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It’s not that Danny is angry. He isn’t. The fact that Steve is driven; the fact that Steve belongs to a higher purpose – neither truths are news to Danny. He is paid to noodle people out, and for all that Steve is a complicated man, he is also a very simple one.
He tries to put himself in Steve’s shoes. Danny might be aggressively opinionated about anything and everything, but that doesn’t mean that he lacks empathy. He knows that Chin and Kono are looking to him for answers; he and Steve are chalk and cheese, but they always choose each other, in the end.
So, he tries to look at things from Steve’s perspective. Both parents lost, and only uncertainty and lies and close quarter battle training to follow. It only makes sense that a man with Steve’s intelligence and abilities would hone in on the chase.
Danny knows that he would do the same. He’s a cop. He understands that willingly placing yourself in harm’s way doesn’t equate to not caring about the things you have in life. Rachel had never really been able to come to terms with that, (which, when he wasn’t in the grips of divorce, he couldn’t really fault her for). Every morning when he had walked out the door for work, gun strapped to his hip, she'd felt as if he was voluntarily choosing to lose her, to leave her.
Danny has never been able to do anything passively, let alone love. Steve is no different.
It’s not that Danny feels betrayed – although the painfully quiet early morning hours spent staring up at the ceiling, limbs recoiling from the cool linen on Steve’s side of the bed, do tend to see him work himself into a fairly impressive sulk.
It’s not that Danny feels insecure. He doesn’t lack for confidence – people crippled by nerves rarely hold submachine guns and a badge for a living. Not to mention the fact that he’s 35, for crying out loud; his place in the world, his definition of himself – they aren’t dependent upon Steve’s opinion.
Danny doesn’t know what to call the feeling that now lives in his stomach; doesn’t know what to call the fire that claws its way up to settle in his chest when he stops mid-stride to think, right now, right at this moment, Steve might be dead. He’s been trained to cope, and his fight or flight response has always been of the give it a good punch in the face variety.
No. It isn’t anger, or betrayal, or insecurity. Except that it is. It’s all of those things, and he hates that he can’t make up his mind.
He’s seen weeping mothers and heartbroken brothers and frightened children and he knows, intellectually, that you can’t always control how you feel. No matter how much Jersey is in your bloodstream.
He hates that one minute he’s leading the team, focussed only on solving the case and protecting his people, and then the next minute he’s standing in Steve’s kitchen, his kitchen, glaring at the sink and holding Steve’s stupid SEAL coffee cup so tightly that it might break.
He’s taken to staring at random objects, lost in thought and given to violent internal diatribe - how could you not take me with you? - to the point where Grace has caught him glaring at the fridge so many times that she’s stuck a variety of smiley face magnets up, to catch his attention.
Grace. Danny had been furious when Grace had come home from school, small fingers determinedly clutching an envelope of her very own. Steve might not have been taking his calls, but that didn’t stop Danny from leaving a rather colourful voice message along the lines of: you don’t leave goodbye notes to little children, you idiot! “Stay safe, keep an eye on your Danno, I love you, I’ll see you soon.” What is that, what, what, are you stupid, are you actually a moron?
Except that Grace is a child of divorce and relocation and kidnapping and unusual family structures. She’s learned to be the daughter of a property developer and a cop and an economist and a Navy SEAL, and when Danny watches her inspect the calendar each morning, calculating how long Steve has been gone, he realizes that he has to give her a little more credit.
And so the weeks roll on. He oscillates between calm understanding as he buttons up his shirt for work, and furious internal shouting matches with the shampoo bottle. He doesn’t know what it is about the shower that it seems to be the place where one gets a lot of serious thinking done.
