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[haole_cop]

 "Now it's my crime scene."

Those could have been, should have been, the last words he heard from McGarrett, and in a kinder world, they might have been, but the world hates Danny Williams, and he's not exactly feeling all that generous towards it, himself, so he's honestly not even a little surprised when the authoritative rap on his door comes attached to a too-tall, too-broad, too-aggressive Navy SEAL with revenge on the mind and Daddy issues from here back to the boardwalks of Wildwood.

He hates him. 

Because of this joker, he's home in the middle of the day, instead of at work, work, he might point out, where he's attempting to catch the guy who did this to McGarrett, Sr., which is normally what the child of a murder victim wants, right? They want the cops to do their damn job and haul the dirtbag in for justice.

They don't storm in and take over like it's their goddamn platoon out in fucking Afghanistan.

Except McGarrett, okay, he doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. There's a reason officers don't get involved if the deceased was a family member, and this is exactly why: it makes people angry, irrational.

(He hopes to hell this is McGarrett being irrational.)

It's too close, too personal -- and it's also not his case anymore, so he's got no idea why McGarrett, shirt sticking to his skin from the soaking rain that just hit, because it rains every goddamn day here, what a fucking miracle, Hallelujah, is standing on his doorstep, because it isn't that.

(And it's not that either, he refuses, it's not happening, and there's no possible way this whackjob noticed. It could be he doesn't even have a timer, or got his blown off while single-handedly stopping an insurrection with a couple of grenades and a can-do attidtude.)

So he just stands and waits, with one hand still on the doorknob, ready to slam it shut just as soon as possible.

 

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[haole_cop]

It doesn't matter. None of it. Not the glares he gets from the officers busy cleaning up the mess he and Steve created, not the soft swearing drifting behind him. He's walking away. Will lay out the consequences of treating him like a stray dog that needs to be trained, and walk away.

Even if every instinct is screaming at him to go back.

To get into it. To beat senseless, or be beaten senseless. To just let it all go, all this anger and frustration and embarrassment that dogs his every step, this constant refrain of not good enough that's continually simmering fury in his blood and sharpening every thought.

He knows Steve isn't the world. That Steve had nothing to do with Rachel leaving, and that Steve wouldn't have picked him to come to Hawaii, and that Steve isn't every member of HPD who never, once, in six months, accepted him.

(He's not Meka, either, Danny's actual partner, the one guy here he feels like he can relax around, who laughs instead of frowns at his arguments, who takes him out for beers and tells him it'll just take a little time.)

But he is, all of those things, all of those people. Steve is the world that's been dragging Danny for too long, he's the people who have it all, those golden people who get recognized as the best, who command respect, who will always be better. He's not Danny, shabby khakis and button downs and ties and hangs up religiously every night, washes by hand and irons on his own so he can look somewhere near professional but never quite makes it past rumpled.

(But he lost his father. And he lost his mother, years ago. Danny read the file, and there's a tiny voice in his brain, itching, one he wants to smack away but can't quite, saying Steve doesn't exactly have it easy, either.)

Whatever. He doesn't actually want to get beaten to a pulp, so he just heads back towards the scene, glaring at the officers who step back away from him, like he's a drop of oil running across a thin scrim of water, daring them to make something of it.

They don't. And that's fine by him.

[thebesteverseen]

It's turns into a low grade hum fast. Pain is only pain. If there's no more coming he can get his hands on it.

Shove it to the side, like the low blunt force trauma it is. Force focus to stays center and test his jaw through closed lips. It was a good punch. Not one to take his teeth, so much as rattle them, and there's no dislocation in his jaw going on, even if it's going to be tender the rest of the day. It's the kind of pain that's manageable. It's a pain he'd choose over the last few days. One he can point the beginning and end and control over. It's sharper, sweeter, than anything else mucking up his insides.

One making him look toward those fleeing shoulders with a oddly different squint to his obvious annoyance. He might be able to take a fucking ton. It didn't mean he enjoyed being clocked out of nowhere. It does mean there's things refitting in his head, not so much because of the punch, as because that means that punch and whatever was in the man's head somewhere buried under his taking crap, didn't always. Something worth adding to the uncertain pile.

It's probably the first truly unexpected thing Danny's done since he set eyes on the man over a gun in his garage.

It's nice to know somewhere under that yapping demeanor is a limit people can't cross. Maybe.

