Archive of Our Own

Kono stumbles into Steve’s office with a coffee cup perched on a stack of folders and a paper bag hanging from her mouth. He watches her little dance, how this sits here and that goes there, and he knows what’s coming before she even says,

“So.”

“No,” he tells her.

“Oh, Boss,” she whines, put upon, slumping in front of him onto her desk. He forgets - after two years with Five-0 and more arrests than she can probably count - he forgets how young she still is. “Come on.”

“No.”

“Hear me out.”

Steve throws down his pen, crossing his arms. “I’ve done that, Kono. I’ve heard you out four times and four times I went on a date with someone that was quote unquote perfect for me.”

“They were!”

“The last one collected bugs.”

“It’s called entomology and don’t be such a - “

“What’s in the bag?” he asks, cutting her off, because he smelt it the minute she walked in the room and this conversation is giving him a headache. He needs sustenance.

“I may or may not have stopped in at Liliha’s for those Green Tea Puffs you like to pretend you don’t e- ” when he reaches out for them she pulls the bag back, waggling her finger - “Ah-a-a, on one condition. You hear. Me. Out.”

Steve just grumbles under his breath, yanking at the bag, and she settles back on his desk with a smug grin. He’s not sure how Chin got to be so stoic, and unassuming; their whole clan is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to Steve and relationships.

“You remember that little misunderstanding last year that had me on security detail with HPD for two weeks?”

Steve likes how she says ‘misunderstanding’ when she really means ‘punching the Mayor’s nephew and breaking his nose in three places’. She hadn’t been the only one punished; that had been a hell of a two weeks without her. Even if the kid had deserved it. “Vaguely,” he says, his mouth full of Green Tea Puff and rolling his eyes.

“Well, see, I met this cop while I was down there. Nice guy.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Back then he’d just gotten out of an ugly break up, was bitter about the - well he’s still pretty bitter, I guess, but - ”

“Kono - ”

“Anyway, I told him about you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Uh, that you’re single?” she says, with a little squint. Steve takes a breath so deep he feels it crack at his ribs. “And, you know. Looking?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Come on, boss. No more after this one, I swear.”

Steve doesn’t bother to point out she’d said that about the last two. He knows what she’s like when she’s got her heels in, and as much as Steve fronts he can’t deal with the arguments. It’s just easier to go out, eat some food, and say a cordial goodbye to whoever she’s dragged in this time.

“Fine.”

“Shoots! I got you set up for 7pm tomorrow at Papa Ole’s, so wear something fancy.”

* 

Cath left late August, wearing her camo and a duffel slung over her shoulder. They’d said goodbye so many times it had begun to lose its meaning, but this time had been different. His collar in her fist, her nails in his chest - that look in her eye and that curl of her lips. He knew her better than just about anyone. He knew what,

“I’ll see you,” meant.

Steve hasn’t seen her. He hasn’t even heard from her.

After that, it felt like he’d had a neon sign hung around his neck. It wasn’t just the set ups. It was the pitying looks, and the gentle shoulder pats, and the constant invitations to go to the Grover’s for Sunday night roast. They like to tease him about being a SuperSEAL but forget that means he can look after himself. That he was doing it since he was 15 years old.

“We’re ohana, brah,” Chin had felt the need to remind him. “You’re forgetting what that means.”

It had stung, but it was the truth. With his father’s killer still at large and an ugly question mark surrounding his mother’s death, Steve’s restless with the need to run. He loves them, they are ohana, but it’s not where he belongs while there’s still so much unanswered.

He’s just waiting for the green light to go.

*

Kono’s set him up with a haole. 

It’s the first thing Steve thinks when he claps eyes on the guy. He’s wearing a tie, and he has more product in his hair than Steve has in his whole house - he has an accent. Rich, and sharp and almost comical, the way he broadcasts it to the whole room.

“I guess Kono didn’t tell you I have kids.” 

Steve doesn’t choke on his beer, but it’s a close thing. He coughs. “Uh, no. No she didn’t.”

“Two.” Danny confirms. “Grace is 6 and Charlie is 5 months.” 

“Wow, that’s. Great.” Since Danny arrived he’s gone over his day from hell, his naive new partner, and all the way he thinks pineapple could be put to better use than on top of a pizza. Steve’s not sure why it’s the kid thing that has him stalled. “Do you see them much?”

“Once a week and every second weekend,” Danny says, and Steve doesn’t miss the bitter twist of his mouth. “I’d have them more but their lovely mother thinks my lifestyle isn’t really ideal when it comes to raising children. With a multi-millionaire husband I guess she can afford that opinion, huh?”

“Right.”

Danny huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. He’s attractive, Steve will admit, all compact muscle and big blue eyes. Steve’s never really had a type, but he’s not blind; Danny has a look, and he wears it well. “In what world would a guy with the word classified stamped across his forehead agree to go out with a divorcee raising two kids?”

Steve tries not to take offence. “Kono’s persistent." 

“Yeah, and I’m stupid.”

“What?”

“Come on, McGarrett. I didn’t miss the way you almost jumped out of your seat when I mentioned my kids. I would have thought your friends would know you better than this.”

“I was just taking stock, Williams, it’s - ”

“And seriously, getting words out of you is like getting blood from a stone, don’t they teach Vocabulary 101 in the Army - ”

“It’s the Navy - ”

“Because hey, I like Surf and Turf as much as the next guy but listening to myself talk for an hour isn’t on the list of expectations when I go out with someone - ”

“You know, that surprises me.” 

Steve misses whatever Danny goes on to say next, catching a glimpse of a familiar face over his shoulder. It’s a man in his mid forties, a graying beard, a mole on his right cheek shaped like a - “Muniz. That son of a bitch.”

Danny splutters at him, but Steve puts a hand up, shushing. “Joey Muniz. He was on the island a few months back pushing drugs out of his family’s shabby Rent-A-Car. He got out before we could find anything solid on him.”

“I remember that,” Danny mutters, taking a glimpse over his shoulder. “Shit, he’s got balls coming in here. Who does he think he is?”

“You go round through the side doors,” Steve says, already getting out of his chair with his hand hovering over his gun. “I’ll cut him off through the middle, hopefully get him down before he tries to push out through the back exit.”

“Wait a minute, McGarrett, you can’t just - I’ll get a team in here - ” 

Steve doesn’t wait to hear what Danny’s brilliant, HPD-Approved plan is, moving through the crowded tables toward Muniz. Steve fucks up, just as he’s nearing them, ducks left too quick and is spotted by someone who feels the need to flip some chairs and collect Steve at his right temple.

There’s screeching, a gunshot, and Steve recovers enough to fly at Muniz, but apparently not enough to read the situation properly. He’s thrown against a table, the pain sharp and shocking, and it’s not until Danny’s hovering above him that Steve realises what’s happened. He tries to sit up.

“You get him?”

“Did I - yes, you asshole, I got him, would you just lie still?”

