kristen999 | Fic H50 "Distant Shores" (3/3)

Steve has followed orders his whole adult life; he doesn't mind them. They, much like the Navy, provide structure. Direction. He enjoys the simplicity of it all. But sometimes, he wants to tell the admiral where he can shove it.

The Barr is headed to the Philippines after two weeks of heavy losses at Guinea. Steve doesn't like leaving things incomplete. The marines are bogged down on that hellhole of an island, and based on the beach fortifications, Steve can tell the goal was to lead the forces inland where the Japanese are entrenched in the mountains.

The job's not done, but what MacArthur wants, MacArthur gets. The Philippines are that asshole's big white whale, everyone else be damned.

But Steve's a good sailor. He'll get the job done and do it better than anyone. Steve leans on the rail of the fantail, staring out at the night sky, and wonders if his father is up there looking down at him.

***

The invasion of Leyte in the Philippines is no small task with operations every other day to recon beaches for amphibious landings. Steve splits the team into thirds, alternating missions to give his boys some needed rest. Chin takes a platoon to the northern shore of Suluan, while Steve's guys go to the southern tip.

Steve strips out of his uniform and pulls on his trunks while mentally going over the details from the briefing. He grabs the small can of black paint, stirring it with a brush until PO3 Hickman gets his ass in gear and meets him in the locker room.

He doesn't look up when hears the hatch open. "You're late, petty officer."

"Really? I wasn't aware we had an appointment," a familiar voice says.

"I thought you were Hickman," Steve answers, noticing the way Danny's bouncing on his heels. "Why are you so upbeat?"

"Today was mail day. The USS Bell joined the group a few days ago and they made sure all vessels in the area got letters and care packages from home. And I got a letter from my sister and Gracie. Granted, it's already October and it was sent in May, but I had to read it before we went out today."

"That type of stuff is distracting on a mission."

"No, it's called a morale booster, and I don't know about you, but I can be focused and happy at the same time. Some might even say that combination is helpful."

"Maybe."

"Maybe? What did you do? Stash all your mail for a day off? Oh, wait. You don't know what those are."

Steve splashes the paint all over the place as he stirs it roughly.

"Wait a minute,” Danny says in dawning realization. “You didn't get any...I mean...what about your sister?"

"I don't know, and right now, I need to prepare for the mission."

"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Danny. It's fine. We need to focus."

"Focus, huh? Like trying to blend that paint into oil?" Danny sighs dramatically, complete with an eye roll, and reaches for the paintbrush still gripped in Steve's hand. "Here, gimme that. I'll do the mapping thing."

Steve doesn't relinquish the brush at first, oddly unsure if he should. Danny won't let go of the damn thing and he gives Steve a questioning glare. "What? Am I not allowed to paint lines on you? Do I need a decoder ring or some secret frogman handshake?"

"No, you don't," Steve says, releasing the brush.

"And no, I don't need a ruler to do this, I was a carpenter."

"I trust you."

Danny pauses at hearing those words, the brush midair, drops of paint dripping into the can. His Adam's apple bobs up and down before he presses the bristles against Steve's skin right below his collarbone.

Steve holds his breath as wet paint drags across the curve of his rib, fine hairs tickling his side. Danny's hand is steady, precise. He doesn't speak, doesn't waver in his focus.

Steve watches him out of the corner of his eye as Danny traces the line around his back, crossing his spine. Steve grits his teeth, holding himself stock-still. Sweat prickles his forehead, and he balls his fists as Danny moves down six inches, carefully drawing a new line.

Danny and silence is a rarity, but Steve doesn't dare break it, the sound of his breathing filling his ears. With every new line, Steve fights his nerves and muscles. By the time Danny starts a fresh line above his hips, it takes everything in his power not to knock the brush out of Danny's hands.

Danny finishes and steps back, his steady hand shaky all of a sudden.

"Thanks," Steve grits out.

"Anytime," Danny answers in a grunt, dropping the brush back into the paint can and backing away. "I'm gonna...I've got to check on the boat."

"Yeah, good thinking,” Steve says with a swallow.

Danny's cheeks are a rosy pink and he wipes a hand across his face and literally races out of the room.

Steve releases a heavy breath and counts to ten. When Hickman finally shows up, Steve dresses the petty officer down for being late.

***

The invasion of Leyte lasts for weeks; it's an island filled with deep-water approaches and sandy beaches.

The first few incursions, Danny takes them half a mile out and Steve's platoon swims the rest of the way to map out the shore, discovering thousands of mines between the double-apron wires across the shore.

By the fourth and fifth operation, they take the landing craft all the way to the beach to clear away hundreds of metal spikes. On the sixth mission, they unload five thousand pounds of explosives to clear away the pyramid-shaped, concrete obstacles on the fringing reef.

They encounter very little resistance since the main enemy forces are holed up in concrete bunkers with machines guns.

On the east beach of Homonhon Island, Steve allows Hickman to place a sign for the amphibious forces.

Welcome Marines
Enemy two blocks north
Courtesy UDT-7

"Seriously? You had to leave a welcome message?" Danny yells.

***

By the end of October, the Japanese start sending out their kamikaze pilots to attack the group.

***

Steve's place during battle stations is on the bridge, assisting with communications and relaying orders to the crew. It makes him feel inadequate. He doesn't help load ammo or fire weapons. He's not trained as a navigator or a signalman.

