AU: Trope Minefield

[haole_cop]

He's pretty sure this goes against his contract.

Actually, he's sure it goes against not only his contract, but also the various non-harrassment papers they all have to sign every time some aide in the Governor's office gets a little twitchy.

Like after Lori left. And after he and Gabby...

Well.

So maybe he hasn't made the best choices in the world, in the last few years. Maybe things have been a little extra rough, for him and Steve and the rest of the team, between Doris and Kono wandering around looking for Adam and --

(he doesn't think about Reyes, or about Matt, unless he has to, and he doesn't have to, tonight, so he just skips, like a record needle scratching)

-- well, that building. With the bomb. (And Amber, who -- speaking of bad ideas. Good kid. But a kid.)

Anyway you slice it, they deserve a win, Five-0. All of them do. It's been a hard few years, and they've all taken their lumps.

So when this got served up to them, it seemed too good to be true. Right? Straightforward. Sleek facade concealing sleazy underhanded deals, that first came across Duke's desk for possible fraud and tax evasion, now linked to not one, but two murders -- which means it's theirs, now.

Danny was even happy about it, until it turned out they'd be going in UC, until he's the one pulling open the door, stepping into a wash of air conditioning and dim lighting from Hawaii's sultry Saturday night, until this plan started looking less like recon and more like a heist.

At least this suit still fits.

Comments

[haole_cop]

The guy just laughs, and Danny snaps, a little. The thing under his skin crackling, every breath aching. "What did any of them do to you, huh? What did they hurt? Did they spill coffee on you, or make you lose money? Huh?"

He's shaking the guy, and pushing his face into the side of the car, harder than he should. As hard as he was pulling Steve towards him. As hard as he should have pushed Steve away. "What did we do that pissed you off so fucking much that you decided I needed to die? Who gave you the right?"

There's no response, which is just as well, because a squad car is coming streaking down the alley, slowing to a crawl about twenty feet away and parking, just in time for Danny to lever the guy off the Camaro and start pushing him towards the uniform that gets out. "Here," he says, "take him. Get him away from me, if I see his face again, he's not going to look much like himself in his mugshot."

His anger has never been cold -- even with Reyes, it was scalding hot and immediate, full of the promise of violence, begging to be set loose. Everything the rules tell him not to do. Every reason he depends on them, listens to them, needs them.

Like tonight.

He needed them tonight. Needed to remember them, instead of set them on fire and watch them burn. Needed to obey them first, and his instincts second. Should never have thought he could bend them. That never works out, and it's never a good idea, and it always screws him over worse than actually playing by them would have, to begin with.

All of which is crystallizing itself into perfect clarity, when he's watching Steve talk to Duke. Hand him an evidence bag. Turn away.

Away. Not towards Danny, like usual. Not to slap his shoulder and enjoy the success of a job well done. Not to suggest they celebrate, or unwind, or shoot the shit for a while to calm down, cool off.

Not tonight. And Danny can't blame him, for walking away, for avoiding him, but he can't let it happen, either. Everything that went down tonight -- what he did, what he demonstrably didn't do -- it needs to be atoned for. If he can. He needs Steve to know he's not another one. One more person to take advantage of him, use him, and never talk about it again.

And then Steve can walk away, if he needs to. But not before. "Hey."

Walking, quick steps towards Steve's side, like usual, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging by his hip, with a tilt of his head towards the now swarming collection of blue lights and uniforms. "Looks like they got it under control."

[thebesteverseen]

Steve watches the crowd. It's not that he isn't specifically watching other things -- other people, persons in specific -- but it might be that it's a bit convenient, too. Watching to see anyone tries to come running out the front, the back, the sides. The rat holes for the sinking ship as the sounds of the ship cracking on the rocks go up in half a dozen voices from all sides of the building. With people starting to be led out.

HPD is good at its job. It's not their first bust. Or even hundredth. But he watches anyway.

Had only turned to it, when Danny was suddenly calling out to him. Making him look suddenly, before the impulse was even a thought to figure out if he wanted to listen to his eyes were on Danny. Struggling as though pulling up his own nails to make sure his gaze did not wave. Did not drop to Danny's mouth. Neck. Shirt. Anything at all below the bridge of his nose. Even if he had this sudden delirious notion maybe none of it was real.

Except it was, and he couldn't pull it out of the world any more in this second than he could ten minutes back. He wishes he'd smashed the guys face into the ground. Or broke some of his ribs. Accidentally. He's going to be paying for the hours before that few minutes of takedown for a lot longer than that guy will even remember to think of them.

They won. He isn't supposed to care about the cost. He's supposed to be willing to take any cost to stop the darkness that exists out there. Any sacrifice. Any choice. Any necessity. He swore it. Before God and Country. But this one makes the insides of his guts whine with the tension of the knots in them that are refusing to budge in his still hold. Because the whole concept is one that he can't let start. Because it does. If it starts. He doesn't know how to stop it. Where it would. What would go. What would be left.

So, he nods, sweeping his gaze back to the HPD leading out men in nice suits.

Some looking genuinely shocked, others arguing. "Yeah."

[haole_cop]

Steve looks at him, finally, but it's not even a second's passing glance before he's looking away again. Which is. Great. That's great.

If Danny were a smarter man, he might just leave him alone. The warning signs are all there: the tension in his frame, how he's holding himself. The way he watches HPD, when on a normal day he wouldn't notice them any more than he would worker ants. The tight nod. The monosyllabic answer.

Nothing like the reassurances whispered into the side of Danny's neck, that Danny wishes he couldn't remember like they're scratched on an un-ending record in his head. All of it a sign painted in blood-red, to back off, and leave him alone.

But Danny can't. Not yet. If he does now, he'll just be playing into Steve's expectations. Being one more person Steve trusted, who abused that trust. Who lied. One more reason for Steve to simply not trust anyone, ever again.

So he pushes forward, as if this were normal and his insides didn't feel like someone lined them with silica and took a blow-drier to them, leaving him desiccated and hollow. "I guess we can call it a night, huh?"

Let HPD do their job. Go home. Get this night over with, so they can come back in on Monday, in a couple of days, and have things be something like normal.