“Good work, Detective,” Steve says, and he’s grinning, and he’s feeling a little woozy.

When Danny says, “I can’t believe they pay you to serve and protect,” Steve laughs, feeling the need to point out,

“I’m not a cop,” because it’s the Navy, for God’s sake. The Navy.

* 

Chin comes into the ER with a twisting smirk and some shrimp from Kamekona’s. Steve’s whole left side hurts, along with his ego, and he appreciates how hard it is for Chin to stand there and not laugh.

“Some date, huh?” he says instead, and Steve thinks he’d prefer the laughter. 

“Yeah, great. I’m on bed rest and didn’t even get the bust.”

“You did, actually,” Chin says lightly, slumping into the chair by the bed. The bag of food is perched on the little bed table, Steve revelling in the familiar, homely garlic and butter smell wafting out. He didn’t even realise he was hungry. “Williams handed it over to us.”

“He what?”

Chin just shrugs. Steve wonders guiltily if he had to leave Malia to come here - if he’d told her my stupid partner’s hurt again like so many times before. “Said it was all you. That he was just an unfortunate bystander.”

“Huh.” 

There’s a pause, quiet except for the distant buzzing of doctors, patients, machines.

Williams had stayed long enough to make sure Steve got in the ambulance, long enough to rip him a new one about standard procedure and the Oxford definition of suicidal. Honestly, reluctantly - he’d made Steve laugh.

“So how did it go?” Chin asks, in that gentle, I’m not expecting you to recite a poem, sort of way that he has. That Steve loves. “Joey Muniz aside.”

“Same as the rest, I guess,” Steve tells him, but it feels a little hollowing, in a way it hadn’t with the others. “I’m five and 0.”

Chin snorts.

*

Jerry’s wearing a shirt that says Humans Exist, a big, green alien face adorning the front. They were supposed to be going straight from his place - his mom’s place - to headquarters, so that Jerry could look at an encrypted file their most recent victim had been sent; but a quick run in had turned into a quick stop at his favourite coffee house had turned into a ten minute debate on what he felt like having.

“It’s a fine art, Steve,” Jerry insists, as they start to head out the door. “You can’t rush the true beauty of the brew.”

“Look, I’m not suggesting that good coffee isn’t a fine thing to behold, Jerry - ” Steve starts to say, but he runs straight into Detective Danny Williams of the Honolulu Police Department before he can finish being openly judgmental. The irony.

“McGarrett,” Danny says, looking twice as embarrassed as Steve feels, and it’s only after a beat that Steve realises he isn’t alone. There’s a young woman a few paces behind, holding the door open for some kids.

“Detective.”

“Uh, this is my partner, Keiko Alana,” Danny says, pointing to the woman who was now free of the entrance. “Keiko, this is Steve McGarrett. He’s with the Governor’s task force.”

Danny says ‘task force’ the same way he’d said ‘classified’, and Steve’s not sure whether to bite back or hide a smile. Instead he just offers his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, sir, a real honour.”

“This is Jerry,” Steve starts to say, but Jerry cuts in and shakes their hands, telling them, 

“Special Ops. It’s highly classified. If he told you he’d probably have to kill you, and he can. In about 63 different ways.”

“Thanks Jer. This is Detectives Williams and Alana. HPD.”

“Williams? Oh, right.” Jerry snaps his fingers. “You took down Muniz at Papa Ole’s the other night.”

“Uh that was me, yes,” Danny concedes, and he puts a hand in the pockets of his trousers. They’re so damn tight Steve’s surprised he can fit anything in there. “I think I still have the sound of that table breaking burned into my eardrums - “

“It wasn’t that bad.” 

“Actually, I reserve the right to be the judge of that, thank you McGarrett.”

“You didn’t have fun?” Steve finds himself saying, and he knows he’s flirting, he can hear it, but for some reason he just can't stop himself. “I thought you had fun.”

“Fun, he says, right, no.” Danny points a finger at nothing in particular. “No, my idea of fun is a beer and a football game, not hand to hand combat and a desk full of paperwork.” 

“How exciting though,” Alana says brightly, she seems to bounce on her heels like she’s weightless. Steve’s never seen a more conflicting duo. “Taking down a guy who you thought you’d never see again, and there he is, right under your nose.”

“Thrilling,” Danny says, deadpan, freeing his hand to take Alana’s shoulder, “But we need to keep moving. McGarrett.” He gives Steve a polite nod, then Jerry. “Phantom - nice to meet you.”

“Phantom. I like that.”

Steve watches them head toward the counter, the stretch of Danny’s shirt across the broad expanse of his back. He watches just long enough to see Danny glance back, and it unsettles him a little, sits hot under his skin.

Maybe Kono was onto something.

* 

There's still a mark on the floor of his dad’s study - around the place where he was shot dead, Steve's told. There's still a rough, diagonal streak of paint on the Marquis - like someone had been trying to match colours. There's still rice in the cupboard Steve doesn't eat, and a closet full of clothes he can't look at, and music, so much music, a whole wall of vinyl and recordings.

His sister has tried to sort through it, and Cath broached the subject just the once; and it's not that he's in denial. He’s accepted his father’s death.

He’s just trying to figure himself out, amongst the wreckage.

He’s just trying to figure out what’s left. 

* 

After a week, (ten days, maybe, Steve quit counting) of incessant thoughts about Danny Williams - his smile, his teasing, his ass in tight pants – and too much pride to tell Kono, Steve’s dialling the HPD with the low setting sun peeking through his window. The rest of the team are gone, and Steve’s pacing the length of his office, and he's been doing it long enough now that he thinks he can see the indents. 

When Officer Lukela picks up the phone Steve almost swallows his tongue. He has shocking flashbacks to Leilani Paradis’ father answering a call in eighth grade and Steve stammering out a sorry wrong number.

“Duke, hi, it's uh, Steve McGarrett.” 

“Steve,” he says in that brusque way that makes him think of his father. “Everything okay?” 

“Absolutely yeah, I was just hoping to talk to Detective Williams? There's a few things about this Muniz case I need to clear up with him.”

“No can do, sorry Commander. He got a call about a half hour ago, a family emergency or something.” 

“Is it serious?”

“I don't think so. He just needed to go be with his kids.” 

“Oh, right well.” Steve finally slumps into his chair. He looks over his desk, the scattered paperwork, and the other million things he could be doing that don’t involve something like borderline stalking.  “Look, it's sort of important I get this all signed off. It shouldn't take me too long to fill in the blanks, so…”

“I see.” Duke's not buying it, Steve knows. He can just imagine it now, half the station sitting around the break room laughing about how the Governor's Very Own Task Force can't get their own dates. “Well, I suppose if you needed his home address - ”

“A home address,” Steve says, laying the Commander on thick. “Yeah, that'd work.”

