H50 Fic: "The Mountains Washed Away" 3/?, H/C, Danno?Steve
Title: The Mountains Washed Away, Chapter 3
Author: Phreakycat
Pairing: Danno/Steve
Rating: M
Genre: Adventure, H/C, Slash
Warnings: Some violence, mention of physical injury, boy love (though I think of this as an enticement rather than a warning...)
Summary: Take Steven and Danno and blend well with gunfire and an explosion. Add a healthy dose of whump and season well with banter and unresolved sexual tention. Marinate well in ocean water for several hours and enjoy! Or, the one where I beat the shit out of Steve and force Danno to swim. A lot.
A/N: Okay, so a big fat SORRY FOLKS for the extraordinarily long wait for this chapter. Yes, I know it's been 7 months. Yes, I realize that if this fic were a child it would have been removed from my care for neglect by now. Writing has been difficult the last several months for several reasons, the main reason being that I am in a great deal of pain (and on heavy-duty painkillers as a result). I was hit by a drunk driver in a car accident a few years ago, which resulted in extensive injuries to one of my hips and and both knees (one more than the other). I've had lots of surgery to try to fix the damage to my bones, cartilage, and nerves, and I'm currently awaiting insurance approval for yet another one to fix a complication of the LAST surgery. So basically I've been either in pain (distracting when it comes to writing) or doped up (in which case I just blink owlishly at the screen and giggle at my cursor - also not very productive). I've tried writing this chapter SO many times and either couldn't get it started or hated what I wrote. I had sworn I wasn't going to do "post as I write them" fics anymore, so I'm not sure what I was thinking when I posted this fic. Probably excitement over a new fandom. It was so SHINY, okay? IDEK.
Anyway, I am very sorry. I am also very sorry that I cannot guarantee I will get chapter 4 up any time soon, either. I promise to try, and I promise it won't be 7 months again, but please be patient with me. If my surgery is approved soon I'll be spending lots of time in the hospital and very doped up once I'm home, so while I promise to try to wrap things up before then I don't want to set unreasonable expectations. Also, I ADORE comments from all you kind peoples and I love hearing feedback, concrit, and general fandom glee, but I would like to gently request that folks not leave comments prodding me to update or lamenting the lack of an update. I certainly don't mind things along the lines of "can't wait to see what happens next," or "looking forward to the next chapter," but comments like "It's been months! When are you going to update?!" simply make me feel guilty and stressed and like I'm letting people down, which frankly isn't all that helpful in getting the writing process started, OR healing from major surgery. :) So while I know it's frustrating when an author updates so infrequently, please just know that I am not abandoning the story, I am aware of people's desire to read the rest of the story, and I am working to make it happen as fast as I am able.
Good lord, that A/N is LONG! So without further ado, here's the chapter! Enjoy!
______________________
“No more malasadas for you,” Danny pants, heaving McGarrett’s legs onto their makeshift raft. “Or maybe more malasadas and less working out. They say muscle weighs more than fat, right? Plus it’s more buoyant. That’s it. When - if - we get rescued, I’m making it my personal mission to destroy your BMI, McGarrett. That way if - when - we inevitably get stranded in the ocean again, I can use your ass as a floatation device.”
McGarrett moans in response, squinting up at the mid-day sky as Danny wriggles onto the raft beside him. There isn’t much room - their “raft” is barely large enough to hold them both, and the bottoms of Steve’s boots stick out over the edge. Danny is fairly certain that even a moderate amount of movement will capsize them. He makes a mental note to delay any rants directed at McGarrett until they’re on dry land, where he can safely punctuate his words with the appropriate hand-flailing.
McGarrett’s not really in any condition to appreciate Danny’s dressing-down right now, anyway. He’s thankfully still conscious and appears to be aware of his surroundings, but he still has the hazy look of someone with a serious head wound. Danny doubts he could track more than basic conversation at this point.
“Jesus, McGarrett, what’re we going to do?” he asks anyway, more out of a need to express how fucked they are out loud than any real expectation that Steve will answer. “I can’t go out like this. I can’t leave Grace. God… Gracie.”
He’s going to miss everything. He won’t get to see her grow up, graduate, get married, be a mom...
“We’re going to make it, Danno,” McGarrett says with strange intensity.
Danny can tell Steve’s trying to give him the “It’s true because I say it is” look. It’s lacking in its usual intensity due to the fact that Steve can barely focus his eyes, let alone use them to express SEAL-level determination.
