Work Text:
Steve McGarrett is proud of how he’s adapted to civilian life in the eight years since he returned to Hawaii. More importantly, he takes pride in how he’s grown as a cop. It’s not just about learning the rules and regulations – his time in the Navy prepared him for that. Neither is it about knowing when to apply those regulations – Danny’s been an exceptional role model when it comes to that.
It’s about persuading by using empathy and self-awareness. It’s about listening and questioning instead of taking someone’s word. It’s about knowing when a gentle hand will be more effective than a clenched fist. Or when a softly spoken word will be more effective than a loaded Sig Sauer P226.
He’s pretty sure his dad would be proud of him, of the cop he’s become. When he gives himself time to think about it - what his dad would say if he were still alive – his heart fills with love and quiet satisfaction. For the first time in his life he’s not striving to prove himself: he feels like he’s where he’s supposed to be.
Right now, he doesn’t give a damn about any of that. He’s annoyed as hell because he’s stuck chasing a suspect when there’s somewhere else he needs to be.
Sucking in a breath, Steve stretches his legs and digs deep. The gap between them quickly disappears. The suspect lets out a huff of surprise when he’s grabbed by his jacket collar and launched into the air. His legs fly out in front of him, his arms flail in a wasted effort to regain his balance. His ass hits the concrete sidewalk, his shoulder blades making touch down a second later. There’s a cracking noise as the back of his head lands too.
For a second the suspect’s winded. He stares up at Steve, his eyes glazed. Awareness rushes back in and he scrambles to his feet; he’s startlingly fast for someone who’s just been dumped onto concrete from a height of five feet.
Steve grabs him, just below the elbow. Hooking his foot around the suspect’s ankle he pulls him over. With his leg swept out under him the suspect tilts dangerously to one side. Miraculously, he recovers, lifts his arm ready to take a swing at Steve. Steve pauses for a split-second, running through his options. Impatience overrides caution: he plants his fist in the suspect’s face.
The suspect lets out a high-pitched scream. Steve shakes his head to stop the ringing in his ears. The suspect curls on his side, trying to crawl to a safe distance. Cursing, Steve grabs the front of his jacket and hauls him to his feet.
“Tell me what the password is.”
White-faced and sweating, the suspect doesn’t answer. Blood is trickling from his nose.
Steve pulls him closer, looms into his face. “Tell me.”
The suspect goes to shake his head then winces. “On my phone,” he stammers, self-preservation finally kicking in. “I keep it on my phone.”
Steve rolls his eyes. The stupidity of criminals never ceases to amaze him. Releasing one hand, he pats down the suspect’s pockets. The phone, when he retrieves it, does indeed contain the password to a people trafficker’s database of contacts. Steve lets go of the suspect’s jacket; the man drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes. As Steve reads him his rights and cuffs him he lets out a moan.
“Next time, don’t run,” Steve advises. Glancing at his watch, he huffs impatiently. Hands on hips, he turns to look back down the street he’s just run along.
The euphoria he usually feels after a successful chase is missing. His heart yearns to be elsewhere. So he’s relieved when Junior appears in the distance. A few moments later Tani appears, close behind. There’s another gap – a much longer one – and Grover appears too.
“That guy was fast.” Junior grins at Steve, clearly impressed with his boss’s turn of speed. Tani raises an eyebrow as she takes in the suspect still curled on the floor, his hands protecting his nose.
Steve shrugs as Grover finally joins them. “His fault,” he says, throwing the suspect’s phone to Grover. “This idiot’s stored the password on there.”
Grover catches it – just. His chest is heaving as he tries to get in air. “Backup,” he manages, resting his hands on his knees. “Wait for backup.”
Steve allows himself a small smile: Lou sounds like he’s channelling Danny. Speaking of which: “I gotta go. You okay here?”
“We’re good,” Junior cuts in, already dragging the suspect to his feet. He looks like a man who’s enjoying his job. “Let’s go.”
Grover waits until Junior and Tani disappear from sight, the still groaning suspect propped up between them. When he turns to talk to Steve, his eyes are filled with empathy. “Tell Danny we’re thinking about him.”
Steve huffs in surprise as Lou drags him into a hug. It feels like all the air’s being squeezed out of his lungs. “I will,” he promises, although he’s not sure Lou’s heard him: his face is squashed against the shoulder strap of Lou’s TAC vest.
Steve gulps in a huge breath when Lou sets him back down again. For a second he thinks his friend is going to say more. He shifts, anxious and antsy. His body’s buzzing with the overwhelming need to be moving.