*

When Duke gives Steve the details he tries not to pre-judge. So he's made a few arrests in that neighbourhood, so what; and the housing around there is kind of shoddy, big deal. Steve’s never paid child support, or rent, or completely uprooted his life for the sake of a bitter divorce and two kids; it’s not like he can throw stones.

Truthfully, he finds that tenacity attractive.

He also finds a poky little house with a swinging door that creaks like something out of a horror film.

"Hang on!” Danny calls when Steve knocks, a thump and a wail following after. When he finally answers the door he has a naked baby on his hip, a towel on his shoulder and a voice in the background screech-singing, I'll keep wonderin' and wonderin', and wonderin', and wonderin', when will my life begin?

“Hey,” Steve says, because he's stupid. Because Danny's not wearing a tie and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and the only thing breaking Steve’s reverie is Danny's hissing voice saying,

“What the hell, McGarrett?”

Steve couldn't hold back the smirk if he tried. “It's nice to see you too, Danny.”

Danny opens his mouth to retort, his hair falling out of place, but the screeching voice calls,

“Danno!” getting nearer, and he suddenly has four feet of wild hair and bronzed limbs pulling on his trousers. “The movie stopped again.”

“Alright Gracie, just.” Danny droops enough that he can look his daughter in the eye. She’s got her bottom lip out, resolute, and the baby’s suddenly screaming, face smushed in Danny’s shoulder, and Steve can’t help but feel this plan is going downhill fast. “I'll be there in a minute, monkey.” 

“Danno!” 

“Can I help?” Steve says without thinking, putting an arm out like he actually believes he knows what to do. He really doesn’t.

“Can you – “ Danny starts to argue but the baby lets out another wail. His head drops and he sighs so deep his back’s arched. “Jesus – alright. Grace, this is Danno’s friend, Steve. He's going to help you with the movie while I go get Charlie dressed, alright?” 

Apparently that’s all the explanation Grace needs, because she’s pulling at his trousers now, shouting, “Come on, Steve!” her long dark hair swaying behind her. Danny doesn’t so much as throw a look over his shoulder, and Steve’s thinking actually the last time I watched a movie in my own home I was 16 and owned a VHS that was outdated , but Grace apparently takes after her father. She shoves the remote at Steve, saying, “Now press this, and then take it out, and then get this…” 

He feels totally and utterly poleaxed.

When Danny gets back the baby's in a red all in one suit, Grace has gone back to singing and Steve is sitting on the floor wondering how much it would set him back to go out and buy Danny a new rug. He’s not exactly sure if it is a rug he’s sitting on.

“Danno,” is all he says, a slight nod and serious expression, and the pinched look on Danny’s face makes it totally worth it. 

“You know what, just – “ he puts the baby down on a mat that has a mobile hanging off it, saying, “Grace, I'm putting Charlie here for just a few minutes while I go and talk to Steve, okay? I'll be right in there where you can see me.”

Grace doesn’t even look away from the television. When they make it out into the kitchen Danny folds his arms so tight his biceps look ridiculous in his shirt sleeves. His face is flushed. He’s angry.

“What, what is it? Is it a terrorist plot, or a severe gas leak, or a threat against the very essence of Hawaii culture like flavoured ice or ham in a can? What is it McGarrett?”

“It's …” Steve has to train his gaze to the wall. The paintjob is a weird mix of mustards and off whites so picking just one spot isn’t so easy. He coughs. “I was thinking we could go out again. Like … a date.”

Danny squints at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“I - ”

“Are you actually kidding me?”

“I’m sorry, I know this is a bad time but I - ”

“A bad time? First I get a break in a case I’ve been busting my ass trying to close only to be shut out by a call from my ex about an unexpected dinner date she needs to attend so would I mind so terribly having the children?” Danny fumes, his arms swinging out. “Then when I think I finally have them settled into their normal, nightly routine there’s a knock on the door and it’s your stupid face looking at me like there’s something else I should be doing that probably involves covert weaponry. But, oh, no, don’t worry, this isn’t a bad time.”

“Yeah, I – sorry.”

“You know, when Kono told me a talk, dark, handsome SuperSEAL with his own task force wanted to go on a date with me I’ll admit I was apprehensive.” 

Steve purses his lips together, fighting a smile. “You don’t say.”

“But it’s been a long time, and there’s not a lot of opportunities for a single father working full time to meet people.”

“Sure.”

“So I tell myself, just go for it Danny, what's the harm in trying, just once, it’s not like you can't say thanks but no thanks.” Steve's never met someone so adept at holding a one sided conversation, and he just lets his mouth sit open a little, taking it all in. “And then in walks this GQ model all silent and suffering with one of the greatest bodies I’ve ever - ”

“Seriously?”

“I’m sorry, does that offend you? Do you want me to put a bag on your head and pretend to be attracted to your excellent grasp on the English language?” 

“You're unbelievable.”

“I'm,” Danny points to himself dramatically. “I'm sorry, I'm unbelievable? Says the Navy SEAL who can probably break bricks with his bare hands but got taken out by a middle aged drug pusher.” 

“Admittedly that wasn't my finest moment. I can do better.”

“What’s better? Better than tracking me down in my own time instead of calling me at work?”

“To start.”

There’s a pause. Just the twinkling music on Grace’s movie, and Charlie gurgling to himself. Just Danny with a huffing breath, saying soberly, “I can’t believe after that shambles of a first date you’re still coming back for more.” 

“First date?” Steve suddenly brightens. “First as in - ”

Danny groans so loud it echoes off the ugly walls. “As in if you so much as utter the words APB or under arrest on the next date, I will be so far out of there you'll have to send a postcard, you got me?”

“Yeah, Danno,” Steve says pointedly, laughingly, “I got you.”

*

Kamekona is something of a legend across the island. Steve’s thrown his name around in the past, for the sake of an arrest, and there’s always a sense of awe when it drops. The law can’t decide if he has reformed, criminals are afraid of him either way, and Steve’s mostly threatened by his uncanny ability to smell the competitions food on their clothes.

“Does this hat make me look lolo, brah?” Kamekona asks, because apparently a black visor is more of an issue than the orange shirt he’s wearing. The same orange shirt with the silhouette of his face splashed across the front. He’d given Steve a matching one, but it had gone in the rags drawer in the garage.

“No, brah,” Steve assures him, thumb and forefinger touching, nice. “Maika’i!”

“Does that mean throw it back?” Lou mutters under his breath, and Steve nudges him with an elbow. Lou’s only been with them a few months; he hasn’t learnt the Five-0 etiquette yet. Not that there’s much etiquette required.

“Ultraviolet rays have reportedly increased up to 4% in the last 50 years.” Max chimes in from behind them. “So, statistically speaking, and if for no other reason, at least you’ll be better protected from skin cancer.”

Kamekona looks pleased. “Mahalo, bruddah.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lou throws Steve a are these guys serious? look that Steve has gotten used to, and Steve just gives him a little shrug. Kamekona feeds him, and Max is a medical genius, and if life’s taught him anything it’s that nothing is normal. Or predictable.

