Notes: This story was originally posted on Archive of our Own in April 2017 as part of the H50 Big Bang challenge 2017. There's artwork to go with it, the link is at the end of chapter two. Thanks again to everyone who helped with the story. Warning: It is AU with a M/M pre-relationship / first kiss and includes a few swear words.
H50H50H50H50H50
The first time Danny sees the dog is on the beach.
He hasn't always had a good relationship with beaches. It's hard to ignore that he has to wear more clothing than most of the other bathers put together; his body's not built for hours in the sun. Grace, however adores their beach time. So that's what he focuses on: her toothy grin, the giggles, the way they'll crash out at home afterwards and watch cartoons, tired but happy.
So yeah, Danny was having fun too. Until the dog appeared.
"Danno! The puppy's hurt!"
Grace is tugging on his arm, her small fingers digging in surprisingly deep. Dragging his attention away from the sandcastle he's been building Danny takes a moment to tidy up the buckets and spades that have been left everywhere. It never ceases to amaze him how much mess a seven year old can make; it's obvious his daughter hasn't inherited her mother's tidy gene. There's a part of Danny that's inordinately happy about that and he allows himself a small grin.
"Danno! The puppy's hur—"
"Okay monkey, I heard you, I heard you…what the—"
Danny's not sure what he'd been expecting to see when he'd turned around, but a miniature lion wasn't high on his list. It's actually a German Shepherd, a voice in his head tells him, but his eyes can't get past the shaggy tan and black coat and big ruff of hair around its neck. It looks like the type of dog Danny's seen on drug raids or serving in the military. Trained to instil fear in anyone who messes with them, he's seen these dogs take down grown men with their bodyweight alone.
This one's letting the side down badly. Tongue lolling, tail wagging, its head is tilted to one side. It's sure as hell not going to scare the crap out of any bad guys.
It is, however, melting his daughter's heart.
"Whoa! No! You don't know where—" Too late Danny notices the dog's dropped a ball in front of them, which Grace has picked up to throw awkwardly over-arm back to the dog. The ball drops like a brick, just a foot away. Danny's worry level shoots through the roof as the dog rushes forward to pick it up; he pulls Grace back, ignoring her yells of protest.
Politely the dog picks up the ball and carefully drops it at his feet before sitting back down again to wait.
"Catch! Catch!"
Grace has squirmed out of his arms and Danny decides that he needs to talk to Rachel and Stan about child safety, immediately. She throws the ball again, her second effort much better; Danny's silently admiring her aim even as he's trying to pull her back. The dog runs off after the ball with a grateful yelp and they watch as it catches it mid-air, executes a perfect 180 degree turn, sand flying up as its back legs dig in before thundering back down the beach towards them.
"No, no, no…don't…" Danny chants under his breath but he knows he's wasting his time. The dog's dragged them both into his game. It's huge, dark eyes just begging them to play, are impossible to resist.
"Where does he live?" Grace asks a while later when their new friend flops to the ground, panting heavily, his mouth curled in a doggy smile.
"I don't know sweetheart, there isn't a tag on his collar." Danny's scanning the other people around them. It's late, the sun starting to fall to the horizon. A group of guys who were sitting nearby have already left but they'd looked like tourists were tourists. There are a few other people on the beach but no one's looking for a dog. And the dog doesn't seem to be in a hurry to leave.
Packing up their belongings, Danny wonders what they are going to do. Just wandering off with someone's pet isn't an option. Even if Rachel would let Grace have a dog, which she wouldn't (although for a second Danny thinks it might be worth the charge of pet-napping just to see her face).
"It's hurt, Danno." Frowning, Grace is reaching out tentatively to touch the dog's back. Danny intercepts her, ready to put himself between his daughter and harm. Calmly the dog stares back before sliding down on his front legs to fully stretch out on the sand. The move exposes the patches of skin Grace had been staring at. Burns, Danny realises, looking at the patches of sore-looking bald skin that dot his back.
The dog's been burnt.
Torn between feeling anger at the dog's owner (because who the hell does something like that to a defenceless animal?) and anger at the poor dog for making a simple trip to the beach so complicated, Danny's not sure what to do when a piercing whistle breaks into his thoughts.
With a lazy, joint-popping stretch the dog gets up. Shaking itself off, it picks up its ball, turning to gallop away up the beach. The dog's owner is up there, Danny realises, and suddenly he really wants to go up there and give them a piece of his mind.
But he can't, because he's got Grace. So he pulls his daughter close, trying hard not to notice how her bottom lip is trembling as the dog lopes away; Grace crying would tip him over the edge. Squinting, Danny tries to see the dog's owner through the fading light.
He's tall, Danny notes, as the dog runs up to join him, twisting around his feet in welcome. The angle is making it difficult to see his face but the lengthening shadows contrast with the skin-tight white t-shirt he's wearing: it's obvious he's well-built. Jeans and trainers finish off his outfit, normal clothing that won't make him stand out in a crowd.
There's something about him that gets Danny's heart pumping. Something about the way he moves, how he holds himself. He's not just a normal tourist or a local. Danny needs to find out more about him. Because even from this distance the man exudes trouble.
H50H50H50H50
Danny sees the dog again two days later. And this time it's got its teeth dug deep into someone's arm.
Good, Danny thinks, as he wipes away the blood dripping down his face and struggles to his feet. The screaming man who currently has a German Shepherd attached to him had been about to shoot Danny. The dog's nails are scrabbling for grip against the concrete floor as the man tries to shake its vice-like grip. Danny feels a shiver of fear slide down his spine as the sound of growling gets louder. He needs to get out of here but he can't remember how he even got in.
Everything's blurry round the edges and for a second Danny wonders if the dog is actually real.
The loud thud as the man falls to the ground under the dog's weight suggests that it is.
"Max! Aus!"
The harsh, shouted command has come from behind him. Danny turns and the world spins wildly. Gun, I need my gun, he thinks as his knees give up and fold under him. Down on all fours on the floor, vulnerable, he forces himself to look up. The dog's just feet away from him, teeth bared, a low growl emanating from the base of his throat. The man on the floor's stopped screaming.
He looks like he's going to die from sheer terror instead.
As Danny blinks rapidly, losing the battle to get on his feet, a pair of black combat boots appears in his line of sight. The boots and the legs that are attached to them seem to go up, up, up, up and up forever, swimming in and out of focus at an alarming rate. Leaning his head back to get a better view is more than Danny's scrambled brain can deal with. As darkness encroaches on his vision the last thought Danny has is that the man from the beach looks good dressed all in black.
H50H50H50H50
They make Danny stay in the hospital for two days instead of one. It's annoying as hell but Danny knows the drill: without someone to keep an eye on him 24/7 he's not going anywhere. He spends the time on the phone speaking to Grace and checking case notes when he can, between visits from the nursing staff. By the time Chin comes to collect him Danny's ready to climb the walls.
"How was your vacation?" Danny asks, forcing himself to smile as he catches his first glimpse of his partner's face. He knows it's a weak attempt at deflection but he still flinches when Chin just ploughs on through.
"What the hell happened? I take Malia to LA for a week. Seven days, Danny! You were going to spend some time with Grace, take some time off the case—"
"—and I did, okay? I did. But then Duke got a tip off about Gonzales so I went and checked it out."
"On your own? What the hell?"
Danny can't remember the last time his friend said 'hell' twice in one day, let alone in two sentences. It's anger born out of concern that's fuelling Chin. Danny gets that, he really does, but they've been tracking this bastard for months.
Danny doesn't realise he's said the words out loud until Chin sits on the side of his bed, his body slumping in defeat. "Tell me what happened."
Eduardo Gonzales is a drug baron from Mexico. Several months before he'd decided to move in on the Hawaiian islands, threatening anyone in his way. The Governor has set up a special task force to combat him but Gonzales has been ahead of them at every turn. So the Governor's trying a different tactic, putting together small teams of HPD's best detectives to look into particular aspects of Gonzales's operation, working in the background while the task force provides a visible distraction for the drug baron. Chin and Danny are one of those teams.
