"I expected you to be happier about the stitches coming out," Danny remarked. They were in the middle of a car chase, but he figured Steve could multi-task.
"I am happy, Danny," Steve said, deftly maneuvering the Camaro through oncoming traffic. "Can we just shoot the tires out and be done with it?"
"Not in a residential section, Steve, remember what the Governor said?"
"'The next time I have to replace a citizen's car door, it's coming out of your paycheck'," Steve quoted morosely. "Yeah, yeah."
"So why the hamster face?" Danny persisted. "I mean, come on, you don't even have to take time off to go to the clinic anymore, now that you've got your own personal little surgeon living in the house."
"She's a medic, Danny, not a surgeon," Steve said, wincing a bit as he maybe sort of felt a serious ding on the undercarriage. Danny apparently hadn't noticed. Sometimes the arguments were a good distraction for him.
"Still, this is your idea of a romantic evening, I have no doubt. What sort of wine do you pair with removing each other's stitches? I think red would be a bit too obvious." Danny was smirking.
"We're clear of the residential section," Steve said, "Now, can we please shoot this idiot's tires out?"
"When you tell me why you're in a mood," Danny said, crossing his arms resolutely.
"Danny," Steve protested loudly. Danny set his jaw, like he had all day. Steve sighed. "Okay, okay. I have Reserves training this weekend. I had hoped to, you know, plan a nice weekend trip for Jax for when our stitches came out . . . don't look at me that way, Danny, it's been four weeks of caution and strategy and limits-"
"Stop, please just stop and let me shoot something," Danny said, his eyes mildly panicked.
"You asked," Steve groused.
Danny pulled his gun and rolled down the window. "I asked why you were looking like someone had confiscated your flash grenades, I did not ask for . . . wherever you were going with that explanation. Get me close enough and hold the car steady, for crying out loud."
As it turned out, Jax was content with a Longboard for Operation Stitches Removal.
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go see Malia for yours?" Steve asked. "You have that follow-up for your concussion tomorrow, right? She could do it then."
"Would you hold still, please? My appointment is in radiology or something, we'd have to make a trek over to a different floor for stitches . . . not worth it. I'm trying to fit this in on my lunch hour. You've taken out my stitches before; you getting chicken-shit on me now, sailor?" Jax deftly removed the row of stitches on Steve's shoulder. The incision had healed remarkably well, considering that he barely acknowledged the situation.
Steve squirmed a bit. The pulling of the stitches didn't hurt, exactly, but it felt weird.
"Okay, all set. Wow, that barely scarred. The kid did a good job," Jax said, as she pulled out the last stitch. Her deft fingers gently smoothed some antibiotic cream over the now-closed wound, just to be safe. "My turn. Where do you want me?"
Steve smirked. He no longer had to smack his brain into submission at that question.
"For taking your stitches out? Hop up on the counter." Steve wrapped his hands easily around her hips and boosted her up onto the counter, and pulled a stool up, putting him at the perfect level for taking the stitches out of her side. He swallowed hard. This was so much easier on his fellow SEALs.
"Steve," Jax said, running her fingers through his hair gently. "Why is this bugging you? You took the stitches out on my hip, and over my eye. Why now?"
He shrugged. "Things are just different now, Jax. This was . . . God, when we were up on the roof of Tripler and I looked down and saw that wood sticking out of you . . . I was terrified. And I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you."
She framed his face with her small hands and kissed him gently. "You want me to do it?"
"No way," he protested. "It would be too awkward of an angle, you'd hurt yourself. I've got it." He began the painstaking process of cutting and removing the stitches, one at a time. Jax flinched once or twice when a stubborn stitch pulled on the tender skin of her side, but smiled at Steve each time.
"You're fine, it's not hurting," she assured him.
"I'm sorry I have to leave this weekend," he said, working his way to the end of the row.
She shrugged. "It's your Reserves weekend; I understand," she said. "I'm just glad they let you skip last month, what with Chin being in the hospital and everything. You're sure you don't mind Kono coming over?"
"It's absolutely fine, Jax . . . this is your home, remember? You're not a guest here. We unpacked all five of your boxes and everything," he teased.
