The Seal

by Mousme

The AU in which Steve is a superhero and Danny is still a cop, and they still sort of drive each other nuts. Together, they have to save the world from certain doom.

2. Chapter 2

By the time he gets home he's too wired to sleep, too exhausted to move. He drops onto the sofa that's the only piece of furniture he owns apart from a rickety table and a beat-up dresser, can't even bring himself to pull it out in order to make up the bed. He must have had a good reason for putting it back the way it is, but he can't remember doing it right now. He sits, staring a little blankly at the TV even though it's not switched on, seeing his reflection staring back at him from the shadows, barely registers the sound of the kitchen window sliding open and shut again.

"I'm sorry about your partner," Steve says softly from the doorway. "I didn't realize he was the one who'd been shot, or I wouldn't have let you find out like that."

Danny nods mechanically. "It's fine. If it weren't for you I probably still wouldn't know, and some stranger would be telling Amy her husband is dead right now."

"Still, I would have done it differently, if I'd known."

Danny finds himself wishing he was the type of man to drown his troubles in alcohol. He hasn't bothered to turn around to look at The Seal. "Why are you here, Steve? I'm not exactly in the right frame of mind to play into your elaborate hero fantasies. Not tonight."

"I didn't come for that."

"No? Then what did you come for?" This time he does turn, only to find that the guy is standing off in the shadows in one corner of his living room.

"I came because you shouldn't be alone. Not at a time like this. I know Meka was pretty much your only friend here, and I know what it's like to lose someone like that."

"Okay, well, your sympathy is duly noted," Danny knows he's being churlish, but the last thing he wants is this confusing, irritating man in his living room at three o'clock in the morning exuding sympathy when Danny still can't figure out if he should shoot him or maybe kiss him, and none of those thoughts are especially comforting right now. "But seeing as how we don't know each other, I don't really see the logic behind your reasoning."

"That's where you're wrong. We do know each other. I just figured it was time we knew each other better, that's all."

"Says the guy wearing a mask."

"Do you see a mask, Danno?" Steve asks, and Danny has to bite back a small gasp of surprise as he steps forward out of the shadows.

Probably the most surprising thing about Steve is how perfectly ordinary he looks. Okay, not exactly ordinary. The guy is handsome, clean-cut and very tall, but apart from being drop-dead gorgeous, he could be just any other guy off the street, wearing cargo pants over a pair of what look like military-issue boots and a navy blue polo t-shirt. There's no sign of the slightly manic, endearing smile he usually reserves for Danny, not now. Now he's staring at Danny like he wants to bore a hole right through his skull using only his eyes (and for all Danny knows, that might be his superpower), and all Danny can think of is how bright those eyes are, rimmed with thick lashes. He wonders if it makes him officially a girl if all he wants to do is stare right back into Steve's eyes for the rest of his life.

"Holy crap," he manages after a minute.

"Not what you were expecting?" There's a small smirk accompanying the statement, but this time Steve doesn't quite meet his eyes, as though he's uncomfortable under Danny's scrutiny.

"I don't know what I was expecting. Not this, though. Cargo pants? What happened to the spandex?"

"For the last time, it's not spandex," Steve snaps. "It's a special fibre blend I came up with, okay? More resistant than Kevlar."

"You should patent it and sell it to the police forces. You'd make a mint and save the lives of countless officers in the line of duty," Danny says almost automatically, still staring at the face that's been hidden behind a mask all this time.

"I tried that, but they think it's too expensive to be worth it," Steve has moved forward so that he's standing a bare few inches in front of Danny, so close that if he wanted, Danny could just raise a hand and touch him.

"Why are you here?" Danny repeats, like it might all suddenly make sense, if only he hears it again.

"I told you why."

"I mean, like this," Danny makes a vague up-and-down motion with one hand. "I thought the whole point of the costume was so no one would know who you were."

"Maybe I want you to know who I am, Danno."

"Seriously, don't call me that."

"I don't think you should stay here tonight," Steve leans over, pulls Danny to his feet before he so much as has time to register what's going on, let alone protest the treatment. He smells of the ocean, of brine and salty air, faintly of coconut, and Danny realizes belatedly that he's almost but not quite wrapped up in his arms, shielded from the world. Stranger still, he kind of wants to stay there. "Come with me."

He finds he doesn't really want to resist, not anymore, even though this is probably a spectacularly shitty judgment call on his part. "Where we going?"

"Back to my place."

"Your secret hideout? You got a Batcave?"

"I do, but I think that would be overkill. You need a bed, not a high-tech laboratory," Steve steers him skillfully out through his own front door, and Danny can't even tell if he locks the door behind them. "Maybe some other time I'll show it to you. Come on, get in."

"Why are you driving my car again?"

"It's a nice car, and I didn't drive here."

"That's not what I was asking."

Steve just ignores him, and the scenery rushes by in a blur. For a while there's silence, until the gentle rumble of the Camaro's engine lulls Danny to sleep, eyes drifting shut in spite of his attempts to stay awake. He barely rouses when Steve shakes him by the shoulder and pulls him out of the car and up a short flight of steps into what on first inspection looks like a perfectly normal house. Of course, it probably has a dozen hidden booby traps and twice as many secret doors and tunnels, Danny thinks a little muzzily, but, whatever. It can wait.

"You know, no one in their right mind would be doing what I'm doing right now," he grumbles. "I must be losing it. All that pineapple finally getting to me."

"What's wrong with pineapple?"

"I rest my case," he says with finality as the backs of his knees connect with what feels like a mattress. He doesn't remember going into a bedroom, but here he is. "I'm going to bed in a complete stranger's house and it hasn't occurred to me yet that I should be, I dunno, running away or shooting you, or both."

"I'm not a stranger," Steve repeats firmly. "And I'm not going to try anything, even if your bullets could do anything against me. You're exhausted and I'm not in the habit of taking advantage." He grins wickedly. "I like things fully consensual. Makes it more fun that way."

"Oh my God," Danny groans, unsure whether to be appalled or really turned on. Steve nudges him fully onto the bed and tucks a pillow under his head, and all thoughts of what else they might be doing vanish from his mind.

"We'll talk in the morning," Steve promises. "Go to sleep. It's perfectly safe here, I promise."

And weirdly enough, Danny believes him.

---

It's been a very, very long time since Danny has woken up somewhere he wasn't expecting to be. More than ten years, certainly. There's sunlight streaming into the room through half-drawn blinds and the bed is far more comfortable than he remembers his pull-out bed being. A digital clock on the unfamiliar nightstand tells him that it's just past seven o'clock in the morning. Gradually the events of the night before start to come back, leaving a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach which only eases slightly when he sits up and catches sight of Steve, standing in front of the dresser with his back to him. His hair is damp, and he's wearing nothing but a pair of cargo pants, is obviously rummaging for a shirt. In spite of how crappy Danny feels overall, he can't help but admire the well-sculpted muscles of the man's arms and shoulders, the neatly-defined ink of the tattoo at the small of his back and on his arms, feels his dick twitch a little with an interest he can't really deny at this point. As though he can sense he's being watched, Steve turns, pulling a t-shirt over his head, and smiles softly at him.

"I thought you'd sleep longer than that. You were pretty wiped last night."

Danny struggles to a sitting position, wonders just when he managed to shed most of his clothes apart from his boxers. "Yeah, well, strange bed, you know how it goes. This may well qualify as the most surreal morning of my life. Normally if I'm waking up in someone else's bed ―and that isn't exactly par for the course for me either― it's for entirely different reasons.

At that, and this really is his life now, holy hell, Steve ducks his head a little and damn if he doesn't look at Danny coyly right through his lashes, like he's suddenly shy or something. "Yeah, well, I think that might be rushing things a little, don't you?" Danny can't manage much more than a sputter at that, so Steve presses on, still not looking right at him. "Anyway, uh, would you like breakfast? There's coffee."

"That sounds like the best news I've had all week, actually." Danny crawls out of the bed, looking for his clothes, which have somehow ended up neatly folded on a wicker chair in the corner of the room. Looking up, he catches Steve staring at him, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. "What? I got bed hair or something? It just does that, I'll have you know."

"No, I mean, yes, you do, but it's not that. Where'd you get the scar?"

Danny glances down, surprised. He's so used to the nasty-looking thing that he barely gives it any thought these days. "That? Got shot by some punk trying to rob a convenience store back in Jersey. Nearly four years ago, come to think of it."

Danny pulls on his undershirt, threads his arms through the sleeves of the work shirt he was wearing yesterday. He'll shower and change when he gets home, he figures. He's on leave from work anyway, it's not like he has anywhere to rush to.

"That doesn't look like a bullet wound." Steve is suddenly standing right up in his personal space, hand hovering a couple of inches away, as though he wants to reach right through the fabric to wipe away the scar.

