Hot

AN: The obligatory disclaimer that Hawaii Five-0 (1968-1980) and its characters depicted here are not original to me. This story is written for the enjoyment of the show's fans and not for profit or material gain. The story idea, though, is original to me and is protected. LBH, 2016

(Setting: 1971)

"It's open," Danny strained to say, answering the hard knock at his apartment door as he lay awkwardly—not quite on, but not quite off—the sofa of his living room.

The door opened hurriedly and in barreled Doc Bergman, looking anxiously around for the body belonging to the voice that had beckoned him. "Danny?"

"Over here, Doc," Danny called, as he moved gently while holding his hand against his midsection. Dressed in nondescript gym shorts and a well-worn tee shirt, he squeezed his eyes shut from the stomach pain and pulled his chin in to his chest, trying to hide his tight expression from the doctor.

Trained as a sharp-eyed medical observer, Doc didn't miss the reaction. "Danny, what's going on? It had better be good to get me out of bed at this time of the morning! Are you hurt?"

Speaking in a low and quiet but firm voice, Danny pleaded, "No, Doc, but I've never been so sick in my whole life. I feel awful." The young man was obviously weak. "I must have a stomach flu. I hated to call you but I have to be in court at 9 am. You've got to give me something to get me through my testimony this morning."

Firmly taking hold of the young man by his shoulders, Doc gently pushed him back toward an almost horizontal position on the sofa. He easily recognized that Danny's face was flushed, his skin hot to the touch, and his pain was emanating from his abdomen. "You just hold on, young man. You're running a fever, and you're having abdominal pain? What else? And how long has this been going on?" Doc questioned. He tried to move Danny's hands so he could palpate the area in question, but the young man protectively grabbed Doc's hands to stop him.

"No, it hurts!" Danny implored, but reason won out in just a few moments. He leaned his head back and reluctantly released his hold on Doc's hands to allow him to touch his abdomen. He seethed through gritted teeth as Doc pushed on the sore area.

"Is this where it hurts, Danny?" Doc asked with growing concern. Danny nodded and covered his face with one hand to hide his grimace. "Is it a dull soreness or a sharp pain?"

"It's sharper now than before. It's especially bad when I move." He struggled to answer his rescuer's questions. "I didn't feel well today, but I worked, and all day it just got worse and worse. Then tonight, I haven't been able to rest or sleep or prepare for the trial, but I've got to be in better shape than this to testify today."

"Have you eaten anything?" Doc inquired.

"Nothing since coffee early yesterday morning. I tried to eat lunch, but," Danny said, as embarrassment hovered over his words, "I couldn't keep any food down," he admitted.

"Nausea and vomiting?" confirmed the Doctor matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, Doc, even now I feel like I could…." Without finishing his sentence, Danny pushed Doc out of the way and stood up and started to limp toward the bedroom with its nearby bathroom, walking half bent over from pain. Doc grabbed his elbow and helped him walk then left him to continue alone when he reached the bathroom door.

After a long while, Danny emerged and hobbled as far as his bed and lay down on his side, holding his stomach and nearly curling into a fetal position. In true sympathy, Doc offered, "Okay, Danny, I forgive you for getting me out of bed at 4 am. You really are sick."

"Did you think I was kidding?" he said pitifully. "Doc, seriously, what can you give me for this? I have got to be in court today."

Shaking his head, Doc responded decisively. "Danny, you can forget about your court date today. It's just not going to happen!"

Suddenly more animated, Danny recoiled from the firm medical verdict. "Doc, I have to be there. We can't lose the case against Puulaw because I don't show up. The case isn't a lock, and I've got to testify to what Puulaw told me, because he later denied it." Exhausted by his own outburst, Danny took a deep breath but winced when even that hurt. More calmly, he added, "It's my responsibility, and Steve expects me to be there, no matter what."

"Danny, you know very well that I am aware of that case. I testified earlier this week about the victim's autopsy." Doc knew Danny's stubborn plea was made out of his deep commitment to duty, but to the good doctor that was ultimately a pointless argument in view of his ill state. "But if my diagnosis is correct, you will not be in court today."

"No, Doc! I just need some medicine to get me through my testimony, then, I promise, I'll do whatever you say! No complaints."

