Hi everyone,
This is my first story. Constructive criticism is more than welcome. Happy reading.
Rose xoxo
I don't own Hawaii Five-0 or any related characters.
The day has been long. The latest case, denying him both sleep and sanity for the past week, has finally been wrapped up, a drug ring down being processed as he thinks. The Friday afternoon is mild, the setting sun setting fire to the back of Kono's dark hair as she walks ahead. Her youthful laughter trills, in response to something Chin has said. Or maybe it was Danny. Steve's not really sure. The office floats in and out of focus. Danny's head, too much hair product shining in the late afternoon sun, is bobbing around as if he's floating down at the beach; but wait, that can't be right, Danny doesn't swim. Steve's arm lifts, inside of his forearm wiping across his sweaty brow. He focuses on his legs. Legs, yes, legs he can do. One in front of the other. Finally, he staggers to his office. The sound of chatter makes it way to him, but it's indistinct, as if he's listening with a glass pressed against a door. Something isn't right. There is tingling in his mouth, and the sweat he knows he just wiped away has pooled around his neck again, slowly dripping into the crevice of his collarbone.
Cold and clammy, need some candy. The rhyme was first told to him by a nurse when he was eight, and it spurs him into motion. Clumsy hands reach for the drawer in his desk he knows he stashed jelly beans in. The good kind, that sit right at the counter of a drug store, thicker and with more flavour than any convenience store brand. They're the glucose ones, especially for times like this. His knees begin to give way, and he uses the momentum to guide himself into his desk chair, the leather sticking uncomfortably as his cargo pants slide and his sweat slicked tee-shirt and arms come in contact with it. He thanks a god he doesn't believe in when he manages to get a hold of the tiny packet and finds it open, not sure he has the dexterity required had he needed to open it. He can't grasp a single bean, so shovels a handful in, crunching the six or seven that make it into his mouth and ignoring the others that fall to the floor with his lack of coordination.
Time passes, a minute, maybe two, and Steve begins to come back to himself. He straightens his posture, absentmindedly popping another jelly bean into his mouth. His kit is in one of his pockets, and he tests. 4mmol/L. It's still way too low. Another handful of jellybeans are crunched. He lets his head fall, resting on the cool wood of his desk. A knock on the door has him jerking up, hand reaching for a piece that isn't holstered.
"Woah, woah big guy, take it easy." Danny's Jersey timber is light, his tone easy as his posture, leaning against the door Steve realises too late he'd left open.
"What'dya want Danno." Steve knows he really needs something more substantial than simple sugars, a sandwich, a tub of yoghurt, anything would be better than the candy at this stage. But the nearest real food is on the other side of the office. With Danny. Danny, who will surely notice the stumble that will still be in his stride, the shakiness of his hands.
Uninvited, Danny wanders closer. "What is this?" With a sweeping hand, he steals the half full package, helping himself to the treasure within. "Candy? You? Sitting in your office, by yourself, eating candy." And this is bad, bad because if Danny is going to stick around for much longer, he's going to need the very packet that is causing him to stick around.
"Danny, I'm not in the mood." He tries to look down, pretend the paperwork in front of him is what he's doing.
The Blonde sidles closer, concern now showing in the creases of his forehead.
"You good? You're looking kinda, I dunno, less GI Joe and more Snow White there."
"Fine." He grunts, his headache is once again pounding, and the room feels hotter than it did a second ago. He really needs that sandwich. Or a couple of dried apricots. Maybe a bowl of pasta.
"You sure?" Concern. Definitely concern now. He opens his mouth, on the defensive, ready to fire with aggression. The shrill sound of Danny's phone rings. The shorter man grumbles, walking out to take the call. He's saved by the bell.
An hour later, Steve is more or less feeling himself. His BGL is back at 17, more or less his resting. He'd replaced his sweaty t-shirt with a fresh one from his bag, and was contentedly zipping in and out of lanes of traffic, as Danny clung to the doorhandle for his life.
"I see you're feeling better" he comments.
Steve glares at his partner. "I was fine."
"Keep telling yourself that." Is the reply, accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders.
The rest of the ride is taken in silence, broken only by the squeaking of the breaks as they pull up at Danny's apartment.
"You got Gracie this weekend?" Steve asks, hoisting himself out of the car and over to his Silverado, parked on the street.
"Yep, she's getting here in about an hour. I get her for another two weeks, Rachel and Step-Stan are off on a conference." Danny's voice is airy and happy, in a way it only gets when he talks about the bubbly ten-year-old that is his daughter. Steve vaguely wishes he could make Danny sound like that.
As Steve unlocks his door, Danny's eyes go serious. "You sure you're okay?" There is a hesitation in his voice.
Steve forces himself to laugh as he slides into his car, which will take him to his lonely home. "I'm fine Danno." He drives off. And if Danny was coming home to heat up the butter chicken that's sitting in the fridge, Steve would even be telling the truth.