Echoes from the Past

A/N: This story wasn't really inspired by a prompt, but from my desire to do something different with the theme. It's a different kind of 'rescue' where no blood is involved – shocker, I know. I like to delve into the psychological side of these characters, the side the show routinely tends to ignore, so I tried a different angle here.

It can be considered sort of a prequel to the scene in 9x25 where Steve and Frank Bama talk about Joe White but don't worry if you haven't watched the finale, you don't need it to understand what happens in the story.

I'd love to hear your thoughts about it so if you like it, or even if you don't, drop me a line.

Susan, thanks again for reading it and supporting me. You rock!

A bet.

That's how it all started.

A stupid bet he and Danny had come up with during a six-hour stakeout on a boring, ordinary Friday afternoon.

An innocent diversion that had triggered unwanted memories and unleashed without warning feelings buried under months of fakery and denial.

Drawn by his competitive nature, Steve had been unable to resist.

'Of course I won, Danny. I'll prove it to you.'

'What, you got a certification or something?'

'For your information yes, I do.'

'Alright Mr. Know-it-all. Steaks. Your house. Tomorrow. Fire up the grill, I'll bring the beer. Loser pays for the meat.'

So Steve had woken up early, gone through his swim/exercise routine, and even indulged in an uncharacteristically caloric breakfast without any clue of what laid ahead.

Satisfied, and in a better mood than he had been in a long while, he'd breathed in the crisp, morning air coming from outside and headed to his father's study to search for the piece of paper that was going to win him a free meal, leaving the lanai door open to let the breeze in.

The bright Hawaiian sun filtered through the room as he moved with practiced ease opening drawers and sorting through piles of neatly stacked files. John McGarrett had been as tidy and organized as Steve was, one of the many things they could've discussed and laughed about over a beer had he not been killed because of Steve's quest to bring the Hesse's brothers to justice.

An open wound that after almost ten years, still bled profusely.

The antique bureau behind the desk stored a lot more stuff he thought it would contain, and Steve started to think that wasting a gorgeous Saturday rifling through papers wasn't a good idea. Maybe he should've called Danny and asked him to bring Charlie along, do something with the kid who loved the outdoors as much as he did.

The thought of the six-year-old who called him uncle and worshipped the ground he walked on put a smile to his face. He was so very lucky to have them in his life.

Distracted by the rush of emotions warming his soul, he grabbed the next stack of papers a little less carefully, causing one of the folders underneath to fall at his feet and its content to spread all over the floor.

"Shit," Steve muttered as he put the documents he was holding back in place and knelt down to retrieve the ones he had dropped. It wasn't really papers, he realized, but pictures. Faded, black & white pictures of his father from his Navy days. Shots of a young John McGarrett in Vietnam, taken during the rare moments of downtime in between battles.

He didn't remember ever looking at them before. Between a job that required his round-the-clock, undivided attention and decades-old issues that had nurtured a love/hate relationship with his dad, he hadn't really spent much time trying to understand the man or getting to know him better. Only recently, in the wake of his own mortality and while working on cases John had struggled to solve during his career, Steve had learned about the passion that drove him and the stubbornness they shared. He could only imagine he had been just as determined to serve his country during the war.

Carefully gathering the pictures, he placed them on the desk and sat down, a mix of curiosity and reverence on his face for being allowed this unexpected glimpse into his father's early years, with his whole life stretched before him, his road unmapped. There John was drinking beer, smoking with his buddies, laughing while cleaning his gun. A day in the life of a soldier. Moments Steve himself had lived countless times during deployment.

He studied the photographs with undivided attention, scanning each face as if those young men could reveal the secrets and details he so desperately needed. What his dad was like, what made him happy, and the one question he kept coming back to: was he proud of his son?

It hadn't been a surprise to realize that all he had ever wanted was his father's approval, his reassurance that he was doing good and that John loved him. The man had always been difficult to read and as emotionally stunted as he was, or used to be before Danny stormed into his life. Growing up, there were no pats on the back for a job well done, no congratulations after a game or a good school report, and that had only gotten worse after Doris' presumed death.

Still, Steve loved him with everything he had, and wished they'd had a chance to spend more time together.

Sighing, he picked another picture and turned it to read the words on the back. Ha Long Bay, 1968. John was basically a kid back then, risking his life for something so much bigger than him.

He remembered the place, he thought as he reached for another photograph. Had heard of its beauty on several occasions from...

