A/N I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any of the characters.

A/N I'd like to thank all of those who have followed and favorited me and/or this story. To those who have taken the time to review I extend an especially big thank you. Some of you review as guests and I have been humbled and blown away by your kindness. I wish you would sign in and review so that I could reply to you in person.

To the guest reviewer who wondered if the reference to Danny being a baseball player was a tip of the hat: Sort of. Yes, Scott played baseball when he was young and his dad felt he was good enough to pursue it professionally. However, in Season 1 when Danny had his knee injury (because Scott tore his ACL) he told the doc he originally injured it playing baseball in high school. In eps with his mother, she has mentioned driving Danny to endless baseball games. Therefore, Danny being a baseball player is canon.

A/N Unfamiliar with the phrase Pandora's Box? It originally comes from Greek mythology. Pandora had a box, filled with 8 demons, that she was told not to open. She opened it anyway, unleashing 7 evils into the world. She was able to trap hope back into the box. In modern usage, the phrase "opening Pandora's Box" refers to being in a situation with many complicated problems over which one has very little control and little to no hope.

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With Steve at his side, Danny left the grueling PT session exhausted, frustrated, in a great deal of pain and, still dealing with the disturbing news the doctor had given him, in a particularly sullen mood. It was another clear and sunny day in paradise but Danny was walking under a dark cloud. Thoughts crowded his mind - thoughts of pain, loss, life changes, rejection, starting over - problems piling up until they rivaled Mount Everest. Bad things happened to negative people so he was trying, trying damn hard, to remain positive, but looking at his life that was no easy task.

"You okay?" Steve asked as they headed towards his truck, having observed Danny's slow pace and brooding manner. He knew how tough it was to get your hopes up and then have them dashed – repeatedly. He also knew that Danny was a pessimist by nature and oftentimes that worked to his benefit. When he expected the worst to happen he couldn't be surprised or disappointed when the worst did happen. Yet for weeks now, Steve had asked that same question of his pessimistic partner and had received various forms of optimistic responses each time.

This time, though, was very different. The words surged forth like the snow, ice and rock of an avalanche down Mount Everest itself – fast, furious, powerful – gaining speed and strength as they tumbled and plunged, leaving nothing but a barren scar in their wake.

"Am I okay? No, I'm not okay. Have you been paying any attention at all you Neanderthal? I have a wound in my back the size of the freaking Hudson River that's been open for almost a month. A month! That's not normal, Steven. No matter what the hell that moron doctor says; it's not normal to walk around with a frigging 5-inch gaping wound in your back. And it hurts – all the time. Nobody wants to hear it, but every second of every hour, week after week, it hurts. Standing, sitting, moving, resting, hell, even sleeping, it freaking hurts."

Steve turned his head to look at his best friend. Danny's blue eyes were a window to his soul, the most expressive eyes Steve had ever seen. They were usually so full of life. Now he saw misery, desolation and anguish so deep that they cut Steve like a knife. Danny was breathing heavily, face twisted in anger and frustration and gut wrenching pain, but he kept walking and talking and waving his left hand, Steve close by his side.

"But that's not all; no, on top of that, I've got a 'particularly virulent' form of infection running rampant through my body and if we can't keep it under control it could still kill me. Now that's definitely not a thought that helps me sleep at night. And that infection – it wipes me out, just sucks all the energy out of me until I can barely stand, much less function. Not that I can do much of anything anyway. I have to rely on other people to drive me places, to drive my kids, to pick up all the freaking medicine I have to take, to help me cook and clean. I can't even put on normal clothes by myself. Every day I have to ask somebody to come and change the dressings and do the PT."

Steve was ready to cut in and explain that he needn't feel bad about that, but Danny, voice rough with emotion, just kept right on going, barely taking time for a short, shuddering inhale.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm eternally grateful, but it's a debt I will never, ever be able to repay - and that flat out sucks. I don't want to be dependent on other people's generosity, but if I want to see my kids, hell, if I want to live long enough to see my kids grow up, I have to lean on everybody. Not to mention the freaking nerve pain attacks and muscle spasms that can strike at any moment, knocking me flat on my ass. Doesn't matter when or where. My blood pressure is so high that air traffic control needs to track it on radar and then there's the damn headache from hell that won't go away."

Glaring at a man who was staring at them, Steve waited Danny out as they continued through the parking lot. He had wondered when something like this would come, had figured it would happen long before this, but Danny had been holding up really well. In fact, Danny had been holding up better than Steve thought he himself would hold up in a similar situation. The sheer cumulative magnitude of all that his closest friend was undergoing was enormous.

"Oh and don't forget Melissa going all PTSD and walking out on me while I was still in the hospital. How's that for relationship success? And the big bonus? I get to be her frigging therapist by text. What the hell! Maybe I should start a new career; it's not like I can be a cop anymore with only one freaking arm. And now… now I'm gunna lose my son. My son, Steve, the one I just found out is mine. I'm gunna lose him and then I'll have to sell my house and my car to even begin to pay that money that Stan is suing for."

