Summary: Steve's done a lot…he's seen a lot…he's dreamed a lot. But when Catherine tells him she's putting into port permanently in Hawaii, he has dreams he's never had before. Short one-shot with an original poem thrown in.
DREAMS OF YOU
The thing about dreams is that you can't control them. It doesn't matter how many techniques you're taught for gaining control over your thoughts and feelings. When you go to sleep and your conscious mind is down for the count, whatever's bugging you, whatever fears plague the darkened tightly-locked chambers of your mind during waking hours, always rear their ugly heads.
It's not always nightmares, though. At least, not for Steve. For all he's done and seen so far in his thirty-five years, it isn't like every single time he has a dream (one that he remembers, anyway) that it's a bad one. Yes, he's had his fair share of torturing himself over the five kids who died when he and his SEAL team had to blow up a top Iraqi official's living quarters. Yes, he's bolted wide awake panting and sweating from the recurring scene of the other six members of a different SEAL team all going down around him and himself being shot through the thigh.
He's dreamed of his father being shot in the head by Victor Hesse. Of Danny entering the house to find John McGarrett dead in a pool of his own blood. Sometimes of himself in that role rather than Danny. What it would've looked like. Smelled like.
There are also the standard ohana-in-peril dreams where he's had awful scenarios play out in his head about having to tell Grace and Rachel Danny'd been blow to oblivion by a bomb in a warehouse, or shot between the eyes because Steve had rushed in without waiting for backup. He'd dreamed of having to tell Kono's mother and all her family that she'd lost her life in the line of duty. Of having to go to Chin and Malia's home to inform his new bride that she was now a widow.
He's seen each and every one of his team members go down, sometimes in disgustingly grotesque ways, and been helpless each time to stop it. Sometimes it's Gracie in peril, or Rachel and her baby boy. One time he clearly remembers watching Stan Edwards fall off a roof, and in another case the whole of the palace exploded killing every single person inside, his team included. There are way too many nightmares about threats to Mary Ann's well-being than Steve cares to recall.
Yeah, Steve's seen and heard enough over the years to have very vivid and what Danny would probably define as extremely disturbing dreams. But Steve also has good dreams. Pleasant dreams. Happy dreams, even.
As the star quarterback in high school, he dreamed of winning all the time. Of being hoisted up on his teammates' shoulders and having the cooler of Gatorade dumped over Coach's head while the man and all his teammates congratulated him, and his parents beamed with pride.
When he was sent away to the mainland, his family ripped and torn to shreds beyond repair, he dreamed of being in Hawaii. Of returning home to find everything like it'd been before she died, her there alive and well and waiting to welcome him with open arms.
At Annapolis he'd dreamed of his career to come. Of what it would be like traveling the world doing his duty for God and his country. The danger, the intrigue, the ability to show just what he was made of and make his father proud beyond reason…these were the things the Naval officer-in-training dreamed of.
On missions, whether for the SEALs or Naval Intelligence or anything else at all, he rarely dreamed. He was always so focused on the task at hand he guesses now that his subconscious really didn't have any say in what came up during his sleeping hours.
He's dreamed about Catherine an awful lot since meeting her and falling in love with her. He's dreamed mostly about their lovemaking, about the time they spend together talking. And then, nearly a month ago when she announces she's putting into shore permanently there in Hawaii, he starts dreaming about things he never in the past has really thought in-depth about at all.
He starts dreaming about weddings on the beach. About groomsmen and bridesmaids. About beautiful, flowing white dresses and tuxedoes. Ministers and arches. Bare feet in the sand and cake smearing stupidly happy faces. He's starting to think in terms of staying, settling down, making a house into a home. And as he stares across the Edwards living room watching Danny rub soothing circles into ten-month old Stanley, Jr.'s little back, he thinks about the fact that last night…for the very first time ever…he dreamed about having a baby of his own.
They are stopped here at Stan and Rachel's just so they can pick Grace up and drop her off at school before heading to the palace. Danny offered to take the baby so Rachel could finish braiding their daughter's hair. So Steve's now sitting in an armchair watching Danny softly speak nonsensical words into the tiny shell of Baby's ear and he's remembering that his dream was specifically watching Cath give birth to Baby Girl McGarrett.