“While I appreciate the sentiment, babe, that’s not something you can promise me in our current position,” Danny laughs bitterly. “In case your explosion-muddled brain has lost track of the situation, let me remind you: we’re adrift in open ocean, miles off course from where we should be, and no one knows that we’re in trouble, let alone where to look for us. You’re injured, and if we’re being honest here - and why the hell shouldn’t we, what with the imminent death and all - I’m so fucking freaked out I can barely keep from screaming like a woman, let alone concoct the sort of McGyver-esque plot necessary to extract us from this unbelievably fucked situation. So unless you’ve got some sort of waterproof radio or an inflatable raft with an outboard stashed in your cavernous cargo pockets, I don’t really see how you can say we’re going to make it!”
Danny ends his rant with a near-hysterical snort of laughter, biting down on his rising panic and thumping the back of his head against the fiberglass in frustration. Steve rolls carefully onto his side and stares fuzzily at Danny for a moment before reaching out and resting a hand on Danny’s arm.
“Chin and Kono will figure something out,” he says. “It’ll take some time, but you’ve got to believe they’ll save us. You know them, Danny. You know they won’t stop until they find us. I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust my life with more, except for you. And in the meantime I’ll keep you safe. I’ll fight off the sharks with my bare hands if I have to. I swear.”
Danny laughs again, this time with less hysteria and more genuine amusement. “I’m sure you would,” he chuckles. “You’re the only man I know that might actually get into a fistfight with a great white shark. I swear, I won’t be even the slightest bit surprised when you take one out with a right hook.”
Steve smiles at him, but then his expression sobers back into a strange, sad sort of determination. “I won’t let Grace grow up without her dad, Danny,” he says. “I won’t let her go through that.”
Danny’s heart constricts at the thought of his little girl out in the world, without her father to protect her and guide her and always, always, love her. The thought of missing her life fills him with terror, but it’s nothing compared to the thought of Grace having to live through the grief of losing her father. He would give anything to protect her from that pain and loss. McGarrett knows that pain, that loss, and Danny knows that his partner will do everything he can to protect Grace from having to know it, too.
“I know,” he chokes out, meeting Steve’s eyes. “I trust them, I do. I just - she’s my little girl, Steve. She’s my whole world. I had no idea I could love anything as much as I love her, and then when I saw her face for the first time, it was like I’d been living in black and white and all of a sudden everything was color. Every second I have with her is a gift, and the thought of missing her life, missing all those moments…”
It’s muddled by injury, but Danny can still recognize the selfless determination in Steve’s eyes as he stares at him. He’s seen that same thousand-yard stare every time they’ve encountered a case involving murdered parents. Steve gets this haunted look in his eyes, this intense, protective expression when he looks at the kids in those cases- like he would give anything to undo what’s been done to them, like he can see all the years of echoing loss that lie before them.
Steve worries Danny on those cases. The only thing more pointed than his haunted expression tends to be his unwavering resolve to get justice, even at the cost of his own safety and well being. Danny knows that this, too, is tied into Steve’s own grief, his frustration over the lack of justice for his own parents.
Steve likes to keep his emotions in check - he hides behind a mask of confidence, easy humor, and deadly skill. But the cases with kids… Steve has trouble keeping his reactions contained. He’s emotionally shaky, raw, and inevitably somber and withdrawn for days afterward. Sometimes Danny has to remind himself that Steve is human like the rest of them - he feels pain just as intensely, even if he’s better at hiding it. And he’s an orphan. Despite all his strength and his carefully constructed military persona, there is still a part of his partner that remains a wounded boy who grew up with a distant father and no mother. There is still a man who had to listen to his own father die, helpless to save him, and no one escapes an experience like that without lasting damage.
“How old were you?” Danny asks, “When your mom…”
He doesn’t know why he asks. He just can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to die out here, and the masochistic, morbid part of him needs to know what it will be like for Grace if that happens. The threat of imminent death makes him bold - considering how fucked they are, crossing their usual social boundaries doesn't seem so daunting and dangerous. And he can’t help a sudden curiosity about Steve’s mother - what she was like, what Steve was like before her loss reshaped him, what he would be like today if she had never died. So much of who McGarrett is seems wrapped up in her loss, and Danny wants to understand. It's suddenly important that he understand.
