Ma’ane’i No Ke Aloha (Steve/Danny, Steve/Chin)
Title: Ma’ane’i No Ke Aloha
Pairing: Steve/Chin (past), Steve/Danny (present)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 49K
Spoilers: Through 1.11 “Palekaiko”
Disclaimer: Not Mine!
A/N: AU wherein Steve and Chin met during Steve’s senior year of high school.
Summary: Chin knows how Danny feels about Steve McGarrett. In fact, he knows it all too well.
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Present
“Screw that guy!” Danny comes within millimeters of slamming his fist against the thick glass window, pulling back at the last available second.
Chin tries not to smile. He’s barely able to get his mouth to cooperate before Danny turns back around, flexing and curling the fingers of his right hand as if he actually had landed a punch.
“I mean…just, screw him, man. I can’t even…” Danny’s words peter off into a long deep exhale. “Okay. All right. Fine. I’m not letting this get to me.” He shrugs it off, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders. “Not worth it, Danny, so not worth it.”
Despite all his best efforts a chuckle pushes its way past Chin’s lips, and at the edge of his peripheral vision he spots Kono stifling a laugh of her own. He has to be careful not to catch her eye or else he’s sure they’ll both be goners. Kono’s laughter has always been contagious.
“What.” Danny snaps toward him, hands gesturing wildly. “You think this is funny?” Chin doesn’t trust himself to answer so he wisely remains silent. “Cause it’s not funny. It’s not even vaguely humorous. Not even a little bit.”
“You gotta calm down, brah.”
“Yeah, Danny, you’re about to give yourself a heart attack. Here.” Kono holds out a white paper cup with water, nodding for him to take it. He ignores the offer and walks away from her, circling around to the other side of the computer table.
“Despite what you both apparently seem to think, I am not a child.” He points both hands toward his chest, tapping once for emphasis. “I am a fully grown man. I am a detective for chrissakes, and a good one at that. I don’t need Mr. Black Ops tellin’ me how to do my job.”
Danny gestures out the door in the direction that Steve had gone a few minutes earlier. He stops and stares at the empty hallway with his hands on his hips, still wrapping his head around the fact Steve left him behind.
A second later he’s back in action.
“Yeah, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not gonna sit around here and wait for a news report saying the idiot’s blown up half of Honolulu or god knows what else.”
“Danny,” Chin sighs, getting up from where he sits on the edge of the table. He sets a hand on Danny’s shoulder and finds the smaller man practically shaking with agitation. Steve’s always had an ability to get underneath people’s skin - he learned that the hard way years ago - but the effect he has on Danny is in a whole new league of its own. “Look. Steve’s got this one.”
“No no, see, what you mean is Steve and that schmuck got this one. That’s what you mean. Let me ask you, do you remember the last time one of Smooth Dog’s Navy buddies came around? I do. ‘Cause the asshole almost killed us all. Is this ringing any bells with you?”
“Come on, Danny. What are the odds that another one of Steve’s friends is working against us? Besides, David seems like a good guy.” Kono replies soothingly with a calm and reassuring smile.
“Do not use your Kid Whisperer voice on me, Kono. It might work on five year olds but I hear what you’re doing.” He points from his ear to her and then back to his ear. “And frankly, the very idea that you think that would work on me is offensive.”
“Seriously -“
“Seriously, what. We’re supposed to be a team. Special task force? Five-O? Not ‘Steve and his Minions.’” He crunches his fingers in air quotes and then pauses for a moment. Chin thinks it might be a reprieve from the tirade but when he opens his mouth to speak, Danny plunders on.
“This guy, this David or whoever, just blows into town and suddenly I’m replaceable?” Danny’s been wound up ever since David arrived on the island three days ago; Steve telling Danny to stay behind is just the extra twist that has Danny pulled tight and ready to snap. “Steve shouldn’t be able to pull whoever the hell he wants into a case just ‘cause he feels like it. Guy’s not even a cop, what are his qualifications?”
“He’s a SEAL, like Steve,” Kono says. She apparently hasn’t realized that this is now a conversation Danny is having with himself and their input is no longer required.
“The suspect is Air Force. I have met General Nathanson before - even been to Hickam! - and managed not to fuck it up. So what if I’m not military? He thinks I can’t fall in with those guys? My ‘smart aleck mouth’, that’s what he says. What does he think I’m gonna do, walk into the place and shit all over Semper Fi?”
“I’m pretty sure Semper Fi is the Marines,” Kono corrects quietly.
“That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is, Danny.” Chin takes hold of both of Danny’s shoulders now and holds him still, bending at the knees a little so he can look directly into Danny’s eyes. He’s only going to get more worked up if one of them doesn’t manage to curtail this rant. Danny sighs in anticipation of the speech he must know he’s about to receive and shifts his weight back and forth on his feet.
“Those guys take their jobs very seriously, and they speak their own language. If we’re going to go in there and poke our noses into their business, possibly accuse one of their men of murdering this girl, it’s probably best to let Steve direct how this is going to go. They’ll cooperate better with one of their own.”
“So you’re okay with sitting back and doing grunt work while Steve runs off with a complete stranger to track down a suspected killer.”
“In this particular case…yes. I am.” Chin replies. Danny turns to Kono for her response.
“Yeah, I am too.”
Danny looks between them, baffled.
“Well I’m not,” he sputters.
“Never would’ve guessed,” Kono says dryly and bends to press a few buttons on the computer, bringing up images of the crime scene to review once more. She points to the three screens, eyebrow delicately raised. “Maybe we should get back to this…?”
Danny scowls at her, folding his arms over his chest.
“I am merely voicing a legitimate concern.”
“Your concern is noted.” Chin nods toward the crime photos, trying to aid Kono in directing attention back to the matter-at-hand. “But I think the best way we can help this case and help Steve is to get some hard admissible evidence to nail this guy before he hurts anyone else.”
“Fine. But when we get a phone call saying that Snake Eyes and Sergeant Slaughter pulled some crazyass stunt that set an entire military base on red alert, I’m gonna be right here tellin’ you I told you so.”
“Also noted.”
“You both act like I’m overreacting, but you know that I’m the only thing that keeps that guy from going over the edge. I mean, you do know that, right? I am the sane yin to his insane yang.”
Kono shoots Chin a look and this time the smiles they exchange are weighted and wistful.
“Yeah, brah. We know that.” Kono says, that softness once again taking hold of her tone. But this time Danny doesn’t fight it. He relaxes, taking a deep breath and then running his hand over his mouth and chin.
Just as quickly, his shoulders tense, his jaw sets firmly, and he’s right back to being frustrated and angry.
Most of the time, Chin can laugh off Danny’s seething rage and chuckle at his and Steve’s constant bickering, but some days it goes on too long. Long enough that the anger and the frustration chip away and start to reveal what’s really underneath. Chin can’t pretend he doesn’t see. He can’t pretend he doesn’t know.
Because Chin, well, he’s been there.
And being there, being in love with Steve McGarrett and not even realizing it, is not a good place to be. Love for Steve is a stealthy and dangerous feeling, right in line with everything that Steve is. You don’t even realize it’s happened until it’s said and done, and your ass is knocked out cold before you could raise a hand to defend yourself.
Sometimes when Chin takes a moment to look at Steve - to really look at him, even now - he’s not sure he’s ever fully recovered from the blow. Something deep inside will always ache, as a once broken bone twinges when it rains.
Beside him, Danny scrutinizes the board, grinding his teeth as he tries to concentrate. Chin feels a brief wave of pity swell up inside of him.
“Okay.” Danny begins, palms together, fingertips pointing toward the computer. “Let’s go over this all again. Start at the top.”
*******
October, 1993
The sun is hammering down on the field, not even a whisper of a cool ocean breeze to provide relief. The air is uncommonly calm. Chin squints into the brightness and briefly wonders how he ever managed to wear full pads and uniform in this heat, much less play the game. It’s all relative, he supposes. At the time, it didn’t feel so bad.
The crowd is loud, chanting Steve’s name as he makes his way from the sideline to the line of scrimmage. Five years ago that was him out there, star quarterback of the Kukui Kings, and these fans were shouting his name. Now Steve McGarrett has all of his former records in hand save one and half a season left to make the set complete.
People expect Chin to care - and maybe a little piece of him does - but most of him finds it hard to root against the son of the man sitting intently beside him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his eyes unreadable behind dark sunglasses.
To say Jack McGarrett is stoic would be a vast understatement. Yet underneath the gruff exterior, there is vast reserve of kindness that Chin is sure many people don’t realize exists. But it most definitely is there.
As a police officer, the man excels. He’s taught Chin so much already over the past few months; he’s endlessly generous with his knowledge and expertise. It’s like he has staked his name and reputation on molding and shaping Chin into his successor. Chin can only hope to do the man proud.
The ball is snapped and the defense is on Steve almost immediately, breaking through holes in the offense that simply shouldn’t be there. It hardly seems to matter. Steve sidesteps and turns and breaks free of some kid’s weak hold on his jersey and then he’s off.
