"Commander? Would you like me to explain it again? I know it's a lot to take in."

Steve shakes his head at the doctor sitting on the other side of the desk, his jaw clenched tight. Despite not eating anything since the evening before his stomach is still rolling. They've just given him a shot for the nausea. Apparently it takes a while to kick in.

"Are you sure? There are long-term effects that you need to be aware of."

I'm aware, Steve thinks but clenches his fists tight instead, tucking them under the desk where they can't be seen. He's attended enough pre-deployment medical briefings over the years to know what the symptoms of radiation poisoning are. Everyone deployed on a ship knew what the stock of blue pills stored in the sick bay were for.

Steve had suspected days ago that he had radiation poisoning. That's not what he's come to the doctor's office for. "But the liver's okay, right? I mean, it's still working, isn't it?"

Steve maintains eye contact as the doctor's eyebrows raise in surprise. Steve gets that. Radiation poisoning probably trumps the liver transplant in terms of immediate risk, even if it's a close thing. But the radiation poisoning had been a necessary risk, something he'd had to do to save the islands.

The liver though - Danny had risked his life to give Steve that. Damaging it just wasn't an option. Especially now. "Doc?"

The doctor studies him for a moment, his head cocked on one side. Steve digs his fingernails into his palms and waits. "The tests for your liver came back fine," the doctor offers finally, flicking through the file in front of him. "It doesn't seem like there have been any adverse effects. Yet. However, in the future-"

Steve doesn't hear the rest; the sound of his heart racing blocks out everything. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay he's repeating silently, a growing feeling of euphoria threatening to break out.

He hasn't damaged Danny's liver.

"Commander? Are you sure you're alright?"

Steve blinks, drags his mind back to the doctor's office. His jaw is aching and he realises he's grinning, a huge grin, all teeth. It's relief, he thinks vaguely as he struggles to stifles a giggle.

Danny's liver is okay.

"I'm good," Steve replies, sitting up straighter. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. The thought of telling Danny something was wrong with the liver had been keeping him awake at night, had filled every waking moment. Danny's given him everything. Everything. His second career in Five-0. His ohana. His life. Without Danny he wouldn't have any of it.

And now Danny's leaving.

The errant thought blindsides him. Steve feels his smile slip. He clenches his hands again, focuses on the physical pain, willing it to override the deep ache in his heart.

"Commander? Steve?"

Steve's world shifts slightly: there's a loud buzzing noise in his head. He's vaguely aware of the doctor moving around the desk but still flinches when a hand rests on the back of his neck, gently pushing his head down towards his knees. "I'm fine," he mumbles.

"I doubt that," the doctor replies, pulling out equipment from a nearby cabinet. "Your heartbeat just rocketed and your BP tanked," he reports several minutes later. Steve shifts just enough to look up at him. The doctor's tone might be severe but there's sympathy in his eyes. "When was the last time you ate a proper meal?"

Steve's brain struggles to answer that question but it doesn't matter. The doctor's already moving, opening his office door to speak to someone outside. The next thing Steve is aware of is a hand appearing in his vision, holding a glass of pale pink liquid.

"Drink. It'll help."

Steve seriously doubts that. The first sip reveals the liquid tastes vaguely of strawberry and is way too sweet for his taste. But he does as he's told. Gradually he starts to feel more like himself.

"You need to eat, Steve. The drugs I'm going to prescribe will help with the nausea and dizziness. But you have to eat, even when you don't feel like it." The doctor hesitates and Steve braces himself - he knows he's not going to like what's coming next. "You may want to consider taking some time off from work while the drugs-"

"Is that an order?" Sitting up straight Steve finishes the drink in one long gulp and puts the glass down on the desk. Sitting at home with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company isn't an option.

The doctor sighs and that's all the answer Steve needs. Carefully he pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the doctor's worried frown. The liver's fine. The conversation is over.

It's another twenty minutes before Steve makes it back to his truck, a paper bag full of prescription drugs clutched in his fist. He climbs into his seat then stuffs the bag into the glovebox. There would have been a time when he'd have argued about taking them; the transplant has changed all that.

Danny's changed all that.

Steve tips his head back, lets his eyes drift closed. Breathe, he reminds himself, inwardly monitoring the still erratic beat of his heart. This is just another change in his life, just another thing to be managed and overcome. Danny deserves to be happy, to have the best things in his life. Steve will do whatever Danny needs to get them, even if it means Danny moving on.

Steve's hand drifts over to the passenger seat, coming to rest on top of the gift wrapped box he'd collected that morning for Danny. Steve smiles to himself as he remembers the sales woman's expression when he'd pointed out that is was camouflage green-coloured ribbon. He'd grabbed her hand as she'd reached out to replace it, mistaking his compliment for criticism. She'd looked so confused by his excitement he hadn't bothered trying to explain.