“I was fourteen,” Steve says, eyes skirting down and away. He eases onto his back but leaves his hand on Danny’s arm. “She died a week after my birthday.”
“Shit, that sucks.”
“Yeah, it was… really hard.” Steve’s voice cracks a little on the last word, and Danny’s guts tighten with unexpected guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he says hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No,” Steve says, “it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about her. Mary’s the only other person left who really knew her, and we don’t talk much. You know, Mary really looks like mom -it’s strange to look at her sometimes. It’s like looking at two people at the same time.”
“If by some miracle of God we manage to survive this, you’ll have to show me a picture. She sounds like she was a classy lady.”
“She was,” Steve smiles. “She was beautiful, and kind, but she was also sort of a klutz and she laughed at herself, all the time. She made me a lemon cake for that last birthday, with coconut frosting. She tried to make a marzipan football to put on top, but it ended up looking like the cat took a dump on top of the cake. All I remember about that birthday now is the four of us laughing over that marzipan football.”
Steve’s smile turns brittle and sad. “The day after she died, my dad was too fucked up to really do much to take care of us. Mary was still little, and she didn’t understand what had happened. She wanted eggs for breakfast. She wouldn’t stop asking for them, over and over again. I went to the fridge to get the eggs and when I opened it, I saw the leftover cake, and I just… It was so stupid, but that was the first moment I realized she was really gone, ya know? I realized she was never going to make me another birthday cake, and every birthday I had for the rest of my life was going to have this giant, painful, empty space where my mom should have been.”
Danny imagines a smaller, skinnier version of Steve trying to shoulder such a terrible realization, and his chest aches in sympathy. He lays his hand carefully over his partner’s, unsure how to respond. This is the most Steve has ever said on the subject, and Danny’s not sure if it’s a result of the head wound, their circumstances, or simply the fact that Danny has bothered to ask.
“I’m sorry,” he tells Steve, unable to think of anything more comforting to say.
“It’s alright,” Steve says gruffly, and Danny can practically see the wall coming back up. “It was a long time ago, and I’m not that little kid anymore." He pauses, then asks "What’s your mom like?”
Danny smiles.
“She’s great. She was always the perfect blend of strong and gentle, ya know? She’d whack you with a wooden spoon if you sassed her, but she’d be hugging you and kissing your hair two minutes later.”
“I bet you were a handful,” Steve smirks.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Danny laughs. “You know, all the other kids picked on me for being small, so I tried to make up for it by being batshit crazy and pulling reckless stunts. Kids on the block used to dare me to do all sorts of stupid shit. My ma, though, she’s pretty sharp, and she usually managed to nip the really hazardous stuff in the bud. It was like she had some sort of sixth sense for when I was about to risk my neck. Used to piss me off, but lord knows she probably saved me from some broken bones and missing teeth. Oh, man - like this one time Johnny Machovetti got his hands on some fireworks and…”
Steve smiles as Danny regales him with tales of juvenile recklessness and the narrowly averted loss of fingers. It occurs to Danny as he speaks that maybe some of Steve’s wildness is due to growing up without a mother to pull him down from trees and say things like “you’ll put your eye out,” or “wear a jacket, you’ll catch cold.” Danny still hears his mother’s voice in his head saying buckle up every time he gets into a car, caution (and a healthy fear of wooden spoons) ingrained in him after decades of concerned mothering. God knows Steve seems to lack even the most basic sense of self-preservation sometimes - maybe that's what happens to little boys who grow up without moms.
“We would have gotten into some seriously alarming shit together as kids,” Steve says, and Danny chuckles at the thought.
“I feel pretty confident in saying we would have caused massive damage,” Danny agrees.
Steve winces and shifts uncomfortably, and Danny hears his breath catch as he moves.
“Speaking of damage,” Danny says sympathetically. “Stiffening up?”
“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “A little.”
“I should take a look at your injuries.” Danny sits up carefully, mentally smacking himself for not thinking of it sooner. He knows McGarrett is hurt, and instead of checking him over he’s been lying around reminiscing about childhood antics.
“Nah,” Steve waves him away. “I’m fine, and there’s nothing you could do out here even if I were seriously hurt.”
“Humor me,” Danny says dryly. “It’s not like there’s a fuck ton else to do out here, and if you really are as fine as you say you are, what’s the problem with letting me look? At least it’ll reduce some of my anxiety to know you’re not going to bleed out on me or something.”
