Fic- Still The Rain (1/3)
Title: Still The Rain
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Word Count: 22k
Rating: R
Summary: Danny turned around until he faced Steve McGarrett, Danger Magnet. "Mountain cliffs; dinghies in the middle of the ocean; nightmare camping trips. You had to add a rainforest adventure during a monsoon to the list, didn't you?"
Author's Notes:
Much love to my wonderful betas! Thank you to esteefee and mischief5 for all your help and support. You guys rock.
Big hugs to my first readers tridget and powrhug for their cheer-leading!
***
The plane shuddered against vicious turbulence and Danny dug his fingers into the armrests, his nails denting the leather. Two different alarms blared in his ears and he watched in horror as most of the lights on the instrument panels flashed red.
"This is a terrible idea, Steven!" Danny yelled over his headset.
"Not much of a choice." Steve's arms strained with the flight controls. "We've got to land or we'll be torn apart by wind shear," he said into the comm.
Danny was almost thrown out of his seat by the next giant air bump, saved only by his harness. Sweat poured down his back and soaked his armpits; a tiny whistle-whining sound caused his heart to pound.
"What's that noise?" he yelled.
"Can you be more specific?" Steve asked between gritted teeth.
"That annoying noise like we're losing air." Danny's eyes darted nervously around the cockpit. "We're not losing air are we?"
"That's the emergency release valve to stabilize cabin pressure."
Right. Because the most merciful thing to do would to let them pass out before crashing into the ocean. No. He couldn't think like that. They were going to survive this. He'd see Grace again and Danny would have a chance to beat Steve senseless after the idiot pulled off some miracle.
Steve battled with the yoke while he turned on the radio. "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Commander Steve McGarrett. Aircraft Whiskey-Bravo-Seven-Seven-One-Three. My location is eight hundred nautical miles northwest of Honolulu at 25° 42'14"N by 171° 44'04"W. Request assistance. Over." He bit his bottom lip and stared at the silent receiver. "This is aircraft Whiskey-Bravo-Seven-Seven-One-Three. I'm caught inside a tropical storm. I need to make an emergency landing. I have one passenger aboard a Gulfstream G100. My listening radio frequency is 126.975 MHz. Over."
A blitz of static was the only reply.
A wave of anxiety swept through Danny, his heartbeat a staccato against his breastbone. "A tropical storm? Try storms, Steven. Massive, destructive storm systems stretching hundreds of miles."
"I'm well aware of that. I needed to be concise."
"Concise? Concise is -"
"I'm beginning our descent," Steve growled.
Danny couldn't see shit through the windshield with all the rain. "Where? I don't see any land."
"Radar, Danny."
"You're going to trust some little green dot?"
"That's how radar works. Don't worry. It's a small island, but it's all we've got."
"Have you landed a plane in the middle of a monsoon before?" Danny stared at Steve, at the fearlessness in his eyes.
Steve flicked his gaze at Danny. "Trust me."
Danny trusted Steve; he just didn't trust the plane.
They dropped in altitude and Danny's ears popped as the wind battered the plane around like a toy. Steve fought with the yolk, his face flushed, jaw clenched. Another alarm sounded. The plane bucked up and down, the fuselage groaning under the constant barrage.
Time crawled to a standstill. It felt like Danny was on a rollercoaster; all he could make out through the window was rain and jungle.
"Can we land on the beach?" he yelled, because there had to be a spot somewhere.
"Negative. Not enough room."
They circled around. God, they were so close Danny could see the treetops.
"Steve."
"I found a small clearing. Hold on."
Danny spotted a tiny swatch of brown snaking in and out of the rainforest. There was no way it could be big enough for a landing. But Steve had that dogged expression; he wasn't using any instruments, his eyes fixed on the windshield, using skills Danny often mocked in order to guide them down.
Danny might have held his breath and said a little prayer, but he kept his eyes open. Kept them open and took once last look at Steve before the world exploded with the sounds of tearing metal.
***
Danny heard a loud insistent noise and it took a second before he realized it was the sound of heavy rain pelting against the roof. He forced his eyes open and found himself still strapped to his seat in a totally dark cockpit. A flood of relief coursed through him, and he turned his head to find Steve staring at the windshield.
"Babe, you okay? Are you hurt?"
"No," Steve said, slightly breathless. He glanced over at Danny, trailing his eyes over him in concern. "What about you? Are you injured?"
"No, I'm good." Danny touched a sore spot at his temple, but there wasn't any swelling. "I might have hit my head, but I don't have a concussion."
Steve slid a hand into Danny's hair, caressing the side of his face. Danny went a step further, pulling Steve into a hug, rubbing the side of his face against Steve's stubbled cheek. "You are aware that most humans might kiss their significant others after a near-deadly crash? Just saying."
"It was a crash landing," Steve mumbled.
"Crash landing? Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware there was a difference."
"A crash is an uncontrolled occurrence."
Danny rubbed at his head. Maybe he was wrong about the concussion. "Are you're saying you were in control when our plane violently collided with the Earth?"
"It was a violent landing. But now we need to evaluate our situation."
"Our situation is that we're on some island in the middle of the ocean, during a monsoon. And -"
"I'm talking about evaluating things we're not currently aware of."
And with that, Steve stood up and walked out of the cockpit and into the cabin.
Danny followed, agitated. Only Steve could cause his internal pendulum to shift from exuberance to annoyance. He used the wall to navigate through the darkness where he found Steve struggling to open the cabin door to the outside.
"Do you think the governor will be upset that you just wrecked his million dollar plane?" Danny asked.
"Try ten."
If Danny's stomach wasn't already a mess, it was now.
Steve gave the latch a furious yank, rain spraying him in the face when the door flew open. "Come on."
There were no stairs leading down, so Steve leaped out the short distance to the ground. Danny jumped too, his feet sinking into mud all the way to his ankles. His shoes made disgusting slurping sounds when he pulled them out and Danny grimaced before he trudged through the muck to look around while Steve inspected the plane.
He resisted the urge to whistle. The area wasn't very big, maybe two hundred yards in length covered randomly with leafy shrubs that quickly morphed into the lush trees surrounding them. They were definitely in a lowland judging by the steady amount of water running down from the hills.
Damn, it was hot. Sweat prickled at his forehead despite the fact his clothes were already soaked from the weather. He pulled at his collar while swatting at the flies buzzing around his head.
"Front landing gear's twisted," Steve announced with a glower. "And the engines are filled with branches."
"Did you really think you'd be able to take off again?"
Steve shot him a huge scowl, which Danny ignored. He flicked rain out of his eyes and looked down at the ground again, noticing how the water had risen an inch higher on his khakis. Alarmed, he dug his fingers into the mud until they sank past his wrist. Not good.
"Hey, Steve. Did you notice the elevation of the rest of the island?"
"We came across the north side. Based on what little I saw, this is likely one of the lowest points." Steve walked over, his hair plastered against his skull, his black T-shirt glued to his body. It was slightly distracting. "It was the only place I could land."
"What about nearby rivers?" Danny asked.
"Yeah." Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearly picking up on Danny's concern. "Less than a quarter of a mile from here."
"We're in a really low-lying area," Danny said, doing a circle with his finger to indicate the clearing. "And the ground's been saturated by back-to-back storms for how long?"
"Over the last couple of weeks." Steve squinted at him through wet eyelashes. "You're thinking possible flashflood?"
Danny checked his pant leg again, noticing the higher water line. "Saw it plenty of times back home. It could take hours, or even less. But it's possible that the river could be overflowing its banks. And if the ground can't absorb any more water, and we continue to get several inches of rain an hour..."
Steve walked past Danny, surveying the mix of mud and water with intent. "I was going to designate the plane as our primary shelter, but we should probably gather all necessary supplies and find higher ground."
He climbed back inside the plane like a monkey, and Danny wondered how long it would take before they were reenacting every page out of the SEAL survival handbook.
***
"What do you have in your bag?" Steve asked, scrambling around the cabin. "Can you give me an inventory?"
Danny didn't even know where it was at the moment. Using the daylight spilling through the windows and door, he searched the overhead bins above the passenger seats. "Not much. Remember, this was supposed to be an overnight trip?"
Steve pulled out a flashlight from his backpack, which he found without much effort. "I've got a change of clothes. T-shirt, pants, boxers, socks. Toothbrush stuff. Razor, shaving cream, and gel that might come in handy."
"I don't think we have anything dissimilar," Danny said. He found his small nylon duffel and started rummaging through his stuff. He had his Heckler and Koch and an extra clip along with his badge. There was a T-shirt and shorts to change into at night, and a short-sleeved white button up with a pair of blue slacks. His cologne. He searched through the side pockets. "I have a couple books and my cell charger."
"Dump the books and the charger. You don't need the extra weight."
"You realize they're paperbacks, right?" But Danny didn't get a response.
Steve wrangled through storage compartments, pulling out five bottles of water and the food they'd picked up from Safeway for the trip. "We already ate the ham and cheese sandwiches, but we have the turkey wraps." He grabbed a small first aid kit and stuffed it inside his pack. "We should turn off our phones. They're useless until the storm blows over; once the weather clears, we'll turn them back on so that search and rescue can ping our GPS. I've got a Ziploc bag we can keep them in."
Danny handed Steve his cell so he could secure it. "I'm not an overpriced weatherman or anything, but I've been through a few storms and hurricanes in my time." He finished rearranging his stuff before looking up at Steve. "I think we're going to be stuck here a while."
"You have an ETA?"
"Do I have an ETA?" Danny couldn't believe his ears, but Steve frowned at him, obviously waiting for some exact time, accurate to the half hour. "No, I don't. Because as we just found out, storm systems are not a hundred percent predictable. As in, a million different things can cause them to slow down, or speed up, or alter trajectory."
"I don't have any expertise on hurricanes. Hawaii actually doesn't experience them very often. The water's too cool most of the time. So, I'm asking you -" Steve pointed his finger at Danny's chest. "The better expert. Do you have an estimate as to how long we might be facing tropical storm conditions?"
"At least the next four days. Probably more."
Steve moved closer, drops of sweat beading down the sides of his face. "Define more."
"Maybe five or six days. Possibly a week. The storm system that was supposed to head toward Japan before it changed directions?" The one that wasn't supposed to be in our flight path, he left unsaid. "It's probably a category one hurricane by now. And it's a slow moving bastard, won't reach landfall for another couple of days. Not to mention all the other activity popping up, like the microstorm that forced us to land in this beautiful paradise."
"And if hurricane picks up power from the other storms..."
"Then things are going to get very bad in the next day or two."
