Help me through the night
A/N: I know, there's a lot of stories out there about this episode and this storyline, but I wanted to add my own to the pile. It's getting harder and harder to find something interesting to write about so I guess I went to a safe place and imagined what could've happened after the credits rolled. Hope you guys like it.
Let me carry your burden
Get you back on a high when you're feeling low
When the weight is too heavy but you won't let go
Come to me, my brother, and I will sit with you a while
— Foy Vance, "Burden"
The house was quiet, all of his friends gone after the joyful celebration.
Steve sat on the recliner, washcloth still clutched in his hand. The nausea that had plagued him all evening had finally receded enough to give him a break, and he hadn't moved in the hope that it would stay that way.
Danny was in the kitchen. He could hear him moving around, washing dishes and tidying everything up. Guilt gnawed at him. He wanted to help but was too tired and out of sorts to attempt anything other than laying perfectly still and breathing through his nose.
Time became fuzzy for a while, some of it lost as he closed his eyes and slipped into oblivion. When he came to again, it was to the sound of his best friend's voice calling his name.
"There you are. I was getting worried," Danny said, releasing the grip on his shoulder. "Here. Drink this. It's gonna help with the nausea."
A glass appeared in Steve's field of vision. He reached for it, accepting it with a slight nod. "Charlie?" he asked. His voice was scratchy and hoarse, throat still hurting from the effort of throwing up what little he'd eaten during the day.
"Rachel picked him up while you were upstairs."
After his third trip to the bathroom, his white t-shirt had started to cling uncomfortably to his clammy skin, so he had taken a quick shower and changed into a fresh one and a new pair of shorts.
"How are you feeling?"
Steve shifted, sitting upright. When the room didn't tilt around him, he exhaled in relief and took a sip of the ginger ale Danny had brought him.
"Better. Look, I'm sorry I lied to you, Danny. I just… I didn't know how to tell you."
"How long have you known?"
"What?"
"How long?"
"Doctor confirmed it this morning, but I've suspected it for a while. Haven't been feeling
so great the last couple of weeks and figured it had to do with that dirty bomb we defused."
Danny nodded gravely.
"How bad is it? And don't lie to me, please, or downplay it for my own good. I need to know."
"I honestly don't know," Steve shrugged. "He said medications can control it, but everyone reacts differently. It's not life-threatening right now but bad enough to potentially cause damage down the road especially because, you know... the liver."
Of course, Danny thought to himself. With an immune system already compromised, even a simple infection could kill him.
"Okay. So what's the plan?" he asked. Because there had to be a plan. Something that could be done to slow this illness down or reverse it completely.
"The plan is to take even more meds, get regularly checked and see what happens."
It was not the answer he'd been hoping for, and he shook his head in displeasure.
"What about those spells?"
Steve sighed. "I'll just have to deal with that."
"I should've done it," Danny stated as he dragged a hand over his worried face. "I should've removed that canister..."
"No, Danny, don't say that."
"Why not? We both know I was an ass that day. I was terrified and I was thinking about Charlie and that damn list, and I didn't object when you said you were going to do it."
"I'm glad it wasn't you, Danny," Steve said matter-of-factly as he rose to his feet, closed the distance between them and cupped his hand around the back of Danny's neck. If there was a silver lining, it was the knowledge that at least his partner was safe.
"Still doesn't excuse my behavior. See, most of the time I'm happy to let you do your own thing, because I know those crazy stunts are going to keep us alive but right now, right now I hate that you had to do that and that you always have to be the one who risks his life for the rest of us."
"It's okay, really. I was trained for stuff like this, I had to be the one to do it. Plus, you have a family to think about."
"No." Danny held up a warning finger, pointing it angrily at Steve's chest. "That has nothing to do with it. I've told you a thousand times, that is not reason enough to keep me on the sidelines. I could've removed that casing just as easily. I've been a cop for a very long time and I'm fully capable of making my own decisions, and... and I'm rambling right now because I'm scared..."
