Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and am not making a profit, monetary or otherwise, through the writing of this.
A/N: Written for lederra, who asked for a friendship fic for Danny and Steve. This is a very belated gift, and it is far more angsty and filled with more emotional hurt/comfort than I had anticipated writing. The first bit of dialogue was provided by a member of my Camp NaNoWriMo cabin who gave me this as a prompt when I asked for inspiration.
The news of Grace and Daniel leaving the show came as a bit of shock to me (and others, I am sure). This story is also a response to that. I am sure that the writers will choose to do something else as a send off for the two beloved characters than what I've chosen to write for this story. I don't normally write death fics, but I felt that this news warranted that. This story deals with the aftermath of death.
"It was an unusually quiet night. We thought we might finally get some sleep this time. Then at exactly 3am on the dot, they came..."
"Let me stop you right there, Daniel," the police psychologist said. He leaned forward in his seat and pinned Danny with a no nonsense look, proving to Danny that the man was calling him on his bullshit.
Sighing, Danny ran a hand through his hair and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning away from the psychologist. He knew it made him look closed off, but didn't give a fuck how it made him look. So what if he was closed off? He had every damn right to be closed off after everything that had happened.
They'd lost Chin and Kono, and nothing was ever going to be the same again. Fuck open looks and fuck the governor appointed shrink and fuck Steven and his fucking ninja ways that had saved both him and Danny, but not the cousins.
"I know you're upset," the shrink, Dr. Whatthefuck, said, voice filled with sympathy that Danny wanted no part of. He didn't deserve sympathy, and didn't want pity.
Danny clenched his jaw, and looked toward the potted plant that was positioned in a far corner of the room. It was some kind of cactus. All prickly and tough looking. Unapproachable. Like Danny.
The blinds were closed. The room was dimly lit. The psych's desk was cluttered in a way that was probably meant to make people feel at ease, though Danny doubted that anyone with OCD would feel anywhere near comfortable sitting in the dimly lit room facing a cluttered desk. He imagined that Steve's eyes would be glued to the desk, fingers itching to put everything in order, and nearly snorted at the mental picture he got.
Then he pictured Chin, and Danny had to blink back a sudden onslaught of tears as he imagined the frown that would crease his friend's brow should he find himself sitting on the couch that Danny sat on, across from the messy desk. Chin's fingers wouldn't itch to touch the papers scattered across it, because he would go over to the desk and straighten it, and he'd do it in such a way that the shrink wouldn't even question it.
Kono wouldn't even notice the desk and its plethora of papers on it. She'd be standing at the window, opening the blinds, casting a cheerful smile behind her and commenting on how letting in the sunlight made everything much brighter, how it lightened the mood. Her smiles, Danny noted to himself, had been wary and forced of late. Something that he should have done something about before everything had gone to shit.
"Maybe we should table this for today and..."
Danny shook his head and held a hand up. "No, doc, we're not going to 'table this' for another time. This will be the one and only time that we meet to talk about this."
The psychologist frowned and blinked at him. He took a deep breath, assessing Danny with a lingering gaze before he slowly nodded and gave him a tight grin. "You don't have to see me again, but I am going to recommend that you see someone on a weekly basis until -"
"Until what, doc?" Danny interrupted, standing from his seat, air exploding from his lungs in a hiss. "Until I get over the loss of two people I'd come to love as family? I can tell you this much, doc, that ain't ever going to happen."
"You won't be able to go back to active duty until I, or another psychologist clears you," the shrink said.
"I don't care," Danny said. His chest was tight, as though large rubber bands were being wound tightly around it. "I don't care," he repeated, blinking at the dust motes that he could see floating in the air around him, disturbed by the cutting movement of his hands as he spoke.
"I'm sure that's not true," the shrink said, voice quiet and even.
Danny laughed, a bitter bark of a sound, and grinned maniacally at the doctor. "Well, I am."
