some of those donuty things they sell on every second street corner. It’s not breakfast but it’ll do. He tells Steve as much, which sets him up for an interesting debate about both Steve’s aversion to crumbs in the car and his irrational fear of clogged arteries. At the peak of which Danny has convinced himself that Steve is in fact a goddamn robot. He makes a point of munching the pastries as messily as possible and blissfully spills crumbs all over himself when he informs Steve that no way in hell will this exempt him from sponsoring the breakfast that Danny is clearly still owned.
Steve turns to Danny and somehow manages to combine a frown with a smile. The look on his face, torn between amusement and disapproval, should be hysterical but is oddly heartwarming instead. It carries a distant note of exasperated fondness that hasn’t been targeted at Danny for quite some time now. As soon as Steve parks the Camaro he leans over to brush the remaining crumbs of Danny’s chest. It’s an easy thoughtless act. Steve is probably thinking about vacuum cleaning the entire car while he’s doing it. So there is no reason, no reason at all, for Danny to still and think of home and family.
“You take me to all the nicest places, babe,” he jokes, despite the lump in his throat, as he nods at the row of run down condos.
Steve raises an eyebrow at him.
“I’ve been to your ‘apartment’,” he says and uses honest-to-god air quotes around the word. “This should feel like the Hilton to you.”
“You’re a regular freaking comedian, aren’t you?” Danny grumbles as he gets out of the car, and tries not to grin too hard at how easy it is to bicker with Steve. “So what brings us here.”
“Tasha’s brother lives here.”
Tasha and her boyfriend have been AWOL since this morning. They haven’t showed up at work and so far all their friends and family have claimed not to know their whereabouts. To make matters more urgent the missing girl’s father received a ransom note this morning. Apparently the guy, a CEO of some sorts whose first impression on Danny wasn’t helped by the fact that he reminded him a lot of Step-Stan, is crazy rich. Steve spent most of the morning on the phone to his team, trying to get a location on Sean and preparing for how to react once the kidnappers get into contact.
Danny feels a tingle of anticipation when they hear raised voices from the flat. Steve enters first, weapon drawn. The scene that greets them seems strangely unreal, like a staged tableau. Tasha, her brother and Sean are standing in a sort of triangular formation. It’s clear that they’ve just been shouting at each other, but now they are frozen to the spot and staring at the scary guy with the gun, wide-eyed and in a state of shock.
“Hawaii-Five-0,” Steve announces and fixes Sean with an intimidating stare. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”
The play of auras is interesting. All three show clear signs of fear, but there is something else going on. The dark wavy shades form a complex picture. Danny gets sidetracked by it for an instant and has to blink to get his focus back on what’s going on. Whatever’s just been said, Steve’s clearly not a happy camper.
“Where is Lauren,” he asks Sean icily.
Obviously the Commander prefers the direct approach to interrogation.
“I have nothing to do with whatever happened to Lauren,” Sean tells Steve, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking him straight in the eyes. “I don’t know where she is.”
His aura shows no signs of guilt or remorse nor is there any trace of resentment, which is pretty unusual in someone whose just committed a violent crime. Even the saturation of his fear is a lot less pronounced than the other’s. In fact, the color is off in the same way that his girlfriend’s was and still is. Danny takes in the way Sean unconsciously moved towards Tasha, almost blocking her from Steve. Protective instincts.
“Fuck me,” he exclaims as it hits him, causing everyone to stare at him as if he is the maniac here.
Sean isn’t afraid for himself, and neither is Tasha.
“It’s not him,” he tells Steve confidently, before pointing at Tasha’s brother. “It’s him.”
Steve’s stare refocuses instantly. Not a second of doubt, Danny notes and can’t help feeling distantly pleased.
“I have no idea what he is talking about,” the guy tells Steve, almost stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out.
Now that Danny takes a closer look at him, he can see the orange lines of guilt pulsating underneath the thick dark cloud of terror. He’s still adamant in his denial, though.
“Timmy,” Tasha urges her brother gently, but he doesn’t listen.
“I’m not telling you jack,” he informs Steve brazenly. “And I want a lawyer.”
The guy is clearly an idiot. Steve moves like lightning, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and dragging him towards the open glass door. Danny doesn’t even have the time to do as much as blink before the guy is tangling over the balcony rail.
“Timmy,” Tasha’s freaked-out squeal echoes through the room and Sean immediately wraps her up in his arms, but does nothing to confront the madman endangering her brother’s life.
Apparently it’s up to Danny to function as the voice of reason in this little scenario. Life's just not fair. He’s out the door and by Steve’s side in no time, hands spinning out of control in an effort to deflect the crazy.
“What the hell,” he shouts at the man, who looks calm and in control of himself and not like the complete and utter mental case he obviously is. “Are you out of your fucking mind? This is not Guantanamo. Pull him up, you maniac.”
“He’d probably survive the fall,” Steve informs Danny cheerfully, but stares straight at Timmy as he utters the words.
The gleam in his eyes is somewhat worrying. Timmy seems to think so too, because he starts babbling all of a sudden, telling them all about his gambling debts and how he got involved with some really shady guys and how he never meant for anyone to get hurt. Danny’s half-inclined to tell Steve to drop him off the fucking balcony after all. Instead he commands, “Pull him up, already,” and is a little surprised when Steve follows order.
Steve cuffs the guy and drags him towards the car, while simultaneously continuing the interrogation and micromanaging his team over the phone. In between asking, “Where exactly did you meet those guys,” and barking “Get me an address, Chin,” into the phone he turns to Danny and says, “Look, I wasn’t gonna let him fall,” almost apologetically, like he feels the need to explain himself for some reason. Danny does not think that’s attractive. He does not fall for psychopaths as a general rule.
After dropping Timmy off at the nearest HPD station Steve decides to check out the place Timmy’s been meeting his partners in crime at. Some run-down garage offering jeep and bike rentals to tourists in an area Danny’s never even heard of. When they pull up in front of the place three vaguely humanoid looking mounts of steroids are just unloading stuff from a jeep. Steve gets out of the car and waves his badge at them, which results in all three of them jumping into the jeep and taking off at high speed. Steve curses and jumps back into the car. Before Danny even draws a breath to ask him what exactly it is he thinks he’s doing they are speeding off after the fleeing vehicle. And because Danny is lucky like that, their high speed car chase leads them along the side of a freaking mountain.
“I see dead people I don’t need to be one as well,” he yells at Steve over the sound of screeching tires. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Steve turns to look at him, only one hand on the steering wheel, wearing a maniac smile. Danny’s heart is pounding way too fast, and he can’t be entirely sure it’s just fear of death causing it.
“Look at the road, you idiot! The road,” he shouts as loud as he can while clinging to the grab handle with all his might. Why is this his life?
Danny spends some time screwing his eyes shut tight and, therefore, misses the daredevil maneuver Steve pulls to get in front of the car they are chasing and force them to stop. He gets to watch Steve practically roll out of the car and take care of two beef heads with some weirdly precise martial arts moves, however. His motions are swift and smooth and not entirely unerotic. It’s not even fair how good crazy looks on Steve McGarrett.
Danny shifts in his seat but stays put. That is until he sees that creep sneaking up on Steve and decides to cut him short by ramming the passenger door into him full force. It’s pretty satisfying to watch the chunky gorilla fold down with a loud oomph. Still, Danny doesn’t have the time to savor the experience. He is out of the car and straight into McGarrett’s face in a heartbeat.
