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The chairs are not as comfortable as Danny had assumed they would be when he dragged Steve to the nearest furniture store three weeks ago because 1) the dinette set Steve had in the kitchen didn't match the rest of the house at all, and 2) after eight months of living in McGarrett's house Danny was getting kind of tired of thinking of it as McGarrett's house. So he made Steve agree to a change and they went out and bought-- together!-- a secretly symbolic set of table and chairs. Or at least if Steve did understand the subtext, he didn't say anything about it.
It turns out, though, that they're going to have to once again replace the kitchen furniture, because the chairs-- solid oak and nicely padded-- are not, in fact, that comfortable to sit on. Not for hours on end, at least, with your arms tied behind your back and your legs secured tightly to those of the chair with copious amounts of duct tape. With the way his life is going these days and considering the man he has recently chosen to live it with, Danny should probably have taken these factors into account while shopping.
Steve is also bound to a chair and sitting directly across from Danny, but he shows no signs of discomfort, instead working diligently to convince Harwin "Bulldog" O'Rourke to let them go. Harwin is another of Steve's old Navy teammates and Danny vows that along with the new furniture discussion, he and Steve will have a long talk about how many more mentally unbalanced SEALs they should expect to drop by in future.
"Listen, Bulldog," Steve is saying earnestly. "Whatever is going on, whatever problems you're having, I'll help you. We'll get you through this."
Danny sits quietly and listens, hopes that Harwin is doing the same. He wishes he could help more, but he doesn't know this guy, doesn't know what his issues are, and does actually, occasionally, know when to keep his mouth shut. So it comes as a suprise when Harwin suddenly whips around and stares at him.
"What is he doing here, anyway?" snarls Harwin. "Why was he in bed with you?"
Harwin had caught them in the middle of the night with a canister of knockout gas and if they make it through the night Danny will once again be calling around, looking for the cheapest contract glaziers he can find
Steve pales a couple of degrees under his tan. "He's my partner at work. He crashes here sometimes when we've been working late on a case."
Danny knows better than to be offended by this incredible oversimplification. He honestly doesn't want Bulldog thinking that he and Steve are an item either.
"You used to lie better than that," says Harwin, and he stalks towards Danny. "Back before you abandoned the team."
"I'm not lying," says Steve quickly. "And I didn't-- Harwin... Bulldog! This has nothing to do with Danny. I left when my father was killed, remember?"
Harwin circles behind Danny and leans forward casually, resting his arms on the back of the chair and his chin on the top of Danny's head. It takes all of Danny's willpower not to jerk away. Steve, less restrained, lets out a growl.
"Get away from him," he says. "I told you--"
"Oh, I heard you. Daddy issues, was it?"
Danny feels the movement of Harwin's jaw every time he speaks, and his breath puffs through the strands of golden hair. It is strangely intimate in a very unpleasant way, but Danny stays still and silent.
"I also heard," says Harwin, "that you brought the killer to justice. And yet here you are, still in Hawaii. Living with a man, no less."
He straightens up and slides his hands onto Danny's shoulders. He squeezes a little, like he's about to give Danny a massage, and finally Danny yells: "get your hands off of me, you freak!"
Harwin laughs.
"Oh, that hurts," he says. He looks across at Steve, "You going to let him talk to me like that? I only came to talk to you, you know. Real civilized conversation."
"Who's the liar now?" responds Steve. He has started to pull against the ropes and tape that secure him to the chair, all to no avail, but Steve's obvious desperation doesn't do much for the state of Danny's nerves.
"Okay, I came to kill you," Harwin affably reverses his position. "There's only one way out of the brotherhood, you know. But I think... I'll kill him first. And let you watch."
He moves his hands until they are circling Danny's neck.
"No," shouts Steve. He begins rocking and slamming the chair into the ground as best he can, but it proves too durable to break so easily. Fucking oak. Danny thinks he should add "flimsiness" to the growing list of furniture specifications. Should they get the chance to go shopping ever again, that is.
"Don't do this, Harwin," Steve is switching back and forth between yelling and pleading but Harwin ignores him, instead tightening his fingers more and more around Danny's neck until it feels like a vise. The only thing he can be grateful for is that Harwin is still standing behind him, making his grip a little awkward. Still, there is a serious lack of air getting in and a growing pressure on his throat that is quickly edging into pain.
Steve is still yelling and he's pretty sure that Harwin is laughing. What an asshole, thinks Danny. Steve needs better friends. Good thing he's got Danny and the rest of 5-0...