No complaints? That'll be the day, Doc thought with ill-timed humor. "Danny, look at me." Doc met his patient's weak eyes directly and resolutely. "From what I can tell, I believe that your appendix is causing your pain and fever. It's probably inflamed, infected, and it has to come out, surgically—sooner, not later! We need to get you to the hospital."

"Doc," Danny moaned in protest. "Are you sure? Can't we just try one of your magic antibiotics, and let me get through the next few hours, huh?"

Not knowing whether to be offended at having his diagnosis questioned or to be flattered that he could dispense magic medicine, Doc returned to his mission at hand—to gain the cooperation of this difficult patient. "If I know my medicine, young man, and I think I do after years of putting you Five-O men back together piece by piece, you don't have a few hours to waste. If we don't get you into surgery very soon, you're going to be in more serious shape than you are now! You can't take this lightly, Danny! I certainly am not."

Considering Doc's points and resting in his weakness for the moment, Danny quieted noticeably as Doc checked his temperature, pulse, respirations, and blood pressure, palpated his painful abdomen again, and spent some time just evaluating Danny's ill state.

Interrupting the quiet, the two suddenly heard a loud, pounding knock at the door to the apartment. They both turned their heads toward the sound, and Danny sighed and mumbled, "Oh, come on. Who would be coming here at this time of the morning?" With realization dawning, Danny weakly but pointedly accused his doctor, "Did you call an ambulance? I don't need that. I can't go to the hospital."

With a grumble, Doc turned to Danny and lifted his palms toward him in mock defense. "It's not an ambulance. But you're a very sick man, and I did call for backup!" At Danny's disgruntled look, Bergman exited the bedroom to answer the door.

Removing his glasses and holding them in his left hand, Doc opened the door with his other hand to greet the expected arrival of Steve McGarrett. "Thanks for coming, Steve. You got here quick."

Without a word to the doctor, Steve barged into the apartment living room. "Where's Danno?" Not immediately seeing his target, he turned back to Dr. Bergman and asked, "Doc, what's wrong with Danno?" Then, without even waiting for an answer to his all-important question, he called out, "Danno?" then headed toward the bedroom where he caught a glimpse of his friend and second-in-command.

Dressed in a dark blue jogging suit, Steve entered the bedroom with typical determination, then slowed in concern as he approached his ill colleague. Suddenly full of sympathy and worry, he addressed the pitiful figure of his friend lying on the bed, crouching down at eye-level. "Danno-what's wrong? You called Doc out in the middle of the night?" He lay his hand on the young man's shoulder as a comforting touch and was surprised to feel the heat of Danny's skin through the tee shirt, now damp from sick perspiration.

"Steve," Danny breathed out in exasperation, then closed his eyes. "Did Doc call you? You didn't need to come."

Having followed Steve into the bedroom, Dr. Bergman wasted no time in confessing. "Yes, I did call him—a little while ago when you were…indisposed."

Ignoring the debate about who called whom and the necessity of it, Steve pursed his lips in frustration. "Why didn't you call me? Danno, I would have helped you with whatever you needed, my friend."

Feeling slightly embarrassed and as though his long night of suffering in silence was evolving into a circus over which he had no control, Danny briefly but desperately wanted everyone to disappear, so he tried to downplay the whole episode with a verbal reassurance to his boss. "I'll be okay. I shouldn't have bothered anybody. I'm just feeling a little sick, that's all."

Steve's attention turned toward Doc in time to see the medical man react in disbelief. "A little sick? And I suppose you think Pearl Harbor was just a little surprise to the military!" He stepped closer to the bed and lifted his patient's wrist to again take his pulse. "Let me tell you something again, Dan Williams. You are a very sick man who needs to be in the hospital." Then he touched the back of his hand to Danny's forehead again, as he continued, "I called Steve to help me get you there! Anyway I knew I'd have to let Steve know sooner or later that you are headed for surgery!"

Steve's brilliant blue eyes speared the doctor with a surprised and confused look. "Surgery?! What's wrong with him, Doc?"

Danny sat up abruptly to refute the diagnosis Doc was about to deliver but was quickly overcome with a wave of nausea from the quick movement. He felt dizzy but managed to push the two men hovering over him out of the way so he could limp hurriedly toward the bathroom. Steve grabbed him to steady him, and he and Doc ensured he got to the bathroom without landing hard on the floor instead. As the door closed to the adjoining room, Steve turned in panic to the trusted doctor for answers. Again, he blurted out his question, "Surgery? For what? I just thought maybe he had the flu?"

