Chapter 66 "Shattered"
A/N: (30 July 2017) Your reviews were so beautiful, I thank you from the deepest place in my heart. Your reviews mean so much to me. I'm not ever sure how a chapter will be received. So thank you for telling me what you think, how this labor of love on my part makes you feel.
This chapter was difficult, but just came free-flow. I did very little editing, probably should have done more, but…raw is how it came, and I left it that way.
God bless you all! Thank you for sticking with this journey! We're coming near the close, a few more chapters (unless it surprises me again, won't that be unexpected) and the next story is deep in research. It's quite different. But all that in due time.
CBS owns Hawaii Five-0.
Chapter 66 "Shattered"
(Thursday, 12 January 2017, 4:15 a.m.)
Steve knew he had to keep Danny from sitting in that overstuffed chair, because he sat there when he was withdrawing, wrapping himself in his feelings of being alone or rejected. He was a couch guy, middle-seat unless someone had already taken that spot. Unless he was making a point, he never chose the chair if there was any spot on the couch. And if he did not choose the middle of the couch, it meant something. Left side, right side, Danny didn't do anything without meaning. Steve had learned that he could gauge a lot about his partner's frame of mind and emotional state just by watching where and how he sat. Steve made a mental note to get rid of that chair and replace it with a loveseat, so there stopped being an "alone" chair.
So he kept his grip on Danny, and kept apologizing, eventually quieting, waiting for whatever damage he had done with his wretched, unfiltered tease to ease up. He felt like he was holding a Danny-shaped statue. But he wasn't fighting Steve, and that was good. Steve held him, bare chests touching, bringing his good hand upwards across Danny's back until his arm was bent so his fingers were laced through Danny's soft hair, gently encouraging him to rest his head against his shoulder. Tiny relax by tiny relax, Danny leaned against him, but his arms remained at his sides, the hug unreturned. Even in his embrace, Steve knew Danny felt alone.
It broke his heart, but he had made it happen by forgetting for one second that his friend was recovering from so many things that he had fallen into PTSD because too much had happened for his emotions to deal with at once. He hadn't had time yet to emotionally work through things so he could heal. Some things, like the fire and not dying from the drug mix-up, Danny was dealing with well. But other things were harder for him. And in many ways, the worst of his triggers was the fear that he had brought Stan Edward's actions towards him on himself. It wasn't that Steve had unforgivably teased him about being victimized. No, it was much worse. Steve had made it look like Danny's fault. So he waited, knowing his brother's thoughts were tumbling like clothes in the dryer, working through the layers of his emotional pain. Steve knew not what other pains he may have unwittingly raised from the depths.
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Danny let his thoughts whirl and spin. The tongue is mightier than the sword. What Steve had said to him - He felt so gutted, but the blood was invisible even while he felt like his wounds had to show; the bleeding would never stop. I will never heal. How can I heal? Do they think I ever encouraged Stan? I swear I never did. I'm in pain. Steve, I'm bleeding and I'm in pain. Why did you say that? Do the others think that too? How much blood can I lose and still survive? I wear dark colors now as often as I can, because blood shows less on dark colors. And these scabs keep bursting open again. And again. And again.
I know I never encouraged him. I know Stan just wanted to hurt me. I know that. But I guess I'm the only one that knows that, heart- and soul-deep. I can't talk about it. No. I really can't talk about it. I just have to believe, and get past this. Somehow. I would have gotten out. I would have saved Angel. I would have gotten us both out. But I'm glad we were rescued. Angel was so skinny. She's fine now, though. And nobody notices how little I eat. Because I only eat when I'm with someone, and even then, nobody pays attention that I throw half of it away if I'm hurting. Even the therapists haven't noticed. Not even Dr. Cornett. But it's only 6 pounds. In two weeks. I'll have to be careful.
I'm always hurting.
No. That's not true.
It is true. Yes, it is. Every day I hash over this garbage with the therapist du jour, and every damn night I have nightmares. Over and over and over. Two days ago I didn't. Okay, one aberration. One good dream. It was about the house, and none of this had ever happened. And I woke up happy. One time I woke up happy, only to realize it all happened. And there's the therapist asking me about how I'm coping, how I'm feeling, do I remember the exercises? The positive thinking, the strength that comes from being the only freaking person in my life who knows I didn't make this happen? I'm sitting with that therapist, and she can't even see how much I'm bleeding all over her pleather couch with the fuzzy pillows which I refuse to hold like I need to hide behind a square of fluff. And you can take that wretched box of Kleenex you put next to me on the couch so I can cry and make you feel like we're making such progress because I cried for you, like a zoo animal on command. How high, turn in a circle, be a good lab rat, make the kids laugh, make the therapist scribble "He cried" in her little black binder thing. I won't do it for her. I'm not a lab rat. Take your box of Kleenex and shove it up your …. Geez, I can't even think that word anymore. So, vagina! Shove it up your damn vagina. Use lube. I can't do this anymore. I need a new therapist. One who really cares.
