Chapter ten

A/N: This is it, guys. The chapter you've been waiting for. Steve and Danny are finally reunited. Hope I did it justice, and as usual I'd love to hear your thoughts about it.

Medical disclaimer once again applies here. And I still don't own anything. Too bad, I know.

There will be an epilogue next week to tie up all the loose ends.

Danny Williams didn't believe in sixth sense and premonitions.

His matter-of-fact, New Jersey attitude had always ruled them out as deranged theories born out of superstition and irrational popular beliefs.

But when it came to his partner he had developed a special awareness from years of witnessing him turn even the most mundane task into a life-or-death situation, and could pinpoint with absolute certainty the moment one of Steve's plans took a turn for the worse even from miles away.

That sense of dread had woken him up in a cold sweat about an hour after Grover had left, gripping his heart in a vise.

He'd sat up in bed, heart thumping against his ribs, and pushed the call button, instructing the nurse that came to check on him to please give him his phone. Immediately. When she politely denied his request on the premise that no devices were allowed in the ICU, he'd angrily demanded that she get in contact with Captain Grover from the Five-0 task force for a matter of the utmost urgency, and that they transfer him to a regular room so he could call who he pleased.

She had nodded and quickly scurried away, only to come back ten minutes later to tell him that the Captain was unable to speak to him at the moment but would update him as soon as he could.

That had all but confirmed his fears.

Danny had scrubbed at his face with his good hand.

And began to wait.

For Lou to get back to him while every possible worst-case scenario ran through his head, through five excruciating hours of emergency surgery to get news on his partner's conditions, and even more hours as the stubborn Neanderthal refused to wake up.

He had asked about his liver, learning that the organ hadn't been affected by the path of the bullet that had nicked Steve's colon and retroperitoneal area instead. The wound to his thigh was a through and through and had been easily repaired without consequences. Sighing in relief, Danny had thanked God for small favors.

The nerve grafting procedure he was scheduled for had been postponed indefinitely. Despite the doctor's concerns that the more they waited, the less viable his damaged nerves would be, there was just no way he was going under the knife until he was sure Steve was awake and on his way to recovery.

They had upgraded his condition and allowed the transfer to a regular room, but now it was Steve who needed to be monitored in the ICU, so Danny had insisted to stay. Doctor Cornett eventually agreed to it, more for the peace of mind of the hospital staff and the rest of the patients on the floor, Danny suspected, but he really didn't care.

What he cared about, the only thing that bothered him, was the fact that Steve was still unresponsive after a whole day. They had explained that his partner's general conditions were already debilitated before the shooting, that he hadn't taken care of himself with sufficient hours of sleep and regular meals in over a week. He was simply exhausted, and his body had shut down to repair itself.

His own injuries forgotten, Danny had begun his vigil. At first though the glass of his cubicle, and then in a wheelchair he'd commandeered to sit at his friend's bedside.

At the 25-hour mark, the Jersey detective was ready to explode.

"Now would be a really good time to wake up, Steven," he urged the still form on the bed, shifting to find a more comfortable position. If there ever was one. "I've been patient enough, but this is getting ridiculous. I guess it's all or nothing with you, huh?"

He watched his friend's chest rise and fall, his gaze traveling to the white bandage covering the abdominal scar from the transplant that'd had to be reopened for the exploratory laparotomy. The man just couldn't seem to get a break.

The thought that Steve had done all this by himself to atone for what he believed was the wrong he'd caused made Danny sick to his stomach. Steve always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders but this time he'd brought guilt to a whole new level.

Lou had told him that the last words he'd uttered before losing consciousness had been for him, that he wanted to see him to tell him something.

Danny didn't need to guess.

He already knew what that was.

And he was going to shake some sense into him, once and for all.

Steve felt the pain before he even realized to be awake.

He vaguely remembered waking up in the recovery room after surgery, and someone telling him that everything was going to be okay. He must've been on the good stuff back then because now, every part of his body hurt. His chest felt tight, preventing him from breathing properly. A throbbing had settled in around his abdomen, pulsing in tune with his heartbeat and a monitor beeping somewhere to his left. The ache in his leg was dull but there, almost like a burning sensation, and the pounding in his head… that was the worst of it all.

As he slowly crawled his way back to full consciousness, he tried to sort through his disjointed thoughts and the images flashing through his mind.

A bathtub full of blood…

A car exploding…

Someone laughing…

Dead eyes staring at him…

An involuntary shift in position sent sharp flares of agony through his body and he breathed out a soft moan.

"Steve?"

The familiar voice broke through the haze and he latched onto it, turning his head in its direction. "Danny…" he croaked as he tried to open his eyes. The left one opened without much energy, the right felt swollen and lifted to a mere slit. The light, albeit dim, assaulted his pupils and it took some effort to focus on the blurry shape in front of him.

"Yeah, buddy. Right here."

He licked his lips, blinking a few times. He couldn't place the expression on the other man's face.

Was it fear?

"Hey, you with me?"

And then he remembered.

His heart sank in his chest and he willed his eyes shut again, turning his head away. He must be hallucinating. The man sitting at his bedside couldn't be Danny. Danny was in a hospital bed of his own and he hated him.

"Steve? You in pain?" The concern in his friend's tone was like a stab to the heart. He shook his head, wincing when the movement triggered a bout of nausea.

