A/N: This chapter is in no way intended to be flippant or disrespectful regarding the very real events of September 11. With that tragedy as an integral part of Jax and Danny's back-story, it seems logical that they would take note of the anniversary. If any readers feel that I am not handling the topic with appropriate sensitivity, or if I just plain get it wrong, please let me know. I'll do my best to fix it or just remove the chapter.
While I'm playing a little loose with timeline and canon (including Grover as part of the team, for example, and replacing the idea of Hesse and WoFat with the original arch nemesis Novak), this universe is set in the early days of Five-O; so this chapter is not present-day September, even though I'm posting the chapter on September 11th, but more like September 2012, which would mean Gracie is still only eleven or so. It also conveniently allows me to go back in time and re-write the story with the benefit of picking and choosing from what we've learned since.
Also true to canon would be the fact that Steve's mission with Freddie would likely have taken place early in the month of September, given that it was as a result of that mission that he had Hesse in custody and was transporting him. We know from images of John McGarrett's tombstone that he was murdered on September 20th. Even allowing time for Steve to rush back to Hawaii, the funeral likely took place before the end of the month, with Steve meeting Danny and recruiting Chin at the same time.
In other words, angst.
#*#*#*#*#
The team had been back from their case-turned-retreat long enough for things to have settled into something of routine. To Steve's relief, a thorough sweep of Five-O headquarters had not yielded any indication of listening devices or other interference, and while he was still concerned about the governor's intentions, he had been breathing a little easier.
Then the bottom had fallen out, with two back-to-back cases that had them running on adrenaline and caffeine. More than one night had been spent in the office, though Steve tried to make sure that Danny didn't miss any nights with Gracie, and that Grover made it home to his family at least on alternate evenings. Chin had barely been able to see Malia, between the string of robberies Five-O was investigating, and her rotating schedule in the Emergency Department. The night he spent there with Kono, while she was treated for dehydration and a pulled muscle in her bad knee, did not count - or so Malia had informed him when they stopped by with clean clothes for the two cousins the next morning.
And Kono had pointed out that although Caviness was a stand-up guy who came to sit by her bed and hold her hand, that Steve had better make damn sure that she had a full weekend off. Soon.
And so it was, that the last day of August had come and gone and then some, and Steve found himself at his desk, on the tenth of September, catching up on an ungodly stack of paperwork. He put it off as long as he could, but eventually he had taken a deep breath, and pulled the August page off his desk calendar. As always, he folded it neatly and put it in a file - experience had taught him that sometimes the random handwritten notes or phone numbers jotted down at his desk came in handy. He had closed the file drawer and sat for a moment, looking at the expanse of September in front of him.
It was a bittersweet month. He'd lost Freddie in early September. The exact date of the mission, of course, was classified and blurred by accounting for several different time zones, so it would never appear written on a calendar, but the moments were ingrained in his memory and replayed. Jax knew the dialogue; so did Danny, for that matter. They'd heard it, in bits and scattered pieces, in the dark hours of countless nights.
HIs dad had been killed on the twentieth . . . that was another event, played out on repeat, sometimes his brain offering alternate endings, but inevitably the dream wound back to a gunshot and Steve sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping out one name: Dad. But not all of Septembers memories were nightmares. By the end of the month, he'd pulled together the most amazing team he'd ever worked with - though he'd be careful not to come out and say that in front of his SEAL buddies - and of course, with the team, with Danny, eventually he'd found Jax.
His eye drifted to the eleventh, the stuff of Jax's nightmares. On one of her very first nights in Steve's house, she'd made it all the way outside, disoriented, the sand under her feet finally grounding her to time and place. Did she appreciate the distraction of work? Maybe they'd have a case. Or maybe she preferred to be alone. This would be her first September away from New York . . . maybe she wished she could go back? Should he offer?
"Steve?" Kono's voice drifted to him, hesitant, and he realized that she'd called his name several times.
"Hey, Kono," he said, smiling up at her. "Sorry, I was just . . ."
"Thinking about the fact that September sucks balls?" she asked quietly, her eyes sad and fond.
He chuckled. "I was going to say that September was a month of mixed emotions, but yeah. There's days in September that suck balls. But not the days that I started working with Danny and Chin, and definitely - most definitely - not the day that you introduced yourself by knocking a guy senseless with a right cross. Thanks to you guys, September has some happy memories, too."
"I'm glad to know that," Kono said, a genuine smile dimpling her face.
"What did you need?" Steve asked, clearing his throat and shoving a file over the word September, which seemed to be mocking him in cheery Arial font.
Kono gently moved the file away and ran her long, tan fingers over the word. "It can wait. What do you need, boss?"
He sighed and pushed back in his chair a little. "The eleventh . . . it's tomorrow, and I don't know how to approach it with Jax. What do you think? I don't want to push her by bringing it up, but I don't want to be a . . . schmuck, to put it in Danny-speak, and ignore it. Any ideas?"
Kono tilted her head at him. "If you're asking me to get my feminine perspective, that's sweet, but misguided. I think the best person to answer that is Jax, but if you're wanting advice on how to approach her, you should ask Danny. He knew her then, he's probably been in touch with her on the anniversary before, he might have some ideas. What does Danny usually do?"
"Last year, he took Gracie back to New Jersey to be with his family. She knew the story of his partner, how she died on 9/11, and I think he may have introduced Gracie to her family, spent some time with them," Steve explained.
"Wow, no wonder Gracie is growing up to be so grounded and mature," Kono said. "That's a lot to live up to. I'm honestly surprised that Rachel allowed it."
"Part of the divorce settlement, babe," Danny said, coming into Steve's office.
Kono brushed his cheek with a quick kiss and Danny smiled at her. It had taken him a while to adjust to the affectionate habits of the island's residents, but he was never one to turn down a kiss, no matter how chaste, from a pretty woman.
