Chapter 1: I don't need no doctor

'I was just saying…' Steve whispered, but Danny interrupted him with a weary sigh.

'You're always just saying things. It's exhausting. You are exhausting,' he whispered back. His back was pressed against a wooden crate and he was trying to look around another crate at the bad guys with guns. Steve, meanwhile, was just itching to get in there, Danny could see, which exasperated him to no end. Sweat was running down his back – he hated Hawaii and its ridiculous heat – and Steve was taking the safety off his gun.

'Are you now accusing me of talking too much? You; who can't shut up for five minutes to save his life?' Steve whispered and grinned like a maniac. Probably because he was a maniac. Certifiably insane.

'Because I think it's nice to at least talk things over before you go off half-cocked and get me killed.'

At that, Steve frowned and seemed to try to remember a time when he either jumped into a dangerous situation without a plan or a time when he almost got Danny killed. Both of those Danny could provide numerous examples of, but preferably not right now. However, Steve didn't appear to be able to dredge up even one instance of near death occurring.

'I haven't gotten you killed,' he stated. Danny fisted the back of Steve's shirt in his fingers to make sure Steve didn't suddenly take off.

'Yet. That's just your insane luck. And before you ask, your luck is insane because you are insane,' Danny hissed and Steve looked at him with his patented what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look. Come to think of it, that was usually Danny's look, but it was nice to invoke the same incredulity in Steve for once.

'As I was just saying, there are only five of them, so...' Steve continued, seemingly nonplussed at what could definitely be construed as a homoerotic moment with the sweat and the proximity of their bodies and Danny's hand tangled up in Steve's shirt. Apart from the extreme irritation on Danny's side, of course.

'Only five? Only five? Need I remind you that there are only two of us? That means there's three more of them, which means we're outnumbered. Can't we wait for backup just once? That's a word you know, right? Backup? You don't have to do everything alone,' he protested. In the midst of his annoyed gesticulation, he had stupidly released Steve's shirt.

'I'm not alone. I've got you,' Steve said. Before Danny could decide whether he had said it smugly or sincerely, he was gone. Fuck, Danny thought. Outwitted by Steve fucking McGarrett. Inwardly, he fired a dozen other curses as he stepped from behind the relative protection offered by the crates.

The next few minutes were a haze of gunshots and shouts and bullets flying and somehow miraculously none of those bullets hitting him. It wasn't until back up had finally arrived and every single one of the criminals – all regrettably dead – had been taken away in ambulances, that Danny deigned to look at Steve. His partner shrugged and smirked, but his arrogance seemed somewhat deflated.

Out of habit, Danny walked over to the passenger side of the car only to find Steve already there. Well, it was his car, so he shouldn't be surprised that Steve was allowing him to drive it for a change, except he was surprised. Because, you know, Steve had serious control issues. Maybe this was Steve's idea of an apology for just almost getting him killed for the umpteenth time since Danny had met him. Danny was not mollified.

He watched as Steve struggled to get into the car. Struggled was exactly the right word, because Steve was doing some sort of contortionist act and it would have been funny as hell if Danny hadn't been so pissed off. So, Danny waited and didn't comment. He had promised Steve that they'd watch the game together tonight and he would do just that. Even if it meant not talking to Steve the entire evening.

They didn't speak the whole ride. Steve was breathing shallowly and evenly and that was weird. Yet, Danny was used to Steve's weirdness and had resolved not to speak until his partner had apologised in actual words, – so, never basically – thus, again he kept his mouth shut.

It wasn't until they had arrived at Steve's place and Danny was walking to the house and he noticed that Steve was still sitting in the car, that his resolve crumbled and genuine annoyance took over. Agitated, he walked back to the car and opened the passenger door.

'What's this? What are you doing?' he asked. Steve kind of grimaced, lifted his right leg and put it down. There was embarrassment in his smile as he looked up at Danny. Curiously, Danny discovered that he liked it. An embarrassed Steve; that wasn't likely to happen often.

'You may need to help me out,' Steve explained.