He lands upon the crux of the issue one night as he reads the paper at the dinner table. Grace is noodling away at her laptop, watching some sort of animal documentary, and as he half listens to David Attenborough’s soothing voice, he realizes that the last time he heard about the feeding habits of lions was the night before Steve had left. It had seemed perfectly ordinary – Steve had been instructing Grace as to what one should do when faced with a big cat. (Danny may or may not have been dying a little on the inside, but nevermind). Steve had looked up over the curve of Grace’s little shoulder to smile at him, and he had seemed perfectly happy to be helping with homework, perfectly amused by the prospect of driving Danny batty, perfectly content at having three heartbeats in his living room.
Danny doesn’t know if it makes him a bad cop, or a bad partner, that he hadn’t picked up on what was going on behind Steve’s smile. He doesn’t know if it makes Steve a bad partner, at work and in the bedroom, that he hadn’t said something. He suspects the answer might be yes on all counts.
-----
When Steve comes home, it is not smooth sailing. It is so far from smooth sailing, Danny feels he might as well be flailing on gravel without so much as a paddle. He tries to channel Grace’s happiness, tries to tune into Chin and Kono’s relief. And sure, yes, of course he feels these things, he feels them in spades. But none of them have chosen Steve, not the way he has, and none of them have been chosen by Steve. They’re each other’s second self, even when they don’t want to be.
Danny knows that there are times when it’s best to cut the strings. He knows that there are people who stay in relationships when they shouldn’t. He knows that it is important to stand up for yourself, your opinions, your rights. He believes in divorce. He believes in letting go of that which you love. He and Rachel had stopped fighting for their marriage, and as much as they had loved each other, they had let it slip through their fingers.
That’s how he’d known that they weren’t meant for each other. Danny was a Williams, an attack dog, a fighter through and through.
It’s not that he believes in soul mates – the snark that courses through his veins like a second blood rises up at the thought. Steve isn’t his soul mate, but he is the person that Danny has chosen. Chosen more thoroughly, more completely than he has ever done so before. He’s in it, there’s no going back, even when it sucks, even when it hurts, even when it’s rubbish and it doesn’t seem like it’s worth it.
And so, as he sits on the lanai, all of four words having been spoken to Steve in the seventy-two hours that he’s been home, he knows that they’ll come through this. But like many things in life, it is easier said than done.
Danny senses more than hears Steve move up behind him. He supposes that his sitting out here was an unspoken announcement that it was time to settle scores, but he can’t help the sigh that escapes him. As self-assured as he is, Steve matches him ounce for ounce.
“I brought more beer?”
The neck of a longboard comes into view. Danny grips it, takes it, turns it in his hand to point to the second chair, which is immediately filled with all six feet of Steve.
For the first time in weeks, Danny really looks at him. He doesn’t look chastened, or guilty, and even though Danny doesn’t want him to be, he does want him to be. All those nights, all those hours spent staring up into the ceiling, thinking, I would have let you go, if only you had asked me. Thinking, should I be able to feel if you’re dead, ugh, don’t be a dick, Williams.
What Steve does look, is sad, and yeah, Danny knows how he feels.
“I could have come with you.” There, he’s said it. He isn’t prepared for Steve’s accepting nod.
Danny doesn’t know if this makes him feel better or worse. Better in that Steve knows he could have helped, worse in that Steve decided he didn’t need it.
He opens his mouth to reply, but doesn’t really know what to say. All those mornings in the shower, all those beautifully crafted speeches, all those words that perfectly articulated his every thought. Why is it always so much more awkward when it's really time to speak?
Steve fills the silence. “It was just something I had to do.”
Danny snorts, fights the urge to roll his eyes. He very deliberately plants the Longboard on the table, lest he crack it in his fist. “Illuminating, thank you, Steve.”
Steve shifts, reaches forward to trace a finger through the condensation gathering on Danny’s abandoned bottle. “I haven’t been at the top of my game. I couldn’t stay here with you, and I couldn’t take you with me, because either way I thought I was going to get you killed. And I know, okay?”
Danny watches him hold up his hand pre-emptively, as if anticipating being cut off.
