H50: all that I need (is the air that I breathe)

[blahnicity]

fandom: H50
pairing/rating: steve/danny/kono, past kono/ben, one sided chin/kono. pg13
summary: So this started out as a little story about how Kono used to be in love with Chin and then turned into ten thousand words of kono centric ot3.

On A03



When Kono was five her absolute shit of an uncle tossed her in his pool before she could wrestle her water wings on. She remembers this, her first time in the water alone, more clearly than the first time she fit her palm around her service weapon, remembers breaking the surface of the pool better than her fingers remember the groove in her first surfboard.

And above that, she remembers Chin, a skinny gangly teenager full of righteous fury, his arm around her waist as he pulls her up and sets her on the diving board as her mother descends on her uncle with a long handled wooden spoon stained purple with taro.

“Kono,” he says, voice cracking with puberty, eyes wide. He brushes her hair away from her face. Kono licks chlorine from her lips and feels her spine prickle. The sun shines down in flowing rectangles, keeping Kono and Chin together in long lines of gold. The tips of her toes trail in the water.

“Again,” she says.

“Howzit Auntie,” Kono says cheerfully at twelve, and drops the straps of her backpack off her shoulders in one movement.

“Pick’n up, keiko,” her Aunt scolds, and Kono blows out a sigh so hard her bangs ruffle. She makes a try at grabbing at the malasada tray and yelps as her hand gets slapped sharply.

“Cousin,” Chin says from the screen door. His smile is sun-warm, his hair brushes tan shoulders. Kono feels herself pink. Her Aunt goes to fuss with his hair and bring him his tank top. Kono shifts from foot to foot, impatient.

“You promised,” she whines. Chin tugs the tank over his head, soft grey cotton stretched across his ribs. He tweaks her nose, and Kono kicks him in the shins as hard as she can. The little yelp he makes is more than enough to make up for the sharp pain in her toe.

They take his pickup truck, the one with the bench front seat and he lets Kono shift the gear into reverse and then drive, both hands pushing hard at the stick while he curses under his breath at the clutch.

“Who done cockaroach my malasada,” her Aunt bellows from the porch, waving her apron at them. Kono smirks, the crinkle of the wax paper wrapped pastry itchy against her side. Chin laughs, head thrown back, and Kono lets him ruffle her hair, nails a soft scritch scratch against her scalp.

The sand is white-hot against her feet, but better is Chin’s hand on her elbow helping her out of the truck, better is Chin going around to the back and pulling out a longboard, dented and scratched and white-gone-grey with dust and dirt and grime. Kono loves it at first sight, almost as much as she loves the way he sits behind her, his feet bumping hers with every roll of the ocean.

Kono wins her first competition at fifteen, a bright patterned sarong her mother sewed her damp across her hips.

“Hi,” says the boy she beat out for first, surfer-long blond hair in his eyes. “I’m Ben. You were amazing.” Kono twists a finger around her hair, tangled from salt spray, and looks down.

“Kono,” she says, and presses her palm to her sternum, nervously feeling for too much muscle, pinching for inches of fat. He grins at her, bright white teeth, and she smiles carefully, the way she knows shows her dimples. He steps a little closer, close enough she can smell the ocean on him, the same on her, and reaches behind her to drift his fingerpads down her board.

“You should upgrade,” he says, “there’s a new line out, fiberglass insulated, obviously, but lighter. And your fin is chipping.” Kono drops her hair and balls her hands into fists.

“Didn’t need an upgrade to kick your ass,” she snaps, and steps between him and her board, turning her back to scowl angrily towards the parking lot.

“Wait--” he says, and touches her shoulder, feather light. “I didn’t mean it like that. My dad owns a surf shop, that’s all. I work there.” Kono frowns. “Here,” he says, and she turns to see what he holds out to her, a line of square cut shells on fishermans twine. “My lucky charm.”

“It didn’t work,” she says, but she’s smiling again. He laughs a little.

“Lucky for you, then,” he says, and catches the fine bones in her hand to loop it around her wrist. It’s a necklace on him, it takes nearly four loops to tighten around her arm. He bites the knot off with his teeth, and his lips brush the knuckle of her thumb. Kono sways, uncertain. She thinks about dipping her head down and then up, catching his lips on hers, letting the adrenaline humming sweet under her skin out. She thinks about asking him for his number with her tongue between her teeth. In the end she bites her lip and smiles at him.

“Nah brah, that ain’t no kine luck. It’s skill.” He grins back at her and they look at each other, standstill.

“Kono,” Chin says from behind her, “your mom--” He stops, steps close to Ben, expression darkening. Ben drops her hand.

“I’ll see you around,” he says. Kono flushes. Chin glares at Ben’s retreating back.

“He works at a surf shop,” Kono says, and even to herself she sounds girlish. Chin frowns harder, and Kono shakes herself. “Did you see me?” she asks, bouncing on her toes. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.

Chin beams at her like he’d been the won to win. “You were fantastic,” he says, and swings her up and around.

“I won!” she says, and taps the medal around her neck.

“Of course you did,” Chin says, like he never expected anything else, like he doesn’t even mind driving her back and forth to tournaments and training all over the damn island. He swings an arm around her shoulders as they walk back towards her parents, his forearm sliding against the damp of her back.

At the next competition her parents beg off but Chin comes, still in that ratty pickup truck he had when he drove all the way down into Pearl City to buy her a real longboard, her first board, her morning wave baby.

“I want you to meet someone,” he says, and she notices a girl on the bench seat, the middle seat, where she can press against Chin and hold his hand over the gear shift. “This is Malia,” he says, lovestruck, “be nice, okay?”

Two competitions later she takes second to Ben’s first. She uses the little pocketknife Chin got her for her sweet sixteen to cut the twine around her wrist and steps close to him to tie it back around his throat, holds his medal in her teeth to keep the ribbon from tangling. She undoes her sarong to wipe the fog of her breath from the gold painted nickel and he kisses her in the parking lot, her back bumping against the trunk of his hatchback Volkswagon and the spectators filing around them back to their cars. The fading sun glints off the chrome bumpers and makes her squint-blind until his lips meet hers again and her eyes close.

On her seventeenth birthday she has dinner with her family, tries to pretend she doesn’t mind Chin is at a family function of Malia’s instead of kicking her under the table, begs off visiting relatives with her parents, and slips off to the local park, where she twists herself around on the swing, chain creaking in protest before letting go, over and over until she’s whirl-dizzy and Ben is grinning at her, sweeping her up into a piggyback to his car.