As he concentrated on the last several stitches, his mind drifted back to the Monday after the shootout at the pier. Chin was still in the hospital, Five-O had been placed in stand-down position, and Jax was on medical leave from HPD. Perfect timing for the five Fed Ex boxes to arrive, containing most of Jax's life from New York. One box contained a French press, a set of amazing knives, and a high end skillet and saucepan; two boxes of simple clothing - cargo pants, boots, and t-shirts; one box of tactical gear (there'd been an extended break in packing after Jax had absently slipped on her fingerless tac gloves and Steve's brain had short-circuited); and one box of books and random items from undercover operations. All in all, it had only taken an hour to integrate her life into his, and by the time Danny showed up with pizza and beer for "moving day, it's what friends do", they were finished.
Steve gently pulled out the final stitch. "There, all set," he said, smoothing an analgesic cream over the wound. His fingers traced over the old scars from her 9/11 injury; the three scars ran close together.
Jax sighed. "This wouldn't have mattered much in New York, but here . . . " she trailed off. "Half the island lives in bikinis. I'll frighten the tourists," she said jokingly, but Steve recognized the insecurity as she chewed her lower lip.
He brushed his thumb over her lip, and then slid his hand along her jaw to tangle in her curls, tilting her head to kiss her soundly.
"Trust me, no one is looking at the scars," he said, his other hand still tracing over them gently.
"Kono's bringing me some special cream this weekend; she swears it does an amazing job," Jax said. "She's going to teach me to surf. I think this is actually the first weekend since I've been on the island that I have no stitches."
Steve groaned. Didn't he know it.
"You're sure you don't mind her staying here?" Jax was asking, once again biting on her lower lip. As adorable as it was, Steve hated the indication of insecurity and uncertainty it represented.
"This. Is. Your. Home." Steve said, punctuating each word with a gentle kiss.
"Have fun, you know, blowing shit up," Jax mumbled sleepily. It was still dark outside, but she'd wandered out to see Steve off for his reserve weekend. "Stop apologizing for going. It's part of who you are, Steve. And I really like the Navy working uniform."
He laughed and tousled her hair, then bent and kissed her again. "Yeah, you like it?" He asked.
"Hmm. I'll show you how much when you get back," she promised.
He waved at her one more time at the end of the driveway, grinning at the sight of her on his porch, in his Coronado t-shirt, clutching a coffee cup. Reserve weekends were often bittersweet for him; reminding him of what he'd given up when he'd left active duty as a SEAL and taken on the task force. Glancing in his rearview mirror one last time, he felt entirely confident about his decision for the first time since his dad's funeral.
"Let the girls' weekend commence!" Kono cheered, as she came in the door on Friday evening. "Oh, my gosh, what is that smell?"
"Shrimp scampi," Jax yelled from the kitchen. "You're just in time, come on in."
Kono entered the kitchen as Jax plated up the pasta and shrimp. "I thought we'd eat on the lanai," Jax said, nodding her head out the door, where a bottle of wine with glasses and silverware were waiting.
"This is almost as fun as taking down a stalker," Kono said around a mouthful of shrimp. "How do you and Steve not weigh a ton? Work off the calories?"
Jax blushed furiously while Kono collapsed in gales of laughter. "It's all good, Jax. We're happy for you. Although, when Steve comes into work in the morning humming, Danny gets this strangled look on his face."
"Poor Danny," Jax laughed.
"He's happy, you know," Kono said. "Steve. When Five-O first started, he was many things: focused, intense, driven, bat-shit crazy. Maybe even content, sometimes, when he felt like we did a good job. But his eyes had this empty, sad . . . it's still there, but not as much. And now, lots of times, his eyes are happy."
Jax ducked her head shyly. "I'm sure there are lots of reasons for that," she said, "he loves Five-O. He loves the work. And you guys . . . you're his family."
"Yours too," Kono said. "Which means . . . it's time to teach you to surf. You ready?"
"Definitely," Jax answered. "No stitches, concussion is healing . . . bring it on."
