H50 fic
The next day, Danny heads for HPD in the hopes of pressuring someone into giving him a name. All he needs is somewhere to begin - the name of someone with connections to the Ochoa cartel, a supplier, a business rival, anyone.
“I don’t understand, I was appointed to Five-0 to assist with a special task,” he hears a near-whine from around the corner and stops dead in his tracks. The last thing he needs right now is to run into Steve. “And that task is securing crime scenes and doing the paper work? Is Commander McGarrett punishing me for something?”
“What did you say to Danny Williams?” Danny hears Chin ask drily, both a hint of wry amusement and a weary sigh evident in his voice.
“The Psychic?” Is the flabbergasted reply, but before Chin gets the chance to elaborate Danny decides to intervene.
“Hey Chin,” he says, stepping around the corner, satisfied in the knowledge that Steve is nowhere near.
It’s actually quite fun to watch the HPD detective blanch, Danny vaguely recognizes him as the guy who made that charlatan remark the other day. Chin, of course, shows no obvious signs of being taken aback. Looking chill is apparently his default setting.
“Howzit, brah?” He says with an easy grin.
Danny shrugs noncommittally as he watches the HPD detective hightail it.
“Look,” Chin says, clasping his shoulder lightly. “I really admire what you’re doing for Meka.”
“Yeah,” Danny replies darkly. “It’s really amazing how I’m making fuck all difference here.”
“You are standing up for your friend. That’s not nothing. Trust me when I say, when a bully like Cage goes on the attack, most guys back down. It gets real quiet around you. He was convinced I was on the take and so he convinced everyone else of that too. Loneliest place on earth is where no one believes you.”
“It’s really shitty what happened to you,” Danny says sympathetically.
“I worked with McGarrett’s old man,” Chin’s remark comes out of left field. “He was my training officer. They have the same sort of laser focus, a little too intense. It’s embedded in their DNA. Sometimes you just have to show them that their way isn’t the only one, and I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that, so far.”
“I’m not sure we are talking about the same guy here,” Danny mutters. “Tall, dark, ex-SEAL, has yet to listen to my voice of reason.”
Chin just chuckles lightly.
“Don’t give up on Steve, yet. Is all I’m saying.”
Danny grunts a nondescript consent and doesn’t tell Chin that he’s wasting his time because Danny is such a sad and pathetic individual that he wouldn’t even know how to go about giving up on Steve if he truly wanted to. Chin doesn’t need to know that he’s already far too invested in the stupid SEAL.
“Have you got a lead on Ochoa?” he asks instead.
“Yeah, our informant gave us the name of a guy who deals with Emilio,” Chin tells him. “We're gonna bust him tomorrow.”
“Where do I find this guy?” Danny asks all ears.
Chin tells him without hesitation.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Danny,” he warns, placing a hand on Danny’s arm. “We’re taking care of this.”
“Sure thing,” Danny lies with ease. “Let me know what you find out, okay?”
“Will do,” Chin promises solemnly. “See you around, Jersey.”
“Not if I see you first.”
….
Bastille is not exactly a common name on this island so Danny has no problem tracking him down with the help of Toast. Bastille owns a modern art gallery that is, in all likelihood, a front for his drug business. And thanks to Toast, Danny now knows where the guy goes for lunch regularly.
The restaurant is pretty damn upmarket, so Danny guesses either trading paintings or trading coke must pay well. Maybe he should consider a change of careers. He spots his guy instantly and grabs him to drag him towards the kitchen as soon as he gets a positive ID from him. He shoves Bastille into the nearest storage rack and tells the kitchen staff to beat it. They scatter fast.
Steve may be a superhuman life form manufactured by the SEALs, but Danny was born and bred in Newark and you don’t survive on those streets, shorter than everyone else, and with an awkward tendency to spot ghosts everywhere, without knowing something about being tough. Sometimes you have to wield your anger like a shield.
Closing the doors behind them and making sure they are properly locked Danny turns to face Bastille.
