The soft hum of the television greeted Meg as she awoke. Her eyes fluttered, and Meg focused on the television, realizing quickly that she didn't recognize whatever TV show or movie was playing. It occurred to her that her view of the TV was altered from before. A few seconds later it dawned on her that she was now occupying the entire sofa. Shifting her sleep-laced gaze over to the armchair, she spotted an unexpected figure.
"Uncle Danny?" she drawled drowsily.
The man in question glanced away from the TV and offered a gentle smile. "Hey babe. How is your ankle feeling?"
Meg glanced over at her ankle, as if she'd forgotten injuring it just that morning. It wasn't aching, but she hadn't tried to move it, either. "Okay," she muttered in response before turning her gaze back to Danny. "Where's Steve?"
"He had to do a few things at work," Danny explained. "He should be back soon though. You took quite the nap."
"Toddlers take naps, not teenagers," Meg mumbled with a hint of a frown.
Danny snorted softly in amusement. "What would you call it then?"
"I dunno." She tried to blink away some of the sleepiness before reaching up with her hand to rub her eyes. "How long was I asleep?"
"Over three hours. McGarrett is picking up food on his way home, but I know you didn't eat much earlier. Are you hungry?"
Meg shook her head. "No. I need to pee," she admitted, still drowsy enough to not feel embarrassed by her words.
"Would you rather use your boot or crutches?" Danny asked, unperturbed by Meg's admission.
The teen slowly pushed herself up, pulling the pillow out from under her ankle before shifting her legs so her feet gently rested on the floor. "I don't like either of them," she grumbled.
The detective resisted the urge to snort again, all too clearly remembering the teen's complaints earlier in the day. "I know, babe, but you can't put weight on that ankle without assistance."
She did know that. "The crutches," she decided after pouting for a few moments.
Danny wasted no time in retrieving the crutches as Meg slowly pushed herself up until she was seated, careful not to let her ankle touch anything in the process. She watched him set one crutch on either side of her, and she grasped the hand grips so she could push herself up onto her uninjured foot.
"You okay?" Danny probed, looking for any sign that Meg was unbalanced.
"Mhm."
She seemed steady enough, so Danny refrained from hovering. "Take your time. You don't want to trip."
Meg couldn't help but roll her eyes, but if Danny saw the movement, he didn't comment. In spite of her reaction to his gentle warning, Meg did ease her way across the room and into the short hallway where the downstairs bathroom was located. Walking with the crutches wasn't terribly complicated (just inconvenient and slow). The real challenge was standing on one foot while unfastening and removing the necessary clothing to relieve herself. Meg thought she might just stick to elastic waistbands or dresses until her ankle was feeling a bit better.
Meg managed to use the bathroom and wash her hands without putting any weight on her ankle. She wasn't thrilled with the extra effort that it had taken, and she decided that moment that she wanted to change into something easier sooner rather than later.
Resolved, she slid the crutches back under her arms and began to make her way toward the stairs, moving far more slowly than she'd prefer. She could see Danny watching her out of the corner of her eye, but he remained silent until she paused at the base of the stairs.
"Where are you goin', Meg?"
Meg tucked the crutches under one arm and used her other hand to firmly grasp the railing. "My room," she answered without looking at him. "I wanna change."
"Yeah, no babe. No stairs without your boot."
Holding onto the railing, Meg balanced on her good foot and hopped onto the first step. "I don't want to wear that damn boot."
Seconds later, a solid body was blocking her path. As the crutches were gently pulled from her grasp, Meg glanced up to see a mixed expression on Danny's face. It was somewhere between amusement and annoyance. "Okay, first of all, I'm sure McGarrett has already said this, but that language is unacceptable," Danny said in a calm tone. "I don't want to hear it again. We clear?"
Yeah, Meg remembered Steve's reaction to her slipups earlier all too well. While Danny didn't sound mad, she gave a small nod of understanding.
"Second, like it or not, you are not hopping up the stairs on one foot. If you want to go up the stairs on your own, you're wearing the boot."
The word slipped out of her mouth before she thought about what she was saying. "No."
Danny raised an eyebrow. "Then you can take your sassy behind back to the sofa."
Her sassy behind? Meg fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was fourteen, not four. "No," she repeated.
"No?" prodded Danny. "I wonder where this newfound attitude came from. You can go back to the sofa on your own or with assistance, Meg," he told her conversationally, holding out one of the crutches for the kid to take. "What's it gonna be?"
