I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.

Notes: wow ... what a warm reception to this story! thank you ... and thank you to all the guests who've left comments and support. This is not beta'd. If there is an error, let me know. There's no real posting schedule. Chapters will go up as they are ready. :-)

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Steve held his breath as he watched Danny eat, virtually inhaling the food without pausing to chew more than once or twice. He was shaking inside. His hands were fisted and there was a knot the size of Kansas stuck inside his chest. He was completely petrified that he was going to lose Danny in the blink of an eye. Just as he'd lost him nearly eight days earlier at the public playground with Charlie, Danny's son.

Charlie. He unglued his fists, making his fingers relax in order to pick up his own burger before he forced himself to take a bite. Danny was sick. Injured. By just looking at him, Steve knew he was feverish. After touching his wrist though, Steve had felt that sickly dry heat leeching off his skin. He had felt that flash of anxiety which had made him let go. Danny didn't know him. He didn't know ... anyone. That was mind boggling all unto itself. But to choose Charlie's name as his own? Steve didn't know what to think about that. Why had Danny picked his son's name? It had to have been derived from his subconscious memory. Some kind of a safety net supplied by pure instinct and Steve found himself taking some unlikely consolation in that belief.

There were so many better questions to ask though. Questions which were tearing at Steve as he continued to covertly examine his abused partner. For one, finding out why the hell this had happened ... and most importantly, who had orchestrated it? When Steve found the person or persons responsible, there would be more than hell to pay. He bristled in anger as Danny stopped eating, wracked by a body-wide shiver, his eyes briefly closing in response to some internal flux of pain.

Steve had to get Danny home. Get him qualified medical care.

When Danny finally recovered enough to catch his breath, Steve took a second bite of his burger. His entire meal was tasteless and he had to swallow hard just to get it past the lump in his throat. The wad got stuck mid-way though and he went for his drink next, eyes tearing as he fought the urge to cough from drinking too much, too quickly. Across from him, Danny looked up, unmoving, his expression unreadable as Steve nearly strangled himself.

"Sorry ... went d-down wrong," he gasped out awkwardly as he gave Danny a watery smile of sorts. Their eyes met for an instant and then Danny looked away, his own food evidently far more interesting. For Steve's part, he tried to continue eating, but he couldn't really take his eyes off Danny though. He glanced to Danny's plate, worried that Danny was nearly done ... he'd leave. Steve couldn't let him leave ... he needed a new plan and quickly.

Steve had lost him after Grace had called them at the playground, needing to be picked up from some event or another. Danny had never made it to her. The Camaro had been forced off the road along the way. Found upside down in that ravine, there'd been no sign of him … or his body. There were no demands. Not a single person or entity claimed responsibility. There was no active case work begging that they be more careful than usual. They had no leads. Nothing. And Steve knew that if Danny was all right, he'd have found his way home.

But he hadn't.

He wasn't all right at all. That evidence was staring back at him in the flesh. But Steve couldn't have dreamed up these current circumstances if he'd tried.

Very slowly certain facts were becoming more apparent to him, even if it were piecemeal. Someone had planned all of this out. Obviously, the accident had been no accident at all ... Danny had been intentionally spirited away ... Steve had been setup to look in all the wrong places. But then ... why was Danny still alive? Steve was about to go insane by the sheer volume of inconsistencies!

Now, days later, something had happened. Danny had been spotted. This particular sighting had quite inconceivably been on the Big Island and by local police. It made no sense from the start. How had Danny gotten from Oahu to the Big Island. Why? Who was pulling their strings? Who wanted Steve to look in all the wrong places? There had been no threats, no extortion demands. No claims of responsibility.

Nothing.

Steve had doubted that report from the Big Island. He'd scoffed when the call came in regardless of its origin. The Big Island? And Danny had actually run away from valid help? Why the hell would Danny, of all people, have run away from the police? The two officers involved had fielded Steve's battery of questions, swearing up and down that they'd seen his 5-0 Detective. They had tried to approach him but he'd panicked. Panic? Steve remembered his growing sense of disgust. Danny had run from the very people who would know him - help him - keep him safe? Bring him home?

What they had told him just the day before was beyond ludicrous.

Steve sure as hell hadn't believed the sighting nor a single word of that report until that very morning when he'd flown out to the Big Island himself. He'd rented a car to keep his profile low-key, met the police officers in question, pestered them with more questions, and then begun a search pattern of his own.

