Detective Danny Williams

So, it's been a week.

Ish.  It's been a week, ish, and so far, okay, so far, things have not blown up in his face, and though he is feeling anything but certain that they will continue to be less than catastrophic, he's cautiously optimistic that maybe, possibly, they might continue to not blow up in his face.

Crazier things have happened.  Right?




Crazier.  But not by much more than this week.  Dragging out Sunday, before having to leave, to pick up dry cleaning, run the errands he usually does on Saturday.  Before heading to work Monday morning, swallowing past his heart in his throat, until it turned out that work is just about as normal as ever.  He busies himself trying to track down the shadowy agents of last week, without much luck -- shouting himself hoarse at the CIA home office and receiving nothing but icy politeness and a click before the line went dead.

Yeah.  They're under a rock somewhere, and unlikely to resurface, just to face the wrath of Five-0 and the HPD, not to mention the Governor's office, for kidnapping and assaulting an officer of the law, which he tells Steve before thinking that maybe, considering the murderous look on Steve's face the week before, he shouldn't have.

But aside from that, you know, it's been good.  Kono seems like a little more cheerful every day, and Chin -- who seems to be watching him or Steve more often than not, a faint frown on his face every time Danny so much as brushes past the guy (and, okay, maybe he gets a little closer than normal, but not by much, right, not noticeably) -- is always good, a steady, stoic rock.

So it's not, you know, bad.  There are times when it's great, honestly.  Even when he finds himself staring at Steve through the plate-glass windows of the office, caught by the slope of his shoulders and the line of his back and a sudden, vivid, mental image of running his fingers along bare skin, feeling him shiver against them.  Even the night he spent at his own place, suddenly so much smaller and more quiet than he remembers it being, and finds it hard to sleep, when the bed seems so much colder and larger than usual.

Which is crazy.  Even if Steve is like a furnace, and he takes up a crap ton of room, there is no sensible reason to miss him for a single night, or to spend as much time thinking about the next night he'll stay there as he does.

 

All he can say is, it's a damn good thing he's got plenty of paperwork to do.


Besides.  It's a pain.  Having to get up so early, bleary-eyed and grumbling about it, to get in the car and come back home before he can go to work, showered and dressed and not looking like he'd spent the night anywhere but in his own apartment, by himself, because Kono is like a freaking bloodhound once she's on the scent of something, and, okay.  Maybe he grumbles a little extra, just to clarify the point that he is not, in fact, leaving because he wants to, but because he has to still look like a responsible adult, despite the fact that Steve handily wipes away all semblance of self-control from him without anything more than a look or a touch.

(Though usually with a hell of a lot more than either, considering how wrinkled Danny's clothes have been this week.)

But, yeah.  That part sucks.  The leaving.  Particularly when, just as he's finishing up getting ready for work, there's a knock at the door, and the innocuous manila envelope being handed to him. 

It looks so innocent -- it really doesn't deserve the sickening thud his stomach makes as it hits the floor.