Night Manoeuvres on Ocean Drive (Hawaii 5-0)
Night Manoeuvres on Ocean Drive
Author: Tari_Roo
Rating: PG (Gen)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Steve would be bare-chested even more than he is, we would actually ‘see’ Danny trying to surf and Kono would be a secret Cylon. That is all.
Summary: One shot: Post-case Danny gets a call that post-case hurt Steve is not where he should be. i.e. In bed, resting. Instead... he’s on night manoeuvres.
Spoilers: None, but you kinda have to know the show, ok?
AN: The back story is deliberately vague, ‘cos I like stories that come in right in the middle. This is a little one shot apologyfic for saphirablue who I spoiled. J
Getting a phone call in the wee hours of the morning is never a good thing. Even if you are a cop, and it might not be a directly personal thing, it still meant someone was having a bad start to their day. But Danny barely groaned as he reached for his vibrating phone before it rocked itself right off the makeshift bedside table. Not bothering to decipher the numbers or caller ID through eyes slitted against the incoming call light, Danny thumbed ‘accept’ and growled, “What?”
It took a good few seconds for the voice on the other end to register, let alone the actual meaning of the words to settle into understanding. Danny waved his free hand, and shook his head before muttering, “No, no, say that again. He did what?”
Danny slumped back into the covers, phone pressed to his ear, other hand clenched in his hair like he was holding onto the ideas streaming into his head, as the voice on the other end repeated itself. “Miko, if this a practical joke I am going to ...” Danny paused in his interruption, turned to look at the digital clock in the kitchenette and smiled, “Really?”
The clock was flashing 03:23, which meant it was 03:11 and Danny rolled over, his feet landing on the cool linoleum with a dull thud. “No, no, don’t do anything, I’ll be there ... in fifteen. Don’t let him leave, kay?”
Hunched over, feeling the long week weighing on his shoulders and making his knees ache, Danny grinned into the phone, “No, I appreciate it. I owe you. Thanks, Miko. Later.” Ending the call, Danny stared at his phone, pulling his thoughts together, gathering the momentum to stand. The phone’s screen dimmed, and Danny remained sitting, and then slowly, so slowly stood, feeling the pull of bruises and torn muscles.
Nabbing the bottle of painkillers, Danny hobbled to the bathroom, didn’t bother with the light and fumbled in the clean laundry. Dry swallowing a couple of pills, he pulled a clean, but wrinkled dress shirt on with careful speed. Jeans were doffed in favour of suit pants, as they rode lower and wouldn’t press against any bruises. And then Danny took the time, the valuable time, to find a tie, preferably not covered in blood.
Finally dressed to irritate Steve McGarett no end, because who wore a tie at 3am in Hawaii, Danny pocketed the pills, grabbed the prescription for muscle relaxants and his side arm and headed out the door.
The little convenience store about two miles from the McGarrett house was on a quiet stretch of beach road, frequented by both locals and tourists, but the business after 11pm barely warranted the risk of the all too frequent robberies. Shop lifting, vandalism, armed robbery. Whether you were bored, broke or strung out, the little shining beacon of convenient, late night food, booze and cigarettes was a magnet of epic trouble proportions.
As Danny pulled up to the small store, there were more HPD squad cars than customers, and one large, silent ambulance. The flashing lights from the squad cars were highlighting the area in police colours, advertising that something ‘interesting’ had happened. Sgt. Miko nodded at Danny as Williams gingerly extracted himself from his car, and nodded towards the open back of the ambulance. Danny returned the nod, but headed towards the open space that was the non-policecar part of the parking lot in front of the store.