Chin’s never witnessed someone play the game with such fierce elegance. Steve moves like he knows exactly where the openings are and who is coming at him. He’s got an instinctive, natural brilliance and an aggression that barrels through every obstacle with such ease that each one seems of absolutely no consequence. Last year Chin saw him throw a touchdown pass with two guys hanging on him and desperately trying to drag him to the turf. Chin knows it must have happened at some point, but he can’t remember ever seeing the kid get sacked.
He doesn’t realize his mind is drifting, that he’s watching the world in slow motion, until the crowd suddenly erupts and snaps him back to attention. Steve’s in the end zone now, his teammates ecstatic. Back slaps, helmet rubs, and pats on the ass all around.
Next to him, Jack clenches his fist victoriously and shouts with the utter lack of reserve he only displays when his son is playing.
“Now that’s my boy,” He exclaims and reaches over, slaps Chin on the knee. His smile is short and brief but completely honest.
Still, Jack leaves the second the fourth quarter whistles to a close. He makes the same excuse as always - something about wanting to beat the bustle of people to the parking lot before it became impossibly congested with game day traffic - but it’s really because he doesn’t want to chance Steve spotting him.
“Think I’m gonna stay, Jack.” Chin gathers up the courage to wave him off for the very first time. “Gotta meet my cuz Sid for a family thing. He has seats down that way.” He gestures down toward the 30 yard line and hopes that Jack doesn’t hear the telltale waver in his voice. Even the smallest of lies make him nervous.
If Jack does notice, he doesn’t press for details. He merely nods.
“10-4. See ya at 0700 Monday morning then.”
“Yes sir.” He offers Jack a small salute and then watches as Jack edges his way past knees and feet and empty beer cans to get to the aisle. He rounds the corner and he’s gone before anyone else has moved to stand.
Chin waits patiently until the stadium is nothing but empty bleachers and litter. Then he makes his way down to the locker room.
There’s a small knot in his stomach that warns him that this is a bad idea, that he’s about to cross a huge boundary here, but he ignores it. He can’t turn left on this island without running into a family member; to him it seems pretty ridiculous for Jack McGarrett to keep coming to these games and not even let Steve know he’s there.
The locker room is exactly the same as he remembers it; even smells the same, a pungent mixture of body odor, lemon Lysol, and Icy Hot.
“Chin Ho Kelly, hey braddah!” There are a few shoulder slaps and fist bumps from those who recognize him. He thinks most of them are brothers or cousins of his former teammates.
“’Ey, number twelve! All right man.”
Chin accepts the gestures of praise gladly. They feel familiar, comforting, taking him right back to the days when he had his things stashed right here in locker 102. He brushes his fingers over the cool metal as he passes it by.
Steve’s at his own locker, further down the row, in the midst of peeling off his pads and equipment. His jersey’s in a pile at his feet and he’s pulling off his undershirt and tossing it into his locker as Chin walks up.
“Steve, hi.”
Steve stops undressing for only the moment it takes to give Chin a cursory, curious glance, and then strips down to his underwear.
“Hi.” He replies pleasantly enough, hesitating before saying anything more.
Chin means to speak, but he gets caught up in looking at Steve’s face up close, unwillingly fascinated. Until now he’s only seen the lone photo Jack keeps on his desk, taken long enough ago that Steve looks much older in person. More height, more muscle; less shyness in his smile.
Chin hadn’t realized he held so many preconceptions of what Steve McGarrett would be until he’s face to face with reality.
Steve’s got Jack’s sharp features but Chin finds he’d assumed the son shared his father’s bright baby blues. In fact, Steve’s eyes are far more striking. In the light of the locker room, they look a shade of steel grey Chin has never seen before. The only word he can think of to describe them is beautiful, and the revelation is a surprise.
Steve looks back at him intently, gaze narrowing.
“Uh, sorry man - can I help you with something, or…?”
Chin shakes himself out of his blatant stare and extends his hand. Steve’s grasp is firm and abrupt.
“I apologize. Officer Kelly.”
“Officer, huh?” Any other teenager would’ve probably balked, but Steve just drops trou and reaches for the white towel hanging on his locker door.
“I’m a friend of your Dad’s. He’s my training officer down at HPD.”
This gives Steve pause; he shows alarm and discomfort for the first time. He stops in the middle of wrapping the towel around his waist and Chin makes sure to keep his gaze focused safely upward.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Chin replies quickly. “He…he’s here, actually. Or, he was, anyway. He, uh, had had to leave.” Maybe he should have thought about what he was going to say before this. Stammering like an idiot isn’t exactly how he’d envisioned this conversation starting.
“My dad was here?” Steve finishes tucking the towel tightly at his hips, a look of confusion coming over his face. “Why was he here?”
“Came to see you play.” Chin takes a step closer, resting a hand against the cool metal of Steve’s locker door. “He’s at every game, man, home and away. I thought that was something that you should know.”
“Why isn’t he telling me this himself?” Even at seventeen, Chin can already see Jack’s no bullshit attitude echoed right there in Steve’s steely gaze. The McGarrett Stare must be hereditary.
“Brah, I don’t know.” Chin shrugs. “I’m not going to pretend to understand your old man.”
“They why’re you here?” Steve closes his locker but doesn’t lock it up. His jersey is still on the floor like he hasn’t noticed he’d dropped it there.
“Your father has helped me a great deal since I joined the force. I’m merely…trying to return the favor. You should know how much he cares about you.”
“Look, if you want to do me a favor, cut the crap. We live in the same city and I see the man maybe once a month, tops? He can’t even return a phone call. Watching me play football doesn’t mean anything.”
“Then why play?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your dad was an all-star in his day too, always wanted you to play. So if your wearing that jersey isn’t about your dad, why play?”
“To break all your records, tutu kane.” Steve’s demeanor slips back into comfortable ease like he’s flipping a switch. He winks and slaps Chin on the shoulder.
“Thought you didn’t know who I was.” Chin retorts, going along with it, and Steve shrugs. His eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief, giving them a hint of both green and blue and brown that reminds Chin of shallow ocean above a sand bar.
“Chin Ho Kelly, right? Took me a minute but I remember your photo. Saw them takin’ it down so they could put mine up.”
“Oh, is that right?” Chin chuckles at Steve’s cheeky arrogance and Steve laughs too, easy and light. When he’s grinning he looks his age, maybe even younger, hard edges softening.
Chin feels a tightness in his chest at the sight of Steve’s smile, like he’d just witnessed something beautiful that he had no right to see and will probably never see again.
Perhaps it’s that feeling that prompts him to do the profoundly stupid thing he does next.
“I’m going to grab some pizza at JJ’s if you’re interested.” The moment the offer leaves his mouth it strikes him as terribly inappropriate. He coughs, buying some time to recoup, maybe find a way to make it seem less like he’d just asked his boss’ son to hang out. “Maybe I could give you some pointers on the spread offense.”
“You’re gonna give me pointers.”
“Man, I’ve been to every single one of your games since last year. Don’t try to tell me you have a handle on that ‘cause I know you’d be lying.”
Steve grins wider, as if Chin’s insult to his ego has endeared rather than injured.
“Kay, you got it bro. Give me a minute to hop in the shower and we’ll go. You’re buying, maka’i.”
Steve heads off to the showers and Chin realizes that during their brief conversation, the locker room had pretty much emptied out. It’s so quiet now that he can hear the squeak of the faucet being turned on and the spray of water hitting linoleum.
He picks up Steve’s jersey from the floor and opens his locker to hang it up.
50 is a strange number for a quarterback, but he suspects Steve’s fully aware of that. He also doubts Steve cares.
*******
Present
Steve can see it all over Danny’s face the second he walks into the ER. He turns to David and offers him an advance apology.
“I am sorry for whatever is about to come out of his mouth.”
David is confused for all of two seconds before it all becomes crystal clear.
With a vicious tug and a metallic screech, Danny pulls back the plastic curtain that was half-shielding them from view and his glare trains on Steve with the automatic precision of a heat-seeking missile.
“So you were just gonna go have a talk with the guy. I thought that was the plan.”
“He ran.”
“So I gathered. What about the whole ‘honor between brothers’ and ‘the military code’ and all that nonsense?” Danny demands and Steve gives the best shrug he can muster with two fractured ribs. “What, the suspected murderer of a young teenage girl didn’t adhere to your precious standards? Really. Whodda thunkit.”
“Danny…”
“Don’t ‘Danny’ me, McGarrett. You and this bozo here screwed up-“
“If he had been at the barracks at the time, his commanding officer and fellow officers would have made sure he cooperated,” David begins solemnly, his frown stern and uncompromising. “But seeing as how the suspect was off base already before we arrived-“
“He wasn’t the only thing off base, let me tell you,” Danny interrupts, glaring, and turns his focus back on Steve. “And now you, you’re in the emergency room, they’re calling me and telling me you got shot, what the hell happened?”
“The usual.” He waves Danny off. “And I’m fine. Didn’t they tell you I was fine?”
“I’ve discovered that ‘fine’ is a relative term with you. ‘Fine’ could range from a paper cut to anything short of a coma. And then only because, were you actually in a coma, you would not be awake to insist that you were ‘fine.’”
