Chapter Text
Sometimes, Danny wonders where he'd be today if a parking garage hadn't fallen on his head four years ago.
It had been a perfect summary of how his life had gone off the rails since Steve had taken it over, because shit like that just didn't happen in Jersey. Kidnappings, yes. The occasional shoot-out, of course. Murders, eighty-seven of them, otherwise there would be little need for a homicide detective. But international terrorists, biological weapons, nuclear fucking weapons, and parking garages that fell on people's heads?
Of those, Jersey had had exactly none. Which is why Jersey was, and continues to be, superior to Hawaii in practically every way, except his daughter isn't there, or his son, or his goof of a partner.
And yes, Steve is a part of that reasoning, because four years ago? After a parking garage had fallen on their heads and Steve had exploded their way out again, after being pulled up and checked out and Steve making him say the words, yes, those three little words that had made his heart beat faster when he'd heard Steve say them under all that rubble; after all of that, Danny'd had a little bit of a brain freeze.
He'd looked at Amber and yes, she was lovely, she was a wonderful woman who liked him, possibly even loved him, but.
But.
But she wasn't Steve, and if his latest near-death experience had taught him anything, it was that he fucking loved Steve. Loved him from the bottom of his heart. Loved him blind. He'd known that Steve was important to him; of course he had, why else would he have done even half the shit he'd done for, or with, that guy? Thing was, he might have slightly, just a little, underestimated just how important, and maybe it had been leftover adrenaline, but in the aftermath of all that, he hadn't been able to keep those, those feelings to himself.
So he'd driven over to Steve's despite the ache in his side from where a piece of rebar had torn through him, had knocked on the door until a disheveled Steve had opened it, and had spilled it all out in one giant mess right there on Steve's doorstep.
"Tell me to stay," he'd said, the words rushing out of him like he might choke on them if he gave himself time to think, "tell me to forget about Maui and Amber and, and all the reasons this is a bad idea, god," he'd laughed, dragging an unsteady hand through his hair, "such a bad idea, but Steve. Babe." One deep breath and out with it, out, "Tell me to forget about all that and I will. I... I will, okay? If you tell me..."
And then he'd broken off, because Steve was looking at him with this... this face, like Danny was performing open-heart surgery on him without anesthesia, all hurt and confusion and willing him to just stop.
"You want me to ask you... to stay," he'd said slowly. His brows had been drawn together, but his eyes had been huge, dark and deep and... and absolutely fucking terrified.
In that moment, Danny had known what the answer would be. Had known it, and still, "I want you to ask me to stay."
Because he'd already laid it all out, hadn't he; put his heart out for Steve to take or reject, and knowing that Steve would reject it wasn't the same as hearing him say it. Danny needed to hear it needed it to be done and over so maybe they could move on from this clusterfuck of a day.
The silence had dragged on between them. Danny had stood still, watching, as Steve jerked in one deep breath after another only to let it out again, wordless. Steve's fingers had dug into the door jamb as if it were the only thing holding Steve up. It had been one of the most awful moments of Danny's life.
Then Steve had swallowed and blinked a few times and said, "I can't... Danny. I can't do that."
His voice had been hoarse but gentle, and Danny's own breath had left him in a rush.
Part of him had known that this was the only way their conversation could go. Had known that somewhere in Steve's house, Cath was waiting for him. That Steve would die for Danny if he had to, if that meant Danny could go home to Grace, but that this one thing was too much to ask.
He'd known it, and he'd asked anyway because maybe, just maybe, if Steve just loved him enough...
God, he was an asshole.
He'd taken a deep breath, nodded, and taken a step back.
And Steve, the big idiot, had taken a step forward. "Danny."
"Don't."
Don't come closer. Don't be kind. Don't feel bad about this, 'cause it'll only make me feel worse.
But when had Steve ever listened to him?
"Danny," he'd said again, voice still so fucking gentle, "I love you, I do. I really... You have to know that."