“Fine,” Steve concedes, sighing heavily and gingerly laying an arm over his eyes. “But I get to say I told you so when you realize I’m not in imminent danger of death.”
Danny ignores the snark and eases Steve’s still-damp tee up until it’s bunched in Steve’s armpits, wincing as he sees the skin underneath. Steve’s abdomen is mottled with darkening bruises that begin at his left hip and wrap around to the right side of his rib cage. He looks like someone beat him with a hammer.
Muttering a pre-emptive apology, Danny palpitates Steve’s stomach and ribs as gently as he can. Steve’s stomach is firm and warm under his hands, but it’s the firmness of muscle, not internal bleeding. Steve gasps and bites his lip when Danny presses on his bruised ribs, but there is no shifting of bone under Danny’s questing fingers.
“Satisfied?” Steve grits out, peeking at Danny from under his arm.
“Almost,” Danny promises. “Let me see your hip.”
"So forward, Mr. Williams," Steve says, rolling his eyes as he unbuttons his cargos. "And without even the consideration of buying me dinner first."
Danny fights down the completely inappropriate flush or arousal that pools in his belly as Steve pushes the fabric down over the curve of his hip. Steve’s torso makes a long, bare, well-muscled line from hip to pecs, the well-defined angle of his pelvis just peeking out from the top of his BVDs. But he’s injured, and they’re lost at sea, and this is so not the time for Danny to be indulging in his little gay crush on his partner (no matter how much said partner resembles the centerfold of "Smokin' Hot SEALs Quarterly").
He forces himself to focus on McGarrett’s hip and nothing else, and it’s easier to dispel his arousal when he sees the heavy bruising and swelling around the joint. Danny can see dark pools of blood from crushed capillaries pooling in a mottled circle around the jut of Steve’s pelvic bone, patches of deep purple amidst the inflamed red of irritated soft tissues.
“See? Fine,” McGarrett insists.
“You’re not fine,” Danny scoffs, “but I think you’ll live. Unless the sharks get you.”
“Stop worrying about the sharks,” Steve says, re-buttoning his pants as Danny eases back down at his side. “If anything, dehydration will kill us.”
Ridiculous as it is, Steve's backhanded reassurance makes Danny feel better.
TBC
Author: Phreakycat
Pairing: Danno/Steve
Rating: M
Genre: Adventure, H/C, Slash
Warnings: Some violence, mention of physical injury, boy love (though I think of this as an enticement rather than a warning...)
Summary: Take Steven and Danno and blend well with gunfire and an explosion. Add a healthy dose of whump and season well with banter and unresolved sexual tention. Marinate well in ocean water for several hours and enjoy! Or, the one where I beat the shit out of Steve and force Danno to swim. A lot.
A/N: Okay, so a big fat SORRY FOLKS for the extraordinarily long wait for this chapter. Yes, I know it's been 7 months. Yes, I realize that if this fic were a child it would have been removed from my care for neglect by now. Writing has been difficult the last several months for several reasons, the main reason being that I am in a great deal of pain (and on heavy-duty painkillers as a result). I was hit by a drunk driver in a car accident a few years ago, which resulted in extensive injuries to one of my hips and and both knees (one more than the other). I've had lots of surgery to try to fix the damage to my bones, cartilage, and nerves, and I'm currently awaiting insurance approval for yet another one to fix a complication of the LAST surgery. So basically I've been either in pain (distracting when it comes to writing) or doped up (in which case I just blink owlishly at the screen and giggle at my cursor - also not very productive). I've tried writing this chapter SO many times and either couldn't get it started or hated what I wrote. I had sworn I wasn't going to do "post as I write them" fics anymore, so I'm not sure what I was thinking when I posted this fic. Probably excitement over a new fandom. It was so SHINY, okay? IDEK.
Anyway, I am very sorry. I am also very sorry that I cannot guarantee I will get chapter 4 up any time soon, either. I promise to try, and I promise it won't be 7 months again, but please be patient with me. If my surgery is approved soon I'll be spending lots of time in the hospital and very doped up once I'm home, so while I promise to try to wrap things up before then I don't want to set unreasonable expectations. Also, I ADORE comments from all you kind peoples and I love hearing feedback, concrit, and general fandom glee, but I would like to gently request that folks not leave comments prodding me to update or lamenting the lack of an update. I certainly don't mind things along the lines of "can't wait to see what happens next," or "looking forward to the next chapter," but comments like "It's been months! When are you going to update?!" simply make me feel guilty and stressed and like I'm letting people down, which frankly isn't all that helpful in getting the writing process started, OR healing from major surgery. :) So while I know it's frustrating when an author updates so infrequently, please just know that I am not abandoning the story, I am aware of people's desire to read the rest of the story, and I am working to make it happen as fast as I am able.
