Catch Me When I Fall
Part II
A/N: I was completely overwhelmed by the response to this story, and the not-so-subtle hints to add a second part to it. ;) Thank you so much, everyone. Although I take it very seriously this is just a hobby, so knowing my efforts are appreciated motivates me to write more.
Therefore, you get an extra-long chapter.
The story took a complete different direction than what I had first planned, and I ended up with an 18-page document without even realizing it. Hope you guys like it.
A special thank you to my beta Susan, whose input was crucial to steer me in the right direction. If this chapter is good, I owe it to her.
"People don't just disappear, Danny! This is our only chance!"
"That's insane! It's not gonna work and you know it."
Steve bit his lip at his partner's comment, fighting the urge to tell him to shut it. A surge of anger rose within him and he pushed it back down, afraid he would say something he'd regret later. Instead, he turned around and simply walked away, leaving Danny and the rest of the team standing around the smart table while he headed toward his office.
He gripped the door handle a little too hard and paused for a moment to catch his breath before stepping inside. The silence that greeted him felt like music to his ears and he sunk in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk and his throbbing head between his hands.
It had been a week since the bank robbery, and the debilitating headaches he'd been suffering because of Bernard's bullet were taking their toll on him. He barely slept, couldn't keep anything down and, if the dark shadows under his eyes were any indication, the symptoms were getting worse instead of better.
Having been knocked around more times than he liked to remember, he was pretty familiar with recovery times. One week —two tops, was the normal timeframe to heal from a concussion. Whatever was going on with him was obviously not the progress he had expected or experienced in the past. He may have been guilty of ignoring the warning signs, but he had genuinely thought the 48 hours of rest he'd gotten were enough, and that he would've been able to perform his professional and personal obligations after that.
What he hadn't factored in was the string of murders that had started plaguing the island, prompting the Governor to demand that they put an end to it, whatever it took. Still feeling guilty about missing their last meeting, Steve had all but sworn to her that that he would do whatever was in his power to bring the killer to justice. Or else. Which, in turn, had led to 18-hour days, missed medications and an overload of stress he really didn't need.
His personal needs, as usual, had been pushed to the sidelines for the greater good.
Five days into it, he was strung too tight and running on fumes, barely able to focus and not even half the leader they expected him to be.
They would understand. Of course they would. And yet he had chosen to keep his team in the dark. He hadn't even told Danny, though he was sure his friend had picked up on it. The man was incredibly perceptive and so attuned to his needs that anything barely escaped his notice.
As if on cue, there was a light knock on the glass door. Steve raised his head to find his partner standing in the doorway, a frown on his face.
"You should get some rest."
Any doubt that Danny hadn't noticed his distress vanished as soon as he heard his words.
There was no trace of anger in his tone, only concern. That was how it worked between him and Danny: they could raise their voices and call each other names, then take a bullet for the other five minutes later.
"I will when this case is over."
"I'm serious, man, you look like crap. There's nothing we can do right now. Let's call it a day."
Steve sighed, deflating in his chair. "How? How can we do that, Danny? Someone else could get killed tonight, could be in danger right now in this very moment and we're just sitting on our asses!"
Danny walked up to the desk and sat in one of the armchairs. "We're doing everything we can, babe. And we've been running ourselves ragged for almost a week now. Everyone's exhausted. What good are we to these people if we can't do our job right?"
It was true. Steve would never admit it out loud but his partner had a point. They were getting nowhere, and the frustration for the lack of breaks had let everyone's spirit down. He leaned his head back against his chair and closed his eyes, willing the pain away. "It's just a headache," he said softly, feeling the other man's stare over his closed lids.
"Okay. Then go home and take care of it. I'll pick you up in the morning."
"Alright," he conceded with a sigh. "I'll send everyone home."
With some luck, tomorrow would be a better day.
Nights were especially worse.
If headaches, dizziness and fatigue ruled his days, insomnia haunted his dark hours.
The bed was soft, the duvet comfortable —even the temperature in the room was perfect each time but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't fall asleep.
On good nights, he'd get three hours. He would close his eyes and breath slowly and rhythmically until he dozed off, waking abruptly some time later, gasping as if he'd just surfaced from under water.
On bad nights, barely two. The breaths would catch in his throat and his head would become foggy, like after a hangover but without drinking a drop. He'd toss from one side to the other, or gaze up at the ceiling until he decided he'd had enough, got up and walked downstairs.
Shuffling to the kitchen on yet another sleepless night, Steve grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed out to the lanai to sit on his favorite chair. Everything was dark around him but he didn't mind, welcoming instead the absence of light and colors. The ocean had always been his safe place, the shelter he retreated to when he needed to escape reality. That hadn't changed one bit since he was a kid.
