AN: Ended up posting this one a little later than normal, but I think it'll be worth it! There's a bit of a time jump here, but you'll see that in the chapter. I think I made it pretty clear. I'm so excited for you all to read this next chapter, and thanks so much for reading and reviewing! It's awesome to see people enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it!
Warning: violence (this one gets a tad dark)
Generally, Steve didn't need to worry about the side effects of being an elite. It was one of the perks of being a mixed, low-powered individual, an upside he didn't fully understand until he watched Danny collapse and seize a few days before.
At least, he thought it was a few days. He'd lost track of time while held captive in the belly of Kingsley's massive cargo ship and they hadn't let him keep his watch.
It was all part of the process, he knew, and Kingsley had it refined to a science. The nature of mankind is one of resistance, stubbornness, and survival. Even kids had these traits ingrained into their DNA. Thus, Kingsley needed to break them if he wanted to get any use out of them. Some of the techniques he utilized were straight out of the advanced-interrogation (i.e. torture 101) lessons from SEAL training.
Stripping victims of the sense of passing time allowed the captors to tighten their grip of control through disorientation. Never allowing them to breathe fresh air or feel the touch of the sun further enhanced this effective technique. It messed with their circadian rhythms and kept them in a constant fugue.
Pain was also a prominent part of the playbook, not just to the resistors but to innocent bystanders as well. As far as Steve could tell, every kid had one of those chips embedded at the base of their necks and the guards didn't hesitate to use them.
He wondered why he seemed to be the only person without one.
And sure, Steve was ready for all this. He could take it, he'd trained for it and experienced far worse in the past. However, nothing could've prepared him for the sight of children experiencing torment that would break a grown man. Dead eyes, fearful flinches, and pale-faced fear twisted his stomach into a tangled mess of knots.
Children as young as 7 years old languished in the corners of metal cages silent and still, eyes flitting from guard to guard in terrified attentiveness. The older ones - some of them young adults by his judgment - hid their fear far better but it was still present, hanging in the air like the stink of a skunk's spray.
The most chilling part of it all, however, was the silence.
Yet another method of systematic torment designed to psychologically shatter its victims, the guards enforced a strict 'no communication' policy. Kids caught whispering, nodding, signing, tapping, or telepathically communicating were swiftly punished. It was unnerving, even as a man accustomed to silence.
What he wouldn't give to hear Danny's incessant chatter now.
Swallowing past the enormous lump in his throat, he tried to shove the image of his semi-conscious partner being dragged away from his mind. It didn't take a doctor to see that Danny was in a bad way. Severe exhaustion ceased to be a concern in Steve's mind - seizures, nausea, unconsciousness, and that damn tremor proved to be far more worrisome. Wherever they had him now, he highly doubted they were allowing him to sleep off the side effects.
No, it was more likely they were shocking him to 'revitalize' him just enough to heal the next rich scumbag willing to pay Kingsley's price.
For if he was feeling the effects of using his rather pathetic powers, then Danny was probably reduced to a trembling mess from the devastating consequences of his own.
Worse, Kingsley and his people didn't seem to care about the side effects of being an elite. Steve watched as the young elites around him suffered with no comfort whatsoever simply because those holding them captive didn't give a rat's ass that their bodies had limits. They were driven onward, performing feats for guards with video cameras or dragged back to their tiny cell after being thoroughly exploited for their powers by a client elsewhere.
Perhaps the best example of this was the trafficker's version of fight club set up in a steel-caged ring in the middle of the lower deck.
Shortly after they dragged Danny off into parts unknown, the guards returned for Steve and wasted no time throwing him in this ring. Then, they shoved in elites of all shapes, sizes, and power complexes and ordered a fight with only two rules: "no maiming" and "it's over when we say it's over."
It was common practice for illegal fight rings, especially ones that used less than willing participants. The cameras positioned all around the enclosure ensured that Kingsley's clients saw ample examples of their potential purchases.
