Beneath the Trident (1/4)

[kristen999]

Title: Beneath the Trident
Author: kristen999
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Word Count: 37k
Rating: R
Summary: Steve and Danny go undercover to investigate the death of a SEAL before a sensitive joint Special Forces’ operation. With Steve as the SEALs' new team leader and Danny as the reporter assigned to shadow him, Danny finally gets to see the hidden depths of the real Lt. Commander McGarrett. (Takes place between 2.22 and 2.23)

Author's Notes There was a lot of research involved in this, but I’m not in the military, so please forgive any inaccuracies.

Much love to my wonderful betas who are the most amazing people! Thank you to mischief5 for all your help and support. From random e-mails to spontaneous IM conversations. And a huge thanks to perspi for her pom-pom waving and wonderful suggestions. You guys are amazing.

Big hugs to my first readers tridget and powrhug for their input and to my cheer-leading group! You know who you are!



Click for fullsize

Beautiful art work by neevebrody

Beneath the Trident on AO3



***

A steady mist of water sprays Danny in the face, slowly soaking his shirt and pants. He grips the back of the leather seat, the speedboat bouncing nauseatingly along the water as Chin guides it closer to the yacht.

"This isn't an episode of Miami Vice, Steven!"

"If we wait on the Coast Guard, Carlton will get away," Steve yells.

"That doesn't mean we had to steal this ugly death cigar!"

"We borrowed it." Steve shoulders past Danny to gaze out at their target. "And it's called a Baja."

"It's a freaking racing banana!"

"Chin, see if you can get closer," Steve orders, ignoring him.

Steve narrows his eyes as if he's calculating crazy things like trajectory and impossible physics equations.

Danny hates that look. "What are you planning?"

Kono steals a glance at both of them before peering through her binoculars. "I can see Tyler. He's still alive."

Steve starts unlacing his boots, setting off one of Danny's warning alarms.

"No, no, no! You can't outswim a damn boat!"

"I hit the gas tank during the shootout on the docks," Steve says as he empties his pockets. "It probably has less than two or three minutes of fuel left. Chin's going to get as close to it as possible and you guys are going to distract Carlton and his men."

Chin doesn't bat an eye at the insanity while Danny's blood pressure doubles.

"And let me guess, you're just going to sneak onboard without Carlton noticing?"

Steve grins. "Exactly."

"And by distract him, you mean we have to play target practice?" Danny asks, pulling out his weapon.

"That's why I want you guys to stay at a safe distance."

Chin and Kono both listen intently, but neither tries talking Steve out of his harebrained plan.

"It's insane."

Steve pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it next to the rest of his stuff. "It's strategically sound."

"Nothing about this is sound! It's you jumping into the water to play Aquaman!"

"Carlton's connected to over a dozen drug related murders. He won't hesitate to kill a child."

Danny doesn't need reminding about what's at stake. He feels revolted at the thought of Tyler in the hands of that sleaze ball; it's the only reason why Danny hasn't handcuffed his partner to the fucking railing.

Steve hands over his Sig and Danny curls his fingers around the weapon in question. "What the hell?"

"Sea water will make it useless." And before Danny can open his mouth, Steve unsheathes a knife from his cargo pants, slipping the strap around his wrist. "But I'll still be armed."

"Looks like Carlton's yacht is puttering out," Chin says.

Steve nods as if the whole thing has gone according to his demented plan and he waits for Chin to get closer.

"This is really stupid," Danny hisses.

Steve studies the waves. "I'll be fine. You guys be careful."

Kono readies her weapon. "You too, boss. We'll keep Carlton distracted."

Chin steers them within ten meters of the drifting vessel and Steve dives over the side.

***

Danny doesn't have time to strategize a plan when Carlton's men take an exception to their presence - with Uzis.

Kono returns fire, popping up and down like a jack-in-a box, Danny covering her. Chin maneuvers the boat one-handed, the other gripping his Sig, his body hidden behind the steering console. A stray bullet could kill Steve or Tyler and shooting in the air isn't very convincing so Danny aims off the port bow.

He has no idea where Steve is, if the idiot is still in the water or onboard, and Danny continues squeezing the trigger. It's hard to see what's going on with all the bullets flying, but the five blurry figures from the yacht suddenly become four, then three.

"Chin, get us closer," Danny orders, sweat and water dripping down his face.

The Uzis are loud over the roaring motor, but Carlton's men aren't firing at them anymore. They're shooting wildly around the deck.

"Goddamn it, Steve," Danny curses, willing the boat faster.

He watches two more bad guys go down, one spinning around from the impact of a bullet or a knife; it's hard to tell before they fall overboard. They're finally close enough to spot Steve, who must have grabbed one of the goons' weapons as he aims his Glock higher to compensate for Carlton's height, Tyler tucked close to drug leader's chest.

Chin steers their boat along the side of the yacht and Kono touches Danny's shoulder. "We'll board on the count of three?"

He nods and the two of them scramble over the side of the yacht, Danny keeping an eye on the escalating tête-à-tête. Tyler squirms in Carlton's firm grip and Steve - his stare is cold as ice, his Glock unwavering.

Even after two years, Danny hates seeing Steve's face void of all emotion, like he's a freaking machine. Danny steps over the body of one of Carlton's goons, the guy's head twisted at an impossible angle.

"Don't come any closer!" Carlton yells at Steve. "I'll kill the little bastard."

Danny and Kono inch closer to the standoff while Steve starts talking to the little boy.

"Tyler, I want you to do what I say, okay?" The child bobs his head up and down.
"I want you to close your eyes."

A chill goes down Danny's spine and Carlton opens his vile mouth to yell something when Steve adjusts his shoulders and fires a neat hole in the middle of Carlton's forehead.

Tyler runs over and clings to Steve like an orangutan. Steve holds onto the scared little boy. "Everything's going to be okay, buddy," he whispers.

Kono and Chin secure everyone who is still alive while Danny stares transfixed at the juxtaposition of Steve and the little boy.

Steve rubs his hands up and down Tyler's back and he lifts up his head a fraction of an inch to peer over at Danny with this soft, muted expression. Like everything is right in the world, and damn him, because a guy who just took out five people shouldn't make Danny want to give Steve a freaking hug, too.

Tyler slowly extricates himself from his dripping-wet crazy rescuer and Kono takes the boy's hand and leads him toward their speedboat and away from the carnage surrounding them.

Chin takes that moment to walk over, hands on his hips, surveying the deck. "You guys might want to check your phones. I've got three missed calls from Governor Denning's office."

"Are you kidding me?" Danny demands.

