A/N: Sorry this is a day late. Still recovering… Hope it's okay. Mucinex messes me up in the head.

"Hey. Sara, isn't it?"

The lanky, brown-haired paramedic looked up and nodded shortly to him from her seat near the ER's front desk. Accustomed to being behind the doors with the action and not in the brightly-lit waiting room, she perched awkwardly on the edge of the plastic chair as though expecting to be called to duty at any moment.

But Danny knew better. He knew that wouldn't happen.

Her supervisor had called earlier. Danny had only caught one side of the conversation, but it was enough to figure out the other half. Sara was to be checked out and then, as soon as she was cleared, she was to go home and rest. An officer had already come by to take their statements and one of Thule's men had shown up for the same thing shortly thereafter. Danny gave them a succinct version of events in short, clipped tones, his eyes on the double doors at the end of the hall in case someone appeared with news about Steve. So far, however, over an hour had passed with no word.

Casting a concerned eye over the young woman, Danny noted the slight tremor in her hands and her shallow, cautious breaths. She was on the verge of crying, and he felt a pang for the loss she had suffered.

All things considered, Sara had held up remarkably well during the questioning, though Danny had been prepared to step in if things went south. He owed her at least that much. She'd given her statement in a bleak monotone, faltering only when talking about the driver's death. Danny didn't catch the man's name- she spoke it too softly for him to hear- and immediately afterward she went to the bathroom and stayed there for a very long time.

Now she was back, clutching a wad of tissues in one hand while the other nervously stroked the round, orange-and-gold emblem on her uniform sleeve. Her eyes never rested in one place too long; they darted restlessly around the room, blinking frequently as she tried to ward off the tears.

"You're Sara?" Danny tried again, using the name he had overheard while she was speaking with the police officer. "I'm Danny. Danny Williams." He thrust out a hand.

"Hi," she shook his hand with a small smile. "I'm sorry about your partner," she added softly. "He should be fine, though- his vitals weren't too bad when he was with me."

Of course she would be more concerned about Steve than herself. Danny shook his head. "I'm not worried about him," he said, eliciting a surprised look from Sara. "This isn't our first rodeo. Don't get me wrong- I am worried about him, but he's had worse." Danny's fingers tightened instinctively in his lap as his thoughts carried him back to Korea and Wo Fat and Afghanistan. "He'll recover from this. It'll just take some time." He gave Sara what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about him- you did great. Thank you."

She smiled slightly in response.

"What about you? How are you holding up?" She seemed to be uninjured, but Danny guessed the psychological trauma would be a different issue.

Sara shrugged. "I'm okay."

"Uh huh." Danny waited her out. The tough act, the nonchalance… he'd seen it all before.

"I mean… I'll be alright," she added unconvincingly as her voice faltered and she looked toward the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "Tom was… he was a neat guy. We'd been together for three years."

"Your partner?" Danny guessed.

"Yeah." She sniffed, turning her head away. "Sorry."

"Hey, hey." Reaching across the space between them, Danny gently squeezed her arm. "You've got nothing to be sorry about. I've been there before. My partner back in Jersey…" Danny stopped suddenly at the thought of his partner Grace and the case in NYC that had changed everything. Even fourteen years later, it still hurt. "I, uh… I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner," he added lamely and mentally kicked himself.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Not your fault," she whispered. "Thanks for saving me." She rubbed one hand subconsciously over her wrist where slight bruising was beginning to show. "I think they wanted to use me to… to make your partner cooperate. They needed something from him and he… he didn't want to tell them where it was."

"A thumb drive?"

"Yes," she nodded briefly and wiped her eyes again. "The Russian man… he didn't say anything else. But… I just don't understand… why did they kill David? What is so important that they had to kill him for it?"

Danny didn't say anything. He didn't have an answer to that question, but he knew Steve probably did. And, unfortunately, he knew it was a classified answer neither he nor Sara would ever hear. For himself, the lack of knowledge was frustrating; for Sara, it felt like injustice. He frowned, wishing he had some reassurance more comforting than a simple 'I'm sorry,' but those thoughts were interrupted when a nurse appeared in the room.