He expects the unexpected.

“What’s this I heard about you and Williams?”

Oh, great, Steve thinks, so everyone is talking about it. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t.” Lou says, giving him the bitch, please, eyes. “Just so you know, I saw that guy tackle a meathead almost three times his size, so don’t mess with him, you hear me? He’s one hell of a cop.”

Steve’s got a hasty line about just being friends queued up, but he’s glad to be interrupted by the rumble of Chin’s motorbike instead. He pulls into the parking lot, and gives Steve a motioning nod, so Steve leaves the money with Lou and heads over.

“Fancy some lunch?” he asks Chin when he’s within earshot.

“I’ve got time.” Chin throws a look over to the shrimp van. “Max is here too?”

“He came over to give us news on our John Doe and we convinced him to stay for a drink.”

“That’s never an easy task.”

“I had to listen to him tell me all the signs of anaphylaxis in great detail,” Steve explains, “In case the soda’s cross contaminated with the shrimp.”

“Right.”

Chin’s taking a long time fiddling with his helmet, and his keys. He’s also having trouble keeping eye contact. Steve’s known him since they were teenagers - and while he never broadcasts his feelings with words - Chin’s always been loud and clear to him.

“What is it, Chin?”

“I spoke to someone at Langley,” he says quickly, as if he’d just been waiting for the invitation. “About Wo Fat. They were reluctant to share with me at first, but I was worried that if you missed that call you’d miss it altogether.”

Steve feels the revelation like a gun shot. He gasps. “Okay. So?”

“So their last known sighting of Wo Fat was almost two weeks ago. After that there’s been a dozen possible hits that are so far apart from each other they’re actually impossible.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s in the wind, Steve.”

“I’ll find him,” Steve snaps, and he doesn’t care that he sounds like a child. The agency cares about Doris McGarrett as far as Steve can throw Kamekona – he’s not going to let them lie down on this.

“I’m not saying you won’t. Hey.” Chin reaches out to curl a firm hand around Steve’s shoulder. He lets his gaze linger long enough that Steve’s forced to look straight back. “No one is saying you won’t. But it’s probably time to let someone else do the leg work for a while, yeah?”

*

Steve had disappeared for a month, late last year. He didn’t leave a note for the team, and only a brief word with the Governor (not that that had been worth much, in the end). He’d lost track of the time, and the marks on his skin and the gritty back alleys in countries he can’t remember just to hear those two words.

Wo Fat.

He’d lost track of his purpose, outside of revenge, and he’d never really found it, coming back. 

When he’d shown up at his desk battered and bruised, when he’d watched Kono start to cry and felt nothing, when he’d spent a week on a myriad of meds he couldn’t name  – he’d finally realised he’d crossed a line.

They don’t talk about it.

* 

Danny’s wearing a tie again. He’s in a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and Steve can’t stop looking at the strength in his forearms, or his hands. The way his fingers wrap around his beer bottle. They’re at a more casual restaurant this time, by the shore, but management probably frowns upon ravishing your date over the dinner table.

Even with immunity and means.

“Lou Grover says hi.”

“Oh, yeah? Did you put a memo up at headquarters or something? Saturday 7pm: Date with Detective Williams.”

“Mhmm, right under Pick up coffee and malasadas.”

“Malasadas,” Danny says with a smirk, and if Steve can take comfort in anything, it’s the obvious looks Danny’s throwing right back. “That’s one thing I can get on board with.”

“The cop likes donuts, what a surprise.” 

“I’d eat them all the time if my daughter wasn’t so concerned about my cholesterol.” Steve huffs but Danny waves a hand. “Oh, I’m not joking. I considered calling the school and making a formal complaint, but realized that was counterproductive to her learning.”

“Speaking of Grace,” Steve says. “Were you planning on telling me why she calls you Danno?”

“Actually I was planning on you never finding out that she calls me Danno.”

“But now that I have…”

Danny sighs. “It was just a thing she did as a baby. I was hoping for Daddy, but Danno came out instead.”

“Cute,” Steve says teasingly, but he’s never meant anything more. “And Charlie? Any words yet?” 

“No that I know of. But when I only get to see him a few hours here and there, it’s hard to tell.”

Danny’s not looking for a response to that, Steve can tell. He probably just appreciates having someone to vent to; what with an ex-wife, a work partner, and a five-0 acquaintance setting him up with some crazy Navy brat – Steve can’t imagine he has much of a network in Hawaii.

Especially since most of his stories are about being nostalgic for Jersey. 

“You want to hear a really shitty thing?” Danny finally goes on.

“I don’t know, man,” Steve says and picks a little nervously at his plate. “You want to share it?” 

"Rachel was married to Stan when Charlie was conceived.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And I guess, you know, the worst part about it, is that I’d do it all again if it meant having him. And that’s – that’s his legacy. He’s going to want to hear about that, and he’ll know that, and – yeah. Father of the year.”

“Danny. For all my dad’s mistakes, and all his bad decisions, I mostly only remember the good stuff. The fishing trips, and the Sunday breakfasts, and the way he laughed when he watched I Love Lucy reruns.” Steve smiles to himself, scratching at his neck. “Charlie’s gonna know about why he was born, but I’d say it’s what you do every other day that matters. You know?”

Danny’s expression goes soft, and he tips his beer at Steve just a little, not looking away as he drinks. They finish the night like that, with murmuring conversation, and when Steve drives Danny home there’s not a lot left between them. Not much holding them back.

Steve plans to walk Danny to his door, maybe give him a hug, maybe try for a kiss. He plans to make some weak joke about the gutters, or the eaves, or the roof tiling that looks like a mosaic Grace might have done in Pre-School. He plans to ask him out again.

Instead he watches Danny get out his keys. He watches him wrestle with both locks, jiggle the handle, and push on the door, letting it swing open. He watches him shuffle back and forth, look up and down, and mutter, “Fuck it,” before pulling Steve inside.

It’s dark, just the outside light to guide them, but they only make it as far as the hallway before Danny has the door shut and Steve slammed against it. They don’t talk, but there’s noise, like there always seems to be where Danny’s concerned. The clattering of his keys on the floor, his surprised grunt when Steve pulls him in by his tie, the crash of their mouths.

They kiss. And kiss. It’s been a long time since Steve has had someone’s body beneath his palms, their skin and their force and their heat. A long time since anyone’s trusted him with it. He’s got a handful of Danny’s ass and Danny’s got an aching grip on Steve’s sides, and it dissolves so quickly into undress Steve can almost feel sad about it.

But then Danny has his dick out – shit, both their dicks out – and Steve just surrenders control, his mouth open and gasping against Danny’s temple as Danny thrusts and pulls and twists and mutters, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” It’s heady, long moments, just their heaving bodies and their legs twisting and a warmth coiling up Steve’s spine.