Steve seemed to take the information in stride, and if anything, he switched into higher gear. "See if you can find any blankets or sheets."
Danny didn't protest being barked orders; he expected certain aspects of Steve's personality to emerge in crisis-mode. Although, if Steve started to slip into too much military jargon, Danny reserved the right to smack him.
For a Gulfstream, the plane didn't have many amenities. Sure, the six leather seats were nice, and there was plenty of legroom, but it was small, and if he recalled the heated conversation between Denning and Steve regarding their improvised trip, the plane had been kind of commandeered. Other than fueling her up, he didn't think the galley or anything else had been resupplied for their little jaunt.
"I found one measly blanket," Danny said, folding his discovery and stuffing it in his duffel. "What about you?"
"Another flashlight," he said, handing it to Danny. "And this." Steve held up a glass coffee pot.
Danny couldn't help the grin across his face. "Now that's my type of survival equipment."
"It's for boiling water." Steve shook his head and packed the item before scanning under the first passenger seat with his flashlight. He yanked out a large plastic yellow bundle the size of a large suitcase and contemplated it. "We've got an eight-man life raft. With the storm, the river will be too rough to use it."
"Not to mention it'd be a monstrosity to carry," Danny added.
Steve stared at the bundle with a rare expression of indecision before shoving it aside. "Have you seen an ax? There wasn't one in the flight deck compartment."
"That's all we need," Danny mumbled while packing his flashlight, "to turn this from a disaster movie to a horror film."
The plane rocked from a powerful gust of wind, and Danny nearly fell into one of the passenger seats. Steve braced himself using an overhead bin.
"We need to prep ourselves before heading out," Steve said, strapping a knife holster around his thigh and securing a six-inch blade. "Are those the only shoes you have?"
Danny looked down at his mud encrusted dress shoes. "Yeah."
Steve frowned at him. "Put on a second pair of socks and make sure the laces aren't too tight. You can't afford any open blisters."
Steve was deadly serious; he looked at Danny as if willing a pair of hiking boots to appear.
"Okay." Danny started untying his laces without complaint. "These are comfort fits by the way, so they have great orthopedic support."
“Also strip out of your boxers."
When Danny glanced up, he found Steve shucking out of his cargo pants. "Excuse me?"
"We're going to get drenched out there." Steve yanked off his briefs and put back on his pants in quick efficiency. "Underwear dries slower than regular clothes and it'll chafe."
"This isn't exactly how I pictured us taking off our clothes on the plane." Danny quickly changed, slipping his legs back into his slacks and doubling up on his socks. He started to retie his laces when he saw Steve standing next to him with a roll of duct tape. "And what the hell do you plan on doing with that?"
"Rainforests contain billions of insects. Extra humidity makes them crazy." Steve unrolled a long strip. "If you can't tuck in your pants into anything, then you need to tuck them into your socks and tape them together."
All of Danny's skin prickled with the phantom feeling of thousands of tiny legs, and he wiggled uncontrollably in his clothes. He quickly shoved his slacks into his socks and grumbled, "I look like a complete dork."
Steve rolled his eyes and taped Danny's socks around his slacks before he could do it himself. "The fact you're wearing a long sleeved shirt is a good thing for once."
Danny trained his eyes over Steve's tanned, inked arms and his T-shirt. "What about you?"
Steve started tucking his cargo-pants into his Timberlands and looked up at him with a smile. "I'll use nature. But first, we need one last item."
***
When Danny exited the plane, the water level almost reached his knees. Rain beat down on him, soaking his hair and dripping down his face. He watched in confusion as Steve hopped out beside him, carrying a hammer and a wrench, and went toward one of the engines.
"Um. Steven? What the hell are you doing?" Danny had no clue where the tools came from.
Steve obviously couldn't hear his question as he started screwing around inside the engine. Danny gazed up at the sky filled with thick gray clouds, wondering how the hell they were going to get out of this.
After a few more minutes of banging around, Steve ambled over with parts of a plane propeller in his hand. Danny stared in muted exasperation; the goof looked ten shades of excited.
"The engines are made with twenty-two fan blades," Steve said with a gleeful expression.
"No one should look that excited about two-foot long pieces of steel with sharp edges. Are there zombies here that I'm not aware of?" Danny asked.
"No, but we won't make it ten feet without a couple of machetes."
Steve took what looked like strips of leather upholstery from one of the airplane seats, and with some duct tape, he wrapped two makeshift handles around both pieces of metal. Grinning like a loon, he slashed each of them in the air a few times and, seemingly satisfied with the results, stuck them into the ground.
"If you're done fantasizing about slaying dragons, could we please go?" Danny asked, staring at the rising water level.
"Hold on." Steve knelt down, scooped up several giant handfuls of mud, and vigorously applied them up and down his arms. "Without bug-spray, this is the only way to protect our skin from insects. You'll need to spread this all over your face and neck or you'll get eaten alive."
"Wouldn't it be easier just to roll around like a couple of swine?" Danny asked even as he squatted. "Won't this just wash away after a few minutes?"
"We'll keep reapplying it." Steve pasted mud all over his cheeks, across his forehead, over his ears. "This is important. Insect bites can kill you out here. Infections are rampant in these conditions. I've seen a member of one of my SEAL teams go down because of an untreated bee sting."
Danny reluctantly rubbed mud across every inch of exposed skin, down his throat, getting it in his hair, sucking in his lips as he spread the muck over his mouth. "God, this is, this is..." He spat out a leaf and glared at Steve with the fury of a thousand suns.
But Steve was too busy covering himself up with dirt, looking all Soldier of Fortune, like he was ready to invade the island. The soaked black tee and cargo pants left little to the imagination, and he had that whole pumped on adrenaline air about him.
God, it really was a hot look. Danny swallowed. Fuck the universe and its sick sense of humor with inappropriate timing.
Steve marched over, handsy as a motherfucker. He inspected Danny's work, forcing him to turn around, mumbling about missed spots.
Steve rubbed more mud down the back of Danny's neck, a fierce intensity radiating off his body. "We're going to get bitten a lot. As long as you don't scratch -"
Danny turned around until he faced Steve McGarrett, Danger Magnet. "Mountain cliffs; dinghies in the middle of the ocean; nightmare camping trips. You had to add rainforest adventure to the list, didn't you?"
He really hated Steve's stupid smile.
***
The jungle was a noisy wall of sound. Bird caws, chirps, and tiny squeaks. It was unnerving, which was stupid, because Danny had been in rainforests before, dozens of them, yet this was different, louder. There were rubbings, warbles, clicks, knocks, rattles, peeping, and popping sounds. It was overwhelming at times.
He'd threaded his arms through the straps to his duffel so they hung around his shoulders like a backpack, the contents digging into the small of his back. But he ignored it, slashing at vines and leaves that stubbornly didn't fall away and die like they were supposed to.
"So, what's the plan?" Danny asked, forced to walk slightly behind Steve, who hacked a path with every swing of his machete. "Or are we just walking aimlessly around?"
"We need to...find a place for tonight. Get some rest and plan in the morning."
"That's it? Your big strategy is to wake up tomorrow and think of something?"
"It's called finding a temporary shelter to give ourselves a chance to recover so we can make the best decision."
"But we're headed toward the leeward side of the island?" Steve shot Danny a surprised expression and Danny glared back. "What? This is one of those very rare instances, like the blue moon kind, in which your inane use of naval terms and those of us who live in the real world actually cross."
"As I was saying," Steve said, huffy, "we'll find somewhere to bunk for the night, but in the meantime - yeah, we're heading for highest point of the island."
"Because we had the very bad luck of landing on the windward side?"
Steve took a deep breath and released it. "Yeah."
Danny chewed on his lip. While Steve's experience with wind direction had to do with ships, Danny's experience was rooted as a first responder's during bad storms. He'd taken a meteorologist course to help with understanding of hurricanes. In his world, windward meant the prevailing wind, or the side that got hit with the worst precipitation.
Which meant higher elevation, or any hope of finding any real shelter, like caves or a ridge, was located on the opposite side of the island. In the meantime, they'd be exposed to the heaviest rain and wind.
Danny didn't have the energy to complain about their bad luck again; the humidity seemed to suck the very life out of him. He wiped at his sticky forehead, swatted at the mosquitoes that seemed to be everywhere, and then slapped at something tickling his elbow.
"We've investigated how many cases in jungles? Why is this one so damn annoying?"
"Different topography and climate. But even the islands with little to no population receive enough traffic from the locals or adventure-seeking tourists to leave trails and have an impact on the environment."
"Guess...it would have been...too much to ask to crash on...an inhabited island?" Danny asked.
"Crash landed," Steve corrected.
***
His face felt like a furnace and Danny held up his head to the rain. Water trickled down his cheeks and neck, tepid and wet, but not giving him any real relief. His skin was smeared with mud and sweat and it itched liked crazy. He'd give anything to be doused with a bucket of ice water.
A fly landed on his head and he tried batting it away, only to crush it, smearing its remains in his hair. "Damn it!"
"Come on," Steve said, grabbing Danny's elbow and guiding him under a tree. "Drink some water."
Danny leaned against the tree, listening to the rain pelt through the layers of leaves above. He took several large gulps and felt guilty when he realized the bottle was half-empty.
"You know, we don't have to stop every half hour to rest on my account," he told Steve.
"I'm keeping to a reasonable pace without overdoing it." Steve sipped on his own water, flushed cheeks peeking out between streaks of mud. "Keeping the body healthy is the key to surviving in this type of environment."
Danny nodded and sat with his eyes closed as a mini-waterfall dripped over him from the lush canopy above.
***
He was sick of being wet. Of his legs sinking into standing water, and swatting at things trying to snack on his face and crawl under his shirt. But Danny was really sick of hacking at vines with flowers and having thorns slap him in the face.
His hands hurt where he gripped his machete and his shoulders ached from swinging it. He was no gym monkey, and he certainly didn't prescribe to Steve's need to swim and run marathons on a daily basis, but Danny was in good shape. He took pride in his body, worked out, and ate right despite what Captain America thought.
And when Steve's foot slipped out from under him, Danny grabbed him by the backpack to keep him from face-planting. "Whoa," he yelled, hauling Steve up and trying not to fall as the result.
Steve did a good impression of a cartoon character, pinwheeling his arms, machete and all, until he regained his balance. "Thanks."
"Maybe we should take another break?" Danny offered. Steve frowned, obviously wanting to go on, but Danny made the decision for them. "That looks like a great spot over there."
