Rescue Me
1 - The Price of Nobility
A/N: Hello everyone. Here's my latest challenge: a series of short stories based on Tumblr (whumpy) prompts that I was unable to resist. In these stories you'll find the boys rescuing each other, literally and figuratively, and although the subject of injured Steve/Danny has been touched many times over the years I hope you won't find them boring. I voluntarily left some of the medical and case details vague to focus on the relationship between the two and how they deal with crisis that affect one or the other.
The prompt will be listed at the end of each story. I figured it would ruin the surprise if you knew what was going to happen in advance.
As you know, my favorite character is Steve so he will be a little more prominent. You have been warned.
This particular story is set after the events of 9x12. A big thank you to Susan for reading it and telling me it was good enough to be posted.
"So what'd you tell Gracie?" Steve asked as he shifted the Camaro into park and switched off the engine, trying to speed up the conversation that had lasted the whole ride so that his partner would feel free to come to a point, if there was ever one.
Danny unbuckled his seatbelt and shrugged. "I told her she's not getting another car, period. Not anytime soon. And that the topic is not open for discussion."
The painful memories of the accident that had nearly cost his daughter's life were still too fresh in the detective's mind. Even if it had turned out she'd had no fault in it and had actually been commended for trying to protect her friend, the sight of her young and fragile body lying so still in the ICU had been a shock he hadn't quite covered from. There was no way he was allowing her behind the wheel yet.
A soft sigh escaped Steve's lips. "I guess she's not taking it too well, is she?"
"No, she's not. But this time there's gonna be no going behind my back. I told Rachel she is not to let her borrow her car until I say so. I also told Stan, and I'm telling you now so everybody's informed."
"Alright."
Steve knew better than to argue with him. He had called his partner a Jewish grandmother but truth was, he understood his reasons. Who could blame him? They'd all come too damn close to losing her so Danny was allowed to go a bit over the top to make sure she was safe.
"And don't tell me I'm overreacting, alright? 'Cause I'm not," the Jersey native replied, his ever-moving hands emphasizing the point he was trying to make. "She nearly died, and I'm terrified it could happen again..."
Steve nodded. Despite not being a parent, he loved Danny's children as if they were his own and couldn't help sharing his friend's concern. "I hear you, buddy. But you guys raised her right so you gotta trust her sooner or later. Grace is a smart young woman and she's gonna be fine." He gave Danny a reassuring pat on the shoulder and got out of the car, inspecting the run-down trailer park area near Ewa Beach where their latest suspect had taken residence.
"I know," Danny said to himself before exiting the vehicle and walking up to him, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the chain-linked fence that welcomed them to the camp.
Rusted mailboxes and overflowing trashcans only added to the depressing picture in front of them. It was sad to think there were people who called this dump home.
"Remember this place?" The Five-0 leader asked as flashbacks from nearly a decade before brought him back to the first time they had visited it.
"I sure do. Barely an hour after ambushing me into becoming your partner you dragged me out here and got me shot. I should've known right then and there that my life was going to turn into a gun-filled nightmare." The smile on his lips was hard to miss despite his accusing words. "Should've run when I had the chance."
"Nine years, buddy," Steve said, shaking his head in amazement. "Who would've thought?"
He had come back to the island a damaged man after losing Freddie and his father in a very short amount of time. Reeling from grief and a crushing amount of combat stress from his missions he'd barely had time to adjust to civilian life, and had latched onto the loud-mouthed detective as if he was a lifeline. With time and persistence, Danny had made him whole again. Barreling through his defenses, chipping away his armor and weaving himself into every corner of Steve's life.
His constant amidst the chaos.
The brother he could trust with his life.
The only person who had never lied to him like everyone else had.
"I know, right? Thought we wouldn't have lasted a week."
That first day, not too far from where he was standing now, Danny had punched Steve in the face, frustrated by the man's know-it-all attitude and disregard for safety. Since then, the batshit-crazy, emotionally-stunted SEAL had become his best friend, his rock, the one he'd chosen to share his retirement plans with because he couldn't bear the thought of not having him around.
Danny had allowed his children to fall in love with him, strengthening a bond that would now connect them for life and discovering in amazement how the man who wouldn't take help from anyone was instead generous to a fault, and that for someone who didn't voice his feelings Steve wore them on his sleeve for everyone to see.
Unbelievable how much he had changed since that first day.
"That way," Steve said, leading them through discarded furniture and old tires and past what had once been Fred Doran's house.
