Beneath the Trident (4/4)

[kristen999]

***

The investigation can't be put on hold no matter how much he wants to leave this freaking place. Danny checks the lock on the door, sits on his bed, and dials Chin.

"Hey, it's about time you called," Kono answers.

"Did you and Chin switch phones again?"

"Naw, he left it on his desk when he left to grab coffee and I heard it buzz as I walked by. You've had us worried, brah. We called last night."

"Yeah, well, something happened and –" Danny rubs a hand over his face.

"Danny? Is everything okay?"

"Steve's in the hospital – there was an accident."

"What? Wait? How is he?"

"I don't know. I haven't gotten an update. But it's not that bad. He was conscious."

"What happened?"

He still doesn't know. "There was an explosion and Steve got too close. Some shrapnel hit him but it didn't look serious. As soon as I get a chance to go to the base hospital, I'll give you an update. What do you have for me?"

"Fong analyzed all the evidence we collected form the first scene. He discovered heavy-duty pieces of rubber that were the result of blown tire. He identified the tire as a Superlug, a tire the military uses for their large industrial vehicles.

"That could have been from any time."

"Or it could be the reason why Johnson pulled over to help. We collected several boot prints from the scene, including one from a size twelve Blackhawk Light Assault boot."

"A what?"

"Johnson wore a tactical boot used by special operators. We matched his boot print in the ground by the shoulder. It was a custom order; the tread is a hundred percent match."

"Okay. That's something," Danny says, rolling his achy neck.

"Hey! Rolling Stone, you in there?"

"I've got to go, someone's looking for me, I'll call you later," Danny says, hitting end.

Vega's standing there when Danny pulls open the door. "The LT called. McGarrett's got a concussion. They're pulling some pieces of shrapnel out of him now, but he's going to be fine."

A knot in his stomach slowly uncoils in Danny's gut. "That's great news."

"McGarrett's a SEAL; it'll take more than an RPG to take him down." Vega shakes his head. "You, on the other hand, look like shit. Maybe you should get some sleep."

Danny leans against the doorjamb, feeling like death warmed over, and laughs. "Maybe I will."

***

Danny startles, blinking his eyes in the darkness, confused, realizing that he'd fallen asleep. He'd only meant to lie down for a few minutes, but something in the hallway woke him. Swinging his legs toward the floor, he sits up in time to watch the door open.

Danny stands, flips on the light, and watches Steve walk into the room. Steve who looks whole, solid, and alive. Danny hurries over, running a trained eye over him, taking in the white bandages poking out from under a black shirtsleeve that wraps down to his left forearm.

"What did you do to yourself this time?" he asks, brushing his fingers down Steve's uninjured right bicep.

"Minor concussion," Steve says, eyes warm and tired. "Stitches in my arm and shoulder. I've been taken off active duty for the next seventy-two hours then I'll be reexamined."

Danny gives him halfhearted smile. "That doesn't sound like enough down time to me. Do you know what happened out there?"

"I actually don't remember."

Danny frowns at the despondency in Steve's voice. "That's pretty normal, babe."

Steve huffs out a breath, miserably wiping his hand across his face. "What if…what if it was a misstep or I zigged when I should have zagged?"

"Torres got his bell rung, too. Do you think he should have zigged when he should have zagged?" Steve seems frustrated at Danny's logic, doubt doubling the lines around his eyes. "Why not give that bruised brain of yours a rest, huh?"

"Yeah, okay," Steve says without arguing, a sign to Danny that he's hurting. "Mache's going to take over the next few days. I think he's ready."

"Yeah, he seems more than capable," Danny mumbles, perturbed.

The ends of Steve's mouth curl. "Something bothering you, Danno?"

"And if I say yes? Are we actually going to talk about it?" Danny challenges. Steve gets this deer in headlights look and Danny wonders how discussing feelings could be scarier than jumping out of helicopters. "Come on, you should sit down."

But Steve doesn't move, ducking his head bashfully. "I did think about things when I was in the hospital."

"Yeah?" Danny asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Did you figure anything out?"

"I think so."

"And will you tell me this century, or do you need training for that?"

Steve places a hand on Danny's shoulder, his face soft and serene. "I think I just need you."

This time, Danny's at a loss for words, the moment ambushing him, and he stands there, gaping openly.

Steve drops his hand before gingerly moving toward the bed. "Did you hear from Chin?"

For once, Danny goes with change of subject because he can't think about this right now.

"Didn't I say we should give your brain a break?" he sighs, rolling his eyes, looking around the room until he finds Steve's duffel by the door. "Did the docs send you back with some pills? And if you say you don't need anything, I'll smother you with your pillow."

Steve gestures at the duffel. "A script for pain meds and some antibiotics."

"Did they feed you?"

"Mache brought me a turkey sandwich. Are you were going to tell me about the case?"

"If it'll get you to shut up and go to sleep, I will."

Of course, Steve chooses that moment to wage war with his t-shirt, vainly trying to remove it.

"You are such a child," Danny grumps. "Here." He helps remove Steve's tee, pulling it over and off his head, careful not to touch all the gauze and white tape. He reaches to trace the silver chain around his neck but pulls his hand back. "Do I need to wake you up every few hours?"

"No, it's only a minor concussion, but we should take advantage of my downtime and try to make some progress."