"Steve's wondering about the anniversary, you know, with Jax," Kono said.
"Ah, 'the anniversary'; spoken like a true New Yorker, Kono," Danny said. "I'm touched."
"I know last year, you took Gracie back to Jersey to visit your folks," Steve said. "But other than that, Danny, I'm sorry - I've not thought to ask you if you wanted time off this year. And I basically don't know if, or how, to approach it with Jax."
Danny nodded. "Taking Gracie back to New Jersey last year was a kinda one-time thing. It's not my weekend to have her, although - get this - Rachel called me yesterday to offer for me to have Gracie for the day, if I want, since it falls on a weekend."
"That was thoughtful," Steve said. "Are you going to go get her?"
"I wasn't planning on it," Danny said, shaking his head. "Not that I wasn't tempted, but it's different for Gracie; she wasn't even born when it happened, and while I want her to know, and to honor the memory . . . she's a sensitive little thing. I don't want her to . . . dwell, you know?"
"That seems wise, Danny," Steve said. "How did Jax usually spend the day, do you know?"
Danny grimaced. "Well, as best as I can recall, she seemed to spend the day picking up as many shifts as possible. You know her - denial and distraction. And, let me guess, based on the nightmares that you're probably privy to, how did that work out for her?"
"Not well," Steve answered simply. He wasn't betraying any confidences - Kono and Jax often spent the weekend together when he was on reserve duty, and Kono had confessed to having her sleep interrupted by one of Jax's more vivid nightmares. And just two nights ago, while the team collapsed on sofas to catch a few hours sleep while evidence was processed, one of the lab techs had burned a bag of microwave popcorn. Grover had suffered a bruise on his jaw when he'd attempted to wake Jax from the nightmare that the burning smell had triggered.
"Right," Danny said. "So what she wants to do, and what she should do, may be two different things. You're going to have to man up and actually talk to her about it. Using words."
"Yeah, yeah," Steve said, waving his hand at Danny, but smiling. "Okay, for starters, you two - get out of here. Unless we have a triple homicide serial killer selling drugs to toddlers, I don't want to see anyone in this office until Monday. Kono, does this count as a weekend off?"
"No, this counts as a Sunday off, which we are well past due for already, and I hurt my knee," Kono pouted.
"But I did hear Caviness say that he had no open cases right now," Steve pointed out. "He wanted me to know in case you were too looped to remember."
"Oh, yeah," Kono said, brightening. "I hoped I hadn't imagined that." She hesitated, looking at Danny. "I'm sorry, it seems . . . disrespectful, planning something fun . . . "
"Nonsense," Danny said firmly. "Affirmation of life, babe. Go affirm life."
"You want to come over tomorrow, Danny?" Steve said.
Danny gave him an appraising look. "If, after having an actual conversation with Jax, you determine that is what would be good for the day, then yes. But I'm not going to be the buffer that keeps the two of you from having conversations that need to be had, Steven."
"Okay, Danny," Steve said, uncharacteristically subdued.
"Babe, look - it's - I know you, and I know Jax. You'd rather scale a wall under heavy fire to take out a sniper than discuss your feelings. I get that. It's part of the whole tough-but-tender thing you both do, where you rush in to save the day with grenades and tourniquets, and are impossibly compassionate with everyone else but refuse to cut yourselves any slack. And its endearing, really, and I know that you're making progress, at least in talking to each other. And I'm proud of you," Danny said, smiling at Steve. "But clearly - okay, look, the smell of burning popcorn put her over the edge the other night, Steven, and she nearly knocked her partner unconscious. I'm saying, and I know I'm not the only one saying, there is some processing yet to be done. That's all I'm saying."
"I know, Danny," Steve said. "I was asking if you wanted to come over because, you know. You lost someone on 9/11, too. I was asking if maybe, since you didn't plan to have Gracie, I thought maybe you didn't want to be alone. Either." Steve shrugged.
"You were - oh," Danny said. "That was - and I broke into a lecture. Sorry, babe."
"Danny?" Steve said, standing up and starting to gather his things.
"Yeah, Steve?"
"You weren't wrong. With the lecture. And you're welcome to come over tomorrow. That's not something I need to ask Jax, by the way, because she's made it clear that she loves spending time with you. She needs time with you, Danny, you're the reason she came to Hawaii in the first place. You're our ohana, you know?" Steve said.
"After almost fifteen days running without a break?' Danny asked skeptically.
"Well, I did say tomorrow, Danno," Steve smirked. "Tomorrow. Not tonight. Tonight-"
Danny cut him off by placing his hand firmly over Steve's mouth. "No. Please, for the love of God, stop talking."
"When you two are done making out," Grover drawled, propping a shoulder against Steve's office door. "I was going to ask if I could call it; head home to the family for what's left of the weekend."
"Absolutely," Steve said. "Thanks, man. I'll do my best to keep things quiet."
"By the power of your will?" Grover asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"He's a SEAL; they probably teach some kind of spooky mass mind control as part of BUDs training," Danny groused. "Hey, where's your pocket partner?"
"Don't let her hear you call her that," Grover said, absently rubbing his jaw where Jax had caught him solidly. "She said she was going to the armory to check medic inventory, but to be honest, I think she's ducking the computers." Grover sighed. "It started this morning - pictures, videos, memes - people mean well in wanting to honor the memory but man, I wish for her sake they could do it with something other than living color of those towers burning and falling. We couldn't pull up a single file without somehow coming across it. Sorry, man," he said, turning to Danny. "I know it's a bad day for you, too."
"Yeah, but not in the same way," Danny said. "I was barely aware of the larger situation that day; I was just focused on my partner. I have to admit, I was buffered from it; isolated. Jax was . . . well, people and debris were falling on her. I can understand why the pictures would get to her."