The bright green sign of ‘Stop Buy’ was cracked right down the middle, and the large automatic glass doors were shattered, the spray of glass twinkling red and blue in the police light. The aisle closest to the display window, potato chips and junk snacks, was annihilated. Burst bags, their contents strewn over the floor and shelving, were everywhere, and the aisle behind that, chocolates and sweets, was only slightly less damaged. Miraculously the display window was unmarked, but the glass doors were a complete loss. The store clerk was sitting on the curb, in a glass free area, idly sipping on a Mountain Dew. He had the stunned expression of the recent adrenalin surge and he tipped his can of soda at Danny in greeting. Danny nodded, recognising the kid from a couple of late night, post case Team dinner supply runs. Steve was always willing to have them all over, but his culinary palate was a little stark, even for health nuts like Kono.
Speaking of ....
Danny slowed turned, relishing the crunch of glass beneath his shoes, grinding in the gravel. The painkillers had kicked in on the drive over, but he was going to have to fill that prescription soon, before he stiffened up like a surf board. Maybe he’d call it in and get Kono to pick it up. Afterall, what else where Rookies good for, but mindless, menial annoying tasks designed to make everyone’s life easier? Spotting the bowed head of McGarrett, Danny ambled towards the ambulance, trying not to wince too much as his left leg twinged in protest.
Steve was holding an icepack to the side of his face, which meant he had no free hands to argue, retaliate or maim, thereby allowing Danny freedom to sit down next to him, and wait. He caught the scowl and the silent warning. But Danny just sat, let the burning ache of bruised ribs ease back to a dull roar, let the familiar sights and sounds of a crime scene wash over him. He had chosen to sit on the non-ice-pack side so that he could see Steve’s face. The soft blue material of the sling was spotted with blood and ... something sticky, but otherwise looked intact.
Finally Steve growled, “Why are you here?”
It was invitation enough.
Danny very deliberately, very pointedly, did not look at Steve and his new bruises. “You know most people when they wake up after the good kind of painkillers and have the post-high munchies, go raid their cupboards for junk food. Some people though are health freaks and don’t have a single bag of chips in the house.”
“Go away.” Steve was glaring at the ground, the twisted snap and spray of gravel, beach sand and litter.
“Most people when finding the cupboard bare would give up and go back to bed like good invalids. Others though, search the house for hostess cakes and twinkies they save for the inevitable nuclear war like good boyscouts,” Danny sighed, staring at Steve’s besandled feet, big hairy toes sticking out like brown caterpillars.
“Quit stealing my stuff!” Steve sounded less pissed and more resigned to the inevitable.
Undeterred, Danny noted the frayed, well worn, almost smooth denim of Steve’s jeans, the material at his knees more white than blue. “Rational, sensible people drunk-dial for a pizza or sub, and get some minimum wage schlub to bring them food. The slightly unhinged decide to walk in search of additives and msg at 2 am.”
“It wasn’t far.”
Danny nodded in disagreement and replied quietly, while staring at the clotted scabs on McGarrett’s split knuckles, “Non pain addled, definitely concussed but won’t admit it people would notice that their favourite kwiki-mart is being robbed and would walk away, call 911 and let highly trained, drug free police officers deal with the perp. Hopped up sugar junkies, pretend that they don’t notice, because what the hell, adrenalin is better than drugs, right?”
Steve waited a double heart beat before whining in a tone that said ‘I am not whining’, “It was dark.”
Danny paused, looked at Steve, who had the audacity to have a very slight, very small, very obvious smirk blooming. Danny tried not to smile back. And failed.
“Did you really have to use a can of Minute Maid?”
“Utilise your surroundings.”
Rolling his eyes, Danny pursed his lips, leant back a little in the van, and said softly, “You broke a man’s hand with concentrated orange juice.”
“Mango, I think.”
Danny looked away to hide his smile, and coughed, “Citrus family aside, it’s a little mean stabbing a man with his own knife.”
Steve sounded a little offended, or maybe just amused, “He was going for his gun.”
He couldn’t help it, the grin that spread wide and he turned back to catch Steve’s eye as he said, “Which was a lighter...”