Progress has been slow but they'd been getting there. Until now. Danny knows he shouldn't have gone on his own but the contact had worked in a busy store, a public area. He'd thought he'd had it covered.
Apparently someone in HPD had tipped off Gonzales's men.
The thought tastes like acid in Danny's mouth as he explains it to Chin. The look on his friend's face tells Danny that Chin's not surprised. They'd both suspected it of course: a man like Gonzales doesn't leave anything to chance. It's a bitter pill to swallow though.
The next part of the story is more….fuzzy….and Danny finds himself struggling to explain. 'There was a giant hell hound' doesn't really cut it but that's the image that's been filling his dreams for the last two days. If Danny's honest he's still not sure which parts of that day were real or a figment of his imagination.
Concussions are a bitch to recover from.
"Okay," Danny starts again, running his hand through his hair as he carefully chooses his words. As he recounts the trip to the beach, the dog and the game of ball, Chin starts to grin. Danny gets that; at any other time this would be a cute tale featuring his daughter and he's always ready to share those. But as he explains what happened at the warehouse Chin's grin disappears, to be replaced by a frown.
"…and I've got no idea who this guy is or why he was there," Danny finishes with a huff of frustration. Part of him wants to thank him for saving his life. The other part desperately wants to know if he's being stalked by some fucked up nut job.
Knowing his luck it's going to be the latter.
Chewing his lip, Chin looks equally bemused; Danny finds that reassuring. "I came straight here when you called me," his partner offers finally. "The Captain wants to see us as soon as you're cut loose. You're going to need to give a statement so we can look into your mystery man and his trusty sidekick after. If you feel up to it," Chin adds with a frown.
Calling the dog a 'trusty sidekick' makes the mystery man sound like a super hero, Danny's brain suggests unhelpfully, as the nurse comes to explain his discharge instructions. That description would just be wrong, because heroes are supposed to be friendly, someone kids can look up to.
They should not look pissed as hell with a stare that could cut someone dead. Or at least that's the image of the mystery man's face that Danny's got swimming around in his head. The dog had looked friendly by comparison.
Finally free from the hospital, Danny lets his mind wander as Chin pulls out of the parking lot and points the car towards HQ. He's not sure why he wants to meet the mystery guy again. But there's something tugging at him that just won't be ignored.
H50H50H50H50
Danny's more tired that he'd like to admit by the time they get to HPD HQ. The main office is almost empty as he carefully weaves between the desks. The sound of raised voices is coming from the Captain's office; with the door closed it's difficult to hear what they are saying but Danny tries anyway. Distracted, it takes him a second to realise Chin is frowning at him. Danny goes willingly when his friend gently pushes him into a chair before disappearing off again.
Danny's hoping there will be food and fresh coffee appearing in his immediate future. Because if not he's going to fall asleep where he's sitting. Slumping back, Danny lets his eyes slide shut. He's just resting them, he tells himself. Just resting for a second.
It's the sound of claws skittling across the wooden floor that jerks him back to full wakefulness.
For a second Danny thinks he's imagined the sound, his memories twisted up with reality. Over the thump of his rapidly beating heart he can still hear it though. Dog claws. On wood. Not concrete. And the voices in the Captain's office have stopped too.
Looking up, Danny's heart sinks as he realises he's being watched. The mystery man and his trusty sidekick are standing outside the Captain's office. Once again dressed all in black, the mystery man's eyes are giving nothing away. His face though is telling a story; flushed, his nostrils flaring, he's not happy about something. His trusty sidekick however looks ecstatic to see Danny; tongue lolling, tail wagging, it's obvious Danny has been recognised and labelled as 'friend'.
Fuck. Fuckity fuck. There's nothing about this scenario that looks good from any angle and he pushes himself up from his chair. The mystery guy's not some nut job stalker; and right now Danny would prefer that option over the one he's got. In the clear light of day it's obvious he's Government security or something similar. He's just got that look about him.
And his dog was playing ball with Grace on the beach.
"Who the hell are you? And why were you watching us on the beach?" Danny is in the guy's face before he even realises he's moved, red hot anger fuelling him. Out of the corner of his eye Danny can see the dog's not looking so happy now, and he has a sudden flash of memory of just how lethal those teeth are. But this bastard was watching his daughter for Christ sakes.
"Detective Williams!" The sound of his Captain's voice shouting in his left ear acts like ice cold water being thrown over his anger. Danny realises he's standing only inches from the mystery man; the scent of warm spices fill his nose. He's been stabbing him in the chest with his finger and it's like poking a brick wall; solid muscle is deflecting the impact and sending the vibrations back through his knuckles. Biting back a wince Danny stuffs his hands in his pockets and juts his chest out instead. He's dealt with assholes like this before. Tall and good-looking, they see 'short' and think 'pushover'.
Danny's going to enjoy showing him just how wrong he is.
Mystery man stares back at him, a hint of confusion in his eyes. Head tilted on one side, eyebrows drawn together, he's mirroring the behaviour of his dog. If he wasn't so goddamn angry with the guy it would be endearing, Danny thinks.
It's also frustrating as hell. "You. Me. My daughter on the beach. You remember that, huh?" Danny snaps, ignoring the Captain who is glaring at him. "You wanna tell me what you were doing, spying on us?" He's looking for the guy to bite so he's surprised when the mystery man flinches and then looks away.
"Cut it out, Detective." The Captain's tone suggests he's running out of patience. Danny takes the hint, following his boss into his office without further argument. Mystery man and his trusty sidekick are following him anyway. They can always carry on the argument inside.
Or maybe not; inside there's another man waiting for them. Tall, with closely cropped grey hair, wearing a suit and a waistline that's wider than his shoulders, he looks like someone who doesn't get out from behind a desk very often.
"Detective Danny Williams, this is Commander Steve McGarrett and Agent Henry Walters," the Captain explains, nodding at each man in turn as they all sit down. "They're both with the DEA. Working on the Gonzales case."
"No, no, no." Danny feels his anger level creeping upwards again as the words sink in. "You can't just walk in and take our case from us."
"Your case, Detective?" Walter's eyebrows are heading for his hairline. Danny knows he's not going to like whatever the man says next. "The DEA has had Gonzales on its radar for years."
"Is that right, huh? So how come in a couple of weeks we've almost got this nailed? You wanna tell me that? Because if you think—"
"Detective!"
"Captain, we've got this!"
"Really?" McGarrett's broken his silence but his pose hasn't changed. Seated in one corner, arms crossed, he's tracking the movement of Danny's waving hands with narrowed eyes. His lips are pressed together in disapproval; it's clear he wants to be anywhere but here.
Danny's fine with that; he'd rather they weren't here either. "We've put weeks of work into this, buddy. Weeks. I almost got killed trying to nail Gonzales. You remember that? And by the way, next time, if you're doing that creepy stalker act, come rescue a guy before he's about to get shot, huh? Because seriously, if I find out you were following me all that time and you didn't do anything then-"
"-you're going to be very angry?" Eyebrows raised, McGarrett is studying him like a specimen under a microscope. A type of specimen he's never seen before, Danny guesses, watching McGarrett's forehead crinkle in a frown.
"Yeah. I'm going to be very angry." Danny knows that under other circumstances he'd appreciate the hint of sarcasm in McGarrett's voice; he'd be flying, having some fun with it. Instead, with a huff of frustration, he slumps down into a chair instead. "Well?" Danny prompts, when the room stays silent. "Someone going to tell me what's going on?"
"I was trying to." The Captain sounds close to the limit of his patience. Danny tells himself to shut up, at least for a few minutes. "The Commander doesn't work directly for the DEA. His company arranges additional security for people when the DEA feels it is...necessary."
"Security? You mean you're a bodyguard?" The words are out of Danny's mouth before he can stop himself. So much for keeping quiet.
McGarrett looks insulted. "I'm a security consultant."
"So, what...you've been on a couple of seminars, read a few books...learnt to shoot a gun?" Danny knows it's a low blow. Anyone looking at McGarrett can see he's not an amateur. But there's something about this guy that just bugs him, makes him want to prod, to unwind him.