Steve had been listening, silent. "Go ahead, guys, get out of here. Get Chin out the door, too, before we lose our preferred status with our favorite emergency department doc. I'll catch up with Jax, clean up and lock up here."
Danny and Grover gratefully gathered their things; but Danny lingered and stepped back into Steve's office after Grover was gone.
"Steve," he said quietly, "the last year I was in Jersey on the anniversary, I got a call about 2 am to come pick her up at some guy's apartment. She apparently hadn't been able to pick up enough shifts to get her through, ended up at a bar, went home with someone and sobered up enough on the way there to regret it. Thankfully she'd picked a firefighter's bar and the guy pieced it together enough to find my number in her phone. When I got there, he had her wrapped in a blanket drinking coffee while he stood outside waiting for me." Danny smiled a bit at the memory; the poor guy had been rather terrified when he'd found out that Jax's emergency contact was a cop. "My point is, that was just three years ago," Danny finished.
Steve nodded soberly. "Thanks, Danno."
"Don't contaminate the armory, you Neanderthal," Danny called, in a parting word to Steve as he got into the elevator. "And yeah, I'll catch up to you tomorrow."
#*#*#*#*#
Pull it together, Jax chided herself. You knew this was coming. It comes every year. It should be easier by now. Pull it together.
Her hands were shaking as she mindlessly sorted gauze pads and sterile wipes, finding some comfort in the familiar shapes and textures of medical supplies. It had been a crazy run of cases, and while she hadn't had to treat more than a handful of minor scrapes and cuts - and send Kono packing, protesting loudly, to the ER - the supply cabinet had been neglected. The powdered Gatorade and protein bars were seriously depleted, she noticed, as she pulled out an empty box. Her hand fell on something soft behind it.
Billy's t-shirt. She'd forgotten at what point it had found its way there; probably in one of her gym bags or on one of the bleary nights when they'd been called in to review lab results in the wee hours of the morning. Her fingers traced over the firehouse number screen printed on the back of the shirt, and she held it to her face. It smelled more like Steve's detergent now than anything, but that was okay; that was a good smell.
The whoosh of the elevator alerted her to the arrival of someone else in the basement, and she shoved the shirt back into the cabinet. The long, sure strides were unmistakably Steve's.
Pull your shit together, Nolan, she told herself firmly. You've been holding it together so well these last couple months, you're almost like a normal person. You can do this. Don't let him down. She shoved the shirt back into the cabinet and put the Gatorade box back in front of it.
"Hey, ku'uipo," Steve said softly, as he stepped up behind her. He rested his hands lightly on her waist, and bent to kiss the top of her tousled curls.
"Hey," she said, proud of herself for her voice sounding almost normal. "We need to restock the protein bars; they were thoroughly pilfered when we were too slammed to get food. And the Gatorade mixes, too." She shook her head. "I should have noticed that Kono was getting dehydrated and slowed her down, made her drink something."
"Kono has lived on this island her whole life," Steve said. "She knows to hydrate. She was in that sniper's nest a lot longer than we intended; dehydration is common for snipers. She's fine. You recognized it, made her go get checked out."
"Still, I -" Jax started to protest, but Steve stopped her, placing his hand over hers on the empty Gatorade box and moving it back out of the way. He pulled out the tshirt and turned it over in his hands, his fingers tracing over the firehouse number just as Jax's had moments before.
"We've been so busy, I didn't realize . . . until today, when I was cleaning up my desk and changed the calendar. I'm sorry; I should have asked you sooner, if you wanted to go back to New York or anything," he said, folding the shirt carefully and handing it back to Jax.
She turned and put the shirt in the cabinet, not meeting his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous; I can't go flying back to New York on a whim. I'm fine."
He put his hand back on her waist, his thumb rubbing gently over the scars of her injuries from that day. "It's okay not to be fine, Jax."
She stepped away from his hand. "September is a bad month for a lot of people, Steve. You lost people in September. Danny lost people in September. I'm not special and I'm not going to have some epic meltdown, I promise." She cringed at the harsh tone of her voice. That wasn't exactly proving her point.
She turned and looked up at Steve. Shit. Kicked Puppy Face. Danny had named that one well.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't - I'm -. Shit. I'm just trying really hard, here, okay? I didn't mean to snap at you. You're being very thoughtful and I'm . . . okay I'm not used to that, right?"
Steve smiled faintly. She hadn't been away from NYPD nearly long enough to lose the accent and speech patterns, especially when she was upset. Like she was now.
"September is a bad month for you, and Danny, and me," Steve agreed. "But tomorrow is a bad day for you. What do we need to do tomorrow? I'm not used to this either, Jax. I've never . . . there's never been anyone close enough for me to get through the anniversaries, either. We're both new to this."
Jax groaned. "Danny told you to use your words, didn't he?"
"Yep. I believe his exact phrase was 'man up'," Steve confessed. "So. Obviously, we want to avoid TV and social media."
Jax looked like she was going to start arguing the whole point again, but then her shoulders slumped, defeated. "We try not to complain," she said quietly. "We don't want people to forget; it's good that people don't forget. It's just that . . . the pictures. Video. It's - it's too much, I can't -"
"I get it," Steve said. "I understand. You want to get out of the city? Tell me. Anything. What can I do to help? What do you usually do?"
"Well, I used to cover as many shifts as possible in the busiest precincts, and failing that, I would drink myself stupid," Jax said, a little sharply again. "I'm not - damn it, Steve, I am not good at this. I don't talk about it, I don't use words, I'm not Danny. I thought you of all people would understand that."
"I do, Jax," he answered. "I understand it perfectly. I understand that last year, on the twentieth, Danny showed up at my house and pulled me and my bottle of Scotch away from the bloodstain on the floor of my house, where my dad - I understand."
"Then why can't we just . . . " she trailed off, not even sure what she was going to say.
