have a happy holiday season and an H50 wip
I'm in Austin right now, leaving tomorrow, and presently failing to finish my yagkyas fic so that it can be beta-read and submitted on time (par for the course). I'll be going on an internet diet for a bit due to unknown internet availability when I get back to Canada, so if I don't post again, happy holidays to all you guys.
If you would like to engage in the spirit of giving, then all my ego wants for Christmas is some nice compliments while I stare sadly at grad school applications and drink my way to January. In return, have the entirety of a 10 000 word WIP you might recognize (this is all there is, there isn't any more. for the moment.)
"Danny! What the fuck is this on my desk?"
Danny winced and stuck his head into Gen. Donovan's office. "The thing from the press thing yesterday?" he said meekly.
"Get your ass in here so I can yell at you properly."
Danny felt it prudent to shut the door behind him. Last time Gen. Donovan had given him a dressing-down, the vice president had been able to hear it from her office and asked him later, with a worried look on her face, if he felt safe in his job. It had been one of the most awkward conversations of his life to date.
"Sir," he said, feeling like he was standing in front of a firing squad.
Gen. Donovan picked up the Post's report and read aloud from it. "'When asked whether the new US-Mexican border policy put forward by the White House would visibly bolster national security efforts against drug trafficking and illegal immigration, Deputy National Security Advisor Daniel Williams suggested that it would be heads and tails over bands of rednecks in pickups performing citizen's arrests'."
Danny winced into the silence that followed.
"It was a very stressful press briefing," he suggested finally.
"Really?" Gen. Donovan asked serenely. He sat in his chair and folded his hands in front of him on the desk. "Please, Danny," he said, gesturing at the chair opposite the desk. "Sit down and tell me all about how the press corps was so mean to you."
Gen. Donovan was a decorated Air Force veteran and had actively served in like, six major conflicts before becoming the White House National Security Advisor. Danny had a degree in Political Science from Columbia, a Master's in Governmental Affairs from the University of Pennsylvania, and a mish-mash of experience in the private and public sectors. He sighed and took his seat.
"Look," he tried, "they took me out of context."
"It's the press corps," said Gen. Donovan. "That's what they do. What the hell did you say that they managed to cruelly wrest this lovely quote from?"
Danny stopped to collect his thoughts. "Okay," he said finally, "so maybe the rest of what I said to that question was more or less in the same vein. I did manage not to name any names, this time."
"What a fucking relief," said Gen. Donovan. "Get out of my office and go draft your retraction. There better be lots of backpedaling and personal responsibility taken for your quote."
Danny hesitated with his hands on the arms of his chair. "In all fairness, the press probably knows that was one hundred percent me, by this point."
"I want it on my desk by the end of the day, and send a copy to the press secretary, too. Maybe with an apology bouquet. She could use it."
Danny stood up. "Yes, sir."
"Try not to talk to anyone with a notebook in the twenty metres between my office and yours," Gen. Donovan barked just before he could shut the door behind him.
Danny rolled his eyes up at the ceiling; the General's secretary gave him a sympathetic look which he ignored, taking the walk of shame back to his office.
When he settled back at his desk and shoved aside a stack of briefings on the Middle East to find his keyboard, the first thing Danny did was check his email. A handful of departmental things, including minutes from the morning NSA bullpen meeting; a message with the subject line in all caps from the press secretary's office which he was going to ignore as long as possible; some lobbyists shamelessly begging for face time (he forwarded those to his assistant); a one-line message from Janelle in the Communications office about lunch that he fired off a quick, hopefully not too desperate 'yes' to; and finally an email with no subject line from an unknown address. Danny hovered the cursor over it for a second, his curiosity warring with his instinct to just delete it. Finally, he double-clicked the message to open it.
"What the hell," he muttered to himself as he squinted at it. It was a giant block of text with enough misspellings to give his assistant a heart attack. As he skimmed through it, his eyebrows climbed toward his hairline at the content; apparently he'd won himself a new fan with that press fiasco. "'I am going to burn down your house'?" he read out loud, feeling incredulous. "Go ride around in your pickup, Crazyface," he said, hitting the Delete key with a little flourish before opening the word processor to stare at a blank page in shame for a while.
***
Janelle from Communications wanted soup for lunch, so they went to a newish bistro near the Mall.
"The guys in the Press office want to know if you're interested in giving talks on PR management," she said not long after they sat down with their food.
"Jesus," groaned Danny as she laughed at him.
"Dana was on a tear this morning. You're lucky you didn't cross her path or she might have incinerated you with a look."
"My boss said to send her flowers with the draft of my retraction," said Danny.
"She likes those gerbera daisies. Better make it a big bouquet," Janelle advised, picking apart her roll and dipping a piece in her soup.
This was why Danny liked Janelle; she was a sassy bitch. And he didn't learn from things like his divorce. "Oh, hey," he said suddenly, putting down his roast beef and swiss. "Funny story."
She looked up expectantly as she ate.
"So besides the email from Dana that I'm terrified to read, I got back to my office this morning and there was this email from some random person." Danny picked up a crumble of cheese from his paper plate and ate it off of his fingertip. "It was this whole... fuck, a manifesto... from some hick in Arizona or something who I offended yesterday. It was like, pages, about the Second Amendment and how the Democrats are ruining everything, and then they closed it off with saying they were gonna burn down my house."
Danny chuckled at his sandwich as he picked it up again. When he looked at Janelle, she was staring at him in silence.
"What?" he asked.
"Danny, are you serious?"
"It was just a stupid email."
"Where'd it come from?"
He shrugged. "Some free AOL address. I just deleted it after I read it. You give these people attention and they just react more."
"You're supposed to forward all those things to Jack Haverman," she said.
"Okay," said Danny, holding up his hands. "I think the Secret Service has better things to do than read my fanmail from some crazy fucker in the desert. Honestly, it's not even the first time I've gotten an email like that. I think my address is way too easy to guess."
"I guess 'dhwilliams@whitehouse.gov' is a little bit on the nose," she said thoughtfully. Danny was gratified to be getting some of the lighthearted tone back; this was a terrible lunch date so far.
He took a bite out of his sandwich and chewed. "I'm just gratified that he cares enough to write, you know?"
Janelle put down her spoon, frowning again. "Just promise me one thing."
"Yeah?"
"If you get another one, send it to Jack."
Danny rolled his eyes.
"Danny."
"Okay! I promise."
She threw her garbage on her lunch tray and grabbed her purse. "I have to get back to work," she said. "I'll see you later, okay?"
"Great," said Danny as she abandoned him. He finished his sandwich as fast as he could and got up to leave himself.
***
It didn't really matter what he'd promised Janelle, of course; all Danny took from that shitty lunch conversation was that she wouldn't appreciate hearing about any future emails he might get from his new friend (who he privately named Bubba, since his email had had no signature). But it was a moot point anyway, unless Bubba turned out to be more than some one-off crank-yanker. Danny refocused his energy on buying Dana's love, or at least her tolerance.
Then, two days later, he had another email from a random address. It seemed to be a different AOL address than the first, and it had a subject line of 'hi', but Danny had a good feeling about it when he clicked on it.
"Oh, aren't you sweet," he said to himself at the block of crazyspeak that opened on his screen. It was another delightful treatise on the subtleties of foreign policy, with segues into calling Danny a spineless homosexual in regards to the retraction he'd released. Bubba liked a man who stuck to his guns, even if his guns were bleeding-heart liberal ones and advocated dirty foreigners taking jobs from hardworking Americans. Danny was charmed, until he got to the end of the email; there Bubba voiced his concern over what kind of flowers a spineless homosexual should have at his funeral, an apparently pressing problem for Danny because Bubba claimed he was going to come to D.C. and kill him.
"Jesus Christ," said Danny, deleting the email. "The man likes a personal touch." He picked up a fact sheet on Libya from his in-tray and spent the next hour and a half on that; when his assistant Trevor came into his office to deliver some mail, Danny told him he had a secret admirer.
"I don't doubt it," said Trevor without looking up from the stack of envelopes in his hand. "I heard the ladies are lining up for you."
"Your tone isn't one of conviction," observed Danny. "I don't think I like that."
Trevor neatly stacked the mail in the only clean space on Danny's desk. "Haters gonna hate," he said before walking away.
"You are white and went to Princeton!" Danny shouted after him. "You can't say things like that!"
Trevor just shrugged without turning back around.
***
Bubba sent three more emails over the next week, two from the same address and all with subject lines. They seemed to be getting shorter, Danny thought as he perused the last one. Since Gen. Donovan was a cruel master who kept making Danny do the junkets on the new border initiative, his face kept making the news and Bubba was providing up-to-the-minute observations on his press interactions. Every email ended with a reference to how Danny's days were numbered. He rolled his eyes, admired Bubba's tenacity, deleted the emails and got on with his job until the next one arrived.
On Wednesday, Danny had just adjourned the morning huddle and sat down with coffee to go through his email when there was a knock on his office door. He looked up and blinked at Jack Haverman. "Uh, good morning?" he said awkwardly.
Jack walked into the office and shut the door behind him. "Good morning, Danny. Can you guess what brings me here today?"
"I'm sure it's nothing good." Danny put down his coffee and leaned back in his chair.
"It's come to the Secret Service's attention that you received a threatening email last week."
Danny sagged. "That was very thoughtful of Janelle to bring up."
"Danny, you've worked in the West Wing for almost two years. You know as well as anyone that these things have to be reported."
"Credible threats," corrected Danny, "yes, those need to be reported. This is just some podunk asshole who I offended by opening my mouth in public. I get threatening emails all the time. I get them from the press secretary's office with alarming regularity; maybe you should go check those guys out."
Jack didn't smile. "I'm so glad that the security briefings got through to you at least partially, Danny, but the part you clearly missed was that you are not the one qualified to decide whether or not a threat is credible. That is the job of the Secret Service. Now that this issue has crossed my desk, I will be the one who evaluates the situation."
He stared Danny down for a minute. Danny fought not to look away.
"Now," said Jack. "Have you received further emails from this person?"
"A couple," Danny muttered.
Jack nodded. "I need to access your computer, Danny. I'll be approximately half an hour."
Danny levered himself out of his chair. "I'll be around," he said.
Jack sat down at the desk to open his email. "Thanks, Danny. We'll take care of this as quickly as possible."
***
Everybody would know by the end of lunch that Danny's computer had been seized by the Secret Service for analysis; sometimes it seemed like running a country wasn't time-consuming enough for employees of the White House, so they took up gossip as an extracurricular. Janelle caught Danny on his way back to his office after Jack had finished commandeering it.
"I'm sorry, Danny," she said.
Danny stopped in the corridor in front of the Roosevelt Room and rubbed at his eyes. "It's okay."
"Really?"
"Yes," he said. "You were just looking out for me. Even if it did get Jack Haverman breathing down my neck, I guess I can't fault you for that."
"Good," she said. "Want to get a drink after work?"
He thought for a second. "Okay. I'm not telling you any more closely-guarded secrets, though."
"I guess that's fair." She winked at him before walking away.
Danny went to cut through the lobby to go back to his corner of the building, his mind on a lobbyist meeting he had that afternoon and whether the Secret Service would likely fuck up any more of his day. He made it within sight of his office door when a booming voice rang out across the NSA's bullpen.
"Danny!"
Danny froze in his tracks and turned slowly to face Gen. Donovan. "Sir?"
The general just stared at Danny for a second and then went back into his office, leaving the door open. Danny rolled his head around on his neck and followed at a trudge.
"Jack's done with your office," the general said as he sat down at his desk. "They seized your computer and we're getting you a clean one. All your email's going to be routed through the Secret Service until this mess gets sorted out."
"Fantastic," muttered Danny. "I need some files off of that box."
"We'll deal with it," said Gen. Donovan. "Danny, why in the hell did you decide to keep this under wraps? This fuck's emailed you five times in a week and a half!"
Danny shrugged. "I really didn't think it was anything to be concerned about. Just some inbred, far-right yokel looking to stand on a soapbox and make somebody listen. And he picked me."
"He's gonna make somebody listen by shooting you through your bedroom window if we don't nip this in the bud. Look, you can't always tell motive by content, okay? So, some people who are smarter than you at this kind of thing--yes, they exist--are going to look into it and find this guy and arrest him, yokel or not."
They stared at each other in silence for a minute.
"Can I go now?" Danny asked.
"Yeah, you can go."
Danny went back to his office, glared at the hole under the desk where his computer tower used to be, and sat down heavily in the chair to sort through the papers on the desk. He thought he might have to start looking for a pen to write with, if he didn't get a new computer soon.
***
The very next day, after Danny had sat down in his office bright and early to pick a fight with his new computer--probably banished to storage originally because it ran Windows Vista, goddammit--a throat cleared from his doorway. He stopped his litany of swearing at the keyboard long enough to look up at Gen. Donovan, who had his eyebrow raised.
"We're due in the Oval Office," he said, gesturing at Danny to get up and get a move on.