“I know that I don’t get to choose what danger you deal with, but… I guess I wasn’t thinking as your boss, I was just… I don’t know, man, I…I…” he trails off, picks at the wet label on the sweating green glass. “See, you suck at shaving. You always cut yourself. And I’m the guy who has to remind you that you’ve still got little bits of tissue on your chin, before we leave for work in the morning. I know that you can hold your own, but I’m not sorry that I didn’t let you come with me, and that’s just the way it is. And yeah, okay, maybe that makes me arrogant or selfish, but there it is, deal with it.”
Danny knows that he himself is perfectly acquainted with being both arrogant and selfish – most people, even the very best, the very kindest, are. It’s a fantasy to think otherwise.
He nods, but he’s not done. There is still the heart of the problem, the epiphany he’d had whilst listening to the hunting habits of lions. “You just left. You didn’t say anything.” Danny imagines his teenage self recoiling in horror at the thought of grown men discussing ~feelings~ but fuck, he likes to hope that he’s gained a little maturity. “Everything seemed fine, normal.”
Except, Danny knows, not really. Only weeks of reflection and the gift of hindsight have led him to the realization that their last night had been different. Sex with Steve was a wide range of things; athletic, intimate, relaxed, desperate, slow and steady or hot and frantic, hell, sometimes it was even downright hilarious, if that one time in a too small tub with too long Navy limbs was to be remembered.
But that night, Steve had settled flush over him, pressed him belly down into the mattress. He had dragged hot lips to Danny’s ear, panted into the space of Danny’s shoulder with every deep thrust, stretched up their joined hands to grip the headboard tightly. They hadn’t used a condom, and after, Danny had grumbled a deeply satisfied, “fuck, you're a Neanderthal,” as he’d drifted off to sleep.
Even when one of them was in charge in the bedroom, the other was still always meeting the act half-way. Danny hadn’t realized at the time that Steve had been trying to take him, trying to make him his.
Danny is pulled from his thoughts when Steve lifts the beer bottle to his lips for a quick swig. “I was worried,” he mumbles around the glass neck.
Danny frowns. “What, that I wouldn’t let you go?”
“No,” Steve replies quietly, with a shake of his head. “Not like that. I was worried that you’d make me stay. Not… not deliberately. It’s just… you have no idea how easy you are to stay for, Danny.”
He looks crushed, and it is a depressing sight on a face that’s usually so determined, so powerful. “But my parents are dead. They’re dead, and one way or the other Wo Fat killed them. And I knew that even if you’d let me go, I would want to stay with you, so I figured the only way to make it work was to just… leave.”
With a deep sigh, Danny uncurls his legs, stretches them over the table to rest them in Steve’s lap. He presses a purple polka-dotted stocking foot gently into Steve’s thigh. “Okay.”
-----
When Steve comes back to work, Danny decides that maybe it’s time to discuss the team working in different partnerships. He’s always been a little wary of combining the personal with the professional, and it’s hard to have someone pant over and over in your ear that they love you as they come inside you, and then watch them dive for cover as bullets fly through the air.
Steve looks crestfallen, and Danny realizes for the tenth time in as many hours that for all of Steve’s training and intelligence and ability to make tough calls, he is the one who has to take their relationship by the reins.
If he’s going to be perfectly honest, a stupid part of himself that he hates knows that maybe he’s trying to punish Steve a little. Sure, Steve might have said that he knew Danny could hold his own, but he’d still chosen to leave him behind in Hawai’i. He internally rationalizes his choice by saying that if Steve doesn’t trust him to run head-first into danger, then let him do it with someone else.
Chin and Kono are exceptional cops and exceptional friends, and Danny is only too honoured to partner with them.
And so they rotate every now and then, as the cases dictate. As much as he misses working with Steve, he loves working with the cousins. Nothing is lost in conversation and camaraderie; Chin has a calm intuition and Kono an addictive energy, and they’re all excellent shots.
