A/N This is unbeta'd and no doubt riddled with errors.

It was intended to be a Christmas one-shot, then a New Year one shot… now it's a Jan 2nd multi-chapter short story. Whoops! The muse ain't co-operating like she used to.

I was NOT expecting the lovely gift from ECT (THANK YOU so much again) that materialized earlier (WHAT a story it is- adjust your filters to 'M' to enjoy it!) and I hesitate to say this is one back as I know she favors slash and this one is bromance, but I HAD to give her something back right away!

Call this a holding gift for ECT and I may do a different version over on the other channel in the fullness of time...

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Alas.

Warnings: Sickening levels of angst and bromance. Violence. swearing. The usual.

…

SAVING THE DAY

"Why you gotta be Superman every single minute of every single day, huh? Can't you just watch sports in your underwear on a Saturday like a normal person for once?"

Danny's snark, aimed at him just a day earlier, replayed in Steve's head as he walked along the brightly lit corridor, eyes logging the ascending room numbers. He could kick himself, because if he had pushed Danny to join him, if they had headed to the hills together, maybe this wouldn't be happening at all.

Not that anything was confirmed as having happened anyway, he reminded himself, ignoring the sick feeling in his gut.

"Given I'm going rock-climbing, Spiderman would be a more appropriate superhero than Superman, don't you think, Danno?" Steve had protested light-heartedly, piling equipment in his backpack as he spoke, cell wedged between shoulder and ear.

"Yeah, whatever. You're a doofus, Steven. You go play whatever superhero you feel the need to play in order to use up all the excess adrenaline your ridiculous body continues to produce even when there's no bad guy to be pursued at two hundred miles an hour, most likely in my car, and in fact no day requiring saved whatsoever for that matter. I'm tired, so thank you for the kind invitation, but on this occasion I'll pass. I'll see you tomorrow."

And that unremarkable phone call had been it. For once Steve hadn't pestered Danny until he gave in- the blond man had looked real tired when they'd knocked off Friday night. They'd been working a bastard of a case for weeks, only to have it poached from them by the CIA (with the new governor's damn backing no less) just as they finally pulled together enough evidence to move in on their one and only suspect, Mr Aubrey Henshall.

Danny had put everything he had into the investigation and he'd been rightfully pissed off, frustrated and exhausted. He had earned a quiet day in his underpants.

So Steve had headed off into the Koolau Mountain Range with Chin instead, to hike and climb and burn off his own frustrations. It had been fun, for all Steve had missed Danny's company. He always missed his cantankerous partner when the man wasn't about, not that he'd ever tell him that. They fought like little kids, and he loved every second of it.

Locating the room number he'd been directed to, Steve hesitated in the doorway, staring at the curtained off area just inside. He took a deep, shaky breath. This was stupid. He shouldn't be feeling scared, his heart shouldn't be pounding in his chest like it was trying to break out through his ribs. The broken John Doe behind there wouldn't be his partner, he knew that. Danny wasn't lying in some hospital bed in a coma. Nothing had happened to him while Steve had been gallivanting in the hills. He was fine.

Sure, they didn't know where he was, but he wasn't missing- they had barely even begun to look for him, that was all. They just hadn't found him yet.

The fateful call had come direct from HPD precisely thirty-three minutes earlier, when Steve had been busy wiping the leaves of his cheese plant with cotton wool soaked in milk- Chin's suggestion- and they were coming up real nice. Expecting a case when he saw the number, Steve had been left gaping in disbelief as Duke Lukela had explained the situation. An officer had been dispatched to take fingerprints from a John Doe at Tripler, apparently. That was a routine thing, it was no big deal.

But then the prints had come back as Danny's.

It was bull, it was some fuck-up- no way would it be Danny! Yes, Danny's cell was off and non-functioning which was admittedly weird… and no, he wasn't at his house even though the Camaro was parked right out front- Steve had stopped to check on his way past when he hadn't answered his phone. But that didn't mean the John Doe was him- they hadn't scratched the surface yet, hadn't checked with Grace or Melissa, hadn't gone to the stores Danny used or the places he liked to go when he was on his own. Sometimes the guy just went out for a walk to clear his head- it was probably as simple as that!

And yeah, he hadn't replied to the text Steve had sent earlier on. Or the one he'd sent last night for that matter. But maybe he forgot to charge his phone. Maybe he broke it. Maybe he lost it down the back of the sofa and it had gone dead. There were plenty of reasonable explanations that didn't necessitate jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

Anyway, Danny was due at Steve's later that evening for a game of poker with the guys. He'd be there as promised- he was bringing the beer after all, it was his turn and he never let Steve down. Ever.

They would laugh about this then take time to feel sorry for the guy in the bed, whoever it really was. Then they'd investigate tomorrow if HPD hadn't cracked the case already. Find out who had dumped the beaten body at the side of the Kunia Road, and who had made the anonymous call that summoned the EMTs. The guy would already be dead otherwise, poor bastard.

Steve yanked back the curtain, knowing it wouldn't be Danny.

It was Danny.

For all he was barely recognizable beneath medical equipment and damaged flesh, Steve still knew him in an instant. His face was swollen and distorted, his hair dark with dry, crusted blood. No wonder nobody on the medical staff had realized who he was when he'd been brought in two hours earlier, for all he'd been here any number of times before for one reason or another.

"Danny…" Steve choked. Finding himself at his partner's side with no recollection of moving, he reached out a trembling hand to touch a bruised arm. "Danny… no. Fuck. Wh-what happened to you, buddy?!"

TO BE CONTINUED