"Hey," Chin says, spreading his hands wide. "Someone had to call this in to the Coast Guard and I figured he wasn't trying to find me."

Danny pulls out his cell, his hands shaking from the receding adrenaline rush. Yep, four missed calls. "Are we on CNN?" He looks up, but there aren't any news choppers in the air. "Whatever shit we're in, I'm sure it's your fault," he accuses Steve, jabbing a finger at him.

"We did good today," Steve says and has the audacity to clap Danny on the back.

***

Of course, Steve keeps an extra set of clothes in the back of the Camaro because causing large-scale destruction is a messy job. Not that anyone would notice a difference since Steve must own stock in black t-shirts.

Danny wrinkles his nose at his partner. "You smell like dead fish."

"No, I don't, and you wouldn't let me stop to take a shower."

"I offered to use the fire hose from the dock."

Steve gives him a death glare and Danny glares right back, not even bringing up today's reckless stunt because it'd only fall on deaf ears.

They barely take two steps into the waiting room when Denning's secretary rises from her chair and ushers them toward the door. "They're expecting you."

Danny frowns at the word they, sharing a confused expression with Steve.

"Gentlemen," Denning greets them as he opens the door. "Take a seat."

A high-ranking naval officer and a guy in a stuffy suit watch them enter. Steve straightens to full attention while Danny crosses his arms over his chest.

"First off, good work today on the Roger Carlton bust and safe return of Maki Kei's son." Denning pauses, working his lower jaw. "I expect a detailed report regarding the unusual methods used in the rescue later."

Danny resists the urge to kick Steve in the shin. Thankfully, it doesn't take long for Denning to get down to business, leaning back in his leather chair while the rest of them stand.

"Now for the reason why I called you both in. Lt. Commander Steve McGarrett, Detective Danny Williams," Denning says, gesturing at each of them. "This is Captain Dale Bishop and Special Agent Keith Bailey of NCIS."

Agent Bailey steps forward; he's short with a round middle and a receding hairline. "Two days ago, Lieutenant Commander Ryan Johnson's body was found in his jeep; it had run off the Honoapillina Highway and down a ravine. The crash has all the hallmarks of an accident, but we think it was staged." Bailey holds up a file in his pudgy fingers. "Commander Johnson suffered a skull fracture as a result of blunt force trauma. The ME believes Johnson was struck twice in the back of the head with either a tire iron or some other metal bar."

"I didn't read anything about this," Steve says.

"We had it withheld from Monday's paper," Bailey explains cryptically. "But we're releasing the story today and ruling it an accident."

Steve studies Bailey's face. "You want the killer to think he got away with it."

"Killer or killers." All heads turn toward Captain Bishop, a man in his early fifties with shorn white hair. "We think the latter. Commander Johnson was leader of SEAL Team Five."

Steve clenches his jaw. "He was a SEAL?"

Danny crosses his arms even tighter across his chest; the McGarrett intensity level just went off the charts.

"Yes, he was," Bishop answers. "Team Five arrived on the island four days ago to prepare for a joint exercise with a unit from the British SBS. Those exercises are to commence in nine days."

Danny resists rolling his eyes at yet another military acronym. "SBS?"

"British Navy's Special Boat Service," Steve rattles off.

"British SEALs?" Danny summarizes.

"Kind of." But Steve doesn't elaborate, his attention solely on Captain Bishop. "Was Johnson involved in covert ops?" There's not an immediate answer and he grits his teeth. "You guys called this meeting. If you don't read us in-"

"Johnson's unit was involved in several sensitive operations," Bishop says succinctly. "We'll provide you with the needed reports."

"Are you anywhere with suspects?" Steve asks.

"No," Bailey responds.

"Do you have an idea if Johnson's death is related to his most recent activities?" Steve presses.

Bailey frowns. "We're not sure."

"You're not sure?" Danny asks, perplexed. "Do you guys have anything to go on or we all here to see how many people it takes to screw in a light bulb?"

"NCIS has several ongoing investigations at Pearl ranging from large scale robberies of equipment, to drug activity, and weapons smuggling," Bailey explains, frustration etched in his wrinkled features. "The problem is we don't have the means to narrow down a suspect list, and if it does involve anything sensitive, we don't want to scare off any suspects with an official investigation."

"And what? You think Five-0 won't?" Danny snorts, incredulous. "We're not necessarily low profile."

"They want us to go in undercover," Steve says, obviously reading in between the lines.

Danny blinks.

Bailey picks up a briefcase from Denning's desk and rifles through it. "We've already run everything by JAG and we're preparing both of your covers. Detective Williams will be in a civilian capacity and we found an instructor's position for you, Commander-"

"No," Steve interrupts.

Bailey freezes, confused. "No?"

"No," Steve repeats. "If I'm going in, I'll replace Johnson as team leader. The only way to find out anything on Johnson is to get close to his buddies."

"But they'll know you're a cop," Bailey says, stating the obvious.

"Yeah, but I'll go in as a reactivated SEAL," Steve argues. "They're a man down. His spot needs to be filled."

"Undercover, but right out in the open," Bailey ponders, pursuing his lips. "Huh. That's actually a good idea."

And that's all the validation Steve requires before diving right into his next outrageous scheme.

"I'll live with the other team members. If his death's related to their previous deployments, I'll find out. And if wasn't, I'll be in a better position to investigate other avenues."

"Commander, you've been in the reserves for nearly two years," Bishop reminds him, throwing a bucket of ice water on the conversation. "I have no doubt you're in great physical condition, but you are by no means in SEAL shape."

"I can do it, sir."

"I'm not going to lecture you about the physical and mental demands of leading a SEAL team." Bishop steps closer to Steve, rigid shoulders to rigid shoulders. "But this isn't your monthly drill. You're talking about leading a team in rigorous training and conducting joint exercises with one of the most elite foreign Special Forces in the world."

"I wouldn't suggest the idea or jeopardize this case if I didn't think I was up to the task." Steve matches Bishop's stern tone of voice. "I know my capabilities."

"There is more at stake than you realizing your capabilities, Commander."

"Yes, sir. But being on a SEAL team means thinking on your feet and there isn't a better strategic position than replacing Johnson."

Bishop's seen plenty of action; Danny can read it behind his blue-steel eyes, the same rawness he often sees reflected in Steve's.

"I've read your file; not only that, I know Rear Admiral Davis who personally recommended you for this task." Steve remains at parade rest as Bishop studies him. "I'm willing to believe your self-assessment given the successful resolution of hostage situation earlier today." He nods at Governor Denning. "I requested the Coast Guard's initial report on the ride over."