The day arrives, though – of course it does - when it’s just him and Steve clinging to a rapidly disintegrating wooden crate, pinned down in the middle of a warehouse with a less than comforting number of bullets in their guns. Danny spies a rifle by the ankle of a downed perp off to the right, and a glance at Steve communicates his intention to retrieve it. Steve merely nods his understanding, and resumes ascertaining just where in the warehouse the enemy fire is coming from.
In the aftermath, rifle held in his hands, Danny surveys the scene, surveys his partner. Steve doesn’t seem to be aware of Danny’s gaze, too busy directing HPD.
Working together, defending their position, taking down the criminals – it had been seamless. Oh sure, it had been a near-death experience, but still a seamless one. It wasn’t that Danny had been waiting for Steve to turn around in a golden haze of realization and admit that Danny was, indeed, more than capable of taking care of himself. He’d just needed to experience the reality for himself, needed to see that they could work together on equal footing after the disruption. They’d been two men with guns and badges, and they’d done their job and watched each other’s backs.
-----
With a preparatory deep breath, Danny strides into the office bull-pen. His team is gathered around the tech table, inspecting crime scene photos, and he approaches with determination.
They acknowledge him, but continue with their assessment of a close-up of ligature marks. Waiting for the right moment, he braces his hands on the table – not the actual screen, oh the withering looks that had earned him – and looks directly at Steve. Steve flicks a small, personal smile at him, then resumes his study of the evidence.
When there’s a break in the conversation, Danny gathers his courage. “Kamekona texted me the mechanic’s address. Let’s go check it out, Steve.”
Steve is by the door in an instant, and Kono may or may not chuckle a smoooooth under her breath at Chin.
The end of the day sees them side by side in the back of Steve’s truck, aforementioned mechanic detained and peace restored to O’ahu once more. Hah Danny snorts to himself as he shifts onto his side to snag a fry, drag it though the tiny tub of ketchup. If you’d told him, the day he’d met Steve, that he’d end up eating cold McDonalds with the bastard on the flat-bed of what was a ridiculously large vehicle, he’d have laughed in your face.
“For what it’s worth,” Steve starts. “For what it’s worth, I’ll never leave like that again. If I’m ever recalled for anything, I’ll always let you know as much as I can.”
Danny prods him in the side.
“In advance!” Steve yelps as he scoots away. “I’ll let you know in advance, fuck your fingers are pokey.”
“Pokey? You’ve been spending too much time with Grace,” Danny says around a mouthful of chip.
Steve groans, scrubs a hand to his face. “Don’t remind me, I was talking to one of my old COs the other day, and I think I actually said, “I know, right? That was totally uncool.” I don’t really remember the details, I think I’ve blocked the memory out. He’s a Captain in the United States Navy, Danny. A Captain, and I’m channelling Miley Cyrus!”
Danny nods, not at all sympathetically. “You’ve been in training for full assimilation into the ranks of fatherhood for some time now, Steve, suck it up.”
With a chuckle, Steve sits up, looks as if he’s set to make a start on getting them home.
Danny knows that this is his moment. He slips his hand up inside Steve’s t-shirt to rest on the small of his back. He spreads his compact fingers wide, as if hoping to grip the edges of the tattoo that rests over Steve’s spine and hips. “For what it’s worth, to use your words. For what it’s worth, I’m okay with you going, as long as you plan on coming back.”
They study each other, still and silent, and again teenaged Danny would die at the thought of really looking deeply into someone’s eyes, even under the cover of darkness.
Danny finally knows what it is. He finally has a name for it, a name for the anger and the betrayal and the uncertainty and the worry that had chased around his chest.
It’s love.
Sure, it’s not what you expect when you’re a kid, it’s not always perfect, it’s not always happy, it doesn’t always make you feel better. Sometimes, it makes you feel like hell. It’s rusty and rough and rugged, and you have to fight tooth and nail for it.
Danny watches with a smile as Steve seems to abandon the thought of driving home. Instead, all six feet of his partner flops back down, and they curl around each other in the back of the truck.