Title: A Fragile Balance

Summary: What did it take for Steve to realize that he couldn't do the job right until he got some answers about who or what Shelburne really was? (set between episodes 2.19 and 2.20)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or its characters.

A/N: This is sort of a gap-filler for between episodes 2.19 and 2.20 . . . which is not what I intended to write. I wanted to write something humorous and light and funny. And I tried. But I guess I have some unresolved issues with season 2 and everything that happened. I didn't really decide to write this story. It kind of forced itself on me. It's the opposite of the story I had in mind. It's angsty and maybe even a bit dark . . . but I guess I needed to get this out of my system.

The story is mostly finished – just in need of a bit of tweaking here and there – so I hope I'll be able to post its parts on a somewhat regular basis.

I apologize for any medical, legal, technical, or other inaccuracies. I tried to do my research but I'm not sure if I managed to get everything (or anything) right.

I hope you'll enjoy reading this :)

A Fragile Balance

Chapter 1

"Did you have to park the car here?"

Danny blinked against the bright sunlight as he pulled at the collar of his tac-vest, trying desperately to get some sort of ventilation going between the heavy Kevlar and his sweat soaked dress shirt.

Steve, wearing that determined frown on his face, shot him a quick, skeptical look. "We got the best view of the unit from here," he said flatly and went back to do what he had been doing for the last hour.

Staring.

With his eyes practically glued to his set of super-secret-agent/military-high-tech/shoot-me-in-the-face-please binoculars, Steve continued to stare at the row of storage lockers that ran along the far side of one of the shabbier looking warehouses in the industrial area close to the harbor. The Camaro was parked in an alley at the side of the building. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of anyone who came through the warehouse to access the storage units. And, more importantly, they could easily keep watch on their target unit.

Steve could, anyway. Because only Steve McGarrett could actually stare at something as boring as the door of a storage locker for more than two minutes, focused as if it was a bomb that was primed to go off as soon as he dared to blink his eyes.

Danny huffed. The heat inside the car was becoming unbearable. "There's a tree throwing some nice shade right there," he said, waving both hands at a dark spot on the asphalt not ten feet in front of them. "We'll have the same view from over there and get the added bonus of not being roasted alive."

"We are easier seen from over there, too."

"At least turn on the AC then," Danny pleaded, hands reaching for the buttons on the center console.

"Danny," Steve warned, one of his hands swatting Danny's away without even looking.

They had been over this. More than once. Steve didn't want to run the AC on the car's battery. He considered it an unnecessary tactical exposure or some shit. Because they could be sitting here all day, waiting for their target to show up and letting the AC drain the Camaro's battery in the process. And if the car didn't start when the suspect ran, they'd be seriously fucked.

Which was, of course, complete bullshit. Because if they sat in the stinking heat, sweating, dehydrating long enough to drain a car's battery, they'd long be passed out – dead for all Danny knew – by the time anyone showed up. And then there would be no one left to chase after the guy. No one, except for Kono and Chin, who were parked on the other side of the building. The side where there was a lot of nice, cool shade at this time of the day.

"I am dying here, man." Danny lifted his left arm to sniff at his own armpit. "And I'm starting to smell," he added, making a face. He was baiting Steve and he didn't bother to be subtle about it. Not anymore. Ever since they had taken the case, he had been trying to get his partner to loosen up a little. Because this case had him wound up so tightly, Danny was afraid Steve would snap and do something really stupid as soon as he got the chance. Just to blow off some steam.

But Steve ignored him. He was probably too focused to even notice Danny pushing his buttons, let alone to crack a little unfunny joke at Danny's expense. Danny understood, though. There was a lot riding on this bust.

Behind the door of the storage unit were millions in drugs. Crystal methamphetamine. Ice. 20/20 or Batu as the locals called it. The substance to which so-called experts attributed a huge share of Hawaii's skyrocketing crime rate. The substance that kept Governor Denning awake at night, wondering how to convince the people that, in spite of the statistics, he was the right man for another term of office.

Finding the stash had been a sheer coincidence. Two days ago, the owner of the storage facility had wanted to open a locker for the widow of a recently deceased renter, but had accidentally mixed up the locker numbers. He had only realized his mistake after six hours. After he had called the cops and after two overzealous HPD lieutenants had put the confused, seventy-two-year-old, grieving widow through a grueling interrogation about her involvement in her late husband's alleged criminal activities.