"What?" Danny said blankly. "But that summit thing was scheduled for Monday."
"It's not about that."
"Then why do I need to be there?" Danny felt panic rise in his throat; he went into the Oval Office infrequently enough that he got a case of nerves every time.
"Because the president wishes your presence there, immediately."
Danny stood up unsteadily. "Guess I can't keep him waiting, then."
"Guess not," said Gen. Donovan with a trace of amusement.
Danny grabbed his suit jacket off of the back of his chair and followed the general through the lobby, past the Roosevelt Room and through the president's secretary's office, where the general smiled warmly at Ms. Knight and she nodded for them to go in.
Danny walked into the Oval Office to be faced with the president, the chief of staff and Jack Haverman.
"Good morning, Danny," said the president, getting up from the armchair he'd been sitting in.
"Mr. President," Danny said distractedly.
"Bill," said the president to Gen. Donovan, "did you tell Danny why he's here? He looks kind of shell-shocked. Not that I don't mind the silence once in a while."
"I didn't tell him; it was bad enough just getting his ass in here."
"Well then," said Jack. "If I may?" He folded his hands in front of him and said, "Danny, we've gone through your computer and assessed that a credible threat to your personal safety is present."
"What does that mean?" Danny asked.
"It means this guy means business and I've decided to have you assigned a protection detail," said the president.
"That's ludicrous," said Danny. "...Sir."
The president rolled his eyes. "Show him the photos, Jack."
Jack beckoned Danny over to the desk and gestured to a pile of photos. Danny picked up the top one. "This is me," he said. "Last night after I got home." It was a picture of him in his kitchen, drinking a glass of water. He'd just come home from that drink with Janelle.
The next photo was from the same time span. The next one: "This is from this morning," said Danny. He looked up. "Where the hell did these come from?"
"Attached to an email sent shortly after 8:30 this morning," said Jack. "Look at the next one."
Danny did. He took a deep breath. It was taken at a playground, through a chain-link fence; his eight-year-old daughter was in the foreground, in her school uniform and braids and laughing at something off to the left, outside the frame.
Danny put down the photo and looked up at Jack, and from him to the other three men in the room, all sombre. "Why is there a picture of my little girl in here?" he asked. "Has something happened to Grace?"
"Nothing at all," said Jack. "We sent a detail to her school; they're talking to the headmaster and they'll be talking to her mother today, as well."
Danny took another deep breath. "Will this guy hurt Gracie?"
Jack seemed to gather his thoughts before he answered. "We don't have reason to believe that he will. He seems to be targeting you, although we're not sure why yet. We don't expect any kind of collateral damage at this juncture but to be safe, we will be keeping an eye on your daughter and ex-wife. This seems to have just been a scare tactic, Danny."
"Well, it's working." Danny threw the photo down on the desk.
"When we have your consent, I'll assign your 24-hour Secret Service protection detail ASAP," said Jack.
"I'm sorry, 24-hour? You mean, at all times? By the Secret Service?"
"That’s what it means, Danny."
Danny narrowed his eyes. "What if I refuse to consent?"
"You'll consent," said the president.
"Why is that, sir?" Danny asked him levelly.
"Because you serve at the pleasure of the president, and I am the president. I don't know why we ever let you near reporters, Danny, but you're part of the team and part of the family and will be protected as such when it's deemed necessary. Right now, it’s necessary." He leaned over the desk and pulled a piece of paper closer to Danny. "Sign here."
Jack handed Danny a pen; Danny gave Gen. Donovan a lost look.
"Sign it," the general advised.
Danny did.
***
When Danny got back to his office from a late lunch in the commissary, there was a man standing outside his office door. Tall, built. Wearing a suit with the jacket unbuttoned. Earpiece. A blue rectangular pin on his lapel. Danny sighed.
"Hello," he said as he opened his office door and walked in, throwing his suit jacket at the couch near the door. The man followed him in. "Who are you?"
The man cocked his head a little. "I'm Special Agent Steve McGarrett."
"What makes you so special?" Danny asked, not meeting the agent's eyes as he spoke; he booted up his computer and unbuttoned his cuffs to roll them up.
"Well, I work for the Treasury Department."
"Are you a special bean counter?"
McGarrett blinked and then reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a gold badge to show Danny briefly before tucking it away again. "Secret Service, Mr. Williams."
"My name is Danny."
"Well, I have to call you Mr. Williams."
Danny sat back in his chair. "There's like, one person around here who goes by Mr., and we follow that with 'President'."
"I can also call you 'sir', but while I'm on the job there are rules about interacting with civilians and persons requiring my protection," said McGarrett, staring at the closed blinds of Danny's office window as he spoke.
"Jack Haverman calls me Danny."
"Special Agent Haverman occasionally follows different rules than I have to."
"Whatever," said Danny, digging through the pile on his desk for the notes on Iraq he'd asked Trevor for.
"Agent Haverman suggested to me that you were reluctant to have protection."
"Told you I was gonna be a huge fucking pain in the ass?" asked Danny.
"I figured he had to be exaggerating."
"I can see we'll get along great," said Danny. "Trevor!" he yelled out the door. "Where are my Iraq sheets?"
"Printing!" Trevor yelled back.
"Motherfucker," Danny muttered. He looked up at McGarrett. "Do you have to protect me from within my office?" he asked. "Or can you be elsewhere?"
"I can be more lenient about radius while we're within the West Wing and under the president's umbrella of security, but your office does share a wall with the lobby."
"As I am frequently reminded by the noise which comes through it."
"Look," said McGarrett, "I'm leading a team of four. You'll have one guard at a time; we'll work on three shifts a day with one day off in rotation for each of us. You don't go anywhere alone, you drive a car from the motor pool, you do as I tell you and this should all work out in the end."
"Will I ever have any privacy again?" asked Danny, more seriously than he'd meant to.
"I don't have to see you naked or anything," said McGarrett. "But hey, better safe than sorry."
Danny stared.
McGarrett shifted. "That was a joke."
Trevor chose that moment to burst in with the Iraq notes, which he flung in front of Danny.
"Thank you," Danny said, grabbing them and sorting through them as Trevor vanished again. He glanced up at McGarrett. "Please go be elsewhere. I have work of great national importance to attend to."
"I'll be around." McGarrett left the office, pausing to steal Trevor's phone and do some kind of check-in before he vanished himself.
Danny sighed irritably and started typing.
***
Danny got off work that night at something actually approaching a reasonable hour for once--not quite 7 P.M. He was putting on his coat as McGarrett materialized from wherever he'd spent the afternoon.
"Time to go home, Mr. Williams?" McGarrett asked.
"Long past," said Danny, grabbing his briefcase and shoving his Blackberry into his coat pocket.
"Where are you going?" McGarrett asked after trailing him out of the building and toward the parking garage.
"To my car?"
"You can't use your car. I had a guy take it to a garage for you. Oh, here are your keys back." McGarrett dug them out of his pocket and tossed them at Danny, who caught them dumbly and then stared at them.
"When did you take my keys from me?"
"Earlier," said McGarrett vaguely. "Anyway, the motor pool's this way," he said over his shoulder, because Danny was lagging behind him.
Danny waited in a state of shock while McGarrett signed out a car; McGarrett twirled the key ring around his finger absently as he led Danny across the lot to a black BMW.
"Wait, I don't even get to drive myself home?" Danny demanded as McGarrett went around to the driver's side and opened the door.
"Nope," said McGarrett. "Come on, your side's unlocked."
Danny sputtered to himself for a second before trudging over to the car, because he wasn't being allowed to continue the debate in the parking lot.
"I can drive myself around," he said, slamming the door behind him and dropping his briefcase between his knees. "I've been doing it for like twenty years now."
"Yes," said McGarrett, "but you are under federal protection, and I have training in tactical defensive driving."
"Fuck you and your 'tactical defensive driving training'," said Danny as McGarrett pulled out of the parking spot. "I'm from New Jersey."
"That explains so much." McGarrett looked serene as he navigated onto the street, hitting a mild clusterfuck of evening traffic.
Danny opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by the theme from Spongebob Squarepants, which was coming from his phone. He squinted at McGarrett, who was studiously watching the road, before he answered it.
"Hey, Monkey."
"Daddy, I got a hundred on my spelling test today!" Grace said.
"That's fantastic! How was the rest of your day?"
"School was pretty okay. But tonight some men in suits came to talk to Mommy. She said you were in trouble. Are you in trouble, Danno?"
Danny leaned his elbow on the car door and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not really in trouble, Monkey. It's... complicated. Basically, some people are going to hang around me for a while to keep me safe, and they're going to watch you and your mom too, just in case. There's nothing to worry about, though, okay?"
There was a pause while Grace absorbed that; Danny held his breath. "Okay," she said, "I think I get it. Do these people have guns?"
Danny blinked. "I would love to know where these questions come from sometimes."
Grace giggled. "Can I still come over this weekend?"
"Of course," said Danny. "There's nothing to worry about, there'll just be one more person around."
"Okay," she said. There was some rustling, and then she said, "Mommy wants to speak to you."
"Put her on, Monkey."
"Bye, Danno."
"Bye, sweetie."
He heard Grace's phone being handed off and then Rachel said, "Jesus, Danny."
"Look, I'm sorry if the Secret Service scared you, but it's really not as bad as it seems."
"They said you're under 24-hour surveillance! How is that not bad?"
Danny took a deep breath, held it, and let it out.
"I don't think you should have Grace for weekends until this is sorted."
"What the fuck?" Danny shouted. "Why?"
"They said you're being stalked, Danny. It's not safe for her."
"I have a fucking Secret Service agent playing my shadow at all times! It could not be safer to be around me!"
She was silent for a while.
"Rachel," Danny started.
"Don't you 'Rachel' me, Daniel Williams. It's my responsibility to make sure my daughter is safe."
"She's my daughter, too," he snapped. "You think I don't worry for her safety? With all the babysitters you have to leave her with? When she's off at school? Anytime I'm not around to watch out for her?"
She sighed. "Well, since you've already promised to see her this weekend, I suppose I have to allow it or deal with a tantrum." She sounded tired all of a sudden; Danny pictured her rubbing at her eyes and tucking her hair back behind her ear, sitting at the kitchen table and staring out the window. He blinked the image away. "Danny, I just wish you'd watch what you say more often, particularly to the press. You make yourself a target."
"Well, I'm sorry that my job is more polarizing than being a women's rights lobbyist," he said, "but sometimes a person has to get the tough issues out there, even when it makes things difficult."
"Yes, okay, whatever. I'll talk to you later, Danny. Be safe."
"Yeah," he said, staring out the car window. McGarrett wasn't taking his usual route home. "Tell Gracie Danno loves her and I'll see her Saturday morning."
When he hung up, the car was silent for a while. Danny could just tell that McGarrett wanted to say something, though, so he said, "What? Out with it."
"Spongebob?" was what McGarrett settled on.
"My daughter has her own cell phone--needs it for organizing pickups from school and sports and babysitters, although I don't know how that led to her mother buying her a fucking Blackberry--but anyway, that's her ringtone on my phone. She likes Spongebob," he added unnecessarily.
"You're one of those people who assigns special ringtones?"
"My ex gets the theme from Psycho."
McGarrett smirked a little.
"Where are you even going?" Danny asked as he looked out the windshield. "Are you lost?"
"I'm taking a different route to your apartment than you usually do," said McGarrett, checking the mirror. "It's a safety measure. We'll change it up a lot. Routine is the mind-killer."
"I thought that was fear," said Danny.
"That too. And we're here," said McGarrett, pulling up to parallel-park in front of Danny's building. They got out of the car and McGarrett led Danny up the stairs of his building to where another agent stood, his collar turned up against the wind.
"This is Special Agent Kelly," said McGarrett. "He'll be with you this evening."
Kelly picked up a radio from his belt. "This is Kelly. It's 7:42 and I have Badger."
"Badger?" Danny repeated.
They ignored him. "Night, Chin; Mr. Williams," said McGarrett, turning to go back down the stairs.
"Take it easy, Steve," said Kelly, before turning to Danny, who had dug out his keys. Danny unlocked the door and was about to go inside when Kelly grabbed his shoulder.
"I precede you into the building and your apartment," he said, looking apologetic.
Danny held the door open and gestured grandly. Kelly walked in and checked the hallway before gesturing Danny in and shutting the front door behind him. Then when they got up to Danny's place on the second floor, Kelly had to go inside and case the place while Danny waited impatiently in the doorway.
"All clear," Kelly said finally, meeting Danny at the door and turning on the lights. "Man, your place is tiny."
"Have you seen the rent around here?" asked Danny. "I'm a public servant. Plus, I'm still paying the mortgage on my ex-wife's house in Bethesda."
"Fair point," said Agent Kelly, taking off his overcoat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the front door. Danny put down his briefcase by the door, grabbed the TV remote off of the couch and found the baseball game, turning up the volume so he could hear it when he made his way to the kitchen area.
"Hungry, Agent Kelly?"