And what could Danny have done but nod, because of course he knew that. Didn't doubt it for a second, even now, with his heart up for grabs and Steve so clearly not grabbing. After all, the bone-deep certainty that Steve loved him had been what made him ask for... whatever he'd been asking for.
"Yeah, I know." His smile had felt almost natural on his face. "But not that way."
And to his own surprise, he'd been, well, not okay with that, not really, but certain that he'd get there. Eventually. Yes, he'd wanted Steve to himself, forever and a day, till death do them fucking part, and yes, he'd been hurting, and no, he hadn't wanted to share him with Cath, hadn't wanted to see her have what he couldn't, but he would. He would, because Cath had been his friend as well and Steve had loved her, in a way he couldn't love Danny, and in the end, what Danny had wanted most of all was for Steve to be happy.
"Not that way," Steve had echoed. He'd looked so miserable, like this was hurting him just as much, and Danny had hated himself a little for putting that expression on Steve's face. He'd never wanted to be the reason for that expression on Steve's face.
"Babe. It's okay." At Steve's doubtful glance, Danny'd added, "Hey, we're still partners, right? I mean, Christ, it's not like you're breaking my heart here." Though it had been a little broken, but Steve hadn't needed to know that. So he'd pointed at himself. "I love you." He'd pointed at Steve. "You love me." He'd spread his hands. "We love each other. That's great."
"Great." Steve had still frowned at him, disbelief dripping from his voice and written all over his face, and thus Danny had made himself push down his disappointment, wrap it up and stuff it into a dark corner of his mind, never to be looked at again. He'd done that, and then he'd taken two steps forward and slapped Steve's upper arm.
Hard.
"Ow! Hey!" Steve had rubbed his arm with an expression of pure betrayal, but he'd stopped looking like only his military stoicism had kept him from crying.
Danny had stabbed a finger at his chest, because sometimes you had to emphasize to make a point, especially with this guy. Besides, motion always trumped emotion in Danny's book, at least when that emotion was something other than a reasonable irritation with an unreasonable environment.
"Listen to me, because I won't say this again. Okay? I will spell this out for you, this once, and then we'll never talk about it again." He'd taken a deep breath. "You're my best friend. My daughter loves you. All right? You, you're family. This," he'd waved a hand between them, "this is solid, you get that? Huh? It doesn't change because you're a little more important to me than I thought."
And because that was both the truth and worth emphasizing again, and because Steve had still looked a bit like a little lost lamb with no home to go to, Danny had smiled again, more real this time, and closed the distance between them.
"C'mere. I love you."
Steve had stepped into the embrace with a fervor that was, quite frankly, as gratifying as it was humbling.
"I love you too, buddy," he'd murmured, his arms tight around Danny, and Danny had hung on like his life depended on it.
And they'd kept saying those words in the days and weeks that followed; three words that slowly changed from reassurance into simply checking in, another basic truth of life: water is wet, pineapples suck, Danno loves Gracie and Charlie and Steve, Gracie and Charlie and Steve love Danno.
He had loved Amber, too, in his way, but probably more like the kind of love that comes from fun and familiarity, not the one he'd felt for Steve. Had kept feeling for Steve, through the next four years and the kind of drama that was usually only real on television. He'd broken up with Amber eventually, though by that time her name was Melissa, because being with her wasn't fair to either of them. Not to Danny, who wanted to be in love with her but couldn't manage it, couldn't even say the words. And certainly not to Melissa, who deserved someone who'd make her the center of their world. They both knew that Danny's world revolved around Grace, Charlie, and Steve, in that order, with Melissa a distant afterthought.
So they'd broken up and Danny carried on loving Steve in a way that became almost comforting over time. It was a feeling that just... was. He didn't cry himself to sleep at night, or feel lonely, or pine away like some kind of lovesick... whatever. He still doesn't. He just loves the guy, much as Steve drives him crazy at times, and since even his subconscious seems to assume he's going to keep loving Steve until they're old and wrinkly, that's probably exactly what's going to happen.