Maybe with forty-eight hours to work it over, Steve will have time to cool off and forgive him. Maybe Danny can convince him.

Maybe pigs will fly and tomorrow morning, Danny will wake up loving Hawaii. Stranger things have happened.

[thebesteverseen]

They should, shouldn't they? Call it night. Get in the camaro, because Steve never needs a second vehicle. Even if he wishes he could make the truck appear right now. The thought of the camaro. The tiny space. The drive to his house. Danny's second reminder now that they could, should, get going. End this night. This could be over. That he has to get rid of Steve, before can be rid of Steve. Not that he couldn't catch a ride with someone here.

But it would look. . . odd. Noticeably. They come together. They leave together. It would lead to questions, and more lies.

He can make it the short car trip. Let Danny off the hook after doing what he has to to get done with this night. With Steve.

"Looks like." Steve said, turning back from the boys and give a raise of eyebrows, with a head tip, toward the Camaro. Even though he made no motion to either steal Danny's keys or pull out his own for it. If anything, just looking at the car made something in shoulders want to tense even further. The small space that never felt too small just shrinking in on itself, like a clown car before a giant, reminding him.

Of being pulled suddenly against Danny on the wall. Of pushing Danny into the second one.

Danny's hands always waving in the air no matter who was driving, and how easy it was to smack a shoulder or a leg while bemoaning the idiocy of the other. He didn't want to be that close. Didn't deserve to be that close. To have Danny still even needing to do this because there was no other way around it. Not without an even bigger scene having to take place, or link itself to the prior.

He'd been through colder walks, and nights, and weeks. Even months. It was just a car, and if he kept saying it maybe he'd believe.

[haole_cop]

Steve doesn't say anything else, but he does nod to the Camaro, which is...not great, but workable. At least he's not trying to stick around, or convince Danny he can get a ride with one of the HPD boys because he needs to stay and bring every one of these people in.

Even if it's quietly all wrong, which rings loud as an alarm in Danny's head. Steve should be halfway to the driver's side by now, so Danny can complain -- again -- about not being able to drive his own damn car -- like always. He's not really moving at all, even when Danny half-turns, and waits for him, before lifting his hand to push at his shoulder.

Before he remembers. That he shouldn't. Which leads just to an aborted motion, an awkward lift of his hand to rub his mouth, before he drops it again, and heads towards the car, all brash walk and shoulders, quick steps, as if he might be able to out-run what he almost did, because it would have been normal to do.

Push Steve's shoulder. Take him by the arm. Smack him in the back of the head and complain about him day-dreaming, and taking up valuable time during which Danny could be asleep, for God's sake, it's the weekend, they should get to be home.

All the things he could, would say, echoing in his head, and drying up in his mouth before they can become words. Only managing a: "Come on, did someone plant you? Let's get out of here," before his hand's on the handle of the passenger seat door.

And Steve still hasn't stolen his keys.

Danny should love that. He should love a lot about this -- Steve being quiet, Steve being slow -- but he's pretty sure it's the worst possible sign there could be.

[thebesteverseen]

Steve can go long periods of time without breathing. It helps when swimming. Or anywhere the altitude is thinner. It's not usually a concern. A lot of the time it can even come in handy as a perk he didn't know he needed until he was needing it during something. Or not breathing through something. Where one would usually need to. Holding his breath isn't the problem. But then holding his breath doesn't stop the sudden richotte like someone shot him.

When Danny reaches out, or at least it looked like he was going to, and then stopped.
Shifted, rubbed at his mouth, dropping his hand like it might have been on fire, and walked away.

Leaving Steve staring. Breathless. The world cracking everywhere. He'd fucked up everything. Everything.

It wasn't bad enough he couldn't make it work with Cath, and now he was showing Danny out with a case, too. He should have known days ago, when it came up. He should have stopped it as soon as Danny tried to kiss him, telling him not to punch Danny in the face. Because that's what anyone else would do, right? Punch a guy in the face for kissing him. Punch him for overstepping every personal boundary. Puch him for the audacity of being touched.

Because those stupid moments, where the air vanished, or where hugs lingered, hands and smiles, weren't anything but that. Moments. A hook. A snag. Nothing real. Or, at least, nothing more real than a slightly more intense than usual bond of friendship. He'd always known. He'd accepted that. Years ago. Why had he let it come rushing out tonight. What excuse was there at all for shoving his tongue down Danny's throat, letting his hands get all over Danny. Having undone his vest. For his mouth against Danny's neck. His whole weight, all of him pinning Danny.

None of it was worth it. A fuck wasn't worth it. A feel up couldn't get close.

But he could screw them both of everything. So badly that Danny didn't even want to touch him now.

Danny snaps at him and Steve, following, can't avoid the acknowledgement Danny's already at the passenger side door. Which means he's driving. Danny's just going along with it. Status quo. The norm. Steve should want to drive. Danny should just stay out of his way. Except he doesn't say anything about. He just goes there. absolutely silent about the fact he's putting Steve into the seat for driving, while prodding Steve about not moving fast enough.

He can make this fast. For both of them. The camaro is good at that. Fast.

They can get in, get there, and he can get out. They can both try to forget all of this.

"In a rush much?" Steve makes himself say. Gruff, and with an eye roll. Shove himself to something normal. Something blink. Something as far from that building as possible. Stepping around the silver hood and getting toward his door, while he held up a hand a target. "Keys." Beat. "Unless you aren't planning on letting us get anywhere anyway."

[haole_cop]

He realizes, as Steve's following him, finally, that Steve's tie is gone. Making him think back to standing at the bar, wrapping his fingers around the silk, and tugging, and how he knew he'd pay for it.

Like he is, now. This moment. Potentially for the rest of the night, the weekend, the week, forever. Maybe he finally found the thing Steve wouldn't forgive.

It's not until he's turning to open the passenger seat door, and Steve's finally holding up his hands for the keys and saying Danny's in too much of a rush (of course he'd say that, it's not like he wants to be stuck in a tiny space with Danny after the shit Danny pulled, but they don't have an option, exactly) that he realizes his own outfit isn't exactly as precise as it was when he walked through the door: the vest is hanging loose, and his shirt is rumpled.

