fic: Oblivion (7/?) (H50 Season 5 Coda Series)
Title: Oblivion
Author: stellarmeadow
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Paring: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC17
Summary: Season 5 coda series - think of it as Season 5 canon with a twist....
Notes: Chapter 7 - coda for ep 507. Missed previous chapters? Read them here:
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
He knew.
Even before the phone call, Danny knew. But the moment he answered, when he heard "Commander McGarrett," he definitely knew.
Steve never missed a crime scene. And Danny rarely ever beat him to one, let alone had to go in before he could get there. He'd managed to block it out until the job was done, but when he'd answered the phone, he knew.
His brain had some excellent self-defense mechanisms, though, and he'd managed to convince himself that it was just an anomaly. Knowing Steve he'd stumbled over a crime or something else ridiculous.
Even when he'd seen the blood, Danny had thought maybe Steve had just been randomly injured. He was Super SEAL, after all--a three inch gash in the arm to him was a paper cut by anyone else's standards.
Tire marks. Of all things it had been tire marks that had forced his brain to believe what he didn't really even want to consider.
Steve had been kidnapped.
For all the people that they'd pissed off over the years, the list of people with the resources, knowledge and skill to actually kidnap Steve McGarrett was relatively small.
And one person was at the top of the list.
He'd done it before, in fact, and Danny only hoped that this time around Steve was at least still on the island. Not having to rescue him from enemy territory would be an improvement at this point. The idea that they wouldn't rescue him wasn't something Danny would even consider. He'd lost too much already.
He wasn't losing the closest family he had left.
Dangerous path, those thoughts, and he shut them off before they could overwhelm him. Consume him, like a fire that left nothing but charred remains in its wake. Some days his brain still felt like that--scarred, burnt out wood, black and brittle and ready to crumble at the first touch.
But he wasn't going to lose anyone. They'd find Steve. The guy would survive at the center of a nuclear blast. Maybe he had. Maybe that was why he was so strong, he'd soaked in all that radiation and become some mutant human. Danny knew that was a crazy thought, that the mere idea was nuts, but really.
It was Steve.
Fuck.
It was Steve. Missing. Kidnapped. God knew where going through God knew what.
Danny should have picked him up. They hadn't been carpooling--Steve's word, Danny referred to it more often as 'treating me like your personal driver'--as much since Danny had returned from Jersey. Danny needed some space and for once Steve was respecting that. If Danny had been there, though, Steve might have been safe instead of kidnapped.
"Danny?"
Kono's voice was soft, but urgent. He looked up from where he'd been staring at nothing on his desk. "Yeah?"
"We might have something on a traffic cam. Wanna see?"
"Yeah."
They were looking at a tenuous--and that was being generous--link when Adam came through the door with a solid lead. Anthony Shu and his huge dry cleaning facility.
Given the size of most dry cleaners Danny had seen, twelve thousand square feet seemed like it left a lot of room for a lot of things that had nothing to do with dry cleaning, and more to do with things like laundering money instead of fabric.
It also left plenty of room to house a kidnapped cop.
"Let's go," Danny said, heading for the door.
The lights and sirens were on and the Camaro's gas pedal was to the floor, but it still felt like an eternity before they made the relatively short drive over to Makaloa. The dry cleaner was about halfway down the small stretch of road, and Danny wasted no time in getting out of the car, motioning for the team to follow.
None of the workers challenged them as they moved quickly through the legitimate side of the business. It wasn't until they reached the back of the building that someone tried to stop them.
The jolt of pain through Danny's fist when he punched the guy out was more satisfying than it probably should have been.
The real challenges came when they got through the door. Danny pushed on, not really caring who got in the way. The familiar scenario of stairs and a gunfight to get down them lay in the back of his head, in that dark space where the voice lived that told him Steve was as dead as Matt.
He refused to give in to that voice. This was Steve, who'd survived kidnap and torture by Wo Fat once already, who'd barely escaped from the Taliban with his head still attached to his shoulders. For all that shitty things happened to Steve, he seemed to be charmed when it came to getting out of impossible situations with his life.
He was alive; Danny just had to find him. They were clearing rooms as fast as they could, taking down various people who were foolish enough to try to stop them as they went. The rooms were normal enough for a place like that, until Danny opened the door on a room with no windows, and no furniture, nothing but white walls, floors and ceilings.
He'd heard about rooms like this, and didn't like to think what this one was for, not if Steve was--
An object on the floor caught his eye, and Danny bent down to pick it up. A white tank top, the same brand Steve wore--Danny had seen them in his desk, had been with him when he'd bought some more than once.
It didn't mean anything--they were popular on the islands. It could belong to anyone. Just because it was Steve's size didn't mean shit.
But that buzz that he'd had since they'd gotten down the stairs, the one he couldn't explain, told him this was Steve's, and that he was close.
He went back into the hall, not quite meeting anyone's eyes as they moved on to the next room. Eight rooms later, Danny opened a door to a sight right out of his nightmares. Steve lay on the floor, unmoving, a gun halfway out of his outstretched hand.
Danny spared a glance for Wo Fat, finally where he belonged--on the ground with a bullet in his head --but his real attention was on Steve, so still and unmoving.
"Steve," he said carefully, waiting for Steve to move. A twitch, a cough, anything--some sign that he was alive.
The bastard remained totally still.
Danny moved faster once he passed Wo Fat--the team would make sure there weren't any other threats, but Danny needed to get to Steve. He knelt down, touching Steve, something unclenching in his heart just a little as Steve started and sat up.
***
Steve jolted awake, every muscle aching as it tensed up to continue the battle. Instead of punches or needles or cattle prods, however, it was a pair of friendly hands that woke him. Cops, he realized, from HPD. Captain Kelly and Danno, right, he knew them. They worked with his father.
"Where's my father?" Steve asked. His dad should've been there, leading the charge to find him. "I wanna see my dad."
Their expressions worried him. Had his father's injuries held some hidden problem? Had something else happened? Everything was so fuzzy, it was hard to remember exactly what had happened.
After a moment, Danno said, quietly, "Buddy, your dad died four years ago, okay?"
The words made no sense. He'd just seen his dad, he'd just been with him on the beach behind the house not long before. How could his dad have died four years ago?
But if he'd just been with his father, how was he here? And why was he wrung out, feeling like he'd gone twenty rounds with a wild boar?
