H50 Fic "Distant Shores" (2/3)

[kristen999]

The ocean is the equalizer, giver of life and death. But no matter what, she always demands respect from fishermen to sailors. Steve holds the sea in the highest regard—it's his life, and when he no longer breathes air, he hopes his ashes will find their final resting place within her waters.

He's dead tired after his dive to inspect and ultimately repair the rudder — a two-hour job that had taken eight. Not to mention unloading his gear and meeting with the captain, who relayed his orders from the admiral of the fleet regarding the next mission.

By the time he arrives at his quarters, Chin's waiting on him with food from the mess. "Knew you might have forgotten to do something."

"That better not be the ham," Steve mumbles, grabbing the tray.

"Ham? You mean from lunch?"

"Never mind," Steve answers, sitting on the bottom bunk. It's chipped beef on toast and his stomach growls angrily at him. "Chin Ho, you are an angel," he says digging in.

"Now, don't ruin my hard-fought reputation as a hard ass," Chin chuckles.

Steve grins around his spoon and swallows his chow in under five minutes.

"I've got a C-ration, if you want more," Chin jokes.

"No, thanks, but I think I have crackers hidden around," Steve says, trying to remember where he stashed them.

"You would've had those chocolate bars too, if you hadn't given them away."

"I didn't give them away. It was a diplomatic gesture."

"Whatever you say."

"Do you want the guy responsible for hauling our asses out of the fire to be happy or miserable?"

"I think Williams is a walking blimp of hot air."

"He's not bad. He saved our bacon, didn't he?"

"He's got balls—not to mention that he doesn't like to take shit from cocky, know-it-all frogmen,” Chin coughs with all the subtlety of a drill sergeant.

Steve catches himself smiling, then notices Chin smirking at him. Totally ignoring his XO, he gets down to brass tacks. "We've been allotted two beaches around Geelvink Bay."

Chin nods, crosses his arms, and leans against the bulkhead in thought. "We'll have to take the whole team out again."

"Yeah. The report shows large coral boulders. It's going to take a lot of preparation. Maybe I should inventory how many charges we have before—"

"You get some sleep? We have a whole day to go over the report and brief the team. You've rotated the platoons so they haven't conducted every mission in a row…but you've still led them all."

"It's what has to be done."

"Seventy-five missions in the last ninety days? You can't win the war single-handedly." Chin doesn't give Steve the chance to argue and pulls out the trunk under Steve's rack. "Come on, play something relaxing."

Relenting, Steve rifles through his trunk of meager belongings and pulls out a medium sized wooden box. He carries it as if it were made of glass, painstakingly setting it on the tiny desk shoved opposite their bunks.

"I can't believe that thing is still in one piece," Chin remarks, standing beside it.

Removing the phonograph, Steve secures it with the straps he's had fastened to the desk and selects a record. "If it were any bigger, I wouldn't be able to take it with me." He carefully places the needle onto an old favorite, the scratchy static morphing into a crooning voice. "My mother loved Judy Garland."

He pulls out the player whenever either of them wants to unwind. But there are those other times, the unpleasant days when Steve can't stop thinking about the war. Of all that screaming. And God, fire. On days like today, he has to clear his thoughts and bury those memories down deep, and the familiar records from his childhood give him that small reprieve.

Diving helps, but Steve can't dive now. Chin understands; he shares the same nightmares. He gives Steve's shoulder a squeeze before climbing onto the top bunk. "If you look under your pillow, you might find some new crosswords. They're from a few months ago and I had to erase the previous answers, but they should do the trick."

Steve shakes his head and climbs into his bunk, grabbing the news rag. "Mahalo, brother."

"Anytime, brah."

***

It's a half an hour before the debriefing and Steve finds a nice spot on the fantail to finish one of his crosswords. A heavy exhaustion kept the dreams at bay for once, and last night, he actually caught a few winks. It's going to be non-stop the next three days, and for these moments, he empties out his head of anything but the answer to seventeen down.

"Seriously? Are you always here? Do I need to find a new spot?" Danny barks, ambling over to take a seat across from Steve.

"Not many on a ship this small," Steve says with a shrug. "And I hate to break it to you, but if you're trying to find some peace and quiet, the only good place for that is under the water."

"Not everyone loves the ocean."

"You're in the Navy and you don't like the ocean?

"I like boats and I like being above the sea, not below it."

Steve makes a noncommittal noise before returning to seventeen down. It's the last themed clue and he doesn't like to leave things unfinished.

"What's with you and crosswords?" Danny asks, giving Steve's arm a slight bump.