"Sara Edmundson?"

Sara stood. "That's me." Reaching over, she briefly squeezed Danny's hand. "Tell your partner thank you for me. He saved my life."

"Will do," Danny promised. He wanted to thank her for saving Steve's, or at the very least, helping patch him up and keep him together, but she pulled her hand away before the words could form.

"Bye," she said softly and turned away, following the nurse through the double doors at the end of the room.

Danny watched her disappear with a small frown and mentally berated for his lack of tact and consideration. "Way to go, Williams," he muttered under his breath. Annoyed, he pulled a hand methodically over his hair, combing down the loose bits as he tried to sort out what he should have done. But overthinking it didn't seem to help and only increased his frustration with himself. He was spared further introspection when another nurse appeared a few minutes later.

"Family of McGarrett?"

…

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"I'm fine and I'll recover, thanks for asking," Steve said drily.

"Hello, you're welcome for saving your life, again," Danny responded equally.

"How's my truck?" Steve asked instead, determined to route the conversation in his favor.

"Aside from some blood on the seat and a few bullet holes, it's fine."

"You shot up my truck?" The heart rate monitor spiked as Steve pushed himself up against the pillows, fighting against the blankets that seemed to tether him to the bed. "How bad is it?"

"I didn't shoot it up; the Russians did," Danny pointed out while trying to push him back down. He assumed several of the bullets meant for him had flown past the van and hit the truck on the other side of the street instead.

"But it's my truck! It's almost brand new!"

"I'm sorry, did you miss the part where they almost killed me?" Irate over his partner's misplaced outrage, Danny couldn't help his voice rising in response. "Do you know how difficult it is to keep you alive?"

"I don't-"

"Very. It's very difficult." With a huff, Danny plopped down in the chair next to the bed. He'd had ample time to reflect on the past 24 hours while waiting for the doctors to finish with Steve, and he'd come up with a list of objections to his partner's recent behavior. "First, you run off after Russians. Alone. No backup. No note. No call or text message. You have a phone, you know." In between talking to the police, Thule's men, and Sara, Danny had spent his wait time in the lobby downstairs outlining his objections to his partner's actions, and since there was no immediate danger to their situation, he decided now would be a good time to give Steve a piece of his mind. "I get that there wasn't any signal out where you found the unicorn, but when you got back in town, could you seriously not have stopped for two seconds to call me?"

"I couldn't-" Steve began, but the question was apparently rhetorical and Danny muted him with another wave of his hand as he continued.

"No, you apparently couldn't, because I found out from Duke. He called to tell me that you were on horseback and being chased through the streets of downtown Honolulu. Somehow you and that stupid animal ended up in the office- yay for you- and then you promptly kicked me out and stayed behind to fend for yourself. With the horse. And look where that got you!" Danny waved a hand at his partner's bedridden state.

"I can't help the-"

"Did I give you permission to speak? Don't answer that." Somewhere deep in his chest, a cough rumbled impatiently, and Danny tapped his chest impatiently as he tried to ward it off. "Of course, you had to stay behind and play Die Hard with the Russians. No explanation. No mention of a plan. I had to play Guess What Steve's Doing Now, and that is a game that I really do not enjoy."

"I'm sorry if I-"

"And then," Danny interrupted loudly, drowning out Steve's apology, "after I risk my life to save you, you take off in an ambulance, again without backup, and I have to track you down. Again. In case you were wondering, Where's Steve? is not nearly as much fun as Where's Waldo?"

Steve did not speak this time when Danny paused for breath. Cautiously eyeing his partner with a training born of years of experience, Steve assessed whether it was safe for him to speak now, or whether there was perhaps something more coming.

"And now," Danny continued, missing Steve's slight nod as he correctly guessed the continuation of the rant, "now I'm holed up with you in a hospital room and," he ejected the clip from his gun and counted quickly, "three bullets left and no freaking clue if I'm going to need them. There's no guards, no protection, and I have no idea if your special commando friends got the rest of the Russians or not."