Suddenly the pressure is gone and Danny's head slumps forward. He tries to take in some much needed air but unfortunately something in his throat feels crushed and mangled and he can only pull in small gasps. He feels light-headed and wishes, not for the first time, that he was able to heal himself the same way that he could other people. For whatever reason it has never worked that way.
Steve is pleading with Danny to say something and he raises his head and attempts to give his partner a reassuring smile. Not dead yet, he wants to say, but then Harwin is back in front of him, blocking his view of his partner. Such an asshole, thinks Danny again.
Harwin seizes him around the neck once again and this time he's able to really dig his thumbs into Danny's throat, inexorably crushing his larynx and trachea. Probably some other shit, too. Harwin is not laughing any more; he is concentrating fully on his actions. What little air Danny had been taking in is completely cut off now, he feels the throb of the blood that is trapped his head and face and an incredible amount of pressure. Steve is still yelling in the background, yelling and begging and threatening, and even though it must be loud, Danny only hears it faintly. It is fading away, or rather he is fading away.
Danny realizes that he is dying, which is bad. He is dying in front of Steve, which is worse, because Steve has so many issues it's not even funny, and having people he loves die in front of him while he is helpless to prevent it is right at the top of the list. Daddy issues, indeed. Of course Steve is likely to die in the next few minutes anyway, and that is the worst of all.
Danny knows that he can't heal himself. He has tried before, and failed. But the thing is, he's about to die, here, and he has nothing to lose. So he tries again.
His eyes are closed already, flashes of light and darkness alternately bloom behind his eyelids, and he can't even take in a deep breath to concentrate. He just... feels around a little, in his mind. With his mind. He is looking for the damage to his throat, maybe, or a way to infuse red blood cells with extra oxygen. There is nothing there, though. Just a blank, as he always finds when he tries to look for his own body on this crazy metaphysical level.
There is a roaring in his ears and he doesn't hear Steve at all anymore. Fuck all of this, he thinks, and pushes harder.
There! It's not blood or tubes, though. It's a heart murmur, and it's not Danny's.
Like hell I'm going to fix your broken ticker, thinks Danny muzzily, because Harwin's hands are around Danny's neck; they are touching and it has obviously forged enough of a connection that Danny could heal him if he wanted to. He doesn't, of course. He wishes he could do the opposite, actually, and stop that motherfucker's heart in his chest.
Danny's eyes fly open at the thought, and he can suddenly see and hear what's going on in the kitchen again. Steve is still yelling, his voice hoarse and raw. Harwin is still strangling Danny, nothing in his eyes but a cold hatred and a strange kind of glee.
"Almost done here, Smooth Dog," he yells merrily, spittle flying from his mouth. "I'll be right with you!"
And Danny has only seconds left, and he thinks the hell you will.
This time it's not a push so much as a twist, and then Harwin's fingers spasm and clutch even tighter around Danny's neck.
Didn't work, thinks Danny as a final burst of color flashes across his vision. As the darkness swallows him, he thinks he might be glad.
~*~*~
Danny would be tired of waking up in hospitals, except that it usually beat the alternative.
It's either late or early; Danny can't tell. He doesn't remember when he got here or why he's here, and they never seem to put a clock up in the room where the patient can see it which drives him crazy. Still, he knows, without turning his head, that Steve will be sitting next to him. Whether he had to bribe a nurse or simply ninja-ed in after hours the way he had the last time Danny was incapacited, he will be there.
Danny does turn his head, wincing at the sharp pain in his neck, and Steve is there, slumped over a little in the chair. Danny frowns. He is reminded of something but can't quite remember it. Then he notices that Steve's arm is in a sling, and whatever he was thinking is gone in a rush of concern for his partner.
Still, if Steve is there next to him then he is probably okay, and Danny, though his head hurts and his throat is killing him and he is obviously in the hospital, is also okay. So he closes his eyes and tries to relax, and the gentle and familiar breathing of his partner finally lulls him back to sleep.
When he wakes up again it's brighter in the room, though still early. He sees that Steve is standing by the window, and even though he doesn't say anything Danny must make some kind of noise because his partner moves back over to the bed in seconds.
"Don't try to say anything," says Steve, which is a kind of shitty way to say good morning in Danny's opinion.
He raises an eyebrow.
"Sorry," says Steve sheepishly. "Just... there's some damage to your larynx. The doctor said it was probably not permanent, but that you're going to need to rest it as long as possible."