They drive to the Pali and walk up to the lookout point. The wind tilts Kono away from him and he pulls her back against his side, their fingers entwined and her hair whipped sideways, wind tangled in her face. When they kiss he gets her hair in his mouth and she laughs. It’s too dark to see the view properly but he sets her on the gritty stone edge, his hands flat against her spine and kisses her properly. She wraps her legs around his waist and thinks of the drop behind her, falling away and down, thinks of Kamehameha watching the enemy soldiers tumbling across the rocks.

“Is your dad home,” she murmurs against his neck. His fingers drift across her hip, dip under her gauzy top to tickle her navel.

“No,” he breathes, and pulls back, panting a little. Kono flexes her fingers, which are tucked just so underneath his belt, pushing lightly at smooth muscle.

“Let’s go,” she says, trying for brave, trying for confidence. Ben tips her chin up with careful fingers, so gentle.

“We don’t want the mo’o wahine to find us here, after all,” he says, and she grins, tension bleeding from her posture. He carries her back to the car, her legs hitched high around his chest, kissing her all the way. He stumbles and sways with the wind, murmurs I think I love you with the cold glass of the driver’s side window up against her back.

“Come on,” she whispers against his neck, fumbling at his buckle, “fuck, c’mon.” She likes the way his mouth goes slack against hers, the little pants that tickle her ear when she curls her fingers just so. He slides a leg between hers and jerks it up, props her against the car so her weight leans on his thigh in the best way. Her breath hitches in time with his, her toes scrabbling on the ground to push up, his hands on her hips urging her to move.

Later they go to his house and he cranks the shave ice grinder, Kono’s fingers numb on the ice block to hold it in place, dribbles red and blue syrup over the top and pokes his dyed mottle tongue out at Kono, cross eyed at her giggles. He drives her home and holds her hand, fingers linked between the seats. She kisses him through the window in her driveway, the doorframe of the car knocking against her temple, and whispers she loves him before running up her front lawn, grinning so hard she can feel her pulse in the roof of her mouth.

Her parents aren’t going to be back until the weekend, but Kono crawls through her bedroom window out of habit, punch-drunk, the metal clip of her bag clinking on the sill.

“Hello Kono.” Kono freezes with one foot still dangling in the mild Manoa breeze. Chin is sitting on the edge of her bed, feet planted on the floor, back ramrod straight.

“Cousin,” she squeaks, and clears her throat. She wonders if she still smells like Ben’s sweat, tries not to feel like her dirty underwear is obvious. The room is lit faintly by her desk lamp, but she can hear Chin’s back teeth grinding. “I--you missed my birthday.” Chin lifts one hand, and a package crinkles in his hand, a small box nearly hidden in his palm.

“How’s Ben?” Chin asks flatly. Kono slips fully into her room and scuffs a shoe against the carpet.

“He says he loves me,” she says shyly.

“Goddammit, Kono,” Chin snaps, surging to his feet, “that’s what horny teenage boys say.” Kono flinches but then puts her back up, goes toe to toe with him before remembering she meant to keep her distance. She tries to flick her hair back over her neck before he sees, but he can practically see him zero in on the blue black mark on the upper ridge of her collarbone.

“Chin--”

“Did he touch you?” Kono lifts her chin defiantly.

“I wanted him to.” Chin makes a choking noise, and then sits down on the bed carefully.

“I--were you, did you...” he trails off, and his awkwardness makes the fight drain from Kono’s body. She sits next to him, and tucks her legs up under herself, drumming her knuckles on the mattress.

“I like him,” Kono tells the floor. She can hear Chin blow out a deep sigh. She twists the edge of her sheets around her fingers. Her voice sounds very small to her own ears. “I told him I loved him.”

“Christ, Kono.”

“He thinks I’m pretty,” she mumbles. Actually, he’d gasped more than that against her neck, gorgeous and perfect, Kono, beautiful, fuck, but Chin probably doesn’t want to hear about that. Chin grabs her by the shoulders.

“You are smart, beautiful, strong and unbelievably talented,” he says seriously. “Don’t you let anyone ever make you think different.”

Kono pinks. “Okay.”

Chin takes a deep breath. “Are you using protection?” Kono gapes at him.

“Oh my god Chin!” Chin winces.

“It’s important that you--take precautions--” Chin looks physically pained.

“Please stop talking,” Kono begs, “I just-- I really can’t have this conversation with you. You don’t even know how much I can’t have this conversation with you.”

“Promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I will promise you my firstborn if you will just stop talking.”

“Okay.” Chin says. and picks up the little wrapped box. “Happy Birthday, cousin. I’m proud of you.” Kono takes his words and lets them curl in her chest, the same place where she keeps Ben’s kisses under her ear and the drop she gets when she catches the perfect wave.

“Chin,” she says happily, fumbling at the paper impatiently. There’s a chain spooled in the box, and a little pendant dangles from it, a wrought platinum hibiscus.

“You’re going on the international tour,” Chin murmurs, and pulls it out, lets it dangle from a finger. “Don’t forget where you come from, and don’t ever be less than proud of who you are.” Kono holds her hair up so he can clasp it for her, and it dangles against her throat, a small cool weight. She beams at him, and then narrows her eyes a little.

“You gonna tell my parents?” Chin scrubs a hand over his face.

“No, but--oof,” Kono hits his chest, hugging him tightly.

“You’re my favourite,” she says happily.

“You have to have dinner with me tomorrow.”

Kono plays with her necklace, batting at it with a fingertip. “Yeah sure.”

“And Malia.” Kono frowns, but Chin holds up his hand before she can argue.

“My only condition,” he says firmly. Kono sighs gustily and with feeling. Chin grins at her. “There’s a movie marathon on Turner Classic,” he says and Kono brightens.

“Ah-” she says, and blushes, “I’m just gonna shower real fast.” Chin goes brilliantly scarlet and drags his hand over his eyes. Kono dares to duck around and brush her lips over Chin’s cheek before darting into the bathroom, her lips tingling.

Kono feels her knee blow out in slow motion, tries to change the direction of her weight on the board and actually feels the pop of her ligament as it tears. Her leg gives way and she tumbles into the water, her cry of pain choked out by a mouthful of seawater. When she tries to kick her way back to the surface her left leg won’t respond, another wave of pain making her vision narrow. But her right foot spasms weakly, and the velcro cuff on her ankle makes the leash jerk. She has a second of cursing the rules of the competition requiring a leash before the cord grows taut and then relaxes as her board slices through the water and glances off her temple.