"Take advantage? Are you kidding me?" Danny grabs Steve's duffel and rifles through it, handing Steve his meds. "Of course you're not. Why do I even bother?"

"Because we still have a job to do."

And Danny thinks about Steve in the middle of some desert surrounded by nervous nomads and frightened SEALs, wanting nothing more than to ensure his team makes it home alive.

"When this case is done, we're taking some time off," he demands.

Steve bites back a groan, stretching out on the bed. "That sounds really nice."

***

Danny wakes up before Steve, takes advantage of the shower first, wishing he had more than three blissful minutes. Padding back inside, he finds Steve up and zombie-like on the side of the bed, contemplating the act of standing like it's some complicated op.

Shuffling toward his footlocker, Steve freezes mid-bend, obviously dizzy, and Danny doesn't say a word, grabbing his clothes and handing them over.

"Actually, I need my other shirt," Steve mumbles.

"But you're off duty."

"Danny just… please."

"Fine." Danny digs out the familiar camo. "After you wash up, we're going down to the mess to eat some real food, and before you argue, think of it as an order."

"Bossy much?" Steve complains.

"Coming from the guy who lives to command others around?"

Steve flaps a hand at him in dismissal as he heads toward the shower, treating Danny to the fantastic bruising contrasting the too-white bandages on the back of his shoulder. "Hey, don't get your stitches wet!"

"Done this before," Steve yells, closing the door.

"I'm not coming in there if you pass out and crack your dumb skull again," Danny rants.

Steve's reply is to shut the bathroom door and run the water.

***

It's late afternoon, the setting sun warming Danny's skin. Steve quickly slips on a pair of sunglasses and Danny winces in sympathy, keeping quiet, except to hold out his hand. "Keys."

"Have you ever driven a jeep?" Steve asks, digging through his pockets.

"No, not a jeep, but I can drive a stick, and oh wait a minute, I don't have a concussion."

Steve pulls out his keys, curling his fingers around them. "First, we're going to the motor pool."

"Nooooo, food first."

"There's something we need to go over during lunch."

Danny draws a deep breath, argument imminent, but snaps his fingers. "There's a maintenance log, isn't there? Wait, don't answer that, this is the military, of course there is." Steve gives him a smug grin, and for once, Danny doesn't want to wipe if off his face. "That's why you're in uniform even though you're supposed to be off duty."

"It helps get things done in a timely manner."

Steve's trident and rank across his shoulder does open a lot more doors than Danny's credentials when Porter isn't around. "I admit you have a point," he says, jutting out his hand again in a gimme gesture.

Steve slaps the keys into Danny's palm. "Don't strip the gears."

"Strip the gears? I'll tell you that I've been driving a stick since I was thirteen. Used to sneak out of the house after Dad went to bed."

"Oh, yeah? And what happened when you got caught?" Steve asks with a smirk.

Danny slides into the driver's seat and gets this fond expression from several memories, Steve's lips curving into a matching grin bedside him. "What are you smiling at? I haven't even told you what happened."

"But you have."

Danny's breath hitches at that, because it's true, Steve can read him just like he can tell a million things from the array of Steve's serious and goofy faces.

"Whatever happened to me having a tone?"

"You have those, too," Steve says, warmly.

Danny doesn't argue with Steve on that one, roughly shifting into second just to rattle his chain.

***

The mess hall is jammed-packed with hungry sailors and it takes forever to get through the line, not to mention finding a place to sit in privacy. Grabbing a couple brown paper bags, Steve gestures outside. "We'll eat in my office."

It takes another fifteen minutes to walk, find the jeep, and reach their destination. "Why does everything have to be so spread out?" Danny grumbles. "What if you don't have a vehicle? Do they expect everyone to jog everywhere?"

Steve doesn't defend his precious way of life, walking stiffly down the hall. Once he reaches his office, he pulls out a four-inch folder, carefully easing himself into his leather chair.

Danny unpacks their baked tuna, veggies, and salads, shoving the plate in Steve's direction. "Eat, you big lug, so you can take your meds."

"It's not that bad and we have a lot of work ahead."

"Stop being a tough guy," Danny fusses. "Your head hurts because you're squinting at those records like you need glasses and my Uncle Henry could beat you in a hundred meter dash right now. You probably shouldn't be up at all; concussions are nothing to mess with."

Steve gets a petulant look worthy of Grace. "My helmet protected me from the blast and cushioned my skull when I hit the ground. I've had worse. This is more like a four or five at the max."

Danny doesn't even want to comprehend what he just heard. "I find it deplorable that you have had enough head injuries to create a scale for comparison."

"I played football before I went into the Navy," Steve says like it's a reasonable answer. He flips through the sheets using a ruler to slide down each page. "Kono said it was a Superlug tire?"

"Yeah, is that a log of tires they have replaced?"

Steve frowns. "No, I'd have to go to supply office; this is a list of repairs. I'm trying to narrow it down by vehicle type. Superlugs are for heavy duty trucks, so I can ignore jeeps, armored vehicles, and anything under a ton."

"How many does that leave?"

Steve grabs his lunch and starts digging into his salad. "A lot."

Danny tears open a tiny packet of salt for his tuna. "So, Johnson's riding along and sees our mystery truck pulled over with a blown tire. He gets out to lend a hand and then what happened?"

