Fic H50- "Drownproofing"
Title: Drownproofing
Fandom: Hawaii Five-O
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Characters: Steve, Danny, Kono, Chin
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2,700-
Summary: This isn't the first time Steve's had a gun pointed at the back of his head and judging by the buoyancy of the speeding vessel, there's a twenty percent chance the shooter will miss. Pretty decent odds.
A/N: This is an indulgent, Steve is a badass fic. Pure and simple.
Dedicated to sheafrotherdon for all of her inspiring pic posts this week!
I wanted to thank ga_unicorn for the wonderful suggestions and blue ink!
---
The constant fine spray of water dampens Steve's shirt, the pool beneath his knees soaking through his cargo pants. The seventy foot yacht is running full out, bouncing across the waves like a toy. This isn't the first time he's had a gun pointed at the back of his head and judging by the buoyancy of the speeding vessel, there's a twenty percent chance the shooter will miss. Pretty decent odds. Worth the risk, if the rest of his team wasn’t kneeling beside him, surrounded by six thugs wielding M4-Assault rifles.
Hands tied behind his back, he rubs his fingers across the strands. Nylon; double braided. It'll take more than a sharp edge to cut free.
Lin Wei paces back and forth, sweating through his thousand dollar Armani shirt. Slicking his long hair back, he freezes in front of Kono, searching for the weakest link and sorely miscalculating.
“Tell me the pass-code to your task-force server and I won't slaughter your family.”
Strands of hair blow about Kono's face, escaping from her ponytail. She stares Wei straight in the eye, her voice audible over the engine and surf. “Go to hell.”
Chin and Danny tense in expectation of retaliation. As if either could do anything, trussed up as they were.
Crouching down, Wei traces the outline of Kono's face with the barrel of his .45. “Any other time and I'd find your attitude a turn on.”
Members of the Triad don't bargain; they'll kill you for looking at them wrong, let alone daring to anger them. Giving a fake pass-code won't earn them anymore time, not with one of Wei's thugs on the other end of a laptop to see if it's bogus.
It'll take Steve five seconds to go from kneeling to standing and get his hands in front of him. Two more to grab the .45 from Wei. He might be able to take down the two closest guards, but probably not before he or one of his team is gunned down.
That's if the guy behind him really is a lousy shot with all the rough chop.
He trusts Danny's and Chin's experience to take cover or arm themselves and in Kono's survival instincts, but Wei's goons have them dead to rights from all angles.
The breakers are getting bumpy and Wei surveys the second level of his sleek yacht toward the bridge, gesturing at his man behind the controls to cut off the engine.
It's now or never.
Steve shifts more weight to his knees, ready to leap forward.
Whack.
The blow to his temple is a shock, knocking him down, his face shoved into the deck. He bucks and tries to roll to his side, but a knee to his spine and meaty hands around his biceps hold him still. There’s no scrambling away.
Someone grabs his legs, earning them a boot to the face.
“Thảh̄ı̂ k̄heā yạng khng!”
Fingers snag Steve by the hair, slamming his forehead into the unyielding surface again and again until the world fades in and out.
The floorboards reek of bleach, the sharp odor bringing him around. Lying on his stomach he tests out his limbs, finding his ankles bound together. Before he can swallow the saliva building up in his mouth, he's flipped onto his back, three blurry faces hovering over him. Craning his neck, Steve strains to see what's going on.
Danny's complexion is a rosy pink from the glaring sun, the top three buttons undone from his dress shirt. Wei grabs him by the chin, fingers digging into his jaw. “Tell me the code!”
“When this is over, you'll wish you never met me,” Danny threatens, his whole body a giant trembling knot of anger.
“Very well,” Wei growls, releasing Danny and snapping his fingers at his goons. “Get the commander to his feet.”
Steve swallows down bile and dizziness as he's forced to stand. A trickle of blood drips down the side of his face and he spits a glob at Wei's leather shoes.