Memories flooded back, fractured images all out of order, but enough that he pieced together reality. Right, Hesse killed his father. This was his task force come to save him. His team, his ohana.
"Yeah," Steve said, to let Danny know he remembered. But he remembered too well, and it was like it was all happening all over, and all at once, like getting his dad back and losing him again, and he couldn't stop the tears, no matter how fast he tried to put a lid on his emotions.
He grounded himself in the feel of Danny's hand on his neck, in the solid reality of Danny's warmth at his side, in Chin's presence close on his left and in Kono watching carefully from just behind Danny.
Steve grit his teeth. "Let's go," he said, letting Danny and Chin help him up. He couldn't leave, though, not without stopping to commit the scene to memory, to add that solid image of Wo Fat, finally out of his life, finally unable to cause him or anyone he cared about more pain.
Steve tried to picture his mother holding Wo Fat as a baby. He tried to imagine her, arms outstretched, as a tiny version of Wo Fat ran to her. Pictured her leaving Wo Fat, the same way she'd left Steve, Mary and their father.
So much pain and suffering that could have been averted if only once she'd chosen to stay instead of running and hiding, following orders, and leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.
He didn't regret his choice today. Letting Wo Fat live was not an option.
He just wondered if his mother ever regretted any of hers.
***
He didn't argue when Danny and Chin led him straight to the ambulance. The bright flashing lights hurt his head, and he needed the support of Danny and Chin a lot more than he'd liked just to stand, let alone walk.
The stretcher they put him on actually felt good, soft surface and clean, cool sheets against his skin, such a stark contrast to the last few hours. Or however long it had been--time was still this weird, fluid thing where one minute he was in reality, Danny by his side, his hand on Steve somewhere constantly, despite the EMTs fussing around him. The next he was back in some alternate world where his dad was alive.
Fuck. His dad was dead.
Steve tightened his mouth and swallowed down the wave of feelings that threatened to escape. He'd learned to live with that once. He could do it again. He just needed to be stronger.
Steve focused on the feel of Danny's hand, on the right side of Steve's head now, to stay out of the way of the EMTs, Steve assumed. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Danny's face, upside down, concern quickly hidden behind a crooked smile. "How you feeling?" Danny asked.
Like shit. Everything hurt, from his head to his toes, and twice as bad in between. He was going to be rubbing burn cream into at least six places on his torso for a week, and the side of his head that Danny wasn't touching felt like it was on fire. "I'm okay."
Danny's laugh had a hint of something other than amusement behind it. "You're okay?" He shook his head. "You're starting to grow actual gills," he said, waving at the left side of Steve's head. "You're okay. Right."
The mention of gills brought back a vivid wave of sensation of a cloth over his face, and water, and Steve closed his eyes, but it didn't stop. Water everywhere, pouring down his throat, he couldn't stop it, there was nothing he could do, he was going to choke to death on it, and he couldn't--
He couldn't stop the coughing fit, no matter how much it made his back feel like it was being pounded by tiny nails all over. Strong hands held him down, keeping him from sitting up, not Danny's hands, though, because Danny's were on Steve's head and face.
"Steve," Danny said, his voice a near whisper, and Steve opened his eyes, seeing Danny's pinched, drawn expression. "Hey," Danny said, his voice still quiet, somehow making it noticeable among all the noises around them. "You're all right."
Steve swallowed hard. "Yeah. I'm all right."
If he said it enough, maybe it would be true.
The stretcher moved, and Danny's hands let go of Steve. He tried to twist around to see where Danny went. "Danny?"
"I'm here," Danny said, as the stretcher bumped and lifted, and Steve saw the inside of the ambulance. But Steve couldn't see him, and he looked around, his heart beating wildly, until he felt Danny's hand take his, and Steve's eyes traveled quickly up his arm to his face.
Steve fought to control his breathing. "Stay?"
"Not going anywhere." He gave Steve some pale imitation of his normal cocky smile. "Grover's been itching to drive my car, now he gets his wish."
The words didn't quite make sense, but Danny was there, and Steve could feel and see him, he wasn't going to vanish into thin air and be nothing but a figment of Steve's imagination and Wo Fat's drugs, and Steve closed his eyes, holding tight to Danny's hand as he breathed.
***
The hospital wanted him to stay.
Steve was adamant about all the ways that was not happening before the doctor had even gotten the words out. He didn't give a fuck about dehydration or a head wound or whatever--he was not staying trapped in a confined bed with IVs sticking in him. Not after today. He'd sneak out if they didn't let him go.
He was tensing up for another fight he wasn't ready for when Danny's grip tightened on his hand. "Can he go home if someone stays with him?"
Danny, usually the advocate for listening to the doctors, helping--that was new. It made Steve wonder if he was still in that hellhole, drugged up to his hair and at Wo Fat's mercy. Was Wo Fat's death and Steve's rescue just another reality he'd dreamed up, one that was a little more realistic, and therefore his brain accepted more readily? Was Danny's support just a hint from his brain, a way of it telling him this wasn't real and he needed to wake up before he couldn't anymore?
No. This was real life. He took a deep breath, the sharp smell of antiseptic and the other unmistakable odors of hospital combining with the feel of Danny's hand in his, warm and callused, feeling almost a part of him, he'd been holding on so long, too real to be in his head. This was real. This was home.
"Hey," Danny said, his voice in that careful near whisper he'd been using every time Steve had tuned back in throughout this whole mess. "I need my hand back, okay? Just for a minute, to go talk to the doctor. I'll be right over there," he nodded to the other side of the bed. "Okay?"
Steve blinked, the words not making sense. "Huh?"
Danny squeezed his hand. "You've got a hell of a grip, partner."
"Oh." Steve let go, fighting the rising tide of panic as Danny's hand slipped out of his. He flexed his hand, feeling the cramping ease, wondering just how long and how tight he'd been holding on. He knew it hadn't been the whole time--Danny's hand had been warm on his head as they'd cleaned Steve up and stitched up and tended various wounds. But he'd still been holding on a while. Or maybe it was just the tightness that made it cramp like that.
His eyes followed Danny as he went over to the doctor, speaking so low that Steve couldn't catch a single word. He could tell, though, that the doctor didn't like what Danny was saying, but after a few seconds, the doctor nodded. Danny smiled and said something else before coming back to sit beside Steve as the doctor left the room.
