"Danny, calm down. It's okay."
"No, Steven. No. I guarantee, it is NOT okay. It is so far from okay that 'okay' does not even enter into the equation here!"
Steve McGarrett reached out to try to soothe his best friend. "Just relax, Danno. I'm sure everything is fine."
Danny Williams rolled his eyes. Apparently, Super-SEAL was either being purposely obtuse—highly possible—or the fact that they were no longer racing down the highway had not penetrated McGarrett's most probably concussed brain yet—even more probable.
Danny reached for the door handle of the Camaro. He needed to get away from his partner for a while. They both needed to cool down a bit. It hit him at that moment that the passenger door handle was not there. Neither was the door…or the dash, or the seat…or the Camaro for that matter. The last thing he remembered, they had been traveling at somewhere around Daytona 500 speeds…what the hell?
Danny looked around more carefully and realized he was sitting in a chair next to his partner in an otherwise empty room. There was a table in front of them, and it looked disturbingly like one of their interrogation rooms at HQ, forbiddingly heavy door and all. To test his theory, Danny attempted to stand to see if it was locked, but found he was somehow glued to the chair. And judging by his partner's gyrations, so was Steve.
A deep, yet mellow voice came from a hidden speaker somewhere in the room. "Do not attempt to stand. You will be released after you have been processed. Someone will be with you shortly. You will find that you are free to move your hands and arms, as long as you do not attempt to stand."
Steve immediately scowled and snapped, "What is this, some kinda joke? Whaddya mean 'processed?' Let us out of here right now! You're holding two police officers, you know. We're Five-0!"
There was no answer, and somehow, Danny knew there wouldn't be one. He had been thinking hard, and the pieces were starting to fall into place. "Steve, you better cool it." He kept his voice calm, though inside, he was anything but.
Steve whipped his head around to glare at Danny. "What do you mean, 'Cool it?' We gotta find out what these guys want. We gotta get outta here! What's wrong with you?"
And that was when their situation finally hit Danny. And he let his partner have it.
"You, Steven! You're what's wrong with me! Or, more specifically, with us at the moment. Don't you get it?"
Obviously, McGarrett had not yet connected the dots. Danny huffed in frustration, his own disbelief tinging his words with anger. "What's the last thing you remember, Steve?"
"About what?"
Danny rolled his eyes once more. "Oh, come on, Steven! Before we got here. What is the last thing you remember?"
Steve sat back in the straight-backed chair and thought hard. "Driving. We were in the Camaro. And we were talking."
Danny shook his head. "Close, but no cigar. We were flying down the road at about 1200 miles an hour! And we were not talking. We were—"
"Oh, yeah…that's right. You were yelling. I was talking. And we were NOT going 1200. That's ridiculous."
Danny nodded slightly. "Okay, maybe 150. And yes, you were yelling, Steven. But, what happened AFTER that?"
"After that? We were chasing Mercer… he was getting away, and—" he frowned. "I'm not sure." But the look on his face was one Danny knew very well. Steve knew exactly what had happened. He just did not want to admit it.
Danny nodded solemnly, hoping he would not have to say it out loud.
Steve's eyes grew large as he gazed at his best friend in confusion and then in realization.
And then in denial. "No way! There is no possible way! We cannot be—"
He shot straight up out of his chair….and was immediate pulled back into place by some unseen force, though now, his arms were glued to the arms of the chair.
Abruptly, the door opened. and a man stepped inside and seated himself on the other side of the table. He arranged the sheaf of papers he had been carrying into a neat stack.
"Good day, gentlemen, shall we begin?"
…..
A few hours later, though it hardly seemed to matter anymore, Steve and Danny were lounging on the steps in front of what they now referred to as "HHQ."
They were both rather quiet, since "Processing" had included some rather harrowing moments…such as their having to relive their final few moments on Earth, since Steve had refused to believe it. And had refused to believe it through seven viewings of the event.
But finally, they had finished and been released. And now, they sat idly, watching the others around them, who seemed to be watching them with discreet but distinct amusement. And Steve was waiting. Because he knew Round Two was coming. And eventually, it did.
Danny slanted his eye sideways at his partner. "I cannot believe you."
"What?"
"You. This. You did…This! To me! To your best friend, Steven! You put us Here! In-in-in—" He twisted to face Steve.
Steve smirked as he broke in "Heaven, Danny? Is that what your sayin'? It's MY fault we're here? Because I don't see it that way, y'know!"
Danny scoffed. "No, Super SEAL, of course you don't!" He huffed in frustration and rolled his eyes.
Steve shrugged, "Besides it could'a been worse, y'know."
Danny bristled. "How! You tell me how this could possibly be worse, huh?" His voice raised nearly an octave. "May I remind you that just a few hours ago you killed us?"
Steve cocked his head and grinned. "We could'a gone the other way."
~The End~
A/N: Obviously this is not to be taken seriously. I love the boys and their carguments….and if there was anything that I could feature never changing about their friendship…that would be it.