Hello! I am back :) I hope everyone had a wonderful, happy, safe, healthy holiday, and like wise for New Years. You can thank that I spend Christmas at my Grandparents with too many annoying cousins (no, I do not care about what the sororities and fraternities are doing at your colleges) and my cold and fever addled brain for this. While this is a Christmas fic (even if it's a day late), it's a bit darker than most and there is a brief (very, very, brief) mention of rape, although none occurs in the fic. If you need more information, feel free to message me :)
Steve's head hurts. A sharp, stabbing agony resonating from the base of his skull, accompanying any moments, the flash of light into his eyes when he tries to open them. He knows where he is, the small cement floored, metal walled and roofed building that has been his home for days, weeks, months? He isn't sure, time is a jumbled mess of pain aided confusion. Steve's shoulders ache, the deep pounding ache earned hanging from his wrists. Back, chest, stomach and face throb in time with his erratic, electricity influenced heart beat.
He was only supposed to be undercover in the prostitution/human trafficking/everyone-here-is-a-scumbag (as Danny had so aptly called it when the task force's attention had first been drawn to them) ring. Simple get into the inner circle, get the evidence, and bring them down, until information that he had provided had stopped the sale of dozen's of girls and Scumbag #1 had grown suspicious and thrown a girl at him. "Rape her, or I know you're a fed." He couldn't do it. The girl had been asian, terrified. Barely older than Grace. She had lain in front of him, shaking, her wrists bound. Steve had seen women like her on missions, used and thrown away, confused and cowering on the side of the road. Something had smashed into the back of his head, hard, more than once. He had passed out. But that was a while ago, right? He's lost track of how many times he's woken up since then, whether it be hanging from his wrists, or like he is now, laying on the cement floor, with his hands cuffed behind him.
Steve's stomach is painfully empty, they've fed him a few times - only for him to throw it up shortly later- but no food has shown up for a while. His chest and belly throb the throb of bruises upon bruises. His lungs ache from the waterboarding, being forced under water until he had to inhale it, ribs reminding him of the multiple rough attempts at CPR after. His battered body is racked with shivers, coursing through him, while sweat clogs his skin. He remembers his first night with Danny, stumbling into his house, collapsing on Steve's bed, waking with his nose nuzzled in gold locks and limbs tangled with Danny's. Remembers laughing, months later, the night before he went undercover, "Don't worry so much, Danno, I'll be home for Christmas."
He passes out.
—
He's hanging from his wrists when he opens his eyes, bare feet skimming just above the ground, his shirt disappeared awhile ago. Two goons stand in front of him, arms crossed. Brass knuckles then. A beating. They are spewing words, questions at him, but Steve knows he isn't tracking well, can't focus on them enough to piece together the syllables into sounds that make sense. By the time they leave, his breaths are heaving, gasping through exhausted lungs, fresh blood marring his face, new bruises and swelling layering his chest and stomach. He's clinging to consciousness now, a fear tickling in the back of his brain that if he lets go this time, he won't come back, and he has to be here when Danny comes, because Danny promised. Promised he would never leave him. Danny is coming. He has to be coming.
The men return, this time with a large water tub, the icy coldness sloping over the sides as they drag it into the room. Scumbag #1 is with them, demanding the answers to more questions as the men unchain him from the ceiling. Steve acts, not really realizing he planned to, moving, hitting, the moment his wrists are free, one man goes down, another falls into the tub of water. He has his hands on a gun, pointing and aiming at Scumbag #1, they fire at the same time, both collapsing to the floor. Steve lands staring at the rusty, metal roof. He never had figured out where they had taken him. A new wetness pools underneath him, hot poker pain blossoms from his leg. Huh, shot in the thigh, could be worse. Steve knows the other three won't be getting up any time soon, he's too exhausted to stand, and he knows he wouldn't get far with a bullet in him anyway. I just have to wait for Danny, Danny will come for me, he'll figure out where to find me.
—
Danny is right in front of him, so real and life-like he almost thinks it isn't a hallucination, and then the hallucination put its hands and his face and starts talking to him and he decides that maybe Danny really is here.
"D.. Dann-" His ragged, rough voice is cut off by a violent series of coughs, Danny's hands grabbing and supporting him, pulling him into their warmth. Steve thinks he hears Danny shouting something about an ambulance, and he flinches away from the loudness.
"No, babe, shh, it's okay, you're safe now, I've got you."
The warmth encircles him, pulling him up to lean on something soft, firm, soothing his battered body. He lets it embrace him, Danny's light pushing the darkness away, his scent curling around him, blanketing him in something that feels loving and safe, and he finally, finally, relaxes as he lets his eyes close as he curls into the comforting arms around him.
—
Steve's body is warm and embraced by softness, his arms are by his sides, a heavy weight on his left when he wakes up. There is still a dull ache in his skull, the pain in the rest of his body numbed to oblivion. The hospital room is dim, but not so much that he can't make out his surroundings when he opens his eyes. The weight is a familiar blonde mop of hair napping on his arm, familiar hand gripping his protectively. A nurse enters the room, and seems pleasantly surprised to see him awake.
"It appears your friend was right, Commander McGarrett, you are awfully strong, we were having our doubts there for minute, but his faith in you never wavered, he's been here ever since you got out of surgery."
"Wh-" He has to pause to swallow, and lets the nurse hold ice chips to his lips, the cool wetness aiding his ragged throat.
"What day is it?" He starts again, his voice is rough, raw.
"Almost midnight on Christmas Eve, the Doctor didn't think you would be awake until tomorrow, you are recovering quite well despite your injuries it seems."
Steve's focus is on the startling revelation of the date. They had me for almost a month.
Danny lifts his head from his arm and stretches his back out, not letting go of Steve's hand. Smiling at him.
"How long have I been here?"
"Almost a day, because you're a neanderthal whose body, consciously or unconsciously can't stand to be in a hospital because you should be asleep right now." Danny's words carry no anger, just fondness with a faint underlying of his usual sarcasm.
Steve smiles at him, the best he can with his face swollen and bandaged, as the nurse says something about sending the doctor to check on him in the morning and deserving some private time with his boyfriend.
"I told you I would be home for Christmas." He says
—
The next time he wakes, the sun is slanting through the window, Grace is on the bed, curled into him, dozing. Danny is holding his hand, sipping at coffee, as he quietly chats with Chin, Kono and Lou throwing comments in. A small tree has been erected on a table in the other corner, it's been decorated and strung with lights, and an assortment of presents rests underneath it. Kamekona bustles in, hands loaded with food, Adam not far behind him. Danny looks at Steve then and smiles.
"Hey babe, Merry Christmas."
"It's Mele Kalikimaka in Hawaii, Danny."
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