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Steve was so riled up, so filled with consuming rage that he could hardly breathe. Him. Wo Fat. He was right there, breathing the same damn air, sharing a fucking table with him. Steve wanted, he wanted to forgo the gun and beat him over the head with the table. He wanted to let him get in a few good punches, ground him, so Steve could be completely within his mind when he beat the son of a bitch senseless.
But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. He’s fucking seen, knows what this fucker can do, has done to Steve’s family. He just can not have this woman’s blood on his hands, too. So, he uncocks his gun. He just sits there and fucking takes it when the murdering asshat insults, implies, insinuates that his family is dirty, wrong, something so vague that it could mean anything, nothing, and everything all at the same damn time.
Once the fucking bastard leaves, Steve’s so full to bursting with hate, need to just follow him and spread his fucking brains over the parking lot, beat the shit out of any muscle he has waiting, collect a few more scars that he cannot see straight. There is no way, no way in hell that he can possibly meet with Kaye. Just sit here and talk with all of that, that absolute shit echoing in his brain and the need to stop the fucker’s words by stopping the man, by putting him the fuck down. So, Steve gives Kayes description to one of the waiters –he’s about 80% sure its one of Chin and Kono’s cousins– with the message that something came up, to come to Five-0 HQ tomorrow, instead.
Acting like this is some sort of clandestine shit and hiding it from the team is a shitty fucking plan anyway. Next, he calls Danny, tells him to meet him at a park miles away. Tells him in short clipped tones that he needs him to come pick him up, needs his partner right fucking now. He doesn’t say that last part of course, but it is Danny and he’s sure the message got across.
And then Steve starts running. Finds his rhythm, lets go of the iron grip on his mind that was necessary to let Wo Fat walk way, to calmly talk to the waiter, to call Danny. Lets the rage build, lets the conflicting emotions and insinuating phrases bounce and echo until he can see what shape they make. Don’t dig too deeply. Not that the fucker would lower himself to the level of contractions. You might not like what you find. Shit shit shit what does that even mean? Before you captured his brother. Before. Before. Before.
Are you trying to tell me that Wo Fat ordered my father’s murder? I believe so. But, but no. It doesn’t make any sense. He can’t do this, can’t take this, had at least this piece of the puzzle, this piece of the pain figured out. A little friendly advice. You might not like what you find.
Steve wants to run into the ocean, dive, swim until his arms and legs burn. Stop struggling, stop trying, let the current pull him, let go until any of this made sense. He needs logic. Needs to fight through the fucking jungle of conflicting heart-clenching emotion and find what lies behind, beneath. You might not like what you find. Needs to break away from the emotional overload and remember every word that fucker said, find a clue that may have escaped unbidden. He needs to make sense of the words. Needs words, needs Danny.
He called Danny. Danny is waiting for him. Danny with his midget body and looming presence, his loud mouth and huge fucking heart, his dedication that burns so fucking bright, and those striking baby blues that see everything Steve had ever tried to hide. He’d never be able to hide this. Hide this depth of fear only slightly masked by the rage. The fear burning holes through the rage, like his lungs are burning, his legs are burning, his eyes burning from the tears rolling unbidden down his face. Do not dig too deeply. You might not like what you find.
Steve swipes angrily at his face as the wave of emotion surging through his body reaches his lungs and he sinks to the sand with a choked sob. The next thing he knows, Danny’s right there, kneeling on the sand with him, running his hands through Steve’s hair and murmuring slightly panicked comfort. Danny’s never seen him truly break. Danny doesn’t know why, doesn’t know any of it. Steve never told him where he was going, tried to hide it. Shitty fucking idea.
And so Steve looks up. Looks his partner in the eye, chokes back the lingering emotion gathered in his lungs. Pushes it down deeper until it’s a hard dark space in his gut. Finds his voice.
“I’m a moron.” Well, that wasn’t quite what Steve intended to say, but its true and causes Danny to bark out a laugh and lose some of the tension that had gathered in his shoulders, his face as he witnessed the breaking of Steve.
“Why this time, love?” Danny asks gently, cautious.
“I was, I went to meet with Kaye. Gave her the postcards, asked her to analyze them. Was gonna see if she made any progress.” Even in the darkness, Steve can see the narrowing of Danny’s eyes at the fact that this is all news to him, so Steve pushes on before Danny can start the rant that he knows he deserves.
“Was waiting for her at the noodle shop we like when,” Steve pauses and takes a deep breath, pushing the emotion down, keeping the cold, hard, dark ball in his gut, out of his lungs, off his face.