"No," Danny explains patiently. "That would be the surgical scar from when they cracked open my chest to prevent me from dying. I don't recommend it, it hurts like a bitch for months afterward."

Steve is still staring at him. "You almost died in the line of duty."

Danny shrugs uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, it's part of the job."

"Not for me, it isn't. God, Danny. How do you do it? Knowing you could die just from any stray bullet?"

"All cops do it, you know. Me? I look into my little girl's eyes, and I know that I'm keeping the world safe for her."

"As easy as that?"

Danny nods. "Easy as that."

There's a long silence, the tension so thick Danny almost wishes he had a knife so that he could test out whether you actually can cut tension with a knife. For a moment he thinks Steve is going to do something impulsive and really insane, but instead he pulls away a little, lets Danny finish getting dressed, and leads him down into a pristine kitchen, where he can smell coffee already brewing. He sits down at the small breakfast counter and lets Steve hand him a cup along with cream and sugar, though he gets the impression from the way things are set up that Steve isn't exactly used to having visitors over. He glances through the adjoining door, sees a small office that looks familiar, although it feels like something is missing from the picture.

"I've seen this place before."

Steve stiffens. "I don't think so."

Danny narrows his eyes, stares at the room. "No, I definitely have, but it was different..." he trails off as he realizes that what's missing from the room are bloodstains and numbered police evidence markers. "I remember. The McGarrett murder. This was Meka's case, before I got here. He was obsessed with it. What the hell are you doing in this house? It's a little on the sick side, don't you think? A little morbid?"

Steve's expression is shuttered. "Not really. This is my house. I inherited it from my father when he died."

"Your father's ―oh. Oh," Danny's brain finally catches up and he realizes what a colossal blunder he's just made. "Jesus, you're Jack McGarrett's son. I'm so sorry, I have a big mouth. I never would... I'm sorry about your father, Steve. Meka told me he was one of the good guys, the best cop he'd ever worked with."

Steve shrugs it off. "Meka's a good man."

"So you knew Meka too?"

"In a manner of speaking. We spoke once, when the case was still active. My father's killer has been in the wind for years, though. No sign of him anywhere, until recently."

Danny's stomach twists unpleasantly. "Let me guess. It was the guy in the photographs from my crime scenes."

Steve nods. "Victor Hesse. He fled the island after he murdered my father, but he works for The Shark ―his right-hand man. If he's back, it's because The Shark is planning something big."

"So you being in that alley, that wasn't a coincidence."

Steve shakes his head. "Meka was a good cop, one of the best. I kept tabs on the case, even when all the leads dried up, then started keeping tabs on you when you became his partner, to make sure no one was trying to interfere with him."

"You checked up on me?" Danny asks incredulously, and Steve nods. "I hate to break it to you, babe, but that's really creepy and invasive."

Steve just shrugs. "I had to know if you were working for The Shark. I'm ninety-nine per cent sure you're not."

"Well, that's reassuring," Danny remarks drily.

"I think the cases are related," Steve says as though Danny hasn't said a word, "I contacted Meka after I recognized Hesse from the photographs. I just didn't think he'd follow up on the lead so fast, or what would happen," his gaze flicks away from Danny, as though he's expecting Danny to maybe lunge to his feet and punch him. In his defense, Danny does come close.

"So what you're saying is, this Hesse is the one who killed my partner? Under orders from The Shark?"

"The same way he killed my parents, yes."

"Parents? As in plural?" Danny's starting to get a headache.

"My father was investigating my mother's death. I always thought it was a car accident, but after he died I found a toolbox full of his notes. He never told anyone in the department about it, worried that there was a leak. The Shark has eyes and ears everywhere."

"This Shark got a name at least? I'm finding it hard to muster much fear or respect or whatever for a giant fish."

Steve nods, goes into the office, takes out a manila envelope and brings it back to the kitchen. He pulls a couple of grainy photographs of an Asian man dressed in a really unfortunate-looking white suit and pushes them towards Danny. "I've never seen him in person, but I believe this is the man I've been up against these past few years. His name is Wo Fat."

Danny stares at the picture, then whistles quietly. "You sure know how to pick 'em, my friend. You sure you don't want to try the Sith Emperor instead? Might be easier to take down."

"Don't be ridiculous, Danno, there's no such thing. That's a fictional character."

Danny drains his cup of coffee and Steve doesn't wait to be asked before refilling it. "So you're telling me that the guy who is reportedly the head of the Yakuza here in Hawaii is also ―and I cannot stress how insane this sounds― a super-villain who happens to be your arch-nemesis."

"I don't see why that sounds so insane."

"Normal people don't have arch-nemeses, Steven."

The corner of Steve's mouth twitches into something almost resembling a smile. "I thought you already decided I wasn't normal."

Danny throws up his hands in surrender. "That's not what I meant! How come no one else knows about this epic battle of good and evil you've got going on, then?"

Steve actually rolls his eyes. "Well, it wouldn't be much of a secret if everyone knew about it, would it? I mean, he wants his identity kept a secret as much as I do. Otherwise his whole operation would be blown and he'd never get to put his master plan into action."

"Master plan?"

"Well, world domination, of course."

Danny groans. "I was really afraid you'd say that."

---

Danny has never been involved in a fully-fledged conspiracy before, and it's surprisingly stressful, he finds. There's a whole world out there that he never suspected even existed, full of people with extra abilities and secret identities and a whole universe of power politics being played behind the scenes that, if he's honest with himself, he never ever wanted to know about. For a few days, at least, he finds himself avoiding all contact with Steve, who, now that they're on familiar terms, has at least stopped dropping in like a bird of ill omen and now uses the telephone like a regular human. He doesn't bother answering any of the calls, though, unwilling to deal with whatever he's going to find on the other end of the line, and refuses to dwell to long on how much he kind of misses the lunatic already, on how comfortable it felt, spending that one morning together.

Time passes in a mass of days blending into each other. Meka's funeral goes by in a blur of trumpet music and ceremonial gunfire, and he watches as Amy quietly accepts the carefully-folded flag that up until a few minutes ago was draped over Meka's coffin. Billy is standing next to her, one hand clutching a fold of her skirt so hard Danny thinks the fabric might rip. Billy's too young to really understand what's happening, but Danny is pretty sure he's understood that his father is never coming back. After the funeral he goes home and for the first time in his life, gets properly drunk as a direct result of his work, crawls under the blanket on his bed and promptly passes out. When he awakens, he finds a pitcher of water and an extra-large bottle of Tylenol next to his bed that he doesn't remember putting there the night before.

At the office, he suddenly finds he's become persona non grata. Conversations stop when he approaches, groups disperse rather than talk to him. His desk is entirely deserted, whereas before at least sometimes people would stop by sometimes to chat with Meka. Danny hadn't realized before just how much he relied on Meka to be the social lubricant between him and the other officers. Now, though, his desk has become a ghost town, populated by tumbleweeds and his aging case files. The jewellery store robberies have been taken away and reassigned, and everyone is carefully not giving him any sort of useful updates on the investigation into Meka's murder.

So Danny does whatever any other cop in his position would do: he cheats. He doesn't have much by way of allies within the department, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have other resources. The one cop who still talks to him is Kono, which comes as something of a surprise even to him. She sidles up to his desk one day, holding a small stack of photocopies.

"Thought you might like to see these," she says casually, dropping the stack on his desk.

He picks up the papers. "This is Meka's autopsy report," he says, eyebrows making a break for his hairline. "Dare I ask?"

"I made friends with Max. He doesn't like people, but he can appreciate someone who'll tune his piano without insisting on small talk."

"Please tell me that's not a euphemism."

Kono snorts and punches his arm, hard. "Ew, what do you take me for? No, his actual piano, you sexist jerk. Don't make me go to the Lieutenant and force him to sign you up for sensitivity training."

Danny holds up both hands in a clear gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! That didn't come out right at all, okay? It's just... you know what? There is no good way for me to finish that sentence. I didn't mean to imply anything about you or your, uh, methods of obtaining information. Which, thank you, by the way."

"You're welcome."

He starts flipping through the pages. "So, can I ask why you're speaking to the leper? This sort of thing is contagious, you know."

She shrugs. "I don't care. You were good to my cousin, and anyone who does good by my family deserves something from me in return."

"Your cousin?"

"Chin Ho Kelly."

"I didn't realize the connection. Next time remind me to check more carefully. So, you think your cousin's innocent?"

"Absolutely. And one day, I'm going to prove it."

Danny can respect that. "You ever need help with that, Kono, you just let me know. At the very least, he deserves a fair shake and not just the bum's rush that he got here."

