Tuesday evening: Steve takes a swim + interrogation

A/N: You ever been trapped under tires? Or something else hot and heavy? I had a much larger relative sit on me once while I was in a sleeping bag. There is nothing like that moment of panic when you feel like you can't breathe because the air is so warm and you can't get enough of a breath to yell at them to move.

No evil cousins were harmed in the making of this chapter.

(Though not for lack of trying.)

"Danny?" Steve called into the sudden silence. "Danny!"

Danny toppled backwards into the tires, dropping his gun and grasping his arm as pain seared across his bicep. The pile collapsed on top of him, knocking him to the ground and trapping him against the pavement under the crushing mass of hot rubber.

"Danny? Are you hit?"

Fear leaked through the SEAL's anxious inquiry, but Danny was unable to respond. Winded, he clutched his injured arm and lashed out with his feet in a panic, kicking and floundering against the mass of hot rubber pressing in all around him. As he knocked one tire loose, however, another took its place, and the shifting pile heaved its weight onto the detective, leaving Danny trapped against the pavement and rather afraid.

"Danny?" The ex-SEAL had seen enough to know he was in trouble, but how bad was it? "Stay still, buddy. I'm coming to you."

Exhausted, Danny stopped struggling and focused on his breathing, sucking in one uncomfortably hot lungful of air after another. He could hear his partner firing several rounds at the shooters in the junkyard and hoped that Steve wouldn't run out of ammo before HPD or SWAT arrived.

Since when were tires so freaking heavy? he thought as he inhaled painfully. The pressure on his chest reminded him of being trapped in the building rubble several years ago. He exhaled carefully, closing his eyes as the moist air gathered in the small space in front of his face. His claustrophobia certainly wasn't helping matters, either. It's just a few damn tires. You're okay, you're still breathing. He inhaled again.

After a few tense breaths, Danny calmed enough to realize that the shooting had stopped. He lay still and listened. A few distant shouts and the wail of sirens indicated backup had finally arrived. With his good arm, Danny pushed on the tires pinning him to the pavement. To his surprise, the load lightened and several tires were flung to one side with dull thud.

Suddenly, the entire pile shifted at once and a massive, tattooed arm was thrust into his space. Danny grasped it and was pulled free, brushed off, and lowered gently to the ground.

"I got you buddy. Just take it easy." Steve's hands ran down Danny's body, prodding gently for injuries. Danny pushed them away.

"I'm fine," he rasped out. Heaving in a few breaths, he was pleased to see that it didn't hurt so much to breathe now that the weight of the tires had been removed.

"You were shot, Danny," Steve replied anxiously as he resumed his examination. "Where were you shot?"

But Danny ignored him, his eyes focused on several figures running toward them. "Calvary's here, babe," he said, squinting as the shapes came into focus. As Steve's worried face hovered over his, Danny shook his head and tried to wave him away. "Really, I'm fine. Just grazed my arm." Danny took another measured breath and struggled to push himself upright. Several SWAT team members were hurrying in their direction and Danny caught sight of the flashing lights of an ambulance behind them. Seeing his partner glance down the street where the suspects had fled and just rounded the corner, he forced a smile. "Go get 'em, babe. I'll just wait here." Then, as Steve hesitated, he added, "Or are you gonna let them get away?"

Help was near enough that Steve didn't need to be told twice. Leaving Danny to the approaching paramedics, he sprinted down the street with SWAT close at his heels.

Danny watched him, then dropped his head back to the pavement with a sigh. "At least he waited for backup," he murmured to no one in particular.

…

Leaving his partner to the paramedics, Steve took off down the street after the two shooters. He didn't need to look back to know that several officers were close behind him. The men in front of him were fast- too fast for Steve to gain much ground. At the end of the street, the slower suspect turned right while the other turned left. Gesturing behind him, Steve indicated for SWAT to take the slower man while he veered left after the other.

A shot greeted him as he rounded the corner. Steve threw himself to one side and rolled, even as the bullet missed, flying wide and striking the gravel with a puff of dust. Drawing his own weapon, Steve fired back.

The chase continued down a cratered alleyway with water from the morning's rain pooling in the potholes. An open gate in the chain link fence ushered him onto the dock of a shipping company.