"No thanks, Mr. Williams. I ate before I came on shift."
Danny dug some leftover Chinese out of the fridge, peering at it for a second before shrugging and dumping it on a plate to microwave. "So what's your first name? McGarrett called you Chin?"
"My first name's Chin Ho," Kelly said. "People just call me Chin."
"You guys are friends?"
"We go back a ways."
Danny looked at him as the microwave hummed. "Sorry if I'm being too personal. Most of my interaction with the Secret Service has been Jack Haverman."
Kelly smirked. "It's cool. Yeah, McGarrett and I sort of grew up together. He got me this job, actually."
"Oh yeah?" said Danny, digging through the silverware drawer for a fork. "That's more considerate and thoughtful than he's given me the impression he's capable of."
Kelly actually laughed. "He's a good guy, but he's intense. Ex-military."
"That really explains a lot," said Danny thoughtfully. "What about you?"
Kelly took a second to answer. "Honolulu Police Department. Ten years."
"Wait. You're both from Hawaii?"
"Aloha," said Kelly. "Okay, Mr. Williams, if you're hanging out for the night, I'll be around." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a little, black remote, holding it up to show Danny before he set it on the counter. "This is a panic button; hit it if there's panic and I'll be right here. With backup. Got it?"
Danny pulled his steaming, reheated dinner out of the microwave and saluted Kelly with his fork. "Got it, boss. I'm going to watch the Yankees thrash the Orioles."
***
Danny got an early night; when he dragged himself out of bed at six the next morning to make his alarm clock shut up and claw his way to the shower, he smelled coffee. It turned out that while he was sleeping, Agent Kelly had become the lovely but fierce Agent Singh ("shift change is at midnight, Mr. Williams") and she had helpfully started the coffee maker. This probably increased her loveliness in Danny's eyes, yes, but the baseline was already pretty high.
He was tired enough to stand around in the kitchen unashamedly in his pajamas and knock back a cup of coffee before he jumped in the shower. "I could get used to this," he said into the cup.
"I wasn't sure if you'd go for coffee, but the night shift is a challenge," she said, looking immaculate in her grey suit even though she'd been awake all night and probably bored. "I brought my own coffee and just hoped you wouldn't mind my using your coffee maker."
"You can use my coffee if you want," said Danny. "Just save me like, half the pot. Or whatever."
She grinned. "Early day for you, Mr. Williams?"
"Every day is an early day," he said. "I'm usually into work by 7:30 or 8, unless there's a crisis and I have to be there earlier."
"Fair enough," she said, glancing at her watch. "I'll take you in and Agent McGarrett will rendezvous with us at eight or when we get there."
"I can't wait," said Danny, putting down his mug and wandering off to the bathroom. "TGIF."
***
"McGarrett here; 8:13 and I have Badger." McGarrett nodded at Singh. "Have a good night," he said.
"See you, Mr. Williams," said Singh, leaving them with a wave.
"I really need to know," said Danny, crossing his arms and staring at McGarrett. "What the fuck is with 'Badger'? Whose funny idea of a joke was that?"
McGarrett shrugged with only his face. "That's been your code name since they changed them all six months ago, Mr. Williams. I don't remember who came up with it."
Danny narrowed his eyes. "A likely story."
"All I can say, Mr. Williams," said McGarrett, straightening the cuffs of his jacket, "is that whoever chose it knew you really well, and it wasn't me."
"Hey!" Danny growled.
"Um, Danny?"
Danny turned; it was Trevor, holding out a sacrificial coffee. Danny took it and resolved not to kill him yet. "Speak," he said, taking a sip. Black and strong, just as he liked it.
"Just. Uh." Trevor was uncharacteristically nervous, shooting little looks at McGarrett, who was watching them with some interest. "Bullpen huddle? We're kinda running behind."
"Jesus," said Danny. "It was the fucking traffic; my licensed-to-kill driver this morning took the most fucked-up route possible to get here." He stormed off to his office to dump his briefcase and jacket and grab a notebook for the meeting, forgetting all about McGarrett as he started barking orders at Trevor and the three other bullpen peons about summit preparations.
The rest of the morning was a clusterfuck of prep work for the summit, which was starting a week from Monday and which Danny had to meet with Gen. Donovan and the president about on Monday morning. Luckily for Danny, things were actually coming along. He took lunch at his desk--a pastrami on rye that he'd sent Trevor out for--and was taking his second bite while reading a journal article on the computer when McGarrett materialized in the doorway.
"You've been busy today," McGarrett observed as he wandered closer to Danny's desk and stood in parade rest.
"I dunno if you noticed," said Danny, putting down his sandwich, "but I work at the White House. I'm always busy."
McGarrett rolled his eyes. "I mean you seem busier than yesterday. Everyone out there is moving like you personally lit fires under their asses."
"I wish I actually had," said Danny, "but I didn't have that kind of time." He ate a potato chip and took a sip of coffee. "We're just getting down to the wire on this summit, and I have to have something to take to the Oval Office first thing Monday." He sat back in his chair and glared up at McGarrett, who was looming in a pleasant-looking kind of way for someone who was currently carrying a gun with the safety off.
"If you're going to hang around on my lunch break," said Danny, "can you please sit down? You're disrupting the energies in here."
"Energies?" said McGarrett, but he moved to the chair in front of the desk anyway, turning it a little so he could partially face the office door.
"Yeah, whatever, something like that," said Danny, waving a hand as he picked up his sandwich again. "So, do you take a lunch break?" he asked before taking another bite.
"No, sir, I don't."
Danny was chewing a mouthful, so he settled for glaring until he could swallow. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"It was a yes-or-no question, Mr. Williams. I picked one of the possible answers."
"It was a rhetorical question, intended to start idle bullshit chit-chat about lunch," said Danny, "and why you are sitting there and watching me eat mine. Who the fuck doesn't take a lunch break at work?"
"I eat when I have downtime, Mr. Williams. When I'm on the clock, my job is to protect you and I can't take a break from that," said McGarrett far too reasonably.
Danny turned that over in his mind. "This isn't downtime?" he asked, indicating the room and his food and McGarrett's deceptively casual slouch in the chair across the desk.
"Someone could come in through the door or window as we speak," said McGarrett.
"Like who? Trevor?"
Trevor heard his name and looked up from his desk, where he was eating Twizzlers and writing memos. Danny waved him off and turned back to McGarrett.
"Like your special friend who necessitated my being here," said McGarrett.
"Bubba's not that special," said Danny.
McGarrett's confused look lasted only a second, and then he raised an eyebrow. "You named your stalker?"
"Okay," said Danny, "maybe he's a little bit special."
McGarrett opened his mouth but seemed to think better of answering. After a second he changed the subject, shifting in his seat. "So you're spending tomorrow with your daughter," he said.
"I get her for weekends," agreed Danny.
"What's your planned schedule?"
"Uh," said Danny. "Plans?"
"Yeah. Planned days with your kid? You do those, right?"
"Well, not exactly plan."
McGarrett stared at him for a second, something faintly twitching in his jaw. "Okay," he said. "This will be a great opportunity for you to start."
"Why do you care?" asked Danny.
"Because I'm going to be on duty from eight to four again tomorrow."
Danny sighed. "Okay. I usually pick her up at her mom's around nine-thirty, ten. We go for pancakes. And then, whatever."
"Whatever?"
"I don't know, it varies," said Danny. "It was nice out this morning, right?" He turned his head briefly to peer at the window but the blinds were closed, as usual. "If it's nice tomorrow, then maybe we'll go to the park. It'll be getting cold soon, anyway."
"It's almost October," said McGarrett. "It's already cold."
"Oh, that's right," said Danny. "Agent Kelly said you were from Hawaii."
"Agent Kelly likes to share," said McGarrett.
"I like that about him. He also told me you got him his job and that you were in the army."
"Navy," McGarrett hissed.
"Yeah," said Danny. "And I said that explains a lot about you."
"I was in the Navy SEALs before I joined the Service."
"Jesus. They let people that crazy near the president?"
"I wouldn't say crazy. Resourceful, maybe."
"I have met countless people in the Special Forces," said Danny, "and every single one of them was, without exception, bugfuck crazy."
"Well, it's a good thing I'm on your side, isn't it, Mr. Williams?" said McGarrett.
Danny took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it slowly, never looking away from McGarrett; it didn't seem safe. McGarrett stared back silently for a moment and then shifted in his chair to stare out the door at the bullpen and hallway beyond.
Danny rolled his eyes and reached out to nudge his chip bag across the desk, turning the open end to face McGarrett. "Eat something, you android," he snapped when McGarrett raised an eyebrow at him.
The eyebrow stayed raised as McGarrett obediently plucked a potato chip out of the bag and leaned back in the chair to chew it, noisily.
Danny turned irritably back to his journal article.
***
McGarrett vanished shortly after Danny finished his lunch; Danny lost himself in the elbow-deep pile of work on his desk until about four, when there was a soft knock on his door.
"Agent Kelly," he said when he looked up.
Kelly nodded. "Just wanted to give you the heads-up that I'm on duty now. Till midnight."
Danny nodded. "At which point I once again have the lovely Agent Singh?"
"Today's her day off. You get Agent Jones tonight."
"The fourth musketeer!" Danny dropped a bound report on his desk with a thud and leaned back in his chair to dig his fingers through his hair.
"What time do you think you'll want to leave?" Kelly asked.
"When will I want to? Immediately. When will I actually leave?" Danny looked thoughtfully at the pile on his desk. "I've been known to sleep on that couch over there," he said.
Kelly chuckled. "I'll be around."
***
Danny ended up calling it a night just after 11:30, mostly because by then Trevor wouldn't stop leaning back in his chair to give him sad puppy eyes through the office door (it wasn't that the puppy eyes worked--Danny had a daughter who did them much more cutely than Trevor, after all--but if he let Trevor go home, then he wouldn't have to deal with the silent whining anymore).
"Your assistant looked pretty happy to leave," Kelly noted as they made their way to the motor pool.
Danny stifled a yawn. "Well, he's back in here tomorrow, so don't go telling people I'm benevolent or something."
"I wouldn't do that to you, Mr. Williams."
"Please," said Danny, "for the love of god. Call me Danny. Can you please call me Danny? Like, I don't think there's any hope for Agent Constant Vigilance but you, at least, are pretty cool. And seriously, I am not going to get home from work on the same date that I left for it, so I feel like the rules should be relaxed a little in view of this."
Kelly smirked to himself as he signed out a car from the motor pool desk. "Well," he said, taking the keys, "I certainly can't call you that when any of my superiors are around."
"I guess."
"But I'll call you Danny if you call me Chin."
"You've got yourself a deal, Chin. Now, can I drive?"
"No way in hell," said Chin, holding the keys away and moving to the driver's side of the car.
Chin got him home faster than Singh had gotten him to work that morning; they met up with Agent Jones on the steps of Danny's apartment right around midnight. Agent Jones was tall and built and his hair was cut short in a way that reminded Danny of the military way more than McGarrett's did. Danny waved goodnight to Chin as the agents did their radio hand-off and plodded gratefully to his bed as soon as his apartment was guaranteed free of terrorists or whatever.
***
Danny was warm, wrapped in softness, and he smelled coffee brewing. Rachel always started coffee first thing Saturday morning, while Gracie watched cartoons and ate her sugar-loaded cereal; it was soothing, and he drifted back into a nice dream.
"Mr. Williams," came a voice from above him. The smell of coffee was stronger as Danny twitched back into wakefulness; someone was shaking him, and they would pay. Danny flopped onto his back, his legs twisting in the sheets, and glared up at Agent fucking McGarrett, who had a coffee cup in hand and was giving him an annoyed look.
"Mr. Williams, it's past 8:30," he said.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Danny croaked, struggling up onto his elbows. "Have you no respect for the sanctity of a weekend?"
"You're picking up your daughter in Bethesda at 9:30," said McGarrett, looking remorseless. "Getting up would be a good idea if we're going to keep to schedule."
"Give me that coffee," Danny growled, taking the cup when McGarrett handed it to him. "And what schedule? We're going to the park. The park doesn't have set hours of operation. Daylight hours, maybe." He took an angry sip; it was still too hot but he appreciated the way it stoked his temper when it burned a path across his tongue and down his throat.
"When I'm on your detail, sir, you keep a schedule. Your personal safety relies on precise times and locations."
"God," said Danny. "Get out of my bedroom, you dictator."
McGarrett put up his hands in surrender and left the room, shutting the door behind him again.
Danny stared down at the coffee mug, not sure what to make of the fact that his protective detail was not only nagging him, but had figured out in about twenty-four hours that he could be bribed with coffee.
"I don't hear the shower running," McGarrett called through the door after a minute.
"Blow me," Danny yelled back, throwing the covers off and staggering toward the bathroom in his boxers, coffee still clutched in his hand.