He wants to hold on so tight, wants to pull Danny in and keep him, wants to, wants, to, wants to,

“Relax, Steve,” Danny is gasping, like he can feel it, and the second Steve slumps, just a little, he’s coming all over both of them with a sound he doesn’t recognise.

He’s weightless.

*

Kono rides with Steve later in the week, when a simple hit and run turns into a possible murder. They’ve had a string of cases in the last few weeks, just one tragedy after another, and Steve’s been glad to see everyone holding it together. He’s glad they’ve all got their own distractions.

“I saw Danny the other day.” 

Which is maybe why he didn’t see that coming.

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah, got the whole HPD treatment,” she says with a sarcastic smile. “We drank sludge from their coffee machine and shared a dry muffin.”

Steve doesn’t give her the satisfaction of laughing. “Impressive. He say much?”

“Not really. I mean, not as much as you’d expect from Danny. Something about New York, a little on his kids.” Kono leans over as if doing up her laces, or checking her gun. Then she snaps up and snaps her fingers. “Oh, and he said he had fun on your date the other night.”

“Shit,” he says, dropping his head. There goes the peace and quiet.

“Seriously, boss? We’re ohana.”

“All the more reason not to tell you.”

“I’m hurt, brah.” Kono pats her chest. “Deep in here.”

“What do you want, Kono, the gory details?”

“If the ‘gory details’ are where you went, what you said, and who picked up the tab then yes.”

“We went to Nico’s,” Steve tells her with an exaggerated flourish of his hands. “I said try the salmon, and Danny insisted on paying because I was such an exemplary host.”

“That sounds true,” she says, deadpan.

“Then I kissed him on the cheek, said goodnight, and went home, all alone.”

“You liar,” Kono argues, and it almost comes out like a shriek, shocking Steve into laughter. “You’re such a bad liar.”

Steve’s still laughing when he stops the truck so Kono can run out and get their coffees. He’s got just enough time to pull out his cell and send Danny a quick text, just, nice chat with kono the other day? because he can just imagine the rant he’s going to have to endure when he sees Danny next.

was great, is Danny’s reply, surprisingly fast. you want me to lie?

no. just gonna be hearing about it for a while

I don’t have to work with her, Danny replies, and if he were here Steve would probably bitch at him. Instead he just types,

still on for friday? because he can see Kono paying for their drinks and the last thing he needs is to have her catch him grinning at his phone like a lunatic.

only if you stop texting me I hate texting

c u friday

*

When they were kids, Mary was always bringing home the loud mouthed boys. The boys unintimidated by their dad, his gun, or idle threats about jail time. The boys with their weird clothes and their bad language and the way they’d leer at Mary when she’d walk out of her room wearing little to no clothes. Each one was worse than the last.

“You did it just to piss him off,” Steve had said years later – the night of their dad’s funeral when they were both getting sloppy drunk.

“Of course I did.”

“It didn’t work.”

“Yeah, he didn’t even notice.” Mary’s smile turned into a frown, and then she was necking a fresh bottle of scotch and wiping her mouth with her hand. He didn’t really understand at the time, how she could be so bitter about him. About her own dad. “That was the problem.” 

“Mare - ”

“I’m not – I know this isn’t the time, Steve, I’m just saying.”

“I know.”

She had passed him the bottle, nudging his shoulder and nudging again until he finally took it. “I had you to threaten them with bodily harm anyway,” she said, and her smile had come back, just a little. He hadn’t seen it in such a long time, and she’d changed so much it wouldn’t have been the same anyway.

They’ll never be the same.

“I’ll do it again.”

“I guess we don’t have to worry about bringing someone home to meet the parents now.”

It was the saddest thing he’d ever heard and sat sour in his stomach, like defeat.

“I guess not.”

*

Steve takes Danny to a little corner bar, remembering his comment about a beer and the football. There’s some live music, and a game on the TV, and they’ve got enough of a secluded spot that they can still hear each other talk. If it means they have to sit shoulder to shoulder, that Steve has to duck his head in close and catch scent of cologne and product and sweat and all the things that cling to Danny after a long day’s work – that’s just a coincidence.

Steve’s barely touched his drink but he’s loose. He’s happy.

“You wanna go surfing with me? Sunday maybe?”

“Wow, you’re really confident with how this date’s going.”

“Friends surf,” Steve says with a shrug, but it’s true, he is. Danny has looked more relaxed than any time Steve’s seen him – and that includes having his hands down his pants. Danny’s been hollering at the game, laughing at Steve’s groaning protests, touching Steve’s shoulder or his thigh or his arms.

It’s electric.

“No. Friends do not make friends surf.”

“Who’s making you? I was just asking.”

“I don’t surf.”

“You don’t or you can’t?”

“Both,” Danny says with a shrug, sipping his beer. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know, does it?”

“I just don’t like the beach.”

“You – “ Steve leans back enough to look him square in the eye, and Danny doesn’t back down. He tilts his head. “You’re serious.”

“What’s to like? There’s sand in weird places, and sharks biting off peoples hands, and that ever impending threat of the sirens going off because there’s about to be a wave big enough to take out half the island. I can go on.” 

“You’re something else.”

“You have your hobbies, I have mine.”

“What are those?” Steve asks sarcastically, because as much as Danny is one of the fittest men Steve’s ever met, there’s no way he’s dragging his ass out of bed to go cycling or something as dull.

“Spectator sports,” Danny says, motioning to the TV with his bottle, and Steve can’t help his bark of laughter.

He’s glad to see that Danny is just smiling back at him, nudging at him with an elbow and knocking their knees. When the young guy comes over with their meals, he’s dragged into their argument about who is the greatest quarterback of all time, and by the time they’ve finished up and are heading out they’ve moved on from football to baseball to rock bands.

“You’re such a schmuck, seriously,” Danny’s saying, stepping to the curb to look for their cab. “You’re lucky you’re so good looking.”

“At least I have that going for me,” Steve says, and he means it to be funny but he thinks there must be an edge to it. Danny looks over, and his mouth unfurls into a teasing grin, his forehead crinkling.

“Oh geez, are you fishing? Do you want me to tell you you’re funny, and kind, and impressive in ways that I don’t feel comfortable telling you because I don’t want to hear you gloat? Will that make you happy?”

“Well if I didn’t think this date was going well before…”

Danny’s chuckling again, a hand going up to run through his hair like he’s suddenly nervous. His ties loosened, a few buttons undone, and in the street light he looks almost golden. Beatific.  

“Do you want to come back to mine?” Steve asks before he can think twice about it (not that it matters; he’s been thinking about it all night and would still ask the question a million times over).

They manage to keep their hands off each other on the street, and in the cab, and all the way into Steve’s kitchen where he pours himself a glass of water. They manage to keep their hands off each other long enough for Danny to pull off his tie, lean against the wall and ask, 

“How long’s it been since you’ve done this?” motioning between the two of them. 

Steve feels himself walking closer, like he’s magnetised. He puts the glass down on a table as he goes. “With a man?”

“Either, that’s not what I mean.” 