Buttons Steve undid, while pressing him against the wall, that Danny dragged him into. Before hauling him down the hallway. With that smile. Those promises.

All the things Steve did, to make this op work. To be the best. To make it look good. Convincing. To make a guy with a syringe and a knife follow them into the dark and make a mistake.

He never meant to catch Danny in it, too, but that's Danny's mistake. His problem. He can't blame Steve for not wanting to deal with it, but they'll have to. They're partners, and they need to be able to work together, which isn't something Danny's had to question in almost five years.

Five years he's just smashed, maybe irreparably. "You know I hate being out late," he says, finally sticking his hand in his pocket to find the keys, toss them over the roof to Steve in a motion that feels mechanical, for all he's done it a thousand times. "What, you want to stick around?"

Something catches his eye, some sixth sense tickling the hairs at the back of his neck, and he half-turns, fingers already fixing the buttons on his vest, hand lifting to comb his hair back into place, to see the guy from the bar -- the one who thought he could have Steve -- glaring at him, as a uniform eases him into a cruiser.

Well, it's not like either of them are going to be having a great night, after all.

[thebesteverseen]

Steve's answer is probably too hard, when he's trying to, and unable to, ignore the fact Danny is fixing himself back into one piece. Buttoning his vest and smoothing his hair, and it makes Steve's skin itch. He wants to be out of this suit entirely, have it off all of his skin, and somewhere else. Swimming into the blackness. Drinking something too sharp and too hard. Neither of those involve him needing someone else, or having to lie to them.

He caught the keys, with a single black note, "No." Dropping and pushing into the car after the catch.

Danny's still out there, doing god knows what, that Steve doesn't want to look over at, because the space between the door and the window will have him level with Danny's chest and those buttons. Which he can already see too much of, twisted like Danny is looking somewhere else, anywhere else, getting fucking cold feet about even getting into his own car with Steve. Even after throwing Steve the keys. Even after shoving at Steve to get over here, get in, get going.

He's somewhere else. Anywhere else. And Steve lets his teeth lock briefly pushing a breath out his nose slowly and heavy, but silent in its control, as he realizes the rose on his lapel is half broken at this point. It's probably been flopping back and forth since he slammed into the perp. Steve reached up pulling the thing off. Pin, ribbon and all. Dropping it in the cup holder, and wishing he could pull everything else off his skin as easily.

"If you don't get in the car, I'm going to leave you here." Steve said, toward the body in the doorway. The one he still wasn't looking at. Buttoned vest, waist hips. Other buttons. Too much grey. All grey. Right to the side of his vision. An insanity he'd gotten so good at being used to and suddenly it was everywhere, in every thought, a snap of lightning under every thought. One hand firm on the wheel, and the other putting the key in. Turning on the familiar rumble of the engine, that sounded rough and caustic tonight. So ready to be anywhere but here.

Steve, too. Anywhere other than here. The building. The car. Danny's side. He didn't need, or want, or deserve any of them.

[haole_cop]

It's all wrong, nothing like how Steve normally snaps at him after a case they closed, after getting the bad guy, after saving the day. There's nothing grinning in Steve's voice, nothing celebratory or smug.

It's just pure annoyance. Maybe even hatred.

Which hasn't been something Danny's considered as part of their relationship, no matter how many times he fumes to Steve that he hates him and everything about him, his driving, this island, his recklessness and military background. They haven't hated each other in years. Maybe not since that first day. That first beer. The first time they won, together. Were a team. Partners.

But Steve might hate him now, and Danny's got to let him, if that's the case.

Steve, turning on the car before Danny's even all the way in it, like he's ready to peel out as soon as Danny's ass hits the seat, which makes Danny glance over at him as he's in, and shutting the door, and reaching for the seatbelt, without anything good to say, at all.

He knows what he should say. How he should apologize. Get it off his chest, while he can, as soon as possible, so he doesn't need to make Steve more uncomfortable, but he's so selfish. He doesn't want it to be now, in the car, where he can't see all of Steve's face, or give Steve room to walk away, if that's what he wants.

Even if Danny can't let him. Won't, until Steve knows, that it won't ever happen again, that he's sorry, that he'd do anything to keep it from ruining everything. Everything that might already be ruined, and maybe Danny just needs to accept that, when Steve's not looking at him, and Steve's jaw is tight enough it might as well be wired shut, and the air in the car is strange and humid and full of sullen tension.

Clicking the belt in, and leaning back, too aware of his suit, of the lack of space (and too much space) between them, and how unhappy Steve is about being in this car with him, right now.

Waving his hand at the front window, and wishing he could have chewed it off, rather than let it wander under Steve's jacket. What was he thinking? "So go, then."

[thebesteverseen]

He can't peel out, even if he'd like to. Which is annoying even when he knew it before getting in.

Sure, they're in the parking lot and not directly in the pack of police cars, but the parking lot itself is blocked off to keep the escape of patrons, if and when any did slip by them inside, to a minimum. Which means Steve can't peel out directly into an HPD squad car and he has to wait to even get to leave the parking lot. The place Danny'd had to park to look like he was one of those patrons.

Which he did great. Better than great. Or good. Or good enough. Far enough into the red to be out in left field.

He wasn't a SEAL. He didn't get off on excelling at something he shouldn't have. On riding the rails, and playing it so close to the edge you walked away with cuts and scratches from your own knives and lies. Danny wasn't that kind of guy. Danny was the guy who did the right thing at the right time. Maybe not always. He wasn't perfect. But more often than anyone else Steve knew of.

Steve doesn't even know how long it's gone before he's realized it's quiet in the car. Miles since the police car moved. Maybe even an exaggeratedly long slew of minutes. The highway still has had sporadic early night traffic the whole time. Especially in this part of town, where it's a little racier and more club laden. Even if it was down one more. They'd do their best to clean that place out, find any other place they were attached to. But one closed, and somewhere else another would open. Or try to.

The road is black and the headlights only light so much. Leaving him staring at the middle line running, running, running by.
Acceleration as a background noise, when he doesn't want music and there are no words anywhere that could be good enough.

[haole_cop]

He thought he hated everything about this night before, but he was wrong.