McGarrett stared back with a dead serious face, and sounded almost as serious as he deadpanned, “Forest fires are a real hazard, you can’t be too careful.”
“We live in a tropical rain forest.”
To which Steve quipped, “Safety first.”
Danny opened his mouth to verbalise a detailed comparison of Steve, a Boy Scout and Smokey the Bear, but remembered not to get sidetracked or let Steve side track him and said instead, “I get the Minute Maid and the knife wound and the broken nose. But I don’t get the body slam into aisle one, and reckless destruction of private property.”
“He was getting away.” Steve looked ridiculously pleased with himself, or as pleased as a beat half senseless five hours before man could.
“People usually run from crazed one armed men trying to frame them for murder with lighter guns and minute maid,” Danny explained patiently, earnestly, and very seriously.
McGarrett was not impressed. “You should take your act on the road. No, really you should.”
Danny nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly but continued his explanation on why other people found Steve scary, “I think you went a little too far by knocking him unconscious with the same can you broke his hand with, and then sitting on him until the response unit arrived. Very depressing, very ... disheartening for his ego.”
Steve’s smirk was struggling to stay small.
Danny fought the urge to share that smirk and sighed dramatically, “Tell me, McGarrett, when they make the movie of your life and trust me they will because Hollywood can’t think of crazier stuff than this, who do you see playing you? ‘Cos personally, I want the part of long suffering, incredibly patient and understand Detective Danny Williams to be played by Brad Pitt.”
“You wish.” The blood on his t-shirt was a little disturbing in its wetness and all too regular familiarity.
Danny ignored the blood though, focused on the halfmast eyes, sluggish blinking and asked, “Is it Steven Seagall? Michael Dorf? Casper van Dien? Anyone who can pull off beating a helpless robber with one hand tied behind his back?”
Steve didn’t bother responding, but he did remove the ice pack and lump it on the seat next to him with weary force. Danny leant forward to get a look at the lump blooming over Steve’s eye and hissed in sympathy. “He get you anywhere else?”
“How are your ribs?” Steve had the audacity to sidestep but Danny shook his head, “I’m well medicated and rested. Or at least I was becoming so. You on other hand have decided to spread the pain. So...?”
It’s difficult to shrug nonchalantly with a broken and recently reset shoulder so Steve shrugged with his eyebrows and expression. Danny returned the expression with his own patented ‘unimpressed partner’ and sighed, “They at least check you out?”
Another nod and Steve was beginning to look decidedly wilted and pale, so Danny stood as smoothly as he could, and said, “Come on then, let’s get you home. Away from potential weapons and convenience store crisis’s.” Steve looked like he was going to protest or argue or debate or something but Danny just stood and let McGarret think it through, get there on his own and at Steve’s nod, helped his friend to stand. He ignored the slight stagger and didn’t tighten his grip or let any concern leak through. Steve seemed to consider the logistics of making it to the car on his own steam, conceded it was an unlikely prospect and let Danny prop him up on his good side, mindful of William’s own tender ribs.
As they made their wounded way towards the car, Danny gave Sgt. Miko a brief nod and said brightly to Steve, “You roundhouse kicked the moron into aisle one, didn’t you?”
Steve’s face was shiny with sweat and ill health, but he rolled his eyes in a fair modicum of his normal bravado, and managed a brief smile as Danny laughed aloud. “No, dude, I take it back. Your life is a Chuck Norris movie.”
It was routine, expected, almost forced, but Steve’s smile was genuine, “Not even Chuck Norris would wear a tie in Hawaii.”
Danny nodded, “That’s because Chuck Norris is a wuss.”
The camaro was a welcome promise of home, and Danny let out a grateful sigh as they neared. Steve slouched into the passenger seat, and made grumbly sounds as he tried to move all the way inside. When Danny finally started the car, he risked a quick glance at McGarrett. Steve was slouched against the window, sling held away from the door, but looking more relaxed.
“McGarrett?”
