Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and am making no profit, monetary, or otherwise, thought the writing of this.
A/N: These are disconnected one-shots (time-stamps...kind of) for the universe created in the short story, "I'm Keeping the Kid". I do not condone kidnapping, and do not condone violence toward children. Steve isn't going to purposefully hurt Danny in this. He is not a good guy, but he's not evil either. He's a bad guy who had a change of heart, which does happen.
A/N: There is some Christmas magic at work in this. This isn't on time for Christmas, because I wasn't happy with the initial version. I've decided to stop tweaking it now, and stop worrying about if everyone is going to hate it. If it's hated, I will simply delete it.
It's sunny, hot, and there's sand and palm trees everywhere that Danny looks. The ocean's so big that sometimes Danny feels like he's going to be swallowed up by it.
It's supposed to be winter, but there's no snow, and Danny secretly fears that maybe there won't be any snow, which is very worrisome, because how can there be Christmas without any snow?
Then he thinks that maybe Christmas won't come for him this year anyway, because of what happened to his family. They died in a fire while he was safe with Uncle Steve. He feels bad about it.
He can't really remember those days very well. They're murky and scary, and Uncle Steve hadn't seemed very nice (like he sometimes is now) at all.
Danny mostly remembers being cold and hungry, and always being too tired to do anything. He remembers being thirsty, too.
Uncle Steve says that he was sick, and that's why Danny can't remember everything so well, but there are things that Danny does remember. Things that make him think that maybe it was Uncle Steve who made him sick in the first place.
His insides squirm like earthworms when he thinks like that, though, and when he remembers some of what happened to him; like Uncle Steve hitting him, being told about his family's death, waking up in a strange place and being told that he now lives with Uncle Steve. That Danny belongs to the man now.
There's something about the wording of that which makes Danny's skin crawl. He's a person, and people don't belong to other people, like dogs or cats, or Christmas presents do.
Danny doesn't remember having an Uncle Steve before all of this. He remembers an Uncle Jim and Pete, and all of his daddy's friends at the firehouse that he'd called uncle.
Uncle Jim had a bushy mustache that tickled Danny's cheek whenever they hugged; and Uncle Pete's head was smooth and shiny like a bowling ball, but Danny knew better than to tell him that.
Danny wonders if he could've maybe lived with them after his parents died, but he doesn't ask Uncle Steve about it.
"Uncle Steve," Danny says, keeping his voice quiet, because it looks like the man is working on something important, and he doesn't want to get in the way, or make Uncle Steve angry. He's standing on the other side of an invisible line that separates Uncle Steve's office from the living room, not wanting to get into any trouble. Uncle Steve's office is strictly 'off limits'.
Uncle Steve doesn't hit Danny or anything, but sometimes he gets this look on his face that scares Danny, and makes him want to hide. Danny thinks of it as Uncle Steve's 'kill-the-spare' face, from the Harry Potter books that Auntie Deb reads to him whenever she takes care of him when Uncle Steve is busy, but he knows better than to say anything to Uncle Steve about it. After all, Uncle Steve hadn't taken Danny's 'constipation face' comment well at all, though Auntie Kono had laughed, and Uncle Chin had smiled and agreed with him.
"What is it, Danny?" Steve asks without looking up.
He's pressing the tips of his fingers to his forehead, staring at something on the screen of his phone, and he's thumbing through what look like a bunch of pictures. Danny can't make out what's on the pictures, but he thinks he sees blood, and that makes his stomach twist.
Sighing, Danny bites his lip. "When is it going to snow?" Danny asks, voice quiet. He stands just inside the door to Uncle Steve's 'office' and waits patiently for an answer. It's hard to stand so still, but Danny knows Steve won't be happy if he 'wiggles around' too much.
Uncle Steve continues to scroll through the pictures on his phone, writing something on a yellow piece of paper every once in awhile, and Danny thinks that maybe the man hasn't heard him, but then the man pauses, and, without looking at Danny, says, dismissively, "It doesn't snow in Hawaii, Danny."
When Danny sighs heavily, Uncle Steve looks up at him, his blue eyes hard and cold, sparking a memory of a dark room and Uncle Steve looming over him. Tears fill Danny's eyes, but he clenches his hands into fists and swallows down the fear and the pain of the memory, refusing to cry, because crying's for babies, and Danny is not a baby. He's a big boy. He takes a step back, crossing the invisible line he'd accidentally crossed earlier.
