It was hard to tell if it was the beeping that woke him up, or the weird sort of feeling on his leg that fell somewhere between throbbing pain and pressure. He figured it probably had to be the pressure, because it seemed safe to say the beeping had been going on for a while.

When he tried to sit up to see what it was, though, he found that he couldn't. The sharp pain in his chest when he even thought about moving notwithstanding – because honestly, that probably wouldn't have stopped him – there was a different sort of pressure on his left shoulder that was keeping him down.

"Good morning, Steven. I'm Malana, your nurse for this shift. It's good to see you awake."

Steve turned his head to see an older woman looking at him with a warm, almost motherly smile. She was pulling the blanket back over his leg, so it seemed safe to say she had something to do with his leg hurting…besides, well, the bullet he vaguely remembered tearing through his thigh.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, coming up to stand closer to the head of his bed. As she spoke, she went about her business, checking the monitors and all sorts of other fun stuff that Steve's foggy mind just wouldn't let him keep up with.

He was guessing they had him on the good stuff, which he wasn't exactly psyched about. But then, he figured he would probably a lot more than sore right then if they didn't, so it was hard to be too frustrated with it.

So, in answer to Malana's question, he gave a one-sided shrug. He really was gonna have to figure out what the deal was with his other shoulder. And why, for some reason, he kept smelling his own soap. "Can't complain," he said. He nearly winced at the sound of his own voice; his throat felt like he'd been gargling razorblades.

Malana seemed to notice. "They had to intubate you for surgery," she explained. "Your throat's gonna be a little bit sore for a little while. How about an ice chip?"

Steve could've groaned.

"Oh, don't look so put out," Malana tutted. "We just want to make sure you tolerated the anesthesia okay. It says on your records that you've had a little trouble with it in the past, and believe you me, sweetheart, throwing up with broken ribs wouldn't exactly be a swim in the ocean. We'll make sure you can keep this down, then we go to water, and come afternoon, you might even be on clears. And who knows what the evening could bring?" She smiled and patted his shoulder, and despite everything, Steve couldn't help smiling back.

As much as he disliked what she was saying, he kind of liked the way she said it. She was to-the-point, and if it didn't hurt so much, he probably would've chuckled at a few of the things she'd said.

"You're lucky, you know," she said out of the blue, and when Steve arched an eyebrow – miraculously, one of the only parts of him that didn't hurt – she nodded towards the other side of the bed.

Finally, Steve worked up the energy to turn his head, and was greeted with a sight that made everything else somehow seem less important.

Danny was sitting in a chair beside his bed, asleep. Suddenly, the weight on his shoulder made a lot more sense: Danny was only sleeping on it. He had his arms folded across the bed, a magazine – American Girl, the cover said; Steve would tuck that little nugget away to tease Danny with later – still rolled up in his hands. His head had slumped sideways onto Steve's shoulder, and judging by the gel-free appearance of his hair and the fact that he was not wearing the same clothes Steve remembered him in that morning…erm…the morning before, it seemed safe to assume the soap smell was coming from his partner.

As to why it was his soap…well, he didn't have any idea. But he also didn't have any complaints.

"Your pain pump is right there," said Malana, holding up a little remote for him to see. "Just goose this button here if you notice it starting to get worse. It's best to stay ahead of it, too; don't let it sneak up on you." She had a knowing look on her face as she said it, too. It was like an older, more female, less haole version of Danny's patented 'don't do that stupid thing I know you're gonna do anyway' look.

It was actually uncanny.

"Press the call button if you need anything. The doctor will be by around six to check on you."

Steve flashed Malana his most charming smile. "Looking forward to it."

"I'm sure you are." Malana's eyes twinkled with amusement before wandering over to the slumbering mass of mainlander. "He's been here the whole time," she said. "Convinced the director to let him stay the night, Pele only knows how. Although, between you and me," she leaned in, cupping her hand to her mouth conspiratorially, "I heard there guns involved." The smile on her face and the wink strongly suggested that she was kidding, but sometimes, Steve did wonder. "You're a lucky man, Steven McGarrett." And with that, she took her leave.

As soon as she was gone, Steve let his head fall back against the pillow, turning enough so that he could see Danny's sleeping head again. "Yeah," he said to no one in particular, "I am."

Granted, he was a lucky man with a head swimming with narcotics and a body full of dull aches. And now that he thought about it, there was something in his nose: something hard and plastic-feeling, and he could feel it pushing air against his already-dry throat.

Ignoring the pinch of the IV in the back of his right hand, Steve reached up to try to remedy the situation.

"Touch that cannula, and I will beat you with a rolled up magazine."

Steve's hand froze in place, and he rolled his head once again to see Danny's apparently-no-longer-sleeping face staring back at him. His partner had sat up a little bit, though his elbows still rested on the side of the bed.

