I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.

Notes: yeah, so the muse went here. No apologies are currently being offered for what the muse has made me do. Once more, this is un-beta'd so any errors are clearly my own.

H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O

Danny lay there for a long time just listening. On his side and staring at the back of the sofa, he lay there completely still, recognizing the storm for what it was, but not the murmurs of voices in the background. There weren't any words he could specifically make out, yet he tried to hear what they were saying. The combination of wind and what he would swear were human voices merged together, fluctuating and then waning to near inaudible tones.

A loud, woody crack echoed in from the yard and he held his breath, listening harder and fighting an urge to cough. He was sure that someone was there now. Maybe even more than one person as a tell-tale creak sounded from above his head.

Footsteps.

He narrowed his eyes as he glared at the ceiling, the unmoving shadows cast by the lanterns far from soothing now. As lightning briefly lit the room and thunder boomed overhead, he heard it again. The gentle rap and slide of a booted foot and now certain of a threat, he purposefully rolled off the sofa, taking blankets and pillows with him. Danny stayed low there, hunkered down with his eyes trained on the staircase.

"Steve?" Danny rasped softly. His hand automatically went for his weapon when he didn't receive a reply and he was stunned to find that he was unarmed. Not only unarmed, but woefully unprepared in every way for an altercation as another scraping sound of a booted heel shuffled through the thin plaster of the ceiling.

Where the hell was their backup? Better yet, where the hell was his partner?

Virtually on his hands and knees, Danny edged forward carefully to clear the room he was in. There was no sign of his partner as he checked every nook and cranny, cautiously working to clear the first floor and looking for a weapon of any kind before attempting the flight of stairs to the second level.

"Steve?" He whispered again, his voice harsh and almost too loud in the general quiet of the building. Outside, lightning flashed ominously and Danny paused before moving more quickly, whatever sounds he made easily falling within the partnering rumbles of thunder. He found what he was looking for in the next room and grinned in satisfaction as he hefted the perfectly balanced black handle in his hand. Balanced on his bare toes on the tiled floor, he gently thumbed its edge. The knife was impressive and well kept, the blade sturdy and honed to a fine sharpness. While he certainly didn't prefer hand-to-hand combat, he now had no qualms about challenging whomever had his partner.

Danny frowned though, a premonition of wrong tickling his thoughts and for a moment, he lowered the knife. He breathed in heavily as he tried to think, a rattle in his chest audible as he tamped down a series of congested coughs.

Was this right? Was he right about what was happening?

He murmured his doubts under his breath, jolted back to an awareness when he heard the shuffle-scrape again. This time, it was louder and just outside the room he was in. The whisper of a voice reached him at the same time and he inhaled sharply in surprise. With an attacker so close, he didn't have time to doubt his instincts. Determined now, he gazed at the spine of the knife before he purposefully pressed its tip into the fleshy part of his palm. With an incredible ease of will, he pressed down even harder, the skin drawing tightly together into a small divot. He twisted the tip just so, the center finally completely pierced, a drop of blood welling instantly to the surface. Then, in slow motion, he dragged the sharp edge carefully along his skin from base of thumb, across his palm, ending just at the lowest part below his pinky finger. He was completely detached as he ran the razor-sharp edge along his palm, slicing through his skin like a hot knife through butter. He wanted to prove to himself that he was awake, yet he didn't feel anything. He didn't even flinch. Nothing happened until a moment later, a tear drop of moisture appeared, its red muted by the light. But the subsequent stripe of blood soon worsened and Danny stared at his ruined hand, seemingly in awe by what he'd done.

But he couldn't wait to wonder more. He needed to act. He heard the voices again just as he was poised to make his way from the room, back to where he'd begun, that vantage being the best thus far to gauge the upper level. Danny growled softly under his breath and backed up instead, angry about accidentally cornering himself in what could be a no win situation. He stayed low, a bloody thumb switching off his flashlight that he hadn't even realized he'd put down on the floor next to his left heel. Plunged into relative darkness, he stayed crouched low while he waited, his fevered eyes glittering as he held the knife at chest height.

The murky outline of a figure suddenly appeared only a few feet away from where he was hidden. It had rounded the corner to the room silently and with such stealth, Danny was momentarily taken aback. Broad and skulking, it took an even longer moment for him to realize that he was seeing a man. A man who was most definitely hunting him as he, too, froze in place before taking two hesitant steps away.

"Back off," Danny muttered hoarsely, his eyes narrowing in warning while he maintained a defensive posture. "Where is he … where did you take him?" He stammered though as his traitorous mind chimed in the background. Something about what he was doing was wrong. There was something familiar about the man's silhouette and Danny shook his head, unable to clear his vision enough to really see. He was tired, dizzy and driven by an adrenalin fueled by a fever's confusion and he didn't dare stop. He couldn't simply … stop.

He snarled softly at the man when another scraping sound of a booted heel shuffled from the second floor. This man wasn't alone and the threat was clear. Danny's anger grew as his attacker remained as low as he, shielded by a grayish haze which allowed him to weave and bob just out of his reach. A sound reached Danny's ears and he cocked his head in disbelief, his eyes now trained on where the man's mouth should be. While the words were muffled and even drowned out by the storm which howled outside, he was talking to him. His tone low and determined, demanding that he put his weapon down.

With nowhere to go and resolute, Danny stayed exactly where he was. He brandished the knife threateningly towards his attacker, knowing then that he'd have to defend himself before he'd have any hope in rescuing Steve. As a final trill of doubt whispered through his addled mind, Danny dove forward, slashing with purpose. Satisfied when he heard the shout of pain and felt the jarred concussive recoil through his wrist.

~ to be continued ~