She regains consciousness with her back against a medical evac speedboat, and can’t help but make little cries of pain. She thrashes, trying to get a look at her knee, but she’s in full body brace, held still by straps and rods, and fighting makes her knee scream with agony. It also makes her head swim and she wretches weakly. A paramedic leans over her, murmuring, and somehow maneuvers her so she won’t choke on her own vomit. Her chest aches and she can’t quite remember what happened.

“You’ll be okay,” the paramedic says. “We’re almost there.”

“Did I win?” Kono rasps.

“Ssh,” the paramedic says, and turns to speak into the radio.

“My knee,” Kono says, “I can’t feel my knee.” The paramedic shoots her a distracted smile, and Kono takes a shuddering breath. The hibiscus pendant shifts on her throat and she focuses on Chin, who must be waiting for her on shore, who always makes things better, Chin who’ll fix her.

Chin can’t fix her.

Ben sits with her, reads her little bits of poetry from dog-eared books, brushes his fingers across the inside of her wrists, misses his competition just so he can sit in old plastic chairs that creak with his weight and watch Kono stare at the wall.

The night before her operation he kisses her on the cheek before he leaves, every so gentle, and says he’ll be back after her surgery. Chin passes him on the way out, and stands above her hospital bed, shoulders bowed, hands clenched around the cheap aluminum bars. Kono tries not to cry, and two hours before the nurses come she loses the battle, little shakes of her shoulders and shuddering gasps. Chin slides his fingers under her eyes.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he promises, and Kono starts to believe him a little. Chin never lies to her.

Kono has no less than six screaming fights with her parents, thrashing in an attempt to sit up properly to get back in her mom’s face, her hands clenching with the lack of things to throw at her mediating father. When it comes right down to it they never wanted her to surf, not seriously, not for a career. Her mother thought maybe she’d be a nurse, the same as she was, her father hoped her to be a lawyer. Her leg sits heavy in the black brace, and her parents are torn between screaming right back at her and feeling terrible guilt for the way Kono’s face gets pain pinched from the exertion.

Chin slips into the space between them, placating, and comes back even after Kono manages to hit him square in the Aloha shirt with a cheap chocolate pudding cup.

“Get up,” he says, bending to pick up her crutches from where she’d shoved them the night before. Kono eyeballs her breakfast tray, where a partition of applesauce is practically calling out to her. Chin slaps the tray to the floor, making her jump. He knocks the crutches against the bed. “Physical therapy,” he says, “now get up.” Kono grits her teeth stubbornly. She doesn’t see why she can’t just lie here and wait for death.

“Go away, Chin,” she says. Her phone buzzes with another text from Ben, sitting ignored for almost a week.

“Kono,” Chin says quietly, “no matter what you decide to do, I’m on your side. I’m always on your side.”

Kono gets up.

The first time Kono tries to surf after her injury her knee gives out the second she tries to control the board. She crawls back on it, her knee screaming, and lets the waves lap her back to shore. She drags herself back up on the sand, panting, and rolls over to lie on her back, staring up at the night sky. A little ways in the distance she can hear a car door slam. She sighs.

“Kono,” Malia screeches, and half falls her way down the beach until she’s kneeling by Kono’s side. Kono slaps at her hands halfheartedly.

“Leave me alone,” she snaps.

“What the hell were you thinking,” Malia shouts, “I thought you’d fucking drowned--holy shit you could have fucking drowned.”

“I’m not going to be able to do it,” Kono says numbly. Malia blinks at her.

“What?”

“I can’t surf anymore,” she says quietly, “not professionally.” She swallows hard, remembers the way the doctor hadn’t looked up from the clipboard, the way the nurse gave her an extra ten minutes to peel off the paper gown.

Malia holds her hand until the sun peeks over the horizon and the beach turns grey. Kono feels her phone vibrate against her hip, Chin wondering where they are. Malia brushes sand off Kono’s cheek, lies next to her and sighs. The waves lap at their ankles.

Malia props herself on her side and looks at Kono’s knee appraisingly. Kono’s knee throbs politely in response.

“Have you thought about applying to the Academy?”

Kono’s mother bursts into tears and locks herself in the bathroom. Her father tries to pick the lock and ducks as lotions and toothbrushes rain down on him. He slips college applications into her duffel bag. Ben is supportive, but he’s in Australia, still on the tour, and argues that she can still recover, be back on her feet in a few years.

Chin takes her to the shooting range.

“Wide stance is best,” he tells her, “but it’ll be good for your career if you’re accurate from a sidestance.” The nine millimeter is bulkier than the twenty two her father used to let her shoot, the kick makes her wrists ache. It’s harder to load, too, and Chin’s lips twitch when she fumbles, trying to brace her hands to force the bullets into the clip.

After, Chin unzips the case to his shotgun and lets Kono fire it until he runs out of shells, her shoulder bruised and her eardrum smarting from the blast, the recoil knocking her ear protection off with every shot.

She finds out about Chin’s discharge from the force from Malia, and finds out about Malia’s split from Chin. She wants to storm Malia’s apartment, the one she’d helped tuck into cardboard boxes for the move to Chin’s little house with the brown-grass yard and wooden windows that swell shut in the Honolulu heat. But instead she calls Chin every night before bed and chatters about classes and her friends and instructors, and on break days she stands barefoot in his kitchen, slicing canned spam into little rectangles and throwing them into the skillet, the oil popping up onto her arms in little burns and smashed rice grains stuck to her fingers, peeling nori sheets with the tips of her fingernails.

Kono is the one that finds him the security job, a favour for a kid she used to train with who has an uncle who knows somebody who doesn’t care why Chin isn’t with the police department.

Her father frowns at her, makes noises about how she should maybe keep her distance if she doesn’t want to end up working toll booths and event parking. Kono hasn’t gone back for dinner since. She hasn’t seen Ben since, either. The only thing she cares about now is standing with Chin when no one else will and becoming the best fucking ridealong cop-in-training partner the Alawai beat has ever seen.

Kono pegs Danny as a cop before she greets him, and she has a thrill shoot down her spine to see Chin between him and the other guy, who screams military, because Chin looks happier than she’s seen him in months.

“Cousin,” she greets, and he smiles at her, a yes smile, and she lets her relief break across her face.

“Oh shit,” Danny mutters, fingers tapping the steering wheel. Kono pulls her head in from where she’s been leaning out the window.

“What?” Danny glares at her. Kono heaves a giant sigh and does up her seatbelt. Danny smiles, smug.

“Do you mind if we swing by Grace’s school? Rachel’s got this thing today and I totally forgot.” A bead of sweat drips down Kono’s collarbone and she shifts, totally overheated and uncomfortable. She pulls at the seatbelt until she can put the shoulderstrap behind her and sticks her head out the window, shaking her hair off her face.