As fuzzy as his head was – because, Christ, it felt like someone had scooped out his brain and stuffed his skull with feathers – he still had the acuity to take in the bags under Danny's bloodshot eyes and the thicker-than-usual scruff on his face.

He frowned. "You look like shit, Danno," he deadpanned.

Danny sat up a little straighter at that. "Me?" he said, his voice that delightful mix of incredulous and amused, gesturing to his own chest. "I'm the one that looks like shit?"

"You do look pretty rough."

"Do I, now? Well, that's rich coming from the guy in the hospital bed."

Steve was actually a little sad to see Danny's face soften. Maybe it spoke to some deeply-seeded – or maybe not so deeply-seeded – masochism, but he always loved his and Danny's little rows. Especially times like this. Helped get his mind off things – helped him ignore the steadily-mounting pain in his leg and the heaviness in his chest.

Seeing the concern in Danny's eyes, though, the haggard look on his face and all the little things – the redness of his bottom lip from where he'd been chewing it, the crinkled edge of the magazine where he'd been picking at it – that told him Danny'd been worrying about him…it made it all kind of hard to ignore.

"How're you feeling, babe?"

Steve pulled that smile from before back out and dusted it off, hoping that it wouldn't look as out of place with the rest of him as it felt. "I'll live."

He knew as soon as he heard Danny chuckle that that hadn't been the right answer.

"Yes," Danny said, nodding. "Yes, you will definitely live."

Steve was listening intently. See, the voice Danny was using right then was the one that Steve had identified as his 'fuse' voice. It was all calm, maybe a little hissy, but he knew that it was really just a matter of time before shit blew up.

In other words: proceed with caution.

"If only so that I, myself, personally, can kill you later."

And there it was. Although, it was really more of an incendiary grenade than, say, a pineapple grenade – and yes, that was a pun, and yes, the morphine probably made it funnier than it really was – more for burning than blowing up.

Still, that didn't mean there couldn't be a secondary charge.

"Danno—"

Danny held up a hand. "Don't, Steven," he said. "Just…don't."

"You're mad at me." It wasn't a question.

"Oh, you picked up on that, did you? Great detective skills there, Super SEAL."

Steve took another step in the mine field. "Can I ask why you're mad at me?"

"Why do you think?" Danny retorted.

"Well, Danno, I obviously don't know, or else I wouldn't—" his breath hitched when he tried to sit up a little bit, and his ribs seized up in violent protest, "—wouldn't be asking."

He half expected Danny to start reading him the riot act, but instead, his face softened again, and he stood up. For a second, there was the briefest flash of irrational, inexplicable fear that Danny had just had it and was gonna leave.

But then, Danny sighed and put a hand on his shoulder, easing as much as pushing him back to the bed. "What're you doing, you idiot?" he asked, and damned if his voice wasn't the most worn-out, dog-tired sound Steve had ever heard.

It was enough that Steve didn't even try to put up a fight – not that he could've given Danny much of one, in the shape he was in – and just let himself be pushed back.

"You could've gotten yourself killed," Danny said. "It was bad enough rushing in like that, but you were already hurt."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Wasn't that—" Danny seemed to catch himself before he ripped Steve a new one. He brought a hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting the way he always did when he couldn't decide just what emotion he felt more of. He seemed to settle on one, though, and with a sigh, he took his hand away from his face and sank down onto the side of Steve's bed. "Three broken ribs, a concussion…a shit ton of cuts and bruises…and none of that gave you pause? None of that made you stop and think, oh, I don't know, 'maybe I should tell someone that I'm beat to hell before I go gallivanting off to another shootout'?"

"Danno, I—"

"But no. You've got to be the Super SEAL, because God forbid you actually tell someone when you're in pain. God forbid you actually let someone help you when you need it."

"Danny—"

"You're like…you're like a wave, Steve."

Shit, he was getting metaphorical. Steve was always screwed when he got metaphorical.

In a normal argument, that would be about the time Steve found some sort of excuse to…well, being perfectly honest, that would've been when he ran off with his tail tucked between his legs. Sure, he'd find a more graceful, tactical way to do it – cases were usually great for that – but essentially, it was a full-fucking-retreat. Fall back and get out while the going was good, because an angry Danny was, in his professional opinion, more terrifying than an entire army of armed-to-the-teeth guerrilla terrorists.

Unfortunately, the bullet wound in his leg kind of limited his escape options. He guessed, if worst came to worst, he could roll out of bed and low-crawl his way out of the hospital room, but something told him Danny would probably catch him before he made it very far. And that was assuming he didn't just pass out first.

Nope, it seemed like he was just going to have to grit his teeth and bear it.

