A/N: Sorry for the delay. If a bug exists, we've had it in the past 2 weeks. Snot, cough, vomit, fever… I'm not even sure if it's one thing, or several back to back. Yurg. Anyway, thanks for the well-wishes! Y'all are the best!

"Thanks for picking us up, Jer." Danny buckled the seatbelt and watched the tow truck exit the hospital parking lot ahead of them, pulling Steve's truck behind it. Apparently the damage hadn't been completely cosmetic and one of the stray bullets had somehow pierced some pipe or conduit somewhere, leaving a pool of liquid under the body. Danny guessed it had been slowly leaking all night, and so, when it failed to start, he had initiated Plan B.

"No problem. Although," Jerry eyeballed his cargo in the rearview mirror, "are you sure you should be leaving? You still look pretty rough."

"I'm good. Dunno about this Neanderthal here," Danny thumbed at Steve.

"Doc released me. Got the forms right here." Steve brandished the papers in one hand as he buckled the seat belt with the other.

"More like, you threatened to walk out and then he released you," Danny muttered, sliding into the front seat. It was late Sunday afternoon and Steve had gradually worn the good doctor down with endless whining and complaining throughout the unlucky man's 30-hour shift until he finally agreed to sign the release papers with the understanding that Steve would call if anything changed for the worse. Danny intended to hold him to that promise.

"Where to?" Jerry asked, pulling out of the parking lot. "McGarrett's house, I presume?"

"Actually, the office."

"What?" Danny shook his head. "No, no, no, no. You promised the doc you would rest, in a bed. We're going to his house, Jerry."

"No, we're going to the office and then my house."

"Why?"

"I need something."

"You need your head examined," Danny retorted. "What could you possibly need at the office?"

"It's a quick errand," Steve replied evasively. "Just a fast in-and-out. Then I'll go home and rest. Promise."

Danny rolled his eyes, already knowing he would give in just to avoid the incessant whining and pleading and inevitable sneaking-out that would occur otherwise. "Fine. A short trip to the office. Very brief. Then home. And into bed. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Promise?"

"Mmmm."

"Steven…"

…

But the trip to the office turned into more of an ordeal than Danny anticipated. The entire block was still cordoned off and he found himself flashing his badge multiple times to get past the blockades and yellow tape and into the restricted area.

Steve was also on crutches and moving at a snail's pace. After finally clearing the last of the checkpoints, Jerry pulled into the closest handicapped spot near the main doors, but it took an excruciatingly long time for the Navy SEAL to climb out of the van, balance carefully on his new hardware, and hobble toward the lobby.

"This is such a bad idea," Danny muttered as they waited for the elevator. "Your doctor would be having a fit if he saw you right now."

"But he can't see me, so it doesn't matter," Steve offered helpfully as he maneuvered inside the small space and punched the button for the second floor with one crutch. "How're the lungs?"

"Good. They're good." Danny thumped his chest and harrumphed for effect. "Residual tear gas in the air seemed to bother them, apparently, and he said I might be out of breath for the next week. But back to normal after that."

"Field duty?"

"He'll clear me when I go back with you for your check-up. Which I will be on time for, by the way. Just said to know my limits."

"Good."

…

Steve retreated to his office- or the remains of it, Danny thought, as he surveyed the damage from his own, relatively-untouched space. It was obvious someone had been through Danny's office, but whereas it was simply untidy, Steve's appeared to be nearly destroyed.

At one point, Steve's phone rang and Danny overheard the governor's name before his partner stepped out to take the call. There was no privacy otherwise, since most of the glass in the windows was missing.

While he was talking, Jerry came back from inspecting his own workspace and announced that his mother called and he needed to go run an errand. Danny waved him off with a friendly Mahalo. Then, answering the call of curiosity, he strolled across the office and poked his head through Steve's door.

The door itself was intact, as were a handful of the windows, but glass littered the floor, couch, and desk, and a small pile had been swept up in one corner where someone had apparently been busy with a dustpan and broom. Side-stepping the pile, Danny approached the desk and studied the shelves behind it. The medals were strewn across the shelves and a few lay on the floor. The flag, which normally sat folded in a wood-and-glass case, twisted around the chair and trailed, unfurled, along the floor.