Jim Kaiwi, the man they were looking for, was a person of interest in the murder of two known drug dealers. From the information Jerry had been able to dig up, he and the victims had shared a boys' night out across town, visiting three different joints where they'd spent considerable cash before allegedly going their separate ways. Less than twelve hours later, the two bodies had been discovered in an alley not too far from their latest hangout.
Wondering why a man who lived in a trailer park had suddenly dressed up to party sporting wads of bills he had no business waving around, Steve and Danny had decided to question him while the rest of the team focused on the victims' finances and business associates.
Steve moved at a quick, deliberate pace, eyes scanning his surroundings for any sign of danger. From experience, they both knew most of the residents in the area were involved in illegal activities and cops were not welcome so extra caution was advised.
Meth labs and white trash —those were the words Meka had used during a very informative tour of the island on his first week on the job. Nine years later, the description still fit to a tee.
As he followed Steve towards Kaiwi's trailer, his own eyes alert and right hand resting on the gun holstered at his side, Danny couldn't help remembering more details from their first day together.
'We shouldn't be doing this without backup.'
'You are the backup.'
Some things hadn't changed.
Despite having mellowed a bit over the years, Steve was still the 'act first, think later' guy that made Danny's blood pressure rise on a regular basis. Whether it was a free dive into the ocean or a jump into a sand processing machine to catch a perp, that paralyzing fear that stole his breath and quickened his heartbeat was still a faithful companion today as it had been back at the beginning.
And sometimes, when he least expected it, an ominous feeling of foreboding snuck its way into Danny's mind, rattling him to the core. It had happened on the pier outside the Arcturus while Steve was being tortured and it was happening now, a warning that something bad was about to happen.
He slowed down and looked around, failing to spot anything out of the ordinary. Yet there was a tension in the air, like static, that seemed to freeze him in his tracks.
"Steve?" he called tentatively.
"What?"
"Wait up."
The former SEAL held out his arms in a questioning gesture, brows furrowed. "Why? What is it?"
Trying to explain a gut feeling to a man of action like McGarrett was like explaining quantum physics to a five-year-old. "Just… wait up."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Let's just be careful, alright?"
"Yeah, always," Steve shrugged like it went with the territory, like his approach to suspects and crimes didn't involve hand grenades and close-quarter combat.
Danny resisted the urge to laugh. The word 'careful' hadn't been in Steve's vocabulary since he was probably in diapers.
"Hear this?" he said, twirling a finger in the air to signal the space around them.
"What?"
"Exactly. Nothing, there's nothing to hear. Shithole like this, middle of the day...what are the odds?"
Steve strained his ears to listen, becoming suddenly aware of the lack of sound surrounding them. No chattering, radios or TVs. Not even a bird chirping.
"You think something's about to go down?"
Danny had good instincts and he'd learned not to dismiss them, but the thought of a potential threat only fueled his resolve to find out what it was and put an end to it. Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett might not be as fast or as strong as he had once been but he still fully intended to honor the promise he'd made to the people of Hawaii and keep them safe.
"Cover the back, I'll check the front," he said, reaching for his SIG and chambering a bullet.
Danny grabbed his arm to stop him. "Whoa whoa whoa hold on a sec, would you, what's the rush?"
"What's the rush?" Steve repeated in disbelief. "Danny, if there's hostiles inside we need to stop them!"
"Hostiles? There's no hostiles, Steve, we're not at war! These are junkies looking to score, which makes them even more dangerous."
"And standing out here arguing about it isn't gonna make them any less dangerous..."
"Alright, alright," Danny huffed. "But let's stay together, alright? No crazy solo acts."
"Alright."
Nodding in agreement, Steve slowly approached the run-down trailer, his partner not too far behind. Now that Danny had mentioned it, he couldn't help thinking that the haunting silence of the otherwise lively encampment was indeed a bad sign. Could they have underestimated their suspect?
He gripped the gun tighter, aiming it towards the closed door of the old Airstream. They didn't know if Kaiwi was inside, but there was indeed a chance the man was a murderer and wouldn't go down without a fight.
Behind him, weapon drawn, Danny nervously surveyed the scene. Three more mobile homes were parked close by, providing cover from unwanted eyes along with a few abandoned car wrecks that had become nests for chickens and stray dogs. Two shabby cottages were also standing in the cramped space, one next to the other. They all looked lived-in, and yet no one was around.