"I don't know. Maybe he noticed something suspicious. Saw something he shouldn't." Steve closes his eyes, obviously his headache getting the better of him. "It would take more than one person to subdue Johnson and fake an accident. It's too complex an operation to pull off alone."

Danny silently pulls out the bottle of Advil he snagged earlier and slides it over. "Then we're looking for an accomplice and probably another vehicle. But would Johnson pull over if it looked like he was already getting help?"

Steve drags his gaze back to the page in front of him. "Wait. A M35 cargo truck was checked in the day after Johnson's death to replace a new front tire and minor damage to the axle."

"What's it used for?"

"Not sure." Steve studies the file. "It's has a cargo bed that can hold up to three tons of equipment. But I can look up the plate number and see who was driving it the night of Johnson's death."

"Sounds like a plan," Danny agrees, hoping for a breakthrough.

***

"Where are we going?" Danny asks, following Steve into the secret black ops supply room. "I thought learning about the driver was our next step?"

"It is." But Steve walks around a series of shelves stacked with small black cases. "But once we identify him, I want to do a little recon." He pops open one of the cases. "And this will help us do it."

Danny peers over curiously at a tiny thing the size of a button in Steve's palm. "Is that a tracking device?"

"Yeah." Steve bounces it in the air. "Once we discover our mystery driver, we'll do some surveillance. We'll need this too," he says, dragging out a set of night vision goggles.

"And what are you going to do with those?"

"I'm going to borrow them."

"Borrow them? What like some damn library books?"

Steve's brow furrows in confusion at Danny. "I'll bring them back."

"You know," Danny sighs in exasperation. "For someone whose entire life is based on following rules, you seem to break them a lot."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Steve grins, hefting a duffel bag over his good shoulder.

***

"Take a left."

Danny rolls his eyes. "I know how to get to the motor pool."

"No, we're going to the armory," Steve tells him, tapping away at the laptop perched on his legs.

"Okay. Why?"

"Because I've got the ID of our driver form the database," Steve says. "Seaman Calvin Ridley. He's a unit driver for the EOD, coming up on his second year of his first tour. Clean record, nothing exemplary, and no behavioral problems."

"Mr. Squeaky Clean, huh?" Danny snorts.

"Highly doubtful. Turn right."

"I can read the signs," Danny grumbles.

Parking on the far end of the lot, Danny drums his fingers across the steering wheel. The armory is a large complex with high chain-link fences and patrolling guards, the parking garage located at the east end.

"How do you want to play this? Even if they let you inside so you can locate Ridley's truck, you still need to place the tracker unnoticed and –" Danny doesn't complete his sentence when Steve unbuckles his seatbelt. "Um, what are you doing?"

"Going to plant the tracking device."

"And you're going to do that without getting caught?" Danny hisses.

Steve flashes Danny the biggest Cheshire grin. "I'll figure something out."

Danny reaches for Steve's shoulder, but he's out the passenger door like a slippery eel. "You're not supposed to be doing anything strenuous!" he yells out the window. "You're off duty for a reason."

***

After six agonizing minutes, Danny contemplates going after Steve's dumb ass when a giant alarm blares and smoke begins billowing out of one of the windows. He bangs his head against the headrest. "You crazy, insane Neanderthal."

He white-knuckles the steering wheel, searching for his partner through the windshield when the passenger door is yanked open and Steve climbs in.

"Jesus!" Danny yells. "Where the hell did you come from?"

Steve calmly fastens his seatbelt. "The transmitter is in place."

"And that?" Danny angrily jabs a finger at the reign of chaos in Steve's wake. "What the hell did you do?"

"A small contained electrical fire." Steve gives him an unconcerned shrug. "Purely for show, it won't cause any damage."

Danny scrubs a hand through his hair in frustration. "That is a real fire and an absolutely ridiculous, unnecessary distraction!"

Steve meets Danny's fiery gaze with an amused smile. "I like to think of it as being resourceful."

Danny guns the engine. "When does Ridley's shift begin?"

Steve checks his watch. "In half an hour."

***

Danny cracks a yawn. "How many trips back and forth does one guy need to make between the armory and the disposal unit?"

"If that's your detail for the day?" Steve asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat for the millionth time. "However many tons of ordinance that needs disposing."

"I know the Navy enjoys mindless repetition, but I'd go bonkers." Danny flaps a lazy hand in the direction of the truck. "Ten miles to drop off a load, then ten miles to pick up a new one. He doesn't help transfer his cargo; he's not involved in smashing –"

"Older weapons are dismantled and melted down."

"Whatever," Danny says, ignoring Steve. "The point is this guy spends his whole night driving a truck back and forth."

"It's a job that needs to be done."

"Yeah, but I seriously doubt it was featured in the recruitment brochure about serving aboard nuclear subs and discovering exotic international ports of call." Danny glances at Steve folded awkwardly in the passenger seat. "What about you? Was it the 'be that you can be' motto that made you join the Navy?"

"That's the Army."

"The few, the proud –"

"Shut up, Danno."

Danny enjoys riling Steve up, but he knows when to tone it down. "And becoming a SEAL?"

"I did it to serve my country."

Danny knows there is more to it, more than the obsessive competition and drive.

"You could do that in any capacity," he says.

Steve looks over at Danny, his face mostly obscured by shadows. "Because I needed to prove something to myself."

"Just yourself?" Danny asks, pushing.