Nothing so far has been as bad as this. Where Steve is driving, without seeming to see the road, and not talking. Not that Steve is regularly chatty, but this is different, this is not not talking, it's not talking. To Danny. Specifically. Or at all.

Like all he wants to do is get this ride over and done with, as fast as possible, so he doesn't have to be in the same space as Danny, anymore.

And maybe the worst part is that Danny can't blame him, and maybe that's why Danny can't think of anything to say, even while this silence perches on the back of his neck like a vulture, starts setting fifty pound weights on his chest and shoulders. It's thickening the air, making the car seem smaller, and Danny's pulse rate try to panic, prickles cold sweat down his back and across his sides. He's never been claustrophobic with Steve, Steve's the one who distracts him from it, mocks him with a sincere intensity that makes a liar out of his words.

He's not the cause of it. Wasn't, even, when he had Danny pinned to the wall. Even then, it didn't feel like he was put in a box that was getting slowly smaller, where the air was running out.

Having a panic attack right now wouldn't help. It would just be one more shitty thing for him to do tonight, one more thing for Steve to deal with, after Steve did his damn job, and did it well, like he always does, and stopped a murderer from taking any more innocent lives.

Which is one thing Danny can say, and mean, and maybe consider using as a way to ease into the conversation they need to have, even if Steve doesn't want to talk to him, or even listen to him, or be in the same room as him, or ever look at him again. That's fine, okay, if he'll just let Danny say what he needs to say, first.

Which is not, but may be related to, this. "Good work, tonight."

It's not quite right, but it's not bad. Feeling out this icy water, to see whether he can put another toe in, or if his whole leg will get bitten off before he can withdraw.

[thebesteverseen]

The silences stretches and swells in Steve's ears, his chest, the car now that he's noticed it. The silence. It being silent at all. It's not a never, but it's definitely a rarity, and it happened when Danny was in his head after something bad. When he didn't have any words. Gone were the three word sentences and the constant reminders to get in the car, replaced now with an absolutely nothingness. A nothings that slammed solid, razor ice shards into Steve's veins.

It wasn't that he couldn't do silence. He could, and do it well even. Even silence so thick it might have been screaming, while five to six other men were close as the clothes on your back, falling asleep in the most inconvenient positions still pressed to each other, at the ready for the smallest sound. He could do silence. Bear it like an extra pack on his back. It was a long ago accepted part of being a SEAL, and a leader.

But Danny doesn't. Do silent. He almost never does silent. He's loud as a sand storm happy or angry.

It's only when things go wrong, and he can't get out of inside his head, that Danny goes quite. Setting all the alarms off.

The way they are now. In Steve's head. When every ounce of what he's supposed to do -- how; make it better; drag Danny out of his dark place; insult him; goad him; distract him -- is something that makes Steve's throat close up, because he's the one who did this to Danny. He's the one Danny can't figure out how to talk to, how to even yell at. For being an asshole and taking advantage of the whole damn situation. Calling it the job. Perverting the whole idea.

Only making his hands tighten whiter on the wheel when he can't stop it. The pristine, so close, memory of Danny kissing him. Reminding him not to punch him. Hands fisted in his hair. His shirt. Keeping up with Steve the way only Danny can. Tries to. No matter who is or where he came from. Proving he can go toe to toe with Steve even from Jersey without training to take on dictators and warlords.

He's --

Breaks off, when Danny hands him three words again. Words that shrink and suck into the void of silence.

No, buddy. No insults. Nothing but those three words. More carefully put than Steve has heard Danny put anything that wasn't about Matt or Rachel. Amber, after the lies, that put Danny in the hospital with another gaping hole in his body that nearly sent Steve's blood pressure through the roof and his fury through the face of Danny's girlfriend. Three words, like an embargo. A cold war standoff offering that absolutely wasn't.

One that made it feel impossible to tell a joke. Sometime about the place. Something about the damn paperwork, that just remembering socks a fist in his stomach. Not wanting to know how Danny would describe this. Whether sexual harassment seminars or video collections would be required of them, again. Even if it was just a cover. Hawaii got twitchy about Five-0. After Lori, and then when Steve brought in Cath, who definitely wasn't just a colleague, even if they kept it above board at work.

Resigned to the role he has to choose. Because there is no other available.

Even if SEALs didn't, and he wouldn't, he doesn't deserve to hide. He did this. Fucked it to hell.
Like he always told himself it would years ago. Send Danny running for the hills and never coming back.

"Yeah. You, too." He pries his own three words out of his mouth. Because Danny did good. Always did good.

The sinking black cavity of his chest, gone cold and tight for so long now. Wanting to take it back. Agreeing to this case. Laughing in Danny's face about not knowing anything. Every second seared into his brain, playing like still blistering burns on his skin every place Danny touched, every place his own hands did, too. Wanting to make a bad joke. Wanting Danny to insult him into annoyance. Wanting him to pull out his phone and call Grace, even though it's long past her bedtime.

[haole_cop]

So it's not his best, and he doesn't expect much from it, aside from a break in the silence, but whatever he might have hoped for -- some semblance of Steve relaxing, a joke or an insult, or even a poisonous barb about how Danny's work could have been better by being less good -- it doesn't happen. If anything, the tension increases until it feels like there's a rubber band being stretched between them, straining and about to snap, until Steve drags out three meaningless words.

Him, too. He did good work. Except how it stopped being work, and stopped being good, when it became clear he couldn't control himself and spilled unwanted attention, touches, kisses, for God's sake, all over Steve, who didn't ask for any of it. When it wasn't needed. When Danny should have been better, should have kept himself hauled back, should have done the fucking job, like Steve did. Just made it look good, and nothing else.

The memory of fisting his hand into Steve's shirt hits like fingers clutching his own intestines, and squeezing. How tight Steve's jaw had been. (Tight as it is now.) How much he must have hated it.

How Danny can never be sorry enough, or try hard enough to make it up to him, because some things can't be made up, and even if a vase gets glued together after it's dropped, the cracks never really go away.

But he can't just let it go. He never can. Couldn't with Rachel. Couldn't with Matt. Couldn't even when his gut told him things would never work out with Gabby or Melissa. He's not the guy who lets go, even when he should, even when it would be better for everyone involved, even when he's just promised himself he would, for Steve, if it's what Steve wants.

