Okay, so here's stage 2. Thank you for all reviews; I am trying to reply to them all but they mean a lot, so thanks for taking the time to leave them. I've left in the line breaks, which is sending my OCD crazy because it isn't all neatly set out...Ooops!

I've had a good day today, and I'm fairly certain I know where I want to take this story now.

This is based on a personal experience with grief, so I'm sorry if it's not what people expect and Steve seems out of character - grief can do that to you! But I'm hoping he'll be getting back to normal by the end of the story...

Enjoy! :)

The 7 stages of grief

Stage 2

Pain and Guilt

Steve watches Danny's body, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with each whoosh of the ventilator forcing air into his lungs. His face is pale, almost as white as the sheets covering his still form, his lips dry and cracked, blue veins prominent below closed lids. Steve runs a calloused hand over his face, rough with stubble, and up through hair that's in need of a trim, then brings it back down to rub at sore, red eyes. He shifts slightly in the hard, plastic visitors chair that he's occupied for the past five days, tries to get more comfortable. His spare hand squeezes the cold, motionless hand he's been holding more often than not, willing, praying, that he'd just squeeze back. He stares at the bandage covering the majority of Danny's head, marked with 'NO BONE' in black marker, then lets his eyes fall to the yellowing bruise poking out from under the cover and spreading around Danny's left eye, and down to the blood stained gown covering the entrance site of a central hickman line, allowing several drugs to be administered at once.

The monitors connected to Danny don't tell Steve much, because he's not a doctor or nurse, and besides the extremely low blood pressure and inconsistent pulse, he's not entirely sure what the other numbers mean, only that the doctor's and nurses come in and shake their head when they see they haven't changed.

Steve sighs, stretches out his stiff back and struggles to compress the yawn. He's so tired, exhausted. He can't remember the last time he slept, really slept; because every time he closes his eyes, he's plagued with nightmares and memories. There is no reprieve from the mistake he's made that's cost Danny more than he could ever imagine. He leans forward, rests his head down on the bed next to Danny's thigh, keeps hold of Danny's hand, and dares to close his eyes, just for a second.

"Danny?" Steve shook the detective lightly by the shoulders of his tac. vest. "Danny!" He held his breath, waiting for his partner to open his eyes, to start complaining about how much his head hurt, and how Steve would have to give him a whole days pay tomorrow when he stays home to recover. Nothing happened, and a new panic started to rise in Steve's chest. He leant forward, turned his face to feel shallow, wispy breathes against his cheek whilst fingers sought a pulse in the neck. Relieved to have found one, he pulls his phone from his pocked, dialled 911 and pressed the cold plastic to his ear.

"911, what's your emergency?" A calm, collected voice answered. Steve quickly rattled off his badge number, identifying himself, shouted 'officer down' and gave his location. After a promise of an ambulance being two minutes out and HPD backup less than a minute, he ended the call and dropped the phone by Danny's shoulder. He does a quick mental check of Danny's body; torso and vest untouched, limbs intact, head...red. There's so much blood, Steve isn't sure if it's a fatal wound or not; head wounds bled a lot regardless of severity. He glanced over the body one more time, eyes settled on the gun still in Danny's hand. Without hesitation he pulled it from the slack hold, flicked the safety back on and pushed it into the waistband on his cargo pants, then holstered his own at his hip.

His hands shook; from fear or adrenaline he wasn't sure.

Steve yanked his vest off, followed by his outer shirt, not bothering to undo the buttons, and scrunched it up. He pressed it against Danny's head, the left side in general because there was so much blood he couldn't pinpoint one specific area, heaved when he felt skull crunch below his hand, and eased on the pressure a little.

"Steve?" A familiar voice, but Steve can't concentrate on it, because Danny's there, right there, and he needs to save him.

He felt relieved to see the familiar white and blue van turn up, the medic jumping from the passenger side before it's even stopped.