Droplets of salty water sprayed on his skin as he closed his eyes and listened to the soothing sound of the waves rolling in. His lids felt heavy, and he could feel the pull of sleep somewhere at the back of his mind but it was too far away to reach so he tilted his aching head back and let the scent of the sea in his nostrils calm him down.
He knew he couldn't ignore the issue any longer, and resolved to make an appointment with his doctor soon.
As soon as they got the killer.
If only he could manage to get some rest in between.
In all the years Danny had known him, Steve had never called in sick, missed work or even left early unless he was physically unable to perform his duties. Every time he showed up at the house to pick him up he'd find him already showered, dressed, and drinking his buttered coffee, an empty mug waiting on the counter so he could join him.
So when he found the door locked the next morning, the first thing he did was check his watch to make sure he wasn't too early. Frowning at the validation that he was actually on time, he fished the keys out of his pocket and let himself in, disengaging the alarm.
The living room was dark despite the early morning sun filtering in from the study, and oddly silent.
It looked as if Steve wasn't there, or had failed to catch up with the rest of the workers on the island who were already up and about to start their day.
Danny did a quick search of the first floor, noticing the lack of the usual smell of coffee greeting him from the kitchen and Eddie's barks of excitement. Junior had probably taken the dog out for a run, he figured. The kid was just as crazy about his fitness routine as Steve was.
His mind played back the scene in the office the night before. He knew there was something bothering his friend, had noticed the shift in his behavior since the incident at the bank. Some of it was probably related to the case they were working on, to the stress of running around and finding no leads after almost a week. But Danny was sure there was more to it, though the only thing his partner had admitted to was the headaches he had been suffering from.
"Steve? Rise and shine, buddy, we're gonna be late!" he called as he climbed up the stairs and headed toward the bedroom. "What, you tried to swim to Maui and back and finally realized that you're human?"
Receiving no answer, he cautiously opened the door and stepped inside, surprised —and more than a little concerned, to find Steve still under the covers.
The curtains were drawn and his eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room and the fact that his friend wasn't moving. He could make out his curled shape lying on his side and completely covered by the blankets.
"Steve… you alright?" he asked as he inched closer. Reaching out a hand, he touched what he assumed was his shoulder. "Hey, buddy, you awake?"
Steve drifted back into consciousness, muttering something under his breath. He rolled over and blinked blearily, lifting his head off the pillow. A blurred shape loomed over him but his eyes couldn't focus. It was like watching a bad quality movie, staring at the world in low resolution.
He tensed, trying to sit up.
"Hey, hey, it's me. Calm down!"
Confusion clouded his mind as he propped himself up on one elbow and tried to associate the voice with a name. "Wha… Danny?"
The bed dipped as Danny sat down. "Yes, who else? What's going on, you alright?"
Swallowing hard to fight the ever-present nausea that had reawakened as soon as he had, Steve pushed himself upright and closed his eyes, struggling to remember. Everything was fuzzy around the edges, making it difficult to retrieve the memories he needed.
The lanai.
Sitting outside in the dark.
Bathroom.
Medicine cabinet.
"I... I think I took something to help me sleep."
Which apparently wasn't his brightest idea since he was barely able to function. Gritting his teeth, Steve rubbed his eyes before throwing the covers aside and swung his legs off the bed. His vision slowly sharpened back to normal but the headache was still there, relentless and as painful as ever.
One hand on the mattress for balance, he scrubbed the other over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Why are you here?"
Danny gave him a bewildered look, wondering if he should just punch him or drive him straight to the hospital. "Why am I— are you kidding me? Did those pills mess up with your head? I told you I was gonna pick you up. Duke's bringing Makano over so we can interrogate him and we're already late."
Steve had no idea who Makano was and couldn't remember agreeing to his partner picking him up but nodded anyway and stood on unsteady legs, hoping whatever was wrong with his brain would fix itself as the seconds ticked by. He swayed, and instinctively reached out to Danny. A strong hand grabbed his bicep and prevented him from face-planting to the floor.
"Whoa, what's with the wino impersonation? You sure you're alright?"
No, he wasn't, but he wasn't going to let his partner in on that just yet.
"Yeah… pills just make me drowsy."
Grasp still firm on his arm, Danny stared at him like he didn't believe a word he'd said for a long moment, then pointed him towards the bathroom and proceeded to open the curtains.
Pain lanced right between his eyes at the sudden brightness and Steve almost lost his footing again. "Don't— don't do that! Please…" Groaning, he put a hand in front of his eyes to shield them and staggered to the bathroom, closing the door behind him against the offending light.