Danny frowned and gently folded it, settling it down in the remains of the wood case. Steve could sort it out later.

A few shards of dark plastic indicated the computer which once sat on Steve's desk was likely no more. Danny assumed the crime scene techs had bagged it and taken it with them for recovery, but it was unnecessary- all the important information was backed up to the cloud.

Sighing, Danny reached for the broom. It would take more than just the afternoon to clean this place up. He might as well get a head start.

…

When Steve finally finished the call- or calls, it seemed- it was sunset. He'd been in and out of the office during that time, wandering the building as he talked and listened- mostly listened- and was apparently put on hold for a while for reasons that Danny couldn't quite make out. Towards the end, he finally returned to the office and sat down, barely noticing the improvements Danny had made during his absence.

Now finished, Danny stood in the doorway for a moment, watching his friend silently. Steve sat at the desk, head resting on one hand, eyes closed, obviously exhausted. His right hand clutched at his left side, clearly in some amount of pain, and Danny wondered how long it had been since he had last taken his meds.

He cleared his throat and Steve jerked up, eyes flashing open. "Well?"

"What?"

"You ready to go home?"

"Yes," Steve began, but then his eyes travelled past Danny and focused on something behind him. He straightened stiffly. Danny turned.

"Gentlemen." Colonel Thule and an aide stood just outside the doorway. "Are we interrupting?"

"Depends," Danny growled. "You here to detain me again? Tell me I can't rescue my partner? That worked really well last time, in case you wondered."

The colonel fixed Danny briefly with a withering stare. "Commander McGarrett," he said abruptly, apparently choosing to ignore the detective, "so glad to see you're doing better."

Danny rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, sir." Steve shook the offered hand and frowned his unspoken question- or perhaps warning- to Danny, who merely shrugged. The full story would have to wait.

"I hope we're not interrupting?"

Danny heaved an audible and obviously exasperated sigh, but Steve pushed himself into a standing position and gestured toward the chairs, which had been returned to their original positions across from his desk. "No. Please. Have a seat."

"I'll just wait outside," Danny offered, moving toward the door, but was surprised when Steve stopped him.

"Stay, Danny. You're a part of this, too."

"I am?"

"He is?" Colonel Thule seemed equally surprised by this turn of events. "Commander McGarrett, if you've shared classified information with Detective Williams…"

"No sir," Steve interrupted quickly. "He doesn't know anything beyond what you authorized me to tell him."

"And that wasn't much," Danny muttered as he returned to his place by the desk. He was less than happy to be sharing the same airspace as the colonel and had little tolerance for man's holier-than-thou attitude. "Why, exactly, do you want me here, Steven?"

"My clothes… did you ever get them?"

Danny frowned at this odd change of topic. "Yeah. It took some bargaining with the lab at HPD, but I placed a few calls to Duke while you were busy on the phone." Hurrying back to his office, Danny pulled the oversized plastic evidence bags from his cabinet and deposited them onto Steve's desk. "Duke brought this by earlier. Don't know why you want this crap back; it's pretty much ruined, if you ask me," he added, wrinkling his nose.

Steve looked relieved. "I owe you one, Danny."

"I'll add it to your tab." Danny's bewilderment continued as Steve grabbed the bag containing his still-wet boots and struggled to tear it open. "What are you doing? Give me that." Neatly pulling the tab, he passed the bag back to his partner. "What does this have to do with the Russians, babe?"

"Every… thing…" Steve grunted, retrieving the left boot. Plunging his hand inside, he felt around for a moment before pulling out a tiny piece of metal and plastic. A small chip. It rested in his hand a moment, unassuming and innocuous. Then he thrust it toward the colonel. "There you go, sir. That's everything."

The colonel eyed the small chip in surprise. "Micro-SD."

"Not what we thought," Steve said grimly.

"Did you look at it?"

"Not enough time," Steve said with a short shake of his head. "I'd just found it when they stormed the office. I found it tucked inside the inner seam on the unicorn horn. I managed to get it out and stuff it into my boot without their noticing."

"And it was there the whole time…" the colonel mused softly.

The whole time he was beaten. And threatened. And tortured. Danny finished the sentence mentally.