She smiles, then, bright and sunny. "I knew there was a reason I liked you! Meka had good instincts," she says, sobering a bit. "He kept insisting you were one of the best cops we had, that the other detectives were stupid to shut you out. I bet you anything you're going to prove him right, sooner rather than later. Hope you find what you're looking for in there, Danny."

"I hope so too."

---

The case dries up. It doesn't help that Danny's not allowed to pursue it officially, of course, but it becomes obvious after a while that the detectives assigned to the case aren't getting anywhere. Whether it's because they're dragging their feet or being deliberately stonewalled is anyone's guess, but either way it makes Danny furious. Anywhere else, he thinks, and a cop's death would have the entire department crawling over it in order to get the cop-killer off the streets, preferably with the stuffing kicked out of him. Here? It's like some sort of silent order has been passed along without Danny's knowledge to ignore this travesty. Meka gave twelve years of his life to the force, and apparently all he's getting in return is a nice funeral and a bunch of cops spitting on his sacrifice.

Danny Williams, however, is not a detective for nothing. If no one else is going to get justice for his partner, then he's damned well going to get it himself. It's easy enough to start digging on his own now that he has a few names to go along with the investigation. There's a new transfer in from the FBI, a pretty girl who's a bit on the nerdy side by the name of Jenna Kaye. Given her haole status she and Danny commiserated early on and since then she's proven more than a little willing to bend the occasional rule to help him. It turns out also that the name Wo Fat isn't unknown to her –the FBI has him on a couple of watch lists as it happens– and she's happy to slip him information under the table in exchange for part of the care packages his mother still sends from New Jersey on a semi-regular basis. Danny can't blame her: there are few people who can resist his mother's baking, even after a couple of days of express travel.

With her help and the occasional nudge from Kono, after a couple of weeks he's reasonably certain that he can come up with some good intel on the whereabouts of Victor Hesse, who right now is at the top of his suspect list. Or, technically, he supposes Hesse is more of a 'person of interest' since there's no evidence yet that he was the one who actually pulled the trigger. Ballistics are a match between Meka's death and that of Jack McGarrett, though, and that by itself is too big to be a coincidence. Danny keeps a copy of that report in his apartment along with back-ups of everything else. He's not by nature a paranoid man, but when the original ballistics report goes missing, it's just one more coincidence in a long line of coincidences that appear to be building a giant brick wall between him and the truth.

The best lead he gets takes him to a safehouse down by the docks where he sets up an unofficial surveillance of sorts during his time off. Kono helps as best she can, but she's still a rookie and her time isn't really her own. Not to mention that he's not really willing to jeopardize her career any more than he already is. She's just starting out, it would be unfair to saddle her with even more trouble than her cousin's reputation has already brought her. It's frustrating in the extreme, but it's better than nothing, he reasons. He does manage to build a decent portfolio of pictures during his stakeouts, carefully annotated with dates and times. It doesn't come as a complete surprise, therefore, when he gets called into his Lieutenant's office. The Lieutenant gestures him to a chair, tight-lipped with disapproval, which Danny refuses, standing with both hands gripping the back of the chair instead.

"I don't suppose I have to tell you why you're here?"

Danny arranges his face into the blandest expression he can muster. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

The Lieutenant sighs. "Okay, Williams, go ahead and play dumb. Here's how this is going to works. Effective immediately, you are on paid sick leave. You will come into the office only for previously scheduled appointments with the psychologist, for necessary meetings with HR, or if I call you in. You will cease your communications with Jenna Kaye and with Officer Kalakaua except on a strictly social basis and you will not, under any circumstances, discuss the investigation into Detective Hanamoa's death with them or with any other member of HPD. You will also, effective immediately, cease and desist your visits to the district that appears to have become your favourite haunt of late. I will not have this department be liable for a case of police harassment because you don't know how to let something go!" he yells the last few words, jabbing a finger at Danny for emphasis. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal. I guess I'm never going to get used to how things work here. Back in Jersey, a cop dies? No one goes home until the killer's found." He doesn't bother to keep the accusation out of his tone.

"Damn it, Williams," the Lieutenant blows out a breath. "You are one of my best detectives. Don't screw up your career over this. We all want Meka's killer brought to justice. Why don't you trust the rest of us to do our jobs, all right? Go home. Have a beer. Watch the game. See your kid. Take advantage of the down time. And for heaven's sake, don't make me have to fire you."

---

Danny's seeing red by the time he gets out of HPD, filled with impotent rage. He's got a stack of evidence that's never going to see the light of day, every path a dead end as far as the eye can see. He drops the box of files from his car on the floor of his apartment, slams the door shut with a vicious kick, because there's nowhere else to vent his frustration.

"Take it easy, Danno," an amused voice comes from the gloom of his apartment. "You'll lose your safety deposit on this dump if you keep on that way."

Danny jumps about six feet, slumps against the door, heart hammering at his ribcage. "Jesus, Steve, warn a guy!"

"Well, I would have called, but you never answer your phone when I do. You want to tell me what that's about?" Steve, Danny notes, is back in costume, complete with mask and cape.

Danny wipes a hand over his face, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal. "Yeah… this isn't a good time."

Steve is yet another complication Danny doesn't need in his life. It's not that he doesn't like the guy ―that's precisely the problem. The last thing he needs is a six-foot hazel-eyed distraction from his self-imposed mission of finding Meka's killer and bringing him to justice. It's bad enough Steve has invaded all of his thoughts, both waking and dreaming, without Danny having to actually speak to him directly. So, yeah, maybe Danny's been avoiding the whole situation in the vain hope that all his presumably unrequited feelings will go away on their own.

"You're avoiding me." Steve steps forward until they're mere inches from each other. He does a really good job of looming, Danny thinks, swallowing hard and trying resolutely not to imagine what it would be like if Steve just pinned him against the wall and had his way with him, right then and there. "And when would be a good time, Danny?"

"I don't know. How about when I haven't just been put on paid leave for trying to do the right thing?"

Steve's face scrunches up into an expression that Danny thinks is meant to be commiserating. "Damn. I'm sorry."

Danny extricates himself from being in such dangerously close proximity to Steve, makes a show of picking up his mail from where it's lying on the floor by the mail slot. "Yeah, well, me too. Hey, at least now I'll have the chance to catch up on all this riveting junk mail that people insist on sending me," he says bitterly, tossing flyer after flyer onto the small table by the door until he comes to a manila envelope with his name printed on it. "The hell?"

"No postage," Steve points out, and Danny's heart skips a beat for no reason he can determine, except that his instincts are all screaming danger! at him.

The envelope is unsealed, and contains a single eight-and-a-half-by-eleven glossy colour photograph. Danny pulls it out completely from the envelope, stares at it, isn't sure that he's not going to throw up right then and there. Steve catches him by the shoulders when his knees threaten to give way.

"Whoa, easy now. Hey Danny, come on, talk to me," he shakes him a little. "What is it?"

Wordlessly Danny just flips the photograph around, shows it to him. It's a picture of Grace, all smiles, wearing her pink backpack, trotting up the stairs to her school, surrounded by her friends. Her expression is bright and happy, trusting, her uniform crisp and neatly-pressed, socks pulled up to her knees. The picture was obviously taken from a distance with a telescopic lens, the threat as clear as if it had been written in blood on the paper: stay away, or else.

"Bastards," Steve says feelingly, but Danny's already got his phone open, dialling.

"I need to speak to Gracie," he says when Rachel answers, not even bothering with so much as a hello. To her credit, Rachel doesn't call him on it ―this isn't the first time he'll have called like this, and it's the one thing she never resented― and he listens to the soft click of her shoes against the floor as she brings the cordless phone to Grace's room.

Grace's voice is sleepy, making him realize just how late it is, but already he can feel the tension draining from his muscles, just knowing she's alive and breathing. "Danno?"

"Hey Monkey," he forces himself not to let his panic creep into his voice. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I just wanted to see how you were."

There's a pause. "Did some kids get hurt?"

"What?"

"You always call when bad things happen to kids. Are they okay?"

A lump forms in his throat. Damn, but his baby girl is perceptive. "No, sweetheart, nothing happened to any kids. I was just worried for a while, but everything's fine, I promise."

"Okay, I'm glad. You're always sad when that happens, and I don't want you to be sad."

Danny swallows hard. "You go back to sleep, baby. Give your mom the phone?"

"Okay. Good night, Danno!"

"Good night, Monkey," he says, but Rachel's already on the line. "I don't want to freak you out, but I think for the next few days it should be you or me picking her up from school. No one else, okay? No drivers."

"Daniel, what's happening?" Rachel asks quietly, obviously trying not to alarm Grace.

"Nothing official. Just... keep her close for a few days, okay? Trust me."

"All right. You'll tell me if there's anything." It's not a request.