All of which does nothing, nothing at all, to explain why Danny currently has to suffer through a stench that's worse than that time with the pigs. Or the other time with the pigs.
"What... What the hell is that, how can you even drink it? Why, why, I ask you, are you doing this to my liver?"
Steve grins over at him from the driver's seat and pointedly takes another slurp from whatever vile concoction he's discovered this time. Steve and drinks have a seriously skewed relationship. Exhibit A: the man puts butter in his coffee. Exhibit B: the sickly-green, stinking slop-in-a-bottle he's pouring down his throat this morning. The stuff smells like grass clippings and pineapple, two things that should never be consumed, least of all together.
"It's a smoothie, Danno. Smoothies are healthy." Steve nods like he's just imparted truth from the heavens instead of a blatant lie. "They're good for you."
"You think smoothies are healthy?" Danny asks, just to be sure, because this, oh, this is going to be great. This is going to be fun.
"Do I think smoothies are healthy? Yes, Danny," Steve shoots back, already grinning and trying to hide it, but Danny's on to him, "I think smoothies are healthy. They're fruit and veggies. Fruit and veggies are healthy."
"I agree that fruit and veggies are healthy," which indeed they are, but, and here Danny has to raise a finger because, "but this isn't fruit and veggies. This is pureed fruit and veggies. There's a difference."
Steve takes another obnoxious slurp and smacks his lips for good measure. "Enlighten me."
Being thus invited, Danny magnanimously shares his wisdom. "Okay, one," he stabs his still-raised finger toward the Camaro's roof to show that this is no longer a finger of you-poor-schmuck, this is now a finger of numerical value, "fruit and veggies contain sugar. Two," he adds a second finger, "smoothies are pureed fruit and veggies that contain less fiber, meaning they're not as filling, meaning you consume more of them, which leads me to three," three fingers now, "you consume more sugar. Sugar isn't healthy."
"It's fruit sugar, and," Steve starts to say.
"Sugar is sugar," Danny puts in helpfully. He can be helpful, okay, he's a helpful guy, and dismantling Steve's delusions is the way he's chosen to help.
"And you're talking about juice, okay?" Steve signals a turn and pulls them onto the ramp to the Ala Moana Hotel's parking garage. "Juice contains less fiber. Smoothies are the whole fruit, full fiber, less sugar than juice."
"Oh yeah?" Danny asks.
"Yeah."
"You sure about that?"
"Yes, I'm sure about that." There's an empty parking space to their right. Steve maneuvers them into it with his usual flair, meaning too high a speed and too tight a curve. One of these days, they're going to scrape the paint off another car, and Danny will make Steve pay for the damage.
"Then please," Danny makes an inviting gesture at the bottle that still contains a third of Steve's smoothie, "do me a favor, huh? Check out the label." He undoes his seat belt and opens the door. "Tell me what it says."
He gets out of the car and pushes the door shut, leaning his arms on the roof to wait for Steve. A moment later, Steve gets out as well, lips pursed and brows drawn together as he stares down at the bottle like it betrayed him.
Danny grins before he asks, in his sweetest voice, "Does it, and I'm taking a wild guess here," they both know he's really not, "but does it, by any chance, say 'pineapple juice' on that label?"
Steve ignores Danny as he tilts his head back to drain the last of his smoothie, and then tosses the empty bottle into a trash can that conveniently happens to be there. Danny's grin widens because yeah, that smoothie contained pineapple juice, like just about every other smoothie on this island. He's heard that rant from Grace; he knows what he's talking about. And he has to say, Grace gesturing sharply and drawing imaginary pineapples into the air while belaboring a point? Fills his heart with fatherly pride, it really does.
"Come on," Steve says over his shoulder, briskly walking away like Danny's been holding them up. "Sooner we get this statement, the sooner we can get back to HQ."