“What is your fucking problem,” he asks and doesn’t care that he’s shouting once more. It’s a reasonable question after all. “Did you hear me asking to take part in a goddamn high speed car chase cross country trekking adventure through the fucking jungle? Because I do not remember asking for such a thing. I don’t care whatever suicide mission you are on at the moment; I have a daughter. I do not want to die in some ditch in the freaking Hawaiian outback!”
“We are on a road Danny,” Steve says in a reasonable tone of voice.
Danny stares at him, then looks down to stare at the stretch of red dust gravel they are currently standing on before looking back up at McGarrett pointedly.
“This,” he says, gesturing at the ground, “is not a road. This is a trail of sand along a huge freaking cliff. I know roads. Roads are made of asphalt. They are great hallmarks of civilization and not places to conduct a freaking death race on.”
Steve looks like he’s about to interject another brilliant piece of McGarrett logic and Danny’s not sure his brain will be able to process that without melting down. He holds up a hand right in front of Steve’s face.
“What kind of idiot charges in without back-up,” he asks, trying for a change of topic. “If I had known you had some kind of death wish I would never have gotten into a car with you. Is there some new police regulation that I am not aware of? From what I can remember YOU DON’T HUNT DOWN DANGEROUS CRIMINALS ON YOUR OWN.”
“You were there,” Steve says without batting an eyelash.
“I was there?” Danny repeats incredulously. “Are you completely insane? Were you dropped on the head as a small child? I’m not sure you are aware of this, but the term ‘police consultant’ is not in any way a euphemism for back-up. I consult; I do not get involved in life and death scenarios.”
“Euphemism,” Steve asks amused, and then has the balls to add, “Don’t worry you did good.”
Danny must be having an outer body experience, because Steve did not just say that with a straight face and a broad smile.
“That is not the point. That, in fact, is so far away from the point it’s on another fucking planet…,” he starts and once he gets started he suddenly can’t stop anymore, talks himself right into a white-hot rage.
Steve’s just standing there, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly. The guy does his blood pressure no good whatsoever. Danny’s so riled he doesn’t even notice the car pulling up next to them. Only when one of the two detectives, who stopped next to them and watched the spectacle with matching grins, interrupts him with a careful “Boss?” does he stop to take a breath.
“Kono, Chin meet Danno,” Steve introduces him, clearly pleased with himself.
“Danny,” he corrects emphatically, shaking their hands. “Danny Williams.”
“We found Lauren tied up in the garage. HPD is taking her back to her parents,” the hot Asian babe tells Steve, while the guy at her side seems perfectly content with just looking chill.
“You want us to book these guys, boss?”
“Wait a second, you work with this man,” Danny asks pointing wildly at Steve. “Why do you work with this man? I talk to ghosts. I’m comfortable with a level of crazy, you wouldn’t even believe. And even I can see that this guy needs help. Professional help. I’m talking round the clock care here.”
Chin and Kono look amused by the outburst. They are more obviously locals of Hawaii than Steve is, but they are also freakishly tall and quite frankly way too hot to work as civil servants, causing Danny to wonder whether the governor handpicked her entire task force at some crazy ass Hawaiian fashion show.
“That the guy,” Chin asks Steve as if people spouting about seeing ghosts are such a regular occurrence that he might be any number of people. And on this tropical equivalent of a nuthouse? Who knows. “I can see what you like about him.”
“I have you know,” Danny starts and then notices the expression on Steve’s face. It’s downright hilarious. Embarrassment and ‘shut up or I will kill you in an excruciatingly painful way’ are fighting for dominance. Chin looks far from impressed. It takes Danny a second to catch on.
“Hold on, you like me? You actually said that?”
“Not in so many words,” Kono chirps in, obviously delighting in making her boss uncomfortable. “But we caught on when he didn’t stop talking about you.”
Steve actually ducks his head and honest-to-god blushes. It’s not endearing, Danny tells himself sternly. He has a hard time holding on to his righteous anger, nonetheless.
“There is something wrong with you,” he tells Steve, because some things bear repeating, and can’t help that it comes out sounding fond rather than pissed off.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” Steve offers all puppy-dog helpfulness.
“Damn right, you will. It’s not like I can get a cab in the middle of the wilderness,” Danny complains grumpily as he turns and trots after Steve.
It feels suspiciously like they are falling back into a rhythm. Their rhythm. But Danny isn’t about to acknowledge any such thing. Instead he gives Steve the silent treatment, which works remarkably well. Steve keeps fidgeting in his seat and glancing over at him every other moment. He doesn’t even make it ten minutes before he breaks the silence.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m not talking to you,” Danny tells him sternly, and there is absolutely no part of him that finds it charming that someone who’s been trained by the SEALs can’t even withstand the silent treatment.
“What? Not now or not ever?”
“Both,” Danny replies emphatically.
“You want me to apologize for saving that girl’s life,” Steve asks with a confused frown.
“I want you to apologize for risking my life!”
“Fine Danno,” Steve says with a put-upon sigh. “I apologize for driving a little too fast. I did not realize how sensitive you are.”
“Sensitive,” Danny repeats incredulously, raising his voice over the white-hot noise in his ears. “I am sensitive, am I?”
Steve’s still grinning like a maniac, so Danny launches into a speech about the rules of civilized society, those unspoken guidelines of human interaction that divide mankind from the animal kingdom.
“I’m sorry, Danny,” Steve says once Danny takes a break to catch his breath. “I said I’m sorry. Sincerely sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” Danny allows hesitantly, realizing that they are already driving through his neighborhood. “Only so you know, I’m giving you an easy pass here, because I’m so terribly relieved that my unfortunate exposure to your craziness will soon be a thing of the past.”
Steve stops smiling at that and looks genuinely put out for a second, but perks up as a thought seems to strike.
“I still owe you breakfast,” he informs Danny brightly as he parks the car in Danny’s driveway, looking pleased with himself and hopeful.
Steve is a psychopathic adrenaline junkie with control issues and worst of all a freaking morning person; any sensible person would steer clear of him. So there is no reason at all to say “I’ll hold you to that,” with a big old stupid smile. And yet, as Danny gets out of Steve’s car he can’t help but feel secretly proud for not saying anything more incriminating, ‘it’s a date’ for instance. In no way, shape or form will he ever admit to this, but, for an instant there, he thinks being swept up into Steve’s crazy world might not be so bad after all.
Part II
Rating: PG
Pairing: Steve/Danno
Summary: Danny talks a lot. Doesn’t mean he actually enjoys talking to dead people. Psychic AU.
Author’s note: You’ve read right. I said Psychic AU. Yes, my imagination apparently went off the deep end… but let’s focus on the positive. At least it still provides Steve/Danno slash! Length-wise this got a little outa hand, so once again I felt hesitant to burden a beta with it. Sorry, feel free to nit-pick. Should I ever finish the next installments of this verse I promise to find someone to proof-read and whip it into some kind of shape. Ye have been warned.
Warnings/Spoilers: There are a number of lines and situations that will be familiar from the first couple of episodes, because originality is for losers this is an altered mashed-up AU-version of events.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit. A girl can dream, though…
The third time McGarrett appears to him Danny just says, “Fuck off.” It’s not how this works and he knows that well enough by now. He derives no small amount of satisfaction from the words nonetheless. McGarrett is one persistent fucker. He’s one of the more solid apparitions, and Danny can just tell this one is gonna be trouble.
“My son is a Navy SEAL. Give him my message.”
It’s the same spiel as last time. The words short and clipped.