Steve darts his eyes from the governor to the captain. "Thank you, sir. I'll need files on everyone in the team."

"We'll get them to you by the end of the day," Bishop says with a curt nod.

"Excuse me," Danny says, clearing his throat just in case Steve forgot he was in the room. "It's nice and all that you're going to play Rambo again, but I didn't hear anything about my cover. You know, because I'm your partner, and partners watch each other's backs in dangerous situations."

"It's going to be very difficult to create a cover that'll allow you to be close to Commander McGarrett during platoon training," Bailey says, grim-faced.

"And the joint exercises will be conducted on Niihau Island." Bishop frowns at Danny. "I'm not sure how we could insert a civilian in the middle of sensitive maneuvers."

Danny waits for Steve to agree with his military fraternity and give his usual spiel about taking care of himself. Danny won't have any of it, sick of Steve's go-at-it-alone mentality when Steve beats him to the argument.

"I think I have the perfect cover."

Danny can't believe his ears; he must have a wax build-up. "You what?"

Anyone not trained in the McGarrett handbook of expressions would miss the slight uptick of his lips, which guarantees that Danny will absolutely hate his plan.

***

Danny scrolls through online articles of various news agencies, CNN, The Washington Post, and Time Magazine, cursing Steve to the high heavens.

"Hey," Chin says as he leans against the doorjamb. "I've looked over NCIS's set-up for you and it checks out."

"Fantastic, because I'm no closer to being even slightly prepared for this madness." Danny tosses his pencil down. "Do I look like a freaking reporter for Rolling Stone?"

"Actually, if you grow a little scruff and let Kono pick out your clothes, you'll be fine." Danny rolls his eyes and Chin smirks. "Rolling Stone's done some pretty heavy exposés on Afghanistan and Iraq, gone to Mexico to cover the cartels. They even had award-winning stuff on the revolution in Egypt, which by the way, was your latest article. You have a bio on the website."

"I'm on their website?"

Chin walks inside and types in the magazine's homepage. "NCIS got the magazine to use one of their regular reporter's names and replaced it with your picture just in case anyone looks it up." He laughs. "You lucked out; you guys have the same last name."

"Arnold Williams." Danny releases a heavy sigh. "Arnold? The whole thing's still ridiculous."

"Having you as an embedded reporter covering SEAL training is a stroke of genius. It gives you access to Steve's team and allows you to stick by his side without drawing suspicion since you're specifically attached to him."

"Yeah, yeah, and I promise not to report names or locations, yadda, yadda."

Since he isn't actually filing a real report, the Navy brass didn't give a damn about what he might see or hear, although he'd been forced to sign a non-disclosure agreement.

"At least your cover's easy," Chin chuckles. "Act like a detective; ask questions and observe."

"Yeah, with a bunch of adrenaline junkies. Speaking of, have you heard from Steve? He dropped off these books." Danny waves a hand over his desk. "And told me he'd see me in a couple days when he picked me up."

"Ever heard of a pro boxer coming out of retirement only to return to the ring two days later?" Chin's expression is both a little awed and apprehensive. "The man has some preparations to do."

"I imagine it's like an alpha wolf taking over a pack." And Danny really, really loathes the thought.

"I don't think anyone on Steve's SEAL team is going to try to take him down, brah."

"But Steve's got to be the biggest bad ass on his team to earn their respect. I know that much."

"Yeah, he does," Chin concedes, his eyes thoughtful. "But you'll have his back."

"Not like I should. Not when he's doing…whatever he does," Danny says, frustrated.

"You'll have it where it counts." Chin must sense the anxious tension in the room and switches subjects. "How much arm wrestling did it take to get him to agree to some backup?"

"None." Danny smiles at that. Chin looks at him with a fond grin of his own and Danny snorts, shaking his head. "The jerk probably knew I'd kick his ass into next week if he didn't."

He basks in the silence, allowing the warmth to soothe away the growing itch of worry.

Chin moves around his desk and rifles through Steve's required reading materials. "This is quite a collection; I wonder if McGarrett's got notations in the margins?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." Danny inspects the books about SEAL Teams. "I don't know what he expects me to learn from these; it's not like I haven't been partnered with him for the last two years."

"You're only seen one tiny aspect he's allowed us to see. Besides, all the extra insight might be helpful considering the company you'll be keeping."

God, he could barely deal with one Steve McGarrett, let alone a dozen.

"I'm going to end up in five point restraints in a padded room."

"Maybe give one of those books a read; I'd start with this one," Chin says, pointing to the book at the bottom of the stack before leaving.

Danny snags the paperback and leans back in his chair. He traces the spine of the book right over the title, Black Hawk Down: A Story of Modern War, and suddenly, Danny's almost afraid to read it.

***

An annoying guitar riff drones for too long on the radio and Danny lowers the volume, stealing a glance at Steve. "I can't help noticing your uniform is green. Did the Navy run out of blue?"

"No, we didn't, but SOs wear these new digital greens ones." He gives Danny a sideways glance. "SOs are -"

"Special operators, those who conduct," and Danny air quotes with his fingers, "unconventional warfare, as in people who operate with less than a full deck."

Steve smiles, pleased. "You read the books."

"Yes, yes, I did. It's called preparing for an in-depth undercover assignment."

"And does that include dressing appropriately for the part?"

"A nice shirt and slacks are perfectly acceptable attire for a reporter."

"For Clark Kent maybe."

"You would know, Superman."

Steve takes an unnecessarily sharp turn and Danny grabs a hold of the door handle.

As they near the base, he mentally reviews some of SEAL Team Five's military records. There's a good chance Steve knows one of them, which bothers Danny because of the whole close-knit brotherhood thing. There are only about two thousand active SEALs and there's no denying the bond of belonging to something so elite.

"Have you worked with any of these guys before?" he asks casually.

Steve's hands tighten around the wheel and Danny makes a mental note of it. "Yeah, Master Chief Vega. We were on a special assignment together for a few weeks. He'll be my go-to guy regarding Johnson."

Danny will be sure to reread his file, because between Nick Taylor and Joe White, he can't afford to defer to Steve's opinion about any past naval buddies.

"The unit is a little different from the average. Normally, there's only two officers and a chief, but this one has three. Makes me think they were planning some changes."

"I don't have a clue what you just said."

"Each team has nine enlisted men and a master chief who's in charge of them," Steve explains, casting a look over at Danny. "The second officer is green; he's there to learn the ropes from his chief. The most ranking officer is the team leader; he and the master chief run the team together."

"Why does all that structure not surprise me?"