“Yeah sure. Nothing but paperwork today anyway.” She sticks her tongue out into the wind. Danny makes an annoyed noise.

“Are you a dog? Get in the car and put your seatbelt on properly.” Kono ignores him.

“The lap part is on,” she says dismissively.

Danny holds up a finger. “You are seventy percent more likely to sustain a spinal injury when using just the lap belt than when using the shoulderstrap.”

Kono purses her lips and notches her voice up a couple of octaves. “You’re seventy percent more likely--”

“Oh mature,” Danny interrupts, “really babe, it’s so hard to remember you’ve only just graduated.” Kono narrows her eyes at him. Very slowly she walks her fingers across her stomach and rests them on the buckle of the seatbelt.

Danny doesn’t take his eyes off the road but his jaw clenches. “Do not,” he starts, but Kono presses down and feels the belt retract.

“Don’t what?” she asks sweetly.

“I hope I crash,” he says seriously, “I hope I crash and you go through the windshield head first and crack your skull on a coconut shell.”

“Okay,” Kono says agreeably. A vein in Danny’s temple throbs.They sit in silence for a moment.

“Put your seatbelt on!”

Kono leans so far out the window her shoulders bump on the doorframe. “I can’t hear you,” she half-sings.

“You little--” Danny snatches at her shoulder and his fingers catch on her shirt, a light purple sleeveless blouse made of the thinnest cotton. Kono twitches away from him at the same time, and Danny accidentally stretches the strap out until it falls off her shoulder and exposes her bra.

Kono yelps sharply, banging her head on the car and landing heavily in her seat. She grabs at her shirt. Danny looks horrified. “Shit--Kono--crap, here.” He tries to push the strap back and his fingers slip under her bra. He goes completely red and snatches his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Stop helping me,” Kono shrieks. Danny shoves himself against the opposite door so hard the wheel jerks to the left and horns blare from behind them. Kono takes a deep breath. Danny straightens the car out and stares fixedly straight ahead. “It’s fine,” Kono says calmly. “Let’s go pick up Grace.” Her shirt is irreparably stretched out and her cheeks are burning. Danny keeps glancing at the finger that had slipped under her bra with something between horror and incredulity. His face is still flushed.

Later he drops her at headquarters, Kono sliding out of the back, where she’d been french braiding Grace’s bangs against her scalp, and trots in over to her desk, humming. She flicks her hair back over her shoulder and bites at the cap of her cheap pen.

Chin appears at her desk. “Do you still need help on the shots fired forms you asked about earlier--what the hell happened to your shirt?” Kono digs in a drawer for the forms.

“Danny ruined it,” she says petulantly, and then moves on, “does this need to be filled out in triplicate?”

Danny rings her at home while she’s staring at her portable electric kettle, waiting for her ramen to boil. “I just had the most terrifying phone conversation with your cousin.” Kono digs out a fork and knocks her hip against the drawer to close it.

“Yeah?” Kono grins into her cell.

“I think he might have actually said ‘impugn her virtue.’” Kono giggles, and doesn’t even try to hide it.

“I have no idea where he got that idea,” she says gleefully.

“You are a mean, cruel woman,” Danny says.

“Am I?” Kono asks, “I thought I was just some rookie with poor safety etiquette.” Danny laughs, full and happy.

“Goodnight, rookie.”

“Later Danno.”

Kono raps on the door to Steve’s office. “Boss?”

Steve looks up from where he’s staring his paperwork into submission. “Hey Kono. What’s up?” Kono limps in, moving carefully, and knows her face is pinched. She braces her arms on the chair in front of his desk and lowers herself in, careful. Steve watches her steadily.

“I’m not going to be able to go into the field today,” Kono says quietly, and hates every second. Unconsciously her hand drops to her bad knee, which is swollen and tender, and massages until she realizes what she’s doing and yanks back, flushing.

Steve keeps looking at her that same way, calm and reassuring. “Doesn’t look like there’s going to be any call outs today. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Okay,” Kono says, and pauses. “I--I’m sorry, boss.” She stares at the floor.

“Hey,” Steve says, “You got my back?” Kono blinks at him.

“What?”

“Do you have my back?”

“Of course.” Kono says automatically, and frowns. “Wha-”

“You got Danny’s back?”

“Yeah--”

“You got Chin’s back?”

Kono lifts her lip in an almost snarl. “Yes.” Steve slouches back in his chair.

“Good.” Kono stares at him. He grins at her, and slowly, she matches him.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” he agrees.

Kono slams out of the interrogation room where Sid is sitting with that stupid fucking sneer on his face, her fists balled, and practically kicks down the door to the women’s locker room (which is the men’s locker room whenever Kono isn’t in there). Her hands are shaking too badly to get the combo to her locker right, so instead she hauls back and kicks the thin metal over and over, until her knee is screaming from the abuse.

She smells Danny’s cologne before she feels his hands on her shoulders, which is the only thing that saves him from a knee in the groin and her knuckles at his throat. She shoves at him with both hands and he catches her by the belt, shoving her back up against the lockers.They rattle against her spine and she snarls. pushing against his forearms, bracketed around her collarbones.

“Stop, Kono,” Danny shouts, and curls his fingers into her shirt to shake her. Her head bangs against the wall. The sharp pain clears the red haze in her vision and she stills, slumping in his grip. She takes a shuddering breath and realizes there are wet tracks on her face.

“Jesus,” Danny says, “come on, sit down.” He eases her onto the bench and she lets her head hang down between her legs. Danny rubs his hand up and down her back, fingers dipping between the bumps of her spine.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Kono exhales, so frustrated, and presses her knuckles into her eye sockets. “Our whole fucking family and he doesn’t deserve any of it.”

“I know that,” Danny says, and presses at her until she’s lying on the bench and blinking back tears at the ceiling. Her breath hitches when he presses at her kneecap. “Let me wrap this up.” He moves away and Kono can hear him rustling in the medkit.

His fingers are a little sweaty on her knee, and the prewrap squeaks as he untangles it. The glue on the tape tugs on her skin as he adjusts it. “I haven’t spoken to my parents in months,” Kono blurts, and then slaps a palm over her mouth. Danny pauses, and then continues, gently moving her leg around before biting off the roll and smoothing his fingertips over the tape. Kono curses herself. “Chin doesn’t know,” she says quickly, and bites her lip. Danny offers her his arm and she takes it, testing her weight gingerly. It holds.

“It’s a good thing you and Chin have got two families,” Danny says finally, and holds the door for her.