“Danno?”
“Next time call me.”
“Ok.”
Fin
Author: Tari_Roo
Rating: PG (Gen)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Steve would be bare-chested even more than he is, we would actually ‘see’ Danny trying to surf and Kono would be a secret Cylon. That is all.
Summary: One shot: Post-case Danny gets a call that post-case hurt Steve is not where he should be. i.e. In bed, resting. Instead... he’s on night manoeuvres.
Spoilers: None, but you kinda have to know the show, ok?
AN: The back story is deliberately vague, ‘cos I like stories that come in right in the middle. This is a little one shot apologyfic for saphirablue who I spoiled. J
Getting a phone call in the wee hours of the morning is never a good thing. Even if you are a cop, and it might not be a directly personal thing, it still meant someone was having a bad start to their day. But Danny barely groaned as he reached for his vibrating phone before it rocked itself right off the makeshift bedside table. Not bothering to decipher the numbers or caller ID through eyes slitted against the incoming call light, Danny thumbed ‘accept’ and growled, “What?”
It took a good few seconds for the voice on the other end to register, let alone the actual meaning of the words to settle into understanding. Danny waved his free hand, and shook his head before muttering, “No, no, say that again. He did what?”
Danny slumped back into the covers, phone pressed to his ear, other hand clenched in his hair like he was holding onto the ideas streaming into his head, as the voice on the other end repeated itself. “Miko, if this a practical joke I am going to ...” Danny paused in his interruption, turned to look at the digital clock in the kitchenette and smiled, “Really?”
The clock was flashing 03:23, which meant it was 03:11 and Danny rolled over, his feet landing on the cool linoleum with a dull thud. “No, no, don’t do anything, I’ll be there ... in fifteen. Don’t let him leave, kay?”
Hunched over, feeling the long week weighing on his shoulders and making his knees ache, Danny grinned into the phone, “No, I appreciate it. I owe you. Thanks, Miko. Later.” Ending the call, Danny stared at his phone, pulling his thoughts together, gathering the momentum to stand. The phone’s screen dimmed, and Danny remained sitting, and then slowly, so slowly stood, feeling the pull of bruises and torn muscles.
Nabbing the bottle of painkillers, Danny hobbled to the bathroom, didn’t bother with the light and fumbled in the clean laundry. Dry swallowing a couple of pills, he pulled a clean, but wrinkled dress shirt on with careful speed. Jeans were doffed in favour of suit pants, as they rode lower and wouldn’t press against any bruises. And then Danny took the time, the valuable time, to find a tie, preferably not covered in blood.
Finally dressed to irritate Steve McGarett no end, because who wore a tie at 3am in Hawaii, Danny pocketed the pills, grabbed the prescription for muscle relaxants and his side arm and headed out the door.
The little convenience store about two miles from the McGarrett house was on a quiet stretch of beach road, frequented by both locals and tourists, but the business after 11pm barely warranted the risk of the all too frequent robberies. Shop lifting, vandalism, armed robbery. Whether you were bored, broke or strung out, the little shining beacon of convenient, late night food, booze and cigarettes was a magnet of epic trouble proportions.
As Danny pulled up to the small store, there were more HPD squad cars than customers, and one large, silent ambulance. The flashing lights from the squad cars were highlighting the area in police colours, advertising that something ‘interesting’ had happened. Sgt. Miko nodded at Danny as Williams gingerly extracted himself from his car, and nodded towards the open back of the ambulance. Danny returned the nod, but headed towards the open space that was the non-policecar part of the parking lot in front of the store.