Even if it's sore, it's still his jaw and not his pride. Pride has no place between him and the mission, unless he's looking for things to slow him down. If he looks at it the way he would with anyone in his platoon just the fact it happened might depress the air, and make work easier for the explosion. Which Danny isn't a SEAL, not by any stretch, not even for a really good right hook. But it leaves Steve wondering when he starts walking that way.

Because he has no reason not to be here any longer. Doran's dead. Chen Chi's in good hands, and her picture might get him a lead. And Danny Williams, with that arm, and that posture like he was just beginning for even more of a fight, even after that, was still his ride. Unless he wanted to choose a more above the board route. Which, casting a glance at the officers who hadn't gotten involved, he really didn't. So that meant heading toward the angry blonde man stalking directly to his car.

[haole_cop]

No one stops him between Steve and the Mustang. One rookie comes hustling up, saying "Detective --?" but backpeddles so fast when Danny stabs a glare at him that he almost trips.

He's not needed here. HPD, Steve, Rachel -- they've all made it amply clear. He's not needed here, and he's probably not needed anywhere else, either, so he just finds his car keys, ignores the burn in his shot arm when he opens the car door, and drops inside.

When he closes the door, it's blessed, perfect silence. All around him, like being in an egg, and he can take a deep breath, feeling like he hasn't been breathing at all, all day, from Mr. Hoppy to the garage to staring at those numbers to now. Smooths a hand down his tie, feeling his pulse start to settle, and glances down. Turns his wrist.

Those numbers. Six perfect zeros, that haven't blinked once since they hit the end. There must have been a beep, some kind of notification sound or buzz that he missed because he and Steve were too busy shouting at each other, guns up, to notice. He knows there was, though. People have said so.

They've said it's life-changing. Most, with smug arms around each other or comfortable hands entwined, said it was life-changing. That the numbers counted down, and they knew right away.

Like he knew when Rachel's rental car smashed into the back bumper of his black-and-white. Like he knew when she came down the aisle, blushing and beaming and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen until the day Grace was born.

He wonders if every one of those people are liars.

[thebesteverseen]

Steve's steps are swift and direct toward the car. Where Danny has folded himself into the driver's seat and he's staring at the steering wheel and his hands. Like everything is draining out of his skin, even without losing the hypertension of the way he's holding himself. Making Steve's eyes narrow and him nearly pause. But only nearly. They still have so much to do. And hey.

If getting a shot in will have made it better, maybe Steve would have even opted for it an hour ago.

It's out of step with assumptions for 'real people.' It's more like His Boys. But he might have. Not that he wanted another now.

He pulled the door open, letting it go wide, like it's a warning that he's coming. Letting Danny pull himself the hell back together, if that's what he wants to do, or start yelling. But he hadn't said anything about quitting when he punched Steve. Not yet. Just about not liking him. And that was fine. That was pretty mutual at this second. He slid into his seat, pulling the door closed with him, one fluid movement, and started working on his seat belt, only casting Danny a Well? sort of look, like they should just get going now if he was done.

Punching people, and wanting to do more of it or feeling sorry for himself about it. It was over and done, already.

You couldn't put it back in the box. It didn't belong in the job. And the job still needed doing. Hesse was still out there.

[haole_cop]

So, McGarrett's not done yet. Fine. Danny can wait, staring straight ahead through the window, hands on the wheel, until Steve's in, and start backing away from the gate while the guy's working on his seatbelt.

Make an angled turn, and head back towards the highway in a cloud of dust and a squeal of tires.

No particular destination in mind. If McGarrett's back in the car with him and not requisitioning some other cop for their 'fresh eyes' and bad attitude, he must have someplace he wants to go, but Danny's not a freakin' mind reader, and he's not about to ask, either. As far as he's concerned, they can get back to the city, and part ways, and he'll be just fine with it.

Even if he wouldn't. Even if he wants to see this case through to the end, because it's his case, was before this joker sowed up and snagged it out from under his feet, along with everything else he knew about himself and what his life was supposed to be.

But he still steps on the accelerator in silence, until the cab is full of nothing but the growl of the engine and the stifling cloud of his own frustrated thoughts.

[thebesteverseen]

The ride is quiet, headed back toward town. The reverse of heading into this area. The encampment covered in places, slowly petering away to less and less as the highway takes them. The only sound the car, that is accelerating like Danny means to drive all his still pent-up frustration into the car and the road. While Steve's starting to grow oddly amused, diagonally amused at the fact it doesn't seemed diminished in the slightest.