It's not until the heat of battle is over that he realizes that he doesn't have a duty station on the destroyer because his team is one of the ship's weapons. The Barr's sole purpose is to transport and protect them during recon and obstacle clearing duty.

He doesn't sleep much most days and sleeps even less during the Japanese raids.

It's not until he overhears someone talking in the mess that he realizes it's Thanksgiving. There's a new set of crossword puzzles from Chin waiting for him in his rack. They're from August, old and erased, but Steve doesn't care. He takes them out to the fantail despite all warnings to stay below deck.

He's surprised to find Danny there. "Hey."

"Hey," Danny says, holding a flask up in salute. "Wondering if I'd see you out here."

"Were you, now?"

"Well, it is dangerous to be lurking about unless absolutely necessary,” Danny says with a sloppy smile and moves toward him.

"Can't be below deck all the time.”

"But below the water is different?"

"That's right." Steve doesn't mention it's one of the few times he's actually at peace.

"You were born with gills, weren't you?" Danny asks, stumbling into him. "Sorry," he says, grabbing Steve by the shoulders.

Danny reeks of sweat and cheap alcohol. Steve steadies him, allowing Danny to lean into him. It feels nice to have that solid line muscle against him. But Danny's drunk and Steve will not allow his thoughts to stray when his friend needs him. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Danny laughs bitterly, clinging to Steve. "What could be wrong? Besides the fact that we're half a world away, where I'm shot at on a weekly basis. And now we have to worry about planes crashing into the ship. So there's nothing wrong. Steve. Really."

Danny's eyes are red rimmed and puffy, and Steve wonders how many times he's read those letters from home. "Come on, let's go below deck."

Steve doesn't wait for an answer; he swings Danny's arm around his shoulders and guides him across the deck and ever so carefully down the ladders.

"My ma, she makes the best cranberry stuffing," Danny rambles, his feet fumbling for purchase. "And bakes the best squash with butter and cinnamon. You ever had baked squash, Steven?"

"Can't say that I have," Steve answers, maneuvering them both through the passageways.

Steve glares at anyone that sees them as he half-carries Danny into his quarters.

It's poker night, which will keep Chin busy for hours. Steve plops Danny down on his bunk and rubs a hand up and down his back. "You okay?"

Danny shakes his head, gripping his face between his hands. "I just miss home... Is that so bad?"

"No, man. It's not." Steve squeezes Danny's bicep and gently nudges him to lie down. "Why don't you rest? Things will seem better in the morning."

Steve removes Danny's shoes, grabs a rag, and runs it under the faucet of his tiny sink. Then he washes Danny's face clean of tears and sweat.

"This isn't my bunk," Danny mumbles.

"It's okay," Steve tells him. "Just go to sleep."

Danny's eyes keep drifting shut, but he stubbornly refuses to keep them closed. "Can't sleep in someone else's rack."

"I've got something that might help." Steve pulls out his trunk and carefully removes his phonograph. Danny watches him through heavy lids as Steve selects a record. "You like Frank, right?"

"Who doesn't?"

Steve chuckles, starting the record; he sits down on the floor and leans his head against the bulkhead. The voice of Sinatra fills the tiny room while Steve watches Danny drift asleep, wishing the two of them were anywhere but here.

When he's assured that his friend is resting comfortably, Steve quietly pulls out an envelope from his trunk and reads the only letter from Mary he has for the dozenth time.

***

The battle for Leyte is hell on Earth. Heavily forested mountain ranges and impassable roads hamper resupply chains. And if it's not supply issues, it's the jagged outcroppings, ravines, and formidable caves that bog down the invasion.

"You've got that face again," Danny tells Steve as wanders next to him for their scheduled but not scheduled smoke breaks.

"What face?"

"The one that says the war isn't going according to Steve McGarrett's plans so you're going to sulk about things that are out of your control."

"I'm not sulking,” Steve says, huffing.

"Yes, you are, and guess what?” Danny says, “You do your job and do it damn well. I don't know what else you expect of yourself."

Steve frowns, too exhausted to argue, and turns around to stare at the sea. "Christmas was two days ago."

"I'm well aware of that,” Danny says, coming to stand next to him.

"This wasn't exactly the three-week operation the brass had anticipated,” Steve growls in anger and looks at Danny.

"Since when did you start believing in timetables?" Danny asks, his expression soft. Resigned. "We lost our nineteenth ship yesterday. Another destroyer. And we'll probably lose more before the battle is over."

Tens of thousands of deaths for one island.

"I just hate feeling useless,” Steve whispers.

"You're not useless, Steve,” Danny tells him and lays a comforting hand on Steve's back. “How many more marines would have died if we hadn't mapped or cleared the beaches? The enemy is still going to be there one week or one year from now. They're not going anywhere."

If they control Leyte, they'll have the airfields to start the invasion of Japan.

The beginning of the end of the war.

Steve leans his elbows against the railing. "When did you become the wise one?"

"I've always been the wise one, babe.” The ends of Steve's mouth quirk upward at the nickname and Danny matches his grin. “But I'm wiser now because I...have this fabulous bundt cake that my sister sent me, and since I'm filled with the holiday spirit, I thought I'd share some."

Danny reveals a box he's been hiding that holds two slices of cake. "I even stole some fake maple syrup from the mess and maybe even had the cook heat it up. Because that's the type of friend I am."

