A/N: Caught whatever bug is going around. Not how I planned on spending the long weekend. Ugh. Hope everyone else out there had a good Thanksgiving!

The only person Steve could see clearly was a frightened young man, the ambulance driver, bound and kneeling in the grass at the edge of the shadows. A black gloved hand rested on his shoulder and a gun was pressed to his head.

For Steve, the meaning was clear:

Surrender or he dies.

So Steve surrendered.

…

He dropped the scalpel to the floor of the truck. Outside, one of the men stepped out of the shadows. Waving his gun, he gestured for Steve kneel.

The ambulance bay was covered in broken glass and Steve could feel it cutting his bare feet and knees as he slowly lowered himself to the floor. Following the man's movements, he then raised his hands and placed them behind his head, sliding his fingers together. Steve could only make out two men in the darkness outside- based on his knowledge of Russian wet work teams, the getaway driver and a sniper were the most likely suspects.

"Where is it?" the man growled savagely, moving toward him. "Where is the drive?"

"It's not here," Steve answered truthfully.

"I asked where it is, not where it isn't," the man spat. "You tell me the location, or this nice boy dies."

The man holding the driver gave him a little shake and the driver whimpered.

Steve felt a jolt of pity for the man. He had an idea as to what was coming next, and he was absolutely powerless to stop it.

"Well?" the Russian demanded.

"The drive is back at the Palace," Steve responded dully, pulling his gaze away from the driver. "I hid it."

"You are lying."

"I'm not lying."

"Where?"

Steve closed his eyes. "My office."

"My comrades searched your office."

"Did you unfold the flag?" Steve opened his eyes and studied the man's face. He could see that the man didn't know. "There's a folded American flag in my office. The drive is hidden in the folds of the cloth."

"A fitting location given your misplaced American patriotism," the man sneered. "But I think you are still lying. Oleg," he said, directing his words to his companion, "shoot the driver."

…

A few minutes earlier:

Danny swerved through the busy nighttime streets of Honolulu, his police lights on but the siren off, windows down as he strained to hear the faint, undulating whine of the ambulance siren. The city's skyscrapers didn't make it easy, bouncing and reflecting the noise in all directions, throwing it first this way and then another. Still, Danny thought as he flew through another red light, if it's louder, then I must be getting closer.

Suddenly, however, a new noise reached his ears. He frowned, unsure at first if he'd heard properly, but when the noise came again, there was no doubt. Gunshots.

Not just any gunshots. Automatic weapons.

A getaway car. Of course the Russians would have had an escape plan. They would have parked nearby, maybe the garage across the street, and waited. And when their team was captured, the mission fell to the these last few to complete.

The sirens suddenly dimmed as the ambulance swerved off the main road and Danny slowed, listening for where it might have turned. In the midst of the weekend nighttime chaos and the incessant ruckus from several thousand late-night tourists, the sound of the ambulance was swallowed up and completely lost.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath when several streets had passed with still no trace of the wayward vehicle. "Where are you, Steve?"

…

The driver's death was quick and painless. If Steve were looking for a silver lining to his current situation, that was apparently as much as he was going to get. As the man's body slumped to the ground with a soft oof, the second Russian jumped inside the back of the rig and quickly seized Sara, dragging her forward and forcing her to kneel next to Steve.

"The shock on your face- you thought I was joking." The first Russian man chuckled mirthlessly as he watched Steve from the grass. "You did not think we would kill him."

Steve forced himself to remain calm. He was in no shape to fight. Despite the rage surging through him, his body trembled from the exertion of merely remaining upright, his arms shaking as he struggled to keep them raised above his head. He felt heavy, out of breath as though he had just finished a long run. Heaving in as much air as his aching lung could inhale, he tried to be diplomatic with his next statement. "I've told you what you want to know. Now let her go."

"You told me a lie."

"It's the truth."

"Do you want me to kill her, too?"