She'd looked equally confused when he'd placed the order Steve remembers, curling his fingers through the ribbon bow. Originally he'd asked her to put 'Steve's' on the hat. He'd seen employees in restaurants wearing branded uniforms; he'd thought it would look good, that it would show Danny that he was supporting his restaurant plan. More importantly Danny would have ranted at him – a rant of epic proportions.

Steve needed to hear Danny rant.

Somewhere in the conversation though he'd mentioned that Danny was his partner. My police partner, Steve had blurted out, sensing the conversation slipping away from him as her confusion grew. She had to explain the idea of personalised gifts to him several more times before he'd finally understood what it would look like to people if Danny wore a hat with 'Steve's' written on it.

Steve had no objections to that mental image. He'd still changed the name on the hat to 'Danny' instead.

H50H50H50H50H50

"Make me a drink, huh? This is a celebration."

Steve forces his legs to work and move forward. His kitchen seems a long distance away. All he can see in his mind's eye is Danny's distraught expression.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Steve's stomach rebels at the aroma of fresh lasagne, at all the cooking smells that only a short while ago had smelt so good. Stumbling in his rush to get out, he heads for the garage. As he pushes through the door the heavy odour of oil and grease fills his nostrils. He keeps moving, weaving past his dad's old car until he makes it to the safety of the front lawn.

Steve gulps in the clean air, grabbing at it like a starving man. Heart thudding against his rib cage, he drops to the front deck. Head hung low, arms draped across his bent knees, he can feel his body shivering with cold.

"I got you a drink."

For a moment Steve's back in the doctor's office. There's water in the glass this time though. And it's Danny's hand holding it. Slowly he takes it, careful not to catch Danny's eye. He can't bear the worried expression on his friend's face, the worry that he put there.

Danny sits down, the decking creaking as he gets comfortable. Steve shifts closer in reply, drawn to the warmth of Danny's body next to his. It's solid, reassuring and comforting.

It's Danny.

"I wasn't lying to you," Steve hears himself saying, willing Danny to understand there's no reason to worry. "Your liver's fine."

Steve's still not looking at Danny so he feels rather than sees Danny's shoulders tense. "What the he—"

"Your liver. I asked. They said—"

Danny effectively cuts him off by resting a hand on his knee. "I heard what you said. I'm not worried about your liver—"

"But—"

"I'm not, okay?" Danny's voice is soft, almost gentle. But there's still a hint of underlying worry. It tears at Steve's heart. "I know you've been looking after it." Danny bumps Steve with his shoulder, forcing him to look up. "I just worry is all."

"I know." Steve can barely hear his own voice so he leans closer, drinking in the warmth from Danny. "It'll be fine."

"I just wish…" Danny looks away, clears his throat and tries again. "I worry that one day you won't be able to pick yourself up again." He trails off again, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I just wish it didn't have to be you every time, babe."

"Danny..." Steve can feel his body trembling but he knows it's not from the cold and nausea anymore. He leans in further, taking comfort from the fact he can feel Danny doing the same. "This'll pass," he says after a moment, needing to reassure Danny. "I'll be fine. You'll have your restaurant. Grace is old enough to help out. Once Charlie's a little older then-"

Danny twists around to look straight at him. Steve mourns the sudden loss of the warmth. "What did you just say?"

Steve rewinds the conversation in his head. Danny's studying him closely, like he's trying to figure something out. "I said this would pass. You'll have the restaurant and—"

"Stop." Danny's hand slices through the air in front of Steve's nose. "You're coming with us, okay?"

Steve blinks back at him. Danny's expression is intense: it's taken his breath away. "The restaurant? Sure," he stammers, unable to look away, "I'll help you with the building work and the-"

"Jesus, you're an idiot," Danny huffs with every inch of his body. Grabbing Steve's arm, he tugs him closer until they're touching from knee to shoulder. "Wherever this restaurant ends up, you're coming with us. You understand?"

"Danny, I'll be fine. You don't have to take me with—"

"Stop. Please, just stop." Danny's hand slides lower, his fingers intertwining with Steve's. Steve looks down at them, mesmerised. When he looks back up, Danny's face is just inches away, their noses almost touching. "We won't be leaving without you. Do you understand?" he adds, studying Steve again. "I am not leaving you behind."

Steve turns Danny's declaration over in his mind, struggling to process the words. Being left behind is normal. This is something…new. The indecision and doubt he's feeling must be showing on his face because suddenly Danny's there, filling his vision. Warm hands cup his face, tipping it downwards. Even warmer lips gently brush across his.

As first kisses go it's not mind blowing. Steve wishes he didn't feel so awful, that he could show Danny just what this means to him. It's everything he's ever wanted, he hasn't got the words to explain how he feels. But as usual Danny's already translated for him, has worked out what's important right now. The kiss is full of love and promise of a future.

A future that includes both of them.