'Why?' Danny patiently asked. Knowing Steve, he had probably broken his foot or had steadily been bleeding from a bullet wound ever since the shootout. To stupid or proud or a combination of those two to say anything.

'Because I got shot and I think the impact broke some ribs.'

Danny waited for the punch line. Except Steve wasn't much of a jokester, really. Danny suspected they forgot to include a sense of humour when they programmed him. Still, he waited.

'You're serious?' he eventually asked, when no punch line seemed forthcoming. His partner nodded tightly and suddenly Danny saw things that he should have noticed while he was busy being angry. How Steve's body was rigid, as if he was keeping himself still, because it hurt to move. How he was angled to the right side, presumably because he had been shot in the left side of his stomach. Well, not in, because he was wearing a bulletproof vest, which was another thing.

After the shooting, everyone had handed in their bulletproof vests, because those things cost a shitload of money and the department didn't want them to go missing. Steve, however, was still wearing a vest.

'It's my own vest,' Steve answered his unspoken question. This somehow didn't surprise Danny, simply because Steve was one of those people who'd have his own supply of grenades and machine guns and God knows what else. Kevlar vests were probably one of the most innocuous items in his secret arsenal.

Without commenting, because there wasn't a lot to say, except the obvious, which was that Steve was a bona fide idiot, Danny helped him out of the car. The two men walked up to the house with Danny supporting Steve despite Steve's protests. Danny slowly eased Steve into a chair in the living room, before digging his cell out of his pocket.

'Don't call the hospital. Just turn on the TV,' Steve demanded and Danny glanced at him. For some reason he was thinking again that Steve was joking, which naturally he wasn't. Trying to stay calm and reminding himself that, no matter how robot-like Steve was, he must be in pain, Danny rubbed his temples. He took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips.

'So, correct me if I'm wrong: you neglected to tell me that you got shot, because you didn't want to miss the game?'

'Yes,' Steve confirmed. His eyes roved around the room, in search of the remote, Danny suspected. The sheer magnitude of his partner's insanity was only now starting to become clear to Danny.

'Oh, of course. That's not insane at all or anything,' he scoffed and threw his hands up in exasperation. No one else could be this blasé about broken ribs due to getting shot. He got it; Steve was tough. Ex-army and everything. But this was simply too much.

'They can't do anything about broken ribs at the hospital,' Steve stated, as if that was the end of things.

'You're a doctor now too? What if you've got a punctured lung or something?' Danny pointed out. Steve looked down at his chest and looked up at Danny with a sort of smug satisfaction on his face.

'I think I would have noticed that.'

'You think...' Danny began, but he cut himself off, knowing it was useless.

'Why am I trying to reason with you? Whatever species of appliance you are, it doesn't respond to reason.'

Solemnly, Steve nodded, but when Danny made no move to turn on the TV he sighed and appeared to succumb in his own particular way. It was the equivalent of throwing a dog a bone.

'Danny, I'm fine. We'll look at the damage during half time. Now stop whining and let me watch the game.'

Tired of trying to understand his partner, Danny strolled over to the TV and turned it on. The remote was on top of it and he switched to the right channel as he sagged into another chair. Instead of watching the screen, Steve was looking at him as if he was going to explode. Danny checked if there were grenades hidden in the chair, but there were none. He knew Steve expected him to argue and berate him some more, but he was done. For now.

Danny got the beers, since Steve couldn't get out of his chair without help and without wanting to Danny was starting to enjoy himself. Normally, when he watched a game it would be a pathetic affair. Watching it alone, his cheer was forced and watching it with other people his outbursts and diatribes on the faults of certain players were considered grating. With Steve, he could rant all he wanted at the players and the referee and Steve remained unfazed.

In fact, Steve seemed amused that for once the rants were not directed at him. During half time, Danny not so gently assisted Steve with getting out of his shirt. There was a small, flat bullet embedded in the material on the left side of the vest and when the vest was off the contusion underneath was revealed. A sharp intake of breath on Danny's side and stoical silence from Steve accompanied the first look at the damage.