Kono giggles into Danny’s mouth, her fingers hooked in his beltloops, and licks a strip up his jaw to his ear. He shudders a little, and Kono maneuvers her thigh between his legs and lets his forward momentum rub him against her. He gasps wetly at her neck, and she shivers. Then his eyes sharpen behind her and she pulls herself back into the moment, closing the case, rescuing Sid.

“Was that necessary,” he hisses at her later, when Kono is doing paperwork and hoping valiantly for an asteroid to fall out of the sky and destroy all civilization so she won’t have to write one more goddamn report. Kono takes one look at his face and brightens.

“I’m having trouble finding the right words for our last case report,” she says. “Do you think the noise you made right before the thugs grabbed us was more of a moan or a sort of... gasp...”

Danny makes a tiny noise in his throat.

“Of sexual arousal,” Kono finishes triumphantly. Danny turns on his heel and walks away. Kono doesn’t even try to hide her giggles.

“Kono,” Steve says two hours later, looking pained. “Was it necessary to say, and I quote, ‘I tried to slip Detective Williams’ the tongue but he beat me to it’?” Kono smiles innocently.

“What,” Danny yelps.

“What,” Chin says from his desk.

“My bad,” Kono says, “first draft oopsie.”

“I can’t be the reason you get hurt,” Chin says, and Kono feels like she’s five seconds away from vomiting, the sight of that collar around Chin’s neck makes her sick, the expression on Chin’s face, that quiet acceptance, makes her her sick, the fact that Chin is more worried about her being near him when the bomb detonates than blowing up makes her sick.

“Aloha,” he murmurs, so carefully, and Kono thinks about that, Aloha, hello and goodbye and feels the steel in her spine straighten out. This will not be their goodbye.

“Aloha,” she says softly, and she doesn’t mean hello or goodbye because Hawaiian is a language of words with three meanings.

“I’m coming with you on the drop,” she tells Steve, and is prepared to spin it like she would be a liability if they left her with Chin, but Steve ducks to catch her eyes and she quiets.

“Do you want to shoot the man who put that collar on Chin?” he asks, and hands her a rifle. A stillness spreads through her, starting with her hands on the stock and wrapping its way around her heart. Her breathing evens out and she curls her index finger around the trigger.

“Fuck yes,” she says, and gets in the truck.

Chin is waiting for her in headquarters, which are beautifully empty except for her team, and she doesn’t care if they see her fall into Chin’s arms and burst into tears. Chin picks her up a little, her toes brushing the ground, and smoothes her bangs away from her face.

“You saved me,” he says. Mahalo, says the crinkles around his eyes, but she likes that he doesn’t say it, because he gets that he never has to.

“Aloha,” she says, and means hello.

“Okay,” Steve says, “now look, let’s see it.” Kono hands over her watch, and Steve frowns. “This isn’t gonna work.” He digs in a desk drawer and comes up with a black rubber gshock watch that is almost as big as her palm. He tosses Kono’s old watch into the trash. Kono frowns.

“The little screwdriver in my boot is too small to take this apart,” she says.

Steve shakes her head. “That’s fine, you can use the tip of your knife.” Kono brightens.

”What.” Danny says, “Are you two doing.” Steve flaps his hand at Danny to come closer.

“Steve is teaching me how to turn a watch into a timer for explosives,” Kono says, carefully exposing the wires underneath the casing.

“Let me see your watch,” Steve says to Danny.

“No you fucking psycho,” Danny says, “stop corrupting the rookie.”

“Afterwards I’m taking him up to Haleiwa to jump off that cliff into the water with the snapping turtles,” Kono says cheerfully.

“This is an essential skill,” Steve argues.

“Nevermind,” Danny says, backing out of Steve’s office, “you two clearly deserve each other.”

Oddly, when Kono is sitting slumped against the elevators with a bullet in her arm, that memory is what makes her get up and pick up her weapon, because the day she lost her badge she’d left that watch in Steve’s locker, a promise to herself that she’d come back and make them all proud of her.

She’s told she’ll be reinstated within the week, an unofficial apology from the department, and she presses her face into the side of her old locker, the metal cool on her skin. She feels flushed, overheated and a little dizzy.

“Cousin,” Chin says, and wraps a hand around her shoulders. He traces the placard on her locker Kalakaua etched in the steel plate. “It’s good to see you where you belong.” Kono stiffens and steps away, fists balled. Chin frowns. “Kono?”

“How could you think I would do that,” she says, and her mouth tastes of copper from where her teeth bite into her lips. Chin opens his mouth but Kono doesn’t let him speak, because she can tell he doesn’t quite get what she means. “How could you think,” she says softly, “that I could do that to you.” Chin’s face goes pinched.

“I know how frustrating it can be,” he says, and Kono’s shoulders hunch up.

“I would never do that to you,” Kono says, louder.

“I did it to you,” Chin says, and Kono almost staggers.

“You never did anything wrong,” she says, and shoves at him. Her arm flares up and she steps sideways, cursing. He catches her around the waist and pulls her into a hug, tightening his grip when she struggles.

“Neither did you,” he says, and she goes limp in his arms. Chin slips his fingers in her hair and she lets her forehead rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and feels him smile.

“Nothing to apologise for,” he says, and she’s opening her mouth to tell him the same but is interrupted by Danny, poking his head in.

“Woah,” he says, “is Hawai’i one of those first-cousin romance cultures?” Chin turns to laugh it off, but Kono sees Danny’s eyes widen at the look on her face, like she’s been punched in the gut with studded brass knuckles.

“Kono,” Danny calls, banging on her front door, “open the goddamn door before I kick it in. I am the police, I have the power.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Kono snarls through the door, “leave me alone.”

“It’s funny you think I won’t do it,” Danny shouts back, and the banging increases. Kono wrenches the door open.

“You’ve been hanging out with Steve too much,” she snaps, and then remembers why she’s avoiding him. She drops her eyes to the floor. “Danny--”

“I brought food,” he says, shoving past her. “Well, I brought partially defrosted Zippy’s chili. You got a pot?”

“Danny,” Kono begs, “please--”

“It was a shitty thing to say, okay,” Danny says, standing awkwardly in her tiny galley kitchen, a plastic bag dropping condensation on her grimy tile floor.

“It’s not like that,” Kono says, “I--just from when I was a kid, you surprised me--I--” she twists her fingers in her hoodie. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Danny’s hair is curling onto his forehead from where he usually slicks it back, and the circles under his eyes are very dark. “Grace is on family vacation,” he mutters, and shifts on his feet. He steals a look at her. “Then I’m sorry,” he says, “for not being there when I should have been.”