And within a few short hours, he'd been damned lucky.

Steve certainly hadn't expected to see Danny standing in the parking lot to some nondescript diner. Even rumpled, he knew Danny's lines by rote. The broad shoulders, the cocky stance. None of that could ever have been hidden - or lost. Those things which were inherently Danny's were even firmly ingrained within Steve's psyche.

Within his heart.

He'd approached him so carefully, knowing that something was terribly wrong. Nonetheless when their eyes had met, Steve hadn't expected to find a blank stare. An absolute lack of recognition, nor the depth of distrust in those familiar blue eyes. He'd made things up on the fly then, stunned that this battered, scruffy person standing across from him was really Danny. It was though. Without a doubt and he didn't dare risk losing him.

Wanting to ask what had happened, instead Steve kept his own council. Danny was skittish and suspicious. Ready to part ways in a moment's notice. Now, less than two feet away with only a table separating them, Steve studied him as closely as he dared, tears threatening as he catalogued what lay under days' worth of grime, dried blood and stubble. Happy, angry, baffled all warred inside as he clocked the bruises, abrasions, and fresh scab marring Danny's temple. The worst of the damage disappeared into his hairline where a pinkish tinge matted the dirty strands of blond hair. By the slow blink of Danny's glassy eyes, the injury was a very likely reason for the headache Steve knew he was suffering from. There was something wrong with his left arm, too. Holding the appendage closely to his body, Danny was slightly hunched and barely moving that arm at all.

Charlie. Steve shook his head in bewilderment, biting back a worried sigh. Danny looked sick, acted sick and for all intents, was broken both inside and out.

His clothes weren't even his own. Not even the sorry excuse for footwear. How the hell had this all happened? Completely in the dark, Steve ached for him. For the physical pain which Danny was in - his obvious hunger - and worse yet, Steve ached just to touch him, hold him, and to take him home.

"S'good, right?" Steve managed to say normally enough. He took a deep breath, settling his nerves when Danny glanced up and gave a skittish nod. He smiled reassuringly as he started to ask a particularly loaded question as off-handedly as possible because Danny was almost finished with his meal. Steve needed to keep some kind of positive flow going rather than quite literally handcuffing himself to his partner. Always an option ... but no, Steve shook his head at himself in disgust for even considering it. The last thing Danny needed was more trauma inflicted upon him.

"After we're done eating ... is there uh ... any place you'd like to go? I'd be happy ...," Steve started to speak when a shadow fell across their table and Danny froze instantly.

"Commander? Aren't you Commander McGarrett? I heard you made the Island this morning." He jolted badly as a male voice sounded heartily over his right shoulder, interrupting everything he was so carefully crafting in his mind. Across from him, Danny wasn't moving a muscle, both hands wrapped around his burger mid-way to his mouth. His fear was palpable and Steve reacted protectively. He'd have to apologize later, but now he had to do his best to prevent Danny from bolting.

He stood abruptly, swinging around, positioning himself firmly between his spooked partner and a young police officer whom he'd never met before.

"No, Officer. Don't be ridiculous … you're mistaken," he stated firmly, ignoring the way the younger man's jaw gaped wide in confusion. "No, I'm not."

Sweat broke out on his forehead as he did his best to not bully the young officer away from the table, if not entirely out of the diner. He tried to hurry, cover up quickly and the officer backpedaled in kind, realizing that he'd already made some horrific mistake.

But it was far too late. When Steve turned around, Danny was gone from the table. Including the remains of the burger and small cardboard of french fries. Those were gone, too. The only thing left behind was the one lone, broken slippah on the faux leather seat cushion. It would have been funny if not for the seriousness of the issue at hand. In that hairsbreadth of half a heart beat, Steve thought he'd died a thousand deaths all over again. Danny was gone.

"Shit, I'm sorry …" the officer tried to speak, but Steve shoved him away. Hard. Then he was practically stumbling over his own two feet to get to the door.

"No! Nonono! Danny!" He ran into the middle of the parking lot, the rain now ended, heated steam coming up from the wet pavement, frantically looking. Searching for any sign of a blond head, one last shout ending on a desperate sob of real pain because no one was there.

"Danny! Danny …stop!"

Injured or not, Danny had pulled off one hell of a vanishing act.

~ to be continued ~