Kneeling mere feet away, Sara whimpered at the threat and shook her head desperately. Steve felt a heavy guilt settle in his stomach, not for the death of her partner or her own impending end, but because he had no comfort to offer and no hope to give. The situation, as far as he could tell, was rather hopeless. They would kill her regardless of whether or not they actually found the hard drive, and Steve's own life was only safe as long as the drive remained hidden.

"Well?" the Russian demanded harshly. "Where is it?"

"I've already told you," Steve ground out. "It's your choice to not believe me."

"You are lying!"

Impatiently, Steve tried to point to the poor logic in their current situation. "The police are looking for this ambulance- the driver called them just before the wreck. The longer we stay here, the greater the chance that you'll be discovered."

"Shut up!"

"If you leave now, you might still make it off the island alive."

"I said shut up!" the man shouted, firing a warning shot. The bullet struck the metal siding, ricocheted much too close to where Steve knelt, and struck the gurney, embedding itself in the heavy pad. "Shut up and lay down. Oleg," he directed the other man, "secure his hands. We take him with us."

Steve reached forward and lowered himself gingerly onto the broken glass and plastic on the floor, shuddering as the cold floor and sharp glass came in contact with his bare skin. "What about her?" he asked as he placed his hands in the small of his back.

"What do you think?"

They would kill her. "If you think you can torture me, it won't work," Steve grunted as Oleg pulled his hands together roughly.

"Shut up."

"I'll cooperate better if you spare her life."

"Keep talking and I'll strip your underwear off and stuff them in your mouth," Oleg threatened. He slipped zip ties over Steve's wrists and cinched them tighter than necessary. "Get up," he instructed, jumping down.

Steve grunted as he rolled over and carefully sat up. Bits of glass clung to his torso, biting his skin uncomfortably. Scooting forward, he lowered his feet over the edge of the rig and dropped into the grass.

"Stay there. Don't move," Oleg said unnecessarily. He jumped back inside, seized Sara, secured her hands, and dragged her out of the ambulance and toward the car. Her kicking went unnoticed by the large man, and her screams were masked by his heavy hand over her mouth.

Steve watched the scene unfold apprehensively, unsure what to do. Feverish and not wholly dry, he shivered in the night air, his body decidedly unhappy at losing the warmth and comfort of the blankets left behind on the gurney.

The pain in his legs and torso was a pressing reminder of the medical care that he urgently needed, but it was also a distraction. Steve struggled to think clearly through the sluggish haze that seemed to have settled over his brain. Even the sharp memory of Joe White's voice from his days at BUDs had little effect on his ability to construct any kind of viable plan.

He could, he supposed, try to tackle the man and break his zip ties. It wouldn't work but Steve couldn't think of anything else. Pushing his weariness firmly aside, he prepared to enact his desperate plan. Tensing, he waited for the Russian nearest him to turn slightly away so he could charge him. He didn't need much…

Just a small margin.

A slit of opportunity.

…

The crack of a single gunshot pierced the night sky in downtown Honolulu. Danny threw on the brakes and turned hard to the left, shooting down a narrow side street in the direction of the faintly-heard report. Orange street lights and bright neon whisked by in a blur as Danny searched for the source of the sound. On a hunch, he turned onto a cut-through toward the park and was rewarded a moment later when he saw the strobing lights of the ambulance blinking rapidly near the trees.

Fumbling the radio's buttons, he hastily called in his location to Duke and requested reinforcements and another ambulance. Steve wasn't alone. A van had parked behind the broken-down rig, and in the bright beam of their headlights, he could make out two men.

"Gotcha," he whispered triumphantly. Pulling over, he shut off his own engine and drew his weapon, gently pushing the door to before creeping away into the shadows.

Moving slightly left so that he could approach from behind, Danny finally had the opportunity to see his partner for the first time and felt a rush of anger at what he saw. Kneeling in the back of the ambulance, his shaking hands raised above his head, Steve was obviously in distress. He was also mostly naked and Danny wondered briefly where his clothing had gone, but there would be time to learn that later.

