I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.
Notes: from first hand experience, fevers play incredible tricks on the mind!
H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O
"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, buddy, 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. Thick branches of those trees closest to the house slapped angrily against the windows and clapboard siding. A shutter had torn partially loose from his second floor bedroom window and it flapped clumsily in a discordant noise, its warped hinges squeaking relentlessly while buffed by the sustained ninety-seven mile per hour winds. The storm raged on and he'd been upstairs listening to the latest NOAA reports, surprised to find Danny missing from the warm confines of the sofa. Now stunned to find him hunkered down in the kitchen, fevered and looking lost.
Things were bad outside, yet so much more had gone inexplicably sideways indoors.
"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 biggest and very sharpest which Steve kept 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 from fever, the knife firmly in hand and its blade reflecting the golden hue cast by a single lantern. His mouth was moving as if he were talking, but Steve couldn't make any sense of his repetitive, nonsensical murmurs. None of it made sense. However, Steve knew he could cope with Danny's fevered confusion, but what he couldn't deal with at that very moment was the weapon.
"Danny?" He grimaced worriedly as Danny intentionally lowered the blade. Not because he heard or recognized Steve, but because he clearly didn't. Breathing raggedly through his mouth as he aimed downwards, Danny poked the tip of the knife into the fleshy part of his palm before dragging it along his skin. Seemingly enthralled by what he was doing and oblivious to Steve's existence, he never uttered a sound as he ran the razor sharp edge along his palm, cutting deeply.
"Danny!" Steve whistled his name through clenched teeth, uncertain of what to do as his friend simply stared at the volume of blood beginning to stain his hand. As more pooled in his palm to then begin a haphazard run down his wrist, Steve raised his voice in shock, loud enough to finally get a reaction. Though scarcely a heartbeat later, Steve realized it was the wrong one as Danny's face turned to stone.
"Shit. Shit, Danny! What the hell are you doing?" Steve heard the guttural warning just as Danny paused, his head tilted to the side and his gaze finally aimed directly his way. "Calm down ... put the damned knife down, Danny! Just ... please ... talk to me. Tell me what's wrong!"
Instead of obeying, Danny edged even deeper on his haunches into the lower edge of the cabinets. Droplets of blood fell to the floor and still he didn't respond. He did nothing more than reach for the battery operated camping lantern to switch it off as if that simple act would provide him even more protection. But Steve could still see him. He could still see the defensive stance and the sparkle of the knife as his friend hefted it in his right hand. Low and staying balanced on his bare toes, Steve watched Danny finally take notice of him.
Shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, Steve similarly stayed low and somewhat distant from his partner as he tried to determine his next steps until Danny actually spoke.
"Back off," Danny ground out. His voice was wrecked by exhaustion and fever, his eyes full of anger and mistrust. "Where is he … where did you take him?"
"Who?" Steve asked carefully. "Me? Charlie? Who are you looking for Danno? Can you tell me? Can you put the knife down and just tell me what you need? Tell me who you're looking for and I'll help. I'll help you find him."
Instead of getting an understandable answer though, Steve wound up holding his breath as a gust of wind tore into the easterly side of his house. The windows rattled threateningly and upstairs, there was a startling sound of wood splintering in two. An overwhelming loud scrape and crack as the already broken shutter was ripped from its twisted hinges. The noise captured Danny's attention and he paused again, his eyes glittering in the limited light as he seemed to search Steve's face.
"It's the storm," Steve offered as explanation when Danny's face hardened even more. He paused as realization dawned about what the cacophony of sounds could appear to be as his partner stayed suspiciously on edge and guarded. "It's only the wind outside; the storm's bad now and at its height. So, Danny, give me the knife. Put that damned thing down; there's no danger. Nothing's wrong buddy."
Steve saw the sign which spelled a pending disaster a fraction too late. The cocky set of his partner's chin was the only signal which Steve belatedly read just as Danny launched himself to strike. The knife flashed through the air much faster than Steve ever anticipated and he countered the attack poorly, given no time to parry Danny's second attempt even when the pointy tip of the knife embedded itself in the doorway's molding. He thought he'd been ready for anything and then he'd greatly misjudged his partner's abilities, let alone his intent.