Folding his arms to ward off the aching in his lungs, he paced the room. "Your truck isn't that bad- I wiped down the seats earlier and got most of the stains out, and the bullet damage is mostly cosmetic. Since we took down a drug cartel and an international espionage ring, I'm sure the governor will pay for it. Or maybe your precious colonel."

Danny stopped to take a deep breath and found himself coughing instead. Reaching for the cup of water that the nurse had left for Steve, he quickly downed it and waited for the spell to pass. "You're lucky… that I'm willing to chase you down… and save your ass repeatedly," he managed between coughs.

"When do I get the bill?" Steve asked drily as he refilled the cup for him.

"Oh, it's coming." Danny took the cup and swallowed it in one gulp. "Next time you try something like that without backup, I'll just let the Russians have you."

"Thanks."

"Uh-huh."

"I mean it, Danny. Thank you." The two words were sincere and surprisingly devoid of sarcasm.

Danny sat down with small huff. "You're welcome." He didn't miss the wince as Steve set the pitcher back on the bedside table and passed a critical eye over the butterfly bandages on his partners face. There wasn't much to see on the surface, but Danny hadn't forgotten what he had seen when his partner was kneeling nearly naked in the back of the ambulance. His eyes drifted down to the sheets and he tried to determine what other injuries might be lurking beneath the covers. "So… nothing broken, huh?"

"Nope." Dressed in a horrid polka-dot hospital gown and propped up in bed with several oversized, lumpy pillows, Steve forced a grin for his partner's sake. "I'm fine, D."

Danny snorted then grimaced as his mood shifted abruptly from annoyance to concern. His partner was not fine. Danny hadn't seen the full report yet, but he had questioned Steve's doctor while the nurse was helping his partner get situated and what he heard had left him deeply unsettled. Bruised ribs (none fully broken), multiple small cuts and lacerations around the wrists and face, a severe contusion on his thigh from the horse (again not broken, thank God), and a suspected bruised bladder and kidney. That last injury on the list left him fuming, and he barely heard the doctor's added comment that they had taken time to wash him down and rinse the urine out of his hair.

Danny shook his head. No, his partner was not fine at all, but he wasn't about to start that argument. His final disapproving huff morphed into another cough, however, and he turned away, wheezing.

"Brah, that doesn't sound good."

"'M fine," Danny wheezed. He dumped the rest of the water from the pitcher into the cup and knocked it back. "It's okay. Just had a lot of action today."

"Uh huh," Steve said skeptically. "Where's your inhaler?"

"Lost it." Tired and wanting to change the subject, Danny reached for the light switch, intending to spend the night in the chair by the bed.

Steve stopped him. "Not so fast. I'm calling the nurse."

"I'm fine," Danny insisted again, perhaps a little too quickly as his ears reddened. "Just a little trouble with the tear gas. It'll pass."

"Too late." Steve had already pressed the call button to summon the nurse and now gestured to the chair by the bed. "Just sit down. Someone will be here any second."

His words were proved correct as the night on-duty nurse appeared a few minutes later. After Steve explained the situation, while repeatedly shushing Danny's objections in the process, she fetched a doctor, an exam was given, and Danny soon found himself dressed in a similarly-hideous gown and parked in a bed next to Steve's, 'for observation.'

"I hate you so much," he grumbled as the nurse switched off the lights.

"No you don't." Steve might have been grinning in the dark, but Danny couldn't see it. "If you'd gone to your follow-up appointment like you were supposed to…"

"Whoa, wait just a second!" Danny protested. He was not about to bear the blame on that account. "Who was supposed to take me to that follow-up appointment? Who didn't want me driving until the doc cleared me for duty? That's on you, not me!"

"You could've gotten Jerry to take you."

"While you were out getting attacked by Russians? I don't think so."

"You could've gone before you picked up sandwiches."

Danny groaned and rolled over. "Go to sleep, Steven."

But, despite the late hour- it was well past 2 am now- Danny felt wide awake. After several minutes of staring at the soft hall light reflected on the ceiling, he sighed. "Polka-dot, huh?" Danny called softly.