Steve clenches his jaw, the joint visibly protruding. "It was about testing my limitations, seeing if I had the mental and physical discipline needed to become a SEAL."

"You have that in spades, babe, and I'm sure your mom would have told you how proud she was, even if your father –"

"My father was proud of me." Steve's face softens, "and my mother would have been, too." He turns his head away, staring out in the darkness, his body a silhouette of lines. "But I became a SEAL for myself. So I could discover my strength and use it to help my teammates overcome whatever was needed. So I could save lives and go after cowards who terrorize innocents and hide under rocks they think we can't kick over."

It's rare when Steve reveals a chip in his armor, a vulnerable soft side that he constantly tries walling up with obsessive pursuits for justice.

"Now you're using those skills to help even more people," Danny says with a quick hand to Steve's arm. "This time, you can even see the smiles of those that you touch. And that…that's a precious gift. Because the one thing I've learned about SEALs, they might have nerves of steel, but they have heart, and you, you big goof, have a very large heart."

Steve stares at him in disbelief, like he can't fathom Danny's words, and it's such a damn tragedy because Steve's probably never had anyone tell him what he deserves to hear.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"I know."

Danny thinks about all of Steve's buried secrets and pain, old demons and new ones that take them both by surprise. "I hope one day that means you'll actually take me up on it."

"I do talk to you," Steve says, looking hurt, then frowns as if realizing the hard truth. They still hadn't mentioned the other night with the ropes. "I can't promise I'll put everything on the table, but I'll try harder." He peers through his night vision goggles, ending the conversation. "Ridley's on the move again."

Danny shakes his head in frustration. "I'm going to take a wild guess. He's going to go pick up another load of weapons."

***

"It's three in the morning, Steven. We should go hom –" Danny bites off the end of his sentence before embarrassing himself.

If Steve noticed, he doesn't say a word as he spies on their suspect, a suspect on his fifth trip to the armory to pick up his weapons or bombs or whatever because Danny doesn't really care. What he cares about is a shower, a bed, or even one of those MREs. Maybe even a certain prescription bottle.

"You remembered to grab your batman gear, but you forgot your pain pills. Why I am not surprised?"

"I'm fine," Steve snaps crankily.

"Riiight. You're so fine that you're only using your right hand to hold up those binoculars and you just dry swallowed another bunch of Advil. Are you aware that there's a limit you can take in a twenty-four hour period?"

"And are you aware that it requires two eyes on the road to drive?"

"What?"

Steve points at the windshield. "Ridley's leaving."

"Last time, Steven," Danny growls. "This is the last time we dog this guy tonight."

"Edge off the gas, D. We don't want to get too close."

"I know how to tail people and quit backseat driving."

But Danny eases up on the accelerator, placing more distance between them and the three-ton truck.

"Wait a minute," Steve says.

"What?" Danny asks, sneaking a look at the blinking dot on Steve's laptop.

"He turned left."

"Left? Where the hell does left go?"

"Off the main road," Steve says, staring at his screen. "And not toward the disposal unit."

Danny shoots Steve an irritated look. "Why not use some of those Navy skills to –"

"He's on North Road leaving the base," Steve rattles off. "If we take this, we'll either head toward Kamehameha Highway or..."

"Or what?"

"Take a right."

Danny follows Steve's directions for another four miles as they near the edge of a park.

"Ridley pulled off the side of the road." Steve flicks his gaze between the laptop and the windshield. "Kill your headlights and see how close you can get."

"I need these lights to see," Danny hisses, but he switches them off. "Great, now I'm blind." He slows his speed to a crawl, coasting the edge of the road for guidance.

"Easy," Steve says, using his binoculars. "Okay, pull over."

Danny eases the jeep into the grass, squinting at the truck's outline thirty meters away. "See anything?"

"Nothing. Ridley's just sitting there. Wait…there's another truck approaching. Medium size. Hard to tell the model. It's pulling over."

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Danny asks.

"That Ridley's sitting on hundreds of outdated M14 assault rifles."

"Outdated, but worth thousands of dollars on the black market."

Steve pulls out his Sig. "Do you have your piece?"

"What? No," Danny growls. "I'm a damn reporter, remember?"

Steve removes a Glock35 from his ankle. "Take my back-up. Four suspects just exited the second truck."

Danny grabs the weapon. "We are not pursuing these people, Steven," he hisses. But Steve doesn't say a word, tensing beside him. "What? Hey! Talk to me!"

Steve grips the binoculars using both hands. "Something's wrong."

"Something's wrong? Can you be more specific please?"

"I think..I think they have a…they're scanning the truck for electronic devices." Steve lets the goggles dangle over his chest, his fingers franticly tapping across the keyboard. "I'm turning the tracker off."

Danny holds his breath, struggling to see in the dark.

Steve lifts the goggles back to his eyes. "I wasn't fast enough. They're searching for us."

Danny's torn between starting the engine and readying for a fight. "Steve?"
Several beams of light illuminate the night. "Those are high powered flashlights."

"Danny. Go!"

But by the time he turns the keys, bullets shower the truck grill and Danny ducks in time as the windshield shatters.

"We've got to get out of here, we're sitting ducks!" Steve yells.

Fumbling with the door handle, Danny forces the door open and dives to the ground. He rolls several times as bullets riddle the jeep with holes.

"Danny, run, I'll cover you," Steve yells over the chaos.