"Look, kid, can't you see that I'm busy?" Uncle Steve asks, and he's definitely wearing the 'kill the spare' face. Danny sucks in a breath and nods, because he can't find his voice, and he doesn't want Uncle Steve to lock him up in a cold, dark room again.
"This is important, Danny." Uncle Steve's voice is a little softer, and his eyes a little less hard, but his face is still a little scary, and Danny misses his dad, because, even when his dad was busy with something important, he had time to answer Danny's questions, and he'd have called Danny over to him by now, pulled him up onto his lap, and let him see what he was working on, and given him a hug, or stopped whatever it was he was doing and played with Danny. Uncle Steve doesn't play with him.
"Why don't you go play outside, or something?" Uncle Steve's eyes turn away from Danny, and his question trails off at the end, like he's forgotten Danny, even though he's still standing right there.
The pictures fly by, one after another, under Steve's thumb. One of them definitely has blood on it, and Danny turns and runs out of the house, not stopping until he's at the edge of the ocean, waves lapping at his bare feet, tears making his vision blurry. His chest aches, and he wants his mom and dad. He doesn't want to live in Hawaii anymore. Doesn't want to live with an Uncle Steve that he doesn't remember.
Danny wants snow and city streets; houses close enough to touch each other; his baby brother, Matty; puddles of muddy slush to stomp through; cold that seeps into his bones and disappears with a cup of hot chocolate and melted marshmallows...Danny wants home.
Instead, he's got the ocean tugging at him like his Aunt Marcy's dog, Dutch, had tugged at his pants leg that one time when he was really little; palm trees swaying overhead in a gentle breeze; and an uncle who wants nothing to do with him.
And then there's no snow, and no Christmas, and pineapple on pizza, and Danny just wants to go home, no matter what Uncle Steve has told him about where he belongs now, because maybe Uncle Steve really isn't his uncle after all, and maybe he's just been lying to Danny all along. Not everything adds up in Danny's memories of the man, and of the time when he was so sick that he could hardly keep his eyes open.
Everything is confusing, and Danny's tired and homesick, and he misses his mom's hugs the most of all - the way she pulls him close until he can feel her heartbeat, wraps her arms around him, and hums until he feels better.
Danny sits in the shallow water and pulls his knees up to his chest. Ignoring the cold water that pulls at him, he buries his face in his knees and finally lets go of the tears he's been holding onto for a very long time now and cries.
He's tried to be brave and strong. He's tried not to be afraid, but he's all alone now, in spite of what Uncle Steve said to him when he woke up in Hawaii, and he is afraid. Afraid of Uncle Steve. Afraid of the ocean. Afraid that it's his fault that his family is dead, because if it wasn't, then why is he still alive when they aren't? And why won't it snow in Hawaii when it's winter?
He's so afraid and sad that his chest and stomach ache, and Danny can't even breathe anymore because it hurts. It feels like his chest is on fire, and Danny clutches his knees even tighter, feels the water crawling up his legs as dark spots dance behind his closed eyelids, and he struggles to breathe.
He wants his mommy, but knows that she won't come for him. She can't come for him. Uncle Steve had explained, very clearly, how death worked, and how people can't come back from it, even if they really want to. How it's permanent, but not like the marker that Danny had accidentally got on his favorite tee-shirt that one time when he was only five. It had come out in the wash, but Danny's mom won't come back from the dark place she's gone to underneath the ground. Ever. Danny's stuck with Uncle Steve, and the burning hole in his chest that makes it feel like everything's on fire whenever he tries to breathe.
The unexpected heaviness of a hand on his shoulder makes Danny's heart race a little harder than it's already racing, but he's frozen in place, unable to move as fearful memories flood his mind.
Darkness, and pain, and he can't move his arms.
Uncle Steve's face hovering over his own, lips pursed together in a stern, thin line. Mouth moving in words that Danny can't make out.
Memories of a fire that he'd never seen, the charred remains of his parents, blackened beyond recognition, the small body of his baby brother.