Good lord, that A/N is LONG! So without further ado, here's the chapter! Enjoy!
______________________
“No more malasadas for you,” Danny pants, heaving McGarrett’s legs onto their makeshift raft. “Or maybe more malasadas and less working out. They say muscle weighs more than fat, right? Plus it’s more buoyant. That’s it. When - if - we get rescued, I’m making it my personal mission to destroy your BMI, McGarrett. That way if - when - we inevitably get stranded in the ocean again, I can use your ass as a floatation device.”
McGarrett moans in response, squinting up at the mid-day sky as Danny wriggles onto the raft beside him. There isn’t much room - their “raft” is barely large enough to hold them both, and the bottoms of Steve’s boots stick out over the edge. Danny is fairly certain that even a moderate amount of movement will capsize them. He makes a mental note to delay any rants directed at McGarrett until they’re on dry land, where he can safely punctuate his words with the appropriate hand-flailing.
McGarrett’s not really in any condition to appreciate Danny’s dressing-down right now, anyway. He’s thankfully still conscious and appears to be aware of his surroundings, but he still has the hazy look of someone with a serious head wound. Danny doubts he could track more than basic conversation at this point.
“Jesus, McGarrett, what’re we going to do?” he asks anyway, more out of a need to express how fucked they are out loud than any real expectation that Steve will answer. “I can’t go out like this. I can’t leave Grace. God… Gracie.”
He’s going to miss everything. He won’t get to see her grow up, graduate, get married, be a mom...
“We’re going to make it, Danno,” McGarrett says with strange intensity.
Danny can tell Steve’s trying to give him the “It’s true because I say it is” look. It’s lacking in its usual intensity due to the fact that Steve can barely focus his eyes, let alone use them to express SEAL-level determination.
“While I appreciate the sentiment, babe, that’s not something you can promise me in our current position,” Danny laughs bitterly. “In case your explosion-muddled brain has lost track of the situation, let me remind you: we’re adrift in open ocean, miles off course from where we should be, and no one knows that we’re in trouble, let alone where to look for us. You’re injured, and if we’re being honest here - and why the hell shouldn’t we, what with the imminent death and all - I’m so fucking freaked out I can barely keep from screaming like a woman, let alone concoct the sort of McGyver-esque plot necessary to extract us from this unbelievably fucked situation. So unless you’ve got some sort of waterproof radio or an inflatable raft with an outboard stashed in your cavernous cargo pockets, I don’t really see how you can say we’re going to make it!”
Danny ends his rant with a near-hysterical snort of laughter, biting down on his rising panic and thumping the back of his head against the fiberglass in frustration. Steve rolls carefully onto his side and stares fuzzily at Danny for a moment before reaching out and resting a hand on Danny’s arm.
“Chin and Kono will figure something out,” he says. “It’ll take some time, but you’ve got to believe they’ll save us. You know them, Danny. You know they won’t stop until they find us. I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust my life with more, except for you. And in the meantime I’ll keep you safe. I’ll fight off the sharks with my bare hands if I have to. I swear.”
Danny laughs again, this time with less hysteria and more genuine amusement. “I’m sure you would,” he chuckles. “You’re the only man I know that might actually get into a fistfight with a great white shark. I swear, I won’t be even the slightest bit surprised when you take one out with a right hook.”
Steve smiles at him, but then his expression sobers back into a strange, sad sort of determination. “I won’t let Grace grow up without her dad, Danny,” he says. “I won’t let her go through that.”
Danny’s heart constricts at the thought of his little girl out in the world, without her father to protect her and guide her and always, always, love her. The thought of missing her life fills him with terror, but it’s nothing compared to the thought of Grace having to live through the grief of losing her father. He would give anything to protect her from that pain and loss. McGarrett knows that pain, that loss, and Danny knows that his partner will do everything he can to protect Grace from having to know it, too.