“This guy’s the only reason I’m even here.” Steve points to David, who has yet to crack a smile since they walked through the ER doors. David had been one of his trainers in BUD/S and despite all the years since, he maintained a fatherly concern for Steve, which included not letting Steve get a half-assed work-up on site before going directly back to the office and instead stopping at the hospital to get looked over.
“Why, he do this to you?” Danny points from David to Steve, eyebrows raised almost as absurdly high as his hair. Steve can already see steam rattling the gasket, ready to blow. He holds up his hand, signaling Danny to simmer down.
“Naw, naw, he’s the reason I’m here getting x-rays instead of back at Five-O with you guys. Dave here likes to play it safe, he’s getting tame in his old age.” He’s only teasing, trying to downplay the whole situation, but David isn’t about to help him out and play along.
“We ain’t in a combat zone, McGarrett. Pulling out bullets with your bare hands is fine when it’s a necessity, but ignoring medical care when it’s available isn’t brave or smart and a hospital visit makes you no less of a man.” David pointedly clamps a hand hard on the gauze over Steve’s wounded shoulder and Steve winces despite himself, a stab of pain searing up and down his arm and back.
Danny appears to enjoy that quite a bit.
“You know what, you might not be so bad. I’m going to have to re-assess my opinion of you, Thompson.” Danny grins widely as Steve grits his teeth through the pain. He manages to shoot Danny a grim smile, not amused.
“Good, now I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” David retorts sardonically. Danny’s rarely offered good graces barely register on his radar. “Steve, I’m going to head back to JBPHH and clear up some paperwork with the MA-“
“They’re not gonna fight us for jurisdiction, are they?” Steve asks, abruptly forgetting Danny and everything else. The thought of letting this perp out of Five-O’s sights is beyond unacceptable. “Guy was on leave, on my island-“
“You guys get him first, it’s a non-issue.” David is quick to assuage his fear and Steve powers down as quickly as he fired up.
“Your island? You own it now?” Danny interjects. Steve rolls his eyes at his partner, but more out of habit than anything else. Danny’s endless need to comment and pass judgment on everything he does and says should be annoying, but truth is he finds it both comforting and entertaining more times than not. “Well, let me know when you’re moving into the palace ‘cause I’ve always kinda wanted to see what it’s like in there.”
“You know, it’s open to the public, you can just go.”
“Like I have time to go, the shit you put me through.”
“Oh come on. Take Grace there one of your weekends.”
“No, no, see, when I have Grace, when we’re on my time, I like to do fun things. Not things that are going to make her hate me, like going to boring museums. We’ll leave that stuff to Step Stan and the stick up his ass, how about that.”
“Only a suggestion. You just said you always wanted to go.”
“I was being facetious.”
“Was that the word of the day on your calendar this morning, Danno?”
“Okay.” David cuts into their verbal ping-pong match, stopping the play dead. “I see you’re in good hands here, McGarrett, so I’m gonna leave you two ladies to it. I will check in later and make sure you have the follow-up you need on this guy.”
“Call him,” Steve points a finger at Danny. “He does our paperwork.”
“That I do, and aren’t I blessed.” Danny says with a whimsical sarcasm. David excuses himself, tossing a look Steve’s way that Steve can’t quite read and therefore doesn’t like. Danny tilts on his heel to watch the man go, David’s combat boots thudding heavy on linoleum, and then tilts back to Steve with a quizzical, teasing smirk on his face.
“Was he gray, before he met you? Or did you do that to him? Cause I sorta feel like a couple days ago when we were introduced, I swear the guy looked younger.”
“Unlike you, Danno, Dave finds working with me to be invigorating.” Steve twists at the waist, trying to gather his personal items from around the bed. He slips his watch back onto his wrist.
“Oh, believe me, working with you is ‘invigorating’ all right. What are you - what are you trying to do here.” Danny asks, both hands out in bewilderment as Steve lifts and tosses aside the pillows on the cot, twisting first this way then that.
“Lookin’ for my shirt.”
“You mean, the bloody one with the bullet hole in it? Uh, I’m guessing they threw that out, babe.” He shakes his head like he can’t quite believe Steve hadn’t figured that out himself. “But here, because I am an awesome partner and can predict your idiotic run-ins with bad guys with guns…” Danny pulls out a white v-neck from a plastic bag on the bedside table that Steve hadn’t even noticed he’d brought in.
“Always prepared. Such a dad, Danno.”
“Well you are like an overgrown child.”
“Naw seriously, thanks, man.” Steve says gratefully and grabs the tee from Danny’s outstretched hand. With one arm, he finagles the shirt over his head and awkwardly pulls it down to his waistline. He doesn’t notice Danny attempting to help him until his face is free and clear of the clinging fabric and it settles around his collarbone.
Danny catches his gaze for a moment and they both still, suddenly caught in a moment neither is sure how to handle. Or at least Steve feels ill equipped to and the strange expression on Danny’s face makes him suspect it’s the same on his end.
“Got it, thanks.” Steve murmurs. Danny’s hand is still at his collar, fingers resting warm against his neck. It briefly registers as comforting - maybe he even likes it - before Steve remembers himself and glances downward to where Danny’s hand lingers. He smirks a little, wondering how long it will take Danny to catch up to this.
“Uh yeah, sure.” Danny mumbles and steps back, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. He claps his hands together once and puffs out a breath, breaking the awkward tension. “So, what’s the plan now, Rambo?”
“Head back to the office.”
Danny looks at him like he has three heads.
“Uh, that’s a no.”
“Excuse me.”
“You were shot, the correct answer here is, you’re goin’ home.”
“Why even ask me what my plans are, if you’re going to turn around and try and tell me what to do?” Steve asks as he gets up from the bed. He wants to defy Danny but finds himself confounded by the lack of footwear. “Where the hell are my boots.” The ER doc had insisted he take them off, probably under some silly delusion that not having shoes would slow him down if he tried to leave, and now his desert boots aren’t where he put them.
“Right over there,” Danny points off-handedly with an air that there’s no way he’s going to assist Steve in getting them.
Steve locates the familiar tan shoes taunting him from a few paces away on the floor underneath one of those ugly-ass aluminum and green vinyl chairs. He drops himself to the uncomfortable seat with a leaden, ungraceful thud, letting gravity do the work rather than his muscles. Easing the way through the pain just prolongs it; better to do things fast like ripping off a Band-Aid.
Steve bends to pick up his heavy boots and his body screams in protest. He moves quickly as to not let Danny catch him wincing, but as usual Danny lets nothing slide.
“You could ask for help you know. I have it on good authority that it won’t actually kill you.” Danny comments. “Or, wait - do they have some kind of Navy SEAL red alert for that? Maybe they deploy a special unit to bag and tag suspected pussies?” Danny jokingly gestures up to the ceiling like he expects men in black combat uniforms to come crashing through the tiles immediately and grab Steve from where he sits.
“What do you want me to do, Danny, ask you to tie my shoelaces for me?” Steve snipes back.
It would, actually, be quite helpful if Danny would tie his shoelaces, but he’s not about to ask. He leverages one foot upward onto the edge of his seat and laces up quickly, keeping his eyes defiantly locked on Danny’s the whole time. He learned a long time ago to keep strong through the pain even when alone, mind over matter, but it’s still easier when he knows someone else is watching.
Especially if it’s Danny.
“I don't need help. It’s just a flesh wound. I’m fine.”
“A bullet lodged in your shoulder, broken ribs -“
“Bruised ribs-“
“ - Broken ribs and you look like someone used you as a piñata at a child’s birthday party…not a single one of those things qualifies as a freakin’ flesh wound. This-” He gestures to Steve as a whole. “Is not what was reported when you called in. This is trauma, my friend, not a boo-boo.”
“And the bullet’s out, it’s not ‘lodged’ anywhere.”
“My god, you’re the Black Knight. I’m gonna have to cut off your legs and even then you’re going to keep fighting me on this.”
“What?”
“The Black Knight. The Holy Grail?”
Danny’s no longer making any sense, which is a sure sign that whatever argument they’re having…Steve is about to win. He stares at Danny unflinchingly, waiting for Danny to give.
“Of course you don’t know Monty Python. What was I thinking.” Danny taps his own temple like he’s gone daft. “So we’re going back to HQ. Fine, whatever. I’m not your mother, do what you want.”
“Thanks for the permission, sweetheart.” Steve tugs sharply on the laces of his right boot, finishing up the task with a flourish and a gleeful smirk. He winks at his partner and Danny rolls his eyes.
“You are an idiot.”
“There are worse things to be,” Steve replies and stands up with a half-concealed grunt. He pats a few of the pockets of his cargo pants to make sure he’s got everything and then rests his hands on his hips.
He looks back at Danny to find the other man narrowing his eyes at him.
“I feel like there was an implied insult in there, somewhere, McGarrett.”
“Now you’re just being oversensitive. Can we go?”
“Waiting on you princess.”
“On me? Cause I thought we were sitting here talking about your feelings.”
“My feeling is that we should leave this hospital so when I finally break down and try to kill you, we won’t be surrounded by all these nice and well-meaning people who would try to save your life. That’s what I’m feeling.” Danny stalks out the door. Steve lets him get a few paces out of sight, not following.