His imagination's playing tricks on him, making him remember things that he's never even seen; but he can smell the fire, feel it burning his lungs, and he wants it to take him away to where his mom and dad and Matty are. He wants to feel his mother's arms around him, rocking him to sleep in a way that the ocean's waves never can; in a way that he doesn't think his Uncle Steve ever will.
"Hey, Danny," Uncle Steve's voice is soft, guilty, and, even though Danny doesn't know if he can trust the man, he turns and buries his face against Uncle Steve's chest, listens to the steady beat of the man's heart, and doesn't fight when he's lifted and cradled in strong arms, carried back to the house he'd fled earlier. His tears are gone now, taken away by the ocean; face wiped dry by the front of his Uncle Steve's tee-shirt.
"I'm sorry," Uncle Steve says.
They're sitting on the couch, and Uncle Steve is rubbing Danny's back, like Danny's mom used to do when he couldn't fall asleep at night, or when he was really upset about something, like he is now.
"I wanna go home," Danny says through a hiccup.
He's clutching a fistful of Uncle Steve's black shirt in one hand, the other's wedged between Steve's back and the couch. He's comfortable, and warm, and his eyes don't want to open. Even though it's not bedtime yet, he's exhausted.
"You know I can't take you home, Danny," Uncle Steve says, sighing.
Danny knows, even without looking, that Uncle Steve's got his 'constipation face' on, and he smiles, because that's the face that means that Uncle Steve cares, even if it's only just a little bit. The face that means that Danny's not just an obligation, like he'd accidentally overheard the man say on the phone to someone named Catherine (he was supposed to be in bed, but needed a glass of water) - I have an obligation to take care of him, he'd said, and Danny had felt cold on the inside, like a whole bucket of ice water had been dumped into him.
Danny nods, loosens his grip on Steve's shirt, and worries the soft fabric between his fingers. He misses his blanket, though he's too old for it; tries not to think of it burning up in the fire, because then he thinks of his baby brother and the ache in his chest makes the tears want to start up again.
"If I could take you home, I would," Uncle Steve says, his hand calm and soothing on Danny's back. "If I could turn back time..."
Danny sniffs, and Uncle Steve's grip on him tightens. It's nothing like his mother's or father's hugs, not really a hug at all, because it's so loose, but it's nice, and it's the first time that Uncle Steve has held him. The first time the man has made Danny feel safe, and like maybe, even if it doesn't snow in Hawaii, everything is going to be alright. Like maybe Christmases can exist even without snow.
"If it doesn't snow in Hawaii, then does that mean there isn't any Christmas?" Danny asks, voice quiet, words muffled by Uncle Steve's shirt.
The man stiffens, and Danny worries that he's asked something wrong, and he tightens his hold on Uncle Steve's shirt. Maybe it was wrong to think about Christmas.
Danny doesn't want presents, though; the only thing he wants is his mom and dad, and his brother, Matty, and he thinks that, if anyone could give him that, it's Santa. Santa can do anything. Danny's mom had told him that. And about the miracles of Christmas. Surely giving Danny back his family from the dead wouldn't be too hard for the man in the big red suit to do, no matter what Uncle Steve says about death being forever.
"There'll be Christmas," Uncle Steve says, and he continues to rub Danny's back. "We just don't have snow in Hawaii, but we have Christmas."
"Oh," Danny says, squirming his way free from Steve's lap, and running up the stairs to his bedroom.
His room had belonged to an Aunt Mary that Danny doesn't remember from before either. Uncle Steve's sister. He's never met her, and the room was all pink and girly before Danny had moved into it. Uncle Steve had let him choose what color paint he'd wanted for the room - blue of course. Auntie Kono had gotten him glow in the dark stars for the walls and ceiling. He even has a race car bed, but none of that's important now.
Now that Danny knows there will be Christmas in Hawaii, even though there won't be snow, Danny just knows that he'll get his Christmas wish. He just has to convince Uncle Steve to mail his letter to Santa, and wait until Christmas morning.
Danny's so excited that he accidentally crumples his letter to Santa, and he has to smooth it out when he hands it over to Uncle Steve, who is giving it a strange look. "It's my letter to Santa," Danny explains. Maybe Uncle Steve has never written a letter to Santa before, and that's why he's turning it over and over in his hands as though he's never seen such a thing before.
"Can you mail it for me?" Danny asks. His tears and worry from earlier are forgotten in his excitement.