Steve hides a smile. "I like puzzles.”

"That's it?" Danny leans back but never takes his eyes off Steve.

"They help me clear my head." It's one of the few things that can. Steve squints at the newsprint then back up at his companion. "You're from Jersey, right?"

"What gave it away?" Danny snorts, rolling his eyes.

"Besides the attitude?" Steve says with a sideways glance. "What's a New Jersey seaside resort destination including the massive Berkeley Carteret Hotel?"

"That's easy. Asbury Park."

The number of boxes match up and Steve pencils in the answer "You're right."

"Don't act so surprised."

"I'm not," Steve says, getting to his feet. "Come on. We've got a debriefing to go to."

***

The destroyer group shells the island of Biak non-stop for twelve hours, but it doesn't do much good. They come under heavy machine gun fire as they approach the shore.

Before he sets up over the side, Steve walks over to Danny, who is busy overseeing that the landing craft comes to a full stop. "Stay put this time. We can't return to the Barr if our ride back is shot full of holes."

"Don't blow yourself up," Danny yells as Steve walks away.

"Only plan on blowing up coral," Steve yells back and dives.

***

Steve swims, tugging a tiny rubber boat the size of small surfboard filled with explosives, while the Barr fires on the beach. Their target is a giant set of coral reefs spanning the length of a football field.

The five teams split up, and over the course of three hours, set up explosives at various points along the coral. Once all the Tetrytol is planted, they spend the rest of the mission tying hundreds of detonators together into five lines of charges.

Steve swims back to the landing craft where Chin pulls him inside the boat.

"Detonating on my mark!" Steve yells after climbing back on board. "Three... two... one... mark!"

The explosion lights up the night sky, sending giant waves to batter the landing craft.

***

The following night, they remove the remaining stubborn chunks of coral.

Three days later, the marines land on the beach they'd just cleared while Steve's team maps the coastline ten miles further north.

He takes a break and goes onto the fantail, taking with him a book he's had dog-eared on page twenty-nine for weeks. Williams is there, rolling his eyes at him while nattering on about defective nails. Or nuts. Or something.

Steve watches Danny's hands as his fingers punctuate every word in emphasis. He enjoys how Danny can make even the most mundane things exciting.

And Steve gladly sets down Midnight on the Orient Express and forgets about reading it.

***

Over the course of eighteen days, they go on sixteen missions, including setting up a spotlight on a reef two hundred yards from shore to help with more precise bombings.

Danny is already on the fantail when Steve arrives minutes before sunrise, and for once, he doesn't use the time to complain about supplies or how he wants to punch the deck officer in the face.

"So, tell me," Danny starts off. "What do the tattoos on your left arm mean? That is...if you want to tell me...since you know...I'm well aware how sensitive some people are about that type of stuff."

Steve rarely talks about his tattoos, but for some reason, his usual need to keep his reasons private don't seem like such guarded secrets out here. "I was stationed at Pearl. It's where I met Chin...we were there during the bombing." Despite all Danny's hot air, the man's face is a canvas of emotion. His features soften; his eyes regard Steve with a melancholy type of fondness that forces Steve to look away.

"But I've lived on the island before. My father was in the Navy. He was transferred to the fleet at Pearl in '34 and planned on retiring there." Steve's voice trails off, his mind elsewhere. He fumbles for a cigarette, lets it dangle from his lips before the click of a Zippo rouses him and he allows Danny to light his smoke. "Thanks," Steve mumbles.

"So, those designs are Hawaiian?" Danny asks.

"Yeah, they are. In island culture, a tattoo is called an uhi. It actually means a covering. See in Hawai'i, tattoos are symbolic, hinting at your status in society. The more intricate and defined, the higher your status."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"It's not like that anymore, but they're more than decorations. They mean something to the owner. Symbols for protection or warrior status."

"And yours?"

"Based on a set of Hawaiian rune stones of a friend of mine." Steve traces up his bicep, ghosting the greens and blues ink of his skin. "These are petroglyphs of the elements. The sea and wind. And this—" He crosses over the middle of the design. "This is an animal totem for a sea turtle and a shark. And these lines are actually tiny geometric shapes and patterns reflecting protection, healing, and life."

He clears his throat, half-expecting to see Danny's eyes glazed over in boredom, but is surprised to find Danny studying Steve's designs with intensity. Steve doesn't say a word when Danny broaches his personal space and leans in closer, his dog tags clanking together.

