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“Don’t touch me!” snarls Steve as he tries to keep one hand clenched over the bullet hole in his other arm while simultaneously fending off his partner. “It’s fine.”
“’It’s fine,’ he says. Great,” Danny hisses back. “I can tell by the amount of blood just how fine it is.”
“I don’t need… you know,” Steve trails off and cuts his eyes to the side where various wide-eyed gawkers have stopped to watch the latest 5-0 drama unfold.
“I’m not going to ‘you know,’” snaps Danny. “I’m going to take a perfectly normal look at your arm—you know, the one that got shot?—and then provide some completely normal basic first aid while we wait for the professionals to arrive.”
“Someone else can do it.”
“Someone—who, Steve? Who’s going to do it?” asks Danny throwing his hands up in exasperation. “One of these lovely citizens?” he gestures broadly towards the crowd. “Kono? Oh wait, she’s busy doing her job, which I could be helping with if you would just fucking trust me with a tourniquet.”
Steve set his jaw.
“No.”
Danny feels the word like a physical blow that sets off an ache in his chest, this pointed confirmation that Steve doesn’t trust him, after their time as partners, after the past few months that they’ve been together. His worry for his partner and a sudden sense of panic for their relationship roils together inside him, and he tamps it down ruthlessly and reaches for anger instead.
“No?” he yells. “Okay, how about this?” Danny closes the already small gap between them and grabs Steve’s arm below the wound he is protecting. He doesn’t have to touch the wound itself for it to work; not that Steve would know since he avoids the subject of Danny’s abilities like it’s classified information.
It’s actually worse than Danny expected. Not life threatening, but he feels how there’s a small fracture on the humerus and the potential for lasting nerve damage. And then there is not, and Danny drops his hand.
Steve is staring at him in horror, which brings the ache right back again. Still, he would rather have his partner angry with him then hurt or permanently damaged, and maybe now he can explain to Steve why he had to do it.
“It’s just a scratch,” he says instead, because it’s true, now, and there are still witnesses, but also because he’s monumentally stupid, at times.
“You asshole,” says Steve, and then the EMTs show up and whisk him off to the side. He does not look back over at Danny and does not talk to him for the rest of the afternoon—an afternoon he would have had to spend getting patched up at the hospital, Danny want to tell him, but does not.
Danny gives him the silent treatment right back, actually, because what the hell? He’s not sure what Steve’s problem is, other than that Danny fixed him against his wishes. Which again, what the hell? He wants to walk around with an injury for longer than necessary? Be in more pain? Forget it.
The non-communication takes its toll on the whole team, of course, and the awkwardness only increases when it’s time to go home, because Steve and Danny have been living together for the past four months, ever since Danny’s apartment door got busted down by an over-zealous SEAL. Steve had a temporary one up the next day to keep Danny’s belongings from being stolen, and then replaced it with a nice sturdy model with fancy locks within two weeks of that, but by then a lot of Danny’s stuff had migrated, and he somehow never really got around to moving back in.
They continue to ignore each other through the car ride home, and as soon as they get in the door Steve makes a beeline for the bedroom, closing it behind him in a carefully gentle way—as if to prove that he is above all that door slamming nonsense—that brings Danny to a complete and horrified standstill in the middle of the room with the sudden painful recollection of his last year with Rachel.
He wants to talk now. He wants to storm up the stairs and slam into the room with all the noise that Steve avoided; wants to shake his partner and lover and yell “what the actual fuck?” But that didn’t work with Rachel, and maybe he’s comparing apples to ex-wives here, but he isn’t… he isn’t ready to do this again. The ache in his heart is turning in an abyss but a familiar one that is full of fights and rants and blaming, a bottomless drop into failure and despair. So when Steve emerges from the bedroom in his swim trunks and heads straight out the back door and towards the ocean without so much as a glance in his direction, Danny says nothing. Even though there are enough words in his head—angry words, pleading words, desperate words—to write a fucking novel. Even though Steve wouldn’t even be able to swim if Danny hadn’t fixed his arm, and probably still shouldn’t. Even though his heart seems to have stopped beating.