Bracing his hands on the sink, he took a couple of deep breaths as if he could will the flaring headache away, then searched the mirrored cabinet for something that would, if not keep it at bay, at least lessen its strength.
Ten minutes later, after a shower and a quick shave, he emerged feeling somewhat human again. His memories were still a bit fuzzy, but some of the case details had started to return, including the identity of the suspect they were going to interrogate.
Steve counted his blessings for the small victory, and hoped to be able to get through the day.
Makano's interrogation led to surprisingly good intel about the location of the criminal they'd been trying to catch, which in turn led to Five-0 rushing to said address, sirens blaring, and executing a raid that they barely had time to prepare.
Danny's concern, spiked by Steve's even-more-reckless-than-usual driving, skyrocketed when his partner failed to respond to him over the comm after disappearing to go after their suspect.
His frantic calls were only met by static, fueling his fears that what he'd witnessed that morning was just the tip of the iceberg and that there was something seriously wrong with Steve that he should have noticed. Tightening the straps of his tac vest, he summoned Junior and Lou and headed towards the side of the building where they'd last seen him.
A humming sound could be heard from the hallway, loud enough to upset their already frayed psyches. Weapons drawn, the trio carefully inspected every room and hidden corner for signs of their missing friend until they noticed a human shape slumped next to the exit door. Danny's initial relief was short-lived when he moved closer and realized it wasn't Steve he was looking at but their killer lying unconscious on the floor, ankles and wrists zip tied so that he couldn't escape.
"What the hell?"
Grover's expletive matched the bewildered expressions on their faces. What they were seeing made no sense. Steve had obviously been there, apprehended the suspect, incapacitated him and then… left?
"Lou…" Danny said, searching his eyes. He needed to move forward, continue to search for Steve.
"I got it, I got it…" the Captain replied, bending over to slap the man's face and haul him to his feet. "Wake up, Princess. Time to go!"
As the serial murderer woke with a start and realized his days as a free man were over, Danny motioned Junior to follow him outside. The young SEAL nodded and raised his MK18, positioning himself on the other side of the back door leading to the alley that branched out to connect the building to a few other neighboring stores.
The humming, even louder now, was coming from one of the neon lights above them, and Danny resisted the urge to shoot the damn thing to make it stop. A moment later, Lou's voice came back through his earbud.
"Danny?"
"What?"
"I had a little chat with our new friend here, and he's volunteered some information about Steve."
"Volunteered?" Danny inquired, imagining just the kind of 'persuasion' it must've taken for a cold-blooded serial murdered like Damon Jay Savage to volunteer anything.
"What can I say?" Grover shrugged. "I can be pretty damn convincing. Anyway, he said Steve looked disoriented, that he could barely stand on his feet and kept grabbing at his head as if he was in pain."
Danny swallowed hard. "Was he hurt?"
"Don't think so. He said that— hey, what'd I tell you? Not another peep or I'll lock your ass up in solitary for the rest of your days!" There was a noise and a grunt as if Grover had punched the guy in the face before he addressed Danny again. "What's going on, man, he alright? If you ask me, he hasn't been himself since that bank robbery…"
"I don't know, Lou, but the minute I find him I'm gonna drag his ass to the hospital whether he likes it or not!"
As he shook his head, relishing the epic rant that he knew would start as soon as he made sure his partner was okay, Junior drew his attention to the left. A few feet away, discarded to the ground, lay Steve's tac vest. Fresh bloodstains were visible on the ground beside it.
Danny stepped forward, a frown on his face.
"The intel was clear, right? Savage had no accomplices?" Worry seeped into Junior's voice as he reasoned out loud to find a suitable explanation.
"No," the blond detective confirmed. "No accomplices. He works alone."
"Then what are we missing?"
"I have no idea, man... I have no idea."
Both men looked around, frantically searching for clues, but there was no sign of Steve anywhere.
What the hell had happened to him?
The question haunted Danny for the longest ten minutes of his life. If he had a penny for every alley he'd searched, every abandoned warehouse they had scoured looking for Steve, he'd be a rich man right now.
Instead, he felt physically sick to his stomach and struggled to push back the unwanted memories that his brain was conjuring up as they turned yet another corner. And finally there he was, propped up against a wall, passed out cold but apparently unharmed except for a bloodied nose.
Danny sighed in relief, until his excitement turned into panic when he tried to rouse him and couldn't.
As Junior called for an ambulance and helped him lie Steve down on his back, he reached out shaky fingers to check for a pulse, and was unable to move them until the paramedic arrived and reassured him that there was nothing serious and that his partner would be alright.
That was, of course, until Danny got his hands on him.
"Clinical fatigue? What... what is it?"