He took refuge by another tree, sighing when his ass sank into the unyielding ground. God, he never realized how much his feet hurt until he wasn't standing anymore. "How far do you think we've gone?"
"A quarter of a mile," Steve said, sitting next to Danny. "Maybe more."
"That's it?"
Steve flexed his right hand. "We're making good progress. Chopping a path through the rain forest expends a lot of energy. It's slow going."
"You know, this looks like a nice sturdy tree, we could -"
"I want to try to make it to a little higher elevation first." Steve gave Danny a hard look, running a hand through his hair until it stuck up in all directions. "Look. We're on a steady incline, but our progress's going to slow to a crawl over time. If we're going to make any real headway, it needs to be today."
Danny didn't want to budge; he was waterlogged to his bones and sapped of energy. But he knew storms, knew things would get even nastier, and he recognized the edge to Steve's voice; the combination was foreboding.
***
The undergrowth thickened with roots and dense foliage, forcing Danny to hack low while Steve chopped high. It was like the jungle had swallowed them whole, the canopy above a thick dome of lush greens that nearly blocked out the sun, trapping the humidity.
"I think this is a good spot," Steve called out. He scanned the ground, nodding to himself. "The soil's wet, but not oversaturated, and I don't see signs of animal trails."
"What animal trails?" Danny asked, unloading his temporary backpack.
"Wild Boar." Steve surveyed the area, resting his hands on his knees with a damned glint in his eyes. "Come on, I found the perfect set of trees."
Danny glared at Steve and his gung-ho attitude and his ability to exude a renewed sense of energy when Danny was running on fumes. He could barely move his feet without pain because of his inadequate shoes.
"Do you think you could collect a pile of tall branches to create a roof with?" Steve asked. "Ones with the most palm leaves."
It was a rhetorical question since Steve began attacking bamboo with the machete, cutting down pieces two meters in length. On any other day, Danny would stand there and ogle all that play of muscle, imagining how he'd peel off those wet cargo pants, but reality forced him to abandon such pleasurable thoughts.
Dragging his aching feet, he started breaking off branches.
"By the way," Steve yelled over his shoulder. "Be sure to check where you're walking for ant nests and snakes. Oh, and scorpions."
Danny threw a tropical pinecone at Steve's head.
***
Danny returned with a variety of branch sizes just in case Steve had specific dimensions in mind; he didn't put it past him to have a tape measure hidden in his backpack. He dumped his load as Steve looked over at him in exuberance.
"Hey." Steve waved Danny over, a grin plastered across his face. "I think these are perfect," he said, pointing at a couple trees a few feet apart.
There were several thick branches growing at waist level, but two of them jutted out like a giant V, their ends resting on the third branch from the opposite tree. Together they formed a natural triangle large enough to accommodate both of them.
"Help me tie these vines at the junction points," Steve said, tossing Danny a bunch of plants.
Danny wrapped the vines several times where the branches met perpendicularly, tugging to ensure they wouldn't move. "Okay, I see what we're doing. We're going to take the bamboo beams you cut and place them horizontally across the bed frame to make a platform."
Steve grabbed a stack and began laying them down. "Then we'll cover the top with broad leaves and grass."
"Huh, I didn't think Navy SEALs required soft things to sleep on," Danny said with a smirk, helping Steve with the bamboo. "Sounds like it'd ruin your reputations. Are we going to hunt birds next so we can fashion some pillows with their feathers?"
But Steve didn't rise to Danny's barb, his attention fully focused on inspecting their work. "I'm pretty sure this island is under some type of environment protection. Killing the indigenous life would be illegal."
"Seriously?" Danny asked with a snort. "You think this entire island is under the protection of PETA or Greenpeace?"
"Maybe. Or an eccentric billionaire, or a privately funded group. It could explain why an island of this size is uninhabited." Steve unsheathed his knife and pointed at row of bamboo. "Now if you could hurry and fluff up the bed with some leaves, you could help make a lean-to ceiling to protect us from the rain."
***
Steve carried over a very long branch that was eight feet in length. "Before we construct the roof, we need to set up a high support beam."
"Like tying a wooden clothesline between each tree," Danny said. It made sense that their lean-to roof actually had something, to well, lean against.
Together they secured the support beam between both two trees, tying the ends of the limb down in the notch of each branch. They took all the biggest branches and leaned them across the beam at a forty-degree angle, creating the lean-to.
Danny allowed himself a smile despite feeling like he'd rolled around inside a sewer. His clothes stuck to his skin, and he shook his head like a dog to clear the water out of his ears.
"Hey," Steve complained when some of water splashed on his face. "Quit that and hand me the blanket you grabbed from the plane."
Danny pulled out the light blue cottony material, resisting the urge to wrap it around his shoulders. "This is a waste of a perfectly soft, dry blanket."
"And its sacrifice to keep the rain out will be duly noted."
Steve held out his palm expectantly and Danny stared at it in exasperation.
"I know you're in your element out here, probably even enjoying yourself because that is the type of sick human being that you are. And while I concede that following your directions is the key to me seeing dry land again, that doesn't mean that I have to put up with your Sergeant Slaughter attitude. I am not your grunt. I am however, hot, filthy, and really, really wet," he snapped.
"Not to point out the obvious, but we are on dry land; it just happens to be raining right now," Steve said equally grumpy. "But we'll continue to be in a constant state of wet if you don't hand me that blanket. So please, weave it across the lean-to while I tie it in place."
Danny sighed and helped spread the blanket, weaving in and out of the branches, the rain running down the side as they tied saplings across to keep it together.
The shelter was actually impressive for something they'd built in less than an hour. It had a platform to sleep above the muddy ground and a slanted ceiling to cover them.
"What do you want me to next?" Danny asked.
"Take my pocket knife and see if you can find some dry wood to help make a fire. Let me know if you need any help," Steve added preoccupied.
Danny walked behind Steve and stuck a hand into his front pocket, fingers brushing against him through the inner fabric, before grabbing the knife. He smiled when Steve made a choked sound.
"I know how to find dry wood in the rain. I went on four Aloha Girl field trips before our nightmare outing. I could earn a badge," Danny whispered in Steve's ear.
Clutching the pocketknife, Danny smirked devilishly, ignoring the glare that he knew Steve was sending in his direction.
***
Danny found a downed tree and enough dryish wood underneath it to carry back over to the shelter. Of course, he found Steve up another tree, perched on a branch, surveying the jungle.
"What the hell are you doing? I swear to god, Steve. If you fall and break your leg, I'm not carrying you around."
"I wanted to see if I could spot anything useful. And I'm not going to fall," Steve said as if the mere suggestion were ludicrous. Skimming down to the ground, he gestured at a large pile of stones. "I already made a place for the fire."
"Why not build a fort while you're at it? Maybe a car made out of wood. We could drive our way out of here."
Danny was immune to the McGarrett glare of annoyance, and he plopped tiredly down on the ground, pulling out his pocketknife. Steve sat across from him and picked up the first piece of wood, from which he started scraping the outer layer with his blade.
"Did you find any fungus or termites?" Steve asked.
"Let me think about that. No, of course not. Why would I?"
"They make good tinder," Steve mumbled.
Danny wanted to tell Steve what he really thought about good tinder, but he bit his lip while Steve crushed leaves over the kindling.
Pulling a lighter out of one of his many pockets, Steve flicked it several times and held the flame out until the leaves slowly started to smoke. "There we go," he said with a big dopey smile.
And that was Steve in a nutshell: Easily giddy while in the shadow of disaster. It was as irritating as it was enduring.
Steve sat under the tree and began taking off his boots and socks, running fingers over his feet and in between his toes. He looked up at Danny and gestured at his shoes. "You need to check for ticks and leeches. But if you find any, don't touch them. We'll have to burn them off." Danny didn't even have the capacity to express the expletives whirling in his brain as Steve continued undaunted. "I stretched out a vine to dry our wet clothes by the fire while we change into dry ones. We'll rotate our clothes to keep illness at bay."
Danny hadn't even noticed the stupid vine with all the talk of bloodsucking insects. "Only you could act domestic while we're stranded in the middle of the Pacific."
But he stopped complaining when Steve undid his belt and slipped out of his cargo pants. Even after three years, Steve spontaneously undressing still sent a tingle down Danny's spine. He forced his eyes away and focused on removing his own shirt, surprised at the number of bites all over his torso. His skin started to itch.
"Could you see if there's anything in the first aid kit for these bites?"
Steve dug through his pack, grabbed and looked through the kit. "It doesn't look like this has been stocked in a while. There's nothing in here that'll help. I'm sorry," he frowned. "Just try not to think about them."
"There are pink, inflamed areas the size of quarters all over my chest. Not thinking about them won't make them go away," Danny snapped.
He craned his neck to look at his back, suddenly feeling the bites he discovered across his shoulders. The itching sensation worsened.
Steve moved closer, reeking like a musty basement, and pressed a fresh set of clothes into Danny's hands. "Just change quickly."
Danny wrapped his hands over Steve's, his anger deflating, and gave him a small, grateful smile.
He put on his shirt and shoved his legs into his slacks, eyes skittering over Steve's arms, at the dozens of bites now visible without the mud. Steve only had a tee to change into, his forearms even less protected than Danny with his longer sleeves. He stared helplessly, trying to think of anything that could ease the discomfort.
But Steve proved that he had radar attuned to Danny's stress, because he looked over and gave him a short nod, broadcasting a soul-deep confidence in things. It reminded Danny that Steve had probably survived a dozen different hellholes, and in the last couple years, they'd both faced life and death situations together and won.
They could face some rain and bugs.
"Come on." Steve wrapped an arm around Danny's shoulder. "Let's eat something and get some rest."
***
Leaves and moss did little to cushion bamboo, but Danny didn't care. He was off his feet, in fresh socks, and under a ceiling that kept the rain from his face. With his stomach full from a turkey wrap, he almost fell asleep. Except for the fact that Steve was immune from any type of tryptophan coma.
"Will you please just come over here and sit down? You're like one of those spider monkeys who can't sit still."
"We're almost out of water."
"It's pouring. How long could it take to fill up our bottles?"
The tree shook as Steve crawled under the lean-to and sat cross-legged. Danny lay on his back, stared at the blue blanket slanted over him, and rubbed at his eyes burning from the fire. He looked over at Steve, who sat hunched over, arms on his knees but looking completely at ease.
"You've slept in a lot of trees over the years, huh?" Danny asked. Steve shrugged. "It'd explain where you learned some of your most charming manners."
"Manners won't get you breakfast in the morning."
"No. But manners might get you a softer pillow than some annoying leaves."