“Yeah, we covered that already,” Danny says, waving his hands about to get the point across this time. “Your son is the head of the governor’s fucking task force. I’ve heard some stories. I’m not going up to that man saying those words. I’d get arrested or beheaded or whatever backwater method of corporal punishment is still enforced on this pineapple-infested hellhole.”
McGarrett doesn’t react to his rant. Ghosts rarely ever listen. Too self-obsessed that’s their problem. He just stares Danny down with his creepy dead eyes. Danny has had too many of these encounters to still be intimidated by a ghost giving him the old evil eye while he’s as good as naked. And that right there is half his problem. Sometimes he really, really hates his life.
“Fine,” he announces throwing his hands up in defeat. “I’ll go talk to him.”
He’s talking to thin air. Literally, since the apparition has simply vanished.
“No fucking manners,” Danny mutters and finishes getting dressed hurriedly. He gets to bring Gracie to school today and doesn’t want to be late for that. There’s no need to give his ex-wife another reason to lecture him or stick her lawyers on him again. Rachel never understood that ghosts don’t stick to a freaking schedule.
He calls one of his contacts at HPD on the way over to Rachel’s to find out how to get in contact with the governor’s task force. Apparently there’s a major hostage situation at one of the banks downtown and the whole team is on side. After dropping Gracie off and wallowing over the fact that he gets to spend all too little time with her, he decides to swing by the crime scene and see if he can get a hold of McGarrett’s son.
The place is swarming with cops and spectators. There is whole array of ghoulish onlookers assembled, crouching up for a better look, and a number of police officers trying to keep the masses behind the barrier. Sometimes he wonders if that would be him now. If this is what he would be doing if he weren’t communicating with ghosts all the freaking time.
Danny actually finished police academy back in Jersey and spent a few crazy months working as a cop, before he realized that being a psychic did not help on the job at all. Saying ‘the ghost of the murder victim told me he was the killer’ does not actually hold up in court and is also a sure way off getting people to think you are a complete nut case. Danny’s faced some serious mockery in his time, but boy, cops could be vicious. He decided to switch to the private sector when it became clear that things were not gonna work out for him on the force.
Danny spots a familiar face at the edge of the barrier. Detective Kaleo was the lead detective on a case he worked as a police consultant a couple of weeks back. A very unpleasant double murder that only got solved because of Danny’s insights. Not that he got any recognition for that. Cops are the same everywhere and being upstaged by a psychic police consultant never sits well with them. To his credit Kaleo didn’t give him much stick upfront, a few unimaginative jokes and the usual air of ‘your circus-act is so beneath me’ but nothing worse than that. Kaleo’s not the type to offend anyone who might eventually prove useful to him. He’s the kind of nasty fucker who runs with all your input for lack of any own leads and then takes all the credit for solving the case himself.
Danny shoulders his way trough the crowd and gets vaguely distracted by the sight of the nice firm ass of one of Kaleo’s colleagues. The guy is bending down to fiddle with some surveillance equipment or something, and Danny decides it’s not such a bad day after all. Which, of course, means that everything is going to go downhill from here.
“Look, it’s the Ghostbuster,” Kaleo sneers when he spots him.
“Ha, ha! How very original, detective. I’ve never heard that one before. Just point me in the direction of Steve McGarrett, will you?”
The guy whose ass he’s just been checking out not so surreptitiously turns around and stares at him inquiringly. The front view ain’t half bad either.
“I’m Steve McGarrett. How can I help you?”
Great, Danny thinks sighing inwardly. Just his luck, he gets to tell Commander Hot Stuff that he’s just talked to his dead father. This is gonna be fun. You don’t need to be able to see auras to know that McGarrett carries a huge chip on his shoulder. Danny prefers to get to the unpleasant part of these situations right away. No need to beat around the bush.
“I’ve got a message from your father.”
“My father is dead,” Hotty McHot states frowning darkly.
“Believe me, I’m aware of that fact.”
“You saying you spoke to my dead father?”
“Wow, got it in one. Stunning detective skills, I might add,” Danny says, giving McGarrett the thumbs up. So far this is going really well. “Your dad said to tell you, ‘I love you, champ’.”
“My father never called me champ.”
McGarrett crosses his arms in front of his chest, flexing his impressive biceps, and frowns at him some more, distrust written all over his stony features. Wow, there’s a shocker. Just once Danny would like to talk to someone who’d simply accept the fact that Danny carries a message from a deceased loved one. A simple little ‘thanks for your trouble no questions asked’-sort of affair. Is that really too much to ask for?
“It’s his message, not mine. Figure it out yourself,” he says gruffly and turns to leave when something catches his eye.
“Oh, and you might wanna talk to that guy,” he adds pointing at a man sitting in the back of an ambulance. “He has guilty written all over him.”
With that he leaves, hoping against his better judgment that that will be the end of it.
….
The next morning Danny’s breakfast gets cut short by someone knocking on his door jackhammer-style. It’s way too early. The rain is sloshing down like crazy and somehow it’s still hot as hell. Danny really, really hates Hawaii. He’s already in a less than ideal mood when he opens the door.
“Commander McGarrett,” he says, only marginally surprised. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The guy just wordlessly shoulders his way past Danny.
“Please, do come in,” Danny mutters sarcastically and closes the door behind them.
Steve McGarrett whirls around to face him.
“How’d you know,” he asks in what sounds like an accusation. “How’d you know about the box?”
“What box?”
“My father’s tool box. The one that says ‘CHAMP’.”
“Do you suffer from dementia, or something,” Danny asks, pressing a finger to his temple. “I distinctly remember explaining that it was a message from your dad.”
“That you did. I just don’t believe you.”
“That’s hardly my problem now, is it?”
They seem to have reached a stalemate. McGarrett lets his gaze travel over Danny’s humble dwellings and wrinkles his brow. It’s not exactly glamorous but there is no need to look this disgusted by it.
“You actually live here,” he asks like the idea is just to horribly repulsive to be true.
“No, I just drop by from time to time to relax from all the hustle and bustle at my seaside resort villa,” Danny replies dryly. “Was there anything else you wanted, Commander?”
“Call me Steve,” Steve offers magnanimously like he’s bestowing some huge freaking honor on Danny. Just because he’s stupidly attractive and smiling winsomely doesn’t mean Danny is going to fall for it. He’s not that desperate. Somehow he finds himself saying, “The name’s Danny,” and shaking hands with Steve, nonetheless.
“Is this were we exchange friendship bracelets? Because not that this isn’t fun but I do have some things to get back to.”
Mainly finishing his breakfast but Steve doesn’t need to know that. It’s not like he’s actually listening to Danny either way.
“You’ve only been to Hawaii six month,” he states consulting the file in his hand. “And you’ve already helped solve eight HPD cases.”
“Wait, you run a background check on me?” Danny replies, taken aback.
Steve keeps on ignoring him and continues, “Divorced. Single. One kid. You actually did very well in Jersey, managed to make quite a name for yourself. I take it you came here for your daughter. Your ex has custody; you’ve got visitation. That leaves you with a lot of spare time. You setting up shop in Hawaii permanently?”
“I don’t see how this is any of your business,” Danny spits out and can actually feel the anger rising. This guy is unbelievable. Governor’s task force or not there is no way that he’s going to stand for this. “And whatever seminar on interrogation techniques you took, I’d ask for my money back.”
Steve stares at him like he’s trying to make his head explode with the sheer force of his military-killing-machine-laser-glare, and Danny’s having none of it.