“I know,” he chokes out, meeting Steve’s eyes. “I trust them, I do. I just - she’s my little girl, Steve. She’s my whole world. I had no idea I could love anything as much as I love her, and then when I saw her face for the first time, it was like I’d been living in black and white and all of a sudden everything was color. Every second I have with her is a gift, and the thought of missing her life, missing all those moments…”
It’s muddled by injury, but Danny can still recognize the selfless determination in Steve’s eyes as he stares at him. He’s seen that same thousand-yard stare every time they’ve encountered a case involving murdered parents. Steve gets this haunted look in his eyes, this intense, protective expression when he looks at the kids in those cases- like he would give anything to undo what’s been done to them, like he can see all the years of echoing loss that lie before them.
Steve worries Danny on those cases. The only thing more pointed than his haunted expression tends to be his unwavering resolve to get justice, even at the cost of his own safety and well being. Danny knows that this, too, is tied into Steve’s own grief, his frustration over the lack of justice for his own parents.
Steve likes to keep his emotions in check - he hides behind a mask of confidence, easy humor, and deadly skill. But the cases with kids… Steve has trouble keeping his reactions contained. He’s emotionally shaky, raw, and inevitably somber and withdrawn for days afterward. Sometimes Danny has to remind himself that Steve is human like the rest of them - he feels pain just as intensely, even if he’s better at hiding it. And he’s an orphan. Despite all his strength and his carefully constructed military persona, there is still a part of his partner that remains a wounded boy who grew up with a distant father and no mother. There is still a man who had to listen to his own father die, helpless to save him, and no one escapes an experience like that without lasting damage.
“How old were you?” Danny asks, “When your mom…”
He doesn’t know why he asks. He just can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to die out here, and the masochistic, morbid part of him needs to know what it will be like for Grace if that happens. The threat of imminent death makes him bold - considering how fucked they are, crossing their usual social boundaries doesn't seem so daunting and dangerous. And he can’t help a sudden curiosity about Steve’s mother - what she was like, what Steve was like before her loss reshaped him, what he would be like today if she had never died. So much of who McGarrett is seems wrapped up in her loss, and Danny wants to understand. It's suddenly important that he understand.
“I was fourteen,” Steve says, eyes skirting down and away. He eases onto his back but leaves his hand on Danny’s arm. “She died a week after my birthday.”
“Shit, that sucks.”
“Yeah, it was… really hard.” Steve’s voice cracks a little on the last word, and Danny’s guts tighten with unexpected guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he says hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No,” Steve says, “it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about her. Mary’s the only other person left who really knew her, and we don’t talk much. You know, Mary really looks like mom -it’s strange to look at her sometimes. It’s like looking at two people at the same time.”
“If by some miracle of God we manage to survive this, you’ll have to show me a picture. She sounds like she was a classy lady.”
“She was,” Steve smiles. “She was beautiful, and kind, but she was also sort of a klutz and she laughed at herself, all the time. She made me a lemon cake for that last birthday, with coconut frosting. She tried to make a marzipan football to put on top, but it ended up looking like the cat took a dump on top of the cake. All I remember about that birthday now is the four of us laughing over that marzipan football.”
Steve’s smile turns brittle and sad. “The day after she died, my dad was too fucked up to really do much to take care of us. Mary was still little, and she didn’t understand what had happened. She wanted eggs for breakfast. She wouldn’t stop asking for them, over and over again. I went to the fridge to get the eggs and when I opened it, I saw the leftover cake, and I just… It was so stupid, but that was the first moment I realized she was really gone, ya know? I realized she was never going to make me another birthday cake, and every birthday I had for the rest of my life was going to have this giant, painful, empty space where my mom should have been.”
Danny imagines a smaller, skinnier version of Steve trying to shoulder such a terrible realization, and his chest aches in sympathy. He lays his hand carefully over his partner’s, unsure how to respond. This is the most Steve has ever said on the subject, and Danny’s not sure if it’s a result of the head wound, their circumstances, or simply the fact that Danny has bothered to ask.
“I’m sorry,” he tells Steve, unable to think of anything more comforting to say.
“It’s alright,” Steve says gruffly, and Danny can practically see the wall coming back up. “It was a long time ago, and I’m not that little kid anymore." He pauses, then asks "What’s your mom like?”
Danny smiles.
“She’s great. She was always the perfect blend of strong and gentle, ya know? She’d whack you with a wooden spoon if you sassed her, but she’d be hugging you and kissing your hair two minutes later.”