The bright green sign of ‘Stop Buy’ was cracked right down the middle, and the large automatic glass doors were shattered, the spray of glass twinkling red and blue in the police light. The aisle closest to the display window, potato chips and junk snacks, was annihilated. Burst bags, their contents strewn over the floor and shelving, were everywhere, and the aisle behind that, chocolates and sweets, was only slightly less damaged. Miraculously the display window was unmarked, but the glass doors were a complete loss. The store clerk was sitting on the curb, in a glass free area, idly sipping on a Mountain Dew. He had the stunned expression of the recent adrenalin surge and he tipped his can of soda at Danny in greeting. Danny nodded, recognising the kid from a couple of late night, post case Team dinner supply runs. Steve was always willing to have them all over, but his culinary palate was a little stark, even for health nuts like Kono.
Speaking of ....
Danny slowed turned, relishing the crunch of glass beneath his shoes, grinding in the gravel. The painkillers had kicked in on the drive over, but he was going to have to fill that prescription soon, before he stiffened up like a surf board. Maybe he’d call it in and get Kono to pick it up. Afterall, what else where Rookies good for, but mindless, menial annoying tasks designed to make everyone’s life easier? Spotting the bowed head of McGarrett, Danny ambled towards the ambulance, trying not to wince too much as his left leg twinged in protest.
Steve was holding an icepack to the side of his face, which meant he had no free hands to argue, retaliate or maim, thereby allowing Danny freedom to sit down next to him, and wait. He caught the scowl and the silent warning. But Danny just sat, let the burning ache of bruised ribs ease back to a dull roar, let the familiar sights and sounds of a crime scene wash over him. He had chosen to sit on the non-ice-pack side so that he could see Steve’s face. The soft blue material of the sling was spotted with blood and ... something sticky, but otherwise looked intact.
Finally Steve growled, “Why are you here?”
It was invitation enough.
Danny very deliberately, very pointedly, did not look at Steve and his new bruises. “You know most people when they wake up after the good kind of painkillers and have the post-high munchies, go raid their cupboards for junk food. Some people though are health freaks and don’t have a single bag of chips in the house.”
“Go away.” Steve was glaring at the ground, the twisted snap and spray of gravel, beach sand and litter.
“Most people when finding the cupboard bare would give up and go back to bed like good invalids. Others though, search the house for hostess cakes and twinkies they save for the inevitable nuclear war like good boyscouts,” Danny sighed, staring at Steve’s besandled feet, big hairy toes sticking out like brown caterpillars.
“Quit stealing my stuff!” Steve sounded less pissed and more resigned to the inevitable.
Undeterred, Danny noted the frayed, well worn, almost smooth denim of Steve’s jeans, the material at his knees more white than blue. “Rational, sensible people drunk-dial for a pizza or sub, and get some minimum wage schlub to bring them food. The slightly unhinged decide to walk in search of additives and msg at 2 am.”
“It wasn’t far.”
Danny nodded in disagreement and replied quietly, while staring at the clotted scabs on McGarrett’s split knuckles, “Non pain addled, definitely concussed but won’t admit it people would notice that their favourite kwiki-mart is being robbed and would walk away, call 911 and let highly trained, drug free police officers deal with the perp. Hopped up sugar junkies, pretend that they don’t notice, because what the hell, adrenalin is better than drugs, right?”
Steve waited a double heart beat before whining in a tone that said ‘I am not whining’, “It was dark.”
Danny paused, looked at Steve, who had the audacity to have a very slight, very small, very obvious smirk blooming. Danny tried not to smile back. And failed.
“Did you really have to use a can of Minute Maid?”
“Utilise your surroundings.”
Rolling his eyes, Danny pursed his lips, leant back a little in the van, and said softly, “You broke a man’s hand with concentrated orange juice.”
“Mango, I think.”
Danny looked away to hide his smile, and coughed, “Citrus family aside, it’s a little mean stabbing a man with his own knife.”
Steve sounded a little offended, or maybe just amused, “He was going for his gun.”
He couldn’t help it, the grin that spread wide and he turned back to catch Steve’s eye as he said, “Which was a lighter...”
McGarrett stared back with a dead serious face, and sounded almost as serious as he deadpanned, “Forest fires are a real hazard, you can’t be too careful.”