"Of course. Thank you, Rach."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I'm going to kill them," Danny says softly as he hangs up, feeling his blood start to flow again for the first time since he opened the envelope. His stomach churns unpleasantly "Those bastards threatened my little girl, Steve. I'm going rip them apart, limb by limb. I swear, they so much as come within shouting distance of her..."

Steve steps toward him, puts his hands on his arms. "Hey, it's okay. We'll get them long before that ever happens, okay? You hear me? We'll keep her safe, you and me."

He still thinks he might be sick, but Steve's got both hands on his biceps, gripping him hard, and the feeling of those fingers digging into his arms keeps him grounded, keeps him from flying apart right then and there. Steve pulls him closer, strong arms circling his shoulders, and he's not really sure whether Steve leans down or he reaches up, but the next thing he knows their lips have met and he's kissing Steve as though his life depends on it.

---

Danny's mind reels. He can feel Steve's tongue against his, a little curious, a little insistent and oddly diffident for all that, as though Steve expects to be rebuffed at any moment. Danny deepens the kiss, feels Steve's hands clenching fistfuls of his shirt, as though it's taking all of Steve's self-control not to just lay him out right there on the floor. He pulls back, a little breathless, puts a hand out to steady himself.

"Danny, are you –are we?"

He grins, walks them back toward the bed, and Steve lets himself be steered, his expression bemused and not a little pleased. It's a heady feeling, shoving around a man who's got at least six inches on him, maybe more (definitely more, but Danny's not going to start counting now, it'll just depress him), knowing that he's got all the power here because Steve is willing to give it to him. Steve stumbles a little when the backs of his knees meet Danny's sofa bed, and it's only Danny's grip on his shirt that keeps him from falling backward. Danny lets him down slowly, their lips still locked, pushes him backward and climbs over until he's straddling Steve's thighs, more than a little gratified by the effect he's having on him. Steve is hard against Danny's thigh, and the spandex should make this ridiculous except that somehow it just makes it even hotter, along with the way he's kissing Danny like he's trying to make him come just with the combined touches of their tongues.

"Come on, babe," Danny murmurs, moving along Steve's jaw to bite at his neck just below the ear, enjoying the way Steve jerks under him with a quiet gasp.

He tugs at Steve's mask, fumbling with clumsy fingers to unfasten it behind Steve's head. For a moment he thinks Steve is going to resist, pull away even, but after a moment he goes still and even reaches up to help Danny with the knot.

"Don't get me wrong, babe," Danny says into his ear, breath hot against Steve's skin, savouring the way it makes Steve shudder. "The mask is mysterious and all, which is kind of hot, but I want to be able to look into your eyes."

Steve huffs a laugh, does something with his hips that almost makes Danny cream his shorts like a teenager right then and there. "I knew you were a romantic."

"See how romantic you feel when I still can't get you out of this ridiculous spandex thing."

"For the last time: It's. Not. Spandex!" Steve growls, and Danny decides he really must be a Ninja or something, because the next thing he knows Steve has flipped him onto his back without his quite realizing how he got there. More importantly, the costume has vanished, leaving well over six feet of very naked Seal sitting on his hips and plunging his tongue into Danny's mouth like it's his last day on earth and this is the very last thing he's ever going to taste.

As fast as he was with his own costume, Steve takes his time peeling away layer after layer of Danny's clothes, popping one button after the other using nothing except his teeth, and it might very well be the hottest thing Danny's ever seen. Steve trails kisses and licks and nips down his chest, works open the buttons of his fly and tugs his slacks free swiftly and smoothly, and Danny almost sobs with relief when Steve removes his boxers and the last of the confining material is gone. He's hard and straining now, pre-come leaking freely from the slit, and he can't bite back a moan when Steve carefully applies his tongue to the head of his cock, licking delicately around the crown.

"Steve..." he manages, but whatever else he was going to say is lost when Steve swallows him down entirely and without hesitation, like this is what he's been waiting for this whole time. Within a few seconds Danny is writhing, fists clenched around handfuls of his bedsheets in his struggle not to simply thrust up into the perfect, wet heat of Steve's mouth. He has just enough presence of mind left to know that that would be unconscionably rude, and while it's not exactly something he would discuss with his mother, the good woman raised him better than to be quite that selfish in the sack. Then Steve's tongue curls just the right way, and all of Danny's thought processes go right through the window. He barely has the wherewithal to utter a strangled warning before he's coming, but it seems like enough, because Steve pulls off at the very last moment, finishing him with an expert twist of one hand.

For a few minutes Danny's pretty sure he's never going to remember how to speak ever again, and that's fine by him. When he starts coming back to himself he realizes Steve's been moving around the room on his own and has come back, all without his noticing. When he's sure he has Danny's attention he waggles a familiar-looking foil packet at him, his expression comically unsure.

"Uh. Can I?"

Danny throws his head back with a chuckle, still feeling boneless and sated from his orgasm. "Yes, Steven, you may," he says, adding a flourish with his right hand. "Seriously, you have to ask? Get over here, you giant goof."

Steve grins, his cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment, and it really shouldn't be that cute, except that it's positively goddamn adorable, and all that Danny wants right now is for Steve to get on with it and screw him until he can't see straight. For a second Steve is all thumbs, trying to open up the condom packet, which is kind of reassuring —even Ninjas get nervous sometimes, it seems— and Danny ends up plucking it from his hands and putting it on for him, which gets an appreciative roll of Steve's hips. Steve didn't have any trouble locating the lube Danny keeps in the top drawer of his night table, and Danny licks his lips involuntary as he watches him spread it liberally over his fingers and hand.

"Ready?" Steve lays a hand, warm and steadying on his hip.

"God, yes," Danny tugs at his wrist, urging him on. "C'mon, Steve."

For a split-second he almost regrets the decision. The lube is cold, and it's been a very long time since he's had sex with anyone, let alone another guy, and he'd forgotten how very cold and very uncomfortable this part of it could be, even if he's already loose and relaxed from before. Steve is surprisingly gentle, though, and stops immediately when he feels Danny tense up, rubs circles on his hips with the thumb of his other hand.

"Easy, Danny," he murmurs. "Relax, okay? I got you, I promise..."

Danny pulls in a shuddering breath, closes his eyes, forces himself to relax, his muscles to unclench, and Steve eases his finger in just past the first knuckle, twisting a little and rubbing, letting the lube warm to body temperature and letting Danny adjust, little by little. After a moment the intrusion becomes less uncomfortable, starts teetering just on the edge of being pleasurable again, and Danny lets out a quiet moan, shifts his hips to get a little more friction, which Steve takes as an invitation to add another finger. Danny jerks, hips almost coming off the bed, but Steve keeps his hand splayed over his hip, pinning him in place, keeps working his fingers in short thrusts, crooks them until he finds Danny's prostate.

"Oh God," Danny moans louder this time, as Steve hits the same spot over and over again until he's seeing stars.

By the time Steve's ready, positioned above him on arms shaking from the strain of holding himself up, Danny's hard and leaking again, breathing raggedly. Steve is looking at him expectantly, eyes questioning, and Danny nods, tacitly giving permission. His eyes slam shut as he feels Steve's cock nudge at him, then slowly thrust in. He feels Steve pause, letting him adjust, realizes he's been holding his breath so long that he feels a little light-headed and his chest actually hurts. He lets out a careful breath, moves his hands until he's clasping Steve's wrists where he's holding onto Danny's hips.

"Go on," he urges him. "Move. Please."

He can still feel Steve's hesitation, cants his hips in order to encourage him, sets up a slow rhythm that's got to be even more frustrating for Steve than for him. Finally Steve seems to get with the program, moving forward to meet each of Danny's thrusts with one of his own, then to Danny's surprise he reaches down and simply hauls Danny up into his lap without so much as breaking his stride, as though this is something he does all the time. Danny's curse of surprise is immediately muffled by the talented application of Steve's mouth, kissing him for all he's worth even as he urges him on with short, sharp thrusts.

After that it's like a switch has been thrown. There's no question now of going slowly or gently, and Steve is all hands and lips and tongue, making Danny wonder dimly just how many arms he has in order to be able to touch him in so many places at once in ways that make him feel like his skin is being set on fire. He's pretty sure he's babbling, has no idea what sort of nonsense is coming out of his mouth, but he can't even begin to care, just so long as Steve doesn't stop what he's doing. It's a hot and fast and frantic few moments of breathing each other's air, of not being sure where he ends and Steve begins, until Steve jerks convulsively under him and comes with a hoarse yell while Danny keeps riding him through the aftershocks. Steve rests his forehead onto Danny's shoulder, retaining enough presence of mind to bring his hand between them and grasp Danny's dick, tipping him right over the edge for the second time with a few well-timed jerks.