"We're retired-Navy. SEAL teams. Tours of Afghanistan and Iraq. So yeah, I've been to a couple of seminars, I've learnt to fire a few guns. Are you done insulting me or have you got more questions, Detective Williams?"
Wincing inwardly at the emphasis on his title, Danny curses himself for being a jerk. McGarrett's eyes are shuttered and cold again, his spine rigid, his lips pursed.
"Who's 'we'?" Danny thinks he already knows the answer to the question. But he's sensing that making an apology just isn't going to cut it. And the part of Danny's brain that's suddenly insisting on knowing everything about this man won't shut the hell up.
McGarrett glares but then there's a flicker of warmth in his eyes. "Max and I," he explains, indicating the dog that's now sitting beside his chair. "And my team. A dozen men."
The dog tilts his head up, his eyes fixed on his owner. Watching them Danny wonders if McGarrett is aware that during the conversion he's had one hand resting lightly on the dog's back. Now he's stroking him, an almost absent gesture, his fingers drifting lightly over the bald patches of damaged skin.
"Isn't that unusual? Keeping the dog?" Danny adds as McGarrett lifts one eyebrow in question. Across from him Walters's face is scrunched in a deep scowl.
Danny forces himself not to squirm; the penetrating stare is back. It's laughable really; he's faced down much more frightening people than McGarrett. But it does feel like he's being dissected, and for some reason he cares what this man thinks.
Danny's grateful when McGarrett answers: it saves him from having to examine that revelation. "We've been through a lot together. He's an excellent asset to have on the team. People always underestimate canines. They think they're just cuddly pets."
Which they're not, Danny's brain reminds him, flashing up images from the warehouse. There's nothing cuddly about Max when he's working. Across the desk Walters is scowling even more and it's directed at the dog this time. There's no love lost between the two men, Danny realises. He files the thought away to consider later.
The sound of the Captain clearing his throat catapults Danny back to the present. "If you've quite finished, Williams? As I was saying, Commander McGarrett works alongside the DEA and Agent Walters. They have intelligence which suggests Gonzales has men carrying out surveillance on the HPD teams working on his case."
It's not that much of a surprise, Danny thinks. They know Gonzales has been getting his intel from somewhere. But subtlety isn't usually one of Gonzales's strong points. "So when you say surveillance, is that all he's got them doing? Or are we talking about something worse?"
"At the moment, it's just surveillance." Walters's tone is crisp, factual. And apparently it's McGarrett's turn to glare. "We want to keep it that way."
"Okay." Danny gives himself a moment to think about that; something's bugging him. When it hits a big red warning light starts flashing in Danny's head. "The other day at the beach," he starts, directing his attention to McGarrett, "that clever trick with Max here. You were watching us, keeping us in one place. Please don't tell me one of Gonzales' goons was there with my Gracie because so help me—"
"They weren't." It's Walters who's spoken and that's not who Danny wants an answer from.
"McGarrett—"
"Okay, I thought they might be," McGarrett concedes, earning him another scowl from Walters. "So I sent Max in while I checked. But it wasn't Gonzales's men."
"So Grace is safe?"
McGarrett gives him a determined nod. "She's safe."
"So why are they here?" Danny addresses the question to his boss. He can feel the DEA men bristling at the question.
"Because there's every chance Gonzales is going to put surveillance on you and Chin. And we want to be one step ahead of the bastard for a change."
Danny can see there's logic behind the idea but it feels like they're letting Gonzales win. "Come on, Captain. We're so close. They see we've got security they'll know we're close to breaking them and then—"
"They won't know we're DEA."
McGarrett's claim stops Danny in his tracks. "Really? That's what you're going with?"
"We're trained in—"
Danny cuts him off with a slash of his hand, turning his attention back to the Captain. "We were doing fine on our own and we'll—"
A snort of disgust from behind Danny cuts him short again. "Fine? Really? Really? In the warehouse, that was you doing 'fine'? If that had been me-"
"We don't need to know—"
"—if that had been me," McGarrett ploughs on, "I would have waited for backup, but hey, that's just me, the bodyguard who saved your sorry—"
"Gentlemen!"
Like scolded children they both shut up. The Captain glares at them each in turn, his expression daring them to speak. Danny risks a glance at McGarrett. The other man looks shell shocked, like he can't believe what's just happened.
Walters is watching them both with a smirk.
"Williams. Commander McGarrett will be staying with you 24/7 until we break this case. The doctors have benched you for 48 hours. Two days," the Captain insists as Danny opens his mouth to protest. "Detective Kelly is also due two more days of vacation. He will be assigned separate protection. Do you understand?"
I have no problem understanding, Danny wants to say. I just don't agree. And then another thought occurs to him, one that makes him scowl. "This won't work," Danny explains, raising a hand as the Captain growls in warning. "I'm supposed to be at Gracie's Parent/Teacher meeting with Rachel tonight."
"You can still go. That's not a problem," McGarrett responds, exchanging a glance with Walters. Danny resists the urge to laugh in the face of McGarrett's optimism. He really is oblivious to the enormity of the problem. "I assume Rachel is Grace's mother? I'm sure we can come up with an excuse for my presence."
"You haven't met my ex-wife," Danny sighs, covering his eyes with one hand.
It's going to be the longest 48 hours of his life.
H50H50H50
Rachel doesn't disappoint him.
"What do you mean he's here on an exchange scheme?" she hisses, as they wait outside the teacher's office. There's other parents waiting with them and she looks over at them apologetically before pinning Danny to the spot again with her laser glare. "This isn't work, Danny. It's our daughter's education."
"The Captain insisted," Danny shoots back. At least it's the truth. Kind of. "I'm supposed to show him life here in Hawai'i," he continues, winging it as her look of disbelief grows. "And I couldn't just leave him alone, could I?" Danny knows he's said the wrong thing; out of the corner of his eye he sees one of the other parents wince.
"He's not alone though is he, Danny? He's got a dog."
Danny had suspected the dog would be a real sticking point. The animal in question is sitting several feet from him, having ribbon covered in glitter woven around his collar. Grace had been thrilled to see him again. The excited squealing from her friends had nearly deafened everyone in the room.
The dog's owner is propped up against the door frame, arms crossed, keeping watch over all of them. Still dressed in a black shirt and pants he appears to be ignoring the tense conversation that's all his fault. Danny resolves to bring him up to speed once the meeting has finished - very loudly and at great length.
But first he has to get out of here without killing Rachel.
"You can never be too careful," one of the other parents advises, sharing an understanding smile with them as she leans across the seats. "You hear all these horror stories about dogs attacking children. And that poor dog's skin! I've read about the diseases they carry. Just one scratch and your daughter..." She trails off as a hand holding a business card appears in her vision. Confused, she looks up and into McGarrett's face. Danny has to stifle a laugh. Part of her is obviously terrified at meeting the dog's owner. The other part is busy admiring just how cute that owner is.
Danny watches as she read the business card, her expression transforming from wary to amused in a blink. Intrigued, Danny raises his eyebrows and sticks out his hand. McGarrett hands him a card, pausing a second before passing one to Rachel too. She waits for McGarrett to return to his position by the door before reading it.
Danny braces himself for the fallout; the last thing he expects her to do is laugh. Flicking his own card between his fingers, he gives it a quick scan read and can't help grinning too.
At the top of the card is a headshot of Max, a tennis ball gripped between his teeth. The text underneath reads:
My name is Max.
I was hurt serving my country but I'm okay now.
My skin doesn't hurt – I love strokes and cuddles.
Please don't feed me junk food – it really makes me fart.
"Fart?" Danny asks around a smile, imaging the havoc a chilli-dog would cause if eaten by a German Shepherd. Across the room Grace and her friends are giggling like Danny knew they would. Anything to do with bodily functions is always enough to set them off. Shaking his head Danny holds up the card, his question clear.
"People always ask the same questions or fall for his begging routine," McGarrett replies, looking down at his feet. "So I got the business cards made up for him." Then he looks back up and Danny has to catch his breath; McGarrett's grinning, it lights up his face.
