Chapter Text
h50h50h50h
“I had plans for us tonight, Steven. Big plans. Dinner, I was gonna make us dinner. Lasagne, that recipe you got from my Mom, maybe we’d watch a game on the TV. And then I was gonna…I was…” Danny stutters as his breath runs out. He’s running on empty and it’s taking all his remaining energy to get air in. “This isn’t the kinda bed I wanted to spend the evening in, babe,” he whispers, his voice breaking. He squeezes the limp hand he’s holding, trying to find comfort in the familiar touch of the calloused fingers. “It really isn’t.”
Danny exhales and runs his free hand across his face. His palm scrapes across a day’s worth of bearded scruff. In front of him Steve’s lying unconscious in a hospital bed. He’s asleep, Danny corrects himself, although the difference is difficult to tell. His body’s exhausted, the doctor had explained when Danny had voiced his concern. It’s not unusual after such a severe respiratory incident.
“What am I gonna do with you, huh?”
Danny’s not expecting an answer but he studies Steve’s face anyway. Steve sleeps on oblivious, his chest rising and falling in time with his shallow breaths. The sound of his breathing is magnified by the sound of air being drawn through the canula under his nose. Steve’s lips are pink now, not blue: the obvious improvement sucks the tension from Danny’s shoulders. His body sags in the chair, his back curving like an old man’s.
It’s lucky you found him when you did, Mr Williams.
Danny braces himself against the bed, reaching out his free hand. He’s careful not to jostle Steve’s body, he’s only too aware of the bruises hidden under the blankets and the pale blue hospital gown. The bruise on Steve’s temple, the one that started this chain of events, is turning yellow already. It’s been four days since this started. It feels like so much longer.
A knock on the door pulls him back to the present. Danny twists round to look over his shoulder. His back protests, he’s been sitting in the chair for hours. A nurse is standing in the doorway, a tray in her hand.
“I just need to check on Steve.”
“Sure, it’s fine,” he replies, even though he knows she’s not actually asking his permission. Danny watches as she carries out her checks, reading her face for any reaction. “He hasn’t woken up yet but that’s okay, right? The doctor said that’s okay.”
Her answering smile is sympathetic. “That’s good. He’s probably going to sleep for hours. If he wakes it’ll only be for a short while. It’s the body’s way of recharging. The pain relief he’s been prescribed for the chest pain will make him groggy as well.” She checks the machines and writes down notes on Steve’s file. “I’ll be here for a while if you want to grab something to eat or a hot drink. The food’s not bad but I can’t say the same for the coffee.”
“I’m good.” Danny waves her concern away. “And I’m used to bad coffee. I’m a cop,” he explains. “HPD Detective. Drinking bad coffee is an occupational hazard.”
Her face lights up with comprehension. “We wondered…” she tails off, nodding at the empty holster on his hip.“
“Oh.” He looks down. He’d forgotten he was wearing it. “I just got home from work when…when I found him.” Danny swallows against the words, pushes back the images looming at the edge of his mind. “Steve’s my boyfriend,” he explains, grabbing the hand in his tighter, running his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. “The doofus calls us partners but people get kinda confused and…” He’s relieved when the nurse nods again, her smile turning soft. He’s rambling, he knows he’s rambling. But he’s so goddamn tired.
“Steve was in the Navy?”
Danny’s confused until he realises the information must be in Steve’s medical record. “Yeah. He was. Navy SEAL.” He takes a deep breath and strokes Steve hand again, putting all the pride and love he feels into the touch. “He’s got his own company now. He’s a security consultant.”
She nods, a short, sharp sign of respect. He watches as she puts gloves on, preparing to take a blood sample. Steve mumbles as she fiddles with the lines that snake down into his arm, his eyes still closed. Danny hushes him, keeping his touches light.
“He hasn’t been sleeping much,” he explains, straightening Steve’s blanket, even though he knows it’s fine. “He’s got bruising on his ribs. He told me that’s why he wasn’t breathing right.” I was an idiot. I should have called him on it. “And the cough, you know? He gets a cough sometimes, he’s got medication…”
“Pneumonia does initially present as a cold in many cases.” The nurse has paused, her expression sympathetic. “In a case like Steve’s, where the patient has a pre-existing condition, the symptoms can escalate quickly.”