"Oh, yeah?" Steve scooted over, curling his lanky body onto his side and resting his head on Danny's shoulder. He sighed, contented. "Much better than leaves."
Danny humphed. "You are one sweaty SEAL, you know that?"
"You like it when I'm sweaty."
"I like it when you are freshly showered. With soap and shampoo."
Steve's head grew heavy as he snuggled closer, the rest of his dirt-streaked body going lax as Danny ran his fingers through his short hair. Despite the miserable, sticky conditions, he smiled at the fact that Steve had fallen asleep first.
***
Something wet splashed against Danny's cheek and he sat up and discovered his reason for waking up. Part of the slanted roof had fallen apart and rain poured in where Steve should have been sleeping. But the goof wasn't there.
Danny crawled out of the shelter and into pure humidity. It was ten times worse than any sweltering day back in Jersey. He looked down where the fire had washed away during the night, then toward his sock-covered feet. But the clothes they'd hung to dry were not on the vine anymore and he debated if he should search for Steve when the devil came marching over.
"Where the hell have you been?" Danny growled.
Steve had the audacity to look like a confused drowned rat. "I went to find food."
"Really? Where'd you go? The IHOP?" Danny pointed accusingly at the vine. "And did you notice that our clothes have disappeared?"
"I put them in my backpack to keep them dry."
Steve was all bright-eyed despite being completely soaked again, his hair plastered to his forehead. He unloaded his backpack. "I found some guava."
"They look like fat limes." Danny took some of the fruit and dug his nails into the green skin, biting into the pink inside. He grimaced at the sourness. "And taste like really bad grapes."
Steve sucked the juice running down his fingers. "Eat up. We have a long day ahead."
"I'd rather have pancakes."
"Well, I did grab some hibiscus shoots. But I figure you'd prefer the fruit."
Danny munched on a dozen guavas until his lips puckered-up. Steve wolfed down his portion before he started to dismantle the shelter. It was annoying that they were going to have to rebuild the thing all over again later today.
He dug his clothes from yesterday out of Steve's backpack and sat under the tree and started to switch out his socks. He checked his shoes for surprises, dumping them upside down and shaking them before he stuffed his sore feet inside.
While buttoning up shirt, his nostrils flared from an overwhelming acrid odor. "Why do my clothes smell like a luau?"
"Probably from the fire last night. Burning wet wood can stink."
"Awesome. I'm sure smelling like a tasty barbeque won't attract any hungry beasts."
Steve shouldered his backpack and grabbed both machetes, handing one to Danny. "It's not the beasts we need to worry about."
***
The rain hammered down through the trees, knocking down leaves, large drops splattering all over his face. The temperature might have dropped a few degrees, but the humidity had to be at a hundred percent. Danny alternated between wiping rain away from his head and swatting at the growing number of flies. The buzzing was driving him crazy.
And the disgusting smell...
"What the hell stinks of rotting meat?"
"Rafflesia."
"Raffa-what?"
"Parasitic flowering plants." Steve turned around, his chest heaving from walking. "You're about to step on one."
Danny quickly sidestepped an ugly red flower the size of a small bush. "Those petals are bigger than my hands."
"They're called corpse flowers. The odor attracts the flies."
"That's something I could have lived without knowing. And I swear, Steven, I better not hear how those hideous things are edible. Because I'll eat my shoes before I eat corpse flowers for lunch."
Steve, the asshole, smirked at him.
***
Treetops bent, pitted against the gale, the increased wind driving the rain faster than before. Danny stank of sweat; his feet felt like raw hamburger. Even breathing took extra effort.
He didn't protest when Steve physically shoved him under a tree. "I'll be right back." Then he vanished before Danny could ask him where he was going.
The creepiest part of being stranded in the jungle was the darkness. It felt foreboding, amplifying the beating rain, the bird caws, and the constant chittering sounds of insects. If he closed his eyes, the noise reached a crescendo, so he sat there like a useless lump, staring out at all the shades of orange, yellow, and green.
Steve returned and sat next to him, looking ragged around the edges, legs sprawled out in front of him, head resting back against the tree. "Here. Eat this. It's breadfruit."
Danny looked at the yellowish melon things, mouth twitching. "Aren't we supposed to cook them first?" Steve raised an eyebrow. "I told you. Four Aloha Girl trips before our memorable disaster."
"They do taste better cooked."
Yeah. If either of them had the energy. "Thanks," Danny said. "I promise I'll forage for our dinner."
"We're not in a competition."
"No, it's called being fair."
Steve didn't say anything; he just sat and ate, his shoulder touching Danny's. Tearing open the fruit, Danny didn't even complain that they tasted like figs, a food he despised.
He gulped down an entire water bottle in less than a minute and Steve silently handed him another one.
***
Danny couldn't see anything past the mosquitoes swarming his face; the damned things had tripled in the last half hour. He would have given anything to jump into a giant pool of chamomile.
"We need to something about all these little bastards gnawing on us before they have a field day." Danny stopped and started digging through his pack. "I still have an extra T-shirt," he said, waving it around.
Steve slapped at a mosquito flying around his ear, but three more circled around the sweat beading at his forehead. "We'll make a couple of bandanas." He grabbed the tee, and using his knife, made quick work of it. "I should have thought of using it earlier."
"We didn't walk into a pestilence from some horror movie until a few minutes ago." Danny grabbed Steve's wrist, rubbing his thumb over his pulse point. "It could be any number of things causing them to swarm now. Like you said, babe. The humidity makes them crazy."
Steve sighed like he did when he didn't want to relent to logic, tying part of the white T-shirt around his mouth and nose. He looked ridiculous, but Danny didn't dare mock him since he had to wrap the other part of the tee around his own face.
***
Long sleeves sucked. They suffocated him along with the damn shirt over his face; the bandana helped keep the bugs at bay, but only made things hotter. When a branch smacked Danny in the face, it took several seconds before he realized he'd walked right into it.
Steve took the machete from Danny's sore, aching fingers. "I've got it," he said with a hand to his shoulder. "Why don't you sit down?"
"No." Danny panted under the swatch of fabric. "We need to keep going."
"You need to rest."
His feet never hurt as much as they did now. And it made Danny feel like an asshole, unable to move another inch, a pain seizing his calves. "We've been stopping almost every hour."
"And we'll keep stopping."
"We're in race against the storm. If we don't make it -"
"We'll make it - we always have," Steve said, his expression determined.
***
Danny was hot, like, rip his skin off hot. He couldn't carry his machete and was forced to hand it over to Steve while his head pounded with every sluggish step. All Danny could do was follow behind Steve, who hacked his way through the jungle as if it had personally offended him.
"Okay," Steve said, breathing heavily. "I want you to take this branch and start stripping the leaves."
Danny blinked, looking around where he currently sat on the ground. When did that happen? He stared at the branch in his hand, at the wet stems and leaves, at the droplets of water rolling onto his lap. He felt sick to his stomach, and he swallowed, his mouth dry and cottony.
“Steve...I'm not sure...”
“Don't worry about it. Come on, Danno.”
Danny felt his arm move without his permission as Steve draped it over his shoulder and lifted Danny to his feet.
"Just a few steps, you're doing great," Steve said.
Danny was walking, then stumbling, his center of gravity changing before he was lying down on his back. The air was less stifling, although still very damp. He slumped against something, felt hands touch his face, fingers running through his hair. He felt the tape around his ankles get cut away and his shoes were removed. Then his belt was loosened along with the buttons and zipper to his pants.
"You need this," Steve told him.
Something plastic was pressed to his lips and he drank greedily until the fuzziness in his head abated a little. He glanced over at the slanted blue blanket, felt the bamboo under his ass. When had Steve built a new shelter? How long had he been out of it?
He licked tingly lips. "What's wrong with me?"
Steve dropped his gaze, his features pinched in worry. "Heat exhaustion."
"Heat exhaustion?" Danny shook his head. No fucking way. "We've only been here for two days. I've been drinking fluids like every hour. We've taken rest breaks. I don't -"
"It's the humidity."
"Babe. I grew up in Jersey; I've lived on an island for three years."
"But not at this level of humidity. You're sweating like crazy and it can't evaporate and cool you off like normal. Your body's getting depleted of water and salt." Steve gripped Danny's shoulder, sporting one of his crazy, stubborn expressions. "But I'm going to take care of that."
Danny curled his fingers into Steve's T-shirt, because like hell was he going to allow him to do something stupid and reckless on his behalf. "What do you mean? What are you going to do?"
"Don't worry. Just lie down for a while. I'm leaving you two more bottles of water." Steve grabbed his pack, efficiently checking everything inside, completely in mission mode. "Drink both of them while I'm gone."
"Don't give me that, Steve. I don't know what you think you're going to -"
"I'm going to get you some help. I'm trained to handle these conditions."
"Yeah. Back in your SEAL days."
"I still have to stay fit in the Reserves." Steve glanced up undeterred. "I'll be fine." Before Danny could protest, Steve squeezed his shoulder again. "We have to get to higher ground. Together."
Steve wrapped his arms around Danny's back and pulled him close, kissing the side of his face. "Promise you'll stay put?"
Danny leaned into Steve, digging his fingers into his sweaty shirt. "Don't be gone long and I will."
***
The muscle cramps in his legs increased and Danny fruitlessly tried massaging them. But a heavy lethargy pinned him into a half-curl on his side, forcing him to listen to the pattering rain. He felt like a total dick for being sidelined. Heat exhaustion? What the ever-loving fuck?
He crushed the empty water bottle in his hand, then quickly smoothed it out. They needed every container they had. He tried steadying his breathing and relaxing his body in hope of aiding in his recovery. But keeping still wasn't his thing. Except maybe back home on his sofa with a cold beer and a football game on TV. His thoughts drifted to Grace, and a flare of panic seized his heart.
He was going to see her again, hug her tight, and laugh at all her stories from school. Somewhere with air conditioning and under a real roof with Steve driving him crazy.
He shifted onto his elbow, listening past the barrage of rain for signs of the idiot. It'd been at least an hour with no sign of Steve, no sign of anything except the relentless storm. He'd noticed the increased wind gusts, the way the rain started to slant in one direction. The storm was picking up in intensity; the hurricane could be a day or less from landfall.
The echo of distant gunshots made his heart race. What the hell was that? He crawled onto the edge of the wooden frame, shoving the blanket aside, squinting against the outside. Swallowing down bile, Danny gripped the edge as he almost tipped over from a wave of dizziness.
"Goddamn it, Steve," he hissed through his teeth.
He flopped back down onto his back and cursed Steve some more, trying hard not to worry.