“When Wo Fat sat down across from me,” and Steve is pretty damn proud that he got that out without his voice breaking. But he’s interrupted by Danny’s intake of breath, the oh shit expression on his face.
“Whoa, whoa there, killer. Wo Fat? The fucker that gave you attitude on the golf course? The same Wo Fat that was fucking golfing with the sons of bitches who killed your mother? Did you shoot him? Why didn’t you shoot him? Do we need to call Chin and Kono? HPD? What happened, Steve?” and Danny leaves the real question unvoiced, what broke you, love? How can I fix it?, but it still shines in his expression, can be read in his hand gestures. And Steve has a sudden surge of guilt, of unworthiness for hiding from this man who offers him so much. Then Steve remembers the question and growls in frustration.
“No, no, I didn’t shoot the fucker. Couldn’t, he said he’d kill her. I can’t. I just can’t have her blood on my hands, too.”
Steve suddenly realizes that there’s more that Danny doesn’t know. Doesn’t know about Kaye’s connection, her search, Hesse. And Danny must see the array of emotions flitting through his unguarded eyes, because he interrupts again.
“Steve, love, looks to me like you’ve got a shit ton more to tell me and my knee is not gonna take much more kneeling on the sand, even for you.”
“But we, we can’t. I need to tell you. And home, home might not be. They might be listening,” Steve tries to get out, hoping to make him understand his half formed fear concerning how Wo Fat gets all of his fucking information.
“Okay. Okay,” Danny placates, still petting him. “How about we just get me a tree to lean against? Right up there.” Danny points to the park and Steve acquiesces as they move to the grass. Once Danny arranges himself on the ground, he gestures for Steve to join him. And though Steve still has so much pent up energy that he’s not sure how to focus, how to use it without beating the shit out of someone, something, himself, he goes to Danny. Lets Danny rearrange him so his head is on Danny’s lap, one of Danny’s hands carding through is hair, the other a warm weight on Steve’s shoulder. Because Steve needs this, needs to feel Danny, needs that grounding.
“So,” Danny begins again, “Wo Fat, the fucker, decided to prove to you that he knows your schedule better than I do. What else? That’s not enough, babe.” And again, Danny leaves the not enough to break you unspoken, for which Steve is insanely grateful.
“I… I didn’t tell you about Kaye, either. She’s not a field agent. She’s an analyst. The CIA isn’t backing her. She took leave. And and she told me. She found out, showed me. Hesse, Hesse works for Wo Fat.” Steve pauses, waits for that to sink in before he gathers himself to continue again.
“She, she thinks that Wo Fat ordered Dad’s murder. That it wasn’t my fault. Hesse was here, on the island before I captured his brother. It, it doesn’t make sense,” and this is where the ball of emotion starts rising, making its way into Steve’s lungs, so he pushes the rest out, doesn’t let Danny interrupt, gets it out before it makes it to his lungs, seeps out his eyes. Steve jumps up from Danny’s lap, pacing.
“Hesse killed my father, I knew that. He killed him, killed him because I refused to let his brother go, because his brother died trying to get away. I heard it, heard the shot. Heard the shot when my actions killed my Dad. And now, now Kaye tells me that Hesse was already here, already ordered, the fucker Wo Fat ordered Hesse to kill my father. And then. Then Wo Fat, the bastard, sits down in front of me. Tells me that my theory is interesting, or some shit. Tells me that I should stop looking into my parents. Doesn’t threaten me. Doesn’t tell me that I’d better not, or else. No, he says A little friendly advice. Do not dig too deeply. You might not like what you find. What does that even mean? I might not like what I find. And he didn’t just say my Dad, he said my parents. What the fuck? What the everloving fuck? He’s implying, the son of a bitch is implying, insinuating that my parents were what, dirty? What the fuck did Mom ever do? I spent so fucking long hating my father, wanting him to notice me, but hating him for sending us away. For pushing us away when we needed him, needed family the most. And then, then I found out that he was trying to protect us. It all made sense, the man that I wanted to impress, to be, to notice me came back in all his fucking unattainable glory. But now, now that fucking asshole just sits down. Sits down in front of me and just spews this shit. Tells me that if I shoot him, then he’d kill her, kill Kaye, kill her in her car, burn her up in a car, just like my Mom. And I, I couldn’t do that. So I let him walk away. I let the fucker walk away.”