He didn’t tell me that. He didn’t fucking tell me that.
“With rest and the right medication, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be on his feet again in the next few days. He probably won’t be up to any strenuous work for a while, maybe even a few months.”
You don’t know, Steve. The stubborn idiot still thinks he’s indestructible. “That’s good. That’s good to know.”
Danny rubs his eyes and slumps back in his chair. His legs are twitching, itching to move despite his exhaustion. He needs to be doing something but there’s nothing to do but sit and wait. He’s spoken to Billy, Steve’s second-in-command. Chin’s smoothing things over with the Captain: not for the first time he’s grateful that his partner at HPD is a natural diplomat.
What he really wants to do is climb up on the bed and pull Steve close. He wants to tell him that he loves him and can we please, please, please not do this again. Instead, he gets his wallet out his pocket and retrieves the picture he keeps in there. It’s of the four of them taken at the beach. He runs his thumb over the image, swallowing down the lump in his throat.”
“Is that your family?”
The nurse is on his side of the bed: he’s so out of it he hadn’t noticed her move. Danny smiles at the picture, remembering the moment it was taken. “This is my daughter Grace,” he says proudly, pointing her out even though it’s clear who she is in the picture. “She lives with my ex-wife, Rachel. She’s nearly nine, going on thirty.” That earns him a laugh. “The dog, his name is Max. He’s a German Shepherd, ex-military K9, served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Steve adopted him after they were both injured in the same terrorist chemical attack,” he confirms, reading the question in her eyes. “Grace insists on calling Max her puppy which is funny ‘cause the big lug weighs at least seventy pounds.”
“Wow.” The nurse raises her eyebrows at the picture – Max is sitting front and centre, the camera angle making him loom over the rest of them sitting behind. Steve’s hand is resting on Max’s shoulder, his fingers tangled in his tan and black fur. “Looks like they’re very close.”
“They are.” Danny absently rubs the picture again, his attention on Steve. Steve’s told him about the attack in Afghanistan. But in the year they’ve been together that’s all he’s really found about Steve’s time in the SEAL teams. It’s like he’s taken the Navy and packed it away, mentally. Max and Billy are the only real links he has left.
Danny shoves the photo back in his wallet. Steve might think the Navy’s done with him (not that he’d ever say those words) but the values of protect, serve and honour are imprinted on his DNA. Danny gets that: he’s been a cop for nearly twenty years and he doesn’t just do it for the pay. But Steve’s values keep putting him in harm’s way. Back in the Navy that hadn’t been a problem – now his body is struggling to keep up.
Danny pushes up from the chair and paces over to the window. Words are bubbling up inside in, fueled by the frustration that he’s been bottling up for days. But the person he needs to share with - Steve - is in no condition to hear it. And the only other person in the room is just doing her job.
Danny turns and finds himself being watched by worried eyes. “It’s been a long day,” he hears himself apologise. He’s not sure what the hell he’s apologising for. For the last four days it feels like that’s all he’s done.
I’m sorry too, babe. I love you. Please don’t leave me here.
The memory from just a few hours before takes Danny’s breath away. It’s so vivid he can feel Steve’s motionless body in his arms. The nurse looks over at him with concern. Talking to the doctors, worrying about Steve, has allowed him to blank out what had happened. Now the panic’s building again.
Danny strides back to the bed and leans down to kiss Steve’s cheek. “Gonna call Grace,” he whispers urgently. “And I’ll check on Max, okay?”
Danny’s out of the door before the nurse can say anything: Steve’s lack of response is feeding his panic way too much to hang around. Striding down the corridor he finds the stairs and takes them two at a time. He’s breathing hard by the time he gets outside the hospital, his fists clenched hard against his sides.
It’s several minutes before Danny feels able to dial Rachel’s number. Cold sweat is making his shirt stick to his back, he shivers as he finds a seat in the shade.
“How is he?” Rachel’s always been very good at cutting to the chase.