Steve goes perfectly still, his heart pounding. Danny's fingers hover over one of the swirling patterns as if to trace it, but then he snatches his hand back at the last second. Steve slowly rubs his fingers over the spot that Danny didn't touch and watches Danny's eyes grow bigger.

Danny straightens, but doesn't move away. He swallows as if catching his breath. "Thank you for telling me."

Steve nods, feeling slightly vulnerable and exposed after revealing something so personal. Words don't feel right at the moment and he pulls out another cigarette and lights it.

He and Danny simply sit together in easy silence until the bell for morning mess.

***

A week after they cleared the beach for the marines to land on the western shore of Wakde-Sarmi, they get assigned obstacle clearing duty twenty miles further south.

The entire team crams into the debriefing room to go over the next mission. It's hot and stuffy, the two portable fans circulating the same recycled air. Steve's undershirt is glued to his skin and he drinks from a canteen as Chin goes over the last details using the slide projector.

"As you can see, we're going to have come up this narrow strait of Maffin Bay," Chin explains, going over the maps. "The enemy has erected lines of heavily braced posts near the shore abreast of the beaches. We're going to come ashore and plant our charges right on the posts then blow them all to hell." Clicking off the projector, Chin carefully scans the room. "Any questions?"

Steve studies his men and sees only bold determination in their features. Danny looks about to bust a gut with the need to break Steve's balls about something, but is respectful enough to wait until everyone is dismissed.

"What is it?" Steve asks as Chin comes over to stands next to them.

"Have you read the latest weather report? They're expecting really rough tide. I know you guys are strong swimmers, but Mother Nature is tougher than all of you.”

“We'll be fine,” Steve assures him.

“Oh, you'll be fine,” Danny laughs. “I must've missed the part where you guys became impervious to the weather. Excuse me.”

“It's called practice, Danny. We do this every day.”

“You actually practice wrestling storms? Wow. That's some feat. Getting them to submit for you.”

"Let me ask you this," Steve counters crossing his arms across his chest. "Can you steer the landing craft under bad conditions? I mean, if you can't, tell us now and we'll—"

"Excuse me?” Danny crosses his arms as well. “Can I steer the landing craft under such bad conditions? I'm the best boatswain on this ship."

Chin rolls his eyes at the both of them and shakes his head at Steve, then points at his watch in a hurry-it-up motion.

Steve gives Chin a dirty look and releases a sigh. "You are the best boatswain on this ship, Danny. Which is why you're on our team, because we're the best. And if we all do our parts, we'll get the job done."

Danny puffs out his chest in pride. Chin grins like a damned fool, claps Steve and Danny on the back, and steers them out of the room. "Come on, boys; let's go clear the way for the jarheads to land."

***

It's a common misconception that strong undertow can pull someone under the surface of the water; in reality, the current is strongest at the surface. The wind pushes water toward the shore, forcing the waves sideways. It's grueling battling such forces and nearly impossible to swim against a riptide.

That's what kills swimmers.

Steve relaxes, treading water to conserve energy. If he fights the rip, it'll win. Exhaustion is the enemy out here, so he keeps the tiny raft of explosives close, tightening the rope around his hand. Chin's several meters away, floating along the current, keeping his supplies as steady as possible.

After an hour, the rip loses strength, and Steve and his team swim in a diagonal direction toward shore. There are strands of barbed wire placed across the inshore and secured by the beach obstacles just below the high tide mark. It's meant to slow-down assaulting troops, making them machine gun fodder.

Steve swims below the wire, skirting the sandy bottom toward his objective, noting that they'll have to come back out tomorrow to clear away the detritus. He scrabbles ashore and secures his fins to a clip hanging from his belt.

The anti-boat barricade is made of palm logs ten feet high and coconut-palm logs shaped into a wide V, each log secured in place with wire and soft steel fasteners.

In less than three hours, his team places just over a thousand demolition charges. It takes a combination of support fire from the destroyers, focus, and a bit of luck, but Steve's team finishes their goals and return to the sea.

Maybe it's too many days of little to no sleep. Or maybe he's just too damn fatigued from the swim to shore. Whatever the reason, Steve has a hard time fighting the current pounding the beach. He changes direction and forgets about the barbed wire. He sees it at the last possible second and tries diving below it, but ends ups slicing his right leg on part of it.

God, it hurts; a hot rush of pain spreads across his calf, pulsating and warm. He swims toward the boat, although it might as well be a hundred miles away.

Steve must've have lagged pretty far behind because Chin's suddenly beside him. "You okay?"

"Cut...my leg...on the wire."

Steve treads water while Chin uses his flashlight to send out an emergency signal. "I'll stay with you until the pick up."