Danny went through his shower-and-jerk-off routine, feeling the hot water and steam wake him up incrementally. He'd left the coffee cup sitting on the back of the toilet and occasionally reached an arm out to it for a sip, a habit he hadn't been allowed to indulge in when Rachel was around. He threw on a shirt and jeans afterwards, rolling his sleeves up to the elbows automatically, and strolled out into the main room of his apartment to see McGarrett standing at the kitchen island with a coffee mug in front of him.
"You're in jeans and a t-shirt," Danny observed as he passed McGarrett to get at the coffee pot. He'd have to spend his Sunday catching up on sleep.
"It's Saturday and you're not going to work," said McGarrett. "You seem overdressed."
"No tie, thank you," said Danny, gesturing at his open collar as he turned back around with a full cup of coffee. "And it's just, I've never seen a Secret Service agent in street clothes. At least, not at work."
"I dress to blend in," said McGarrett. He looked at his watch in a way that indicated he knew exactly what time it was, and this was all a show for Danny's benefit. "It's 8:58."
Danny took a slow, pointed sip of coffee. "The clock on the microwave says it's only 8:57."
"That clock is wrong. We should go."
"Let me finish my coffee."
"We should go," McGarrett repeated.
Danny made a frustrated noise. "It is my day off. I am going to spend it hanging out with my kid and trying not to think about work for at least five minutes at a time, and you are doing your very best to ruin my relaxation," he said. "Do you understand this word? Relaxation?"
McGarrett blinked at him. "Finish your coffee, Mr. Williams," he said finally. "Then we should go."
Danny decided he might as well drink it, before McGarrett took it away or something.
"So are you looking forward to killing the joy of my entire weekend?" Danny asked five minutes later as they left the apartment. McGarrett had thrown a leather jacket on, covering his shoulder holster. Secret Service weekend wear didn’t include the earpiece, at least.
"I'm off tomorrow," said McGarrett.
"Oh, goody," said Danny.
They were quiet on the drive to Rachel's, but when they pulled up to the curb in front of the house, McGarrett's voice stopped Danny's hand on the door handle.
"There's something I have to make sure you know before we go anywhere with your daughter," he said.
Danny looked at him expectantly.
McGarrett was staring out the windshield, both hands still tight around the wheel. "If anything happens while you're out with her... my job is to protect you first. Not her."
Danny took that in. "Okay," he said slowly.
"I mean, we don't have reason to believe she's at risk right now. And there are some agents tasked to keep an eye on her and her mother."
"Okay," said Danny. "Just so you know: if anything happens, my job is first and foremost to protect her. You do whatever you think you gotta," he said, and opened the car door.
McGarrett leaned on the passenger side of the car with his arms crossed as Danny came back down the front walk with Grace. She slowed down suddenly and Danny glanced down at her; she was eyeing McGarrett, shifting her backpack strap on her shoulder.
"Who's that?" she asked.
Danny picked up the pace again, pressing a hand gently against the back of her shoulder to urge her along. "Remember how I said people were going to be around me to protect me?"
"He's your guard-person?"
"One of them," said Danny. "I have four. They trade off."
She frowned and then nodded.
"Hi," she said when they reached the car, craning her neck to look up at McGarrett. "I'm Grace. What's your name?"
"I'm Special Agent McGarrett," he said solemnly, straightening up from his lean on the car. He looked at Danny. "We ready to go, sir?"
Danny opened the rear door to let Grace in the car, and they went to Danny and Grace's favourite diner for Saturday morning pancakes. McGarrett asked the waitress to give them a booth within sight of the door and then insisted on sitting on the same bench as Danny, on the outside and pinning him in next to the window. Danny was pretty thoroughly annoyed by McGarrett's bossing him around but felt better when Grace insisted McGarrett order pancakes too (he stared at her for a second and then did, ordering blueberry). While they waited for their food, she asked him why he was more special than normal agents, why they called it the Secret Service if it wasn't a secret, whether he carried a gun and if he'd ever shot anybody. Danny raised his eyebrow at her out of a sense of fatherly duty but bit the inside of his cheek and smirked down at his coffee as McGarrett tried dazedly to answer her questions.
Listening with half an ear, Danny had to admit that McGarrett seemed to be pretty good with kids.
"She's a gifted interrogator," McGarrett said when Grace abandoned her food to go to the bathroom, his eyes following her like it was some ingrained habit to note peoples' whereabouts.
"Daddy's little hellion," said Danny fondly, picking up a piece of bacon and biting the end off of it. "I'll rent her out to you guys if you need her services, but our rates are pretty high. Have you seen the cost of Georgetown lately?"
***
The park had a duck pond, and Grace had come prepared with half a bag of bread.
Danny eyed it. “Does your mom know you took that?”
She smiled sweetly and sat on a bench by the pond to pull the tag off of the bag. Danny sighed and joined her, accepting a piece of bread to rip up and toss at the few ducks toddling around. Some pigeons quickly got in on the action and they spent a peaceful while feeding wild animals and disrupting ecosystems while McGarrett hovered around the bench. He seemed to be pacing in slow, aimless ellipticals but the set of his shoulders and the way he seemed to be searching their surroundings told a different story if you were close enough.
Grace peered up at him after a while, leaning back past Danny’s shoulder to ask, “What are you looking for?”
McGarrett glanced down at her in obvious surprise. “Suspicious behaviour,” he said, going back to watching the dog walkers and some people flying a kite across the pond.
Grace nudged Danny with her elbow. “What’s that mean?”
“People acting weird,” Danny clarified. “But not like he does; a different kind of weird.”
She looked dubious. “What kind of weird?”
McGarrett stood behind the bench, between them, still watching the park as he answered. “All kinds of things. You know it when you see it. A guy in a coat on a warm day. A guy with no coat on a cold day. Someone with their hands in their pockets. Carrying things. Anyone who stands out from the crowd or looks like they’re looking for something.”
Grace looked around, squinting in the sunlight. “That’s a lot. I don’t see anyone weird.”
McGarrett paused and then said, “What about that lady on your left, Miss Williams? The one standing at the pond.”
“She’s just standing,” said Grace.
“Exactly. What’s she doing?”
Grace frowned; Danny watched her forehead wrinkle a little. “I don’t know.”
“Me neither,” said McGarrett. “But as long as she’s in this park, I’m going to know where she is at all times.”
“Huh,” said Grace, sounding impressed. She grinned up at McGarrett. Danny kept balling up pieces of bread and tossing them at ducks, lost in thought as his gaze caught on every person going by them. McGarrett’s presence at his back and the gun he was carrying loomed over Danny.
After the bread was all gone and the birds abandoned them for greener pastures, they moved to a playground setup down the pathway and Danny gave Grace a few pushes on the swings before standing back with McGarrett.
“How many other agents you got with us today?” he asked quietly.
“One in plainclothes and one in a car,” said McGarrett calmly. He shot Danny a sideways glance. “Police only a call away.”
Danny nodded. “Will I ever get used to this?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Williams. Will you?” After a second, McGarrett fidgeted a little and added, “We all hope this’ll be resolved promptly and cleanly, and you can have your privacy back.”
“And my car.”
McGarrett grinned. “And your car.”
“You have any kids?” Danny asked, watching Grace swing higher and higher.
“No,” said McGarrett.
Danny remembered that McGarrett didn’t wear a ring and didn’t work terribly marriage-compatible hours, anyway. “None that you know of, right?” he joked.
McGarrett was silent for a second. “No kids,” he said finally.
Danny nodded. “Well, if you can hold your own against mine, you’re doing pretty good.”
“Thank you, sir, that means a lot,” McGarrett said in a bland way that managed to be completely insincere.
“Uh huh,” said Danny, deciding not to engage right at the moment. He glanced at his watch and said, “Another hour if she’s into it, and then let’s go home to figure out dinner, so you can do your changing of the guard more easily.”
“Sure thing,” said McGarrett, and glanced around briefly before pulling out a cell phone to log their plans with whoever he and the rest of the detail were always calling.
***
Monday morning came far too soon, finding Danny standing in the Oval Office looking awkwardly around at aides and avoiding the press secretary’s glares while the president and Gen. Donovan shot the shit. Danny was grimly reminded of his last visit; the place was starting to take on the definite aura of a principal’s office for him, and he didn’t like it one bit.
Danny’s minions had been very productive since Thursday and he had a good spread to show the president and senior staff, which pleased him enough that he entertained thoughts of sending them all home in time for dinner that night as a reward. At least he was until he tuned into the discussion long enough to realize that Dana was looking at him and speaking, and she was talking about Air Force One.
“What?” said Danny, shaking his head fractionally to clear out the cobwebs.
She went back to glaring. “I’m not sitting anywhere near you on the plane. And you’re not allowed in the same room as any member of the press corps.” She looked contemplative. “Maybe we’ll just lock you in one of the bathrooms for the whole flight.”
“What flight?” said Danny stupidly, realizing he was several pages behind the rest of the conversation.
“To L.A., Danny, for the summit,” Gen. Donovan cut in.
“I have to go to that?” Danny asked weakly. It was four days, plus travel, and he’d have to spend a lot of time smiling at people he didn’t like.
Gen. Donovan cocked his head in puzzlement. “Your team did most of the prep. Don’t you think you should be there?”
When Danny opened his mouth, he was silenced by a raised hand.
“That was a rhetorical question. You’re going. So is Trevor. We leave Sunday night and come back Friday. Make whatever arrangements are necessary.”
Danny let his shoulders slump. “Can I check Trevor as baggage?”
“Yes,” said Dana at the same time as Gen. Donovan said, “No.”
The meeting carried on for another fifteen minutes while Danny sat and felt tired, letting the debate over content and scheduling rattle past his head unheeded. When it finally wrapped up and he was gathering up folders, a sudden thought made him freeze. He glanced up to see only Gen. Donovan and the chief of staff left in the room.
“Does my detail have to come with us?” he asked. Four days of mobility and not being actively watched while he slept hung tantalizingly in front of him. At that moment, he thought he could sense Chin roaming the halls of the West Wing, senses attuned to Danny’s well-being and movements.
“No,” said the general, and just as a weight lifted from Danny’s heart he said, “Well. Actually.”
“Well actually what?”
“Special Agent McGarrett’s been tasked to go with you. The rest of the detail is staying here; they have to cover for other agents who’ll be on the trip.”
“They don’t even get time off?” Danny demanded, outrage taking over for a second.
“Operational constraints,” said the chief of staff with a shrug.
Danny rolled his eyes and as that burst of rage dissipated, the actual news sank in. “Wait, I’m stuck with Agent McGarrett for the whole trip?”
“Him and the other agents assigned to security on the trip,” said the general. “Why? He’s a good kid. Used to do the president’s personal detail. Jogged with him every morning at the ranch.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Danny, scooping up his papers and leaving the Oval Office. Jogging at dawn with POTUS and kicking Danny out of bed on weekends so his tightly scheduled days of relaxation could go smoothly. McGarrett was Special Forces Crazy for sure.
***
Danny had been on Air Force One once before, dragged along to a G8 summit in France; it was a big, fancy plane that contained a lot of things that he’d never seen and never would when crammed into Economy on a normal plane. There was a conference room, a kitchen, several phones, actual bathrooms, a full suite for the president, couches and lamps and decent carpeting. It also had normal airline seats with belts, mostly used for takeoff and landing, and Danny now sat in one of those with McGarrett strapped in beside him on the aisle side.
They got in the air only half an hour late, which was practically a record for their administration, and as they reached cruising altitude Danny started to relax. That lasted until Dana walked by with Janelle in tow and hissed, “You stay there unless you have to do something, and you do not speak to anyone with a press badge, Williams.”
As she swooped away, Danny gave Janelle a tired, questioning look and she responded with a shrug. “Have a good flight, Danny,” she said before trailing after her boss.
Danny looked at McGarrett, who’d undone his seatbelt and was fiddling with his earpiece, and sighed. He leaned back into his seat, which at least was comfortable and had legroom.
“You don’t have paperwork to do on this flight?” McGarrett asked, glaring at his earpiece before stuffing it back into his ear.
“Trevor’s taking care of most of the fiddly bullshit,” said Danny, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “I might have to step in later, but the flight’s like four hours long, so.”
“Lots of time for a nap,” said McGarrett.
“You go ahead,” said Danny. “I can’t sleep on planes.”
“I’m not allowed to sleep,” said McGarrett. “I’m on the clock.”
Danny looked around. “What, right now? On this flight? Do you think Dana’s the suspect, the…” Danny snapped his fingers a few times, trying to find the word he wanted. “What do you guys call assassins again?”
McGarrett gave him a flat stare like he didn’t intend to ever answer that question, but when Danny stared back he gave in. “Jackal,” he said.
Danny thought about that. “I’d say ‘jackal’ fits Dana’s description nicely.”
McGarrett smirked a little. “That probably comes from dealing with the press corps for a living. And no, there’s probably no threat to you on the plane but I’m still on the clock, Mr. Williams. I’m basically on the clock until wheels-down back in D.C. on Friday.”
“And what then?” asked Danny. “They plug you into the wall to recharge and you power down for a while?”