“We live in a tropical rain forest.”
To which Steve quipped, “Safety first.”
Danny opened his mouth to verbalise a detailed comparison of Steve, a Boy Scout and Smokey the Bear, but remembered not to get sidetracked or let Steve side track him and said instead, “I get the Minute Maid and the knife wound and the broken nose. But I don’t get the body slam into aisle one, and reckless destruction of private property.”
“He was getting away.” Steve looked ridiculously pleased with himself, or as pleased as a beat half senseless five hours before man could.
“People usually run from crazed one armed men trying to frame them for murder with lighter guns and minute maid,” Danny explained patiently, earnestly, and very seriously.
McGarrett was not impressed. “You should take your act on the road. No, really you should.”
Danny nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly but continued his explanation on why other people found Steve scary, “I think you went a little too far by knocking him unconscious with the same can you broke his hand with, and then sitting on him until the response unit arrived. Very depressing, very ... disheartening for his ego.”
Steve’s smirk was struggling to stay small.
Danny fought the urge to share that smirk and sighed dramatically, “Tell me, McGarrett, when they make the movie of your life and trust me they will because Hollywood can’t think of crazier stuff than this, who do you see playing you? ‘Cos personally, I want the part of long suffering, incredibly patient and understand Detective Danny Williams to be played by Brad Pitt.”
“You wish.” The blood on his t-shirt was a little disturbing in its wetness and all too regular familiarity.
Danny ignored the blood though, focused on the halfmast eyes, sluggish blinking and asked, “Is it Steven Seagall? Michael Dorf? Casper van Dien? Anyone who can pull off beating a helpless robber with one hand tied behind his back?”
Steve didn’t bother responding, but he did remove the ice pack and lump it on the seat next to him with weary force. Danny leant forward to get a look at the lump blooming over Steve’s eye and hissed in sympathy. “He get you anywhere else?”
“How are your ribs?” Steve had the audacity to sidestep but Danny shook his head, “I’m well medicated and rested. Or at least I was becoming so. You on other hand have decided to spread the pain. So...?”
It’s difficult to shrug nonchalantly with a broken and recently reset shoulder so Steve shrugged with his eyebrows and expression. Danny returned the expression with his own patented ‘unimpressed partner’ and sighed, “They at least check you out?”
Another nod and Steve was beginning to look decidedly wilted and pale, so Danny stood as smoothly as he could, and said, “Come on then, let’s get you home. Away from potential weapons and convenience store crisis’s.” Steve looked like he was going to protest or argue or debate or something but Danny just stood and let McGarret think it through, get there on his own and at Steve’s nod, helped his friend to stand. He ignored the slight stagger and didn’t tighten his grip or let any concern leak through. Steve seemed to consider the logistics of making it to the car on his own steam, conceded it was an unlikely prospect and let Danny prop him up on his good side, mindful of William’s own tender ribs.
As they made their wounded way towards the car, Danny gave Sgt. Miko a brief nod and said brightly to Steve, “You roundhouse kicked the moron into aisle one, didn’t you?”
Steve’s face was shiny with sweat and ill health, but he rolled his eyes in a fair modicum of his normal bravado, and managed a brief smile as Danny laughed aloud. “No, dude, I take it back. Your life is a Chuck Norris movie.”
It was routine, expected, almost forced, but Steve’s smile was genuine, “Not even Chuck Norris would wear a tie in Hawaii.”
Danny nodded, “That’s because Chuck Norris is a wuss.”
The camaro was a welcome promise of home, and Danny let out a grateful sigh as they neared. Steve slouched into the passenger seat, and made grumbly sounds as he tried to move all the way inside. When Danny finally started the car, he risked a quick glance at McGarrett. Steve was slouched against the window, sling held away from the door, but looking more relaxed.
“McGarrett?”
“Danno?”
“Next time call me.”
“Ok.”
Fin