Steve knows better than to argue with Chin Ho because it's a waste of oxygen. But Steve's not going to just wait around; he flips over and does the backstroke. He doesn't get far, not with the current. It's fruitless gesture that Chin ignores because they both know how much Steve despises feeling helpless.

Soon the landing craft is within range, and Chin and two others help pull Steve on board.

His men make room, each giving him a pat on the shoulder while Chin helps him hop toward the aft while Danny yells about bleeding all over his boat.

"We need to set off the charges," Steve yells over all the fussing about his leg.

"I've got it, don't worry. Just wanted to make sure you didn't cut your leg in half," Chin admonishes before taking over.

PO3 Hickman applies pressure to Steve's leg with a clean rag he got from somewhere. "This might hurt, sir," the kid says.

Hickman is all of twenty-one, a son of a Indiana butcher and a damn fine frogman.

"I'm good," Steve mutters, but smiles at the young man. "Thanks, you're doing great."

"Fire in the hole!" Chin yells, setting off the charges with the rest of the team.

And for a second, it's like the Fourth of July.

***

A corpsman takes over when they return to the Barr and Steve's brought to the tiny infirmary to have his leg examined. He feels a bit lightheaded but that could be from the adrenaline crash. Someone sticks an IV in his arm and strips away his swimming trunks while he squints into the harsh overhead lights.

Steve answers the corpsman's questions, and before he can ask any of his own, the doc holds up a syringe. "You're going to need stitches, Lieutenant, so just lie back while I give you something for the pain."

His leg goes numb along with his entire face. Steve slurs asking for a status report on the mission and conks out five seconds later.

***

Steve wakes up with twenty-six stitches to his calf and a mouth that feels like it's been stuffed with cotton balls.

"At least there wasn't any tendon or muscle damage," Chin tries consoling him later.

Except Steve is out of commission for fourteen days. That doesn't stop him from sulking because he hates being laid up. "Don't tell me this will give me a chance to catch up on paperwork," he growls at his XO.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Chin says, smirking.

"I'm still taking part in the briefings," Steve tells him, trying to find a comfortable position and failing.

Chin's a good sailor and a fine frogman. Steve trusts him to lead the missions in his absence, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"How long before you can return to quarters?" Chin asks.

"Tomorrow morning,” Steve sighs.

Chin has the gall to chuckle at Steve. "I'll warn the staff."

Steve balls up a piece of paper, throws it at Chin's retreating back, and misses.

***

Steve reads intelligence reports on the ongoing campaign and catches up on the European front. Last week's invasion of Normandy has everyone clamoring for updates. Tomorrow is June 20; it would have been his dad's birthday.

"Wow, you don't do anything by halves," Danny whistles, waving a hand over Steve's bandaged leg. "Doesn't look like you'll be swimming any time soon."

"The gash isn't that deep. They're taking the stitches out next week."

"You, my friend, should take advantage of the downtime. There are enough beaches to clear, I assure you.”

Danny must be off-duty because he's got a dingy white undershirt and dark blue shorts on. He even has some pep in his step, which only annoys Steve even more.

"Is there a reason why you stopped by or is this some kind of payback for bleeding on your boat?" Steve grumbles.

"No, I hosed her down as soon as I got a chance. I actually came bearing gifts," Danny says, pulling out a stack of paper that's he's got tucked under his arm and dropping it on Steve's lap. "They might not be the most challenging, but I figured they're better than nothing."

Steve snags the leaves of notebook paper, scanning the penciled grids and questions written off to the side. "Did you make me some crosswords?"

"What? So? You didn't think I could read and write?"

"No, it's not that," Steve adds hastily. He pushes himself until he's sitting up more and just stares at them in awe. Because this took time and off-duty hours are a rare luxury. "You used a ruler and everything," he says astonished. "I...I don't know what to say.”

“Typically, thank you works.”

Steve's chest tightens suddenly from the sheer kindness of the gesture. He looks up at Danny, licks his lip, his voice scratchy. “Seriously. Thank you. This is the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long time.”

Danny gets this sheepish smile that's kind of endearing and he beams a little before switching to his normal hard-nosed self. "I figured you'd be bored and I still owe you for the ham thing."

"You don't owe me anything," Steve mumbles, the silence stretching long and heavy.

"Yeah, well. I've got to go," Danny clears his throat, hooking a thumb behind him. "Not everyone can just lounge around in bed all day." He grins and lingers a few seconds before leaving.

Steve grabs a pencil off the clipboard by his bed and scans the first seven-letter question.

Another word for people who need to be placed in straightjackets.