Danny had an idea of what the words the doctor had just spoken meant. In fact, he had more than one and none of his scenarios was good, but he asked anyway.
Steve was lying on the bed, eyes closed. They had given him enough painkillers to take the edge off his blinding headache but he was still oddly quiet and unresponsive. It was as if he not only trusted Danny, but expected him to be in charge in situations like this.
And Danny obliged, because it made him feel useful, and because he cared deeply about the crazy Neanderthal.
The physician pushed her glasses up her nose and gave him a weary smile. Mid-thirties, posture of a soldier, she had gentle eyes and delicate features, radiating an aura of serenity that had immediately put them at ease. "Commander McGarrett's blood pressure and heart rate are elevated, and his cortisol levels are low. I think that's what caused him to pass out. Now mind you, this is usually a symptom of other underlying conditions, so I'd like to run some tests to know more."
She approached the bed and put a hand on Steve's thigh. "Commander, I'm Doctor Elizabeth Evans. You were unconscious when they brought you in. How are you feeling?"
Danny held his breath, expecting the word 'fine' to come out of his partner's mouth.
"Better," Steve whispered instead. "Thanks, Doc."
"I need to ask you some questions. Is that alright?"
"Yeah."
She studied his medical chart for a moment. "I see Doctor Stewart treated you last week for a bullet graze. Did you hit your head when you fell?"
The former SEAL blinked, unsure of what to say. He still didn't have a clear recollection of what had happened inside the bank after Bernard had shot him, so he turned to Danny who nodded in the affirmative.
"Yes, he did." His gaze instinctively went to the tuff of shorter hair on his friend's head marking the spot they'd had to shave to treat the wound and the still healing scar in the middle of it. Those moments were seared into his memory, and the details of the incident haunted him almost every night.
The young physician nodded as well and turned back to Steve. "How about today? Do you remember what happened before you passed out?"
"Not really. I was chasing a suspect, then there was this … noise. Had to get out of there. I don't know, it's all fuzzy…" he admitted in a disheartened voice.
"Your partner tells me you've been experiencing headaches?"
"Yes. They're growing more frequent and painful."
"What else?" she asked. "And please be honest. The more I know, the better I can help."
Steve sighed in defeat. "Dizziness. Sensitivity to noise and light. Ringing in my ears."
Danny's eyes widened at the list of symptoms his friend had apparently hidden from him.
"Do you have trouble sleeping?" The doctor continued, writing notes on her patient's chart.
"Yeah. I, uh... I also experienced a few episodes of short-term memory loss." He glanced briefly towards Danny then settled his gaze on the doctor. "This is messing with my life, Doc, how do I fix it?"
She smiled at him warmly. "I'm afraid there's no easy fix, Commander. I'll have the nurse draw some blood while I schedule your tests. I'll know more once the results are in."
Resigned, Steve leaned back against the pillow and raised one arm to cover his eyes. "Okay. Thanks, Doc."
"You're welcome. Try to get some rest, you've earned it."
"I'll walk you out," Danny said as he opened the door and followed her outside.
Nervously wringing his hands, he waited until she was done instructing the nurse before voicing his concerns. "So, uh... what do you think it is? Is he gonna be alright?"
Doctor Evans put her hands into the pockets of her white coat. "I have an idea, but like I said I want to run some tests first. I'll see you in a few hours, Detective. Have the nurse page me if anything changes."
"Will do. Thank you."
Danny watched her disappear inside one of the elevators and started to pace to let off some steam. While he knew there was nothing life-threatening —well, nothing new at least, he could sense this was not one of their regular trips to the ER and wished his friend had told him what was bothering him.
Even after nearly a decade of friendship, Steve lived by this weird belief that he should deal with his problems on his own. Danny didn't agree, but had learned to understand it and give him the space he needed.
With a veil of sadness clouding his features, he went back to Steve's room. His partner was in the same position as he'd left him, but he could tell he wasn't asleep.
"You should've told me," he said softly, pulling the nearby chair and sitting down beside him.
Steve gave him an apologetic look as he picked at the edge of his blanket. "I honestly thought it would pass."
"Instead it got worse."
"Yeah. My head's not…" he started, trying to explain. "It's not like it was before. There's a weight… like a shadow…" A muscle in his jaw twitched with barely contained frustration. "I can't explain it. I can hardly understand it myself, Danny, let alone tell you..."
Moved by the sincerity and the anguish in his friend's voice, the Jersey native put a reassuring hand on his forearm. "You don't need to explain anything, especially not right now. Do me a favor, alright? Get some sleep like the doctor said. I'll be here when you wake up."
Steve nodded. "Thanks, Danny."