Doc stuffed his hands in his pockets as he faced the lead detective, as he had so many times before. "Not the flu. It's acute appendicitis, Steve. He has all the symptoms."

Confused, Steve needed more information. "But, Doc, he worked today, and he was fine. Does it usually come on this rapidly?"

Knowing his subordinate's secrecy about his illness would bother Steve, Doc answered sympathetically. "This has been coming on all day, but he didn't tell anyone. Knowing Danny, he didn't want to seem as though he was less than at his best on the job." The statement stabbed Steve with conviction that he expected so much from Danny that he could never even admit to the human frailty of being sick.

"He has got to go to the hospital now, and I need your help—both physically and persuasively—to get him there! But his damned dedication to duty—this time it's hindering him from listening to reason! He's so worried about his appearance today at the Puulaw trial that he won't believe me about how urgent his illness is!"

The Puulaw trial, scheduled for today, Steve thought to himself. Danny has to testify.

"But an appendicitis, Doc—that's pretty routine surgery, isn't it? Happens all the time, doesn't it?" Steve started to pace as he debated in his mind about the importance of today's proceedings. "Danno's testimony in the Puulaw trial is critical. Puulaw told Danno details about the murder that no one else knew, then denied it. Danno is key to making sure that scum is convicted."

The shock on Doc's face should have conveyed his message very clearly to the top detective. He was aghast at the Five-O head's wavering support in getting his sick friend to the hospital. "Steve! Do you hear yourself? Do you know what you're saying? That the trial is more important than Danny's health?"

Thinking through all the ramifications of the illness and the trial and the doctor's hot reaction, Steve declared, "No, no, not at all. And I am glad that you called me. He's definitely sick, but…Danno is tough. If you could give him something for the pain, fever, and nausea, so he could get through the testimony in a few hours, then.…"

Doc was livid over the course of action Steve was suggesting—so similar to what Danny himself was pleading for. "Absolutely not! Steve, apparently you and Danny need some convincing of the seriousness of this situation. Danno looks up to you, wants to emulate you. In your mind, and now his, dedication to duty trumps everything else! That's all well and good until it blurs the lines between duty and taking care of yourself—perhaps threatening your very survival."

In a fever of his own, Doc continued. "In this case, maybe I have not made myself clear. Danny's appendix is hot! Do you know what that means? It means it's most likely on the verge of rupture. Without surgery, it will likely burst open. Do you know what that leads to? The infection now in the appendix spills out through the abdominal area leading to peritonitis, or even worse, septicemia."

"Doc…," Steve began, in exasperation, trying to get a word in among Doc's barrage of verbal ammunition.

Doc opened fire with both barrels. "Yes, I know you hate the medical lingo. Peritonitis is infection of the abdominal area, and septicemia is more commonly known as blood poisoning. Both are life-threatening, Steve. Either one can kill Danny if we give his appendix time to rupture and poison him. We cannot take the risk that Danny's appendix will burst before we can remove it! Even one more hour could be too much! Now, if you're not going to help me, I'm going to call an ambulance and get him to the hospital myself before it's too late!"

The bathroom door opened, and Steve called to his friend, "Danno?" The patient gave no response and as he walked weakly back into the bedroom, Steve and Doc both approached to assist him. He accepted their help, but as he crawled across the bed to lie down, he closed his eyes and ignored their presence. He was apparently totally unaware of the tense discussion that had just happened in the bedroom.

Doc again felt his forehead with one hand and his pulse with the other. Steve watched with measured intensity and concern as Doc declared, "His fever is rising."

Now considering that he had just blown up at the most volatile and powerful man on the islands, Dr. Bergman stood back, looked at him, and waited sternly for the coming volcanic explosion from Steve McGarrett.

When it did not come, Doc concluded the discussion. "Now, how important is that trial, really?"

Sitting by Danny's bedside in the hospital room following his successful appendectomy, Steve McGarrett mulled over the happenings of the day as Danny slept off the remnants of the surgical anesthesia.