“I have a pot,” Kono says, and opens up the freezer to get at the vodka.

“I have something for you,” Steve says casually, and Kono tries to shake wall plaster out of her hair. Steve leans around the wall they’re taking cover behind and fires off a quick three round burst. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“And that’s now?” Kono asks incredulously, ducking down as something explodes to their right.

“No,” Steve says, “obviously not. I’ll give it to you later.” Kono grabs him by the tactical vest and yanks him down so she can slam her gun into the face of the thug coming up behind him. He drops to his hands and knees as Steve fires in the opposite direction, covering her so she can hit the thug again, at the top of his spine and drop him.

“Please remove your hand from my uterus,” Kono hisses, and Steve yanks his arm back from where he’d been bracing himself.

“Sorry.”

“Where the hell are Danny and Chin,” Kono mutters, taking advantage of the lull to slap a new clip into her gun.

“Kono,” Steve says, dropping his handgun to pull an automatic rifle from around where it had been slung across his back, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kono says absently, wishing that her radio hadn’t been the first casualty of the firefight. “I pulled you down after all.”

“No,” Steve says, quietly earnest, “I’m sorry. I said I’d take care of you and I didn’t. I was the one that took the money and you paid the price.”

Of course Kono thinks calmly, this is when Steve McGarret decides they should have a come to Jesus moment. She can hear the blast of Chin’s shotgun booming to their left, coming closer and closer, and the calm measured pops of Danny’s Glock.

“If I say it’s okay will you never discuss it again,” Kono asks desperately.

“Kono you know I’m not really good at talking about my--my--”

“Feelings,” Kono supplies.

“In general I suck at expressing, ah, expressing,”

Kono pulls a grenade off his belt, yanks the pin out with her teeth and tosses it in a mostly random direction. “Your emotions.”

“Right.” Steve looks relieved. “Good talk?”

“Yes,” Kono says, “give me another grenade.”

Steve gives her two.

“Were you throwing fucking grenades?” Danny shouts at them, later, “our backup wouldn’t budge from a three mile perimeter because they said some lunatic was throwing grenades everywhere and that just sounds so much like someone I know.”

“You don’t understand artistry, Daniel,” Steve says, peering into the cop car where the murderer sits, sullen.

“You are a menace to society,” Danny says, “all societies. Every society ever.”The suspect spits out the open window and Steve jerks back to avoid getting hit.

Danny reaches through the window, takes the suspect by the collar and yanks him forward so his head rebounds off the seat in front of him. “What kind of a bastard murderers his own grandparents, huh?”

“Fuck you, man,” the suspect snaps, “they screwed me over, they got what they deserved.” Chin opens the driver’s door to roll up the window.

“Family means forgiveness,” Kono murmurs, and Steve steps up to bicker with Danny but his hand presses something into Kono’s hand--his watch, with a ragged hole handpunched into the band right where she needs it to be tight around her wrist. Kono half turns away to fasten it, covering the white tan that’s been darkening ever since she first went undercover.

“Mesopotamian societies,” Danny continues, and Steve runs his trigger finger down Kono’s forearm, his callus raising goosebumps in its wake.

Kono shows up on Danny’s doorstep after Steve’s been gone two weeks. Danny wrenches the door open with his shirt half buttoned, trying to secure his holster around his hips.

“What’s wrong,” he says, ducking to look around her. “You hurt?” Kono blinks at him.

“Everything’s fine,” she says. “we’re going surfing.” Danny stares at her, then slowly closes the door in her face. The lock doesn’t latch, though, so Kono just grins and goes to make some coffee.

“Okay,” he says, “I feel ridiculous.”

“You’re fine,” Kono says, stepping back and tilting her head at him appraisingly.

“Those Samoan guys keep walking by to laugh at me.” Danny steps off the board onto the sand and heaves a sigh.

“Yeah, but they’re laughing with you,” Kono says, grinning, and puts her hands on his hips, tugging him back to the board. She can feel him tense under her when she steps up close to him, and her shoulder brushes across his chest when he turns sideways on the board.

“Okay,” Kono says, “you’re ready. Well, probably not but I’m ready to see you fall in the ocean now.”

“Fantastic,” Danny says drily.

“Be careful,” Kono says, “this board is my baby. My first.” She sighs a little. Danny waves a finger between her and the surfboard.

“You want me to leave you two alone?”

Kono knocks their hips together. “Man up, c’mon.”

“Okay,” she says four falls later, “you are actually improving.”

“That is a dirty filthy lie,” Danny says, and spits out a little ocean water. He’s panting a little because Kono had been too busy clutching herself and laughing to help him chase down his board after fall number three. “Maybe I should tie that velcro thing around my ankle.” Kono stops laughing abruptly.

“Never ever leash,” she says seriously. She pulls her hair back to expose a break in her hairline, a thin white line, slightly raised. Danny traces it, gentle, and a bead of water from his finger runs down her cheek.

“I would support an incestuous relationship for you,” Danny says seriously, and Kono feels her smile freeze. Danny’s eyes go wide.

“I lost my virginity on that surfboard,” Kono says, and they stare at each other for a minute before Danny launches himself at her, shouting, and Kono lets the ocean claim her laughter.

“Danny,” Kono calls out from Steve’s office, “get in here, we need you.”

“I have a meeting,” Chin says, and practically runs out the door.

Danny cautiously approaches the office, shuffling in to see Steve and Kono bent over a whiteboard on his desk. Danny squints at it. “Is this about the interdepartmental football game?”

“Yes,” Steve says.

“The first game is at five,” Kono says, “don’t worry, I’ll get Chin there.”

“You two scare me,” Danny says.

“I can’t believe,” Danny says with a great amount of calm, “that you got us banned from the annual football tournament. For life.”

Kono wipes someone else’s blood off her knuckles. “No touch is for pussies.” Steve presses the bag of frozen peas a little harder against his black eye and holds out his hand so he and Kono can exchange a high five.

“I have plate lunch,” Chin announces.

“Kono,” Steve says, “you wanna get out of paperwork for the day?” Kono throws her pen at Danny’s head and grabs her bag.

“Okay,” Steve whispers into her ear, so low it’s hard to hear him. He shifts, lying on his belly next to Kono, and presses his hand against the small of her back. He holds the scope up to his eye. “The shot is too short to really need to worry about wind direction, velocity and the like--but brush up on your trig because we’re gonna work up to it.”

“Mm,” Kono says, exhaling and inhaling carefully in time with the press of Steve’s hand on her spine.

“Final adjustments,” Steve murmurs, and Kono hums, double checking everything. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Kono breathes.