"God dammit. Just ... what the hell! Danny!" Steve's t-shirt was now torn from the bottom hem on a ragged diagonal which ran high to low across his abdomen and he hissed in pain from the resultant knife wound. Not nearly as long as the rent in his shirt, the slice was far from mortal yet significant enough proven by an obvious warmth which leaked persistently into the top of his jeans. There was no time though as Danny recovered some equilibrium. Forced to react, Steve grappled for the knife's hilt, both he and Danny sprawling on the kitchen floor, their hands scrambling for possession, one over the other.
Unbelievably it was Danny who maintained control with Steve nearly at the disadvantage until he simply resorted to wrapping himself around his partner's body. From there, he struggled to own Danny's wrists in order to keep the weapon literally at arm's length.
"Drop the knife," Steve ordered. "Drop it ... Danny. Drop it now." With his muscles shaking from adrenalin, Steve cursed in resentment as he tightened the bear hug he had secured around Danny's upper body. Still awkwardly at odds with each other, Danny continued to astound him by managing to maintain a death grip on the steak knife though. Steve simply couldn't get the weapon away from him. Even stricken by illness, Danny was tenacious as he channeled all his waning strength into breaking free.
"Stop," Steve shouted breathlessly as his fingers almost slipped due to the slick of blood and sweat. "Stop it and just listen to me! Danny! It's me!" Tucking him firmly into his chest, Steve took the risk at grabbing solely for Danny's dominant wrist, his fingers mercilessly digging in to tighten around the joint before brutally ramming Danny's knuckles into the floor. There was a hiss of pain but Danny refused to give in, his hold still determined and Steve cursed his luck.
"Fuck, Danny! Let go. Drop it …. drop the God-damned knife!" He demanded, his own anger and frustration getting the best of him as he was forced to hurt his partner for a second and then a third time, the knife finally falling free when Danny's nerveless fingers spasmed open. Wrapped up in his arms, Danny continued to object though, the sound of his struggle filling the kitchen until his head finally sagged down and the violent tremble of weakened muscles was all that remained.
With incredible care, Steve released Danny's wrist long enough to toss the knife high onto the kitchen table. His own hands were shaking badly and his abdomen burned from the wound he'd sustained. But then there was the issue of Danny's own self-inflicted cut and the fever which he literally could feel as its heat soaked into his own body. Using his upper arm to wipe sweat from his face, Steve looked over Danny's shoulder measuring the amount of blood on his friend's left hand and wondering what he was going to do for the both of them as the hurricane worsened to a record-breaking level of violence.
There'd be no emergency services available and he didn't dare attempt a drive to the hospital. Fever-wracked and finally quieting, Danny was more ill than either of them had imagined; more incredible to him, Steve was still stunned to the core by his own condition as his tattered shirt clung painfully to the sticky wetness of his torn skin. Everything had indeed gone sideways and for the next few hours, he had very limited options. He wasn't sure there was much he could do, but he certainly couldn't keep them both on the floor of his now blood-stained kitchen.
He chose to ignore the added strain on his side as he pulled Danny backwards into his lap. Leg's splayed wide and with only one arm wrapped around his partner, Steve hyper-extended his upper body as he reached over his head for the spare dish towel near the stove. Limp and falling under his chin, Danny followed his motions like a rag-doll, simply going along for the ride.
"Here," Steve uselessly muttered as he righted himself and repositioned Danny up against his chest. "Let me see your hand."
He propped Danny's left hand up on his knee then, not entirely relieved at all that his friend was only partially aware, eyes hooded and his gaze downcast. Steve wrapped the towel around the nasty cut, tying it tightly until he could retrieve the medical kit from the bathroom for a better dressing. He'd worry about himself later, too. Because despite their dual knife wounds, he was in a more desperate race to get Danny's high temperature down.
~ to be continued ~