"Just promise me that me that Grace will be safe," Rachel whispers into Danny's ear when they're called into the office several minutes later. "That's all I'm worried about."
Looking over his shoulder, Danny takes in the image of McGarrett standing next to his daughter. Gracie is oblivious, too busy playing with Max to notice anything else. McGarrett's expression, on the other hand, is intensely fierce as he watches Danny and Rachel leave the room. Uncrossing his arms he stands a little taller, takes a few steps closer to the doorway, the only route in and out of the building.
"She's safe," Danny whispers back as the door closes behind them and the teacher welcomes them into the room.
H50H50H50
"We need to stop by my place and grab a few things," McGarrett informs Danny as they pull out of the parking lot. "I didn't find out until this morning that we'd be going one-on-one, you know?"
Not really Danny thinks, but nods anyway. They've just left Grace's school, after she'd spent twenty minutes saying goodbye to Max. It's only just sinking in that he and McGarrett are joined at the hip for the foreseeable future. In some ways, Danny muses, it's like breaking in a new partner.
Except Danny's never had a new partner spend the night with him before. That kinda makes this uncharted territory.
"Sure," he says out loud instead. "Where would you like me to drive you?" The words come out with more bite than Danny had intended. Out of the corner of his eye he can see McGarrett rolling his eyes at him. The trouble is, when he's nervous he covers it with sarcasm. And right now Danny's really nervous. Sitting in the car with McGarrett so close, that warm scent of spices filling the air, it's doing strange things to his blood pressure.
"Just keep driving. I'll tell you when we get there."
Danny considers starting an argument about SEALs being rubbish at navigation on land but lets it drop. Tiredness is creeping up on him. A quick glance over at McGarrett suggests he might be feeling the same. The skin under his eyes look drawn, the light stubble on his chin accentuating the hollowness of his cheeks. His hair is long for someone who used to be in the military. Curling slightly at the nape of his neck, the skin between where it ends and the black t-shirt starts is slightly red, maybe shinier in places. Danny hadn't noticed under the softer lights in the office buildings but in the harsher streets lights it's clearer.
"Eyes on the road, Detective."
Danny blushes. Gripping the steering wheel tighter he forces himself to focus on the road. But that's difficult to do with McGarrett watching him. Danny resists the urge to look over for a few more minutes, but then it gets too much. It's like someone's pulling at him; it's impossible to resist.
McGarrett's staring right back at him, lips parted, eyes wide. It's only for a moment; they both look away. But Danny can feel the rapid thump of his heart, the goosebumps prickling across his skin.
"We're here."
McGarrett's sliding out of the car before Danny's pulled it to a halt, flicking the seat forward and whistling for Max to follow him. Danny lets him go, needing a second to catch his breath. It's dawning on him that in the last few hours his previously dormant libido has suddenly decided to hijack his life.
He's screwed. He really hasn't got time for this.
Danny gives himself a mental shake, frowning as he takes in their surroundings. The car's headlights are still on, revealing that they're on the edge of a camp site. It's one of the many temporary sites dotted around Hawaii, occupied by people who can't afford the extortionately expensive property fees. McGarrett's letting himself into an old trailer, Max close on his heels.
"This your place?" Danny hears himself asking a few minutes later.
McGarrett shakes his head at him, his lips flicking up at the corners. "I hope so, since I just let myself in."
Danny acknowledges his own stupidity with a shrug, his attention already shifting to the inside of the trailer. McGarrett's moving around efficiently, packing food for Max and clothes for himself. It's obviously their home, but the place feels barely lived in. There's a bed, a cooking area and a table and chairs which have seen better days. There're blinds on the windows and a neatly tucked sheet on the bed but everything screams 'functional' at best. Personal possessions are missing and apart from the clothes in the closet there's nothing to identify the owner.
It just doesn't sit right. DEA pay isn't terrible and Danny doubts McGarrett comes cheap.
"How long you been in Hawai'i?" Danny tries instead, the detective in him unable to let it go. It might just be his imagination but McGarrett seems to be determined not to make eye-contact. It jars Danny, makes him wonder if he'd imagined that moment in the car.
"I grew up here," McGarrett replies, distracted. He's busy trying to pack dog food and a bowl into an already bulging rucksack. "I left after my parents passed. After I was discharged from the Navy it seemed good a place as any to come back to."
And that's all you're getting is what McGarrett's tone implies. Frustrated, Danny has to stop himself from bouncing on his toes and pushing into the other man's personal space. There's so much implied in Steve's answer. And suddenly Danny wants to know it all.
The following two hours do nothing to cure Danny's growing sense of frustration. Apart from insisting on the use of first names Steve hasn't let slip any other personal facts. They've eaten dinner, cleaned up and now they're watching TV. Max is stretched out across the front door, his eyebrows twitching as he tracks their every move. Everything is surprisingly normal; it's difficult to remember that Steve's actually there to protect him.
"So, how're we going to do this?" Danny asks, pushing himself upright, trying to make his tone more business-like. It's the opposite body language to Steve who's sitting at the other end of the couch, loose limbed, legs spread wide. "Four hour shifts?"
"What?" Steve blinks back at him; just for a second he looks panicked, like someone who's been caught doing something bad.
"Shifts?" Danny repeats slowly, waving his hand between the two of them. "You look beat." Danny slides back further to make more space between them - the urge to reach out and touch is suddenly intense.
"No. You don't have to do anything. I've got men watching outside. If anything happens they'll contact me. Max and I will sleep out here. You just do whatever…whatever you normally do."
"Outside?" Danny's brain stutters angrily, like a vinyl record with a scratch on it. Steve's relaxed mood suddenly makes much more sense. "Outside? You didn't think it was important to tell me this?" Danny instantly backs off though as Steve raises both hands in tired surrender. All he really wants is his bed. "Forget it. Tell me in the morning," he orders with a dismissive wave of his hand as he heads for his bedroom.
"Danny…" There's an edge to Steve's voice that stops him, a trace of hurt that makes Danny turn.
Steve's standing by the couch looking nervous, his hands rammed deep in his pockets. The grim faced man Danny remembers from the warehouse could be a totally different person. "I just wanted to say…I'm sorry about all of this…this evening, the argument with your ex-wife."
Danny considers his apology for a moment, ready to blow him off; it's not a subject he's comfortable talking about. Something shifts in Steve's expression, makes Danny want to share. It's not that easy though, to package up years of history and heartache in just a few words. "It's the job. It's always about the job. She worries," Danny adds when his confession is met with a scowl, "about me, about Grace. And I think maybe she thought when we got married it'd change me, that she could worry less—"
"—but you can't change people. Sometimes you have to accept that's who they are," Steve finishes for him quietly, nodding in time to his words.
"Yeah." Danny breathes the word out on one long sigh. They stare at each other in silence. Danny didn't imagine that look in the car; there's something going on here. But fuck the timing is shitty. And right now all he feels is confused.
"I'm sorry about Max," Danny offers, struggling to think of anything to say, to break the stifling silence. Steve frowns back at him until Danny indicates the dog's collar; it's still covered in glitter and tags made of brightly coloured paper. The poor animal has been leaving a shimmering trail behind himself all evening like a giant furry snail.
Danny's heart lurches at the smile Steve gives him. "I think he liked it. And she seems like a great kid."
"Yeah, she is."
"I wasn't lying, you know. When I said she'd be safe."
Steve's words cut through the good mood, making everything serious again. Danny blinks at the sincerity in the other man's expression. He should be worried. Hell, he is worried; this is Gracie they're talking about. But there's something about Steve which makes him not feel so on edge. Steve and his team of SEALs.
Danny pulls his shoulders back, dismissing those thoughts. "We're going to catch Gonzales," he announces, catching Steve's gaze, daring him to disagree. "And then we'll all be safe. Understand me?"
Steve mirrors him, his broad shoulders going back. The move sends a shiver down Danny's spine; the man looks like he's accepting a mission. "Understood."