Danny frowns a little, then looks up at Steve with a slight shrug.
"Do you remember what happened?" asks Steve.
He tilts his head a little from side to side-- not a yes or a no.
"We were attacked by someone I served in the Navy with," prompts Steve.
Danny nods. Oh, yes. Bulldog. Harwin.
He cautiously raises one of his hands, finds that it is not overly entangled in tubes, and brings it up to lightly touch his throat.
"Right," says Steve. He isn't meeting Danny's gaze, which means that he's probably spent the whole time that Danny was unconscious feeling guilty and blaming himself.
Danny snaps his fingers, then points at the chair when Steve looks up.
Sit.
Ever obedient to the requests of an invalid, Steve lowers himself into the chair.
Next, Danny crooks his finger at the SEAL.
Come closer.
Steve smiles a little, most likely remembering the last time Danny was in the hospital and they indulged in a major make out session. He leans towards his partner, then jumps back with an aborted yell as Danny smacks him in the back of the head.
"What the hell, Danny?" He glares at his partner, who glares right back until Steve finally sighs.
"It is my fault," he argues.
Danny continues to glare.
"Well, it's a little my fault. If I had--"
Danny slashes his hand through the air briefly. Stop. He touches his throat again, then swirls a finger up by his temple in the universal sign for "batshit crazy."
"Yeah, okay," huffs Steve, but he is smiling again.
Now Danny looks at Steve's arm.
"I finally got the chair to break," explains Steve. "But I landed pretty badly on my arm."
Danny frowns and holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers.
"It's too late for you to do anything," says Steve. "They already set it. It's a clean break, anyway. Shouldn't take too long to heal."
Danny shakes his head and wiggles his fingers more urgently.
"Okay, fine! Later, though. When you're out of the hospital."
Satisfied for now, Danny lets his hand drop back down for a moment before another question occurs to him.
He makes the crazy swirl sign again and gives Steve a puzzled look.
"You don't remember what happened to Harwin?" His partner grins. "This is the best part. He had a heart attack! He just keeled over in the kitchen. It was... a miracle, I guess you could call it. I mean, he was choking you and I couldn't get free, and there was nothing we could do and then boom. Max did an autopsy, said it was insanely instant but that he did have some kind of congenital defect..."
Steve continues to explain what happened after Harwin collapsed, how he managed to finally bust out of the chair and free Danny and call for help, but Danny has stopped listening.
He had a heart attack.
Danny's grabs a fistful of the sheet with his hand and focuses on his breathing, which suddenly sounds abnormally loud and raspy.
He just keeled over in the kitchen.
It's starting to come a little faster now, the breaths, and the gulps of air are painful against his damaged throat.
"Danny?" says Steve worriedly, rising from the chair.
...stop that motherfucker's heart in his chest.
And there it is. Oh, god. The monitors in the room have started to blare and there is a sound of footsteps pounding towards the room. Danny tries and fails to control his breathing, in his panic now all he can take in are tiny little sips of air that remind him of being choked, remind him of Harwin and his hands and his heart.
He killed someone with his gift. This amazing ability to heal, and he fucking killed someone with it.
"Danny, calm down," says Steve and he cradles Danny's face between his hands and begs him to keep breathing, and he is touching Danny.
He is touching Danny.
He is touching Danny, and Danny can kill through touch, now, and Danny panics because what if he can't control it?
So he thrashes and he tries to scream, and finally the doctors are there and they pull Steve away from Danny, thank god, away from him and his touch of death. He doesn't want the doctors touching him either, but better them than Steve.
One of them does something to the IV bag while another pushes a tube down his throat, and still, through the bustle of people moving around the room Danny sees his partner standing near, watching him anxiously.
Staying by his side.
And maybe it is the increase in drugs or the fact that he can breathe again, or maybe it is simply seeing his partner tall and strong and mostly unhurt, but Danny feels himself start to relax. He lifts a heavy hand and does the finger wiggle once, then drags it up to his temple. He gets maybe halfway through the rotation before his hand drops to the pillow.
Steve shakes his head in confusion, concern etched across his face, and a nurse takes Danny's hand and returns it to his side.
He tries to lift it again, but it weighs a million pounds.
"Later, Danny," promises Steve, holding his gaze, which is comforting but irritating too, because suddenly the staff seems to realize that Steve is still there in the room and they quickly bustle him out.