The next morning was perfect; just enough of a breeze to give the gentle waves on Steve's beach a little kick. Kono declared Jax a natural for surfing . . . something about a low center of gravity, which Jax was pretty sure was a nice way of saying she was short.
Kono and Jax were taking a break, relaxing in the chairs, when they heard Chin's voice behind them.
"Kono? Jax?"
They turned, surprised to see Chin and Grover standing on the beach. Chin was still on crutches and had made his way awkwardly to them, Grover walking soberly alongside. Kono grabbed her phone, looking at it in confusion.
"Cuz, why didn't you call? Do we have a case?" she asked, standing up and grabbing a towel.
"Captain?" Jax asked. Her heart sank. She could only think of one reason that Chin and Grover would come, in person, to find her and Kono. "Is it Danny or Steve?" she asked quietly. "How bad?"
Kono grabbed Jax's hand.
"Steve is okay," Chin said quickly, "but there was an accident this morning during the reserves training. There was an explosion on one of the small cutters. Several sailors are missing; they were part of Steve's team. He's on the dive team."
"Rescue?" Kono asked.
Chin shook his head. "No, at this point we're looking at recovery. But they could use more divers. Are you up for it?"
Kono nodded. "I have gear in the car. Give me five minutes." She immediately jogged toward the house, Chin following slowly on his crutches.
Grover looked at Jax. "They're short-handed; asked if HPD SWAT could bring a medic team in. I figured you'd want to come. But if it's too close, I understand."
"No, I'm good," Jax said. "Give me five, I'll be out right behind Kono."
They all rode to the scene in grim silence. Chin sent Danny a quick text, but assured him that his time with Gracie shouldn't be interrupted . . . there sadly wasn't anything he could do. Five-O wouldn't even be investigating; it was a Navy situation. Jax gave Kono's hand a quick squeeze before she disappeared to suit up and join the divers.
The sun had set by the time the sobering recovery operation was finished. Jax's HPD medic crew had helped provide coffee and warm blankets as the divers rotated in and out, and treated a few minor cuts and abrasions. Kono had appeared at the truck twice, but Steve had refused to leave the water until the call was made that everything possible had been recovered and the operation was over.
Jax saw Chin handing off a set of keys to Grover. They exchanged a few quiet words, and Jax watched as Grover wrapped Kono, exhausted and dripping, in a blanket. She and Chin walked slowly toward Grover's SUV, as Grover turned back toward Jax.
"You get him home safe, okay? I'll get someone else to cover your shift tomorrow." Grover said, handing Jax the keys to Steve's Silverado, which had obviously been parked in a rush, the toolbox still open where he had grabbed his gear.
Jax curled up on the driver seat and waited. She leaned her head against the headrest, watching as Steve helped the other divers out of their gear. He took the time to speak to each of them; she could tell he was thanking them for their help, looking strong, in control . . . every bit the commander.
As the last diver left and the last piece of wreckage was neatly packaged and hauled away, Steve was left standing alone on the beach. His shoulders dropped, he looked . . . lost. Jax grabbed a blanket and made her way the short distance to him. As she reached him, he squared his shoulders again, until she reached up and cupped his face in her hand.
"Don't," she whispered, wrapping the blanket around him. "Not for me, you don't need to."
His arms went around her waist, and she braced her feet shoulder width apart as he leaned and nestled his head in the crook of her neck.
"Where do you need to go?" she asked quietly, rubbing her fingers through his damp hair. "Do you need to be on the base?"
He shook his head. "No," he said, his voice hoarse with fatigue and emotion. "We've all been cleared to return home."
"Okay, then," Jax said, wrapping an arm around his waist and gently guiding him toward the truck. He woodenly placed one foot in front of the other, his muscles shaking from over-exertion.
He automatically went to the driver's side and reached for the keys, but didn't protest when Jax shook her head and kept steering him toward the passenger side. They rode home in silence, and Jax wasn't surprised to find that Steve had drifted off to sleep by the time she parked the truck in the driveway.
"Steve," she said softly, rubbing his shoulder.
He startled awake. "Yeah," he rasped, rubbing his hands over his face, frowning when he realized his hands were shaking.