Thankfully, the whole fiasco hadn't hit the press – yet. Sparing the Department and Governor Denning the substantial embarrassment, but making the latter that much more determined to finally get a handle on the State's blossoming drug scene. He had assigned Five-0 to the case, impressing on Steve emphatically that he wanted the people responsible for this behind bars by Monday.

Given the fact that it had already been Sunday, not even Five-0 had managed to meet the deadline. The storage unit had been paid for in cash and rented out to a 'John Smith'. There were no prints, DNA or anything else to be found inside the locker, and the facility was only watched by little black plastic boxes that didn't even remotely resemble security cameras to the trained eye. They had no leads, nothing, and still Denning expected them – expected Steve – to just get the job done.

And Steve, the good Navy soldier – sailor, whatever – that he was, had practically been standing at attention while listening to Denning rip him a new one over the phone this morning. It had been painful for Danny to watch. The tight set of Steve's jaw as he tried hard – and actually managed – to hold in the objections to Denning's accusations. Danny almost admired his partner's ability to do that, to not backlash and yell at the arrogant ass. To not tell him to go and arrest his fucking drug dealers himself if he thought that Five-0 wasn't doing a good enough job at it – if he thought they weren't doing anything in their power to find the bastards who were poisoning this lonely rock that his daughter was forced to grow up on.

Yeah, Danny would admire Steve for being able to just suck it up if the whole thing didn't bother and irritate him so much. Yes, he respected the chain of command, his superiors, too. But he also was a firm believer in the concept of questioning authority. Not like Navy boy Steve, who had learned to follow orders blindly. Maybe that worked in the armed forces. Maybe it was sometimes necessary in war to just act and to trust others do the thinking for you. But this wasn't war. This was not a life or death situation. This was just a Governor who saw his popularity declining. Who was looking to share just a fraction of all the blame. Blame for things he had no control over, but blame that kept coming his way relentlessly anyway. It was only human, really, Denning lashing out at Steve for not being able to do the impossible. It was irrational, but maybe this morning it had been just what Denning had needed to not crack under the pressure of the office. And maybe Steve had kept his mouth shut and taken it all in and ended the conversation with a tight 'Yes Sir' because he knew, from experience or whatever, what that kind of pressure felt like.

Maybe Steve was just a better person than Danny. Because no matter how understandable Denning's human reaction was, if he had been in Steve's place that morning, he probably wouldn't have a job right now. And wouldn't be sitting in this car-shaped oven, with sweat dripping from every single pore of his body while he was slowly being cooked alive. So fuck being the good guy. Actually, fuck Steve and his brilliant idea to just sit here and wait for the owner of the crystal meth to show up. It was a really, really long shot. But Steve had insisted they did something while they were waiting to hear back from Kamekona.

It had taken some convincing, but the Big Guy had agreed to reach out to his sources for them eventually. Supposedly, the friend of a friend of the grandson of his first cousin twice removed on his mother's side had some high reaching contacts in the meth scene on Oahu. Kamekona was hoping to get them a name within the next twelve hours to nine days. No guarantees.

That was – Danny glanced down at his watch – yup, three hours ago. So . . . nine hours to go. Minimum.

"Fuck."

"Huh?"

"Nothing." Danny shook his head and stared out of the window, clamping his mouth shut and sparing his partner the rant that was bubbling up inside his chest. Steve really didn't need anyone else to have another human reaction on him right now. He didn't need Danny to unload his pent up frustration on him, too. Just because he was there and could be blamed for him being stuck in a car in the burning hot sunlight.

Still, the guy could at least let him crack open a window or something.

"What, Danny?" Steve looked at him, eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Nothing," Danny said again and then bit down on the insides of his lips, physically sealing his mouth shut.

"Danny." There was a question in there somewhere, or a challenge. 'Come on, get it out. Let's get this over with.' And if it wasn't for the weariness in Steve's eyes – the weariness that told Danny that his partner hadn't gotten a single minute of sleep last night – he probably would have taken the bait.

But not today.

"What?" Danny didn't look at Steve. "I said it's nothing. It's fine. Everything is just fine. This is fun, Steven. I am having a blast." He emphasized each word sharply, as if he was trying to underline the sarcastic tone of his voice.