Uncle Steve gives Danny a strange look, but he nods, and then he smooths the still slightly crumpled letter over his knee, taking out some of the crinkles. "Sure," he says, and he stiffens when Danny throws his arms around his neck in a hug, and places a kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you, Uncle Steve," Danny says. "I'll go outside and play now. So you can go back to work. I'll be really quiet. Promise." Danny runs off before Uncle Steve can say or do anything in response.
"Danny -" Uncle Steve's words are cut off by the slam of the door.
Steve seeks out his Aunt Deb's advice when it comes to setting up Christmas for Danny. He has no idea what to do. His childhood memories are vague, and he'd never thought about having kids of his own. Had never really celebrated Christmas as an adult, though he'd sent out cards to his relatives, and bought Catherine some of the perfume that she liked (in the years when they were actively dating).
The consultation leads to shopping for Christmas decorations, and a tree, and then Christmas decorating parties at his house with the whole team, and Aunt Deb. Then there's Christmas cookie baking. Thankfully Kono takes over that portion of the holiday preparations, and though Steve's kitchen's a complete wreck afterwards, Danny's happy, and Steve learns that he rather enjoys seeing Danny smile, and hearing him giggle.
Present shopping is hard, though, because Steve has no idea what a six year old wants for Christmas. Danny doesn't really say much to him, or anyone about it, and, though he wishes he didn't know why, he does, because he's read Danny's letter to Santa.
It was the first thing he did, after Danny had slammed out of the door, leaving Steve with a tingling cheek and feeling like a complete heel for making Danny think that he's got to be quiet all of the time.
He's not sure what to make of the letter, at first. Thinks that Danny needs to work on his penmanship and spelling, but then it hits him like a fist to the gut, and he has to close his eyes and take several deep breaths when he works out what Danny wants Santa to bring him for Christmas.
It's impossible, and Steve had thought that he'd already explained all of that to Danny, but clearly the boy still doesn't have a handle on the concept of death, and Steve will have to sit him down and explain it to him, again. The problem is, he's not sure how to make it any clearer than he already had. He's already spelled it all out for the little boy. Dead means that the person is gone, forever. They can't call or write. And they can't be seen again, because they no longer have a body, or life, and they aren't ghosts (Danny had asked about that). They are just gone.
It comes to him, much later, and two days before Christmas, what he can do for Danny. Or rather, what Santa can do for the little boy, with Chin's help, and maybe the help of their consultant, Toast, if it comes to that. It'll be a little pricey, but money's not an object when it comes to this.
It's as he's sipping a beer, squinting at the directions - which appear to be in Korean or Chinese; he can't find directions in English - for assembling the mini scooter that had just arrived in the mail earlier that day, that the idea comes to him, and he abandons the instructions, and his work, in lieu of contacting Chin, who in turn promises to contact Toast if he needs the computer genius' help to do what Steve's requested.
There's no promise of success from his teammate, though there is a thoughtful pause, and a heartfelt, "I'll see what I can do."
The letter to Santa feels like it's burning a hole in Steve's pocket. He's kept it on his person ever since Danny gave it to him to mail, unsure what to do with it now that he's read it. He has no idea what the proper protocol is, and is fearful of contacting his aunt, again, certain that she'll sigh, and make him feel like a little kid, and use the tone of voice that makes Steve feel small, and vulnerable, because she thinks that Danny's his kid, and that he was robbed of the chance to raise him by a vengeful ex-girlfriend who recently died.
It was a necessary lie, because Steve had needed someone to watch Danny when he had to leave for work. He hated that it made him look like the wronged party, and that it made his aunt feel sorry for him, but it wasn't like he could tell her the truth.
The night before Christmas, after he's finally gotten Danny into bed - the extra helping of sugar cookies and two candy canes that Kono had given him hadn't helped any - Steve forgoes the instructions and figures out how to assemble the scooter, and the rest of Danny's toys on his own, just as two AM approaches.
He makes a point of taking a single bite out of the gingerbread cookie (he goes for a leg) that's been left for Santa, and takes a sip of the milk (he hates milk), and then pulls out two Christmas stockings, one for Danny, and at his aunt's insistence, one for himself. He places them on the banister, where they'll be the first things that Danny will see when he comes down the stairs in the morning, which, if he's got Danny's internal clock down, will be around six in the morning, regardless of how late he's stayed up the night before, or how hyped up on cookies and candy he is.