"I see," the shrink said. He leaned back, regarded Danny with a look of almost boredom as he gestured toward the seat that Danny had vacated.
"I don't care," Danny said, knees feeling weak and rubbery, falling heavily and without grace, more than sitting, on the couch he'd just stood up from. The truth of his words hit him harder than he really cared to admit. He did not care if he never returned to Five-0.
"And what about your partner?" the shrink asked. He held his pen almost absentmindedly in his right hand, the yellow pad that he'd scribbled on a few times during their session was sitting on one of his legs, abandoned for the time being.
Danny crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Damn body language.
The doctor clicked the pen, once, twice, three times, while he waited for Danny's response, his lips parted slightly, dark eyes boring holes into Danny, seeing right through his facade of self-righteous anger. The thick glasses that the man wore did nothing to mask the man's laser-like gaze. Superman had nothing on Dr. Whatshisname.
"What about him?" Danny asked, not wanting to give up his anger, though it was misdirected.
"What will your partner do without you?" the shrink asked, pen poised mid-click.
Danny scoffed and shook his head, jaw clenching. He turned his gaze toward the cactus, wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers along the spines, if he'd even feel it. He was numb. Had been numb for going on...had it already been three weeks since they'd lost Kono and Chin?
Danny shrugged, and picked at a loose thread in the cuff of his shirt. "Don't know," he'd been about to say, don't care, but the words stuck in his throat.
Danny might be angry right now, might hate the world and the shitheads in it, but he couldn't bring himself to voice a callous disregard for the man who'd been his partner for years, and had become a close friend. Closer even than a brother.
"Don't you think that he might want you to return to the task force?" the shrink asked.
Danny bit his tongue to keep from saying something sharp and caustic in response. He dug his fingernails into his sides, wishing that his bruised ribs would twinge in response, cause him pain that would ground him and give him the strength he needed to endure this ridiculous mandated psych consult.
"Maybe," Danny bit the word out, hating how raw it sounded, how broken he sounded. "He's the crazy one," Danny said, hoping for lightness in his voice, and being disappointed when his words fell flat.
The psychiatrist grinned, clicked his pen and then tapped it against the yellow legal pad on his lap. "I've already had the pleasure of speaking with your partner," he said, voice amused. "He -"
"Is an unstable man who thinks he's an unstoppable, indefatigable, omnipotent ninja warrior," Danny said, words dry, throat raw and aching.
Much to Danny's displeasure, the shrink smiled benignly and nodded. "He did have a certain air about him," he conceded. "But we're not here to talk about Steven McGarrett, we're here to talk about you."
"I don't want to talk about me," Danny said, wincing. He sounded like a petulant child.
"What do you want to talk about?" the shrink asked, eyebrow raised, pen poised to click.
When Danny said nothing, the shrink clicked his pen four times, and then sighed. "If you don't want to talk about yourself, how about talking about the teammates that you lost? Chin Ho Kelly and Kono Kalakaua?"
Danny saw red, then white, the edges of his vision growing dark and crowding him until there was nothing left but a tunnel, the sound of his breathing harsh and warped as the memory of what had happened to rip his team, his family, his 'ohana, apart. His heart hammered in his chest, and Danny couldn't breathe.
"Easy, easy, hey, Danno, you're alright, you're safe." Steve's voice was in Danny's head, breath close to his ear, tickling it, making Danny shudder with shivers that were banked by the warmth of Steve's arms wrapped around him.
When Danny could see past the tunnel of dark, blood soaked memories that would haunt him for the rest of his life, and pain so terrible that even the memory of it was enough to make him want to pass out, he was breathing harshly, his head pressed up against Steve's chest, the man's fingers running through his hair in a way that was soothing. Danny clung to Steve's arm, wondered when and how the man had come to be with him, sitting on the plush carpeting of the police psychologist's floor.