Steve doesn't answer and Danny stares out the window at the looming base, wondering how many days or even weeks the investigation might take. If anything, the timing for their assignment couldn't have come at a better time with Grace and Rachel in London for a couple of weeks to visit family.

As they turn down the exit, Danny thinks about the news articles and YouTube videos of journalists reporting in war-torn countries, and he steels himself in preparation for his role.

***

After arriving and checking a jeep out from the motor pool, they drive around for half an hour and then head out on foot.

Danny hurries after Steve's long strides and nearly bumps into him when he suddenly stops. "There's our temporary housing." He points at a small apartment building. "You should go inside and introduce yourself to the team; they know you're arriving."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Danny huffs, because is Steve ditching him? "What the hell?"

"It's easier this way; you should meet them first."

"Oh, I see." Danny stares at Steve's unconcerned expression, feeling set-up. "Is this like a baptism of fire or some crap?"

"No, it's called keeping our covers." Steve strides right up to Danny, invading his personal space. "We don't know each other, D, and we certainly wouldn't arrive together at such an important time." He gives him a hard pat to the shoulder. "They won't like you, but they won't bite."

"I hate you, you know that?" But Steve smirks, making Danny want to wring his neck. "And where will you be?"

"I've got to report to my CO."

Danny's not done yelling by a long shot, but Steve does an about face and marches toward an adjacent building.

"Right, I'll just invite the SEALS out for a beer. We'll trade stories and gossip about the latest ways to kill people using everyday objects. It'll be fun. Asshole," he mumbles under his breath, adjusting the strap to his duffel, and wanders over to his new quarters.

***

It's instinct to knock first before entering a house, but Danny changes his mind and walks down a hall and into a common room. About a dozen men laze about a large sofa and several chairs. The men appear to be watching TV, but Danny can feel every single one of their eyes tracking him.

Everyone is indistinguishable from one another. Guys in dark BDUs and t-shirts or camo; a few in cargo shorts and tank tops. A bunch of different Steves in various sizes.

"Um, hi, I'm -"

"The Rolling Stone reporter," one of the guys grunts from the sofa.

"Yeah, that would be me. I'm -"

"Here to follow us around like a lemming. You know not to print our names, don't you?"

Danny gives them all a frustrated glare. "I'm not going to print your names; I'm not an idiot." There are a few snorts and he bites his tongue, switching tactics. "Since I'm going to be around you guys for a while, I thought we'd -"

"Get to know each other?" Some guy who looks like an unkempt mountain man interrupts him. "We're not here to hang out or go out on a date. We're here to be more effective warriors. That's our job. We don't have time to stop every few minutes to explain things to a civilian."

"And it's my job to follow and stay out of the way," Danny says, trying for professionalism. "You'll still be nameless and faceless, but your story won't be."

"We don't have a story. We're ghosts," another in the group says.

"All right, let's ease up." A Hispanic guy with broad shoulders and several days of scruff walks over. "Don't worry, LT, I'll baby-sit." Mountain Man returns his gaze toward the TV and Danny follows the guy to the back corner. "Sorry about that. The men are just tense. It's been a bad week."

"I heard." Danny takes a moment to reel in his temper. "I'm sorry for your loss."

There's a curt nod, the only sign of emotion before the SEAL holds out his hand, a tribal tattoo peeking out from his shirtsleeve. "I'm Master Chief Louis Vega. Call me Chief, everyone else does."

Danny shakes hands. "Arnold Williams."

Vega wipes at his dark close-cropped hair; he looks older than everyone else, possibly in his early forties. "You've got to understand, Rolling Stone doesn't have a good rep with us. General McChrystal had to retire because of what your magazine printed."

Danny has vague recollections of that incident and he angrily thinks Steve should have, too. "I'm just here to watch and learn what you guys do."

"You can't just learn by watching what it's like being SEAL," Vega says before gesturing down the hall for Danny to follow. "There's only five rooms. All the NCOs bunk in the first three, Lieutenant Macke, and Ensign Torres share the one across the hall. You get the last one."

Danny drops his duffel on the first of two beds, the space reminding him of a cramped dorm room. "Tight quarters."

"You've never been on a boat, have you?"

"Like a sailboat?"

"Sub," Vega sighs. "These rooms are a penthouse in comparison."

***

Danny returns to the common room, but there isn't an open spot to sit down, not that he wants to with the warm welcome and all. Everyone half pays attention to a prerecorded basketball game before the lanky guy closest to Danny nods at Vega.

"Chief, you've served with McGarrett, what's the scuttlebutt on him?"

Everyone stops watching the game.

Vega looks up from texting on his cell. "He's hard but fair. Good instincts under pressure."

Danny's bullshit meter goes off, Vega's succinct answer eerily similar to Steve's tactic of evasion. Several men watch Danny suspiciously out of the corner of their eyes and he pretends to be interested in the point guard's layup instead of eavesdropping as they all start talking to one another.

"But this is a re-up, right? He hasn't been active in a couple years, been running a special taskforce."

"Yeah, but I doubt he's gone soft. Read something about him and a hostage situation in the paper yesterday morning."

"Didn't he kill the governor or some shit?"

"No, you idiot."

"Hey, Rolling Stone. You knowing anything? You're going to be like his shadow or something."

Danny blinks at the nickname, resisting the urge to say Steve's as certifiable as the rest of them.

"I only know what they tell me." But this is a chance to sell Steve to a demanding audience, although they probably know more about him than they let on. "McGarrett was involved mainly in counterterrorism operations before he went into the reserves. In fact, he killed one of the Hesse brothers before his transfer and arrested the other during his tenure as head of Five-0."

He reads everyone's body language; those names ring a few bells with this group. "Actually, a couple of weeks ago, he caught an international criminal, the guy who actually murdered Governor Jameson, so maybe that's why he's back, he got a taste for it again."

His answer sounds plausible enough, ending the discussion, but it makes Danny wonder if there's a shred of truth to it, if Steve might actually enjoy being a SEAL again.

Vega quirks an eyebrow at him and it takes a moment before Danny realizes he's clenching and unclenching his fists before quickly stuffing his hands into his pockets.

***

"Attention!"

The booming voice catches Danny off-guard but everyone instantly stands when Steve enters the room. His presence sets off a charge inside the room and Danny can't help admiring the resulting sparks.

"At ease," Steve announces as he strolls in.

The men comply, putting their hands behind their backs and mirroring Steve's guarded posture. Lieutenant Mountain Man steps forward. He's Steve's height with slightly more girth. Danny wonders how someone in the Navy could get away with such a thick, disheveled beard and head of hair.