Wei bends over to wipe away the spit on his shoe with a handkerchief and straightens, anger making the tiny liver spots stand out on his face. “I'm glad you love the ocean. It'll make a nice grave.”
Three sets of hands hoist Steve up in the air and toss him overboard. While his team screams bloody murder, he sucks in the largest breath he can muster, his body breaking the surface of the ocean.
----
Momentum and mass send him beneath the waves. He doesn't panic, allowing himself to stay under to keep up the illusion that he's a goner. The ocean current is strong, trying to push him deeper. Tread water, keep afloat. Something of a challenge without the use of his arms and legs, but he's done this before.
Whipping from his knees and hips, he uses a dolphin kick to propel himself through the water. Arching his back, his head breaks through to air.
Sinking back down, he exhales, forces his body to relax, bobbing with the waves. His percentage of body fat is against him and Steve fights to remain upright.
He needs his arms and legs, has to keep his head above water. As long as his lungs are filled with air, he's good.
On the next kick, he takes the deepest breath he can, the waves whipping about his face, threatening to engulf him. Sinking back under the water, he folds his body in half, forces his wrists under his hips, behind his knees. Curling into a fetal position, drifting slowly toward the bottom of the ocean, he forces his bound hands around his boots.
There.
There's no platform to push off from, nothing to grab a hold of, only water. Fighting gravity, the anchoring weight of his boots and clothes, he kicks with all his might.
Up, up, up-until he breaks the surface.
Sucking in a breath, he dips back down, contorting in a ninety degree angle to find the knife hidden at his ankle strap. Rolling up his pant leg his fingers brush against the familiar handle and he unsheathes it.
Wrestling with the current he cuts through the outer layer of rope, the nylon proving resistant to the blade. This should be the easy part, but Steve focuses on the binding, sawing through it as glistening aquamarine becomes a royal blue .
He can hold his breath for three minutes if well oxygentated, but he's been expending energy.
Freeing his legs with one last slice of rope, he kicks for all his worth toward the light.
His brain feels like its imploding, blues darkening to black as he struggles. Kicking hard, he breaks through into open air; gasping for breath. He manages to keep hold of the knife, his legs scissoring beneath him to keep his head above water.
His hold on the blade is awkward, nicking his own flesh as he works to cut the ropes immobilizing his hands. Maintaining a constant rhythm with his legs, he battles through the last corded layer, releasing his arms. Then he makes quick work of his laces, ridding the heavy boots.
Sheathing his knife, Steve’s free to swim.
---
It's easy to follow the trail of eddies left behind by the yacht. Wei didn’t move the boat too far. He probably stuck around for a good show; use the shock of Steve's drowning to spur his friends into giving him the code to the server. All this for accessing the security route for the visiting Thai dignitaries. The bullet-shaped boat drifts along and he keeps under the breakers to keep from being spotted.
Swimming is all about endurance and Steve goes into high gear, knowing time is the essence, ensuring there are no bodies floating in the ocean.
He pushes himself, ignoring trembling muscles as he's been trained, forcing all his limbs to power through the ocean. The low roar of the motor and froth paint a clear line to the aft section of the yacht. He hovers at the edge between ocean and air, creeping closer to the blurry white target.
It's tricky timing the sway of the ocean and the metal wrungs, but he snags the white painted grips with his fingers, scaling the side and hefting himself up and over. Once out of the water, the world does a tilt-a-whirl and he breathes deeply to slow the spinning sensation.
A sense of déjà vu washes over him. A yacht off the coast of the Gulf of Aden with a family of six. Except these aren't Somali pirates and, hopefully, this won't end in a bloodbath.
No one's guarding the aft section and he locates the ladders to gain the high ground. The only thing on the third level is the bridge and Steve keeps low, flattening his belly, crawling across the steps. He spots a single male target manning the wheel and he sneaks up behind him. In a single motion Steve claps his left hand over the guy's mouth, simultaneously using his right arm in a choke hold, applying pressure to the carotid.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Steve drags the unconscious body out of the way, patting down the guy's pockets and stripping away his automatic rifle and Glock. Thumbing the safety off he sticks the Glock in the waistband of his pants.