Pocketing the tiny SD card, Colonel Thule straightened and shook Steve's hand. "Thank you, commander. You've done your country a great service."

"That's it?" Thoroughly annoyed at the empty gesture, Danny stood and moved protectively to Steve's side. "He's tortured by terrorists and the best you can do is, 'Your country thanks you.'?" He wanted to add, What about me? I was tortured to. That omission only added insult to injury.

"It's fine, Danny." Steve's quiet response was not quite a warning, but more of a plea. Drop it. Leave it alone, his look seemed to say, and he rubbed the weary lines beneath his eyes to subtly emphasize his point. The sooner Thule left, the sooner both of them could go to bed, but Danny wasn't about to let the colonel off that easy.

"No, it's not fine. You could have died, for Pete's sake! I could have died! We risked our lives for some stupid little chip, which you can't tell us about, we were kidnapped, tortured, shot at, left to die on a volcano, Steve's truck is dead, and the best you can say is 'Thank you'? We don't even get gift cards!"

"Unfortunately, in cases of national security and where the situation is ongoing- we still have some of the Chinese to deal with- any kind of public declaration of thanks is out of the question," Thule explained.

"I get that, but 'Your country thanks you' is still ridiculous," Danny grumbled. Catching Steve's slight jerk of the head, he dropped the rest of his rant and quietly stowed it away for future use, should he ever encounter the colonel again. "Anything else?"

"That's it. I have what I need," Thule said, patting the pocket with the thumb drive. Gesturing to the man with him, he moved toward the door. "I'll let you get some rest. You've earned it."

"Thank you, sir." Steve remained ramrod straight in his chair, almost at attention, until the men had left the office, but as soon as the door shut behind them, he slumped with weariness.

He looked so exhausted and miserable that Danny felt the sudden urge to pick him up, put him to bed, and tuck him in as he might have done with Grace. He shook that thought away and noticed Steve's hand stretched toward him, his keys dangling from one hand.

"Danny… drive me home?" he pleaded.

Danny looked longingly at the proffered keychain but shook his head. "Truck's in the shop, remember? And my car's at home since you wouldn't let me drive."

Steve frowned at this unexpected obstacle. "Uber?"

Danny barked a short laugh. "We have to be back here in less than twelve hours anyway. You're the cheapskate with the disappearing wallet- do you really want to fork over money for an Uber? And in case you've forgotten, my wallet isn't here, either." Both were probably in an evidence locker somewhere, but HPD was mostly closed down for the evening, so Danny would have to retrieve them later.

Steve's shoulder's slumped. "So what do you suggest?"

"Well… How about pizza? The good stuff from Amina's, not that fruity crap from the place down the road. And," Danny's eyes searched the office as he threw his plan together, "there's a couple of spare blankets in my office. You take the couch in your office, I'll take the floor…"

"I'll take the floor." Steve was on board already. "And skip the blankets- I've got sleeping bags and foam mats in the storage locker."

"Of course you do," Danny rolled his eyes. "Why does this not surprise me? But you should be on the couch- you're the injured one. I mean, is all that-" he gestured to the bruising evident around the edges of Steve's T-shirt, "-going to be comfortable on a hard floor? You should just take the couch."

"I don't fit- remember Tuesday morning? Besides," he shrugged, "I've had worse. I'll be more comfortable on the floor, and you can fit on the couch."

"What about all the broken glass and crap?"

"CSU swept a bunch of it up, and," he held out a broom, "you can help me clean up the rest."

"Why do I get the feeling that 'help' means 'Danny does all the work'?"

"Cause I'm more injured?"

Danny rolled his eyes.

…

Some time later, both men were settled in their respective 'beds' in Steve's office. It was barely dark out, but after downing the better part of a pizza neither man could keep his eyes open. Danny had made sure Steve was situated and had taken his various medications before nestling down in his own sleeping bag on his partner's couch. The air conditioning wasn't repaired yet, but the glassless windows allowed for a cool breeze to drift in and Danny was surprised to find that it actually felt pleasant.

He flipped the lights off, appreciating the orange glow of the city nightlife through the half-drawn blinds. It really wasn't bad, he thought. A bit like camping, minus the campfire and s'mores.