Across his chest, which Danny could see more clearly now, was a spray of dark bruises and glittering flecks of glass and blood, and Danny watched him shudder and shiver in the night air. Thankfully, he didn't see the tell-tale list of a broken rib, but that didn't mean Steve wasn't hiding it or other more severe injuries.

Inching closer, he heard angry voices in heavily-accented English, and he suddenly saw and understood why Steve hadn't taken action and destroyed these two men at once- he wasn't alone. Kneeling opposite of him was a young woman, a paramedic judging by her uniform. It occurred to Danny that if she were here, the driver must be as well, but he couldn't see anyone else.

The two Russian men were gesturing angrily now and Steve, apparently following their instructions, lay down and allowed himself to be bound by one of the men. Then he sat up, moved to the edge of the ambulance, and climbed down into the grass. His movements were awkward, clumsy, and not at all the graceful, powerful movements that Danny was accustomed to seeing. He must be hurting, Danny reasoned, but really it was no wonder considering the mottled bruising and battered face and who-knew-what-else beneath the surface.

The Russians' attention now turned to the girl, and Danny used that moment to dart across the street and edge closer to the Russian's car. The lighting was very poor- a sad mix of city lights and weak moonlight overhead- and while Danny could have taken the shot already, he wanted to be absolutely certain that he wouldn't miss. Given their proximity to Steve, he couldn't afford to.

Crouched behind their van, his hands steadied on the warm metal siding, he lined up the man currently guarding Steve. The other was now occupied with the girl, his gun pointed in no particular direction as he dragged her forward and began to tie her hands with some of the medical tubing from the back of the rig. Danny sucked in a deep breath and prepared to fire.

Then he froze as a familiar tickle sprang up in his chest. Not now, not now, he pleaded silently, but his body neither listened nor obeyed. The tickle grew and spread, crawling up his throat and down toward his lungs, and the feeling to cough began suddenly more urgent.

Danny ducked down into the shadows behind the van and fumbled in his pockets for the inhaler, but somehow, in the hectic events of the past few hours, it had fallen out and disappeared. Oh geez, why now? He thumped his chest softly and tried to chuff quietly under his breath, already knowing that it would do no good.

Thule's men had brought the air system at the Palace back online and had quickly cleared most of the gas from the building, but that hadn't stopped Danny from inhaling quite a bit of it first. This repeat exposure would cost his vulnerable lungs dearly- Danny knew that much- but he had was greatly displeased that payment was being reckoned now. He tucked his chin into his arm and shuddered as the cough fought to break free.

To say his lungs were unhappy would be a gross understatement. He had ignored his own quiet coughing and rasping in the locker room as he searched for Steve, and again in the truck as he drove through the streets after him. Adrenaline has also possibly played a role, mitigating the effects of the gas until now, apparently.

Danny cursed under his breath as he choked back another cough, rocking back and forth in the thick grass, his eyes watering from the effort.

"Mmmph!"

A sudden, muffled cry nearby startled him. Poking his head around the corner, Danny realized abruptly that his hiding place would soon be hidden no longer. One of the Russians was dragging the paramedic, now bound, with a heavy hand gagging her mouth, through the grass with the clear intention of loading her into the van. Danny brought his gun up, but his hand shook as he continued to cough silently into his throat. He would have to wait until the man was close- very close.

As the Russian dragged the young woman toward the van and threw open the door, Danny emerged from his hiding place. The man, sensing something in his periphery, turned, but it was already too late. He collapsed with a hole just below his ear.

The other man, alerted to Danny's presence by the loud report, turned as Danny fired again. His first shot winged the man, and the Russian staggered, falling to one knee in the grass just in front of Steve and leaving very few options for a second shot. Leaving the safety of the van, Danny ran forward, praying for a better angle before the man could recover. He saw Steve look around wildly before throwing himself down to the ground and the grass rippled as he rolled away to safety under the ambulance.