A moment later Danny comes back into view, frustration evident over every inch of his face.
“Are you coming or what?” He doesn’t wait before taking off again.
It takes Steve a few uneven steps to effectively mask the limp, but by the time Danny turns around to make sure he’s following, he’s managed to make it barely noticeable.
He’ll ice it at home. Later.
*******
October, 1993
Steve rolls his shoulder, working out the tight knot that always twists up his throwing arm. Across the table, Chin rolls his own shoulder in sympathy, his muscle remembering that feeling.
“You use hot or cold on that?”
“Try to just work it out with my hands, usually,” Steve replies. His faded plaid flannel shirt is hanging in disarray off his shoulder and Steve pauses in his ministrations to slip the unbuttoned shirt all the way off and shove it aside. He digs his thumb in hard just below his collarbone and presses his fingers above his shoulder blade.
Chin’s dark eyes are trained on his hand, on the sideways tug of his t-shirt collar. His gaze is so intent that Steve tells himself he can’t be blamed for noticing; or for wondering what exactly it is that Chin finds so fascinating. He knows he’s not supposed to, but he likes the way Chin looks at him. It feels like approval of some kind, maybe real interest.
“What worked for you?” He asks, and it takes a second for the question to register properly with Chin.
“What? Oh, you know, brah. Heat, mostly I guess. Though nothing really helps except giving it a rest, and that’s not an option during the season.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Steve commiserates. He grimaces as something in his shoulder twinges and Chin leans forward slightly, concerned. The light over the center of the booth casts shadows that send his sharp cheekbones into stark relief. It occurs to him then that he also likes the way Chin looks, period.
“Is it really that bad?”
“No. It’s this damn song.” He covers, pointing upward toward the speakers lodged near the ceiling. They’re currently blaring out that “500 Miles” song by that every radio station has been playing non-stop since that one movie came out. To say he’s sick of it would be an understatement. “If I hear this, or Whitney Houston warbling about how she will always love someone one more time, I might shoot myself.”
“What kind of music do you like?” Chin inquires, reaching across the table to grab another slice of pizza from the quickly disappearing pie. Steve’s already on his fifth piece himself. His mouth feels salty and dry.
“Music’s not really my thing.”
“You don’t listen to music.” Chin is skeptical, as if he can’t believe such a person exists.
“I don’t actively seek it out, no.” He laughs at the expression on Chin’s face. “What? I mean, okay. Pearl Jam’s not so bad. Soundgarden, Nirvana, same as the rest of the guys ‘round here, I guess. I’ll listen to what’s on.”
“Well, Whitney was terrorizing me my last year of high school too, so I feel your pain on that one. I suppose not much has changed…despite the fact that I’ve recently discovered I’m old enough to not ‘get’ grunge.”
“You’re only, what, four years -“
“Five years.”
“Five years older than me. What are you listening to, golden oldies?” Steve kids. “You’re talking like you only listen to The Beach Boys and Elvis or something.”
“Don’t knock Elvis,” Chin points at him warningly. “Dude loved this place.”
“Who wouldn’t love this place?”
“Spoken like a true Hawaiian.”
“I was born here, you know.” Steve states, hearing that defensive note in his voice that always creeps in. He can’t help it. Years of being called a haole just because he’s white have had their effect, even if he tries not to let it bother him. This place is his home and he knows he won’t be here much longer. Maryland’s never seemed so far away as it has recently. “Hawaii’s in my blood, man.”
“I do know.” Chin points out with a small smile. “I probably know more about you than almost anybody else on this island.” Off of Steve’s confused look, he continues with an explanation. “Your dad may not talk a lot, but when he does, he talks a fair share about you.”
Steve’s returning smile is small, but he can’t force anything bigger. He doesn’t quite know what to do when his father enters his world. He’s always half-angry, half-thrilled.
Chin presses on.
“He told me that you’re going to Annapolis next year. USNA…that’s pretty big deal, brah. Ho'omaika'i 'Ana.” Chin extends his beer bottle to Steve, who clinks his glass obligingly but without heart. He sets his drink back down without taking a sip and picks up his napkin, twisting it between his fingers.
“McGarrett!” A group of Steve’s classmates, four guys and a few girls, plunder into JJ’s and one of them shouts Steve’s last name like a battle cry. Steve acknowledges the greeting with a nod - he has no idea what any of their names are, he thinks maybe they’re juniors - and hopes that will be enough.
It is, for the time being. Steve’s attention drifts back toward Chin, and for the first time feels the strangeness of being out with one of his father’s officers. One of his father’s friends.
Chin Ho Kelly’s probably spent more time with his father this year than he has. Chin sees him and talks to him everyday. This is the guy his own father chooses to spend his time with, and until a few hours ago, Steve wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a line up.
Steve settles his stare on Chin, letting the other man feel its pointed purpose of evaluation, of judgment.
But Steve undermines himself in a matter of moments, idle hands unthinkingly ripping up the napkin into tiny pieces. Chin’s glance occasionally dips downward to take in his busy fingers. Soon Steve has a pile of shredded paper dusting the tabletop and Chin has to know he’s feeling anxious.
Chin is waiting him out, leaving it up to him to pick up the conversation after the interruption. He suspects it’s an interrogation technique Chin’s learned form his father; the man always had a way of letting the silence stay unbroken until it became increasingly uncomfortable and you said something you otherwise might not have said.
Steve coughs and stumbles over words to get the conversation re-started.
“Yeah, well, congratulations…that might be a bit early. The Naval Academy isn’t set in stone, not yet. I have a Letter of Assurance but that’s no guarantee of an Official Appointment or anything. I’m still waiting to hear the final word.”
“You’re a McGarrett,” Chin smirks, but not meanly. “I really don’t think you’re going to have a problem.”
Steve brushes aside the pile of paper bits he has created and reaches for his water.
“You sure you don’t want to buy me a beer?” The ice cubes rattle in his glass as he drains the last of his water.
“I’m a cop, Steve,” Chin reminds him, but it’s clear he’s amused. “And you’re seventeen.”
“I’m almost eighteen.”
“Almost eighteen is not twenty-one.”
“I’ve heard stories about the keggers of your day, old man. Don’t try to tell me any different, “ Steve retorts and Chin ducks his head, hiding his smile.
“Do as I say, not as I do,” Chin laughs. “Or…did.”
“You really have been hanging out with my dad. You’ve got the hypocrisy down cold.” It sounds more abrupt and judgmental than he intended and it lands heavy between them.
Chin sighs and shifts in his seat, leaning back against the booth.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little tough on him?”
Steve swallows hard. He’d been enjoying Chin’s company, but this conversation’s been hanging over their heads since they left the football field.
“Being tough is the McGarrett way. Thought you would’ve realized that by now.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” Steve shrugs but Chin remains expectant of something more.
“Look. Chin. I…I know my father’s a good cop. One of the best. And I admire him and I’m proud to be his son, just like I’m proud that my grandfather died for his country out there in the harbor.” Steve sits up and leans his elbows on the table. “But I didn’t know my grandfather. He’s an abstract notion to me. And so’s my dad. I barely know the man, and he barely knows me.”
“He knows you better than you think. He’s your father, and he loves you.”
Chin leans forward now too, his hands folded in front of him on the table. Their fingers accidentally brush. Chin is looking at him with such earnestness that Steve almost feels bad for him, trying to fix something that’s so unfixable. The McGarrett family unit stopped working a long time ago, the Five-O an idea that was buried along with his mother almost two years ago.
Steve wants to put him out of his misery, dispel the romantic ideal Chin obviously has of his noble but taciturn mentor. He stops trying to walk that fine line between putting up a false front and airing his dirty laundry. He lays out his resentment so Chin can see.
“It’s interesting that you know about the Academy, because my dad, well, up until right now I wasn’t even sure he knew. I mean, I called him and left a message, but never heard a word back.” Chin’s face falls but it doesn’t give Steve the sense of victory he sought. He keeps going though, the bitterness welling up within him too hard to control. “But I guess getting into college, joining the Navy, it doesn’t warrant picking up the phone, or driving across town to my grandmother’s house to see me. Good to know.” Steve taps the table with two fingers and starts to slide out of the booth. “Thanks for the pizza, Officer Kelly, but I gotta get going.”
He stands up but Chin reaches out, grabs his wrist. The touch startles him and his first instinct is to try to get free.
Chin doesn’t let go.
“Steve, I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.”
He looks down at Chin, knowing it’s not the poor guy’s fault. Jack McGarrett was his idol once too. In many ways, he still is. It’s not something easily shaken.
Steve understands, but it doesn’t make Chin any less wrong about the whole situation.
“I know, man. It’s okay.” Steve relents and gently starts to pull his hand away. “But I really do have to go.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Chin releases his grip. “It was really good to meet you. I mean that.”
“Likewise,” Steve replies. “Maybe I’ll see you around some time.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Chin nods and Steve nods back.
The island may be small, but he doubts they’ll bump into each other again. His father’s life and his own tend to be run parallel these days and Chin Ho Kelly won’t keep trying to intersect them both.