"Just keep doing what we've been doing?" Steve asked. "How's that been working out for us, Jax? You're not NYPD now, you can't throw yourself into picking up beat shifts for other cops. And I'm damn sure not going to let you go to some bar and go home with-" he stopped abruptly.
"He told you?" Jax asked, incredulous. "Not one of my finest moments. Glad to know the two of you could have a good chuckle over it."
"Jax, I am out of my depth here," Steve said, desperate to make her understand. "I wanted to know what I could do to make this easier for you. I was asking Danny what I could do, so that I wouldn't make it worse."
They looked at each other; Jax, vibrating with anger and humiliation; Steve, beleaguered and frustrated. Finally, a corner of Jax's mouth twitched up in a smirk.
"Irony," she said. "Danny's word-a-day calendar today. Irony."
Steve laughed, then. "Yeah. How am I doing with the whole not-making-it-worse thing?"
"You suck at it," Jax said, smiling. "I'm not helping, either. I'm sorry."
"Me, too," Steve said, stepping closer to Jax, raising his eyebrows in silent question, asking permission. Her hand wrapping around the back of his neck seemed to indicate yes.
"Did we just have a fight?" Jax murmured, pulling him down for a gentle kiss.
"I'm pretty sure we had a fight, and a mutual apology," Steve agreed. "Danny would be proud."
"Steven, Steven," Jax sighed. "When are you going to learn there are times where it behooves you not to mention Danny?"
"Would now be one of those times?" he asked, hopeful, trailing the back of his hand up her ribs, firm enough not to tickle.
"It would," Jax said, nodding. "I hear that there's this thing that sometimes happens after a fight."
"Yeah? What would that be?" Steve's breath hitched as she targeted the little spot behind his ear that made it hard to think.
"There's a lock on the armory door, right?" she asked, sliding her hands into his back pockets and pulling him closer. "I think we can figure it out."
Steve lost himself for a minute in kissing her, surrounding himself with the taste and feel of her. But something nagged at him, pulling at his subconscious. He opened his eyes and saw Billy's t-shirt, right above her head on the shelf.
"Jax," he murmured, pulling away, his breath ragged. "This isn't what I came here for, ku'uipo. I need to be sure you're - is this just a distraction? I don't want to be the asshole who takes advantage . . . I want to be the stand up guy who wraps you in a blanket and waits outside. What do you need, Jax? Tell me what you need."
She looked up at him, her eyes unreadable, full of some emotion that he couldn't quite nail down.
"I need you," she said.
Fear, he realized. That was what he was seeing in her eyes. Fear?
"I'm here, Jax," he murmured. "What's wrong? What are you afraid of?"
"I'm afraid of needing you," she replied, barely above a whisper.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him, cradling her head against his chest. One hand tangled in her curls while the other rubbed gentle circles on her back, her muscles tense and knotted with fatigue and stress.
"I'm taking you home," he said quietly. "We'll contaminate the armory some other time."
#*#*#*#*#
She dozed on the ride home, despite her best efforts to stay awake. The last two weeks were a blur of sleep caught in hours on office sofas, interspersed with showers in the locker rooms. Even on the nights they managed to slip home, usually because Danny or Grover pointedly mentioned that everyone would be happier if Steve and Jax were a little less agitated, they made it a point to be back at headquarters early, with trays of coffee and baked goods as tokens of appreciation. Or peace offerings. They'd been running on fumes for days and it had caught up with Jax.
"'S'not fair," she grumbled, when Steve shook her knee gently to wake her up after he parked the truck in front of his house.
"What's not fair?" he asked, amused, as he kept her from face-planting in her effort to exit the cab.
"You," she muttered. "I'm all -" she gestured in frustration at herself, as she struggled to make her feet cooperate and carry her up the sidewalk. "And you're all -" she waved her hand absently at Steve, who gave every appearance of being as controlled and coherent as ever.
"It's a SEAL thing," he said, just a bit smug, and she tried to flip him off, but her fine motor skills were shot.
She made it into the house on her own power, but stumbled over her feet at the bottom of the stairs while Steve was locking the front door.
"Okay, that's it," he said, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her up the stairs.
She would have protested but her head was nestled so perfectly in that spot between his neck and shoulder, that she just couldn't summon the will to get a good rant going. She inhaled deeply, soothing herself with the now-familiar scent that was part detergent, part aftershave, and and always a healthy dose of ocean.
"Hmm," she sighed, content.
Steve chuckled, and because he still sounded a bit smug, she licked him delicately on that little patch of skin again, just to make him stumble.
"Okay, that's not fair," he protested.
"I love that you're such an easy mark," she mumbled, grinning because she knew that her lips were still hovering over the target. "If the bad guys knew this, we'd be in trouble."
He turned on the small lamp just inside the master bedroom, and deposited Jax without protest onto the bathroom counter. There was just enough light coming in from the lamp, and from the almost full moon at the window, to inspire him to change his mind about flipping on the overhead light in the bathroom. Instead, he toed off his boots, and proceeded to remove Jax's boots, and their clothing, with military precision and efficiency, while the water warmed up in the shower.
He wasn't even sure if Jax's eyes were open when he steered her under the heavy spray, wetting her hair and rubbing shampoo through it gently. She sighed as he massaged her head, and he inhaled the soft honeysuckle scent. He wasn't sure where the shampoo came from, honestly, but he'd gladly have cases of it shipped from the mainland if necessary. She let him turn her this way and that under the shower, too exhausted to be anything but happily compliant. He made quick work of his own shower, not trusting her to stand too long without losing her balance.
"Aren't you . . . you know . . . " she mumbled sleepily as he wrapped her completely in one of the towels he'd purchased to suit his six foot plus frame and placed her on the bed.
He laughed as he pulled on a pair of gym shorts. "Of course I am, ku'uipo, I always am when I'm with you," he said, squeezing the water out of her hair. He was definitely not vigorously towel-drying it as he did his own. He knew better, since that one time, when she'd been looped out on pain meds, and he'd tried to help. "But you're so far past the point of exhaustion that I think there'd be an issue with consent."
