fic: The Rubble or Our Sins (1/2)
Title: The Rubble or Our Sins
Author: stellarmeadow
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Paring: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC17
Summary: Steve's visit with Sam the CIA guy leaves him with more questions and a lot of anger to deal with.
Notes: You can blame work for the lateness of this one, too--I was too exhausted to finish it last night.
Spoilers for 417! You have been warned!
Steve thanked Kono for driving him home, waving goodbye as she drove off before he went into the house. Danny had left for home earlier to set up his surprise, and with Steve's truck in the shop, he'd been left without a way home.
He'd almost said he'd take a cab, because he knew he was terrible company, but Kono had been as pissed about the case as he was, so she hadn't needed to ask him anything. She'd been fine with relative silence.
The house was dark and quiet when he went in, empty now that Jerry had gone home. Catherine hadn't made any noises about coming over, despite Jerry being gone, though now that he thought about it, he might not have actually told her about Jerry leaving.
Which was probably for the best. Dark, quiet and empty suited his mood. He couldn't shake the video playing on a loop in his head of Tommy, each bullet hitting him before he fell over. He could still feel Tommy's blood on his hands, despite having washed them until he'd practically taken off a layer of skin.
He needed to make the memory stop, before Tommy's face was replaced by the parade of ghosts who visited him every night in his attempts at sleep. He'd be seeing them soon enough anyway.
The nightmares had gotten a little better--he'd even slept in his bed most of the two weeks Jerry had stayed at the house. But he knew they'd be back tonight.
He went straight for the kitchen, pulling a beer out of the fridge, drinking as he wandered back through the house, no destination in mind. Or so he thought, until he saw the toolbox sitting innocently on the dining room table.
Such an innocuous looking thing, present in every house, it seemed, and all over stores. And yet he tensed up every time he walked by the toolbox aisle in Home Depot. He flipped the lid open, looking at all the secrets, wondering how many more it had to cough up that he hadn't even noticed yet, wondering what Cambodia had to do with all of it.
Fuck it. He was tired of this. He needed answers.
He pulled out his phone and called Joe, who answered on the second ring. "Hey, Steve."
"I need answers."
There was a long pause. "You're going to have to get a bit more specific about the questions, then."
"What does Cambodia have to do with Shelburne?"
Another pause. "I don't know," Joe said finally.
"Joe."
"Son, I swear to you, I have no idea. I know better than to bother trying to hide it from you and deal with the damage after at this point."
"Then who told you where Mom was?"
Really, the pauses were getting annoying. "Sam."
"Sam who? Uncle Sam? Because you're going to have to narrow that down a bit, too."
"Just Sam. But I'll text you his number. Maybe you can get him to tell you more, since she's your mother."
A name. It wasn't much. But it was fucking something, at last. "Okay." The thanks stuck in his throat, lodged there by the memory of all the secrets that had led him to this.
"Look, Steve--"
"Just text me the number. Now."
He hung up and watched his phone until the number popped up and hit it instantly. Several rings in, there was a cautious sounding, "Hello?"
"This is Commander McGarrett," Steve said, using that voice the Navy had drilled into him to get results. "I need to speak with you."
Jesus, what was with these guys and the pauses? "So speak."
"Not over the phone. You know the lookout on Tantalus?"
At least this pause came with a deep inhalation and a long breath after. "Yes."
"Good. Be there in an hour, or I'll make it impossible for you to make a move on this island without someone following you."
He hung up before the guy could argue, rushing around to prepare himself to leave. When he was ready, he hesitated for a second, looking at his phone. Someone should know where he was, just in case. He didn't know what he was walking into, and that didn't usually work out so well, historically speaking.
He couldn't call Kono or Chin, they would insist on going with him after being unable to talk him out of it. Danny he couldn't call for more reasons than just that. He was helping his family.
Which meant he probably wouldn't see his texts until it was all over.
He sent a quick text. Meeting with Joe's CIA contact at Roundtop. Will text when I'm back.
That done, he shoved his phone in his pocket, grabbed the keys to the Mercury, and headed for the garage.