“They’re still running tests but they think it’s pneumonia,” he explains around a tired sigh.
“Ah.” Rachel goes quiet. Danny can imagine the frown on her face. “Has this got anything to do with the other day? When he ended up in the canal?”
Danny nods, catches himself as he realises she can’t see him. “They think maybe he got water in his lungs.” There’s so much he wants to add, so many words crowding in his head but he’s too tired to string the thoughts together. “How’s Max?”
Danny can hear the clink of glasses and plates in the background, it sounds like Rachel’s preparing dinner. He takes the phone away from his ear for a second: it feels like he’s being teased with something he can’t have right now.
“He’s helping Grace with her homework.”
Danny’s brain trips over her words. “You let Max in Grace’s bedroom?”
Rachel’s not really a dog person. And her house is impossibly neat. “He was anxious.” She sounds mildly defensive. “We all are,” she adds.
Danny swallows hard against a sudden rush of emotion. Despite all the history between them Rachel still has the ability to surprise the hell out of him.
"Grace wanted to know if she could talk to Steve."
"He's still asleep. The drugs they've given him—"
"She'd settle for seeing you instead."
Danny runs his hand over his hair, his heart warring with the panic bubbling under his skin. Rachel's waiting for an answer, in the background he can hear running water and a cupboard opening and closing. "I need to get back to the house,” he insists, grabbing at the first excuse he can think of. “I wanna get the place straightened out before they let Steve out. We had to get out of there in a hurry and I didn’t get a chance…”
A memory flashes in his mind and it cuts him off mid-sentence: it’s Steve’s eyes filled with panic and fear. He shuts his own eyes but the image is still there in the darkness, so vivid and painful.
“You don’t need to worry about the house. It’s okay. I checked when we collected Max.”
Danny takes a shuddering breath, then another, but it’s not enough to stop the raw emotions he’s been holding onto for days bursting out in a torrent of gabbled words. “The stubborn bastard kept saying he was fine, Rachel. He kept saying he was alright. I told him he needed a doctor but he thinks he’s still—"
The clattering noise stops abruptly, cutting Danny short. "You're angry with him."
"I tried, okay. I tried to make him go but he wouldn’t listen and now—"
"Danny..."
“He could have died and I—“
“Danny…”
“He should have waited for backup. If he'd waited for Billy or HPD then this wouldn't have happened—"
"You don't know that."
"I keep telling him he should be more careful. There’s procedures and rules and he’s not a goddamn police officer but he could follow them. He could follow ‘em, Rach. He could follow them and he’d be safer. But no, not Captain America. He jumps in like he's invincible, like he doesn't...like he doesn't care about us." Danny’s mouth shuts with a click. He feels like he’s gonna be sick. "Damn. Damn it. I didn't mean that...I just wish—"
"You used to say you were just doing your job, Danny."
Rachel’s tone is calm, almost factual but her words are sharp as a knife. Another wave of guilt grabs at his guts. "He's not in the Navy anymore. And he can't...he's got..." Danny realises he's rubbing his chest, right where Steve’s scars would be from the chemical attack. Words are failing him again, crowded out by the emotions whirling in his head.
"You can't change who someone is. I recall you saying that to me as well."
Danny tucks the phone under his chin and scrubs at his eyes with the palms of his hands. He doesn't want to change Steve. He doesn’t. He just wants him to stay safe.
He can remember Rachel saying that to him as well.
The clattering of the plates stops again. It's replaced by the sound of Rachel's footsteps: they echo as she walks out of the kitchen and into the hallway. "Grace! Grace! I need you to lay the table. And put an extra place out for your Dad."
Danny presses the phone closer to his ear. There's the sound of small feet and paws thundering down the stairs, accompanied by excited chatter and barking. He wants to be there so much.
"Rach. I can't. I just need to..."
"Daniel. I know that right now all you want to do is crawl into a corner and bawl your eyes out. Believe me, I know. But Steve would never forgive me if I let you go back to that empty house alone. So go back in there and tell him how much you love him. And then get your backside over here."