"Psssh," she scoffed, her voice muffled as he pulled the Annapolis t-shirt over her head. "Figures the one person who would never need to ask for consent is just about the only person who does."
He knew that she was practically talking in her sleep, unfiltered and unguarded, and the brutal honesty of her statement punched the air out of his lungs. Unwilling to let go of her long enough to walk around to his usual side of the bed, he slipped in behind her, holding her close and pulling the light blanket over them. He kissed the back of her neck and she sighed happily, her breathing evening out almost immediately as she fell sound asleep.
#*#*#*#*#
Jax could hear Steve puttering around in the shower as she woke, blinking slowly in the soft morning light. She stretched, grinning at the delicious hint of soreness from having assured Steve of her most enthusiastic, heartfelt consent at some point during the night.
Knowing Steve, he's probably already gone for a swim and a run while I sleep like a damn civilian, Jax thought to herself, as she absently checked her phone for the time.
The date flashed up first, followed by the slow ticking of the news feed.
Steve heard Jax swear quietly as he turned off the shower. He hesitated, but resisted the urge to rush to her. She tended to appreciate some space to pull herself together. His patience was rewarded in a few minutes, as she padded into the bathroom and started to brush her teeth. He stood next to her at the sink, gently smiling at her and bumping her hip out of the way to grab the toothpaste. It was completely domestic and mundane, and he was surprised at how very significant it felt. At how much he had come to depend on it. Need it.
He understood what she meant last night. It was terrifying.
"Okay," Jax said firmly. "We need a plan. I need a plan. Please don't lecture me about how it isn't healthy to focus on distraction. I have Danny for that. I need you to . . . I need a plan."
"Okay," he agreed. "Whatever you need."
"First, for the love of all I hold dear on the east coast, hold my damn phone for me today," she said. "I don't need the constant stream of pop-up perky news reports about how far we've come as a nation in the years since . . . you know." She talked to him as she pulled out clothes and dressed; layering board shorts and a simple tank top over her favorite sporty bikini. The green one. Steve grinned. He liked the green one, and he loved that she apparently planned to spend time in the water today. He grabbed a clean pair of board shorts and pulled them on, along with one of his SEAL team t-shirts.
He grabbed her phone and put it in his pocket.
"Done," he said. "What else?"
"We need to check on Danny," she said. "He came home last year, with Gracie. He's such a self-sacrificing asshole, you know that right? Made it all about her family, and checking on me, and going with his dad down to the local firestation . . . his partner was murdered, right in front of him, while all the units were flooding past him into the city. We check on Danny."
"I'd planned on it," Steve said. "In fact, I would have insisted that he come here last night, but he had some rant about not letting us use him as a buffer."
Jax pondered that for a moment. "Typical of Danny. Self-sacrificing asshole. We shoulda brought him home with us last night. We'd have probably scarred him for life, but it woulda served him right."
"You're very Jersey today," Steve commented, grinning.
"Sorry."
"I like it, don't apologize," he said. "What else?"
Jax hesitated. "Well, there is one other thing I usually do, aside from either trying to work a straight thirty-six, or drink myself into oblivion."
Steve cringed at the thought of Jax, alone in New York, trying to navigate the onslaught of memories and emotions of the day. If it was difficult in Hawaii, it would have been damn impossible there. No wonder Danny got a call in the middle of the night.
"What is it? Name it, I'll make it happen," he said, with the confidence that came from being a highly decorated military officer with immunity and means.
"I donate blood," she said, looking at him to see his reaction. "It's a big thing with EMS in New York, it's kinda our way to . . . you know. Do something positive, I guess. Everyone rushed to donate blood that day but . . . there weren't - I mean, some of the emergency personnel were injured but there wasn't the demand they expected because there weren't . . . we didn't have many survivors."
He stepped close to her, slipping his hand under her tank and rubbing the scar on her side.
"You needed blood that day, during surgery," he reminded her. "I think it's a perfect thing to do. I'll call Danny, we can bully him into donating, too. I'm sure the Red Cross has something going somewhere close by; if not, we'll call Tripler."
"Thanks," Jax whispered, pleased that he understood.
He tucked his fingers under her chin, and turned her face up to his. "You're welcome. I meant it, Jax. Whatever you need."
#*#*#*#*#
"Danny, you're on speaker phone," Steve announced cheerily into the phone.
"Steven," Danny said, "why are you calling me at . . . oh, wow. Ten-thirty. Okay, fair enough. Please do not tell me we have a case."
"We do not have a case," Steve said. "Jax wanted to ask you a favor."
"What can I do for the fair Jacqueline this morning?" Danny asked.
"Come with us to donate blood," Jax said. "Please?"
Danny smiled. Of course, that was Jax's personal ritual. He'd forgotten that, since usually he'd been so stressed about the way she chose to spend the rest of her day in reckless abandon of personal safety and common sense.
"You picking me up?" he asked.
"On our way now," Steve said.
"Well, there better be coffee and malasadas after," Danny said, "that's all I'm sayin'."
"Duly noted," Jax said, rolling her eyes.
#*#*#*#*#
"Well, that did not go well," Danny muttered, as they returned to Steve's house later.
"No, that did not," Steve agreed quietly, not ashamed to be keeping a safe distance from the anger and frustration radiating from Jax as she disappeared around the side of the house, not even bothering to go inside.
The two men went inside and put away the generous supply of Longboards and steaks they'd picked up at the market. Steve pulled out a few potatoes, wrapped them in foil, and put them in the oven.
"Well, there's calories at least," Danny said.
