Chapter three


A/N: Thank you so very much for the positive response to this story. Angst is not for everyone so I'm especially grateful that you all seem to enjoy what I'm writing. Your reviews are a great motivation to keep going!

This said, here's part three. This is how I imagined the aftermath of the shooting and Steve's reaction to it. Hope you find it believable and true to character, I'd love to read your thoughts about it.


Danny could smell the ocean.

As he lay on the cold pavement, shivering from the blood loss, he thought there was at least one positive side to him dying so close to the water.

Eyes closed, he tried to focus past the ringing in his ears and the burning in his shoulder, to listen to what was happening outside his pain-filled reality because they had perps to catch and he needed to get up and help but he felt frozen to the ground, incapable of any movement. His breathing was coming out in short, labored gasps and he could feel blood, hot blood pouring down his shirt.

Man, it hurts…

He had been shot before, several times. It came with the job, and he had accepted the risks years ago. This time, it felt different. The foreboding sensation that had accompanied him over the last few hours had led to this very moment, a fleeting instant that would forever change both his and his partner's life. The moment Steve had pulled the trigger, and he'd taken the hit.

They were ready.

Doyle was about to go down.

Danny was supposed to either head butt the son of a bitch or duck so Steve could take him down. They'd rehearsed it before, used the trick to get out of a few other screwed-up situations, their ability to move in sync like a well-oiled machine always working on their side.

Until Fate had made them pawns of its sick game.

A movement coming from behind had startled them all, prompting Doyle to turn towards its source just as Steve discharged his weapon. Danny had stared into his friend's terrified eyes as the grip around his neck tightened and his body was forced to follow along the other man's movement into the bullet's path. And as the unmistakable sound of a shot being fired had filled the air, he'd braced himself for the inevitable fall he thought would follow as his crazy-ass partner's deadly aim took Doyle out of commission.

But that never happened.

He remembered Steve calling out his name, and marveling at the fear lacing his voice. Then came the impact, the searing heat in his right shoulder, and the shock that flooded him as his body twisted in response. He'd felt his legs give out and the air blow out of his lungs. Mouth agape with disbelief, he had fallen to the ground as if in slow motion. And then it hit him. The pain. Like someone had stuck him with a hot poker and was holding it there, twisting it over and over.

I've been shot

I've been fucking shot

Steve shot me…

Danny had closed his eyes then, willing the thought out, and focused back on the reassuring smell of the ocean.


They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes.

But sometimes dying is not just physical, and as the mind tricks itself into shutting down every basic function, images and memories elude its control and come up to the surface.

'Do the job. Now! Do the job!'

'My job is not leaving anybody behind!'

'You won't. Look at me, I'm not going anywhere. Don't let this be for nothing.'

The instant the bullet had torn into Danny, something inside Steve had broken, irreparably changing the man he'd been right until then and reshaping him into a colder, hollow version of it. And with a sick, twisted irony, his muddled brain had taken him back to the day he'd lost another brother, to that camp in North Korea where he had witnessed another body get riddled with bullets.

Only this time it was a hundred times worse. Freddie had been wounded by the enemy, and he'd only been guilty of abandoning him.

But Danny… This was the mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

'Steven, I need you to do something for me. All right? Listen to me.'

'No, no, no, no, no… What are you talking about, man?'

'Listen to me! One day… tell my daughter… you tell my daughter that daddy loved her. Promise me. Promise me!'

'I promise. All right, I promise.'

'Now go. Hooyah, brother.'

Lips parted in wordless surprise, rifle hanging loosely from its strap, he doubled over as if a knife had been embedded in his gut, cutting off his abilities to breathe, reason, move.

"Danny…" The desperate plea was barely louder than a whisper, too low to be heard over the drum-loud thud of his heart and the blood pounding in his ears.

This is not happening…

Not again…

"Commander McGarrett?"

Junior came running out of his hiding spot, panting in quick, shallow breaths, eyes darting worriedly between Danny's still form and Steve's pale, sweaty skin. Eyes glazed over, his boss didn't seem to even acknowledge his presence, lost in a world of devastation and self-loathing that was rooting him to the spot. He had never seen such a stricken, panicked look on anyone before, especially someone as strong and confident as the Five-0 leader, and it crushed him to have been the one causing it.

"Commander…" he tried again, moving closer.

He had screwed up. Big time. If his Master Chief could see him now, he'd rip him a new one. And rightfully so. He had broken one of the basic rules of any operation and revealed his position to the enemy, triggering a chain of events that had ended with Detective Williams falling victim to friendly fire.

He would take the blame and accept whatever punishment they deemed appropriate but right now a man's life was hanging in the balance, and it was up to them to save him. He needed to get through Commander McGarrett, and he needed to do it fast.