Steve knows what he means. “I had a – a thing, with someone. It ended last year.”

“Badly?”

“Not really. She – she was always away a lot, you know. It wouldn’t have worked anyway.”

Steve’s close enough he can reach out, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, just to feel. Danny unhooks his ankles and looks up, asking softly, “Did she decide that for you?” 

“Yeah,” Steve admits, but he says it with no more sadness in his heart. A lot of decisions had been taken out of Steve’s hands in this life; he was going to focus on the ones that hadn’t. “But I’m good, this is…”

Danny pulls him down with a hand around Steve’s neck, opening his mouth under the weight of Steve’s own. He kisses like he’s been starving for it, pulling at Steve roughly, groaning when their bellies and groins and thighs crash. Collide.

“We’re taking it slow this time,” Steve tells him, breathy, fumbling at Danny’s buttons. He gets his shirt open enough to run a palm over his chest, through the thick thatch of hair and over a nipple. “I want to see you.”

“Me too, babe,” Danny tells him, looking at Steve’s mouth, looking like he’s about to conquer the highest heights. It warms Steve all over. “Me too.”

* 

Another week passes, another two, then three, and Steve starts to feel himself succumbing to the patterns. It’s like paddling out on a board, then letting the ocean take him; back and forth and back and forth until he’s relaxed, and comfortable, and sated. When he’s not at work, or out with the team, he finds a way to be with Danny. Over the phone or at HPD or against any flat surface they find.

It’s good. It’s intoxicating. Steve had almost forgotten how it felt. To connect with someone on another level; outside of work, or friendship, or family. 

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, Steve,” Chin says as they’re packing up for the day. He prods and swipes at the computer table to shut it off, another case finished up. “You seem better. In a lot of ways.”

“Yeah, man, I am,” Steve admits, because he owes Chin that at least. He and Danny had talked about him meeting the rest of the team, about expanding their circle of two. They’d both agreed they just weren’t ready to move it there. “Things are good.”

“Hu’i hu’i,” he says with a nod, and doesn’t press. “I’m happy for you brother.”

They chat all the way down into the parking lot – about Malia’s family visiting, about Kono’s romantic ties to the newly reformed Yakuza, about Chin’s blatant warning to Adam Noshimuri and how his life won’t be worth a single, illegal penny if Kono ever gets hurt.

Steve doesn’t doubt Chin’s intimidation skills.

It’s only a few blocks out of headquarters - his cell plugged in and ready to call Danny – when there’s a sudden crashing jolt and Steve’s whole body thrums with pain. He tries to put his foot down, or grab the wheel, but it’s too fast and too shocking and the trucks rolling over and he’s sinking.

He feels heavy and wet and sore. There’s a stinging across his face, from shattering glass, and the hard press of his belt making it hard for him to breathe. He hears calling voices, and he sees feet running towards him, and he’s just having ridiculous thoughts, I’m supposed to be meeting Danny, someone call Danny.

There’s flashes of light, and pain, as the paramedics get on scene; he’s conscious, and he knows his name, and he knows what’s happened. He can answer their questions. There had been a time when he would have walked away from something like that and no doubt a time that his life would have depended on it.

But that’s not how it is now, and not how he’s going to be.

He keeps still, and he lets someone else take care of him.

*

Steve’s set up in a private room at the hospital; one of the few perks of being injured law enforcement. The sterile walls and the beep of the machines and the way the nurses tut at his file like they don’t actually believe a word of what they’re reading – those are some of his less favourite things.

The whole team had been through, and the Governor, all telling Steve the same story.

Whoever hit his car had taken off, and no, they don’t think it was a coincidence.

“You know this is two hospital visits in two months,” Danny says when he comes in, hovering by the door. He looks sick, he’s pale, and his clothes are all rumpled like he slept in them.

“That’s a personal best.”

“So I heard.”

Danny walks further into the room. Steve’s just so glad to see him that he doesn’t think it’s so stupid to ask,

“Are you alright?” because he wants to know. He always wants to know that.

"Am I alright?” Danny says with an almost disgusted coughing sound, rubbing a hand over his forehead.  “Shit, Steve, you – have they had you look in a mirror yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Sorry, I - ” Danny moves in enough that his legs bump into the bed, that he can reach out and take the hand that Steve has rested in his lap. He rubs his thumb back and forth, soothing, and Steve just lets his head fall back with a smile.

“Don’t worry, Danno, you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t engage in anything that might be detrimental to your health and consequently my health, if it’s all the same to you.”

“What, like go to work every day?” 

“You’re funny. I’m glad to know they taught humour in the Navy, and not just truth, justice, and the American Way.”

“That’s Superman.”

“Oh, I know.”

Danny still looks over Steve like he’s cataloguing every cut and bruise on his skin. It makes Steve feel more cared for than he has in a really long time. It makes him feel something else that’s probably too soon to assume so he just grabs at Danny as much as he can, drags him down to press his face to his face – a pecking kiss.

“Slow down there, Cassanova,”

“Just want to kiss you,” Steve rumbles and Danny concedes enough to drag his mouth over, to press their mouths together, to breathe the same air.

Steve wonders if they can bottle this and put it in his IV. He’s sure he’d be out of here in no time.

“Look, I – I have the kids this weekend,” Danny says, pulling away.

“Okay.”

“But – shit, Steve.” Danny squeezes his hand. “We can come over. Would it be okay if we came over?”

“Are you sure? I mean if I look that bad - ”

“Grace will understand. She’ll probably enjoy playing nurse.”

“You don’t have to - ”

“I want to,” Danny says, like it pains him to admit it. He takes his hand away to pull almost maniacally at his collar. “I want - ”

“Okay, Danny,” Steve assures him. “Okay.”

Danny stays long enough that the meds start to wear off, and long enough to press the call button so the nurses will come in and dose him up. He promises to text Steve before he heads over on Saturday but when Steve raises an eyebrow at him he pulls a face.

“Alright, I’ll call you.”

Steve smiles. “Bye, Danno.”

*

Steve and Mary had grown up with a snorkel in their mouths. They’d had their first swim in the beach that the house backs onto; their first paddle on a board, their first wave. One night his dad had found Steve traipsing down into the surf with just a nappy on and a container of fish food reserved for the fish in their tank.

He didn’t understand fear of the ocean.

Some days he had a hard time respecting it.

“You don’t get a say,” Danny snaps at him as he, Steve, Grace and Charlie are out on the sand that weekend. Danny had shown up in a plain white tee and cut offs, and if it hadn’t been for the presence of the children Steve might have carried on at him about the wonder of his ass in denim. “You’re on towel rest, that’s the doctor’s orders, so just lie there and work on your Vitamin D.”

“I’m just saying - ”

“Don’t say. Don’t imply. Don’t send out a message in Morse Code. He’s not going out there, that’s my final answer.”

“I’m not suggesting you put him on a long board and give it a shove, Danny.”

“Good! Stop suggesting anything.”