McGarrett settled back into his seat. “Exactly.”
This entry was originally posted at http://waketosleep.dreamwidth.org/55638.html. (
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If you would like to engage in the spirit of giving, then all my ego wants for Christmas is some nice compliments while I stare sadly at grad school applications and drink my way to January. In return, have the entirety of a 10 000 word WIP you might recognize (this is all there is, there isn't any more. for the moment.)
"Danny! What the fuck is this on my desk?"
Danny winced and stuck his head into Gen. Donovan's office. "The thing from the press thing yesterday?" he said meekly.
"Get your ass in here so I can yell at you properly."
Danny felt it prudent to shut the door behind him. Last time Gen. Donovan had given him a dressing-down, the vice president had been able to hear it from her office and asked him later, with a worried look on her face, if he felt safe in his job. It had been one of the most awkward conversations of his life to date.
"Sir," he said, feeling like he was standing in front of a firing squad.
Gen. Donovan picked up the Post's report and read aloud from it. "'When asked whether the new US-Mexican border policy put forward by the White House would visibly bolster national security efforts against drug trafficking and illegal immigration, Deputy National Security Advisor Daniel Williams suggested that it would be heads and tails over bands of rednecks in pickups performing citizen's arrests'."
Danny winced into the silence that followed.
"It was a very stressful press briefing," he suggested finally.
"Really?" Gen. Donovan asked serenely. He sat in his chair and folded his hands in front of him on the desk. "Please, Danny," he said, gesturing at the chair opposite the desk. "Sit down and tell me all about how the press corps was so mean to you."
Gen. Donovan was a decorated Air Force veteran and had actively served in like, six major conflicts before becoming the White House National Security Advisor. Danny had a degree in Political Science from Columbia, a Master's in Governmental Affairs from the University of Pennsylvania, and a mish-mash of experience in the private and public sectors. He sighed and took his seat.
"Look," he tried, "they took me out of context."
"It's the press corps," said Gen. Donovan. "That's what they do. What the hell did you say that they managed to cruelly wrest this lovely quote from?"
Danny stopped to collect his thoughts. "Okay," he said finally, "so maybe the rest of what I said to that question was more or less in the same vein. I did manage not to name any names, this time."
"What a fucking relief," said Gen. Donovan. "Get out of my office and go draft your retraction. There better be lots of backpedaling and personal responsibility taken for your quote."
Danny hesitated with his hands on the arms of his chair. "In all fairness, the press probably knows that was one hundred percent me, by this point."
"I want it on my desk by the end of the day, and send a copy to the press secretary, too. Maybe with an apology bouquet. She could use it."
Danny stood up. "Yes, sir."
"Try not to talk to anyone with a notebook in the twenty metres between my office and yours," Gen. Donovan barked just before he could shut the door behind him.
Danny rolled his eyes up at the ceiling; the General's secretary gave him a sympathetic look which he ignored, taking the walk of shame back to his office.
When he settled back at his desk and shoved aside a stack of briefings on the Middle East to find his keyboard, the first thing Danny did was check his email. A handful of departmental things, including minutes from the morning NSA bullpen meeting; a message with the subject line in all caps from the press secretary's office which he was going to ignore as long as possible; some lobbyists shamelessly begging for face time (he forwarded those to his assistant); a one-line message from Janelle in the Communications office about lunch that he fired off a quick, hopefully not too desperate 'yes' to; and finally an email with no subject line from an unknown address. Danny hovered the cursor over it for a second, his curiosity warring with his instinct to just delete it. Finally, he double-clicked the message to open it.
"What the hell," he muttered to himself as he squinted at it. It was a giant block of text with enough misspellings to give his assistant a heart attack. As he skimmed through it, his eyebrows climbed toward his hairline at the content; apparently he'd won himself a new fan with that press fiasco. "'I am going to burn down your house'?" he read out loud, feeling incredulous. "Go ride around in your pickup, Crazyface," he said, hitting the Delete key with a little flourish before opening the word processor to stare at a blank page in shame for a while.
***
Janelle from Communications wanted soup for lunch, so they went to a newish bistro near the Mall.
"The guys in the Press office want to know if you're interested in giving talks on PR management," she said not long after they sat down with their food.
"Jesus," groaned Danny as she laughed at him.
"Dana was on a tear this morning. You're lucky you didn't cross her path or she might have incinerated you with a look."
"My boss said to send her flowers with the draft of my retraction," said Danny.
"She likes those gerbera daisies. Better make it a big bouquet," Janelle advised, picking apart her roll and dipping a piece in her soup.
This was why Danny liked Janelle; she was a sassy bitch. And he didn't learn from things like his divorce. "Oh, hey," he said suddenly, putting down his roast beef and swiss. "Funny story."
She looked up expectantly as she ate.
"So besides the email from Dana that I'm terrified to read, I got back to my office this morning and there was this email from some random person." Danny picked up a crumble of cheese from his paper plate and ate it off of his fingertip. "It was this whole... fuck, a manifesto... from some hick in Arizona or something who I offended yesterday. It was like, pages, about the Second Amendment and how the Democrats are ruining everything, and then they closed it off with saying they were gonna burn down my house."
Danny chuckled at his sandwich as he picked it up again. When he looked at Janelle, she was staring at him in silence.
"What?" he asked.
"Danny, are you serious?"
"It was just a stupid email."
"Where'd it come from?"
He shrugged. "Some free AOL address. I just deleted it after I read it. You give these people attention and they just react more."
"You're supposed to forward all those things to Jack Haverman," she said.
"Okay," said Danny, holding up his hands. "I think the Secret Service has better things to do than read my fanmail from some crazy fucker in the desert. Honestly, it's not even the first time I've gotten an email like that. I think my address is way too easy to guess."
"I guess 'dhwilliams@whitehouse.gov' is a little bit on the nose," she said thoughtfully. Danny was gratified to be getting some of the lighthearted tone back; this was a terrible lunch date so far.
He took a bite out of his sandwich and chewed. "I'm just gratified that he cares enough to write, you know?"
Janelle put down her spoon, frowning again. "Just promise me one thing."
"Yeah?"
"If you get another one, send it to Jack."
Danny rolled his eyes.
"Danny."
"Okay! I promise."
She threw her garbage on her lunch tray and grabbed her purse. "I have to get back to work," she said. "I'll see you later, okay?"
"Great," said Danny as she abandoned him. He finished his sandwich as fast as he could and got up to leave himself.
***
It didn't really matter what he'd promised Janelle, of course; all Danny took from that shitty lunch conversation was that she wouldn't appreciate hearing about any future emails he might get from his new friend (who he privately named Bubba, since his email had had no signature). But it was a moot point anyway, unless Bubba turned out to be more than some one-off crank-yanker. Danny refocused his energy on buying Dana's love, or at least her tolerance.
Then, two days later, he had another email from a random address. It seemed to be a different AOL address than the first, and it had a subject line of 'hi', but Danny had a good feeling about it when he clicked on it.
"Oh, aren't you sweet," he said to himself at the block of crazyspeak that opened on his screen. It was another delightful treatise on the subtleties of foreign policy, with segues into calling Danny a spineless homosexual in regards to the retraction he'd released. Bubba liked a man who stuck to his guns, even if his guns were bleeding-heart liberal ones and advocated dirty foreigners taking jobs from hardworking Americans. Danny was charmed, until he got to the end of the email; there Bubba voiced his concern over what kind of flowers a spineless homosexual should have at his funeral, an apparently pressing problem for Danny because Bubba claimed he was going to come to D.C. and kill him.
"Jesus Christ," said Danny, deleting the email. "The man likes a personal touch." He picked up a fact sheet on Libya from his in-tray and spent the next hour and a half on that; when his assistant Trevor came into his office to deliver some mail, Danny told him he had a secret admirer.
"I don't doubt it," said Trevor without looking up from the stack of envelopes in his hand. "I heard the ladies are lining up for you."
"Your tone isn't one of conviction," observed Danny. "I don't think I like that."
Trevor neatly stacked the mail in the only clean space on Danny's desk. "Haters gonna hate," he said before walking away.
"You are white and went to Princeton!" Danny shouted after him. "You can't say things like that!"
Trevor just shrugged without turning back around.
***
Bubba sent three more emails over the next week, two from the same address and all with subject lines. They seemed to be getting shorter, Danny thought as he perused the last one. Since Gen. Donovan was a cruel master who kept making Danny do the junkets on the new border initiative, his face kept making the news and Bubba was providing up-to-the-minute observations on his press interactions. Every email ended with a reference to how Danny's days were numbered. He rolled his eyes, admired Bubba's tenacity, deleted the emails and got on with his job until the next one arrived.
On Wednesday, Danny had just adjourned the morning huddle and sat down with coffee to go through his email when there was a knock on his office door. He looked up and blinked at Jack Haverman. "Uh, good morning?" he said awkwardly.
Jack walked into the office and shut the door behind him. "Good morning, Danny. Can you guess what brings me here today?"
"I'm sure it's nothing good." Danny put down his coffee and leaned back in his chair.
"It's come to the Secret Service's attention that you received a threatening email last week."
Danny sagged. "That was very thoughtful of Janelle to bring up."
"Danny, you've worked in the West Wing for almost two years. You know as well as anyone that these things have to be reported."
"Credible threats," corrected Danny, "yes, those need to be reported. This is just some podunk asshole who I offended by opening my mouth in public. I get threatening emails all the time. I get them from the press secretary's office with alarming regularity; maybe you should go check those guys out."
Jack didn't smile. "I'm so glad that the security briefings got through to you at least partially, Danny, but the part you clearly missed was that you are not the one qualified to decide whether or not a threat is credible. That is the job of the Secret Service. Now that this issue has crossed my desk, I will be the one who evaluates the situation."
He stared Danny down for a minute. Danny fought not to look away.
"Now," said Jack. "Have you received further emails from this person?"
"A couple," Danny muttered.
Jack nodded. "I need to access your computer, Danny. I'll be approximately half an hour."
Danny levered himself out of his chair. "I'll be around," he said.
Jack sat down at the desk to open his email. "Thanks, Danny. We'll take care of this as quickly as possible."
***
Everybody would know by the end of lunch that Danny's computer had been seized by the Secret Service for analysis; sometimes it seemed like running a country wasn't time-consuming enough for employees of the White House, so they took up gossip as an extracurricular. Janelle caught Danny on his way back to his office after Jack had finished commandeering it.
"I'm sorry, Danny," she said.
Danny stopped in the corridor in front of the Roosevelt Room and rubbed at his eyes. "It's okay."
"Really?"
"Yes," he said. "You were just looking out for me. Even if it did get Jack Haverman breathing down my neck, I guess I can't fault you for that."
"Good," she said. "Want to get a drink after work?"
He thought for a second. "Okay. I'm not telling you any more closely-guarded secrets, though."
"I guess that's fair." She winked at him before walking away.
Danny went to cut through the lobby to go back to his corner of the building, his mind on a lobbyist meeting he had that afternoon and whether the Secret Service would likely fuck up any more of his day. He made it within sight of his office door when a booming voice rang out across the NSA's bullpen.
"Danny!"
Danny froze in his tracks and turned slowly to face Gen. Donovan. "Sir?"
The general just stared at Danny for a second and then went back into his office, leaving the door open. Danny rolled his head around on his neck and followed at a trudge.
"Jack's done with your office," the general said as he sat down at his desk. "They seized your computer and we're getting you a clean one. All your email's going to be routed through the Secret Service until this mess gets sorted out."
"Fantastic," muttered Danny. "I need some files off of that box."
"We'll deal with it," said Gen. Donovan. "Danny, why in the hell did you decide to keep this under wraps? This fuck's emailed you five times in a week and a half!"
Danny shrugged. "I really didn't think it was anything to be concerned about. Just some inbred, far-right yokel looking to stand on a soapbox and make somebody listen. And he picked me."
"He's gonna make somebody listen by shooting you through your bedroom window if we don't nip this in the bud. Look, you can't always tell motive by content, okay? So, some people who are smarter than you at this kind of thing--yes, they exist--are going to look into it and find this guy and arrest him, yokel or not."
They stared at each other in silence for a minute.
"Can I go now?" Danny asked.
"Yeah, you can go."
Danny went back to his office, glared at the hole under the desk where his computer tower used to be, and sat down heavily in the chair to sort through the papers on the desk. He thought he might have to start looking for a pen to write with, if he didn't get a new computer soon.
***
The very next day, after Danny had sat down in his office bright and early to pick a fight with his new computer--probably banished to storage originally because it ran Windows Vista, goddammit--a throat cleared from his doorway. He stopped his litany of swearing at the keyboard long enough to look up at Gen. Donovan, who had his eyebrow raised.
"We're due in the Oval Office," he said, gesturing at Danny to get up and get a move on.
"What?" Danny said blankly. "But that summit thing was scheduled for Monday."
"It's not about that."
"Then why do I need to be there?" Danny felt panic rise in his throat; he went into the Oval Office infrequently enough that he got a case of nerves every time.