He says nothing and it doesn’t matter, because there is no one there to listen.
*~*~*~
Steve walks back into the house while toweling himself off, stopping to wipe his feet on the mat by the door that his partner had insisted on buying. They were both especially fastidious about keeping things neat around the house, but while Steve accepts that tracking in a little sand every now and then was a small price to pay for living by the beach, it drives Danny crazy. Since Steve is already regretting his behavior today, the last thing he wants to do is give Danny any more to be angry about.
The house is surprisingly quiet, and Steve worries that Danny has already gone to bed. He hadn’t meant to stay out in the water for as long as he did, but it had taken him a while to bring his emotions down to a more manageable level. He had struggled for months with the thought of what would happen if he got hurt on the job, of how he could handle it so that if it happened Danny wouldn’t heal him. Most of it had come down to simply preventing getting himself injured in the first place, and his sudden acquiescence to waiting for back-up and looking before he leapt had even earned him the added bonus of serious brownie points with Danny. And then this afternoon had happened. Yelling at his partner to stay away from him had not, in fact, been part of his plan, and would no doubt cost him those points.
He flips the towel up over his head and scrubs at his hair vigorously, trying and failing to ignore the twinge in his upper arm. Just a scratch, he thinks bitterly. It can’t happen again.
Even though there is no sound of the television or music playing—Danny likes to unwind most evenings by either watching TV or reading a book while listening to music, of all things—Steve takes a quick peek in the living room to see if his partner is there. No luck. He starts up the stairs with a growing sense of unease to go along with his guilt.
The house is so quiet, and Danny, though not a big snorer unless he's had a couple of whiskeys, still tends to make general sleep noises. He tosses a little as he falls asleep unless Steve is there to keep him tucked in place, and occasionally makes soft sighing noises in his sleep. These are just a few of the things Steve had been thrilled to learn over the past few months, but more than sleep habits, Danny brought life to the house. There is a constant sense of vibration that surrounds the smaller man like a sub-audible hum that only Steve and dogs can feel. He's not feeling it right now, though, and this is more than a little worrisome. Danny had healed him today and although Steve had not spoken to his partner, that didn't mean he hadn't been keeping a surrepticious eye on him, monitoring him for any signs of an aftershock.
He had been a little pale and was obviously tense, but Steve hadn't seen any evidence of shaking or an inability to stay awake, and so had assumed that the injury had not been bad enough to cause an extreme reaction. But there was no way to know, and that? That was the whole problem, was what kept him him up some nights watching Danny as he slept.
Having working himself up into a real panic now-- what if Danny had needed Steve while he had been swimming, keeping his distance like a sulking teenager-- and he bursts into bedroom, expecting the worst but hoping that all that will happen is Danny popping up in bed, hair in disarray as he yells at Steve for startling him. The room is empty.
Steve is not sure whether to be relieved or not; he still does not have a handle on the situation. As he starts to leave the room in order to check the guest bedroom he notices that the closet door is just slightly ajar.
A different type of panic grips him as he slowly pulls it open. There are spaces where Danny's suits and shirts had been hanging, and his running shoes are missing from the rack. There is a lone tie that Danny must have dropped without noticing half hidden behind a stack of boxes-- he doesn't recognize it as being one of Danny's favorites or one that Grace gave him-- but he will surely want it back, thinks Steve.
Somehow, he can't bring himself to bend down and pick it up.
*~*~*
When Danny first arrived at the apartment it was warm and musty, but he didn't care, tossing the duffle haphazardly on the floor, grabbing a blanket out of the closet, and curling up on the couch in front of the TV with absolutely no interest in what might be playing. An hour later he still doesn't care what's on but is grateful for the blanket, at least. There is a mild ache in his bones and the muscles in his legs feel a little weird like they're on the edge of cramping, but it's nothing he can't handle.