“Look, I know where you got that stare from and believe you me it’s much more terrifying from the eyes of a dead man. So you can fuck right off,” he says getting up in McGarrett’s personal space. “And since you somehow didn’t quite get the hint the first two times, this? Is me asking you to leave.”
McGarrett actually grins at him. Apparently he’s the kind of guy who likes people that don’t take his crap and show a bit of backbone. Just fucking figures.
“I’m actually here to offer you a job.”
“Not interested,” Danny shoots back immediately.
“It pays well,” Steve says casually and gives Danny’s apartment another cursory glance. “I’m thinking you could use the money.”
He may have a point, but Danny’s got no problem telling him to stick it where the sun don’t shine even so. He has pride in spades. It’s always been his problem. And then he thinks of Step-Stan, the businessman with the multi-million-dollar projects all around the world and his freaking mansion who gets to shower Danny’s daughter with expensive gifts whenever he feels like it.
“Ghosts,” he tells Steve with an easy shrug of the shoulders, “Just don’t care about me paying the rent. Buggers rarely turn up with something useful. Investment tips that’s what I’d like, but no, it’s all ‘deliver this message to so and so’.”
He’s effectively given in and Steve is wearing a self-satisfied smile that means he knows it, too.
“Don’t you do séances or something,” he asks, and Danny can’t tell whether he is being serious or if he’s yanking Danny’s chain.
“What? Incense, crystal balls and Ouija boards? Do I look like that kind of guy to you?”
Steve looks him up and down with the sort of intense focus they probably teach you at the Special Forces. Presumably you get some sort of medal if you manage to turn some unsuspecting victim into an actual puddle. Danny’s inordinately proud at himself for not squirming.
“You don’t look very ethereal,” Steve concedes with a big ol’ smirk.
“Well, excuse me for not living up to your pre-conceived notions of what a psychic should look like,” Danny replies, and is about to give Steve a piece of his mind when he notices that Steve hasn’t stopped mustering him. In fact, he is on the receiving end of a look.
“What is it now,” he asks, dangerously close to exasperation.
“Your tie. Nobody wears a tie in Hawaii.”
“I like to look professional.”
“You’re a psychic PI,” Steve says with the sort of inflection that seems to imply that professionalism is not something he associates with that particular occupation.
“We prefer the term ‘extraordinarily gifted’,” Danny replies just to irk Commander Holier Than Thou.
Something in Steve’s eyes lights up like there is a pun he’s dying to make on the tip of his tongue, but then he catches himself, straightens up and becomes instantly more rigid. His whole posture screams military bearing. Danny watches Steve visibly reminding himself that he’s not here for idle chitchat and can’t quite decide whether this should piss him off or amuse him. He goes for a raised eyebrow on the basis that you can never go wrong with that.
“I need you to come talk to a few people with me,” Steve states with that sharp, confident note of someone used to giving orders.
“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special,” Danny can’t help but quip.
He doesn’t know why he’s grabbing his keys and following Steve out of the door, but he makes a point of telling himself that it’s got nothing to do with long lashes, eyes that stare right into your soul or a v-neck that leaves very little to the imagination. That way madness lies.
“So, you mind telling me what’s going on? This about your father’s toolbox,” he asks once they hit the road.
Steve shakes his head and Danny’s gaze lingers a little to long on his profile. The man, he determines, is almost stunningly beautiful. It throws Danny for a bit of a loop. How the hell can a simple jaw line look this perfect? Danny never considered himself to be a superficial kind of guy and, yet, here he is practically drooling over the other man like he’s the last piece of chocolate cake at the all-you-can-eat buffet. It must be all this unnatural heat getting to him at long last.
“No, this is about the guy at the crime scene yesterday. How’d you know he was in on the job? A ghost tell you?”
Danny decides he doesn’t like Steve’s tone, which helps actually. If he were warm and approachable on top of everything else, Danny would be in a world of trouble. Trouble he’s pretty sure he’s not ready for.
“Uh, sarcasm. How refreshing,” he exclaims with a sigh. “I know people on this island persist on raping the English language, but I thought you were at least capable of understanding it. As I told you yesterday, it was written all over him.”
“And what does that mean exactly?”
“It means exactly what I said. His whole aura read ‘guilty’.”
Steve turns to stare at him in disbelief.
“You telling me you read auras? Seriously?”
Danny hates this part. The part where people expect him to explain stuff he doesn’t even understand himself. He’s been over it a hundred times and is still no closer to the truth. He wishes people would ask him to explain how and why he breathes. Not that he could explain that any better, but it would make for a nice change.
“Look, I don’t know. This whole psychic-gig did not exactly come with a manual. Sometimes I see people’s auras. Sometimes I don’t. My best bet is that some people broadcast a lot more than others. Mostly it’s just personality traits. Things you pick up on after a few seconds in the person’s company anyway. If something is an integrate part of someone’s personality it shows in that person’s aura. Particularly when they tend to project. And really strong emotions? They always show. So I can tell you if someone feels strong guilt or anger or lust or whatever, but I can’t necessarily tell you why.”
“Can you read my aura,” Steve asks skeptically.
Danny doesn’t mean to laugh out loud, but he can’t help it either.
“You, my friend, are not the projecting type,” he says, shaking his head still chuckling lightly. “All I can read is what everyone else sees as well, ‘back off’ in big red letters.”
For some reason Steve seems pleased with that answer.
“Two sisters were abducted on their way home from a party, yesterday,” he tells Danny after a moment. “This morning one of them turned up dead and the other one is still missing. We need to find her fast. I don’t believe in that psychic crap but we’ve got no good leads at the moment and the situation is urgent.”
By all means necessary. Danny gets that. Desperation is the reason he gets hired for most of his consultant cases. Detectives who’ve got nothing to lose turn to him because they want to be able to say they’ve tried everything they could, and Danny can appreciate that.
“So where are we going?”
“That abduction went off without a hitch, way too smoothly. We suspect an inside job. Someone who knew the girls’ routine must’ve been involved, so I need to talk to everyone they know again and see if something sticks out. And maybe you could get a read on them, too.”
Steve’s voice falters slightly on those last words as if the suggestion that he might need the help of a psychic actually physically hurts him.
“Don’t choke on it, big guy,” Danny mutters, and curses his stupid mouth as soon as the words come out.
Steve’s head whips around and he smirks at Danny with an amused twinkle in his eyes. The smile that spreads slowly across his lips is sly and suggestive. Danny finds that his mouth is suddenly dry. And even worse, he can’t stop staring at Steve’s lips. His stupid, stupid thought process chooses this moment to zoom in on the fact that there is barely any space between him and Steve. That he could bridge the gap by pushing himself forward just an inch or two. Could just wipe that silly self-satisfied smirk right off of Steve’s lips. Danny clears his throat and tries to put a lid on the sudden sweltering heat that threatens to overpower him. Arrogant, he tells himself over and over again, arrogant, arrogant, arrogant. As far as mantras go this one actually has a nice ring to it. Hot, whispers a tiny voice in the back of his mind, hot, hot, hot. Danny shuts it up resolutely. He hasn’t felt this foolishly attracted to some perfect stranger since he was fourteen and bend over an issue of Sports Illustrated.