Relaxing in his chair, he watched Steve slowly doze off. His head lolled onto the pillow, his eyelids slipped closed and his body went limp. Coming from a week of barely getting any sleep, the man was completely exhausted, and the medications they'd given him were finally allowing him the rest he so desperately needed. In spite of the situation, Danny allowed a small smile to curl his lips as he listened to his friend's now even breaths. The expression on his face no longer stressed by pain and the constraints of his conscious mind, Steve looked vulnerable and childlike, and Danny wished he could see this side of him more often.
Pushing aside the overwhelming feeling to protect him at all costs, he took out his cell phone and updated the team.
"I take it you know what it is."
"I do. I just…"
"You just never thought it could happen to you," the young physician smiled sympathetically. "I understand. It's not uncommon for people affected by PCS to downplay the extent of their symptoms or avoid acknowledging them."
Pressing his lips together, Steve tried to process what Doctor Evans had told him.
All his tests – MRI, x-rays, blood analysis, had come back negative. Just like they had after the shooting. And yet she seemed positive she knew what was wrong with him.
PCS. Post-concussion syndrome.
He had heard of that during active duty, had seen sailors affected by it. Only, like he had sheepishly admitted, with all that was already going on with him health-wise he didn't think he'd have to add another illness to the list.
Beside him, forehead creased, Danny was equally struggling to deal with the diagnosis. "Doc, can you, uh...can you explain to me what that means, please? In English?"
She looked at Steve, then back at him. "Of course. Post-concussion syndrome is a complex disorder. The symptoms your partner's experiencing — headaches, dizziness, sleep problems, are caused by structural damage to the brain or the nerves from the impact that induced the concussion.
"So it is related to what happened last week?"
"Yes and no." Noticing the puzzled expression on her patient's face, she turned her attention on him. "What happened at the bank can be considered the last straw, but according to your medical history, your lifestyle is a likely factor. Previous concussions, prolonged recoveries, post-traumatic stress disorder. I often see this in soldiers, so it's no surprise that a member of the government's elite has been affected by it. You've been putting yourself in harm's way for decades, Commander. I'd say you're lucky it's only happening now."
Steve didn't feel lucky at all, but he pushed the retort back down.
"How do you treat it?"
Once again, it was Danny who voiced what he had in mind.
The doctor folded her arms across her chest. "Management of PCS is mostly a matter of resting and allowing the brain's natural recovery process the time to heal. We'll put together a plan, a regime of medications and therapy, but it may take weeks for it to work, if not months."
Steve's face lost what little color had regained.
Months?
This wasn't happening.
This couldn't be true.
Doctor Evans stepped over to the bed. "Commander, I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but I'm not going to sugarcoat this and you need to know that things could get worse before they get better. It's important that you understand that." She watched him nod in agreement even if the storm in his eyes said otherwise. "Now, I assume you have a fitness routine?"
"I do," Steve said, still reeling from the shock of another long-term illness. "I swim and run every morning."
"I'd recommend you stop doing that, at least for now. While there are studies that have shown a link between increased physical activity and quicker recovery, I don't want you to strain yourself at this stage. We can reassess that in a couple of weeks."
Feeling numb and completely overwhelmed, he saw Danny collapse into the chair next to the bed and lower his head, eyes closed. And when the pain-relieving effects of the medications wore off and the ringing in his ears returned a few moments later, Steve let it drown every other sound and tuned the world out.
"Doc, how can I help him?"
"By being understanding and supportive."
Sighing in defeat, Danny looked at Doctor Evans like a drowning man desperate for salvation.
"Detective Williams, PCS can be extremely disruptive. Patients have to adjust to avoid activities and situations that cause their symptoms to worsen, and it can seriously impact their personal and professional life."
She put a hand on his bicep and steered him out of earshot.
"Commander McGarrett may have to progressively remove himself from loud, bright, crowded, or over-stimulating situation. He may not be able to handle noises or crowds, but he will still need to spend time with friends so offer a movie night, or just pay him a visit and talk. Offer encouragement, remind him that this is likely temporary and that he'll get back to his old routine when he's feeling better."
Danny nodded.
He could do that. They barely had a social life anyway, and enjoying each other's company had always been far more preferable than any gathering or crowded event.
"What about work? That's… Steve's afraid he won't be able to do the job anymore, and I know for a fact that it would absolutely kill him."
Doctor Evans lowered his gaze. "That might be a little more complicated," she said with a sigh.
"Right now, his brain is overloaded with stimuli. I'm not sure it's a good idea for him to lead a task force or even carry a gun."
"He's not gonna like this..."
"I know. I'll discuss it with him later."
Three weeks had passed since Danny's heartfelt conversation with Doctor Evans, and things had only gone downhill from there. Steve's symptoms hadn't improved, and the mood swings resulting from that were putting his patience —and their friendship, to the test.