"What do we have, Commander?" The paramedic, Jon, asked as he dropped to his knees by Danny's side, opposite Steve. Steve moved his eyes from the saturated fabric in his hand to the man before him, blinked against the blurring vision, struggled to find the right words. "Commander?" Jon prompted again as he dropped the medical bag that was tossed over his shoulder and the other medic crouched down next to Steve.

"Right." Steve nodded, shock muddling his brain. "He's been hit. I tried to stop the bleeding, but...uh..."

"You're doing great, sweetheart." The female medic, Amy, smiled encouragingly. "Can I take a look?" She asked as she placed her hand over Steve's bloody one.

"There's a lot of blood." Steve warned, because he needed her to understand, and part of him is unsure if he can face seeing it again.

"That's okay." Amy nodded, her voice soothing, as she squeezed Steve's hand a little. "I need to see." Steve nodded stiffly as Amy moved his hand and the shirt herself, and Steve's quickly aware of red, lot's of red, shouting and nausea. Then Danny's being lifted onto the stretcher, loaded into the ambulance and Steve's close behind because he just can't leave him, the scene being left in the capable hands of HPD. Amy attached wires from the heart monitor to Danny's chest, put a catheter into the back of his hand to administer saline, and then they're moving; too fast for Steve's liking, not fast enough for Amy's.

"Steve? Wake up."

Steve wakes with a start, his forehead glistening with sweat, his breathing heavy. It takes a second for him to register his surroundings, get his bearings, and then the same overwhelming urge to break down crashes into him again. He's so absorbed in holding it together, he doesn't realise Chin is standing to the right of him until he speaks.

"Steve, are you okay?" Chin asks and, daring to peel his eyes away from his partner, looks up at Chin but doesn't really see him. One curt nod and then his attention is back on Danny. He squeezes his clammy hand once, but still, there's no response. "You should go and get some coffee." Chin continues to suggest, and Steve shakes his head slightly, too busy watching for signs of life. He doesn't stir until he feels the light pressure of a hand on his shoulder, then he traces his eyes from the tips of fingers, up a tanned arm, to set his eyes on his friend's face.

"Go and get a coffee." Chin tells him this time. Steve blinks, isn't even sure if he has enough energy to get up from the chair and walk down to the cafeteria on the next floor down. "I'll stay with him." Chin nods to Danny. Steve nods once, puts everything he has into pushing himself up, and his knees shake. Chin reaches out to steady him, but he holds his hand out to stop him. He pulls in a lungful of air, closes his eyes against the fatigue induced dizziness, until he's sure that his core has centred itself. When he opens his eyes, he sees Chin watching him, concerned, so he tries to smile; a sign meant to ease him, but he's sure it's more of a grimace. Without speaking another word, he forces one heavy foot forward, then when he doesn't stumble and fall, he pushes his other in front, and before he can change his mind and chicken out, he's left Danny's room, left Danny, for only the second time in five days, and is heading down the hallway.

His mind is numb, and he isn't really sure how he's moving, because if he really let himself think about it, think about where he was and why, he knows he'd collapse on the floor. He ignores the sympathetic glimpses of nurses, tear streaked faces of relatives of other patients, the dead eyes of the accepting ones. He pushes forward, his breath catching in his throat, because dammit, he knows where he is and any attempt at trying to forget, trying to pretend, is feeble and he just can't. He stops at a trash can, leans over it and dry heaves three, maybe four, times. Grey spots cloud his vision, and he can't breathe because it should be him. He should be here, and not Danny, because dammit, if Danny hadn't been such a fucking Labrador, he'd have taken the bullet instead. He breathes through the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him, the sobs that threaten to strangle him, and when he notices eyes of too many people watching him, he pushes away from the trash can and heads for the elevator at the end of the hall.

When the doors ping open, it takes a second for Steve to register the face he's looking at. She doesn't smile at him; her brow furrows, eyes narrow, lips contort. And then, when relief hits him so hard it winds him, she's at his side, arm wrapping around his waist and steadying him against her.