No one is that stubborn.
CONTINUED...
Pairing: Steve/Chin (past), Steve/Danny (present)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 49K
Spoilers: Through 1.11 “Palekaiko”
Disclaimer: Not Mine!
A/N: AU wherein Steve and Chin met during Steve’s senior year of high school.
Summary: Chin knows how Danny feels about Steve McGarrett. In fact, he knows it all too well.
Download Complete Story: .PDF or .DOC. Also available at AO3
Present
“Screw that guy!” Danny comes within millimeters of slamming his fist against the thick glass window, pulling back at the last available second.
Chin tries not to smile. He’s barely able to get his mouth to cooperate before Danny turns back around, flexing and curling the fingers of his right hand as if he actually had landed a punch.
“I mean…just, screw him, man. I can’t even…” Danny’s words peter off into a long deep exhale. “Okay. All right. Fine. I’m not letting this get to me.” He shrugs it off, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders. “Not worth it, Danny, so not worth it.”
Despite all his best efforts a chuckle pushes its way past Chin’s lips, and at the edge of his peripheral vision he spots Kono stifling a laugh of her own. He has to be careful not to catch her eye or else he’s sure they’ll both be goners. Kono’s laughter has always been contagious.
“What.” Danny snaps toward him, hands gesturing wildly. “You think this is funny?” Chin doesn’t trust himself to answer so he wisely remains silent. “Cause it’s not funny. It’s not even vaguely humorous. Not even a little bit.”
“You gotta calm down, brah.”
“Yeah, Danny, you’re about to give yourself a heart attack. Here.” Kono holds out a white paper cup with water, nodding for him to take it. He ignores the offer and walks away from her, circling around to the other side of the computer table.
“Despite what you both apparently seem to think, I am not a child.” He points both hands toward his chest, tapping once for emphasis. “I am a fully grown man. I am a detective for chrissakes, and a good one at that. I don’t need Mr. Black Ops tellin’ me how to do my job.”
Danny gestures out the door in the direction that Steve had gone a few minutes earlier. He stops and stares at the empty hallway with his hands on his hips, still wrapping his head around the fact Steve left him behind.
A second later he’s back in action.
“Yeah, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not gonna sit around here and wait for a news report saying the idiot’s blown up half of Honolulu or god knows what else.”
“Danny,” Chin sighs, getting up from where he sits on the edge of the table. He sets a hand on Danny’s shoulder and finds the smaller man practically shaking with agitation. Steve’s always had an ability to get underneath people’s skin - he learned that the hard way years ago - but the effect he has on Danny is in a whole new league of its own. “Look. Steve’s got this one.”
“No no, see, what you mean is Steve and that schmuck got this one. That’s what you mean. Let me ask you, do you remember the last time one of Smooth Dog’s Navy buddies came around? I do. ‘Cause the asshole almost killed us all. Is this ringing any bells with you?”
“Come on, Danny. What are the odds that another one of Steve’s friends is working against us? Besides, David seems like a good guy.” Kono replies soothingly with a calm and reassuring smile.
“Do not use your Kid Whisperer voice on me, Kono. It might work on five year olds but I hear what you’re doing.” He points from his ear to her and then back to his ear. “And frankly, the very idea that you think that would work on me is offensive.”
“Seriously -“
“Seriously, what. We’re supposed to be a team. Special task force? Five-O? Not ‘Steve and his Minions.’” He crunches his fingers in air quotes and then pauses for a moment. Chin thinks it might be a reprieve from the tirade but when he opens his mouth to speak, Danny plunders on.
“This guy, this David or whoever, just blows into town and suddenly I’m replaceable?” Danny’s been wound up ever since David arrived on the island three days ago; Steve telling Danny to stay behind is just the extra twist that has Danny pulled tight and ready to snap. “Steve shouldn’t be able to pull whoever the hell he wants into a case just ‘cause he feels like it. Guy’s not even a cop, what are his qualifications?”
“He’s a SEAL, like Steve,” Kono says. She apparently hasn’t realized that this is now a conversation Danny is having with himself and their input is no longer required.
“The suspect is Air Force. I have met General Nathanson before - even been to Hickam! - and managed not to fuck it up. So what if I’m not military? He thinks I can’t fall in with those guys? My ‘smart aleck mouth’, that’s what he says. What does he think I’m gonna do, walk into the place and shit all over Semper Fi?”
“I’m pretty sure Semper Fi is the Marines,” Kono corrects quietly.
“That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is, Danny.” Chin takes hold of both of Danny’s shoulders now and holds him still, bending at the knees a little so he can look directly into Danny’s eyes. He’s only going to get more worked up if one of them doesn’t manage to curtail this rant. Danny sighs in anticipation of the speech he must know he’s about to receive and shifts his weight back and forth on his feet.
“Those guys take their jobs very seriously, and they speak their own language. If we’re going to go in there and poke our noses into their business, possibly accuse one of their men of murdering this girl, it’s probably best to let Steve direct how this is going to go. They’ll cooperate better with one of their own.”
“So you’re okay with sitting back and doing grunt work while Steve runs off with a complete stranger to track down a suspected killer.”
“In this particular case…yes. I am.” Chin replies. Danny turns to Kono for her response.
“Yeah, I am too.”
Danny looks between them, baffled.
“Well I’m not,” he sputters.
“Never would’ve guessed,” Kono says dryly and bends to press a few buttons on the computer, bringing up images of the crime scene to review once more. She points to the three screens, eyebrow delicately raised. “Maybe we should get back to this…?”
Danny scowls at her, folding his arms over his chest.
“I am merely voicing a legitimate concern.”
“Your concern is noted.” Chin nods toward the crime photos, trying to aid Kono in directing attention back to the matter-at-hand. “But I think the best way we can help this case and help Steve is to get some hard admissible evidence to nail this guy before he hurts anyone else.”
“Fine. But when we get a phone call saying that Snake Eyes and Sergeant Slaughter pulled some crazyass stunt that set an entire military base on red alert, I’m gonna be right here tellin’ you I told you so.”
“Also noted.”
“You both act like I’m overreacting, but you know that I’m the only thing that keeps that guy from going over the edge. I mean, you do know that, right? I am the sane yin to his insane yang.”
Kono shoots Chin a look and this time the smiles they exchange are weighted and wistful.
“Yeah, brah. We know that.” Kono says, that softness once again taking hold of her tone. But this time Danny doesn’t fight it. He relaxes, taking a deep breath and then running his hand over his mouth and chin.
Just as quickly, his shoulders tense, his jaw sets firmly, and he’s right back to being frustrated and angry.
Most of the time, Chin can laugh off Danny’s seething rage and chuckle at his and Steve’s constant bickering, but some days it goes on too long. Long enough that the anger and the frustration chip away and start to reveal what’s really underneath. Chin can’t pretend he doesn’t see. He can’t pretend he doesn’t know.
Because Chin, well, he’s been there.
And being there, being in love with Steve McGarrett and not even realizing it, is not a good place to be. Love for Steve is a stealthy and dangerous feeling, right in line with everything that Steve is. You don’t even realize it’s happened until it’s said and done, and your ass is knocked out cold before you could raise a hand to defend yourself.
Sometimes when Chin takes a moment to look at Steve - to really look at him, even now - he’s not sure he’s ever fully recovered from the blow. Something deep inside will always ache, as a once broken bone twinges when it rains.
Beside him, Danny scrutinizes the board, grinding his teeth as he tries to concentrate. Chin feels a brief wave of pity swell up inside of him.
“Okay.” Danny begins, palms together, fingertips pointing toward the computer. “Let’s go over this all again. Start at the top.”
*******
October, 1993
The sun is hammering down on the field, not even a whisper of a cool ocean breeze to provide relief. The air is uncommonly calm. Chin squints into the brightness and briefly wonders how he ever managed to wear full pads and uniform in this heat, much less play the game. It’s all relative, he supposes. At the time, it didn’t feel so bad.
The crowd is loud, chanting Steve’s name as he makes his way from the sideline to the line of scrimmage. Five years ago that was him out there, star quarterback of the Kukui Kings, and these fans were shouting his name. Now Steve McGarrett has all of his former records in hand save one and half a season left to make the set complete.
People expect Chin to care - and maybe a little piece of him does - but most of him finds it hard to root against the son of the man sitting intently beside him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his eyes unreadable behind dark sunglasses.
To say Jack McGarrett is stoic would be a vast understatement. Yet underneath the gruff exterior, there is vast reserve of kindness that Chin is sure many people don’t realize exists. But it most definitely is there.
As a police officer, the man excels. He’s taught Chin so much already over the past few months; he’s endlessly generous with his knowledge and expertise. It’s like he has staked his name and reputation on molding and shaping Chin into his successor. Chin can only hope to do the man proud.
The ball is snapped and the defense is on Steve almost immediately, breaking through holes in the offense that simply shouldn’t be there. It hardly seems to matter. Steve sidesteps and turns and breaks free of some kid’s weak hold on his jersey and then he’s off.