The car continues to glide along too fast for the speed limit, and Danny Williams continues to hold on to the steering wheel like he might be imagining it's Steve's neck. And even when he's not really looking, Steve's looking every few seconds. Maybe every ten or twenty, because he's already seen all of this road, okay. It's all greens, and the ocean is gorgeous and blue, going out forever.

Not making him feel any the more released by its nearness.

If anything looking toward it emphasizes his landlockedness.

Sends him back looking the opposite direction of his window. Toward Danny. And the tight hold of himself. Well. The half tight hold. His right hand is up and tight, from shoulder to fingers, while his second one is still down, jostling on the armrest and Danny's lap. And, okay, maybe he was never going to thank Danny for shooting Doran. Not anymore than he was ever going to apologize to Victor for shooting Anton.

But, okay, he can admit he does know that while he might be used to ducking bullets, blades and bombs, running insurgencies, and almost dying on a daily basis, a normal cop isn't. A normal cop actually gets that scared, life might be ending rush still, for a single bullet lodging in their skin. Or in Danny's case. Nearly lodging. Sending him into a tail spin about his daughter, and his life.

So maybe Steve can't thank him. But maybe he can actually give a damn. A little. Get along to get along.

Open his mouth, while staring out the front window, and make himself ask. "How's the arm?"

[haole_cop]

Nope.

No. Too little, too late, and Danny still hates his guts, so: "Let's just not talk."

Flat and final. It's better that way, for everyone involved, because he's pretty sure if Steve opens his mouth again, he's going to want to hit it. Silence will clearly be the key element to this being a workable partnership. It doesn't matter how much he dislikes silence, even ones he's carrying on, started, mean to see through to a bitter, stubborn end. It's gotta be better than whatever's about to come out of this jackass' mouth.

Like he gives a damn about Danny's arm. Either of them, considering he's the reason the right one still feels a little like his shoulder might pop if Danny so much as shakes it out wrong. How's the arm. Miserable, thanks, what the hell else would it be?

[thebesteverseen]

There's a part of him that wants to ask, Seriously?

Because that is just ludicrous. They aren't going to get anything done.

It's like a kid making up rules because of having their feelings hurt. But somehow, where Steve expects to find sheer annoyance, there isn't. There's a tilting bland amusement. Dead panned and ironic, while he's turning a look toward Danny, who isn't even looking over at him for those words. The man is, actually, staring straight forward like maybe if he didn't look he wouldn't have to acknowledge Steve was sitting there either.

Steve can totally play that game. "You mean, right now? Or ever again?" Just so he can be sure.

And so he can drag out how immature that statement is, without even needing any air of annoyance to it.

[haole_cop]

It's hard to tell without looking over, but he's pretty sure he's being made fun of. Again. By the guy who got him shot, and then decided that the way to resolve a problem was by threatening to break his arm, so maybe Danny can be forgiven if basically the last thing he ever wants to do again is talk to Steve McGarrett.

"Just, both, okay?"

[thebesteverseen]

It's almost close to Just don't. But not close enough, or personal enough, Steve's going to now.

"You know, I think." Start fast, and still in the same tone, smug amusement gliding in with it. Because, really.
It's amusing. A little hilarious. Honestly. That the guy is still holding on. "-I think I might know why your wife left you."

[haole_cop]

"Really?"

Thick with disbelief and the sarcastic edge of dark humor, a dare of enlighten me, because he's pretty damn sure Steve doesn't. He wasn't there when Rachel's numbers ticked down, and when they did nothing but fight, until one day he came home to an empty house and a terse note explaining where she was.

He's also pretty pissed that Steve assumed she left him, and not the other way around.

Maybe because he's right, and Danny doesn't think guys like Steve should get to be right all the time.

[thebesteverseen]

"Yeah." Steve says it warm, and certain. Like a kid who knows a fact on an exam.

Without studying. Without taking the class. Just knows it. Without needing any other hints.

Like Danny Williams and his holding on to things so much broader than needed. "You're very sensitive."

[haole_cop]

He looks over for the first time since they got in the car, opens his mouth to argue -- he's pretty sure that's inaccurate, mostly because he has very clear memories of Rachel calling him an insensitive ass multiple times in her posh London accent -- and laughs, instead. "I'm sensitive, huh?"

It's lacking any kind of humor, but it is a laugh, pissed off and disbelieving. Sensitive. Steve thinks he's sensitive, and that's why he thinks Rachel left, and it is, actually hilarious.