He can't. Can't lose this. Can't lose Steve, or Five-0, or everything he has on Hawaii that isn't Grace. Pushing him to find something else to say, to drop into the silence, to try and let Steve know it's okay, they can be back to normal, he's sorry, it won't happen again. It won't ever happen again. He'll cut off his own hand before it does. "Hey, anytime one of these things doesn't end with me getting concussed, I call it a win."

After the last time, which had involved being beaten in an alleyway and dumped in a trunk and cracked in the head with a tire iron, along with the ever popular being tied to a chair over which was subsequently held a shoot-out, and it was still better than this.

At least Steve was talking to him, then. More.

At least he hadn't ruined it all, without thinking.

[thebesteverseen]

The quiet lingers like a third presence, taking up all the air between them and through the rest of the car. Swallowing down the seconds between their words, like they don't all sounds stilted and forced. Makes it feel like all that air, empty and black with the shadows of night, except for the brief moments when they pass cars going the opposite way, swamps the car. Humid and sticking cloy against his skin, making him stay tight.

Until Danny speaks, again, and it flashes through Steve's head, again. The first undercover that brought this damnable grey suit into his mind. Occasional dreams. Ones he'd been glad stayed inside his head. Never came out. Or that Cath never let on, if they ever had. Maybe once they could have. But that once was a long time ago. A lot longer than a year ago. It wasn't what last year had been, and she'd never been a stand-in, or a second choice. Not in all of his life.

They were and were not a lot things, that a lot of people didn't get, Danny included. But she was never that.

Cath was her own whole ship; and ship wreck. Steve pushed it away, pushing back into Danny's words, as he said, "I don't know. You were a lot less annoying when you were out cold." But it's not the chair, the zipties, or the warehouse he's seeing suddenly. Again. It's Danny limping his way out of the prison only a few months ago. Hands around his sides. Body jagged and sharp in every step. Ginger as though even a breath in or out was hell. Another place, where more people who shouldn't touched Danny. People who had more right (than him), and every lack of it.

Things he couldn't tell himself tonight were about the physical state of his partner. His friend. Or. Not only.

Making him force forward as his eyes never leave the road. Watching the stripes, and the lights, and everything in front of him, that blurs by unnoticed, that isn't Danny to his side, filled in perfectly with his training, even peripheral awareness at all times, instead of his choice. "Even if you were holding up the whole investigation getting your beauty sleep."

[haole_cop]

It's still stilted and wrong, but at least Steve is talking, picking up what Danny's putting down. He might not be taking hold of the olive branch, exactly -- or it might just be that he's grabbing onto it only in order to whip it back at Danny's face -- but he's talking. Sort of.

It might be a little too sharp, a little too annoyed, a little too real, but he's still talking. Even if he's not looking at Danny. Even if his hands are tightening even further on the wheel in a way that makes Danny wonder if talking at all was a bad idea, if he should just be leaving Steve alone to cool off.

He will. If that's what Steve wants, he will, he'll go home and he'll let Steve have his time and they can even figure out some way to keep away from each other at work, for a while, if it's necessary -- Steve's partnered with Lou a couple of times and it's not like there isn't a world of paperwork for Danny to concentrate on with a break from the field -- but not yet. He can't let it go like that, how Steve will just pretend it never happened, but everything will have changed. He has to at least let Steve know that it's okay if he's mad, that Danny gets it, that he fucked up, that he knows it, that Steve has every right to want to be as far away from him as possible, but that Danny never meant for this to happen, to wreck it all.

To abuse Steve's trust. After everything they've been through: Doris, and Wo Fat, and finding Steve in that wet room, and how Danny didn't breathe until Steve did.

How Steve looked at him without recognition, and the way his face crumpled when Danny told him his father was dead, because he won't lie to Steve. Doesn't. Will never.

Only about this. And he knows, he knows it was, is, wrong. Knows the lie isn't even for Steve's benefit.

It's for his. Because it turns out, he's a selfish bastard, sometimes.

Just like now, when he's still trying to talk to Steve, even though Steve clearly doesn't want to talk to him. "Please, I was awake well before you all got there, and even if I wasn't, I would have woken up with that gunfight you all decided to wage directly over my head. Again, another plus to tonight: no shooting. It's a definite perk I could really get behind."

[thebesteverseen]

Steve rolled his eyes, even as his awareness shifted briefly to his gun and back away. It wasn't needed anymore tonight, except in the smallest of probability. Not that it ever stopped him from keeping one near him, loaded and ready, even when he was asleep at home, or several waiting in the car. Danny's, as well as his own truck.

"Or you could save us the trouble of having to come to your rescue every time."

Like Danny was helpless. A damsel. Tripping over his own feet and getting caught.
Like it hadn't been planned both times, and working exactly the way it was supposed to go.

If anything about tonight, aside from catching the bad guy -- and that was all that mattered, right? -- went the way it was supposed to. But Steve's mouth moves to meet the words that find his ears, without thinking. Voice hollow, but feeling almost unable to not say anything. To not reach for the last shreds of what had been normal before he was left with a jagged whole were his stomach should be and the irritating constant realization his mouth was still looking for that elusive taste.

The one that was just enough scotch to burn, and all too much Danny. Painted inside his head. Mouth. Chest. Elusive. Ached after, even as he ignored it. Grit his teeth every time he found his tongue at his teeth like it was on some damned quest to find something it never would again. Never had to begin with. Danny never wanted that. Steve just. Took it. Called it the job, and pushed in where he should have. Shouldered up hard. Battered down the door. Demanding.

He could give himself the first. That wasn't actually the problem. Even if it was every single reason not to want any Scotch for weeks, maybe months. Unless he was trying to throw himself on the fire. It wouldn't even be long now, Steve counted the mile numbers he never needed. Off the highway already, and through half the neighborhoods. Almost to his own front door. Where he could get out and say whatever the hell was needed to just get this over with.

Danny running away home. Steve trying to scourge it out. Tomorrow being tomorrow. If he was lucky.

[haole_cop]

That actually makes him look over, because Steve insults him, often, and Steve makes fun of him, even more, but it's not that blunt, that unapologetically annoyed.