Steve and Doc had elected to call an ambulance after all for transport to the hospital. Danny had gotten so weak from pain, nausea, and dehydration that Doc decided time was extremely critical and so were the IV fluids that could be started in the ambulance. Doc became very concerned that they may have already been too late to avoid rupture of the appendix and the severe complications that could follow. As it turned out, it had not yet burst, but easily split open immediately upon being removed by the attending surgeon, whom Dr. Bergman assisted.

McGarrett called John Manicote before dawn, informing him of Williams' emergency surgery. With unexpected compassion and consideration, Manicote pledged to do whatever rearranging of witnesses and/or motions to the presiding judge to cover for Williams while still salvaging the case. A continuance due to illness was one possibility. Doc Bergman would provide any documentation to the court justifying Williams' absence as medically necessary, hopefully avoiding losing the Puulaw case altogether.

Intertwined throughout the day at the hospital had been limited interactions with the good Dr. Bergman. Usual crustiness aside, Doc had seemed less than genial with Steve when providing updates on Danny's condition before the surgery. After the surgery, Doc had sent the attending surgeon out to report the outcome instead of delivering the news himself with shared coffee and collective relief over another impending recovery within their ohana.

Seeing Doc later in Danny's room as he checked on his patient, Steve was certain there was an undercurrent of…something…flowing beneath Doc's words and disposition. What was it? Hurt? Disgust? Disappointment? All tied, no doubt, to Steve's albeit brief consideration that Danny's health was secondary to the pursuit of justice. Or Steve's lack of trust in Doc's diagnosis and predicted risk to Danny's life? Or to Steve's transfer of his lack of self-concern to his heir apparent?

The possibility of the damage Steve might have done to his relationship with Dr. Bergman overwhelmed him. The memory of Doc's scalding words to him in Danny's apartment brought his thoughts to a very dark place, despite the improved condition of his best friend near him now.

Danny stirred from his slumber and looked over at his visitor. Deep in thought, Steve didn't notice as Danny awoke. "Steve?"

Steve looked up as his deep scowl turned into a tight smile. "Hello, Danno. Good to see you. The surgery was successful, and you're on the mend. How do you feel?"

"Sore. Drugged." After a while, Danny's conscious state became more clear, and he spoke. "Sorry about court today. I'll bet Manicote has a price on my head for standing him up."

Steve laughed lightly. "If so, I'll be sure to cash in." He paused, then said, "Actually, Danno, John was quite understanding and took it in stride. Surprised the hell out of me!"

A laugh started in Danny's gut, but he grabbed his abdomen in pain, and groaned out loud. His hands landed on his bandages, and Steve stood up in concern to check on his friend. "It's okay. It just hurts to laugh," Danny said. "Don't say anything else funny, please."

Steve took on a more serious tone. "Okay. Then let's talk about why you thought it was acceptable to work through being sick without saying a word, and why you would attempt to fulfill a court appearance when you could hardly stay on your feet. Let's talk about that, Officer Williams."

Either the waning effects of the anesthesia prevented his verbal filter from stopping him from saying it, or the truth was just too obvious not to admit it. "It's what you would have done, Steve."

Stunned for a moment at the frankness of the response, Steve stared at Danny, then produced another tight smile. "Do you always do whatever I would do?"

"Isn't that what you would want? What you expect?" Whether by virtue of the drugs or just the harrowing pain-filled day, Danny spoke more honestly than perhaps ever before to his mentor of three years. "You never stop working when you're injured. I've never known you to be sick or miss a court date. You don't even take a vacation unless forced to by the Governor."

"Okay, that's enough, Danno. I get your drift." What response can I give to that? Steve thought to himself. It's all true. It's nothing to be ashamed of, but is that really what I want Danno to emulate? Doc was right. Could that attitude have cost him his life today?

Steve was pensive for quite a while, thought long and hard, while Danny dozed. When the patient was awake again, he asked, "What were we talking about, Steve?"

Steve smiled. "How you're picking up my bad habits, Danno. It's not good for your health." Realizing he was walking a personal tightrope from which he might fall, Steve nevertheless felt compelled to continue. He raised the head of Danny's bed a little so he could sit up, then Steve leaned in close. "Danno, are you awake enough to listen to me? I want you to hear this."

Danny adjusted himself in the bed and looked straight at Steve, bracing himself for some type of lecture, saying, "I'm awake. What is it?"