Danny stays in the hospital for a full week, which he considers a mixed blessing. He and Steve don't get much of a chance to communicate while he is in there; it seems that finding Steve in Danny's room during a medical emergency and outside of normal hospital hours did not endear him to the staff, and subsequently they monitor his every visit to an insane degree.
So Danny has not yet had the chance to tell Steve about his newfound ability and the possible terrifying consequences, which is going to make his request of sleeping in the guest room for the time being seem abrupt and out of nowhere. It doesn't help that he is still reduced to hand gestures and notes insofar as being able to communicate.
"Home, sweet home," says Steve cheerfully as he carries Danny's overnight hospital bag into the house, despite the fact that Steve still has a broken arm and Danny has two fully functional ones.
Danny grins, though, because even though he is dreading the conversation they will have to have, he really is relieved to be back home. Uncomfortable dinette set and all. He follows Steve up the stairs, then thumps his hand on the wall to get his attention.
Steve pauses outside of the bedroom and looks back at Danny, who points to the guest bedroom.
"What?" says Steve. "No way!"
He points again, more urgently.
"I've been sleeping without you for over a week," says Steve with a studied calm. "There's no way I'm letting you stay in the guest bedroom unless I'm in there too."
Danny frowns and shakes his head.
"Then I think you'd better tell me what's going on, Danny."
Steve drops the bag on the floor and leans against the wall, a picture of nonchalance if your definition happens to include tensely coiled muscles and a deeply creased forehead.
Danny sighs because they are still standing in the upstairs hallway and this is not how he pictured the discussion at all.
He wiggles his fingers at Steve, who nods, then brings them up to his forehead and does the crazy circle. Then he does both again.
"That's what you did in the hospital. 'Healing,'" interprets Steve, "and 'Harwin.'"
Danny holds his hand straight out than tilts it back and forth: more or less.
"You couldn't have saved him Danny, even if you wanted to," Steve says in an attempt to reassure him. "I mean, he was crazy. He was trying to kill you," and Danny lets his head fall back into the wall with a frustrated thump.
"Well, write it down then!" says Steve, equally frustrated because he can usually interpret Danny's gestures better than anyone else and rarely has to resort to reading his notes.
Danny makes a big production of checking his pants for a notebook and pen, then holds out his empty hands with a smirk.
"You are such an asshole sometimes, you know that?" says Steve but his tone is fond, and he moves across to Danny and pulls him into his arms like he can't bear to be apart from him for any more time.
Danny allows himself a moment to relax in Steve's embrace, turning his head to breathe in the warmth and salt-sweat at the curve of his neck. If this is the last time he gets to be with Steve like this, he wants to remember it.
"You scared me," says Steve softly, and Danny thinks babe, you have no idea.
He pulls back a little, not moving entirely out of Steve's arms but creating enough space so that he can move his hands around.
He points to his eye.
"I," parrots Steve dutifully.
He points to his heart.
"Love," grins Steve, and Danny can't help the silent puff of laughter because yeah, he should have thought that one through. He nods yes, quickly, and then no.
This time he makes a cross with the index fingers of both hands and puts it over his heart.
"Don't love," says Steve, and there is no smile this time. Danny shakes his head again, no, and then drags a finger across his throat instead.
"Oh! Kill," says Steve. He shakes his head. "This is a very morbid games of charades," he says, but continues to watch Danny. "Okay, I kill..."
Danny squares his shoulders and then makes the crazy gesture at his temple, hopefully for the last time.
"Harwin," says Steve easily because they have gone over that signal so many times before, then pauses as he puts the pieces together in his mind. "You didn't kill Harwin, Danny."
Danny nods slowly.
"That's... that's not possible," says Steve, but he had seen the impossible before. Performed, in fact, by the man in front of him.
"Jesus," he whispers as understanding dawns, and Danny flinches a little. If Steve lets go of him now...
Steve pulls him closer.
"I know what you're thinking," says Steve, "but you did what you had to do. It was self defense, Danny, and you know it. If you'd had a gun or a knife, you would have done the same thing."
Danny shakes his head against Steve's chest and thumps his hand against his back.
"It is the same thing," says Steve. "It's just another weapon, and you decide to use it when you need it. Or not."
Danny wonders if it could really be that simple. It's true that since discovering his healing abilities he has never used them involuntarily, and that as far as he knows, until Harwin, he has never done the reverse. And Steve, as a highly trained Navy SEAL, would certainly know something about being able to kill with his bare hands.
He pulls back again and looks up at Steve, then towards the guest bedroom.
