Way 51
Help her finish her goals, hobbies or education.
"I just…" Danny's voice trailed off, eyes maybe a little more wet than they should be, as he looked down at the letter in his hand.
It had come from his ex-wife's lawyer, and Danny had put off opening it for days for that reason alone, sure that Rachel was up to something yet again. In spite of their short-lived reconciliation, since returning to Stan, carrying Stan's child, she'd become…not nasty again, by any means, just…cold.
And he knew what she was capable of. Knew it all too well, and would put nothing past her in spite of what they'd nearly done together all those months ago.
His hand was shaking. He couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it.
Mr. and Mrs. Edwards will be traveling to England for a period of five weeks…
His heart had stopped upon reading those words, sure it meant the worst for him.
…has requested you be granted…
His breath hitched rereading it now.
…temporary physical custody for the duration…
But that wasn't even the most unexpected part of the whole thing.
…Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett, duly appearing in the office of counsel…
What was Steve's name doing in this letter from his ex-wife's lawyer, he had wondered.
…guaranteed the time required to appropriately see to the needs of the minor child…
Steve had…he'd…
Danny looked up and met his partner's eyes. Took in the look of uncertainty. The small smile. The hope that he'd done the right thing.
Danny remembered the final words that had almost broken him, but in the best possible way.
…should the Edwards determine a longer-term stay in their destination is required, Mr. Williams will retain full physical and fifty percent legal custody of minor child with it fully understood…
The letter fluttered to the floor of the motel room Danny was staying in.
…that appropriate residence and care for the minor child will be arranged and provided for by Lieutenant Commander McGarrett, with his full cooperation and support.
Danny blinked rapidly, unable to keep the tears at bay. To hide them, he moved forward and enveloped his partner in a hug. A thank-you. Disbelief. Gratitude.
His daughter was his, at least for five weeks. All his.
And Steve, somehow, in some way only his freaky ninja self could've accomplished, had made it happen.
He felt Steve's arms squeeze him, his hand patting his back rather than slapping and clapping like usual.
"Merry Christmas, Danno," he whispered into Danny's ear. "Merry Christmas."
Way 52
Treat her as if God had stamped on her forehead, "Handle with Care."
The tiny, perfectly-shaped Christmas tree twinkled with twelve tiny white lights that were all it needed to cover it. Small, round ornaments in red and green and blue and gold were placed here and there, with a small white angel resting at the peak, feathered white wings spread; palms together in prayer.
Surrounding the tree, made not of Nature, but of plastic, stood more cards than could be counted, wishing Merry Christmas along with hopes for a speedy recovery. Poinsettias grown in greenhouses, colored red and pink, white and green, lined nearly every once-empty space in the room.
There was no Christmas music playing in the quiet. Only the steady beep-beep-beep-beep that told of a patient's beating heart, pierced the midnight hour between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. There was no jolly figure in a red and white suit, nor hat, with red cheeks and nose, nor with black boots and belt.
There was only a man, smaller than he'd ever seemed, lying beneath blankets with cannula and plastic tubes bringing life-saving oxygen and fluids to his body. There was a patch of gauze at his temple; a cast on his forearm. Beneath the blankets, more bruises, more things broken, more damage than the body should ever have seen.
And standing watch over this small and broken man, in amongst the twinkling lights, the steady monitor blips and the bright colors of the plants and cards, was a man looking aged beyond his years. Beyond even that which had come before, in all his years traveling the world, putting his life in danger, risking everything to do right and bring justice to those who begged for it.
His hazel eyes were hidden beneath half-drooped lids. His body slumped uncomfortably in a chair. The remnants of cookies and gifts in his lap, brought by the broken man's pride and joy - a daughter, who instead of blaming the man she called 'uncle,' chose to shower him with love for saving her father's life.
The steady beep grew a little bit faster. The man rose to his feet, tall and rumpled, eyes wide open, staring down at the slack face. The broken man looked so young this way; the tall man looked so old.
It was Christmas.
He shouldn't be here.
Neither of them should.
But the tall man would stay until the broken one could leave. It was all he could do, the most he could do. The least he could do.
A finger twitched. An arm shifted. Lips parted and breath sighed. Eyelids moved, blinked, opened. A moment of confusion in blue-and-orange eyes, then recognition.
Then gratitude.
There was hardly a place the tall man could touch. Hardly a place that seemed unscathed. But the broken man beckoned with his eyes, and the tall man knew to be gentle. Careful. Knew what his best friend needed upon waking to find out he was shattered, but alive.
The tall man was shattered on the inside, but the eyes knew how to heal him, even as the doctors and machines and medicine healed his own broken bones and body.
A long-fingered hand reached out and closed around four fingers of a smaller hand, the only places that were still the color of flesh, with no wrappings or bandages or blacks and blues and purples of bruises. He squeezed. The four fingers squeezed back.
He would live. Surely, the best Christmas gift the tall man had ever known.
And around them in the dark, as the stroke of midnight came and went, stood the unseen guardians that had brought them this peace. Soundlessly their white robes fluttered in a heavenly breeze. Without a whisper their wings opened wide and then folded tight against their backs. Their glowing faces and hair, and hands and feet, held without moving, gazing at the two mere mortals before them.
They had seen them through this dark hour, bringing them this miracle on the eve of the Savior's birth. And though the men would never know of them, see them, or hear them, in their hearts they would feel them for the rest of their lives.
A tear slipped from the tall man's eyes.
Answered in kind by the one no longer quite so broken.