The rest of the drive passes in silence. Mostly because Danny is trying to regain some sort of composure and, therefore, doesn’t run his mouth as much as he usually would. It should really feel a whole lot more awkward than it actually does. In fact, it’s oddly comfortable. Danny reclines in his seat and watches Steve drive. His sleeve barely covers the ink on his arm and Danny’s intrigued. It looks faded like Steve’s been carrying it around with him for a while. There is something hypnotic about the pale blue, green and red swirls stretching over taunt muscles, and Danny finds himself speculating about what it stands for, teenage rebellion or a relic of Steve’s military career?
He takes a deep breath and deliberately turns his attention to the interior of the car, before he can spend any completely inappropriate thoughts on say tracing the faded outlines of the tat with his tongue. It’s a nice car. The kind of car Danny’s always dreamed of having. Somehow he didn’t picture Steve as a Camaro sort of guy. Steve, he thinks, would look a lot more at home behind the wheels of something big and forceful. A SUV maybe, or a jeep… or a freaking tank.
…
They talk to the missing girls’ mother first. She’s sitting on a lawn-chair in her front yard watching a little girl play. It’s abundantly clear that she’s not doing so good. A worried frown mars her beautiful features and she keeps picking at her fingers unconsciously. She gets up as soon as she spots them and the hope in her eyes wrenches Danny’s heart.
“Commander McGarrett, are there any news?”
“I’m sorry, there are no new developments. Actually we have a few more questions about Lauren and Kelly,” Steve tells her, somehow managing to sound both sympathetic and sternly professional at the same time.
He looks down at the little girl with what he probably thinks of as a reassuring smile, but comes off as intimidating instead. She flinches and tries her very best to disappear behind her mother’s legs. Danny rolls his eyes at Steve’s back. So it’s not just him; Commander Steve McGarrett does not possess any people skills in general.
“Hey,” he says, sinking to his knees and smiling at the little girl, “You have to excuse my friend, he was raised by a family of bears. So he doesn’t know how to behave in civilized society.”
That earns him a giggle so he presses on, “I’m Danny. Who are you?”
“I’m Amber,” she offers shyly.
“You like bears, Amber?”
A shake of the head.
“No? My daughter doesn’t care for them much either. She likes rabbits and dolphins. How about you?”
“I like dolphins, too.”
“Of course you do. Everyone loves dolphins.”
“I got a stuffed dolphin. His name is Rodney,” she tells him in an excited half-whisper like she’s sharing a secret with him.
“Really? I’d like to meet him. You think you can introduce us?”
She smiles at him with the intensity of a light bulb, nods her curly head happily and rushes off into the house, all knobbly knees and too much energy. Danny remembers Grace at that age and feels oddly off-balance for a moment. He never quite anticipates that weird mix off tingly warmth and nostalgia that comes with thinking about Grace when she was younger. Man, she is just growing up too fast.
“Thanks,” Amber’s mom says with a fragile smile, “I haven’t told her yet, but she knows something’s wrong and she… didn’t have it easy lately.”
Danny knows that look. The one that says I’ve failed to shelter my child from life.
“Ugly divorce,” he asks gently. He doesn’t need to see the slow nod or the way she discreetly wipes at her eyes to know he’s hit the nail on the head; it’s all there in the thick grey fog floating around her sluggishly.
“Trust me, I can relate,” he tells her with the compassionate half-grin of 'been there, done that, bought the T'. With a reassuring pat on her shoulder he heads over to Amber, who just reappeared with a big squishy dolphin in her tiny arms. Steve can deal with this. There is nothing whatsoever that Danny can read in the woman’s aura other than ‘distressed mother’.
He’s still kneeling in front of Amber, admiring Rodney and telling her stories about his hilarious adventures at the zoo, when Steve’s hands land on his shoulders heavily. Danny, who was just contemplating whether he should get a stuffed dolphin for Gracie, nearly jumps out of his own skin.
“Jeez, Steve. Give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you. What are you, a freaking ninja?”
Amber giggles delightedly. Apparently the sight of Steve grinning down at Danny unabashedly makes him seem a whole lot less scary. And wouldn’t you know it, Steve is sporting his smile of extreme self-satisfaction again. Danny thinks he should probably get used to that one.
“Sorry to startle you,” Steve says, sounding amused and anything but sorry. “I’m done here.”
They say goodbye to Amber and walk back to the car side by side. Steve’s abnormally long legs cover ground fast, but he regulates his speed just enough to walk level with Danny, who isn’t much of a slow pacer either. It’s the same easy fit as in the car. Way too much familiarity for how little they actually know each other. Danny has a moment of ‘stop reading too much into this’ and finds himself hoping feverishly that moving to Hawaii didn’t turn him into the sort of creepy loner who snatches onto any form of human companionship with undue eagerness.
“You are a good father,” Steve tells him out of nowhere, his voice oddly soft.
“How would you know?” he replies caught off guard. Steve hasn’t even met Gracie.
“I can tell,” Steve states with conviction. And Danny remembers the vision of McGarrett senior - stern guy, hard as nails and clearly unaccustomed to the word ‘love’ coming from his own mouth. Maybe Steve can.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Danny confides in him. “My thing has never been easy on her. She used to get a lot of stick for it at school.”
“You followed her all the way to Hawaii,” Steve points out like he’s mounting a defense of Danny’s parenting skills. It’s really quite sweet.
“I know. It just feels a little selfish sometimes. This thing,” he whirls his hands around in a way he hopes symbolizes ‘ghosts and stuff’ and not ‘crazy pothead person’, “is not going to go away. I take it with me wherever I go.”
“Kids need their dad around,” Steve says, quiet and serious.
There is a story there and Danny’s half-inclined to press for more. Something about McGarrett letting his guard down claws at his heart with an intensity that’s pretty damn unsettling. After all, he only just met the guy a day ago.
“I really hope so,” he says instead. “Gracie’s everything to me.”
Steve smiles at him, eyes warm and mellow and oddly wistful. The sun hits him at an angle that makes it look like he’s actually glowing, and suddenly Danny feels stupid and tingly all over.
…
They talk to a couple of more people, but Danny doesn’t pick up on anything much. There is a girl among Kelly and Lauren’s circle of friends that seems dodgy to him. Her aura reads fear. Not that surprising, really, after all one of her friends just turned up dead and another one is still missing. Fear is an understandable reaction, but there is something off about it. It looks musty dark and that never bodes well in Danny’s experience. He tells Steve on the way home and he promises to look into it.
The atmosphere in the car is fraught with tension. As is his wont Danny talks too much. He’s never quite mastered the art of keeping his mouth shut, even though he can tell that the other man is barely listening to a word he’s saying. Steve’s wound tighter than a two dollar watch. He’s grown increasingly more strained as the day went on. The lines around his eyes became more pronounced with each passing hour and it’s hard not to notice the way he stiffened as if every dead end they encountered was an affront to him personally. Danny takes in the tight set of the jaw, the furrowed brow and the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and keeps rambling on, worrying his lips.
“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” he says as he gets out of the car. To his surprise Steve gets out, too. He leans against the door of the Camaro and meets Danny’s eyes squarely.
“No,” the protest comes out soft but heartfelt. “That’s not it. Look, it was worth a shot. I’m just … it’s been hours now and we are still no closer.”
Danny has a sudden ridiculous urge to draw him into a tight hug and tell him that he can’t safe the whole world all on his freaking lonesome. And the hell if he knows how the man turned him into bad support character from a horrible soap opera.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. You will find her,” he assures Steve, a little surprised by how much he actually believes that.