H50H50H50H50
Four days earlier
Danny stretches, letting his body sag into the mattress. It’s the first time for a fortnight that he’s slept for eight hours straight in an actual bed. His body’s aching, weeks of hard work lingering in his muscles. But he’s not due back at work until midday and right now that seems like forever.
He’d got home at midnight, so tired he could barely get his key in the door. On automatic pilot he’d bribed Max with Milk-Bones to keep him quiet then detoured to the bathroom just long enough to brush his teeth. Getting into bed is a vague memory – his clothes are sprawled over the bedroom floor – but what he does remember is Steve sleepily shuffling across the bed, curling his back into Danny’s chest like a human comforter.
During the night Steve’s turned back over; his arm’s draped over Danny’s hips, his fingers splayed across Danny’s flank. His face is nestled in Danny’s shoulder, his toes are sticking out of the end of the bedcovers. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, he looks like he’s deeply asleep.
Danny drinks in the sight, lets himself enjoy it. He and Steve have been like ships passing in the night for weeks now. Just lying next to him is enough to make him feel better. Outside the birds have started singing, the first rays of sunshine are peeking under the blinds. Inside the room is still bathed in half-darkness, making it feel warm and safe. He’s missed these quiet moments with just the two them, when it feels like the world outside doesn’t exist.
I’ll never get bored of this.
He smiles, letting his hand wander, his fingers skating over Steve’s shoulder. The skin’s more tanned than when Danny first met him, the smaller scars are starting to blend in. The skin’s still rough under his fingertips but it doesn’t surprise him anymore, it’s part of who Steve is. When they’d first met Steve had explained much of the skin around the scars was numb. Proving him wrong has been a lot of fun.
Steve rouses, muttering under his breath. His toes wiggle, the move slowly turning into a full catlike body stretch.
Danny doesn’t let him finish it, leaning over for a kiss instead. The angle’s awkward but Steve turns into it, their lips coming together into a slow, sleepy kiss. Danny rolls with it, sliding down to twist his legs into Steve’s, tugging him closer. He groans into the kiss, letting his hands roam lower, stroking Steve’s stomach, twisting his fingers through the dark wiry hair.
Danny’s smile grows as muscles twitch under his fingertips, his own arousal pooling warm in the pit of his belly. His cock fills and hardens and he presses into Steve’s body, grinding his arousal into Steve’s hip. He lives for these moments - slow, easy, comfortable sex with the man he loves. No expectations. No pressures.
How the hell did he get to be so lucky?
Or perhaps he’s not. Danny’s heart sinks as Steve pulls away from him. “Get back here,” he demands, sliding his hand around Steve’s neck, trying to pull him back for another kiss.
Steve dips in, leaning over him, but his eyes are full of regret. “Sorry,” he sighs, his eyes sliding to the bedside alarm clock and back again. “I gotta go to work.”
“No, no, no. Uh, uh. I got a whole morning before I gotta go to work. Four hours, Steven. We’re gonna spend them in this bed. Together,” he adds, grinding his hips again, “just in case I hadn’t made that clear.”
Danny’s erection twitches at Steve’s answering groan. Danny flicks his hips, sparks shooting up his spine and he pulls Steve’s closer, needing more contact, more skin, more heat, more everything. “God, I love you.”
Steve’s hair is overdue a cut, something he’d been complaining about the day before. Danny runs his fingers through it, sweeping through the curls to massage the skin underneath. His fingertips slide over the scarred, bald patches of skin around the hairline and down his neck. Steve tilts his head to give more access, allowing Danny to cup his head and massage the soft spot at the base of his skull. Steve hums with pleasure, a warm, deep sound that goes straight to Danny’s cock.
“You like that, babe?”
Steve sighs, rolling over to rest his chin on Danny’s chest. His eyes as they meet Danny’s are full of regret. “This one’s important. I gotta go.”
Danny doesn’t doubt Steve’s regret: he can feel his half-hard erection nudging against his thigh. “A couple of hours,” he whispers, reaching down for a kiss. “Billy can handle your movie star until then.”
Steve’s answering kiss is hard, full of passion. But he still pulls away, his eyes on the alarm clock. “Billy’s picking me up at 8.”