"Commander McGarrett, I'm Lieutenant Paul Macke, sir." The burly man gestures at the rest of the men. "Would you like me to introduce you to your team?"

"Carry on, Lieutenant," Steve says.

Macke falls in by Steve's side and the two go down the line exchanging ranks and names.

Danny stands out of the way, observing the power play. Men straighten under Steve's weighty gaze, eyes challenging and accepting challenge. After several minutes of introductions, Steve follows his XO toward the hall where Danny stands.

"We're kind of short on space, so you'll have to bunk with Rolling Stone." Macke waves in Danny's direction. "Have you two met, yet?"

"Briefly in Commander Stanton's office." Steve nods briskly at Danny, returning his attention to his XO, the casual dismissal oddly grating. "I'll be sure to go over protocols with him tonight and I want a briefing regarding tomorrow's jump by 0700."

"Yes, sir," Macke replies before leaving.

"All right, Rolling Stone," Steve says with the slightest grin. "Let's go."

Danny keeps his trap shut, his cheeks burning red until he closes the door to their quarters. "Seriously, Steve, you too?"

"What?" Steve asks, aloof. "I think it's kind of cool."

"It's not cool, Steven, it's stupid!"

"It'll help you fit in."

"Fit in? With who, those Neanderthals out there?" Danny stabs his finger at the door. "Like Lt. Paul Bunyan? Because the guy hasn't seen a razor in weeks. I've got to admit, none of them looks like a SEAL to me."

Steve crosses those ridiculously thick arms over his ridiculously toned chest. "We're not supposed to look like anyone, Danny. We blend in. Lt. Macke and his men just got back from a month's long deployment deep in-country."

"In-country?" Danny scoffs, because does Steve hear himself? "This isn't a Vietnam movie. Returned from where? Because I couldn't read a damn thing between all the redacted parts of the files I was allowed to see." Steve's scowl flattens into a slab of cement and Danny spreads his hands out wide. "If you don't tell me, then what the hell am I doing here?"

"A country in the Middle East."

Steve's minimalist answer is reflective of his game-face and Danny should've expected his trademark secretive demeanor, but he'd hoped after recent events that his partner would be more forthcoming.

"That narrows it down. Thanks."

"Look." Steve sighs, dropping his arms to his sides. "It's sensitive information and I'm still waiting for a final report. I have no idea if it's relevant to the case or not, but once I read it, I'll clear it myself and we'll figure out together if there's anything worth pursuing."

"That's better," Danny concedes, recognizing Steve's offer as a positive, albeit, tiny step forward. "It'll be amazing how sharing information will aid our investigation."

"In the meantime, I'll feel out Johnson's personal life with his team, see if there were any problems with family or friends."

Danny sits on the bed and goes over a mental plan for tomorrow while Steve unlaces and pulls off his boots.

"I'll use my reporter card, see if I can find out where Johnson went when he wasn't playing SEAL, and try retracing his steps his last few days on base."

"And I'll pull his daily reports and get a timeline to work with, start tracking down witnesses to his activities the day he died."

"Having a starting place is good," Danny agrees. "We're flying blind at the moment."

Steve stows his stuff into a footlocker and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

"Um, it's still kind of early for bed, don't you think?" Danny asks, suddenly distracted when Steve pulls off his tee, revealing a set of dog tags against his chest. He's never seen Steve wear them before and Danny wets his lips, dragging his gaze towards Steve's unreadable face. "I thought your meeting wasn't until seven tomorrow morning?"

Steve sits down across from him. "It is, but there's a team meeting at 0400, then a workout, and a weapons drill before prepping for the night's HALO jump."

It takes a few seconds for Steve's words to register in Danny's brain. "HALO jump? At night?"

"Yeah." Steve grins. "So we better get a few hours' shut-eye."

Before Danny can complain about not being a robot that can simply power-down, Steve unbuckles his belt and shucks off his pants. All that tanned skin and lean muscle is a little distracting, like almost every other time when Steve randomly sheds his clothes. Danny manages to look away as Steve neatly stores his stuff inside the footlocker before wordlessly slipping into bed.

"I can sleep with the light on if you need it," Steve mumbles, closing his eyes.

Danny scrubs a hand over his face, wondering what the hell just happened. Right, he's on military time now, tomorrow's going to be a grueling day, and somehow, he has to shadow Steve while finding a way to question people about Johnson's activities. Sighing, Danny pulls out one of the books Steve gave from his duffel and climbs into bed to read a little before going to sleep.

***

The sun's not up at four in the morning; it knows better than to rise at such an insane hour.

Danny fumbles with the alarm clock, flipping the pillow over his head. "Shoot me now."

"I'll hit the shower first," Steve says, sounding too awake for the ungodly time.

Danny watches him pad across the room toward the hallway in his boxers with a towel draped over his shoulder.

"I'm taking more than three minutes worth of water," Danny hisses.

"The hot water shuts off after that," Steve calls over his shoulder.

Danny grumbles obscenities into the sheets.

***

He stumbles in and out of the bathroom, the shower doing little to wake him after only a couple hours of sleep. Danny shuffles in the line of the mess hall, annoyed at everyone else's alertness and the reconstituted powdered eggs slopped onto his plate.

Steve grabs a mug of coffee and puts it on his tray. "Here, sunshine, this will perk you up."

Danny glowers at Steve when they sit across from each other and glowers again at the cheerful woman who takes a seat at the end of their table.

"Commander McGarrett, Mr. Williams?"

Danny's ears perk up at the southern accent, his caffeine deprived brain trying to place it. Tennessee or Kentucky maybe?

"I'm LTJG Rebecca Porter; I work for the Navy's office of public affairs. Mr. Williams, I'm here to answer any questions you have during your assignment."

Lieutenant Porter is a good-natured redhead with freckled cheekbones, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She obviously has youth on her side to explain such an abundance of energy.

After droning on about something in a soft twang for ten minutes, she looks up at Danny with a sweet smile. "Do you have any questions, Mr. Williams?"

"Yeah. Does the Navy make its coffee out of sawdust?"

Lieutenant Porter is less enthusiastic about things during the rest of breakfast, and Steve, the bastard, has the audacity to lean back in his chair and smirk at him.

***

Danny's first day observing begins with team exercise at five in the morning, which is sadistic, but the real insanity is needing to ride in a jeep for a mile so they can go to the beach. What was wrong with exercising the few steps outside their quarters? Danny hops out of the jeep, suppressing a shiver in the chilly morning air, and watches ocean waves slap the jagged shoreline.

He's going to try learning team members' names today, place faces with the eleven sets of olive t-shirts and BDUs that wordlessly form three rows in the sand.