He thinks about what he has with Cath, and how nothing else compares to it. Never has and, he truly believes, never will.
How in two months she's going to be there. Be there permanently, not shipping out to sea ever again. How she's already emailed him or texted him about ten times a day since first telling him about it, so completely excited and beside herself that he can't help but grin every time he gets another message from her.
How he can't wait to hold her in her arms, see her things next to his in the master bathroom, go to sleep every night with her body close to his.
Steve comes back to himself long enough to realize that Danny's staring at him. His partner cocks his head at him, eyes narrowing just a bit, as though trying to read Steve's mind. After a few seconds Danny gets to his feet, crosses the massive living room and stops right up in between Steve's legs.
"You want to hold him?" Danny asks, pulling Junior away from his chest and holding him out and down.
Steve smiles. Danny always seems to know what he's thinking, or at least, how he's feeling, and this time is no exception. He's a little awkward with babies, but he's been watching Danny and so he thinks he can do this without dropping the infant on his head or anything else traumatic.
Danny settles Little Stan into the crook of Steve's arm, gently sliding his hand out from under the back of the little head, the backs of his knuckles scraping gently along the outside edge of Steve's elbow.
And Steve is utterly, completely fascinated. He takes in the sleepy blue eyes that are a shade lighter than they were when he was born. He takes in the tiny lips that suckle into the little mouth every so often as the baby alternately sighs and makes sucking motions with his lips. He notes the tiny five-fingered hand that grasps at the air until Steve's seemingly gigantic index finger slips into the little palm and the baby grabs hold of it with a surprisingly strong grip.
The baby smells so fresh. Young. Clean. Different. New. He makes Steve feel like there's hope in the world, like not everyone is a bad guy, or a terrorist or someone who's hell bent on destroying him and his team. His contented gaze directly into Steve's eyes make him feel protective and powerful, yet humble and weak all at the same time.
He gently strokes a chubby cheek with the finger Little Stan is still holding tightly to, and the infant closes his eyes. His mouth stops moving. His breathing slows. Steve watches in wonder as there, right there in his arms, Baby falls sound asleep.
It's only when he hears the soft clearing of a throat that his focus shifts from the little human in his arm to the full-grown one still standing right in front of him. The smile on Danny's face…the look in his eyes…they're ones Steve doesn't remember ever seeing from him before. Not even directed at Grace.
"What?" Steve asks, eyes flicking away, suddenly feeling self-conscious at having gone all soft on a baby he's not even related to, let alone knows very well.
"You're going to make a really good dad someday," is Danny's response.
Steve's eyes snap back up to his partner's. "Yeah, well," he says, looking back down at Stanley's face and gently rubbing his cheek again, then looking at Danny. "I guess I learned from the best."
When he feels the pride, the fondness, the sheer love pouring out of Danny's very being, Steve knows it was the right thing to say.
Made all the better by the fact that it's true.
Dreams Of You
I often dream of you, of us
A thousand tales to tell
Times when we're so happy, and then
Times when it's pure Hell
I often dream of past and present,
Futures good and bad
I dream of family and of friends
Of Sister, Mom and Dad
I dream of places, some called Home
Where childhood secrets live
I dream so much of what you mean
Of everything I'd give
To wake and find you by my side
To end each day with you
I dream of all that we could be
And all that we could do
And when I wake to find that it
In fact was not pretend,
That you are with me here and now,
Happiness without end
I know my next dream will not be
What I used to dream before
For now there'll be not two of us
But three, or maybe four
I guess I'm getting older now
No dreams of guts and glory
I suppose I want a family here,
A new chapter in our story
So when the nightmares do return
And evil things I see
I'll fall back on what's real, right here,
Lying sleeping next to me.
-An original poem by Chris Davis (aka TB's LMC) written for this story
Shameless Self-Promotion Alert:
If you haven't seen it and don't yet know it, the second of my original book series "Takers" is now available on Smashwords and Amazon. It's called "Takers II: Family," and for those of you who haven't yet purchased either book, there's a special deal my publisher's running through the end of May where if you buy the new novel for $2.99 and email me your receipt, you'll get a Smashwords coupon to buy the first book for only 99 cents. Check out my author blog at authorcdavis DOT come for more info!