Lou takes the hint. “Call if you need anything,” he orders, turning to follow the rest of the team. “That goes for both of you,” he adds, waving a finger in Steve’s direction.
Steve shakes his head, his lips turning up in a smile. He vaguely wonders if Lou’s stern voice actually works on anyone. The guy’s a giant cuddly bear; his expressive eyes give him away every time.
Breaking into a jog, Steve takes a shortcut and heads for his truck. He’s relieved it’s still where he left it. In his hurry to be done and back where he’s needed he’d abandoned it in the middle of the road. The suspect, who’d been casually sauntering down the road, really hadn’t been expecting him. The look on his face as 170 pounds of ex-SEAL thundered towards him is one Steve will remember fondly for a long time.
Making a quick stop at Uncle Mike’s fish market for takeout, he heads for the restaurant. By the time he gets there the truck’s cab has filled with the aroma of deep-fried ahi. Steve’s mouth is watering. It’s Danny’s favourite: he’s hoping it’ll have the same effect on him.
Danny’s sitting at the bar in the restaurant. Head down, he’s staring at the screen of his phone. He looks up in surprise when Steve closes the door behind him. Steve’s chest constricts painfully: Danny’s eyes are red-rimmed, his body language radiating misery.
Steve deposits the takeout bag on the bar. Pulling up a stool he sits down, tucks himself in close to Danny. “Your mom called?” he guesses, leaning his elbows on the bar so their heads are just inches apart. “How’s she doing?”
Steve kicks himself as the words leave his mouth. It’s a stupid question, the anniversary of Matt’s death is always difficult for all Danny’s family. It’s not just the date or his death. It’s the way it brings everything else that happened beforehand into sharp relief. Danny’s not the only one who’s been suffering sleepless nights again, constantly running over the what-ifs, wondering if they could have done something different, maybe saved Matty’s life.
Danny swallows hard, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down his throat. He uses the back of his hand to scrub at his nose. All Steve’s instincts are screaming at him to put his arm around Danny’s shoulder, to hold him close and tell him he’s not alone. His heart plummets with disappointment when Danny looks away, effectively shutting him out.
“Stopped at Uncle Mike’s,” he says into the painful silence that follows. “You wanna eat before it gets cold?”
Danny sniffs, then turns back to face him. The smile he’s wearing is weak at best. “Sure. You got deep-fried api in there?”
Steve gives him a look that says ‘Do I look like an idiot?’ It earns him a slightly more convincing smile but it’s still a long way from Danny’s normal warm smile, the one that makes Steve break out in goose bumps.
Steve considers calling him on it as they tuck into the food. He dismisses the thought quickly. There’ve been plenty of times in his life he hasn’t felt like talking, times he’s been incapable of explaining what he’s been going through. Sometimes just having someone there has been enough to make things bearable. He’s lost count of the number of times Danny’s been that person for him.
“We caught the suspect,” Steve offers, around a forkful of rice. “He gave up the password to the database. Lou and Tani are checking it out now.”
Danny frowns into his bowl of food. It’s untouched. “Really? I thought Duke said these guys play hardball. Someone called in the tip off what…a couple of hours ago?”
Steve stuffs a couple more forkfuls of food in his mouth. He chews as slow as he can. Eventually though it’s impossible to ignore the fact that Danny’s studying him, clearly weighing up whatever he can see on his face.
“Maybe he was feeling motivated? You know, a crisis of conscience or something.” Steve shrugs, trying not to choke as the rice gets stuck in his throat. He’s pretty sure Danny’s gonna be very unhappy when he finds out how the arrest went down. The last thing he wants to do is make Danny’s day worse.
Danny doesn’t say anything, just pushes his bowl away. Steve doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or sad. Instead he wipes his mouth and hands with a napkin and tidies up their lunch mess.
The plan for the day - before he’d received the call about the tip off from Duke – had been to paint the kitchen walls. It looks like that plan is still on. Danny starts opening tins of paint, mixing them up before offering Steve a paint roller.
Steve hesitates, before taking it. There’re so many words and feelings crowding in his head. Danny’s eyes are pleading though. The hand he’s holding the roller with is trembling.
Steve wraps his hand around Danny’s. The fingers beneath his are cold. He grips them tight, rubs his thumb over Danny’s knuckles. When the tremors finally lessen he reluctantly loosens his grip.