“Don’t jerk, squeeze. Don’t hold your breath.” Steve wraps his arm around her a little tighter, pressing her down into the red dirt. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. Kono exhales once, smoothly, and presses gently until the recoil knocks against her shoulder.

“Reload,” Steve orders, and Kono does it automatically, muscle memory. In the distance the paper target jerks. Steve smiles against Kono’s cheek. “Perfect,” he says. Kono resists the urge to whoop, exhilarated, and laughs with her head thrown back.

“Again,” she says.

Danny answers the door after three knocks. “Night surfing seems like a terrible idea, Kono.” Kono reaches out and fists her hand in his pajama top, a soft undershirt that exposes a clean strip of skin right above where his athletic shorts hang low on his hips. Danny’s breath catches. “Kono?”

“Chin and Malia are getting married,” she murmurs. Danny searches her face for a moment. He steps into her space and wraps his palm around her ribs.

“Rachel and her husband are going on a second honeymoon,” he says.

“Good,” Kono says, and kisses him. She’d already known Danny was a good kisser, but he slows down a little now, less showy on the outside and more intense instead. He crowds her into the wall next to his door, one hand dropping down to the curve of her hip and pulling her flush against him.

Kono growls into his mouth and spins them until they’re stumbling through his doorway, short shuffling steps that let them keep their hips pressed together. Danny dips lower and surges up, Kono wrapping long legs around his waist. Danny stumbles a little and catches her back on the wall, moving her up and down in a lazy rhythm that makes her breath stutter.

“This is a terrible idea,” Danny says against her lips.

“Awful,” Kono says as he drops her on the bed, falling with her and knocking their elbows together. He sucks a hard bruise into her throat and she pulls at his hair until he hisses. “You got condoms?”

“Yeah,” Danny says. “you wanna be on top?” Kono straddles him and gives a long lazy roll of her hips.

“Yes,” she says.

Kono wakes up to the smell of coffee and Danny cursing at his fridge. She tugs on one of Danny’s work shirts and wanders out to the kitchen, barefoot.

“Is this gonna be awkward?” she asks, tugging at the buttons of the shirt nervously.

“Hey gorgeous,” Danny says softly, and tugs her into a hug that’s friendly and warm, comforting. Strangely non sexual, actually. Kono lets herself relax into it, rub her nose on the muscle that runs from his neck to his shoulderblade. She licks at a spot under his ear and he shivers. “No fair,” he teases, and Kono laughs.

“Coffee,” she demands, and Danny heaves a put upon sigh he usually directs at Steve.

“Fuck, Danny,” Kono pants, and strips off her shirt to ball up and press it against his side, hands shaking. “Chin!” she shrieks, “Medic, fuck, medic!”

“I’m okay,” Danny rasps, and coughs weakly, spitting blood. “Where the hell did that guy come from?”

“I don’t--was it the closet? You said you cleared the closet,” Kono presses down harder, her heart thudding in her chest.

“I did,” Danny mumbles, eyelashes fluttering, “I--Gracie don’t touch that, honey.” Kono hauls back and slaps him across the face. His eyes shoot open. “What?” he slurs.

“The ambulance is gonna be here soon,” she says desperately, “E 'olu 'olu 'oe.”

“Kono,” he slurs, trying to get up, “watch out, you gotta--” Kono presses him back down.

“I got him,” she says, hands shaking, and doesn’t look at where a man in ripped jeans is lying in a pool of his own bodily fluids, his fingers still lying outstretched from where he begged her to help him after she’d shot him, a double tap right in the chest. “I got him,” she says again, and Danny goes pliant under her hands, eyes closing.

When they come to see Danny thirty stitches later he’s paler than the hospital sheets but not as pale as the white of Steve’s clenched knuckles. “Danny,” Kono says shakily, and clutches at his hand.

“Hey,” he mumbles, “thanks for having my back, Kalakaua.”

“Always,” she says. Steve punches Danny lightly in the shoulder.

“Why would you do that,” Danny asks, bewildered, but he grins a little up at Steve, dopey with painkillers, and Chin doublechecks his chart before they leave so he can grill the doctors in the hallway.

Kono absolutely recognizes the set to Steve’s shoulders, and as soon as Chin ducks out to go kiss Malia and remind himself of the good in his life and how fast it can leave she slips into the locker room behind Steve. She launches herself off the doorframe and hits him in the side before his fist can collide with the wall. Steve rocks with her weight and reaches behind him to throw her over his shoulder. Kono comes down painfully, her elbow colliding with the bench.

“Kono,” Steve gasps, reaching for her, and pitches forward as she wraps one leg around the back of his knee and using her momentum to swing herself up on his back to drive her elbow down into his back. He grunts and falls to one knee, but recovers fast enough to throw his weight back, slamming her into the floor. Kono’s ribs protest loudly, but she’s got a good bit of adrenaline going, enough to push past it and get in two hard hits to his kidneys.

Steve rolls sideways and tosses her off him, breathing hard as Kono tumbles, skidding on the floor. She pushes herself up on her hands and knees and presses one hand against her ribs. Steve crawls over to her and helps her into a sitting position, propped against the wall. He slumps next to her and they sit for a while.

“Danny’s gonna be fine,” she says harshly, and leans until their shoulders brush if they pant in tandem.

“So are you,” Steve says, and finds her hand with his own. Kono remembers the surprised look on the man’s face when his lungs started to fill with blood. She squeezes once and he drops his head against her shoulder until they catch their breath.

Two days into Danny’s leave Kono sits in her car on the road outside his door, biting her lip and her thighs numb from the frozen chili in her lap. She’s about to man up and park when she notices Steve’s car in the driveway, Danny standing barefoot with his hand on the hood and Steve’s hand tracing the long line of stitches down Danny’s side. He looks gutted, and Danny scrubs at his face before catching Steve’s hand in his and tugging it gently, leading him slowly through his door.

Kono throws the chili in her freezer and goes to bed without eating.

Kono dances with Chin at his wedding and tries to memorize how happy he looks in this moment, the way he can’t tear his eyes away from Malia, her fingers as she moves the flower in her hair from one side to the other.

“Go on,” she says, pushing him, and he laughs, wide and uncensored and completely joyous. Kono turns to go back to her table and starts as Danny swoops in from the side and draws her into a long dip, her leg up to his waist. She laughs, and steps easily back into dancing, Danny only half leading.

“You okay,” he asks, eyes serious, and Kono thinks about it.

“Yeah,” she says meaning it, “I seriously am.” The concerned look on Danny’s face melts away, and he grins at her boyishly.