Chin’s never witnessed someone play the game with such fierce elegance. Steve moves like he knows exactly where the openings are and who is coming at him. He’s got an instinctive, natural brilliance and an aggression that barrels through every obstacle with such ease that each one seems of absolutely no consequence. Last year Chin saw him throw a touchdown pass with two guys hanging on him and desperately trying to drag him to the turf. Chin knows it must have happened at some point, but he can’t remember ever seeing the kid get sacked.
He doesn’t realize his mind is drifting, that he’s watching the world in slow motion, until the crowd suddenly erupts and snaps him back to attention. Steve’s in the end zone now, his teammates ecstatic. Back slaps, helmet rubs, and pats on the ass all around.
Next to him, Jack clenches his fist victoriously and shouts with the utter lack of reserve he only displays when his son is playing.
“Now that’s my boy,” He exclaims and reaches over, slaps Chin on the knee. His smile is short and brief but completely honest.
Still, Jack leaves the second the fourth quarter whistles to a close. He makes the same excuse as always - something about wanting to beat the bustle of people to the parking lot before it became impossibly congested with game day traffic - but it’s really because he doesn’t want to chance Steve spotting him.
“Think I’m gonna stay, Jack.” Chin gathers up the courage to wave him off for the very first time. “Gotta meet my cuz Sid for a family thing. He has seats down that way.” He gestures down toward the 30 yard line and hopes that Jack doesn’t hear the telltale waver in his voice. Even the smallest of lies make him nervous.
If Jack does notice, he doesn’t press for details. He merely nods.
“10-4. See ya at 0700 Monday morning then.”
“Yes sir.” He offers Jack a small salute and then watches as Jack edges his way past knees and feet and empty beer cans to get to the aisle. He rounds the corner and he’s gone before anyone else has moved to stand.
Chin waits patiently until the stadium is nothing but empty bleachers and litter. Then he makes his way down to the locker room.
There’s a small knot in his stomach that warns him that this is a bad idea, that he’s about to cross a huge boundary here, but he ignores it. He can’t turn left on this island without running into a family member; to him it seems pretty ridiculous for Jack McGarrett to keep coming to these games and not even let Steve know he’s there.
The locker room is exactly the same as he remembers it; even smells the same, a pungent mixture of body odor, lemon Lysol, and Icy Hot.
“Chin Ho Kelly, hey braddah!” There are a few shoulder slaps and fist bumps from those who recognize him. He thinks most of them are brothers or cousins of his former teammates.
“’Ey, number twelve! All right man.”
Chin accepts the gestures of praise gladly. They feel familiar, comforting, taking him right back to the days when he had his things stashed right here in locker 102. He brushes his fingers over the cool metal as he passes it by.
Steve’s at his own locker, further down the row, in the midst of peeling off his pads and equipment. His jersey’s in a pile at his feet and he’s pulling off his undershirt and tossing it into his locker as Chin walks up.
“Steve, hi.”
Steve stops undressing for only the moment it takes to give Chin a cursory, curious glance, and then strips down to his underwear.
“Hi.” He replies pleasantly enough, hesitating before saying anything more.
Chin means to speak, but he gets caught up in looking at Steve’s face up close, unwillingly fascinated. Until now he’s only seen the lone photo Jack keeps on his desk, taken long enough ago that Steve looks much older in person. More height, more muscle; less shyness in his smile.
Chin hadn’t realized he held so many preconceptions of what Steve McGarrett would be until he’s face to face with reality.
Steve’s got Jack’s sharp features but Chin finds he’d assumed the son shared his father’s bright baby blues. In fact, Steve’s eyes are far more striking. In the light of the locker room, they look a shade of steel grey Chin has never seen before. The only word he can think of to describe them is beautiful, and the revelation is a surprise.
Steve looks back at him intently, gaze narrowing.
“Uh, sorry man - can I help you with something, or…?”
Chin shakes himself out of his blatant stare and extends his hand. Steve’s grasp is firm and abrupt.
“I apologize. Officer Kelly.”
“Officer, huh?” Any other teenager would’ve probably balked, but Steve just drops trou and reaches for the white towel hanging on his locker door.
“I’m a friend of your Dad’s. He’s my training officer down at HPD.”
This gives Steve pause; he shows alarm and discomfort for the first time. He stops in the middle of wrapping the towel around his waist and Chin makes sure to keep his gaze focused safely upward.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Chin replies quickly. “He…he’s here, actually. Or, he was, anyway. He, uh, had had to leave.” Maybe he should have thought about what he was going to say before this. Stammering like an idiot isn’t exactly how he’d envisioned this conversation starting.
“My dad was here?” Steve finishes tucking the towel tightly at his hips, a look of confusion coming over his face. “Why was he here?”
“Came to see you play.” Chin takes a step closer, resting a hand against the cool metal of Steve’s locker door. “He’s at every game, man, home and away. I thought that was something that you should know.”
“Why isn’t he telling me this himself?” Even at seventeen, Chin can already see Jack’s no bullshit attitude echoed right there in Steve’s steely gaze. The McGarrett Stare must be hereditary.
“Brah, I don’t know.” Chin shrugs. “I’m not going to pretend to understand your old man.”
“They why’re you here?” Steve closes his locker but doesn’t lock it up. His jersey is still on the floor like he hasn’t noticed he’d dropped it there.
“Your father has helped me a great deal since I joined the force. I’m merely…trying to return the favor. You should know how much he cares about you.”
“Look, if you want to do me a favor, cut the crap. We live in the same city and I see the man maybe once a month, tops? He can’t even return a phone call. Watching me play football doesn’t mean anything.”
“Then why play?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your dad was an all-star in his day too, always wanted you to play. So if your wearing that jersey isn’t about your dad, why play?”
“To break all your records, tutu kane.” Steve’s demeanor slips back into comfortable ease like he’s flipping a switch. He winks and slaps Chin on the shoulder.
“Thought you didn’t know who I was.” Chin retorts, going along with it, and Steve shrugs. His eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief, giving them a hint of both green and blue and brown that reminds Chin of shallow ocean above a sand bar.
“Chin Ho Kelly, right? Took me a minute but I remember your photo. Saw them takin’ it down so they could put mine up.”
“Oh, is that right?” Chin chuckles at Steve’s cheeky arrogance and Steve laughs too, easy and light. When he’s grinning he looks his age, maybe even younger, hard edges softening.
Chin feels a tightness in his chest at the sight of Steve’s smile, like he’d just witnessed something beautiful that he had no right to see and will probably never see again.
Perhaps it’s that feeling that prompts him to do the profoundly stupid thing he does next.
“I’m going to grab some pizza at JJ’s if you’re interested.” The moment the offer leaves his mouth it strikes him as terribly inappropriate. He coughs, buying some time to recoup, maybe find a way to make it seem less like he’d just asked his boss’ son to hang out. “Maybe I could give you some pointers on the spread offense.”
“You’re gonna give me pointers.”
“Man, I’ve been to every single one of your games since last year. Don’t try to tell me you have a handle on that ‘cause I know you’d be lying.”
Steve grins wider, as if Chin’s insult to his ego has endeared rather than injured.
“Kay, you got it bro. Give me a minute to hop in the shower and we’ll go. You’re buying, maka’i.”
Steve heads off to the showers and Chin realizes that during their brief conversation, the locker room had pretty much emptied out. It’s so quiet now that he can hear the squeak of the faucet being turned on and the spray of water hitting linoleum.
He picks up Steve’s jersey from the floor and opens his locker to hang it up.
50 is a strange number for a quarterback, but he suspects Steve’s fully aware of that. He also doubts Steve cares.
*******
Present
Steve can see it all over Danny’s face the second he walks into the ER. He turns to David and offers him an advance apology.
“I am sorry for whatever is about to come out of his mouth.”
David is confused for all of two seconds before it all becomes crystal clear.
With a vicious tug and a metallic screech, Danny pulls back the plastic curtain that was half-shielding them from view and his glare trains on Steve with the automatic precision of a heat-seeking missile.
“So you were just gonna go have a talk with the guy. I thought that was the plan.”
“He ran.”
“So I gathered. What about the whole ‘honor between brothers’ and ‘the military code’ and all that nonsense?” Danny demands and Steve gives the best shrug he can muster with two fractured ribs. “What, the suspected murderer of a young teenage girl didn’t adhere to your precious standards? Really. Whodda thunkit.”
“Danny…”
“Don’t ‘Danny’ me, McGarrett. You and this bozo here screwed up-“
“If he had been at the barracks at the time, his commanding officer and fellow officers would have made sure he cooperated,” David begins solemnly, his frown stern and uncompromising. “But seeing as how the suspect was off base already before we arrived-“
“He wasn’t the only thing off base, let me tell you,” Danny interrupts, glaring, and turns his focus back on Steve. “And now you, you’re in the emergency room, they’re calling me and telling me you got shot, what the hell happened?”
“The usual.” He waves Danny off. “And I’m fine. Didn’t they tell you I was fine?”
“I’ve discovered that ‘fine’ is a relative term with you. ‘Fine’ could range from a paper cut to anything short of a coma. And then only because, were you actually in a coma, you would not be awake to insist that you were ‘fine.’”