“I bet you were a handful,” Steve smirks.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Danny laughs. “You know, all the other kids picked on me for being small, so I tried to make up for it by being batshit crazy and pulling reckless stunts. Kids on the block used to dare me to do all sorts of stupid shit. My ma, though, she’s pretty sharp, and she usually managed to nip the really hazardous stuff in the bud. It was like she had some sort of sixth sense for when I was about to risk my neck. Used to piss me off, but lord knows she probably saved me from some broken bones and missing teeth. Oh, man - like this one time Johnny Machovetti got his hands on some fireworks and…”
Steve smiles as Danny regales him with tales of juvenile recklessness and the narrowly averted loss of fingers. It occurs to Danny as he speaks that maybe some of Steve’s wildness is due to growing up without a mother to pull him down from trees and say things like “you’ll put your eye out,” or “wear a jacket, you’ll catch cold.” Danny still hears his mother’s voice in his head saying buckle up every time he gets into a car, caution (and a healthy fear of wooden spoons) ingrained in him after decades of concerned mothering. God knows Steve seems to lack even the most basic sense of self-preservation sometimes - maybe that's what happens to little boys who grow up without moms.
“We would have gotten into some seriously alarming shit together as kids,” Steve says, and Danny chuckles at the thought.
“I feel pretty confident in saying we would have caused massive damage,” Danny agrees.
Steve winces and shifts uncomfortably, and Danny hears his breath catch as he moves.
“Speaking of damage,” Danny says sympathetically. “Stiffening up?”
“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “A little.”
“I should take a look at your injuries.” Danny sits up carefully, mentally smacking himself for not thinking of it sooner. He knows McGarrett is hurt, and instead of checking him over he’s been lying around reminiscing about childhood antics.
“Nah,” Steve waves him away. “I’m fine, and there’s nothing you could do out here even if I were seriously hurt.”
“Humor me,” Danny says dryly. “It’s not like there’s a fuck ton else to do out here, and if you really are as fine as you say you are, what’s the problem with letting me look? At least it’ll reduce some of my anxiety to know you’re not going to bleed out on me or something.”
“Fine,” Steve concedes, sighing heavily and gingerly laying an arm over his eyes. “But I get to say I told you so when you realize I’m not in imminent danger of death.”
Danny ignores the snark and eases Steve’s still-damp tee up until it’s bunched in Steve’s armpits, wincing as he sees the skin underneath. Steve’s abdomen is mottled with darkening bruises that begin at his left hip and wrap around to the right side of his rib cage. He looks like someone beat him with a hammer.
Muttering a pre-emptive apology, Danny palpitates Steve’s stomach and ribs as gently as he can. Steve’s stomach is firm and warm under his hands, but it’s the firmness of muscle, not internal bleeding. Steve gasps and bites his lip when Danny presses on his bruised ribs, but there is no shifting of bone under Danny’s questing fingers.
“Satisfied?” Steve grits out, peeking at Danny from under his arm.
“Almost,” Danny promises. “Let me see your hip.”
"So forward, Mr. Williams," Steve says, rolling his eyes as he unbuttons his cargos. "And without even the consideration of buying me dinner first."
Danny fights down the completely inappropriate flush or arousal that pools in his belly as Steve pushes the fabric down over the curve of his hip. Steve’s torso makes a long, bare, well-muscled line from hip to pecs, the well-defined angle of his pelvis just peeking out from the top of his BVDs. But he’s injured, and they’re lost at sea, and this is so not the time for Danny to be indulging in his little gay crush on his partner (no matter how much said partner resembles the centerfold of "Smokin' Hot SEALs Quarterly").
He forces himself to focus on McGarrett’s hip and nothing else, and it’s easier to dispel his arousal when he sees the heavy bruising and swelling around the joint. Danny can see dark pools of blood from crushed capillaries pooling in a mottled circle around the jut of Steve’s pelvic bone, patches of deep purple amidst the inflamed red of irritated soft tissues.
“See? Fine,” McGarrett insists.
“You’re not fine,” Danny scoffs, “but I think you’ll live. Unless the sharks get you.”
“Stop worrying about the sharks,” Steve says, re-buttoning his pants as Danny eases back down at his side. “If anything, dehydration will kill us.”
Ridiculous as it is, Steve's backhanded reassurance makes Danny feel better.
TBC