"Are you listening?"

Steve snapped out of his little mental tangent. One problem with drugs: they tended to let his mind wander. He didn't like it.

Forcing his train wreck of a thought process back on track, he made his eyes focus on Danny's very stern-looking face and tried to make his match it while he nodded.

Danny's frown just deepened, but he went on anyway. "It's like you're always rushing in and falling back at all the wrong times. You're happy as a clam," great, Steve thought, a metaphor within a metaphor; now he knew he was screwed, "running headlong into bad situations like you don't even realize it's a monumentally bad idea, but then with us, with me, you're always pulling away. You'll put your life on the line, but the second it comes time for you to trust someone, you practically run screaming in the opposite direction."

If he hadn't felt so woozy, Steve probably would've blushed. As it was, he tried to say something – damn it, anything – to take away some of the hurt in his partner's blue eyes. He opened his mouth, but before he could get anything out—

"You wanna know the problem with big waves, though, Steve?" Danny said. "The problem with them is eventually, waves break. And one of these days, you're gonna go rushing into something, and one day—" Danny's voice caught, his baby blues shining, and damned if that didn't hurt more than any broken ribs ever could. "And one day, you're gonna crash, and the thought of that happening…" Danny didn't finish the sentence; he didn't have to.

As he watched Danny wipe his face, felt his fingers tighten around his shoulder like he was afraid to let him go, Steve realized something.

"I'm an idiot."

There was a moment of silence, but then, a smile broke out on Danny's face. It was a little bit at odds with the moisture in his eyes, but Steve would take almost anything at that point.

"Oh," Danny said. "You're just now figuring that out, are you?"

Normally, that would be where Steve came back with some sort of smartass retort. As had already been established, though, this just wasn't a normal day. Besides, the morphine was kind of putting a damper on his wit, and honestly, he was just too tired.

So, instead, he just reached up, cupped a hand to the back of Danny's head, and leaned up to kiss him.

That was the plan, anyway. He made it about halfway before the bandages and the broken ribs made the joint decision he would go no further, and he caught with a wince.

Danny, for his part, took it well. With a fond, if exasperated smile, he reached a hand to Steve's other shoulder and helped him lay back on the pillows. "Alright, alright, you big lug."

"That—that went smoother…in my head," Steve ground out, but by the time his back hit the mattress, he was actually chuckling a little bit.

"That's it," Danny said. "You…you, my friend, are one-hundred percent certifiable. I'm officially having you committed."

Steve chuckled a little more, even though it hurt like a bitch to do it. "Do they do conjugal in the loony bin? How does that—how does that work?" He tried to keep a straight face, but it lasted all of about three seconds. Something else he was going to blame on the painkillers.

"You're assuming I'd want to come see you," was Danny's retort.

"I assume." He tried to sit up a little straighter, but that kind of bit him in the ass. He bit back a groan and dug his head back into the pillow.

When he opened his eyes again – he didn't actually remember closing them – Danny was looking down at him with furrowed brows and worry in his eyes. "Hurting pretty bad, huh, babe?"

"I—"

"Before you answer me, remember: magazine."

"—have been better," Steve finished lamely.

Danny rolled his eyes a little. "I'll bet you have," he said, and before Steve could protest, he'd reached across him to grab the pain pump.

"Danno….."

"Nuh uh, Super SEAL. We're doing things my way for a little while. Don't like it, you can file a complaint." He punctuated the statement with a press of the button on the remote, and silenced Steve's indignant objection with a kiss. "Just humor me, okay, babe?" he said. He put the remote back, and reached for Steve's cheek instead, brushing his gun-callused fingers through his short hair.

That, Steve thought, was better than any painkiller – just having Danny there, having him smiling. The steady brush of his fingers was soothing, and despite the ache in his leg and chest, he found himself relaxing back into the pillows.

"Emma and her family send their best, by the way," Danny said. His voice was softer than before, lower and more even. "The world is safe; you can relax."

Steve prized open a single eye to peer at Danny. "Are you trying to put me to sleep?"

"Trying? Oh no, babe. Succeeding. I am succeeding in putting you to sleep."

Part of Steve wanted to argue. The other part, however, decided Danny was right and promptly closed his eye.

"Cooperative's a good color on you, Steve. You should try it more often."

He should've been indignant, but it was really hard with Danny's fingers carding through his hair. "Mhh…don't count on it."

"Of course not," he heard Danny say, but it already sounded a little far off, a little distant. He was starting to get that warm fuzziness, and strangely, he found he didn't mind. The girl was safe, Danny was safe…mission accomplished, as far as he was concerned. "Go ahead and take yourself a nap, babe. You earned it."

What could Steve say? He aimed to please.