“This guy’s the only reason I’m even here.” Steve points to David, who has yet to crack a smile since they walked through the ER doors. David had been one of his trainers in BUD/S and despite all the years since, he maintained a fatherly concern for Steve, which included not letting Steve get a half-assed work-up on site before going directly back to the office and instead stopping at the hospital to get looked over.
“Why, he do this to you?” Danny points from David to Steve, eyebrows raised almost as absurdly high as his hair. Steve can already see steam rattling the gasket, ready to blow. He holds up his hand, signaling Danny to simmer down.
“Naw, naw, he’s the reason I’m here getting x-rays instead of back at Five-O with you guys. Dave here likes to play it safe, he’s getting tame in his old age.” He’s only teasing, trying to downplay the whole situation, but David isn’t about to help him out and play along.
“We ain’t in a combat zone, McGarrett. Pulling out bullets with your bare hands is fine when it’s a necessity, but ignoring medical care when it’s available isn’t brave or smart and a hospital visit makes you no less of a man.” David pointedly clamps a hand hard on the gauze over Steve’s wounded shoulder and Steve winces despite himself, a stab of pain searing up and down his arm and back.
Danny appears to enjoy that quite a bit.
“You know what, you might not be so bad. I’m going to have to re-assess my opinion of you, Thompson.” Danny grins widely as Steve grits his teeth through the pain. He manages to shoot Danny a grim smile, not amused.
“Good, now I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” David retorts sardonically. Danny’s rarely offered good graces barely register on his radar. “Steve, I’m going to head back to JBPHH and clear up some paperwork with the MA-“
“They’re not gonna fight us for jurisdiction, are they?” Steve asks, abruptly forgetting Danny and everything else. The thought of letting this perp out of Five-O’s sights is beyond unacceptable. “Guy was on leave, on my island-“
“You guys get him first, it’s a non-issue.” David is quick to assuage his fear and Steve powers down as quickly as he fired up.
“Your island? You own it now?” Danny interjects. Steve rolls his eyes at his partner, but more out of habit than anything else. Danny’s endless need to comment and pass judgment on everything he does and says should be annoying, but truth is he finds it both comforting and entertaining more times than not. “Well, let me know when you’re moving into the palace ‘cause I’ve always kinda wanted to see what it’s like in there.”
“You know, it’s open to the public, you can just go.”
“Like I have time to go, the shit you put me through.”
“Oh come on. Take Grace there one of your weekends.”
“No, no, see, when I have Grace, when we’re on my time, I like to do fun things. Not things that are going to make her hate me, like going to boring museums. We’ll leave that stuff to Step Stan and the stick up his ass, how about that.”
“Only a suggestion. You just said you always wanted to go.”
“I was being facetious.”
“Was that the word of the day on your calendar this morning, Danno?”
“Okay.” David cuts into their verbal ping-pong match, stopping the play dead. “I see you’re in good hands here, McGarrett, so I’m gonna leave you two ladies to it. I will check in later and make sure you have the follow-up you need on this guy.”
“Call him,” Steve points a finger at Danny. “He does our paperwork.”
“That I do, and aren’t I blessed.” Danny says with a whimsical sarcasm. David excuses himself, tossing a look Steve’s way that Steve can’t quite read and therefore doesn’t like. Danny tilts on his heel to watch the man go, David’s combat boots thudding heavy on linoleum, and then tilts back to Steve with a quizzical, teasing smirk on his face.
“Was he gray, before he met you? Or did you do that to him? Cause I sorta feel like a couple days ago when we were introduced, I swear the guy looked younger.”
“Unlike you, Danno, Dave finds working with me to be invigorating.” Steve twists at the waist, trying to gather his personal items from around the bed. He slips his watch back onto his wrist.
“Oh, believe me, working with you is ‘invigorating’ all right. What are you - what are you trying to do here.” Danny asks, both hands out in bewilderment as Steve lifts and tosses aside the pillows on the cot, twisting first this way then that.
“Lookin’ for my shirt.”
“You mean, the bloody one with the bullet hole in it? Uh, I’m guessing they threw that out, babe.” He shakes his head like he can’t quite believe Steve hadn’t figured that out himself. “But here, because I am an awesome partner and can predict your idiotic run-ins with bad guys with guns…” Danny pulls out a white v-neck from a plastic bag on the bedside table that Steve hadn’t even noticed he’d brought in.
“Always prepared. Such a dad, Danno.”
“Well you are like an overgrown child.”
“Naw seriously, thanks, man.” Steve says gratefully and grabs the tee from Danny’s outstretched hand. With one arm, he finagles the shirt over his head and awkwardly pulls it down to his waistline. He doesn’t notice Danny attempting to help him until his face is free and clear of the clinging fabric and it settles around his collarbone.
Danny catches his gaze for a moment and they both still, suddenly caught in a moment neither is sure how to handle. Or at least Steve feels ill equipped to and the strange expression on Danny’s face makes him suspect it’s the same on his end.
“Got it, thanks.” Steve murmurs. Danny’s hand is still at his collar, fingers resting warm against his neck. It briefly registers as comforting - maybe he even likes it - before Steve remembers himself and glances downward to where Danny’s hand lingers. He smirks a little, wondering how long it will take Danny to catch up to this.
“Uh yeah, sure.” Danny mumbles and steps back, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. He claps his hands together once and puffs out a breath, breaking the awkward tension. “So, what’s the plan now, Rambo?”
“Head back to the office.”
Danny looks at him like he has three heads.
“Uh, that’s a no.”
“Excuse me.”
“You were shot, the correct answer here is, you’re goin’ home.”
“Why even ask me what my plans are, if you’re going to turn around and try and tell me what to do?” Steve asks as he gets up from the bed. He wants to defy Danny but finds himself confounded by the lack of footwear. “Where the hell are my boots.” The ER doc had insisted he take them off, probably under some silly delusion that not having shoes would slow him down if he tried to leave, and now his desert boots aren’t where he put them.
“Right over there,” Danny points off-handedly with an air that there’s no way he’s going to assist Steve in getting them.
Steve locates the familiar tan shoes taunting him from a few paces away on the floor underneath one of those ugly-ass aluminum and green vinyl chairs. He drops himself to the uncomfortable seat with a leaden, ungraceful thud, letting gravity do the work rather than his muscles. Easing the way through the pain just prolongs it; better to do things fast like ripping off a Band-Aid.
Steve bends to pick up his heavy boots and his body screams in protest. He moves quickly as to not let Danny catch him wincing, but as usual Danny lets nothing slide.
“You could ask for help you know. I have it on good authority that it won’t actually kill you.” Danny comments. “Or, wait - do they have some kind of Navy SEAL red alert for that? Maybe they deploy a special unit to bag and tag suspected pussies?” Danny jokingly gestures up to the ceiling like he expects men in black combat uniforms to come crashing through the tiles immediately and grab Steve from where he sits.
“What do you want me to do, Danny, ask you to tie my shoelaces for me?” Steve snipes back.
It would, actually, be quite helpful if Danny would tie his shoelaces, but he’s not about to ask. He leverages one foot upward onto the edge of his seat and laces up quickly, keeping his eyes defiantly locked on Danny’s the whole time. He learned a long time ago to keep strong through the pain even when alone, mind over matter, but it’s still easier when he knows someone else is watching.
Especially if it’s Danny.
“I don't need help. It’s just a flesh wound. I’m fine.”
“A bullet lodged in your shoulder, broken ribs -“
“Bruised ribs-“
“ - Broken ribs and you look like someone used you as a piñata at a child’s birthday party…not a single one of those things qualifies as a freakin’ flesh wound. This-” He gestures to Steve as a whole. “Is not what was reported when you called in. This is trauma, my friend, not a boo-boo.”
“And the bullet’s out, it’s not ‘lodged’ anywhere.”
“My god, you’re the Black Knight. I’m gonna have to cut off your legs and even then you’re going to keep fighting me on this.”
“What?”
“The Black Knight. The Holy Grail?”
Danny’s no longer making any sense, which is a sure sign that whatever argument they’re having…Steve is about to win. He stares at Danny unflinchingly, waiting for Danny to give.
“Of course you don’t know Monty Python. What was I thinking.” Danny taps his own temple like he’s gone daft. “So we’re going back to HQ. Fine, whatever. I’m not your mother, do what you want.”
“Thanks for the permission, sweetheart.” Steve tugs sharply on the laces of his right boot, finishing up the task with a flourish and a gleeful smirk. He winks at his partner and Danny rolls his eyes.
“You are an idiot.”
“There are worse things to be,” Steve replies and stands up with a half-concealed grunt. He pats a few of the pockets of his cargo pants to make sure he’s got everything and then rests his hands on his hips.
He looks back at Danny to find the other man narrowing his eyes at him.
“I feel like there was an implied insult in there, somewhere, McGarrett.”
“Now you’re just being oversensitive. Can we go?”
“Waiting on you princess.”
“On me? Cause I thought we were sitting here talking about your feelings.”
“My feeling is that we should leave this hospital so when I finally break down and try to kill you, we won’t be surrounded by all these nice and well-meaning people who would try to save your life. That’s what I’m feeling.” Danny stalks out the door. Steve lets him get a few paces out of sight, not following.