Closing his bedroom door behind him, Danny takes his time getting ready for bed. He already knows sleep's going to be a long time coming despite how exhausted he feels. His mind is racing over a million things at once: Gonzales, Rachel and Grace fight for his attention.
And hovering over all of these things is Steve McGarrett, a man Danny barely knows, but who is making him feel like a love-struck teenager again.
H50H50H50H50
The sound of his cell phone buzzing wakes Steve up, and with a muffled curse he retrieves it from the coffee table. Flicking through the messages he finds the one from his team. Keying in the pre-approved code he presses send before slumping back down into the cushions.
Steve stifles a groan. It's obvious the couch has seen better days - choosing to sleep on it hadn't been his cleverest move. His back is paying the price this morning, the muscles are rigid, the scarred skin stretched over them tight. Breathing through his nose and slowly out of his mouth, he wills himself to relax. The touch of a wet nose on his hand makes him smile; automatically he threads his fingers through Max's fur, the familiar sensation helping his mind to drift.
Gradually Steve's eyes adapt to the early-morning half-light. Danny's living space is small, just a couch, the TV and the coffee table. But the shelves around the walls are packed full of children's books and DVDs. And photographs, so many photographs. "Family", Danny had explained to him simply when he'd seen Steve looking the night before.
Steve drags his eyes away from them, the memories they imply, and concentrates on the here and now instead. He pushes himself upright and tries not to wince. The pain isn't that unusual, lack of sleep is the actual reason for his bad mood. That and his brain's inability to stop thinking. This was supposed to be a straight forward case; instead he's been presented with a distraction. And Steve knows from experience distractions never end well.
The floorboards in the next room squeak; the 'distraction' is awake. Steve grits his teeth and pushes himself to his feet. Putting on his pants involves leaning against the couch and Max in equal parts but he manages it. He's just overcoming the challenge of pulling on his shirt, grimacing as he twists to get him arms in when Danny appears.
Steve can't stop a huff of laughter escaping, feels a flutter of attraction deep in his belly. Mocking the clients is never good practice. But Danny's yawning widely, running both hands through his hair. Overnight it's taken on a life of its own. And its owner's sleep-befuddled attempts to bring it under control are just making it worse.
"Don't," Danny grumbles at him, slowly shuffling towards the kitchen, pointing a finger towards him before waving vaguely at his head. "Don't mock the hair."
Steve opens his mouth to do just that, all power to resist wiped away by the hint of challenge in Danny's voice. This is what had distracted Steve yesterday. It's like there's an invisible pull and push between them; by pushing they're pulled closer together. And it's confusing the hell out of him.
But the moment is broken because Danny freezes, his expression unsure. Steve forces himself not to flinch as Danny's gaze comes to rest on the exposed, scarred skin on his shoulder. "Don't ask," he bites out as Danny's expression morphs from confused to concerned.
Danny stares back at him, his gaze trailing across his body. Then he looks over at Max. It's obvious he's got questions. But it's not information Steve wants to share. 'Not yet' his brain adds traitorously and he stamps down on it – hard.
When his phone starts ringing Steve grabs it like it's a lifesaver in a storm. The hint of sympathy he catches in Danny's eyes as he turns away to answer is enough to make him miss a breath. By the time Steve's finished the call with his team outside he's managed to compose himself. Or at least that's what he tells himself; Danny's expression as he disappears into the kitchen tells him otherwise.
H50H50H50
Danny busies himself preparing breakfast; he needs to drag his mind away from what he's just seen.
Steve's got scars covering his skin from his collar bone to his chest, disappearing down under his shirt. Danny's seen burn scars before but these are different – they're stretched out like a spider web, thin trails of red, uneven skin. They look painful and Steve was obviously struggling. His first instinct had been to offer help.
Danny retrieves eggs, bacon and mushrooms from the refrigerator and slams the door closed. He's a cop so it's not the first time he's been told to mind his own business. It's the expression on Steve's face that he's finding it hard to deal with. Steve had been embarrassed. Maybe even afraid.
Grabbing a knife Danny starts chopping up the ingredients. Omelette, he thinks, putting more weight behind the blade so that it hits the chopping board with a sharp 'thwack'. Steve is probably a health food freak. Grace's Lucky Charms cereal won't go down well.
"Does your neighbour have a cat?"
Danny drops the knife and the mushrooms go flying. "Jeez. Warn a guy, would you?"
"Sorry." Standing in the kitchen doorway, Steve's got his hands in his pockets. His expression is closed, his body tense.
Danny stares back, bewildered. It's like there's an invisible barrier between them. "A cat?"
"In your back yard. Brown, fluffy, bad attitude. About this big," Steve pulls his hands out of his pockets to draw a circle in the air.
Max chooses that moment to wander into the kitchen - the dog looks very pleased with himself. Steve glowers at him as he pads past, his tail wagging. Danny watches their performance in silence, gradually putting together the clues.
"Lucifer. Mrs Kahele's cat is called Lucifer," Danny offers, carefully crossing his arms and then his legs, at the ankles. Steve's got his hands jammed in his pockets again and his body language is still screaming 'keep out'. "She really loves that cat."
"Oh."
"You wanna tell me what happened?"
"Nothing happen—"
"Really? So Max has been out in my yard making friends?" Steve's looking away, out of the kitchen, so Danny misses his mumbled reply. "He was…what?"
"It was provocation," Steve's hands shoot into the air, punctuating every word. "Max was provoked."
"Provoked? The last guy who said that to me was the prime suspect in a double homicide. Please don't tell me Max ate Lucifer because Mrs Kahele loves that piec—"
"Of course not!" Steve looks horrified at the suggestion. "He'd never attack anything unless he was ordered to. He's a trained—"
"Whoa! I'm just kidding!" Danny's goaded Steve on purpose, wanting to smash the cold, impersonal façade. Steve falling for it so easily is an unexpected bonus: he can't stop a grin breaking out. "The cat's called Milo. We call it Lucifer because it hates Grace. Max can chase him all he wants."
"Oh."
Danny's good mood dies instantly. Steve's stuffing his hands back in his pockets and refusing to meet Danny's eyes. Danny knows he has no right to feel disappointed but that's what he's feeling as turns back to the stove.
He's expecting Steve to disappear again so he's surprised when he hears a chair being pulled out from the table behind him. The sound of Max's nails clicking across the floor suggest he's settling in too. Danny pauses what he's doing, suddenly overwhelmed with bitter sweet memories. Back in New Jersey the kitchen had always been the heart of his family's home, a sanctuary from whatever else was happening in his life.
He misses it so much. Even with Grace in Hawai'i it's never felt quite the same.
They eat breakfast in near silence. Danny entertains himself by feeding Max bacon – if Steve is glaring at him at least they're communicating. As they work their way through the stack of eggs and bacon, Danny can see Steve's shoulders relaxing inch by inch. By the time they've finished eating and cleaned up Steve's dark mood seems to have disappeared.
"What's the plan for this morning?" Steve's stacking clean plates in a cupboard with a level of precision that makes Danny wince.
Danny considers the question. The evening before they'd discussed taking Grace to the shopping mall in the afternoon, it's Saturday and that's what they always do. That leaves a long stretch of nothing in front of them: 4 hours and 27 minutes precisely according to the clock on the wall.
Under normal circumstances Danny would have no problem coming up with suggestions; Steve's dressed all in black again and it still looks good on him. But they're not out on a date, this is work-related.
How the hell did he get himself in this mess?
"You okay?"
No! Danny wants to say. Steve seems determined to throw him for a loop again because there's genuine concern in his eyes. Danny quashes his growing frustration and goes for a diversionary tactic instead. "What do you want to do?"
"This isn't about me." Steve's shaking his head, stubbornly. "We need to keep to your normal schedule."
Danny's not sure he's prepared to confess that if he's not with Grace then he's at work. Or sitting on the couch watching TV. But it hasn't escaped his notice that Steve doesn't seem to have a hectic social schedule either: after all he's the one who's actually working right now.