Throwing both hands up in the air in an act of utter frustration he dropped onto the couch, elbows on his knees, and pressed the heels of his palms against his closed lids.
"Danny..."
"No, it's— I'm alright. I'm just worried, is all."
Steve nodded. He had seen it on his face when he'd told him and that fear was still there for everyone to see. He wanted to say something, but there really wasn't much that he could do to make him feel better, not when his own body was working against him and displaying every sign of the disease.
As if on cue, he felt the nausea rise again and took another sip of his drink.
"That day, at your last checkup," Danny continued as he got up and started pacing the room. "That's why the doctor said your post-op recovery was slower than expected..."
Feeling all the weariness of a long, hard day, Steve sat down again in the space his friend had just vacated. "I don't know, Danny. I mean, we can't be sure. When you mentioned the radiation poisoning he said there was no trace of it."
"Did he, uh... gave you pamphlets to read?"
"Yeah."
"Can I see them?"
"I threw them away."
Danny's eyebrows shot up. "You threw them away?"
In hindsight, it may have been a childish move, but Steve didn't need pamphlets to know what was going to happen to him. The Navy had taught him all about nuclear weapons and radiation sickness.
"Not my brightest moment."
"You can say that out loud," Danny agreed. There was no anger in his voice, just sadness and concern. "Okay, we can... we can get more. We can search... we can do research and see what our options are." He needed articles, statistics, medical opinions. Everything there was to know about this so that he could make sure Steve lived a long, healthy life.
"Our?"
"Yeah, our. You're not gonna go through this alone."
Steve hated to be pitied, to be looked at as if he was made of glass. It had been bad enough after the transplant, and he didn't want to go through it again. "Danny, I don't want to—"
"Steve, this is serious. I know you know it, and I know you think you can handle it, but what if you can't?" He sat down on the couch next to him. "Let me help, alright? Let me do this for you. With you," he added as his hand waved to indicate the space between them.
There was a kindness in his words, a concern that came so natural to him. It drew Steve in even if he didn't want to. Danny cared, with a passion he had never seen anyone else care, and being on the receiving hand of that attention —especially now as the implications of his diagnosis started to sink in— felt pretty damn good.
"Okay," he conceded.
Their eyes met.
Despite the sickness hollowing out his gaze and the exhaustion setting deep into his bones, Steve did his best to express all of his gratitude. Conversations with Danny had always been so much more than just words after all. Smiles, looks, gestures —they spoke louder than any voice.
Danny beamed, a clear sign that the message had been received.
"What do you say we call it a day, huh?" he suggested, taking in the paleness of Steve's face and the dark circles under his eyes. Hard to believe the same guy had jumped onto a moving truck just hours before.
"Yeah, I need to get some rest." Steve got off the couch with more effort than usual, feeling the first signs of the headache that had troubled him for the last three nights. In less than an hour, it would develop into pain radiating around his entire head. "Thanks for everything, Danny. I'll see you tomorrow."
The wince of pain at the change of position and Steve's overall fatigue didn't go unnoticed. Hands on his hips, Danny moved to stand closer. "Nice try. I'm staying. Tell me what you need."
"I can do this alone."
"I know you can. I just don't want you to."
Steve appreciated the support more than he could put into words. Still, the part of him that had always done things by himself needed the space to deal with this in his own way. He was okay with Danny staying at the house, as long as he was the one to decide if and when to accept help. After seven years of partnership, he knew his friend understood that.
"I'll... I'll call if I need you," he said as he grasped the rail and started up the stairs.
"I'll be here," Danny replied, kicking his shoes off and making himself comfortable. "You know, I think I've slept more on this couch than in my own bed," he added with a smirk.
Getting some sleep proved to be a fruitless attempt. Stomach queasy, headache in full bloom, Steve tossed and turned for what felt like forever, only dozing in fitful spurts in between bathroom breaks.