"What? No, I'm not –"

"Don't argue with me!" Steve growls. Another burst of gunfire rips through the jeep, popping the tires. Steve runs behind the vehicle for cover. "Now, Danny!"

Danny sprints the second Steve starts shooting and reaches the tree line.

Steve's Sig echoes in the distance then it stops. He probably ran out. Breathing roughly, Danny takes aim, waiting, the woods erupting into a maelstrom of automatic fire.

He's got to provide Steve with some cover.

"Steve, run!" Danny screams, opening fire at the muzzle flashes.

He squeezes the trigger until it clicks empty. Danny doesn't dare call out Steve's name, franticly scanning the night.

He notices the shadow just as a hand encloses around his bicep. "We've got to keep going," Steve whispers in his ear.

"Goddamn it," Danny hisses, flinching.

Steve tugs on his arm, Danny scrambling alongside him, his feet fumbling for purchase over the rocky terrain. His shoulder bumps against Steve's and it bumps again when another barrage of bullets peppers the trees ten meters away.

Steve grips Danny's elbow. "We've got to go faster."

Danny pumps his legs, running harder, and right into a tree branch. A sharp pain lances across his head as he's knocked to the ground.

"Danny," Steve hisses, kneeling beside him. "What is it?"

Danny groans, wiping blood out of his eyes. "Great. Now we both have concussions."

"Danny, look at me. Track my finger."

Danny squints up at Steve's anxious face, blood dripping into his eyes. "I can track your finger, it's just, damn it. The cut won't stop bleeding."

Before he can say another word, Steve shoves his hand under Danny's armpit, pulling him close, guiding him. "Let's move."

Danny bobbles against Steve until he can gain his bearings. The woods fill with a series of short bursts of gunfire.

"Okay, this way," Steve's voice ghosts over Danny's ear. "Over here."

Before Danny can protest, Steve pulls him under a large tree. "Do you have any ammo left?"

"No, I'm out. You?"

"Empty. Only had one clip." Before Danny can open his mouth, Steve slips on the night vision goggles dangling from his neck. "Don't budge from here and don't make a sound."

"What the –"

Steve softly presses calloused fingertips to Danny's lips. "Danno."

Danny hisses, frustrated as his heart thumps violently inside his breastbone. "Steven."

"I can't distinguish who is who with these goggles, I don't want to risk –"

"It's okay. Go do your thing," Danny says breathless.

Steve nods, unsheathing a knife from somewhere and slips away.

Danny grips his useless Glock, cursing his luck, tucking it into his waistband. No, he can't let Steve do this alone, but blood continues to run freely down his face and the world feels unsteady when he rises to his feet.

He listens, straining against the wind and chittering insects, wondering where the hell everyone could be. Because, hello, loud ass gunfight on one of the biggest Navy bases.

Phone. He has a phone, except he doesn't, patting down empty pockets. Of course, he dropped it while running for his life. Danny would blame Steve –except Steve's out there, hunting those hunting them.

A cold lump of reality lodges in Danny' throat and he remains alert, listening intently into the darkness.

Steve appears out of nowhere, dragging a body, and dumps it by Danny's feet. Brandishing his knife, he disappears into the night like a real freaking ninja, and yeah, Danny's never going tease Steve with that nickname again.

Danny quickly checks the guy's pulse and finds none, his fingers tacky with blood. Jesus.

The report of multiple AKs sends him onto his belly, and Danny tenses, knowing Steve's outnumbered, his worry superseding his confidence.

It takes forever for his eyes adjust to the darkness and he catches Steve's catlike outline sneak up another bad guy, the unsuspecting shadow crumpling. Then Steve plunges deeper into the woods, disappearing from view.

"Damn it."

It's a deadly game of cat and mouse when more gunshots ring out erratically, the shooters firing wildly. Two different AKs rip up the area – then fall silent seconds later.

Danny pushes up to his knees, searches vainly, tensing at every noise and gust of wind. One minute passes, then two. Nothing.

He swirls around at the crunch of leaves, swinging, but a hand twists his wrist away, Steve's face appearing inches from his. "Don't say a word."

Danny might implode from the need to yell and scream, but he nods, holding his breath.

There's blood on the front of Steve's shirt, splatter across his neck, but his eyes are a deep sea of calm. "I need you to draw out the last guy."

"Last guy? I counted two left."

"There's only one," Steve says evenly.

"Noisy bait, right," Danny whispers. "Got it."

Steve slinks away, the night swallowing him whole. It's freaking eerie.

"Steve!" Danny whispers too loudly. "Where are you? I think I've got a signal."

He waits, eyes darting back and forth at shifting shadows.

"Steve. Come on, we've got to get out of here."

Snap.

Danny sees the shift in air and a figure emerges from around a tree, stalking toward Danny, Steve's outline following inches away.

But the figure spins around, shining a light in Steve's direction, the beam swiping across his goggles. Steve hisses, throwing up a hand to block the light, and the suspect takes aim at him.

"Steve!" Danny yells, charging the figure.

He rushes forward, slamming into the guy, both of them falling to the ground. Danny lands on top of the suspect's chest, both of them fighting over the guy's Sig, the damn weapon going off with a deafening pop.

Adrenaline surges through his veins and Danny rips the Sig away, repeatedly slamming the butt into the suspect's face.

"Danny, Danny!"