Steve nodded morosely and grabbed at the bandage on the inside of his elbow, yanking it off angrily and tossing it in the bin. Danny did the same. He'd caught Jax looking at their matching bandages several times as the three of them had silently collected groceries at the market, after making the stop at the Red Cross donation set-up. She had been denied the privilege of donating blood that day: according to the rather prim technician, Jax's weight to height ratio was insufficient.
Danny took a deep breath. "Let's go. We can't leave her out there alone, she'll try to swim to the mainland just to prove how healthy she is."
Steve grabbed an extra handful of towels and a six-pack of Longboards. That was it, he was done for the day, no intentions of driving anywhere. Maybe Jax's idea of drowning out the day in alcohol hadn't been so bad, all things considered.
She was sitting in one of the chairs by the water, soaking wet but looking marginally less pissed by the time they got outside.
"I'm gonna risk your boyfriend kicking my ass, but I'm gonna say it," Danny said, handing her a Longboard and smiling at her fondly, "you look damn good for someone who is too skinny to donate blood. But babe, really-"
Steve put a hand on Danny's shoulder and shook his head. "If you value your life at all, Danny, I'd stop at 'damn good', and spare the lecture."
Steve grabbed a bottle and handed one to Danny as they settled in to the chairs on either side of Jax. Steve reached over and snagged her hand, engulfing it in his own, and idly rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.
"I'm sorry that didn't work out the way you'd hoped," he said, quietly. "We could have left, you know."
"Nah, and deprive the waiting world of two pints of top grade red cells? No way," Jax said, smiling in spite of her frustration. "Next time I'm wearing full tac gear. Boots, vest, gloves, the whole nine yards. Try to tell me then I don't meet the weight requirement."
"I support that arrangement," Steve said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of the chair.
"You just get all hot and bothered when Jax is in tac gear," Danny groused.
"It's the gloves," Steve mumbled absently, prompting a giggle from Jax.
"Nice," Danny said. "Ply me with alcohol so that I can't drive, and then trap me here to listen to this nonsense."
"Also, you don't have a car here," Jax pointed out helpfully.
"You people," Danny complained, but there was no heat to it. He grabbed an extra towel and tossed it over himself so that he wouldn't burn to a crisp, and let himself doze.
"This okay?" Steve asked, glancing at Jax.
She looked at the water, at Danny, at Steve, and nodded. "Honestly? This is . . . this is much harder than working a straight thirty-six or curling up alone with a bottle of whiskey. I feel a little bit like I want to crawl out of my skin."
"I know," Steve nodded, and trailed his fingers gently back and forth across the back of her hand.
"But it's better. Harder, but better," Jax decided.
"Yeah," Steve agreed.
The afternoon passed quickly, and as the sun began to set, Steve tossed the steaks on the grill and brought out the baked potatoes to the table on the lanai. As they tucked into their food, Danny told Steve some of the funny stories from Jax's days as a rookie with himself and his partner Grace. Steve, in turn, had them laughing with a recounting of some of his more notable escapades with Freddie; at least, the things that weren't classified.
Steve noticed Danny watching Jax's plate anxiously. She caught the glance, too, and sighed and took a sip of wine.
"Whoa, there was a whole conversation that just happened there," Steve said, looking slowly between Danny and Jax. "I know sibling subtext when I see it."
"Danny," Jax said, quiet. Pleading. "Not today."
"Okay, babe," he said, quiet. Relenting. He studied her for a moment, smiled gently at her. He raised his glass. "To Grace," he suggested.
"And Freddie," Jax added.
Steve reached out and took Jax's free hand with his. "And to Billy and Jake," he finished.
They gently touched their glasses in a toast.
"You can talk about them, you know," Steve said softly to Jax. "Sometimes it helps, to be able to share good memories. I know all about Grace, but nothing about Billy and Jake."
Danny nodded encouragingly.
Jax very deliberately and carefully put down her glass, and criss-crossed her knife and fork over her barely touched food.
"I didn't . . . when I got out of the hospital, I . . . there was mandatory stuff but no one explained. I didn't understand," she said, so quietly that both men had to strain to hear her. "I threw myself into my work and I just wanted to hold it together - I put everything in that box except for a couple of Billy's t-shirts, and until Danny had it shipped here I hadn't even . . . that was the first time that I'd - I hadn't really even said their names, not really. I thought I could just keep working, keep moving."
"Oh, babe," Danny said, sighing.
"I can't remember what their voices sounded like. I could, for a while, because in my nightmares they were always calling for me, and I could never get to them, and finally I couldn't take it any more, and I let myself -" her voice broke as she pushed herself away from the table. "I let myself forget what their voices sounded like and now I can't remember."
Danny and Steve sat stunned as she turned and walked toward the water.
"Shit," Steve swore softly, watching her. She bypassed the chairs and sat down on the sand, wrapping her arms around her knees.
"Let me clean this up," Danny said. "You go. And Steve -" he hesitated. "I have video. Of the boys. Their graduation from fire academy; her graduation from police academy. I recently had a bunch of old video converted to digital and emailed to me, so I could pull it up. If she wants."
"Thanks, Danny," Steve said. "Danny, I -"
"I know, I know, you don't know how you would manage without me, I got it," Danny said. "And Steve?"
"Yeah?"
Danny pointed to Jax's plate. "This can't go on indefinitely, man. They teach you about survivor guilt in the Army, right?" Danny asked, pretending, for Steve's sake, to get it wrong again.
"It's the Navy, Danny," Steve said, pretending to go along. "And yeah. They do."
Steve grabbed an old quilt from the lanai. It was a relatively warm evening, but Jax tended to run cold, especially when she was tired and stressed.
And underweight, Steve's brain scolded him. Schmuck. His brain, apparently, had been taking cues from Danny.
He wrapped the quilt around Jax's shoulders and tucked it securely around her feet, creating a little cocoon for her, just the way he knew she liked it.
He sat next to her, not quite touching, but close enough that she would only need to move an inch or so to lean up against him.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled in the quilt.