"Five-0! Hold the gate!" Steve yelled to the worker standing by the open fence. He sprinted past the office and a few semi trucks and down an aisle of shipping crates. The man in front of him barely paused as he threw one arm behind him and fired haphazardly in Steve's direction. Steve dodged, pressing himself into the side of one of the containers and fired back. Two more shots followed, then a click and a curse.

Out of ammo. Steve pressed his lips together grimly. He only had a few shots left himself. Gun raised, he pursued the fleeing footsteps around the corner and stopped.

No one was there. To his left, row after row of crates continued down the dock, piled like massive children's blocks, while water lapped against the concrete pier to his right. Cocking his head, he listened cautiously. Nothing.

On high alert, he prowled softly to the first row of crates and peered, gun first, around the corner. The aisle was empty.

He moved to the next. Also empty.

He headed to the third.

Then the fourth.

But before he could round the corner, something heavy swung around the edge and plowed into him, knocking him to the ground and sending his gun clattering across the pavement. Groaning, Steve rolled over just in time to be seized around the middle and lifted bodily into the air. He punched, connected with the man's face, and was dropped to the pavement. Picking himself up, he had only a moment to see the man charging at him. Then both men hurtled over the edge and into the water.

…

"Well? Am I gonna live?" Danny winced as paramedic dabbed the wound with something. "Son of a-!" he growled as the skin around the wound burned suddenly.

Paramedic Julian chuckled sympathetically as he patted the area dry and wrapped it with gauze. "Sore and needs stitches, but you'll be fine, detective."

"Mmm. Wish I could say the same for my partner. Where is Mr. Impulsive, anyway?" Danny looked around the busy warehouse area which was crawling with dogs, SWAT, HPD and CSU. "Anyone seen him?"

"No idea, sir," Julian said distractedly as he worked.

"He better not have gotten shot. We have a rule, you know: only one of us in the hospital at a time."

"Really." Julian frowned in concentration as he tried to patch up the squirming detective.

"Yeah. He's annoying as hell," Danny rambled on, trying to ignore the throbbing under the careful fingers of the paramedic. "Don't get me wrong- he's great in the field. There's no one else that I'd rather have my back in a firefight. But one-on-one, in quiet, normal, civilian life? He drives me nuts." Danny leaned forward, peering worriedly around the corner of the ambulance and down the road where Steve had disappeared. "But he should be back by now. This is long, even for Super SEAL."

"Mmm," said Julian.

…

The fight was over before Steve even needed to take a breath. He was in his element here, rolling and tumbling just under the surface with his thrashing opponent. His SEAL training rushed to the forefront and Steve found himself mentally thrust back to the days at Coronado, wrestling underwater in the training pool. It felt good to finally do something with what he had learned. Swimming in the ocean every morning was one thing, and Kono made a fine dry-land-sparring partner in the gym, but who would do underwater wrestling with him? No one.

Steve hooked an arm around his opponent's neck and pulled him under just before the man could break the surface. The goal- in Steve's mind, anyway- was not escape or submission, but control. He who controlled the air supply controlled the outcome of the match. This man wouldn't take a breath until Steve allowed him to.

Securing one of the flailing wrists with his free hand, Steve now permitted a brief trip to the surface. He could have- and perhaps should have- held him under a few seconds longer and ended the fight right there. But the 'fight' was hardly fair to begin with and Steve was itching for someone more evenly matched. Why not level the playing field and give the man a slight advantage? Keeping his own head underwater, he allowed the man a single breath of air. Steve knew he would finish things shortly… but he would rather drag it out just a little bit first.

The oxygen seemed to revive the suspect's fighting instincts and the man lashed out with his feet. One of them caught Steve in the shin. On land, the blow would have been severe, but the water muted the force of the impact and Steve felt only a rough bump. He doubted it would even leave a bruise.

Grasping the man's shirt and one of his arms, Steve dunked him backwards so that the water would rush up the man's nose, and he held him there, dragging him toward the bottom as the man thrashed against his grip. His own lungs were just beginning to feel the burn from exertion, but he had a while longer. Pulling the man deeper, he waited.

The suspect continued to kick and flail and punch, but panic had set in and his movements were unfocused.