Hands grab him from behind and yank him away. Danny squirms out of the grasp, swinging the Sig, but Steve grabs his fist in an iron grip.

"It's okay, D." Steve carefully relieves Danny of the weapon. "You can stand down."

Danny stares at up at Steve then at the unmoving body on the ground, his heart pounding.

"Danny, talk to me," Steve says anxiously. "Are you okay?"

"What?"

"Are you hurt?"

Steve is frantic and a little crazed looking.

"I'm fine," Danny says.

Steve runs his hands over Danny's shoulders and arms. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm good." But that doesn't erase the worried look on Steve's face. Danny squeezes his arm in reassurance. "I promise." Steve nods, releasing a breath and Danny gives him a pat. "What about the others?"

"He was the last one."

Danny lowers himself to the ground and stares up at Steve, out of breath, dabbing at the wound at his temple. "I really hate getting stitches."

Steve gives him a dopey smile before securing their suspect's weapon. "Look at the positive side. You have some time off coming up."

"You better believe it," Danny growls, the adrenaline crash hitting him hard.

Steve stuffs Ridley's weapon into his waistband, stumbling slightly when he moves.

"Hey, tough guy," Danny growls, quickly assessing Steve for injury. "Sit down before you fall down."

Huffing annoyingly, Steve eases himself to the ground next to Danny, leaning against him. And jeeze, what that does to him, knowing Steve has let his guard down.

"Are you hurt?" Danny demands. "And don't you dare lie to me."

Steve laughs this exhausted sound. "Not any worse than I was before."

Danny chuckles exasperated, feeling wrung out and scattered. He wipes at the wet trickle from his cut. "We're quite the pair of gimps, aren't we?"

Steve's fingers slip into Danny's. "Who are you calling a gimp?"

***

It's a three-ring circus between the Pearl Harbor Police, MPs, and medical emergency crews. Danny sits inside the back of the ambulance with fresh gauze taped to his temple as he waits for his ride to the ER.

Steve finishes talking on the phone after what seems like forever and strides over. "Just got off the horn with Agent Bailey and Captain Bishop. They're on their way for a debriefing. Bailey said the ATF wants in on this, but NCIS still has jurisdiction."

Danny shifts his butt on the gurney and scans the area lit up by flashing red and blue lights. "Did you leave anyone alive to arrest?"

"The guy you knocked unconscious. I only subdued Seaman Ridley." Steve nods in the direction of the unconscious man surrounded by two medics. "He'll live."

Danny watches two gurneys loaded with body bags wheeled toward the coroner's van. Tonight had been close.

One of the EMTs, a young guy in his twenties, comes around the rig. "Detective Williams, we're ready to take you to the hospital," he says and looks over at Steve. "You should ride along and get checked out as well, Commander."

"Come on, keep me company," Danny says before Steve can argue. "Besides, you should get cleaned up. You look like a deranged freak."

Steve glances down at his stained shirt and subconsciously rubs at the dried blood on his neck. "Yeah, okay."

Danny shakes his head. "Like I was going to take any other answer."

***

Three hours and x-rays later, Danny is the proud owner of four new black sutures. He's lucky according to the tiny shriveled old physician who oversaw his care: Danny doesn't have a concussion.

That doesn't postpone the debriefing that follows with too many questions and an even slower trickle of answers. Commander Stanton stands in the room, the odd man out in this whole thing, his face a mask of cool professionalism as Steve goes over their investigation with Agent Bailey and Captain Bishop and five other big shots from other law enforcement organizations.

Danny breathes a sigh of relief when the meeting ends for the night – or is it morning? He doesn't know.

Everyone files out except for Stanton and Danny wanders over next to Steve who stands at complete attention like he's ready for the firing squad.

"Lieutenant Commander McGarrett," Stanton says, hands on his hips. Steve holds himself even straighter, as if readying himself for a barrage of verbal body blows. "Your team is waiting for you. I think they would like to know about the apprehension of the people responsible for the murder their CO and brother."

Steve doesn't lose a single inch of rigidness in his posture, but the lines around his eyes ease. "Yes, sir."

***

Danny follows Steve into the common room, all eleven members of SEAL Team Five standing at attention. He begins moving to stand off to the side, but a familiar hand grips his shoulder and Danny freezes, his face scrunching up in curiosity at Steve.

"You should stay here next to me," Steve says.

The gesture catches Danny off guard. A wave of pride and affection renders him speechless and slightly dumbstruck at how much it means to him.

Steve holds his head up high, dressed in cargo pants and a black t-shirt, his tags resting against his chest. "Detective Danny Williams and I were assigned to this team to investigate the murder of Lieutenant Commander Ryan Johnson. As you have heard by now, his death wasn't an accident."

Steve nods at Danny to continue. They started this case together and they'll end it together.

"We're still trying to put the pieces together, but we believe there was an arms ring involving the ongoing theft of ordinance earmarked for destruction." Danny waits a beat, gives the team a second to process before continuing. "Both suspects are in interrogation, but we believe Commander Johnson stumbled across this operation when he spotted a truck with a flat tire on the night he was killed. A truck more than likely filled with crates of stolen weapons."

"What happened, sir?" Vega asks.

"We still don't know," Steve says. "Johnson might have seen something or asked the wrong questions. Or maybe the people who were supposed to receive the weapons arrived to help and got freaked out when they spotted Johnson. But we'll find out. I promise."

