"I still have no idea how you manage to get out of these things," Danny shook his head, piloting the Camaro out of the hospital parking lot, "you and your Army wiles, I swear..."

"Navy, Danny," Steve murmured, eyes closed and head resting against the car window, "It's the Navy."

Danny cast a sidelong glance at his passenger. "You feeling okay, babe?"

"Just tired," Steve mumbled in reply, grimacing as the car hit a particularly bumpy pothole, "this is why I hate pain meds."

"Yeah, well, it was either you leave the hospital on a prescription, or you stay there on the good stuff," Danny countered, trying to go over a speed bump as slow as legally possible to avoid jostling Steve's injuries too much, "you made your choice."

Steve just grunted in reply.

"You think you're going to be okay for the next couple nights?" Danny asked after a period of time, "I mean, I don't know how well your other meds are going to mix with the pain pills; we probably should've asked—"

"I'll be fine, Danny," Steve muttered, straightening up in his seat and opening his eyes blearily, "I've taken Zoloft with some other stuff before, and it was fine."

Another pause. "So, about that..."

A sigh. "What do you want this time?"

"Don't you give me sass, McGarrett, I'm taking care of your dopey ass for the next couple weeks, and that means I have complete control over whether or not poisonous chemicals pass into your system at any point therein."

Steve shifted uncomfortably.

"Anyway, as I was saying...I looked up your meds a little earlier, while you were still passed out. And Zoloft, Steve, that's, ah..." Danny ran a hand through his hair, "...that's some pretty serious stuff. I mean, they don't prescribe antidepressants for just anything.

"...I guess what I'm trying to ask is, uh...I mean, I read the conditions and side effects, and I just need to know...you've never thought about...it?"

Sometimes, despite his expansive vocabulary, Danny Williams tended to make the most vague, under-expressive statements Steve had ever heard. "...would you like to clarify what 'it' you might be speaking of?"

Danny made a face.

After a moment's internal struggle, he managed to find the words.

"Suicide."

And, oh.

Oh.

Steve swallowed thickly. Danny saw his hesitation, and as he parked the Camaro in front of the McGarrett house murmured, "The truth, Steve."

Damn Danny and his sensitive conversation topics. Were they ever going to get back to their usual banter? Then again, Steve pretty much had brought this on himself—on all of them—so he supposed he owed Danny this much.

"Yes," he croaked after a length of time, "once or twice."

Catching his partner's alarmed look, Steve quickly added, "but it's been a long time, Danny. We're talking years."

Danny seemed more satisfied with that, but the look in his eyes told Steve that he was expecting a longer explanation.

The ex-SEAL sighed. "Can we go inside, first? No offense, but your car isn't exactly the most comfortable place to sit and talk about our feelings, especially since I know how bitchy you are about these things."

Danny stuck out his tongue, but proceeded to get out of the car, slamming the door a little harder than necessary.

When the two of them finally got Steve inside and settled on the couch, with Danny seated in the armchair, watching him intently, the Navy commander continued his story.

"Like I said before, my time in the service...it screwed me up pretty good. There were a couple times, when it was really bad, I thought about...ending it.

"But, uh, I had…people, then. Joe, Cath, they were there. It…helped. You know, with the nightmares, and stuff. And eventually, life just…sort of moved on. I got better, found other things to occupy my mind…you know, I'd never really thought about it until you brought it up, but…yeah, it's…it's been a while, though, so…don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

Danny sat there watching him for a while, then nodded. "You better not be. Because heaven knows what I'd do with myself on this God-forsaken rock if you decided to take a permanent vacation. So don't even think about it."

Steve gave a wan smile. "Sorry, I'm here to stay."

Danny scrubbed a hand down his face. "Good." There was another pause before Danny started chuckling. Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? What's so funny?"

"You," Danny grinned, "you and your crazy ways. I still can't believe you took those meds without even looking at the bottle."

Steve huffed, crossing his arms defensively as best he could in a sling. "You didn't find it that amusing when I had my stomach pumped."

That sobered Danny a little, but he was still leering victoriously. "No, I didn't really enjoy that, so much." Danny's smile widened. "But you, my friend, would OD on the one drug that I happen to know about."

The Jersey detective started snickering again, a mischievous glint in his eyes. And Steve didn't like it one bit.

"My uncle used to take Yocon," Danny chortled, "and…do you even know what it's for, Steve?"

The ex-SEAL shook his head slowly, more than a little nervous. At that, Danny started laughing even harder.

"Oh man, you don't even…I can't believe…eheeheehee." Danny got up and started to walk away, making towards the kitchen. Steve struggled to sit upright.

"Hey, Danny, where are you—Danny, tell me!"

Who knew Navy SEALs could be so whiny?

"You're going to have to catch me first, super-SEAL!"

"Danny, that's not…Danny!" Steve managed to get himself upright, and hobbled after his partner, who was making a rapid retreat.

"Man, when I catch you, I am gonna kick your short ass…"

Fin.

Okay, that's it!

This story was just supposed to be a two, maybe three-shot...no idea how it got away from me and ended up being 11 CHAPTERS [smiles sheepishly]

Anyway, I hope you guys liked it! Thank you all again for your lovely, lovely reviews and all your support; I very grateful and very lucky :D

Until next time ;)

Note: Yocon is used in the treatment of ED, not PTSD...hence why Danny got so giggly towards the end.