"Yeah." The mattress moaned slightly as Steve tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. "Apparently the hospital received a large donation of these. Or that's what the nurse in radiology said."

"We better be out of here by the time Chin and Kono get back. If they see me in this…" Danny fumbled for the bed controls and raised the head a few inches. He still didn't want to go to sleep, although he certainly could have. "Hey Steve?"

"Yeah," Steve responded tiredly.

"I killed someone today." Danny paused. The concise statement was really too brief to communicate the distress he felt over the issue. "I mean, I killed a lot of people," he elaborated, frustrated as he tried to explain, "but one was… well, different." His voice drifted away when he stopped again, unsure how to continue. It bothered him deeply, yet death was death, so he was mystified why this particular kill stood out in his mind. Sighing, he continued, hoping that at some point his words would achieve some form of coherency and Steve would understand. "I used that move you taught me."

"Which move?"

"I snapped his neck." Danny couldn't help the small shudder that rippled down his spine at the memory of it. "Does it always sound like that?"

"Yeah." Steve's quiet confirmation wasn't as comforting as Danny had hoped. "I'm sorry, D."

"It's fine," Danny said tried to shrug it off with a confidence that he didn't quite feel. "Or it will be." Eventually. "Guess you've done it before?"

"Not often. If you end up in hand-to-hand, it's usually because something went FUBAR- either the op, the team, or your weapons- and you're royally screwed. So no, I don't do it often at all. Not if it can be helped."

"Oh." Danny sensed there was more to this explanation that Steve was letting on, but he didn't ask. There were some situations, like this one, when he knew not to. Still awake and not quite ready to close his eyes, he changed topics again. "So… the thumb drive."

"I can't talk about it, D. It's-"

"-classified. Yeah, yeah." Danny sighed. "It's just… it would be nice to know why I was shot at, kidnapped, tortured, and dropped off on a dormant volcano to freeze to death. And then shot at again and nearly died choking on smoke."

"I've already told you everything I can, Danny."

"Which is something about Russians and Chinese. I think I can put it together." Danny had been trying to sort out all the pieces while he waited in the lobby earlier that evening. "Mr. Ma stole information, top secret information- you didn't tell me that bit, but it makes sense. He's supposed to pass it off to the Russians, but our people find out and get him first. He hides the info, which is probably in a thumb drive or something, on the horse, hoping he can get to it later." Propping himself on one elbow, he peered through the darkness in Steve's direction. "How am I doing so far?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny…"

"Yeah, whatever." Danny leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "Let's see if I can get this part straight: the Russians found out about the horse, but Ma's wife leaked information to the Chinese, and somehow intel about the drugs was inadvertently leaked to the Indonesians and some other gangs. The Chinese agreed to help the Russians at first- which is why the Russians didn't show up till later- but the Russians double-crossed them and killed the team that kidnapped us and tortured me. Then they come to Five-0 and torture you, all to get that stupid thumb drive." He sighed. "My head hurts."

"That's the smoke."

"No, no I'm pretty sure it's not." He rolled over to face the window and was just drifting off when a new thought occurred to him. "Hey Steve?"

"Mmm?"

"The Russians double-crossing the Chinese- think we'll see any fallout from that?"

"Mmm."

"Steve?"

But Steve was asleep. Danny closed his eyes and listened to his partner's deep, even breaths, courtesy of some heavy pain medication. The bad guys were dead, the thumb drive was apparently safe, and the unicorn had been found. He was more than happy to put the case behind him and move on, but he could foresee an uncomfortable future fraught with retellings of their adventures to their absent teammates.

Danny needed a cover story. A good story, one that would explain the hospital visit and the injuries and the damage to the building and Steve's truck… but he was asleep before a decent explanation could come to mind.

A/N: Ended up taking some sick days, but it's hard to write when you're doped up on stuff. I see some authors on here that have posted stories from the hospital… I have no idea how you guys do that and don't have it sound like absolute gibberish. Kudos to you!