I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.
Notes: As always, Phoebe is a life saver and ever patient with a stupid amount of revisions.
I dislike long notes, but had to share this: I found this about flash bangs and apply it whole-heartedly to our lovely 'Super SEAL Steve'!
1. The flash of light momentarily activates all sensory pigment in the retina, making vision impossible for approximately five seconds until the eye restores the pigment to its original, unstimulated state.
2. Your ears ring like a son-of-a-bitch for quite some time, depending on how much experience you have with bangers.
3. You stumble around looking like a drunk for a little while. the concussion causes a spike in pressure disturbing the fluid in the semicircular canals of the ear.
4. You have a generally concussed feeling.
Let's very rightly assume though that Steve has signifiant experience with them and/or uses is very significant life experience in a war zone. Therefore this final bit from the article IS pertinent to Steve in all ways.
"The up shot of life in close proximity to Bangers is that, for better or worse, the more you are exposed to them, the easier they are to handle. One can, over time, become desensitized to the resulting "Flash" and "Bang"."
H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O
At the same time Steve was hiding the boys, Danny was opening his eyes to a world of hurt. And while his eyes might have finally opened, his brain wasn't even close to functioning. He stared upwards only conscious of how badly his head hurt and that a single green something was inches from his face. The green thing swayed back and forth, sometimes dipping to sweep across his face. When he tried to focus on the thing, that only made his head throb even more.
Danny forgot about the green as he lifted one hand to touch the worst of the hurt. Fingers shaking he gingerly touched his temple first before he traced backwards to the place just above his ear. He hadn't much thought about making it hurt more, but he was gasping as soon as his fingers connected with the warm slick of blood. Only then did his addled brain supply him with some sort of logical explanation.
Shot.
He'd been shot and it felt like the bullet was inside his head it ached so badly. Danny still wasn't thinking as he automatically rolled over to his side and that was a mistake of mammoth proportions. Overwhelmed by a spike of pain and vertigo, his attempt at getting up stopped as his stomach churned. He inhaled once, choked on a surge of bile and then vomited up the pizza dinner he'd had not even an hour earlier. Choking and gagging, drenched in sweat and blood, Danny slumped back down. He wedged his eyes tightly closed, his muscles rippling uncontrollably.
He'd been shot in the head and the bullet had to be inside. It had to be because he'd never had such a headache in his life. His mouth flapped open as he tried to call out for help but ... no.
No. No, don't do that.
He wasn't sure what stopped him from calling out. Confused and in pain, Danny dragged in a breath of air and forced his eyes back open. The blur of green was darker now as he squinted upwards. He couldn't see straight. The night-time shadows rolling in around him did little favor and Danny allowed his eyes to drift close as he tried to think harder.
Where was he and why?
Why was he alone? Hadn't he been home last? With the boys. Yes. Maybe? Steve ... Charlie? No, that was both right and ... wrong. C.J. then. It was something to do with him and Danny blearily squinted upwards again. A worrisome name teased at him and Danny got himself moving.
Billy Travers.
Of course. Danny cursed under his breath as he tried to control hands that were shaking so badly, he could barely make a fist. He didn't consider the real how of it just yet. That his family was in danger got him committed to really moving. With another pained groan, he rolled over to his side, pushing through the knife-like pain inside his head and then struggled to his knees. Nearly crippled by pain, his body trembling in shock, Danny dragged himself to his feet.
His whimper of pain was pathetic as he fought to stay upright. His vision swam sickeningly and it was all he could do just to stand there as one hand punched wildly through the air, seeking any kind of purchase. He'd been shot in the head and was surely on the verge of death as he listed dizzily to the side, caught himself from face-planting just in time, only to ingloriously vomit again.
"Fuck," he whimpered. He swiped at his face with the back of his hand before holding that hand firmly over his mouth. He refused to get sick again. Already, the sour taste and odor clung to him as he blindly stumbled over his own two feet. He was in the verge of falling to his knees when his hand connected with a hard surface. His fingers scrabbled over smooth metal, the familiar feel grounding him in relief.
Danny leaned forward over the side of his car, trusting it to hold him. It was cool under the heat-soaked sweat of his upper body as he let himself go, inch by inch. His head followed suit and Danny laid his cheek against the hood, reveling in its familiarity. Taking comfort in how it braced the ache inside. His eyes closed as he reminded himself to simply breathe. But on the cusp of this brief bout of peace, Billy Travers name came back to taunt him. Then the why of being shot and Danny wrenched his eyes back open.