Danny knows he shouldn't but he can't resist the urge to prod again: lifting his chin, he waits. When Steve shuffles his feet, silently admitting defeat, Danny keeps a straight face. Having a strong moral compass is important in his line of work - it really wouldn't be polite to celebrate his victory by hollering his delight.
Steve's already measuring him up, deciding how to meet the challenge. "Okay," he says, rubbing his hands together. "I hope you're feeling energetic, Danny. Max needs a walk."
H50H50H50H50
Danny's never owned a dog but his best friend from high school had one. They'd take it for a walk so they could sneak a cigarette or meet up with their friends. Covering a couple of blocks could easily last an hour they'd be walking so slowly. So, it hasn't occurred to him before that dog walking could involve actual exercise.
He recounts this story to Steve as they stand at the bottom the mountain (it's just a hill, Danny) they are about to hike up. When Steve dissolves into laughter - a huge, rumbling, belly laugh - Danny thinks it might be worth the amount of discomfort he's certain he's about to endure. The sound is infectious; it makes him feel lighter, like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders.
Danny's not against exercise - part of his job as a cop is to stay fit. But as he explains to Steve, back in Jersey keeping fit had meant going to the gym. Danny's bought the habit with him to Hawai'i. If his buddies back home could see him now they'd be laughing: no one ever met outdoors socially unless it involved baseball, beer and chargrilled meat.
Steve thinks that's funny as well.
Steve sets a fast pace that gets Danny puffing. Danny consoles himself with the knowledge that he can hear Steve breathing hard too. He's surprised to discover that the steady rhythm of walking is relaxing – gradually he starts to unwind. Soon he's telling Steve about his life in New Jersey, just the highlights, the parts that don't hurt so much. Letting the words out has never been easy – Danny suspects that will always be the case – but the way Steve just nods occasionally without offering judgement encourages him to carry on.
Danny's not blind to the fact that Steve's still working: he's surveying the area around them, carefully tracking every person who comes close. Steve himself isn't exactly undercover, a black shirt and pants is not normal trekking wear. But Max appears to be in his element – keeping a steady four paces in front of them he's checking out everybody they meet.
Despite everything, it's not a bad way to spend a Saturday morning.
Danny does feel his good mood slipping when Steve suddenly veers off the track and in through the undergrowth – it's overgrown and muddy. But when the undergrowth parts to reveal a small clearing, right next to the edge of a cliff, Danny finds himself reassessing everything. Again.
"Amazing, huh?"
Danny nods. The view out over the ocean is breath-taking. He's not sure how long he stands there looking at it but when he turns round Steve is sitting on a rock, Max stretched out in the shade beside him. Steve's unfolding a portable dog bowl and from his pockets he pulls out a couple of bottles of water. Once Max is slurping happily he hands over the other bottle to Danny.
"This your secret hideaway?" Danny asks, smiling as he takes in the scenery. Considering how many people are out on the main trail, it's really quiet here.
Danny looks over when he doesn't get an answer. Steve's back in introspective mode again – he's running his fingers through Max's fur, his mind elsewhere as he drinks his water.
Danny takes the hint and lets him have his privacy. Retrieving his cell phone he starts scrolling through his messages. He and Chin might be banned from entering HQ for now but the Gonzales case is still ongoing. HPD had been planning a raid on a warehouse on Maui the night before. The news isn't good: the place had been empty. It looks like someone in HPD tipped Gonzales's men off.
"What's wrong?"
Steve's watching him anxiously, the water bottle forgotten in his hand. Beside him Max's ears have perked up, his head is tilted on one side. It's like trying to deny Grace something but in stereo, Danny thinks, as he reluctantly hands over his cell phone. Sitting down beside them he explains about the raid.
Steve's scowling as he scrolls through the messages, his fingers flicking through them in a blur. "What were they hoping to find?"
"Gonzales."
"Eduardo Gonzales?" Danny bristles at the disbelief in Steve's tone. The Captain hadn't thought much of their theory either: Steve dismissing it hurts more. "He's not in Hawaii."
"Your friend Walters tell you that?" Danny knows it's a low blow even as he says it. Steve's frown turns into a deep scowl.
"He's not my friend."
"So why you working for him?"
"With him. Not for him." Danny feels a brief flash of guilt for pushing Steve's buttons: he's clearly not happy talking about this. "I did it as a favour for a friend."
"And?"
"It's none of you busin—"
"I'm just gonna keep asking until you tell me." Danny stretches out his legs as if he's settling in for the long haul. "You may as well give in now."
"Fine." Steve scrubs his hand across his face, his glare morphing from glacial to resigned. "Laurence Jones, was a buddy of mine in the Navy, he works for the DEA now. He helped me out when I was retired, put a couple of jobs my way. I wouldn't have been able to start the company without him."
"Ah." Danny curses himself for being nosy again. Loyalty is a concept he understands.
Steve's attention is back on the cell phone. Chewing on his bottom lip he gives Danny an appraising look. "Gonzales. Why do you think he's on the islands?"
Danny blinks, thinking that over before he explains. Originally it had just been a gut feeling but he and Chin had been putting together more evidence about the Mexican crime lord. Outwardly Gonzales is all about ego, image and fear. But he's also clever and extremely organised; he's going to be on the island at some point making sure everything is in place.
"This information you've got. It's at HPD?"
"Some of it's back at the house." Danny knows he's been breaking regulations but he isn't the first detective to take his work home with him. "I can't go into headquarters but you can. Just ask the Captain and-"
"I'm just the bodyguard, Danny."
Danny's cheeks flush at the memory. "Just let it go, huh? Please? Sometimes I let my mouth run away with me and-"
"No." Steve cuts him short with a jab of his hand. "I really am just the bodyguard. We're not being paid to think on this job. We're just the muscle."
Steve's statement is laced with bitterness. Danny scowls, angry on Steve's behalf. He doesn't know much about special forces soldiers but he's pretty sure they're recruited for their brains as well as their muscle. Steve's reaction makes Danny wonder again what he and Walters had been arguing about in the Captain's office.
"Let's have at it then." Steve's packing up the water bowl and collecting the empty bottles before Danny realises what's happening. "I want you to show me everything you've got on Gonzales."
Danny scrabbles to his feet to follow Steve and Max back down the hill. Despite the sense of urgency he's basking in the knowledge that Steve is interested in his theory about Gonzales. If I had a tail right now it would be wagging, Danny thinks, biting back a grin.
H50H50H50H50
Steve gets out of the car and eyes the shopping mall with a growing sense of unease. It's not the building itself that's worrying him, he's memorised the plans. It's Danny who's got him feeling on edge.
Danny's case notes on Gonzales had been meticulous - Steve's team had been impressed when he'd sent them copies to read. Danny's right, they've got no hard evidence about Gonzales's whereabouts, it's just a gut feeling right now. But Steve already knows he'd trust Danny's gut feeling over Walters's intel any day.
And that's what's making Steve feel uneasy; letting Danny influence his decisions goes against everything he's been taught. His sole focus should be protecting Danny and Grace yet his brain keeps replaying flashes of Danny trekking up the hill that morning.
Steve's still not sure how they'd ended up in that clearing - Danny hadn't been far off the mark when he'd called it his secret hideaway. Normally he'd be annoyed as hell about the invasion of his 'private' space. Instead, he wants to do it all again.
Danny's busy getting Grace sorted so Steve double checks his hand weapon while she isn't looking, making sure it's concealed under his shirt. Max is still sitting in the back of the car and Steve fills up his water bowl and lowers the windows before telling the dog to stay. Max flops down with a sigh, his eyes wistfully tracking Grace and Danny through the window as they start walking across the parking lot.
"Shameless," Steve mutters at his friend, leaning in to stroke him. The dog may be invaluable in a combat situation, but he's always been a sucker for a pretty face.
Hypocrite, the little voice in Steve's head yells at him as he hurries to catch up with Danny and Grace. Wrong, Steve argues back with himself, cringing at the way he sounds like a teenager with a painful crush. It wasn't Danny's face he'd just been admiring. It was his ass.
The man has a great ass.
H50H50H50H50H50
"Gonna tell me what's wrong?"