***
Part Two
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Word Count: 22k
Rating: R
Summary: Danny turned around until he faced Steve McGarrett, Danger Magnet. "Mountain cliffs; dinghies in the middle of the ocean; nightmare camping trips. You had to add a rainforest adventure during a monsoon to the list, didn't you?"
Author's Notes:
Much love to my wonderful betas! Thank you to esteefee and mischief5 for all your help and support. You guys rock.
Big hugs to my first readers tridget and powrhug for their cheer-leading!
***
The plane shuddered against vicious turbulence and Danny dug his fingers into the armrests, his nails denting the leather. Two different alarms blared in his ears and he watched in horror as most of the lights on the instrument panels flashed red.
"This is a terrible idea, Steven!" Danny yelled over his headset.
"Not much of a choice." Steve's arms strained with the flight controls. "We've got to land or we'll be torn apart by wind shear," he said into the comm.
Danny was almost thrown out of his seat by the next giant air bump, saved only by his harness. Sweat poured down his back and soaked his armpits; a tiny whistle-whining sound caused his heart to pound.
"What's that noise?" he yelled.
"Can you be more specific?" Steve asked between gritted teeth.
"That annoying noise like we're losing air." Danny's eyes darted nervously around the cockpit. "We're not losing air are we?"
"That's the emergency release valve to stabilize cabin pressure."
Right. Because the most merciful thing to do would to let them pass out before crashing into the ocean. No. He couldn't think like that. They were going to survive this. He'd see Grace again and Danny would have a chance to beat Steve senseless after the idiot pulled off some miracle.
Steve battled with the yoke while he turned on the radio. "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Commander Steve McGarrett. Aircraft Whiskey-Bravo-Seven-Seven-One-Three. My location is eight hundred nautical miles northwest of Honolulu at 25° 42'14"N by 171° 44'04"W. Request assistance. Over." He bit his bottom lip and stared at the silent receiver. "This is aircraft Whiskey-Bravo-Seven-Seven-One-Three. I'm caught inside a tropical storm. I need to make an emergency landing. I have one passenger aboard a Gulfstream G100. My listening radio frequency is 126.975 MHz. Over."
A blitz of static was the only reply.
A wave of anxiety swept through Danny, his heartbeat a staccato against his breastbone. "A tropical storm? Try storms, Steven. Massive, destructive storm systems stretching hundreds of miles."
"I'm well aware of that. I needed to be concise."
"Concise? Concise is -"
"I'm beginning our descent," Steve growled.
Danny couldn't see shit through the windshield with all the rain. "Where? I don't see any land."
"Radar, Danny."
"You're going to trust some little green dot?"
"That's how radar works. Don't worry. It's a small island, but it's all we've got."
"Have you landed a plane in the middle of a monsoon before?" Danny stared at Steve, at the fearlessness in his eyes.
Steve flicked his gaze at Danny. "Trust me."
Danny trusted Steve; he just didn't trust the plane.
They dropped in altitude and Danny's ears popped as the wind battered the plane around like a toy. Steve fought with the yolk, his face flushed, jaw clenched. Another alarm sounded. The plane bucked up and down, the fuselage groaning under the constant barrage.
Time crawled to a standstill. It felt like Danny was on a rollercoaster; all he could make out through the window was rain and jungle.
"Can we land on the beach?" he yelled, because there had to be a spot somewhere.
"Negative. Not enough room."
They circled around. God, they were so close Danny could see the treetops.
"Steve."
"I found a small clearing. Hold on."
Danny spotted a tiny swatch of brown snaking in and out of the rainforest. There was no way it could be big enough for a landing. But Steve had that dogged expression; he wasn't using any instruments, his eyes fixed on the windshield, using skills Danny often mocked in order to guide them down.
Danny might have held his breath and said a little prayer, but he kept his eyes open. Kept them open and took once last look at Steve before the world exploded with the sounds of tearing metal.
***
Danny heard a loud insistent noise and it took a second before he realized it was the sound of heavy rain pelting against the roof. He forced his eyes open and found himself still strapped to his seat in a totally dark cockpit. A flood of relief coursed through him, and he turned his head to find Steve staring at the windshield.
"Babe, you okay? Are you hurt?"
"No," Steve said, slightly breathless. He glanced over at Danny, trailing his eyes over him in concern. "What about you? Are you injured?"
"No, I'm good." Danny touched a sore spot at his temple, but there wasn't any swelling. "I might have hit my head, but I don't have a concussion."
Steve slid a hand into Danny's hair, caressing the side of his face. Danny went a step further, pulling Steve into a hug, rubbing the side of his face against Steve's stubbled cheek. "You are aware that most humans might kiss their significant others after a near-deadly crash? Just saying."
"It was a crash landing," Steve mumbled.
"Crash landing? Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware there was a difference."
"A crash is an uncontrolled occurrence."
Danny rubbed at his head. Maybe he was wrong about the concussion. "Are you're saying you were in control when our plane violently collided with the Earth?"
"It was a violent landing. But now we need to evaluate our situation."
"Our situation is that we're on some island in the middle of the ocean, during a monsoon. And -"
"I'm talking about evaluating things we're not currently aware of."
And with that, Steve stood up and walked out of the cockpit and into the cabin.
Danny followed, agitated. Only Steve could cause his internal pendulum to shift from exuberance to annoyance. He used the wall to navigate through the darkness where he found Steve struggling to open the cabin door to the outside.
"Do you think the governor will be upset that you just wrecked his million dollar plane?" Danny asked.
"Try ten."
If Danny's stomach wasn't already a mess, it was now.
Steve gave the latch a furious yank, rain spraying him in the face when the door flew open. "Come on."
There were no stairs leading down, so Steve leaped out the short distance to the ground. Danny jumped too, his feet sinking into mud all the way to his ankles. His shoes made disgusting slurping sounds when he pulled them out and Danny grimaced before he trudged through the muck to look around while Steve inspected the plane.
He resisted the urge to whistle. The area wasn't very big, maybe two hundred yards in length covered randomly with leafy shrubs that quickly morphed into the lush trees surrounding them. They were definitely in a lowland judging by the steady amount of water running down from the hills.
Damn, it was hot. Sweat prickled at his forehead despite the fact his clothes were already soaked from the weather. He pulled at his collar while swatting at the flies buzzing around his head.
"Front landing gear's twisted," Steve announced with a glower. "And the engines are filled with branches."
"Did you really think you'd be able to take off again?"
Steve shot him a huge scowl, which Danny ignored. He flicked rain out of his eyes and looked down at the ground again, noticing how the water had risen an inch higher on his khakis. Alarmed, he dug his fingers into the mud until they sank past his wrist. Not good.
"Hey, Steve. Did you notice the elevation of the rest of the island?"
"We came across the north side. Based on what little I saw, this is likely one of the lowest points." Steve walked over, his hair plastered against his skull, his black T-shirt glued to his body. It was slightly distracting. "It was the only place I could land."
"What about nearby rivers?" Danny asked.
"Yeah." Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest, clearly picking up on Danny's concern. "Less than a quarter of a mile from here."
"We're in a really low-lying area," Danny said, doing a circle with his finger to indicate the clearing. "And the ground's been saturated by back-to-back storms for how long?"
"Over the last couple of weeks." Steve squinted at him through wet eyelashes. "You're thinking possible flashflood?"
Danny checked his pant leg again, noticing the higher water line. "Saw it plenty of times back home. It could take hours, or even less. But it's possible that the river could be overflowing its banks. And if the ground can't absorb any more water, and we continue to get several inches of rain an hour..."
Steve walked past Danny, surveying the mix of mud and water with intent. "I was going to designate the plane as our primary shelter, but we should probably gather all necessary supplies and find higher ground."
He climbed back inside the plane like a monkey, and Danny wondered how long it would take before they were reenacting every page out of the SEAL survival handbook.
***
"What do you have in your bag?" Steve asked, scrambling around the cabin. "Can you give me an inventory?"
Danny didn't even know where it was at the moment. Using the daylight spilling through the windows and door, he searched the overhead bins above the passenger seats. "Not much. Remember, this was supposed to be an overnight trip?"
Steve pulled out a flashlight from his backpack, which he found without much effort. "I've got a change of clothes. T-shirt, pants, boxers, socks. Toothbrush stuff. Razor, shaving cream, and gel that might come in handy."
"I don't think we have anything dissimilar," Danny said. He found his small nylon duffel and started rummaging through his stuff. He had his Heckler and Koch and an extra clip along with his badge. There was a T-shirt and shorts to change into at night, and a short-sleeved white button up with a pair of blue slacks. His cologne. He searched through the side pockets. "I have a couple books and my cell charger."
"Dump the books and the charger. You don't need the extra weight."
"You realize they're paperbacks, right?" But Danny didn't get a response.
Steve wrangled through storage compartments, pulling out five bottles of water and the food they'd picked up from Safeway for the trip. "We already ate the ham and cheese sandwiches, but we have the turkey wraps." He grabbed a small first aid kit and stuffed it inside his pack. "We should turn off our phones. They're useless until the storm blows over; once the weather clears, we'll turn them back on so that search and rescue can ping our GPS. I've got a Ziploc bag we can keep them in."
Danny handed Steve his cell so he could secure it. "I'm not an overpriced weatherman or anything, but I've been through a few storms and hurricanes in my time." He finished rearranging his stuff before looking up at Steve. "I think we're going to be stuck here a while."
"You have an ETA?"
"Do I have an ETA?" Danny couldn't believe his ears, but Steve frowned at him, obviously waiting for some exact time, accurate to the half hour. "No, I don't. Because as we just found out, storm systems are not a hundred percent predictable. As in, a million different things can cause them to slow down, or speed up, or alter trajectory."
"I don't have any expertise on hurricanes. Hawaii actually doesn't experience them very often. The water's too cool most of the time. So, I'm asking you -" Steve pointed his finger at Danny's chest. "The better expert. Do you have an estimate as to how long we might be facing tropical storm conditions?"
"At least the next four days. Probably more."
Steve moved closer, drops of sweat beading down the sides of his face. "Define more."
"Maybe five or six days. Possibly a week. The storm system that was supposed to head toward Japan before it changed directions?" The one that wasn't supposed to be in our flight path, he left unsaid. "It's probably a category one hurricane by now. And it's a slow moving bastard, won't reach landfall for another couple of days. Not to mention all the other activity popping up, like the microstorm that forced us to land in this beautiful paradise."
"And if hurricane picks up power from the other storms..."
"Then things are going to get very bad in the next day or two."