Joe White.

Joe White staring at him.

Smiling Joe White, 20 years old or younger, posing in front of the same background.

Steve closed his eyes as memories struck him like a lightning bolt. Sharp, painful memories that cut right through him, ripping his insides as if they were shards of glass. Feelings that he had shoved deep into the layers of his subconscious.

He clutched the photo as tears gathered beneath his eyelids andhis mind filled with the man's voice, hearing him like he was just feet away. Being the father figure that he needed, pushing him to be the best man and soldier he could be, telling him not to wait too long to find someone.

Joe, who should be enjoying his retirement in Montana, or drinking coffee in Nairobi with his beloved Zahra, not a pile of ashes in an urn.

Tightening his grip, Stevestared at the familiar face, at the eyes glistening with the twinkle of laughter. At that moment in time, anything was possible for the young man in the picture.

Joe had lied to him, steered him away from the truth for years, and yet he wanted him back more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

As he sat there trying to fight the hollow ache in his gut that had suddenly replaced the contentment he had been feeling, a particularly strong gust of wind slammed the lanai door closed next to him with a loud bang.

And Steve lost himself inside his head.

Danny was humming.

No, scratch that. Danny Williams was singing.

Window rolled down, sun caressing his skin, he rhythmically tapped the steering wheel as he sang along to his favorite Bon Jovi tune.

Despite not being his weekend with the kids, he had woken up feeling happy and surprisingly well-rested, two things that —especially combined— were a rare occurrence in his life. As he showered and made breakfast, he briefly wondered if karma was going to bite him in the ass later and immediately shoved the thought to the back of his mind, deciding to enjoy the moment for once without worrying about what ifs and possible dreary scenarios.

At 11am, he was all dressed and ready to go. Two six-packs of beer were already sitting on his coffee table so he could get them on his way out. He figured Steve had been up since dawn for the ridiculous training he insisted on keeping up so he could go a little earlier than planned. The bet was really an excuse to spend time with him after all, something they hadn't done nearly enough lately.

Between the time off he had taken from work and the restaurant fiasco, they'd ended up spending a lot more time than usual away from each other. Even when working a case, partnering together wasn't always the first option, being it a conscious choice to train the rookies or a spur-of-the-moment decision when the circumstances required it.

Danny didn't like it one bit, and missed his best friend terribly.

So here he was on his way to Steve's house, mouth already salivating at the thought of the steak that awaited him and looking forward to a quiet afternoon sitting by the ocean he had come to love and the man who had claimed a spot in his heart right next to Grace and Charlie.

It took two more songs from his Jersey playlist to get there. As the final notes from "Dead or Alive" echoed inside the car, Danny parked the Camaro in the driveway, grabbed the beer and headed for the front door.

It was unlocked, which made sense since Steve was waiting for him.

The silence that assaulted him once he stepped in did not.

The Jersey native frowned. There was an eerie stillness in the air that reminded him of the oppressive feeling he had experienced in the hours before the strike on the Arcturus and put him immediately on alert.

Steve's house had been a crime scene more times than he liked to remember, broken into by ruthless criminals who only had murder on their mind, and each time the man had ended up with some kind of injury related to the break-in: concussions, bruises, knife slashes. The last incident was still fresh in Danny's mind, even if he hadn't been around to witness it. Guilt tripping his teammates after finding out they'd delayed calling him, he had seen the pictures of the devastation in the kitchen, the pool of blood on the pavement and the red streaks across almost every surface.

Another close call his partner had miraculously survived.

"Steve?" he called out as he put the beer on the coffee table and took a few steps forward.

His hand instinctively reached for the weapon at his side, the weapon he knew wasn't there because it was a Saturday morning and he hadn't even thought of packing it to go hang out with his best friend.

His danger-prone, bullet magnet of a friend.

A quick inspection of the study revealed nothing out of place. There were papers and a few black-and-white pictures on the desk but nothing to indicate an attack or a struggle. The door to the lanai was closed, and there was no sign of Steve in the backyard or the water.

He couldn't hear any movement from upstairs and the Silverado was parked out front, so Danny tried once again to push the negative thoughts to the back of his mind and reasoned with himself that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why the BBQ wasn't already set and that his worry was unjustified.

He failed.

Ten years on the task force partnered with McGarrett had sharpened his senses and taught him to always look beneath the surface because reality was usually a lot more complicated than it seemed.