She wasn't exactly sure where her argumentative mood was stemming from, particularly after the commander's "discussion" earlier, but Meg wasn't feeling cooperative just then. Taking the crutch from Danny, the teen checked it behind her, wincing slightly at the clanging sound it made upon contact with the hardwood floor. She belatedly hoped it hadn't left a mark. Her eyes were still trained on the detective's face, noticing that his jaw had set. Before she had time to ponder what he might be thinking, Meg felt herself lifted into the air. Blood rushed to her head as she found herself hanging half upside down, staring at Danny's back.
"Uncle Danny!" Meg shrieked, gob smacked. She might've expected such a move from Steve, but not Danny.
Several seconds later, the detective deposited the teen on the sofa and leaned the remaining crutch against the sofa arm.
A little unnerved, Meg cautiously glanced up at Danny's face now that she was right side up once more. She watched in silence as he took a seat on the coffee table directly in front of her. She expected him to say something, but he just stared at her. The fire inside her slowly burned out like dying embers.
Eventually, Meg could no longer stand the silence. "Uncle Danny, I'm sorry," she mumbled.
"What's going on?" he asked, not acknowledging her apology.
Meg gave a small shrug.
"You don't know why you're being argumentative and cranky?" he pressed.
His voice was conversational in volume, but Meg could hear the scolding in his tone. She didn't like that tone from him any more than she liked it from Steve. Not trusting her voice, she shook her head in response.
"Were you this cranky earlier during your discussion with Steve?"
Cheeks flushing at the reference to her punishment, Meg stared at her lap, shaking her head with greater vigor than before.
Danny hadn't noticed excess heat from the kid while carrying her, but he reached out to gently press the back of his hand to her temple anyway to make sure. "Are you feeling sick?"
She felt guiltier as she shook her head once more, her eyes feeling a little moist. Damnit, she didn't want to start crying.
His hand moved under her chin, gently lifting it so he could see her eyes. "Are you still feeling cranky?"
Finally speaking, Meg whispered, "No."
"All right. Do you still want to change?"
"Yes."
Danny quickly retrieved Meg's boot and set it on the floor beside her foot before standing a few feet away to give the teen some space. "Put your boot on, pick up the crutch you threw, and then you can go upstairs to change."
Meg poked out her lower lip in dismay, hoping she might be able to sway Danny with a perfected pout.
"Tuck that lip away, Meg," he said firmly. "You're picking up the crutch either way, so whether or not you want to go change, you're putting on the boot. You can't go hobbling across the room with just one crutch."
She pulled the lip back in a bit but kept her frown. "Maybe I'll just stay here instead."
"You'd rather explain to Steve when he gets home why your crutch is lying in the middle of the floor?"
Eyes widening in both surprise and horror, Meg hurried to reach down and grasp the boot so she could gingerly slide her foot in place. As she secured the wide Velcro straps, she grumbled wordlessly over the fact that her walking would be uneven until she got upstairs where she could grab one of her flipflops. Seconds later, she carefully pushed herself to her feet and half-hobbled over to where she'd left the other crutch. She tried not to squat, not wanting to put any unnecessary pressure on her ankle even if it had the extra support, and instead bent at the waist to pick up the crutch. It didn't appear that it had left any mark or dent in the floor, for which Meg was grateful. Just as awkwardly as before, Meg made her way back over to Danny and set the crutch against its partner.
She glanced up at him, just to make sure. "I can go upstairs now?"
Reaching out, Danny pulled the teen into a gentle hug. It was exactly what she needed, and as she wrapped her arms around his torso, she wondered how he'd known.
"Go ahead," Danny said a few moments later as he released her.
As much as she hated the boot (it was hot and sweaty and she had to wear a shoe on her other foot to walk evenly), Meg had to admit that hobbling up the stairs with it was less complicated than trying to hop on one foot while grasping the railing for dear life. She took one stair at a time, stepping with her good foot and only using her booted foot to help keep her balance. The trek up to her room was slow but eventually she made it, and Meg took a few moments to sit on her bed and rest.
Now that she was up here, what did she want to change into? Dresses were the easiest for obvious reasons, but she could probably also tolerate her pajama shorts, and they'd have the added bonus of not requiring another change before bed. Meg had no intention of messing with a shower until at least the morning.
Pajama shorts won out, and Meg pushed off of the bed to go grab a pair out of the dresser. She set the elastic shorts on the bed before reaching for the button of her cotton shorts, eager to ditch them. She managed to get them unbuttoned, unzipped, and down to her ankles before encountering a new problem – they were getting caught on her boot. It was silly really – Meg knew she could take the boot off to get changed and put it back on – but she hadn't wanted to wear the wretched thing in the first place, and now didn't want to remove it temporarily as a matter of principle. She jerked at the shorts a few times before losing her balance and falling back onto the bed.