"Coffee?" Kono asks, and Steve nods, allows her to lead him into the elevator, almost misses the warmth of her body as she rests him against the rails so she can press the button. "You look rough, Boss." Steve doesn't know how to respond, doesn't know if he can, and just attempts to lift his mouth into something that might resemble a smile, but it doesn't stay long. He's relieved to see her – it's been over a year – but a part of him resents that she's had to come. Because if Kono is here, that means that Chin's called her home, and he promised not to do that unless a family member or a team member...

Oh God. Danny.

Steve grips the railing hard, his knuckles turn white, and he takes deep breaths through his nose as he fights the attack of nausea again.

"You okay, Boss?" Kono asks, placing one hand on the middle of his back, the other on his arm, ready to take his weight if she needs to. "Steve?" When he doesn't answer.

The bile recedes, stops clawing at his restricting throat, and the need to collapse, give in, break down, subsides slightly, and he straightens up a little. A soft nod yes, eyes still fixed on the floor, because he doesn't want to look at her, look into more eyes that scream accusation; the same accusation he'd spent five days, sixteen hours and forty eight minutes torturing himself with; It should have been him.

He sits at a table in front of the window whilst Kono deals with the barrister at the counter, because he needs something to look at other than her. His attention is held by two boys, teenagers, playing with a football on the green by the car lot. One has a blue cast covering his hand and forearm, and seems to be arguing with the taller, older kid who has the ball. Steve wonders if Danny and Matthew ever played, or argued over, a football. Or at least a football game. And then he feels guilty, because he still hasn't made the phone call to Danny's family, and not because he wants to keep it from them, but because Danny is his family, Ohana, too, and he wants to keep Danny alive, Danny as Danny, for just a little longer, spare them from the pain of having a part of their world ripped away. And then an invisible blow to the gut as he remembers that it should have been him, and oh God, right now, he wishes it was.

The doctors were already there when the ambulance came to stop outside the ER department. The doors were yanked open from the outside, and then Amy pushed past Steve, jumped out of the van so she could pull the stretcher out. Jon is there within a second or two, guiding the stretcher so she can climb back on top of Danny and resume compressions. Then they were on the move, crashing through double doors, as Jon relayed information to the waiting medical staff.

"This is Detective Williams, 36 years old, GSW to the left lateral of the head. KO'd on arrival, pulse was weak and thready, respiratory rate of 3, so proceeded with CPAP. Patient was unresponsive, switched to tracheal intubation on board ambo. Vitals ran at 56/39 for BP before flat lining at sixteen thirty three, Amy's been doing chest compressions since but has been unsuccessful at regaining cardiac function." Jon ran off as they jogged along the corridor, the doctor holding on to the gurney absorbing as much information as possible.

"How long ago was he shot?" The Doctor asked the medic, who hastily checked the time on his watch, before turning to look at Steve, covered in blood, following them. "You stay here!" He ordered him, before they disappeared behind another set of double doors.

Steve blinks past tears blurring his vision, his attention brought back to present as a cup of coffee, black, is put on the table in front of him. He looks up as Kono takes the seat opposite him, a coffee in her own hands. Neither say anything, neither need to, and right now Steve doesn't know where his voice is or if he ever wants to find it again.

"I missed the sun." Kono breaks the silence, closing her eyes and turning her face towards the window, smiles lightly as the Hawaiian rays warm her skin. "It's not the same in Canada." She explains, and when she doesn't get any sort of reply, she looks back at her boss. "How are you?" After a moment of studying him. Steve looks away, back out the window, and searches for the two boys. They're gone, not there, and he wonders who won the fight over the ball. "Chin told me what happened. You should have called sooner. I would have come sooner." She carries on when he doesn't answer her. "You can't blame yourself, Steve."

Steve looks back at her, really looks, and notices she wears more years than her age. Her eyes are deep and knowledgeable, having seen more crap than anyone should have to in a lifetime. Her brow seems to be furrowed permanently, set with months of worry and emotional trauma. Her mouth still smiles, but it's not the same, doesn't spread as wide and it never reaches her eyes. He doesn't miss how she self consciously angles herself towards the exit, months of being on the run setting habits Steve doesn't wish to think about.