By his count, he'd faced nine different opponents and all of them looked younger than 25. Fortunately, he hadn't been forced to go up against any young kids - all of them were late-teens and early-twenties. Still, that sick feeling eroded his stomach each time he swung a fist at those scared faces.
He was a Navy SEAL - trained to kill swiftly and without mercy - forced to use those skills against children. The next time he saw Kingsley, he'd wipe that scumbag off the face of the earth.
Pulling his punches as much as he could, he stuck to playing mostly defense. He could take a beating thanks to his limited invulnerability, and his increased strength, speed, and stamina allowed him to dodge and evade. It was almost as though his superpower was defense, so he used it to protect himself and the kids he fought. After all, hits would still hurt him, but they wouldn't do much damage. The same couldn't be said for the others in the ring.
Of course, the kids he fought didn't share the same sentiment - not that he blamed them - and doled out punishment like their lives depended on it. Probably because they did.
Unfortunately, all of the hits Steve took meant that he finally began feeling the side effects of being an elite.
And it absolutely sucked.
After the fourth fight - each one lasting a good half-hour - an unabating hunger ripped his stomach apart past the point of lightheadedness. No muscle was exempt from the bulging spasms and cramps that occurred at almost random intervals, causing debilitating pain. But that was old news - he knew that would happen.
He wasn't expecting the rest.
Apparently, this fun invulnerability he had wasn't without some nasty surprises. He'd been caught up in some hairy situations in the past that put him on the wrong side of an advanced interrogation, so he knew the onslaught of symptoms telling him his durability's ceiling had been reached. Any contact to his skin at all - no matter how gentle - sent a lightning bolt of agony through his nerves. No touch could be tolerated.
But he'd never reached the point where the 'no touching' factor included the brush of air.
Now, the pain was unrelenting and originated from every point in his body. Nowhere was free of it. Moreover, his skin crawled and chafed uncomfortably against his muscles, like a thousand fire ants crawling between his dermis and the sinew beneath it. The largest organ in his body felt like it didn't even belong to him.
Yet, they shoved him in the ring for fight #10 anyway.
They'd been increasing the power level of his opponents with every bought once they learned just how much of a beating he could take. It was almost like they wanted to test his limits. The last guy they forced him to fight was a low-grade Fire dominant mixed elite. He couldn't contain the screams as the white-hot flames danced across his flesh. That fight only ended when he'd gotten the kid in a chokehold and forced the watching henchmen to call it quits.
However, this guy across from him now didn't seem anywhere near as dangerous as the last.
Though he was on the scrawnier side of the spectrum, he was one of the oldest captives Steve had seen on the boat - maybe 24 years old. He perpetually squinted, hands flitting up to his face every so often like he expected glasses to be sitting on the bridge of his nose. Shifting his weight from side to side, he hardly seemed like a threat. No indicators of powers were visible, but that didn't mean he didn't have any.
In fact, that was the only thing that worried Steve. All these kids had powers of some kind, and this guy must have something worthwhile for Kingsley to keep him.
Schooling his expression in order to hide the pain rippling beneath his skin, Steve forced himself to look more closely. It took a moment, but eventually he noticed the raised skin, jagged pink and white lines adorning the elite's forearms. They were the marks of a grappler, someone who liked to get in close.
They also signified quite a few fights under his belt, a fact that further set Steve on edge. And judging from the guards excitedly gathering to witness the fight, this guy was one of their personal favorites - or entertaining at the very least.
That didn't bode well, especially since Steve had managed to win all of his fights so far without harming his opponents. Kingsley's men wanted entertainment and Steve wasn't particularly interested in giving it to them, which meant that this fight was designed for bloodshed.
Damn it all, he wanted to get off this boat.
His bare feet burned with each step on the thin mat and he grit his teeth in an effort not to cry out in pain. It was too much, it was all too much. Any sort of contact would send him crashing to the mat in throes of pure agony. Moreover, he'd pushed the limits of his strength and stamina, making his 'evade' technique completely impossible.
"Begin," came the grunted order of the redhead guard, who Steve not-so-fondly nicknamed 'Sparky' for his overuse of the taser chips.