Steve breathed easier when Danny's hand was back in his, which in itself felt almost like a different reality. He wasn't exactly the hand holding type, but it wasn't that kind of PDA that the Navy drilled out of them early on. It was different somehow.
When he was little, he'd brought a balloon back from a birthday party, bright blue, almost disappearing against the sky because of the color. He'd held onto the string all the way home, into the house, carried it out back to sit and watch it dance against the waves and sky, the play of colors mesmerizing.
He'd dozed just enough to let the string slip from his fingers and just like that it was gone, beautiful as it disappeared into the sky, but gone all the same. His first lesson in loss, but far from the last.
He squeezed Danny's hand. "Can I go home?"
Danny nodded. "The doc and I made a deal. You can go, provided you listen to every word I say and do everything I tell you. And if you show any signs of problems, we come back." Danny's eyes were serious. "Deal?"
Steve nodded. He'd have agreed to a lot more just to get out of this place, to go home. "Deal."
"Good." Danny's smile still seemed a little off, but at least it was a smile. "He's getting the paperwork. Let's get you into some scrubs so I don't have to arrest you for public indecency when we walk out of here, okay?"
***
The team was waiting when Danny wheeled Steve out in a wheelchair, the scene so reminiscent of the day of the drone attack that he had to wonder again if he was dreaming, if his mind was pulling up happier memories to comfort him because he was still trapped in hell.
And if he was, what did it say that the memory of being shot in the leg was a happier one?
Danny's hand was on his shoulder as he wheeled Steve out, the team making jokes for all that he could feel the combination of desperation and relief behind the laughter. Desperation that hadn't yet quite left them from the search, and relief that was over. At least for them.
Seeing the people he loved, those he'd chosen as family, was soothing, and jarring all at once. The slightly forced laughter felt wrong, another dreamlike moment that caused him to question if he was awake. He focused on Danny's hand, on his presence behind him, real and solid and true.
Adrenaline had left him, and the hospital had been reluctant to give him anything beyond ibuprofen for pain when the ER tox screen hadn't been able to identify half the drugs already in his system. His body registered how totally pissed off it was at him as he lowered himself into the car with Danny's help.
The pain was welcome, though. It reminded him this was real, that he was awake, because even his brain couldn't be so fucked up that this would be a dream he'd conjure up to keep himself from going crazy.
He dozed on the drive home, Danny close enough that, even though they weren't touching all the time, he still managed to keep Steve grounded in reality. His hands were still better, though, a direct link, like a tangible connection to the real world, as Danny helped him into the house and up the stairs.
Steve couldn't even look out behind the house yet, the memory--or faked memory, dream, whatever it was supposed to be called--of sitting out there with his father still too real, too raw, to be able to reconcile the view with what was in his head. Even in the dark, he didn't want to see it. Not yet.
He took in all the changes to the house, though, the difference in his room, from what it was like four years ago when he'd come home, studied them with a sharp eye looking for anything that might be off. But it was all where it was supposed to be.
"You want anything to eat before you pass out?" Danny asked.
Steve shook his head. The idea of swallowing food, let alone having it sit in his stomach, was too much to consider. "I want a shower."
He was prepared for a fight, but Danny just nodded. "Can you manage yourself?"
Steve thought for a second, then nodded. "If you help with these." He waved a hand at the scrubs--he wasn't sure he'd be able to get his arms up high enough to get the top off without some help.
Danny stripped him with quick efficiency, and helped Steve into the bathroom, turning on the water and testing the temperature before helping Steve into the shower. "I'll be in the other room," Danny said, starting to go.
Steve's chest tightened, and he swallowed against the rise of panic in his throat. "Danny." When Danny turned, one eyebrow raised, Steve nodded at the toilet. "Can you...." Steve cleared his throat. "Can you stay?"
Danny nodded, closing the lid on the toilet and sitting down. "I'll be here if you need anything."
Steve breathed a little easier as he slid the shower door closed. He could see Danny, more shape and color than anything clear, but still, he knew it was Danny, and that was enough. He let the hot water take a little of the ache out of his shoulders and back, and tried to minimize its sting on the burns on his torso.
When he felt like he'd washed the combined smell of the battle and the ER off his body, he stepped out to find Danny standing there with a towel. He dried Steve carefully, hands gentle, especially on the wounds and burns, before helping Steve out to the bedroom.
Steve stood by the bed, the last of his energy gone, leaving everything fuzzy and dreamlike--an unpleasant feeling given everything that had happened that day. Danny helped him into a pair of boxers, then looked up at him, as if judging the need to go back to the hospital.
"You want anything else to sleep in?"
Steve shook his head. He didn't want anything more constricting him, not tonight. He pushed the covers and sheets down on the bed, would have fallen onto the bed without Danny's hands to help him lower himself into it with a little less impact and jarring to his already aching body.
When Danny started to pull the sheets up, Steve pushed them down with his feet. "I don't...." He took a deep breath, scrunching his eyes closed. "It's just...."
"Hey." That careful whisper was back, and Steve opened his eyes, just able to make out Danny's face in the moonlight. "It's okay. I get it."
Steve nodded, grateful. "Can you stay?"
"Can I stay? Try and get rid of me," Danny teased. "I promised the doctor I'd keep an eye on you, didn't I?"
His tone was almost right, and Steve took comfort in the brief semblance of normalcy. "So I'm stuck with you?" Steve said.
"Afraid so. But I do need a shower," Danny said. "You gonna be okay for two minutes?"
Steve nodded, even though the thought of Danny leaving the room, of having nothing there to anchor him in reality, made his heart beat faster. Apparently he didn't hide it well enough, though, because Danny said, "Minute and a half, tops. Okay?"
With another nod, Steve watched as Danny stripped off his clothes, dumping them in the floor before disappearing into the bathroom. Steve used the sounds to keep him grounded--the water, the shower door, the change in patterns of the water hitting things as Danny moved in and out of it until it shut off, and the door slid again.
Then Danny was back in sight, and Steve let out a breath, watching as Danny stole a pair of Steve's boxers from the drawer and sat down on the bed next to Steve. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Steve said. "I know I don't have a TV in here, but...." He didn't know how to ask, didn't have the words, but he patted the space next to him on the bed.
"Yeah, of course." Danny laid down beside him, so close Steve could smell him and feel him, alive and warm beside him, so real it blocked out any possibility that it was a dream. Steve still needed more to ground him, though, reaching out to place a hand on Danny's chest, feeling his heartbeat faint beneath the hair and skin.