He'd been taking the garbage out. Dumping the trash. He'd been shot.
"Charlie?" Danny croaked out his son's name and his stomach twisted again. This time more in fear as his senses began to clear enough for him to stubbornly push himself off the Camaro. He needed to go back to the house. Check on the boys. See Steve. Steve would know what to do about all the blood.
Wobbly and sick, Danny aimed himself across the breeze-way, weaving like a drunkard towards the kitchen door. But then he was stopping yet again as a new odor wafted his way.
Smoke. Acrid and thick, the smell caught his attention and Danny awkwardly turned around, dumbstruck to see flames licking up the side of the old shed. He blinked in shock and then changed trajectory, getting only a few off kilter steps in before he heard a muffled bang emanating from inside the house. Hand to his aching head, Danny waffled in confusion even as a distant siren floated within earshot. Help was coming but Danny didn't know which way to turn until the kitchen door exploded off its hinges and a body skidded across the breeze-way.
Danny blinked wildly through his blurry vision. As he watched, the body rolled up to a crouch, lightly balanced on its toes.
"Steve?"
H5O* H5O
Moving the bookcase back into place, Steve touched nothing else as he eased himself quietly through his house. He left the TV alone, allowing it to resonate cartoon-ish music much too loudly. A glance towards the TV clocked a kids cereal commercial and he quickly discounted it. His intent was to go out through the kitchen - maybe the lanai - he could smell the sour odor of burning wood and even older chemicals on the wind. He envisioned Danny inside the old shed, trapped and he used his anger efficiently as he gained ground through the house. Steve thought he was ready for everything except for the soft click and shushing-sound.
Steve knew the sound well. He didn't need to see the slim canister to know a flash-bang had been tossed into the house.
Sheer instinct had him closing his eyes tightly and diving away towards the closest and most secluded spot he could reach. With barely a grunt, Steve used his arms to cover his ears as he let the concussive force of the flash-bang flow over him. Sure he felt it. Even with his eyes closed and his ears somewhat protected, he was momentarily blinded and deafened; maybe just a bit disoriented. But Steve had zero issue with keeping his wits and doing a mental count to five, before he was on his feet and ready for war. Behind him, the canister smoldered threateningly on the hard-wood floor.
But all Steve needed was movement ...
... another mental count to three and a patient turn of his head provided him with some perspective. Steve put himself just inside the kitchen nearest the center island prep station. A few feet from the side door where Danny had taken the garbage out just minutes earlier. He couldn't feel his weapon braced between his lower back and the waist-band of his jeans. He didn't dare move though. Not yet. So while Steve would have appreciated having his gun, he quickly opted for another approach.
Feigning some weakness, he stayed on a knee, muscles bunched. Head low but cocked to the right - towards the lanai - towards where he sensed the canister had come, Steve waited for what he needed, knowing that Billy Travers could never appreciate that the SEALs had hardened Steve to certain types of attack. Being at war had only increased what had long become innate traits.
For Steve, a flash-bang was child's play. After hurting Ellen Gardner, terrifying Steve's little son and doing God-knew-what to Danny, Travers would learn what Steve was capable of the hard way. Steve just needed one sliver of motion. A shadow of any kind; some tiny change in the atmosphere and he would have what he needed as he let his attacker come to him. Allow the person to believe he'd been wrongly incapacitated. So Steve paused ... waiting ... willing his hearing to cooperate ... waiting until he caught that glimpse ... a dark shadow that flickered just into view.
"Where's my kid?" Travers asked nastily. "I want what's mine ..."
"He's not yours. Never was ... never will be," Steve said, ignoring the gun in Traver's hand but clocking the silencer. He knew what had happened to Danny and Travers had bought himself a death warrant as he made a silent vow to not edit his reaction. There would be no point of return. No matter what might happen next, the felon would indeed die that day.
"You're nothing but a mongrel ... hell, you're not even that."
"Say whatever you want." There was the barest of shrugs. Traver's entire demeanor reeked of disdain. "He's dead, McGarrett," Travers boasted softly. "Easy, peasy." He pantomimed the shape of a gun with his free hand. Using his thumb and forefinger, he held his finger to his own head, making a clicking sound with his tongue.
"You're next. Then I'm taking what's mine."