“I’m only asking this once,” he states slowly, pushing Bastille back against the shelf and getting right up into his face. “Where is Ochoa?”
“I’m not saying a word. Not one single word,” the guy informs him with a panicked stutter.
Not a smart move.
“You wanna do this the hard way? We can do this the hard way,” Danny threatens coldly, hurling him against a stove.
Bastille is sweating like crazy. He’s just a rich wannabe playboy dabbling in the world of organized crime. He’s scarred shitless and way out of his element. Danny doesn’t even need to see the deep orange aura of cowardice with murky flecks of fear to know that can work with that.
“Ochoa killed a friend of mine. So I’m not in the mood to play games,” Danny tells him, letting his anger show and dialing up the underlying vibe of menace a notch or two. “You either tell me what I wanna know or I’m gonna light your face on fire.”
Bastille stares at him in silent terror.
“This kitchen is full of equipment I always wanted to use,” Danny adds conversationally, letting his eyes roam over a particularly dangerous-looking array of knives. “I think we have time to try out a thing or two. Or would you rather talk?”
“I can… I can’t …,” Bastille manages to get out before falling silent again.
“Have it your own way,” Danny replies mock casually, slowly forcing his face towards the heated stovetop.
“Alright,” Bastille exclaims hastily, his eyes widening in horror. “There is a shipment coming in tomorrow. Ochoa is meeting me at Waialua at the old coffee plantation.”
Danny lets go of him and he sinks to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Which is when someone throws himself against the door to the kitchen hard. The door nearly gives way.
“Are you in there, Mr. Bastille?” A dark, heavy voice shouts, before the door is hit by a second tackle.
Of course a filthy rich creep like that has bodyguards, Danny thinks, sighing deeply. Fucking figures.
“Gotta go,” he tells Bastille, hurrying towards the back door. “It was nice meeting you.”
Bastille’s guys catch up with him in the back alley. He manages to dodge the first swing, but he’s no match for both of these amped-up gorillas. And then, out of nowhere Steve leaps at one of the guys, flying through the air like he thinks he’s a tiger or something.
“Freeze! Five-0,” Kono shouts pointing a gun at Neanderthal # 2 and Chin adds, “Hands up,” stepping up to him from the other side.
They cuff their guy, while Steve is still participating in some weird hand-to-hand martial art combat with Danny’s other attacker.
“What is the matter with you?” Danny shouts at him as soon as Steve has his guy on the floor. “You’ve got a gun, right? You couldn’t use it?”
Never mind that Danny was in the middle of doing something stupidly reckless himself. This is a matter of principle. Steve turns to him, looking pissed.
“What did you think you were doing?” He asks, tone accusatory. “They could’ve killed you.”
“Don’t even,” Danny exclaims still high on adrenaline, hands flailing like crazy. “You think you can lecture me about taking insane risks? Did I stumble into a parallel universe or something? Is this opposite day? Because I don’t remember you having much claim on acting sane in the face of drug dealers, or gun runners, or kidnappers, or really any of the criminal madmen inhabiting this pineapple-decorated wasteland.”
Steve gets up to face Danny, piercing him with his laser glare of pure intimidation. It makes Danny’s hackles rise.
“What happened to not going in alone?” Steve grits out, voice dangerously low. “Waiting for backup?”
Chin and Kono take Steve’s hapless victim off of him and very wisely decide to clear the alley before Danny explodes.
“We’ll leave you ladies to it,” Chin announces and Danny could swear that he hears Kono whisper, “Lover’s tiff,” to one of the goons. He really has no idea why the governor had no qualms about manning her entire task force with crazy people.
“That’s completely different,” Danny insists loudly, refocusing on the issue at hand. “Some of us don’t have HPD at our beck and call.”
“You’ve got me,” Steve says, voice softer, earnest, and a bit hurt.
Danny has to forcibly remind himself to stay mad at the man.
“Oh really,” he says, sounding more disappointed than angry. “I don’t remember you having my back when I told you Meka was innocent.”