"Seriously," Steve snorts, writing 'f-r-o-g-m-e-n' in the carefully created boxes.

***

Danny misses shaving cream, beer, and real eggs for breakfast—not the powdered crap. He longs for sleeping a whole night without engine noise or bombs going off. Most of all, he misses Grace asking him to read her a bedtime story, or how she gets up at the crack at dawn waiting for the milkman.

It's the middle of July and they've moved on to the Mariana Islands and it's absolutely miserable on board. It's like a sauna even with the ocean breeze; he might as well walk around without clothes. He counts going out with UDT-7 at night as a small blessing since it saves him from roasting outside during peak times.

After he returns from a mission, he likes to take advantage of the time to sit outside and watch the sunrise.

Erwin is out on the fantail with him after spending the whole night supporting Danny's latest mission with his guns. "I hear we're gonna have some major air support soon."

"From where?" Danny asks, walking toward the railing.

"Another carrier has been assigned to the group. All those extra Navy planes should help soften up all the machine gun nests."

God, Danny hopes so. The fortifications and resistance have been fiercer and fiercer these last few weeks. The Japs have had time to dig in and hold their positions.

Sometimes it feels like the war will never end.

Erwin stretches out on the deck, pillowing his head with his arms. "Did you hear they wanted to transfer the LT to another UDT team?"

Danny snaps his head around. "What?" McGarrett hadn't mentioned anything to him.

"They increased the size of UDT-9 and wanted a more experienced guy to take over. The LT even butted heads with the admiral about it until he got his way." Erwin slaps Danny on the back. "Man, UDT-7 is going to be legendary!"

"Legendary meaning self-destructive?"

"Hey, McGarrett has one of the highest success rates among the units."

"That's because the guy is relentless and has a death wish."

"I don't understand you, Boats." Erwin sits up, stretching and popping his lanky limbs. "You act like you hate working with the guy, but then you're one of the reasons why the team's successful. If LT couldn't count on you, then do you think he'd do all the crazy shit knowing you didn't have his back?"

Danny's never thought of it that way. "You know, for a farm boy, you're pretty smart."

"Ha ha. You're a fucking gas, Boats." Erwin finishes his smoke, resting his bony elbow on his equally bony knees. "You know, yesterday was my birthday. Just sayin'."

"I thought it was July 3rd?"

"Today's the 5th."

Where were the days going?

Feeling like a buffoon, Danny runs a hand through his wind-blown hair. "I'm sorry, man."

"I've got some fermented grape juice in my bunk." Erwin flicks his cigarette butt over the rail. "Drink a few shots with me to make up for it, why don't ya?"

"That makes you what, twenty? You're not old enough to drink."

"I'm old enough to die, ain't I?

Danny clamps his mouth shut, but Erwin's all smiles. "Come on, it'll help us sleep."

"Sure, I'll be right behind you."

Glancing around the fantail, Danny searches for a familiar head of dark hair and realizes he's disappointed the lieutenant isn't there.

***

Danny startles awake to sound of someone pounding on the hatch, and before he can rub the grit out of his eyes, Erwin is out of his rack and standing at full attention. "Officer on deck."

McGarrett strides inside like he owns the place. "Come on, we have a briefing in an hour."

"What time is it? Didn't I just go to bed?"

And drink grape paint thinner?

"It's 0800," McGarrett barks, "and it's been three hours, so let's go."

"Wait...what's the big rush?" Danny bitches, stumbling out of his bunk. "Is this because we actually got back before dawn last night?"

"No. We've got a daylight mission that we have to brief, prepare, and begin by 1200."

"Did you just say daylight? As in not under the cover of night?"

"If I round you up some coffee, do you think your brain can function at a higher level than this?"

Danny actually drops his snappy retort at the mention of nectar of the gods. "You sneaky bastard. That's how you're able to become Aquaman. You have coffee!"

Erwin still stands at attention, his eyes large as saucers at how Danny speaks to an officer.

McGarrett's finally notices the beanpole and waves a hand at him. "At ease."

Grabbing his dungarees, Danny hurries to put them on and snags a shirt. He gives it a sniff to see if it's clean enough before sliding his arms through. "Who did we piss off to warrant such a shit assignment?"

"No one. The admiral asked and I said yes."

***

Danny wonders—when he goes home, will he be able to fall asleep without the sound of heavy gunfire?

The destroyers are at it again, bombarding the beach with thousands of pounds of ammo. To be honest, the shore should be a smoking crater, but their targets are the heavily fortified pillboxes and machine gun nests.