***
By the time Steve got home from his meeting, he was ready to punch something. Or someone. Sam, if that was his real name, was a good target. His mother was looking pretty good, too, even if he felt a little guilty for thinking it.
What the hell did a grave in Cambodia have to do with any of this? And why would the location of a grave make a guy so well connected to the CIA fear for his life if he talked?
It seemed like every answer he got to this fucking mystery turned into a dozen more questions.
He pulled into the garage and slammed the door of the car when he got out, slamming the garage door into the house for effect as he stomped his way into the living room.
"What the hell is the matter with you?"
Steve reached for his gun before he realized two things--it wasn't there, and it was only Danny. "What are you doing here?" Steve asked. "Aren't you supposed to be fixing your parents?"
"I was fixing my parents, but I left Grace with them to help remind them of how much their family means because apparently I had to come over here and fix you. And, I repeat in pursuit of that very much impossible goal, what the hell is the matter with you?"
Steve had reached the coffee table, standing on the other side of it from where Danny had jumped up off the couch at Steve's return. "What do you mean, what's wrong with me?"
"No, I said what the hell is wrong with you, because really, it needs a lot of emphasis, you idiot!"
"Danny, I do not have the patience for this right now." He really didn't, because he wanted to punch something, and the wire was itching him and he needed to get it off, and to go back over the recording in case he'd missed something crucial, something small but important, in what Sam had said.
Danny seemed undeterred by Steve's annoyance, however, judging by his harsh laugh. "Oh you don't have the patience?" he said, waving his hands in large motions that Steve knew meant he was almost as pissed as Steve was.
Good.
"Yes, I don't have the patience. So whatever it is, just say it and go." Steve turned and stalked towards the kitchen, intent on a beer, but he didn't get much past the coffee table before Danny's hand had a tight grip on Steve's bicep.
"You text me," Danny said, and Steve didn't dare turn around, not with Danny standing so close and smelling so good, and fucking Danny through the couch sounding like a damn fine alternative to a fight, "saying you're going to some clandestine meeting in a remote location--"
"Tantalus is in the middle of the fucking city!"
"Bullshit--that place is deserted this time of night, and even in daylight it's not the best place."
He didn't have to tell Steve that, not with the image of Roy Parrish bleeding to death having its own place in Steve's parade of ghosts. "I'm fine," Steve barked out, scratching at the tape on his chest. "I just texted you on the off chance something did go wrong, so you'd know where to start looking, all right? I didn't really think--"
"No, you didn't, did you?" Danny's grip tightened, and fuck, Steve was so fucked up that it actually turned him on, having Danny holding on so tight. "You didn't think, you just ran off the way you always do, and then it's me having to save your ass from jail for murder, from being fucking tortured in a country we're not even supposed to step into--you never fucking think!"
"I need answers, Danny!" Steve said, finally turning as much as he could with Danny's death grip, meeting Danny's eyes. "I'm never going to be free of this if I don't get answers, and I'm sick of this fucking mystery eating my life up one day at a time, okay? I need answers!"
"You'll never get them if you're dead, jackass!"
Steve held his hands out, palms up, twisting his arm in Danny's hold. "I'm still here, aren't I? Not a scratch on me." Except the ones that would be where the tape was driving him nuts if he didn't get it off soon.
"This time." Danny let go at last, hands running through his hair as if calming his ruffled feathers. "This time," he repeated, his voice low, his eyes holding Steve's harder than his hand had. "But what about the next time? Or the time after that? One of these times you're not going to make it. And then who's going to be stuck picking up the pieces?"
"Is that what this is about?" Steve asked, latching onto something to pin his anger to. "You're just worried you're going to have to pick up the pieces?" He scratched at the tape on his chest. "Well don't worry, you're absolved, all right? You're relieved of all picking up pieces responsibility. Go take care of your family!"
Steve ripped his shirt off, because the wire was driving him nuts, pulling at the little pieces of tape with no regard for his chest hair or his skin. The ripping felt good, the pain taking away the part of his brain that was screaming that he'd just sent Danny packing.