Danny did his best to blink past the darkness riddled with memories of blood, of Chin bleeding out in front of him while he'd been unable to do anything to staunch the heavy flow, his hands bound behind him. He blinked past the darkness of Kono, neck canted at an impossible angle, face frozen in a rictus of horror that resembled a ghastly smile thanks to the scalpel that had rent her cheeks apart, making her look like a victim of Batman's arch nemesis, Joker.
His stomach clenched, but Danny swallowed the burning bile, nearly choking on it. He turned his face toward Steve's chest, and breathed in the familiar scent of his best friend, the man he called, brother, and for the first time since he'd lost half of his family to a madman, he cried, tears wetting the front of Steve's dark tee-shirt. Clinging to Steve like a drowning man to a life jacket, Danny howled out his pain, fists clenching in the fabric of Steve's shirt, tears flowing like rain in a monsoon until there were no more tears left to cry and he was left shivering, Steve caressing his back and his hair, whispering words of comfort and understanding in his ear.
"I'm sorry," Steve was saying, voice breaking on the words. "I'm so sorry, Danny. I'm sorry that I couldn't save them, but I'm not sorry that I saved you."
Danny's breath hitched, and he wrapped his arms tightly around Steve, hugging him close. "It's okay," Danny whispered, lips tugging at the fabric of Steve's shirt, voice slurring the words. "It's okay. I forgive you. 'S not your fault anyway. 'S not either of our faults."
Steve tensed, and then he shuddered, and it was Danny's turn to hold his friend while he wept, quiet, stoic as ever. Steve's crying jag was short lived, but they sat together afterward, hugging each other, for far longer than either of them would ever admit to in a court of law.
"I'd call that a breakthrough," the shrink said, voice sounding far happier than Danny thought the occasion warranted.
Nonetheless, Danny couldn't hold back a snort of laughter at the man's words. He shook his head, and pulled away from Steve. His head felt muzzy, and thick from all of the crying he'd done, but he felt better, lighter, though the lightness was accompanied by a stab of guilt over the loss of friends who'd become family. He'd lived while they'd died.
Survivor's guilt. Danny was well versed with that particular term. He knew that Steve was, too.
He'd dealt with it before, and, though it pained him to have to go through it again, this time he wasn't alone (and how selfish a thought was that?). This time, he had Steve, and good old Dr. what'shisname, to help him through it.
It wasn't going to be easy, and Danny wasn't sure if he wanted to go back to work ever again. It wasn't going to be the same without Chin's quiet, thoughtful support and mad computer skills, or Kono's kick-ass, yet sunny disposition. Too many people had underestimated her, and had wound up regretting it.
He was going to miss them - his wise, older brother, and cheeky, fun younger sister who'd given him nearly as many gray hairs as Grace had. His heart ached with the loss of them, and he rubbed at it.
"Ready to go home?" Steve asked, voice quiet, fingers still nestled in Danny's hair.
Danny nodded. He felt drunk, limbs heavy and awkward, head muddled, tongue thick and mouth dry, but he felt marginally better than he had when he'd first walked into the psychologist's office, intent upon spinning a tall tale and pretending like everything was peachy.
Steve helped Danny to his feet, stumbling a little himself, making Danny giggle as they both leaned on each other for support. "What a pair we make," Danny said.
"A pair of drunken monkeys," Steve muttered.
"Drunken sailor monkeys," Danny said.
Steve snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes. "C'mon, let's go home."
"After you," Danny said, arm wrapped around Steve's middle.
"Together," Steve said, arm wrapped over Danny's shoulder.
They had to twist sideways to make it out of the door, but they did, the doctor shaking his head as he watched them, and writing something down on the yellow legal pad before clicking his pen shut and then closing the door to his office.
"Penny." Danny heard the psychologist say to his receptionist. "Please set up an appointment for both men to see me, together, first thing, next week, Monday."
The receptionist's reply was lost to the ding of the elevator as its doors opened to let him and Steve on it. Steve leaned back against the far wall of the elevator and closed his eyes. "I can't believe he wants to see us again," he said.