He's still seething that McGarrett agreed to this. Okay, so an LT doesn't say no to an admiral. But Danny's sure Steve didn't put up a fight either. Once the briefing is done, Danny is ready to lay him into him with his true feelings about a daylight mission, but for once, he's cut short.

"I know your objections," McGarrett says before Danny can open his mouth. "For the record, there have been dozens of successful daylight UDT operations. There are a thousand marines who are about to be outflanked if we don't open another way from the west. The beach is littered with mines and it's our job to clear them so reinforcements can land."

McGarrett's whole body is a knot of tension, his expression chiseled from concrete. But his eyes give him away. Normally, they're hazel with bits of vibrant green, and now, they're gray and flat and dangerous.

"Aye, aye, sir," Danny snaps and watches McGarrett practically storm off, yelling 'make a hole' at anyone in his way.

"What's eating him?" Danny asks Chin, who's done his best to become part of the bulkhead.

"On most missions, we're under the gun, whether it's mapping or clearing away obstacles. But it's an entirely different type of pressure when there are already boots on the ground, and the faster we do our job, the faster those guys will get help." Chin lets out a sigh and looks Danny directly in the eye. "There's nothing more gut wrenching than knowing people are dying and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

Between Chin's words and McGarrett's eyes, their gung-ho attitudes suddenly makes sense to Danny. And maybe he understands a little bit more about what makes McGarrett tick.

And why Chin and McGarrett share a bond that no one else does.

The mission only requires taking one platoon out; the fewer boats, the less likely they'll be seen.

Danny straightens to attention and gives Chin a quick salute. "I'll be sure to get us there and back without incident, sir."

***

A rocky hill of sand makes for good cover and Danny lands the boat onto the beach and checks that his flak vest is fastened in all the right places, ignoring the pang of guilt that the rest of the guys don't wear any.

It's going to be tough taking this beach. Everything is on a steep incline, which is good news for the platoon. The Japs' bunkers are so deeply entrenched, they probably can't see the shore, but it's going to be hell on the marines.

McGarrett's team crab around defusing mines, and Danny's not one to cower behind cover. He's not trained in explosives, but he can help clear away the deactivated mines or grab supplies or tools.

And when some asshole sniper starts taking crack shots at them, Danny doesn't panic. He races to the landing craft and grabs his M1 rifle. "Where is he?" he yells at his gunner's mate.

Donnie lines up his machine gun, smacking his gum in the process. "Just up that ridge," he says in a heavy Yonkers accent.

When the sniper takes a few more shots, Donnie opens fire at the hill line. Of course, one sniper becomes three or four, and like hell is Danny going to let any of his frogmen get picked off. He grabs his rifle and aims at the ridge where the crack-bangs are coming from while Donnie unloads at one of the pillboxes high above the beach.

"Don't worry, Boats. The Japs are just bored; you can tell they're too far up the hill to get a decent shot," Donnie says between gum smacking.

"Still doesn't mean they might not get lucky," Danny growls.

"I've got this," Donnie says, pushing Danny down with his hand then blazing up the hillside with his machine gun.

Danny's other seaman radios the Barr with coordinates for more precision shelling.

When McGarrett and his platoon start scrambling back, the snipers decide to play target practice. Danny takes aim again, providing cover fire alongside Donnie. Between the two of them, they distract the snipers long enough for the platoon to pile inside.

"Go, go, go!" Danny yells at his helmsman as they get the hell out of Dodge.

***

Hours later, back on the fantail, Danny stands staring at the ocean, his body still quaking from adrenaline. McGarrett joins him three minutes later, followed by Chin.

"Reinforcements will be landing on the beach in four hours," McGarrett says, breaking the silence. He pulls out his pack of smokes, his fingers trembling slightly as he taps one out. He looks at Chin, then at Danny, his voice rough. "Good job, guys."

Chin nods and pats McGarrett on the shoulder, then gives Danny a wan smile and claps him on the back as well. The three of them stare off at the sea, sharing each other's comfortable exhaustion.

***


Danny returns to his regular duties during a lull in between missions. It means days of normal mundane work, but fewer outings with UDT-7 means they're not making advancements.

He just wants to wake up one day to find out they've won the war.

A tropical storm is approaching, which is the last thing he wants to deal with. Danny considers jumping overboard, but then again McGarrett would probably try to rescue him and get hurt or killed in the process and piss Danny off even more for ruining everything. How does he know this? Because McGarrett is everywhere. Considering the fact officers and enlisted are fairly segregated, he still runs into the man on a daily basis. Off duty or not.