Danny doesn’t say anything as he hands over the roller. He looks away before Steve can say anything either. A muscle in his jaw twitches nervously.
They paint.
An hour in, Steve turns on the radio. It’s not loud but he needs something to break through the oppressive silence. Danny’s not saying anything. It’s starting to freak him out.
Unable to concentrate on the decorating, he focuses on Danny instead. Danny’s got his back to him, his strokes with the paint roller are short and sharp. His shoulders are tense, his legs braced like he’s preparing himself for a physical blow. Every third or fourth stroke he stops, stares at the wall, unseeing. Then he starts painting again, the paint roller smacking against the wall.
Steve puts down his roller down carefully. He wipes his hands on an old rag. Pursing his lips together, he exhales slowly. Then he picks his way through the paint pots, stopping to stand behind Danny.
Only a momentary hesitation with the roller tells Steve that Danny even knows he’s standing there. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between them, one that Danny’s determined Steve won’t breach.
Steve steps up, places his right hand on Danny’s shoulder. He does the same with the left. The damn paint roller finally stops mid-stroke, frozen half way up the wall.
The shoulder muscles under Steve’s fingers twitch. He tightens his grip, massaging the tense muscles with his thumbs. The roller gradually lowers, leaving a zig zag of wet paint behind it. Danny sighs, a raw and ragged sound that hurts Steve to his soul.
Steve steps forward but Danny’s already stepping back. As Danny’s back collides with his chest, his hands slip lower, allowing him to wrap his arms around Danny’s shoulders, to pull him close. They stand like statues, both staring at the wall, at the glistening wet paint.
Danny begins to shake.
They’re only tiny tremors to start with. Steve can feel them travelling through Danny’s body, little jolts of energy fighting to get out. Danny curls back into Steve’s body as the tremors get stronger, grabbing hold of his forearms and gripping tight.
Steve wraps his arms tighter around Danny, in a desperate last-ditch attempt to protect him from what’s coming next. He knows it’s a wasted effort – grief takes no prisoners, has no regard for those it hurts – but his own heart is bleeding for Danny. He knows how much it hurts, he’s been here so many times before.
Danny struggles in his grip, his head dropping down as the first strangled sob escapes. Steve holds tight, murmurs nonsense in reassurance. There’s no way in hell he’s letting Danny do this alone: he’s been there too.
Another sob follows and then another. Danny folds over into his own body as they quickly gain pace. Steve follows him down, lowering him to the floor until they’re huddled amongst the debris of building materials and paint pots.
Steve spreads his legs in a V shape, pulls Danny back into his embrace again. He can feel the grief that’s racking Danny’s body, the way he’s fighting to get in air. Helplessness hits him, makes him feel sick to his core. He’s the one who always helps people. It’s killing him inside that he can’t put this right.
Eventually Danny’s sobs lessen, become further apart. His head drops forward, he rests his face in his hands. A few hiccupped sobs escape but slowly he’s collecting himself. Steve can feel it in the way Danny’s heart beat is slowing under his right hand. His shoulders are gradually drooping, no longer rigid and tense.
“Sssh, it’s okay,” Steve murmurs, as Danny makes to pull away. His voice sounds abnormally loud in the restaurant. It’s the first thing they’ve said to each other for hours. He braces himself for rejection, for the moment his arms will be empty again. They’ve been here so many times before. He knows it’s an inevitable end.
It doesn’t come.
He blinks as Danny leans back in again. There’s a moment of hesitation – just a moment - and then Danny sighs. This time his body is pliant, his spine moulding into the curve of Steve’s chest. He reaches up to grab Steve’s arms, tugging them round so they’re wrapped around his chest. Shuffling to get comfortable, he rests his head back against Steve’s shoulder. His breathing eases into a calmer, more peaceful rhythm.
Steve breathes in the scent that is uniquely Danny. He lets himself feel Danny’s body next to his, reaches out with his senses to focus on the steady rise and fall of Danny’s chest. Gradually the feeling of helplessness makes way for a sense of well-being. Maybe he’s broadcasting what he’s feeling because Danny shifts, humming deep in his throat. Steve complies as his arms are pulled in even closer: Danny’s locking himself in, he can’t escape.
Steve feels something locked deep inside him stirring. Hope. It’s just a nugget - he’s not a naïve, romantic fool. But he loves this man like no other. One day he hopes he’ll be able to tell him that. And maybe – if he’s really lucky - Danny will feel the same way.
Right now though, he’s just gonna hold Danny damn tight.
The End