The cold ocean breeze will make quick work of Danny's generosity so Steve accepts a piece of cake. It's still warm from the oven and he devours the sweet goodness in four bites.

"Thank you," Steve tells him, licking the sticky syrup from his fingers, and catching Danny staring at his mouth.

Danny clears his throat and looks Steve in the eyes. "Well, you've been kind of low of late and we can't have our fearless leader acting like a black cloud."

"This coming from you?" Steve jokes. "Guess I've been really bad."

Danny doesn't counter with another jibe. He grins at Steve and his smile helps thaw away some of the darkness that Steve's allowed to creep inside him.

***

Steve has a slight hangover from celebrating New Year's. Sadly, 1945 feels just like any other day in '44. When he reports to the captain for his newest orders, Steve doesn't expect a visiting rear admiral from the USS Revenge to be waiting for him.

After being briefed on the latest mission, he feels a thrumming in his veins, a renewed sense of purpose.

He gathers his team.

***

Secrecy and speed is of the essence as Steve ushers the top ten guys of his team into the captain's office to keep his briefing as contained as possible. Everyone files inside, grabbing seats around the table, Danny hustling in last with questioning eyes.

Steve isn't much for theatrics. "The Barr is leaving Leyte to join up with another group so that we may begin reconnaissance of Iwo Jima."

"Iwo Jima? Sounds like a vegetable dish," Danny jokes.

"It's also the first planned attack of one of the Japanese home islands," Steve continues, ignoring the remark. "Our mission is to scout for the best possible landing areas for amphibious assaults that will lead the way to capturing the island."

He notices the wide-eyes of those sitting around him and Steve knows everyone feels slightly gut-punched. Walking over to switch the lights off, he turns on the projector.

"The group is going to pound the island for two days before we go out. We expect heavy retaliation from the island defenses, so when we land, we'll be going into the middle of battle conditions."

"Just a ten-man squad for such a major operation?" Chin asks.

"We're the scout team. Once we determine good landing positions, we'll be joining two other underwater demolition teams to conduct recon and beach clearing duties."

"Isn't shelling the island hard going to give us away?" Danny asks.

"We're joining a group that's already been bombarding the island for a few days," Steve answers.

"Will we be taking a landing craft out?"

Steve's been expecting this question. "No, you'll take us out in a medium rubber boat at night. The admiral wants as much stealth as possible. The smaller the boat, the less chance of being seen."

If Danny has any fear of being left alone in a tiny boat in the middle of a sea battle, he doesn't show it.

"And what about you guys?" Danny asks, waving his hand around the table. "It's the middle of winter and that water's in the low 40s. The last month, we've been conducting shore operations."

"We'll go in and out at sixty minute intervals."

"You're not supposed to be out in those conditions for more than twenty minutes at a time,” Danny warns.

Steve holds his head up high. "We'll make do."

***

Steve finds it odd following Danny's orders, but Danny's in charge of the boat and it's his job to ensure they row in unison and at rate. Steve takes his assigned oar and they set off for shore. The Barr anchors less than a mile from the island so it'll take less than twenty minutes to get into position.

It's deafening out on the water. Fifty caliber shells sound like cannons. Multiply that by the number of guns and destroyers and forget about being able to hear. It's a nightmare being caught between both fronts. While the group pounds the islands, the Japanese fire rockets at the ships from heavy fortified caves and mountain bunkers.

All that firepower is like fireworks in the nighttime sky, providing bursts of light that could give away their position if they were in anything bigger. The tracer fire actually helps them during the recon since they can only use low-powered flashlights.

Danny hand signals an all-stop, then drops the anchor and readies his weapon.
Steve is always the first one in the water, and just before he dives, Danny grabs his arm, telling him to be careful with his eyes.

Steve smiles like he always does before going over the side.

***

Steve's trained his team for this. Starting in November, he conducted conditioning exercises in the cold water so all his swimmers would get acclimated to the lower temperatures. They each have a set of leggings to conserve heat, but they're all still bare-chested, depending on swimming and the laws of motion to keep them warm.

They spread out, each man responsible for scouting out a hundred yards of coastline. He swims, ignoring the two sides trying to annihilate the other. Steve thinks he should be used to the noise by now, but he's never experienced such fierce firepower before—the explosions are so loud, it feels like his eardrums might rupture.

He focuses on cutting through the waves, ignoring the cold seeping into his bones. After twenty minutes of swimming, he nears his section of coastline, and using light from one of the exploding mortars, estimates how far he is from shore before exploring the water's depth.

Pulling out his coil of fishing line, Steve takes a deep breath for his first dive and aborts the attempt with the change in wave displacement. Following the ripples, Steve notices an outline of something just offshore. It's not until another volley of fire from the enemy defenses does he notice enemy boats in the water.

He's not alone out here.

***

Steve treads water and uses the tracer fire to identify three medium-sized rubber boats and about a dozen enemy swimmers. It takes a moment to realize they're setting inshore obstacles in the middle of the night, which is crazy. It's hard to tell what kind. Barbed wire or spiked poles. Could be floating land mines. The only thing that's for certain is he can't scout this section of shore.

Using the Barr as a set point, Steve calculates the best direction to go. He could try to swim back to the boat or keep swimming further west until he clears the enemy position.