As if it weren't the plan, for Danny to be the one to draw them out: the men who hated haoles, this guy. Because Danny can take care of himself, if he needs to, and his face isn't as immediately recognizable, a lot of times, as Chin's or Steve's, and people underestimate him.

Making his own retort a little blunter than usual, too, in return, because Steve has ever right to be pissed at him now, but it's not like Danny's gone into these situations with no idea of what was going to happen, no back-up, no plan. "Then I guess you'd better use someone else as bait, next time."

Sharper than he means it to be, maybe. It's hard. Trying to keep himself from spouting his thoughts all over the inside of the car, painting it thick with words and apologies and everything Steve needs to know, but it's not where he'd want it to be, okay. Steve is a captive audience here, would be forced to listen to it. Facing away from Danny. Too close and too far, all at the same time.

Arguing with the part of himself that thinks it would have been better if someone else had been picked tonight, and hating the sudden bite of jealousy that surfaces at the thought. Of Chin, or anyone else. The way it bit every time Steve smiled at Cath, or wrapped an arm around her, in every way Danny wasn't supposed to begrudge her or want for himself.

The way it growled at every bartender who cocked a flirty smile and sent a free drink Steve's way, or tourist girls on the beach would outright stare, smiles full of promise.

Chin would have been able to pull it together, keep it professional, at least. Danny might have hated it, but it would have been better. Should have been. He should never have let this happen, in the first place, to begin with. He should have known.

[thebesteverseen]

Sharp, short and blunt. Smacking through current conversation, and making it real. Deflating any joke there with harsh reality.

It catches him in the face, runs a riot in his chest like something burning had been thrown through it, exploding the whole way, domino chain fireworks raining acid, even when he doesn't suddenly jump. His eyes flicking over to Danny finally. Now. When they shouldn't. Not now. When Danny had made it abundantly clear, in even closer words to the night, to what just happened, that he was wrong. Everyone was wrong. That Danny didn't want to be here. There. Made a mistake.

That Danny was pissed at Steve. No matter that he'd started this conversation.

Danny hadn't wanted to be the bait. He was disgusted with what he'd had to do. Sure, toss Kono at him and he's fine. Time and time, again, in a set up they've needed -- that Steve could't do, because he was too recognizable, and Chin couldn't do, because he was family, because they needed Danny and the outsider, haole, angle -- the two of them were absolutely fine with it. Soft whispers, laughing, teasing over the mic, when Steve was left listening to the friction of the mics against hands and clothes. Or blurring past him when he busted in. But not him.

He was not okay. It shouldn't hurt. It shouldn't. It's been years. Steve knows better. It still feels like every single words is kicked, with frozen, metal-toed, boots, right into his center. Like Steve should have known better. Had. Let Danny laugh, along with everyone else, about how it'd be fine. He was good at his job. He could handle this. It was just undercover and the stakes were high, important, people were dying. But he hadn't known then, and he did now.

Steve can deal with feeling sick with himself, but the idea that it's a rift in their partnership. A distance Danny wants, needs, to be able to handle this cuts his throat. Sure. There's Lou. Or he could pull Kono, or Chin. They're all trained as best they can be. Best Hawaii has to offer, every single one of them. But only one person is his partner, only one of them gets him, shoves him forward, slows him down, stays right at his side, would even dare get in the way of his wrath when he's about to leave someone, good or bad but deserving, in a puddle of blood and pile of ripped apart bones, and it's the same one over there hissing he doesn't want to be the bait that has to touch Steve, has to pretend he can stomach Steve touching him, ever again.

"That's not hard," he says. Too serious, too still. He owes Danny some kind of answer, and if he can get there, with as few words as possible before he gets out of the car and into his own house, where he can hit his head on a wall repeatedly until he can pass out, since it will happen before he can make any sense of why he let any of it come out, he'll still be getting so much less than he deserves.

He can find someone else. Maybe pull Chin if this ever had to happen again. Or go by himself. Handle it himself.

It's not like he hadn't been able to get some attention. It wasn't like he wasn't trained to be able to take it all alone.
It's not like they were even going to need this, again. They hadn't needed it in all these years, until this murder string.

The camaro pulled up into the driveway, and Steve left the engine running. Hands moving to his seatbelt as the click noise filled the space after his words. Any other night he'd be dragging Danny in by the scruff of his neck, insults and even winded long day comments. Asking if he wanted a beer, to watch something. Unwinding the way they did, beers and jokes, rehashing the events and not all at once, when he knew Danny didn't have Grace waiting at home or to be picked up. But Danny didn't want that, and Steve didn't either. He wanted as far away from this night, and himself, as he could get already.

[haole_cop]

Steve says that, too raw and too clear and too real, and looks over at him, finally, and it's like being stabbed in the chest and the back with twenty steak knives, all at once, and over and over again.

That he agrees. That he doesn't think Danny should do that job. Didn't think Danny should take it tonight.

Danny knows he should have known better. That he shouldn't have run his nerves out on the jokes and insults before they went, while this plan was being concocted, because it was such a hilarious thought that he could want Steve at all, let alone enough to do something questionably legal. That he could ever play that part.

When of course the joke was always going to be on him, for not even getting to play it right to the edge, to take that sword he's been carrying around for years and finally shove it straight up to the hilt into his chest. "That's not --"

Starting, for something, now that Steve is looking at him, and meeting his eyes unlocks something in Danny's chest, something in his head and throat, makes him open his mouth to say, Christ. Whatever he can. Anything. The truth. Why Steve's right, but he's wrong, too, and why Danny knows Steve doesn't want him around, but he has to at least listen to this, first, because Danny's never been able to let Steve walk away from him or anything else, before, and he doesn't think he even knows how.

But then Steve looks away, leaving Danny hanging with his chest cracking open and his mouth still trying to form words, noticing only after Steve undoes his seatbelt that they've arrived at Steve's house.

Except the car is still running, and Steve is starting to get out, and Danny can't let him do this. Send him away, without a chance to tell him, first, how wrong he knows it was, how it won't ever happen again, how sorry he is. If he can't say any of it now, he never will, and this will be the norm from now on: neither of them knowing how to talk to each other, when talking used to be like breathing, and Danny never had to worry about what he was going to say or do.