Steve is breathing hard, slumping, defeated when he finally stops, his voice a cracked whisper. And Danny’s there again, reaching toward him, cupping his face and kissing him gently before leading him back down to the ground. Once Danny is situated against the tree again, he arranges Steve so he’s leaning into him, burying Steve’s face in the crook of his neck and carding his fingers through Steve’s hair, the other hand holding him close. Once the stiffness recedes, once Steve accepts Danny’s physical comfort and melts into him, he lets out a long shuddering breath and Danny takes this as his cue to respond.
“First, I’ve got to give you props, babe,” Danny begins, kissing the crown of his head in reward, leaving his cheek there. “You must have listened at some point to realize that you are in no state, no state at all to drive right now. And the fact that that came through, surfaced through all that rage. That you called me. I’m proud of you, babe.”
Steve lets out a shaky breath and the corners of his mouth twist up a little on their own accord. Danny counts this as a point in his favor.
“Second,” he picks Steve’s head up slightly, angling him so he can look him in the eye. “There is no way in hell, I’m going to sit here and let you blame yourself for your Dad’s murder. Did you pull the trigger, Steven?” Steve can feel the defiance welling in him, yes, he pretty much fucking did. But Danny rallies on, switches tactics.
“Tell me. Tell me, Steven. If when I was in Jersey, before I met you, if God fucking forbid, some mobster or drug dealer or what the fuck ever targeted Rachel, targeted Gracie just because of me. Would that be my fault? Would you, even for a second, let me wallow in guilt because some asshole with a vendetta went after the people I love because he wasn’t good enough to go after me? Would you?”
And Steve can seen the pain in Danny’s expression from just having to put that possibility into words. And fuck if Danny isn’t right. He wouldn’t let him. Wouldn’t let him take that on, go at it alone. None of it.
“Exactly, no you fucking wouldn’t, love. So, stop it. You don’t get to take this on either.” Danny replaces Steve’s head on his shoulder and Steve just goes where Danny places him. Soaks in the warmth, the smell, the comfort of Danny beneath him. Also, the tactical corner of his mind reassures him, just this once, that if something happens, if someone were to take a shot, then Steve is already mostly covering Danny’s exposed front.
“Third, did it ever occur to you that maybe the fucker is trying to rile you up? That he’s saying the exact thing to throw you off your game? It’s obvious that physical threats would only bounce off your superhuman self, like so many bullets, but this, this came from left field, made you pause. Maybe, just maybe the murdering bastard is lying to you, Steven.” Danny pauses, lets that all sink in before he goes in for the kill.
“And even if he isn’t. He didn’t tell you anything. He told you just enough to let your mind run wild without actually coming out and saying anything at all. Which means the pontificating bastard is just trying to throw you off your game. And he did, he did, love. What he said, his little visit. It changes nothing. He didn’t tell you anything of substance. He just intimidated you. So, he proved that he can find you anywhere, can get to us anytime. How is that any different from our everyday lives? Since when can criminals not know where to find us?”
Danny makes a point of looking straight into Steve’s eyes, daring him to challenge his assertion. “It changes nothing, babe, nothing.” And all Steve can do is lean up and place his forehead against Danny’s temple, pressing his mouth against Danny’s jaw. Telling Danny without words that he’s with him, with him all the way, that he’s goddamn grateful to have him in his life.
“Let’s go home, babe. Get some rest and we’ll go after this fucker, tomorrow when we can all think straight again. All of us, even hot CIA lady.” Danny gently nudges Steve up, off the ground, before putting his own hand out for a little help getting vertical with his stiff knee.
Steve pulls Danny up and into his arms, the only way he knows to say thank you. The cold ball of rage in his stomach is softer on the edges, the warmth of Danny melting it, making it more manageable, easier to funnel into something of use.
“So,” Danny begins as they walk to the car. “What did you really want to do to him? Because shooting the fucker, really? That’s so boring. Not worthy of super SEAL, how were you really planning to take him out?” Danny asks with mischief in his eyes. And Steve can see what Danny is doing, setting himself up for a rant so familiar that he knows that Steve, the masochistic moron, finds it soothing.
“The table. I wanted to beat the son of a bitch over the head with the table.” Steve asserts with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“More property damage? Really, Steven? Why am I not surprised. You couldn’t even lure him out in the parking lot, use the rocket launcher in your truck? No, you had to accrue more property damage. Do you hear nothing I say?” Danny begins as they both get in the car.
Steve leans against the window, Danny’s hand on his knee, as he lets Danny’s rant wash over him, engulf him, warm him from the inside out. He can do this. No, they, they can do this together. Because the fucker may know how to get under Steve’s skin, but he has Danny. He has Danny and Chin and Kono, and now Kaye on his team. And really, who is he kidding, the fucker won’t know what hit him.