Except the water is slightly below forty degrees and he's on a time limit. Steve makes a quick decision and heads further along shore. Further away from Danny and his team.

***

The closer to the coast, the deafer Steve becomes. He's put thirty to fifty meters distance between him and the enemy boats and starts swimming in a zigzag in search of underwater obstacles.

The Japanese have loaded the shallow water with piles of coral leading up to the beach and Steve measures the reefs by anchoring the line to one end and stretching it along their length.

He swims further in search of a more accessible location and finds antitank ditches thirty meters inshore. As Steve swims in search of starting and ending points, he discovers a battery of 37mm anti-tank guns set up to take out approaching boats.

The next barrage of mortar fire from the group is like flashbulbs in the sky. It's really bad luck that some soldier happens to be looking at the water where Steve is treading, because he takes fire a moment later.

He dives under as bullets cut the water, missing him by a few meters. While under the waves, more bullets pepper his last location above the surface.

There must be more than one person shooting at him as multiple lines of bullets cut through the water. Steve's instincts take over and he does a dolphin kick to flip around and swim in the opposite direction. It's a flight or fight response and Steve slams his head against a piece of coral.

Pain lances up his temple and Steve panics for a moment, unable to tell up from down. He grabs at the coral, using it as an anchor to gain his bearings, and heads toward the surface to take a breath.

He breaks the surface, filling his lungs with oxygen and tries to get a bead on his position. Blood runs down his face and into his eyes. He tries wiping it away as the world blurs into darkness.

There's mortar fire everywhere, explosions amplifying the ringing in his ears. He remembers the machine guns, how the tracer fire painted a target over him.

But he can't dive. Not without knowing where he's going. Steve uses the coral as a guide, recalling its orientation in the water. He's shivering in earnest, his leg muscles beginning to cramp.

Steve looks out toward the sea, in search of the group, and sees ships on fire, orange flames reaching for the sky. And for a moment, Steve can hear the screaming of sailors. Can smell burned steel and iron, taste the tang of metal.

He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again. The fires are two or three miles away. The Barr is closer and his ticket back to her is a tiny rubber boat waiting for him.

It feels like he's underwater, the ocean spinning and dipping in odd directions. He blinks at his beach notations, unable to read his handwriting, his head throbbing with each detonation. He can't stay too close to the shoreline, not with the enemy planting obstacles nearby.

Steve uses his memory and plots a course back to Danny's boat. Back to his team. And he'll have to go out to sea some more and hope he'll find his way back.

***

Danny hates this part of his job. Despises it—the waiting and inability to do anything to help his swimmers. At least with the landing craft, he had his two mates to gab with. Out here, he's all alone in the crossfire of hundreds of guns.

He can't help thinking about how one stray round could blow him and the boat apart. It's really amazing how much time and effort people have put into finding ways to kill one another.

After half an hour, Danny becomes obsessed with the time. He checks his watch again. Forty-five minutes and the bombardment's getting heavier. He's stuffed cloth into his ears, but it doesn't help.

There's a whistling noise from a rocket, followed by the loudest boom Danny has ever experienced. There's a pain in his chest as he watches the aft of one of the large destroyers burst into flames. Danny screams until his throat goes dry. Then he angrily swats away the tears as he imagines all the sailors who hadn't seen it coming.

He turns around and searches the sea. Checking the time, it's been almost an hour and there are no signs of his guys.

***

By sixty-seven minutes, Danny's panicking. Should he move the boat and search for them? But the number one rule is to never switch positions. "Besides, numb nuts, you can't paddle this boat all by yourself," he says out loud.

At seventy minutes, he may have let out a squeak as he spots the first swimmer coming his way. Danny grabs onto the frogman's arms, all his muscles straining in the effort to pull him on board.

The young man is a shivering mess and Danny quickly grabs one of the wool blankets they brought with them and wraps it around him. "You're going to be fine, all right?"

"W-where's the rest of...my team?" Hickman asks.

"They're coming. Promise," Danny tells him and isn't surprised when the kid starts searching the water with him.

***

Seventy-two minutes after the squad took to the ocean, six have returned. All seven wait for the other four to make it back.

"Sixty minutes was the most you guys were supposed to be out there!" Danny growls at them.

"It wasn't that easy," Hickman snaps back, eyes searching the waters. "It's confusing out there with all the shelling."

Danny can only imagine such hell and he pats the young man's shoulder before muttering another Hail Mary under his breath.

Two more swimmers are dragged aboard, one of them helping the other who's suffering from leg cramps.

When they spot Chin, six sets of hands help him over the side and Danny's there with a blanket. Chin searches the boat, counting with trembling lips. "W-wwwho's missing?"

"McGarrett," Danny tells him with dread.

Chin's shaking like a leaf and his teammates have to drag him away from the gunwale to force him to sit. "How...long?"

Danny checks his watch. "Eighty-four minutes."

***

"Let me go out there, sir?" Hickman asks for the third time.

Chin is wrapped in a blanket tighter than a burrito. While he's still trembling, his words are crystal clear. "No…I can't let you risk further exposure."

"The LT would go back out there for us," another voice shouts over the bombardment.

Chin scowls, and Danny does not envy his burden of leadership. The team's safety comes first and Danny can see the struggle in Chin's eyes, the way he bites his bottom lip.