A wave of his hand at the wheel, then towards himself, and a hard grin over at Steve. "You think I'm sensitive?" But he doesn't wait for an answer, just blows past the few words being offered, and that grin is gone now, because the anger is welling up again, hard and fast. "When did you come to the conclusion that I was sensitive, huh? Was it when a bullet was tearing through my flesh, is that when I seemed sensitive to you?"

Yeah. He's still mad about it. And he has every reason to be mad about it, because they should never have been taking on a known gun-runner on their own, they should never have been caught out by that girl and suddenly thrown into a gunfight.

Look. He gets it. He does. Navy SEALs don't exist in the world of regular cops. They're off on black ops, secret missions, where people are snuffed out like candle flames and the killers melt away back into the shadows, add another redacted report to their file, move on to the next one. He gets it. He knows. "I am really happy, that you are not afraid of anything. Okay?"

That's great for him. It is. Truly. But it means fuck all on days like today, because this is not Steve's normal territory, okay, it's his. He's the one who knows what to do here. "I'm glad you have that G.I. Joe, thousand-yard stare from chasing shoebombers around the world, okay? But in civilized society, we have rules, all right?"

He's getting warmed up, now, getting into a roll, frustration bubbling out in a hard boil "It is the unspoken glue that separates us from jackals and hyenas."

[thebesteverseen]

Yeah. Yeah, Steve's pretty sure from the second Danny grabs the word, like a hot potato tossed from Steve's side of the car, and starts repeating it, all manner of losing his lets not talk for a sparking, snappy, hard pressed vibrancy of needing to repeat that word several times. It's totally the right word. And yeah, no. Steve totally didn't think it when Danny was getting shot, or flying through a window, or even when Danny gave him the all clear to go.

But pretty much every seconds after that. Yeah, he's going with sensitive. More so with every word thrown out.

When Steve's tossing out words that just agree, here and there, because he's nowhere near thinking he's not right at all.

Proving Steve's second point in this whole conversation that that whole lets not talk thing was never happening. Blowing it straight out of the water, even, because Danny just hits a damn roll and keeps going. Making Steve's eyebrows quirk up and his mouth press light, even though there's this vague almost tug in his cheek he's seriously not giving in to. Because this like a dog on bone, refusing to give up or give in, to do anything but snarl louder and deeper each time.

It's giving him a great view of the inside of Danny's head though as the man just begins to spew everything, and while Steve would argue that G.I.Joe is for Army brats, and he's in The Navy, say it with him, Na-vy, the rest isn't entirely wrong, even if it's kind of amusing the way Danny's going off on it. Like it's not the hardest skill set to train into a man anywhere, and instead is something Danny finds half hilarious, totally rejectable, totally lacking in any worth, and is point on about being right.

Thousand yard death stare, shoe bombers and all. But then he's still going on. Just going on. Ranting. His left hand coming up to emote from the door, even with the injury and the less use. Like it's forgotten in his ranting. Steve letting his expression remain dry and bland, even when he hasn't looked away in over a minute now. While Danny is ranting about the rules of society and the pecking order of the animal kingdom, like somehow its related, and he didn't just haul off and punch someone, too.

Like he's making any sense at all now and not just throwing words because he can't keep throwing punches and drive.

Steve can feel the rise of his eyebrows, when he can't help interjecting, again. "Jackals and hyenas?"

[haole_cop]

He's not stopping, just to clarify, if Steve can't keep up, just steamrolls on, getting into the rhythm of it, letting loose, venting into the air of the cab. "Yeah, Animal Planet, whatever. My point is, Rule Number One --"

Lifting a finger, even as he's looking back out the windscreen, and his own window, volume rising exponentially. "-- if you get someone shot, you apologize."

Words Steve has not said. An attitude Steve has not copped, just blew up at him for, oh, right, shooting the guy who was about to shoot Steve, and that pisses Danny off all over again, launches him into fresh momentum. "You don't wait for a special occasion! Like, birthdays, freakin' President's Day --"

[thebesteverseen]

"Whatever," Steve mouths the word, more like a echoed response to Danny's use of the word and own flippant tossing away of his own point, but its almost soundless and he's not sure how he got rolled into this. But the more he rants, seriously, the less truly pissed Danny actually looks. It's all there. Broad strokes and fast words and wide expressions. But nothing like the shivering rage while he'd been holding him down.

