Oh, but it was not as easy as it sounded.
Steve came into the office Wednesday in a foul mood. Danny could almost physically see the little cloud of doom hanging over their leader's head.
Danny braced himself before entering Steve's office. Bad mood or no, Danny was tired of Steve's lack of answers. He needed explanations and reasons.
"Did you even get my voicemail?" And yeah, it probably wasn't the best way to start off this conversation, but the ugly mix of guilt, frustration, and worry swirling in Danny's gut hadn't exactly put him in a bright set of mind either.
Steve scowled, and it was a little intimidating, the way his whole face darkened. "Yes," he growled, swiveling his chair away from Danny and absently shuffling through some completed case-files.
He wasn't getting off that easily.
"Then did you maybe think it was a good idea to call back? Extend a common courtesy towards your fellow man and tell me what-the-ever-loving-fuck has been up with you lately?"
If at all possible, Steve's glower deepened. "It's nothing, Danny."
"Bullshit." Steve looked almost surprised at that.
"Excuse me?"
"I said, 'bullshit,' Steven, because you and I both know that is the biggest lie I've ever heard. Something is wrong with you, and I am not leaving this office until you tell me what it is."
"I don't have to tell you." Steve got up and started striding purposefully towards the door, only to be blocked by the shorter detective, who placed himself firmly in the way.
"Yes, McGarrett, I think you do."
"Danny." Steve's voice was low and dangerous, and Jesus Christ, did they teach people how to be scary in SEAL-school? "Move."
The Jersey detective swallowed thickly—and no, it wasn't like he found Steve's Navy-death-stare-of-doom frightening or anything, even though the other man's eyes were glassy and strangely bloodshot—but didn't budge. "No."
"Danny." Steve's voice was openly threatening at this point.
And that was wrong, too: never in their partnership had Steve ever made a threat to any member of the team, especially Danny.
This...this was too far.
"No, Steve," Danny answered quietly, staring into the other's eyes, "what's wrong?"
The ex-SEAL pondered Danny for a long time, looking like he was very much considering physically removing his partner from his path, before making an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and slouching back to his chair. He ran into the corner of the desk en route, something that did not go unnoticed.
"Steve," Danny kept his voice low and even, though his insides were frantic with concern and distress, "talk to me, babe. I just want to help you."
Steve was quiet for a long time, avoiding Danny's gaze. When he finally spoke, his words were hushed and dejected. "I don't think there's anything you can do, Danno."
"Why don't you let me decide that, huh? Come on, Steve, I don't like seeing you like this. None of us do."
Steve nodded sadly, and Danny internally sighed in relief. Finally, they were getting somewhere.
Except that right then, at the worst possible moment, Kono chose to interrupt.
"Hey guys," At least she looked sincerely apologetic, but Danny was desperately trying to keep his frustrated screaming internal, "I'm sorry, I know I'm interrupting, but we just caught a case. Top priority, Governor's orders."
Danny turned back to Steve, but whatever openness or readability had been in the ex-SEAL's expression, it was gone now: Steve's face was already set in focus.
"We'll finish this discussion later," Danny told him, pointing a finger for emphasis, "Don't think you're getting out of it that easily."
Steve scowled, but didn't reply.
Thank God for Kono. Steve didn't think he'd ever been more grateful to see the rookie in his life as when she appeared at his office door, informing them of a new case.
It had been the out Steve had so desperately needed, because Danny was persistent, and Steve knew the cracks were starting to show.
Can't let them know, can't let them too close.
It felt like he was playing hide-and-seek with his ohana, and he hated it, but it was necessary: Steve wasn't operating at his best, and until he could get his shit together, the others needed to stay ignorant and safe.
Maybe that was why he let Danny drive to the scene. The Jersey cop had given him the strangest, most concerned look Steve had ever seen, but Steve's head was spinning and his vision kept blurring, and the driver's seat was not where he needed to be.
That damn headache was back, throbbing dully at the base of his skull, and his hands had started trembling again.
He'd quit the Yocon the day after he'd woken up on the bathroom floor, a foul taste in his mouth and a bruise on the side of his head, and that had helped a little, but damn, those flashbacks.
No matter what he did, they just kept hitting him, over and over again. Even the Zoloft he'd taken this morning—and the second dose he'd snuck in right before they'd left headquarters, when no one was looking—wasn't doing anything to help. It was like trying to outrun your shadow: no matter how fast you ran, your shadow was still there, and you just got more and more exhausted.
That's what Steve was. Exhausted. Tired of the nightmares, tired of the flashbacks, tired of looking over his shoulder, tired of lying to people he cared about.
He was just so, so tired.
They pulled up at the scene—Steve vaguely remembered Kono saying something about drug dealers and hostage situation, but he couldn't recall much else; and when had he put on a tac vest?—and he shot out of the car, weapon in hand.
There was shouting—hey, HPD was here too—and then suddenly there was semiautomatic gunfire.
It is 104 degrees.
Steve was aware of his vision tunneling, his own voice rising above the din, and then he knew nothing.