But Danny wasn't moving. Steve threw the wire on the table and chanced a glance at Danny's face. He was staring at Steve's chest, and his throat was working like it was too dry. But it was his eyes that were making Steve want to move closer, to grab him and throw him on the couch and never let him up again.
He couldn't. Danny had made it clear that he couldn't do that. Even if he and Catherine seemed to be going their separate ways without having a conversation about it, he couldn't until he officially ended it.
"Danny, I--"
"Shut up," Danny muttered. "Just...shut up."
He moved forward, and Steve tensed up, ready to defend himself against an attack, but unprepared for Danny to basically jump him, driving him backwards until his back hit the door, Danny's fingers digging into the back of Steve's head as he yanked Steve down for a kiss.
It was hard and brutal, and exactly what Steve needed. He melted into it, his arms wrapping tightly around Danny's body, daring him to even try to escape. But Danny wasn't trying. He was pushing as if he could get even closer, as if he could crawl inside Steve and take up residence, and really, Steve would be scarily okay with that.
His need to live alone really didn't extend to Danny.
The thought sent panic up in his chest, but he shoved it down in favor of losing himself in the feel of Danny's ass in his hands, in the taste of Danny's mouth and the way he smelled when they were like this, sweat and sex and something so perfect that Steve never wanted to let it go.
Danny pulled back a little, and Steve whimpered in protest until he realized Danny was just getting a hand between them. Steve leaned down to latch onto Danny's neck, barely tracking Danny's movement, but noticing when Danny's wet hand wrapped around both their dicks at the same time.
His strokes were hard and fast, and this was going to end quickly, and Steve didn't want that, he wanted to make it last, but fuck, it was Danny, and he'd gone too long without this. It was like oxygen after being under water until his lungs were ready to burst, and he gulped it in, his hands everywhere, shoving Danny's pants down to get his fill of Danny's amazing ass, moving one hand around to appreciate the way Danny's hair felt against his palm as he ran his hand down Danny's chest.
So many things that had haunted his dreams, the good alongside all the bad that lived in his subconscious, and he wondered why his brain couldn't reach for this at night instead of all the terrible shit that lived there as well.
Probably for the same reasons he couldn't reach for it in the daylight when he was wide awake.
He lost the ability to think when Danny's teeth latched onto his shoulder, pain and pleasure mixing in a jolt that went straight to his dick, wringing his orgasm out of him with perfect force. He felt Danny push hard into him, the door unyielding behind them, holding them both up as they sagged into it, completely wrung out.
They stayed there for a long moment, breathing, until Danny finally let go, pushing off Steve without quite looking at him, choosing to look down at himself instead. "I, uh...I'm gonna go, um..." He jerked a thumb towards the downstairs bathroom, and waved a hand at his body before he turned and stumbled off, holding his pants up with one hand.
Steve rested his head against the door for a minute before pulling his pants up enough that he could get to the kitchen. He rinsed his hands off and used the wet paper towel to take care of the mess on his stomach before doing his pants up.
Danny was walking back into the living room as Steve left the kitchen. His eyes were hooded, whatever was going on behind them hidden again, leaving Steve with no idea where they stood after that.
"I'm gonna go," Danny said, still not looking at him.
"Danny--"
Steve reached out, but Danny backed away, hands up. "No, don't." He met Steve's gaze, the pain in Danny's eyes easily read for one brief second before it was hidden again. "I'm sorry," Danny said. "I didn't mean to--I mean....fuck." He ran a hand over his face. "You've got shit to figure out, I know that. And I didn't mean to make it worse."
But he hadn't. He'd made it better. Steve didn't know how to say that, though, not without it sounding like he thought sex would cure everything. He didn't, but he also didn't have a clue how that had somehow made it better, how the thought he might even manage to sleep some tonight, all because of that. "Okay," he said, nodding dumbly. "Okay."
Danny turned to leave, and Steve couldn't keep it inside. "Danny!"
He turned, his hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"
"You made it better," he said, because they were the only words he had.
A brief something--light, was the only way Steve could describe it--flashed in Danny's eyes, and there was a small hint of a smile, if you knew how to look, as Danny nodded. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah. Night, Danno."