Yeah, the not ranting part was going great.

Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "Look, Danny, I know this–"

"Guys," Kono's disembodied voice cut in, "we've got some movement over here."

Steve's focus was immediately back on the storage unit, eyes squinting as he stared once again through the binoculars to see what Kono and Chin were seeing from their side of the building. They were parked closer to the front and were able to see everyone who came into the warehouse that separated the storage lockers from the street. "What do you got?"

"Uhm, probably false alarm. Just a kid on a skateboard," Kono added hesitantly, as if she was still assessing the situation.

"Yeah," Chin agreed, "but he's acting kind of suspicious. Keeps looking over his shoulder like he's afraid that someone's following him."

Danny rolled his eyes. The kid had probably rented out a storage unit to hide his Playboy magazines and porn movie collection or something. A few years ago, Danny would have probably sympathized with the kid. Growing up with a bunch of sisters had been a special kind of hell. But today, he got more and more wary of adolescent boys with every inch that Grace grew. They were uncontrollable hormonal time bombs out to destroy his sweet, angelic daughter's life before it had even really begun. All of them.

"I got a visual," Steve said, squinting harder. "He's stopping in front of our locker."

That got Danny's attention. He raised his own binoculars and stared at the guy. The kid really didn't look like a big shot dealer. He was barely twenty years old, wore a stained, over-sized t-shirt and had his ass hanging out of his baggy jeans. In short, he looked like Danny's personified nightmare, but not like a career criminal.

The guy pulled something from the pocket of his pants and turned towards the door of the unit. "What's he doing?"

"He's got a lock pick," Steve said, putting his own binoculars down, his left hand going to the handle of the Camaro's door.

"He's got what, a lock pick? What's the idiot doing, robbing the unit?" Danny shot Steve a disbelieving look, because, really, what had they done to deserve this dead end of a case go to an entirely new level of fucked up after sweltering in the Hawaiian heat for hours?

Steve just shrugged, his eyes never leaving the kid who was now working on the lock.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Danny groaned and raked a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, not bothering that he was messing it up. What kind of moron tried to break into some drug lord's crystal meth stash in bright daylight? "Now what?"

"We take him down," Steve decided abruptly. He was out of the car before his words even registered in Danny's brain.

Unholstering his weapon, Danny quickly followed his partner. He heard Steve order Chin and Kono to move in from their side of the building to make sure the kid didn't get away.

There was a wide-open space between the warehouse and the row of storage units, but the dumbass was too busy working on the lock to notice Steve and Kono approaching him from both sides. They stayed behind the him, trying to stay out of his peripheral vision. Chin and Danny both hung back, providing cover and making sure the kid didn't get far if he should try to make a break for it.

Ten yards away, Steve stopped and blew out a sharp whistle, making the kid jump. He whirled around and stared at them in dumbfounded surprise for a moment. "Five-0, show me your hands," Steve ordered loud and clear, keeping his drawn gun leveled to the ground.

There was a moment of silence. No one moved. After a minute, Danny could see the kid swallow hard before he drew up his arms and walked a few steps away from the door of the locker, eyes glued to the gun in Steve's hands.

Danny must have blinked then, because the next thing he knew was that the kid was on the move. He had spun around and leaped off the ground onto a trash container next to the unit's door. Another second later, he was on the locker's roof. Kono yelled, ordered him to stop and took aim at the same time.

"Hold your fire," Steve shouted, holding up his left hand to Kono, while sliding his own gun into its holster. A second later, the Camaro's keys were flying in Danny's direction. "I'll go after him, you cut him off," Steve yelled, already running up towards the trash container. The kid had long disappeared behind the row of storage units when Steve followed him, jumping from the trash container up to the flat roof.

Danny had caught the keys without realizing it, staring after his partner until he was just gone. He exchanged a look with Kono. She just shrugged and rolled her eyes in a 'are you really surprised' kind of way. Danny huffed.

"Looks like they're headed towards to docks," Chin called from somewhere behind Kono. "Go, Danny, we'll catch up!" Then he turned around and headed back to his car, Kono following just a few steps behind.

Cut him off. Danny had no idea where exactly Steve and the guy were headed, but yeah, sure, no problem.

- to be continued -