“Are you two fighting?” Grace asks over the top of the book that she’s reading. It was a new one that Danny had bought because he thought he was funny - Spot the Seal Around The World – and she’d marched into Steve’s house brandishing it about, spinning in circles as if she’d been there her whole life.

“No,” Steve tells her adamantly, managing to sit up properly now. He ignored the furious looks on Danny’s face and went on, “We’re just… disagreeing.”

“Danno disagrees a lot,” Grace says with a nod, and Steve could probably break another rib from laughing.

“Hey she said it!” Steve wheezes when Danny kicks a foot out at him, Charlie gurgling happily as he’s rolled about on Danny’s lap.

He’s wearing a hat, a t-shirt and about twenty coats of sunscreen, and sucking on a cold teething ring like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Before meeting Danny, before all this, Steve hadn’t known much about children. Hell, he hadn’t really met any. But seeing them here, with Danny, seeing who Danny is around his kids – Steve’s willing to change all that.

He claps his hands together.

“Well, Gracie, how about we get those buckets and spades and start building a sandcastle fortress.”

“A fortress?”

“Of course!” Steve says, scooting closer as she abandons her book in favour of passing him the tools. “To keep the nasty sharks away from Danno.”

They stay out on the beach until it starts to get cooler, then move inside for some food. Charlie naps in the portable crib Danny brought along, and Grace sacks out on the sofa watching a movie on TV, and Steve listens to Danny natter quietly about Rachel’s husband Step-Stan and the most recent way he’s been buying the kids’ affection.

“They love you,” Steve feels the need to remind Danny, coming up behind him where he’s washing dishes at the sink. His hands go up under the cotton of Danny’s t-shirt, over his chest and across his belly. Danny’s head falls back on his collar and Steve’s mouth presses against his neck and it’s warm. “They love you so much, Danny, you know that.”

“Mhmm,” is all Danny says, then he’s turning enough to let Steve press him against the counter, running sudsy hands through Steve’s hair as he opens for a kiss. He tastes like salt air and sunscreen, like the berries from his shake, and Steve kisses, and kisses and devours.

“Not – not with - ” Danny gasps and Steve wrenches his mouth away, rests their heads together.

“No, I know.”

When they head out later – Steve had invited them to stay but Danny had talked his way out of it – Steve goes to sit out on the lanai, watching the moon slowly creep out from the clouds.

It suddenly all feels too quiet.

*

The team had been holding out on him, Steve knew that. He’d been stonewalled every time he tried to call them, and the Governors PA kept saying, I’ll have him call you back as soon as possible, Commander, and he understood their intentions. He knew they didn’t want him to worry.

He did.

“Look, guys, enough,” Steve says when he finally gets back to headquarters, when the twenty-something questions about his recovery becomes too much. There’s only so many times he can politely decline Lou’s invitation to take a seat, or Kono’s insistence that he have a cup of tea.

“I think you’re running on the assumption that we have something here, Steve,” Chin says delicately. They’re finally situated around his office, Steve in his chair, the others perched around like they’re sitting in a minefield. Like any minute they might move and set him off.

“And you don’t?”

“Well it’s not much.”

“It might as well be nothing,” Kono agrees, and the vague nodding from Lou makes Steve want to hit something. He grits his teeth.

“Well, what do you have?”

“We know it’s Wo Fat,” Chin starts but from Steve’s sudden jerk he waves his hands around. “Not – not Wo Fat himself, but one of Wo Fat’s lackeys. A Will Ling.”

“He’s trying to eliminate me?”

“No. We don’t think so.”

“After the smash we caught Ling trying to get on a cargo to the mainland,” Lou says “We don’t think he’s working directly for Wo Fat – more like in his honour.”

Steve lets that sit for a moment. It makes sense. Wo Fat has never been that sloppy. When he had Victor Hesse do his bidding (murdering Steve’s dad and not leaving a trace) it had been more calculated, more ruthless. The hit and run was child’s play.

“You think Ling was trying to get me off Wo Fat’s tail?” Steve finally says, and it all starts clicking into place. He’d heard from the agency the week before, they’d been making some headway, and now it was like he was looking through a glass window.

Like he was almost close enough to touch.

“Maybe,” Kono says with a sigh. “Yeah.”

“That means we’re getting close then, right?”

“Possibly,” Chin agrees, but when Steve looks at him his mouth is set in a line.

“Guys!” Steve cries, and if he had the strength he’d jump from his chair. “You’re telling me that we have some solid proof of Wo Fat’s activity and you’re all looking at me like this is bad news.”

They are. It’s quiet – solemn – they should be out there trawling through footage, making phone calls, dragging every single known associate of Wo Fats to hell and back just to get a name, a number, anything.

“We don’t want you to go, boss,” Kono says quietly, and it shocks him almost as much as the car crash had. A head on collision. “We just… we don’t want you to go.”

*

Their mom made an amazing pineapple turn over, and peanut butter cookies that they'd take turns stealing from the jar every day after school. She liked to wear their dad’s pyjama shorts with her socks up to her knees and twirl around to Whitney Houston singing I Wanna Dance With Somebody into a hairbrush.

They went out for dinner every Friday night, and they watched Hocus Pocus every Halloween, and if Steve had a dollar for every time she’d brought an injured animal home to nurse he’d be a very rich man.

He still has notches on a doorframe where she measured his height.

He still has her recipe cook with all the annotations.

He still has this burning, twisting, mournful need to know why.

Only now, with twenty years gone, and a father dead because of those lies – the why has started to change.

Why did she go, why are they gone, why does death matter more than life?

When does Steve start living?

*

It’s late, and it’s raining, when there’s an angry banging at Steve’s door. The light in the hall closet had decided to blow out, and he’d been trying to fix it so that he find the duct tape, so that he could use the tape to fix another broken thing. It had been one of those days.

When he answers the door to Danny, his hair wet and fuming, Steve knows the day’s not about to get any better.

“Hey, Danny, I - ”

“Fuck you,” Danny shouts, and doesn’t wait for an invitation before barging in. He’s still got his work clothes on, still pressed and button and tied – except Steve can see his undershirt through his other rain soaked clothes. He can see the water making droplets on his skin.

“I’m sorry, Danny, I - ”

“You don’t get to talk,” Danny cuts in, and Steve doesn’t have it in him to argue. He’s entirely to blame, and he knows it, and if Danny ranting at him is going to make him feel better, then so be it. Steve won’t stand in his way. “I have sat around, moped around, sulked into every single bottle of beer that I could find because you didn’t have the stones to just settle this with me once and for all.”

Steve drops his head.

“What happened, Steve? We had a good night, the other night, didn’t we?”

“A great night,” Steve agrees wholeheartedly, stepping a little closer as if that emphasises his point. He feels so ratty standing here in old sweats and a holey tee, he feels so ratty knowing what he’s put Danny though.