Holstering his weapon, he dropped to his knees beside Danny and tried to assess his condition. A steady flow of blood was coming out of a wound just below his collarbone, and Junior's eyes widened in panic at the realization of what might've caused it.

"McGarrett! I need your help! NOW!" he called out as he used both hands to apply pressure.

Steve was still frozen in disbelief, unable to process what had just happened.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move…

Insert, snatch up Anton Hesse, exfil the area…

Insert, execute Doyle, secure Danny…

Memories of old and recent past kept mixing in his head for what felt like an eternity but was in reality only a few seconds of time. Two brothers, two fathers, two of the most important people in his life had been put in danger because of decisions he'd made. There was no way he was ever going to forgive himself.

A voice suddenly cut through the haze, the urgency in it jolting him out of his trance. He looked around with wild, unfocused eyes until his gaze came to rest on… Junior, crouched next to Danny, both hands on his friend's chest.

Junior…

"Don't touch him!" The words flew out of Steve's mouth before his conscious brain could stop them. Discarding the rifle on a crate nearby as if the thought of holding that weapon even a minute longer repulsed him, he stepped over Doyle's dead body without giving it a second glance and rushed to his partner's side.

"I said do NOT touch him!" His voice was cold and emotionless, his eyes mean. Junior had screwed up. And his mistake had gotten Danny shot. "Step away from him," he ordered in his best commanding tone.

If Junior was surprised or hurt by the outburst, he didn't show it. "Sir," he tried. "I'm keeping pressure on the wound. I don't think it's a good idea…"

Sirens could be heard outside the warehouse. Their backup had arrived. Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the burn of tears as he kneeled next to his unconscious friend and took in the damage.

Blood… so much blood… blood all over…

Oh, God…

Junior hadn't messed up. He had.

"I'll take over," he blurted out. "Go get the paramedics."

The young man reluctantly eased his hands off the detective's shoulder and got to his feet. "I', uh… I'm sorry, sir. I'm really sorry."

Steve didn't answer him and leaped into action instead, pressing his own hands firmly over the wound.

Assess the wound

Apply pressure

As long as he had tasks to perform, he had a purpose. And if he had a purpose, he could focus all his attention on it and ignore everything else.

"Danny? Danny, can you hear me?" A stream of bright red blood flowed steadily from the bullet hole, spraying his vest, his arms, pooling all around them. And Danny was pale… so pale…

Keep pressure

Stop the bleeding

"Danny? Talk to me, buddy…" Calling all his military first aid training and experience in the field, Steve tried to locate the source of the bleeding and pressed even harder, eliciting a moan of surprise and pain from his friend and rousing him from his trauma-induced sleep. "Hey… hey, you with me?"

Pale blue eyes opened and blinked rapidly as Danny slowly rolled his head towards the voice and tried to focus on the blurred image above of him, groaning weakly. His breaths were painful and terribly short, and even the basic task of keeping his eyes open felt like a challenge. But what he would remember for the rest of his life was the horrifying feeling of his own blood pouring out of his body.

"St-Steve?"

"It's me, buddy. You're alright. I got you, it's alright."

Danny didn't want to die. Not today. Not here, on this unwelcoming ground. Not at the hands of his partner. It was just so unfair… Dying in itself didn't scare him. What did was the thought of simply ceasing to exist, of Death shutting off the light of his existence and him being swallowed by blackness, disappearing into nothingness.

His mouth was thick, as if stuffed with cotton wool. He stirred slightly, moaning softly as a shiver coursed through his body. "H-hurts…"

What was left of Steve's heart shattered into a million pieces. "I know it does, I know it does…" He could feel his partner trembling in pain, and the frightening amount of blood oozing out of the wound with every heartbeat meant the bullet had most likely nicked an artery. Muscles straining under the effort of keeping a steady pressure, he tried to reassure him as best as he could. "Danny? Look at me. You're going to be alright, you hear me?"

Please hold on

Please don't die

Danny sucked in a breath and fixed his bleary gaze on the blood seeping through Steve's fingers. Everything was red. His shirt, his friend's hands. Too much red. "'s— bad, isn't it?"

Steve lowered his head, the tears he couldn't stop flowing freely down his cheeks, mixing with the blood. "I'm sorry, man…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry…" He wished he could turn back time, change history, take his place. Anything that would spare him the agony of having to live through this terrible moment, witnessing the pain he was causing, feeling the life flowing out of his friend's body. "Where are the damn paramedics?" he shouted in frustration, his voice echoing loudly inside the now silent warehouse.

"'nough with… an-an'rysm f-face," Danny slurred softly. His vision had started to blur, and he knew he was going to pass out soon. But before he did, there was something he needed to say. Trying to breathe through the pain, he flapped weakly at Steve's hands. "'s okay."

No, it's not.

Not even close.