“So delegate.”
“I can’t. Not this one.”
Danny rolls onto to his back with a loud huff. He recognises that note of determination in Steve’s voice. He pouts anyway; tonight seems like a long way away. “He better be worth it.”
Steve’s sliding out of bed. He stops, a scowl on his face. “Tremaine? He’s not.”
“But you need the clients, without the clients the team doesn’t get paid. I get it.”
“Danny.”
Danny reaches out and runs a finger down Steve’s spine. “I get it, okay. I do.”
Steve watches him over his shoulder. “Tonight,” he promises, his eyes darkening as Danny’s finger comes to rest at the base of his spine. “Tonight.”
Danny’s cock twitches in response but he’s grabbing at thin air as Steve gets to his feet. Resigned to his fate Danny lays back and watches as Steve disappears into the wardrobe, just his naked butt sticking out.
A naked butt which seems to be sticking out a long way. “You’re a fucking tease,” Danny grumbles under his breath. “Bastard,” he adds as the butt wiggles in reply. “I might just have to rethink my plans for tonight…”
Danny trails off, swallowing hard, as Steve shuts the closet door. The half-light is throwing shadows; they pick out the dips and curves of Steve’s body in sharp relief. Wide shoulders sloping down into a tight waist, with washboard abs that Danny knows will ripple with laughter if he tickles them. The dark trail of hair of that he loves playing with casts a dark shadow down to a cock that is half-hard. “Fuck.”
Steve licks his lips, takes an involuntary step forward. For a second Danny thinks he’s got him. Then his face twitches, his shoulders stiffen and he’s moving, his hips rolling in a determined stride as he heads for the bathroom.
Cursing silently, it takes Danny a moment to realise what Steve is carrying in his hand. Steve always wears black when he’s working. For the high-end clients it’s always a black suit. But today he’s got the Armani suit out.
Danny loves the Armani suit. Correction, he has a thing about getting Steve out of that Armani suit.
Steve knows about his fetish. Danny’s sure of that when Steve looks back over his shoulder, a cheeky grin on his face. Danny holds his gaze, considering his options. Slowly, very slowly, he pushes down the sheet covering his torso, letting his fingers linger as the sheet comes to rest below his waist.
Steve curses loudly, uttering a few words that Danny’s not heard before. As the bathroom door slams behind him Danny starts laughing. They’re gonna have one hell of a night.
H50H50H50H50
Steve wants a beer. An ice cold Longboard. He wants to sit on their lanai as the sun goes down and take his time drinking it, just waiting for Danny to come home from work. And when Danny walks in Steve will be waiting for him dressed in his black Armani suit, the same suit that Danny had been so desperate to get him out of that morning. Steve will protest some, make Danny work for it because that’s what Danny likes. But then he’s going to let Danny do whatever he wants because an irate and horny Danny is one of his favourite things.
Steve blinks at the images his brain is supplying, feels his face warm up in response. Involuntarily he licks his lips. He wants that beer so, so much.
A sense of disappointment rolls over him. Right now Danny and that beer are a long way into his future. He’s stuck in the penthouse of a luxury Oahu hotel. And Danny’s on the other side of the island, working on a case. Steve scowls at the closed bedroom door in front of him, wishing he could see through it with willpower alone. "This guy is married with kids, right?"
Billy, his second-in-command, is sitting beside him on a giant over-stuffed couch. Billy shrugs with one shoulder, resignation written across his face.
Steve sighs and crosses his arms. His black suit jacket is tight across his shoulders, rubbing against his scarred skin. He tugs at his shirt cuffs, trying in vain to get comfortable. Every time he shifts on the couch he sinks further into it, his knees coming towards his chin.
Next to him Billy exhales through his nose.
Steve scowls at the closed door some more. On the other side of it is Rocky Tremaine: movie star, part-time musician, charity supporter, husband, father, son.
Adulterer.
"Remind me again, why are we here?"
Steve ignores his friend. Through the door they can hear high-pitched giggling, followed by Tremaine's deeper laugh. Steve ignores the urge to storm in and drag out the woman who's almost young enough to be Tremaine's daughter. Instead he gets slowly to his feet, straightens his jacket and walks over to knock twice on the door.