Making him wave a too-quick hand at the ignition, while going for his own seatbelt, and tipping his chin at the wheel. "Turn the car off. What, you think I can afford to just let it sit here and burn gas? You don't pay me enough for that."

[thebesteverseen]

The first thought is so wrong Steve's fingers actually close into a fist.

When Danny's snapping at him about more things he's costing Danny tonight. His time and his money. When Steve's thought hits like lightening, lodging in his lungs, iced cold, because if all Danny's care about is the money that he never has, he can have Steve's. All of Steve's money, and there's quite a bit of that, if it will keep Danny from walking out of their friendship, partnership, his life because of this.

The bile in his throat might not be real. But it makes him shiver anyway.

He's not even the guy who just wants to touch, kiss, overwhelm someone who doesn't want him to even be near them now. He's the guy who thinks, even for a moment, about buying off a friendship. A partner. Like that's not worse in a lot ways than anyone who just got carted away for buying sex.

He made his hand uncurl, before reaching for the keys and shoving it off. Yanking the keys free and pushing out of the car against a stream of red, blistering words to himself about exactly what he was. Who. Sore. Even when it's not true. He'd never ask. He'd never want to, and Danny would never accept. But it's like that phone call all over again.

Except Danny isn't half the world away and he's not about to say he loves Steve, but there's something more important he's got to do. Instead it's slipping through his hands again, because he's going to put Steve in his place, with that look on his face, that will still be on his face tomorrow, and the next day. The next week. The month after. Like he took something from Danny. Just like all the other people who Danny gave everything to, promise he would, could, and tried, and who let him down.

Like Steve let him down.

Steve who was never going to be one of them.

But he was now. Because of this thing inside of him.

Steve stood by the car, not looking toward the walkway up to the house, through the darkened garden and house. He didn't want to stand still. He didn't want Danny to come anywhere near him. Making him step away from the driver's side door to give Danny the room he deserved and held out the keys, with the fob out so Danny wouldn't even have to touch his fingertips. It was probably too much that Danny had to be within inches of him again.

[haole_cop]

Steve doesn't answer, just shuts off the car like he'd rather be punching it, so hard Danny's sure for a second that the keys are simply going to snap off in the ignition, and then shoves his way up and out. Like the very air inside the car is disgusting him. Like he can't stand to be even within two feet of Danny, anymore, needs to be up, outside, away.

And it's the same when Danny gets out, and walks around the car, after a hesitation, because Steve hasn't just tossed him the keys like usual or started moving towards the house. He's standing there like a monolith, face blank, holding the keys out by the fob. Like he won't offer any part of himself to accidentally be touched. Like it would burn him, if Danny's fingers brushed his skin.

And silent, which isn't the worst thing for Steve to be, but is, when he's doing this. Shutting down. Boxing himself away. And Danny can't help, this time, can't snap him out of it by getting him mad or getting him to see reason or joking around until Steve finally cracks a smile, because, this time -- for the first time -- it's Danny's fault. He did this. Shoved Steve into his own head. Abused -- betrayed -- their partnership, friendship, Steve's trust. He deserves it. He deserves for Steve to never want to touch him again, or talk to him again, and if it were only about that, maybe he'd just take these keys and let it go --

Except he can't, either, hasn't ever been this person, even without the job and their friendship to fight for. He can't keep quiet, and he won't let Steve, even if he should, because in the end, Danny's never been able to keep his feelings to himself, even when it would be smart, even when it would save him.

So he reaches to take the keys, but leaves them in his hand, without turning back towards the car, and chews for a second on the inside of his lip, watching Steve. Wanting to shatter that blankness. Get him to yell, or sneer, or swear, if that's what it takes, because Danny could take that, but he can't take this.

Which is why, instead of just leaving, like he probably should, he purses his lips for a second, and then says: "Can I come in for a sec?"

It's admittance, finally, that something's wrong. That neither of them has said, but they both know, because Danny wouldn't ask, and neither would Steve, on a good day. On a normal day. On any day when Danny wasn't ninety percent sure he'd never get back to that ease with Steve, ever again.

[thebesteverseen]

It's not quiet, but silent. They've done quiet, into the lull on the beach, or the hum of the car in a long drive, or while a game is playing, when only good moves or odd commercials earn a noise more than a comment even. But this isn't quiet. This is silent. This is being able to hear the hum of the proximity light sensor on the house next door, even though it can't see them yet. This is the wind in the trees above them. The waves beyond them. The friction of Danny's shoes on the driveway.

But nothing else. A nothing else that chisel new chips from him every new second.

Danny took the keys, but he didn't move away. Didn't move anywhere, or at all. Didn't even look away from Steve. Standing there. Staring at him with dark eyes that weren't even blue in the late night shadows, and only made Steve's muscles tense when he remember that electric shot of blue brighter than high flame. He looked away and back, trying to banish it. Danny didn't want him to touch him, so he certainly didn't want Steve remembering what would be burned on the inside of his head. What Danny looked like for anyone he actually chose to have those reactions for with.

They could just up the ante. Fucked over by Steve. Fucked over by his own body.

Steve wants to snap something. Hard, fast. Like What, already? because it more unnerving to be stared at by a silent Danny than it is to be screamed at by five million of his words and helicopter hands. It's every proof he never wanted of what it must have been like for them at a point. Rachel. Gabby. Amber. Good, until it wasn't anymore. Until Danny didn't even want to talk about them, no less seemed to ever spend any time talking to them. Staring at Steve, something knit in his face, lips pressed together. Until the question.

Too carefully, like Danny's decided this needs to be official. He has to have it out, instead of letting Steve shove it the hell under the rug. A handful of drinks. An epic ice bath. Probably a jack off where he hates himself to the things he shouldn't remember, and still, viciously, sickly, doesn't want to forget. Falling asleep too close to dawn for it to count as real sleep. Because sleep hates him most of the time. Which will make it dawn, and a swim, and back to this face.