Steve was feeling raw and exposed, not really wanting to bare his soul, but believing it necessary. "You are not me, and I don't expect you to be. Five-0 and the justice we pursue is—it's what I am, it's who I am. There is nothing else. But you—I want you to live your life fully, with Five-0, but beyond it, too. It doesn't have to be your everything just because it's mine."

After a moment to allow what he had heard to sink in to his hazy consciousness, Danny spoke quietly but with surprising clarity, "This doesn't sound like the same lecture I got when I took this job three years ago. I remember, '100% commitment,' 'on duty around the clock, no matter what,' 'sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice.'"

Taking a deep breath at having his words thrown back in his face, Steve pondered his response. "Danno, I meant what I said then, but I also mean what I say now."

At Danny's quizzical look, he continued, "Three years ago, I knew who you were, what you were capable of, and how good you would be at this job. I still know that, but now I know you. I don't have to wonder whether you are giving your all to the job or whether you are fully committed—you have proven yourself to me, time and again. You have my total trust. So, don't try to be like me. Be you, because you are a good cop—and a good friend."

Danny was just a little flabbergasted at Steve's kind words and gentle tone. For a while, he just contemplated about what had brought this on. Had he been closer to death today than he thought?

He focused, though, on the incongruity of it all. "Steve, what you're saying—isn't that a lot like 'Do as I say do, not as I do'?"

"Maybe," Steve admitted. "Maybe. But I make the rules, detective." He gave his friend a tight squeeze on his arm.

At that point, the door opened, and Doc Bergman walked in. It was an uncharacteristically calm and cautious entrance for the usually authoritarian medical man, especially on his own hospital turf. "Gentlemen," he greeted the two cordially. Turning his attention immediately to the patient and his chart, he began, "How do you feel, Danny? Your progress looks good, according to the nurses' notes."

"Okay, I guess…considering." As an afterthought, he added, "It hurts to laugh."

As he pulled back the sheet and gown to check the bandaged area, Doc reassured him. "That's completely normal after you've had your midsection sliced open." Now checking the IV drip, Doc continued, "What have you had to laugh about, anyway, after the day we've all had?"

Impishly, Danny casually said, "It's Steve's fault. He was trying to cheer me up."

Steve cast a glare at Danny. "You're going to get me kicked out of here, Danno."

"Take me with you, Steve."

"Cool it, Danno. I'm already on Doc's bad side after today."

In a more serious tone, Danny frowned and asked, "What do you mean, Steve?"

Doc intervened before the conversation got too out of control—or too heavy. "He doesn't mean anything, Danny. We all had a few tense moments today, a few hot tempers, and it didn't help that you got us up at 4 am, young man—expecting a house call, of all things!"

Danny grimaced and cast a sideways glance at Steve and then back at Doc. "Sorry."

Steve added, "Yeah, Doc. Me, too. Sorry." Doc looked directly at Steve for the first time since he entered the room and nodded, understanding the deeper meaning behind the small words.

The tension in the air was broken as Danny drew Doc's attention, speaking clearly and sincerely to the physician. "Doc…," he breathed out and then seemed unsure of what to say. As Doc listened carefully, Danny continued, "Thank you for everything today. I needed your help and you didn't hesitate to come right away. You took good care of me even when it meant convincing us all of what needed to be done."

Humbled, Doc looked down and stuffed his hands deeper into his medical coat pockets. Danny started to choke up on his words, so he simply ended with, "Thank you." He offered his hand toward Doc for a handshake, which Doc tenderly accepted in both of his.

Steve then also offered his hand to the good doctor in friendship and gratitude. Doc accepted it, as well. Still holding Doc's outstretched hand, Steve looked deeply into the older man's eyes and spoke. "Doc, I want you to know something." Gesturing toward the hand he still held, he said, "Medically, I would not put the lives of myself or anyone on our team in any other hands but yours. There's nobody better—or wiser. Thank you."

Speechless, Doc pursed his lips and slapped Steve gently on the shoulder. He withdrew his hand, gave them both a shaka wave and left the room.

Steve turned to Danny, whose eyes were brimming with the moisture of tears he tried not to shed. "Nice," Danny said to Steve.

"Yeah. Well, it's been quite a day, my friend. Quite a day."

PAU