“Look, I just wanna ask you something,” Steve says placatory, holding up his hand like Danny is a wild animal he needs to tame.
“I already have a date to the prom,” Danny deadpans.
“Did Meka’s ghost tell you he wasn’t dirty?” Steve goes on, ignoring Danny’s quip. “Is that why you are so hell-bent on believing he’s innocent? Because ghosts can lie too, right?”
“Listen to me, this is not about your ego. I never asked Meka’s ghost whether he skimmed off drug money, because I didn’t need to. I know that he’d never do anything like that and I know that because he was my friend.”
“Yeah, but you can’t ignore the evidence,” Steve demands pigheadedly.
“Okay, let me ask you a question, if someone told you I committed a felony and they showed you a bunch of evidence to back up that claim, would you believe them?” He asks, trying to make Steve understand.
“No,” Steve says instantly, looking affronted. “Of course not.”
“Why not?”
Steve’s only reply is, “Oh!”
“Oh, what?”
“Oh, nothing,” Steve says, grinning brightly. “Let’s move on.”
“Just like that?” Danny asks, somewhat surprised by this sudden turn of events.
“You got a location on Ochoa?” Steve asks, and Danny can only nod, dumbstruck.
“Well, come on then,” Steve urges, already moving out of the alley. “What are you waiting for?”
Danny puts a hand out to stop him almost instinctively. It lands on Steve’s well-defined chest and Danny wishes he didn’t have to pull it away again.
“So, I hear, you are using the your special relationship with the governor to torture HPD officers that talk crap about me.”
Steve looks uncomfortable, but not apologetic.
“Where did you hear that?”
“I’ve got my sources. Not that I don’t find that sweet, in a really disturbed way, but I’m just saying you can’t go harassing every cop who’s a less than favorable view of me and what I do, because that’d take you for-freaking-ever,” Danny tells Steve a little more fondly than he intended to. “Also, I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
“Well, maybe you are not as alone on this island as you think.”
Steve sounds a bit petulant but he holds Danny’s gaze like he really wants him to hear the truth in his words. Danny can tell that this is important to him and suddenly feels bad for giving Steve the impression he didn’t feel like Steve was part of his family, because even though Steve is impossible in a hundred different ways he is also a huge freaking part of making Danny think living in coconut paradise could be almost bearable. He holds out his hand for Steve to take and when Steve intertwines his long fingers with Danny’s he shakes it almost formally.
“Thank you,” he tells Steve heartfelt, packing more meaning behind the words than truly necessary.
….
Danny inspects the Kevlar vest Steve’s handing him with suspicion.
“Are there any explosives strapped to this?” He asks with genuine concern. “A pack of C4 that I’m not aware of?”
“Don’t be nervous, Danno. It’s just a bulletproof vest. It won’t bite you.”
“I’m sorry, but not everyone finds the idea of armed conflict as stimulating as you,” Danny mutters not quite under his breath.
Instead of bickering back Steve furrows his brow.
“You aren’t going to get involved,” he tells Danny sternly. “Ochoa packs some serious fire power. You will stay in the back of the car.”
Danny rolls his eyes at him. Firstly, going after Bastille doesn’t turn him into some sort of bullet-chasing madman and, secondly, he’s a PI, not a prima ballerina--he carries a gun and he knows how to use it. It’s not like his job hasn’t gotten him into sticky situations before. He’s thankful that Steve’s agreed to take him along like this nonetheless. Full means and immunity aside, he’s pretty sure that Steve can’t just drag civilians to any old bust just because he feels like it.
“This may be hard for you to believe, but unlike some people I don’t have a death wish,” he mocks with just that hint of affection.
“Okay then,” Steve says, grinning like a maniac. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Kono and Kaleo, who surprisingly volunteered his help for the bust, are already at the coffee plantation, lying low. Steve and Chin are going to pose as Bastille’s new bodyguards. It’s a delicate operation; they need to catch Ochoa alive and they also need the drug deal to go over without a hitch so that they can actually charge Ochoa with something that will stick.