"Excuse me, Mr Tremaine. Your car is waiting."
The giggling cuts off abruptly. Steve goes back to the couch and sits down, hitching his pants to avoid any creases. Danny's got plans for this suit, he reminds himself. He’s going to have that beer if it’s the last thing he does today.
"Whatcha smiling about?"
Steve looks over, allowing himself a full smile. Billy studies him for a moment then rolls his eyes. Shaking his head he turns his attention back to the closed door.
It's been nearly a year since Steve met Danny. A year since he'd been knocked sideways, his life turned upside down by the whirlwinds that are the Williams family. Billy's witnessed the transformation and in the process he’s developed a high tolerance for Steve's 'goofy' faces. That doesn't stop Billy taking any opportunity to make fun of him.
"Four more days," Steve cuts in before Billy can do just that. "Four more days and this dickhead goes home.”
Billy looks unhappy again. "Not sure I can keep my hands off him that long."
Steve bites back the retort that springs to mind. "We talked about this. It's easy money. It's good money. If I want to keep the company going we have to diversify. Celebrities come to Hawaii for their vacations so—"
"Diversify? What kind of word is that? When you went on that business course I thought you were learning to keep the books straight, not taking a crash course in how to make our lives hell—”
"Billy."
Billy settles back into his seat, his lips drawn together in a mulish line. "We're getting paid by the hour, right?"
Steve's distracted by voices talking in his earpiece. Tremaine's chauffeur and personal assistant are waiting for them in the building’s underground parking lot. Steve grimaces at the high-pitched chatter. Despite several demonstrations with the equipment they haven’t got the hang of communications etiquette. "Five minutes," he bites out, clicking the earpiece off before they can reply.
"The money we'll get from this will pay everyone's salaries for a fortnight," he says, as much to himself as to Billy. "Let’s get this done."
Not waiting for an answer Steve marches to the door. Hand raised he freezes when it opens. Tremaine saunters out, one arm draped around the young woman. The bastard winks at him and slaps him on the shoulder, letting his hand linger a moment too long.
Steve stares back. He's gritted his teeth so hard his jaw is aching.
"Your car is ready, Mr Tremaine." Billy's standing by the front door of the apartment. Anyone looking at him would think he was totally relaxed. Steve knows better.
Luckily Tremaine seems oblivious to how close he is sailing to the wind. "Sweet." Sharing another wink with Billy he glides out of the room with his companion in tow. Billy mouths something at Steve and he doesn't need to lip read to know it's not complimentary.
Billy calls down to the basement to confirm they're moving. Steve follows them out, surreptitiously brushing at the fabric of his jacket, wiping away at where Tremaine had touched it. The suit is probably the most valuable thing he owns, apart from his truck.
Steve focuses back on Tremaine. Picking up the pace he catches up with them, taking point and letting Billy bring up the rear. Tremaine’s a B-lister at best, more famous for his good-looks than his acting ability. He's had his share of obsessed female groupies over the years (which just makes Steve's mind boggle) but they're not aware of any current threat. Tremaine's paid for their professional expertise though so they run through the drills, checking everyone out as they work their way down to the car.
Steve has to call on every ounce of that professionalism as they get in the car and head for the local mall. Tremaine's PA is called Justin. Justin doesn't know when to shut the hell up.
Steve envies Billy who has taken the seat upfront with the chauffeur. Steve's drawn the short straw - the seat right next to Justin. Across from them Tremaine and his companion are still wrapped around each other, the young woman snuggling up under his chin.
They’re not expecting any crowds. Tremaine was adamant that he wanted to stay low key. The large hat and dark glasses he’s chosen to bring with him aren’t unusual in a tropical location like Hawaii. But Steve hears alarm bells as soon as they turn into the road in front of the mall. There’s a crowd of women outside the main entrance and they don’t look like they’re queuing for the discount sales.
“What the holy fuck…”
Steve seconds Billy’s muttered expletives. He’s vaguely aware of the locks on the car doors clicking shut and is thankful that he’s got Billy watching his back. His attention though is on Justin sitting beside him: the man looks positively gleeful.