"Talk to me, what's wrong?"

Steve's breath hitched.

Everything.

Everything was wrong.

He'd shot his best friend.

"Wh-why are you… here?" he asked when he finally dared to meet his gaze, genuinely surprised to see him there.

Why was he worried?

Why did he still care?

Danny saw confusion reflected back at him and knew it wasn't just the pain medication messing with his partner's thinking. "Yeah, buddy, I'm glad to see you too." He covered Steve's hand with his own, taking in the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the rigid jawline. "Why am I here, he asks… Let's see, why am I here…'cause I got a few choices of words for you, but I decided to wait until you get better." His try for levity sounded forced even to his own ears, the smile he tried to plaster on his face not quite reaching his eyes. "What'd you do, huh? What were you thinking?"

His eyes were unnaturally bright, the emotions cracking his voice crystal-clear even for Steve's drug-addled mind. The former SEAL's gaze landed on the swath holding his friend's arm against his body and he immediately looked away as guilt settled once again on his already throbbing chest.

"I needed to make things right."

The answer, so meaningful and yet so simple, didn't get the reaction he had imagined. Danny straightened up in his wheelchair and held out his good arm in a warning gesture.

"Don't. Don't do that. Don't you dare."

"Danny, I…"

"Stop. Just… stop. I know how that head of yours work so let me be clear on something. What happened to me is not your fault."

"No, listen—" Steve attempted to sit up in bed and immediately regretted it when pain slashed across his abdomen. The room started to spin and he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped his lips.

Danny leapt from his chair, ignoring his own discomfort at the movement. "Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing? Lay down, you idiot!" Unable to help him properly with only one functioning hand, he placed it on his friend's neck and gently guided him back against the pillow. "You've got a concussion and a few nice stitches on that thick skull of yours — not to mention the laundry list of other injuries. Don't move."

He looked at the monitors he'd become an expert in reading and breathed in relief, noticing that Steve's vital signs were still steady. "Look at me. Steve? Look at me. You had no choice. It was a screwed-up situation. One that could've ended a lot worse than it did." He paused, ducking his head down and forcing himself into Steve's personal space to make sure he'd listen before continuing. "I don't blame you at all. And if you knew me like you always say you do you'd know I would never do that. None of this is your fault so all this guilt, this self-hatred… that's you, man. That's not me."

Steve reached for his partner's hand and squeezed it, forcing him to listen. "Please, I need… let me say this. I never meant to hurt you, Danny. I hate what happened to you and… whatever role I played in it. I hope you can forgive me."

The ache he was feeling had nothing to do with the injuries he'd sustained, and Danny's expression was a mirror of the same emotions tearing through him.

"You scared the crap out of me," the Jersey native admitted, tightening his own grip.

"I'm sorry. I, uh… I just wanted to fix things."

Danny felt a fierce pride at his friend's loyalty and the lengths he'd been willing to go for him. It had been a close call though, too close a call for him to appreciate the gesture. Ten more minutes and Steve would've bled out on a cold, unfamiliar floor in Sand Island. He couldn't get past that. "And you decided that going on a suicide mission alone would make me feel better?"

Steve was silent for a moment – a long moment that made Danny wonder if he'd even heard him. It was hard to get the words out through the lump in his throat and the sedatives still coursing through his veins but he knew he needed to let it all out if he wanted a chance at patching up their friendship. "I was there when you woke up. I, uh… overheard the doctor say nerve damage was a possibility and— I saw the fear on your face and I just couldn't..." His voice broke and he cleared his throat. "So I thought if I… if I took out the men responsible for it that I could at least face you without hating myself for it."

A tear fell down his cheek. He didn't hide it. Danny had seen him at his worst, he knew he wouldn't judge him. "I've lost too many people in my life. People I cared about. And when I thought I'd lost you too... That—that hurt more than any bullet. I couldn't… Not you."

Danny reached for Steve's wrist again. "You won't," he said in a determined tone. "You're stuck with me for good. But the last thing I need is your death on my conscience, alright? That would kill me. So don't do that to me ever again."

Steve nodded.

"I'll be alright," he continued as they locked eyes. "But I can't do it alone so I'm gonna need your help, not your guilt or your pity. That's all I need. My best friend having my back. Even when I start complaining or say stupid things. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah," Steve whispered.

Something was creeping back into his life, something he thought he'd lost.

Hope.

Maybe he still had a family.

"Yeah, I can."

"Good. That's good."

Silence settled comfortably around them for a moment as Steve's breathing evened out and Danny settled back into his wheelchair. They were both bone-tired and in dire need of rest and yet they felt relieved beyond measure to be alive and in the same room after everything they'd suffered.

There were things Steve still wanted to ask: how Danny felt, what was the doctor's word on his injury, if he would ever be able to come back to work, but he could barely keep his eyes open so he decided to ask the only important question on his mind.

"So are we… are we alright?"

Danny smiled. And this time, it was a real smile. "We are. But next time, if you're gonna do something stupid, you wait for me. We'll do it together, alright?"

"Alright," he said as his eyes slid close, a faint smirk curling his own mouth.

Another minute passed.

"Danny?"

"Yes, Steven."

"Promise me you'll arrest anyone who comes within two feet of me with a needle."

"I will. Get some sleep, SuperSEAL."

TBC