"And you did not divulge any information regarding the truth behind Commander Johnson's death because you thought one of us could have been a suspect?" Mache asks, his expression tight.

"We didn't have any suspects or motive," Steve answers. "We couldn't risk tipping our hand. It was recon."

Steve's words settle over the shoulders of a team trained to honor trust above all else. A team who just lost a leader to some stupid random act of violence.

"Does this mean there won't be a story?" Hunt asks.

The disappointment in the man's voice catches Danny off guard. "Um, that's unclear at this time."

Steve gives him a curious look before staring straight ahead at the team.

Mache is the first man to walk forward, his girth a formidable presence. Holding his head up high, he stands at attention. "Thank you, sir."

It's like the weight of the world slides off Steve's shoulders.

Mache turns toward Danny and holds out his hand. "Thank you."

Danny shakes Mache's massive paw. "You're welcome."

Each team member falls in line, standing at attention, acknowledging the trident Steve wears no matter the clothes or uniform. And Danny shakes each of their hands, earns a couple claps on the back, he and Steve standing side by side.

***

Danny longs for his big comfy bed and a shower he can camp under for an hour without fear of running out of hot water. But he is beyond exhaustion's threshold, skirting the cliff of loopy, and he needs to recharge his batteries and unwind coiled muscles. And that means getting some shut-eye before sliding behind the wheel since Steve shouldn't drive yet.

Steve closes the door, locking it, his eyes tracking Danny as he takes off his socks and shoes.

"You're kind of creepy standing there." But Steve doesn't say a word. "You okay, babe?"

"You know as a SEAL, I learned to live my life for today," Steve says, voice rough. "There wasn't a rewind button for yesterday and the future doesn't matter if you don't survive to see it."

"That's a pretty bleak outlook on life."

"It worked for us, for me. But now..."

"Now?"

"During the firefight when the suspect blinded me and you tackled him – and the gun went off." Steve wipes a hand over his face, fingers lingering over his eyes. "I thought you'd been shot and I was filled with rage, but more than that…I was filled with horrible regret. And I have enough regret in my life, Danny."

Danny's heart aches at the desperation in Steve's voice and he wanders over to stand in front of him. "I know how painful regret is. It leaves a terrible hole inside, and sometimes it gets smaller, but mostly it turns into a giant chasm that leaves you empty. The question is, Steven, what are you going to do about it?"

Steve runs his tongue nervously over his lower lip and Danny wonders if Steve is trying to be provocative before he leans down and tentatively brushes his lips against Danny's. It's a slow and anxious gesture, so unlike Steve's normal ferocity.

"Is this, okay?" Steve whispers.

"More than okay," Danny growls.

Steve's eye light up at that and Danny devotes all his attention to the next kiss and Steve eagerly opens his mouth, meeting Danny's tongue with his own.

Cupping Danny's head in one hand, Steve slips his other arm around Danny's waist, pulling him flush. His eagerness and excitement radiate through Danny, electrifying him, energy he replicates with ravenous kisses. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the sensations of lips and teeth and tongue, groaning in pleasure. Steve grips him tighter, digging his fingers into Danny's back.

"Want to take this to the bed?" Steve whispers in his ear, sending a wave of heat through Danny's body.

"Oh, yeah."

For the ten seconds it takes to move over to the bed, all Danny can think about is stripping Steve's clothes off. He sits on the mattress, Steve quickly shucking his boots, practically kicking them across the room in his rush, and crawling next to him.

Danny tugs on Steve's shirt and helps pull it over his head. Danny shudders at all that tanned skin and inked arms, ignoring the white bandages. "God, you're beautiful."

Steve's eyes drop abashed and Danny wants to erase that damn incredulous look and make him feel the very love that Steve gives every day with his sweat and pain.

His eyes draw toward dog tags hanging down Steve's chest and Steve caresses the left side of Danny's face. "You can touch them if you want."

Danny's breath catches at the trust Steve's bestowed upon him, aware at how much Steve guards it. Danny's hands shake as he traces the chain, twirling it between his fingers, drifting down to the black tape. "Can I...I mean…"

Steve wraps his hand over Danny's, both their fingers curled around the tags together. "Go ahead."

Danny slowly peels away the tape, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Steve's name, his social, a shiver ghosting down his spine.

Steve swallows, watching him with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling. "God, Danny."

Danny kisses the tags with love and reverence, tracing the chain with his mouth, up Steve's neck, and licks the skin along his throat. "Babe."

"Yeah," Steve says breathless, excited. "Now your turn."

"Fair is fair," Danny teases, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling it over his head.

Steve helps, practically ripping it away and tossing it to the floor. Danny smiles at the enthusiasm, so incredibly turned on at having a hundred percent of that McGarrett intensity directed toward him.

Danny has fantasized about getting his hands on all Steve's tantalizing skin and muscle, but the one thing he'd forgotten to factor is the sensation of Steve's hands on him. Fingers so adept with knives and firearms impatiently explore Danny's sides and up each rib. Danny gasps as Steve wordlessly finds and exploits his every hotspot like it's a critical piece of intel, mission essential.

Eventually, Steve works his way up Danny's shoulders, wrapping both arms around Danny's neck as he kisses his mouth deeply. Passionately. Like Danny is the most vital thing in Steve's life. And damn those SEAL lungs, forcing Danny to break off the kiss, his head dizzy for air.