She's working for a paycheck. She wants me to cry and hold the damn pillow. I need a better therapist! Then say so! Right. Say so. Danny's complaining again. Remember last year? Culminating in the Huge Thing? The liver donation. While I know my 'ohana' doesn't care if I live or die, as long as Steve lives. Take my liver, Steve, and if I die on the operating table, well, they will say at my funeral, "He saved Steve's life. And then died, so we didn't have to hear about it forever. God, the man was insufferable! Bitch, moan, bitch, moan, lather, rinse, repeat. Remember the roof? He's yelling 'I don't wanna go!', when if he doesn't, he dies so yeah he jumps, and expects us not to forget what he put Steve through? 'Love you, Danno.' Yeah, he owed Steve that liver, but the best thing he did was die."
And then I didn't die. And so they didn't visit me, and Steve said … that thing about Charlie.
I still hear those words. "He'll come to hate you," first bullet to the heart, "as much as I do." And he's down for the count, and the referee hits 10 and a bunch of my other organs are yanked out to help other needy people, so really, there's not that much even to bury!
Okay, fair is fair, I know it all got cleared up and even Lou is on the verge of wearing a Five-0 badge again. I never thought he'd turn around so completely. I do forgive him. All of them. I know mistakes were made, and not just by them. I know I had blame, and I accept it. "I love you," is real from them again. Steve is my brother. I love them all. Forgiveness is real, and I've forgiven them, and they've forgiven me, and it's all good again.
Except for this. And I'm trying so hard not to talk about things, harp on things, brings things up until they hear me, that they aren't hearing me. I'm supposed to be over this now. They don't want to hear that I'm not, so I don't tell them. I can't have that go south again. I can't hear them telling me I'm the weak link and a whiner and so I say nothing except to that miserable therapist.
Get a better therapist, and tell them how you feel. Oh yeah, right. A good therapist is one in a thousand. And I can't risk these friends again. I need them. Okay, they don't know that, but when I tell them, they shy away. They still remember before. Bitch, moan, rant, whine whine whine. No, I can't risk it. I can't risk it, I won't risk it!
Then tell Becca. Oh God no! Beyond stupid idea. Becca, sweet Becca, did you know your fiance's been I still can't say it! by Stan's skinny snake, and it hurts every time now when I go to the little boy's room? All the time. From a skinny snake when I wasn't even conscious, and I regret not watching that damn video….
Sortof. I don't know if I could have … watched it. Besides, it's destroyed. But I regret it. Steve and I talked, and told me, he told me, so I know what happened, and I don't know how Steve found the courage to just tell me the second time we talked about it, and he was so compassionate without drowning me in syrup. He treated me like a man. Even when I made my nose bleed again from crying, he was strong, and I'll give it to him, he did better than I would have under the circumstances. And Dr. Cornett has been a rock. He cares. He's like a brother too, more than a dad, so I guess I need to do what Steve does and call him Doc or Dr. C. I guess. How did I get so lucky? Or did they get unlucky? Or is it both? When I get lucky, I suck the luck out of another person's life. Mo died because of me. Neil died because of me. Jason died because of me. Okay, Jason didn't die because of me. He was all Stan's doing.
So tell him it hurts there. It started with that first nightmare, just tell him! No. He already did an embarrassing exam for both of us and said I'm fine. But it still hurts. So? I'm not telling him. Whatever it is will go away. It does when I'm relaxed. Which is almost never. So it's muscle tension. I don't have to whine to him about muscle tension.
The longer you wait, the harder it will be to treat.
Yeah, well aint that life!
You lived. You have people who genuinely love you. Whatever happened to the glass full, not half empty or half full, but all the way full?
I don't know. He's still there, sometimes, but sometimes he's hard to convince, because these nightmares are persistent, and I'm tired all the time, and I need to find a house and furniture and write 5000 thank you letters, and I'm so grateful to all the caring, omigod generous people, seriously where to even start? I'm full when I think of them, and Becca, why does she even like me let alone love me? And Steve. I know he didn't mean what he said, but he set off a huge trigger, and he'll stand here holding me as long as I stand here too, which may be the rest of the night, and ….