Still breathing hard, Danny lets Steve ease them both back onto the bed, pulling out carefully and rolling off the bed to dispose of the condom. Danny decides he's too tired to move, even though Steve left him lying spattered in his own come, and so he's doubly pleased when Steve reappears almost like magic a moment later with a wet washcloth and carefully wipes him down.

"A regular gentleman," he murmurs, and Steve laughs, collapsing onto the bed next to him, making the springs groan. The washcloth falls with a wet splatting sound to the floor, but Danny can't bring himself to care.

Steve settles closer, flings an arm over his waist. "I like to get up early, just so you know."

"Should have known you were a cuddler," Danny answers instead, shifting so that they fit together better. "Get up at whatever time you want, so long as you don't expect me to get up at the same time. And don't hog the covers."

"Next time, we're doing this at my place. Your sofa-bed is really uncomfortable."

Danny snorts. "Cocky. Assuming there's going to be a next time."

Steve just pulls him even closer, already halfway asleep, and Danny sees no reason not to follow his example for once.

---

The lack of leads in the case is quite possibly the most frustrating thing Danny has ever had to deal with in his entire life, possibly up to and including his acrimonious and messy divorce. Not that Danny is unofficially investigating the case while he's on forced leave or anything, because that would go against regulations and everything he's been taught about being a good cop. So he's definitely not investigating on his own. Not to mention that it's like fulfilling every single bad TV cop cliché that Danny has grown to loathe over the years. He doesn't watch television anymore except for football and baseball, because every police procedural that the local stations inflict on him is worse than the last, and he ends up throwing a sofa cushion at the screen in frustration.

"You realize it's fiction, right Danny?" Steve asks one night when he's come over, ostensibly to discuss the case that Danny is totally not investigating.

Of course, they ended up tangled in each other on Danny's admittedly uncomfortable sofa-bed rather than really discussing anything, but Danny can't bring himself to mind. Right now, though, Steve is hunkered over the tiny table that Danny sometimes uses when he brings home work, while Danny mutters mutinously under his breath about David Caruso and the whole CSI: Miami team's tendency to wear white pant suits to extraordinarily grimy crime scenes.

He switches off the television in disgust. "I know, but you'd think these writers would at least make a minimal effort at realism. Next thing you know they'll be taking photographs of the crime scenes with their damned iPhones instead of letting the forensics guys do it with their professional equipment."

"You don't take crime scene photos with your iPhone?"

"Of course not! You can't expect―" Danny sputters to a stop the minute he realizes, slightly too late, that Steve was trying to get a rise out of him. "Oh, shut up. What do you know about proper procedure anyway? Your idea of reading someone their rights is to swoop out of the night, tie them up and then string them up from a lamp post."

"That was one time!" Steve protests. "And he had it coming, anyway."

"And that right there is why you should never get officially involve with law enforcement. Whether or not a perp 'has it coming' has nothing to do with how a good police officer conducts himself, am I clear?"

"Crystal. Speaking of which, I got you something."

Danny glances up, surprised. "You did? Is it something that's going to blow up my apartment?"

Steve makes Kicked Puppy Face, which never fails to make Danny feel guilty about every single mean thing he's said to everyone for his whole entire life. "No, it's a present. And it was one grenade and it never even came close to your apartment."

"No, you just kept it in the trunk of my car without telling me. While I'm on forced leave from my job, which could result in me losing my badge forever."

"You're forgetting the part where I got you a present," Steve thrusts a small blue box at him, his expression hopeful.

"You're not going to propose, are you?" Danny takes the box, eyeing him askance. Steve rolls his eyes, so he very carefully pops open the box, revealing a sleek little silver tie pin. It's surprisingly tasteful and unostentatious. Danny was sure that Steve's taste in jewellery would be just as eye-searing as his costume choices. "I thought you didn't approve of my ties."

"They're not appropriate island wear. You just look out of place with a shirt and tie."

"Well, excuse me for wanting to look like a professional."

"A professional what?"

"Ha-ha. Funny. You got me a tie pin, so that automatically invalidates everything you've ever said about my ties."

"Look, I just wanted you to have something useful, okay? So long as you're wearing really impractical clothing, it may as well serve some purpose. Check it out," Steve reaches for the tie pin, grinning in a way that immediately has Danny extremely worried. "It's hollow, so if you press this little indentation at the tip of the pin, it actually serves as a miniature knife."

"You gave me a knife disguised as a tie pin." Danny gives Steve a flat look.

"Well, yeah. You never know when it'll come in handy."

"You, my friend, need serious help. Remind me to give you the card of a very good therapist I know."

Steve grins, drops onto the sofa and makes an elaborate show of crossing his legs and resting his feet on the coffee table ―which he knows drives Danny nuts, damn him. "I have better things to do with my time, Danno."

Danny arches an eyebrow at him. "Oh yeah? Like what."

Steve smirks. "Come here, and I'll show you."

Danny heaves a sigh, can't quite help the smile that spreads over his face, and decides that, just this once, he's going to let himself get distracted.

---

It's Kono and Chin Ho Kelly who provide an unexpected break in the case. After spending nearly three days in Danny's company, Steve abruptly disappears, with no explanation whatsoever save that he's 'looking into something.' The only reason Danny knows not to suspect foul play is that he occasionally gets cryptic text messages which he's pretty sure Steve thinks are perfectly obvious.

So are you in actual danger of being killed right at this moment? He texts back at one point, thoroughly exasperated.

The reply is equally exasperating. No, why?

Never mind.

The whole process makes his head ache, and truth be told he's going a little stir-crazy in his tiny apartment with nothing to take his mind off the fact that Meka's killer is still out there. Rachel has whisked Grace off on an impromptu vacation, and while Danny misses his little girl like a limb that's been chopped off, he can't bring himself to resent her absence this time. Not when he knows it's the only thing keeping her safe from enemies who seem perennially out of his reach.

So he's grateful when his cell phone rings, and Kono's cheerful tones come over the line. "Hi Danny! So, I was wondering, you been jewellery shopping lately?"

He blinks. "Uh, no. Why would I be jewellery shopping?"

"Oh, you know, you never know what could happen," Kono says. "You meet all sorts of interesting people, with all sorts of interesting things to say. I hear that there are some interesting sales going on, too. So, you know, if you were looking for a watch, now would be a pretty good time to check them out. You catch my drift, brah?"

"You're about as subtle as a speeding freight train," Danny assures her. "A new watch, you say?"

"Or earrings, if that's more your thing. I like diamonds, for the record. Silver backing. Definitely earrings, it's always a safe bet. "

"Duly noted," Danny keeps shaking his head long after he's hung up the phone.

Chin Ho Kelly doesn't look in the least bit surprised when Danny shows up at the store. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

Danny leans on the counter. "You may as well call me Danny. At the rate I'm going I won't have a badge this time next week. Doesn't anyone else work in this place? I never seem to see anyone else here."

Chin shrugs and smiles in a way that suggests he is at one with the ways of the universe and embraced all its inexplicable weirdness. "The other employees are feeling a little nervous about being here, so the owner asked me to fill in."

"Aren't you security?"

"Yup. And now I get commissions, too. So, are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Apparently I'm supposed to get diamond earrings for a good friend. You got any recommendations?"

That gets him a slight raise of Chin's eyebrow, which is quite possibly the first time Danny has seen him emote anything beyond 'enigmatic.' "Well, our own inventory is pretty depleted since the robbery, but I have an address for you. I think you'll find what you're looking for there, if you hurry. It turns out that particular kind of jewellery is in demand."

"Lots of weddings all of a sudden?"

Chin is busy carefully printing the address on a piece of paper, and so Danny can't see his expression. "A mutual friend of ours told me there are some very practical applications for it, actually, although I have to say it's nothing I'd ever heard of before. You should get going, if you don't want to miss the boat on this. I hear there's an important shipping deadline coming up."

Danny glances at the address, which predictably enough is by the docks. "Thanks Chin, I owe you one. Or is it two now?"

"Might be three, but I'll let it go for two. Try to keep our mutual friend out of trouble, all right? You and Kono are the only ones who know about this address, because if I leave it up to him he'll go in firing every cannon he has at his disposal and probably get himself killed, and God help me but I like the crazy man and I'd hate it if he met an untimely end."

"Wow. I think that's the most I've heard you say in all the times we've spoken put together."

"What can I say? I like to practice economy in all things. You should get going, Danny."

"Right," Danny reaches across the counter to shake Chin's hand. "Again, thank you."

"Anytime, brah."