A moment later Danny comes back into view, frustration evident over every inch of his face.
“Are you coming or what?” He doesn’t wait before taking off again.
It takes Steve a few uneven steps to effectively mask the limp, but by the time Danny turns around to make sure he’s following, he’s managed to make it barely noticeable.
He’ll ice it at home. Later.
*******
October, 1993
Steve rolls his shoulder, working out the tight knot that always twists up his throwing arm. Across the table, Chin rolls his own shoulder in sympathy, his muscle remembering that feeling.
“You use hot or cold on that?”
“Try to just work it out with my hands, usually,” Steve replies. His faded plaid flannel shirt is hanging in disarray off his shoulder and Steve pauses in his ministrations to slip the unbuttoned shirt all the way off and shove it aside. He digs his thumb in hard just below his collarbone and presses his fingers above his shoulder blade.
Chin’s dark eyes are trained on his hand, on the sideways tug of his t-shirt collar. His gaze is so intent that Steve tells himself he can’t be blamed for noticing; or for wondering what exactly it is that Chin finds so fascinating. He knows he’s not supposed to, but he likes the way Chin looks at him. It feels like approval of some kind, maybe real interest.
“What worked for you?” He asks, and it takes a second for the question to register properly with Chin.
“What? Oh, you know, brah. Heat, mostly I guess. Though nothing really helps except giving it a rest, and that’s not an option during the season.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Steve commiserates. He grimaces as something in his shoulder twinges and Chin leans forward slightly, concerned. The light over the center of the booth casts shadows that send his sharp cheekbones into stark relief. It occurs to him then that he also likes the way Chin looks, period.
“Is it really that bad?”
“No. It’s this damn song.” He covers, pointing upward toward the speakers lodged near the ceiling. They’re currently blaring out that “500 Miles” song by that every radio station has been playing non-stop since that one movie came out. To say he’s sick of it would be an understatement. “If I hear this, or Whitney Houston warbling about how she will always love someone one more time, I might shoot myself.”
“What kind of music do you like?” Chin inquires, reaching across the table to grab another slice of pizza from the quickly disappearing pie. Steve’s already on his fifth piece himself. His mouth feels salty and dry.
“Music’s not really my thing.”
“You don’t listen to music.” Chin is skeptical, as if he can’t believe such a person exists.
“I don’t actively seek it out, no.” He laughs at the expression on Chin’s face. “What? I mean, okay. Pearl Jam’s not so bad. Soundgarden, Nirvana, same as the rest of the guys ‘round here, I guess. I’ll listen to what’s on.”
“Well, Whitney was terrorizing me my last year of high school too, so I feel your pain on that one. I suppose not much has changed…despite the fact that I’ve recently discovered I’m old enough to not ‘get’ grunge.”
“You’re only, what, four years -“
“Five years.”
“Five years older than me. What are you listening to, golden oldies?” Steve kids. “You’re talking like you only listen to The Beach Boys and Elvis or something.”
“Don’t knock Elvis,” Chin points at him warningly. “Dude loved this place.”
“Who wouldn’t love this place?”
“Spoken like a true Hawaiian.”
“I was born here, you know.” Steve states, hearing that defensive note in his voice that always creeps in. He can’t help it. Years of being called a haole just because he’s white have had their effect, even if he tries not to let it bother him. This place is his home and he knows he won’t be here much longer. Maryland’s never seemed so far away as it has recently. “Hawaii’s in my blood, man.”
“I do know.” Chin points out with a small smile. “I probably know more about you than almost anybody else on this island.” Off of Steve’s confused look, he continues with an explanation. “Your dad may not talk a lot, but when he does, he talks a fair share about you.”
Steve’s returning smile is small, but he can’t force anything bigger. He doesn’t quite know what to do when his father enters his world. He’s always half-angry, half-thrilled.
Chin presses on.
“He told me that you’re going to Annapolis next year. USNA…that’s pretty big deal, brah. Ho'omaika'i 'Ana.” Chin extends his beer bottle to Steve, who clinks his glass obligingly but without heart. He sets his drink back down without taking a sip and picks up his napkin, twisting it between his fingers.
“McGarrett!” A group of Steve’s classmates, four guys and a few girls, plunder into JJ’s and one of them shouts Steve’s last name like a battle cry. Steve acknowledges the greeting with a nod - he has no idea what any of their names are, he thinks maybe they’re juniors - and hopes that will be enough.
It is, for the time being. Steve’s attention drifts back toward Chin, and for the first time feels the strangeness of being out with one of his father’s officers. One of his father’s friends.
Chin Ho Kelly’s probably spent more time with his father this year than he has. Chin sees him and talks to him everyday. This is the guy his own father chooses to spend his time with, and until a few hours ago, Steve wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a line up.
Steve settles his stare on Chin, letting the other man feel its pointed purpose of evaluation, of judgment.
But Steve undermines himself in a matter of moments, idle hands unthinkingly ripping up the napkin into tiny pieces. Chin’s glance occasionally dips downward to take in his busy fingers. Soon Steve has a pile of shredded paper dusting the tabletop and Chin has to know he’s feeling anxious.
Chin is waiting him out, leaving it up to him to pick up the conversation after the interruption. He suspects it’s an interrogation technique Chin’s learned form his father; the man always had a way of letting the silence stay unbroken until it became increasingly uncomfortable and you said something you otherwise might not have said.
Steve coughs and stumbles over words to get the conversation re-started.
“Yeah, well, congratulations…that might be a bit early. The Naval Academy isn’t set in stone, not yet. I have a Letter of Assurance but that’s no guarantee of an Official Appointment or anything. I’m still waiting to hear the final word.”
“You’re a McGarrett,” Chin smirks, but not meanly. “I really don’t think you’re going to have a problem.”
Steve brushes aside the pile of paper bits he has created and reaches for his water.
“You sure you don’t want to buy me a beer?” The ice cubes rattle in his glass as he drains the last of his water.
“I’m a cop, Steve,” Chin reminds him, but it’s clear he’s amused. “And you’re seventeen.”
“I’m almost eighteen.”
“Almost eighteen is not twenty-one.”
“I’ve heard stories about the keggers of your day, old man. Don’t try to tell me any different, “ Steve retorts and Chin ducks his head, hiding his smile.
“Do as I say, not as I do,” Chin laughs. “Or…did.”
“You really have been hanging out with my dad. You’ve got the hypocrisy down cold.” It sounds more abrupt and judgmental than he intended and it lands heavy between them.
Chin sighs and shifts in his seat, leaning back against the booth.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little tough on him?”
Steve swallows hard. He’d been enjoying Chin’s company, but this conversation’s been hanging over their heads since they left the football field.
“Being tough is the McGarrett way. Thought you would’ve realized that by now.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” Steve shrugs but Chin remains expectant of something more.
“Look. Chin. I…I know my father’s a good cop. One of the best. And I admire him and I’m proud to be his son, just like I’m proud that my grandfather died for his country out there in the harbor.” Steve sits up and leans his elbows on the table. “But I didn’t know my grandfather. He’s an abstract notion to me. And so’s my dad. I barely know the man, and he barely knows me.”
“He knows you better than you think. He’s your father, and he loves you.”
Chin leans forward now too, his hands folded in front of him on the table. Their fingers accidentally brush. Chin is looking at him with such earnestness that Steve almost feels bad for him, trying to fix something that’s so unfixable. The McGarrett family unit stopped working a long time ago, the Five-O an idea that was buried along with his mother almost two years ago.
Steve wants to put him out of his misery, dispel the romantic ideal Chin obviously has of his noble but taciturn mentor. He stops trying to walk that fine line between putting up a false front and airing his dirty laundry. He lays out his resentment so Chin can see.
“It’s interesting that you know about the Academy, because my dad, well, up until right now I wasn’t even sure he knew. I mean, I called him and left a message, but never heard a word back.” Chin’s face falls but it doesn’t give Steve the sense of victory he sought. He keeps going though, the bitterness welling up within him too hard to control. “But I guess getting into college, joining the Navy, it doesn’t warrant picking up the phone, or driving across town to my grandmother’s house to see me. Good to know.” Steve taps the table with two fingers and starts to slide out of the booth. “Thanks for the pizza, Officer Kelly, but I gotta get going.”
He stands up but Chin reaches out, grabs his wrist. The touch startles him and his first instinct is to try to get free.
Chin doesn’t let go.
“Steve, I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.”
He looks down at Chin, knowing it’s not the poor guy’s fault. Jack McGarrett was his idol once too. In many ways, he still is. It’s not something easily shaken.
Steve understands, but it doesn’t make Chin any less wrong about the whole situation.
“I know, man. It’s okay.” Steve relents and gently starts to pull his hand away. “But I really do have to go.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Chin releases his grip. “It was really good to meet you. I mean that.”
“Likewise,” Steve replies. “Maybe I’ll see you around some time.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Chin nods and Steve nods back.
The island may be small, but he doubts they’ll bump into each other again. His father’s life and his own tend to be run parallel these days and Chin Ho Kelly won’t keep trying to intersect them both.
No one is that stubborn.
CONTINUED...