"Time?" Chin asks.

Danny might throw up. "Ninety-three minutes."

"Gimme a flashlight," Chin demands.

Using flashlight for more than signaling is dangerous, even this far from shore. But Chin takes the light and clicks it off and on every twenty seconds.

The big hand goes around four times on Danny's watch and there's this part of him that says, stop flashing that damn light! But the other, louder voice hopes the signal will work.

It's been ninety-eight minutes.

"There!" someone shouts.

Chin pans the light over the waves.

"Steve!" Danny yells.

Hickman jumps into the water just as Chin yells at the man for doing it.

The petty officer beats Danny to it, which is probably a good thing in retrospect. The whole team reaches over to help and Danny yells at them about tipping over the boat.

Hickman has his hands full of his CO, and Chin and Danny help hoist Steve inside. Some of the others aid the petty officer as he clambers back.

Steve is ice cold and listless. Danny takes all his weight and settles him down on the floor with him. "Steve? Are you with me, babe?"

"The...harbor...it...it's been hit...everything's...on fire."

Danny's heart aches at the confused words, but Chin's there, grabbing Steve's shoulder. "It's okay, Steve. We're not at Pearl anymore."

Danny bites his knuckles, wishing for a world before war. Gathering his wits, he blows on his whistle. "Hoist away! Out oars! Give way for the Barr."

But he doesn't get up because Steve's in trouble. He's not shivering, which is bad. Really bad. "Grab me the driest blanket we have," he yells out.

Then he starts unbuttoning his long-sleeved shirt and shucks the tee underneath it. Chin helps lean Steve against Danny's chest. And oh my God, is the man cold. Danny wrap his arms around Steve, holding him close, the back of Steve's head lolling under Danny's jaw. Chin then encases them both with a heavy wool blanket.

"What the hell were you doing out there?" Danny rants, trying to get Steve's attention.

He doesn't get a response and Danny presses his lips to the top of Steve's head. "You're an idiot. A stupid, crazy idiot." When that doesn't elicit a retort, Danny presses Steve's body as close to his as possible.

Danny's shaking from the cold, but he doesn't really care because he feels Steve's heart fluttering under his palm. "You're a mess," he says, laughing bitterly.

Blood trickles down Steve's bruised face from a head wound and Danny squeezes him hard. "Don't you dare die on me. So help me, I'll kick your frogman ass."

"D-danny?"

"There you go," Danny coaxes at seeing a slit of hazel eyes.

"What...what are you doing here?" Steve stutters.

Danny wipes at Steve's blood stained hair. "My job. Someone has to keep Curious George out of trouble."

Steve's confused grin is enough to allow Danny to breathe again.

***

Danny doesn't even remember arriving at the Barr, even if it's his fucking job to get everyone there. But these are seasoned sailors and Danny leaves them to rowing while his attention is elsewhere.

So when hands try to extract Steve from Danny's encompassing hold, he reminds himself to hand Steve over. Get him the help he desperately needs.

Danny releases his grip and another set of hands grab him as he stumbles on his feet and is moved toward the infirmary. He loses sight of Steve in a sea of frogmen and medical staff. Then someone sets Danny on a gurney, removes his clothes, and the rest becomes a blur.

***

Danny wakes wearing heavy leggings, a long-sleeved shirt, and a robe. He struggles out of bed and wanders around like a goof until someone notices him.

"Hey, you can't be walking around. Get back in bed, sailor."

Before the corpsman can reach him, Chin appears by his elbow. "Hey, it's all right. He's with me."

"The last I checked, you were a patient, Jay Gee," the corpsman points out. "But since you helped me corral your platoon, I'll grant you some leeway."

Chin is dressed like Danny but with the addition of an IV pole that he drags toward his bed. "Just a precaution," he says when Danny glances at him in concern.

"How's everyone else?" Danny asks.

"They've all been given bed rest, warm blankets, and orders to eat a hot meal. A hard thing to accomplish, I might add."

"Speaking of difficult people—"

"McGarrett's being treated in the back." Chin sits in bed, resting his head against the bulkhead. "He's pretty out of it. I wouldn't expect much."

Danny is already on his way over toward the only private area of the infirmary and goes around the curtained corner toward the bed. Somewhere under a mound of heavy blue blankets is Steve, and Danny has to get up close to see the man's face to really believe it. There is an ugly line of stitches running along the side of Steve's head and his left eye is bruised and swollen. He's on oxygen and IVs and he's too fucking still.

"You shouldn't be over here," the cranky corpsman says, coming out of nowhere. He checks a machine before peeling back the pile of blankets and replacing the heating pads stuffed in every conceivable place around Steve's body. "I've got to check on three more patients; when I return, you better be back in your own bed."

Danny can still hear the pounding echo of bombs exploding, envision fireballs from Hell. And when his heart squeezes painfully in his chest, it's at the thought of staring endlessly at the open sea. At being alone in that boat while everyone drowns, completely out of reach.

His knees wobble and Danny uses the bed railing for support and he can't stop himself from pushing it down. Or leaning over to rest the side of his face under Steve's chin and listen to him breathe. Savoring the warmth finally radiating from Steve's neck and chest.

It's not until his eyes start to drift close that he notices the movement under the blanket and the trembling hand that rubs circular patterns over Danny's shoulder.