Danny shrugged and leaned back against Steve. "A little head shrinking would do you some good; I've never met someone with so many repressed issues in my life," Danny ribbed.
Steve sputtered a bit, and shoved Danny toward the front of the elevator when it came to a stop on their floor. "Repressed," he muttered beneath his breath. "I'll show you repressed."
"I've already seen your repressed, Steven," Danny said, walking backward toward the exit, so that he could keep an eye on his partner. "Heck, I see evidence of it every day."
"Every day, huh?" Steve asked, mouth quirked in a half smile, eyebrow raised.
Danny nodded, hands going wide to encompass the scope of Steve's repression. The loss of Kono and Chin was still open and raw, and Danny felt a touch of guilt as he returned Steve's slow smile, and entered the cab of Steve's truck, arguing, almost like old times, with his best friend.
Life was never going to be the same, and if he returned to work beside Steve, the job wouldn't be the same either. There'd be no one to roll their eyes at him and Steve, and to call them out on their shit when they let their stubbornness cloud their judgement. There'd be no on to tell them what assholes they were being to each other when they had a falling out. There'd be no one to tease them about how they argued like a married couple.
They'd suffered a great loss, and it was going to take time to work through it, but for the first time in the three weeks that had passed since Kono and Chin had been stolen from them, Danny felt like maybe he could move on with life. Chin would be the first to say that Danny shouldn't live in the past, and Kono would kick his ass for putting his life on hold and not moving on with his life.
A lull in the argument, while Steve thought of a suitable comeback for Danny's latest barb, allowed Danny to close his eyes and say a quiet, 'goodbye and I love you,' to Kono and Chin. He wasn't finished mourning them, not by a long shot, but he was ready to start living again, Steve by his side, annoying though the man could be at times.
"Hey, Danny, you okay?" Steve asked.
Danny reached for Steve's hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "I will be." He cleared his throat. "Thank you, you know, for saving me."
"Anytime, Danno," Steve said, voice tight with emotion. "Anytime."
Danny pressed his head against the window, relishing the coolness against his sweaty brow, and smiled as he whispered the beginning of the story that he'd meant to tell the psychologist. It was a grisly ghost story that Chin had told them, face glowing red in the flames of a bonfire during a team camp-out (part of the governor's plan to give them time to bond as a team) several years ago. Danny tried to remember all of the details as he whispered the words, "It was an unusually quiet night. We thought we might finally get some sleep this time. Then at exactly 3am on the dot, they came..."
"I remember that story," Steve said, shuddering. "It gave me nightmares."
Danny hummed thoughtfully, and continued the tale as best he could, Steve filling in the parts that Danny blanked out on until they were parked outside of Steve's home, truck idling. Danny was grateful. He didn't want to be alone tonight, and didn't mind sleeping on Steve's couch, or in the guest bedroom.
"I miss them," Steve said, shutting off the truck and staring out into the darkness.
"Me, too." Danny drew in a deep breath, and opened the door of the truck, nearly falling out of it, and cursing.
Steve was beside him, hand on Danny's elbow, before he'd managed to take his first step away from the truck. He was wrung out, and didn't mind having a shoulder to lean on. Didn't mind having Steve witness him at his weakest.
"How are we going to get through this?" Danny asked, breath catching in his throat when he saw a picture of the four of them - Chin, Danny, Steve and Kono, on the beach - sitting on the mantle in Steve's living room.
"Together. One day at a time," Steve said. "That's how we'll get through this."
Swallowing, Danny looked away from the picture and practically dropped onto the couch. He could've fallen asleep right then and there, but Steve made sure that he got up, showered, brushed his teeth, and changed into an old pair of Steve's sweats (they had to be rolled up so he wouldn't trip over them) and an old tee-shirt before he crashed, in the guest room, TV tuned to some sport channel.
'One day at a time,' Danny thought as he fell asleep. That sounded doable, as long as Steve, his friend, his brother, was beside him.