Steve walks a perimeter around his men, arms crossed behind his back, sporting the same level of intensity Danny's seen him use in the interrogation room.

"Let's get the blood flowing, gentlemen," Steve yells. "Give me one hundred push-ups and sit-ups then double-time it to the base of that cliff."

Steve drops down into the sand, grinding out push-ups, sounding off each one with his team.

Lieutenant Porter quietly walks up to Danny, sipping on a Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Come on, it'll take us a few minutes to drive over to the top."

Danny checks out the rocky slope at least two miles away. "And why are we going up there?"

"Because the boys are going to free-climb it."

"That cliff? The one that's forty feet in the air?"

"That very one."

"Without equipment?" Danny demands, thinking back to things like petroglyphs and broken arms.

Porter smiles, unconcerned. "That is the definition of free-climbing, Mr. Williams."

***

Danny has learned since his time on the island that scattered rocky hills and mountains are the norm around beaches, but not manmade freestanding walls.

He climbs out of the jeep and looks up. "What the hell is that?"

"The beginning of a new obstacle course." Porter takes another swallow of coffee. "The Seabees started building it this week, so right now, all you've got is a sixty-foot wall."

Danny stares at the layer of black cargo netting draped over it, biting his lip. "This is a bit more than early morning exercise."

"SEALs have to maintain an incredible level of fitness and endurance. I believe Commander McGarrett is trying to gauge his team's capabilities."

"Right." Porter stares at him as if he's the most naive man she's ever met. "Look, I get it,” Danny says. “There's no such thing as a day off for a SEAL. If you're off your game, then everything else falls apart."

"SEAL Teams succeed together or fail together.” Porter cocks her head at him. “But you and I both know that failure isn't an option."

Danny grimaces. "Yeah, there are no second chances in the heat of battle."

Porter's shoulders relax while Danny tries very hard not to think about the implications of their conversation.

One by one, sweat-drenched members of Team Five crawl over the crest of the cliff, each man barely taking a breath as they gaze up at the next obstacle. They don't stop or wait on orders, running full-tilt at it, reminding Danny of a quote from one of the books he skimmed.

The one thing all SEALs have in common is that we don't know the meaning of the word 'quit.'
He wishes he'd had enough time to read them more thoroughly.

Danny recognizes Steve attacking the wall with vigor, scaling it inch by agonizing inch. After push-ups and sit-ups, running and climbing, scaling the equivalent of a three-story building would be a bad time to lose arm strength. But that won't slow Steve down, or any of his men, because Danny has a feeling that even if they'd just ran a hundred miles, a mere wall wouldn't stop them.

***

Danny glances at a clock; this is when Grace would go off to school and he scrubs at his gritty eyes. Thanks to the perks of command, Steve has a temporary office tucked away next to their quarters, giving them privacy to discuss the case, but it's a revolving door of activity. Requests and need for approvals on various matters almost drown out Danny's thoughts.

Lieutenant Mache enters, a blue bandanna over his unruly hair making him look more like a badass biker than a SEAL. He comes to attention until Steve gives him the at ease signal. Standing at parade rest, Mache hands over a flash-drive. "Here is my strategy for tonight, sir."

Steve inserts the thumb drive, bringing up a series of maps and diagrams on his laptop.

Danny catches a few glimpses of the exercise and frowns. "That looks more complicated than jumping out of a helicopter."

"It's an underwater assault onto a Littoral combat ship," Mache answers.

"And that is?"

Mache looks over at Danny. "A small surface vessel intended for operations close to shore."

"You're going to jump out of a helicopter, then take a rubber boat out," Danny scans the screen eyes widening. "Eight miles before boarding a ship to -"

"To sabotage it."

Mache stands motionless like a scruffy mannequin.

"You make it sound so simple," Danny mutters dryly.

"It's not." Steve flicks his eyes at Mache; the lieutenant squares his shoulders. "And this plan is unacceptable. Take it back and tell Chief Vega and Ensign Torres to re-wargame it. Reevaluate the approach; there are several weak points during the breach strategy."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"I'll review the corrections after the gun drill," Steve says, dismissing him.

Mache takes away his flash-drive and stands at attention. "Yes, sir."

Danny gives a low whistle after the lieutenant exits. "Who pissed in your cheerios?"

"I will not approve a flawed plan."

"If there are mistakes, why don't you fix them?"

"If I make the corrections, then Lieutenant Mache won't learn anything." Steve powers down his laptop. "And if he doesn't learn anything, then Ensign Torres won't."

"Okay, makes sense." Danny nods, thinking about the military teaching structure and backtracking over the conversation. "Who's Ensign Torres again?"

***

Ensign Torres is short and squat with a thick neck. Danny has no doubt he could wrestle an elephant to the ground, reminding him of a young rookie he worked with from the Bronx.

Danny pulls up a chair across from him inside the locker room and sets down a tiny silver digital recorder. "Do you mind?"

"Nope."

"Okay." Danny clears his throat, trying to break the ice. "How long have you been a SEAL?"

Torres doesn't look up from his rifle. "Completed my platoon training three months ago when I was assigned to Team Five."

A baby SEAL then, but Danny knows better than to say those words out loud. "You just returned from a long assignment. Was it what you expected?"

"Nothing is to be expected, sir." Torres works a cleaning brush down the barrel with nimble fingers. "We're trained to handle any obstacles. Failure isn't an option."

Danny admires dedication and a winning attitude, but the whole military gung-ho mantra tests his limits. "You do know humans are fallible, right?"

"We're not allowed to be."

Before Danny can ask anything else, Torres jumps to his feet like a damn jackrabbit. "Commander McGarrett, sir."

Danny quickly rises to his feet in reaction as Steve strides inside and stands at parade rest, his gaze assessing.

"Your weapon, Ensign."

Torres hands over the rifle and Steve runs his fingers down the rail, inspects the barrel, the sight, and ejects the magazine, returning it. "Your left ring mount is loose."

"I'll reassemble it, sir."

"Did you ever present your rifle like that to Commander Johnson, Ensign?" Steve demands.

"No, sir," Torres barks, spine stiff as a board.

"Then don't start with me."

Steve hands over the weapon and Torres snags it, fingers curling impossibly tight around it. "Yes, sir."

Danny follows Steve out of the room and down the hall until they're outside away from everyone.

"Anyone ever tell you wearing that uniform makes you act like an asshole?"

Steve stares at him perplexed and Danny stares back, making Steve look at him with a raised eyebrow and a smile, a smile that screams Steve and not Commander McGarrett.

"No, you're the first person," Steve says, still grinning.

