TEENAGE GIRLS AND BUNDT CAKES – A Cautionary Coming of Age Tale
A/N Hi, everone, it's been a rather long while! Sorry about that...
This story arose from a conversation (a year ago...yeah, I'm a slow writer!) about Gracie Williams and what kind of a teenager she would become. The show was long overdue in aging the character of Grace to represent the age of the actual actress portraying her. So, I tried to do that with this piece. Of course there's whump, but I warn hard core whump lovers that this is pretty mild. It's more about the angst associated with this particular incident in the life of Danny Williams.
BTW: This story is complete, fully BETAed by the great Wenwalke, and will be updated regularly.
CHAPTER ONE
He found himself, once again, jogging down the corridors of Tripler Hospital, looking right, and then left into every cubicle in the emergency room, one hand constantly resting on his gun holster. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing here, or what had befallen his partner. His niece had called him out of the blue on a Friday night, tears evident in her distraught voice, to inform him Danny was at Tripler. He dropped what he was doing – which amounted to exactly nothing but polishing off a six pack of Fire Rock while watching American Gladiator – and raced the Silverado down the H1, with its lights flashing and siren wailing, to get to his partner's side.
"What did you do this time, Danny? Did you fall out of the tree in the front yard? Don't tell me you started trimming it yourself? You were going to forego hiring a tree expert because "$400.00 to trim a few branches is just ridiculous," especially when you had a ladder and a chainsaw of your own – oh, God! Chainsaw! Tell me you didn't go there! Crap, did you cut your leg? Do you still have ten fingers?"
Tonight's argument was completely one-sided as Steve's mind automatically went into worst case scenario mode because, well, let's be honest, Danny was an injury waiting to happen. It was true; he was always getting kidnapped, shot, stabbed, gored, blown up, buried alive, tortured … just one thing after another. It's as if he was the handsome bull in the stadium constantly provoked and attacked by the matador, cheered on by the angry horde of crazed spectators shaking cattle prods and demanding blood. No sooner would he get well, than trouble would start all over again for his partner.
It was usually Steve's job to pick up the pieces and put his friend back together at the end of the day. He was good at it – he'd had lots of practice – but that didn't make the stress of each situation any easier. It always tore him apart to have to tell Grace her Danno loved her! The nights spent waiting in the uncomfortable recliner in his partner's hospital room were countless. But he knew he would continue to sit by Danny's side, he would do whatever it took to make him whole again, because he just couldn't imagine a world without his cantankerous partner in it. Of course, he'd never admit that to Danny.
In most instances, Grace was able to understand and accept every injury and trauma Danny suffered. It was a fact of life for her, and as long as he made it back to her, she was always okay. Tonight, though, Steve heard something different, strained, in Grace's voice, precipitating the high speed run down the H1 to get to the hospital. What did it mean for Grace to sound so sorrowful?
"I'm going to have to have a talk with Danny about all the mental trauma he's made his daughter suffer through during the years of his sojourn on the Five-0 team. Maybe a little therapy would help – look how much better the two of us get along since starting partner counseling! Well, maybe that isn't exactly true, but I'll talk to Danny about it for sure, if I ever find him in this cavern of a hospital…"
All those thoughts flitted across Steve's mind in the course of the couple of minutes it took him to locate Grace, sitting alone, in a drab, tan-colored plastic chair, anchored to the side wall of the hallway. Doctors and nurses were busily hurrying past her position - important tasks awaiting their attention – not bothering to take in the appearance of a dejected 13-year-old, waiting alone for word on her father.
Steve slowed to a walk when he saw Grace sitting forlornly in the hall. She was slouching in the ugly chair, her legs twined around the sturdy front appendages of the seat, with her head resting against the wall behind her. She was studying the ceiling, a frown marring her features, oblivious to Steve's arrival. In fact, she looked a thousand miles away in thought.
"Shit, this can't be good," Steve thought as he knelt beside the young girl. He reached out and gently placed his large, rough hand on Grace's smooth forearm. He didn't want to startle her, or make her fearful – his partner would not be happy with him, at all, if he upset Danny's pride and joy – but he needed to get her attention centered on him.
"Grace?"
Nothing. Grace continued to stare at the ceiling. Steve's heart leapt into his throat as he began to fear what her display of ambivalence might mean. Was she all right? What the heck happened to Danny to make Grace this sad? He took a moment to look her over for any injuries, but saw nothing obvious. Noticing a tear start to fall down her cheek, he decided it was time to take action. He stood, moved directly in front of her, put his hands on either side of her face, and gently lowered her head to meet his gaze straight on.
"Grace, are you okay?"
Big, sorrowful brown eyes welled up, her eyebrows scrunched down, while her lips pulled into a sad frown. Grace's overall appearance was one of complete dejection. Finally, she nodded her head slowly, focusing her eyes on Steve's troubled countenance. "I'm okay, Uncle Steve. Nothing happened to me. But… but… this is all my fault!" With that, the dam broke. The sobs rent her petite frame and she covered her face completely with her hands, while bending over almost to her knees.
"Oh, Grace! Oh, honey, it's okay! I'm here now. Don't cry!" Steve reached in and pulled Grace into his embrace. Standing up for better balance, he allowed her to wrap her legs around his waist, and her arms to encircle his neck, nearly putting him into an effective stranglehold. She might be almost 14 years old now, but tonight, she needed the comfort of a full body hug.
He just held her, letting his niece cry freely. It was the release she needed. Now that someone she loved, and trusted, was there to take responsibility for her father's care, Grace didn't need to be the stoic young lady any longer.
Steve was still at a loss, though, as to what had happened to cause so much grief for his niece.
"Grace, honey, can you tell me what happened?" He set her back down in the ugly plastic chair and squatted before her. Grace snuffled for a time, wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands, and, accepting a tissue from the box Steve found on the end table alongside the chair, proceeded to blow her nose. Finally, she looked up into Steve's eyes, and then lowered her head to stare at the tissue in her hands.
"We were baking," she started.
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