"What do you think you need to apologize for, Jax?" he asked.
"I've been holding it together really well these last few months," she said. "And then in the last couple of days . . . I've thrown a punch at my partner, made today miserable for everyone . . . I'm sorry. I'll pull it together, I swear I will. I can do it."
Steve shook his head. He didn't even know where to begin to unravel everything that was wrong with that idea.
"I was sixteen when my mom died, you know?" he said. "And I went to military school, and then Annapolis, and then the Navy. And for twenty years, I've been trying to remember what the last thing she said was. I can't. I can't remember the last thing my mom said to me, and it used to drive me crazy."
He smiled as she scooted a little closer to him and leaned her head against his shoulder.
"And then one day, I realized it didn't matter," he continued, bracing a strong arm behind her. "I remembered that morning, she made waffles for breakfast. And as I ran out the door, I turned back and thanked her for the waffles, and told her that I loved her. So, I decided to be content with that. I don't know if I'll ever remember the last thing she said to me. It was probably something like, 'brush your teeth', or 'deal with those nasty football pads'."
Jax laughed softly.
"But I remember that last morning. I remember waffles, and I remember telling her that I loved her," he said. "And that became enough, you know? I quit torturing myself to try to remember things that I couldn't, and enjoyed the memory that I could." He paused. "Maybe, I don't know. Maybe if you try to remember an image, instead of a voice. The day that Jake took that picture of you and Billy; that looked like a good day. If you want to," he added quickly.
She was quiet for a moment, reflecting, and Steve was starting to wonder if he'd completely missed the mark.
Then she chuckled. "Yeah," she said. "We all had the day off; that never happened. Billy and I were in that crummy little apartment by then, and Jake showed up that morning and convinced us to go outside. The air was so clear that day. Unusually clear for late summer. We had pretzels, I remember that - you know, the ones you get from the street vendors?"
"Yes, Danny has waxed eloquent about these pretzels," Steve said. "That's a beautiful memory, Jax."
"Pretzels?" Jax asked. She was suddenly quiet.
"What is it?" Steve prompted gently.
"Um, just . . . I remember more about that night," she said. "Day," she corrected quickly.
Steve curled his head around to look at her, curious. She ducked her head, embarrassed, and covered her face with her hands.
"Oh," Steve said, realization dawning. "Well, I guess that was a really good day. At least, I hope it was a really good day."
Jax nodded. "Sorry," she muttered.
"Hey," Steve said, pulling her hands away from her face. "Don't you dare apologize. Is it a good memory?"
She nodded again.
Nodded enthusiastically, Steve's brain helpfully pointed out, and he resisted the urge to smack himself on the back of the head.
"Then you hang on to that memory, Jax," he said, brushing her hair away from her face, and pulling her close to him.
She sighed and relaxed into him. "Thank you," she whispered, tucking her head under his chin.
They sat there for a while, content, and he was just about to congratulate himself when he felt her breathing change; from slow, steady, even breaths to short little gasps.
"Jax," he said, spinning around and kneeling in front of her. "Jax, ku'uipo, talk to me. What's happening?"
"I can't . . . I let myself remember and now I can't stop," she said, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Damn it. I hate this . . . shit."
"It's okay, Jax, sometimes memories turn into flashbacks," Steve soothed. "You just have to learn to work through it."
"I don't want to work through it," Jax said through gritted teeth. "I want it to stop. I want to stop it. It's not worth it. Remembering isn't worth it . . . nothing is worth this."
"Jax, you're okay, you're here," Steve said, starting to cast an anxious glance back toward the house for any sign of Danny.
"I know I'm here," she said, her voice breaking. "That's just the thing, isn't it? They're gone and I'm here. How do you and Danny do this? How do you do this to yourselves, talking about Grace and Freddie, when you know, you know how it ends for them? Why do you do this to yourselves?" She stood up, tangled in the quilt, blinded by a rush of tears, and would have fallen had it not been for Steve's quick reflexes.
He was on his feet in a split second, long arms wrapped around her, holding her steady.
"Why would you do this to me?" she asked, trying to push him away. "You, and Danny, why? Why do you want me to remember?"
He tried to hold her shoulders gently, so he wouldn't hurt her (hurt her more, his brain supplied), so she wouldn't fall, and so she couldn't run away from him. But not so that she'd feel restrained, because God knows he couldn't risk opening that can of worms tonight.
"Because, Jax," he said, desperately, "because even I know the difference between compartmentalizing and dissociating, and I'm starting to think that you don't. And whatever it is that you're doing, or trying to do, to try to cope with this, to deal with everything you've been through, Jax, it isn't working."
She became so still that Steve suspected she'd stopped breathing altogether. He tried to think of some way to explain to her, something that she would understand . . .
"Jax," he said, "it's like setting a broken bone. Or physical therapy. Or . . . or a chest tube for a tension pneumothorax."
She looked up at him. Good, he'd gotten through to her.
"A tension pneumothorax?" she asked, dubious, but intrigued.
"Yeah. The pressure, it builds and builds, crushing the lung. If you don't catch it, it crushes the heart. To fix it, you insert a catheter, right?" Steve asked. He'd used various non-catheter objects in the field, but that was beside the point.
"Right, to release the pressure before the patient suffocates," Jax said.
"Does it hurt?" Steve pressed.
"The tension pneumo?" Jax asked. "Of course."
"Does it hurt when you put the catheter in?" Steve asked, gently.
"Well, yeah but -" Jax stopped. "Oh. Yeah, it hurts like crazy going in, if you don't have time for a local, but then . . . "
Steve brushed her hair away from her face again, waiting patiently.
"Then, the pressure is released, and the crushing pain in the chest cavity is relieved. The pain from the tiny incision and the catheter is nothing compared to the . . . oh," she said again.