Danny can’t help but fret. It doesn’t help that Bastille keeps rambling on about how they have zero chance of surviving the encounter. Steve meets his gaze in the rear view mirror and for some reason smirks to himself, big and bright and happy.
“What are you smirking about?” Danny asks, enunciating each word. “That’s so inappropriate right now.”
“Nothing, just the no tie thing. I like it,” Steve compliments and adds. “You’re starting to look like you actually belong here.”
He’s still hung up on this thing apparently. Danny refuses to be charmed by Steve trying to get him to relate to Hawaii. It’s not appealing. Not the tiniest little bit.
“Well, don’t get used to it,” he grumbles with much less vigor than he would have liked.
“Oh great,” Bastille sighs. “We’re all going to die and you two are making googly eyes at each other.”
“Shut up,” Danny tells him emphatically, for the umpteenth time.
To Danny’s surprise the handover actually runs semi-smoothly at first, meaning that Ochoa doesn’t start opening fire on them straight away even though Bastille is clearly a nervous mess. But then Bastille up and leaves in the middle of it all and someone shouts, “Freeze HPD,” and suddenly there is gunfire, lots of gunfire. Steve, Chin, and Kono are all firing their machine guns like there is some sort of Best Rambo Impersonator Contest going on that Danny wasn’t aware of. He ducks further down and reaches for his gun, just to be on the safe side. Eventually the sound of gunfire dies down and then Steve comes to get him with that happy-go-lucky ‘I enjoy violence’-expression on his face.
“Where is Emilio?” is the first thing Danny asks, after surveying what he guesses used to be a body-free stretch of Hawaiian scenery.
In the sudden silence that follows his words two single shots ring out loudly. They all hurry towards where the shots were fired, Steve not so subtly staying right in front of Danny, and the sinking feeling in Danny’s stomach multiplies tenfold when he sees Kaleo standing over Ochoa’s body, gun still in hand.
“What happened?” He explodes. “We were supposed to catch him alive!”
“He drew on me. I had no choice,” Kaleo replies, stricken, his whole aura drenched in guilt.
….
Danny just feels exhausted and suddenly doesn’t know what to do with all that anger. He lets Steve take him back to HQ without saying another word and ends up standing in the middle of Steve’s office, numb, painfully powerless, and with no real idea of what to do next.
“Danny,” Steve says, sounding strained, and then he falls silent.
For some reason it doesn’t take Danny by surprise at all when Steve presses him against the wall and kisses him like he just can’t help himself. Steve works his mouth open, all heat and passion and a little desperation, and Danny melts into it without any conscious decision on his part. His hands clutch at Steve’s back like he’s clinging to a lifeline. It’s embarrassing, really. The attraction he could deal with - you’d have to be blind not to be attracted to Steve McGarrett -- but the sheer level of need he’s displaying is usually only found in hormonal teenage boys.
Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t stop giving into this, though. It’s wild, crazy, and intoxicating, and Danny wants it so bad it almost hurts. Steve makes him stupid and the kiss is maddeningly perfect in a way that nothing’s really felt in a long time.
“You seem to be offering some additional services since I last hired you,” the ghost of Meka remarks dryly.
Danny yelps manfully and pushes away from Steve swiftly, trying to ignore the look of startled alarm on Steve’s face.
“Meka!” he exclaims, glowering at the ghost.
“What? I’m not your type?” Meka asked amused, absolutely unfazed by Danny’s glare of vengeance. “That’s just hurtful, Danny.”
“I will exorcise you so bad,” Danny threatens darkly.
Meka waves the threat away cheerfully.
“Hey, I’m glad you finally getting some action. Amy and I have been worried about you for a while there.”
“What is this? Message from Sam? Please, don’t be that kind of a ghost,” Danny urges semi-serious. “Really, don’t try matchmaking. That’s just creepy.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, brah,” Meka says with that wide grin Danny knows so well. “I’m glad you’re finally settling in here. You really like him, huh?”