He rubs absentmindedly at the ache in his chest, but knows better than to think it has anything to do with the aftershock. Still, it too will fade in time, Danny tries to convince himself.
He is startled even though he knows he shouldn't be when Steve finally bursts through the door.
"What are you doing here?" says Danny.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," replies Steve, and he looks just as angry now as he has done all day. So much for avoiding a scene, thinks Danny.
"I live here," tries Danny, but Steve scoffs, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV before sitting down on the other end of the sofa, nearly crushing Danny's feet.
"Careful, you neanderthal," says Danny and Steve gets that expression on his face, half irritation and half pleasure like he always does when Danny uses one of his less flattering terms of endearment. Now that he has found his partner alive and seemingly well, he is not sure what to say.
"Are you actually okay," says Steve finally, emphasizing the okay in a very specific way.
"Yeah," replies Danny, swallowing the why do you care. He knows that Steve cares, but if he is also horrified or disgusted by Danny's abilities-- by Danny-- well... then caring will probably not be enough.
"Why did you leave?" says Steve, staring fixedly at the now blank television screen.
"I thought it would be easier if I was out of the house for a while," replies Danny.
"Easier, in what way?"
"Look," says Danny, "I saw how you reacted today, to my healing you. Like it was going to hurt you. Like I might. And... I will probably always have this ability, Steve, and clearly it's something that you dislike. I just figured we needed some space from each other. I mean, my moving in was always just temporary anyway."
"That's bullshit and you know it," retorts Steve. "And I don't dislike your healing ability. I think it's amazing. I just... I'm scared of it."
"Oh, that's much better, you're scared of me now."
"Scared of it, not of you, Danny. Jesus, would you just listen for a minute. I'm scared for you. I don't... we don't know enough about this ability, you admit that yourself. What if there's a limit? What if it's hurting you? What if it kills you?"
Danny has rarely seen Steve so agitated. He reaches over and puts his hand on his partner's shoulder.
"Steve, I don't know what you're driving at, here."
"I don't want you to heal me when I'm injured. Ever. I can't make it more clear than that. I can't-- I can't be the thing that hurts you like that... that might kill you one day."
"Is that why you freaked out today? Steve, it doesn't really hurt me! Not in a lasting way. It's not causing permanent damage, and there's no evidence that I'll die from it."
"But there's no way to know that! I can't stop you from healing other people; I wouldn't even dream of trying. But you just can't... do it to me. I don't want you to suffer, even a little, from something I do. From some stupid mistake I make in the field."
"You realize that you're making absolutely no sense at all, right? You got me shot the first day we met! You rush into dangerous situations all the time with nothing but me for backup."
"Not recently," points out Steve quietly.
"No, you're right," Danny sighs. "So this is why you've suddenly become so invested in proper police procedures. And here I thought it was my good influence."
"Danny..."
"Steve, I fully support a more careful process. I don't want you to get hurt, or me to get hurt, or Chin or Kono. We should all be actively trying not to get hurt, all the time, and the fact that I have to say sentences like that out loud terrifies me. But you've got to know... if something happens and I can help, I'm going to do it. You or anyone else. It's my risk. It's my choice."
"And I don't get a choice?" demands Steve angrily.
They stare at each other for a moment and Danny tries and fails to find the humor in the fact that they're technically making the same basic argument but from opposite sides.
He says, "you do realize that you're fighting for the right to get hurt and die, and I'm fighting for the right to saves lives, don't you."
"To protect you!"
"No," says Danny derisively. "To protect yourself."
"What is that supposed to mean?" asks Steve.
"Nothing," Danny twists his mouth into something that would never be mistaken for a smile. "Or actually, it means you win."
When Steve continues to simply watch him with a wary look on his face, Danny continues: "You win, Steve. Your 'do not resucitate' order is duly noted and I promise to respect your wishes."