“What did you do?”
His suspicion is proved right as Justin’s expression turns guilty and he refuses to meet Steve’s gaze, choosing instead to stare at his phone. Steve grabs it, ignoring Justin’s shout of complaint as he scrolls through the screens. With a snort of disgust Steve tilts the screen so that Billy can see it over his shoulder. Justin’s been posting on Twitter: now the whole world knows where they are.
Steve flips the phone over and removes the battery. “Mr Tremaine, I can’t guarantee your safety if you go out there now,” he advises, stuffing the battery in his jacket pocket before throwing the phone in Justin’s lap.
Tremaine slowly unwraps himself from the woman, his irritation clear as he turns his to Steve. “You didn’t come cheap, Commander. I was told you were professional, the best, ex-special forces. If you don’t think you can manage a few excitable women then of course I will bow to your superior knowledge…”
But you can forget about your fee.
The unspoken threat hangs between them. Steve tells himself to breathe. He’s been in much tougher situations before. Much tougher. But civilian life is run with a different set of rules. And three years after leaving the Navy there are still days when he finds it hard to navigate his new world.
With a terse nod at Billy he raps out instructions to the chauffeur and Justin. If the situation goes south they stick together – and they have to listen any orders that he and Billy give. Steve’s reassured by the wide-eyed look Justin gives him: his Navy Commander voice still has its uses. The chauffeur’s onboard too, nodding as Billy gives him further instructions.
Tremaine unlocks his lips from his companion’s just long enough to roll his eyes.
Getting out of the car is surprisingly easy. Store security are outside and keeping control of the crowd. Steve sticks close to Tremaine as his client stops to sign autographs and take pictures. He’s aware that Billy’s a couple of steps behind him, covering his back. The women’s excited screams fills the air but Steve ignores them, focusing on the individuals in the crowd instead.
He scans the crowd then scans back again, his inner eye doing a double take. There’s a man in the crowd, young, dressed in a long overcoat. Steve’s sweating under his own jacket, there’s no way anyone should be wearing that many layers in this heat. Instinctively he reaches out for Tremaine, his hand hovering under his elbow, ready to pull him back.
Steve glances over at Billy. “Young guy in the crowd. Wearing a long coat. 5’ 11. Tell me if you see him.”
Billy nods, his attention instantly turning to the crowd. Steve does the same. He frowns as he realises the man’s gone and he scans the crowd again, slower this time, taking in each individual face. It’s all women, no men, but he keeps looking, instinct directing his moves.
Something’s not right.
There’s a flash of light in the crowd, gone as soon it appeared. Steve narrows his eyes, peering over people’s heads. He grabs Tremaine’s arm but Tremaine pulls away, his mouth twisted in an angry snarl.
Steve steps in front of him, raising his arm to block his way. So he’s got his back to the crowd when a shot rings out, the sound bouncing off the tall buildings. The screams that follow are deafening.
“Gun!”
Billy’s shouted warning is barely audible over the noise. Steve pulls his gun the same moment as Billy. Dropping into a crouch he covers his friend as Billy pushes Tremaine toward the car.
“Tremaine, you bastard! I know you slept with my wife!” The man in the coat is standing on the edge of the crowd, his gun pointing in the air. His eyes are wide, his pupils huge black pools in a pale face. He takes a step forward and then another, oblivious to the terrified people huddled on the ground around him.
Steve takes aim. “Put the gun down!”
“I want Tremaine!”
“Put it down!” Steve meets the man’s eyes, willing him to follow the order. He’s been in this situation before, just not in Hawaii. Angry young men with guns are rarely a good combination. Testosterone and adrenaline affect judgement. Cornered, this guy is a ticking bomb.
“I was gonna marry her, that bastard took her—".
“Put the gun on the ground and let’s talk. He’s not worth it, buddy.” As a security consultant Steve’s authorised to carry a concealed weapon. But he’s not a police officer. Or a Navy SEAL. Right now he should be calling HPD. “Put it down. Don’t make this any worse, okay?”