Jax reached for him, her hands wrapping around his, strong and steady. Her thumbs traced over his knuckles, bruised and bloody despite the diving gloves.
"Come inside," she said, quietly. She waited for him at the front of the truck, watched as he slowly unfolded himself from the front seat. Her arm went around his waist and he almost-but-not-quite let himself lean on her as they made their way up the walk and into the house.
Jax wordlessly guided him up the stairs and turned the shower on, switching on just a couple of soft lamps in the bedroom and on the landing, and just the single light over the bathroom sink. She gave him a gentle shove and he was seated on the bed, his eyes following her silently as she untied his boots and tugged them off. When she was done, she stepped between his knees and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him against her.
"Get warmed up, I'll be right back," she murmured in his ear. He moved on autopilot toward the shower, shedding his damp clothes. Jax put out a fresh towel, and his softest gym shorts, before going down to the kitchen.
She returned with two mugs of steaming coffee, placing the one with the generous splash of bourbon on Steve's bedside table, and dropping the first aid kit on the dresser. When he emerged from the shower, his color looked a bit better, and his hands were no longer shaking. He even managed a smile at the sight of Jax in his Annapolis t-shirt, but it was fleeting, and as he met her steady gaze he gave up the pretense of control.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the comforting scent, and fisting his hands in the fabric of her t-shirt.
"My God, Jax . . . " he whispered brokenly, as he allowed her to lead him to the bed and once again push him down gently.
"Here," she said, pressing the coffee into his hands. He looked at it skeptically, and then inhaled the aroma of bourbon and took an appreciative sip.
Jax expertly maneuvered him so that he was sitting propped up against the headboard. He wasn't entirely sure how she was managing to so easily arrange his six plus feet of dead weight, but he wasn't complaining. She grabbed the kit and joined him on the bed, sitting cross-legged in the middle.
"How many?" she asked, her voice quiet, as she began her mission of gently applying analgesic cream to the cuts and scrapes scattered over his body.
"Three," he answered. "I'll have to write letters . . . no, I should call. Should I call? Their families? Or a letter. I don't . . . "
"It's okay, you'll think about that tomorrow, okay? You don't have to decide that right now," she said, applying a couple of steri-strips to a particularly nasty cut.
"Yeah . . . yeah, okay," he said, his voice completely wrecked with emotion.
"Did you know them well?" she asked, taking one of his hand in hers and tenderly applying cream to his battered knuckles.
He nodded, setting his coffee aside and reaching for her. She dropped the tube of cream to the side and allowed him to pull her into his lap, wrapping her arms around him as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. She traced her hands softly over his shoulders.
"I have no idea what happened," he said brokenly, his lips brushing against her neck as he spoke. "They're experts, their training is impeccable . . . it had to be mechanical error, that's the only explanation . . . there was no warning, everything was going fine and then . . . there was just this massive . . . I don't know what happened . . . "
"Steve, I'm so sorry," she murmured, rubbing soothing circles on his scalp. "Sometimes, it doesn't matter . . . you can do everything perfectly, absolutely everything. And you can't stop it; you can't stop it from happening."
She felt him nod against her, his arms holding her desperately, as if she was the only solid and sure thing between him and drowning. As she felt his breathing start to level out, she carefully extricated herself from his grip and once again somehow managed to easily shift his large frame until he was under the covers, half asleep from exhaustion. He reached for her and she curled into him.
"This isn't at all what I had in mind for this weekend," he mumbled, tracing his thumb over her cheek. "I wanted to take you somewhere . . . this isn't a life for you, Jax . . . "
"Shh," she said, pressing her finger against his mouth. "I chose this life. I chose SWAT, and HPD, and Hawaii, and you. I choose all of it, okay?"
He drifted off, his hand curled around her hip, tracing the familiar scar even in his sleep.
When Danny stopped by late the next morning, bearing steaming cups of coffee and a box from the bakery, he found the two of them sitting at Steve's desk. Jax smiled at him tiredly over the rims of her glasses. She had dark circles under her eyes that rivaled Steve's, but there was a look of peace on both of their faces as Steve sealed the last of three envelopes.