"Steve?" he tried again a little louder, and was about to head upstairs to check his bedroom when a rustling sound coming from the kitchen drew his attention. Danny looked around for a second, trying to locate something that could be used as a weapon in case he needed it. When he heard a thump a second later as if someone had collided against a hard surface, he decided to forego personal protection and sprinted towards the room, expecting to see bad guys in black overalls and balaclavas brandishing automatic weapons.

His assumption couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Very much alone, Steve was crouched against one of the cabinets, gun in hand, panting tense in a battle-mode stance, he kept scanning the space for potential threats with unfocused, distressed eyes that got even wider as soon as they landed on him.

"Get down, Danny, get down!" he urged, voice laced with uncharacteristic fear.

The sight stunned Danny to immobility.

Wherever Steve was, it wasn't in the present and it wasn't reality he was seeing. His breaths were coming in short, shallow puffs, and his face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

A string of panicked thoughts raced through Danny's mind as his own gaze roamed around, taking in the shattered china littering the floor, the holes marring the fridge right under where Bauer's bullets had hit, and the open drawer under the oven where his friend usually stashed one of his secret, ready-to-use weapons.

The door to the backyard was also open, but the blond detective knew there had been no intruders in the house.

He closed his eyes briefly, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Steve, look at me."

Steve did, and once again Danny saw the blank, wild look of a man racked by demons who believed he was struggling for his life."I hit him, but he's still alive," he said, gun still pointed at an invisible threat. "You have to go, it's not safe here!"

Grateful for the recognition on his partner's face, Danny was simultaneously taken aback by the intensity of the episode Steve was being plagued with. And if he had to guess what it was about, he would bet his bottom dollar that he was reliving the assault that had led to the trip to Montana and Joe's death.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Steve finally snapping after all the shit life had put him through. He always looked invincible during the day but at night, when the light faded and the door closed, he was just as vulnerable as the next guy. Even more so, if possible.

"It's alright, Steve, we're safe."

Danny kept his tone calm and held his hands out as he inched towards his friend's hunkering frame, wondering if there was something he could've done to prevent it. He knew Joe's death was still weighing heavily on Steve's shoulders, that he had not only lost a mentor but a father figure, a steady presence that had looked after him when his own father hadn't. Their little revenge trip to Laos to secure Hassan to justice had done nothing to ease his pain, nor had Greer's untimely death.

Left to fester, that grief had led to the only inevitable outcome.

"No, we're not. They already got Joe, I... I don't want anything to happen to you..."

The words, spoken in an urgent, broken voice, chilled him to the core. Danny took a step back, bumped against the fridge and leaned on it for support, unsure of what to do. He desperately wanted to help but wasn't sure how to approach someone who had completely lost his grip on reality.

What if he couldn't bring him back?

No, not someone. This was Steve. His best friend.

The man he had shared his life with for the last nine years.

Danny would do anything for him.

Whatever it took.

"Hey hey hey, it's okay, no one's here."

Hands raised, he gestured towards the empty kitchen as if to say 'see, were alone', hoping to break him out of his daze.

Steve shook his head vigorously, his frown deepening as his eyes lost focus and started wandering around the room again. "He was sent to kill us, Danny, I can't let him! I have to keep you safe," he all but shouted, pain and uncertainty shining brightly in his confused stare.

"Steve, look at me. Okay? Look at me," he pleaded, slowly moving into his friend's field of vision.

Steve turned his head. Haunted, bewildered eyes found Danny's warm, compassionate ones.

"I need… I need to protect you. You're the only one left, Danny. I… I don't have anybody else."

He sounded so helpless, so broken that Danny found himself overwhelmed by the onslaught of his own emotions. "Steve, have I ever lied to you? Huh?" he said, taking another step in his direction. He watched the other man's expression change from suspicion to doubt until a flicker of awareness set in.

"No."

"No. And I'm not gonna start now." Danny closed the distance between them and crouched down in front of him. Tilting his head to the side, he tried to get his partner's attention without touching him, afraid to trigger some sort of reaction that he wouldn't know how to handle. "Trust me, buddy, we're safe."

The words filtered through the ringing in Steve's ears, through the fog in his head and the tightening in his chest. He knew they were important, that he should pay attention, but somehow couldn't yet grasp the truth behind their meaning.

Images and sounds had filled his mind, replaying themselves over and over in a never-ending loop.

