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

Notes: So, so happy Cargumentluv and all you wonderful FF readers liked the first chapter ... now, on to present day. Special thanks to Swifters for an arbitrary, off the cuff, and very last minute request for a sanity check here. I'll do my best to respond to each review ... Just a tad busy of late. But I certainly appreciate each of your kind words.

H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O

Honolulu, Hawaii. Time Stamp: Late October: Current Day.

"Hey, hey, hey," Steve soothed softly, hands raised and his body in a wary half-crouch. "It's just me; it's only me … come on, D., snap out of it."

His voice was drowned out though by a loud clap of thunder and a gust of wind which rattled the house down to its very foundation. The storm raged on and was bad even for island standards, yet so much more had gone inexplicably sideways.

"Danny, it's me," Steve tried again. "Danny? It's only me. It's Steve."

He kept his hands visible the entire time he waited for his friend to either recognize him or provide him with an opening. He needed something because Danny was wide-eyed and frantic, and definitely unable to snap out of anything, a steak knife raised high in his hand. The very sharpest which Steve had in the butcher block.

He watched warily as Danny, barefoot and clad only in a pair of baggy sweatpants, backed himself into a corner of the kitchen. He wedged himself tightly there, trembling from head to toe, the knife's blade glinting the golden hue cast by the battery-powered camping lanterns. His voice shaking just as badly as his body through his repetitive, nonsensical murmurs.

"I can't … can't … ," he repeated brokenly, sweat glistening across his face, neck and chest. "I can't … stay in here ... can't breathe …. can't …"

Steve didn't need to ask about the meaning behind the ramblings; he knew. Even though Danny had never told him the truth of the how or why of it. Steve knew. He watched Danny closely. The small butterfly bandage on his temple was falling off, revealing the small but nasty, purpling abrasion. Sustained earlier that day when a rotted board had fallen away under Danny's heel as he descended below deck on old boat, the wound was really nothing … it had only bled enough to warrant a tiny bandage. Steve thought back to the boat, wondering if he'd missed something. But no, he hadn't. Danny had been nothing more than disgusted; inconvenienced by the need to return to the Camaro for their First Aid med kit. He'd been back down below deck with him less than five minutes later and bitching about that last step. Blaming the rough waters in the marina for his loss of balance. Those things ... and the stench from the decomposing body. And hell, who hadn't been? Saying what the dock master had stumbled across was bad was more than an understatement. Steve, himself, had sent two HPD officers packing before their convulsive swallows could physically worsen enough to contaminate the crime scene. They'd both vanished up the worn old steps, fleeing the opressive quarters, before he'd finished speaking.

"Danny?" Steve frowned as he gauged Danny's intentions. One hand was brandishing that damnable knife. The other hand, fingers splayed wide, was up high, too. But not to ward something or someone off, but searchingly … beseechingly. Plaintively.

It was a weird juxtaposition. Offense and defense warring as one in a face so pale, that the glassy blue of Danny's eyes stood out like beacons in the darkness of the kitchen.

Steve innately knew where Danny thought he was. Trapped in some nameless place. Somewhere small, tight and airless. He just didn't know the when, why nor how of it all and he sure as hell didn't have the time to call New Jersey. What was happening that very minute, Steve should have gently inquired about years earlier when he'd first learned of Danny's claustrophobic tendencies. His scrappy partner certainly hadn't been born afraid of small spaces. Of course not. The phobia had been created … forged by some horrific event. It had deep roots somewhere in Danny's past and Steve simply didn't have enough information. A fact he most soundly kicked himself about now because Danny was mired there in some terrifying memory and Steve didn't know how to help.

"Shit, Danny," Steve muttered as he watched the knife dip. It almost appeared as if Danny might drop it, but no ... his fingers were firm on the hilt. "Where are you right now?"

"Can't … can't …. breathe," Danny rasped out, the fingers of his free hand now clawing at his throat against some ... imagined attack? No, that seemed wrong. So maybe not an attack ... maybe just a desperate need to breathe in real air... fresh air? Steve couldn't tell which and he once again mentally kicked himself for not being able to help.

He grimaced unhappily as the hand holding the knife waved sloppily through the air. He could manage the broken words at that point - the partial sentences - and when the time was right, he'd even cope with whatever had happened so long ago, but what he couldn't deal with at that very moment was the dangerous glint of the sharp blade.

"Danny?" He nodded almost in relief as Danny intentionally lowered the blade. But that sense of relief was short-lived. In stunned surprise, Steve watched as Danny casually flipped the knife to face the palm of his hand.

"No! No! Danny!" Steve hissed as Danny erratically but determinedly poked the point into the flashy part of his palm before dragging it a short distance along his skin.