Yawning, Steve takes one last look at the Christmas tree, and the mound of presents that's buried beneath it. The ones from Santa are prominent in the foreground, and are adorned with nothing more than a simple red bow, and a sticker that reads, "To: Danny From: Santa," and one that reads, "To: Steve From: Santa".
Danny's letter to Santa weighs heavily on his mind - Chin and Toast haven't pulled through for him - but he places it on the dresser, like he's done every night since Danny'd given it to him, and trusted him to get it to Santa, and goes to sleep, his mind filled with visions of a disappointed Danny refusing to even look at the gifts that Steve had gotten him. Danny crying and inconsolable in his grief.
He tosses and turns, and is out of bed the second that he hears the floor creak in Danny's room, and is down the stairs, turning on the Christmas lights and putting on coffee for himself, and getting hot cocoa ready for Danny, before the boy starts down the stairs.
"Uncle Steve, Santa was here." Danny's voice is filled with awe, and the boy has both Christmas stockings in his arms when he walks into the kitchen.
He hands one to Steve, and then, rubbing at his eyes, sits at the kitchen table and places his own stocking on it. Steve hands him the cocoa and takes a sip of his coffee, stifles a laugh at the way that Danny sips at his cocoa, as though he's nursing a cup of coffee. The little boy rubs his eyes again, and hides a yawn behind his hand.
"What did Santa put in your stocking, buddy?" Steve asks, and Danny peers at him over the bulk of the stocking, fingering it gingerly.
Unsure of what to do, because Steve's almost certain that most children would have already dug into their Christmas stockings by now, sprawling the contents out over the floor, or, in their case, over the kitchen table, he takes the lead and does just that. Candy rolls over the table, one piece landing right in front of Danny who gives him a slow smile, and then dumps his own stocking out on the kitchen table.
Danny examines each piece of candy, and each gift that was left in his stocking with far greater attention than Steve believes is warranted, and he has to refresh his cup of coffee and Danny's hot cocoa before the boy is ready to move into the living room, after he's stuffed every last piece of candy back into the stocking, choosing a green and white striped candy cane for the treat that he can have before breakfast, which they'll eat after opening their Christmas presents. Danny's eyes light up when he sees the mini scooter, and Steve helps him try it out, cautioning him to only use it when he, or another adult is present.
Danny is thankful for each of his gifts, but it's clear that, as the morning wanes on, and the one gift that he'd asked Santa for isn't going to materialize, that he's disappointed, and it does funny things to Steve's heart, as does the homemade present that Danny gives to him. Clearly it's something that Deb had helped Danny craft.
It's a hand drawn picture of 'Unco Steve' and Danny, standing side-by-side, in front of a lopsided house. The picture is framed by a popsicle stick picture frame, and if Steve's eyes are correct in their judgement of the slight coloring to the sticks, it's comprised entirely of sticks from grape popsicles (Danny's favorite).
The not-quite stick figures, colored outside of the lines; the big smile on the figure labeled 'Danny'; the way the 'Danny' figure is holding the 'Unco Steve' figure's hand; and the not-smile that's on the figure labeled 'Unco Steve', makes Steve's heart do a weird kind of flip-flop in his chest, and he's not sure how to speak around the lump that's formed in his throat when Danny's mouth starts to waver in uncertainty, and his hands fall to his sides, and his gaze drops to the floor.
"Thank you," he settles on, kneeling in front of the little boy, and pulling him into a brief hug, like he thinks he remembers his father doing from time to time when he was around Danny's age, maybe younger.
"It's perfect, Danny," Steve says, his words muffled by Danny's curly blond hair.
"Are you going to put it up in your office?" Danny asks, peering at him through the fringe of his eyelashes.
Steve grins and nods, clutches the artwork to his chest, and stands to deposit it in a prominent place on the desk in his office. Danny watches from the living room, giving him a lopsided smile that Steve thinks is approval.
They've got a half an hour to tidy the house before Deb, and Steve's team is scheduled to arrive for breakfast and to exchange more presents. Danny has made something for Chin, Kono and Deb, and Steve tries to tamp down on the spike of jealousy that he feels when he notes that the packages are shaped similar to the one that he'd gotten from Danny. He knows he's being ridiculous, that there's not much else a six year old can make for Christmas gifts, but it isn't until the gifts are opened, revealing homemade ornaments for Kono and Deb, and a picture frame with no picture for Chin, that Steve lets out a relieved breath.