Danny exhales, loud and slow and heavy. He might be shaking; he's not sure. But Steve's managed to get his right arm out from under his cocoon and wraps it around Danny, holding him close.

Danny wants to say something, should say something, but he doesn't. There's nothing he wants to risk with words right now, so he relaxes against Steve's chest and relishes this moment of peace.

***

Steve's intel on the inshore obstacles and anti-tank guns prove invaluable as it shapes the scope of rest of the missions. It's the scuttlebutt of the ship and grates on Danny's nerves because it almost got Steve killed.

The next few days are random snapshots of moments. Most of the platoon from the mission are still on bed rest and Ensign Rodriquez is tasked with continuing recon operations. The war doesn't stop for casualties and the group has lost three more ships and hundreds of men from heavy fire.

The invasion of Iwo Jima has already begun.

Danny hasn't been allowed to return to duty and he thinks it has more to do with morale than his ability to do his job. There are rumors of medals and good PR, that Danny's promotion is the works, but he doesn't give a crap about that.

He visits Steve in the infirmary, who bitches about being there.

"You have a head injury," Danny yells at him.

"I have a hard head."

"Really? Is that why you get dizzy when you walk?"

Steve scowls, the left side of his face still black and blue. "Only sometimes."

"You also suffered from hypothermia. Your skin was as cold as ice and the doc said something about strain on the heart, but I thought he was talking about me at first," Danny says and wishes he could take back.

But Steve's looking at him again with that fond smile, and secretly, Danny isn't bothered by it.

Then Steve has to ruin the moment when he grumbles about needing to leave.

"Yeah, well Chin's taking over the team tomorrow, so don't worry about it."

Steve glowers at that and Danny rolls his eyes. "Head injury, Steven."

Steve crosses his arms in an act of defiance and Danny can't help but laugh. "You look like Grace when I tell her she has to eat her green beans."

That earns him another smile and Steve relaxes a little. "Tell me about her," he asks, leaning into his pillows.

***

When Danny is summoned by the deck officer, he loathes reporting to him with all his being. So, it's a big surprise when he's told he's been given leave.

"Where am I taking a five day pass?"

The deck officer doesn't bother telling him before stalking away and Danny finds himself at the fantail where Steve is currently staring off into space.

"Hey."

"Hey," Steve replies with a grunt.

After four days, Steve has been released to his quarters and isn't allowed to return to full duty. Scuttlebutt says the brass wants to ensure one of their most valued sailors is fully recovered before taking over a team again. Danny's just glad Steve has been given the time off.

"I've been given a five day pass, which is kind of odd seeing as we're in the middle of a battle," Danny tells him.

"The Barr is going to join another group, but she's making a stopover in Guam for supplies and repairs.

"Guam?" Danny grumbles.

"UDT-13, 14, and 15 have taken over operations for Iwo Jima."

"And our team?"

Steve actually smiles at Danny's choice of words. "We haven't been given new orders yet. Guess it depends on how things go here."

"Wait. So does that mean...?"

"Yeah, we're all getting time off."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"We're in the middle of an invasion," Steve growls, sounding like he's actually disappointed at the prospect of leave.

"I hate to break it you, but we'll always be in the middle of something. What's so bad about getting away from here? Away from the war...we could even...I dunno. Have a drink someplace together where we're not at risk of dying."

Steve's stiff posture eases a little, his voice wistful. "I hear Guam is kind of nice."

Danny moves closer until their shoulders touch. "Nice would be… nice."

***

Guam looks like any other port Danny's been to in the last two years, filled with ships, military personal, and a lot of hustle and bustle. But he really doesn't care because, for the first time in forever, he's on dry land.

"You sure you don't want to kiss the ground there, buddy?" Steve nudges Danny in the side.

"The thought has crossed my mind," Danny says and thinks about doing it just to annoy the man.

"Come on, let's grab a jeep, the base is only a few klicks from here," Chin says from behind them.

"Why are we visiting an army base again?" Steve asks, the sunshine glinting off his sunglasses.

"Because I want you guys to meet my cousin," Chin says, slapping them both on the backs. "Besides, she's taking us to the best local place for food and drinks. Or would you prefer going to the Navy mess?"

Danny and Steve exchange horrified expressions, and Danny cheerfully tells Chin to lead the way.

***

Danny's glad his jaw isn't the only one that drops when Chin's cousin appears in army fatigues and a face smeared with oil stains. Chin runs over and hugs a very lovely specimen of a woman with tanned skin and long black hair.

When Chin pulls from the embrace, he turns around, all smiles. "Steve, Danny. This is my cousin, Kono."

Kono wipes her greasy palm on her olive fatigues and gives them each a firm handshake and devilish smile. "It's actually Private First Class Kalakaua. I'm a mechanic on base. They won't give me a gun, but I'm handy with a wrench," she says with a wink.

"Close your mouth, Boats, it's unbecoming," Steve coughs.

Kono rolls her eyes. "Give me five and I'll take you guys on the town."

"On the town?" Danny chuckles.

"Don't knock it, brah. We've been here six months. The locals don't have much, but they know how to cook with what they got. And believe me, it's better than the grub you guys have been eating the last few months."

Steve drapes an arm around Danny's shoulders and bends down to whisper in his ear. "Let's not insult our hostess for the evening, shall we?"