---

The address turns out to be a warehouse less than a quarter of a mile from where Meka was murdered. Danny isn't much of one for hunches ―he doesn't like anything that can't be backed up by good old-fashioned police work― but his gut tells him that if he digs into the paperwork on all these warehouses, he's going to find some surprising similarities. Danny has always been a homicide detective, but he wonders if it might not be worth asking for a transfer to Organized Crime. It'll get him out from the disapproving stares of the rest of his precinct, and he gets the feeling that it might prove a lot more rewarding in the long run. Goodness knows that Hawaii seems to be rife with corruption at many levels, and there's something viscerally satisfying about the idea of cleaning up the place that's made his life miserable for the last year.

The warehouse yard is deserted as he makes his way to the side door, and a quick look around reveals no visible security camera. The door is locked, but since Danny's here unofficially he doesn't feel too bad about picking the lock and letting himself in. Lock picking isn't exactly a usual skill for a police officer to have, but Danny's found it useful enough in the past. He just doesn't advertise it much, lest it give the wrong idea to his colleagues. Forty-five seconds later and he's slipping through the door,wishing it wouldn't creak quite so much on its hinges, and finds himself in a small office filled with what look like rolls of blueprints. He pauses in order to unroll one of the blueprints, stares at it long enough to realize that he has no idea what it is. He's not exactly an engineer or anything, but he's never seen anything like this. It looks maybe a little like a cannon, but much, much bigger —how big he can't really tell, which is a little annoying. Finally he gives up on deciphering it, figuring that they can always get experts to look at it later, when he brings all of the wrath of HPD down on this place, along with the requisite warrants, of course. Right now, he tells himself as he eases open the inner door that leads to the warehouse and carefully pokes his head through, he has an ongoing crime to investigate.

His jaw drops.

All around, the warehouse is bustling with activity. Danny figures there must be some sort of sound proofing on the outer walls, because there was no sign whatsoever from the outside of all these goings-on. Whatever has been happening here, it seems to be drawing to a close. There are stacks of crates all being moved swiftly and efficiently out through the back and onto the docks, from where they're being loaded onto a boat large enough to make Danny wonder just how they managed to sneak it in past the coast guard. It's a huge operation, with at least two dozen men working to move the crates and at least as many others moving about efficiently in order to lend a hand wherever it's needed.

Apart from the foreman barking orders, there's no visble sign of anyone being in charge of the operation. Keeping as low as possible, Danny creeps forward, pulling out his iPhone in order to start recording what he's seeing ―more than keenly aware of the irony, given his little rant to Steve about how to collect evidence the other day― and finds what he hopes is a pretty good vantage point behind a pile of rusted equipment that's been shoved to the side to make room for the new operation. It provides pretty good cover, keeping him out of sight of anyone who's not actively searching for him. At least, that's what he thinks until he feels cold metal pressed up to the back of his neck, accompanied by the distinctive click of the hammer being pulled back on a pistol.

Crap.

"What do we have here?" a voice asks. He doesn't recognize it, but the accent sounds like it originates from somewhere in Britain ―Ireland, maybe― which means only one thing.

"Victor Hesse, I take it?"

"You're not in a position to be asking questions, Detective Williams. I could have sworn you'd been removed from this investigation. I would have thought your partner's example would have sufficed to convince you to keep your distance from my employer."

Danny feels a hot surge of anger at that, and has to force himself to keep still. He has no illusions that Hesse wouldn't put a bullet in the back of his head with little to no provocation. "Yeah, well, it's difficult to deter me, especially when you murder my partner in cold blood. I'm planning on making you regret that for the rest of your life, just so you know."

"Right. Well, that's going to be a little difficult, seeing as how this time tomorrow you'll be dead. The only reason you're not already dead is that my boss has other plans for you first."

Danny doesn't have time so much as to open his mouth to inquire about said plans before something very hard –and annoyingly reminiscent of the butt of someone's pistol– collides with the back of his head, making him see multi-coloured stars. Then everything goes dark.

---

When Danny comes to, he's sitting upright in a rolling office chair of all things, his hands zip-tied to the arms, his legs pulled back in order for his ankles to be zip-tied to the wheel supports, which is pretty damned uncomfortable, thank you very much. His head feels as though a whole regimental marching band has taken up residence in there, complete with kettledrums. He licks his lips, finds his mouth drier than the Sahara, and coughs a little bit. There's no way of telling how long he's been here, but he thinks it must be several hours at least. He looks around, trying to get his bearings, but there are no windows in the room, which is entirely bare, save for himself and the chair he is quickly beginning to hate.

The walls are unremarkable, just whitewashed drywall, and he twists awkwardly in his seat in order to take a look at the door. It's made of thick metal with no visible hinges or even a keyhole, though there is a sliding panel which tells him that it's been designed as a cell. Wherever this is, it's definitely not an improvised holding cell, but one made specifically for this purpose. Great.

It's too uncomfortable to keep craning his neck like that, so he subsides in his chair, trying to figure out if there's any way he can get out of here. First thing, of course, is to get untied. He flexes wrists and ankles, but the zip-ties are securely in place, which is a bit of a bitch. Even if he had anything in his pockets with which to cut through them, it's not like he can reach them. Then Danny grins, remembering his tie pin. Of course, getting to the damn tie pin is another story. It's too far down to grab even with his teeth, and Danny huffs in frustration. Okay, time for another plan.

He doesn't have time to so much as begin to formulate said new plan, though, before the door behind him swings open, scraping on the cement floor.

"Detective Williams," a sardonic voice bounces off the walls, which is quite a feat, given how small this cell is. "I am so glad you have decided to join us."

Wo Fat is a little taller in person than Danny imagined from the photograph he saw in a couple of files to which he was hastily denied access, but dressed exactly the same as he always is, in an impeccably tailored white suit, complete with a black domino that appears to be more for show than any real attempt at disguising his features. Danny swallows a groan, wonders just how hard he hit his head, comes to the conclusion that not only was it really hard, but that he was also very likely drugged. Peachy.

"You're a lot uglier in person," he manages weakly. "You're The Shark, I presume?"

Wo Fat's features twist into something perilously close to a smirk. "It's good to know that my reputation has not diminished, in those circles that still count."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or to let you know that you're pretty deluded if you think I count for anything where I come from."

"Don't sell yourself short, Detective Williams. You've become quite the thorn in our side, hasn't he, Victor?"

Danny must be really out of it, he thinks, because he never even noticed Victor Hesse come in behind Wo Fat. Now he's standing off to the side, casually cleaning under his fingernails with the biggest Bowie knife Danny has ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. Crap.

"I think this is the part where I tell you you're not going to get away with this."

Wo Fat throws back his head with what can only be described as a maniacal laugh. "Oh, bless you, Detective, I have already gotten away with it. I've been getting away with these things for nigh on thirty years. What I am doing today, Detective Williams, is tying up loose ends."

Danny swallows in spite of himself. "Loose ends?"

"Indeed. You, my dear Detective, are very little more than a means to an end. I have everything in place for my plan of world domination—"

"Oh my God, he really wasn't kidding when he said you were planning that," Danny lets his head drop in despair, because, really? World domination?

"Our friend, The Seal? No, he wasn't. He isn't a man prone to exaggeration, although he is prone to making quasi-suicidal leaps into whatever struggle he believes is right. It's most inconvenient that he manages to survive every single time. Which is why you're here, incidentally."

Danny's heart skips a beat. "You're trying to use me as bait."

"Got it in one," Hesse smirks from behind Wo Fat. "All our reports indicate you and our costumed friend enjoy a very close relationship. But even if those reports are wrong, The Seal has never been one to let an innocent die or even be harmed because of him. He'll be along before long, see if he isn't, and we'll be waiting for him."

"You really think he's that stupid?"

Wo Fat clasps his hands behind his back. "The Seal is something of a sentimentalist. It plays havoc with his judgment. Besides, he has a serious dislike of doomsday weapons. I think you caught a glimpse of mine while you were in the warehouse, yes?"

"The blueprints. The cannon." Suddenly things start clicking together in Danny's mind. None of it makes sense, except that if he flips it all on its head and pretends that normal-people logic doesn't apply (like everything else in his life since Steve first dropped in on him), then it actually does make a weird kind of sense. "The diamonds, the silver, you needed all of it for whatever you're building. Like, components or something. You murdered Meka because he was too close, because he came across your operation. I bet you anything you had set up shop in that warehouse where your flunky here murdered him." He directs a glare at Hesse. "I am personally going to rip your spleen out past your tonsils for that, by the way."

For a moment Hesse doesn't so much as flinch. Then he takes a slow step forward and deliberately kicks Danny hard in the chest, knocking him back and tipping the chair over. Danny falls awkwardly, his head, shoulder and knee smacking painfully on the concrete floor. He swears, tries to catch his breath enough to speak again, eyes screwed shut against the sudden pain.

"You are far too clever for your own good, Detective," Wo Fat bends over him, hands still clasped behind his back. "One of these days, it will get you killed. In fact, if all goes to plan, that day has come. I will leave you to think about that, while we await your already-doomed rescue. Good day," Wo Fat inclines his head briefly before he motions to Hesse, and the two of them leave him entirely alone.