Immediately on guard, Steve half-expected the elite to charge him right off the bat. Grapplers loved to get up close and personal quickly to gain an advantage and test their opponent. However, this guy just slowly circled - a deadly dance of aborted movement.
Patient, calm, and seemingly confident. Yeah, this was going to be a problem.
The early stages of the fight was characterized by light engagement to test each other's style - a few aborted lunges and some mild hits exchanged. As a fairly typical start for two skills combatants, Steve normally wouldn't worry about the minor skirmishes thus far. However, each touch nearly sent him crashing to his knees writhing in pain. He was running scared and he knew it.
Moreover, his opponent seemed to know it too.
Yet despite this incredible advantage, the guy's blows rarely landed. They were calculated yet wild and dodged with minimal strain on the part of the Navy SEAL. To Steve's skilled eyes, the young man knew exactly what he was doing.
What the hell?
Almost as if the guy had read his mind, his opponent surged forward. This was no feint, no testing lunge. Eyes full of fire, the guy committed and went for broke to the sound of cheers from the surrounding guards.
On a normal day, Steve could take the elite with ease. His skills, though practiced and clearly tested, lacked the training of a true combat expert. He left himself far too open in an effort to get in a good hit. Such a weakness could be easily exploited by someone who knew how.
But today was not a good day.
Breath exploding from his lungs, the effort of twisting his body out of the way was akin to moving through wet cement. Try as he might, his body simply would not cooperate.
He managed to evade the first blow, but the second cracked into his temple before he could get his arm up to block it. Fire exploded from the ruptured skin, pain blinding all of his senses even as he stumbled back. In an instant, the elite had him locked in a chokehold that would crush his windpipe like a soda can should he attempt to move.
Then, through the thousand knives of pain invading his nervous system, he felt a foreign presence intrude the sanctity of his mind.
Throwing up his battered defenses, he desperately tried to recall his training against mental invasions from telepaths or empaths. His opponent must rely on touch as no previous attempt had been made to breach his mind. The link had been made and he threw all of his effort into shoring up his shields against it.
In the end, it didn't matter. Weary from many fights and mind consumed by pain, he didn't stand a chance. The intruder barely tapped his barriers and they crumbled. Horror overshadowing resolve, Steve braced for the worst.
But it never came.
Instead, the elite gently treaded the surface of his mind, picking over recent memories and hovering near his roiling emotions. Then, he pulled back, but not before two words in a foreign voice echoed in the corners of his mind.
Help us.
As the presence retreated, a stifling fog overtook his mind and forced him into the welcome arms of unconsciousness. Steve was out before his body hit the mat.
~H50~
He awoke in a different room, bright fluorescent lights reflecting off white walls and floor tiles in a blinding effect. Eyes slamming shut, he couldn't halt the groan threatening to escape his lips. Every muscle ached, his skin rippled in protest of the many blows it'd absorbed, and he was considering eating the drywall if someone didn't give him food now. Moreover, the uncomfortable pressure behind his temples of someone else entering his mind without his consent lingered.
'Death warmed over' took on a whole new meaning.
"You look really bad."
At the sound of the familiar and entirely welcome voice, Steve shot upright before his eyes fully opened. Ignoring the sharp pain that accompanied the movement, he quickly found the source of the words slouched nearby.
Danny.
Relief blended seamlessly with a new vein of concern. In his mind, it was far worse not to know what Kingsley and his goons were doing to his partner. Though the regularly recorded sessions of him being held at gunpoint offered a small bit of assurance, he had no way of knowing if Danny was alright.
Judging from the pathetic image before him, he needed to redefine 'alright.'
"I could say the same about you," he shot back, "but that'd be an insult to the word 'bad.'"
Danny was breathing, semi-upright, and conscious. However, those appeared to be the only positive things about his condition. His face was drawn and pale, dark rings beneath both eyes betraying his exhaustion. Shaking like a leaf, he sat propped in the corner of the room as though the walls were the only thing keeping him upright. Steve growled, noting a new gash on his forehead and the bruises on his face and arms - some of them looking suspiciously like fingerprints. Not to mention the needle marks he saw trailing down both biceps.