Steve seemed to take the information in stride, and if anything, he switched into higher gear. "See if you can find any blankets or sheets."
Danny didn't protest being barked orders; he expected certain aspects of Steve's personality to emerge in crisis-mode. Although, if Steve started to slip into too much military jargon, Danny reserved the right to smack him.
For a Gulfstream, the plane didn't have many amenities. Sure, the six leather seats were nice, and there was plenty of legroom, but it was small, and if he recalled the heated conversation between Denning and Steve regarding their improvised trip, the plane had been kind of commandeered. Other than fueling her up, he didn't think the galley or anything else had been resupplied for their little jaunt.
"I found one measly blanket," Danny said, folding his discovery and stuffing it in his duffel. "What about you?"
"Another flashlight," he said, handing it to Danny. "And this." Steve held up a glass coffee pot.
Danny couldn't help the grin across his face. "Now that's my type of survival equipment."
"It's for boiling water." Steve shook his head and packed the item before scanning under the first passenger seat with his flashlight. He yanked out a large plastic yellow bundle the size of a large suitcase and contemplated it. "We've got an eight-man life raft. With the storm, the river will be too rough to use it."
"Not to mention it'd be a monstrosity to carry," Danny added.
Steve stared at the bundle with a rare expression of indecision before shoving it aside. "Have you seen an ax? There wasn't one in the flight deck compartment."
"That's all we need," Danny mumbled while packing his flashlight, "to turn this from a disaster movie to a horror film."
The plane rocked from a powerful gust of wind, and Danny nearly fell into one of the passenger seats. Steve braced himself using an overhead bin.
"We need to prep ourselves before heading out," Steve said, strapping a knife holster around his thigh and securing a six-inch blade. "Are those the only shoes you have?"
Danny looked down at his mud encrusted dress shoes. "Yeah."
Steve frowned at him. "Put on a second pair of socks and make sure the laces aren't too tight. You can't afford any open blisters."
Steve was deadly serious; he looked at Danny as if willing a pair of hiking boots to appear.
"Okay." Danny started untying his laces without complaint. "These are comfort fits by the way, so they have great orthopedic support."
“Also strip out of your boxers."
When Danny glanced up, he found Steve shucking out of his cargo pants. "Excuse me?"
"We're going to get drenched out there." Steve yanked off his briefs and put back on his pants in quick efficiency. "Underwear dries slower than regular clothes and it'll chafe."
"This isn't exactly how I pictured us taking off our clothes on the plane." Danny quickly changed, slipping his legs back into his slacks and doubling up on his socks. He started to retie his laces when he saw Steve standing next to him with a roll of duct tape. "And what the hell do you plan on doing with that?"
"Rainforests contain billions of insects. Extra humidity makes them crazy." Steve unrolled a long strip. "If you can't tuck in your pants into anything, then you need to tuck them into your socks and tape them together."
All of Danny's skin prickled with the phantom feeling of thousands of tiny legs, and he wiggled uncontrollably in his clothes. He quickly shoved his slacks into his socks and grumbled, "I look like a complete dork."
Steve rolled his eyes and taped Danny's socks around his slacks before he could do it himself. "The fact you're wearing a long sleeved shirt is a good thing for once."
Danny trained his eyes over Steve's tanned, inked arms and his T-shirt. "What about you?"
Steve started tucking his cargo-pants into his Timberlands and looked up at him with a smile. "I'll use nature. But first, we need one last item."
***
When Danny exited the plane, the water level almost reached his knees. Rain beat down on him, soaking his hair and dripping down his face. He watched in confusion as Steve hopped out beside him, carrying a hammer and a wrench, and went toward one of the engines.
"Um. Steven? What the hell are you doing?" Danny had no clue where the tools came from.
Steve obviously couldn't hear his question as he started screwing around inside the engine. Danny gazed up at the sky filled with thick gray clouds, wondering how the hell they were going to get out of this.
After a few more minutes of banging around, Steve ambled over with parts of a plane propeller in his hand. Danny stared in muted exasperation; the goof looked ten shades of excited.
"The engines are made with twenty-two fan blades," Steve said with a gleeful expression.
"No one should look that excited about two-foot long pieces of steel with sharp edges. Are there zombies here that I'm not aware of?" Danny asked.
"No, but we won't make it ten feet without a couple of machetes."
Steve took what looked like strips of leather upholstery from one of the airplane seats, and with some duct tape, he wrapped two makeshift handles around both pieces of metal. Grinning like a loon, he slashed each of them in the air a few times and, seemingly satisfied with the results, stuck them into the ground.
"If you're done fantasizing about slaying dragons, could we please go?" Danny asked, staring at the rising water level.
"Hold on." Steve knelt down, scooped up several giant handfuls of mud, and vigorously applied them up and down his arms. "Without bug-spray, this is the only way to protect our skin from insects. You'll need to spread this all over your face and neck or you'll get eaten alive."
"Wouldn't it be easier just to roll around like a couple of swine?" Danny asked even as he squatted. "Won't this just wash away after a few minutes?"
"We'll keep reapplying it." Steve pasted mud all over his cheeks, across his forehead, over his ears. "This is important. Insect bites can kill you out here. Infections are rampant in these conditions. I've seen a member of one of my SEAL teams go down because of an untreated bee sting."
Danny reluctantly rubbed mud across every inch of exposed skin, down his throat, getting it in his hair, sucking in his lips as he spread the muck over his mouth. "God, this is, this is..." He spat out a leaf and glared at Steve with the fury of a thousand suns.
But Steve was too busy covering himself up with dirt, looking all Soldier of Fortune, like he was ready to invade the island. The soaked black tee and cargo pants left little to the imagination, and he had that whole pumped on adrenaline air about him.
God, it really was a hot look. Danny swallowed. Fuck the universe and its sick sense of humor with inappropriate timing.
Steve marched over, handsy as a motherfucker. He inspected Danny's work, forcing him to turn around, mumbling about missed spots.
Steve rubbed more mud down the back of Danny's neck, a fierce intensity radiating off his body. "We're going to get bitten a lot. As long as you don't scratch -"
Danny turned around until he faced Steve McGarrett, Danger Magnet. "Mountain cliffs; dinghies in the middle of the ocean; nightmare camping trips. You had to add rainforest adventure to the list, didn't you?"
He really hated Steve's stupid smile.
***
The jungle was a noisy wall of sound. Bird caws, chirps, and tiny squeaks. It was unnerving, which was stupid, because Danny had been in rainforests before, dozens of them, yet this was different, louder. There were rubbings, warbles, clicks, knocks, rattles, peeping, and popping sounds. It was overwhelming at times.
He'd threaded his arms through the straps to his duffel so they hung around his shoulders like a backpack, the contents digging into the small of his back. But he ignored it, slashing at vines and leaves that stubbornly didn't fall away and die like they were supposed to.
"So, what's the plan?" Danny asked, forced to walk slightly behind Steve, who hacked a path with every swing of his machete. "Or are we just walking aimlessly around?"
"We need to...find a place for tonight. Get some rest and plan in the morning."
"That's it? Your big strategy is to wake up tomorrow and think of something?"
"It's called finding a temporary shelter to give ourselves a chance to recover so we can make the best decision."
"But we're headed toward the leeward side of the island?" Steve shot Danny a surprised expression and Danny glared back. "What? This is one of those very rare instances, like the blue moon kind, in which your inane use of naval terms and those of us who live in the real world actually cross."
"As I was saying," Steve said, huffy, "we'll find somewhere to bunk for the night, but in the meantime - yeah, we're heading for highest point of the island."
"Because we had the very bad luck of landing on the windward side?"
Steve took a deep breath and released it. "Yeah."
Danny chewed on his lip. While Steve's experience with wind direction had to do with ships, Danny's experience was rooted as a first responder's during bad storms. He'd taken a meteorologist course to help with understanding of hurricanes. In his world, windward meant the prevailing wind, or the side that got hit with the worst precipitation.
Which meant higher elevation, or any hope of finding any real shelter, like caves or a ridge, was located on the opposite side of the island. In the meantime, they'd be exposed to the heaviest rain and wind.
Danny didn't have the energy to complain about their bad luck again; the humidity seemed to suck the very life out of him. He wiped at his sticky forehead, swatted at the mosquitoes that seemed to be everywhere, and then slapped at something tickling his elbow.
"We've investigated how many cases in jungles? Why is this one so damn annoying?"
"Different topography and climate. But even the islands with little to no population receive enough traffic from the locals or adventure-seeking tourists to leave trails and have an impact on the environment."
"Guess...it would have been...too much to ask to crash on...an inhabited island?" Danny asked.
"Crash landed," Steve corrected.
***
His face felt like a furnace and Danny held up his head to the rain. Water trickled down his cheeks and neck, tepid and wet, but not giving him any real relief. His skin was smeared with mud and sweat and it itched liked crazy. He'd give anything to be doused with a bucket of ice water.
A fly landed on his head and he tried batting it away, only to crush it, smearing its remains in his hair. "Damn it!"
"Come on," Steve said, grabbing Danny's elbow and guiding him under a tree. "Drink some water."
Danny leaned against the tree, listening to the rain pelt through the layers of leaves above. He took several large gulps and felt guilty when he realized the bottle was half-empty.
"You know, we don't have to stop every half hour to rest on my account," he told Steve.
"I'm keeping to a reasonable pace without overdoing it." Steve sipped on his own water, flushed cheeks peeking out between streaks of mud. "Keeping the body healthy is the key to surviving in this type of environment."
Danny nodded and sat with his eyes closed as a mini-waterfall dripped over him from the lush canopy above.
***
He was sick of being wet. Of his legs sinking into standing water, and swatting at things trying to snack on his face and crawl under his shirt. But Danny was really sick of hacking at vines with flowers and having thorns slap him in the face.
His hands hurt where he gripped his machete and his shoulders ached from swinging it. He was no gym monkey, and he certainly didn't prescribe to Steve's need to swim and run marathons on a daily basis, but Danny was in good shape. He took pride in his body, worked out, and ate right despite what Captain America thought.
And when Steve's foot slipped out from under him, Danny grabbed him by the backpack to keep him from face-planting. "Whoa," he yelled, hauling Steve up and trying not to fall as the result.
Steve did a good impression of a cartoon character, pinwheeling his arms, machete and all, until he regained his balance. "Thanks."
"Maybe we should take another break?" Danny offered. Steve frowned, obviously wanting to go on, but Danny made the decision for them. "That looks like a great spot over there."
He took refuge by another tree, sighing when his ass sank into the unyielding ground. God, he never realized how much his feet hurt until he wasn't standing anymore. "How far do you think we've gone?"