He reaches out instinctively and places one hand on Steve’s arm in a silent gesture of support, squeezing it reassuringly. Steve’s skin is warm and his muscular arm feels surprisingly soft under Danny’s fingers. Steve looks at the hand and then he looks at Danny in confusion like he’s not quite sure what to do with the gesture. Danny’s about to draw his hand away when Steve sends the most brilliant smile his way. Clearly Danny needs to develop an antidote to Steve’s smiles fast because at this rate he is going to lose it before the day is over. This one is the worst one yet - genuine, unguarded and too intimate by half. It makes Danny think of pressing Steve up against that car of his and showing him how to unwind all at once.
Danny’s hand rests on Steve’s forearm a bit longer than the situation truly merits. When he pulls it back he feels the loss of contact too sharply, and he really has to break eye contact before he does something stupid.
“Well, guess I’ll see you around,” he says lamely.
Steve just nods and gets back in the car. As he watches the Camaro pull out off his driveway Danny has the oddest sense of regret.
….
Danny’s phone rings at ass-a-clock the next morning. He fumbles for it eyes still closed.
“What,” he mumbles, barely making it past the yawn.
“We’ve got a lead. Get dressed. I’ll be there in five.”
Steve sounds chipper and wide-awake. Danny wants to hurt him. Badly.
“Steve? How’d you get my number? No wait forget I asked. If you used your special status with the governor to blatantly violate my constitutional right to privacy I’d rather not know about it. What I wanna know is, why the hell would you be calling me in the middle of the freaking night?
“You’re not a morning person, Danny,” Steve asks, and Danny can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Color me surprised.”
Danny envisions himself bashing Steve’s head in with a blunt instrument.
“This,” he grits out slowly while sitting up, “is not the morning. Anything before the sound of my alarm clock does not technically qualify as morning. It qualifies as a time you do not fucking call people.”
The only reply he gets is a chuckle, before Steve gleefully barks, “See you in a few,” into the phone and hangs up on Danny.
As Danny gets out of bed he takes a moment to curse Steve McGarrett’s entire existence. Then he gets dressed in a hurry and calls Rachel to tell her that he can’t take Gracie to school today, and ask her if he could talk to his daughter for a moment. He is still on the phone with Gracie when Steve pounds on his door like he’s trying to bust through it with his bare knuckles.
“Hey monkey, I’ve gotta go. Have a great day at school today and remember Danno loves you,” he says, while simultaneously opening the door and glaring daggers at Steve.
“Danno,” Steve asks instead of a proper greeting, as soon as Danny hangs up the phone.
“Don’t,” Danny grumbles, shaking his finger at Steve, “Just don’t.”
“Danno,” Steve repeats to himself, rolling the name around his mouth like he’s trying it out for fit.
“It’s way too early for this,” Danny sighs and steps out into the Hawaiian morning. The glare of the sun is almost blinding. Danny flinches and curses.
“I hate this place and it’s abysmal fucking weather conditions,” he complains, making his way to the Camaro, “This much freaking sun at the break of dawn. It’s just not natural, I’m telling you. Why people choose to live on this tropical version of the seventh circle of hell is beyond me.”
“You don’t like the beach,” Steve asks, brow furrowed in obvious confusion. “Who doesn’t like the beach?”
“I like concrete jungles, skyscrapers, cities, that sort of thing. Sharks, jellyfishes and skin cancer? Not so much.”
Steve’s smile is almost as bright as the freaking sun. It does Danny’s head in.
“You don’t know how to swim, do you?”
“I know how to swim,” Danny asserts immediately, “I just happen to think it’s an activity that should be solely restricted to survival purposes.”
He squints in the offensive sunlight grumpily and fights down the yawn that threatens to overpower him.
“Remind me again, why am I up in the wee hours of the morning, without breakfast I might add, on the chase for the criminal element?”
“Your lead panned out,” Steve says as if they are playing a game of ‘give the most cryptic answer possible’.
“Look at that, the man of the army speaks in riddles,” Danny announces to the world in general.
“It’s the navy, actually. And I’m talking about Lauren’s friend Tasha. The one you felt suspicious about. Turns out her boyfriend Sean is having money troubles and has been arrested for assault last year. So we gonna go have a word with him.”
“Right,” Danny replies slowly. “Any particular reason for doing that at a time where decent folks are still soundly asleep?”
“Sean hangs with the local surfer crowd. With any luck we should catch him at the pipeline this time of day.”
Danny has some thoughts on people stupid enough to take brightly colored boards with silly designs out into the ocean to get crushed by waves and eaten by sharks, and he has no reservations whatsoever to sharing these thoughts with Steve. Not that Steve seems bothered by it at all. On the contrary, he actually looks quite content, an indulgent smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth and his eyes crinkling in silent amusement. If it weren’t so absurd, Danny would say Steve was enjoying himself. Although, how anyone could be in a good mood at this time of the day is a complete mystery to him. He’s feeling irritable and Steve’s sunny disposition is just adding fuel to the fire.
All things considered the beach doesn’t improve matters much. There is sand in his shoes, dimwit surfers everywhere and no trace of the suspect whatsoever. No amount of scantily clad women can make up for these glaring deficiencies.
“Brilliant plan,” he tells Steve with every ounce of sarcasm he can muster. “No really, I’m so glad you dragged me out of bed for this.”
Steve just nudges his shoulder playfully. The beach has a curious affect on him. Everything about Steve is a little less hard-wired; he’s all easy smiles and unusually relaxed energy. Demeanor, posture and aura seem to feed off of the familiarity of the place. Danny watches Steve talk to people in that weird surfer speak, a mix of English and pidgin and phrases that make no freaking sense to Danny, whatsoever, and realizes that Steve’s right at home here. It’s odd, because as far as Danny’s heard Steve hasn’t lived in Hawaii in ages and only moved back here after his father died. Maybe Surfer Steve is a remnant from way back. For all that Danny despises the beach he actually sort of enjoys this laid-back version of McGarrett.
Danny hangs back and leaves the interacting with people to Steve. It’s not his scene at all. He sort of enjoys the show, though. Steve looks like he’s a heartbeat away from discarding his shirt and cargos to go brave the waves himself. The image of Steve coming out of the sea, all wet and glistering in nothing but a pair of shorts does something for Danny. He takes a moment to indulge in that particular fantasy and, because the gods are clearly not in favor of him having a half-way decent start to the day, some guy promptly interrupts his fantasizing session by patting his shoulder and muttering something unintelligible.
“I’m sorry, what,” Danny asks uncomprehending. “Excuse me?”
Oh goodie, more syllables that don’t translate into anything coherent.
“Are you speaking English?”
Steve appears by his side out of nowhere. Danny didn’t even see him move.
“Danno don’t surf,” Steve tells the guy with just that hint of a smirk.
He drapes one arm lightly over Danny’s shoulder in a carefree companionable manner.
“What have I told you about that,” Danny asks, and so what if his chest feels a little tight at the way Steve acts like he’s known Danny forever. Using Gracie’s nickname for him like he’s owned the right to it. Like the inherent intimacy doesn’t bother him at all.
Danny turns to look at Steve, which given the arm across his shoulder means that he is basically snuggling into the touch, and finds Steve staring straight at that surfer dude. The relaxed smile from earlier is gone and replaced by a blank but incredibly focused stare. It’s not exactly threatening, but it’s clearly meant to convey something. Danny’s just not sure what exactly.
“Shoots,” the guy mumbles and walks off. He looks dejected.
“Okay, what the hell was that all about,” Danny asks Steve. “I dare you to tell me what he just said.”
“Nothing,” Steve replies, looking unnecessarily pleased with himself. “He was just flirting with you.”