Danny understood his partner was scared and upset. He had every right to be. Confined in the house for the best part of his days, he had turned into a caged animal whose only defense was to lash out at everyone who tried to get close.
Work was everything to Steve, and colliding with a reality that had forcibly teared him away from it had been too much to handle.
He had tried going in at first, thinking he might just need to reduce the workload and everything would be fine. What he found out instead was that he also had vision problems and difficulties concentrating, which made it impossible for him to be out in the field. And that was just what Danny had figured out. God knows what he was actually hiding under his 'tough guy' exterior.
Realizing that the kind of normalcy, the reassuring routine he'd come to rely on to get through his days had been disrupted, Steve didn't know what to do with himself or how to address his fears and all the pent-up energy building up inside him.
So he had segregated himself at the house.
The usually bright and welcoming place was now always dark. He claimed it helped him with the light sensitivity, but Danny felt it was Steve's way of shutting everyone and everything out.
When he wasn't in bed trying to sleep through the headaches he would sit on his recliner, lost in whatever world he escaped to try and cope with the situation. He had systematically declined every invitation and every offer received. Politely, but decisively. Even the thought of spending time with Charlie hadn't appealed to him, and he loved the kid as if he was his own.
Concerned, Danny had called the doctor, inquiring about the changes in personality and the apathy towards everything that his friend had always enjoyed. She'd said it was unfortunate but expected, that the more active the patient's lifestyle was the more difficult it was to learn to deal with the rest of the world going on with their lives while they got stuck in a loop of pain and despair.
She had repeated the same advice. Be understanding and supportive.
Danny was trying. God help him he was, but it was getting harder and harder.
Steve stood in the middle of his living room, breathing harshly, a stricken expression on his face.
Staring at the closed front door that his best friend had just slammed behind him, he realized that he'd gone too far, probably alienating the only person on the planet who still gave a damn about him. The only person he cared about more than everyone else.
Danny had been nothing but supportive during his whole ordeal, and he'd repaid him by being an unappreciative ass, directing his anger at him when he should've focused it on himself and failing to control his reactions like the Navy had drilled into him for decades.
Taking a wobbly step back, he slowly blinked huge, watery eyes.
He had made a mistake.
A huge, inexcusable mistake.
The sound of the Camaro pulling away from the driveway felt deafening to his ears.
As his heart hammered into his chest and breathing suddenly became a struggle, Steve clamped his trembling fingers over his mouth and sank onto the recliner.
"What if I can't be a cop anymore, Danny?"
It had taken him weeks to finally voice his biggest fear since being diagnosed with PCS. They'd just come back from one of his checkups and his already foul mood had plummeted at the doctor's admission that maybe things weren't going as they'd hoped. That, along with an unpleasant ride home that had seen him gripping the roof handle, eyes closed, and breathing through his nose so he wouldn't get sick, had reawakened a side of him he rarely brought to life.
"No one said that." Danny replied, trying his best to do damage control. Heart equally heavy, he had followed his friend into the house knowing that a storm was about to break and hoping to contain it as much as he could. "The doc still thinks the damage isn't permanent. Your brain just needs time to heal."
"It's been four weeks!"
"So what? What if you need four more? It's gonna get better, Steve. You just have to believe it."
But Steve couldn't. Right now, it was just too hard.
"Doctor Evan's plan is not working," he said, wincing at the intensity of his own voice. "I take dozens of medications every day and I'm not getting better! I just can't do this anymore..."
Danny moved closer, placing a tentative hand on his arm. "Babe, come on. I know you're scared, but she said it was going to take time. You just have to be patient and do whatever it takes to help your recovery."
"There is no recovery, Danny!" Steve exploded, recoiling from his partner's touch and walking away from him. "Can't you see it? I've made zero progress. There's no guarantee that I'll even get better, let alone heal completely, and I'm just tired! I'm tired of it all..."
He took his throbbing head between his hands, feeling utterly defeated but at the same time extremely outraged.
"You're not a quitter, Steve."
"Yeah, well, maybe this time I am!"
Danny's expression hardened. "Alright, you know what? You wanna wallow in self-pity do it on your own. I'm going home to my son, who is more mature than you are and who by the way, is still asking to see you. But maybe you don't care about him either!"
Mouth set in a tight line, hands resting on his hips in his signature 'badass Commander' stance, Steve searched through the fog in his brain for something to say, glaring at his friend as he did so as if daring him to act on his threat.
He could see the way Danny was looking at him, waiting for a reaction that would dispute his theory, but the anger coursing through his veins was too powerful and he couldn't stop it, couldn't help the hostility in his eyes and the rigid posture and demeanor screaming 'Leave, I don't need you' while his heart begged him not to.