And then, when he magically gets around to Steve's point, before Steve could, like he needs to tell Steve at all, it's almost way too easy to interject, "I'm sorry," straight into the maelstrom. Like shouting or shitting into a storm. Knowing it'll hear you and knowing it'll not stop even then. Because it's its own force of nature, and he's right. Because Danny Williams is still going after the two words come out.

So he keeps going. Two can play that game. "I'm sorry." And because it's almost damn amusing now is a childish fashion. "Sorry." And beleaguering. Because he was totally going to say this. "Hey, man, I'm sorry." Before Danny decided they were not talking at all. Which this is apparently totally what not talking looks like in Danny's world. "Okay? I'm said I'm sorry. I'm sincerely sorry."

Which seems to finally be catching up with Danny, whose voice is fading out, while Steve keeps rolling straight in, well aware if he doesn't Danny will just go right back in. So he's making the best of it. His point. That he was damn well about be apologizing before Danny decided he shouldn't be talking. When he asked about Danny's arm, before he was getting ranted at like it'd never crossed his mind it mattered to Danny even if it didn't matter to him in the same way.

"That's what I was trying to tell you." And he was. "Last year." When he opened his mouth. "When this conversation first started."

[haole_cop]

Steve manages to push his way in while Danny's caught trying to think of a third example -- Memorial Day comes to mind -- and the asshole actually does it.

Apologizes.

Multiple times, even, saying he's sorry without a hint of pride in it, which makes Danny glance over and study him, suspicious, but Steve's expression is bland. There's no hint of sarcasm in it anywhere, though Danny gives him a hard look, waiting for it, searching for it. The mockery. The reminder of who's in charge here, and who's out of line. The reprimand.

But none of it's there, and Danny looks away again, unsettled and angry about it, as annoyed that Steve apologized and took the wind out of his sails as he was about not getting the apology to begin with. He can't keep going with it now, feels at a loss, doesn't want to accept it, wants to go back to butting heads and hating each other. Doesn't want a world where Steve McGarrett is sincerely sorry for getting him shot any more than he wanted one where Steve McGarrett never admitted he might have done something stupid.

"Your, uh, your apology is noted," he says, finally, stiff, back down to normal volumes, taking cover behind formal words, because that face, over there.

That's not the one from the garage. Or from arguing behind Doran's shack. It's something like the one where he tried to find out the meaning of Danno, but not quite, and it's sinking spidery legs into Danny's skin, skittering up the back of his neck and making him uncomfortably aware that maybe McGarrett isn't just a robot, after all. Maybe he's got a sense of humor, because that was a joke, those last words, even if the first ones weren't. The second half at Danny's expense, but not the first.

He's being made fun of, but he's not being mocked, and he doesn't exactly know how to find his balance. Reaches for the safety of words, spins a fragile protecting net out of them. "Acceptance is pending."

[thebesteverseen]

Steve's almost to smiling, or rolling his eyes. He's not even sure which one, or that it really matters, it's both basically all at once, in the wash, so he turns his gaze away form Danny and toward the front windshield. Because, hell. That's better than a flat out rejection, right? Danny, looking over at him suspiciously leery of the fact his mouth can form those words or like he's digging for Steve to not mean them. And, yah, fine, he'd laugh if a SEAL threw this fit. But Danny isn't. A SEAL.

Maybe a single bullet matters to him. Because he hasn't walked straight into six and kept going.

So he nods. Steve nods. To no one more than the front windshield, while Danny sounds confused and defensively winded. Lets that ride, with a last comment, while his head is bobbing, like there's any chance he'll ever be bringing this conversation up, and that several apologies has some review board to go before first. "You let me know now."

Whenever that is. That Danny gets over feeling sensitive and upended. Which Steve totally isn't feeling a little proud of.

It goes well with the hairline ache in his jaw. Like scraping a point back up off the ground no matter what.

[haole_cop]

"Yeah, I'll let you know."

Quick, and a little surly, and still suspicious that he's being made the butt of some joke he just can't see yet, that Steve is laughing at him behind that perfectly blasé expression of his, when Steve's not even looking at him anymore, like the topic has been closed to his satisfaction.

Danny's pretty sure he just got hustled, somewhere in those few words, but he's not totally sure how, and he did, actually get the apology he'd been looking for, so he just shuts up and goes back to what he should've been using before: silence.

Even if this one has a very different feel to it. More confused, less frigid.

[thebesteverseen]

Good. So if that's done. Maybe Steve can get back to what he wanted before that punch, right? Maybe?

It's easier to just keep bulldozing in. It's worked better in the last minute than anything in the hour beforehand.