“Steve!”
“Go!” Steve doesn’t look over his shoulder to check what’s happening. Billy’s cursing but Steve knows he’ll get their client out of there and call in the cavalry.
The young man watches the car speed off, his eyes widening further. A young woman huddled on the ground looks up, her eyes wide with fear – and determination. Steve swears under his breath and tightens his grip on his gun but he’s already too late. As she lunges to her feet, her arms stretched out to grab the man, another shot rings out and there’s chaos again as people start running.
Steve pushes through the wall of people in front of him, holding his gun high. He catches a glimpse of the man’s face, can see him barging through the crowd. Steve follows, making it out of the crowd just in time to see his target disappear around a corner.
The streets are a maze of outdoor markets and alleyways but following him isn’t actually difficult. A man brandishing a gun gets a reaction and Steve follows the shouts of alarm. Some people helpfully point out where the suspect went. Others are taking pictures with their phones.
Idiots, he thinks, sprinting past them. “Get inside! Get safe!”
His target is fast, Steve realises, upping his own pace, lengthening his stride. His lungs protest at the sudden activity, he feels his chest start to constrict. It’s a relief when his earpiece springs to life, Billy’s voice cutting through the sound of his own laboured breathing. “HPD are on their way to your location, Steve. Keep eyes on him. Do not engage.”
“Copy that.”
“Steve…”
“He’s fired shots, Billy. Tell them to get a move on.”
Fuck Tremaine and his fucking dog allergy, Steve thinks as the suspect speeds up again, making his lungs protest even more. Max would have taken this bastard out by now. Seventy pounds of angry German Shepherd is a lethal weapon in a situation like this.
Steve digs deep, pulling on every last reserve of energy. In the distance is the Ala Wai Canal. Crowds of tourists are milling around taking pictures on their phones, oblivious to the danger approaching them. Steve sees the young man look back at him, his eyes widening as he realises just how close Steve is. He trips over his own feet and stumbles, throwing his hands out to save him. He fumbles the gun and it goes off, the sharp crack of the shot echoing off the buildings. There’s a second of silence, like the world has stood still. Then all hell breaks loose again.
The crowd of tourists ripples and expands as people run for cover and in the chaos Steve loses sight of the man again. His breath hitches, pulling at his ribs and there’s nothing he can do to stop the coughing fit that tears its way out of his lungs. Bent over, Steve blinks through the tears obscuring his vision and scans the crowd again.
“Steve! Can you hear me? HPD are two minutes out.”
Steve hefts the gun in his hand and forces himself upright. This guy he’s chasing might have been after Tremaine but he’s already let off shots in crowds of civilians. It’s only a matter of time before someone is injured or worse.
“Steve!”
“I’m here, buddy.” Steve takes a shallow breath and then another, getting just enough air in to talk. “He’s panicking, Billy. I can’t let him go.”
Billy’s voice goes distant, he’s talking to someone on the phone. Over the screams Steve hears a police siren. Soon it’s joined by several more. “HPD. They’re here,” he’s reports. The feeling of relief is immense. Lack of oxygen is making his head swim.
Suddenly the crowd in front of Steve parts and the man’s revealed, huddling on the ground, blood dripping from a cut on his head. Panic crosses his face when he sees Steve and he scrabbles to his feet, staggering crab-like towards the canal.
“Target’s moving.” Steve’s vaguely away of Billy yelling at him as he forces himself forward, grunting with effort as he gets his legs under him and covers the space between them. He tackles the man low like a line backer, his momentum driving them both towards the edge of the canal.
Steve wuffs with shock as his ribs collide with the canal wall. All the air is knocked out of his lungs. The man tries to grab Steve around the neck and pull backwards but Steve tightens his grip and they go backwards over the wall, plummeting like a dead-weight towards the water. Steve’s vaguely aware of the sky spinning above them and the shocked faces of tourists, their mouths open, eyes wide with fear. Then he’s falling backwards into the water, the weight of the man on top pushing him down.
As he goes under Steve’s last thought is that the suit Danny loves so much is going to be ruined – then pain shoots through his head and everything goes dark.