He realized that, despite having had sex more than once, he and Danny had never actually slept together, and now Steve wondered why. Because the heat of Danny, the soft breaths as he settled in, the rise and fall of his chest under Steve's hand, were a better lullaby than the ocean.
***
Steve's head snapped up, and he looked around, taking in the ugly green walls and dim light. No, this wasn't right, he'd been rescued from this place, he couldn't be here, couldn't be--
The door opened, Wo Fat stepping inside, his companion right behind him. "Good," Wo Fat said. "You're awake."
"You're dead," Steve said. "You're dead."
Wo Fat laughed. "You'd have to get free to make good on that threat," he said, crossing the room until he was out of Steve's line of sight. Everything went fuzzy for a moment, and when it snapped back into clarity, he was standing, his arms locked behind his back, and his feet shackled. There was a collar around his neck with a lead, and Wo Fat was pulling him along, the woman next to Steve, watching him closely.
"Where are we going?" Steve asked.
"You'll see."
They were suddenly in a loading dock, and Steve frowned, unable to remember how they got there. The light of daybreak was still bright compared to the room where Steve had been kept, and he squinted into it, making out the shape of a box truck. Wo Fat led him into it, locking Steve into a chair in the middle of the back of the truck.
Only it wasn't a regular box truck, Steve realized. The sides were all plexiglass or something like it, making the world visible to Steve, and Steve visible to the world. It wasn't exactly a secretive way to move Steve, but he didn't question his luck, as Wo Fat closed and locked the back door. Someone would surely see him and he'd be rescued.
The streets were relatively empty, though, and the few people here and there didn't seem to notice the strange truck at all, didn't see someone locked in the back. He yelled, but it did no good, no one heard him.
They were in Waikiki suddenly, driving down Kalakaua, near the zoo. Steve saw a family on the beach, realized it was Chin and Malia and two toddlers, laughing as Kono jumped up, her pink bikini painfully bright, grabbed her board and ran out to the surf.
He yelled again, but they didn't notice, and the truck drove on by, only to stop at a stoplight where a couple waited to cross. Steve looked closer, realizing it was Danny and Rachel, too caught up in their own laughter and kisses to notice the light had changed.
Steve yelled louder, but it did nothing, and they looked up and saw the light, and started to cross the road, walking away.
"Danny! Danny! Come back!"
Steve sat up in the bed, feeling strong hands on both his arms, as if trying to contain him. He fought against it until the urgent whisper finally reached his brain. "You're okay, you're home, stop fighting me," Danny said. "Come on, Steve. Calm down."
Danny. Right. Steve stopped fighting. He was home, he was safe there with Danny. And Wo Fat was dead.
And so was Dad.
He couldn't stop the tears then, the ones he'd held in since Danny had reminded him his dad had died. He felt the world tilt sideways and realized that Danny was pulling him back down onto the bed, into his arms, while Steve couldn't help crying, even as he knew he was probably soaking Danny's chest.
His dad was dead, long gone and buried, Steve remembered it in full detail, from the crack of the gun over the phone to the crack of the salutes at the funeral, each one straightening his spine and shoring up his strength at the time, but gutting him further now with the memory of every single shot.
His dad was dead.
And his mother was running--would probably never come back, not if she thought Steve knew the truth now. He thought maybe it was better if she didn't. He wasn't sure he wanted to know why she'd made the choices she'd made. Or whether or not she regretted them.
Maybe it was better just not to know.
He needed to stop. Crying wasn't helping, and he knew it was worrying Danny, who almost never saw him cry. He'd mocked him once about it, years ago, halfway through a fifth of whiskey they were sharing late one night, about being a robot with defective tear ducts. At the time, Steve had been proud of his strength.
Now he just marveled at his own ability to shove things down and not deal with them. He almost wished for it again, wished he didn't have to feel this pain that was like something splitting him in two, but at the same time he felt a little like the tears were washing some of the pain away.
He sniffed, wiping his eyes and rolling onto his back. He felt Danny moving, and a moment later a wad of tissues appeared in front of Steve's face.
Steve took them and blew his nose, tossing them onto the other nightstand to deal with later. He lay there in silence for a minute or two, getting his breathing back under control and trying to stuff what was left of his guts back inside his body.
He felt Danny move again and opened his eyes to see Danny propped up on an elbow beside him, face half shadowed, half open in the moonlight. "You okay?" he asked in that whisper.
Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, deliberately. "No." Because Danny deserved honesty after all this. "But I will be."
"Think you can get back to sleep?" Danny asked. When Steve didn't answer right away, Danny said, "I know it's tough, with....everything all jumbled around up here," he tapped the side of his head, his eyes somewhere around Steve's navel, "but it'll help you deal if you can sleep."
"Yeah," Steve said. "I need to at least try."
"Good."
Danny lay down on his back, his arm touching Steve's as they laid there and breathed. Steve realized now why Danny had fought for him to leave the hospital. It wasn't just being trapped there with IVs and memories.
He'd known what the night would be like.
He knew the kinds of demons that attacked in your sleep after something like this, knew Steve would do better with someone there to fight off the nightmares, and like the world's best partner, had been there to have his back.
But who'd done that for Danny?
Steve's tears threatened to start again at the thought of Danny waking up like that alone after Matt. But tears wouldn't help anyone on that front. And Danny had pulled away, hadn't wanted anyone around, preferring to lick his wounds alone.
Steve had always been the same, before he'd come back and settled into his old home and made a new family, before he'd actually started to deal with some of the loss in his life. Even tonight he'd probably have preferred it if he hadn't been so terrified that he'd lose himself to that bizarre other world he'd dreamed up without Danny to anchor him.
He was glad now, though, that he'd needed that, glad that Danny was here. For both their sakes.
"Hey, Danno," Steve said, matching that whisper Danny had been using on him, "thanks."
He could feel how shaky the breath was that Danny drew in. "When I went into that room," he said slowly, "I thought...."
He didn't have to finish the sentence. Steve knew what he'd thought--he'd thought he would find Steve as dead as Matt. And Steve had seen the bullet graze on his head--he knew how close that had come to being the truth.
"I know," Steve whispered. "But you didn't. And I'm not."
So much pain and loss, for both of them. How much more did they have to suffer? But he didn't ask that question, didn't even say anything else. He just rolled over, pulling Danny close, and holding on until morning.