Steve heard Danny gasp as he ran the razor sharp edge along his palm, the fine steel cutting skin as if it were softened butter. He gasped at the pain he caused himself, but didn't seem to come back to center. There was still no awareness in those distant eyes. Nothing. Nothing, even when not a moment later, a tear drop of darkened moisture appeared, its red dulled by the light.

"Danny!" Steve whistled his name through clenched teeth as that welling drop of blood became a larger glistening stain, uncertain of what to do as the blade swung up again. "What the hell?"

But the blade didn't stay up this time. Without really thinking as Danny's hand finally …. finally ... truly wavered, Steve edged forward quickly, staying low and soft-kneed. Posture easy and yet ready to act. As far as he was concerned, Steve felt that he was running out of time. He knew that he had to do more than try and negotiate as a narrow trail of blood began to trickle from Danny's palm, down towards his wrist.

"Danny, give me the knife. Put that damned thing down."

Instead of answering him though, Danny suddenly blinked wildly. He coughed a ragged sound, his free hand pawing at his face, wincing when his fingers connected with the superficial cut on his temple. He shuddered then, the fingers around the knife spasming and loosening. With a stunned exhale, Danny simply slid the rest of the way down the cabinets, to sit on the floor with a soft thump. This was as close as Steve was going to get and he lunged forward to wrest the knife away. He'd more than half expected a fight or some kind of struggle, but Danny wasn't doing either of those things.

Steve easily tore the blade away to send it clattering away across the kitchen floor. Holding Danny from behind in a bear hug, Steve was incredulous as Danny virtually hung limp within his arms.

"What's got into you?" Steve murmured as he closed his eyes, bowing his head to rest his forehead on the top of Danny's hair while his spike of adrenalin continued to coarse through his system, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Steve waited Danny out right where they were, talking nonsense into Danny's hair as his friend began to mutter unintelligible pleas into the air. He'd never seen a nightmare this bad outside his military tours of duty. It certainly ranked up there with any other comparable post traumatic disorders and he chastised himself for ever daring to think about taking Danny's complaints about swimming or jogging or claustrophobia - or, really anything - so lightly.

From that moment on, he'd never have the audacity to lob a joke or jibe Danny's way ever again.

"Crap, Danno." Cautiously, Steve shifted so that he could sit more comfortably on the floor, dragging Danny along with him so that Danny sat cushioned and protected within Steve's arms and tucked up tight against his chest. "You're like ice, buddy."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Danny shivered right there. Shivered. Hard. As if he were really, truly freezing to death.

Steve frowned, shifting Danny's upper body to the side in order to get a better look at this face. But he froze in place and tightened his grip when Danny unexpectedly garbled a shout. With no recourse at all, Steve tightened his hold protectively.

"Easy, easy," Steve said. "Easy, Danno ... I got you. I got you." Danny was literally juddering in his arms, his muscles spasming as if he might be falling. He shouted a second time, the sound garbled yet fraught with a very real sense of terror. It lasted no more than a second or two, but the episode was startling nonetheless.

By now, Steve was truly at a loss.

Things had changed. Danny's eyes were tightly closed, his breathing rapid and loud, an occasional cough sounding on every other harsh exhaled rasp. As he watched, Danny gave a convulsive swallow, his upper body briefly stiffening before falling still. His hands fell lax just as his breathing quieted along with the slackening of his expression. A low confused moan emanated deeply from within his chest. By all indications, it was almost as if he was falling asleep, yet … not quite.

What the hell had just happened?

Steve frowned, unsure of what to do. In the least though, he could check the wound on Danny's hand. Letting Danny go just enough, he hyper-extended his upper body towards the countertop. He felt backwards and blindly for a towel or something he could use to wrap around Danny's palm.

When he found a mostly clean towel, Steve gently wrapped it around the wound, relieved that it was barely more than a scratch. Wondering if he might try to wake his partner or try to move him to at least a more comfortable place, Steve froze when Danny started to twitch and mumble again.

"Let me out. Please … get me out," Danny whined nearly inaudibly and Steve tiredly rocked his head back into the cabinet he leaned against. He briefly closed his own eyes with a dismal sigh because Danny still wasn't there just yet.

"Where are you in that thick head of yours, Danny?" Steve asked forlornly. "Where ... where are you, huh? Where can I find you … where are you? How can I help you, buddy?"

"Help me ... please," Danny moaned as he began to shiver in earnest, his face twisting in distress. "Cold … s'cold. I'm … cold. Please."

Then ever so softly and so, so quiet that Steve almost thought he didn't hear him quite right, Danny sobbed. "D-Dad."

~ to be continued ~