“I’m sorry, when did you turn into my mom? I’m not gonna talk to you about that,” Danny tells him emphatically, before going for a pretty transparent diversion tactic, “What do you want anyway?”
“I just want to say goodbye.”
“What, but we haven’t even cleared you.”
“You will though.”
“How can you know that?” Danny argues, despite knowing that arguing with ghosts is absolutely pointless. “Our only lead just got shot. You can’t leave, yet.”
“You know me, Danny? Well, I know you, too. And I know you’ll solve this case,” Meka says earnestly. “I’m glad I got to know you, brah. Take care. And tell Amy and Billy that I love them. Always will.”
With that Meka’s ghost vanishes.
“Way to ruin the mood,” Danny shouts after him angrily, aware that he won’t get a reply. His friend is gone.
“I’ll miss you,” he adds under his breath.
He turns to Steve, who leans against his desk watching him closely.
“Sorry,” he says, running his hand through his hair in agitation “Asshole just stopped by to say his final goodbyes.”
“That’s something, though. Right?” Steve replies earnestly. “I hadn’t spoken to my father in ages when he was shot and I don’t even remember the last thing my mother ever said to me. I never got to say goodbye.”
“Yeah,” Danny agrees softly, feeling drained. “I suppose it is. I just wish I could’ve done more. I’m not done with this. I need to clear him.”
“Neither are we, man,” Steve assures him, all quite sincerity. “I’ve got you.”
And because lately they haven’t had a moment that hasn’t been interrupted, Steve’s phone rings with the worst possible timing. Danny’s heart is still beating a bit erratically.
It’s a text from the coroner. Apparently ballistics confirms that Emilio’s gun was used to kill Meka. There’s also something about muzzle burns on Ochoao’s chest in there. Steve frowns at his phone in confusion.
“That doesn’t seem right,” he mutters. “Why would he let Kaleo get that close?”
“Nothing about this whole thing is right,” Danny replies darkly, but he thinks of Kaleo’s heavy aura of guilt and that deep maroon edge of dark satisfaction.
Suddenly he remembers the little grayish white dots of relief and how something about the play of colors didn’t seem entirely right.
“Fuck,” he curses angrily.
How could he have missed this? He let his emotions get the better of him.
“It was Kaleo,” he tells Steve passionately. “He planted his freaking gun on Ochoa after he shot him.”
“When did you get to be so smart?” Steve asks him in fond admiration, apparently on board with the theory straightaway.
….
They waltz right into Kaleo waxing lyrical about his heroic actions at the showdown with Ochoa. Danny’s way beyond the territory of white-hot rage and well into the calmer waters of ‘I’m gonna kill a dude’.
“I’m impressed,” he tells Kaleo through clenched teeth. “It takes guts to pull off what you pulled off. Let me just ask you something, does it bother you at all that everyone still thinks Meka was a mole or was that part of the plan all along?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Kaleo snorts, his face turning to stone. “Get the hell out of here, haole. The case is closed.”
“Well, let me tell you what I’m talking about,” Danny offers almost conversationally. “I’m talking about you selling out the entire department for months now, selling everyone here out to whoever paid the right amount. I’m talking about Meka, my friend Meka, finding out about it and I’m talking about you killing him to save your sorry ass. You shot him in the back, dumped him in a fire pit, and then killed Ochoa and planted the gun on him. You killed my friend.”
Kaleo moves as if to get up, and that’s really all the excuse Danny needs.
“Sit down,” he grits out and pushes him back in his chair before sending his fist flying and landing a hard punch in Kaleo’s face. The sound of his knuckles connecting with Kaleo’s mouth is satisfying, so is the dull ache in his hand. Danny blacks out for a second there. None of the cops around him are going to step in and save the rat. So he pounds his fist into Kaleo’s face again and again, drawing blood.