Danny almost sighs in relief from the familiar banter. "Then everyone else lied to you."

Steve snorts and almost pats Danny on the back before quickly pulling back his hand. "Come on, we only have ten minutes before the gun drill. Let's grab some more coffee."

Danny grins. "Now you're speaking my language."

***

"When you mentioned a gun drill, I imagined a shooting range." Danny climbs out a Humvee, scanning the rocky landscape. "This looks like Baghdad."

"Try Rigestan," Mache says, the sun glinting off his shades.

Porter stands next to Danny, her blue camo in contrast to everyone else's green. "Pearl's desert and tropical environments make it an excellent training ground."

Steve surveys the area with binoculars as the rest of the team exits their vehicles and starts unloading equipment.

"Ensign, radio Red Flag, tell them to ready the birds." Mache goes to the back of the Humvee and pulls out some body armor. "Commander," he says holding it up.

Steve slides through his arms while Mache helps arrange the body armor around his shoulders. Danny takes a step forward, stopping himself from taking over despite the fact he's never helped Steve into his vest before.

"Thanks, Lieutenant." Steve takes over, adjusting the rest of the tabs, never taking his eyes off Danny. "Will you help Williams suit up?"

"I can do it," Danny says testily, grabbing a vest before Mache can. "Thanks, but I've covered enough war zones. I know how to wear one."

Danny puts on the vest, automatically brushing his hand over his hip, but his service weapon isn't there and he reminds himself he's not going with Steve into this situation. It shouldn't needle him this much, forced onto the sidelines, pretending to be a civilian and not Steve's partner.

Mache hands Steve his M4 rifle and Steve patrol carries it, facing his men. Danny's used to Steve all Ramboed-out with double thigh holsters, his vest stuffed with extra clips of ammo and grenades. But the way Steve fills his military uniform simply radiates authority, making Danny's hands sweat.

"Vega, you're on point. Mache, take the M60," Steve orders.

Danny doesn't really hear what Steve says to his men, only watches as he commands obedience from them.

"You'll need to remain by the Humvee for your safety," Lieutenant Porter says, interrupting his thoughts.

Danny notices a large number of vehicles approaching in the background. "What's the objective with this drill?"

"To conquer it," Vega grunts, slipping on his goggles.

"Team Five must reach the checkpoint, taking out as many targets as possible while under fire." Porter grabs two sets of binoculars and hands one to Danny. "Each helmet is equipped with a camera so the team can study the footage later."

"Live fire," Danny repeats. "As in -"

"Real bullets. Real smoke, real enemy air support," Porter relays with enthusiasm. "Only special forces units use live ordinance for drills."

"What's the record for the drill, Jay Gee?" Mache asks her.

For a young officer dwarfed by burly SEALs, Porter doesn't bat an eyelash. "Twenty-four minutes and twenty seconds."

Danny pinches the bridge of his nose. It's like dangling a damn carrot.

"What do you think, sir?" Mache asks Steve eagerly. "How much will we shatter that by?"

They might not be a wolf pack, but the team just threw down the proverbial gauntlet.

"Don't you have your priorities wrong?" Danny asks, sweeping his gaze across a dozen faces obscured by black goggles. "This is an only an exercise."

"Mache, radio Red Bird One that we'll be commencing in three minutes." Steve readies his weapon and nods at his team. "The only point of a record is to break it."

"Yes, sir!" all eleven members yell back in unison.

Danny shoves in his earplugs, but they can't keep the blood from roaring in his head.

***

The noise is deafening despite his hearing protection. Danny's used to weapons fire, but not the concussive sounds of war. Because there's no mistaking what this is - a battle.

He peers through his binoculars, unable to spot the team between large clouds of smoke and dust. "Where the hell are they?"

"If you could find them, then they wouldn't be doing their jobs," Porter reminds him.

M4s rattle and heavier caliber weapons echo loudly in the canyon and he traces muzzle flashes to machine gun nests built into the large rock formations above the canyon.

The cordite in the air, the tracer fire, it's all too real. Helicopters hover above and fire along the three-mile stretch of rock and sand.

"Even the mortars are real," Danny hisses.

"Yes, but the pilots and crews are very careful."

"Careful? What about friendly fire accidents?"

Porter lowers her binoculars, unfazed. "These are highly trained men."

The whole valley fills with a haze from gunfire and smoke grenades that conceal the team's movement.

"What's the point of this again?" Danny snaps, wondering what the hell this really proves.

"There are over a hundred targets hidden throughout the valley: sniper nests, vehicles, all strategic positions that a team would need to take out in order to complete their objective."

Danny recalls mock-hostage situations with paper cutouts and a few computer simulations, but nothing like this.

"Red One, this is Joker One, we've reached the pick-up zone. I repeat, we've reached the pick-up zone," Steve says over the radio.

Porter clicks her stopwatch, her youthful grin wide. "We'll have to count the number of kill shots and study the film, but they beat the record by seventy seconds. Looks like Commander McGarrett hasn't lost his touch."

Danny is positive he's the only one not excited.

***

Danny wants to call it a day already, but it's only the middle of the afternoon and they eat lunch in Steve's office instead of the mess hall, away from prying eyes and ears. Danny pokes at his baked chicken and watches appalled as Steve wolfs his down in giant bites.

"Doesn't the military doesn't teach you manners?"

"I'm hungry," Steve says gleefully.

"Running around like a maniac must build up an appetite," Danny mumbles, but Steve is completely oblivious to his foul mood. "You know there are bones in that or do you just swallow them whole?"

Steve wipes his mouth with a napkin. "If the peanut gallery is done with today's commentary?" Danny rolls his eyes and Steve takes it as his cue to start. "Johnson got a divorce last year, but he didn't have any current girlfriends and he didn't know anyone on the islands."

"He wouldn't leave the base for personal reasons," Danny speculates as he sets aside his plate. "What about pleasure?"

"Not of the flesh as far as I can tell. He discovered a local bar off base, the Blue Ocean. He frequented it every day. Chances are he was there the night he died."

"Did any of his buddies ever tag along?"

"No, he liked to go alone."

"Huh, that sounds familiar."

"Leading a SEAL team is a twenty-four hour job. The weight is immeasurable." Steve pauses, staring off in the distance. "Sometimes, you just need time to decompress."

Danny leans in over the desk until Steve's forced to look at him. "Maybe if you guys would save some energy for the real battle, it wouldn't take such a toll."

"The more we train today, the less of a chance anyone dies," Steve snaps. Then he slumps back into his chair. "We need to go to the Blue Ocean, maybe tomorrow night."