"Hey!"

Speaking of. Danny speeds up a bit, which is difficult with the ship rocking back and forth in the rough seas.

"Hey, Boats!"

Before Danny can duck into another passageway, McGarrett grabs his elbow. "Are you deaf? I've been yelling for you."

"I have to get above deck and secure every landing craft and boat before they all get washed to sea."

McGarrett is the handsy type, yanking Danny in another direction. "Well, you have time for a quick detour first."

"No. No, I don't, Lieutenant. Just in case you haven't noticed, we're about to be hit with seventy knot winds and ten-foot swells."

"We'll be quick, I promise."

McGarrett drags Danny by the arm toward one of the gear compartments. The ship lurches hard and the two of them smack the opposite bulkhead. Danny has adapted to the sea, dealt with fierce chop hundreds of times, but even he's getting slightly seasick as the ship bounces over the bumpy waves.

But he follows McGarrett into the supply room to get the task over with so Danny can secure everything above deck, and secondly, well, because McGarrett is actually giddy about something and it's nice to see him this excited.

McGarrett pulls open the door and Danny follows him toward a set of crates.
"Look what I found," McGarrett grins, pulling out pieces of ratty rope.

Danny rubs his eyes to see if he's missing something. "It's the remains of a net."

"Yes, it is," McGarrett beams.

"Unless you plan on catching crab, I don't understand."

"If we sew pieces of these together, we can use them to transport more tools and equipment."

"Like a net bag?"

"Exactly. I can only carry so much on my belt, but these...we could haul more items and not depend on returning to the boat as often to resupply."

It's a good idea, no doubt, but Danny can't believe he's been kept from duty over net bags. But McGarrett's has this ridiculous happy expression and his enthusiasm over the whole thing is too much to crush.

Before Danny can give him a pat on the back, the skipper starts yelling over radio. "All Hands to General Quarters. This is not a drill. I repeat, All Hands to General Quarters. Batten all hatches and prepare for incoming tropical storm!"

Danny's actually ahead of McGarrett, running toward the door—just as it's slammed in his face. "No, wait!" he yells.

It's too late.

The door is dogged closed, and no matter how hard McGarrett yanks on it or how loud they yell, they're sealed in.

***

"Come here, Boats. I got something to show you. No, don't worry about your duty or that the deck officer is going to put your ass in a sling. Or that we're trapped during battle stations where no one will hear us!" Danny rants.

He paces back and forth, and with each pass, his voice gets louder. "Do you know how much shit I'm going to get for not securing the top deck? Not to mention how much I'm going to have to kiss the deck officer's ass from now on?"

"I'll talk to him."

"No. No, you will not, because you'll just make it worse."

"I'm the third ranking officer on this ship. He'll do what I say, so don't worry about it."

"Worry? What about the fact that a Lieutenant and Boatswain's Mate have been trapped in a gear locker? Do you know have much scuttlebutt that's going to make for weeks — no, months to come?"

"I don't care about scuttlebutt,” McGarrett hisses.

"Yeah. Well, I do."

McGarrett's whole body is rigid as a mountain. Gone is the goofy smile and the soft smirk. Danny releases a sigh and takes a seat on the deck, digging in his heels as the ship is tossed about like a toy.

***

It's been half an hour of nauseatingly violent seas. Danny tries not to look at the bulkhead, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat.

"So, how long have you been serving?" McGarrett asks out of the blue.

“Almost three years.”

“Wow. And you're a PO3? Good for you.”

“Yeah, being a loud mouth from Jersey has its advantages in the Navy,” Danny grins. I even joined on Dec 8, 1941." McGarrett's eyes grow wide in surprise. Danny figured they would. “I went to the recruitment center the day of the bombing, but I had to wait until Monday after war had been declared before I was allowed in."

"I had no idea you volunteered that early," McGarrett says in admiration.

"Yeah. I couldn't find a steady job to save my life," Danny admits with a shrug. "I'm trained as carpenter, but no one can afford a house let alone get one fixed. I did odd jobs or waited at the corner and offered myself to the lowest bidder for day work. But there were a lot of us."

McGarrett grimaces. "That's rough, man."

"The Navy gives me a place to sleep, three squares a day, and I send my pay back home. My brother, Matt got a 4F from the Army. He has permanent limp from polio, but still delivers the newspapers. He has a wife and two kids to care for, so they live with her grandparents."

"You help them out?"

"Yeah. Not to mention my sister's husband died in a fire at a meat packing plant. She moved in with me and my parents. My niece, Grace...she's the greatest. I've basically raised her since she was born."