Blood. Blood in his kitchen, blood on his hands, blood on Joe's shirt.

Gunfire. Explosion. Cole's body hitting the ground.

Bullet holes. Joe's liver hit beyond repair. His own liver shredded to pieces.

Pain searing through his skin.

Steve blinked furiously, willing the images away. His heart was racing too fast and too loud, a sense of imminent danger coursing through him in a dizzying rush.

Danny. He had to protect Danny.

But Danny had told him they were safe. And Danny never lied.

Danny never lied...

The realization was startling and comforting at the same time. As the haze slowly lifted, he allowed the words to sink in, understood their message and clung onto it to make his way back to awareness. He stared at the gun in his hand as if he was seeing it for the first time, a stricken expression on his face. Then he slumped back, legs stretched out, dropping his arms down to his sides.

Shifting his weight so that the uncomfortable position wouldn't bother his bad knee, Danny witnessed the whirlwind of emotions displayed on Steve's features, the battle between trust and fear raging in his mind. Gradually, the lines of pain and worry started to smoothen, his breathing slowed down and his eyes regained focus.

Satisfied that it was safe to touch him, he placed a hesitant hand on his friend's shoulder.

At the light pressure, Steve turned his head. Confused, weary eyes found Danny and settled on him like his life and sanity depended on it. "Danny…" he whispered in a hoarse voice as his conscious mind resurfaced and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Danny smiled softly, moving his hand to the back of Steve's neck to squeeze it lightly in a soft, reassuring gesture. "Hey, you with me now?"

At his friend's nod of assurance, he reached his other hand and wrapped it around the gun still clasped between his fingers, feeling him tremble from aftershock and fatigue. "Why don't I take that, huh? Get it out of the way."

Steve nodded again.

Numbness was creeping into his body and mind after the exertion, along with a familiar twinge of guilt and shame. Unable to speak but feeling safe in the certainty that no words were needed, he pulled his knees up to his chest, leaned his forearms on them and hung his head, trusting Danny to take charge and do what was best for him.

Danny, who never judged him and loved him unconditionally despite all his flaws.

"I got you," Danny whispered as if he'd read his mind. "I got you..."

He sat down next to him, put a hand on Steve's upper arm and kept it there to ground him and offer support.

He would stay there as long as it was needed.

Minds and hearts soothed by each other's presence and the calming sound of the ocean coming through the open door, they sat in silence until morning turned well into afternoon.

At some point, Steve returned the gesture and covered Danny's hand with his own.

And yet they didn't move.

When the former SEAL eventually signaled he was ready, Danny helped him to his feet and guided him out of the kitchen and onto the couch, lowering him down onto the cushions.

"Sit," he said softly.

Steve dropped down onto the sofa and hunched over, resting his elbows on his thighs. Danny settled next to him, his hand automatically reaching for the spot between his friend's shoulder blades and rubbing gentle circles over it so as not to break the reassuring contact they both still needed.

"Do you remember what happened?"

The question hung in the air for several moments as Steve strained to recall what had triggered the flashbacks. "Pictures. I found pictures of my dad from Vietnam. Pictures of Joe..." He covered his face with his hands as his voice trailed off. "Can't remember anything after that."

Danny lowered his gaze, imagining it all in his head. Steve in the studio, sorting through papers. A sudden noise, maybe a bang that sounded like a gunshot, releasing memories, emotions, sights and sounds both real and imagined.

"These episodes... have you had them before?"

"A few times, back when I was in the teams. Then after... you know, after Wo Fat."

Of course.

Back when Steve had pretended to be fine after being tortured and poisoned with drugs.

Swallowing hard, Danny chastised himself for missing the signs and his friend's struggle, and vowed it would not happen again.

"It's like... like a movie, you know? All the worst crap you've ever seen in your life running out before your eyes in fast motion." Staring off into the distance, voice strained, Steve tried to put into words the jumble of emotions that had taken hold of him. "You try but you can't shake them. These images... these things, they make your chest go tight and cut off your air and it's like... you're powerless to stop them."

"I'm so sorry, man..."

"I thought I was past it..." he continued, wiping a hand over his face. "I mean, it still hurts but I really thought I was getting better."

Danny shifted and moved closer, his thigh brushing agains Steve's. Openly talking about his feelings, especially when vulnerable, was something his friend rarely did. Something the old McGarrett would've willingly traded with torture. But the man before him needed to unload, to give voice to the loss and the guilt he had been carrying inside for way too long.