"James Kaiwi, Five-0!" Steve's voice echoed loudly over the quiet camp.
Weeks later, over a cold beer, Danny would recount it wasn't really a sound that made him turn just as Kaiwi stepped out of his hiding spot between two of the abandoned cars. Call it instinct, or some sort of preternatural sensation, he spun around just in time to see the man raise his automatic weapon and aim it at Steve who was about to open the trailer's door, oblivious to the threat.
It all happened in a blink: the Jersey detective, standing a few feet behind to his partner's right, leapt sideways and into the bullet's path without even thinking, shouting Steve's name in warning as he did so just as Kaiwi squeezed the trigger.
The gun went off, and a burning sensation to his left shoulder followed right after. Danny fired back, hitting their suspect in the chest and watching him fall to the ground as he went down himself, crying out in pain when he landed on his injured side.
It took him a moment to regain the breath that the shot and the fall had stolen from him. When it did, and the haze partially cleared from his mind, he reached out his hand and inspected the wound, relieved to find out it was just a through-and-through and nothing major had been hit.
"This place is cursed," he groaned as he slowly sat up. "Mark my words, Steven, I am not setting foot here ever again!"
At least Steve was okay. He had protected him from the shot.
Or so he thought, until his brain kicked in and he remembered that the bullet had gone straight through him and that his partner was standing right behind.
His partner, who he couldn't see from his current position.
His best friend, who was not making a sound.
Heart suddenly racing, Danny scrambled to his feet. He turned around, and a look of horrified realization crossed his face when he saw Steve collapse in front of his very eyes as if someone had just dropped his strings.
"Steve!"
He stumbled forward, ignoring the dizziness from his own injury, and dropped to his knees next to him.
Steve's face was closed in a grimace, his left hand clamped over his chest where the bullet had hit. Blood was leaking steadily from under his fingers, quickly turning his light blue shirt into a brownish, sticky mess.
"No— no no no no... Steve! Steven!"
"Danny..." Steve frowned at him when their eyes met, confusion clearly written across his features. One moment he was standing in front of the suspect's door and the next he was laying on the dirt, a gaping hole in his chest.
"It's alright, I got you. You gonna be alright." Careful not to cause more harm, Danny pulled his friend forward a little to look at his back. Steve groaned at the motion and instinctively tried to resist. "Don't— don't do that, let me see... let me check."
No exit wound.
Damn.
"How bad?"
Danny swallowed hard. "We, uh… we can fix this. We're gonna get you patched up, you'll be as good as new." Biting his lip to keep from crying out, he took off his shirt and balled it up so he could use it to slow the blood flow. "This is gonna hurt, alright, but I need to put pressure on the wound."
"'m alright..." the former SEAL breathed out.
"No, you're not, but you will be. I promise."
"You... hurt?" Steve asked as he shivered slightly, trying to focus on something other than his best friend's worried face and his own predicament. He had failed to spot and defuse a threat and that was unacceptable, especially since it had harmed Danny as a result.
"It's nothing. Through-and-through. Doesn't even hurt."
They both knew better, but no one dared to say it out loud.
Sweat was glistening on Steve's face and each labored breath felt like a stab to Danny's own lungs. He had seen enough injuries on the force to recognize the symptoms of a pneumothorax.
His partner needed help, and he needed it now.
Raising his head, he frantically looked around, hoping to spot someone. There had to be people nearby.
"Hey! I need help!" he yelled, his voice reverberating like a clap of thunder through the silent space. "Officer down! Come on out here, you cowards!"
When a long, agonizing minute passed and nothing happened, Danny shook his head in frustration and switched position, grabbing his blood-soaked shirt with his left hand while reaching for his phone with the other. His own wound was still bleeding and the strength in the injured arm was waning, but it was either this or watch his best friend bleed to death and he couldn't let that happen. Not today, not ever.
Steve shifted under him, his body racked by a bout of dry cough that only increased the sharp, stabbing pain on the side of his chest and left him gasping for air. He put his shaking hands on top of Danny's, and if it was any other occasion they would've probably both laughed at the fact that two people were barely able to apply any pressure.
Blinking back tears, Danny hastily dialed 911 and put the phone on speaker, dropping it to the ground as he resumed compression, ignoring the growing red puddle on the ground beneath his friend.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"Yeah, this is Detective Danny Williams with Five-0, I need an ambulance at Ewa Beach Trailer Park, my partner's been shot! He, uh… he has a gunshot wound to the chest and probably a collapsed lung."