"Not a chance," says Steve. He adds, in an echo of conversations past: "I'm still not afraid of you."
And Danny rolls his eyes and shakes his head at Steve's stubborness, not sure whether to believe it. Steve would have to be stupid or fearless not to have concerns about sleeping with a man who can kill with a touch. Still, he follows him into their bedroom, goes through the typical nighttime events of changing and brushing his teeth, and settles into his side of the bed, because he doesn't know what else to do. When Steve lies down, next to him but for a good foot of space in between, he thinks, well, at least he's smart enough to keep a distance.
It is a very small amount of comfort that carries him to sleep.
*~*~*
This time when he wakes up he is in his own bed, which is awesome, and wrapped up in Steve's arms, which is even better. Even if Steve is only unconciously spooning with Danny, he is not sure what he would have done if Steve had been overtly concerned or horrified by Danny's new "talent." The guest bed is comfortable and all, but it lacks a certain element. Namely, Steve. His life could play out like that too-- comfortable enough, but lacking in Steve. He hopes he never has to find out what that is like.
He stretches out a little and Steve says "you're awake" like he has been lying there waiting, and there is a low note in his voice that sends a shiver down Danny's spine and reminds him that it has been over a week since he and Steve were last together in bed. Suddenly, his abilities are the very last thing on his mind.
He can't speak, but he shifts around so that they are face to face, and captures Steve's mouth in a deep kiss, which should be answer enough.
It's a little strange for both of them, Danny not being able to talk, as he is usually and unsurprisingly vocal in bed. Steve isn't exactly quiet either, but now works hard to keep his silence as if proving to Danny that he will be with him in all things.
The sounds they are making, the slide of sheets against skin and the wet suction of their kisses, are incredibly erotic in the quiet of the night.
Danny slides a hand down Steve's stomach, slips under his boxers and takes hold of his already impressive erection, pulling a soft groan out of the Navy SEAL that he quickly tries to muffle against Danny's shoulder. Grinning, Danny runs his hand up and down the shaft, pausing occasionally to slide a calloused thumb over the already weeping tip. He sucks in a silent breath as Steve repays the favor.
The rhythm is a little awkward, at first, but even without verbal cues they quickly become attuned to each other's reactions of pleasure. The way Danny's hips roll and stutter helplessly towards his partner, the way Steve keeps fighting his urge to cry out by first kissing, then sucking, then finally biting at Danny's collarbone.
Steve pulls away first, extracting his hand from under Danny's briefs before hooking his thumbs under the waistband and dragging them off his lover. He moves back up and over Danny, kissing him again on the mouth, deeply, before moving down to his neck. Now he is gentle, infuriatingly so, as he drops soft kisses anywhere he thinks Harwin might have touched, reclaiming every inch of skin that he feels should only ever belong to him.
He pauses briefly to administer more attention to Danny's collarbone and the love bite he had previously left there. Danny is writhing uncontrollably by this point-- even if he could speak, he is unsure as to whether he would be begging for mercy or for more.
Steve trails down his abdomen now; trails his fingers, trails kisses that alternate between feather soft and warm and wet, and then finally, finally, he reaches Danny's aching cock.
The heat, the suction, the sensation is incredible, and Danny fights hard not to grab at Steve's head like some kind of out-of-control virgin. He raises his arms and clutches at the headboard instead, and just tries to keep up with Steve's mindblowing cock-blowing.
He comes, finally, with a rush of sensation, and can't help but let out what should be a yell but is instead a strangely high pitched squeak that tears at his throat a bit and brings tears to his eyes. It is still so worth it though, even when Steve bolts up next to him in a panic.
"Oh, god, are you okay?" gasps Steve, his emotions caught between laughter and horror.
Shut up, thinks Danny and slaps his hand against Steve's chest. It was worth it.
"It was," agrees Steve, because he is crazy psychic sometimes, and he pulls Danny back into his arms. His hard-on presses into the back of Danny's thigh, reminding him that Steve has not gotten off yet.
He tries to turn again and reach for his partner, but Steve simply tightens his grasp.
"Not right now," he says softly. "I just want to hold you."
Something in Danny's chest cracks a little when he hears that, or maybe it heals. They are two sides of the same coin, after all, and it can be difficult, at times, to tell the difference. What Danny does know, what he realizes then, is that Steve is not afraid of him, truly, that he trusts him as much as he ever has, which is to an insane degree.
Even more important than that, though, is the realization that Danny trusts Steve, too.