It'll be here tomorrow. Maybe it should be tomorrow. Further away. An easier lie. "It's been a long night--"

[haole_cop]

There was a second, where Steve held out the keys, where Danny considered just grabbing his wrist, instead of them. Like he could. Like anything he did tonight was allowed, wanted. Like touching Steve wouldn't leave a burn on his palm that he's all too sure he'll be feeling the heat of, later, by himself, trying to imagine any other face but the one he saw earlier, in the dim light of the back room, impaling himself on this one.

Where Steve's watching him like Danny's a bomb about to go off. Or. Worse. Like Steve stepped without looking, and heard the click of a land mine arming itself. Like if he moves, the whole thing will blow.

Danny might. He feels like he might. His chest is so tight he thinks he might actually be having some kind of heart attack, except it isn't. It is is heart. But it's not cardiac arrest. It's panic, masquerading. It's love, that he ruined, and betrayed, and sullied.

And now Steve is trying to get away, and Danny can't blame him, but Danny also can't let him, and the reason he was thinking about reaching out earlier is popping back up in his mind now because he has to actively clench his fist to keep from grabbing Steve's arm, and keeping him here. Desperation is welling up like water in sand, drowning him, and he can't, he can't, he can't let it end like this. "Please."

The plea carries him forward, one step, until he realizes, and stops himself, that hand he can't quite control floating somewhere between him and Steve, wanting to reach out and grab his jacket arm, unwilling to find out what would happen if he did. "Look, I'm -- I'll be quick, okay, and then you can deck me or go for a run or do whatever you need to do to. You want me to go after, that's fine, okay, I get it, I understand --"

His hands are up, now, palms facing Steve, waving a little more wildly than he wants them to, but he's started, now, and he can't stop, a stone rolling down a hill, crushing everything in its path, trying to avoid this one, precious thing. "Just let me say I'm sorry first, okay, let me explain, because I can't -- this is all wrong, this, right now."

Gesturing to the air between them, that feels heavy as the held breath before a thunderstorm, or hurricane. He should stop, stop talking, let Steve just go, if he wants to, but he can't seem to pull it together now that he's opened his mouth. "I don't want to come into work on Monday and have you still not talking to me, okay, so can we please, can we, just, can we please -- can we talk about this, for a second?"

[thebesteverseen]

The last thing Steve wants to do, especially when Danny's voice is suddenly everywhere and his hand comes out only to abort in the air, like Danny couldn't help reaching out or not wanting to, both, is to talk. Which is insane. Because the silence is just as bad as the sound. Because Danny is saying words he shouldn't have to and arguing for time and space he's never had to. Strong-arming his way into Steve's house for the latter part of the first week.

Showing up uninvited and lying about knocking. Doing it only really with guests or Grace in tow.

Knowing Steve didn't mind. Knowing before he got that far, if Steve was in a place he couldn't do people.

Danny's hand floats there in the air too many seconds, Steve's eyes glued to it, while too many words are pouring out, Steve hating this tone of Danny's voice. This tone that edges manic desperation by steps, after starting with that please, and moving into, even more baffling and damning, apologies. Like Danny had anything to apologize for. Like somehow he hadn't kept up. Hadn't been enough, because couldn't. Didn't. Because Steve couldn't keep it together for him, too.

Please, he says. Please. Like the word doesn't flay at his skin in at least the same way as torture starts. Please, just let him come inside. Please, just let him explain. Please, just let him kick the bedrock stone out from under them completely, when Steve either has to lie his ass off entirely, over something he's managed to avoid outright lying about for almost half a decade now, or it all just explodes the wrong way, making him lose even more than he has already. All of it so caustic in his skin.

But Danny won't stop talking, and Steve wasn't trained to look away from a gun cocked at his head.
Danny wants to talk, because Danny isn't blind and an idiot. Or at least he isn't anymore about this now.

"Inside." Is terse, with a jerk more of his chin than any part of his head being used to nod or tip that way.

Because if he has to have this conversation. If that's what this case, and this year, wants to drag out from under his nails and between his vertebrae now, take from the only parts of him he's ever known how to hold onto, when he's always known nothing stayed, he isn't doing it here. On his lawn. For all of god and country to see, or hear. This wasn't up for display for anyone else, especially if no one knew and the idea of telling Danny was tantamount to swallowing dynamite.

[haole_cop]

Steve stares, not at him, but at his hand, which only serves to make Danny feel even sicker, stoke that gut-twisting desperate rage at himself. Because Steve is staring at his hand, like he can't trust it. Like it's a snake that might be about to bite. Like if he doesn't keep his eyes on it, it might end up on his skin again, on his waist, travel down his arm or back in every way Danny touched him tonight that he knew would be too much.

Too strange. Even with all the times Danny's leaned on him or smacked him in the head or slapped his shoulder or grabbed his arm -- but none of those were like what he did tonight. Friendly touches: maybe a little more often than with most friends, but still mostly platonic.

And no one ever talked about the bone-crushing, breath-destroying hugs, after another too-close call. No one talked about how Danny found himself in Afghanistan at a military hospital, or how Steve got to Colombia, or why. It just happened, and then they went on with their lives, because all it meant was that they cared about each other, just the way friends and partners should. Willing to do anything. Go anywhere. Take a bullet. Break a law, or a hundred.

Everything Danny's thrown into the trash, because it somehow still isn't, wasn't, enough for him. He had to push it further. Had to give in.

No wonder Steve's barely looking at him, no wonder Steve doesn't want to talk. No wonder Steve's only response is a tight, single word, and a jerk of his chin. Still holding himself so dangerously still, and Danny wonders, briefly, if he will get hit before the night is out, once Steve finally snaps.

Maybe. It's not like he doesn't have it coming.

He can't even relax when his request is granted. It just tugs on the knot between his shoulders, drags it a little tighter, even as they slump a little, and he nods, lips pressing together, and drops his hands, to head towards the house. Silent, dark. Nothing like it should be. Staring at him with dark windows, that he's sure are blaming him for being another person to take Steve's love and trust and act like they're worth nothing to him.

He won't. He won't let it. Won't be another in that list. Steve can hate him, if that's what he needs, but he's not going to be one more person to drive straight over everything they have, and not apologize for it, or even acknowledge it. Steve deserves that. He deserves at least that.