"Do you know how long I've wanted this?" he pants, wondering if this is really happening.

Steve breaths are rapid and heavy and he buries his face in the crook of Danny's neck, holding him tighter, as if Danny might slip away. "I'm sorry that I couldn't…that I…"

And out of nowhere, a wave of wanting hits Danny hard, overwhelming him with the need to keep Steve safe, to give him everything he deserves.

"Shssssh, it's okay," he says, rubbing his hands up and down Steve's back, channeling security and longing. So much longing. "We have each other now. No regrets, remember?"

"No regrets," Steve repeats, like it's an order, an oath, a promise. He lifts up his head, eyes dark with desire. And yeah, Danny could get used to that look.

He moves back just enough to insinuate a hand between their bodies and gives Steve a hard rub then a gentle squeeze through his pants. Steve gasps, squirming against him. Encouraged, Danny fumbles with Steve's belt enough to slip a hand inside.

"How far do you want this to go?" he asks, pressing his lips to the hollow of Steve's throat.

"I don't care." Steve sounds a bit dazed. "Just please...don't stop."

Danny palms Steve, prompting a low groan, and making Steve press his face against Danny's chest before eager fingers grasp Danny's hardness through his pants.

"I don't think we're gonna get much past this," Danny says, his voice hoarse.

"Not this time, anyway," Steve agrees breathlessly, making Danny's heart surge.

Danny grips Steve's shoulder, pushing him down onto the bed, his other hand undoing his own belt and shoving down his pants. He lines their bodies together and Danny brushes against Steve, the two of them quickly finding a rhythm.

"Fuck, Danny. Yeah, just like that," Steve pants.

Danny clings to Steve, rocketing over him, pressing closer, lost in blissful sensation. Steve's tags dig against Danny's chest and he can't get enough of them rubbing against his skin, leaving a mark. Their straining bodies provide enough friction to take them to the brink.

"Want this so much," Danny groans, eyes rolling into the back of his head. He's not going to last much longer.

Steve bucks under him, growling, groaning. "Danny! God."

Spots dance beneath Danny's closed eyelids, his body shuddering. He feels Steve's release just before his and he collapses on top of him, Steve's rapid breath ghosting against Danny's neck.

After a minute, Steve's breath slows down, soothing Danny's rapid pulse, leaving him comfortably relaxed. "Well," is the only thing he manages.

Steve wraps his arms around Danny's back. "'Well'? That's all you've got to say? What happened to all that talk about communication?"

Danny rolls over onto his side until he's lying next to Steve and grabs one of their shirts to help clean them up. "Now you wanna talk. Who talks after mind-blowing sex? How about basking in the afterglow? Enjoying things. Talking can wait until morning."

Steve gives him a loopy smile. "It is morning, Danno."

Danny wraps Steve's chain around his finger. "Morning, night, noontime. I don't care, we're going to sleep for as long as it takes, and then we're going to leave this place in our rearview mirror and take some time off. And yeah, then we're going to talk. Talk a lot."

Steve loses some of his spark and Danny twirls the chain even tighter. "Steven. You promised time off."

"And you're going to get it."

Danny bites his bottom lip. "Not we?"

"I'll join you, I promise," Steve says, licking his lips anxiously. "But I've got to do something first."

Danny closes his eyes, knowing exactly what's coming. "The joint operation? Steve, you're not their leader."

"I know that, but they're still a man down and I'm going to see them through." Steve swallows hard, steeling himself. "I hope you understand."

Danny works his finger around the chain until he caresses both dog tags, his voice gentle. "Yeah, I do."

Steve opens his mouth seemingly lost for words. Shocked. "You do?"

Danny wets his mouth, trying to find right the words, because Steve should never have to look at Danny in doubt like this again. "It's an important part of who you are, babe. I don't have any right to deny you that."

Steve's face crumples in a mix of relief and disbelief and joy. It's beautiful and heartbreaking. "I...just...I..."

Danny presses a finger to Steve's mouth, hushing him. "I know you'll always be a SEAL and lord knows there's more to that than I could have ever imagined, but that's a big piece of you." He smiles. "And you, my friend, are one complicated jigsaw puzzle. And I'm about the whole thing. Every single part."

"Come here," Steve says, pulling Danny over, holding his body close, pressing his lips to Danny's mouth. "I meant what I said. This was just the beginning."

"Yeah, I know that, too," Danny says, meeting the kiss with vigor. "Believe me."


Steve smiles this lazy, amazing grin, and Danny returns it. "Besides," he says with a cough. "While you're busy with playing war games, I have a story to type."

Steve gets this baffled, adorable expression and Danny runs a hand over Steve's side. "I am an expert at writing reports, and well, I think those guys deserve to have their story told."

"They don't expect accolades, that's not why –"

Danny presses his lips to Steve's, trailing a hand down Steve's thigh and hooking it over Danny's leg, pressing their bodies even closer. Flushed skin to flushed skin. "Will you just hush," he says, taking a breath. "Who cares about all that superficial shit?" He wets his lips, his voice thick. "It's going to be about the heart that beats inside them."

Steve stares at him with such fondness that Danny can't help the warm glow overwhelming him. "I do believe you have a look."

"And you have a tone," Steve says, voice blissful as he wraps his arms around Danny.

"So, I've been told," Danny whispers, basking in it all.

***
Fini-