He’s distinctly aware of Steve saying his name in a tentative warning. Not that Danny needs that; he knows that this isn’t accomplishing anything. He forces himself to take a step backwards and takes a deep breath, shaking out his fist and running a hand through his hair shakily.
“Book him,” Steve says, waving at Chin and Kono, who apparently materialized out of nowhere.
Danny’s not quite done yet. He has a couple of choice words lined up, when Steve grabs his arm and gently steers him away.
“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Danno,” he jokes lightly. “That was pretty impressive.”
“It was something, babe,” Danny agrees before he can stop himself.
Steve grins at him warmly and Danny grins back at him, feeling dizzy and relieved and a little bit lost. Steve’s strong hand is still wrapped gently around his wrist, and Danny lets himself be led outside. For all that Steve is a deranged head case, he clearly knows where he’s going and that is more than Danny can say for himself at the moment.
“We’ll match the account in Singapore to Kaleo,” Steve tells him, striding towards the Camaro purposefully. “And Sang Min, the trafficker I told you about, will identify him as the mole, so IA will have to clear Meka of all charges.”
Danny just nods at the conviction in Steve’s voice.
“I’ll drop you off at Amy’s so you can tell her yourself,” Steve continues. “And then I’m going to inform Cage of these new developments.”
It may just be Danny’s imagination, but he sounds somewhat gleeful at the prospect.
“Don’t gloat,” Danny says a while later when Steve drops him off, and then reconsiders that statement. “No, actually do gloat. Gloat a lot. Gloat for me too.”
“Will do, partner,” Steve says, easy as that, and then he’s off.
….
Three days later, Meka finally gets the funeral he deserves. The memorial service is beautiful. Cops are crowding the place and, perversely, that feels like a victory of sorts. Danny helped Amy organize the whole thing. She is teary and beautiful and full of thanks, and Danny feels a little bit helpless in the face of all of her strength.
Steve, Chin, and Kono turn up to pay their respects and that counts for a lot. Danny doesn’t mind telling them so, either. After all they didn’t even know Meka. Steve’s reply of ‘I know you’ with that dead serious look in his eyes nearly kills him dead. For someone who is lousy at emotions Steve sure knows how to hook a guy with just one sentence.
Much later after drinks and talk and jokes and laughter, when everyone has finally gone home, Danny sits on the curb outside of Meka’s house, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, and tries to work up the energy to get himself back home to his fold-out couch. A noise makes him look around in time to see Steve walking up to him.
“You're still here,” Danny states, somewhat surprised.
He said goodbye to Chin and Kono a while ago. Steve just nods and sits down beside him, still in his dress uniform. He is a freakishly tall giant and the way he folds into himself to kneel down on the sidewalk is sort of heartwarmingly awkward. Suddenly Danny finds himself talking about Meka. He tells Steve about Meka’s unshakable good mood and his easygoing and fun-loving energy. How he just accepted Danny’s gift or curse or whatever you wanna call it, but wouldn’t stop trying to teach Danny about Hawaiian customs. How much he loved his family and how Danny could see parts of Amy reflected in Meka’s aura. Steve listens attentively until Danny finally runs out of things to say and they just sit beside each other quietly for a while.
“Come on,” Steve says eventually. “Let me give you a ride home.”
“You don’t have to,” Danny waves him aside half-heartedly.
“Yes, I do,” Steve replies earnestly, holding Danny’s gaze.
And maybe that was exactly what Danny needed to hear, because suddenly he finds it incredibly easy to get up and follow Steve to the Camaro.
“I was fifteen when my mom died,” Steve tells him in the car, staring into the middle distance, voice a little rough around the edges. “She was late for dinner. Mom was never late. The doorbell rang and the moment I saw the cop’s face I knew right away.”
Steve’s offering something of himself in return for Danny sharing with him, and Danny knows - suddenly and without any doubt - that Steve has never talked about this with anyone else. Steve’s the most tightly guarded person he’s ever met, and the sheer enormity of him letting Danny see this part of him makes Danny breathless.