“I’m glad,” he says, and stops pretending to be leading completely, letting her steer them around the small dance floor.

“How’re your ribs,” she asks, and Danny leans down to kiss her cheek.

“Never did thank you for saving my life,” he says. Kono ruffles his hair.

“Never have to,” she says and he rolls a shoulder, trying to muss her hair in retaliation. The flower tumbles from behind her ear and he catches it as they step to the side for some privacy.

“Okay,” he says, peering at her and holding the flower carefully by the stem. “Explain to me how this works.”

Steve takes it from him before Kono can, his bowtie askew. He tucks Kono’s hair behind her ear. “One side means she’s available... pure.” He tucks the edge of the stem up under a strategically placed bobby pin. “The other side means she’s taken.” He brushes his knuckles across her cheek and then blushes, ducks off to the side, muttering about drinks. Danny’s eyes crinkle as he grins at her.

“He’s adorable when he has feelings,” he says, and touches a fingertip to the flower in her hair.

“I won’t tell him,” she blurts, “about. You know.” Danny looks confused. “You and me,” she hisses. “He won’t hear it from me, that’s all.”

“Won’t hear what from you?” Steve appears at her elbow, three champagne flutes in hand. Kono closes her eyes in resignation.

“I already told him,” Danny says casually. Kono’s eyes widen. Steve grins at her.

“What?”

“Kono!” Malia gushes, pink cheeked, and taking hold of Kono’s arm. “Pictures!”

“I’m so happy,” Malia whispers while the photographer fiddles with his camera, and Kono feels a genuine smile break across her face.

“I’m glad,” she says, and means it.

Kono bangs on Steve’s door with her Best Man’s dress still on until Danny opens it, one suspender unsnapped and his bowtie hanging loose over his collar. Kono shoves past him until she can storm into the living room, where Steve is drinking casually straight from a champagne bottle, his jacket stripped off and his sleeves rolled to the elbow. His belt is hanging over the back of the sofa.

“I want to know,” Kono says firmly, “why you would tell him--and also what you told him--and if you told him anything else--and--”

“And?” Danny prompts.

“And let me have that,” Kono snaps and snatches the bottle from where it’s dangling casually between Steve’s fingers. She takes a long pull and opens her eyes to see Danny and Steve staring at the column of her throat as she swallows. “What,” she says flatly.

“You’re more at risk here than us,” Steve says quietly, and although he doesn’t move from his sprawl, his posture is suddenly tense.

“Not that we would let anything happen to your reputation,” Danny says, padding over and shoving at Steve’s legs to make room. Steve pulls Danny against his side, and Kono’s breath catches at the sight of them, Danny’s arm slung around Steve’s shoulders, Steve’s head tilted back so he can he can see Danny shiver when Steve slides his fingers around the nape of his neck.

Kono takes a half step towards them and then stops. “You--you guys,” she falters, and Steve and Danny unfold themselves from the couch with the ease of long partners, Steve stepping up behind her, his hands on her waist, and Danny’s fingers tipping her chin up.

“Take as much time as you need, gorgeous,” he murmurs, and deftly slips the clip from her hair, the one with the flower carefully twined in it, and slips it to the other side, taken.

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve says, but lets himself be moved to the side as Kono trips out of the house in her heels, stumbling but absolutely refusing to leave her shoes behind in some kind of bullshit Hawaiian cop threesome Cinderella story.

Kono has been sitting, duct taped to this chair for nearly thirteen hours, and she almost wishes someone would be trying to torture her--at least holding strong would be something to do. “Hey!” she shouts, rocking back and forth in frustration. “Hey! You want this room to smell like urine?”

The door cracks open and some asshole in a cheap suit and a cheaper cigarette dangling from his lips glares at her. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarls.

“Make me, limpdick,” she spits, and he backhands her across the face so hard it takes her a few seconds to come back to herself, lying sideways on the dingy floor. The door bangs shut again, but the fall has loosened the tape on her right hand, enough so that she can contort herself to reach Chin’s graduation present, a black gripped knife with grooves for her fingers and built in enforced knuckle shield, an inch longer than state law allows. She works at it with the tips of her fingers, twisting herself around until she’s panting in pain, but manages to cut her way free. She sits up, spine cracking, and rips away the last of the tape, flipping the knife over into a fighting grip and drags the chair over to the door.

She takes one last deep breath and throws the chair at the opposite wall, where it breaks into three pieces. She can hear the footsteps grow closer and closer, and as soon as the door opens she kicks it back into the face of the guy who’d hit her. She hits him again with the door and curses as she realizes she’d knocked his weapon into the hall. A second man bursts in, and reaches for her. She stabs the knife through his bicep and punches him in the throat twice before slamming his head in the ground and closing her fingers around his revolver with a sigh of relief. A noise in the hallway makes her head rise as she falls into a crouch, gun up and breathing hard.

“Kono!” Chin shouts, and Kono lets herself slide against the wall, riding out the shakes. Chin steps straight over the two moaning men on the ground, dragging his eyes down her desperately. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, and Steve comes in through the wall, covered in insulation and hair white with paint dust. Danny comes straight after him, still complaining.

“You utter lunatic,” he says, “Jesus--Kono.” Steve pauses to kick the thugs on the ground a couple of times in the ribs on his way to crouch next to her, and Danny is the one to heave a put upon sigh and pat them down, check their pulses, handcuff them to each other.

“She’s okay,” Chin says, and Kono sees the tension ebb a little from Steve and Danny.

“Jesus, Kalakaua,” Danny says, “If I ever needed another reminder not to get on your bad side.”

Steve grins. “I’m so proud,” he says, but it’s in this quiet little voice, like it’s just for them, him and her and Danny, and his fingers rest gently on her pulsepoint. Chin throws him a sharp look, confused, and Kono has never been so happy to hear a fire alarm go off.

It turns out Kono went to junior prom with the guy driving the ambulance, and she convinces him to drop her at her place without too much trouble. She limps a little to the bathroom mirror, sighing at the purple yellow splotch across her cheekbone, and then goes to the freezer for a drink. Instead she can’t quite tear her eyes away from two bags of frozen chili, her nails tapping on the black lettering Zippy’s.

“Hi,” Kono says on Steve’s doorstep, Steve’s hand tracing her bruise.

“Gorgeous,” he says, and Danny slips up behind him, his hand curling slowly into a fist on Steve’s sternum, like he wishes he could reach out and yank her inside
.
“I have chili,” Kono says, and Danny smiles at her, slow and easy and matching the dimples in Steve’s cheek.

“I have a pot,” Danny says, and pulls her in.