At the end of the day, after toys are played with and way too much food has been eaten, and everyone has long since left for the day, Steve carries Danny to bed, tucking him in and placing a kiss to his forehead, smiling at the way that Danny rolls toward him, clutching the dolphin that Kono had given him (along with a beginning surfboard, and a promise of lessons) for Christmas. Danny's smiling in his sleep, and Steve brushes hair off of the little boy's forehead. It's only been a few months since Steve made that split second decision to keep Danny, but it feels like years have passed, and his heart swells with what he thinks might be love.
The little boy had fallen asleep in the middle of dinner, only avoiding faceplanting in his food because Steve had been quick enough to prevent it from happening. Steve had washed Danny's face off with a washcloth, and the boy hadn't as much as stirred when he'd done it.
It had been a long, but fulfilling day. Steve can't remember another like it. He can't remember enjoying a Christmas as much as he'd enjoyed this one, and knows that it's because of the little boy curled up beneath the covers that he'd tucked up beneath Danny's chin.
There's a lightness to his step as Steve turns to leave Danny's room, making sure that the nightlight is on, and that Danny's door is left a few inches ajar, just the way the little boy likes it.
It's as he's pulling the door carefully into place, using three fingers to measure the requisite space, that he catches sight of something that he hadn't noticed when entering Danny's bedroom. It's a thick, red and white striped envelope that looks full to bursting. It's addressed to Daniel William-Matthew McGarrett (the name that Steve had given Danny and made 'legal' through illegal means and a lot of money paid to certain people in key places), and, according to the return address, it's from Saint Nicholas XXXII, North Pole.
Breath catching in his throat, eyes going over to Danny, and then back to the envelope when Steve realizes that the boy is still soundly asleep, Steve reaches for the envelope, and weighs it in his hands. If Chin had managed to come through for him, the 'gift' Steve had requested of him would weigh about this much, but the man had said nothing, had given Danny a set of books about a mouse detective and a couple of computer games for Christmas, and a promise to come play some of the games with Danny. It didn't make sense for Chin to leave the gift here, on Danny's dresser, for the boy to open after Christmas morning.
Curious, Steve turns the thick envelope over in his hand, and is surprised to see that it's sealed. As much as he wants to open the gift, and find out what's inside of it, Steve places it back on the dresser, and reluctantly goes downstairs to finish cleaning up before falling into bed two hours later.
He's awakened a few short, yet restful, hours later when, Danny, squealing, bounds into his room and launches himself onto Steve's bed, jumping up and down and making Steve reach for his gun before he realizes he's not under attack, and that Danny's shouting isn't because he's terrified, but because he's excited.
When Steve's heart is back where it belongs, and he's able to breathe comfortably, and Danny's settled down beside him, practically plastering himself to Steve's side like a leech, Steve rubs a hand over his face, and turns toward the whirlwind of a boy. He opens his mouth, and closes it, words failing him, because what on earth just happened, and why is Danny staring at him with those wide, blue eyes twinkling? He reminds Steve of a puppy, and Steve hopes to god that someone has not dropped a puppy off at their front door this early in the morning. He wouldn't put it past one of his team members, or his aunt.
"Lookit, Uncle Steve," Danny says, and he shoves the red and white striped envelope under Steve's nose. "It's from Santa."
He's holding it out to Steve, and Steve has no idea what it is that Danny wants him to do, because the gift belongs to the boy, not to him, and it's too early to deal with a hyper kid before he's had his morning swim and coffee. "I see," Steve settles on. His eyes lose focus, because Danny's pressed the gift so close to him that he's gone crosseyed.
"Can I open it?" Danny asks.
Blinking, and stifling a yawn, Steve nods. "It's for you, isn't it?"
Danny smiles and nods. Pressing even further into Steve's side, Danny's elbow digs into his ribs, and Steve shifts a little to ease the pressure. Danny follows him, though he's no longer poking Steve in the side with his extra sharp elbow, and Steve finds a small measure of comfort in that.