“What happened,” he asks softly.
“Car accident,” comes the callous reply. “Drunk driver. Dad wasn’t the same afterwards. I mean, he’s always been a little distant, but I could always tell he loved us. He just had trouble showing it. After the accident, though, he got more walled off, sort of obsessive, and pretty soon after that he shipped me and my little sister Mary off to the mainland; different planes, different destinations.”
“I’m sorry,” Danny offers when Steve falls silent, but that feels horribly insufficient and so he reaches out to press his hand into the curve of Steve’s neck and rub small circles into the soft skin with his thumb.
Steve tenses up instantly, but relaxes into the gesture just as quickly. He doesn’t meet Danny’s gaze and he’s drumming his fingers on the steering wheel sort of restlessly like he’s embarrassed by his sudden display of emotion.
“Radio,” Danny offers, deciding to give Steve an easy out for once. Even though he finds the other man’s social ineptitude horribly appealing and would usually jump at the chance to torment Steve some more.
“Yeah,” Steve replies a little too quickly, relief evident in his tone, and hits the button hard.
A second later Danny regrets his generosity. ‘Sexy Eyes’ is blaring from the speakers and Steve doesn’t move a muscle to change stations.
“Are you shitting me?” Danny exclaims loudly.
Steve turns to stare at him, his dark eyes deceptively clueless.
“What?” He asks, and Danny can just tell there is a smirk right beneath the surface.
“You seriously not gonna do something about this? You are gonna leave this on?” Danny sputters.
Steve just shrugs. Danny can only hope he’s being strung along.
“I know the Army played crazy mind games on you,” he starts.
“The Navy,” Steve corrects, without missing a beat, and Danny ignores him.
“But this sort of music is considered the worst form of torture among the rest of humanity. This is unbearable. Songs this bad make stable people want to kill other people. Preferably the people who expose them to such a horrific atrocity. You understand?”
Having made his point, he leans forward and shuts off the radio resolutely. Steve, who has all the maturity of a five-year-old, turns it back on just a second later.
“I think it’s kinda catchy,” he informs Danny, still not letting go of that smirk.
Truth be told, Danny is kinda glad they are back to this and so he heavy-heartedly resigns himself to listening to this god-awful, nausea-inducing excuse for actual music for the duration of the drive. Not without remarking, “My ears bleed for you,” and shaking his head in disgust, though.
They arrive at Danny’s place in record time. It should feel like a blessing, but Danny feels oddly reluctant to leave Steve’s car. This has become par for the course by now and so he just ignores that feeling and makes himself get out of the car. Steve follows him.
“Hey,” he says softly and Danny stops in his tracks and turns to him. “I was planning a barbecue tomorrow. Maybe you and Grace want to stop by. She might enjoy spending some time on the beach.”
He sounds uncharacteristically unsure and doesn’t quite meet Danny’s eyes. Suddenly Danny has no control over himself whatsoever. He isn’t sure what possesses him - no pun intended - but he takes Steve’s face into both of his hands and pulls him forward gently. Their lips meet, easy and unhurried. This is different from before, not as urgent and a lot less heated. It’s all the more terrifying for that. This, Danny realizes too late, is not about sex at all. This is something else entirely. It’s a bad idea. And yet, he gives into it - the soft press of Steve’s lips, the way he yields to Danny, warm and unresisting, and the simplicity of it all. He still can’t help how much he wants this, but it’s more than that, he is trying to convey something here, gratefulness and affection and maybe just that hint of ‘I know you, too’.
“See you tomorrow,” Danny says once he lets Steve go, stupidly flustered and so far in over his head it isn’t even funny anymore.
“Yeah,” Steve replies, goofy grin plastered all over his face.
He looks relaxed and completely unfazed, as if Danny randomly latching onto him is a regular occurrence, just the way things are. And maybe, that treacherous voice in the back of his mind suggests as he walks back to his apartment, it should be.