Below him on the floor, Steve shifted restlessly.

"You good, babe?" With all of the bruising his partner had suffered, Danny couldn't imagine that he was comfortable at the moment.

"Yeah," Steve grunted. "Just sore."

"You take your meds?"

"Are you my mother?"

"Someone has to be." The quip was in poor taste and Danny wrinkled his nose unhappily as soon as he said it. "Seriously, babe: did you take the pills?"

A dramatic sigh issued from the sleeping bag on the floor. "Yes Danny. Two blue, one white, one cream. But takes them a while to kick in, so yeah, I'm a little sore."

Danny was sure that was an understatement, but he opted to keep his mouth shut on that account. "So… the governor. What did he want?" he tried instead.

Steve grimaced. He'd been hoping to postpone this conversation a little bit longer. "He's not happy."

"Not happy? We took down a major drug gang and foiled an international terrorist plot. What more does he want? The Taliban served up on a silver platter?"

"He's upset about me going over the fence."

"Oh. Is that it?"

"I trespassed, D. Plain and simple. And apparently the Secretary of the Navy called."

"I heard. But we found the Thing. Doesn't that make it okay?"

"Not really." Steve lapsed into silence.

Whatever it was, Danny thought, his partner's punishment for his hasty actions must be pretty severe. He mentally cursed Colonel Thule, who undoubtedly played some role in the discipline. "Well?" he finally prodded. "What's the verdict?"

"Desk duty. Two weeks."

Danny snorted. "That's it? That's hardly a slap on the wrist." The desk duty was hardly a surprise and was, if anything, a welcome reinforcement for the doctor's orders for rest and proper rehabilitation. Steve might not see it the same way, but Danny personally felt desk duty was a blessing in disguise. "Or is there more?" he added, catching Steve's unspoken grimace in the near dark.

But whatever else might have happened, Steve apparently wasn't willing to discuss it. "No, that's it," he lied, closing his eyes. "Tell me about Thule," Steve added, changing topics abruptly.

"What? Why?" The colonel was the last person Danny wanted to think about right now. He wanted to think happy thoughts about Grace and Charlie and sunshine and good beer, not stressful thoughts about a grumpy colonel who had let his power and position go to his head.

"Apparently you two butted heads. What happened?"

Danny heaved a sigh. Starting from the moment when he left Steve in the office with the unicorn, he outlined the events that had transpired, how the colonel had kept him in the truck and attempted to prevent him from reentering the building. He described stealing the SWAT outfit and sneaking through the window and along the bottom floor. He told Steve about taking out the Russians and then trying to rescue Steve, only to be detained again, apparently on Thule's orders. Danny tried to avoid mentioning his objections to the colonel's voice and face, which he found enormously annoying. Steve would just point out that such complaints were subjective and not the straight facts that he was looking for.

When Danny finished, it was quiet for a moment. Then the sleeping bag rustled and a warm hand closed suddenly over his own. "Thanks, Danny. For everything."

Danny blinked. "Sure," he said huskily. "Any time."

"And sorry you had to go through all of that for me."

"It just would've been nice to have a SEAL throwing his weight around instead of an inferior mainland detective," Danny grunted. "The one time I wish you were there to pull rank, and you're not."

"Wouldn't have worked."

"Well, you could've gone all Navy SEAL on his ass, then, and gotten him to leave me the hell alone." Danny paused. "Maybe you could still do that?" he added hopefully.

Steve grunted. Another silence passed between them. As Steve shifted again on the floor, Danny's thoughts drifted back to the list of injuries and he recalled image of Steve kneeling in the back of the ambulance.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

"What do you want to know, Danny?"

"Who says I want to know anything?"

"Because whenever you tell me that, you have awkward questions to ask. So," Steve sighed resignedly, "ask away."

Danny hesitated. "When you were… I mean… when I saw you in the ambulance," he fumbled, struggling to find the right way to phrase it. Steve waited him out patiently. "You didn't have any clothes on," Danny finished bluntly.

"I had my boxers."

"That doesn't really count."

Steve knew the other question being posed, the one hidden behind Danny's simple observation. "Nothing happened, Danny. I'm okay."