Finally, Danny stopped walking and turned to look at Steve, barely pausing for a breath, ignoring the looks of people passing by pretending they didn't notice him shouting and waving his arm. "Losing everything not enough for you? This arm – who am I fooling? I'm never gunna use it again. You know it. That doctor knows it. Hell, everybody knows it. My mother cries about it all the time. Melissa won't even be in the same room with me, much less look at me. I'll never lift my own son again, Steve; never braid my daughter's hair again. My arm is useless, my dominant hand, my gun hand, my freaking hopeless, right hand – from the shoulder straight down to the tips of my pathetic fingers - completely and utterly useless. Can't even feel a damn… f***ing… thing." As he spoke the last few words he pounded his clenched left fist into his right bicep, landing two vicious blows before Steve could even react.

"Shit Danny," Steve barked as he lunged forward and grabbed his brother's arm before he could swing a third time. "What the hell are you doing?"

Blinded by the overwhelming emotions that had so suddenly consumed him, Danny struggled against Steve's firm grip on his one functioning arm. "Let go of me, you freaking Neanderthal." Danny shouted as they tussled in the parking lot, nosey, gawking onlookers stopping to watch, but not intervening. "Leave me the hell alone."

"Get in the truck, Danny," Steve ordered firmly, as Danny continued to fight his powerful grip. With his right hand firmly grasping Danny's left wrist and his left arm pressed across Danny's chest, Steve physically manhandled Danny towards the truck. He needed to exert strong pressure just to keep Danny's flailing arm under control and he was sure to leave bruises where his fingers grasped his brother's arm.

Adrenaline pumping furiously, Danny would not back down as he grappled with Steve, pushing back with his one useful arm and his legs with no apparent objective other than to fight. "Leave me alone, damnit."

With Danny still fighting doggedly, Steve finally managed to shove him against the side of the truck, pinning him there with force. Upon colliding with the truck, Danny nearly collapsed, panting and trembling from the stress and exertion. Far from recovered from the near fatal injury and exhausted from the doctor visit and PT session, his strength failed quickly as the adrenaline wore off.

Steve could feel his friend begin to crumble. Cautiously releasing Danny's arm, Steve stood protectively in front of him, hands placed squarely on his chest as a means of physical and moral support. He could feel the unnaturally strong and frantic rhythm of Danny's heart, see the red face, hear the heavy breathing, and smell the sweat that soaked his shirt and dripped down his face. This was definitely not what the doctor had in mind when he said to keep the stress level down. Brow furrowed in distress, Steve sighed.

Danny ran his one working, shaking hand over his hair as he struggled to even out his breathing. He closed his eyes, blocking out the blurring images that distorted his vision, but there was nothing he could do to block the cacophony of sounds – leaves rustling, birds chirping, voices murmuring, foot steps crunching, dogs barking, truck engines roaring, car horns blaring, and planes thundering overhead. Steve spoke to him, but Danny's frazzled brain couldn't pull his friend's voice out from the discordant jumble swirling around him.

Danny was visibly vibrating with tension and Steve gave his brother of the heart some time to regain his equilibrium, keeping him upright with the help of one tender, supportive hand firmly placed on his chest and the other now grasping his left bicep. Trying to be as empathetic as possible, Steve tried again, softly. "Danno?"

Beginning to settle a bit, Danny opened his eyes. Ignoring Steve's plea, he wiped his hand across his face before petulantly swiping Steve's hands away. Steve reached up with his right with the intention of grasping the back of Danny's neck and pulling him in for a supportive hug but Danny would have none of that.

"Open the damn truck," Danny begged, his voice now more pleading than angry, pushing Steve away even as his body was shaking from the adrenaline crash and threatening to drop him to his knees. His eyes refused to focus; Steve was a dark silhouette as the parking lot behind him whirled and dipped, colors colliding in a bizarre mosaic. He swayed.

Steve reached out and steadied him again, feeling the tremor through his grip on his arm. His heart ached for his friend and he wanted to hold him, protect him, tell him everything would be all right. But, he didn't want to lie. "Okay pal." Steve acquiesced, opening the truck door and waiting, hovering even, as Danny, shuddering and breathless, slowly and painfully hauled himself inside one-handed.

They drove in silence for a while as Danny continued to tremble and wheeze. Steve waited until Danny seemed to have calmed completely before he spoke. "Feeling better?"

Danny grunted on an exhale. He was outwardly calm now but he held his viciously pounding head in his hand while watery, unfocused eyes stared sightlessly out the window.

"I've been wondering when that would happen." Steve told him in a gentle, supportive tone, belying the fear and trepidation that he truly felt. It took all of his SEAL training to keep himself pulled together. "You've been holding it all in for over a month now buddy and sooner or later it had to find its way out."

A choked gasp was Danny's only reply as he glanced at his best friend, his brother, beside him. There were no more words. He turned back to the window.

His own heart breaking, Steve spoke softly, fighting back the tears that now threatened to spill, a few traitorous strays tickling the corners of his eyes. SEAL training never seemed to matter when it came to Danny. Keeping his eyes firmly on the road, because he knew with one look at Danny he would lose all control of his own emotions, he reached out with his right hand and gripped Danny's strong left shoulder resolutely. "Let's get you home, brother."

Danny remained silent, moving his throbbing, swirling head to lean back against the headrest. He had opened Pandora's Box; evil churned around him, closing in on him, smothering him, burying him alive in a pit of despair. Hope was nowhere in sight.