At 3:45 am, when a car horn honked in the distance, his eyes opened for the hundredth time, darting to the clock on the nightstand. The orange bottle with the new pills the doctor had prescribed was sitting next to it. Steve wished he could throw it away. As if he didn't take enough medications already, now he had to put even more chemicals into his body.
He ran a hand through his hair, hating the helpless feeling of not being in control.
All hopes of sleep discarded, he slid his legs off the bed and forced himself upright. Guided by the moonlight filtering through the window, he padded across the room and quietly opened the door, trying not to make any noise as he headed downstairs to get a glass of water.
To his surprise, Danny was awake as well, sitting cross-legged on the couch and staring intently at something on his cellphone. Knowing him, Steve was positive he was researching his illness.
"Hey," Danny said as soon as he saw him, tucking his phone out of sight.
"Hey."
"You alright?"
"My head's killing me."
Danny remained silent. His lips pursed, the lower one protruding slightly the way it did whenever he didn't like something.
"I'm gonna get some water," Steve continued, moving towards the kitchen.
The hat he had gifted to Danny was sitting on the kitchen island. He remembered the moment he'd seen a chef wear one as he was flipping through the channels, and thinking it would be a perfect gift for him; the excitement when the package had been delivered and the care he'd put into choosing the right ribbon and carefully wrapped it.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
"Did you get any sleep?" Danny asked, striding behind him.
"Not really."
It was a rhetorical question. Danny had heard him go back and forth from the bed to the en-suite bathroom at least three times, and it had taken all of his willpower not to run up the stairs and check on him. Restless and concerned, he had started googling 'radiation sickness' shortly after that just to keep himself busy.
Steve was still pale, his complexion gaunt. According to what he'd read, nausea, diarrhea and vomiting were the symptoms of the first stage of the illness and could last up to a few days. He figured it must've been what the articles called a 'mild exposure' since it had taken weeks before those signs appeared. Nonetheless, they were in for a rough patch if even half of the medical terms and long-term consequences Danny had learned about were going to affect him.
"Wanna go sit outside?" he asked, pushing all of those scary words to the back of his mind.
Steve took a few small sips of his water, then nodded in agreement.
Danny grabbed a bottle for himself and led him outside.
The night was clear, the temperature just about right. He'd never say it out loud, but he had started thinking of Hawaii as home, and its perfect weather was now one of the things he appreciated the most. Even the perpetual sunshine bothered him less and less every day.
Keeping his friend's pace, he slowly walked across the backyard to the Adirondack chairs and sat down, ankles crossed, head resting against the wooden back. A moment later Steve lowered himself in the other one, mouth set in a grimace as if the short walk had messed with his already upset stomach.
Danny was about to ask if he was alright when he saw his body relax and sag against the chair.
A light breeze played around them, stirring the trees and bringing along with it the smell of the ocean.
Steve looked out towards the dark water.
"Remember Lee Campbell?" he said, clenching and unclenching his fingers around the bottle of water.
"Security company guy who robbed banks?"
"Yeah."
There was a stretch of silence after that, one that prompted Danny to turn around and lean forward in his seat and allowed Steve to gather his thoughts.
"That fight we had... it was brutal, man. He almost killed me." His gaze darkened as he recalled the suffocating feeling of the plastic sheet over his face and the ringing in his ears as each blow struck. "My response time was off that day. That's when I knew something was wrong."
Danny remembered that day. All too vividly. He remembered looking for Steve when it was all over, finding him on the floor of a nearby store, eyes closed, blood all over his face, so still that for a split second he'd thought he was too late.
That was three weeks ago, he wanted to say. We could've found out sooner. They could've started treating it and maybe it would've been enough to avoid those side effects down the road...
Maybe...
He bit his lip and nodded.
Steve was staring at him, gauging his reaction with that intense gaze that always seemed to reach into his soul.
"I'll be okay, Danny," he said quietly, letting his eyes fall shut as he listened to the sound of the water.
"I know you will," Danny replied, throwing as much conviction as he could into his words and praying they were true.