"Because the president wishes your presence there, immediately."
Danny stood up unsteadily. "Guess I can't keep him waiting, then."
"Guess not," said Gen. Donovan with a trace of amusement.
Danny grabbed his suit jacket off of the back of his chair and followed the general through the lobby, past the Roosevelt Room and through the president's secretary's office, where the general smiled warmly at Ms. Knight and she nodded for them to go in.
Danny walked into the Oval Office to be faced with the president, the chief of staff and Jack Haverman.
"Good morning, Danny," said the president, getting up from the armchair he'd been sitting in.
"Mr. President," Danny said distractedly.
"Bill," said the president to Gen. Donovan, "did you tell Danny why he's here? He looks kind of shell-shocked. Not that I don't mind the silence once in a while."
"I didn't tell him; it was bad enough just getting his ass in here."
"Well then," said Jack. "If I may?" He folded his hands in front of him and said, "Danny, we've gone through your computer and assessed that a credible threat to your personal safety is present."
"What does that mean?" Danny asked.
"It means this guy means business and I've decided to have you assigned a protection detail," said the president.
"That's ludicrous," said Danny. "...Sir."
The president rolled his eyes. "Show him the photos, Jack."
Jack beckoned Danny over to the desk and gestured to a pile of photos. Danny picked up the top one. "This is me," he said. "Last night after I got home." It was a picture of him in his kitchen, drinking a glass of water. He'd just come home from that drink with Janelle.
The next photo was from the same time span. The next one: "This is from this morning," said Danny. He looked up. "Where the hell did these come from?"
"Attached to an email sent shortly after 8:30 this morning," said Jack. "Look at the next one."
Danny did. He took a deep breath. It was taken at a playground, through a chain-link fence; his eight-year-old daughter was in the foreground, in her school uniform and braids and laughing at something off to the left, outside the frame.
Danny put down the photo and looked up at Jack, and from him to the other three men in the room, all sombre. "Why is there a picture of my little girl in here?" he asked. "Has something happened to Grace?"
"Nothing at all," said Jack. "We sent a detail to her school; they're talking to the headmaster and they'll be talking to her mother today, as well."
Danny took another deep breath. "Will this guy hurt Gracie?"
Jack seemed to gather his thoughts before he answered. "We don't have reason to believe that he will. He seems to be targeting you, although we're not sure why yet. We don't expect any kind of collateral damage at this juncture but to be safe, we will be keeping an eye on your daughter and ex-wife. This seems to have just been a scare tactic, Danny."
"Well, it's working." Danny threw the photo down on the desk.
"When we have your consent, I'll assign your 24-hour Secret Service protection detail ASAP," said Jack.
"I'm sorry, 24-hour? You mean, at all times? By the Secret Service?"
"That’s what it means, Danny."
Danny narrowed his eyes. "What if I refuse to consent?"
"You'll consent," said the president.
"Why is that, sir?" Danny asked him levelly.
"Because you serve at the pleasure of the president, and I am the president. I don't know why we ever let you near reporters, Danny, but you're part of the team and part of the family and will be protected as such when it's deemed necessary. Right now, it’s necessary." He leaned over the desk and pulled a piece of paper closer to Danny. "Sign here."
Jack handed Danny a pen; Danny gave Gen. Donovan a lost look.
"Sign it," the general advised.
Danny did.
***
When Danny got back to his office from a late lunch in the commissary, there was a man standing outside his office door. Tall, built. Wearing a suit with the jacket unbuttoned. Earpiece. A blue rectangular pin on his lapel. Danny sighed.
"Hello," he said as he opened his office door and walked in, throwing his suit jacket at the couch near the door. The man followed him in. "Who are you?"
The man cocked his head a little. "I'm Special Agent Steve McGarrett."
"What makes you so special?" Danny asked, not meeting the agent's eyes as he spoke; he booted up his computer and unbuttoned his cuffs to roll them up.
"Well, I work for the Treasury Department."
"Are you a special bean counter?"
McGarrett blinked and then reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a gold badge to show Danny briefly before tucking it away again. "Secret Service, Mr. Williams."
"My name is Danny."
"Well, I have to call you Mr. Williams."
Danny sat back in his chair. "There's like, one person around here who goes by Mr., and we follow that with 'President'."
"I can also call you 'sir', but while I'm on the job there are rules about interacting with civilians and persons requiring my protection," said McGarrett, staring at the closed blinds of Danny's office window as he spoke.
"Jack Haverman calls me Danny."
"Special Agent Haverman occasionally follows different rules than I have to."
"Whatever," said Danny, digging through the pile on his desk for the notes on Iraq he'd asked Trevor for.
"Agent Haverman suggested to me that you were reluctant to have protection."
"Told you I was gonna be a huge fucking pain in the ass?" asked Danny.
"I figured he had to be exaggerating."
"I can see we'll get along great," said Danny. "Trevor!" he yelled out the door. "Where are my Iraq sheets?"
"Printing!" Trevor yelled back.
"Motherfucker," Danny muttered. He looked up at McGarrett. "Do you have to protect me from within my office?" he asked. "Or can you be elsewhere?"
"I can be more lenient about radius while we're within the West Wing and under the president's umbrella of security, but your office does share a wall with the lobby."
"As I am frequently reminded by the noise which comes through it."
"Look," said McGarrett, "I'm leading a team of four. You'll have one guard at a time; we'll work on three shifts a day with one day off in rotation for each of us. You don't go anywhere alone, you drive a car from the motor pool, you do as I tell you and this should all work out in the end."
"Will I ever have any privacy again?" asked Danny, more seriously than he'd meant to.
"I don't have to see you naked or anything," said McGarrett. "But hey, better safe than sorry."
Danny stared.
McGarrett shifted. "That was a joke."
Trevor chose that moment to burst in with the Iraq notes, which he flung in front of Danny.
"Thank you," Danny said, grabbing them and sorting through them as Trevor vanished again. He glanced up at McGarrett. "Please go be elsewhere. I have work of great national importance to attend to."
"I'll be around." McGarrett left the office, pausing to steal Trevor's phone and do some kind of check-in before he vanished himself.
Danny sighed irritably and started typing.
***
Danny got off work that night at something actually approaching a reasonable hour for once--not quite 7 P.M. He was putting on his coat as McGarrett materialized from wherever he'd spent the afternoon.
"Time to go home, Mr. Williams?" McGarrett asked.
"Long past," said Danny, grabbing his briefcase and shoving his Blackberry into his coat pocket.
"Where are you going?" McGarrett asked after trailing him out of the building and toward the parking garage.
"To my car?"
"You can't use your car. I had a guy take it to a garage for you. Oh, here are your keys back." McGarrett dug them out of his pocket and tossed them at Danny, who caught them dumbly and then stared at them.
"When did you take my keys from me?"
"Earlier," said McGarrett vaguely. "Anyway, the motor pool's this way," he said over his shoulder, because Danny was lagging behind him.
Danny waited in a state of shock while McGarrett signed out a car; McGarrett twirled the key ring around his finger absently as he led Danny across the lot to a black BMW.
"Wait, I don't even get to drive myself home?" Danny demanded as McGarrett went around to the driver's side and opened the door.
"Nope," said McGarrett. "Come on, your side's unlocked."
Danny sputtered to himself for a second before trudging over to the car, because he wasn't being allowed to continue the debate in the parking lot.
"I can drive myself around," he said, slamming the door behind him and dropping his briefcase between his knees. "I've been doing it for like twenty years now."
"Yes," said McGarrett, "but you are under federal protection, and I have training in tactical defensive driving."
"Fuck you and your 'tactical defensive driving training'," said Danny as McGarrett pulled out of the parking spot. "I'm from New Jersey."
"That explains so much." McGarrett looked serene as he navigated onto the street, hitting a mild clusterfuck of evening traffic.
Danny opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by the theme from Spongebob Squarepants, which was coming from his phone. He squinted at McGarrett, who was studiously watching the road, before he answered it.
"Hey, Monkey."
"Daddy, I got a hundred on my spelling test today!" Grace said.
"That's fantastic! How was the rest of your day?"
"School was pretty okay. But tonight some men in suits came to talk to Mommy. She said you were in trouble. Are you in trouble, Danno?"
Danny leaned his elbow on the car door and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not really in trouble, Monkey. It's... complicated. Basically, some people are going to hang around me for a while to keep me safe, and they're going to watch you and your mom too, just in case. There's nothing to worry about, though, okay?"
There was a pause while Grace absorbed that; Danny held his breath. "Okay," she said, "I think I get it. Do these people have guns?"
Danny blinked. "I would love to know where these questions come from sometimes."
Grace giggled. "Can I still come over this weekend?"
"Of course," said Danny. "There's nothing to worry about, there'll just be one more person around."
"Okay," she said. There was some rustling, and then she said, "Mommy wants to speak to you."
"Put her on, Monkey."
"Bye, Danno."
"Bye, sweetie."
He heard Grace's phone being handed off and then Rachel said, "Jesus, Danny."
"Look, I'm sorry if the Secret Service scared you, but it's really not as bad as it seems."
"They said you're under 24-hour surveillance! How is that not bad?"
Danny took a deep breath, held it, and let it out.
"I don't think you should have Grace for weekends until this is sorted."
"What the fuck?" Danny shouted. "Why?"
"They said you're being stalked, Danny. It's not safe for her."
"I have a fucking Secret Service agent playing my shadow at all times! It could not be safer to be around me!"
She was silent for a while.
"Rachel," Danny started.
"Don't you 'Rachel' me, Daniel Williams. It's my responsibility to make sure my daughter is safe."
"She's my daughter, too," he snapped. "You think I don't worry for her safety? With all the babysitters you have to leave her with? When she's off at school? Anytime I'm not around to watch out for her?"
She sighed. "Well, since you've already promised to see her this weekend, I suppose I have to allow it or deal with a tantrum." She sounded tired all of a sudden; Danny pictured her rubbing at her eyes and tucking her hair back behind her ear, sitting at the kitchen table and staring out the window. He blinked the image away. "Danny, I just wish you'd watch what you say more often, particularly to the press. You make yourself a target."
"Well, I'm sorry that my job is more polarizing than being a women's rights lobbyist," he said, "but sometimes a person has to get the tough issues out there, even when it makes things difficult."
"Yes, okay, whatever. I'll talk to you later, Danny. Be safe."
"Yeah," he said, staring out the car window. McGarrett wasn't taking his usual route home. "Tell Gracie Danno loves her and I'll see her Saturday morning."
When he hung up, the car was silent for a while. Danny could just tell that McGarrett wanted to say something, though, so he said, "What? Out with it."
"Spongebob?" was what McGarrett settled on.
"My daughter has her own cell phone--needs it for organizing pickups from school and sports and babysitters, although I don't know how that led to her mother buying her a fucking Blackberry--but anyway, that's her ringtone on my phone. She likes Spongebob," he added unnecessarily.
"You're one of those people who assigns special ringtones?"
"My ex gets the theme from Psycho."
McGarrett smirked a little.
"Where are you even going?" Danny asked as he looked out the windshield. "Are you lost?"
"I'm taking a different route to your apartment than you usually do," said McGarrett, checking the mirror. "It's a safety measure. We'll change it up a lot. Routine is the mind-killer."
"I thought that was fear," said Danny.
"That too. And we're here," said McGarrett, pulling up to parallel-park in front of Danny's building. They got out of the car and McGarrett led Danny up the stairs of his building to where another agent stood, his collar turned up against the wind.
"This is Special Agent Kelly," said McGarrett. "He'll be with you this evening."
Kelly picked up a radio from his belt. "This is Kelly. It's 7:42 and I have Badger."
"Badger?" Danny repeated.
They ignored him. "Night, Chin; Mr. Williams," said McGarrett, turning to go back down the stairs.
"Take it easy, Steve," said Kelly, before turning to Danny, who had dug out his keys. Danny unlocked the door and was about to go inside when Kelly grabbed his shoulder.
"I precede you into the building and your apartment," he said, looking apologetic.
Danny held the door open and gestured grandly. Kelly walked in and checked the hallway before gesturing Danny in and shutting the front door behind him. Then when they got up to Danny's place on the second floor, Kelly had to go inside and case the place while Danny waited impatiently in the doorway.
"All clear," Kelly said finally, meeting Danny at the door and turning on the lights. "Man, your place is tiny."
"Have you seen the rent around here?" asked Danny. "I'm a public servant. Plus, I'm still paying the mortgage on my ex-wife's house in Bethesda."
"Fair point," said Agent Kelly, taking off his overcoat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the front door. Danny put down his briefcase by the door, grabbed the TV remote off of the couch and found the baseball game, turning up the volume so he could hear it when he made his way to the kitchen area.
"Hungry, Agent Kelly?"
"No thanks, Mr. Williams. I ate before I came on shift."
Danny dug some leftover Chinese out of the fridge, peering at it for a second before shrugging and dumping it on a plate to microwave. "So what's your first name? McGarrett called you Chin?"