***
Chapter 8
Author: stellarmeadow
Fandom: Hawaii Five-0
Paring: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC17
Summary: Season 5 coda series - think of it as Season 5 canon with a twist....
Notes: Chapter 7 - coda for ep 507. Missed previous chapters? Read them here:
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
He knew.
Even before the phone call, Danny knew. But the moment he answered, when he heard "Commander McGarrett," he definitely knew.
Steve never missed a crime scene. And Danny rarely ever beat him to one, let alone had to go in before he could get there. He'd managed to block it out until the job was done, but when he'd answered the phone, he knew.
His brain had some excellent self-defense mechanisms, though, and he'd managed to convince himself that it was just an anomaly. Knowing Steve he'd stumbled over a crime or something else ridiculous.
Even when he'd seen the blood, Danny had thought maybe Steve had just been randomly injured. He was Super SEAL, after all--a three inch gash in the arm to him was a paper cut by anyone else's standards.
Tire marks. Of all things it had been tire marks that had forced his brain to believe what he didn't really even want to consider.
Steve had been kidnapped.
For all the people that they'd pissed off over the years, the list of people with the resources, knowledge and skill to actually kidnap Steve McGarrett was relatively small.
And one person was at the top of the list.
He'd done it before, in fact, and Danny only hoped that this time around Steve was at least still on the island. Not having to rescue him from enemy territory would be an improvement at this point. The idea that they wouldn't rescue him wasn't something Danny would even consider. He'd lost too much already.
He wasn't losing the closest family he had left.
Dangerous path, those thoughts, and he shut them off before they could overwhelm him. Consume him, like a fire that left nothing but charred remains in its wake. Some days his brain still felt like that--scarred, burnt out wood, black and brittle and ready to crumble at the first touch.
But he wasn't going to lose anyone. They'd find Steve. The guy would survive at the center of a nuclear blast. Maybe he had. Maybe that was why he was so strong, he'd soaked in all that radiation and become some mutant human. Danny knew that was a crazy thought, that the mere idea was nuts, but really.
It was Steve.
Fuck.
It was Steve. Missing. Kidnapped. God knew where going through God knew what.
Danny should have picked him up. They hadn't been carpooling--Steve's word, Danny referred to it more often as 'treating me like your personal driver'--as much since Danny had returned from Jersey. Danny needed some space and for once Steve was respecting that. If Danny had been there, though, Steve might have been safe instead of kidnapped.
"Danny?"
Kono's voice was soft, but urgent. He looked up from where he'd been staring at nothing on his desk. "Yeah?"
"We might have something on a traffic cam. Wanna see?"
"Yeah."
They were looking at a tenuous--and that was being generous--link when Adam came through the door with a solid lead. Anthony Shu and his huge dry cleaning facility.
Given the size of most dry cleaners Danny had seen, twelve thousand square feet seemed like it left a lot of room for a lot of things that had nothing to do with dry cleaning, and more to do with things like laundering money instead of fabric.
It also left plenty of room to house a kidnapped cop.
"Let's go," Danny said, heading for the door.
The lights and sirens were on and the Camaro's gas pedal was to the floor, but it still felt like an eternity before they made the relatively short drive over to Makaloa. The dry cleaner was about halfway down the small stretch of road, and Danny wasted no time in getting out of the car, motioning for the team to follow.
None of the workers challenged them as they moved quickly through the legitimate side of the business. It wasn't until they reached the back of the building that someone tried to stop them.
The jolt of pain through Danny's fist when he punched the guy out was more satisfying than it probably should have been.
The real challenges came when they got through the door. Danny pushed on, not really caring who got in the way. The familiar scenario of stairs and a gunfight to get down them lay in the back of his head, in that dark space where the voice lived that told him Steve was as dead as Matt.
He refused to give in to that voice. This was Steve, who'd survived kidnap and torture by Wo Fat once already, who'd barely escaped from the Taliban with his head still attached to his shoulders. For all that shitty things happened to Steve, he seemed to be charmed when it came to getting out of impossible situations with his life.
He was alive; Danny just had to find him. They were clearing rooms as fast as they could, taking down various people who were foolish enough to try to stop them as they went. The rooms were normal enough for a place like that, until Danny opened the door on a room with no windows, and no furniture, nothing but white walls, floors and ceilings.
He'd heard about rooms like this, and didn't like to think what this one was for, not if Steve was--
An object on the floor caught his eye, and Danny bent down to pick it up. A white tank top, the same brand Steve wore--Danny had seen them in his desk, had been with him when he'd bought some more than once.
It didn't mean anything--they were popular on the islands. It could belong to anyone. Just because it was Steve's size didn't mean shit.
But that buzz that he'd had since they'd gotten down the stairs, the one he couldn't explain, told him this was Steve's, and that he was close.
He went back into the hall, not quite meeting anyone's eyes as they moved on to the next room. Eight rooms later, Danny opened a door to a sight right out of his nightmares. Steve lay on the floor, unmoving, a gun halfway out of his outstretched hand.
Danny spared a glance for Wo Fat, finally where he belonged--on the ground with a bullet in his head --but his real attention was on Steve, so still and unmoving.
"Steve," he said carefully, waiting for Steve to move. A twitch, a cough, anything--some sign that he was alive.
The bastard remained totally still.
Danny moved faster once he passed Wo Fat--the team would make sure there weren't any other threats, but Danny needed to get to Steve. He knelt down, touching Steve, something unclenching in his heart just a little as Steve started and sat up.
***
Steve jolted awake, every muscle aching as it tensed up to continue the battle. Instead of punches or needles or cattle prods, however, it was a pair of friendly hands that woke him. Cops, he realized, from HPD. Captain Kelly and Danno, right, he knew them. They worked with his father.
"Where's my father?" Steve asked. His dad should've been there, leading the charge to find him. "I wanna see my dad."
Their expressions worried him. Had his father's injuries held some hidden problem? Had something else happened? Everything was so fuzzy, it was hard to remember exactly what had happened.
After a moment, Danno said, quietly, "Buddy, your dad died four years ago, okay?"
The words made no sense. He'd just seen his dad, he'd just been with him on the beach behind the house not long before. How could his dad have died four years ago?
But if he'd just been with his father, how was he here? And why was he wrung out, feeling like he'd gone twenty rounds with a wild boar?