The Russian, recovering, stood and turned, searching the darkness for Danny.

Danny fired and missed.

Raising his gun, the Russian man fired blindly in his direction and Danny ducked, throwing himself against the van as one of the bullets whizzed by much too close, tearing the fabric in his sleeve.

Danny shot again, this time striking him in the leg. The man lurched but did not fall, stumbling slightly forward to catch himself on the ambulance's metal bumper. Illuminated in the bright beams of the van's headlights, he was the perfect target and Danny cursed silently for missing such an easy shot. His chest burned from holding back the cough and he braced himself against the open van door as he prepared to try again.

But his previous shot had revealed Danny's position. Eyes narrowing on the van's open door, the Russian now aimed directly at the detective.

Danny pulled the trigger. As the shot erupted, so did the cough, and he collapsed in a fit of hacking before he could see what happened. Clutching the gun tightly in one hand, he hunched over on all fours in the grass and surrendered to the urgent need to clear his lungs, coughing and wheezing uncontrollably until his eyes watered and his nose ran. At any moment, he expected the Russian to come running up and shoot him but, to his surprise, no one came. Instead, Danny was left alone, his body wracked with violent trembling as the coughing continued.

And then, at last, it was over. Panting, Danny crawled forward a few feet and pulled himself up onto the floor of the van, shakily aiming his gun toward the ambulance.

Aside from his own labored breathing, all was quiet. Danny cast a sideways glance into the van's dark interior. The paramedic stared back at him with wide, frightened eyes. Danny nodded briefly to her, then stalked through the grass toward the ambulance. The second Russian lay motionless on the ground. Danny pulled his weapon away and flung it into the darkness. Then he bent over the peered under the rig.

"Steve?"

For a very long, terrifying moment, he heard only silence. Then, hoarsely:

"Yeah?" Steve's head emerged from the darkness. "Coming," and he half-rolled, half-crawled out of his narrow safety under the rig. Danny grasped his arm and pulled him upright, pushing him to lean against the back of the ambulance while he briefly rummaged in the dead Russian's pocket for a knife.

"Here," he grunted, neatly cutting the zip ties. As Steve stretched and rubbed his wrists, Danny finally had a chance to get a good look at him. "You're a mess," he noted, eyeing the large, blotchy bruise on his partner's thigh and the myriad of cuts, swellings, and bruises scattered across his body. His nose wrinkled suddenly at an uncomfortable combination of odors and he took an involuntary step back. "Where are your clothes?" He looked around, but clearly the desired items weren't on the rig. Instead, spotting the blankets, he hopped inside and snagged one, throwing it around Steve's shoulders. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Steve bit out stubbornly, but it was a lie. Danny couldn't help a brief eye-roll as his friend collapsed to the ground a moment later, and he thrust his hand out helpfully.

"Here," and he pulled Steve upright, draping one arm over his back and shouldering as much of the weight as he could manage. "This would be so much easier if you were normal-sized," he grunted as they hobbled toward the van.

"Could… could say the same thing… about you," Steve panted. He remained miraculously upright while Danny freed the paramedic. "Ambulance?" he asked when Danny took his arm again.

"I'm not about to wait around for more Russians to show up," Danny huffed, muffling another cough. Bending over, he released Steve briefly so he could grab the assault rifle from the dead Russian and slung it over his shoulder. "Already surprised us once."

"That… shoulda been all… of 'em," Steve grunted, wincing as they crossed the street.

"I don't care," Danny replied shortly.

Steve practically fell into the front seat when they reached the truck, and it took both Danny and the paramedic pushing and pulling to get him inside. Ignoring the seatbelt, Danny rushed around to the driver's side, plunged the keys in the ignition, and took off down the street toward Queen's.

…

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Holiday tip: don't catch whatever I've got. It sucks. Stay safe!