"I'm sorry."

"Every September, there's this big fair. Everyone gets dressed up and goes. Gracie loves it." Danny beams at the memories. "Her favorite thing is to go on the Ferris wheel. This is the second time I'll miss taking her since I left. I'm doing this for them. Not only the money, but you know. The war. To keep them safe."

Steve fidgets with his watch, his eyes never looking up. "And after?"

"The war?" Danny asks.

Steve flicks his gaze up. "Yeah."

"I dunno.” Danny hasn't given it much thought. “It's a steady job. Maybe if I can get transferred stateside. I have to be there for Grace...but I can't think about that right now." The room shifts at a sharp angle and Danny keeps steady by planting his shoes into the deck. When the ship levels off, he watches McGarrett's haunted listless gaze. "What about you?" Danny asks. "You got any family?”

"I have a sister in California; she married some winemaker." McGarrett pulls out his nearly empty pack of smokes. "My mom died when I was young. Complications from polio." He stares at the pack and shoves it back into his shirt pocket. "And my father...he died on the Arizona."

There it is, the reason for all that hell-bent determination. Danny doesn't know what to say and McGarrett's eyes are dulled of their normal vibrancy.

Danny opens his mouth to offer sympathy, but McGarrett keeps talking in this hoarse whisper, staring off in space. "I was on a forty-eight hour pass and on my way back to the yard when the bombing started...I can still smell burning metal...and all the screaming and crying..."

"Hey." Danny grabs McGarrett's shoulder, rubbing his thumb softly in one spot. "That sounds horrible."

McGarrett flinches at the touch, like he's forgotten where he is, his eyes skirting around the room before landing on Danny's face. He shifts, wipes a hand over his mouth, and sucks in a deep breath. "Yeah, it was. But it's over."

Maybe. But Danny knows better. "Now you're out here getting some payback."

"This isn't about payback, Danny. Think about all those who were drafted or volunteered like you did. They don't want to die. Just like all those Japanese holed up on every island we bomb don't want to die. They have a job to do and so do we."

"So all the crazy shit you do isn't for revenge?"

"It's about ensuring all those marines have a fighting chance." McGarrett's eyes go dark and flat again, his hands balled into fists. "It's about ending the war, so no more people have to die. So there are no more Pearl Harbors. I've been in the Navy since I was eighteen. It's my life. It's what I do."

"Hey, hey, I get it," Danny says, resting a hand on McGarrett's chest. But his words aren't getting through because McGarrett's all riled up and twisted in knots. "Steve," Danny says to get his attention.

McGarrett locks his gaze with Danny's and his breathing eases up. "That's the first time you've ever used my name."

Danny hates the fact he's never been able to. "Technically, I can't."

"Officially you're not allowed. But off-duty.” Steve hesitates, his face paling slightly before looking away. “You could...if you wanted to."

"If I wanted to?" Danny chuckles because he doesn't know how else to react to Steve's sudden shyness. "I'll keep that in mind."

They've been so busy walking down memory lane that Danny hasn't noticed the ship isn't being tossed around as much.

By the time he scrambles to his feet, a mechanic's mate has opened the door and sticks his head in. "Boats? Have you been here the whole time?"

"Yes, yes, we have."

Steve wanders over and the kid does a good job of hiding how hilarious he finds the situation. "Lt. McGarrett. The Captain wants to talk to you."

"Thanks, I'm on my way," Steve says before nodding goodbye at Danny.

Once McGarrett's gone, the mechanic's mate gets the biggest shit-eating grin. "Boats, the deck officer's been looking for you. Can't wait to see the look on his face when you tell him you got dogged in a gear room with the lieutenant."

Danny really, really hates his life right now.

"Conclusion"

Comments

[abbeyrd62561.livejournal.com]

What a fantastic story this is turning out to be I am really enjoying it so much. I love this AU!

[kristen999.livejournal.com]

Thank you!!!

[tridget.livejournal.com]

This was just as wonderfully delightful as the first chapter. The relationships are so well drawn and I like the role Chin has here, too. The increased intensity of the war effort and the unveiling of more layers to Danny and Steve's character in this AU really pulled me into drama of this chapter.

I really love the sweetness of the simple pleasures they enjoyed - music and used crossword puzzles - and I adored Danny making them for Steve.

Beautifully done.

[kristen999.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much hon. I worked a lot of the pacing and trying to weave their jobs and off-time in and out to give the reader a richer feel for their lives.

I could only imagine what would be com luxuries in a ship like that and I felt things like crosswords and music would be life savers.