"Okay," says Steve softly. He wonders why he feels so uneasy still. "Thank you. I know--"
"Steve, please. Enough," Danny cuts him off. "I'm done talking about this. I'm tired and I just want to get some sleep."
Steve nods, happy to finally be able to agree with his partner on something.
"Yes, okay. Let's go home."
"I am," says Danny, which gets him a furrowed brow.
"You are what?"
"I am home."
"Danny, come on," says Steve. "You're still going with the 'we need space' thing?"
"No," replies Danny, shaking his head. "Not... not really. We're just, well... were we dating?"
"What?" Steve is startled by the apparent non sequitor.
"Whatever, it doesn't-- we're breaking up, okay, or whatever the equivalent of breaking up is for what we've been doing."
Steve's panic is only equalled by his anger at what he perceives as a shitty manipulation from his partner.
"Is that really how you're going to play it?" he demands. "An ultimatum, Danny? Either I go along with what you want or we're... what, just done?"
Danny face is devasted for a moment before it smooths into something more neutral, but his jaw is still tight and his eyes... Steve wishes that they could just rewind this whole day so he wouldn't have to see that look.
"I understand," begins Danny, "how you might see it that way. But Steve, you've got to understand. I'm crazy in love with you."
Steve sucks in a breath. They hadn't really talked about their feeling since that first night; after those overwrought confessions, it was easier to fall into a comfortable arrangement of just being together without worrying too much about articulating their emotions. Danny looks a little startled by his own confession, but he forges ahead.
"I'm so crazy in love with you, in fact, that I am agreeing to your request that, should the circumstance arise, I will stand by and watch you die knowing, knowing, that I could save you. Because you.... well, you know your reasons, I'm sure."
Something in Danny's tone suggests he's not so sure of it really.
"I'm already so far gone," he continues, "but I'm not going to go any further, I'm not going to keep falling down this rabbit hole, finding out exactly what we can be together, because it'll just be worse when it's over. You say you're protecting me with this choice. Well, babe, I've got the right to protect myself."
"Don't you think you're being a little melodramatic here?" says Steve desperately. "You're acting like I'm going to get knifed tomorrow and die-- you're basing this whole decision on an event that might never occur."
"Pot, meet kettle," returns Danny.
"Fine," says Steve. "I guess we both get what we want," and there is a world of bitterness in his voice. He turns to leave and Danny says: "I'll see you at work tomorrow, yeah?"
There is a plea in there and Steve knows it's bid for normalcy, for them to return to the status quo, at least, of being friends and partners, even if Danny will no longer allow a more intimate relationship.
So Steve says, "see you," and vows to himself that he will do what he can to make sure it works for long enough that he might one day convince Danny to take the chance again. There is the obvious solution, but he shies away from it. His reasons for not wanting Danny to heal him still exist. It feels like he is walking away from everything that matters in his life, but he tells himself that he would rather have Danny alive and apart from him than together and dead. Which, come to think of it, was Danny's point also.
"Fuck me," says Steve out loud as he turns the key in the ignition. He and Danny have gotten themselves into a real pile of "Gift of the Magi" crap for sure. He knows there must be a way through this, there has to be because he is positive that he won't be able to last long without Danny in his life to the degree he has quickly become accustomed. For now, though, it is enough that Danny is safe and alive and will not suffer for Steve.
A week later Danny is shot knocking him out of the path of a bullet.
*~*~*
Danny doesn't wake up alone; in fact it is quite the opposite. Between Grace and Rachel on one side, Kono and Chin on the other, a couple of doctors monitoring his vitals and several large displays of flowers, the room is ridiculously over-crowded. It doesn't take him more than a few seconds, though, drugged up as he is, to see that Steve is no where to be found. Which is really just par for the course-- heal his injury, get yelled at. Save his life, get abandoned.