"You say that all the time. 'I'm okay, I'm fine, Nothing wrong.'"

"And in this case, it's true: nothing happened except some punching and bruising."

"The doc said they had to wash urine out of your hair. That doesn't sound okay to me."

Steve grimaced. "One of the blows caught me in the bladder. It caused a sudden release."

"In your hair?"

"Do you want the play-by-play?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

"Nothing happened. We were fighting in the locker room shower. The drain was clogged, I got hit, fell, and ended up swimming in the mess."

Danny processed this information slowly. "And your clothes?"

"Soaked with the tear gas. I couldn't breathe." Knowing Danny would require a more thorough explanation, he continued, "They needed information from me, and I couldn't speak because I was coughing so badly, so they stripped me and threw me into the shower. That's how I wound up wet in the first place."

"And that's it?"

"Yes." And to put any lingering doubts to rest, he added firmly, "I promise."

"Nothing else?"

Danny quieted. In the absence of the droning air conditioner, Steve could hear him breathing, steady, short breaths. Realizing his partner wasn't yet ready to fall asleep, Steve decided to ask a question of his own.

"How's the horse?" After spending the better part of the week searching for it, he was curious where the animal had ended up.

"Alive and doing well, which according to the vet is nothing short of a miracle." Rolling over and snagging his phone off the desk, Danny scrolled through the notes he had taken when talking to Duke. "Lilith suffered some minor cuts and lacerations from the glass when your Russian buddies kindly blew out of the window, and the vet isn't sure whether there's any lasting damage from the flash bangs, but she's moving around without pain and eating fine, so that's a plus."

"And the drugs?"

"Capsules, in her stomach. No clue how they got them in there in the first place. Swallowed, I guess. The biggest surprise was that the plastic on the capsules didn't break. If they had, bye-bye horsey. As it is, the Animal ER was able to get everything out and turned the evidence over the HPD."

"Good," Steve said even though it would mean more paperwork for Five-0 later. Still, with several weeks of desk duty in the foreseeable future, he was certain he'd have ample time to type up a proper case report. "And your arm?"

Danny almost laughed. It seemed like ages since he had been shot Tuesday afternoon. "I've added a new scar to the collection, but otherwise good." As he spoke, he flexed his bicep and felt the light pull of fresh scar tissue just under the skin. "And no lasting physical damage from those morons who tried to drown me," he added.

He didn't mention the psychological damage, which had already given rise to a new and terrifying brand of nightmares that would likely haunt his sleep for the foreseeable future, nor his sudden aversion to taking a bath. He didn't doubt that Steve would probably suffer something similar, having already seen the after-effects of various missions on the battle-hardened SEAL before. If they both made it through the night without waking, it would be a miracle.

…

Danny had just drifted off when his phone buzzed. Plucking it from the desk, he was annoyed to see that it was barely 9:30 p.m. A quick glance showed him Steve was asleep and snoring softly, but Danny couldn't think of a good way to slip out of the office without waking him. He answered as quietly as he could, his voice heavy with sleep. "Williams."

"Danny? Why you whispering, brah?"

"Kono?"

"Yeah. And Chin. You're on speaker. We just got back."

"Oh." It was the only thing he could think to say.

"You okay? You sound kind of tired."

"Yeah." Danny rubbed his eyes to alleviate some of the burning.

"Were you sleeping?" Chin asked, apparently more attuned to Danny's voice than his cousin. "Are you okay? It's a bit early, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we're okay. Just tired," Danny answered honestly. Still rubbing his eyes, he tried to think of a good explanation for his weariness. An explanation that did not involve unicorns and polka-dot hospital gowns. "Long day. Busy." He looked down at the dark sleeping bag curled around his body. "Camping."

"Camping? With Steve?" Kono chuckled. "No wonder you're worn out."

"We won't keep you," Chin added. "Just wanted to check in. We'll see you guys in the morning."

"Yeah. Okay." And Danny hung up. As he lay back down, however, part of the conversation replayed in his mind and he shook his head. "Stupid Williams," he chided himself. "Camping. What were you thinking?" And then sleep claimed him.

…

A/N: Not so random question: anyone have a bad aversion to cockroaches? This is important.

Final chp + epilogue next week!