"Copy that, Detective, the bus is on its way. ETA is 10 minutes."
Ten minutes?
Did Steve even have ten minutes?
"Ah…dispatch, I—I don't know if he has that long. Please tell them to hurry…"
The emergency operator assured him that they would do their best and asked a few more questions. Danny grunted one-word replies then tuned the voice completely out, determined to make sure the medics had someone to save when they got there.
"This wasn't supposed to happen..." he muttered as his panic soared. The pessimistic nature he had been trying to keep at bay was taking over and he couldn't help worrying about what kind of damage the bullet had done. The bullet he'd wanted to shield Steve from. "I thought I'd saved you. I thought I'd saved you..."
Steve recognized his friend's destructive behavior and again, tried to distract him.
"I'm sorry..."
"For what?"
"N-nine years ago... you said... if you get somebody shot, y-you apologize..."
Danny shook his head, lips pursed, thinking that no, there was no way he could continue living if something ever happened to Steve. "You remember that, huh? I'm surprised."
"'Course I do…" Steve replied, latching onto his friend's arm with surprising strength. "You t-think I don't listen to you… but I do." Another bout of cough shook his frame and he stiffened, fingers digging into Danny's skin. His chest felt tight, the pain getting worse every time he breathed in, like someone had their hands inside of him and was rhythmically crushing his lungs as hard as they could. When it faded, he was able to think and talk; when it returned, he could only hold still until it passed. "This is my... borrowed time. Wouldn't have… lived this long if it wasn't for you."
"What are you saying, buddy?"
"I'm s-saying... thank you."
"No need to. You wanna thank me, you stay awake until the paramedics get here. Alright?"
Steve gave him a look, an apologetic look that said 'you know I'll try but this is out of my hands so forgive me if I can't', and Danny nodded in understanding.
He could feel Steve's rapid heartbeat and knew he didn't have much time.
"I got you... I got you. Come on, stay with me. Stay with me..."
Where the hell was the damn ambulance?
Wasn't it ten minutes already?
His arms were shaking from exhaustion and the blood loss was making him lightheaded but he kept pressing his shirt over the wound, murmuring reassurances. It barely seemed enough, yet it calmed Steve down. Every few minutes he would moan— a low, heartbreaking moan of a person consumed by pain. Then he would go quiet, as if retreating into a deeper place to cope.
Danny never stopped talking.
Even when his friend went still and his eyes slid closed.
He kept looking over his shoulders, frantically searching for the help that they so desperately needed, but mostly he fixed his gaze on Steve's face so that when he opened his eyes he'd be the first thing he saw.
"You took a bullet for me."
Danny shifted nervously in his seat under his partner's intense stare.
"Don't. We've been over this already."
"You took a bullet for me."
Today, Steve was lucid for the first time in weeks. There were no drugs coursing through his system and no ventilator to prevent him from speaking, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to finally address the issue that had been bothering him since that day.
Danny lowered his gaze, shifting it from his friend's face to the black converse on his feet. If there was a dress code for hospitals, this was his — black t-shirt, jeans, sneakers. Grace had pointed out that very morning that they were the same clothes he'd worn when she was in the hospital, and promptly suggested that he'd burn them as fast as he could. Danny wholeheartedly agreed, vowing to do that the first chance he'd get.
"Didn't really matter, did it? It was all for nothing."
He was still experiencing a tremendous amount of guilt over what had happened. One thing was a bullet like the one that had shattered Steve's liver, one he'd had no control over. This... this he had tried to stop and failed, and it hurt even more. The wound on his shoulder had mostly healed, but the hours spent by his friend's bedside would never fade from his memory.
"Don't say that."
Steve was feeling equally responsible. He should've paid more attention, searched better, reacted faster. He'd let a drug dealer get the better of him and nearly left Charlie and Grace without a father.
"You almost died, Steve. Again. What good am I if I can't even—"
"It was a freak accident, alright? You couldn't have predicted it."
"I should have!" he rose abruptly to his feet, the legs of the chair scraping against the linoleum floor. "All the shit we've been through; it should've taught me something! This... this doesn't happen to normal people but it keeps happening to us, and I'm sick of it!" The headache that had slowly started at the base of his skull was now radiating around his entire head and he rubbed at his temple as fragmented images of bloodied scrubs and a green cardiac flat line flashed through his brain.