"My first name's Chin Ho," Kelly said. "People just call me Chin."
"You guys are friends?"
"We go back a ways."
Danny looked at him as the microwave hummed. "Sorry if I'm being too personal. Most of my interaction with the Secret Service has been Jack Haverman."
Kelly smirked. "It's cool. Yeah, McGarrett and I sort of grew up together. He got me this job, actually."
"Oh yeah?" said Danny, digging through the silverware drawer for a fork. "That's more considerate and thoughtful than he's given me the impression he's capable of."
Kelly actually laughed. "He's a good guy, but he's intense. Ex-military."
"That really explains a lot," said Danny thoughtfully. "What about you?"
Kelly took a second to answer. "Honolulu Police Department. Ten years."
"Wait. You're both from Hawaii?"
"Aloha," said Kelly. "Okay, Mr. Williams, if you're hanging out for the night, I'll be around." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a little, black remote, holding it up to show Danny before he set it on the counter. "This is a panic button; hit it if there's panic and I'll be right here. With backup. Got it?"
Danny pulled his steaming, reheated dinner out of the microwave and saluted Kelly with his fork. "Got it, boss. I'm going to watch the Yankees thrash the Orioles."
***
Danny got an early night; when he dragged himself out of bed at six the next morning to make his alarm clock shut up and claw his way to the shower, he smelled coffee. It turned out that while he was sleeping, Agent Kelly had become the lovely but fierce Agent Singh ("shift change is at midnight, Mr. Williams") and she had helpfully started the coffee maker. This probably increased her loveliness in Danny's eyes, yes, but the baseline was already pretty high.
He was tired enough to stand around in the kitchen unashamedly in his pajamas and knock back a cup of coffee before he jumped in the shower. "I could get used to this," he said into the cup.
"I wasn't sure if you'd go for coffee, but the night shift is a challenge," she said, looking immaculate in her grey suit even though she'd been awake all night and probably bored. "I brought my own coffee and just hoped you wouldn't mind my using your coffee maker."
"You can use my coffee if you want," said Danny. "Just save me like, half the pot. Or whatever."
She grinned. "Early day for you, Mr. Williams?"
"Every day is an early day," he said. "I'm usually into work by 7:30 or 8, unless there's a crisis and I have to be there earlier."
"Fair enough," she said, glancing at her watch. "I'll take you in and Agent McGarrett will rendezvous with us at eight or when we get there."
"I can't wait," said Danny, putting down his mug and wandering off to the bathroom. "TGIF."
***
"McGarrett here; 8:13 and I have Badger." McGarrett nodded at Singh. "Have a good night," he said.
"See you, Mr. Williams," said Singh, leaving them with a wave.
"I really need to know," said Danny, crossing his arms and staring at McGarrett. "What the fuck is with 'Badger'? Whose funny idea of a joke was that?"
McGarrett shrugged with only his face. "That's been your code name since they changed them all six months ago, Mr. Williams. I don't remember who came up with it."
Danny narrowed his eyes. "A likely story."
"All I can say, Mr. Williams," said McGarrett, straightening the cuffs of his jacket, "is that whoever chose it knew you really well, and it wasn't me."
"Hey!" Danny growled.
"Um, Danny?"
Danny turned; it was Trevor, holding out a sacrificial coffee. Danny took it and resolved not to kill him yet. "Speak," he said, taking a sip. Black and strong, just as he liked it.
"Just. Uh." Trevor was uncharacteristically nervous, shooting little looks at McGarrett, who was watching them with some interest. "Bullpen huddle? We're kinda running behind."
"Jesus," said Danny. "It was the fucking traffic; my licensed-to-kill driver this morning took the most fucked-up route possible to get here." He stormed off to his office to dump his briefcase and jacket and grab a notebook for the meeting, forgetting all about McGarrett as he started barking orders at Trevor and the three other bullpen peons about summit preparations.
The rest of the morning was a clusterfuck of prep work for the summit, which was starting a week from Monday and which Danny had to meet with Gen. Donovan and the president about on Monday morning. Luckily for Danny, things were actually coming along. He took lunch at his desk--a pastrami on rye that he'd sent Trevor out for--and was taking his second bite while reading a journal article on the computer when McGarrett materialized in the doorway.
"You've been busy today," McGarrett observed as he wandered closer to Danny's desk and stood in parade rest.
"I dunno if you noticed," said Danny, putting down his sandwich, "but I work at the White House. I'm always busy."
McGarrett rolled his eyes. "I mean you seem busier than yesterday. Everyone out there is moving like you personally lit fires under their asses."
"I wish I actually had," said Danny, "but I didn't have that kind of time." He ate a potato chip and took a sip of coffee. "We're just getting down to the wire on this summit, and I have to have something to take to the Oval Office first thing Monday." He sat back in his chair and glared up at McGarrett, who was looming in a pleasant-looking kind of way for someone who was currently carrying a gun with the safety off.
"If you're going to hang around on my lunch break," said Danny, "can you please sit down? You're disrupting the energies in here."
"Energies?" said McGarrett, but he moved to the chair in front of the desk anyway, turning it a little so he could partially face the office door.
"Yeah, whatever, something like that," said Danny, waving a hand as he picked up his sandwich again. "So, do you take a lunch break?" he asked before taking another bite.
"No, sir, I don't."
Danny was chewing a mouthful, so he settled for glaring until he could swallow. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"It was a yes-or-no question, Mr. Williams. I picked one of the possible answers."
"It was a rhetorical question, intended to start idle bullshit chit-chat about lunch," said Danny, "and why you are sitting there and watching me eat mine. Who the fuck doesn't take a lunch break at work?"
"I eat when I have downtime, Mr. Williams. When I'm on the clock, my job is to protect you and I can't take a break from that," said McGarrett far too reasonably.
Danny turned that over in his mind. "This isn't downtime?" he asked, indicating the room and his food and McGarrett's deceptively casual slouch in the chair across the desk.
"Someone could come in through the door or window as we speak," said McGarrett.
"Like who? Trevor?"
Trevor heard his name and looked up from his desk, where he was eating Twizzlers and writing memos. Danny waved him off and turned back to McGarrett.
"Like your special friend who necessitated my being here," said McGarrett.
"Bubba's not that special," said Danny.
McGarrett's confused look lasted only a second, and then he raised an eyebrow. "You named your stalker?"
"Okay," said Danny, "maybe he's a little bit special."
McGarrett opened his mouth but seemed to think better of answering. After a second he changed the subject, shifting in his seat. "So you're spending tomorrow with your daughter," he said.
"I get her for weekends," agreed Danny.
"What's your planned schedule?"
"Uh," said Danny. "Plans?"
"Yeah. Planned days with your kid? You do those, right?"
"Well, not exactly plan."
McGarrett stared at him for a second, something faintly twitching in his jaw. "Okay," he said. "This will be a great opportunity for you to start."
"Why do you care?" asked Danny.
"Because I'm going to be on duty from eight to four again tomorrow."
Danny sighed. "Okay. I usually pick her up at her mom's around nine-thirty, ten. We go for pancakes. And then, whatever."
"Whatever?"
"I don't know, it varies," said Danny. "It was nice out this morning, right?" He turned his head briefly to peer at the window but the blinds were closed, as usual. "If it's nice tomorrow, then maybe we'll go to the park. It'll be getting cold soon, anyway."
"It's almost October," said McGarrett. "It's already cold."
"Oh, that's right," said Danny. "Agent Kelly said you were from Hawaii."
"Agent Kelly likes to share," said McGarrett.
"I like that about him. He also told me you got him his job and that you were in the army."
"Navy," McGarrett hissed.
"Yeah," said Danny. "And I said that explains a lot about you."
"I was in the Navy SEALs before I joined the Service."
"Jesus. They let people that crazy near the president?"
"I wouldn't say crazy. Resourceful, maybe."
"I have met countless people in the Special Forces," said Danny, "and every single one of them was, without exception, bugfuck crazy."
"Well, it's a good thing I'm on your side, isn't it, Mr. Williams?" said McGarrett.
Danny took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it slowly, never looking away from McGarrett; it didn't seem safe. McGarrett stared back silently for a moment and then shifted in his chair to stare out the door at the bullpen and hallway beyond.
Danny rolled his eyes and reached out to nudge his chip bag across the desk, turning the open end to face McGarrett. "Eat something, you android," he snapped when McGarrett raised an eyebrow at him.
The eyebrow stayed raised as McGarrett obediently plucked a potato chip out of the bag and leaned back in the chair to chew it, noisily.
Danny turned irritably back to his journal article.
***
McGarrett vanished shortly after Danny finished his lunch; Danny lost himself in the elbow-deep pile of work on his desk until about four, when there was a soft knock on his door.
"Agent Kelly," he said when he looked up.
Kelly nodded. "Just wanted to give you the heads-up that I'm on duty now. Till midnight."
Danny nodded. "At which point I once again have the lovely Agent Singh?"
"Today's her day off. You get Agent Jones tonight."
"The fourth musketeer!" Danny dropped a bound report on his desk with a thud and leaned back in his chair to dig his fingers through his hair.
"What time do you think you'll want to leave?" Kelly asked.
"When will I want to? Immediately. When will I actually leave?" Danny looked thoughtfully at the pile on his desk. "I've been known to sleep on that couch over there," he said.
Kelly chuckled. "I'll be around."
***
Danny ended up calling it a night just after 11:30, mostly because by then Trevor wouldn't stop leaning back in his chair to give him sad puppy eyes through the office door (it wasn't that the puppy eyes worked--Danny had a daughter who did them much more cutely than Trevor, after all--but if he let Trevor go home, then he wouldn't have to deal with the silent whining anymore).
"Your assistant looked pretty happy to leave," Kelly noted as they made their way to the motor pool.
Danny stifled a yawn. "Well, he's back in here tomorrow, so don't go telling people I'm benevolent or something."
"I wouldn't do that to you, Mr. Williams."
"Please," said Danny, "for the love of god. Call me Danny. Can you please call me Danny? Like, I don't think there's any hope for Agent Constant Vigilance but you, at least, are pretty cool. And seriously, I am not going to get home from work on the same date that I left for it, so I feel like the rules should be relaxed a little in view of this."
Kelly smirked to himself as he signed out a car from the motor pool desk. "Well," he said, taking the keys, "I certainly can't call you that when any of my superiors are around."
"I guess."
"But I'll call you Danny if you call me Chin."
"You've got yourself a deal, Chin. Now, can I drive?"
"No way in hell," said Chin, holding the keys away and moving to the driver's side of the car.
Chin got him home faster than Singh had gotten him to work that morning; they met up with Agent Jones on the steps of Danny's apartment right around midnight. Agent Jones was tall and built and his hair was cut short in a way that reminded Danny of the military way more than McGarrett's did. Danny waved goodnight to Chin as the agents did their radio hand-off and plodded gratefully to his bed as soon as his apartment was guaranteed free of terrorists or whatever.
***
Danny was warm, wrapped in softness, and he smelled coffee brewing. Rachel always started coffee first thing Saturday morning, while Gracie watched cartoons and ate her sugar-loaded cereal; it was soothing, and he drifted back into a nice dream.
"Mr. Williams," came a voice from above him. The smell of coffee was stronger as Danny twitched back into wakefulness; someone was shaking him, and they would pay. Danny flopped onto his back, his legs twisting in the sheets, and glared up at Agent fucking McGarrett, who had a coffee cup in hand and was giving him an annoyed look.
"Mr. Williams, it's past 8:30," he said.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Danny croaked, struggling up onto his elbows. "Have you no respect for the sanctity of a weekend?"
"You're picking up your daughter in Bethesda at 9:30," said McGarrett, looking remorseless. "Getting up would be a good idea if we're going to keep to schedule."
"Give me that coffee," Danny growled, taking the cup when McGarrett handed it to him. "And what schedule? We're going to the park. The park doesn't have set hours of operation. Daylight hours, maybe." He took an angry sip; it was still too hot but he appreciated the way it stoked his temper when it burned a path across his tongue and down his throat.
"When I'm on your detail, sir, you keep a schedule. Your personal safety relies on precise times and locations."
"God," said Danny. "Get out of my bedroom, you dictator."
McGarrett put up his hands in surrender and left the room, shutting the door behind him again.
Danny stared down at the coffee mug, not sure what to make of the fact that his protective detail was not only nagging him, but had figured out in about twenty-four hours that he could be bribed with coffee.
"I don't hear the shower running," McGarrett called through the door after a minute.
"Blow me," Danny yelled back, throwing the covers off and staggering toward the bathroom in his boxers, coffee still clutched in his hand.
Danny went through his shower-and-jerk-off routine, feeling the hot water and steam wake him up incrementally. He'd left the coffee cup sitting on the back of the toilet and occasionally reached an arm out to it for a sip, a habit he hadn't been allowed to indulge in when Rachel was around. He threw on a shirt and jeans afterwards, rolling his sleeves up to the elbows automatically, and strolled out into the main room of his apartment to see McGarrett standing at the kitchen island with a coffee mug in front of him.