It would be soon now, Steve thought and tightened his grip. Just a few seconds more…

He knew the moment he had won because the man went limp in his grasp. A moment later, they broke the surface together, but there was no more fight left in the man. Weakly splashing and gasping in the water, he allowed Steve to drag him to shore.

"Up the ladder," Steve gestured, pushing the man in front of him toward the metal rungs that descended into the water. "And don't even think about running away."

"Not… not running, brah," the man coughed and spit seawater over his shoulder. "You nearly drowned me. I gotta be alive to sue your ass."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Steve muttered.

…

It didn't take long for Steve to find his partner as he dragged his protesting prisoner back toward the warehouse.

Still sitting in the back of the ambulance while the paramedic finished tending to his other scrapes and bruises, the Jersey detective looked a mess. Uncomfortable sweat stains streaked his shirt and crept toward the waistline, mingled with blood on the left side and dark rubber from the tires. Why the man insisted on wearing a stiff button-up instead of a comfortable, airy tee was beyond Steve, but he'd long since given up on that point. At least he'd convinced Danny to ditch the tie.

"Well?" the detective grunted as he approached. "You've got that dopey smile on. Must've been fun for you."

"It wasn't bad," Steve grinned, pleased with his catch. "How's the arm?"

"Speak for yourself." Danny winced as Julian dabbed something on a cut on his chin. "You didn't get shot."

"Ah, it's just a graze," Steve shrugged, sizing it up. "You'll be back to your normal, grumpy self in no time," he added, pushing the unfortunate, soggy criminal toward the car.

Danny stopped him with a scowl. "Uh-uh. You are not riding back with me, and neither is he."

"But your car-"

"-will be driven by me. It is, as you said, just a scratch. And: have you looked at yourself lately?" Danny flapped his good hand at his partner's attire. "You're a mess! You're soaking wet, I don't even want to know what that green stuff is-"

Steve hastily discarded the seaweed tangled in his hair.

"-and you stink like fish. No car."

"But-"

"No! Grab a ride in a cruiser, merman."

Some time later…

"So. Michael Tafua." Danny quickly sized up the hefty, young Samoan man as he entered the chilly interrogation room and decided he didn't like what he saw. "You've been a busy little boy. B&E, theft, assault… But trying to kill two cops? That's a step up for you. What gives?" Standing over their prisoner, Danny folded his arms menacingly, which served the double purpose of stabilizing his injured arm and protecting him against the chill that had begun to creep into his body. Despite what he'd told the paramedics and his partners, his bicep ached and he longed to curl up in bed and call it a day.

"I ain't speaking to you, haole." Michael, still damp and in the same soggy clothing he'd had at the docks, glared back and shook some of the water out of his short, black hair. He didn't seem to mind the air conditioning, which Steve had 'accidentally' knocked down to the lowest setting. "I ain't talkin' to nobody but my lawyer."

"Oh you ain't?" Danny limited himself to one-handed gestures while Steve paced silently behind him. "So you'd rather take another swim with this guy?" and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at his partner. "Look, numbskull, all we want to know is why your little gang is after this horse. And why you're willing to kill two cops over it. Cause I don't know if you've thought about how much jail time you're about to do, but if it's your bullet in my arm, you can kiss your petty theft days goodbye."

Some of his previous confidence diminished, Michael Tafua fidgeted nervously in the chair, his eyes drifting to Danny's left where Steve lurked in the shadows. Danny didn't need to look to know that in their little game of "good cop / bad cop," Steve was playing the role of "Very Bad Cop."

"Don't tell me that sweet little horsey is for your daughter's birthday party," Danny added drily, "cause we've already heard that line."

Their prisoner shifted his gaze uncertainly between the two men. Steve had yet to say anything, but Danny knew he was just waiting. Sometimes silence- and a menacing scowl- was the best weapon.

"Look brah," Michael said at last, "I wasn't tryin' to kill no one."

"Really? Cause you coulda fooled me," Danny retorted.

