"Forget it. I can drive myself home."
Steve drags his brain to the present. Danny's sitting across from him at Kamekona's shrimp truck. Tani and Junior are long gone. Part of him is glad they're getting on so well: he knows how crushingly lonely it can be even in a paradise like Hawai'i. Another part dreads the day they announce they're a couple and he'll have to dig out the antiquated HPD regulations on fraternisation.
Fraternisation between team members is bad for morale. His brain rears away from that thought.
"Earth to Maverick. Come in Maverick."
"I heard you." Steve forces himself to move, downs the last of his Longboard. Looking around, he realises they're on their own. "Where're Lou and Jerry?"
Danny peers at him, his eyebrows joining in a concerned frown. "They went home. You were talking to them. You remember, right?"
"Yeah. Sure." Steve waves away Danny's concern, places his empty bottle on the table with a clink. "I'm driving." He taps his arm, gestures at the brace on Danny's arm. "You got that...thing…going on."
"Thing? Thing?"
Steve pushes himself to his feet as Danny shares his thoughts on that comment. His heart skips a beat at the familiar rhythm, at the way Danny juggles his words. Except right now it feels like he's listening to them from a distance, like he's detached from the scene.
Somewhere in his mind he can still hear the plane's alarms ringing. The sea is still rushing up way too fast.
It's been a long, long day.
h50h50h50h50
Pulling up outside Danny's house, his eyes are drawn to the sky. The weird detached feeling is still lurking, the pressure growing in his head. There's a storm brewing. But there's not a cloud in the sky.
"Hey. Hey." Danny waves his braced arm in Steve's direction. "You okay, there?" He's frowning again. It seems like it's been his default setting all day.
"I'm good."
"You sure?" The frown's getting deeper. "Pretty sure you winced, there. You damage something doing your Top Gun impression, babe?"
'I lay up at night. I'm sick about it. I can't sleep.'
Steve needs that frown to be gone.
"Will you please stop looking at me like that?"
Steve puts the plates of food he's carrying on the coffee table. "Like what?"
"Like I'm dying or something." Huffing with impatience Danny takes a plate, balances it on his lap. "It's my arm, not a vital organ. This time," he adds, muttering under his breath. "It's gonna heal."
"I know that."
"So stop hovering, for crying out loud." Danny stops waving the fork in his hand. He stabs the omelette on his plate. "Don't make me regret inviting you in. Come eat. Or I'm gonna use your plate to beat some sense into your thick skull. Your choice, babe."
h50h505h50
Steve chews slowly on his last mouthful of omelette. Beside him Danny's slumped back on the couch, his eyes closed. His good hand is supporting his injured arm protectively. Bruised shadows under his eyes stand out bleakly against his pale skin.
'That was definitely almost…unpleasant.'
Steve stacks their empty plates, putting them back on the table. "You should get some sleep, Danny."
"Yeah." The accompanying exhale speaks volumes about how unlikely Danny thinks that's going to happen.
A nudge of his knee makes Danny open one bleary eye. Another nudge gets him moving in the direction of his bedroom.
"I'll lock up," Steve promises when Danny gestures vaguely in his direction. They've been here more than a few times before.
It's not the first time he's wanted to follow Danny to his bedroom. It is the first time he actually follows through on that need.
h50h50h50h50
"Let me help."
It says something about their relationship that Danny doesn't look surprised to see him. He's perched on the edge of the bed, body twisted as he tries get the sling for his brace off. Danny puffs out his cheeks, lets out a breath out slowly. He sticks out his arm like a puppy with a wounded paw.
"It'll be fine," Danny whispers tiredly into the silence that falls between them as Steve helps with the brace. "It's always fine, babe."
Steve nods, ignores the storm brewing inside his skull. "I know. Get some sleep."
Danny grumbles when Steve gently slides a pillow under his bum arm. Gradually his eyes slide closed. The tight, pinched lines on his face finally smooth out.
Steve listens to him breathe in and out. Eventually he pads back into the living room. With a groan he pulls the Shadow Baron tee-shirt over his head. He might not have been flying that fast but his body's telling him he's taken some gees.
'I need help landing this plane.'
He whips round, following the voice. His heart beat quickens as he realises he's still alone. The sound – Danny's voice – still lingers. His brain feels like it's fighting through a thick fog.
h50h50h50h50
Brown couch. Leather. It feels cool under his splayed fingertips. Wooden floor. A woollen carpet that's scratching the delicate skin between his toes.
Steve breathes in through his nose. Counts to four. The storm is finally breaking. He's been here before; memories and reality start merging as one.
'Mayday. Mayday. Pilot has been shot.'
Pain shoots through his chest, right between his ribs. He soothes at it with his free hand. There's no blood staining his bare skin.
'Just hang in there. You're gonna be alright.'
The plane's screaming its protest, alarms making it impossible to think.
'I'm dying.'
He's alive and he's breathing. The couch creaks as he grabs a handful of cushion.
'I'm not landing this thing for you to die on me. You understand?'
He takes a breath, then another, keeps counting to four. Danny's been worrying. About him. He hasn't been sleeping. Staying over tonight was a fucking stupid idea.
h50h50h50h50
Steve opens his eyes. Listens. Waits.
The calm after the storm is a phrase he's never understood. His skin feels like it's prickling with electricity. His brain feels bruised, abused.
His body jerks as the air con clicks on. Suddenly he's aware of the fridge humming in the kitchen. The traffic outside he's usually barely aware of sounds like it's heading straight for the house.
Palms pressed against his eyes, he takes a shaky breath.
"Steve?"
Slowly he lowers his hands. Danny's watching him from the shadows, his injured arm wrapped around his ribs. Shoulders bowed with exhaustion, he shuffles over to the couch.
"No more planes, okay?" Danny sighs, offering his free hand.
Steve takes it. Warm fingers wrap around his, pulling him to his feet. "We live on an island, Danny," he mutters, letting himself be nudged towards the bedroom.
Danny tugs at his arm, pulling him round. "No more planes without me."
Steve nods his understanding. It's impossible to look away.
'I'm scared too, man.'
h50h50h50h50
When Steve wakes in the morning he's in Danny's bed.
Danny's curled on his side, right on the edge of the bed. He's asleep, snoring gently.
There's a few feet between them. Maybe it's not close but it's enough. For now. Sighing, he closes his eyes, wills himself back to sleep.
Slowly he sinks down into the calm after the storm.
The End