After spending some time outside in comfortable silence, Steve's nausea flared up again, and Danny witnessed firsthand what the 'spells' his friend had mentioned really looked like. It made him wish there was someone he could punch and yell at instead of an invisible enemy silently threatening the life of the person he cared about the most besides his children. His hands twitched with the need to touch him, to alleviate his suffering, arms longing to wrap themselves around Steve to pull him in a hug.
He waited instead, patiently, handing him a towel to wipe off his sweat and rubbing soothing circles on his back. When the spell ended, Steve was so exhausted that he leaned into him without even noticing it, his head resting on Danny's shoulder as they sat side by side on the tile floor, backs propped against the bathtub.
Later, Danny wordlessly helped him to his feet and although he hated it, Steve allowed him to take his t-shirt off and help him into bed without complaints.
"Thank you," he said as he settled on his back and closed his eyes.
"Get some sleep," Danny replied in a soft voice. "I'll be here if you need me."
So Danny stood watch. He sat outside Steve's door, ready to jump into action at the first sign of distress, until he heard his friend's breath even out. Once he was sure that Steve was resting comfortably, he went back downstairs and settled on the couch.
Sleep eluded him at first, his brain too wired to be turned off, so he picked up the TV remote and tried to numb himself with some channel surfing. To no avail. Thoughts kept swirling around his brain, coming together to create frightening scenarios until exhaustion finally pulled him into a fitful sleep.
When the sun rose the next morning, he was awakened by the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen. Lifting his head off the pillow, he cracked one eye open and suddenly all the memories of the last twenty-four hours came crashing down on him.
Steve was sick.
Steve had radiation poisoning.
Steve could get cancer and die in a few years because saving the island came with a price and Danny could do nothing about it.
Groaning, he scrubbed a hand over his face and rolled onto his back so that he could sit up. Trying to function on barely two hours of sleep was a challenge for someone who wasn't a morning person to begin with, but Danny quickly shoved his own issues aside and rose from the couch, reminding himself that compared to what Steve was going through, he had no right to complain about anything at all.
He shuffled to the kitchen, stifling a yawn, to find Steve leaning against the counter, eating oatmeal from his favorite cereal bowl.
Dressed in shorts and one of his SEAL t-shirts he looked... okay. Not great, but he'd gained some color back and his movements were smooth and precise. It was as if the night had taken with it the sickness and the vulnerability, nursing him back to enough health to get him through the day.
"Coffee's ready," he announced, smiling at Danny's rumpled appearance.
Danny rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached for the French press, pouring himself a cup.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better," Steve replied as he put the bowl in the sink and started to wash it. "And no, I did not swim today," he added, noticing his friend looking at his damp hair. "Figured I'd give my body a break."
"Good. You, uh... you get any more sleep?"
"Some. You?"
"Let's just say this will be the first of many," Danny replied, raising his mug.
"Good thing there's a ton of paperwork from yesterday's case," Steve teased. "That'll keep both of us awake."
Danny's eyes widened in surprise. "What? I thought you'd take the day off."
"Why?" Steve put the bowl on the drying rack and grabbed a dish towel to wipe his hands. "I'm okay, Danny, I can go to work."
"You sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. I told you man, this is nothing. I've been through worse. Let's go get dressed, alright? I don't want to be late."
If there was one thing Steve had in spades, it was resilience. It was inspiring to watch him fight and
get up again after each curve ball life threw at him. In this case, it meant getting up after puking his guts out all night and going to work when any sane person would stay curled up in bed. Danny wasn't sure walking around as if nothing had happened was the right thing to do, but he knew Steve didn't like to be coddled and any attempt at doing so could only make things worse.
His only choice was to follow him, stand by his side and offer strength and support through the next rounds of spells.
No judgment, no questions asked.
"I'll be ready in ten," he said, greedily drinking the last of his coffee before heading outside to grab the change of clothes he kept in his car.
It was going to be a long day.
THE END