Then he saw the blood on the floor.
"What the hell? Danny - - why is your foot covered in blood?"
Wincing, Danny flapped his hand in a pathetic imitation of his usual hand-waving rants. "'M fine."
"Uh huh. Try again."
Silence. Eventually, Steve's patience won out.
"Made a run for it after I healed 'nother scumbag, didn't get very f-far." Air whooshing out of his lungs, Danny's eyelids slipped to half-mast. "After shocking the living daylights outta me, Kingsley decided to make sure I didn't t-try again."
Rubbing his eyes, Steve ignored the phantom shards embedded in his skin and uttered a few of his favorite German cuss words. "How bad?"
Danny shrugged, hissing at the movement. "'S not great. Three long cuts from a scalpel. Can't p-put any weight on it."
"I'm gonna kill that sick son of a bitch."
"Get in line. I had t' watch him put a gun to your head every f-five minutes in high definition." Eyes roaming over Steve, his face creased with a healthy dose of concern and Steve instinctively moved back. "What happened to you anyway? Looks like y'u lost a fight with a b-bulldozer."
Bruises pulsing in time with his heartbeat, he considered not answering. Unfortunately, he'd seen that look on Danny's face too many times before - the dad look he sometimes gave Grace when he knew she wasn't telling him the whole truth.
He hated that look.
"It's nothing, D. Don't worry about it, alright?"
But when the look persisted, he sighed and glared right back. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"S-start talkin', Steven."
"Fine," he all but snarled. However, he quickly softened his voice when Danny flinched. "I, uh, I got forced to participate in Kingsley's version of fight club. Took a few too many hits, but it's nothin' I can't handle."
He was hoping that would be enough for his friend to drop it. Unfortunately, the ordeal hadn't lessened Danny's stubbornness. If anything, the detective dug in deeper. "Fight club? With a bunch of kids?"
"Teens, mostly."
Even exhausted and beat to hell, Danny's murderous expression was truly frightening. It was his 'I'll tear you limb from limb' look, one that Steve quickly learned to take note of so he could remove Danny from the situation as quickly as possible.
"What the hell is the matter with these p-people, huh? Teens, k-kids, it shouldn't matter." Bracing himself for a rant, Steve hardly expected the following words from his partner. "So n-not only are you bruised to kingdom come, but y'u hit-t your limit and now you're facin' s-side effects."
Damn it, Danny was still sharp as a tack even when he looked like he couldn't keep his eyes open. "What makes you think that?"
He half-expected Danny to maintain his prickly demeanor, but Danny surprised him once more. "'M not dumb, Steve," his best friend murmured, slumping back with a quiet groan. "You t-told me your makeup and if your time was anythin' like mine, you prolly had 8 - 12 fights already. I can put two 'n two together."
As he considered denying it, the fire ants once again ran rampant beneath his skin and earned a visible flinch from him. Gritting his teeth, he avoided Danny's knowing gaze. "Maybe a little."
"See, I told you. C'mere, alright?"
Pushing himself to his hands and knees amidst another wave of unrelenting discomfort, Steve moved slowly to his friend's side. He'd been wanting to get a closer look at that foot anyway, maybe see if he could bandage it with the remains of his shirt. "What d'you need, partner?" he asked absently, already focused on the visible injury.
"What d-do you think, genius?" Danny was already reaching out, fingers twitching, and it all clicked in Steve's mind.
No!
"Don't you freaking touch me, Danny!"
This time, he failed to hold back a grunt of pain as he quickly leapt back from his friend's searching hand. His whole body ached from the top of his bruised head to his possible broken toes, a stunning contrast to the remembered warmth from that last time Danny interceded. Still, he held firm even as hurt crossed Danny's face.
"Steve - -"
"No, Danny, no. How many people has Kingsley made you fix, huh? Has he let you sleep or rest at all? I know he's pumping you full of something to keep you on your feet! I'm not letting you do this!"