"You're in jeans and a t-shirt," Danny observed as he passed McGarrett to get at the coffee pot. He'd have to spend his Sunday catching up on sleep.
"It's Saturday and you're not going to work," said McGarrett. "You seem overdressed."
"No tie, thank you," said Danny, gesturing at his open collar as he turned back around with a full cup of coffee. "And it's just, I've never seen a Secret Service agent in street clothes. At least, not at work."
"I dress to blend in," said McGarrett. He looked at his watch in a way that indicated he knew exactly what time it was, and this was all a show for Danny's benefit. "It's 8:58."
Danny took a slow, pointed sip of coffee. "The clock on the microwave says it's only 8:57."
"That clock is wrong. We should go."
"Let me finish my coffee."
"We should go," McGarrett repeated.
Danny made a frustrated noise. "It is my day off. I am going to spend it hanging out with my kid and trying not to think about work for at least five minutes at a time, and you are doing your very best to ruin my relaxation," he said. "Do you understand this word? Relaxation?"
McGarrett blinked at him. "Finish your coffee, Mr. Williams," he said finally. "Then we should go."
Danny decided he might as well drink it, before McGarrett took it away or something.
"So are you looking forward to killing the joy of my entire weekend?" Danny asked five minutes later as they left the apartment. McGarrett had thrown a leather jacket on, covering his shoulder holster. Secret Service weekend wear didn’t include the earpiece, at least.
"I'm off tomorrow," said McGarrett.
"Oh, goody," said Danny.
They were quiet on the drive to Rachel's, but when they pulled up to the curb in front of the house, McGarrett's voice stopped Danny's hand on the door handle.
"There's something I have to make sure you know before we go anywhere with your daughter," he said.
Danny looked at him expectantly.
McGarrett was staring out the windshield, both hands still tight around the wheel. "If anything happens while you're out with her... my job is to protect you first. Not her."
Danny took that in. "Okay," he said slowly.
"I mean, we don't have reason to believe she's at risk right now. And there are some agents tasked to keep an eye on her and her mother."
"Okay," said Danny. "Just so you know: if anything happens, my job is first and foremost to protect her. You do whatever you think you gotta," he said, and opened the car door.
McGarrett leaned on the passenger side of the car with his arms crossed as Danny came back down the front walk with Grace. She slowed down suddenly and Danny glanced down at her; she was eyeing McGarrett, shifting her backpack strap on her shoulder.
"Who's that?" she asked.
Danny picked up the pace again, pressing a hand gently against the back of her shoulder to urge her along. "Remember how I said people were going to be around me to protect me?"
"He's your guard-person?"
"One of them," said Danny. "I have four. They trade off."
She frowned and then nodded.
"Hi," she said when they reached the car, craning her neck to look up at McGarrett. "I'm Grace. What's your name?"
"I'm Special Agent McGarrett," he said solemnly, straightening up from his lean on the car. He looked at Danny. "We ready to go, sir?"
Danny opened the rear door to let Grace in the car, and they went to Danny and Grace's favourite diner for Saturday morning pancakes. McGarrett asked the waitress to give them a booth within sight of the door and then insisted on sitting on the same bench as Danny, on the outside and pinning him in next to the window. Danny was pretty thoroughly annoyed by McGarrett's bossing him around but felt better when Grace insisted McGarrett order pancakes too (he stared at her for a second and then did, ordering blueberry). While they waited for their food, she asked him why he was more special than normal agents, why they called it the Secret Service if it wasn't a secret, whether he carried a gun and if he'd ever shot anybody. Danny raised his eyebrow at her out of a sense of fatherly duty but bit the inside of his cheek and smirked down at his coffee as McGarrett tried dazedly to answer her questions.
Listening with half an ear, Danny had to admit that McGarrett seemed to be pretty good with kids.
"She's a gifted interrogator," McGarrett said when Grace abandoned her food to go to the bathroom, his eyes following her like it was some ingrained habit to note peoples' whereabouts.
"Daddy's little hellion," said Danny fondly, picking up a piece of bacon and biting the end off of it. "I'll rent her out to you guys if you need her services, but our rates are pretty high. Have you seen the cost of Georgetown lately?"
***
The park had a duck pond, and Grace had come prepared with half a bag of bread.
Danny eyed it. “Does your mom know you took that?”
She smiled sweetly and sat on a bench by the pond to pull the tag off of the bag. Danny sighed and joined her, accepting a piece of bread to rip up and toss at the few ducks toddling around. Some pigeons quickly got in on the action and they spent a peaceful while feeding wild animals and disrupting ecosystems while McGarrett hovered around the bench. He seemed to be pacing in slow, aimless ellipticals but the set of his shoulders and the way he seemed to be searching their surroundings told a different story if you were close enough.
Grace peered up at him after a while, leaning back past Danny’s shoulder to ask, “What are you looking for?”
McGarrett glanced down at her in obvious surprise. “Suspicious behaviour,” he said, going back to watching the dog walkers and some people flying a kite across the pond.
Grace nudged Danny with her elbow. “What’s that mean?”
“People acting weird,” Danny clarified. “But not like he does; a different kind of weird.”
She looked dubious. “What kind of weird?”
McGarrett stood behind the bench, between them, still watching the park as he answered. “All kinds of things. You know it when you see it. A guy in a coat on a warm day. A guy with no coat on a cold day. Someone with their hands in their pockets. Carrying things. Anyone who stands out from the crowd or looks like they’re looking for something.”
Grace looked around, squinting in the sunlight. “That’s a lot. I don’t see anyone weird.”
McGarrett paused and then said, “What about that lady on your left, Miss Williams? The one standing at the pond.”
“She’s just standing,” said Grace.
“Exactly. What’s she doing?”
Grace frowned; Danny watched her forehead wrinkle a little. “I don’t know.”
“Me neither,” said McGarrett. “But as long as she’s in this park, I’m going to know where she is at all times.”
“Huh,” said Grace, sounding impressed. She grinned up at McGarrett. Danny kept balling up pieces of bread and tossing them at ducks, lost in thought as his gaze caught on every person going by them. McGarrett’s presence at his back and the gun he was carrying loomed over Danny.
After the bread was all gone and the birds abandoned them for greener pastures, they moved to a playground setup down the pathway and Danny gave Grace a few pushes on the swings before standing back with McGarrett.
“How many other agents you got with us today?” he asked quietly.
“One in plainclothes and one in a car,” said McGarrett calmly. He shot Danny a sideways glance. “Police only a call away.”
Danny nodded. “Will I ever get used to this?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Williams. Will you?” After a second, McGarrett fidgeted a little and added, “We all hope this’ll be resolved promptly and cleanly, and you can have your privacy back.”
“And my car.”
McGarrett grinned. “And your car.”
“You have any kids?” Danny asked, watching Grace swing higher and higher.
“No,” said McGarrett.
Danny remembered that McGarrett didn’t wear a ring and didn’t work terribly marriage-compatible hours, anyway. “None that you know of, right?” he joked.
McGarrett was silent for a second. “No kids,” he said finally.
Danny nodded. “Well, if you can hold your own against mine, you’re doing pretty good.”
“Thank you, sir, that means a lot,” McGarrett said in a bland way that managed to be completely insincere.
“Uh huh,” said Danny, deciding not to engage right at the moment. He glanced at his watch and said, “Another hour if she’s into it, and then let’s go home to figure out dinner, so you can do your changing of the guard more easily.”
“Sure thing,” said McGarrett, and glanced around briefly before pulling out a cell phone to log their plans with whoever he and the rest of the detail were always calling.
***
Monday morning came far too soon, finding Danny standing in the Oval Office looking awkwardly around at aides and avoiding the press secretary’s glares while the president and Gen. Donovan shot the shit. Danny was grimly reminded of his last visit; the place was starting to take on the definite aura of a principal’s office for him, and he didn’t like it one bit.
Danny’s minions had been very productive since Thursday and he had a good spread to show the president and senior staff, which pleased him enough that he entertained thoughts of sending them all home in time for dinner that night as a reward. At least he was until he tuned into the discussion long enough to realize that Dana was looking at him and speaking, and she was talking about Air Force One.
“What?” said Danny, shaking his head fractionally to clear out the cobwebs.
She went back to glaring. “I’m not sitting anywhere near you on the plane. And you’re not allowed in the same room as any member of the press corps.” She looked contemplative. “Maybe we’ll just lock you in one of the bathrooms for the whole flight.”
“What flight?” said Danny stupidly, realizing he was several pages behind the rest of the conversation.
“To L.A., Danny, for the summit,” Gen. Donovan cut in.
“I have to go to that?” Danny asked weakly. It was four days, plus travel, and he’d have to spend a lot of time smiling at people he didn’t like.
Gen. Donovan cocked his head in puzzlement. “Your team did most of the prep. Don’t you think you should be there?”
When Danny opened his mouth, he was silenced by a raised hand.
“That was a rhetorical question. You’re going. So is Trevor. We leave Sunday night and come back Friday. Make whatever arrangements are necessary.”
Danny let his shoulders slump. “Can I check Trevor as baggage?”
“Yes,” said Dana at the same time as Gen. Donovan said, “No.”
The meeting carried on for another fifteen minutes while Danny sat and felt tired, letting the debate over content and scheduling rattle past his head unheeded. When it finally wrapped up and he was gathering up folders, a sudden thought made him freeze. He glanced up to see only Gen. Donovan and the chief of staff left in the room.
“Does my detail have to come with us?” he asked. Four days of mobility and not being actively watched while he slept hung tantalizingly in front of him. At that moment, he thought he could sense Chin roaming the halls of the West Wing, senses attuned to Danny’s well-being and movements.
“No,” said the general, and just as a weight lifted from Danny’s heart he said, “Well. Actually.”
“Well actually what?”
“Special Agent McGarrett’s been tasked to go with you. The rest of the detail is staying here; they have to cover for other agents who’ll be on the trip.”
“They don’t even get time off?” Danny demanded, outrage taking over for a second.
“Operational constraints,” said the chief of staff with a shrug.
Danny rolled his eyes and as that burst of rage dissipated, the actual news sank in. “Wait, I’m stuck with Agent McGarrett for the whole trip?”
“Him and the other agents assigned to security on the trip,” said the general. “Why? He’s a good kid. Used to do the president’s personal detail. Jogged with him every morning at the ranch.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Danny, scooping up his papers and leaving the Oval Office. Jogging at dawn with POTUS and kicking Danny out of bed on weekends so his tightly scheduled days of relaxation could go smoothly. McGarrett was Special Forces Crazy for sure.
***
Danny had been on Air Force One once before, dragged along to a G8 summit in France; it was a big, fancy plane that contained a lot of things that he’d never seen and never would when crammed into Economy on a normal plane. There was a conference room, a kitchen, several phones, actual bathrooms, a full suite for the president, couches and lamps and decent carpeting. It also had normal airline seats with belts, mostly used for takeoff and landing, and Danny now sat in one of those with McGarrett strapped in beside him on the aisle side.
They got in the air only half an hour late, which was practically a record for their administration, and as they reached cruising altitude Danny started to relax. That lasted until Dana walked by with Janelle in tow and hissed, “You stay there unless you have to do something, and you do not speak to anyone with a press badge, Williams.”
As she swooped away, Danny gave Janelle a tired, questioning look and she responded with a shrug. “Have a good flight, Danny,” she said before trailing after her boss.
Danny looked at McGarrett, who’d undone his seatbelt and was fiddling with his earpiece, and sighed. He leaned back into his seat, which at least was comfortable and had legroom.
“You don’t have paperwork to do on this flight?” McGarrett asked, glaring at his earpiece before stuffing it back into his ear.
“Trevor’s taking care of most of the fiddly bullshit,” said Danny, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “I might have to step in later, but the flight’s like four hours long, so.”
“Lots of time for a nap,” said McGarrett.
“You go ahead,” said Danny. “I can’t sleep on planes.”
“I’m not allowed to sleep,” said McGarrett. “I’m on the clock.”
Danny looked around. “What, right now? On this flight? Do you think Dana’s the suspect, the…” Danny snapped his fingers a few times, trying to find the word he wanted. “What do you guys call assassins again?”
McGarrett gave him a flat stare like he didn’t intend to ever answer that question, but when Danny stared back he gave in. “Jackal,” he said.
Danny thought about that. “I’d say ‘jackal’ fits Dana’s description nicely.”
McGarrett smirked a little. “That probably comes from dealing with the press corps for a living. And no, there’s probably no threat to you on the plane but I’m still on the clock, Mr. Williams. I’m basically on the clock until wheels-down back in D.C. on Friday.”
“And what then?” asked Danny. “They plug you into the wall to recharge and you power down for a while?”
McGarrett settled back into his seat. “Exactly.”
This entry was originally posted at http://waketosleep.dreamwidth.org/55638.html. (
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