And Danny could point out he's aware of that, thank you very much, since he was the one who found their witness in the first place, but he's still basking in the glow of his win so he lets it slide.
The hotel lobby is air-conditioned. Danny takes a moment to be grateful for the cool air as they walk in, out of the damp warmth that is seaside Honolulu in the morning. Of all the things he hates about this island, the climate is very near the top of the list.
Steve ambles right up to the information desk and gives the receptionist his professional smile, the one that doesn't show any teeth because those only ever come out when he finds something really funny. Usually, it's something Danny has done, is doing, or has failed to have done or be doing and it will momentarily come back to bite him in the ass. Or Eddie getting him wet, that works too. In McGarrett-land, Danny dripping from an unscheduled encounter with water is the height of hilarity.
"Hi," Steve says, "Steve McGarrett, Five-0. Mr. McKinney's room?"
Ronan McKinney is a used-car salesman from Poughkeepsie who, by pure luck, happened to be filming the lobby just when some punk kid decided to rob the local Starbucks, at an angle the hotel cameras didn't cover. The team's got the footage, and the punk, but they still have to take the actual statement. And because Danny spotted McKinney and his camera on the footage from the hotel cameras, he gets to do the statement-taking. Steve's just along to make sure Danny doesn't get to drive his car.
The receptionist pokes at his computer for a moment, then he looks up with a smile that is every bit as professional and phony as Steve's. Danny does not roll his eyes because he has made it his mission to support professionalism wherever he sees it, especially when Steve's nearby. It's a close thing, though.
"Room 214," the guy says. "Take the elevator to the second floor, then go right."
"Thanks," Steve tells him, and nods at Danny to fall into step beside him.
Danny dutifully does just that, and waits until they've reached the elevator to mention, very casually, "Used to be you introduced me as well."
"What?" Steve pushes the button to go up.
"Just saying. Used to be you said, 'and this is my partner, Detective Williams,' or something like that."
They're lucky; the doors open almost at once to an empty elevator car.
"Are you feeling sensitive about this now?" Steve says as they step inside. "Do you want me to go back, is that it? Second floor."
"I know that it's the second floor, I was there, I heard the man talk." Danny pushes the button. The doors slide closed. "And no, I do not want you to go back. I want to know what's up with the not-introducing."
"Jeez, I don't know, I just didn't think of it." Steve crosses his arms and glares.
"Didn't think of it?" Danny repeats, incredulous. What, did Steve just forget about him for a minute there? What the hell?
"No, didn't think of it. What, that's an issue now?" Steve lifts his head a little higher so he can look down his nose at Danny. Danny feels his blood pressure rising.
"Oh, believe me," he says, not quite so casual anymore, "if I made an issue of you not thinking about things, I wouldn't have time for my job."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Steve demands, leaning forward, hands on his hips like he can intimidate the answer out of Danny if he just gets far enough into Danny's personal space. As if Danny has ever cowered away from him. Or needed any prompting to share his opinions, for that matter.
The car stops. Danny takes a deep breath and raises the finger of you-poor-schmuck. The doors open with a restrained little, ding.
And somewhere to their left, a man is screaming like he's on fire.
It's an ugly sound, high-pitched and desperate. Danny throws a glance at Steve, already reaching for his holster. Steve nods at him and pulls his gun. Danny does the same. Together, they make their way down the corridor. Steve is focused on what's in front of them, while Danny makes sure nothing comes at them from behind. A dozen quick steps take them to the door where the screaming is loudest.
"Five-0, open the door!" Steve yells. Their only answer is another scream, this one fading to a gurgle.
"All right," Danny says, putting his free hand on Steve's back. Steve leans into it as he shifts and kicks the door open without another word. It takes him two tries, but then the wood splinters, lock still attached to the door jamb. That's gonna make the management happy, Danny thinks, and then they're in.