The bridge is protected by a roof, but it's not enclosed by windows or walls, giving a clear view of the deck below. Peering over the railing, he tracks the positions of the six thugs. Two of them stand behind his team, one pressing the barrel of his M4 to the back of Danny's skull, his partner seething.
Two gang members hold Chin between them. Wei backhands him, hard. “Tell me what I want to know and I'll make your death quick.” Shaking the sting out of his hand, he withdraws his .45, allowing the sun to glint off the metal. “Or maybe I'll put a bullet in your pretty partner's face.”
Chin is going to lunge, do something stupid, but he's facing the bridge and Steve risks popping his head out, catching Chin's attention out of the corner of his eye. Steve can only signal to take cover and hope that it was seen.
Sprinting back to the controls, Steve locates the speed lever and slams it into high gear. He hangs on to the wheel, the yacht going from five to forty mph, lurching wildly, bouncing across the ocean. The engine slowly revs to sixty, and he yanks the wheel hard to port, sending the boat into maddening tailspin. He risks capsizing, yanking the wheel back to starboard, almost falling over with the sudden motion.
Arms straining, he throws the engine in reverse, effectively pulling the emergency brake. The yacht pitches violently forward and then settles back into the water, drifting. Stumbling away from the controls, his own head spinning, Steve scrambles toward the railing.
There's bodies sprawled about like bowling pins. Steve takes out the first two bad guys that stagger to their feet with a burst from his rifle. There is confusion as the remaining henchmen try to get their bearings,their rifles waving aimlessly. Steve presses his advantage, switching to semi-automatic and aiming center base, taking two more out.
Danny and Chin scramble to their feet, tackling those closest to them.
Steve takes a running jump onto the slanted roof between decks, sliding down the aluminum, bending at the knees as he lands on the bottom level to absorb the impact. He slams the butt of his gun on the nearest skull and swings it around to strike another.
Wei scrambles like a crab toward his weapon, but Kono beats him to it, kicking away the gun, stomping on his hand in the process. Wei screams as Kono twists his wrist, locking it at a painful angle.
“On your belly,” she orders him, grabbing his other hand to pin it high behind his back as he flops onto his stomach. “Got any cuffs, boss?”
“Fresh out,” Steve smiles, “but these should do,” he says, fishing out some plastic restraints from a lower pocket of his cargo pants.
Taking the plastic restraints, Kono secures Wei's wrists together, with a sharp yank.
Turning his to the side, Wei's stares at Steve in shock. “You should be dead!”
Patting his cheek, Kono leans down to Wei's ear. “The boss is a koa; he doesn't know how to die.”
Chin's found his pocket knife and cuts through his ropes, working on Danny's while Steve covers them.
With both their hands free, Danny and Chin corral the rest of the gang, disarming them all, slapping on zip-ties, and lining them up on their bellies in the center of the deck. Keeping his confiscated rifle aimed at them, Chin walks over and nods at Steve. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Warning?” Danny yells. “What warning? I wasn't given a warning! As soon as my insides settle down, I'll be puking my guts out for a week!”
“I told you to hit the deck,” Chin defends with a grin.
“Hit the deck? I heard hit and than all hell broke loose.” One of the goons tries to get up, then falls back down when Danny gives him a tiny nudge with his shoe. “Hello? We're surrounded by ocean. Think you’re gonna try to escape by taking a swim? You might want to reconsider that with your hands tied up. The only person who can swim without the use of his arms and legs is Aquaman over there.”
Steve surveys the scene, lowering his guard ever-so-slightly. “I'll take the wheel to get us home.”
He turns back toward the ladder, the M4 still resting on his shoulder. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and he stumbles, his foot missing the first rung, and he has to grab the rail for support.
He hears 'whoa, whoa' behind him and Danny's there, taking the stairs two at a time, to get ahead of him. “You were just tossed overboard after having your head bashed in. I don't think you should be operating a boat.”