"It's good to see you." She continues, before reaching across the table and pushing the coffee closer to Steve. "Drink up before it gets cold." She takes a sip from her own cup, screws her nose up in distaste. "It's not Starbucks, that's for sure." Steve mimics her, but doesn't really taste it as the hot liquid passes over his tongue and down his dry throat. He hadn't realised how thirsty, hungry, he was until the cup is empty and Kono is staring at him, disbelief masking her face.

"Another?" She offers, pushing her own towards him. He shakes his head no, but she smiles and edges it closer still, so he caves in and downs hers too. She leans back in the seat, folds her arms across her chest, resumes studying him. He feels a little uncomfortable, but that doesn't matter, because he figures he deserves that accusing glare to be on him. He peers into the empty cup, grief and regret overwhelming him. He'd messed up, he gets that, and there's no way to fix this. He'd let Danny down, hadn't listened to him, had trusted his SEAL training over his partner, and now he's here, losing his best friend, brother, and he has no one but himself to blame. "It's not your fault." She says, barely above a whisper, strangled with grief, and when Steve eventually looks up to meet her eyes, they're filled with tears threatening to spill over. "He was a cop through and through. He'd have done the same." Steve shakes his head, because he wouldn't have done the same, because he was Danno; he would have done things by the book, he would have waited. "Did they catch the guy that..uh..." She clears her throat against thick emotion, and Steve looks down, giving her all the answer she needs. "That's okay, because I'm back now, so we'll catch him." Sounding a little more determined. "Right, Boss?"

He just doesn't have it in him to lie to her, so he doesn't respond, continues to stare into the empty coffee cup.

They head back to the ICU in silence, Steve's hands buried in his pants pockets – not cargo because he'd sworn never to wear another pair unless Danny himself gives him permission – eyes fixed on the floor and shoulders hunched. He can feel Kono's presence next to him, doesn't argue when she laces her arm through his and holds tight. It's too easy to forget that she hasn't seen Danny yet, that this is all new to her, and Steve feels regret again. She shouldn't be here, should be in Canada with Adam, but no, McGarrett had to be McGarrett and get their friend put in ICU. A shot of pain shoots through his chest, because he blames himself and always will. He'd thrown away everything; Danny's life, future with Grace, hope of love and happiness. He should have waited.

The world around him is a buzz of people talking, sobbing, machines beeping and whirring, ventilators wooshing and shooping and he can't breathe again. His feet falter, his legs shake and before he has chance to stop himself, or care, he's falling to his knees, his chest compressing and restricting, air struggling to enter his body. He wheezes, grabs his throat, wonders if this is justice. His head pounds, his vision blurs and grey spots pass before him.

"Breathe, Steve." A voice, somewhere seemingly far away, speaks. "With me, in and out. Nice and slow." The voice continues, and he can feel something, someone, lifting his chin with warm fingers. His eyes find her, looking into those deep browns, tries to focus on the words leaving her lips. "In." A deep inhale. "And out." She breathes out slowly. "In." Another deep inhale. "And out." Steve tries to copy her, in and out, pulls the thick air into his lungs, forces it past his throat, tries not to give in to the panic trying to shove itself to the surface. Slowly, it gets easier. "There you go." She smiles as his breathing returns to normal. "Better?"

Steve nods, and his attention is pulled to a flashing light behind Kono, and nurses rushing towards a familiar door. Kono looks confused for a split of a second, and then follows Steve's line of sight, witnesses the same thing. "Come on." She says, pulling herself to her feet, and then Steve, before towing him, running, to the room Steve had moved into over the past few days.

Nothing makes sense. Chin is standing back, arms crossed, when he should be fighting them off of him, off of Danny. Steve doesn't understand, the buzz around him is chaotic, and people are there, pulling and poking at Danny, his Danny, and it's not right. When one of the nurses pulls the ventilator pipe from the intubation tube, and then removes the tube itself, anger stirs in Steve and he lurches forward. He's not ready, not yet. Danny can't breathe without that.

Danny can't breathe.