The scene before them is grotesque. The room is small, the visible space around the bed dominated by a wavy carpet in an eye-watering blue. It's probably supposed to be an ocean theme, which, for a very-nearly-beachfront hotel, strikes Danny as overkill. The huge bed is covered with a comforter that used to be a light blue with another wave motif, but is now a blood-spattered mess.
In front of the bed, a middle-aged white guy is lying on his back, hands still clawing feebly at his throat. His throat, which has been torn open, skin gaping with ragged edges, blood still flowing in weak, rhythmic pulses. A woman of the same age and complexion is kneeling, actually kneeling on the man's belly, knees digging into fat as she sways to keep her balance. She's wearing shorts and a green t-shirt, both soaking with blood. Her arms are red up to the elbows, and her fingers... Christ, her fingers are pulling at the guy's throat, skin caught under her fingernails.
"Five-0!" Steve barks again, "hands in the air!" but it's like the woman doesn't even hear him. She snarls at the man beneath her, a wordless sound of pure fury, and digs in deeper. The man has stopped struggling, eyes glassy as they roll up to fix upon the ceiling.
"Danny!" Steve is already holstering his gun. Danny moves to cover him as well as he can in the narrow space, as Steve grabs for the woman. He yanks her arms back to make her let go. She arches into it, twists her legs and kicks back at him with a strength she shouldn't have. Steve stumbles back but doesn't let go. Her face is a mask of mindless rage as she bites at him, missing his private parts by no more than a hair's breadth. Steve jerks out of the way and she uses the movement to break free of his grip and get to her feet.
"Freeze!" Danny bellows, tracking her with his gun. "Hands in the air, or I will shoot!"
The woman ignores him completely. She kicks again, and this time, Steve has nowhere to go. He's trapped between the bed and the wall, shouts out in pain as her foot hits him just below the knee.
"Whoa!"
His leg buckles and he dives down just in time for another kick to cut through the air above his head, but now he's on the ground, no room to maneuver as she snarls again. Her voice carries no intelligence, nothing human at all as she darts forward, her dripping fingers going straight for Steve's throat.
Danny shoots her.
He hits her twice, center mass, and she falls, goes down without another sound, crash-landing half on the fucking blue carpet and half on Steve's legs. Both she and her victim are very clearly dead. The sudden quiet seems absurdly loud, broken only by Steve's heavy breaths.
"Jesus, Danny," he manages as he scrambles out from beneath her. He gets to his feet, bending forward to rest his hands on his knees as he stares at the two dead people on the ground. "What the hell?"
Danny can't seem to make his fingers loosen their death-grip on his gun.
"I don't know," he says, laughter scratching at the base of his throat although there's nothing funny about this. He repeats it because he has no idea what the hell, why is Steve even asking him, "I don't know."
His hands are shaking.
He just shot an unarmed woman. In the back.
"Hey." Suddenly Steve is beside him. When did he even move? He grabs Danny's shoulder with one hand, closes the other gently around Danny's hands where they're still clenched in a white-knuckled grip around the gun. "Hey, Danny. Look at me."
Danny swallows, and raises his gaze to look at him. Steve gives him a quick half-smile, there and gone, doing nothing to conceal the worry in his eyes. He's standing close enough for Danny to smell him, fresh sweat and a faint echo of aftershave. The hand on Danny's shoulder tightens.
"You warned her," Steve says, slowly, enunciating every word like he's auditioning for... Danny doesn't even know. Something with clearly enunciated words.
His fingers ache.
He sucks in a breath and wills himself to let go. Steve's hand is right there, ready to pull the gun from his slackening grip.
"There you go, buddy." Steve puts the safety back on and slips the gun into Danny's holster, still so fucking close. Danny wants to sway towards him. He pulls back instead. Steve lets him go. "Come on, we've got to call it in."
"Yeah," Danny rasps, his eyes drawn back to the mess on the floor.
Looks like they won't be taking McKinney's statement today.