"Goodnight."
***
Chapter 2
Author: stellarmeadow
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Paring: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC17
Summary: Steve's visit with Sam the CIA guy leaves him with more questions and a lot of anger to deal with.
Notes: You can blame work for the lateness of this one, too--I was too exhausted to finish it last night.
Spoilers for 417! You have been warned!
Steve thanked Kono for driving him home, waving goodbye as she drove off before he went into the house. Danny had left for home earlier to set up his surprise, and with Steve's truck in the shop, he'd been left without a way home.
He'd almost said he'd take a cab, because he knew he was terrible company, but Kono had been as pissed about the case as he was, so she hadn't needed to ask him anything. She'd been fine with relative silence.
The house was dark and quiet when he went in, empty now that Jerry had gone home. Catherine hadn't made any noises about coming over, despite Jerry being gone, though now that he thought about it, he might not have actually told her about Jerry leaving.
Which was probably for the best. Dark, quiet and empty suited his mood. He couldn't shake the video playing on a loop in his head of Tommy, each bullet hitting him before he fell over. He could still feel Tommy's blood on his hands, despite having washed them until he'd practically taken off a layer of skin.
He needed to make the memory stop, before Tommy's face was replaced by the parade of ghosts who visited him every night in his attempts at sleep. He'd be seeing them soon enough anyway.
The nightmares had gotten a little better--he'd even slept in his bed most of the two weeks Jerry had stayed at the house. But he knew they'd be back tonight.
He went straight for the kitchen, pulling a beer out of the fridge, drinking as he wandered back through the house, no destination in mind. Or so he thought, until he saw the toolbox sitting innocently on the dining room table.
Such an innocuous looking thing, present in every house, it seemed, and all over stores. And yet he tensed up every time he walked by the toolbox aisle in Home Depot. He flipped the lid open, looking at all the secrets, wondering how many more it had to cough up that he hadn't even noticed yet, wondering what Cambodia had to do with all of it.
Fuck it. He was tired of this. He needed answers.
He pulled out his phone and called Joe, who answered on the second ring. "Hey, Steve."
"I need answers."
There was a long pause. "You're going to have to get a bit more specific about the questions, then."
"What does Cambodia have to do with Shelburne?"
Another pause. "I don't know," Joe said finally.
"Joe."
"Son, I swear to you, I have no idea. I know better than to bother trying to hide it from you and deal with the damage after at this point."
"Then who told you where Mom was?"
Really, the pauses were getting annoying. "Sam."
"Sam who? Uncle Sam? Because you're going to have to narrow that down a bit, too."
"Just Sam. But I'll text you his number. Maybe you can get him to tell you more, since she's your mother."
A name. It wasn't much. But it was fucking something, at last. "Okay." The thanks stuck in his throat, lodged there by the memory of all the secrets that had led him to this.
"Look, Steve--"
"Just text me the number. Now."
He hung up and watched his phone until the number popped up and hit it instantly. Several rings in, there was a cautious sounding, "Hello?"
"This is Commander McGarrett," Steve said, using that voice the Navy had drilled into him to get results. "I need to speak with you."
Jesus, what was with these guys and the pauses? "So speak."
"Not over the phone. You know the lookout on Tantalus?"
At least this pause came with a deep inhalation and a long breath after. "Yes."
"Good. Be there in an hour, or I'll make it impossible for you to make a move on this island without someone following you."
He hung up before the guy could argue, rushing around to prepare himself to leave. When he was ready, he hesitated for a second, looking at his phone. Someone should know where he was, just in case. He didn't know what he was walking into, and that didn't usually work out so well, historically speaking.
He couldn't call Kono or Chin, they would insist on going with him after being unable to talk him out of it. Danny he couldn't call for more reasons than just that. He was helping his family.
Which meant he probably wouldn't see his texts until it was all over.
He sent a quick text. Meeting with Joe's CIA contact at Roundtop. Will text when I'm back.
That done, he shoved his phone in his pocket, grabbed the keys to the Mercury, and headed for the garage.
