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Steve tried to focus as the moment of levity gave way to the men chattering, congratulating Chin on his engagement to Malia. Steve blinked back the sweat and blood which trickled over his eye. His grip tightened on the weapon he’d been given.
The helicopter flight was beginning to make him feel woozy; the vibration reverberating through his sore body and into every bone. Joe’s legs bracketed him; kept him upright. Joe’s hand on his shoulder reminded him that he was right there with him; kept him present and steady.
But the helo lurched on a pocket of air and Steve felt his empty stomach lurch with it; nausea rolled up, hot and fast.
“Hey!”
Danny was there suddenly and something else was pushed in front of him, a plastic bag which Steve throw up in without hesitation. Danny was beside him on the floor, his hand cradling Steve’s head gently as he vomited. Steve could feel the hot wash of shame rushing in where the nausea faded as he spat out the last of the bile.
“Easy,” Danny said.
He’d manoeuvred himself to sit beside Steve but facing him. It was just as well as he was compact because someone else would have struggled with the limited space. As it was Danny’s legs were tucked uncomfortably underneath him. But it didn’t seem to bother Danny as he held a water bottle to Steve’s lips with one hand. The other hand, Steve realised belatedly, was holding the sick bag; Steve had kept his grip on his gun.
“Rinse your mouth out, babe,” Danny instructed. His moves were all competent father; there was no hint of disgust or anger at Steve losing his stomach contents. His steady blue eyes held Steve’s reassuringly.
Steve sipped the water; rinsed his mouth out and spat into the bag. A tissue was thrust in front of him and he wiped his mouth gingerly, careful of the cuts and bruising. He threw it into the bag. Danny tied the bag off and tossed it to the side.
“Danno…” Steve began.
“Drink this time,” Danny ordered gently, “small sips.”
Steve rolled his eyes at his partner, but he followed orders. He let the trickle of water soothe his ragged throat.
Danny let Steve take another few sips before he took the water bottle away. “Better?”
Steve gave a nod. Maybe if it had just been them, or just them and Chin, maybe he would have apologised. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t, show weakness that way to the rest of their company. He resisted the urge to reach out and hold onto Danny like he was a comfort blanket.
Danny’s blue eyes searched his face for a long moment. He gave a low hum and his closest hand closed around Steve’s ankle. “Hey, did I tell you about Grace’s try-out for the swim meet?”
“No,” Steve said gratefully, “how’d she do?”
“Won her race,” Danny gloated with all the smug satisfaction of a proud father.
“That’s great, Danno,” Steve said, “I guess my working on her swimming helped, huh?” And there was a tease there, a hook to bait Danny into an argument which was their thing…
“Your working with her?” Danny immediately replied, his accent strengthening as his free hand waved through the air. Steve noticed though how his other hand never moved from Steve. “You working with her made the difference?”
“You won’t even go to the beach, Danno,” Steve needled.
Danny grimaced because he really couldn’t argue with that. “There’s sand!”
“It’s the beach,” Steve argued. “Who doesn’t like the beach?”
His pain seemed to fade a touch as he kept Danny’s focus and his stomach cramps were easing with each word; each rise and fall of Danny’s hand in the air. The close environment of the helo, the smell of his own blood and sweat, the rest of the men…none of it bothered him anymore.
“I like the beach just fine…”
“There’s evidence to the contrary, Danno…”
“Sand,” Danny argued. “I don’t like the sand! It gets in everything and you spend days finding it!”
“Beaches are all sand,” Steve shot back. “Ergo you don’t like sand, you don’t like the beach.”
“Ergo?!” Danny’s eyebrows rose up in amusement. “Ergo this you…”
“Are they always like this?” asked Jacks, cutting in.
“Worse,” said Chin cheerfully. “This is them on a good day.”
Steve darted a look at Danny only to find his partner was gazing fondly back at him.
“It’s a thing,” said Danny. “He thinks he’s right; I might disagree; we may have a back and forth,” his free hand weaves through the air, “and then…”
“And then we kick ass,” Steve finished firmly.
“And then we kick ass,” Danny agreed, warmly.
“Coming into land,” the aged pilot called out from the front, “hold onto something.”
Everyone else started to shift position, but not Danno.
Danny remained where he was; sat tight up beside Steve, his hand clasped around Steve’s ankle. Steve kept one hand on the gun but the other…he let go and reached out…Danny’s free hand surrounded it immediately; warm and callused; real.
He was rescued and he was going home.
Steve held on.
The End