Memories flooded back, fractured images all out of order, but enough that he pieced together reality. Right, Hesse killed his father. This was his task force come to save him. His team, his ohana.
"Yeah," Steve said, to let Danny know he remembered. But he remembered too well, and it was like it was all happening all over, and all at once, like getting his dad back and losing him again, and he couldn't stop the tears, no matter how fast he tried to put a lid on his emotions.
He grounded himself in the feel of Danny's hand on his neck, in the solid reality of Danny's warmth at his side, in Chin's presence close on his left and in Kono watching carefully from just behind Danny.
Steve grit his teeth. "Let's go," he said, letting Danny and Chin help him up. He couldn't leave, though, not without stopping to commit the scene to memory, to add that solid image of Wo Fat, finally out of his life, finally unable to cause him or anyone he cared about more pain.
Steve tried to picture his mother holding Wo Fat as a baby. He tried to imagine her, arms outstretched, as a tiny version of Wo Fat ran to her. Pictured her leaving Wo Fat, the same way she'd left Steve, Mary and their father.
So much pain and suffering that could have been averted if only once she'd chosen to stay instead of running and hiding, following orders, and leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.
He didn't regret his choice today. Letting Wo Fat live was not an option.
He just wondered if his mother ever regretted any of hers.
***
He didn't argue when Danny and Chin led him straight to the ambulance. The bright flashing lights hurt his head, and he needed the support of Danny and Chin a lot more than he'd liked just to stand, let alone walk.
The stretcher they put him on actually felt good, soft surface and clean, cool sheets against his skin, such a stark contrast to the last few hours. Or however long it had been--time was still this weird, fluid thing where one minute he was in reality, Danny by his side, his hand on Steve somewhere constantly, despite the EMTs fussing around him. The next he was back in some alternate world where his dad was alive.
Fuck. His dad was dead.
Steve tightened his mouth and swallowed down the wave of feelings that threatened to escape. He'd learned to live with that once. He could do it again. He just needed to be stronger.
Steve focused on the feel of Danny's hand, on the right side of Steve's head now, to stay out of the way of the EMTs, Steve assumed. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Danny's face, upside down, concern quickly hidden behind a crooked smile. "How you feeling?" Danny asked.
Like shit. Everything hurt, from his head to his toes, and twice as bad in between. He was going to be rubbing burn cream into at least six places on his torso for a week, and the side of his head that Danny wasn't touching felt like it was on fire. "I'm okay."
Danny's laugh had a hint of something other than amusement behind it. "You're okay?" He shook his head. "You're starting to grow actual gills," he said, waving at the left side of Steve's head. "You're okay. Right."
The mention of gills brought back a vivid wave of sensation of a cloth over his face, and water, and Steve closed his eyes, but it didn't stop. Water everywhere, pouring down his throat, he couldn't stop it, there was nothing he could do, he was going to choke to death on it, and he couldn't--
He couldn't stop the coughing fit, no matter how much it made his back feel like it was being pounded by tiny nails all over. Strong hands held him down, keeping him from sitting up, not Danny's hands, though, because Danny's were on Steve's head and face.
"Steve," Danny said, his voice a near whisper, and Steve opened his eyes, seeing Danny's pinched, drawn expression. "Hey," Danny said, his voice still quiet, somehow making it noticeable among all the noises around them. "You're all right."
Steve swallowed hard. "Yeah. I'm all right."
If he said it enough, maybe it would be true.
The stretcher moved, and Danny's hands let go of Steve. He tried to twist around to see where Danny went. "Danny?"
"I'm here," Danny said, as the stretcher bumped and lifted, and Steve saw the inside of the ambulance. But Steve couldn't see him, and he looked around, his heart beating wildly, until he felt Danny's hand take his, and Steve's eyes traveled quickly up his arm to his face.
Steve fought to control his breathing. "Stay?"
"Not going anywhere." He gave Steve some pale imitation of his normal cocky smile. "Grover's been itching to drive my car, now he gets his wish."
The words didn't quite make sense, but Danny was there, and Steve could feel and see him, he wasn't going to vanish into thin air and be nothing but a figment of Steve's imagination and Wo Fat's drugs, and Steve closed his eyes, holding tight to Danny's hand as he breathed.
***
The hospital wanted him to stay.
Steve was adamant about all the ways that was not happening before the doctor had even gotten the words out. He didn't give a fuck about dehydration or a head wound or whatever--he was not staying trapped in a confined bed with IVs sticking in him. Not after today. He'd sneak out if they didn't let him go.
He was tensing up for another fight he wasn't ready for when Danny's grip tightened on his hand. "Can he go home if someone stays with him?"
Danny, usually the advocate for listening to the doctors, helping--that was new. It made Steve wonder if he was still in that hellhole, drugged up to his hair and at Wo Fat's mercy. Was Wo Fat's death and Steve's rescue just another reality he'd dreamed up, one that was a little more realistic, and therefore his brain accepted more readily? Was Danny's support just a hint from his brain, a way of it telling him this wasn't real and he needed to wake up before he couldn't anymore?
No. This was real life. He took a deep breath, the sharp smell of antiseptic and the other unmistakable odors of hospital combining with the feel of Danny's hand in his, warm and callused, feeling almost a part of him, he'd been holding on so long, too real to be in his head. This was real. This was home.
"Hey," Danny said, his voice in that careful near whisper he'd been using every time Steve had tuned back in throughout this whole mess. "I need my hand back, okay? Just for a minute, to go talk to the doctor. I'll be right over there," he nodded to the other side of the bed. "Okay?"
Steve blinked, the words not making sense. "Huh?"
Danny squeezed his hand. "You've got a hell of a grip, partner."
"Oh." Steve let go, fighting the rising tide of panic as Danny's hand slipped out of his. He flexed his hand, feeling the cramping ease, wondering just how long and how tight he'd been holding on. He knew it hadn't been the whole time--Danny's hand had been warm on his head as they'd cleaned Steve up and stitched up and tended various wounds. But he'd still been holding on a while. Or maybe it was just the tightness that made it cramp like that.
His eyes followed Danny as he went over to the doctor, speaking so low that Steve couldn't catch a single word. He could tell, though, that the doctor didn't like what Danny was saying, but after a few seconds, the doctor nodded. Danny smiled and said something else before coming back to sit beside Steve as the doctor left the room.