"It's not your call to make!"
"Are you serious right now? It absolutely is!" Taking a deep breath in a futile effort to calm down, Steve pointedly allowed his eyes to roam all over Danny's trembling form. "Listen to me, alright? You're not even close to 100% right now and this would knock you on your ass on the best of days. I'm not letting you compromise your health."
Stubborn to the end, Danny's expression all but begged him to concede. "You gotta let me do this, please. I'm not g-gonna sugarcoat it - I'm feeling rough. Whether I heal you or not, I'm - -" His voice broke, bottom lip wobbling once before it stiffened under tight discipline. "I'm not gonna make it out of here. N-not on my own, anyway."
Steve's insides froze, eyes widening at Danny's admission. "What are you saying? You're giving up?"
"Not now, not ever," Danny hissed, determination momentarily taking over the lines of pain on his face. "That's why y'u need to let me do this, alright? You're the only shot we have at getting out of here and s-saving these kids. I want to make sure we stack the deck as much as possible, okay? You gotta be 100%."
Steve still shook his head fervently, but his stubborn, loyal partner refused to back down. "Please," he reached out once more, "I just w-wanna go home to my daughter."
Who was Steve to say no to that?
Scooching closer, he bit his lip as Danny's freezing fingers made contact with his overly-sensitive skin. Just as quickly as the pain rose, it was dissipated by the now-familiar warmth of Danny's gift. His shoulders uncurled, a reflexive sigh slipping through his lips as his body settled back into its normally pain-free state.
The feeling of simply being pain-free was truly glorious.
The sound of retching broke him free from his reverie
When Danny's fingers slipped away from his wrist, he opened eyes he didn't realize he'd closed and all but held the man upright as he puked up absolutely nothing but some spit. Red-faced and whimpering, Danny rode out spasms that seemed to last a lifetime before slumping forward until his head nearly touched the dirty tile floor.
Steve immediately placed a hand on Danny's heaving sternum, biting his lip as he attempted to ignore the quiet moans emanating from his friend's cracked lips. Rubbing gentle circles with his palm, he tried to will his own warmth into his partner. "Hey, hey, easy, buddy. You okay?"
A quick, jerky nod was hardly reassuring.
"You gonna pass out or seize or anything?"
"D-dunno."
"Not exactly reassuring, D."
But his friend only shrugged, eyes dull and arms circling his torso in an attempt to slow the shivers. "D-doctor's pumping me f-full of drugs-s, won't l-let m' p-pass out. Might help-p, might n-not."
With a quiet sigh, Steve gently patted Danny's sternum and forced himself to move away. Kingsley - or some of his goons - were bound to come in soon to implement whatever nefarious plan they had for the two elites next. As much as he wanted to continue to comfort the man he considered a brother, he needed to take care of a few things before they were separated once more.
"You hurt anywhere else besides your foot?"
The tiny, exhausted head shake was hardly reassuring, but he wasn't about to pull off his friend's shirt to check for himself. Instead, he nodded and pulled his own shirt off. Tearing it in half, he carefully folded one part into a thick, padded square. He couldn't see how bad the cuts were because of all the dried blood - nor could he clean it - but he knew it wasn't great. He'd help in whatever meager way he could, even if it ended up being futile.
Danny still hissed and tried to pull his foot away when Steve gently pressed the folded material against it, but the SEAL clasped his ankle to carefully restrain it. "Breathe through it, buddy. This'll help protect it - at least a little bit, anyway."
Beyond exhausted, Danny could only groan as Steve continued his ministrations. Once again doing his best to ignore the unnerving whimpers, Steve tore the leftover material into strips and used them to fasten the makeshift pressure bandage to his friend's wounded appendage. After ensuring that it was secure, he gingerly lowered it to the ground and scooched back over to the wall.
"If y'u g-get the chance t' run," Danny suddenly breathed, stirring against his side, "t-take it. With or without-t me."
"Not gonna happen, D."