It doesn’t sound like a joke. Danny runs the whole incident past his inner eye and, yeah, the guy could have been flirting, which would mean that Steve’s buddy routine read as something else entirely. It must’ve looked like they were an item. And there is no way Steve wasn’t aware of that. Danny doesn’t do flustered. He isn’t the type. Which is why the thought of Steve playing pretend boyfriend shouldn’t do this to him. Shouldn’t turn his palms sweaty and make him feel all fidgety and hot. Regardless of what people seem to think, he is not an impulsive man, and falling for someone in just two days? Definitely not his M.O.! Once bitten and all that. So he decides to let it go.
Fortunately Steve is on the same page. He’s already moved on, talking about the insights he gleaned from Sean’s friends. He’s back to being all ultra-focused energy, getting right down to business and striding back towards the Camaro. Danny pads after him belatedly. Lack of sleep aside, he honestly doesn’t know when anyone last managed to make him feel as off balance as Steve does. Dealing with ghosts is a picnic compared to dealing with this guy.
…
They end up rushing all over the island - again. It’s ridiculous. At some point Danny has to forcefully make Steve stop to get some of those donuty things they sell on every second street corner. It’s not breakfast but it’ll do. He tells Steve as much, which sets him up for an interesting debate about both Steve’s aversion to crumbs in the car and his irrational fear of clogged arteries. At the peak of which Danny has convinced himself that Steve is in fact a goddamn robot. He makes a point of munching the pastries as messily as possible and blissfully spills crumbs all over himself when he informs Steve that no way in hell will this exempt him from sponsoring the breakfast that Danny is clearly still owned.
Steve turns to Danny and somehow manages to combine a frown with a smile. The look on his face, torn between amusement and disapproval, should be hysterical but is oddly heartwarming instead. It carries a distant note of exasperated fondness that hasn’t been targeted at Danny for quite some time now. As soon as Steve parks the Camaro he leans over to brush the remaining crumbs of Danny’s chest. It’s an easy thoughtless act. Steve is probably thinking about vacuum cleaning the entire car while he’s doing it. So there is no reason, no reason at all, for Danny to still and think of home and family.
“You take me to all the nicest places, babe,” he jokes, despite the lump in his throat, as he nods at the row of run down condos.
Steve raises an eyebrow at him.
“I’ve been to your ‘apartment’,” he says and uses honest-to-god air quotes around the word. “This should feel like the Hilton to you.”
“You’re a regular freaking comedian, aren’t you?” Danny grumbles as he gets out of the car, and tries not to grin too hard at how easy it is to bicker with Steve. “So what brings us here.”
“Tasha’s brother lives here.”
Tasha and her boyfriend have been AWOL since this morning. They haven’t showed up at work and so far all their friends and family have claimed not to know their whereabouts. To make matters more urgent the missing girl’s father received a ransom note this morning. Apparently the guy, a CEO of some sorts whose first impression on Danny wasn’t helped by the fact that he reminded him a lot of Step-Stan, is crazy rich. Steve spent most of the morning on the phone to his team, trying to get a location on Sean and preparing for how to react once the kidnappers get into contact.
Danny feels a tingle of anticipation when they hear raised voices from the flat. Steve enters first, weapon drawn. The scene that greets them seems strangely unreal, like a staged tableau. Tasha, her brother and Sean are standing in a sort of triangular formation. It’s clear that they’ve just been shouting at each other, but now they are frozen to the spot and staring at the scary guy with the gun, wide-eyed and in a state of shock.
“Hawaii-Five-0,” Steve announces and fixes Sean with an intimidating stare. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”
The play of auras is interesting. All three show clear signs of fear, but there is something else going on. The dark wavy shades form a complex picture. Danny gets sidetracked by it for an instant and has to blink to get his focus back on what’s going on. Whatever’s just been said, Steve’s clearly not a happy camper.
“Where is Lauren,” he asks Sean icily.
Obviously the Commander prefers the direct approach to interrogation.
“I have nothing to do with whatever happened to Lauren,” Sean tells Steve, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking him straight in the eyes. “I don’t know where she is.”
His aura shows no signs of guilt or remorse nor is there any trace of resentment, which is pretty unusual in someone whose just committed a violent crime. Even the saturation of his fear is a lot less pronounced than the other’s. In fact, the color is off in the same way that his girlfriend’s was and still is. Danny takes in the way Sean unconsciously moved towards Tasha, almost blocking her from Steve. Protective instincts.
“Fuck me,” he exclaims as it hits him, causing everyone to stare at him as if he is the maniac here.
Sean isn’t afraid for himself, and neither is Tasha.
“It’s not him,” he tells Steve confidently, before pointing at Tasha’s brother. “It’s him.”
Steve’s stare refocuses instantly. Not a second of doubt, Danny notes and can’t help feeling distantly pleased.
“I have no idea what he is talking about,” the guy tells Steve, almost stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out.
Now that Danny takes a closer look at him, he can see the orange lines of guilt pulsating underneath the thick dark cloud of terror. He’s still adamant in his denial, though.
“Timmy,” Tasha urges her brother gently, but he doesn’t listen.
“I’m not telling you jack,” he informs Steve brazenly. “And I want a lawyer.”
The guy is clearly an idiot. Steve moves like lightning, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and dragging him towards the open glass door. Danny doesn’t even have the time to do as much as blink before the guy is tangling over the balcony rail.
“Timmy,” Tasha’s freaked-out squeal echoes through the room and Sean immediately wraps her up in his arms, but does nothing to confront the madman endangering her brother’s life.
Apparently it’s up to Danny to function as the voice of reason in this little scenario. Life's just not fair. He’s out the door and by Steve’s side in no time, hands spinning out of control in an effort to deflect the crazy.
“What the hell,” he shouts at the man, who looks calm and in control of himself and not like the complete and utter mental case he obviously is. “Are you out of your fucking mind? This is not Guantanamo. Pull him up, you maniac.”
“He’d probably survive the fall,” Steve informs Danny cheerfully, but stares straight at Timmy as he utters the words.
The gleam in his eyes is somewhat worrying. Timmy seems to think so too, because he starts babbling all of a sudden, telling them all about his gambling debts and how he got involved with some really shady guys and how he never meant for anyone to get hurt. Danny’s half-inclined to tell Steve to drop him off the fucking balcony after all. Instead he commands, “Pull him up, already,” and is a little surprised when Steve follows order.
Steve cuffs the guy and drags him towards the car, while simultaneously continuing the interrogation and micromanaging his team over the phone. In between asking, “Where exactly did you meet those guys,” and barking “Get me an address, Chin,” into the phone he turns to Danny and says, “Look, I wasn’t gonna let him fall,” almost apologetically, like he feels the need to explain himself for some reason. Danny does not think that’s attractive. He does not fall for psychopaths as a general rule.
After dropping Timmy off at the nearest HPD station Steve decides to check out the place Timmy’s been meeting his partners in crime at. Some run-down garage offering jeep and bike rentals to tourists in an area Danny’s never even heard of. When they pull up in front of the place three vaguely humanoid looking mounts of steroids are just unloading stuff from a jeep. Steve gets out of the car and waves his badge at them, which results in all three of them jumping into the jeep and taking off at high speed. Steve curses and jumps back into the car. Before Danny even draws a breath to ask him what exactly it is he thinks he’s doing they are speeding off after the fleeing vehicle. And because Danny is lucky like that, their high speed car chase leads them along the side of a freaking mountain.