---

Sitting by himself and stewing in his own juices is not Danny's idea of a good time, but he's even less thrilled at the idea that Steve is going to make some sort of suicidally noble attempt to come save him. It never occurs to him that Steve won't come, because he's pretty sure that it wouldn't occur to Steve not to come, damn him. So he's not even remotely surprised when, less than thirty minutes later, the door scrapes open again.

"You know it's a trap, right?" he greets Steve.

Steve grins at him, teeth very white under his mask. Danny has to remind himself that this is a very bad time to be admiring Steve's chiseled physique under his costume. "Of course it's a trap. But don't worry, Danno, I've taken care of all of the guards and disabled the security camera feed to this section of the compound."

"Compound?"

"This is The Shark's secret lair. In fact, it's a pretty good thing you got yourself kidnapped, because that meant I was able to follow you all the way here and find it. Otherwise it might have taken me years to find its location. I will hand it to him, he has a flair for the dramatic."

Danny snorts. "Unlike you?"

Steve crouches next to him, neatly severing one of the zip-ties with a knife. "At least my secret base isn't under a volcano. I have a very nice beach house which just happens to have a large underground addition to it."

"Why couldn't I fall for a guy who understands that an addition to a house is a garage or a playroom for the kids?" Danny laments as Steve frees his other hand, rubbing his wrist gingerly and trying to make the blood start circulating again.

"Aw, Danno, that's touching."

"Seriously, don't call me that —ow," Danny's legs threaten to buckle when Steve hauls him upright, and he stamps both feet hard on the ground, trying to rid himself of the pins and needles in his feet, grateful for Steve's steadying presence, keeping him standing. Even under the mask he can see that Steve's expression is anxious, and he's oddly touched by the concern even as Steve briskly checks him over for hidden injuries.

"Okay, well, it looks like you have a mild concussion, and I'm guessing you were drugged," he says, rubbing his thumb gently over a pin-prick mark in the crook of Danny's elbow, confirming Danny's earlier suspicions. "But that looks to be about it. You think you can walk?"

"I can even run if needs be. You got a plan for getting out of here? Wait," he stops as what Steve said earlier finally registers. "Did you say volcano?"

"Yup!" Steve agrees cheerfully. "But don't worry. As soon as we've disabled the Death Ray, I have an escape route all planned out."

"Death Ray?"

Steve gives him an incredulous look. "You didn't know The Shark was planning to enact his plan of world domination by using his doomsday device?"

Danny scrubs at his face. "Yeah, okay, he mentioned it, but he never said Death Ray, all right? Cut me some slack, here. I've been drugged and knocked around, and up until a few weeks ago there was no such thing as superheroes or Death Rays or plans for world domination, all right?"

"I'll cut you some slack later. Right now we have to disable the device and get out of here. You with me?"

Danny flaps both hands exasperatedly. "Do I have a choice?" He motions toward the door with a flourish. "Lead the way, since I have no idea where we are. How did you find me, anyway?"

"Oh, I put a tracking chip in your shoe."

Danny almost stops in his tracks. "What? Oh my God, you —you don't even know how many things are wrong with that statement, do you? Okay, leaving aside the creepy, stalkerish aspect of putting a tracking chip in my shoe, how could you even know which pair to put it in? It's not like I just have the one. Oh, God," he doesn't even let Steve speak before realization dawns. "You bugged all my shoes, didn't you? Even my sandals?"

"How else was I supposed to keep track of you and keep you safe?"

"There are so many things wrong with you, I don't know where to begin," Danny mutters. "Fine, let's go disable this Death Ray and get the hell out of here—" A sudden noise off to the side makes him look up in time to see Victor Hesse bearing down on them at full tilt, and he barely has time to begin shouting a warning before there's a sharp pain in his neck and it feels like all his muscles have locked up. Then, for the second time in as many days, everything goes dark.

---

The next time Danny comes to, he's been zip-tied back to the damned chair, which is really just an indication of how much his life sucks some days. Not only that, but the spill he took earlier when his chair was knocked over has taken its toll his pants are torn, several shirt buttons are missing, and his tie has landed over his right shoulder, not to mention the brand-new collection of scrapes and bruises, and what feels like a mild electrical burn on his neck to go with the impressive egg forming on the back of his skull from where Victor Hesse cold-cocked him the first time. Knocked out, drugged, and now Tasered. This day just keeps getting better. He's still thirsty, too, which is annoying, but he puts aside the thoughts of his physical discomfort in order to try to his surroundings, which have changed considerably from the tiny cell from which Steve helped him escaped before.

The room he's in is very large, but his chair has been turned so that he's facing the closest wall, making it all but impossible to see the rest of the room without painfully twisting his neck. The next thing he spots is another figure, similarly bound to a chair, seated a few yards away to his left, and his heart lodges in his throat, because he was really hoping Steve had managed to elude capture. He'd recognize that green spandex anywhere, and it's not as though the mask can conceal what he already knows is under there. Not that Danny isn't perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but he'd sort of been counting on Steve to help him get out of there once it was obvious he'd made it in.

"Hey St–" He bites his tongue, stops just short of revealing Steve's real name to his enemies. "Uh, Seal!" He feels stupid, but presses on anyway, swallowing in an attempt to moisten his mouth a bit. "You okay?"

Steve doesn't stir, and Danny feels his chest tighten with anxiety when he spots a trail of congealed blood running from his temple all the way down his neck.

"Ah, Detective Williams, so good of you to join us once more. I was beginning to think that Victor here had been a trifle overzealous with the application of blunt force trauma. He's loyal to a fault, but can occasionally be too exuberant in his enthusiasm for his work. I suppose one can only admire his work ethic, but still, I will confess it's sometimes inconvenient."

He blinks a little stupidly, looks around until he finds the owner of the voice. Wo Fat is standing off to one side, flanked as usual by Victor Hesse, still playing with his Bowie knife.

"You know, watching you play with that thing, anyone else might think you were trying to compensate for something."

Wo Fat gives Hesse a quelling look, effectively pre-empting his doing anything stupid at Danny's provocation, so Danny takes another tack.

"What have you done to The Seal?"

"Oh, our mutual friend Steven, here?" Wo Fat grins evilly at Danny's evident surprise. "Don't look so startled, Detective Williams, I am well acquainted with the McGarrett clan. We go back a very long way, although it's my hope that today will mark the end of the very long and very tiresome game of cat and mouse that I have played with them for so many years. Victor, I think our guest has slept long enough, don't you?"

Hesse glances up at The Shark, nods once in acknowledgement, then steps forward and delivers a vicious backhand to Steve's face, rocking him backward in his chair. Steve groans audibly, head lolling, but his eyelashes flutter and he seems to come to, a little at least. Danny's never been so happy in his life to see anyone wake up.

"Steve! You okay?"

He gets a weak cough and a nod. Apparently he's a little too out of it to notice or care that Danny used his real name. "M'fine, Danny. You?"

"I'm super. You, uh, got a plan up your sleeve to get us out of here? Because right now is when that vaunted Seal resourcefulness would come in handy."

"Workin' on it."

"That's not very reassuring!"

"Enough!" Wo Fat drives the back of his hand against Danny's face so hard Danny's pretty sure he'll have whiplash from the blow. "You are here simply as insurance, Detective Williams, to ensure that The Seal doesn't attempt any more of his ridiculous heroics in an attempt to save humanity."

"You won't get away with this, Wo Fat!" Steve spits, but his tone lacks his usual conviction.

"I already covered that part of the exchange," Danny points out, but they're not listening to him.

"Oh, I think you'll find that I will. Victor?" At a gesture from Wo Fat, Hesse hits Steve again, almost casually, and blood blossoms on his upper lip, trickling from his nose.

"Hey, pudding-for-brains! Why don't you try picking on someone who's not tied up?" Danny yells. "See how tough you are then, when you're not ambushing people from behind or murdering old men in their homes?"

Wo Fat clucks his tongue. "I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head, Detective, or I shall be forced to have Victor cut it out with that very large knife of his. If it's any consolation, I am given to understand that he keeps it very sharp. I would hate to have my tongue cut out with a dull knife, wouldn't you?"

He walks over slowly to Steve, hands clasped behind his back, and gives him a long, hard look. "Let's get on with this, shall we?"

Not for the first time, Danny starts to get a very bad feeling about the whole situation.

---

"Well, I have been waiting a very long time for this, I won't deny it," Wo Fat says. "I think, also, that I should cut to the chase, don't you? I imagine you've been trying to figure out my endgame this entire time, yes?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Steve admits, looking curious in spite of himself. "I know about the Death Ray, but that's the extent of it."