In the end, no sound made it past the lump in his throat.
"You son of a bitch..." Danny hissed, nailing him with his own angry stare when he realized his partner wasn't going to stop him, and in the next moment he was gone.
Closing his eyes, Steve willed everything to stop spinning.
His skull felt like it was being ripped in two, and there was a crushing weight on his chest that had nothing to do with his condition.
How could he have been so stupid?
He hadn't meant to imply he didn't care about Charlie. He would lay his life down for the kid in a heartbeat. Truthfully, in his confused state he wasn't even sure what he meant. What was painfully clear to him now was that he couldn't recognize himself anymore, and that he despised the man he had become.
He had allowed this illness to take everything good from him, something he hadn't even let the transplant do, or the radiation poisoning he'd been diagnosed with.
Maybe it was the thought of something else hanging over him, of shit piling up on more shit. Maybe it was the last straw, but whatever it was had hit him hard and completely messed with his reasoning.
In the span of a few weeks, he had turned from the strong task force leader everyone had come to respect to a fragile being who didn't know what to do with his days because even getting out of bed was a hassle.
Speed made him dizzy, turning basic, everyday activities like driving or even riding an elevator into a struggle. Bright lights and loud noises made his headache spike, so he had systematically given up everything he liked, everything that made him who he was, and alienated himself from all of his friends.
If there was a way out of this, he just couldn't see it right now.
Heart heavy with sadness and regret, Steve sat in the living room for the longest time, replaying the whole scene in his head until he could no longer stand it, then staggered to the kitchen to get his meds.
Doctor Evans had recommended taking them on a full stomach, but food was the last thing on his mind so he just swallowed them and headed upstairs, collapsing onto the bed without even bothering to change.
The last conscious thought before he succumbed to a fitful sleep was the hope that Danny would find it in his heart to forgive him.
"Sir… ah, Steve? You alright?"
Junior couldn't hide the worry in his tone as he knocked on his friend and mentor's bedroom door and hesitantly turned it open. It was four in the morning, and he had been woken by the sound of something crashing to the ground. Knowing the man's current vulnerabilities and his frazzled state, he had made it his business to be even more alert than usual in case he needed him, bolting out of bed every night at the slightest sound.
"Yeah, I… sorry I woke you up, man," came the strained voice from inside.
Opening the door all the way to let some of the light from the hallway in, Junior saw him crouched by the nightstand and immediately stepped forward, fearing another spell of sickness. There had been a few recently, each of them leaving him weak and completely wrung-out. Only when he got closer he realized that Steve was trying to pick up the lamp that he'd apparently knocked down.
"I just…" he tried awkwardly. "I was reaching for my cell phone…"
To check if there were messages or calls from Danny, like he had been doing for the past two days.
He looked miserable, and the young SEAL felt a pang of protectiveness coursing through him.
"Here, let me take care of it," he said as he knelt down next to him and handily took the broken lamp, unplugged it and put it on the drawer so he could take it downstairs with him later.
Noticing Steve hadn't moved from his position and was staring numbly at the phone clutched in his hand, he squatted by his side again and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want me to call anyone?"
He knew about the fallout between him and Danny. Everyone on the team knew, and had taken it upon themselves to fix it before it was too late.
"No. Thanks, man. Go back to bed."
"You sure?" Junior asked as he helped him up and onto the bed.
"Yeah, I'm okay," Steve sighed, not nearly as fine as he wanted the young man to believe.
Junior nodded unconvincingly. "I'll come back with your medications at six. Call me if you need anything."
Resisting the urge to hover until he was satisfied his boss really didn't need him, he left him sitting on the edge of the bed and closed the door, heading to the guest bedroom to get his own phone and make a call.
"What are you doing?"
Danny almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Lou's deep voice. The man had materialized behind him with a stealth approach worthy of... someone he didn't want to think about right now. "What you mean, what am I doing? I'm taking a stroll to the beach, what do you think?" He countered, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the question. "I'm locking my car with this key... see?" he made a show of raising his hand and pointing to the object in question, unable to hide the annoyance at the sudden ambush.
Lou gave him a 'enough with the attitude' look. "With Steve. What are you doing with Steve? Trying to prove a point or something?"
Danny's posture stiffened. "It's none of your business."
"It is when it messes with my sleep," Lou noted dryly. "Junior called me this morning. Four am. Said the man was miserable and staring at his phone like a teenager in love." He watched Danny screw up his face in a 'what the fuck?' expression and shook his head in frustration. "Now maybe you're right, maybe it's none of my business but whatever he did, he's not in his right mind and you know it so don't take it out on him."