Danny nods, too focused on how Steve's breath ghosts over his neck. It makes Danny dry swallow, his cheeks heating slightly. Steve, the bastard, notices and doesn't say a word. He just pushes up his sunglasses, giving Danny another one of his fucking grins.

***

Dinner is cream of rice soup, shrimp patties, and candied coconut. They drink real beer and listen to Louis Armstrong. Kono embarrasses Chin with stories about him almost spearing his nephew in the ass while fishing. Or the time his traditional grass skirt fell apart when he performed at a luau for the family.

Danny chuckles and Steve laughs, clutching his stomach, his eyes crinkling around the edges. His face is still bruised on one side, the stitches a dark ugly reminder of how close things had been. But Danny can't remember seeing Steve this carefree and relaxed.

Steve's long-sleeved blue shirt amplifies his expressive eyes. Danny can't stop staring at them. Olive green with flecks of amber. Steve catches Danny watching him and Steve's eyes turn almost gray-green.

"I don't know about you guys, but I am wiped," Danny groans, stretching and twisting his back in his chair. "I think I'm going to take advantage of being able to sleep for more than four hours."

"Why don't the two of you take the jeep back? I'll find a ride later," Chin says, before grabbing his half-empty beer mug. "I'm gonna catch up with Cuz for a while."

"It was good meeting you." Steve stands up and gives Kono a quick hug. "Mahalo for tonight, brah," he tells Chin, the two of them clapping each other on the back.

Chin tosses the keys of the jeep at Danny, but Steve snags them mid-air.

"Hey, what gives?" Danny snaps.

"We're on land now. It's my turn to drive."

***

There are a few hotels off base for those taking leave. Of course, the definition of a hotel is a dozen rooms made of palm trees since most of the city is rebuilding after being bombed to hell and back.

Danny doesn't care because the mattress is larger than his tiny rack. And there are things called windows with fresh ocean breezes and a ceiling he can't reach if he stretches out his hand.

Throwing his duffel onto the bed, Danny pulls a flask out of one of the pockets and holds it out to Steve who hovers outside the door. "Want to come in for a drink?"

"Sure," Steve says sounding anything but certain.

Danny stands there and stares at Steve. At Steve's anxious face, the way his eyes dart around the room, and how tense he's suddenly become. Danny tightens his grip around the flask because this isn't the Steve who was all loose-limbed and bright smiles at dinner.

Danny's mouth gets suddenly dry and he wets his lips and asks, "What's wrong?" Even though he dreads hearing the answer.

"It's...it's too quiet."

Danny releases a breath he had he no idea he'd been holding. "Jesus! Are you kidding me? It's too quiet? What? Not hearing the ocean makes you tense?"

The left corner of Steve's mouth twitches and he folds his arms defensively across his chest. "Maybe."

"What's the matter with you?" Danny yells, but then he listens to the faint hum of metal fan in the corner and the chirping insects outside and his heart sinks a little. "There aren't any guns or bombs going off."

Steve frowns and he has a lost look on his face. Like he was about to argue about it then realizes Danny's right.

"Oh, babe," Danny says and before he knows it, he grabs Steve by the shoulders and pulls him in close to hold him tight. "One day, they're gonna stop, you know."

"Yeah, it's just...I don't remember what that's like anymore," Steve whispers.

Danny aches at the all too familiarity of that fear.

"Come here," Danny growls, dragging Steve over to the bed until they're both sitting down, because standing up is a little too awkward. "We're not on a ship and we're not in the ocean. We're away from bullets and explosives and wondering if we're gonna wake up to see the sun again. We have this time to enjoy every moment and I'm going to show you how."

Steve eyes grow steel blue and those long fingers of his slide up each side of Danny's jaw. "Are you, now?"

"Damn straight," Danny murmurs and slowly presses his lips to Steve's with the barest of kisses. Holding his breath, he pulls away, fear and adrenaline coursing through him. “Um...is this okay? I mean...”

Steve's hands tremble around Danny's face. “Yeah,” he breathes raggedly. “God, yeah.”

Danny's entire being floods with relief and he laughs a little. “Jesus. Thank goodness.”

Steve grins the dopiest smile and moves his hands to rest on Danny's arms, kissing him. It's warm and soft and a little hesitant. But when Danny digs his hands into Steve's broad shoulders, Steve deepens the kiss and it's full of want and raw need.

And it only ends when Danny has to pull away for air. "It's not fair that you have lungs like a fish," he pants.

"It has its advantages. So does being able to swim for miles."

"You do know that rest is part of the whole 'R&R' thing?"

Steve glides his finger down the chain around Danny's neck, gripping his dog tags. "I haven't rested in almost four years," he breathes. "But I have five days to learn again."

This time, Steve kisses Danny, and it's slow and methodical, and God, so good.

"Wow," Danny sighs. "And here I thought you'd be the get it done fast type."

"I can disarm a bomb a dozen different ways, Danny. I know slow and steady."

"I think this calls for many demonstrations," Danny smiles, running his hand through Steve's hair.

He allows the silence to linger, allows Steve to associate stillness with something good. But most of all, Danny wants to relish this moment of having Steve beside him. In bed. Staring at Danny with the same desire from months of wanting without touching.

"You have too many clothes on for once," Danny says. Steve smiles and reaches for the buttons of his shirt, but Danny grabs Steve's fingers.