Bright, red blood was still gushing between his fingers, spreading into Danny's white shirt and quickly darkening into a brownish hue, and he could feel the broken bone shift under his touch, its edges grating against each other. Everything was not okay. Steve pressed harder, his panic mounting with every second. "Hold still, buddy, I gotta stop this bleeding."

"N-not 'ur fault…"

The ex-SEAL bit down hard on his lips and looked up, closing his eyes in a futile attempt to stop more tears from spilling over. "Yes, it is. I'm so sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I didn't—I thought I had the shot."

Vision graying at the edges, Danny reached out his hand and wrapped his fingers around Steve's wrists, his grip surprisingly strong as he tried to get through to his stubborn friend. "Not y-your f-fault, St-Steve," he repeated, staring straight into the other man's eyes. "A'ight?"

Steve shook his head. "Shhh… don't talk, save your strength…" Guilt had already wrapped itself around him, ravaging his soul, and no one was ever going to convince him otherwise.

Danny nodded. He was tired… so tired. Images of Grace and Charlie flashed in his mind and a sad smile appeared on his face. He loved them so much… "T-tell Grace 'n Ch-Charlie—"

Barely able to see through the tears, Steve realized his partner was fading fast and silently wished the damned paramedics would hurry the hell up. No amount of training could've ever prepared him for the soul-tearing hopelessness of seeing the life ebb from... wait, was that a smile on Danny's face? No, no, no, no… Danny was not giving up! Cold fear rippled through his gut as he shook his head and leaned closer. "Don't— you hear me? You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine… Hang in there, help is almost here…"

Glassy eyes stared at him. "'sokay, Steve." The world was a blur of white and Danny couldn't tell what was going on around him anymore. He just wanted to sleep, give in to that pain-free oblivion that was luring him.

So he did.

He gave in.

Steve's panic flared again when his partner's lids closed. "Hey, no sleeping!" he urged, "Stay with me, buddy… you have to hold on a little longer, okay?"

But Danny didn't hear him. Head slumped to the side, he lost his battle and sank into unconsciousness.

"Danny? Danny! Don't do this… please don't do this…"

I'm sorry… I'm sorry…

Please don't die…

He heard a sharp intake of air behind him and turned to see Duke Lukela, hand on his mouth, a shocked look on his face. The seasoned Sergeant had witnessed several friends and fellow officers get hurt on the job and immediately recognized the seriousness of the situation, although the distraught look on the Commander's face told him there was much more to what he was seeing.

"What happened, Steve?"

Steve's arms were quivering in exertion and his heart seemed to be beating a thousand beats per second. "He's…he's bad, Duke," he breathed out. "I-I can't stop the blood…"

He's bleeding to death…

Somebody please help me!

"Paramedics are here," Lukela said, moving aside to let them through. When McGarrett didn't move, he put both hands on the other man's shoulders, gentle but firm, and helped him to his feet. "Come on, let them do their job."

"We got him, Commander," one of the EMTs reassured him. "We're going to take good care of him."

Steve heaved in a strangled breath. The smell of cordite and blood in the air was making him nauseous and he felt suddenly lightheaded, unsteady. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't take his eyes off his partner's still form as the paramedics tore his bloody shirt open and started to stabilize him for transport. Panting harshly, he watched with wide eyes as they checked his airways and breathing, flashed a penlight into his eyes, and applied a pressure dressing to the wound. "Come on, Danny, fight… you can do this…"

He tried to take a step forward but his legs felt like jelly, and it was only Duke's strong grip that saved him from falling to the ground.

"Steve, why don't you sit down?"

"I can't. I have to make sure…" his voice trailed off as he turned his head slightly, avoiding eye contact. "He can't die, Duke. I can't be responsible for this…"

The Sergeant's brow furrowed. His gut instinct had been right once again. "Steve? Tell me what happened."

McGarrett took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "Doyle was holding Danny hostage. He moved as I fired, put him in the line of fire." He told him straight on, like a soldier, his voice eerily calm as he dug his fingers into his palms until his own blood mixed with Danny's, the pain helping him focus.

Lukela's eyes widened. Friendly fire? Of all the scenarios he had imagined, this was definitely the worst. As he searched his mind for something to say, two more paramedics rushed in. One of them took in Steve's bloodied appearance and stopped to check on him. "Sir, you need help?"

He shook his head. "No, it's… it's not my blood."

"Over here, guys! We need extra hands to stabilize him!"

The four emergency workers gathered around Danny's body, working with efficiency and practiced ease.

"What do we have?"

"Single GSW to the upper right shoulder with significant blood loss. Looks like it broke his collarbone and nicked the subclavian artery. Patient's in hypovolemic shock, BP's 80 over 40, pulse is weak and thready." The rest of their conversation was lost to Steve. He stood there, both mesmerized and immobilized by shock, knowing that he had to move or say something and understanding at the same time that those simple acts were currently beyond his control.

Duke stood at his side, the hand on his shoulder a comforting gesture and an anchor to hold on to.