Steve had stared Death in the eye. Stood so close that it had almost claimed him.
Something Danny just couldn't cope with.
"You in a hospital bed, hooked to machines, barely responsive. I can't go through this again."
"Danny..."
The Jersey native ignored him and started to pace. "First Grace, now you... I can't keep seeing the people I love get hurt..."
"I'm sorry, man," Steve apologized. He pushed himself upright on the bed, desperately trying to get his partner's attention. The wires and IV lines connected to his body stretched and pulled, and he was forced to lay back against the pillow. "Hey... hey, come over here. Please. I can't move," he sighed in frustration.
Danny turned around and frowned at the sight of his best friend trying to untangle himself. "Don't move, please," he urged as he walked back to the bed and helped him before resuming his position in the seat he had just vacated.
Steve's fingers curled around his wrist. "You saved my life. I'm here, today, because of you. Doctor said if the bullet had hit me directly I would've probably died so don't beat yourself up for it, alright? If anything it is my fault for underestimating that son of a bitch."
It was true. The fact that the bullet had traveled through Danny first had slowed its path and lessened the damage to Steve's body. It was meant to be a consoling thought if one could get past two surgeries, weeks of ICU and the severity of the injuries that the man had sustained.
Danny couldn't.
"Grace called," he blurted out of the blue.
"Oh yeah?" Steve's face lit up in excitement at the news.
"That day. While I was trying to keep you alive. I didn't even realize it was her, didn't even look after I pressed the button, but then I heard her voice…" Danny's gaze traveled to the window and the world outside where people kept on living their lives while he was stuck in a loop of pain and regret. "She was calling about the graduation party. Wanted me to tell you that she'd love to do it at your place."
"That's great, Danny. As soon as I get out of here I'll start—"
"She's, uh... she's a smart girl, you know. Realized something bad was going on." Steve listened intently as Danny went on, unconsciously picking at the hem of his sheet. "I couldn't move. I literally couldn't move my hands 'cause you were losing so much blood... and she kept talking to me. To both of us. She kept me sane, man. She kept me focused until the paramedics got there when all I wanted to do was curl up next to you and cry."
Danny could still see the blood on his hands. He stared at them as his eyes filled with tears, ashamed to admit he had relied on his 17-year old daughter for comfort. "I guess... I guess I didn't do a good job of protecting her that day."
When he met Steve's gaze, he saw that his hazel eyes were equally wet. "I had no idea..." the other man whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat at the thought of the brave young woman who had managed to be strong when none of them could.
"You were pretty out of it," Danny shrugged.
Steve nodded as he reached for the bed controls and raised the upper half of the mattress a bit. Sitting in an elevated position made breathing easier and his healing lung hurt less.
The relieved sigh that escaped his lips didn't go unnoticed.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You sure? Did you do your breathing exercises today?"
"I said I'm fine," he repeated, exhaling a lungful of air. "Look, I'm really sorry you had to go through that but you're a great father, Danny. Grace is not gonna think any less of you for being vulnerable."
"That's rich coming from you, SuperSEAL," Danny smiled as a matching grin spread on his partner's face.
"Hey… do as I say, not as I do, right?"
"Right."
"So where's the doctor? I need to know when I can get out of here, we have a party to plan."
Danny rolled his eyes. "Six to eight weeks, Steve. He said it takes six to eight weeks to fully recover from a punctured lung. It's been barely two."
"Danny, that's for regular people. I'm not gonna spend six weeks in a hospital or sitting at home!" Steve replied, offended by the mere thought of being sidelined for that long.
"Yes, that's correct. Regular people who are not at risk of infection for the immunosuppressants they take. People who are not suffering from radiation poisoning." The Jersey native stood up again and leaned on the edge of the bed. "Rest, take all your meds, and absolutely no driving until you're healed. That's what he said. And I would tend to trust him, you know, having a medical degree and all."
Steve sighed. "I see lots of matzo ball soup in my future…"
Danny feigned outrage, but only for a second. "You should be looking forward to it. I don't do that for just anybody."
"I am, buddy. I am."
THE END
So… did you like it? Would love to hear your thoughts about it.
This was the prompt:
'A jumps in front of B and takes a bullet. Thinks B is safe and it turns out A's injury isn't as bad as it could have been. Through and through, nothing major hit.
But wait… B was behind A. Look of horrified realization as A turns around in time to see B collapsing slowly to the ground.