Wo Fat, it appears, is not immune to the arch villain's traditional predilection for monologuing. This, as far as Danny is concerned, is all to the good. So long as his attention is on revealing just how clever he was so that Steve can admire him or whatever, that means Danny is free to work in relative peace, so long as he keeps an eye on Hesse. Right now, though everyone's attention is focused on Steve. Danny catches his eye, nods, tries to keep as still as possible, as though all the fight was beaten out of him with that last set of blows. His tie is still flung over one shoulder, though, and that means the tie clip that Steve gave him as a present is right there, inches away. It's a step in the right direction, at least.

"It's taken years of painstaking planning to get to this final stage," Wo Fat is saying to Steve, "but I think you'll agree that the end result will be quite breathtaking."

Slowly, excruciatingly, Danny uses his teeth to drag at his tie, the fabric dry against his tongue, until his teeth scrape over the metal of the tie clip, his neck twisting painfully in the process. He hears the fabric tear a little bit as he pulls the clip free, curses the loss of his second-best tie, but he can't help but feel a moment of triumph when he not only obtains his tie clip, but manages to drop it directly into his hand. The tricky part now will be to cut through the zip tie without attracting attention, and without lacerating his hand in the process.

Luckily, Wo Fat is too busy pointing Steve in the direction of his masterpiece, or whatever. Danny's mostly tuning him out by now, but suddenly his head snaps up.

"Whoa! Wait a second. You're actually going to use the Death Ray?"

Wo Fat smiles evilly (and there really isn't another word for it). "Do try to keep up, Detective. I realize it's difficult for someone of your inferior intellect, but I'm not in the habit of repeating myself. See for yourself." He gestures expansively with one arm to something that lies just beyond Danny's shoulder.

The next thing Danny knows Hesse has grabbed his chair by the back and dragged it around one hundred and eighty degrees, giving him a perfect view of a giant contraption that's far too phallic-looking for its own good. It doesn't really look like the blueprints Danny saw, but then, he thinks that nothing ever looks like its blueprints to people who don't know what they're looking at. Looking at the thing now, Danny figures that if he ever would have wanted to design his very own Death Ray, that's definitely what it would look like.

"I don't believe it. You've actually filled almost every cliché in the book. Is there like a super villain Bingo card you all get issued? Underground lair underneath a volcano? Check. Grandiose plan to rule the world? Check. Morally bankrupt and murderous henchman? Check. All you need is a fluffy white cat, some flashy rings, and you'll be all set. The only way you could make this better is if you were an albino. Uh, where exactly is that thing pointing, anyway?"

Danny's babbling, he realizes this, but he can't quite help himself, because he's got a pretty good idea exactly where that thing is pointing, and the thought that there is absolutely nothing he can do to warn Rachel, to get Grace to safety, makes the blood run cold in his veins even as he works furiously to free himself without getting noticed.

"Why, straight at the heart of Honolulu, of course. I think that obliterating a small island ought to attract enough attention, don't you?" Wo Fat lets out a laugh that sends chills down Danny's spine, and punches a code into a keypad on the side of the device. "Once they see what I'm capable of, no one will be able to stand in my way!"

"There's nearly a million people on that island!" Steve yells indignantly, and both Wo Fat and Hesse turn to him just as Danny feels the zip tie on his right hand give way. "You'll be murdering innocent women and children, you craven snake!"

Danny can tell Steve has realized what he's doing, is raising a fuss to keep their attention away from him, which means he has to move fast. He wipes his hand quickly on his pants to make sure he won't drop the pin at the wrong moment, and now that his hand is free he's able to make short work of the zip tie on his left wrist, folds at the waist to try to free his legs, adrenaline making his heart race and blood roar in his ears. One ankle comes free, and Danny knows his luck has run out when there's a yell of outrage from Victor Hesse.

He barely has time to stagger to his feet, hampered by the chair to which he's still attached by one leg as Hesse lunges at him with the Bowie knife. He manages to twist out of the way, uses Hesse's momentum against him in order to grab the arm wielding the knife and twists as hard as he can. Danny may not have all of Steve's abilities, but he hasn't been a cop for fifteen years for nothing, and he's learned to fight dirty. Hesse's hold on the knife loosens, although he doesn't let go, and that's the opening Danny was waiting for. He steps in, uses his hips as a pivot point, and drives his elbow hard into the henchman's temple, watching in satisfaction as Hesse staggers, Bowie knife slipping from his grasp. Danny snatches up the knife, slices neatly through the remaining zip tie on his ankle, and rounds on Hesse again, hoping he hasn't left him enough time to recover. Hesse is still shaking his head to rid himself of the stars he's no doubt seeing, and Danny lunges at him, bearing him to the ground. For a second he finds himself with the man responsible for his partner's murder lying prone beneath him, the Bowie knife used in God knows how many murders right there in his hand. It would be so easy, he thinks.

"Danny! No!" Steve yells, and that's enough to snap him out of it. Hesse is staring at him, terror in his eyes, and Danny looks at him contemptuously and cracks his head against the floor just hard enough to knock him senseless.

Confident that Hesse is out of the game Danny rounds on Wo Fat, half-expecting him to be holding Steve hostage in return for Danny's surrender. Steve, however, hasn't been idle in the intervening seconds. He's managed to tip over his chair, taking Wo Fat by surprise and knocking him to the ground. Wo Fat is still scrambling to his feet, giving Danny just enough time to dart over and cut Steve's right hand loose, dropping the Bowie knife in his lap so he can do the rest of the work. He then launches himself in a bull rush at the still-prone Wo Fat, knocking him back to the floor and dealing him the hardest punch he can muster.

"That's for threatening my daughter!"

"Danny!" Steve's voice once again cuts through the red haze that seems to have descended over everything. "The device!"

He delivers one last punch to Wo Fat for good measure, scrambles to his feet and back toward the Death Ray, though he has no idea how to even begin deactivating it. It's huge and gleaming, sparkling in the artificial light of the enormous room. He can't even see the end of it, which is presumably sticking out of the side of the volcano somewhere. Instead he's faced with an indecipherable control panel, all touch screens and buttons and keypads.

"Steve, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

Steve is already locking horns with Wo Fat, who has recovered from the initial shock and is now giving as good as he's getting. It's probably a good thing Steve got him away from the man, Danny thinks a little numbly, watching the two opponents trade blows, because otherwise he'd probably be dead of a broken neck. Steve ducks a particularly vicious roundhouse kick, his cape swirling impressively now that he's loose from his bonds, dances back out of reach just long enough to shout back.

"You can't deactivate it, try the self-destruct sequence!"

Danny swears under his breath. "It's not like there's an instruction manual, Steven!"

"It's a number sequence! Try using the most significant dates in the files!"

"Are you kidding me?" Danny yells, then takes a breath, flicks a switch that looks like it probably acts like a safety lock. "Okay, okay," he mutters, starts punching in as many of the dates as he can remember, all the while cursing superheroes with eidetic memories who can probably do this in their sleep. A moment later, though, there's a whining sound from the machine and an alarm begins to blare somewhere overhead while a computerized female voice warns them that the self-destruct has been activated. Danny lets out a whoop of triumph.

"That's what I'm talking about!"

"Danny, come on!"

Steve is dragging him away by the elbow and through the closest door into an exit tunnel, even as Wo Fat throws himself with a cry of desperation at the Death Ray, frantically punching numbers into the keypad in a futile attempt to deactivate the self-destruct sequence. The computer informs them confidently that they now have two minutes to vacate the premises.

There's no time to look back, no time to see whether Wo Fat is dogging their heels or still trying to save his precious machine. No time to stay and make sure that he won't manage to deactivate the self-destruct sequence, either. Danny puts his head down and sprints all-out after Steve, trying to keep up with his partner's longer strides, trusting him to know what he's doing and where he's going. A moment later he spots light up ahead, puts on a burst of speed just as a deafening roar makes itself heard right behind them. There's a blast of hot air and Danny is propelled forward, landing so hard on the ground that he sees stars, his ears ringing. Dimly he's aware of hands grabbing him, pulling him up and half-dragging him forward until both he and Steve collapse on the sandy ground outside Wo Fat's secret underground refuge.

For a few minutes they can do nothing but lie where they fell, sucking in great gulps of air. Finally, when Danny's caught his breath, he rolls over and pats Steve's chest a little awkwardly.

"My hero."

Steve coughs and laughs. "And don't you forget it."

"You got a plan for getting back home?"

"Working on it."

"So that's a no on the plan, then."

Steve smirks at him. "I was thinking I would kiss you senseless first, and then we'd worry about getting rescued."

Danny thinks about that for a second. "Yeah, okay."

After all, as Steve's plans go, this one isn't half bad.

~END~