A/N: I hesitated over writing this, because as dark and raw as the first part turned out, I really like it that way. But I also like stories to end if not on a happy note, then at least a hopeful one. So I gave in and wrote a second part for this story, that I hope can live up to the first one.

Steve is startled out of his sleep by Danny's footsteps coming up the stairs. It's dark outside and he has no idea what time it is, it could be anything from late evening to after midnight. He went to bed early, like it is his new habit, because sleeping is all he seems to be capable of doing, lately.

He knows it's due to a mix of several things, even if it's almost a month since he'd been shot: the severe blood loss, the vicious mix of meds he has to take and his body still adjusting. A huge part of him is ashamed of being weak and exhausted and useless all the time. A bigger part of him is too fucking tired to care and so he goes to bed after dinner, keeping stricter bed times than Charlie. In the mornings he sleeps long into the day, his internal clock seemingly shot to hell along with his liver.

Usually, he doesn't hear Danny coming to bed at night and he doesn't hear him get up in the mornings, the crumpled sheets on the other side of the bed the only evidence that Danny has slept beside him. It feels like an invisible wall has risen between them, a barrier that he doesn't know how to tear down. It's almost like this bond that has existed between them since day one has been altered by the surgery, too. That it has been cut and stitched back together, leaving their usual easy balance unsteady and numb, like his own scars.

Steve needs Danny, like a lifeline, he's acutely aware of it, but every time he works up to say something, anything, to make the first step, he ends up not doing it. Because he's still so confused, there's so much anger and hurt still crawling under his skin and he doesn't know where to start. He's afraid when he opens his mouth the wrong words will spill out, like they do so often, just like they did at the hospital.

So the tension between them increases steadily, at least that's what it feels like, and it's there in the way Steve longs for comfort and doesn't ask for it. It's there in the way Danny doesn't want to hover and still does. It's there in the way they don't talk to each other, in the way they don't touch each other, in the way they are together the whole day and still worlds apart.

Steve blinks his eyes open, strains to see in the dark and watches silently as Danny tiptoes his way across the bedroom. Danny thoughtfully ignores the bedside lamp and instead he switches on the bathroom lights. Steve still has to squint against the sudden brightness and when his eyes have adjusted he can see that Danny has started undressing, quickly and efficiently unbuttoning his shirt.

Danny shrugs the shirt off his shoulders much more carefully than he usually does, and Steve should have known, of course he had known, but it hits him like a sucker punch: there's the same scar, the same angry red line drawn down Danny's abdomen and Steve can't suppress the gasp escaping him at the sight.

Danny halts in his movements and looks over to the bed, to Steve.

"Steve?" he asks, tentative, voice low and almost a whisper. "I wake you up?"

"No-uh," Steve answers, an unintelligible murmur, because his still sleep-addled mind is too shocked and too confused and why hadn't he thought of it—

"I'm coming to bed," Danny whispers, "go back to sleep, babe."

Steve doesn't answer, but he keeps watching as Danny finishes undressing and puts on his sleep shorts, his eyes fixed on the scar that matches his own. Seeing it should have made it all worse, he thinks, but instead it's like—

A shift in perception. A sudden awareness. A feeling of re-connection.

With a growing clarity, Steve realizes how stupid he had been, how selfish. He'd felt so sorry for himself, so guilty about Danny's sacrifice that he hadn't spent a single thought about why Danny had done it.

Now he suddenly understands that Danny had to make this particular decision. That he could not have chosen a different option—because there wasn't one.

He had to decide for Steve, but he'd also had to make the decision for the both of them. And he'd chosen for Steve to be alive because he'd chosen a future for them together.

They're in this together.

Steve had known all along, of course, that he would have made the same choice if their roles had been reversed, but—

The thought spreads relief through his body, a warmth that he'd been missing since he woke up at the hospital. It lifts a huge part of the weight that's been sitting on his chest and lets him breathe a little easier. And there's more to it, he thinks, and he can't quite grasp it, his mind still fuzzy with sleep. Danny disappears into the bathroom and Steve tries to cling to the thought—

He must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knows is the bed dipping and Danny getting in beside him. Steve still doesn't have any words, and he's too tired now anyway, but he reaches out, searching for Danny's hand with his own, suddenly craving to touch Danny, to feel the reassuring warmth of his skin.

"Hey," Danny whispers, surprised and pleased when Steve's hand finds his. He squeezes it lightly before he twines their fingers together and then settles in and holds on.

—

The first thing Steve notices when he wakes up the next morning and before he even opens his eyes is that he's not alone in bed. It's a welcome surprise and when he blinks his eyes open, he finds Danny looking at him, a soft expression on his face. A vague memory pulls at Steve's brain and he lets his eyes wander down Danny's body, searching—

Danny is lying on his side, head propped up on his arm, his scar visible on his stomach and Steve remembers—

Them. Together.

Thank you, he wants to say and he wishes he could match Danny's position. He wishes he could turn to his side, to face Danny, but his wounds are just barely healed, his muscles tense and stiff, so he stays where he is, lying on his back.

I forgive you, but he's pretty sure Danny would misunderstand that. He turns his head and searches Danny's eyes instead, laying all his sincerity into his gaze, hoping he can convey—

I understand why you made this decision for me and I'm okay with it now, is probably closest to what he really means. Steve's eyes flicker back to the scar on Danny's torso and he lifts his arm to touch it, lightly, tracing it with his fingertips and Danny shivers.

"I love you," is what eventually comes out, raw and unfiltered and baring all the emotions he'd kept bottled up. Three whispered words full of pain and guilt, gratitude and relief, full of his love for Danny.

Danny's face morphs into a smile and he reaches out, pushing the hem of Steve's sleep shirt up and lets his fingertips wander higher. The touch is light, tentative, Danny's fingertips brushing over his own scar in a featherlight touch. He still can't feel it, the scarred tissue remains numb, but it doesn't bother him anymore.

Steve knows that he still has a long path of recovery ahead of him. He's still a little scared about the future. But he now knows he doesn't have to face it alone.

Something has changed, to the better, finally.