Matty would never have done that. Nooooo, please don't bring up Matty! God, he hurt me so bad, I could have helped him, I could have, but he threw me under the bus and my family looks at me differently now. Stella won't talk to me beyond hello and we're fine and how is Grace. She tries to ignore my illegitimate son, Charlie. And then there's the bomb nobody knows about because I can't whine. When I asked when Eric was coming back to Hawaii, and she said, after this year long pause that was probably only 15 seconds, "You're not the role model I thought you were, so he's found a job here." And then the biggie. The nuclear one. "Stay away from my family, Daniel."
Mom and Dad and Bridget don't know. Or maybe they do. Bridget, she came out, and it was pretty good. But she hasn't come back, and doesn't call often at all. Twice since the box. But you know, everyone is busy during the holidays, and I'm fine.
Right, fine. I'm so fine, it hurts. I can't eat even if I would eat, because I was supposed to starve, and it seems fitting to not eat when I really should and don't have any good reason except self-flagellation. Which is not good. I know I should forgive my family.
I feel like there is Stella-Matty, and … and everyone is turning into Matty all over again, so there's no acceptance of me, no understanding. I can't turn to them for anything except hurt. "Daniel, you effed up. You disappointed us. You are not worthy of our name. Our lives no longer include you."
That was when Danny's legs gave out from under him, and he sagged, sobbing, against Steve, who caught him and lowered him to the area rug so they could lean against the couch.
The pain was too much, so Danny poured his troubles out to Steve, like he opened the floodgates and let it all out. Everything. And Steve held him, and wonder of wonders his nose didn't begin bleeding again, but he thought his eyes might. "I know you didn't mean what you said, and of course I forgive you, Steve, but maybe what you said is true, because Stan had every right to be that angry with me, because I had an affair with Rachel, and we made Charlie, and it's not my fault that he thought Charlie was his because I thought Charlie was his, but he hurt when the truth came out! And it was my fault, because I didn't do what was right, I didn't do what I knew was right, but if I had, there wouldn't be Charlie, and how can I regret Charlie? I can't regret him, so if Stan has to pay me back the way he did, don't I have it coming?
"And I hurt all the time, and I'm not eating, I've been hiding that, and I'm sorry, but I can't take all this pain, and being afraid to say anything for fear of driving everyone away again, like before, and I'm always afraid, and that goddamn therapist is as helpful as a knife in my guts. She doesn't care, Steve. I'm just her 2 o'clock PTSD who can tell she doesn't care it's Danny Williams the human being. And that Stan acted out of justifiable anger but I still can't say the word.
"I should forgive him. I have to forgive him. He was a creep with no redeeming qualities except he never laid a hand on Grace or Charlie, but he saved it for me, and even that I have to thank him for because better me than my kids, that would have killed me, and I gotta forgive, it's eating me alive, the fear, the hurt, the 2 o'clock, and my family back in Jersey disowning me, and you, here, now, a closer brother than Matty ever was to me, because I know I can count on you, trust you, even when you make a mistake, you apologize and Matty didn't, ever, but I've been so scared, Steve, that you might abandon me too, please don't abandon me, so many people have …."
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Steve felt Danny finally, abruptly cling to him before his legs buckled, and he listened to the words bursting forth, and tried to keep everything straight. He held Danny and just listened, and Angel dragged over the box of tissues, and then another one when the first one was empty. He lifted Danny to the couch, and trapped him against the pillows of the arm, so he could run for the kitchen and grab water bottles. Danny was dehydrating, right before his eyes, but he had to get this out of his system. So whenever he could, he got him to drink, again and again, and Danny did and cried, and let it all out, and Steve never loved Danny so much as he did then. God, he never dreamed there was so much inside, needing out. He never realized just how deep and far back the damage ran, but now that he knew, he had his work cut out for him, because he would cut off his own right or left arm before he would abandon this man who was so strong, and yet had suffered so much at the hands of so many, including his birth family, even his Five-0 ohana.
Danny finally stopped talking and just wept, and drank when Steve prompted him to, and when the exhausted man literally fell asleep in Steve's arms, he carried him up the stairs to his own room and put him to bed, and then washed Danny's face with cool cloths, and soothed his swollen eyes with more cool cloths. And when he was sleeping easier, but still so exhausted, Steve found his own phone and sent a text to Dr. Cornett to find Danny a new therapist immediately. They'd talk in the morning.
Then Steve curled next to Danny, on top of the covers, and when the nightmare came, he soothed it away before Danny awoke, and Angel watched over Danny the whole time Steve got the kids ready for school, allowing Danny to keep sleeping, because God knew he needed it.
.H50.
A/N: Thank you for reading. Reviews are very welcome.