Danny delivers his question in a whisper, one eye still on Grace who's a few feet away, sitting on the floor of the bookshop, a book open in her lap.
Standing beside him Steve shifts slightly so he's got a better view out of the window of the shop. Maybe it's just his imagination but there's a guy who's just walked by and Steve's sure he's seen him before: at the beach with Danny and Grace. And although there's no law against browsing in a shop window Steve's never been a great believer in coincidences.
"Steve?"
Danny's voice has taken on an urgent tone - Steve notes with admiration that it's not reflected in Danny's face. Steve's instincts are telling him to get out of there but he's got two civilians to think of. One civilian and an experienced cop, he amends, acknowledging the steadying presence of the man beside him. Danny's going to be focused on getting Grace out of there, whatever happens. So it's Steve's job to make sure Danny can do that, by keeping him safe.
He can do that.
Steve's not aware of signalling his intentions but Danny's already moving, chiding Grace along. Slotted in safely between him and her Dad as they head for the car she's chatting away happily, her hand tucked in Danny's. Steve's got his hand resting lightly on his gun but luckily Grace seems oblivious to the tension in the air.
Steve keeps looking in the shop windows as they move through the mall, checking the reflections for a tail. Beside him he can see Danny doing the same, catches the moment his eyes widen in understanding and then recognition as one man and then another drops in behind them.
"You like shave ice, Grace?" Steve asks, putting a smile on his face. Assuming Gonzales's men are here to harm Danny and Grace he doubts they'll do anything in the mall; it's the parking lot he's not so sure about. "I just need to take Max for a walk," he continues when she nods, "and then we'll go get some. Okay?"
"Can I walk him too?"
"No, Monkey. He'll only be a few minutes. We'll wait in the car, won't we Steve?"
Steve answers Danny with a grateful nod. There're probably more instructions he should be giving but in the face of Danny's quiet confidence they seem irrelevant.
Danny nudges Grace in front of him as they reach the exit. To anyone else it will hopefully look like he's letting her through the doors first. In the process he's shielding her body. Steve does the same, stepping up behind Danny. Danny responds with a huff of exasperation but he goes with it, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder and hurrying her along.
As they exit the mall Steve can see Max hanging out of the car window to welcome them. He whistles once, low, but it's enough to get the dog's attention. Leaving him in the car had been a way to protect it so now it's as good a place as any for Danny and Grace to go. As Max hops out Steve pulls the seat back for Grace to get in, blocking her view as Danny retrieves his gun from his lock box.
Grace has got her book out in the back seat and is settling down to read it. Steve watches her for a second; it occurs to him that maybe he's got this all wrong. Perhaps he should tell them to go while he sorts this. But that might leave them unprotected; he doesn't know if Gonzales has more men watching. A quick glance over at Danny reassures him; he's got the keys in the ignition, he's ready to go if he needs to.
"That shave ice isn't going to buy itself, babe," is the answer Steve gets when he raises one eyebrow in question, checking everything is alright.
"Back in a minute," he replies, whistling Max to his side before heading back towards the mall. Out of the corner of his eye Steve can see his team's van parked two rows back from Danny. Steve doesn't acknowledge the driver's nod of recognition but they'll know he's seen them. Steve wonders if Danny has spotted them yet.
As he walks, Steve mentally plays back his argument with Walters before they'd met Danny at HPD headquarters. The DEA man was convinced that Gonzales wouldn't be stupid enough to kill off-duty cops or harm their families; Gonzales needed co-operative cops on the inside to make his plan work. Every instinct in Steve had been telling him that Walters was wrong. They were supposed to be protecting the HPD officers but instead they've been using them as bait to track down Gonzales's operation.
It's worse than that though, Steve suddenly realises, a surge of anger making him lengthen his stride. They've put an innocent child in the firing line. And they've deliberately kept her father in the dark.
He should never have let the DEA override him on this.
"Fuck." Max's ears flick back at the fury in his voice and Steve leans down to stroke him. All this time he's been justifying his own actions by deluding himself that Walters was right. But Gonzales's men are standing outside the entrance doors and they've spotted him. That vibe Steve was getting back in the mall wasn't just his imagination; they're not just here on surveillance.
Like he didn't already know that, Steve thinks.
Steve breaks into a jog as both men disappear around the back of the building. Steve orders Max to take point, whistling him on. They're being led into the service area, there's going to be plenty of places for the men to hide. That's fine. Max will find them. And then they'll both take them out.
They need intel not bodies, Steve reminds himself; that's what Walters's orders had been. He's still telling himself that when Max starts barking, his top lip curled up around his teeth, his attention fixed on his prey. Steve's mind goes into automatic pilot as the first of Gonzales's men steps up for a fight. They're not evenly matched, not by a long way, and it only takes a few moves to take him down. Writhing on the ground, holding his broken wrist protectively in front of him, it's obvious Gonzales's man is giving in. Leaving Max to keep guard over him, Steve turns to take on the second man.
And that's when Steve sees red because the second guy, he likes talking. Particularly about what he's going to do to police detectives and their daughters when they get hold of them. Afterwards Steve will tell Walters that the man's injuries were unavoidable. At the time though it feels good to feel flesh hitting flesh, because there's no way Steve's going to let this guy get anywhere near Danny or his daughter.
He wasn't lying when he said he'd keep Grace safe.
Breathing heavily, Steve looks down at the unconscious man sprawled at his feet. He's still alive. That's going to have to be enough for Walters right now.
"You okay, Steve?" It's Billy Hastings, his second-in-command who's come up behind him. As Steve swings round to face him his friend rears back. "Whoa! Take it easy! Everyone's okay."
"Danny and Grace?"
"Like I said, everyone's okay." Billy's on his knees next to the second man, patting him down, checking him for weapons. Steve forces himself to breathe more evenly, tries to ignore the coughing fit that's threatening as the initial rush of adrenaline fades away. "They're still in the car," Billy adds, looking at him over his shoulder. "You should get back. Or do you want one of the boys to take them home?"
"We're going for shave ice." Steve knows the idea's ridiculous but it's the first thing his brain latches on to.
Billy's face suggests he's thinking the same thing but he goes with it, handcuffing the two men before he speaks again. "We'll leave these two for Walters's men. They should be here any minute. Then we'll follow you. You need to do something about your shirt though," Billy continues with a frown. "You can't go back like that."
One of the reasons Steve always wears black is because it's a colour that hides all sorts of sins. But right now his shirt is struggling to hide the fact he's been rolling around on the ground with one of Gonzales's men.
"Here. Swap."
Steve reluctantly unbuttons his own shirt, taking his friend's instead. Billy's shorter than him, more sinewy, and his shirt is going to be a tight fit. Post-fight his shoulders are feeling even stiffer than earlier. His lungs are still hitching on each in-breath, struggling to get in enough air. Swapping over is easier said than done.
"Have you taken any- Fine, I won't ask." Billy's tugging on the sleeves for him before he can argue.
"Hopefully Walters's can get something out of these goons and we can nail Gonzales before he goes after any more cops."
Hopefully, Steve thinks, as he and Max walk back to the car. It isn't that he hates lying to his clients; he'll always do what's needed to make sure they stay alive. It's just he's not sure how long he can lie to these particular clients; the ones who are now watching him as he opens the passenger door and whistles Max in.
"Sorry that took so long." Steve slowly folds himself into the car. One glance at Danny makes his heart sink. They were never going to get shave ice, Steve thinks, berating himself for his own stupidity. It's obvious the other man is furious. He has every right to feel that way.
"You okay back there, Monkey? All strapped in?"
Before Steve can say anything else they're pulling out of the parking lot. It takes him a moment to realise they're not heading for Danny's house, or Rachel's. They're still going to the beach.
"We're going for shave ice, right?" Danny informs him when Steve opens his mouth to protest. Danny's tone is light, the smile he shares with his daughter in the rear-view mirror is full of warmth. But he's gripping the wheel with tight fists, his movements sharp and jerky as he steers.