Danny wants to argue, wants to yell at Steve that switching subjects and wishing a subject matter to go away doesn't work. But Steve's crossed that bridge already, gears grinding in the other direction, forcing Danny to reluctantly pick his battles.

"I talked to Lieutenant Porter after you guys shot up the desert," he says, returning to the case. "She's familiar with Team Five's schedule since their arrival because of the upcoming joint exercise. I set up a meeting with her later; hopefully, I'll find out more about Johnson's activities."

Steve nods, seeming more focused. "Good work."

"What about you?" Danny asks, curious. "Going to blow up anything else today?"

"No, we're going to study today's film on the gun drill to improve efficiency."

"Efficiency? Are you kidding me? Didn't you guys have to show off and break the record? How much more efficient can you be?"

"We made it to the drop zone, but we didn't hit all our targets."

"So what?"

"We failed."

"They were fake targets, Steven."

"Today they were, but not the next time."

Danny can't believe his ears; it was a damn training exercise. His nostrils flare at the military's obsessive need for perfection, twisting simple mistakes into something unhealthy. He wants to smack some sense into Steve and remind him it's human to make an error. But a knock at the door interrupts his angry tirade and Lt. Mache and Chief Vega enter.

"We have the revised plans for the HALO jump, sir," Mache announces.

Chief Vega stands a few steps behind Mache, feet rooted in place. Steve takes Mache's flash-drive, but his eyes drift toward Vega who meets Steve's scrutiny full on. Danny can feel the tension between both men, a thousand words unspoken in just a few seconds before Steve quickly focuses on his laptop.

Danny feels like the odd man out as both SEALs stand there while their commander studies their battle plan. Danny thinks twiddling his thumbs would be in poor form, but thankfully, it doesn't take long for Steve to break the steely silence.

"The breaching strategy still has flaws." Steve turns around the screen. "Master Chief, did you take this back to Ensign Torres and wargame it again?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?" Vega doesn't answer fast enough and Steve's eyes go dark. "I asked you a question, Master Chief."

"I wouldn't let him, sir," Mache barks.

"Explain, Lieutenant."

Mache snaps at attention. "We were up against a tight deadline, sir. I felt there wasn't enough time for Chief Vega and Ensign Torres to revise things so I -"

"So you deprived Ensign Torres of a chance to learn from his error." Mache is stone silent and Steve nods at Vega. "Master Chief, take the plans back to Ensign Torres and ask him to consider the Zulu Baker approach."

Vega's expression remains stoic, but it's hard not to notice the slight glint in his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Lieutenant Mache, I'm canceling the HALO jump for tonight until there is a satisfying strategy in place. In the meantime, you and I will review the film from today's gun drill with the team."

Mache grinds his teeth and looks from Steve to Danny. "Sir. Permission to speak freely?"

Steve rises to his feet. "Mr. Williams, why don't you follow Chief Vega for a while."

Danny doesn't need observational skills to know he should make an exit.

***

They walk down the hall and into the sunshine before Vega looks over at him.

"It's inappropriate for a CO to dress down an officer in front of a subordinate."

"What?" Danny asks, confused.

Vega snorts. "You looked ticked about getting kicked out."

Danny's eyebrows furrow. "I did?"

"Yeah, man."

"Oh. I thought it was over. You know, dismissed and all."

"Sometimes." Vega shrugs. "Depends on the officer. The LT wanted to state his case and Commander McGarrett allowed it. He's fair like that."

"Really? I thought maybe...I sensed an issue between you and McGarrett." Vega scowls at Danny; clearly, that subject is off limits. "Or maybe not. My bad," Danny says, quickly backpedaling. "Um, how many times do you usually rewrite one of these plans?"

"As many as it takes," Vega says. Danny should've guessed the answer. Vega steps forward, hands on his hips, years of combat etched into the lines of his face. "Success is the only option. It doesn't matter if we have to re-write it a thousand times. We'll work on it until it's right."

"Failure isn't in your vocabulary," Danny says, looking Vega directly in the eyes.

"Now you're learning, Rolling Stone."

***

Waves collide into the boulders, spraying white foam over the rocks. This isn't a surfing or sunbathing spot, not unless people want to crack their skulls open on the shore. The sun sets, a blurry reddish-orange glob across the horizon, swallowed-up by the darkening ocean.

"You don't have to stay out here, D. After this exercise, we'll be hitting our racks."

Shadows flicker across Steve's face. He looks calm, peaceful, eyes a dark liquid blue, and for a split second, Danny thinks Steve is the most beautiful thing out here.

"Thirteen hours and you're still going. The Energizer Bunny has nothing on you."

Steve frowns and rests a warm hand on Danny's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Danny lies, unsure what's weighing him down. Steve's hand lingers as if he has no plans of removing it. Danny coughs, nodding at the equipment tied to some of the rocks. "Those are the itty bitty boats, huh?"

Steve slowly drops his hand and stares questioningly at Danny. "Yeah. The inflatable boat, small, and before you argue, that is what we call them."

Danny nods, because he's supposed to know these things, supposed to be prepared for his cover. He walks toward the large black rubber boats, his feet heavy in the wet sand.

"Six or eight men to a boat," he says, recalling bits and pieces. "The thing weighs almost two hundred pounds, and when it fills with water, it-"

"It weighs as much as a small car. Yeah. They're tough." Steve looks at Danny, his face half-obscured by the growing darkness. "But we're tougher."

Danny looks away, watches the seven-foot breakers, imagines trying to navigate over them with just a paddle. Imagines a wave picking up and slamming the boat down against the boulders, breaking the bones of those stupid enough to try to conquer the ocean.

"What's the plan?" he asks, voice rough. "Your jump was canceled, so you're taking these out for a little drive?"

"Ten miles out and back. The chop's rough; it'll be a good test."

"What if the ocean swallows you up, Steven?" Danny hisses, his throat clogged. "Swallows your boots, your paddles, and your stupid boat, and spits you out onto the shore?"

Steve folds his hands behind his back, voice unwavering. "Then my team and I will pick up our paddles and climb back into the boat and try again."

Danny bits his lower lip and stares up at Steve's bold determined face. "And let me guess. Then you'll do more push-ups?"

"Yeah. Then we'll carry the boats up the beach and back to base." Steve stands there obviously waiting for an argument, but Danny doesn't say anything, and Steve's voice goes quiet as he looks out into the distance. "Like I said, you don't have to stay. You should get some sleep; we have another long day tomorrow."

"I might not be wearing camo, but I'm still your partner. I'll go to bed when you do."

Steve gives him the slightest smile and the two of them stand in the dark and watch the sea in silence.

***
Chapter Two