***
By the time Steve got home from his meeting, he was ready to punch something. Or someone. Sam, if that was his real name, was a good target. His mother was looking pretty good, too, even if he felt a little guilty for thinking it.
What the hell did a grave in Cambodia have to do with any of this? And why would the location of a grave make a guy so well connected to the CIA fear for his life if he talked?
It seemed like every answer he got to this fucking mystery turned into a dozen more questions.
He pulled into the garage and slammed the door of the car when he got out, slamming the garage door into the house for effect as he stomped his way into the living room.
"What the hell is the matter with you?"
Steve reached for his gun before he realized two things--it wasn't there, and it was only Danny. "What are you doing here?" Steve asked. "Aren't you supposed to be fixing your parents?"
"I was fixing my parents, but I left Grace with them to help remind them of how much their family means because apparently I had to come over here and fix you. And, I repeat in pursuit of that very much impossible goal, what the hell is the matter with you?"
Steve had reached the coffee table, standing on the other side of it from where Danny had jumped up off the couch at Steve's return. "What do you mean, what's wrong with me?"
"No, I said what the hell is wrong with you, because really, it needs a lot of emphasis, you idiot!"
"Danny, I do not have the patience for this right now." He really didn't, because he wanted to punch something, and the wire was itching him and he needed to get it off, and to go back over the recording in case he'd missed something crucial, something small but important, in what Sam had said.
Danny seemed undeterred by Steve's annoyance, however, judging by his harsh laugh. "Oh you don't have the patience?" he said, waving his hands in large motions that Steve knew meant he was almost as pissed as Steve was.
Good.
"Yes, I don't have the patience. So whatever it is, just say it and go." Steve turned and stalked towards the kitchen, intent on a beer, but he didn't get much past the coffee table before Danny's hand had a tight grip on Steve's bicep.
"You text me," Danny said, and Steve didn't dare turn around, not with Danny standing so close and smelling so good, and fucking Danny through the couch sounding like a damn fine alternative to a fight, "saying you're going to some clandestine meeting in a remote location--"
"Tantalus is in the middle of the fucking city!"
"Bullshit--that place is deserted this time of night, and even in daylight it's not the best place."
He didn't have to tell Steve that, not with the image of Roy Parrish bleeding to death having its own place in Steve's parade of ghosts. "I'm fine," Steve barked out, scratching at the tape on his chest. "I just texted you on the off chance something did go wrong, so you'd know where to start looking, all right? I didn't really think--"
"No, you didn't, did you?" Danny's grip tightened, and fuck, Steve was so fucked up that it actually turned him on, having Danny holding on so tight. "You didn't think, you just ran off the way you always do, and then it's me having to save your ass from jail for murder, from being fucking tortured in a country we're not even supposed to step into--you never fucking think!"
"I need answers, Danny!" Steve said, finally turning as much as he could with Danny's death grip, meeting Danny's eyes. "I'm never going to be free of this if I don't get answers, and I'm sick of this fucking mystery eating my life up one day at a time, okay? I need answers!"
"You'll never get them if you're dead, jackass!"
Steve held his hands out, palms up, twisting his arm in Danny's hold. "I'm still here, aren't I? Not a scratch on me." Except the ones that would be where the tape was driving him nuts if he didn't get it off soon.
"This time." Danny let go at last, hands running through his hair as if calming his ruffled feathers. "This time," he repeated, his voice low, his eyes holding Steve's harder than his hand had. "But what about the next time? Or the time after that? One of these times you're not going to make it. And then who's going to be stuck picking up the pieces?"
"Is that what this is about?" Steve asked, latching onto something to pin his anger to. "You're just worried you're going to have to pick up the pieces?" He scratched at the tape on his chest. "Well don't worry, you're absolved, all right? You're relieved of all picking up pieces responsibility. Go take care of your family!"
Steve ripped his shirt off, because the wire was driving him nuts, pulling at the little pieces of tape with no regard for his chest hair or his skin. The ripping felt good, the pain taking away the part of his brain that was screaming that he'd just sent Danny packing.