The man in the chair fidgeted for a moment. Then his face hardened. Danny saw it. Steve saw it, too. With barely a gesture passing between them, the partners traded places and Steve stepped forward…

…

Steve had been partners with Danny long enough that no speaking was required when the shorter man had come stumping down the basement hallway a few minutes earlier. They hadn't seen each other since the docks when they had parted ways as Danny had climbed into the Camaro and Steve into a squad car. Now, sporting a new shirt and an annoyed frown, Danny simply looked at Steve, nodded once, and said, "Fine. I'll lead," before stepping into the dimly lit interrogation room. Steve had followed with a pleased smirk that swiftly morphed into a displeased scowl when he saw their prisoner.

Perhaps it had to do with the dunking in the ocean, or maybe it was just the way their suspect looked, but Steve was not happy at all with the defiant attitude and haughty expression on the man's face. Still, he held back and waited in the corner while Danny went to work. For the most part, Steve ignored the actual words being spoken on focused instead on their suspect's face, looking for any tells as to whether the man was lying or about to tell the truth. And that was why it took a moment for Danny's words about the bullet being in his arm to sink in.

When it finally dawned on him what Danny meant, his partner had already moved on in the questioning.

Startled by the revelation, Steve couldn't help a quick glance in his partner's direction. At the docks, everything had seemed fine- even Danny had called the wound a 'graze'- and then things had moved so quickly that Steve hadn't seen Danny- really seen him- until they met up in the hallway outside the heavy steel door. Now, studying his partner's stance, Steve realized that there might be more to the injury than he could see.

Danny appeared to be standing with his arms folded, but from the rear, Steve could tell that the left arm was braced against his side with the right folded protectively over it. A bandage strained against the rather tight sleeves, but there was no sling. Perhaps Danny had ditched it? Steve filed the information away to ask Danny later.

Coming back to the present, he overheard the suspect confess to firing several shots, followed by the excuse, "but I wasn't tryin to kill no one!"

"Really? Cause you coulda fooled me."

Sensing that it was his turn to get involved, Steve stepped forward, crossing the room in three easy strides. He stopped just shy of the chair and well within the prisoner's personal space. "Danny," he said, never taking his eyes from Michael's face, "I need a pair of pliers, a thin wire, and a piece of glass. That broken coffee pot upstairs would be perfect." Without looking, Steve could sense his partner's hesitation, but thankfully Danny decided to play along.

"Pliars, wire, glass. Got it. Anything else? Gun? Grenade? Knife?" Only Steve heard the sarcasm in his voice.

"No thanks. Already got a knife." Steve slipped the oversized 'pocket' knife from somewhere in the depths of his cargos and flicked it open. Reaching forward, he gently sliced one of the long, black curls dangling near Michael's cheek. Behind him, he heard Danny quietly slip out of the room.

"Easy brah," the Samoan warned in a low tone as Steve reached for another strand of hair. "I know my rights. I already got you on tryin' to drown me. I can add harassment to that."

Steve raised an eyebrow and cut another lock of hair.

"Look, whatever you're planning to do with that wire and glass and shit- you can't do that."

"Yeah? You see any cameras in here?" Steve gestured with the open blade around the empty room. "Any mirrors? Anyone who can hear you scream?"

"There's laws."

"And there's immunity," Steve shrugged. He was pleased to see that Michael had paled somewhat under his tanned skin. He reached for another strand of hair as Michael tried to lean away.

"Look, man, I didn't kill nobody. And I didn't shoot that other cop."

"So who did?"

"JJ. He was the other guy you was chasing."

Steve brushed the blade of the knife gently across Michael's face. "You know where I can find 'JJ'?"

"Yeah man. Bring me some paper and I'll write it down. Just…" Michael squirmed and twisted away from him, "just get that knife out of my face."

"Okay." Steve backed away but didn't pocket the knife. "So… what were you trying to do at the harbor?"

"We just wanted the drugs, man."

Steve folded his arms and frowned his displeasure. "Drugs?"

"Yeah." Michael leaned back slightly in his chair and as far away from the ex-SEAL as possible. "Everybody knows that party company's a front- just ask around. Even the Yakuza's interested in their business. They got good product, we heard they'd lost a shipment, and we figured we could have the bit that they lost. Finders keepers and all that."

"Uh huh." Sensing he was reaching the end of Michael's limited useful information, Steve slipped the knife back into his pocket. "How'd you end up at the harbor?"

"My boss, he got a call. Said to high-tail it down to the harbor or the cops would get the horse first. So that's what we did."

"And you got the horse?"