Steve breathed easier when Danny's hand was back in his, which in itself felt almost like a different reality. He wasn't exactly the hand holding type, but it wasn't that kind of PDA that the Navy drilled out of them early on. It was different somehow.
When he was little, he'd brought a balloon back from a birthday party, bright blue, almost disappearing against the sky because of the color. He'd held onto the string all the way home, into the house, carried it out back to sit and watch it dance against the waves and sky, the play of colors mesmerizing.
He'd dozed just enough to let the string slip from his fingers and just like that it was gone, beautiful as it disappeared into the sky, but gone all the same. His first lesson in loss, but far from the last.
He squeezed Danny's hand. "Can I go home?"
Danny nodded. "The doc and I made a deal. You can go, provided you listen to every word I say and do everything I tell you. And if you show any signs of problems, we come back." Danny's eyes were serious. "Deal?"
Steve nodded. He'd have agreed to a lot more just to get out of this place, to go home. "Deal."
"Good." Danny's smile still seemed a little off, but at least it was a smile. "He's getting the paperwork. Let's get you into some scrubs so I don't have to arrest you for public indecency when we walk out of here, okay?"
***
The team was waiting when Danny wheeled Steve out in a wheelchair, the scene so reminiscent of the day of the drone attack that he had to wonder again if he was dreaming, if his mind was pulling up happier memories to comfort him because he was still trapped in hell.
And if he was, what did it say that the memory of being shot in the leg was a happier one?
Danny's hand was on his shoulder as he wheeled Steve out, the team making jokes for all that he could feel the combination of desperation and relief behind the laughter. Desperation that hadn't yet quite left them from the search, and relief that was over. At least for them.
Seeing the people he loved, those he'd chosen as family, was soothing, and jarring all at once. The slightly forced laughter felt wrong, another dreamlike moment that caused him to question if he was awake. He focused on Danny's hand, on his presence behind him, real and solid and true.
Adrenaline had left him, and the hospital had been reluctant to give him anything beyond ibuprofen for pain when the ER tox screen hadn't been able to identify half the drugs already in his system. His body registered how totally pissed off it was at him as he lowered himself into the car with Danny's help.
The pain was welcome, though. It reminded him this was real, that he was awake, because even his brain couldn't be so fucked up that this would be a dream he'd conjure up to keep himself from going crazy.
He dozed on the drive home, Danny close enough that, even though they weren't touching all the time, he still managed to keep Steve grounded in reality. His hands were still better, though, a direct link, like a tangible connection to the real world, as Danny helped him into the house and up the stairs.
Steve couldn't even look out behind the house yet, the memory--or faked memory, dream, whatever it was supposed to be called--of sitting out there with his father still too real, too raw, to be able to reconcile the view with what was in his head. Even in the dark, he didn't want to see it. Not yet.
He took in all the changes to the house, though, the difference in his room, from what it was like four years ago when he'd come home, studied them with a sharp eye looking for anything that might be off. But it was all where it was supposed to be.
"You want anything to eat before you pass out?" Danny asked.
Steve shook his head. The idea of swallowing food, let alone having it sit in his stomach, was too much to consider. "I want a shower."
He was prepared for a fight, but Danny just nodded. "Can you manage yourself?"
Steve thought for a second, then nodded. "If you help with these." He waved a hand at the scrubs--he wasn't sure he'd be able to get his arms up high enough to get the top off without some help.
Danny stripped him with quick efficiency, and helped Steve into the bathroom, turning on the water and testing the temperature before helping Steve into the shower. "I'll be in the other room," Danny said, starting to go.
Steve's chest tightened, and he swallowed against the rise of panic in his throat. "Danny." When Danny turned, one eyebrow raised, Steve nodded at the toilet. "Can you...." Steve cleared his throat. "Can you stay?"
Danny nodded, closing the lid on the toilet and sitting down. "I'll be here if you need anything."
Steve breathed a little easier as he slid the shower door closed. He could see Danny, more shape and color than anything clear, but still, he knew it was Danny, and that was enough. He let the hot water take a little of the ache out of his shoulders and back, and tried to minimize its sting on the burns on his torso.
When he felt like he'd washed the combined smell of the battle and the ER off his body, he stepped out to find Danny standing there with a towel. He dried Steve carefully, hands gentle, especially on the wounds and burns, before helping Steve out to the bedroom.
Steve stood by the bed, the last of his energy gone, leaving everything fuzzy and dreamlike--an unpleasant feeling given everything that had happened that day. Danny helped him into a pair of boxers, then looked up at him, as if judging the need to go back to the hospital.
"You want anything else to sleep in?"
Steve shook his head. He didn't want anything more constricting him, not tonight. He pushed the covers and sheets down on the bed, would have fallen onto the bed without Danny's hands to help him lower himself into it with a little less impact and jarring to his already aching body.
When Danny started to pull the sheets up, Steve pushed them down with his feet. "I don't...." He took a deep breath, scrunching his eyes closed. "It's just...."
"Hey." That careful whisper was back, and Steve opened his eyes, just able to make out Danny's face in the moonlight. "It's okay. I get it."
Steve nodded, grateful. "Can you stay?"
"Can I stay? Try and get rid of me," Danny teased. "I promised the doctor I'd keep an eye on you, didn't I?"
His tone was almost right, and Steve took comfort in the brief semblance of normalcy. "So I'm stuck with you?" Steve said.
"Afraid so. But I do need a shower," Danny said. "You gonna be okay for two minutes?"
Steve nodded, even though the thought of Danny leaving the room, of having nothing there to anchor him in reality, made his heart beat faster. Apparently he didn't hide it well enough, though, because Danny said, "Minute and a half, tops. Okay?"
With another nod, Steve watched as Danny stripped off his clothes, dumping them in the floor before disappearing into the bathroom. Steve used the sounds to keep him grounded--the water, the shower door, the change in patterns of the water hitting things as Danny moved in and out of it until it shut off, and the door slid again.
Then Danny was back in sight, and Steve let out a breath, watching as Danny stole a pair of Steve's boxers from the drawer and sat down on the bed next to Steve. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Steve said. "I know I don't have a TV in here, but...." He didn't know how to ask, didn't have the words, but he patted the space next to him on the bed.
"Yeah, of course." Danny laid down beside him, so close Steve could smell him and feel him, alive and warm beside him, so real it blocked out any possibility that it was a dream. Steve still needed more to ground him, though, reaching out to place a hand on Danny's chest, feeling his heartbeat faint beneath the hair and skin.