"A quarter of a mile," Steve said, sitting next to Danny. "Maybe more."
"That's it?"
Steve flexed his right hand. "We're making good progress. Chopping a path through the rain forest expends a lot of energy. It's slow going."
"You know, this looks like a nice sturdy tree, we could -"
"I want to try to make it to a little higher elevation first." Steve gave Danny a hard look, running a hand through his hair until it stuck up in all directions. "Look. We're on a steady incline, but our progress's going to slow to a crawl over time. If we're going to make any real headway, it needs to be today."
Danny didn't want to budge; he was waterlogged to his bones and sapped of energy. But he knew storms, knew things would get even nastier, and he recognized the edge to Steve's voice; the combination was foreboding.
***
The undergrowth thickened with roots and dense foliage, forcing Danny to hack low while Steve chopped high. It was like the jungle had swallowed them whole, the canopy above a thick dome of lush greens that nearly blocked out the sun, trapping the humidity.
"I think this is a good spot," Steve called out. He scanned the ground, nodding to himself. "The soil's wet, but not oversaturated, and I don't see signs of animal trails."
"What animal trails?" Danny asked, unloading his temporary backpack.
"Wild Boar." Steve surveyed the area, resting his hands on his knees with a damned glint in his eyes. "Come on, I found the perfect set of trees."
Danny glared at Steve and his gung-ho attitude and his ability to exude a renewed sense of energy when Danny was running on fumes. He could barely move his feet without pain because of his inadequate shoes.
"Do you think you could collect a pile of tall branches to create a roof with?" Steve asked. "Ones with the most palm leaves."
It was a rhetorical question since Steve began attacking bamboo with the machete, cutting down pieces two meters in length. On any other day, Danny would stand there and ogle all that play of muscle, imagining how he'd peel off those wet cargo pants, but reality forced him to abandon such pleasurable thoughts.
Dragging his aching feet, he started breaking off branches.
"By the way," Steve yelled over his shoulder. "Be sure to check where you're walking for ant nests and snakes. Oh, and scorpions."
Danny threw a tropical pinecone at Steve's head.
***
Danny returned with a variety of branch sizes just in case Steve had specific dimensions in mind; he didn't put it past him to have a tape measure hidden in his backpack. He dumped his load as Steve looked over at him in exuberance.
"Hey." Steve waved Danny over, a grin plastered across his face. "I think these are perfect," he said, pointing at a couple trees a few feet apart.
There were several thick branches growing at waist level, but two of them jutted out like a giant V, their ends resting on the third branch from the opposite tree. Together they formed a natural triangle large enough to accommodate both of them.
"Help me tie these vines at the junction points," Steve said, tossing Danny a bunch of plants.
Danny wrapped the vines several times where the branches met perpendicularly, tugging to ensure they wouldn't move. "Okay, I see what we're doing. We're going to take the bamboo beams you cut and place them horizontally across the bed frame to make a platform."
Steve grabbed a stack and began laying them down. "Then we'll cover the top with broad leaves and grass."
"Huh, I didn't think Navy SEALs required soft things to sleep on," Danny said with a smirk, helping Steve with the bamboo. "Sounds like it'd ruin your reputations. Are we going to hunt birds next so we can fashion some pillows with their feathers?"
But Steve didn't rise to Danny's barb, his attention fully focused on inspecting their work. "I'm pretty sure this island is under some type of environment protection. Killing the indigenous life would be illegal."
"Seriously?" Danny asked with a snort. "You think this entire island is under the protection of PETA or Greenpeace?"
"Maybe. Or an eccentric billionaire, or a privately funded group. It could explain why an island of this size is uninhabited." Steve unsheathed his knife and pointed at row of bamboo. "Now if you could hurry and fluff up the bed with some leaves, you could help make a lean-to ceiling to protect us from the rain."
***
Steve carried over a very long branch that was eight feet in length. "Before we construct the roof, we need to set up a high support beam."
"Like tying a wooden clothesline between each tree," Danny said. It made sense that their lean-to roof actually had something, to well, lean against.
Together they secured the support beam between both two trees, tying the ends of the limb down in the notch of each branch. They took all the biggest branches and leaned them across the beam at a forty-degree angle, creating the lean-to.
Danny allowed himself a smile despite feeling like he'd rolled around inside a sewer. His clothes stuck to his skin, and he shook his head like a dog to clear the water out of his ears.
"Hey," Steve complained when some of water splashed on his face. "Quit that and hand me the blanket you grabbed from the plane."
Danny pulled out the light blue cottony material, resisting the urge to wrap it around his shoulders. "This is a waste of a perfectly soft, dry blanket."
"And its sacrifice to keep the rain out will be duly noted."
Steve held out his palm expectantly and Danny stared at it in exasperation.
"I know you're in your element out here, probably even enjoying yourself because that is the type of sick human being that you are. And while I concede that following your directions is the key to me seeing dry land again, that doesn't mean that I have to put up with your Sergeant Slaughter attitude. I am not your grunt. I am however, hot, filthy, and really, really wet," he snapped.
"Not to point out the obvious, but we are on dry land; it just happens to be raining right now," Steve said equally grumpy. "But we'll continue to be in a constant state of wet if you don't hand me that blanket. So please, weave it across the lean-to while I tie it in place."
Danny sighed and helped spread the blanket, weaving in and out of the branches, the rain running down the side as they tied saplings across to keep it together.
The shelter was actually impressive for something they'd built in less than an hour. It had a platform to sleep above the muddy ground and a slanted ceiling to cover them.
"What do you want me to next?" Danny asked.
"Take my pocket knife and see if you can find some dry wood to help make a fire. Let me know if you need any help," Steve added preoccupied.
Danny walked behind Steve and stuck a hand into his front pocket, fingers brushing against him through the inner fabric, before grabbing the knife. He smiled when Steve made a choked sound.
"I know how to find dry wood in the rain. I went on four Aloha Girl field trips before our nightmare outing. I could earn a badge," Danny whispered in Steve's ear.
Clutching the pocketknife, Danny smirked devilishly, ignoring the glare that he knew Steve was sending in his direction.
***
Danny found a downed tree and enough dryish wood underneath it to carry back over to the shelter. Of course, he found Steve up another tree, perched on a branch, surveying the jungle.
"What the hell are you doing? I swear to god, Steve. If you fall and break your leg, I'm not carrying you around."
"I wanted to see if I could spot anything useful. And I'm not going to fall," Steve said as if the mere suggestion were ludicrous. Skimming down to the ground, he gestured at a large pile of stones. "I already made a place for the fire."
"Why not build a fort while you're at it? Maybe a car made out of wood. We could drive our way out of here."
Danny was immune to the McGarrett glare of annoyance, and he plopped tiredly down on the ground, pulling out his pocketknife. Steve sat across from him and picked up the first piece of wood, from which he started scraping the outer layer with his blade.
"Did you find any fungus or termites?" Steve asked.
"Let me think about that. No, of course not. Why would I?"
"They make good tinder," Steve mumbled.
Danny wanted to tell Steve what he really thought about good tinder, but he bit his lip while Steve crushed leaves over the kindling.
Pulling a lighter out of one of his many pockets, Steve flicked it several times and held the flame out until the leaves slowly started to smoke. "There we go," he said with a big dopey smile.
And that was Steve in a nutshell: Easily giddy while in the shadow of disaster. It was as irritating as it was enduring.
Steve sat under the tree and began taking off his boots and socks, running fingers over his feet and in between his toes. He looked up at Danny and gestured at his shoes. "You need to check for ticks and leeches. But if you find any, don't touch them. We'll have to burn them off." Danny didn't even have the capacity to express the expletives whirling in his brain as Steve continued undaunted. "I stretched out a vine to dry our wet clothes by the fire while we change into dry ones. We'll rotate our clothes to keep illness at bay."
Danny hadn't even noticed the stupid vine with all the talk of bloodsucking insects. "Only you could act domestic while we're stranded in the middle of the Pacific."
But he stopped complaining when Steve undid his belt and slipped out of his cargo pants. Even after three years, Steve spontaneously undressing still sent a tingle down Danny's spine. He forced his eyes away and focused on removing his own shirt, surprised at the number of bites all over his torso. His skin started to itch.
"Could you see if there's anything in the first aid kit for these bites?"
Steve dug through his pack, grabbed and looked through the kit. "It doesn't look like this has been stocked in a while. There's nothing in here that'll help. I'm sorry," he frowned. "Just try not to think about them."
"There are pink, inflamed areas the size of quarters all over my chest. Not thinking about them won't make them go away," Danny snapped.
He craned his neck to look at his back, suddenly feeling the bites he discovered across his shoulders. The itching sensation worsened.
Steve moved closer, reeking like a musty basement, and pressed a fresh set of clothes into Danny's hands. "Just change quickly."
Danny wrapped his hands over Steve's, his anger deflating, and gave him a small, grateful smile.
He put on his shirt and shoved his legs into his slacks, eyes skittering over Steve's arms, at the dozens of bites now visible without the mud. Steve only had a tee to change into, his forearms even less protected than Danny with his longer sleeves. He stared helplessly, trying to think of anything that could ease the discomfort.
But Steve proved that he had radar attuned to Danny's stress, because he looked over and gave him a short nod, broadcasting a soul-deep confidence in things. It reminded Danny that Steve had probably survived a dozen different hellholes, and in the last couple years, they'd both faced life and death situations together and won.
They could face some rain and bugs.
"Come on." Steve wrapped an arm around Danny's shoulder. "Let's eat something and get some rest."
***
Leaves and moss did little to cushion bamboo, but Danny didn't care. He was off his feet, in fresh socks, and under a ceiling that kept the rain from his face. With his stomach full from a turkey wrap, he almost fell asleep. Except for the fact that Steve was immune from any type of tryptophan coma.
"Will you please just come over here and sit down? You're like one of those spider monkeys who can't sit still."
"We're almost out of water."
"It's pouring. How long could it take to fill up our bottles?"
The tree shook as Steve crawled under the lean-to and sat cross-legged. Danny lay on his back, stared at the blue blanket slanted over him, and rubbed at his eyes burning from the fire. He looked over at Steve, who sat hunched over, arms on his knees but looking completely at ease.
"You've slept in a lot of trees over the years, huh?" Danny asked. Steve shrugged. "It'd explain where you learned some of your most charming manners."
"Manners won't get you breakfast in the morning."
"No. But manners might get you a softer pillow than some annoying leaves."