Just stop making it entirely direct, and keep it somewhere near conversational, but pushy. Because it's maybe a little easy, when Danny's a touch off kilter and tossing out words that sound like they're coming out because he should be, even if he's not certain entirely what they should be. Besides, it's damn near perfect timing. Which is great. "Make the next left up here."

[haole_cop]

"Why."

Still flat and annoyed as hell, even if he can't actually go off on it, because Steve is being reasonable, and as much as that grates on Danny, he has to admit he asked for it, and got it.

Which is a start.

It's not an auspicious start, granted, and he still hasn't forgiven Steve for all the myriad other sins of the day, and he's pretty damn sure they're going to get into it at least once more before the day is out, but he can keep this wavering, fragile truce for now.

He doesn't have to like it, but he can keep it.

[thebesteverseen]

Steve doesn't really pay that much attention to the annoyance this time.

But he isn't ignoring it, this time. It's just there. This worried snap of sound that still sounds like a shell of the earlier ranting tone, that actually was annoyed, and ages away from the scathing rage that was You're right. I don't like you. This one is more along the lines of I don't know what is going on, but once I figure out what you're doing wrong, you're going to pay for it. A growl, all fuss and fire, with no meat behind it.

"I think I know someone who can help us." Steve said it even and easy, like it was all part of this. The case, and the day, and the whatever the last twenty minutes were or still are. Because that's still bigger than this tiny pause, with it's biting confusion over there. The case. And Hesse. And his Dad. And the containers smuggling people out of Asia. That might have held both a little girl, and an international terrorist.

One left, and then they'll be headed right back into his morning. Back to the Arizona, and the place where Jameson made him the offer he denied and then had to reverse tracks on. Like the one that happened in the garage and just now in the car. This day feels covered in doubling back on where he was to where he had been before, things he should have picked up or used earlier, but didn't know how they'd fit into the picture, or be needed, until hours after he'd already left them.

[haole_cop]

He doesn't have to add that last word, and Danny wishes he hadn't, because I think I know someone who can help would allow him to keep being pissed at being used as essentially a chauffeur, not part of the plan, not a partner, the way Steve said they were.

But the guy goes ahead and says us, and that makes Danny part of it.

More than that. It makes them them, two people in a loop, and his lips tighten, annoyed that he can't be annoyed by it, while he flicks on the blinker, makes the left. "Who?"

It might still be short, but maybe it's a little less aggressive, this time. Testing the waters, maybe, to see if Steve's newfound ability to share information will continue, or if he'll be cut out again, if this is all going to be dispensed on a need-to-know basis, or if they actually have a shot at managing something like normal communication.

[thebesteverseen]

"Someone who used to work with my Dad."

It's not like his has the whole low down on Chin. Not like he knows how he ended up at the Arizona this morning.
But it's been two decades. People change, what they want from life and what they want to be doing with their lives changes.

Steve's changed more in one day than he ever thought it could when was that young. One car bomb, and the knock of one hand on the door, and a colliding row of dominoes changed near everything he was ever certain about except The Navy. He can't even quantify an emotion for the blank wonder of if this one will. The gun shot. Still ringing, thin and tinny in his ear, over the phone. His father's blood on the house. He's not sixteen anymore. He didn't want this, but he isn't.

It's a though process that sends him staring out the window, seeing nothing, even while he's watching the Arizona Memorial buildings get closer as they turn toward it, and its parking lot, and the area that will be covered even more with tourists and a handful of veterans, given that it isn't early morning. Trying to shake the thought of three different McGarrett dying on this island under anything but natural circumstances. Like it was some monster stalking them all.

[haole_cop]

So, no.

Making Danny's mouth twist at that non-answer, head shaking, even as he accelerates out of the turn. "Sorry, buddy, that's not good enough."

If this is going to work -- this being this partnership, however long or short it might be, not the numbers on his wrist that he's sure must be some kind of blip or malfunction -- he needs to know what's happening, both on the ground and in Steve's head. That's how partnerships work. "If we're gonna be partners, then you need to start telling me your plans, okay? I am not on your team, I'm not just gonna take orders without knowing why."

The explanation gets waved towards the steering wheel with one hand, the other taking care of following the road. He's not a soldier. He's a cop, and Steve said partners, so he can grit his teeth and get through it, but if that's going to happen, then this balance of power is going to shift, and it's gonna shift right now.

"You and me, we're in this together now, and you need to start trusting me so I can do my damn job. We have got to be on the same page, or there's no point to this."