A dark and enormous bruise had already formed and it covered the left side of Steve's abdomen. At the sight of it, Danny felt anger swirling inside of him. Aside from repeating that the hospital couldn't do anything about broken ribs, Steve wasn't much help, so Danny did the only thing he could think of and took a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer. Steve accepted it and carefully pressed it to his stomach.

'Did I or did I not say that we were outnumbered?' Danny gritted out through clenched teeth. His dentist had commented on the deteriorating state of his molars, asking if he perhaps grinded them in his sleep. Danny had neglected to inform the man about his infuriating partner. Volunteer that kind of information and before you know it you're wearing a retainer on the job.

'Yes, you did,' Steve calmly admitted. This laidback attitude irked Danny even more.

'And did you listen? No, because you never listen. You hear what I'm saying, but you never take my objections into account. We're not partners. Partners listen to each other. You're my boss and I'm your subordinate; let's stop pretending it's anything different.'

They stared at each other. Steve confused and Danny trying to catch his breath. He hadn't realised how much this had been bothering him and he didn't want to know what had triggered it, but here it was.

'I hardly ever listen to you. What's brought this on?' Steve asked. He was still clamping the bag of peas to his abdomen and it almost completely covered the contusion. Was that it? Steve running out of luck and getting shot and being a fucking idiot about it?

'It's been building up for a while,' Danny muttered. He was looking at the floor, because he couldn't look at Steve. He was afraid that if he looked Steve in the eye, Steve would know what the rant was really about. Which, on second thought, would not be so bad, because then Steve could explain it to him, because Danny sure as shit didn't understand it. Except he did. Damn.

'I'm sorry,' Steve offered. His voice was low and hoarse. That might be a symptom of his broken ribs, but contrary to Steve, Danny wasn't a doctor and he merely noted the change.

'You should be,' he huffed. He was going for indignation, but instead he sounded resigned. Suddenly, two light brown shoes appeared in his line of sight and as he looked up he saw that Steve was standing very close. Shirtless and very close. With ex-army – no, Navy – muscles and everything.

'No, not for that. For this. I'm sorry, but I have to...'

That was it. Steve had to. That was the end of the sentence and it also wasn't, because apparently what Steve had to do was kiss him. Danny was pretty surprised by this unexpected display of affection. Unfortunately, this only accounted for the first three seconds or so that he didn't step back or push Steve away.

After that it was anyone's guess why he let his partner kiss him. Steve didn't know why he didn't protest. Because that was the very least you did as a firmly heterosexual man when another man kissed you. And having another man kiss you and discovering you enjoy it was definitely not heterosexual.

Steve's lips brushed against his, hungrily and desperate. Yet, Danny felt that Steve was restraining himself, while he nibbled on Danny's lower lip. Steve fucking McGarrett was nibbling on his lip. Danny considered that he was the one who was going insane, because why else would they be kissing? Yes, they were kissing. It had long since ceased to be a one man effort.

The sound of the TV in the background made everything worse. It was so normal, while what they were doing was crazy. Steve pressed against him and he could feel the coldness from his partner's abdomen radiating through his clothes. Their mouths moved as one, tasting of beer and suddenly Danny knew what was wrong. They were drunk. They were definitely drunk.

On three beers each, which had never before led to making out with another man, but hey, it was something. Steve's breathing remains remarkably steady throughout, which Danny only later realised was because of the broken ribs, but which at the time made him insecure. His own breathing was ragged and fast as Steve's tongue explored his mouth. He kept flashing back to kissing all sort of girls and at the end of the montage; Rachel.

Now every time he had a near death experience, which thanks to Steve was on a daily basis, he would have to end that reel with Steve. Kissing Steve. Kissing his male partner who drove him crazy, who had stubble and surprisingly soft lips and smooth muscles and seriously suicidal tendencies. That brought Danny back to his senses and caused him to break off their kiss.

'I'm sorry,' they both said in barely more than a whisper and Danny walked out of the house without looking back.

(***)

Story title is a song from the musical Oklahoma! (which was covered by Ray Charles) and chapter titles are song titles from Ray Charles.