A few minutes later, the EMTs had Danny stabilized and secured to a gurney, and were getting ready to transport him to the hospital.

"Commander, we're ready to go. Jeff, advise Queen's to get the trauma team ready."

Steve's hooded blue eyes fixed on the pool of blood staining the pavement. "Tripler. Take him to Tripler," he said flatly, only the bob of his Adam's apple giving his emotions away. "It's closer, and they know how to treat wounds like this."

The EMT nodded. "Let's go, we don't have much time. Davis, take the wheel. Kahele, you're with me." He turned to look at Steve as he hoisted one of the medical bags on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to ask you to meet us at the hospital. I need help monitoring Detective Williams' conditions, and I'm afraid there's not enough space for you in the back."

"I'll drive him," Lukela offered. "We'll be right behind."

For the first time in eight years, Steve didn't argue. He didn't fight, didn't complain. He just accepted it. His gaze faltered, dropping away as his arms went limp at his sides. It was probably better this way. He'd already caused Danny enough suffering.

He followed them out of the warehouse and into the rainy afternoon, ignoring the stares of the HPD officers standing by. "Hang in there, buddy… hang in there…" he whispered as they pushed the gurney into the waiting ambulance.

Junior watched the scene intently from a safe distance. He could see the emotions stirring beneath his superior's thin façade of calm. Fear, shock, pain, they were all there: in his eyes, the slight tremor of his lips, and the way he kept his arms crossed tight as if holding himself, keeping his hands from shaking. He wanted to reach out and offer support but knew it was not his place to do so, and hoped the other members of Five-0 could give McGarrett the strength he so desperately needed.

One of the paramedics hopped out and closed the doors. "See you there," he said as he slid into the driver's seat. Within seconds, the bus sped away, tires screeching over the slick asphalt, leaving Steve behind to stare after its taillights and flashers until they blurred out of focus, feeling like a piece of him had been ripped out and life as he knew it was no longer within his grasp.

Suddenly he was breathing all wrong, beginning to gasp like there wasn't enough oxygen in the air. Blood-stained, trembling fingers frantically reached for the vest, trying to unhook it. The damn thing was suffocating him. He needed to take it off.

Spots started to dance around his vision as his heart picked up speed again, throwing him into full panic, and the world began to spin.

Sounds that were near felt far away, like he was no longer there.

Danny was hurt.

He had shot him, and he couldn't breathe…

The scene replayed itself in vivid colors, all his fears spinning unchecked through his frazzled brain as his breathing became more rapid, more shallow.

Make it stop… please make it stop…

God, Danny, I'm sorry…

His knees buckled beneath him and he started to sink to the ground, his body dropping like a heavy stone.

Junior, who was still keeping an eye on him while helping HPD escort the three men they'd arrested on the first floor of the warehouse to their cruisers, noticed the distress on his boss' face, recognized the onset of a panic attack, and immediately got Duke's attention.

For the second time strong hands grabbed him, breaking the fall. In one quick move, the vest was unhooked and discarded and they lowered him to the ground so he could ride the attack out without serious consequences.

Steve McGarrett, the invincible SEAL, was not a machine after all.

He was all too human.

And he was falling apart.

"Sir? You're fine, Sir. You're safe…Take a deep breath, we're here to help." Perched on one knee, Junior was supporting Steve's weight with his own body while Lukela did his best to comfort him.

"Steve? Steve, it's alright. Breathe… it's alright…"

Head bowed, eyes tightly shut, Steve strained to inflate his lungs and focus on his friends' words, trying hard to push the image of Danny bleeding to death on a cold floor away and make his mind work just enough to get him to the hospital.

"Slow breaths, Sir… Nice and slow… In through your nose, out through the mouth."

Straightening up, he wrapped one arm around his chest and drew in a breath of air. The rush of oxygen felt good on his overexerted lungs, and the fog that had clouded his brain started to clear.

"I'm alright," he said after a few more breaths, trying to get up.

Duke was quick to stop his weak attempt at rising to his feet. "Stay still. Give it another minute."

Steve shook his head. "I'm alright… I'm okay," he repeated, knowing full well that he wasn't convincing anyone, least of all himself. So he took Lukela's advice and waited.

As the rushing in his ears gradually subsided and his heartbeat lowered to a normal rhythm, he lifted an arm that felt too heavy to be his own and wiped the mix of tears and rain from his face. "I'm sorry," he apologized, embarrassed for the public breakdown. He was supposed to be the strong one, the leader.

"No need, Sir. We all get it."

"Danny's a fighter, he's going to be alright," Duke added, the confidence in his voice warming Steve's heart. There was no judgement, only support in their eyes.

"Thanks," he whispered, grateful for the affection they were showing him despite what he'd done.

Danny's a fighter.

He's going to be alright.

If only he could believe that.

TBC