Steve's heart clenched in pain as he tried to absorb what Travers had just said and done. He'd shot Danny. Killed him and intended to do more until he got what he came for. At the narrowing of the felon's eyes, Steve launched himself at the man. A bullet ripped through his bicep. A second shattered his clavicle. Fueled by rage, Steve barely noticed the pain that came with the hits. The force of the slugs merely slowed him down a second or two. Certainly not long enough for Billy Travers to recover in time to take another shot.
There was a stunned shout of alarm as Steve broadsided the man. Travers' gun flew from his fingers as Steve hefted him back to his feet only to boot Travers directly in the breast-bone. The kick was solid and strong, sending Travers windmilling backwards through the kitchen's screen door. As Steve strode forward, he scooped up the gun in one smooth motion, following in the man's wake.
Travers hit the pavement hard, falling on top of the old pizza boxes. His legs bicycled under the now destroyed screen door as he regained his balance, breathing hard but agile enough to quickly roll to his feet. Despite coughing from Steve's kick, he crouched low near the garbage pails, on his toes, a knife in his hand. Slowly he splayed the fingers of his opposite hand.
You can't shoot me," Travers practically purred. "Stupid ass cops ... that damned kid's mine; that's a fact that's just never going to change." His grin deepened as the sounds of multiple sirens came closer. He coughed again, wheezing uncomfortably and then shrugged. "Oh hell, so here come the troops." Ever so arrogantly, Billy Travers let the knife slip from his fingers.
"I surrender."
"Not happening," Steve said with a leer that bested Travers' arrogance. His left arm throbbed. It was fast refusing to work but his right hand was steady and true. The boys were safe and would stay that way. The sirens were close now. In the street. Shouts could be heard from the base of the driveway. Fire and police back-up had arrived and Lou would be there, but Danny? Travers had to be lying. Steve glowered angrily even as the smile slowly left Travers' face. Travers wasn't looking at him anymore and Steve glanced to his right when he sensed the new presence. Lights were illuminating the area. Steve thought the person might be Lou Grover, but then felt sucker-punched when he realized the shape was Danny.
"Danno?" Steve asked so many questions with that one word.
"Steve?" Danny's voice never sounded sweeter. Something was off though in Danny's tone. His glance turned double-take as his gaze raked over Danny's disheveled, bloody appearance. That spark of relief kindled into a feeling of very real fear.
Steve's breathing caught in his throat when he saw the matted hair and the sheer volume of blood darkening Danny's neck and shirt.
"Sheds on fire," Danny whispered. He frowned in confusion next, looking from Steve to Travers, then back again. "Did... did you get shot?" Eyes glazed and shaking from head to foot, Danny was barely on his feet and he certainly wasn't tracking well but he'd focused on the blood dripping down Steve's arm.
"Fuck me," Travers said disgustedly. "Look who's back from the dead."
"I ... I think I did," Danny mumbled as if he never heard Billy Travers at all. He looked down at the blood staining his fingers, completely confused. "Head hurts."
"Oh my God," Steve whispered as Travers had the gall to curse in contempt. "Danno. Just stay there ... don't move."
The head wound was bad. Travers had really meant to kill his partner; the fact that he was now cursing up a blue-streak proved that Travers thought he had done it. That Danny might really be grievously wounded had Steve swinging his gaze back down towards the felon. Filled with hatred as he sensed Danny's knees starting to buckle, Steve stared deeply into the man's black eyes. There was something in Travers' eyes; something more.
"Steve?" The confusion and pain in Danny's voice nearly pulled Steve off his quarry. He was scared to death for his partner. Distractions were increasing as the fire department arrived. But the felon's left hand had started to move as he tried to take advantage of them. Travers' hand had dropped down of its own accord. As he boldly kept Steve's gaze, his fingers were tracing along his hip. Down towards his lower back. He was back to grinning like a maniac and Steve had had enough.
"Don't ...," Steve's warning was noncommittal because Travers kept right on going. His hand disappeared and Steve tightened his finger on the trigger. "Stop."
He took another step forward and finally, Travers realized the many flaws in his plan. His eyes widened in surprise when he understood the singular look on Steve's face.
"Wait ...," Travers hand was on the upswing, but it was far too late. Steve shook his head just once even as Lou Grover came up the drive on a run, shouting his name. There was a muted glint of silver in Travers' hand and Steve didn't hesitate.
"This is my family ... C.J. is my son," Steve stated as he emptied Travers' own clip into his body.
~ to be continued ~