"Take it out on him? I'm not the one who —you know what, I don't wanna talk about this!" He said, waving him off as he headed towards the Palace.
"I know you're scared, man," Grover pressed, easily catching up with him with a few, long strides. "I know you're scared he's not going to get better. Well, guess what, so is he, so for god's sake just stop this nonsense, alright?"
The words stopped him in his tracks right by the building's entrance and he hung his head, feeling like a jackass.
He had never been able to stay mad at Steve for long, and the fifty-two hours that had passed since their argument felt just as painful to him as they apparently were for the stubborn putz.
It was killing him not knowing how he was doing, not being able to help. The part of him that had felt unappreciated and dismissed had shrunk to a barely noticeable size, leaving him in a constant state of worry and barely able to focus on anything else.
Lou was right.
Steve was sick, and he should have never abandoned him.
"Hello."
"Danny..."
The barely-whispered word surprised him a few minutes later as he sat in his office, head bowed, brooding over Lou's words and trying to decide what to do.
Steve hadn't been himself lately and that, as painful as it was, should've earned him the benefit of the doubt. But what people failed to grasp, or easily mistook for selfishness, was that Danny was hurting too. In the blink of an eye, he had found himself without both a work partner and the best friend he relied on more often than he cared to acknowledge and had been mourning the loss, albeit temporary, of the person Steve used to be and the relationship they had.
Week after week of caring with barely a grunt of acknowledgement in return, let alone a thank you, had slowly consumed him. The non-response about Charlie had just been the tipping point.
Yet he valued their friendship too much, and the thought that despite his state, Steve cared enough to take the first step quickly dissolved whatever doubt Danny had left.
"You alright?" he asked, always the first thing on his mind.
Steve's heart was beating a mile a minute, but he swallowed hard and tried not to show it. "Yeah. Listen, I... I'm sorry, man. I was an ass."
There. He had said it.
The McGarrett men didn't do well with words and he was no exception, especially now that his brain wasn't working at its full capacity. Still, he'd had to suck it up and admit his mistake because sick or not, there was no way he could go on living without his best friend.
On the other end of the line, Danny sighed. There was a tiny part of him that was still hurt by Steve's behavior and having a hard time dealing with it. "Yeah, you were."
The admission felt like a stab to the former SEAL's heart.
"You know I care about Charlie."
"I know."
In the confines of his dark bedroom, Steve gripped the phone harder and pushed himself to voice his feelings. "I didn't mean to— I don't know what I was thinking and I feel terrible about it."
"You probably weren't thinking, Steve," Danny said, sounding weary and more harsh than he had intended. "You've been driving me crazy for weeks."
The device almost fell from Steve's hand.
Damn.
Danny sure wasn't going to make things easy for him.
A long pause followed.
Steve's thumb hovered over the red button on his phone's screen as he actually considered putting an end to his misery. He hadn't expected such a reaction from Danny and wasn't ready to handle it. But then his friend's voice came back on the line, and he started breathing again.
"Alright, that came out wrong, I apologize," the Jersey native said with genuine regret in his tone. "You're sick, I shouldn't have taken it so personally."
Chastising himself, he imagined how hard it had to be for Steve to go from being Superman and having control over his life to feeling like crap all the time.
"That why you called?"
"No, I..." Steve stammered. "Yes, that too. I called because I miss you. I woke up this morning with no headache for the first time in weeks and I couldn't wait to tell my best friend about it. I couldn't wait to tell you. I... I need to know that we're okay."
Another strained moment passed.
"Listen, I know I pushed you away but I can't do this alone, Danny. I'm sorry I took it out on you, man. I really am."
Danny squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back tears. He didn't know if he could do it either. They had become so dependent on each other that he honestly couldn't imagine his life without Steve.
It was just an argument.
They were stronger than that.
Plus, that was the most eloquent his partner had been when talking about his feelings since the beginning of their friendship. It meant he truly believed what he'd said.
"You really feeling better?" he asked, needing further confirmation because it was a major improvement and it gave him hope that Steve was on the way to recovery.
"Yeah, I am."
"Good. That's good. Maybe I can swing by later so we can talk about it."
Steve's lips quirked upwards. "I'd like that."
"Alright, I'm gonna get dressed and go to work now, alright? You take care of yourself."
Rising to his feet, Steve slowly opened the curtains behind the bed. He squinted at the morning sun, but the stabbing sensation was gone and he breathed in relief.
Maybe things were finally getting better.
"I love you, buddy," he whispered, voice thick with emotion.
Danny ducked his head, his mouth twitching as he fought a smile and lost, breaking into a boyish grin. "I love you too."
THE END