Steve's hands fall away and the silent permission is more enthralling than Danny could ever imagine. Slowly. Button by button, Danny reveals all of Steve's tanned skin and muscle. But it's when he pushes the shirt off Steve's arms, Danny breaks out into a sweat. Mesmerized by the ink accenting Steve's biceps.

Tentatively Danny reaches out, fingers hovering above the symbols of the wind and sea. Symbols that embody so much about Steve. But Danny still hesitates.

Steve takes Danny's fingers and guides them over the blue and the green. Both their fingers tracing the tattoo. "You don't ever have to ask," he says.

Danny traces the patterns with his mouth, outlining with his tongue and filling in the spaces with his lips. Steve's whole body shudders, encouraging Danny to move onto the right arm.

Steve reciprocates by nibbling the tendons of Danny's neck. Danny groans when Steve starts tracing the chain to Danny's dog tags, licking the skin down his throat and back up to Danny's mouth.

Danny barely has enough time to throw his arms up before Steve pulls his shirt off. Steve's panting now—the idea that Danny is responsible for making him need that much air turning him on even more. Hooking both thumbs on each side of Steve's shorts, Danny yanks them down as Steve loosens the buttons.

Removing the last layer of fabric, Danny doesn't even joke about Steve going commando as Danny finally gets to admire every inch of Steve's finely honed body. "God, Steven."

Steve doesn't do motionless. He rakes a hand down Danny's left side, followed by his mouth, until his lips press a pattern across Danny's belly, under his navel while deft fingers remove the last half of Danny's clothes.

Danny shivers in the warm air, grips Steve's shoulder, his tattoo, like a talisman, and pulls him up to look him in the eye. With nothing between them but sweat and skin, Danny wets his lips. "I don't...I mean. I've done this...once..."

"Don't worry," Steve whispers. He wraps his arms around Danny, drawing them together. "I told you. I can do steady and slow."

"Slow? Now you want slow? You'll give me a heart attack with sl—"

Steve laughs against Danny's lips, low and fond, and Danny likes this kind of slow, the deep, easy kisses. Danny hooks his knee around Steve's thigh, brings them closer, hip to hip. When Steve slips his hand between them, gathers them both in his big palm, Danny has to break away, breathing hard.

"Yeah, yeah, like that – do that – Steve –"

He gasps at the friction, sweet and almost forgotten, and presses his hand at the small of Steve's back.

"Oh, that's good, so good," Steve rasps at Danny temple. "Slow, slow," and matches movement to words. He traces kisses down to Danny's ear, nibbles behind it, and Danny shudders.

"Need more. Lil' faster."

"Not yet, not – no, god." Steve covers his mouth in another deep, slow kiss that drives Danny crazy with the taste of skin and Steve.

Danny lets his hand drift lower on Steve's ass, a shy teasing, and Steve bucks, groaning. It's heady, knowing he can do that to him, make Steve shiver and hitch in his arms.

Danny deepens the kiss, hungry for more, for Steve. He uses his knee for leverage, rolls them so Steve settles in the hollow of his hips, a welcome weight, and finally, his right hand is free. He follows a meandering line from the short, crisp hair at the back of Steve's neck, around his shoulder blade to the crest of his hip.

"God, Danny, do it, do that—"

And cups his palm over the two of them as Steve buries his face in Danny's neck and fucking whimpers.

That's all it takes, that sound, and Danny's gone, helpless and graceless and breathless. Steve moves with him, urgent now, finally, and Danny mouths across his shoulder, finding the unseen lines of the tattoo and the taste of salt and musk and the sea.

Danny lets his knees fall away from Steve's hips as his weight settles and runs a heavy hand over Steve's chest and shoulder. "That was impressive. You've been saving up, haven't you?"

Steve laughs and slides off to the side. "I don't think that's all mine. Holy fuck, Danny."

Danny wraps his hand around Steve's arm, still thrown across his waist, and kisses Steve's head as he rests on Danny's shoulder. "Damn, that was good," he says, and tries to remember how to breathe.

After a few minutes, Steve rouses enough to find a rough towel and wipes them both down. Danny's grateful and pulls him close when he's done. Steve sighs, happy and relaxed, and Danny wants to strut a little, knowing he brought Steve a little peace in the middle of this war.

"Tol' you," Steve says quietly, sounding both shy and smug.

"Wh –? Huh?"

"Told you I could do steady and slow. Five whole days of this."

"And after?" Danny whispers. God. He doesn't want to ruin the moment. Ruin this. But he needs to know what to expect.

"We can't think past that, Danny. But..." Steve glides his fingers between Danny's shoulder blades. "I never used think beyond the next mission. And now..."

"And now?"

"The Navy's a part of me, but there's more to life than serving her." Steve swallows and gives Danny a smile. "I can go anywhere after the war and it would be nice to know what the waves off the coast of New Jersey sound like instead of bombs."

Danny doesn't know what to say, so he captures Steve's mouth, knowing he doesn’t need words right now. Because for the next five days, Danny's going to make sure that the world around them disappears into pleasure and peace, of living every second to the fullest.

***

fini-

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

samantha-kathy.livejournal.com

OMG, this was good! I normally don't read WW2 AUs (don't know why, really), but I figured I'd try this and wow am I glad I did! This was really, really good!

From:

Fic H50 "Distant Shores" (3/3)

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