But Danny wasn't moving. Steve threw the wire on the table and chanced a glance at Danny's face. He was staring at Steve's chest, and his throat was working like it was too dry. But it was his eyes that were making Steve want to move closer, to grab him and throw him on the couch and never let him up again.
He couldn't. Danny had made it clear that he couldn't do that. Even if he and Catherine seemed to be going their separate ways without having a conversation about it, he couldn't until he officially ended it.
"Danny, I--"
"Shut up," Danny muttered. "Just...shut up."
He moved forward, and Steve tensed up, ready to defend himself against an attack, but unprepared for Danny to basically jump him, driving him backwards until his back hit the door, Danny's fingers digging into the back of Steve's head as he yanked Steve down for a kiss.
It was hard and brutal, and exactly what Steve needed. He melted into it, his arms wrapping tightly around Danny's body, daring him to even try to escape. But Danny wasn't trying. He was pushing as if he could get even closer, as if he could crawl inside Steve and take up residence, and really, Steve would be scarily okay with that.
His need to live alone really didn't extend to Danny.
The thought sent panic up in his chest, but he shoved it down in favor of losing himself in the feel of Danny's ass in his hands, in the taste of Danny's mouth and the way he smelled when they were like this, sweat and sex and something so perfect that Steve never wanted to let it go.
Danny pulled back a little, and Steve whimpered in protest until he realized Danny was just getting a hand between them. Steve leaned down to latch onto Danny's neck, barely tracking Danny's movement, but noticing when Danny's wet hand wrapped around both their dicks at the same time.
His strokes were hard and fast, and this was going to end quickly, and Steve didn't want that, he wanted to make it last, but fuck, it was Danny, and he'd gone too long without this. It was like oxygen after being under water until his lungs were ready to burst, and he gulped it in, his hands everywhere, shoving Danny's pants down to get his fill of Danny's amazing ass, moving one hand around to appreciate the way Danny's hair felt against his palm as he ran his hand down Danny's chest.
So many things that had haunted his dreams, the good alongside all the bad that lived in his subconscious, and he wondered why his brain couldn't reach for this at night instead of all the terrible shit that lived there as well.
Probably for the same reasons he couldn't reach for it in the daylight when he was wide awake.
He lost the ability to think when Danny's teeth latched onto his shoulder, pain and pleasure mixing in a jolt that went straight to his dick, wringing his orgasm out of him with perfect force. He felt Danny push hard into him, the door unyielding behind them, holding them both up as they sagged into it, completely wrung out.
They stayed there for a long moment, breathing, until Danny finally let go, pushing off Steve without quite looking at him, choosing to look down at himself instead. "I, uh...I'm gonna go, um..." He jerked a thumb towards the downstairs bathroom, and waved a hand at his body before he turned and stumbled off, holding his pants up with one hand.
Steve rested his head against the door for a minute before pulling his pants up enough that he could get to the kitchen. He rinsed his hands off and used the wet paper towel to take care of the mess on his stomach before doing his pants up.
Danny was walking back into the living room as Steve left the kitchen. His eyes were hooded, whatever was going on behind them hidden again, leaving Steve with no idea where they stood after that.
"I'm gonna go," Danny said, still not looking at him.
"Danny--"
Steve reached out, but Danny backed away, hands up. "No, don't." He met Steve's gaze, the pain in Danny's eyes easily read for one brief second before it was hidden again. "I'm sorry," Danny said. "I didn't mean to--I mean....fuck." He ran a hand over his face. "You've got shit to figure out, I know that. And I didn't mean to make it worse."
But he hadn't. He'd made it better. Steve didn't know how to say that, though, not without it sounding like he thought sex would cure everything. He didn't, but he also didn't have a clue how that had somehow made it better, how the thought he might even manage to sleep some tonight, all because of that. "Okay," he said, nodding dumbly. "Okay."
Danny turned to leave, and Steve couldn't keep it inside. "Danny!"
He turned, his hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"
"You made it better," he said, because they were the only words he had.
A brief something--light, was the only way Steve could describe it--flashed in Danny's eyes, and there was a small hint of a smile, if you knew how to look, as Danny nodded. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah. Night, Danno."
"Goodnight."
***
Chapter 2