“Can you drive one?” Steve counters with a lopsided grin.
“No, but I'm sure Chin or Kono can, since it's probably some island requirement.” Danny's not moving, just kind of stands there, eyes skirting over Steve disbelievingly. “When they tied your feet together and threw you overboard like....like some piece of garbage. I...I thought...” he clamps his jaw shut, nostrils flaring.
“Hey,” Steve gives Danny's arm a light punch and a quick smile. “I'm fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Danny's face goes from red to scarlet. “Excuse me, if it takes me longer to get over being held hostage, threatened, and forced to watch my partner drown and come back to life. I'm not a super soldier! I need oxygen to live and my hands and feet to swim in the ocean! And maybe, just maybe, I have this thing called emotions that I can't flip off like a switch!”
Reeling from a sudden adrenaline crash, his brain reconnects with his body and Steve lets his guard down. “I'm sorry man. I...” working his jaw, he lets out a breath, and inhales, relishing the sweetness of feeling his lungs expand. “I'm trained to do these things. Rely on instinct and never, ever think beyond the objective. If I didn't, I'd be worried about Grace growing up without a father. Or Chin and Kono getting their heads' blown off and all of those what-ifs would distract me. And I can't afford that,” he grits out, his own breathing ragged.
Closing his eyes, and squeezing the railing until his knuckles ache, he focuses on the ocean. On the tranquil peace.
Danny grips his shoulder, warm and grounding. “Come on, partner. We wouldn't want any of the bad guys to see that you're human.” With a harsh chuckle, Steve nods, and allows Danny to guide him up the steps in his sopping wet socks. “And if you're real nice, I might even give you a lift to buy a new pair of boots. And don't you dare argue with me, because I'm pretty sure your keys are some big fish's lunch.”
“No, you can drive,” Steve tells him. “Maybe even buy the beer this time.”
“See, now I know you're concussed. I always buy the beer.”
-------
fini-
*koa =warrior
Fandom: Hawaii Five-O
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Characters: Steve, Danny, Kono, Chin
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2,700-
Summary: This isn't the first time Steve's had a gun pointed at the back of his head and judging by the buoyancy of the speeding vessel, there's a twenty percent chance the shooter will miss. Pretty decent odds.
A/N: This is an indulgent, Steve is a badass fic. Pure and simple.
Dedicated to sheafrotherdon for all of her inspiring pic posts this week!
I wanted to thank ga_unicorn for the wonderful suggestions and blue ink!
---
The constant fine spray of water dampens Steve's shirt, the pool beneath his knees soaking through his cargo pants. The seventy foot yacht is running full out, bouncing across the waves like a toy. This isn't the first time he's had a gun pointed at the back of his head and judging by the buoyancy of the speeding vessel, there's a twenty percent chance the shooter will miss. Pretty decent odds. Worth the risk, if the rest of his team wasn’t kneeling beside him, surrounded by six thugs wielding M4-Assault rifles.
Hands tied behind his back, he rubs his fingers across the strands. Nylon; double braided. It'll take more than a sharp edge to cut free.
Lin Wei paces back and forth, sweating through his thousand dollar Armani shirt. Slicking his long hair back, he freezes in front of Kono, searching for the weakest link and sorely miscalculating.
“Tell me the pass-code to your task-force server and I won't slaughter your family.”
Strands of hair blow about Kono's face, escaping from her ponytail. She stares Wei straight in the eye, her voice audible over the engine and surf. “Go to hell.”
Chin and Danny tense in expectation of retaliation. As if either could do anything, trussed up as they were.
Crouching down, Wei traces the outline of Kono's face with the barrel of his .45. “Any other time and I'd find your attitude a turn on.”
Members of the Triad don't bargain; they'll kill you for looking at them wrong, let alone daring to anger them. Giving a fake pass-code won't earn them anymore time, not with one of Wei's thugs on the other end of a laptop to see if it's bogus.