"Nah, brah. We run into you two before we could get it."

Steve rubbed his neck as he considered the plausibility of the scenario. "Michael, there's a couple of things I don't understand: where is this product? And how does the horse play into all of this? Are the drugs stashed in the unicorn horn?" Steve asked, although he had a sneaking suspicion already. Behind him, Danny stepped quietly back into the room. Michael's eyes widened in horror and Steve didn't need to turn around to know that his partner had brought the requested items.

"Well?" Steve prodded with a growl. "Drugs. Horse. Connection?"

"Um… well, you know the phrase 'drug mule'?"

"Oh dear Lord," Danny responded from the back. "Don't tell me you fed that poor beast the drugs."

"Not us, brah! We just wanted to get it out."

"And how, exactly, were you planning on doing that?"

…

"Idiots," Danny muttered a few minutes later as both men exited into the hall. He leaned heavily against the wall and wiped a hand wearily across his face. "How could they not have planned that far ahead? Who decides to steal a horse so they can take drugs out of said horse without thinking about the actual methods involved first?"

"Who knows," Steve responded absently. He didn't really care about the drugs or the horse at the moment; his main concern was for his rapidly-fading partner who was apparently still in quite a bit of pain. "Danny, about that bullet- is it really in your arm?"

"What? No." Danny's snort morphed into a quiet chuckle. "But he doesn't need to know that."

"Oh." Steve frowned, unwilling to accept the detective's acting skills over the potential for a much worse injury. "So it is just a graze then?"

"Yeah." Danny's eyes flickered over Steve's face and caught the concern framed all too clearly in his gaze. "Sorry. Thought you knew."

"It's okay." Sizing him up, Steve noticed Danny had yet to uncross his arms and his forehead was creased with exhaustion and pain. "Look, it's late, D. Why don't you go home and I'll wrap up here?"

"Thank you for the concern, doc, but I'm fine." Danny could read between the lines and knew exactly what Steve wanted him to do.

"Antibiotics?"

"Got that, too, babe." Danny grimaced, digging a hand into his pocket. "While you dropped our suspect off and got changed, I got checked out at the hospital and picked up a prescription for this," he said, holding up a bottle of fat, green pills.

"You taken them yet?"

"Just about to."

"Right." Steve looked him up and down once more. "Need a ride?"

"So you can drive my car one more time? I'm not that bad off. You'll get another chance tomorrow."

"Need anything from the store? Food? Drinks?"

Had he not been exhausted and in pain, Danny would have laughed. "I don't need anything. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "You know what you need? A hobby."

"I have hobbies."

"That's not what I meant, babe." Pushing himself away from the wall, he trudged slowly down the hallway toward the elevator as Steve hovered close beside. "Open water swimming does not count. You need a new hobby. Not visiting the gun range or swimming the Pacific solo. You need something that involves other people, like a team sport." Arriving at the elevator doors, Danny punched the 'up' button and slumped against the wall as his strength waned. "Something that will use up your energy. No more dunking suspects in the ocean because you're bored or threatening to cut them into pieces with a broken coffee pot. One day, your immunity and means will be revoked and you're going to be clueless as to how to do a proper interrogation…"

Danny was rambling now and rubbing his arm subconsciously where the bandage pulled just under his sleeve, causing Steve to frown in poorly-disguised concern.

"…and before you know it, you'll be under investigation by IA because someone died in our custody and it will be all your fault. And I am not helping you break out of prison again."

Steve rolled his eyes. He gave the detective a few moments longer until the elevator chimed open before he interrupted. "Go home, Danny. That's an order."

"You're not my commanding officer, Steven," Danny protested even as his body sagged wearily. "You can't order me around."

"No, but I am your boss. Go home. And use that sling. I know the doctor gave you one."

"Yeah, yeah," but Danny made no further argument, his exhaustion evident in his silent lack of protest as he trudged slowly into the elevator. "Good night, Steve," he said as the doors slid shut. "See you tomorrow."

Steve shook his head, only slightly annoyed. "Night, Danny," he said to the empty hallway.

A/N: I think my chapter titles are a bit too dry. Your thoughts? I was thinking of titling this one, "Horses don't shoot back" or "Steve takes a swim". I'm really horrible at it, clearly.