“I see dead people I don’t need to be one as well,” he yells at Steve over the sound of screeching tires. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Steve turns to look at him, only one hand on the steering wheel, wearing a maniac smile. Danny’s heart is pounding way too fast, and he can’t be entirely sure it’s just fear of death causing it.
“Look at the road, you idiot! The road,” he shouts as loud as he can while clinging to the grab handle with all his might. Why is this his life?
Danny spends some time screwing his eyes shut tight and, therefore, misses the daredevil maneuver Steve pulls to get in front of the car they are chasing and force them to stop. He gets to watch Steve practically roll out of the car and take care of two beef heads with some weirdly precise martial arts moves, however. His motions are swift and smooth and not entirely unerotic. It’s not even fair how good crazy looks on Steve McGarrett.
Danny shifts in his seat but stays put. That is until he sees that creep sneaking up on Steve and decides to cut him short by ramming the passenger door into him full force. It’s pretty satisfying to watch the chunky gorilla fold down with a loud oomph. Still, Danny doesn’t have the time to savor the experience. He is out of the car and straight into McGarrett’s face in a heartbeat.
“What is your fucking problem,” he asks and doesn’t care that he’s shouting once more. It’s a reasonable question after all. “Did you hear me asking to take part in a goddamn high speed car chase cross country trekking adventure through the fucking jungle? Because I do not remember asking for such a thing. I don’t care whatever suicide mission you are on at the moment; I have a daughter. I do not want to die in some ditch in the freaking Hawaiian outback!”
“We are on a road Danny,” Steve says in a reasonable tone of voice.
Danny stares at him, then looks down to stare at the stretch of red dust gravel they are currently standing on before looking back up at McGarrett pointedly.
“This,” he says, gesturing at the ground, “is not a road. This is a trail of sand along a huge freaking cliff. I know roads. Roads are made of asphalt. They are great hallmarks of civilization and not places to conduct a freaking death race on.”
Steve looks like he’s about to interject another brilliant piece of McGarrett logic and Danny’s not sure his brain will be able to process that without melting down. He holds up a hand right in front of Steve’s face.
“What kind of idiot charges in without back-up,” he asks, trying for a change of topic. “If I had known you had some kind of death wish I would never have gotten into a car with you. Is there some new police regulation that I am not aware of? From what I can remember YOU DON’T HUNT DOWN DANGEROUS CRIMINALS ON YOUR OWN.”
“You were there,” Steve says without batting an eyelash.
“I was there?” Danny repeats incredulously. “Are you completely insane? Were you dropped on the head as a small child? I’m not sure you are aware of this, but the term ‘police consultant’ is not in any way a euphemism for back-up. I consult; I do not get involved in life and death scenarios.”
“Euphemism,” Steve asks amused, and then has the balls to add, “Don’t worry you did good.”
Danny must be having an outer body experience, because Steve did not just say that with a straight face and a broad smile.
“That is not the point. That, in fact, is so far away from the point it’s on another fucking planet…,” he starts and once he gets started he suddenly can’t stop anymore, talks himself right into a white-hot rage.
Steve’s just standing there, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly. The guy does his blood pressure no good whatsoever. Danny’s so riled he doesn’t even notice the car pulling up next to them. Only when one of the two detectives, who stopped next to them and watched the spectacle with matching grins, interrupts him with a careful “Boss?” does he stop to take a breath.
“Kono, Chin meet Danno,” Steve introduces him, clearly pleased with himself.
“Danny,” he corrects emphatically, shaking their hands. “Danny Williams.”
“We found Lauren tied up in the garage. HPD is taking her back to her parents,” the hot Asian babe tells Steve, while the guy at her side seems perfectly content with just looking chill.
“You want us to book these guys, boss?”
“Wait a second, you work with this man,” Danny asks pointing wildly at Steve. “Why do you work with this man? I talk to ghosts. I’m comfortable with a level of crazy, you wouldn’t even believe. And even I can see that this guy needs help. Professional help. I’m talking round the clock care here.”
Chin and Kono look amused by the outburst. They are more obviously locals of Hawaii than Steve is, but they are also freakishly tall and quite frankly way too hot to work as civil servants, causing Danny to wonder whether the governor handpicked her entire task force at some crazy ass Hawaiian fashion show.
“That the guy,” Chin asks Steve as if people spouting about seeing ghosts are such a regular occurrence that he might be any number of people. And on this tropical equivalent of a nuthouse? Who knows. “I can see what you like about him.”
“I have you know,” Danny starts and then notices the expression on Steve’s face. It’s downright hilarious. Embarrassment and ‘shut up or I will kill you in an excruciatingly painful way’ are fighting for dominance. Chin looks far from impressed. It takes Danny a second to catch on.
“Hold on, you like me? You actually said that?”
“Not in so many words,” Kono chirps in, obviously delighting in making her boss uncomfortable. “But we caught on when he didn’t stop talking about you.”
Steve actually ducks his head and honest-to-god blushes. It’s not endearing, Danny tells himself sternly. He has a hard time holding on to his righteous anger, nonetheless.
“There is something wrong with you,” he tells Steve, because some things bear repeating, and can’t help that it comes out sounding fond rather than pissed off.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” Steve offers all puppy-dog helpfulness.
“Damn right, you will. It’s not like I can get a cab in the middle of the wilderness,” Danny complains grumpily as he turns and trots after Steve.
It feels suspiciously like they are falling back into a rhythm. Their rhythm. But Danny isn’t about to acknowledge any such thing. Instead he gives Steve the silent treatment, which works remarkably well. Steve keeps fidgeting in his seat and glancing over at him every other moment. He doesn’t even make it ten minutes before he breaks the silence.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m not talking to you,” Danny tells him sternly, and there is absolutely no part of him that finds it charming that someone who’s been trained by the SEALs can’t even withstand the silent treatment.
“What? Not now or not ever?”
“Both,” Danny replies emphatically.
“You want me to apologize for saving that girl’s life,” Steve asks with a confused frown.
“I want you to apologize for risking my life!”
“Fine Danno,” Steve says with a put-upon sigh. “I apologize for driving a little too fast. I did not realize how sensitive you are.”
“Sensitive,” Danny repeats incredulously, raising his voice over the white-hot noise in his ears. “I am sensitive, am I?”
Steve’s still grinning like a maniac, so Danny launches into a speech about the rules of civilized society, those unspoken guidelines of human interaction that divide mankind from the animal kingdom.
“I’m sorry, Danny,” Steve says once Danny takes a break to catch his breath. “I said I’m sorry. Sincerely sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” Danny allows hesitantly, realizing that they are already driving through his neighborhood. “Only so you know, I’m giving you an easy pass here, because I’m so terribly relieved that my unfortunate exposure to your craziness will soon be a thing of the past.”
Steve stops smiling at that and looks genuinely put out for a second, but perks up as a thought seems to strike.
“I still owe you breakfast,” he informs Danny brightly as he parks the car in Danny’s driveway, looking pleased with himself and hopeful.
Steve is a psychopathic adrenaline junkie with control issues and worst of all a freaking morning person; any sensible person would steer clear of him. So there is no reason at all to say “I’ll hold you to that,” with a big old stupid smile. And yet, as Danny gets out of Steve’s car he can’t help but feel secretly proud for not saying anything more incriminating, ‘it’s a date’ for instance. In no way, shape or form will he ever admit to this, but, for an instant there, he thinks being swept up into Steve’s crazy world might not be so bad after all.
Part II