It'll take Steve five seconds to go from kneeling to standing and get his hands in front of him. Two more to grab the .45 from Wei. He might be able to take down the two closest guards, but probably not before he or one of his team is gunned down.
That's if the guy behind him really is a lousy shot with all the rough chop.
He trusts Danny's and Chin's experience to take cover or arm themselves and in Kono's survival instincts, but Wei's goons have them dead to rights from all angles.
The breakers are getting bumpy and Wei surveys the second level of his sleek yacht toward the bridge, gesturing at his man behind the controls to cut off the engine.
It's now or never.
Steve shifts more weight to his knees, ready to leap forward.
Whack.
The blow to his temple is a shock, knocking him down, his face shoved into the deck. He bucks and tries to roll to his side, but a knee to his spine and meaty hands around his biceps hold him still. There’s no scrambling away.
Someone grabs his legs, earning them a boot to the face.
“Thảh̄ı̂ k̄heā yạng khng!”
Fingers snag Steve by the hair, slamming his forehead into the unyielding surface again and again until the world fades in and out.
The floorboards reek of bleach, the sharp odor bringing him around. Lying on his stomach he tests out his limbs, finding his ankles bound together. Before he can swallow the saliva building up in his mouth, he's flipped onto his back, three blurry faces hovering over him. Craning his neck, Steve strains to see what's going on.
Danny's complexion is a rosy pink from the glaring sun, the top three buttons undone from his dress shirt. Wei grabs him by the chin, fingers digging into his jaw. “Tell me the code!”
“When this is over, you'll wish you never met me,” Danny threatens, his whole body a giant trembling knot of anger.
“Very well,” Wei growls, releasing Danny and snapping his fingers at his goons. “Get the commander to his feet.”
Steve swallows down bile and dizziness as he's forced to stand. A trickle of blood drips down the side of his face and he spits a glob at Wei's leather shoes.
Wei bends over to wipe away the spit on his shoe with a handkerchief and straightens, anger making the tiny liver spots stand out on his face. “I'm glad you love the ocean. It'll make a nice grave.”
Three sets of hands hoist Steve up in the air and toss him overboard. While his team screams bloody murder, he sucks in the largest breath he can muster, his body breaking the surface of the ocean.
----
Momentum and mass send him beneath the waves. He doesn't panic, allowing himself to stay under to keep up the illusion that he's a goner. The ocean current is strong, trying to push him deeper. Tread water, keep afloat. Something of a challenge without the use of his arms and legs, but he's done this before.
Whipping from his knees and hips, he uses a dolphin kick to propel himself through the water. Arching his back, his head breaks through to air.
Sinking back down, he exhales, forces his body to relax, bobbing with the waves. His percentage of body fat is against him and Steve fights to remain upright.
He needs his arms and legs, has to keep his head above water. As long as his lungs are filled with air, he's good.
On the next kick, he takes the deepest breath he can, the waves whipping about his face, threatening to engulf him. Sinking back under the water, he folds his body in half, forces his wrists under his hips, behind his knees. Curling into a fetal position, drifting slowly toward the bottom of the ocean, he forces his bound hands around his boots.
There.
There's no platform to push off from, nothing to grab a hold of, only water. Fighting gravity, the anchoring weight of his boots and clothes, he kicks with all his might.
Up, up, up-until he breaks the surface.
Sucking in a breath, he dips back down, contorting in a ninety degree angle to find the knife hidden at his ankle strap. Rolling up his pant leg his fingers brush against the familiar handle and he unsheathes it.
Wrestling with the current he cuts through the outer layer of rope, the nylon proving resistant to the blade. This should be the easy part, but Steve focuses on the binding, sawing through it as glistening aquamarine becomes a royal blue .
He can hold his breath for three minutes if well oxygentated, but he's been expending energy.
Freeing his legs with one last slice of rope, he kicks for all his worth toward the light.