"Oh, yeah?" Steve scooted over, curling his lanky body onto his side and resting his head on Danny's shoulder. He sighed, contented. "Much better than leaves."
Danny humphed. "You are one sweaty SEAL, you know that?"
"You like it when I'm sweaty."
"I like it when you are freshly showered. With soap and shampoo."
Steve's head grew heavy as he snuggled closer, the rest of his dirt-streaked body going lax as Danny ran his fingers through his short hair. Despite the miserable, sticky conditions, he smiled at the fact that Steve had fallen asleep first.
***
Something wet splashed against Danny's cheek and he sat up and discovered his reason for waking up. Part of the slanted roof had fallen apart and rain poured in where Steve should have been sleeping. But the goof wasn't there.
Danny crawled out of the shelter and into pure humidity. It was ten times worse than any sweltering day back in Jersey. He looked down where the fire had washed away during the night, then toward his sock-covered feet. But the clothes they'd hung to dry were not on the vine anymore and he debated if he should search for Steve when the devil came marching over.
"Where the hell have you been?" Danny growled.
Steve had the audacity to look like a confused drowned rat. "I went to find food."
"Really? Where'd you go? The IHOP?" Danny pointed accusingly at the vine. "And did you notice that our clothes have disappeared?"
"I put them in my backpack to keep them dry."
Steve was all bright-eyed despite being completely soaked again, his hair plastered to his forehead. He unloaded his backpack. "I found some guava."
"They look like fat limes." Danny took some of the fruit and dug his nails into the green skin, biting into the pink inside. He grimaced at the sourness. "And taste like really bad grapes."
Steve sucked the juice running down his fingers. "Eat up. We have a long day ahead."
"I'd rather have pancakes."
"Well, I did grab some hibiscus shoots. But I figure you'd prefer the fruit."
Danny munched on a dozen guavas until his lips puckered-up. Steve wolfed down his portion before he started to dismantle the shelter. It was annoying that they were going to have to rebuild the thing all over again later today.
He dug his clothes from yesterday out of Steve's backpack and sat under the tree and started to switch out his socks. He checked his shoes for surprises, dumping them upside down and shaking them before he stuffed his sore feet inside.
While buttoning up shirt, his nostrils flared from an overwhelming acrid odor. "Why do my clothes smell like a luau?"
"Probably from the fire last night. Burning wet wood can stink."
"Awesome. I'm sure smelling like a tasty barbeque won't attract any hungry beasts."
Steve shouldered his backpack and grabbed both machetes, handing one to Danny. "It's not the beasts we need to worry about."
***
The rain hammered down through the trees, knocking down leaves, large drops splattering all over his face. The temperature might have dropped a few degrees, but the humidity had to be at a hundred percent. Danny alternated between wiping rain away from his head and swatting at the growing number of flies. The buzzing was driving him crazy.
And the disgusting smell...
"What the hell stinks of rotting meat?"
"Rafflesia."
"Raffa-what?"
"Parasitic flowering plants." Steve turned around, his chest heaving from walking. "You're about to step on one."
Danny quickly sidestepped an ugly red flower the size of a small bush. "Those petals are bigger than my hands."
"They're called corpse flowers. The odor attracts the flies."
"That's something I could have lived without knowing. And I swear, Steven, I better not hear how those hideous things are edible. Because I'll eat my shoes before I eat corpse flowers for lunch."
Steve, the asshole, smirked at him.
***
Treetops bent, pitted against the gale, the increased wind driving the rain faster than before. Danny stank of sweat; his feet felt like raw hamburger. Even breathing took extra effort.
He didn't protest when Steve physically shoved him under a tree. "I'll be right back." Then he vanished before Danny could ask him where he was going.
The creepiest part of being stranded in the jungle was the darkness. It felt foreboding, amplifying the beating rain, the bird caws, and the constant chittering sounds of insects. If he closed his eyes, the noise reached a crescendo, so he sat there like a useless lump, staring out at all the shades of orange, yellow, and green.
Steve returned and sat next to him, looking ragged around the edges, legs sprawled out in front of him, head resting back against the tree. "Here. Eat this. It's breadfruit."
Danny looked at the yellowish melon things, mouth twitching. "Aren't we supposed to cook them first?" Steve raised an eyebrow. "I told you. Four Aloha Girl trips before our memorable disaster."
"They do taste better cooked."
Yeah. If either of them had the energy. "Thanks," Danny said. "I promise I'll forage for our dinner."
"We're not in a competition."
"No, it's called being fair."
Steve didn't say anything; he just sat and ate, his shoulder touching Danny's. Tearing open the fruit, Danny didn't even complain that they tasted like figs, a food he despised.
He gulped down an entire water bottle in less than a minute and Steve silently handed him another one.
***
Danny couldn't see anything past the mosquitoes swarming his face; the damned things had tripled in the last half hour. He would have given anything to jump into a giant pool of chamomile.
"We need to something about all these little bastards gnawing on us before they have a field day." Danny stopped and started digging through his pack. "I still have an extra T-shirt," he said, waving it around.
Steve slapped at a mosquito flying around his ear, but three more circled around the sweat beading at his forehead. "We'll make a couple of bandanas." He grabbed the tee, and using his knife, made quick work of it. "I should have thought of using it earlier."
"We didn't walk into a pestilence from some horror movie until a few minutes ago." Danny grabbed Steve's wrist, rubbing his thumb over his pulse point. "It could be any number of things causing them to swarm now. Like you said, babe. The humidity makes them crazy."
Steve sighed like he did when he didn't want to relent to logic, tying part of the white T-shirt around his mouth and nose. He looked ridiculous, but Danny didn't dare mock him since he had to wrap the other part of the tee around his own face.
***
Long sleeves sucked. They suffocated him along with the damn shirt over his face; the bandana helped keep the bugs at bay, but only made things hotter. When a branch smacked Danny in the face, it took several seconds before he realized he'd walked right into it.
Steve took the machete from Danny's sore, aching fingers. "I've got it," he said with a hand to his shoulder. "Why don't you sit down?"
"No." Danny panted under the swatch of fabric. "We need to keep going."
"You need to rest."
His feet never hurt as much as they did now. And it made Danny feel like an asshole, unable to move another inch, a pain seizing his calves. "We've been stopping almost every hour."
"And we'll keep stopping."
"We're in race against the storm. If we don't make it -"
"We'll make it - we always have," Steve said, his expression determined.
***
Danny was hot, like, rip his skin off hot. He couldn't carry his machete and was forced to hand it over to Steve while his head pounded with every sluggish step. All Danny could do was follow behind Steve, who hacked his way through the jungle as if it had personally offended him.
"Okay," Steve said, breathing heavily. "I want you to take this branch and start stripping the leaves."
Danny blinked, looking around where he currently sat on the ground. When did that happen? He stared at the branch in his hand, at the wet stems and leaves, at the droplets of water rolling onto his lap. He felt sick to his stomach, and he swallowed, his mouth dry and cottony.
“Steve...I'm not sure...”
“Don't worry about it. Come on, Danno.”
Danny felt his arm move without his permission as Steve draped it over his shoulder and lifted Danny to his feet.
"Just a few steps, you're doing great," Steve said.
Danny was walking, then stumbling, his center of gravity changing before he was lying down on his back. The air was less stifling, although still very damp. He slumped against something, felt hands touch his face, fingers running through his hair. He felt the tape around his ankles get cut away and his shoes were removed. Then his belt was loosened along with the buttons and zipper to his pants.
"You need this," Steve told him.
Something plastic was pressed to his lips and he drank greedily until the fuzziness in his head abated a little. He glanced over at the slanted blue blanket, felt the bamboo under his ass. When had Steve built a new shelter? How long had he been out of it?
He licked tingly lips. "What's wrong with me?"
Steve dropped his gaze, his features pinched in worry. "Heat exhaustion."
"Heat exhaustion?" Danny shook his head. No fucking way. "We've only been here for two days. I've been drinking fluids like every hour. We've taken rest breaks. I don't -"
"It's the humidity."
"Babe. I grew up in Jersey; I've lived on an island for three years."
"But not at this level of humidity. You're sweating like crazy and it can't evaporate and cool you off like normal. Your body's getting depleted of water and salt." Steve gripped Danny's shoulder, sporting one of his crazy, stubborn expressions. "But I'm going to take care of that."
Danny curled his fingers into Steve's T-shirt, because like hell was he going to allow him to do something stupid and reckless on his behalf. "What do you mean? What are you going to do?"
"Don't worry. Just lie down for a while. I'm leaving you two more bottles of water." Steve grabbed his pack, efficiently checking everything inside, completely in mission mode. "Drink both of them while I'm gone."
"Don't give me that, Steve. I don't know what you think you're going to -"
"I'm going to get you some help. I'm trained to handle these conditions."
"Yeah. Back in your SEAL days."
"I still have to stay fit in the Reserves." Steve glanced up undeterred. "I'll be fine." Before Danny could protest, Steve squeezed his shoulder again. "We have to get to higher ground. Together."
Steve wrapped his arms around Danny's back and pulled him close, kissing the side of his face. "Promise you'll stay put?"
Danny leaned into Steve, digging his fingers into his sweaty shirt. "Don't be gone long and I will."
***
The muscle cramps in his legs increased and Danny fruitlessly tried massaging them. But a heavy lethargy pinned him into a half-curl on his side, forcing him to listen to the pattering rain. He felt like a total dick for being sidelined. Heat exhaustion? What the ever-loving fuck?
He crushed the empty water bottle in his hand, then quickly smoothed it out. They needed every container they had. He tried steadying his breathing and relaxing his body in hope of aiding in his recovery. But keeping still wasn't his thing. Except maybe back home on his sofa with a cold beer and a football game on TV. His thoughts drifted to Grace, and a flare of panic seized his heart.
He was going to see her again, hug her tight, and laugh at all her stories from school. Somewhere with air conditioning and under a real roof with Steve driving him crazy.
He shifted onto his elbow, listening past the barrage of rain for signs of the idiot. It'd been at least an hour with no sign of Steve, no sign of anything except the relentless storm. He'd noticed the increased wind gusts, the way the rain started to slant in one direction. The storm was picking up in intensity; the hurricane could be a day or less from landfall.
The echo of distant gunshots made his heart race. What the hell was that? He crawled onto the edge of the wooden frame, shoving the blanket aside, squinting against the outside. Swallowing down bile, Danny gripped the edge as he almost tipped over from a wave of dizziness.
"Goddamn it, Steve," he hissed through his teeth.
He flopped back down onto his back and cursed Steve some more, trying hard not to worry.
***
Part Two