"What is it that you saw?"

Steve took a few shuddering breaths. "Blood. Flashes of the attack in Montana. Dae Won's plane..."

"Do you think..." Danny tried hesitantly, knowing how Steve felt about it but needing to put it out there so that he would at least consider it. "Maybe you could talk to someone about this?"

The Five-0 leader lifted his hands to his face, kept them there for a second then reached up and dragged his fingers through his hair. "Yeah... yeah, maybe I could." It wasn't a yes, but the admission that he was dealing with something he had barely any control over was a progress in itself. "I just miss them, Danny..."

"I know you do, buddy," Danny nodded. "I know it's hard. I still miss my brother every day."

The honesty in his friend's voice and the care in his eyes tugged at Steve's heart. He'd never had someone he could count on like this, a person who had seen him at his worst and still chose to be around him.

Someone who loved him more than his own parents ever did.

He slid down a little lower on the couch so he could rest his head against the back and closed his eyes. Danny's hand rose for a moment, a gesture born out of a parent's need to touch and soothe but then stilled, curling his fingers into a fist and dropping back down.

"Do you wanna get something to eat?" he asked instead. "We can order from that Chinese place on Waialae."

Steve shook his head, the mere thought of food making him nauseous. "Not right now."

"Right... right, sorry," Danny apologized.

"Sorry I ruined your day..."

"Nonsense. We were going to spend the day together, that's what we're doing."

Steve turned his head, averting his gaze, pretty sure his friend's idea for the day didn't involve babysitting his PTSD-ailing partner. He hadn't planned to screw it up either, but somehow fate always managed to stab him in the back as soon as he let his guard down and dared to hope that things might finally turn for the best.

"I guess you won the bet. I never found that certificate..."

Danny waved him off again. He couldn't care less about the bet.

"You scared the shit out of me, man, I... I didn't know how to help..."

Steve wanted to tell him that his support and just being there meant the world to him, that he would never be able to repay him for the love he still believed he didn't deserve, but as he moved to sit up he noticed something on the floor between the rug and the armchair. Standing on unsteady legs under Danny's watchful eye, he walked the few feet to the recliner and reached down to retrieve it.

It was Joe's picture.

He stared at it for a long moment, then wordlessly handed it to Danny before slumping back onto the couch.

The Jersey native stared at it, involuntarily tensing. He didn't need to be a detective to know it was the picture that had caused Steve's flashbacks. Unsure of what to say, he went for a neutral question he hoped wouldn't cause any more harm.

"How long did they serve together?"

"Not sure," Steve shrugged. "Joe didn't like to talk about his past and my dad… we didn't spend much time together as adults…"

The pain lacing his friend's voice was hard to miss and Danny wished he could do something, anything to take it away.

"Why don't you, uh… put it in your wallet along with your dad's?"

It wasn't a secret, at least to him, that Steve kept with him pictures of the people he cared about. But while it was no surprise to find John's, along with Mary and Joanie, it had been unexpected to see a shot of Grace and Charlie as well, a candid photo taken years before during a birthday party. Steve had given him an apologetic look that day, as if ashamed of being caught red-handed with something he wasn't supposed to have, while all Danny wanted to do was hug him for loving his kids just as fiercely as he did.

There might never be enough cash in the man's wallet, but it sure held something a lot more precious.

Thankfully, the thought seemed to please him. Steve nodded and offered him a grateful smile. "That's a good idea. Thanks, Danny." He reached for his back pocket, realized it was empty, and carefully placed the picture on the coffee table to bring it upstairs later. There was a faraway look in his eyes that Danny couldn't read, but it wasn't the empty stare that had scared him earlier so he just sighed and waited, giving him the time he needed.

"I think he'd like it there," Steve said after a while. "He said it was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen."

It took a moment for Danny to catch up and figure what he meant. When he did, he replied with no hesitation. "Then you should get him there. I'll come with you if you'd like."

"Appreciate that, buddy."

Feeling somewhat relieved, Steve leaned back and closed his eyes again.

"You still nauseous?" Danny asked, thinking he was in pain and immediately moving to stand up. "I can make you tea or something."

Steve reached out a hand, curling it around his wrist. "Don't. Can we just... sit here?"

"Yeah," Danny sat down once more, propping his feet on the coffee table and relaxing in a similar pose. "Yeah, of course we can, buddy. You just let me know when you're ready."

THE END