Danny carefully opens the envelope and pulls out what looks like a handwritten letter. He peers closely at it, and then hands it to Steve, and moves to sit on his knees beside him. The boy reminds Steve of a mini tornado, constantly on the move, and having Danny in his bed is a bit like having his own personal natural disaster in his room. It's disconcerting, and mildly alarming, and Danny's staring at him, shoving the letter at him.
"I can't read this," he says. "What did Santa say? Can you read it for me? I can't read the curly letters. Can you read it for me, Uncle Steve?"
Steve's ears feel like they're ringing, and his eyes cross, because Danny's shoved the paper right up against his nose. He pulls back, and snatches the letter from Danny's hand before the boy can shove it even closer to his face, or up his nose.
He reads the letter to himself, twice, frowning. Danny gives him an expectant, and impatient look, body wriggling as he struggles to wait for Steve to read the letter aloud. Take a deep breath, and then clearing his throat, Steve reads the letter once more to himself, before, finally reading it aloud to Danny.
"Dear Daniel, Thank you for your letter. I am sorry about your family. While I wish I could bring your family back to you for Christmas, it is beyond my ability to do so. Christmas magic is capable of a lot of things, but traversing the grave is not one of them, though I wish it was so. There are a great deal many other children who would be happy to have a parent, grandparent, or a sibling, returned to them this time of year.
I know that you loved your family very much, and they loved you very much, too. Though these photographs are not the same thing, I hope that they will bring you much joy, and be reminders of past happinesses to help you build new memories with your Uncle Steve. He's going to need a lot of patience, and love, and I know that you've got a big heart for such a little boy. You've done your family proud, and I know that you will continue to do so.
Yours Sincerely, Saint Nicholas"
Steve's throat is thick, and he has to cough to clear it, and blink his eyes, again, because something's in them. Danny's tipping the contents of the envelope out onto Steve's lap. It's a photo album filled with photographs of Danny's family, which is what Steve had asked Chin to find for him.
There's another letter that flutters out in the wake of the photo album, and it's addressed to Steve. The message is simple, and Steve doesn't share the contents of it with Danny, who's supplanted the photo album on Steve's lap, and is now going through it, pointing out different memories to Steve, and pushing the photo album in his face as he takes Steve back in time to when he was 'just a baby' or 'three years old' or 'only five'.
By the time Danny's showed Steve every last picture and told him elaborate stories for each, some of which have made him laugh, Danny's voice is hoarse and the little boy is sagging against Steve's chest, yawning widely. Before Steve fully understands what's happening, Danny's got one arm snaked around his waist, the other clutching the photo album to his chest, and he's sprawled out on top of Steve, snuggling, head resting against Steve's chest, breath evening out into sleep.
Steve's eyes are heavy, and he rests a hand on Danny's back, cracks a yawn, and then decides that trying to move Danny without disturbing the little boy would be way too much work, so he settles back, gets comfortable, and falls into a light sleep, giving only a passing thought to the odd letters that had accompanied the 'Family' photo album from Saint Nicholas.
He hadn't recognized the script on either letter, and they'd clearly been handwritten. Danny's letter could have been penned by Chin, or maybe even by Kono, but the letter to Steve...that was a mystery as it had cited things that none of his team members were aware of, or should have been aware of - that one time he and his family had wintered in Colorado and he'd broken his collarbone on a jump, being just one such memory that he hadn't shared with anyone - and mentioned things that were to come. Some of them daunting, and others too hard for Steve to imagine, some too good to be true.
These thoughts bouncing around in his head, Steve falls into a deeper sleep, Danny sprawled out on top of him like one of those electric blankets (cranked to the highest setting). The weight of the boy, and his furnace-like heat are not wholly uncomfortable, just different than anything Steve has experienced before, and he finds himself liking it, and, though it's too good to be true, because he's not a good guy, and he doesn't deserve something like this, it almost feels like he's a father, and that, maybe, someday, he can be something like a father to Danny, as the letter from 'Saint Nicholas' suggested he could.
In any case, Steve knows that, just like the memories someone - Chin, Toast, or Saint Nicholas - recovered for Danny, he's been given a chance to make new memories with the boy. Whether by Fate, or chance, or simply by his own greed, doesn't matter. Not in the long run. All that matters is that he be careful with the memories that he makes, and that he makes them good, and strong.