His brain feels like its imploding, blues darkening to black as he struggles. Kicking hard, he breaks through into open air; gasping for breath. He manages to keep hold of the knife, his legs scissoring beneath him to keep his head above water.
His hold on the blade is awkward, nicking his own flesh as he works to cut the ropes immobilizing his hands. Maintaining a constant rhythm with his legs, he battles through the last corded layer, releasing his arms. Then he makes quick work of his laces, ridding the heavy boots.
Sheathing his knife, Steve’s free to swim.
---
It's easy to follow the trail of eddies left behind by the yacht. Wei didn’t move the boat too far. He probably stuck around for a good show; use the shock of Steve's drowning to spur his friends into giving him the code to the server. All this for accessing the security route for the visiting Thai dignitaries. The bullet-shaped boat drifts along and he keeps under the breakers to keep from being spotted.
Swimming is all about endurance and Steve goes into high gear, knowing time is the essence, ensuring there are no bodies floating in the ocean.
He pushes himself, ignoring trembling muscles as he's been trained, forcing all his limbs to power through the ocean. The low roar of the motor and froth paint a clear line to the aft section of the yacht. He hovers at the edge between ocean and air, creeping closer to the blurry white target.
It's tricky timing the sway of the ocean and the metal wrungs, but he snags the white painted grips with his fingers, scaling the side and hefting himself up and over. Once out of the water, the world does a tilt-a-whirl and he breathes deeply to slow the spinning sensation.
A sense of déjà vu washes over him. A yacht off the coast of the Gulf of Aden with a family of six. Except these aren't Somali pirates and, hopefully, this won't end in a bloodbath.
No one's guarding the aft section and he locates the ladders to gain the high ground. The only thing on the third level is the bridge and Steve keeps low, flattening his belly, crawling across the steps. He spots a single male target manning the wheel and he sneaks up behind him. In a single motion Steve claps his left hand over the guy's mouth, simultaneously using his right arm in a choke hold, applying pressure to the carotid.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Steve drags the unconscious body out of the way, patting down the guy's pockets and stripping away his automatic rifle and Glock. Thumbing the safety off he sticks the Glock in the waistband of his pants.
The bridge is protected by a roof, but it's not enclosed by windows or walls, giving a clear view of the deck below. Peering over the railing, he tracks the positions of the six thugs. Two of them stand behind his team, one pressing the barrel of his M4 to the back of Danny's skull, his partner seething.
Two gang members hold Chin between them. Wei backhands him, hard. “Tell me what I want to know and I'll make your death quick.” Shaking the sting out of his hand, he withdraws his .45, allowing the sun to glint off the metal. “Or maybe I'll put a bullet in your pretty partner's face.”
Chin is going to lunge, do something stupid, but he's facing the bridge and Steve risks popping his head out, catching Chin's attention out of the corner of his eye. Steve can only signal to take cover and hope that it was seen.
Sprinting back to the controls, Steve locates the speed lever and slams it into high gear. He hangs on to the wheel, the yacht going from five to forty mph, lurching wildly, bouncing across the ocean. The engine slowly revs to sixty, and he yanks the wheel hard to port, sending the boat into maddening tailspin. He risks capsizing, yanking the wheel back to starboard, almost falling over with the sudden motion.
Arms straining, he throws the engine in reverse, effectively pulling the emergency brake. The yacht pitches violently forward and then settles back into the water, drifting. Stumbling away from the controls, his own head spinning, Steve scrambles toward the railing.
There's bodies sprawled about like bowling pins. Steve takes out the first two bad guys that stagger to their feet with a burst from his rifle. There is confusion as the remaining henchmen try to get their bearings,their rifles waving aimlessly. Steve presses his advantage, switching to semi-automatic and aiming center base, taking two more out.
Danny and Chin scramble to their feet, tackling those closest to them.
Steve takes a running jump onto the slanted roof between decks, sliding down the aluminum, bending at the knees as he lands on the bottom level to absorb the impact. He slams the butt of his gun on the nearest skull and swings it around to strike another.