"Damnit!" she grumped, pulling up her boot-covered foot to yank the shorts off in frustration. Forget the shorts altogether, she thought to herself as she trudged back over to the dresser to return the pajama bottoms to their rightful place, slamming the drawer shut afterwards for good measure. If her ankle weren't sprained, she would've stomped the whole way over to her closet where she pulled out a lightweight dress.
Satisfied that using the bathroom would be a little easier, Meg slipped a flip flop on her good foot trudged out of her room and back to the staircase, her attention focused on her feet to make sure she didn't trip. Her hand grasping the railing, Meg lifted her gaze and froze.
Danny and Steve were both standing at the bottom of the stairs. Steve had his arms crossed in front of his chest and an eyebrow raised. It was a stance that Meg doubted would bode well for her.
"Hi Steve," she said cautiously.
Without uttering a word, Steve crooked a finger at the teenager, motioning for her to join him. Meg lowered her gaze so that she could watch where she was stepping, this time leading with the boot so she wouldn't have to bend that leg so much. Because she wasn't watching Steve's face during her descent, Meg didn't notice how Steve's gaze was studying her intently. Once she was firmly back on the bottom floor, Meg glanced up once more, biting her lip nervously. "Yes?"
"How are you feeling?" he asked, searching her face for any evidence that her ankle was hurting. "Is your ankle bothering you?"
"No," she answered honestly, a little confused. Surely these questions couldn't be the reason for the expression she'd first seen on his face.
"Am I imagining things, or did we have a conversation earlier about language?"
She scrunched her face, even more confused. Surely Danny wouldn't have ratted her out about that one little word that had slipped out earlier… Oh! Her eyes widened as she realized he must've heard her exclamation from upstairs. Had she really been that loud? In an instant her expression turned sheepish. "Sorry…"
Steve gave her a small nod of acknowledgement. His brow relaxed, but his arms remained folded. "So, Danny tells me you've been feeling a bit cranky this afternoon."
This time Meg's face scrunched in frustration instead of confusion. She wasn't all that surprised that Danny had mentioned her irritability, but she took offense with the adjective Steve used, especially since Danny had already used it several times. "I hate that word. 'Cranky' makes it sound like I'm a toddler."
Danny arched a brow in amusement. "Would you prefer moody?"
She crossed her arms in front of her, the very picture of a moody teenager. "No."
"Is there anything bothering you that you want to talk about?" Steve prodded, drawing Meg's attention back to him.
"No." He didn't appear particularly angry with her, so Meg doubted Danny had mentioned the crutch-throwing, and the teenager certainly wasn't going to volunteer that information herself if she didn't have to. Meg wasn't sure why she was feeling so irritable. She wasn't worried about still being in trouble over that morning; Steve had promised that she was forgiven, and she really did believe him. It wasn't as if she was mad at him for spanking her, either. She'd expected as much if he caught her, and there was something almost comforting in knowing that he would follow through on what he said. It gave Meg more confidence in his other promises. On top of that, she'd managed to catch up on some of the sleep she'd missed recently. After such a long nap, Meg thought she should've felt more relaxed, not less.
What she didn't want to admit to herself was that she was scared – scared of the man who'd answered her mother's phone and scared of what that meant about the fate of her mom. If she were to acknowledge it, whether aloud or in her heart, she was sure she'd burst into a rage or unending sobs. Neither was something she wanted to feel.
"Go have a seat and take off the boot. I want to take a quick look at your ankle."
Later that evening, Meg was stretched out on the sofa much as she had been earlier in the day, her injured ankle propped up for extra comfort. Steve was watching a sports game, not that Meg could identify who was winning, either of the teams, or even the particular sport. Instead, her eyelids kept drooping like they had weights attached to them, and Meg had to work to lift them back up.
At some point, she stopped fighting it and let them close. Some time after that, how long exactly she didn't know, Meg heard, "Bedtime kiddo," as something warm touched her shoulder.
"'S not time," she mumbled, despite the fact that she actually had no idea what time it was.
"You're already falling asleep, and you've had a lot of excitement the past few days. You're not spending the night on the sofa, Meg."
Not bothering to shift her body or even open her eyes, Meg disagreed. "'M not sleeping."
When she felt hands reach under her arm and behind her knees, Meg cracked her eyes just enough to see Steve's face. "Don't wanna…" she murmured sleepily, though she made no effort to get out of his arms.
His expression was gentle, and if she'd been coherent enough, Meg would've noticed he wasn't the least bit annoyed that she hadn't moved on her own. "You can argue with me as much as you want once you're in your bed," he told her with a hint of a smile.
Despite her protests, Meg rested her head on Steve's shoulder and allowed her eyes to close again.