"That's why we want you to remember, Jax," he said, kissing her cheek and stroking her jaw with his thumb. "You've compartmentalized for so long, it might hurt like a bitch to drag some of this back up, but I swear, if you keep going the way you're going, this is going to crush you."
She nodded, biting her lip.
"I - I don't know if this is a good idea or not," Steve said, hesitating, "but when you're up to it . . . Danny found some video."
"Video . . . " Jax said slowly. "Of the boys?"
Steve nodded. "No pressure; not from me or Danny, I swear. But he wanted you to know that it existed. Since, you know, you were upset that you couldn't remember their voices."
"I'm not ready," she whispered. "Not tonight; not yet."
"Okay," he assured her. "It's okay. Someday, if you're ready."
She nodded and leaned against him, exhausted. He rubbed her shoulders in sympathy; he knew that he'd pulled her back from a edge of a full-blown flashback, and he knew from experience the wrung-out feeling that followed.
"What do you need, right now?" he asked.
"Coffee?" she mumbled hopefully against his chest. "A hot shower. And then coffee."
He chuckled. "We can make that happen. Come on." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and started walking toward the house.
"Do you . . . with Freddie, and your dad . . . you can remember, without . . . " she wondered aloud.
"Can I think about them, remember them, without having flashbacks?" he asked. "Yeah, definitely, when I'm awake. When I'm asleep . . . well, you've been there for that. Not so much."
"And Danny?" she asked, as they came inside.
"And Danny what?" Danny asked, looking up at them from his perch at the kitchen island. His eyebrows shot up in alarm as he took in Jax's pale, shaky appearance, coupled with Steve's expression of concern.
"You can remember Grace without . . . " Jax trailed off, uncertain as to how to explain.
"I can remember Grace without . . . oh," Danny said, putting pieces together. "Without actually reliving the - oh, yeah, babe. Yeah, I can do that. What, you - that's - you can't do that?"
"Not very well," Jax said simply, shaking her head. "I'm going to go take a shower, get warmed up." She put the quilt neatly into the laundry room and trudged up the stairs.
Steve collapsed onto the stool next to Danny.
"Danny," he said hoarsely. "And people say the military does a lousy job of . . . and you thought I was messed up . . . shit, Danny. She was doing fine; she was remembering a good day - a really good day, as it turns out - and then, it just kept going, and next thing I know, she's in over her head."
Steve got up, started fixing a pot of coffee. "But, I think I got through to her, Danny. You'll be proud."
"Tell me, grasshopper," Danny said.
"I explained it to her like this: it's like a tension pneumothorax," Steve said, pleased with himself.
"Really," Danny said, unimpressed.
"Yeah, the air leaking out of the lung collapses the chest cavity, collapses the lung, and it can actually crush the heart. You suffocate, Danny," Steve said.
"And this helped?" Danny asked.
"Well yeah, because in order to save the patient, you have to, you know -" Steve made a stabbing motion with the end of the coffee scoop.
"You have to stab them in the heart with a coffee scoop? You're losing something in translation, babe," Danny said.
"No, Danny," Steve started.
"Ah, Constipated Hamster face," Danny observed. "Sorry, carry on."
"It hurts. When you insert the catheter, or the . . . well, sometimes in the field you have to improvise, there was this one time in - well, I can't tell you, but I used a piece of - well, I better not say, but anyway - it hurts, but it's the only way to relieve the pressure and save the victim's life," Steve said. "Jax understood it, anyway."
"And that's what matters," Danny said, nodding. He was still stuck on the stabbing motion.
"And you were right, Danny," Steve added quietly, noting that the water had turned off upstairs. "I knew about the PTSD, I mean, we all know, that's obvious."
"Ask Grover," Danny said, wincing.
"Yeah," Steve said. "But you were right about the other thing - the survivor's guilt. It's eating her up, Danny. It slipped out tonight, that she's here and they aren't."
Danny nodded. "It's one of the few reasons I can think of that someone wouldn't enjoy your steaks."
"Right," Steve said, pouring some coffee. He added a generous scoop of butter to Jax's mug. "Hey, it's fat and calories," he said, when Danny made a face. "So anyway, the Navy teaches us stuff, about PTSD and survivor's guilt and . . . well, she obviously respects how you've managed to cope with Grace's death . . . so, I think we can do this."
"Do this," Danny said slowly, looking at Steve.
"We can help Jax," Steve said, smiling at Danny.
Danny took a deep breath. Steve was beaming as if he'd won first prize in the psychology science fair, and Jax's foot falls were coming down the stairs, so now was clearly not the time to divest Steve of this batshit idea that somehow they could pull Jax out of the abyss. Now was the time to hold on to whatever small breakthrough that by some miracle might have occurred tonight, and hope and pray that no one had the misguided sense of patriotism that would inspire them to set off fireworks. Danny wasn't sure that he would survive the combined fallout of Steve and Jax; they were both pretty close to the edge.
Jax appeared in the kitchen, wrapped in one of Steve's ancient USNA hoodies. She slid on the stool next to Danny and wrapped her hands around the mug Steve handed her. She wrinkled her nose at the coffee, but sipped it without comment.
"You want something to eat?" Danny asked quietly. "I wrapped up your dinner, it's in the fridge."
"No, thanks," Jax said, shaking her head. "I - I'll try to do better tomorrow, okay?"
Danny wrapped an arm around Jax's shoulder, and pressed his lips to her temple. "Babe, no one is asking you to try harder or do better . . . okay? I'm worried. I want you to weigh enough to donate blood. I want the lab tech to be able to burn the damn popcorn without you going ninja on Grover. Okay?"
"Okay, Danny," Jax said. "I understand. It's like a tension pneumothorax. It's gonna hurt a little but the alternative is that I get crushed to death from the inside out."
Danny gave her another squeeze. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn't given Steve quite enough credit. It was a start, anyway.