Wei scrambles like a crab toward his weapon, but Kono beats him to it, kicking away the gun, stomping on his hand in the process. Wei screams as Kono twists his wrist, locking it at a painful angle.
“On your belly,” she orders him, grabbing his other hand to pin it high behind his back as he flops onto his stomach. “Got any cuffs, boss?”
“Fresh out,” Steve smiles, “but these should do,” he says, fishing out some plastic restraints from a lower pocket of his cargo pants.
Taking the plastic restraints, Kono secures Wei's wrists together, with a sharp yank.
Turning his to the side, Wei's stares at Steve in shock. “You should be dead!”
Patting his cheek, Kono leans down to Wei's ear. “The boss is a koa; he doesn't know how to die.”
Chin's found his pocket knife and cuts through his ropes, working on Danny's while Steve covers them.
With both their hands free, Danny and Chin corral the rest of the gang, disarming them all, slapping on zip-ties, and lining them up on their bellies in the center of the deck. Keeping his confiscated rifle aimed at them, Chin walks over and nods at Steve. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Warning?” Danny yells. “What warning? I wasn't given a warning! As soon as my insides settle down, I'll be puking my guts out for a week!”
“I told you to hit the deck,” Chin defends with a grin.
“Hit the deck? I heard hit and than all hell broke loose.” One of the goons tries to get up, then falls back down when Danny gives him a tiny nudge with his shoe. “Hello? We're surrounded by ocean. Think you’re gonna try to escape by taking a swim? You might want to reconsider that with your hands tied up. The only person who can swim without the use of his arms and legs is Aquaman over there.”
Steve surveys the scene, lowering his guard ever-so-slightly. “I'll take the wheel to get us home.”
He turns back toward the ladder, the M4 still resting on his shoulder. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and he stumbles, his foot missing the first rung, and he has to grab the rail for support.
He hears 'whoa, whoa' behind him and Danny's there, taking the stairs two at a time, to get ahead of him. “You were just tossed overboard after having your head bashed in. I don't think you should be operating a boat.”
“Can you drive one?” Steve counters with a lopsided grin.
“No, but I'm sure Chin or Kono can, since it's probably some island requirement.” Danny's not moving, just kind of stands there, eyes skirting over Steve disbelievingly. “When they tied your feet together and threw you overboard like....like some piece of garbage. I...I thought...” he clamps his jaw shut, nostrils flaring.
“Hey,” Steve gives Danny's arm a light punch and a quick smile. “I'm fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Danny's face goes from red to scarlet. “Excuse me, if it takes me longer to get over being held hostage, threatened, and forced to watch my partner drown and come back to life. I'm not a super soldier! I need oxygen to live and my hands and feet to swim in the ocean! And maybe, just maybe, I have this thing called emotions that I can't flip off like a switch!”
Reeling from a sudden adrenaline crash, his brain reconnects with his body and Steve lets his guard down. “I'm sorry man. I...” working his jaw, he lets out a breath, and inhales, relishing the sweetness of feeling his lungs expand. “I'm trained to do these things. Rely on instinct and never, ever think beyond the objective. If I didn't, I'd be worried about Grace growing up without a father. Or Chin and Kono getting their heads' blown off and all of those what-ifs would distract me. And I can't afford that,” he grits out, his own breathing ragged.
Closing his eyes, and squeezing the railing until his knuckles ache, he focuses on the ocean. On the tranquil peace.
Danny grips his shoulder, warm and grounding. “Come on, partner. We wouldn't want any of the bad guys to see that you're human.” With a harsh chuckle, Steve nods, and allows Danny to guide him up the steps in his sopping wet socks. “And if you're real nice, I might even give you a lift to buy a new pair of boots. And don't you dare argue with me, because I'm pretty sure your keys are some big fish's lunch.”
“No, you can drive,” Steve tells him. “Maybe even buy the beer this time.”
“See, now I know you're concussed. I always buy the beer.”
-------
fini-
*koa =warrior