Danny tells himself that what he is feeling is weary acceptance, a coming to terms with the situation and not actually a great gulf of despair. He tries to convince all his visitors that he's alright and fools exactly no one-- it had been common knowledge that Steve and Danny had been cohabitating until they were suddenly not-- but eventually visiting hours are over and they are ushered out of the room by the medical staff, leaving a trail of well-wishes and promises to visit tomorrow behind them.
Danny watches the room darken around him as the sun sets, hears the sounds of general hospital activity die down until there is only the occasional squeak of shoes on the tile from a night nurse passing by, and wishes that they had given him some stronger drugs-- not because he is in pain, or at least not much, but because he wants to stop thinking and feeling for a while. He keeps closing his eyes in an attempt to sleep, then opening them again in frustration because it's just not happening. The third or fourth time this happens, Steve is sitting in the chair beside him.
"Jesus," he hisses in startlement. Then, because he is frustrated and angry, he says: "visiting hours are over."
His partner doesn't answer, just watches him quietly in the dark which is either creepy or comforting.
"That's really creepy," Danny decides to say. Still nothing. "Hello? Not talking, eh? Let me guess: you're here to tell me that on top of not being allowed to heal you, I'm also not suppose to try to help you during a firefight. Right? I'm not suppose to cover you. Not supposed to do my job. You're here to fire me. Am I getting warmer, here?"
He is not raising his voice only because he doesn't want the night staff rushing in here, but it's hard.
"You know what, just get out of here. I don't even know... scratch that. You don't even know why you came."
"You lied to me," says Steve.
Because the only logical answer to that would be to yell "what the fuck?" as loudly as possible, Danny keeps his mouth shut.
"You said," continues Steve calmly, "that you wouldn't heal me if I was hurt and dying. You promised."
"I haven't broken that promise," says Danny.
"It hasn't come up," replies Steve. "But you would have."
He's stating a fact, not asking a question but Danny shrugs a little as best he can from the hospital bed and says "yes" because what difference can it make now?
"It took ten minutes for us to neutralize the bad guys and fifteen minutes more for the paramedics to get there," says Steve, and his studied calm is starting to unravel a little around the edges. "I sat next to you and applied pressure to the wound and tried to stop you from bleeding out and yelled at you to stay awake. I willed you to be okay, even though I don't have any kind of magical healing powers. If I had... there is nothing in the world that would have stopped me from using them."
It's difficult to make out Steve's expression in the dim lighting. Danny is sure his own is a picture of confusion.
"Steve--
"Danny, I am crazy in love with you, too. I should have said that the other day, instead of, well, everything else I said."
He leans towards the bed and puts a hand carefully over Danny's where it lies face down on the bedsheet.
"In fact, the only thing crazier than how much I love you, is the fact that we're not together right now."
Danny turns his hand under Steve's until they are touching palm to palm, then laces their fingers together. He waits quietly for Steve to continue.
"I would sacrifice my life for you," says Steve. "To save you. And you would do the same for me. There's... there's no way around that, it's just the kind of fucked up people we are. But I'll be damned if I let us sacrifice our love for each other on an altar of fear and pride. I was a coward. You were right when you said I was protecting myself. But no more."
He squeezes Danny's hand gently and says: "I want us together. Working together and living together, and just being together with all the abilities and neuroses and baggage that come along with that. I want it forever, but I'm willing to take however much time we can get. Can we do that?"
Danny is blinking hard in an attempt to stave off the tears that are trying to force their way out, and he is quiet for long enough for Steve to drop his head a little.
"Um... if you could say something now, I would appreciate it."
"Steve. Babe," Danny works to get the words out. "I would like very much to kiss you right now. But I'm kind of tied to this thing with wires and tubes, so you're going to have to do the work."
And even in the dark he can see Steve's grin and the way it transforms his face as he moves closer to Danny and applies himself to the very serious task of kissing him senseless. Which, given the fact that Danny is about to once again embark on a long term relationship with a crazy-ass Navy SEAL with emotional issues and control issues, and god knows what else, promises to be a very easy task.