Danny's glare, though far less withering than normal, still conveyed his displeasure. "We'd h've a better chance if y-you did," he insisted stubbornly. "B-bring back the c-calv'ry."
"We go together or not at all." Allowing himself the luxury of pressing his forehead against the top of his brother's head, he sucked in a weighted breath. "I'm not leaving you."
He didn't know how long he sat shoulder to shoulder with his trembling partner when the door finally opened. Danny stiffened slightly beside him as two guards strode through followed by the rather emotionless doctor and Kingsley himself.
Barely sparing Steve a passing glance, he stared at Danny lustfully for several seconds too long and reveled in the blond's obvious discomfort. Licking his lips, he turned to his henchmen and silkily ordered, "Get them on their feet."
Steve didn't wait for the guards. With a soft apology to his friend, he pulled Danny upright and carefully shifted him so that he didn't put any pressure on his bad foot. Glaring an obvious challenge to the snake of a man, he was pleased to note the peeved sneer on Kingsley's face at Steve's proactive move.
"So, Daniel," Kingsley said prissily, a tone that made Steve want to break his jaw, "do you have a better understanding of your position here? A lesson learned, perhaps?"
"I don't learn," Danny shot back, his voice carefully steady albeit weak. "Part of my devilish charm."
Though Steve expected Kingsley to lash out, the trafficker merely smirked. "I see. We'll remedy that in no time, I'm sure. However, I have a different process in mind for today. Dr. McCallister?"
The doctor moved forward, ignoring Steve's threatening glare, and pulled up Danny's shirt to stick the wireless electrodes on his chest once more. Then, she attached an electronic blood pressure cuff and a pulse ox monitor - also wireless. "Unfortunately, the elite has presented significant physical deterioration as a result of performing his duties. At the present rate, he will be unable to continue at a frequency that produces the maximum profit."
"Thought your fancy drugs were s-supposed to fix that," Danny shot back. Steve squeezed his shoulder in warning, but judging from the tightening of his friend's jaw, Danny wasn't planning on heeding the advised caution.
For the first time since meeting her, a flicker of annoyance flitted across McCallister's normally flat expression. "The drugs merely stalled the deterioration, but the dosage continued to increase at an unsustainable rate. You would hardly be able to pass biometric energy if you overdose."
"That sounds more fun than the alternative."
"Daniel, shut it," Steve hissed through gritted teeth.
"Fortunately, another solution has presented itself," Kingsley cut in, his expression so eager that it bordered on feral excitement. "Dr. McCallister hypothesized that such an ability could be reversible, thus eliminating the problem. You will heal yourself using your friend's energy."
Because he had an arm wrapped around Danny's torso to support his friend's weight, Steve immediately felt Danny's muscles stiffen in alarm. It was a testament to his partner's control that the fear remained hidden from the observers. "Can't be done. Sorry to burst your bubble."
"Oh, but it can." The glee on Kingsley's face was nothing short of sickening. "And you will demonstrate or I will shoot your friend once more and make you watch him bleed out."
And just like that, the tension in Danny's body ratcheted up another notch.
"You can threaten him all you want, Kingsley, but I can't do it! Don't you think I've tried? I've been shot multiple times, for cryin' out loud! It. Does. Not. Work!"
"Perhaps you lacked the proper motivation."
Danny laughed, an ugly, nearly hysterical sound. "Believe me, no amount of 'motivation' is gonna change this. And shooting my friend will only guarantee my refusal to do anything in the future!"
Unfortunately, everyone in the room knew that statement wasn't true. After all, Danny was one of the good guys and Kingsley had a plethora of innocent children below decks to torture in order to force Danny into submission. Still, Steve's presence was an easy way of ensuring cooperation for now, so his safety was temporarily secure.
Shrugging arrogantly, Kingsley leered at his captives once more. "I believe the proper incentive will unlock your hidden abilities. Let's find out, shall we?"
Before Steve could do anything, Danny was ripped from his grasp and forced to his knees. Helplessly lunging forward, Steve was instantly blocked by a guard.