The next hour is one of the longest of Steve's life. He stutters his way through his own shave ice order and struggles to keep up with Grace's endless questions about Max. She seems oblivious to the tension between them, probably reassured by her Dad's continuous encouragement. Steve's got no idea how Danny's managing to do that. All he can think about is that he wants to get this over with. Now.
By the time they're parked outside Rachel's house, waiting to go in, the atmosphere is toxic. Grace still seems oblivious, reaching through the seats to hug him goodbye. Steve hugs her back after a beat. Max doesn't need the same encouragement; the steady thud, thud, thud sound of his tail wagging fills the car as his new friend hugs him goodbye. Max carries on watching them as Danny and Grace disappear behind the automatic gates of Rachel's house, his ears standing at attention.
At least Danny's ex-wife has good security on her house, Steve thinks, as the gates close behind them. It's top of the range. He knows that because having Danny and Grace staying there had been in his original plan. Before Walters had taken over control of the operation. And he'd given in.
Max whines from the back seat, having finally figured out that they aren't coming straight back. Steve reaches back to stroke him. "I know, buddy," he whispers under his breath, not sure who's comforting who.
Eventually the gates open again and Danny reappears. As he gets back into the car and slams the door shut Max's tail starts wagging again. Steve isn't feeling the same way.
"Those guys at the mall. Were they at the beach with me and Grace?"
"Danny—"
"Answer me."
In the face of such cold single-mindedness there's not much else Steve can do. "It's the same men. But at the beach I thought they were just watching you. I swear. I didn't know—"
"But you knew they were Gonzales's men." Danny's not looking at him, his gaze fixed on the windshield. "And when I went to meet my contact - you knew they were Gonzales's men too?"
"I had orders to follow you and wait and see what—"
"Yes or no?"
With a resigned sigh, Steve gives in. "Yes."
"But you still thought I'd be safe with my daughter. My daughter, McGarrett," Danny continues, raising a hand in warning.
"She is safe," Steve can't stop himself saying, despite knowing how hollow the words must sound right now. But he's prepared to protect her, to protect both of them, whatever that takes. He needs Danny to know that.
"You lied. I've trusted you. I let you into my home, Steve. My home. And you lied."
"I know that. And I'm sorry but—"
"Please don't tell me you were using us as bait to find Gonzales. Seriously. Because if I find out that…" Danny trails off and Steve feels his stomach twist painfully. Guilt is written all over his face; he can feel it. He might have protested against Walters's plan. But the DEA man isn't the one sitting here now.
He should have stood his ground when he had a chance, back in the Captain's office. Hell, he should have said no to Laurence when he'd first asked for the favour. He's let himself be manipulated and in the process he's lost focus of who he is. It's not a pleasant realisation.
"I need you to leave."
"What?" Steve had been prepared to be yelled at, even take a fist to the jaw if that's what Danny needed. But this hits him like a body blow, eyes widening in shock. "I can't. What about Gonzales's men? We don't know if they're still following you."
"Your team," Danny shoots back, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "They can stay here and look after Grace, right?"
Steve doesn't need to look over his shoulder to know that his team are parked further down the street. But if they're here that means Danny is going to be out there on his own. "What about you? I can't let you—"
Danny's leaning over him before he can finish the sentence, pushing the passenger door open. "Out."
Damage limitation. Steve keeps repeating the words in his head as he gets out of the car, ignoring the way his breaths keeps catching in his chest. He says them several more times as Danny swings the car around, his eyes flashing with fire as he drives off.
The smell of burning tire rubber is still lingering in the air when his team pulls up in their van several minutes later. Billy's in the driving seat and Steve's grateful when his friend lowers his window but doesn't say anything, just raises one eyebrow and waits.
"You need to stay here," Steve orders after a few seconds, getting his thoughts straight. "I'm off the case," he adds as Billy raises both eyebrows. "Let's just say he wasn't happy with the…plan."
"Wasn't your plan, Steve," Billy points out, the bitterness in his tone a clear indicator of what he thinks of that. "So what you want to do?"
About Danny, Steve fills in for him. Just ignoring Danny's instructions and sitting outside his house isn't going to work, no matter how much he wants to do that. He'll just end up being a distraction and Danny needs to be concentrating on Gonzales's men.
"I'll call Manny," Billy suggests, breaking into his thoughts. Manny and his team had been on the night shift, they're not going to be happy about being called out two hours early. "Just bill the DEA for double pay," his second-in-command suggests, his face twisting with a humourless smile. "Let that bastard Walters explain to his bosses why this operation cost them so much."
"Okay," Steve concedes reluctantly. It's not Walters he's worried about; his whole team is working long hours on this one. They need to step this up though and show Gonzales what he's dealing with. No more subtlety. No more following Walters's plan. "They can pick up Danny. We've still got the GPS tracker on his car."
"What about you?"
The question catches Steve out for a second. None of this had been part of his plan. "I need to report in with Walters. Find out if he's got anything from Gonzales's men."
"I was kinda thinking you could get some food, maybe a change of clothes," Billy bats back, one eyebrow raised again. "We'll be fine," he adds, stabbing his thumb back towards the rest of the team in the van. "There's three of us, we can do shifts in here. We'll call you if anything changes."
Steve knows it's not worth arguing when everyone in the van starts nodding. It's not until he and Max are in the back of a hastily called cab and almost home that Steve realises that his clean clothes and Max's food are still at Danny's house.
Muttering curses Steve sends a text off to Manny. They're just pulling up to the encampment so he tucks his cell back in his pocket, tells himself he'll call Walters once he's eaten. The truth is Steve's not sure what he's going to say to the DEA man. The overwhelming urge to punch the guy's lights out is still eating away at him.
Or maybe it's the guilt.
Steve drags his body out of the cab; now the adrenaline's gone it seems like a monumental effort. Paying the driver, his heart sinks even further. There's loud music coming from one of the tents even though it's not really that late. Someone's obviously found a reason to party.
As the cab pulls away the sight of Max brings out some of the children. Their welcoming yells are louder than normal; Steve struggles to hold back a wince. They've spotted his collar with Grace's decoration, giggling at the sparkly bits left on their hands when they touch it.
Steve lets them have their moment, relieved as always when Max just sits patiently like he's been taught. They're only young children, he has no way to explain to them that not all people treat animals this way. Or their fellow human beings for that matter.
Sometimes Afghanistan doesn't seem that far away.
The sun's just setting, giving the sky an orange glow. Steve picks his way carefully through the camp; apparently whatever is being celebrated involves a lot of food. At least Max isn't going to go hungry. Steve tries to ignore the cooking smells coming from the tents though, his stomach roils at the thought of food. On nights like these when the adrenaline rush is still lingering, the long shadows from the tents start looking like hiding places for bad things. Strong smells can act as a trigger; over the years he's learnt a few avoidance tricks.
That doesn't mean they always work.
Steve waves away the good-natured offers from people to join them and leaves Max to sniff his way from tent to tent. Walking out through the brightly lit encampment he moves into the shadows, picking out the dirt track to his trailer by memory alone. Steve picked this spot for a reason, he's glad that everyone in the encampment has given him his own space.
Until today.
The night before at Danny's house, that had felt like somewhere that maybe he could belong; he'd give up his own space in a heartbeat to have a chance to be there again.
But he'll probably never see Danny again.
The feeling of loss doesn't creep up on Steve gradually; he gasps at its intensity. He'd almost had something there, had someone. That part of this whole fuck up hadn't been his imagination; there'd been something there between him and Danny.
He'd seen it in Danny's eyes.
That's Steve's last coherent thought; the looks that Danny had been giving him. He should have paid more attention. Danny's been telegraphing his feelings loud and clear.
Then something hits Steve on the side of the head and the world tilts sideways. Ears ringing, brain confused, it's instinct rather than training that makes him duck, ready to defend himself. He's too slow though; already there're more shadows coming out of the darkness at him, pushing him to the ground, the taste of dirt filling his mouth as he gasps for breath. Blinding pain shoots across his shoulders but he's still shifting, twisting, can tell the men around him are swearing, even if he doesn't understand the words. He's nearly up, has a knee under him…
Then everything goes black.
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