He realized that, despite having had sex more than once, he and Danny had never actually slept together, and now Steve wondered why. Because the heat of Danny, the soft breaths as he settled in, the rise and fall of his chest under Steve's hand, were a better lullaby than the ocean.
***
Steve's head snapped up, and he looked around, taking in the ugly green walls and dim light. No, this wasn't right, he'd been rescued from this place, he couldn't be here, couldn't be--
The door opened, Wo Fat stepping inside, his companion right behind him. "Good," Wo Fat said. "You're awake."
"You're dead," Steve said. "You're dead."
Wo Fat laughed. "You'd have to get free to make good on that threat," he said, crossing the room until he was out of Steve's line of sight. Everything went fuzzy for a moment, and when it snapped back into clarity, he was standing, his arms locked behind his back, and his feet shackled. There was a collar around his neck with a lead, and Wo Fat was pulling him along, the woman next to Steve, watching him closely.
"Where are we going?" Steve asked.
"You'll see."
They were suddenly in a loading dock, and Steve frowned, unable to remember how they got there. The light of daybreak was still bright compared to the room where Steve had been kept, and he squinted into it, making out the shape of a box truck. Wo Fat led him into it, locking Steve into a chair in the middle of the back of the truck.
Only it wasn't a regular box truck, Steve realized. The sides were all plexiglass or something like it, making the world visible to Steve, and Steve visible to the world. It wasn't exactly a secretive way to move Steve, but he didn't question his luck, as Wo Fat closed and locked the back door. Someone would surely see him and he'd be rescued.
The streets were relatively empty, though, and the few people here and there didn't seem to notice the strange truck at all, didn't see someone locked in the back. He yelled, but it did no good, no one heard him.
They were in Waikiki suddenly, driving down Kalakaua, near the zoo. Steve saw a family on the beach, realized it was Chin and Malia and two toddlers, laughing as Kono jumped up, her pink bikini painfully bright, grabbed her board and ran out to the surf.
He yelled again, but they didn't notice, and the truck drove on by, only to stop at a stoplight where a couple waited to cross. Steve looked closer, realizing it was Danny and Rachel, too caught up in their own laughter and kisses to notice the light had changed.
Steve yelled louder, but it did nothing, and they looked up and saw the light, and started to cross the road, walking away.
"Danny! Danny! Come back!"
Steve sat up in the bed, feeling strong hands on both his arms, as if trying to contain him. He fought against it until the urgent whisper finally reached his brain. "You're okay, you're home, stop fighting me," Danny said. "Come on, Steve. Calm down."
Danny. Right. Steve stopped fighting. He was home, he was safe there with Danny. And Wo Fat was dead.
And so was Dad.
He couldn't stop the tears then, the ones he'd held in since Danny had reminded him his dad had died. He felt the world tilt sideways and realized that Danny was pulling him back down onto the bed, into his arms, while Steve couldn't help crying, even as he knew he was probably soaking Danny's chest.
His dad was dead, long gone and buried, Steve remembered it in full detail, from the crack of the gun over the phone to the crack of the salutes at the funeral, each one straightening his spine and shoring up his strength at the time, but gutting him further now with the memory of every single shot.
His dad was dead.
And his mother was running--would probably never come back, not if she thought Steve knew the truth now. He thought maybe it was better if she didn't. He wasn't sure he wanted to know why she'd made the choices she'd made. Or whether or not she regretted them.
Maybe it was better just not to know.
He needed to stop. Crying wasn't helping, and he knew it was worrying Danny, who almost never saw him cry. He'd mocked him once about it, years ago, halfway through a fifth of whiskey they were sharing late one night, about being a robot with defective tear ducts. At the time, Steve had been proud of his strength.
Now he just marveled at his own ability to shove things down and not deal with them. He almost wished for it again, wished he didn't have to feel this pain that was like something splitting him in two, but at the same time he felt a little like the tears were washing some of the pain away.
He sniffed, wiping his eyes and rolling onto his back. He felt Danny moving, and a moment later a wad of tissues appeared in front of Steve's face.
Steve took them and blew his nose, tossing them onto the other nightstand to deal with later. He lay there in silence for a minute or two, getting his breathing back under control and trying to stuff what was left of his guts back inside his body.
He felt Danny move again and opened his eyes to see Danny propped up on an elbow beside him, face half shadowed, half open in the moonlight. "You okay?" he asked in that whisper.
Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, deliberately. "No." Because Danny deserved honesty after all this. "But I will be."
"Think you can get back to sleep?" Danny asked. When Steve didn't answer right away, Danny said, "I know it's tough, with....everything all jumbled around up here," he tapped the side of his head, his eyes somewhere around Steve's navel, "but it'll help you deal if you can sleep."
"Yeah," Steve said. "I need to at least try."
"Good."
Danny lay down on his back, his arm touching Steve's as they laid there and breathed. Steve realized now why Danny had fought for him to leave the hospital. It wasn't just being trapped there with IVs and memories.
He'd known what the night would be like.
He knew the kinds of demons that attacked in your sleep after something like this, knew Steve would do better with someone there to fight off the nightmares, and like the world's best partner, had been there to have his back.
But who'd done that for Danny?
Steve's tears threatened to start again at the thought of Danny waking up like that alone after Matt. But tears wouldn't help anyone on that front. And Danny had pulled away, hadn't wanted anyone around, preferring to lick his wounds alone.
Steve had always been the same, before he'd come back and settled into his old home and made a new family, before he'd actually started to deal with some of the loss in his life. Even tonight he'd probably have preferred it if he hadn't been so terrified that he'd lose himself to that bizarre other world he'd dreamed up without Danny to anchor him.
He was glad now, though, that he'd needed that, glad that Danny was here. For both their sakes.
"Hey, Danno," Steve said, matching that whisper Danny had been using on him, "thanks."
He could feel how shaky the breath was that Danny drew in. "When I went into that room," he said slowly, "I thought...."
He didn't have to finish the sentence. Steve knew what he'd thought--he'd thought he would find Steve as dead as Matt. And Steve had seen the bullet graze on his head--he knew how close that had come to being the truth.
"I know," Steve whispered. "But you didn't. And I'm not."
So much pain and loss, for both of them. How much more did they have to suffer? But he didn't ask that question, didn't even say anything else. He just rolled over, pulling Danny close, and holding on until morning.
***
Chapter 8