The shiny glint of fluorescent light on metal ripped a yell of protest from his throat, but it did little good.
In a flash, the knife slashed from Danny's left shoulder to his right hip - a diagonal stroke that cut through the t-shirt and flesh beneath. Shallow enough to cause no significant damage but deep enough to require stitches, the long cut instantly welled up with blood. And Danny, a guy who could take a beating with a grin on his face, howled like his back had been flayed.
Probably because it was, idiot.
He yelled in protest of his partner's treatment but the guards only kicked him to the tiled floor beside Danny, who was gulping air like it was a limited commodity. This close to the injured man, he could hear the soft whimpers that accompanied every tremor.
If the poor guy wasn't in pain before, he was in agony now.
The largest guard grabbed Danny's hand and forced it to clasp Steve's wrist. Not minding the fingernails digging into his wrist, Steve murmured a constant stream of encouragement low enough that Kingsley couldn't make it out.
Instead, the slimy trafficker nudged Danny's torn back with the toe of his shoe and elicited a gasp from the battered man. "Take McGarrett's energy and fix it. You know you want to. All this pain could just… disappear."
It took Danny a good bit of effort to spit out his reply in between gasps. "Can't."
"You're lying! I know that this is reversible, so do it now before I start taking out my frustrations on your friend."
Swearing up a storm despite the slurred quality of his words, Danny finally spat out his refusal - or inability - in less vulgar language. "S-Slice me up-p all y'u want-t! I can't d-do it, al-alright?"
"Do it!"
Kingsley was yelling now, face twisted in rage as one of his guards kicked Danny in the ribs. Though the emperor himself couldn't even masquerade as a threat, the power he wielded was more than enough to give Steve pause. Forget himself, Danny couldn't take much more of this.
We need to buy time, Danny had said. Time to play the part.
"He can't do it right now!" Steve blurted out, drawing the attention of everyone in the room for the first time.
"What," Kingsley took a deep breath, rage still boiling in his gaze, "exactly are you implying, McGarrett?"
Danny was definitely going to kill him if they made it out of this alive.
"He can't do it right now. He's too exhausted," Steve lied through his teeth, allowing a bit of his own fear to surface. He had to convince Kingsley of this or Danny might not make it out of this situation.
"What-t the hell, S-Steven?" came his partner's confused and slightly furious hiss.
"Shut up, Danny, alright? You can't keep doing this!" Ignoring Danny's fingers strangling his wrist, he forced himself to meet Kingsley's gaze and proceeded to spout the biggest load of bullcrap in the history of tall tales.
"Look, I don't know how it works because I don't have his power makeup. But I do know that it takes an incredible amount of concentration to take someone else's energy to heal himself. He explained it once, something about how other people put up barriers that he has to fight past to get what he needs. He can't do that when he's dehydrated, malnourished, and hasn't slept in days!"
Clearly doubtful, Kingsley turned to Dr. McCallister. She bore a pensive expression, fingers fiddling with her glasses. "It's plausible," she finally answered. "Much like a telepath must navigate mental walls, an energy elite - especially one with Soul - would need to do the same."
Growling, Kingsley motioned to his two guards, who promptly yanked Danny away from Steve's grasp. The blond was barely conscious at this point, but Kingsley still crouched low and got in his face. "Listen to me well, Daniel. I have a rather large event this evening that I must prepare for, but you will demonstrate the full extent of your abilities once I return. Whatever rest you get in the meantime will have to be sufficient."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode smoothly out of the room. The guards and the doctor followed, dragging Danny with them despite Steve's shouts of protest. He doubted they would give that cut proper medical attention and infection quickly rose to the top of his list of concerns.
One thing was for certain: they were getting out and taking as many kids as they could with them.
Tonight.
Cue dramatic music! The auction is that night, which is when the rest of Five-0 intends to invade. :) I think Kingsley is due for a meeting with Chin'a shotgun and Kono's roundhouse kick, don't you? A little more build-up to go, but then everything happens. Thanks for reading!