They’d gone out for food, then got ice-cream by the harbour, then gone back to Steve’s and spent hours in bed. Fucking, exploring, chatting idly against each other’s skin; twisting the sheets around their legs, their arms, their eyes, playing silly games.

That had been almost a week ago, and Steve hadn’t spoken to him since.

Steve hadn’t answered his calls.

“Then just tell me, just say it to my face instead of letting all the stupid, pointless phone conversations drop out. Just tell me you want me to go.”

“I don’t, Danny,” Steve almost shouts, because he’d wanted some space, he hadn’t wanted forever. “I want you to stay, I want -”

“Why?” Danny barks out, and his shoulders are set like he’s steeling himself for the fight. “What’s the point?”

“Danny.”

“Kono told me about your disappearing act last year – who’s to say it won’t happen again?” Steve feels it like a glancing blow, his throat catching high in his lungs so that he's suddenly unable to talk. “Who’s to say Rachel won’t call tomorrow and tell me she wants to move the kids to one of the other states I hate as much as this one.”

“You don’t know about that, don’t - ”

“You can’t even say it, can you? Say it!”

“What,” Steve yells, and he’s finally angry, finally doing what Danny’s trying to make him do. Fight back. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’re scared,” Danny says, and he’s close enough that he can reach out and push at Steve’s shoulder, not rough, not mean, just pointed. “That you’re fucking terrified. Not just of me, or my kids, but yourself. Like you couldn’t possibly be good enough for us – that this won’t work.”

Steve turns his head enough to release some tension, trying to catch his breath amid the drowning. It’s not completely untrue, and it’s not something he hasn’t thought about himself; but it’s just words, it’s just fodder, it’s not real.

“I don’t want you to push your way into our lives only to decide that it’s too much for you, or too much for us. I don’t want to rely on you, to watch my kids fall in love with you, then get a call one morning to say you’ve gone chasing your demons. I don’t - ”

“That’s not what I want!” Steve yells at him, and with their proximity it makes Danny flinch.

“You don’t know what you want!” he yells right back. “You’ve always got this look in your eye, like you’re planning an escape route.”

“No!”

“Then what, what is it?”

“You’re right,” Steve concedes, his voice dropping, and he paces across the room to try and find space to settle. ”I’m scared. I’m shit scared. But not because I want to run. I don’t want that. For the first time in twenty years I don’t want to leave, and I don’t know what to do with that, Danny.”

Danny looks caught between relief and confusion, looks like he’s aged ten years just in the way he shrinks in on himself. He finds a wall to rest on, slouching, and if Steve wasn’t so pissed at him he might go back over and offer a shoulder.  

“I want to get that son of a bitch,” he says with a hiss, and he knows doesn’t have to say the name out loud. At this point Danny probably knows the whole story. “I don’t want him to take another breath of air that isn’t in a tiny cell rotting his life away. I want to get him so much – but not more than this. Not more than you.”

“Fuck,” Danny says, and he’s shaking his head, and Steve thinks he may see his hands tremble when he reaches to pull off his tie.

“I know this isn’t what you signed up for, alright? This could be dangerous, there could be risks.” Steve starts to wander back, socks padding across the floor, willing Danny to look up at him. He doesn’t. “But I promise I’m done with that. I’m with Five-O, I’m with you, and I’m not going to run off looking for Wo Fat. I’m done.”

When Steve gets close enough that they’re almost toe to toe, he reaches out a thumb and forefinger to tip Danny’s head to him.

“What about avoiding my calls?” Danny says bitterly, but the edges are softer now. His wet tie’s on the floor. “Are you finished doing that too?”

Steve knows there’s a lot more to be said, he knows Danny probably has a hundred other things to throw at him, but he welcomes it now.

If it means he’s going to stay.

“Yeah.”

*

There’s a dozen of them sitting around the table at Haleiwa, a loud and wondrous thing. Steve had invited the whole team, plus partners, and Danny had invited Keiko, and it all seemed ridiculous now, in the face of it. That they’d waited so long. It felt like Danny had always belonged.

“Tell them about the time with the mini golf,” Kono calls over to Steve, and Danny, who’s already chuckling, agrees,

“Yeah, McGarrett, tell us about the mini golf.” 

“As someone who has been tortured over Top Secret Intel, I promise you I’m not telling you about the mini golf,” Steve insists, trying to ignore the way Danny squeezes at his thigh teasingly.

They get huge platters, and an endless string of drinks, and Steve tries to remember idly how much he promised to pay for all of this. Kamekona and Jerry are singing along to the band, Lou and Adam are having a chat that Adam doesn’t seem to be following, and Max is showing Keiko a magic trick with his napkin.

Steve takes a deep breath of fresh seafood and ocean air.

“You’re not welling up over there, are you, Steve?” Chin mutters into his ear, and Steve just gives him a wink, grabbing his beer.

They carry on so late they’re all but kicked out, Danny following Steve into a cab. With their windows down they can still hear some of the team singing as they take off down the road, and Danny’s laughing, and Steve’s kissing him, and it’s a warm night, it’s warm here.

They head inside for a night cap, and take off their shoes, and lounge together on the sofa while they argue over an old episode of M*A*S*H.

“I like your family,” Danny says quietly as Steve’s putting his drink down and crowding him into the cushions.

“That’s good,” Steve says mockingly, “Since you’re a part of it now.”

Steve kisses him, no warning, and just enough time to see the soft, loving expression on Danny’s face before he closes his eyes and sinks into it. The kissing turns to stripping turns to a stumbling trail up the stairs and into bed, and they’ve done this so many times but each time feels like a revelation.

“Fuck, Steve,” Danny’s calling to the ceiling, his knees up and Steve’s fingers inside him, rough and quick and desperate. “Fuck, I’m ready, just go.”

Steve pushes inside him with a grunt, with a stupid string of words like, “Shit, yeah, Danny, feels so good, so good,” and it’s slick and tight and aching and he just pushes, pushes, pushes, deep, bolstered by the whining, begging groans from Danny as he claws into Steve’s back.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Danny’s muttering to him, mouth hot at Steve’s face, “there, there, there.”

When Steve comes, later, his mouth full of flesh and his throat full of wonder, he hears Danny say, “Stay, stay,” so he does.

*

It’s early one morning as Steve’s pulling on his shorts for a swim.

The sun pokes through the curtains, splashing over Danny’s sleeping body, and Steve finds himself climbing back into bed, climbing over Danny to press his chest to Danny’s back. He runs his nose along the shell of Danny’s ear, runs his finger down the length of Danny’s spine, laughs when Danny grumbles into the pillow,

“What, Steve?”

“Morning.”

“No. It’s not,” Danny protests, and he’s turning away, curling his body toward the far wall. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Hey,” Steve goes on, prodding at his back, but he knows Danny’s resolve when it comes to sleep. He doesn’t cave in. “Danny. Danny, come to Five-0.”

He hears Danny’s soft snores, and he smiles.

He presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“Come be my partner.”